people i would like to have a pint with

Tweeter and Skeeter.

This is long, be warned. I live in a lowish income neighborhood. My little section is pretty nice, but if you go a few blocks in any direction, it gets pretty shitty. That means I’ve had a few run ins with skeevy meth heads and small time thieves.

This started when I moved in to my house. I noticed that on trash pick-up days, people would go up and down the alley where the trash cans go and dig through looking for recyclables. One of them was a guy I called Old Bob.

Old Bob lived a few houses down. He said he collected to buy presents for his grandkids. I don’t think the kids liked pints of Dark Eyes vodka, but he was harmless. So I started bagging up my cans separately so Old Bob didn’t have to dig through my trash.

Then, there were Tweeter and Skeeter. They would roll up and down the alley in a junky old truck with no exhaust that belched blue smoke. They looked like the after pictures from Faces of Meth. After they saw in was bagging cans for Old Bob, they started grabbing them. This didn’t sit well with me.

The next time I saw Old Bob, I told him I would leave my stuff just inside my yard, up against my shed, where you couldn’t see the bag from the alley. This went on for a month. Then, I heard and smelled Tweeter and Skeeter rumbling down the alley. I didn’t think anything of it, then I heard the rattle of a bag of aluminum cans being thrown into the bed of a truck. Those fuckers had gone into my yard to grab Old Bob’s drinking money. That shit would not stand.

I went to the hardware store; I bought a cheap pair of locks and some latches. I put the latches on my trash cans, I would unlock them when I left for work, which was about 15 minutes before the trash truck came down the alley. I also gave Old Bob a key. By this time, we were becoming downright neighborly. I would chat with him and have him help me around the yard and throw any spare cash his way.

After a few weeks, I heard Tweeter and Skeeter again. I heard them stop, then rattle the can lids, then drive off. I came out the next morning and the fuckers had pried the latches off my cans, and stolen the locks, too.

Now I was pissed. They were stealing Old Bob’s drinking money, and they had fucked with my shit. I stopped keeping cans separate, and started dumping used cat litter over everything.

Tweeter and Skeeter would still roll up to my trash area, but they weren’t willing to dig through shit to get anything. Old Bob was still helping me around the yard, so I would hands him bags of cans when he was over, in addition to the extra cash.

Everything was quiet for a few months. Then, we had a bad storm and the gutters on the alley side of my shed got messed up. They were in OK shape, but the underlying board and gotten torn up. It was too late in the day to do anything, but I figured Old Bob and I could take care of it the next day.

That night, I was woken up by Tweeter and Skeeters damn truck. But before I could throw pants and shoes on and chase them off, they were gone. So were the gutters on my shed.

Needless to say, I was fucking livid. After I calmed down, I went to Home Depot to get a new gutter. As luck would have it, I heard the fucking meth-mobile start up in the parking lot as I was walking in.

I wasn’t about to confront them directly, since I like having all of my blood and internal organs on the inside. What in did do, though, was get a good look at their liscense plates.

They were expired (of course) but the layer of soot from burning oil had obscured the sticker. You wouldn’t notice it from more than 5 feet away.

Finally, I had a way to get back at them. I called a relative who knew a few of the local PD. They said the address on the last registration was a house that had since been burned down in a meth lab fire. They never caught the cooks, but they going to keep an eye out for the truck. If nothing else, they would get a ticket and have to put current plates with a real address on them.

I was OK with this, but I wanted blood. I got my wish when the city did heavy trash pick-up.

I put an old grill in my back yard and scratched “Not Trash”, on the underside, along with spraypainting the smokestack white. Sure enough, Tweeter and Skeeter saw it and couldn’t resist. Once they had done that, I spent a few hours on a Saturday driving around the shittier parts of my neighborhood until I spotted my grill sitting in a yard.

I called my buddy with the police contacts and told them where they could find Tweeter and Skeeter and their un-registered vehicle, along with a stolen grill.

A few hours later, Tweeter and Skeeter came home to a few cops waiting for them. Since scrapping from heavy trash pick-up had been good to them, they were caught with a not insignificant amount of Meth and a lot of precursors to make more.

Tweeter has to serve out a 5 year sentence in prison. He also pinned the lab fire on Skeeter, who will be serving 10 years along side him.

Old Bob still helps me out, too.

I want a short story on Fred and George staring at this blank piece of paper and trying to figure out why Filch would label it “Dangerous”. Then I want them going through every possible variation of “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good” before actually hitting the right words.

Example: “I promise I’m gonna fuck shit up.”

Mr. Moony would like to ask Messrs. Weasley why they think such foul language is necessary to accomplish mischief.

Mr. Wormtail would like to inform Messrs. Weasley that they are getting warmer.

Mr. Padfoot would like to high five Messrs. Weasley.

Mr. Prongs would like to have a pint with Messrs. Weasley as they seem just like his kind of people. As long as they solemnly swear it.

DIY - Simple STP

If you’ve ever done any research into STP devices for transmasculine folks, you may have felt the same horror I felt when I saw that a good quality STP would cost me in the region of £300. This wasn’t happening, so I had a think and did what trans people are very good at: I improvised. 

I made my STP out of a 2 pint milk carton. It is durable, hygienic, fits in my pocket, and cost nothing to make (well, 50p for the milk) Here’s how I made it:

You will need: Milk carton, scissors, lighter/candle

Instructions: You need a milk carton that looks something like this. Make sure you clean it out thoroughly. Mark with a pen and cut along the red lines shown here. 

The handle of the carton will act as a funnel. 

Cut a ‘V’ shape at the end of the funnel to make the flow look more natural.

Soften the edges of the STP with a lighter

and you’re done! Here is the finished STP:

Practice with this thing before you take it out, as there is a bit of an art to it, but I have never had any problems with mine! Just rinse it after you use it and you’re off. Happy peeing my dudes! 

Dear people who look down on the poor and the homeless: I used to be one of those disabled homeless vets you read about, and I only have a roof over my head now because I qualified for disability, and because others helped me get back on my feet. I’m one of the lucky ones; not everybody has those advantages.

I tell you I have experienced more caring and generosity of spirit from poor people than from anyone else. People with a home and a good income can be generous, as well, and I’m not dogging them for what they have and what they choose to graciously give–that is genuine and admirable kindness and love for their fellow human beings on their part, and I respect and admire them for doing what they can.

But you have to understand that when someone is living hand to mouth, who is one step away from being on the street themselves, offers you a hand up, they’re offering proportionately so much more of what they have available. And they do it all the time, because they know that most of society doesn’t care, so the poor HAVE to help each other, because odds are no one else will.

You also have to understand that most homeless people don’t have the resources to do what it takes to get off the street. And that if you see them with something you don’t think they “deserve” to have, like a smartphone that most likely was given to them or they got fourth-hand, that may be the only thing that connects them to anyone or anything that they might be able to use to help themselves.

A few prepaid minutes or a cheap basic plan isn’t going to get them a home, but it can sure as hell make their situation seem a little less hopeless. When I was homeless, I still had my monthly plan, a cheap flip-phone, a tablet, and the car I called home. Selling those things would have gotten me some temporary cash, but having them let me skip a few steps in getting back on my feet. They helped me find places to couch-surf, and eventually helped me get off the street. Selling them would have gotten me some quick cash, but that wouldn’t have lasted.

You cannot simultaneously look down on homeless people while also sneering at them for managing to keep the things from their old life that can help them stop being homeless. When you do that, you are essentially rooting for them to remain homeless.

And if you see a homeless person spending donated money on booze, well, I guarantee you that most of you would take anything you could get to make the pain and undeserved shame of your situation a little more bearable.

They’re not homeless because they spent five bucks on a pint of cheap rotgut. They’re getting that cheap rotgut because it’s all they have to look forward to. Saving up a few dollars here and there isn’t going to substantially change their situation, but damn it, for a couple of hours, they can numb themselves a little.

Do some people manage to “pull themselves up by their bootstraps?” Sure. Some people get lucky–like me–but even with the advantages I had, it wasn’t easy. Some people become Olympic athletes, too, but not everybody can.

I have a policy that I hope you’ll adopt, too. I’m not wealthy by any means–especially now that I’m not going to be sharing expenses with someone else–but anyone on the street who asks me for money, I will give them at least something if I have it on me. It might be a handful of change, or it might be a five, but unless I am literally down to my last couple of bucks, I’ll share it.

It’s not my job to police what they spend it on, or to decide whether or not they “deserve” it. It’s my job to do what I can, however small, for my fellow human beings. It’s not something I need a cookie for–it’s just my responsibility as a human fucking being.

And if you’re fortunate enough to have spare cash when you pass someone less fortunate, I hope you’ll consider it your job, too.

Conquering fashion and crushing tech, Karlie Kloss is just getting started

Taking an Australian to an Australian restaurant is a very Karlie Kloss thing to do.

Heartily recommending dishes (green goddess salad! Avocado toast!) and knowing everyone who works at the joint (Two Hands in N.Y.C.’s TriBeCa neighborhood) is also très Karlie Kloss. Almost 10 years in, her modeling career has encompassed more runways than JFK, more covers than a … cover band, and more campaigns than some presidents (Swarovski, Express, L’Oréal, Adidas). But the St. Louis–raised Kloss remains a Midwestern girl who was brought up right. She’s two years into Kode with Klossy, her 10-city (and growing) program to inspire young girls to learn coding and enter the tech world, and over a year into her feminist studies at NYU (complemented handily by today’s look: a Dior T-shirt that says “We Should All Be Feminists”). But right now she’s just going to extend her illegally long legs under the table for a chat.

LAURA BROWN: At the British Fashion Awards in London last December, you were posing away on the red carpet in a sparkly Swarovski thing, and it was freezing. I just thought, “How does she keep turning up and doing that?”

KARLIE KLOSS: First of all, I’m a Leo, so when I need to turn it on, I do. I enjoy the adrenaline—not just when I’m walking the red carpet but also when I’m on set or in a runway show or even in the small film things I’ve done. I don’t know; I’m going to throw it to being a Leo because I have no other explanation! But I also know the feeling of being spent.

What happens when you’re spent?


I book myself out. I take time. I shut off. I don’t post to social media for a couple of days, and I find that to be really rewarding and healthy. It actually reenergizes me to be able to turn it back on and have fun. We’re multitasking women; we all have a lot going on. But you also have to protect yourself physically, mentally, and emotionally and give yourself time.

“Book yourself out”: I know that’s a model term, but metaphorically, it’s a good idea too.


Yeah. Because you know what? It’s not a matter of being lazy—the returns are tenfold: You’ll be able to show up with more energy, more drive, more focus. It’ll pay off.

Are you type A?

I don’t know if I’m type A. I’m super-driven, but I’m not a perfectionist.

Women are always told we can have it all, but acknowledging your limitations is a wonderful thing too. There’s a beauty in knowing what you can’t do.

There’s also a beauty in not trying to figure it all out. Things like Kode with Klossy happened because after graduating from high school, I was fully focusing on my modeling career but at a certain point was uninspired. That’s why I started taking a coding class.

When you sat down for that first coding class, did it feel like, “Oh, great!” or “Oh, s—!”?

I only got myself into that first coding class because I was genuinely curious about it and I met someone who started the Flatiron School … I am someone who if you tell me I have to do something, I’m less inclined to do it, but I took that class because I was really interested in how all this works. It’s how the world is actually built. Code is the secret language that builds all the digital architecture of everything that we rely on. And pretty much a fraction of people know about it, yet we all use it. I’ve always been intrigued by the direction nobody else is going in. Not following the herd.

If anything, the herd is following you, especially when you’re, like, 7 feet in heels.

Honestly, I never owned a pair of heels until I became a model. I remember buying a pair of black high heels from Target in St. Louis because I had to practice learning how to walk in them.

OK, set the scene for me, please.

I had just turned 15—now 18 is the minimum age to model—and started high school on a Monday, and by Friday I was on a plane to New York for a casting call. I thought, “There’s no way anyone is going to book me for New York Fashion Week, but it’s good to go and see people.” I had my high heels from Target and a little black dress from Macy’s that my mom bought me. It became my lucky little black dress that I continued to wear again and again. That was the outfit I was wearing when I walked into Calvin Klein in 2008 and got cast in the show that launched my career. I look back at photos, and I’m like, “How and why did anybody book me?” I was a child! But I was a very tall child. I’ve always been kind of an old soul, I guess.

You’ve always read older. I’m still surprised at how young you are. I really loved those years.

And it was so different. The whole digital situation was different.

Do you think social media makes it harder or easier to succeed?

I think it’s a different ball game. You have to have a strong presence on the runway, schlep around the world to build a book for editorial, work with the right people, and be in the right campaigns. You also have to have a digital presence and brand yourself. Maybe it’s easier to break through now because it’s democratized. It’s not like there are three important people in the fashion industry who are going to say, “Yes, you’re going to be successful.”

It’s the people’s choice.

Right, and that’s what’s really interesting. Something can become successful if it’s a good idea or if it’s going against the grain. It’s hard to predict.

It’s important to have constants in all this, right? How do you manage a relationship with all your travel and everything else? [Kloss dates venture capitalist and health-care entrepreneur Joshua Kushner.]

You make it work. We’ve been together almost five years. Time flies. It’s crazy. He’s a super-solid dude.

Is it nice to know someone’s there?

Yeah. I’ve always been super-close with my family. They are my rock. There’s so much uncertainty in every direction, like, “Are you gonna get this job?” So having a solid crew, whether it’s your family or a partner, that’s a big part of being able to function.

What does being a feminist mean to you?

Actually, I’m taking a feminism class at NYU right now. It’s about the political history of feminism, really, since the ’60s and ’70s. The term “feminism” means different things to different people; a lot of people throw it around without really understanding the weight of it because it is layered. Two women can identify as feminists and have wildly different ways of living their lives. I love what Maria Grazia [Chiuri] is doing at Dior. She’s such a powerhouse. Having women in leadership positions is so important. Hopefully it will happen in the White House someday.

Would you ever consider making a run for the White House?


Never say never, right?

So, we did a superhero shoot together for InStyle. Who’s your real-life superhero?

My mom, for sure. She battled really aggressive breast cancer when my three sisters and I were young. She survived by the skin of her teeth. I’ve grown up completely idolizing her. She’s so strong.

Were you ever into superheroes?


Wonder Woman, of course! First of all, she’s got great style, hair, and accessories. And I love that she’s fearless. She doesn’t need a man. She’s so independent.

Where would you go if you could fly an invisible jet?

I would love to be able to fly, period. Being invisible would be amazing. I’m 6'2", so it’s hard to be invisible, but at times I love just being a people-watcher, whether it’s in a café or the places I travel.

Do you have days when you’re not recognized?


I put on a baseball hat and jeans and a T-shirt and nobody pays attention to me. It’s great. I hope that never changes.

Maybe when you hit 25 and get real old.


Hopefully I’ll start shrinking too!

When was the moment you knew you’d made it in your
career?


I haven’t hit that moment yet, but when I bought my apartment in New York six years ago, that felt like a major milestone.

So you had a mortgage at 18?

Yeah. All my friends were, like, just getting their driver’s licenses.

What do you spend your money on?

I am very ambitious as an entrepreneur and as a businesswoman, but it doesn’t matter how much money I make. I am frugal. I spend money on experiences. I like to take amazing vacations with my loved ones. I like property. I just bought a beautiful home in St. Louis.

That must be wonderful—coming back home with such success.


You know what’s crazy? I bought the house I used to babysit in. My only job before modeling was a $6-an-hour babysitting gig, which, by the way, was great. I feel like I have this Cinderella story, and I’m really grateful for it. It was not the path I was anticipating. Anyway, it’s come full circle for me. I always loved that house.

What’s something you do every day that would surprise people?


Indulge in chocolate in some form. Chocolate is my weakness. It’s my Kryptonite.

If you’re really on a bender, what do you do? What’s your “f— it bucket”?

Halo Top ice cream. It’s lower in calories. I’ll smash a whole pint. I have a sweet tooth. That’s how Karlie’s Kookies happened, because I love sweets.

You’re super-diligent about working out. Do you try to keep it to a certain time every day?


I like to work out in the morning and get it out of the way because it changes how I function the rest of the day. I feel more awake and am more aware of what I eat. Since I’m always traveling and in a different place, I started running. I love running in Paris and upstate New York. I also love strength training. If I work out, it doesn’t immediately change my body, but it changes my clarity, focus, and emotions. My job right now is reliant on my body, but that’s genuinely not why I work out.

What’s your favorite thing to do? Do you cook a lot at home?


I love to cook. I love going to the market and getting fresh stuff and just getting creative.

How ambitious are you?

I want Kode with Klossy to grow. Last summer we had three camps with 20 girls in each one. This summer we have 15 camps in 10 cities and 20 to 25 girls in each class.

All of this and you’re not type A?

I’m grateful that I’m successful at 24 in a way that I never imagined I would be. I feel lucky I started working at 15—it’s been almost 10 years. I feel like a geezer!

What was the last thing you bought for yourself?

I bought this sick handpainted Gucci leather jacket. It was from a special collaboration. My frugal self broke the bank on that one. And also the house. [Laughs]

What’s your favorite thing that you’ve worn out lately?

It was this cute little Dior sleeveless dress that was just way sexy and athletic. I loved it.

Most important, where are the Target shoes now?


My mom has the first crayon drawing I ever made, so I’m sure those shoes are in a box somewhere in the Kloss attic. (x)

instyle.com
Karlie Kloss on Feminism, Coding, and (Maybe) Making a Run for the White House

KARLIE KLOSS SUPER MODEL

Conquering fashion and crushing tech, Karlie Kloss is just getting started

by LAURA BROWN
photographed by CARTER SMITH
2017 June issue of InStyle Magazine

Taking an Australian to an Australian restaurant is a very Karlie Kloss thing to do. Heartily recommending dishes (green goddess salad! Avocado toast!) and knowing everyone who works at the joint (Two Hands in N.Y.C.’s TriBeCa neighborhood) is also très Karlie Kloss. Almost 10 years in, her modeling career has encompassed more runways than JFK, more covers than a … cover band, and more campaigns than some presidents (Swarovski, Express, L’Oréal, Adidas). But the St. Louis–raised Kloss remains a Midwestern girl who was brought up right. She’s two years into Kode with Klossy, her 10-city (and growing) program to inspire young girls to learn coding and enter the tech world, and over a year into her feminist studies at NYU (complemented handily by today’s look: a Dior T-shirt that says “We Should All Be Feminists”). But right now she’s just going to extend her illegally long legs under the table for a chat.

LAURA BROWN: At the British Fashion Awards in London last December, you were posing away on the red carpet in a sparkly Swarovski thing, and it was freezing. I just thought, “How does she keep turning up and doing that?”

KARLIE KLOSS: First of all, I’m a Leo, so when I need to turn it on, I do. I enjoy the adrenaline—not just when I’m walking the red carpet but also when I’m on set or in a runway show or even in the small film things I’ve done. I don’t know; I’m going to throw it to being a Leo because I have no other explanation! But I also know the feeling of being spent.

What happens when you’re spent?
I book myself out. I take time. I shut off. I don’t post to social media for a couple of days, and I find that to be really rewarding and healthy. It actually reenergizes me to be able to turn it back on and have fun. We’re multitasking women; we all have a lot going on. But you also have to protect yourself physically, mentally, and emotionally and give yourself time.

“Book yourself out”: I know that’s a model term, but metaphorically, it’s a good idea too.
Yeah. Because you know what? It’s not a matter of being lazy—the returns are tenfold: You’ll be able to show up with more energy, more drive, more focus. It’ll pay off.

Are you type A?
I don’t know if I’m type A. I’m super-driven, but I’m not a perfectionist.

Women are always told we can have it all, but acknowledging your limitations is a wonderful thing too. There’s a beauty in knowing what you can’t do.

There’s also a beauty in not trying to figure it all out. Things like Kode with Klossy happened because after graduating from high school, I was fully focusing on my modeling career but at a certain point was uninspired. That’s why I started taking a coding class.

When you sat down for that first coding class, did it feel like, “Oh, great!” or “Oh, s—!”?
I only got myself into that first coding class because I was genuinely curious about it and I met someone who started the Flatiron School … I am someone who if you tell me I have to do something, I’m less inclined to do it, but I took that class because I was really interested in how all this works. It’s how the world is actually built. Code is the secret language that builds all the digital architecture of everything that we rely on. And pretty much a fraction of people know about it, yet we all use it. I’ve always been intrigued by the direction nobody else is going in. Not following the herd.

If anything, the herd is following you, especially when you’re, like, 7 feet in heels.
Honestly, I never owned a pair of heels until I became a model. I remember buying a pair of black high heels from Target in St. Louis because I had to practice learning how to walk in them.

OK, set the scene for me, please.
I had just turned 15—now 18 is the minimum age to model—and started high school on a Monday, and by Friday I was on a plane to New York for a casting call. I thought, “There’s no way anyone is going to book me for New York Fashion Week, but it’s good to go and see people.” I had my high heels from Target and a little black dress from Macy’s that my mom bought me. It became my lucky little black dress that I continued to wear again and again. That was the outfit I was wearing when I walked into Calvin Klein in 2008 and got cast in the show that launched my career. I look back at photos, and I’m like, “How and why did anybody book me?” I was a child! But I was a very tall child. I’ve always been kind of an old soul, I guess.

You’ve always read older. I’m still surprised at how young you are. I really loved those years.
And it was so different. The whole digital situation was different.

Do you think social media makes it harder or easier to succeed?
I think it’s a different ball game. You have to have a strong presence on the runway, schlep around the world to build a book for editorial, work with the right people, and be in the right campaigns. You also have to have a digital presence and brand yourself. Maybe it’s easier to break through now because it’s democratized. It’s not like there are three important people in the fashion industry who are going to say, “Yes, you’re going to be successful.”

It’s the people’s choice.
Right, and that’s what’s really interesting. Something can become successful if it’s a good idea or if it’s going against the grain. It’s hard to predict.

It’s important to have constants in all this, right? How do you manage a relationship with all your travel and everything else? [Kloss dates venture capitalist and health-care entrepreneur Joshua Kushner.]
You make it work. We’ve been together almost five years. Time flies. It’s crazy. He’s a super-solid dude.

Is it nice to know someone’s there?
Yeah. I’ve always been super-close with my family. They are my rock. There’s so much uncertainty in every direction, like, “Are you gonna get this job?” So having a solid crew, whether it’s your family or a partner, that’s a big part of being able to function.

What does being a feminist mean to you?
Actually, I’m taking a feminism class at NYU right now. It’s about the political history of feminism, really, since the ’60s and ’70s. The term “feminism” means different things to different people; a lot of people throw it around without really understanding the weight of it because it is layered. Two women can identify as feminists and have wildly different ways of living their lives. I love what Maria Grazia [Chiuri] is doing at Dior. She’s such a powerhouse. Having women in leadership positions is so important. Hopefully it will happen in the White House someday.

Would you ever consider making a run for the White House?
Never say never, right?

So, we did a superhero shoot together for InStyle. Who’s your real-life superhero?
My mom, for sure. She battled really aggressive breast cancer when my three sisters and I were young. She survived by the skin of her teeth. I’ve grown up completely idolizing her. She’s so strong.

Were you ever into superheroes?
Wonder Woman, of course! First of all, she’s got great style, hair, and accessories. And I love that she’s fearless. She doesn’t need a man. She’s so independent.

Where would you go if you could fly an invisible jet?
I would love to be able to fly, period. Being invisible would be amazing. I’m 6'2", so it’s hard to be invisible, but at times I love just being a people-watcher, whether it’s in a café or the places I travel.

Do you have days when you’re not recognized?
I put on a baseball hat and jeans and a T-shirt and nobody pays attention to me. It’s great. I hope that never changes.

Maybe when you hit 25 and get real old.
Hopefully I’ll start shrinking too!

When was the moment you knew you’d made it in your career?
I haven’t hit that moment yet, but when I bought my apartment in New York six years ago, that felt like a major milestone.

So you had a mortgage at 18?
Yeah. All my friends were, like, just getting their driver’s licenses.

“I feel lucky I started working at 15—it’s been almost 10 years. I feel like a geezer!”

What do you spend your money on?
I am very ambitious as an entrepreneur and as a businesswoman, but it doesn’t matter how much money I make. I am frugal. I spend money on experiences. I like to take amazing vacations with my loved ones. I like property. I just bought a beautiful home in St. Louis.

That must be wonderful—coming back home with such success.
You know what’s crazy? I bought the house I used to babysit in. My only job before modeling was a $6-an-hour babysitting gig, which, by the way, was great. I feel like I have this Cinderella story, and I’m really grateful for it. It was not the path I was anticipating. Anyway, it’s come full circle for me. I always loved that house.

What’s something you do every day that would surprise people?
Indulge in chocolate in some form. Chocolate is my weakness. It’s my Kryptonite.

If you’re really on a bender, what do you do? What’s your “f— it bucket”?
Halo Top ice cream. It’s lower in calories. I’ll smash a whole pint. I have a sweet tooth. That’s how Karlie’s Kookies happened, because I love sweets.

You’re super-diligent about working out. Do you try to keep it to a certain time every day?
I like to work out in the morning and get it out of the way because it changes how I function the rest of the day. I feel more awake and am more aware of what I eat. Since I’m always traveling and in a different place, I started running. I love running in Paris and upstate New York. I also love strength training. If I work out, it doesn’t immediately change my body, but it changes my clarity, focus, and emotions. My job right now is reliant on my body, but that’s genuinely not why I work out.

What’s your favorite thing to do? Do you cook a lot at home?
I love to cook. I love going to the market and getting fresh stuff and just getting creative.

How ambitious are you?
I want Kode with Klossy to grow. Last summer we had three camps with 20 girls in each one. This summer we have 15 camps in 10 cities and 20 to 25 girls in each class.

All of this and you’re not type A?
I’m grateful that I’m successful at 24 in a way that I never imagined I would be. I feel lucky I started working at 15—it’s been almost 10 years. I feel like a geezer!

What was the last thing you bought for yourself?
I bought this sick handpainted Gucci leather jacket. It was from a special collaboration. My frugal self broke the bank on that one. And also the house. [Laughs]

What’s your favorite thing that you’ve worn out lately?
It was this cute little Dior sleeveless dress that was just way sexy and athletic. I loved it.

Most important, where are the Target shoes now?
My mom has the first crayon drawing I ever made, so I’m sure those shoes are in a box somewhere in the Kloss attic.

For more from Karlie Kloss, pick up the June issue of InStyle, available on newsstands and for digital download May 14.

InStyle

“So Molly Hooper,” Sherlock sets down the pint I’ve just bought him and brushes the foam off his top lip. I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t have a little speech planned it seems, because he just smiles at me. Waiting. 

“Erm.” I take a long swallow of my own pint. Then another. 

Concern and amusement mingles on Sherlock’s face, “Everything all right?” He sips again. 

I thunk my pint down on the bar and make that little false laugh I’m trying to stop doing, “Oh yes. Erm. I just. Have something to tell you. I’m thinking how.” 

Sherlock turns bodily in his chair to face me, clasping his hands under his chin and fixing both eyes on mine, “Yes? I’m listening. Something troubling you?”

“No!” that was a bit loud, I think. Cough a little and sip my pint again. “No, just. Something I’ve just sort of. Just worked out. And I’ve got to tell someone, and I don’t know when or how it happened, but. Erm. You’re sort of my best friend, so.” 

Sherlock raises his eyebrows and smiles, “Oh indeed? Well, I’m all ears.” 

“And figuring it out had a lot to do with. Well. Hope you don’t mind my saying. I mean. It wasn’t very like but. Anyway. If I hadn’t ever known you, I’m not sure I would. Erm. Well.” I cough again, just so I can lower my face. Maybe that will account for the blush, too. I’m fairly sure I’m blushing. 

“The ends of these sentences must be very important, Molly. I’m afraid I don’t follow you.” 

Blow out a beery little breath, then sip from my pint again. It’s half gone by now. “I. I’m. I. I like women. Only. I’m a. I. I’m gay,” the last in a whisper, followed by a weird little giggle that I can’t quite swallow. I chance a glance up at Sherlock. 

He’s beaming at me. I’ve never seen him look so pleased. “Well!” he taps his pint glass against mine, “Welcome aboard!” 

I burst out laughing at that, and Sherlock grins and grins watching me. “Thanks,” I tell him, still giggling. I take another long draw on my pint and hiccough. “I’m a lesbian,” I say quietly, trying it out. 

“Congratulations!” Sherlock grins at me, then leans over the bar, trying to catch eyes with the barman. “So many of the best people are.” 

Her Name Was Emma

Her name was Emma.

That’s what everyone called her, anyways. Sometimes they would call her Em, sometimes someone would slip up and call her Emily. She was a part of our group of girlfriends growing up in a large town, not quite big enough to be a city but big enough that there was still privacy between neighbors.

We called ourselves the “Unbreakable Six,” because there was me, Summer, Mel, Nina, and Jules.

And there was Emma.

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Her Name was Emma

Her name was Emma.

That’s what everyone called her, anyways. Sometimes they would call her Em, sometimes someone would slip up and call her Emily. She was a part of our group of girlfriends growing up in a large town, not quite big enough to be a city but big enough that there was still privacy between neighbors.

We called ourselves the “Unbreakable Six,” because there was me, Summer, Mel, Nina, and Jules.

And there was Emma.

Emma started off as a practical joke by the other girls in the fourth grade. It was probably Jules that started it. She was always playing pranks of people. In high school, she even got suspended once for going too far, and had to babysit for hours to buy that girl a new cellphone. Or maybe it was Summer, who always seemed too busy with music and band to think of such an elaborate prank. Or maybe it was Mel and Nina, who were best friends and could have lived without us, always conspiring together like they were twin sisters.

Either way, I bought my lunch, cold cut sandwich and carrot sticks and a pint of orange juice (I couldn’t stand milk; it would account for how short I ended up being) and walked over to our lunch table. Jules looked excited, waving me over to them.

“Lotte! Look!” I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to be looking. “This is Emma. She moved here from Los Angeles!” We lived far inland and into the boonies. Los Angeles was glitzy and glamorous and chic compared to the flat houses and half-rate high school football that was the only real source of entertainment in the area.

“Uh, what?”

“Los Angeles, dummy,” Jules said, rolling her eyes. “She’s not in our class, she’s in Miss Lark’s, but she’s the same grade as us. Isn’t that cool?”

I still wasn’t sure where I was supposed to be looking. I sat down with my tray uneasily, wondering what I was supposed to see. “Who?”

Summer jabbed me in the side. “You’re being rude,” she hissed quietly. Summer was all about rules and manners. “Say hi to Emma.”

I looked around our table, from Jules to Mel to Nina to Summer and back to Jules, who was waiting impatiently. I don’t know. I was weak. I wanted to fit in. I didn’t get it.

“Hi, Emma.”

They seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, like I was making everything awkward. “Charlotte’s weird sometimes, but her brother has a Nintendo that he lets us play sometimes.”

They kept on talking, chatting about whatever fourth grade girls chat about, and I ignored it. If they wanted to play that prank, then that was fine. I wasn’t going to buy into it. I was always a precocious child; I knew that what they were looking for was a reaction.

That’s how Emma became a normal part of our lives. It was crazy. We would buy her birthday presents, and they’d disappear like they were taken. I wonder how many candle making kits and Mancala games Jules had piling up in her closet after all these birthdays. One year, Mel even got Emma a really nice necklace, and that disappeared too.

We never went to her house. I asked Nina about it when I was sure that “Emma” wasn’t there.

She gave me this scandalized look. “Lotte, don’t be rude. Emma’s family doesn’t have that much money, she’s embarrassed to let us come over. She told Mel that, who told me, and it makes sense. I mean, what she wears all the time… I mean, we still love her, we’ll always love her, she’s one of us. But don’t rub in the fact that we can’t go to her house. That’s mean.”

After I was scolded so whole-heartedly by Nina, I didn’t ask again. They were covering their bases really well, and by seventh grade, I had to accept that they were taking this prank all the way.

It was weirdly comforting in a way. There was this silent friend that I never saw, but she was always around. We would leave seats open for her, and when we did the buddy system someone always had Emma, walk into the bathroom by herself. When we decided that we wanted to be lame and come up with a name for our group of friends, we decided on the Unbreakable Six, even though there were really only five of us.

I was curious in sophomore year of high school when we were having a sleepover. Summer was at band practice late and Emma couldn’t make it, she had to work on her science project, according to Mel. So I asked Jules, the likely mastermind behind it all, “If you were going to write a story about Emma, like her biography, how would you describe her? Down to every detail?”

Jules loved stuff like that. She wanted to be a writer someday. “Well, she’s taller than you, which isn’t hard.” I threw a pillow at her that she dodged deftly. “She’s medium build—” Jules dropped her voice to a whisper, “—even though she gained a little weight recently but we’re not gonna tell her and she’s still beautiful.

“And… she has green eyes and brown hair, and she’s got freckles. She hates getting her picture taken. She’s nice, but quiet, and she dances really beautifully, I mean, you’ve seen her, right?” Of course, that time a few months ago when we turned on some music and danced around together to practice dancing at homecoming, so we didn’t look weird or do it wrong. We stopped after a while and oohed and ahhed at empty space for a while.

I didn’t ask any more questions. I knew that they would keep up the charade for as long as they could manage.

It was in our senior year of high school that it happened. I don’t know why it set me off, not really. It was something little, something stupid. We were hanging out in Nina’s pool, even though it was still too cold to swim. Teeth chattering and goosebumps rising on our skin, we were waiting for the Jacuzzi to heat up to jump in. The cold sunlight cast a long shadow, and the wine coolers we snuck earlier was making that shadow seem menacing. It was annoying for me for reasons I can’t place.

“Look at Emma, Lotte!” Jules called. She wolf-whistled and hooted, over the top like Jules always is. “Hot mama, look at that booty!”

I didn’t know where to look, like always. Like for the past nine years of my life, I didn’t know where to look. Since the fourth grade at our lunch table, dancing in Summer’s living room, homecoming, football games, at the park, in class, anywhere, I didn’t know where to look, because Emma wasn’t there.

That’s when I snapped.

“Fuck Emma!” I screamed. “And fuck all of you! Have you been waiting for this! The moment I completely lose my fucking mind! Well, here it is!” I waved my arms around, manic and furious. “Emma. Isn’t. Real. Emma isn’t fucking real!”

I looked at their confused faces. “Oh, you’re gonna keep this up? I fucking hate you guys, you’ve always done this, made me the butt of your stupid prank for almost ten years, guys! TEN YEARS!” I slipped a little on the wet concrete but regained my balance. “Fuck you, I hate you so much.” Tears welled in my eyes, years and years of pent up frustration finally spilling over. “Emma was some stupid prank that got out of hand and I can’t believe that none of you ever had the balls to tell me that it was a stupid prank! No, it had to keep going, you had to keep laughing behind my back! It’s not fair!”

Summer was furious. “Lotte, don’t fucking be this way, Emma is right there and you’re being a bitch, why are you doing this? Are you mad?”

Mel spoke up in a tiny voice. “Lotte, you look hot too, I mean, you look good in your bathing suit too.”

“Yeah, but don’t take out your anger on Emma, god,” Nina said, rolling her eyes. Nina walked over to the side of the pool and reached out a hand, like she was rubbing someone’s back. “It’s okay, Emma, Lotte’s just under a lot of stress right now, figuring out where she wants to go for college.”

“Shut up!” I howled miserably. “Stop it, stop it, stop it! Emma isn’t real! She’s not there! How could you guys do this to me?”

They were starting to look scared. They were really invested in this prank. I wondered what the endgame was. When were they going to start laughing, when were they going to jump up and say, “Gotcha!”

I had enough of this. If they wanted to play charades, then let’s play charades.

The next part was a blur. I don’t remember it, not even now. But I walked over to where Emma was and I kicked at the air. I heard a scream and I slipped on the slick, wet concrete and hit my head. There was blood everywhere. There was so much screaming, but I kept on kicking and punching and fighting until I blacked out completely.

I came to a day later in the hospital. My parents were there, and so were my friends. They were pale and tired and miserable looking. My heart panged. I must have really scared them. When my parents left, Jules approached me. She took my hand.

She began crying. The others stared crying too. “I’m sorry, Lotte,” she wept. “I’m really sorry.”

It was almost frightening, looking at the way my friends were. They were beside themselves in the privacy of the hospital room. I started crying too. I wasn’t sure why, but I started stammering apologies too, like if we all said sorry things could go back the way they did. “I’m sorry,” I cried.

Summer was the only one who didn’t look like she forgave me completely. She looked at me, eyes red and cheeks pink and wobbly chinned, and said, “Are you?”

I didn’t have to answer. The nurse came in to change the bandages on my head.

For the rest of the year, no one mentioned Emma. Emma only belonged to our tight-knit group of friends, so there was no mention of Emma. One time, a cop came to the principal’s office, and Mel and Nina were quick to drag us away.

After the accident, I withdrew from everyone. I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t go to Summer’s recital, I didn’t go to Mel’s birthday party, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t go to prom, just stared at the ceiling, wondering what had happened. Emma was in most of my life, and now she felt like a ghost.

I graduated high school and left immediately to go to a university far away in Southern California, where the weather was always perfect and the beach was a five minute walk away. I started to recover. I realized that I was depressed after what had happened, understanding that my best friends chose a punchline over me. Unbreakable Six, yeah right.

I got good grades, volunteered at an animal shelter, found a boyfriend. He was so nice to me, even when I got quiet when he asked about high school. He never pushed, just held me when I had bad days and made me pancakes.

It was four years later when I was about to finish up college when I ran into an old classmate from high school. Her name was Annie. She hung out with a different crowd than me and my friends. Most people did; the six—the five of us were a clique of our own, separated from everyone else.

I ran into her in our apartment complex. It turns out that she was living there the whole time and we didn’t know. I wasn’t necessarily friends with her, but overreacted the way you do when you see someone that you haven’t seen in a long time.

“It’s been forever!”

“Oh my god!”

I went to her apartment for coffee and saw that she was packing up her things. “Moving back home for a while until I find a job, yuck.” I saw a thick book on the sofa. “Oh, yeah, that’s our senior yearbook. I was flipping through it when I found it in my bookshelf.”

I didn’t bother getting a yearbook. I didn’t have friends at the end of high school. But I was curious to see what I looked like back then, if I had gained or lost weight, if my skin had gotten any better. I opened up the first page and was instantly confused.

“‘For Emma’?” I read aloud from the first page. It was a dedication. My mind raced; was there someone named Emma in our year?

“Yeah, it’s really sad what happened to her,” Annie said, handing me a mug of hot coffee.

I flipped through the yearbook, looking for a trace of Emma. Then, I found it. My heart stopped, mouth going dry. My hands shook as I held the yearbook, looking at the photograph.

It was a picture of the Unbreakable Six. We stood with our arms slung around hips and shoulders, sticking close together for the photograph. There was Summer at the end, then me, then Jules, then Mel, then Nina, then…

I had never seen this girl before in my life. Never. But there she was. I can’t even remember getting this picture taken. She was right there at the end. Green eyes, brown hair, muffin top, shy smile, threadbare shirt and ripped jeans, looking straight at the camera like the rest of us. She looked as normal as can be, just another teenage girl.

Annie looked over my shoulder. “Oh, there you all are. What did you call yourselves again?”

“What happened to her?” I couldn’t even touch her photograph, just let my shaking finger hover over her face.

Annie fell quiet. “Well, I guess you might not really remember that well, after your head injury. And you just kind of faded away from everything, stopped doing much at all. But Emma disappeared. Out of nowhere. The cops came by once to ask questions, but her parents were both poor and junkies, so no one really cared. Just another girl that disappeared.”

I left Annie and went back to my apartment, the one I shared with my boyfriend. He took one look at my face and started boiling some water for tea, grabbed a blanket to throw over my shoulders. I pulled away from him, locked myself in my room. I stared at the ceiling. I was eighteen again, lost and confused.

The girl’s green eyes haunted me. Emma’s eyes haunted me.

I went on facebook and found my old friends, my best friends, and I told them, “Please meet me back at home. It’s important.”

I returned back to our big-town little-city, went to the newest Starbucks and waited. They trickled in, one by one. Jules, small time blogger who works at an Italian restaurant until she made it big. Summer, brown and freckled from band camp, coaching kids for their field shows. Nina, the hot librarian at their old high school. Mel, her belly swollen with her second child, wedding ring secured to her left hand by her high school sweetheart.

My friends were not the same, and neither was I.

I cut to the chase. I couldn’t spare a moment for small talk. “What happened to Emma?”

They exchanged uneasy glances. They knew this was coming. “Nothing,” Jules said with finality. “Emma wasn’t real.”

“She was just a trick,” Nina said softly. “She was a prank.”

I figured they might pull this shit. I reached into my bag and slammed the yearbook down on the table, making our drinks rattle and one fall over, spilling tea onto the ground. No one moved to try to pick it up. They stared at the yearbook instead. “Emma was real,” I finally whispered. “Emma was real. What happened to her?”

“Nothing—”

“Cut the crap, Jules,” Summer snapped. She turned to me. “Lotte, you killed Emma that day by the pool. You went nuts and kicked her and kept kicking her when you slipped and fucked up your head, and you bashed her head and she fell in the pool and it was too late to save her and we had to worry about you and—”

“Summer!” Jules shrieked, swatting her in the arm. I was silent, absorbing what Summer said.

Mel spoke up in a tiny voice. “Lotte… we weren’t going to let you go to jail.”

I looked up at my friends, tears running down my cheeks. “Why?”

Nina reached across the table and took my hand. She squeezed it, hard. “Because we’re the Unbreakable Six. We don’t break because one went crazy and another’s dead.”

I excused myself to the restroom and wept for what seemed like hours. It couldn’t have been that long, but there were angry knocks on the door from other patrons who needed the restroom. I sat there on the dirty floor, sobbing, until I had cried everything out.

I came out where my friends—my best friends—were still waiting. I sat down in my seat and faced them. “I want to turn myself in.”

There was an outcry of different responses. Summer seemed willing, ready to have me turn myself in to the police. Jules yelled out about them all getting in trouble. Mel started to cry. “You don’t have to,” Nina said. “You don’t have to, we got rid of all the evidence, we buried her far away where no one would find her.”

“I want to turn myself in,” I repeated firmly. “I killed her. I’ll tell the cops that it was just me, that I buried her. Tell me where she is so I can tell them where I put her. None of you will get in trouble, it wasn’t your fault.” I thought I had finished crying, I thought I had nothing left, but I choked out what I wanted to say for so long. “I never saw her.”

They looked at me expectantly.

“I never saw her, not even once. I thought… I thought it was just a big prank you were playing on me, I didn’t want you to laugh at me… The girl in the yearbook, I had never seen her before. I just played along.”

Nina nodded. “I thought it was weird that you were always so cold to her. Like you didn’t even acknowledge her.”

“She really liked you,” Mel said. “She thought you were so smart, that you were going to go out in the world and do amazing things. She would always talk about that.”

I felt as though my heart would burst. “I swear I never saw her. Something must be wrong with me, but I never saw her or heard her…” I cleared my throat. “Show me where you buried her.”

We got into Summer’s car and drove out far, into a park in a different city. The park was huge and overgrown, like no one had been there to take care of it in a long, long time. I got out of the car, and left behind by a worker long ago was a rusty shovel. I took it with me.

Jules led the way, deep into the park, deep through the trees, until we came to a small clearing. The dirt wasn’t fresh, there were no markers or indicators, but the way my friends’ faces paled at the sight, I knew this was it. Emma was there, under our feet.

“I gotta see her,” I whispered. I dug the shovel into the ground. “I gotta see her.”

Mel didn’t want to see anything, so she and Nina left back for the car. Jules and Summer found different tools, a hoe and a rake, and we started digging. Blisters rose and popped on my hands from the old shovel, but I kept digging as beads of sweat rolled down my neck, my back.

The three of us worked together in silence, digging up our best friend. Suddenly, Summer jumped back in disgust, throwing her hoe aside. Jules did the same, stepping out of the hole. We looked down. Summer gagged, covering her mouth and nose, and Jules shook her head at the sight.

Me? I laughed and laughed and laughed, tears streaming down my face, laughing until it hurt as I looked down into an empty grave.

Original

EDIT: explanation

Bite (Part 2)

Taehyung x Jungkook x Reader
Vampire Smut AU
Word count: idk sorry. Alot.
Warnings: Pain, Blood, Cursing
One more part after this. I’m dead. Jungkook is so dominant in this it makes me very happy and weak I cant…. did u see his abs??!!

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 3 (No Vkook) | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |
Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16


“Hello (Y/N), you’re here to donate your blood for people who can’t survive without it, for Vampyres.”

As her last words left her mouth, her face split into a calculating smile, showing her teeth as she did so as her canines dropped down and elongated into sharp, white points.
——–

“Stop screaming.” Said the pretty girl with fangs. I hadn’t realized that the annoying shrieking sound that reverberated against the high walls was coming from me until I stopped, obeying her command.

“Breathe.”

My lungs filled with air once, twice, three times as I tried to process what I had just witnessed.

“Stay calm, no one is going to hurt you.”

I took one last deep lungful of air before releasing it slowly with an obedient “okay.”

“My name is Seulgi. I am a Vampyre. Vampyres exist, none of the ones here will harm you. If you agree, today you will be donating your blood to some thirsty people who greatly appreciate your sacrifice and we will also generously compensate you for it. Okay?”

“Okay.” My voice sounded foreign and strange but I could feel it coming from my own throat. The dazed feeling I had been under lessened once Seulgi turned to Jazmin and nodded her head at my friend who turned to me with a sorry expression on her pretty face.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you this before, we all are put under a compulsion to not tell anyone their secret. I was scared at first too, but when I saw Jin, he told me that he wouldn’t hurt me and that he’d be as gentle as I wanted. Plus, I really couldn’t resist him, I mean, he’s beautiful and charming and tall and his smile is just…, Anyways, they’re just like us except they, you know, drink blood to survive. And they pay you! Don’t you really need the money, or else you’ll have to drop out and get a full time job?”

I nodded my head and swallowed, her words still swimming in my head. Drink blood? Vampyres? Compulsion?

“(Y/N), do you trust me?”

I stared at her deep brown eyes, suddenly unsure of my answer, until I remembered how we had vowed to always protect and trust each other when were just kids.

“We’ll always look out for each other, okay?”
“Always.”

“Do you trust me?” she repeated. I knew my answer.

“Always.”

Her face lit up in a smile of recognition for our phrase and she took my hand in hers.

“Always. Okay, Seulgi, I think we’re ready.”

Seulgi spent the next 20 minutes explaining the contract and process to me so I fully understood my options before I signed a binding contract with their company which I found out is named HemCorp. The name made sense since their business was blood. I opted for the one time donation process for now, which she told me could be changed later, if I decided I wanted sign the year contract. It was all very business-like and professional, which eased my anxiety a little.

“I’ve paired you with two of our clients, Taehyung and Jungkook. They will only take half a pint each, which is collectively the same amount you would donate to the Red Cross. They are both very nice, sweet guys, if you have any concerns or boundaries just let them know and they will totally respect you. Many people experience a Blood Bond between themselves and the Donee, so don’t be surprised if that happens. Oh and one more thing, you can’t tell anyone about the donation process or what we are, okay? Okay. Now that you’ve signed the liability waiver, the confidentiality agreement and the contract, I’ll take you down to meet the boys.”

Jazmin and I followed Seulgi down the hall with the chandeliers and to a waiting room with another door where she punched in a security code. A high pitched chime sounded and a tiny green dot lit up and the door unlocked, allowing Seulgi to open it and let us through. As she led us through the maze of halls and rooms, I caught glimpses of people, men and women. It was easy to tell who were the Vampyre and who weren’t. They were the ones who were beyond beautiful, the ones whom you couldn’t help stare at as if their beauty put you in a trance. I noticed a muscular blonde boy talking animatedly to another boy who was taller and had a light pink cast to his own blonde hair. I heard the tall one say the others name as we passed.

“.. I can’t hang out today Jackson, but I should be free on Sunday..”

I looked in the doors that were open, curious as to what they held, peeking one room with an orange haired boy who was laying down on a couch, hands behind his head and one knee propped up. He winked when he noticed my eyes were on him and I sped up, passing his room.

“I put Tae and Kookie in the room next to Jazmin and Jin. I thought it might make you feel more relaxed if you knew your friend was on the other side.”

“Thank you, that does help, actually.”

Just then the door on the left opened and a tall boy with soft brown hair and a handsome face stepped out and embraced Jazmin with such warmth and gentleness, that I couldn’t help but smile for her. She melted into his embrace and I knew this must be Jin.

“Hello, you must be (Y/N), it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Jin.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you too.” I said, smiling as I shook his outstretched hand.

“Okay! Introductions are over, now we can go in. have fun (Y/N)!”

Jazmin was clearly eager to be alone with Jin and I laughed at her rushed attitude as she dragged him into the room and closed the door. Seulgi opened the door on the right and flipped the light switch, illuminating the room as we stepped inside. The room held a large bed on one wall and there was also a couch along one side and chairs and a table in the middle. The furniture had a dark stain finish and the linens on the bed were mostly in a dark red color, and large black planters held exotic plants like Birds of Paradise. A large furry, white rug paired with the dim lighting gave the room a warm, cozy, sensual feel. It looked like a very expensive hotel room.

“The boys will be here in a second. The rooms are soundproof for privacy so if you need anything just press this button next to the door and someone will come. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

She left with a genuine smile on her face and I was finally alone, standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what I should do with myself. I moved over to the bed and sat on the soft, plush comforter, but immediately stood up. The bed seemed too casual and sensual. I decided to sit in one of the chairs instead and stiffly awaited the two Vampyre that I would be ‘feeding’ tonight. The clock on the wall ticked slowly, mocking my nerves with every second.

Suddenly, the door clicked open and in walked two very handsome boys, both slightly taller than me. One had warm, golden skin, dark brown hair with golden highlights and had thick lashes that framed his dark irises. He wore a loose sweater and black leather pant with boots, just like me. The other looked slightly younger and he had shiny black hair, lighter skin, big innocent eyes, and pink lips. His clothes were more casual, a long black t-shirt, fitted ripped jeans and tan Timberlands. The one with the lighter hair made his way over to me and I stood up to greet him respectfully. He slowly circled me, drinking me in with his eyes before speaking.

“You’re very pretty… Hi, I’m Taehyung, this is Jungkook.”

His voice was deep and soothing, but also had a lightness to it as if he was always laughing. I liked the way it caressed me and it made me want to smile and laugh too. Instead of shaking my outstretched hand, he grabbed me, wrapping his arms around my frame in a warm hug that took me by surprise, but I hesitantly returned it. Jungkook simply walked up to me, shy smile on his face that showed his cute bunny teeth, and gave me a quick bow and a

“Hi.”

“It’s nice to meet you (Y/N), Seulgi told us this is your first time. Do you have any questions?” asked Taehyung, genuine concern in his voice.

“NO SEX…I – um- I mean, let’s just keep it professional.” Taehyung smiled and laughed while Jungkook blushed and avoided eye contact with me.

“Okay, but you might not be saying that in a few minutes. But, let’s get started shall we?!” Tae moved onto the bed and sat on his knees, patting the bed in-between his legs, indicating for me so sit in front of him.

“Sit with your back against me and Jungkookie will be in front of you while I’m at the back. It’ll be easier that way.”

I moved onto the bed and sat rigidly between his knees, tense from the awkwardness of it all. Tae grabbed my waist with his large hands and quickly pulled my back, situating me even closer to him, my back flush with his chest and I could feel my cheeks heat with blood at his contact.

“Just relax (Y/N)…” his voice went even deeper than before and it had a honey smoothness to it, just like Seulgi’s had when I first met her. My body relaxed into his and the heady sweetness of his voice flowed into me, soothing my mind and my muscles.

“Good girl.” He purred into my neck. His rumbling voice stroked a small flame into existence inside of me and my body suddenly became deliciously warm. Jungkook made his way over, the bed dipping under his weight as he crawled next to me and straddled one of my legs, reaching for my hand.

“Thank you, noona. We really appreciate this.”

I was surprised by how smooth and manly his voice was despite how young and cute he looked and I smiled at the sincerity I heard within it.

“Y-You’re welcome. Im glad to help..”

My voice felt weak and broke a little at the start. I was painfully aware of Tae behind me and the way Jungkook was stroking my hand and wrist in slow, tickling motions that made my heart race and my body shiver with anticipation.

I was told the experience was unlike any other, being bitten by one of the Vampyre; slightly painful but mostly pleasurable. I was told it was almost like a drug, a high, where everything could be felt and every sense heightened. It was part of the allure that drew humans to the Vampyre and had them continuously returning for more, an evolutionary advantage that ensured the survival of their species. Even now, that built in sensor in my head for danger was buzzing, but I ignored that warning, instead reveling in the transic bliss that the two boys seemed to inject me with, with just a touch or a growl of their voice.

“I’ll go first, (Y/N), so we don’t overwhelm you. It’ll sting at first, but soon it will change.” said Tae right next to my ear.

I nodded to let him know I heard and understood because at the moment, I didn’t think my voice would be anything other than a pathetic whisper. His slightly cold fingertips lightly brushed the hair away from the side of my neck and I automatically tilted my head, giving him more room to work with. My heart beat hard and steady inside my chest and my breathing became shallow and fast paced but he didn’t bite down on my flesh just yet. Instead, his hand teased my cardigan until it slipped past my bare shoulders and fell down my arms, pooling around me and the bed. Jungkook helped me slip out of the soft material, pulling one arm out at a time. I shivered as cool air pricked goose bumps into my skin, one by one.

“You have beautiful skin…”

Tae’s voice trailed and he tapped his fingers up my arms and over my shoulders, squeezing and rubbing a small massage into my muscles before taking my face in his large hands and sharply tilting it in a dominant motion. He laid his warm lips against the smooth patch of skin beneath my ear and I braced myself, expecting to feel a sharp piercing sensation but I was teased yet again, by him gently kissing and sucking small discolored clouds into my flesh. An electric tingle coursed through my body and I feebly moaned as my nipples hardened and strained against the tight corset. A deep chuckle rumbled through Teahyung’s chest and I snapped my eyes open, suddenly aware of the lewd reaction I was having. My cheeks grew hot from embarrassment and even hotter from the hungry, lustful expression on Jungkook’s face as he watched the older boy torture me. His eyes were cloudy and hooded and his mouth hung open as he breathed deeply. But the most interesting thing was the pink tinge that stained the skin around and in the whites of his eyes, even his previously dark brown iris’s now held a burgundy richness to them. Blood Lust.

“Are you ready?” Tae’s whispered question tickled across my skin.

I hesitated for a second, moving my hands to tightly grip his thighs as he awaits my permission.

“…Yes.”

All at once, he snaked an arm around my waist and held my head steady with the other as his teeth scraped and then punctured through my skin and into the carotid artery on the right side of my neck.

At first, the pain is sharp and white hot as one would imagine, but almost immediately it slowly begins to morph into a brand new level of pleasure that you have never experienced before. It’s like listening to a beautiful song, or eating a decadent piece of chocolate cake. It feels like when your crush touches you or smiles at you for the first time, and also like the first day of spring after a cold winter. It’s riveting and all-encompassing and completely overwhelming.

I am breathing hard and loud as he slowly draws the warm blood from me, drinking me into his body, and I understand why someone would form a Blood Bond with a Vampyre. In the moment of feeding, you share such an intimate act with them. They give you so much pleasure and a heightened sense of awareness that most people couldn’t even imagine, but you also literally become one as your life source nourishes them from the inside out. It’s beautiful, it is addicting.

My skin burns and tingles, I can feel every tiny air current in the room and I can hear my own heart racing, I smell the woodsy and musky scents of each boy, as well as the shampoo that lingers in their hair, I can smell my own arousal that has begun to pool at my core. Small trickles of warm liquid fall down my neck every so often, only to be licked up by Taehyung’s heavenly tongue. Each time his wet, pointed muscles flicks over my sensitive neck, I whimper and squeeze my thighs together, trying to lessen the pressure building inside as much as I can, to no avail. At some point my hand gets lost in his soft hair, tugging sharply as each new wave of euphoria envelops me, and he groans deeply into my neck which only amplifies my arousal.

I aware of the growing erection pressed against my lower back that twitches every time I pull his hair, but I’m not opposed to it anymore, at this point I would welcome any relief that he could give me. All too soon, Tae stops sucking at the small punctures in my neck and somehow seals them so that I am no longer bleeding freely. His fingers tilt my head to his and I see him lick the last traces of my blood from his lips before he moves in to connect our mouths in a kiss, stopping just before they touch, respectfully waiting for me to decide if i am ready. I don’t hesitate and hungrily press my lips against his.

The kiss is hot and rough, and he almost immediately slips his tongue against mine and the slight taste of metal and salt fill my mouth. We are ravenous with lust, Jungkook forgotten until he impatiently grunts in disapproval.

“Not yet, Taehyung. I’m thirsty.” I can hear the strain in his cracked voice as he tries to control his Blood Lust. Tae reluctantly pulls away from me and I’m devastated that his tongue is no longer tied with mine, but I concede to Jungkook without hesitation as well. I offer the unmarked side of my neck, but he just gently pushes me until Tae is cradling my Upper body in his lap, a fluffy pillow placed under my head to keep me comfortable.

“I don’t usually go for the neck, I prefer the Femoral.”

I rack my brain, trying to remember where the Femoral Artery is. Jungkook scoots down the bed and removes my shoes and socks faster than I can see, his hands a blur, and then peels off my leather pants to reveal my simple black lace underwear. I try to cross my legs over myself in an attempt to be modest but Jungkook is so strong, too strong, and I can’t fight him when he roughly pulls my knees apart and pins my legs down. His eyes bore into mine while he slowly trails kisses up my left leg, sucking and licking knots of want into my stomach with each star burst that appears on my skin. The sight of it is so erotic and sexy and predatory, I become a panting, moaning mess underneath him. By now his irises are completely blood red and faint black veins appear under the thin, pink skin around his eyes. As he makes his way further up, he stops at the inner part of my upper thigh and moves my leg so it lays flat against the bed and he has clear access to my smooth, soft flesh.

“The scent of your arousal is almost too good to avoid, I’m not sure what I’m hungrier for at the moment…”

But clearly, my blood was more important since he chose to bite down harshly on my inner thigh, close enough to my core to make me whine and whimper in disappointment. Jungkook’s fangs are slightly longer and thicker than Taehyungs are, and they inflict more pain as he clamps down and sucks hard, but that pain fades just as it did before, replaced by an indescribable bliss.

“Fuck…Fuck…” I moan. Tae must find something in my weak voice to be concerned about.

“Are you okay, Love? Do you need a break?”

His hands cradle my face and I peer up at his as he looks down upon me, his bangs falling into his eyes and he looks so beautiful like that, so sexy that it hurts.

“I – I – I need you. I feel like I’m… going to explode…” I pant out, in a strained voice.

Tae smiles and his tongue teases at his lips before he speaks again.

“What do you need from me (Y/N)?”

He knows what I need, I can see it in the hot glint in his eyes as he drinks in my wrecked state, flushed and disheveled below him.

“I – I need you to fuck me, please…” I beg.

The smirk on his lips falters slightly and I notice his eyes shut as pleasure runs up his spine.

“Shit, you sounds so good when you beg. Jungkook, I think it’s time to stop now.” He orders.

But Jungkook has already stopped. Just as Tae speaks, he rips off my underwear and tosses the scraps of lace to the ground and runs a finger lightly across my slick folds and I cry out at how sensitive I am, gripping the bed sheets with one hand and Taehyung with the other.

“You little -!”

Jungkook cuts the older boy off by gripping my hips and yanking me down the bed until my bottom is at the edge and my legs are hanging around his shoulder as he kneels on the ground in front of my wet mound.

“I’ll be that you taste just as good here.” Jungkook purrs.

“I’m sure she does.” Taehyung agrees.

anonymous asked:

Your writing is stupendous! Could you do a soulmate au w/Tsuna, & he's an apathetic, playboy jerk to s/o @ first, but they act like they don't care either & they act it perfectly. They give as good as they get & drive Tsuna wild until he claims them.

On the skin of their left breast, right above where their heart is located, people are born with a soulmark.

Every person’s soulmark was unique, the one phrase their counterpart uttered that stood out the most within the first hour of their initial meeting. The mark having been recorded on their chest, before they ever even met.

Sometimes people were born with hand signs on their chest, inspiring them to learn sign language. Some were in quotation marks, their counterpart having been encountered through media (one notable incident involving one counterpart being a telemarketer and calling the other without realizing it).

There was never a guarantee that you would find your counterpart, there being plenty of those whom never did, but there was always the chance you would… And that fueled the ambitions of many to go out searching for someone they might never find.

(inspired scores of international conventions where people were randomly sorted into groups of ten and spent one hour together, just talking in the hopes that one of them ended up being their match; if nothing happened, they would shake each others hands, wishing each other good luck and parting)

Another thing that was never guaranteed, was that it would be a romantic interest on the other side of that mark or even just one singular marking. There had been many reported cases of quasiplatonic-soulmarks and even select few poly-marks where there had been more than one counterpart. Sometimes, a person wouldn’t even end up liking their counterpart at all.

One thing that was for certain, though, any relationship one had with their counterpart, whether it was romantic or platonic or even one of mutual dislike, was intense and passionate and more emotionally invested than any other connection with a human being. One way or another, counterparts would be gravitated to one another, for better or for worse.

“Hey there, mind if I buy you a drink?” A man asked as he sidled up next to you, dark eyes roving over your rather provocatively dressed form.

Glancing at your half-empty pint before looking back at the interloper with a squint, you answered, “Yes, actually, I’d prefer if I remained uncompromised by whatever drug you’re thinking about slipping in it.“

“You got the wrong idea! I wouldn’t drug your drink, I’m not that kind of guy,” he squawked, caught off guard by the sudden and casual accusation.

It only garnered him an unimpressed and scornful glance from you before you dismissed him entirely with your body language. Already bored with the conversation, you grumbled, “I don’t know you from Adam, so I’ll have to pass. If it’s just a ploy to chat me up, I’ll save you some time: I’m not interested. At all. I’m here to relax, not have a one night stand or start a relationship with somebody. Why don’t you go ask the guy in the green shirt? They look interested.”

On the defensive, he snarled, pride sufficiently bruised from the gruff and rather ugly brush off, “You don’t have to be a bitch about it, jeez. Just say no.”

You remained unruffled, placidly responding with, “I did. You didn’t listen. Bye.”

With a tsk, the man left and blessed silence reined for a little while longer until:

“You know, he only wanted to get to know you.”

Somewhat exasperatedly glancing at the figure that slipped into the seat next to you and ordered a brandy with some ice, you absently responded, “More like he wanted to get into my pants, you mean. Generally, the people at bars either want to get drunk, celebrate, relax, or get lucky. You don’t go to bars to meet people, that’s what clubs and mixers are for, what the purpose of those monthly international conventions are for. I just don’t want to be another statistic.”

Hooded amber eyes flickered in your direction, eyebrows raised in incredulity. After a beat of silence, he managed, “…You make it sound as if you’d die if you went out with someone from a bar.”

Feeling a little playful, you quipped, “I might. There’s lots of sketchy folk out there. Who knows who you’ll bump into?”

“Devilishly attractive young men?” He offered a smirk in your direction, leaning closer with his arm propping up his chin on the counter, obviously attempting to be smooth. Alright then, challenge accepted.

Turning to face him properly now, you teased, “Really? Mind telling me when you spot one? Preferably one who isn’t a fuckboy?”

He recoiled a bit in shock at being blatantly called out, “O-Oi, have a little heart! That was quite cold.”

You tensed in surprise, turning back away to finish off your pint, heart beginning to pound as the phrase echoed in your mind. Have a little heart… Rubbing your chest discreetly with one hand as it prickled in reminder of what was forever engraved there, you mumbled, “Call ‘em like I see ‘em. Anyway, have a name, hotshot?”

“All the ladies call me Tsunayoshi,” he purred.

You grimaced, “Sure it’s not ‘sleazy’? I got all the wrong vibes when you did that, Tsuna. Or Yoshi. But I don’t know, you seem more like a ‘Tsuna’ to me. Makes you sound less pretentious and more approachable. See, look, less of a fuckboy already.”

He made a face, “Your bluntness is offensive. Don’t you have any tact?”

“None,” you relented agreeably, heart finally starting to slow down as you eased back into pace with the conversation. A subtle glance at the clock told you that it had been about four minutes. Fifty-six minutes left to see if the playboy next to you was really your counterpart or another unfortunate false alarm. “But that’s part of my charm, you never have to guess what I’m thinking, just need to ask. A lot people say they think it’s refreshing, but they’re probably just being tactful themselves.”

“Quite possibly,” he allowed, smiling a little bit despite himself. “You still didn’t give me yours.”

“Oh, right, I’m [name],” you answered flippantly.

“Y/n.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I was just testing it out loud,” he snickered. “Rolls right out the tongue, doesn’t it?”

“And you are a terrible flirt.”

“‘But that’s a part of my charm’!” Tsuna mocked in a falsetto voice, clearly imitating you as his amber eyes glinted in mischief. He grinned roguishly when you giggled despite yourself. 

I could get used to this, you thought. A glance at the clock. Forty-three minutes.

You made to say something but were interrupted by a phone ringing and Tsuna’s playful expression melting into one that was rather… intense for lack of a better word. His tousled hairstyle seemed to shadow his face dramatically, dark brown eyebrows drawing together in a frown as his eyes seemed to flash orange (a trick of the light?) as he glared a hole into his coat pocket. Pursing his lips in an attempt to hide the snarl that briefly appeared, Tsuna muttered, “I need to take this”, finished off the tumbler in one go and slapping down money before hurriedly striding away from the bar counter, retrieving his phone and answering it.

He made a study of a harried man with too many responsibilities than what was probably healthy, hunched in shoulders and an agitated gait. You noticed for the first time that he was wearing a suit. It complimented him nicely, providing a flattering look for his butt especially. You could probably bounce coins off of it.

“I’d be careful with that one,” the bartender muttered as he took the empty glass, cleaning it. “He always has a different partner every time he comes in and you’re a good person, y/n. Don’t want you getting yourself hurt, especially with the crowd he throws his lot with.”

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. He doesn’t play for keeps but for fun. I caught a glance of his soulmark once; there’s a scar obscuring it, like it had been scratched out angrily with a knife. People like him? You gotta watch out for; they’ll eat you alive, if you’re not careful, take your heart along with ‘em.”

And with that ominous warning, he left you another pint before moving on to serve the other patrons. Have a little heart… The words haunted you, had always haunted you throughout your childhood. You had made a point to be kinder then, to try to make it so you would never hear those words uttered, because they always sounded so sad to you; a plea in a future that you were pretty sure you didn’t want. But things changed, people took advantage of your kindness, and you grew a backbone. Have a little heart…

You looked up as movement in your direction caught your eyes: Tsuna. You hesitated when he smiled at the eye contact. It seemed like a risk, to ‘have a little heart’ when there was the very real possibility of it being stolen with no regard to it.

But when the smile wavered a bit, almost unsurely, you felt your compassion make you want to take the risk, one last gamble. You grinned back and gave a saucy wink. Twenty-eight minutes left. You could do this for twenty-eight minutes.

As he slid back into his original seat beside you, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “The bartender mentioned you had a dark side.”

A surprise blink before an unreadable look crossed his face. Quietly, he joked, side-stepping the dig for information, “It’s what probably drew him to me.”

Most people who have probably taken the hint and dropped the topic, but you weren’t ‘most people’. Trying again, you prodded leadingly for clarification, “Your oh-so-mysterious dark side?”

“Sure, why, don’t you have one? Oh, wait, stupid question, I bet you’re one of those hopelessly delusional optimistics who dot their “i’s” with little hearts,” the tone was almost biting, buttons were obviously being pushed, meaning there was also some truth to what the bartender had said.

Only the slightest bit uneasy at the realization, you sniffed dismissively, “I’ll have you know, I have just as much of a dark side as the next person.”

He laughed but his tone of voice wasn’t all that amused. Actually, his voice didn’t give away his thoughts or emotions much at all. “Oh, really? Impress me.”

“I have a soulmark complex,” you admitted challengingly, sharp eyes catching the small twitch you got in response. “I used to hate mine. Still do, probably. I did everything I could to make sure it was never said to me. I’ve had nine false alarms. All of them ended badly. Usually with me getting into a fight, because people pissed me off when saying it. It makes me wonder how much worse yours must be that you would scratch it out, if it’s something that I’ve said or am going to say in the next ten minutes, or if you’re also going to be just another false alarm.”

“…I’m not drunk enough for this, but fuck it, why not? Something about you puts me in the sharing mood,” Tsuna muttered, eyes stormy and still glinting orange once in a while, despite the fact there were no candles or flickering light to create that affect that you were aware of. “I was bullied horrendously when I was younger because of mine, to the point where I learned it was better to keep it covered. Mine practically guaranteed that my counterpart would hate me. So, I went about convincing myself that I didn’t care, and after the first several partners, I believed it. I don’t need a counterpart to be happy when I can go out and find plenty of people willing to throw themselves at me with all the companionship I could ever want as many times as I want. I cut it out because I didn’t need a reminder of failure.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, “With an attitude like that, I can see why! I want to feel bad for the people you used so carelessly, but only a fool would fall for you. We’re not your consolation prize, Tsuna, so don’t treat people like one!“

Tsuna stiffened, eyes widening in disbelief before narrowing in consideration. “You know,” he began quietly, voice hushed but so, so dangerous with all the implications behind it. Despite yourself, despite your indignation with his playboy tendencies and the looming disappointment, you leaned in closer to hear better. “The truth is, it wasn’t just to remove the symbol of my failures as Dame-Tsuna, my weakness, but it was also to seal the vow I made that day: to make my counterpart swallow those words by becoming the biggest fool of them all.”

“And just what do you mean by that?”

“I’m going to make you fall in love with me.” Leaning forward across the bar, he kissed you, mouth moving possessively over your own, leaving you breathless and dazed in seconds.

“Damn,” you murmured, the moment he pulled away. “When you go and say things like that, when you do things like that, Tsuna, you make it hard for me to not like you.”

Try to smugly tip me 1p, end up looking embarrassed because you didn't pay enough

I work in hospitality at a huge hotel, generally on the bar. I poured a man two half pints which came to £4.25, ‘how would you like to pay Sir?’ 'I’ll stick it on the room please’ To pay for room charge you have to have the 'wallet’ that your room key came in that says your name and room number and has a signature, just to stop people saying random names and numbers they’ve overhead. 'Okay sir do you have the wallet it came in? Reception gave you it when you arrived’ Him annoyed now, 'erm no it’s in the room’ (reception purposely tell them that they need it for room charge) 'Okay. Do you have any form of ID that has your name on please? It’s just to stop people using your name and number’ 'Oh for god sake I’ll just pay cash’ at a busy bar he proceeds to pull out his wallet and empty his change on the bar, counting out £4.20 in 10 and 5ps. He hands me it with a smug smile, and places 1p on top (if you’re not familiar with Sterling 10 and 20ps are silver whilst 1&2ps are copper, it was an obvious dig). 'Sir there’s £4.21 here it’s £4.25’ Cue him looking embarrassed, 'oh I thought you said £4.20’ and hands me 5p. 'That’s okay sir, here’s your 1p change.’

He soon hurried off.

anonymous asked:

Can I request a scenario where all 13 boys discovering that their lover was a singer (of their favourite genre of music) by going to a concert without knowing their longer was going to perform?

[Mun] マリ: Dude, it’s like you read my mind! I’ve been thinking about a prompt like this for so long. I’m (unfortunately) going to have to divide it up though, otherwise the post will become way too long and I take only one family per request (for obvs reasons… look how long this is omg). Feel free to request the other families separately so that I don’t forget. Hope you like it! 💕


Also, please consider listening to the songs/watching the video I imagined for these prompts! They’re super rad. 


Mukami

Ruki || Frank Sinatra - Fly Me to the Moon
Ruki curiously wandered into a local pub late at night, drawn in by the sound of jazzy music that could be perceived from almost a block away; trumpets, soft drums and bass, accompanied by a clear and almost angelic voice pitched slightly louder than the music. Upon walking in, to his pleasant surprise, Ruki found his lover standing on the stage, eyes closed, swaying gently behind an old-fashioned microphone as she sung Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me to the Moon with every ounce of feeling and sensuality that she could possibly muster. She wore an elegant babydoll dress, its wide sleeves drifting on the air with her every move. It took her a while to notice Ruki, who leaned against the bar with a glass of red wine in hand and a cocky smile on his face, and her voice wobbled a little when she did, but she quickly regained herself and finished the song without missing a beat. After exiting the stage, she felt a hand gently pressing against the curve of her back, followed by a soft kiss to the cheek as she turned around to meet Ruki’s gaze. “Forgive me for overlooking these talents of yours,” he whispered, overcome with admiration as he held her firmly by her waist and pressed his lips tenderly to hers. “You have an astonishing voice, one that I would like to keep only to myself… I reckon I can make you even sing more beautifully when I take you home with me…”

Yuma || Blues Saraceno - The River
The cafe was extremely crowded; Yuma wat sat at the bar, quietly sipping a pint of Guiness as overheard snippets of conversations of the people around him. Suddenly, he felt a drum beat echoing through his body, followed by acoustic chords and a sweet voice that made everyone fall silent and turn around instantly. O my lord, take this soul, lay me at the bottom of the river… Leaning on the bar with a hand on his chin, Yuma tilted his head to face the stage on the other side of the room, and was greeted by his lover looking him dead in the eye as she sang almost too innocently. He had to blink a few times to make sure it was actually her, and frowned at her when she smirked in return, fully aware of the way she was enticing him with the look in her eyes and the subtle swaying of her hips. The devil has come to carry me home, lay me at the bottom… Yuma watched hungrily, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and biting his lip as he watched his lover throw her head back while the heavy sound of the electric guitars kicked in, tracing her exposed neck with those nimble hands of hers. He promptly stood up, making his way through the  sea of people towards the back of the cafe, where he practically dragged his lover off the stage when she had finished her set, angrily pushing her against the wall in a dark corner of the backstage area. He lifted her up and allowed her to wrap her legs around his waist, pushing his body as close to her as possible. “What the fuck do ya think you’re doing, Sow?” he growled, scowling at the satisfied look on her face. “Ya might be hot as hell when you’re moving about like that, but that doesn’t mean you should do it before all those guys, fuck…” 

Kou || BTS - FIRE (click here for the dance cover I had in mind)
The vampire stood backstage, a towel draped over his shoulders to catch his sweat, talking to his manager about the set he’d just finished with his idol group while the crew prepared the stage for the next act to perform. When they were all done, a group of girls dressed in pink-ish satin sportswear excitedly ran towards the stage with microphones in hand, one of whom deviously kissed his cheek as she passed him. Kou had not really been paying attention, and so he turned around to look at the girl. He was suddenly met with his lover’s eyes glancing back at him, winking as she made her way up the stairs while the music started building up in the background. Before Kou could call out her name in disbelief, he heard one of the girls yell bultaoreune! before the four of them broke out into dynamic, synchronised dancing, moving expertly to the strong beat of hip-hop. The manager nudged Kou’s shoulder. “Is that your…” he asked him tentatively. “Uh-huh…” Kou replied as he watched the girls, and particularly his girl, expertly moving about and singing at the same time. He was left flabbergasted, his mouth slightly agape. How had he never heard or seen her sing and dance around the house before if she did it that well? They performed a couple more well-known Korean pop songs before leaving the stage to a standing ovation from the crowd. Kou’s lover proudly trotted towards him, and he took the opportunity to pull her against his body, blatantly kissing her in front of the crew and the other performers. “My, my, M-Nekochan!” he chuckled. “The fact that you dance so well… you can bet your sweet little ass that you’re going to dance some more for me in private tonight.”

Azusa || AWOLNATION - Like People, Like Plastic
It was late at night and Azusa was on his way home with bags of groceries for the rest of the week. It was about a ten minute walk from the Mukami property to the nearest convenience store, which left Azusa no excuse but to go by foot. He turned a corner and he had nearly reached the town square when he heard a soft, familiar female voice singing. As curious as he was, he walked onto the square and neared the small crowd of people tapping their feet, clapping and bobbing their heads, some even singing along, as they stood around the presumed street artist. I stand alone and curse at the sky, I stand alone beside you… Upon coming closer, Azusa recognised the girl as his lover. Why was she standing there? She wasn’t standing there for people to throw some coins in her hat, was she? He joined the crowd and admired her with the others, not knowing exactly why she was there, but glad that she was; a shiver ran down his spine as she belted out perfectly clear note after note. I’ve never felt so alone in my life, baby, I stand alone beside you… The people clapped loudly and praised her when she wrapped up the song, to which she bowed humbly, and slowly started walking away. Eventually, it was just the two of them left, and she smiled shyly at Azusa before he took her into his arms, her guitar still hanging on her back, and planted a tender kiss on her forehead. “That was… very good…” he whispered. “I like it… keep on singing… but only for me…”

Her name was Emma

Her name was Emma.

That’s what everyone called her, anyways. Sometimes they would call her Em, sometimes someone would slip up and call her Emily. She was a part of our group of girlfriends growing up in a large town, not quite big enough to be a city but big enough that there was still privacy between neighbors.

We called ourselves the “Unbreakable Six,” because there was me, Summer, Mel, Nina, and Jules.

And there was Emma.

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Tylenol Midnight 3atre: Hot Potato

Title: Hot Potato
Rating: G
Summary: Potato Rescue is the hottest new food truck nobody knows about. Steve is determined to make Sam Wilson king of all potatoes.  
Warnings: None. 
Notes: This takes place in the Foodiverse, where everyone’s a chef, because of reasons. (Also thanks to post-and-out for Sam’s twitter handle.)

“Eat this,” Bucky said, and shoved a foil package the size of a tennis ball in Steve’s face.

“No,” Steve said, but he took the foil package and began prying it open.

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A Rave Story part 5

A/N: Hi Emus! Well here is part 5 of A Rave Story! So want to thank @stephlostctrl for letting me know of my music faux pas in the last chapter that I have since fixed and @bitchy-broken for letting me know of a typo I made thank you both and please anybody feel free to point this stuff out to me so I can go back and fix it. So the WC on this is 1,698 so again over my 1500 and under goal ah well I’ll live haha! So hope you like it and feedback is always welcomed Thank!  

I’m tagging some lovely emus that have asked to be on my forever tag list. Please let me know if you want on or off (you won’t hurt my feelings if you do) the list or if you want me to tag you for one particular story, thanks!

@anitavalija @audisodd @areyousad8118 @annemarieted @absolutelynotnico @blue–green @be-strong-fearless   @celestev31 @crystalgiddings1993 @cant-getno-sleep  @ducky17 @eighty-sixcharlie @emmatationsforall @facephase @girl-looking-out-window @inneedofamoralcompass @i-dream-of-emus @ililypop @isthistherightwayround @kristicallahan @kneekeyta @llexis @lau-vm @lilaviolet @lovinglifeandlivinglove @liliam4066 @luly310 @mariamirallegro @milllott @milymargot @mirandasmadeofstone @mmfdftw @mmfdfanfic @nenita1978 @nutinanutshell @parisgirly93 @protectfinnnelson @rafaellabnery @rhi3915 @redprairielily @stephlostctrl @stinemarine @voodoomarie @you-are-world-class-i-mean-that  

A Rave story

A Rave Story part 2

A Rave Story part 3

A Rave Story Part 4


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Her Name Was Emma

i found this somewhere and thought i would share it.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Her name was Emma.

That’s what everyone called her, anyways. Sometimes they would call her Em, sometimes someone would slip up and call her Emily. She was a part of our group of girlfriends growing up in a large town, not quite big enough to be a city but big enough that there was still privacy between neighbors.

We called ourselves the “Unbreakable Six,” because there was me, Summer, Mel, Nina, and Jules.

And there was Emma.

Emma started off as a practical joke by the other girls in the fourth grade. It was probably Jules that started it. She was always playing pranks of people. In high school, she even got suspended once for going too far, and had to babysit for hours to buy that girl a new cellphone. Or maybe it was Summer, who always seemed too busy with music and band to think of such an elaborate prank. Or maybe it was Mel and Nina, who were best friends and could have lived without us, always conspiring together like they were twin sisters.

Either way, I bought my lunch, cold cut sandwich and carrot sticks and a pint of orange juice (I couldn’t stand milk; it would account for how short I ended up being) and walked over to our lunch table. Jules looked excited, waving me over to them.

“Lotte! Look!” I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to be looking. “This is Emma. She moved here from Los Angeles!” We lived far inland and into the boonies. Los Angeles was glitzy and glamorous and chic compared to the flat houses and half-rate high school football that was the only real source of entertainment in the area.

“Uh, what?”

“Los Angeles, dummy,” Jules said, rolling her eyes. “She’s not in our class, she’s in Miss Lark’s, but she’s the same grade as us. Isn’t that cool?”

I still wasn’t sure where I was supposed to be looking. I sat down with my tray uneasily, wondering what I was supposed to see. “Who?”

Summer jabbed me in the side. “You’re being rude,” she hissed quietly. Summer was all about rules and manners. “Say hi to Emma.”

I looked around our table, from Jules to Mel to Nina to Summer and back to Jules, who was waiting impatiently. I don’t know. I was weak. I wanted to fit in. I didn’t get it.

“Hi, Emma.”

They seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, like I was making everything awkward. “Charlotte’s weird sometimes, but her brother has a Nintendo that he lets us play sometimes.”

They kept on talking, chatting about whatever fourth grade girls chat about, and I ignored it. If they wanted to play that prank, then that was fine. I wasn’t going to buy into it. I was always a precocious child; I knew that what they were looking for was a reaction.

That’s how Emma became a normal part of our lives. It was crazy. We would buy her birthday presents, and they’d disappear like they were taken. I wonder how many candle making kits and Mancala games Jules had piling up in her closet after all these birthdays. One year, Mel even got Emma a really nice necklace, and that disappeared too.

We never went to her house. I asked Nina about it when I was sure that “Emma” wasn’t there.

She gave me this scandalized look. “Lotte, don’t be rude. Emma’s family doesn’t have that much money, she’s embarrassed to let us come over. She told Mel that, who told me, and it makes sense. I mean, what she wears all the time… I mean, we still love her, we’ll always love her, she’s one of us. But don’t rub in the fact that we can’t go to her house. That’s mean.”

After I was scolded so whole-heartedly by Nina, I didn’t ask again. They were covering their bases really well, and by seventh grade, I had to accept that they were taking this prank all the way.

It was weirdly comforting in a way. There was this silent friend that I never saw, but she was always around. We would leave seats open for her, and when we did the buddy system someone always had Emma, walk into the bathroom by herself. When we decided that we wanted to be lame and come up with a name for our group of friends, we decided on the Unbreakable Six, even though there were really only five of us.

I was curious in sophomore year of high school when we were having a sleepover. Summer was at band practice late and Emma couldn’t make it, she had to work on her science project, according to Mel. So I asked Jules, the likely mastermind behind it all, “If you were going to write a story about Emma, like her biography, how would you describe her? Down to every detail?”

Jules loved stuff like that. She wanted to be a writer someday. “Well, she’s taller than you, which isn’t hard.” I threw a pillow at her that she dodged deftly. “She’s medium build—” Jules dropped her voice to a whisper, “—even though she gained a little weight recently but we’re not gonna tell her and she’s still beautiful.

“And… she has green eyes and brown hair, and she’s got freckles. She hates getting her picture taken. She’s nice, but quiet, and she dances really beautifully, I mean, you’ve seen her, right?” Of course, that time a few months ago when we turned on some music and danced around together to practice dancing at homecoming, so we didn’t look weird or do it wrong. We stopped after a while and oohed and ahhed at empty space for a while.

I didn’t ask any more questions. I knew that they would keep up the charade for as long as they could manage.

It was in our senior year of high school that it happened. I don’t know why it set me off, not really. It was something little, something stupid. We were hanging out in Nina’s pool, even though it was still too cold to swim. Teeth chattering and goosebumps rising on our skin, we were waiting for the Jacuzzi to heat up to jump in. The cold sunlight cast a long shadow, and the wine coolers we snuck earlier was making that shadow seem menacing. It was annoying for me for reasons I can’t place.

“Look at Emma, Lotte!” Jules called. She wolf-whistled and hooted, over the top like Jules always is. “Hot mama, look at that booty!”

I didn’t know where to look, like always. Like for the past nine years of my life, I didn’t know where to look. Since the fourth grade at our lunch table, dancing in Summer’s living room, homecoming, football games, at the park, in class, anywhere, I didn’t know where to look, because Emma wasn’t there.

That’s when I snapped.

“Fuck Emma!” I screamed. “And fuck all of you! Have you been waiting for this! The moment I completely lose my fucking mind! Well, here it is!” I waved my arms around, manic and furious. “Emma. Isn’t. Real. Emma isn’t fucking real!”

I looked at their confused faces. “Oh, you’re gonna keep this up? I fucking hate you guys, you’ve always done this, made me the butt of your student prank for almost ten years, guys! TEN YEARS!” I slipped a little on the wet concrete but regained my balance. “Fuck you, I hate you so much.” Tears welled in my eyes, years and years of pent up frustration finally spilling over. “Emma was some stupid prank that got out of hand and I can’t believe that none of you ever had the balls to tell me that it was a stupid prank! No, it had to keep going, you had to keep laughing behind my back! It’s not fair!”

Summer was furious. “Lotte, don’t fucking be this way, Emma is right there and you’re being a bitch, why are you doing this? Are you mad?”

Mel spoke up in a tiny voice. “Lotte, you look hot too, I mean, you look good in your bathing suit too.”

“Yeah, but don’t take out your anger on Emma, god,” Nina said, rolling her eyes. Nina walked over to the side of the pool and reached out a hand, like she was rubbing someone’s back. “It’s okay, Emma, Lotte’s just under a lot of stress right now, figuring out where she wants to go for college.”

“Shut up!” I howled miserably. “Stop it, stop it, stop it! Emma isn’t real! She’s not there! How could you guys do this to me?”

They were starting to look scared. They were really invested in this prank. I wondered what the endgame was. When were they going to start laughing, when were they going to jump up and say, “Gotcha!”

I had enough of this. If they wanted to play charades, then let’s play charades.

The next part was a blur. I don’t remember it, not even now. But I walked over to where Emma was and I kicked at the air. I heard a scream and I slipped on the slick, wet concrete and hit my head. There was blood everywhere. There was so much screaming, but I kept on kicking and punching and fighting until I blacked out completely.

I came to a day later in the hospital. My parents were there, and so were my friends. They were pale and tired and miserable looking. My heart panged. I must have really scared them. When my parents left, Jules approached me. She took my hand.

She began crying. The others stared crying too. “I’m sorry, Lotte,” she wept. “I’m really sorry.”

It was almost frightening, looking at the way my friends were. They were beside themselves in the privacy of the hospital room. I started crying too. I wasn’t sure why, but I started stammering apologies too, like if we all said sorry things could go back the way they did. “I’m sorry,” I cried.

Summer was the only one who didn’t look like she forgave me completely. She looked at me, eyes red and cheeks pink and wobbly chinned, and said, “Are you?”

I didn’t have to answer. The nurse came in to change the bandages on my head.

For the rest of the year, no one mentioned Emma. Emma only belonged to our tight-knit group of friends, so there was no mention of Emma. One time, a cop came to the principal’s office, and Mel and Nina were quick to drag us away.

After the accident, I withdrew from everyone. I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t go to Summer’s recital, I didn’t go to Mel’s birthday party, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t go to prom, just stared at the ceiling, wondering what had happened. Emma was in most of my life, and now she felt like a ghost.

I graduated high school and left immediately to go to a university far away in Southern California, where the weather was always perfect and the beach was a five minute walk away. I started to recover. I realized that I was depressed after what had happened, understanding that my best friends chose a punchline over me. Unbreakable Six, yeah right.

I got good grades, volunteered at an animal shelter, found a boyfriend. He was so nice to me, even when I got quiet when he asked about high school. He never pushed, just held me when I had bad days and made me pancakes.

It was four years later when I was about to finish up college when I ran into an old classmate from high school. Her name was Annie. She hung out with a different crowd than me and my friends. Most people did; the six—the five of us were a clique of our own, separated from everyone else.

I ran into her in our apartment complex. It turns out that she was living there the whole time and we didn’t know. I wasn’t necessarily friends with her, but overreacted the way you do when you see someone that you haven’t seen in a long time.

“It’s been forever!”

“Oh my god!”

I went to her apartment for coffee and saw that she was packing up her things. “Moving back home for a while until I find a job, yuck.” I saw a thick book on the sofa. “Oh, yeah, that’s our senior yearbook. I was flipping through it when I found it in my bookshelf.”

I didn’t bother getting a yearbook. I didn’t have friends at the end of high school. But I was curious to see what I looked like back then, if I had gained or lost weight, if my skin had gotten any better. I opened up the first page and was instantly confused.

“‘For Emma’?” I read aloud from the first page. It was a dedication. My mind raced; was there someone named Emma in our year?

“Yeah, it’s really sad what happened to her,” Annie said, handing me a mug of hot coffee.

I flipped through the yearbook, looking for a trace of Emma. Then, I found it. My heart stopped, mouth going dry. My hands shook as I held the yearbook, looking at the photograph.

It was a picture of the Unbreakable Six. We stood with our arms slung around hips and shoulders, sticking close together for the photograph. There was Summer at the end, then me, then Jules, then Mel, then Nina, then…

I had never seen this girl before in my life. Never. But there she was. I can’t even remember getting this picture taken. She was right there at the end. Green eyes, brown hair, muffin top, shy smile, threadbare shirt and ripped jeans, looking straight at the camera like the rest of us. She looked as normal as can be, just another teenage girl.

Annie looked over my shoulder. “Oh, there you all are. What did you call yourselves again?”

“What happened to her?” I couldn’t even touch her photograph, just let my shaking finger hover over her face.

Annie fell quiet. “Well, I guess you might not really remember that well, after your head injury. And you just kind of faded away from everything, stopped doing much at all. But Emma disappeared. Out of nowhere. The cops came by once to ask questions, but her parents were both poor and junkies, so no one really cared. Just another girl that disappeared.”

I left Annie and went back to my apartment, the one I shared with my boyfriend. He took one look at my face and started boiling some water for tea, grabbed a blanket to throw over my shoulders. I pulled away from him, locked myself in my room. I stared at the ceiling. I was eighteen again, lost and confused.

The girl’s green eyes haunted me. Emma’s eyes haunted me.

I went on facebook and found my old friends, my best friends, and I told them, “Please meet me back at home. It’s important.”

I returned back to our big-town little-city, went to the newest Starbucks and waited. They trickled in, one by one. Jules, small time blogger who works at an Italian restaurant until she made it big. Summer, brown and freckled from band camp, coaching kids for their field shows. Nina, the hot librarian at their old high school. Mel, her belly swollen with her second child, wedding ring secured to her left hand by her high school sweetheart.

My friends were not the same, and neither was I.

I cut to the chase. I couldn’t spare a moment for small talk. “What happened to Emma?”

They exchanged uneasy glances. They knew this was coming. “Nothing,” Jules said with finality. “Emma wasn’t real.”

“She was just a trick,” Nina said softly. “She was a prank.”

I figured they might pull this shit. I reached into my bag and slammed the yearbook down on the table, making our drinks rattle and one fall over, spilling tea onto the ground. No one moved to try to pick it up. They stared at the yearbook instead. “Emma was real,” I finally whispered. “Emma was real. What happened to her?”

“Nothing—”

“Cut the crap, Jules,” Summer snapped. She turned to me. “Lotte, you killed Emma that day by the pool. You went nuts and kicked her and kept kicking her when you slipped and fucked up your head, and you bashed her head and she fell in the pool and it was too late to save her and we had to worry about you and—”

“Summer!” Jules shrieked, swatting her in the arm. I was silent, absorbing what Summer said.

Mel spoke up in a tiny voice. “Lotte… we weren’t going to let you go to jail.”

I looked up at my friends, tears running down my cheeks. “Why?”

Nina reached across the table and took my hand. She squeezed it, hard. “Because we’re the Unbreakable Six. We don’t break because one went crazy and another’s dead.”

I excused myself to the restroom and wept for what seemed like hours. It couldn’t have been that long, but there were angry knocks on the door from other patrons who needed the restroom. I sat there on the dirty floor, sobbing, until I had cried everything out.

I came out where my friends—my best friends—were still waiting. I sat down in my seat and faced them. “I want to turn myself in.”

There was an outcry of different responses. Summer seemed willing, ready to have me turn myself in to the police. Jules yelled out about them all getting in trouble. Mel started to cry. “You don’t have to,” Nina said. “You don’t have to, we got rid of all the evidence, we buried her far away where no one would find her.”

“I want to turn myself in,” I repeated firmly. “I killed her. I’ll tell the cops that it was just me, that I buried her. Tell me where she is so I can tell them where I put her. None of you will get in trouble, it wasn’t your fault.” I thought I had finished crying, I thought I had nothing left, but I choked out what I wanted to say for so long. “I never saw her.”

They looked at me expectantly.

“I never saw her, not even once. I thought… I thought it was just a big prank you were playing on me, I didn’t want you to laugh at me… The girl in the yearbook, I had never seen her before. I just played along.”

Nina nodded. “I thought it was weird that you were always so cold to her. Like you didn’t even acknowledge her.”

“She really liked you,” Mel said. “She thought you were so smart, that you were going to go out in the world and do amazing things. She would always talk about that.”

I felt as though my heart would burst. “I swear I never saw her. Something must be wrong with me, but I never saw her or heard her…” I cleared my throat. “Show me where you buried her.”

We got into Summer’s car and drove out far, into a park in a different city. The park was huge and overgrown, like no one had been there to take care of it in a long, long time. I got out of the car, and left behind by a worker long ago was a rusty shovel. I took it with me.

Jules led the way, deep into the park, deep through the trees, until we came to a small clearing. The dirt wasn’t fresh, there were no markers or indicators, but the way my friends’ faces paled at the sight, I knew this was it. Emma was there, under our feet.

“I gotta see her,” I whispered. I dug the shovel into the ground. “I gotta see her.”

Mel didn’t want to see anything, so she and Nina left back for the car. Jules and Summer found different tools, a hoe and a rake, and we started digging. Blisters rose and popped on my hands from the old shovel, but I kept digging as beads of sweat rolled down my neck, my back.

The three of us worked together in silence, digging up our best friend. Suddenly, Summer jumped back in disgust, throwing her hoe aside. Jules did the same, stepping out of the hole. We looked down. Summer gagged, covering her mouth and nose, and Jules shook her head at the sight.

Me? I laughed and laughed and laughed, tears streaming down my face, laughing until it hurt as I looked down into an empty grave.

To all people getting hate for shipping Pewey:

Keep on shipping!

Seriously, just keep having fun with all the fanart and the fanfic. Don’t let these winy babies rain on your parade. Don’t feel guilty for liking something they find revolting (for some reason).

Getting hate? Just block them like you would a scambot. 

and remember

Originally posted by firemango

Have a nice cold pint and wait for all this hate to blow over.


P.S. Is it weird that I pronounce it “Poo-ey”? Cause I think that it makes it a little bit cuter and dorkier…

Creepypasta #490: Her Name Was Emma

Her name was Emma.

That’s what everyone called her, anyways. Sometimes they would call her Em, sometimes someone would slip up and call her Emily. She was a part of our group of girlfriends growing up in a large town, not quite big enough to be a city but big enough that there was still privacy between neighbors.

We called ourselves the “Unbreakable Six,” because there was me, Summer, Mel, Nina, and Jules.

And there was Emma.

Emma started off as a practical joke by the other girls in the fourth grade. It was probably Jules that started it. She was always playing pranks of people. In high school, she even got suspended once for going too far, and had to babysit for hours to buy that girl a new cellphone. Or maybe it was Summer, who always seemed too busy with music and band to think of such an elaborate prank. Or maybe it was Mel and Nina, who were best friends and could have lived without us, always conspiring together like they were twin sisters.

Either way, I bought my lunch, cold cut sandwich and carrot sticks and a pint of orange juice (I couldn’t stand milk; it would account for how short I ended up being) and walked over to our lunch table. Jules looked excited, waving me over to them.

“Lotte! Look!” I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to be looking. “This is Emma. She moved here from Los Angeles!” We lived far inland and into the boonies. Los Angeles was glitzy and glamorous and chic compared to the flat houses and half-rate high school football that was the only real source of entertainment in the area.

“Uh, what?”

“Los Angeles, dummy,” Jules said, rolling her eyes. “She’s not in our class, she’s in Miss Lark’s, but she’s the same grade as us. Isn’t that cool?”

I still wasn’t sure where I was supposed to be looking. I sat down with my tray uneasily, wondering what I was supposed to see. “Who?”

Summer jabbed me in the side. “You’re being rude,” she hissed quietly. Summer was all about rules and manners. “Say hi to Emma.”

I looked around our table, from Jules to Mel to Nina to Summer and back to Jules, who was waiting impatiently. I don’t know. I was weak. I wanted to fit in. I didn’t get it.

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