rag chair

“Forget" Negan x Reader

Words: 3,788

Negan x Reader

Request: Can I make a Negan x reader request? So like where Negan is injured or something and the reader finds him unconscious on the side of the road and takes him to her house to patch him up. When he wakes up Negan has temporarily lost his memory so he stays at the reader’s place. Whilst she takes care of him she falls in love with him, but is terrified that he doesn’t feel the same and will just leave her when he gets his memory back. Thank you!!!

Warnings: Language. Blood. Mentions of death. Alcohol usage. Implied smut. Some inappropriate conversations/talk of sex. Fluff

Originally posted by fallenhuntersx

“Fuck!” You hear a voice yell from a distance. There are a few other male voices that follow, but they are incoherent.

You stop in your tracks, cocking your head in the direction of the yelling. Part of you begins to feel worried- the yelling was going to attract walkers, and the last thing you needed was to fight a herd of walkers alone. You’re out hunting a mile away from your house, and you don’t have enough bows with you to take on very many.

Keep reading

Who Is It?

Originally posted by tomshollandss


Peter x Reader X Bucky

anonymous asked:  Hello, hope you’re well!😁 Can I please request a Peter parker fic where the reader (teen avenger) gets kidnapped and tortured by hydra and Peter and the gang save her? Bonus points if she’s close with Bucky and he basically gives Peter his “blessing😂” after seeing how much he cares. Sorry it’s so specific *cringe* and long *cringe cringe* thx😙

Warnings: Torture, Swearing, no?

I was the tech genius, the one who could hack into anything, the one who hacked into Tony Stark’s security system for kicks and giggles, I was also the one who “accidentally” hacked into the shields software and read all about the Avengers, and now I’m the eyes and ears for the team. Tony Stark was impressed that a young teenager could do such things with just a laptop or a phone, so he decided to bring me in and make me a member of the team. 

And here I am, strapped to a chair, rag in my mouth to keep from talking, men surrounding me, in a dark room, being tortured. One man a punched me multiple times, another used a car battery and wires to electrocute me, while another asked questions. They would take the rag out of my mouth and ask a question, my response was either, “Eat shit” or “They are coming”, which would lead to them continuing to torture me. I would try not to cry out in pain. Which only made them torture me more. 

The torturing came to an end as soon as they heard a loud explosion and the wall behind me busted open. Bucky came in holding a gun, followed by Tony in his suit, Nat and Clint, and Steve with another gun. Peter swinging his way into the room.

“I believe you have something of mine” Tony stated before fighting the men, Bucky and Steve doing the same. 

“Y/N, We got you” Nat spoke softly, while her and Clint untied me.

“Your a tad bit later that I thought you would be” I tried to joke. I tried to stand up but I didn’t have the energy. Clint picked me up bridal style. 

“You’re going to be okay.” Was the last thing I heard from Clint before I passed out.


I woke up to Bucky sleeping in a chair next to my bed. He looked as if he’s been there since whenever I got here. His hair was a mess, he was in comfy clothes, which he only wears before bed or on days where he is having a hard time coping with something. 

Since I started working with the Avengers, Bucky and I have been close, he was like the big brother I never had. We would talk about anything and everything. Everyone would joke saying I stole him from Steve, but our relationship was like a big brother/ little sister, Steve and Bucky’s relationship was like they were actual brothers, they pretty much grew up together. 

I smiled to myself,remembering the day I told Bucky about the guy I liked.

“You can’t date.” He protested “Not until you are 30″

“You’re not my dad” I joked, earning a dirty look from him.

“I’ll kill him then” The assassin joked, earning a dirty look from me.

“You can’t kill another member from the team” I shot back. This caused him to yell at me demanding me to tell him who it was. I took off running, the biggest smile on my face as I heard him yell for me. 

Bucky told the team what I had said, trying to see who it could be. Everyone else, except for him and the guy I liked knew who it was. Which angered him more. Be would not let the topic go. Even when I finally joined them for a mission, and he would ask me while I was hacking into the HYDRA data base. 

That was the last thing we said to each other before HYDRA took me.

“Y/N” Bucky sat up in his seat “How are you feeling?” 

“Sore, but I’m alive” I reached for his hand. “How long have I been out?” 

“Two days. You scared the shit out of me. I thought I lost you kiddo.” He looked down almost ashamed of himself.

“It’s not your fault” I reassured him. “HYDRA sucks ass.” This caused him to chuckle 

“You also scared Peter Parker” He stated. At first I didn’t react “He freaked out. Rambling on about how he never had the chance to tell you how he feels.” I froze.

“What?” Was all I could say.

“I felt stupid, you know, I forgot that he is only a year older than you so I don’t know why I didn’t consider him as a person you could like.”

“Well.. I-”

“At first I thought, what it was me? How sweet she has a crush on me, now I can tease her about it, then I realized no that would be weird. So then I thought of Steve and Tony, but they are like father figures, then I thought of Sam, but no one likes him, except for Steve, then Bruce, but he’s to old, Clint is a no go, he’s also like a brother to you, Vision has a thing for Wanda and vise versa,  Everyone has a crush on Nat, and Thor is like a thousand years old. So that left one person open.” He cut me off.

“Bucky, ple-” 

“I sat him down yesterday and told him that if he hurts you, I will personally hurt him.” He cut me off again. I rolled my eyes. We were interrupted by Peter coming into the room. 

“Hey y/n” He spoke softly 

“Hey Parker.” I waved. “So I heard you liked me?” His face dropped, he looked at Bucky who was now trying to fight the smile on his face.

“I wanted to tell you when you got better, I-” I cut him off

“Cool, I like you too” I watched his face light up. 

“Really?” He asked

“Yes, she said so herself, now will you excuse us, I want to give her some flowers.” Tony interrupted shoving Peter over. 

I laughed as the Team made there was into the room, greeting me and Nat giving me a hug.

 I was truly lucky to have such a good team.  


A Bench Made from Grass & A Chair Made from Rags

The Garden Bench, designed by Jurgen Bey, of Droog Design from the Netherlands, takes plant waste and uses high-pressure extrusion containers to make benches out of dried grass, leaves and wood pruning.  They are completely compostable when they are done being used. Another chair from Droog Design, made by Tejo Remy is the Rag Chair.  Made of rags and pieces of cloth over a wood frame and held together by steel ties.  (Fuad-Luke, 2002) 

Fuad-Luke, A. (2002). Ecodesign: The sourcebook. San Francisco: Chronicle Books Llc.

fluffyblue-artnwriting  asked:

Could I request... BNHA (manga), Bakushima, a scenario where they've been clearly into each other for a while but Bakugou is Oblivious™ and Kirishima tries to get him to see it but in vain and so eventually Kirishima has to just... whack Bakugou over the head with it (figuratively or literally) ?

… *slides you a copy of the manga*

jk of course I’ll write that but like. Is that not also basically their canon dynamic lol.

Forgive my characterization, it’s the first time I’ve really tried to write these two. Also this got… long. Like I love it, but it’s Long. :/


Kirishima might have the hardest head in all of UA – rivaled only, perhaps, by Tetsutetsu – but he didn’t think he’d ever met anyone as dense as Bakugou Katsuki.

It had really started, he supposed, that first night in the dorms. After the whole “King of the Rooms” business had wound down, and after their conversation with Tsu, Kirishima had come downstairs in the quiet, unable to sleep. Bakugou was sprawled across the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

“I thought you went to bed,” Kirishima mentioned casually.

“You were all being so fucking noisy I couldn’t sleep,” Bakugou shot back, but there was no venom in it. Kirishima leaned on his elbows on the back of the sofa, next to Bakugou.

“Satou won the room contest, but only because he gave everyone cake,” he said.

“Like I care about your stupid room contest.”

“Yeah, the room contest thing was kinda stupid, but Satou’s cake was really good.” He licked his lips at the memory.

“What kind?” Bakugou asked shortly. Kirishima glanced sideways at him. His eyes were still firmly fixed on the ceiling, and he was still sneering, but he sat waiting for the answer.

“Chiffon. Super sugary. Well, that makes sense for him I guess. It would make my teeth ache eventually, and I guess it’s not an especially manly thing to eat,” he laughed. “But I’ll save a piece for you next time.” Bakugou didn’t respond for so long that Kirishima started to stand up and leave. When he finally did speak, it was so sudden that Kirishima almost fell over.

“My dad likes baking.” Steadying himself with a hand pressed into the sofa, Kirishima turned fully toward Bakugou, unable to stop himself raising an eyebrow.

“And you like setting his bread and cakes on fire?” he asked. Bakugou’s face knitted into a snarl, finally turning to look at him.

“I don’t just set everything on fire!” he shouted. Kirishima stood, crossing his arms, meeting Bakugou’s glare with skepticism, until, abruptly and unexpectedly, it melted away, and Bakugou flopped his head back against the sofa, returning his gaze to the ceiling. “He really does make good cakes, when he gets a chance to.” Kirishima hovered for a long moment, uncertain whether he ought to leave or not. Bakugou stayed silent. The only noise was the gentle breeze from the air vent. Kirishima began to walk back towards the door.

“I’ll make sure he bakes one if you ever visit,” Bakugou said. Kirishima stopped dead, a jolt of electricity racing up his spine. Slowly, he returned to his previous position, leaning over the back of the sofa.

“I have an uncle who’s a fisherman,” he said into the quiet. “Whenever I spend the weekend at his place he has the best fish I’ve ever tasted, they’re so fresh.”

Kirishima didn’t quite recall how it happened, only that they stayed down there, talking about nothing in particular until the sun came up. He remembered he never came around the sofa to just sit down, but at some point leaned he slid over the top of it, his head hanging down off the cushions, his legs still hooked over the top. He stayed there until the extra blood flow to his head started making him feel dizzy and he flipped upright, sitting next to Bakugou, both their arms flung out to the side yet carefully never touching. Neither of them said a word about it the next day, or let out a peep of complaint about being tired.

Bakugou was never easy to talk to, but after that he seemed like he finally wanted to talk to Kirishima. He would be rude and abrupt, but he would shut him away from conversations – at least, not usually. There was the night he and Midoriya came from whatever fight they’d had, both of them black and blue with bruises, Bakugou’s eyes red as if from tears. He’d shoved Kirishima bodily away when he tried to ask what happened, tiny firebursts in his palm warning of the potential for a real explosion. Kirishima stepped back and didn’t ask again, not even as the weeks went by and Bakugou still refused to say a word about what had happened.

But most of the time, there was an element of his brutal honesty that Kirishima appreciated and respected. There was intelligence and calculation behind it. He wasn’t afraid of Bakugou, which he supposed helped – Bakugou’s explosions couldn’t hurt him unless he really decided he wanted to attack, and Kirishima trusted he wouldn’t do that.

There were days and nights when Bakugou would vent his rage to Kirishima, or occasionally on Kirishima’s room – he cringed at some of the burn marks left on his desk – but more often than not those nights ended calmly. He’d been almost frightened the first time the rage had just vanished out of Bakugou and he’d dropped like a rag doll into the chair next to him, muttering “Stupid fucking Deku,” as an end to a twenty-minute rant about Midoriya. He’d been quiet for almost five whole minutes before Bakugou snapped, “Are you going to say something or should I just leave?” They’d talked for three hours before Bakugou finally left for bed.

Kirishima had been waiting for a while for Bakugou to say something. He didn’t particularly want to make the first move himself, since Bakugou usually reacted to any display of serious emotion with SHUT UP YOU FUCKER I DON’T NEED TO WASTE MY TIME HEARING ABOUT THIS SHIT. But really, it was getting a bit ridiculous. He would have settled for actions over words, since that was more Bakugou’s modus operandi anyway, but Bakugou never initiated anything physical, even if he never jerked away when Kirishima’s arm or leg “accidentally” came to rest against his own. It wasn’t until Aoyama made some jibe about Uraraka and Midoriya’s occasional awkward flirting and Bakugou responded with a completely vacant look that it even occurred to Kirishima that Bakugou might not know how he felt.

Watching his conversations a bit more closely now, Kirishima realized with a sinking feeling that he was right. Bakugou had no idea how Kirishima felt about him. He tried getting more blatant, at first. He was no flirter, and Bakugou wouldn’t have responded well in any case, but he tried to slide suggestion and innuendo into the conversation from time to time. With his quirk, some jokes were almost too easy, and, he would have thought, painfully obvious. Yet, they provoked no reaction. He tried inching closer to him, so those occasional thigh touches became a constant of their talks. No reaction. He blatantly grabbed Bakugou’s knee and squeezed it when he was upset. That earned him the briefest quizzical look and absolutely nothing more.

He had a forty-eight hour crisis where he wondered if he was going insane and had misread every single signal Bakugou had given him. Maybe Bakugou wasn’t even gay, and Kirishima was about to walk into the biggest mistake of his life. He went to Mina in panic. She watched him, staring curiously, as he paced back and forth, tearing at his spiky hair. When he was done pouring out his insecurities, she held up a finger, and returned a moment later with Tsu.

“We don’t really know what to think about Bakugou being in a relationship,” Mina giggled. “But Tsu and I agree, if he has feelings for anyone, it’s definitely you.”

“What if he doesn’t have feelings for me at all, though?” Kirishima asked. His hair hung down and loose about his face as he tugged at it nervously. “What if he’s just my friend? I’m going to fuck that up completely if I say something.”

“You have to say what you’re thinking, Kirishima,” Tsu said, her wide eyes fixed on him. “It’s Bakugou. He’s probably too scared to admit he feels anything unless you say something first.”

“Bakugou. Scared.” Kirishima said flatly. Mina burst into giggles. Tsu ribbited.

“When it comes to feelings?” Mina asked. “Bakugou is terrified of those. Scared to admit he has a ‘weakness’? Abso-lutely.” She leaned back on her hand, grinning and winking at Kirishima, waving him out of her room. “Go on, lover boy, let us know how it goes.” He’d left somewhat comforted, but nowhere near ready to actually talk to Bakugou.

Bakugou came by less once Kirishima was off at his internship, busy with his remedial classes and still nursing the humiliation of having failed the provisional license exam, while Kirishima would drop into bed exhausted each night after the double work of his internship and continuing classes. Still, the night after he faced down the man with the quirk power-up drug Bakugou turned up at his door, looking furious and complaining about the stupid people in the remedial classes – “IcyHot is such a fucking goody two-shoes, he’s insufferable” – for an hour, but eventually his yawns overpowered him and he sat on the edge of the bed, quieting down. “Congratulations on your hero debut,” he muttered. Kirishima had beamed like the sun. He sat on the bed next to him, pressing their knees together.

“Fat had to bail me out,” he said in embarrassed honesty. “I almost let him trick me and get away. I’m too trusting.”

“You would’ve gotten him,” Bakugou said. Another yawn stretched his jaw. He flopped back on the bed, eyes drifting halfway closed. “You’ll make a good hero, Red.” He yawned again. “But don’t get too comfy… Soon as I get my provisional license… I’ll outdo you all…” His eyes were closed.

“As long as you’ll still let me fight beside you,” Kirishima said. He dropped back onto the bed beside Bakugou, who grunted an acknowledgment. Kirishima let his own eyes drift closed as they stayed quiet for a moment. “Hey, Bakugou…?” he started. There was no response. Bakugou was asleep, legs still hanging off of Kirishima’s bed. Kirishima, as gently as he could, pulled Bakugou’s legs up onto the bed. Bakugou stirred but didn’t wake up, turning over and muttering in his sleep. Taking a deep breath, Kirishima crawled onto the bed beside him, trying not to spoon him. He turned onto his side so they were facing opposite directions.

“Just sharing a bed,” he whispered to himself as he reached over to turn off the light. “Nothing weird about it. Just two guys, sharing a bed, deadbeat tired…” When he woke up in the morning, Bakugou was gone. He didn’t see him for almost two days with the way the internship schedule shook out, and when he did, they both acted as if nothing had changed.

He was sleeping lightly these nights, the weight of everything he’d learned from Fat and from Midoriya and Nighteye on his mind. Bakugou came in later than usual, pausing uncertainly on the threshold at the sight of Kirishima reaching out of his bed to switch the light on.

“You were asleep,” he said flatly. Kirishima shook his head.

“Only sort of. What’s up?”

“I’ll let you sleep.” Bakugou turned to go and Kirishima sat up.

“No – hey. You can stay. I’m up now, anyway.” Bakugou hesitated, and then came back into the room, dropping into a chair and propping his feet on Kirishima’s desk. The door swung shut behind him. Kirishima pulled the blanket around his shoulders, shivering in the night air.

“No yelling tonight?” he asked, a wry smile on his face. Bakugou glared at him.

“You really won’t tell me what’s up with the internships?” Kirishima rolled his eyes.

“I told you, I can’t.”

“Why is Deku involved?” he asked bluntly. Kirishima stared.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen you and two of the girls all muttering and whispering together with Aizawa-sensei. I’m not an idiot.”

“I really can’t tell you, Bakugou,” Kirishima said. He pulled his legs up onto the bed and crossed him underneath him. “You’ll get your provisional license soon, I know you’ll do fine on their individual test. So you’ll have an internship of your own soon enough.” Bakugou scowled.

“Yeah, but this isn’t just about the internship,” he said. “Something’s up with the four of you.” Kirishima shrugged.

“Okay, you caught me. I still can’t talk about it.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Bakugou said. He fiddled with a pencil on Kirishima’s desk for a moment. “I should just go to bed. Sorry I woke you up.”

“Bakugou, did you come to my room in the middle of the night just to ask me a question you already knew the answer to?”

“I tried to leave when I saw you were asleep,” he growled.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” he shot back. “Goodnight.”

“Bakugou, wait.” Bakugou was standing, already making his way toward the door. Kirishima pushed off the bed, dropping the blanket from his shoulders and stepping towards him, the sudden chill of the air raising goosebumps on his skin. “Bakugou. Bakugou, stop.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Bakugou shouted, tiny flames bursting in his palms. “Just let me go to bed. It’s late.”

“And you came to talk, so talk.”

“You won’t say anything.”

“But you knew that coming in, and you came in anyway.”

“Because I was hoping you would say something!” Bakugou shouted. He swung around, an explosion bursting from his palm with enough force that it left ash on the floor. He was glaring so furiously at Kirishima that he took a step back. “Something’s going on and you won’t tell me what and it’s us, it’s UA, so that means it’s dangerous, and it’s Deku, so that means it’s stupid. So you’re out there doing something stupid and dangerous, but you won’t tell me what, so what’s the point of me staying?” His hands curled into fists. “Huh?” Kirishima stared at him.

“You don’t have to be worried about me,” he said slowly. “The internships are all with pros. We’re safe with them.” Bakugou’s face darkened.

“Were you safe when you chased that guy into an alley? You were alone, then. You got hurt. You said yourself Fat showed up in the nick of time.” Kirishima stared.

“I got nicked because I didn’t realize he could cut through my hardening, I was hardly hurt—” he started.

“We do dangerous shit. Doesn’t matter who we’re with. Even All Might—” Bakugou sucked in a breath and stopped. “The pros aren’t infallible,” he said.

“I know that, but—”

“Just shut up.” Bakugou’s face was dark, the shadows from Kirishima’s bedside lamp throwing sharp angles across it. “Go to bed, Kirishima,” he said. He turned to go. Kirishima’s arm shot out and caught his shoulder.

“We all do dangerous shit,” he said. “That’s why we’re here. We do dangerous shit so other people can be safe.”

“I said shut up,” Bakugou said, refusing to turn. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” Kirishima hardened his hand, trying to get enough strength to yank Bakugou around to face him.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said. “I’m glad that you care. But you can tell me you care about my safety without getting angry at me about it.”

“I don’t care about your safety, I know you’re fine,” Bakugou said, trying to push Kirishima’s arm off his shoulder. “It’s just stupid that I can’t even know what kind of danger you’re getting yourself into. Let go of me!” He pulled away violently, shoving Kirishima backwards until he stumbled into his bed. “Just forget it, okay? Forget it.” He yanked the door open.

“Bakugou!” Kirishima shouted after him. “Bakugou, stop! Katsuki!” He paused, startled, and suddenly staggered backward as Kirishima launched himself forward and slapped him. “Katsuki, you absolute fucking idiot, will you get back in here?” Glaring at him suspiciously, Bakugou slowly walked back into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Kirishima crossed his arms. “We need to get a couple things straight, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re apparently allergic to the idea of expressing emotions other than anger. And that is going to have to change, at least with me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You came here tonight because you’re worried about me and what’s going on with the internships. Because, if I’m not completely mistaken, you care about me.” Kirishima glared at him, practically daring him to deny it. Bakugou stuffed his hands into his pockets, refusing to reply. “And I care about you. Holy fuck, Bakugou, I care about you more than I care about almost anyone I’ve ever met. You’re smart and you’re manly and you’re an amazing hero, when you’re not cussing out everyone within earshot. And it’s incredible. You’re incredible. And I love sitting here and talking to you and actually getting to know you. But you’re going to have to get a bit better at accepting that you, like the rest of us humans, actually are a person and you have feelings.” Bakugou still remained silent, staring intently at a spot on the wall just over Kirishima’s shoulder. “Am I completely off the mark in thinking some of those feelings are about me?”

“Yes, fine, you’re my friend and I know you can handle yourself but I don’t want to see you get hurt, especially when I don’t even know what you’re doing or where or why and I can’t save you like you saved me.” Bakugou threw up his hands. “Are you happy now, Eijiro? Is that what you wanted me to say? Are we done? Can I go to bed now?”

“Am I just your friend?” Kirishima asked, ignoring the jolt he’d felt when Bakugou had said Eijiro. If he was being honest, he wouldn’t have put money on Bakugou actually knowing his given name. Bakugou glared at him.

“What does that mean?” he demanded.

“Have I really not been obvious enough?” Kirishima groaned. He took a step forward, grabbed Bakugou’s face between his hands, and kissed him as hard as he could. When he released him, Bakugou stumbled back, his face white. He stared soundlessly at Kirishima for a long moment. Kirishima felt panic crawl up his spine. “Was that… Did I just…”

Before he could coherently form a thought, Bakugou had closed the distance between them and then some, shoving Kirishima back up against the bed, pressing their lips together ferociously, his hands tight on the back of Kirishima’s head. Kirishima melted into the kiss with relief. His hands came up to grip Bakugou’s waist, closing any gap between them as he returned the pressure on his lips with fervor until both of them had to break, gasping for air. Bakugou pressed his forehead against Kirishima’s.

“Did that answer your question?” he asked. His breathing was heavy and hot.

“I think so,” Kirishima answered faintly. “I wouldn’t be opposed to you elaborating on your answer, though.” Bakugou reached down and scooped Kirishima’s legs out from under him, practically flinging him onto the bed, and crawled up himself, his knees planted on either side of Kirishima’s hips as he leaned down to press another kiss to his lips. He moved, nipping at the corner of Kirishima’s mouth before pressing his lips against the back of his jaw, down his neck, to his collarbone. Kirishima grabbed the back of his head and pulled him back to his mouth, slipping his tongue out and running it along Bakugou’s lips. He bit it playfully and Bakugou jerked in surprise.

“Watch those sharp teeth of yours,” he growled. Then he abruptly flopped down on top of Kirishima, his face sideways on the pillow next to him. The two boys shifted until they were both lying on their sides facing each other.

“So…” Kirishima said.


“Are you going to be able to actually talk to me now? At least sometimes?” Bakugou scowled.

“I’ve always talked to you,” he said.

“You know what I mean.”

“At least sometimes,” he grumbled. “But we’re clear where I stand on…” He reached up a hand in between their bodies to gesture between them. “This?”

“I think so. And we’re clear that I feel the same way?”

“Crystal,” Bakugou replied. He kissed Kirishima again, his tongue lazily sliding across the roof of his mouth. They lay quiet for a few moments. Somehow, their hands found one another and fingers interlocked. Thumbs rubbed circles and their fingers twisted and stroked quietly. Both their eyes were drifting closed when Kirishima’s phone buzzed loudly. He jumped, reaching over to grab it. His eyes widened at the screen.

Meet in three hours. Eri Mission is today.

He jumped to his feet, leaving Bakugou staring at him curiously. He stammered as he spoke. “I… I have to go. I— I’m so sorry, this is the worst time it could have… I’ll be back tomorrow night, I promise. We’ll… I’ll…”

“It’s fine,” Bakugou said, propping himself up on an elbow. “Just go. Kick some villain’s ass for me.” Kirishima nodded, and then bent down impulsively to press a last kiss to Bakugou’s lips.

“I’ll see you soon, Explosion King,” he said.

Yes, this DOES take place right before the mission where Kirishima literally shatters from a beating, because it’s me and I’m an angst queen. (Also, more practically, because I was trying to fit it into the canon timeline and that was the best spot for it lol) But hey, he’ll have someone very aggressively caring for him when he gets back home. Please picture Bakugou literally camped outside of Kirishima’s door wrapping him in more blankets whenever he tries to move and sending explosions after anyone else who gets close. Hope you enjoyed it angst and all :P

Send me prompts!

runtosleepdreamer  asked:

Hi! I saw that you were doing a turning the sentence into a destiel prompt sort of thing, and if it isn't too much of a bother, I was wondering if you could do this one? "You deserve this." Thanks so much anyway for the fics you have done, I've read a few and am planning to read more and they're really good!!

 “You deserve this.”

They’d been looking for the damned thing forever. At first, it was out of the general need to kill every blood-sucking monster they could find, but after it bit Sam, turning him, things got personal.

It took him three weeks after Sam’s painful turning back process had happened to find him, and two days to lead them into the situation which they were in now.

Castiel had him tied up, waiting on Dean to find them since they had split up once they got here to look for the vamp.

Once Dean finnally found them, and saw Cas watching the vamp with the vamp blade in his hands (a gift from the british men of letters. it’s the only one in existance and only works on low-grade vampires), he looked confused.

The vampire was tied up to a chair, a rag tied around his mouth to keep him from speaking.

Castiel just turned around when Dean entered the room. He could sense him.

Cas extended the knife out to Dean, handle first.

“You deserve this” was all he said, but that was all it took for Dean to understand.

He took the knife from Cas and stabbed the vamp in the heart, watching the life drain from his eyes. “For my brother,” he grumbles, and twisted the blade before yanking it out.

Cas let him kill the evil sonofabitch. All because he knew he wanted to.

“You deserve this” Cas said again after a different hunt.

Dean was covered in cuts and bruises and Cas wanted to heal him.

Dean just stared at Cas, thinking how he thinks Dean deserves to be healed. He thinks just letting Cas heal him is easier than arguing so he just nods and lets Castiel’s grace flow through him and fix him all up.

“For them,” he thought. For the people he would next try and save, who needed people like them to not be injured. So they can kill the monsters that harm them.

Castiel was walking down the bunker steps, a carboard box in his hands. he placed it infront of Dean, who curiously opened it.

A warm apple pie sat inside and Cas smiled at Dean.

Before he could even say anything, Cas handed him a fork. “Good job getting that werewolf alone today. You deserve this.”

How much did this angel think he deserved?

Maybe he didn’t agree, but he took the fork nonetheless. 

“For Cas,” he thought, when he took the first bite. “To please him.”

“You ever thought of . . dating a hunter? Someone who knows the life?”

Dean took a long sip of beer as his brothers words echo through his head. They’d had a conversation earlier about ever thinking about settiling down. Of course they couldn’t. But with a hunter? Sam seemed to think it seemed a possibility.

Maybe it seemed like another vunerablity to Dean. Or maybe he didn’t think anyone could love him enough.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s voice breaks Dean’s chain of thoughts, and startles him a little.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” Cas said. He walked over to the table where Dean was sitting, and sat right next to him.

“What are you thinking about?”

Dean thought of how to answer Castiel’s question in a way he could at least kind of understand.

“Sam asked me, today, if I’d ever thought of getting with a hunter, you know? Date someone who knows the life.”

“Yes,” Cas nodded, “the only way you could probably substain a romantic relationship.”

Dean huffed a sigh.

“Well, what did you tell him?”

“I told him no,” Dean glanced over at Cas. Their shoulders were brushing. “but that was a lie. I think about it all the time. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it.

Castiel scrunched his eyes, “Well what hunter could you imagine yourself being with?”

Dean looked away. “Who am I doing this for?” 

and he looked back at Cas, blue eyes brighter than the sky. “For me.”

And when Dean told him, that he, in fact, was the one Dean saw himself with, Castiel kissed him. It was soft and sweet then full of want, want, want.

And once their lips finnally spereated, Castiel held his head against Dean’s. 

“You deserve this,” he whispered, and he kissed Dean again.

Vengeful Waiter.

When I first moved to NYC my first job was waiting tables in Times Square. It was terrible. I had been a waiter for years. Sometimes a person will stiff you. But here, you would get stiffed many times a shift.

One day I had a table of two. They were the absolute worst. They sent every soda, drink, french fry, you name it back to the bar/kitchen. They would yell for me while I was clearly talking to other tables. After about 90 minutes of being the worst and spending about 65 bucks, they didnt tip me anything. They also left a huge mess on the table and a giant puddle of sprite and mango margarita on the ground. So as i’m on my hands and knees cleaning up, wonderig how much more of this shittiness I could take (i walked out about three weeks later) I noticed the girlfriend left her really nice scarf on the chair. The rags i needed to clean up the sprite/ margarita were about 4 feet away from me, and her scarf was within arms reach. So i used her scarf to dry up all the sticky puddle she had left behind.

She came back about five minutes later, she asked if she left anything. So naturally i pretended to be dumb and eventually remembered “oh is this your scarf. oh, i found it……in that puddle under your table. have a nice day” and then I handed her this dirty, sopping wet scarf and continued on with my life.

Teaching You A Lesson (Part 4)

Zyglavis x MC

(Rating E 18+)

WARNING: This chapter contains kink elements and very descriptive sexual content. 

     I love that all of you are loving this story so much! I am such a nympho when it comes to Zig so I could write smut about him everyday and think nothing of it. I’ll keep writing these till the story comes to a natural end but considering there’s still so much fun to be had it probably has quite a few more chapters before that can happen! Enjoy!

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In Edmonton, Alberta, there is a hotel called the Canterra, off of Jasper Avenue and 109th Street. During the night, go here and ring the doorbell. Should you be let in, look to see who the guard on shift is. If the man looks in his mid twenties, yet the hair on his head and face both are white as snow, take a seat beside the security desk. If it is any other guard on shift, leave and return in a week’s time.

Here you must wait. The guard will say not a word, nor answer any questions you may ask. He hears you, but he will not respond. He will only give you a sad look, as if knowing something terrible awaits. When the time is 2:52 AM, the guard will rise to perform a patrol of the building. Follow him only on this patrol – if you follow him at any time before 2:52 AM, you will be forcefully removed from the hotel, and lose your chance.

Say not a word as you walk the halls behind the guard. He will check that the rooms are all locked, as well as patrol the stairwells. When you both reach the 5th floor, you will notice that it is remarkably colder than the last four. Yes, the floor is deafeningly quiet – it is normal. When the guard secures all the rooms on the floor, you will both stop at a door that seems much older than any other door you’ve yet seen in the hotel. This is room 512. Only this particular guard has access to this room, Take note of the key of which the guard uses to unlock this door – it will be important later.

At this point, the guard will open the room for you and allow you to pass through. It will be quite dark, but do not yet be afraid – the worst is yet to come. Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and step through the doorway. Do not open them until you hear the door close behind you, for seeing the transition can be maddening.

It will be almost unbearably hot, here. You will find yourself in a long hallway with numerous turns. There will be thirteen doors lining this hallway – do not open any of them. Take note which door has a splash of white paint on it, this will be critical soon. When you reach the end of the hallway, you will find yourself in the living room of the suite. In each corner of the room you should see a tall figure, each with burnt flesh. They should all be sitting on the floor, hugging their legs with their heads upon their knees and facing their respective corner. Their fingers will be chewed away until their tips are nothing but sharp, boney talons. Do not address these figures; do not touch them: they are Her guardians.

In the centre of this room, there She should be. She will be sitting in an old, ragged reclining chair. It is impossible to say how She will look, for Her appearance changes for everyone. She should, like her guardians, be asleep. Do not awaken her from her slumber.

For now, you have time to rest. There will be food and drink set out upon the coffee table in front of Her, and you are welcome to it. Do not partake in the pie, however, for it will numb your legs.

Should you be so bold, take a look outside the window. It will resemble a hellish version of the avenue which the hotel is on. The buildings will be burnt-out husks of their former selves, the river valley beyond will be dry and cracked. Fire will appear to be on the horizon, and the ever-burning sun will resemble blood set ablaze. Should you stay for hours on end, you will find no reprieve from the heat – there is no night here.

Now, look to the streets – you will find the same figures there as the ones in the room. They, however, are awake – shuffling, screaming and wailing from their back maws. They have no eyes in their sockets, but by some twisted means they can still see. Take care not to attract their attention, for they will follow you back to our world and this venture will be for naught.

When you are ready, stand before Her and speak clearly these words: “Save me, Mother, please.”

Say nothing else and wait. You should start to hear Her breathe.

At this point, one of two things will happen. Remember the key which the guard opened this room with? Should She place that same key on the table in front of you, count yourself lucky. Should She, however, place a different key upon the table, you will need to give Her an offering. A knife that was not previously on the table will now be present. The blade will be rusted, bloodied. Take this knife, and sever a finger, placing it beside the key. Wait.

If She places the same key as the guard’s on the table, you may take it and leave. If not, remove another finger. This will only occur a maximum of four times before the right key will be produced.

Once the key is in your possession, She will once again return to Her haunted slumber.

Now pay attention, for you only have a short amount of time. The Guardians will be stirring, now. Slowly they will rise from their sleep and turn in towards the room to face you. If they see you, they will slaughter you. Run. You have 10 seconds before they will fully turn from their corners.

Remember that door with the white splash of paint? That is the door you will need to use to remove yourself from this hell. If you hear screaming from behind you, the guardians are fully awake and are coming. You don’t have much time. Find the white-marked door, and get out!

You will find yourself inexplicably outside your own home, exactly a week after you entered the hotel. Keep the key on you at all times, wherever you go.

One day in the future, distant or near, a ragged old door with the number ‘777’ will appear wherever you happen to be. Use the key and open this door immediately. Leave anyone with you behind.

Wherever it leads, it will be far better than what is about to happen to this world.

Vengeful Waiter

When I first moved to NYC my first job was waiting tables in Times Square. It was terrible. I had been a waiter for years. Sometimes a person will stiff you. But here, you would get stiffed many times a shift.

One day I had a table of two. They were the absolute worst. They sent every soda, drink, french fry, you name it back to the bar/kitchen. They would yell for me while I was clearly talking to other tables. After about 90 minutes of being the worst and spending about 65 bucks, they didnt tip me anything. They also left a huge mess on the table and a giant puddle of sprite and mango margarita on the ground. So as i’m on my hands and knees cleaning up, wonderig how much more of this shittiness I could take (i walked out about three weeks later) I noticed the girlfriend left her really nice scarf on the chair. The rags i needed to clean up the sprite/ margarita were about 4 feet away from me, and her scarf was within arms reach. So i used her scarf to dry up all the sticky puddle she had left behind.

She came back about five minutes later, she asked if she left anything. So naturally i pretended to be dumb and eventually remembered “oh is this your scarf. oh, i found it……in that puddle under your table. have a nice day” and then I handed her this dirty, sopping wet scarf and continued on with my life.

Argentina indigenous chieftain leads fight to reclaim ancestral land
Félix Díaz is attempting to change that narrative, by making visible the displaced indigenous minority and reaffirming their rights – and their claims to lost territory. Photograph: Alamy
By Uki Goñi

Félix Díaz stands before a line of colourful plastic tents on one of the broad strips of land running down the centre of the Avenida 9 de Julio – one of the busiest thoroughfares in the Argentinian capital.

“We have many gods,” he says. “The god of nature, the god of water, the god of air, but we no longer have the land we shared with them. They’ve taken our gods and now they’re taking what little is left of our land.”

Díaz, the chieftain of the Qom indigenous tribe, is leading the fight for the return of his people’s ancestral lands in the distant northern province of Formosa. Together with representatives of the Pilagá, Wichi and Nivaclé indigenous communities, the Qom activists have for the past five months camped out in central Buenos Aires to demand the return of their traditional territories. 

But his words are drowned out by the thunderous din of traffic – and his message has been actively ignored by government officials.

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