so far awar

3

I wanted to do something in order to celebrate Zero Escape’s release on steam but it somehow turned into a showcase of my FAVES from each game

hey so i know i dont usually post about romanian things but i need to say this

so last night (yes, in the middle of the fucking night, like the filthy thieves they are) the romanian government passed a law that, basically, makes corruption legal (if its under 45k euros, which is a LOT) AND they’re going to let all the (few) people who (they barely) arrested for this out of prison… 

i know this isnt as important to america as trump, but this is HUGE to us. there were (as far as i know) 90 thousand people protesting last night (the last time there were protests this big was in 1989 when communism fell, just to give you a perspective) and there are going to be even more today

this country has had problems with corruption since the dawn of time but i dont reckon it ever being made LEGAL. i just figured id bring some awareness to this…

here and here are two sources

Fault

(Part 2)

Summary: 

“Bucky had never been held responsible for what he’d done, but you, oh god, everything that had happened had been your fault, and Bucky knew it too.”

Word Count: 1677
Warnings: a lot of self-doubt, injury, angst


It’s dark. And cold. And wet.

In the distance you can hear the rush of cars, tires splashing in puddles formed by the rain. They sound so, so far away.

You’re vaguely aware of the blood dripping down the back of your neck, and spilling out your lips and coating your fingers and smeared across your face and– there’s so much blood. You choke back a sob.

You have to get out of here. You have to get out of here and get back to the tower before anyone notices you’re missing because you can’t let anyone see you like this. You’re supposed to be strong like the rest of them, to be able to fight like the rest of them and defend yourself and not get into situations like this and the only thing running through your head right now is the fact that you might even die and everyone’s going look at you like some sort of failure.

(The one person you genuinely cared about already does, anyway.)

You place your hands on the ground under you, trying to push yourself up off the ground, but a sharp, snapping pain runs up your arm, as if the bone’s splitting, and you fall, letting out a gasp of pain as your chest hits the ground. There are tears welling in your eyes, both of frustration and the immense pain your body is in, and you lie with your cheek against the wet pavement in the middle of some back alley.

How are you going to get back and pretend like nothing happened when you can’t even fucking get up? You want to scream, but even your voice is hoarse from begging them to stop as you endured hit after hit.

You think back to a few hours ago, to how Bucky had been avoiding you all day and when you’d finally confronted him about it he’d yelled at you for not being able to do one job you had – to save the two kids in the fucking building on the one mission they’d taken you to. He’d yelled and you’d yelled and maybe he’d let it slip that he thought you were a failure, and then you’d gotten angry and stormed out to a bar to get drunk. But he’d been right. The fact of the matter is that you are a failure, and now you can’t even prove yourself otherwise.

A painful sob wracks your body as your hands reach into your pocket, pulling out your phone. There are missed calls that you barely notice, fingers fumbling and tears blurring your eyes. It takes four attempts to call Steve, your hands wet and sticky because of the blood. As it rings, you can feel your heart constrict in your chest. What are they going to think of you? Weak? Pathetic?

Words flit through your head, as the phone rings. And rings. And rings.

“Hi, you’ve reached Steve Rogers–”

You hang up, then try again.

And again.

And again.

With each time it reaches voicemail, you cry harder. You can’t blame him – it’s four in the fucking morning and the mission was exhausting, so everyone’s probably turned their phone on silent and for the first time in days is getting some proper rest.

You try Nat next, then Sam, then Clint, then even Tony, but nobody picks up.

There’s one last name left on the list of people that’ll probably answer at four a.m. You hesitate, fingers hovering over his name, knowing his reaction if he picks up.

You press call. Your heart pounds against your chest and your blood rushes through your ears and your eyes feel kind of heavy. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe.

As you gasp for air the phone rings. And rings. And rings. And ri–

“Y/N?”

Hearing his tired voice croak your name is like turning a switch, because suddenly there is air in your lungs and you can breathe again.

Until, “What the fuck do you want?”

Heaving in a gulp of air, you opened your mouth to speak, but before you can even get a word out, he continues.

“It’s four in the fuckin’ mornin’, an’ the few of us who worked hard on the mission are pretty damn tired.”

You feel the intended jab of his words, and shut your mouth, breathing heavily through your nose as the blood flow stems and begins to crust on your face. The tears well up in your eyes again. You know you shouldn’t have called him, that he was still mad at you and he would probably never forgive you for what you had done, because even as the Winter Soldier he’d never have hurt let an innocent child get hurt. But you’d let it happen, right in front of him, with full control over your actions. Bucky had never been held responsible for what he’d done, but you, oh god, everything that had happened had been your fault, and Bucky knew it too.

“Are you going to speak?” He prompts, an edge in his voice laced with annoyance.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the phone, before you hear a faint, feminine voice. “Bucky baby, come back to bed.” You don’t know who it is, and that makes it so much worse because you know he only picks up random girls when he’s stressed out, and the cause of stress is you, you know as much.

You’re trying to speak but you can’t find the words. Your head hurts and the pain is finally starting to catch up, ebbing away at the adrenaline that had been coursing through your body.

“I’m sorry – it's– it’s, I just –” But you don’t know what to say. Something’s clawing at the inside of your throat, like nails raking down your vocal chords and making it hard to speak. The only thing you can do is cry.

“I’m sorry,” you’re screeching, heaving in breaths of air any chance you can get. “Nobody else picked up – I – I didn’t know – I didn’t know who else to call.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone. Or maybe you can’t hear Bucky speaking. You can’t hear anything over the sound of your sobs, disappearing behind the heavy patter of the rain.

“Y/N? Y/N!” His voice seems so far away, it almost sounds concerned. “Y/N, what happened?”

“He said he knew! He said he knew more about– that he could tell me– I’m sorry. I trusted him. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

“Shit.” There’s shuffling on the other end, then a quieter, “I gotta go, Babe.” Your heart clenches and the only thing that manages to leave your mouth is a string of apologies.

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know– I don’t know!” There’s a level of hysteria in your voice, and he can probably hear it too. He’s saying other stuff in a calmer voice, something about breathing and looking around but you can’t hear him over the sound of the blood rushing through your ears and the constant thought of you being an absolute failure swimming through your head.

“– okay?” You take gulps of air through your mouth, trying to subside the sobs resonating through your chest as you tune back into his voice. “Just breathe, Y/N. Look around and tell me what you see.”

“It’s dark, and there’s- there's–” You look around frantically, trying to find something, trying to see something, but it’s so dark and all you know is that you’re in some back alley and God, your lungs feel like they’re on fire but you can’t figure out how to get air down your throat. “An alley,” you gasp out. “Behind the bar. I’m behind the bar–”

And you break off into sobs again, praying to someone, anyone, that Bucky can understand you through the thickness of your voice and the croaking of your throat.

“Okay. Okay. Y/N? I’ll be there in ten, okay? Just give me ten minutes.”

You manage to scrape an “okay” up your throat without throwing up from the crying and the screaming. Bucky says something about hanging up, and suddenly your voice is making your ears bleed again. “No! No! Please, Bucky, stay on the line. Please.”

And then he’s saying something and you’re not sure what, because you can’t focus on anything anymore. You don’t know how long you sit there, leaning against the cold brick wall, soaking wet with a puddle of red tinged water surrounding you, chilling to the bone. Maybe it’s really ten minutes, maybe it’s a few hours, you can’t tell, but there’s nothing more warming than the sound of Bucky’s voice calling out your name, this time closer to you than through the phone.

“Y/N?” His voice resonates through the small alley, and you’re slightly more awake for a moment as a flashlight shines directly into your eyes, then down the rest of you.

He swears.

A lot.

“Hey, hey, Y/N.” You feel his hands, warm and soft and tender, on your cheek, slapping lightly to grab your attention. Your eyes are unfocused, you can barely make out his face through the tears and the haze grabbing at the edges of your vision.

An arm goes under your knees and your start screaming again, pain and fear coursing through every vein in your body. Someone’s saying something, your name and something else, and it’s calm and reassuring but all you can focus on is how much it hurts. You’re hoisted into the air and this time the scream doesn’t even make it past your lips, catching in your throat as the pain peaks into a numbness spreading to your toes.

“–wake! Y/N, hey, keep your eyes on me, okay?” But your eyes are challenging his voice, daring to shut for longer periods of time with each blink.

There’s a deep, ocean blue staring down at you when you do open your eyes, laced with disappointment and screaming the same word over and over at you.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

Your eyes close.

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5

My mom’s cat had kittens and they’re sooooo cuuuteeee, they’re a week old in this pic and they try and hiss if you touch them without mom around, but all that comes out is this little KHCK sound and they jump a little bit.

Hideo Kojima ships Hannigram/Madancy? oh what a beautiful world we live in

original tweet(x)

Punkcup (<3) belongs to @oh–you–pretty–things

forgive me for I have sinned

now to go dig myself a grave of shame

SPOILERS OF THE NEW EPISODE BELOW - IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE NEW SVTFOE EPISODE TODAY THERE ARE SPOILERS AHEAD. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Okay, so I’ve seen quite a few concerns over what occurred in the most recent episode, where Star attempts to get Glossaryck back. I’ve seen some anger  and mixed feelings over his refusal to not come back with Star, and I can understand that - but just hear me out over what I have in mind. 

Keep reading

secrets.

Requested: “ I was wondering if I could make a request for a Percival Graves fanfic, where the reader is keeping a secret from him, and he has to chase them down and try and make them talk! Make it as cute and as fluffy as you like, I love that kind of thing! :)”

Requested by: the wonderful @heyitsteash

Warnings: None 

Word Count: 2316


Percival Graves couldn’t stand it.

He couldn’t stand the idea of you keeping something from him.

Whether it was big or small, nothing drove him nuts like secrets did. Of course you knew this and you did your best to never keep secrets from him, but there wasn’t anything you could do this time. This time the secret you carried within you was too embarrassing for you to even comprehend. It was too embarrassing to tell him the truth.

Because the truth was you were in love with Percival Graves. You loved the Auror who’d help train you when you’d come to Macusa just five years ago. The man who’d helped you become the auror you are today. But it was because of that past that you feared you couldn’t tell him the truth. You felt like you couldn’t tell him that your days together meant the world to you. You couldn’t say a damn word and it drove you nuts.

It drove you as crazy as your secret drove him nuts.

You knew Percival Graves didn’t know that you liked him, but you knew that could see through you enough to know you were keeping something from him. You could see how it drove him crazy, you could see your secret chipping at him every day that you kept it from him.

It had gotten so bad that you taken to hiding in your office whenever he was looking for you. Hiding behind your walls for comfort.

It was the only place you knew you were safe. Safe from him, his handsome face, and being that made you want more every time you saw him. Every time you were near him.

But you could only hide behind your walls for so long, until you had to go face him. Even as you stood behind your door with shaking hands, your eyes peering behind the door when you open it. As if you could somehow avoid him if you caught sight of him before daring to take a step outside of your door. A feeling a relief washes over you when you don’t see him, your body daring to cross the threshold as you walk forward. As you try your best to play off any and all feelings pulsating within you.

You had a meeting today, a big one, but you’d spent the better part of your morning thinking of Percival and the million scenarios that you could make up. Scenarios that were enough to drive you made, enough to make you lose all control of your breathing. It’s almost unbearable as you walk towards the office meeting room.

You’re not late by any means, but when you walk into the office you’re met by a sea of eyes that stare back at you as if you’d interrupted something important. As if you’d intruded. But of all the eyes that look to you nothing gets under your skin the way his eyes do.

Even from across the room you could feel Percival Graves and the way his eyes pierce you from afar. You see the strain in his eyes and the sensation of him wanting to be close to you, him wanting to figure out what it was you were keeping from him.

But you do your best to ignore the questioning in his eyes. The look of desire tugging at his features. A look that drove you mad with every passing breath. A look that remains on his face the entire meeting, the look that consumes you so much that you can’t focus at all during the meeting. It was like everyone else was white noise, like they weren’t there.

Like it was just you two.

When the meeting ends you feel your heart ache, and your feet are itching to get moving before he has the chance to stop you. Before he has the chance to corner you, but when you try to exit the office your coworkers seem to have another plan in mind. Instead of moving they feel compelled to take their time leaving, so much so that Percival makes his way to you. So much so that he corners you just like you feared he would.

“(Y/N), we need to talk…”

His voice rasps behind you as you keep your eyes from his, your gaze finding the floor intently. You knew if you looked at him you’d be done for. You knew you’d cave. You knew you’d break into a thousand pieces right before him.

“… I know something is bugging you (Y/N) and you can talk to me about it. No matter what it is I’m always here for you.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his kind words. The words that always managed to seep their way in and get under your skin in the best possible way.

“I’m fine Mr. Graves.”

You feel yourself whisper as you dare to look over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his for a moment before you walk away.

Your feet carry you a few feet before you feel his hands reaching out to stop your body. The sensation of him touching you feels so foreign, it had been months since he’d been close to you, since he’d  actually tried to touch you.

“You’re keeping something from me (Y/N) and I do not appreciate you keeping things from me.”

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Mine and @1976mak‘s pre-order bundles are literally 45 minutes away from me. Why is it taking so long to get here? I just want my vinyl!! And I want to send Meg her copy!! This is so ridiculous. I’m also very impatient. And clearly my definition of expedited shipping is different from everyone else’s.

anonymous asked:

God, after that edging scene I really want Pitch to make Jack do it to *himself*. See how well he can really obey in The Room.

Haha, you mean Pitch making Jack edge himself? No chance, man. Lol. Jack is so far from being that level of trained submissive, and being set up for failure in the room would not do so well for Jack at this stage of his character growth. Obedience can only really work within the confines of a character’s growth and experience, and at Jack’s ‘level’ he’s doing a great job.

Pitch is only asking Jack for things he knows Jack can achieve if he puts his mind to it (i.e. removing his pants in a restricted position), or taking things he is fairly sure Jack has to give with some mild limit pushing. The Dom/sub game of ‘obey me via self-control’ is a pretty ‘high level’ game tbh because of the level of trust it requires, in that it takes a lot of Dom awareness of the sub’s limits (which Pitch is frank about knowing he doesn’t have yet) and a sub’s awareness of his own physical body (Jack’s awareness of his body is terrible). And the Dom/sub game of ‘I’m going to set you up to fail because I have all the power here and I just want to punish you because I can’ would absolutely shatter Jack’s psyche.

(Though I think Alex would handle it pretty well if Elliott played that later, lol).

I mean it’s fiction and I suppose I could write it, I just…play within how I imagine their characters are progressing, which limits where I can go and what I can do, still having fun within their boundaries though. :D

Pitch will just have to imagine it and jerk off to it. (Honestly, I’m sure he has, he has a fertile imagination).

8

someone requested that i add a demiromantic pride flag to my set of romantic pride flags, but i decided to go ahead and make a separate aromantic spectrum pride set. there are more arospec orientations than these, obviously, but it’s a start.

note: none of the flag colors/designs are official in so far as i’m aware, but these seem to be the most common for their respective orientations.

edit: revised the demiromantic and gray (a)romantic flags. here’s why.

Okay so here’s a long and probably rambling meta on Julian Bashir because I have a lot of opinions and emotions about the genetic engineering plotline and I want to sort them out

if any of you haven’t watched Star Trek: Deep Space Nine then you’ll have no idea what I’m talking about have a great day whoo

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Hard to Handle - Danny x Reader - Chapter 6.5

Series name: Hard to Handle

Chapter Name: Always on My Mind

Pairing: Danny x Reader, Markiplier x Reader

Word Count: 1,187

Parts:  1 | 2 | 2.5 | 3 | 3.5 | 4 | 5 | 6 | (6.5) | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

A/N: Angst ahead, because I love y’all that much. I actually plotted out the next few chapters, so you’ll see at least two chapters in the next two weeks! This is a very quiet introspective chapter. 

Read on AO3

If you claimed that no one had ever ghosted you before, you would have been lying. It would be honest to say that it had never hurt quite this much.

You missed Danny in a slow, aching way, even just as a friend. You had no one to text during the day when you had random bit of a song stuck in your head that wasn’t quite enough to google. You couldn’t just dump your excess pasta on your neighbors when you made far too much for human consumption. You couldn’t look at a few of your favorite cheeses because they reminded you of that kiss. Of that date. Of that blissful day that seemed so fucking far away.

You were aware that you had fucked up.

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FOr SM Ficlet Prompt day, @anonnatsfan prompted me with Michiru being a corporate badass. Send me your prompts! 



Michiru had never wanted, particularly, to be a CEO, but then again, she had learned early that life is not always about what we want, but sometimes simply about what we must do.

And, she had to admit, her brother’s swift and terrible fall from grace had put a smile on her face that she had never imagined might come from her family. Ryuji had been ousted from the family dealings, and Michiru, being the youngest but also so much stronger and more clever than her sister Naoko, had been tapped as the heir apparent to the Kaioh legacy.

Her corner office, windowed on two sides with stunning views of the city, was equipped with a rich heavy mahogany desk, and her first act in this office had been to claim it as her own over Haruka’s body.

She leaned back in the brass studded cordovan leather chair. It was hard not to smile, when her holdings were doing so well under her eye, when her father had no choice but to praise her sly, businesslike demeanor. For she had one thing that Ryuji had never had, and the was the ability to charm a man without his hardly knowing it, and Michiru had never been quite so grateful for the terrible gender imbalance of the corner office set s she was when she attended a benefit and found herself suddenly graced with favors from politicians and businessmen.

Michiru did not, strictly speaking, care if they took her on her business or aesthetic merits. It all paid the same, so far as she was aware.

She had hired Rei as her assistant, and though people had warned her off of it, she could not see how it could have gone better. Rei was meticulously controlling, and no one saw Michiru unless Rei had deemed it both convenient and necessary to the day.

Rei could handle most things by herself anyhow, Michiru thought.

But perhaps the best in all this was Haruka, the whipping boy for her family’s frustrations with Michiru for so long, now the undisputed Princess Consort to Michiru’s Queen. People complimented her finely cut suits, and gifted her with watches and silk ties when they visited with the Kaiohs, and her family was forced to swallow the bile they’d had all of their life–for all of Haruka’s roughness, she was earnest in her attempts to match Michiru’s world, and without her parents’ contempt to guide them,  people found her charming, and Haruka blossomed under the attention.

She looked out at the city. Her city. It had never felt that way before, just something that she was a part of whether she liked it or not. But now, she looked over at the calendar, Rei having written in her appointments for the day, and she strolled over to her wine fridge, pulling out a Chardonnay and pouring herself a glass.


Kaioh Industries was her kingdom, and she was determined to see it flourish.