the fresh prints

{PART 25} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; Jungkook dreams of having the future with you that he always envied human’s of having. But as soon as he arrives home, his entire world - and everything in it gets turned upside down. He must make a choice in the face of evil; while evil holds you in its grasp.

“And he found strength in the only thing that he was powerless to; it had always, from the very beginning; been her.”

I update this series every Tuesday evening, 9pm-10pm (UK Time) 

{Part 1} //{Part 24} {Part 25} {Part 26}

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Never Say Never (Part 10)

Pairing: Arthur (Mr.) Ketch x Reader
Word Count: 1,431
Warnings: Cussing. Violence.  
Sequel: Part 10/? of  Never Say Never

Special thanks to @lucis-unicorn because she’s the bestest and did the beta and idea-bouncer thing again for me !

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(since the season’s over and I want to die) I’m thinking of getting some fresh stickers/prints going for the Blackhawks Convention, so hit me up with ideas here or on twitter.

Mostly I just want to get this thing going where 200 people buy one sticker and then one by one at the Conventon they stick it to Toews, so that by the end he looks like a middle school girl’s diary.


There is at least one good thing about the snow: there are fresh prints every morning from deer, rabbits, squirrels, and all the other small things that still live in the woods. It’s comforting to know that they are not entirely alone. She tries not to think about the possibility that they may, at some point, need those animals for food. She’d rather save her bullets for creatures who deserve them.

There is no shortage of those.

They’ve had five straight days of sunlight and the snow is starting to melt. Outside the window Skinner is stomping around the yard, brow knit in concentration. Mulder is upstairs doing who knows what, and Will—

Lately Will makes her nervous. His blue eyes absent, unfocused; he spends hours holed up in Mulder’s old office, and Scully doesn’t want to ask him what he’s doing in there. He has little enough privacy as it is. She can’t decide if she is afraid for him or afraid of him.

She can feel the narrative unraveling.

In her notebook she writes tirelessly, looking for connections, clues that might lead her to answers. She thinks of her father more and more often these days. The stories he’d read her before bedtime, tales of quests and journeys. It was the only time she had her father to herself; none of her siblings had the patience for being read to. But Dana had loved those moments: her father’s gruff voice, the sound of the pages turning. She’d read to Will like that, too. Harry Potter, the Chronicles of Narnia, The Hobbit. She still has her father’s old copy of Moby Dick — it was the only specific bequest he’d made to any of his children, a fact that had driven a wedge between her and Bill that they’d never entirely overcome — but she’d never read it to Will. It belonged to her and Ahab, and anyway, by the time Will was old enough for it, he’d wanted to read things all on his own.

She’d understood him better then.

Skinner comes back inside. “I’m going to walk to town,” he announces.

Scully closes the notebook and stares at him. “You’re not serious.” The snow outside is still at least eighteen inches deep and town is eight miles away, no easy trek in good weather.

But he reaches behind him and holds out a ski pole. “I went looking through your neighbor’s shed.”

“You’re not serious,” she repeats. And on the other hand, why hadn’t they thought of it earlier? The McNallys, a two-lawyer husband-and-wife team with three comically good-looking children, played every sport Scully had ever heard of, and some she hadn’t; she’ll never forget when Will came home from their house asking if he could take up hurling.

“There are two pairs,” Skinner says.

Mulder’s halfway down the stairs. “Two pairs of what?”

“You any good at cross-country skiing?”

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s been about forty years.”

“It can’t be you,” Scully says quietly. “I’ll go.”

His eyes flash dark but it’s gone in a second. He straightens his back. “Sure,” Mulder says. “Of course.”

“What are you expecting to find?” She addresses the question to Skinner. Scully knows what she expects: a ghost town where she used to buy groceries and pick up lousy take-out Chinese. Bloodstains on the floorboards and darker things, too, and the bodies taken away, stolen, the memory of headlights in the dead of night.

Skinner leans his back against the door. “A message. Information still travels, Dana, you know that. You carried some of those messages yourself.” All those lists of names; she still sees them on the back of her eyelids at night. “Or — it’s possible my contact made it there before the snow.”

“And he’s stayed there for three weeks?” Scully asks, dubious.

The older man gestures toward the window, where the sun glints too-bright off the snow. “Where else would he have gone?”

She remembers Antarctica, her feet sinking deeper into the snow with each desperate step. She remembers looking behind her to see how far they’d come. It felt like they’d been walking for hours but the place where they’d fallen was only a hundred feet back. Their footprints in matched sets then, as always, except where one of them had pulled the other through.

“If we’re going, we do it now,” she says, and she doesn’t look at Mulder. “So we can get there and back before the sun sets.”

“Agreed,” Skinner says.

Scully fights the urge to hunt down Will and tell him goodbye. We’ll be back tonight, she reminds herself. He won’t even notice we’re gone.

Fools  Part 1

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Warning: Abuse (from father, even if you have the nicest father in the world just pretend you have a terrible one. And for those who are going through actual abuse. I am dearly sorry fro using it in this story. I hope you find a way out of your hell.) Strong language, Sad, love, possibly some smut (in the future)

How to read the story:

(Y/n) = your name.

(btw I would recommend listening to Namjoon and Jungkook’s version of Fools before reading. On my watt pad page ill post the media and I’ll try and do the same for my Tumblr blog? Yeah, anyway this will be a multi part. Love you guys!)

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Marx is that raunchy—
Dirty porn mag I keep hidden
Under my bed
Away from my parents
Along with my piece.

Those real naked girls
With their conceivably touchable
Flesh seem too far from reality.
I can taste that flavor
Of cosmetic makeup on the tips
On their fingers—
Black nail polish
Is a beautiful shade
To wrap around my neck.

I have dreams of psychic prostitutes
And little people
Who wade through the gum stuck
On ceiling of my mouth
Ascending to freedom.

I can’t discern myself
Between reality and abstraction.
Reality is the chosen truth.

I’ve was born to a senators body—
A mass conglomerate
Of mud and thick mucus.
That’s the absolute truth.
Silver linings can’t save the ending.
The evening news can’t either.
It flashes, then follows
The fresh print of newspapers.

My polyplastic words manipulate
The constituent’s heart
And I play their ears like a fiddle.
They like my tunes, ballads
Played from my burnt orange
Mandolin that eases out like jelly.

How easy it is to lead
A naive heart into a dark alley.
All you need is good intentions
And a cunning smile
That weakens the knees.
Rubbing my raw knuckles,
I feel pleasure released in pain.

How I act is part of my nature—
It’s a forest shared with others.
Your branches might bend
But take some pride in your deviance.
Nothing worthwhile can appear
From a mass packing facility.

Tingling neurons fire off
In my brain matter
At the slight thought of that.

Humorous when it’s not me—
Easier to live outside of it

The more I am in my head—
The more cynical I get.

People tell me, “go out more—
Don’t stay inside gathering dust.”

Some beings need less
Photosynthesis than others.
I vent my frustrations
Like an underwater volcanic eruption.

It’s roots are deep
And it’s amount is uncountable.

Businessmen are dumb.
People are stupid.
The weak are afraid of the strong.
They should be.
Why listen.

Each soul is a vessel
To its own mistakes—
No amount of happiness can change

The facts:

That you are the sum of your mistakes—
Redemption is for children.
Your psychological makeup
Can’t be wiped off anymore.
I have more fight in me
Than a hot-blooded Shaolin monk.

But Who do you attack—
When there’s no one left but yourself?

- s.b.

  • Me: *uses the counterfeit marker to see if a bill is fake*
  • Customer: haha! Fresh off the press :) printed it this morning :)
  • Me (internally): do you think you're original? Do you think I haven't heard this joke earlier today and will prolly hear it a few more times during the rest of my shift? Like thank god you aren't payed in wit, otherwise you wouldn't be handing me these 50's and 100's. Where did this joke even originate? Why does e v e r y old person seem to know and actively use this joke? Do you not notice the look of mild annoyance on your cashier's face every time?
  • Me (externally): haha cool :)