the short fiction

Snippet Pt 4

“Yo, guero. Damn dude, you do yard work real good! I got an uncle might hire you.”

Eamon straightened up and stopped raking. He could feel the sweat streaming down the sides of his neck where it ran from his long hair and the sun felt impersonally merciless as it beat down on his shoulders. He turned to face the short, broad shouldered man who stood on the cracked sidewalk with a bottle in a brown paper bag in one hand.

“Hey Luis. Howzit going?”

“White boy doing lawns ” Luis said and adjusted his sunglasses, “What is this world coming to? Damn!”

Eamon leaned the rake against the chain link fence and picked up the bottle of water that he’d set in the meager shade of a hydrangea.“ Helping a friend, ya know? What you doing?”

“Me? Me, I’m being very well behaved. A model citizen.” Luis said, then proved himself a liar by unscrewing the cap of the bottle and taking a long pull from the brown bag. He held it towards Eamon, but Eamon shook his head, indicating the water. “You know WHY I’m being such a very good model of decency and law abiding Americanitude?”

“Your mother raised you right?”

“Damn straight she did.” Luis said and grinned tightly. “But I think you know exactly what I’m saying guero. What I really mean.”

“My cousin.” Eamon said and managed not to sigh. “Tell you same as I told the cops. No idea why he’s doing this shit. No idea where he’s at.”

“And if you DID know, you’d tell cops?”

He paused before answering. Not thinking about the answer, but more about how the answer would sound. “Yeah. Actually. I would.”

“Good.” Luis said sharply and stopped smiling. “Because family only goes so far, ya know? There’s crazy, and there’s sick fucking crazy, and sick fucking crazy ain’t thicker than blood.”

“He’s second or third cousin anyways.” Eamon said, and ran the sweating plastic bottle of water across his forehead. He could have explained that he had more cousins than he could remember names for, but what was the point? “He’s never been right. Lives in movies. Like literally thinks life is all a movie and there’s some audience watching rooting for the bad guy like Pacino in ‘Scarface’. I’m not exaggerating.”

“Yeah? Well movie boy and his fucking vato partners has got the shit coming down on every Latino who looks even just a bit like a chollo or banger. Which, to cops and white folks means young, brown and male.” Luis stepped onto the lawn and waved a hand towards Eamon.“See, you’re family to the sick fucker. Otherwise it wouldn’t be shit on you. Cause every bad white dude is an anomaly. Ain’t representative of all white folks, not ever man. And you’re white. Fuck, as white as they get. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Bet you looked like a little Nazi baby.”

Eamon didn’t answer. Didn’t see the point in responding to the obvious facts or implied insult. He took a drink of water instead.

“That’s why I don’t get you.” Luis said calmly and leaned closer. “What the fuck man?”

“What the fuck what?”

“Why you like this?” Luis pushed down his sunglasses and peered at him with dark eyes. “Shit’s changing, but it ain’t changed yet. You’re white. That still means a lot here. Hey, you know Solo, yeah? My bro Solomon?”

“I met him once.” Eamon said and shrugged. “Wouldn’t say I know him.”

“His great grandparents came here from Argentina in 1912. Before the fucking Titanic sank, ya hear me? And He still gets asked for a green card and people still say shit like ‘you speak real good English’ like it’s a huge shock. And the brothers? Shit, a black man can be self made Harvard educated driving a Jaguar in his name and still get pulled out the car cuz cops don’t see a black man, they just see black.”

“And then look at you. White as Hitler’s wet dream, and you’re poor white trash. Family full of criminals and you on parole. Now I know you can’t control family, but most everyone I know gone to prison gone because they’re stupid. Too stupid to know better, or too stupid to care. Ya know what, I talked to you enough. You ain’t stupid. So what, you like lazy and shit? I know white folks rather sit round collecting disability than work hard all day. Cept lookit you. Working like a brown man. Damn. So what’s wrong with you?”

“Bad genes, I guess.”

“Bad genes. Damn you’re white. You wanna know what’s real fucked up dude?” Luis said before taking another swig. “I will guarantee you, guran-fuckin-tee you, there are people in the Latino community who know the pendejos, those fucking maricas who are crewing with your psycho fucking cousin. But they ain’t gonna step up or fuckin’ say shit cuz they’re more scared of the cops and the fuckin’ government than they are of psycho fuckin’ mass killers. How fuckin wrong is that?”

“Yeah, it’s garbage.”

'Garbage, he says. Man of few words.Unlike your blood .“ Luis stared hard at him, then shook his head. “Hey, so you talk like you an your cousin ain’t tight? So what’s with that shout out then?”

“Yeah, well..” Eamon paused and drew a long breath. “"We’re both about the same age. He’s only got sisters. He always looked up to me and my brothers.And he’s delusional. Really. Lives in a made up world. And between me going to prison and punching a cop, he decided..”

'Whoa wait whoa!“ Luis reached up and took off his sunglasses. His eyes were almost comically wide. "You punched a cop, and not only are you alive, you only got, what, couple years inside? Fuck, I wanna be white.”

“Look, they didn’t press charges on that, they..”

“What? Holy fuck dude? How far does white privilege go?”

“Pretty far.” Eamon said and this time sighed. “Pretty far. But not all the way.”



This story is set in the backwoods of a small town in Ohio. Follow an overly empathetic seven year old through the house and into the forest. Observe her relationships with her mother and the inanimate objects in their home. You’ll have to get your hands dirty to read this one.

Illustrated by Amelia Fawn. Printed on beautiful granite ivory 24 lb. paper. Every single copy is distressed by hand, encompassed in a cello pouch, sprinkled with genuine Ohio dirt and detritus. Due to the contents of this piece, I am unable to ship internationally at this time.

Memories of a Reincarnated Self

The human’s skull crumpled beneath my talon, like a hydrangea under a scythe. Before the nearest human could squeeze the trigger of his pulse rifle, I tackled him and mixed the remains into the dirt. Had I been this weak before the adjustment?

Their ranks began to break as I slipped between, and sometimes through, the men and woman defending their home. My brethren, my new brethren, marched across the new front I had made. A part of me might have felt sickened as I allowed them to continue onward, taking samples when they pleased. But, they had removed the part of me that cared.

They had removed so much of me.

But not the part that knew how the humans acted.

One of the human’s windows had bars on it, instead of steel plate, so I dove into it. The glass shattered inward and the bars became a lily in bloom.

The humans up here did not seem as terrified as their friends below.

Without pause, I leaped towards a group. But before I could paint the walls with them, I heard an unusual sound.

I dropped a talon on the floor and pulled myself from the air a yard away from the group. One the men had wet himself, and I laughed.

That was strange. I had nothing to laugh with. No vocal cords or even a speaker, but I still tried to laugh. It was then, in my confusion, did I notice that the sound that had stopped me in my pursuit was a song. And not just any song.

It was the one that played at my wedding.

My husband had been smiling with his hands placed atop mine as it played. We had been pronounced man and wife and all of our guests, human guests, stood and clapped for us. I cried. I couldn’t not cry. What would I have been if I couldn’t?

A crackle of electricity swept through my brain. I was back in the hallway, and it stank of piss.

Another zap hit the back of my brain, and I felt my talon leave the ground, letting me stalk towards the group.

My wedding guests had been delighted to see me. My new guests had furrowed their brows.

“Make it louder,” one said.

“And blow our cover? We were lucky enough she found us,” another replied.

Apparently, the bars had been a trap.

My body lurched forward against the music. The humans were there to be killed. I knew that. My body told me that. The song was moving air. Nothing compared to what I had to do.

I hesitated.

And was shocked again.

“If you can hear us. Help us,” a woman said.

I took another step. A pulse of electricity crackled down my back, making me want to throw up with a stomach I did not have.

“Faster. We should try faster,” the woman turned a dial on a device the song came from. The tune’s pace picked up, and I felt my body tense.

It would have been so easy to give into the shocks. To spend a few moments and break everything around me. As I had done outside. As I had done over the past month.

My wedding only took half an hour.

I could have killed my entire guest list at least ten times during those thirty minutes. This group would only take seconds.

Another shock hit me, but instead of yielding to it, I turned away and crawled to the shattered window.

The distance made the song fainter, but still, I knew what it meant. At least for me, I knew what it meant.

One more shock and I ripped out a chunk of back and flung it to the floor. It sizzled and popped as it tried to electrocute a body to which it was no longer attached.

The woman nodded to me, and I nodded back.

I readied my talons and threw myself through the window and towards my ‘brethren’.


Castlevania S01 (2017) : 

favourite aesthetic shots 

What MRA’s think will happen at the Women-Only Wonder Woman Screenings

We at the Alamo Drafthouse would like to officially apologize for our role in the end of mankind as we knew it, and the ascendant Gynocracy that followed. We didn’t know our women-only screening of Wonder Woman would result in the overthrow of all world governments and the total subjugation of men, but in hindsight we probably should have seen it coming.

Keep reading

Peep is a hearing aid. It is still getting used to this, because it used to be a regular dragon. And now it is a full-time employed hearing aid dragon, all two inches of it, perched on its sorcerer’s ear.

The sorcerer is named Vigil, which is short for Vigilante. Peep tried to point out to its hapless human that being named after their secret identity is a terrible way of keeping it a secret, but Vigil continues to be named Vigil. (It is ridiculous, in Peep’s eyes, how often its good advice goes ignored.) Vigil’s often-changing gender was another surprise to get used to, since dragons don’t tend to have genders.

“What’s a gender for?” Peep had questioned Vigil on its first day of work as it tried to find the best position to stay hidden behind her ear, while holding onto her piercings for balance.

Vigil hummed thoughtfully before answering, “Decoration, I suppose.”

That might have been a joke, but Peep wasn’t sure.

But being genderfluid was a feature of Vigil, not a problem. No, it was the vigilante thing that was the problem. Every night after the labs had been shut up for the day the other apprentice sorcerers would head off to eat dinner together, or watch some shark jousting at the Oceania, or do other normal activities like flying. Meanwhile, Vigil would murmur a few words under their breath to shield their face with a spell, tuck the lab’s resident firekeeping dragon into their sleeve, and go out to foil evil.

It was a terrible hobby, which Vigil would know if they ever took Peep’s advice.

The root of the problem, Peep had decided, was that Vigil was so caught up with how they could that they never considered whether they should. Yes, Peep’s human was remarkably clever, anyone could see that. Vigil didn’t let the fact that they were only an apprentice sorcerer get in their way— they dyed their hair to look like it had been turned blue by frequent exposure to magic, had Peep sit behind their ear to make the quiet world more understandable, and coaxed the lab’s firekeeping dragon to stay in their sleeve and breathe fire on command. With their face hidden, Vigil passed admirably for a fully grown sorcerer.

But they weren’t one, and that was going to get them in trouble one day if Peep didn’t figure out a way to help them.

“You’re going to get hurt,” Peep informed Vigil as he piled boxes into his arms.

“What are you talking about?” Vigil muttered, balancing the pile with precision. “Nothing in the back room is dangerous.” He sidestepped another apprentice coming into the storage room and emerged behind the counter.

“Not in the back room. You’re going to get hurt while out foiling evil if you keep it up. This woman says thank you and keep the change, and the rude guy next to her is trying to get your attention by snapping.”

Vigil dropped the change into the floating tip jar and turned to the man.

Shifts at the lab’s storefront, where anyone could purchase potion ingredients and charms prepared by the apprentices in the labs, were Peep’s busiest times as a hearing aid. Vigil could hear well enough if it was one well-enunciated person alone speaking, but the chaos of the labs, with everyone talking at once, meant he relied on Peep the most.

“He wants one mud-repelling charm,” Peep reported as the man talked, “and make it quick because he’s an asshole, or because he got mud on his very expensive shoes, something like that.”

Vigil made his thoughtful face while listening, one of the many ways he filled the pauses before he could respond in situations like these. “Sorry, we’re out of those. Can I get you anything else?”

The man did not want anything else.

“He said a bad word at you,” Peep said virtuously, because it considered cursing very terrible unless it was done by someone it approved of.

“I could tell,” Vigil muttered, watching the man storm out.

Peep itself was watching someone else enter the store— a rather short knight-in-training in a very unfashionable cap. Peep considered itself an expert on fashion, as well as on poetry and Vigil’s safety. It was because of its expertise on that latter subject that it noticed the knight-in-training. It watched them go right to the shelves of magical candy on the other side of the room, and approved.

“This little kid at the counter wants ingrediants for a stink potion,” Peep repeated absentmindedly as it mulled over the newcomer, and Vigil went back into the storeroom.

He mumbled the ingredients to himself as he found them on the shelves. “Glass eggs, spider eyes—”

“Gross,” Peep commented. “You need friends.”

“—black-spotted mushrooms. Friends would make this less gross how?”

“They wouldn’t. But they might keep you out of trouble.”

“And that’s exactly why I don’t need any. I like trouble.” Vigil went back to the counter and put the ingredients in the girl’s basket.

Peep took the opportunity to notice the knight-in-training again (they were still examining the candies) before turning back to its duties as a hearing aid.“She says thanks, and also that you need friends.”

“Quit it,” Vigil hissed, and greeted a regular customer who signed their request for a fever-reducing charm.

Peep quitted it for all of ten seconds before Vigil was searching the dusty back corners where the healing charms were stored. “You’re only a baby sorcerer, you can’t go around foiling evil all by yourself. Eventually evil will foil back.”

Vigil objected strongly to being called a baby sorcerer. “I hired a hearing aid, not a babysitter.”

“Wrong,” shouted Peep, who loved being right. “You hired a dragon, and a dragon always knows best.”

“Dragons also always live with several nest-mates, which you don’t have, so you’re one to talk about needing friends.” Vigil snatched a fever charm from where it had fallen on the floor with more violence than necessary and straightened up. There was a guilty pause. Dragons are excellent at telling when pauses are guilty. “I mean…” Vigil said quietly.

“Everyone needs friends,” Peep said, trying not to sound like it was going to cry. Unfortunately, dragons are as terrible at not sounding emotional as they are excellent at discerning guilty pauses.

Vigil stroked the tiny ridges of Peep’s back with one finger. “Hey, I didn’t mean that.” His voice was soft.

“I could have nest-mates if I wanted,” Peep said, still sniffling. Dragons’ lying abilities fall squarely between their skills at recognizing guilty pauses and not sounding emotional.

“Of course you could,” Vigil soothed. “You’re the best dragon I know.”

“Including Crackle?” Peep asked, wanting to be sure. “Crackle isn’t even that great of a firekeeper. I’m much better at being a hearing aid than it is at making fire.” Crackle had three nest-mates and its very own nesting hallow in the chimney over the lab’s fireplace, and was very conceited about it in Peep’s opinion.

Vigil abstained from passing judgement on Crackle. “You’re the best hearing aid a sorcerer could have. I’m sorry for what I said.”

Peep blew its nose on a lock of blue hair. “Ok.”

Vigil winced but didn’t comment on that. At the counter he gave the customer the fever charm and they exchanged a few words in sign language that Peep didn’t need to aid in, giving it time to search the room again for the knight-in-training, who was now carrying over a jar of blue candies to purchase. They looked at the apprentices behind the counter, all busy— and their eyes slid right over Vigil’s face without recognition.

Peep frowned to itself. They would never recognize Vigil as the hero who had saved them the other night on their own, not when Vigil had hid his face so well. Clearly, Peep had to intervene, for Vigil’s own good.

Pushing Vigil’s hair aside, Peep stretched itself out as far as it could without falling off his ear, and flapped its green wings urgently. The knight-in-training, not looking, didn’t notice. Humans were oblivious.

Peep flapped its wings some more, and puffed out some violet smoke. On the other side of the counter, the knight-in-training’s eyes flicked to the fading puff of violet in surprise, and followed it down to the tiny green dragon preening with victory, and then to the sorcerer it was perched on.

“You!” Kit shouted.

Peep quickly returned to its hearing aid position. “That knight person over there says ‘you!’ very loudly,” it told Vigil.

“Fuck,” Vigil whispered, trying to avoid the knight’s glare. “That’s the squire I helped the other night! How did they recognize me?”

“Big mystery,” Peep said unhelpfully.

The knight-in-training pushed their way closer to Vigil’s section of the counter, not to be ignored. “You’re that vigilante!”

“They say you’re a vigilante, and probably good friend material.” Peep gave the knight-in-training a wave. They waved back.

Vigil batted at his ear. “Stop that, stop being friendly! I’m a masked vigilante, people aren’t supposed to know who I am.”

The knight-in-training raised an eyebrow, looking at Vigil’s name tag. “In that case, why is your name literally the first half of the word vigilante? Doesn’t seem very masked to me.”

Peep crowed victoriously. “New friend! Can we keep them?”

the other stories about these characters can be found in my tag here. thanks for reading!

“This one is coffee-flavoured milk,” the waiter said, presenting the little bottle in one hand. The white label read in a light brown font: COFFEE.

“Isn’t that just coffee with milk?” I asked.

“No, no, it’s coffee-flavoured milk,” the waiter shook his head and smiled. “There’s many more flavours, if you would like to have a look. We haven’t prepared a menu yet, so you’ll have to have a look yourself.”

It was a new place. I’d spotted it while on one of my midnight walks. There used to be a hardware shop here, but then it got shut down for a few months, and this restaurant popped up in its place. “A Dairy Situation”, the sign outside said, along with a cheap graphic of a Holstein Friesian cow.

I stepped towards the refrigerator and squatted to get a good look. The waiter was right, there was quite the variety. You had the usual varieties: cocoa, strawberry, mango, orange, vanilla, pistachio, cardamom, saffron and even some strange ones like chilli, chicken, beef, wasabi, and so on.

“You make these here?” I asked.

“Right there in the back, ma'am,” the waiter nodded, and pulled out a passionfruit flavour bottle. “This is the newest one,” he said.

“I’ll have it,” I took the bottle from his hands and put it to my lips. Before I could down it, the waiter said—almost yelled—at me to stop. I asked him what’s wrong.

“There is something very important you need to know,” he nodded, “As soon as you drink it, you will return to when you were a baby. Your life, as you have lived it until now, will disappear, never to return. You will be a baby again, but the circumstances of your life will change in minute ways, culminating in a butterfly effect.”

I looked at the bottle in my hands and at the waiter.

“I’ve been here before,” I said.

“Several times,” he said, and then waved at the refrigerator. “These many times, to be exact.”

“And I’ve tried a new flavour each time?” I asked.

“Without fail.”

I contemplated the flavoured milk. “And every single time, I’ve ended up here,” I said.

“Oh, we have branches in many cities,” the waiter smiled again, but it wasn’t the same humble smile as before. Now it was a knowing smile.

I nodded. Then I flung the bottle against the glass door. The glass of the bottle shattered, and the pale yellow milk splattered across the door. I opened the refrigerator and started chucking each of the bottles at the door. The waiter watched without expression as the door was covered in different flavours of milk.

At the end, there was one flavour left. It was plain milk, without a label. Just white.

“That one’s not ready, ma'am,” the waiter said.

I opened the bottle and chugged it down. Once the bottle was empty, I slammed it on the table and wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist.

“What was this going to be?” I asked.

The waiter’s mouth opened and closed as he answered my question with a smile. Even as he spoke his words, I felt them slipping away from my mind. My vision faded, and soon, all I could hear was the sound of my own crying, and the warmth of my mother’s breast.

Ecstasy. {Nessian}

Requested by @rowanismybae. Nessian, with some smut and a side of fluff. I always love getting Nessian requests, for I am trash. I apologize, it’s kind of short. Anyways, enjoy. :)

Originally posted by imaulusoyist

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

I felt as if time was going slower than usual. I’d been standing in the foyer, at the bottom of the staircase, for nearly thirty minutes. She was late.  The rest of the Court was on their way to the ball already, Elain having whispered good luck to me on her way out the door, arm in arm with Azriel. 

At this point, I wasn’t sure if her good luck was meant to be a warning for whatever mood Nesta was in, or if it was because she knew I’d be waiting on her sister for an ungodly amount of time.But, as the door on the second floor of the townhouse creaked open, all my anxiety faded. And when she came around the corner, all my complaints vanished. 

Her hair was up, braided in a crown around the top of her head. Her gown was long, trailing the wooden floorboards behind her, the color of the Velaris sky just before the sun began to rise. 

She was half way down the stairs when her eyes found mine, and she froze, her pink lips parting, slightly.

I held my hand out to her. “See something you like?”

Blue-gray eyes rolled. 

Moment over.

“I’ve never seen you in anything other than rags, is all,” she stated, continuing her walk until she met me in the foyer. “And you bathed, which is always shocking.”

My smirk made her roll her eyes, again. “I clean up well. Don’t act so surprised.”

And cleaned up, I did. Feyre actually suggested that I wore the tailored pants and the light grey button down. I drew the line at the tie and the shoes, however. So, I kept the top button loose and wore my boots. Nesta’s eyes scanned my hair, which was knotted at the back of my head, then my chest, then my waist where my shirt was perfectly tucked. Then-

“Are those your training boots?” she raised an eyebrow.

As I glanced down at my dusty, black leather boots, Nesta breathed out a laugh. 

Shrugging, I held out my hand, “Shall we?”

Her fingers grazed mine, but she didn’t move. The same ecstasy that I felt every time Nesta’s body made contact with mine consumed me, the feeling that I dreamed about, that I thought about constantly and could never get enough of. That feeling of ecstasy was my weakness, my downfall, my greatest accomplishment, my addiction.

“You look beautiful,” i said, brushing a stray strand of golden-brown hair behind her ear.

She opened her mouth, then closed her lips into a thin line before opening them again,

“When are we supposed to be there?” she whispered, running her fingers down my forearm. 

I glanced at the clock. “Ten minutes ago.”

She sucked in a breath as I took a step closer. “And ten minutes more?”

A grin spread across my lips before I could stop it. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

In my time with Nesta, I could honestly say that she never ceased to amaze me. I was constantly surprised by her – by her wit, by her knowledge, by her hidden kindness, by her talents, by the way she knew how to use her hands just the right way along every inch of my body.

Now was no exception.

She didn’t waste time dragging me upstairs before she slid her finger along the inside of my wing, just behind my shoulder blade. She knew what she was doing. She knew I was about to drop to my knees and beg for all she had to give me. She knew, and she enjoyed watching me in awe of her beauty.

She pushed me back against the leather couch and straddled my lap. With one hand running up her thigh, underneath the thin skirts of her evening gown, and the other trailing up her back to find the ribbon that held everything in place, our lips met in a soft, slow, tender embrace.

It was a dance, the way her tongue brushed mine every time we kissed, how she somehow managed to naturally make my hips move along with hers. I had been with many women, but none of them compared to her. None of them compared with the human who stole from the Cauldron, from the Fae that comforted me as death surrounded us both. None of them compared to the female who could make a suriel stop in its tracks, who could take away my fears and anxieties with just a simple smile. None of them had made me feel so unworthy, so alive. None of them were Nesta Archeron, and I never wanted to taste, feel, love anyone but her.

Her eyes stared into mine as she unbuttoned my shirt, one by one. I finally managed to find the ribbon tied neatly into a bow at the small of her back and yanked, allowing the dress to fall down to her waist. 

Her back straightened as I took her in, the same body I had witnessed day after day and only grew to love more every damn time.

My shirt had been pushed down my arms before I cupped her breasts, and ran my tongue along her bottom lip, up her jawbone, and nipped at her earlobe. 

She shuddered as she unzipped my trousers and her small, delicate hand found me in no small, delicate way at all. My head fell back against the cushions as she took control, her name a whisper that had found its way into the moans escaping my open lips. 

Before I could get too excited, she rose from her place on my lap and let her gown fall to the crimson rug. She watched me as my eyes slid from her toes, up, slowly, until they reached her own, and she grinned.

I watched her as she turned from me, as she walked calmly up the stairs. She glanced at me, once, when she reached the landing of the second floor then continued down the hallway. 

I waited a few seconds before I pushed off by boots, and sprinted to the upper level.

She was waiting for me in the doorway of her bedroom, a soft giggle the only sound in the otherwise silent townhouse. 

“Tease,” I mumbled, as my lips pressed into hers and I lifted her up by her waist, her long, slender legs wrapping around my lower back.

“You like it.” 

I could not disagree as her lips found my neck and I was completely undone.

Dainty feet pushed down my trousers until they were nothing more than a limp piece of fabric at the foot of the bed, just after I laid her down, her head resting on the pillow she’d stole from my room a month ago.

The first gasp would get me every time. The gasp she made when I would first enter her, gently, urgently. The gasp that told me that’s what she wanted, that’s what she’d been waiting for, that I could still satisfy her after all this time. I lived for that gasp, that expression on her ethereal face of pure adrenaline. 

Making love to Nesta was like being with someone who was not of this world. She was demanding, yet generous, she was confident, yet awestruck, she was quiet and cunning, yet moaned my name continuously as if she could not get close enough to me. We were one in the same. I couldn’t tell where her body ended and mine began, and I didn’t want to. It was not a meaningless act of lust, but a dance that was only perfected when two people who were meant for one another found each other.  It was like nothing I had ever experienced before, and something I wanted to experience for as long as I lived.

We lied there, breathless, her head lying on my damp chest when the clock struck midnight. 

She cursed, and I laughed at the sound of vulgarity coming from her proper mouth. We had been too busy talking, too busy exploring one another to join the others.

“What will we tell them?” she asked. 

“I’ll tell them you couldn’t keep your hands off me,” my hand ran down her backside as she chastised me, which only made me laugh harder. 

“You make me happy,” she said, quietly, after the sound of laughter and heavy breathing faded into nothingness.

I kissed her forehead, softly, as I pulled her blankets up to our waists and wrapped my wings around her. “You give me life, Nesta Archeron.”   

I would really really love to follow more blogs that post:

  • original fiction/short stories/etc.
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  • stuff about original characters

I’m currently following no writers at all and it breaks my heart! Reblog if you’re a writing blog so I can follow you!

Shady Deals

“Are you saying that serial killers can’t be feminist?”

I sucked loudly at my drink, trying to get the rest of the nearly melted frappe. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Well what are you saying?”

“I mean, anyone can be a feminist. But once you go around killing people, it’s not like it matters anymore. Now you’re just a murderer, regardless of your views on gender equality.”

“I’d still rather be killed by a feminist.”

I laughed, “Why’s that?”

“Because,” said Liz, waving her drink in the air despite the looks she got from the other people in the cafe, “at least then I know i’m not being killed by some prick who’s twisted idea of justice is taking out my ovaries because I had an abortion.”

“Liz, you’ve never gotten pregnant.”

“My killer doesn’t know that!”

I unwrapped the cookie we bought earlier, broke it in half and handed the bigger piece to liz. In between bites, I asked, “Why is your killer taking your ovaries?”

“It’s his signature. He takes the organs as trophies.”

“Geez, Liz,” I laughed again, “I think you’ve given this too much thought.”

“Promise me, Joni,” she said, taking my hand, “Promise me that If I die before you, you’ll turn my corpse into a work of art.”

“Oh my God.”

“I want to be posed beautifully. I give you full permission to do what you will. Take out my organs. Skin me and lay my skin suit down next to me as if it were my lover. Just make me look good.”

“Liz!” I could see multiple heads turn in our direction. They must have thought we were crazy.

“I want to die in style.”

“Well,” I said, reaching for my phone, “That day will have to wait. It’s already two. Are you ready to go?”

Liz stuffed her half of the cookie in her mouth, red lipstick smearing a little. Then she chugged her drink and grabbed her purse.

The walk to the park wasn’t far, fifteen minutes, but it felt like an hour. I was nervous and liz could tell.

“So what are you trading again?”

“This,” I said, taking an old iPod out from my purse. It was in great condition- the screen wasn’t cracked, and it was only half full of songs. “The guy was willing to trade his old film camera for it.”

“Oh yeah,” she said, turning the iPod over in her hands,” I remember you saying something about wanting to get into photography. Why film?”

I smiled, “Film is superior to other mediums. It doesn’t lie. It doesn’t use microchips to convert a real image into digital; it is real. I’ll show you when I start taking pictures.”

Liz shrugged. She didn’t get it yet, but she would.

“Thanks for coming with me by the way,” I said, taking the iPod back as she handed it to me.

She nodded, “Buddy system is best. Do you know what the guy looks like?”

“He said he’d be wearing a black hoodie.”

“That could be half the people in the park, Joni.”

“Well, just keep an eye out.” We arrived at the park then, and sat down on a bench. IT was warm from the sun, and the warmth felt great on my back.

I scanned the park, looking for a black hoodie. There were many. Liz gave me a look that I knew meant, see? Half the park is wearing black. I just shrugged, and continued to look.

I was about to send him a text saying we’re here, on one of the benches. Are you here yet? When a shadow fell across me and Liz.

“Joni?” He asked. I stared at him. I couldn’t see his face under the hoodie. It was so dark underneath- like the jacket swallowed up any possible light that could have revealed his face.

As I continued to stare, I realized it was his face. Or rather, he didn’t seem to have one. I tried to be polite.

“Uh. Yeah, yes, I’m Joni. Can I see the camera?”

“Of course.” His voice was harsh, as if he’d been swallowing big gulps of sand. If sand had a voice, his would have been what it sounded like. “It’s in excellent condition. I took it earlier to be cleaned- it’s working perfectly.”

When he handed me the camera, the metal body was cold. Liz was frozen next to me. I looked through the viewfinder, opened the back to get a look at the aperture mechanism. He was right- it was perfect.

“Thanks,” I said, and handed him the iPod. When he took it from my hand, I could see his fingers. Black as shadows and just as insubstantial. Like smoke.

He nodded under the hoodie, and stuck the iPod in his pocket. I could feel Liz’s arm grasp mine suddenly, as if she was afraid he would pocket me too.

He took my hand then, and liz held on to me even tighter. I held my breath but all he did was shake my hand and say, “Pleasure doing business with you, Joni.” His hands were very soft.

I looked into where I thought his eyes might be. I could feel the heat on my cheeks and prayed no one else could. Finally he let go, and turned to walk away.

“Wait,” I said, placing a reassuring hand over Liz’s. She was worried over nothing. “I didn’t get your name.”

He turned around. For the first time, I realized he did have a mouth. He smiled, showing off rows of sharp teeth. “We have been called many things. But you can call us… Rick.”

“Bye, Rick. Maybe…”


“Let me know If you ever have something else you’d like to trade.” I blushed again as I said it, but if Rick noticed, he just continued to smile.

“I will.”


Perfect skin. 

Perfect hair. 

Perfect body. 

Perfect smile. 

There you stand, completely and utterly perfect, completely unaware of it, the creature that has been watching you, longing after for you for so long. 

But it sadly knows that it is an imperfect, ugly creature.  That is why it hides away from human sight, fearful of their inevitable disgust and rejection. You, a rare breed that is beautiful both inside and out, seem to exist in some other ethereal plain of reality. It can only look at you from afar, desperately longing to be with you. Your very existence is a light to its long, lonely life. 

Ugly things cannot be with creatures of light. That is just the way of natural  things.

You are a beautiful bird, who deserves to soar the limitless skies of whatever dreams you may aspire to. It does not want to weigh your down with it’s only darkness and ugliness. It loves you so much as to only do so from afar.  


They never think that you’ll notice them. That they will live the rest of their lives in the comfortable, non-judging solitude of nature.

    But you do. You hear the unexplained rustling, see the flashes of something tall and pale out of the corner of your sight, darting out of your view whenever you look in their direction. 

And that’s when you finally realize that someone or rather, something likes you. 

“Who’s there?” you call out. 

To be honest, you’re getting a little tired of this game of hide and seek. You just want whatever it is to finally come out hiding. 

It’s the fact that you are addressing it, actually aware of it that makes its heart pound against the confines of it’s hollow bony chest as it hides, just a few feet away from you. The creature finds itself torn- this is what they’ve wanted for so long, just to be close to you. But they know that they could never be with someone like you. They know that you will reject them, like the world has. 

But it is better than hiding away from you, hiding their love for you. 

And so they step out into the light, in front of your being. 

They wince away as your eyes widen in shock, inwardly preparing for harsh words of disgust and rejection. 

They know that you can never love something as ugly as them. 

“Someone….who loves you.” it begins shakily.

There is a void of silence between you both. They want to burn away to dust in the light, or be swallowed up by the earth. But still they go on, even as their voice breaks. 

“Someone who thought you beautiful…so beautiful. Perfect in every way, even the most minuscule aspect  But you are a creature of light, whereas I belong in the cold dark. I know now that I am not the one for you, and I…never will be.” 

They’re about to return back to the darkness it has been so long hiding, inhuman face now wet with rolling tears when it hears the sound of your voice. 

“You…you think I’m beautiful?”

They turn back in shock to face you, only to see your eyes are glassy with tears. You smile down at them as they look up at you, the most beautiful sight that they have ever seen in their lives. 

Your hand, pretty and perfect, touches the side of their monstrous visage. Their whole twisted body goes rigid. 

“Thank you,” you murmur down to them with a smile. 

They thought that from the very moment they saw you, that they had already lost you. That someone like you could never love a monster like them. 

Neither of you had ever imagined that two who were rejected by the world would ever find each other. You saw the beauty in them, in the feelings they had for you.

Neither of you thought that you would find something else so perfect.

by Lindsay Smith

I will rule for a thousand years, and none shall defy my reign.

I am the sole queen of these lands. Sole heir to the winter and the forests and the streams, sole arbiter of the echoing city streets of stone. So many would keep me from my throne, my true calling. But I have earned my place. I have shown them all what it means to rule.

It started with my sister. From my first hazy memories I remember her shadow weighing down on me, stifling my every move. “One day one of you must rule,” our father said to us, night after night when we gathered at his feet. “If it must be one of you, then I will be the one to choose.”

How could we learn to be sisters with such a decree? All I wanted was a friend, someone to look up to, someone to whisper to at night to keep the darkness away. But I learned quickly that that was only the surest path to her scorn. She saw me as weak, as foolish, as younger. I would reach out to her to pull me up and she would shove me right back down. I would show her my weakness and she would pry it open wide, ragged and bloody.

I didn’t realize the significance, at first, of what our father wanted us to become. Didn’t know what it meant to be queen, or why it was something worth fighting for. But as I learned from my sister, I learned to covet it, to hunger for it so fiercely that everything else tasted dried out and dull. She wanted to rule so that all would obey her. I wanted to rule so she could not.

The first time she tried to kill me, it was my nurse who gave it away. She woke me up in the dead of night and bundled me into a closet, told me not to make a noise no matter what followed. Then the guards came, swords drawn, visors lowered. They were only boys infatuated with my sister, but at the time everyone seemed impossibly old to me, unstoppably strong. I feared them, but I believed my nurse invincible too.

They taught me, quickly, how wrong I was.

After that, my father sent me to the country for a spell. Armed guards, a fleet of tutors, and an ailing count who watched over me with a gaze like sharpened knives. Sometimes the threats came in letters that the count would burn before he thought I could read them. Sometimes, It was assassins in the night.

Worst of all, though, were the long silences. The heaviness of her inaction dragging me to the bottom, drowning me. I never knew when the next assault would come for me.

Slowly, finally, I could wait no longer.

I found the woman in the country market, slender fingers grazing over her wares of pewter charms and crystals and bundled flowers. Her skin was smooth, her hair like silk, and when she looked my way, I saw the kiss of winter in her eyes.

“You look troubled,” she said, and the words wrapped around me like a soft breeze. “You look far too troubled for someone your age.”

I looked away then, ashamed to be so young. If I was older, if I was cleverer, I wouldn’t have to be sent away. I could prove myself worthy of the crown. I could beat my sister for good, beat her just enough that she’d never need attack me again. How foolish, that I thought winning once would be enough.

“Come closer.” She swept her hand over her goods. “Perhaps I might ease some of your pain.”

I started to meet with her every time I could sneak away from the count’s estate. It wasn’t often, but her lessons in the ways of magic filled me up with a sustenance I didn’t know I craved. I wanted to be her, to share her easy confidence and capability, to bend the world toward me with a subtle call the way she did. Her poultices cleared away blemishes and made water drinkable, but they also could boil blood, shatter bones, freeze a pond. She let me practice these skills as though they were interchangeable. She let me build on them, stringing them together like beads on a necklace, as I practiced on the woods beyond her hut.

The more power I gained, the more I sought. At long last, I understood the hunger in my sister’s belly. For now, I hungered too.

“You have a keen mind for magic,” she told me, when I worked something particularly cruel on a sparrow we found feasting on her garden. “A cruel mind. But I think a girl like you has to be cruel.”

“My sister is cruel. I just wish to survive.”

“Then I hope I’ve equipped you well,” she said. “Be like the wintervine. Feast on cold, on nothingness. For they have given you nothing. Use it to sprout your ice, your thorns.”

I looked at the wintervine where it flourished in the ice, and I felt its loneliness, its stubbornness, its scorn.

At long last I was of age, and my father sent for me once more. The time to choose was drawing near, but, he confided, in some ways he feared us both. His kingdom needed a decisive leader, yes, a sturdy leader, but compassion, too, he said, was called for. He did not see that he’d been the one to rob us of that. He didn’t see the dark seeds he’d planted in both our minds take hold.

My sister began her attempts anew, but this time, I was ready.

The first men she sent to kill me simply disappeared. They became nothing more than char burned into the cobbles of my bedroom floor. The next, though, I made sure she saw, their flayed corpses piled at the palace gates. Cruelty was my reflex, now, and each test made it stronger still.

“You cannot beat me,” she hissed, over a banquet table while our father entertained. “I deserve this. I will earn this.”

She cut her steak with a furious scrape of knife and fork. The noise grated at my soul. When was the last time she had shown kindness? It had been carved out of her, if it had ever been there at all.

Father wanted to make one of us a queen. He wanted someone compassionate. Maybe compassion was still in me; maybe not.

But it would never be in her.

As she swallowed, the lump of meat grew thorns. I could almost feel it myself as I directed it, as it swelled inside her throat, tore its way through her flesh. She gagged and choked, and I imagined she gagged and choked on all the hatred she’d let fester for years and years.

I wanted the coldness, the loneliness I felt to be visible to everyone. I wanted those thorns.

Frost sprouted from my fingertips and webbed across the banquet table. She scrabbled for a goblet of wine to try to wash the meat down, but everything turned cold. A guard stepped forward—but she deserved no kindness, no comfort. I never felt her embrace, so why should she feel the same? He withered, cold and empty, before he could reach her.

“What is the meaning of this?” my father cried. “Stop this at once!”

But the cold was radiant, alive now, warming me even as it drew warmth away from everything. The dark thorns in my sister’s throat flourished, drinking up the cold, and twined their way across the table to wrap around everyone’s limbs. My breath hung in the air before me as I stood, untouched, unsnared by the darkness and frost.

I had to beat her. I could not let her win.

And if I could feel no warmth, no freedom without her darkness over me, then neither could anyone.

I do not remember what came next, but it did not come for a long time. Icicles hung from the chandeliers; black thorns sprouted from the walls. All was still and glistening and cold. I walked through the hall like a phantom, soundless, for it was how I felt. But I was all that remained of my sister’s hatred. I was her greed given form.

And I will rule for a thousand years. With this cruelty beating inside me, my sister’s words, her greed, her anger—with the coldness she left inside me—I will rule for a thousand more.
Sci-fi author Nnedi Okorafor on creating an interstellar coming-of-age story
Nnedi Okorafor is one of the most exciting authors writing science fiction and fantasy today, and we really enjoyed her Binti stories when we read them earlier this year. She’s currently an associate professor of creative writing and literature at the University of Buffalo, and has won widespread acclaim for her work, including the World Fantasy, Hugo, and Nebula awards.
By Andrew Liptak
Short, But A Badass

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam

Word Count: 1,912

Warnings: shortandangry!reader, fluffy dean, kind of implied smut but nothing too bad, annoyed Sam

Request: Hi!! I loved FBI Agent it was awesome!! I was wondering if you could do a Deanxreader where the reader is super short (like 5 feet) and the monsters all tease her about it but she’s still a badass and Dean makes her feel better because he loves her, shortness and all. Sorry if that didn’t make sense! You’re a super talented writer!

Author’s Note: If you want to be tagged, leave an ask or message and I’ll add you! Same goes for my Series Rewrite! If you want to request a fic, please send them in! I love writing what you guys want!

Feedback is always appreciated

Tags at the bottom

Originally posted by deans-trenchcoat-baby

“You all packed sweetheart?” Dean asked, walking into your shared room. When you moved into the Bunker, you had your own room and Dean had his. Then you two started dating and you moved some of your things to his room and his room was the room that became the both of yours.

His bed had memory foam.

Keep reading

Don't Feign Affection

This was one love hate relationship kind of story for me to write but I did it. I hope you all enjoy this! Let me know what you think. :)


Word Count: 950

Pairing: Logicality

Summary: Patton makes Logan a gift to help coax him into being more feelings-y. It works, but not in the way Patton expects it to.

In an effort to help Logan be more ‘expressive’ with how he felt Patton had made a special gift for the the Logical trait. He had sewn a small plush heart out of felt and silk. Inside the heart plush were a few tiny items that meant a lot to patton; a rainbow colored marble, a little piece of peacock ore, a light blue thread from his shirt, and a miniature dog the size of a penny.

Logan was very receptive of the gift and placed it in the breast pocket of his shirt. Morality was delighted that his logical counterpart appreciated his gift. Little did he know just what kind of effect his gift would have on Logan.

The next day, Patton was in his room when he heard a very soft knock upon his door. “Hold on, I’ll be right there!” With some extra pep in his step he made his way over to the door and opened it. He was surprised, however, to see Logan standing there. “Hey Logan, everything…” His words were cut short. The expression on Logan’s face made him feel nervous. Logan was looking at him with a deep almost longing stare.

“My dear Patton. I believe the gift you gave me, has brought me to elicit feelings I didn’t know how to express before.” Logan’s voice held a tone that balanced on the edge of being romantic and intimidating.

Patton felt even more nervous than before and he backed away into the safety of his room. Logan silently followed him with one slow methodical step after the other.

Morality could feel his pulse quicken as Logic moved closer to him. “Logan, I’m not sure…” Patton’s words caught in his throat as he felt his back suddenly hit a wall. Logan was almost pressed up against him, their faces only inches apart now.

As Logan’s eyes glanced down at Patton’s lips Morality could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

Logan started to lean in but stopped just short, he looked into Patton’s eyes and smiled. “May I?”

Patton felt a slight wave of relief wash over him as Logan said those two little words. A smile graced his lips and he nodded.

The short distance between the two was closed in an instant. Logan kissed Patton with such love and passion that Morality couldn’t help but melt with happiness.

Patton wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist and pulled him even closer. They continued to kiss for what felt like a lifetime but it was actually only a couple minutes.

When Logan finally leaned back his eyes were gleaming and his breathing was heavy. “Well, that was certainly more enjoyable than I originally anticipated.” Logan then casually fixed his glasses and chuckled to himself. “Patton? You alright?”

Patton’s thoughts were distracted by the kiss and when Logan spoke his name he lost his composure. “M-me? Yeah…I-I’m good.” He had been so caught off guard, with how amazing it felt to be kissed by Logan, that he was tripping over his own tongue. He felt his face start to burn and made a mad dash for his bed.

Logan noticed how red Patton’s cheeks turned and simply smiled to himself. He never expected Patton to get embarrassed by a kiss. The whole thing amused him. He slowly walked over and sat on the edge of Patton’s bed. He then fixed his moral counterpart with a soft loving expression.

Patton was now sitting on his bed, strangling a stuffed bear with a tight hug as he looked at Logan with a confused expression. “Logan, have you always had these feelings for me?” He asked with growing suspicion “Or, is it the gift I gave you that’s making you be so passionate?” Deep down Patton wanted to believe that Logan naturally felt so strongly about him. He knew though that there was the small possibility Logan was being overly influenced by his gift. The thought made his heart ache a little but he didn’t want to build this relationship from a lie. So he watched Logan closely and waited for a reply.

Logan’s smile faltered only a little at Patton’s question. He then reached a hand into his breast pocket to reveal a different kind of heart plush. This one was sewn out of thick paper that had different words of encouragement printed on it’s surface. Inside the heart was a small cut opal, a piece of thread from his tie, a treble clef made from copper, and a miniature book the size of your thumb. Logan held the heart in his hand and absentmindedly smiled down at it. “These feelings I have are In fact sincere. I’ve never been one to feign affection.” He glanced up at Patton with a playful smile tugging at his lips. “The heart you gave me is safe and sound in my room. I will cherish it always. In turn though, I felt it an appt gesture for me to give you a heart as well. I hope you don’t mind too terribly that my heart isn’t as strong as yours…” Logan was cut off in his tangent by Patton swifty pulling him into another passionate kiss.

Patton chuckled to himself after he finished kissing Logan. “If your heart can carry the feelings that we share for each other well then it’s stronger than a diamond in my book.”

Logan bit his lower lip and smiled, a light blush graced his cheeks. “Patton, thank you. For everything. Thank you for showing me that feelings and affection are okay to have. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

With that the two kissed once more and enjoyed the simple pleasures of each other’s company.

The End


Where do stars go
in the morning light?
They fall to the sea
like diamonds so bright

They shimmer in splendour
they rock-a-bye
Slowly meander
like a lullaby

But softly they pine
for their piece of sky
A home where the clouds
are the beds they lie

They wait for their turn
as the sun shines bright
To finally return
in the pale moonlight

Somewhere deep inside, he felt himself fall apart each second that passed in complete silence, knowing there was only one possible answer to that stupid question he insisted on asking. His heart ached and his whole body was cold and weakened. As much as he tried to hide away his pain and anguish behind a hostile, enraged facade, tears just wouldn’t stop streaming down his cheeks and falling on his coat, each of them hurting as bad as the sharpest of knives stabbing his chest with the truth that, from now on, he was all alone.