this was in my drafts for two weeks

anonymous asked:

So my friend has a private Account(she's a larrie) on twitter And she tweeted a couple weeks ago that she found something out about elounor and would only say it if it happened she even created a draft that day to prove the time and she just tweeted that it was about this elounor vacation and her draft even say tropical vacation in two weeks and it's been about 2 weeks lol so the word was going around that this was planned

Yeah apparently some people knew and anon messages were sent. If it was indeed planned awhile ago as it seems it was, it makes it even more glaringly obvious how ridiculously fake. All we can do it wait it out and hope that Oli packed enough sunscreen.

Some US Presidents as @dril tweets
  • FDR: christ.. ive done it again.. ive posted the absolute good truth shit that every1 has been waiting to hear in this sea of lying crap nonsense
  • Truman: please remember that im in charge of this website before you try to drag some toughguy shit all over my good page
  • Eisenhower: Q: What is your Passion Sport? A: My Passion Sport is football and golf
  • JFK: when you do sutuff like... shoot my jaw clean off of my face with a sniper rifle, it mostly reflects poorly on your self
  • LBJ: just give me one hour and no swear filter and i can literally completely destroy anyone psychologically with aim instant messenge
  • Nixon: im an exhausting person to be around but once you get to knnow me im actually a giant shithead with irredeemable mouth
  • Ford: ive trademarked the term "The guy who fucks up" so if you see someone else using it pleaase stick my Fair Use brochures to their car
  • Carter: i attribute the complete failure of my brand to the actions of detractors, oor my "trolls", as it were, as well as my own constant fuckups
  • Reagan: incredibly handsome , charismatic famous boy credited with ending income inequality after saying that slumlords should be called "dumblords"
  • H.W. Bush: looked at a newspaper today. looks like we're getting taxed out the wazoo, with this president. anyone else see this shit? tax out the wazoo
  • Clinton: every now and then i like to treat myself to a bit of "Lying under oath"
  • W. Bush: PLEASE look up "Event Horizon" on wikipedai before you chastise me for screaming it on 9./11
  • Obama: The absolute shit Im forced to put up with as a content Producer. Ive sacrificed my basic human rights in order to placate U fucking people.
Throw It All Away

Originally posted by alinok

[Part 2]

You all asked for it so here it is. My friend helped me out with this one and I’ve just had this sitting in my drafts for like two weeks so I guess it’s about time I posted it

Pairing: Jughead Jones x reader
Warnings: angst
Fandom: Riverdale

You’ve had a crush on Jughead since you were like ten. To most it was no secret. In the words of Veronica apparently “hearts formed in your eyes whenever you saw him”. It seemed like everyone (even Reggie) knew about your feelings except for of course Jughead.

For the longest time the mere thought of telling your best friend about how you felt made you want to puke. Today however was different. Today was the day you were going to finally tell him.

For most of the morning you argued with yourself over this issue.

“Tell him now”.
“No not yet I’m not ready”.
“Do it or I swear to god”.
“This was a terrible idea”.
“Abort! Abort!”.

It took you until the end of the entire school day to confront him.

“H…hey Jug” you called to Jughead just as he was about to exit the school.

“Hey” he replied “what’s up?”.

You gulped. You felt your hands start to immediately shake and a sickening feeling formed in your stomach.
“N… not much… Jughead, I actually really have to tell you something. I’ve been keeping it from you for too long”.

Jughead raised an eyebrow, his expression becoming full of concern.
“Ah okay. What is it?”.

Taking a great long breath you began to force out your confession.
“Jughead we’ve been friends for a long time but for the most of that time I’ve wanted to be more than friends. You make me laugh, you’re there for me when nobody else is. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I think I’m in love with you Jughead”.

For a moment Jughead didn’t react.
“[Y/N] I… I don’t think I’m ready for something like this. I just don’t… I’m sorry”.

You felt as if you had been hit by a bus. You had had nightmares about this before but you never expected it to hurt this bad. Tears formed in your eyes and you had to bite you lip so you wouldn’t let out a sob.

“Oh I…I get it. Excuse me I… I have to go”.

You didn’t even wait for him to say anything else. You rushed past him and quickly made your way out of the front doors of the school. Jughead called out to you but you ignored. Instead you broke into a run. You ran all the way home, with tears rushing down your cheeks, and your heart broken.

You avoided Jughead for days after that event had taken place. Partly because you were embarrassed and also because you were sure you’d burst into tears if you stayed around him for too long. In fact you spent the next week or so not talking to anyone. It was obvious you weren’t okay and you had become sick and tired of people asking you what was wrong. Unfortunately Jughead eventually cornered you on your way home from school.

“[Y/N]!”.

You heard him but you didn’t dare turn around. You started to pick up your pace but before you knew it you felt Jughead grab your shoulder causing you to stop in your tracks.

“[Y/N] talk to me please”.

Sighing you turned to face him.
“I’d rather not Jughead”.

“Come on. Let’s go to Pop’s and grab a burger or something. Just like we use to”.

“Don’t you get it?”.
Your eyes were already wet and you looked at the ground feeling as if you couldn’t face him while you said this.
“It can’t be like it use to be. I want it to be, trust me I do but every time I look at you now Jughead, even if it’s from across the classroom I’m just reminded about how much it hurt when you rejected me”. Jughead opened his mouth to speak but you stopped him.
“I’m not mad at you Jug. I don’t blame you either but I can’t go to Pop’s with you and act like everything’s fine because it’s not. I’m sorry”.

The colour in Jughead’s face seemed to fade at your words. He didn’t say anything, probably because he didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry” you repeated but this time in a much tinier voice. Then you gave him a light kiss on the cheek and turned around and continued your journey home.

Jughead watched you, not attempting to stop you from leaving. At that moment he somewhat understood what you had felt. He also knew that he’d do anything, give up anything to go back in time and give you a different answer to your confession, just so he could have you back.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he just throw away the best thing that’s ever happened to him? Now he may have lost you forever.

In my first year of Costume at Elsewhere University, I learned how to sew. Not that I hadn’t ever done it before, on the contrary I’d been handsewing for myself for years, but the first year was the same whether you were a Fashion or Costume major. So I learned how to sew by machine, how to draft a pattern to fit an average. How to deeply hate the word ‘standard’ because no-one is.

In my second year of Costume at Elsewhere University, I learned how to handsew again, better, and how to fit the people who weren’t the fashion’s idea of standard. I loved it, loved it so much the teachers, two weeks before I got my diploma, offered to take me on for a third year. There were courses, they explained, that were more historical, more detailed, more interesting.

In my third year of Costuming at Elsewhere University, I was taught by a teacher I’d never seen before. He didn’t flinch at my salt, and used iron pins, but he was different. He was also brilliant.
I spent most of that year drafting and sewing to impossible proportions. Sometimes one of my other teachers would look in, and then leave, quickly, eyes wide and face pale. There were waistcoats that looked like swiss cheese, so many armholes, and dresses that tapered into waists only a couple centimeters around.

I graduated, technically, but I missed walking the stage due to a fitting my teacher couldn’t do on his own. I could have moved, then. Left, if I’d wanted to. But there was work here, a list of contacts as long as my arm that would not help me. (Part ½)

(Part 2/2)
I stayed, though, getting my teachers help moving into a place one of my clients found for me. It’s nice, lots of space for fabric and pins, but my machine won’t work, there.

So, now, every so often, I have to come back. To find an empty machine and sew something that is all edges and shapes that people don’t like looking at. My teachers won’t meet my eyes anymore, but I’m not bothered by the students in the classrooms. Perhaps it’s because of what I’m sewing, perhaps it’s because I’m never in class, perhaps it’s because three or four of the crows always seem to be keeping an eye on me.
Either way, in my fourth year at Elsewhere University, I became the Queens Tailor, and nothing much bothered me after that.

8

Rebecca || Ross Parallels 
*getting slapped/punched by a sibling
*being left for dead by a sibling
*getting rejected by a Sugden
*confronting their sibling after being left for dead

the taste of crimson | M

Contains: smut, angst {mafia!au}

Warnings: violence, death/murder

Words: 11,236

Summary: When the leader of mafia finds himself being blackmailed by his old colleague, Hoseok discovers that his problems can be quickly taken care by a cold blooded killer ー you. 

[img cr]

A/N: this has been sitting on my drafts for like two weeks and I finally managed to finish it. This will probably be one of my last fics for a while, since my classes start again very soon, so I hope you guys like it <3

The man looked down at the folded piece of paper resting on the wooden table. Around him, the afternoon had already dripped into a cloudy autumn night, the buzzing of people coming in and out of the restaurant sounding muffled to his ears. The odor of the place was pleasant ー perhaps vanilla, with a vague hint of alcohol ー something that combined perfectly with the warm indoors atmosphere. Sitting on the opposite side, Min Yoongi waited with crossed arms, his obsidian hair falling over his attentive eyes.

“Is she any good?” Hoseok questioned, staring back at his companion.

Yoongi paused for a second, but did not look surprised. “The best in the business.”

“I’ve never heard of her,” he said, fingers reaching for his half-empty wine glass. The ruby liquid contrasted against his caramel skin, glowing under the dim lights of the establishment.

“That’s enough indication that she knows what she’s doing,” the other man said promptly, almost as if he was expecting such claim. He raised an eyebrow, signs of impatience gleaming in his irises. “Do you want it or not?”

Resting his glass back on the surface, Jung Hoseok closed his lips, thinking for an instant. He had ran over this subject for a long time now, but it still felt a bit strange to him: not the action itself, but who it would be applied to. It was not as if he was unfamiliar with paid assassins, but he was at least a bit reluctant to send one after his former friend.

Hoseok never thought he’d be victim of blackmail. He was careful, very careful; but, someway, it was not enough. At some point, the empire he had built for himself was being crushed beneath his feet, running like thin san in between his fingers; all that in the form of a wolf who hid inside a sheep’s clothing, who grew close to him just to dive into his secrets. Kim Taehyung, V ー whatever the name he went by, he was not the one to be trusted. And Hoseok learned that in the worst way possible.

Breaking free from his uncharacteristic hesitation, the man reached forward, taking the paper. Instead of unfolding it, he immediately hid it inside the pocket of his dark suit, looking around to be sure no curious eyes were on him. “How does it work?”

Keep reading

I almost can’t believe it, but I’m actually posting two fics within the space of a few days!! This week has been crazy productive. 

So this fic is not a Christmas fic, but it is kinda Christmas-y, because I wrote this while listening to copious amounts of Christmas music. It has a very different feel from the last fic I posted, but I hope you guys like it~ 

Sterek, ~6k words, rated T

It happens on a Monday. Derek stayed up stupidly late the night before, reading a weird German serial killer novel Erica lent him, and overslept. He’s running late, out of breath and a little sweaty from jogging all the way from the subway, and when he yells, “Hold the elevator!” an arm obligingly snakes out between the doors and he slips inside.

The guy who held the door for him doesn’t even look up. He’s slouching back against the wall, scrolling disinterestedly through his phone, his other hand curled around a bouquet of flowers wrapped in crinkly paper. He’s got messy brown hair and a mole right by his mouth, four more in a cluster along his jaw, and, under the scent of cold air and wet pavement that’s clinging to his jacket, he smells—good. Really good. Warm and a little gingery.

The elevator doors slide shut. Derek’s so focused on trying to look at him without letting the guy know he’s looking that it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize the guy just said something. To Derek.

Derek blinks. “What?”

The guy smirks. “Running a little low on caffeine? I asked what floor you want.” He nods at the elevator buttons, and Derek flushes. Right.

“Ninth.”

The guy leans forward to press the button, and Derek leans in a little after him, trying to subtly smell him again.

Keep reading

10

- It must’ve been tough. I’m sure it is not easy for a woman to raise three kids alone.

- It’s in the past now, anyways.