two seven zero three

~ ten ~ 
the nights like this are the ones where you almost ask for help but you can’t seem to spit out the words through the mouthfuls of blood.
~ nine ~ 
the sky is the color of ink and the breeze sends a chill down to your bone marrow. you wonder if you’ll ever feel warm again.
~ eight ~ 
tears are dripping from your eyes and red is dripping from the tops of your thighs. you pretended you were invincible until tonight, played dress-up in an immortal skin. two thousand years ago, a princess of a long dead kingdom might have worn that sad smile.
~ seven ~ 
you could have been a city with eyes like that. you could have been so many things. you kissed boys with cigarette teeth and girls with vodka lips but you can never get the taste of ancient ruins out of your mouth.
~ six ~ 
if you tried hard enough, you could paint your mouth the color of cherries and cover up the scars. if you do, you will be beautiful. you really will. someone could almost love you someday.
~ five ~ 
you’ll never let it get this bad again if you make it through the night.
~ four ~ 
when you were seven you forgot to feed your pet goldfish and it died. you buried it in your backyard because you didn’t want to flush it. the only thing that matters at three a.m. is your dead goldfish, and everything else you’ve ever destroyed. nothing lasts if your hands linger too long. you’re sure this is how midas felt.
~ three ~ 
your body is a temple. your body is a temple. it is the sacking of jerusalem beneath your skin. nothing sacred is left here. all the holiness has drained from your bones.
~ two ~ 
you were never the calm before the storm. everyone says that tornadoes sound like freight trains. you are screaming at the top of your lungs and the wind is howling through your hair. in the right light, this could be poetry instead of pain.
~ one ~ 
this is when the shatter comes. it’s slipping through your fingers now. your heart is cracked stained glass. your smile is just punched-out teeth. your world is ending, the entire universe swallowed up in ten nine eight seven six five four three two one
~ zero ~
—  self-destruct in 10 by Auriel Haack
Nine. [Hinanami Week 2017 Day One]

Haha suckers, it’s still the ninth on the west coast. So this isn’t even late.

And even if it was, I’m the mod of hinanami week, who the hell’s gonna stop me.

Anyways, I’ve been playing too much Zero Escape, so here’s a DR Zero Escape AU for hinanami week.

————————————

Hajime Hinata woke up with his head throbbing. He groaned, and then proceeded to hit his head on the ceiling as he sat up.

After taking a moment to wake up, the first thing Hajime noticed was that he was in a bunkbed.

The second was that he had no idea where he was.

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Nightmare- Part 1

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,616

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, angst, language, minor character death, blood, you know the usual

Summary: You finally got everything you want in life. So, naturally, something else has to ruin it but this time, it’s about you. It’s about Sam. What does this all mean?

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Please, if you want to be tagged for this series, let me know and I’ll add you! If you want to be tagged for my other fics, I’ll add you! I want to hear what you guys think about this. If you want something requested, send it in!

Feedback is always appreciated

Tags at the bottom

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Nightmare - Part 1

Word Count: 3050

Pairing: Eventual Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of suicide, some graphic stuff. 

Tagging: @letsgetoutalive @aprofoundbondwithdean @pb-5minutefanfiction @spnfanficpond @faith-in-dean @blacktithe7 @supernotnatural2005 @nothingeverdies @thegirlwiththeimpala @paolathedragonichuntress @deans-cherry-pie1

Series Rewrite Masterlist


Sam suddenly startled awake, sitting on the side of the bed to collect himself, then started shaking Dean awake. “Dean. Hey. Dean!” Dean stirred a little and rubbed his eyes.

“What are you doing, man? It’s the middle of the night.” he mumbled and rubbed his eyes. Sam ran around the room gathering up his things and shoving them into his bag.

“We need to go. Now. Go get Y/N.” he ordered.

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Soulmate Clock: After Zero

(inspired by the “soulmate clock” concept that’s been floating around Tumblr, and the short stories people have subsequently written about it.)

It’s been years since my soulmate clock hit “0.” I remember exactly where I was, too. The middle of a grocery store, thumbing uselessly through bags of brown sugar and spices, patiently yet stupidly waiting for that Hollywood moment when my shoulder would receive that tap indicating he’d arrived for me at last. 

Three. Two. One.

Zero.

I spun as if thinking he’d be waiting to surprise me from behind with a clever smirk, flashing his depleted timer to match mine. The wait was over and the magic was ready to at last flourish in a frenzy of words, touches and kisses. But all I got was an old crone and her husband staring at me oddly.

“Excuse me, could I… please get some of that sugar there? You’ve been looking at it for the past ten minutes…”

“Oh… yeah. I guess.”

And that was that. The clock was a dud.

I have a habit of wearing long sleeve shirts now, because I’d rather not be looking at the flashing row of zeroes, mockingly staring me back in the eye. My friends think I’m crazy, especially during the summer seasons when it’s obvious that I’m sweating through the unnecessary layer of clothing. But none of it mattered to me. I wanted no reminder of it at all. Surrounding me were all my friends and loved ones, inexplicably finding their soulmates right to the moment their clocks hit zero, and yet I was the only idiot I knew whose clock was after zero, and yet there was nobody standing next to me to validate it.

Can you believe I’ve even tried going to supposed repair shops that try to fix or tweak these things? I was desperate enough to be scammed out of money to try and get mine fixed, only to have them all tell me in the end that mine was “just broken.”

Just broken. Okay. I can accept that, I guess.

I was sitting in a coffee shop one day in the middle of June, sipping an iced coffee and reading the paper when a figure approached me. I looked up and saw a man. The tall, dark and handsome type. But my cynicism quickly overlooked all of that and all I did was raise my eyebrow in a twitch of curiosity.

“Can I help you?” I asked, monotone. He smirked back.

“No, not really. It’s just… aren’t you hot?”

I sighed in quiet frustration. It was a somewhat normal occurrence now for people to ask this of me because of my obviously over-dressed attire for the weather. I should’ve been used to it by now, but it still annoyed me.

“No. I’m fine.” I replied flatly.

“Oh… alright. Mind if I sit with you?”

I reeled back a little, alarmed at his sudden interest to want to talk. Part of me wanted him to just leave me be. But the other part of me couldn’t resist his outward charm, and the fact that he had the nerve to simply walk up and ask to sit with me. So I bit.

“Yeah… sure, I guess.”

A month goes by, I returned regularly to this coffee shop. And sure enough, right as rain, he was there either waiting for me or arriving just a few minutes late, insisting on joining me. I was resistant at first, but I gradually warmed up to him. He was charming, he was sweet, he was cordial. He had the courage to break me down bit by bit, and I guess part of me liked that and that’s why I kept letting it happen.

I happened to glance at his wrist one day when he wasn’t paying attention. His clock appeared. And I couldn’t help reading what it said:

“0032d 04h 51m 7s”

He was going to meet his soulmate in a little over a month. Good for him, I guess. But I never asked him about it. Nor did we ever speak about the clocks. Nor did he even wonder why I always dressed the way I did. We talked about a lot, but those were subjects that never once came up. Maybe he thought I cut myself and had scars to cover up, and he was too embarrassed to ask? Regardless, he just… always wanted to talk. 

Before I knew it, we’d moved beyond the coffee shop, and into each other’s homes. Sometimes at his apartment, sometimes at mine. Usually, I had trust issues bringing strangers into my home, but something about him made me feel comfortable with allowing it. And again, all he ever wanted to do was talk. No sex, no scam, no games. Just two… friends, I guess, we were at this point.

“Do you always second-guess yourself?”

He asked me this out of the blue one evening while we drank coffee in his kitchen. And naturally, I was a little puzzled.

“… what?”

“Well…” He thumbed idly at his mug, “You always seem so sure of yourself. So confident. And yet, it also always seems like you start or end all your sentences with ‘I guess.’ I’m a little curious as to why.”

It never even occurred to me that I said it so much to a point that it was something worth pointing out as a strange quirk. It was just always something I said, albeit subconsciously. 

“I guess…” Whoops. Did it again.

“… as confident as I might seem, I’ve always had my doubts.”

My hands rubbed uncomfortably against each other. My thumb grazed over my sleeve, where I knew that right underneath it was my failed soulmate clock. Yes, I had my doubts. I might always have them. I had a fizzled out piece of technology lifelessly embedded on my wrist as proof. Life would always keep me guessing. Human nature, right?

It was about two in the morning that same night when I at last decided it was late and was ready to go home. 

“Time for me to head out, I guess…” I bit my tongue as those words escaped my mouth again, but he just chuckled. I pushed away my empty coffee mug, and he just smiled and nodded as he stood up, ready to walk me to the door.

It was strange, but he was so much more different than anyone I’d met before. His kindness, his generosity, his openness, his caring and loving nature without expecting a thing in return. Nothing but wanting to talk. It was like talking to someone I’d known all my life. If I didn’t know any better, it almost felt like I was falling for him. But his clock was still running. And he was going to meet his own soulmate soon. And mine had already run out. Much as I wanted to reach out to him, I couldn’t interfere with that.

I reached for the doorknob, about to open it, when he gently grabbed my hand. My heart throbbed once, and I spun around as if thinking he was going to pull some stupid stunt. And he did. Stupid idiot.

He pulled me in for one long, tender kiss.

I allowed myself to fall into it for only a moment, but I quickly pulled away in retaliation. The hand that was grasping mine was now reversed, and I defensively gripped his wrist. I caught sight of his clock then, and realized there were only 10 seconds left on it. 

I heard a faint, warped beep, and for a second, I thought it was coming from his clock. But I turned my wrist and yanked down the long sleeve covering the clock I hadn’t even dared to look at for a long time, and was shocked at what I saw: the numbers appeared glitched, and for a while, was unreadable. But he soon took my hand back in his. Before I knew it… my clock was reset again. Only this time, it didn’t read days, hours and minutes. Only seconds. Seven seconds.

I glanced at his. Seven seconds. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Zero.

One long beep. And my timer reached “0” again. Only this time, there was a timer next to mine that reached “0” at the exact same moment.

He kissed me again, but I didn’t fight back this time. And as tears welled at my eyes, years of hardened anger and callousness shattering, it was at that moment I understood.

He was my soulmate… I guess.

No. No guessing this time. I’d never felt so sure about something before in my life. I knew he was. 

My clock was never broken.

It just needed a little extra time.

nu11-pointer  asked:

1 is one. 2 is two. 3 is three. 4 is four. 5 is five. 6 is six. 7 is seven. 8 is eight. 9 is nine. 0 is zero. one is 1. two is 2. three is 3. four is 4. five is 5. six is 6. seven is 7. eight is 8. nine is 9. zero is 0. 1 (one). 2 (two). 3 (three). 4 (four). 5 (five). 6 (six). 7 (seven). 8 (eight). 9 (nine). 0 (zero). one (1). two (2). three (3). four (4). five (5). six (6). seven (7). eight (8). nine (9). zero (0).

Purpose i like my girls buy one was kind again if if i good enough.

aka-anexz6  asked:

I'm gonna play the pity card... I was in a pretty gnarly car accident on Wednesday, spent the night in the hospital, and have been bedridden since >.< nothing too serious thankfully, but I am sore af & even adjusting positions to try to get more comfortable hurts like a bitch>.< I'm dying for something to take away the boredom of being stuck here. Can I please request a next part to your Flabbergasties series? Pleaseeeeeeeee!

Have no fear, I am here! I’m sorry to hear about this terribleness. For those that haven’t yet read this ridiculous fic, here’s Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, SixSeven, and Eight. I have zero idea how much more I can run with this, but let’s…um…experiment with this fic, shall we? 

They managed to move back up to the rock that they jumped off, though not after a hike that consisted of Beca falling twice and questioning the poisonous…ness of a few patches of leaves with hesitation. 

Oh, and an instance of utter humiliation wherein a bee flew with the very obvious intention of ramming right into Beca’s face, resulting in the woman screaming and jumping behind Chloe for protection. While the redhead deemed it “Totes adorbs”, Beca would fight her use of those two adjectives until her last breath. 

Regardless, as the night descended further on the woods just off the edge of the highway they were on, Beca and Chloe sat on the rock overlooking the river basin in utter silence. 

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