veins of the land

in this one,
the ghost of me lives on the moon,
translucent and blue-veined,
this solar-paneled garbage land;
the closest i can get to you.

in this one, 
love is living in the eye of the storm
instead of dry land, for
i choose the small chance of living
above the small chance of living without you.

in this one,
i take your almost over
all of it with anyone else.

in this one,
i would spend eons in the dark
for a second in your light.

—  in this one, the eclipse / nlp

there’s dozens of stories about some kid from our world falling into a different, magical one,  being the chosen one or the close companion of the chosen one and saving the world, and then going home where they’re delighted to see their family again and have a new appreciation of their own life. but what about someone who didn’t miss it? what if you save the world and you’re given your medal and stripped of the magic you learned and put back in a world you never missed? and you’re furious.

maybe you gave up a few years of your life. you have callouses and muscles and a few scars and maybe a missing eye or something. you definitely have some blood on your hands. you might have PTSD you can’t talk to anyone about. and suddenly you’re fifteen again, in a body that’s too soft and too short and too complete. you’re always cold because there’s no magic burning in your veins anymore, and even as you grow up the feeling of not fitting doesn’t go away because when you look in the mirror at eighteen you look all wrong: this is not what youre supposed to look like at eighteen. the sky clouds and you rub at the phantom ache of injuries this body never received. you wake up screaming sometimes remembering the sorcerer who burnt your hand to ashes, or the final battle you almost didn’t make it through, or the moment you felt the magic in you go out.

but here’s the thing: they took you and made you into a weapon that was determined enough and powerful enough to save a whole world. they can put you back where they found you but they can’t undo everything. and there’s this, too: the place between worlds clings to you. you can’t tease fire out of the air but you can feel the pull of the doorways all the time, although none of them so far go to your world.

but you try to make it work for a decade, anyway. you’re dutiful. but one night you leave work late and for the thousandth time you catch yourself searching the sky for firebirds. and you break. of the three portals within five hundred miles, one is a howling, frozen wasteland and one is a deep violet void, but one opens into a misty forest that you step into and don’t look back. it’s not your world, but if you keep going long enough, you’ll get there.

(and maybe much, much later, hundreds of worlds later, you climb through a window, or a door of woven branches int he middle a field, or push aside a curtain, and as you set foot on new land you feel the fire in your veins and sparks at your fingertips and finally, finally, you’re home)

a letter to everyone who’s ever hurt me;

i am so god damn tired of hearing “you did nothing wrong, you deserve better, you deserve so much love, i don’t deserve you.” it is engraved in my fucking head. i want to rip out my teeth and slam them into your heart so you know how it feels to cough up broken pieces of a person you once loved. because you shoved all of these words down my throat and i was convinced, maybe for once, someone felt it too. it’s like putting money in a machine, fuel me and make me work and I’ll confine to your needs. give me happiness and I’ll give you all my love. with one smile i will give you my ribs, with one touch, one call, i will personally rip my heart out with my bare hands and place it right into yours and I’ll do you a favor and ignore your trembling hands and instead, I’ll shoot you with a, “hey, how ya doing? haven’t talked to you in a while!” text cause i have never been one for subtlety or expressing how i feel. “im sorry. you deserve more, you don’t deserve that, you deserve so much love!” then why does this keep happening to me? if i deserve more, why is all of my love one sided? unrequited? why is my heart layered in stitches and still im the one who always gives. if you are so sorry why in the fuck do you keep letting me crash and burn? why in the fuck did you think it was okay to tell me you loved me and then not speak a word to me for three fucking months? i have always been one to remember everything and i remember the way your lips felt on mine for the very first time and how i was so in shock i couldn’t even kiss back but i swear to fucking god i felt my veins turn into fireworks and my body into a land mine and with one more touch i thought that i just mightve exploded and jesus fuck i don’t even know how you feel and i have destroyed myself pondering over it and they tell you that their touch means forever but all i can think about is you telling me i deserve better but if i deserve so much more why will no one reach out and give it to me? i am choking on water and drowning in my own house because i gave you the key and i trusted you with all i had but when you walked away you left the faucets on and i wondered why i just couldn’t stop crying. i think you slammed the door too hard, i think my water bill is too high, i don’t even bother to wipe my eyes because all i can think about is your smile and how it made me feel like i was finally safe but all i ever am is somewhere for people to go when they need to take refuge, and i am never a permanent home, just a quick little stop, a let’s take a break, unwind and ruin the foundation kind of stop. an “oh its okay it’ll only hurt a bit” kind of stop, an “i love you.” kind of stop but i always love more, so can you stop? i can’t stop bleeding, i can’t stop scratching myself raw, i can’t stop screaming because all i am good for is always loving more and i am so beyond tired of hearing how i deserve better, maybe i don’t want better, maybe i am ready for a fight, maybe i am fragile and gentle and cry all the time over the smallest thing because one bad thing just sends my heart crumbling but i want a love that rips me apart and maybe im already in pieces but i really wouldn’t mind if you turned me black and blue because i swear to god, no matter what, im always going to love more so i might as well just see how much i can take before i collapse on the floor and i am so tired of always being the one with the brave face and im tired of forgiving without even a slight trace of an apology and i don’t even give a shit that you don’t talk to me anymore because maybe i did deserve more and maybe i finally found it but im afraid this fire is unrequited too and i am so tired of burning one second and being ice cold the next and all i need is consistency but i get summer days filled with winter nights and i am sorry for always loving more. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen but we all know that is a god damn lie because my hearts already prepped and ready for the next gaping chest i see. // i think that’s my problem, im always one to give without them even asking for anything but i cannot stop stitching up soldiers in a war i wasn’t even drafted in.

Fragility {Part 2/3}

Originally posted by fairybcby

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader, Slight Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Photographer Yoongi AU, angst, smut

Warnings: Minor character death

“You didn’t need to completely rip yourself apart just so that Yoongi could be whole. That’s not how friendship works…That’s not how love works.”

Part 1 | Part 3


Time had passed both slowly and quickly. Nothing had changed and yet everything had changed.

In reality, things were how they always had been. Your friendship with Yoongi continued like normal and he still had no clue that Hoseok had confided in you about Yoongi’s past that night.

You would meet up and go for drinks or spend days out together just walking around town and every time you would discover new parts that you hadn’t previously known existed. He had this strange ability of being able to whisk you away from your everyday life and he helped you to see the beauty in even the most mundane of things. There really wasn’t anyone like him.

He would always bring his camera and your eyes had quickly grown adjusted to the intense white flash that would often pour out from it.

On the surface, everything seemed perfect.

However, in your mid a perpetual hurricane raged on. You tried to calm it, you tried to gather your emotions and keep yourself stable but it was to no avail. You had hoped whatever it was you thought you felt towards Yoongi would quickly fade away. You’d longed for it to be nothing more than a short lived infatuation.  Yet, if anything, your feelings had only amplified. Every time you saw him smile it was as if another piece of you fell in love with him.

Everyday you would remind tell yourself that just being able to stand by his side was enough.You were well aware of how lucky you were. So on a rainy Tuesday as you walked through town after a night of helplessly watching various girls try to hit on Yoongi, you tried to convince yourself that everything was fine. He had turned them all down of course, he was as highly selective as ever. That didn’t stop the terrible feeling of jealously that consumed you every time he paid even a little bit of attention to one of them, the toxic emotion would thick and heavy through your veins, weighing your body down.

Small droplets of rain landed on your face and slowly slid down your skin. You could feel your hair and clothing becoming damp and uncomfortable, the cotton fabric was clinging to your body unpleasantly making you feel constricted. If Yoongi was here he would have scolded you for being so careless as to go outside with no umbrella despite knowing how bad the weather forecast was.

You veered off down one of the smaller side streets, the canopy of branches and leaves above now somewhat sheltering you from the weather that continued to rage of violently. Pulling your coat a little tighter around your body you broke out into a slow run. You didn’t even need to look where you were going, your legs would take you there automatically, as if it was an instinct hardwired into your DNA. By this point perhaps it was.

Yoongi’s house always looked the same, narrow, two storeys built in orange brick, with ugly black guttering running down the sides and across the top that stuck out like a sore thumb. The windows seemed to be perpetually dirty even though he insisted that he did clean them once a month.

The place was cheap and unrefined, but it was more like home to you than even your parent’s house was.

The door was unlocked so without knocking you swung it open and immediately stepped into the comforting warmth of his hallway. Some camera equipment and lighting lay in black bags on the grubby linoleum floor along with a large pile of shoes, all belonging to Yoongi of course.

“Yoongi, you here?” you called out after a few moments of silence, if he was in you couldn’t hear any signs of him lurking around somewhere.

You pulled your shoes off and dumped them in one of the corners of the room before hugging your arms to your chest, your body was still shaking from the bitter coldness of outside.

“I’m up here,” he finally replied, voice echoing down the stairs.

He sounded tired. There was a certain way he talked when he’d had a sleepless night, his words would be slower and voice rougher and it was irritatingly sexy.

You ascended up the stairs and barged your way into the bedroom.

The curtains were drawn so that any natural light was completely blocked out, but you knew better than to insist on opening them, he’d always hiss and complain when you tried. He sat hunched over his laptop furiously typing, fingers practically moving at the speed of light and he was so absorbed in what he was doing you don’t think he’d even heard you enter.

His hair hung down over his eyes and you could tell that he hadn’t brushed it in awhile, purple circles hung underneath his eyes and his lips looked chewed up and cracked. Yet you were so far gone that even in this state, you thought he looked absolutely beautiful.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch me like a creep all day?” he asked with a smirk, finally looking up from his laptop screen, “Also don’t expect me to sympathise with you because you’re cold and wet, you’re the one that was too stupid to remember to take an umbrella with you today.”

“Shut up.”

He moved over a little to make room as you sat down on the bed, you curiously peered at his laptop screen to see that he appeared to be writing some sort of essay. The word count was on 4,035.

“Did the genius Min Yoongi really leave an essay ‘til the last minute?” you asked playfully and without even looking away from the laptop he moved his hand and lightly hit you on your upper arm. You giggled before slumping down a little to get more comfortable. The pattering of his fingertips against the keys was oddly relaxing, he typed so fluidly, with no hesitation, as if he knew exactly what he wanted to say.

You remained quiet, just enjoying the feeling of him being next to you. That was something you treasured about the relationship you’d built with him, you were so comfortable around each other that you didn’t feel the need to talk all the time. 

When the sound of the typing finally ceased he snapped shut his laptop and turned to finally look at you properly. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said pointedly. You looked up from your phone and saw that the expression plastered across his face was one of seriousness, so immediately, you put it away in your pocket and sat up.

“What’s up?”

From the way he fidgeted and gripped the sheets in his large fists, you could tell he was a little anxious. This in turn roused feelings of nervousness within you, if Yoongi wanted to say something he would usually say it with no hesitation, with hardly any hints of emotion.

Keep reading

9

“African blood flows freely through our veins. Many of our ancestors came as slaves from Africa to this land. As slaves they struggled a great deal. They fought as members of the Liberating Army of Cuba. We’re brothers and sisters of the people of Africa and we’re ready to fight on their behalf!” Fidel Castro

The way we see the world shapes the way we treat it. If a mountain is a deity, not a pile of ore; if a river is one of the veins of the land, not potential irrigation water; if a forest is a sacred grove, not timber; if other species are biological kin, not resources; or if the planet is our mother, not an opportunity - then we will treat each other with greater respect. Thus is the challenge, to look at the world from a different perspective.
—  David Suzuki
My Lairship

Bucky x Reader

Summary: James Barnes is the strongest and youngest Laird in Scotland. He’s starting to learn his family’s trade but he can’t seem to focus with only one thing on his mind, the cute healer that’s his mother’s apprentice, you.

The word lair is a designation afforded the owner of a large estate in Scotland, it is the Scottish word for lord, but holds no nobility or power.

I also have zero knowledge on Scottish Lairship. I’m using the information I looked up on google and my imagination, please be gentle if stuff if inaccurate.

Mo ghràdh: scottish gaelic for my love.

Word Count: 2.3k+

Warnings: swearing, lil bit of angst, lil bit of fluff, brief mentions of smut & sexy times but nothing explicit.

Originally posted by fandomnationwhore


This was bad, very, very, very bad.

I had fallen head over heels in love with the head Lairs’ son, Lair James Barnes. I know that they technically hold no power because they don’t have noble blood coursing through their veins, but they owned nearly of the land in the Highlands, even though Queen Mary controlled the entire nation. They had money and unintentional power, and that’s dangerous. I’m just a simple girl that’s learning how to become a healer. I had no intention of falling in love with him. It just… happened.

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Underestimated

Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean underestimates your fighting skills.

Warnings: Brief cursing and sparring.

A/N: Hope you all enjoy this cute little idea I had :)

Originally posted by thoughtsduringsupernatural


“But Sam…” Dean groans, sticking out his bottom lip.

Sam rolls his eyes. “No buts. Our hand to hand combat is rusty and we need to practice.”

“Can I watch?” Your soft, timid voice appears from the doorway. You’re a hunter, but you prefer to stick your head in countless books than get your hands dirty.

“Sure. You can watch me kick Sammy’s ass”, Dean boasts, flexing his arm muscles. You giggle as Sam’s expression turns into annoyance.

The two brothers square off, hands raised in position. You know Sam has an advantage- he’s taller, bigger, and more fit. But, Dean is clever and fast. It’s a pretty even match.

Dean, being as cocky as he is, charges first, trying to knock his younger brother on his back. Sam seems to predict this, and moves out of the way, causing Dean to stumble. After what seems like hours, Dean has Sam pinned underneath him.

Dean’s eyes proudly meet yours, giving you his signature wink.

Grumbling, Sam pushes his brother off of him. Dean hits the floor with an ‘oomf!’ and you can’t help but laugh. Dean stands up and brushes himself off before teasing Sam on his loss.

In the midst of taunting his brother, Dean almost doesn’t hear your soft voice.

“Can I try next?”

Both Sam and Dean look at you in disbelief. You’re over a foot shorter than either of the brothers and not muscularly built like them. Besides, you don’t ever take cases, and they take cases almost regularly.

Dean walks over to you, easily towering over you. “Alright, pipsqueak”, you narrow your eyes when he mentions the nickname, “who do you want to take on?”

“You.” Your answer seems to surprise him, after all, he did just beat Sam. 

“Well alright sweetheart.” Dean allows you to get in position, a cocky smile on his lips. This will be a piece of cake (or pie, in Dean’s terms).

Sam signals you two to begin. Of course, Dean tries to use his much larger body and weight against you, and immediately charges you. You quickly duck and move out of the way, chuckling as Dean almost runs into a wall. 

Anger fills Dean’s veins as he tries to land a punch on your jaw, but you simply dodge the hit. With Dean distracted, you land an uppercut on his lower jaw, crumpling him to the ground. You pin your weight against him, making sure to hold his arms and legs still. 

“Looks like you lost, Deano.” Teasingly, you place a soft kiss where a bruise was forming from your hit before standing up, ignoring Sam’s open mouth stare as you walk out. 

Sam looks over to Dean with wide eyes. He’s sitting up now, gently rubbing his swollen jaw with an awe stricken and admiring look in his eyes. 

“Damn”, is all he can whisper out, feeling the mark tingle (and he knows its not just from the punch).


Dean Tag List~ @prob8850 @skybinx-blog @torn-and-frayed @its-my-perky-nipples @trinityjadec @poemwriter98 @assbutt-jones-at-law @kalifosterxx @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @deanscherrypie @deandoesthingstome @kittenofdoomage@deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @supernatural-jackles @donnaintx@aprofoundbondwithdean @umaakomton @danamarie2123-blog @mogaruke @kickasscas67 @sandlee44@infatuatedniall @wildfirekhaleesi @fairytalesexistxx @imnotalosechester @bananakid42 @jxackles @queenindecisive @tom-is-in-my-tardis @27bmm @sisterwinchesterwriter @raylin19

aliensfordonuts  asked:

Write the thing ;)

Gabriel stared at the footage, dumbfounded.

His son was Chat Noir. There was no denying it now. When he saw the ring a few weeks ago, he’d talked himself out of the obvious explanation. What other choice did he have? Denial was, after all, one of the most useful tools in controlling one’s emotions, and if Adrien was Chat-if Gabriel knew that Adrien was Chat-it was more important than ever that Gabriel maintain control of his emotions. But now, that tool was no longer at his disposal.

Gabriel rewound the footage and watched again. To the inexperienced eye, it would appear that Adrien simply stood in front of the safe and it opened for him, unbidden. But Gabriel knew kwami. He couldn’t count the number of times Duusu had gotten into some similar mischief, way back then, and she’d never shown up on security footage, either.

Well, Gabriel would handle it. He would get control of the situation somehow, without losing his head about it. He was calm. He was rational. He was in control.

He never saw the butterfly land.

Gabriel.

Gabriel’s veins, so cold already, turned to ice as he felt the magic of the akuma wash over him.

“How dare you,” Gabriel hissed, knowing full well that the villain, wherever he was, could hear him. “You dare send an akuma into this home? Into her home?”

How could I resist your fear, Gabriel? You’re a cracking dam, and I relish the thought of witnessing the inevitable break, of feeling that sheer power overwhelm the city.

“I will not break.”

You can’t protect him.

Terror gripped Gabriel’s heart. He couldn’t protect his son, could he? He’d tried so hard, God knew how hard he’d tried. Homeschooling, bodyguards, the best security system money could buy, scheduling every moment of the boy’s time, all for nothing. As long as his son had that Miraculous, Gabriel could no more protect him than he could have protected the boy’s mother.

Take it from him. Let me give you the power to get control back.

“I will never betray my son to you,” Gabriel spat.

You won’t, will you? How interesting. Perhaps a slightly altered approach, then. The power to keep him from me. Forever.

Gabriel knew the offer must be a trick, a lie, but as the akuma’s hold on him grew it was getting harder and harder to keep a rational frame of mind. “What are you talking about?”

I know what you want, what you really want. You want to keep Adrien locked up. Like you kept that book locked up. Like you keep Adele’s memory locked up. Safe from the world, completely under your control. I can give you the power to do just that, to collect your son in that sketchbook of yours, where nothing can touch him. Not even me.

“You… you won’t get the Miraculous that way.”

A mirthless chuckle. Call it a favor.

That was what Gabriel wanted, wasn’t it? Yes. As the seductive power of the akuma reached full force, Gabriel nodded and accepted Hawkmoth’s bargain.

office parties and painful memories

pairing: yoongi x reader
word count: 2.4k

    → listen i don’t know what this is. i can’t defend it. i have no idea. this is a shitpost. this is a circus of a fic. the worst. the absolute worst. i don’t know what this is. it’s specks. yeah, specks.


The first time Yoongi sees you, you’re standing by the piano with his mother in your navy blue dress and red shoes that sparkled so brightly that it always looked like you were walking on stars. He didn’t know yet, but he’d grow to love the bouncy pigtails that rested on your shoulders and your big eyes, which were filled to the brim with wanderlust and a childlike curiosity.

“Yoongi plays the piano?” you asked his mother, shyly tracing the bars of white and black.

“He’s very good, too.” she confirms, smiling empathetically before turning her head to the doorframe, meeting the deep, shy eyes behind raven locks. “Yoongi, you’ve come downstairs. This is Y/N, her family just moved in next door.”

His eyes only meet yours briefly before panic bleeds into his dark eyes.

All girls had cooties.

But not you.

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Flip Cup

By @jennagill

….

“Flip Cup, Flip Cup, let’s get fucked up,” Finnick bellowed across the room. “Everyone fist up!”

Katniss scanned her opponents on the other side of the dilapidated ping pong table as they raised their arms. Ugh. They called themselves the ‘Careers,’ like Flip Cup was some kind of vocation. She cast a sidelong glance to her teammates to size up the all-stars and weak links. Being on a team was never part of her plan, but there she was—in a competition with no real winners. Aligned with fellow coeds and waiting for her turn to guzzle cheap beer before flipping over a red Solo cup.

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Making Love

Rating: M

Summary: They say that there is a thin line between true love and stupidity… I don’t know where we fall Sakura, but who cares, right?


a/n: I wrote this right after my exams. I wrote this on a whim. I wrote this, not knowing I would be writing a fluff-smut fic.

This is a sort of sequel to Daddy-like Kid, starring Boruto and Sarada, but this fic can stand on its own. I don’t own Naruto. This is also posted in my Fan Fiction Account: AliceInRealWorld. I hope you guys will enjoy it! :3


I woke up with a sharp jolt. I didn’t have the time to remember the context of the nightmare. The dark room didn’t help. It only lured the images that had faded. The silence didn’t help. It only encouraged the voices of my distress that disrupted my sleep. It was the nightmare so disturbing that it left my heart to beat plangently, causing my ears to ring, making my head ache, tightening my chest.

Cold sweat started to secrete from my bare skin, mixing with the sticky precipitation that was produced from last night’s copulating.

I trembled. I waited for the pounding of my heart to slow down. I thought back the passionate hours to keep my mind from retracting in the darkness. I combated the blood-curling screams with the timbre of my Sakura’s pleased moans and small whimpers. I replaced the scenes of death with the picture of my wife’s pink hair, curtaining her bright green eyes as she erratically move her hips to achieve euphoria.

That’s right. It’s alright if I got roused again and had to relieve it by myself (it’s rude to wake someone up just for such insolent reason.)

I allowed myself to think of anything, everything, just to dispel affective residue of the nightmare.

Think of anything but that.

“Sasuke-kun.” I flinched.

A small, delicate hand patted my back. When I didn’t respond, the hand trailed on to my shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. She scooted closer so she can place her chin on the spot where the curse mark used to reside. “Do you want to talk about it?”

After hearing those words, the dangerous beating of my heart appeased. I bowed down and shook a no.

She made a sound behind her throat, a sign that she’s thinking of ways to distract me from my thoughts. The hand on my shoulder tickled its way down my sole arm. Her nimble fingers traced the visible veins and then it landed on my palm where she drew infinite spirals. She repeated this antic until my breathing went back to normal.

“I’m not supposed to say this.” She began as her hand clasped mine. She pressed her body closer, my bare back feeling her healthy breasts. “But I think Sarada has already forgotten about it, so I guess it is okay to share it.”

I squeezed her hand, silently encouraging her to continue.

She let out a giggle, “When Sarada was six she started a list that she called, ‘Things That I’m Gonna Tell Papa When He Comes Home.’

A small smile graced on my lips. I released Sakura’s hand then gently shrug her off. Understanding my actions, she moved away and began piling the pillows against the headboard. When that’s done, I rested my back on the make-shift lean. I opened my arm, gesturing her to come closer. She happily obliged. She took a small pillow, placed it on my nether region before sitting on my lap. I wrap my arm around her waist. She looped an arm round my neck. I pulled our comforter over our naked body.

“What does it contain?” I mumbled.

“Hmm…” She wondered as her fingers play with my hair. “On the… Let’s say, preface of her list, she said, ‘Papa comes home only once or twice a month. You have to persuade him to teach you something new.’ Then at the bottom, there’s a footnote that says, ‘You have to perfect everything that Papa teaches you Sarada! Shannaro!’

We chuckled quietly in unison. Nuzzling her cheek on the crook of my neck she continued, “If memory serves right, one of her anecdotes is when she finally perfected her shuriken throws. You should’ve seen her solo trainings Sasuke-kun. Every day, I had to tend her hands full of cuts and grazes.”

My eyebrows knotted as Sakura tells the story because of two reasons. One, old friends, regret and longing visited my chest. I wish I was there to see, watch her struggle for greatness.

“Oh! Speaking of training, next to shuriken throwing is, ‘The Day I Finally Created a Katon Goukakyuu!’” She made a circle in the air, her viridian eyes gleaming with pride. “She never faltered even if her cheeks are blistered!”

She laughed softly at the memory. She glanced up and reached for my forehead. “You know what Sasuke-kun?” She tenderly brushed away the bangs that’s covering my other eye then cupped my face, “She reminds me of you.”

And two-Sakura’s right, verbalizing my thoughts perfectly. Sarada reminds me of me, Sasuke, two decades younger. Sasuke with eyes that can shine even if they’re dark as coal. Sasuke who had his head lifted as he chase down his idol, his inspiration, his reason. Sasuke who died in my personal nightmare.

“She embodies you in so many ways. Not that I’m complaining though.” She sighed dramatically then pointedly followed, “But I wish a child would inherit some of my features.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that bad? That… she’s like me?”

‘lub-DUB…’

Do you think that she’ll also commit the same mistakes and sins that I did?

‘lub-DUB.’ Inferiority. ‘lub-DUB.’ Fear. ‘lub-DUB.’ Anxiety. ‘lub-DUB -!’

Do you think she’ll get lost on the darkness too?

‘LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB-!’ Trauma. ‘LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB-!’ Hatred. ‘LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB-!’ Loneliness-

‘LUB-DUB!’

The awful metamorphosis of my heart in the last moment of my childhood, hand in hand, the countless tomoe spiraled in to a constant repetition.

When can you say that you have atoned for the sins you have done?

“Sasuke, love.” I flinched.

Sakura ran her fingers through my hair as her other hand remained on my temple, keeping my bangs from covering my powerful eyes. She held their glare, showing no fear. “That’s not what I’m trying to say.”

I know. But…

“Is that bad?” I asked again, this time, it came out raspy and strained. “Do you think-”

She kissed the tip of my nose then pinched my cheeks, “Of course not! You got it all wrong Sasuke-kun!”

It was her blush and her futile effort to hide her breasts that supported her words, “ahhh I shouldn’t have said that! I’m sorry Sasuke-kun!”  

No. It’s my fault. Sometimes… This heart of mine falters easily when reminded of its old scars.

“Hn.” Having no idea how to return the ambiance of nostalgia, I turned my attention to her belly. In an attempt to distract myself from the rising panic, I started to map out the smooth pattern of her stretch marks.

She gasped at the touch. She replied by tugging at my hair. “It’s alright, Sasuke-kun.”

I have to turn the tables before this conversation went downhill. “What were you trying to say then?”

The crimson hue on her cheeks deepened. I pondered if it’s because the trail of my fingers was leading deep down to her thighs or it’s because of the illocutionary force behind her words.

Or maybe both.

“I remember another anecdote from her list.” She offered with voice strangled between decency and erotica. “T’was the d-day she went home late. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her glasses were broken.”

My hand paused when her words registered. “Who did it?” I asked sharply.

She massaged through my hair again to calm my nerves, “Sarada was bullied. When I asked her who and why, she won’t tell me because she knows that I’ll make a huge fuss about it.” She let out a melancholic sigh. “It was Naruto’s children who told me about it. Boruto explained, ‘we found her crying under the slide because some jerks broke her glasses and told her that she’s adopted.’

So that’s when she started to doubt her mother.

I pulled Sakura closer and planted a chase peck on her forehead.

She placed a hand on my chest as a response and connected the scars that decorate my skin. “But get this Sasuke-kun-Sarada entitled that anecdote ‘Daddy-like Kid.’ She cracked a smirk. “Himawari told me it was Boruto that calmed Sarada down.”

I kept my expression blank but no doubt she noticed my tense muscles. All of the emotions that surfaced because of the nightmare and unnecessary panic attack died down. However, to my demise, it was replaced by crazy assumptions, fueled by my fatherly instincts, suggesting of what could be the possible future of-

“Darling.” Sakura directed her lips on my ear, “Your jealous side is showing~”

I cringed back to glare at her properly, “I am not jealous.”

She narrowed her eyes mischievously, challenging my infamous glare, “oh really now.” She copied my smirk. “So it is fine that Sarada thinks of Boruto as-”

I dove down to capture her lips, preventing her from saying another word about the ridiculous matter. She giggled at my growls, still teasing through the use of lips and tongue and rising intimacy.

She tried to withdraw from the assaults of my mouth but failed ultimately. She instead let her body melt in to my dominance by audaciously asking for an entrance.

When I refused, she wrapped both arms around my neck and then swiftly shifted in to a straddling position to win back control. She now had me trapped between her legs, boldly showing what’s in between. And to further clarify the contexture of her demands, she lewdly ground her hips, flattening the pillow (and something else beneath it that’s throbbing) that prevents us from colliding.

I groaned out of frustration because that minimal amount of sensual pressure was not enough. And she took this as an opportunity to gasp for air as she annoyingly chortled. She brushed off my bangs again then placed her forehead to mine.

Our eyes met. “Are you okay now?”

I held her gaze. My heart picked up its pace. The countless, rotating tomoe dispel under her emerald eyes.  

Are you okay now?

Emerald eyes that have always been asking those words always have been looking at me even if it makes her cry. Those are the eyes that brought light to our coal black eyes, Sarada. The gleam that I never thought would come back. Those are the eyes that granted me the ability to think of a mirthful place in the midst of my chaotic mind. The place where all the forgotten beautiful memories reside that I never believed that could be revived.

           Am I okay now?

           Yes. Those are the emerald eyes that made me remember Sasuke who always die in the nightmares. Those are the beautiful eyes that beaconed as one of the proofs that there is something worth discovering, something worth protecting in this cruel world of ninjas.

“Sasuke-kun?” She caressed my cheeks.

           I captured her lips again, slowly, devotedly, reverting from the animalistic desires earlier. Her hands found their way to my hair again, tying knots, drawing me closer. My shoulders relaxed as the temperature of the room rose once again.

           Do you want to talk about it?

           It was my brother, Itachi’s love that demonstrated me the highest form of unmitigated familial love. It was the love that I have forgotten because it was buried underneath layers of deception, diffidence and corruption.

           “Sa-ku-ra…” My fingers outlined her spine with every syllable of her name, armed with the knowledge that the gesture turns her on.

           Yes. I want to talk about it but…

           It was Naruto, the idiot, which made me realize that I have someone who understands the pain and the loneliness of an orphaned kid starving for love-finding nothing but hatred. It was Naruto who swore that he would always willingly, stubbornly drag my ass back when I lost to the darkness again. It was him who taught me that it’s vacuous to sacrifice your own happiness so that you can cold-heartedly save the world.

           “S-sasuke…” She moaned as my lips ghosted to her jaw, then to her chin and then peppered hot nips on her neck. One of her hand relocated to my chest, drawing smooth lines leading leisurely down to my chiseled abs. She dared an experimental thrust, causing me to bite down at her pulse, earning herself a love mark and prizing me with the sweet sound of her whimpers.

           “Sakura…”

           -it was you who never did give up on loving me in spite of my countless, unforgivable attempts in ending your life. It was you-your lively eyes, your ever loyal heart, your boar-like determination that brought me in to conclusion that one of the justifiable means to obtain peace is to truly, faithfully, unconditionally love.

“Sasuke-kun…” She whined unabashedly as my lips latched themselves to one of her pink, perky breasts. Her hand ventured below the belt, trying to remove the pillow. It was my turn to halt her from getting what she wanted as I amorously embraced her closer, closer, until our torsos mashed. I rolled her other nipple between my teeth, making her arch her back, allowing me to behold a better view of her arousal.

I don’t know how to tell you.

I thought about it as I was on journey to redemption-it was Naruto and Itachi, my brothers who allowed me to forgive the world.

And that, it was team seven that reminded me what’s like to have a family.

“Sa-ku-ra-chan.” I mumbled against the valley of her bosoms. “You’re right…”

So, instead, let me show you…

-you who convinced me that it was time to forgive myself-

“A-about what, Sa-su-ke-kun?”

Let me prove to you…

-you, Sakura Uchiha, who strengthened our bond by graciously adopting my name even if you knew the burden it carried. Even if you knew I would be seldom home, resulting to numerous rumors about our marriage. For example, I chose you because of physical attraction or maybe because I couldn’t be bothered to search for a more suitable vassal to restore the Uchiha Clan.

I returned to her sweet lips and muttered, “I would love to make, I mean, see a child bearing your features~”

That I’m forever thankful…

As a respond to those accusations, you intrepidly showed those people, who would never understand, that the time you can truly say that it is love is when-even if every bits and pieces of flaws are laid bare and even if hope is just a small ray of light, it is enough to sacrifice, to inspire one in holding on and moving on along love and hate.

She shivered at my words. I tried to subtly slide away the pillow between our… a, object of desire but she ceased my attempt by clutching my waist with her muscled legs, pressing her drenched core to my abdomen.

That I love you too.

Darling… I want you to know that one of the things that Sarada listed…” She pulled at my hair to make me look at her irises again, staring me down, stating that her next words are quite important.

They say that there is a thin line between true love and stupidity…

“…she wants a baby brother…”

…I don’t know where we fall Sakura. But, who cares, right?

I narrowed my eyes mischievously, enjoying that flustered expression she had on her face, “oh really now.” I smirked.

We just love.

My hand moved on its own, searing every inch of skin it fondled.

“I love you Sasuke-kun…” She proclaimed once again.

These words are left unsaid yet you understand.

But before my lone hand wandered to the area where it would minister miracles (as she describes it)it folded into an all too familiar hand sign to give Sakura’s forehead a light tap.

That’s the reason why I chose you.

And it will always be you…


a/n: haha hope you guys enjoyed it. Been loving these two for a decade and thank heavens they’re canon. Don’t you think so too?

I
If my body is a temple, why the fuck am I letting you desecrate it? I’ll curse you between half-swigs of whiskey, this bloodlust soothes my curdled veins. There is barbed wire in these words. There are land mines between your feet.  This ribcage is my war wager, this flesh is my battle ground. I’ll burn it all down before I let you in.

II
Who do you think you fucking are to come to my altar, and demand something from me? I’ll speak in tongues, turn this scepter to a sword, this crown a noose, this robe a shield. These words are my gospel, and I’ll write them in your spilled blood. I will raise my celestial army from my blood, tears, sweat, flesh, I’ll raise my army from the dead.


III
What is your book? What do you have to back up your holy words? You cannot charm me with those lidded eyes, and those damned hands that fold in prayer. You are a murderer, a thief in a stolen abode; you lie, you disguise. You are a fire that shouldn’t burn, an ocean that won’t rage, a field that wouldn’t grow, a bird who couldn’t sing. You metamorphose and your bones crack shotgun to your ribs.


IV
Where is your gold? What do you think you have that I don’t? I have created heaven from my garden, organic from the inorganic. I have reaped miracle after miracle. I sit upon a throne and my libraries span centuries. I have been to every corner of this globe, feasted in untold galaxies. I have met with God, and whispered his true name. I have seen what is beyond, but all you have to offer me is this worthless prayer.


V
Why won’t you give the fuck up? This is a war, and I am a forest fire. Rage splinters in the cracks between these bones. I conjure sandstorms with blind eyes. I damn you in my inferno. I am white hot supernova. Yet you await on my doorstep, a patient smile and steady hands. I am the storm that will bring down your church, break your pews. I am the congregation who sings a siren song.


VI
Why will you not bow to my divine presence? I’Il kill your bloodline, tear their hearts out barehanded, neck deep in aortic blood, viscera in my teeth, yet you’d still smile. I am a monster, I am risen from the depths, I am what the greek gods feared. I am what demands, I am what invites. What makes you think you can do either?


VII
Why do you love me despite all the bloodshed I’ve caused? You lay flowers at my doorstep everyday, you bend your knees to God everyday, praying for my salvation. I should be the only one to make you fall. I should be the only one to make you bleed. I hate how you adore me, but I hate it more when you don’t.


VIII
Why do you ask of God, when I am here, I am goddess? Why do you decorate my temple, disgrace it with your holy words but then turn to another? You are the only who has worshipped me in centuries. I ignored your prayers. I threatened you. I drove you away. I really just wanted you to stay. I am a bittersweet goddess, I know no love but war.


IX
Why won’t you let me lay in my rage? Why do you love me even though I killed you inside, when I jerked that wheel? You came to my temple, for weeks, months, days after. I saw you on that rarely traveled road. I saw a mortal soul, and it was something I wanted so much that I didn’t understand. You thought I saved you. I healed you on that dirt road, after the thunderstorm brought trees down onto you. You thought you were going to fall into an early grave, did you not know I did that? I am broken and angry. I was weak, I let you live, and now you haunt me.


X
Why do you make me remember that I am immortal, but you are mortal and your devotion is gone? Why did I let myself love you? You are all ephemeral, wanting creatures that change with the wind. You are nothing in my presence, but you make me feel everything  I am a lonely goddess. My body is temple and I am chained to it. A broken headstone in a forgotten field. If my body is a temple, why the fuck did I desecrate it?

—  I didn’t try to kill you so you would love me, I tried to kill you so I could hate myself a little less.
Kolivance 100 Followers!

Yaaaay, I can’t believe that blog got up to 100 followers so quickly! Thank you everyone! @kolivance


The door closed with a loud slam behind him as Lance dashed into their suite. “Kolivan!” He yelled out, eagerly kicking his shoes off and nearly tripping over his own feet as he ran into the living room. His backpack thumped against his back as adrenaline pumped through his veins.

“Kolivan! Koli! Koli!” He launched himself over the back of the couch, landing on the cushions, only to keep sliding. He landed on the ground with an oof, his bag sliding off in the process. He looked up at Kolivan, who was sitting on the chair across from the couch and grinned. “Hi.”

Kolivan smiled, that small little upturn of his lips that Lance had come to love and adore so much. Lance felt his heartbeat pick up, and his grin stretched even farther. That smile was for Lance, and Lance alone.

“Hello,” Kolivan’s voice dripped with fondness. He put his laptop on the end table, and patted his lap.

Lance got up, a bounce in his step as he walked around the coffee table separating them and straddled Kolivan’s lap. He gave the man a short kiss, his smile never wavering.

“How was your day?” Kolivan asked, rubbing circles into Lance’s thighs.

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You Are My Anchor ~Derek Hale~

Summary: Reader is physically abused by her boyfriend (Liam) and goes to Derek in search of something safe- for someone to help her. 

Warnings: Abuse and self hate

Pairings: Platonic!Derek x Reader

Author’s Note: 

Hi guys! I hope you guys enjoy this x 

Stay Safe my people :) 


You were worthless. Nothing. Less than nothing and tonight he showed you. He showed you how little you meant to him. How pathetic and useless you were in his eyes. The man you loved, the man you thought you would marry, beat you. Abused you and left. 

Liam was his name. The person you thought was the one. You have never been this wrong about anyone. 

It had started a few months ago. The snarky comments about your physical appearance, about the way you do things, about hanging out with Derek. The only person you had left. Everything you did was somehow pathetic in his eyes.

He hated Derek and a part of you loathed him for feeling that way about Derek and Scott and Stiles and even Isaac. Your friends. But tonight you just hated him.  

You managed to walk yourself to Derek’s loft. Weakly. You pulled your heavy feet up the stairs. Leaning on the wall occasionally breathing heavily. 

The blood running down your temple impairing your vision and the heavily bruised and swollen eye. Your whole body ached. He didn’t stop no matter how much you screamed. 

Your body convulsed with a sob treating to tear through your body. The tears were too painful. You just had to get to Derek. The person who would be able to fix this all of this shit and protect you- like he’s always done. 

You went to school with Scott and Stiles but you and Derek went way back. He has always been an older brother to you. 

Family friends you would say but when his died tragically in a fire and yours were killed by a rogue pack as they were hunters you and Derek were the only ones left. 

You’ve seen sides of Derek that no knows exists and he has been through everything with you. 

From first breakups, to mental breakdowns, to PMS. He’s family. 

Your whole core was aching as you clenched a hand around your ribcage. Something must’ve been broken. You trudged slowly up the last stairs. 

“Derek!” your voice cracked into the silence bouncing off the wall. You weren’t going to make it to the door. You were going to collapse of pain and exhaustion before then. 

“Help” your voice came and the door slid open. Derek’s silhouette filled the door way but as soon as his eyes landed on your broken figure he bolted to next to you. His facial features coming into view. His worried brow creasing as he caressed your broken face. 

“Who did this?” his voice stammered as he surveyed your injuries. 

“Der- it hurts so much.” your voice came as tears burned their way down your cheeks. He swiftly picked you up but you cried out in pain as your ribs pushed against him. 

“I’m going to take it away.” he whispered as he laid you down on his bed. He slid his hand into yours and the pain slowly started to fade. 

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lost, but still home.

pairing: johnny x reader
genre: cheesy fluff (the best kind!)
word count: 1.195
about: in which you and johnny travel the world; always lost, but never lacking a smile. you get a little tipsy, dance in the rain, and confess your love to the subtle setting of the sun. no matter how foreign your surroundings were, you would always be at home in each other’s arms.

“if home is where the heart is, then you are my home; because my heart has always been with you.” — julie martinez

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anonymous asked:

this might be a bit of a stretch but solas(dragon age) and shepard(mass effect) + difference for the prompt? em, dont feel forced to do this one since its kinda out there!

OK, I’m determined, I’m going to write something for this. Longer than the original 5-10 sentence task and not really the shippiest of responses, but here we go. I’m gonna write Solas into Mass Effect. *cracks knuckles*


“Do not do this.” His voice trembled despite himself, the Dread Wolf’s confident facade crumbling as he watched the Inquisitor raise the artifact, its arcane light catching in her eyes as they glistened, wet with unshed tears. 

“I’m sorry, vhenan,” she whispered. “You left me no choice.”

He lifted his hand, reaching out for her, his throat tightening as he choked out a final word. “Please-”

And then, there was darkness. 

He had underestimated her. Given other circumstances, he might have been proud. Her solution had been far more elegant than the plan he’d concocted to stop the Evanuris. She didn’t need to change the very nature of the world to imprison him. Instead, she trapped him inside his own mind. A dreamless sleep - his consciousness cut off from the world, from her, from the Fade, from the spirits who had brought him so much comfort and companionship over those long years before he met her. There was only a sinking moment of helplessness, a feeling of being stripped bare and hollowed out, a second of useless struggling and then…. nothing.

An utter void.

He had no concept of how much time had passed before he heard the voice. Thin, high and reedy, bearing the quickened cadence of speech and yet Solas could not recognize the language it spoke. He opened his eyes only to squeeze them shut once more, wincing at the harsh, blinding light that surrounded him. A second voice joined the first - softer, feminine - her words sounding just as foreign but in a completely different manner from the first. Yet the two spoke in turn as if they understood one another as Solas got his bearings, forcing himself to sit upright as his head spun. His body felt weak - how long had he slept? - and it took time for his vision to adjust to the strange, artificial light in the room. It had an odd, bluish quality to it, not like firelight or sunlight and twice as bright as either. It made the walls around him seem even more strikingly void of color, surrounded by nothing but dull silver paneling. The only familiar thing he could see lay about his person - a sarcophagus of sorts, clearly decorated with care, though the once-beautiful stone carvings had worn down over the ages. 

There was only one person who would have gone to such trouble to give him an honored burial. 

He was abruptly drawn from his thoughts as a sharp pain erupted from the side of his throat, an odd mechanical hiss sounding seconds after the foreign object pierced him. Solas drew back quickly, nearly toppling out of his carved encasement as he whirled to face his attacker, summoning energy for a spell on reflex as his feet hit the floor.

The…. thing that had touched him did not seem alarmed, staring at a narrow beam of orange light as it set down the implement it had just used to strike him. The light before it shifted, changing into varying unfamiliar patterns and when it next spoke, Solas was surprised to hear it speak in Common. “Hmm. Energy readings. Unidentified. Source and purpose unknown. Increased activity in frontal lobe accompanied by electrical activity in the hands. Strange. Might be coincidental. Unclear how stasis was achieved. Unfamiliar technology. Body clearly nourished, yet source of fuel undetermined. No signs of decomposition. No muscle deterioration. Yet containment does not appear to generate any sort of protective field. No time dilation or cryotech. Just stone. Odd. Otherwise, humanoid. One heart. Nearly identical circulatory system and organ structure to the people of your planet. Will need to analyze DNA to be certain, but-”

“Slow it down, Mordin,” the female voice said again. Solas sought the source of the sound, relieved to see a more familiar form. Human, yes, but at least she was something he could identify, unlike the tall and slim figure who continued to poke at a strangely-marked panel. She was not dissimilar to Cassandra in her height and physique, clad in a slim-fitting black uniform, her hand resting warily on the device she had strapped to her hip. “Just give me the basics.”

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