vomit stains

Second Time Around - (Taeoh’s  4th Birthday)

Synopsis: Jongin struggles to balance life as an idol and life as a father. His four year old son is growing up and beginning to notice his absence and attempts to find a fatherly figure in your boyfriend, Seunghyun. 

Word count: 5,538

Characters: Kim Jongin a.ka Kai (EXO), Oh Sehun (EXO), Choi Seunghyun (BigBang), Kim Taeoh, and other EXO members. 

Warnings: Eyebrow Shaving, Gum Stuck in Hair, Sehun’s dancing skills, and Taeoh and Kai’s cuteness. 

Part One

Originally posted by kaitty88

Originally posted by lil-duckling

The flight to Paris was horrible. It was ten hours of constant panic attacks from you, Taeoh fidgeting in his seat whining at the top of his lungs that he wanted to get off the plane, then there was Seunghyun who had lost his phone and made all the flight attendants help him look for it because he didn’t have a lock on his phone and had things in it that were not suitable for the public eye. To top it all off, you were sprawled on the bathroom floor of the plan for almost half of the trip vomiting because of altitude sickness.

When the three of you finally got off of the plane you were all half dead and beyond pissed off. You reeked of vomit and had dark circles under your eyes which contrasted your sickly green skin. Seunghyun had bags on every limb of his body and apart from having to hold Taeoh’s hand, he had to half-carry half-drag you through the airport because you were so weak your knees wobbled every time you took a step. Taeoh looked like a train wreck, his usually silk hair resembled a bird’s nest. He had snuck a piece of gum out of your purse and somehow managed to get it stuck in his hair. You were honestly too sick to care.

Seunghyun looks at you then Taeoh before chuckling to himself. “Thank god for masks.”

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Unexpected (Part 6)

You and Yoongi finally talk to each other about that night that caused everything to fall apart.

Warning: smut, angst, dirty talking, grinding, intercourse

Parts: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8 (final)  8.5 (bonus)

Your arm was going numb from where Yoongi had fallen asleep on it, but you didn’t want to move for fear that you would wake him and the dream would end.  You had spent the earlier part of the day nursing a hangover and a broken heart – remnants from the night at the club.  You spent most of your waking hours thinking about how Yoongi had followed you into that alley and how he had tried to take you away from that Mingyu guy.  Weeks of not hearing a single word from him and the first time you see Yoongi, he acts like a jealous lover.  You weren’t sure how to feel about that.  You had tried to tamp down any hopes that this meant Yoongi still had feelings for you.  You had learned the hard way that he was not forthcoming with his emotions and it was best to not try to read too much into his actions.  Still, you had lingering hopes…

Later that night, when you heard a drunken Yoongi at your door, screaming obscenities at you from the hallway, your heart started to swell.  You had dreamed of a day when he would come crawling to you and begging you to take him back, but having Yoongi banging his fist against your door while cursing your name seemed like an acceptable alternative.  Even hatred is a sign of passion, you thought, and much better than being ignored.

Your roommate, Hyejin, had tried to stop you from opening the door to him.  She argued that you deserved better than a man who ignores you for weeks and then shows up drunk and yelling insults at you.  She said that the only reason Yoongi was here was because his pride was hurt when he lost the fight outside the nightclub.  You knew she was probably right, but you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there was more to it.  At the very least, you wanted an opportunity to hear what Yoongi had to say.

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Let’s Just Be Sick - Carl Grimes x Reader

“Yeah, for right now, let’s just be sick.”

Request: @lovefortears

Summary: The Reader finds out that it’s Carl’s birthday so she plans a smutty night, but ends up throwing up all over him.

Characters: The Reader and Carl

POV: Second Person

Warnings: Smutty Stuff/Disgusting Stuff (It probably won’t bother you guys tho, vomit is not as bad as Glenn’s death. That was disgusting.)

Let’s Just Be Sick

It was Carl’s 17th birthday. You had been counting for months, trying to figure out which day it was and you were about 85% sure it was today. Carl had no idea it was his birthday, but you were very ready. He was out on a run and wouldn’t be back until late into the evening so you got ready for his return. A few months back Maggie had found a lingerie store untouched by the walkers and seemingly not scavenged. You decided to pick out a few outfits to surprise Carl and his birthday was the perfect occasion. After you got into the matching lingerie set you put on one of Carl’s flannels and looked in the mirror. You were so excited that your stomach was churning with nervous giddy. You looked fabulous, his jaw was going to drop when he saw you.

“I’m so tired.” Carl was home. You practically leapt onto the bed nervously placing your hair over your shoulder. Your stomach gurgled again and you shrugged it off, almost squealing in delight. The door squeaked open,

“Y/N, I am so-woah!” His eyes grew to the size of watermelons and you smirked at him.

“Hey, baby.” You whispered seductively. You slowly slithered off the bed, making sure to reveal as much skin as possible. As you walked towards him his face turned red and you ran your fingers through your hair. “What’s wrong?” You asked mischievously, biting your lip and tilting your head to expose more of your neck to his naked eye. Running your hands up his arms, you stopped them at his neck, cupping it. You looked up into his eyes; black with lust, for a moment before placing achingly slow kisses on his neck. Each moved up farther to his ear, where you softly nibbled before whispering in his ear, “Don’t you wanna play with your birthday present?”

Carl backed up, his eyebrow raised and his hands held out in shock.

“What are you talking about?” You smiled and used your nimble fingers to take his hat from his head and you placed it on yours.

“It’s your birthday, silly.” You whispered gently gripping the front of his shirt, drawing your foot up and down the inside of his leg.

“What? It’s not my birthday? We don’t even know the date.” You giggled at him.

“Oh, but I do. I know a lot of things.” You rose your right leg higher, grinding it into his crotch.

“Mmm.” He moaned and you started kissing the bottom of his chin. Suddenly you felt your stomach grumble again. It almost felt like you were going to vomit, but sometimes you felt like that when you were excited so you brushed it off. “God am I so fucking happy you figured out it was my birthday.” You smiled and he brought your body flush against his, capturing your lips in a wet, messy kiss. That’s when you felt it again, but this time stronger. You carried on, wrapping your leg around his waist when you felt something come up in your throat. You broke the kiss, uncomfortably.

“Carl-” Your sentence was stopped by your turkey and pasta dinner, blowing out of your mouth in vile chunks, all over Carl. You groaned, trying to regain your composure, “Carl, I am so so-” Again. All over him and this time, dripping all down yourself. He walked behind you and held you, rubbing your back.

“Just get it out, get it out, baby.” Tears formed in your eyes. You ruined your whole night and you ruined Carl’s birthday. It was the only day of the year about him and you pretty much desecrated it. You looked up at Carl, ashamed, but before you could say anything he picked you up and walked you into the bathroom. As soon as you got in there he placed you on the toilet and turned on the bath.

“Carl, I- I’m so sorry. I-I-I can d-do it. Just let me, i-it’s yo-your birthday.” He didn’t say anything, he just turned around and started taking off your clothes. He didn’t say anything, you just did what he wanted, afraid he was angry at you for ruining his special day. After he disrobed you completely, he put you in the bath and sat on the outside.

He grabbed the washcloth on the side of the bath and dunked it in the water. Gently massaging your back with the cloth he kneaded circles into your back and down your arms. Moving downward he began to rub the small of your back and the round of your ass. Then sweeping his strokes up and down your long legs. When he go to your feet he scrubbed each toe and then dragged the towel back up to your core. Although your night started out sexual, he painted your core with compassionate brush strokes of tender love. Dressing your smooth curves with his sweet caresses he moved upwards. Reaching your breasts he took one at a time, rolfing and kneading each, careful to show each as much love as the other.

Placing the towel back on the side of the bath he poured shampoo into his hand and delicately scrubbed your scalp. Dragging his fingers through your long, beautiful hair, he handled it like the finest Chinese silk. After washing all the soap out, he walked out of the room. Within minutes he was back, a towel and a bowl of slightly warm soup in hand. He turned off the water and wrapped you in the towel, after patting down your body so you wouldn’t be cold. Picking you up, he took you back into your bedroom and into your bed. Carl quickly brought you the soup and a shirt of his that you put on. After setting you up he went back to cleaning and you watched. In a few minutes you finally said something.

“Carl, just stop. You had a terribly hard day of work and you come home to cleaning up after me. He stopped walking towards your vomit stain to clean up the mess.

“Baby, don’t feel bad, you can’t help being sick.” You started to cry again.

“I completely ruined your birthday. You’ve been working non-stop, I should be the one cleaning up after you. You didn’t even put on clean clothes, you still have my vomit all over them.” He walked back over to you and put his hand on your thigh.

“No, baby, it’s just my birthday.” You started hyperventilating, but you pushed yourself off the bed and walked over to the stain to clean it up. Before you could pick it up you lost your balance and Carl caught you.

“Get off of me, I can do it myself.” He scoffed and gave you a look of exasperation.

“Y/N, you’re so dizzy you can’t walk. You can’t clean up, okay. I know you’re upset that it’s my birthday, but you physically can’t.” You hit his chest so he picked you up and placed you back in the bed. This time you didn’t fight him, you just laid there. He went back to cleaning up your chunks of vomit and you continued to cry. After a few good minutes of silence you poked a hole through the wall dividing you and whispered to him.

“Carl, I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. You mean more to me than my life, you’re my family. I-I just want you to be happy. I just wanted this night to be amazing, for once I wanted you to be at peace. I wanted you to lean on me so that your pain could become ours and that we could make it into happiness. I hate everyday, watching you work your ass off, struggling, with the world, with everything that’s happened over the years, over your eye, over who we’ve become. I just wanted to take that pain away, make you forget with a special birthday surprise, but instead of doing that I just gave you the worst present in the history of birthday gifts.” Carl turned around to you, his face contorted in a melancholy expression and his eyes filled with love.

“Baby, I don’t care that it’s my birthday. You are my love and you are worth everything I have, everything I am. I didn’t even know about my birthday until I got home and you told me, but to be honest, I don’t really care. Not because I don’t care about you and not because I don’t care about that very, very, very sexy outfit you were wearing, but because you are all I need. Whether it’s my birthday or not, you are all I need, all I want. You wanted to make today special, but you make everyday special. Your smile you can make any day amazing. You, are what I look forward to everyday. You are what keeps me going, not some silly birthday. I just want to love you, give you everything you deserve for making me so happy. If that means cleaning up your vomit and washing your hair, then I will do it. A million times over again I will do it, for you.” You were crying again, but this time for a different reason. Your heart was on fire and you were entranced by the beauty of his loving eyes. As soon as he realized you were crying he ran over to the bed.

“Baby don’t cry.” You started giggling at his reaction.

“Carl, I’m not sad anymore.” His face relaxed.

“Oh.” He sighed, relieved.

“I love you, silly.” He rolled his eyes, faking annoyance.

“I love you, too, you butt face.” You jaw dropped in fake shock.

“You are so mean.” You teased and he chuckled.

“Yeah, but at least I don’t throw up all over my boyfriend as a birthday gift.” You shrugged.

“Well, you always say how much you like being inside me so I decided to bring my insides out to you.” He scrunched up in his nose in disgust and you laughed at him.

“Just come here.” It was your turn to be grossed out.

“No, you have vomit all over you.” He put his hands in the air.

“Fine, I’ll go get cleaned up.” You smiled.

“Good.” He frowned.

“But only, because I’d really like to see you in those panties when you get better.” You bit your lip and he groaned.

“Baby, please don’t do that, even when you’re sick I can’t take it.” You sat up and kissed him passionately.

“Let’s have a do-over birthday.” You said with a smile. His grin was larger than any you’d ever seen before.

“Yes, please. I want to get out of those red panties and not because you vomited all over yourself.” You giggled.

“Ye-Carl!” Once again you threw up all over yourself and Carl. After you finished he picked you up and took you back into the bathroom.

“C’mon, let’s get you back in.” You frowned.

“No.”

“What?” You turned your head to look him in the eye.

“Get in with me. I may have ruined your birthday, but we can still have a nice night. If you know what I mean.” You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively and he chuckled.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He said, teasingly pulling up the shirt you were wearing to take a peek under. You giggled at him and slapped his hand away.

“Nah-ah-ah.” He frowned.

“You are such a tease.” You rolled your eyes and suddenly his eyes bulged out of his head.

“What’s wrong, Carl?” Carl sprinted to the toilet and spilled his guts into the bowl. You ran after him, holding back his hair for him.

“Baby, it’s okay. Get it out.” When he finished he slumped against the wall and you stroked his hair.

“Now you got me sick.” He grumbled. You frowned.

“Yeah, but now we can be together. And Carl Grimes, you are all I want for my birthday.” He raised his eyebrows.

“But it isn’t your birthday.” You hit his shoulder.

“Carl, I was trying to be cute.” He smiled.

“But you already are, especially when you’re naked.” You shrugged your shoulders and stood up, grabbing the bottom of your shirt.

“Well, it is your birthda-” You threw up a third time, this time in the toilet. “Yeah, maybe we should save that stuff for your do-over birthday.” He chuckled.

and i know that we’re heavenly

Summary: This is a four horsemen of the apocalypse au, it’s set during ww1 so there are some slight history references! Here are the guys’ roles: 

Evan-Pestilence

Delirious-Famine

Toonz-War

Ohm-Death

Please enjoy :)


It’s a strange feeling, to be walking the streets of Earth again, to have his lungs breathe in her steadily damaged air, and have her skies kiss his skin with sunlight he ached to feel all those years he slept. The world hasn’t seen his face in centuries, forgetting all the pain that comes when he looms near, and that’s okay, because it’s about time they remembered.

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"What am I thinking?"

Rick groaned, slowly lifting himself down into his bed, sheets and blankets everywhere, beer and vomit stains here and there. It smells disgusting. Rick grunted, his back sore from the recent adventure he had gone to with Morty. He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes half lidded, as his mind slowly wonders onto the thought of Morty, at how he looked as he laughed, laughing at how Rick did something stupid, as he hardly did anything stupid before. A smile crept upon Ricks face, chuckling softly. He slowly stopped ‘that’s the third time I’ve thought about that’ he thought, sitting up, he put his elbows on his knees, his head in the palm of his hands, as he stared at the floor. His eyes wide, drool coming down from his lip. Rick didn’t know what was going on, but he knew every time he thought of Morty, his heart raced, and he was happy. Oh no. Rick inhaled and exhaled, did he have feelings for the kid? He knew he did, he felt this way before. But why? Why with Morty? His Grandson. Rick shook his head “no no no no..” He thought out loud, standing up, he quickly walked to his door, opening it harshly. He looked down at Morty, who was just about to knock on the door “M-Morty?! W-w-what are you do-eeeuggh-ing here?” His eyes were a bit wide, surprised to see him “o-oh, hey r-rick. I just c-c-came to tell you that suppers ready” Morty stuttered, feeling confused as to why Rick looked so surprised. Rick sighed and rubbed his forehead “Morty, I’m sorry but I don’t h-h-have time for supper, I have some th-Uuurup-things to do” Rick burped, as he moved Morty out of the way before quickly dashing to the garage “ah! W-well okay..” Morty said sadly, not sure what’s up.

Rick sat at his desk, he had his head in his hands, as he mumbled nonsense words. He couldn’t get his mind off of Morty, he felt his heart pound, which was bad for his health, but he couldn’t stop it. He tried to calm himself down, as he began building whatever, anything to keep his mind off the child. After almost a whole two hours, drinking beer in between minutes, he finished making a machine that turned anything plastic into gold (I had nothing else in mind, deal with it) Rick looked at the finished project, as he glared slightly at it. He stood back and took a few swigs of beer, a knock on the door as he looked over “who is- Uurrrp- it?” He looked away, putting the useless machine away “u-uh, it’s me g-grandpa Rick” Morty opened the door, looking at his grandpa who was now sitting down, ignoring him. Morty felt his throat tighten as he swallowed his saliva, ready to speak “w-w-what were you work-working on Rick? You seemed p-pretty busy” Morty asked, looking at Rick who just sat at his desk “just a useless m-machine, Morty” Rick responded “O-oh..okay then..” Morty scratched his arm, not sure what’s gotten into Rick. Rick just chugged the rest of the beer before tossing the empty bottle with the rest of the empty bottles around him “say Morty..” “Y-yes Rick?” Mortys eyes lit up, looking at Rick who was still not facing him “erm..nothing, n-never-uuurp-mind” Rick stood up, looking to face Morty who was looking up at Rick “oh..w-well alright” Morty looked confused. Ricks eyes were half lidded, as he still had the drool on his lip, he was a bit wobbly. Morty gulped, blinking “R-rick?” He questioned, as Rick walked over to Morty, a bit wobbly.
Rick stopped in front of Morty, looking down at the boy as he stared down at him. He slowly opened his mouth, before closing it. Morty looked up at Rick, his knees weak. Rick slowly moved closer to Mortys face, stopping as he realized what he was doing. He quickly put his hand on Mortys head, smiling as he ruffled the brunette hair “you did good today Morty, k-keep-uuuurp- it up” Rick smiled as he quickly but swiftly turned and walked to his desk. Morty blinked and shook his head “j-jee, thanks grandpa r-rick” Morty smiled, walking over to his grandfathers desk.

A few days later Rick had Morty help him in the garage with an experiment, it was 2 am, Rick grunted loudly as he flinched, waking up from a nightmare. He quickly realized he was still in the garage, drool on his chin, he looked over to see Morty asleep on the table. Rick sighed in relief, glad to see his grandson still by his side. Rick looked at the time “shit, it’s pretty l-la-Uurrrp! Late” he spoke aloud as he stood up, walking over to the table, picking up Mort in his arms. Rick shut the garage lights off before quietly walking upstairs to Mortys room. Rick looked down at the sleeping child in his arms, placing him in his bed as he covered him in his covers. Rick stood there, watching Morty sleep soundly, a look of some sort on his face. He wiped the drool off his chin before slowly leaning in and kissing Mortys forehead, caressing his soft cheek.
Rick quietly shut his door, his back leaned on the door, feeling his heart beat fast, as he made a face of disgust 'this is wrong..what am I thinking?’ He thought, sadly walking to his room where he went to bed, thinking of Morty.

2

More than what it seems, yes it’s gross I still have a vomit stain on my bedroom floor. There is so much more to the story though. My daughter threw up here. My daughter struggled for peace here. My daughter wanted to die here. She took a bottle of pills here. She had just gotten out of the mental hospital. She had lost all hope here. This is where my daughter almost died, and the almost part is what I am so grateful for. I see that spot and know that it may be what saved her from death. I see the spot and remember how sad she had become. I see it and think about how happy she is now just months later. It is a sad memory with a good outcome (I never say ending, mental illness will do that to you). I think now to the day recently that we had lunch and she tells me how happy she is that she didn’t die. I love my daughter and am so happy she is still here with us. My advice to her following this attempt was, if it feels that bad, do whatever it is that will make you happy. What do you have to loose?

dontfeelsogood  asked:

Sorry I'm kinda spamming you with asks but I've been reading a load of your posts since your writing is like, amazing, and well, could I request the fic idea where Alistair has a fight with his dad and climbs up the drainpipe to Julius' room with a 40 degree fever and he's totally weak and out of it and Julius has no idea how he even made it to his house.. you don't have to, but with emeto would be an added bonus!! ❤️❤️

Thanks for the request and the compliment! Feel free to spam me with asks whenever you like XD I really tried with this one, but even now I’m not massively happy with it. It gives a bit of insight into Alistair’s childhood, and his relationship with Julius’s mum. I do like writing these as babies anyway. They’re fifteen here. As a warning, there is mentioning of abuse here. I hope it’s okay.

There was peace and quiet in the Summers’ house on that mild June evening; Carol was in her bedroom with a book, Tom was out at work, Blaise was idly scrolling through social media and Poppy was already asleep.

Julius was lying on his tummy in bed with a book on astronomy, tracing the constellations with his fingers and glancing dreamily at the ceiling, as if he could see right through it to the stars above. He wanted to go stargazing properly when he was old enough - he could take Alistair. 

The fifteen year old was in a good mood - his homework was finished, it was Saturday tomorrow and the house was unusually tranquil. He smiled and immersed himself in the stars.

Julius was pulled out of his reverie by a light tapping at his window, the noise cutting through the quiet. At first he thought he must have imagined it - his bedroom was on the second floor - but then it came again, more insistent this time.

Julius leapt out of bed and yanked open the curtains. He nearly had a heart attack on the spot when he saw Alistair at the window, clutching onto the drainpipe precariously. Julius hastily pushed the window open.

“About fucking time! Hurry up, I can’t hold on much longer,” Alistair said, reaching out a hand to Julius through the window. Julius grabbed him and yanked him clumsily into the bedroom, looking panicked.

“What are you doing, climbing up the drainpipe? You could have been killed, Alistair!” he cried, as both boys fell into a heap on the floor. It seemed to take Alistair a long time to get to his knees, he was shaking weakly.

“I needed to see you. And it’s too late to knock at the door.”

“I’d have let you in if you’d text me!” Julius said exasperatedly. Then his voice grew soft. “What’s wrong? What’re you doing here?”

Alistair sighed, hesitating, staring at the floor so a curtain of red hair covered his face. He reluctantly looked at Julius, tucking his hair behind his ears. He had a new bruise forming across his left cheek, the eye looking as if it would be swollen in the morning. Julius clenched his fists, his eyes filling with tears.

“Oh Alistair…”

Alistair just shrugged. “It’s okay. I hit father back - though I don’t think I hurt him very much. But he locked me in my bedroom, so I had to sneak out. I didn’t want to stay there with him,” he said miserably. He suddenly swayed a little, his eyes unfocused. “I feel really weird, Jules…”

Julius squinted at his friend, looking into his eyes carefully. He cupped Alistair’s forehead and yelled at the heat rolling off him.

“You’re burning up! You climbed all the way up the drainpipe with such a high fever? How did you manage? Good God, Alistair, do you have a death wish?” Julius cried in a panic.

He moved to shut the window hastily, shuddering at the long drop. It was so easy to imagine Alistair losing his grip on the slippery drainpipe, falling down down down onto the concrete driveway below. Julius pressed his lips together and stumbled back to Alistair, kneeling down and pulling him into an embrace. The red-head was burning hot and shivering in his arms. He felt so fragile, as if he might shatter if Julius held on too tightly. Alistair slumped meekly against his friend, his chin resting on Julius’s shoulder.

Julius would have been content to hold Alistair like that forever; his poor friend was sick and feverish and hurting, Julius wished he never had to let go…

“Hehhuugggkkkhhh!”

Julius started as Alistair stiffened in his arms, feeling an alarming rush of hot liquid splash down his back. He heard Alistair gasp and felt him pull away wildly, his hands over his mouth.

“Fuck fuck fuck, ’m sorry, I didn’t know it was going to happen…”

Julius shushed him gently, leaning him against the wall. “It’s not your fault. It doesn’t matter.”

Julius was so concerned he didn’t even really notice the uncomfortable soggy warmth of his sick stained shirt. He brushed Alistair’s hair off his face worriedly - he was on fire.

“Oh Alistair, I think I need to get my mum,” Julius said, starting to cry. Alistair blinked, suddenly looking fearful.

“B-but…she’ll call my parents…”

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t, I promise. I’m sorry, Alistair, it’s not that I want to. You’re just so sick. I have to,” Julius sobbed, and he bolted out of the room. Alistair called after him, desperately begging him to come back, but Julius forced himself to push onwards.

It took Carol several minutes to disentangle Julius’s frantic babbling explanations - at first she was far more concerned by her son’s tears and vomit stained clothes, and by Alistair’s feverish shrieking from the bedroom. When she finally figured out what was going on, she dashed to Julius’s bedroom purposefully, scrutinising Alistair from the doorway. He had slipped down and was lying in a ball on the floor, his cheeks flushed deep red with fever. He caught sight of Carol, large and formidable even in her pyjamas - and he burst into noisy tears.

“Please don’t make me go home!” he wept. Carol blinked, shocked - she’d never heard Alistair say please before. Julius started crying anew, kneeling beside Alistair on the floor and taking his friend’s hand.

“Please mum, let him stay here! Don’t send him home to his mum and dad. They keep hitting him even though we told the police, a-and he’s so sick, and t-they won’t look after him p-properly and…” He babbled on and on, hysterical, while Alistair sobbed loudly beside him, delirious and confused.

Carol stood straight and tall, making her voice calm and firm. “Okay, come on, you two, that’s enough. It’ll all be okay. Juli, he isn’t dying, you don’t have to cling onto him like that. Go get cleaned up, I’ll sort him out,” she ordered, and Julius went off, albeit a little reluctantly.

Carol grabbed Alistair and hauled him up, depositing him onto the bed. She stroked his hair away from his flushed, wet cheeks surprisingly gently, shushing him.

“Now you just stop all this wailing, Alistair Renfrew. You’ll only give yourself a sore head as well as a fever. There’s nothing to cry about, you’re safe here,” she said. Alistair clutched her sleeve desperately.

“C-can I stay..?”

“You know and I know that I’m going to have to call your parents, just so they know where you are. But I promise you, I will not let them take you home - not after they marked your face like that.” She held Alistair’s chin gently, peering at his bruises, her eyes alight with fire. “Who did that to you? Your father?”

Alistair nodded sadly, his eyes slipping to the floor. Carol sighed miserably, patting Alistair’s hair. No wonder the poor kid was always so standoffish and abrasive, if his own parents were hitting him for barely anything at home.

Carol held her hand to Alistair’s forehead. “You’re boiling hot… Don’t you worry, you’re not going anywhere tonight. I’m sure Juli won’t mind sharing his bed with you. Just relax, alright?” she whispered, and Alistair nodded, still crying softly.

Carol went down to the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water. She was staring at the water running into the sink, her face grave, when Julius came up behind her, his hair still wet from his shower.

“Aren’t you going to do anything?” he said angrily, his voice unusually hostile. Carol gave a sad sigh.

“I’ve tried, Juli. I told the police.”

“It’s not fair!” Julius suddenly exploded, stamping his foot in his passion. “Why won’t anyone listen? He’s crying out for help and nobody cares!”

Carol gripped her son by the shoulders, forcing him to look at her. “I know it’s not fair, Juli. As much as that boy can be a royal pain in the backside, it kills me to see him all over cuts and bruises like that. But there’s nothing I can do. I can keep him here as much as possible, but he’s not my son,” Carol said, looking pained. Julius shook his head wildly, refusing to give up.

“Tell the police again! Don’t just give in. No matter what people think of him, he’s a living, breathing person who feels and hurts just like everyone else. They’re hurting him, mum!” he cried, tears flowing down his cheeks again. Carol wiped her son’s face with her sleeves tenderly.

“I’m sorry, Juli. I’ve filed reports against his parents several times, I swear it. But you’ve seen the size of their house - it’s easy for his parents to invite the police officer inside and pour him a brandy and appear the model parents. Alistair Renfrew has a reputation - it wouldn’t be hard to convince the police that he got the cuts and bruises from fighting. I’ve tried, Juli, I really have,” she insisted, sounding choked up herself.

Julius visibly drooped, his face a mask of misery, almost breaking Carol’s heart. She pulled the boy into her arms, and Julius clutched onto her desperately.

“Alistair deserves so much better than this,” Julius whispered wretchedly. Carol stroked his damp curls.

“We’ll take care of him tonight, okay? Go on, get into bed with him, it’s getting fearfully late. I’ll be right up,” she said, giving Julius a pat to send him on his way. He dashed back upstairs obediently, his hair bouncing as he ran. Carol sighed once Julius was out of earshot, shaking her head in fond exasperation.

“Oh my poor Juli,” she muttered. “You’ve fallen hard for him, haven’t you?”

Heres to the kids

Here’s to the kids. The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party. Here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them. Here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars. Here’s to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool. Here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV…and blame MTV for ruining their life. Here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts. Here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush. Here’s to the kids who hum “A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night. Here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed. Here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn’t feel so alone after doing so. Here’s to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friend(s). Here’s to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don’t care. Here’s to the kids who speak their mind. Here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep. Here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do. Here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that. Here’s to the kids. This one’s not for the kids, who always get what they want, But for the ones who never had it at all. It’s not for the ones who never got caught, But for the ones who always try and fall. This one’s for the kids who didnt make it, We were the kids who never made it. The Overcast girls and the Underdog Boys. Not for the kids who had all their joys. This one’s for the kids who never faked it. We’re the kids who didn’t make it. They say “Breaking hearts is what we do best,” And, “We’ll make your heart be ripped of your chest” The only heart that I broke was mine, When I got My Hopes up too too high. We were the kids who didnt make it. We are the kids who never made it.”
—  Pete Wentz

Here's to the Kids by Pete Wentz

“Here’s to the kids.

The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party.
Here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them.
Here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars.
Here’s to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool.
Here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV…and blame MTV for ruining their life.
Here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts.
Here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush.
Here’s to the kids who hum "A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night.
Here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed.
Here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn’t feel so alone after doing so.
Here’s to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friend(s).
Here’s to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don’t care.
Here’s to the kids who speak their mind.
Here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep.
Here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do.
Here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that.
Here’s to the kids.
This one’s not for the kids,
who always get what they want,
But for the ones who never had it at all.
It’s not for the ones who never got caught,
But for the ones who always try and fall.
This one’s for the kids who didnt make it,
We were the kids who never made it.
The Overcast girls and the Underdog Boys.
Not for the kids who had all their joys.
This one’s for the kids who never faked it.
We’re the kids who didn’t make it.
They say “Breaking hearts is what we do best,”
And, “We’ll make your heart be ripped of your chest”
The only heart that I broke was mine,
When I got My Hopes up too too high.
We were the kids who didnt make it.
We are the kids who never made it.“

-Pete Wentz

“Here’s to the kids.

The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party.
Here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them.
Here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars.
Here’s to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool.
Here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV…and blame MTV for ruining their life.
Here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts.
Here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush.
Here’s to the kids who hum “A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night.
Here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed.
Here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn’t feel so alone after doing so.
Here’s to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friend(s).
Here’s to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don’t care.
Here’s to the kids who speak their mind.
Here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep.
Here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do.
Here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that.
Here’s to the kids.
This one’s not for the kids,
who always get what they want,
But for the ones who never had it at all.
It’s not for the ones who never got caught,
But for the ones who always try and fall.
This one’s for the kids who didnt make it,
We were the kids who never made it.
The Overcast girls and the Underdog Boys.
Not for the kids who had all their joys.
This one’s for the kids who never faked it.
We’re the kids who didn’t make it.
They say “Breaking hearts is what we do best,”
And, “We’ll make your heart be ripped of your chest”
The only heart that I broke was mine,
When I got My Hopes up too too high.
We were the kids who didnt make it.
We are the kids who never made it.”

-Pete Wentz

Writing Game #1

Prompt: Daddy!Tom alone with the baby for the first time while his wife goes back to work


“We can do this, can’t we buddy?” Tom grinned as he leaned over the top of the crib. Round blue eyes stared back at him in wonder, chunky legs kicking wildly in the air. “We don’t need your mommy at all, do we?”

Joshua was only a few months old, but the mere mention of his mother brought the infant to tears. Tom’s eyes widened, cursing under his breath as he quickly scooped his son up and into his arms.

“No, no, shh,” he cooed. “It’s okay. Mommy will be back soon. But I’m right here. We’ll have fun, just you and me.”

Keep reading

Boredom, tiredness and clubs (Joker x Reader)

REQUEST

Word Count: 1367

Warning (?) : Slightly OOC Joker.



“Oh come on now,” J purred, as you lay in bed, cuddled by him whilst you cuddled the sheets, that were up to your chin, in defiance. “It’s just one night.“ 

You huffed. "That’s what you said last night.” And the night before, and the night before, and the night before that and so on. You rolled your eyes thinking about it. 

“Let’s have some fun tonight, doll,” he said, letting go of you and going to stand at the foot of the bed, fixing his shirt. You knew that the snuggles and cuddles were all a rouse to try and get you to say yes. Pouting, you watched him.

He teased you lightly, his fingers grazing past the buttons as he watched you as intently as you him.

When you decided you wouldn’t be swayed that easily and he saw the determination fire back up in your eyes, he grumbled. “Why not?” he sulked, pouting. 

“Because I’m tired, J,” you sulked back. “We went out every night this week." 

You looked to your right at the pile of clothes that were spawning on your chair before your eyes scanned your heels, dreading them. "Don’t you know how hard it is to be in heels?" 

He couldn’t argue there and he knew it.

"I can drag you out of here,” he suddenly decided, his inner evil villain coming out. Fortunately two could play at that.

“Mm. And we’ll see a repeat of last time.”

The last time he’d tried that you’d gotten feisty and let’s just say that there was a bite mark adorning his smiley tattoo. 

He shook his hand in response looking pretty disgusted. “That hurt.”

“It was meant to.”

“You can be a real b- ” You raised an eyebrow at him, warning him.

“Because that’s definitely going to make me want to go with you.”

He huffed. “Why do you do this to me, baby?” he complained. If he didn’t have that whom he would’ve sunk to his knees and begged. 

You grinned back at him, toying. He’d once admitted that he regretted teaching you to play with your food first. You couldn’t wipe the grin off your face. “Well there is something you can do…”

“What?” he muttered, staring dead straight at you. Your grin turned into a sly smile and he immediately knew he would regret it.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty…” You gave him a look of victory as you waiting for his response. 

He glared at you. “Please.”

You couldn’t help the widening grin as you leapt up from your position, wrapping your arms around him as he scrunched up his face. “Well why didn’t you just say so, Puddin’?”

He growled, pushing you back onto the bed.

—–

It was midnight and you’d just arrived at the club, the bouncers immediately letting you through after one glance at J who was in a don’t-mess-with-me kind of mood. He was still pissed that you’d made him say his own favourite word which made you a little giddy with satisfaction. That’s what your relationship was anyways. It was the perfect mess of one ups and romantic joint shootings. 

As you walked in, he led you straight to the bar, the bartender leaving his clients in favour of him. You knew that you didn’t command respect like he did, but thankfully the shameless name drop was something you did best.

J dumped a wad of cash on the bar. “Open bar for us tonight,” he muttered to the bartender who was in awe but nodded, taking the cash. And so the drinks kept rolling in.

—–

“I’m tired, J. I want to go home,” you said, sighing as you rest your head back against the wall.

“You’re going to sit here and wait until business is done. And then we’re going to enjoy the night.” It all sounded more like a death threat than an exciting night. 

You huffed, deciding that some alcohol was in order to numb the boredom and hopefully add some energy. J didn’t care, gladly supplying you with drinks until you reached the perfect stage which mean heavy partying and lots of dancing. 

You took over the dance floor with him, feeling free and much less sleepy than before. Then he went to deal with business, leaving you to enjoy the night on your own knowing all too well that drunk you wasn’t going to be conducive to business.

—–

“(Y/N)?” you heard, feeling something cold on your cheek as the world looked turned on its side at a ninety degree angle. You groaned, realising that it was just the way you were positioned. As you tried to straighten up, you felt your body slosh. It took a moment to see straight. You were splayed out in a cubicle, one hand grabbing the inside of the toilet, the other on the floor to support yourself. You looked at your feet, making sure to move your head slowly. It amused you to find your heels kicked off. You might have given them away. It felt like a right memory.

“(Y/N)?” you heard again, louder this time.

You groaned. “Shut up.” You let your head fall back onto the toilet seat. “Ow,” you muttered. 

J’s hand rested lightly on your back as he rubbed it. “Doll, what were you thinking?”

“I was bored and tired,” you managed to get out before feeling nausea. You pushed him away as you released the contents of your stomach into the bowl. As you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, you turned back to glare at him. “It’s your fault.”

“Now don’t be like that, doll.”

“I didn’t want to go out,” you justified. He just laughed before leaving, barking orders. “Prick,” you muttered, hoping he’d hear it.

Second laters you were being cleaned up by his goons. You sighed, feeling yourself drift off as the soothing feeling of warm water and tissue on your skin became the only thing you felt.

—–

You shivered and chattered as they put you into the car. Even with the heater on, you had to hold yourself together to try and keep warm. When that wasn’t working you asked J for his jacket which he begrudgingly gave you, muttering warnings about vomit stains. But even that wasn’t enough.

“Doll, I’d really appreciate some peace and quiet,” he said as he sped through a red light getting many honks as tyres screeched on the ground. With his free hand he clasped your chin in an attempt to make it stop. It took all of your energy to fake a bite at his hand. He growled back at you. “What’s the matter with ‘Cha?”

You groaned. “I feel sick.”

“Well drinking like you did does that to ya. Even with a pretty face.”

You groaned some more. “Great advice, J. Very helpful.”

He muttered something about you still being sarcastic.

“Well we’re almost home.” You could tell he was trying to suppress that part of him that wanted to snap.

“Ok. Good.” And just before you could go to sleep, you rolled down the window and let loose out of it. Only difference was this time there was blood. 

—–

“What’s wrong with her?” you heard though the voices were foggy. “And I don’t wanna hear none of that life threatening nonsense, now, doc. My baby’s a fighter and you’re going to help her.”

As you opened your eyes slightly you saw J standing with a gun to a poor doctor’s head, pointed right at his temple.

You looked around at where you were; the hospital. You shut your eyes, the memories of last night completely washed out.

“Uh,” the doctor began looking at you, unable to speak properly. “Alcohol poisoning.”

“Huh.” J didn’t seem to like the answer but gestured for the doctor to scurry on the moment he realised that you were awake. He looked over to you and sighed, walking over. He moved you hair from your face. “How’s it going, doll?" 

His eyes were red. Had he been upset? Crying even? 

You sighed. "I don’t want to go out anymore, J." 

He shook his head. "Never again.”

“Promise?”

He nodded.




As usual feedback is always appreciated :)

anonymous asked:

11 Jally? Pls

11. Things you said when you were drunk - Johnny x Dallas

http://talk-greasy-to-me.tumblr.com/post/145781145103/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a


“I cant believe you,” Johnny mumbled, helping Dallas take his vomit-stained shirt off. “I asked you not to go to Buck’s party nicely, and what did you do?”

“Well I’m sorry, mother.” Dally said sarcastically. Johnny sighed, shaking his head and running a hand through Dally’s hair.

“Get some rest.” He sighed, going over to the light and turning it out. He hated how dirty Buck’s rooms were but its not like he stayed there every night. He didn’t want to stay the night because he wasn’t looking forward to Dallas’ hangover.

“Johnny, man, wait a sec-” he started, trying to sit up so he was resting against the wall behind the bed. Johnny sighed, feeling his heart break a bit at the sight. He walked over slowly, sitting at the edge of the bed and resting his hand on Dally’s thigh, rubbing it soothingly.

“What is it?”

“I think… I think I love you.”

“Dally, you’re drunk-”

“No, listen, man…” Dally started with a small hiccup, “…I really, really love… you. Your hair, your lips, your voice… Y-you make me sorta happy, ya know? I…”

“Dally, get some rest, please.” Johnny said, feeling tears brim his eyes. Dally nodded, sliding back down so his head was on the pillow. Johnny couldn’t help the grin that was sprawling all over his face. He couldn’t believe this tough, no-good hood had fallen in love with him out of anyone.

The best part is, he saw a future.

Here’s to the kids.

The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party. Here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them. Here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars. Here’s to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool. Here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV…and blame MTV for ruining their life. Here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts. Here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush. Here’s to the kids who hum “A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night. Here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed. Here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn’t feel so alone after doing so. Here’s to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friend(s). Here’s to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don’t care. Here’s to the kids who speak their mind. Here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep. Here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do. Here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that. Here’s to the kids. This one’s not for the kids, who always get what they want, But for the ones who never had it at all. It’s not for the ones who never got caught, But for the ones who always try and fall. This one’s for the kids who didnt make it, We were the kids who never made it. The Overcast girls and the Underdog Boys. Not for the kids who had all their joys. This one’s for the kids who never faked it. We’re the kids who didn’t make it. They say “Breaking hearts is what we do best,” And, “We’ll make your heart be ripped of your chest” The only heart that I broke was mine, When I got My Hopes up too too high. We were the kids who didnt make it. We are the kids who never made it.

—  Pete Wentz

     Angelica’s gentle fingers mingled with Conjury’s hair, washing out the sweat from the night before. And what a night it was. The girl could barely remember the sequence of events post-Duskwood, but to her mother it was all too VIVID.

     A priestess arrived in the dead of night. In her arms, Conjury. But at the same time, not Conjury. As Angelica rushed to her child she quickly realized that something quite terrible had happened, something that robbed her daughter of her very self.

     Of course, that was just the shock. But still, the state of her was a terrible sight to see. Vomit and blood staining her robes, a gash ripping the girl’s face apart, it was unbearable.

     A quick uttering of thanks to the woman who’d returned her daughter was all Angelica could muster in such a time. Urgency had not been so real, so ALIVE, in years.

     She could barely get a warm cloth to her child’s face before another string of bile seeped out of her lips.          URGENCY.

     The stitches were cleaned and Conjury examined, bandages gently stuck to the torn skin on her cheek - their bright white hue matching the girl’s own quite perfectly. It was treatable. Good.

     Conjury avidly rejected any magical aid, feverishly pushing away anyone without material assistance. That in itself was worrisome - but what can you do.

     The rest of the night was spent on a cot in the small clinic she’d been imprisoned in, and Conjury fell deeply into a sleep for the rest of the night.

     Upon the dawn’s break she was allowed to go home, a small canister of salve and a few pills to take the edge off neatly tucked in her mother’s hands. Better on this morning, but still distraught, Conjury returned home much more like herself.

     As Angelica gently washed her hair and bathed her body, Conjury’s mind slowly regained it’s focus. While her mother had asked her repeatedly what had happened, all she could muster was a faint;     ❛ I fell.

     Of course with a GRUESOME wound like that, Angelica didn’t believe her. Neither did the priestess. Neither did the man who’d stitched her up. But really, how could anyone believe that?

     From her temple to the corner of her lip, a rugged valley of flesh was carved in jagged movements down her face, bone exposed on her cheekbone and blood freely pouring down her body.

     But for now, covered. Stitched. Bandaged. MARRED.

     The gentle swipe of Angelica’s sponge and the heat from the bathwater was all that comforted Conjury now. She refused mirrors, refused explanation. She even refused to outright acknowledge what had even happened.

ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ;;「 @casyril​ 」

coralscanvas  asked:

So I've had every hair colour under the sun, I've had blunders with ideas but I've always been able to fix those blunders so if my friends have ideas I've never minded letting them try it out on my head. Who do you think likes coloured hair? Who thinks it looks stupid? Who really wants to help you? Who's really good at helping you? Who tried really hard but...missed the mark? Who's gonna make your head look like rainbow vomit? Who stains everything with dye?

i’m gonna start with saying all of them better like colored hair bc 99% of them got some crazy shit for their natural hair color. 

  • Who really wants to help you? Kurenai, Hinata, Choji, Rock Lee, Sai, Izumo, Ibiki (he finds it…relaxing), Hana
  • Who’s really good at helping you? Tobirama (he has a system), Madara, Sasuke, Itachi (Uchiha Salon up in this bitch), Shino, Neji, Raido, Baki, Yamato
  • Who tried really hard but…missed the mark? Shisui, Kakashi, Gaara, Shikamaru
  • Who’s gonna make your head look like rainbow vomit? Hashirama, Gai, Kiba, Tsunade, Asuma, Sakura
  • Who stains everything with dye? Kankuro, Kotetsu, Ebisu, Chojuro, Temari
  • Who in general should never be trusted to do this for you? Naruto, Genma, Jiraiya, Ino