what if nobody answers this

anonymous asked:

actually, wrens line "i even created life for you" did make it! just not in the way it was anticipated, i guess. it was early in the beginning of the scene where alex asks wren to shoot her!

Does he? interesting. I’ll have to go back and watch it (ugh) because like

“ we thought we had that actor for more days than we did. i had written a death scene, and in that scene that we never shot, he says to alex, “i even created life for you.” so wren knew that he was the father of those babies. ” - marlene king

:S 

Every year the Russian Team does a bar crawl. It’s a tradition now. They all have T-shirts that have Yakov’s face on the front (Above the word Фелстман bolded and underlined) and, on the back, a skater’s name in large bolded font below an alphabetized list of every skater Yakov’s ever had in much smaller text. They get new T-shirts every time someone new is added to the roster, so usually every year or two.

They change the T-shirts to include Yuuri, and also to change Viktor’s name to his married name. Yuuri has no idea that this is even a thing until he walks into the rink one morning to see Yuri skating around with a pile of bright purple T-shirts in his arms.

“Yo, Katsudon,” Yuri mutters when he gets to him, flipping through shirts distractedly. He’s almost a normal person this early in the morning, before the vitriol has settled into his bones for the day. “So your stupid husband didn’t tell us what size you are, but you wear his clothes all the time anyway and since you have the same last name it was just less complicated to order two of the same size. Here.” He drops them so quickly that Yuuri almost overbalances to catch them. He’s halfway across the rink by the time Yuuri straightens back up, making his way towards one of the Juniors who Yuuri thinks might be named Katya. 

“Ooh, the shirts came in,” Viktor says happily when he catches up. He takes one and holds it up to the light. The picture of Yakov on the front is…not exactly flattering. “Wow! They look even better than last year! Purple is a much better color than green.”

“What am I looking at?” Yuuri demands, staring dumbfounded at his own T-shirt.

“Yakov, of course,” Viktor says happily. He flips the shirt around. Yuuri startles at the giant, bold Кацуки-Никифоров on the back. Viktor scans the smaller text (Which is, weirdly enough, in the shape of a skating boot) and says, “Ah, here you are.” Yuuri leans over.

“Yeah, that’s…definitely my name,” Yuuri says, brows furrowing. Юрий Кацуки-Никифоров. It is, of course, right next to Виктор Кацуки-Никифоров. He’s familiar enough with the other skaters’ names to realize that the small text is Yakov’s roster. “Um, why though?” 

“I’m not sure!” Viktor says happily. “I came here after it started! I’ll go put these in our lockers. Start warming up please, Kitten!”

Viktor skates away. Yakov’s face seems to wink at him, over and over again, from where Viktor is clutching the shirts by his hip.

“After WHAT started?” Yuuri demands to the room at large. Nobody answers him.

Viktor eventually does explain what they are for, the afternoon before the bar crawl itself. He also shows Yuuri the dozen past bar crawl shirts he owns. The passage of time is indicated by the growing shirt sizes and Yakov’s hairline. Yakov had almost a full head of hair when Viktor first joined the roster.

“Does Yakov know about this?” Yuuri mutters, staring at the shirts in awe. 

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Viktor says. “Lilia makes the shirt orders for us. It’s the only reason she’s not on the shirt too, honestly.”

Every single day, Yuuri is more and more amazed that Yakov Feltsman has not taken to the Siberian wilderness to live in seclusion and blessed silence. 

The Towel Story

Originally posted by awwsehun

Member: Exo Sehun

Type: Fluff/Smut

“The only way I will ever sit in his car is if I’m using it to run him over,” you snapped, pushing Kyungsoo’s hand off your shoulder and picking up your suitcase, wincing at the weight before starting down the stairs. Maybe you had over packed, but you didn’t want to risk running out of clothes, especially in a place so secluded.

Keep reading

some of my favorite scenes of episode 2, part 1

In no particular order.

1. Negotiating the time frame. It was funny, and I love how seamlessly Shindou reacts and how Zashunina catches on and gauges his reactions as he offers longer and longer options. 

2. “How was that?” “95%” “That’s plenty.” “90 and 5 percent.”

I guess the joke is kind of untranslatable here? Shindou says “juubun” ie. “plenty” but 十分/“juubun” literally means “ten parts”, and for someone not entirely proficient in Japanese Shindou’s phrasing could be understood as him offering a different opinion. So Zashunina misunderstands it as Shindou getting the wrong idea, and corrects him, like “no, 95. You know, 9x10 plus 5.″ #explainingthejoke

3. The entire first contact scene. It was beautifully done!
Also, I wonder if Zashunina took on a human male form because it was Shindou touching Kado first. Maybe if it was one of the female flight attendants he would’ve been female, too.

4. Just… Hanamori. Clinging worriedly to Shindou. Shindou reassuringly touching his hand. Hnnng.

5. I really love how he says “Kado” here, with his pronunciation still not being entirely clear. His intonation when he introduced himself was a bit different, too, later on it’s more “Japanese”.

to be continued….

(Just so this post is not criminally long.)

When I was 5, I sat on the edge of my chair with my legs spread. I felt an itch between them, so I reached down to scratch, but my grandma grabbed my wrist to stop me and hissed: “Girls don’t do that!” I asked her why, because I had seen my father doing it, I had seen all the boys in primary school doing it, too. And it itched and I wanted to scratch it. Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Girls don’t do that. Also, don’t sit there with your legs spread like that. Girls don’t do that, either.”

When I was 6, I spent a day on the beach with my family. I was excited about the new bikini my mum got me, but confused as to why she asked me to keep the top on when I went for a swim. She hadn’t made me wear it the years before, but suddenly, she was very fussy about it. “Look, I’ve got one on, too.”, she said to me. And I thought I understood: Women had to cover their breasts, because they were bigger than mens’. But I wasn’t a woman. I was a child. Later, I overheard a talk she had with my dad. “I don’t want old men to stare at her.”, she whispered. I interrupted them and asked her why she thought old men would look at me. Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. It’s because you’re a girl. And men do that.”

When I was 9, I got in a fight with my best friend. I went home and complained about it to my grandma, who lived with us. She told me I should have seen it coming. “That’s how girls are.”, she said. “A friendship between girls is always also a competition. Girls are jealous, manipulative and backstabbing. You can’t trust them.” But I had never fought with my best friend before and I knew we’d forgive and forget the next day, anyway. So, I asked my grandma why, and her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Catfights will happen. It’s normal. That’s how girls are.”

When I was 13, I fell in love with a boy from the neighbourhood. I couldn’t hide my excitement. He was on my mind all the time and I caught myself wishing we were together, so I could hold his hand and kiss him, too. I wanted to meet him, get to know him better, and I told my dad about my plan of asking him out. “Don’t do that.”, my dad said. “It’s not appropriate for a girl to ask a boy out.” Though I partly agreed, since I had never seen a woman proposing to the man in a movie, or read about a girl kissing her crush first, I still didn’t understand what would be so bad about being an exception, so I asked my dad why I had to wait for a boy to show interest in me in order to be allowed to openly requite it. His answer was: “It’s just how it is, darling. The man makes the first move. It’s always been this way. Boys like to conquer, and girls love being chased.”

When I was 17, I was part of a large group of friends. There was a boy who fancied me. I didn’t like him back, but I wasn’t used to anyone crushing on me, so I enjoyed the attention. He’d always tell me I was special. One of a kind. Different. “You’re not like other girls.”, he said. “You’re not a bitch. You’re funny, laid back, intelligent. You don’t just care about your nails or your hair. You get my sense of humour. You’re not like most girls. You’re my best guy friend. But with tits.” I was flattered in the beginning, but soon, I started to wonder if his compliments were any at all. I began to feel disgusted with him. I didn’t want to be his best guy friend with tits. So I asked him what’s so good about a girl like me, a girl unlike what he called a typical one, and his answer was: “That’s easy to explain. A pretty model type of girl is good enough to jack off to, but in the end, a guy wants some drama free pussy. You’re an exception. The majority of girls is superficial and slutty. The kind of girl you fuck, but dump when you’re ready to settle down. Or they’re just plain boring and prude. This sounds harsh, but it’s just how it is.”

When I was 19, there was a boy I regularly had sex with. It was nice. Not the breathtaking kind of passionate, ecstatic fucking I had dreamed of; maybe we lacked chemistry, maybe it would have been nicer if we had been in love; but I was alright with it. I adapted, obeyed and swallowed. Of course I did. In the beginning, he really put an effort in giving me what I gave him. He really tried. But his attempts at putting his tongue to good work quickly faded into halfheartedly rubbing me dry and at some point, he said: “I’m giving up.” I asked him why. His answer was: “It’s so hard to get a girl off. You women need ages to cum. It’s so exhausting.” I laughed and told him I needed about two minutes when I did it on my own. “Then stick to that.”, he said. “I’ve got a cramp in my wrist. Women are so complicated. It’s just how it is. I’m sorry.”

I am 20 now, and I’ve come to realize that my female identity has been shaped by a biased, hypocritical excuse based on ridiculous gender roles: “It’s just how it is.” All my life, I have asked them why, and all they said was “It’s just how it is.” And it didn’t matter whether I’ve asked men or women. Internalized misogyny is just as harmful. There were as many women as men who said: “It’s just how it is.” But that is not the answer I wanted. Not the answer I needed. These few words don’t fucking answer the countless questions concerning my gender identity.

Why can’t I sit with my legs spread? What’s so shameful about what I keep between them? Why must I cover my breasts? Why am I being sexualized long before I’m even told when sex is? Why am I being taught to mistrust other girls? Why do I have to compete with other girls? Why am I only a good girl when I’m not like most girls? Why do I have to keep quiet about the way I feel? Why am I not allowed to show affection like men do? Can’t I conquer a boy’s heart, too? Why must love be about conquering, anyway? What if I don’t like being chased? What if it scares me? Why do boys scare me, anyway? Why do you make me feel inferior to them? And why do I have to like a boy in order to be liked? Why am I being shamed for being a “slut”, them shamed for being “prude”? Why am I expected to adapt, obey and swallow without praise when boys who return the favour are considered grateful, dedicated lovers, heroes, almost ,because to the majority of them, it’s not fucking understood that if I make them cum, they should make me cum, too? Why am I exhausting to be with? Why am I complicated?

Is it because I’m a bitch? Because I’m an oversensitive little baby? Is it because I’m a slut? A prude virgin? Is it because I’m on my period? Cause women are just crazy? Cause I am jealous, manipulative, backstabbing, competitive or any of the other countless negative traits that are immediately connected with the female identity? All summed up, is it because I’m a girl?

I’ve asked them. And they said yes.

And when I asked “But why?”, they said it again: “It’s just how it is.”

“It” is that context, is a never ending circle of resigning acceptance of the circumstance that girls are being raised to disrespect their own gender from their childhood on. I was, and am, expected to accept the fact that being female automatically makes me inferior, and that I should be thankful for being treated equally, because that’s not the standard. I was, and am, expected to appreciate and take it as a compliment when people tell me that I’m not like other women. Because I was, and am, expected to look down on women even though I am a woman myself. But I refuse. I refuse to adapt, obey and swallow. I refuse to accept that “it’s just how it is”. I refuse to take this as an answer, and I will not stop asking why. I won’t ever stop asking why. Not because I want people to give me a proper response, but because I want them to question themselves, too. I want them to start wondering. Want them to start doubting the concept of the role I’ve learned to stick to before I knew how to spell my “typically female” name. I want them to think about it, lose their sleep about it, until they ask, too: “Why?”

In order to eliminate misogynic stereotypes, we must unlearn to understand them. We must refuse to accept “It’s just how it is” as an answer, until we forget what “it” stands for. Keep asking why, until nobody knows an answer anymore. “It’s just how it is” is not an answer. Neither is “It’s cause you’re a girl”. Or “That’s how girls are”. Because girls can be everything and anything they want to be. That’s how it really is.

—  I REFUSE!, a rant on how my female identity has been shaped by excuses and lies

anonymous asked:

Ayurnamat LMM

Ayurnamat - The philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed.

You’re fidgeting again.” Lin’s hand took hold of your shaking leg, “Your family will understand.”

“I know, I know.” You sighed, anxiously watching the flight attendants bustle about behind their desk as they took phone calls and dealt with angry passengers wanting to board their flight. “I just promised-”

“That you’d be home for Christmas.” He smiled softly, hoping anything would help to lighten the mood, “And there’s still-” He glanced at his watch, “Two minutes until Christmas Day. A whole twenty-four hours to keep your promise.”

You hated it when Lin made a good point.

With your family living out of New York, and your relationship with Lin growing more serious by the day, you struggled to come up with a holiday arrangement that worked for everyone. Lin’s entire family was rooted in New York, and it was unfair to ask them to all travel. And the same could be said about yours.

So, Lin’s family got Christmas Eve. Yours got Christmas Day.

And things were working out, until a blizzard decided to halt your plans in their tracks.

“We’ll board when we board. Meanwhile…

With your eyes on him and your leg no longer shaking, he made it his personal mission to keep you distracted until you finally boarded. Fishing through his carry-on, past expensive bags of candy he insisted on buying in the airport and a newspaper - who even read the newspaper anymore? - Lin found your wrapped present.

“Merry Christmas.” He whispered, a single second of intimacy in the packed room of angry tourists.

Thoroughly distracted with tearing away the green and red wrapping paper, the flight was a million miles away from you. There was only Lin as he expectantly watched you uncover a tiny paper box.

“Go on.” He insisted.

A key. A house key. With a tiny Big Ben key chain connected by a metal ring.

“Uh, Lin?”

“You know how I’ve been thinking about what we’re gonna do after I leave Hamilton? Well…

anonymous asked:

I love thinking about tony and his relationship with his bots. Like I always imagine they know he is their creator (dad) and see him as their #1 person. And they do learn and habe at least a basic understanding of human relationships and feelings. And they see rhodey and pepper as I dunno aunt/uncle? Do you think they would consider Peter to be more in line with them or rhodey/pepper? How do they feel about vision? Bruce? The others? Did their opinions change after CW? Is the change obvious?

Somewhere, deep within Dum-E’s and U’s programming, a small file has been created by the program itself. It is regularly updated and regarded of highest importance to their general functionality, their ability to asses situations and subsequent behaviour. It has been re-written, as to be more easily understandable to people like me who can’t code to save their lives, by the ever so helpful JARVIS, and essentially amounts to this:

// Tony Stark
{ subject identification = first;
  added subject identification = creator + commander + father}
{ subject priority = first }
{ objective in relation to first = obey orders;
  added objective in relation to first = protect first’s life + improve quality of        first’s life + ensure first’s health + encourage positive emotional reactions by  first }

// Rhodey Rhodes 
{ subject identification = second;
  added subject identification = second in command + friend + uncle}
{ subject priority = second } 
{ objective in relation to second = obey orders if orders are not in conflict with    objective in relation to first; 
 added objective in relation to second = determine degree of threat towards first  + help second improve quality of first’s  life + help second ensure first’s health  + help second encourage positive  emotional reactions by first } 

// Pepper Potts 
{ subject identification = second_02;
  added subject identification =  business associate + friend + aunt}
{ subject priority = second } 
{ objective in relation to second_02 = obey orders if orders are not in conflict      with objective in relation to first and if orders are not in conflict with objective in  relation to second; 
 added objective in relation to second_02 = determine degree of threat towards  first + help second_02 improve quality of  first’s life + help second_02 ensure  first’s health + help second_02 encourage    positive emotional reactions by  first }

// Peter Parker
{ subject identification = second_03;
 added subject identification =  business associate + employee + intern + inconclusive}
{ subject priority = undetermined }
{ objective in relation to second_03 = obey orders if orders are not in conflict      with objective in relation to first and if orders are not in conflict with objective in  relation to second and if orders are not in conflict with objective in relation to  second_02;
 added objective in relation to second_03 = determine degree of threat towards  first }
{ observation = second_03 engages with self; 
  added observation = more information on activity “catch” needed + more      information on social custom “greeting” needed + more information on social custom “small talk” needed }

In short Dum-E and U are very confused by the way Peter interacts with them (he treats them like Tony treats them, which is a first). They haven’t yet made up their minds. I also suspect Pepper is about to be demoted to fourth_03 (behind Bruce and Vision, but before Natasha, Steve, Clint and Wanda) because causing Tony to show expressions of negative emotions is a sure way to get on their shit list. Which is better than Team Cap because they have been put straight onto the Black List.

Let’s just say it’s a good thing none of them have run into the bots yet…

When I was 5,
I sat on the edge of my chair with my legs spread.
I felt an itch between them, so I reached down to scratch,
but my grandma grabbed my wrist to stop me and hissed:
“Girls don’t do that!” I asked her why,
because I had seen my father doing it, I had seen all the boys in primary school doing it, too.
And it itched and I wanted to scratch it.
Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Girls don’t do that. Also, don’t sit there with your legs spread like that. Girls don’t do that, either.”
When I was 6,
I spent a day on the beach with my family.
I was excited about the new bikini my mum got me,
but confused as to why she asked me to keep the top on when I went for a swim.
She hadn’t made me wear it the years before,
but suddenly, she was very fussy about it.
“Look, I’ve got one on, too.”, she said to me.
And I thought I understood: Women had to cover their breasts,
because they were bigger than mens’. But I wasn’t a woman.
I was a child.
Later, I overheard a talk she had with my dad.
“I don’t want old men to stare at her.”, she whispered.
I interrupted them and asked her why she thought old men would look at me.
Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. It’s because you’re a girl. And men do that.”
When I was 9,
I got in a fight with my best friend.
I went home and complained about it to my grandma, who lived with us.
She told me I should have seen it coming.
“That’s how girls are.”, she said.
“A friendship between girls is always also a competition. Girls are jealous, manipulative and backstabbing. You can’t trust them.”
But I had never fought with my best friend before
and I knew we’d forgive and forget the next day, anyway.
So, I asked my grandma why,
and her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Catfights will happen. It’s normal. That’s how girls are.”
When I was 13,
I fell in love with a boy from the neighbourhood.
I couldn’t hide my excitement.
He was on my mind all the time
and I caught myself wishing we were together,
so I could hold his hand and kiss him, too.
I wanted to meet him, get to know him better,
and I told my dad about my plan of asking him out.
“Don’t do that.”, my dad said. “It’s not appropriate for a girl to ask a boy out.”
Though I partly agreed,
since I had never seen a woman proposing to the man in a movie,
or read about a girl kissing her crush first,
I still didn’t understand what would be so bad about being an exception,
so I asked my dad why I had to wait for a boy to show interest in me
in order to be allowed to openly requite it.
His answer was: “It’s just how it is, darling. The man makes the first move. It’s always been this way. Boys like to conquer, and girls love being chased.”
When I was 17,
I was part of a large group of friends.
There was a boy who fancied me.
I didn’t like him back,
but I wasn’t used to anyone crushing on me,
so I enjoyed the attention.
He’d always tell me I was special.
One of a kind. Different.
“You’re not like other girls.”, he said.
“You’re not a bitch. You’re funny, laid back, intelligent.
You don’t just care about your nails or your hair. You get my sense of humour.
You’re not like most girls. You’re my best guy friend. But with tits.”
I was flattered in the beginning,
but soon, I started to wonder if his compliments were any at all.
I began to feel disgusted with him.
I didn’t want to be his best guy friend with tits.
So I asked him what’s so good about a girl like me,
a girl unlike what he called a typical one,
and his answer was: “That’s easy to explain.
A pretty model type of girl is good enough to jack off to,
but in the end, a guy wants some drama free pussy.
You’re an exception. The majority of girls is superficial and slutty.
The kind of girl you fuck, but dump when you’re ready to settle down.
Or they’re just plain boring and prude. This sounds harsh, but it’s just how it is.”
When I was 19,
there was a boy I regularly had sex with.
It was nice. Not the breathtaking kind of passionate, ecstatic fucking I had dreamed of;
maybe we lacked chemistry,
maybe it would have been nicer if we had been in love;
but I was alright with it. I adapted, obeyed and swallowed.
Of course I did.
In the beginning, he really put an effort in giving me what I gave him.
He really tried.
But his attempts at putting his tongue to good work quickly faded into halfheartedly rubbing me dry and at some point, he said: “I’m giving up.” I asked him why.
His answer was: “It’s so hard to get a girl off.
You women need ages to cum. It’s so exhausting.”
I laughed and told him I needed about two minutes when I did it on my own.
“Then stick to that.”, he said. “I’ve got a cramp in my wrist.
Women are so complicated. It’s just how it is. I’m sorry.”
I am 20 now,
and I’ve come to realize that my female identity
has been shaped by a biased,
hypocritical excuse based on ridiculous gender roles:
“It’s just how it is.”
All my life, I have asked them why,
and all they said was “It’s just how it is.”
And it didn’t matter whether I’ve asked men or women.
Internalized misogyny is just as harmful.
There were as many women as men who said: “It’s just how it is.”
But that is not the answer I wanted.
Not the answer I needed.
These few words don’t fucking answer the countless questions concerning my gender identity.
Why can’t I sit with my legs spread?
What’s so shameful about what I keep between them?
Why must I cover my breasts?
Why am I being sexualized long before I’m even told when sex is?
Why am I being taught to mistrust other girls?
Why do I have to compete with other girls?
Why am I only a good girl when I’m not like most girls?
Why do I have to keep quiet about the way I feel?
Why am I not allowed to show affection like men do?
Can’t I conquer a boy’s heart, too?
Why must love be about conquering, anyway?
What if I don’t like being chased?
What if it scares me?
Why do boys scare me, anyway?
Why do you make me feel inferior to them?
And why do I have to like a boy in order to be liked?
Why am I being shamed for being a “slut”, them shamed for being “prude”?
Why am I expected to adapt, obey and swallow without praise when boys who return the favour are considered grateful, dedicated lovers, heroes, almost ,because to the majority of them, it’s not fucking understood that if I make them cum, they should make me cum, too?
Why am I exhausting to be with?
Why am I complicated?
Is it because I’m a bitch?
Because I’m an oversensitive little baby?
Is it because I’m a slut?
A prude virgin?
Is it because I’m on my period?
Cause women are just crazy?
Cause I am jealous, manipulative, backstabbing, competitive
or any of the other countless negative traits
that are immediately connected with the female identity?
All summed up, is it because I’m a girl?
I’ve asked them.
And they said yes.
And when I asked “But why?”,
they said it again: “It’s just how it is.”
“It” is that context, is a never ending circle
of resigning acceptance of the circumstance
that girls are being raised to disrespect their own gender from their childhood on.
I was, and am, expected to accept the fact that being female automatically makes me inferior,
and that I should be thankful for being treated equally,
because that’s not the standard.
I was, and am, expected to appreciate
and take it as a compliment when people tell me that I’m not like other women.
Because I was, and am, expected to look down on women
even though I am a woman myself.
But I refuse. I refuse to adapt, obey and swallow.
I refuse to accept that “it’s just how it is”.
I refuse to take this as an answer,
and I will not stop asking why.
I won’t ever stop asking why.
Not because I want people to give me a proper response,
but because I want them to question themselves, too.
I want them to start wondering.
Want them to start doubting the concept of the role
I’ve learned to stick to before I knew how to spell my “typically female” name.
I want them to think about it,
lose their sleep about it, until they ask, too: “Why?”
In order to eliminate misogynic stereotypes, we must unlearn to understand them.
We must refuse to accept “It’s just how it is” as an answer,
until we forget what “it” stands for.
Keep asking why, until nobody knows an answer anymore.
“It’s just how it is” is not an answer.
Neither is “It’s cause you’re a girl”.
Or “That’s how girls are”.
Because girls can be everything and anything they want to be.
That’s how it really is.

every time someone reblogs the “was i abused list” and bolds a lot of things I get horrified at how cruel some people can be and how awfully some children have to live and i completely forget i literally made that list off of things done to me personally :’)

Modern Times

Pairing: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers x Reader // Nat, Clint, Sam, Tony, Wanda.

Warning: cynically none Romantic, being blunt about none relationships and sex.

A/N: This is something I found randomly in my saves figured I would post it. See what y’all think.

A one shot about Reader whose a none romantic and doesn’t believe in relationships trying to explain her lifestyle to the Avengers Team, specifically the two men from the 40′s who don’t understand as she teases them.

“It just doesn’t make sense.” Steve shakes his head. Nat and Wanda laugh, Tony shrugs, Sam nods that grin on his lips, Clint is watching you with curiosity.

Keep reading

Nobody (Part 12)

(this is how I imagined the photos would be tacked on the walls)

Plot:  Reader has been held prisoner by Hydra and is discovered by Nat and Bucky.  Post CA:CW (Bucky’s on the team, no one hates each other) Slight AU

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of torture and gore

Words: 1873 

A/N: Just a note that the story takes place in 2016 because that’s when I first started writing.  Hope you like this part.  Feedback is always welcome!


Reader’s POV

You fell down the rabbit hole.

Information swirled around you in a haze, overwhelming your senses, invading your mind.  Your face was frozen in time in black and white photographs tacked on boards around the room.  Eerily, they seemed to take on a life of their own, as if the photos began to move and change, playing out the captured instances of torture on an endless loop. The memories of these moments resurfaced, filling in the blanks and missing the edges of each scene.  Here was the moment they’d shocked you just before your flesh sizzled and burned like bacon in a frying pan.  There, captured in perfect clarity, was the instant your organs slid off the table and, frozen in mid-air, hurdled to the lab floor.  Black pools of blood peppered the background in the majority of photos, spattering the walls, staining the floors.

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anonymous asked:

Just read the First chapter of The Warlords Contract. I am intrigued. Can't wait to read more.

Thank you so much <3 There will definitely be more, though to the implicit question of when... 

For anyone who is curious:

My goal is to publish The Warlord’s Contract, either traditionally if I can find an agent and publisher who are as passionate about my novel as I am, or through self-publishing if I cannot.

I will be having a second beta reading round before then, which anyone here is more then welcome to apply for in July. 

Whether or not I will be publishing my other novel (Pearl) serially on my future website, or through a traditional publisher, is dependent on a bunch of factors and still very much up in the air. Either way, there will also be a beta reading round for that later in the summer.

i will not kiss you (eric)

Words: 1096

Trigger Warnings: Literally in the Columbine Massacre lmao, and it’s fuckin’ sad

Request: Being Eric’s gf on 4/20 and seeing him in the school??

A/N: Okay I tried to do what the request says so I think this is what nonnie meant? lol


“Everybody get under the tables!” Somebody shouted, (Y/N) pulled out her headphones to look up.

The room was panicked, and (Y/N) tried to grab one, asking what was going on, but nobody answered. A gunshot rung out from the hallway, and people started ducking under the tables. Her eyes went wide, and she moved off the chair, onto her knees, pushing herself underneath the tables shelter.

The fire alarms were blaring, next to that the only sound was the sound of the librarian on a hushed phone call with the police. (Y/N)’s heart dropped when she heard the sound of the doors being pushed open. She tucked her hand over her mouth, gripping her hand with the other one to stop her from screaming.

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keepmyserenity  asked:

1. Either 2. Molly, what do you do about men? They're so like.... you know. You know how they are. They're horrible and precious and stupid, and I'm stupid, and we're all stupid. And it's all so human, and I'm so bad at humaning, and I don't know how to do things. It's just scary and everything goes wrong, but it goes wrong because I get scared that it'll go wrong and I sabotage everything, and its just like what even is anything. I don't know.

i think the question that has plagued people who are attracted to men since the dawn of time is, “what do you do about men?” so far nobody has a great answer, other than, “yell at them.” and that’s very tiring. i rarely have the energy to yell at men unless they’re my dad or my congressman.

luckily for me, it doesn’t sound like your question is What Do We Do About Men, but actually What Do We Do About The Fear Of Being Vulnerable With People We Love Or Might Love? and unfortunately we can’t necessarily blame men for that fear, as much as i love blaming men for things.

it doesn’t make you bad at humaning to be scared of getting hurt. in fact, i think that’s just about the most human thing there is. sometimes it feels like we’re all walking around with these tiny breakable glass hearts in our hands, and it’s very natural to want to put that heart in a box and that box in a bigger box and that bigger box in a hole in the ground where it won’t be disturbed. it’s very scary and very brave to trust that beautiful little spun glass sculpture to somebody’s else’s care and ask them not to crush it. we’re a very crushable species.

here is what i think: hearts break. it’s about the only thing they can be counted on to do. but they heal, too. there isn’t any way to make it through life without carrying hurt around in your heart. even if you were to never open yourself up to ~romance, you are going to get scarred in other ways: friendships that end, loved ones who die, opportunities that go to waste, distant tragedies and tragedies that are right up close. and through all of that heartbreak, you’re going to keep moving forward, and keep finding things to laugh about, and keep being human. that isn’t a choice. it’s just the way being alive works.

so. be brave. you don’t have to be brave every time. wait until you find someone that is worth being brave for. it isn’t something that will happen just one time. you’ll have to be brave again and again, and you might not even get rewarded for it. it might not last. that doesn’t mean that you or they or the relationship failed, just that it ran its course.

you’ll survive it. you are stronger than you think. so when you find someone that makes you want to take the first step, trust yourself enough to take it, even if you don’t know what the second step will look like, or the third, or the fourth. being scared isn’t bad and doesn’t make you bad. it just means you’re human, and you’re doing just fine. <3

Status Infirmos - Pt. 5, Culpa

Status Infirmos - The reader is from our world, and reacts to status ailments more severely and longer than any Eos native. Begin from Pt. 1, Viridis

<- Pt 4 Mortem

“Enemies above us!” Prompto calls out as the ship steers overhead to hang low above your group. You bring up your sword ready for whatever comes out of the opening hull.

It’s thrown out expertly, and before any of you have the chance to shout ‘grenade’ it explodes in a cloud of thick black smog.

“What the hell,” you choke out, never having seen anything like this in the game. It lines your throat and makes you cough more and more, and through the hanging smoke you can hear the others coughing and spluttering too. “What is this stuff?”

Nobody answers and their coughing stops all at once. Your own throat feels lined with the stuff, it scratches and creates an uncomfortable layer, along with a foul taste in your mouth.

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Face Value

With the canon reveal of All The Blackrock Loose Ends, you know I had to.


There wouldn’t have been a good way to show her the scars, and in fact he’d sort of planned to never do it, but of all the possible ways, this was definitely the worst.

“Oh,” she said. “Well. You’re naked.”

“I—you—the—Zoey—leave!” he sputtered, his voice cracking on every syllable. His skin was on fire.

“Riiiiiiiight,” said Zoey, still looking at him. Her cheeks were rather red. She sipped her tea. “That’d be the thing to do.”

“Zoey!”

She pointed at him, then turned and walked out. Rythian put both hands over his face and dropped to his knees.

“Locks on the doors,” he said to himself. “Why didn’t I ever put locks on the doors. Why is it always me? What have I ever done to deserve this?”

As usual, nobody answered. Rythian growled to himself, mostly to get the dignity of his voice back, even if all else was lost.

It could have been anything. He could have been maimed in a creeper explosion. One of the wolves could have tugged it off by accident. He could have just gotten over himself and taken it off in front of her of his own accord, to eat or drink or just for the hell of it. But no. It had to be this. The universe, certainly, was getting back at him for something.

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They did it. The battle is won.

The war is over, once and for all.

Mahiru turns around, exhausted but smiling, turns around to beam up at his Servamp, relieved and victorious. “Kuro!” he shouts. “Kuro, we did it!”

Kuro opens his mouth to reply, but Mahiru can’t hear his voice. His vision flickers. Then everything goes black.

Mahiru opens his eyes and finds a familiar ceiling.

He looks around. He’s in his room; how he got here he doesn’t remember. He’s not tired anymore. His injuries are gone without a trace.

What happened? What is he doing here?

“Kuro?” he calls, sitting up and pacing through the room. He walks into the corridor, the kitchen, the living room, his uncle’s bedroom. “Kuro, where are you? What happened?”

But nobody answers, no black cat padding out of a dark corner, no vampire boy complaining about his loud voice so early in the morning. The apartment is empty except for Mahiru.

There are no potato chip bags either. No ramen cups, no video games. The house is untouched.

Little by little the realization dawns on Mahiru. It was a dream. None of this was real. Kuro, the vampires, everything… a dream.

He knows that. But every time he goes out in the street, he still keeps his eyes open for a lanky blue-haired boy or a fluffy black kitten with red eyes.