words on nails

anonymous asked:

in 6th grade my hair was a MESS. most of it was chin length except for one part in the front that went down to my shoulder. that part was blonde with pink horizontal scene stripes. the left side was purple and the back was dark brown. also in 6th grade i went to school with the word "q*eer" on my nails.

thats a Look, i sincerely hope you have photos

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that’s real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar’s chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way
—  Hurt by Nine Inch Nails
  • Yoongi: *Sees Jimin practicing some choreo*
  • Yoongi's brain: You should probably tell him to rest a little. He has been working so hard lately, just encourage him a little.
  • Yoongi: *Opens practice room door*
  • Yoongi's brain: Perfect. Now just praise him. Maybe a compliment on his efforts. You are his hyung, anything would help.
  • Yoongi: *Silently hands Jimin a water bottle*
  • Jimin: Thanks?
  • Yoongi: *Turns and walks out without a word*
  • Yoongi's brain: Nailed it.

anonymous asked:

Yurio learned how to put printed letters on his nails thru a youtube video. He came to the rink the next day with the word "VICTOR" on his nails, one letter on each nail on his right hand and showed it off to him. Victor was like "That's really sweet and cool Yurio! but my name has six letters, where's the 'R' at the end?" then Yurio brings out his left hand and slowly lifts his middle finger with the 'R' on his nail. Victor looked so offended while Yuuri was laughing hysterically behind him lol

that’s savage af lmao

shakespeare aesthetics

romeo and juliet: suburban july. scraped knees, bruised knuckles, blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in a breeze. burning inside. an ill-fitting party dress, a t-shirt you cut up yourself, the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friend’s house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn-looking basketball hoop at the end of the cul-de-sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip-flops. a eulogy written on looseleaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet: speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half-remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn, mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins, books with cracked spines, books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. a big black t-shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil under your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night: wicker deck furniture. new england summer. big dark sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean, patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. chlorine smell. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love, love for the idea of love, love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar, a crab fisherman with tattoos, a pretty boy with a slackened tie. a light house. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. finger guns. big floppy sun hats. double-speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drunk on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for, hope you weren’t expecting, pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. pool noodles. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth: the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat, the stillness after battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. a sulfur smell. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path, an owl that watches you, a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke. dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now. 

much ado about nothing: the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck, military supply duffel bags in the hall, hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch, a pitcher of iced tea. barbecue. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. indian summer. ill-timed proclamations. stomach-clutching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen, a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog-eared rhyming dictionary. camomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you have a home until you’re there. 

king lear: cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lightning, a too-big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red-black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown-out windows of skeletal houses. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes, shutting up, holding your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods, wondering if the gods are listening, wondering if the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream: wet soil/dead leaves smell. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill somebody slipped you. fear that turns to excitement, excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hollow in an old tree. glow-in-the-dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

being able to say “fuck big pharma” and avoid taking prescription medications in lieu of alternative medicine is a privilege

being mentally or physically healthy enough to boycott pharmaceuticals is a huge fucking privilege so please get off your high horse when shaming chronically ill, mentally ill, and disabled people for the medications they need to take in order to function

let’s criticize the institution rather than the people who need to take part in it in order to survive

nerd!jimin + unknown territory (pt3) 

Jimin stared at the larvae sitting across from him, warily, it was currently trying to eat spaghetti with a knife. He should probably stop it, but that meant touching the thing and then he would—

“Stop looking at my kid like that.” You roll your eyes before replacing her knife with a fork and watching a happy little grin stretch across her face.

“Like what?” Jimin clears his throat.

“Like you’re having an entire internal monologue listing all the reasons you’ll never have kids.” You mutter, using a napkin to wipe stray sauce from Mina’s face.

“I’m not doing that.” He says and he shrinks when you pin him with a hard stare, “What? I’m not! I did that on the drive over here – now I’m just watching in mild fascination at the eating habits of—”

“Oh my God.”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” He laughs when you move to get up, he tugs you back down by the wrist and you ignore the butterflies erupting your chest when he takes a second too long to remove his hand, “Will you relax already? You’ve barely spoken to me since we’ve ordered. Tell me about yourself, how have you been how did all of this happen?”

“It’s not exactly exciting.” You sigh, “It’s actually a very long story.”

“Let’s start with the basics then – are you still with her father?” Jimin lowers his voice, sparing Mina a glance.

“He left about as soon as I took the pregnancy test so no.” You laugh bitterly, picking up your own slice of pizza to dig in.

You watch helplessly as Mina nearly swipes her pasta off the table but Jimin is on top of it, grabbing her bowl before it makes its crash landing and sending the little girl a stern look before handing her back her fork. She grins unabashedly.

“Do I know him?” Jimin queries, keeping a careful eye on the brat now that she’s decided to make toys out of the cutlery. He sighs but waves over the waitress, “Do you guys have like one of those coloring sheets for kids or something?”

“Sorry sir.” The waitress sends an apologetic smile before moving to refill everyone’s water. Jimin glares but begrudgingly unlocks his phone before opening one of the few games he has stored.

“She’ll crack your phone.” You say mildly, watching in only half amusement as Jimin glares at your daughter when she keeps pressing buttons.

“I’ll buy a new one.” He snaps before he remembers he supposed to be wooing you.

It was too easy, too easy to fall back into the pattern of your old friendship.

You had begrudgingly agreed to dinner with him, only because in turn he allowed you to pick the restaurant, a quaint little mom and pop pizza parlor not too far from your office that you frequented. It wasn’t anything he was used to, at least not in light of recent events and his acquisition of millions, but it was good. One of those places that hand made their crust, they were popular and bustling with business but still managed to find a seat for you. Jimin took quick notice of the warm, familiar smiles sent your way from the old man working the front of house, going as far to boop the little girl you were toting, on one cherub cheek.

He was scared someone might break into his car in this neighborhood and you could only roll your eyes because this place was a suburban dream compared to where you stayed.

“No you don’t know him.” You say when you find your heart doing weird floppy things at the sight of your daughter and Jimin interacting so causally – it was something you wanted to erase from your memory because it hurt. “He was some guy I met at college, well before I dropped out to take care of Mina.”

“And your parents?” He asks, a frown marring his face at the thought.

“Disowned me when I wouldn’t abort her.” You shrug as though the words didn’t feel like nails clawing their way up your throat – an old wound re-opened but you feigned indifference pretty well now a days. Even you almost believed your lies.

“So who helps you? You don’t get child support or—”

“Jimin.” You say softly, because it’s in your nature to treat him with kid gloves on, even if he is overstepping, “I’ve been doing this for a while now. It’s tough but I manage. I’m fine – we’re fine. Now can we talk about something less, I don’t know, depressing.”

Jimin lets out a long suffering sigh but he relents with a curt nod, you don’t miss the way the muscle in his jaw jumps – and what a chiseled jaw it’s become over time. You nearly lose track staring at it.

“Where do you work at now?” He asks, momentarily distracted by a piece of cheese hanging from his chin. He lets out an expletive before wincing at Mina.

You stifle a grin because it’s so much like the old Jimin you couldn’t help the elation that bubbled over in your chest. Instead you choose to rest your chin in your palm while watching him.

“I sale time shares at a realty office, though I’m sure you already know that since you tracked me down and sent me gifts.” You murmur dryly when he smiles, “It was very Tony Stark of you.”


“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.” Jimin says honestly, putting a hand over his heart.

“Mmm.” You hum sarcastically, “So how are your parents, living lavish at the hands of their millionaire son I assume?”

“Living lavish.” He scoffs, “You’ve met my parents. My mom barely let me renovate our old house and only did so because I threw a bitch fit that she wouldn’t accept the beachside bungalow I had lined up for them.”

You grin at the thought of a very stern and self sufficient Mrs. Park arguing with her mogul son, because she probably won… but still you making tsking noise anyway.

“Well, in her defense you can be a bit… frivolous with your spending.” You say, nodding towards the bag of gifts seated next to him.

“I work damn hard to be frivolous. You two always did love ganging up on me.” He glared, “You’re so much like her it’s scary.”

“It’s why she loved me.” You tease back. “I’m her favorite child, even Jihyunnie has accepted it.”

Something changes in his face and his expression is softening. You scramble to change the topic because you knew how easy it was to get caught up in the old days, where things were much easier and there was less pressure on you, less weighing on your mind.

“How is he now?” You ask suddenly and Jimin’s features shutter closed – back to the calm, cool and collected Jimin that had picked you up.

“He’s doing good. He’ll graduate in a year.” He says mildly, “He’s still a brat and beating me up on visits.”

“I would hope so. You need someone to keep you grounded, remind you where you came from.” You harrumph.

“They miss you, you know.” Jimin says quietly, suddenly unable to meet your gaze. He’s taken to staring at Mina who was currently taking about a thousand pictures with his front camera. “My mom misses you. You know how she always complained about being the only woman in the house.”

He looks up at you and it’s your turn to look away. Because you had shoved back so many memories that were associated with him, but now sitting here at dinner, reminiscing it was easy to remember the bond you shared with the elder Park. It was something you also couldn’t have back and again, it hurt knowing that.

“I’m sure she’d love to see you again—love to meet Mina too.” He says softly.

“Jimin.” You say curtly and he returns your tone.

“____.”

“I don’t think that's—”

“You think too much is the problem.” He sighs, before signaling the waitress for the check, “Just because you… because we ended on rough terms… I know it’s a lot to ask but, I hope you don’t hold that against my parents. You were great to have around and they miss you. I’ve never gotten so much shit over something in my life—you would think that we were actually dating.”

You averted your gaze for the millionth time that night because it was true. Though there was no official label between the two of you, you were caught in an open limbo between more than friends but not quite dating. Even if Jimin couldn’t admit a lot of things to himself he was forced to acknowledge that things had been almost domestic between the two of you – between the sheer amount of time you spent over at each other’s places, or in his bed, lazing around doing nothing. When his parents would ask for his whereabouts it was always the same—

“____.” He says quietly, before handing his credit card off to the server, “Think about what I said, yeah?”

“I will.” You reply with a stiff smile.

The silence that was once comfortable between the two of you had some how shifted to a stilted, and unwelcome one at the mention of the past. You find yourself fidgeting in your seat at the weight of his words, because despite it all it was something that you desperately wanted as well.

“Tell me more about your job,” Jimin says, returning the topic to a lighter subject, it didn’t take a genius to notice how tense you’d gotten at the mention of seeing his family again.

“I’m sure it’s not as exciting as being a billionaire.” You say off handedly, going to sip at your wine.

Millionaire.” Jimin corrects and you scoff at him, “But being rich isn’t as exciting as you’d expect either.”

“How very modest of you,” you roll your eyes before sucking at your teeth, “I would kill for middle class these days.”

“I could help you get there.” He says lightly with a shrug and your spine straightens, “Not a hand out, a job, ____. I looked into your company the other day—”

“You did what?” You ask, indignantly.

And just like that the switch had been flipped again and you were on your guard.

“Is this really a surprise, you knew I was looking for you, it only makes sense that I would check the companies shares and stocks while I was at it. I know you don’t believe me, but we’re friends and I wanted to make sure that you were doing okay for yourself.”

“No Jimin, we were friends ten years ago.” You correct, ears turning pink at his audacity, “And I know you’re out of practice but friends ask friends how they’re doing, they don’t run a financial background check on them.”

“Hey, I didn’t run a financial background check on you,” he scoffs, “I didn’t even peek at your credit score even though it was right their in front of me.”

You threw your napkin down on the table before narrowing your eyes at him, “You’re a real ass you know that?”

“That may be true but you know as well as I do that you wouldn’t be half as defensive if it weren’t for the fact that the companies going
bankrupt.” He says calmly but his knuckles going white around his grip on the table cloth, “They’re going under and you have—”

“Five maybe six months left there, I’m well aware.” You scowl, “but that doesn’t give you the right to invade my privacy like this. And besides, a job? Let me guess you want me to be your assistant so you can bend me over and —”

You chance a look at Mina, who’s still well engrossed with the apps on Jimin’s phone and let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re lucky if you have four months there.” He says mildly, “Looking at their financial statements I can tell they barely have enough to pay you minimum wage, so let me guess you’ve been working there for going on six years and you’ve yet to get a pay increase am I right?”

“God, you’re so condescending.” You laugh bitterly.

“Only when I’m right.” He says, “And for the record, you wouldn’t be working for me. If you think I stand chance getting any work done while you’re around you’d be delusional. I have a friend who owns a small law firm, he’s looking for a secretary and you’ve had more than enough experience doing clerical work.”

“Your head must be impossibly thick if I have to say this again but I don’t need your help,” you glare.

“Think about Mina.” He argues.

“I am thinking about Mina,” you say, much louder than you intend. You clear your throat before lowering your voice, “She’s the only thing I think about and you don’t get to bulldoze in ten years later and try to pick up where things left off. We’re not in high school anymore. This is real life, it’s my life.”

“You’re right, we’re not in high school anymore but things sure haven’t changed, have they?” He spat, “You still have to be in control of everything.”

“Of my life? Yes! Of my daughters life? You bet your ass.” You scowl.

“Fine. You’re coming across loud and clear, you don’t need or want my help.” He says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “But at least—”

He stops mid sentence when the shrill ring of your phone pierces through the otherwise comfortably quiet restaurant and you’re shuffling through your purse for your phone. You look up at him before sighing, “It’s work. I have to take this.”

“Hello? Yes, hi Mr. Kim.” You’re already rising to your feet when one chubby hand comes up to clutch your shirt.

“Momma,” Mina calls and it garners both your attention, “It was an accident.”

“Oh no.” You sigh, a frown marring your face as you go to your knees to collect the remainder of spaghetti off the floor, the rest found their way all down the front of her little tank top and you groan, “I’m sorry not you sir, I just—yes I understand the severity of this contract I…. yes sir I'm—”

“Go.” Jimin mouths, before shooing you away with the flick of his wrist. You stare up at him wide eyed, phone still pressed to your ear and an indecisive look marring your face.

Jimin sighs but rises to his feet, lifting you with him and all but pushing you in the direction of the exit before he’s turning to Mina. You send a curt nod of gratitude at him before bustling out and attempting to placate your boss on the phone.

Jimin has never carried a child before. He has especially never carried one covered nearly head to toe in an Italian red sauce delicacy. He had however carried a sack of potatoes and gauging the insufferable little brats weight, she was about the same size. So he applies all the knowledge he’s accumulated in twenty some years of carrying groceries into the house for his mother and keeps the little girl at a giggling arm’s length from his body while he fast walks into the men’s room.

He’s already had her set down on the porcelain countertop before his gaze catches on something in the mirror. A man maybe in his mid twenties is staring at him from the urinal. Jimin’s brows slash down at the inquisitive look before sending him a nod, “What? You’ve never seen a kid before?”

The man is a flurry of movement, zipping up his jeans before sending an apologetic bow at Jimin and shuffling out of the room.

Jimin sighs at the sweet smile Mina’s sending his way, an adorable dimple winking at him, before he rolls his eyes and swipes at her glasses lens where a stray splatter of meat sauce has found its way. He sends her a stern look, “Yah. I bet that smiles gotten you out of a lot of trouble. It won’t work on me.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation as you try and explain to your boss for maybe the millionth time (that night) why the Henderson case you got handed a week ago wasn’t moving as quickly as he’d like it.

For all it was worth your boss wasn’t a bad guy, and the company you worked for didn’t cheat you out of money the way Jimin had made it sound. Now, did you deserve a raise after all the time and hours you had put in? Did you need it? Hell yes. But things weren’t always black and white, in fact your entire life seemed to be sat in one huge area of gray.

The company you worked for was family owned and every person in it was sweet, soft hearted, and genuine and all things considered those were good traits to have—except when you were working in the realty field. It was cut throat and competitive. More than once you had seen your boss caught up with loan sharks, renting out time shares at a discounted price to homeless shelters. And then there was the fact that he was just a tad dimwitted, but your heart had gone soft for the old man that had taken both you and Mina under his wing. So you owed him that. You couldn’t give him much but loyalty anyway.

When you returned to the restaurant with a headache you hadn’t had five minutes ago, you look for Jimin to apologize but your footsteps stutter and your heart drops to your belly when you see the two seats still vacant. You turn to the hostess and nearly fall into hysteria when she tells you they left.

Your phone chimes.

Unknown [7:23:45]: meet us at Fro-zone

“What did I say?” Jimin scowls, “One scoop.”

“But Jiminnie,”

“Your moms gonna kick my ass if I—”

“Jimin.” You call out, hair wind blown from the jog over here and when you meet his gaze he tips his head up at you in acknowledgement.

He was hunched over a whining Mina who had shed her white tank top in place of a pink shirt with a sparkling heart in the middle. He was looking at her sternly and if you weren’t careful you would mistake Mina for one of his business associates with the way he was carefully explaining to her why she couldn’t have more than a handful of sugar before bed—it involved you and him in an oiled up cage match which he would inevitably lose.

You took that as your cue to step in.

“Momma!” She cried gleefully, “Where’d you go?”

“Where did you go?” You retort, poking a finger at her protruding belly and making her jump back with a giggle, “I like your shirt.”

“Jiminnie picked it out!” she grins proudly and Jimin sends a dry look your direction.

“It was either this or the neon pink sweater with seven bows on it and a giant pop up unicorn head—I don’t care how old your kid is, not even she could pull off something so ridiculous.”

“She likes pink.” You shrug but Jimin spots the mirth in your eyes.

“Jiminnie knows a lot of bad words.” Mina tattles and Jimin glares at the little demon. “He owes like ten dollars to the swear jar.”

“The fee’s twenty five scents a swear word just how much did you cuss with my kid?” You cock a brow.

“Is that the only way you’re accepting money?” He retorts with a snarky expression, “Let me stick around after you put Mina to bed and I’ll give you enough material for her college fund.”

You grin but don’t say anything as he leads you to his car.


It isn’t all that much later when he pulls up to your car in the parking garage. A glance back in his rearview tells you that Mina is out cold and you sigh with the thought that she is way too big to be getting carried anymore. You turn in your seat to wake her up but Jimin shakes his head at you before opening his car door and heading to the back.

It’s probably the fact that a man hasn’t carried Mina since she was born that attributes more to the pain in your chest than it is that it’s Jimin. Jimin of all people putting a sturdy hand on the back of your daughters head and tucking her tiny glasses in his hand so she doesn’t hurt her face. He waits for you to unlock the door to your car before setting her down in her car seat and leaving you to buckle her in.

He’s still holding her specs when you turn back to him, fiddling with a small scratch on one of the lenses before handing them back to you.

You can’t quite put a finger on the atmosphere that resonates in the otherwise abandoned parking garage—nonetheless words find their way to your lips that you had no intent of sharing with him.

“I’ll take you up on your offer.” You utter.

“The job?” He brightens at your words and you wince.

“No,” you say quietly. “I… maybe if me and Mina have time we’ll stop by your parents sometime. I’m sure your Mom would love to meet her.”

His expression doesn’t dull at your words, if anything it only gets that much brighter at he mention of his parents and for the briefest of moments your caught up in your old feelings, because this was too much like the old Jimin. The one who wore his heart on his sleeve, and was never sly or cool or charming in a way that wasn’t dorky.

“You really mean that?”

“It couldn’t hurt to rekindle that relationship.” You shrug.

Could it?

Holmes stories in six words

Bad stepdad nailed bed, trained snake

Treasure lost. Wife gained. Holmes sad.

They hired her for her hair.

Holmes dying. Watson crying. Holmes lying.

Binder full of women. Acidic response.

Six Napoleons? Oh, there it is.

Framed the nanny with a rock.

There’s always a catch, Dr Trevelyan.

The king’s a dick. She’s smarter.

Marry a Lord. Already married? Whoops.

Copy out this encyclopedia, ginger nut.

Egad! Her fiancé’s her disguised stepdad!

Secret daughter welcomed into woke family.

Seriously, who spins a whole carpet?

That burglary was fishy. Oranges everywhere!

Australians are all escaped murderers, probably.

Murder plus lion equals karma, sadly.

Watson, go tromp around the moors.

Idiot stalker fails at addressing mail.

“David” was a reference, you heathen.

Dog didn’t bark; horse needed washing.

Don’t accuse your son on circumstance.

Waterfalls make the best body dumps.

Surprise! Not dead. Are you ok?

My eyes’re dim, I cannot flee.

Golden Boy was the cheat, obviously.

He’s not homeless, he begs recreationally!

Harpooning pigs brings sailors to justice.

She’s foreign, not a bloody vampire.

Apparently dying wives trump rugby matches.

Poison is not a toy, Holmes!

It’s English, just drawn in hieroglyphics.

Blackmailer meets nothing left to lose.

Tracking is all about the tracks.

It was never about the sundial.

Telling geese apart is really hard.

She was under the old lady.

He’s fine, it’s ichthyosis. Stand down.

Act your age, professor. You’re creepy.

A lovely swim interrupted. Jellyfish dunnit!

Fuller’s earth my arse, Nine Fingers.

Everyone wants to marry Miss Smith.

Maybe don’t take the iffy job.

Shoot Watson? I KILL YOU, MOTHERFUCKER.

anonymous asked:

"Go then!! Leave!! See if I care!!" scenario between RFA members + MC :)

(i legit cracked my knuckles before starting to write bc I just KNOW this is going to be a long wall of text filled with angst boiiiii… ALSO this has a sorta happy ish ending bc…… my mood is too high up to write pure angst???? crushes can destroy a person rip)

((also I didn’t write V?? because I love him and honestly I can’t… squeeze my brain to get a clear image of what he’d do??? if I find a good and actually logical reaction, I’ll add him later on- but this is already super long and all-sorry!))

Yoosung

  • it’s hard for Yoosung to express his anger in a healthy way
  • he’d usually just play LOLOL and beat up monsters until he felt calm, but…
  • he can’t quite do that
  • MC had told him clearly:
  • he’s spending so much time on the game, it feels like MC is living alone
  • deep in his heart, he knows it’s true
  • with the increasing difficulty of classes, he just… naturally dove deeper and deeper into LOLOL
  • when he counted back, how much time had he spent with MC…?
  • had he even spent time with them in the past month?
  • it’s just when MC asks him for what seems like the hundredth time if he’s going to turn off the computer
  • it’s that what just sets off the stress
  • he really hates the anger he can feel bubbling up in him, but he can’t even avoid it
    • “Will you shut up?! I’ve answered you before! No! How hard can it be to understand?!”
  • it’s hard to tell who’s more shocked
  • him or MC
  • “What- what the fuck, Yoosung?! I’m just trying to spend some time with m boyfriend! Is it that wrong?! Would you rather just me leave?!”
  • he replies without thinking too much
  • his head is too full of anger led by stress
    • “Nothing is stopping you! The door is there for you to leave!”
  • he wasn’t shocked when MC ran out the room
  • he…. knew he’d acted like an asshole
  • what shocks him is the sound of the front door being slammed shut
  • he suddenly feels all the guilt washing up on him and he calls MC
  • no answer
  • he sits by the door for hours, but they don’t come
  • a week passes
  • every time he enters the chat they leave
  • his grades are dropping, he’s gaming for longer, and he can’t remember the last time he even ate a proper meal
  • he could have probably collapsed when the second week rolled around
  • living off cereal and random energy drinks he bought and gaming all day
  • it gets his mind off the trouble
  • when MC finally comes back, it’s more for concern about his health
  • at first he thinks he’s reached his limit. he’s hallucinating- stared too much at a screen and fried his brain. it can’t be. it can’t be MC. it’s a prank
  • MC scolds him- how could he let it get this bad? he could literally collapse and probably even die!- and also hugs him
  • both feel guilty, and Yoosung can’t even stop crying and apologizing as he hugs MC

Jaehee

  • little by little her stress builds up
  • this recipe didn’t come out like she wanted
  • too much work
  • her CD player broke
  • small things add up and up and don’t ever go down
  • it probably takes a full month before she’s at the limit
  • and it’s like a delicate sculpture- even the smallest touch could shatter her patience at this point
  • and that little touch just so happens to be delivered by MC
  • it’s a small mistake
  • just washing the dishes and accidentally breaking off a mug’s handle
    • “Gosh, sorry love, I’ll put this in the trash before one of us accidentally cuts themselves with the jagged end-”
  • Jaehee hears nothing
  • this has been the most stressful and tense month of her life AND NOW THIS HAPPENS, AT HOME, WHERE HER CALMNESS IS SUPPOSED TO BE-
    • “Are you stupid? How could you just break it like that?!”
  • She speaks oddly calmly for someone who was holding back stress and let it all loose at once
  • and it puts MC off
    • “I- it was an accident, Jahee- you’ve, this has happened to you before too,”
  • that just makes things worse
    • “Now it’s my fault?! I didn’t even touch the mug- stop shifting the blame onto me, specially if it was caused by your own clumsiness! Get ou- just, out!”
  • jaehee doesn’t know what she herself means with out
  • she half expects MC to get angry and shut themselves in the bedroom
  • or maybe shut themselves in the bathroom
  • she just needs to be alone and MC is in the kitchen- out, out out!
  • what she didn’t expect was for them to literally go out
  • they rush to the bedroom, and a few minutes later the front door creaks open and 
  • they’re gone
  • MC is gone
  • jaehee purses her lips once she realizes this, but she tries to stand strong
  • she was mean, and if MC need time alone too, that’s ok, right?
  • a day passes
  • two days
  • a week
  • MC is clearly alive- sometimes entering the chat to deliver an important message or so, but leaving quickly without even acknowledging her
  • for some reason, she can’t seem to throw herself into her work to avoid thinking- that’s how distressed she is
  • her work becomes slow and sluggish, and she can’t even seem to concentrate on basic tasks
  • it’s hard, but for one time- after so many tries- MC picks up the phone
  • after two weeks, she’s hearing their voice again
  • apologies are flying all over when MC walks in- she’s prepared food, MC’s favourite drink, and she fixed the mug with some superglue she found on the store
  • she can’t even express how much she needs MC, and fully accepts the fault for the situation, while asking MC to maybe… stay….

Zen

  • always a rumor going around about him
  • he knows it can’t be helped, but it bothers him
  • MC says they’re ok! it’s bound to happen!
  • but each time a new fake rumor springs up MC becomes…
  • more distant
  • one day in the couch, Zen feels so alone
  • when was the last time he and MC kissed? or even held hands??
  • why is MC like this?
  • upon asking, MC just seems to feel awkward and shrinks into the couch
    • “I trust you and love you, but… It’s just… Those rumors, they bring up so many evidence, and I… I feel… No, it’s rude to say it, sorry, I’ll… Go to bed now.”
  • is that
  • is MC implying they actually believe he’d cheat?
  • and usually this would prompt to him reassuring MC that he loves them, that he’d never do that
  • but it’s just… those tabloids and news have brought him and his manager so much stress lately, so much problems-
  • and now MC believes them?
  • he feels like he’s been punched in the stomach
    • “Wow, you trust those kinds of people more than me? Your actual boyfriend?”
  • MC turns around at this, and quickly tries to clean up what they said
  • they didn’t mean it like that
  • but seriously, the uncomfortable feeling that built up with each news article seems to lead up to MC spitting out another comment
    • “No, it’s just, I trust you! I… I guess those fishy news outlets and crappy tabloids are just simply amazing at photoshop and can make a photo where you’re kissing someone else that easy, huh?”
  • what the fuck
  • what the fuck
  • his blood is heating up, and he sucks in his breath
  • MC is accusing him of cheating
  • he hasn’t done anything to deserve this
  • to be fair, he did have some beers before, and earlier practice was crappy and his day had been pretty stressful- he did have a fair amount of stress on his shoulders that caused him to snap
    • “Well! With that amount of trust we’ve got here, maybe you’re the one smooching others when you’re out- because you clearly share so much trust, huh?!”
  • MC raises their voice to his level- somewhat shakier- but standing firm
    • “I’m trying so hard to trust you! So, so hard! But we can’t even hold hands in public- I can’t switch from being completely cold with you to being lovey dovey at home- I’m a human! Guess what?! That and those pictures do bother me! It’s actually! Kind of stressful!”
  • that’s his last straw
  • nothing in MC’s words particularly sets him off- maybe it’s the whole thing, maybe it’s nothing
    • “Get out of my sight! If you’re going to be like that, I’d rather be alone in this house!”
  • cue dead silence
  • both of them are clearly regretting their words- maybe not as much as they should, due to the boiling-hot blood pumping through their bodies
  • which probably causes MC to utter “fine” and slam the door as they leave
  • the first two days are hell, but Zen’s pride keeps him from trying to reach MC in the groupchat where they show up sometimes
  • a call they don’t answer, a message left in seen… his efforts to try and be level-headed are failing when it comes to apologizing
  • the second week, he’s desperate
  • he has received the worst critiques in his life about his acting by now- too stiff, out of character, spacing out in the middle of acting
  • and it’s that what prompts MC to go back after Jaehee worriedly begs them too
  • at first, when they unlock the door and go to where he’s sitting on the couch, it’s hard to find words
  • he hugs them out of reflex- god he missed them- and it’s time for MC and Zen to properly apologize before spending an hour on the couch muttering about how lonely and miserable they were without the other

Jumin

  • The argument is small at first
  • it’s about a little thing, nothing too big, and honestly, he can’t even remember what it was
  • he can’t even remember how it escalated like that
  • he remembers slowly getting more irritated with MC, voice ever so slowly growing in tone, frustration creeping up on him
  • he can’t really tell when the small argument became an actual argument
  • talking- if not almost screaming with loud tones- filled the penthouse
  • the guards were probably all incredibly scared, and in all honesty, they’d have the right
  • he wishes he hadn’t had so much wine before
  • all he knows is that when he woke up, MC wasn’t home
  • he felt panic. horrible, soul consuming panic- it was worse than when Elizabeth 3rd had gone missing
  • he calls Jaehee
    • “Deploy all my guards to comb the city for MC, look for any free ad space in big and noticeable places- if those are taken, offer a higher pay immediately- MC is missing, we need to find them right now, ask the design department to-”
  • a big sigh cuts him off
  • Jaehee can’t even understand what her boss is saying
  • his words are so fast and filled with panic they become a blur of sound
    • “MC is with me, Mr. Han. They seemed incredibly upset yesterday, and asked if they could stay. I… Have no business in asking you this sir, so I won’t, but if you and MC had a fight, it might be best to let them cool off for a while.”
  • those words feel somewhat like nails being laid on a coffin
  • he tries to communicate with MC to no avail- asking Jaehee to please relay a message to them is the only way to get anything to them, and even then, no reply comes
  • his work becomes a complete mess
  • his handwriting is incomprehensible, he shows up late to work, and his documents are full of errors
  • it’s so bad even Zen feels worried- which is a lot
  • the second the week ends, Jaehee knows this can’t go on and arranges for Jumin to meet MC at her place
  • even though he feels awkward and out of  place in his employee’s house (and probably so does Jaehee), the chance to talk and see MC is a certain yes
  • he brings so many gifts as apologies- anything and everything he saw that reminded him of MC, from clothes to electronics- and it almost is too overwhelming for them
  • apologizing isn’t that hard when he is pouring out words without a filter- a consequence of being away from MC so much and finally seeing them again

707

  • Work, work, work, work, emotional stress, work, work, becoming cold, work, isolating himself, work, work, more work-
  • if MC had to make a list of what Seven has done the past days, it’d be that
  • completely enveloped in his work, not taking care of himself, letting his mental state fall down to the trash
  • even when trying, MC can’t help-
  • everything they do puts him off and he acts colder
  • it feels like back then, huh…
  • it’s too hard to brush it off
  • Seven’s usually odd but quirky humour wasn’t permanent- MC knew so much, and they loved even the somewhat cold and depression-riddled person Seven became
  • but… even this was a bit too hard
  • it wasn’t just being cold- it was plain rudeness sometimes, to downright ignoring MC
    • “Am I bothering you now…?”
  • MC knew the answer they’d receive- cleaning up the trash around Seven,being in the room; all that probably bothered him in his mood
    • “Yes. Get out.”
  • pressing their lips firmly, they stood up and packed some bags
  • was it petty? … probably.
  • but maybe it was for the best- a couple weeks alone would probably be what Seven wanted, right? and maybe going out and taking their mind off things would be good for them too, no?
  • the first day, Seven has already riddled their phone with calls, begging for an answer
  • he’s regretting it. he’s feeling like shit
  • but MC can’t just return yet- even if they feel bad for Seven, they have feelings to, y’know? they need some time too
  • so turning off the phone, days fly by and the small wounds on MC’s soul heal up
  • but the overwhelming guilt of leaving Seven for so long is unbearable
  • it’s not that it was even planned, but Seven can easily find them,and finally decides to show up to the restaurant where MC was planning on eating that day
  • he looks… better, but also worse
  • he showered and dressed in fresh clothes, and that’s an improvement
  • but the circles under his eyes are darker than ever, and he looks so lost and sad that it hurts
  • it takes all his strenght to not simply hug MC then and there, and cry
  • at first, MC fears they made it worse- now that they left, Seven will be colder than ever, he’ll hate them-
  • but it’s not… that bad
  • he feels like crap, too; for making MC feel so alone like that, and for acting like a stranger- he gladly assumes part of the fault and hopes to keep going on with the relationship
10

ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴏɴ ʀᴀᴋᴜʏᴏᴜ | ᴋᴀᴍᴜɪ ᴠꜱ ᴜᴍɪʙᴏᴜᴢᴜ

Look at me, Umibouzu. I’ve grown stronger. Ever since then, I’ve desperately trying to follow in your footsteps. Ever since then, I’ve kept fighting just to surpass you. Look at me, Umibouzu. I’ve grown strong enough to kill you.