you get me all confused

Find your dialogue prompt!

A: The first letter of your first name!

B: Your birthday!

  • A: “Can I help you?”
  • B: “Be gentle.”
  • C: “Help me find my scarf!”
  • D: “What happened to your arm?”
  • E: “What the hell happened here?!”
  • F: “How are you feeling?”
  • G: “Well, this is interesting! Did you know-”
  • H: “I just thought of a world without puppies and got really sad.”
  • I: “I love you.”
  • J: “Please kill me.”
  • K: “Want to know how I got these scars?”
  • L: “On go, we’re going to run, okay?”
  • M: “Help me.”
  • N: “Did you hear that?”
  • O: “Kiss me.”
  • P: “What’s your favorite sin?”
  • Q: “Does God ever say ‘Oh my God’?”
  • R: “We’re stuck in a maze!”
  • S: “So, today I was thinking we should-”
  • T: “Did you just murder someone?!”
  • U: “Code Yellow, I repeat code yellow!”
  • V: “I want to show you something.”
  • W: “Can we cuddle?”
  • X: “Do you want to talk about your childhood?”
  • Y: “Who wants to die today?“
  • Z: "I am the hero this city needs!”

  1. “Oh, I saw a spider”
  2. “You shouldn’t have had that sixth cup of coffee.”
  3. “Speaking of that, I just got laid.”
  4. “That should be illegal.”
  5. “High School Musical.”
  6. “Speaking of gay, I’m gonna go do some gay stuff right now.”
  7. “Unrealistic.”
  8. “I hope you outlast your relatives.”
  9. “Easy, psycho.”
  10. “I won!”
  11. “I’m confused, as usual.”
  12. “I volunteer as tribute.”
  13. “It’s magic!”
  14. “Dang, I was so close…”
  15. “I have a headache.”
  16. “I love being left alone.”
  17. “Can I kiss you?”
  18. Please, tell me more.”
  19. “Stay quiet!”
  20. “Oh maaaaan, sounds amazing, who can resist!”
  21. “That’s so gay.”
  22. “This is all your fault.”
  23. “Are you okay?”
  24. “No.”
  25. “A badly timed joke?”
  26. “I want to leave.”
  27. “5 more minutes.”
  28. “I’m calling the police!”
  29. “Queue the music.”
  30. “Stop following me!”
  31. “We’re all going to die.”

(if you get something confusing, then try to explain it, BAM, you’re writing)

When they’ve got him in the interrogation room every officer seems to have the same question; was it worth it? With all that happened, with how it turned out, the years of drunken revelry, the constant media attention, the heists, the hubris, the way it ended in a bloodbath the likes of which Los Santos has never seen. This is your legacy Ramsey, was it worth it?

They ask like his answer means anything, ask like they even care what he thinks, ask like they don’t think he feels anything at all. They ask like it wasn’t his plans that brought him here. Like it wasn’t his plans the led to six body bags and a single pair of handcuffs, a room full of tactless officers and a kingpin with no one left to call crew. They ask like can’t help themselves from asking.

Was it worth it?

There’s never a serious discussion, no big heart to heart, but there’s no escaping the fact that the Fake’s all know they are dying in slow motion. More or less signed their own death certificate’s years ago, living on stolen time, and sooner or later they’ll find themselves in the ground.

They took Los Santos by storm and defended it with their lives. With each others lives. Have sacrificed themselves and the ones they love to a city that takes no prisoners. They fought hard for their crown, and kept on fighting every single day to succeed, to profit, to reaffirm themselves as the city’s biggest bads. They knew that they would only be unstoppable until they aren’t. Until the day they fall, and eventually they must fall.  

Even after all the years of action, all the blood, sweat and tears they’ve poured into this empire, everyone knows there is no such thing as retirement for the Fake AH Crew; for all they’ve already trained their own successors the frontrunners of the reigning crew in Los Santos will never be allowed to simply step down and move aside when their time is over. Between old enemies and constant rivals, members of law enforcement and anyone simply looking to boost their own reputation, there are countless numbers who would hunt them to the ends of the earth. Everyone knows, one way or another, the FAHC is going out bloody.

And by god, did they go out bloody.

The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. What a fucking inconsequential day right? They were owed a Friday at the very least, were meant to go out past midnight, meant to go out in a blaze of glory. They were meant to go out all together. They weren’t meant to go out at all.  

The wheels fell off weeks before, a series of questionable jobs and public fights, a level of disorder totally out of line with the crew’s trademark cohesion. Rumour has it they were rife with in-fighting. Rumour has it after all this time the cracks were finally showing. Its easy, afterwards, to read into the events that came before, to manufacture clues, to swear the writing was on the wall for anyone to see. In reality no one saw it coming. In reality the whole damn city was taken by surprise.

Maybe they bit off more than they could chew, maybe they were distracted, out of sync, or maybe it was just the inevitable finally catching up with them but in the end the Fake’s wind up in a firefight they aren’t winning. After endless years of near misses and close calls, of lucky runs and brilliant timing, after thousands of impossible victories, the FAHC finally lost.

To lose like this, picked off one by one, powerless to save themselves, to save each other, must have been their worst nightmare. With every body on the ground those left only grew more furious, more reckless, lose whatever feeble grasp on self-preservation they ever had, throwing away any possibility of retreat in favour of retribution. It wasn’t enough.

In the end the only one left breathing on either side is Ramsey. The scene finally gone still, silent, the echoes of screams and gunfire fading away into a shivery stunned kind of shock. They say Ramsey’d fallen to his knees amongst the grime, iconic suit near indistinguishable under all the dirt and ash, the blood of men and women who thought they’d live forever. He kneels there in silence while sirens grow ever louder, makes no move to flee, doesn’t even look up from bodies as cars scream to a stop around him.

The messed up thing, the really fucked up part? They say Ramsey was laughing by the time the police got there. Say he stood and brushed himself off, surrounded by the bodies of those he claimed family, drenched sickly red while his empire lay in ruins, and laughed. And god doesn’t that confirm what everyone’s always thought, doesn’t that just prove he always was a monster. Never cared for anyone, for anything, not really. People used to say the one thing Geoff loved was his crew but it seems Ramsey’s cold-blooded ruthlessness won out in the end.

In the fallout of a travesty, of a victory, of an unexpected bloodbath, in a stark grey room faced with a distressingly apathetic villain, in circumstances none could have predicted, all the detectives seem capable of asking is if it was worth it in the end. They ask and ask and Ramsey’s answer never changes, his cold smirk never fades, so calm and unconcerned they catch him glancing at the clock, as though he’s bored. As though even now he’s got somewhere better to be. And still, full of horrified disbelief, they have to ask.

Was it worth it? Yes. Was it worth it? Always. Knowing what you know now, knowing how it ends, how they all go down for you, would you do it all again? Every damn time. Surely you have regrets, you had to know one day it would end like this.  

Oh baby, who says it’s over?

It comes together as a joke more than anything, the cumulation of too many late nights followed by too many bad movies. Their last job was tense, a heist with months of preparations and so much on the line, and while they’ve certainly celebrated their victory like royalty they didn’t come away unscathed. The injuries, numerous though mostly minor, serve to once again remind them all how lucky they’ve been so far. How most don’t make it nearly this many years without tragedy, couldn’t be in the game this long, let alone running the game this long without signing up for devastation. How losing a member, to outright death or crippling injury, is without a doubt only a matter of time at this point. How such a loss will be so much worse in this ridiculously close-knit crew than any they’d experienced before.

Sobering thoughts, combined with the difficulties of winding down after endless weeks of  stress eventually leads to the discussion they never have, the question of what else they could be doing with their lives, what choices brought them here, what they would do if they could just step out, sign off, retire. It’s not that they’re bored of this life they’ve built – how could they be when the world is their oyster – but there’s no denying the fact that after all this time terrorising Los Santos doesn’t quite thrill them like it used to.

If you’d asked any of them ten, five, hell even two years ago they’d have scoffed at the idea of ever retiring, would have sworn up and down that they wanted to go down in flames, to end with a bang, and at the time they meant it. At the time it was true. It still is, in a way, they’ll probably always see something dreadfully appealing in going out on top, but with every passing year it’s harder and harder to look at a room full of people they love and consider playing a role in their deaths. Every time they get hurt it takes a little longer to heal, the old aches and pains are becoming more prominent, and their ever growing patchwork of scars have started looking less badge of honour than they do morbid countdown. Obviously they’ve still got it, still in their prime enough to keep their crown, but between age and gratuitous injury, time is creeping up on them all.

The Fake’s used to joke about the end, said whoever lasted longest won, got to make off with the fortunes, live like a king, but that reality isn’t quite so funny anymore. The idea of surviving, of being left behind with nothing but cold hard cash and heyday memories is enough to make them physically ill. So maybe retiring doesn’t seem quite so unappealing anymore.

Maybe a passing comment way too late at night, after far too much mixing of alcohol and pain meds, in the spirit of some dumb con movie they’d all been heckling, was enough to plant an idea. A ridiculous, unrealistic, completely unattainable idea, but still an idea nonetheless. They’re all a bit hung up on it, still joking, still assuring one another that they aren’t serious, but still bringing it up all the same, running through all the possibilities.

It would take far more than simply disappearing; they have too much wealth and notoriety, have far too many enemies, the world is simply too easy a place to comb through these days. People, at least the vast majority of people, would have to be convinced not to come looking. Convinced there was nothing to look for, nothing to track, would have to think the absent members of the Fake AH Crew were in the one place no one could ever reach them.

There are ways, of course, to feign death. For those with the right contacts, with endless money and enough resources, there are ways to trick the body into something close enough to pass, at least for a time. But even then it’s not so simple; there must be witnesses, there must be evidence, crook and cop alike must be sure. Of course with a public death comes increased risk- it wouldn’t do to go so far in their act that appearances became reality, to go to such lengths to imitate death only to wind up that way regardless. Somehow, someone’s going to have to play guardian, prevent anyone’s corpse from catching a stray bullet to the brain, or jerking back to life too late with guts already laid out on an autopsy table. Someone has to be ready to whisk them all away, and who do any of them trust more than the man they’ve been following all these years. The boss they’d die for. The boss they will die for.

They don’t talk about it, because no one wants to admit it might be happening, no one wants to burst the bubble, to invite reality to rush in and crush the unbelievable thought that the Fake’s might get a happy ending, but at some point they stop laughing. At some point they each quietly start getting all their ducks in a row, using their free time to organise their affairs.

No one questions the way Geoff and Jack have started having day-long meetings with the support crew in-between jobs, the way Lindsay’s spending far more of her time recruiting than ever before, the way Gavin’s taking calls at all hours of the day, rarely in english, clearly haggling over something. They don’t wonder why all their money is getting moved around, why Ryan and Michael are busy collecting all outstanding debts while Jeremy and Ray are plotting the layout of the police station, the morgue.

It’s all happening on the down low, all behind business as usual, but eventually, after nearly a year of quiet organisation, they are just about ready to disappear. All that’s left is the bang, the flashy smoke and mirrors, the hook to stop anyone coming after them, anyone even thinking to track them down. One final step, one last decision to make, a choice they must commit to as one or not at all. All they’ve got left to do is die.

Over the years the Fake AH Crew has grown exponentially but the original elements have never drifted apart, never gone looking for something else or turned on one another. The crew has flourished, become a full blown empire, but nothing can touch the unity of the innermost members, as strong now as it have ever been. For all their loyal familiarity was mocked back in the day, for all their closeness was seen as a weakness, after all these years it seems only death itself will seperate them now. If they had the chance to evade their own mortality one last time, to get out, to be free, would they make the leap?

The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. Pattillo, the Vagabond, Mogar and the Golden Boy, Little J and Brownman, but not the boss. Well not on paper anyway – any who knew them must know Ramsey’d never recover from the loss. Any who didn’t just know the LSPD took seven bodies away that day and none of them ever came back. It’s not a stretch to assume Ramsey’s survival was a rumour. To believe it wishful thinking, to say he died at the scene or died at the station, delayed injury or the cops cleaning up the last loose thread of the group who’d made their lives living hell for years.

There’s paperwork out there, somewhere, claiming a different story. A report that barely makes a lick of sense, the sworn record that a kingpin arrived in chains and left with corpses, slipped out of his cell like he was never there, without a hint as to how he got free. He disappeared like smoke, not a trace left behind, and none of the seven alive or dead ever resurfaced. The story is embarrassing, inexplicable, and it reflects badly enough on the LSPD that it is quickly buried.

Even if it hadn’t been there are few who would believe it. Few who could believe for even a moment that Ramsey could walk free and not be with the last of his crew, that he would let another run his empire, run his city, if he was in any way capable of preventing it. No, however it went down Ramsey did not survive. It’s fitting, really. No one can live forever and the OG Fake’s were certainty pushing their luck, had been pushing it for years; a crew that close should go out together.

The Fall of the Fake AH Crew isn’t much of a fall, in the end. The seemingly inevitable power vacuum one would expect following the death of the group who’d been running the city for endless years never comes. It shouldn’t be possible but even after the most devastating loss imaginable the the FAHC isn’t toppled from their throne. They restructure almost overnight; many of the oldest, original members of the support crew bow out, disappear on the wind without a trace, but there are more than enough left behind to fill their shoes. It’s almost perfect, almost unbelievable, some of support shuffling into the spotlight while still more unknown faces are revealed to boost their ranks. Their ability to keep their enemies at bay during the turmoil is impressive enough, but it’s the absence of internal conflicts that is truely boggling; there are no betrayals or executions, no public power plays or jealous feuds, somehow the city’s most scrutinised gang managed to completely restructure after the loss of not just their leader but all their key members without a single hitch. Almost like they were ready, like it was planned.

If the Fake’s had the chance to stay together, to start over somewhere else, stop waiting for the day one of them inevitably doesn’t make it home, but in return they had to step away from the action, give up everything they’d built, hand if off to legacy and fade out into legend, would it be worth it?

Apparently, yes. For all of them, from the moment the possibility arises, throughout every conversation, every debate and consideration, with everything they will lose, with everything they stand to gain, every goddamn time without fail, yes.

Somewhere out there, worlds away from Los Santos, a man sits on a private beach. He isn’t armed with anything more than a beer, there are no weapons, he simply sits upon the sand enjoying the breeze. There’s a woman to his right, sunbathing, a man to his left doing the same; golden tans make their startling number of scars stand out in stark relief but the heat of the sun does wonders for stubborn pains. At the shoreline old friends are knocking shoulders, bumping each other nearer and nearer to the water, not quite rough-housing like little boys but they’re getting close, voices rising on the wind.

The single house behind them is huge and noisy, full of music and chatter, full of monsters and overgrown children, the most loyal humans the man has ever had the honour of knowing. In a brief moment of silence sound from the television drifts down to the beach, an American news anchor reporting the latest infraction of some criminal organisation in a far away city; the house cheers and kicks back into a merry roar. Down by the water there is a betrayal, a splash and screeching protest as one winds up in the waves against his will. Safe on the sand, without a trouble in the world, the man laughs.


I’m thinking your body…should be illegal  ~  [Black Out M2 Fan Cam - Leo Vers]

jesse-aster  asked:

Would it be ok if I referred to PJ as them all the time?

Yep! It is fine to do that! I flip all of the time, just use ‘him’ more often due to habit which is hard to break -_-

Plus whenever I RP with PJ and the other character is either nonbinary or lacks a gender (uses “They” as well) then I also use ‘him’ just to clarify what’s happening…

anonymous asked:

Most of my confusion had been "Who the heck is Suneater and who's Eri?" Which was cleared up after reading those 20 chapters. Also. Is it just a thing that you'll always come up with these super unwieldy names for your fics? Because I love it so much and it's even better with how nonsensical the acronyms are

i come from a long and proud tradition of giving all my works excessively long names that are just lyrics lifted straight from an associated song

every time this guy that i like does something that i could interpret as potentially suggesting that he likes me, he then completely confuses me.. we spent literally more than an hour today kinda cuddling on a sofa while chatting and watching videos, but


anonymous asked:

So original writer is just willynilly, prefectly fine with child abuse? Going to write it like it's not a big deal huh.

(it’s almost like..

How interesting.)


Sometimes I write indirect posts just hoping that you’ll see. Hoping that you’ll realise that it’s you. It’s always been you. I just wish I could know what your reaction would be if you knew.
—  Me

{Would anyone be interested if I started answering art asks in addition to rp asks on my hunter blog?}

Haunted (Finn Balor x reader)

A/N: my first EVER Finn fic and second only on here. So this is something I wrote, without giving anything away I just wanna say if I wrote anything wrong, I do apologise.
Hopefully you guys like it but let me know.. I have been totes nervous about posting this. Warnings: mentions of sexual Abuse, very emotional so be prepared.

Tagging who liked the last post: @nickysmum1909 @thatonegirloncealways @kanupps06

Y/N and Finn have been dating for almost 6 months. But they haven’t been intimate with each other at all and Finn thinks there is something wrong with him. He speak to Y/N about it.

Y/N and Finn were in their room. Hands exploring both of their bodies experiencing pleasure they haven’t before. Finn moves his hands to explore Y/N’s legs and thighs when she quickly moves away panting as terror filled her eyes.

“Y/N, you okay?”, Finn asked worried as panic set into her face. Finn goes to grab Y/N’s leg and bring her close to him but she flinches.
“Don’t touch me, I don’t like you touching me, just get out please Finn”.
Finn all confused and shocked just stares at Y/N’s face not moving.
“Didn’t you hear me GET OUT!”
Y/N cried.
She closed her eyes when Finn slowly got off the bed to leave
‘You have to tell him. You trust him. He is a good guy’ she thought.
As Finn touched the Doorknob, Y/N took a big sigh and spoke trembling
“I was 10 11 when he touched me”.
Finn stopped in his tracks and turned around.
“My mom had told me to escort him outside and lock the doors cos it was getting late and thats when he put his hands down my pants. He use to make me lift my shirt when no one was looking and told me it was normal. Me being stupid I believed him.
I have this fear of being intimate with someone with anyone. The thought of being touched repulses me. Thats why when we first met I put my hand on yours.. that way I know I trust you and I do. I trust you with all my heart. I’m not ready.”

The silence was deafening so she continued, “I thought now he is dead I could breathe a sigh of relief but that never is true. He might be dead but the trauma will remain with me til I die”.

She wiped her tears, “There.Now you know. If you still wanna walk out it’s fine, I get it. I’ve been alone with this for 13 years, with or without you so you might aswell go. Find someone who isnt damaged goods!”

Y/N closed her eyes as she heard the door click. She then felt a pair of safe hands touch her hand and she opened her eyes. Tears streaming down both their faces. Finn wiped the tears of his face and wiped hers. He grabbed her hand.
“You are the most bravest woman I have met. What he did was disgusting and none of it is your fault. You was young. You didn’t know”.
He touched her leg and she flinched.
He grabbed her hand and put her hand on top of his hand on her leg.
“We dont have to do anything.You are not damaged good,you hear me? I love you and it’s not about the sex. I love spending time with you whether it takes days or weeks for us to be intimate I will always be here for you”.

Y/N let out a sigh of relief and grabbed Finns face and kissed him. Tears mixed with their kiss Y/N pulled herself on top of Finn and he left his hands where they were not exploring her body. She knew he was holding himself back. She grabbed Finns hands and placed them on her back and said, “I trust you but..
Thats it for now”, Finn finished.

From that moment, Y/N and Finn lay in bed cuddling each other until Y/N fell asleep and Finn just looked at her face and had tears remembering everything she told him.

Mowgli's Road
Marina and the Diamonds

Here it is, finally! I recently hit 500 followers on this blog, and I have a mini tradition of celebrating that number. So I drew a song comic centered around my muse, Soranort, and its reflected off most of my headcanons and portrayal for him. Don’t take the lyrics too literally its a metaphor like spoons are not literally spoons, or knives…
Thank you so much for 500 followers, enjoy! ♥

monsoon92  asked:

I love the new blog ❤❤ but I wanna be in it so bad 😢 (Maybe I could daye Quinn... lol)

lol you will be, I’m just introducing characters little by little because if I did them all at once, then it’d be chaos lol I promise you will be in it! (and not to give anything away but maybe sooner than you think)

anonymous asked:

*gives a boquet of red pink and white roses tied with yellow ribbon and a basket full of freshly baked beagles.*

No but imagine Colin reading through the script for the fourth episode of the first season and it is all so new and fresh and then he reads through his “faster, Arthur, go faster” scene and realized that he is going to have to be thrashing around all sweaty in a bed…

I just feel like he would have face-palmed right then and there.

BTS Reactions: Hogwarts AU: Jungkook

          “… That didn’t happen.”

         “Yes, it did, and that’s okay…”

         “What’s okay? Nothing happened!” Jungkook yells from his spot on the floor. You only blink at him, thoughtlessly petting the orange Pygmy Puff in your hands. The sweet little thing had jumped on his head, making him shout out and fall to his ass on the floor. With a suppressed giggle, you place the little fluffball in his cage and walk over to Jungkook, who is still sitting on the dirt, head bowed down.

         “C’mon, up you go,” you gently coax, offering him your hand. He takes it gratefully, and you smile affectionately at him, gently brushing the dirt and twigs out of his hair. “Aww, Kookie, I think you’ve gotten taller!” you coo, standing toe to toe with him. He blushes at the close proximity, your chest brushing against his, your hands on his shoulders, but you don’t notice as your eyes travel along his hair. “You were always shorter than me when we were kids! When you did become all manly?” you ask with a giggle. Jungkook can only respond with a nervous laugh before you let go of his shoulder and skip away, humming softly.

         He so thoroughly regrets asking your for Care of Magical Creatures tutoring, You’re so cute, he doesn’t think his heart can take it, and it’s only been half an hour.

         “Okay, so pygmy puffs, those exist, you don’t do well with them, that’s okay, let’s see you try Bucky” you ramble on, throwing a teasing smile in his direction. You disappear into the stables just long enough for Jungkook to regret any and all decisions that have led to the moment of him falling on his ass in front of the girl he loves.

         “Soooooo, Kookie say hi to Bucky, Bucky say hi to Kookie,” yoo coo, leading a large, regal hippogriff out by a string of rope. When you turn to Jungkook, he is five feet farther than he initially was, his body language exuding apprehension and fear.

         “When you said Bucky, I didn’t think you meant Buckbeak. The Hippogriff.” He flushes under your confused gaze before gesticulating wildly. “I heard he bit someone’s arm off, Y/N.” You roll your eyes, gingerly smoothing down the feathers at the top of Bucky’s head.

         “He lightly injured Draco Malfoy, who, at the time, was a huge git, so he can’t exactly be held contemptible for that. Bucky here is nothing but a big sweetheart, aren’t you, dear?” you ask, nuzzling the down at his neck. Buckbeak crows, resting his beak on the top of your head, and Jungkook’s hand itches to grab you and make some distance between you. He’s a Ravenclaw, dammit; he knows that being jealous of a stupid bird-horse is irrational, and yet he can’t tamper down the malice he feel towards the creature.

         “C’mon, Jungie, to pass Care of Magical Creatures, you actually have to come near the magical creatures,” you tease, letting go of the rope and reaching for his hand. However, when you get close enough to Jungkook, Buckbeak screeches and rears back, the sound startling Jungkook and causing him to grab your wrist and pull, placing you protectively behind him as he back the both of you away from the angry beast. Being held behind him like this, you can’t help but clench your fingers in the soft fabric of Jungkook’s vest and sharply inhale as you watch how the cloth tightens over the lines of his shoulders, which are much broader then you remember.

         “I guess now is when you got all manly,” you murmur incredulously, your eyes roving over his neck and the way it flushes red under your hand when you caress his hair. “Who let you do that? Making my heart go all-a-flutter, getting me confused…” His skin grows even warmer under your touch, even as Jungkook resolutely glares at Buckbeak and avoids your eyes.

         “Confused?” he asks, the word almost coming out as a surprised squeak. You nod, resting your forehead inbetween his shoulder blades.

         “Any man willing to stand between me and a creature he’s terrified of is sure to make me look at him differently…” you murmur, your hand on his shoulder. “Especially if that man asks for tutoring he doesn’t necessarily need just to spend time with me.” Jungkook’s spins around quickly, his eyes bearing down into yours just four inches below his.

         “You knew?” With a giggle, you lean forward, resting your cheek on his collarbone as the darling stammers cutely.

         “I grade Hagrid’s reports, you forget, love. I know you’re pulling a solid grade in this class… a grade that would be much higher if you didn’t spend a lot of class time looking at me,” you tease, eyes lingering on the way Jungkook’s throat moves as he gulps. When you lean towards the pale skin, your lips gravitating towards the point where his beats quickly, you wave a hand at Buckbeak. He did what he you asked, and you’ll be sure to give him a treat later… after you’re done teasing the pretty, blushing boy in front of you.

Originally posted by eva-lovett