you give me the electric twist

Colors of Dissonance (pt. 7)

Part 6

Mark and Sean plan to leave the apartment building at different times. Sean gets Sam to convince the elevator to take him down to the basement where he can escape through another entrance while Mark will leave the way he normally does.

“Meet me at this address.” Sean sends the pin to Mark’s neural cam, and for Mark, a faint, glowing line appears on the floor to lead him to his desired destination.

“Won’t Corporate be able to track this?” Mark taps his head. He didn’t like the idea of having Corporate inside his head, but agreeing to have the neural implant was the only way to join YouTube’s world of let’s-players. “And they can see through it as well…” Sean tosses Mark an extra eyepatch, and Mark’s eyebrows jump up in surprise. “Oh, is that why you wear one of these?”

Sean checks Sam after the little droid is finished with the elevator. “No, that’s not why.” Sean looks up at Mark and shrugs, his one electric blue eye glittering. “I couldn’t have Corporate tracking me…”

Mark’s mouth twists in confusion until the realization dawns on him. “Oh…”

Sean gives an impish smile as Sam hovers over the younger man’s right shoulder. “It’s fine. You do what you have to in order to survive, amiright?” With that, he’s in the elevator and gone, leaving Mark to wonder how everything had gone so wrong so quickly.

 

Nate blinks awake as a light clicks on over his head, illuminating a small room with a single wall of black glass that Nate is sure leads to another room where he’s being watched. He’s been sat at a metal table with his hands still cuffed firmly behind his back, but a shift in position reveals that, sure enough, the gun is somehow still intact.

A door opens behind him, and Nate watches as a young woman walks around to the other side of the table and plops a case file down in front of him. The harsh, white light glances off her long, auburn hair, and Kathryn takes a seat.

“Nathan Smith, correct?” Kat flips open the file as if she hasn’t studied it a million times before now. “Do you have any complaints that you’d like to make?”

Nate glances around. “Uh, yeah. Like what the hell am I doing here?”

Kat pushes her glasses farther up her nose and places a hand, palm down on the file. “You’re here because the YouTube product, Hallucinapuff Gas, has caused you certain symptoms that we at Corporate would like to address.”

“And how are you planning on doing that?” Nate’s voice has bite to it as he tilts his head to the side and leans forward slightly, taunting. He wants to get a rise out of her, wants her to slip and tilt her hand, but Kat isn’t amused.

“I plan on doing whatever I see fit, and right now I see fit to make you disappear as if none of this even happened.” Kat brushes a bit of lint off the table like she hasn’t just made a death threat. Her eyes flash up at him. “Convince me otherwise, and I’ll find other, less permanent, ways of dealing with the issue.”

“First, I want these cuffs removed,” Nathan hisses.

Kat raises an eyebrow. He’s obviously getting nowhere like this, so instead, Nate turns on a little of that bardic charm. “Listen…” He glances at her name tag. “Kat, I’ve had a bit of a rough day, and you guys have been less than forthcoming about why I’m here in the first place. And well,” he makes a face and tilts his head to either side, “that can make anyone a little testy.” His eyes go soft, and Nate leans a little closer. “Please, I’m just scared. I want to know why I’m here.”

Kathryn sighs and gets up. She walks around to the back of him and unlocks his handcuffs which hiss and release, falling to the floor.  Nate’s hands twitch, free once again.

He reaches for the gun. or He continues to smile at Kathryn.

Take Me

(Kellin Quinn imagine)

*smut warning*

 

It’s a sunny Sunday morning and the neighbourhood is slowly waking up. You’re walking around in just a pair of panties, not really doing anything. Kellin is still asleep in the master bedroom and probably will be for a couple of more hours. He came home late yesterday and dead tired. Still you want to go in there and wake him up. Even like this you miss him and he’s been on the other side of the world for weeks. You had to fight against every instinct to not jump up and down on the bed screaming at him to wake up. Every cell in your body is craving him.

 

Keep reading

Give It Your All

In attempt to compensate for the Peeta pictures missing from my dash, I’m giving you all a brief snippet of Everlark sexytime. Hooray.


Because Peeta was in the process of conditioning for the state wrestling tournament, and Katniss had been beset by overactive legs since the womb, he proposed the idea of Saturday-morning jogs. It involved waking up at an obscene hour, slugging themselves to the town square, and racing each other down the streets until their thighs felt like fire, but it was worth it.

While the actual activity was brutal, it made the naps afterward ten times better. But, since Peeta’s mother thought Katniss was the literal Antichrist, they always ended up at her house, slinking up to her bedroom and winding together under the sheets.

They were best friends, after all. And what better mid-Saturday activities were there for best friends?

After one particularly vicious outing, they didn’t even have the energy to towel off before flopping onto her mattress. So, with sweat-sheathed skin and hamstrings that felt like overboiled ramen, they laid themselves out on top of the comforter, letting the overhead fan dry them off while they dozed.

Katniss awoke roughly two hours later to the coo of a dove beyond the open window. She tried to stretch, but an iron grasp locked her in. Somehow, since they’d fallen asleep, they had managed to drift together, Peeta’s thick arms wrapping her into his body. Well, she couldn’t blame him. He was a natural wrestler – even when unconscious.

And, apart from the unnecessary body heat, she didn’t particularly mind this position. His arms were cozy, his breath on her neck soft and comforting. And his hand, somehow, had splayed itself across her lower belly, holding her against him. It caused something delicious – albeit foreign – to curl in her stomach.

She could lie here, like this, forever.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

nissi i have a Very Serious Question™ for you bc i trust your taste in jikook and vmin: in your opinion, what are the BEST yoonmin pwp on ao3? ym fanfics are kinda new to me and i don't want to be scarred forever with not-that-good fics lmao but i'm open to all kinks and dynamics! ( except top jimin i guess, i'm really not feeling it :c ) take your time and thank you in advance <3 (U'RE BLOG GOALS BTW)

very serious indeed
- speed it up so we can slow it down by kingenjolras
- if you wanna get the job (you better know who’s the boss) | 어둠 속을 밝혀줘 by sungmin
- give me more by staygame
give me the rundown by gangbang
- out of your arms (i’m out of my mind) by loveisnotover
- rooftop sinning by msng
glad you came by shrdmdnssftw
- love literally by incadence
all this devotion rushing out to me by fatal
- paper chase by slimequeen
- feel so hot on your lap (let me ride it out) | a day at the recording studiochoke and pull by heukhaneul
twist and shout by markerlimes
i’m fully operational (and at your disposal) by mauvetarte
- blushing pink by strangedesires
he’s got the devil in his heart (but he’s an angel sent to me) by taossie
- electric love by smolwoozi

storm and flower

The exiled scholar decides to rest for a moment beneath the branches of a plum tree. Though it is still midwinter, the tree seems to glow with the promise of an early blossoming. The scholar sits under the tree, staring up at its bare, whispering branches. He has always loved plum trees.

The roots are warm, and as his body slips into stupor, he thinks for a moment that the roots are soft arms, holding him close.

This might not be such a bad place to die.

: : :

When spring comes, the stray dogs find bones among the plum blossoms.

: : :

A restless presence traverses the countryside. Unjust was his exile, and lonely his end.

In his wanderings, he finds others such as him: frail points of consciousness, eternally suspended between this earth and the other place. But they aren’t really like him. They can’t touch the living anymore.

He can still touch. He can still strike.

: : :

Although he never enjoyed causing suffering in his life, the vengeful spirit takes pleasure from it in death. Although prayers billow to him like rancid plumes of smoke, there are never enough to satisfy him. There are never enough offerings to fill his wrung stomach.

Somewhere, deep inside the soul-part that died along with his body, a soft voice whispers that he will never be happy with their pain.

: : :

It is a cloudy spring day when the tall stranger stands underneath the branches of a plum tree.

He inhales deeply, preparing to call down the bolt that will split the heart of this frail, blooming thing. He draws a breath—and lets it out silently again.

He is not alone beneath the plum tree.

: : :

The woman who stands in front of him is beautiful. Horribly, intensely beautiful.

The kind of beauty that pours light into all the places he’d rather keep dark. The kind of beauty that rends, and reveals, and reassembles. The kind of beauty that makes the dead part of him ache.

He wants her to leave.

To his annoyance, he finds that he doesn’t have the ability to meet her gaze. He stares at the ground when he demands:

“Tell me your name.”

The woman laughs. If possible, her laughter is more terrible, and more bright, and more beautiful than her face.

: : :

“I will not be bothered with vagrants and fools,” he says, testily.

The woman’s eyes narrow infinitesimally. The tiniest twinge of regret tightens his chest—she is neither of those things. She is as far from them as the mountaintop is from the ocean.

“In that case, you may want to examine yourself, Sugawara no Michizane.”

This is an unpleasant woman, he decides. She is chastising him in the mild, measured voice of a mother to a misbehaving child.

But he is a god, and he does not have to listen to women who call him so arrogantly by his true name. He does not have to listen to anything that discomforts him. For a long time he has set aside diplomacy, and courtesy, and gentleness, in favor of the blistering euphoria of wrath.

This woman is just the kind of person he would have wanted to meet during his life.

Now, he wants to see how quickly she can die.

: : :

He breathes, summoning the lightning, but she never looks away from him. She regards him with a mixture of heartbreak and scorn, and it is awful, and it is glorious.

“I think it has been a long time since you have been happy, poor little god,” she says sorrowfully.

: : :

The lightning stays trapped in his throat.

“I will be happy once I kill you,” he counters.

“You will feel pleasure, yes,” she admits. “But you will not be happy.”

: : :

Twice the blow is stayed, and twice it is he who is standing shocked instead.

“Then…what will make me happy?”

Why did he ask her that?

The woman does not seem surprised. She looks up at the branches, feathered with frosty white blossoms.

“Do you remember?”

His breathing staggers.

“You always loved plum trees.”

: : :

His last happy moment had been among the tree roots, entangled in them like a lover with his beloved. And he had rested, and he had slept.

“You,” he mouths, silently. The air in his throat is no longer electric. The twisting emptiness within him loosens, then unknots.

The woman is smiling at him, but she is no longer fearsome.

“You asked me my name,” she says.

Something bright slips from the corner of her eye to her chin, and he reaches out—but it is gone before he can catch it. The woman takes his hand, presses his fingers together in a cluster, and sets the tips of them against her smooth forehead. His fingertips begin to burn and brighten: a five-petaled flower of warmth blooming between her skin and his.

“I would like you to give me one, please.”

anonymous asked:

hey can you do 83 for reader x holtzmann thx

A/n: Guys I’m bad at sappy stuff but I really tried to make this cute ;-;

Lately, you’d been catching your long term girlfriend, Jillian Holtzmann,
staring at you more often than usual.

The expression on her face was always different. Sometimes she’d look so unbelievably happy, and then the next time you caught her she’d look hesitant or forlorn, like she’d want to ask you something.

For awhile, you just ignored it, thinking that maybe it was something that had nothing to do with you and she just happened to be looking in your general area.

But your concern started growing whenever she would whisk you off to these really nice places, like restaurants or empty libraries for just the two of you.

And the whole time she’d be nervously glancing over at you or shove her hand into her pockets like she was looking for something, until ultimately she’d brush it off and you’d carry on with your day.

Now you were sitting on your desk, legs folded with your laptop resting on your lap, typing up the latest ghostbuster story when you saw Jillian saunter over and sit in your chair, facing you.

“Heya, Hot Stuff.” You said, keeping your eyes on the keyboard.

“Could I ask you something?” She said, spinning the chair around and tapping her fingers on the armrests.

“You just did, but carry on.”

She paused for a moment, giving a look before she inhailed. “Marry me?”

Your fingers instantly froze in their place as you looked over the screen to stare at you. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Marry me. You know, the thing couples do when they love each very much and-”

“I know what it means, I’m just surprised.” You told her, closing your computer and putting it off to the side. “You just didn’t seem the type.”

“Well you assumed wrong, I would very much like to marry you. Except there is a slight problem.” She said, reach into her pocket and pulling out some electric wire that had been twisted and tied into a circle.

“I lost the ring I had gotten for you, but until I find it…I made this for you.” She said with a smile, holding it out to you.

You took it out of her hands and smiled at it, tilting your head a little. “I expected nothing less from you.”

“So, will you marry me?”

scrawniest-calamity  asked:

Prompt: super close to hooking up but not yet or super new Bechloe together. Drunken Beca (not as drunk Chloe) are in the kitchen and Beca starts singing/rapping "remix to ignition" complete with lewd hand gestures and sloppy body rolls. "I'mma take my key, stick it in your ignition..." "Give me that toot toot, let me get that beep beep!" You know. Also, this results in good things.

It started innocently enough.

If you considered entirely too much peach vodka “innocent” enough. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

if you're still taking prompts, how about something like an alive!Hales AU where Derek is told to "stay away from that trouble-making sheriff's kid-- no really Derek, you need to think about your future" but he's like "he is my future???" so obvs they have to sneak around or something idk

So I had this idea, started writing, and then went to bed, and by the time I woke up two or three other instances of it appeared on my dash! Clearly some Jungian Unconscious business happening in TW fandom. Not exactly what you asked for, but here it is. In the meantime, I’m still taking prompts. (And working on some I’ve received!)

Keep reading

Echo [I pretend I'm alright]

Red Barron AU: the most feared and celebrated pilot of the German air force in World War I. Respected and revered by all - except Emma Swan. In the darkest of times, sometimes the lines between hate and love are blurred. (Nurse!Emma and Pilot!Killian)

Smoke swirls in the air, mixing with the overwhelming aroma of sweat and alcohol so the heady smell invades her nostrils, permeating her skin as she wades through the masses of damp bodies cluttering the stairs and cramped halls. The grainy cacophony of trumpets, trombones and saxophones, provided by the gramophone about to topple off the side-table where it is perched alongside a fringed lamp and several empty glasses, is drowned out by the buzz of chatter and cacophonous laughter.

Following behind Dianna as they attempt to retrace their steps to the exit, Emma has to forcibly remind herself that many of the people crowding the dilapidated building are there to forget the war, that the people who choose to drown themselves in the taste of drink and each other aren’t to be umpired by her. Who is she to judge just because she buries her own pain in other people’s blood and stitches?

Keep reading

Dazzling And Tremendous - part seven -

Two summers ago I wrote Mad Naked Summer  or, the summer of sexual experimentation. An anon asked if I might revisit the story, so I thought I’d try. Picks up around the time that canon leaves off, in NYC in the summertime. 

This is less of a multi-chapter fic and more of a verse, so not really a plot to keep up with, just the boys going through items on a sexy summer bucket list.

Part One / Part Two  / Part Three  / Part Four  / Part Five / Part Six

When they get back to New York there’s a stretch of nearly two weeks that they hardly see each other at all. Kurt takes on extra shifts to cover some of the other waiters’ vacations at the same time that Vogue ramps up its summer internships. Blaine starts summer classes at NYADA, and even though Blaine’s insecurities at lagging behind him tug at Kurt’s mind when he registers for the session, Blaine says that it really had more to do with going stir crazy at home with so much free time.

He did rearrange the furniture several times over, scrapbook their entire summer thus far, and spent three days and two sleepless nights trying to arrange Beyonce’s self-titled album for an a cappella choir like a madman obsessed with beat-boxing.

So fine. Blaine clearly needs an outlet.

Keep reading

the healing art of your naked words

give me your naked un-fleshed words
stroll them on my palms so …

i’ll lick
their wounds
and lick all the stories
of your baptized life …

bend over
that i might
see the dancing demon
wrapped around your neck … you love this

taunting disease
that i trigger …

this anxiety … blazing

trails into your
twisted arteries … where semi-tropical storms glitter

with dark birds
upstairs in
your …

cerebral cortex - full of electrical literature

and
a collection
of many voices - one is a clopping of hooves

like the rhythms
of your breathing … the cadence of your words -

play me your words
on a sleek turntable

give me a medicine show …
the pharmaceuticals of your words

hip-hop
around
and
around …

cleansing the fungus -

oh …
i love
your sad
but healing
words of life … teeming of little old souls

scaling mountains &
taking me along for a ride … somewhere

to hold
hands

and breathe
deeply into each other.