your getaway

I’m so much happier now that I’m dead. Technically missing. Soon to be presumed dead. Gone. And my lazy lying shitting oblivious husband will go to the black cells for my murder. Rhaegar Targaryen took my pride and my dignity and my hope and my money. He took and took from me until I no longer existed. That’s murder. Let the punishment fit the crime. To fake a convincing murder you have to have discipline. You befriend a local idiot. Harvest the details of her hundrum life and cram her with stories about your husband’s violent temper. Secretly create some money troubles: loans from Essos, perhaps gambling. With the help of the unwitting, bump up your life insurance. Purchase getaway vessel. Flaebottom. Generic. Cheap. Pay cash. You need to package yourself so that people will truly mourn your loss. And Westeros loves pregnant women. As if it’s so hard to spread your legs. You know what’s hard? Faking a pregnancy. First, drain your privy. Invite pregnant idiot into your chambers and ply her with lemonade. Steal pregnant idiot’s urine. Voilà! A pregnany is now part of the maesters’ records. Happy Aniversary. Wait for your clueless husband to start his day. Off he goes… and the clock is ticking. Meticulously stage your crime scene with just enough mistakes to raise the specter of doubt. You need to bleed. A lot. A lot, a lot. The head wound kind of bleed. A crime scene kind of bleed. You need to clean; poorly, like he would. Clean and bleed, bleed and clean. And leave a little something behind: a fire in the Long Summer? And because you’re you, you don’t stop there. You need a diary. Mínimum three hundred entries on the Rhaegar and Elia story. Start with the fairy-tale early days: those are true, and they’re crucial. You want Rhaegar and Elia to be likable. After that, you invent. The spending, the abuse, the fear, the threat of violence. And Rhaegar thought he was the writer… burn it, just the right amount. Make sure the guards will find it. Finally, honor tradition with a very special treasure hunt. And if I get everything right, the world will hate Rhaegar for killing his beautiful, pregnant wife. And after all the outrage, when I’m ready, I’ll go out on the water with a handful of poison and a pocket full of stones. And when they find my body, they’ll know: Rhaegar Targaryen dumped his beloved like garbage, and she floated past all the other abused, unwanted, inconvenient women. Then Rhaegar will die too. Rhaegar and Elia will be gone, but then we never really existed. Rhaegar loved a girl I was pretending to be. “Cool girl”. Men always use that, don’t they? As their defining compliment: “She’s a cool girl”. Cool girl is hot. Cool girl is game. Cool girl is fun. Cool girl never gets angry at her man. She only smiles in a chagrined, loving manner. And then presents her mouth for fucking. She likes what he likes, so evidently he’s a cultured sailor who loves Lyseni courtesans. If he likes local brothels, she’s a sassy kitchen wench who talks for swordplay and endures rabbit stew. When I met Rhaegar Targaryen I knew he wanted “Cool girl”. And for him, I’ll admit: I was willing to try. I wax-stripped my pussy raw. I drank cheap ale watching slapstick jesters. I ate cold pastry and remained a size two. I blew him, semi-regularly. I lived in the moment. I was fucking game. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy some of it. Rhaegar teased out in me things I didn’t know existed. A lightness, a humor, an ease. But I made him smarter. Sharper. I inspired him to rise to my level. I forged the man of my dreams. We were happy pretending to be other people. We were the happiest couple we knew. And what’s the point of being together if you’re not the happiest? But Rhaegar got lazy. He became someone I did not agree to marry. He actually expected me to love him unconditionally. Then he dragged me, penniless, to the Tourney of Harrenhal and found himself a newer, younger, bouncier cool girl. You think I’d let him destroy me and end up happier than ever? No fucking way. He doesn’t get to win. My cute, charming, salt-of-the-earth Dragonstone Prince. He needed to learn. Grown-ups work for things. Grown-ups pay. Grown-ups suffer consequences.

Run | Choi Hansol | Oneshot

Title: Run

Pairing: Choi Hansol x Reader

Prompt: You’ve ‘stolen’ a bunch of your favourite candy but your getaway is compromised when you bump into Choi Hansol.

Genre: Fluff (?)

Words: 833

POV: First Person

Requested: No

Warnings: None


I looked over at the pop up stand in front of my favourite candy store and sighed. The stand was there to help advertise a certain type of sweets that have just started being sold in my area. I was new to the city and when I found out they didn’t sell my favourite piece of candy, I almost died. However luck seemed to be on my side when a week after I moved, their company decided to sell their product country wide.

The only problem I had now was that it was so loved that their store had run out of any to sell, leaving the only supply they had left at the stand which gave out free samples. I had tried to buy their samples but the workers wouldn’t budge. The lady’s voice rang in my head ‘Samples only. You’re going to have to come back next week.’

Keep reading

I’m so much happier now that I’m dead. Technically missing. Soon to be presumed dead. Gone. And my lazy lying shitting oblivious husband will go to prison for my murder. Nick Dunne took my pride and my dignity and my hope and my money. He took and took from me until I no longer existed. That’s murder. Let the punishment fit the crime. To fake a convincing murder you have to have discipline. You befriend a local idiot. Harvest the details of her hundrum life and cram her with stories about your husband’s violent temper. Secretly create some money troubles: credit cards, perhaps online gambling. With the help of the unwitting, bump up your life insurance. Purchase getaway car. Craigslist. Generic. Cheap. Pay cash. You need to package yourself so that people will truly mourn your loss. And America loves pregnant women. As if it’s so hard to spread your legs. You know what’s hard? Faking a pregnancy. First, drain your toilet. Invite pregnant idiot into your home and ply her with lemonade. Steal pregnant idiot’s urine. Voilà! A pregnany is now part of your legal medical record. Happy Aniversary. Wait for your clueless husband to start his day. Off he goes… and the clock is ticking. Meticulously stage your crime scene with just enough mistakes to raise the specter of doubt. You need to bleed. A lot. A lot, a lot. The head wound kind of bleed. A crime scene kind of bleed. You need to clean; poorly, like he would. Clean and bleed, bleed and clean. And leave a Little something behind: a fire in July? And because you’re you, you don’t stop there. You need a diary. Mínimum three hundred entries on the Nick and Amy story. Start with the fairy-tale early days: those are true, and they’re crucial. You want Nick and Amy to be likable. After that, you invent. The spending, the abuse, the fear, the threat of violence. And Nick thought he was the writer… burn it, just the right amount. Make sure the cops will find it. Finally, honor tradition with a very special treasure hunt. And if I get everything right, the world will hate Nick for killing his beautiful, pregnant wife. And after all the outrage, when I’m ready, I’ll go out on the water with a handful of pills and a pocket full of stones. And when they find my body, they’ll know: Nick Dunne dumped his beloved like garbage, and she floated past all the other abused, unwanted, inconvenient women. Then Nick will die too. Nick and Amy will be gone, but then we never really existed. Nick loved a girl I was pretending to be. “Cool girl”. Men always use that, don’t they? As their defining compliment: “She’s a cool girl”. Cool girl is hot. Cool girl is game. Cool girl is fun. Cool girl never gets angry at her man. She only smiles in a chagrined, loving manner. And then presents her mouth for fucking. She likes what he likes, so evidently he’s a vinyl hipster who loves fetish Manga. If he likes girls gone wild, she’s a mall babe who talks for football and endures buffalo wings at Hooters. When I met Nick Dunne I knew he wanted “Cool girl”. And for him, I’ll admit: I was willing to try. I wax-strippe my pussy raw. I drank canned beer watching Adam Sandler movies. I ate cold pizza and remained a size two. I blew him, semi-regularly. I lived in the moment. I was fucking game. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy some of it. Nick teased out in me things I didn’t know existed. A lightness, a humor, an ease. But I made him smarter. Sharper. I inspired him to rise to my level. I forged the man of my dreams. We were happy pretending to be other people. We were the happiest couple we knew. And what’s the point of being together if you’re not the happiest? But Nick got lazy. He became someone I did not agree to marry. He actually expected me to love him unconditionally. Then he dragged me, penniless, to the navel of this great country and found himself a newer, younger, bouncier cool girl. You think I’d let him destroy me and end up happier than ever? No fucking way. He doesn’t get to win. My cute, charming, salt-of-the-earth Missouri guy. He needed to learn. Grown-ups work for things. Grown-ups pay. Grown-ups suffer consequences.

I'm so much happier 😊😊😊 now that I'm dead😵💀. Technically 🤔missing🕵. Soon to be presumed dead😵💀. Gone👋🏻. And my lazy 💤 lying 😈 shitting 💩 oblivious 🙄husband 💑 will go to prison 🚓 for my murder 🔪🔪🔪. Nick Dunne took my pride and my dignity and my hope and my money💰. He took and took from me until I no longer existed. That's murder🔪🔪🔪. Let the punishment fit the crime. To fake a convincing murder 🔪🔪🔪 you have to have discipline💪. You befriend a local idiot💁. Harvest the details 👀📝 of her hundrum life and cram her with stories 📚 about your husband's 💑 violent temper 😡😡😡. Secretly create some money 💰 troubles: credit cards 💳, perhaps online gambling💻♠️♣️♥️♦️. With the help of the unwitting👱🏻, bump up⬆️⬆️ your life insurance💵. Purchase getaway car🚘. Craigslist. Generic. Cheap. Pay cash💵. You need to package 🎁 yourself so that people will truly mourn 😭😭😭 your loss. And America 🇺🇸 loves ♥️ pregnant 👶women 🚺. As if it's so hard to spread your legs. You know what's hard? Faking a pregnancy 👶. First, drain your toilet🚽. Invite pregnant 👶 idiot 💁 into your home 🏠 and ply her with lemonade 🍋🍋🍋. Steal 🤗 pregnant 👶 idiot's 💁 urine 🚽. Voilà! 🎉 A pregnany is now part of your legal medical record 🗃. Happy Aniversary💑🎉. Wait for your clueless ❔ husband 💑 to start his day 📆. Off he goes... 👋🏻 and the clock is ticking ⏱. Meticulously stage 🎭 your crime scene 🕵 with just enough mistakes to raise the specter of doubt 🤔. You need to bleed 💉. A lot💉💉. A lot, a lot💉💉💉💉💉. The head wound 🤕 kind of bleed 💉. A crime scene 🕵 kind of bleed 💉. You need to clean; poorly👎, like he 💑 would. Clean and bleed 💉, bleed 💉 and clean. And leave a Little something behind: a fire 🔥in July📆? And because you're you👸🏼, you don't 🚫 stop there. You need a diary 📒. Minimum three hundred 3️⃣0️⃣0️⃣ entries 📝 on the Nick and Amy 💑 story 💭. Start with the fairy-tale early days: those are true, and they're crucial. You want Nick and Amy to be likable💖. After that, you invent. The spending💸, the abuse👊🏻💥, the fear😱, the threat of violence🔪. And Nick thought he was the writer📝... burn it🔥, just the right amount. Make sure the cops 👮 will find it 🕵. Finally, honor tradition with a very special treasure 💎 hunt. And if I get everything right ➡️, the world 🌎🌍🌏 will hate 😡 Nick for killing 🔪🔪🔪 his beautiful 😇, pregnant 👶 wife 💑. And after all the outrage 😡😡😡, when I'm ready, I'll go out on the water 🌊 with a handful ✋🏻 of pills 💊💊💊 and a pocket full of stones. And when they find my body 💆🏼, they'll know: Nick Dunne 👱🏻 dumped his beloved 💑 like garbage 🚮, and she floated past all the other abused, unwanted, inconvenient women 🚺🚺🚺. Then Nick 👱🏻 will die 😵💀 too. Nick 👱🏻 and Amy 👸🏼 will be gone 👋🏻, but then we never really existed. Nick 👱🏻 loved a girl 🚺 I was pretending to be. "Cool 😎 girl 🚺". Men 🚹 always use that, don't they? As their defining compliment: "She's a cool 😎 girl 🚺". Cool 😎 girl 🚺 is hot 🔥. Cool 😎 girl 🚺 is game 🎲🎮. Cool 😎 girl 🚺 is fun 🎉. Cool 😎 girl 🚺 never 🚫🚫🚫 gets angry 😡 at her man 🚹. She only smiles ☺️ in a chagrined, loving 💕 manner. And then presents her mouth 👄 for fucking 👉👌. She likes 👍 what he likes 👍, so evidently he's a vinyl hipster 👨👓 who loves ❤️ fetish Manga 📚. If he likes girls gone wild 👙, she's a mall 🛍 babe who talks football 🏈 and endures buffalo wings 🍗 at Hooters 🍈🍈. When I met Nick Dunne 👱🏻 I knew he wanted "Cool 😎 girl 🚺". And for him, I'll admit: I was willing to try. I wax🕯-stripped my pussy 😽 raw. I drank canned beer 🍺 watching Adam Sandler 💩 movies 📼. I ate cold ❄️ pizza 🍕 and remained a size 👗 two 2️⃣. I blew him 🍆👄, semi-regularly. I lived in the moment. I was fucking game 🎲🎮. I can't say I didn't enjoy some of it. Nick 👱🏻 teased out in me things I didn't know existed. A lightness ☀️, a humor😂, an ease. But I made him smarter 🤓. Sharper. I inspired him to rise ⬆️ to my level. I forged the man 🚹 of my dreams 💭. We were happy 😊 pretending to be other people. We were the happiest 😊😊😊 couple 👫 we knew. And what's the point of being together if you're not 🚫🚫🚫 the happiest 😊😊😊😊? But Nick 👱🏻 got lazy 💤. He became someone I did not 🚫🚫🚫 agree to marry 👰🏼. He actually expected me to love ❤️ him unconditionally. Then he dragged me, penniless 💵🚫, to the navel of this great country 🇺🇸 and found himself a newer, younger 👧🏼, bouncier cool 😎 girl 🚺. You think I'd let him destroy 👎👎👎 me and end up happier 😊😊😊 than ever? No 🚫🚫🚫🚫fucking way. He doesn't ❌ get to win 🏆. My cute ☺️, charming 😉, salt-of-the-earth Missouri guy. He needed to learn 📝📚. Grown-ups 👱👴 work 💪 for things. Grown-ups 👱👴 pay 💵💵💵. Grown-ups 👱👴 suffer consequences 😖.

anonymous asked:

Any advice on how to write a heist story something like oceans Eleven?

Well, you can start by watching Ocean’s Eleven, and Ocean’s Eleven, and then Leverage, and then Burn Notice, and then The A-Team, and then Mission: Impossible, and then all the other heist stories like The Italian Job or Heat. Watch, read, uncover as many stories about criminals as you can from fiction to nonfiction to reading security analyst blogs. Read the spy memoirs, the thief memoirs, the fake ones and the real ones. Check out magicians, hypnotists, card tricks, and sleight of hand. Watch the making ofs and director’s commentaries looking for clues behind the thought process of these stories. The hows and the whys as you look into the research they did. Burn Notice, for example, is famous for using stunt props and technological rigs that work in real life. Like using cell phones to create cheap bugs on the go.

The worlds of criminal fiction and spy fiction rely on being able to present (or convincingly fake) a world which feels real. A heist is all about exploitation. So, you need a world with security structures to exploit. You’ve got to know how things work before you can craft a way to break them. Social engineering, hacking, and every other criminal skill is about breaking the systems in place. So, you’ve got to get a baseline for how law enforcement and security analysts work. What security systems are set up to look like. The ways we go about discouraging thieves. Better yet how people behave. Real, honest to god human behavior.

So, you know, pick somewhere in order to start your research. Get an idea of what you want write about stealing, then learn everything about the object, the museum, the city, the country, and its customs as you can.

If you’re setting a heist in a futuristic or fantasy setting then luck you, you get to make all of it up.

Learning the plot structure and conventions of the heist genre is the first step. This means watching lots and lots of heist movies, shows, and reading books. Over time, as you become better at critical analysis, you’ll begin to see specific story structures and character archetypes emerge.

The Heist Story is a genre. Like every other genre, it comes with its own structure, cliches, archetypes, plots, and genre conventions which necessitate the narrative. The better grasp you have of those, the better you’ll be at writing a heist.

For example, a heist story like Ocean’s Eleven relies on a collection of thieves rather than a single individual. The character types are as follows:

The Pointman - Your planner, strategist, team leader, and the Jack of All Trades. Can also be called the Mastermind. They’re the one who can take the place of anyone on the team should they fall through. They’re not as good as a specialist, but they’re very flexible. Narratively, he plans the cons and subs in where he’s needed.

The Faceman - Your experienced Grifter, here for all your social engineering needs. These guys talk their way in.

The Infiltrator - Your cat burglar or break-in artist. Basically, the conventional genre thief. Your Parker, Catwoman, Sam Fisher, or Solid Snake. The stealth bastards, they’re all about silent in, out, and playing acrobatic games with the lasers.

The Hacker - The electronics and demolitions specialist. Usually this is the guy in the van overseeing stuff remotely. Your Eye in the Sky. Their skill set can be split up and swapped around as necessary.

The Muscle - The one who is good at fighting. They’re combat focused characters, usually with mercenary and special forces backgrounds. Though, that’s optional.

The Wheelman - The one who handles the getaway. They’re your often overlooked transport specialists. It’s not just that they can drive, they’re skilled at getting lots of people around, figuring out how to move your valuables, and exiting hostile cities or countries undetected. They get the team in and they get them out.

For an example of these archetypes, I’m going to use Leverage. Nathan Ford, The Pointman (technically, he’s written like a Faceman). Sophie Devereaux , The Faceman. Parker, the Infiltrator. Hardison, the Hacker. Eliot, the Muscle. They all take turns being the Wheelman.

Other examples like Burn Notice: Michael Westen, the Pointman. Sam Axe, the Faceman. Fiona, the Muscle. They all take turns with explosives, Michael will invariably take all the roles during the course of the show.

Ocean’s Eleven has multiple variants of these archetypes, all broken down and mixed up.

You can mix and match these qualities into different individuals or break them apart like in Ocean’s Eleven, and more than one character can fill more than one role, but that’s the basic breakdown. For example, your hacker doesn’t need to be a guy in a van overlooking the whole security grid. One guy or girl with a cell phone can sit in the lobby of a building with an unsecured wireless network and crack the security. Welcome to the 21st century. The skills don’t necessarily need to take the specific expected shape.

What you do need is the basic breakdown:  You need someone to plan the con, you need someone to be your face or grifter, you need someone to break in, you need someone to watch the security/electronics, you need muscle to back you up, and someone’s got to cover the getaway.

These shift depending on your plan, but this is the expected lineup for a heist narrative. The first step of a heist narrative is not the plan because we don’t have one yet. We’ve got an idea. Pick your target. Maybe it’s a famous painting. Maybe it’s a casino. Maybe it’s a rare artifact from a private investor’s collection loaned to a museum for a short period of time. Maybe it’s art stolen by the Nazis during WWII. Whatever it is, figure it out.

The next step is simple. If you want the thing, you’ve got to find a way to get it. This is a big job, your standard thief won’t be able to pull it off alone. So, you gotta go recruiting. Get your team together. Make sure to establish the goals of the different members for joining. Who they are. Their pedigree. One might be an old flame or an old enemy. This is where we lay out some character driven subplots.

When everyone’s together, we’ve got to lay out the plan. Before we have a plan though, we need to establish where the object is and the issues in getting it. Why this has never been done before. So, what are the challenges? Invariably, an object worth a great deal of money will have a lot of security protecting it. Figure out what that security is, who the item belongs to, what sort of retribution do the thieves face beyond what they might expect. Lasers, pressure plates, cameras, security, other career criminals, mob bosses, the rich and powerful, whatever.

After that: How do you get it? Then you’ve got to plan the con, while taking everything into account.

Then, We prep the Con. There will be steps to take before the con can be put into place, your characters taking their positions in plain sight. Stealing whatever pieces you need to make it work. Casing the joint. Etc.

Then: Run the Con. This is the part with the actual stealing. Better known as the first attempt. Things go well, there may be a few mistakes, but things are going well and then we…

Encounter Resistance. While running the con, something goes wrong, pieces fall apart, the thieves come close to success but the object gets moved and they suddenly need a new plan. New information may pop up, it may be one of your artists was running a con of their own separate from the rest. If there’s a double cross in the works then this may be when and where it lands.

We’re ready now, so it’s time hit up: Steal the Thing, Round Two. Your characters put their new plan into play and get about thieving the object of their desire.

Lastly: The Get Away. This is the part where your thieves make for the hills with their stolen treasure. This can be short or long depending on the kind of story you’re telling and other double crosses may occur here. It could be the end of the story or the beginning of a new heist.

Heist stories are like mystery novels. They’re all about sleight of hand and misdirection. You’ve got to keep just enough information on the table to keep your audience on the hook, and just enough information off the table to surprise them later on the twist. Yet, when they go back to re-read the novel again, they’ll find the answer was there all along. They just didn’t see it coming.

If anything, learning how to write a well-done heist or a mystery or any kind of novel in this genre will teach you a lot about how to manage your foreshadowing and create superb plot twists. Like any good con, you need to lay out all the conflicting pieces where people can see them, let them draw their own conclusions, withhold the critical context, and then hit them with the whammy.

Like lots of audiences, new writers (and even some old ones) can get distracted by the shock and awe. They see they’re impressed by the conclusion, not the lay-up. If you want to write any kind of fiction, you need to learn to see past the curtain and pay attention to the critical pieces leading into an important moment rather than the moment itself.

Good writing isn’t modular, you can’t just strip out pieces and run with them because you’ll end up missing the crucial, sometimes innocuous pieces that ensured the scene worked. Like the Victorian Hand Touch, every moment between the two leads and most of their scenes with secondary players are working for that singular instance of eventual, gleeful catharsis.

If you’ve got a plot twist coming in your novel, every sentence from the second you start writing is working towards it. You start laying out your pieces, funneling in your tricks, and playing with misdirection. You may have multiple twists, to cover yourself, divert your audience, congratulate them for successfully guessing your ploy, and reassure their initial suspicions before catching them again on the upswing.

The clever writer is as much a con artist as their characters. The only difference is the target of their con is their audience. The tricks in their bag are narrative ones, and they work with the understanding that it doesn’t matter if someone guesses the end so long as they’re entertained by the journey. A great story stays entertaining long after the audience has figured out all the twists.

So, don’t get caught up in Red Herrings and frightened about not being able to outsmart other people. Tell a good story with conviction and heart about a bunch of crooks out to steal their heart’s desire.

That’s all there is to it.

-Michi

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See Yeh Break

Harry X Reader: Smut

In which you become well acquainted with Harry’s thigh.

Request? Yes:

riding harrys leg on a balacony overlooking the aegean on a sunny july day

THIGH RIDING THIGH RIDING THIGH RIDING THIGH RIDING THIGH RIDING THIGH RIDING THIGH RIDING THIGH RIDING THIGH RIDING THIGH RIDING THIGH RIDING THIGH RIDING PLEASE

Author’s note: The beginning turned all mushy? Idk what that’s about (Yes I do. It’s because I’m fucking whipped for mushy Harry.) but if the transition seems sudden, whooops. :)


This vacation is an absolute blessing. A week away from the madness and noise of fans and paps and meetings. From the moment the two of you arrived to your private little getaway on the coast, Harry’s been warm and relaxed, and you couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

Keep reading

I Thought We Already Weren’t (Peter Parker x Reader)

Request: anonymous asked:
Ooh I love angst!! Can you do something where the reader has a huge crush on peter but he likes Liz and he asks her out on date and he asks the reader for help with everything so she basically plans the whole thing for him and he keeps saying things like “wow ur such a good friend” and out of jealousy she asks Flash on a date and they start to go out and Peter says he’s not good enough for her and they get into a huge argument and deicde it’s better if they stop being friends…

Word Count: 2,413 (sorry, got carried away again)

Warnings: Angst

A/N: heyyy more angst! sorry this is quite late, but I finally figured out how I wanted this imagine to go. I did try to shorten it a bit since it is quite long, but I guess this is as short as it’s gonna get 😂 hope you like it, anon! ❤️❤️

Part 2   Part 3




“(Y/N)!” your name carried through the halls above the chatter of the student body. Eyebrows furrowed, you jerked your head out from your locker to see who was beckoning. You spotted Peter’s dark curls bobbing amongst the crowd towards you.

“(Y/N),” Peter gasped. He leant against the locker next to yours, breathing heavily.

You raised your brows in amusement. “Yes?” you asked, curious as to what would motivate Peter to run.

Peter swallowed, “I need your help.”

“With what?” you turned back to your locker to shove your math textbook inside and grab your jacket.

“Ummm… well… it’s about…” he lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper and leaned closer. “It’s about Liz.”

You tilted your head away from him slightly to hide the anguish that quickly flashed on your face. “What about Liz?” you tried to keep your voice steady and calm. A difficult feat, as you felt a pit drag your stomach and your breath catch high in your throat.

“I—I uh—well—I have a date with her,” he stammered

“What?!” you exclaimed, shocked. “Wow, Peter!” You tried to shove out any tone of sadness in your voice. You knew how much courage it must’ve taken this nervous but excited and eager romantic buzzing next to you.

“Yeah,” he breathed.

“Did you just ask her?” you guessed.

“Yeah. Yeah I did,” his ecstatic state quickly turned into a more panicked one. “But I need your help. I have no idea what to do!”

“For the date?”

“Yeah!” Shutting your locker, you swung your jacket over your shoulder and headed for the school doors. Peter bounded after you. “Please, (Y/N)!” he pleaded.

You shoved the doors open, “Why aren’t you asking Liz, though? Isn’t the date with her?” You worried that that might’ve been a bit forward in revealing your subtle bitterness.

“Well, yeah but I—I wanted to surprise her. And I can’t ask Ned ‘cause I don’t wanna mess this up, I mean no offense to him, but you know—(Y/N), you’re my only other friend who can help me!” Your stomach twisted at that word. Friend.

“When is it?”

“Friday.”

You sighed, conflicted yet sympathetic. Here he was, the best friend you had slowly but undoubtedly fallen for, asking for your help with someone else. Of course you were jealous. Of course you were dejected and feeling a bit betrayed. But of course you were going to help him. Because, dammit, you were proud and happy for him, too.

After two years of daydreaming, confiding, and awkwardly trying, he had finally gotten courage and motivation to do something about it. You saw how he lit up when she merely looked his way, how he melted whenever she said something nice to him, how jittery and nervous he got whenever he was within a ten food radius of her. You weren’t about to take that away from him just because of your unrequited feelings; because before he was ever your crush, he was your best friend.

“Okay,” you replied. Hope and relief immediately washed out all desperation on Peter’s face. You couldn’t help but smile a bittersweet smile.  

“Really?!” he grinned.

“Yeah, yeah, of course!” you cheerfully affirmed. “Just, uh, come over later tonight so we can think of some ideas.”

“Thank you! Really, (Y/N), thank you so much!” Peter squeezed you in a tight hug that you half heartedly returned. He suddenly pulled away and reached for his phone. You already knew what it most likely meant, so you started past him.

“I’ll see you around seven?” you called back. Peter was already running the opposite direction.

“Uh yeah! Seven’s good!”


Groaning, you got up from your chair and stretched your arms above your head. How could simple chemistry equations somehow make your entire body ache?

You were about to plop back into your chair when a tapping came from your window. Glancing at the clock that read ten minutes past eight, you trudged over, unlocked it, and slid it up.

“Sorry I’m late; some nut job decided tonight was a good night to rob a jewelry shop.”

“Hm,” you nodded as you headed to your desk. Peter stumbled through the window, leaving it open for a quick getaway.

“Your folks home?”

“Nah,” you shrugged. “Both have meetings.”

Peter slipped his backpack off and slumped onto your bed. “So,” he rested his elbows on his knees, “Any ideas?”

You swiveled your chair around. “Not really,” you confessed. “Nothing’s really come to mind.”

Peter hung his head down, groaning, “What am I gonna do?”

“So… okay then. What do you want to do?” you inquired.

“I dunno! I was thinking maybe just dinner and a movie? Chill, not to much fancy expensive stuff…”

“No, no don’t do that. That’s typical, not surprising at all.”

“Ugh,” he muttered. “Has she ever said anything about like what her ideal date would be?”

“Don’t think so…” you racked your brain. You didn’t know Liz too well. Sure you’d shared some classes with her these past two years and had gotten to know her well enough. But you weren’t the best friend she’d confide to about relationships and dating. You also weren’t going to give up your ideal date for Peter to create for someone else.

You both sat in silence, thinking. There was a slight tension in the room that you both could sense, but it was hardly enough to make the setting awkward. You’d also never let it get to that point either.

“I know she likes picnics…” you offered. “Maybe you could get takeout from her favorite place and take her on a picnic somewhere?”

“Oh yeah…” Peter sat up. “That sounds cool!”

“And it’s not super expensive.”

“But do it kind of late-ish,” you added. “And maybe on the roof of a high building. So it’ll be darker and better for star gazing. Liz loves stars.”

“Yeah… yeah, yeah! That’s great; that’s awesome! Oh, okay okay! I got it,” Peter leapt up from your bed and raced over to embrace you once again. “Thank you, so much, (Y/N)! Thanks for being such a great friend and—and helping me and WOOH!” he whooped as he skipped to grab his bag. “I’m gonna go scope out some places…”

As he squeezed through the window you chuckled, “Okay…” That nagging feeling began to creep up on you, and you put your head in your hands. You knew the petty thoughts would begin to fill your mind soon.

You knew you shouldn’t feel jealous. You knew there was nothing you could do to change his mind. But you couldn’t stop it. You were mad at yourself for believing you could ever compete with a girl like Liz Allen. You hated having these feelings of envy and betrayal, because you knew they were futile. It was pointless; this was only going to make you feel even worse.

Okay, you told yourself. Calm down, stop thinking like that. Just be happy that he finally got his chance with Liz. Repeating this over and over didn’t help. Okay… Maybe the date will go bad— NO! No, God, why even think like that?! Okay, maybe the date will be okay but Peter will figure out he doesn’t really like her? Ugh why am I LIKE this?! You felt completely horrible when you realized you actually found solace in that last thought. Deciding you needed to just distract yourself before you could torment yourself any further, you turned back to your notebook with a sigh.


Four weeks and five dates later, wherever you saw Peter, there was Liz. Your one solace, your one hope had fallen through. Peter had begun to hang with you and Ned less and less as the weeks went by. His spontaneous midnight visits had stopped altogether, and sometimes wouldn’t even answer your texts for a good few days.

Distractions were helping less and less as well. No matter how many songs you blasted in your ear, or how many fanfics you poured over each night, or late night calls with Ned about any movie you two could find; the envy kept gnawing away at you. But poor sweet Ned. You finally broke and confided to him; keeping it in was just too much. And try as he might to help you try to get over it and keep you distracted and happy, you both knew nothing was enough.

It also didn’t help that Liz would often come to Peter when he was at his locker. Right next to yours. Even though they tried to keep their voices down to small murmurs, you could hear every sickening and sappy word pouring from their mouths.

“God, I think I love you.”

You froze, gripping the textbook as if it were your composure. That phrase had managed to slip through all the ambient noise and ruckus echoing through the hallway and reach your ears. How many times had you wished to hear those words from him, only for them to be meant for someone else?

Well you certainly didn’t hear much after that. You didn’t hear Liz’s reply, or Ned’s greeting, or your locker slam. The only thing that your ears registered was your booming heartbeat. You felt your whole body heat up, searing with anger and jealousy. You wandered away from your locker, away from them. Meandering through the crowd of students, you couldn’t think of where to go or what to do.

An obnoxious voice broke through the pulsing in your ear.

“Hurry up, move it, (Y/N)!” Flash complained as he breezed past you. “What’re you waiting for? Your imaginary boyfriend to become real?” he jeered.

A sudden drive and confidence took over you, fueled by the anger and jealousy coursing through your veins. You knew what you wanted. You wanted to make Peter hurt. Hurt like you were. And you knew just how to do it.

“Well that’s up to you, Flash!” you called. Flash whipped around, confused. It morphed into amused as you jogged over to him.

“What do you mean?” he crossed his arms.

“Pick me up, my place, Friday at seven,” you challenged. Flash’s face dropped into bewilderment. “Wear something nice,” you added, brushing past. “I expect to be wowed.” As you pushed open the school doors, smirking, you could perfectly hear the shock that rippled through the silence of the hallway. This was certainly one way to get over it.


*tap tap tap*

You startled up from your chair, not sure if you had really heard it. You went over to your window and opened the blinds revealing the red and blue figure. Sliding it open, you leaned out on your elbows, blocking him from coming in but opening yourself to conversation.

“Hey,” Peter breathed.

“Hey.”

He shuffled anxiously, tugging at the mask in his hands, “Can I talk to you?”

You shrugged, “I’m listening.”

“Why—” Peter took a deep breath. “Why’d you ask out Flash?” he timidly asked.

You stiffened. “Because.” Guilt started to take the place of resentment in your gut, but you shoved it away. You could tell he was concerned about you doing something so out of character and ridiculous on all accounts. However you refused to sway from your choice. You weren’t going to to back to sitting around moping about how he was with Liz.

“Because why?” he demanded.

“Because I can and I did.”

“But when were you interested in Flash?”

“When was it your business?”

“Since you’re my friend!”

You scoffed, hurt. “Am I?”

Peter squinted at you, “Y-Yeah. Wh—Why do you have to ask?”

“‘Cause it doesn’t feel like I’ve been!” you cried. The rest of your anger was spilling out, but with a different tone this time. This wasn’t a revenge thing or a spur of the moment vent-all-your-feelings session. This was everything that was buried deep, everything that wasn’t revealed to Ned, everything that really hurt.

“You’ve constantly ditched on stuff ‘cause you’d rather go to something else with Liz! You’ve left me and Ned hanging countless times. If it was because of Spiderman stuff, then I’d be more understanding, but it isn’t. You’ve just replaced your true friends with the girl you’ve been oogling for years!” your voice rose several octaves. “You never reply when we text, and you never answer when I need you or even when Ned does! So no, Peter, it doesn’t feel like I’m your friend anymore.”

Neither of you moved, too stunned by the words floating in the thick tension between you.

“So this is a jealousy thing.”

“What?!” you screeched. “That literally has nothing to do with what I just said—”

“No! No no no, it does!” Peter retorted. “You’re jealous because I’m spending more time with her, I get it—”

“No. You don’t.”

“No, I do! Look, I’m sorry if I’m not spending every waking moment with you guys like I used to, but it doesn’t mean we’re not friends anymore.”

“NO!” you cried. “No, Peter! It’s not because we’re not hanging out as much, it’s because we’re not hanging out at all. You’re always so distant with us now and you ignore us and—”

“I don’t ignore you guys!”

“Uh, yeah you do—”

“If I did, then I wouldn’t know that you asked Flash out, and I wouldn’t be here asking why the hell you’d ever do that!”

“Again, what the hell does it matter to you?!”

“He’s a douche!” Peter flailed his arms. “He’s an arrogant, spoiled asshole who’s so insecure that he goes around teasing people. He even teases you, (Y/N)! And you asked him out?!” He howled. Peter took a step towards your window, and you withdrew a little. “He doesn’t deserve you, (Y/N), and you don’t deserve to put up with that piece of shit—”

“You know what?” you glared at Peter, seething, blood boiling for the second time that day. “Yeah, you’re right: he’s a piece of shit who only cares about himself. But I bet he’s still gonna be a better shitty friend than you’ve been this entire month.”

Peter took a step back, appalled at what he was hearing. He pursed his lips and dropped his eyes to the ground. “Maybe we just shouldn’t be friends anymore,” he whispered.

You reached up for your window and numbly slid it shut. Knowing he could still hear you, you muttered as you closed your blinds, “I thought we already weren’t.”

5

Weekend Hashtag Project: #WHPgetaway

Weekend Hashtag Project is a series featuring designated themes and hashtags chosen by Instagram’s Community Team. For a chance to be featured on the Instagram blog, follow @instagram and look for a post every week announcing the latest project.

This weekend, the goal is to take photos and videos showing how you escape from the hustle and bustle of daily life. Here are a few tips to get you started:

  • If you live in the country, do you head to an urban center? If you live in the city, do you escape to the mountains or the desert? Capture your favorite place outside of your everyday environment.
  • Taking time for yourself doesn’t always require travel. Whether you’re grabbing coffee during the workday or relaxing in your backyard, these short retreats can pack almost as much punch as longer ones.
  • Get creative with your camera. Capture your getaway through a video, Boomerang, Hyperlapse or Rewind to add a new layer of meaning and context.

PROJECT RULES: Please add the #WHPgetaway hashtag only to photos and videos taken over this weekend and only submit your own visuals to the project. If you include music in your video submissions, please only use music to which you own the rights. Any tagged photo or video taken over the weekend is eligible to be featured next week.

Oh.

That awkward moment when you realize Redwall Abbey is the richest place in the entire Redwallverse.

Things The Abbey Has That Blow Vermins’ Minds:

  • Stained glass windows. Windows that aren’t just a hole in your wall.
  • Fruit trees. All in one place. With several varieties available.
  • Really big well-built stone walls.
  • Fireplaces constructed so the room doesn’t fill with smoke.
  • Actual beds. No seriously. Think about it.
  • A hand-woven tapestry that decorates an entire wall.
  • Multiple ovens.
  • A fish pond. And it’s not just for decoration. But it kind of is.
  • A deep cellar that keeps drinks cool. (That’s like the future.)
  • Stone floors, not dirt floors.
  • An apiary. Just… just go in your backyard and grab some honey. Do it.
  • Wall sconces.
  • Random assorted objects made of metal and not wood. Whoa.
  • Books. Parchment. Quill pens. Ink. More than one of these items each.
  • A well-stocked food and beverage collection.
  • Abbess Germaine’s spectacles. Like, glasses.
  • Legitimate stonework. Decorative gargoyles, statues, etc.
  • Martin’s sword.
  • Furniture. Chairs that are at least mildly comfortable. Cabinets.
  • Two ridiculously huge, shiny metal bells.
  • Soap.
Company (m) - 01

➢ parts: one - two

∟for two members of a world where broken promises are mended with spilt blood and contracts of a persons fate are sealed over a drink, from time to time it’s more than alright to mix business and pleasure.

or, sometimes all you want is a bit of company. 

mafia/hitman au
smut, violence, romance
・chapter warnings/graphic content: thigh riding, mentions of violence
word count: 4,421

Originally posted by jackjacky5


You decide it is very difficult to focus when he runs a finger along the rim of his glass, eyes peering down at the amber liquid with deep interest and you wonder what he is thinking. What thoughts are occupying his mind as you sit across from him in the leather chair, legs crossed, the material of your dress riding up as you lean forward to grab hold of your own glass of rum.

The room you had decided to meet in is large, well-furnished and reeks of money he has no doubt acquired from many years on the job. You allow your gaze to roam over the aged, oak cabinets filled to the brim with antiques and glass figurines, the expensive leather seats you both occupy and the countless other objects which just goes to show he has acquired quite the large sum of money as a leader of a notorious company, employees of which are hired out to do jobs that usually end in body counts.

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kiss me

pairing: justin foley / reader

description: first kiss with this absolute cutie


Justin Foley. The simple thought of him got your heart racing.

What had started off as fleeting looks and shy smiles escalated to flirtatious whispers and soft touches. Even though it was evident to the both of you that there was something going on, neither of you had taken the initiative and acted upon it. You thought all of your flirting with Justin was leading you to a dead end, until one fateful friday night he came knocking at your door.

Dressed in too-long pajama pants and an over-sized hoodie, you were quite disgruntled at having to open the door when you had finally settled down to binge watch your favorite shows. But nothing could compare to the surprise of having Justin Foley standing on your doorstep holding up a small bouquet of ripped out daisies and looking entirely too cute in his usual letterman jacket. 

“Lets go on an adventure.”

You giggled, shaking your head at how much of an adventure you could possibly have in your small town. “Justin look at me, the only place i’m going is back to my bed.”

“I am looking at you and you look beautiful.” Your cheeks heated up at his sentiment and you began to sputter in denial. “Also, completely ready to go somewhere with me.”

You sighed in surrender, feigning disinterest in his offer when you were actually filled with such excitement to even be around him- much less go somewhere. “Ok fine, you win. Where are you taking me?” 

A mischievous boyish smile takes over his face as he points up. Perplexed, you look up and are just met with the starry expanse of the night sky. “The sky?”

He rolls his eyes at your answer and pulls you by the hand to where he was standing. “No Y/N, the roof!” 

You cross your arms and turn to face him, meeting his beautiful cerulean blue eyes with a cock of your brow. “Oh? How do you suggest we get there?” 

He offers you a sheepish shrug of his shoulders, “I was hoping you’d take care of that.”

You can’t help but laugh at how your spontaneous getaway finished before it even started. “I’m sorry, but my wall climbing spiderman abilities haven’t kicked in yet.” 

He chuckles at that and you notice how he inches closer to you until you can feel his breath on your face. “I’m sorry about my plan falling through. I had a whole roof top, star-gazing vision in my head ready for us.”

Distracted by his close proximity and entrancing eyes, you mutter a small “dont worry about it” before going back to flickering your eyes between the slant of his lips and his deep stare. You swallow thickly as the atmosphere between you seemingly changes, the once playful vibe replaced by a more intentful one. 

You wanted to kiss him so bad, weeks of back-and-forth teasing finally catching up to you. He wanted to kiss you too, the way he swiped his tongue over his lips while staring at yours gave him away. You were so close to his mouth, you could already taste him. 

With one final glance at his rose colored lips, you reach your hands up to his jacket collar and bring him down to end the final space between the two of you. He immediately responds, wrapping his arms around your waist in order to bring you closer. You relent under the delightful sensation of his tongue, letting out a sigh of content against the groove of his lips. You were completely entranced by the feeling of his mouth moving against your own, that the concept of oxygen is thrown out the window. He softly moans into you as you lightly nibble on the flesh of his bottom lip. You simply cannot get enough of his intoxicating kisses, each kiss turning more desperate than the last. 

He finally pulls away, catching his breath, his cheeks a bright flushed pink and his eyes glazed over. He’s never looked more gorgeous. 

“As much as I love making out with you on your doorstep-” He didn’t have to say anything more, you were already pulling him inside. 


dedicated to the lovely anon who requested this, hope it was what you wanted!

You’re the part of outer space. No one understands. Yet, everyone is trying to explore There wasn’t a beginning, Or end, to you. Stars poured out of your soul. Supplying a little twinkle to all who pass. Every planet you obtain, Are homes you’ve retained Most forsaken They’re your getaways. There’s a light comparable to our sun, Without out a doubt you shine exceedingly. It keeps them steady When you feel like blowing up. It’s easy for you to just be, But complicated when people make a home in you. You don’t want them to explore your beauties. Your nebulas could only be compared to Orion, Carina, and triffid, The constellations that were beautifully brought into existence, better than Canis Major, Ursa Major, and Hercules., All of the galaxies formed inside of you. For only a few to ever see. Hiding these parts. So no one can hurt you.
—  kingvanleer 
The Friendly Wager (Part 4)

Summary: AU. Reader and Bucky Barnes are neighbors and best friends. After yet another bad date, reader comes home to find Bucky with his typical weekend target. They decide to make a wager about dating, but is there more on the line than reader cares to admit?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,578

Warnings: language, fluff, sarcasm, unrealized romantic tension, drinking

A/N: This is my submission for the lovely Kait’s ( @bionic-buckyb) 5k AU Challenge. Congrats on the followers, friend! My prompt was “Can you please come over so I don’t feel so alone?

I’m really behind on posting my parts for this challenge, I’ve got a long weekend, I wanna move this along because I’m dumb and entered another challenge, and I don’t wanna be a PIA for Kait, so I’m posting more frequently. Tags are closed.

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

Originally posted by dailyevanstan

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Drive me where we can getaway
Escape to a beach to hide away
Under the umbrella out of reach
From the rays of that sunny peach

Drive me to a camping ground
Where the river washes out sound
Build a fire so we can melt away
Stress of others calling night and day

Drive me under glittering stars
Far from the city filled with cars
We’ll sneak into a cemetery
Walk around feeling alive and free

Drive me where you tell me no lies
As you gaze into my big brown eyes
I wait for truth to spill from your voice
It’s the only hope your eyes see me rejoice

Dream On

This is my submission for @caplanbuckybarnes     ‘s challenge.  My song was “Dream On” by Aerosmith.  I combined it with an anon prompt.

Request:     Are you accepting requests right now? If so could I have some rough, hate, fight, dub con/non con smut with maybe Bucky or Steve or both? Ps your writing is so good, keep doing it please

Warnings:  NSFW, Violent, dub-con/non-con (more dub-con), smut, dom/sub

Length: 3900K

Tags: @divadinag @ariwolff14 @mrssgtjamesbuckybarnes @marauderice @el-bucky @kellyn1604 @negan–is–god @theariel85 

               The music continues to blare over your headphones as you enter your apartment.  You walk through your tiny kitchen to the equally small bathroom in the back.  As you flip on the light you finally pull out the buds.  Maybe you ran ten miles? Maybe twenty?  You stopped keeping track.  You notice how red your face is from the workout and turn on the water, splashing some on your face.  

               It’s getting easier to look yourself in the mirror. You might not look like a new person, but you feel like one.  You still hold out hope that the past can stay in the past. You actually let yourself smile a little as you blot the water and sweat from your face.  

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— american candy (01)

pairing: reader x jeon jungkook
themes: smut / high school! au 
word count: 4.3k
summary: what’s a teenage house party without a few fun and games? you’re trapped in a bedroom with soccer star, jeon jungkook, for a whole thirty uninterrupted minutes — but apparently it only takes eleven for the two of you to get better acquainted.
( a/n: i’m still on the fence about making this a series, so if you guys want me to keep the kook smut train running - speak or forever hold your peace !! EDIT: this will be a series ! )

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