zero one six

there are few places to be that are more dangerous than between me and fresh pizza

Nina wished Colm Fahey could march over to Jan Van Eck’s office and tell him to give Inej back or get a mouth full of knuckles. She wished someone in this city would help them, that they weren’t so alone. She wished Jesper’s father could take them all with him. She’s never been to Novyi Zem, but the longing for those golden fields felt just like homesickness.

Nine. [Hinanami Week 2017 Day One]

Haha suckers, it’s still the ninth on the west coast. So this isn’t even late.

And even if it was, I’m the mod of hinanami week, who the hell’s gonna stop me.

Anyways, I’ve been playing too much Zero Escape, so here’s a DR Zero Escape AU for hinanami week.


Hajime Hinata woke up with his head throbbing. He groaned, and then proceeded to hit his head on the ceiling as he sat up.

After taking a moment to wake up, the first thing Hajime noticed was that he was in a bunkbed.

The second was that he had no idea where he was.

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I got a cat. His name is Cow.



On the lighter note…

Mavis is finally out of the Crystal!



Dipsomania [J Hope]

{{ noun // the physical need or craving for alcohol that goes beyond thirst: an addiction }}

You forgot what intoxication felt like, and so did he.

Angst. Slice of Life AU. 1,646 words.

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Drunkenness is a state you haven’t been in for quite some time.

You can’t remember why you never drink so often because you feel so elated right now, like you’re floating on cloud nine. You’re perched on a barstool, taking shot after shot as the bartender keeps pouring and the guys around you keep paying. Standing up, you’re wobbling on your feet and giggling hysterically at a pick up line that would have made you cringe and turn down the red-faced man in front of you instantly. However, the moment his pudgy hands touches your skin, something inside you flares, and you push him away abruptly. Immediately, you ask for another glass of hard liquor, wanting to drown any memories of that man’s sweaty fingers.

Maybe you should get something fruity next. Is it your fourth drink? Or maybe your seventh? You can’t keep count anymore, but the colors and lights are so pretty, and a brilliant idea comes up in your mind, one that concerns him.

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…How has it taken me nineteen years to figure out that American clothes sizes are different to ours.


chapter four; the rescue

She was at his side in an instant, unbinding the belts, speaking as she went. “Hey, wake up, soldier,” she said, unclipping the first restraint. “Are you Bucky?”

His eyes broke open at that, in surprise. They fixed on her with a bewildered curiosity. It was as though he was looking into the eyes of an angel. He was sure he’d died then, died and gone to whatever heaven was. “Wha…I don’t…uh…” It was more incoherent mumbles, for a reply.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she sighed. Her fingers gripped the buckle and she gave it a hard yank, ripping it clean off. She did that with the subsequent ones until there were no more, talking as she went. “Your friend’s looking for you. You know a Steve Rogers?”

“Steve?” he perked up at the name, eyes following her.

“Yeah, he’s waiting for us. Come on. Up you go.” She gripped his arm and pulled. He didn’t fight her. Just drooped off the side of the table to his feet, still with wide, slightly bewildered eyes. She realized she wouldn’t get anywhere like this, not without explaining herself. Until she did, he might as well be a stack of bricks.

“My name is Sergeant Sara Riley, one-one-seven-zero-six-three-zero-one. I am a member of the US Army and I’m trying to save your life,” she quickly explained. “I know this is weird, but I need you to come with me. Can you move?”

He slowly nodded, standing up a bit more on his own. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Good. Let’s go.” She nodded once, draping his arm around her shoulders and carrying him along with her to the exit, his feet almost dragging behind from his half-lucid state.


Once, when WAP (Women Against Pornography) was leading its tours through the area in the early eighties, I did an informal tabulation of six random commercial porn films in the Forty-second Street area and six random legit movies playing around the corner in the same area during the same week. I counted the number of major female characters portrayed as having a profession in each: the six legit films racked up seven (one had three, one had zero). The six porn films racked up eleven. On the same films I took tabs on how many friendships between women were represented, lesbian or otherwise, in the plot. The six legit films came out with zero; the six porn films came out with nine. Also: how many of each ended up with the women getting what they wanted? Five for the porn. Two or the legit. Was commercial film pornography sexist? Certainly. Was it anywhere near as sexist as the legit films playing across the nation’s screens in the same year? Not unless you simply took sexist and sexy as synonyms.
—  Samuel R. Delany, Times Square Red, Times Square Blue (1999, pp. 79-80)

six things to do in two zero one six.

one: travel. travel often. you don’t need to empty your wallet flying around the world twice a month. just feel the adventure within you, the yearning to break out. let your wanderlust take control and take you to lands you’ve never been before, be it the islands of greece or the one far-away place of your town you’ve never been. breathe the air you’re unfamiliar with, stare at the sights feeling your glare for the very first time. and feel alive.

two: meet people. talk to them. know that there are billions of us on this planet and we may eat different foods and speak different tongues but the air we breathe and the love we feel are the same. our lives are constant rollercoasters, reaching crests and plunging down the falls at breakneck speeds. talk to someone and learn about their course on the rollercoaster. for all you know, you might end up making their day.

three: learn to let go. from that “best friend” who doesn’t speak to you anymore to the ex you still think about wistfully now and then and the university who sent you a rejection letter, move on.  humans have an uncanny knack for torturing themselves for the heck of it. let what has been hurt be healed, if only to be hurt again. do not let the wounds of betrayal or rejection fester upon your skin. pick at them, and they’ll stay forever. leave them be and they turn into scars – and after all, doesn’t every scar have a story to tell?

four: keep hope. there will be days when the inadequacy of your own self punches you in the gut, when the things you’ve done [or the things you haven’t] manifest themselves as voids in your heart. fill the void with love, happiness or food, but don’t succumb to it. we are all so much more than the sum of our parts and our lives are too massive to hinge on one chance decision, one person, one institution or one achievement. learn to forgive yourself before you forgive others.

five: do things. pat dogs on the street. tell strangers how beautiful they look. stay up the entire night watching reruns of your favorite show. go on midnight trips with friends. stop being so quiet in class. go down on a knee and ask a girl if she’d be yours for life. make good on old promises and call your family members you haven’t spoken to for months.  if you don’t live with your parents, call them. they worry.

six: disconnect. drop that phone once in a while, and climb a tree. meet up with an old friend. stand in the sand and feel the waves caress your feet. make love under the stars as the moon lights up your torso.  wake up before the sunrise and listen to the song of the birds as you make your morning coffee. strap a parachute to yourself and feel the wind howl in your ears as gravity makes your stomach lurch. move out of your comfort zone to the point where the comfort zone ceases to exist.

—  anon

Author’s Note: Dear pinch hitters, @eeyore9990 @annoyinglycute and @haihaipanda and @crossroadswrite Happy Valentine’s Day! I really hope you enjoy this fic! 

Please note, that there are some historical inconsistencies within the fic because I needed to grant myself some artistic license in order for this to work. The USS Seawolf is a real submarine (whose commanding officer is on Captain McCall … yes, really!) that was intended to the Cold War but was only deployed years after the war ended in 1997. In the US female sailors were not allowed to be on subs until 2011, but I waived that in favour of the female characters herein.  My knowledge of submarines is very (very) limited, so please do forgive me if I misrepresented anything. The title is after the Robert Duncan song of the same name; it’s very military sounding and makes a dope workout song.

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Fired Up (Feels Good)

[Beacon Hills Naval Port. Beacon County. California. 13:00]

The USS Seawolf is a beautiful thing. It’s three hundred and fifty feet of reinforced steel infused with the highest, most advanced technology that the United States can offer.

Derek stands on top of its sail as the boat navigates smoothly through the thick waters of Beacon Hills harbour. Derek’s team, a small collective of six sailors, tread carefully on the wet surface, making the final checks before the submarine is to be submerged completely.

The wind is brash, cold – splattering Derek’s face with fat rain droplets intermittently. His lips are chapped, his freshly shaved cheeks stinging red from exposure but Derek stands firm, watching as Reyes crosses the surface of the bow in wide strides, the rubber soles of her boots passing evenly over the washes of water on the metal.

Her hair, tied into its once perfect regulation bun, whips and frays around her face and neck in the strong wind. She peers up at him, gloved hands clinging to his as he pulls her up the last few steps of the ladder’s rungs.

“All done?” he says, raising his voice a little to be heard.

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