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phan - craigslistIt was a regular Saturday evening, and what was Dan doing? He was browsing Craigslist. It was all he had, really. His life was a shitty punk rock parade that he hit far off. He was a hermit, shut up.
He wasn't looking to sleep with anyone. He was looking for a friend, to do something with. Even though they'd end up being a fifty-yeat-old Estonian pedophile, it was still worth a shot, just in case he got the exception to the rule. 'Live adventurously,' his mom had always said, right?
He'd gone through the 'Platonic' m4m section ages ago, but he clicked to the tab anyways, just in case something actually interestinghad popped up.
That's when he saw it.
Seduce me with your wit, entertain me with your tales. - m4m - 19
Sunday nights are inherently boring.
Anyone fancy a chat? Open to anything from discussing Descartes Meditations to abstract art to the kinkiest thing you've ever done.
Surprise me, I dare you.
I'll be waiting.
Dan's fingers almost fucking itched.<
Phan: The Hunger Games - Part 18Title: Phan: The Hunger Games
Rating: Suitable for all ages :3
Warnings: CONTAINS SOME SPOILERS FOR THE FIRST BOOK IN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY.
Author's Note: This fic is inspired by The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. Nearly finished this fic now ^____^ only like... 1 more part and an epilogue to do!
The creatures soon came into view and they slowly began to approach Chris, snarling as they walked along the forrest floor. "Don't watch." he said to Ellie, hanging his head, "I don't want you to see this."
"Chris, you can't die!" she shook her head, "You can't!"
"Listen to me, Ellie." He raised his head again to look at her, "You have to win. For me? Please? You have to."
"I can't, Chris." She shook her head and managed a half smile, her face still wet with tears, "You know I can't."
He looked down again, "I love you."
"I love you too. So, so much."
"Don't watch." He said again and Ellie turned aro
The Carer [Part 7]Everyone’s cured, Heddy and Dodie found a place so they’re not here, the only odd thing is that it’s half term so Marina’s here too. Oh, and I now have Phil to keep me company, to keep me sane. Phil is amazing, no seriously he is like an angel. He’s over most days; going out for walks with us, helping me to cook meals, giving me someone to talk to, and being like another brother. I didn’t realise I was struggling before Phil started helping me, but now I’m actually sleeping for more than 5 hours a day because I can have naps if I’ve been up during the night because Phil’s there to look after the others. With an extra pair of hands the usual nightmare of the holidays is completely erased, making them pleasurable.
We’re watching telly now, me and him. It’s cold so we’re cuddling up together, in a platonic way, nothing more (unfortunately). His chest is comfy to rest my head on, and he plays with my curly hobbit hair.
Breadline (Phan/Kickthestickz/Jean Hobbs) [Part 1]Some people live on the breadline, poverty, whatever you want to call it. Dan and Phil are just 2 of those people. Phil’s meagre wage struggling to keep the two afloat, him working all hours just to try and make ends meet. Hard life for the two lovers.
Let’s take a look inside the flat. 2 rooms: living room/kitchen/bedroom and bathroom. Little more than a bedsit really, barely larger of most people’s sitting room for the floor space of the entire flat. No cooker, just a hob and a dodgy microwave scrounged from the tip. It’s temperamental, but it does the job most of the time. No table, just a couple of fold up ikea chairs in the middle of the room. A mattress, single-sized and shared between the pair, is propped up against the far wall. A few plants decorate the windowsill, stolen from parks, and the place is painted a pleasant cream, though it is peeling at the corners. The lovers try to make sure the place isn’t a tip, but it’s hard when they only
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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