bleed like there was no other flood

Butterfly || Park Jimin

Originally posted by hohbi

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre: Angst

TRIGGER WARNING: The below content deals with mature themes such as death so if you are sensitive to the topic please do not read.

Background Information

CCHD - Critical Congenital Heart Disease

CCHD affects babies when they are born. The heart disease can cause lack of weight, obesity, lack of blood flowing through the system, and lack of oxygen to the lungs. 1 in 100 babies in the US alone are diagnosed every year, and if not treated immediately the baby has between days and months to live.

Nine months ago, if you had told Jimin that you were pregnant, he wouldn’t have believed you. He would never have thought something as amazing as this would happen to someone like him. There was no one he could have expected it to last, and for it to work out for him.

Both of you were shocked nine months ago when the doctors had told you that it had worked. The both of you had been trying for so long and it felt like an achievement passed when those words left the doctors mouth.

Now here you were, nine months later, waiting for the due date to arrive. You had a week before the baby was due, so the two of you had taken the time to start preparing for the arrival of the new member.

It started with a small pain in your stomach. You weren’t sure what it was at first. It wasn’t like the usual pregnancy cramps and it slightly worried you. It wasn’t until you went to the bathroom and saw the blood running down the inside of your thighs that you got worried.

The first thing you did was call Jimin. It took him a few seconds before his voice was flooding through the line, making you realize just how real this was.

“Y/N? What’s the matter?” You never called Jimin while he was at work, unless it was an emergency. Hearing your breathing come over the line was an instant clue that something was wrong.

“Jimin, there’s blood. There’s a lot of blood. The baby–” You couldn’t finish your sentence as the first bout of sobs broke through your lips. The pain was starting to increase and it was beginning to make your legs ache.

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Title: Incandescent | Chapter One

Rated: T (language/violence)

Summary: There are monsters in the word. Demons that crawl from the blackest pits and breach the Earth, murdering and feasting on the bones of humans. Lucy has spent her entire life training to fight the skeletons in her closet. Natsu has spent his life running from them. Unfortunate circumstances find the pair of them at Saint Katherine’s Academy, a school of black magic and demons. (Monster Hunter!AU)

Word Count: 3072 |

The air smells of musk and sweat and beneath that something sharper—something metallic that rests heavy in the room, coating her tongue and leaving a bitter taste in its wake. Lucy grimaces as the smell hits her, nearly recoiling at how pungent it is. She catches herself quickly, steeling her features and continuing into the crowded room, unimpressed with the flickering lights and water-stained ceiling of the abandoned warehouse. She steps in a puddle of what she hopes is water, eyeing the liquid with distaste before shaking off her boot.

She glances towards the group crowding the middle of the room, forming a large ring around a pair of fighters in the center, cheering and screaming as the men beat each other. According to the large screen overhead, one is called Bora of Prominence, and Lucy recognizes the tattoo above his eye from the flier she was given previously this week. The other fighter is simply called Jackal, and Lucy doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forget the smile on his face as he draws blood.

Jackal lands a heavy blow across Bora’s face, sending the man crashing to the floor. The crowd swallows him from sight and Jackal throws his head back and laughs, the sound drowned by the heavy beat of music flooding through the overhead speakers. There’s something in Jackal’s eyes that she doesn’t like, amusement or maybe mirth, some twisted joy at seeing some bleed and hearing bones break.

Sneering, Lucy turns away, instead heading for the staircase off to the right, leading up the balcony overlooking the fights on three sides of the room, the front wall left bare. The music will be louder, she thinks, enough to give her a headache for days, but the view will be better. She’s in no mood to fight through a screaming crowd just to watch a couple of men fight like dogs. If she wanted to watch people kill each other, she would have gone with Laxus to speak with Hades. No matter. Lucy didn’t come here to listen to the fighters and the crowds scream. She came to recruit.

There have been whispers lately, rumors, and she intends to find out just how true they are.

Her foot touches down on iron, and the entire set of stairs quivers violently, trembling beneath her slight weight. She scoffs, glancing down at the rust beneath her dark boots and wondering if a fall from the top would kill her or merely leave her broken. Perhaps, a bit of both. Shaking the thought away, Lucy takes another step, one hand on the railing beside her. The metal is cool against her fingers, left uncovered by her ratty gloves stretched over her palms.

It’s not the building she needs to watch out for at this point, it’s the people—the monsters. A tall man built like a wall passes by her, heading for the ground floor, and Lucy thinks he might be one of the night’s fighters, a man named Ezel that she saw briefly on the roster. His gaze rests heavy on her form, as she walks by, and Lucy clenches her jaw until she feels his eyes leave her frame. Her gun weighs heavy against her hip, a constant reminder of what lurks in the shadows, watching—hunting. Men. Animals. Monsters.

With her luck, all three.

Halfway up the stairs, Lucy freezes, her steps faltering as her grip tightens on the railing, her knuckles turning a stark white as her muscles tense. Pausing, Lucy breathes in heavily through her nose, searching for the phantom scent that seems to have disappeared as quickly as it came. She finds it again a moment later, the smell suffocating her, slithering down her throat and curling through her lungs, thick and dark and bitter. Sulfur floods her senses, choking her and resting thick on her tongue.

Lucy’s lips pull back over her teeth and she snarls, casting a quick glance around the room for anything suspicious. Nothing. Her fingers itch to grab her gun, but the smell is faint, days old, so she forces herself to relax, knowing better than to work herself up over nothing. Besides, it’s not a demon she’s looking for.

It’s a Dragon.

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♈ ARIES // A fiery inferno. An organ set ablaze. Unimaginably hot and wildly untamable, fervently consuming all it is fed; the good and the bad. It radiates a heat that can thaw cold cheeks and frost from shivering lips – or engulf you, swallow you whole and leave you as nothing more than smoldering ash. This heart needs generous kindling and constant stoking. Never to be smothered or snuffed out. It beats in booming thunder, and bleeds in plumes of smoke.

♉ TAURUS // A whittled heart of knotty pine, with intricate floral patterns etched deep into its wooden surface. A lacquered finish makes it sleek and glossy. A natural beauty. Carved and hollowed out, so that it can collect all the beautiful trinkets it finds, and lock them away. This heart needs an antiqued key, and reliable eyes that can cherish each and every lovely treasure they’ve buried so deeply in their chest. It beats in gentle echoes, and bleeds in sweet, sticky resin.

♊ GEMINI // A gilded, golden cage, with ornate engravings on every spindly, metallic bar. Glinting and gleaming in playful light; it dazzles and draws many admirers near. However, if they step too close, or extend their fingertips to touch – the hundreds of tiny, frightened finches inside release shrill and frantic chirps from silver beaks. A flurry of ruffled, rosy plumage. This heart needs a patient hand to release the latch. To let the feathers fly, and simply listen as the birds sing. It beats in the flutter of wings, and bleeds in pastel sunrise.

♋ CANCER // Tessellated sea glass and elegant vintage lace; smooth and embellished with pearls that glow soft and argent like the moon. It contains the entire ocean, with all it’s depth and warmth and comfort. Churning, swirling, salty waves flood the arteries and fill it will the soulful beauty of the seas. A home for many – a drowning place for some. Love flows uncontrollably, unconditionally. This heart needs lungs that can breathe underwater. Hands both strong enough to carry it, and so gentle it won’t shatter. It beats in the ebbing of the tides, and bleeds in soothing moonbeams.

♌ LEO // Lustrous sunlight encased in crushed red velvet. Luxurious and sparkling. Bold and rich. It transfixes others adoration and desire with the scintillating light that leak from its seams. It brightens and blinds all those who gaze upon it. Illuminating only the pleasant things, and melting the affection it is fed. This heart needs amorous eyes that have never beheld such a wonder, and will never forgets it’s beauty. It beats in boisterous trumpets, and bleeds in liquid gold.

♍ VIRGO // Precision cut and polished clockwork. Burnished brass and copper coils. Silver springs and cogs and gears that mesh and mash in a complex, synchronized rhythm unlike any other. When well-oiled, love ticks and tocks effortlessly; consistent and hypnotic. It winds and unwinds as it chooses. This heart needs feet that can get lost in a waltz, but still keep time. It beats like a syncopated metronome, and bleeds in bubbling amber.

♎ LIBRA // A twinkling, paper lantern; thin as the wings of a butterfly, and just as weightless. It emits a faint glow from the romantic light flickering inside, yet drifts listlessly through the chest cavity – as though no love can pin it down. It can be folded and creased to look like all that intimacy should be – but isn’t. This heart needs real romance. To be held with grace and loving balance. It beats in charming laughter, and bleeds in floral perfume.

♏ SCORPIO // A twisted labyrinth of thorny vines and ruby flowers. Dark and intimidating, but oh-so alive and growing. Roots constrict and thorns prick to fend off deceitful lovers. But if they’re willing to bleed – each rose that blooms will do so just for them. An endlessly beautiful garden; secluded and full of the richest reds and luscious greens. This heart needs love that is true and unafraid of hurt; that will not let the petals shrivel or wither. It beats in whispered “I love you”’s, and bleed in twilight skies.

♐ SAGITTARIUS // A gluey patchwork of auburn leaves and borrowed things. Stitched together from pieces of foreign hearts to form a hot air balloon-like contraption. Tethered only by heart strings, and fueled by an single spark. Always eager to take flight, to feel new heights, and caress the clouds. This heart needs a skyscape that never ends. A spirit with no map. It beats in whistling fire crackers, and bleeds in afternoon sunshine.

♑ CAPRICORN // An impenetrable exterior of compressed coal; smoky black and unattainable. However, if one stays and chisels for years, they’ll discover this hardened stone is a literal diamond in the rough. A glittering, jewel encrusted cavern. Its walls and arteries lined with vast riches; emeralds and rubies and sapphires. Resplendent and full of love. This heart needs one worthy of holding such a valuable chasm. It beats in refined symphonies, and bleeds in the boldest red wine.

♒ AQUARIUS // A sparkling prism lodged ambiguously in the rib cage where a human heart should be. It’s crystalline surface clarifies the cloudy, and gives the dull new splendor. It isolates and captures the smallest, most imperceptible glints of light, only to reflect and dissect the spectrum of color in it no one else would ever notice. This heart needs eyes that can peer through a kaleidoscope and see new rainbows every time. It beats in neon flickers, and bleeds in cosmic stardust.

♓ PISCES // Wispy gossamer and creamy silk, loosely woven together like a dream catcher. A tattered tapestry of delicate, warm fabric; embroidered with strands of silver thread and tiny beads of amethyst. This heart absorbs all forms love, and unfortunately, all sorrows. It is stained with the fingerprints of every hand it’s held. Soft and sensitive; it should be handled with the most tender care. It beats in soothing lullabies, and bleeds in shimmering, lavender bubbles.

Second Star to the Right

7 September 1940

Ash and smoke bleed into the clouds, and rain beats down on Regina Mills’ windshield. An obsidian plume mars the horizon behind her, casting an oppressive shadow upon the narrow, wet one-laned road as she speeds around a corner, her elbow banging into the driver’s side door as she sharply swerves around the curve.

“Regina, slow down!” Emma Swan shouts, bracing one hand on the dash and the other against a splintered passenger side window, glass fogging around her fingers and palm. “We’re not gonna make it if we crash before we get there!”

But Regina can’t slow down, can’t stop, can’t pause for a minute to think beyond Almost there almost there almost there! and the frantic ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump of her heart beating in her chest.

Sweat beads at her temples, tracks through ash, grime, and a smear of blood at her hairline. She’s shaking, muscles spasming painfully, harshly inhaling shuddering breath after breath. 

Calm down, Regina. Just breathe, she thinks, trying to convince herself that everything is going to be alright.

But there’s a drowning dread brewing in her belly, a gnawing terror clawing at her heart as her eyes dart up to the rear view mirror again and again – the sky alight in an unforgiving red behind them as rubber hitting the road puts more distance between them and the horrors of a bloodbath they weren’t prepared for at the Swan House.

God, all those people. The screaming. The flames.

Robin is missing.

Kathryn is dead.

And the world is on fire.

Emma yells again as Regina jerks the wheel to swerve and miss broken crates and an overturned delivery truck on the righthand side of the road. There’s debris littered everywhere – fallen trees, burning countryside, gaping wounds in the earth the size of craters, big billows of smoke reaching up into the air like skeletal tendrils.

She can barely hear Emma, barely lets her friend’s sharp curses divert her attention. She wonders if she’ll be too late, wonders if Henry and Roland are alright.

She needs to get back, needs to get home, needs to get to her boys.
She’s sure they’re alright, prays they are, hopes they are. For what more can she do with five more miles separating her boys from the safety of her arms and the frantic combing of her eyes over their limbs and faces to make sure they’re untouched by the inferno that came from the sky. She thinks of Henry’s apple cheeks and sweet smile. Thinks of Roland’s curly hair and delicious dimples. Dimples he got from his father. Oh God, Robin. She thinks of Robin, of all their letters and tear-stained parchment, and a million unanswered questions filling the pit of her belly with dread.

Her knuckles turn white as she tightens her grip on the steering wheel and bites down on her lower lip. She needs to get home. Now.

Slamming her foot on the accelerator, the tires grip to the road and yank them forward with a lurch. Rubber meeting ground in a godawful screech.

How did everything turn upside down so quickly? How did it all go to shit? That last question makes her think of Robin again. He’s rubbed off on her, and that makes her smile, makes her eyes water, and goddammit, she does not have time for this. This is why you don’t fall in love during wartime, Regina, she thinks. This is why you focus on duty, why you do your part and keep your heart out of play. But she didn’t keep her heart out of play; it cracked open, slowly at first, and then all at once, letting warmth and comfort and love flood in. Robin and Roland had done that, with their charm and their goofy grins, her love for them had snuck up on her, and she’d been flabbergasted at how much she and Henry had soon wanted the Locksley men in their lives. Their love had laid her heart bare in a way that it hadn’t been in years (not since Daniel, not since before she’d been brokered into a marriage to Leopold, and not since she’d first held her darling Henry to her chest. He’d been lost just like her, an orphan during wartime, and she may not have brought him into this world with blood and pain, but she’d loved him instantly with a force so fierce she hadn’t known where it had come from.

“Regina!” Emma exclaims and grips tightly to her arm to get her attention, pulling her out of the past and into the very chaotic present. “I don’t want to die in this stupid piece of metal! Not after what we just went through! Not after Kathryn…”

Regina whips her head around, glaring at Emma, fighting off tears threatening to fall.

Robin is missing.

Kathryn is dead.

The world is one fire.

And she has to get home to the boys.

It’s a mantra she keeps repeating in her head. Something to ground her. Truths she can’t ignore.

It keeps her going, keeps her from breaking down.

Regina’s eyes are back on the road in front of her, but she doesn’t miss the reassurance in Emma’s voice when she speaks next.

“I know, and you know, they’re safe–” the boys, she’s talking about the boys “–Maggie and Marcus wouldn’t let anything happen to Roland. And they love you and Henry, as if you were their own blood. They’ll protect them.” Emma lets go of Regina’s hand as they turn onto the long driveway up to the Locksley farm. Emma blows out a breath, and then gasps, turning around swiftly in her seat and craning her neck to peer out the cab of the truck and up into the clouds.

Regina follows her gaze out her driver’s side mirror.

Planes. An entire fleet, flying overhead toward the city center.

Oh God. Changing autumn leaves pass by in a blur as Regina barrels up the driveway, pebbles spinning out from beneath the truck’s tires as they grapple against gravel for traction.

Her fingers grip more tightly to the steering wheel and she presses down on the pedal again, hard. Takes the next turn at an alarming speed, and on any other day, she’d be more cautious. She’s never driven like this before, hasn’t really driven in years, would never drive like this in general, but there’s still a faint metallic taste in her mouth. There’s still the subtle, unwelcomed burn of ash in her lungs. And Kathryn’s broken body is still clearly painted in her mind.

The lower pasture up ahead blurs, goes watery, and then tears spill beyond her lashes like a flood breaking through a dam. “Almost there,” Regina urgently speaks, voice caught in her throat.

“Come on, come on.” She can see Emma staring at her through the corner of her eye.

They pass over hills and into the valley paralleling the lake, getting closer and closer to the homestead as her heart violently beats faster and faster in her chest. Ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump. The sound of it bleeding into her eardrums, drowning out all other sounds, snuffing out the voice in her head telling her she’s not going to make it, shouting that things will never be the same again as more planes fly overhead.

This is it, she thinks. This is how the world ends.

The truck skids to a halt on the graveled drive in front of Maggie and Marcus Locksley’s country home. And then Regina’s pushing open the door, slamming it shut behind her–the key still in the ignition. She doesn’t take the time to wait for Emma before hiking up her skirt and bounding up the front steps of the house, practically throwing open the front screen door; it violently swings on its hinges, bangs against the wall with a godawful snap. But she doesn’t care that that’s probably left a doorknob dent in the drywall. Who the fuck cares about something like that when London has just been bombed and the city is burning?

She’s out of breath when she shouts, “Henry!” careening down the entryway hallway. “Henry! Roland! Maggie! Marcus!”

She sees Maggie first. “Christ, Regina! You’re covered in blood!” 

And she is, but she doesn’t have time to explain, hears the echo of Kathryn’s scream in her head as the ceiling had collapsed on them, remembers the heat of the inferno singing the hair on her arms, and her colleague’s blood on her hands and apron as she and Emma had tried to carry Kathryn out of the rubble of the Swan House. But she doesn’t say any of that, instead blinks back tears burning at the corners of her eyes and says, “It’s not mine!” and begs, “Where are the boys?”

Maggie pulls her into a quick squeeze and runs her palms down Regina’s arms, checking her over for injuries. A mother through and through. “Marcus has the boys. They’re grabbing the dog and then we’re going to the cellar. Bags are already together.”

Regina nods frantically, and then Emma’s behind her, the screen door slamming into its frame again. “We have to go!” she shouts. “Where are the kids?”

“They’re coming,” Maggie replies, handing Regina and Emma potato sacks filled to the brim with clothing, canteens filled with fresh well water, produce, and basic medical supplies. Regina’s eyes widen as she stares at the contents. There are black market items in these bags. Things they’ve been out of for months, things she thought Maggie had gotten rid of, some things that she in fact helped the older woman get rid of. And yet here they are.

“Maggie…” she says, “where did you…”

“Does it matter?”

No, she supposes it doesn’t, and they’ll be happy for Maggie’s hoarding of illegal items when they’re down in the bunker.

“Okay, we have to go, seriously,” Emma says again. “There’s gonna be a second wave any minute! This isn’t a drill!”

“Where are the boys?” Regina shouts again, nerves unraveling at the seams.

“We’re here!” Marcus Locksley calls. Roland is propped up above his hip, arms tightly wrapped around his grandpa’s neck, and then Henry is shouting, running past the two of them and colliding against Regina’s body.

"Mom!” He cries as she drops to her knees and clutches him to her, her fingers threading into his hair as she breathes his name in a sigh of relief. Her baby is safe; he’s safe. He’s in her arms, and she’s breathing him in, and kissing his cheeks, and drying tears from his eyes, and he’s safe.

It takes them all of five minutes after that to make it across the field to the bunker, and as they lock the shelter door behind them and start running down the stairs, the next wave begins.

Dust unsettles, the walls vibrate, Roland buries his face into his grandpa’s chest and whimpers.

“Mom, I’m scared,” Henry cries into Regina’s shoulder as they huddle together in the far corner of the cellar.

She hugs him a little tighter, presses her lips to the crown of his head and whispers, “I know, honey. Me too.”

“Regina?” Marcus sets Roland down and the five year old runs over to her.

“Yes, sweetheart?” she says, folding him into her side and giving him and Henry a squeeze. She ushers them to the cot near the shelf with all the canned peaches and beans, and urges them to sit down.

Roland wipes his runny nose on his sleeve and sniffles. “Is my papa gonna be okay?”

“Oh sweetheart, it’ll be okay,” she says, brushing his curls out of his face and situating herself onto the cot so both of the boys can curl into her sides. She combs her fingers through their hair, and whispers reassuringly, “He’s safe; your papa’s safe.” And then she says, “We’re safe. You’re safe, he’s safe, we’re safe.”

She repeats those words over and over.
And then it begins again.


The walls shake.


Dust unsettles.


Roland covers his ears, and Henry buries his face in his mother’s side.

“We’re going to be alright,” Regina whispers, pressing a kiss to Henry’s brow and combing her fingers through Roland’s curls again.

She wraps her arms more tightly around them both and prays to God she’s right.

faintest wisp of smoke

summary: dan goes missing and phil is left with the broken pieces.

note: idk what to think of this, i really don’t. it’s probably the least original thing i’ve ever written, but then again, it definitely went places i didn’t expect. i swear i was just trying to mess around with this one, but then… well. 7k words.

a fair warning: i don’t know if it’s good. i don’t know if it’s interesting, or if it works, or if it’s done characteristically. i only know it’s a study in overdone clichés and i hope it makes some sort of sense.




The clock ticks the time away, and Phil stares because he’s not sure if he believes it. The hands say it’s been two hours since the door closed after Dan when he went to the shop, but Phil knows very well that the shop is only ten minutes away, and he thinks that the clock must be lying but he doesn’t check the one on his phone because clocks aren’t people and only people lie, and if the clock isn’t lying Phil doesn’t want to know.

Dan left his mobile plugged to the charger and Phil listens to the ring echo through the flat and doesn’t hang up, even when he can hear the ringtone and knows Dan won’t be picking up, even when it reaches voicemail and Dan’s recorded voice tells him to leave a message and Phil wants to ask where he is but knows he won’t get an answer. 

He lets the phone drop to his side and tells himself to stop thinking about it, because he’s not Dan, who thinks problems over so much they turn themselves into a different problem that never existed in the first place – he’s Phil, and Phil doesn’t think problems over at all and pretends that it makes them fade into the shadows of the wallpapers even when he knows it doesn’t.

He doesn’t know if it’s better, but it’s all he has.

He falls asleep on the sofa in the lounge, and it’s two in the morning and Dan’s been gone for five hours, and Phil dreams of shadows and fear.

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My Hot Blood (Sweat, and Tears)

Request: “Can i request a scenario after jungkook got his finger bleeding on stage that day? And the others are just worried sick (esp yoongi). Short or long idrm but id like it to be humourous Thank You <3”


Jungkook’s pounding pulse synchronized with the music flooding his head. Drips of sweat rolled down his face and off his chin as he nailed the choreography will all of his strength, wanting to please his beloved fans. Bright lights left spots in his vision, but he’s used to it. Suddenly he pulled his hand up from his waist to do the next move, and felt something slice a vein in his hand. He hissed in pain, but no matter, he has to continue. He couldn’t tell whether it was blood or sweat dripping down his hand, but soon the song would end, then he could check. After this song the boys had a quick intermission so they could get a drink, pee, change their clothes, etc.

Jungkook pulled his soft lips with his thumb and cocked his head to the side; the song was over. His breaths burned in his heaving chest as he stayed in position, waiting for the lights to go out, and once they did he made his way through the dark towards the backstage area. He swiftly pushed through the stylists and made his way to the empty dressing room. Once through the door he lifted up poor hand up into view, and his next words could only be described as, ‘fuuuuuuuuuuck.’

Jungkook had red hot blood dipping into the veins of his hands and dripping onto the floor; it honestly looked worse than it felt.  Soon J-Hope and Tae, followed by the rest of the boys, burst in through the door. Jungkook looked around for the closest hyung, somewhat helplessly, until he laid eyes on Yoongi. Jungkook clutched his wounded hand with the other, as blood dripped through his fingers.

“Hyung.” Jungkook panted. Yoongi looked over to him with an indifferent look on his face, that is until his eyes landed on all the blood dripping out of his dongsaeng.

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Location, Location, Location (Sam x reader)

Imagine: Being tortured in Hell and not giving up any information whatsoever

Warnings: torture (verbal + physical), suffering, Sammy fluff at the end but that doesn’t count as a warning…

Y/n/n = your nickname

Word count: 3024

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anonymous asked:

Blurb idea: after the battle of the seven potters george's gf reaction worrying about him and taking care of him

(i focused on the reaction )

“Where could he be? He left before I took off so I don’t understand what could be taking him so long,” you stammered as you paced the living room. 

“Maybe they had to take an alternative route, Remus always likes to take precautions,” Fred reassured you. When you heard a loud crack was back safe and sound. When you saw Remus, you felt a flood of relief come over you. That relief transformed to guilt when Fred ran past you toward the other figure slumped on the ground. George. 

Your heart raced as ran toward the two men that were supporting a pale, bleeding George. 

“W-what happened?” you asked, surprised by the strength of your voice.

“A dark curse hit him. He’ll be alright though I assure you,” Remus answered as they set him on the couch for Mrs. Weasley to examine. 

Mrs. Weasley tried every medical potion she had, but all it could do was stop the bleeding and ease his. As Mrs. Weasley began wrapping the bandage around George’s ear, he began to stir and call out for Fred and you.

“You really had us scared there George,” you sighed as you placed your hand in his.

“I can’t believe you opted to use that pun George. What kind of jokester are you?” Fred teased as he brushed the remaining tears off his eyes. 

“Hey  someone had to lighten the mood Fred,” George smiled before turning toward you. “I’m fine Y/N, it was just a flesh wound.” 

“Flesh wound my arse,” you sassed. “ I’m going to make sure you stay fine for the remainder of the summer. No more stunts.” 

“Alright Love, alright,” George agreed.

Originally posted by relationshipaims

Grim Reaper PT. 14. (BTS, Angst)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8  // Part 9 // Part 10  // Part 11  // Part 12  // Part 13 // Part 14 // Part 15  // Part 16 // Part 17 // Finale

I would like to just thank myself for being a Jungkook loving pile of poop and actually writing some much needed bro time with OC and him because those fetuses deserve to bond more, y’know…being the youngest…and everything. If the stuff about the moon is wrong, someone please tell m I’d love to not spread false information because that’s actually supposed to be like actually real lmao. I didn’t make it up I READ IT ON GOOGLE.

Check out the side series of all the other reapers!!

Suga // J-hope // Jungkook

Words: 4047

Yoongi hoisted your body over his shoulder, wrapping you like a burrito in your blanket so you wouldn’t be able to break free. Still, you thrashed in his grip, but he merely grunted every time you hit his head with an elbow you desperately attempted to use to get out of his grip.

He got you to Hoseok’s abandoned-club-made-grim-reaper-morgue and you grew quiet as he went through the halls. Everything was silent, and you were filled with a dread thinking of all the reasons to why it was quiet. Still, you didn’t question it as Yoongi merely broke open the thin sliding door to Hoseok’s suite.

“God, finally. You left for her place like an hour ago, why did you take so long? Can you break Jimin’s neck or something? He won’t shut up.” Hoseok’s voice flooded from the side of the room where Jungkook lay on the floor, neck heavily bleeding despite Hoseok wiping it away every few seconds. The knife lay by the door you stood at, covered to the hilt in blood. Yoongi was right, Namjoon had stabbed him. Jimin, in the other corner, lay writing in pain as he snapped his bones back into place and cried out every time.

“Fuck! If I could kill Namjoon I seriously would!”

“Yeah, yeah. Get in line, kid. I’m first.” Yoongi rolled his eyes, going over to Jimin and stabbing his shoe right into one of his ribs. Jimin let out a blood curdling scream, grabbing hold of Yoongi’s foot and shoving him away in a violent manner.

“I’ll kill you too, Yoongi!”

“Sure, and when you’re able to, call me. I’ll gladly let you.” He grinned down at Jimin, before snapping his neck and dropping the dangling body onto the floor.

“Thank Christ.” Hoseok amended, standing up from where Jungkook’s limp body lay, not noticing you standing at the door.

“(Y/N), could you take care of Jungkook? Go grab some clothes from the closet, the big boys need to have a talk. Jimin won’t wake up for awhile, so just…cover his body with a blanket or something if it really bothers you. Be right back.” He took hold of Hoseok’s shoulder dauntingly, not allowing the other boy to talk as he practically dragged Hoseok from the room. You sighed bleakly once the door slid shut, glancing over at Jimin’s body before throwing your blanket over him just as Yoongi had suggested. You turned to the wardrobe, it being unnervingly close to Jungkook’s body and pooling amounts of blood. Clambering over toward it, you wrenched open the door, careful not to hit Jungkook’s dead body. You merely threw on a black t-shirt, ignoring the fact you were wearing pink pajama shorts with hearts all over them.

You sighed, turning to  stare at Jungkook’s body before deciding he deserved better than a cold floor to wake up on. You knew he would heal, but seeing the stab wounds still freshly cut into his skin upset you. He was at least 70 years older than you, and still, he looked like just a child. His expression was peaceful, but you knew when he woke up he’d be in pain.

You dragged him over to the bed, ignoring the blood smell on his clothes as you picked him up halfheartedly and hoisted him onto the bed. Blood had seeped onto the bed sheets and pillow cases immediately, and you noted you’d have to apologize to Hoseok later for ruining his bed.

Still, as you looked into his cuts, you could see skin folding over more as it began to mend his wounds. You picked up the bucket of red water and placed it on the bed side table, sitting on the mattress beside Jungkook’s body as you wiped his blood away. You held the damp cloth onto his neck, and almost screamed when his body twitched and hand caught yours.

“Not…so…hard…” He groaned, rolling over onto his side. You yanked him onto his back once more, scowling at him.

“Don’t lay like that, it’ll bleed more.” You scolded, pressing the cloth into his skin. Jungkook hissed in pain, wincing every time you held it there. “The bleeding will never stop if you don’t apply pressure to it.”

“It’ll stop some time, I can’t die forever. Cut it out now, please.” He gently pushed your hand away, opening his eyes and looking away from you. Jungkook had deep circles etched into the skin under his eyes, something you’d never seen with a reaper before.

“Just let me help you, I can’t do anything else…”

He frowned, shaking his head. “If this is about Taehyung, don’t… Don’t say anything about him anymore. I made Hoseok forget.”

Your eyes grew wide, and you accidentally pressed too hard against him and he groaned. “Sorry, I’m sorry. But, Jungkook, that’s so wrong. You can’t just make people forget their grief.”

“I didn’t mean too. I can’t help it. I’m a screwed up grim reaper.” He was shivering under you, so you wrapped a blanket around the lower half of his body.

“You’re not screwed up, Jungkook.” You promised, looking through the bedside drawers for a new cloth. Once you’d found one, you picked up the red tinged water and got up from the bed to go over to the sink on the other side of the room. You emptied the bucket, rinsing it once before filling it back up with warm water.

Jungkook said something, but you didn’t hear him over the running water, so you neared him again. “What did you say? I didn’t hear you, sorry.”

“Don’t act like you know me.”

“I do know you, though, Jungkook?” You wet the clean cloth, squeezing it free of excess water before folding it and placing it on his forehead. You brushed away hair on his face, sitting back down on the side of the bed.

“You don’t…You can’t.”

You shrugged, patting his chest slightly as you picked up the covers and placed them over farther his shivering limbs. The bleeding had slowed to a mere trickle of blood, and you were glad. You wondered if there would be a scar on his neck, but thought differently when you noticed no other scars anywhere else.

“Jungkook, listen. I want to help you make Hoseok remember. I mean, he must know something is wrong, right? He’ll barely even look at me. He went from a happy go lucky maniac to a quiet, self preserved brat. You don’t just swap emotion’s when you don’t think there’s something wrong.”

He sat up, pushing your hand away once more. The cloth on his forehead uselessly flopped onto the covers. “Honestly…I already said that’s enough! I don’t want your help and I don’t want him to remember, even if I was able too. I’m tired of him bitching, constantly.”

“What if one day you accidentally make him remember, huh?” You began, dropping your hand to your side and backing up when Jungkook slung his feet off of the bed. He cracked his neck, sighing in content once a loud snap noise filled the air. “One day you let your emotions run a little wild and boom, Hoseok remembers Taehyung is dead and he’ll hate you for the rest of eternity because you didn’t even try to make him remember.”

His expression changed slightly, a frown forming on his pale face before he smoothed it out once more. “Like I care.”

“You do care.” You shook your head, snatching up the clean cloth and holding out your hand for him. Jungkook looked up at you for a moment, before realizing your eyes had met and he hung his head low once more. “Jungkook, look at me.”

“I-I…no. Something bad will happen to you.”

“Nothing bad will happen, I promise.” You chucked the cloth aside, not really knowing where it landed as you pressed your semi-damn hands against Jungkook’s face. For a moment he shied away, until you pressed closer to him and picked his head up. Jungkook took a deep breath, swiftly closing his eyes and opening them.

“See?” A smile touched at your lips as he met your eyes with his own anxious gaze, only that anxiety soon grew into a piece of confidence. Small, but growing confidence that Jungkook desperately needed. His uneven breathing grew steady, and he let out a strong exhale before standing up.

“You’re going to be just fine, Jungkook.” You pushed on, your hands continuing to cup his cheeks. He caught your wrists, holding you there longer to stare into his eyes.

“I…you…I’m not hurting you? Do you remember everything properly?” His breathing was strong, heavy, voice an octave higher than before as he asked you those things. You shook your head, stepping closer to him.

“I’m great. So are you. Right? Jungkook, you can control yourself, without anyone’s help.”

He nodded firmly, moisture filling his eyes. “I can control myself, without anyone’s help…”

“Are you guys having eye sex?” A voice in the corner groaned, and the both of you broke apart, glancing over to see a body rising under your blanket like Dracula. He pulled the blanket off of his head, tearing it in half out of anger.

“Hey, that was my blanket!”

Jimin snorted, rolling out his shoulders and massaging them with a pained expression. “So sorry for your loss. Where’s Yoongi? I’m going to kill him.”

“Right here. Did you dream about me?” Yoongi twinkled his fingers from the door, and you noticed you hadn’t even realized him standing there. How long had he been standing there?

Hoseok wasn’t far behind him, but he wasn’t paying attention to Yoongi or Jimin, but you and Jungkook.

“Jungkook, are you okay?” Hoseok wondered, hurrying over and brushing you aside like an insect. You looked at Jungkook, narrowing your eyebrows at him. He met your eyes for a moment, nodding.

“I need to tell you something, Hoseok.” Jungkook dropped his eyes, looking ashamed of himself. Hoseok placed a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing it in a comforting manner.

“Sit down, I’ll make tea. Do you want tea? That’s it, don’t strain yourself.” He placed a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, easing him into a sit. Jungkook took his hand before Hoseok could walk away, forcing him to sit beside him.

“No, I don’t want tea. I want to tell you something.”

Hoseok looked over at you for a moment, eyebrows raised until meeting your gaze. He frowned, wrinkles deeply etched into his laugh lines. Hoseok turned back to Jungkook, almost pouting like a child. You decided not to fret, and went over to Yoongi and Jimin, who seemed to be caught up in a word spat.

“Listen here, Yoongi. I’m sick and fucking tired of you assholes thinking you can break my neck all the time! How many times do I have to tell you I’m on your side, not Seokjin’s?”

Yoongi laughed, crossing his arms and watching Jimin hop to his feet with lazy eyes. “First of all, just because you think you’re scary with your little suicide gloves doesn’t mean you’re shit to me. If you maybe…I don’t know…Learned how to fight back I’d probably stop snapping your neck. Second of all, I apologize for practicing a little caution rather than falling into your little trap of he said she said.”

“All right, honestly…” You stepped between them, holding your arms out. “Can you guys pipe down? Hoseok and Jungkook are having a serious discussion right now.”

“Just because you got him to look you in the eyes doesn’t mean he’s going to make Hoseok rememb-”

“Shut up!” You hissed to Jimin, shoving him back. You didn’t expect him to go so far as to fall back against the table and roll onto the floor with a grunt. Yoongi broke into laughter, slapping a knee as he watched Jimin tumble over.

“Even a human girl can kick your ass!” He hollered, pressing a hand to his forehead and almost falling onto the floor himself in hysterics. You caught his shoulders, pressing a hand over his mouth to hush him.

“I’m serious Y-”

“Dead?” Hoseok’s voice hung in the air, terror in his voice as you and Yoongi looked over at the two on the bed. Jungkook had a few tears running down his eyes, trying to get Hoseok to sit down.

“I didn’t mean to make you forget…I’m so sorry…” Jungkook whispered, closing his eyes as a new rush of tears fell.

“I know…I know! It’s not your fault, Jungkook. I really just…” He trailed off, wiping a hand across his face to dry the tears on his own cheeks. “How did you make me remember? You’ve never been able to control yourself.”

“(Y/N) helped, I suppose.” Jungkook looked over at you, cracking into a smile that you’d barely seen a handful of times. You smiled back weakly, looking away to see Yoongi staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. It stood between half confused half admiration, but you were sure your eyes were telling you something wrong.

The second he noticed you looking at him curiously, he broke your gaze and cleared his throat in an obnoxious way. Typical.

“Oh wow, how incredible. (Y/N) continues to save the day with her compassion. Truly heroic. Can we cut the bull crap, now? Namjoon’s out there, attempting to murder grim reapers and we’re in here all sharing how we feel instead of trying to stop him.” Jimin cut in icily, clapping his hands twice and causing you to flinch.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, buttercup.” Yoongi jeered, backing away from you and leaning against a bookshelf. “That’s what Hoseok and I were just talking about, while you laid there dead and did nothing.”

“That’s because you killed me!” He snapped, holding up a fist that you slapped down to his side for safe measures.

“What do you want me to do, apologize? Not really my type of thing. Moving on, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by that useless piece of shit, Namjoon and Seokjin are working together to get rid of us. Well, that’s what we’ve deducted, anyway. Hoseok, do you mind delving in on the subject?”

“Right,” Hoseok nodded, walking to the middle of the room. Jungkook followed, standing behind him and watching the other 4 of you as Hoseok explained. “Namjoon wants to kill us.”

“Precisely! Now, Jimin, don’t give me that look. I know you’re thinking ‘he can’t kill us we’re already dead!’ or some stupid shit. No, not what we were thinking at all. I mean, sure he can kill us for a short while but not forever. That’s Seokjin’s job.”

“Yoongi, we don’t want to hear a novel length explanation, just say it already.” Hoseok groaned, and Yoongi held up his hands in defeat.

“Alright, alright. The more Namjoon kills us, the less time we have to harvest a sufficient amount of souls before then. If we don’t have enough souls, bye bye side bitch grim reapers and hello strong Namjoon with his original psycho strength back again.”

“What do you mean ‘then’?” You frowned, feeling as if you’re the only one left out of the true meaning.

“Once every blue moon.”

“Blue moon? Isn’t that just an expression for a long time?” You scowled in Yoongi’s direction, irritated at the chuckle trickling from his throat. He shook his head, placing both hands on your shoulders and steering you around. He brought you over toward the window, brushing aside the curtain.

“Not exactly, (Y/N).”

He was impeccably close to you, chest pressed to your back as Yoongi tipped your chin to stare up into the black sky. The quarter moon was barely out anymore, but you could still see the shine of it from where you stood.

“A blue moon is a rare occurrence, but that’s not the kind we’re talking about. Once every few years there’s a blue moon, which is the second in a month. What I’m saying is, normally there’s only 1 full moon a month. The blue moon is the second. There’s usually only 3 full moons a season, but I hear the 4th is right around the corner.”

“It’ll happen in the spring, or so I hear.” Hoseok spoke up, and Yoongi made a noise in acknowledgement.

“Astronomy 101, kids. Science is truly amazing. Saves me from busting my ass trying to figure out when I may be able to die.” Yoongi moved away from you, his boots making a loud thump noise on the wood as he ghosted back to the middle of the room. You whirled around, staring after him with a disbelieving expression.

“Namjoon never told me about this. He just said that if he stopped collecting souls he’ll be able to die.” You mumbled, getting lost in thought.

“Wait…” Gasping in realization, you began striding towards the boys. “Namjoon hasn’t been collecting souls for at least 7 years! Definitely not enough, at least. A blue moon happens like every 3 years.”

“Wow, nice math there.” Jimin snorted, propping himself on the table. Yoongi mimicked him, placing a hand on his hip.

“You believe him? He’s a liar, (Y/N), I thought we established this. Namjoon would’ve been gone long ago if he was malnourished on souls. Can’t really just…run away from a moon and also a super natural death machine.”

“Well, what if he can?” Jungkook spoke up, looking at you with knit together eyebrows. “I mean, Namjoon was the first reaper to ever be created, so what if he’s like a special case. Like, he can never die from the blue moon?”

“That sounds so stupid!” Yoongi sputtered, glowering toward Jungkook. You reached for Yoongi, completely taken aback by how he was acting. He stepped away from you, holding up both hands to evade your grip. Yoongi quickly turned, striding toward the door. He noisily let it bang shut behind him. For a moment you stared at the shaking slider door, but nonetheless followed him out.

“Yoongi, stop!” You called, feet pattering against the creaking wood in contrast to his loud boot lugging.

"Go back inside, (Y/N), there’s a psycho on the loose killing everyone and you’re the only one that can stay dead when he kills you.”

"Why are you acting like this? What Jungkook said makes sense, you’re being immature.” You shot back, flinching when he stopped moving very suddenly. You watched as Yoongi’s fingers curled into a loose fist at his sides.

He tipped his head back, laughing in a fake manner before turning to look at you. “Immature, huh? You have my deepest apologies. Now, would you go back inside?”

"I feel safer around you.” You admitted, feeling your feet glide and pausing right in front of him. He scratched the back of his neck, giving an exasperated sigh between pursed lips.

"Did you not just hear me say psycho killer? Why aren’t you even a little upset like you were out there?”

It was your turn to sigh, and you hung your head between your shoulders. “I am upset, just a little more guilty than sad Namjoon is with Seokjin.”

"You’re thinking about us having sex, aren’t you?” he grumbled.

"You know I am, its just-”

"Just nothing, (Y/N)! Namjoon won’t find out unless one of us blabs to him, and neither of us are planning on conversing with him, right? You two are finished, now, anyway. What does sex matter when us dying is mixed into this?”

"Sex?” A voice from behind you spoke up, and you whirled around to Jungkook. “Yoongi, you know that isn’t safe.”

"Isn’t safe? Why not?” You frowned, looking back at Yoongi for leverage. He looked annoyed, a hint of a smile at his lips.

"He’s just religious. You know, sex before marriage is a ‘sin’ and all.”

"That’s not it.” Jungkook said, clearly irritated with Yoongi’s sarcasm. “Grim reapers feed on not just souls but emotions. If they act up, the reapers will be in trouble. Strong emotions like love and hate could break us and human’s around us.”

"Yeah, well, love is the strongest emotion. I’m not really an emotions type of guy.” He snickered, clearly pleased with himself. Your cheeks had tinted a dark shade of red, but Yoongi waved you away. The sound of the door sliding shut signaled Jungkook’s exit, and Yoongi had begun to follow.

“I won’t touch you again, unless you want me too.” He spoke quietly, but you still heard clearly. You caught his wrist, halting his movements.

"Can you take me home? If you’re really scared about Namjoon, just stay with me. Please?”

Yoongi pondered your words for a moment, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, finally nodding on agreement though still looking wary. “Fine, go put some clothes on before i carry you home.”

You did. You dressed in a pair of black pants and some socks, allowing Yoongi to carry you home in the cold. On the way back, you grew tired, but you noticed the sun had gun to climb above the horizon. Great.

"Don’t go to sleep, alright?” Yoongi shut the door behind him, clicking the lock although you both knew it’d never keep Namjoon out. “Namjoon is probably trying to get you to sleep so he can talk to you. How about you make some tea to stay awake?”

You nodded, noticing just how tired he looked. Although you knew Yoongi didn’t need sleep, you still couldn’t help but think he deserved it. “Why don’t you go lay down? I’ll make a tea and meet you in my room.”

He nodded briskly, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I think I’ll do that. Just… hurry.”

You agreed silently, watching Yoongi walk toward your room and slip behind the dark door. You made your way to the kitchen, turning the kettle on and waiting for water to boil over until you could properly allow the teabag to steep. As you made your tea, a noise from your bedroom made you jump in surprise.

"Yoongi? Are you alright?” You called, but there was no verbal response. Only more banging.

"Yoongi?” You called once more peeking your head around from the wall and glancing down your pitch black hallway. Strange, you could’ve sworn a light was flicked on when you entered the door… A strangled cry you recognized was from Yoongi had you running down the hall. You slammed the door open, turning on the lights with no hesitation only to scream out of horror at the sight before you. Yoongi lay, bleeding from his wrists and neck on your bed, a barbed wire tied around his throat. He still struggled weakly, twitching and gasping while choking on his own blood.

"No, no, no! Yoongi, oh my God.” You whimpered, stumbling to your bed. His eyes met yours with alarm, and he attempted to say something but you only made out gurgling. Yoongi’s fingers bled as he wrapped them around the barbed wire, veins bulging from his wrist up to his forearm in weak attempts to rip away the restraints that captured each breath he took.

"You’re fine,” you whispered, pulling his bloodied hands away and attempting to untie the restraints around his neck. Blood smeared against your skin, and you noticed you shook. Yoongi twitched harder, choking blood right onto your hands. You couldn’t help the hysterical sobs coming from your throat as you watched Yoongi convulse black an red blood onto you. The sight was making you nauseous but you still didn’t stop working with the wire until it was off. You placed blood covered hands onto his wrists, trying to top the blood flow but failing as it leaked from between your fingers.

"How do I help you?” You cried. Yoongi gasped for air, but nothing worked for him. He choked at least twice more, tears forming in his eyes and tumbling onto your pillow. Helplessly, he reached for you but barely got his hand halfway to yours only to watch it drop as he died before you.

”(Y/N), we need to talk.” A voice behind you caught your attention, causing you to whip your head around. Tufts of pink hair blinded you under the cheap florescent lights in your home.

Under the Hood; Into the Heart [chapter four]

Summary: A love story of motor oil and telepathy.
Rating: NC17 (Chuck forgive me)
Pairing: Dean/Human!Impala (Female)

A/N: Much love to all of you who have written me to tell me how much you like this story! <3
Need to play catch up? I got your back, brothers and sisters!
Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

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1. To Become: Wings

Dipper’s chest heaved. It was a wonder why. For these past few weeks, he didn’t need to breathe, or eat, or sleep. He thought maybe he was going mad.

But right now, he felt like he was wearing thin.

Something inside of him warned him that he was low on energy. That the golden sparks had ceased to run under his skin. That the blue fire would soon be quenched. That the form he retained, in the dimension of the mind, would waste away. If he didn’t do anything about it soon.

With a frustrated growl, he pushed the warning away. He was working on it.

Rising again, the demon across from him tittered with delight. Two of its arms dragged, grotesque and bloody behind it. Dipper had severed whatever served for tendons in those arms. But five more were still functioning. The surfaces brushed by its working fingers rotted away, reeking of pestilence. The main mass of the demon’s body was covered with matted hair and gems of oozing puss. Its smile was fixed in a leer. The long beak that extended over its eyes shadowed them so they appeared flat and black.

Maybe a few weeks ago, Dipper would have trembled at the sight of the plague demon. But not anymore. Its appearance barely served as a surprise.

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✯ - “Setting fire to our insides for fun.”

( - milesthelunatic

                    ✖ Shadows settle on the place that you left
                    Our minds are troubled by the emptiness
                    Destroy the middle it’s a waste of time
                    From the perfect start to the finish line ✖

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