but as her head goes up his head goes down. because she might never come home

We Got Married (M)

Originally posted by kthmyg

8.8k words. Arranged Marriage AU. Min Yoongi.

Warning: Fingering. Phone sex. ft Kim Namjoon.


It’s hilarious, laughable, pathetic even, how love could either build you or ruin you and yet knowing this, people still chase after it like the rise of golden light beyond the horizon, or the last drop of dew in twilight, or the flutter of that one coral blue butterflies in buttercup paved meadow.

It’s frightening, daunting, startling even, how love makes your hands clammy like you’re being interviewed by the very man who founded the big shot company you’ve applied to.

And it’s utterly, impossibly, unbelievable how love comes in many ways like a bump and a spill of coffee on crisp white shirt, or a brush of hands upon a dusty leather brown book spine or an envelope obtained from a mailbox on one’s way back from grocery shopping.

Well, that’s exactly what’s happening to Min Yoongi, second son to one of the well-known elite families in Seoul. Most of the time, he couldn’t care less about family matters; business deals, dinner with alien faces and empty conversations─ those things he’s entitled to attend with mildly bored eyes and champagne he’ll never finish in one hand. But this particular matter, he can’t just not care. One, because it directly concerns him (as if the cursive letter of his name engraved in bold black against crisp white isn’t enough indication). Two, because it’s from a certain someone in his family who he’s fond of.

Dear Yoongi,

Is written on the top of the not so neat written paper.

Son,

I know you might hate me for this.

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THE HOT GUY AT THE CLUB (Bellamy Blake x Reader)

Request: Bellamy x reader where reader is friends with Octavia and one night the reader goes to a club and has sex with a really hot guy. The next day she goes to Octavia’s house and Octavia is thrilled because her older brother, whom you have never met, is finally back from college. You realize bellamy is the guy you hooked up with. Smut pls

PART TWO


The music was loud and his body was close. As you danced to the track blaring through the speakers, you felt the stranger’s fingers pressing into your hips from behind. And you loved it. 

You turned around, coming face to face with the boy who said hi at the bar a few minutes ago. He looked down at you and the smile he gave you nearly made you collapse. He was beautiful and the way he started a conversation so easily felt comfortable and natural. 
The hot sweaty bodies dancing around pushed you into his arms and the two of you danced closer under the flickering of the club lights. After getting to his house, everything was a blur of bare bodies and daring touches. 

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anonymous asked:

Can you do a gods and monsters based on Ares? (This series is amazing!! Thank you for writing it!!!

a continuation of this


Ares, the God of War, has a throne on Olympus, has followers and temples and tributes.

Ares, the God of War, has the screams of the dead and damned echoing around in his skull, and has not had a moment’s peace since his father declared his dominion over battle.

~

He tries to ignore them. He can’t stay on Olympus, not anymore where his father’s proud gaze follows him and he can’t help but flinch from it. At first he hides in his mother’s rooms, curling up on her lap and crying like he hasn’t since he was very small. “I can hear them,” he says, tears dripping down his nose and onto her dress, “I can hear them calling for me.”

She combs her fingers through his hair and drops soft kisses onto his forehead. “I’ll kill him. How dare he – how dare he.”

“You will do no such thing,” he says, and turns so he’s looking up at her. He presses his hand to her cheek, and she leans into his touch. Her eyes are alight with fury and grief, and it soothes him just to see them. Her eyes are his eyes, are his brother’s eyes. “You are the goddess of marriage. To kill your husband would be to kill yourself. Would you make me an orphan, Mother?”

There is a war raging within him now, soldiers and generals and widows crying out for him, but for now all he is worried about is preventing a war within his home.

Nothing would tear apart the pantheon so firmly as to pit Zeus against Hera.

She doesn’t say anything, but her grasp on his hand becomes almost painful, so he will take that as agreement.

~

He can only stay away for so long. He must go to whoever invokes him most strongly, to who builds him the biggest altars, to who provides the largest sacrifice. He is not a god who is lucky enough to be able to watch his domain from afar, to simply provide blessings and guidance. The screaming inside of him quiets only when he joins them on the battlefield, only when he is in the thick of it with a sword in his hand is it quiet enough for him to think.

Only when his battle fury turns the tide of a war is he, even just briefly, free from the crushing weight of his followers and his domain.

He does not get to choose which side to support. Whoever worships him more, whatever side invokes his name the strongest is the one who gets his aid.

He shows up sobbing at his mother’s door, whole body vibrating in pain because the soldiers shout his name in a glorious chorus and he should be with them now, but instead he’s here. Hera grabs his upper arms to keep him upright, eyes wide and concerned.

“I don’t want them to win,” he confesses, the words making his lips burn, “the soldiers are simply soldiers, but the generals and lords and kings seek glory for money, for profit, for nothing but selfishness. Their enemies only want to live.”

“I will take care of it,” she swears to him, and he has no idea how she expects to do that. Yet he trusts she’ll find a way, because she always does. He comes to his mother, asking her to help him, and she always has. “Now go, before you are hurt even more.”

He goes.

~

Hera had no influence on the battlefield.

But it is not solely the battlefield where tributes are made.

She is the goddess of marriage and family.

She goes to wives and husbands, to sons and daughters, to sisters and brothers. She whispers in their ears, speaks of devotion and fealty, makes them all wail for their missing family members caught up in a war none of them wanted.

Hera brings their grief and desperation to the fore, until they’re nearly mad with their need to have their family brought home.

They build a temple to Ares, sacrifice gold and food and anything of value they can spare. They cry prayers over hearth fires, and burn messages to the god of war to bring their family members home.

~

The tides change. He’s midway through the battle when the he feels the shift, when he realizes his mother somehow did as she promised and he no longer has to fight for these people, that now he can fight against them.

He doesn’t want to fight at all. But if he must, then at least he can fight for those he believes in.

Ares doesn’t allow himself to fall into bitterness or anger at his father often. But he wishes, not for the first time, that Zeus had named him the god of justice, of peace, of fairness, of loyalty. That Zeus had named him the god of something he believed in, something he could believe in fighting for.

All war does is kill good men and women, all it does is breed resentment and anger in the victors and losers both.

Although. Ares is of the opinions that wars never have any true victors. Just people that lose less than the people they’re fighting.

~

There is a lull. No one is invoking him powerfully enough that he can’t ignore their cries.

He goes to Haephestus’s volcano and slides into a magma pool, the burning heat of the lava the perfect temperature to work out the knots of stress in his back and thighs.

“It’s unnerving to see you in there,” his brother says, and Ares opens his eyes to see Hephaestus looking down at him in concern. “You look tired.”

Permanent purple bruises have formed under his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he saw himself without them. Everything hurts, it always hurts, even when there is peace there are people who covet war and call out to him and it tears at him whenever he leaves a tribute unanswered. He’s exhausted and rode hard, stretched so thin that he’s terrified he’ll snap at any moment.

He looks at Hephaestus’s concern and admits to him something he hasn’t told anyone, something he’s too afraid to say to his mother just in case she decides to smite Zeus for it. “I think that these wars might be killing me.”

His brother’s face goes tight, but he doesn’t say anything. That’s all right. Ares hadn’t expected him to – there really is nothing to say.

He wonders if the screams will still find him in death.

~

“I need a favor,” Hephaestus says the next time Athena comes to visit, wringing his hands, anxious in a way he usually doesn’t let anyone see.

Athena tilts her head to side. “I’m listening.”

~

Ares is resting, the moon high as he lays back in the middle of the battle camp and tries to quiet the cries in his head enough to catch even an hour of sleep.

“War is not just about fighting, about blood and battle.”

His eyes pop open and he looks over to see Athena sitting by his side. He pushes himself up cautiously. “Sorry?”

“You should pay more attention to the generals,” she says, “war isn’t won with blood. It’s won with strategy. With planning, with tactics.”

“I don’t know much about all that,” he admits, “it’s enough of a struggle just to keep up with the soldiers.”

Her face softens, “I know. That’s why I’m here. No one expects to win wars alone, Ares.”

This is how Athena, goddess of knowledge and weaving, becomes a goddess of war. She is a master of strategy, of planning campaigns, of ensuring that a victory on the battlefield remains a victory at home.

Some of his tributes go to her. Some people pray to Athena now instead of him.

He still hears the screaming. He still doesn’t sleep.

But it relieves just enough pressure that it feels like he can breathe again.

~

Ares and Athena are not the only names that get invoked on the battlefield.

Hades’s name has constantly been on their lips. They damn their enemies to a torturous afterlife, to thrice the pain and suffering they receive on the battlefield.

He tries to ignore it. It is not his domain. But the more he hears it, that more it stabs at him. Most of these people are soldiers. Cursing generals is well enough, but most soldiers didn’t choose to be here. He didn’t choose to be here.

Ares has never been to the underworld. It’s the one place his mother never let him venture.

He knows that the smart thing to do would be to go to his brother and ask him to speak to Hecate, the woman who raised him. Or even Hades himself – he doesn’t know how well Hephaestus knows the gods of the underworld. For all that he grew up there, he doesn’t speak of it much.

But if Hades’s wrath is to fall on anyone, Ares would rather it be him.

It’s easy enough to follow the souls of recently departed soldiers to the River Styx. Charon presses a hand to his shoulder and asks, “What business do you have here, God of War?”

“I knew a child who was called Kore,” he answers, and he doesn’t expect this to work, but he hopes it will. “I wish to speak to a woman who calls herself Persephone.”

He can’t see Charon’s face, but the air around him turns thoughtful. “It is summer. The Lady is with her mother.”

Oh.

He’d forgotten about that.

“Then I request an audience with her husband,” he says, and he clasps his hands behind his back so that Charon can’t see them shaking. He can’t turn into a mess here. People are screaming in his mind, but he can’t let it get to him here, not if he wants anyone to take him seriously, not if he wants to help his fellow soldiers instead of hurting them.

“You are not dead, and so I cannot ferry you across the Styx,” Charon says, almost apologetically. “But – hold on.” He turns to the river, “Goddess Styx, could you come here?”

A little girl with skin even darker than Hephaestus’s and eyes and hair of soft grey appears in front of them. “Yes?”

Charon points to him, “He wishes to speak to our lord.”

Styx turns her grey eyes on him, and he can’t help but feel unnerved. She circles him, looking him up and down, seemingly looking into him. “Very well,” she says at last. She moves her arms together, then apart. Two sides of the river flow in opposite directions so that a dry walking path is revealed in the river bed. “Move quickly. The longer I maintain a break in my river, the longer things besides you may be able to sneak across.”

“Thank you,” he gives her a shallow bow, and then goes sprinting across the riverbed. It takes him longer than it should – the river is not overly wide, and it should be quick, but it seems like he runs nearly an hour to reach the other side. He heaves himself onto shore, panting, and as soon as he’s across the river comes crashing together once more, flowing back into the proper direction.

~

He makes it to Hades’s palace, but once again it takes longer than it seems it should. It takes too long, he’s been away from the battle field too long, and it shows. He tries to pull himself together, he’s come too far to fall apart now, but it seems to be a wasted effort. The screaming of people crying his name is so loud he can’t hear anything else, and it paralyzes him, he can’t move, he can’t feel, his muscles are tense enough to snap because he needs to answer the people calling for him, but he can’t there’s no easy way out of the underworld so he’s just stuck here –

Suddenly it all cuts off to a dull roar, and he gasps as he comes back to himself, squeezing his eyes shut to keep from crying. Hands cup his face, and calloused thumbs wipe the tears from his cheeks. “You must be Ares,” a soft voice says, “Charon said you were coming. Are you all right?”

He forces his eyes open, and Hades, King of the Dead, swims into focus. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” his eyebrows dip together. “What are you doing here?”

He grabs Hades’s hands, and pulls them from is his face, but leaves their fingers tangled together. Luckily Hades doesn’t pull away. Ares doesn’t know what would happen if he did. “I – I know that they invoke you to punish their enemies, on the battlefield. They dedicate some of the pyres to you and ask you to burn their enemies in death, for eternity.”

“I hear them,” he says, “I know what they say.”

“Try not to,” he begs, and he can hear the screaming still, he’s shaking and can’t stop and he wanted to appear strong while asking the god of the dead for a favor but he’s barely able to keep standing. “I know they ask of it, I know they erect tributes and we must all answer the call of our names, but they’re not evil. They – some of them are, I mean, but don’t – try not to – please,” he ends on, and it’s just not fair that the soldiers must continue fighting after their death. Most of them hadn’t wanted to fight while they were alive.

Hades still looks confused, and Ares will beg if he has to, he knows it’s hard to go against what worshipers demand but this is important. He’s about to try again when Hades says, “I am the god of the death, lord of the underworld. Ares, I hear their cries but I am not bound by them. I rule the dead. The dead do not rule me.”

He stares. He – he’s never heard of something like that before. He answers the call of war because he must, his mother is bound by the chains of her marriage because she is the goddess of family. Demeter’s power is from the earth and of the earth, and when it suffers she suffers, even Poseidon is not immune to the sea’s temperament. Their powers are all double edged, half blessing and half curse.

“Oh,” he settles on finally. “Kore – I mean, Persephone?” They tell tales of the punishments she inflicts on those that have upset her. He knew her as a child, and he’s less surprised than most by what she became.

“My wife does what pleases her, and nothing else,” Hades answers. Ares doesn’t understand. She is Queen of Life and Death, how can that not pull at her, how does it not twist her into a shape she doesn’t recognize?

“Okay,” he says, and he has to leave, but at least he no longer has to worry so much after fallen soldiers. “I apologize for the intrusion. I should go.”

Hades slides his hands up his arms, and settles at his shoulders, and oh, Ares becomes distracted enough by those hands on him that for a moment it’s almost quiet in his own head. “If you like. You may stay as well. It seems as if you could use some rest.”

He drops his head forward on Hades’s shoulder, and he likes the solidity of him, the undercurrent of strength and power he gives off. He’s never met the man before, this is entirely inappropriate, but when Hades’s hands settle onto his hips he wants nothing more than curl up in his arms and ignore the war for a little while.

Hades feels like peace. He’d forgotten what that felt like. “I can’t stay.”

The god of the dead presses a kiss to the edge of his jaw that ignites something in Ares that has been absent since before he was declared the god of war. He wonders what Hades would do if he kissed him properly, he wonders if he pulled off his blood and war stained clothes if Hades would touch his too-hot skin. “Then I request that you return,” the god of death says.

He shouldn’t. The time he manages to not be on a battlefield should be spent with his mother, or Hephaestus. He shifts enough to press their foreheads together. He looks into Hades’s dark eyes, and says, “I will.”

Ares returns to the midst of war feeling lighter than he has in a long time.


gods and monsters series, part xviii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

Homestuck Camping Headcanons

John: Brought enough kites to populate a small country if the citizens were also kites. “John we’re in the middle of the fucking woods where are you going to fly a goddamn kite,” wrong question Karkat. John makes eye contact while holding a kite, floats up above the tree line, and flies his kite suck a dick everyone. Terezi tries flying one of the kites but seemingly does not know how. When John tries to show her she somehow manages to get him tangled up in the string and just starts cackling. She takes another kite from the pile and flies it perfectly. John is not pleased.

Dave: Spends the entire trip there composing raps and sick beats which is VERY ANNOYING to Karkat who is being carried five inches from Dave’s stupid rhyming mouth fuck you Dave. When they get there, it turns out mr cool kid is hella afraid of bugs, like “fuck oh fuck there’s a bug Karkat kill it please fuck oh my god someone please just kill it” levels of hate. “You know my species starts out as a bug” Karkat narrows his eyes. That is different, Dave tells him, your species can talk and have s- “eat shit, Dave.” Around the campfire, he tries to tell a scary story but it turns out the big plot twist at the end is just a character falling down some stairs and Dave saying “I warned you about stairs, bro” in a spooky voice. Roxy throws a marshmallow at his head from across the campfire.

Jade: Somehow manages to befriend every single forest creature she finds. She goes out for a walk and comes back with five squirrels, three bunnies, and a doe with her baby in tow. “Can we keep them?” She finds a nearby lake with a little waterfall and encourages everyone to go swimming, she cannonballs off the ledge obvi and a belly flop competition starts. Everyone’s belly hurts. This was a mistake. Oh god.

Rose: Finds a dark cave nearby and extends an invitation to explore it, Kanaya lights the way and Jake shows up in full on spelunking gear which ends up being pretty much useless as the cave dead ends after fifty feet. Rose is disappointed, she was hoping to find ancient cave drawings or the remains of a ritual sacrifice. Jake, who found some cool rocks and some kind of skull he might give to Dave, asks her why she seems let down. When she mumbles something about the blood of children he nods and walks a step behind her on the way back. At the campfire, Rose also tries to tell a scary story, she recounts the tale of Mothman. It is actually pretty spooky until she gets to the end and says that there probably was no Mothman and it was most likely a red sand hill crane that had wandered off its mighration course. Dave boos.

Kanaya: No one but Rose will share a tent with Kanaya (especially not Dave) because she likes to turn up her glow a little which attracts every. Single. Bug. She has an entourage of moths following her around and yes they do have names, Rose, they’re our children now you have to love them. Tries her hand at scary stories too, but it ends up just being about a troll who showed up to a white-tie occasion in a semi-formal outfit. Needless to say, the fear and outraged reaction was limited. She does end up scaring John, however. He heads around to the latrine only to see Kanaya hunched over a bag of pre-packed blood. “Uh, Kanaya? What are you doing?” She turns around with blood all over her mouth which she casually wipes away, Oh Hello John, I Did Not Hear You Coming, Is Something The Matter? The last part is said to his back as he sprints away screaming.

Karkat: Eats a bug in front of Dave just to freak him out a little, then Dave asks if it’s cannibalism and Karkat punches him in the arm. Tries to refuse swimming in the lake, but Dave jumps in and pretends to drown so Karkat freaks out and jumps in to try to rescue him. When Dave resurfaces laughing, Karkat pushes him back under and asks Dirk if this would count as a just death. Dirk says he better not risk it. While he’s asleep, Dave and John team up by squirting shaving cream on Karkat’s hand and tickling his face with a crow feather. This backfires because instead of rubbing his own face, Karkat starts swinging his arms out and manages to cover both Dave and John’s faces in shaving cream. He doesn’t notice and goes immediately back to sleep. Dave and John wash the shaving cream off and agree that this never happened, only Jane and Roxy Definitely Saw Them and also took a video.

Terezi: “accidentally” knocks one of John’s tent poles out with her cane while she’s walking, then accuses John of unfairly targeted a poor innocent blind girl. She and Vriska go to the river to try and catch fish for dinner, they end up getting in a competition to see who can catch the most fish. Everyone eats soup for dinner. Terezi and Vriska will not talk about what happened. Terezi gives scary stories a go, but it ends up being less scary and more like one of her roleplaying court scenarios. The only vaguely frightening thing is that at the end, she points up to the trees and everyone suddenly realizes that she hanged a bunch of her plushies sometime during the day and apparently no one noticed until now. She smiles wickedly and everyone feels slightly uneasy.

Jane: Spends part of the afternoon getting the soup ready in anticipation of a lack of fish. Realizes she forgot some of her spices at home and starts panicking until Jade takes her through the woods and helps her find some wild herbs that will taste almost the same. At one point, she goes to the bathroom and comes back with a small carapacian in handcuffs having apparently dodged another assassination attempt. She treats this very casually but enjoys being fussed over for a little bit. She tells a scary story that’s actually scary, no one realizes she’s teamed up with John in the Ultimate Prankster Duo. He is making the wind move through the trees very eerily, and right at the scariest part of the story he jumps out of the woods yelling. Everyone jumps out of their seats, some of the godtier kids accidentally fly up a good ten feet in the air they got so frightened. Jane and John high five and secretly salute Colonel Sassacre.

Jake: Jumps off the waterfall at least fifty times and has a blast doing it. Dirk is hesitant to go because he secretly is sort of afraid of heights after living in the post-apocalyptic high rises of Texas. Jake remedies this by picking him up bridal style and jumping off the ledge with him. Dirk does NOT scream or hold onto Jake for dear life because that would be uncool. Jake shows Jade some of the cool rocks he found and presents Dave with the cool skull he brought back. Dave is slightly in awe and develops a newfound respect for Jake, who promises to show him his Cool Skull collection when they get back home. Jake tells a story around the campfire that might have been intended to be scary, but ends up being more of an adventure tale, Indiana Jones style. Everyone listens intently and really enjoys it even though it’s not a ghost story.

Roxy: Can apparently climb trees like nobodies business? She had to help the carapacians in her old neighborhood get stuff out of them because they were always losing balls and cats and kites. She goes for a walk with Jade and Calliope while Jane is making dinner and they pick her a nice bouquet of wildflowers to give her when they get back. Around the campfire, she tries to tell a scary story but it ends up being about wizards and no one is surprised. Their tent is poppin’ and she and the ladies party it the fuck up all night and end up sleeping until noon the next day because they’re so exhausted.

Calliope: Loves being in nature so so so so much holy fuck. She’s lived underground and chained up her entire life that this is unbelievable. She’ll spend entire hours just staring up at the sky and pointing out cloud shapes to Jane and Roxy. She tries telling a scary story around the campfire, but it ends up being a tale about the importance of friendship and how love is the truest magic of all. There are a few tears in some of the kids eyes at the end of it.

Dirk: He and Jake go out to collect firewood and refuse to take more than one trip so they stagger back into camp with towering piles of branches and make a huge mess by dropping them everywhere. Instead of telling a ghost story, he and Dave have a rap battle over the fire which devolves into them just laughing and quoting SBAHJ until they can’t talk anymore. Karkat and Jake share a Look™ like, I can’t believe these are our fucking dorks. Dirk can name every single star, he knows the stars and constellations that transferred over from his Earth, and he knows the ones that migrated in from Alternia/Beforus. People begin to doubt him when he points out a constellation that he claims is shaped like a dick, most likely because he called it “Ursa Penis”. He spends the rest of the night trying to come up with a major/minor dick size joke but can’t think of a good one and sulks a little about it.

Sollux: Sets up everyone’s tent for them with his psiionics and goes on a walk with Karkat. They get very lost and argue the whole time about whether or not they are actually lost. John and Dave are flying above them and could theoretically help them get back to camp but they will not. Sollux thinks they’re going to die out in the woods and tries eating some roots and berries and mushrooms even though Karkat tells him that that’s the worst possible fucking idea he’s ever had in his life and yes he’s including the time Sollux suggested finding a way to combine troll and bee DNA to make the ultimate being. You mean ‘bee’-ing, Sollux says. No the fuck I do not, Karkat replies. The mushroom Sollux eats ends up giving him wackass hallucinations and Karkat definitely does not record any of the crazy bullshit Sollux starts saying.

Prince!Seokmin

find the other members [here]

  • is the most popular prince in the history of the village
  • like no one has ever been so universally adored and enjoyed,,,like even when other village officials visit that have tension with the government - one meeting with seokmin and they’re,,,,,,,ready to swear peace
  • his parents say it’s his smile,,,,a healing smile,,,,,a smile that no one can resist
  • but it’s also because seokmin is selfless and does his best to make people comfortable and feel cared for
  • like an angel that knows just what people want to hear,,,,he makes not only the people of his village feel good,,,,he makes the people he works with feel it too
  • other princes like woozi or wonwoo seem so stoic during interviews or broadcasted events,,,,yet when prince seokmin shows up even those with the coldest auras are photographed laughing and having a good time
  • has been studying singing since he was small,,,,his voice was recognized by his parents and the nation when at twelve he sang the national anthem at a new years celebration
  • and the entire country fell quiet for his amazing vocal range
  • since then he’s always sung the anthem at opening games and other important events,,,,,but he’s also sung at orphanages and carnivals for kids
  • because if there’s anything that gets kids excited it’s having the actual prince sitting on the floor with them singing the theme song to sesame street with a big kind smile on his face
  • the kids dont even call him prince seokmin they call him older brother and parents or teachers would try to correct them but seokmin is always just like :—–) no,,,,,,,,older brother seokmin is Good
  • once got photographed enjoying some ice cream in the palace gardens and he looked so nice that the ice cream brand used the photo on its advertisements askfljsg
  • all time best friend is a local blacksmith hoshi who people are surprised to find out has known seokmin since they were literal children
  • hoshi talking about seokmin: “he’s the prince, but when we were kids he played the hors-”
  • seokmin appearing out of thin air: “hoshi and i are only business affiliates now. please do not believe what he says.”
  • but they really are close like seokmin is the type to tell his bodyguards they don’t need to come with him when he heads to the village to see hoshi because he feels so at peace with his people and with his friends
  • like he’ll stroll around like he’s just another commoner and not you know,,,,,,the prince of the land
  • doesn’t like suits or formal wear,,,,,,but when his hair is pulled back he just looks,,,,,Regal


  • even though seokmin is completely fine on his own,,,,,,,
  • his parents aren’t always ok with seokmin walking around unguarded
  • and since seokmin has this charming way around him he’s easily able to get the people who his parents hire to let him slip away unnoticed,,,,afterall he’s just a likable guy
  • even his own staff let’s him get away with anything
  • so that’s why his parents hire you,,,,,,,,you’ve built up a reputation of kind of being,,,,,,,unmovable
  • you like to think it’s just part of your personality and the job - if you get hired to protect someone, you have to do whats best for their safety, and sneaking away is breaking that
  • also,,,,you’ve learned to keep an unreadable face - not even the funniest joke or tickling makes you break,,,,,,you think it’s unprofessional to build “friendly” relationships with who you work with. especially who you have to protect with your life
  • which is why on the first day,,,,,when seokmin makes a pun using your name you stare at him blankly
  • the whole room is silent,,,,aside from a waiter who leaves the room stifling a giggle
  • and seokmin tilts his head, smile not dropping from his lips “i see you’re not a joke person?”
  • you nod, making seokmin scrunch up his nose a bit and turn on his heel with a clap
  • “it’s ok, im sure ill get a laugh out of you someday!”
  • you don’t say it outloud because well he /is/ the prince but you think to yourself that he can try all he wants, no one has ever made you laugh on the job
  • the first couple of weeks is rather easy, everywhere you and seokmin go there’s minimal danger because people respect him and he has little to no known enemies
  • every now and then you catch him trying to take bread offered from bakers or flowers offered from children
  • and you have to intervene and explain that the prince cannot receive presents, making seokmin chuckle and go “lighten up!” but you shake your head
  • who cares if it makes you a debbie-downer, who knows whats in the bread or what kind of flowers those are, you can’t risk the princes safety
  • seokmin tries, on multiple occasions, to ask you about your life and hobbies
  • “you’re a pretty private person, but there must be something you like? dogs? fairs? fireworks? candy?”
  • “all of those are fine, my prince.”
  • you give the same flat answer each time and seokmin’s happy, mischievous expression falters just a bit
  • but you keep a straight face, knowing that it’s better to be focused on the surroundings then on the prince getting to know you better
  • questions turn to actions,,,,seokmin tries making funny faces at you when he’s bored at a meeting, or telling a funny story that has everyone in an uproar except you, accidentally tripping or falling for basic comedic relief but all you do is help him back and ask if he’s ok
  • seokmin can’t wrap his head around it,,,,,,is it because you have no sense of humor?????? do you not like him????? what is it??????
  • no one has ever managed to be around him for more than fifteen minutes and not smile
  • and here you are, calmly watching the village go by through the windows of the car as seokmin sits beside you
  • hands crossed over his chest,,,,thinking of any good jokes to crack or silly antics to pull
  • your phone goes off and you pull it out because the alert tone means its from the palace
  • you read the message,,,,it concerns a schedule change for seokmin but before you can tell the prince
  • the car makes a jerking turn and ends up pushing you to the side
  • you try to catch yourself before you go falling off the seat, but seokmin reaches to hold your arm, frowning and telling you that you should wear your seat belt - he’s got his on
  • for a moment, he looks up to see an expression of shock on your face
  • the most he’s seen since you started working as his bodyguard,,,,,,and seokmin doesn’t know how to explain it but
  • the small sigh of relief you do when you sit back down,,,,,something about it
  • makes you look so,,,,,cute
  • but you know you shouldn’t have done it,,you clear your throat to play if off and tell him that he’s going to have to cancel dinner with the officials from one of the villages schools because the royals staying in his families palace have decided they want seokmin’s family to throw a ball to see them off
  • and even seokmin,,,,,who loves parties and social events,,,,,rolls his eyes
  • because the royals staying with his family have been such brats - even though he’s managed to put up the front of liking them in order to get them to sign a treaty with his parents
  • seokmin mumbles that they ask way too much and are overstaying their visit in his home anyway
  • you look at him, eyebrow raised just slightly because you’ve never seen seokmin say anything remotely negative about anyone
  • and he shrugs his shoulders and goes “you’re not the only one who puts on a good mask you know.”
  • the words,,,,,make you think for a moment,,,,,,that essentially he’s right - it’s a mask
  • you’re not an emotionless person and neither are you someone that hates smiling or whatever, you just want to look and act apathetic so you don’t,,,,,,have to show weakness
  • seokmin’s radiant smile and bubbly personality,,,,,you just assumed 100% was true all the time - but maybe there are days when he doesn’t want to be the positive energy
  • like a normal person,,,,he just wants to relax
  • but as you get to the palace, that smile of his is on again and when you open the car door you see a couple of the waiters come running toward him
  • asking him 94302 questions about the ball they need to set up in four hours
  • seokmin, with an assuring couple of words calms down their franticness
  • he leads them all back into the house and you follow, watching carefully as seokmin handles the menu and decorations like a pro
  • sometimes you think someone whose always looking on the bright side might be a little foolish,,,,,but seokmin is able to be so organized and encouraging
  • it makes you feel a sense of ,,,,,,pride,,,,,that the place where you’re from has a prince so capable and kind
  • seokmin passes by you with a waiter who shows him different types of roses
  • and you turn to follow, but seokmin puts up a hand and goes “you can have the rest of the day off - ill be in the palace so i should be safe.”
  • you open your mouth to disagree, but seokmin explains that it’s an order and that your contract doesnt bind you to be by his side 24/7
  • you nod,,,,,slightly distraught that he’d bring that up,,,,,but he disappears down the hall with the waiters as you watch
  • even though seokmin excuses you for the evening,,,,,something doesn’t sit right with you and as you head toward the ballroom the queen, seokmin’s mother comes up to you and asks if you’d go get her son and tell him the bratty royals are having another problem with the menu
  • you nod,,,,,walking slightly faster than usual because for some odd reason there’s an excitement in your chest about being able to stay with seokmin a little longer
  • you reach his bedroom, the large doors thrown open as you come inside and see seokmin standing talking with another person
  • the person,,,,,,you recognize,,,,,is the daughter of the royals staying in the palace
  • she’s young and known for being loud and bossy, but seokmin seems to be handling the conversation well
  • she jumps up, throwing her arms around him when he finishes his sentence and it startles both you and seokmin
  • when she turns to dash out of the room, she bumps your shoulder and doesn’t turn around to apologize
  • you touch it but seokmin’s voice calling your name breaks your concern
  • “the queen told me to inform you that the royals don’t like having duck on the menu.”
  • seokmin’s shoulders drop and you can see that the stress is getting to him, balls take months to plan on occasion and usually the palace isn’t even responsible a committee is hired to host
  • but you know that seokmin wants to do anything to keep on these people’s good side in order to keep the treaty agreement
  • “ok, but the chef has already started and if he has to scrape that duck it’s so much food wasted. ill think of something,,,,”
  • he sits on the edge of his bed, head in his hands as he mumbles to himself
  • you watch him,,,,,,slightly unnerved by the image of a seokmin so starkly different from his usual self
  • and you’re one that always follows rules and regulations, always keeps your emotions out of it but
  • stepping forward you go
  • “my prince, if anything ,,,,,,,,,,,,, can’t you just ,,,,,,,,,, say no this one time?”
  • seokmin shakes his head,,,,,, “i can’t say no, i can’t let people know that there’s something i can’t do. i have to fight through this with a smile,,,”
  • “but what if there was an emergency,,,,,,,what if someone had to take you away and you couldn’t make the ball?”
  • seokmin looks at you,,,,,,,,,,he blinks and goes “aren’t you a stickler for rules,,,,,,,,,,and you’re proposing i make up some scheme to get out of this?”
  • slowly you nod,,,,playing with your fingers behind your back from nervousness
  • a small smile spreads on seokmin’s face and he goes ,,,,,,, “do you have a plan?”
  • you nod,,,,,telling him to wait as you rush down the stairs
  • the queen is standing with the royals,,,,,she looks upset as they complain about this and that and you stop before her
  • bowing and going “your majesty, the prince went out to meet a guest for the ball but it seems the guest and the prince are gone. i am going to need for the ball to be canceled so all forces can be focused on finding the prince.”
  • your words almost make the queen faint,,,, the royal family bursts into a wave of shocked noises and the girl who’d been with seokmin cries out that now she won’t be able to dance with him
  • you look to the queen for her approval and she fans herself but nods “the ball is off, find my son!”
  • with that you set off down the hall, rushing up the stairs and into seokmins room
  • he opens his mouth to ask what’s going on
  • “we’re running away.”
  • “wait, like forever?”
  • “no, for tonight so you and this whole country can avoid this dumb ball. now let’s go!”
  • you take his hand and the two of you run through the palace, you give every waiter or servant a knowing look and seokmin puts his finger over his lips
  • they all smile and nod in confirmation as seokmin shows you a secret passage out to the gardens
  • when you’re safely away, you ask if seokmin knows where you two can stay long enough to avoid the palace till tomorrow
  • he grins and says he knows /just/ the place
  • though the village is a good walk away, you and seokmin having to duck in small alleys and curved roads to avoid anyone seeing you
  • you come across a blacksmith’s shop, the closed sign confuses you, but seokmin does three short knocks and then whispers some kind of passcode against it
  • and like magic, it opens
  • hoshi goes “i heard you were missing!” seokmin grins and shrugs “i am, for the night.”
  • hoshi looks from him to you and sticks out his hand
  • “im hoshi, seokmins go-to hideout”
  • you shake it,,,,,and hoshi wiggles his eyebrows
  • “you two an,,,,,,,item?”
  • you flush red and seokmin chuckles
  • “i cant even make them laugh, they’re my bodyguard!”
  • hoshi grins, going on about how he’s always had more luck than seokmin when it comes to love! the two of them bicker like school yard boys
  • and you can’t help it,,,,,it’s so silly,,,,,,,,,that you giggle
  • seokmin turns to you,,,,,,eyes wide
  • and hoshi points to you too “i thought you said they don’t laugh seokmin?”
  • “that’s the first ive heard it!”
  • you cover your mouth with your hand, turning around and pretending to be interested in the different tools hanging up in hoshi’s shop
  • hoshi invites you two to go upstairs while he finishes some work
  • and you and seokmin find yourself seated at a small table,,,,,,the prince of the place you grew up,,,,,someone so untouchable
  • sitting 5 feet away with no crown and drinking tea from a cracked old mug
  • you sit,,,,,,,still wearing the all black uniform for bodyguards and your phone rings like crazy for updates
  • you pick it up but seokmin snatches it, turning it off and throwing it onto hoshi’s couch
  • “we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
  • you feel horrible about leaving the queen and others in the dark,,,but seokmin looks so much less stressed
  • and it seems like maybe a night from forced smiling and constant interactions would be good for him
  • ,,,,,,and your concern is still always the princes safety
  • here might be more safe than the palace for tonight
  • seokmin stares at you,,,,,you rub at your face and ask if there’s something on it but he just goes
  • “i like your laugh, why don’t you laugh more?”
  • “,,,,,,,,,part of my job is to keep things professional. laughing,,,,,smiling,,,,,thats for friends-”
  • “then whats helping me runaway for? friends,,,,,,,,,or?”
  • you look at him,,,trying hard to suppress the warmth crawling up into your face at seokmin’s words
  • he leans over,,,,,and when he’s close enough that your heart starts racing
  • he goes “thank you, for helping me”
  • “it,,,,,,it’s my job,,,,,,,,,,”
  • seokmin is still close and you almost can’t breathe,,,,,,
  • you’ve seen him everyday for so long and even before that you’d seen him on tv so much
  • yet nothing captures how absolutely gorgeous he is in real life
  • and seokmin tilts his face,,,,,,you close your eyes and think that the most unprofessional thing in the world is kissing your client
  • but you’ve already broken so many of your “rules”
  • that when seokmin kisses you,,,,,,it feels like the only right thing in the world
  • when you pull back,,,seokmin sits back down, his hand knocks over the tea on the table and it spills all over him
  • letting out a yelp,,,,he stands up to wipe at his clothes
  • and you,,,,,,,,reach for napkins but can’t help but laugh at him clumsiness
  • seokmin lets you help but you hear him say
  • “out of all the things, you find me being a clutz funny?? is that all i had to do to make you laugh???”
  • you shrug and say that you’re not usually one to laugh at others,,,,,but he’s just,,,,,,,,so cutely oblivious sometimes
  • when you fall asleep, exhausted from the day on hoshi’s couch seokmin drapes his jacket over you
  • hoshi comes up and asks when you two need to be back at the palace
  • but seokmin just elbows him smugly and goes
  • “they called me cute.”
  • hoshi: wow, do you want a prize you lovestruck idiot

Usually, I lie. At a party, someone asks the question. It’s someone who hasn’t smelled the rancid decay of week-dead flesh or heard the rattle of fluid flooding lungs. I shake the ice in my glass, smile, and lie. When they say, “I bet you always get that question,” I roll my eyes and agree.

There are plenty of in-between stories to delve into; icky, miraculous ones and reams of the hilarious and stupid. I did, after all, become a paramedic knowing it would stack my inner shelves with a library of human tragicomedy. I am a writer, and we are nothing if not tourists gawking at our own and other people’s misery. No?

The dead don’t bother me. Even the near-dead, I’ve made my peace with. When we meet, there’s a very simple arrangement: Either they’re provably past their expiration date and I go about my business, RIP, or they’re not and I stay. A convenient set of criteria delineates the provable part: if they have begun to decay; if rigor mortis has set in; if the sedentary blood has begun to pool at their lowest point, discoloring the skin like a slowly gathering bruise. The vaguest criterion is called obvious death, and we use it in those bizarre special occasions that people are often sniffing for when they ask questions at parties: decapitations, dismemberments, incinera- tions, brains splattered across the sidewalk. Obvious death.

One of my first obvious deaths was a portly Mexican man who had been bicycling along the highway that links Brooklyn to Queens. He’d been hit by three cars and a dump truck, which was the only one that stopped. The man wasn’t torn apart or flattened, but his body had twisted into a pretzel; arms wrapped around legs. Somewhere in there was a shoulder. Obvious death. His bike lay a few feet away, gnarled like its owner. Packs and packs of Mexican cigarettes scattered across the highway. It was three a.m. and a light rain sprinkled the dead man, the bicycle, the cigarette packs, and me, made us all glow in the sparkle of police flares. I was brand new; cars kept rushing past, slowing down, rushing past.

Obvious death. Which means there’s nothing we can do, which means I keep moving with my day, with my life, with whatever I’ve been pondering until this once-alive-now-inanimate object fell into my path.If I can’t check off any of the boxes—if I can’t prove the person’s dead—I get to work and the resuscitation flowchart erupts into a tree of brand-new and complex options. Start CPR, intubate, find a vein, put an IV in it. If there’s no vein and you’ve tried twice, drill an even bigger needle into the flat part of the bone just below the knee. Twist till you feel a pop, attach the IV line. If the heart is jiggling, shock it; if it’s flatlined, fill it with drugs. If the family lingers, escort them out; if they look too hopeful, ease them toward despair. If time slips past and the dead stay dead, call it. Signs of life? Scoop ’em up and go.

You see? Simple.

Except then one day you find one that has a quiet smile on her face, her arms laying softly at her sides, her body relaxed. She is ancient, a crinkled flower, and was dying for weeks, years. The fam- ily cries foul: She had wanted to go in peace. A doctor, a social worker, a nurse—at some point all opted not to bother having that difficult conversation, perhaps because the family is Dominican and the Spanish translator wasn’t easily reachable and anyway, someone else would have it, surely, but no one did. And now she’s laid herself down, made all her quiet preparations and slipped gently away. Without that single piece of paper though, none of the lamentations matter, the peaceful smile doesn’t matter. You set to work, the tree of options fans out, your blade sweeps her tongue aside and you battle in an endotracheal tube; needles find their mark. Bumps emerge on the flat line, a slow march of tiny hills that resolve into tighter scribbles. Her pulse bounds against your fingers; she is alive.

But not awake, perhaps never to be again. You have brought not life but living death, and fuck what I’ve seen, because that, my friends at the party, my random interlocutor who doesn’t know the reek of decay, that is surely one of the craziest things I have ever done.

But that’s not what I say. I lie.

Which is odd because I did, after all, become a medic to fill the library stacks, yes? An endless collection of human frailty vignettes: disasters and the expanding ripple of trauma. No, that’s not quite true. There was something else, I’m sure of it.

And anyway, here at this party, surrounded by eager listeners with drinks in hand, mouths slightly open, ready to laugh or gasp, I, the storyteller, pause. In that pause, read my discomfort.

On the job, we literally laugh in the face of death. In our crass humor and easy flow between tragedy and lunch break, outsiders see callousness: We have built walls, ceased to feel. As one who laughs, I assure you that this is not the case. When you greet death on the daily, it shows you new sides of itself, it brings you into the fold. Gradually, or maybe quickly, depending on who you are, you make friends with it. It’s a wary kind of friendship at first, with the kind of stilted conversation you might have with a man who picked you up hitch- hiking and turns out to have a pet boa constrictor around his neck. Death smiles because death always wins, so you can relax. When you know you won’t win, it lets you focus on doing everything you can to try to win anyway, and really, that’s all there is: The Effort.

The Effort cleanses. It wards off the gathering demons of doubt. When people wonder how we go home and sleep easy after bearing witness to so much pain, so much death, the answer is that we’re not bearing witness. We’re working. Not in the paycheck sense, but in the sense of The Effort. When it’s real, not one of the endless parade of chronic runny noses and vague hip discomforts, but a true, soon- to-be-dead emergency? Everything falls away. There is the patient, the family, the door. Out the door is the ambulance and then farther down the road, the hospital. That’s it. That’s all there is.

Awkward text messages from exes, career uncertainties, generalized aches and pains: They all disintegrate beneath the hugeness that is someone else’s life in your hands. The guy’s heart is failing; fluid backs up in those feebly pumping chambers, erupts into his lungs, climbs higher and higher, and now all you hear is the raspy clatter every time he breathes. Is his blood pressure too high or too low? You wrap the cuff on him as your partner finds an IV. The monitor goes on. A thousand possibilities open up before you: He might start getting better, he might code right there, the ambulance might stall, the medicine might not work, the elevator could never come. You cast off the ones you can’t do anything about, see about another IV because the one your partner got already blew. You’re sweating when you step back and realize nothing you’ve done has helped, and then everything becomes even simpler, because all you can do is take him to the hospital as fast as you can move without totaling the rig.

He doesn’t make it. You sweated and struggled and calculated and he doesn’t make it, and dammit if that ain’t the way shit goes, but also, you’re hungry. And you’re alive, and you’ve wracked your body and mind for the past hour trying to make this guy live. Death won, but death always wins, the ultimate spoiler alert. You can only be that humbled so many times and then you know: Death always wins. It’s a warm Thursday evening and grayish orange streaks the horizon. There’s a pizza place around the corner; their slices are just the right amount of doughy. You check inside yourself to see if anything’s shattered and it’s not, it’s not. You are alive. You have not shattered.

You have not shattered because of The Effort. The Effort cleanses because you have become a part of the story, you are not passive, the very opposite of passive, in fact. Having been humbled, you feel amazing. Every moment is precise and the sky ripples with delight as you head off to the pizza place, having hurled headlong into the game and given every inch of yourself, if only for a moment, to a losing struggle.

It’s not adrenaline, although they’ll say that it is, again and again. It is the grim, heartbroken joy of having taken part. It is the difference between shaking your head at the nightly news and taking to the streets. It’s when you finally tell her how you really feel, the moment you craft all your useless repetitive thoughts into a prayer.

At the party, as they look on expectantly, I draft one of the lesser moments of horror as a stand-in. The evisceration, that will do. That single strand of intestine just sitting on the man’s belly like a lost worm. He was dying too, but he lived. It was a good story, a terrible night.

I was new and I didn’t know if I’d done anything right. He lived, but only by a hair. I magnified each tiny decision to see if I’d erred and came up empty. There was no way to know. Eventually I stopped taking jobs home with me. I released the ghosts of what I’d done or hadn’t done, let The Effort do what it does and cleanse me in the very moment of crisis. And then one night I met a tiny three-year old girl in overalls, all smiles and high-fives and curly hair. We were there because a neighbor had called it in as a burn, but the burns were old. Called out on his abuse, the father had fled the scene. The emergency, which had been going on for years, had ended and only just begun.

The story unraveled as we drove to the hospital; I heard it from the front seat. The mother knew all along, explained it in jittery, sobbing replies as the police filled out their forms. It wasn’t just the burns; the abuse was sexual too. There’d been other hospital visits, which means that people who should’ve seen it didn’t, or didn’t bother setting the gears in motion to stop it. I parked, gave the kid another high five, watched her walk into the ER holding a cop’s hand.

Then we had our own forms to fill out. Bureaucracy’s response to unspeakable tragedy is more paperwork. Squeeze the horror into easy-to-fathom boxes, cull the rising tide of rage inside and check and recheck the data, complete the forms, sign, date, stamp, insert into a metal box and then begin the difficult task of forgetting.

The job followed me down Gun Hill Road; it laughed when I pretended I was okay. I stopped on a corner and felt it rise in me like it was my own heart failing this time, backing fluids into my lungs, breaking my breath. I texted a friend, walked another block. A sob came out of somewhere, just one. It was summer. The breeze felt nice and nice felt shitty.

My phone buzzed. Do you want to talk about it?

I did. I wanted to talk about it and more than that I wanted to never have seen it and even more than that I wanted to have done something about it and most of all, I wanted it never to have hap- pened, never to happen again. The body remembers. We carry each trauma and ecstasy with us and they mark our stride and posture, contort our rhythm until we release them into the summer night over Gun Hill Road. I knew it wasn’t time to release just yet; you can’t force these things. I tapped the word no into my phone and got on the train.

I don’t tell that one either. Stories with trigger warnings don’t go over well at parties. But when the question is asked, the little girl’s smile and her small, bruised arms appear in my mind.

The worst tragedies don’t usually get 911 calls, because they are patient, unravel over centuries. While we obsess over the hyperviolent mayhem, they seep into our subconscious, poison our sense of self, upend communities, and gnaw away at family trees with intergenerational trauma.I didn’t pick up my pen just to bear witness. None of us did. And I didn’t become a medic to get a front-row seat to other people’s tragedies. I did it because I knew the world was bleeding and so was I, and somewhere inside I knew the only way to stop my own bleeding was to learn how to stop someone else’s. Another call crackles over the radio, we pick up the mic and push the button and drive off. Death always wins, but there is power in our tiniest moments, humanity in shedding petty concerns to make room for compassion. We witness, take part, heal. The work of healing in turn heals us and we begin again, laughing mournfully, and put pen to paper.

Daniel José Older

Just A Little Bit More: A Feysand Mini Fic

A light weight on his shoulder and a short motion out of the corner of his eye is what silences the table.

The wine glass Mor holds pauses en route to her lips. Cassian’s booming laugh cuts off. And Azriel sets his utensils down from where he’d been picking apart the meat with a faint clinking on his plate. Amren alone remains quiet, smirking over her glass of Rhys doesn’t want to know what, the only one who seemed to anticipate this moment.

Rhys looks to his left and finds Feyre with her head on his shoulder and she’s…

Asleep.

His entire body goes still in that moment, his heart the only thing bursting with life inside of him. Feyre’s only been in the Night Court for maybe a month and sleep has been hard to come by. But she’s sleeping now. Next to him. On him. And she seems oddly peaceful about it in a way he’s never seen her before.

He remembers the nightmares. He remembers all of them. But none of the terrors that flashed through him in a flurry of panic and sweat for three months after he came home from that mountain compared to the one he had to wake her up from himself. How Feyre had thrashed on the bed, talons ripping the sheets, the anxiety on her face when she’d finally gotten a hold of herself and had to fly to the bathroom before it all came screaming up her throat.

The blood. The tears. The pain. Miles and miles of pain choking the life out of her and all Rhys could do was sit and watch it unfold, hoping she wouldn’t stop him from rubbing circles on her back until it was over. He’d tucked her in that night, stayed a while. Didn’t leave her side until he was sure she was okay again.

He wonders if this will be one of those times, except…

Keeping his entire body rigidly still, Rhys moves only his eyes and catches Morrigan staring at Feyre. She glances at Rhys and a soft reassuring smile blooms on her face. “You were saying? About Cassian’s last trip to Adriata?”

And that’s that. That’s all she says. And Rhys goes on telling the story that only moments ago had Cassian in stitches about his own antics and Azriel quietly shaking his head.

And the entire time, Rhys sees Morrigan, the cousin who knows every secret he has carried for weeks now, staring at him. Staring at Feyre. Staring and smiling. Because they both know that Feyre can barely fall asleep in her own bed, much less in front of their inner circle. Because they know this means something. Because they know this is the beginning.

Because they know that maybe Feyre had been about to smile too before she felt comfortable enough to fall asleep on her mate without knowing it.

And Rhys feels this little seed of hope inside him crack, a tiny sprout peaking out to see some sunlight.

The rest of dinner is pleasant. Feyre doesn’t move once. When Rhys scoops her up to lay her on the sofa so he can go over updated plans for the mortal realms with Azriel on the balcony, she remains ever tranquil. Cassian begins piecing out dessert on the table and Mor digs in before she has even finished plating it in front of her. Amren shakes her head but doesn’t say anything.

Dessert is nearly finished when Cassian cuts off telling his version of visiting Adriata, the table going eerily quiet again. Rhys freezes because he just knows. He felt Feyre even before Morrigan put her hand on him and whispered, “Rhys.”

Feyre twitches on the sofa uncomfortably. Rhys can see her eyes rolling back and forth rapidly beneath her closed lids. Her hands curl into fists and constrict around her chest. Sweat begins to pull across her brow.

He’s up in a heartbeat.

“Feyre,” he says kneeling next to her and his voice is more a sob than a plea. “Feyre, wake up.”

Rhys shakes her. Shakes her until she groans and wakes up, sitting bolt upright, the hands just on the verge of letting those razor sharp talons inch out of her digging into his shoulders as she grabs him. He doesn’t even feel the pain.

“A dream,” he tells her. “It was just a dream.”

She’s breathing deeply. Her eyes flit to the table where Rhys’s friends - her friends now - are watching and quickly flit back to find Rhys’s eyes. They’ve never seen her in such a state of panic. And it terrifies Rhys how she’ll feel about that.

Suddenly, Feyre sucks her lips in and he knows she’s holding it all in. He starts breathing with her, deeply and loud enough for Feyre to hear. She mimics him.

“In,” Rhys says. “Out. In. Out.”

She shakes her head, more at herself than him, and he hears the words past her broken mental barriers.

I’m not going to throw up. I’m not going to throw up. I’m fine. I’m okay. This is okay. It was just a dream. It wasn’t real. This is real.

When she murmurs ‘this,’ her talons release on Rhys’s shoulder, but her fingers left in their place give a little tug on his tunic and Rhys instinctively leans forward. He doesn’t move nor stop his labored breathing for her until she slows down, until her lips release, and her grip slackens.

But she’s tired. He can see how utterly exhausted she is despite sleeping all through dinner. A thousand years of sleep might not be enough to erase the kind of fatigue he and Feyre both suffer from.

Feyre looks at him, the blue-grey of her eyes more grey tonight than blue.

She had been so peaceful, he thinks.

Can you take me back? She asks him through the bond. She doesn’t even have to ask him to lower his shields for her to come through. Pl-

Rhys has her in his arms before the word is even finished in their heads. He will never make her beg him for anything. And then without another word or so much as a look at anyone else, they’re soaring off the balcony into a smooth flight through the night wind.

Rhys tells Feyre to look up at the stars, but it makes no difference. She’s asleep again long before they reach the townhouse.

xx

Stuck -- Bughead Au

Work Count: 1,987

Rated: PG-13

A/N: In which Betty and Jughead live in the same building and meet on the elevator. And well… let just say they hit it off :)

“Hold the elevator!” Betty shouted, breathless as she rushed through the lobby of her new apartment building. Her once perky ponytail was hanging a little lower on her head and god did her feet hurt. Betty wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to navigating New York City. She’d gotten off the subway one stop too early and ended up walking ten blocks home to her apartment in high heels.

Just as the elevator doors were about to close a hand shot out and pushed the doors open again. Betty pushed her purse back up on her shoulder and slipped through the doors leaning against the far wall.

“Rough night, Betty?” The boy sharing the elevator with her was mirroring her position, leaning against the opposite wall, his leather clad arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m sorry, have we met?”

The boy tapped a finger to his chest, just over his heart, then pointed to her. “You’re wearing a nametag.”

Betty glanced down at her outfit. Of course, she’d forgotten all about the nametag. In fact, Betty was trying to forget about the whole night.

“I’m Jughead, by the way.” The dark haired boy said after a short moment. “It’s only fair you know my name too.”

Betty reached up and tightened her ponytail, then reached a hand across the small space between them. “Nice to meet you, I suppose.”

Jughead’s large, slightly calloused hand enveloped Betty’s small soft one.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped moving, making Betty slip a little. Jughead caught her elbow, holding her steady. 

When she was back on her feet, Jughead knelt down in front of the panel of buttons. Door Open. No luck.  He hit the call button, and after waiting for over a minute, there was no answer. “Damn management. Probably spooning his whiskey bottle in the storage closet again.” Jughead pulled his beanie off his head, running his hand through his hair.

“What do we do then?” The blonde girl asked, she was digging through her purse and pulled out a cell phone. “Dammit, it’s dead.”

Jughead shook his head. “Wait? I guess?” He put his hat back on, suddenly self conscious with this beautiful girl watching him. “I’ll keep trying the call button, but I don’t think we’ll have any luck. I think we should just listen in case someone passes by.” Jughead slid to the floor, while Betty remained standing, hands clenched at her side. Jughead couldn’t help but watch her.

On her wrist he saw an orange paper band, the kind that you would get at a music festival or carnival. Given how crisp and pristine this particular band was, she must’ve gotten it recently. That only told Jughead one thing, not that he had a lot of experience in that area.

“So, speed dating, huh?”

Betty pulled her hands back, hiding them both behind her back. How did he know? “What would make you say that?” Betty was embarrassed to say the least. A guy like him was nothing like her; cool, confident… sexy. His black leather jacket directly opposed her soft pink cardigan. Combat boots and ballet slippers; the black haired boy and the blonde haired girl sharing the elevator would clearly have nothing in common. He probably has girls fawning over him at every bar he goes to, while Betty has stooped so low as to try speed dating.

Jughead waved a hand nonchalantly. “I had a friend once who would go speed dating to pick up girls, he thought it was easier to keep up a large ‘Chick List’ as he called it. All of the girls he met were looking for someone and he said that he would be that someone.”

When Betty didn’t respond, Jughead got a little nervous. Surely she didn’t care about his friend’s seduction techniques. Quick, he had to salvage the conversation. “Anyway, what does orange mean?”

Betty slid to the floor next to him.  There was no point now; she couldn’t salvage her dignity at this point. “It’s uh- woman seeking man.” She paused, when he remained silent she continued. “You’d be surprised at how many women seeking women tried to hit on me though.”

“I take it the night didn’t go as planned?”

“Is it that obvious?” Betty let out a slight giggle. “Wow, I must be pretty pathetic.”

“Just a guess. I mean, you’re coming home alone so…”

Betty scowled. “You know, not every girl goes home with just anyone. I’m not that desperate.”  

Back pedal, back pedal. “Oh, no no no. That’s not what I meant. I just thought, you know, a guy would be crazy to not want to go home with you, or at least buy you a drink after…” He glanced at his watch. “…nine-thirty.”

“Well, thanks I guess.”

“Also,” The boy next to her paused, breath caught in his throat. “For the record, if I’d been there I would have been trying to talk to you all night. I bet you were the most beautiful girl there.”

Betty barked out a laugh. “I’m sure there were other girls that were more your type.”

Jughead turned to face Betty. He smirked and raised an eyebrow at the beautiful blonde sitting next to him.

“What?” Betty smiled. She couldn’t help it, this boy was really tempting to her. She was new to the city, no friends, no boyfriend, she was lonely. And this boy, Jughead, was nothing like any of the guys she knew in high school. They were all jocks, who liked to drink beer in the woods around Sweetwater River and have sex in the backseat of the car at the drive in. She wasn’t sure what kind of guy Jughead was, but at this point she didn’t know if she cared.

“What exactly do you think my type is?”

As if it wasn’t obvious what his type was. “Black nail polish, pointy eyeliner, purple hair, miniskirt with fishnet tights and combat boots. Am I getting anywhere here?”

“You’re all wrong.” He slid a little closer to her so their shoulders touched. “My type is pastel sweaters, pink lip gloss, and blonde ponytails.”

Jughead watched closely as Betty’s cheeks blushed pink, her lips attempting to hide a smile. Jughead didn’t hold back his smile. He’d never felt what the world called butterflies in the stomach, but he was feeling them now. He was scared to say another word, that he might ruin the moment. He didn’t dare move, because then her gorgeous green eyes might look away and he desperately wanted to keep looking at her.

Betty opened her mouth as if to say something, but paused when Jughead leaned closer, his breath warm against her face. They were only inches apart now, Betty noticed, as Jughead’s hand brushed the soft fabric of her cardigan. She reciprocated, allowing her thumb to brush over his other hand and latch onto his leather jacket. Her eyes flicked to his lips, which were parted just slightly, and she finally let the full smile shine through as they both simultaneously pulled the other closer.

The kiss was rougher than Jughead expected, especially considering he’d just met the girl, but he wasn’t complaining. After all, they could be stuck in this elevator for a long time. Betty was now gripping his jacket at the waist and Jughead slid his hands up her arms to rest at her cheeks and swears he’s never felt anything so soft in his life.

Betty knew she shouldn’t do it, but her body was in control now. She shifted onto her knees and climbed onto Jughead’s lap. She slipped her hands under his jacket and tugged a little at the wife beater he wore underneath. She didn’t want anything more, just a little skin, so she let her hands wander under the fabric to rest just above his waistline. Jughead flinched, making Betty pause. “Shit…” She pulled her hands away, beginning to back away, but soon hands were latched behind her back.

The boy underneath her looked much less intimidating now. His lips were wet, slightly shiny with the gloss from Betty’s lips. His jacket had fallen slightly off his shoulders with the shirt underneath still hitched up just slightly. One of his hands gripped the fabric at her lower back, lifting it slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Betty didn’t move, even as his other hand tickled her back until he pressed it flat and pulled her closer again. With his free hand, Jughead put a hand to her neck pulling her just close enough that their lips brushed again. “Your hands are freezing.” He whispered. “But I’ll allow you to put them back if you’ll kiss me again.”

Betty didn’t wait for a second invitation and fully removed his jacket and started on his shirt. When he was effectively naked from the waist up, aside from his crown-inspired beanie, Jughead popped the one button holding her cardigan together, and tugged at the blouse beneath, though he knew he shouldn’t. Shit, they might have security cameras in here, though with a quick glance around he didn’t see any. And anyway, Betty was already pulling the shirt over her head.

Jughead blinked slowly, taking in the figure before him. He decided then and there that he would do whatever she wanted, but maybe… just maybe, they should wait for later. Then Betty combed her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck and pulled his lips to her neck, and Jughead really really liked the way she tasted. So he flipped her around, pushing her up again the wall of their perfect little prison, and kissed her again. His lips wandered from time to time, making a path of bites down her neck and to her collarbone where he nipped and sucked at the soft skin of her breasts. And Betty moaned softly, sliding her fingers just under the waistband of his jeans.

“I was thinking.” Jughead started, still pressing kisses all over her available skin. “That we shouldn’t go any farther…” Betty pouted, her fingers playing with the elastic of his underwear, teasing. “Until we get out of here.”

“Come on, Jug.” She argued, and god did he like the way she said ‘Jug.’ She flipped their position again, regaining her spot on top of him. “Don’t you want me? I promise I’m not as boring as I look.” She quirked an eyebrow at him, smiling.

“Trust me, you don’t even know…” Jughead’s voice caught in his throat when Betty wiggled her hips, and groaned at how obvious his erection was becoming. “You have no idea what I want to do to you right now.”

Betty smirked. “Then do it.” She said, catching his lips between her teeth. He let himself be consumed by her again, not having the energy to pull away. When she pulled his hands and led them to the clasp of her bra he woke up, slowly easing his hands down.

“The things I want to do,” He growled, “Can’t be done in an elevator.”

Betty smiled at him again and peeled herself away. “That’s all I needed to hear.” She grabbed her blouse from where it had been discarded on the floor, and threw Jughead’s clothes back toward him. “So, maybe we should get to know each other a little better before we get out of here.

Jughead smiled, not believing how his night had turned out.

—-

The janitor discovered that the elevator was stuck at six o'clock the next morning, when he came in to clean the halls. The fire department arrived, rescuing the two stuck in there for the past nine hours. What they’d expected was not what they found. A blonde haired girl covered in a black leather jacket, resting her head on the leg of a black haired boy in a beanie with a pink cardigan wedged in the space between his neck and shoulder; both fast asleep.

—————————————————————————————————–

A/N: Thanks for reading! This was my first ever Bughead fic and I wrote it in a day. I just really wanted to get something out there so it’s not my best work. Let me know what you think and if I should do a part two just to round off the story. I’m thinking we could all use a little more smut in our lives?

Dark Percy - Evolution

Percy, after Gaea, still has nightmares every nights about tartarus, and wakes up in cold sweat every night. He could talk to Annabeth about it, or to Jason, or to- to anyone, really. He would, if it wasn’t for this tiny, treacherous voice that somehow is always there in his mind, whispering that no one can help. No one is willing to. No one cares.

Jason told him ‘I think I get it.’ and said no more. Leo - well, Leo isn’t there, is he, but he wouldn’t be right for that conversation. Frank wouldn’t be the right person to talk about it with, either, and nor would any others. And Nico avoids him like the plague since his declaration, and truthfully Percy knows he will have to talk to him about it, but like always that voice tells him it will be useless. No one listens to him, not really.

Annabeth, the only one he could talk to, doesn’t want to talk about this. The last time he tried to broach the subject, she said “Don’t.” and that was the last of it. She has nightmares too, but when he wakes her up, and lets her cry in his arms, shuddering, trembling, he can’t help but wonder if she’s remembering the monsters - or him.

Sometimes, he wonders if he is one of the monsters in her nightmares.

Of course, once she stops breathing too hard, once she stops being that lost girl that has seen too much, once she stops confusing nightmare and reality - once she stops flinching when she sees his faces cast in shadows… Once she stops, and regains some of her bearing, she doesn’t talk about it.

“I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to relive…” she trails off, eyes distant, then she smiles, a thin, forced little smile. “It’ll get better.”

And she starts talking about their plans, about graduation, and college in Camp Jupiter. She talks about the future, about her dreams, about architecture, and Percy listens and smiles, and nods. And inside of him, deep down, that treacherous voice wonders how she can talk about the future - how she can even think about it, when he’s still trapped in the past. When his own future seems blurry and dark and poisonous.

No, Annabeth doesn’t want to talk about her nightmares, and tartarus. At least with him. They think he’s unobservant. They all have always underestimated him, thought him oblivious - but he knows. He sees the way Hazel, and Piper, look at him sometimes. He has heard the hushed whispers, one evening when he went to see Annabeth and found her with the others. She talks to them.

She’s scared of him.

To be fair, he scares himself too, but the realization that no one is willing to help him like he tries to help them so often, leaves a sour taste in his mouth, like poison, like firewater. It makes the glass pieces inside him sharper, and nothing Annabeth can say or do seems to soften them again.

He starts to get headaches. Migraines.

At first, he thinks it’s the lack of sleep. Too many nightmares. Too many things he’d like to say. Too many thoughts in his head. Too much that doesn’t go away and that he doesn’t know how to control.

So after some time spent with a killer headache and the feeling he will never sleep again, he decides to go where he always felt best - in the water. One night, he simply has had enough, and jumps into the sea, goes underwater, and lets the waves comfort him, soothe him.

That’s when he realizes that he’s hyper-aware. He can feel the water around him more astutely than ever. He can feel the ground, too, in a different, more muted manner. He always could, but for some reason, now he is more sensitive. He feels like a sonar that no one thought to disconnect. But the water is soothing, and it overloads him in a good way.

He always feared drowning, but as he falls asleep at the bottom of the ocean, he wonders if it wouldn’t be the most peaceful way to go. The best option, really.

The next morning, when he gets out of the water, he hasn’t drowned. He also is still hyper-aware, but now he gets why. He can sense every water drop, every fluid everywhere. The moisture in the air, the water in the plants, his own blood thrumming in his veins. In a daze, he wanders into camp - and there he stops dead the first time he crosses path with someone, because he can feel their own blood thrumming in their veins too. And not only that, but every fluid in their body.

It’s terrible, and wrong and- and yet, he can’t help but feel fascinated. So much power, just as the tip of his fingers. He could just extend his will, the way he never dares to, and he could control everything. He could bend the grass. He could bend people… The glass shards inside of him rattle, and something twists in his gut. He looks down, horrified with himself for even thinking about it.

It will pass, he thinks as he sits down and takes a soda. It will go away.

But it doesn’t. It doesn’t - it actually becomes worse. Every water molecule, every fluid, he can sense. He can control. After a week of restraining himself, he waves a hand over a patch of grass, and watches in amazement as the grass follows. Then he doesn’t move at all, and still the grass twists like he wants it to. It bends, and twists, and with just a twitch of his finger, grass strands are ripped off the earth, turned to shreds, controlled by the water inside them.

Percy wonders if he could do the same to a monster - rip their limbs off, rip their heads. Make them last. Make them suffer.

The thought is so strong, so surprisingly exhilarating and exciting that it shocks Percy out of it. Whatever it was. He vows to himself to never stray down that path - Annabeth’s voice comes to him, telling him that some things aren’t meant to be controlled.

It’s easier said than done. Now that he knows, he has to make the conscious effort to take his soda by hand every morning, instead of just summoning it to him using the fluids. He has to make sure that some of his most violent urges stay that way - urges, that he doesn’t act upon. It’s hard, though. It could be so easy to make Clarisse shut up, simply make those little veins, and the moisture in her skin, go that way, and her mouth would be shut. Hell, with a little pressure there, she would choke on her own saliva.

That night, just like every night that week, Percy goes to sleep in the sea. Being surrounded by water calms his nerves, calms his senses, mutes down everything. 

For the next week, again, Percy tries his best, but it becomes unbearable. He has to try. And he’s terrified that he will give in to that urge - that he will hurt someone. He’s terrified that one day he will act by accident, a reflex that will send his friends against the wall like flies against a windshield. He’s terrified that he will hurt someone, but at the same time there is still this urge, primal and feral, to use his powers to their fullest extent. To slaughter monsters.

Two days later, Sally Jackson opens her door to find her son there. Of course, the first thing she does is telling him off for disappearing, for risking his life again, for not coming to visit sooner - then she notices the bags under his eyes, the twitch in his fingers, the way his sea-green eyes dart around, focusing on things she cannot see. She bites her lip.

“You look terrible,” she says. “Will you ever stop fighting ?”

Percy wants to laugh at that, but refrains - it would come out bitter, jagged, too sharp and dark, and she might look at him like Annabeth looks at him those days. He will never stop fighting, he knows. There is fire in his blood, destruction in his name, disasters in his inheritance. The sea can never be tamed, can never settle down. He doesn’t tell her this, because he doesn’t want her disapointed - and maybe, she knows after all. Instead, he smiles, something not quite warm and not quite large enough, and a bit crooked but still. He smiles, and says.

“For now,” he says. He hesitates, then. “Can I stay here for some time ? I need-” space, time, isolation, love, an anchor, “-some holidays.”

“Oh,” Sally looks surprised for a moment, then very pleased. She smiles softly at him. “Of course you can stay, Percy. This is your home too.”

Home. Percy lets her draw him into a hug, and tentatively hugs her back - though his fingers still twitch, and he can feel her heart, and her blood so near. He can sense the humidity of the air, can sense the plants growing on the balcony, two rooms away. Can sense people, in the appartement bellow them, and next to them, and something small - maybe a dog. He senses the canalisations, like veins in a rock body that is this building. His head is still aching. His blood is calling for fights to come. 

He wonders if it’s fair of him to expose his mother to the monster he is slowly becoming. He wonders if she’ll let him sleep in the bathtub, if she’ll let him lock the door just in case. He wonders if, maybe, with a bit of luck, he’d drown one night, in his bathtub. He wonders if the fact that the idea is oh so tempting makes him selfish.

“Yeah,” he finally rasps out, and it sounds distant to him. “Home.”

And he wonders if one day he will truly have one of those.

anonymous asked:

may i please request a mileven fic where el gets very hurt physically and has to go to the hospital while mike is freaking out and crying (maybe a car crash or she gets shot?) 🌻🌻

“Mike, Mike!”

Mike opens one eye, groans loudly and rolls over. He wants to hibernate for a year until he’s allowed to see Eleven again. He’s been told that isn’t an option but not for lack of trying on his part. He’s still shocked though when Nancy turns on the lamp next to his bed and rips the blankets off of him. He’s outraged too. He’s about to give some kind of excuse when he looks over at the clock.

“It’s four am,” he says.

“No shit, sherlock,” Nancy says rolling her eyes, “Chief Hopper called, he says you have to be downstairs in five minutes or he’s not stopping.”

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anonymous asked:

i don't know about you but i headcannon andrew being really effing good with kids, especially babies. imagine matt's and dan's baby crying non stop and everyone is so t i r e d and their reunion is busted but in comes andrew picks the kid up before anyone can react and magic happens (is andrew alex karev from grey's anatomy? hell yes) i'm sorry i just melt thinking about this

  • Andrew has been in three foster homes with babies in them
  • In the first, he was one of three children (Andrew plus two biological children) and his foster mother smothered her biological children with affection and neglected Andrew completely
  • Andrew hated the baby and the other kid because they were treated like royalty while Andrew suffered
  • In the second, Andrew’s foster parents made him look after the foster baby also living there
  • Andrew hated looking after the baby and he hated the baby and he hated his foster parents
  • They were getting money to take care of Andrew and the baby, but they didn’t look after either of them and made Andrew look after the baby
  • Andrew hated every single minute of looking after that stupid baby, but he had to look after him so that his foster parents would feed him
  • Andrew might have spent all of his time at his foster home taking care of the baby and all of his time at school falling asleep on his desk, but at least he got to eat

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7 Years

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It’s been 7 years since you walked away from the love of your life.

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, bullying


You watched the little girl with brown hair and blue eyes play with the children around her. 7 years old was her age. 7 years ago was the last time you saw the love of your life. 7 years ago you caught your fiance cheating on you. 7 years ago you were about to tell him he was going to be a father.

But all of that is in the past now. You were happy and so was your baby girl Isabelle Rebecca L/N-Barnes.

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Vacation

Written for @spnpolybingo​. This fills the “vacation” square.

Summary:  Jess finds out about Sam and Dean and has a surprising reaction.

Word Count: 3650

Warnings: smut, Wincest, threesome, anal sex

A/N: Hope y’all enjoy this one! I’m only gonna tag @justanothersaltandburn because I don’t know who all is into the poly stuff, lol. XOXO


Jessica Moore is a goddamn gift.

Sam knows that from the second he’s introduced to her at that party. She rolls her eyes at Brady’s failed attempt at subtlety when they’re introduced, and smiles at Sam, sweet and sexy. Sam thinks he’s already a little in love.

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eastofthemoon  asked:

A veterinarian AU

0) Veterinarian AU?  More like Veteran-arian AU.  As in, Old Dogs Senior Sanctuary AU

I) Shiro needs a dog

That much is true.  Pidge knows that from the bottom of her heart.  She’s seen how he is with Baebae, who still goes nuts whenever he comes over for dinner, even when pushing 14.  More importantly, she sees how Shiro gets when Baebae runs and greets him.  

When Shiro starts looking tired and too distant, Pidge calls Mom and has her text him with an invitation that evening.  He has more trouble saying no when it’s Colleen asking, and Pidge isn’t above using it.  It means he gets a good meal in him, and he’ll join Mom on the couch for a glass of wine and bad TV shows while Pidge plays games on her DS.  Baebae curls up between them both, content to have someone petting him at all times.

Then Mom will start, just before it goes to dark, and announce that she’s forgotten to take Baebae on his walk today, what a shame.  Shiro always, always perks and immediately offers to do it for her, too quick to be purely polite.  Mom puts on a show of telling him he doesn’t have to, but gives him the harness and smiles as he sets off with Baebae at a jog.

When he comes back, usually about half an hour later, his eyes are brighter and his smile is wider.  When Baebae leans against his side, panting, Shiro beams.

A dog is exactly what Shiro needs.  

(read more below)

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Before It’s Too Late (part 2)

Summary: Bucky starts dating a girl from his History of Art class. The only problem: you’re in love with him. College AU.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: feelings and stuff, Nat, Pepper, Peggy and Wanda being assholes

A/N: here’s your part 2! hope you like :) I wanna know who you guys picture Kristen to be (based off the small lil description I wrote about her in this). I really wanna know!!

The date went well. Like really well. Bucky didn’t come home and say how weird she was or how annoying she was - no. He came home saying how perfect she was. How she knew how to keep a conversation going. They went on another date. And then another… and another until he asked her out.

She said yes.

So now it’s been a month and him and Kristen are very happy and you can’t do anything but pretend to be happy because on the inside you want to scream and ugly cry every time you see - even think - of them.

But unfortunately, you still have hope. It’s only been a month, right? Bucky’s not the type to be tied down in a relationship. It won’t last. Right? Sometimes you agree but whenever you see the genuine smile Kristen brings to Bucky’s face, you rethink.

When he told you about him and Kristen dating, you wanted to yell no; say that he was making a mistake because you were right there, in love with him and would give anything in the world to be with him. But you saw the sparkle in his eyes when he said her name and you couldn’t brush off the big smile he had on when he talked about her, so you kept your mouth shut and told him how happy you were for him.

All of your friends immediately asked if you were okay or how you felt about it all but you just smiled and told them you were happy because he was happy. And all you’ve ever wanted was for Bucky to be happy. They didn’t buy it.

You wanted to hate Kristen - you really did. You wanted to hate her because she stole Bucky’s heart. Because that was supposed to be you that he looked at with loving eyes, not her. But you couldn’t hate her, no matter how hard you tried because damn it she was just so perfect.

Kristen was beautiful - she was a goddess. She had thick light brown hair that stopped in the middle of her back and her smile could literally light up the darkest room and her laugh - oh god you hate to admit it but her laugh was pleasant to hear. She was funny as well but kind and had a big heart. Oh, how you wanted to hate her.

And because things are serious between the two, Bucky wants you and Kristen to spend the day together. Ever since they started dating, you refrained yourself from spending time with her for too long. You couldn’t do it. But Bucky wants his best friend and girlfriend - the two most important girls in his life - to get along and you’ve just realized that you can’t say no to Bucky.

So here you are in Peggy’s dorm with Wanda and Natasha, talking about everything.

“You don’t have to do it, Y/N.” Natasha says from her spot on Peggy’s bed where she was cuddling Wanda.

“Yeah, just say you have something important to do.” Wanda adds.

“Or just tell Bucky to fuck off with his ‘I want the two most important girls in my life to get along’ shit.” Peggy mocks Bucky’s voice and you all laugh.

You lick your lips. “No, no, I’m not gonna do that. It’ll crush him. I’m just gonna do it. Hopefully the day will go by fast. I just want Bucky to be happy.” you sigh out.

“And what about your happiness?” Pepper - the girl Tony’s been pining after - spoke up. “I know we’ve only know each other for three years now but Y/N your happiness means just as much as Bucky’s and it’s not fair that you have to suffer in order for him to be happy.”

“Ooo, she’s got a point.” Wanda nods.

“Fuck it up, Potts!” Nat hoots.

You shake your head at your friends.

“But in all seriousness, Y/N, if you want I can knock some sense into Bucky for you.” Peggy says and you smile.

“For an art major who should have a sharp eye when it comes to art certainly can’t see the real masterpiece in front of him.” Pepper adds.

Your smile grows.

“You’re the masterpiece, if you didn’t know.” Natasha spoke with a grin.

“Thanks Nat, I think I got that.”

It went silent for a good minute, you just staring down at your shoes as your smile slowly dissipated. You were thinking too hard again. If Bucky were there he would scold you for it. You could hear him now. “Stop thinking so hard! Your brain is gonna bust outta that pretty little head of yours!”

“Y/N?” Nat’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. When you look up, seeing all their eyes on you, you know that the mood shifted to down right seriousness. “You need to tell him before it’s too late. It’s not good for you to keep it in.”

“I’m fine, Nat. Plus we all know Bucky doesn’t do relationships. This one won’t last.” you respond, trying to convince them but mostly trying to convince yourself.

“Okay but let’s say this one does last. You’re his best friend which means you’ll be spending a lot of time with them. You can’t keep your feelings all bottled up Y/N. It’s not good. You’ll end up hurting yourself.” when you don’t respond she speaks again. “Stop hurting yourself like this.”

You hadn’t noticed the tear that rolled down your face but when you did, you immediately wiped it away and you let out a pained chuckle. “It’s too late anyways. Nothing good will come out of me telling him that I’m in love with him. If I told him, it’s very well possible that I’d lose him as my friend and I’m not risking that.”

“We just don’t like seeing you hurt.” Peggy spoke softly as she placed a comforting hand on your thigh. You smile, putting your hand on top of hers and squeezing it lightly.

“I love you guys, you know that?”

Wanda smiled. “We love you too.”

You push your hair back and let out a sigh before checking the time on your phone. “Oh shit I gotta go, Bucky texted me three times.”

You start gathering your things and head towards the door just as Peggy shouts your name. “Don’t push yourself with this, okay?”

You nod.

“And for the love of cupcakes and all things sweet, please tell Bucky how you feel, before it’s too late.” Natasha adds.

You give her a thin smile. “It’s already too late, remember?”

She doesn’t respond and you pull open the door, being met with Bucky who had his fist in the air, about to knock. Panic sets in. How long was he there for? Did he hear what you said? How much of it did he hear?

“Bucky,” you breathed, slapping a hand against your chest as your heart continued to beat rapidly. “What’re you doing here?”

He puts his fist down. “I texted you like three times and you didn’t answer so I went down to your apartment and no one was there then I figured if you weren’t at home that you must be at Peggy’s so I came here.”

“Jeez Barnes, let the girl live.” Peggy says and the girls snicker.

Bucky ignores her remark and continues. “I thought you were bailing on me and then I was like ‘wait, Y/N would never do that, she’d give me a reason for not being able to show up’ which brings me to my next question; Are you sure you want to do this? Because I know how you are around new people and if you don’t want to do this today we could always reschedule.”

You bite your lip and turn to face your friends who each gave you looks that said ‘stay and let us prevent the heartbreak that is bound to happen’. But you couldn’t do that to Bucky. So, you turn back to him and smile.

“No, sorry, I just lost track of time. Let’s go.”


“So how’s the relationship?” you ask Kristen as the two of you walked around the mall together.

“It’s amazing.” she beamed. “It’s so nice to spend time with you. Bucky never shuts up about you. He always goes on about how amazing you are and how funny you are - that you’re just a joy to be around and now that I’m spending time with you, I can see why he thinks that. You’re truly an amazing person.”

You smile.

Why the fuck does she have to be so nice. She’s making it difficult to hate her.

“Thank you.” you take the compliment like a champ. “And it’s nice to hang out with you too. It’s fun.”

Kristen gives you a warm smile as the two of you continue your journey throughout the mall, stopping now and then to go into some stores.

“You know,” she hummed. “I was hesitant about giving Bucky a chance.”

You snap your head towards her. “Why?”

“Well I had asked around about him and most girls said he was an asshole. That he’d go on dates and not call them the next day - or ever. Some even said he cut all contact after they had sex and I didn’t want to be in that place. So when he first asked me out, I said no. Then he started complimenting me, giving me flowers and all that and I was like ‘maybe they were wrong, maybe I should give him a chance’ and so I did. Best decision of my life.” you smile and she continues. “He’s a sweetheart. I’ve never felt this way with anyone before. Bucky makes me feel completed. It might be a bit too early in our relationship to say this but… I think he’s the one.”

Your eyes widen and she chuckles when she noticed. “I know it sounds super crazy but I truly believe he’s it for me.”

You can feel your eyes water. They really like each other. They’re probably meant to be together and honestly, what did you think was going to happen? That it would be like one of those cliché fanfictions you read in high school where the best friends realize they’ve been in love with each other for a long time and end up together, happily ever after? No. This was real life, not fanfiction. Bucky has never seen you like that and he never will. All you can do is suck it up and hope that that this crush goes away and fast.

“Bucky really does like you.” you say softly. “I can assure you that you have made a good decision, dating him. He’s a good person and a good friend. You’re one lucky girl.”

Kristen smiles bright. “Does this mean you accept me? Because Bucky said he didn’t want to continue our relationship if you didn’t.. like me. Your opinion means a lot to him and I wouldn’t want to continue to date him if you didn’t like me.”

“Frankly, it doesn’t matter what I think.” you respond. “But to kill the suspense, yes I accept you. Welcome to the family.”

Kristen squeals and hugs you tightly, saying ‘thank you’ over and over again. You pat her back until she pulls away. “This means so much to me, honestly! We can go shopping together and you can help me - ooo you can help me get a gift for him, his birthday is coming up and oh! You can-”

She was cut off by your phone ringing. You murmur a ‘sorry’ before pulling it out, eyebrows furrowing when you read Pepper’s name. “I have to take this.”

Kristen nods and you answer the phone, bringing it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Y/N! Oh thank god you answered. Listen, Wanda decided to take the stairs down instead of the elevator and she fell down them and now she’s in the hospital and I-I - just come, quick!” she spoke quickly, panic laced in her voice.

Your eyes widen. “Pepper, calm down okay? I’ll be there right now. What hospital is she at?”

Kristen gives you a worried look but you don’t notice. Pepper names the hospital and you tell her that you’re on your way before hanging up. “I’m sorry Kristen, my friend is in the hospital and she needs me.”

“Don’t worry! Go! I hope she’s okay.”

You nod and slip your phone into your pocket.

“Do you want a ride to the hospital?”

You remember that you arrived at the mall in Kristen’s car and curse.

“No, that’s alright, I can take the bus. The hospital isn’t far from here anyways.”

“Are you sure? I can-”

“Kristen, I promise it’s okay. I’ve got to go but it was nice hanging out with you.” you give her a smile and she flashes one in return. You say your goodbyes before leaving the mall. As you’re about to walk to the bus station, a car pulls up next to you. Peggy’s car.

“Peggy, what the-” you start but you immediately frown when you see Natasha, Pepper and Wanda - who looked perfectly fine - sitting inside.

“Get in loser.” Peggy says and Wanda opens the back door for you.

“What’s going on? Wanda looks fine.” you say as you got in the car.

“We lied. We came to save you.” Natasha replied.

Peggy drove away from the mall and you shake your head. Your friends were a bunch of assholes.


A/N: Tell me what ya thiinnnkkkkkkk. I know it’s pretty slow rn but stay tuned my friends :) I’ll edit l8ter.

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anonymous asked:

Joyce and Hopper fake dating

“I need you to date me.”

Joyce chokes on her coffee, which, he can’t really blame her for. He still wants to eat his hat though at the look on her face as she coughs. Both of her boys look at him because he’s announced this over breakfast like it’s a normal thing. Like how’s your day, what’s new at school, did you get your homework done.

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Something New Is Going to Happen

Summary: Stiles accidentally discovers that their school mascot is super cute.

Notes: Written for the @sterekreversebang! Inspired by adorable art by @mysticmystery! (Fic on AO3) (Link to art)


Stiles sighs as he glances around the empty locker room. It’s completely trashed. And it’s his job to clean it up, because Coach dubbed him “worst player of the game.” Usually Greenberg held that dubious honor, but he’d tripped Stiles three times tonight just to avoid it.

Everyone else has already left, most of them wearing their Lacrosse jerseys so they can get a free slice of pizza at Vic’s. Scott had apologetically offered to bring him one, but Stiles had waved him off. He just wants to get this done and go home.

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Flowercrowns Headcanon + Reddie

Requested by @trashmouth-spaghetti because she’s really needy for reddie and them having flowercrowns.

1. Eddie hiding the fact that he likes flower crowns, or pastel colours because he’s scared that his mom would eventually find out and ban him from seeing his friends because she believes they have a bad influence on him.

2. Eddie, that whenever they go down to the quarry, sneaks off to the side of the cliff and carefully picks out yellow or white tiny flowers that he thinks would work with his soft fluffy brown hair.

3. But then it gets to a point where Eddie doesn’t know how to weave together a flower crown, so Eddie goes to Bev and softly asks if she can teach him how to make a flower crown.

4. But only with pink or those white tiny flowers that Eddie found from the quarry.

5. And Bev goes like?????? why??? only those colours??

6. But then it rings to her that Eddie has been liking Richie since he was 13, and now they’re 15 and this boy is sitting in front of her, with a lap full of white tiny flowers and a deep blush on his cheeks.

7. And it’s not really a surprise that Eddie is creating a flower crown for Richie of all people.

8. Hell, everyone in the group knows that pastel pink or white really suits Richie and his wild untamed curls.

9. Even Stan knows Richie looks good as fuck in pastel pink and even he can’t deny that.

10. “Stan the man, we both know you would have sex with all this.”

11. “Shut the fuck up Richie.”

12. And all Eddie can do is blush so fucking hard, his cheeks burn.

13. and Bev has so much love for Eddie and for Richie, so she softly asks Eddie if he has more of those white flowers so she can help him create two flower crowns instead of one.

14. And Eddie goes still, blushes so hard again, that the tip of his ears are red.

15. “Yeah bev, yeah I do.” Eddie says.

16. But he’s so excited because he’s finally learning how to weave flower crowns and he’s making ones that contain the pastel pink flowers and Eddie can’t wait until Richie tries it out.

17. It takes 2 hours, but Eddie finally learns how to weave together a flower crown and he’s so happy, that he completely forgets that he might have to hide the crowns once he gets home.

18. Completely forgets that Richie might come in tonight and that he can’t leave the crowns on his chair, or anywhere in his room that Richie might be able to find it easily.

19. So when Eddie gets back home and carefully heads to his room - careful not to show his mom the flower crowns, he doesn’t notice the slightly jarred door, nor the opened window he could have seen from the door that was cracked slightly open.

20. And when he hears Richie say “hey eds, I’ve been waiting for the past hour. Where the fuck have you been?”

21. Eddie jumps and shrieks, dropping the flower crowns onto the floor.

22. And all Richie can do is stare at the weaved crowns that are currently on the floor, instead of the small boys reaction.

23. “I sure hope you don’t pull out this fast when you’re having sex eds, that would be disappointing.”

24. All Eddie can do is scowl.

25. “Besides, who are they for? You would look cute in one.” Richie says, his heart beating so fast because he knows that no one in their group likes the colour pastel pink besides Eddie and Richie - and Richie also knows that he’s the only one that gets complimented the most when he wears that colour.

26. So really, Richie can’t breathe anymore. But he also doesn’t want to get his hopes up because????? Eddie is the most precious soft boy and anyone in the group would be lucky to get a flower crown from him.

27. And Eddie is kinda flabbergasted because this boy is so dumb and Eddie loves him so much.

28. “One’s for you.”

29. Richie puts down the comic and tries to not breathe hard, because shit - he just stares at Eddie, “yeah?”

30. “Yeah,” Eddie says slowly.

31. Eddie’s heart is beating so fast, he doesn’t know what to do, and he especially doesn’t know why he told Richie of all people that he made a flower crown for him. But there’s a blush rising on his cheeks and he just loves the expression that’s on Richie’s face right now.

32. “Did you only make it for me?”

33. “Yeah.”

34. “Can I try it?”

35. “Yeah, of course Rich. I made it for you.” Eddie says softly, his eyes never leaving Richie’s body.

36. And really, the sight is a stellar and Eddie can’t breathe because Richie looks so soft with his black curls under the pink flower crown and he has such a beautiful smile on his lips that Eddie actually thinks he might need his inhaler.

37. “You like what you see?”

38. “Yeah, I really do.”

39. And all Richie can do is blush so hard, his lips feel they’re cracking because of his grin and his cheeks hurt because they feel so warm.

40. But all Richie does is pick up the other flower crown from the floor and place it onto Eddie’s head as well.

41. “I like what I see too, eddie spaghetti.”

42. And really, Eddie can’t even be mad because the two are currently standing in the middle of Eddie’s room wearing nothing but matching pink flower crowns, holding each other’s hand and having the deepest shade of blush on their cheeks.

43. “Pretty sure the color of the flowers match my wang tho, it’s like a light pink.”

44. “Shut the fuck Richie, that’s gross.”

__________

Hey guys, this isn’t a chapter of lies, which I’m sure you guys already noticed, lmao. But I was thinking about making you guys my permanent tag list? If you don’t want to see my other works, and only lies, just message me and I’ll take you out of it and only add you for lies!

If you’re new and you do want to be tagged for future works, please let me know!

Tag list: @ashxley03, @1ovedu, @richiefreakingtozier, @richiescigarettes, @piixie-sticks, @peter-pans-dick, @eclipseistea, @trashmouth-spaghetti, @gay4daisy, @hazedlover, @gladerb5, @reddieornott, @sunplanter, @firstunmannedflyingdeskset, @eds-kaspbrak, @pastelreddie, @11stayradstaybad11, @oldsoulenthusiast, @sgranillo33, @sodaoutsiders, @sassyclassysatan, @bitchierrichie, @horsiesandstuff, @asteroidbill, @theyre-gazeebos, @breakmyreddieheart

In Control

Summary: Sam needs Jess to help him gain control over himself.

Word Count: 2200

Warning: dom!Jess, sub!Sam, though Sam is kind of topping from the bottom here, smut, use of restraints, Sam has some control issues

A/N: I wanted to write some Sam x Jess. This is what happened. Hope you enjoy! XOXO


The first time Sam thinks about it, he instantly feels ashamed of himself. What the fuck is wrong with him?

Jess is fucking perfect. She’s gorgeous and smart. She makes him laugh. She doesn’t get mad when he forgets to rinse the sink after he shaves.

And their sex life is fucking perfect, too. She’s warm and soft and fun. She knows when he wants her to take the lead. She doesn’t just go along with whatever position he pushes her into- she comes up with a lot of them. And her sexual appetite is every bit as big as his.

But this? This just…goes too far. It’ll scare her. She’ll see how fucked up he really is.

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