contemplation s


I handed my phone to Yoongi and he scrolled through the message before sighing “this is a Cliche as it gets” I snorted despite the sinking feeling in my stomach. He will believe her over me won’t he?  Yoongi nodded. Blinded by what he thinks is love, how did they meet anyway?  

He told me he left practice late one night and headed to the bar. He said he had an urge for a drink so he decided why not. And that’s when he met her. They got to talking and next thing you know he was in her bed. And they decided to see how it worked out and here we are.

Yoongi shook his head A Stupid mistake of his. Y/n do you think you could ever be with him if they  break up? I contemplated Yoongi’s question, a question I had been pondering for the past 3 months. That’s something I still don’t know Yoongi.  I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye.

Hey give me your hand, the one with the cast. I handed it to him, even though I just needed stitches  I convinced them to give me a cast because I was bound to do something to disrupt the healing process. I watched Yoongi grab a pen off my coffee table and begin to write and draw. I found myself staring at Yoongi and giggling at his focused face.

Done you watched him smile and lean back. There was a butterfly on your cast with a few lyrics from the song. It’s beautiful Yoongi I giggled. Thank you! He chuckled in return. I went shopping the other day So we can make food or we can order takeout. He pretended to think before chuckling Well since I can’t cook to well and you have an injured hand maybe takeout is best.

We spent the rest of the night eating takeout and watching movies. We laughed and joked and to be honest i forgot about Jimin. You know Yoongi, thank you. Really. Spending this time with you made me feel a lot better. He smiled before becoming serious. Y/n… don’t get too hung up over Jimin. Yes he is your best friend and my close friend as well, but you are gorgeous. There is someone out there who really loves you. You just have to wait.

I blushed at Yoongi’s words before surprising myself and kissing his cheek. I watched Yoongi go scarlet and watched him Turn to look at me. I felt my eyes widen as he began to lean in.

If Only

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Quiet Contemplation

It’s been just over two years now since I started down this path of discovery. While there has been a fair amount of heartache and frustration, one thing remains clear, I have never felt happier in my life. I really have no clue where this will all lead but I want to thank you, dear friends, for the love and support you have shown.

I seem to learn more and more each and every day, about makeup, about fashion and most importantly about myself. I hope you continue to follow along and see what the next two years may bring.

Either that or I’m thinking this blouse is much cuter in person (which it really is) :)

Is this really turtle soup?

I’ve never had it before. It’s marvelous.” 

Jamie was unmoved by contemplation of Fergus’s tender state. 

“Aye, well, he’ll be wed a long time,” he said callously. “Do him no harm to keep his breeches on for one night. And they do say that abstinence makes the heart grow firmer, no?” 

“Absence,” I said, dodging the spoon for a moment. “And fonder. If anything’s growing firmer from abstinence, it wouldn’t be his heart.” 

“That’s verra bawdy talk for a respectable marrit woman,” Jamie said reprovingly, sticking the spoon in my mouth. “And inconsiderate, forbye.”

 I swallowed. “Inconsiderate?” 

“I’m a wee bit firm myself at the moment,” he replied evenly, dipping and spooning. “What wi’ you sitting there wi’ your hair loose and your nipples starin’ me in the eye, the size of cherries.” 

I glanced down involuntarily, and the next spoonful bumped my nose. Jamie clicked his tongue, and picking up a cloth, briskly blotted my bosom with it. It was quite true that my shift was made of thin cotton, and even when dry, reasonably easy to see through. 

“It’s not as though you haven’t seen them before,” I said, amused. 

He laid down the cloth and raised his brows. 

“I have drunk water every day since I was weaned,” he pointed out. “It doesna mean I canna be thirsty, still.” He picked up the spoon. “You’ll have a wee bit more?” 

“No, thanks,” I said, dodging the oncoming spoon. “I want to hear more about this firmness of yours.” 

“No, ye don’t; you’re ill.” 

“I feel much better,” I assured him. “Shall I have a look at it?” He was wearing the loose petticoat breeches the sailors wore, in which he could easily have concealed three or four dead mullet, let alone a fugitive firmness. 

“You shall not,” he said, looking slightly shocked. “Someone might come in. And I canna think your looking at it would help a bit.” 

“Well, you can’t tell that until I have looked at it, can you?” I said. “Besides, you can bolt the door.” 

“Bolt the door? What d’ye think I’m going to do? Do I look the sort of man would take advantage of a woman who’s not only wounded and boiling wi’ fever, but drunk as well?” he demanded. He stood up, nonetheless. 

“I am not drunk,” I said indignantly. “You can’t get drunk on turtle soup!” Nonetheless, I was conscious that the glowing warmth in my stomach seemed to have migrated somewhat lower, taking up residence between my thighs, and there was undeniably a slight lightness of head not strictly attributable to fever. 

“You can if ye’ve been drinking turtle soup as made by Aloysius O’Shaughnessy Murphy,” he said. “By the smell of it, he’s put at least a full bottle o’ the sherry in it. A verra intemperate race, the Irish.” 

“Well, I’m still not drunk.” I straightened up against the pillows as best I could. “You told me once that if you could still stand up, you weren’t drunk.” 

“You aren’t standing up,” he pointed out. 

“You are. And I could if I wanted to. Stop trying to change the subject. We were talking about your firmness.” 

“Well, ye can just stop talking about it, because—” He broke off with a small yelp, as I made a fortunate grab with my left hand. 

“Clumsy, am I?” I said, with considerable satisfaction. “Oh, my. Heavens, you do have a problem, don’t you?” 

“Will ye leave go of me?” he hissed, looking frantically over his shoulder at the door. “Someone could come in any moment!”

“I told you you should have bolted the door,” I said, not letting go. Far from being a dead mullet, the object in my hand was exhibiting considerable liveliness. 

He eyed me narrowly, breathing through his nose. 

“I wouldna use force on a sick woman,” he said through his teeth, “but you’ve a damn healthy grip for someone with a fever, Sassenach. If you—” 

“I told you I felt better,” I interrupted, “but I’ll make you a bargain; you bolt the door and I’ll prove I’m not drunk.” I rather regretfully let go, to indicate good faith. He stood staring at me for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing the site of my recent assault on his virtue. Then he lifted one ruddy eyebrow, turned, and went to bolt the door. 

By the time he turned back, I had made it out of the berth and was standing—a trifle shakily, but still upright—against the frame. He eyed me critically. 

“It’s no going to work, Sassenach,” he said, shaking his head. He looked rather regretful, himself. “We’ll never stay upright, wi’ a swell like there is underfoot tonight, and ye know I’ll not fit in that berth by myself, let alone wi’ you.” 

There was a considerable swell; the lantern on its swivel-bracket hung steady and level, but the shelf above it tilted visibly back and forth as the Artemis rode the waves. I could feel the faint shudder of the boards under my bare feet, and knew Jamie was right. At least he was too absorbed in the discussion to be seasick. 

“There’s always the floor,” I suggested hopefully. He glanced down at the limited floor space and frowned. “Aye, well. There is, but we’d have to do it like snakes, Sassenach, all twined round each other amongst the table legs.” 

“I don’t mind.” 

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “it would hurt your arm.” He rubbed a knuckle across his lower lip, thinking. His eyes passed absently across my body at about hip level, returned, fixed, and lost their focus. I thought the bloody shift must be more transparent than I realized. 

Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I let go my hold on the frame of the berth and lurched the two paces necessary to reach him. The roll of the ship threw me into his arms, and he barely managed to keep his own balance, clutching me tightly round the waist. 

“Jesus!” he said, staggered, and then, as much from reflex as from desire, bent his head and kissed me. 

It was startling. I was accustomed to be surrounded by the warmth of his embrace; now it was I who was hot to the touch and he who was cool. From his reaction, he was enjoying the novelty as much as I was. 

Light-headed, and reckless with it, I nipped the side of his neck with my teeth, feeling the waves of heat from my face pulsate against the column of his throat. He felt it, too. 

“God, you’re like holding a hot coal!” His hands dropped lower and pressed me hard against him. 

“Firm is it? Ha,” I said, getting my mouth free for a moment. “Take those baggy things off.” I slid down his length and onto my knees in front of him, fumbling mazily at his flies. He freed the laces with a quick jerk, and the petticoat breeches ballooned to the floor with a whiff of wind. 

I didn’t wait for him to remove his shirt; just lifted it and took him. He made a strangled sound and his hands came down on my head as though he wanted to restrain me, but hadn’t the strength. 

“Oh, Lord!” he said. His hands tightened in my hair, but he wasn’t trying to push me away. “This must be what it’s like to make love in Hell,” he whispered. “With a burning she-devil.” 

I laughed, which was extremely difficult under the circumstances. I choked, and pulled back a moment, breathless. 

“Is this what a succubus does, do you think?” 

“I wouldna doubt it for a moment,” he assured me. His hands were still in my hair, urging me back. 

A knock sounded on the door, and he froze. Confident that the door was indeed bolted, I didn’t. 

“Aye? What is it?” he said, with a calmness rather remarkable for a man in his position. 

“Fraser?” Lawrence Stern’s voice came through the door. “The Frenchman says the black is asleep, and may he have leave to go to bed now?” 

“No,” said Jamie shortly. “Tell him to stay where he is; I’ll come along and relieve him in a bit.” 

“Oh.” Stern’s voice sounded a little hesitant. “Surely. His … um, his wife seems … eager for him to come now.” 

Jamie inhaled sharply. 

“Tell her,” he said, a small note of strain becoming evident in his voice, “that he’ll be there … presently.” 

“I will say so.” Stern sounded dubious about Marsali’s reception of this news, but then his voice brightened. “Ah … is Mrs. Fraser feeling somewhat improved?” 

“Verra much,” said Jamie, with feeling. 

“She enjoyed the turtle soup?” 

“Greatly. I thank ye.” His hands on my head were trembling. 

“Did you tell her that I’ve put aside the shell for her? It was a fine hawksbill turtle; a most elegant beast.” 

“Aye. Aye, I did.” With an audible gasp, Jamie pulled away and reaching down, lifted me to my feet. 

“Good night, Mr. Stern!” he called. He pulled me toward the berth; we struggled four-legged to keep from crashing into tables and chairs as the floor rose and fell beneath us. 

“Oh.” Lawrence sounded faintly disappointed. “I suppose Mrs. Fraser is asleep, then?” 

“Laugh, and I’ll throttle ye,” Jamie whispered fiercely in my ear. “She is, Mr. Stern,” he called through the door. “I shall give her your respects in the morning, aye?” 

“I trust she will rest well. There seems to be a certain roughness to the sea this evening.” 

“I … have noticed, Mr. Stern.” Pushing me to my knees in front of the berth, he knelt behind me, groping for the hem of my shift. A cool breeze from the open stern window blew over my naked buttocks, and a shiver ran down the backs of my thighs. 

“Should you or Mrs. Fraser find yourselves discommoded by the motion, I have a most capital remedy to hand—a compound of mugwort, bat dung, and the fruit of the mangrove. You have only to ask, you know.” 

Jamie didn’t answer for a moment. 

“Oh, Christ!” he whispered. I took a sizable bite of the bedclothes. 

“Mr. Fraser?” 

“I said, ‘Thank you’!” Jamie replied, raising his voice. 

“Well, I shall bid you a good evening, then.” 

Jamie let out his breath in a long shudder that was not quite a moan. 

“Mr. Fraser?” 

“Good evening, Mr. Stern!” Jamie bellowed. 

“Oh! Er … good evening.” 

Stern’s footsteps receded down the companionway, lost in the sound of the waves that were now crashing loudly against the hull. I spit out the mouthful of quilt. 

“Oh … my … God!” 

His hands were large and hard and cool on my heated flesh. 

“You’ve the roundest arse I’ve ever seen!” 

A lurch by the Artemis here aiding his efforts to an untoward degree, I uttered a loud shriek. 

“Shh!” He clasped a hand over my mouth, bending over me so that he lay over my back, the billowing linen of his shirt falling around me and the weight of him pressing me to the bed. My skin, crazed with fever, was sensitive to the slightest touch, and I shook in his arms, the heat inside me rushing outward as he moved within me.

His hands were under me then, clutching my breasts, the only anchor as I lost my boundaries and dissolved, conscious thought a displaced element in the chaos of sensations—the warm damp of tangled quilts beneath me, the cold sea wind and misty spray that wafted over us from the rough sea outside, the gasp and brush of Jamie’s warm breath on the back of my neck, and the sudden prickle and flood of cold and heat, as my fever broke in a dew of satisfied desire. 

Jamie’s weight rested on my back, his thighs behind mine. It was warm, and comforting. After a long time, his breathing eased, and he rose off me. The thin cotton of my shift was damp, and the wind plucked it away from my skin, making me shiver. 

Jamie closed the window with a snap, then bent and picked me up like a rag doll. He lowered me into the berth, and pulled the quilt up over me. 

“How is your arm?” he said. 

“What arm?” I murmured drowsily. I felt as though I had been melted and poured into a mold to set. 

“Good,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Can ye stand up?” 

“Not for all the tea in China.” 

“I’ll tell Murphy ye liked the soup.” His hand rested for a moment on my cool forehead, passed down the curve of my cheek in a light caress, and then was gone. I didn’t hear him leave.

Voyager: CHAPTER 56 – Turtle Soup

The critique that Taylor’s music is vapid or stupid is so wrong for so many reasons but also because every single damn album his woman has released is about a great moral lesson

This girl was out here contemplating her family’s future death at age 20 and helped a girl escape bulimia at 15/16 and suggested fame might one day literally kill her at age 22 and was talking about how childhood abuse can still affect you in your 30s when she was 19!! 

She was talking about how young girls are sucked into the glory of fame and beauty when they’re young and they either die famous or have to run off and hide bc they’re attacked and used so much. She was talking about young girls in high school being used by boys who don’t care about them and was warning girls to protect their hearts bc society places value in them having popular boyfriends and losing their virginity to a boy who sticks around but those boys may just use them and dump them!! and the girls are the ones who get blamed!! She was up in here talking about how girls need to protect each other and call out men who cheat on their girlfriends!! 

She was writing about apologizing for dumping someone who treated you like a queen bc you were used to being used or left so you left before they could bc you were conditioned for mistreatment!! She wrote about being so used to the thrill and chase of unhealthy relationships that you don’t care about someone who is giving you everything!! She wrote about being outcasted from a social circle at a young age and not knowing how to accept yourself when others don’t like you!! 

She has unreleased songs about 9/11 and almost losing a daughter and being pressured into sex and her parents’ arguments affecting her perceptions of love and her own future relationships!! She has songs about rich people who think they can just ease on by and look down on people who work hard for their careers!! She has a song about leaving in the middle of the night and driving down the highway bc you feel so hopeless and lost in life!!

Idk what music ya’ll been listening to but it ain’t Taylor Swift music if you’re calling it vapid and stupid lmao

 McCree should have known, because Genji is a dirty sweatpants thief and some things run in families, but Hanzo hogs the blankets. McCree, preferring to solve problems rather than just bitch about them, grabbed a second blanket from the supply closet before bed, but all that did was give Hanzo something else to steal. A man shouldn’t have to wear a shirt to bed, but here he is, contemplating whether it’s worth it.

It’s a conundrum.

See, he can’t quite reach the nearest flannel on the floor from the bed, and if he wakes Hanzo up trying, one of two things will happen.

Option A goes: Hanzo will jack knife upright, on high alert, ready to fight or run. He probably won’t try to escape through the window, but he will absolutely not go back to sleep. He’ll insist that he’s gotten enough sleep and get up to put his wakefulness to use. McCree will no longer need the flannel, but he’ll still sleep like shit because he’ll be worrying about Hanzo practicing goddamned parkour sleep deprived and breaking his neck at three in the morning. That’s not some wild speculation, McCree has caught him scaling the scaffolding in the wee hours. It’s not like his own circadian rhythms aren’t just as fucked, but he sits his ass somewhere quiet and drinks, like a sensible man.

Option B goes: Hanzo only wakes enough to register McCree’s presence, claims a part of his person for himself, and nods back off. McCree will not regain the use of whatever Hanzo claimed, usually his right arm, until morning. Hanzo has a grip like a steel trap and McCree has yet to successfully wriggle free once caught. At least half of him will get some limited use of the blankets, so there’s that, but if Hanzo’s finally run himself that ragged, he won’t wake up properly until almost lunch, and that’s if McCree’s lucky. He could try to get him up sooner, but Hanzo makes some truly, heartbreakingly pathetic noises (that McCree will never tell a soul about because he values his life) whenever McCree’s tries that tack, and, old softie he’s becoming, McCree always gives up and lets him sleep. Lord knows he needs it.

Hanzo doesn’t do anything half way, so it’ll be one of those two extremes. McCree glares at the flannel, willing it to come closer. Maybe if he got a sleeping bag and zipped himself inside. Surely Hanzo couldn’t steal that. He might manage to get inside with him though. That’s not such a bad thought.

McCree files that away for future reference and refocuses on the current problem. He eases over to the edge of the bed, intending to roll out and, hopefully, right back in.

“Mwah?” Hanzo grumbles, rotating in place. His eyes opens a little, the bare minimum really, to look at McCree. Shit. McCree freezes. It looks like Option B.

Hanzo, somehow still quick as a flash despite being barely conscious, goes from beside McCree to mostly on top of him in an instant. He buries his face in the crook of McCree’s neck, reaches one blanket covered arm across his chest, and blows a long, contented sigh. Then he’s gone again, out cold.

It’s not what McCree expected, but it’s nice. Much warmer. Option C will do.

do you guys ever think about the fact that every women on earth could suddenly decide to stop having children? we always contemplate mankind’s end from a meteor strike, alien annihilation or a plague outbreak, but who says the end of mankind can’t come from the same women who birthed our beginnings? dude, women could fucking end the human race lol.

anonymous asked:

Spoiler warning: Resending in case internet betrayed me. Phantom Thieves boys reacting to S/O who turned into a mouse. like in sh***o's Palace. but the boys remained in their human forms? Love your writing by the way.

Oh my god the mouse forms are my favorite. *A* Thank you for liking my writing and for sending this!!


  • Oh no.
  • Joker’s definitely the most placid out of the trio, and he delicately cradles S/O in his crimson leather-cover hands.
  • After inspecting them for a moment, he was able to discern that the ailment would inevitably diminish with time.
  • Although he tried with all his might to quell the urge to tease them, the light in his eyes flickered with amusement as he smugly pounced upon the opportunity, regardless of his better judgment.
  • “S/O, you look a bit… cheesy right now.”
  • Joker didn’t require them to verbalize their irritation; he could virtually feel it radiating from S/O, which only resulted in his mischievous smirk expanding further.
  • “That’s not a very mice look you’re giving me… why don’t you squeak your mind?”
  • Any punishment that S/O could dole out on him later was completely worth it when their nose and ears twitched from anger.
  • Joker abruptly elevated S/O to his face, causing them to stagger slightly. They were only a mere inch away from his half-masked face as he taunted, “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
  • His only reply was the sensation of minuscule feet plastered on his lips in a feeble attempt to silence him.
  • A hearty chuckle emitted from Joker prior to placing a kiss atop S/O’s fur-covered head.
  • “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I’ll stop our little game of cat-and-mouse, for now. Once you return to normal and I can kiss you properly… I’ll find the answer to my previous question.”


  • Skull is extremely conflicted as he frantically nests S/O’s ‘rattled’ body in his gloved hands; naturally, he wants to help S/O revert to their natural form, however… they’re just so cute.
  • He curiously poked and prodded at them, provoking S/O to resound an indignant squeak.
  • A faint rosy hue peppered Skull’s cheeks as he commented, “Oh my god, you’re so freakin’ cute. N-not like you weren’t before, but… ya get what I mean.”
  • S/O tilted their petite head to the side, and Skull scratched behind their ear with a leather fingertip as he chuckled, “Heh, don’t worry, spells like this only last a few minutes.”
  • The tiny mouse nodded, and Skull gently placed them on his broad shoulder so he could adjust his gloves.
  • He then playfully added, “Maybe Captain Kidd can use you to cannonball Shadows in the meantime. Whaddaya say?”
  • S/O answered him by nipping Skull’s exposed earlobe out of annoyance, provoking a carefree snicker to slip past his lips.
  • “Heh, didn’t think so. That would be pretty sweet though, huh?”
  • He pivoted his head slightly to witness S/O’s contemplative posture; they had uplifted a paw to their chin, and they seemed to be lost in thought.
  • Skull’s voice was panicked as he implored, “W-wait, you’re not actually thinkin’ of doin’ it, right?!”
  • It was S/O’s turn to giggle (or rather, squeak), and Skull exasperatedly sighed, “Even as a tiny lil’ mouse you’re still a huge brat… you’re lucky you’re so effin’ cute.”


  • Fox is at a complete loss as to what action he should take next.
  • He opts for seating himself cross-legged in front of S/O’s rodent form for the purpose of maintaining a watchful eye on them, ensuring that he doesn’t accidentally step on them or that they somehow wind up lost.
  • Fox sealed his eyelids and smiled to himself as he mused, “Well, I suppose we must paws this infiltration until you regain your human form.”
  • S/O shook their head, yet their tail betrayed their irked facade and flicked with reluctant amusement.
  • Fox uplifted a clenched cyan hand to his lips, a low chuckle escaping from them. “I apawlogize my dear, but it would be a crime to waste such an opportune moment.”
  • S/O crossed their small arms and mimicked a pout. A sudden jolt of inspiration flashed through Fox’s mind, causing him to procure a sketchpad from his thief garb.
  • “S/O, please hold that pose for me. This ailment will last temporarily, so I must capture this riveting and adorable sight before it dissipates.”
  • S/O could hardly distinguish the shape of the pencil; it had become a blur, and the mere astonishment of the spectacle was enough to freeze S/O on the spot.
  • The majority of the shock was due to the fact that Fox preferred to bide his time when he sketched; however, his sheer speed at that moment was enough to potentially ignite his sketchpad with fervent flames.
  • “How are you capable of being so beautiful in any given form? I am indeed a lucky man…” Fox muttered, more to himself than S/O.
  • S/O was so flustered by his praise that they failed to realize they had relapsed to their genuine form a while ago and admittedly, Fox was quite smug about seizing the chance to etch a bashful S/O on paper.
  • They never did find out.

anonymous asked:

Maybe Keith is contemplating where s/o is a really good friend or he's crushing and right when he's like you know what I'm probably overthinking it they do something or maybe Allura dresses them up and yes like nonononope I was wrong more than a friend

I’m sort of in love with this troupe jsjskdjfufjfhu

Keith could not have a crush on you. Impossible. Friends only, forever and always right?

So when his heartbeat speeds up when you touch him it’s just his imagination right?

And he loves hearing you laugh because who wouldn’t love when a friend is happy, right?

And he lives for your smiles because they’re cute right?

But cute as in a cute cute not as in i-like-you-cute right?

It had to be, I mean you were obviously just a respected fighter out there okay, that must be why his face flushes when he talks to you. It’s just… he hasn’t found a reason for that yet.

I mean, he has to just like you as a friend. He refuses a crush, it’s awkward, relationships take a lot of time… But for some reason, he wouldn’t mind doing that with you.

He sighed and took a sip from his water packet. He hated this. This back in forth between his head about whether he liked you or not. It just wasn’t ideal when he was training. He decided to call it a day and leave the training deck.

After taking a shower, he found himself in the kitchen where he was trying to get the food goo out.

“Need some help?” You asked, watching him struggle.

“When did you get here?” He asked you, looking up for just a moment.

“Just right now. Need help?”

“No, I got it.” He said, before accidentally dropping the tube a little, therefore spilling it on his shoes. You laughed and he blushed slightly. There went his heat again.

He groaned as he took them off, “Don’t eat too much,” you warned him, “We’re having dinner with guests tonight, remember?”

How could he forget. More socializing. He sighed before deciding that lunch wasn’t his best idea yet.

“You’re going to put me in what?” You asked Allura, not two hours later. She was trying to pick an outfit for you for the gathering. “Why can’t I just wear my normal celebration outfit.” You pouted.

Allura looked you over one more time, “No, you mustn’t, you have to catch Keith’s eye, remember?” Allura winked at you, to which you blushed.

“I should have never told you that I liked him!”

“What, are you kidding? I haven’t even told him yet!”


When you walked into the room, you felt embarrassed. Who do you look at? Where do you look? You blushed and aimlessly walked around, looking for Keith.

When he first saw you, he felt his heartbeat speed up a mile a minute.

Definitely a crush,’ He thought as he watched you smile with a guest.

He decided to walk over to you, because obviously you weren’t going to approach him.

Once you finished your conversation, he started talking to you. “Hey Y/N,” He mumbled. Where was his confidence now?

“Hey Keith,” You replied, looking down.

“You look… really nice,” He said. You blushed at this and he blushed as well.

deleted scene: 

“Can they just make out already?” Lance asked Allura from where they perched, watching the whole scene.

“I know, it’s frustrating! Your pupil hasn’t even said what he thought was nice yet!”

“Oh, my pupil is the defective one? Keith isn’t even my pupil! And plus your pupil hasn’t even complimented him yet!”

“What? Y/N is perfect,” She turns to you and raises her voice, “YOU’RE DOING AMAZING SWEETIE!”

Picking Sides (Jasper Hale x Reader)

“Are you seriously taking his side?” you asked Jasper incredulously.

He was pacing a hole in the ground, hands clenched in his hair, muttering to himself. You never thought you’d get to see a vampire lose his cool, especially not your vampire. Jasper was always calm and collected, constantly calculating his next move. To see the pathokenetic frantic was a rare sight.

However, you could care less about Jasper’s nerves right now. He was contemplating Edward’s suggestion to always have a vampire near you 24/7. You weren’t having it; you weren’t some child in need of a babysitter.

Ignoring the lack of reply, you continued. “This is so unnecessary, Jas. I’m human, but I’m not a child! I can’t believe you’re actually taking his side,” you reiterated,  your tone laced with anger.

Jasper stopped his pacing, turning to you. His eyes were hard set, his posture as stiff as tone. He truly looked like a vampire right now.

“I don’t think you understand what could’ve happened, Y/N.” In one blurred motion, he stood right in front of you and tilted your chin upwards softly. “You could have been turned! I could’ve lost you to a newborn who can’t control their thirst! If you want to make this about sides, fine. I’m on whatever side that keeps you human until the time is right. Can’t you see that?” His tone was stern yet the softness in his eyes made your anger simmer down.

You stood up from the edge of the bed and slipped your arms behind his neck, hugging him. He grabbed you tightly, all his emotions pouring into your hold. You knew Jasper’s intentions were good and that he only ever wanted to have you safe and happy.

You cradled his face in your palm, his pale skin cool against yours.“Listen to me, I know you have yourself convinced that it’s your fault. I chose to go to Seattle, knowing the risks. You couldn’t have known and Alice couldn’t have warned you. It was a spur of the moment thing, okay? Don’t blame yourself,” you explained to him, your tone firm. “Plus, I wasn’t attacked or even close to a newborn.”

Jasper softened in your touch, his eyes swimming with emotions. “Nevertheless, there will be one of us near you at all times,” He said, his tone signaling that this was not up for debate.

“I won’t complain as long as you take the first five shifts,” you replied cheekily.

Jasper smirked, his topaz eyes amused. “Gladly.”