curtains drawn

anonymous asked:

does anyone on the SMH team get migraines? What does a bad migraine day look like? (i just got over the actual worst migraine ever still a bit dead but I can look at my screen now)

YES my boy rans gets stress migraines periodically. when he was little it was worse, and sometimes he would stay home from school bc “momma it feels like my brain is screaming.”

bad migraine days for rans look like: hours spent with his blackout curtains drawn, all lights off, head under the covers bc light Hurts. counting down the minutes until he can take another dose of excedrin. 10 mugs full of hot tea with honey and milk. being so bored (bc no tv, no music, no computer) he wants to just go to sleep, but he can’t bc his head hurts so bad. sitting in a bath so hot he can barely stand it until the water goes lukewarm. holster texting “keep it down in the haus today plz ranzy has a migraine” to the groupchat and then curling around him in the bed silently. finally falling asleep and praying that it’s better in the morning. the next

i loved him.
  
it wasn’t the sort of love
they wrote novels about,
the kind that glows,
but the quiet kind.
  
the kind too soft
for love songs,
 
reserved
 
for endless love poems,
hidden behind shy smiles
and forbidden glances.
 
symphonies,
 
the kind that played
long after curtains were drawn,
long after his feet
had left the stage.
 
it was the kind of love
i hid behind concern,
hoping that one day
he might fall in return.
—  poeticallyordinary 
2

Relaxing off the clock, cause not everything in these two’s lives is about their janitorial jobs.

i n k.

Originally posted by shirtlessthomas

chris evans x reader (smut)

warnings: smut, dirty talk, tattoo kink? NSFW GIF. 

prompt: small discussion of tattoos leads to smutty goodness.

a small yawn left your lips as your head rested on your boyfriends chest, the curtains were drawn closed leaving you in a dimly lit room, the only noise surrounding you was your breathing and the sound of his steady heartbeat by your ear. you and chris had been dating for two months but having time together or even alone was a rarity considering his line of work, not that you minded, you loved spending time with sebastian and anthony as well as visiting his parents. his mothers cooking was to die for and you couldn’t stop yourself from melting whenever you saw how they interacted, it was no secret that he was an absolute mammy’s boy.

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Make it rain.

    (coda for 12x14 because Dean needs a cuddle and I didn’t buy his speech at the end of the ep)

Where are you?

Cas‘ voice is muffled and tired, and he gives Dean the name of a town he’s never heard of before.

Can I come?

Cas says yes, of course. Of course he does.

It’s a three hour drive and Dean doesn’t remember a single thing about it when he turns right into the parking lot of the crappy motel. It started raining a while back. The patter grows loud as soon as he cuts the engine. The wipers stop and the water forms a solid barrier on the windshield, blurring the outside into something surreal.

He gets out and leaves his duffel in the trunk. The curtains are drawn in Cas’ room, but the lights are on and bleed sick yellow light down into the puddles on the pavement.

He should move, but his feet won’t comply.

Raindrops pinch his scalp like needles before they pour into his collar. “I am your mother but I am not just a mom”. No one ever taught him about the difference.

The door opens to the familiar cutout of Cas’ silhouette. Dean, Cas says, and Dean follows the low voice like a beacon. Cas draws him in, always.

And then he stands inside, and Cas gets a towel from the bathroom, peels him out of the jacket, helps him out of his boots, tells him to sit on the bed. Cas dries his hair and it’s so gentle that Dean scrambles for a good reason to make him stop, because his skin is paperthin and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to keep himself together right now.

What happened, Cas asks, quiet.

She went behind our backs and I feel stupid for expecting more, Dean thinks, but he doesn’t say that. It hits too close to what they’ve been through.

Cas’ hand rests on his shoulder and he covers it with his own.

Thank you, Dean murmurs, and Cas asks for what.

For choosing me, I guess. He leans his head to the side then, to Cas’ stomach and Cas’ hand stays on his shoulder for a long time before he lifts it and touches the crown of Dean’s head, so light he wouldn’t feel it he wasn’t so hyperaware of everything Cas does.

He takes a trembling breath. I should go.

Cas’ fingers card through his still damp hair. You should stay and rest. Dean doesn’t fight him on it when Cas bends to the side and lifts the covers. He crawls into bed and presses his face into the pillow so Cas can’t see him. Would you…?, he murmurs and his blood boils with shame because it sounds so needy and pathetic.

He hears the rusting of clothes and then Cas slips into bed behind him, a long line of warmth and comfort, and before he can talk himself out of it, Dean grabs back for Cas’ hand and pulls it over his own body until Cas has to shuffle closer. Cas’ arm is heavy on his side and their hands clasp together over his heart.

The nagging suspicion, his guilt for even being suspicious, all of that comes rushing back –

“I love you.” Had that been part of the play?

Tell me again?

Cas doesn’t hesitate. I love you, he whispers against Dean’s neck.

Cas sounds so honest and so sure. Dean’s lids grow heavy and he feels warm with the knowledge that, even if he can’t quite believe him yet, he can ask again tomorrow.

Forgetful (Jack x FemReader) Fluff drabble

Originally posted by nurulsafika

(( gif not mine ))

(A/N): This could technically be considered a continuation of ‘Oh my God’ but whatever

Request:  Can I request 58. “My clothes look good on you.” with Jacksepticeye and the German reader from my last request? Maybe after they’ve spent their first night together? Thanks in advance!

58. My clothes look good on you.

( the whole prompt list is somewhere on my page… )

Warnings: Sexual reference ??

_____

Gold sunlight lazily spilled through your drawn curtains, smearing over your peaceful face.

Your nose twitched in reply.

Stirring awake quietly, you opened both eyes in a heavy haze; automatically feeling a warmth on your left. Directing your jaw to look, your gaze came into sudden contact with a mess of faded green.

Sighing inwardly, you smiled at your wandering thoughts. Lost looking at your wonderful boyfriend. Though your hand felt a pulling want to caress this hair, you shied away from doing so. You had no desire to wake him quite yet.

So instead you slipped around slowly and faced the opposite direction.

He felt it, and came alive himself; only barely though.

“Morning..” Jack grumbled, confusion hitting him hard for a moment. He registered the fact you both were lying in your room, and not his own.

“Good afternoon, lover boy.” you smiled.

Your hand went to the corner of the cream coloured duvet, about to toss it off of you so you could get up.

“What are you doing?” Jack pondered, his accent thicker than normal in his hazed position.

“Getting dressed and stuff.” you laughed “Has to happen at some point. Du bist ein erwachsen.”

You threw your legs over the side of the bed, and was about to push yourself up when Jack’s arms reeled you back in. Pulling your back tight to his chest.

“I don’t think so.” he scoffed.

You chuckled quietly and patted his arm “Okay, I know, but we have to-”

“Nope. You can stay here.”

You went to get up again, but his arms just tightened.

He blew into your ear jokingly and you giggled, causing him to laugh as well.

“Here’s a deal. I have a shower, you make the bed, and we spend the day binging movies and make a video later?” you bargained, putting your head back to look up at him.

Jack let out a soft groan and pretended to think before saying “Alright, deal.” and he kissed your forehead.

You smiled and struck yourself upwards once he let go. You twisted around in a stretch and yawned; quickly covering your mouth.

Trotting to the bathroom door, you turned back around when you heard Jack call your name. You tilted your head at him in question.

“My clothes look good on you.”

You didn’t understand at first, until you noticed Jack was shirtless. Then everything from last night came flooding back, and your face was dusted a pretty shade of powder pink.

_____

(A/n): I love writing for youtubers gosh dang. Plus this one was cute too

We’re getting stoned; naked limbs sprawled across thin cotton sheets, greedy fingers brushing against resin-tasting lips. 
Sweet smoke permeates; leaves my blood buzzing under my skin.
It’s all heavy, late-summer heat and haze in this bedroom.
The ceiling fan spins in lazy orbit overhead.
Coffee-coloured water stains eddy across plaster feathers.
Curtains drawn to block out the sun; low stereo bass drowned out by the a/c’s hum.
You look over at me, and crack that grin – teeth and temptation and filthy, filthy promise.
You say I look wasted, and I laugh, and lean in.
—  I’m still coming down from the taste of your mouth | (j.a.f)
Be Mine, Valentine.

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day and your long-time boyfriend has planned an extensive scavenger hunt… with quite the twist at the end. 

Warnings: LITERALLY 250% FLUFF 

(also, general lack of knowledge about a “berry picking farm”… you’ll see) 

Pairing: Lin x Reader 

Words: 3,033 (SORRY NOT SORRY) 

Special shoutout to my main homie and fellow scorpio, @hamilbye, for fangirling over this earlier. I really needed that confidence boost. You’re my fave ♥♥ 

Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you following me or reading this! I love you all and just picture me sweeping you all in for a huge group hug because that’s what I would be doing if you were all in front of me. 


You were unsure of the time you were woken from your sleep, but you knew it was early. Even with your curtains drawn, you were acutely aware of how dark it was outside. Shaking off your sleep and trying not to trip over your own feet as you shuffled across your floor, you arrived at the door. Simultaneously tugging your hair into a ponytail and peeking to see who was at the door, you were surprised to see no one standing in the hallway of your building. Perplexed, you opened the door to check again. Peering out into the hallway, you shivered in the cold air conditioning the building ran and almost missed the envelope with your name written on it. You bent down to pick it up and stepped backwards back into your apartment, closing the door behind you with your foot. Leaning your back against the door, you tore the envelope open. You never were one for patience.

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Steve Rogers/Captain America - Avid Reader

You love to read and everyone knows it and they often give you new books to read or come to you for opinions on books to read. One person who gives you books more often than anyone else is Steve, he’s always bringing you new books and asking you to recommend books to him. One day, he comes to you and tells you that he has a surprise for you.

Steve x Reader

Keep reading

Omg solangelo 93 please!!! Xx

Sorry this is later than the others. I had school again today and I accidentally deleted it so I had to start over. Hope you like it! xx


‘I like it when you smile.’

‘What?’, Nico asks, a soft laugh escaping his lips. They’re lying under the covers of the bed in the Hades cabin, waiting for the night to fully settle over them. Through the half drawn curtains, they can see the dusty pink of the sunset. Nico’s head is resting on Will’s chest.

‘I like it when you smile.’, Will repeats himself.

‘I smile all the time, Solace.’

‘Yeah, but I like it when you smile a real smile.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just… most of the time when you smile, it feels kind of forced you know. But I love your real smile. Your eyes light up and your whole face relaxes. I don’t know, it makes me happy.’

Muttering against Will’s chest, Nico lets out a muffled: ‘Sap’, but there’s a pleasant shade of pink tinting his cheekbones. 

After that they don’t say anything for a while. just relishing the fact that they’re together and in love and that nothing can come between them and this peace. Nico’s hair feels velvety through Will’s fingers. He’s calm inside. Moments like these are what stars are made of.

Then Nico breaks the quiet by bluntly saying: ‘Your smile is like the sun.’

Will lets out a delighted laugh that echoes through the silent cabin and Nico has mortification written all over his face. ‘Gods, forget I said that. This moment never happened.’

‘I don’t think so, Sunshine. Or do you want to start calling me that from now on?’

‘Shut up!’, Nico exclaims from behind the fingers covering his face. His cheeks are flaring bright red.

‘Am I the light of your life? Do I warm your heart?’, Will teases

‘I swear, I will kick you out of this cabin if you don’t stop talking immediately, Solace. And considering you’re not wearing a shirt and it gets a little cold after dark, I don’t think you’d like that very much.’

But despite his sharp words, Will recognizes the amusement in Nico’s eyes. 

After a while, many insults and I hate yous later, Will shuts up. He can’t stop his mouth for twitching into a smile, though. ‘I like it when you say things like that.’

Nico huffs. ‘Yeah, well, don’t expect much more of this. I’m supposed to be scary. I’m the ghost king.’ 

‘Sure you are.’ Will pulls a reluctant Nico closer and kisses the top of his head. ‘You’re also adorable and a hopeless romantic deep down.’

Will can barely make out the grunts Nico lets out against him, although he’s sure it’s nothing positive, but Nico buries his head into Will’s chest anyway. He lets out a yawn.

‘Go to sleep, Death Boy.’


This is so fucking sappy omg

I wasn’t planning on continuing this after yesterday, but I guess you can still send me prompts from this list and I’ll write you a short drabble.

You can also still send me normal requests for longer fics, if you want :)

calfreezy imagine: party animal, meet depression

REQUESTED:  “Can you write a sad af freezy imagine where him and the reader get into a fight about her “being lazy” when it’s really just her depression. And like she breaks down but cal realizes that he’s dumb af and apologizes and shit and fluffy at the end”

I sat against the headrest of the bed, a cushion in my arms for comfort. My heart lay heavy in my chest and I sighed. The room was dark, curtains drawn and it occurred to me I couldn’t remember the last time I opened them. When you’re living with depression you don’t really take notice of the days. Every day is just another day of feeling alone. Another day of questioning whether or not you should even be here. This is a life I have completely tired of living.

The door burst open, startling me as Cal entered. He switched on the light and I groaned quietly, flinching.

“Y/n? Why are you still in bed, we’re all going out in like ten minutes?”

“I’m not coming,” I murmured, avoiding his watchful eye. “I don’t feel well.”

“What do you mean you’re not coming? Of course you’re coming everyone’s coming!”

“Well I’m not!” I snapped, still quiet, however this time with an edge to my voice. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you why are you being all fucking emo? I just asked you if you were coming out jesus!”

“I already said I don’t feel well alright! Just fucking leave me alone!” I yelled, tears stinging my eyes. No no no, don’t fucking do it, do not cry in front of him. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s crying in front of people, and Cal was no exception despite our relationship. We had been together for a fair while now, however I had not yet informed him about my depression. It wasn’t a big deal in my eyes; everybody had demons, this was just another one of mine. I wasn’t prepared to become a nutcase. I didn’t want sympathy, and I didn’t want Cal to look at me differently.

“What the fuck is happening to you? You’ve been in this bed for like a fucking week straight there’s no way you’re ill anymore, you’re just being fucking lazy!”

I felt my blood boil at the use of that word: lazy. Lazy, lazy, lazy.The word I had been cursed with the whole way through my adolescence, the word I was labelled by my parents, my teachers, my lecturers. Lazy. My fists clenched underneath the mattress. 

“LAZY? FUCKING LAZY!” I screamed, noticing Cal’s eyes widen in shock at my sudden anger. “YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT CAL, I’M FUCKING LAZY. I’M LAZY BECAUSE I SPEND A LOT OF TIME IN BED, EVEN THOUGH WHEN IT COMES TO THE TIME TO ACTUALLY SLEEP, I’M TOO BUSY FUCKING CRYING. OR AM I LAZY BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO GO OUT? EVEN THOUGH I’M FUCKING TERRIFIED THAT I’LL DRINK ONE TOO MANY AND END UP TELLING YOU HOW 90% OF MY THOUGHTS ARE ABOUT WANTING TO KILL MYSELF! IS THAT LAZY TO YOU, CAL?”

By this point I had given up on trying to stay composed. I let the tears run freely down my face, struggling to keep my breathing to a normal standard. I let myself fall apart. Cal stood still at the doorframe.

“That’s..that’s how you feel?”

I simply nodded, watching the tears fall onto the eggshell white duvet. Cal headed towards me and I shook my head, trying to push him away, however he resisted. 

“Please, Y/n, kick my throat in if you have to, but please don’t push me away.”

He wrapped his long arms around me and I snuggled into him, crying hysterically against his chest as he stroked my hair.

“Cal I’m so scared. Please don’t leave me, I’m so so scared.”

“Shh, shh,” he whispered soothingly, his voice shaking slightly. “I’m not gonna leave you Y/n, I’m not going out tonight, I’m not going anywhere, even if you tell me to. You’re not getting rid of me.”

I cried harder, feeling so overwhelmed with so many different emotions. 

“When you’re ready we’ll go to the doctors together and we’ll find you the help you need, but I’m still not gonna leave. I love you, alright, and I’m sorry for how I’ve been treating you; I didn’t realise at all and I’m so sorry.”

As I felt him move underneath me I flinched, holding onto him tighter. He rubbed his hand against the back of my hoodie and I rested my head on his shoulder, beginning to calm down.

“Now tell me what you think you wanna do now, do you wanna go to bed?”

“Are you gonna stay with me?” I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken.

“Of course,” he replied, and i nodded. “Okay then baby.”

He stood up, holding me to his chest as I wrapped my legs around his chest and he peeled back the duvet. My back fell into the duvet and he lay beside me, removing his button up and his jeans. I cuddled into his bare chest and he run his hands through my hair. My eyelids began to shut. As I drifted off to sleep I heard the soft whispering of Cal.

“I love you, Y/n. I wouldn’t be able to cope without you. You’re not going anywhere, I’m not letting you. God, I love you.”

anonymous asked: I love Joe!!! I would love to see more of him in Modern Glasgow or any other idea that strikes any of y'alls fancy. I think he is truly the only good friend Claire ever had (beyond Jamie, naturally) and I wished the books had even more Joe and Claire moments!

Read the other chapters here.


Our Story

[December 24th, 1998]

There is something to be said for the peculiar hour of the blue-morning, when a hospital beeps into quiet life. The rattle of death behind drawn curtains, expletives hissed over set bones and shots taken in the thigh. It is not like Jamie’s Grampian refuge, which springs forth naturally from the earth. Instead, Boston GH scars the landscape, numbing loneliness through morphine drips and the tug of sheer necessity.

It is during this gradual reawakening, that Claire hides in a closet, imagines the pink, wet sacs of her lungs contract and expand. She counts her breaths—one, two, three, one, two, three—to release the night’s chaos, still lodged in her throat. 

During the wild evening hours, Claire sees only what exists outside her body. Such an easy thing to do as a doctor, this sudden corporeal separation: leap into the procedural dance, embrace the temporary loss of yourself to the staunching of blood and the sewing of sutures. 

But eventually, the window of calm arrives, and the wall of dissociation begins to crumble. Claire, in her closet sanctuary, returns to her body once more, the sight of her arms and her hands like four old friends, reacquainted.

Claire hunkers down between two shelves, and relief travels from foot to torso, settling somewhere inside her gut. As always, she has brought her medical bag—a gift from her husband, CER embossed in golden filigree—and rummages through it. As always, she finds the folder and flicks it open, seeking the page that is stowed inside. She is forever tethered to its final sentence, which launches a fresh rip of longing straight to her chest.

And as always, she goes back to the beginning, following the words. Fingers like greedy sponges, text absorbing into skin.

NEW YORK CITY, 11:30AM - The diner hushes when the bell tinkles, announcing the arrival of literary darling James Fraser. He is a giant in more ways than one: six-feet tall, wide-set shoulders, and a critically-acclaimed author with legions of fans. But for all his inches and his clout, Fraser is blissfully unaware of the eyes on his back. When he sits opposite me and shakes my hand, I, like the rest of the world, find him to be impulsively likable.

Sporting one month’s growth of beard and a wrinkled v-neck, it doesn’t take long for Fraser’s roguish charm to earn a free meal. He is quick to thank the waitress, and for not the first time, one has to wonder how the man could possibly be single. Surely his good looks, his talent, and Reformed Bad Boy reputation draws the ladies in? 

Point proven: our waitress lingers, hungry for Fraser’s attention, but he closes his menu after ordering a glass of lemonade. (An odd choice, but then our writing heroes are full of idiosyncrasies, aren’t they?) I almost leap to console the girl, that poor thing, as she runs a self-conscious hand down her apron.

Alas, one gets the impression that it isn’t pickiness keeping Fraser romantically unattached. Nor is it misogyny or closeted homosexuality (despite what those tabloid vipers spit). James Fraser simply enjoys his place in the lonely hearts club—and is perfectly content to stay there, sipping ice-cold lemonade.

Frank’s ring glides across the lines, pauses over “single”. Such a different life, so removed from Claire’s, though here it thrums beneath her hands. Suddenly, her head grows heavier, weighted by the chain draped around her neck. Jamie’s thistle ring dangles there, cold as death against her. Forever tucked inside her shirts, a secret between her breasts. (Frank lets her wear it, just as she lets him wear his stained button-downs, other women smiling from the collars.)

Fraser’s second and latest novel, Two Centuries in Purgatory, released just last month to stellar reviews. Hailed as a “modern classic” by The New York Times (and truly, it is), Purgatory has found a comfortable seat at the top of the bestseller lists, and shows no signs of losing momentum. Now touring the U.S., Fraser seems nonplussed by the bustle of the Big Apple, his eighth time to our concrete jungle (“I’ve a parade of publisher meetings and interviews tomorrow,” he grumbles). Though he’s a longtime resident of both Edinburgh and Glasgow, he says no city feels like home nowadays. “Where is home then?” I ask him, and in traditional Fraser fashion, he deadpans: “Lost.”

For all his fame and glory, there is something decidedly melancholy about James Fraser. But of course, we all know why. We’ve read his books, haven’t we? We know his story.

Gillian Edgars: Are you enjoying your lemonade, Mr. Fraser?

James Fraser: Aye, verra much so. Lemonade in Scotland doesna taste like this.

GE: Mmmm, exploring the pleasures of America. I like it. Now, shall we begin? Let’s start with Two Centuries in Purgatory

Claire brings the page a few inches closer. This is not the first time she has read the article, its edges worn to yellowing curls. 

A familiar anger sinks its claws into her side, as this reproduction of Jamie staggers into a flickering half-life. Gillian Edgars thinks she knows the man behind the book jacket. The entire world, for that matter, believes they can claim the bold-faced names on their hardbacks: James Fraser.

But, Claire seethes, do these people know that Jamie smiles in his sleep? That he’s prone to seasicknesses, could not wink at the waitress even if he tried? No. Only Claire knows these smaller, intimate truths—but still, they are not enough. Jamie, no longer only hers, but a communal being disseminated and shared amongst millions. Strangers have molded her Jamie into something new, into hollow casts of their false impressions.

Without warning, the closet door swings open and Joe Abnernathy leans in. “Knew I’d find you in here,” he says, but he draws up short. His smile falters when he sees Claire on the ground. Falters further still when he reads the headline, “Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero.” on the page and on her face.

“Lady Jane, why do you do this to yourself? We’re working, I know, but can’t you try to be merry? It’s officially Christmas Eve!”

Joe kneels down, and levels his gaze with hers—the gentle but silent disappointment of an older brother. Claire holds firm when he pries the clipping from her grasp, the paper snagging the skin of her palm. It glides over and up, a shallow curve that splits into fine, shining rubies. A jeweled J, just at the base of her thumb. 

Claire presses the wound to her teeth, tastes the heady, metallic taste of herself. (Later, she will trace the cut with reverence, grateful to be marred, at the very least, by a shade of Jamie.) Joe tsks and reaches for a shelf, bringing back the first aid kit.

“Perks of hiding in a hospital supply closet. Bandages, everywhere. Take this.”

“It’s fine, Joe,” Claire assures him but accepts the bandaid anyways (Later, she will paste it on before she leaves, for the J should be hidden. Hers alone). “I’m fine—just a bad day and a scratch. See? No significant blood loss.” 

“Phew. Thought I’d witnessed the first fatal paper cut,” Joe says, but then continues, more softly, “LJ, I thought you’d given this up. That Frank made you promise you’d stop.”

“He did,” Claire replies. “And I did too, for a while.”

Her stomach turns as the memory resurfaces: her husband, feeding the shredder a feast of papers. The machine’s tight-lipped and fanged smile, destroying Claire’s collection of articles, her glimpses of Jamie. Frank had held her as the teeth had chewed, tightened his grip when she repeated his words back to him, “Time to leave the past behind.” And afterwards, once the beast’s belly had emptied into the trash, Frank had dragged the bag of shreds to the curb. Claire had looked on, standing in the doorway. A soldier’s wife already in mourning.

(That evening, she almost snuck outside to piece the words together, for old habits die hard and a planet will always yearn for her sun. But then Frank’s arm had risen in the darkness, flopped sleepily across her waist. The weight of it had held her there, and so she’d stayed, picturing the night creatures stealing Jamie away, piece by piece.)

“I just…wanted to see what people were saying. About his new book.” She sighs. “I know I’m being ridiculous. But – it’s just that…”

“He’s everywhere, ain’t he? In the papers, on TV. Saw they’re making a Lifetime adaptation of A Blade of Grass. Jesus.”

Claire nods. “Must say, I’m steering clear of that one.” (But she won’t, of course. Claire will want to see herself and Jamie on that screen, their better, manufactured selves broadcasted in technicolor.)

“You’re really gonna let me down like that, Lady Jane? I thought we’d drink cheap Scotch, put the movie on mute, and invent the dialogue ourselves. Next weekend, the two of us. Drunk and vengeful. Whaddya say?”

“A hard pass, Joe. We’ll be in Oxford for the holidays, anyways. Visiting Frank’s family.”

“Well, la-di-dah. I’ll be on this side of Atlantic throwing popcorn at my TV.” Joe leaps to his feet when his pager beeps. As he walks out the door, his hand flies to his coat pocket and he withdraws a shabby paperback. “Before I forget—a Christmas gift, for the Lady. If you’re gonna scramble your brain with nonsense, let it be the fault of Tessa’s ‘membrane of innocence’. Not ‘Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero.’”

Claire laughs and flips through The Impetuous Pirate, inhaling its smell of antiseptic and mildew, the vestiges of long-ago fingerprints. A Harlequin, taken from the hospital waiting room. “Aye aye, captain. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay here in Davy Jones’ Locker for a while longer.”

“Slack-arrr,” Joe jokes, turning swiftly on his heel. She hears his cry boom down the hallway. “Operating room, ahoy!”

Alone again, Claire tucks The Impetuous Pirate inside her bag, picks up the discarded article from the floor. For the first time, she notices its publication date, October 20th, was her 31st birthday. She cannot remember the details of the occasion—did Frank take her to a concert, or to a movie? Buy her flowers or chocolates?—and yet a foreign scene plays so clearly in her mind. Something cut from the script of her life, the stagehand’s hook pulling her to the wings before she has a chance to speak. Cast in the closet’s dim spotlight, it unfolds as the playact that could have been but never was:

Jamie, in the New York diner, drinking lemonade. Condensation like dew drops, rolling down the pitcher. A young girl, in Gillian Edgars’ place, singing a high soprano. And Claire, beside her, blowing out candles in a single huff.

As she slices the birthday cake, Claire nicks her finger on the knife’s blade. “Kiss to make it better!” the young girl cries, and Jamie does, his lips on the sting and then Claire’s mouth. He tastes of citrus, of yellow and sunshine, a marigold paradise in a city of dying autumn leaves. “Does it still hurt, Sassenach?” he asks her. “Not anymore,” she says. And when the little girl giggles, watching them, it is something sacred. She licks the frosting from the candles. “So what’d you wish for, Mama?” she asks, not knowing that, in a moments like these, there is no need for wishes.

Claire’s pager rings, rearranging her memories. Now she remembers her 31st birthday—and knows it did not happen in that diner. On that day, there was no little girl, no citrus kisses in a molting New York. (But in a parallel land, perhaps, where the lemonade is phosphorescent and you can eat the stars.) Instead, Frank had taken Claire to the opera house, a drawn-out affair they had both fidgeted through. He’d led her to the bedroom, with its king-sized bed, and slipped off her dress while she kept her chain on. “Talk to me,” he’d panted, silver thistles against her chest. And when she came, it was not Frank’s body that drew her cries. It was not Frank’s name that rose from her lips.

Claire scans the article, skipping again to the final paragraphs. Here lies the line she reads over and over, the very reason she shells $20 for subscriptions, scavenges in bins for scraps. Anything to discover some evidence of herself, some proof that she still lives in the peripheries of Jamie’s life. And whenever she finds it, it pours into her and lingers, like wine.

GE: Your debut was quite impressive—an instant bestseller, an Oprah Book Club pick, an upcoming TV movie. I’m sure you’ve been asked this before…but allow me to be a hack, for just one moment. Let me ask the nosy questions. Let me pry

JF: I dinna have a fear of rats [SMILES]. Get on wi’ it then.

GE: I appreciate it, Mr. Fraser, I do [LAUGHS]. The protagonist’s struggles in A Blade of Grass—the financial woes, the criminal record, the years of solitude—they seem to mirror your own. Is it accurate to say that the book is autobiographical?

“Randall?” a voice calls from outside the closet. “Randall, are you in there? Mr. Duncan in Room #18 needs to be—”

“Prepped for surgery, I know!” Claire finishes. Her voice is shrill, rising with her goosebumps as she nears the interview’s end. “I’ll be out in a second, Dr. Hildegarde!”

JF: In some respects, aye, A Blade of Grass is autobiographical. Mind, I made a lot of it up myself. Embellished a few things. 

GE: Oh yes, certainly! But even without your embellishments, your life does make for such an interesting tale. In a way, your struggles are what made you a literary sensation. But still, I do wonder—do you regret any of it? The gamble, the money, the arrest? 

JF: [LAUGHS QUIETLY] I thank ye for the compliment, Ms. Edgars, but I hope my sins are no’ responsible for the book’s success. And for the record, they were largely exaggerated by the press. 

GE: Ah, right. We rats are despicable creatures, always making bread from crumbs. But it never rises in the oven, not really.

JF: Have ye tried poetry before, Ms. Edgars? You’ve a knack for it [LOOKS AWAY]. But nay, it isna the crimes themselves that I regret most. Whether they were exaggerated or no. 

GE: Really? There’s something else [LEANS FORWARD]? Will you tell me then, your life’s biggest regret? Or will you keep me and your readers in the dark, forever wondering what keeps our beloved James Fraser up at night?

Now Claire closes her hand into a fist, forces herself to bleed out from that thin, half-mooned J. She imagines Jamie’s face, inscrutable to Gillian Edgars, but fixed in an expression that she, and only she, can read. And if Claire had been there on that October afternoon, sitting in the diner’s vinyl booth, she would have understood. Would’ve known already what Jamie regretted most, what he would and could not say aloud. For within this precious, final line—their spoken and unspoken wishes:           

JF: My biggest regret? I let the story end early.

(JF: I should have loved her better—God! I should have loved her better.)

Writing #6

“You deserve to smile, Remus. You… you’re not a monster. I…”
Sirius’ voice faltered.
“I’m just… tired, Sirius.”
Remus’ eyes were closed, yet his eyebrows were furrowed, in a look of sadness or frustration, Sirius couldn’t tell. They just hoped… what were they hoping for?
Remus lay in his bed, curtains on one side drawn.
“I’m so sorry… I don’t know why I did it, I…”
“Save it, Sirius. I just want to sleep.”
Sirius looked so crestfallen. Their eyes were full of worry and regret, and they felt like the stars were falling.
Everything had blown up in their face. It had been a simple prank. A simple way to get back at Snivellus for his obvious idiocy and awkwardness.
It wasn’t supposed to end up like this.
Remus wasn’t supposed to be more injured than ever. He hadn’t woken up for two days. Sirius wasn’t one to bite their nails, but the ends of their fingers had bled many times in the past 48 hours. They had sat next to Remus for about 34 hours of those two days, excused from classes by an exasperated but accepting Head of House. Horrifically, they liked to compare the bright blood on their fingers to the dark gashes and bite marks on Remus’ chest.
When Remus had woken up, Sirius hadn’t known what to say. Remus couldn’t move due to the pain. Only his eyes, tired, almost unmoving, hooded, could open. They stared at the ceiling, with its several stains, and Sirius had tried to gain Remus’ attention, but either Remus physically couldn’t hear or respond, or he was ignoring them.
It hurt. It hurt so much, but Sirius knew Remus hurt more. He hurt physically, incredibly pained and damaged, broken legs and wrists, twisted elbows, missing toes, bleeding, bleeding, bleeding. He had needed a blood donation. He had literally almost died. But the pain inside his head… Sirius knew that hurt even more. The torture still going on. Anger, at Sirius, for putting him through this, even for putting Snape through this. Disappointment, again, at Sirius, for thinking this was an okay thing to do.
Frustration, at himself, for having done all this damage to himself and Snape. And more. More negativity that Sirius definitely deserved. They had royally fucked things up. They had hidden feelings for Remus for five years, and now there was no chance that Remus would ever forgive them. They couldn’t see it happening, not in the near future, not in a hundred years. Sirius was outraged at themself.
Remus had already told them to stop talking, and Sirius knew there was no use staying in the hospital wing when Remus obviously and within reason didn’t want to see them.
Before opening the doors, Sirius looked back at the bed Remus was lying in. A hand was hanging over the mattress, but that was all they could see because of the curtain hiding Remus’ form.
Remus didn’t make a sound.
So Sirius left.

Cuddling & tickles // 3:51 pm

Pairing: Reader x Shawn Featuring: Shawn Mendes Warning: fluff Prompt: you haven’t seen your boyfriend in awhile. [First Name]’s POV The TV made a click as it powered off, the room suddenly became very dark. The curtains were drawn closed and the lights were off, the only sound I could hear was Shawn’s soft snores, that were somehow gradually getting louder. I looked over the covers to see Shawn curled up asleep, a ripple of warmth spread through me just knowing that he was here to stay the weekend with me. I knew how crazy the past few months have been for him, he was always doing something or recording something, and finally he’s here with me. Asleep, but at least he’s here. “[Name]?” Shawn’s groggy voice made me stiffen in surprise, thinking I’d been caught staring. When I was about to say something I realized he was still asleep. He was dreaming about me. Awh. “[Name]? Hello?” His voice was still groggy but it sounded really sexy, “I need you.” He mumbled. My heart aches and all I wanted was to wake him up and hug him. I scooted closer to him on the bed and gently out my arm on his. “I’m here,” I said softly trying not to wake him but manage to calm him. He didn’t say anything or do anything at first, then his arm came around my waist and pulled me to his chest. Butterfly’s swirled in my stomach (which tended to happen every time Shawn touched me). I loved the way he’d make me feel inside and out. A small smile spread to my face as Shawn’s head rested in the crook of my neck, he mumbled a few incoherent words before his snores filled the dark room again. I wanted to laugh at how adorable Shawn was. It took me awhile, but I managed to fall asleep. Usually I’m easily passed out when I’m in Shawn’s arms but tonight all I wanted was to look at him. To take in ever detail of his face, his hair, every thing that pulled me to him in the great way it does. The following morning when I woke, the small flat smelled of bacon and hashbrowns, Shawn’s specialty. My feet padded on the cold hard wood floor as I followed the sunlight out to the kitchen, he stood adoringly in his grey sweats and his toned torso bare. He heard me walked down the short hall and turned to look at the god awful mess I was, and smiled. “Good morning, beautiful.” Shawn said, grabbing his spatula free hand and wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me to him, placing a kiss on my forehead. “I thought breakfast in bed would be a good idea?” He asked, cutely. “It’d be a great idea,” I corrected smiling up at him. Shawn only nodded but his smile never faltered as he turned back to the bacon that was sizzling. “What do you wanna do today?” He asked me, I walked around and took a seat on one of the three stools that faced the counter, I watched my handsome man cook me breakfast. “I haven’t thought that far,” I confessed, “maybe curl up on the couch and watch movies?” I laughed. I’ve never been very good at planning a days agenda. “Sounds perfect to me, but then again, as long as you’re there it’ll always be perfect.” My cheeks turned pink at Shawn’s small way of flirting, I loved it when he flirted with me, and when he showed me off to everyone that I was his. SHAWN’S POV I watched from the corner of my eye as [Name] took a seat at one of the stools, she always looked so good in the mornings. Not saying she didn’t look good every other time or day but mornings were when she was natural; no makeup or hair styled, just her. I loved it. The bacon I made was fantastic (not to toot my own horn but TOOT). [Name] kept going off about how great today will be now that we have time for just her and me and I couldn’t agree more. “What do you want to watch?” She asked, leaving my side on the couch to go roam the DVD shelf, I watched her little strut as she walked across the small living room. She was in a sports bra and my boxers, which looked incredibly attractive on her. “Yoohoo,” [Name] called, catching my attention from my thoughts. “Sorry, uhm. You choose,” I was caught off guard. It was embarrassing when that happened because she knew I was staring at her - thinking about her. We’ve never actually have ‘made love’ yet because we both want to wait for the right moment. We both want to make sure that we’re ready for it, and we don’t want to make any mistakes or have any regrets. I do love her with everything I have in me, I do. But we just want to make sure. Of course, I was think about just being reckless for once and all these crazy dirty thoughts go though my head about 55% of the day because, I mean, my girlfriend is incredibly hot. She’s literally the best girlfriend I could’ve asked for. I love her laugh, the way she struts when she knows I’m watching, she always makes sure that I come first when I out her first, she never tried to start an argument but when we do fight she just lols to cute to stay mad at, I love when I’m in a bad mood or I’m upset she’ll make sure to throw pillows at me until I laugh. I only laugh because she has the worst aim and can never actually hit me. [Name] is perfect for me. She makes all my wrong’s right. “Shawn? Hello?” Her fingers came clapping down in front of my fave once I realized I’d zoned out again. “Hey, look. If you’re too tired to watch a movie we can always just not and go take a nap?” [Name] said, she sat down on the couch beside me again. I grabbed her hands swiftly, “what, no. I want too, sorry. I was just thinking about you, that’s all.” Her cheeks blushed red for the second time this morning and she tried to hide it by pushing her face into the couch. “Yomh mmkhg mm mluch,” she mumbled into the couch, I laughed at how childish she was. My hands reached for her sides, getting prepared for the war that was about to start. “I’m sorry, could you say that again?” I asked sweetly. Her head lifted up a little. “I said-” my hands dove for her and the room busted with her adorable laughter as I tickled [Name]. Her hands flailed and she kicked at nothing as her breath caught in her throat and her laughs were jumbled with her attempt to breath. “Sh-shaWN! S-s-stoOP!” She laughed loudly, her hand finally grasping mine and trying to push me away. I laughed as well, taking me strength to my advantage and I pushed her down (not roughly) onto the couch and placed my legs on either side of her. [Name] was still trying to yell at me but her laughter made her choke and she continued to try and kick and push me. This only made me laugh harder at how cute she was. I eventually stopped so she could regroup herself and she glared up at me as I was still smiling like an idiot. “You’re a butt,” she huffed. I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, then her other cheek, her nose, and lastly her lips. They lingered for a moment before [Name] wrapped her now free arms around my neck and pulled me closer.

Originally posted by iamjuliag

incandescence; pt.1

Genre: werewolf!au, angst, mystery (lol kinda)

Pairings: taehyung x reader

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: You must run away, as fast as you possibly can. But in that very moment a gust of wind blowing in from seemingly nowhere causes the curtains drawn close on the tiny window to flutter wildly, illuminating the room with a tinge of sunlight that streams in. And that’s when you see him.

Warnings: mentions of blood

prologue, pt. 1


Your mother had found you collapsed at the top of the staircase.

You wake up to the feeling of the soft duvet on top of you and the worry and relief in your mother’s eyes. For a moment you feel almost a bit too disoriented to recall the string of events which had gotten you here. However, your blissful ignorance does not last too long as the memories come flooding back to you all at once. The fear feels raw and fresh in your bones at the mere thought of, well, ’it’. The menacing pair of dark eyes gleaming with a razor like sharpness, the rumbling of the low growls erupting from deep within its chest. A man, a beast, a nightmare. You found both, the reality and falsehood inseparable in your head.

 “Y/N, Oh my God, I was so worried. Don’t you dare die on me like that again.” The panic in your mother’s voice grew progressively, until her words were literally coming out all rushed and jumbled up. “Just what happened? Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Close to tears she plopped down at the foot of your bed, running a hand over her tired face. And suddenly you could no longer bring yourself to tell her the truth.

 Some wicked shadow of a possible ghost suddenly zapped up out of nowhere and the poor faint hearted me passed out at the sight of it. There is a possibility the house is possessed,  Mom and all those horror movies are actually true. Now my soul is in danger. It sounded so absurd in your head that for a moment, even you doubted yourself. Before you knew it a lie that sounded way more close to the truth fell out of your lips. “I think… I might’ve fainted out of exhaustion. I hadn’t really eaten all day. Sorry, I made you worry.” 

 She did not for a second doubt your mumbled explanation, and that moment had you wanting to believe in your own lie.

 *

The coming few weeks are nothing short a literal hell. A hell you’d crafted carefully with your own over active imagination and hyper alert senses. You jump like a scared cat at the slightest of  sounds and the slightest of shifts in the air. Your own heart beat feels a bit too loud in the ever silent misery of your new home. However when weeks tuned into a month, without any menacing dark shadows lingering around you, or anything even remotely poltergeist, you somehow force yourself to find a way to lock up that incident from days back and the paranoia that came with it in a little box which you then carefully hid away somewhere in the back of your mind.  Maybe it had been a hallucination, a trick played by your own exhausted mind on you, after all.

Your mother worked a hectic shift which usually required her to be gone all day. You constantly found yourself worried about her health when day after day she kept working herself down to the bones. “I’m fine Y/N. As strong as ever.” She would tell you with a small smile and even though the dark shadows lining her eyes would tell you a story otherwise, you never pushed it.

 Alone and with nowhere to go, the days felt too long with nothing much to fill in the long uneventful hours. You took care of the house hold chores almost a bit too enthusiastically as they provided you with your much needed distractions. You wanted to be optimistic about this whole situation but the coming months felt daunting when not even a single day passed without dragging on lethargically. It was all too quiet, too tranquil. Your days were caught up in a vacuum. However, even though you had failed to notice any of it, the silence was growing louder by the minute and sooner rather than later you would come to realize that what you once thought was a tranquil nothingness, is no longer as empty or peaceful as it had first seemed.

 *

On one early Thursday morning, you wake up feeling a strange wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere. A foul smell invades your nostrils so overwhelming that you almost gag. It smells like something rotten and decaying. You furrow your eyebrows in puzzlement, you had been thorough with your housemaid duties, disinfecting and bleaching almost every surface in sight every single day without fail. There was no way you could have missed-wait!… the storage room.

 You had never really been in there, never bothering to explore that particular end of the house for some reason. As your mother had explained it, it was a little room which held a few of the broken items and old furniture belonging to the tenants who had lived here previously.  You sighed covering the half of your face with your t-shirt as you sauntered down the hallway, grabbing the bunch of house keys which held the one to the store as well, on your way.

 You had no explanation as to why fear was once again starting to cloud your mind and your feet felt as if they were made of lead. The sickening stench continued to go stronger the closer you got to the store’s door which stood closed at the end of the hallway a good few paces from your bedroom. The urge to just hurl out the contents of your empty stomach was desperately real. This was when your muddled memories of that one eerie evening from several weeks ago began escaping it’s rightful place from the little cage you had tucked them away in, as you stood in front of the door, trying to muster up the courage you needed to push it open. Fumbling around trying to find the key in its bunch you battled the inner conflict where your brain chided you, mocked at you for being such a coward while your entire body and soul wanted to just flee and never come back. 

Wow so what were you now? A paranoid lunatic?

 With that you pushed the door open and the excruciating whiff of burnt flesh and blood almost had you crumbling in an instant. You blinked away the tears which were beginning to form in your eyes and you frantically searched the dimly lit room for the source the smell. A rat it had to be a dead rat. But when your eyes did adjust to the dull lighting of the room, terror began to claw its way out and dread tore apart every bit of composure you had been holding on to.

 There was a pool of coagulating blood on the floor, and the red was smeared on one of the walls resembling the vague shape of handprints. Over your own loud and shallow breaths, you could hear someone else's ragged and unsteady breathing. You were frozen at your spot unable to speculate, unable to make a decision. You were all alone, unarmed, the closest neighbours a mile away. Screaming your lungs out would be a pathetic failed attempt at survival.

 "W-who are you?“ You stammered, not expecting an answer and surely enough you did not get one. You took a tentative step forward red flags going up in your head. You must run away, as fast as you possibly can. But in that very moment a gust of wind blowing in, from seemingly nowhere, cause the curtains which were drawn close on the tiny window to flutter wildly, illuminating the room with a tinge of sunlight that streams in and that’s when you see him.

 The blood curdling scream you let out in that moment could have been loud enough to split the skies apart.

*

Your visions blurry and the pumping of your heart is so hard that it almost hurts. You are breathless and petrified, a deer in front of headlights.

 He sits crouched in one of the corners, his head in between his knees. His silhouette trembles with every breath of his and a low guttural groan rips out of his chest. You snatch the curtains open immediately and your gaze flits downwards landing on the blood covered shreds of the once grey t-shirt he wore, which is now a gruesome shade of crimson. There is so much blood, on his torso, on his hands, his cheeks, you feel light headed just at the sight of it.

“Help me, just this once” his voice is a faint whisper, but his desperation rings loud and clear in the silent room.

 Rationality and common sense are long  forgotten as you rush to grab a first aid kit, a couple wet towels and a bottle of rubbing alcohol from your bathroom. You were nowhere near competent when it came to first aid, the only bits being the things you had learnt watching Grey’s Anatomy and other medical sitcoms. You were sure that the boy and the bloody mess he was in required more than just your superficial knowledge of healing.

 It was hard to keep the disgust and queasiness off your face when within seconds your own hands and clothes were splattered and smudged with his blood. Every time you pressed the wet towel onto his wounds he jolted under the ministrations of your hesitant and trembling hands. The bleeding continued incessantly and within moments the towels would begin to drip with the gushing red liquid.

“I can’t do this. I-I don’t think I can help you. I should call the police, the ambula-” Your own shriek stops you mid-sentence as the boy in front of you, roughly grabs your face with his large bloodied hand, forcing you to look at him directly. “Don’t. You don’t have to do anything. Just let me stay here for a while. I’ll be fine.” Contrary to his actions his words were barely pained whispers as he begged you to let him be. He lets go of your face and you sigh out in relief. “But-” He groans in frustration at you and you swallow your own words but as if he had read your mind, he answers that one thing which was constantly eating you from the inside out. “I do not have any intentions of harming you. You don’t have to be afraid of me. Look, I’ll leave right now if you want but just don’t call anyone, okay?” You had absolutely no reason to take seriously the words falling out of this stranger’s mouth. A con artist, a sweet talking rogue, a psychopathic cold blooded killer, he could be anything and everything gravely dangerous. 

Your faces were inches apart and you peered up at him through your lashes. He seemed to be a boy around your age, perhaps a bit older. His eyes were sealed shut and his face contorted in pain. His lips were chapped and drained of color, parted slightly as he let out short puffs of breath trying to hold on to whatever bit of composure that remained keeping him from screaming out in agony.Maybe you were about to make the mistake of a lifetime, a stupidity that could cost you your life, and perhaps even your mother’s. Maybe he was nothing but a beautiful nightmare, a beast with a seraphic face, and maybe falling for his deceptive innocence was going to be your biggest mistake yet.

 "So I just watch you bleed to death?“ the corners of his lips quirk up and a ghost of a smile plays on his lips. “Yes” he replies “You do exactly that.“ 

 *

The hands of the clock race against each other at a frightening pace as the day flies by in a blink. Soon the fading sunset blends into the incoming night filling the little room with nothing but darkness once again. He does not look up at you even once in all those hours you spend sitting a few inches away from him on the floor, too afraid to move, too afraid to let him out of your sight. The slight rise and fall of his chest are the only indications of him still being alive but other than that he remains completely still. Your gaze wanders to the little window, the curtains fluttering around wildly at even the slightest touch of the winds. When the adrenaline has vanished from your blood stream, you can finally assess the damage of all the stupid impulsive decisions you’ve made ever since you discovered the injured intruder in your store. 

The events from a month back return to you in vivid details and you shudder. Looking at the broken boy in front of you, it is hard to put together any analogies between the two events, between the two intruders. Even though he sits crouched up the way he does, the boy’s face is finally peaceful like a child’s. He appears to be too lean, too… human and harmless, much unlike the burly shadow and its looming and intimidating presence, from your previous unfortunate encounter. There was something predatory in its stance and something venomous in its aura, traits the boy deep in his slumber clearly lacked.

You stand up, suppressing your groans as your legs feel like a thousand pin pricks. You needed to clean up the bloody mess the room was in. It takes almost an hour for you to get rid of the stains which seemed to have engrained themselves into the tiny ridges of the floor’s ageing wood.  Finally when the sting of bleach and disinfectant is way stronger than that of the metallic scent of blood which continues to faintly linger in the air you hear your mother’s car pull up in the driveway. 

You pretended like not a thing had changed in this entire universe during these past 24 hours, like you had not just given an intruder, a possible murderer shelter under the roof of your own house just because you felt sorry for the injured criminal. How were you supposed to explain to her the reason why you could not bring yourself to dial 911.  

 After serving dinner and catching up with your mother over it like any other day, you stayed up that night, pacing the hallway while your mother snored softly, sleeping peacefully in her own bedroom. Trying not to make any unnecessary sounds, you tiptoed to checked up on him twice, getting him a bottle of drinking water and changing his soiled towel for a fresh one. He looked too weak, too pale and your heart yearned for him to get better. Maybe you should have, afterall called an ambulance. But then his desperate plea echoes in your mind so you just stand at the crossroads unable to make a sensible decision, finally just choosing to go along with the wishes of the complete stranger. 

If anything was to go wrong that night, no one but you, yourself would be the one to blame. 

Morning comes when you are far too gone, deep asleep slumped in a chair close to your bed. You jolt awake when you hear a loud thump, like a heavy bag of sand falling loudly onto the wet ground. Apprehension causes you to bolt straight towards your mother's bedroom before you yank the door open. She’s still asleep, breathing and snoring under the covers, unharmed and you almost cry out with relief. 

Tip toeing, you head towards the store, almost not wanting to go in. You felt shaken up and unprepared, unsure as to what awaited you in the other side of the door. A lake of blood? A dead man?  

The curtains continue to flutter wildly, almost with a kind of desperation. As if they were dying to tell you the many secrets only they knew of. 

The boy was nowhere to be seen, and the cramped up space suddenly feels too huge without him in it.  


a/n- my updates are tragically slow n I’m forever sorry about my lack of motivation. I’ll try my best to post more frequently! thank you for sticking around :) feedbacks are welcomed *howls like a werewolf* *sounds more like a puppy* whoops. 

Be Mine... Morphine, Please?
  • Tentoo x Rose
  • Happy Valentine’s Day!
  • Fluff, hurt/sick, holiday, valentine’s day, drabble, one shot


“Hi, I’m looking for the Doctor?” Rose said breathlessly as she arrived at Urgent Care.

The lady behind the counter pursed her lips.  “Which one, love?”

Rose closed her eyes and shook her head as if to clear it.  “Sorry.  I mean Noble.  Doctor John Noble.  He’s a patient.”

“Ah!  I see,” the woman tapped a few keys on her computer.  “He’s in room 160, down the hall on the left.”  She pointed.

“Thank you,” Rose said hastily as she turned away and hurried in the direction the woman had indicated, her boots clicking rapidly on the mottled yellow linoleum.  She sailed past several glass walls with curtains drawn, room numbers embossed on plastic tiles that were epoxied firmly on the door frames.  120… 140… 160!  She flew through the door, jerking the curtain aside–and there he was, stretched out on the bed, several pillows propped behind his head and back, and a couple of ice packs draped across his ankle.

“Rose!” he cried, a grin splashed broadly across his face.  “You’re here!”

She was at his side in an instant, bending to give him an awkward and painfully tight hug.  “Of course I’m here, you plum!  God, what happened?”  She sat on the edge of the bed and he winced slightly as the mattress shifted.

“Puppies.”

Rose arched an eyebrow.  “Puppies?”

“Yes, puppies.”  The Doctor grimaced.  “Puppies.  In our back garden.  I didn’t see one of them and tripped backwards over it.  Got myself a nice concussion to go with my sprained ankle.”

“Oh my god… hold on a second…”  She furrowed her brow, sitting up straighter.  “What were puppies doing in our back garden?”

The Doctor chewed the inside of his bottom lip and studiously avoided her gaze.  “Well… it was either that or the living room, and I wasn’t sure you were quite ready for that…”

She blinked several times, mouth moving in an attempt to form words, but nothing came out at first.  “What?” she finally squeaked.

The Doctor grinned sheepishly.  “Happy Valentine’s Day?”

ILLYRIAN BAT PT.4

FINAL CHAPTER + Rated: M

Cassian flies Nesta to safety, but they are not out of the woods of danger yet. There relationship is shrouded in unspoken words and feelings that are about to be unleashed in a heated exchange.

Part 1 Here     Part 2 Here     Part 3 Here     Part 4

Light began to illuminate the horizon in a soft yellow hue. Nesta remained motionless in Cassian’s arms as his wings glided them down near a small town. He discovered a vacant cabin far enough away from the human population to be deemed safe.

The front door of the home was locked, but Cassian made quick work of prying it open with his vampiric strength. The movement caused Nesta to stir against him.

“Hang on a bit longer sweetheart,” Cassian whispered as he entered the threshold and closed the broken door behind him as sunlight began to trail inside. He scanned his surroundings and found a couch nearby in the living room. The curtains were drawn leaving the room protected from the bright, yet glorious light of the Dawn Court territory.

Gently Cassian placed Nesta on the couch cushions, but her eyes fluttered open at the loss of his contact.

“No,” Nesta weakly reached to grasp his hand. “Don’t go.”

Cassian gave her hand a soft squeeze. “I’m not leaving you. I need to check the kitchen for some supplies, but I’ll be quick.”

“Promise?” Nesta’s breath was shaky and she refused to release his hand in fear that he would disappear.

“I promise,” Cassian leaned down and gave her hand a tender kiss before searching the kitchen.

There wasn’t any meat in the freezer, but there were cans of food that he could use to whip up a semi decent meal once Nesta recovered. In a drawer he found a sharp knife that was perfect for this crucial healing process.

He swiftly returned to the couch and found that Nesta had become considerably paler after they fled the city. Cassian had flown hours until they crossed into the borders of the Dawn Court territory.

Nesta’s body shook from the loss of blood and ashwood in her system. She wasn’t strong enough to fend off such an injury with her vampire strength weakened after months without fresh blood.

That was going to change today. Cassian lifted Nesta so that when he sat down she was cradled against him. He used the blade to make a cut in the palm of his hand. The blood welled steadily from the wound. Cassian moved his bleeding hand close to Nesta’s mouth hoping that the scent would entice her enough to feed.

Her eyes fluttered open and nostrils flared at the scent. Fangs grew sharper as her vampire tendencies began to show. Comprehension darkened Nesta’s thoughts blood entered her vision. Immediately she flinched away from the sight.

“No, I can’t drink that,” Nesta turned her head away gritting her teeth. Fighting against impulse to take what was offered. She refused to give into the monster she had become. Drinking blood from a human or vampire was the one thing Nesta had vowed never to succumb for when she was turned into an immortal.

“Yes, you can,” Cassian argued. “This is the only way you’re going to get better.”

“I said no,” Nesta growled, but it felt pitiful even to her own ears. “Don’t make me do this.”

“Your damn pride is not going to get in the way of your survival,” Cassian raised his hand closer to Nesta’s mouth. She bit her lip in denial and her fangs pierced the skin. Blood welled up from the tiny breaks in her bottom lip.

The snarl Cassian unleashed shook Nesta to the core. Not because she was afraid, but that she was surprised at how adamant Cassian was toward helping her after she had left the Night Court.

“Stop being so stubborn and let me save you!” Cassian touched his forehead against hers. “Please,” his softened breath grazed the bridge of her nose. “I can’t bear to lose you.”

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1 - Awkward Encounters

a/n: well hello I have no clue if the Newt fam is still alive or what; anyhow I’m still pretty much deep down the rabbit hole so enjoy. Also, this is going to be a series
Word count: 1465

SEPTEMBER 1. 1910 — YEAR THREE
You’ve been walking down the narrow hallway of Hogwarts Express for what seemed like ages. Anywhere you looked, all the cabins were filled up with students already changed into their robes, happily chatting with each other, excitedly sharing their memories about their summer.
You were starting to get worried as you entered the last carriage and still didn’t see an empty place. Sorrow settled upon your face as you neared the end of the train, only four cabins left that you haven’t checked, but the two on the right were quickly excluded, judging by the drawn curtains covering the small windows on the door. However, when you turned to the left, relief washed over you as you laid your eyes on the unoccupied seat.

The three boys that were sitting there looked up curiously as you opened the door. You nervously stood in the doorway and fiddled with the sleeve of your sweater as you examined them with a hint of fear, they just seemed unappealing. Maybe it was the strict and judging look on their faces or the green and silver striped tie firmly tied around their necks that perfectly complimented their neat clothes giving them an almost immaculate appearance.
You took a deep breath in and spoke up: “Uhm…hi?” It came out as more of a question as the expression on their face that only seemed to deteriorate, made all the little confidence you had leave you. They continued to stare at you as you retracted your gaze from them and fixated it on the tip of your shoes instead. “I was wondering if that seat is-”
“Yes it is” spoke a harsh voice abruptly. You lifted your gaze to see who was speaking and when you looked into the coldness of the grey eyes degradingly staring straight at you, you couldn’t help but blush in embarrassment as you withdrew your look from him.
“But-” you started hesitantly.
“It. Is” the same boy interrupted again and with two firm motions, he put his perfectly polished shoe-clad feet up onto the seat.
“I’m sorry, but there’s no place for me to sit” you muttered.
“Oh I’m sure” he was eager to speak up again “that there’s plenty of space next to Creature” he nodded his head to the direction of the very end of the carriage, where the next and last cabin stood.
“Yes, I’m sure that freak will be happy to see you. You two are very much alike as I see” for the first time since you stepped in the three boys’ presence, you heard another voice, and how you wished you didn’t, as the sound of harsh laughs echoed in the small space, following his words. An uneasy feeling settled in your stomach; humiliation was never a thing you have experienced at Ilvermorny with Tina Goldstein at your side. The older sister has built quite a reputation for herself that resulted in no one trying to get in a conflict with her, even at the age of 12.
“Now what are you waiting for? Don’t you see you’re unwelcome here?” the boy asked, still having his feet put up comfortably. He didn’t even bother to look at you as he flicked his wand in your direction and you immediately felt the door pushing you out, trying to close itself. You were quick to step out of the way so it could finally slam shut, just where you were standing. The curtain was also pulled in as the result of the spell but that didn’t do anything about keeping the sound of three rude and loud laughs in.
“Did you hear her accent?” one asked
“It was probably American judging by her filthy pronunciation. Disgusting” came the answer straight away.
You took a deep, shaky breath in, as you looked in the direction of the last cabin. You reached it with two quick steps and looked through the window. Still being under the impact of the previous events you were a little scared of who you’d find inside. One word that had particularly grabbed your attention was ‘creature’. You were curious to find out what they meant by that, but in all honesty, you wouldn’t even care if they kept a dragon in there.
The strange thoughts were soon pushed aside as you took in the sight of the interior and besides the three empy seats that were practically calling your name, a lonely boy caught your eye. Even though there was no one in there except him, he still looked like he was trying to hide away as he sat with his neck pulled in, hunched over a leather bound book. His face was almost fully covered by the auburn waves of his hair, and the small bits that weren’t, showed that his skin was adorned with hundreds of freckles, along with his hand that was rapidly gliding a pencil along the paper.
You slowly pushed the doorhandle, the small movement grabbing his attention instantly, his emerald green eyes flicking to meet yours just to be drawn away a second later.
“Hello” you started quietly “would you mind if I sat here?”
He lifted his head again, his curious eyes settling on your face studying your features. He furrowed his brows for a second as if he was trying to recall if he’s ever seen you. For a second he seemed to be completely lost in his thoughts, eyes repeatedly scanning over you, but ever so carefully avoiding meeting yours. Even though it probably didn’t last more than a few seconds you were starting to get uncomfortable and as the thought of just leaving and sitting in the hallway emerged in your head he averted his eyes from you, back to his lap before he spoke “No… I don’t mind”
A grin broke out on your face “Thank you! I was staring to get worried that I really wouldn’t find anywhere to sit” as an answer he briefly looked up to acknowledge that you were now sitting opposite to him before looking back to the new page he just turned his book to. You took this as a subtle hint to not to disturb him anymore so you reached into your bag to pull your own book out. You laid your reading in your lap while you dived back in into the Ilvermorny marked bag you always carried around. The boy seemed to be interested in the matter of the rustling and when you finally pulled out your trusty hair pin you found him silently studying the front cover.
“It’s an amazing book. I’m only halfway in but I can tell you it’s the best I’ve ever read” slowly, as if not sure if he should speak he opened his mouth “Is that” he looked back once again at the golden-lined beast swirling around on the the navy covered book “Is that a real creature?”
“Of course it is! It’s a Thunderbird. The most magnificent animal to ever exist” you grinned enthusiastically as you watched his face light up wit interest.
“You never heard ‘bout it?” you questioned unbelievingly. You could barely see the indistinct shake of his head “How could you not?!”
“I guess it’s not native in Europe” he muttered under his breath.
“You Brits! What’s even native here then?” you had a smirk playing on your lips, though you were trying to hide it with more or less success as you took in his flustered appearance.
“We uh—” he looked around the cabin, a faint blush spreading from his specked face to paint his ears a matching red; he was never a person to talk this much to a stranger, let alone one this friendly. “We have Nifflers for example” he smiled bashfully, looking down at his finger that he tucked in between the pages of the half-closed notebook peacefully resting in his lap, his other hand occasionally tapping the leather with the muggle pencil his father had gotten him after spilling his third bottle of ink in two weeks.
“Now what the hell ist that?” you asked, confused. He lifted his eyes to meet yours once more before carefully opening the journal and flipping it so you could take a good view of a very messy sketch of what seemed like a long-snouted rat. You smiled as you set the adventure novel down beside you on the seat and looked back at him “Well…” your sentence quickly came to a halt as you had no idea what his name was, eyes boring into various parts of his body until he got the hint.
“Oh…I’m Newt. Newt Scamander” he answered your silent question with a faint lopsided smile.
“Well Newt” you leaned forward to rest your head in your hand “tell me more about these Nifflers”