despite the fact that i have always been alone and never shared it with anyone

When I was nine, possibly ten, an author came to our school to talk about writing. His name was Hugh Scott, and I doubt he’s known outside of Scotland. And even then I haven’t seen him on many shelves in recent years in Scotland either. But he wrote wonderfully creepy children’s stories, where the supernatural was scary, but it was the mundane that was truly terrifying. At least to little ten year old me. It was Scooby Doo meets Paranormal Activity with a bonny braw Scottish-ness to it that I’d never experienced before.

I remember him as a gangling man with a wiry beard that made him look older than he probably was, and he carried a leather bag filled with paper. He had a pen too that was shaped like a carrot, and he used it to scribble down notes between answering our (frankly disinterested) questions. We had no idea who he was you see, no one had made an effort to introduce us to his books. We were simply told one morning, ‘class 1b, there is an author here to talk to you about writing’, and this you see was our introduction to creative writing. We’d surpassed finger painting and macaroni collages. It was time to attempt Words That Were Untrue.

You could tell from the look on Mrs M’s face she thought it was a waste of time. I remember her sitting off to one side marking papers while this tall man sat down on our ridiculously short chairs, and tried to talk to us about what it meant to tell a story. She wasn’t big on telling stories, Mrs M. She was also one of the teachers who used to take my books away from me because they were “too complicated” for me, despite the fact that I was reading them with both interest and ease. When dad found out he hit the roof. It’s the one and only time he ever showed up to the school when it wasn’t parents night or the school play. After that she just left me alone, but she made it clear to my parents that she resented the fact that a ten year old used words like ‘ubiquitous’ in their essays. Presumably because she had to look it up.

Anyway, Mr Scott, was doing his best to talk to us while Mrs M made scoffing noises from her corner every so often, and you could just tell he was deflating faster than a bouncy castle at a knife sharpening party, so when he asked if any of us had any further questions and no one put their hand up I felt awful. I knew this was not only insulting but also humiliating, even if we were only little children. So I did the only thing I could think of, put my hand up and said “Why do you write?”

I’d always read about characters blinking owlishly, but I’d never actually seen it before. But that’s what he did, peering down at me from behind his wire rim spectacles and dragging tired fingers through his curly beard. I don’t think he expected anyone to ask why he wrote stories. What he wrote about, and where he got his ideas from maybe, and certainly why he wrote about ghosts and other creepy things, but probably not why do you write. And I think he thought perhaps he could have got away with “because it’s fun, and learning is fun, right kids?!”, but part of me will always remember the way the world shifted ever so slightly as it does when something important is about to happen, and this tall streak of a man looked down at me, narrowed his eyes in an assessing manner and said, “Because people told me not to, and words are important.”

I nodded, very seriously in the way children do, and knew this to be a truth. In my limited experience at that point, I knew certain people (with a sidelong glance to Mrs M who was in turn looking at me as though she’d just known it’d be me that type of question) didn’t like fiction. At least certain types of fiction. I knew for instance that Mrs M liked to read Pride and Prejudice on her lunch break but only because it was sensible fiction, about people that could conceivably be real. The idea that one could not relate to a character simply because they had pointy ears or a jet pack had never occurred to me, and the fact that it’s now twenty years later and people are still arguing about the validity of genre fiction is beyond me, but right there in that little moment, I knew something important had just transpired, with my teacher glaring at me, and this man who told stories to live beginning to smile. After that the audience turned into a two person conversation, with gradually more and more of my classmates joining in because suddenly it was fun. Mrs M was pissed and this bedraggled looking man who might have been Santa after some serious dieting, was starting to enjoy himself. As it turned out we had all of his books in our tiny corner library, and in the words of my friend Andrew “hey there’s a giant spider fighting a ghost on this cover! neat!” and the presentation devolved into chaos as we all began reading different books at once and asking questions about each one. “Does she live?”— “What about the talking trees” —“is the ghost evil?” —“can I go to the bathroom, Miss?” —“Wow neat, more spiders!”

After that we were supposed to sit down, quietly (glare glare) and write a short story to show what we had learned from listening to Mr Scott. I wont pretend I wrote anything remotely good, I was ten and all I could come up with was a story about a magic carrot that made you see words in the dark, but Mr Scott seemed to like it. In fact he seemed to like all of them, probably because they were done with such vibrant enthusiasm in defiance of the people who didn’t want us to.

The following year, when I’d moved into Mrs H’s class—the kind of woman that didn’t take away books from children who loved to read and let them write nonsense in the back of their journals provided they got all their work done—a letter arrived to the school, carefully wedged between several copies of a book which was unheard of at the time, by a new author known as J.K. Rowling. Mrs H remarked that it was strange that an author would send copies of books that weren’t even his to a school, but I knew why he’d done it. I knew before Mrs H even read the letter.

Because words are important. Words are magical. They’re powerful. And that power ought to be shared. There’s no petty rivalry between story tellers, although there’s plenty who try to insinuate it. There’s plenty who try to say some words are more valuable than others, that somehow their meaning is more important because of when it was written and by whom. Those are the same people who laud Shakespeare from the heavens but refuse to acknowledge that the quote “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them“ is a dick joke.

And although Mr Scott seems to have faded from public literary consumption, I still think about him. I think about his stories, I think about how he recommended another author and sent copies of her books because he knew our school was a puritan shithole that fought against the Wrong Type of Wordes and would never buy them into the library otherwise. But mostly I think about how he looked at a ten year old like an equal and told her words and important, and people will try to keep you from writing them—so write them anyway.

Did you ever have a genuine psychic/medium experience?

Although many readings can be attributed to cold readings or sheer coincidence sometimes it’s uncanny how accurate psychics/mediums can be. Here’s a collection of supposedly genuine experiences from threads. If you have an experience feel free to tag me @sixpenceee!

by reddit user Jinuxxx

I never believe in palm /card readings. I don’t actually believe in it nowadays. BUT when I was in 9th grade, my friend took me with her to a fortune teller so she can have her future read. Surprisingly she mentioned about her love dilemma, a blonde guy and dark haired guy. She was completely convinced about her reading powers while I was meh… We’re teenagers, it’s natural we’ll find ourselves in situations like this. And then she predicted the scores she’ll get at the exams when you finish high school (in our country there are some mandatory subjects for the exams, thus multiple numbers) she guessed that right. If I think really hard about probabilities and stuff I can find a logic explanation to that as well. 

by reddit user GoobyBear22

About 5 years ago I saw a psychic that a family friend had told me was the real deal. I went in skeptical and came out a believer.

She used tarot cards and knew things that could have been lucky guesses, like that I had just bought a house and was renovating it, but she also knew specific things that no one else could have known.

The most amazing part of the whole thing was that she knew that I had some complications with my hormones and had a surgery in the past that would make getting pregnant very difficult, but she told me Despite all this, I would have a baby later in life. Toward the end of the reading she hands me the tarot cards and tells me to shuffle them. Then tells me to ask three questions in my mind one at a time. I decided to really test her authenticity so the first question I decided to ask was am I going to have children, and halfway through laying the five cards down, she stops and looks at me and scolds me saying “I already told you that you were going to have one child!” hah this is when I knew.

by reddit user wobblerss

This was before I was born. My mom had a neighbor who was a grandpa who could see the future. He told my mom that my sister would be really sick when she became a preteen and not to worry because she’d be okay. When my sister was a preteen she was diagnosed with cancer and after a year and a half she was perfectly fine. My mom was pregnant with me when she met him again and he told her that I would be a c-section baby. My mom already knew this and said she had scheduled the c-section already since I was breach but he was adamant that she would have me on a certain day and that the c-section wouldn’t go on the planned day. I was born on the exact day he predicted.

Nothing too crazy but the fact that he knew that my sister would be sick and would be okay is crazy to me. He also didn’t want any money and approached my mom and asked if he could do a reading for her.

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Victor’s Bad Days...

Yuuri will easily come right out and say it.

Some days, Yuuri Katsuki does not want to get up. He doesn’t want to exist, he wants to disappear and never be seen again no matter how wonderful his life may end up. People close to him have known about his anxiety episodes for years. The closest of those people know how to deal with it; when to give him space and when to support him.
He’s satisfied with that group and knows how to cope on his own, accepting that those bad days do not define him. Everyone deserves to take time off sometimes to just breathe…

Everyone, Victor thinks, except himself.

He won’t admit it to anyone, even himself, that a Living Legend can have bad days.

When those days would come before, he’d shut his mind off and focus solely on his skating career. It’s not like he was close enough to anyone for them to notice that something may have been “off”; all his rink mates saw him as a man married to the sport and considered his aloof behavior normal. Little did they know how often Victor wished someone, anyone, would just tell him that he’s not okay and that that fact was okay.

The only person who undoubtedly can see right through him is Yuuri Katsuki, and he always knows when he’s having one of those days. It can be frustrating for someone so used to being alone, but he’s learning to accept the concern and open up a little more when he feels depressed.

Still, it’s difficult, and he almost always denies the real problem.

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guess it’s just another night alone

part two in the frat!ABO series for @kevystel (part one here)

The summer between Junior and Senior years Victor Nikiforov becomes completely unavoidable.

Victor is on principle, Yuuri suspects, an unavoidable person.  Last year he became the first Junior to run and be elected student body president.  He’s the lacrosse team’s star midfielder, leading the team in three undefeated seasons since Freshman year.  He’s president for Alpha Chi, one of three pre-eminent alpha-exclusive fraternities on campus.  His best friend is Christophe Giacometti, which means he’s always present at crew parties, usually hovering in the corner of Yuuri’s eye.  He’s the kind of unavoidable where he’s always catching his sleeve on Yuuri’s as they reach for the same cup.  Their elbows smell like the same chalk, their fingers smell like the same brand of tobacco.  It’s a sign of spending three years on the same campus together and developing habits, Yuuri is absolutely sure.  

But then Victor becomes a different type of unavoidable.

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Request: Loved

Request: May I request Mary (season 12 reference) coming to the bunker with dean and meeting the reader (she is a relationship with dean and told his mother about her)? :)

Word count: 1,130

<3

“Dean?” Your voice is barely a breath as you answer the phone, escaping as a transparent cloud on the cool spring air. It can’t be him – Amara and the bomb and Chuck and Rowena and… all of the jumbled, clouded images flit through your head at once and then disappear completely as he speaks again.

“Yeah, it’s me. Y/N, where the hell are you? Were you with Sam?” He cuts to the chase, and you quickly pick up on the panic in his voice – you’d know it anywhere on Earth.

“No.” There’s more shame in the word than you’d like him to hear – it wasn’t that you’d abandoned them. It wasn’t at all. It was more that the goodbye with Dean had been too much for you to bear, and you needed a few hours to be alone with your thoughts. The world may have been saved, but yours had been irreparably shattered, “And I’m about a mile away from the bunker. Probably less.”

“Good. Sam’s gone, there’s blood, and- and-“ His voice sputters and dies, “I can explain when you get here. Can you just…?”

You don’t have to pause, “Give me a minute. Maybe five.” You tell him, and then he’s ended the call – and that’s how you know it’s him, not some sick perversion like it was last time or a cheap imitation: there’s no goodbye, no ‘see you soon’. That’s it, it’s a given that you’ll be there.

***

“Dean?” The door creaks and clanks as you haul it open, gun in one hand. You creep down the stairs, not quite knowing what threat to expect, if any. However, by the time he’s taken three steps out of the war room, you’re on him, throwing your arms around his neck as the gun clatters to the floor and his arms wrap you up, strong and safe, lifting your feet clean off the ground. Dean buries his face into your shoulder, vaguely reminiscent of the hug you’d last shared – except this one is joy and relief, where the other had been sorrow and fear.

“God, Y/N.” His breath is warm and face scratchy and he’s alive. The last thing in the universe that you want to do is pull away, but when you finally open your eyes and look over his shoulder, you’re startled into pulling back.

A blonde woman stands behind him, watching you both with a mixture of intense confusion and affectionate amusement. You look from her, to Dean, and then back to her – for one, she’s wearing your shirt, and for another, she looks familiar in a way you can’t place.

“Y/N,” His arm remains tight around your waist, although he does let you back down onto the floor, “Meet my mom, Mary. Mom, this is Y/N.”

She quirks an eyebrow, and for a split second you realise that the mannerism belongs to Dean – many of her features do, in fact. It’s only then do you recognise her as the woman from the photographs Dean never has out of arm’s reach.

“This is Y/N?” She asks, and Dean nods in confirmation, smiling proudly – like this is a moment he’d always wished for; to introduce his girlfriend to his mother. Mary takes a slow step forward, looking you up and down – not scrutinising, but examining. Wanting to familiarise herself with you.

“You mentioned me?” You glance up at Dean, but his mother cuts in before he can even think of an answer.

“Oh, you’re all he mentioned. I was starting to think I’d had another child I didn’t remember until he specified that you were his girlfriend,” She smiles, and you can’t help but laugh a little at that, “Oh, Y/N, you’ll love Y/N. She’s so beautiful and smart and funny and…”

“Mom!” Dean interrupts indignantly, his face flushed red. Both you and Mary manage a laugh at that, despite the situation at hand – but the confusion and anxiety soon cloud her features again, and you look between the two of them for a few moments.

“Dean, babe, have you tried calling Cas? He came back here with Sam, and if that’s an angel-banishing sigil I see over there, he definitely was here.” You offer, lifting up to kiss his cheek before withdrawing, “Mary, I feel like you could use a cup of tea… milk and extra honey?”

For just a moment, she hesitates, looking between the two of you – and then she nods, relief flooding her features – an excuse to avoid the stressful situation for a little while, and to get her out of Dean’s high expectations so she can take a few breaths. You couldn’t be happier for him, but you know as well as anyone that he can be a bit of an overexcited puppy every now and again.

***

“So… you’ve done this before?” She asks, heaping more honey into the tea. You nod, giving a small smile and sipping your drink slowly.

“Once or twice. Sam and Dean have too, but we all lost count a few times ago.” At the look of horror on her face, you reach over and rest your hand over hers – the idea of her sons dying and coming back must be awful to her. Especially when her own experience of it seems to be going less than smoothly for her, “They always seem to come back. Dean always used to say it’s because angels were watching over them.”

Mary’s eyes widen slightly at her own words being echoed back from the mouth of an outsider, but she doesn’t seem to have the words of her own.

“There isn’t a day goes by when he doesn’t think about you.” You tell her softly, giving a small smile, “Don’t take that as pressure. But take it to know that you’re loved here, and always have been. I get it, fitting back in can be awkward. But I’m here, and so are Sam and Dean. And if you need to be stupid and quiet and go and get our nails done or do something menial, I’m always up for a girls’ day out.”

Again, she only seems to stare at you, and you fear that you’ve overstepped the mark – after all, you’re practically a stranger to her. But, instead, after a few moments, a wide, warm smile spreads over her face and her eyes wrinkle in exactly the same way that Dean’s do.

“I get it.” She says softly, her eyes twinkling, “I understand completely… what he sees in you. Why he loves you so much. Why you love him.”

All of those thoughts you’d had, growing up, about meeting your boyfriend’s parents and trying to impress them… this couldn’t be further from that if it tried. But you wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

Farewell, Pretty Little Liars.

Today is the day that we must finally say goodbye to Pretty Little Liars. With its never-ending theories and constant renewals, the PLL endgame always seemed like an intangible, abstract and theoretical concept that is just so far away, that it will simply never come. It feels so surreal to say that today is that day, which again, over the years, was never in sight. I thought watching Pretty Little Liars would just be some light, weekly, background entertainment. On June 8 2010, I did not truly know what crazy rollercoaster I had stumbled upon. Through numerous ups and downs, these past 7 years have certainly been unforgettable. If you told me seven years ago that a television show will have such a positive impact on my life, I would have laughed at you and called you dramatic. Tell me that today, and I’ll smile in appreciation at the positive influence and power a television show can bestow upon its viewers.

Not every show makes it to seven seasons, particularly mystery shows. Seven years is a long time. I started watching this show when I was 13, and I am now 19. (I realise I am probably very young in comparison to most other PLL fans!) Just to visually see this: Pretty Little Liars was with me while I was 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 and 19. These are arguably some of the most important years of one’s life. As I grew, PLL grew too, in a literal sense, as we got a time jump where the characters matured, but also in figurative sense, since the stories gradually shifted from being high-school oriented to dark and twisted themed through a demented dollhouse and a psychologically straining board game. All while PLL was on the air, I graduated from primary school and high school, started university, got my driver’s license, my first job, credit card, car, gone overseas by myself, and made life-long friendships. Achieving all that never was easy, but it was made easier by PLL. If I ever struggled in my personal development, I always had PLL to fall back upon for psychological stability and security, aside from general entertainment. A part of me sees the end of PLL as if the training wheels are coming off my bike: for 7 years, I was learning how to become a young man, and now that I finally am one, I no longer need this safety rock that is PLL in order to continue developing.

This long, personal post is dedicated to me and my seven-year relationship with Pretty Little Liars.

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anonymous asked:

It sounds super angsty, but if you haven't already written it, maybe an unrequited, one-sided love thing between the RFA guys and MC?

I’ve been really busy lately, sorry :C 

Warning: Angst/Heartbreak

–R.I.

Click for: [Part 2]

Click for: [Jaehee]


Yoosung

He was so welcoming, warmly including you in everything

He would text you all the time, venting his frustrations about LOLOL—he trusted you out of all the RFA, after all

Soon, it turned into calls, where he happily chatted away to you as he gamed

“Pffft hahaha, you’re so funny, MC!! You always make my gaming nights better…” his enthusiastic response made your heart race. “I love talking to you, MC.”

You took pride in that.

He became more and more special to you, and it warmed your heart every time you talked to him. You wanted to learn more about him.

He always took interest in what you said, and listened attentively even to your pointless, frustrated rants. He sincerely responded to your concerns, and often brought up inside jokes in the chat room, forming a barrier between the two of you and everyone else.

A special little world that nobody else could enter.

“I can’t wait to meet you,” he shyly told you. It was finally the day before the RFA party. Your heart beat quickly, warm fuzziness bubbling in your chest.

“Yoosung… I have something to tell you tomorrow,” you decided, blushing as you told him. He was the one who made you feel happy…the one who cracked jokes and made you laugh on your gloomiest days… the one who listened to all your troubles. He hummed softly, murmuring, “Okay. There’s something I’ve also been meaning to tell you, too. I’m worried if I’ll be rejected but… I can’t hold back anymore.”

That night, you couldn’t sleep from pure anticipating of the next day. You woke up early to make yourself look as pretty as possible for Yoosung. First impressions were important, after all.

Upon arriving at the party hall, you immediately recognized him—you were in love with him, after all. You called out to him happily, and he rushed over with a big smile on his face, but it almost immediately turned into a frown as he reached you.

“You’re Yoosung, right?! I’m MC!” you exclaimed, beaming happily.

“I see. You look… different than I thought you would,” he murmured, a distant look in his eyes as he avoided your gaze. “I thought you’d maybe have like, blonde hair and green eyes, or something.”

Your heart caught in your throat as soon as the words left his mouth. Rika. He’d expected you to look like Rika. Biting back tears, you forced a giggle, as if he’d just said something funny.

“So, what did you want to tell me?” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t really have time to talk, so can you make it quick?”

Yoosung seemed so annoyed and irritated by your mere presence, guiltlessly expressing it in his words, tone and body language. It was a complete turnaround from the sweet boy you had known for the last few weeks. Correction: the sweet boy you thought you had known.

“Nothing important,” you muttered, clenching your fists as tears spilled from your eyes. “I was in love with you. I am in love with you. And I guess I know now that you’ll never feel the same.”

He stared back expressionlessly at you. “Love? I’m sorry, but it’s impossible for me to ever like you back. You’re really far off from my type,” he laughed as if it was a joke.

You couldn’t figure out what the hell was so funny. He was laughing at the way you had felt for him for months. He was laughing at the feelings you had cherished. He was laughing at you.

And it only smashed what remained of your heart to smithereens.

He was never in love with you.

Zen

From the moment you first met him, he’d been flirty and welcoming to you. He was always protective of you in the chatrooms, and he called you often to check up on you, asking things like:

“MC, have you eaten today? I hope you’re taking care of yourself properly, I’ll get worried, you know…”

“Hey… Can you see the moon from where you are? When you look at the moon at night, I want you to think of me… watching over you like your very own guardian angel. If you ever need anything, you know that I’m here right?”

“Do I need to beat up Jumin for you?! He was being way too insensitive just now!”

Naturally, you felt gravitated to Zen. He made you feel so… secure. He was always offering to help you, talking with you late at night, comforting you when you were sad… He made you feel so damn special. He sure didn’t treat Jaehee like this, and you took quiet, guilty pride in that.

A week after you realized that you had fallen in love with him—his caring personality, his deep thoughts, his laugh, his passion for acting… his everything—he asked you out on a date.

You almost screamed into your pillow from excitement. Did he like you back?! Could Zen possibly return your feelings?

You waited for him in the cafe, your eyes anxiously searching for his figure. You had taken 3 hours to braid your own hair (with great difficulty), and chose the perfect outfit to meet with him for the date. You waited 2 hours for him, sitting all alone. But he never came.

You dialled his phone number, wondering if he was stuck in traffic or late from rehearsals. He picked up on the second tone, drunkenly answering, “Mmn… hello, who’s this?”

“Um, Zen? It’s me, MC… did something happen? I’m still waiting…”

He howled in laughter, sounding like he was really enjoying himself. “You’re still waiting?! What the fuck, woman, what makes you think you’re anything special to me? I was only betting with my friend that I could make you fall for me. I can’t believe you fell for it so easily.”

He continued to laugh, finding it absolutely hilarious that you believed his nice guy act. He had purposely stood you up. Rather, he never intended to come in the first place.

His words were like a slap to your face. It was obvious now.

Zen didn’t care about you at all.

You stayed quiet, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that you were actually crying right now.

You had wasted so much time on him. All because you liked him, and because you thought he could even possibly like you back.

“Helloooo? Are you still there?” he hiccupped.

You couldn’t answer, holding back your sobs.

“Oh right, anyway, thanks for helping me win the bet. Haha, byeee!”

“Yeah. No problem. Anything for you, Zen,” you weakly replied, sarcasm hidden in your undertone.

But it was true. You would have done anything for him. He’d just never do the same for you.

Jumin

From the start, you’d been attracted to his unique sense of humour, awkward personality, and passion for cats. Not to mention, he was pretty fucking rich.

Although you weren’t after him for the money, you had to admit, it was part of what interested you at first. Emphasis on “at first.”

After spending evenings at fancy dinners with him, long nights drinking in bars after work hours, and occasionally messaging each other every day possible… you realized how much more there was to Jumin than you’d originally thought.

Although he seemed carefree and pushed all the tasks to Jaehee, he actually drowned himself in work for hours as well. When you spent time together, he would always be jotting down notes and reading printed documents as he conversed with you—he was probably used to it from discussing business deals all the time.

Not to mention, he was very attached to his cat because he didn’t have the time nor opportunity to interact with anyone that wasn’t trying to conduct business with him. You could feel your own heart hurt for him, realizing how lonely he must be.

Not to mention the fact that there were many young men (such as Zen,) who thought of Jumin as a rich snob, and was against the idea of being friendly. You could only imagine how rejected Jumin must feel, despite acting nonchalant every time.

Your heart and mind was consumed with thoughts of Jumin, of how he felt, of how he was suffering… You yearned to know him better, and you found yourself being more eager than ever in your conversations and nights out together.

One night, you finally brought up the courage to bring up the topic of himself. Excited to share your opinion, you said, “You know, I completely understand that you must feel lonely and all, even though you never mention it! It must suck that nobody understands you… You’re always working so hard, and nobody ever acknowledges it, but I know that-“

He paused mid-sip from his wine, then slowly put the glass down. “MC.” His voice was cold, stern and almost tired. “Why are you saying this?”

You blushed. “Well… I mean… I guess I’ve fallen in love with you,” you whispered, looking shyly into your lap. “I’ve learned so much about you over all this time, and-“

He scoffs, eyes hardening into a glare. “MC… Do you really believe that you know me?” he asks, shaking his head in disbelief. “Everything that you just said… is it not simply your idea of me? You’re not in love with me, MC. You’re in love with the ideal version of me that you’ve created in your own head. Could you be any more delusional and hypocritical when you say that no one understands me? You don’t know me either, MC. Don’t fool yourself otherwise.”

You return his glare with a pleading gaze. “That’s not it, Jumin! I really do understand! I’m not assuming, but it’s just what I’ve realized after spending so much time with you-“

Again, he cut you off. He seemed to be doing that a lot today.

“I only spent time with you to ensure that you would remain subservient to the RFA. Our meetings were like business to me, MC.”

He stood up, turning to leave you alone at the table. A lone $100 bill was all that sat with you.

Seven

This kid was absolutely hilarious! He took on such a cheerful persona in the chatrooms, cracking jokes at random and spamming memes everywhere. But he really did make you laugh.

On days when you felt gloomy, tired of every little thing that was happening in your life, and overall upset, Seven managed to cheer you up, sending you cute texts. They ranged from, “Your Defender of Justice, SEVEN OH SEVEN, will protect your happiness!!” to pictures of his own cosplay, where he attempted (attempted.) to look seductive.

He quickly gained a special place in your heart. Not everyone managed to cheer you up just like that.

One day after the RFA party, Seven invited everyone to the zoo. During the trip, you kept trying to get closer to him, standing near him as you pretended to be awed by the penguins… ‘accidentally’ bumping into him… lying that you didn’t have money to buy a drink and asking to share…

(Although, FYI, that last one didn’t work. Why? Well, the trust fund kid was there, duh.)

Seven drove you and Yoosung home, considering Zen took his motorcycle, and Jaehee tagged along with Jumin to return to the office. After Yoosung left, you were nervous to be alone with the man that you’d grown feelings for.

Almost as if reading your mind, Seven broke the silence, “MC. I’m not suggesting that this is possible, but if you think that you have any sort of feelings for me, please forget it. I… will never fall in love.”

You stared at him quietly, unsure what to say. You hadn’t been TOO obvious in expressing your feelings… you’d really as subtle as subtle could get!

Instead, you opted for, “I don’t get what you’re talking about?”

He glanced at you from the side before turning his eyes back to the road. “You can ignore what I’m saying if you haven’t had any weird thoughts about us being anything more than friends. But otherwise, just be aware that I’ll never fall in love with anyone okay? This isn’t some crappy fairytale. It’s real life, and you’re not going to waltz into my life and change it.”

You nodded slowly, avoiding looking in his direction. “Uhm, yeah…” you awkwardly responded, voice barely above a whisper.

What the hell were you supposed to say? You’d been rejected before you even had the chance to confess. Haha. Ahaha.

The tears welled up in your eyes before you knew it. But you couldn’t let him see. At the very least, you wouldn’t let him know how his words had affected you. You wouldn’t let him know that you actually had fallen in love with him, that his warning came too late.

You wouldn’t allow yourself to ruin the friendship between you two. Seven was too important to you.

You dashed out of his car as soon as he pulled over on your street, not even daring to say goodbye.

PART 2: [Here]

16-year-old Yuri Plisetsky is a young noble. He’s pretty happy with his life - he’s the youngest son, so he’s not expected to take over the estate or shoulder any responsibilities. He just kinda…does whatever the hell he wants.

No one really knows where Yura is most of the time either. He just…sometimes disappears for weeks at a time, and no one really bothers to find out where he goes (visiting his best friend Otabek in the neighbouring kingdom).

No one really cares because Yura is not only the youngest son, he’s also a bastard.

He’s not really too upset. He’s made his peace with it. He’s never really gonna amount to anything in life. But then. Surprise surprise, turns out the man his mother had had an affair with was a cousin of the Queen mother.

The current king, 35-year-old Viktor Nikiforov, doesn’t have any heirs, with no plans to have any either, and so he decides to name his young cousin, Yura, as his heir.

And so, overnight, Yura finds his status in life completely changed, not that he’s complaining - don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.

He’s all packed up and moved to the palace within a week.

But being a prince isn’t all fun and games, like his old life had been. He has new responsibilities to carry out and countless things to learn - from history and foreign policy, to swordplay and ballroom dancing. Yura takes to his new life like a fish to water - he finds he likes to learning about all these things, likes serving his country well as its future ruler.

The only thing that puts a damper on things is his new guardians - he quickly finds out that rumours of the king’s frosty relationship with his husband are 100% true. Though they may present a strong, united front to the public, it becomes immediately clear that Viktor and his consort, Yuuri Katsuki, the first prince and younger brother of the queen of Yutopia, can barely stand each other.

Viktor Nikiforov truly lives up to his reputation as the ice king - he’s always distant, his eyes cold and calculating, his smile devoid of any warmth whatsoever. He’s coldly untouchable, barely even human.

On the other hand, his husband Yuuri at first seems to be his complete opposite, but is in fact just the same. He smiles sweetly at everyone, warm and friendly. He likes helping people out and listening to their troubles and taking care of them.But despite all that, he keeps everyone at arm’s length. He listens, but he never talks about himself, never leans on anyone else, never talks about his own troubles or his fears or his aspirations. He never lets anyone see him as anything less than perfect, composed, untouchable.

Yura has to have dinner with both of them once a week, and those single-handedly the most stressful times of his week, the moments he hates the most - the tension is always so thick he could cut it with a knife, turning the delicious food to cardboard in his mouth.

After a month of living at the castle, Yura finally learns what the deal is between the two.

He’s having tea with Lady Babicheva one day, and she tells him that things hadn’t always been like this between the king and his consort. Mila tells him that once upon a time, Viktor and Yuuri had been head over heels in love.

Yura doesn’t believe a single word of it. “What happened, then?” he asks skeptically.

“The Queen mother was killed,” she tells him softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Yura is confused. "I thought she had a heart attack?” he asks.

Mila leans in conspiratorially, dropping her voice even more, so that Yura can barely hear her. “It was covered up by the king,” she tells him, eyes darting this way and that to make sure no one is around to hear them.

“Why?“ asks Yura, still confused as all hell. "Wasn’t the king said to be extremely close to his mother? I’d think he’d be the one most eager to see the killer put to justice!”

“He was!” Mila confirms. “But he was putting the safety of the country before his own feelings.”

Yura is confused for a few seconds more, before horrible realization suddenly dawns on him, and a wide-eyed, horrified expression comes on his face.

Mila nods. “Prince Katsuki admitted to having her assassinated." 

And suddenly, everything makes sense to Yura. Before Viktor and Yuuri had married, their two countries had been at war for generations. They had formed a shaky truce only two decades ago, and the marriage between Viktor and Yuuri had been meant to strengthen their alliance.

The Queen mother had been an extremely popular ruler in her time on the throne, and if it had come out that she had been murdered by her own son-in-law, a war would have been unavoidable.

When she had died though, the two countries’ economies had only just gotten back on their feet, and they were both still working to rebuild. Another war would have been disastrous for both sides.

So Viktor had let his own emotions take the backseat, had told everyone that she had died of a heart attack. Within the castle walls, however, he had taken drastic measures. He had put his husband under 24 hour surveillance.

(The rest of the world had cooed at how sweet it was, that he was so worried for his husband’s safety that he had given him four constant bodyguards to protect him at all hours of the day)

Yuuri had been forced to move out of their shared bedchambers. He had been sentenced to house arrest, forbidden from leaving the palace grounds unless he was attending official functions with Viktor. He spent most of his time alone, in his lonely tower bedroom. 

Officially, the reason for all this was that Yuuri was sickly - that he stayed indoors due to his failing health. Only a select few in Viktor’s inner circle knew the truth of it.

And even now, five years later, Mila is still heartbroken about it all. She used to be close to Yuuri, had spent many an afternoon strolling with him through the castle gardens and giggling with him over tea and court gossip. She still misses her friend like an almost physical ache, and his betrayal is still an open wound.

Yura, however, is still somewhat skeptical. Something feels……..off to him.

He tries to stay away from Yuuri for a while after that,, just to be on the safe side. But the more he thinks about it, the more things just don’t add up, and the more he becomes *convinced* that there’s something up

(There’s no way anyone can just pretend to be that disgustingly nice all the time.)

There’s nothing more that Yuri hates than an unsolved mystery, and so he starts going out of his way to talk to Yuuri, to spend time with him.

Yuuri is surprised at first, but absolutely delighted. After so many years of isolation, it’s nice to have some social interaction. He had thought he would spend the next few decades alone, until Viktor had finally abdicated his throne, and Yuuri might hopefully be dismissed to move back to his family’s home in Yutopia, his duty complete.

The two Yuris grow extremely close over time, and Viktor starts to get wary, worried that his husband is trying to influence his heir as well. He tries to keep Yura away from Yuuri, trying to keep the impressionable teenager safe. But Yura keeps sneaking his way into Yuuri’s chambers, even after Yuuri warns him to stay away for his own safety.

Eventually, after several months of this, Yura finally gets the truth out of Yuuri.

The assassins had, in fact, been sent by a noble house from the country of  Svizra, one of their longtime allies, without the knowledge of their king Giacometti. The nobles had been hoping to take advantage of their weakened state in the aftermath of the war with Yutopia, and he been trying to instigate a war. 

A war which would almost certainly have spelled the end of the Nikiforovs’ dynasty.

But they hadn’t accounted for just how fiercely loyal Yuuri was to his husband and his new country. If the public had found out that the Queen mother had been assassinated by their supposed allies, there would be no way to avoid a war - whether a war with the country of Svizra, or a civil war.

So Yuuri had claimed all the blame himself. Because he knew that, with their precarious alliance on the line, there would be no way Viktor would be able to  take official action against him, and would be forced instead to cover up the fact that foul play had been involved.

Yuri Plisetsky is rightfully horrified, and absolutely furious. "What the hell, dumbass!? WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST TELL VIKTOR ABOUT IT?” he demands. “You didn’t have to take all the blame! Viktor would have understood!!!”

And Yuuri and his bleeding heart refuses to look at Yura when he replies, quietly, that he didn’t want Viktor and Chris’s relationship to suffer because of it. Because even if it was proven that the king had had no part in the assassination, his failure to notice the growing unrest in his court would have put strain on their alliance. And Svizra is a powerful country whose friendship will be indispensable in the future while their two countries rebuild themselves.

Yura wants to just scream because it’s not fucking fair and Yuuri is a dumbass for trying to fix everything himself, and Viktor is a dumbass for believing someone like Yuuri could ever betray him, and Christophe is a dumbass for not being able to stop all this, and everyone is just SO FUCKING STUPID.

Yuuri manages to get Yura to stay quiet about the whole thing.

He promises not to say anything to Viktor outright, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try and make his stupid cousin see his mistake somehow.

Yura starts spending more time with Viktor - starts trying to get past the icy barrier of hurt and betrayal he wears around himself like armor. 

Viktor is slightly suspicious at first; suspicious that Yuuri has put him up to this. But it’s as good an opportunity as any to sway Yura back to his own side, and maybe keep him out of his husband’s clutches.

It doesn’t take long for Yura to get Viktor to spill the story of the assassination to him (Viktor hopes it’ll serve as a warning for Yura to stay away from Yuuri, to make him see that the man is dangerous)

And from then, Yura starts planting the seeds of doubt in his stupid cousin’s mind.

"What motivation would he even HAVE to kill her!?” is the first thing Yura demands. And it stops Viktor short, because he’d somehow never even thought of that.

It takes quite a bit of effort to make Viktor come around. (Because Viktor wants so badly for it to be true, for Yuuri to be innocent. He wants so badly to have his sweetheart back, but he just knows that if he lets himself hope, but it turns out that Yuuri is exactly the kind of cold-blooded murderer they think he is, it will absolutely DESTROY Viktor.)

Yes, it takes Viktor quite a while to finally come around, but even he isn’t able to keep up forever against Yura’s pointed questions and the nagging doubts that have started to grow and fester in his mind.

And when he finally caves and decides to have a proper investigation into the matter, Yuuri’s admission of guilt, his supposed motives for killing his mother-in-law, it all falls like a wet paper bag. There are more holes in his story than a slice of swiss cheese.

And Viktor is just. So ANGRY.

Angry at himself for ever believing that his sweet Yuuri would do something so treacherous when all this time it was quite the opposite, when Yuuri was ready to give up his own happiness, his own reputation, to keep his beloved country safe.

And he’s angry at Yuuri too. Because they lost FIVE WHOLE YEARS. Five years of kisses and cuddling, five years of laughter and love, five years of happiness.

And he’s probably never going to forgive himself for the way he’s treated Yuuri in those years.

But now they have a lifetime to make up for it.

And finally, Viktor has something more to live for. He’s no longer stuck just going through the motions.

It’s not all perfect, he’s never going to get his mother back, but he has his husband, and that’s good enough for him.

Yuuri is an absolute sweetheart who’s beloved by his people, so when news spreads of his supposed “miraculous recovery”, his return to health, the people are overjoyed.

The servants in the palace are delighted to be allowed to talk to and laugh with him again. They fuss over him for months afterwards, worrying about him pushing himself too much (and Yuuri always feels so guilty about lying to them.)

Mila and Georgi and the other nobles who had known the truth behind Yuuri’s apparent “sickness” that had rendered him bedridden for the past five years are ecstatic as well.

They’re so happy to have their friend back, and after five years of heartbreak and misery, everything is right in St. Petersburg again.

A Hairy Excuse

Nessian, 1.1K, Rated T

A/N: Cassian finds himself in Nesta’s bed, dumbfounded when his High Lady walks in. This turned out to be something that I wasn’t exactly expecting but am not upset with.


Cassian awoke with a wisp of hair in his mouth. Gently, he reached to remove the piece that had undoubtedly also stuck itself to the side of his face. Though as he moved, his hand first collided with a head that was most assuredly not his. He skipped analyzing this fact to pull the hair out, when he realized how long it was and who it smelt like.

He froze.

Cocooned against his chest, breathing softly in the early hours of the morning, was Nesta Archeron. Her head rested against his shoulder, spilling her tangles all over his chest. Wrapping around both of them was Cassian’s wing, which filtered the sunlight, so that the only rays hitting them were tinted. Cassian remembered walking Nesta home last night and her insistence that he come inside with her. There had been…intimacy, but not all the way. His puzzlement that morning had little to do with a blurry alcohol induced evening, and more to do with an astonishment that she let him stay.

With his Commanding duties becoming lighter after the war and her role as Emissary yet to become a full-time occupation, they’d spent time together. Platonic time, though time nonetheless. Personally, Cassian may have wanted more than just friendship, but if that was all Nesta was willing to offer, he would not argue. Coexisting seemed like enough, a sometimes painful reminder of what he couldn’t have. All he really wanted was for her to be happy, and she seemed great with them holding safe, easy interactions without any physical intimacy.

That was where his astonishment from this morning originated. Nesta never indicated that she wanted this before, and although they’d shared a few drinks, it was nothing they hadn’t done before or she couldn’t handle. Cassian’s only desire, however selfish it may be, was to stay here. Together they could very well never share this again. So Cassian lay there humbled by her petit frame, draped over half his body. Underneath her mouth, his shirt featured a small damp circle, hinting at a slight drool. Her arm wrapped around his torso, her hand curled gently inside his shirt.

Though, he was not acting all that innocent either. Nesta’s hip was cradled by his arm, keeping her body close to his. He also could feel the mess that was their legs further down the bed. Everything around them smelled faintly of Nesta, nothing heavy despite it being her room. The older Archerons didn’t have enough of their own possessions to lather a room in their scent. Nesta’s brow furled slightly, and her hand gripped him tighter causing Cassian to crane his neck and peck her forehead.

Cassian knew that she would want time alone to think about this new development between them or maybe, hopefully, she’d discuss it with him. As far as he understood, they were under no circumstance to share this event with anyone. That he knew for certain.

The door flew open.

“Hey, Nesta. Thought I’d let you know that breakfast is—“ The High Lady began from the doorway.

Cassian kept completely still, hoping like some idiot that Feyre would forget he was here. The next few moments stretched on for what felt like an hour.

“You’re not Nesta.“

“It’s not what it looks like,” he blurted very quickly.

“I can go,” she started.

Cassian stretched his wing a little farther, hoping beyond all hope that Nesta would not wake up. “I sure you think that Nesta and I slept together, but you have the completely wrong impression.”

“Cassian, it’s really none of my business. I’ll leave, no questions asked.”

“No, no. Nesta complained that her bed was too firm many times to me in the past, and I have always thought mine to be too soft. We devised a plan on which, What day of the week is it?”

“Thursday.”

“On the evening of the second Wednesday of every month we would swap beds, for whatever reason, this always seemed the night of worst sleep for us both. I have no idea about your sister, but I have never slept so well in my entire life.”

“In five hundred years, you’ve never slept like this.” He could hear the amusement in her voice.

Cassian thought himself a good liar, but this was absolutely atrocious. Not to mention that his wing still wrapped around him and Nesta, so he hadn’t even made eye contact with Feyre this whole interaction. “As a bastard in the camps, milady, it is quite difficult to find any sort of mattress, let alone one as comfortable as this one. My own room sports a bed that for years I have been meaning to replace, without ever finding the time.”

“So you’ve been sleeping on a crappy mattress for hundreds of years?”

“Yes!” He exclaimed, perhaps a bit melodramatically for the situation which really attested to how thick he was laying it.

“You know I can see Nes—“ Feyre tried.

Cassian removed all the stops. “Ah! The High Lady has seen the tousled waves of my armpit hairs creeping out from my shirt. Your mate normally glamours them away from view, especially when I train shirtless. I am ashamed to admit that they grow like fiends and that nothing on this continent or this world has the ability to tame them.”

At that both the woman in the doorway and the form next to him broke into cackles. Feyre’s subsided rather quickly, but Nesta, still mostly hidden from view, roared with a laughter that shook her whole body and brought tears to her eyes.

“Your armpit hair?” Nesta wheezed between inhales.

“I thought—“ they made eye contact before Cassian then flicked his towards Feyre.

Nesta wiped the tears from her eyes and appeared to have mostly relaxed. “Feyre, we’ll be down in a second. Thanks.”

The door closing was the only indication that Feyre was ever there in the first place.

Nesta sat up, dragging herself out from under Cassian’s wing, which he reluctantly removed from her before perching up next to her.

“Cassian—“ she began.

“I’m sorry for staying over, I understand if you hate me for making it look like we slept together. I tried making that cover for us.”

She bit her lip as if to refrain from laughing again. “I don’t hate you, in fact, I found that whole interaction quite hilarious. Yes, I heard the whole thing,” she remarked, no doubt from reading his expression, “but it’s nice to know that you would go to such lengths for me.”

“Of course I would.”

A small smirk grew on her face. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. I really don’t care what they think, not now anyway. Though, I do kinda care about the ungodly armpit hair. I think we may need some lessons in how to shave.”

He barked a laugh at that. “Maybe you can teach me how to control my underarm creature.”

“Maybe.“

Mated // Werewolf Shawn

Part 1


Summary: You and Shawn are mates. He’s an alpha werewolf. You’re a human. Also…you have a boyfriend already. What happens when a werewolf is rejected by his mate?

Welcome to Mayfair, population 355. Where the weather is always fairly nice and the people are friendly. Oh and most of the town is made up a werewolves.

That’s right, Mayfair is a pack town. While primarily the residents are werewolves, there are a few humans. Pack towns were becoming gradually more popular across north america although the concept dated back to the late 1800’s in Europe when entire villages would be nothing but werewolves masquerading as humans.

Nowadays werewolves are common place and though there are still people who absolutely detest them, it’s become the usual to pass a werewolf on the street everyday. Not that you could really tell the difference between most werewolves and humans. Most often the differences were subtle and overlooked by a person who did not live among them day to day.

Growing up in Mayfair was a little different then growing up in any regular town. Of course you had school, sports, movie nights and everything else kids did throughout their youth. But there were a few things about your childhood that you didn’t know didn’t happen to other kids in other towns.

Keep reading

Victor has always been a fascinating character for me. And I’ve been thinking a lot about why I find his character so interesting. So in honor of @viktorweek (and specifically prompt 2 ‘Past’ and prompt 4 ‘Family/Friends’), here are some thoughts on my favorite romantic sadsack. 

Perhaps one reason I love Victor as a character is because when I started watching the show I expected something very different from what we got. In the first episode, we as the audience are introduced to Victor Nikiforov, top athlete and celebrity. This Victor is cool, calm, collected. This Victor throws a flirtatious wink at his fans and melts hearts worldwide. This Victor only smiles when he’s on the ice, receiving adulation for his prowess, and is quiet and contemplative in interviews and in his home.

And then of course, we meet the real Victor, the one who danced drunkenly with a stranger and then moved into his house after watching a fateful internet video. The real Victor is absolutely ridiculous. He’s a hedonist. He loves good food, good alcohol, and being comfortable. He lounges about in a loose robe and immediately buys a sofa to fit in his tiny guest room. He relaxes in a hot spring every night and waxes poetic about the beauty of the ocean. And he is unabashedly, overwhelmingly enthusiastic about his interests. He’s delighted by so many things, he loves to be a tourist and enjoy new sights and places. He revels in the drama of competition and approaches every challenge in as over-the-top manner as possible. He thinks about the people he knows in terms of grandiose metaphors and fairy tales.

Keep reading

In the Moment || Kisses Series

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Warnings: angry Steve,  harsh words, language, suggested smut

Word Count: 1150+

Summary: Love has many different ways of expressing itself. One form, is the different ways you share a kiss.

A/N: Man this one was interesting to write. I always imagine Steve losing it when someone he loves does something stupid. He’s lost so much in his life as it is, he couldn't handle losing anyone else. He might also cross several lines because of it too. Enjoy! 

The gif is not mine. Credit to the wonderful owner!


Originally posted by lolawinchesterr

Cheeky | Hesitant | Wake up | Sloppy | In the Moment | Distracted | Breathtaking

Steve was angry. No scratch that he was livid. He had moments where he found himself channeling his rage from before the pre-serum, but never had it been channeled at someone he cared for.

Keep reading

Multilingual MC

I should probably be writing all the requests I still have left over from before I dropped off the face of the earth but this one piqued my interest. As you guys may know – if you’ve ever read my About the Author page – I myself am trilingual so this was right up my ally
Hope you enjoy!


Zen

♬ even when dating for a while and fully committed, certain things just never came up

♬ they weren’t dirty secrets or lies you told about yourself

♬ merely facts that had never seemed relevant enough to be brought up

♬ until one day, due to the strangest of coincidences, said thing comes up

♬ Zen was rather surprised to find out that you were fluent in multiple Slavic languages

♬ which he only really learned, because his new potential director was Croatian

♬ her name was Cintija Ašperger and while she lived in Canada now, she was born Croatian

♬ you could have talked in English, but you decided this way you could score bonus points

Oh Čintija, ne mogu ti opisat koliko je savršen za tu ulogu, vjeruj mi.

Ma ne, on nikad ne stvara probleme. Zahvalan je za svaku mogućnost, spram drugih glumaca.

Stvarno? Savršeno! Čujemo se, pusa.

♬ once you hung up with Cintija you informed Zen that he’d gotten the part

♬ he barely reacted, still staring at you with wide eyes and a slack jaw

♬ he broke out in a wide grin, telling you how amazing you sounded in whatever language that was

♬ later he sometimes spoke with a Croatian accent because that was just so damn cool

Yoosung

★ some people think that once you’ve been with a person for a year, you truly know them

★ those people are wrong

★ if anything, you only knew a person once you’d lived with them for a year

★ and even then there were always things that ended surprising you

★ like the one day Yoosung came home from work a little earlier

★ you’d stayed home, sick and wrapped into a blanket with litres of soup waiting to be eaten

★ he’d closed the clinic early so he could come home and take care of you for a change

★ he did not expect to find you screaming at your laptop in what sounded like perfect Japanese

★ 後に続け!意地になるな!

★ 感情について話すのはそんなに難しいか!?

★ 彼女にキスしろ! 彼女に既にキス!

★ as it turned out, you were a huge weeb that taught herself Japanese because of Anime

★ everyone else might have found that strange, but Yoosung was perfect for you, so he loved it

★ now you could sing anime openings together!

★ sometimes you even used certain phrases in daily life to annoy the others

Jumin

♛ for your first anniversary of marriage, Jumin decides to take you to Paris, France

♛ because of course he did

♛ the day was magical, as you got to explore the city of love

♛ at first you did all the typical tourist things like kissing on top of the Eiffel Tower

♛ but towards the end of the day Jumin took somewhere out of town

♛ it was a small but fancy winery, of course, where else would Jumin Han possibly take you

♛ the man keeping the place, however, had difficulties speaking English, let alone Korean

♛ which is when you finally managed to pipe up

Ah, monsieur! On peut avoir une bouteille de vin rouge, s’il vous plaît?

Bien sûr! Que désirez-vous, Mademoiselle

Le Château Lafite de 1865.

♛ Jumin looked at you with wide yet somewhat hooded eyes

♛ at first you were confused, but then you realized that he was turned on by your display

♛ you barely finished the bottle before he was tugging you towards the bathroom

♛ apparently you sounded different moaning in French, a fact Jumin explored in great detail

Saeyoung/Seven

☼ You and Saeyoung had been dating for quite some time at this point

☼ he’d become quieter since you’t met, a little more mellowed out in a sense

☼ despite having mature some, however, he was still a man-child

☼ especially now that he had his brother back and that weight was off his shoulders

☼ other than turning making toys into a job, he still loved pranks

☼ which you knew rather well, because he constantly pulled them on you

☼ they were innocent and silly, but sometimes you didn’t have the patience for his bullshit

☼ like that one day he’d put a lockdown on the door, even for you

☼ lucky for you, you know how to play that game

☼ أفتح الباب اللعين!

☼ the door unlocked and you winked at the camera, knowing he was watching

☼ Seven choked on his PhD pepper, spitting all over the screen

☼ you spoke Arabic?!

☼ he was equally impressed as he was terrified when you verbally whooped his ass

☼ you went off for half an hour and in perfect Arabic at that

Saeran

☀ certain things in life are utterly unpredictable

☀ it can be an illness you didn’t expect or an accident that wasn’t supposed to happen

☀ you generally try to stay on top of things, be as practical as humanly possible

☀ learning a couple of languages to be able to communicate in emergencies, was one of those things

☀ you didn’t use your German for a very long time, until Saeran happened

☀ to be more specific, the guys brilliant idea to join his brothers old agencies

☀ leading, of course, to you being sucked right in after him

☀ which someone resulted in the two of you ending up in German prison…don’t ask

☀ the whole thing would have ended in disaster, had it not been for you

Wir wurden von einer Koreanischen Argentur geschickt um Schrödinger auszuschalten. Er hat all die Morde begangen und dann versucht sie uns anzuhängen. Wir haben beweise!

☀ Saeran had no idea what you’d said, but it resulted in you being freed eventually

☀ honestly he’d never been so grateful that you were such a dork

☀ also, you sounded strangely sexy in German, all raspy and dangerous

☀ he’d never admit it to anyone, but you talking German was a huge turn on

☀ sometimes when you got freaky in bed he wanted you to do it in German

Jihyun/V

📷 when Jihyun finally returned, he decided to take you on a trip

📷 apparently he wanted to share the beauty of the world with you

📷 your first stop was Italy, Rome to be precise

📷 the inner city was as ugly and stuffy as any big city, but there was beauty to be found

📷 everything from the thermal baths, the catacombs up to the coliseum was mesmerising

📷 but the best part about Italy was still the food and not only the ridiculously overpriced restaurants

📷 the markets were filled with smells and spices you’d never experiences before

📷 Jihyun told you about how he’d want to buy some, but couldn’t due to language barriers

📷 apparently he’d planned on painting with spices and you liked the idea

📷 Scusi signore, io e il mio ragazzo vorremmo comprare delle spezie.

📷 Sí, prego. Per cosa vi servono? Alcune sono specifiche per alcuni piatti.

📷 Oh no, non vogliamo mangiarle. Il mio ragazzo é un artista e vuole usarle per i suoi lavori. Per favore, ci dia le piú colorate che ha.

📷 Jihyun watched, completely in awe, as you cheerfully chatted with the man

📷 in fact, he asked you to do all the talking from that moment on, just listening

📷 you inspired him and his new collection painted with Italian spaces bore your name

Hours in Midnight // Thor x Reader

Pairing: Thor x Reader (POC)
Word Count: 4k+
Warning: Angst, Fluff, a bad word or two, a smut mention if you squint real hard, SLOOOOW BURRRRNNNNNNN
Summary: Thor shows Reader she’s so much more than the demons in her head make her believe. Friendship is magic. Side note: Thor got a monster peen pass it on. Bonus Sam Wilson! 

A/N: I cannot believe it’s taken me this long to write a Thor fic. I also study Norse Theology so I felt it a bit appropriate to include some of it in here. If you guys like this, I’ll consider adding more part(s)! Feedback is absolutely welcome. This is also unbeta’d. I’ll go back and fix grammar and spelling errors when I can. Let me know if you spot some!

Inspiration: “I Don’t Want to Change You” ~ Damien Rice

Where ever you go,
Well, I can always follow
I can feed this real slow
If it’s a lot to swallow.
And if you want to be alone
Well, I can wait without waiting
If you want me to let this go
Well, I’m more than willing…”

Originally posted by avengers-of-mirkwood

Part 2

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Imagine Dean Finding Your Sketchbook...

Word Count: Around 2500

Warnings: None other than fluff :)

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam

Pairing: Dean x Reader

A/N: This one really ran away from me, it was supposed to be kind of short…but enjoy! Maybe this will appease y’all while I work on the new part of Through the Flames

***This fic is pretty thrown together, I just wanted to give you guys something since it takes me such a long ass time to update

Summary: The reader has a sketchbook full of drawings of Dean. After a hunt, to the reader’s horror and embarrassment, she finds Dean with his nose in her sketchbook.

There was never much privacy in your life with the Winchesters. Every time you turned around one of them was always right there. On most days, that wasn’t a bad thing- especially on hunts. You knew they’d always have your back, that you were never alone. It was comforting really, comforting on those days that you needed someone when everything seemed to go wrong. Sam always had kind words of advice and assurance and Dean wouldn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you. You couldn’t help but love the fact that they were always there.

You also couldn’t help but hate the fact that they were always there. You’d started to develop a kind of sixth sense whenever one of them was nearby, you could just feel them lurking. It was more of Dean than anything, Sam knew enough to let you be.

Dean loved to hover. You decided that this was because he was such a mother hen, but you eventually came to another conclusion. Dean Winchester was sometimes too curious for your liking. You figured that at some point he’d learn his lesson because, as you had pointed out to him more than once- curiosity killed the cat.

As annoying as it could be at times, he wasn’t hurting anyone when he would lean over your shoulder to see what you were watching on Sam’s laptop. The one time he had followed you to yoga class to see where you’d been disappearing to all week wasn’t even that big of a deal either. Despite the fact that he could have just asked you, you dropped it and let him go with nothing more than a whack with your yoga mat.

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run pt. 2

Originally posted by crime-in-our-minds

summary: its been 5 months since you left the BAU to hide your pregnancy with spencer’s child and cope with your broken heart. you’ve moved to new york and started a new life, there are revelations about how spencer really feels, and your old life catches up to you

words: 1761

warnings: um vague sex, language, angst, pregnancy, etc.

a/n: HOLY SHIT I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS AS WELL AS THE LAST PART. MESSAGE ME IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED.

read part three here

read part one here

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time after time

song drabble no.2 - this time loosely inspired by Cyndi Lauper’s time after time

Originally posted by jun-kookie

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: angst, guardian angel au (this was meant to be fluff i’m so sorry)

wordcount: 1.5k

“How could you ever sleep happily by your husband’s side knowing Jungkook, your angel, your soulmate, would be sat just a few metres away watching over you so dutifully?”


The first time laid your eyes on Jungkook, you were sixteen years old. He, on the other hand, was approximately two thousand years old. Despite the grand age, his face didn’t look a day over twenty and even though four years had passed since then, he still looked like the perfect mirror image of his past self. He never changed.

 It had been an accident, of course. Jungkook revealing himself to you. He’d been assigned to you since birth, constantly watching over you for sixteen years and never once leaving your side, just as everyone else’s guardian angel did. For that sixteen years, there was not a single hitch in the road, he played his role perfectly as did you.

 Then something in the grand master plan went wrong. A glitch of sorts. And suddenly there he was, standing before you, a terrified sixteen-year-old who was convinced a ghost had apparated in front of her, albeit, a very attractive ghost. His skin was golden and an ethereal sparkle shone outwards from him as if the source of light was coming from somewhere inside his soul. He had no wings, no halo, nothing that angels were always believed to possess. He was merely a boy in ripped jeans and a white shirt.

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