fog signal


Originally posted by undergroundtrash

genre: angst, fluff, au
warnings: violence/abuse
pairing: jungkook x reader
word count: 4.075
a/n: this is inspired by the spring day mv and the ones who walk away from omelas, not based on it. i just experimented a bit.

Omelas is safe.
Omelas is peace.
Omelas is home.
Omelas is us,
and we are Omelas.

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anonymous asked:

Amanda bonding with a dad of your choice?

send me ddadds reqs

“Oh, goodness, I’m just so… nervous!”

Dadsona sighs endearingly, rubbing Hugo’s hand with both of his own. “What could you possibly have to fear? She’s your student, Hugo.”

The other father groans and uses his free hand to cover his face. “She’s your daughter.”

“I’m not nervous around Ernest.”

“Ernest is barely a person.”

It’s the first time Amanda will be visiting home since she left for college. Being so far from home, they decided it would be best for her to return only when she absolutely had to, and the first opportunity was winter break. Her entire first semester is already finished, and although they kept in constant contact over phone and skype, nothing can compare to Dadsona’s excitement to see his daughter again.

His boyfriend, on the other hand, is close to losing his mind.

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My Constellation (1/1)

Summary: Modern AU. Emma is a bailbondsperson, Killian a scientist. His research puts him at sea for several weeks in the summer, and after a slew of lengthy separations, this one just about pushes them past their limits.

Rated: M

Warnings: Smut

Words: ~11.5k

Notes: This fic is a gift for the wonderful @high-seas-swan​. Lana, the second the new NEEDTOBREATHE album came out, I sifted through it, found a song that I liked just a touch more than the others, played it on repeat, and wrote this over the course of the past several weeks. I hope you like it! Also, never-ending love and devotion to @capaldisrighteyebrow​, without whom this would be a mess. Just a note, this is in no way related to the other smutty science fic I wrote.  Inspired by the months I’ve spent living alone by the sea.

Also on ff and ao3

Killian Jones had once convinced a woman that it was the moments that were worth living. That letting them pass by was a terrible mistake.

Years and years had passed, during which they’d both loved and lost. Out on a bench by the sea, she’d tell him of the parents who abandoned her not long after she was born. He, in turn, would tell her of his mother, of his brother, before they too passed. Together they spent their formative, teenage years in a system that, frankly, didn’t care much for them. They’d been separated by circumstances and by passion – he pursuing degrees in the marine sciences, and she as an independent enforcer of the law – before they’d met again in the cobblestone streets of Portland, Maine. They’d reacquainted with one another over the next few years, as he made a career of keeping the research programs aboard research vessels running, and she as a familiar face in southern Maine and New Hampshire.

Then, one unforgettable evening, she’d conceded that, perhaps, he had a point. Not with words, mind, but with her lips on his, pressing hard and wet against him in the dwindling hours of twilight. Just moments after he’d stepped off a research vessel, as a matter of fact, with a tan up to his elbows, salt in his hair and in his lungs. She’d kissed him while the sun painted the waters at his back, while the behemoth of a ship beside them rumbled down deep in its steely belly.

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you are the knife I turn inside myself (that is love)
Summary: “He wanted you to know that he didn’t blame you, that he didn’t hate you for sending him there. He didn’t want to die without you know-" 
Shut up,“ Clarke hisses. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up. He’s not dead. He’s not.”
(A/N) Be warned, there are no happy endings here. Title insp.)

He shoulders his pack and stands outside the camp, going through a mental checklist of the things that he needs. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lincoln approaching with Octavia and Raven, but Clarke is not with them.

 He isn’t surprised, he didn’t expect her to say goodbye. (It doesn’t stop the ache in his heart from growing, though.)

“Are you ready?” the grounder asks in a rumble.

Bellamy simply nods. (He still does not trust his voice. Not after all that’s happened.) He turns to Raven and gives her a brief nod. The mechanic bites her lip a moment before shoving a radio into his hands.

“Just in case you need it,” she says hurriedly. “You can get in touch if you need help, or if something goes wrong. I’m not sure how well it will work inside the mountain though, the jamming signal might be stronger there.”

Realizing it’s his turn to speak, he clears his throat and replies, “Thanks, Raven. Stay safe.” He turns towards Octavia, but doesn’t say a word, just staring at his sister.

“We will give you a moment alone,” Lincoln says slowly, his gaze telling Raven to follow his lead. She nods and heads back to camp while he turns and heads off into the forest. Once both of them are out of sight, Octavia reaches forward and grabs his hand.

“Don’t go,” she whispers urgently. “Don’t do this, Bell. It’s suicide, we both know that.“

He shakes his head, his heart feeling painfully numb in his chest and his tongue as heavy as lead. “If Clarke got out then I can get in,” he repeats the words he had told the blonde leader earlier.

He tries to ignore the tears filling his sister’s eyes as she says, “I’m not worried about you getting in, Bell. I’m worried about you getting back out.”

There is a long silence, which he takes to search for the right words to say. “I’ll get in and shut down their defenses,” he finally says weakly. He pauses and he knows that she will not be okay with that answer (she was always just as protective of him as he was of her). “Then I’ll get out, O. Everything will be fine.”

She throws her arms around his shoulders and holds him tight. “May we meet again,” she whispers, and he can hear her choking as she speaks.

He pulls away and walks after Lincoln. He does not look back.

(He fears that if he does, she’ll see the lie he has between his teeth, like the pin to a grenade.)

He is not coming back.

(He spends the trip to Mount Weather pulling shrapnel out of his chest.)

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A couple of days after I bought my e28, I was on my way to work when a guy in a euro e28 honked at me and gave me a thumbs up. My fog lights and turn signals were cracked, my kidney grilles were wrecked, my idle was surging like mad, it ran like shit when cold and I couldn’t drive it until it was at operating temp, cruise control didn’t work, fuel pump was going, the battery would die all the time, most of my cluster didn’t work, OBC was broken, my amp was burning the voice coils out of subs left and right, and my tires were like 8 years old and bald and this guy still appreciated my piece of shit car. Grumpy and I have come a long way since then.


[mur-meyd] noun 1. (in folklore) a female marine creature, having the head, torso, and arms of a woman and the tail of a fish. 2. a highly skilled female swimmer. Origin:
1300–50; Middle English mermayde.


[sahy-ruh n] noun 1. Classical Mythology . one of several sea nymphs, part woman and part bird, who lure mariners to destruction by their seductive singing. 2. a seductively beautiful or charming woman, especially one who beguiles men: a siren of the silver screen. 3. an acoustical instrument for producing musical tones, consisting essentially of a disk pierced with holes arranged equidistantly in a circle, rotated over a jet or stream of compressed air, steam, or the like, so that the stream is alternately interrupted and allowed to pass. 4. an implement of this kind used as a whistle, fog signal, or warning device. 5. any of several aquatic, eellike salamanders of the family Sirenidae, having permanent external gills, small forelimbs, and no posterior limbs.