hope set high

gia-cometti  asked:

ok but lik, now i rlly need dat vape au dis cudn't hav cum @ a perf tim

special thanks to @forovnix and google for explaining things to me bc i have never done weed rip


“I can’t believe you’ve never tried weed before,” Yuuri teases as they head into the woods, his fingers squeezing Victor’s. He sounds excited, a little too excited, for Victor’s liking.

He glances around—it’s dark, there’s nobody nearby. Yuuri brings them to a tree and then sits down, digging inside of his coat pocket. His breath is visible in the cold and Victor leans closer, placing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “We should come here more often.”

Yuuri turns for a better vantage point, his hands stilling in their movements, and Victor slides a hand up to cup his cheek, keeping him in place. They shift closer to each other, and then Victor has one leg comfortably nestled between both of Yuuri’s. “Okay, are you ready? I’ve never used these before, but Phichit said these would be best for you.” He produces two black vape pens from his pockets, holds them in his palm.

“It looks like a flute and a lighter had a child,” Victor notes as he takes one from Yuuri, weighing it in his hand. When Yuuri had casually brought up marijuana in conversation, and Victor had looked at him with wide eyes, Yuuri had been shocked to hear that he’d never experimented with it before. Victor, on the other hand, had been shocked that Yuuri had experimented with it before.

He laughs at that, brushes his black hair back out of his eyes with his hand, and Victor kisses him again, unable to help himself. “Okay, you’re getting sidetracked,” Yuuri accuses, though he’s not pushing him away, just giving him an affectionate eye roll. “Let’s kiss after we’ve tried it. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

“Peer pressure,” Victor scolds, nudging his side. “Okay. What do I do?”

Yuuri instructs him, and then he’s breathing in, letting out a heavy sigh and blinking at Yuuri, slightly off-put by the feeling. “Well?” Yuuri asks, squeezing his shoulder.

“I don’t feel anything,” he says, because he doesn’t.

“Give it a minute,” Yuuri tells him. “Okay, my turn.”

After Yuuri has copied Victor’s motions, albeit with more expertise, Victor blinks a few times. He picks up the pen and repeats the actions he’d done before. A few minutes pass, and then he smiles brightly at Yuuri, who is laughing, bumping his head against Victor’s shoulder.

“You feel it?” he asks.

Victor certainly feels…


A sort of lightheadedness—like painkillers, he thinks. It’s subtle, but euphoric all the same. Yuuri picks up his own pen again and then Victor crawls onto his lap, straddling his hips and kissing him harder, Yuuri’s glasses knocking against his face and their lips colliding messily. With one hand, Victor fumbles to take his glasses off and with the other he grips Yuuri’s side, trying to steady himself.

“It feels good, right? Even better than normal?” Yuuri asks, laughing again.

“Mmm,” Victor agrees, leaning his forehead on Yuuri’s. “We should come out here more often.”

“Let’s do it again,” he suggests, picking up the pen. “This stuff is light.”

A while later, Victor is settled on Yuuri’s lap. At some point, they lose their shirts, and though the air is cold Victor can’t bring himself to mind. They talk for a while before one of them turns to the other and then they’re kissing again, giddy from a concoction of love and weed.

“Tell Phichit thank you from me,” Victor suggests, then nips Yuuri’s neck. His skin tastes different than usual, more tempting, and he can’t get enough. “You taste good.”

Yuuri brushes his hand through Victor’s hair, tugging at the short strands on the back of his neck. “And you feel good. I’ll tell him. I know he and Chris do this all the time, now. Minus… Minus this part.”

“They’re missing out on the best part, then,” he muses, slipping a hand up the other boy’s shirt.

An hour later, they’re lying on the grass, staring up at the stars with the weed forgotten in Yuuri’s coat pockets. Yuuri pillows his head on Victor’s chest and hums happily, looking up at him. “A good first experience, then?”

“I didn’t know I was dating a bad boy.”

At that, Yuuri scoffs, tugging the collar of Victor’s shirt down far enough for him to kiss his chest. “I hope you’re kidding.”

“You also sing physics formulas when you’re bored, so…”

He whacks him on the arm. “Well, I didn’t know I was dating somebody so rude.”

Victor shifts his body downwards to kiss him, chaste. “Yes you did.”

“You’re right, I did.”


John Smith , 2x10 , The Man in the High Castle 

how to sit down like a boss

Now I’m thinking of Eggsy first seeing Harry in Kentucky and realizing, he can’t speak. At first being confused and shocked, thinking they have it wrong. But no, the bullet did extensive damage to the Broca’s area, all the centres of language and speech gone. It’s likely he will never regain full use of it.

And I’m thinking of Eggsy being determined to be able to communicate with Harry. Harry, who knew sign language since he was 22, communicating with Statesman staff his needs, thoughts, wants. But he leaves out the emotion; they say his face is devoid of any indication of what’s going underneath. They bring him what he asks for, he says thank you, and he is polite and cursory and–empty. So, Eggsy learns sign language.

He watches videos, asks Merlin for help, to teach him gestures and their meanings, and catches onto the basics right away. He knows Harry can hear him just fine; he wants to hear Harry again. Maybe not in the way he had before, but it’s something. When he thought he had nothing left of Harry besides an empty house, a will, a name that he kept trying to fit into.

So, he learns. And he learns the rhythm of Harry’s hands, how elegant and graceful they are. Just like he was. It’s amazing, Eggsy thinks, once he pays attention. And a few weeks after they first lay eyes on each other, Harry is able to tell Eggsy, Hello, Eggsy. I am happy to see you.

And it’s amazing, it’s brilliant, it’s makes happiness unfurl in his chest like ribbons–and it’s not enough. Merlin told him: half the language is in the eyes, the expressions. Harry says he is happy. But it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

Merlin has known it as long as Harry, talks with him, waits and watches his hands, nods, a hand over his face. Whiskey tells him one night that his aunt was born deaf and mute, that he’d known how to use sign language all his life, that he was the first one to talk to Harry, a real conversation. Harry didn’t have many of those, Whiskey tells him, almost sadly, staring at his glass. But he tried, he said.

But Harry doesn’t let on more than what his hands give. He doesn’t show Merlin or Whiskey or the staff what he’s thinking besides what he wants them to know. But when he sees Eggsy–oh, when they both finally find each other through the glass, Eggsy knows that look: baffling disbelief and hesitant joy, the smile that flashes across his face, timid and small, and falls away just as quick. But Eggsy saw it, he knows he did.

Merlin tells him, hand on his shoulder like he needs to steadied for this, that Harry isn’t who he was before. That whatever Harry endured, whatever he suffered, has made a home in him. And they should not set their hopes too high.

Eggsy doesn’t believe in a life without at least a bit of chance, a bit of foolish hope.

Eggsy comes to know all the ways Harry’s eyes scan the room, the hard line of his mouth or the soft fall of it, his posture as approachable or tenuous. The gentle tap of Harry’s finger on the inside of his wrist, hand dropping on his shoulder, resting on his elbow, his back. He knows what’s urgent, what’s merely conversational–what’s meant to just be between them.

Their own little language. Things only Eggsy comes to know. They can speak in glances, touches and cues. Eggsy wouldn’t say he knows what Harry’s thinking intuitively… but there’s something they have that Merlin can’t replicate, that Whiskey never got out of Harry in all the months he spent in the cell with this stranger, trying to let him know he wasn’t alone.

And slowly, slowly, the happiness reaches Harry’s eyes. Fleeting smiles, frowns come and gone in the blink of an eye; raised brows, corners of his mouth curving up the barest amount, fluttering eyelids, turn of his head as Eggsy laughs and Harry listens to him.

Eggsy sees it all.

And when Harry motions for him, Eggsy watches his hands, his face, waiting before he answers. And he listens; and he hears Harry.

every time the inner cynic in me starts questioning if we’ve set our hopes too high about a canon force bond, i remember that that’s literally the only possible way Kylo will find them on Ahch-To.

think about it. the ENTIRE PLOT of TFA revolved around the First Order being unable to locate Luke or Ahch-To. they tried everything; there’s nowhere left to look and no other information for them to find. so what’s changed since TFA? 

Rey is there.

all logic dictates that Rey is the key to Kylo finding Ahch-To at long last. and the only way for that to work from across the galaxy is through their mysterious connection.


Legends of Tomorrow | 1.13

Mick in the Captain’s chair. @sassmasterradagast

Send Me A Copy

Originally posted by dunkirknharry

You’re childhood friends with Harry and asked to write a untruthful article about Harry at your job as a journalist.

When you got the job of your dreams working for one of the biggest magazines in London as a journalist you were ecstatic to finally be moving to London to be closer to your child hood friend Harry. You’d grown up living in the same street and had always remained close so when the opportunity arrived Harry encouraged you to make the move. The first couple of weeks working for the magazine were amazing, you got to do some awesome articles on events and concerts that were currently happening in the city, so when your boss approached you to write for the gossip section of the magazine you didn’t expect at all for one of your next jobs would be to write an article about your best friend being a womaniser.

You’d been in your apartment staring at the folder that contained what the magazine expected you to write in the article and you could feel every bone in your body feeling guilty for even looking at the folder. You knew none of this was true, Harry was a gentleman and half the girls he’d been seen with were people he’s working with or just close friends, you know how much this article would hurt him and your relationship if you were to write it. So you decided to call him over for dinner hoping you could talk things out and discuss your options, while everything in your heart told you you couldn’t write this article, your head also knew that this job was a once in a lifetime opportunity and saying no to writing this could cost you your career. When Harry knocked on your door and came in with a huge grin on his face embracing you in a hug you got scared about how this night could end.
“ Ive got to talk to you about something important” you said to him as the two of you sat on your bed opposite one an other after eating dinner now watching an episode of friends.
“ Oh god please don’t tell me yeh got back together with that proper dick of a guy” he questioned rolling his eyes a you, you chuckled wishing this conversation would be that easy.
“ No, it’s a lot worse than that” you sighed handing him the folder you’d been given earlier today.
“ This is from my job, they want me to write about you, about how they think your a womaniser and sleep with a heap of girls. But I don’t want to hurt you and write something I know isn’t true, but this is my dream job Harry, the job I have worked my ass of for so any years of working in that shitty local newspaper in Holmes Chapel, I cant fuck this up” you spoke trying to read his face for his emotion.
“ So what yeh want to know is, if yeh write this article will I hate yeh” he spoke looking up from the folder his big green eyes staring into yours, you could almost see his brain working to figure out how to react to the situation, yours way currently doing the same.
“ I don’t want to write it Harry” you spoke softly placing your hand on his across the bed.
“ I don’t want to yeh to write it either, but yeh’v already made up yeh mind, otherwise yeh wouldn’t be asking us” his words were soft but spoken with a harshness, you could see the hurt and anger now, wether that be for you or the article you would produce in a weeks time you weren’t sure.
“ Im going to try and make it more about the good things you do, hardly mention the girls to try and get around this, maybe mention that you’ve been in France filming, or talk about the album, I promise H” you said not wanting to look him in the eye so he couldn’t see the tear rolling down your face.
“ Yeah, send me a copy once yeh done so that when yeh’r upset with me about why we don’t talk anymore I can show yeh the reason why” you sat there in shock as he grabbed his stuff and left your apartment, you cried a lot after he left his last words to you felt like a punch in the stomach you didn’t know would heal if the words he spoke were true.

You didn’t hear from him the two weeks you had to write it, you didn’t have your hopes set too high in receiving any texts but you were defiantly feeling sorry for yourself by the time it came around to be handing in the final in a days time. You’d written the article around 20 times, each one making you hate yourself a little more than the last, in the first couple of days of trying to write it you went through 3 bottle of wine and way too many packets of chips to count. So you’d done every other piece of work you were required to do to avoid the Harry article, you’d thrown yourself into other work to try and push the heavy burden that was currently sitting on your chest from the impending article.It was 4am by the time you finished the final, the piece you wrote could get you fired, you’d come to terms with that by now, you’d realised there would be other jobs, maybe not as amazing as this one, but giving up a lifetime of friendship with Harry just didn’t seem worth it anymore. Walking into work you had your article in one hand and your resignation in the other, it’d look better on your file is you quit rather then being fired. You looked at you’re writing one more time before having to go hand it in reading your words. Londons Underrated Musician Harry Styles. Despite your gut flipping continuously you handed over the article that depicted Harry for who he really was a gentleman who disregarded stereotypes and was passionate about social equality and important issues, and once it had been handed over to the printing department where you know they could remove it from the magazine issue you handed in your resignation and left the office.

There was a slight liberation to going against the rules and then quitting your job which gave you the added confidence to head to Harrys flat with a copy of the article for him to read. You were nervous to see him again and gage his attitude towards you and the article, he’d always secretly hated that you’d become a journalist but you’d hoped after this article all of that would change. You knocked on his door and heard him shout coming before his heavy footsteps approached the door. He opened it up and looked surprised at your appearance at his door, you were generally a put together person so for you to be wearing practically pyjamas and crazy hair he knew something was up.
“ Yeh look like shit” he spoke to you emotionless.
“ So do you, you wanna read why were no longer friends?” I asked handing him the piece of paper watching his eyes scan over the words a small smirk on his face as he finished it.
“ You really submitted this” he questioned moving out of the door way to allow you into the apartment.
“ Yep, I also quit my job over you” you replied placing yourself on his kitchen counter.
“ Was it worth it though” he chuckled sitting next to you on the bench.
“ It was worth it to me the second I deleted the subheading Harry Styles Womaniser off one of the biggest media outlets in London”

Thank you to everyone who’s been reading my writing its been lovely to see. Please send me any feedback or request, or even if you want a chat! 


Requests: Can you do a Tim x Reader where they go stargazing?

Tim hanging out with the reader and falls asleep sitting next to her and is cuddling her and she’s like oh my god.

You shouldn’t have let yourself feel so special. Not in front of Tim Drake’s eyes.

To be honest you never set your hopes too high so you would get failed. You still had no idea how it all changed once Tim started sharing classes with you. He’d sit close to you and sometimes make small talk but that was it. He was always encouraging you to be more confident about your self, because of course he had noticed you were way too shy and your self esteem levels weren’t that high.

He was kind and caring. You loved being around him and even if you had to admit that you felt strong attraction towards him a good and loyal friendship was all you wanted.

You still hadn’t realised what had made you feel so special with time. One night your group of friends had made plans with his though, which -unbeknownst to you- would finally give you your answer. Tim ended up taking you home because all your friends were supposed to be home earlier. The two of you bought ice cream and sat on a bench, stargazing. It was so funny trying to show Tim all the asterisms you knew about amd how he wouldn’t see them.

“All it takes is a little faith, you know” you could remember saying, with a caring smile that made Tim sigh.

“I guess… I… after Stephanie, after what happened to her I… you know what I mean right” Tim had been looking as if he was about to have an anxiety attack and of you couldn’t have been the one to actually cause him to have one.

“Its okay Tim. It’s really fine”

“I want to invite Courtney to the prom with me though. She’s cute isn’t she?”

You could also remember your heart actually sounding as if it had broke in two. Of course it should be Courtney. With her blonde hair and her blue eyes -Tim never really dated anyone who wasn’t blonde - you couldn’t even outdo her toenail, or as you thought. Tim had feel asleep on your shoulder way before you could answer and for you it had seemed right to leave him alone on the bench.

The following days you noticed as Tim started being mote chatty with Courtney than you. She was enjoying the company to the maximum, always having the brightest smile on his face. Your friends, the kept reminding you that Tim would have never liked you even if he was showing you different signs.

Soon he stopped sitting close to you, he stopped smiling and winking at you in class. He’d still say hey and maybe sometimes grab you by your arm just to greet you. He was spending time with his new friend and as you were soon to learn, girlfriend.

Somehow it didn’t hurt as much as you thought. Sure, you haven’t had a boyfriend in some years, and sure you cried a little but it wasn’t worth it. And your friends were there to remind you.

The prom was another really bad experience you had to go through. Tim and Courtney were announced to be the king and queen of the prom, making you shiver with the perfect image. They looked so good together it hurt. Of course they did silly, Courtney wouldn’t have broken up with her boyfriend to get with Tim if they wouldn’t.

But your friends were always the best company and even the drinks you had at the after party were even better. You wanted to be wild for a while. Even if you’d love to be stargazing with Tim any moment of the night, there were better things to do, so why let someone like Tim make you feel special.


Lines of Love and War

Here is the first chapter of the Mulan inspired Nessian fic! It takes place in the ACOTAR realm, but with slight variations to fit the storyline. Nesta meets with the town’s matchmaker and discovers that her potential husband is tied in with a war that is about to unfold against Hybern. It is up to Nesta to join the ranks of fae and human alike to save not only her sister, but all of Prythian. 

Lines of Love and War : Chapter 1

The twittering of maids about the drawing room put Nesta in a state of disinterest that shifted to annoyance. One of the maids was brushing her hair in an attempt to control the golden brown locks. The regal and untamable air Nesta held about her made many compare her to a lioness with a personality to match as well.

A sharp tug of the brush made Nesta almost emit a snarl. Her inner wildcat itched to be free from this conventional ritual of preparing her for a visit to the town’s matchmaker.

The very thought of it made Nesta sick with worry. Not because she was anxious that she wouldn’t find a match. No, she feared that the matchmaker would pair her with one of the men in town.

More like savage brutes. Nesta thought as she glared at herself in the mirror.

Her makeup was done in an attempt to make her look more warm and welcoming. Nesta almost laughed at the maid’s efforts. No amount of makeup could ever take away her cold and serious demeanor. Her blue-grey eyes were a brewing storm beneath rose gold eye shadow and a thin line of kohl.

The makeup was better suited for sweet Elain. Of course all this primping and glamouring was all for the sake of her little sister. Nesta had already lost one sister. She couldn’t bear to lose Elain either. If Nesta could secure a marriage then Elain would be free to not be forced into one.

“It is time,” Mrs. Laurent said. The older woman stood waiting in the doorway with Elain looking on with a smile lighting her face.

“You look so beautiful Nesta!” Elain took in the efforts that the maids put forth.

Nesta stood from her chair. A queen rising from a throne. Her lavender gown trailed the floorboards with sheer folds that resembled smoke following her every step. Her hair was undone except for a few intricate braids that were pulled up to resemble a bun.

“There’s just one thing missing,” Elain trailed off and brought forth a gold bracelet inlaid with one small diamond. It was their mother’s bracelet. Elain delicately slipped the bracelet on her elder sister’s wrist.

It felt like a shackle to Nesta. The thin gold band mocked her in the gleaming morning light that streamed in the window. It seemed as though Nesta would be forever caged to duty and suffocation of the customs expected of her.

“Thank you Elain,” Nesta murmured for what else could she offer her sister. Her slight breathless tone not caused by awe of the gift, but by how tight her corset fitted her body. Still Elain’s actions were good in intent. Nesta could not fault her sister in that regard.

“Let’s not dally any longer,” Mrs. Laurent broke in rather abruptly. “We must head to town immediately. With any luck you will be matched with a husband by the end of the day.”

As they walked out the doorway Nesta heard one of the maids whisper that they had all better pray to the gods if they ever hoped that Nesta Archeron would tempt a husband.

Nesta held back a string of words. She was not one to take gossip and insults at face value. So long as the people she loved most truly understood her, then that was all that mattered. And Nesta could not care less for meddling maids.

Nesta, Elain and Mrs. Laurent boarded a carriage that took them to the matchmaker’s home. Nesta stepped out of the carriage with a ceremonial candle that must remain lit during the procession ladies conducted outside of the matchmaker’s home.

It was ridiculous in Nesta’s mind how a woman seeking a match would have to wait another month if her candle flickered out during the turn about the property. A gust of wind could blow out the flame as anyone walked the path leading to the doors of the home.

She was half tempted to blow out the candle herself, but after having done so three times already in the previous ceremonies was starting to bring shame to her family. If she couldn’t even handle keeping a tiny flame from going out how was she to be expected to take care of a husband and household? 

Townspeople already spread rumors about Nesta. She couldn’t care less, but then those rumors turned toward her family. That was the moment when Nesta decided to see this day through without a problem. Or at the very least try. Still she felt that she was going to need a lot more assistance to get through this day that would test her patience.

Gods hear my plea. Nesta thought silently. I ask only one thing. Please protect my family. Whether it’s at the cost of my happiness or my chance to be free.

She would give anything so long as her family was safe. No matter the price she would pay it.

And so it began. Nesta followed a line of girls making her the fifth and last to walk down the cobbled path toward their destination. The townspeople followed not far behind. Elain and Mrs. Laurent watched from within the crowd with their hopes set high for a good match for the eldest Archeron sister.

Elain could only hope that her sister found a suitable partner that would truly love Nesta.

The flame of Nesta’s candle danced as she treaded down the stones. It was amusing to watch. It seemingly begged for attention and its small warmth was the only comfort on Nesta’s walk. Her lips revealed the smallest of smiles at the small glowing fire.

Too soon the group arrived at the doors of the matchmaker. They kneeled on the small colorful rugs laid out for them so that their dresses would not get dirty. No sooner had they reached the ground the doors clamored opened revealing a woman holding a notebook and quill pen.

“Nesta Archeron,” The matchmaker called with her quill poised on paper.

Nesta rose and in a neutral tone announced her presence.

The matchmaker made a noise of disappointment and marked something in the notebook. “Speaking without permission…”

Annoyance flared in Nesta as she trudged up the steps to follow the matchmaker inside. The doors banged shut behind her.

“Have a seat,” the woman directed to a small table with two chairs and tea set.

Nesta sat down in front of the matchmaker and placed the still lit candle on the table. She found her gaze occasionally straying to the flame during the questions and tasks that the matchmaker asked her.

Pour the tea. Speak only when first spoken too. Use a demure tone of voice.

The matchmaker paused in making her notes after drinking a bit of tea Nesta had poured for her. From the disappointed look on the matchmaker’s face Nesta could only assume that her marks were not satisfactory.

“Let us presume with the readings,” the matchmaker unfurled Nesta’s birth chart with circles, numbers and symbols. Her fingers began skimming the paper. Pausing on certain marks and making notes to the side of the paper.

Nesta watched intently. She wondered how a suitable partner could be found with such charts. Apparently readers could determine many things based on these symbols and overlapping patterns that Nesta could not understand.

“Oh my…” the reader stopped and looked back and forth between three symbols.

“Am I to forever be a spinster,” Nesta joked lazily. “Or maybe it says I am to meet my end while walking down the steps to my home.”

The matchmaker looked up at Nesta. Panic seizing her eyes before blinking to contain her concern.

“Your chart mostly consists of lines that overlap so closely together that they almost form one joined path, which itself is quite rare. Those lines denote inner power of control and the ability to shroud your intentions, but they are such thick lines that it represents a vast amount of strength.”

Nesta didn’t say anything. Many knew she was closed off and was not a person who formed many friendships. Still…the woman’s claim was too close to the truth. The truth that she and her sisters descended from a mother who was fae. And that Nesta’s ability did involve a form of a mental shroud from those who would seek to read her thoughts or alter her perception of the mind.

The matchmaker paused. “Your family line meets with two lines…one of love and the other of war…and those two lines actually brush against each other.” She pointed at the pink and red lines that did indeed touch, but never crossed.

“They are not overlapping yet they still connect,” the matchmaker explained a bit perplexed. “This means that you will meet your husband due to some event related to your family from some sort of battle. Whether that be internal or external is impossible to decide.”

“So that means my husband is a soldier perhaps?” Nesta quirked a brow. There was talk of an impending war. The fae and human lands knew that Hybern was becoming a threat they could no longer dismiss. Maybe a regiment would come through town and Nesta would be proposed to by some poor soul who was going to war to face monsters that could only be dreamed up in nightmares.

“Your line of love and war directly connects your birth sign with a sign across the chart,” the matchmaker pointed out Nesta’s swirl shaped birth symbol linked with one resembled a sun with a dot in the middle. “That sign,” the matchmaker tapped the sun, “is your…significant other.”

On the table the candle’s flame flared brightly and swayed back and forth excitedly. Yet no wind stirred in the home.

Nesta and the matchmaker watched the flame in awe and shock. Nesta personally felt spell bounded by the display. Too soon the flame calmed, but the smell of earth, sweat and spice filled the air. Distantly Nesta thought she heard a clang of metal along with a deep laugh.

“Strange,” muttered the matchmaker toward the flame. “Although this would make sense considering your potential husband is a fire sign.”

“Great,” Nesta said sarcastically. “That means he’s more than likely loud, rambunctious and out of control.”

The matchmaker shrugged slightly as if it wasn’t her problem before turning back to the chart. “There is another line though that grabs my attention.”

“You say it as if it means something terrible,” Nesta pointed out the nervous halting words the matchmaker spoke.

“That is because I see that your line of death crosses the ones of war and love,” the matchmaker admitted cautiously. “And it is tethered between the start of your war and love lines leading through the section of ascendance and between two birth symbols.”

“Which means?” Nesta implored.

“Death can mean many things beside the literal term, but either way your path to it starts the same time that you will begin the path of love and war. With it running into the ascendance that means sacrifice on your part. And the catalyst of your death is strangely pointing directly in the middle between two signs. So your death could be the cause of two people or –”

The matchmaker sucked in a breath. As if a fright overtook her.

Nesta sat at the edge of her seat. The hairs on her neck rose. Foreboding filled the air.

“Or what?” Nesta breathed.

The matchmaker looked up at Nesta. Fear clear in her eyes.

“Or something inhuman. Something that is best to be avoided.” The matchmaker stood up suddenly. “I believe you should leave at once. Your session is over.”

“Can you not tell me more?” Nesta questioned. Something about her chart set her on edge. She wasn’t one to believe in such things, but her feelings did not sit well at the moment after the latest reveal.

“No,” the matchmaker began pushing Nesta to the door. “And do not ask me again.”

“But –” Nesta tried to question the woman more, but the doors opened and the matchmaker all but tossed her out.

“Do not return!” The matchmaker wildly exclaimed. Loud enough that the townspeople heard and gasped in shock at the sight before them. The doors closed and Nesta was standing there perplexed beyond anything until the whispering of the townspeople stirred her to move.

She walked pass them all with her head held high. Elain weaved through the crowd and clutched her elbow.

“Nesta?” Elain worriedly looked up at her eldest sister. Confused at the matchmaker’s apparent distressed actions.

Mrs. Laurent stepped in front of them before Nesta could say anything. “To the carriage. Now.” Her face was unhappy and disappointed. It was obvious that a match had not been made for Nesta to be married.

Nesta didn’t argue and neither did Elain. Soon they boarded their carriage back to the manor. It’s green roof and gardens planted by Elain gave Nesta a sense of ease. But she knew something was coming. A storm brewed violently and Nesta knew she had to act.

When they arrived home Nesta went to her room to remove the makeup and hairpins. No sooner had she pulled out the last pin a maid knocked on her door and entered at Nesta’s reply to enter.

“Miss there is a…fae man outside requesting an audience with the head of household,” the maid wrung her hands nervously.

Since Nesta’s father was away on trade business in a neighboring country that left Nesta in charge.

“I will be down momentarily,” Nesta replied still seated on the vanity seat and removing the last piece of jewelry from her body. The maid left to go back downstairs to notify the fae of Nesta’s soon arrival.

It was a matter of importance that Nesta rid the fae from their property. Enough fae folk had ruined the Archerons. She did not intend for any to linger and cause more trouble for her family.

Just thinking about the time when Feyre was stolen away by the High Lord of Spring made Nesta clench her fists into her dress. It had been months since Nesta had last seen Feyre. She was a changed being. Literally.

But so too was Nesta and Elain after all these years. The three Archeron sisters gifted with fae powers.

Nesta glided down the stairs and toward the front entrance. Outside there was indeed a thin looking fae male. He wore glasses and dressed more like a scholar compared to the two fae guards that accompanied him.

“I presume you are the eldest Archeron?” The male asked.

Nesta stood firm just outside the doorway. She closed the door so that the conversation was private from the ears of the prying staff.

“I am,” Nesta replied. “What business do you have with us?”

The male pulled out a parchment. “We seek soldiers for the upcoming war with Hybern. It was agreed between both the human queens and the high lords and ladies of the fae lands that each family must have one member volunteer for the armies.”

“But my father is away on business and my sister and I are the only ones here,” Nesta supplied. “Do you expect families to offer soldiers when no member is suited for battle? What of the families with younger children? Would you take their fathers from them for this war?”

“If we do not have soldiers then those children will have much more to worry about then being fatherless,” the male admitted. He handed her the rolled up parchment. “You or your sister must join the ranks. If not then the paper will enact a curse upon your household and randomly select one of you to be chosen.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Nesta growled clenching the paper tight. “I will die before letting Elain anywhere near a battlefield.”

“Then I suggest you make your decision by nightfall,” the male pointed toward the paper. “Use your blood and thumbprint as a signature on the contract. Once that is completed you will be magically transported to one of Prythian’s forces where you will be trained.”

“Which army will I be selected for?” Nesta knew Prythian had seven courts. Each had an army of it’s own.

“The magic will take you to the one that you are destined for,” the male eerily replied.

Nesta stared the male down. Hating the fae even more for jeopardizing Elain. They had already taken Feyre from them. She wasn’t about to lose another sister.

“If there is nothing else for you to say then our business is done,” Nesta concluded stonily. A clear sign the fae were to leave at once.

The three males didn’t say farewell as they walked back down the road from which they came. Nesta imagined that once they hit the tree line they would whisk away with magic.

Upon returning inside Nesta met Elain as she walked in from the dining room.

“Who was at the door?” Elain asked with a tray of tea in hand.

The war contract felt heavy in Nesta’s hand. Discreetly she stuffed the paper into the folds of her dress making it impossible for Elain to see.

“Men who had lost their way and needed directions,” Nesta lied. “They have left now so we need not worry about them.”

“Oh.” Elain cocked her head to the side. “Well I suppose we could have tea together in the study perhaps? I’m sure you want to finish the book you’re reading right now. And maybe we can talk about what happened in the matchmaker’s home?”

Nesta would tell Elain that her potential husband was a fire sign, but the other details would have to be left out. She wouldn’t worry Elain about the death and war lines that were crossed.

Instead Nesta put on a rare smile solely reserved for her sister. One in which she removed her indifferent mask and revealed a more gentler side that few had ever seen.

“I wish you could have seen the matchmaker’s face when she saw my love line,” Nesta said. “Or the horrid fact that it connects with someone with a fire sign.”

Elain giggled. “Only someone of fire could handle you Nesta. It will be exciting to finally meet him! Especially after you broke off the courtship with Thomas.”

Nesta’s throat lodged at the mention of Thomas. That monster had left horrible memories. The sound of her dress ripping. His fingers gripping her wrist so tightly that bruises marked her skin. Luckily she escaped before it went any further, but the fear of his name still lingered.

The sisters entered the study with Elain softly humming a tune that was secretly known to help flowers blossom. The roses on the small table proved that point when their color turned a more vibrant healthy shade of red.

Perhaps one day Elain could live in a place where she didn’t need to hide her abilities. A haven where she could flourish like the plants she helped thrive. Nesta too wondered if there would be a place for her as well. But her powers brought destruction. Not life like her sister.

Even Feyre had shown promise in her abilities before being taken by the High Lord of Spring. But it was too late to change the past. And now Nesta focused on ensuring a safer future for Elain.

Hours later the Archeron estate was silent in the middle of the night. A thunderstorm could be heard rumbling in the distance. Nesta sat alone in her room in front of the unlit fireplace using the light of the moon to read the papers that would bind her as a soldier in the war against Hybern.

She read over each line carefully. Scrutinizing the words until she could practically recite them back from memorization. Then the noises of the night quieted. Dead silence filled the air and Nesta looked up from the paper.

“Hello human,” a voice spoke out from the room’s shadows. Nesta startled. She rose from her chair and snatched a letter opener from the table.

“No need for that,” the voice said. It sounded old and young, beautiful and grotesque. “Your meager weapon would be no match against my kind.”

My kind.

“What are you,” Nesta questioned in a ragged breath wondering what sort of monster lurked in her room.

“You’re not asking the right questions.” Click, click, click. Its fingernails tapped against something in the dark.

“What are you,” Nesta demanded again.

Quiet. Then a scratchy release of breath that reminded Nesta of an annoyed sigh.

“I am a creature of no Court and older than the bones of this world.”

Nesta’s heart pounded in her chest. “Then you’re a fae from Prythian?”

A rasping laugh from the darkness sent Nesta’s skin crawling.

“My kind are called Suriel, but I had expected that the eldest Archeron would ask better inquiries. It’s no fun if you don’t play.”

“You think this is a game,” Nesta took a step forward brandishing the letter opener. “I have read about your species. Do not think you can toy with me and give riddles for answers.”

“So you are smart for a human,” the Suriel said. “But then again you’re not entirely human.”

Nesta froze. She stared deep into the obscured corner of the room where the Suriel waited. Slowly the shadows of the room stretched out. But those were not shadows. Dark tattered robes moved into the moonlight. A tall, thin veiled figure appeared with spindly arms sticking out from the sleeves.

The urge to run flooded Nesta. Flee and warn Elain to escape from this frightening faerie. Run and keep running and never look back.

“Now,” a lipless mouth spoke around too-long teeth. “Ask me the question.” Milky white eyes of death and sickness watched Nesta deliberate the statement she just heard.

“Why are you here?” Nesta asked quietly.

“To assist you on your journey,” the Suriel replied. “For you have potential.”

“You speak about the war.” It was not a question. What other journey would Nesta dare to take with the threat of her sister being taken in her place if she didn’t? “And how do you propose that a wraith should be beneficial?”

The Suriel placed a long yellowed nail to the corner of its mouth. It tsked in disappointment. “Have we not established I am a Suriel? It would seem obvious what I can offer in times where you are confused and in need of answers.”

“So you’ll just come at my beck and call?” Nesta snorted in disbelief. “I very much doubt that and I don’t intend to have a debt hanging over my shoulder for your assistance.”

“My presence will come forth when I choose so and a form of payment will be made upon my answers given to your questions,” the Suriel agreed. “Most of the time I prefer coats, but lately I’ve been desiring socks.”

Nesta considered the words. Having the Suriel as an ally would be an incredible asset. “Fine. But I leave tonight for war.”

The Suriel gave one nod with a sharp smile. “But of course. I already knew that.”

Without a second thought Nesta tossed one of her crocheted scarves at the creature. “That is your payment for tonight. Next time I expect clear-cut answers. No toying around with words. And no damned answers with hidden meanings.”

“Oh, but we shouldn’t make promises that can’t be kept,” the Suriel sprung across the floor in a flash and darted out the open window. It was all but a dark blur in the moonlight as it escaped to the Wall bordering human and fae lands.

Nesta heaved a sigh of relief and closed the window. Her gaze returned to the parchment on her writing desk. It would be midnight soon. Her time to be spirited away to one of the Courts was drawing nearer.

With her remaining time left Nesta wrote a letter. One that explained to Elain that she was going to be away to help the fae and humans fight against Prythian. She asked Elain not to follow her, but instead look to safety in case the war did not end in their favor. She apologized to her sister. Wishing things were more peaceful and that their home was whole and full of love that had been taken from them years ago.

A shuddering choked sob caught in Nesta’s throat as she signed her name along with her hope to see Elain in the future again. Softly Nesta crept out of her room and down the hall to Elain’s room where she placed the note and their mother’s bracelet on the bedside table.

As the final hour of the day was about to draw to a close, Nesta used her sharpened letter opener to make a small cut on her thumb. The blood welled on the skin before enough had been drawn out.  Steadily Nesta brought her thumb down on the paper. Immediately she felt magic thrumming after she had sealed her life to battle.

Her own magic swelled from within the deep trenches she kept it buried. It coursed through her veins in a matter of seconds before suddenly the ground disappeared beneath her. Nesta tumbled in darkness. Panic rushing in her stomach as she fell into nothingness.

Then her body collided on something hard and cold. Nesta sucked in air with a gasp as she stared up into darkness. No. There was something bright shining above her in a sea of darkness.


Nesta was alive looking at a night sky filled with stars. She sat up and rubbed her back which took the brunt of her landing.

“Damn fae magic,” Nesta grumbled thinking it was quite a ridiculous way to transport people to and fro. She couldn’t imagine how the humans dealt with such an abrupt method of travel.

She turned her body around at the sound of deep laughter and male voices in the near distance. A camp of sorts was set-up a little over 100 yards from her. Large fires pits illuminated the area filled with crude tents that were constructed a safe distance around the burning flames. Along the tree line a dozen buildings of gray mountain stone stood tall as smoke puffed from the chimneys.

Nesta shivered in her attire. She had worn a long nightdress to bed with boots for her journey, but this cold seeped deep into her bones. Wind howled like wolves across the bare rock and mud that Nesta walked on. Her feet carried her closer to the camp. Each step closing the distance between her and a fate that danced with war and love.

And Nesta’s gait did not falter in the face of what was to come.

Next Chapter

✯  Masterlist of Chapters


genre ― angst, light fluff | soulmate!au + dystopian!au

pairing ― jimin | reader + wonho

synopsis ― The world of Azux was various shades of grey with empty feelings and empty thoughts leading your every day life. Until a letter appeared in your life changing everything completely.

warnings ― mentioning of drug use

words ― 10,112

― note : inspired by 1984!

To live in a world such as this one was like living in a secluded box. You were given rules the instance you learned how to speak. Thrown into a school where all you could remember was to follow what a person of power had to say. You were certain it was implemented in everyone’s DNA when they were being created.

Along with being stripped away from your freedom, you would also be stripped away from your eyesight. The higher ups had programmed a new form of sight, plain black and white, making everything more mundane than they already were. The only way you knew this was from the few elders that were ‘children’ of Generation Cavia Porcellus, the guinea pigs of Azux.

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I started this jumper in early June 2016 with the plan to have it finished by Halloween 2016. I slowly made progress on it (it is my second colour work jumper) and had set my hopes high. The only problem was that it took so much concentration that when it came to my post work knitting time I always gravitated to something I could knit that required zero concentration. So, this bad boy got left on the back burner a few times. But FINALLY last week I finished it. I’m so happy I did and sorry this post is so long.

If anyone is interested in having one of these knitted, send me a message on here or Instagram or etsy.

@ theknitteddingo (Instagram)

anonymous asked:

Hey Harley, could we get a sweet sweet, "you're not even going to notice, you're going to be asleep!" With Ty x reader? Thanks!!

(This is from a few days ago btw, still not taking new requests rn!)

- “We’re not sharing a bed.” You said stubbornly. It wasn’t that you were against the idea of sleeping in the same bed as Tyler
- it was just that you knew this would be a one time thing and you didn’t want to set your hopes too high
- “You’re not even going to notice, you’re going to be asleep!” Tyler said, throwing his hands in the direction of the bed
- Mark, the little shit, thought it would be funny to book you guys one hotel room for this convention. You blamed him entirely for this
- “Trust me, I’d notice.” You say, grabbing a pillow from the bed and putting it on the couch. “I’ll sleep here.”
- “Oh no you won’t.” Tyler said, swooping you up into his arms and plopping you on the bed.
- You stared at him for a moment, gears turning in your mind before things clicked. “Oh my gosh. You want to sleep with me.”
- He turned pink. “No. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable and I don’t want to sleep on the couch.”
- You raised an eyebrow at him and then patted the bed beside you. “Come lay down already.”

anonymous asked:

Fic request: Sangwoo has dragged Bum along to a bar with his friends and Bum ends up standing by himself and some dude starts to hit on him big time being all agressive like making Bum nervous and really uncomfortable. Sangwoo starts over to rescue him and sees the dude grope Bum.

Here you go!  Sorry the other one wasn’t so good (I feel like you’re the same anon from the last request response I posted?). =X


Sangwoo tried not to be too disappointed the first time he brought someone home for Bum; it was first time too.  His first time killing a man since his father, and his first time sharing a kill with another person.  He probably didn’t make the best choice.  The man was old and not very attractive, and maybe he hadn’t prepared Bum well enough for it.  But like he’d said during their high-stakes card game; it was a practice round.

He’d do better tonight.

He had decided to try a different bar this time, one with younger clientele.  He hadn’t told Bum his true intentions, and he invited some friends along with them to make sure no hint of his real goal crossed Bum’s mind.  But he knew that this particular bar was something of a haunt for men who might be interested in someone like Bum—and who he might be interested in in return.

In addition to his ulterior motives, Sangwoo had needed a night out, and he intended to enjoy it to the fullest.  So after he and his friends had their drinks in hand, he’d stashed Bum at the bar under the pretense that they were all going to go dance for a little while.  “And,” He’d said, gesturing to Bum’s crutches, “I don’t think that’s really something you’d be able to do, right?”

Being out of the dance floor gave him the perfect vantage point to watch Bum—and see who might catch his eye—but so far, Sangwoo had been disappointed.  It was clear that Bum had eyes only for him; understandable, but he was trying to let Bum choose their victim for next time.  He’d never pick anyone if he just stared at Sangwoo the whole time, even though Sangwoo was trying to get an idea of his tastes.

He was starting to think maybe he’d still set his hopes too high, when Bum was approached by a man holding two drinks.  He set one on the bar beside Bum and seemed to indicate that it was for him.  Bum look confused, then shook his head.  The man said something, which got a nod this time, and pulled up a stool for himself.

Now this was more like it.  This wasn’t some cheating fucker looking for a handsome young man to suck his cock; he was approximately Bum’s own age, and quite good-looking.  His clothes were well-pressed and stylish.  Maybe this was the type of person Bum could get enthusiastic about killing.

To keep up appearances, Sangwoo turned his attention back to his friends, talking and laughing with them for a few minutes before turning his attention back to Bum.

Suddenly, he didn’t like what he saw; Bum was cringing away from the other man. His eyes darted around nervously, seeking an escape.  He tugged at his collar.  The man gestured again to the drink still sitting untouched on the bar.  Bum shook his head again, more emphatically this time.  The man brushed back Bum’s hair from where it had fallen into his eyes.

Sangwoo started to move.  And then the man reached down, moved his hand over the zipper of Bum’s jeans, squeezing him there.

Bum’s untouched drink ended up in the man’s face and then they were out the door, his arm locked tight around Bum’s shoulders as he limped hurriedly along, trying his best to keep up with Sangwoo’s long strides.  Of course this had been a stupid idea.  Leave it to Bum to attract every pervert in the bar; his sweet look was less innocent and more coy, truth be told, and, out of his basement, Sangwoo didn’t have as much control over the situation as he would like.

But Bum was safe now, and his.  No one else would touch him.  And that was the important thing.

xionroxas  asked:

Okay, okay, I've read a lot, I mean it, A LOT of scenarios, headcannons, stories, etc., about chocobros x reader and stuff like that, so... What if... The s/o confesses their feelings for a chocobro, he rejectes them, and then other chocobro developes, confesses or whatever, his feelings for them, maybe even a little fight or argument due to how the first chocobro could reject them. Am I expressing correctly??? PD. I like your writing so much!!! And... I love Prompto!!!

Okay, so this is round 2 and I really hope this is more of what you had in mind. I do seriously love me some sweet Prompto but I also love me some badass Prompto. So…idk I did both. Anyways, I hope you like this! 

Word Count: 2146


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100 Writing Prompts

I spent way too long on this and this is just one part of the music list. There are tons more from my other Youtube playlists, but I haven’t put any others in order (or took out the ones that I have no idea why I put them on the list.”

1. “A heart can’t unbreak.”
2. “All you know is the sound of goodbye.”
3. “Am I still not worth that much?”
4. “Am I supposed to be happy?”
5. “Am I the product of a problem that I couldn’t change?”
6. “Are you listening?
7. “Can we start over?”
8. “Can we work it out?”
9. “Can you trust me?”
10. “Could you come and change me?”
11. “Did it hurt when you fell down from heaven?”
12. “Did no one see the writing on the wall?”
13. “Did you think I would surrender easily?”
14. “Do I get their mistakes?”
15. “Do you even remember who you were back then?”
16. “Don’t be afraid.”
17. “Don’t be ashamed of wanting it all.”
18. “Don’t be ashamed to cry.”
19. “Don’t change for any man.”
20. “Don’t give me up.”  
21. “Don’t give up.”
22. “Don’t hate me.”
23. “Don’t know why I bother.”
24. “Don’t leave me here alone.”
25. “Don’t let the world decide what’s beautiful.”
26. “Don’t look away.”
27. “Don’t make me say it.”
28. “Don’t run away.”
29. “Don’t tell me that I’m wrong.”
30. “Don’t you see?”
31. “Everybody wants to be loved.”
32. “Everybody wants to be understood.”
33. “Everyone I know goes away in the end.”
34. “Everything will work itself out.”
35. “Everything’s on fire.”
36. “For the first time in my life I know it’s real.”
37. “Forever is a long time, but I wouldn’t mind spending it by your side.”
38. “Forever’s meant for liars and fools.”
39. “Grace just isn’t my forte.”
40. “Home is not a place.”
41. “Hope is so much stronger than fear.”
42. “How do you get that lonely?”
43. “I almost wish we didn’t meet.”
44. “I always got by on my own.”
45. “I always lose.”
46. “I am a wanderer.”
47. “I am damaged at best.”
48. “I am far from fine.”
49. “I am small and needy.”
50. “I am still alive.”
51. “I am terrified of who I am when I’m alone.”
52. “I believe in you.”
53. “I broke every promise I made.”
54. “I can taste the danger.”
55. “I can’t be one of them.”
56. “I can’t face another day.”
57. “I can’t fight this forever.”
58. “I can’t get enough of you.”
59. “I can’t get over you.”
60. “I can’t go back.”
61. “I can’t go on.”
62. “I can’t help myself.”
63. “I can’t just let it go.”
64. “I can’t say that I’m not scared.”
65. “I can’t set my hopes too high.”
66. “I can’t take my eyes off of you.”
67. “I can’t unlove you.”
68. “I could conquer the world.”
69. “I could fall in love with you.”
70. “I don’t care if I survive.”
71. “I don’t deserve you.”
72. “I don’t know what to say.”
73. “I don’t know why, but my hands are shaking.”
74. “I don’t mean to alarm you.”
75. “I don’t trust you.”
76. “I don’t wanna be afraid.”
77. “I don’t wanna break all alone.”
78. “I don’t wanna run.”
79. “I feel so numb.”
80. “I fell for everything you said.”
81. “I got it bad.”
82. “I guess I did something wrong.”
83. “I have been where you are before.”
84. “I have bigger dreams than living in this town.”
85. “I have felt the pain of losing who you are.”
86. “I haven’t slept in days.”
87. “I hurt myself today.”
88. “I just can’t take a liar.”
89. “I know I should be stronger.”
90. “I know I’m a mess.”
91. “I know it sounds absurd.”
92. “I know it’s not your fault.”
93. “I know my place.”
94. “I know that I’m different.”
95. “I know who I am.”
96. “I know you’re hurting.”
97. “I know you’re pretending.”
98. “I know you’re trying.”
99. “I know you’re way out of my league.”
100. “I let you down.”

Just Friends~Part 7

I can’t believe how fast this is going, I mean it’s already part 7 :’) 


-4 493 words 

~Rose is sinking in the thoughts of Jungkook.~

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10

Originally posted by jiminiemini

It had know been weeks and I hadn’t talked to Jungkook again.

I had had the opportunity to see Yugyeom, he and I had started being friends again but not as much as before. The atmosphere had became awkward between us after that day when I told him I didn’t have feelings for him, I knew how it felt to be in a one way love and I felt terrible. It was the night I had went out with Jungkook. The night I had let Jungkook get a hold of me, when we had dry humped in the garden. “Rose. I love you. Please don’t let him hurt you.” were the words Yugyeom whispered to me. I can’t even imagine all the courage he had to gather to tell me his feelings and all I had managed to say was “I’m sorry.” Sorry? I couldn’t believe I had the nerve to say that, after all he had done for me, I could have at least tried to talk it out but in the end there wasn’t much to talk about. I was in love with Jungkook he and I both knew it and there was nothing either of us could do. I can still remember how disappointed he looked and it broke my heart. I wished things had been simpler. If only I hadn’t fell for Jungkook the fuckboy, I would have probably been going out with Yugyeom. Yugyeom was perfect boyfriend material. He always knew how to make me smile and how to treat me right he was ready to do anything for me, but my feelings ruined everything once again. They always did, because of them I had let Jungkook toy with me, something I never should have done because now being apart from him was even harder than before. I spent my nights waiting for sleep to take me away from my thoughts that consisted only in Jungkook’s pretty smile and soft lips pressed against mine. More than once I had let myself get off to the thought of his touch on my body and I hated it. Every time I would moan his name it burnt my lips. That name shouldn’t be coming out of my mouth but it did more often than I was willing to admit. It was wrong and I knew it. I was only doing myself more harm,  it was as if he had stabbed me and I kept turning the knife in the deep wound he had left. It was torture. I loved him and I hated him. I loved him because even though he had changed I still had hopes that the old Jungkook was there. I had caught glimpses of him through his sparkling eyes and joyful laugh and I knew in that somewhere was the Kookie I once knew. But I hated him more than anyone, I despised him. He had used me, he had took me and threw me away so many times, but my heart still couldn’t let go of him. It felt like it never would. 

Yuggyeom and I still went out for coffees nonetheless, I enjoyed being in his company. He and I had the same sense of humour and it felt like hanging out with an old friend even if sometimes the atmosphere was pretty awkward. I understood why he stayed with me, I was the same with Jungkook. I didn’t leave his side because even if it was a one way love I enjoyed seeing him smile, but unlike Yugyeom I hadn’t told him my feelings since I was scared of his answer. I was a wimp. I didn’t know how he coped with seeing me so often knowing that I loved someone else. Maybe he still had hope. Each time we laughed together I could see it in his eyes that I was breaking him a little more and it hurt but probably less than him. Just by hanging out with him I was destroying him but he insisted on seeing me. More than once I was tempted to cut everything off with him but seeing him made me feel loved so being the selfish person I was I never did such a thing. It was another reason that I couldn’t sleep at night but I couldn’t stop. 

It was coffee break at work. Because of my sleepless nights I needed all the coffee I could get. Jinyoung and I were drowning in work lately since Seunguri had enjoyed the party we had put together. I sat down at a table my gaze wandering over the big city underneath me, and I sighed. God I was tired. As I was stirring my burning hot coffee I caught myself thinking about him again. Jungkook. Why didn’t he call me that night when I left him? At the party I had left him just as he was unbuckling his belt. If I hadn’t got up he and I would have fucked. I knew it was the right thing to do, we used to be best friends and lately the only times I saw him it seemed like the only thing he wanted was sex. I wasn’t one of his whores I wouldn’t accept that but I still wondered what the feeling of his length inside of me would feel like. I was a bit disappointed  he didn’t  hold me back.  He let me leave and didn’t even try to contact me again. I had set my hopes too high as always. I drunk up my coffee piles of work still waiting for me and headed back to my desk. When I got there Jinyoung told me I had a couple of missed calls. When I checked my phone the 3 missed calls were from Jungkook. I suddenly felt anxious what was he calling for?

Why aren’t you answering?

I guess you’re at work.

I’ll come and pick you up there tonight.

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anonymous asked:

I can't believe this season is written and directed by the same person as season 3. Season 3 was so detailed and intricate and fair to the characters but this season... This season's a mess tbh

season 3 set my hopes so high, so so so high, for season 4.

and ….. yeah. this is what happens.