i feel bad for putting it in the tag because its not v good but oh well!

The Stranger

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Genre: Angst. Hella Angst.

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: Everything is fine until you start seeing a strange boy everywhere you go.

Originally posted by bangtannoonas

The first time you see him, you are trying to park your car. You’re late to an appointment and the parking lot is full, leaving you with no choice but to park on the street. Parallel parking is not something you’re fond of, especially when you’re on a busy road in the middle of town and handfuls of people are walking up and down the sidewalk, watching you struggle and laughing at your misfortune.

You spot him right away. He’s an eyesore among the crowd, the only one not dressed for the weather and you can’t help but wonder how he manages to look so comfortable with snow gathering in his hair. The sight of him is so interesting that you can’t help but stare. You momentarily forget about the task at hand because you’re so caught up in watching this stranger walk toward you that you don’t even notice you’ve backed up too far until you feel your car bump against the one behind you.

Panic sets in immediately and you tear your eyes away from the stranger to look and see if anyone else has noticed. Out of all the people on the street, very few have even glanced in your direction. Breathing a sigh of relief, you inch your car up just a bit and reach down to put it in park.

When you look up, the stranger is standing in the center of the sidewalk staring right at you, eyebrows raised, sly smile on his face. You’re not sure what causes you to react so quickly, but you throw the gear shift into drive and speed out of your parking spot like a bat out of hell, appointment be damned.

You take a moment to glance out of the passenger side mirror and it alarms you to realize that the stranger is still standing there, smiling fondly as you leave.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Could you do a scenario where MC and each of the RFA members+ saeren (minus Jaehee, V, and vanderwood) got drunk? How would they react to each other while inebriated? Who would take care first? And it can be at each other's home, bar, or etc. Hope that was specific

(I don’t have any experience with alcohol, so I’ll just do headcanons if thats ok ^_^)

Zen: 

  • Dramatic drunk
  • Well, more so than usual anyways
  • Since he drinks alcohol a lot more frequent than whats probably good for him, it takes a lot to get him really drunk
  • When he does however, he gets very over-dramatic and clingy
  • If you say anything even slightly negative about him, he will literally fight you, but beware because he will cry if you poke him
  • Definitely clingy with his significant other, and he will dramatically point out everything he loves about them so everyone can hear
  • He gets really pouty if you try to tell him to maybe slow down on the drinks, and says that he's “a grown, manly man who can take care of himself!”
  • And so this manly man will probably rip of his shirt and pose to show his manliness 
  • Zen, put on a shirt
  • no no get of the table this isn’t-
  • oh my god he’s dancing
  • oh god

Yoosung:

  • Lightweight
  • This boy is done after one shot, and you can instantly tell that he’s drunk
  • He gets really whiny, and he’ll sit down next to the person closest to him and start complaining about anything that comes to mind
  • Kind of the classic young drunk guy, weirdly happy one second, angry the next, then crying over something and just falls asleep randomly
  • He would probably be clapping and cheering for Zen’s little show
  • When the first high ends, he stops making sense and just kind of sits there and talks out loud to no one in particular
  • would compare you to rika even more omg 
  • Eventually he’s just so gone
  • “Yoosung I think you should-”
  • “You sound like Rika”
  • MC: *breathes*
  • “Rika used to breathe”
  • MC: *triggered*

Jumin:

  • He doesn’t get drunk very often, nor very easily 
  • Since he is so classy and sophisticated used to drinking wine, he doesn't get drunk a lot. He’s similar to Zen in that way. 
  • When he drinks a couple of glasses too many, he gets more quiet than usual
  • He just sits in his spot staring into nothingness 
  • (Not even phased by Zen’s naked-dancing)
  • If anyone talks to him he’ll just ignore what they say and without context just start asking really “philosophical” questions 
  • “But what if… pens can feel when we write with them… and it hurts?”
  • “Jumin, pens can’t -”
  • “We should make special protection for pens so we cant hurt their feelings. Assistant Kang, can we do that?”
  • “… Do you think cats want to write with pens”
  • “Artist cats might want to pursue their dreams”
  • “How about… A MUSEUM JUST FOR CAT ARTWORK”
  • jumin pls

Seven:

  • I imagine he might have tried some alcohol when he first joined the agency, just to get rid of his feelings, but other than that he’s not very used to it
  • As opposed to his usual cheerful self, when he’s drunk he gets really depressed 
  • The others would worry and notice it if they only weren’t so busy with their dancing-shows and cat-museums
  • He doesn’t really talk to anyone, and if anyone tried to talk to him, he would probably just push them away
  • The only person allowed to be with him is MC, and they were to worry about him he would spill everything
  • Crying, whining and just letting all his feelings go
  • (There may or may not be mentions of how honey buddha chips are so perfect, and how longcat should rule the world, but you kinda lost him about 10 minutes into his rant)
  • “Why cant i just be like kirby and just inhale all my problems to make them disappear”
  • umm seven no

MC: (you)

  • You, the responsible friend you are, decided to be the sensible one and didn’t drink anything
  • So you’re here stuck in this random bar watching over these idiots
  • I mean
  • Zen doesn’t even have his shirt on while dancing on the table
  • Yoosung just fricking compared you to Rika while cheering for Zen
  • Jumin doesn’t want to hurt pens’ feelings. poor child.
  • Seven is in your arms while crying over potato chips
  • Yup, just another normal day in the RFA
  • You might as well just keep sipping you apple juice while watching the show unfold

Saeran: (spoiler heavy)

  • I imagine with all the stuff that happened with his and seven’s mom he’s very uncomfortable with drinking alcohol
  • It brings back too many bad memories
  • His mom was probably even worse with him when she was very drunk, so he doesn’t want to experience anything similar to that again
  • He probably wouldn’t even want to come with you guys, but he went with it since you were going
  • He’d be siting next to you with a capri-sun or something
  • So there the two of you are, you with your apple juice and he with his capri-sun and just looking over your idiot friends
  • To make him less uncomfortable with the whole situation, you start making snarky comments on Zen, and from there on the two of you start throwing major shade on all the members while they unknowingly make giant fools of themselves
  • “I see mister-trust-fund-kid has finally started to show his emotions”
  • “Its nice, isn’t it?”
  • “Too bad its just towards pens”
Colours Of Autumn

Jeon Jungkook - You

University/Artist Au

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2k+

A/N: I am back…For the song I suggest you listen Beyoncé - All Night….Other than that the original picture isn’t mine. I don’t remember where it was from but if you are the owner please contact me so I can give full credit.

Enjoy.




If you could say it in words, there would be no reason to paint.

I am not the one who came up with this statement you see; but I was willing enough to live by it.

Edward Hopper was a clever man. He knew that the practices of painting and sculpture could differentiate themselves from other forms of art since the beginning of time, and since the human kind wanted to express themselves through something, anything, other than words, actions and sounds.

I was inspired by this, this way of thinking, and how durable the pieces of art were, how they were created thousands of years ago, or just yesterday, and still they could express the same emotions. We as people evolve, become more intelligent, even though one can think otherwise, but we are oh so same when it comes to showing our feelings. They don’t change, oh no, we are only better at concealing them.

And that is why, when I was finally out of age, I found myself at a School of Arts, Media, Performance and Design, visual arts department to be more precise, trying to become like the people I adored so much.

But it turned out to be something I didn’t expect, not from a place that is filled with the most talented people in the country anyways.

Their teaching methods were questionable in my eyes, too strict, not leaving enough space for our thoughts to shape themselves and find their true forms.

Especially when they forcde us to only express what they want us to, in this case a sculpture, if we want to pass with flying grades.

Anatomy is important, I agree, so this was maybe not as ridiculous as the others, and the one I wanted to paint had really pretty eyes, which were open wide, just like his lips that were slightly parted.

But still, I did abstract, so this wouldn’t help me that me much.

“Come again?”

Oh and, well, he wasn’t really a sculpture after all.

“I want to paint you.”

He looked at me, then to the bottles of paint I was holding in my hands, slightly uncomfortable now, while taking a few steps back.

“I-I don’t like getting dirty, maybe if you ask someone else-“

“What? No, I-“ I shook my head emptying my hands to my bag “I want you to model for me.”

He visibly relaxed, probably understanding I was not a lunatic.

“We are in a school full of things to paint,” he gestured the sculptures beside the entrance, ones that originally belonged to world famous artists “We don’t even know each other. Why me?”

I looked towards where his hands were pointing and let out an airy laugh.

“I think you look more alive than David.” He sighed and folded his arms. “And I believe Michelangelo suffered enough at the hands of aspiring artists.”

And that, was my first of many encounters with Jeon Jungkook.




“Where should I sit?”

“Anywhere really.” I answered while trying to tidy up the place a little bit before we started. “No, not there.”

He stopped in his tracks, about to sit down, painting a silly picture with his hands on his thighs, his back arched.

“Why don’t you settle on one of the sofas.”

It was awkward at first.

After our first conversation, without even giving an answer he turned around and left quickly, leaving me standing in the middle of the empty hallway.

I am not the most stubborn person out there, and I wouldn’t be chasing him if I didn’t believe he was the perfect subject for my year-long project, and the fact that everyone but me found someone or something to study brought a lot of stress, throwing them on my shoulders as I tried to balance both school work and life.

But you see, everyone has a price.

And offering to design a music majors next album, and the banners that they will be using is when it’s time for the concerts that are held every year was more than enough for him.

After all, all he had to do was sit patiently and wait for me to sketch him every two days for an hour or so.

“So how do this things work?” he asked as I prepared for the session.

“Oh you just get rid of your clothes and sit on that stool.”  I said without turning to him “I will do the rest.”

“I…you want me to…” when he didn’t continue, I faced him, only to see a set of eyes open to the point that it suppressed the look he gave me when we first met.

“Dear lord no! I was just joking. I don’t want you to be naked!” I laughed as he also smiled slightly, now walking towards the stool that stood in the middle of the room. “Yet.”




“People question me you know.” He said on our fifth meeting.

“Please don’t move your face Jungkook.” I replied, positioning his head back to its original stance.

“My friends ask me what we are doing, locked up in a room, alone…”

“Stop speaking.”

“I told them that you fell in love with me on first sight and used you project as an excuse to talk to me.”

I froze before hitting him in the head with my sketch book. He let out a sound of pain before giggling.

“Are you serious Jungkook?”

“No.” he laughed loudly this time “It hurts you know.”

He wasn’t a bad person. Quite shy and reserved, with an expression of I am done with everything he carried everyday, he could have been easily mistaken for a cold-hearted man.

It was the opposite actually… Once he warmed up to you at least.

And it was nice.

If only he didn’t move around too much.



“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Do what?” He asked.

It wasn’t the time for our usual meet up. Two hours earlier than it was necessary he just turned up in the studio, saying he wanted to hangout because he didn’t have anything else to do.

I was done with the sketch and was thinking about how to transfer it to the canvas, with colours this time, when he barged in.

He was starting to get more and more enthusiastic every week that passed that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that after a week or two I wouldn’t need him anymore.

Especially after the photos I took of him so that I could work with them when he wasn’t there.

He complained at first, asking why I didn’t do that in the first place but getting hit by one of my brushes and an explanation of how I needed him for the details closed his mouth.

“I saw you flirting with Yerin near the classes.” I answered “I wouldn’t do that.”

A smirk found its place on his face as he narrowed his eyes.

“Why, are you jealous?”

“Of you?” I laughed genuinely “No. But keep dreaming.”

“Then why should I stop?”

“She dated one of my friends you see.” Opening the windows, I sat near the table where he was sipping on his coffee, closing my laptop.

“And? Why should that concern me?”

“You see Jungkook, my friend is a woman.”

“You mean to tell me…” he coughed after choking on his drink.

“That you are barking up the wrong tree love.”

He sighed and put the mug down.

“Not again…”



“I am done with the painting Jungkook, you don’t have to follow me anymore.”

“I am not following you.” He replied, ironically, following me in the shop just across the school gates. “And what about my album design? I can’t leave you alone before you hold your promise.”

I took one of the small trinkets and looked at the price tag as he did the same to a vase.

“I am working on it, and you know I will give it you next week.”

Like a lost puppy, he put down the vase and grabbed a tiny portion of my bag so we wouldn’t be separated in the crowded store.

“But did you really get what I wanted you to do?”

“You gave me a lecture for an hour Kookie, of course I did.”

“Oh!” he stopped abruptly, grinning from ear to ear “Is that a new nickname I hear? Maybe we should talk about it. Tell me, how did you come up with it?”

Rolling my eyes, I moved towards the exit where he soon followed.

“Come on! Lets talk about it in that coffee shop!” he yelled as he tried to catch up.

“I will pay!”


 

He likes you.

 

Is what his friend Hoseok told me when I visited their studio.

Jungkook was out to grab something to eat, and his friend was kind enough to let me wait inside, offering their one and only couch to me as he sat on the floor.

The small space filled with music equipment made my studio look like a heaven. When I voiced my opinion about this, and how it could be the reason Jungkook liked to spend time in there, Hoseok looked confused for a second before replying.

It is because he likes you.

After half an hour of awkward laughs and sentences spoken along the lines of Oh no, no you got it all wrong he doesn’t like me, finally the man himself arrived and we left quickly.

But now his word didn’t leave my mind as I started to question my own feelings for the boy who didn’t leave my sight for the last three months.

It was near the end of the fall term when he found my sleepy figure, at the corner of the cafeteria and sat at the opposite of me.

“Hey.” He said looking anywhere but ahead, his hands fidgeting.

“Hi.” I replied pushing away my empty tray.

“So you see it’s almost winter break. And every term our department holds, uhm, this concert.” He stopped to look around, finally looking at me in the eye.

“I know. I designed the banners.”

“Yeah I know.”

We fell into an uncomfortable silence after that. I stared at him, waiting for him to continue when he finally realized he didn’t finish his sentence and cleared his throat.

“Would you come? To watch me?” he stopped before almost whispering “With me?”

And after a few minutes of thinking, I realized I only had one answer to give.




So what do you guys think? Was it good??

Should I write a second part??

Well if you guys could give me feedback I would be grateful!


Please know that English is not my first language so if you see a mistake you can message me privately.

The story is mine. Do not copy without my permission.


Anyway thank you for reading. Have a nice day!


-Eris

High school teachers AU

I have alot of feelings about this–

i was talking to @hakunayourmutatas and i just

Please consider mystic messenger high school teachers au, with mc being a student or something– (yes, fucked up, but idk them being a teacher seems odd)

That aside, Zen would totally be a literature teacher, and the teacher in charge of the drama club. He would be so passionate about acting, and when the students ask, he said that it’s impossible to be an actor– probably imposed by his parents, and hes just so passionate and amazing at acting, plus he probably has a fanclub that just constantly screaming at his looks and he’s just so pure…

Yoosung would be the adorable relief teacher, the pure one and when those dirty sinner students call him an ’M’ he probably wouldn’t understand. (The students would 100% bully him–) his students probably tease him to no end though, and this 30 year old man looks like a college student and doesn’t know how to read sarcasm

Jaehee would be the teachers that’s complETELY done with everyone’s shit– she’d be that teacher that’s just sick of work, and wants her (shitty) class to be better. she’d be the sarcastic, strict teacher that doesn’t care if you don’t want to learn, but treats her well performing students with utmost respect. that aside, everyone kinda ships her with Zen, since they always hang out together during break and shes also so passionate about literature and acting, and wants Zen to pursue acting, though he would never do it.

Keep reading

Eventide—Feral

Tags: @megant22, @sexywolfsfordays, @houseofrahl, @sterek-basically, @kittycatgirlmaddie, @misshinehou, @unbreakablevoices, @champagneblues, @dallysgreasergirl, @juliaspnlover, @cineyou, @lipstickstainsandwerewolfchains, @fallenangel-13x

Word count: 6183

Author’s note: I know I’m the worst person for not updating for so long at all, but I got my shit together after all the lovely messages you glorious angels left for me, and typed this up. I hope it’s decent and acceptable. I’m so excited for this story, though, I hope you will love the plot I came up with, it’s so full of unpredictable twists, oh God. I’m tired, so I apologise for all the typing/grammatical errors that I might have left in the text. I read it once again before sharing, but my brain is seriously not functioning at the moment.

Warnings: mild swearing, bad jokes and snark

Your name: submit What is this?


I haven’t slept so tight in a long while. When I wake – sometime in the afternoon –, I don’t feel exhaustion at all, more so, I feel like I was reborn. At first, I think I woke after an uncomfortably long dream, but I’m proven wrong when the bed frame rattles under me, and I have to suppress a yell. Instead, I just inhale sharply and grab fistfuls of my blanket desperately, as though that could be of any kind of protection.

There’s a dog, with ebony black fur, and much bigger than Bucky, perking its head up at the end of my bed. Instinctively, I yelp and scoot back on the mattress. The dog is eyeing me with its scarlet-coloured glowing gaze in amusement, tilting its head to the side like a curious cat. Then it hits me – what’s with the salt ring I drew around my bed before falling asleep to make sure my guts stay where they belong to? I glance down to check on the circle, only to find the line blurred at a spot by my blanket. I should have known better.

I roll my eyes at myself before fixing them on the hellhound, “I’m glad you didn’t murder me in my sleep, I’m grateful, really.” I get up, taking my time patiently to crack my spine; since I stayed alive, I might as well take advantage of it.

I can’t remember anything like closing my door last night, but the lock is unmistakably shut, evoking the lump in my throat and effectively waking me up as though lightening stroke me, shocking through my nerve endings in jolts. I realise that I couldn’t have escaped in time even if I would have needed to. I swallow, then, fighting the shaking of my hands, I let myself out to the corridor.

Bucky immediately comes to greet me; he stands on his hind legs and starts licking at my neck and face, to which my response is to laugh happily. Every dark thought evaporates from my mind, being replaced with beaming love that my dog floods me with. We stay like that until I can hear someone talking behind me, making me jump and Bucky’s lips to peel back in a snarl, “Stop that mutt alre –” Derek clears his throat. “That dog.”

“It’s not my fault that he wants to rip your throat out when he sees you. You can’t blame him for wanting to protect his master from someone who came with the clear determination to kill her.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrow sinisterly, and I have a feeling it’s better if I let our quarrel go. I put my hands up in surrender before cowering down to whisper soothing words into my dog’s ear. For the time being, Derek rounds us to head for the bathroom. It takes me a while to realise how surreal this is – did he show himself around in the house last night after I’d gone to sleep? It would make sense, seeing how easily he finds his way around. It’s also good because he’s going to be living with us for a long time.

“Oh my God!” I exclaim, only to make Derek growl exasperatedly, asking me nonchalantly, “What again?” I nearly fall by his sudden appearance.

“You have to leave that habit,” I tell him, totally ignoring his previous question. “You’re going to give me a heart attack once.”

Derek’s lips curl up into a wide, wicked smile, “I could quite literally scare you to death, just for your information.”

“I know,” I assure him sourly. Apparently living with this demon will be harder than I initially anticipated. “By the way,” I start. “Will other people see you in this form?”

“Yes,” he replies easily. “My other form is the one that can be seen only by other supernatural, the damned or anyone looking through glass scorched with holy fire.” He jerks his bearded chin towards me, asking, “Why were you whining again?”

I’m already opening my mouth to make a snarky comment or two at his choice of words, but then I remind myself that those short nails can shift into long claws, and those white teeth can morph into a carnivore’s set of fangs within a fraction of a second. Hence, giving in to my survival instinct, I opt to give an answer.

“I don’t know how to explain your presence to my father,” I say. Derek gives me a disbelieving look, then just shakes his head disapprovingly and walks away, barefoot. His soft soles don’t make any noise while he’s wandering around, waking up worry in me once more.

Unlike the demon, who settles in the living-room, I head to the kitchen. I feed Bucky, and prepare everything that I need for an omelet, but then something strikes me. I go to the entrance of the living-room quietly, spotting the hellhound as he’s reading a book, comfortably laying on the couch. He’s wearing yesterday’s black jeans and black V-neck tee, but instead of the coffee table, his feet are resting crossed on the armrest this time. Without meaning to, I remain like that for a while, getting lost in my thoughts and the sight Derek makes, until he exhales a long breath, sets the open book down on his chest and looks at the ceiling hatefully.

“Are you going to say anything at all, or just stand there staring?” At the end of his sentence, he directs his disdainful glare at me, but the murderer gleam is gone, which I consider a half victory.

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “I just wanted to ask if you… like omelet?” The hellhound just blinks at me a couple times, like he doesn’t have a clue what I’m trying to get at, so I proceed to explain, “I’m guessing you need food too, and I can’t let you maim the neighbourhood.”

Derek gives me the reaction I’m expecting the least – he laughs out loud.

“Hey!” I complain. “Excuse me for never having a hellhound as a guest.”

“Sure, I’ll eat it,” Derek says, shaking his head in amusement. Lifting the book back in front of his face, he signs to me that on his part, the conversation is done. Respecting that, I migrate back to the kitchen before I would anger Derek with something. I let Bucky out to the backyard, then begin cooking.

A few minutes later, I let Derek know that the breakfast is done in a raised voice. By the time I finish setting the table, the hound has sneaked behind me, fixing his eyes on me from not a metre away as I’m puttering around the table. When I turn and find myself face to face with him, I hit my hips into the table, hard and painful, making me hiss.

“Dear God!” I exclaim. “Don’t even try to tell me your purpose is not to scare me to death.” I raise my index finger, as though wanting to threaten him, but he’s just looking at me with his unaffected expression, this time mixed with a touch of amusement. “You enjoy this.”

“I’ve never said otherwise,” he shrugs. Going ahead of my further cynical comments, he takes his place at the table and gives me an expectant look. “So, are you going to eat or not?” he asks cheekily. I swallow back my anger and sit down wordlessly, from across him.

“So,” I start warily. “This form of yours can be seen by anyone.” It’s not a question, but Derek nods anyway. “And where did you get it? I mean you’re a demonic creature, too, and it’s only logical that you need to invade someone else’s body in order to assume a human appearance. I’m just curious how it works with hellhounds.”

“Not this way,” he offers by way of an answer, extremely unhelpfully. To my disapproving look, he lets out an exasperated breath and rolls his eyes, but goes on. “This is not a mere vessel that I took at random. This is all me.”

“Then how…?”

“How did I become a hellhound?” he finishes instead of me. I nod, and Derek’s jaw clenches, sending a nerve jumping at his temple, evoking my worry; did I just wander to private territory? Did I want to know too much? Did I go too far, did I cross a line and now he’s contemplating ending me? The next time he moves, my body jerks in fear. Even if Derek noticed it, he doesn’t give any sign of it.

“A demon – my master – needed a new hellhound. She thought it would be funny to massacre my family to get the wanted hound.” The fork is crushed in his tight grip; I can hear it breaking to tiny pieces. The memory worked Derek up this much. “That whore caused fire in our house. Everyone died, even the humans, although she only needed us, werewolves.” His tone makes me think he’s talking about the most squalid thing in the world, like werewolves were the biggest abomination in existence. I want to say something, but the words get stuck in my trachea.

“So,” I swallow. “You’re saying you had been a werewolf while you were… alive?” Derek nods. The plate, that is still semi-full of the omelet, he shoves away from himself with disgust. I understand why his appetite has vanished.

“She took our souls, like she had the fucking right, and that bitch took joy in torturing us every single day, picking us apart slowly, only to bring us back after to start it over the next day.” His eyes glow in scarlet by his fury.

I’m dwelling on touching him to soothe him and offer him comfort, but I have some kind of inhibition within me that won’t let me. Suddenly, Derek’s gaze flashes at me, which makes not only my body, but my entire being freeze in death fear.

“I’m not going back,” declares Derek determinedly, like I’ve ever advised him to return to Hell. “I’m not going to be owned by anyone again. I’m not anybody’s pet.” His eyes seep bloody again, driven by his intense emotions. “I’m not going to give her the pleasure of torturing me again. I’m never going to stop chasing you, I cannot stop, so as long as you’re alive, I’m free. Far from her.”

If this is not enough insurance to me that Derek won’t kill me in my sleep, then nothing is.

. o O o .

After a rather long argument, I successfully convince Derek to come with me to gather him some clothes, after all, he can’t go everywhere wearing the same outfit all the time. My father comes into the kitchen when we’re in the middle of washing the dishes, and I have to come up with a quick explanation on the fly regarding what a twenty-something-year-old hunk is doing in our kitchen, barefoot, wiping the plates and silverware clean.

The familiar rumbling of my old car envelops us. Derek keeps his eyes fixed on the rushing buildings of Beacon Hills, deliberately not facing me. Music is being played quietly from the speakers, which I have to explain to Derek at first. The sky is stretching above the town in the glorious shades of silver and grey as the rain-heavy clouds float about sluggishly. My thumb is drumming against the stirring wheel in sync with the rhythm of the song.

It doesn’t take long for us to arrive. In the parking lot, I wave to Derek to sign him to climb out of the car and follow me. Since his confession, we’ve barely talked – I guess it’s to be etched up to Derek not fancying opening up to others too much. I’m not this type, either; whenever I talk about my issue with someone, guilt takes over me.

“Listen,” I whisper, knowing he will be able to hear me. “If you want me to, I can help you fit in.” Since I’m not looking at him, I also miss the surprised look Derek gives me. My offer remains without a reply, but somewhere deep down I know it’s the sign of acceptance. I understand that for him, a hellhound, it’s below his level to say yes to a human’s help.

At first, I have him try on various trousers. The more garments I force on him, the grumpier he gets, but in the end, we manage to find two pair of jeans and a pair of sweatpants for him, all three are black. It didn’t take me long to realise it’s impossible to get him to wear any other colour.

Following that, we approach the shirts and tees. I immediately take every kind from the shelves – a long-sleeve, a T-shirt, a wife beater, a sweatshirt, a button-up shirt –, and tuck them into Derek’s hands before ushering him towards a changing cabin. To kill the time, I wander around in the shop with the three pants in my hands. Cowering in front of the set of shoes, I contemplate buying a pair of those for him, too, but then I can hear speaking not too afar. Catching the top of the shelf, I help myself up into a standing position and grant myself a clear shot of Derek as he’s talking to a woman.

“Shall I help you choose?” she asks, smiling at him, gesturing in the general direction of the clothes Derek has laid on his forearm. His jaw clenches, and he shakes his head curtly.

“No,” he replies somewhat coolly. He scans the area, apparently searching for something, but he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, hence he’s forced to focus his attention back at the woman.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “This button-up would surely look great on you, and we have the matching trousers to this sweatshirt.”

“Like I said, I don’t need your help,” Derek stresses. He glances around once again, then turns to the unknown female. “I’d rather you tell me if you saw a girl walking around? She’s about this tall,” he says, holding his hand next to his chin, demonstrating my height. “She’s wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. Her eyes are –”

“I’m over here,” I whisk to him, grinning, still standing behind the shelf, propping myself on the top of it. Derek angrily rolls his eyes at me, then, foregoing any kind of previous notice, he leaves the woman in order to make a beeline for me.

“Don’t disappear again,” he grits through his teeth.

“No need to be afraid without me,” I shrug. “By the way if you did so much as smile, you could have any woman hooked,” I wink, but it only deepens Derek’s frown. He grabs the collar of my shirt aggressively, yanking me towards him menacingly, returning my gaze with his blazing one in the dangerous colour of scarlet.

“First of all, I’m not afraid without you. You’re just a human, and I can protect myself just fine. Second of all –”

He can’t finish, because I stick my palm on his mouth. He gives me a death glare, but I won’t let him have the upper hand here. “Calm down, Cujo,” I tell him. “One, there’s no killing and maiming for as long as we’re not in the house, so let go of me,” I say, trying to pry Derek’s fingers off of me. After a short consideration, he gives in. “And two, there’s no hinting. I think you understand what I’m talking about.” Derek nods tensely. “Good. Now we’re going to buy these for you.”

On our way to the cashier, I don’t fail to pick up a couple black boxer briefs and some pairs of socks, either.

With the huge shopping bags in our hands, we sit in to a Starbucks, which is on me as well, of course. For the time being, I try to talk as much as possible, and to get Derek to talk to me to overcome the tension that has built up between us. I don’t want that invisible wall to stand for much longer, I just want to find the door on it to get to Derek’s side once more.

“How about a match?” I ask out of the blue when we’re heading to the exit of the mall. I glance up at the tall man walking next to me calmly, gracefully, waiting for his answer. For a second, I think he didn’t hear my question, but it’s more likely he just opts not to acknowledge it. In the end, his lips open up.

“What match?” My face beams with happiness. Apparently Derek’s nonchalance is slowly evaporating, which means I’m headed in the right direction to find that so-called door.

“I was thinking lacrosse,” I reply. “In high school, most of the boys were on the team. And it would be a great opportunity for you to meet my friends. Just don’t hurt them,” I add.

Derek shrugs, “If they don’t attack me, I won’t take their limbs as insurance,” he promises. Instead of complaining, I just smile; I know this is more than nothing, and this answer is a huge improvement in regards to Derek fitting in.

“You should also know that Scott is the Alpha around here.” Derek perks up at that piece of information.

“You know werewolves?” I nod while blinking with huge, innocent eyes. To me it’s completely natural to hang out with supernatural creatures in my free time. Derek shakes his head disbelievingly, commenting, “No wonder why you accepted so easily that I used to be a werewolf.”

The windows of my car are gleaming by diamonds of raindrops by the time we go back to the parking lot. It’s not raining heavily, just hardly dripping, refreshing the both of us. I pull the door shut behind me with a satisfied sigh, inhaling the sweet scent of rain into my lungs deeply, eyes falling closed and allowing the sound of soft knocking engulf me. I can also hear as Derek climbs into the vehicle and shoves the bags onto the backseat, but I refuse to give ignition just yet, instead listen to the rain with a soft smile playing at my lips faintly.

. o O o .

The glade is empty. Around it, there are trees framing it, and there’s only one path that leads here. The sky is still grey above us, and the blades of grass are still shining by the previous raining, as though many gemstones were hiding among them on the field. When my car parks next to the Toyota, Porche and Jeep, my friends all perk up. I’m the one to get out first, with Derek following suit not long after. He’s wearing the sweatshirt and sweatpants that I bought him not long ago, with a grey wife beater underneath, while I settled for a blue outfit.

Derek is staring at the others without batting an eye – to a canine, maintaining eye contact means a threat, it means you want to attack them. It makes me anxious in a second, but I try to act it out calmly, and step next to Derek.

“He’s Derek,” I introduce him to the pack. “They are Lydia, Jackson, Scott, Allison, Stiles, Erica and Isaac, respectively,” I gesture towards them. Derek doesn’t react, doesn’t even nod in a greeting. Scott takes a step, carefully, slowly, hunching his shoulders just a tad, like he wanted to be ready to attack in every moment.

“(Y/N),” he says in a low, serious voice. “Step away from him.”

Without further ado, he shoves his claws out of himself, holding his hands next to his hips with his fingers curled, eyes glowing ruby red. Opening his mouth a bit, he puts his elongated fangs on display, too. Derek isn’t ashamed to do the same; to show his claws and his set of fangs, accompanied with his scarlet irises. The werewolf inhales a deep breath before howling at Derek with all he’s worth. His voice echoes on the field for long seconds. However, Derek is unaffected.

Thrown for a loop, Scott straightens up from his attack pose. Apparently he expected Derek to react to an Alpha’s roar, even if he’s an Alpha as well – that is the only logical explanation to Scott after seeing the colour or Derek’s eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” I begin. “So thing is, he’s no human.” Before I could go on, Scott interrupts me.

“I don’t know your scent,” he points out. Demonstrating it, he tilts his head back to smell the air again. My eyes widen at the possibility of a new piece of information about Derek; I have never given a thought what a hellhound must smell like. “It’s like fresh ash, combusted, punk tree, musk and…” he takes another whiff of the repertoire of scents. “death.”

“Not a werewolf, either,” I assure him, trying to remember the counted things to safely save them into my memory. Scott is making a disgusted face, presumably because of the smell of decay.

“What, (Y/N)?” asks Allison, taking a step closer.

“Hellhound,” answers Derek instead of me. Although he retracted his claws and fangs, his eyes are still glowing in scarlet. Hearing his reply, the Betas start smelling the air without trying to disguise what they are doing.

“What is a hellhound doing with you?” joins Lydia.

“I thought things like him didn’t exist,” adds Erica, tilting her head back to give a once-over to Derek. “But of course, I’m not complaining, especially if they look this good.” The corner of Derek’s mouth twitches in a suppressed smug half-smile.

“I felt similar when I first saw him,” I admit, only to proceed to protest not soon after. “I mean, not immediately, obviously, because initially, he wanted to kill me. I instantly noted how good-looking he is, but then my priority was to stay alive. I had the time to make such comments in my mind later.”

The others give me looks, some disapproving, some disbelieving, except for Derek, whose lips tug up into a whole smirk this time, eyeing me suggestively. I swallow, and try to dismiss the situation with a shrug. I know I’m blushing. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not blind, alright?” I leave him and grab a stick from the stack Stiles brought. “So who starts?”

“I will,” says Erica. She throws her curly blonde hair over her shoulder, pointing at Derek and Isaac with one of the sticks. “You’re going to be with me,” she announces before approaching the two boys to show us her team. So, Stiles, Scott and Jackson are left with me. Albeit we’re uneven this way, neither Erica nor Isaac complain for having the hellhound on their team.

“Does your puppy even know how to play this game?” growls Jackson irritatedly, finishing checking the net at the end of his stick. Derek’s response to that is a snarl, accompanied by his eyes flashing.

“You’d better shut up if you want to make sure your bowels stay where they are,” I chime in. “Or you gather as many food as you can and draw a circle around yourself with salt and iron sliver,” I add with a shrug.

Jackson wants to retort, but he ends up giving up the argument after stealing another glance at the hellish creature. As much as he wants to keep it a secret, he’s afraid of Derek, too – after all, he witnessed not five minutes ago that the hellhound is stronger than an Alpha.

“By the way answer’s yes, he knows,” I tell him. “I explained it to him earlier.”

The seven of us take our place on the field; for the time being, I survey how slippery the wet grass is. To the others, it’s not so important, but to Stiles and me, to humans, who heal slower, it’s inevitable to know. We choose not to have specific goalkeepers. For the time being, Lydia and Allison open the two doors of the Toyota facing the field, teacups in hand, watching the match.

Jackson passes the ball over to Scott, and he makes a mad dash towards the other’s goal, but Erica shows up in his way in the last second, preventing him from nailing the shot by shoving him to the ground from the side. Then, picking the ball up, she starts running in the opposite direction. I immediately run to our goal, but Jackson’s faster than me and, thanks to his reflexes, he catches the ball mid-air.

The white ball then flies across the field, coming straight towards me. I catch it and try to earn a point, but suddenly, I can feel a hard pain in my side, then damp coldness as I’m wallowing in the grass. I arrived on my back, so when I open my eyes, I find myself face to face with Derek’s smugly smirking features. I frown at him.

“Thanks,” I say mockingly, not the least grateful. Derek winks at me, then pushes himself off of the ground where he’s been bracketing my head between his muscled arms, jogging easily towards their goal where Scott is about to throw the ball. I scramble up clumsily, wiping away the stubbornly sticking blades of grass from my clothes before joining in to the game again.

After about an hour, all of us approach the girls, who offer us sandwiches – at first, they look at Derek in contemplation, but end up giving food to him, too. Some beams of the Sun filter through the fluffy, silvery obstacle that the clouds make like soft transparent curtains, making the field that much more glittering. We rake our gazes through the astonishing environment, positively mesmerised.

“You two could seriously give us an explanation, you know,” says Scott, voice muffled by the mouthful he’s chewing on, his eyes commuting between Derek and I. We exchange a look before I speak up.

“Bucky dug up a box. It has a Triskelion on it, which, as I got to know later on, is Derek’s sign, so he’s chasing whoever is the owner of the box. You can think of him as a tracker. Since I’m the owner, he came for my soul, but he didn’t kill me.”

“Then my premonition of you being in danger was right,” says Lydia. “How come he didn’t kill you?”

“We made a deal. We search for the key of the box to burn its contents.”

“What’s inside?” asks Allison.

“The remnants of Derek’s master,” I answer. “If we burn them, the demon dies too, and I will no longer have a bounty on my soul.”

“Let me get this straight,” interjects Isaac. “You have a box full of bones and decaying meat in your bedroom?” he asks, disgusted. For some reason, I get the feeling he just wants to tease me. I squint at him.

“That’s not the point,” I hedge. “The point is that we gotta kill this demon. She made the box, and she ordered her hellhound to make sure it was safe. If she’s no longer alive, I’ll be safe, too, and Derek won’t have to fulfil his duty, because he won’t have one any more.”

“But why would she hide her remains in a box that anyone can find?” asks Jackson.

“If you think about it, it’s actually quite logical,” I counter. “I think I’d do the same if I were a demon; it’s like an absolute defence. Even if someone finds out where my remnants are, and even if they find the key, I still have my hellhound there who can kill anyone with one hand. And all it takes is for me to have his sign carved into the wood that I made the box out of. Of course, they warn that whoever owns the box will die, but only with Celtic knots. Aren’t they cute?” I ask, sarcasm seeping my words.

“Why don’t we just torch the thing?” asks Erica.

“It’s not so easy,” speaks up Derek. “It doesn’t work without the key. The demons obviously won’t leave their remains just like that with a hound. Pyromania is a known concept even in the basement.”

“So you’re saying it isn’t protected by one hound only?” asks Stiles.

“Depends on how many hellhounds the demon has, and how many of those hounds’ sign they gauge into the wood. In my master’s case, only the Triskelion is on the box, hence defending it is my responsibility only.” For a second, Derek glances at me, then goes back to scanning the others. “I meant that if the box isn’t open, it won’t burn. You either burn it inside out, or don’t burn it at all.”

Hearing that, Stiles clearly gets disappointed.

“Has the key ever been found?” he asks. Derek shakes his head.

“And do you have an idea where to start the search?” speaks up Lydia. Derek’s gaze flashes at her, signing no again. “Tell us about your master.” Hearing the request, Derek’s jaw clenches tightly, exactly like during breakfast. I bite my lip nervously, chiming in, “I think we should rather –”

“I don’t know much more either,” Derek interrupts. “Not enough to tell anything valuable.”

“Then what to you advise, how to start searching for that key?” asks Lydia sharply, putting her hands on her hips. “We won’t get ahead unless you’re willing to let go of your mysterious image just a bit, and this chase for (Y/N)’s soul will never end. I don’t want this demon of yours to send another hellhound.”

Derek’s eyes glow in raving scarlet. “She’s not my demon,” he snarls. Low growling rips out of the back of his throat; it’s more bloodcurdling than any other sound I’ve ever heard by any kind of predator or werewolf. “Don’t you dare talk about me and her in the possessive.”

Lydia’s eyes widen in fright, taking a step back. Without missing a beat, I stand between the two of them.

“Hey, what did I tell you about your behaviour outside the house?” I need every ounce of my willpower not to avert my eyes from the steely hard gaze Derek is giving me. I have to stand my ground to aver Derek’s animalistic – wolfish – instincts that I’m a worthy opponent. Derek, still not taking his eyes off of me, adds to Lydia’s previous declaration as a side note, “She won’t send another hellhound. It doesn’t work that way. One hound gets the job, and he has to get it done. He will chase the prey forever, if needed, but he cannot return to Hell until he’s fulfilled his duty.”

“And why didn’t you kill (Y/N)?” asks Jackson. When the others look at him with arched brows, he puts his hands up, hedging, “I’m not asking to be rude, damn it, I’m just curious. Especially if Derek is so faithful.”

Derek flashes his fangs at Jackson, but other than that, he doesn’t react.

“He doesn’t want to go back,” I answer instead of him. “Which I understand, by the way. I mean, who would want to go back to Hell? It’s better up here.”

The thought of what Hell could possibly be like makes my entire being shiver. I don’t want to tell anything else to the others, and I hope it’s enough explanation to them. It was hard enough for Derek to open up for me, and I’m not intend to make him uncomfortable by getting into details of what he shared with me. If he wants, Derek will let them know, too, but it’s none of my business.

The pack hums, apparently satisfied with that explanation for now. They abandon the subject, however, Stiles and Lydia seem unsure of me completely being beyond the jeopardy of death.

. o O o .

When we arrive home, my father welcomes us with his arms folded over his chest, eyeing us with a strict look, instantly making me anxious. I know what’s coming up next.

“I still haven’t gotten an explanation,” he says. “Why is he here, exactly?” dad asks, jerking his chin in Derek’s direction. I’m sure that question was the rephrased form of ‘What is exactly between the two of you?’ to make it seem less like he’s protecting his only daughter, who’s still a virgin – according to what dad wants to believe, that is.

“Well, he,” I start, gesturing towards the newcomer. “He’s Derek Hale, like I said before. We… we got to know each other on the internet a few weeks ago, but we only got around to talk about our whereabouts recently. It turned out that we weren’t far away from each other, so we figured why not invite him over?” My father gives us a suspicious glance, squinting at us.

“May I know why you failed to tell me about this until now?”

“I forgot.” It’s a near call that declaration would end up a question. Dad is watching us sternly, eyes commuting between Derek and I, obviously contemplating his choices in such a situation. He shares his ultimate decision with us after a couple mute minutes.

“Derek is allowed to stay in your room under one condition I better not have to spell out,” he says. My eyes widen, and my cheeks heat up.

Da-ad!” I exclaim, but he just raises his index finger, shutting me up effectively. I grimace and make a face, as though it cost me actual physical effort to keep from spurting the words that demand to leave my mouth.

“How old is he, anyway?” I turn to Derek with fright, who’s already opening his mouth to answer, but I beat him to it before he could say anything stupid.

“Twenty-four,” I reply quickly. My father’s eyebrows furrow, but then he just sighs in surrender and takes off towards the front door. There, he says goodbye to Bucky, then locks the door behind himself. The fact that he left the gradually dying sound of the squad car evidences.

We just stand there mutely until I break the silence, announcing, “Well, I’m going to take a shower. You can go after me, too,” I offer, giving a once-over to Derek. “It’ll do good for you,” I point out before leaving him all alone.

While I’m busy in the bathroom, Derek keeps reading the book he picked in the morning, sprawled out on the couch like before. Bucky slowly, tentatively approaches him, sitting down next to the sofa, sight not wavering away from the man’s laying shape. Ignoring my dog, Derek just continues reading, leafing when he needs to, but he never lets Bucky know he acknowledged his presence. Minutes pass by like that, but then Bucky takes the initiative, and starts nosing at Derek.

Signing his disapproval, he makes a sound that resembles whining as he draws his head back from Derek’s hip – probably this reaction is to be etched up to the odour of decay, but at least he will remember Derek’s scent from now on, and he won’t try to attack him when I’m around.

By the time Bucky looks at Derek’s face, the man is already eyeing him.

Nearly an hour later, we’re preparing to go to bed. After giving instructions to him briefly, Derek takes a shower as well, and while he’s away, I search for something that he can use to sleep in, rifling through my dad’s clothes. Derek enters my room in nothing more than a tiny towel wrapped around his waist, with shining droplets of water covering his tanned skin. I need to remind myself consciously not to forget to breathe.

“Here, you can wear these for the night,” I stick my hand out to him, holding the big T-shirt and sweats for him, but he ignores me, and just reaches behind his back to click the lock shut on my door. “Oh yeah, I wanted to ask that before,” I remember. “Why did you close the door last night?” Derek looks at me, but remains silent, as though contemplating whether he should answer or not.

“Because I didn’t want your dog to come in,” he ends up saying. I just blink at him in mild shock, so he takes the chance to nod towards the clothes in my hand, telling me, “I won’t need those.” Before I could ask why, he shifts back into his canine shape that reminds me of a gargantuan direwolf.

“I should have known,” I comment, shrugging, as I shove the clothes into my wardrobe. I step to my laptop that still has the results of my previous search in connection with Celtic symbols and demonic boxes to switch it off. I make a beeline for my bed then, and nestle myself under the cocoon of blankets. When the screen of my computer goes black, my room is engulfed by utter darkness.

My eyes pop open again when the frame rattles under me as the hellhound lays down on the ground, directly next to the furniture. I think about hanging my arm down to stroke Derek’s fur-clad head, but my inhibition to touch him is still there – even when Derek isn’t in his human form.

Officially 200 followers :D

Okay so i put this together for my celebration and i just wanna post it now! XD 

Sarah’s 200 follower Celebration!

Okay guys so I finally hit 200! I never  even thought I would get this many let alone 100 so I want to thank you all for following me! Okay So I will be doing a few  things for my celebration. First thing first THANK YOU ALL FOR FOLLOWING ME AND  I LOVE YOU ALL.! :D Also I’m thinking of starting a rec list I want y'alls opinions also feel free to tag me in anything! CHALLENGE BELOW CUT

I am going to try and do drabbles for gifs/pictures,  so submit me some gifs and pictures and i will try my best to write a drabble for it (sorry if im no good) ASK OR SUBMIT FOR GIF/PICTURE DRABBLES.

Ships! you tell me a little about yourself and I will pair you with someone (its my first time so sorry if you don’t like it) I will also need to know the gender you prefer to be paired with. ASKS ONLY FOR SHIPS,

IF YOU ARE WANTING A SHIP PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHICH FANDOM YOU PREFER!

ALSO IF YOU WANT ON ANY OF MY TAG LISTS LET ME KNOW!

Originally posted by geekylaugifs

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doing it better: captain america civil war review

Do yourself a favor.

I know it’s tempting but if you can possibly avoid it, don’t watch any more of the newer trailers.  Stop.  Turn on your blacklist, your x-kit or whatever you need to do to stop being spoiled. 

You do NOT want to be spoiled for Captain America: Civil War.  Love yourself and walk into that movie theater with a spoiler-free mind.

In fact, even though I’m not really going to go into detail, I’m still tagging this review with the “spoilers” tag just to be on the safe side.   I really want everyone to have fun with this movie because I sure did.

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Fanart Monday!!

Yaya, I received a lot of fanarts <3 thanks a lot, guys!! I think I will use mondays to post them, cuz Mondays are awful and these lovely fanarts just sweeten up my day <3


Really, they are a lot, so I will put a cut in here so I don’t spam your dash xD

but just click “read more” to see pure art!! <3


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