i just love how she's so fascinated by all the palm trees

it ain't me // dylan o'brien

Summary: Dylan doesn’t realize how much he loves Y/N until it’s too late

Requested: no, based off of this song

Pairing: Dylan & Y/N

Warning: yes, mature language, themes and smut


The envelope had remained untouched on the counter for nearly a week.

Every time he looked at the stupid piece of white paper an immense pain clouded over him like he lived in Seattle and there was no chance of him ever seeing the sun again.

The only thing she had left behind was the letter and a cardboard box with his name scribbled across the front in her messy handwriting.

The two objects had been taunting him for the past week, surely collecting dust by now.

As he took another sip from the bottle clutched tightly in his hand, the cool amber liquid provided him with a small amount of relief he was craving.

Extending his legs onto the coffee table, he squinted his eyes as he flipped through the channels, the only source of light in his dark apartment being that of the muted television he had been staring at for the past 3 days.

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NOTHING NATURAL by Diana Hurlburt

They call him Prosper, a measure of mockery for each measure of awe.


You know the road to the laboratory blind, could walk it in your sleep—have, because sleepwalking is telltale of the godborn, so your mother says and touches your ankle in rare affection where it rests on the porch rail, one foot on the earth and one in the realm of spirits.

“Spirits,” she repeats, gesturing to the road below, the spindly pine woods and the yellow haze of heat and pollution that makes up your horizon. “He controls the spirits.”

There are no spirits, only neighbors: Men and women and half-made machines given to rust, the detritus of civilization. A plot of bloodless jackdaws, midway between flophouse and refugee camp. You know that part of her statement, at least, is true. The weak and weak-willed, the dying, the once-dead, the discarded and useless, the flagrant all require direction. Seek strength. Are used by those stronger.

Sicaria laughs and makes her crooked cross, murmurs her oblique prayer.

“Get out,” she tells you in sudden rage, “go to your master. Get out of my sight, you unworthy and unclean thing, you who have forsaken the ways of God, you who cleave to the machines. Your eyes see only falsehood.”


It is fifteen years since your mother was cast out. It is your lifetime that has been spent in wasteland, the between-place, the unplace beyond the pale. It is a pine island that shelters you, a fanatic who raises you, a scientist who uses your hands and your back and his daughter who considers your mind.

Your mind. You know you have one. All creatures do, born or made. It is the First Law of Being.

Your name. If Sicaria gave you one it has been lost. It was only after Prosper’s carelessness that anyone else tried—his accident in the lab, though he would never call it that, surely you were at fault, your clumsy hands too broad for fine work and your elbows always in the way. Acid scattered from a flask, droplets caught in sun. You did not scream; it wasn’t the worst pain you had felt. In the washroom Miranda’s hands were gentle, washing, salving. They slowed after the initial motions and your pulse followed. You examine your two faces in the mirror. If you had ever displayed beauty it was gone now, Miranda’s heightened by your face now scarred. Her luminosity beyond the human and your coarseness, a sun and its shadow.

Her hand stayed on your cheek after its necessity had lapsed. She traced the remnants of acid, specks and splotches, long fingers black and velvet like the touch of night. You believe her grasp could shift moons from their orbit.

“Calvaluna,” she said, a cantrip reshaping your vision of yourself. “I read it somewhere—where? I have never read a book. I don’t need to, Father put his knowledge into my head before he activated me. But I hear it.” She tapped her forehead, then yours. “I hear it. It means you. It suits you. Calvaluna.”

It was prettier than you, you knew that, a beautiful name. Prettier than most things. Not prettier than her.


When Prosper leaves the laboratory it is less a retirement for the evening and more retreat. He would never call it that but you believe him fearful, after all. The powerful always are. He swings himself like a cudgel upon exit, he shouts for Miranda to attend him and cuffs you, a passing blow, thoughtless. Brutality is his lever, rarely compassion.

You know his laboratory better than he does, you think, wiping down counters. You know his daughter, made in his own image but ultimately fathomless. There’s a phrase in Sicaria’s Bible that makes you quiver when you apply it to Miranda.

It is full dark when Miranda comes for you. Your laboratory is Prosper’s in miniature, piecemeal and theft-built, squirreled away in a shed in the woods south of the pine island on which the best of the unplace’s hovels are built.

“It was a citrus packing house,” Miranda says as she always does. Touches the frame of the door right and then left, stretches to her full height to brush its top. It’s a ritual the way your mother’s prayers are, her prostrations, her rages. “Before the Laws took effect there was an industry here. Fruit. Citrus fruit.” She looks at you, a delight on her face that would fire the darkness. “Can you imagine it, Calvaluna? Whole stands of trees with fruit on them. Wild fruit, just growing. Imagine taking fruit off a tree and eating it.”

Your imagination is not that good.

She goes to the single table in the laboratory and stands before it in a manner you’ve thought must be like that of the Israelites in the Holy of Holies. You are not supposed to know what that means. You are not supposed to have holiness in your life. She looks at you briefly, with mischief, and draws down the shroud you have used to protect the R.E.L.’s shell from rain.

“I think we’re close,” she says. Her eyes are fascinated, distracted; her hand reaches for you. “Come here, Calvaluna, tell me if this is calibrated properly.”

“You have your father’s knowledge,” you say. But you go and look at the R.E.L. with her. You’re proud of the effort, the work of your joined hands. You are not supposed to have pride, either. There is no pride in being raised beyond the pale. In being the offspring of a hanged woman, a witch they would have called her in days past, a lawbreaker too iconoclastic to be allowed in the city and too ineffectual to be executed, spared for her belly to the tune of mockery. Certainly there is no pride in your form or your face.

“I think he’s almost ready to revive,” Miranda says. Her joy is the only light in these woods. The sun exists, you know, in theory. Miranda’s face is your only evidence thus far, fifteen years alive and far from those spaces left which thrive in natural sunlight. She links her fingers in yours, her thumb rubs the calluses on your palm; she points with your hands to the R.E.L.’s blank and staring eyes, his half-human head, his chest with its missing heart and its new core of wires. “Oh, Calvaluna! I’m nervous. Are you nervous?”

Nervous is not the right word for what you are.


“Calvaluna,” Sicaria repeated the day you told her of Miranda’s gift. She scraped the tip of her ritual knife between her teeth, grinning. “An appropriate name for you, my aborted dream. I should have exposed you as a sacrifice to God.”

There is no god but human will. This is the Second Law of Being.


Your fellow-spirits are all will-bound to Prosper’s caprice. He makes the cogs of the community turn, greases the paths of food and potable water and herbs plucked at the witching hour that make life slightly less… life-like. Thus he is obeyed.

“Daughter,” Sicaria echoes. She spits at the trash heap beside the back gate. “Blasphemy. Blasphemy. Such words I hear from your lips, my burden. Who was it gave you speech, that you fling curses in my face? I think maybe you’re the worse for your time spent in that man’s house. I see you confuse craft for birth.” She broods, her fingers twitching at the strand of beads beneath her wrapper. “But there’s no more to be done. How else are we to live?”

Once, and only once, you suggested that perhaps her god might see to living arrangements, if she did not like how you were turning out under Prosper’s tutelage.

“Go.” She waves to the wood path. “I heard tell there was meat today.”

If there was meat to be had, you suspect it’s long gone now. Your fellow-spirits are avaricious. What have they but base pleasures?

“He’s in a gloom,” Miranda says, her face round and open as a poinciana pod. “He’s made me clean the laboratory twice over, and asked me to cook… something. I didn’t recognize it, Calvaluna. Lentil soup? What is a lentil, do you know?”

You know of lentils.

“You can’t make lentil soup,” you tell her. “He shouldn’t ask you to do things he knows are impossible.”

“He believes anything is possible,” she says. You love and hate to see her countenance. You remember a time when she would have spoken the same words in hope and affection. You know it is your fault, the way she is changing, her will a canker on the face of beauty. You wonder what Prosper will do when he realizes it. You ponder in the night, sometimes, this scholar whose eyes perceive all but the truth.

Perhaps you will be gone before he awakens.

“Race me,” Miranda says, but she takes your hand.

“How am I to race if you keep me beside you?”

“A race doesn’t have to have a winner,” she says, and begins to run.

She times these things impeccably. She runs so that you can almost believe the light follows her footsteps, that she leaves no mark on the earth. Dusk springs up behind you. You prefer night, its honesty; you prefer the real dark that would cover most of your world if not for artificial day. The unplace is a hive of night creatures. Your fellow-spirits are easiest perceived in dimness, their proclivities hidden and their countenances smoothed.

Miranda keeps your hand in hers and runs, runs, fearless and laughing. She runs like a dart flung toward the center of the south woods, the pine cloven by lightning looming over your laboratory. The pine grows despite the wound at its heart. It is where you found the R.E.L.—one of Prosper’s cast-offs, what he termed a failed experiment—half-dead and crumbling piecemeal to rust in dank rainfall.

She drops to the base of the pine and pulls you down and points up.

“I know of stars,” she says, her eyes searching as though Heaven might reveal itself. “The Southern Cross, the Swan. The Pleiades. Many more names my father gave me.” She touches her forehead, as she does when she speaks of Prosper’s knowledge, planted in her like seed corn. She is godborn more surely than you can ever be, gleaming divinity. She touches your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. “I think they must look like you. The stars beyond our sky.”

She traces the scars and specks and splotches. She draws new constellations and names them, her fingers a warm trail on your skin, her breath a promise.


Just once you asked your mother if you would ever leave the unplace. You did not then understand that no one came to the salt-strewn plots of land on the city’s outskirts by choice—no one laid eyes on the pine island and thought, I am home. It is far more difficult to leave a place you have not happened upon by choice.

“He’ll be a protector,” you say, pliers in one hand and cording in the other. “His new code will require defense. Otherwise…”

You look at Miranda and think of what might happen to her if the R.E.L.’s defensive code does not run as planned. You picture yourself and remember Sicaria’s dark jibes, her reminiscences of city life. You rub your upper arm where the contraceptive block had been implanted. It only prevents some things, can halt neither the heady mix of desire and aspiration nor flat violence.

“Defense,” Miranda says, her face solemn in its thinking pose, unaware of your thoughts. “Defense, financials, new birth records and identification…”

Her voice skips along, almost merry, a fertile stream in which to seed possibility.


The Third Law of Being is the inviolability of life. No one has ever explained to you whether the Law covers all life.


Light explodes behind your eyes when Prosper’s hand meets your skull. Or, you realize a little belatedly, it is the fault of the lab table, the edge of it kissing your temple. Air rushes from your lungs. You stare at the vault above the shed in the woods, its ceiling gaping in sections to reveal leaves, the white sky of noon.

Miranda flies at him, her face dressed in horror. You have never kissed her, you think. You would prefer not to die unkissed; you’d prefer not to die at all.

“Ungrateful wretch,” Prosper says. “Twisted ape-child, spawn of—how thought you?” He smashes his hand across the table. “How thought you to betray my kindness? To turn my own blood against me?” He lifts one of the R.E.L.’s arms, almost delicately. “Whore and daughter of whores. Thief.”

Small comfort to think his rage stems from fear, but it’s enough. Prosper would not be angry if he didn’t believe the R.E.L. was sound.

“You.” He points to Sicaria in the doorway. One of your fellow-spirits has fetched her at his command and she is in a state, white-eyed and gagging on anger. “Take your mooncalf in hand, I never want to see her again. Corruptor.”

He catches Miranda and snares her arms, wrenches her close, covers her head with his hands as though she is innocent. As though healing and reviving the R.E.L. were not her idea. As though a child can be born of only one parent. The R.E.L. is your inheritance, legacy of unnatural issue, a being greater than the sum of its creators.

“This abomination will be destroyed,” Prosper says. Sicaria prays in the doorway, her eyes not on you nor on the R.E.L. but searching, seeking. She hates the sight of machines. Had the city not cast her out for improper worship she would have repudiated them anyway.

“He is an R.E.L.,” Miranda says. You stare despite the throb in your head, the blood in your eyes. Her voice remains soft, wondering, a caress on the cyborg’s clinical name. Aerial, a creature of movement and possibility. “Robotically Enhanced Lifeform. Give him his name, Father, lend some pity, even if you thought nothing of flinging him into the trash when he failed to serve you.”

“Abomination,” he repeats. “Homunculus, deformity—daughter. Listen. Calvaluna has done wrong in her ignorance but you… you are not ignorant, Miranda.”

You marvel at the blindness of the learned man, the man cast out for his learned ways, the man who has made the wilderness blossom in decay. Lord of chaos, king of the misruled.

“God be with me in this hour,” Sicaria prays, her hands on either side of the doorframe. “God be with me in my pain, God give me strength for the task before me, God grant me…”

Me, you mouth. God be with Sicaria, and science with Prosper, and neither passionate belief nor dispassionate prowess sustain them. Miranda looks at you from beneath her father’s hands. Her smile is your signpost, her trust your life raft. Your fellow-spirits are like unto you only in substance: Crude matter, blunt usefulness. Miranda is your true equal, beloved of your soul. Her eyes remain open.

Your eyes must remain open. You must get up. There are but two steps between you and the table, one step in the scientific process, a bare nudge of your fingers at the master switch. Miranda’s being is in your hands.

On the table, the R.E.L. casts off slumber and rattles to life.

It's You •Part 2• (Soulmate AU Newt Scamander x Reader)

“Newt,” a voice whispered softly. His head ached as his eyes fluttered open, the light in the room causing him to squint. He looked up, eyes bleary and everything out of focus as he began to sit up. “Maybe you should stay down, honey.”

“Queenie?” He questioned, blinking a few times in an attempt to clear his vision. Once he was able to see, he found that he was laying on the floor of the sister’s apartment.

“Yeah, I’m here,” she replied with a soft smile. “Tina and Y/N are in the kitchen. Do you remember what happened?”

“She doesn’t remember me,” he forced out, voice shaking as he covered his face with his hands. “W-Why is she here? How did we get here?”

“For a wizard, it seems that you don’t know how easy it is to use magic to get from place to place,” she joked lightly, her hopeful expression falling as Newt merely wiped at his eyes.

“Why is Y/N here?” He questioned lowly, looking at her with distant eyes.

“She wants to talk to you,” Queenie explained, looking back at the kitchen where you and her sister were talking quietly.

“I can’t talk to her, Queenie, not like this,” he frantically sputtered out as his eyes darted to where you were standing. “You need to send her away, this can’t-”

“At least wait until tomorrow before making any decisions,” she interrupted him. She played nervously with her dress and bit her lip as she turned to face him. “She wants to get to know you, Mr. Scamander, and I know that you would hate yourself if you turned her away.”

“What makes you so sure of that? She doesn’t know me, it won’t matter-”

“But it does matter!” She insisted in a quiet voice. “She’s your soulmate and you love her!”

“She doesn’t even know me!”

“I, um, I don’t mean to intrude,” your soft voice interjected as you stepped into the living room. Queenie and Newt looked at you with surprise, neither one knowing that you had made your way over until they heard your voice. “But I can leave if you don’t want me here. I don’t want to be a burden, and I truly understand if you’re mad at me for not knowing you, Newt.”

“You could never be a burden to me, Y/N,” Newt promised as his eyes met yours with a tenderness you had never seen before. “I just need to… I need to make a plan before we see if your memories can come back.”

“Do you want me to leave until then?” You asked nervously. His eyes became clouded with guilt and he stood up from the floor. He went to grasp onto your hand before realizing that you might not want him to, his hand dropping immediately.

“You can stay, I just need to be alone,” he said sadly, head lowering slightly. “I believe that there’s a few things in my case that might help.”

“Now that that’s settled, I’ll take Y/N to the guest room and give her a tour of the place,” Tina piped up anxiously, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you out of the room. Newt watched as you left, your head turning back to glance at him one more time before being pulled into a room.

“I’ll help you,” Queenie offered as Newt stood silently in the room for a moment. His eyes flickered over to her as he set his case up on the floor and opened it.

“Alright,” he gave in, climbing in and motioning for her to follow. “But there’s to be no questions about Y/N until her memories are back.”

Newt and Queenie worked long into the night, and eventually, Tina crept slowly into the case with a tray of tea and snacks. Her sister was on the floor, dozing off with a book on her lap and palm under her chin as soft snores escaped her. Tina let out a small snort and set the tray down on a clear space on a table before walking out of the shack to find Newt.

It wasn’t until she reached Dougal’s enclosure that she was able to find Newt. At first, she didn’t hear much, just the sounds of the creatures going about their business, but then she could hear the faint sound of crying from behind a tree. Carefully, she made her way over and saw Newt sitting on the ground with Dougal, Pickett, and the Niffler perched beside him. They watched as he cried, looking on with sad eyes and attempting to make him feel better.

“Mr. Scamander, it’s getting late,” she spoke up after watching silently for a few minutes. Newt immediately attempted to stop his crying as he heard her voice. He nodded stiffly and wiped at his face, Dougal moved foward and gently wiped away a few stray tears as Pickett climbed into one of his pockets. The Niffler let out a huff before pulling a small gem out of its pouch, holding it out to Newt.

“That’s very kind of you,” Newt sniffled as he accepted the gem, reaching to take it from the Niffler’s tiny hands.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t know what to say,” Tina admitted as Newt stood up. They began to walk to the shack, the creatures slowly following behind them.

“How is she?“

“She’s up in the guest room, sleeping, I would imagine.”

“I don’t know if her memories can…” Newt trailed off, his voice becoming lost in the breeze that filled the air. Tina watched as his eyes became glassy and he wiped at them with the back of his hands.

“If you can’t get back the old, you’ll just have to make new,” she stated with a smile.

“I don’t know if I can, Tina. What if she’s completely different? What if…”


“What if she wants someone else?”

“You can’t torture yourself like this,” Tina scolded him as they neared the shack. “There’s an endless amount of possibilities in the world, and not all of them are good. You just have to make it so that she learns to love you again; you’re soulmates for a reason. Don’t let her get away because you’re scared of the possibility of losing her, because if you do nothing, you will definitely lose her.”

“Maybe I should let her go,” he mumbled, kicking a small rock on the ground. There was an audible gasp from Dougal and the two turned to look at him. Within a second, the Demiguise darted foward and grabbed onto Newt’s hand, tugging him into the shack.

“Mr. Scamander,” Queenie breathed out as he burst into the shack. She was standing in the middle of the room, eyes closed as she faced the door.

“Dougal!” Newt exclaimed as the creature abandoned him for Queenie. Her eyes snapped open as Dougal latched onto her hand, gently tugging her to the ladder.

“What’s going on?” Tina questioned as she stepped into the shack.

“I-I don’t know,” Newt stammered out as he watched nervously. Queenie looked down at Dougal and let a sigh before looking at her sister and Newt.

“I can hear Y/N’s thoughts,” she said in a distant voice. “I think she’s remembering something.”

“W-What?” Newt choked out, heart swelling with hope that you would remember him.

“She was murdered in her life before this one, wasn’t she?”

“How did you-”

“She was dreaming about it.”

“Is she awake?” Newt frantically asked.

“I think-”

Queenie could barely get her words out before Newt was clumsily scrambling up the ladder. Dougal followed him, letting go of Queenie so he could climb out of the case. Once out, Newt raced to the guest room, bursting in with a worried expression.

“What’s going on?” You exclaimed from the bed. You were sitting upright, a glass of water in your hands as you looked at him with wide eyes.

“Are you alright?” Newt questioned, stepping towards you. You nodded slowly and set the glass on the nightstand beside the bed.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him. “Are you?”

“Of course,” he whispered, head lowering in embarrassment. “I just thought… it’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously not nothing,” you pointed out, waving him over so he could sit on the edge of the bed. Newt cautiously sat down with Dougal beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“What were you dreaming about, Y/N?”

“You know, don’t you? Queenie told you?” You quipped, staring at him with hardened eyes. Your jaw was clenched and face filled with a coldness that Newt had never seen before.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just want to help-”

“Please get out,” you ordered him. “I promise to come to you if I remember anything of significance. I just don’t want anyone to be in my head or-”

You moved your hands around as you talked, exposing your wrists to the air. Dougal grabbed onto one of your arms as you began to finish talking and you let out a shocked gasp.

“Dougal, let go of her!” Newt demand quickly reaching out to remove your arm from the creature’s grasp. He stopped short, however, as Dougal moved your wrist so it was facing Newt. There was a tattoo of a name where there hadn’t been one before.

Newt Scamander

“It’s your name,” you murmured out in fascination.

“I’m going to get your memories back, Y/N,” Newt promised in a shaking voice. “I’m going to fix this.”

kaitrionabalfe  asked:

I'm in dire need of a fluffy scene where Claire tries to read the lines on Jamie's palm and she ends up failing miserably.

Liv says: So this isn’t fluff, so to speak—but I hope it’s still fun! Set about 2-3 years before puir Frank the Mailman died in the Three Witches AU. No worries if you haven’t read it. This one stands alone! :)

Intersection: A Three Witches Story

Claire knew this was against coven rules. Like, totally outside the realm of acceptable witch behavior.

To dole out one’s magical talents—particularly at the county fair—was a bit manipulative (in regards to the customers), a bit sad (in regards to Claire). Still, she liked to think she was working for a kind of greater good. Ensuring the happiness of all mankind! And that was almost admirable, wasn’t it? Giving hopeful glimmers of adulthood to the stork-like teenagers, comforting the mopey singletons who trudged around, heads bent? She’d offered such assurances as:

“A new man will come into your life. A handsome one—with a huge prick! His name…I think his name begins with a ‘T’.” (This to the recent divorcee, clutching her naked ring finger like a burn. She hadn’t known what a “prick” was but was no less forthcoming with her money.)

Or this, to the bucktoothed 16-year old picking at his acne scars: “You’ll be the coolest person in college. Captain of the ultimate frisbee team!” He’d been disappointed at that one, enormous chompers clamping over his bottom lip. “Ho ho ho there, young man!” she’d said then. “Ultimate frisbee is cool where you’re going. The coolest cool.” And then he’d smiled, a patchwork of teeth and holes, which Claire hoped someone might find endearing. A nice and wholesome blind girl, maybe.

And then this, to the both of them: “For just $5 more, I can guarantee it! All you have to do is buy this magical rock and carry it with you wherever you go.” Nevermind that said magical rock was actually from Claire’s backyard. Nevermind that several of them were speckled in bird shit. Maybe some cicada guts.

But that was the thing about desperate Mortals. Metaphorically speaking, their whole lives were a succession of bird shit plops and smeared bug guts. So they didn’t even notice when it was covering their $5, not-magical rock.

“Yes please! I’ll take two!” the divorcee had cried, handing Claire a ten dollar bill. (Did she think this would bring two men into her life? Because that’s not how Claire’s bird shit rocks worked.)

“Um. Yeah. That’s sounds pretty sick,” said Beaver Bobby. “I’ll buy a rock.” He’d paid in all quarters but, hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

If her best friend Gillian were here, she would likely call this “an exploitative farce,” two terms she would’ve picked up from her beloved Word of the Day calendar.

Claire,” she would hiss, “this is such an exploitative (Wednesday’s word) farce (last Friday’s word).” And then she’d pull out her Moleskin, update her word count with a self-satisfied tick. Her record, she claimed, was sixty words in a single morning, and Claire imagined a horrible plague descending upon their town, zombifying everyone until they could only grunt “verisimilitude.” Gillian thought an expanded vocabulary made her smarter but, really, it just increased her smart-assedness to a barely tolerable level.

Luckily, Gillian wasn’t here to offer one of her impressive synonyms because she’d bailed on their plans. If Claire could place money on it—and she couldn’t, with only $7 to her name, the very reason for this “manipulative/sad/exploitative farce”—Gillian was protesting GMO’s one county over. Perhaps arguing for the rights of beluga whales. Or, and this was the most likely, she was loitering at the Creamy Whip, breasts thrust at a very specific angle so that customers’ cones would find their shirts and not their mouths.

Psh! Now if that wasn’t an “exploitative farce” then Claire didn’t know what was. Gillian had mosquito bite boobs and a push-up bra more magical than her own powers.

But here was the thing: Claire wasn’t completely faking it. She wasn’t, so to speak, wearing a bra with three inches of padding. She could read palms, see futures unfurl, weblike, across strangers’ skins. Forks, divots, complex branches—each had such a distinct voice, that Claire had no doubt as to whether or not, say, Mr. Duncan over there would choke on a hot dog and die very suddenly. Or whether young Malva—that girl with the cotton candy and ruffled socks—would pop out a kid by the time she was 17. Claire, being a witch, knew precisely what would befall her clients by simply looking at their hands.

But of course, teenage pregnancy and death by synthetic meat logs weren’t exactly good for customer satisfaction. And so Claire would read Mr. Duncan’s palm, and she would see Mr. Duncan’s red face, gasping on a particularly troublesome bit of hot dog, but say he’d live until he was 85. A little white lie for a happy client. And a happy client meant A) money, B) a potential second visit, and thus C) more money. The $5 rocks weren’t scams, just for-profit business cards.

So she was lying, but not, y’know, totally lying. She’d deal with the prevention of hot dog-induced deaths later, when it better benefitted her monthly budget. (Because just as she wasn’t a complete liar, she wasn’t a complete asshole either.)

The fair had died down to a trickling of stragglers: mostly drunks, a couple of junkies who’d staggered into Nayawenne County for cheap-rate smack. Sighing, Claire stood to begin packing up, turned off the moody sound effects, gathered Gillian’s stack of Tarot cards (all hand-painted variations of herself: man Gillian; tree Gillian; Gillian with bigger-than-mosquito-bite boobs).

In the five hours since Claire had arrived, she’d made $120. Not a terrible turnout if one compared it to last year’s fair, when an angry swarm of Bible-thumpers had tossed her earnings into the funnel cake fryer. Sally Bain—or, as Claire called her, Sally Bane-of-Her-Existence—had rallied her troop of Jesus warriors and thrust crucifixes into Claire’s face, chanting things like, “Begone Satan!” and “This is God’s land!”

Which was kind of funny when you thought about it. If God wanted to claim ownership of Nayawenne—out of every other place in the universe—then he was pretty damn stupid.

Fortunately, Claire had suffered no further Bible-thumping, crucifix-wielding disturbances. Sally Bane-of-Her-Existence had fled town once she’d discovered her husband had fucked the organ player up in the ass. And in the church rectory, no less. (Such irony! Claire’d had absolutely nothing to do with it. Ha.)

It had been a windy afternoon, and Claire’s crystal ball was now coated in a fine layer of dust. Though it was only for decorative purposes—for customer satisfaction!—Claire decided she ought to give it a nice shine, make it look at least halfway capable of revealing visions of tomorrow.

Witch Tip #1: Unbeknownst to Mortals, crystal balls were like kisses from a true love. Which was to say, not powerful in the slightest. The most a kiss could do was give you mouth herpes. And, at its highest power, a crystal ball would fly across a room, break a window and the pinky toe of an irritating significant other. Not that Claire had experience with either situation. Certainly not the mouth herpes.

Claire ripped off a paper towel and went to grab the Windex, only to realize she’d left the Windex at home. Had, by a stroke of poor planning, only brought the herbal tonic she sometimes had to spritz into her eyes when they got a bit cloudy.

Witch Tip #2: Seeing the future had its drawbacks. Your eyes would get all crusty if you did it too much. As if your body was punishing you with goopy morning blindness. Honestly, it was pretty gross.

Well shit, Claire thought. She spat on her hand and rubbed the ball, hoping the couple beside “Whack-A-Democrat” wouldn’t think she was, like, doing something sexual to an inanimate object.

But whatever the couple thought, they were watching her, whispering behind their hands and giving her darting glances. Oh God, Claire thought, Bible-thumper radar blaring. Did Sally Bain send them? Did she organize a sabotage via prayer? Was it possible to raise an army of vengeful Baptists an entire state away? (Claire wouldn’t be surprised. She’d heard of stranger things. Done some of them herself. See also: anally-fucked organ player before he was anally fucked.)  

But no, the couple wasn’t looking at Claire with the fury of God in their eyes—but fascination. The woman, a petite but sturdy thing, was shoving her partner in Claire’s direction. Making a not-so-obvious pointing gesture, like, Her. Her! that he seemed somewhat reluctant to obey. Still, he did, and soon he was striding towards Claire, long legs stomping up clouds of dirt dust, red hair matching the synthetic blood of a “whacked” Bill Clinton.

“Are you…” the man began, looking nervously over his shoulder. The woman pursed her lips, arched her brow like, Do it, you pussy. He shoved his hands in his pockets, defeated. “Are ye done for the day, lass?”

“I was just about to pack up, but I’ve time for another reading if you’re interested.”

“Aye…” he said, completely unconvincing. “Aye, I suppose I’m interested.”

“Well then, take a seat, Mr…?”

“Fraser. Jamie.”

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shouldernova  asked:

i feel embarrassed to even suggest this but um. Crack fic where they somehow discover theyre fictional

what if……

what if it’s a normal day at the palace. it’s post curse: the sun shines lovely on their faces as lumiere and plumette waltz in the kitchen; the evergreen trees bristle bright green as adam walks into the forest for a bit of fresh air; the marble walls of the palace are cool and calming as lefou takes tea with mr. cogsworth. In the hidden heart of France, belle curls up happily in her new home to start her new project.

Ah, yes. The bookshelf. A cranky old piece of work, tucked in the back of one of the unused bedrooms, full of all the books nobody bothered to put in the library. They had been sitting here, undusted and unloved, for many years now; adam, even, hadn’t known what was in them or what they were.

“probably medical journals, or something,” he had said. “something boring, i don’t know. if they were interesting i would have insisted they be put in the library.”

“If you don’t know what they are, how do you know if they’re interesting?”

“Stop being cheeky.” Adam grins and goes for his walk, and Belle is smiling with the memory of it as she cracks open the glass doors—goodness, they’re grimy, Plumette hasn’t been in here—and lifts out the first book.

What do you know. A medical journal. Adam would never let her hear the end of it.

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Renegade (pt. 3)

Originally posted by parkchanyeolieoppa

Another wolf-finds-his-mate story, but I kicked it up a notch and created a whole new world around it.

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Genre: Supernatural (EXO as wolves, but more species involved in the storyline)

Word count: 5039 words

Warning: None!

New to the series? Start your adventure here: Prologue (Don’t skip it, it contains info you’ll need in a small part of this chapter)
The posts will always contain a link to the next part, unless that part hasn’t been posted yet.

Part 3

The light that shone through the open windows, brightened the whitely painted parquet floor and wheat brown walls of Chanyeol’s bedroom. Whereas last night, the artificial lightening from his simple pendant Scandinavian ceiling light gave the feel of a cosy bedroom, the atmosphere in the room was now more heavenly. The sound of whistling birds filled the room and small details such as the tree stump nightstands, his carefully located acoustic guitar and the present house plants even made one overlook the small mess on his desk.

Chanyeol felt very comfortable. Despite his legs being tangled up with (y/n)’s under the sheets, the feeling of his arms holding her close and her perfume, now perfected in his presence, satisfied his inner wolf immensely and he wanted time to stop so he could stay like that forever.

He opened his eyes, curious to (y/n)’s sleeping figure. As her head was nestled snugly in his neck, he carefully tried to lower himself without waking her to be at eye-height with her.

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Rotten Boy, Rotten Love {Yandere!Possessive! Demon !Peter Pan x Reader x Henry Mills}

Originally posted by petersonlylostgirl

Summary: Peter loves the reader but she’s in a relationship with Henry. Peter gets super jealous and plots to kill Henry. 

Warning:  long, mentions of murder,  swearing, and sexual mentions. Songfic. 

Requested: no

A/n: This song and lyrics are NOT mine, I also changed some lyrics from the original song: Rotten Girl, Grotesque Romance. Lyrics made by Rockleetist. It’s not my song or lyrics. The writing and idea is mine. Credit goes to all disclaimers.  Also I understand that Henry is young at this point in the series so pretend he’s a bit older than what he is portrayed in the show. 

I was born only to share my love with you.
What is this thrill I feel deep within my heart?
Still I whisper through these walls so sweetly,
“You are mine and we will never be apart.”

Peter paced around his treehouse thinking. His heart throbbed inside of his chest as he looked through his window to see his only Lost Girl, Y/n. She was wrestling with Felix. Y/n was an wonderful  girl, she was specially picked to be the first and only Lost girl. There was many reasons why she was picked. The little lost boys loved her, the older ones loved to fight with her and hunt. Felix saw her as a little sister and always helped her out. Peter saw her as a queen to him.

He couldn’t explain it but he felt deep desire for her. He wasn’t afraid to show his affections for her. The problem was Y/n was blind to his affections. Y/n seemed to think that Peter was only flirting with her but it was so much more. If only she knew.

Peter watched as Y/n departed from Felix went into her own tent. Peter smirked as he leaned his head against the wall murmuring soft words. 

“You are mine and we will never be apart.” 

Peter’s smirk became wider and a soft chuckle erupted from his mouth. Soon it became louder as it echoed to the walls and sounded manically. Y/n would be his one way or another. Even if it was going to cost lives.

I will find all of your lovely little secrets.
Every one; discover all there is to see.
And if I could feel the curves of your body.
Touch them so that you would lust only for me

Peter watched as Y/n was teaching a lost boy how to properly hold and shoot a bow. She was so motherly sometimes, she barely ever noticed it.  It was one of her beloved traits that everyone enjoyed once in a while. On Neverland everyone had their secrets and traits. Even Y/n had her secrets just as well as Peter did.

The problem was that Peter was always hunting out for her secrets. Every chance he would get, he would find another one. For example, one night Peter had found out that Y/n loved dipping her feet in the lake when the mermaids would be sleeping. He loved watching as she hummed and twirled letting the water droplets fly across the sand and water. It was simple a beautiful moment that Peter always thought about in his darkest moments.

Also Peter found out that Y/n had insomnia on certain nights. He found this out because he was going to watch her sleep like he does every night. Y/n saw him come into her hut, and questioned him. Peter just simple explained that he was checking on her like he does with all his lost boys. Y/n seemed a bit hesitant  but nodded at him.

Today Peter was going find more. Hopefully before she finds out his true colors. He watched as Y/n let the little boy shoot and kept helping him become a better archer. Y/n was truly a work of art. 

After the training session, Y/n went off from the camp to pick some berries. Of course, Peter followed her quietly. He watched as she got down on her knees and began to pick the most juiciest and sweetest berries she could find. Peter stood behind a tree watching as the sun beamed down on Y/n reflecting all of her beauty. Her h/c shined beautifully as her body swayed softly. 

His green forest eyes traced the curves he craved so much. He wanted to feel her body, to caress, to abuse. Peter wanted to make her body only to be aroused by him. So much that just a little brush of his hand, would make her want him as much as he wanted her. This was certainly a sick obsession. 

Oh my my, do you have a guest in your arms?
Such a cute little thing with all those brown locks
Tell me tell me darling, how much you love him
Maybe I will slaughter your precious pretty boy

Peter growled as he watched as Y/n and his prisoner Henry were getting a bit too close with each other. They flirted, laughed, talked and even held hands. Peter felt his blood boil but kept himself calm remembering that all he needed was Henry’s heart and he would be dead. No matter, it was a simple task. He just needed the poor sap to believe that he was going to save magic and Neverland. Ha! A very clever plan indeed, it will work if Henry’s family doesn’t butt in. 

Yes, Henry’s family. They will certainly determined enough to try and get Henry back. For once the evil queen seemed to care about someone other than her.  Peter wasn’t giving up on this at all. He knew this was just another game in his web of power. All he needed was a couple distractions and he would have Henry’s heart and Y/n’s love in no time. Yes just a game. 

Peter watched as Henry retreated back to his spot and as Y/n went back to her hut. Peter glared at Henry wanting to just kill him on the spot but he wanted information. He decided to talk to Y/n just see how she really felt about Henry. 

He walked over to Y/n’s hut hearing voices inside. Peter pressed an ear to the door hearing a calm female voice and a rough husky voice. 

“I think I like Henry a lot, he’s nice, caring, and he makes me feel like i’m special.”

“So…not even Pan makes you feel special?”


“I mean…he’s a great guy but he’s never given me any signs. Besides Henry likes to explain his feelings to me. Pan is very secretive that’s why I mostly see him as a friend to me. Maybe really as a big brother but nothing more. “

“ I understand but don’t let Pan hear you, he’ll take advantage of it and you don’t know what he’ll do. Just..be careful” 

“I will, thanks for talking to me Felix.”

“You’re welcome.” 

So Y/n really did have feelings for Henry and only saw Peter as a friend? A Big brother?! Unbelievable. This isn’t going according to plan at all.  Peter growled seeing that Henry will die. The thing is, his death will be slow, painful and satisfying.  

I will burn in a fire photographs of your desire.
I wonder if he knows about me?
You can use and abuse,do anything I won’t refuse.
To prove I love you more don’t you see?

Everywhere he looked he saw them together. Hugging, kissing, holding hands. They never left each other’s side and it seemed hopeless. Peter had poofed up a camera and had taken all the pictures of Henry that he could. Once done and developed, Peter went deep into the woods. Holding out his palm, a blazing ball of fire erupted from his skin though it did not hurt him. 

Lifting the arm up and swooping it down quickly into a set-up of wood and kindling, the fire was now burning brightly into the fire-pit instead of the palm of the ruler. Peter smirked as he looked over all the pictures of Henry and Y/n again. Every single one was looked upon with disgust and hatred as they began to pour into the fire with the flames gulping them up eagerly to their quench hunger. 

Peter watched the pictures burn as he wish it was Henry himself burning alive in hell. Peter sat down on a rock and began to think. Did Henry know of his feelings for Y/n? Of course not or Henry wouldn’t have done anything. As much as Peter hated it, Y/n was right. He was secretive and her words hurt but he liked it. Maybe it was time for a little confrontation with Y/n. 

Y/n sat on her bed reading an old book that Peter had given her on one of the days she first came to Neverland. He knew how much she loved to read so he got her a book series that she would love. It wasn’t much but it was a fascinating series. It was the Alice in Wonderland series. Y/n loved how violent and deep the books can be. Yet it was classics on the mainland. 

Y/n was so deep into the book she didn’t even notice Peter walking in. 


Y/n jumped finally looking up from her book. Her face began to developed a deep red feeling embarrassed. 


“We need to talk. Now” 

Y/n nodded placing the book on her nightstand and patted the spot on her bed that was next to her. Peter nodded and sat himself down next to her trying to control himself.  Part of him wanted to blow up right on her while the other wanted to shower her in love and affection even a little tad of lust. 

“What’s up Peter?”

“It’s about you and Henry.” Peter seemed to growl on Henry’s name. 

Y/n tilted her head in confusion but seemed to nod her head for him to continue. Peter sighed trying to control his temper. 

“What I’m trying to say is that you need a man. Not a boy. That’s what Henry is. You need someone who will treat you right and pleasure you” Peter purred watching Y/n flushed a deeper red on her perfect face. 

Y/n shook her head disagreeing with Peter in a way. 

“He’s growing into a man and that’s why I like him. He’s nice, caring and he’s smart. I enjoy being in a relationship with him. He always tell me what’s wrong and his feelings. He’s not secretive, and he’s pretty brave.” 

Peter shook his head this time in disbelief. He could feel his anger rising as he gripped the bed’s blanket trying to control his body from doing something he would regret. 

“You’re wrong Y/n. You are so very wrong.” Peter muttered gripping her wrist tightly.

“P-Peter…you’re hurting me.” Y/n said trying to pull her wrist away from him.

“Don’t you get it Y/n? Don’t you see what you do to me?” Peter remarked as his tone deepen and became sinister and dark. 

I’ll hold you close, I’ll break you in.                                                                       Let’s raise a toast to our final sin

Peter’s grip on her wrist tighten and he used his other hand to grip her hips pulling her closer. Y/n watched as Peter’s forest green eyes darkened to a pitch black almost as if he was a demon and not human at all.

“P-Peter please…you’re scaring me.” Y/n whimpered. 

“Scared? Oh dear you haven’t seen nothing yet.” Peter growled leaning forward to kiss her harshly.

Peter was just able to brush his lips hers when a sudden knock was pounded against the door with a rough voice along with it. 

“Pan! There have been sights of a group of people by Skull Rock. We need orders now.” 

“I’m busy!!” Peter barked annoyed. 

“Pan It’s very important.” 

Peter growled rubbing the bridge of his nose, he looked at the whimpering girl before. 

“We’ll finish this later.” Peter muttered letting go of her bruised wrists.

Peter walked out to deal with these interrupters. Peter knew who these people were, Henry’s family of course. Soon they will have him back but not alive. 

Why is it you’re crying? What’s wrong baby?
What’s the matter lover? don’t worry your head.
I’m only holding the box I built for you
That I can keep forever with me once you are dead. 

Peter watched as Y/n was on a log sobbing her eyes out. He cautiously walked over placing a hand on her shoulder. Y/n jumped looking up to only Peter standing there with a face of concern. 

“i’m sorry bout Henry. It’s unfortunate that he was pricked by dreamshade. I’m sorry that’s there’s not another way to bring him back.” 

Y/n nodded taking in Peter’s sorrow. Peter sat down next to her and snaked his arms her waist and began to “comfort” her. Peter knew exactly how Henry died and it was so fascinating. It was so easy. The stupid kid believed anything you told him. 

All Peter had to say to him was that, he was being returned to his family. Once said Henry couldn’t wait to leave. Peter led him to a little secluded area with brushes of dreamshade there waiting to claim its next victim. Without a second thought, Peter violently pushed Henry into the bush then ripping out his heart taking it as his own. 

Once the heart of the truest believer was inside of Peter, he felt so much more powerful. He looked more healthier and younger. The magic was working already he even noticed that Neverland was now bright and regrowing. It was like both Peter and the island was reborn again. 

Peter smirked as the dreamshade began to take over Henry’s body. Peter knew Henry was truly dead and left his body there in the remains of the deadly plant. Someone would find it and no one would suspect that Peter was the killer. Rising his body off the ground Peter began to fly through the trees heading to Skull Rock to show that he had won the game for his life. Now he needed to win the game of Y/n’s love. 

Later that night, everyone was celebrating how the island was once again free of unwanted guests. Everyone except Y/n. Y/n had stayed in her cabin mourning over Henry. Peter had sneaked away from the party to check on his work in process. He walked into his treehouse to see a person size box in the making. It just simple box, if only it was used for a simple purpose. The box was being built to lay someone into it. Not Henry but Y/n. It’s just a reminder to Peter that if Y/n steps out of line. He can kill her and keep her body with him forever. That’s normal right? 

Nevertheless Peter always had a plan with him. Even if it went to extreme measures.  He knew that Y/n would soon forget about Henry after Neverland was the place where you lost your memories of families and loved ones unless it was Peter or the Lost Boys.  Except she didn’t.  She kept mourning and depressed over the fact that Henry was dead and gone forever.  All she did was stay in her room. She would sleep but never come out or eat. Everyone got worried but Peter was the worst. He decided to cheer her up with a gift. 

It was I who placed that gift at your door
I hope it was everything you’re asking for
A bloody kitten head just for you.
who loves cats as much as you do.

A knock was left against Y/n’s door as she looked up from her pillow with wet tears streaming down her face. Quickly wiping them with her sleeve she spoke in a hoarse  voice.

“Who’s there?” 

No answer. 

“I said who’s there?”


Y/n groaned softly getting up from her bed and opening the door to find a little purple and blue gift at her doorstep. For the first time in a little awhile, she let out a soft smile. Picking up the gift she went back into her room closing the door. Y/n sat on the side of her bed placing the gift on her lap rattling to listen to the sound it produces. Trying to figure it out what could be in the box. Unable to contain her excitement any longer Y/n finally began unwrapping the ribbon. 

This was the first in so long that she felt happy and admired since Henry. As soon as she lifted the top off of the box her feelings of happy and to be desired crashed down as she stared in horror at the scene in her lap.  

A head, a head of a kitten laid in the box. It didn’t look like it was even cut, it was like it was just ripped from the kitten’s poor body. Blood from it’s neck had splattered the walls of the box. Y/n opened her mouth nothing came out, she want to cry and scream. The aura around this little box was so nerve-racking that she was frozen to do anything. She was so pulled in by this shocking crime that she didn’t notice someone watching her from her window. 

The demon with emerald eyes frowned as Y/n did not enjoy his gift to her. He didn’t understand, she said that she was a cat lover. This plan should have cheered her up but it didn’t. Hmm maybe a full kitten have been better. Anyway Peter watched as she shook her head in horror and stood up making the box drop with the kitten rolling out of the box and placing it’s self on her floor. Beady little  eyes looked at her that once had life now were only dull and lifeless. 

Y/n gasped eyes tearing up and ran out the door as she could feel herself gag. She ran until she was past camp and threw up behind a tree until her stomach could produce no more. Hot steamy tears rolled down her face as she gasped for air. Why was this happening to her and only her?! Before she make a thought, a voice spoke. 

“What are you doing out here , Love?” 


“Peter..” you came from behind the tree to see Peter standing in the moonlight. 

“Yes?” Peter asked raising an eyebrow with a small look of concern. 

Without a second thought, Y/n ran into Peter wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head in his chest crying. Peter blinked in surprise and slowly wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her closer to him to embrace her. Peter smirked as he nuzzled her hair  while whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

“Shhh love, it’s ok. Tell me what happened.” Peter cooed loving of how close she felt to him. 

Y/n nodded pulling her head away from his chest. Peter wipes her tears cupping her face softly. Y/n began to explain everything, the gift, the feeling of being watched. Peter just seemed to nod not actually caring for the situation at hand. He was just savoring the warm of Y/n’s body and how it felt to have his precious Y/n in his arms. This was supposed to be not her and that freaking brat Henry.

This moment was prefect, Y/n in his arms wanting to be safe. This is how every moment should be with them.

All of her will be mine, her flesh, blood, body, mind. She will be mine. Now she’s in my arms, I’m never letting her go. Peter thought as he cradled a shaken up Y/n.  

Peter smirked as he got an idea. A wicked idea.

“Y/n why don’t you come and sleep with me tonight if you’re so sure if someone’s after you. We both know, that no one would dare come into my ou- i mean my treehouse.”

Y/n thought about and nodded seeing that Peter was the most powerful being on Neverland. He was right no one except Felix would to go Peter’s treehouse. Peter smirked as he teleport himself and her in his treehouse. Y/n looked around a bit but decided to try and go straight to sleep.She laid  down on Peter’s bed cuddling up in his blankets and pillows taking in his scent. Y/n sighed closing her eyes and trying to sleep, but soon a wave of relief washed over her and she was out like a light.

Peter brought his hand back after letting Y/n have a sleeping spell to make her rest easier. He nodded and walked outside of his treehouse seeing Neverland was quiet and at rest. All lost boys were snoring in their little huts or tents. The was a soft melody of birds and other animals that rang through Neverland’s silence.

With a wave of his hand, Peter watched as Shadow flew to him.

“What is troubling you Pan?”

“ It’s Y/n, she’s still hung up on Henry. It’s driving me insane. Why can’t she be with me, and only care for me.”

“ Because Henry will always be in her heart and mind. She’ll never let him go as long as she thinks of him. You obviously don’t understand the concept of love.” Shadow accused pointing a finger at Peter. 

“I do! I love Y/n!” Peter snarled at the black figure. 

“No, you are obsessed with her. You chose to believe that you love her. You never understood the concept of love as soon as you gave up your son for youth. Admit it, cause we both know that as long as Y/n loves Henry and never forgets him. She’ll never be yours.”

“You’re wrong, she will be mine.” Peter exclaimed shaking his head in disbelief.

“Then do something quickly or you’ll lose this game of love Pan” 

“ Peter Pan never fails!”

“You keep telling yourself that” With that last sentence, Shadow flew off leaving Peter in his spot.

“As long as Henry is in her mind, she’ll never be mine. But if I make her forget about him, then she’ll be all mine. “ Peter smirked knowing exactly what to do. 

I will burn in the flames every trace of his name.
I wonder if he ever existed?
“I love you” is so cliché, filthy words that you’ve betrayed
I know it makes me feel, like I've been sick

Peter watched as Y/n slept softly in his bed.  She was so prefect even while she slept. He smiled as he waved his hand over her head. A blue cloud of memories was produced to Peter as he scanned them looking for ones only involved Henry. 

Peter snapped his fingers picking certain memories that began to blase in flames before being erased from Y/n mind.  One after the next after the next. Soon enough all memories of Henry were gone. Y/n was his. Peter started to chuckle ever wondering after this, how funny it will be to imagine if Henry really didn’t exist. 

If Henry didn’t exist then Peter wouldn’t have the heart if the truest believer. Peter sighed placing a kiss upon Y/n’s forehead. Finally everything was in place. It was now time for Neverland’s king to take his slumber. He couldn’t wait to start his morning over with the girl that he obsessed loved so much. 

Yes love, he could remember how much Henry and Y/n would throw around the words “I love you.” Peter growled as he laid down on his side of the bed. Those words were betrayed by the girl that should have been his to begin with. No matter, in the hours that would soon be presented in the morning. Y/n will be his. 

I’ll make you see; force you to be.
In love with me eternally.

As time seemed to past on Neverland, Y/n was no longer sad or depressed she was back to being the normal feisty lost girl she was. She was even dating Peter now.  None of the lost boys knew why she was so quickly to move on from Henry. When questioned, Y/n seemed confused and asked “Who’s Henry?”. The lost boys gave up asking bout it and decided to jeez go with the flow. 

They even noticed that Peter seemed happy and less strict but that didn’t stop when a punishment was in order. Everyone seemed to go on about their regular duties while Peter smirked in victory knowing that everything was how it should be.  He even knew that there was a chance that her memories of Henry would come back and Peter couldn’t let that happen of course. 

Every now and then, Peter would make sure her memories were gone and if they were coming back they would disappear at the hand of the obsessed lover. All of this so Y/n would love Peter for all of eternity. 

Peter Pan Never Fails…

“How much was it again?” That manly voice I grew to love asked annoyed. I stood up grinning from my position on the ground, finally reaching that damn TV remote under the sofa. I put my weight on my knees for a too damn long time. I could feel it by the way my recently injured knee cap was throbbing. The remote fell when I jumped of joy when Dean successfully saved Sammy again. I know it was not the best idea putting it on top of the armrest of the sofa. But again it informed me that where it fell there was much more trash than I thought. I need to clean that place one day, who knows what kind of creatures are living under there without paying rent.

“I believe that it’s fifty dollars dear” I said smiling proudly, extending my hand to him. He eyed it while rolling his eyes before stuffing his hand in his training sweatpants’ pockets, pulling out a bill. He kissed the money with remorse before giving it placing it on my palm.
“You’re lucky I didn’t multiplied the money in accord to the goals Rafa, because you would finish quite poor” I added laughing softly. He muttered under his breath about how they won because of pure luck and that the opponents were too easy to win to start with.

“I still don’t know why you support them so much to be honest” My boyfriend said dropping his training bag on top of the kitchen’s high chairs earning him a glare from me.

“Them scoring ten goals isn’t enough for you?” I asked remembering him purposely that he did lost the bet by a far win. You see ever since an early age I’ve been supporting Real Madrid. It wasn’t because I met and now date a Barça player that it changed. Rafinha took it quite well at the beginning as long as I didn’t rubbed it on his face too much. But ever since Neymar gave me a CR7’s signed Real Madrid shirt, that agreement we made flew out the window. Okay, maybe it wasn’t only a simple autograph, it did have a lovely personal message destined to me with it. Rafinha wasn’t too happy either when Neymar told him that my crush for the Real’s player was reciprocal.

“Remind me not to make bets with you again, I always tend to lose” He admitted making his way to the sofa, sitting not so gracefully on it. I laughed again brushing off the invisible dust that had made its way to my naked knees when I was on the ground. I felt Rafinha’s stare scrutinise my entire body slowly. I do not know how he still manages to make me flush after three years of being together only by his simple stare. Plus at that moment I didn’t look at my best, my attire was made of black pyjama cotton shorts, a grey fluffy jumper and Hello Kitty’s socks to top it all. Rafinha took my hand pushing me softly on top of him. One of my hands sneaked its way around his neck while the other joined his that was on top of my thighs.
“How is your knee amor?” He asked, inspecting my left knee that had a bright blue brace for a week now. I had forced too much on my last football match causing a certainly not needed injury since my team needed its captain.

“Better, but you know I can’t stop myself from moving” I answered guiltily. He smiled shaking his head. He ran the top of his nose along my neck before placing a peck on my cheek making me all flustered again.

“I was wondering..” He started breaking the peaceful silence that consisted of us appreciating each other’s embrace for a couple of minutes.

“Yes?” I asked looking at him. Well, looking at the top of his head since he had found comfort on my breasts, stuffing his head on them. His fingers were tracing patterns on my tummy, soothing me.

“What do you think of Gala?” He asked, his eyes meeting mine. I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion, why would he ask me what I think of a Bartra’s daughter?

“She.. Mmh is really gorgeous and cute.. May I ask why you’re asking me that?” I said cautiously not too sure of my answer. I spent time with the little girl twice ever since she was born, Marc being too protective of his little one to let her being surrounded my people. When me and Rafa went to see her for the second time, it was just us and the Barça’s family wasn’t there to make the noise it did the first time. Rafa was able to take her in his arms after pleading with his puppy soft eyes Marc. He looked at ease when he held her, he kept cooing and giving her kisses on the forehead. A sight that I will never forget, Rafa looked so delighted.

“Just wondering.. You didn’t seem fascinated like girls usually do when they see a baby that’s all” He said shrugging. If I didn’t know him better I would think that that was the actual reason.

“Well, I do not feel excited when I see one but that doesn’t mean I hate them” I told him. I see where he was going and I didn’t know if I was ready or not to have that conversation again. He nodded before placing a kiss on my collarbone and getting up. He knew I was avoiding the subject. And he was upset. It wasn’t the first time he tried to coax me into having babies. It started way before Marc and his girlfriend were expecting and last time we talked about it, it ended up by him getting really upset. When he gets upset he has that puppy eyes you want to whine at and you would not hear his voice for two days straight minimum. Not hearing his voice his way worse than hell believe me.

“I am going to take a shower” He said grabbing his bag on the way and going upstairs. Laid on the sofa, I closed my eyes for a moment and rubbed my forehead with the tip of my fingers letting out a huff. Turning my head to the television which was still on a marathon of Supernatural, I saw a photo frame next to it that made my heart do a flip. It was mine and Rafinha’s third anniversary photography. You could see on the photo how good we were together, the photo was taken by his mother in his family’s house in Brazil. He flew me there because of the Football World’s Cup and showed me the pro’s of his country. In the photo he was embracing me from behind, his head on top of my shoulder, a sheepish grin on our faces. The photo might not tell too much but that day was the day when Rafinha Alcantara proposed to me. Indeed I was engaged, and Rafa assured himself that everyone knew it by the beautiful and precious ring he put on my finger. That photo was all it took for me to stand up and join my lover upstairs. When I opened the door of our bedroom I found Rafa rummaging through his clothes. I made my way behind him and hugged him to death, like a koala to his tree.

“Okay” I said to him. He stopped what he was doing, freezing.

“Okay?” He asked turning his head to look at me.

“Don’t go all ‘The fault in our stars’ on me Rafa, you heard me” I told him jokingly. I heard him sigh, finally turning around to face me.

“Princesa, is it really what YOU want? ” He asked, combing my hair with his fingers. His eyes were searching mine, trying to find a trace of remorse or doubt in them. I knew that I made my decision a little quickly. But thinking of how much we went through together and how we got here really gave me the confidence needed to go a step further on our life.

“Yes, I guess that I could’ve given it to you before.. It’s just that your career was starting and mine too, I didn’t-” He cut me, putting his finger on my lips hushing me. He smiled softly, giving me that look of love he has been giving me for years now. And it still gave me the same tingles it always did.

“I don’t want to pressure you instantly, we will start trying and when it’s meant to happen it will and we will both be happy about it” He told me, deposing a kiss on my forehead. Inwardly I was melting at his words but I managed to give him a pout.

“Oh, I thought that you wanted to try right now but I guess I will wait” I said, letting my arms fall at my side making my way to the door. Rafinha let out a growl which made me smirk. It was only a matter of seconds before he took my arm and pulled my body to his.

“There’s never a time when I don’t want you meu amor” He whispered huskily. He grabbed my behind in his palms and lifted me off the floor. My legs instantly went around his waist, keeping me from falling. Though I was sure that he wouldn’t let me fall as his grip was hard but not painful. He made his way to our bed, throwing me gently on top of it.
“Let me ravish you princesa” He said.

Snapped: Part two; Flustered. [Smut]

A/N; So this is part two of the collab with @mystic-biscuit her part was called captivated. It will run for a few chapters, the series is entitled Snapped. I really hope you enjoy it and i’m looking forward for the next few chapters. Anything bolded is an inner thought. Enjoy my loves. xoxo

Author: thelittlestkitsune

Warnings: Abuse. Smut. Domination. 

Word count: 7,239

Part one. 

Originally posted by pereswagposts

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Worthy Blood

REQUEST: 34. I’d have you punch me in the face a 1,000 times if it meant that we were together. and 76. You’re a slytherin and i’m a gryffindor and everyone knows you have a crush on me it’s quite adorable, too bad you’re a douche AU with Bucky.

Word Count: 1,352 words

Warnings: swearing, teasing, angst, fluff, mention of brief violence (? maybe idk)

A/N: I’m so sorry I haven’t tagged the people that’ve asked to be tagged previous to the works that I posted!. I forgot and I’m doing so many requests that it slipped my mind! I’m tagging everyone now that’s asked! Happy Thanksgiving by the way! Tell your friends and family you love’em! I’ll also be updating my masterlist today since I’ve posted so much!


Originally posted by vanillaa-ice

Bucky Barnes was your stereotypical Slytherin douchebag. Pure blood runs through his veins and he was, not to mention, extremely hot. His best friend, Steve, was a Gryffindor, much to his dismay, but thanks to him, he met Y/n. The fiery mudblood that didn’t take anyone’s shit, especially Bucky’s. She was also best friend’s with a Slytherin, Natasha Romanoff. She was sweet and just like Y/n, but she was nowhere near the stereotypical Slytherin like Bucky was. She had friends from every house, and didn’t let her father’s disgusting remarks about mudbloods stop her from being friends with Y/n.

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Slave to Pleasure [19]

(gif not mine credt to the original owner)

A/N: SURPRISE! With all the feedback I got from the last update I knew I had to show my gratitude with two consecutive updates <3 

Warning: Disappointing lack of sexual content, terribly written fight scenes and HELLA PLOT TWISTS. 

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malfunctioningtypewrite9  asked:

critrole prompts: 5 times (or however many idc) Vox Machina fell in love with Jarrett and one time he fell in love back (romantic or platonic/found family thing or both or neither just everyone swooning over Jarrett pls and thank)????

1. Percy

“And down here is my workshop,” Percy says with an air of finality. He hadn’t expected to be taking new hires on a tour of the Keep, especially when he’s barely had time to explore the place himself. Scanlan, of course, had absconded upon hearing of Pike’s return and left the job to Percy, and he’s had to fall back on half-remembered lessons in speech and rhetoric.

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anonymous asked:

what about kakasaku same team AU?

Granola bar

word count: 2040

Being in the same team with Kakashi wasn’t very easy at the beginning. From the first moment Sakura heard his voice, she decided she will never consider such a narcissistic person her team mate. Every time they had a mission he would always take lead of their group even if Naruto-sensei didn’t agree. “I have more power than you all.” He would always say. And that wasn’t the only thing that pissed Sakura off. Kakashi noticed she had a crush on Sasuke, it was quite obvious, and since then he always taunts her with it. “Hey Haruno, why don’t you give Sasuke-kun a foot massage? It’s the only thing you can do anyway.”  And the worst part was that she didn’t even have the privilege to do that because every time she tried, Sasuke scowled at her.

You would say that after four years of being a team the three of them would start getting along? Well they did, until a couple of months ago when Kakashi decided to block Sasuke and Sakura out again. While Sasuke couldn’t be more grateful to finally have a reason not to work together with Kakashi, Sakura was annoyed. She had a reason to ignore Kakashi because of his ego but what reason did he have to block her out?


Sakura sleepily opened her eyes and smiled as the warm rays of sun tickled her white skin. She instantly felt calm as the chirping of the birds outside her window reached her ears. Mornings like these were the things that made Sakura less stressed, and for some reason she felt like today was going to be a good day, even if they had a mission. With Kakashi.

She quickly shook the idea out of her head and pushed the covers off her body, shivering at the sudden change of temperature.

After she used the bathroom and washed everything she needed to, Sakura got dressed and took a granola bar off the table.

Naruto was always on time, to her dismay, so she had to hurry. It would take her about 10 minutes to get to the bridge on foot, but If she used the rooftops it would take less than five. With a sigh, she jumped out her window and carefully closed it after her.

Sakura wasn’t a clumsy person, but she was too preoccupied with tearing open the granola bar in order to notice that a couple of  tiles were missing. Seconds later, her foot slipped and her breakfast was sent flying on the ground. “Oh you got to be kidding me!” She yelled, stomping her foot like a little child. Her stomach was rumbling and she didn’t have time to go home and get some money.

A figure suddenly appeared next to her, scaring the kunoichi and causing her to  lose her balance. She squeezed her eyes shut and prepared for impact, but it never came. Instead, Sakura  felt a pair of strong hands snaking around her torso. Once they landed on the ground, she opened her eyes and peeked at the person holding her. “Kakashi?” She shrieked, jumping away from him. From all the people in Konoha, it had to be him, didn’t it? The only person she wanted to prove herself to, to demonstrate she wasn’t just a weak girl. He just saved her from falling off a roof. A blush started creeping on Sakura’s cheeks. She never felt humiliated more in her entire life.

“Yo.” He gave a lazy wave and took something out of his pocket. “I believe this is yours?”

Sakura’s stomach grumbled at the sight of her food. It never looked more glorious and tasty. She nodded and gulped, ready to snatch the granola bar out of the hands of her silver haired team mate, the hands that were around her just moments ago. And even now, she could feel his warmth.

Kakashi’s hand jerked back and Sakura ended up holding in her palm nothing but air. She looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. “What…what the hell?”

Kakashi smirked. “I asked if it’s yours. I never said I’m going to give it back.” He put the bar back in his pocket and studied her with one of his eyes. “Do you want to know how I found it?”

“No.” She hissed, ready to blow a punch right through his annoyingly pretty face. Yes, he was handsome even with his mask, and he’s gotten taller than her, Kakashi was rather short at 13. And he wasn’t very muscular or too skinny either. He was perfect, and you need to be blind not to see it. But Sakura couldn’t fall for someone who thinks she’s weak. Sasuke has acknowledged her strength recently, but her love for him has somewhat faded through the years.

“Great.” Kakashi said, his eyes creasing into a smile. “I was walking by when this thing dropped on my head. After that I heard you swearing and I was ready to tease you about it. But you got scared and instead I had to save you, so, where’s my prize, Haruno? You didn’t even say thank you.” He finished with a dramatic sigh.

“You can have my granola bar.” Sakura said dismissively. She was never going to thank him. Not when he enjoyed her misery “I’m leaving. I don’t want to be late.” She was about to leave but she bumped right in Kakashi’s chest. “How did you get here so fast?” She yelled in frustration and punched him in the arm. The boy didn’t even flinch.

“Mm. Aren’t you Tsunade’s apprentice? You hit like a girl.”

Sakura snorted. “If I was to hit you with my full strength, you would be looking for your arm outside the village.”

“Right.” He said with a nod. “Anyway, Naruto is-“

“Naruto-sensei.” Sakura corrected.

“Yes, Naruto uh…Naruto-sensei is on a mission with Sasuke, so we have a day off today.”

“Why didn’t he take you?” The pinkette asked suspiciously.

Kakashi shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Even though Sakura enjoyed talking with Kakashi, it’s been a while since they did besides missions, she was very hungry and all she wanted to do was go home and make an omelette.


“I know what you’re thinking.” Kakashi said, a devilish smirk playing beneath his mask. “You’re hungry and you want to eat.”


Kakashi took something else out of his pocket.

“Are those my keys?” She asked in shock. When did he take them?

“I’ve also locked your window on the inside.”

Sakura threw him a poisonous glare. “Why the hell did you do that? Baka!”

“Now now, Sakura-chan. Let’s make a deal.” Kakashi smiled and patted her head.

“I swear if it’s something perverted I’ll kill you.” She said, clenching her fist angrily. Even though she couldn’t lie, Sakura had some… Inappropriate dreams with her silver haired friend. If she could call him that way.

“Well… You have three hours to take the granola bar away from me. If you do, you’re free to go.”

“And if I don’t?” She asked, waiting for his answer with anticipation.

“You kiss me.”

“I WHAT?” Sakura exclaimed, looking at him with a horrified expression.

“Hmm. Am I that ugly, Sakura?”

“No-I mean.” Sakura was now blushing, and she didn’t know why. Was it because she had a chance to see what’s beneath the mask, or because Kakashi wants her to kiss him? She couldn’t do that. What if she ends up falling for him? It would be another hopless crush. But she couldn’t say no. He would think she’s weak and Sakura didn’t want that. The least she could do was to turn the situation in her favour.  “If I win, you need to tell me why you pushed me away just when we finally started to get along.”

Kakashi looked doubtful for a second, but he agreed. “Deal.”

They shook hands and with an incredible speed Kakashi disappeared.

This is going to be a pain, Sakura thought. She would never win against Kakashi, even if she gave her best.

With a sigh, she started exploring every place that screamed Kakashi. Pet shops, bars, bookshops, but two hours passed and she finally decided to go to the training grounds. It was hot outside and her mood was dangerously low. She wanted to take a bath and eat something, but Kakashi always enjoyed making a fool out of her.

“Finally.” A masculine voice said. A moment later Kakashi jumped from a tree right in front of her. “I’m sorry but I ate the granola bar.”

“You…you what?” Sakura asked in a whisper, not even bothering to consume her energy on yelling at someone so aloof. She fell on the ground with a thump and covered her face with her hands. “I walked in the sun, famished for two hours, my feet hurt like hell, I feel like fainting and you tell me you are my fucking granola bar?”

“I’m sorry Sakura, I was hungry.” Kakashi replied, and sat next to her on the ground. “I’ll buy you another one. 10 if you want too. Why are you so emotional over something so insignificant.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Mm? But you said-“

“It’s about you. You’re so confusing. One day you push me away now you want to kiss me.” She stood up and brushed the dirt off her dress. “I’m leaving.”

Sakura felt like crying. The reason she didn’t like Sasuke anymore was because of Kakashi, and when he pushed her away it was like her whole world shattered.

She missed how fun missions were when Kakashi argued with Sasuke, or when he stood up for her. But ever since he put distance between them again, all he did was call her weak.

Kakashi grabbed Sakura’s arm and spun her around. The small distance between them intimidated Sakura, but fascinated her at the same time. Even if his tall frame made her feel small, it also made her want to feel him closer. “I lost. I’m going to tell you why I pushed you away.”

She wanted to nod, to say something, but she was  transfixed on the way he gently held her hand and placed his free one on her hip. Every touch made her skin tingle in a pleasant way, and she decided she wanted more.

“I saw you kiss Sasuke.”

Sakura’s eyes widened in shock. How did he see that? They were in front of her house, it wasn’t planned or anything. They just had too much sake one night and Sasuke offered to take her home. Of course she said yes. One minute they were talking and the other she felt his lips crash in hers. They never spoke about it again.

“How did you see that?” She asked, turning her head away from him. She didn’t want to know his reaction. Would he be disappointed?

“I was passing by your house and decided to stop by and congratulate you for the success of the A class mission with Tsunade. I um… bought you flowers and when I saw you with Sasuke-“

Sakura put a finger on his lips and slowly traced it along his cheekbone. “Were you jealous, Kakashi-kun?”

The pink kunoichi didn’t know why she was acting this way. Normally she would punch anyone this close to her but now she felt the need to feel Kakashi against her skin, to inhale his musky aroma. It was like she was drunk on him. Her mind was foggy and her stomach was churning with excitement.

“Yes.” He said, shivering under her light touch. “I was very, very jealous.”

With every passing second the space between them disappeared. All that could be heard were short and shaky breaths of two kids that were drowning in emotions they couldn’t quite identify.

“What if I want to lose?” Sakura asked, brushing her lips against Kakashi’s mask. She hooked her fingers in the soft material over his face and slowly dragged it down his chin.

“I still have your keys.” He mumbled. “I won’t eat those.”

“Don’t keep me waiting, Hatake.” Sakura teased, eager to taste his lips. “We can use those another time.”

And there they were, lost in each other’s kisses, but they didn’t mind. Sakura and Kakashi loved adventures.

Send me more kakasaku prompts. c:


Rated: E for everyone
Inlustris: (latin) Starlight
Hogwarts AU

“…A potion once considered a terrifying evil. Amortentia causes the effects of falling in love; euphoria, light-headedness, and giddyness, once consumed. Depending on the potency, Amortentia can lead to extreme mental issues such as; severe obsession compulsive disorder, paranoia, and…”


He didn’t know why he called her name, only that it was such a pretty sight to see her eyes break away from the book in her hands–here under this tree and patch of sunlight, at this very moment in Autumn–and gaze at him curiously. Shiro stifled a smile, closed his eyes and rolled over onto his back where a ray of sunlight landed over his cheek.

“What is it?”

“Mm, nothing,” he said, placing his arms beneath his head as a cushion.

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One Last Call {Angst Week Day 4}

I was going to leave it without the happy ending, but I’m sad right now.

He doesn’t see it coming. He never expected that something like this would happen to him, not ever.

He was just walking over to Lucy’s house after work, just like he does every Friday night–because Friday night is their night. It always has been–ever since they started dating their Sophomore year. It’s the only night during the week that both of them are completely free, and he always stays with her until the next night. And he’ll be dammed if he lets anything keep him away from her–especially tonight.

Natsu was just walking home like always–and then a couple of guys ran by, shouting things he couldn’t make out and shoving him out of the way. And he hadn’t thought anything of it. Magnolia is a busy place, people are always running around for some reason. Usually he’s the one acting like an idiot and running into strangers. So, he just shrugged it off, continuing on his way to his girlfriend’s house and forgetting about it.

And then another guy ran by, slamming into him and sending both of them crashing to the ground. As they hit the ground a loud sound ripped through the air, but Natsu couldn’t place what it was as his head hit the ground with a “crack.” The man above him cursed loudly as pain shot through Natsu’s chest–and then the guy was scrambling to stand, his elbow colliding harshly with Natsu’s jaw.

And that’s where he finds himself, wheezing as he rolls onto his side, and clutching at his chest, trying to find the source of the pain. Confusion sweeps through him, pain clouding his mind for a long second. The man above him swears again, dropping something to the ground. Natsu watches whatever it is hit the ground, clattering against the street. His eyes narrow as he stares, trying to figure out what the dark object is, and the man turns on his heel and runs.

Green eyes flick to the man’s back as he disappears down the empty, silent street. Natsu doesn’t understand why he would just leave like that, and he tries to shout after the boy, but his rage melts into a coughing fit.

He hisses, pushing himself up onto his knees, one hand still pressed to his chest. A frown pulls at his lips as he feels something wet and sticky sliding over his digits–coating his fingers and palm with the same liquid. The pain turns into a sharp, constant ache that only seems to grow worse and worse, and when he rips his hand away he sees blood he already knew would be there.

He’s been shot.

His heart skips a beat and he nearly loses his grip on the ground, his eyes widening in terror. He’s been shot and pain is flaring in his chest, burning like nothing else he’s ever felt before. It hurts more than he ever though it would–more than anything else he’s ever felt before, including that time in Junior year that he fell out of a tree and broke his arm because he was trying to surprise Lucy–which he totally still did, even if it didn’t go quite the way he planned.

And suddenly Natsu feels like screaming. Partially because it hurts like hell, but also because he doesn’t have time for this. Lucy is going to be so mad at him for being late, and he has something important to do and he really doesn’t want tonight to be ruined because he has a bullet hole in his chest.

He coughs again, and something wet trickles down his chin. He winces, knowing that that can’t be any good. None of this is fair. He just wanted to see Lucy. Natsu groans, dragging himself over to the nearest wall, gritting his teeth as he feels another sharp stab of pain. He glances down, suddenly fascinated by the crimson liquid soaking into his clean, white shirt, starting from a point just to the left of his chest, blood staining the fabric all the way down to his hip on the same side.

“Fuck,” Natsu hisses, leaning his head back against the wall, eyes slipping shut. This can’t be happening right now. Not tonight. Please, not tonight. Natsu’s bloody hand slips into his pocket, fingertips brushing something cool. His eyes squeeze tighter as he releases another wheezy breath, his chest squeezing painfully. His hand tears from the pocket, drifting to his back pocket and drawing out his phone.

It seems to him that he only has one call left to make, and he knows exactly who he wants to talk to.

He dials the number, fingers skating across the buttons quickly as his heart hammers in his chest. “Please answer,” he murmurs, lifting the phone to his ear. It rings once. Twice. A third and then a forth time, and his heart sinks, tears welling in his eyes. He doesn’t want to die like this–and maybe he won’t, but there’s always that possibility. He takes in a sharp breath, trying to ignore the raggedness of his breathing as he starts to lower the phone.

“Natsu?” The voice stops him. “Natsu, are you there?”

His mouth goes dry. “Lucy,” he breathes, a smile slipping onto his face. “Hey.”

She sighs, and he can just imagine her crossing her arms and pursing her lips–giving him that look. “Natsu, where are you?” she asks. “You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

He frowns. Has it already been that long? He looks up at the sky, tracing the stars. “I know,” he tells her softly. “I got held up, but I’ll be there soon, I promise.” He’s lying through his teeth. He’s not going anywhere, not by himself, but he doesn’t want Lucy to know. He doesn’t want her to panic. a faint noise breaks through his thoughts. It sounds like sirens, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, not incase he’s wrong. “So, how was your day?” he asks her lightly.

“Good,” she tells him. “But I missed you.”

Natsu chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. He fights back a cough. “You saw me this morning,” he reminds her.

“I always miss you when you’re not around.”

His heart lurches into his throat. “Me too.” He tries not to cry. “So I heard that Jellal finally asked Erza out on a date.” Lucy gasps, babbling about something that he can’t really hear, but he laughs anyway, because honestly, he’s just really happy to hear her voice. She trails off after a minute and it falls silent between them.

“Natsu?” she says quietly. “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean usually you aren’t one to talk about Jellal’s relationship status.”

He frowns. “I’m fine, Lucy. I’m just–I just knew that you’d like to know.” He isn’t lying. Not really. He knows that Lucy definitely would have wanted to hear that, but he’s never the one to bring it up.

“Okay.” Natsu winces. She sounds so sad–and it’s like she knows, but she doesn’t want to say anything either, but that’s not possible.

“Hey,” he starts, switching the phone to his other ear as his hand drifts back to his pocket. “I have something I need to tell you, but you have to listen, okay?” He can feel something tugging at his consciousness, but he’s terrified that if he closes his eyes he won’t be able to open them again. “Lucy?” he whimpers.

“Natsu, what’s going–”

“Please,” he cuts her off. “Please, just–just listen, okay?” He winces at the tone in his voice. “Sorry, I just–it’s important, okay?” She stays silent, and his gaze rolls around the alley. “I love you,” he tells her, smiling slightly, even though he feels like his heart is being ripped out. “I love you so much, so don’t you dare forget that.”


“You mean everything to me. And then some,” he laughs. “And I’m so happy I met you. And that you gave me a chance, even though I completely embarrassed myself that day.” He rests his head against the wall, eyes slipping shut as something smooth rubs against his calloused fingers. “Hey, Lucy?” he murmurs. “If I asked you to marry me right now, would you say yes?”

It’s silent for a long time.

“What?” her voice is shaky, and he wonders if she’s crying. He winces, gritting his teeth. He doesn’t want her to cry.

“Will you marry me, Lucy?” he repeats, voice wavering. His eyes begin to close, the sirens growing louder. “If I asked right now, would you say yes?” Lucy gasps, and his hand closes around the ring in his pocket, pulling it out so he can see it one more time.

He was going to ask her tonight. He was going to ask if she wanted to be with him forever. And he wasn’t going to lose that chance.


The phone slips from his hand, hitting the ground with a soft clatter. His hand goes limp at his side, the ring dropping from his palm.

Something is touching him, he notes dumbly, eyes still closed. A light touch is brushing over his knuckles. Back and forth. Back and forth. Another touch joins the first, something that feels like lips on his skin, a warm breath.

Something to his left makes a sound.

“Natsu,” a soft, sad voice whispers. “Please wake up.”


His eyes snap open, head twisting to look at her, but her gaze is directed to the bed sheets near his hips. She places another kiss on his knuckles, holding his hand tightly as tears stream down her face.

“Lucy,” he whispers, voice husky and rough. Her head snaps up so fast that he thinks she might have hurt herself, but then she stands, the chair tipping backwards and crashing to the floor. And suddenly her hands are on his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks.

“Natsu,” she breathes back, eyes searching his face before locking with his. Her hands tighten on his face. “How could you be so stupid!” she hisses, slamming her lips against his briefly before pulling away. “Why didn’t you call an ambulance?”

He laughs weakly, reaching a hand out for her, pulling her back to him when she leans in. “If I was going to die, I wanted you to be the last thing I heard,” he whispers. “I wanted you to know that I love you, and I always will.” He squeezes her as tightly as he can. “You still want to get married?”

Lucy sobs against his shoulder. “Always.”


Yoongi comes home for the holidays after a long tour.

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Yoongi | Reader

Word Count: 1,254

Originally posted by yoongbeans

I looked at my lockscreen every second waiting for it to finally be 6. I wasn’t the only one nervously looking around the airport for a blonde haired boy. There had to be at the most 100 girls crowded around the gate holding signs welcoming the boys after their long 4-month world tour. I mixed in well with the group of young girls and nobody noticed me. But of course to them, I was just a regular fangirl, not the girlfriend of the rather adorable rapper, Min Yoongi.

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GOT3 with bonus Willow headcanons!

(I already made a post queued for tomorrow on autisticstevenstone for the GOT3. Short version, all ND, NB, queer, and poly. Will include the bits I put there at the start of each bit!)

The GOT3 met in grad school in Kanto, where Willow was mentoring them. They started out fighting like, well, Meowth and Growlithe, but after Willow assigned them to two weeks of field work together, they eventually realised that despite the arguments, they actually worked amazingly well together. Also, you know, they weren’t actually all that bad.

Became firm friends over the course of grad school. By the time they were approaching graduation, Blanche and Candela had started dating, although Spark was a pretty constant part of their lives, and soon after they graduated, they invited him to join the relationship. Willow is their very enthusiastic cheerleader.

The teams came about during the course of grad school, originally as a jokey way to get others to support their views. When they started working on the GO project after graduation, they decided to turn it into an official competition.

Constantly bemused by their team members’ fighting, particularly Blanche and Candela (who often make a point to snuggle in front of warring Valor/Mystic trainers to get them to chill a bit).

The GOT3 are in their mid-late 20s, Willow is in his early 50s.

Individual stuff under the cut!

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Fic: Lifechanging

@snarkyhag mentioned pixie!Kurt and then @skivvysupreme started discussing it and I couldn’t not do it, friends, I couldn’t.

~2150 words, G, fluff fluff fluff.

Kurt knew he wasn’t supposed to leave the park, but when his options were flying to the top of a nearby human den or allowing Santana to style his hair however she wanted, what other choice did he have?

“I wish we knew of more games to play,” he grumbled quietly, bright blue wings flapping as fast as he could make them go. “What’s so bad about hide’n’seek? It’s far less likely to get me ki- oh!

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt caught a glimpse of a big yellow monster and nearly crashed headfirst into the side of the den in fright. He slowly gathered himself and started flying cautiously in the direction of the beast, needing to make sure it couldn’t chase and eat him.

“Nice monster. Good boy. Please don’t kill me,” Kurt said as he crept closer, holding his hands up placatingly. “Just stay - oh. You’re just a bird!”

Kurt heaved a massive sigh of relief at that realization, feeling his heart settle down in his chest. Birds weren’t completely harmless, but they didn’t care about eating pixies - just making sure that pixies didn’t go near their nests. This bird looked like he was locked in a trap of some kind, though, which confused Kurt.

“Are you stuck, birdie?” he asked, flying into the otherwise deserted human den to get a better look. “You seem very calm for someone who’s caught in a big, silver…thing.”

The bird just trilled in response, rustling its feathers a little but making no moves to get free.

“Well, if you’re happy,” Kurt said, shrugging. He settled on one of the shiny bars enclosing the bird, enjoying the chirps and whistles it was making, and soon began to sing along, attempting harmonies and trying to repeat more complicated patterns.

“Pav? What are you d- what?” a man asked, appearing from another part of the human den like magic. “Oh my God, I’ve lost my mind.”

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