i made one just like this one but it got lost when i left

shibolet3  asked:

Wait what con artist from 2014

I’d like to title this story “Swing And A Miss

Okay, so my high school had this program where seniors could leave school like a month and a half early and opt out of exams if they took on internships around the neighborhood, but not everyone wanted to/was eligible to do it. Back in like 2013, they had like 15 bored seniors stuck in the school, so the administration brought in this Professional Life Coach, left him in alone in a room with them for two hours to talk to them about like, self-esteem or some shit. All the kids were pulled out of their classes for this*, and later told the administration that they loved him, they really enjoyed the talk.

So, about a year later, we have a new principal. He’s supposed to set up an assembly for all the 11th and 12th graders, but he doesn’t know what to do. One of his coworkers mentions that there was a life coach that was a huge hit with the kids that didn’t do community study last year, so maybe he’d also be great for a larger audience. The principal basically thinks “okay, what the hell” and calls up and hires Jason C. Jean to come talk to the kids.

Now, it’s like, 10:30, maybe 11:00 in the morning, and two entire grades are getting shepherded to the main gymnasium, and no one wants to God damn be there. We ain’t got time for self esteem talks. We want to sleep. And this guy, watching us all drag our feet in and collapse into the bleachers was just like…offensively peppy. There’s a couple faculty members sitting behind him, the woman who suggested he be hired for this, the vice principals for the grades- but the principal himself kept getting calls so he was in and out the whole time.

Now, Mr. Jean was like…the chill “Just call me by my first name dude” history professor at college times 30. He was trying so fucking hard. I’m referring to him as ‘Mr. Jean’ in this story just to be disrespectful. So anyway, we all get in there, and he tells us right off the bat “You guys are totally allowed to be on your phones and laptops during this! I get it! It’s no problem, like really, I insist!” so while the faculty members are exchanging smiles that read ‘how do we kill that while respecting him’, all the kids are immediately pulling out their electronics and he’s starts his speech.

Now, again, I really wanna reiterate that he told us we could be on our phones- because when the news articles started coming out about this, I remember all these angry, annoying comments from old people like “Why the hell were the students on their phones in the first place! So disrespectful! These damn millennials and their social media!” like, they were completely ignoring the entire story and just focusing in on kids using the internet, and it Really Super Pissed Me Off, so. Again, we had permission for this (which also ended up being Mr. Jean’s fatal mistake).

So, he starts off this speech fairly normally, like ‘hi, I’m Jason, I’m a professional life coach and I wanna teach you kids about how to be The Best You!’ and like people were tuning him out and listening to varying degrees. Some kids (like myself) were kinda dozing off, and everyone was on twitter or facebook.

His approach to a self esteem speech seemed to be ‘let me tell you my entire life story for hours’ and like, at first I was like “I’m not really hearing this, I’m half dreaming right now” but the more I started making myself pay attention the more…bizarre and rambling his story got.

So like, for instance, he told us he drank a lot in high school. Like, a lot. But he didn’t use that as a ‘don’t drink or party too hard’ lesson, instead he was like “I was fourteen so I always called my parents to pick me up, and they weren’t mad because they knew it meant I could trust them. So remember, always tell your parents when you’re drinking!” and then it kinda got to a point where it sounded like he was encouraging partying and drinking and the like to the group of underage kids.

And then, he told us how he used to play baseball all the time when he was a kid, and at 16 reached a crossroads in his life where the Phillies wanted to draft him or he could go play football for Penn State. And he said he went with Penn State but later lost the scholarship for some reason and we’re like…really.

There was absolutely nothing coherent about anything he was saying- nothing that tied anything together, made a point, seemed like it had anything to do with an assembly on self esteem. He told us at one point he was making upwards of 7 million a year. He told us one time before college he was homeless. He told us he used to own a construction company and built his own branch of nightclubs himself, that he and his friend then ran. He told us he fought a shark and came out with no scars. He told us that he had less money now, because after surviving a work related accident- direct quote- “I fell almost 30 feet and I broke in half” - he decided to leave that industry and spend more time with his family.

So, yeah, I was pretty positive this was bullshit, but there were clearly kids in the room that were falling for it. But then he said something like…he and his friend got bored one day and started jarring up their own pasta sauce, and made a deal with wegmans or some store like that to start selling it, and now he has a pasta sauce empire. Like he spent 15 fucking minutes on this. The way he kept saying ‘pasta sauce’ was so annoying I was about to claw my ears out. But anyway, two girls in my grade wanted to find out what brand he was talking about, so they googled his name.

And then quietly gasped.

And then furiously started typing into their phones.

And remember- everyone, even though they were paying attention- was on twitter and facebook. All the sudden I see heads flying up and wide eyes and people whispering to each other. Mr. Jean doesn’t seem to notice the change and keeps rambling on, but I know something happened so I google him too and-

Okay so basically he’s 1) been arrested, 2) filed for bankruptcy like three times and 3) has been hailed as a ‘Swinger Guru’ by playboy.

EVERYONES SILENTLY FLIPPING OUT.

So by now, this is a fucking game- he still doesn’t notice anything wrong amongst the kids, so we’re all silently texting each other to fill each other in. Pulling up receipts. But still playing the part of politely intrigued audience members. The school faculty have no fucking idea what’s going on, until one of the students texts her mom, who happens to be the woman that convinced the principal to hire this guy. We see her check her phone, go wide-eyed, and she runs out of the fucking room presumably to either find the principal or hide in terror.

So Mr. Jean had been talking to random people intermittently throughout this speech, but we reach the ‘questions’ part of it. Everyone seems to silently agree that instead of just asking him anything outright, we should just see how good of a liar he was. So they’d be asking him stuff like ‘how much money did you make with ____ company’ and he’d give a ridiculously high number as people were sending each other reports of him filing for bankruptcy during that time. Or they asked him about his construction business which he said was great, and while he was talking about how great it was we were all reading his arrest report, from when a woman hired him to build her house, and he took her money and then like…just didn’t build anything. Wild. Someone asked him about his family and he’s extolling Christian virtues while we’re all on the website for his annual Swing Fest. People would ask him how he got certain jobs and he was making promises to hook kids up in interviews and shit. Everyone was loosing their God damn minds online and just barely holding it together in person. This man was so beyond full of shit- like, he was a God awful life coach but his dedication to lying was inspirational.

We eventually get to leave and everyone is yelling and cracking up and freaking out, all running to our classes to tell the teachers and the underclassmen everything, and the teachers are freaking out, alternating between horrified confusion and laughing hysterically. Before the school day even ended, someone had called a bunch of news stations. The principal was freaking out and denying he had anything to do with it, before calling some students to his office to see what exactly the kids had searched up on the guy…Because apparently teenagers can perform better background checks than school officials. It was all anyone could talk about for weeks.

A couple months after this, for my theater class’ showcase, I wrote and directed a skit called ‘Mason B. Mean’. It was a huge hit. The principal was in the audience. I’ve never seen a grown man look so dead inside. I made sure I was out of the room before he came up to congratulate the cast and everything. The next day, my theater teacher told me his only comment about the skit was a quiet, long-suffering “Why.” 😂😂

Annnnnnnnd that’s the time a Swinger Entrepreneur rambled on about pasta sauce and money in front of teenagers who knew how to use google for almost two hours.  

http://www.philly.com/philly/news/breaking/Montco_principal_apologizes_for_having_swinger_entrepreneur_speak_to_kids.html

The Things We Give Welsh Learners: y Babi Sinsir

So I was going through our bookshelf yesterday, because we’re fast approaching the point where we need a clear-out, and I came across one of my all-time favourite creations ever, probably even beating shit like the wheel and penicillin. Years back, before leaving The Man to pursue his dreams of being a sort of professional clown-thing, my husband used to be a translator for Neath Port Talbot Council; as is often the way with Welsh councils, though, owing to a lack of money and also everywhere is really close to each other (this country is 150 miles wide at its widest point, and about 47 miles at the thin bit. Ver ver small), NPT Council’s translating department was shared by Swansea Council. Thus it was that, in the halcyon days of circa 2009, the two decided to team up and produce a new Welsh language book for learners between them, and thus it got sent through to Steffan to proof read it.

A Thing You May Not Know: Welsh is one of ten indigenous languages to Britain, arguably the oldest, and has been viciously oppressed over the last millennium and a half as part of England’s big If You Destroy Their Culture They’ll Be Glad To Be Ruled By You policy. These days, it’s nonetheless still spoken by approximately a fifth of the Welsh population; a hell of a feat, considering, but the suppression of it continues to this day (just in cleverer, sneakier ways now than whipping people’s children if they’re heard.) But it is classified as Endangered. Thanks to Welsh-language schools now being a thing (though supply is much lower than demand), transmission rates to the younger generation are pretty good; but, Welsh is peculiarly dependent on adult learners.

This means that learner books might have to appeal to both children and adults while using very simple language, which I explain in case it in some way justifies the bewildering weirdness of what I’m about to show you; because at first glance, this book is simply for children. But it’s… Well. 

Well.

I present to you, with translations in bold and commentary by me, Y Babi Sinsir.

Literally, “the Ginger Baby”, but they mean ‘ginger’ as in ‘gingerbread’. Literal ginger. Not the colour.

This is Mr Jones. This is Mrs Jones.

What’s wrong, Mrs Jones? I want a baby.

Note: there will be some confusion in this book about whether the narrator is speaking, or anyone else. It might seem cut and dried here, but there are no speech marks around “Dw i eisiau babi”, whereas later speech marks are used, and also in two pages’ time the narrator will actively pass a value judgement using first person, so… Well.

But, so far so good.

Mrs Jones is making a Babi Sinsir.

… okay, so I like this page because of the capitalisation of Babi Sinsir and the lack of definite article. She’s just making a Babi Sinsir. You know, a Babi Sinsir? Magical baby made of gingerbread that you make if you can’t conceive but can’t afford IVF? Yeah. A Babi Sinsir. That’s right.

Let it be known that this is Not A Thing in Welsh folklore or mythology. What the fuck. How does this work. Where does the magic come from? Do you need a faerie ingredient? Will the next page tell us?

This is the Babi Sinsir. I like the Babi Sinsir.

Nope.

But it is apparently shit-capable and needs a nappy. It’s good that the narrator likes it anyway.

The Babi Sinsir is bad. He’s running.

Uh oh.

“Come back, Babi Sinsir.”

Look how Worried the Joneses are. Funny how they don’t seem to be calling that enthusiastically, though. I’d have expected an exclamation mark at least. Did Mrs Jones always have a massive left arm? I can’t remember.

“Run, run, catch me. I’m the Babi Sinsir.”

Yeah, okay, so that’s the Welsh for “Run! Run! As fast as you can! You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man!”, but once again, I’m going to have to draw attention to the lack of expressive punctuation here. It really feels like this naughty Babi Sinsir’s heart is just not in this.

“Come and help, Mr Horse.” “Run, run, catch me. I’m the Babi Sinsir.”

Cool, look, a floating horse has come to help.

The pen there, incidentally, was an attempt by the translators to work out who was talking. I can’t imagine why. This dialogue is on fire, everyone can tell.

“Come and help, Mrs Cow.” “Run, run, catch me. I’m the Babi Sinsir.”

Now they have been joined in their high-speed zombie shuffle by a married floating cow who is, if I’m not much mistaken, high as shit.

“Come and help, Mr Goat.”  “Run, run, catch me. I’m the Babi Sinsir.”

I’m starting to suspect the artist only knew how to draw the legs on animals in one way.

“Come and help, Mr Dog.”  “Run, run, Catch me. I’m the Babi Sinsir.”

Yes, that dog is definitely here to ‘help’. Also… the Babi Sinsir is literally within reach of Mrs Jones’ massive left arm now. Why is she not just picking him up?

“Come and help, Miss Cat.” “Run, run, Catch me. I’m the Babi Sinsir.”

You may be wondering at this point if this is just… the whole book. An ever-increasing flock of floating zombie creatures shuffling after a naughty gingerbread baby in a nappy who is committing the cardinal sin of running. I mean… where can they go from here, amirite? A sheep? A squirrel? A chicken? We can hit a hundred pages this way, easy. The concern is the artist, whom I think was stretched a bit beyond their means on this project anyway.

BUT WORRY NOT! Shit’s about to go down, guys.

Oh no! Here comes Mr Wolf. Mr Wolf runs and catches the Babi Sinsir.

THAT IS A FOX

THAT IS A GODDAMN FOX YOU HEATHEN FUCK

WHAT THE FUCK

AND WHY THE FUCK IS IT WEARING CLOTHES WHEN NONE OF THE OTHER ANIMALS WERE

WHY IS IT DRESSED IN DUNGAREES LIKE A LAZY FARMHAND ON AN AMERICAN RANCH IN THE 1800S

This doesn’t bode well for the -

Half of the Babi Sinsir is left.

WHAT THE

Quarter of the Babi Sinsir is left.

WHY DOES IT STILL LOOK SAD AND HORRIFIED WHY IS IT STILL ALIVE OH MY GOD

The Babi Sinsir has gone! There’s tasty.

What the

Wha

It

I realise this is not the main point to make here, but two pages ago it had eaten half of that nappy, and now it’s whole again and delicately discarded to one side, I just want

I mean

It’s okay, right? This happens in fairytales? Little Red Riding Hood? Someone will eviscerate the fox and out will come the Babi Sinsir…’s pieces, and they can be baked back together…?

No one cares!

Mrs Jones is making another Babi Sinsir.

The new Babi Sinsir loves Mrs Jones.

… 

…okay, so there’s a lot for us all to take in right now, and we’re all going to get through it at different speeds. But I’m just going to draw attention to the fact that Mr Jones is now merely depicted as a picture on the wall, and the new Babi Sinsir apparently only loves Mrs Jones, and…

Okay so they just lost their beloved baby gingerbread son because he got eaten alive by a fox in dungarees calling itself a wolf, right? Mrs Jones apparently couldn’t give less of a fuck if she tried, as long as she has some flour and ginger left over to make another. This one she made to love her.

Mr Jones, I presume, had a total mental breakdown and drank himself to death. At the very least, he’s left her, look. All she has left is the photo.

But does dim ots! Mae’r Babi Sinsir newydd yn caru Mrs Jones.

And that is the story of Y Babi Sinsir, aka the greatest work of literature ever written.

2

Saturn

You taught me the courage of stars before you left.
How light carries on endlessly, even after death.
With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite.
How rare and beautiful it is to even exist.

- “Saturn” by Sleeping At Last

“He promised!”, the younger man cried. A heartwrecking, choked sound. “He promised he’d come back!”

Tears seeped through the fabric of Ryou’s shirt and slender fingers dug into his back with a force he’d never thought Keith possessed. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say. No support he could’ve offered. He could only wrap his own arms around the smaller figure and hold him.

It had been two months. Two months since Keith fled the constricting walls of the Galaxy Garrison and vanished into the cold desert night. Two months and twenty-two days since Iverson’s spokesman announced the Kerberos mission was a failure. Two months and twenty-nine days since the comms of his brother’s ship went dead.

Noone knew where Keith went that night, except for Ryou. There was only one place in the world Keith would seek out for shelter. It was the only place Takashi had never shared with his twin. Because it was their place. Their shelter. Keith and Shiro. Only them. And Ryou had respected that, content with the fact that his brother had finally found love, even if Takashi himself hadn’t known that back then.

Now that Takashi was gone, he couldn’t help but venture out into the desert more and more often. He felt adrift and numb, left in a state of levitation before reality would finally come crashing in. Always looking for that special place that held so many memories of his brother. The shack.

Packed with supplies - food, water, wool blankets, lamp oil, a notable stock of lighters and all the little things Keith may or may not need by now - Ryou had steered his black hoverbike away from the Garrison this morning and straight into the unforgiving heat of the desert. Always looking for that one spot on the map that still held some of his brother’s very soul. That one damned spot that Ryou knew he should never seek out. For it held the only tangible evidence of his brother’s death. His absence at Keith’s side. And he knew this would break him.

When he finally found the shack, he knew Keith was there before he even saw him in person. The red hoverbike, parked right infront of the small porch, gave him away. Its black twin’s engine purred and finally went silent under Ryou. Before Kerberos, before everything went down the drain, the red bike had belonged to Takashi. A gift, Ryou had made for him. He still remembered the face Taka made when he’d seen his birthday present. Now that day seemed eons away… Surreal and alien like memories of a life that belonged to somebody else.

Keith opened the front door before Ryou could even make it to the porch. And for one moment it seemed like the world had come to a halt, remembering that there was something missing, before it started turning again with cold, regardless indifference. Feigning ignorance towards two now incomplete and broken beings. The universe had greater things to take care of.

Seeing Ryou - the spitting image of his lost brother - must’ve been the last straw. Keith hadn’t cried. Not when Ryou had called him after the ship went silent, not when the announcement came that all crew members were believed to be dead. Not even when he had left the base. He had punched people. He had seethed with rage and he had broken things, but never cried. Now however…

“He promised!”, the younger man cried. A heartwrecking, choked sound. “He promised he’d come back!”

Now, after three months, shock and numbness, disbelief and repression finally faded… Keith cried.

And it broke Ryou…

___

So…. uh… this… this got out of hand? All I wanted was to express my headcanon that Ryou and Keith knew eachother from their time at the Garrison and that Ryou visited Keith after he got expelled. And that they both mourn Shiro together. But somehow I ended up writing way more than I had planned. xD Oh well…

The new trailer for s3 kinda left me adrift because WHAT THE FUCK. Why they keep doing this to me with every new season?! Where’s Shiro? Why’s he not in the trailer?! Why can’t we just… have him back and be save for once? Not knowing if my poor baby survives every new damn season has me stressing like fuck! So I felt like drawing Keith coping with losing Shiro. And then I ended up drawing this and feeling bad for poor Keith! Now I feel like I want to cry my eyes out…

nude wars (m) | pt.1

pairings: yoongi x reader x jungkook

genre: smut, touches of fluff / frat!yoonkook

word count: 4,458

description: Okay sure, maybe having a threesome with two best friends from the same frat wasn’t the smartest thing you’d ever done. But hey, when the result was them vying for your attention in the form of scandalous snaps, breathy audio messages, and unspeakable texts, well then the decision definitely wasn’t that bad.

— Or alternatively, your phone getting caught in the middle of Yoongi and Jungkook constantly trying to one-up each other in a war of sexting (and just maybe romantics).

Nine texts, four missed calls, several snaps, one voice mail — who the fuck leaves voicemails?

The notifications flashed across the home screen of your phone after your blurry and sleep-deprived eyes managed to locate the button to stop your shrieking alarm that was set for six-thirty in the goddamn morning. The early wake-up time due to the fact that it was your turn to trudge through the morning shift at the café you worked at — now that was what you called a simple cause and effect. You have the morning shift, so you set your alarm earlier than usual. It was simple, however as your thumb rested against the screen of your phone, the previously mentioned notifications continuing to stare back at you with urging enticement, you once again wondered how this particular cause and effect had come to fruition.

Your teeth caught hold of your bottom lip, bearing down on the tender flesh as your heart began to rapidly beat against your chest. Ragged sighs invaded your lungs as you pressed your thumb against the home button of the device. It unlocked, revealing what you of course already knew would be there. The small red dots that indicated how many missed alerts you had received throughout the night. It was with a deep breath that you pressed down on the first icon to rid yourself of the notification that held the least weight.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

That 'its lexa' scene killed me, like, clarke looks like she's about to break into pieces....

That scene is as brief as it’s impactful and excruciating. For Clarke, it’s the climax of an emotional journey she had to endure throughout the whole episode and it’s raw to watch and experience and it just leaves me so heartbroken for her.

From the beginning of the episode, we see her being emotionally hammered down again and again and again: Jasper telling her she deserves to die, ALIE!Raven bringing up all her ghosts and making her feel even guiltier about Lexa’s death, Jasper again rejecting her apology. She has her walls up, hasn’t let them down since Lexa’s death, but It’s evident that this all weighs down on her heavily. What makes her especially fragile in this episode is that she has no chance for escapism. Ever since Lexa died, Clarke has kept herself busy/distracted with things she must do, right? First, it’s making sure Aden wins the Conclave and that he honors Lexa’s wish of having Skaikru join the Coalition and being protected. She literally rejects Aden’s offer of having a private moment with Lexa’s body.

She can’t do that, she can’t deal with that pain just yet, it’s too fresh and overwhelming. Having that moment would mean having to process Lexa’s death, having to embrace grief, which she’s not ready to do. Her only option is to ignore it, to hide from it.

After Ontari kills Aden and all the Natblida, Clarke’s focus shifts to making sure Ontari doesn’t become Commander, taking the Flame to Luna and protecting the Flame with her life. It’s her drive throughout 3B. There’s an interesting single-mindedness that characterizes her throughout the rest of the season. She needs to focus on this mission, there is little room for anything else. If she stopped, even for a minute, her feelings would be impossible to avoid. It’s a defense mechanism. She shuts the door on grief and clings to what she has: a distraction (the never-ending list of concerns she has to deal with), a hopeless hope that not everything is lost (the Flame).

But then we get to 311.

It’s a peculiar kind of episode, for most of its runtime taking place in a closed environment. But not only that: in this episode, for a long time the characters are forced to stall. There are few exceptions (Octavia and Monty), but for almost the whole episode we are stuck at Niylah’s trading post with the characters, who are racking their brains as they try to find a solution to save Raven, and waiting. Because there is nowhere to rush to, nothing they can do. Nothing Clarke can do. Even when they devise a plan to try and fry the chip, it’s someone else who has to go out and find what they need to carry out the task, not her. She is, quite simply, stuck. Not only physically, but she is stuck with her thoughts and her feelings. And that has consequences of course.

As I said before, we see Clarke getting progressively closer and closer to her breaking point. She first snaps after the continuous hits at her heart by ALIE!Raven, when she reminds her of all the people that died because of her. That it’s not really Clarke’s fault is irrelevant, Clarke feels that guilt and bears it constantly, and in a moment as tense and delicate as that one, it brings her to lash out. What’s interesting to me is that it’s not an immediate reaction. ALIE!Raven first uses Wells, Charlotte, and Finn and while clearly still affected, Clarke recognizes ALIE!Raven’s strategy and manages to mostly ignore her. But then, she mentions Lexa, and Clarke’s reaction is entirely different. (x)

It’s so different from her previous strained attempts at ignoring what is being said to her that even ALIE notices it, with that head tilt she does when she’s learning something new. Clarke here doesn’t even try to pretend she’s not affected by Lexa’s mention. She directly goes and tells ALIE!Raven to shut up. She looks up the second she hears Lexa’s name, her glare is deadly, her words are seething. She doesn’t wanna hear this, she can’t hear this. Also! This isn’t the first time someone told her she was responsible for Lexa’s death, with Titus telling her he pulled the trigger but it was her fault. You can bet that had a great impact on Clarke and made her only more sensitive to ALIE!Raven’s words.

And the comment about her father’s death is the last straw. So we get her lashing out and literally trying to gag Raven so she doesn’t have to hear this any longer.

The heartbreaking thing is that she pretty much gets no respite. Bellamy takes her place in the room with Raven, but Jasper is immediately there to remind her about Mt Weather and how she killed all those people and Maya. She’s literally on the verge of tears when he rejects her apology and roughly pushes past her.

All this shows she is incredibly close to reaching her limit. All that tension and pain and guilt is like a fire simmering inside her, a fire she has no way to cool down because as I said, she is deprived of almost any distraction. She spends the episode being reminded of what she did and most importantly, of what, who, she lost.

So when Jasper grabs the Flame and is ready to destroy it, Clarke’s walls shatter. Faced with the possibility of losing yet another thing extremely important to her, she has no way of shutting down her pain and grief any longer. (x)

She panics when she realizes what Jasper is about to do. She is frantic in trying to get the Flame back, desperation is written all over her. The possibility of losing the one part of Lexa she has left propels forward that fire of pain and grief. Lexa is gone, this is all she has left of her, and she can’t bear to lose that too. All her restraint, her imposed control over her emotions, is useless in this brief moment. And so…

She doesn’t use logic to try to stop Jasper, it’s her heart here begging him to not take Lexa from her. It’s raw, it’s charged with every emotion ranging from despair to heartbreak, it’s harrowing. For this brief moment, Clarke is stripped down, emotionally bare and vulnerable. She doesn’t avoid her grief, she embraces it. She even arrives to relive details of the moment Lexa died.

Oh, and that “I’m not–” she says immediately after, right before pausing and figuring out how to save Raven. That breaks my heart because I can’t help but wonder what she was going to say. “I’m not making this up… I’m not lying… I’m not crazy.” She needs Jasper to believe her because otherwise, she is going to lose that part of Lexa she still has, however small. The fact that her reaction is so intense and heart-wrenching is only a proof of just how much she loves Lexa and of how much pain and sorrow her death caused to Clarke.

And when eventually Jasper gives the Flame back to her, Clarke treats it like something incredibly precious. She cradles it in her hands, she brings it close to her chest, almost protectively, she keeps her eyes set on it, she is extremely careful in putting it back in the case. She takes her time with everything and if you look at the scene, you can see that from the moment she gets the Flame back to when she places it back in the case, it’s almost like it’s just Clarke and the Flame. She focuses only on that. She’s still got it, she can still hold on to it, to Lexa. And it’s a thin consolation, yes. It’s probably more painful than relieving, because the Flame is at the end of the day a reminder that Lexa is dead and Clarke lost her. 

Clarke is grieving and she should be allowed to go through every stage of her grief, but unfortunately, that is not the case with her. Everything she is feeling is written on her face, every unresolved, painful emotion tied to Lexa’s death. But the moment is gone, and with one last look, she collects herself as best as she can and she goes back to her mission. (x)

To me, this is one of the things that make this entire scene even more devastating. We get a glimpse at the enormity of the pain that Clarke is feeling, we see every visceral emotion she is hiding behind her mask of stoicism, but she isn’t allowed to properly deal with it, and thus, to heal.

Anyway, I made myself sad. To cut it short, the main point of all this is that Clarke loved Lexa immensely and this scene proves it.

anonymous asked:

I need the story of the Underground Shakespearian Ring

Okay, so the school I went to for 9th grade had this really bizarre grading setup that I still don’t understand- for some reason, instead of the teachers writing up and grading tests and exams and the like, all the work was sent to an unknown third party for them to grade??? It made no sense.

Now, for the most part, the school had decent teachers, and they would just teach the curriculum correctly and then you wouldn’t run into problems with the grading. My English teacher was not one of those teachers.

So like, she hated me pretty early on- she was my homeroom teacher and thought it was disrespectful that I slept in homeroom in the mornings (I was on sleeping pills and they never wore off completely until around 10am), I never had the vocab homework in on time (someone kept breaking into my locker and stealing my vocab books I had to buy a new one like five times), she thought it was “inherently pessimistic and stuck up” when she caught me reading a book called ‘Ninth Grade Slays’ (it was about vampires, not her?), and during our Greek Mythology unit I kept correcting her about the name pronunciations of the gods (she pronounced Hephaestus as Hepatitis one time holy shit). 

Anyway, her feelings on me aside, her teaching skills were shoddy at best. But I had had way worse teachers, so had the rest of the class, and Greek myths are pretty straight-up in what’s going on, so no one really had trouble with the third-party tests.

Then we get to the Romeo and Juliet unit.

Now, fun fact: Shakespeare has always come pretty easily to me. Like, to the point where I sometimes forget/fail to understand that other people have an incredibly hard time translating his works. (I told this whole story to my friends in the school I went to for 10th/11th/12th grade and when the drama department put on ‘Midsummers Night Dream’ one year, more than half the cast tried to get me to translate their scripts and monologues for them lmao).

So, anyway, I’m just a girl, reading Romeo and Juliet and digging how it’s going…and then the teacher starts ‘translating’ it.

Um.

I cannot sift through all the bullshit this woman was spewing, but let’s just say that my favorite part is during Romeo’s spew about Rosaline, there’s one part where he says something like ‘with cupid’s arrow/she hath diane’s will’, and the teacher was taking this to mean Rosaline was a Super Lesbian who was breaking the law or something and running away with her lover Diane, which would be a rad storyline, sure, but like…I’m just raising my hand like “Um Ma’am, Diana is the Roman goddess of chastity. What Romeo meant is that she told him she’s sworn off love and is probably becoming a nun?” and this woman just got. So angry. Like, excuse me, you are a student, you’re here to learn, so you clearly don’t know anything about this (I read Romeo and Juliet for the first time in like preschool whoops). Anyway, she continues on making up her own plot to the play, and I…well I was basically Hermione Fucking Granger at this point I couldn’t just sit there and listen to someone be this wrong about something omfg??? She just got angrier and angrier and stopped calling on me after a while.

So for a couple lessons I’m just left to seethe quietly, but one day after class this girl I knew since grade school came up to me and was like “Could you…? Tell me what the hell we’re supposed to be learning?” and I didn’t even like her but I liked the validation of being someone’s Chosen Teacher so I wrote out a summary for her of everything we had covered so far so she could actually write a comprehendible essay for our homework that night.

But THEN the during the class when we got our essays back, she made a HUGE DEAL, like ‘oh Molly, it wasn’t bad enough that you’ve been failing this course material, now you have to drag your friends into it by trying to re-write the play?’ (l m a o). Like this bitch had literally tried to fight me on ‘Paris is the guy Juliet’s father wants her to marry’ and she didn’t even put a grade on my essay where I said the play only ended in tragedy because of how young and naïve the kids were, that if they had taken a breather and thought things through it probably would’ve been fine (it was a damn good essay and I stand by it). But anyway, she’s trying to make me out to my classmate’s as someone who’s trying to sabotage their education for laughs.

This backfired on her.

See, it dawned on people one by one, that she was only teaching the wrong material -> so they wouldn’t know the right material -> so when they eventually would take the exams they would only have her crazy answers -> which the third party graders wouldn’t know about -> everyone fails this course that’s like half the overall grade of the year.

Most students consider that a problem.

So suddenly the class has decided I’m the fucking Shakespeare Whisperer or something, and one by one start begging me for help. At first I was confused, because as I said, it’s so easy for me that I didn’t realize literally the entire class was lost out of their asses here. omfg. So I was really getting hassled here but I didn’t want my entire class to fail you know???? So I started meeting with people during study halls or texting them after school so they knew what was going on. And then they started telling people in this teacher’s other classes, including upperclassmen who were lost as fuck, so this was quickly spiraling out of control on my end, but overall people were really starting to understand the plays better!! So I was feeling really great.

But then, the teacher noticed that none of the homework getting handed in to her matched up with her crazy translations, and knew I was the sole person to blame (naturally). She literally tried to get me suspended over this, she went to the school’s disciplinarian!

Note: This guy, Mr. C, knew I was a God damn angel- my science class was off the charts, inappropriately awful, so every time one of our science teacher’s wanted to give the entire class detention, instead of calling Mr. C up to the class room as was the rule, they’d send me down to get him so he’d know to write up every student except for me. So when my English teacher dragged me in there he was looking her like “What on Earth could this girl have possibly done to piss you off?” 😂😂

And when she explained he looked at her for a very long moment, glanced at me with a signature ‘Office’ Reaction Face™ , turned back to her and was like “You want her suspended…for starting a study group?” and I was CHOKING.

So that really pissed her off and they started fighting and this was a very overworked and Done man so at some point he gave up and was like “I’m not suspending her but fine we can put a ban on the study group if you leave my office” omfg. So all the other students get notified and now they’re back to freaking out about the upcoming exams.

So like two days later, I’m at lunch, complaining about this to one of my friends who had a different English teacher and thus no problem, and I’m on this whole angry rant (Because I’m pissed, a bunch of kid’s grades are gonna get fucked up because of this! They just wanted to do well! I just wanted to help them!) and my friends staring at me quietly the whole time and when I finish I’m like “What?” and she’s just like “…Molly did you literally start up Dumbledore’s Army in our fucking school?” and I died on scene.

But then I started thinking about the comparison and I was like? You know fucking what? If Harry Potter can get those kids to pass their fucking DADA test I can help kids pass their fucking English Exam. Bring it the fuck on, Umbridge.

So I started Spreading The Word that anyone who needs help with their Shakespeare course can still get help, we just all need to meet up once to hash out the details. After some back and forth notes and deliberations, we ended up meeting in the school library, which was hilarious for a few reasons:

1) It was directly across the hall from this teacher’s classroom.

2) It was actually a converted janitors closet, way smaller than all the other classrooms, and there were like 50 people shoved in there; Not exactly an ideal Room of Requirement

3) The library carried no Shakespeare texts, but had the entire Harry Potter series on display to see when you first walked in

But anyway, despite the fact that we were literally three feet away from her door while we were doing this, our teacher was none the wiser of the meeting. We worked out a game plan- everyone writes out bullshit essays that align with what the teacher’s expecting. After she grades those and gives them back, they get them to me- slipping them in my locker, handing it to me discreetly in the halls or in another class, what have you. I then try to power through the dizzying amount of confusion radiating out of the teacher’s mouth and onto these papers, and more or less write out better translation of what was going on in whatever scene they covered, what the highlights they needed to know were, stuff like that, and then slip it back to them in similar discreet fashion (so the teacher/disciplinarian wouldn’t see me and get suspicious ; also because I was like 15 and wanted to feel like a super cool secret agent). They would then keep my copies and use them as study guides for the upcoming exams, where they would then answer all the questions correctly, the way the third party graders would mark correctly, and pass the exams + the bullshit essays would get them high marks in the teacher’s homework grades. The teacher never caught on to what was happening, just thought her students finally started paying attention to her.

All in all, it was a complicated mess, but it fucking worked. I don’t think anyone failed their exams that year. Will I ever be cooler? No. I think I fucking peaked when I was 15.

Every Possible Past

Lars sat with his knees pulled close to his body, leaning against the rough-hewn surface of the kindergarten wall. He trailed his finger through the thin coating of dirt on the rockbed floor. He drew distracted shapes and wrote out words and names in the dirt, all of which he wiped clean and started anew, his brow furrowed.

Pad watched from behind. Unseeable, her eye flickered between Lars and the drawings in the dirt. She picked up the hem of her dress and moved to his side, sitting down with only a few inches of space between them. Lars said nothing. Pad didn’t either, for a while.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Me? Nothing,” Lars muttered. He erased a smiling sun and started anew. “Thinking.”

“…About?” Pad asked after a moment of hesitation.

“Stuff,” he answered. He picked his hand up from the dirt, seemingly lost for what to do. “Like, about this. Here.” Lars motioned to the rock walls stretching too high to measure, filtering through just enough light to see the rock dust trailing through the air, large and enveloping. “Where I’m stuck. Forever, maybe. And I’m thinking about if just…if I coulda avoided any of this if I’d just stopped being a coward sooner. That ‘stuff’.”

“Oh,” Pad answered. She stuck her own finger in the dirt, tracing squiggles. “No, you couldn’t have. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Lars blinked. “I didn’t even explain.”

“You’re concerned that your fate may have been avoided if you had helped Steven escape from Topaz sooner.” Pad added her own smiley face among the squiggles in the dirt. “Or perhaps if you had saved your blond friend on the ship when Aquamarine and Topaz descended upon you.”

Lars straightened, back against the stone wall. Then he pushed himself standing. “How do you know this stuff?”

Pad paused, her finger trailing midway through the dust. “Oh. Oh of course. My future vision is broken. It can only see the past.”

“So you can see…what, everything that happened?”

“And everything that might have happened. Like an endless tree.” She stood, and dusted herself off. “Most Sapphires can see all the possible things that might happen. I can only see the things that might have happened.”

Lars swallowed, and he stammered, and slowly he found the words. “The things that might have happened.”

“Yes.”

“So you can tell me what would have happened to me if I’d done this differently.”

“Oh, yes!”

“What would have happened if uh…what if I had helped Sadie when she needed help on the ship?”

Pad remained silent for a few seconds. A hollow wind blew through the caverns. “Ah yes, I see that vision now. You would have plummeted into the water with all the human others. And Steven would have vanished on the ship. You would have returned solemnly to your home. The next morning, you would have entered into a building with a large ring on the top.”

“The Big Donut.”

“Yes. That’s what the sign would have said.”

“What about Sadie?”

Another few seconds of silence. Pad clasped her hands together. “She would be there too. But you would not speak much with her. The disappearance of Steven would have left you both in turmoil.”

Lars wrung his hands together. “Okay… okay okay. That would have happened a couple days ago, yeah? What would be happening right now? If I was home? Where would I be?”

Pad shook her head. “Oh. I can’t see the possible presents.”

Lars licked his lips. Then he nodded. “Okay so…if I asked you tomorrow, would you be able to tell me what would have happened today? If I never left home?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I would be able to tell you that.”

“Okay. Okay then.” Lars leaned against the wall, sinking slowly down it. He patted the dusty ground beside him. “If you’ve got some time now. Then could you tell me what um—if I had gotten off that ship, and stayed home—what would I have done yesterday?”

Pad picked up the hem of her dress and dropped into the offered spot. She fell silent a few moments before her mouth opened. “You would have returned to your place of work once more—the Big Donut. And you would have spoken to Sadie. She would have been difficult to console, as would you, but you would have triumphed eventually. She would have laughed at a humorous remark you found from the internet. This would have made you proud.”

Ten years pass quickly for Gems, not so much for humans. Lars wasn’t sure how these last ten years had passed for him, slow and fast at the same time. His physical body has not changed much, though his hair has grown much longer.

Lars leaned his back against the rough stone wall, free of dust now, and he waited for Pad to appear by his side.

When she did, Lars sunk to the ground, knees against his chest, and patted the same spot as always—as he did every day—for Pad to sit.

“So…tell me about yesterday. If I had stayed home, what would have happened yesterday?” Lars asked with urgency. It was the same question he had asked every day of the last ten years, but he was anxious now. He knew what might occur.

Pad smiled. She clasped her hands together. “You would have taken Sadie out to a food place along the beach. It would have been the one she told you she loved as a small human. And you would have taken that polished and cut stone out of your pocket, in the soft black box, and you would have presented it to her. You would have lowered yourself onto one knee first, and unfurled the box, and said, ‘Sadie, would you marry me?’”

Lars’s heart pounded in his ears. He swallowed dryly, leaning in. “What would she have said?”

“She would have said ‘Of course Lars. Of course.’”

Lars let out a strained breath, a noise of relief, or perhaps disbelief. He blinked harder, and leaned back against the wall, and traced his hand through the dirt. “Oh my god… Oh my god she would have said yes. She would have said yes.”

“Yes, she would have,” Pad answered.

The noise Lars made was soft, and wet, and it echoed out. Bouncing against the vast and dark heights of the kindergarten walls, absorbed and deflected in the cold hollow shells of Gems long extracted. And then it was lost to the cavern, that isolated and dark sealed off place. Inescapable.

A hollow wind replaced it.

Lars’s hand traced the shape of a heart in the dust, and the small strained noises from his throat dried up until only tears leaked down his cheeks. His hand stopped once it trembled too hard to trace anything more.

The First Time With Jeon Jungkook

Originally posted by syeons

Genre: romance/fluff
Pairing: Jungkook/You
Length: 12203 words
Summary: This a series based on all of your first times with Jungkook from your childhood till when you both reach adult hood.

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 /PART 6


THE FIRST TIME YOU KISSED

“You tell me Y/N, do you want this?” he brushes his thumb over your cheek “Do you want to kiss me?”

Before you could ever give your response to him, reality hits the shameless boy like a train. What was he thinking when he asked you such a question? His sudden tendency to take your feelings for granted by working his moves on you, wasn’t how he ever wanted it to be. He was curious and quite greedy about having the chance to win your first kiss. Was it still like a competition for him? Was he toying with you or was he being serious?

Jungkook was your best friend and his intentions were never ill to begin with. You knew from day one, when he held your hand and decided to be your friend back then in kindergarten, that he was anything but harmful. You were well aware of the fact that he could be trusted, and all these years of friendship proved that he was a keeper. Maybe you could trust him? But what would it change? Only jungkook had the answers and decisions to take in this very moment, yet he suddenly stepped away from you

What am I doing, right now? Jungkook would suddenly ask himself as he eyed your lips up-close for the first time in his life

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Theories (Peter Quill)

Pairing: Peter Quill x OC

Warnings: None…tiny, tiny spoiler for Vol. 2

A/N: This might be complete crap, but I desperately needed to write some Quill. I hammered this out earlier this morning and just did a quick edit, no rewriting. But hopefully it’s post worthy! I think a second part is in order? xD

PART TWO HERE


Originally posted by despairingfever

The sound of bickering voices drifted back from the cockpit, making me roll my eyes. I lowered the manuscript I was flipping through.

“Will you two morons cut it out already?” I hollered. I waited a beat, but the arguing went on. Probably hadn’t even heard me. Anyways, it wasn’t my job to break up the idiotic pissing contest that went on between Rocket and anyone he met. Or at the moment, Drax.

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Trouble in Canada // 2

a/n: You all have been so patient and I know I’m a bit late (4 months late soz about that). Every single one of you have been so amazing with the support of this, and it blows my mind every time I get a notification that TiC got another note. And when I posted earlier today that I was posting it, I absolutely loved the response I got in my inbox.  It made my heart incredibly happy and with each message that came in, not gonna lie, i teared up a bit. You all have been so lovely and good sports (especially when i posted that fake TiC2 WHAT A TIME). So from the bottom of my heart, thank you for all the support. I have met some of the most incredible people through TiC and I cherish every single one of you. I feel so emotional posting this, but you all finally deserve the second part to probably the most angsty piece I have ever written (and will ever write omg).  So, please enjoy the second and final installment to Trouble in Canada :)

THANK YA TO MY LOVELY @whitechocolateperfection for reading over this and giving me confidence :) you’re the best and i love you a whole lot 

Trouble in Canada (1)  |  Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

“We need to talk,”

        Those four words held a weight so heavy that you lost your grip on your tea.  Your mug dropped to the floor, shattering in pieces and tea spilling all over the hardwood floor.  You immediately went to pick up the broken pieces.  On your knees, you picked up the shards of glass as Shawn was stood in the same exact position; not moving a single bone in his body to help you.

        Collecting all the tiny shards in your hand you swiftly moved past Shawn to go throw the pieces out in the kitchen.  You opened the trash bin, and right as you were about to throw out the broken mug, Shawn’s voice interrupted your movements, “Is that the mug I got you?  The one from our first Valentine’s day together?”

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Bearded Bucky.

Author’s Note: I’m sorry guys. I’ve got two series to continue but this man is killing me. I couldn’t stop myself from doing this so I hope you like it. Dishonour on you, Mr. Stan.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Warnings: Bearded Sebastian, 18+ (If you are a minor, go away), NSFW, Oral Sex (I mean, OF COURSE), Language, Unprotected sex (Wrap it! Use a condom!), .

Words: 2.476


You groaned as Natasha pressed her knee on your chest, sending you to the mat. Your muscles ached and you knew there would be new bruises the following day. 

Your friend looked at you from above, a smirked on her plump and perfect lips. You snored and accepted the hand she was offering you, standing up. On the other side of the room you heard the noise of objects being broken as Wanda used her powers.

You three were the only inhabitants in the Tower at that time along with Tony. He had refused to go with the rest of the time to a mission, argumenting he was too old for that. Nat had replied that maybe he should give the Iron Man suit to a younger man and he had looked daggers at her.

“If Capsicle is able to do it, I can”

“Yeah, the only difference is that even though he’s ninety-something, he looks and feels like a twenty-something young man” You had added, sipping your drink.

“Okay, you two won’t stay in my Tower anymore”

And there you were. That day Scott would bring Cassie as he had to go somewhere to a mission that you didn’t recall. It didn’t matter. The little girl loved the team. 

“So…what do you say?” Natasha started as she took her bag. “Party on Saturday?”

“Yeah, why not? Let’s have a girls’ night now they’re gone”

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The Train

Pairing: Y/N and Harry

Word Count: 4201

Prompt: Y/N walks in, and Harry notices she’s wearing yellow again, this time it’s a yellow sweater with a pair of dark skinny jeans and brown ankle boots, her hair is pulled back into a pony tail with a white scrunchie with little smiling suns and he swears that he has to squint to look at her. “Oh! I know you-you’re the guy from the train,” Y/N beams, “Harry, right?” she sets down the tray of muffins.

 “I didn’t tell you my name,” Harry snaps.

 Y/N pouts, “well yeah, but I’m also not stupid,” she says. 

“Are you joining us today Harry?” the man asked, “I’m Seth, I run the group.”

“Why else would I fucking be here,” Harry grumbled.

 Y/N grabs a muffin, ignoring Harry’s sour attitude, “here, they’re made with love,” she smiled, holding out the blueberry muffin.

 “Fuck off,” Harry says. He watches as her smile fades and the glint in her eyes seems to disappear, for a split second Harry feels like a dick, but then he realizes he doesn’t care and Y/N should just shove the muffin up her ass.


Harry was annoyed.

It really hadn’t been his day at all. His morning was terrible, he woke up next to a blonde and he tried really hard to remember her name-only to fail. When he asked her to leave she insisted on making breakfast, to which Harry responded with “feel free to grab something and leave” and then he proceeded to shower. When he got out, the unknown girl stood in his kitchen making herself a smoothie and toast. Her red lips in a pout, “come on, you can’t be in that big of a rush,” Harry ended up calling security, she was crazy.

When he went into the studio he was blank, the songs he did come in with were rejected and he couldn’t find the energy or muse to write another one. He was out of inspiration, nothing amused Harry anymore. He found himself not enjoying the things he used to love, drinks seemed to be the only thing that made him feel something (and it was only for a little bit). He didn’t enjoy being surrounded by his friends and family, his love for writing was slipping through the cracks, and his energy was fading.

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Of Hidden Talents (Feysand Fluff)

So this just popped into my head last night when I couldn’t sleep. Set post-ACOWAR and contains nothing but fluff.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Feyre found herself commenting, smiling slightly as she tried not to groan in pleasure under Rhys’ hands.

He chuckled from where he was seated behind her, the sound sending a thrill through her spine, even decades into their relationship. “I should hope so; I have to keep my High Lady entertained somehow. Wouldn’t want her eternity to get boring.”

“Boring? How could I ever get bored with a mate who thinks so much of himself?” She shot back, though its effect was lost when she leaned further into him, her hands running over the legs that were on either side of her. She could feel the delicious heat of his bare chest so close behind her, the thin nightdress she was wearing a poor barrier between them. 

Rhys’ fingers continued to comb through her hair, expertly separating it into three equal parts. “I take offense to that.”

Feyre let out an aborted snort. “No, you don’t.” 

“No, I don’t,” Rhys agreed, in a blithe voice.

They fell into a comfortable silence then, built on years of learning how to just be together. Neither of them felt the need to always fill the air between them with pointless chatter. Oh, they liked to joke and bicker… but they also knew when to let words fade away and just enjoy each other’s company.

It had been happening more of late, likely because Rhys had refused to leave Feyre’s side for the past few months. He was a constant presence at her side, though he did his best not to hover too much (he knew all too well how she loathed feeling locked in, how it still made her bones lock up in fear, even after all this time). He needn’t have worried; Feyre never, never felt tied down by her mate, never felt confined by him. She knew that even now, when he was so concerned about her, he would give her space if she asked.

(He’d once told her, in a fit of hopeless romanticism, that he would give her the very stars above Velaris if he could. Feyre had believed him, of course, if only because she said she would do the same for him.)

So Feyre was quiet, letting Rhys gently braid her hair as if he’d done it hundreds of times before. She’d been utterly surprised when he’d offered to do it for her earlier, after he’d heard her curse in front of the mirror while she struggled with trying to tame her wild locks into something more manageable. Feyre was so tired these days and sore too, the heavier she got. And she was constantly hot then cold, her hair always in the way and, Cauldron, she didn’t care for it much now and all the work it took to keep it neat, not when she was already so uncomfortable. She’d been beyond tempted to just chop it all off, had Rhys not stepped in when he did with his innocuous offer.

At first she tried to deny the existence of a problem but she really couldn’t hide anything from Rhys; he knew her too well, felt her struggles through their mating bond and tried to ease her discomfort as much as he could. (Rightly so, Feyre sometimes thought when she particularly annoyed with how limited she was lately, considering he’s the one that put me into this situation in the first place.) 

So here they were, Rhys’s gentle hands working wonders on Feyre’s nerves, his fingers softly tugging at her hair as he built the braid into something spectacular; Feyre herself was usually no slouch when it came her hair (at least when she wasn’t so cranky), but she had the feeling that Rhys was even better. So many hidden talents, this mate of mine.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” she finally asked, curiosity getting the better of her. She’d felt his hesitancy when he first offered, that pang of grief that he’d been unable to conceal from her.

“My sister,” Rhys said after a long pause. His voice had lost that light-hearted edge from earlier, filled instead with wistful regret. “She’d come to me when our mother was too busy for it. She could have asked the servants, of course… but she liked to spend a few moments with me, I think. She continued to ask even long after she could do it by herself. I never had the heart to say no.” 

Feyre’s own heart ached for her mate, for the family he’d lost so long ago. He rarely spoke of the little sister she’d never meet, even less so than his mother. From what she’d gleaned over the years, his sister had been quite a bit younger than him, had looked up to him in a way no one else ever had. Feyre couldn’t even imagine what it had been like for him to have to bury her broken body.

She rubbed her thumbs comfortingly over the sides of his knees. I’m sorry, she sent softly to him through their bond. I’m sorry

Rhys’ mind caressed hers. Me too.

Feyre kept running her hands soothingly over him, tempted to turn around and pull him to her, wrap her arms around those broad shoulders of his. She didn’t though; the act of braiding seemed to calm him… like coming home to something he’d thought he’d long forgotten. (Still, she wished she could protect him from all the pain he endured… but that same pain had made him into the wonderful male he was today.) 

When he was finally done, she saw his finished work briefly through his eyes, the image flashing through her mind.

“It’s beautiful,” Feyre said with a smile, reaching up to run her fingers over the intricate pattern he’d managed to weave her hair into. “Thank you.”

Rhys’ strong arms around wrapped around her body, finally pulling her back to rest against his chest. “I figured it was about time I got some practice,” he whispered in her ear as he moved one hand to cover her rounded belly. “I wouldn’t want our poor daughter to be left with an inept father.”

Feyre tangled her fingers with Rhys’, holding them over her stomach, where their unborn baby was slowly growing. “You could never be an inept father, Rhys,” she told him softly. Rhys only pressed kiss under her jaw in response, though she could feel his quiet gratitude for her faith in him. “Besides, how do you know it’ll be a girl?” Feyre continued, turning her head so she could arch an eyebrow at him.

Mischief lit his violet eyes. “Perhaps I asked Elain.”

Feyre leveled a look at him. “Elain would never tell you, even if she knew.” Her sister had become quite the responsible seer over the years, never revealing more than was necessary. (Well, that and Feyre had wanted it to be a surprise, telling Elain in no uncertain terms not to let Rhys charm the answer out of her.)

“Then let’s call it a father’s intuition,” Rhys replied now, unable to stop his grin.

Feyre laughed, leaning her head against the edge of his jaw. “She’s going to have you wrapped around her little finger, isn’t she?” 

“Of course,” he kissed her forehead, his happiness a near tangible thing. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Feyre could only cuddle in closer. She looked at where their joined hands were resting on her belly. Don’t worry, baby, she thought, we love you already, no what you turn out to be.

(A few years later, when their daughter runs up to Feyre, her hair braided in a crown around her head, little flowers carefully tucked in the midnight blue strands, she doesn’t need to ask who did it. Rhys’ proud smile is answer enough.)

thegirlwhocriesice  asked:

Au where Lance really can't stand his real last name. So he faked paper for the grasion with last name McLain?

I’m so sorry for the lateness of this! This prompt was given to me a long, long time ago and I just only got the um…inspiration to write this? I’m so sorry!

A little bit crossover to KHR since I made this into a MafiaAU of sorts. Note that most or all the things mentioned here (aside from the names they are not mine) are purely from my imagination and should not be taken with any ounce of seriousness.


Lance loved his family with all his heart, never question him about this or you will find yourself with a bullet stuck to any part of your body. What he didn’t appreciate was the part of the society he was born in. more specifically, the dark part of the society he was born in.

The Salazar Family was one of the best known Mafia family in the underworld. Who would not heard of them when they were one of the allies of the strongest Mafia, the Vongola? Being allied with the Vongola also meant that they were associates with the Chiavarone, Simon, Giglio Nero, and Millefiore just to name some of the big names. There was never a peaceful day for Lance for everyday was either spent on training or learning the ways of the world and how to survive in it.

The only lucky thing that Lance could consider was that he was not the eldest, thus exempting him from being the next heir for the family. It was unfair to be happy about this, especially that it was his reluctant older brother who got stuck in that position, but the part that wanted to be free weighed more in Lance’s heart. So at the age of 16th, Lance made a proposition and have the full support of the Vongola Decimo. The Salazar’s Don was a bit reluctant to agree in erasing Lance’s existence in the Mafia world (and that Lance was one of their best strategists) but just one look in his son’s eyes, one full of hope and passion in achieving his dreams, the Don gave his blessings also.

So Lance Salazar, third son of Don Salazar, became Lance McClain, an ordinary boy living with an ordinary family.

Forging documents and family background was just a piece of cake in the underworld and in no time, Lance was already attending the Garrison where he hoped his dreams to be a pilot as an ordinary guy would come true.

Of course there were times where his Mafia side got to the surface and times where he wished he could just contact the family and disposed someone for him. But because he ‘cut all his ties’ with the Mafia it also meant that he had no right to contact them anymore (though sometimes one or two men of his father will come to check up on him.). Why did he want to hire a hitman to eliminate someone? Well, there was this guy called Iverson who seemed to make it his life goal to make Lance’s life as miserable as possible. Always pointing out his flaws and implying that all the documents proving his intelligence were all fake/forge.

He could easily kill Iverson now that he thought about it. He was trained to do such things after all ever since he learned how to do complex Math and covering up the evidences was like slicing an apple with a sharp knife. But then the reason he left the world he was initially born in was to escape all the bloodshed. Only heaven knows how much of those bloods were caused by him even if most of them were all in the act of self-defense.

So he tried his best not to let those words of depreciation got stuck in his head (but most time he believed some of it.)

Then the next impulse to hire a hitman was when Lance started to get compared to a genius student named Keith.

Out of curiosity, Lance checked out this Keith guy. Yeah, he was an awesome pilot and combat but that was the only things that Keith was good at, at least that was how Lance saw it. He was never good at socializing and could not really hide his intention despite having a poker face. Keith would be a dead guy if left alone in the underworld.

Lance wanted to show how smart he was but Iverson already put a lot of bad words in his name resulting for no one to take him seriously. If he did something jaw dropping then majority would just accuse him of cheating because ‘hey, this is Lance! No way he did all of that in his own!’.  Being called as Keith’s replacement was not the most flattering words his ears could hear also.

Being caught in an intergalactic war and stuck in a castle with three and a half humans (Keith was half-Galra after all), two Alteans, space mice, and five sentient robotic lions was just like being trapped inside the Mafia world all over again.

Physical training, strategy making, forming alliances, Lance was tempted to call Voltron as space Mafia. He didn’t know if it already registered in the mind of others but they now have blood in their hands. It didn’t matter if it was an enemy they were killing. Life was life and they were not different to other soldiers of war.

Great, now Lance has human blood and alien blood staining his hands.

He thought about this every day.

Until one day, a sudden fact entered Lance’s mind that ended up with him laughing hysterically during breakfast. Everyone was looking at him like he had lost his mind (he probably had a long time ago).

“Lance, buddy, are you okay?” Hunk was about half way from standing up before Lance waved at him to indicate that he was fine.

“Don’t worry, Hunk. I just…pft! Ahahaha!”

Now Shiro was the one with worry creeping on his face. Was Lance having a breakdown? Was the war they were suddenly thrust in now taking its toll in their Blue Paladin’s mind?

“Lance, I need you to take deep breathes and talk to us.” It was hard but Shiro needed to ensure the health of his teammates even if he was being a hypocrite right now.

“Nah, I’m fine, Shiro. I just remembered something.”

“And that is…?” Lance didn’t know who asked that but he happily answered.

“Iverson is dead meat. Actually, he will be lucky if they will allow him to have a quick death. But knowing my family, I am sure they will torture him first.” Lance resumed eating his breakfast with a bright smile and as if he didn’t said something deeply disturbing.

“Wait, what?” Keith narrowed his eyes, “What do you mean by that.”

“Mullet boy, never cross my family.” That was the only answer Lance gave and it did not satisfy the curiosity of his teammates.

Sure, Lance was not a Salazar anymore and that his surname was now McClain. It didn’t mean though that he was already cast out by those he shared with the same flesh and blood.

After all, blood was thicker than water most of the time.


I don’t really know if I did the prompt some justice (>_<)

Langst Mini Fics

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Tease (M)

Originally posted by louizlake

Summary: Your best friend had gotten a new job, but wouldn’t tell you what it was. You decide to take it upon yourself to find out, so you find the address to his work. But… why did the address lead you to a strip club? 

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Smut (M)

A/N: This will most likely be a two-shot (if enough ppl want it), so you could expect the real smuttiness to occur in the next part ;) Anywho, there is brief mentions of arousal, lewd actions, and strip teases in this chapter. This will be a mature read, so you have been warned! 



“This can’t be right…” you exasperate in confusion.

You look at the small entrance to the building, scratching your head. The place looked as if it was some type of club, as you could hear the loud music shaking the ground, even from where you were standing. There was a line up to get in, and you couldn’t help but notice that the majority of the people waiting, were females.

There’s no way Jimin would work here, he doesn’t even like clubs… you think in your head.

The reason you were out here by yourself at 11pm at night, was because you found out Jimin recently got a job. He would start buying more expensive clothing, and offer to pay more for you whenever you two went out. Obviously he was making some nice cash, so when you asked him about it; he completely ignored you.

You two have been best friends and roommates since freshman year in college, and now you both were in your third year. Jimin typically hid no secrets from you, as he was a very open and relaxed person. So when he purposely didn’t tell you where he was working, that made you highly suspicious.

Keep reading

The Friendly Wager (Part 1)

Summary: AU. Reader and Bucky Barnes are neighbors and best friends. After yet another bad date, reader comes home to find Bucky with his typical weekend target. They decide to make a wager about dating, but is there more on the line than reader cares to admit?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,528

Warnings: language, fluff, sarcasm, bad date, implied sexual situations (no smut)

A/N: This is my submission for the lovely Kait’s ( @bionic-buckyb) 5k AU Challenge. Congrats on the followers, friend! My prompt was “Can you please come over so I don’t feel so alone?” I think this will have at least seven parts, so Kait, please feel free to disregard it till it’s completed :)

Part 1 - 2

Originally posted by talkinboutmyimagination

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Bodyguard || Jeon Jungkook

Originally posted by chimneytaels

AN: This entire imagine Jungkook is called Jeon, just so nobody gets confused

Word Count: 2.3k

Genre: Angst


Your arms were crossed over your chest as you stared the man across the room down. His eyes were focused anywhere but you, not because he was shy or embarrassed to be around you, but because he didn’t think any of it would be worth his time. The only thing you were to him was another paycheck, and as long as the bills were paid, he had no reason to complain.

On the other hand, you had every right. Ever since your father had hired the Jeon man to watch over you, your life had come to a halt. You were used to going out late at night and partying with strangers, but with him looking after you, you barely got out of the house without a follower. No matter where you went, he was there following after you.

The reason for the meeting now, one between your father and the Jeon man, was because of your latest escape attempts. Jeon had gone to lay down, thinking you had taken a nap and he had let his guard down. You left within seconds of him falling asleep and you thought that you had finally out smarted him, that you were finally going to be able to have a night to yourself.

Keep reading

The Dress

Hey guys! This is an imagine about the reader doing her best to tease her friend, Tom, because she’s unsure of his feelings for her, in a really hot dress. I’m not even going to lie to you, this story is pure smut? The middle is soft and sweet, but everything else is ?porn? I hope you like it!

The Dress

She and Tom had been ambling through the various art exhibits at her city’s center since before ten A.M., and after they were invited to a lavish restaurant with a group of their friends, she insisted that she change her clothes. From a simple, floral sundress, she slipped into something a little more uncomfortable while Tom waited in her living room, doing his best to keep his integrity and not to sneak a peek. Truth be told, he thought that she looked beyond fine in her sundress. The back dipped low and he could tell that she didn’t have a bra on, plus the flowing fabric of the dress shifted around as she walked and Tom enjoyed flashes of her smooth legs. She looked sweet and innocent, and there was something absolutely perverse in Tom that just wanted to mess it up. Alas, they had chosen to take it slow, so take it slow he tried.

    As soon as they had met, Tom knew that she was the only girl for him, but as of then, she wanted to focus solely on her education. He understood, of course, seeing as her schooling was on the same level of importance as his acting, and he didn’t want to disturb her. He couldn’t bare to be without her once he had began to know her, so he settled for being her friend, but he was positive that it was slowly killing him.

    She was the most kind-hearted person that he had ever come across, always doing what was needed to help others. Beyond that, he’s made the mistake of accompanying her on her trip across town to babysit her cousin’s children where he discovered that she was also the most nurturing soul out there. During their stay at her cousin’s home, he had watched as she simplified Philip Roth’s, ‘A Defender of the Faith,’ into terms so easily understood that four year olds could pick apart the intended theme. Beyond that, she answered all of their questions, even the ones that had him snorting under his breath, with complete respect and sincerity. It was right then that he could feel himself drifting into the haze love with her.

    He felt his heart warm towards her again when they went out for dessert and she took a bite of her sundae, eyes blissfully shut as her lips closed over the chilled spoon. As soon as her lashes fluttered open, she offered Tom the next bite. Ever since then, sharing had been their thing and it was hurling him into love with her.

    She wore his clothes, always giving them back smelling of her perfume. He borrowed her favorite books, films, and favorite places in the city to hide out and be alone. Time and time again, when he was in immediate need of a vehicle and couldn’t find one to rent fast enough, she had handed over her car keys without a second thought. Tom smiled as he waited for her to get dressed, fiddling with the ginormous copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories, a personal favorite of theirs to read.

In her room, she stood between two options. One dress was wholesome and cute, a typical outfit of hers, and the other was daring, sultry and, for lack of a better word, tiny. She hopelessly coveted Tom’s affection, but she was unsure of how to obtain it. Sure they had flirted from time to time, but she wanted to make him want her indefinitely, and if the dress would help her accomplish that, than so be it. He was all that was in her heart and all she wanted to do was to immerse him in love. Her best friend had encouraged her to purchase the dress for this very reason, and she refused to let something so pretty rot in the back of her closet. Slipping on some high heels and adding another coat of mascara, she exited her room.

“Are you ready, my love?” Tom called as he listened for the sound of heels clicking against her wood floors. He turned around and saw her before she could respond.

    She looked so lusciously risque that Tom couldn’t even form an eloquent thought in his brain. In the crest if the hallway, she stood in front of him wearing a dress so small and delicate that Tom was certainly convinced he could tear off her body using only his teeth, and sweet heavens, oh how he wanted to.

    “Holy mother of fucking hell,” Tom hissed through gritted teeth, “you’re going to fucking kill me, babydoll.”

    Truth be told, her dress had been located in the lingerie section of the store, but after sending photos of the dress to practically every contact in her phone, despite Tom, she decided it was approved nightwear. People wore less and got away with it all the time, she thought.

She was dressed in a soft, blush-toned, silk nightie that barely reached the top of her thighs. The straps were made of lace and the front dipped low so low that if she were to bend down to touch the floor, the dress would move to reveal her bellybutton. Her back was exposed, seeing as the nightie was backless and she’d made sure to get the next size up so it would be just baggy enough to show a little side-boob. The heels she wore were tall and nude, and they elongated her legs so well that they looked endless.

“Ready?” She chirped, making a show of swinging her hips as she walked past Tom, eager to unveil her dress’s scandalous lack of backing. She heard him mumble unintelligible curses once more.

“You, are you, wearing, you’re going to wear that out?” Tom asked as he locked the door, realizing that there was absolutely no way that he was going to make it through dinner with her when she was practically naked in front of him. He knew it was not his place, or anyone’s place, to dictate what she wore, but he was seriously concerned for his sanity at this point. He was either going to need to leave early or masturbate in the bathroom.

She cocked her head to the side to gaze up at him through her lower lashes, “yes, Tom,” she said, placing her hands on his chest, “why wouldn’t I? Don’t you like it?” She knew full well that she was laying it on thick, but she was determined to break him down.

He swallowed thickly. She was looking at him how he always imagined she’d look at him in bed. Her eyes were glossed over, she rolled her lower lip beneath her teeth, her chest moved rapidly up and down, she smelled like freshly picked daisies and Tom knew he was so beyond fucked. Was she doing this to him on purpose?

“I just don’t want you to be cold is all,” he stuttered out, which was true, but not his only unease about her napkin of a dress.

She’d thought this out as well. It had come to her understanding that Tom liked to see her in his clothes, so she smiled up at him, leaning even closer if humanly possibly and with her lips pressed an inch away from the base of his throat, uttered, “could I borrow your jacket? I don’t have one that’ll go with my outfit, but I really like yours.”

Tom coughed, “yeah, of course you can, sweet girl,” before removing his jean jacket and draping it across her shoulders, praying that she would at least button it up.

Curling her arms around Tom in a hug, she whispered words of thanks and left his coat perched gently atop her shoulder blades. She turned and began to make her way down the apartment complex’s hallway, not waiting for Tom to catch up.

“I’m going to die,” he mumbled before readjusting his jeans and hurrying after her.

On the walk there, she had teased him like no other, and Tom was becoming not only extremely hot, but very bothered.

First, she’d paused and asked him if he could check to see if her buckle on her heels was broken. She had rationed that she would do it herself, but her dress was too short. Once he’d knelt down, she’d shifted so that her leg was lifted almost over his shoulder and ruffled her hands through his hair, claiming that she needed to steady herself so she didn’t fall. She let out at airy groan as soon as his hand curled over her ankle to hold her still, brushing off his raised eyebrows as her just being sleepy. Tom had gotten a clear look at the white, lace panties she was wearing by accident, but he suspected she had done moved just so he would see.

Then, she had asked him if he could hold her phone for her, seeing as she had forgotten her bag. When Tom said that he could, she ignored his outstretched palm and slipped her phone directly into his jean pocket herself. Frankly, Tom was getting a little pissed off.

To make matters worse, when they rode up in the elevator together to reach the restaurant, they’d unluckily gotten stuck on the busiest ride. When he crowded into the corner, she had made sure to rub her bum against the bulge in his jeans the entire way up, apologizing when they got to their floor, telling him that she was just too close to the man in front of her. At this point, Tom knew better. He didn’t know what she was playing at, but he was going to demand to be informed as soon as they were alone.

He’d just have to make it through dinner.

    However, Tom couldn’t even make it through the appetizers before he demanded to speak with her alone. Their friends had taken notice to her attire immediately after she took off his coat because it was so different than what she normally wore and had teased the pair throughout the entirety of their time together.

    Everyone was well aware of their feelings for one another, and did their best to mush them together as often as possible. Due to their party being so large, she was practically sat on Tom’s lap and she offered him food straight from her fork, which wasn’t unusual for them, it just felt different tonight. There was nowhere Tom could put his hands without touching her bare skin and he’d just about lost his mind.

    Securing a firm hand around her waist, Tom yanked her back roughly against his chest, “we’re going out outside right now.” They were sat so close together that Tom could hear her heart beat faster.

    “Why?” She asked, her brow furrowing.

    Tom stood, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her away from their meal, “are you honestly asking me why?” He scoffed, grumbling out a half-assed lie about where and the reason that they needed to leave. Tom was all too prepared to endure the taunts from their friends, he didn’t care anymore.

    He led her through the sea of people, pushing past without a single ‘excuse me.’ Tom knew that he was being a dick but he didn’t have it in him to care. If she wanted to make it her mission to provoke him, as she clearly had, Tom was sure as hell going to let her know that she succeeded.

    As soon as they were far enough away from the crowd to not be overheard, he whipped around and exclaimed, “what the fuck is this about? Have I done something to you? Have you lost your mind?” Tom began to pace up and in front of her, “like I know you must realize what you’re doing to me?”

    All of her bashfulness returned. Teasing Tom all day had honestly worked her up too. He made her feel so wanted, and thoughts of him touching her and her touching him had wormed their way into her mind throughout their evening. She’d never thought that he would confront her about her actions, and now that he was, and he looked so good doing it, she didn’t know what to do with herself.

    “What do you mean?” She asked, focusing on the uneven sidewalk rather than to meet Tom’s gaze.

    Sighting a cramped corridor near behind a closed shop, Tom took ahold of her hand and dragged her into the corridor’s cover. Now, they wouldn’t be seen by anyone as long as they were quiet.

    He breathing hard and he knew he was pressed into her and she could feel his hardness poking against her leg. “Darling, don’t you dare play like that. I swear I’ll lose my mind,” he raked a hand through his hair, “well, more than I already have.”

    She gnawed on the inside of her cheek, knowing that as of right now, she could either be brave and possibly turn their friendship into something much larger, or she could apologize and have things stay the same. Harrison had mentioned that Tom had feelings for her right after they’d met, so she prayed that he still did.

    She fluttered her long eyelashes and stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. “Do you want me?” She asked, doing her best to make her voice as sultry as she could.

    Tom was hesitant to move from her touch. She smelled like freshly picked flowers, he could feel her breasts rise and fall with her intake of breath, and she was looking up at him through her lashes with parted lips and it was too much for him to handle. “What do you mean?”

    Her next sentence was almost impossible for her to choke out. She was losing her confidence, did he really not know what she meant or was he playing dumb to avoid hurting her feelings? “Do you wanna kiss me?” She averted her eyes before quickly adding, “it’s okay if you don’t.”

    “Sweetheart,” Tom started and she stumbled away from him, not even waiting to hear what he had to say.

    “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” She stuttered, ignoring his pleas for her to come back to him. She couldn’t believe that she had just spent the entire night humiliating herself.

    Tom jogged down the street after her, thanking the universe that the heels she wore were so high that she couldn’t really move too quickly without falling over. He curled a soft hand around her arm, pulling her back into his chest.

    “You didn’t stop and listen to me,” Tom chided, before wrapping another arm around her to keep her in place. “What I was going to ask you is where this is all coming from? You said you didn’t want anything other than friendship, and I don’t want this to be just a one night thing. You mean too much to me for that. I’m just confused is all.”

    “I wanna be with you, Tom, isn’t that obvious? I really like you, and I just thought that if you didn’t like me, maybe this would help?” Her eyes were tearing, her brain was melting and her hands shook. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but him.

    Tom let out a belly laugh, “what are you talking about? Of course I like you, I’ve been telling my mum for months that I love you! This is ridiculous, you didn’t need to do all this!” Tom exclaimed, his words not registering in his mind until a soft ‘oh’ fell from her lips.

    “Can, could, you, do you want to say that again?” She stammered, covering his lips tenderly with her own before Tom even had a chance to respond. Breaking away almost as soon as she started, she took his cheeks in her palms and whispered, “I love you.”

    Everything was happening so rapidly, and Tom firmly grasped her waist and pulled her in to kiss him. They made-out so furiously on the sidewalk that they got numerous honks and catcalls from passing cars and bikers alike.

    Tom groaned into her mouth when her body brushed up against the hardness constricted by his black jeans. “I love you and I wanted our first kiss to be romantic, but I swear to god darling, if we keep at this, I’m going to ruin these pants.”

    She kissed the corner of his mouth before taking his hand and pulling him behind the corridor Tom had found a few minutes before. As soon as the corridor’s pillars provided them coverage, she sank to her knees in front of Tom. “I’ve never done this before, so you’re going to have to teach me.”

    “No, no, I didn’t mean that you had to do this, not if you don’t want to,” Tom said, urging her to get up as the image of her on her knees for him made his jeans even tighter, if that was even possible anymore. He couldn’t imagine her doing it to him here, well he could, but he didn’t want her to feel obligated to suck him off before she was ready, especially seeing as this was her first time.

    “Tom,” she said, without budging, “I want to. I think about it all the time.”

    He cursed again, the thought of her getting off to thoughts of him was almost too much. Tom palmed himself through his jeans.

    “Just tell me how you want me,” She said, her voice sounding as Tom imagined silk would feel against his skin.

    “Fuck,” he mumbled, “you’re sure? If you wanna stop, just say so and I’ll be okay with it.” Tom bent down to kiss her, already planning to reciprocate back at her apartment. “I’m not going to last long because you’ve been prancing around nearly naked all night long.”

    A blush spread across her cheeks as she began to undo his jeans.

    Tom moaned as soon as she touched him, and he moaned even louder when the warmth of her mouth slid down his length. “Fucking hell, baby,” he rasped out, begining to instruct her on how to take him.

    After about ten minutes, he was done. He was struggling to still his hips and his hands had tangled themselves into her shiny locks, and Tom knew that he was going to finish. He swore that if she gagged again, he’d blow right there.

    “You’ve done so well, sweetheart,” Tom groaned, removing a hand from her hair to place it on the hollows of her cheek. “Let me finish it.”

    She didn’t halt her movements but Tom could tell that she was confused. At this point, she was taking him so deep that he could feel her fluttering lashes against his skin.

    “No, darling, I’m going to cum. If you don’t wanna swallow, you need to stop.” Tom advised, not having the willpower to move away from her heavenly mouth.

    On that note, she started bobbing her head even faster, and taking Tom so far back that he was almost positive he was going to hit the back of her throat. He cursed, unable to form a coherent sentence, all he could think of her how good she felt. A moment later, he came down her throat, and she sucked him off even through that.

    When she released him from the slickness of her mouth, the first thing Tom did was bend down to kiss her swollen lips. “I fucking love you,” he groaned breathlessly.

    Her eyes closed and she drifted into the warmth of his touch, “tell me again.” And Tom did, helping her to her feet and removing the jean jacket she’d given back to him at the restaurant. Tom helped her slide it on and buttoned it up almost all the way.

    He kissed her nose, “what do you want to do, my love?”

    She beamed shyly up at him, “can we go home and do it again?”

    Tom pressed an openmouthed kiss to her neck, “oh yeah, baby, you haven’t had your turn yet.”

   


Petals - Bucky Barnes x Reader

PAIRING: Bucky x Reader

WORD COUNT: 4k+

WARNING: references people being sick A LOT

➳ A soulmate & hanahaki (The Hanahaki Disease is an illness born from one-sided love, where the patient throws up and coughs of flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love.) au

[Author’s Note: I’ve always wanted to write a soulmate au and figured seen as I’m making a new start on this new blog it’d be a great time to write one. Also I wanted the first thing I post on here to be something good and I’m content with this, it should end up being three parts but that depends on if people want more.]

The name of your soulmate appeared on your wrist when you were thirteen. You’d been overwhelmed by this uncontrollable delirium and a soft sensation passed over your wrist, like fingertips grazing your skin, and as they passed on they left the name ‘Steve Rogers’ printed in their wake.

You first met your soulmate when you were twenty four, it had felt like an eternity really but in the end it seemed to become worthy of all those years, years full of staring at the name ‘Steve Rogers’ on your wrist, tracing the bumpy letters on your wrist and revelling in the way your heart would stutter every now and again at the thought of him. Never did you think that the Steve Rogers on your wrist would be the Captain America though.

And you were twenty five when you found out that you weren’t his soulmate. The memory of that day was fresh and clear, it was early December and you were sat in your freezing cold studio apartment looking through pictures of Steve and your other friends. There was a smile on your face that didn’t match the unrelenting coldness of the month that had already begun to settle, and even though the night was falling and the air felt icy on the tips of your fingers, there was only warmth filling your chest as you went through the pictures. Pictures of you and Steve out on walks, making funny faces, the memories of convincing him to take the pictures were what had you smiling the most.

You loved him. You loved Steve Rogers so much that one look at his toothy smile had you soaring up in the heavens, bliss being the only thought you have, that and how much you love Steve Rogers. But the thing about love is that it’s very fickle, working in funny ways. On one hand it can be a beautiful and thrilling thing, but then on the other it can also be inhumane, barbarous, mercilessly slicing apart hearts with an already blood stained sword so sharp it doesn’t even let you take a second breath before all the air leaves your lungs. And that edged sword got to you on that particular night, being as unforgiving as expected.

Pain had suddenly spread to your limbs, causing you to throw down your phone onto the floor which still showed the nicest picture of you and Steve, you staring at him smiling and him looking back for once, you looked down at the name written on your wrist in letters shaped much like how you would write them. Every other time you’ve looked at that name you felt only elation, but on that day there was only stinging dread passing through the underneath of your skin until it reached your stomach and began to swirl strangely.

That’s when you noticed it, the discoloration of the words, the solid black beginning to fade. “Why is it- why is it red?” You croaked out, rubbing at the letters but quickly giving up and pressing your hand against the your aching belly.

Steve’s face was still clear in your mind - bright smile, smooth blond hair that he styled to what he liked rather than what the 20th century would want, timid blue eyes, playful lips that hid behind them plenty of sarcastic comments - it was all so incredibly painful and you were in love, so in love.

That was the first night you threw up flower petals.

After it happened all you could do was stare at your lap with confusion, throat tight as you observed the vivid petals that were now scattered around your figure on top of your bed. Picking one of the petals up, you got a closer look at them, finger tips caressing the petals smoothness. You quietly wished that the petals beauty didn’t have to be associated with the same despair that was burning your lungs and causing your hands to shake restlessly.

They were carnation petals. Radiant and soft, filled with all the love that was never destined to fill your heart. Because Steve wasn’t yours. It turned out that he was never meant to be yours.

***

Three years later and you’d finally learnt why your soulmate’s name had turned red, it was because of a rather charming lady named Sharon Carter. You had no reason to hate her at all, and yet during hers and Steve’s engagement party you couldn’t bare to look in her direction.

You’d stayed by Steve’s side for most of the night, your connection to him making it almost impossible for you to refuse the impulsive desire to be in his proximity at all times. There was so much about him that you desired; the way he always smelt like a cabin in the woods, the way his smile was so familiar to you after years of staring at it, making traces in your mind so that when you weren’t near him you could imagine up the perfect replica, your mood instantly brightened by the image.

“Fate did it again,” Sam Wilson began to cheer, raising his glass up after finishing the speech that you’d easily ignored, not desiring to hear the story of your soulmates profound connection with another woman.

Everyone yelled in agreement, glasses rising everywhere and faces turning to stare at Steve. Sharon was sat on his right but you were sat on his left, making it easy for you to pretend in your head that they were raising the glasses in celebration of yours and Steve’s connection instead. Or at least you could until they all chorused, “to the soulmates, Steve and Sharon.” Breaking the marvellous dream you’d gotten lost in up until that point.

You did not cheer along but you did raise your glass for a quick second, toasting more to your official transformation into a glitch, before downing the champagne flute in it’s entirety.

It sounded stupid, but you’d actually been holding onto hope that maybe somehow you could get the writing to go back to black and just maybe Steve could become your soulmate. The hope had come in like the tide would, smoothly drawing itself closer and closer to your shores and filling you, but it was quick to fall back, taking with it any remnants of light you once possessed as the tide would scrape away the surface of any beach. Painfully slow, the pain making it clear just how real your situation was.

Once the yelling was done Steve turned to you, that bright smile of content glowing on his slightly sweaty face, the space in the Avenger’s tower now clumped full of people that were relevant to Steve and Sharon’s life in some way.

“You look so awkward right now,” you laughed at him.

His smile didn’t falter, a sign that your friendship was still as solid as ever because it wasn’t unusual for the two of you to banter. “I asked Tony if we could do a small celebration, only I forgot that Tony doesn’t know the meaning of the words ‘small celebration’.”

“Then this is your fault really,” a waiter walked by and Steve grabbed two more of the champagne flutes, handing one to you. You guessed that he was trying to use the alcohol (as ineffective as it may be on him) to push down some of his nerves, meanwhile you were using it to push down the lump of petals that had been at the bottom of your throat the entire night. “He really did invite everyone,” you murmured, eyes returning to the crowd in front of you, “including your postman.”

“What, really?”

His eyes had followed where yours had travelled and you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled past your lips, though you did try by placing your hand in front of your lips. “Made you look.” You commented, welcoming the joking glare Steve threw your way.

He took another sip of the champagne, a drink more suited to Tony’s taste than Steve’s but he knew that Sharon was a fan of it so the star-spangled man did not complain, especially because you’d already revealed that the engagement present you’d bought was one of his favourite whiskey’s.

“I’m glad you came, Y/N, this night wouldn’t be nearly as fun for me.” Steve blurted out, making that cursed feeling sizzle at the bottom of your belly. His words inspiring too much hope that he did actually love you. Now every time you became hopeful you were hit with the image of the black names stamped on Steve’s and Sharon’s wrist.

“You know I’m always here for you.” The words passed through your lips with ease because they were the truest thing you could possibly say, another curse that came with being a glitch. No matter what he did to you or other people, you would forever be by his side, saying yes to his every whim. “Always.” You whispered afterward, a reminder of your tie to the man who would never love you as much as you loved him.

“And yet you won’t let me be there for you,” he said, making you turn your head towards him in confusion because, as far as you were aware, you gave him everything. Every part of you and all the things that you could offer as perks. “Why won’t you let me help you find your soulmate? All Tony needs is the name and then he can find them.”

Except that, you gave Steve everything but the truth about the name on your wrist. You could never tell Steve about that.

“I just want you to be happy.” His last words were full of meaning and the tone which laced around what he said easily broke your resolve, the pain threatening to take over, making you realise that no matter how hard you try to keep a clean facade it will never be enough to bury your feelings in front of Steve’s affectionate eyes, genuine and dripping with concern.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, voice monotonous to cover up what you were truly feeling. You’d told so many lies to Steve by this point that they passed your lips far too easily now. “I want to do this alone.”

Steve looked down, smile completely gone as he pursed his lips in a tight line that matched the way your lips were. “I don’t want you to.”

Ever since the moment when you first met Steve you knew he was far too kind. Ever since you met him all he’d done was try his hardest to help you in anyway I can, much like how he would with every friend. But for you this wasn’t being nice, Steve was killing you with kindness and you could barely handle it anymore. You rushed to hand him your champagne though he’s confused by your actions so he reacts slower than you’d like. “I need to go to the bathroom,” you reveal after he finally took the flute, “I’ll be right back.”

You’d barely given Steve time to react before you performed a vanishing act in your high heels, making your way over to the bathroom and feeling especially relieved when you found it unoccupied. It took you seconds to collapse inside of the bathroom, falling against the toilet as petals burst from your mouth, your stomach emptying itself instantaneously.

The numbness gained from getting all the petals out is brief but alleviating, and for a short while you’re able to pretend that there’s no tightness around your heart whilst the petals continued to pour out, making you feel light and dizzy as the relief that comes from the flowers mitigates the pain for a few seconds. You weren’t sure how much time exactly you spent inside that bathroom surrounded by yellow carnations which had previously been built up in your stomach thanks to the engagement party. You only realised that you’d stopped throwing up the petals when the swell of pain returned back in your stomach, sharply pressing against your insides like razors rather than petals.

You began to glare at your right hand, the red print on your skin covered to others but far too visible to you. Always far too visible. You hated it so much. You hated how in summer you had to cover it up with gauze and how you’re only ever allowed to wear long sleeved dressed, and you especially hated how shameful the red print was. You wondered how destiny could be so cruel, not holding any kind of clemency against those that it chooses to bear the red words for the rest of their lives.

All you were was a glitch, and such a word always had you feel dry and raw on the tip of your tongue, the truth still so impossible to accept even after you bered the secret for years. The secret being that you were a glitch in fate, condemned to love from afar, doomed to accept the fact that your feelings were never going to be reciprocated, that your heart will always long for a missing piece that you won’t find in your lifetime.

It’s weird how the words in red changed your perception of life. How your innocent feelings for Steve turned into something much more intense and arduous, a desperate longing that came with the mark of a soulmate which is only satisfied in the moment when you find the person that also holds your own name on their hands. There would not be such a climax for you because you were a glitch, a name lost in the wind and never imprinted on someones skin.

Eventually you force yourself to get up, cleaning the bathroom by flushing down all the evidence of your disease. That’s the one good thing about being a glitch, it was easy to hide. All you need to do is keep the name covered and the petals out of sight; the only times the disease got hard to keep hidden was when you were with Steve.

You were surprised to find Natasha silently standing outside of the bathroom, blank eyes finding yours as she lifted her head to look at you, she proceeded to nod her head towards the empty balcony. When she spoke to your her voice was low, the tone sounding almost bored as she dragged out the words. “Come on, I’ll get you a strong drink.”

You don’t say anything to her, knowing that with Natasha there was no need to as she knew what you were going through better than anyone else in the party.

Natasha takes the lead through the swarm of fashionable guest whilsts you kept your concentration completely on the sight of the bar, slightly crowded against the other side of the grand room. Natasha placed her hand on your lower back when you approached the wooden counter, keeping you steady but not asking you to speak, instead she just orders the drinks. It was because she understood that your voice wouldn’t be out of use for a little bit longer, your throat probably raw and broken after all of the petals that had spilled out of your throat. As soon as the drink was in your hand you were quick to sip from it, sucking on an ice cube to cool down your burning throat. “Fuck,” you hiss once the sip was swallowed, “that’s strong.”

The tip of Natasha’s lip rose up, as she took a seat on one of the stools whilst guiding you onto the other. “Don’t worry, one glass won’t turn you into a sloppy drunk.”

“I’ll probably need another one of these,” you think out loud, infatuated by the idea of losing your mind in a glass of some unknown but very strong alcoholic beverage.

“No,” Natasha replied calmly, drinking out of her glass with a smoothness that comes from years of drinking strong liquors, building up an immunity. “I’m not dragging your drunk, crying ass out of here.”

“Ouch,” you muttered, hiding your smile behind the glass whilst taking another sip. Conversation had died down and a comfortable silence stretched between you and your unlikely friend you’d made after meeting Steve. It’s a welcoming peace amongst the buzzing excitement that always seemed to vibrate around the rest of the avengers, you’re casual and quiet behaviour too dull compared to the vibrancy Thor and Tony seemed to possess on these occasions.

It had you wondering if Natasha ever felt that way, feeling locked in as she was incapable of sharing the passion that is brimming around her, only able to focus on her own matters as she ignores the sickness of love that was always heavy in the air. But one look at her face made you realise that she probably doesn’t even care, and the jealousy that suddenly curses through you is so sharp even Natasha seemed to feel it, turning towards you to give you a curious look. “Spill,” she said, finishing her drink in one gulp.

You couldn’t hold back the words that spilled from your mouth, far too curious. “Dd it hurt?” Natasha seemed slightly startled, and that might have been the strongest emotion you’d seen on her face in years. “The surgery,” you cleared up, heart beating nervously as you realised that it may have been a sensitive subject, but as per usual she looked barely fazed.

“They all the pain away, Y/N. So no, it didn’t hurt.” Even though Natasha didn’t seem affected at all, even ordering another drink, you had a feeling of dread faintly tugging at the inside of your chest. Memories of Natasha’s wide smile and quiet yet vibrant laugh still fresh in your mind and very much missed. All that is left of her after the surgery is a mere shell of what she used to be, a rougher facade that sometimes glinted with the ghost of a smile and half hearted laughter. But Natasha isn’t suffering anymore, she got rid of all the pain that came with being a glitch even though it meant sacrificing every single feeling in the process.

“What do you feel for him now?” You prodded further, carefully watching her reaction for any inclination that you’d gone too far.

“For Clint?” There was no emotion in her voice as she pronounced the name of the person that used to be tattooed on her skin, sharp letters in bright red. The name had completely vanished, after the surgery the name had turned fainter and fainter until the letters were completely gone. “I’m happy for him, I guess. Laura is a nice girl, and they look pretty good together.”

“Did you ever tell him?”

Natasha glanced briefly at you, beginning to look slightly tired of your questions, “no way. It’s not that I care, but I know he’d beat himself up for it. He never asked when he found out that I was a glitch, and I’m glad he never prodded.”

You nodded quietly, “sometimes I think about telling him, you know,” you say softly, biting down onto your lip when your heart began to jump against your ribcage. “My delusional brain likes to believe there’s still a chance. That fate got it wrong, somehow. That maybe he loves me and not her, down down.” You couldn’t stop the bitter smile on your face as your own thoughts came out of your mouth, even as you said them you realised how unrealistic they were.

“I’m not going to lie, when I first saw you two together I thought you could be soulmates.” At her words you tensed up and she seemed to notice your distress straight away, fidgeting on her spot. “Sorry. I forget to be tactful sometimes.”

“You always used to pick your words so carefully,” you gave her a dejected smile, one that she doesn’t return. “Don’t you ever miss it thought?”

Natasha blinked at you, confused, looking at you straight in the eye. “Miss what?”

“Being love. Feeling things so intensely.”

She seems to mull your words for a moment, eyes gazing at the liquid in her glass before trailing upward, stopping on something and so you look that way too. Clint stands on the other side of the room, drink in hand. When you turn back to Natasha you feel like you see her eyes turn melancholic for a second, sparkling faintly before the gleam is gone, but then you convince yourself that it was just your imagination.

When she finally answered, her voice came out almost fragile, a ghost of the old Natasha Romanoff resurfacing in the forlorn quirk of her lips. “I’m not even sure what missing feels like.”

The two of you settled in a comfortable silence after that, you forcing the putrid drink down your throat so that you could get the pain to be numbed by the buzz of alcohol if only for a moment. You didn’t know what was going through Natasha’s mind and you never did really. It was still hard for you to imagne what it must be like to have all emotions taken away. As a glitch though you understood more than most the need to have it taken away, but for you there was always fear stopping you.

As you dismayed in that silence, your eyes often scanned your surroundings. Perhaps you were making sure that Steve and Sharon weren’t anywhere near, or perhaps you were looking for something else.

Though you weren’t sure what that something else was, you found it in the form of James Buchanan Barnes. The encounter didn’t fully bloom into something else in that moment, but it was the start. Like a matchstick when it first grates it’s way across the rough texture of the matchbox, the beginnings of flames blossoming but not executing a full flame. No that came after after two or three more times of being struck. In this situation you were the matchstick, and Bucky was the matchbox.

You’d heard of Bucky from Steve plenty of times beforehand but you had never met the damaged soldier as he was a bit of a introvert. An introvert to the point of hiding himself away from most people whenever he possibly could, you assumed that this engagement party was not one of those occasions.

His eyes were a blue you’d rarely seen. They were bluer than Steve’s and had your mind conjuring up a number of new metaphors, though most of the words you could think of had already been wasted on metaphors for Steve’s eyes.

Bucky seemed to be staring back at you but you couldn’t truly be sure as he was hidden in the shadows of the corner of the room, long brown hair falling in front of his face in a way that hid his eyes very well. But the shadows nor the hair could hide what he was playing with in his hands, it looked to be a familiar shape but that wasn’t what truly gave it a way. It was the colour that had you recognising what was in his hands instantly. It was the petal off of a carnation flower, a yellow petal.

The drink you had in your hand was spilled instantaneously, slipping out of your weakened grasp and falling onto the floor with a loud smash that had your surprised condition announced to everyone. It felt like the entire world was looking at you then and there, you simply had no choice but to run away despite Natasha’s disgruntled moans about your surprise attack.

As if the urge to throw up more petals wasn’t already taking control of your instincts, placing you instantly into panic mode, the compulsion only worsened as you slapped your body into Sharon’s.

She was as kind as ever, placing her hands around your shoulders and checking to see if you were okay. But her hands felt like fire pressed flush against your skin, melting the layers of skin and scolding your bones, the pain flowing it’s way through your body as easy as blood passing through veins. Impulsively you cast her hands aside, having to force the words ‘I’m sorry’ as you ran past. In reality you wanted to scream at her, possibly murder her because she won. Even if it was never a game, she’d won the life you would now only be capable of dreaming of. But what use was such a dream when you’d have to wake up to a living nightmare?

Steve looked extremely concerned when you passed him, the petals already weighing down your tongue.

You had to get out.

No one could see the petals.

Even as you thought those things heavy doubt fell on your shoulders. Bucky knew, and you didn’t know him well enough to figure out if he’d go around telling everyone. You couldn’t even decipher what that show in the bar was meant to be, a threat? A show of understanding? Either way your mind had jumped to the worst possible scenario and it had you running out of the avengers building as fast as your feet would allow you.

Once outside you went to find the most private place you could to finally let the petals be freed once again. That would have been the fifth time that day.

11 | You’ll Never Walk Alone

BTS + GOT7 X READER [GANG!AU]

WORD COUNT: 4,522

series warnings: mature themes, strong language, violence, substance abuse, eventual smut. this chapter contains graphic content such as violence

Originally posted by bcshiro

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“I think I know who-“

“What the fuck’s going on out here? I’m trying to sleep and your bullshit keeps disturbing me… You’d better have a good excuse for keeping me awake.”

Jackson.


“I just saw So-Ra with a member of The Panthers! I think his name is Yoongi…” You blurted loudly without thinking straight, keeping your gaze firmly on the ground as your surroundings continued to spin; tainted by alcohol.

“The fuck did she just say?” Jackson narrowed his eyes and edged closer to you and Minho, pointing a slender finger to your cheek as he snorted.
“Are you drunk?”

“I’ve had a few drinks but I don’t feel dr-“

“How do I know you weren’t just seeing things because you’re drunk? So-Ra wouldn’t betray us like that. You’re lying.” He growled, firing a menacing glare towards Jungkook and Taehyung, “Did either of you see So-Ra?” He asked with an angry expression.

“Y/N’s telling the truth, she was out clubbing; with him.” Jungkook defended you with serious eyes as Minho’s grip tightened on your wrist, ready to pull you inside the building.

Before he could drag your body into the manor house an uncharacteristically mousy female voice had everyone’s head snapping in the same direction; her petite figure was shaking as she approached the small crowd of people gathered outside.

Jackson, I- I can explain.”

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