in utter darkness

Campaign Prompt:

The light is failing.

Not in a philosophical or metaphorical sense, not like good versus evil or hope versus despair, but in a most horrifying and terribly literal sense: The light is failing.

Each day, the light from the sun grows dimmer. Each time a lantern is lit, its light shines a little shorter. Shadows grow longer, nights grow colder. Even magical illumination seems to be losing its luminance. The world is marching inexorably towards a time of utter and complete darkness, and none can explain why.

Some are taking this in stride, namely the races possessed of greater vision than humankind (the elves are worried, the dwarves are scarcely concerned save for the growing lack of warmth, etc.), and the division of response is increasingly threatening to explode into a political division.

The party is conscripted by a very panicked council of philosophers to seek out the cause of this seeming apocalypse and, most importantly, discover if it can be reversed.

Type Specialist Stereotypes

In an industry as competitive as this one, of course people are going to stereotype one another. It’s all in the name of memes and banter. 

Water: Pretentious, emotional, and preoccupied with battling beautifully. They want to win majestically or not at all. 90% chance that they own a book of profound poetry. 

Fire: Loud, hotheaded, extrovert. Probably a jerk. They gamble a lot and ‘play with fire’ as they battle, taking risks and relying heavily on instinct. 

Grass: Tree-hugging hippie who doesn’t know how to shout. Peaceful. Drinks a lot of tea and probably a vegetarian.  

Electric: Fun, but never knows when to shut up. A contrasting stereotype exists - that of the cool, unruffled electric specialist who manages to do the most mundane actions (like opening a door or eating a Pot Noodle) in a badass way. Such associations have likely come about due to Volkner and Elesa’s presence in the media. 

Ground: Down to earth, pleasant, but not the sharpest tool in the box. The infamous ‘Confused Ground Specialist’ meme circulated for months, centring on the assumption that ground trainers are always the last to figure out what’s going on. The meme escalated to ridiculous proportions and is now viewed as an embarrassment.

Rock: Fairly similar to ground, but with extra jokes about how they want to roll around in the earth. 

Steel: No sense of humour, boring, likely to battle completely to the rule book. Oddly enough, no famous specialists comply with this stereotype, so nobody is entirely sure where it came from. 

Normal: Overly defensive of their type to the point that they will scream about how they could decimate a dragonite with a skitty. Compensates for the dismissal of their type in competitive play by exaggerating its prowess.  

Fighting: Never stops talking about their damn work-out routine. Claims that they wrestle their hariyama four times a day. 

Bug: The biggest nerd you will ever meet. Encyclopedic knowledge, would cry over a bug, and never pushes their pokémon hard enough because they think they’re all beautiful and perfect. 

Ghost: No sense of priority when it comes to what they are afraid of. Will happily walk through a haunted house with blood all over its walls. Will claim that ghosts are innocent and fuzzy babies. Likely to be killed because they let a haunter lick them. 

Psychic: Completely bizarre. Probably believes in aliens. There aren’t many consistent stereotypes for psychic trainers outside of the belief that they’re all utter weirdos. 

Dark: Would sell their own mother for half a sandwich. 

Fairy: Never has any idea what is going on. Childish and pure. Daydreaming cinnamon rolls who forget everything you’ve told them five seconds after you’ve finished saying it. 

Ice: Mysterious, silent, secretive. They could be a member of a secret agency and you’d never know. Their memories never die. It’s likely that they know more about you than you do. You should be afraid of these people, just in case. 

Poison: Loves alternative music and has a collection of Doc Martens. Probably went through a rebellious phase and is lowkey still in it. Doesn’t shower enough. Ready to fight at all times.

Flying: Too serious and will punch you if you say you don’t like birds.   

Dragon: Noble, haughty, has an inflated sense of self-importance. Can’t get through a conversation without mentioning that they’re a dragon tamer. People make ‘found the dragon tamer’ jokes much like they do ‘found the vegan jokes’.  

The Pawns And The Kings

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Originally posted by bangtanbtsmut

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Smut

Plot: The reader is kidnapped, left alone in utter darkness. Once the day of her auctioning comes, she’s given to the head of one of the worlds most powerful gangs, Jungkook. She was nothing but a gift to him. But her little soul turns out to have the power to turn the tides in the worlds angriest ocean. And it turns out, Jungkook isn’t the only man whom eyes have settled upon her.

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Yo guess who’s back with more space orc content™ because I am obsessed™

So a bunch of people have irrational fears, me included, one of the most irrational happens to be fear of the dark (whoops, if that ain’t me) but imagine the reactions aliens would have to this human among their group who all are reckless and will go up to a furred monster that could kill them easily, and mimicking the actions the creature makes in order to initiate playful actions and befriending them, but this human, this one human just can’t take the darkness, and no one knows why. So bear with me I’m gonna go story mode.

Zeren sat settled in xeir sleeping pod ready to enter into their sleep cycle. From the other side of the room xe heard the sound of breath hitching. Worried, xe climbed out of their pod and moved nearer to the sheet of soft cushion the humans typically slept on. Xe adjusted their eyes to see the room better despite the utter darkness bathing the room.
Upon the bed sat Kiki, more upright than she usually is when on the said bed. Zeren moved themselves to the chair nearby and sat facing them. Xe saw Kiki tense up and attempt to scan the room, clearly looking for danger. It was unclear, but it looked as though she was crying, her breath was shaky and her general appearance looked disheveled.
“Human-Kiki are you alright?” Zeren asked cautiously, as they adjusted themselves on the seat. “Zeren?” The distressed human responded, their voice cracking slightly, “I’m fine, I’m just scared.” The response baffled Zeren, Kiki was the most brave human on the ship, constantly finding themselves in dangerous situations for fun.
“I don’t understand, are we in danger?” Zeren inquired, confused. “No,” Kiki reassured, “it’s just, really, really dark in here.” Zeren tilted their head in confusion, “it was my understanding that humans are typically soothed by dark spaces, and find it easiest to sleep when it’s dark.” Kiki wiped their face, confirming that she was crying, “to most humans it is sure, but it just really scares me.”
“If it would put you at ease I could activate my biolumecent patterning to provide more light.” Zeren offered, straightening their back. Kiki nodded, “yeah, that would be nice.” As discussed, Zeren’s skin began to light up a soft yellow tone, lighting up the room slightly.
Kiki stepped off her bed and moved towards Zeren. Before xe could ask what was happening, Kiki pulled Zeren into a hug. “Thank you.” She sobbed as she held onto Zeren’s larger form. “You’re welcome.” Xe responded, softly patting Kiki’s back. They both returned to their sleeping areas, the light spilling from Zeren’s sleeping pod, and they both slept soundly.
The next morning Zeren found Kiki within the group of the other humans, “Human-Kiki, if it would make you more comfortable would you like me to contact one of the engineers to put in a light that activates during night cycles?” Xe asked while approaching. One of the others, Finn, snorted a short laugh, “wait hold on, Kiki are you afraid of the dark?” He chuckled, “what are you five?”
He was stopped by a swift push from Carol, “shut up Finn, it’s very common for adults to be afraid of the dark.” Zeren wrote that down, to inform the captain so they can update their guide for human care. “Yeah, I think it would be cool if you’d do that.” Kiki told Zeren, before leaving to grab breakfast.

This is just one irrational fear idea, if anyone else has some good ideas for aliens dealing with irrational fears I thing they’d be awesome to read.

Strike three | M

Summary: No one can be cold like Kim Taehyung, but no one can warm you up like him.

Pairing: Taehyung X Reader obviously

Word count: 8k

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Dirty talk shitloads, light spanking, blindfolds? Handcuffs? Feather play? And Taehyung in like, general. Yeah.

A/N: So i wanted to start my first fic off with a bang (haha get it? Jin would be so proud), and this happened. Dedicated vv sincerely, with my whole heart to @taexyla


Rain patters down hard around you, beside you, and on your head. You curse the Rain God- whoever that damn bastard is (Dude! The basic concept of timing. Please!)- as you plummet your feet into the uneven pavement, gritting your teeth as you glance from your bright phone screen back to the number on the gate again. Nope. Not this one either.

Just what sin you’d committed in your past life to deserve this remains a mystery. Just what you-

Ah! There it is.

The stone ground is hard beneath your cobbled feet as you are faced with uncountable red bricks and a rich splendour of sophistication in the air, and nerves set right into your stomach as you keen upon the ghastly mansion that stands before you.  Your eyes circle around its magnificent sheen walls, zeroing in on a practically everything, thoughts widely biased on how appropriate it would be to hurl a mountain at the place right about now.

Bloody rich-

You shiver. The open streets are really no place for the chilly winter air, and you really are no person to subject yourself to these utterly unnecessary conditions, yet here you are, utterly ballistic at the opportunity to face the bundle of joy that is your boss.  Again. As if seeing your employer for the past eleven hours wasn’t enough. Karma is just in love with you today…

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lilsmolls3  asked:

I know it's closed but if you ever feel the urge to do the Drabble prompt maybe try 30 please?!

List is here. So far I’ve received asks for 1, 6, 9, 19, 12, 23, 28, 30, 38, 44, 51, 67, 77, 93, 102, 109, 122, 146 & 148

Prompt:  “You better watch yourself.”

Oops I did a sort of swap!lock with Criminal!Molly in a reimagined scene from TRF. Rated a heavy T.

It’s Always The Quiet Ones

“Well, this is unexpected.”

Sherlock stood by the door to his flat, eyeing the intruder who’d made herself so casually at home in his chair.

Molly looked up from the piece of fruit she’d been paring, a dazzling smile on her lips. “Why Mr. Holmes, surely you’re not actually surprised to see me.”

“No, I suppose I’m not,” he replied, finally moving into the sitting room, careful to close - and lock - the door behind him. “Although I am surprised you’ve become so formal, Molly. To what do I owe the…honor?”

Instead of answering, she held up the green fruit as if offering it to him. “ Quite symbolic, wouldn’t you say?” she asked, finally meeting his gaze.

He returned the saccharine smile on her lips with a flat grin of his own. “Yes, I suppose we do make quite the ‘pear’,” he deadpanned. 

She let out a peal of delighted laugher, the giggle-snort at the end just as adorable as it had been before he discovered she was the master criminal he’d been playing cat-and-mouse with for the past six months. Quiet, helpful Molly Hooper, the girl from the morgue, the gifted pathologist with the atrocious clothing sense and even more atrocious sense of humor.

He had absolutely not seen her coming.

She’d vanished after that fraught confrontation at the pool, and his fury at her for threatening John had only be slightly ameliorated by the startling fact that the Semtex vest he’d been wearing had only been a fake. It didn’t make up for all the other people she’d killed, but it did show a crack in the giggling-madwoman facade she seemed to favor.

“What do you want, exactly?” he asked as her laughter died down.

“Tea?” she asked, an expression of exaggerated innocence on her face.

“I’m not in the habit of serving tea to murderers,” he countered, fighting to keep his eyes on hers as she leaned forward. Her navy blue dress hugged her figure, the scoop-neck low enough to show off the top curves of her breasts, the skirt short enough that he caught more than a glimps of her slender, shapely legs.

He blinked and ordered his brain to focus as she responded to his words.

“And yet you serve tea to John Watson almost every day.” Molly’s grin was dazzling, her eyes dark with equal parts mirth and malice. She was wearing more makeup than he was used to seeing on her, subtly and effectively applied to play up her best features. “His hands are hardly clean. And don’t tell me you wouldn’t put a bullet into an enemy to protect him. D’you know, it was so much fun pretending I didn’t remember his name that one time in the lab. You remember it, right? When I introduced you to my new ‘boyfriend’ and you so kindly deduced he was gay?”

Sherlock couldn’t take it, not a second longer. Not when she was pushing every one of his buttons where she - or rather, where the Molly Hooper he’d thought he’d known - was concerned. “What. Do. You. Want?” he ground out.

She set down the pear and stood up. “I want you to stop, Sherlock. It’s been fun, but if it keeps up, one of us will end up dead, and I do so hate going to funerals.” She stepped closer, slid one hand up the lapel of his suit jacket. “Wouldn’t it be so much better if we were on the same side?” she murmured, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

He stepped away, fighting to keep his expression impassive. “You know that’s never going to happen, unless you suddenly grow a conscience, renounce your evil ways, and throw yourself on the mercy of the law.”

She laughed again, doing a slow clap of appreciation. “Well, it was worth a try. Too bad you’re on the side of the angels, Sherlock; the other side is much more fun.”

“I may be on the side of the angels, Molly, but don’t for one second mistake me for one,” he growled. “I do believe you’ve outstayed your welcome, see yourself out, you know the way.” He deliberately turned his back on her, knowing full well that if she wanted to she could throw the wickedly sharp knife she held straight into his back.

As he moved toward the mantle her heard her give a soft sigh. “Right, then, off I pop. Keep an eye out for me in the news, you’ll know what for when you see it.”

Her cheerful voice, the same one he’d heard so many times in the morge and path lab at Bart’s, was too much. Whirling around, he snapped, “You better watch yourself.” 

Molly smirked over her shoulder, going so far as to offer a saucy wink in response. “Why should I, Sherlock, when you do such a fantastic job of doing it for me?” She deliberately arched her back, stretching her arms above her head before dropping them back to her sides. He tracked every movement, as she’d clearly expected; what wasn’t expected, however, was the way he lunged toward her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her ferociously.

Her lips were soft, warm, mobile beneath his; her tongue met his fearlessly as she wrapped her arms around him. He held her close, tight to his body, his arms like iron bands around her waist as he finally caved into the attraction he’d been fighting since the very first day they’d met, nearly five years ago.

They ended up pressed against the door, clothing disheveled, faces flushed, lips kiss-swollen and hair more than a bit mussed.

It was the sound of footsteps on the stairs that brought him back to his senses; with a bitten-off curse, he released her. “Go,” he said lowly, pointing to the kitchen with its second door to the hall landing.

She tiptoed up and kissed him softly, wiping away the smears of lipstick with her thumb as she gave a small nod. “Till next time, Sherlock.” 

By the time John got the door unlocked and made his grumbling way into the flat, Molly had slipped away and Sherlock was standing by the desk, violin in hand, watching through the window until he saw her on the pavement. She paused, looked up briefly as if feeling his eyes on her, and smiled before entering the taxi that stopped at her hail.

It was with both dread and anticipation that he waited for her next move.

The Pawns And The Kings

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Originally posted by bangtanbtsmut

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Smut

Plot: The reader is kidnapped, left alone in utter darkness. Once the day of her auctioning comes, she’s given to the head of one of the worlds most powerful gangs, Jungkook. She was nothing but a gift to him. But her little soul turns out to have the power to turn the tides in the worlds angriest ocean. And it turns out, Jungkook isn’t the only man whom eyes have settled upon her.

Warning, this chapter contains strong sexual language and is smut.  It contains fingering. 

I had never really felt something so disguised by love. A feeling that betrays my mind and feeds my body, and in return my heart becomes vulnerable. Lust. I had never really felt it once in my life, up until now. But I still don’t understand it. The very feeling of it, the desire that bubbles up in your stomach, clouds your judgment and erases any of your critical thinking skills.

Oh, how he flooded me with this feeling, the dopamine he released within my brain, the endorphin’s that acted out of pure desire for pleasure, one that he could create and expect for me to return. I had always seen it as a sin, but he makes me see it as an addiction.

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فَقلبي ظَلامْ
وحُبي كَلامْ
ومازِلتُ أرغَبُ في الانتِقامْ ..

- عبدالعزيز جويدة .
My heart is dark ..
My love is utterance ..
and I still long for vengeance ..


Summary: Heyy can you do the prompt line number 3 with Isaac?? Or any character is fine, pleaseee 🙈


Paring: Brett Talbot x Reader

A/N: I used Brett, I hope you don’t mind. I’m just still upset about the whole thing and I’m in my Talbot feels. Amanda Katzenburg is not real, i just made her up.

Disclaimer: Nothing really… 

By midnight Beacon Hills, vaguely turned into a ghost town. The shops had closed, and it was only every other twenty minutes that a car would pass by. Illuminating the areas with their headlights before disappearing and leaving the streets to fall back in the complete and utter darkness. People were home asleep, getting a nights rest for the next morning. However, there was always a handful that would be out causing or looking for trouble.

Roaming around in the wilderness this late wasn’t new for the four friends, for the most part, searching the woods. Liam, Scott, Brett, and Y/N  all seemed to be in the woods searching for something. The silence was heavy amongst them, no one dared to speak. Yet they all knew what they wanted to say. Brett had recently discovered you to be his mate and he hated it but not for the reason you would suspect. As a werewolf he was keen on picking up on things before anyone else can, and not seeing that the girl he couldn’t stand was his mate—well, it was easy to see how that could’ve bruised his ego.

Being your mate wasn’t the problem, the problem was; he couldn’t control his emotions since he found out. Not only was it frustrating to see you flirt with other guys, it also didn’t help that he was horny all the time. At sometimes he would have to just give out during an argument with you, he found it way too hot when you sassed him and being hard during practice was not only uncomfortable it was painful.

With Scott and Liam being friends with both you and Brett, it was easy to see the sexual tension between the two of you. As well as smell it. Neither of them wanted to say anything hoping that the two of you would’ve figured it out yourself but it was starting to get ridiculous.

“It’s nearby,” Brett said quietly, smelling the familiar scent he smelt the other night when someone attacked him.

Liam looked over at Scott as if signaling that he should say something, but Scott refused.

“How do you know it’s just not one of the many werewolves that pass through this part of the woods?”

Brett didn’t stop walking, he just rolled his eyes at your doubtful question, “If you would’ve listened to me earlier and not eye raping Greenberg, then you would’ve known this person tried to attack me.”

“For your information wolf boy, I was paying attention I just didn’t care about the whole you getting hurt part.” You rebuttal while rolling your eyes a well.

“How about you start using your eyes, and stop babbling.” Brett hissed stopped and facing you, the gap between the two of you very thin.

“Last time I checked your not my alpha, you don’t give me orders.” You hissed back taking a step closer.

Your scent swarmed him, and he could already feel his repetitive frenzy slipping past his firewall. He hated how; you crept under his skin, how you made the things he hated about you, turn into to all the things he loved about you. He hated you because you would never know how much he cared about you. The longer he stood there close to you like that, he felt his heartbeat race. Abruptly turning away, Brett continued to lead the way back to where he was attacked.

“Let’s just find out whoever this,” Scott bringing the focus back to the task at hand.

“Whatever,“you nonchalantly mumbled continuing to walking.

As Liam began to follow, Scott stops him. Waiting for you and Brett to be a good distance away before speaking again, "Keep Brett busy, in going to talk to Y/N.”

“What?” Liam looked Scott confused, and a bit terrified.

“If this continues, they can never really know what it actually means to be mates…they won’t be able to control themselves.”

“Scott I don’t think we should-”

“Liam, trust me.”

Liam cooperated with Scott and jogged up ahead, catching up to Brett, who ignored his presences. Meanwhile, Scott caught up with you, walking by your side. It was obvious you didn’t want to be here, but when you had found out that Brett had called Scott and Liam to help him you felt kind of hurt. The two of shared the differences yes but that never stopped him from calling you if something was wrong and you only asked yourself; does he really hate me that much?

“You know we actually used to be friends,” you blurted out to Scott.

“What happened?”

“Amanda Katzenberg,” Scott looked at who, questioning if should’ve known who that was but you continued to explain, “she was his girlfriend back when I was Devenford Prep. I didn’t trust her, she didn’t trust me. Amanda fed Brett lies about me and made him choose. Me or her.”

Judging from the cold expression on your face, Scott could see Brett made the wrong the decision, “He chose her?”

“He chose her, and a few days later my mom got laid off and we both decided it would be easier if I gave up on private school.”

From thinking back to that time in your life, you felt a bit sad but it quickly disappeared remembering how Brett was the one who decided to end the friendship, not you, “He ended our friendship, not me.”

It was then you noticed Brett and Liam had stopped, Scott and you had finally caught up. Brett turned to the two smelling the sadness coming from the both of you and scrunched his eyebrows together

“What were you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Scott said looking over at you, but you just nodded and fold your arms across your chest.

“It happened here,” Brett said hesitant to change the subject, “their tracks are gone but their scent is still here and it’s pretty strong.”

“Wait a minute…” Scott said smelling the air.
There was something oddly familiar with the scent of this wolf. As if he had encountered this person before, “I think I know who he is.”

“He?” Liam said raising his eyebrows, and Scott nodded towards him.

“Brett take Y/N home,” Scott ordered, “Liam come with me.”

“How come the twerp gets to stay with you!”

“I’m not babysitting her.”

Scott knew this was going to happen but he needed to teach Liam, and he couldn’t put you or Brett in harm’s way. Scott looked over at you, his eyes turning to a glowing red, “Y/N go with Brett.”

You growled but turned away from them all. Scott knew how much you wanted to be involved, but ever since Theo and the Dread Doctors. Scott had paid close attention to you and tried to keep you away from danger.  Brett knew that Scott had a reason for his orders and only followed behind you.

The walk back to his car was silent neither of you said anything or had the intention to. The both of you were equally frustrated but for two different reasons. By the time you guys got to Brett’s car, some of that frustration had died down and things were a little calmer.

It was awkward, but it was also soothing being in his car. His smell, his warmth, as much as you hated him. Brett still had managed to make you feel safe. Surprised that he was on the right path to your house, you glanced over at Brett, “You remember where I live?”

“Is that an actual, question?” He scoffed and looked at you briefly before looking back at the road.

You narrowed your eyebrows and looked out the window, staring out the window you noticed all the familiar houses, this was your neighborhood and it wouldn’t be long before you would reach home but the car came to a sudden stop.

Brett didn’t know what was happening to him, he was shifting and he wasn’t in control of it. His eyes turned to their primal golden color glowing brightly. Meanwhile, his steering wheel suffered punctures from his claws. You looked over at him confused and tried to figure out why this was happening to him.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

His breathing fasten and he looked over at you, his eyes were no longer yellow but golden brown. Every traditional wolf knew what it meant to have your eyes glow that brown. Brett had found his mate and has been denying them.

“You idiot!” You hissed at him unbuckling your seatbelt, “Satomi explained to you what happens when you deny yourself of a mate.”

“It’s not my fault!” He growls unable to get control of himself.

You leaned over and grabbed his face, “Breathe you moron, breathe.”

“I don’t think breathing is gonna help Y/N!”

“Then who is it, you have to claim them.” You hissed not liking how he was yelling at you.

Brett fell silent, he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell you his mate was you. It was embarrassing. Humiliating really. You saw his hesitation and scolded him, “Brett now is not the time to be immature, tell me before you completely lose control.”

He didn’t say anything, he ripped away from your grip and got out the car. Muttering a bunch of curses you followed and tried to stop him. His growls only got louder and he wasn’t acting human anymore. His fist slammed into the hood of his car making you jump but you stayed beside him.

“Brett, who the hell is your mate for crying out loud!” You nearly yelled, but remember all the civilian houses surrounding the two of you.

“It’s you Y/N. It’s fucking you.”

Taken back you looked at Brett, hoping he’d be joking but he wasn’t. No could fake something like this. Brett was telling the truth. Hearing the sounds of his bones cracking made your heart pound even faster. It was all pieced together. His strange behavior, his smell. Brett Talbots’s was your mate.

Before you knew it you grabbed his face, wasting no time on smashing your lips to his. You did it to help him, to take him out of his misery, to take away the pain. His labored breath seemed to calm and his hands slipped around your waist his claws slight grazing your clothes.

It was going to take time for you to really feel for Brett, especially when something this came from nowhere. Of course, you wouldn’t leave him alone at a time like this but he couldn’t expect you to love him right off the bat. His claws gone and breathing normal, Brett brought his hands to your face. Cupping your cheeks tenderly before pulling away with a huff.

“You know I hate you right?” He mumbled his lips turning into a frown, “I hate you for making me feel like this, it absolutely sucks.”

“Well you’re the one who made me your mate,” you shot back defensively, “which by the way means nothing without a first date—a first everything actually.”



Brett smirked lightly before pulling you in for another kiss but you tilted your head, his lips touching your cheek. “Dinner remember?”

A chuckle escaped from Brett’s lips and his hands let you go. But you thought about this whole thing. A devilish smirk fell on your face as you looked back at Brett. He frowns seeing the look on your face knowing you were up to something.

“I’m your mate, which means you’re my bitch!”

Brett groaned and rolled his eyes, “I don’t think that’s wha-”

“You’re like my own very puppy, cool!” You clapped your hands together excitedly.

“Get in the car.” Brett sighed not paying any attention to you anymore.

“And I can call you Bub.”

“No, you will not call me Bub.”
halloween for dream things
By Organization for Transformative Works

Pairing: Ronan Lynch / Adam Parrish

Rating: T
Word Count: 12k
Summary: Set a year after the events of TRK, Adam’s off at Harvard and Ronan decides to celebrate Opal’s first Halloween.

“I asked her what she wanted to be for Halloween, explaining how you can be anyone and anything you want for that one night, and she said you.” Ronan watched as Adam responded with a subtle sniffle. Even though the picture was not very clear, and part of Adam’s face was dark from the lack of light in the room, he could swear he saw water in Adam’s eyes. “I said it didn’t work that way, but she still wanted it to be you.”

Boyf riends Unsolved

Premise: Jeremy and Michael (two dumb boys pining after each other) decide to go on a ghost hunt in one of the most haunted places in New Jersey. 

Word Count: 2704

Warnings: swearing, scary haunted shit

a/n: i’m…. i don’t really have an explanation for this. just…. have some boyf riends fluff

also a huge thank you to the love of my life @limpblotter for beta-ing <3

“… but whether or not it is definitively haunted will remain… unsolved.” Ryan Bergara’s voice dropped dramatically as the ‘unsolved’ stamp painted itself across the darkening image of him walking down the balcony of the Dauphine Orleans Hotel.

Michael laid back on his beanbag chair, smiling lightly. Jeremy was sitting ramrod straight, eyes wide.

“That’s not fucking unsolved!” he cried indignantly. “It’s haunted as shit! The… fucking footsteps? And the other guy heard them too?”

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The Pawns And The Kings

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Originally posted by bangtanbtsmut

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Smut

Plot: The reader is kidnapped, left alone in utter darkness. Once the day of her auctioning comes, she’s given to the head of one of the worlds most powerful gangs, Jungkook. She was nothing but a gift to him. But her little soul turns out to have the power to turn the tides in the worlds angriest ocean. And it turns out, Jungkook isn’t the only man whom eyes have settled upon her.

“Close your eyes.” He whispered, his breath tickling the fine hairs on my ear as they stood to attention, making an almost unbearable shiver rake down my spine.

I nodded, letting my eye lids fall shut to his command, the abundance of sight making my nerves jolt in curiosity of what was to come next. What my outcome will be.

His lips trailed down my exposed neck, delicately brushing across the expanse of skin until his hands joined in, running along my sides before they met my shoulders, pushing me down on the bed.

I sucked in a breath at the sudden forced movement, making sure my eyes were kept shut no matter how explosive the desire was to take a peek - to possibly seek out his advances meaning. To figure out his motive.

He straddled my waist, his eyes burning into my skull, “Tell me, (Y/N), what are you afraid of?” He asked, puzzling me with such a question in such a situation.

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A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Eight)
  • The first section of this story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?
  • The second section will explore the aftermath of Claire and Jamie’s reunion, following their journey as they work to build a new life together. 

Section Two: A Hundred More 


So close,” that wretched, strangled voice kept choking out over and over again. “Claire—” He kept trying to hold her closer, wrap his body around hers still more completely, searching, searching for her, though he knew she was beneath him. “So—so close—

To losing her. He had come mere minutes, moments away from losing her forever, again, right before his eyes.

Shhhh, darling, I know,” she kept whispering into his hair, his neck, though she was sobbing as hard as he. “I know—It’s—It’s alright, love—” 

“Don’t go…” The snow-flecked dark seemed to spin and scream around him, throwing everything into a hellish whirl that he couldn’t grasp, about to throw him off the very face of the earth. “Claire, ye canna—Claire—don’t—go—” 

“I’m not going—anywhere—” she gasped out, clutching harder around his back. “It’s over, Jamie—All—over….”  She cupped his head so urgently, so tenderly as she cradled him and wept into his shoulder. “Shhhh, it’s alright, love…it’s alright…It’s all over….

He hadn’t let her out of his arms, not for one single moment.

Those minutes on the hill, his body, his heart, his MIND had all been on the verge of shattering from the terror that she was leaving him. The strength—the pure, desperate strength— it had taken to keep upright and to speak, to ask instead of screaming and lunging? Never, not even in battle, had he ever felt something like that: the absolute life of him being ripped apart before him, shred by shred, hope by hope, until he was no more than a bloodied, quivering plea. 


But then, she had run to him and he had become flesh again, breathing and needing, with arms that could hold and a soul that could feel joy, this joy, 

and the rest of world had gone still. 

It had been hours—or perhaps only moments—before he’d crumpled to the ground.  Utterly overcome, utterly dissolved in relief and love, in scarce-contained panic, he’d laid her down and covered her like a cloak with his body, surrounding her, trying to convince himself that she was real. 

There, on the frozen ground of the faerie hill, oblivious to the wind and the snow, they’d broken apart in one another’s arms, each kept from vanishing only by the other grasping them tight enough to bruise, from feeling their arms, hearing what words they could manage to gasp out; and it was both everything and scarcely anything at all compared to what they each felt, in those moments. 


She felt the same under his hands, exactly the same. It was the same voice—the same gentle hands—the same glorious spirit. She was Claire; and he was going to die from her. 

“Are you shaking from—” She had to stop and get her sobbing breath under control before she could finish. “—from—crying— or cold?”

He truly didn’t know. 

She pushed up his sleeve. “God, Jamie, you’re like ice,” she moaned. He felt her shifting and fumbling about. “Here, put—Take this—”

Though he was still shaking, still barely able to see through swollen eyes, he managed to pull the cloak out from beneath her and throw it over them both, heads and all. It was quite large, of good, thick wool, and a pocket of warmth instantly began to form around them. While he wouldn’t have thought the cold had been affecting him so very much, the change was like a dram of good brandy, rushing through his body from head to toe in an instant. His sobbing eased, his mind began to clear, his breathing slowing to something like a normal pace. He could hear hers doing the same, tapering and settling as the calm and the gentle pool of heat settled over them both. 

He had had both arms around her before they’d shifted, hands gripping her side and twined in her hair, needing in every muscle and fiber of him to hold her. Now, in utter darkness, without even the faint glow of the snow-clouds to illuminate her, he could only reach for her face, needing, paradoxically, to see her, to look into her eye. And the moment his palm came to rest on her cheek— so cold and slick with tears—she gave a little whimpering sound that might have been his name, and she was reaching up for his mouth. He couldn’t stop kissing her; tasting her; touching her; couldn’t stop moaning her name. All the years—All the years of longing for her, and she was here in his arms, sharing his breath. 

“I’m here,” she kept saying back against his lips, knowing that he needed to be told. “I’m here, Jamie….I’m here….”

“When I saw ye,” he said, a long time later, when the world had once more gone quiet, his hand pressed against her heart. “When I saw ye climbing up that hill, Claire—” 

Jamie had found the horse a mile or two back. It was one of the Lallybroch mares, a beast he’d broken himself and would have known anywhere. Terror had driven him all the way from the Lallybroch dooryard, or so he had thought. No, he had only felt the true, ripping claws of it when he had seen that riderless horse and known that he had come too late. The furious minutes of that last hellish gallop were a blank in his memory, but he remembered the ecstatic fury of seeing her up there in the distance; seeing her turning; and then the life dropping out of him once more as she began to sprint upward, away from him, toward the stones.

“What would you have done?” Claire whispered, stroking his face. “If I had kept running?”

“I’d have run faster,” he said with what voice he had left, “and pinned ye to the ground until ye listened to sense.”

She stiffened. “…You’d have stopped me by force?”

He forgot the complete darkness enshrouding them and gave her a look.  “If you’re asking ‘would I have done whatever I could to keep ye running off forever before ye kent all the truth’ you’re damned right, I would. I’d have tied ye hand and foot to a tree, if I had to.”

“You bloody man,” she muttered, and it was not said in fondness. “Nothing changed.”

Anger flared up in him, red-hot and blinding with panic, and he closed his hand tight around her wrist. “You were going to just leave, Claire,” he hissed. “Can ye honestly blame me? God, I’m still so furious that ye would have—Had I not—” He swore, shaking her. “You damnable, foolish wom—

“Oh, is that the way of things?” she snarled at him, her breath hot in his face. “So, when YOU sacrifice your own feelings and well-being for love, it’s noble and right, but when I do, I’m just a ‘foolish woman?’”

“That’s—Damn you, that isna at all—”

She yanked herself out of his grasp. “Can you honestly tell me, James Fraser, that if the circumstances were reversed—if you’d somehow found your way to 1968—found that I’d married someone new—heard I’d had a child by him and was by all accounts blissfully happy—you’d have just waltzed right in and thrown yourself at me? You’d truly have put me in that position?”


“No,” he moaned, defeated, as the true tragedy of what she’d been planning to do for his sake settle around him. “No, I….I couldna have put ye through such a choice.”

“Well, I bloody couldn’t do it to you, either,” she spat at him, sobs starting to shudder through her again in her rage. “No matter how much—much it tore me apart to—”  

“Oh, lass….” He felt her convulse and cover her face with both hands, as though she might hide from the terror of what they’d so nearly lost.  “No,” he moaned, gathering her tight against his chest, covering her again, the intimacy between them knitting together once more. “No, it was noble what ye meant to do, Claire. If what Jenny told ye had been true, it would have been right. I—Christ, that ye would have done that for my sake…Thank you.” 


“We’ve been lucky, Sassenach.” He rocked her softly, buried his face in her hair as she wept.  “God….we’ve been so lucky, today. We were in the right places at the precise right moments to find one another again.” He kissed her, softly hushing as she had done for him. “And now, it’s all over, just as ye said… We’ll never be parted again, I swear it, Claire.” He sealed the promise with a kiss in the hollow of her neck. 

Not ever.

“But what—what will we do?” she managed, voice taut with worry. “About Laoghaire? The girls?”

What will we do, indeed?

“I dinna ken….not precisely,” he admitted. 

“That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence,” she said, with a tremulous smile in her voice. 

Lovely wee smartarse. 

“We’ll find some arrangement that separates me from Laoghaire as honorably as can be managed. You and I are still man and wife, after all. That must count for something wi’ the law.” 

Wife. His wife. 

Lord have mercy upon his soul, WIVES. 

“It will be a tricky business, Claire, and I’ll no’ say it will be over quickly, but I will fight for it with everything that I have.”

“What if it can’t be managed honorably?”

He exhaled. “Then I shall find a way to reconcile wi’ dishonor.”

She choked out a laugh and held him tighter, sighing in deep relief. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. At least we’ll be in hell together, eh?”

“And a happy damnation t’will be.” 

A warm, pulsing happiness had pushed away the tears from their sanctuary, and he suddenly wondered how long he could keep his eyes open amid such peace. He’d slept scarce more than an hour at a time on the ride from Lallybroch, and only then when he could no longer stay upon the horse. Each and every time, he’d awoken in a dead-panic that he’d slept overlong, leapt right into the saddle, and repeated the harrowing process over and over, pushing himself to the very limits until he reached Craigh na Dun. 

It wasn’t merely the actual fatigue—it was the relief. Many a time in his life—from battlefields to his examinations in the Paris days—he had witnessed the body’s incredible stamina to push through lack of sleep, of food, and of physical strength. It will go to incredible lengths to complete the task at hand, to survive. When the deed is accomplished, though, it takes its own, and fairly well damns the consequences. Jamie was hungry, true, but that could wait. Sleep, though…No, that could wait as well. In the growing warmth of her body and his together, captured by the warm cloak, it was harder and harder by the minute; but he didn’t want to miss a single moment with her. Not one. 

“Will you tell me….” It was such a tiny voice that asked it; so tentative and careful. “…why Laoghaire?”

He stiffened, steadied himself with a breath. It was a fair question.

“She was…there,” he hazarded, “at the right time, when I was come back to Lallybroch. It was Jenny’s idea, ken?”

“Mm.” A great deal unsaid in that mm, perhaps having to do with the destructive nature of Jenny’s ideas of late.

“She seemed—sweet, I suppose. Eager, and—Wi’ the wee lassies to feed, she needed me; and I needed—I needed something, too.

Claire didn’t say a word.

“I am sorry, mo chridhe. I ken it’s—painful.” 


“Well, I certainly dinna delight in thinking of the men that have shared your bed.”

To his surprise, she bristled. “It’s not that she was another woman, Jamie. It’s that it was her.” 

“I do ken she was quite the jealous brat, all those years ago, at Leoch,” he said, carefully, at something of a loss. “But she was naught but a wee lassie at the time. Surely ye can forgive her a few youthful indiscretions?”

“Youthful ind—?” He heard her choke back whatever retort she had planned and instead breathe through her nose, calming herself. She was being careful, so careful, but there was true indignation, there, true hurt, kept in check for his sake.

“Say it, mo ghraidh.” He touched her face, bent down to kiss her. “Tell me what it is.”

“Wouldn’t it trouble you,” she said, very quietly, “if had chosen to marry someone who’d gone out of their way to have you hurt and killed?”


“Cranesmuir? Surely you remember that little episode?” 

He felt a jolt run through him. Then it walloped him over the head like a brick. “Laoghaire? She was—?”

“Jamie, she was the one who arranged for me to be taken with Geillis Duncan, that day, for Christ’s sake! You knew that! Surely we discussed it??”

“We certainly DID NOT. Sassenach! BELIEVE me, had I I known, I would never have taken her to wife. NEVER.” He gripped her tight, as though he could look into her eyes. “Had I KNOWN….Christ, the wicked wee bitch!

She laughed at that. “Well good, I’m—That’s a burden off my mind. I’d certainly have understood if you’d remarried. I did understand, until you mentioned her name. Lord,” she laughed, groaning. “Laoghaire bloody MacKenzie. Laoghaire….Fraser.” 

Lord forgive him, he had given Claire’s would-be murderess his name, shared her bed. “I’m—I’m truly so ashamed, Sassenach.” He felt as though he would vomit. “I’m so sorry for this. After what she did—” 

“Don’t be,” she said at once, and he heard the sincerity in her voice. “You didn’t know, and would have had no reason to ask. It’s water under the bridge. Though,” she said with good humor, “I do reserve my right to make snide comments from time to time, at her expense only, not yours.”  

“’Tis only your due,” he laughed weakly, grateful for the gift of levity, which did help the anxiety and shame abate. 

“Jamie, can I ask, does it….?”

More to do with Laoghaire, surely. 

“Does it what, mo nighean donn?”

“Does it frighten you? How—easy this is?” She touched his chest. “Like it was only yesterday we last saw each other?”

He released the breath he had been holding and touched her face. “It frightens me only insomuch as it makes my heart feel whole again; and it hasna been for a verra long time. It frightens me to feel that I must learn anew how to hold all these emotions in my heart, once more. But the comfort and the—us-ness between us? I couldna ever be frightened by that; no more than I could be frightened of my own voice.” He gently laid his palm flat against her breast. “Mo chridhe.” 

She traced the lines of his collarbone. “I very nearly went to Edinburgh first, you know.”

“Aye, ye said, in the…your letter.”

It was tucked away in his satchel, along with the PhotoGraphs; and he would keep it, always, but he wasn’t altogether sure he could bring himself to read it again. 

“All the way here from Lallybroch, after I spoke with your sister, I wondered if I ought to have gone there first.” She paused. “Do you think it would have been easier on us? If I had just appeared through your shop door?” 

“It would have given me back a hank of grey hairs that I’ve gained in the last week.”

She laughed, but was not to be dismissed. “What would you have done?” 

He’d have been toiling away at the presses, no doubt, with no notion of great happenings about to take place. Perhaps Fergus might have been present, but most days it was him alone in the shop. What would he have done, when he’d heard her voice with no warning? He’d likely have fainted, as he nearly did at Jenny’s news…but beyond that? What would he have done with Claire Beauchamp before him, alive and well and glowing like the June sun, ready and willing to spend the rest of her days with him? 

“I ken I wouldna have told ye all the truth…about Laoghaire and William.”

“Oh? Why should that have changed?” 

“Is it no’ clear? I’d have been so scairt that it would be too much to hear.” He shook his head in growing conviction. “For all the terror and the near-missing in the way things did come to pass, at least I was able to tell ye all, Claire, wi’ no hesitation. There was nothing more to be lost and so I was able to just say everything, some things I hadna ever once spoken aloud to everyone! It just—The truth was the only thing that could keep ye from going. And so while I canna say this is precisely how I’d have wished things to occur, everything is known between us, now, and that is right. Do ye see?” 

“It was a gift to both of us, in its way,” she whispered, “though I know it wasn’t easy.”

“No.” He squeezed her hand, feeling the fine bones and the unbearable silkiness of it. How he wished he could see her. “But if ye’d come upon me in Edinburgh, so far from home, from Laoghaire, wi’ me living under a false name already…. Lord, if you’d just arrived there before me? Handed me the moon and offered this miracle of which I’d vainly dreamed for so long? Could I have told ye I had a son? Could I have told ye was marrit and risked ye leaving at once?” He swallowed, ashamed of the truth, but knowing it was truth all the same. “No. I’d have kept it from ye as long as possible. Maybe forever.”

“No you wouldn’t,” she said with immediate, easy confidence. “You’re too much of a noble hero-type to have conscienced any such thing, Jamie Fraser, and you know it.”

God, does she truly believe that? 

A new terror gripped him and he felt his mouth go utterly dry. 

The man he had been these last years—James Fraser or Alexander Malcolm or whoever he might be when he was alone only with his thoughts—had been shaped so deeply by grief and bitterness. Crushed first in the loss of her and the bairn; then laid low by the years of hiding and imprisonment, the strain of clearances upon his family; then William, first the fear of him, then tentative joy, and then the loss, forever; and finally rushing up that crest of hope, that desperate hope that something good was to be found in marrying again, and the ache of crashing down onto the sharp realities below. 

Claire held in her arms a man bitter and broken. Was he one that she could love, really love, once the euphoria of reunion had worn away? Was the shattered man he had been merely a relic of loneliness that would now vanish with her presence? Or would traces remain? Perhaps the Jamie she had loved had ceased to be and could not be revived. In fact, he was certain that it was not so very far from the truth.

“I’m none so very noble as ye might wish to believe, Sassenach.”

He felt her stiffen. 

“Perhaps it’s that I’ve lost too much to honor, or….I’m…” He withdrew, trying to touch her as little as possible as he got the words out. “Ye must ken I’m not altogether the same man of twenty years ago, Claire.”

“You are.” 

“But I’m truly not, Claire. I wish to be, will endeavor to be, for your sake; but I have…. such fears.” 

The wind had ceased to wail outside their cloak shelter. He could hear every intake and exhale of her breaths. 

He suddenly felt her hand, cool and sure, touching his cheek, the other coming to rest on the curve of his breast. “Is your heart still mine?”

God, Claire. 

“Yours,” he croaked. “Yours, mo nighean donn. Never did it stop being so.”

“Then, we’ll manage with the rest. All the rest.” She cupped the back of his neck to pull him down closer. “I see what you fear, what you dread you are. Perhaps I couldn’t have seen it, if I’d found you in Edinburgh; but I’m here now, and I see you.” 

She saw him. Even in darkness, Claire saw him. 

I love you, Jamie Fraser.”

And though that was a point on which he had never held the faintest doubt, the hearing of it now, her declaration, his true name…. 

To be seen, and yet still be loved. 

Tears came, fast and many, and he made no move to halt them. She pulled him down to her breast, murmuring love over him again and again as sleep pressed itself upon him, her hands holding him. He could sleep, at last. Claire was watching over him.

So I thought to myself: but why does he get a new jacket? And then this happened.  But one possibility of many.  I blame @acrobat-elle for this.  Starts pre-new-jacket.

Stepping quietly across the living room floor, Killian peers out the nearest window.  It’s still the middle of February, and as he’s gathered, winter never seems to end in this realm, as surely as summer persists in Neverland.  He gives the fire a stir before he rests against the windowsill, the divots in the delicately carved wood sure to press a pattern into his flesh.  But there’s something about the quiet, the illusion of total solitude, the complete and utter darkness, that’s remarkably comforting. So he stays, and presses the palm of his hand against the glass, where the wind and the biting cold have begun to draw sharp, frozen figures.

“Your hand’s gonna freeze to the glass.”

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She Was My Mother // C.G  (Pt. 3)

Summary: You recognize your father, Negan, in the lineup.

Pairing: Carl Grimes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, angst

Word Count: 608

Originally posted by tahab5

“I thought he was dead.” Carl avoids eye contact with me, his lip quivering either with hatred or sadness. I can hear a small sigh emerging from Carl as my father backs away from him.

“I thought he was dead. I thought he…Carl, please look at me.” His hat tilts upwards slightly and I can see the blue glint of his eye. I repeat the phrase ‘I thought he was dead’ like a mantra, begging him to understand. Carl just shakes his head, putting both hands on his knees.

“And I thought you were only person in this world I could trust. I guess we were both wrong then, huh?” Negan just laughs to the side of me, as if this were the funniest thing he’d ever seen : the daughter he hadn’t seen in years getting her heartbroken all because of him; seeing everything I built come crashing down before me. That’s when I hear Rick.

“I will kill you.”

The sun is risen by the time Negan embeds fear in all of our hearts. There’s a commotion, however, all that draws my attention is the thick blood pooling around Abraham and Glenn’s head. I had met Glenn first on the road in the venture to look for his wife. We met Abraham soon after that, and I was taken in like a stray dog to the rest of the group. In retrospect, they saved me, and all I can do now is look at their remains in awe - the doing of the man who raised me. The torment ended with two dead friends, Rick’s submission, and Daryl thrown in the back of a van.

“Now, we’ll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then, ta-ta.” Everyone stays in their positions as the Saviors walk off. The two men who still had their hands wrapped around me pull me to the side and try forcing me in a truck.

“Get off of me. Get off!” Carl’s head snaps around as I kick and push back on these men. Negan hops in the front seat, his men successful as I sit in the bed of the truck with their hands still on me. Carl watches the truck drive off, not saying a word, but not breaking his gaze either. I close my eyes, and imagine the night we met in the shipping container in Terminus. He had blood on the side of his face, and I could see his bright blue eyes even in utter darkness. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can start to imagine the darkness in that container, and how those blue eyes started to give me hope when I fell the victim to the products of a world driven mad. With that, I hear myself starting to cry.

“Sweetheart, are you - are you crying?” Negan asks, checking on me in his rear view mirror.

“Now, now, don’t cry. I remember when you came home from school one day. You had fallen off your bike on the ride home, and all you did was fucking wail that entire night, even though you just had a scrape on your elbow. But your mom, she sang to you and you stopped crying. Now, what’s that song mom used to sing when you were sad? Oh, I remember now.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

“You make me happy when skies are gray.

“You’ll never know dear how much I love you.

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

I scrunch my face, closing my eyes tightly as tears fall.

“I wanna go home.”

@michonve @1-2-3-my-name-is-oli

The Birds and the Bees- Meihem One-Shot (NSFW)

The question had come from nowhere.

Mei hadn’t been expecting it at all, not while she was laying in bed still panting and sweating, her body only just starting to cool from their third round of the night.

Junkrat had returned from a mission in Egypt, arriving on a ship that had landed earlier that evening after almost four weeks away. The junker had shoved his way past his colleagues, waved Roadhog off as his bodyguard headed for the cafeteria, made a beeline for Mei’s dorms, and had set upon her like a man possessed as soon as she’d barely opened the door. That had been hours ago, and the junker’s libido was finally starting to slow down, allowing Mei to at least catch her breath. She was an absolute mess, her hair damp and sticking out in all directions, her body flushed pink and glistening with perspiration, and the insides of her thighs were still wet and sticky. He had just rolled off her in a similar state of disarray, though disarray was hardly an unusual state for him in the first place. He was grinning as always, laying sprawled on his back next to the dazed woman atop her rumpled snowflake sheets.

There was finally room for something else in his brain, able to think of something other than sex. Well, the thoughts were still sex-related, but he wasn’t really sure where they had come from. He’d taken Mei to bed countless times since their first night together and he’d never really thought of it before. He’d been focused on…other things at the time. Still, the thought he had was intriguing. Really, it was a good question, he decided, so he turned to her and he asked it.

“Oi, Mei.”

“Mm?” She gave a little moan next to him, eyes closed and barely listening.

“Did ya ever want a baby?”

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I’ve been drawing a lot of my Gaster interpretation (code named:Creepster), but there are actually two Creepsters, a Pacifist and  No-Mercy version.  I’ve been focusing a lot on the No-Mercy Creepster because I like drawing angry raging monsters, so I decided to shift a bit and explore Pacifist Creepster.

He’s a very sad goop, who misses his boys and tries to do whatever he can for them, even if all he can muster is tucking them in while they catch a few zzz’s on a bench in Waterfall.  Well, at least Sans is catching some zzz’s.

Tried to capture some of the utter darkness that actually is the Underground with this one.

The Pawns And The Kings

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Originally posted by bangtanbtsmut

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Smut

Plot: The reader is kidnapped, left alone in utter darkness. Once the day of her auctioning comes, she’s given to the head of one of the worlds most powerful gangs, Jungkook. She was nothing but a gift to him. But her little soul turns out to have the power to turn the tides in the worlds angriest ocean. And it turns out, Jungkook isn’t the only man whom eyes have settled upon her.

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