last time he will ever see his home

36. “Baby I will never stop trying to help you see your beauty.” with taehyung | 3.2k

Taehyung knows, just knows, that there was no way you weren’t hungry this morning. Last night had been one of those rare occasions where he was home before you, and he remembered you heading straight to bed the minute your shoes were off, turning down his offer for takeout in favour of sleep. He locks the door, and recounts the conversation from earlier.

(The smell of scrambled eggs, a newfound favourite ever since he stole a piece from your plate, pulls Taehyung out of bed. He treads over to where you stand, dressed in his shirt, hair messily pulled into a bun and he wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around you. So, he does just that.

His arms engulf you and he buries his nose in your shoulder, taking in your scent.

He hears you chuckle, finally up? and he hums back.

“Tae, I can’t do anything if you’re holding onto me like this.”

He opens his eyes and sees that from where he’s got you anchored in his embrace, the salt shaker is just too far from your fingertips. Wordlessly, he loosens his hold, and you get back to making breakfast, well, as best as you can when there’s a grown man leaning on you.

He studies your features in the morning sun: the curve of your brows, partly covered by hair that fell loose; the slope of your nose, cupid’s bow, and the soft lines of your lips.

“My Y/N, you look so pretty today,” he gives you a squeeze at that, earning a chuckle from you.

“I know, I know, you tell me every day,” he feels you pat his arms around your waist.

He plants a gentle kiss to the side of your head, “because it’s true.”

You jokingly smack his arm. “Alright, Romeo. Times’s a-ticking. Let me go so I can get changed.”

“You’re not eating?” he leans back to get a better look at you.

“Not hungry. Now, really, I’m gonna be late, Tae.”

He huffs, but lets his arms drop from around your waist. You give him a quick peck before heading off to the bedroom.

After some contemplation, Taehyung decides that breakfast can wait, and follows after you. He finds you as you’re taking one last check in the mirror, fingers running through your hair to get the knots that you can’t be bothered to brush out. He takes in your outfit and marvels at how they fit on you.

“Wow” he breathes out in awe.

He sees you pause, and you glance up to his reflection in the mirror. “Wow?” you laugh, fingers resuming their course. “I wear this all the time, tae.”

He settles down on the edge of the bed, eyes tracing your every movement. “I know, but it looks good, baby, really good.”

You send him a weird expression over your shoulder, “telling me once a day at breakfast isn’t enough, tae?”

He brings one hand to his chest, mouth agape in mock offence. “Baby! I will never stop trying to help you see your beauty!”

You cover your mouth with one hand, your laughter now filling the room. You stride over to lean down and whisper, “I knew I could count on my prince,” a grin adorning your lips.

He pretends to kneel, one arm lifted behind him and, “it’s my pleasure, your highness.”

You plant a kiss to his forehead and ruffle his hair before turning to grab your purse. He follows you to the door.

“See you later, Tae.”

“Bye, Y/N,” he waves back, and adds, “fighting!”)

Maybe he’s wrong, Taehyung ponders. Maybe you’d grabbed something on the way or maybe you’d really not been feeling hungry. Nonetheless, it still doesn’t explain the untouched popcorn during movie marathons, how you now always carry a glass of water in hand, and how food in the fridge seems to stay there longer.

But he doesn’t know how to bring it up, either. With Jimin, it’d been easier. Tight schedules meant that the time they had to themselves was limited, so he kept his words short, directing the message to his best friend in the van, between rehearsals, urging the other to eat whenever there was a break. With Jimin, it’d been easier because he’d acknowledged it. They all knew why Jimin held himself back whenever food was involved, and it was only a matter of convincing Jimin that another bowl of rice would do him more good than harm.

With you, however, things were different. When Taehyung first noticed the change in your behaviour, he was staring at you through his phone and saw the way your face sunk into your cheeks. He asked for a tour of the kitchen, whining for you to show me some Korean food I think I’m getting sick of Burger King, just to confirm his suspicions. Through the pixelated images, he saw that the snacks he’d sent home months ago were barely opened, when in the past they’d be gone the following week. It had felt like a punch in the gut when Taehyung finally connected the dots and realized that something was wrong.

He couldn’t see you in person then, and it felt inappropriate to deliver all that he’d wanted to say over text, so he promised himself that he’d tell you once he got home. When the time came, however, it was during a one-week break and he found himself coming up short in words because you deserved a happy week with him, didn’t you?

He sighs, and finds himself dialing the number of his best friend. He’s greeted with a grunt, quickly followed by a mumbled whatdoyouwantit'slike6amtaeta–

“Jiminie,” Taehyung cuts him off, “I need your help.”


Taehyung can hear you in the hallway, and he’s just about to get the door for you when you beat him to it, letting it slam behind you and suddenly, he’s not so sure of himself anymore.

“Taehyung, what the fuck was that.” Your words writhe of anger and Taehyung thinks he can actually feel your stomps as you head his way. You throw your coat onto the couch beside him, and all Taehyung has to meet your glare is silence, the words he had ready now stunned out of his mouth.

“Nothing? Really, Tae? After that stunt you pull, embarrassing me in front of god knows how many people and my boss, and you’ve got nothing to say?” You jab your finger in his direction, and Taehyung has to remind himself to be the bigger person here because you’re hurting and it was somehow because of him.

“I–no, just … ” he trails off, at a loss for words, and it’s only worsened by how you’re staring him down with such a guarded expression that he almost doesn’t recognize you anymore. “I thought you’d like it, Y/N,” he looks into your eyes, willing his sincerity to reach through.

“Oh that’s just fantastic, isn’t it?” you bite back, and Taehyung wants to flinch back at the way your words sound drippingly sweet, something he’d never heard used on him. “And you thought hiring some teenage boys to march into the office, singing Bruno Mars to some bad ukulele is the way to my heart?” You dare him to respond.

“Y/N …” Taehyung bites his tongue because while he isn’t one to hold back when wrongly accused, he doesn’t want to make this worse. “I was worried about you.” He tries to take a step in your direction, only for you to take a step back and motion for him to stay where he is.

Don’t,” you warn. “Worried about me?” you gesture to yourself.

“–because you weren’t eating much” Taehyung quickly adds.

“Well did you maybe consider that ‘Just the Way You Are’ isn’t going to fucking make anything better?”

Taehyung tears his eyes away, not wanting his anger, your anger, to get the best of him.

“Not everyone was born with great genes like you, damn it. Some of us have to actually work for our body, Tae.”

Taehyung spins around at that instant, gives you time to take those words back, but you don’t. So he walks to the door and heads out, each step tearing his heart apart but he knows it’s better than anything that might come out of his mouth.

Behind him, you stand rooted to the floor, staring after the closed door and Taehyung’s already walked too far when a sob rips out of your chest. For the first time in a while, you’ve only got the floor to catch you when your legs give out.


You’re only vaguely aware of someone pounding on your door, a loud open the door god damn it Y/N has you out of bed when the sky outside is only barely lit in the early morning–or is it evening? The next thing you know, your best friend has you marched into the shower, hands imploring you to hurry along because how do you not smell yourself right now?

The shower wakes you up, and you feel even better when she places a hot bowl of soup in front of you once you change into a different outfit than the one you’d been wearing for the past few days. Instinctively, you dive right in, the smell of the soup reminding your stomach that oh yeah, you’re hungry. Halfway through, you remember that this, food, was what started the fight between you and Taehyung and all of a sudden, your appetite is gone and you can feel the tears welling back in your eyes.

“Oh honey,” your best friend coos, reaching out to wrap you in a hug.

You lean into her embrace, and like you’ve done for her countless times over the years, she cards her fingers through your hair.

“What happened?” she softly whispered.

“… I-I messed up,” you chock out, and recount the story as best as you can between gasps for air.

“Shhh,” she sways you back and forth. “Is he still in town?”

You do the mental math, adding a few buffer days because you’re not sure how much time has passed but there’s no way it’s been a week, and nod back.

“Then go talk to him,” she implores. “Explain, apologize, say whatever you need to say. He loves you, Y/N, don’t forget that.”

You only huff in response, but, knowing she’s right, you get up and decide to pay the rest of the boys a visit, seeing how Taehyung’s probably at the dorm.


It’s almost ten when you arrive, the sun had set hours ago but you wanted to make sure you had everything. A knock to the door, and it’s Jungkook who greets you first. He gives you a wary smile and hello noona, taking the bags out of your hands, and tells you right away that Taehyung’s in his room. You muster a smile, grateful he didn’t comment on the bags under your eyes, and make your way to the end of the hall.

You ignore the way your heart is pounding against your chest, and raise your knuckles to the wood, but stop just before contact when a familiar voice cuts through the door.

“maybe she’s not worth it, taetae.”

You’re not sure if Taehyung is awake but if he is, he doesn’t say anything. The quiet lets your mind wander and you think about all the girls Taehyung could date and yeah, I’m not worth it, Tae. Your feet carry you back to where you came from, and Jungkook wouldn’t have noticed that you left for not the gentle click of the front door. He considers asking his hyung how the conversation was, but remembers the stench of the room from when he had to bring them lunch earlier, and decides against it.

The next morning, everybody is already at the dining table when Jimin drags a sleepy Taehyung into the kitchen. Everyone, even the normally blunt Yoongi, pretends they don’t notice the swelling around his eyes and the redness to his nose.

“Tae, eat up,” the eldest hyung commands, pushing the dishes toward him.

The latter weakly nods, takes a small bite, and puts his spoon down.

“Come on, TaeTae,” Jimin urges. “Hyung bought you your favourite cake too so you can eat that after.”

This catches Jin off guard. “Wait, Jimin, it wasn’t you? Who bought the cake then?”

Jimin looks up, unsure if Jin is setting up a joke in an attempt to cheer Taehyung up when Jungkook interrupts.

“Noona brought that cake over,” the youngest says, innocent eyes scanning the confusion in everyone’s expressions.

Taehyung looks up, “Y/N … she was here?”

Jungkook blinks, “yeah, last night. Didn’t you talk to her?”

Taehyung slams his hands on the table, and Jimin almost laughs because this is the most energetic Taehyung has been in a while. “JEON JUNGKOOK HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME?”

The youngest darts out of his seat at the speed of lighting and Jin has to physically hold Taehyung back.

“Look, Tae, you don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready, but maybe you should go talk to her,” Jin offers, and in an instant the latter quietens.

Namjoon walks up to the younger, always a soft spot for him, and pats his shoulder. “You know I want the best for you, Tae, but hear her out. We’re heading out in a couple days and you’ll feel better if you work it out before we leave.”

With some hesitation, Taehyung nods, and Hoseok takes that as his opportunity to usher him out the door, emphasizing how he and Jimin can take the time to air out their room.


A while later, Taehyung finds himself in front of your apartment, and when a knock doesn’t suffice in getting you to the door, he apologizes under his breath and unlocks it himself, suddenly feeling like an intruder in your space. He finds you in bed, a box of tissues by your pillow and it looks like you were going through an old photo album of the two of you, neatly placed on your desk amidst all the chaos in your room. He flips through some of the pages, silently thankful for all the times Jimin insisted on third wheeling, and all the times Yoongi quietly captured those moments in the background. He sits down by the edge of your bed and his fingers instinctively go to move the hair out of your face.

The motion is enough to wake you from your troubled slumber, and when you awake to see Taehyung petting you like you’re still the most precious thing in the world, you all but lose it.

Taehyung sees the corner of your mouth turn downwards before he sees the glint in your eyes, warning of another batch of tears. After all this, he still can’t stand the sight of you crying so he coos “don’t cry …” and runs his hand through your hair once more.

You ignore him, throw the covers to the side and unashamedly climb onto his lap. “I’m so sorry, Tae,” you mumble into his chest.

He rubs your back, falls back onto the bed so he can hold you better, but he doesn’t forgive you, not yet.

You were expecting this, yet it failed to numb the blow because you’re here with the boy whose heart you broke and every apology seems inadequate. You push yourself up, and ask, “why are you here?”

“To see you,” he replies. “To talk … to listen.” he gives, thumbs massaging your hips.

You hold back a sob; the magnitude of the moment weighing down on your shoulders because you’re aware that the future of this relationship could very well depend on what you say next.

Taehyung seems to read your mind, like he always has, and says, “just talk to me, Y/N. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You nod, and it takes a while, but eventually the words start forming on your tongue and you’re filling him in on all that’s been going on: the ex boyfriend who’d convinced you that a sharper jawline, a slimmer waist and thinner arms would’ve made you better, prettier; how happy you were when Taehyung came into your life and you started thinking otherwise. You told Taehyung that, after your last relationship, you vowed not to talk about yourself in terms of beauty, a sort of coping mechanism you’d unconsciously developed because if beauty matters, then maybe I don’t matter at all, and how seeing his insistence on making sure you knew you were pretty made you feel like you had to work harder to prove yourself. That was how you got back onto the scale and started taking more time in front of the mirror again, not thinking he’d notice since he wasn’t home most of the time.

That led you to now, head resting on his chest and damp blotches on his shirt from your tears.

Taehyung’s silent for a while, knowing that the waiting is gruesome but he wants to get his words right so he takes his time.

“Y/N,” he begins. “You’re still pretty to me, Y/N,” and he feels you stiffen at this, but hopes that what he says next will make it better. “But it’s not something superficial. You know when you meet someone, get to know them, and then their personality kind of becomes them?”

Taehyung feels you shake your head, and this is when he wishes he’s got his hyungs’ ways with words. “I’m saying,” he clarifies, “you look so pretty because I see you and I see how you treat other people, how you help the grandma down the hall bring her groceries up, how you send my parents texts and keep them updated because you know how much they mean to me, how you always give your change to that one homeless man down the block even though everybody else has stopped trying because you’re doing your best to respect him, that he’s an adult, he can do what he wants with the money and that stuff, it just makes you look so so good.”

He feels hot tears through his shirt again, but his worries are quickly subdued when he hears you mutter you’re so good to me into his shirt.

“I’m sorry, Tae,” you repeat once more. “For what I said. And for not telling you sooner.”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Taehyung forgives easily, especially when it comes to you. “Will it still bother you if I call you pretty?”

“Well … Yeah. Habits are hard to change, you know?”
He nods. “Aright. Guess I’ll have to find something else.”

“ … Like what?”

Taehyung hums. “How 'bout,” he waits until you lift your eyes up in curiosity. “Drop dead gorgeous.”

No,” you groan.

He chuckles. “I’ll keep thinking, then.”


From: Taehyung

What’s cookin’ good lookin’?

To: Taehyung

No

From: Taehyung

What’s shakin’, bacon?

To: Taehyung

STOP

From: Taehyung

Lookin’ clean, jellybean ;)

From: Taehyung

… Did you have to send that to everyone. Jungkook is still laughing at me.


requests are open :) 

Imagine - you’re Negan’s only wife and you’re pregnant with his child, after he returns home from Alexandria and seeing Judith for the first time, you see the real soft side to your husband.

Warnings - swearing, fluff, negan is a warning on his own tbh.

Negan hadn’t left your side, you were nearing the last few days of your pregnancy until your due date and you were more excited than you ever had been. Your relationship with Negan hadn’t always been perfect, he did like to sleep around at the beginning but he soon realised he’d never get another chance with you, so left his other wives to spend the rest of his days by your side.

After the kid from Alexandria had turned up, Negan gave Simon strict orders to sit in your shared bedroom until he returned, and that was 2 days ago, of course you were beginning to worry, being pregnant wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, especially during an apocalypse.

Simon had made sure you were kept in bed, Carson came in to check on you every couple of hours doing his best not to wake you from your sleep, you were too worried though, “Where is he, Simon? Our baby is due today, why isn’t he here?”

Negan’s right hand man was like the brother you never had, he cherished you with all his heart and would do anything to protect you. Simon looked up from his book before throwing it aside and sitting on the edge of the kings sized bed, “He’ll be here, he’d never miss this, you hear?” You nod slowly as he tucks a strand of your H/C hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek slightly to soothe your nerves.

A soft knock sounds on the door, “Come in,” you groan in annoyance, the door opens slightly and you see Negan’s smirking face appear in the gap, “Negan,” you breathe as he steps in, dismissing Simon as he takes his jacket off, “I thought you wouldn’t be back in time.”

Negan smiles down at you as he climbs onto the space next to your body, lying beside you, “Like I would miss the birth of our son,” he rubs tender circles into your large stomach, gazing down on you lovingly, “Rick has another kid you know, a little girl, Judith, seeing her made me realise how lucky I am to have you,” he pauses, looking into your eyes, “Fuck, I love you, Y/N.”

In a second you slap his chest, “No swearing around the baby,” you remind him sternly, he would give him credit, he had been trying to control his language to the best of his ability, but even if it did slip you would tell him off.

Negan rolls his eyes at your words, “Sorry, doll,” he kisses your lips softly, both of you moving in sync. Your husband pulls you in closer, and as soon as he does you feel wetness gush between your thighs, you freeze, “Baby? Are you okay?” Negan sits up, assessing your suddenly frantic frame.

“Get Carson, he’s coming.”

—–

It had been 7 hours since your water broke and to say you were in agony was an understatement, Negan did his best, pulled your hair away from your face and used a cold rag to ease your temperature, not once did he let go of your hand whilst Carson checked on you, “Alright, Y/N, it’s time to start pushing,” he tells you with confidence, “On three, one, two, three,” you push hard, a cry of pain erupting from your lips.

Negan sits beside you, hating that he can’t ease your pain for you as you push that little life from your body, he looks at you, how beautiful you are even in that moment as you push your son into the world, he looks at Carson who smiles slightly, “One more should do it, Y/N,” Negan grabs your hand, whispering sweetly into your ear as you push for the final time before the room is filled with the cries of you child, “We’ve got a boy,” Carson tells the pair of you as he wraps him up in multiple blanket, handing him to you almost immediately.

“Baby, I’m so proud of you,” Negan tells you, stroking your sweat ridden hair from your face, “And you’re still gorgeous,” you giggle at his comment before connecting your lips harshly, “I’ll never let anyone touch you.”

6 months later

Negan looks at you from across the room, how you bounce your son, Noah, on your hip in front of the women who loved him more and more each passing day. Negan knew it hadn’t been easy for you to get back to normal, he knew you felt insecure so when anyone mentioned something about ‘baby weight’ or anything of the sort he would should them down instantly, if anyone went to touch you or your boy then he would push them away.

One night you all lay in your shared bedroom, Noah resting on your bare chest as you play with his lack of hair. Negan rolls onto his side, his hand rubbing the soft, pink skin of his little soldier who sleeps soundly on your chest, “I want another one,” he tells you with a twinkle in his eye.

You look at your husband, “So do I,” you tell him, “How about we start trying again soon? We all know that’s the best part,” you attempt and innuendo, he smirks at your comment but doesn’t remove his eyes from your child.

“You know what? I think this is the best part, nothing can beat this,” he leans over you, planting a soft, loving kiss on your forehead before pulling you and Noah into his chest, wrapping his arms protectively around the both of you.

Naughty Girl (yoongi smut)

Anony requested: yoongi daddykink!AU pleaseee :-))

Words: 970

Yoongi x Reader

Warning: Smut


Originally posted by aestheticvbts

Missing a performance always made you feel horrible, it didn’t matter if you weren’t physically able to go to a show while doing your final exams. It made you feel like the most horrible girlfriend ever.
And apparently Yoongi knew that, because as soon as you turned on your phone after getting on the bus home, you regretted opening it in public.

From: Daddy💘
[19:33] Good Luck facing the Math Demon, kitten

[19:40] if you do well daddy’ll reward you

[19:52] that’s your last exam right?
[19:52] because Daddy has something different for his kitty to study tonight

You hurriedly checked the time to see if he would be home, but no luck you had about two hours until he would get home, and that left you feeling naughty.
As soon as you got home you put on Yoongi’s favorite set of lingerie, a black lace camisole that left you feeling more naked than naked and a matching lacy G-string. After getting changed you thew yourself in the middle of the pillows on your bed, hair falling messily everywhere. Then you snapped the perfect picture, where just your little pout, messy hair and just enough of the lace so he recognized the lingerie you were wearing.

To: Daddy 💘
[22:48] I need my daddy 🐱
Picture attachment

His silence was all the answer you needed. The knowledge you were probably going to be punished tonight left you rubbing your thighs together in expectation.
Your hand slowly crept downwards, down the valley in between your breasts, down your belly, to be buried under lace, almost touching the place you wanted to touch the most.
He hadn’t even arrived, yet the promise of Yoongi already left you breathless. You started playing with yourself, slowly at first, but picking up speed. You were close to relief when a low whistle from right beside you startled you motionless.
“I see my baby girl has been naughty”
His smirk was absolutely hungry looking down at you from his spot by the headboard. Not letting you speak the black haired man walked very slowly walking around you, like a predator, circling his prey as you followed him with your eyes, noticing how spotless he was in his black outfit, no sign of the three hour show.

 “You miss me that much?” He asked as he started to strip himself. Your eyes followed as his shirt fell down his body, exposing his beautiful belly.

“Yes daddy” you answered breathless.

“Touch yourself for me” he said as he unzipped his pants. You blushed a little but decided to obey. You slowly rubbed your clit over your clothes, letting small groans escape your lips.

 He let his pants and underwear fell to the ground, letting his semi-hard dick break free. He pumped it a few times as he saw you touching yourself and got closer, standing in front of the bed.

“Come here, babygirl” he commanded. You did as he said, crawling towards him. You stopped, your head leveled with his cock.

“You’ve been such a bad girl, don’t you?” he groaned, entangling his fingers on your hair.

“Yes daddy, I do. But just because I miss you. I miss your cock inside me” you whimpered.

“Handjob me” he said. You took his length in your hands, pumping it a few times before your tongue lick his tip, dropping with pre-cum. He groaned. One of your hands cuped his balls, massaging it softly. He groaned again, forcing your head down to his dick.

“Blow daddy” he groaned. You took him into your mouth, your hand pumping what you could not fit. You licked everything you could. You decided to deep-throat him, gagging a little.

 “Fuck, Y/N, you take daddy’s cock so fucking well” he whispered and you moaned.

“Don’t fucking move” he groaned and started thrusting into your mouth, his thrusts quickly became fast and rough. You gagged, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck” he groaned and released into your mouth, you swallowed every drop.

“Go lay down, baby girl, daddy is gonna give you a treat for being such a good girl for my cock” he groaned.

You did, laying on your back. He crawled over you, leaning in and kissing you passionately. He started sucking on your neck, his hands massaging your breasts. You moaned and he smirked. He traveled down and his tongue found your hardened nipple, softly biting a little.

 “Daddy…” you moaned.

“Tell me, baby girl” he groaned against your skin.

“Please eat me out” you begged.

He smirked and traveled down, licking your belly and soon finding your inner thigh. He kissed your skin, licking and kissing everything but you wanted the most.

You bucked your hips up. He finally found your clit, sucking at it harshly. You wrapped your fingers on his hair, pulling him even closer. His tongue found your entrance and he started to fuck you with his tongue.

“Fuck, daddy, that feels so good” you moaned. He introduced one finger inside you and played with your clit with his tongue. He felt your walls clenching around his finger and pulled away.

You whimpered at the emptiness.

“Don’t worry, baby girl, daddy is about to fuck you hardly” he groaned.

 He placed himself between your legs and quickly pushed in, thrusting immediately, not even letting you adjust. His thrusts were rough, his skin slapping against yours.

“Fuck, daddy” you moaned. He started kissing your collarbones, his hand adding pressure to your clit.

“Cum for daddy, baby girl” he said and your walls started clenching again, around his dick.

“Fuck, you are so tight” he groaned.

A few thrusts later both of you came, your breathes heavy. He was laying beside you. He pulled you closer, your head resting on his chest.

“Daddy killed your longing?” he whispered.

5

On 12 February 1993, Denise Bulger temporary turned away from her 2-year-old son, James Bulger, while paying for something at the butchers in the New Strand Shopping Centre in Bootle. Little did she know, this would be the last time she would ever see her son alive. During this short space of time, 10-year-old Jon Venables and 10-year-old Robert Thompson, who were playing truant from school, had lured James away from his mother. The boys took little James on a 2.4 mile walk, during which he was abused endlessly - he was dropped, kicked, punched, and suffered bruising to the face. Many people saw the little boy, most didn’t bother to intervene, but the few that did were told by Venables and Thompson that James was their little brother and was crying because he did not want to go home. What happened next was abhorrent. The two boys led James to a railway where they proceeded to throw paint in his eyes, throw stones and rocks at him, beat him with a brick and then hit him with an iron bar. They shoved batteries into his mouth and it was rumoured, also into his anus. He suffered 42 injuries in total but it was undetermined which one was the fatal blow. After they became bored with torturing James they laid his body on the train track and left. It was determined James died before the train hit him, severing his little body in half.

Venables and Thompson were found guilty on 24 November 1993. They were sentenced to custody until the age of 18. They were released and given new identities. Venables was sent back to prison for violating the terms of his license of release. He was found guilty of possession and distribution of child pornography. He was released again in 2013.

anonymous asked:

Can we see more of your cop!Jim Au? maybe Bones tries to flirt his way out of a speeding ticket or something like that? :D

  • Some days are worse than others; in Leonard’s case most days suck. He works incredibly long days, he’s been on a string of miserable dates, the dates that have gone well are not really interested in waiting days – or weeks - for Leonard to have a night off again. Joanna’s off to boarding school so he doesn’t get to see her at all until the next holiday. He’s just spent the last eight hours saving the life of a patient, only to find out that some asshole smashed his headlights in. He’s gritting his teeth and cursing under his breath while he drives home, because when is he ever going to have the time to get this fixed? 
  • He doesn’t even get home. He’s halfway there when a police car signals him over to stop, and Leonard briefly considers just to keep on driving and pretend he didn’t see it, but that’s inevitably only going to cause more trouble. So he pulls over and pulls down his window. As soon as the cop shows up at his window, Leonard is just rubbing his temples. “Did you know how-” “Yes, officer, I’m aware my fucking headlight’s broken. I’m fixing it this weekend.” “‘Kay, but I was really stopping you because you were driving way too fast,” the cop says, “did you realize how fast you were going?” Leonard frowns, because it’s honestly not something he paid attention to at all (which is bad). He turns to look out the window, briefly stunned by the guy in uniform because hot damn. “Well?” the cop asks, and Leonard winces a little. “Yes?“ "Care to tell me?“ the cop asks, and Leonard throws him a small smile. “If you care to tell me your phone number. Officer… Kirk.” The cop leans down, so he’s at eye level with Leonard, and suddenly Leonard seems to realize what he’s just said out loud, because there’s an amused look on the officer’s face. “Excuse me?” Leonard shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” he says, and officer Kirk stands up straight again. “Shame,” he replies, and Leonard registers that. Shame? Because Leonard can flirt. Kind of. If he’s interested, and mostly with the ladies. Men aren’t exactly his usual area of expertise ( – though they’re not entirely foreign either. Even Bones has been young in college). "I’m going to have to write you a ticket,“ officer Kirk says, pulling out his notebook. Leonard sighs, then throws Kirk a small smile. “How about instead of that ticket I pay my dues differently?” he asks, and Kirk raises his eyebrows. “What?” “I can treat you to a coffee.” “… Oh,” Kirk says, “no. A ticket. And don’t make me write another one for trying to bribe an officer.”
  • Maybe his flirting isn’t so good after all. Maybe that’s also why his dates have gone so terrible over the last few weeks. He pays for that fine and then goes on with his life. He doesn’t think he’ll ever see that hot cop again, but gets lucky. Or not at all. He walks outside a 7-Eleven at night. He carries his bags towards his car, and frowns when there’s a cop standing in front of it. Fuck. “Wait! Please,” Leonard starts, frowning as the officer turns around and it’s Kirk again. “I know I’m technically not allowed to park here, but I’m leaving like, right now,” Leonard says, and Kirk raises his eyebrow. “You didn’t fix your headlight,” he says, and Leonard cringes. “I am going to do that right now,” he says. Kirk raises his eyebrow. “It’s midnight.” “Tomorrow,” Leonard corrects himself, “I’m doing it tomorrow morning.”
  • “See, I don’t really buy that. Because you told me you were gonna get it fixed last time,” Kirk says, and Leonard raises an eyebrow. “You remember me, huh?” “Course,” Kirk says, “hard not to.” Hard not to? Was that his way to be open to flirting? It didn’t exactly work last time, but maybe Leonard’s flirting skills are more than rusty. While Jim writes him his ticket, Leonard tosses his groceries (or mostly liquor, sodas and snacks) in the backseat, then he turns around to face the officer again. “Can I change your mind on this at all?” “You broke the law,” Kirk says, “pains me to see a handsome face distressed, but I’m not allowed to be biased.” Leonard’s a little stunned, because he’s not used to being flirted with - or at least, haven’t been in a long time. And really, how much of a flirt is it if this guy’s writing him a ticket, anyway?
  • “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Leonard groans when the same officer stands near his car again just a week later. “I got my headlight fixed!” “I can see that,” Kirk says. “What, then? I certainly wasn’t speeding this time,” Leonard says. “You could show me a little respect.” “I feel you’re deliberately targeting me,” Leonard replies, and Kirk raises his eyebrows. “What’s next?” Leonard continues, “you wanna frisk me? See if I’m holding any weapons of mass destruction?” “I’m not even really here for you,” Jim says. Leonard hesitates, frowning a little. “Oh?” “Someone keyed your car. I chased them down, but they got away, so I was just writing you a note for your insurance.” “Oh,” Leonard replies, rubbing the back of his neck, “thanks?” “You really ought to show me a little respect,” Kirk says, “not my fault the first two times we ran into each other is because you broke the law.” "Those were all minor things!“ Leonard counters, “you could have just let me off with a warning and then go after real criminals. But no, you gotta go after this tired doctor because you have absolutely nothing better to do but playing hot cop and abusing your power–”
  • So maybe Leonard deserved being pressed against the police car.That rant had absolutely nothing to do with Jim, and more with his own frustrations. Jim cuffs his hands behind his back and throws him in the backseat. Leonard is still quietly fuming in his seat, watching that stupidly handsome cop drive him to the precinct. “Are you alright back there?” Jim asks. “No,” Leonard replies, “you’re gonna make me lose my job.” “I’m not, relax. That’s your problem, you’re way too stressed out,” Jim explains. "Do you think that’s partly because I’ve got a cop constantly trying to fine me?“ Leonard mutters. "Again, that’s not really my fault,“ Jim says, “besides, I wasn’t even trying to fine you. I was trying to help you and here you are verbally assaulting a cop.” “Verbally assaulting,” Leonard repeats, though mockingly so. He’s a little confused, though, when Jim pulls up the car and rather than at the precinct, they’re back in the parking lot. “You’re not arresting me?” Leonard asks. “No,” Jim says, “driving cools me off when I’m upset. Thought it might do the same for you, but I’m not convinced.“ He gets out of the vehicle, and then lets Leonard out, too. “Here,” he says, reaching out for his thermos flask with coffee. ”What’s this?” Leonard asks. “You asked me out for coffee before to get out of that first fine.” "Not like this,“ Leonard says, though he takes that flask anyway, because coffee is coffee. “How, then?” Jim asks, and his lips are curled into a small smile - like he already knows the answer. “I wanted to ask you out,” Leonard replies, shrugging a little awkwardly. “Well,” Jim says, taking the flask to take a sip as well, “I figured as much, but you oughta step up your flirting game.”
  • Leonard doesn’t even know what time it is. He’s just quietly talking to Jim outside on that parking lot. They sit on the hood of Leonard’s car. Jim’s apparently off duty now anyway, and Leonard enjoys the late summer evening outside. Plus, Jim’s company isn’t all that unpleasant now that he’s not handing out fines. “Okay,” Leonard laughs eventually, “if you think you’re so good at flirting, why don’t you try and hit on me?” “I prefer a challenge,” Jim replies, grin smug, and Leonard huffs. “I’m not that easy.” "Please,” Jim laughs. He hands Leonard the flask and jumps off the hood, stretching his arms and legs a little. “How about this. I’m writing you another ticket, because “fine” is just written all over you,“ he says, and Leonard laughs. "That’s terrible. Does anyone fall for that?” He asks, grinning when Jim steps closer to him again. “How ‘bout we go to my apartment then, huh?” he continues, a hand on Leonard’s thigh, and that is working. “Why?” Leonard asks. “Some under cover work,” Jim replies, and Leonard snorts. “These are getting worse, officer,” he says, reaching out  for Jim’s uniform, and he pulls him in a little closer. Jim leans forward, lips against Leonard’s in a kiss, and Leonard slides his arms around Jim’s shoulders to keep him close. "I’m serious about going to my apartment,” Jim says eventually, and by then, there’s no way Leonard’s gonna say no. Jim’s arms find their way around Leonard’s waist when the other slides off the car. “Or we can get comfortable on the backseat for a little while,” Leonard suggests with a small smile. Jim just grins, his mouth kissing over Leonard’s neck softly. “You have the right to remain silent, but I doubt you will be,” he says, and Leonard groans. “You are the worst." 
Teaser Time: Happy Birthday Obi-Wan Kenobi!

Obi-Wan woke up with the sun streaming in through a window he must have forgotten to cover with a curtain last night. He let out a groan and turned his face back into his pillow, hating the sun and each new horrible day that came with it.

In three days he was going to ship out to Bandomeer, to leave behind Master Ahsoka, his friends, and the only home he had ever known.

He would never see any of them ever again.

Some birthday present.

I don’t want to get up. I just want to go back to sleep and never wake up again. Obi-Wan thought morosely, sniffling into his pillow. It’s not fair. I want to stay here with Master Ahsoka. I don’t know why she won’t take me as her Padawan Learner. What did I do wrong? Am I not good at jar’kai? Is it my temper?

Obi-Wan could have berated himself for the rest of the day and there was a very large part of him that wanted to sit and wallow in his misery but the rest of him knew he needed to get up and face the day. Master Ahsoka promised she was going to have breakfast with him after being too busy with Council work for the past few days. She had taken him out to eat for dinner every night but it wasn’t the same.

It felt like pity and he hated pity.

With a great groaning sigh, Obi-Wan pushed himself up out of his bed and into a hunched over sitting position, blinking sleepily and confused at the carefully wrapped package on the bedside table next to his bunk.

anonymous asked:

Can you do a blurb with Dan and YN where one of them is really sick or dying idk and it's just lots of sad fluff? I'm a sucker for that stuff xx

~ Walking into the hospital, you felt a tear drip down your cheek. This could be the last time You’d ever see your boyfriend Dan

~The smell of chemicals hit you as you opened the door to his room

~He lay there eyes closed but still breathing. When he heard you walk over to his bed, he opened his eyes and smiled weakly

~“ how you feeling”

~ “I don’t know if I’m going to make it y/n”

~“No, don’t say that!”

~“Just remember, if I do pass just keep going whatever you do, I’ll be by your side”

~after that he fell asleep. You stayed for a few hours and then went home, figuring he needed his sleep

~At 3 am you got a phone call from the hospital

~ “I’m sorry but your boyfriend Daniel Howell passed away”

………………………………………………..

Thanks for submitting!

Not That Bad

Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad x Reader

On the sixth day of Edmas, Captain Kenway gave to me…


At first, you hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. The days were growing shorter as winter fast approached, your duties as an Assassin still outranking all other aspects of your life. You were training when Altaïr greeted you, his lips straight and his hood covering the rest of his face. He claimed he wanted to see your progress. Of course, you were more than ready to show him how much you’d improved. He had, after all, constantly taunted you.

So you’d sparred with him. Blow after blow you parried each other, neither one of you ever able to hit the other. It was tiring work and lasted long into the night. By the time you called a truce, the sun had long since set and the moon was lighting the sky.

“I can walk you home.” Altaïr offered, voice as stoic as ever.

“It’s alright, I think I can handle any trouble on the way.” You chuckled lightly, sheathing your sword.

“I insist.”

Shrugging, you nodded. He walked by your side as you made your way through the twists and turns of the village, the natural light of the skies your only guide. Normally, you’d enjoy the walk home, the beauty of the peaceful roads and the smell of flowers in the air. However, today it was a little more unpleasant, the awkwardness between you and Altaïr taking away from the scenery.

Your eyes flicked up to him, his face unreadable beneath the shadows of his hood. You’d never really spoken to him all that much outside of your Assassin duties, besides the occasional mission you’d have to take with him. And never had he spent more time than necessary with you. In fact, you’d gotten the impression that he, like with most people, disliked you. You were, after all, the only woman Assassin.

But this, this was truly an odd scenario. The great Altaïr didn’t go out of his way to walk anyone to their home, let alone you. So why the sudden change?

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you began, the curiosity itching away at you, “Why are you walking me home?”

His muscles seemed to tense at your question, the lips that were barely visible turned down. He looked to be struggling for an answer.

“You are too worn out to be effective against any danger you might encounter.” He finally settled on that answer, not entirely sure with how that’d boat with you.

“I’m quite capable,” you scoffed, glaring at the pebble your foot kicked in annoyance. The distance screech of a crow took your attention, a sigh being released into the air.

“Even after hours of training?”

That annoying sense of self-importance had slipped back into his tone, causing you to grit your teeth.

“Yes, even after that,” you bit out, stopping abruptly. “Why don’t you go bug someone else?”

Honestly, you’d heard enough talk about not being good enough for three lifetimes, you really didn’t want to hear anymore. Altaïr seemed to fumble with his words for a moment, nodding solemnly and turning his back. You could’ve sworn you heard a soft apology tumble from his lips, but then again, it could’ve been the wind. Shrugging to yourself, you shook off the event and continued on. You doubted anything like that would ever happen again anyways.


The second time it happened, you began to think that maybe there was something Altaïr needed to tell you. It’d been two weeks since he offered to walk you home, most of which you’d spent avoiding the git. He had, although indirectly, suggested that you were incapable of watching out for yourself. You’d been just returning from a short three day mission for a little recon. There hadn’t been any trouble but you had found yourself in need of a break. So, naturally, you went to the river.

The water rushed by in a roar, the soft current tickling at your bare feet as you stood in the water. It was much like what you had done as a child, playing within the cool waters. The temperature didn’t bother you so much as the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, a flash of white robes appearing before you.

“Altaïr?” You questioned, watching the Assassin curiously.

His eyes were on you as you stood knee-high in the water, his hands behind his back.

“(Y/N),” he greeted, nodding once and unsheathing his blade.

The silver glint was blocked by a thick coat of scarlet blood, the sure signs of a recent killing. It seems he’s come to clean his blade. You sighed, turning away from him and moving further into the stream. It was soaking your robes, the thick cloth becoming even heavier as it absorbed the water.

Nostalgic thoughts occupied your mind as you leaned down, immersing your head fully into the liquid. It was relaxing for exactly one minute before a hand ripped you out of the water, your gaze meeting two wide, very beautiful, golden eyes. Altaïr had a look of panic, both hands gripping your shoulders.

“What was that?” You asked, breathless from the time under the water and the sudden disruption.

“I-” He froze up, not entirely sure how to answer it.

“You?” You prompted, setting your lips in a thin line and fixing him with a glare.

“You didn’t come up to breathe and so I thought…” He trailed off, realizing that he still had his hands on your shoulder.

Altaïr pulled away with surprising speed, taking a step back from you.

“That I was what? Dead?” You bit your lip to stop your laugh.

Clearly, the man was a little more than flustered. He shook his head, dragging in a deep breath.

“Well, I just assumed th-”

“It’s okay, Altaïr, really.” You assured him, flashing him a brief, albeit meaningful, smile.

He released a breath, nodding to you. The rush of water ran thickly between the two of you, his mouth opening like he wished to speak more, but no words came out. Strange, he was like that when escorting you home. What was it he seemed to have such trouble spitting out?

“I have to go.” He announced, practically fleeing the scene. You stared where he once stood, an amused smile tugging at your lips. Perhaps Altaïr wasn’t as bad as you made him seem.


It was the third time that you truly understood what was happening. Al Mualim had sent you to Jerusalem with Altaïr stating that he needed two people he truly trusted. Naturally, you and Altaïr had been his first choice. For most of the trip there, Altaïr had been silent, only breaking it when he thought it time to set up camp or retrieve supplies. You didn’t have much desire to speak to him, instead trying to read all you could from his expressions.

All you’d managed to gather in your observations was that he couldn’t hold eye contact with you for more than 5 seconds without looking away and he seemed to have the hardest time biting his tongue when it truly mattered. But there was still something that he wasn’t telling you. It was in the way he’d send you these looks when he didn’t think you were paying attention or the way he’d say your name, like it was a treat to be savoured instead of a mere word to call you.

He’d left you at the campsite an hour ago, leaving you to build a fire while he left in search for water. You’d grown worried, not that you’d ever admit it, but your fears were snuffed out when he approached, his feet moving as gracefully as ever. In both hands he held, presumably, filled waterskins, the scent of cardamom and mint wafting over with him.

“There isn’t much wood to keep the fire going,” you admitted, gesturing towards the dimly lit fire that barely stood a foot above the ground.

“It is good enough.” He said, taking a seat beside you.

You raised your brow, surprised that he didn’t have a complaint about how small the fire was or how you couldn’t find any wood to make sure it was adequately supplied. He handed you your waterskin, either ignoring or oblivious to your shock.

“Thanks.” You mumbled, taking a cautious sip.

The water slid down your throat like the finest of wines, the feel intoxicating. You’d gone hours without drinking and you hadn’t even realized how thirsty you truly were.

“You are welcome.” Altaïr replied lowly, the reply nearly causing you to choke on your water.

Altaïr, the self-important, high and mighty asshole, just acknowledged your thanks. He was full of surprises, his hand lightly patting your back as your coughs subsided. You swallowed, looking upon his face after you caught your breath. His hood was down, something you’d only ever seen twice before. The fire was reflecting off his tanned skin, outlining his sharp cheekbones and full lips. His eyes, golden like the sand under the harsh rays of the sun, were shining brightly to you.

His mouth opened, almost as if he wanted to saw something, then snapped shut with an audible click. The crackling of the fire was the only thing keeping the silence at bay, your mind running with a million possibilities of what it was he was wanting to say. It couldn’t be a coincidence, you’d seen him try to say something too often for it to be that. No, he wanted to say something.

“Altaïr,” you started, keeping his gaze with yours. “What do you want to say?”

His lips parted, tongue moving but no words being uttered. He seemed to be stuck, unable to voice whatever was plaguing his thoughts. With a frustrated growl to himself, he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck, pulling your mouth towards his. He met your lips with a fiery hunger, his movements rough and needy. You gasped, the sound being swallowed by his mouth as he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in.

Your hands, frozen until now, rested on his shoulder blades. Your lips moved against his, matching his ferocity with your own, your tongue sliding along the roof of his mouth. He responded positively, wrapping an arm around your waist so he could properly lay you back, resting himself between your legs.

“Altaïr,” you breathed when he finally released your lips, watching him with wide eyes.

His tongue darted out to swipe along his swollen and wet lips, the gold of his eyes now only a sliver in the darkness of desire.

“I was wrong.” He admitted, his thumb rubbing over the apple of your cheek. “You can handle yourself, but I would rather you didn’t.”

You furrowed your brows in question, one of your hands rubbing between his shoulder blades.

“What do you mean?”

“I admire you.” He stated, his normal confidence back. “More than I should, but I can’t do anything to stop that. I would like to keep you safe, even though you don’t need my help doing it.”

You smiled up at him, his own grin mirroring yours. He definitely wasn’t that bad.

Imagine skyping with Jared while he’s filming

“We saw you on TV last night,” You grinned, one hand holding your phone so Jared could see you and your daughter, her little body being held by your other hand as you bounced her on your knee.

“Yeah? Did you guys liked the episode?” He smiled, making your heart flutter like it was the first time ever. 

“We did! Actually, little Rach said her first words last night…” You said like if it was the most normal thing in the world, but then you realised. 

Jared’s eyes lit up, his smile widening even though you thought it wasn’t possible. “She did?” 

Jared was miles away. Away from Rachel, away from you, away from home. Knowing him from your position, you knew how he felt- happy for her, yet sad he missed them. 

You kissed your daughter’s head before asking her, “ Why don’t you tell Dad what you said yesterday, sweetie?” 

Your daughter looked up, smiling at the phone and trying to reach for it as she giggled. “Dadda!”

You could’ve sworn your husband’s eyes watered, pure joy radiating from his face. “Oh, my god,” he stuttered.

“She saw you on TV and just… said it.”

He smiled as your baby giggled. “I can’t wait to see you two.” 

My black brother
When I was younger I remember being afraid at night, that my brother would never come back home. At the time I didn’t know why, all I knew was that I was afraid
Afraid of seeing my brothers face plastered on the news, morphing his being into a perpetrator of injustices, when the only injustice my black brother has ever done was having brown skin
Afraid of the racism that plagues our society like mold
Afraid Of the hate emitting from the pores of the ones we thought we knew
Afraid that one night he would never come back home
Afraid that the last time I’ll see his face, he would be lying in a casket, breathless, lifeless
You know damn well he didnt have no gun, I know he didn’t have a weapon, he only has his skin so why you feel so threatened?
I’m now 16
And I’m still afraid for my black brother

-Aissatou Royce Diop

I love this idea so much, especially since snow in the South is a mess. Sometimes it covers the ground, and sometimes it doesn’t arrive until late January. I hope you like this. If you have any questions, message me.

And this is my last request from this last batch.


Genji could never imagine growing up without ever seeing a drop of snow. He remembered waking up to layers upon layers of it piled up around his home, and it would always bring him joy. So, when you told him you had never seen snow, he made it his goal to take you to Nepal.

After some time, he finally got it to happen. He didn’t tell you a word about his plan until the plane landed in Nepal, and he saw the way your face lit up. Your eyes were wide as you saw the first dusting of snow on the ground.

Genji was barely able to stop you from falling when you stumbled off the plane, racing toward the snow. You slipped and dropped to your knees, scooping it up in your hands.

“You brought me here? Why?” You asked, staring back at him.

“When you told me you had never seen snow, I knew I had to bring you here.” He moved to your side and helped you to your feet, slipping gloves onto your hands. You flashed a wide smile and giggled, savoring in the warmth of the gloves. “Don’t want you getting sick.”

You smiled and flung your arms around his neck, hugging him close.

“Thank you so much,” you whispered.


You rolled the snow into a ball, gently placing it on top of the snowman. Genji chuckled as he watched you dance around, acting like a child on Christmas. You hadn’t stopped smiling since he brought you here, and it made him a bit happier knowing that he had managed to bring you so much joy.

“When do you wish to head home?” He asked. You lifted your head and met his eyes, frowning. “We do need to leave at some point.”

You chewed on your bottom lip and shrugged. After a moment, you said, “I know. Let’s not worry about that. It’s been a while since we have spent time together.”

He nodded and moved toward you, covering your hand with his. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, but you shoved a handful of snow into his face, making him sputter and stumble back in shock.

You giggled and ran off, knowing he’d want retaliation. For a second, Genji didn’t move, smiling as he watched you. You were so happy, and he had somehow caused that endless joy.

A Not-So-Short, Steamy Gabe Story

(By request! R-RATED STORY AHEAD. Seriously, I’m warning you, if you are uncomfortable with teh sexy stuffs, do not read. I have no shame when it comes to steamy fics.)

You and Gabe had been trying to get together for your third date for weeks now but just couldn’t seem to make it work. Every time he was in town, you were busy with work or family or something else, or he had some excuse. You weren’t sure it was ever going to pan out and you started to give up hope of ever seeing him again.

You stare out the window of your living room thinking about him and the life you’re convinced you’ll never have. When you saw him last, he asked you to come visit his family home. He said he’d come fetch you from Hoonah and you could meet his family. You were so excited, but you hadn’t received word from him a few weeks now. Feeling depressed, all you do now is try to stay busy to keep your mind off it. But on a stormy day like today, there’s really not much to do.  So you just stare off into the distance with an empty feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Your cellphone starts ringing, but you ignore it, assuming it’s your mom. She calls you about five times a day, and you just cant bear to talk to her right now. It’s probably something trivial, you think to yourself. The ringing finally stops. But a minute later, it starts again. Usually she just leaves a voicemail… this time you look over at the screen and notice it’s an unfamiliar number.

Keep reading

Loving him is never hard.

Driving him to base and having to watch him leave, is hard.

Driving him to the airport on his last night of leave, is hard.

Seeing him and kissing him one last time before he goes overseas, is hard.

Loving him is the easiest thing I have ever done.

Final anon prompt in the three prompt request! are you guys tired of seeing me yet ???

Writers Preference

I want to talk about Neil Attitude Problem Josten because I have some things to say

  • can you imagine him sitting at a press conference thing happily talking about exy and how great it is that the foxes have stepped up
  • and then this one guy
  • this one guy (we all know the guy)
  • has to ruin the whole show because he asks a question that’s a little too close to home or a little too uncomfortable
  • and I’m not talking about asking if he’s seeing anyone
  • I’m talking those nitty gritty we-already-know-the-basics-but-we-want-more questions
  • “How does it feel to know that your boyfriend is capable of murder?”
  • “Do you know if you’ll ever get those burn marks fixed?”
  • “How many years of therapy are needed after the trauma of last season?”
  • and so on
  • Neil stops answering after the first question is asked
  • Usually he does this because they usually stop
  • but his jaw is working
  • several times throughout the interview Andrew has to squeeze Neil’s knee to get him to calm down
  • but Andrew’s mad to because Neil’s uncomfortable
  • the other foxes redirect the questions whenever their aimed at Neil, but they’re struggling
  • and then this same asshole gets up and the whole table practically groans in frustration
  • “Neil, do you think it’s really worth it to keep such problematic people on the same team as you and Kevin? Isn’t it dragging you down?”
  • Let me make this clear, Neil has endured some shitty questions in the past and blatantly ignored him
  • but he’s never going to back down when they attack his family
  • before anyone can tell him any other way, Neil goes off
  • he starts by talking about his new found family and goes on to explain how great it is to have a release
  • how he wouldn’t change anything for the world
  • and how it’s great that people with a not so great past can have a very great future
  • and after he’s done with his beautiful monologue he ends it with
  • “And you can sit your fucking ass down because me and my team mates will not be dealing with your shitty questions anymore, goodbye.”
  • the other reporters applaud
  • Nicky who recorded most of it posts it to youtube the next day
  • it gets over a million views
  • Wymack is muttering about retirement in the corner
  • the upperclassmen huge him really tight
  • Andrew just squeezes his knee again, this time in celebration
  • Neil Josten may have an attitude problem but that’s not necessarily a bad thing

(send me prompts?)

When he left, the car ride home was extremely painful. I didn’t know if that was the last time I was going to see him, if he would ever call. It was always in my head, you know, why would he even call me? He was going back to Hollywood, and his days would be filled, where I’d be at home, I’d be at school, thinking of nothing but him, writing his name down on a piece of paper every day like a kid. Was it infatuation? Was it illusion? At the time it was very real for me. I wasn’t sure if it was a good feeling or not, in a way I didn’t like these feelings because I couldn’t control them, I just knew they were very painful and very real.
—  Priscilla Presley on Elvis after leaving Germany, excerpt from Careless Love: The Unmaking of Elvis Presley by Peter Guralnick.

Okay, so, if the little hands on Molly’s clock move with the status of the family member, what happened when Fred died? Did his hand disappear? Or did a sobbing family member have to take it off so that when Molly looked at it, she wouldn’t see his hand every single time? Or did they decide to leave it on, because taking it off seemed too real, like saying that he truly was gone, and that he really was never coming back, and that his clock hand would never, ever move to say ‘home’ again?


And if they did take it off, who did it? George, the one he was closet to, and it would only be right that his twin, his other half, took that small clock hand away? Molly? Arthur? Percy, who there in the last second’s of Fred’s life? Who held him as that light faded, who had finally, for once in his life made a joke, who had given Fred that wonderful, beautiful, final laugh, that laugh and that smile that stayed on his face even after he drifted away?

 Or was it that none of them could do it? Did they have to ask Hermione? Or would she start crying too, the reality only all to real? Could she do that to the man she loved, take away his brother? Did they ask Harry, who knew how to deal with this, who could handle the pain best because this is what he went through with Sirius, with Hedwig, with Dobby? Did they ask Harry to, because he was one of those who helped fufill Fred’s dream of his joke shop with George? Did Harry do it, because he couldn’t stand the sight of them all crying, hands trembling and fingers fumbling because they couldn’t do it, they couldn’t remove Fred.

Or could not even Harry, who braved his own death, do it? Did they have to go to someone outside the family? Or did someone outside the family go to them, intending to apologize for all the comments he made and all the things he’d done? Was it Malfoy who finally managed to remove that small, little piece of metal? Or was the face on the hand, the one staring up at him, all too accusatory in his mind? Did Malfoy become unable to do it, because he blamed himself? It was him who had brought Dumbledore, the strongest protector, to his knees. It was him, who had found a way to let the Death Eaters in on that night. It was him who had pushed the entirety of the school under the rule of the Dark Lord. It was him who had led Hogwarts to fall into battle, and it was that battle that had killed so many, young and old alike. It was that battle, brought about by his own hands, that were too young to notice what was happening and think for themselves, that had orphaned Teddy Lupin and so many others.

Did Malfoy manage to blunder his way through the pain, control his emotions like his father had taught him, like his father had said was befitting for a Malfoy, long enough to take away the remainder of one of the lives he’d ended? Did he manage to take away that small, little hand, wrapping his hands around the metal and plucking it from its place?

Or did he freeze, seeing the misery, the heartache, the brokenness that he’d caused? Did his hands freeze, and start shaking as he was confronted with something that he’d have to face over and over in the future? Did this first taste cause him to break down, his brave facade finally over as he babbled his apologies incoherently? 

What happened, when everyone realized that that small hand, once representing a vibrant life, needed to go?

Letters From War

The King had been debating with himself for the better part of a week about whether he should bother trying to contact her, after all, he never had before. But there was something different about this time. It had been almost 14 years since their marriage and though there relationship had disintegrated almost completely over that time, he’d found himself thinking not of Diane in these last months at the boarder, nor any of his other mistresses. Instead seeing only the visage of his wife as he thought of home. Her face the subject of his every dream.

Eventually deciding it couldn’t make things any worse between them, Henry swallowed his pride and picked up his quill, preparing himself to write to the Queen that had become his obsession ever since he left.

My Dearest Catherine,

I know we didn’t part on the best of terms, unfortunately doing so has become a habit for us over the years. The happiness we once shared seems so distant when we’re together, our hearts having long since grown cold towards each other.

But here, where I am so far from home, those memories are the clearest to me now. I remember the joy we shared in those first years as if we were living in them still. 

I have so many regrets, Catherine. More than you could ever know. There’s so much gone wrong between us it’s hard tot think of anything good that came of us, save the children.

Yet it is the thought of you that fills my days and keeps me warm at night. I know it may seem strange to you, if I were honest, I don’t quite understand it myself, but it has to mean something doesn’t it?

Perhaps I am a fool to tell you so, it has been a long time since we’ve acted as man and wife. After all this time such sentiments must be laughable to you, but I suppose what I mean to say is;

Happy Anniversary, My Queen 

I pray this letter reaches you in time,

With love,

Your Henry”

reignoftheflorentine

Throughout my life, as long as I could remember, my grandpa always called me “sugar”. In the last few months of his life, he developed very severe dementia and had to go to a nursing home to live. He always recognized everyone, and every time I’d leave I’d say “I love you Granpa”, to which he’d reply “ I love you too, sugar.” Not long after that, he seemed to get better and was able to come home. That only lasted about two weeks before he had the worst fit he’d ever had throughout all this, so the paramedics came to take him to an amazing assisted living place. As they were wheeling him out in a wheelchair, I grabbed his hand for the last time and said “I love you so much Granpa, I’ll see you later.”

“I love you too, sugar.”

Those were the last words he spoke to anyone, even his wife of 62 years, because he died that night. It’s been 2 and a half years since then and any time I see little old men or Western movies, which were his favorite, I have to really control the tears because to this day I feel like his last words should’ve been to someone else, I feel like I still don’t deserve them.