man she needs a better name

Songbird-Ch.4

Mystic Messenger Mafia AU

ch1║║ch2║║ch3║║ch5

Word Count: 1,473

[Violence/Murder]


     The small general store was quiet except for the sound of a young man’s broom sweeping across the floor and the faint echo of a radio playing from a backroom. The only customer was a tall man whom had been lurking a far aisle, his eyes scanning the various cans on the slightly dusty shelf while his left hand gripped his briefcase.

      The sweeping ceased at the sound of the bell above the door. The young man stood by the counter and watched as the man walked through the aisles, pausing to smile and handle random cans with a laugh. His finger swiped a shelf and he inspected the dust with a disappointed face. He wore an all black suit. A blood red kerchief was tied around his neck and his hat tipped on his head just enough to look sinister.

     “Go get your grandpa, kid,” he commanded and leaned an elbow on the shop counter while waiting, nodding once to the customer across the way.

     The boy dropped the broom and scrambled to the backroom to retrieve the old man. His slumped frame, followed closely by his grandson, walked slowly to the other side of the counter.

     “You don’t mind, right?” the man in black spoke it as more of a statement than a question. He reached over to a jar of suckers, unwrapping one and popping it in his mouth while flicking the wrapper onto the floor. “I’m very worried. I don’t see any money in your hands, and I gave you very clear instructions,” he explained.

     The old man’s face remained calm, but his grandson’s fists were balled at his sides. For a moment all three stood there staring at one another with only the faint but familiar jazz tune from the radio filling the space.

     “We are under the protection of Don V, we won’t be giving you any money,” the old man was stern, but he took an anxious breath to calm his nerves.

     The man in black pulled the candy from his mouth and let out a comical laugh for a moment, then his face became quite serious.

     “You’re making a big mistake, pops,” he pointed the sucker in the old mans face.

     “Hey! You can’t threaten my gran-“ the boy started, but the old man placed a hand on the boys shoulder to stop him from talking.

     “Whoah, whoah! Hey, it’s okay, kid…pops,” he nodded to them both, “I won’t be coming back. I get the message.”

     The man reached over to pinch and smack the boys cheek, then with a smirk he straightened the old mans collar and brushed off his apron before patting him on the chest.

     He tilted his hat to the customer before leaving. The man, after nodding back, set the briefcase on the shelf, making sure to click the lock before walking out empty-handed and entering the backseat of a black car that had been waiting for him.

     “What a fool,” the blonde woman driving said when she heard him close the door of the car.

     “Eh, place was a dump anyway,” the man in black said from the passengers seat with a sigh, “we’d never get any dough from that joint,” he sat back in the seat and lowered the hat over his eyes.

     “That’s not the point, Saeran,” she snapped, smacking the hat from his head before hitting the gas.

     “Hey, watch it,” he groaned and picked his hat back up, “I hate this city.”

     “Well, get over it. We’ll be running it, soon,” she replied.

     The man in the back turned to look out of the window as they drove away.

     “Should be any moment now,” he spoke, but neither of them in the front payed any mind to what he was saying.

     The explosion in the distance paired with the sound of shattering glass and rubble elicited screams from the people on the streets. They watched women, children, and men as they began to run in hopes of seeing what had happened.

     “Look at them, flocking like vultures to see the carnage,” Saeran hissed in disgust.

     “Let them look. I want them to see what happens when they don’t pay up,” she laughed.

     “Yeah, yeah. Can we stop somewhere? I’m fuckin’ starving, here,” he replied.



      “Christ,” Saeyoung’s face hardened as he heard the news.

     “Frank is waiting at the scene,” one of the soldiers explained before being waved off.

     He had been overseeing Jaehee’s team as they unloaded another shipment of bootleg into a warehouse. He leaned back on the car and pinched the bridge of his nose in silent thought and frustration.

     “Lucky, Kitty!” he called out, sounding harsher than intended.

     “Yes, boss?” Yoosung approached, winded but smiling, with you right beside him.

     “Frank’s waiting down by first street. Don’t ask questions, just go meet him. Report back to me right after, got that?” he ruffled Yoosung’s cap.

     “Got it!” he took off.

     You began to follow but Saeyoung tugged at your arm and pulled you back, causing you to stumble a bit on the pavement.

     “Lucky’s lucky, but, keep your eyes open…you’ll understand why when you get there. Be careful,” he warned.

     “I’m always careful,” you insisted.

     “Attagirl,” he let go, flashing a bit of a smile as you walked away.

     Yoosung had waited for you to catch up, and as you walked you wondered who Frank could be. And what was going on. You were both oddly quiet. Normally, you couldn’t get Yoosung to shut up. He still had that smile on his face, but the whole way there he only spoke to point out puddles, so you wouldn’t step in them.

     From far away, the damage seemed extensive. It only got worse as you approached, and anyone could see it was the work of a bomb. Aside from a few kids out to take a look at the wreckage, there weren’t many people in sight. Most had probably shut themselves at home in fear, you guessed.

     Down a nearby alley you saw the figure of a man in uniform waiting. His face became familiar the closer you got. His large belly, bulbous nose and reddish stubble on his face more apparent with the closing distance. You paused, your heart racing and your palms sweating. Frank…

     “Don’t worry! He’s on our payroll. That’s Lieutenant Frank,” Yoosung said when he noticed your hesitancy.

     You knew very well who it was. But did he know you? Would he recognize your face? You had always thought this son of a bitch was crooked. Damn, who else from the force would you come in contact with…this was way deeper than you had anticipated. You couldn’t wait to expose him for the scum he was.

     “Lucky! My boy, how’s the family?” he asked in a chipper tone.

     “Mom’s doing a little better. She actually got out of bed yesterday, started pointing out all the things that needed cleaning,” Yoosung smiled.

     “I bet your old man loved that,” he laughed, “glad to hear it. And…you seem familiar? When did we meet? I can’t quite remember your name,” his eyes narrowed in on you.

     “I’m going to go ask around, see if anyone saw anything,” you said through a lump in your throat before running off.

      You were careful of the glass that littered the street. It looked like they hadn’t been able to clean everything up yet. You kicked a few pieces of brick and wood shards, your heart sinking as you peeked into the empty space to survey the damage. It was littered with burned and exploded cans, a remnant of a broom close to your feet.

     “Hey, you,” you grabbed a young boy by the collar as he came running passed you, “did you see what happened here?”

     “Well, there was a car and-“

     “Louie!” a window flew open a few stories up on an adjacent building and cut him off, “come home, now!” she waved her rag in anger at him as she scolded.

      The boy ran home without another word and Yoosung appeared only a moment later, his face was white and his smile non-existent. For a moment you held your breath, waiting for him to say something. Say that he knew all about you, that he was going to tell the Mad Hatter.

     “What is it, Yoosung?” you tried to hide the quiver in your tone, “what did he say?”

     “He said they don’t know much about what happened. Everyone around here is too scared to talk. And…” he trailed off.

     “And what?” you pressed him.

     “Well. He doesn’t know who the guy is, but he says he is pretty sure. It’s really hushed over there and he is trying to find out more. He says…someone from the police force has worked their way into the family. He says we have a rat.”

✩ *: ・゚ - BO BURNHAM SENTENCE STARTERS.

quotes from just some of my favorite songs by bo burnham. feel free to change the pronouns / names / punctuation whatever ! 

  • “ what’s funny ? ”
  • “ my ex girlfriend had a really weird fetish. she liked to dress up as herself & act like a fucking bitch all the time. ” 
  • “ if you can’t beat them , join ‘em. ”
  • “ i make all the single ladies ‘ oh (name) ! ’ ”
  • “ i swear i’m straight. ” 
  • “ just do a chinese accent. ” 
  • “  fuck my life, I don’t fuck my wife so fuck my wife & fuck my life. ” 
  • “ my daughter’s a whore like another girl who used to be her mother. ” 
  • “ my son is gay, but not sitcom gay. ”  
  • “ & i masturbate because i’m the only one whose standards are low enough to fuck me! ”
  • “ we had a helluva ride.” 
  • “ well, i motherfucking lied. ” 
  • “ just shut up ! ” 
  • “ fuck the system. ” 
  • “ it’s not jesus. it’s cheez - its, right ? ” 
  • “ you think i’m joking ? ” 
  • “ art is dead. ” 
  • “ tonight at ten the world is ending again. ” 
  • “ only on the channel 5. ” 
  • “ i’m a faggot. ” 
  • “ no girls wanna fuck me, trust me. ” 
  • “ i don’t give a fuck, don’t adjust me. ” 
  • “ one, two, three, whore - i mean four - shit, three, four, five, bitch - i mean six - shit. ” 
  • “ well, congratu-fucking-lations. ” 
  • “ i got your back kid. ”
  • “ fuck the rules, fuck the game, fuck you tools, fuck you’re lame. ” 
  • “ yeah, fuck me for my hard works, fuck another r - word, fuck me for my hard work that got me into harvard. ” 
  • “ you’ve got sticks and stones to turn to but I’ve got words to hurt you, so save your bullets ‘cause you’re fucked. ” 
  • “ you think you’re clever ? you’re fucked ! ” 
  • “ i must be psychotic, I must be demented to think that I’m worthy of all this attention. ”
  • “ i’m wearing makeup. ”
  • “ ‘cause i wanted my name in lights when i could have fed a family of four for forty fucking fortnights. ” 
  • “ but i’m just a kid. ” 
  • “ maybe i’ll grow out of it. ” 
  • “ i’m a gay sea - otter. ” 
  • “ i hate catchy choruses. ” 
  • “ i’m a hypocrit. ”
  • “ take off your bra & burn it. ”
  • “ eat a dick ! ”
  • “ oh my god, honestly are you fucking five ? ”
  • “ i think i’ve made the right decision. ”
  • “ it’s over. we’re unhappy. ”
  • “ & once the dust has settled i hope we can still be friends. ”
  • “ eat a fucking dick, like this ! ”
  • “ put on your dick - eating bib ! get ready to gobble a dick up ! ”
  • “ i didn’t think you’d cry for me… i didn’t know you cared. ” 
  • “ lick my clit ! ”
  • “ sorry you’re not what i need hun, lick this clit then leave son ! ”
  • “ i deserve better than you ! ”
  • “ you got a job to do, you better do it right. ”
  • “ i like oreoes & pussy ! yeah, in that order ! ”
  • “ i’m looking for somebody to love… or put my penis in – ” 
  • “ holy fuck i think she might be the one ! ”
  • “ i just want her to — how do I say this — sit on my face ! sit ! sit on my face ! ” 
  • “ you think you’re the right one every time ! ” 
  • “ according to my calculations, uh, you’re a pussy. ” 
  • “ i saw a homeless man named rich. isn’t that just terrible ? ” 
  • “ he didn’t here me say ‘ look out for the train ! ’ …because i didn’t say anything. ” 
  • “ i went to a store looking for something to buy but they only sold paintings of the same sad guy … no, wait — this store sells mirrors – ”
Not Quite a Coffee Shop AU

From a suggestion from @wordsmith-storyweaver

3.8k words of something

Also on AO3

She needs a second job and The Library needs a barista. Who knew she would end up with more than free coffee…

The first time Emma Swan tastes coffee, she is six. Her foster mom leaves a cup unattended as she goes to answer the phone (one of those old kinds with the long, twirling cords that is attached to the wall). It’s bitter. And hot. It burns her tongue and she hates it.

***

When she is 14 it becomes cool to hang out at the coffee shop, drinking beverages that are more milk than anything else. She has a crush on the barista with the blue streak in his hair. He kisses her behind the store. He tastes like cigarettes. He asks her out on a date but doesn’t turn up at the fair.

She hates coffee again.

***

At 16, she meets Neal. He takes her to an empty fairground and buys her coffee. (The irony is not lost on her.) She sips and listens as he talks of home and wanting; she falls for him a little after only knowing him for a few hours. He’s real and vital and understands what it’s like: being alone. Feeling lost.

***

(She should have known it wouldn’t last. Then she’s alone again.)

***

Years later and it’s become her drug of choice on those cold nights where she needs to stay awake. Bail bonds isn’t glamorous, but it can be lucrative. It’s just unpredictable. Coffee… well, it isn’t. Even the instant kind that clings to the back of your throat has a strange kind of comfort when it’s 4 am and you’ve stared at the same door for six hours.

***

Keep reading

You make me feel Nothing - a Phanfiction

(Soulmate AU where a circle forms on every child’s wrist when it’s born, the colour signaling which sensation/emotion they are not going to be able to feel until they kiss their soulmate. Inspired by @wavydanrises​‘ story “Second Chances”)


“You’re telling me my son … my son won’t ever love me?” 

He’s the weird kid. If they could just stop making sure he remembers, he might even be able to forget it for a few seconds.


Keep reading

I Think I’m Dying

Pairing: Jared x Reader
Words:  1193
Requested by @fandomlyawsome:  Jared x sick! Reader ? She gets a bad virus and he takes care of her.



          You were sitting in Jared’s trailer after you finished your scenes. You hadn’t felt great all day, but you had done what you needed to do. You knew you were coming down with something. You hated being sick.

           You moved to the bed in Jared’s trailer and curled up with your head on the pillow. You didn’t know how long he was going to be, but you were going to take advantage of the bed while you had it.

~~~ 

Jared’s Point Of View

           When I got to my trailer, I found Y/N sleeping in my bed. I could tell there was something wrong immediately though. I had seen her sick before. This was already turning into a sickness because she already looked worried and upset in her sleep.

           I put my hand gently against her forehead and sighed. She was burning up. My poor girl was sick.

Keep reading

Cold

Warnings: weapons, hostage? Just enjoy the drabble it’s nothing bad.

Masterlist

The barrel of the gun against your neck was freezing and the man crushing you against him struck an even icier note.

Being a secretary at the massive institution naturally made you a front line target but you had never expected to find yourself here, held hostage by a former employee and praying to keep an untimely death at bay. Your blouse was twisted uncomfortably around your torso as your trembling hands tried to keep the arm around your chest from crushing you completely.

There was only one FBI agent in the room as per your captor’s command and you’d spoken to this one before in the course of the investigation. His kind eyes were now wide with desperation as they flicked between you and the perpetrator.

“Hey, eyes on me,” he gently prodded you as he lowered his revolver. He spoke up when addressing the other man. “Adam, my name is Spencer, and you need to put down the gun.”

When Spencer took a step forward, Adam tightened his grip on you and yelled, “Stop! I’ll shoot her!”

“No you won’t, you know she deserves better than that.”

“That’s just it!” Adam raved on, sending another chill down your spine. “This world is too cruel for women! I’m helping them escape it! I helped all of them escape it. Can’t you see she’s too beautiful a creature for this sick mess outside?”

Spencer let a soft smile carve into his lips. “Yes, I can see that she’s very beautiful. And you know what I think she needs? Someone to protect her. Someone to show her a world that isn’t horrible.”

You had to stifle a cry when the ironclad arm on your chest faltered slightly and you were able to inhale more cool air little by little. Maybe the man your eyes were urgently locked on would be able to get you out of this.

“I don’t…what if I can’t?! Am I supposed to believe the likes of you will care for her?”

“I won’t have to,” Spencer paused and his tongue snaked out to wet his lips, “I won’t have to do that because if you put down the gun I can make sure you’re able to care for her. You want that, don’t you?”

The gun was lowered fractionally from your throat to your collarbone and Spencer’s gaze briefly slid to yours in reassurance.

“Yeah, I…she has to be protected. The world destroys beautiful women.”

“Then Adam, give me the gun.”

Every molecule in the room froze and the anticipation was excruciating, followed by another hesitant breath from you when still nothing happened. Finally Adam nodded and carefully placed the gun down before covering his face and sobbing.

Another agent immediately ran inside to apprehend him while you fell forward into Spencer’s arms, a few tears of relief escaping you as well. You clung to his bulletproof vest and the strong chest underneath and he clung back, softly stroking your hair as he led you from the cursed room.

A brisk wind outside finally coaxed your face up to his. “Thank you, agent. You saved my life.”

His mouth quirked and you thought you detected the ghost of a blush on his cheeks as he said, “Well, uh, you’re welcome. Cliche as it is, it’s really just my job.”

“Doesn’t make it any less meaningful.” You sighed, exhaling the terror of minutes before as Spencer rubbed your arms comfortingly.

He eventually offered a mint to get any bad tastes out of your mouth and it was the cold sting on your tongue that gave you the courage to say, “And do you really think I’m pretty?”

“Yes! Yes, I…” he trailed off, embarrassed about being so enthusiastic. Your hand bumping his brought his eyes back to yours. “Can I come check on you before we leave town again?”

“I’d like that.”

Breaking Up My Bones (Peter Parker)

Originally posted by v-writings

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: Cursing
Summary: Y/n, though a superhero, is a bit of a villain in the avenger’s household, pulling pranks and antagonizing everyone except for one Peter Parker
Author: Dizzy
A/N: Anon requested, “Can you do one where the reader is a mean girl and she antagonizes every member of the avengers except Peter because she has a crush on him?” and now I have delivered. Hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist Request a Prompt


“Y/n!”

The name echoed through the building, in the exact same volume and tone as it had been shouted everyday.

Y/n sat in her room, music blasting as she painted on the canvas in front of her, oblivious to her name being shouted yet again.

Y/n L/n, also known as Vagabond, the daring young hero, was at times (most times), a villain who believed they were saving the world. Especially when she was among her things and her friends that she loved to taunt. 

The door to Y/n’s room was thrown open to reveal one Steve Rogers, who was covered head to toe in tar and chicken feathers. 

“Y/n…”

“Steve…”

“Really? Tar and feathers? That old prank?”

Y/n continued to paint, not looking at the man. “Yep. An old prank to fit the likes of an old man. Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving my room, I have work to do.”

Steve groaned, saved his disciplinary lecture on why one should not tar other people for later and walked out of the room, leaving a cloud of feathers in his dust. 

Y/n returned to her work, knowing that in a matter of moments, the tower would come alive with screams and bellowing of her name all because she felt a need to prank everyone around her.

Everyone except for Peter Parker, also known as Spider man, or better known to Y/n as Gadget, a nickname she had given him when they first became friends. 

Peter would argue that the two were in fact, most definitely not friends, which would only lead Y/n to claim that they were accomplices at times when it came to certain pranks and Peter allowing Y/n to copy off his homework. 

Peter was a dork and Y/n was an asshole, that was what everyone at the tower said. Peter was charming and likable and Y/n, well, Y/n was his opposite. Peter and Y/n, though the same age, couldn’t have been anymore different.

“Peter!”

For the first time in all of Peter’s days as a team member did Y/n hear his name be called out like hers, used with the same tone and volume as hers had been many times before. 

Y/n smiled wickedly, knowing her plan had been executed in the same fashion she had envisioned it to be. 

A few days prior to the occurrence of the said event, Y/n had copied recordings of Peter going in and out of Tony’s lab to be used as evidence he was the one who planted the stink and paint bombs Y/n had placed in Tony’s frequently used cabinets. She then went on to cast the recording from her laptop to the towers security system, making it Peter who seemed like the culprit. 

But, there was only one problem. Y/n’s fingerprints were still on the shells of her perfectly placed devices. 

“Y/n!” It was Peter who screamed her name. 

With a roll of her eyes, Y/n rose from her seat and made her way to where she heard the voices. She sighed as she entered the living room, the team standing around, all covered in paint, tar and feathers and smelling of a horrid odor. 

“Care to explain what’s got you pulling pranks on everyone?” Steve spoke up and crossed his arms as he gave Y/n the dreaded eyebrows of disappointment. 

“No reason.”

“Then why is it that Peter is the only one who is not covered head to toe in substances unknown?” 

“No reason.”

“Really?” Natasha asked and rose her brow. “Maybe it’s cause of what I read in here?” 

Natasha tossed Y/n’s art journal at her, the page in which Y/n spoke of her crush on Peter clearly marked as Y/n caught it. 

“You went through my stuff?!” Y/n cried. “This is bullshit!”

“Language.” Steve snapped. 

“Oh, suck a cock!” Y/n snapped back. “You all went through my private shit.”

“So, do you actually have a crush on me or are you just kidding?” Peter asked, only to cause Y/n’s stern look to soften. 

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

“Well, ya know, a girlfriend.”

“Oh shit.” Y/n said, taking a glance at the rest of the group. “He’s not joking. He actually likes me.”

“We’re all surprised too.” Clint chuckled. 

“Oh, shut it, Bird Brain.” 

“Right back at ya, Pipsqueak.”

“Um, hello?” Natasha interjected. “Peter was trying to have a moment with Y/n.” 

“Oh, right.” Y/n nodded. “So, Gadget, what’d you wanna say to me?”

“I like you, a lot.” Peter explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I was wondering if you’d maybe wanna go see the new Star Wars with me?”

Y/n, for the first time in her life, was flustered and sloppy as she spoke. 

“I’d love to! I-I mean, yeah, yeah sure.”

And with that newfound relationship came a much nicer, calmer Y/n, who still was a real bitch when it came to prank wars.

Sisters | Teaser

Originally posted by hobiga

Genre: Angst | Fuff | Wolf!AU

Pairing: Yoongi x OC | Namjoon x OC

Warnings: Violence

↠  Hello, so this is a short teaser for a series I’m writing in my spare time away from school and exams. I’m not sure how longn it will take me to finish this, but I will try as hard as I can. Please let me know what you think and leave feedback for me! 


She awoke in a blind panic, the unfamiliar surroundings confusing. She ran through the vast forest, she had no recollection of entering, being stalked by the unknown. Her lungs burned, her legs throbbed, her heart hammering inside her chest. Glancing behind her, she tripped, tumbling down a large heap of sticks, grass, and rocks. Small yells left her mouth as her body collided with the earth. The sound of her heavy panting filled her ears. Rearing her head, she froze. A giant wolf stood before her, it’s wiry fur sticking out at all angles. She tried shifting backward before a pair of arms seized her, holding her tightly.

“Let go of me!” She wailed, thrashing against them. The mystery person behind her growled, before shoving her down toward the dirt. She squeaked as her body hit the ground once more.

She looked up once more, now there was a pack of wolves circling her. Each one, snarling, a threatening glare in their eyes. They all halted when a tall male moved out from the treeline behind them. Each wolf bowed their head as the male trudged over the rough terrain of the forest. He had dark, oil slicked hair and a sickly pale complexion. His boots seemed to echo through the forest, as he got closer to the small girl lay in the dirt. 

“How dare you come back here? How dare you come back and face us, knowing what you did?” The male shouted, coming to stand in front of her. 

“What did I do?” She wheezed in fear.

“You’re asking me?” The male laughed from above her.

“I’ve never even been here before!” She shouted, cowering back when the male growled at her. The male stomped towards her and pulled her up by her hair.

Liar.” He spat at her, yanking her head back. She shrieked, her hands flying up to grip at the man’s wrist.

“Please, I’ve never been here before,” She cried, her legs shaking in fear. The male smirked at her, enjoying the fear radiating off of her small form. A laugh spilled from his lips before he hit her, sending her barreling towards the floor.

The male was about to reach towards her again when a hand grabbed his arm. “Vik, if you kill her we’ll never get the information we need.” A blonde man said, stepping from behind the girl.

“Yeah, but it will sure as hell make me feel better.” He snarled, the blonde bowed his head and removed his hand. The man, Vik, she presumed his name was, stepped forward once again. He looked to the side, looking at one of the wolves. A smirk crossed his face once more before he gripped her throat, lifting her off of the ground without any difficulty.

A pained cry left her throat, “Please,” She cried, scratching at his hands. He tightened his grip, silencing her cries.

“You remember Marta don’t you?” He laughed, looking at the same wolf the girl had seen first. The girl shook her head. “Of course you do.” He pulled her down, twisting her head slightly to look at the wolf. “You’re the one who took her eye.”

“No-” She started but was silenced when his hand blocked off her air supply once more.

“Now it’s time for her to repay the favor.” He smiled, lifting her up once more. “It’s a shame really, you’ve always had such beautiful eyes.” In the distance, she could hear the howls of wolves before she felt as if she had been thrown backward. The air was restored to her lungs briefly before her back hit the ground. She gasped, looking up to see another group of wolves attacking the ones who surrounded her.

Wolf tearing into wolf. Snarls and growls. It surrounded her, consumed her until she felt someone lift her up gently. “Come on,” He whispered, taking her hand. She pulled back, and bolted, scared out of her mind. She dashed through the trees, jumping over logs and being extra careful not to trip.

From the corner of her eye, she saw it. The wolf. Marta. It snarled, speeding up before it veered around and cut her off. She halted, her legs threatening to give out on her as the wolf stalked forward. It’s dirty gray fur, matted and wiry. It’s teeth jagged and ready to attack. It was now that the girl took notice of the wolf’s eye. The left eye was a strange milky white, a large scar running across it. I didn’t.

The girl sucked in a breath, bracing herself for the wolf’s attack when suddenly; out of nowhere a large white wolf pounced on it, dragging it down to the ground. She stood and watched in shock when her hand was grabbed once again. She spun around, seeing another male. He was tall, with sandy brown hair and small eyes. “Please, come with me. You’re going to get hurt if you stay here much longer.” He whispered softly. She didn’t know what it was, but she thought she could trust this man. She nodded softly, taking his hand and following him as he wound through the forest, hopefully to saftey. But she couldn’t help letting her thoughts drift off to the white wolf that had saved her life.


anonymous asked: Sapphire’s post reminded me of Our Story! The most recent chapter wasn’t the last one was it?

Liv says: I’m calling this Chapter 8.5. It still ties into their second marriage, of course—I just couldn’t resist Julia and little Claire. And a massive thank you to @lenny9987 who is always willing to read my drafts and give me feedback <3 

Read Chapters One through Eight here.


Our Story

Claire has few memories of her mother, and those that exist are only half-formed. Hardly memories at all.

Rather:

Small blips of sight and sound and smell. Directionless aches in the night, skin raised to gooseflesh by a living darkness. Sometimes there is a vision of two fine-boned hands, their fingers playing the air with passionate arcs and flutters. At others, there are emeralds winking from pale lobes, and a whisper of bergamot on the stretch of neck below. Baby, a voice says, so clear but distant, it’s only for one night. We’ll be back before you—

Fragments.

Among these, however, there is one that is complete. It is something Claire parades at dinner parties, a piece of trivia that reduces her childhood to the first five years of her life. No funerals, no suitcases. No grief hollowing her little, avian bones. Only: Easy.

In this memory, Julia Beauchamp wears a sweater dress and Kork-Ease boots. Her heels are impractical for a stroll through the park, though that is what they are doing—strolling—as they have done every Friday since Claire could walk. It is just the two of them, mother and child, while her father toils in a dark mechanic’s shop, slicked with sweat and sleeved in black grease. 

He will return so deflated that evening—“Like my own bloody oxygen pumped the tires.”—that Julia will kiss the moons under his eyes, will regret not capturing the sun. And so the following week, when Claire remembers her father’s tired face, she will produce a drained Dasani and hold it skywards. Autumn seeping inside the bottle and then inside her pocket; the bright November gliding down Henry’s throat over an meatloaf dinner. (He will indulge his sweet daughter, drinking and drinking until the December day where he cannot; where Claire must pour the bottle over a mound of dirt.)

But while Henry tinkers with cars so, too, does Claire’s mother do her own work. Observing, absorbing, and storing the day away—right here, on this park path.

That is how Claire’s one full memory begins: their joined hands swinging, and their eyes taking. Dried leaves; flannelled backs bent over canoe oars. So vivid in her mind, even now.

But when Julia says, “Baby, how about we play our game?” young Claire breaks the hold and sighs.

At this point, it has been two weeks since the death of her four-year old self, a feat for which she feels a tremendous pride. With the simple opening of her palm, she can now present her age—Five! Can you imagine?—without ever bending her thumb. Her parents often overlook this incredible development in Claire’s life, still seeing her as the girl with four wiggling fingers, as the walnut nestled in Julia’s stomach. Baby, Baby, Baby.

Claire waves at her mother, as if to say, Five, Five, Five.

“Silly me!” Julia cries. “What I meant to say was: Claire Elizabeth. An honest mistake.”

The correction is enough to earn Claire’s forgiveness. She huffs a petulant “All right,” though she has been waiting for this all week, the moment when her mother’s words begin to change. Their game, with its stories she only sometimes understands, is the key to a world she is slowly (but surely!) approaching.

Claire looks around and searches for their first target.

“Him!” she says, pointing to a man grieving his damaged kite. It lies in the arms of an oak, speared but bloodless, and the protruding branch reminds Claire of summertime splinters. Those little knives of wood, which always wheedle beneath her toes when she dances across the porch, barefoot. (Julia is an expert at removing such splinters. No tweezers needed, just, All better?—and it is. Her fine-boned hands giving Claire’s feet their rhythm again.)

“My. He’s a bit of an odd duck, isn’t he?” her mother says, studying the old man. She tilts her head to the side, as if the angle will reveal the source of his almost-tears, his slumped posture, the very soul within. “Robert! That’s his name. Robert—Owner of Toy Shops.”

Claire giggles with excitement. This has always been her mother’s trick: the divining of lives from the smallest of glimpses. Julia has been known to call it Magic, though Claire has grown more skeptical since the dawn of October 20th. (Magic is, after all, a baby’s word.)

“He’s a recent widower. Do you see how he wears a ring but keeps watching the couple over there?”

Claire does see, and she drafts a mental note for school the next day: Tell Mrs. Heath that Mum is smarter than that scraggly bugger, Albert Whats-His-Face. 

“No children either. He and his wife…his wife…” And just as Claire remembers, Einstein! Julia cries, “His wife, Susan! Dear, dead Susan. Both turned off by the whole business of childrearing. Susan’s mother up and left when she was only three.”

“And joined the circus?”

“Yes. I daresay she joined the circus.”

“Poor Robert, Owner of Toy Shops,” Claire laments. “Poor Dear, Dead Susan.”

“Mhmm, such a shame. Poor Dear, Dead Susan didn’t stand a chance against those wretched measles.” (At this, Claire’s fifth year gives her a sudden rush of gratitude. For Dr. Rawlings, who once stuck her with a vaccination needle. For her mother, who covered the red dot with a Pooh plaster. All better.)

“But why is he flying a kite, Mum?”

“Why, indeed…”

This is a crucial part of their game: where Claire probes with further questions, thereby allowing a detailed history to form. No room for doubt when everything is fully realized—just the growing surety that maybe, maybe their guesses are correct.

“I’d wager he’s quite lonely now, and for the first time in his life, he’s regretting they never had children.” Julia’s voice is so confident, that Claire nearly forgets it’s all a game. Almost believes in the name and the wife and the unborn children her mother has given this sad, old stranger. “Flying the kite is a way to…conjure them into existence. A big What if? Rather maudlin if you ask me.”

Claire cannot make sense of these fancy, foreign terms—conjure? maudlin?—or why anyone would fly a kite for their nonexistent kids. Still, Claire nods, Of course, of course, and plans to comb the ‘c’ and ‘m’s of her father’s dictionary. Ask him, casually, for clarification. (And if Henry were here, he would temper his wife’s candor with a more age-appropriate fantasy; shake his head. Even to her own husband, her mother has always been slightly incomprehensible.)

“Baby,” Julia says, suddenly serious. “Claire. Don’t you dare live to regret a thing. Promise me that if something scares you, you’ll do it.

“I’m not scared of anything,” Claire announces (except spiders and cavities; except Father Christmas burning in the chimney and the night noises coming from her parents’ bedroom). “When Willie Burke stole Jacob’s sausage roll last week, I gave him a wedgie. And he’s two years older than me!”

“A wedgie? God, you are fearless!”

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frangipanidownunder  asked:

49 for the prompt list.

This is a re-write of the scene in “Dreamland” (Part 1) when Mulder tries to make Scully understand that he’s Mulder and not Fletcher. I used some of the actual dialogue. Prompt was:  “Hello, pot. Apparently, I’m kettle.”

“Scully, it’s me, Mulder.” His stare, he realizes, is penetrating and he watches as Scully, not believing one of words he’s just uttered, backs away from him. Her expression is devoid of any friendliness and he’s surprised how much that simple fact hurts.

“Sir, Mr. Fletcher, you called me and now I’m here. So could you please tell me what this is about?” He recognizes this voice; it means business. She never talks to him like this, but of course she doesn’t know it’s him.

“Scully,” they’re interrupted by Fletcher’s wife spewing obscenities; Mulder can’t blame her, really, but Scully takes another step back and he needs to convince her before it’s too late, “you need to believe me.”

“Mr. Fletcher, I don’t have time for silly games like these so if you could just-”

“It’s me, Scully,” frustration seeps into his voice, “I’m Mulder. Fox Mulder, your partner. That other guy, the guy you think is Mulder that’s the real Morris Fletcher.” She blinks, bored, unable to even entertain the idea. Mulder can’t help but wonder how good the other man is at playing him. Maybe he’s a better partner, a better guy altogether.

“Look,” he tries again, taking a deep breath, “Your full name is Dana Katherine Scully. Your badge number is… hell, I don’t know your badge number. Your mother’s name is Margaret. Your brother’s name is Bill Jr. He’s in the Navy and he hates me,” her expression doesn’t change, remains as stoic as ever, so he decides to dig deeper, “lately, for lunch, you’ve been having this six-ounce cup of yogurt, plain yogurt, into which you stir bee pollen because you’re on a bee pollen kick even though I tell you you’re a scientist and you should know better. Or maybe it’s some kind of twisted joke on your behalf reminding me of that moment in the hallway before that bee stung you when we-”

“What did you just say?” Mulder hears the tiny gasp in her voice and his heart beats faster hoping he is getting through to her. Or maybe it’s because this is the first time they’re talking about what happened, or almost happened, in that hallway. Naturally it would occur at a moment like this.

“That moment in the hallway, Scully. How would anyone know about this except you and me?”

“This really isn’t funny. I don’t know how you obtained that information but this is not funny.”

“No, it isn’t. I’m serious, Scully. I wouldn’t make fun of this or that moment, for that matter. I meant what I said. I meant what I was- I wanted to kiss you then. Just like I meant it when I told you I love you after that disaster in the Bermuda triangle.” She steps back further, this time it’s obviously in shock, though. She needs to get a better look at him, he thinks, as her mouth opens in another gasp and her eyes search for any clue that he’s telling the truth. But he still looks like that other guy, he still looks like Morris Fletcher, and he knows Scully. He knows her much too well.

“How do you know these things, Mr. Fletcher?” Her voice takes on a darker edge and her eyes narrow. He sighs; what else can he tell her to finally make her see? His Scully needs scientific proof, something tangible, and he cannot give it to her.

“Scully, something happened out there. I don’t know what, but I need your help to figure it out and to reverse it. Tell me what to say so you’ll believe me.” It’s a plea, it’s him begging, and he searches her eyes for any indication that she’s at least considering it.

“What did you – what did Mulder give me for my birthday in 97?” She raises her eyebrows in an obvious challenge. He bites his lip to keep from grinning and clears his throat.

“An Apollo 11 keychain. Come on, Scully, if you want to quiz me, ask me harder stuff.” This time he can’t stop the grin and it feels like it always feels when he’s looking at her like this, except her face is nothing like what he wants to see. There’s no sparkle in her eyes, no gentleness around her lips, none of the typical signs he’s come to notice when he makes a joke. This is the first time in all this mess that he really misses his life, his own body. He misses the way she looks at him; misses the way she feels comfortable around him. Who is he when the only person who matters in his life doesn’t recognize him? He’s no one. No one he wants to be, anyway.

“This can’t be…” she murmurs. At least this is something he knows and he waits, impatiently, for her to make up her mind. In his favor, if possible. “Well, then…” she lifts her head, her eyes meet his, and it’s not the same way she normally she looks at him, but it’s damn close and he feels relief flood him, “Hello, pot. Apparently, I’m kettle.” Mulder laughs and the sound sounds strange in his ears, and Scully’s too, judging by the looks of it.

“So you believe me.”

“I- I’m not sure, but… Mulder, I mean my- whoever he is – you, or Morris Fletcher, he hasn’t been acting like… well, you.” He wants to take her into his arms, hug her tightly and never let go; he wants to kiss her and never stop. Not as Morris, though.

“We need to find out what happened, Scully. I want to be me again.” She nods and he can tell that she has no idea about what to do. That makes two of them.

“Go and talk to the Gunmen. They might be able to help.” She glances up at him, tears shimmering there, and the need to draw her near is almost unbearable.

“Mulder…” she tries it out and he doesn’t flinch, gives her a smile that he hopes at least reminds her of the real him and urges her to go on, “Mulder, the things you said… about the hallway, about what you said in the hospital-”

“I meant it, Scully. I mean it. When all of this is over… maybe, instead of pretend nothing ever happened, we should have a talk,” she nods tentatively, “you know, talk about the birds and the bees.”

“I’ve had that talk, Mulder.” No hesitation this time.

“Not with me.” He grins and she grants him a smile, a real one, the one he knows. The one that say you might be crazy, but I still kind of like you. Likewise, Scully, he thinks.

They part, they have to, to both investigate what they can in any capacity that they’re able to. When they reverse it, when everything is back to normal and Mulder goes home, he feels like something is nagging him; did he forget something? He wonders as he unlocks the door to his apartment. He should call Scully, ask her if she thinks anything seems wrong, or off, to her. He feels like they have unfinished business about something. Maybe she remembers, he hopes, as he closes the door behind him.

Uptown Girl 2/?

Felicity Smoak is not your average debutante, but going to the Debutante Ball turns out to be one of the most important decisions of her life. The story of an uptown girl meeting a downtown boy - who happens to be in a rock band.

This is a birthday present for my dear friend Carol @tdgal1 - I so hope you enjoy. Thanks so much for all the likes, comments and reblogs on the first chapter! I’m so grateful!! Thank You!!

Thanks to @almondblossomme for proofing. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet. All chapters are available on AO3.


                          2. I Bet She’s Never Had a Backstreet Guy


As soon as Oliver’s band’s first set finished he made his way toward Felicity. “Ms. Felicity Smoak, what’s a nice debutante like yourself doing in a bar like this?”


Felicity couldn’t help but chuckle. “Drinking beer and escaping life by listening to some good music.”


“Seriously Felicity, it’s great to see you again.”


“You as well. I was so very sorry to hear about your parents.”


“Thanks. I bet they’d be rolling in their graves if they could see me now.”


“I think they’d be proud. You guys are amazing and I’m not just saying that. You almost live up to your name.”

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Lost Princess (Loki X Daughter!Reader)

Characters: Loki X Daughter!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers, Thor

Warnings: Minor Spoilers of Avengers Assemble.

Request: Hi is there any chance you can write a story about being Loki long lost daughter. Found around the age of 15 and now must learn the ways of a royal. Thanks in advance


Originally posted by maryxglz

Originally posted by milk-honey-tea

Your mother was a very secretive person, even to those she was close to. That included Loki, her former lover, and you… her daughter. Loki’s daughter.

She kept it secret from him that she was pregnant before she ran away from Asguard to Midgard, also known as Earth. She kept it secret from everyone that she wasn’t human, and she even kept it from you, raising you as a normal human child.

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Why Bridget picked Mark?

•”I just…don’t understand why Bridget picked Mark instead of Jack in Bridget Jones’ Baby, i just don’t get it, if it doesn’t work for 10 years and you left him, you left him for a reason. Bridget should have chosen Jack or chosen neither.”

—I saw this post and want to write these stuff. I’m not good at writing and English is not my first language, so all mistakes are mine. I don’t want to make any arguments here, I just want to discuss it. That’s why I post this in my blog, you can ignore it if you don’t like. [p/s: you might want to take a look at my old post - “How Mark loves Bridget” first)

•••••

•“I want a life with you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“I wanted her to choose neither and raise that baby on her own! Why tf does it matter who the dad is besides medical history? One was a jackass who shouldn’t be in her life and the other didn’t want kids!”

I wonder that she(he?) has watched BJD and EOR or not, because I don’t think Mark belongs to one of that. 

Instead of that, he is the one who ALWAYS wants to have a life with Bridget. 

He will unconsciously smile and say “Our boy”

Secretly planning about the name of his son

Or…

And even he left Bridget because Jack made him believe he isn’t a father, he still remember her labour day

•”I wanted her to choose neither and raise that baby on her own! Why tf does it matter who the dad is besides medical history? One was a jackass who shouldn’t be in her life and the other didn’t want kids! Bridget doesn’t need a man. She wants one. She should be with one who truly appreciates and understands her. Neither do. Not fully. Jack was 100% the better choice and he still falls short for the type of man she deserves and he’s out there!!! I’m so upset with how this series ended. I really…”

I think this is quite wrong to say Mark doesn’t appreciate and understand Bridget. Bridget broke up with Mark because he always thinks of his job first, and why Mark agree with this solution? Might be because he misunderstood that Bridget was back with Daniel?

Mark is a type of person who doesn’t like talking much, neither expresses his feeling. That’s why he didn’t find Bridget and ended their relationship like that.

If you stand at that 97%, it’s true that Jack and Bridget will be so good to each other. But you can’t say Jack understands Bridget. Because of this:

While Mark will say this:

If everyone falling in love based on that match, Mark and his ex wife probably will have that 97% too when you can’t see any features of Bridget in Camila, but that marriage still doesn’t work.

• 10 years and 8%

Some of you will say if it doesn't work for 10 years and they broke up in the past so why you still choose him?! How about we stand on the other side to look at this: 10 years have passed but they still love each other? And how amazing and beautiful of that.

When everyone believes that 97% is the best, but this is how Mark makes 8% becomes precious.

As we don’t know how much Jack loves Bridget but we can sure one of the main reason is because of that 97% when Mark is 100% loves her just as she is

•“You’re my world"

Back with “appreciates” things, there are two scenes that I really love. 

If Mark doesn't appreciate Bridget, he won’t give up his job in America

If Mark doesn’t appreciate Bridget, he won’t back with her even he thought the baby isn’t him.

He did it just because one reason, he loves her. It’s just about timing for him to realize that. He still went to America because he thought his feeling for Bridget is not big that he will leave his job for that. He back to Bridget because he finally knows his love for her is more important than anything. And he has changed for her.

•••••

If you think I’m not objective because I watched BJD first and stand for the history, then I can say you’re wrong. BJB was the first movie I’ve seen in whole saga and this is not about choosing the old part just because this two still have feelings for each other.

And if you still ask me why Bridget still loves Mark, I just only can quote this from Colin: 

“It’s not about who can play the tricks to win her, it’s about whether this old love which has proved time and time again, to be troublesome, to be prohibitively difficult to having any sort of relationship, is going to win over something that promises something completely new”

or from Renee: 

“They just love each other"

                                                       (。◕‿◕。)  

Samsara [Part Six]

General Disclaimer

AN: Edits will happen when they happen. I’m having an iffy week this week, and my beta has adulty things to do so I don’t want to bug her. Patience please!


True to her word, Shachi spends the coming weeks visiting with her father-in-law. The first few days it is because Kanna is still ill. When Shachi asks to see her, Asura lightly shrugs it off.

“It’s simply the weather. This time of year puts her in a sad humour,” he tells her, but from the way his eyes shift, Shachi suspects he isn’t being completely honest. “Besides, you should not exert yourself in your condition.”

Right, because pregnancy means we’ve suddenly become incapable of doing anything…

“I’m with child, not carrying the plague,” Shachi mutters as she walks away, and Sakura can’t help feeling a little pleased that somewhere within the quiet, respectful woman there’s some indication of spunk.

Asura was right when he said how dull it is around the estate in the winter. Shachi can only watch his disciples train so often before she grows bored. Some of them even talk to her now, but she thinks most are still afraid. Taizo makes a beeline in the opposite direction whenever he sees her, which is only right.

Asura is more merciful than his brother; Indra would have had the man flayed alive. On her loneliest, most unsatisfying days she can’t decide whose method of justice she prefers.

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Nothing On You

Kara gets her memory temporarily scrambled, Lena stops by, and Alex and Winn get front row seats to a show of rainbows.

AO3 – Link


A/N: This one is dedicated to an asshole friend of mine that dragged me into this shipping hellhole and keeps throwing random fic ideas at me. 

Anyways, please enjoy!


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BNHA: Riddles in the Heart, 3/3

Pairing: Tododeku

Summary:  The law is clear: whoever correctly answers three riddles will marry the prince, while all who fail are to be executed. The people live in fear as more challengers try and fail, and the throne grows bloodier with every passing year. But a young prince, nameless and in exile from his home, believes there may be more to this brutal challenge than meets the eye.

Of course, there’s only one way to find out: ring the gong, and take the trial.

(Royalty/Fantasy AU)

AO3

Act III: None Shall Sleep


The tunnel led out of an old shed at the edge of the square. Deku nudged the door carefully ajar, checked for guards, and finally slipped back out into the open. Tossing the torch into the fountain, he scanned the square until at last he spotted the familiar figures of his companions, clustered together and watching the palace gates.

He tried not to run too quickly, not wanting to look suspicious or draw attention to himself, and finally managed to sidle close enough to sprint the rest of the way under the cover of darkness.

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Behind the Walls (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Professor!Bucky X Reader

Words: 1,775

Warnings: None yet…except talk about school!

Summary: You are currently getting your PhD in Art History, your dissertation being about The Power of Nudity in Art. Your adviser recommends you switch from being her TA to another professor because she feels her health is declining and wants you to get the best help/advice from someone new. She recommends Dr. James Barnes and believes he will be of great help to you. Things don’t turn out as you plan.

A/N: This is born out of my “admiration” for Bucky’s character!!! I am also writing this because I have this fantasy that always involves the opposite individual being a Professor! I honestly don’t know why I get turned on by the “Professor” figure. Having said that, I am a Sapiosexual meaning I am attracted to intelligence, and since I am yet to meet an intelligent person, I think I am mostly attracted to professors (which is honestly not a healthy thing…believe me). For now, this will just be fluff and angst, but will definitely include smut in later chapters. A bit of a slow build. Professor!Bucky has a metal arm in this one because I am kinky as shit.
Also, picture was made by @0-ves-0
Art is amazing!!

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Remedy (8)

Bucky x reader

Bucky’s POV.

Notes: trigger warnings! Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, swearing, injuries, angst, fluffy, smutty, a very protective Bucky who knows exactly how to be sweet and careful.

Taglist is fixed! Please message me if you want to be tagged. (not on this post pls, just message; I just can’t keep up otherwise!)

Originally posted by wintersthighs

Remedy (1) Remedy (2) Remedy (3) Remedy (4) Remedy (5) Remedy (6) Remedy (7)

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The Devil You Know Part 41

Beginning: The Devil You Know Part 1

Warning: Cussing. Mentions of Violence. Mentions of torture

The Devil You Know Part 41

Chapter 74

Everyone tried to stay strong as they watch the whip contacting with Melinda’s back. They took a deep breath in as Eric pulled the whip back. They let out a gasp when he throw his arm forward, making the whip crack again against Melinda’s flesh. 

Some of them couldn’t bare it the site they were seeing. They had to turn away when blood started to soak Melinda’s shirt. Even the wives couldn’t stand watching Negan’s punishments being carrying out. Amber started to cry as she huddle against one of the other wives.

Though the wives were protected by the rules and were above most that were set. They still fear to break them or even tempt to break them. Yes women, weren’t ever to be harm, specially Negan’s wives. 

But here, a woman that Negan constantly ask to be his wife. A woman whose child he claims as his own. A woman that he has done dark things for and cares for, was being whipped. They fear someone day, they would meet the end of Eric’s whips or worse, the end of Lucille.

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