mug of juice

GREY AREA. (M) | 06

“And just like that, your fate was sealed - because Min Yoongi was absolutely going to destroy you. But hell, if you weren’t going to let him, or bask happily in the flames as he did so.

And sadly, at the time, you didn’t think that your thoughts would become so literal.

cr.

“I think that friendship is as powerful as true romantic love. And I think that friendship can save you, and heal the parts of you that you didn’t know were broken, and change your life.” - Sarah J Maas

 Pairing: Yoongi/Reader
 Word Count: 11,085
 Genre/Warnings: Soulmate AU, Angst

→  Chapter Index

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: suicide is sort of insinuated.




You let out a low sigh at the vibration of your phone going off, this seeming to be the millionth time it had sounded and you were beginning to lose your patience.


You had rolled over from your side to where you laid flatly on your back, the never ending vibrations had ripped you from your slumber, something that not even Taehyung was brave enough to do.

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3

my second all nighter!
this one was bettet i’m heading to bed around 2 am this time and i have an event to go to tomorrow so i had to get enough notes to do and then conplete parts of the video☺️ ….btw i stopping with the 100 days of productivity i didnt have tine and forgot.

5- The Hierophant: Spell for Strength and Stress Relief ☕️🍋

The sixth spell in my tarot series. This spell is meant to provide strength to help you get through times of high stress. If you try it out, let us know! -Kalli 🐳

Materials:
-Lemon rind
-Lemon juice (optional)
-Dried Lavender
-Honey
-Water
-Mug
-Pot or kettle
-Pendulum
-Sigil for stress relief (feel free to use mine or make your own!)

Step 1: Boil water

Step 2: Take the pot/kettle off the heat. Add the lemon rind and lavender and let it steep

Step 3: Strain tea into a mug. Add lemon juice, if desired.

Step 4: Use the pendulum to cleanse the tea and recite the incantation

As I cleanse this tea, provide me strength
To make it through the year at length.
And as I drink, let me be free
Of all the stress that troubles me.

Step 5: Draw your sigil in the tea with honey. Stir and enjoy.

happy birthday to my murder buddy @highwarlockkareena ❤️🎂🍺🍸🎉😇 some smug fallen angels for you. i hope this makes you yell at me


it was a sunny unsuspecting sunday, shafts of light spilling down over the rooftop as magnus stepped through the door back to the spiral staircase that led down into the loft. he was humming, a smile on his lips as his fingers trailed over the cast iron railing and his boots made a hollow tapping sound on each of the steps. he had just gotten off a promising phone call with a client who was willing to pay him quite a lot to summon a memory demon.

his body was still warm from waking up with his face pressed into alec’s hair and alec’s limbs tangled around his own. they’d spent the very early morning with their bodies tangled in the sheets and slow damp kisses that got so deep all magnus could think about was making alec pant into his mouth and losing himself in him. but the day had beckoned them on and now all he could think about was later when they’d be together again. he could still feel the smiling kisses they’d pressed into each other’s lips before alec left. but as he stepped down the last two steps, his mind was already switching to work.

he ran a hand down the fine waistcoat he was wearing, his thumb dragging against the buttons as he walked through the sunny loft towards his bookshelves. his mind was already on which spell book he needed and what ingredients he might need to stock up on. but as his eyes scanned the bookshelf, a strange sound echoed through the loft and magnus went still. his gaze flicked to the side, eyebrows pulling together.

he hadn’t felt anything touch his wards. he hadn’t felt any presence in the loft. it was a strange distant noise, like the echoing of words, a sound that felt like it was glitching through the very fabric of the loft in a way he couldn’t quite place. then suddenly the smell of sulfur burnt his nostrils as the light started to shift and he realized what was happening in a flash.

it was too late.

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this is inspired by @suplosers‘s absolutely hilarious incorrect spiderman quotes. specifically, by this one, this one, and this one. also by four drink amy santiago because amy santiago is the love of my life. enjoy a very silly and short fic. oh, i also tag my wife @spideychelle-romanogers, a gem @spideychelleblessup, and the always lovely @bellamywarriorblake.

four drink michelle is forward and horny (ao3 link)

It’s only fitting that the first time Michelle drinks, she does so with Peter and Ned. They’re all in Boston for school and it’s orientation week and there are lots of frat parties going on. So, naturally, Michelle insists that Peter and Ned join her, her roommate, and a few of their new friends on their adventure to some of the frats hosting Thirsty Thursday parties.

They all pregame in Michelle and her roommate’s small double and drink vodka that tastes like death. Apparently, alcohol doesn’t really get better than that either. Which, Michelle thinks offhand, might just be a result of the fact that none of them were willing to pay more than ten dollars for a bottle. But whatever the truth may be, Michelle drinks shitty vodka, quickly, in shot glasses, so she doesn’t have to deal with the taste.

Which is how after four drinks, a very drunk Michelle is draping herself across Peter as they stand by the wall in a dark basement at one of the frat houses. He’s got an arm around her waist to steady her, and she would be upset but she honestly thinks she might need it right now. (She’s not entirely sure at the moment, honestly.)

She’s mumbling something about how Peter really should have just gone to Harvard and not MIT beause MIT is great and all but MJ’s at Harvard and then they’d be able to study together like they had in high school and she wouldn’t have to suffer through gen chem all alone. Peter’s chuckling and then he tells her that she doesn’t need his help in Chemistry because she’s a chem major and she should be the one helping him.

For some reason, that pisses her off. It’s a compliment, but it’s entirely too nice. He can’t be too nice to her or else she’s going to fall in love with him and she can’t have that happening on her watch. So she steps back slightly, pouts, and jabs a finger into his chest as she spits out, “Fuck me.”

Peter looks absolutely stunned and taken aback and his mouth opens in that silly way where you just want to smack his jaw back up to where it belongs. And there’s a blush forming on his cheeks and he’s about to say something when Michelle finally realizes her mistake. Her eyes widen and she gets out, “I mean fight me.” She giggles, hoping it seems like this was just a drunken mistake. Which, in all honesty, it was. But there was a truth to it she didn’t want him to know. “Damn autocorrect.”

Peter scrunches his eyebrows together and it’s too cute. “MJ, we are having a verbal conversation.” He starts to smile a bit, blush still present on his cheeks. But MJ wants him to stop.

“Shut up, loser.” She smacks his shoulder and pushes herself off him so at least he won’t have that to hold over her. She leans back against the wall and crosses her arms over her chest, slightly off balance and feeling like the world is spinning. Peter leans back and grabs hold of her when she starts to drift down the wall.

“It’s okay, MJ.” Peter sighs, a bit sad. “You’re drunk. It was just a mistake.” He pulls her back up so she’s standing straight and she drapes her arms back around his neck, leaning her head down onto his shoulder, even if the angle is awkward.

She pokes his nose and laughs. “Boop!” He just smiles at her, fond. “You love me.”

A smile. His eyes twinkle when he gently whispers, “I do.”

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anonymous asked:

Oooh, finally here for an open ask session! I'm currently sick with bronchitis and relatively miserable. How about some sort of hurt/comfort fic where Maggie is sick but not telling Alex because she's grown used to taking care of herself since she was fourteen, but then Kara finds her somewhere sick and miserable and of course she takes her to Alex who dotes all over her.

She doesn’t lie. Not exactly.

She just tells her she has a lot of paperwork to do and can’t come over tonight.

Which is technically true. She’d had one of the rookies bring her a bunch of paperwork from her office.

If she’d going to be miserable and sick with bronchitis, she figures she might as well get some work done.

Because she’s used to that. Used to making her own soup. Picking up her own medicine. Getting her own orange juice and holding back her own hair and whatever.

Because she’s been doing the whole taking-care-of-myself thing since she was fourteen.

It’s not like she still misses her father’s soup or her mother’s soft hands, taking her temperature every hour and never allowing her to get up for anything except to pee, because everything else she needed would be brought to her.

It’s not like she misses any of that.

Because it turns out she doesn’t need it. It turns out she’s just fine on her own.

Or so she tells herself. 

No point in getting Alex sick, anyway.

She loves her too much for that. She’s doing her a favor. She’s gross and boring right now, anyway. Far from the sexy, exciting detective Alex fell in love with. 

She can’t even talk or stand up properly.

But, bonus; if Alex isn’t here, she doesn’t have to talk at all. Doesn’t have to do anything except grab her own tissue when she hacks up mucus from her lungs, has to squeeze her own thighs with disgust and pain when she coughs long, hard, from deep in her chest, when she has to put Vix on her own nose and chest.

She groans to herself. And tries to see straight enough to focus on her paperwork.

At first, she thinks she’s imagining the tapping at her window. At first, she thinks it must be her growing headache playing tricks on her. 

At first, she forgets that her fiancee’s little sister can fly.

But the tapping gets more insistent, and when she looks up and tries to stand, the tapping stops. The blonde responsible for that infernal noise squints and frowns gestures for Maggie not to get up. She does something to the window latch with her eyes and lets herself in.

Maggie is secretly relieved. Her head had been spinning at the mere idea of standing up.

“Little Danvers!” she tries to sound casual, but her voice gives away the pain of the chest cough she’s been nursing. As does the messy array of tissues, cough drop wrappers, glasses stained with orange juice, and half drunk mugs of tea.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were so sick?” Kara demands without preamble, and Maggie blinks like she’s trying to keep up. Which she is.

Kara just shakes her head and sighs, not waiting for an answer.

“You two are the same person sometimes, I swear,” she mutters, more to herself than to Maggie. Which is just as well, because Maggie’s foggy brain is still processing Kara’s presence.

“You stay there. Don’t move. If you move while I’m gone, I’ll know. And I’ll be mad. And I’m Supergirl. So you don’t want to make me mad. So stay put. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m not a puppy,” Maggie protests, but by the time the words pass through her lips, Kara is gone. 

By the time she starts to wonder what the hell just happened and if Little Danvers was always that protective of her, Kara is back, and she’s not empty handed.

“Oh, babe,” Alex sighs the moment Kara sets her down, rushing to the couch and kneeling in front of Maggie, looking like she doesn’t know whether to kiss Maggie’s forehead or hug her or wrap her more effectively in her blankets or throw out all those used tissues and wrappers first. 

“No,” Maggie tries to squirm away from Alex’s embrace. “You shouldn’t have brought her, Kara, I’ll get her sick.”

“But you don’t care if I get sick?”

“You’re Kryptonian, kid, you don’t get sick on this planet.”

Alex just smiles and shakes her head at their banter, completely ignoring Maggie’s protests as she sets about cleaning her sick space off and refilling fresh cups and mugs with orange juice and soon-to-be-brewing tea.

“Danvers, I’m serious, though, I don’t wanna get you sick. And I’m fine, I’m a big girl, I can take care of my – “

“Oh, I know you can take care of yourself, Maggie Sawyer,” Alex interrupts with a double entendre in her voice and in her eyes that makes Kara blush and train her eyes on the ceiling. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to take care of you. If you’ll let me?”

Alex pouts, and Kara chuckles to herself.

Maggie moans, and when the moan turns into a hacking cough, Alex has her arms around her in an instant, one hand rubbing her back as her body convulses, the other hand in Maggie’s, letting her squeeze as hard as she wants through the pain of the cough.

When she’s done, her eyes are flooded with tears.

And it’s not from coughing.

“I’d forgotten,” she whispers as Kara smiles and lets herself out through the window quietly. 

“Forgotten what, babe?” Alex tilts her head.

“What it’s like to be taken care of like this,” Maggie manages hoarsely, and it’s Alex’s eyes that flood this time.

“It’s called being loved, get used to it, Sawyer.”

And she does.

Guess who finished this story??!! Okay, so it gets dark in a couple spots and I’m not sure about the ending, but I really just wanted to finish this story. Now I’m SUPER tired and I will try to edit this tomorrow, but I just wanted to post it now so I don’t lose any of this progress. Thanks for being patient and I am so sorry for the wait.

Now on AO3


Everything can change in a single moment. That’s the biggest lesson Ryan learned when he started this whole criminal shtick. One small misstep, one simple mistake, and weeks worth of planning can fall apart in an instant. Inches can mean life or death; almost can be the difference between a huge pay out and nothing. A piece of metal can determine if someone is going to walk out of a situation or end up in a body bag. Timing can mean nothing, but it can mean everything.

He learned pretty quickly there were no do overs, no quick saves; when stuff happens, it happens, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Regrets are something he has to live with, whether he likes them or not, and sometimes he can’t save everyone.

He’s tested his own mortality more often than he’d like to admit, sometimes for the thrill, other times because he can’t control the circumstances he’s found himself in, and every time afterward he has that sobering thought that life isn’t permanent. Death is an inevitability for everyone, himself included, and one day he’s not going to get up and walk away.

Life would be a lot easier if he could hit reset, try again, erase his mistakes, but then again life isn’t easy. Wishful thinking and fairy tales are a farce, made to give children false hope for the future.

Ryan knows his future. He’s not deluding himself into thinking there’s a happily ever after for him, and no amount of optimism on Jack’s part is going to change that fact. Nothing will change, and he’s okay with it.

Isn’t he?

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The Walking Anarchy part 1 - Looking Back

The world has gone to shit. Zombies are everywhere and you don’t know who you can trust. What happens when SAMCRO has to survive the world of the dead? And how will things turn out when the Dixon family meet SAMCRO?

Co-written by @mrskokitztelford and @meribelle-negansangel, The Walking Anarchy is a crossover story of The Walking Dead x Sons of Anarchy and introduced Original Characters Meribelle Dixon (Owned by @meribelle-negansangel) and Melinda Jenkins (owned by @mrskokitztelford).

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Beneath The Waves (part 4)

As always, art credit goes to my amazing bro/partner in this project, @ismill!

Part 1 | Part 2 | part 3 | part 4 


Chapter 4


PENNY

Who the fuck is banging at our door at six in the morning?

I grumbled all the way, rubbing my eyes and pushing my spectacles on. The floor was cold, the air damp in the pre-dawn. In fact, frost was starting to seep along the sides of the door like spidery ivy.

“Coming, coming, by God—“

As soon as I undid the latch, Basil Pitch burst his way in.

Sputtering, I opened my mouth to scream at him (What do you think you’re doing in my house?), but then paused.

Something was off about him.

Basil usually composed, an antisocial wanker that stuck to his books and scowled at anyone who got close enough. Which suited me just fine, mind you. But now, his hair was mussed, falling in his face. His clothes looked rumpled, sand-covered, as though he’d slept on the surf.

At least he’d had the mind to leave his muddy boots outside.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. Logically, the only reason Basil would be here this early was some sort of emergency. We had that mutual understanding. As two of the most intelligent people in the village, and I loathed to say that, sometimes we had to rely on each other.

He just shook his head, brows furrowed. His red scarf was hanging loose around his neck, crusty with dried salt. Grey, manic eyes blinked owlishly at me.

Then he asked me a question I never thought I’d have to answer.

“Is Simon real?”

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