only fifteen

Line Repair

This is for @cerusee and I do not apologize at all for the lack of angst.

Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd father/son bonding. Gen, a Tiny Bit of Strong Language


The air was deceptively cool, a lazy breeze drifting up from the river the highway ran alongside. The sun was pleasantly warm at first and only gradually turned to hot. Jason Todd knew there was a long line of mature trees only fifteen feet away that he could seek shelter under, that might even be sort of wonderful if he had a lunch and a book, but he had a hard time walking away from problems.

His current problem was something under the hood of the non-descript Audi he’d borrowed from the Manor. And he had actually borrowed it for once, at Alfred’s urging. It was a slightly older and trusted car from the massive garage, and when he’d mentioned as a slight warning that he’d been itching to get out of the city for a bit– a warning he felt he owed Alfred at this point, if no one else– it hadn’t taken much from the older man to convince him to just borrow the car.

Because it was Alfred.

Now, if there was any consolation at all to be found in bending over the now-cooled but previously smoking engine, getting dust and grease all over his worn tee, it was that at least it had happened to him and not Alfred, somewhere in the middle of Gotham.

He had been tinkering around for thirty minutes, coming to the reluctant conclusion that it was the oil line and he didn’t have the tools and was going to have to hitchhike or walk the couple of miles toward the nearest help and then deal with the car itself instead of going further from the city and the life there he just needed a break from.

Nothing spectacular had happened to drive him away– no case gone wrong, no pile of bodies, no bitter injury or trauma or anniversary. But the city itself sometimes grew too big, too heavy on his heart and mind, and he just needed space even if he knew he’d run back within days or weeks.

Jason wiped sweat off his forehead and stepped back from the car and sighed.

That was when the other car approached, the rumble of its engine preceding it on the quiet road. He leaned back over the open hood and made a show of being engrossed in the components there, while keeping an eye on the road to see what would show up. The car passed him, already slowing, and pulled to a stop on the graveled shoulder just a couple of yards ahead.

Jason tensed. The road was quiet enough that any concerned passerby would likely slow on the blacktop and roll down a window, offer help. Maybe it was a cop. The car was unmarked but black.

He stood, wiping his hands on his already ruined shirt, and plastered a warm smile on his face. He turned and froze.

Bruce climbed out of the other car.

“The fuck,” Jason exclaimed, his smile falling.

“Hello to you, too,” Bruce replied mildly.

“I didn’t steal it,” Jason spat out. “Alfred told me to take it.”

Bruce ducked back into the car he’d emerged from and when he straightened, taking a deep breath of the fresh air, he was holding a paper sack of food and a cardboard drink carrier.

“I know,” Bruce said. “He told me.”

And maybe it was the ingrained paranoia, the fine family tradition of subterfuge, or just the tiny (and mildly glorious) sense of knowing someone else so well, but comprehension hit Jason like a thunderclap.

“He knew,” Jason gasped. And it irked him that it was Alfred and that he couldn’t cuss him out, even absent, without feeling about a hundred times as guilty as he would with anyone else.

“That the line had a slow leak?” Bruce asked, walking toward him. Whatever he had in the bags smelled amazing and it was about an hour past lunch. Jason had decided to push ahead to the next small town, eager for the miles between him and Gotham, and then had been forced to pull over in the middle of nowhere. Bruce held out the bag. “He did.”

They might not have the smoothest relationship, but it was Bruce out of the suit and it was a bag of food and even if Jason’s stomach hadn’t grumbled, he would have taken it. He peered inside.

“Are these pepperjack chicken sandwiches?” Jason asked, incredulous.

“And tea,” Bruce answered, lifting the drink carrier slightly. He looked a little apologetic, a worried frown around his eyes. “I didn’t think Gotham chili dogs would stay hot for the drive. But there’s a Wendall’s just ten miles back, the last one going west.”

Jason leaned against the bumper of the car and then cast a glance toward the shaded bank. He was still watching the trees and not Bruce when he asked, “You really drove three hours to catch up with me?”

“I did,” Bruce said. He reached out and bent the sack toward himself. Jason let it happen. Bruce pulled one of the sandwiches out. There were boxes of shoestring fries underneath. “I brought tools. And a new line. A drain pan and a few quarts of oil. But let’s eat first.”

“Okay,” Jason said faintly, looking into the bag again. He took off, long strides carrying him toward the trees and the river bank. It didn’t smell like trash and sewage out here. “But I’m not gonna bake while I eat,” he called, without turning. He left the words making it to Bruce on the whim of the wind.

Whether or not Bruce heard clearly, he followed and sat down next to Jason on the grass. They sat shoulder to shoulder, with enough space between them that Bruce set the drink carrier down.

“How early did Al wake you up?” Jason asked, glancing over at Bruce’s pale face in the sunlight. He hadn’t bothered with any of his usual makeup to hide the dark circles or the days-old bruise on his cheek, the stuff he wore for work. It reminded Jason of days when they had breakfast together at the gigantic dining room table, before getting ready for the world outside the Manor.

“He let me sleep a whole two hours,” Bruce said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “It was supposed to be my day off.”

“Sorry,” Jason grumbled, which was hard to do around a mouthful of chicken sandwich.

“I’m not,” Bruce said. “We’re not good at lunch dates.”

Jason choked when his surprised and bitter laugh interrupted swallowing. Bruce reached out a hand, hesitated, and then clapped him on the back anyway. Jason sucked down tea to chase away the lingering itch in his throat. “No,” he said when he’d recovered. “No, we aren’t. Midnight snacks are more our thing now.”

“I think that’s my fault,” Bruce admitted, taking his own tea.

“I dunno,” Jason said, taking another bite. He knew he hadn’t exactly made himself easy to get along with or seek out.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, eating, then Bruce brushed his hands against each other and swapped his crumpled sandwich wrapper for a box of shoestring fries.

“Anyway,” he said, letting the quiet draw out again. “I’m not angry Alfred set us up. This is nice.”

“It is,” Jason agreed, with only a little reluctance. “Figures Al would figure out how to make it happen.”

“Where are you headed?” Bruce asked, gesturing with a slight motion of his shoulder toward the Audi.

“Haven’t decided,” Jason said, slurping tea from the crowded ice in the cup. “Just wherever, I guess.”

“We’ll fix the line and you can go find out,” Bruce said. “Need anything else?”

“No,” Jason said, feeling as calm as the river looked. It was nice, to sit and munch on fries and talk without shadows looming over them, without the weak glow of street lamps or the halogen bulbs in the cave. “I’ll be good. Thanks.”

“Send me a postcard,” Bruce said. “So I know where you end up.”

And even though it was just an escape, a tiny vacation from his usual life, Jason was reassured by the implication: I care but I’m not tracking you.

It was a comforting feeling, the freedom and the connection.

“Sure,” Jason said. “How are you doing?”

Bruce looked over at him, a long and steady look, and when Jason tore his eyes away to stare at the river again instead, Bruce sighed.

“I’m worn out. I need a vacation soon, too. Alfred keeps dropping hints. Maybe Iceland.”

For the first half of the minute that followed, Jason was tempted to say something joking or disparaging but he struggled to come up with something that satisfied the impulse. There was another delay as he realized the difficulty was rooted in the lack of any sour emotion to spur it. “You should go,” he finally settled on saying.

He could feel Bruce studying him, probably with that unrelenting and undaunted expression he often had while figuring out a problem or gathering information.

“I think I will,” Bruce said, exhaling softly. Jason turned to him and tried to grin, but he knew it came off as more genuine and less rakish than he’d meant for it to.

“You gonna eat those fries?” Jason asked, leaning over to look into the box Bruce was holding but not doing anything else with.

“No,” Bruce said, holding them out. “Want them?”

“Hell yes,” Jason said, accepting the box. “Only you’d waste good fries.”

“Want me to start on the oil line?” Bruce offered, beginning to stand.

“Nah,” Jason said. “We can do it together. Don’t rush me. Some of us actually learned how to savor food when Alfred taught us, instead of eating like machines.”

Bruce chuckled and leaned back on the grass instead of rising. “Alright.”

The French fries were crisp and salty and Jason alternated chewing them and sucking watery, frigid tea through the red and white striped straw. The river lapped softly at the baked mud bank beneath them and wind tumbled through the treetops overhead.

“I’m done,” he announced, more than five minutes after actually finishing the fries.

“Hn,” Bruce answered, sounding far from fully awake.

Jason stretched out in the grass and put a boot on the bag of trash so it wouldn’t blow away.

“If I wake up covered in bug bites, it’s your fault,” he said, closing his eyes. The sunlight that filtered through the canopy was just enough to keep away an actual chill.

“Hn,” Bruce said again. “We should lock the cars.”

“You do it,” Jason said. “If you’re so freaking paranoid.”

There were two clicks of automatic locks from near the road. Jason felt his pocket but the keys were still there and it just figured Bruce would have another set, but he kind of didn’t care.

It over an hour before either of them moved again.

“It was a slip. The first thing I thought about was an abortion. I was only fifteen at the time. But after getting my ear chewed off, and all of the bitching, and all of the scolding, I decided to take responsibility. My daughter is three now. I’ve had to give up so much. I can’t go to university. I can’t go out, or go on trips. Now my life is nothing but a routine. I’m a slave to paying rent. I work seven days a week at a casino for minimum wage. I have to support my grandmother and sisters. My mother left the house in December to live with a man. I never talk about any of this. I keep to myself because nobody cares. Even if I’m happy—nobody cares. I only worry about my daughter’s happiness. I only think about her future. I have hope for her. But not for me.”

(Medellín, Colombia)

anonymous asked:

I need more about keith and the ferret

hellyeah

  • The ferret does not have a name, and never will. This is essential to the au.
    • Shiro: So then… What do I call it? Them. It-em.
    • Keith: I usually call them ‘ferret’, ‘long boy’, ‘demon’, etc.
    • Shiro: Yeah but does the… long boy… actually respond?
    • Keith: Why would the demon respond, Shiro? They’re not my ferret.
  • Hunk and Pidge try to like, track down the ferret to see where it goes when it leaves Keith’s house but the ferret always loses them.
  • Keith just assumes this is a ferret but he like… doesn’t really know… it might be a weasel. It’s probably a ferret. It’s definitely an omen.
  • There’s an unspoken rule that you’re not allowed in Keith’s home alone with the ferret. Like, everyone has a key to Keith’s apartment, and they can drop in whenever, but if you let yourself in and see The Ferret standing in the kitchen under the flickering lights, you shut the door and wait in the hallway for Keith to come home. Allura once waited for two hours because Keith got caught in traffic. She claimed she’d been only waiting for fifteen minutes though when Keith asked.
    • Coran is the only exception to this. One time Keith walked through the door and found Coran and the ferret watching Jeopardy together. The ferret had on a bonnet. Coran refuses to explain what happened.
  • The ferret doesn’t drop by that often, which is why Lance swears it’s an ominous omen. It’ll probably show up maybe once or twice a month… Sometimes more, during the winter. Keith accepts these visits without question. Everyone else has a lot of questions.
  • There’s a framed picture of Keith and the ferret in the walk-in hallway
  • Percy at 20: OK, I have to solve this hydra problem before brunch with Jason and Nico
  • Percy at 40: Chiron, I only have fifteen minutes. I have to pick the kids up at school. Where's the Gorgon?
  • Percy at 60: I have Cash in the Attic at six so I have to hurry. Ares making trouble again?
  • Percy at 82: No, Zeus. I really can't help. Well, I'm dead. What? Ah, fuck no. *gets brought back to life to deal with more god crap*
Transference (M) – Chapter 01

cr. [X]

Summary: During a routine visit to the local bakery, you stumble upon an intriguing business card and figure, what the hell. The business arrangement becomes…mutually beneficial. Y’all know where this is going.

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 2,061

Warning: Tantric!Hoseok, therapist/client relationship, discussion of BDSM, sex work, profanity.

A/N: This work is a byproduct of about 6 months of insomnia and 60-hour work weeks, which resulted in a series of recurring dreams about Jung Hoseok which were…*fans self*

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04| 05

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Love first visited me when I was fifteen.
Love was best friend;
love was not meant to be.
He loved me,
and I thought I loved him too
for a while.
I destroyed him over two years
with my selfishness -
I was only fifteen.
I left carrying a broken heart in my hands,
and lost a best friend.


First love came when I was sixteen.
This time, it had warm brown eyes, soft hands and softer smiles.
It whispered shy confessions into my ear, and they sounded so genuine I made the mistake of believing them.
Love told me that I was the most beautiful thing that happened in his life, and it held me on nights I couldn’t sleep.
First love continued for about two years, during which I experienced the painful reality of giving your all to someone.
It taught me passion, pain, sadness, anger, betrayal.
First love was as blissful as it was torturous.
It left with me shivering on the cold bathroom floor, with months of sadness to follow.


Now I am nineteen, and love has decided to fleetingly appear out of nowhere.
Love now has a childish face but sturdy hands and broad shoulders.

It caresses me with tenderness I have not experienced before; it shares my joy and my sadness as if they were its own. Should this love not work out, I’ll be broken again; but I will go on living because one day I know it will visit me again.

c-a-b-e-s-w-a-t-e-r  asked:

zimbits. “Less homicidal thoughts about your annoying coworker right now, please. I’m in a meeting over here.” pLEASE

Charlie asked for this about 30 years ago but I’m just getting around to it now. It’s prompt from this list. 


If he thinks I’m going to let a single tart anywhere near his ruinous Trump-sized hands he’s got another thing coming. Actually, no. He can have as many tarts as he wants. Kill ‘em with kindness, and arsenic worked into the whipped cream. I’d have to add more vanilla to balance it out but–

If Jack wasn’t in a sponsorship meeting, he would be inclined to promptly bash his head into the wood of the table. It had been like this for a few weeks ago, a voice filtering in at the most inopportune times, going on diatribes against who he was presuming was the voice’s coworker (”–even the way he counts out change is annoying. The Lord is testing me. We should’ve kept the antique register, it would have hurt more when I ‘accidentally’ shut the drawer on his fingers that he just licked to count out the bills. Yes, I would LOVE my spit covered change. THANK YOU.”)

Unfortunately, Jack thought it was unlikely that NIKE would appreciate their new brand ambassador actively giving himself a concussion, so he shot the representative across the table a smile and nodded to whatever was being said before reverting back inside his head.

As ambitious as your assassination attempt is, if you could keep it to yourself I would appreciate it.

There wasn’t even a moments pause before he got his reply.

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Sound the Alarms

Sound the Alarms: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08
Ship: Jungkook | Reader ~ Jungkook | Seulgi
Description: You were in love with Jeon Jungkook since you were 14, but made the mistake of introducing him to your best friend at 16. Now you’ve slept with him at 19, and it appears that fate isn’t done screwing you over when it comes to your two best friends.
Warning: Hella Angst, Blowjob, Intercourse, Oral, Fingering, Cheating, Dirty Talk, Slight Cumplay?
Word Count: 5,041

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Accidentally Exposed - Josh Dun Smut

A/N: Thank’s for 500, here’s a long ass Josh Dun smut to celebrate.

REQUESTED

Pairing: Josh Dun x Reader

Type: Smutty smut

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Blood, nudes, sex, the fun stuff

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - ALSO SEND ME FEEDBACK

Originally posted by jcsephsdun

“I understand,” you say through gritted teeth. “Thank you for the consideration.” 

You push the end button and throw your phone onto the carpet of your apartment frustratedly, wanting to scream but also crawl under the covers and cry your eyes out.

You were a newly graduated student from a photography college and had big dreams to have your own photography company, but that wasn’t going so well to say the least. Right out of college, you moved straight to the heart of California, hoping to land as much as an internship with a company. Your resume was online and on many websites, but you barely got offered jobs, to which you weren’t even interested in. And when you applied to companies, you were rejected. Since you had to pay the bills, you had landed a job as a bartender, earning less than minimum wage to pay for your rent. You were past the state of angry and sad. You were loosing hope and money at rapid pace. 

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Red Roses

I saw this adorable art from @the-sacred-pecan-pie and needed to write something about all those roses. 



His mama saved the flowers from the bouquet she carried when she walked down the aisle.

Bitty found them when he was five years old and bored and snooping through his parents room.

He found a stack of photo albums beneath old sweaters and dress shoes that his daddy rarely ever wore.

The first one was old and musty and filled with people he had never seen before in black and white and yellowing at the corners.

He quickly pushed that one out of the way and kept opening up new ones until the photos switched to color and he started to recognize his moomaw and his mama.

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Archie Andrews Imagine

‘Extraordinary Measures’

Cheerleader/Football Archie Imagine #1

Summary:  Y/n is a cheerleader on the River Vixens and has a date with her quarterback boyfriend, Archie. The only problem is Cheryl won’t end practice.

Word Count: 1603

request:  Hi~ can you please do a cute archie x cheerleader reader? 🖤

a/n: I know actually nothing about cheer (even though I have so much respect for the sport) so I did a tiny bit of research for this. Sorry if I got any cheer lingo wrong or messed something up. Let me know and I’d be happy to adjust it! // Also I wasn’t sure if the request wanted a Friday night football game kind of story so I kind of just did what I thought would be cool, but now I definitely want to write more cheerleader/football!archie stuff so be on the lookout. (Requests are open!)

 —

“Don’t mess, don’t mess,

don’t mess with the best ‘cause the best don’t mess!

Don’t fool, don’t fool,

don’t fool with the cool ‘cause the cool don’t fool!

From the east to the west

the Bulldogs are the best!

B-E-A-T beat ‘em! B-U-S-T bust ‘em!

Beat ‘em, bust ‘em, that’s our custom! Come on Bulldogs readjust ‘em!

Gooo Bulldogs!”

You along with the rest of the River Vixens were breathing heavily after running another cheer, it could practically be called panting. You were the flyer, with three equally exhausted bases under you including Betty and Veronica, finished in a liberty position with your hands in a high v. You’d been practicing for close to four hours – with no water break. Cheryl was always aggressive but this was a new high even for her.

“That was great ladies,” Cheryl yelled standing up from her spot on the bleachers. You looked down to Veronica and Betty and smiled in relief; it’d been a long day of getting yelled at by Cheryl and this seemed like progress. “Except that it wasn’t. It was actually terrible,” she walked down the bleachers toward the squad, putting an extra emphasis on ‘actually’. “My grandmother could cheer that better than you sacks-of-potatoes-with-skirts-and-ponytails that call yourselves ‘cheerleaders’. And she’s been dead since Obama’s first term.” Your face fell. You should have known. This was Cheryl Blossom we’re talking about.

The bases helped you down and you all gave each other long, knowing stares with heavy eyes. “I swear to god, I’m gonna go New York on her,” Veronica threatened. All the Vixens were thoroughly done with Cheryl for the day. Unfortunately, though, it didn’t seem that she was done with you.

She pulled out her megaphone for added drama. It’s not like she needed it. Even if her voice wasn’t extremely loud and high pitched enough to make dogs bark from a mile away, she was only standing like fifteen feet in front of you. “Why don’t we run ‘Be Aggressive’. Is that simple enough for you guys? Can your tiny little pigeon-brains handle that? And if it’s as bad as the rest of practice has been, it better be because all of you are puking your brains out or morbidly injured!”

Everyone was parched and needed a break. You decided it was worth a try. “Cheryl?” All eyes turned to you with shock and desperation. She cocked her head, egging you on and crossed her arms, waiting for you to continue.

Normally you would just deal with Cheryl and imagine something really embarrassing happening to her to make yourself feel better, but today she had put you in an especially bad mood. You we’re supposed to be going out with your boyfriend, Archie, soon but it didn’t look like she had any intention of ending practice in the near future. He was the school’s quarterback so he would be finishing up football practice any minute and you guys were supposed to be finished with rehearsal half an hour ago.

“Uh, I was wondering if maybe we could get some water?” You asked with an especially pathetic expression and your best puppy dog eyes without being obvious. She gave you a blank expression and stared at you for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Like 15 Mississippi seconds.

“You know what?” she probed, still using the unnecessary megaphone, “Yes, you girls can get water. But only because if I have to listen to you imbeciles butcher another simple cheer, I’m going to Van Gogh both my ears off, and I mean that. Be back in two minutes.”

A couple of girls ran up to you graciously but most just ran to their water to make the most of the time that was given. Two minutes in Cheryl-time was pretty different from two minutes in real-time. Just then, the football team parted ways signaling the end of practice. Some guys went to their cars but a lot stayed behind to watch the cheerleaders practice. It was kind of creepy but football normally got out after cheer so it wasn’t usually a problem.

Archie, jogged over to you with his gear still on and his helmet in his hand. He smiled at you with crinkly eyes and ran his fingers through his disheveled copper hair. “How’s my favorite River Vixen?”

You forwent an actual greeting and instead just yelled “WATER,” at him, grabbing the green bottle in his bag with the Gatorade logo on it and gulped it. It came out a little more desperate and forceful than intended but you figured he got the general ‘welcome’ message. When you finally came up for air he looked at you in awe and gave a chuckle, “Well hello to you too.”

“Sorry, it’s just Cheryl’s been crazy all practice. This is literally the first water break we’ve gotten.”

“Cheryl? Crazy? How new and different for her.” He leaned in to kiss you but you dipped out of the way.

“I promise you don’t want to kiss me Arch, I’m really sweaty.” You handed him the bottle back.

“Yeah, but I’m really sweaty too so it cancels out,” he leaned in and kissed you softly.

You smiled up at him, “Ah yes, simple algebra. How could I forget?”

The nice moment you were sharing was interrupted by the sound of nails on a chalkboard, also known as Cheryl Blossom’s voice through a megaphone, “ONE MINUTE”.

Your head whipped around back to your boyfriend. You HAD to get out of this practice, and you had an idea of how. “Archie.”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to stomp on my foot right now.”

He shook his head in confusion, “What? Why? You’re kidding, right?”

“Archie please. I don’t have time for questions. Cheryl is gonna kill me, at least if I don’t get to her first. Now just please stomp on my foot. With the cleat, she’ll check for damage.”

“You’re not kidding. Y/n! no! I’m not just going to crush your foot. Are you crazy?”

“Come on!” you pleaded with him. You looked over at Cheryl. You could tell even from this far away that she was getting increasingly impatient which meant that you were running out of time. “You don’t even have to stomp that hard! Just like, leave a mark or something, I’ll act out the rest!”

“Y/n, I’m not going to stomp on your foot.”

“Archie,” you widened your eyes at him and talked slowly and deliberately. “I swear to the lord above if you do not stomp on my foot, with cleat, right now, then I will not talk to you for a solid week. I swear.”

He opened his mouth to say something, contemplating what to do. He really didn’t want to hurt your foot but he knew that, strangely, you would be really mad at him if he didn’t.

Cheryl’s voice rang from the megaphone, “LET’S TAKE IT FROM THE TOP VIXENS!”

Archie went against his better judgment, lifting his foot about two feet off the ground and slammed it down onto your soft sneaker.

“SHIT!” You buckled over and grabbed your foot in pain, balancing yourself by holding onto Archie with your other hand.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I really didn’t want to –”

“It’s fine, Arch. That was perfect. But I will need you to carry me over to Cheryl. She’ll want to see this.”

He put the rest of his equipment in his bag and lifted you up bridal style and headed towards the cheer squad. “Cheryl’s going to kill me right?” “Probably.”

She had her back turned to you as she was yelling at a freshman about how her hair looked unprofessional. “Cheryl?” You called out to her. She whipped around and her jaw dropped.

“What did you do to my flyer Andrews?!”

He cautiously answered her, “I’m really sorry, I just accidentally stepped on her foot with my cleat…”

“Which foot?!” Her eyes were wide with rage. You lifted your leg to indicate. She walked swiftly over to you and roughly pulled off your sneaker, making you wince a bit in pain. Sure enough, Archie’s cleats had left their mark. Your foot was red and it was obvious you couldn’t do anymore flying today. She threw the shoe into your hand that wasn’t wrapped around Archie’s neck. “Next time keep your big clown feet to yourself Boo Boo the fool.” She turned and walked towards her place in the bleachers. “Get out of my sight Y/n and put some ice on the foot. It better be healed by next practice,” she warned over her shoulder.

You looked at Archie, “I think… we’re free to go.” You looked back at the squad and saw Betty and Veronica getting into formation to run something. Betty reached her arm out dramatically towards the two of you and you could see Veronica mouth the words ‘Take us with you’. You reached back mirroring Betty’s motion as Archie turned away and walked towards his car.

“At least now we can make our dinner reservation. I got us a table at this great place called Pop’s. You probably haven’t heard of it, it’s pretty underground.” Archie quipped.

“Oh yeah? Sounds cute. I really will need some ice when we get there though. You know you actually stepped on me pretty bad,” you said to him, knowing how it would make him react.

“Are you kidding me? You forced me to do it! You threatened me!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding relax. I will need some ice though.”

“What are you? Some kind of masochist?”

“Mr. Grey will see you now.”

Close as Strangers: Chapter 11

Close as Strangers: Chapter 11

Word count: 6.2k

Genre: High School au, angst, smut  

This is dedicated to one of my best friends, thank you for being my friend and putting up with my weird ass. Thank you for reading my works and helping me want to keep writing even when I feel overwhelmed. Love you to death @kae-popx have a wonderful birthday, you deserve it! 

Chapters: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten

Originally posted by sugutie



You and Yoongi were bringing your stuff down to the foyer when the doorbell rang. You had woken up only about fifteen minutes ago. You were so tired but you lazily went and opened it to a sleepy looking Jungkook. He smiled and walked in, giving you a kiss and brushing hair from your face.

“Morning, Jungkook.“ you rubbed the sleep from one eye.

“Hi, love. Do you want some help with your bags?” He asked. He became very smiley all the sudden. His hand suddenly slid down your back and cupped your ass, squeezing it quickly. All you could do was gasp and he was out the door with one of your bags. Yoongi had already taken his but came back for his pillow and backpack.

“You okay, Y/N?” Yoongi asked.

“Yeah,” you unfroze, you were definitely awake now. You grabbed your backpack and blanket. Then you and Yoongi said goodbye to your parents and his parents.

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Another process video cause these are fun omg ❤ This time for @criscura​ for the western!au, here’s her comic I used for reference ✨ 

God, aksjgasg, Ao3 is a bitch ok xD

HERE IT IS!!!!! God, it feels so good to be posting this! @aniscribbles and I have been so hyped about this you have no idea, like apsfjgafh…. Anyways, it’s here, in its glory, our love child: The Rift. 

This is a Dragon Age Inquisition AU, and it’s tagged as both fandoms, but the characters, for the most part, will be Voltron. Some of the original DA:I characters may make cameos, but we will get there when we get there. ;D


Summary: After the Conclave blew up in everyone’s face, the whole world went to shit. Lance didn’t know what to make of it, but there was no way he would join the Inquisition to become their tool. Sure, he could close the rifts now, by some miracle - accident in his humble opinion - and he was doing his best to close them on his own. Trouble was, they were getting worse as time went on. After being tossed by a shade, he was seriously reconsidering doing this by himself. Needless to say, he got lucky that a cute Seeker came to his rescue after getting caught in a dragon’s nest; the only problem was that cute Seeker was trying his damnedest to recruit him into the Inquisition.

Word Count: 2456

Ao3

Chapters: [1]

Art: [1]


Lance clapped the dirt off his hands as he straightened up. He was almost done collecting all of the elfroot he would need to replenish his potion stores. After taking on the last rift, he had depleted most of it. Those demons were the nastiest things he has ever had to deal with in a long time, ever since getting the Mark. That had been a painful experience.

He crept along the cliff face, keeping an eye out for more elfroot. If he was lucky he would stumble upon sprouts of royal elfroot. That specific plant was a more potent species, and the potions he could create from it made his life a lot easier when he was dealing with a nasty rift. Like the one the other day. Lance was still pretty sore from being tossed around by a shade. At least he knew what healing magic he could glean from his mother’s grimoire before the sky opened and he was left alone. That had been about five years ago. There had been a call for all mages of any representation, whether it be a circle mage or an apostate like himself and his mother to attend a meeting with the chantry.

And boy, that went really well.

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