or as i call them the lost children of fairytale land

Our last night || soulmate!AU Pt.1

“What’s the difference between the love of your life and a soulmate?” I asked.

“One is a choice, and one is not”

Word Count: 7.5k
Genre: Angst | Fluff | Romance | Smut
Pairing: Reader(She) x Jungkook 
Triggers: Depression, Mention of suicide, lots of angst tbh, Mature content, Cussing.
Gif: AngustD©GIFs

⇻ Playlist   (Playlist Cover thanks to @basicallyadragon  ♡)

A/N: Much cry while making this…
Hope you guys like it! thanks for reading! and thanks for 400 followers!! <3
constructive feedback is always appreciated :)



—first 24 hours—

“This love was so pure it would smolder within their hearts for all eternity”

That one, single line from the book made your heart hurt. Is that the word? hurt? or…Is it something else entirely.
It pained.
That, you are sure about.
There is just something about it, that that made you go over it once again…not analyzing, just letting it sink in, let your mind absorb it, let your body absorb it, let your soul absorb it.
The book remains open on that one page; your eyes hovering above each letter and word for a long time.
What did it mean? How can a love smolder you? is that even possible? How can it be eternal?.
The more these silent questions spread through your thoughts, the more you feel confused, the more you feel empty; but at the same time, you somehow understand exactly what they mean.
You need someone to talk about this.
You read over the phrase once more:

 “This love was so pure it would smolder within their hearts for all eternity”

Without realizing, pools of tears flood your eyesight, trying to blink them away the big drops drip down your cheeks. A face on the back of your mind appears.
His dark and messy hair.
His big gentle eyes.
His goofy smile.

“Jungkook” a giggle joins the streams of water rolling down your eyes, while saying his name out-loud, making you realize you aren’t sad; In fact, you are desperate to see him again, to hug him and kiss him -just like you did every time you are together.
Putting the book down, you grab the cell phone on the nightstand, ignoring the piece of white paper, standing out because of the sapphire blue seal on the front, and tap over his name on the contact list.
-the dial tone causing you anxiety and a pang on your chest.
It is the first time you felt like this, so frantic and in a haste about phoning him.

Unwillingly, your eyes travel to the night stand once again, landing over the closed envelope with the blue sigil.
You knew this day might arrive.
Since the very beginning.

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And will the pairing that a lot of fans already want be the one that we all need?

A few book readers speculated that a political marriage between Jon Snow and Sansa Stark would be not only possible, but the best thing for House Stark, and maybe even for each other. However, the idea of any kind of match between them was a quiet cult theory, until season 6 of Game Of Thrones, which set Twitter and Tumblr on fire with the idea of the “Jonsa” romance ship. In this article, I’m going to go through as many reasons as I have discovered for this potential pairing, the foreshadowing that a lot of people might have overlooked, and why readers and viewers should think twice before completely dismissing the idea.

As I am starting with the books, I’ll go ahead and start at the very beginning, before the books were written. In George R. R. Martin’s outline for the series, he had a love triangle in the works, between Jon, Tyrion, and Arya. Even before the first book was finished, he had plans for Jon to wed a Stark cousin. The outline states on the subject:

“Arya will be more forgiving… until she realizes, with terror, that she has fallen in love with Jon, who is not only her half-brother but a man of the Night’s Watch, sworn to celibacy. Their passion will continue to torment Jon and Arya throughout the trilogy, until the secret of Jon’s true parentage is finally revealed in the last book.”

Given what I am about to lay out in this article, there seems to be a strong chance of GRRM having kept the cousin love triangle, but switched at least the sister, if not the other man (Jon/Tyrion[Littlefinger]/Sansa).

Jon and Sansa began their stories, and left Winterfell, with very similar ideas and worldviews, despite their differing personalities. Both were not just young, heady, and optimistic; both believed in the songs they were sung to as children, but in the heroes the songs described. Both had fantasies of a quieter life and family that, conspicuously, left each other out, and synchronized perfectly with each other.

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We’d find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.
He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. - A Storm Of Swords - Jon XII

This is a fantasy Jon had, ostensibly about Val, the Wildling sister of Mance Rayder’s wife, whom Jon was infatuated with, at the time. However, she does not feature at all after a cursory mention of stealing her away. He fantasized much more about the hypothetical family than her, and both that fact, and his fantasy-family makeup, is very telling, in three ways.
1.  This fantasy is a direct and near-perfect recreation of the Stark household that he remembers, with him as the new Neddish patriarch.
2. He is not fantasizing about a Wildling girl who walks through Walker territory like it ain’t no thang, or a warrior girl, or a highborn princess, or even a platinum-haired nude dragon queen. He is fantasizing about Val as a mother, and more importantly, as not only the mother he knew (Catelyn), but how he wished Catelyn to be.
3. Most women that we read about in aSoIaF or watch in GoT do not share this fantasy; Westerosi girls tend to be action girls. The only female character who had any kind of similar fantasy, let alone one that synchronizes nearly perfectly to Jon’s, is Sansa:

She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa’s dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya. - A Storm Of Swords - Sansa

Although they fantasized about different people ostensibly (Jon-Val; Sansa-Willas/Loras Tyrell), both fantasies complete the other, and tell very similar stories about each of them. Both think that love is an addendum to marriage, and something that needs to be worked on. They both disregard the personalities of their interest for what they remember of their mother and father. They both recreate their dead and missing siblings, with exceptions. Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon are noted, as well as even a Ned. The only figures missing are themselves and each other.

What makes this so extremely notable is not just that the fantasies click perfectly together. It’s not even that Jon’s always wanted exactly this, even from the start, when he dared not wish for his own family. What makes this truly meaningful, is that there is only one girl in all of Westeros who knows what growing up in Winterfell was like, and who wants the same thing as him, and is not yearning for adventure, vengeance, a throne, or power, let alone above this desire.

Just as Sansa is the only person who fits the bill for Jon, Jon is the only man who has lived up perfectly to Sansa’s fantasies and dreams of heroic knights in shining armor.

“Sweet one,” her father said gently, “listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me.” - A Game Of Thrones - Sansa

Curiously, although Prince Aemon Targaryen is a historical character in the Ice & Fire/Thrones universe, Prince Aemon is also the role Jon would take in childhood mock jousts with Robb; judge for yourself if that’s a coincidence.

“I’m Prince Aemon the Dragonknight,” Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, “Well, I’m Florian the Fool.” -A Storm of Swords – Jon XII

(Sidenote - foreshadowing with other foreshadowing: if you think about it, Robb literally died a fool. He got himself, and Cat, killed for love, when he could’ve married the Frey girl, gotten safe passage from the Freys, and marched towards Kings Landing to avenge his father and rescue Sansa. But we all know what he was thinking with instead of his brain…)

Jon is by every and all accounts the valiant and heroic knight Sansa wished and pined for, as a dreamy 11-year-old girl. Before I continue, I have to add that the men of the Night’s Watch are often referred to as The Black Knights.

Jon has all of the qualities of the kind of man Ned described to her, as well as all of the qualities of the kind of man she’d always wanted; both as a young, wistful girl dreaming of Aemon the Dragonknight making Queen Naerys his lady love, and the shattered, hardened, and disaffected woman she’s grown to become. She has discarded her fairy tales, because she has realized, through firsthand experience, that those fairytales are not nearly as pretty as they sound. The fairytales are horrifying; they are soaked in the blood and tears of the events and people they describe. Jon is the only character who can fulfill both the dreams and fantasies of 11-year-old Sansa, and the disillusioned young woman who’s never until now known a true hero. No other character in either aSoIaF or GoT can do the same:

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. “Life is not a song, sweetling,” he’d told her. “You may learn that one day to your sorrow.” In life, the monsters win, she told herself, and now it was the Hound’s voice she heard, a cold rasp, metal on stone. “Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.” - A Game Of Thrones - Sansa VI

That he did, albeit with poor grace, crossing his arms, scowling, and ignoring the naked steel in his lord commander’s hands. Jon slid the oilcloth down his bastard sword, watching the play of morning light across the ripples, thinking how easily the blade would slide through skin and fat and sinew to part Slynt’s ugly head from his body. All of a man’s crimes were wiped away when he took the black, and all of his allegiances as well, yet he found it hard to think of Janos Slynt as a brother. There is blood between us. This man helped slay my father and did his best to have me killed as well. - A Dance With Dragons - Jon II

Not long after, in the same chapter, Jon does the deed:

Emmett kicked his legs out from under him. Dolorous Edd planted a foot on his back to keep him on his knees as Emmett shoved the block beneath his head. “This will go easier if you stay still,” Jon Snow promised him. “Move to avoid the cut, and you will still die, but your dying will be uglier. Stretch out your neck, my lord.” The pale morning sunlight ran up and down his blade as Jon clasped the hilt of the bastard sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse.

Janos Slynt twisted his neck around to stare up at him. “Please, my lord. Mercy. I’ll … I’ll go, I will, I …”

No, thought Jon. You closed that door. Longclaw descended.

Their geographic and psychological journeys are near-perfect mirrors of each other. Sansa heads south while Jon goes north. Sansa becomes Lady Lannister, then a bastard (an identity at least partially crafted on her ideas of Jon); then, in the show, Lady Bolton, and finally the Lady of Winterfell. Jon, meanwhile, goes from Bastard, to Jon Stark (in Robb’s will, which Jon hasn’t seen or heard about), to Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and in the show, finally, King in the North. Both have to pretend they want nothing to do with their previous lives (Sansa as a prisoner in KL, and Jon with the Wildlings). Both have to essentially fake it to make it, as Sansa tries to actively forget she is not Alayne Stone, and Jon is tempted to stay with the Wildlings.
Through all of this, they both try to cling to certain things. Even after abandoning their childhood idealisms to make hard choices, and even through the processes of grieving for their family, as well as trying to become different people, they both have always held notions of justice, fairness, and even compassion close to their hearts and minds.

Also, out of all the surviving Starks, only Sansa sensed Jon’s death:

“There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, as big as mountains.” - A Feast For Crows - Sansa’s final chapter

As soon as news of Jon’s parentage comes out in the North, his claim to Winterfell will be, at the very least, heavily debated among and contested by the Northern lords. Although half Stark, he is not the son of Eddard, but of Lyanna. On top of that, he has a Targaryen father. Seeing as the Mad King killed Ned’s father Rickard Stark, and Ned’s brother Brandon. The Northern lords will have no loyalty to a Targaryen.
Jon/Sansa would be both an excellent twist of the kind that aSoIaF/Got are known for, and mutually beneficial for the both.
Their marriage would secure Jon’s claim to the North, unite the North as it needs to be for the War for the Dawn, and secures the safety and place at Winterfell for both. Also, as she says in the books, “No one will ever marry me for love.” It’s a sad truth, but a truth nonetheless; every and all other Lords would want to marry her for her claim to Winterfell. Jon, though, would never force Sansa to marry anyone. He knows what she’s been through. He cares for her, and would never hurt her in any way. Sansa knows this, and it might just be what will drive her to suggest they marry. Jon needs a Queen either way, to keep the Stark bloodline going.
I will even go so far as to say this: I think that the northern lords will want to make Sansa their Queen after they find out about Jon’s parentage, in which case, same thing; she’ll need to keep the Stark bloodline going. Add to that him being a Targaryen, and she a Stark, they would literally be uniting not only the North, but the South too.
Soon, every person in the whole of at least Westeros will find out about the Night’s King and the White Walkers. It is this exact moment that the North will need stability, and hope. A union between Sansa and Jon would give the northerners nothing less or other than that. Jon is a great commander. He is brave, and honorable, and he will do all he can to keep Sansa and all the northerners safe. He’ll fight for them. The prospect, the reassurance, and after the battle is over and the war is won, Winterfell and the North will be rebuilt, by its people with the support and help of their King and Queen. Everything points to their union.
The prospect, the reassurance, that after the battle is over, after the war is won, Winterfell, the North will be rebuilt, by its people with the support and help of their King and Queen. Everything that points to a good resolution for the stories of Ice & Fire, and Thrones, points to their union.

Even on Thrones, David Benioff and Dan Weiss have planted an insane amount of seeds for Jonsa. Not only for a political union, but in season 6 set the internet on fire with gooey Jonsa romantic tension, with gems such as this moment, from s6e5 (The Door):

Jon: New dress?
Sansa: I made it myself, do you like it?
Jon: Yeah, well, it’s—I like the wolf bit.

Brothers awkwardly fumbling for words to compliment their half-sister’s dress? Not something you see everyday. This scene was unnecessary, but D&D included it, I’ll allege for a reason. I’m not necessarily saying that Jon is in love with Sansa here, but the tension between them and their interactions are very awkward, and not how they should be between two people who think they are brother and sister. Also, this is not something a brother says to a sister in danger:

Jon: I won’t ever let him touch you again. I’ll protect you. I promise. (From s6e9 - Battle Of The Bastards)

Again, a bizarre choice of words, if Jonsa is not a component of the story. Brothers say things like “ I will never let him hurt you again”, or “tell me where he is”.  Let’s not forget most of their scenes have them speaking while being surrounded by warm candle light and with soft focus; quite a romantic atmosphere for two SIBLINGS.
The way their scenes were shot, do not only mirror Ned’s and Cat’s, but also Robb’s and Talisa’s. I find it hard to believe D&D wrote and shot their scenes the way they did accidentally. They wanted to do one of either two things:
either set Twitter and Tumblr on fire with Sophie and Kit’s chemistry; or, subtly, put this notion into our heads, have us talk about it, and speculate. Whichever they did, it obviously worked, thus introducing us to the idea, and actually preparing us for it.

PS I thought that @castaliareed and @fedonciadale  would be interested in this meta; I hope it’s good for a 1st.

Fairytale (1)

Originally posted by r-velvets

“A world in which elves exists and magic works offers greater opportunities to digress and explore” – Terry Brooks

Genre: Fluff

Member: Sehun


‘Once upon a time,’… that was how most fairytales started. At least that was what you used to think.

Yours started a little differently.

It was not difficult to get caught up in the fantasy of a dream world that you longed to be a part of. Regular life was ordinary, and not as magical as the ones in fairytales that you loved to read.

Childhood was the most magical time. Most children believe everything their parents tell them. The Tooth Fairy, Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny were all parts of a fantasy that you grew up believing to be true.

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anonymous asked:

One of them is of the aes sídhe and falls in love with the other, who is a mortal man.

After a little research (love research) I decided to make Phil the sidhe and I even chose a specific sidhe known as a Ghillie Dhu, which I just felt really suited Phil. If you want to know more, the link I used is here

Watch for the

Centuries ago, the sidhe known as Phil Coulson was a simple Ghillie Dhu residing in Gairloch watching over the children of the lairds and their tenants. Living in his simple cottage amongst the birch trees, Phil had tried his best to be a guiding hand when the children needed it and a protector for them when it was required.

As time passed, however, metal and machines began to come to Phil’s lands. He tried to live alongside this progress, but it was challenging and the iron drained much of Phil’s power causing him to begin aging and even the simplest of magics were hard to accomplish. After a few years, he found it more and more difficult to stay hidden and after he’d been found by the people of the loch, he was forced to leave his homeland.

He traveled around the world a bit until settling down on a new continent brimming with promise. Metal and machinery soon encroached there too, but Phil still had space and he learned to adapt and live alongside some of these new machines (though he still preferred to live as simply as possible himself)

Phil came back from his walk in the woods to the sounds of a child crying. When he’d gone out that afternoon, the two children who played near the edge of his woods had been laughing and chasing each other and Phil had felt confident leaving them for a bit. It was his job to watch over the children who came close to his home (he often saw these two nearby investigating the trees) and seeing the bright smiles on the two boys’ faces had filled Phil with warmth and a little bit of extra power.

Now that the sun had gone down and the stars were coming out, Phil was on his way to his small cottage and the night was quiet except for the quiet sniffles coming from the space between two trees near the corner of his land. His cottage being found meant he was going to have to move again, but first he could do what he was called to do and help this child.

“Hello? Little one? Are you okay?” Phil tried to keep his voice soft and soothing, but it was difficult. The last time people had found his cottage, he’d been forced to flee and leave his homeland behind.

“Not s’posed to talk to strangers.” The voice was quiet and trembling and every instinct Phil had as a fae was screaming to take the child home since his parents and brother were clearly useless.

Instead, Phil took a seat with his back to the two trees and looked up at the sky. “That is very true. Talking to strangers can be very dangerous. My name is Phil, and since you found my house I wanted to make sure you were not lost.”

A blond head peeked out from the space between the trees. “I know you. You helped when I fell down.”

Phil smiled. “That I did. You were chasing your big brother and tripped.”

A small body crawled out from between the trees and stood in front of Phil, blue eyes studying and assessing him. “I’m Clint.”

“Nice to meet you, Clint. Would you like some help getting home?”

Clint pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and looked scared. “Dunno. Dad’s gonna be mad. Can I stay with you?”

Scooping Clint up, Phil set him on his hip and started walking. He’d heard the boy’s father yelling at night and he wished he could keep Clint with him, but it just wasn’t possible. “I think they’ll be glad you’re home safe and sound.”

As they walked, Phil just let Clint babble on about life as a 5-year-old in Iowa and while Clint did not mention a lot about his family, what he did say concerned Phil quite a bit.

When they were close to Clint’s home, Phil felt the boy tense in his arms and tighten his grip. Phil rubbed his back and tried to calm him down. “It’s alright, Clint. Look, you’re home. Everything is going to be okay.”

Clint started to cry again and Phil’s heart broke a little. “It’s not okay. Dad’s gonna be mad and throw things and hurt mama and I don’t like it. Please don’t make me go, Mr. Phil, please!”

Phil rubbed Clint’s back some more until the boy managed to calm down. Using a bit of glamour, Phil walked into the house and silently took Clint to his room. “It’s okay, Clint. See? No yelling, no throwing. Just your nice warm bed.” Phil picked up a soft, worn plush bird and handed it to Clint. “Look at this, little bird, your friend has missed you and he’s so glad you’re back. I think he needs a hug, what do you think?”

Clint hugged the bird close to his chest and yawned. His eyes started to droop closed and Phil breathed a sigh of relief. He could feel his glamour fading already and if he had to deal with any more tears, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get out without trouble. He laid Clint down on his bed and covered him with the blanket, humming a lullaby as he tucked him in.  

Letting the glamour drop, Phil left the house and used another small portion of his power to alter the parents’ memories of Clint being missing.

Exhausted, Phil walked into town and found a payphone. He made a quick call to Child Protective Services and put some magic into his suggestion that the Barton’s should get a visit. By the time he hung up the phone, Phil could feel the pull of the woods calling him home. Plodding slowly into the trees, Phil hoped, that soon, Clint would find a family who could love him the way he deserved.  

13 Years Later

After making sure Clint and his brother had been safely removed from the Barton household, Phil had packed up his things and traveled around the country a bit looking for a new forest. He found he didn’t like the noise of the Northeast and the South was far too hot and had far too few trees.

Two years later, Phil found a nice dense forest in northern Wisconsin and he used the freshness of the soil and the power of the trees to build himself a new cottage.

Phil liked it in Wisconsin. It was quiet and he was able to watch over the children of the nearby town with ease. He had a few visitors from the homelands and after several reassurances that he was happy and some of his fresh baked scones, he was able to send them on their way.

The summer of his eleventh year there had been a hot and sticky one, and by the time August rolled around, even Phil was ready for it to be over. He was napping in the shade of one of a large maple trying to cool off when he was woken by the sounds of trucks.  

Phil walked to the road and watched the trucks and caravans drive by all sporting “Carson’s Circus” painted on the side.

As he walked home that evening, Phil found himself unable to get the circus off his mind. When he arrived at his cottage he decided he might as well pay a visit after they’d set up. There were sure to be plenty of kids there and more than likely, one or two who would need his help.

Phil passed by colorful posters advertising each of the acts and found himself staring at the poster for the Amazing Hawkeye. There was something familiar about the figure dressed in purple on the poster and as he checked the showtimes below, Phil decided he might as well see this amazing marksman in person.

Phil chose a seat near the entrance and sat down to wait for the show to begin. As the tent filled, the lights started to dim and the ringmaster came out. “Ladies and Gentlemen! You are about to witness the superior sharpshooting of our two incredible archers. Watch Trickshot and Hawkeye hit every bullseye! They never miss!”

The act began and Phil’s eyes quickly moved over the older of the pair to land on Hawkeye. Phil watched him move and was entranced at the strength in his arms and the way the purple costume, which would have been tacky on anyone else, seemed to catch the light and highlight the strength of the archer. Hawkeye hit target after target and made it seem completely effortless. By the end of the act when he shot arrow after arrow through a flaming ring to encircle the bullseye, Phil was completely entranced and couldn’t take his eyes off him.

At the end of the act, the pair took a bow and as the tent emptied, Phil left as well, intending to go home and let himself dream of the handsome archer. He had chosen to slip out the back, using a slight glamor to go unseen when he heard raised voices.

“The job is tonight, Barton. Either your brother gets with the program or we’re going to have to get rid of him. He knows too much.”

Phil stopped in his tracks hearing that name. It couldn’t be the same, Barton. There was no way. Edging closer to the voices, Phil listened for more.

“Clint’ll cooperate. I’ll make him see reason. He’ll understand when I tell him about how big the score is. Don’t worry, Trick.”

Anger rising in his gut, Phil wanted to rush in and tear those two apart. He thought he’d left Clint in good hands, but now it was obvious why they were meeting again. Clint needed someone who actually cared. Calling on his magic, Phil used it to track Clint down.

His magic led him an old camper and Clint was sitting outside on a log dismantling his bow. Phil stopped and just watched him for a minute, completely in awe of how Clint went over every last inch of the bow, making sure it was everything was taken care of.

“I know someone’s over there, and I swear to God, if you’re tryin’ to scare me again, Barney, I’ll shoot you.”

Phil chuckled and stepped into the light. “I’m not your brother. Just a man with a warning. You need to leave here, something bad is going down and your brother is going to try and coerce you into doing something you shouldn’t.”

Before he could leave, Phil heard Clint whisper. “Holy shit, you’re real.”

Phil paused and tilted his head. “What?”

“I knew it! Barney said I was making shit up, but I wasn’t. I remember you. You took me home after I’d gotten lost. It was right before the cops showed up and stuck us in foster care. You my guardian angel or something.”

“Or something, indeed. You need to leave, Clint. This place is no good for you.”

Clint scoffed. “And go where? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly flush with cash. And I can’t leave my brother. He needs me.”

Heart hurting, Phil took a step closer and knelt in front of Clint. “Your brother does not have your best interests at heart. He’s only looking for a quick score. If you go through with this, Clint, it will end badly. I don’t know why we have found each other again, but I cannot ignore that we have. Clearly, I did not help you enough the last time.”

“Why does it matter to you, anyway?” Clint stood and started to pace. “You’re just some random guy! We met once when I was a kid. That’s it!”

Standing himself, Phil tried to reach out to Clint. “Because for whatever reason, the fates have decided we needed to meet again. I did not complete my duty to you last time. My job is to safeguard children, I thought I had done that when I called the authorities, but it must not have-”

“You’re the reason we got put in the system?” Clint’s voice was low and almost a growl. “How could you do that?! My dad was shit, but do you have any idea how it feels to get passed from house to house? No one wanted us! That’s why we ran! At least here, I can do something! Consider your duty fulfilled. I’m out of here.”

Clint pushed past Phil and moved deeper into the camp before disappearing altogether. Phil deflated and took a seat on the log Clint had vacated. As he walked home, he felt horrible and empty inside. That had not been what he wanted to happen. Clint and his brother were supposed to have gone to loving families who would care for them. Phil had made many mistakes, but none like this.

The next morning, Phil ventured into town hoping for news of Clint. When he stepped into the small local diner, he took a seat at the counter and ordered a cup of coffee. Taking a sip, he let himself blend into the background and listened. It didn’t take long for him to get news. The robbery Barney and Trickshot had planned had been foiled by one of their own and he was now in the hospital after taking a brutal beating.

Phil was out of his seat, knowing it was Clint who had been injured. He hurried back to his cottage and immediately began dismantling it. He couldn’t stay here anymore. He had failed Clint not once, but twice now and Phil needed to be away from this place. The only place he knew he could find some peace was not here. He needed to go home.

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anonymous asked:

Lams prompt 1 or 36 maybe? I love your writing! Hope your writers block clears up!

(Lams 1) “I found you—giggling like a child without a trace of past sadness”
War was never meant to be beautiful.

War was never meant to be beautiful.

War was death, destruction, blood. It was knowing that tomorrow wasn’t promised and the ‘brothers’ once held arms with you were soon buried 6 feet under, unmarked and forgotten. Alexander loved it though. It was something he feared the moment he stepped on to the battlefield. He loved the idea of dying this way, in the heated glory of a blood bath. He loved the way war tasted and felt; it betrayed the scholar in mind. It played with the lion in his heart that ached to sink its teeth into something bigger than him.

Sadly opposed against him, Washington had jailed Hamilton to his station. He was with his quill like a ball and chain staring down countless inked excuses by Congress. Right outside his tent however men, his friends among them, were bleeding for this country, HIS country. He felt as low as one could without being a traitor. And yet, he worked through the night. Desperate to finish the work Washington lay before him to prove he was better than simply relying messages between George and Congressmen. Alexander lost count of the hours, he was lost in a sea of words, his fingers numb now by the hundreds upon thousands of cursive loops.

Time stood still in Alexander’s tent.

“Alexander” A deep and robust voice poked in. “Morning rations, come get a plate.” The great General George Washington stood there in all his patriarchal prowess. Alexander did not move. The disrespect would have not gone fair with anyone else…but Alex was different. Hamilton was among a selected few George held near and dear to his heart. His sons, his boys, as he called them, “At least partake with your fellow soldiers. You’ve written plenty…” His eyes settled on a growing mountain of sealed letters ready to be taken out and delivered back to Congress. Washington danced the line of wanting to keep Hamilton safe and wanting to push him to the best of his abilities.

“I’m fine, you have me a command and I’m following it through.” Alexander noted, it was morning. It had been at least working for two days straight. “Isn’t that what you want from me, General?”


“I’m not your son.” Alexander bit back venomously; he knew what being a ‘son’ meant. It meant he was cared for far too much to be put into battle. It meant Washington was pigeon holing his dreams to keep him alive. It meant he would never actually fight for the land he was ready to die for. George left the tent close and took all the light of the morning with him. Hamilton settled back into the dark hole, his fingers aggressively attacking the parchment with words. He’d build battalions in his letters; bleed blots of ink as it dripped from his quill like a bloodied blade. Nothing and no one could deter him from his work.

Time stood still a second time, and then the tent opened. The light was stronger. Alex’s hunched over body casted a shadow against the tent’s side. He noted, it was at least past noon. “George if you’re here to tell me to eat again my answer hasn’t changed. Unless yours has to …” the tent closed again and to his surprise it was not George that entered. “Laurens…” It was almost fearsome to Alexander himself how much his tone changed. How soft it sounded now that he was in the presence of someone who understood his strife.

“You didn’t come for breakfast or lunch rations, so I took it upon myself to make sure you’re alive.” John smiled, even without the suitable light those eyes glistened and smiled with him. “Annnd” He grabbed Alexander by the back of the chair and hauled him away from his desk. There was some growls of contempt but he was met by two, roughened fingertips against the side of his neck. John’s lips by his ears as he breathed, then whispered. “As I suspected, barely living.” He pulled away with a toying smirk.

“Har, Har, John I didn’t think you were such a damn child. I was working…some of us don’t have the glory of being able to hold a weapon.” Alex sneered as he yanked himself back into his spot.

Once again John’s hand yanked him back, “still? You would think being as close as you are to the General you’d see the bigger picture. Hammie, the war is not about you.”

“Fuck all like it’s not.” He hissed at Laurens, he hung his head as he stared down the pages of writing he still had left to do. “Its not fair, you all get to choose how you die. I’m here, sitting here, while you all go off and…”

“So mindful about control, Alex.” John stood behind Alexander and began rubbing his small, tense shoulders. “So the great Hamilton won’t die on the field, does that make you any less a solider or any less American?” He smirked. “If anything I find it charming how foul you are and yet so far from the fight. I’m sure George plans to unleash his lion if and when the time is right.”

Alex rolled his eyes; he felt the calm was over him. “And what if the time never comes, Jackie?” He tilted his head up and met the galaxy of freckles and the sun of a smile that made John Lauren’s face.

“Well….” He drew out his words looking for a good reason. “Then you live to tell our stories, my dearest Ham. You live and tell them how damn amazing I was out there.” He laughed, “you live and tell them about everything that happened here. You paint them a war like no war has ever been written about before. You live Alexander…”

John squeezed his shoulders a bit, Alex rolled back into his grip. He could argue, they both knew they could go back and forth for hours. “Everything?” Alexander smirked, “should I tell them about those nightly escapades to the pond at? Or that one time by the border of New Jersey when we shared the same horse?”

“And why on God’s good Earth would you out yourself as a sodomite to the entire nation, possibly disgracing the little name you have here?” Laurens arched his eyebrow, usually he didn’t follow Alex’s genius but this sounded downright stupid.

“Like you said, the war isn’t about me. Might as well write about something that was about me.” John slapped Alex upside the head; the pain shot up and elicited a giggle out of Hamilton.  Alex giggled like a child without a trace of past sadness. He laughed as though war was not happening outside their tent, as if their talks of death and untimely ends were children fairytales. He giggled like the young, spirited soul John had come to love so tenderly.

“Stop writing; make this tent about us now.” He tugged on Alex’s hair and brought his lips down to meet that sugar coated laugh.

Once Upon A Time

Genre: Angst
Pairing: Reader/Jungkook
Word count: 1497

Fairy tales. Tainted dreams crafted by little girls who had nothing to do but believe in the impossible. A lost slipper, a white Knight, fantasies that could only come true in your wildest dreams. Perhaps it was this delusional imagination that drew you into him, made you helplessly dance around in circles right in the palm of his hands. He was the black Knight disguised as prince charming.

Every story has a beginning, a climax, an end, and just like every fairy tale, yours began like a story straight out from a book:

Once upon a time…

Originally posted by holy-yoongi

Keep reading

My 2013 in Reading

I remembered to track 118 of the books I read in 2013 and I had thoughts about all of them. I love reading. 

My top ten books:

Tampa by Alissa Nutting
Ghana Must Go by Taiye Selasi
The Book of My Lives by Aleksandar Hemon
Unmastered: A Book on Desire by Katherine Angel
The Isle of Youth by Laura van den Berg
Alone With Other People by Gabby Bess
Meaty by Samantha Irby
The Men We Reaped by Jesmyn Ward
Long Division by Kiese Laymon
Milk & Filth by Carmen Gimenez Smith

Ranking is so arbitrary so I am not ranking these books. I am simply saying these are the books, published in 2013, that have stayed with me most vividly. They are the books that made me gasp and cringe and laugh and nod wildly with recognition and stay up way too late because I could not put the damn book down. 

As I read Tampa, I felt like I was beholding something brilliant. I do consider Alissa a dear friend so, full disclosure, but that does not bear on my response to the book. It was just so bold and well written. The book made me want to genuflect. In truth, I did genuflect, but on my bed, because the floor in my apartment is really hard.

When I began Ghana Must Go, I wasn’t sure where the book was going. This is certainly not a perfect book but Selasi gains confidence with each page and when she hits her stride, the book becomes magnificent. I found myself sobbing as I read this book and when I finished, I held it to my chest and rocked because I finally understood where the book was going. I was intensely moved by how Selasi got me there.

I first learned of Aleksandar Hemon when I read an essay about the death of his baby daughter in The New Yorker. When I got an ARC of The Book of My Lives,  I dove into it eagerly and found it to be one of the most intelligent books I’ve ever read. It’s also a book that offers a fresh perspective on the complexities of difference and immigration and grief and joy. And goddamn. The writing in this book is so fucking crisp. At times I wanted to punch Hemon for being so good. I did not, of course. I’m a book lover, not a fighter.

Unmastered by Katherine Angel is a beautiful, beautiful book both in word and as a physical object. An intense but controlled eroticism runs throughout the book and I particularly appreciated the fragmentary nature of the prose and the sense of a writer grappling with big questions rather eloquently.

Laura van den Berg is an exceptional short story writer. I loved her first collection with the super long title I am too lazy to type out here and I loved The Isle of Youth. Every story was satisfying and well written. My favorite story, which is one I teach, originally appeared in Ploughshares. In “I Looked For You, I Called Your Name,” a couple’s honeymoon begins with an emergency landing, “a hard, screeching wallop that knocked us around in our seats,” and doesn’t really get better from there.  The couple seems desperately ill suited and the narrator is infuriating in the most compelling way. Love love love.

The other five of my top ten, I’ve written about elsewhere and such but suffice it to say, they each offer something necessary to the art of letters and to the act of living.

Books Just Outside My Top Ten

The Interestings by Meg Wolitzer
Searching for Zion by Emily Raboteau
Where Did You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple
Don’t Kiss Me by Lindsay Hunter
The Name of the Nearest River by Alex Taylor
Brit Lit by D. Gilson
Whipped by Richey Laurentiis
Sea Creatures by Susanna Daniel 

If You Only Read Three Books of Poetry Read These

The Self Unstable by Elisa Gabbert
She Has a Name by Kamilah Aisha Moon
When My Brother was an Aztec by Natalie Diaz

A Book I Loved So Much I Get Teary and Turned On Just Thinking About It

Meeting the Master by Elissa Wald came out quite some time ago but I love this book to the ends of the earth and back. It is smart and sexy and captures the complexities of submission perfectly. I particularly appreciated the focus on the mental and emotional, more than the physical nuances of submission. I recall entire scenes from this book on nearly a daily basis. I can’t stop re-reading it. There is this story about a woman seeing a therapist and it’s all a mind game and then there is a revelation at the end that made me gasp and then feel such kinship with the narrator. Elissa Wald is a masterful (no pun intended) writer and if I were to create a literary canon, this book would be part of it. I LOVED THIS BOOK SO MUCH. Okay. Had to get that out.

Books Written Just for a Girl Like Me

Nine and Half Weeks by Elizabeth McNeil
Damage by Josephine Hart

A Book That Burned Slow But When It Got Hot In My Mind, Goddamn, Goddamn (get it? hahaha)

Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozie Adiche

A Book I Read Because I Saw the Movie Preview and Had to Know What Was Going On and Then It Was Terrible.

Safe Haven by Nicholas Sparks

Books That Confounded Me but Still Left Me Struck

Mr. Fox by Helen Oyeyemi
An Extraordinary Theory of Objects by Stephanie LaCava 

A Book that Disturbed Me to the Depths of My Soul and Also Began Weirdly

Daddy Love by Joyce Carol Oates

A Book That Made Me Think And Want to Be a Better Writer/Thinker 

No Man’s Land by Eula Biss

Books I Truly Did Not Care For And Was Kind of Angry At

Tenth of December by George Saunders
The Love Song of Jonny Valentine by Teddy Wayne
Flimsy Little Plastic Miracles by Ron Currie Jr
Vampires in the Lemon Grove by Karen Russell
American Dervish by Ayad Akhtar
Inferno by Dan Brown (honestly, symbology? SIR!)

A Book I Was Super Ambivalent (and a little HMMM) About Though I Do Respect the Craft & Research and Time the Writer Put Into the Work and Also I Profiled The Writer

The Son by Philipp Meyer

A Memoir That Made Me Cry and Also Feel A Bit Irritated and then Guilty for Being Irritated

A House in the Sky by Amanda Lindhout and Sara Corbett

Books I Reviewed or Otherwise Covered (and mostly enjoyed) and I Am Too Lazy to Link

Red Moon by Ben Percy
Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg
The Virgins by Pamela Erens
When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams
The Studbook by Monica Drake
Rivers by Michael Farris Smith
The Residue Years by Mitchell S. Jackson
Dirty : Dirty an anthology edited by Debra Di Blasi featuring art by Mugi Takei
Who Asked You? by Terry McMillan
High Rise Stories edited by Audrey Petty
At Night We Walk in Circles by Daniel Alarcon
Pain, Parties, Work: Sylvia Plath In New York, 1953 by Elizabeth Winder
Furious Cool: Richard Pryor and the World That Made Him by David Henry and Joe Henry (This one I did not like at all at all)
Love is  Canoe by Ben Schrank
Fairytales for Lost Children by Diriye Osman
Throne of the Crescent Moon by Saladin Ahmed
Salsa Nocturna by Daniel José Older
The Syria Dilemma
The Bridge of Beyond by Simone Schwarz-Bart
White Girls by Hilton Als

Books I Read For This Awesome Piece I’ve Been Working On For Like a Fucking Year

Inferno by Eileen Myles
Leaving the Atocha Station by Ben Lerner (I also hated this one, just have to get that off my chest)
Light While There is Light by Keith Waldrop
Deliverance by James Dickey
The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
Graceland by Chris Abani 

A Book I Appreciated on the Sentence and Conceptual Level That I Wanted More From

In The House Upon the Dirt Between the Lake and the Woods by Matt Bell


Revenge Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger

Other Books I Enjoyed

You Are One of Them by Elliott Holt
All That Is by James Salter
And the Mountains Echoed by Khaled Hosseini
Sparta by Roxana Robinson
We Live in the Water by Jess Walter
Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes
Commercial Fiction by Dave Housley
Subtle Bodies by Norman Rush
Everything Begins and Ends at the Kentucky Club by Benjamin Alire SaenzSpeedboat by Renata Adler
The Revolution of Every Day by Cari Luna
The Kind of Girl by Kim Henderson
Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capote
Mother. Wife. Sister. Human. Warrior. Falcon. Yardstick. Turban. Cabbage. by Rob Delaney
How to Make Love to a Negro by Dany Laferriere
Bough Down by Karen Green
Figures For an Apocalypse by Edward Mullany
Best American Essays 2011 edited by Edwidge Danticat
The Hypothetical Girl by Elizabeth Cohen

Books I’m Still Not Sure About That Made Me Think (In a Good Way)

We the Animals by Justin Torres
What Purpose Did I Serve in Your Life by Marie Calloway
Taipei by Tao Lin
The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud 

A Haunting, Excellent Book With a Breathtaking Ending

Fault Line by Christa Desir

The Fifty Shades of Grey Imitation I Truly Regret Reading That Makes FSOG Look Like a Literary Masterpiece

Anything He Wants by Sara Fawkes

A Book For Which My Response Is Not At All Surprising

The Dying Animal by Philip Roth

A Book That Is Whimsical and Strangely Affecting

Acorn by Yoko Ono


Brief Encounters with the Enemy: Fiction by Said Sayrafiezadeh
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green
The Silent Wife by ASA Harrison
Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson
Very Recent History by Choire Sicha
Still Missing by Chevy Stevens
I’d Know You Anywhere by Laura Lippman
Joyland by Stephen King
Soy Sauce for Beginners by Kirstin Chen (worth checking out, just wanted more from this) 

Very Good Poetry

Amores Gitano by Roberto Carlos Garcia
Man vs Sky by Corey Zeller


Saint Monkey by Jacinda Townsend
Goodnight Nobody by Ethel Rohan

A Book With an Awesome Bad Ass Woman Protagonist Who Was Left Out of the Movie For Reasons I Will Never Understand/BURN IT ALL DOWN

Homefront by Chuck Logan

Future Books

Karate Chop by Dorthe Nors (Must read short fiction)
Blood, Marriage, Wine & Glitter by S. Bear Bergman (Smart, warm and generous memoir)
Haiti Glass by Lenelle Moise (Lovely poetry, from a great Haitian writer)
Astonish Me by Maggie Shipstead (Book with a great idea, strong writing, disappointing denouement)
The Empathy Exams by Leslie Jamison (Brilliant, humbling essays, punch punch)
The Book of Unknown Americans by Cristina Henriquez (Exceptional, exceptional novel)
The Department of Speculation by Jenny Offill (Data embargo)
The Meat Racket by Christopher Leonard (Made me glad I’m already a vegetarian but for real don’t eat that chicken unless it’s free range)
Why Are You So Sad? by Jason Porter (Not for me)



Narnia Preference One: Your First Time In Narnia (Prince Caspian)

I ran. I ran away as fast as I could to get away from my foster home. The man in charge, Mr. Jacobs, had left to get some groceries. For me, that just meant trouble. The older kids liked to use me as a punching bag. I’m very small, average height for a 15 year old girl, but I had no uper-body strength. I couldn’t fight back. When one of the boys tried to take a swing at me, after succeeding the first time, I managed to duck under his arm and sprint out the back door. I ran past the horse barn, through the field, and into the woods. I didn’t stop. I knew that eventually they’d have to look for me, if Mr. Jacobs found out that they had let me run away, they’d go without supper for a week. So I kept at it, jumping over fallen trees, always glancing around me, but then my legs were burning so much that I had no choice but to stop. I collapsed to my knees under an old tree. I didn’t know how long I had been running, but I could see little splotches of orange and pink through the trees above me. I sat there panting, trying to catch my breath. I started crying, both in pain from the black eye that I knew was forming from one of the older boys and in fear that I would die out here. ‘Please, don’t let me die out here… please’ and with that as my last thought everything around me went black, and I felt warm and tingly as I drifted off.

When I came to, I could hear soothing sounds of ocean waves and seaguls chirping in the distance… but this isn’t right. I was in thick woods when I drifted off. My eyes fluttered open and I was blinded by the sun. I covered my eyes and looked away and saw that I was only a few feet away from where the waves were coming in on the sand.
“Peter!” Someone shouted from near by. The voice was English, not American, which confused me even more. I looked to my right to see a little girl running over towards me with a boy around my age.
“Good to see you’re awake.” The boy said, offering me a soft smile. I couldn’t return it. I was too confused.
“I’m Lucy! You must not be from here, you’re wearing normal clothes. Where are you from? Have you ever been to Narnia before?” The questions came one after another. But I couldn’t bring myself to answer any of them.
“Uh, Lucy, why don’t you go help Edmund repair the boat.” The boy said. The girl-I mean Lucy, hesitantly left. The boy stood up and walked over to the sea and started soaking a rag in it.
“I apologize for my sister’s behavior, she’s just a bit excited to be here.” He wrung out the rag and walked back over to where I was still seated. “May I?” He asked, gesturing towards my eye. I softly nodded. He started softly wiping of some dry blood. “My name’s Peter by the way, Peter Pevensie.” Peter Pevensie had sandy blonde hair and soft blue eyes. He smiled. “All done. Now,” he stood up and held out his hand, “it’s time you meet everybody else.” I may not have known who Peter Pevencie was, or where I was, or how I got here, but in that moment, as he smiled down at me with his hand held out, a smile on his face, and a twinkle in his eyes, I knew that I could trust him. So I grabbed his hand, and for the first time since I was five years old, I smiled back a real, genuine smile.

The last thing I remembered was being thrown off my horse. I landed on the ground, and when I opened my eyes I wasn’t in the field anymore. Instead I was being awoken by a beautiful girl with dark hair in a room that seemed to be made of earth.
“Wh-where am I?” I asked.
“You’re in Narnia, but by the way you’re dressed I can tell you’re not from here. My name’s Susan.”
She was… mesmerizing to say the least.
“Are you alright? You seem to have bumped your head.”
“Um… y-yeah I think so. I just… I’ve never m- uh, I’ve never heard of Narnia before.” I almost let slip my infatuation with my new friend.
“This’ll take some time to explain.”
Honestly, I didn’t mind. I could watch her talk all day.

What a strange place this was… where ever this was. I had arrived here a few days ago and have been wandering around these woods for hours. I didn’t mind, though, it was beautiful… like something you would think came out of a fairytale.
I wasn’t afraid, I assume that this is all a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time I had dreamed of fairytale lands. But even if it wasn’t, I don’t think I would mind. Who would be upset over living in a fairytale?
I turned at the sound of a twig being snapped in the distance. As I started to hear people talking I turned and climbed a nearby tree.
Just as I had climbed onto a semi-high branch and was able to safely stand on it (whilst hold onto the branch above me), five people came to the little path I had just been walking down. There were two girls, two boys, and a short man.
“Can we rest here for a little bit? My feet are starting to hurt.” Asked the smallest of the four children, a girl with light brown hair.
“But we have to keep moving, we’ve already lost time with our little detour.” Said the tallest of the bunch. He had blonde hair and carried a sword.
“Peter, I’m sure a five minute rest won’t hurt. We’ve been walking for ages.” Said the taller girl. She had dark hair and carried a bow in her hand. But the person who interested me the most was the shorter of the two boys. He also had dark hair and carried a sword. He also hadn’t said anything, he just looked around, as if he was looking for something in particular.

*Edmund’s p.o.v*

I could have sworn that I had seen something… someone. A girl, I’m sure, who I had seen through the trees and seemed to vanish.
I looked around as my siblings bickered over taking a break. My eyes were drawn to the tree tops when I saw movement in my peripheral vision. There stood a girl in the branches, her dress torn at the bottom, holding onto the branch above her, and no shoes on her feet.
“Guys?” I said, holding my sword up. The turned to see where I was looking and drew there weapons as well.
“Who are you? Are you following us?” Susan asked.
The girl simply shook her head and sat down on the branch she had been perched on, now hugging the trunk of the tree.
“Who are you?” Peter asked again. But her eyes never left my sword and the fear never left her face.
I furrowed my eyebrows in slight confusion and hesitated for a moment before I slowly started to lower my sword.
“Ed, what are you doing?” Peter asked.
“Look at her, she’s scared. I don’t think she’s from here or knows where ‘here’ is.” I explained.
Lucy was the next to lower her dagger, shortly followed by Susan, and lastly, Peter sighed and lowered his sword.
I took a cautious step forward and watched as she nervously shifted. I ignored the quiet warnings that my siblings gave me and approached the tree. By now the girl(who happened to be quite beautiful, I noticed) was climbing down the tree, but she still hid behind the trunk.
“Don’t worry,” I said softly “we won’t hurt you.”
She came out from behind the tree trunk and whispered “(Y/N).” She must have seen the confusion on my face because she added “My name is (Y/N).”
I smiled and told her, “I’m Edmund.”

The train station disappeared and we were standing on a beach.
We were home.
We were finally home.
But this time, we weren’t alone.
There was a girl, not much older than myself, twirling around in front of the ocean in front of her. She stopped when she saw us walking over.
“Um… hi.” She said shyly.
“Hello! I’m Lucy, are you from here?” I asked. She was very pretty, a little taller than myself.

Reader p.o.v

I like Lucy, she seems like the optimistic type. She’s beautiful, too, she makes me nervous.
“Uh, no. Everything around me just sort of… disappeared and I was standing on a beach. It was like-”
“Magic?” She had the most adorable smile on her face.
I nodded.
“Well, welcome to Narnia! This might take some explaining, but I think you’ll like it here.”
I think I will, too.

Scared was the only thing I was feeling right now. I had simply fallen asleep in my bed and woken up in some other world. Laying in a ditch.
Soon after I had awoken, some men wearing armor and riding horses came and muttered something about “she’s not one of us” and brought me back to an extravagant castle.
So now, here I am, in an unknown land, not sure of how I got here in the first place, sitting in a dungeon cell in a castle. Just your ordinary Saturday, right?
“I am your Prince and I demand to see this so called “prisoner” you have captured!“ I heard four sets of footsteps approaching the cell I was in and as three of the men who had captured me (along with an unknown boy) came into view I backed up into the farthest corner of my cell.
“Tell me, what crime did she commit?” Silence came from the men. The boy turned to me. “What happened?”
He was dreamy, to put it lightly. His eyes were so dark and hypnotic.
I gulped and said, “I-I don’t know. I fell asleep in my own bed and when I woke up I was here… Wherever ‘here’ is.” My voice was shaky.
The boy turned back to the men and asked, “Why is she here?” “Look at her, she’s not from Telmar! She’s invading our land.” One of them said, sending a glare my way.
“She didn’t do anything wrong on purpose and I demand you release her right now.”
The man reluctantly opened the cell door and the boy walked in and held out his hand to me.
I eyed it carefully before grabbing it and allowing him to pull me to my feet.
“My name is Caspian, Prince of Telmar. What is your miss?” I nervously mumbled my name and he smiled, still holding my hand, and offered me a place to stay. I accepted, looking forward to seeing the beautiful Prince again.

I know, Susan’s is short… I couldn’t really think of what to do for hers. And Caspian’s ending kind of sucks, but my mind is starting to hurt :/
I hope you enjoyed my first preference! I promise, I will be posting more often (and if I don’t, bug me with asks until I do XD). And I promise, requests will open back up again once I finnish my To Do List.



When (Y/n) was just a little princess she would dream of a boy. A young, innocent carefree boy, who would come and rescue her. She didn’t want to grow up, neither did he. She wanted adventure and he could provide just that. She would sit at her window at night and pray he would come.

               Peter pan. Her great saviour.

Sometimes whilst she dreamt she could sense him there. She would feel someone run their fingers through her hair, playing her a gently song on their pipes with their other hand. But when she would jump awake it would be nothing but the wind.

               But she was sure he would come one day and take her to Neverland. Where she would play with the Lost Boys, meet the mermaids, fight the pirates.

               All she had to do was believe.

               And he would save her. He would. Because he was a hero. And that’s what heroes do. At least that’s what her fairytales told her.


It had all been lies. All of it. Everything she ever read about him was false. He was cruel and unfaithful. Nothing like the stories.

(Y/n) no longer cared that she was locked in a cage. She worried somewhere in the back of her head about Henry, after all she had just watched his heart be ripped out his chest. But for now she felt nothing, not the cuts on her arms and legs from being dragged to their camp, not the bruises in her heart.


She was just about to fall asleep when she heard the light playing of a flute. The sound was intoxicating. It made her head turn slowly to search for the source. When her eyes landed on Peter she desperately wanted to shudder away from the boy. But she was hooked.

A few minutes later he noticed her trance like state, halting his playing for only a moment. He watched as she snapped out of her daze, shuffling so her back was to him.

“Princess” he drawled, making her shiver “Oh Princess”

“What?” she whispered, not daring to look at him.

“Can you hear my flute?” he asked “Can you hear my music?”

“Of course” She glanced at him with a slight frown “Am I not supposed to?”

He smirked, walking over to her cage slowly.

“Come now princess, surely you aren’t lost?”

She didn’t answer him for a moment, forehead creased in concentration.

“Well, are you?” he demanded, snatching at her wrist.

She stared up at him, face blank.

“Yes” she admitted “Very”

“But why?” he hissed “You have everything you ungrateful brat. A loving family, a home, friends-“

“It has nothing to do with them” she snarled, pulling away “I’ve lost something else”

“What do you know of loss?” he snorted.

“I know that for years I believed in many things, Pan” she spat “And one of them was you”

“What?” he asked.

“Growing up I hated the idea of responsibilities. I’m what you might call a free spirit. I want to follow my own path, create my own destiny. But being a princess meant everything was decided already. Who I would marry, where I would live, how many damn children I would have. But then I found my escape” she wiped at hers eyes.

“What did you find?”

“I found you” she admitted “The stories of you. And how wonderful you were. You were just like me, happy, cheeky. You never wanted to grow up”

He licked his lips, unsure of how to feel.

“At least that’s what the stories said” she huffed, tears dribbling down her cheeks “But now I see you’re just a monster like everyone else. I’ve lost all my hope. That’s what I’ve lost Peter”

He got up slowly, walking back toward the fire.

“That’s what you get for believing in fairytales”


[you don’t know me, you don’t wear my chains : ii]

by popular request, part 2 of the cursed lieutenant duckling au i posted yesterday; there will be one more. remember that you did ask for this.

The road. Emma has to keep looking at the road, the road and nowhere else, even though it’s a sleepy two-lane highway out in the boondocks where they haven’t passed another car for miles, leading straight as an arrow through thick old-growth New England forest. She’s driving, after all. It deserves her full attention, especially with Henry sacked out in the back, having played everything on his phone twice and finally falling asleep with another four hours to go. As much as the beeping and pinging and clicking annoyed her, she was grateful for it as well. As long as Henry was awake, she didn’t have to say a word. As long as Henry was awake, she was safe.

It’s been ten minutes of nothing but Henry’s soft snoring and the hum of the tires on the pavement before she finally speaks. “So,” she says. “You came back.”

Killian nods, not quite looking at her. She doesn’t appear to be the only one who’s been dreading this moment. For all this is heartbreakingly familiar – how often have they driven like this in the Bug, awake while Henry slept, them against the world? – it’s never been like this. He looks almost entirely different. Gone is the straight-laced, clean-shaven young man, and in his place remains… the only word she can think of, however strange, is pirate. A pierced ear and scruff and eyeliner and black leather jacket, elaborate rings, a heavy pewter skull around his neck on a chain. He’s probably joined some heavy-metal or death-goth group, the last thing she’d imagine Killian – her Killian, at least, the one who winced whenever she said fuck – to be capable of. But that was then. She doesn’t know this one at all. It’s been over half a decade since they’ve seen each other. Maybe three emails the entire time. They haven’t kept in touch. They’ve both been running.

“Aye,” he agrees, both of them stating the obvious to get out of digging anything deeper. She can tell, however, he wants to talk. The road. She needs to keep her eyes on the road, and not him. Even if this new look twists her stomach into watery knots, makes her heart flutter and her knees weak, until she wants to pull the car over and attack him. “I’ve… I’ve missed you, Emma. I should never have stayed away from you and the boy so long.”

Emma pretends to adjust the rearview mirror, which doesn’t need it. She still doesn’t know why she agreed to do this. Told Henry that this was Killian, just one of her clients, that they had a quick job up in a little town in Maine and then they’d be heading back to New York. He probably didn’t need to pack more than a week’s worth of clothes (though her son had wanted to know why, exactly, Killian was wearing that, to which he responded in a distinctly stung fashion that why was Henry wearing that?) Emma has to bite her lip at the memory, and then another: Killian sitting up in bed while two-year-old Henry played with his hook, the only time she’d seen him smile in months. No sense springing that on the kid now. Not when she can’t be sure this is anything more than, indeed, a quick job. A mundane task. She’ll do – whatever she’s supposed to do – and then Killian will leave again. Or she will. She knows by now. It’s inevitable.

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The Prince’s Fairytale

MAIN SHIP: Cheesecake! (Tikki and Plagg)

Sideships: Adrinette, LadyNoir

Rating: T for Teen but I can raise it if you think some of the things are too suggestive or gory

Summary: Marinette Agreste reads her kids a bedtime story about a cursed prince and a girl with magical hair who fell in love. This is the story of their not so happily ever after.  

A/N: This is obviously a Fairytale AU but with a twist guys I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. Truth be told, this is a fucked up bed time story which is why it’s rated T for language, gore, and slightly suggestive scenes. Many things I wrote contradict plausible theories. (Also cause the time period/setting for this is not exactly pre Egyptian era). This inspired by Akagami no Shirayukihime, Tangled, and a few other fairytales. Without further ado, enjoy The Prince’s Fairytale.

Thanks to @crystal-jiemme for being my beta and my bae <3


Marinette Agreste was ready to retire for the night. She yawned, about to slip under the sheets and join her sleeping husband until she heard shrill crying from the room across the hall. Both husband and wife hopped out of bed and ran to their daughter’s room.

They found the door already open. The small blue eyed girl stood on her large pink bed, wailing and rubbing her eyes.

“Mommy!” Emma cried, reaching out for her mother with one hand.

But Adrien beat her to the punch, picking up his little princess before Marinette even got a chance to step closer.

“Hugo and Louis were being mean to me!” the raven haired girl sobbed into her father’s arms, hugging him as tightly as she could.

Marinette ran a hand over her face and sighed. She should have known it would be her sons. “Boys! I know you’re in here! Come out where I can see you before I ground you!”

Adrien shot a warning glance at Marinette. She knew he was trying to tell her not to be too harsh. But she ignored him - he was always too soft on the boys.

“I’m going to count to three and you boys had better show yourselves!”

The mountain of stuffed animals that lined Emma’s walls shifted until two blond heads popped out.

Louis’s blue eyes flashed, like came up with his cover story as he spoke up. “We didn’t do anything! We promise!”

Hugo only nodded, backing up his older brother’s claims.

“If it was nothing, then your sister wouldn’t be crying right now,” Adrien stated as he patted the girl’s back, pacifying her sobs.

Louis gulped before he answered again, aware that he would be in deep trouble if his father was mad too. “She wanted to hear a bedtime story, so we told her one.”

Hugo bit his lip to keep himself from speaking as he continued nodding.

Before Marinette could even ask what horrible tale they had told their sister, Emma called them out. “They said girls with pigtails like mine would be kidnapped by akumas, mommy!”

“Boys!” both their parents yelled.

“Sorry~,” the two brother replied together, shoulders slumped  and heads bowed.

Marinette only rolled her eyes at the duo. She picked up Emma from Adrien’s arms and asked the little girl, “How about I tell you a bedtime story?”

“Oh, tell her the Prince’s Fairytale!” Hugo suggested, then immediately shut his mouth.

Before Marinette could say no, Emma looked up at her with curious eyes. “What’s the Prince’s Fairytale?”

“Are you sure you want to hear that story? It’s a little sad…” Marinette hesitated, looking at Adrien for help.

“Pleeeease. I wanna hear it!”

“Please mom! It’s my favorite!”

Adrien was useless when it came to resisting his children.

Marinette was forced to shift her attention back to her children, giving a resigned sigh. “Oh, alright. But the three of you are going back to bed right after this, got it?”

The three wide-eyed children nodded in unison. Marinette took a seat on her daughter’s enormous pink bed, looking up at her husband with a knowing smile.

Adrien returned her smile, pulling up a chair to the bedside where his wife sat and took her hand.

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justinesvt  asked:

Darlingpan= fairytale&stars (mashed up) im patient and good luck~

Fluff with a tiny trace of sad. I tried to fluff to make up for yesterday’s sadz. 

just leave me your stardust to remember you by

Before the blossoms of affections turned to dust, before his embrace turned into a wooden cage, before she made the mistake to utter words he couldn’t and wouldn’t understand, there were little gleams of silver light, shining in the sky of their story, like stars.

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