over seven hours and still not done

Can’t Sleep Without You

a/n: Not requested, but something that just popped into my head. A lot of stress and not enough sleep makes me want Shawn in my life so much. 



It has been a few weeks since your last solid night’s sleep. You honestly are not really sure what has been going on with you or why you haven’t been able to sleep well. You’ve spent so many nights tossing and turning in bed, unable to get a peaceful rest, but then the morning comes and you practically feel like a zombie. These last four days have been the worst, and it doesn’t help that you’re in the middle of midterms so you have a lot of exams and presentations. For some reason, no matter how tired you are, you just can’t sleep well when night comes. It could be due to stress, since these last few weeks have been uncharacteristically stressful, or because you’re missing your boyfriend who you haven’t seen in a month, and you’re just tired of having to sleep without him every night. 

The one good thing that has come out of the fact that you haven’t been sleeping more than a few hours a night for the past four days is that you’ve been awake to text your boyfriend whenever he has a free minute. He’s off traveling in Europe for work so the time difference is pretty big considering you’re in LA. Normally this would mean you barely get to talk to him much, since you’re both so busy. However, every night this week, Shawn’s texted you at about three in the morning LA time because that is when he’s been free, and you’ve been able to respond because you’ve been awake. He, of course, questions why you’re awake in the middle of the night, but you’re unable to offer him much of an explanation because you’re never quite sure yourself, considering you’re so exhausted, but yet sleep won’t come.

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What We Built

*click thru to read on ao3

written by: S | @kinetic-elaboration

prompt: The 100 start calling Bellamy and Clarke “mom” and “dad” at the dropship camp, and the tradition continues even after the Ark comes down, causing confusion for @a-duck-with-herpes

word count: 8504

It started with Miller, which is the hardest part to explain later, after it’s spiraled out of control. But at the time it was really no more than a joke. A throwaway joke. 

Bellamy had been distributing guns and handing out guard assignments, looking over his misfit crew of teenage criminals like they were the real deal, because they had to be, because the enemy was out there, somewhere, beyond the gate. The atmosphere was understandably tense. Some of the new guard squared their shoulders and gritted their teeth, and tried to seem bigger than they were. Others just stared at their weapons like they hardly believed the guns were real. And some, like Miller, pretended this whole thing was a joke. Pretended they were in control and not afraid. So when Bellamy told him he was on the night shift, and then dismissed him with the others, he just smirked and said, “You got it, Dad,” as he slung his gun over his shoulder. 

It was a little weird. But at least it broke the tense atmosphere, the looming threat of war and death that had tied up everyone else’s tongue, so a few of them laughed anyway, uncertain and with obvious unease, before they scattered to their various posts. 


“Why dad though?” Bellamy asked, as he finished his second circuit around the dropship ground floor.  

His tone said rhetorical but his face, when Clarke looked up from organizing their medical supplies, said explain this right now. So she thought for a moment and suggested, “Nervous joke about authority figures?” 

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BTS reaction to you apologizing for a dumb fight with a stuffed version of their favorite cartoon/character? Thank youu <3


Before I start I would like to say that I made this so that the ‘you’ in the reactions is the s/o of the member. If you wanted this to e between friends, feel free to request again, mentioning that in the request, and I will do my best. Thank you for your understanding.

(The beginning is the same with everyone so I will just write it here instead of writing the same thing seven times)

It may have been over a small dumb thing, but the argument was still heated. The both of you let some pretty hurtful things escape your lips, not necessarily meaning any of it. 

It had been maybe three or four hours since you sprinted out of the apartment and out onto the streets. The fresh air helped you clear your mind and realize what you’d done. 

You felt awful. You had to make it up to him somehow, and you knew exactly how. 


Originally posted by seokjinies

Seokjin had been worried sick ever since you left the apartment, only assuming the worst. So when you walked back into the apartment without a scratch on your face, a wave of relief washed over him. 

“Y/N! I am so sorry about what happened and I-” You cut him off.

“No, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I started the whole thing so i should be the one to end it all, so will you accept my peace offering?” You asked and gave him the small  bag. He looked inside the plastic bag, his face lighting up.

“The stuffed Mario-peace offering is 100% accepted!”


Originally posted by imonaworldtour

Yoongi would leave you alone, not trying to contact you, knowing that giving you time to cool down would probably be the best idea. But after a couple of hours he would start getting worried. I wanted to believe that you had just gone over to a friends house to stay over there, but he knew that no matter how upset you were with him, you would tell him if you did. 

All these thoughts racing through his head immediately stopped once he heard the front door open and close.

“Y/N?” He would call out, making his way to the hallway. 

There you stood, with a stuffed Kumamon in your arms. “Please forgive me, Yoongi.” You said.

He smiled, walked over to you and hugged both you and the stuffy. 

“You’re forgiven, but only if you forgive me as well.”


Originally posted by jeonyween

Hoseok would absolutely lose his mind. He would call you five-six times an hour, text you multiple times, even call the boys to see if you were with any of them. When he was informed that you were nowhere to be found, he would go out to look for you.

He had been out for maybe half an hour or so, before the cold got the best of him, so he returned back to the apartment. He was surprised to say it the least when he walked in to see you standing there with your coat on, signifying that you had just entered as well. 

“Y/N! There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you!” He would say as he went to hug you. Before he could though, you pulled something out of your bag.

“This is an item of my apology, will you accept it?”

“Of course!”

Rap Monster

Originally posted by slapmon

Namjoon would not be too different from Yoongi. He would know that the best idea would be to let you blow off some steam.

It was late, but he refused to go to bed before you returned, so he made him self comfortable on the couch, thinking he would stay up if he stayed there. Big mistake. 

He fell asleep almost instantly, you having to wake him up.

“Namjoon, wake up. Lets get you to bed.” You said as you nudged him.

“Mhm.” Was all he was able to reply with, but his eyes opened.

“I have something for you, as a token of my apology.” You showed him the Ryan plushie you had gotten for him.

He smiled and pulled you onto the cough with him for a cuddle session.


Originally posted by jiminrolls

Jimin wouldn’t know what to do. He would pace around the apartment, not ebing able to decide if he should call you or not. 

He decided not to.
But what if you had gotten hurt?

You we’re probably fine.
But what if- 

He was broken from his thoughts when the doorbell rang. He sprinted to get it, seeing as you didn’t bring your keys and wouldn’t be able to get back into the apartment.

There you stood, in all your glory. 

“Jimin, I am so sorry. It was dumb and I shouldn’t have gotten so upset about it. Everything is my fault, but please forgive me? I even got you this stuffed animal to beg you.” You said and got the pikachu plush from you bag.

His entire face lit up.

“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have done what I did either, it’s fine. We’re both at fault if anything. So I forgive you.”


Originally posted by calicosbday

Taehyung would be worried, but he knew you well enough to know that you wouldn’t go out of your way to do something dumb that would get you hurt. 

As far as he knew you were either at a friends house or somewhere you could get something warm to drink. This time of year the weather was cold and gray, so you would be freezing if you were outside still. 

He heard the keys jingle outside the door, so he jumped up form his seat and ran to open the door before you managed to.

“Y/N!” He sighed in relief.

“I’m so sorry I just sprinted off. I should’ve stayed so we could’ve resolved it like grown ups.” You apologized, but continued before Taehyung was able to say anything.

“Since I dealt with it like a child, I’m gonna try and fix it like a child.” You pulled out a Nick Wilde |that fox dude form Zootopia| plush form your bag and handed it to him. 

“Will you forgive me?” 

Taehyung laughed and nodded, pulling you into a hug.


Originally posted by theking-or-thekid

Jungkook would try not to think anything of the situation, giving you time to clear your mind. He would try to work on some dances and maybe even some lyrics to get you out of his head, even just for a second. But he always found himself drawing or writing something related to you.

“Ugh.” He sighed as he let his head fall onto the desk.

“What got your panties in a twist?” 

The voice belonged to you, causing him to jump out of his chair, looking at you. 

“Y/N! Where have you been?” He would try to sound cool, but the panic was obvious in his voice. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have just ran of like that. Will you accept my apology and this Iron Man stuffy?” You showed him the toy, and his face lit up. Of course nodding, yes.

Thank you so much for requesting!
Feel free to request again!


anonymous asked:

“Stay here tonight.” Jamilton

Alex looked up from his computer screen when he heard Jefferson clear his throat. “What?” he asked.

Jefferson lifted his hand to look down at his watch. “It’s 3 in the morning.”


“So,” Jefferson said, moving to lean against the table. “You’ve been here for seven hours, and I stopped helping you four hours ago and you’re still working.”

He looked back to the report he was working on, cursor blinking in the middle of an unfinished paragraph. Alex looked back up to Jefferson and raised a brow and said, “it’s not done yet.”

“Of course it’s not done yet; we’re still waiting on information.” Jefferson crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not going to finish it tonight, and we have to be back at the office in five and half hours.”

Alex snorted and leaned back into the chair, looking at Jefferson and taking in the plaid pajama pants and thin tank top. Jefferson must have changed. He blinked. Jefferson had nice arms. He shook his head the clear the thought away and said, “I still don’t see what you’re getting at. There’s still plenty to do.”

“Go to sleep,” Jefferson replied. “Even you need at least some sleep. I usually leave here around seven.”

“Alright.” Alex shrugged. “Are you kicking me out?”

Jefferson shook his head. “No, just stay here tonight. It’ll be easier.”

He tapped his fingers at the table and looked at Jefferson, debating. If he wanted to get a decent amount of sleep tonight, it’d be best. But, if he went home, he could finish the section he was working on. Alex yawned.

Jefferson laughed and said, “yeah, you’re staying here. You’re exhausted.” He stretched his arms above his head, and Alex’s eyes dropped to the skin revealed by the tank top riding up. 

The look must have been noticed because Jefferson let his arms back down and pulled down his shirt. He turned around and started to walk away. “Hamilton,” Jefferson said, not looking at Alex. “You can sleep on the couch. I’ll get you a blanket.”

Alex shut his laptop and went to sit on the couch while Jefferson fetched the blanket. After a minute or two which Alex spent taking in his surroundings - modern furniture, bursting bookshelves, no-doubt original art hanging on every wall. 

A bundled up blanket his his chest, and Alex looked up to find Jefferson staring at him. “There you go. I wake up at five-thirty to do yoga, see you then.”

“Right, thanks.”

Jefferson hesitate a moment before walking away, and Alex took on the opportunity to act on the impulse that had been at the back of his brain all night. He reached his hand out and wrapped it around Jefferson’s wrists and pulled Jefferson close. 

“Thanks,” he said, taking in Jefferson’s confused look With care, he lifted Jefferson’s hand to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it, never breaking eye-contact. 

Jefferson was frozen, even as Alex let go of his hand with a smirk. The lighting meant he couldn’t be certain, but Alex let himself think he saw Jefferson’s cheeks darkening. “Good night, Thomas,” he said.

An odd burst of satisfaction wrung through his chest when after a moment passed, Jefferson turned around and scurried down the hallway. 

// angst/fluff prompt list // ko-fi

the-floofinator  asked:

HELLO~ I remember you saying that you wanted to write a little Yooseven so how about "do you remember when you used to think when you were straight"? (lolol) Thank you Jo-Jooo ♡

Omg yaasss!! I’ve wanted to write Yooseven for a while omg, da new precious shippity ship shipz

thank you for sending in this very fitting prompt hohohoooooo
I should be doing homework but I’m braindead bye

❤ ~ Realistic cuddle scenarios ~❤ 

Well, this was new. It had started out as an innocent gaming night at Yoosung’s in which both Seven and him would play some Mario Party, watch a movie if they weren’t too tired already and then go to sleep. 

Maybe Yoosung should’ve expected things to go differently since it was Seven who he was going to hang out with. Even though they’d done this plenty of times before, hell, maybe it pretty much become a weekly thing for them because Seven already had a few spare boxers over at his place and apparently a hidden stash of Buddha chips that Yoosung had yet to find. 

Still, their game nights usually had a standard cycle in which Seven would arrive at least an hour late, poke him everywhere until Yoosung would screech out for him to stop, lounge on his bed before Yoosung would drag him away, and then they’d game until one of them would fall asleep. 

It didn’t matter that they were boyfriends, or anything. Nope. Their relationship hadn’t changed at all. Except for the occasional kiss, which would make Yoosung curl up and die.  

Anyway, instead of letting himself get pulled off the bed as usual, Seven had given a harsh tug and Yoosung ended up landing on top of him with a rather loud yelp. 

“What’re you— Seven!”


Sure, they had hugged a few times, “manly hugs,” as Seven liked to call them, but this was hugging on a whole new level. This was cuddling. 

Seven had re-positioned both of them so they were lying on their sides, facing each other but his hand was on Yoosung’s side, his thumb gently massaging his waist. It was probably one of the most intimate moments they had ever experienced together and Yoosung was trying really hard not to melt under Seven’s soft gaze. 

The hand on his waist felt really warm, even through his shirt, and Yoosung kind of wanted it to stay there forever. 

Their foreheads were almost pressed together and Yoosung closed his eyes to enjoy this moment to the fullest. 

“Do you remember when you used to think you were straight?” 

Never mind. 

Yoosung opened his eyes and stared up at his cheeky               boyfriend, very offended. “Seven, not now.” 

“Sorry, but we’re being very gay right now and it just made me think of you constantly complaining that you’d never had a girlfriend before and look where we are!” 

That bastard was so enjoying this because he was wearing the biggest smirk and his eyes sparkled mischievously behind his striped glasses and Yoosung was so done

A poke war ensued but Yoosung was easily overpowered by Seven grabbing both of his wrists and tutting down at him. “You shouldn’t treat your boyfriend like that. I’m hurt, Yoosungie.”

“You literally always poke me!” 

“Yes, but I have special permission.”


“Just like I have special permission to do…” Seven looked down at Yoosung’s exposed stomach due to their wriggling and shifting and oh shit. “this.

Seven let go of him in an instant and practically glued his hands to Yoosung’s tummy, scratching and scribbling and Yoosung arched his back in response. 

A bark of laughter filled the air, followed by more breathy heaps of laughter and yips as Seven tickled him mercilessly. Yoosung slapped at his hands, rolled around, kicked his legs, curled up, but nothing helped because Seven’s hands were too experienced. Right because sometimes this was part of the cycle and Yoosung hated it. 

It was only a matter of seconds before Yoosung was completely stuck between his own sheets and Seven’s body, his torso under attack of those menacing fingers. 

“Get-off!” Yoosung shrieked out in vain, throwing his head back because he was laughing so hard but Seven completely ignored him and used this opportunity to blow a raspberry on his now bare neck. 

“It’s totally effective,” his boyfriend said in this dumb low voice and did it a few more times until Yoosung almost headbutted him in the process. “I guess I’ll be safer if I go for your knees.” 

As if struck by lightening, Yoosung jolted upwards and scrambled towards the edge of the bed. “No, no, no, no!” 

“Too easy.”

Of course Seven was having none of that and grabbed one of his ankles, lazily dragging him back until he could sit on his legs. Yoosung started pounding his fists on Seven’s back when he felt the first few squeezes on his kneecaps because if they went to that spot—

Seveeeeheeeeeen! No, pffff— Ah! Let me go!”

“Poor little Yoosung is too ticklish for his own good,” Seven sang loudly to overpower his boyfriend’s whiny laughter as he scribbled his fingers all over the backs of his knees and thighs. “Also, your laugh is way too cute and I need to hear it at least twenty times a day, so would you be so kind to remind me to tickle you all the time?”

A squeal was all he got in response. “I totally agree. Mario Party can wait because tickling you is way more fun.”

It was going to be a long night. 

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017 - Day Seven

A/N:  I was stuck for an idea for today’s fic, so @lilsherlockian1975 very kindly gave me one.  “Molly and Sherlock running into Wiggins - he’s all smug because ‘he knew it!’ (maybe because an all drugged up Sherlock spoke very highly of his pathologist and her perky little t*ts”.  I modified the prompt a tiny bit.  In case you haven’t figured it out yet, there is a tiny bit of naughty language in this one.  Unbeta’d.

It’s not my best work, but I only had three hours to knock it out if I wanted to get it done today so …

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017 – Day Seven (Non-Canon – Free Choice)

Shezza’s Missus

“Sherlock?  I know I’m early, but you said it was important that I come over after my shift and Doctor Rich-“  Molly came to a dead stand still in the doorway to Sherlock’s kitchen.  She took in the strange man standing in front of the hob stirring something in a pan with a wooden spoon.  Whatever was in the pan smelled absolutely lovely, some kind of mouth-watering curry.  But still …  “You’re not Sherlock.”

“Hullo, Missus.  Home early?” He brought the spoon up to his mouth, tasted the sauce, and grimaced.  His hand hovered over a row of spice jars before snatching one up and shaking a sprinkle of seasoning into the pan; then he shrugged and shook the jar twice more. “Curry powder.  I told him the sauce was too bland the way he’d done it, but Shezza insisted on following the recipe to the letter.”  The man winked at her over his shoulder.  “I won’t tell him we gave it a bit of a tweak if you don’t.”

“I … What?”  Molly had no idea what was going on.  She didn’t think she’d ever even seen Sherlock’s kitchen used to prepare food before.  Add to that oddity, the lanky man who seemed to have made himself at home and who appeared to be wearing a frilly pink pinny over his jeans and thread-bare jumper. 

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Fool Me Twice


Part 3 of the Fool Me Once series

Part 1: Fool Me Once

Part 2: Shame On You

Steve Rogers X Reader

Words: approx. 1.5K

Prompt: When Hydra hires an agent of SHIELD to bring down an none other than the Captain himself, chaos ensues. (cont.)

Warnings: so much damn angst, weapons, Hail Hydra, swearing, fighting, graphic violence, torture, suicidal thoughts



That was the only thing that filled your veins.

Your hands shook by your side as you forced herself to stay calm….at least until you could make it back home.

But where was home?

You blinked away the tears forming in your eyes, your head resting against the cold, unforgiving metal cell which you’d been shut in.

When… if … you made it back, you could immediately count on the fact that you’d be thrown out of the Facility. Of course, by no one other than Steve.

And for the first time in your life, you were scared. Genuinely scared. Terrified.

No one would come for you. You weren’t stupid. You knew Steve never do it. Not for you. He had a group of capable heroes to lead. What were you compared to them?

Steve was right.

If only you’d been half the agent Peggy Carter was. If only you weren’t so damn reckless. If only….

The cell door screeched open, echoing loudly in your ears as the steel frame of the door scraped against the hard concrete floor. You winced at the sound.

Two cold hands closed around your shoulders, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. And fuck, you may as well have been weightless from everything Rumlow put you through.

“It’s been two weeks, sweetheart. They ain’t coming.” His voice whispered in your ear. His hot breath fanned over your neck as you stayed limp in his arms, having nothing to fight back with.

“I know.” You replied weakly, your voice not crossing an octave above a whisper. You didn’t have to turn around to know that he was smirking.

He was triumphant.

He had won.

Hydra had won.

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Indefinite Initials pt.3 - FINALE

Misha x Reader - Soulmate AU

Summary: Everybody receives a special tattoo of their soulmates initials at some point in their life. After nearly thirty years, you wake up with the initials ‘M.C.’ tattooed onto the back of your shoulder and set out to try and find who it might be.

Warnings: fluff, language, pretty abrupt ending I guess

Word count: 3246

Originally posted by casbabydontgoineedyou

There had been some obviously flirting throughout the day between you and Misha which even surprised you. You were just glad that Damian wasn’t there to notice how distracted the two of you were. Even if he was your best friend, you knew that this pub was everything to him and he couldn’t afford people to be distracted on the job.

It wasn’t like you and Misha weren’t doing your job, you were just a little slower to respond than usual. But nobody really noticed, especially when there was a large screen in front of them playing the game that everybody was so hyped up about.

You honestly didn’t know where you and Misha currently stood. It wasn’t as though you were in a relationship with him, but you were sure you were more than just workmates. You knew better than to start asking these types of questions – especially when you were at work – and chose to wait until the two of you were a little more private and when you were positive it wasn’t too early.

Among the football loving men crowded around the televisions there had been a couple of casuals that had entered on a bad day, and of course a lot of them were pissed about the slow service and how much the volume had increased. “This fucking service is atrocious. Where is Damian?” one of the men at the end of the bar had said as you passed over his pint of beer.

“He isn’t here today.” you simply answered, placing a bowl of peanuts in front of another customer. “Misha is in charge when Damian is away, if you have any problems talk to him.”

The man scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Misha? What good is Misha?”

Your eyes narrowed at the man, wondering what must’ve happened between him and Misha in the past. “If you’re not going to go to Misha then I can’t help you any further.” you said, turning around to continue serving other people.

An ice cold hand wrapped around your wrist, causing you to turn back around and look into the man’s eyes. He looked extremely pissed now. “Can’t help me!? I am a fucking valuable customer! You don’t know shit, you’re still new!” he hissed, his grip on your wrist becoming tighter.

“Hey!” Misha yelled from behind you before he stood directly in front of the man. “Get your hands off her before I make you.”

Steven grumbled something under his breath and pushed your hand away, making direct eye contact with Misha. “You can’t do anything to me, you’ll get fired.”

“I doubt it.” he said, waving over one of the security guards. “But I’m busy, I don’t have time to kick you out. Don’t come back.”

The security guard clamped a hand over Steven’s shoulder and pushed him out of the doors roughly. Misha glanced at your wrist with soft eyes. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. He’s one of the biggest asses when he’s drunk, we’ve banned him from entering but he always manages to get in.” he said.

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A searing pain shocked him awake. His gasp sounded foreign to him as it rasped out of his throat. When he looked to his side, he saw both Tara and Rossi knocked out but seemingly okay. The adrenaline coursed through him at lightning speed, but when he attempted to move, he wasn’t able to. He panicked, unable to see why he couldn’t move until he glanced down. “No,” he whispered. His legs were sandwiched between his seat and the steering column, which had pushed its way into the car as their vehicle had been smashed into a nearby tree. The only plus side was that he felt a white hot pain, which he assumed was better than feeling nothing at all.

Despite knowing he couldn’t move, he attempted to, turning toward his colleagues and struggling to stir them awake. “Dave. Tara,” he whispered harshly. At least it sounded like a whisper to his own ears, now drowning in a mess of crunching metal, car engines and faint voices he couldn’t distinguish between. “Wake up!”

Thankfully, he was able to contort himself to rouse both of them up from his place in the driver’s seat. Tara’s eyes fluttered open first. “Tara, you okay?” he asked, his face going slightly pale from loss of blood.

She grabbed her head, feeling around for any lumps or bumps. “Maybe a slight concussion, but I’m okay.” Her eyes widened when she looked down to see his legs. “Oh my god, Stephen. What happened?” As she scrambled to get out of the car, Rossi woke up and immediately saw what was wrong with Stephen.

His right leg was gushing blood – at least that’s what it looked like. He kept attempting to move the steering column away from his legs, but no matter how hard he pushed nothing was working. It was probably better that way. “Stop trying to move it,” Tara said, opening his car door and ripping off her coat. She started to tie it around his right leg, which was much worse off than the left. “The steering column probably hit your femoral artery. We can’t know if it’s a tear or if it’s been severed until the medics arrive.”

The reality of his surroundings finally hit him. There was no way he was going to be able to accompany the team, and if he knew Scratch at all, him not being there was really going to screw over the team.

As he ran through everything in his mind and what could possibly be awaiting them, Emily, JJ and Luke rushed over, slightly scratched up and bruised but none the worse for wear. “Oh my god,” JJ said, her eyes glazing over with tears as the sirens sounded off in the distance. “Medics are on their way.”

“Guys, I’m not going to be able to go with you-“

Emily placed her hand on his shoulder, now at his side on the driver’s side while Tara was sitting in the car at his side to keep pressure on the tourniquet she’d cinched around his leg. “Of course you’re not,” she started. “We need to get you to a hospital.” Although she didn’t want to say it out loud, Stephen could see the fear in her eyes. Once the steering column got pulled away from his legs, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t bleed out.

“Because of that I need you to listen,” he started, wincing at the pain in his legs. “Scratch is all about the psychological torture. Me not being there is going to hurt you. I can feel it.” As the medics came toward the car, they separated him from the rest of the team, so he screamed out a couple of details they might need in order to get inside his head. Birthdates, the day he started with the BAP, the day he met Prentiss – anything he could think of that might be pertinent to what was lying ahead of them.

As he was carted away, he felt himself getting weaker and weaker, the loss of blood finally catching up with him. He watched his friends reluctantly get into another car, not ready to leave him, but having no other choice. “Can you tell us your name?” One of the EMTs asked.

“Stephen Walker,” he said weakly. “My birthday is September 17, 1970. I have a wife and two kids, Monica, Maya and Eli.” They were all the questions one would ask to make sure that had his faculties about him. For now he did, but it was more than possible that he wouldn’t in the ensuing seconds or minutes.

He was loaded into the ambulance and the doors closed, shutting off contact from his team for good. “I need someone to call my wife,” he choked out as the EMT pulled tighter on Tara’s makeshift tourniquet. “She needs to know I’m okay.”

“Don’t worry,” the man said. “We’re going to make sure you get back to your wife. Someone will call as soon as we get to the hospital.”

That wasn’t quick enough. He could feel himself fading fast. Monica needed to know how much he loved her – how much he appreciated the sacrifices she’d made to be his wife. His kids had to know that he loved them more than words could express and that he would forever be proud of them both.

His vision started to blur. The lights overhead going in and out of existence as his body grew colder. “Please tell them,” he said softly, barely audible to his own ears. “Please, you have to tell them.”


The next thing he knew, he woke up in the hospital, his wife and kids by his side. “Dad!” Maya said happily, collapsing her front end on top of him and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Maya careful,” Monica said, giving her husband a small smile. “Be careful of his legs.”

His legs. That’s right. His legs had been crushed. “How long have I been out?” he asked.

“About seven hours,” she said. “You were in surgery for four. The femoral artery in your right leg was nearly severed.” Her eyes filled with tears as she truly realized how close she was to losing her husband and the father of her children. “The EMTs told me that Tara fixed a tourniquet on your leg?”

Stephen nodded his head weakly, still so tired from his ordeal, yet worked up over what had happened to his friends. “They said if she hadn’t done such a good job on the tourniquet you wouldn’t have made it,” she cried. She squeezed his hand and he did his best to return the gesture. He couldn’t wipe her tears away, his body still too tired, but he could smile. When he did, she melted into him, her tears falling onto his hand. “You’re going to be okay.”

“When the crash happened, you three were the first things to cross my mind,” he said softly. “The only things really. You know how much I love you all right?”

“We do,” Eli said, shrugging with a slight smile indicative of a teenager trying to remain cool under pressure. Then he swallowed hard and wiped away a few rogue tears. “I’m glad you’re okay dad.”

He chuckled, thankful that the stitches were in his leg and not his stomach. “Me too.” For a few moments, the four sat in silence, until he caught sight of the bag that contained his personal effects. “Can you grab my phone?”

He was desperate for some word from the team – something that might let him know what happened and if everyone else was okay. When he opened the phone there was only one text and it was from Emily. Quickly, he read it and breathed a heavy sigh. “Everything okay?” Monica asked.

“Yea.” He exhaled. “I just want to focus on getting better now. Can I speak to a doctor?”

Monica was just grateful that he was up and speaking. He was cognizant and relatively healthy considering he’d nearly died just hours ago. As she got up, she told the kids to keep on eye on their father and make sure he didn’t get into trouble while she went to grab his doctor.

Minutes later, she returned, his doctor, Dr. Maya Handler, in tow. “Maya’s a lucky name for me, I guess,” he said as he smiled at his daughter. “How does everything look?” He glanced down at his legs and noticed the left one seemed fine; it was the right that was cut, bruised and blood from the accident. He couldn’t feel it all that much and that worried him.

Dr. Handler patted him on the shoulder as she sat down, so she could speak directly to him. “You are a lucky man,” she started. “Your friend’s tourniquet saved your life. You nearly died, but we were able to repair the artery and give you a couple of transfusions. I won’t lie though, your leg took a lot of damage. You’re going to need physical therapy to be able to walk on it again. Thankfully, your spine wasn’t hit, so there was no paralysis of any kind.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I know you’re probably itching to get back to work, but I need you to take it easy for a while, okay?”

Closing his eyes, he nodded, noticing his wife’s worried expression. She knew him well. Under different circumstances, he would want to return to work as soon as possible, but he’d been thinking a lot lately. “You won’t be discharged for another week or so, but once you are I can refer you to a physical therapist.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

When she left the room, Monica returned to his side. They needed to talk. “Hey kids,” he said. “How about the two of you take a $20 out of my wallet and go grab something to eat and drink. Bring back a sandwich and a Dr. Pepper for your mother.”

“Okay, dad,” Eli said. “Do you want anything?”

“Just water,” he said sleepily.

Once they’d left the room, Monica squeezed his hand. “Please tell me you’re not trying to go back to work sooner than you can handle?”

Stephen shook his head. “Monica, I’ve been thinking about work for a while. What I want and who I want to be. I’ve been working at this for more than 25 years. You know I can’t stay completely home or I’ll lose my mind, but…I think it’s time for me to retire. It would be six months before I could return to the BAU anyway.”

His wife’s eyes lit up. “You mean you wanna come home? You wanna stay home?”

“I do,” he replied, lifting his hand up to the side of her face. “You and the kids have given up so much for me to do what I do. It’s time for me to be a full-time father and husband…and maybe a part-time college professor. I could teach a morning class and have the kids fall asleep to the sound of my voice.”

Monica’s eyes watered as she thought about having him home more often. Stephen loved his work, but she couldn’t deny this life was difficult. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“More than sure,” he said. “It’s time for a change.“

@the-pitcher-in-the-rye  @stunudo @zugzwangxo @milkandcookies528 @marvelfanlife @killerwithashotgun @hotchnerfuckmeup @icycatgirl04 @eternal-horizons @mxolh @xoxogabss @brooke0297 @thismiss02 @remember-me-forever-silent-angel @imagicana @pleasedftbaforever @ragweed98 @thatgracieiscool @katekat-lions @brokensurvivor @nevernot-broken @ultrarebelheart @the-slytherin-ice-queen @randymalfoy @visions-of-brighter-love @totalmess191 @live-love-be-unique @sassygeek77 @heartless-slytherin @original-criminal-fanfics @5secondsofcraziness @rda1989 @mainstreamqueen @zombies-bunny @youcanletgonow @criminallyoddsocks @cherrybombs-and-rabbitholes @blood-thirstyuni-corn @chocok22 @trollitis @gublerblog @frenchcakefrosting @oceans-daughter-3 @riverdale-ships-will-sail @ilariadclr @emmazach @albifrahledd @carlyfandomsforeva @captainiratze @adropintheocean1234567 @juliannarayvenne @coveofmemories @inestava @rmmalta @unstoppableangel8 @ralvezmood

Leokumi Omegaverse Progress Update

Hey y’all remember that Omegaverse fanfic I promised? Well good news for you! Well, not amazing news because it’s still not done. But I just spent my entire day configuring a timeline that spans the entire plot! Because, you know, I was starting to get confused. (Seriously it took like seven hours. I didn’t realize how much shit happens)

Fun fact, apparently iPhone timeline apps hate phone batteries!

Anyways, I can now definitively say that I’m approximately ¾ths of the way done with the initial draft. It’s also like 100 pages so far, so it’ll probably take awhile for me to go over for revision purposes… And then another short while for my editor to go through and fix all of my fuck ups. If she ever wants to do that because she’s a busy gal.

I’m hoping to have initial drafts done by the end of the month, and for revisions to be done by the end of October (specifically October 20th because I’m totally not just doing this to stave off the mouth-breathing excitement I’m currently fostering for Fire Emblem Warriors)

When it’s all said and done I’ll probably do an update every week or every other week. Depends on how far ahead we decide to proof read beforehand.

So yeah. Just in case anyone was excited about that.


*Or How Ronan Got His Tattoo (I wrote this as a bridge between my two au fics, Something to Hurt You and Never Sleeping Again, but I think this could also work for a canon setting. More notes at the end!)

The tattoo design had come to Ronan in a dream. It was a thing of beauty: intricate, haunting, mysterious. When Noah had looked at image, which was painted in pure black ink on white parchment, he had put his hands over his mouth, eyes wide and glistening.

“Ronan,” he whispered, “it’s perfect. It’s…you.”

Ronan nodded wearily. He was still recovering from everything, his heart like a constant ache in his chest, his mind filled with loss and rage and hurt.

“Do you know where you’re going to get it done or when?”

“I have an appointment at Black Sheep Tattoo for next weekend. They said it’ll probably take at least three sittings, since it’s a full back piece.”

Noah traced the image, his fingers losing their way in the labyrinth of wings and claws, tree limbs and grasping roots. He noticed and understood elements of the tattoo that were still lost to Ronan; he knew the meaning of the three intersecting lines, of the tiny visions revealed in the knot work of the trees. Ronan would understand one day why the word remembered was scrawled on the edge of a branch. Noah tapped the word lightly with his knuckle.

“Will Gansey go with you?”

Ronan shook his head. “I planned the first appointment for when he’s out of town. I don’t want him to know, yet. It’s better if he thinks that this was a spur-of-the-moment, drunken decision.” There was a lot that Gansey didn’t know about Ronan.

“I’ll go with you,” Noah offered but Ronan turned him down; this was something he had to do on his own.

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I’m an alcoholic.

A lot of you joke around with alcohol, thinking that it’s “fun” that you’re drinking to get rid of your sadness or whatever.

Let me tell you something.

Alcohol isn’t fun. It might seem like all fun and games in the beginning, but the aftereffects stay for your entire life.

I’m 17 years old. When I was 14, I began drinking on a near daily basis.
In short, I became an alcoholic.
I’m still an alcoholic, although I’ve only drank three times within the last four months.

I’m always going to be an alcoholic. I may be sober, but I’m still an alcoholic. Alcoholism isn’t something that disappears when you stop drinking.

Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic.

I’m always going to have issues when it comes to alcohol, wether I like it or not. Every time I’m close to alcohol, my entire body craves it - Even if I don’t want to drink, even if I’ve decided to stay sober, it’s like I need it.

“One beer can’t hurt” is all I can think.
An hour later I’m seven beers in and I start crying over yet another broken promise to myself.

“A shot won’t do anything”. Two hours later, I’ve downed the entire bottle and I still need more, I still drink more.

I’ve done drugs. I’ve self harmed. I’ve had countless of addictions, but none of them are like alcohol. I don’t crave drugs on a daily basis. I don’t feel the need to cut myself to release endorphins. But alcohol? I don’t need to think about it for my body to want it.

It doesn’t matter how long I stay sober, because it can just be that one beer and then I’m back on it again. Being sober when everyone else is drunk means that I can laugh at drunk people, but it also means that I’m having an internal battle with myself not to grab that bottle.

I’m never going to be able to drink like most people do - At parties, taking a beer while barbecuing, casually drinking a glass of wine to dinner. No matter how much I fight for it, alcohol always wins. I’m not going to be able to have that night at the club with my closest friends on my 18th birthday. I’m not going to be able to have a healthy relationship to alcohol - Never.

Alcohol isn’t fun. Alcohol is dangerous, far more dangerous than any drug I’ve taken. You don’t realise it to be a problem at first, but then when you try to let it go you find out it’s impossible.

Alcohol is not fun. My actions as a 14-16 year old is going to stay with my until I’m 80. Do you really want that? This isn’t a question about staying strong, or having a tolerance. No one is invincible, and especially not when it comes to alcohol.

Take care of yourself.

Pile Up

a brief drabble for a scene i had in my head. - mod spectrum

A long day’s swim always tires them out, but a long day of actually interacting and talking and spending time with people, besides just each other, is just plain draining.

They’re not exactly introverted- god only knew who would ever apply the term to Mikey- but they’re certainly not adjusted to being around other people. It’s a thrilling and wonderful experience, but sometimes… too much, after a point.

It’s just different with family, and family time is needed right now to recover from having friend time.

Hence why after towels are thrown about, Mikey and Raph forced to remain still long enough to be somewhat cleaned of mud, and they’re done snacking on a few clams Mikey had tucked in his net-

They drag the miscellaneous and carefully hoarded pillows they’ve stolen or made over the years, all into one big pile to the side of their largest room and settle down into it as a group.

Mikey immediately dozes off, curled up and half buried into the pile and Leo’s side. He’d been running at nonstop full-throttle for nearly seven hours, and even though that’s usually nothing for him, doing it with Casey and April present seemed to take double the energy. Even hyperactive almost-extroverts need to recharge at the end of the day, it seemed.

He doesn’t regret it though, having to give a little more than he usually does to a situation. Friends are the best thing, and it’s exhilarating to have someone to talk to besides his brothers. But, exhilaration takes it out of you, and even he’s not an exception.

Leo finds himself meandering before tucking in for a nap. In his hands he gently turns the pages of a rare and precious paperback novel; it’s one he never takes anywhere outside their home, at risk of ruining its delicately inked words. It’d been snatched from a foreign goods ship years ago, and while at the time he’d been scared shitless, he hasn’t stopped being grateful Donnie had grabbed it in the middle of the chaotic and ill-advise thievery attempt. 

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sometimes adulthood is spending seven hours untangling two skeins of yarn that you made into a terrifying web of knots because you had to restart a project that you began over a year ago

Orange Breath (Iori Enjo- Soulmate Swap Series)

OH MY GOSH. I am so pleased to have finished this finally. This is like day 4 of working on it (well… day 3 if you don’t count my nap day with hubby yesterday) I lost a good chunk of it after I got distracted and started internet browsing and closed out my browser. So i had to rewrite the beginning. The old beginning had a lot more behind the history of the swap and such, and since I was so pissed I lost it that I didn’t rewrite too much involving the pesky history fluff background details the second time around. Also. Iori kept autocorrecting to Tori, and Nagito kept autocorrecting to Nugget. By the time this was finished I was so annoyed with them I wanted to clobber the two. 

This is for mrszala who requested AGES ago (omg I’m sorry) another version of my Soulmate Swap fix featuring Daichi. (if you’re interested you can find it here)

To mrszala: I hope you like it :) I messaged you back about a character but tumblr must have ate it :( and then i forgot about it for awhile but no matter it’s all done now! If I remember correctly Iori was one of the top, so I hope you don’t terribly mind I chose him. Enjoy!!

Here’s the prompt that inspired the first story (but you definitely don’t have to read Daichi’s to understand this one)

Prompt: at a certain age/one night a year everyone swaps bodies with their soulmate and have a limited time to leave hints/clues.

*one last note. Some of you (aka prolly nobody) may notice the age change difference with the swap. Since Iori’s character isn’t as dependent as daichi’s is on an significate age difference, and having a 7 year difference between MC and Iori would be kinda weird with no just reasoning I upped the swap age to 25.

(okay this intro is really long. omg I’m sorry. I’m shutting up now)

“FINISHED. NOW STAY AWAY ORANGE BREATH.” These words have haunted your thoughts these past four long years. Tonight was finally your one chance to uncover their meaning. But of course life couldn’t be so simple. Your next screenplay was due in two days and you were way behind. Your 25th birthday would involve a constant flow of caffeine, minimal amount of sleep, and lots of writing. Miss this deadline and your ass was so fired. Your name blackmailed all across Tokyo ruining any possible future opportunities. You should be stressing out more, your whole livelihood was on the line.

But something more was already stressing you out. It was your 25th birthday in a matter of minutes. Tonight was your turn to swap and find out why your soulmate already despised you. Was it even possible for a soulmate to loathe their other half? They hadn’t even met each other yet though. How could he even dislike you that much before knowing you? You pout as you frantically keep typing away. You didn’t even have time to stop to sleep and eat right, it was bad enough that you were already losing a couple hours to the swap. You wouldn’t have him here to help you this time, as he did with his own swap those four long years ago.

You had been a senior in college. Well almost. At least you would be after you hand in your last research paper for the semester. The topic you chosen was all about celebrities and their newfound vast sphere of influence. The paper turned out to be much more difficult that you believed it would be. Thus you ended up procrastinating until the night before its due date. Even with all your caffeine intake you somehow managed to still fall asleep about midnight. You awoke a couple hours later in a frantic panic attack. Your class was seven hours away, precious time wasted, your paper was… done…?  Was it possible to sleep write? You read the paper over with care, your brain still fuzzy and confused from the long nap. The first half you easily remembered, it had your cheerful positive outlook. Celebrities founding charities and supporting fundraisers. Visiting sick children in hospitals to create awareness of rare illnesses. After which it soon darkened. This you definitely don’t remember. This made celebrities sound so… evil and conspiring. Especially slanted against the women! The falsified scandals. The secret under the table deals. Sleeping around with superiors. Doing anything possible to stay in the headlines. This just couldn’t be your writing. Then you spotted something new that wasn’t there before. An orange was sitting next to a copy of Revance’s latest album. A popular band that debuted almost 6 years ago. Your friends were gaga over them, but they weren’t your taste in music, so you definitely wouldn’t have one of their albums. A yellow sticky note stuck to the album, odd… it was your handwriting:


Sleep deprived, confused, and with a forged research paper you did the only sensible thing. Took to the internet. You searched awhile with no results and almost gave up when you found a reddit forum compiled of similar events all around the world. People waking in places they weren’t before. Notes that they don’t remember writing. Directing them to people they didn’t know. Things around them disrupted as if someone had been looking for something. The only similar circumstances was that it was everyone’s 25th birthday. More confused now than ever, you had no choice but to leave it for now and sleep finally. After sleeping minimal hours lately since it was finals, your body was craving some much needed rest. And to be honest, you were grateful for the finished paper, even if it wasn’t what you would have written. Now you could sleep before your last class of the semester.

The next day you fretted as you handed in your paper. For sure the professor would be able to tell it wasn’t your work? Would you forced out of university? Your parents would die of shame.

Your stress was all for naught. Your professor praised your work. Pleased to see you finally embracing the ‘reality of life instead of idealized fantasies’. They were a fool believing such nonsense over common sense. But you weren’t stupid enough to fight them. You passed! You wouldn’t be out on the streets a haggard beggar, all alone in the world.

You confronted your friends before you all left campus for summer break. It was possible they managed to mimic your handwriting, and the whole event was a joke. Laughter. Even louder laughter. Oh yes and now tears and laughter. What was so hilarious about suspecting them of finishing your research paper… oh. Never mind. You definitely should have kept the orange breath tidbit to yourself though. To this day your nickname was still orange breath. They knew you had a slight orange juice addicted when you stocked up after the store had that ridiculous cheap sale. Okay yes, perhaps you did go a tad overboard buying so many, your room had so many high stacks of boxes leftover. You’d have to lug them all back home for break. But still, they didn’t have to tease you with that dumb nickname!

You glanced at the clock still furious typing away. 11:59pm. You were frantic to complete your current train of thought before who knows what would happen. The soulmate swap as it was now referred to, and it was finally your turn. Your heart swooned at the potential before you. Your soulmate had to be four years older than you, a trait you definitely found appealing. A sexy older swoon worthy gentleman? Yes please! Your hope soon darkened as you remembered the reality. He must have found you appalling. Why else would he tell you to stay away? Well no matter, unless he had voodoo up his sleeve he couldn’t hide tonight. At least as far as you knew. Oh you hope he couldn’t stop it, you were quite anxious to finally get some answers.

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Marvelmas (12/13) - December 24 - Tony Stark x Reader

Words: 1159
Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader
Warnings: mentions of drinking
Marvelmas Series!
Authors Note
: the one you’ve all been waiting for…TONY STARRRRK! i love tony so much abidbsake

Marvelmas Masterlist. Masterlist.

“It’s nice. I’m honestly surprised you pulled this off, Stark,” You nodded as you looked around the venue Tony managed to get. Usually, Tony would hold the party at something he owned, but with Stark tower still being under construction and the Avengers Facility being classified, he had to find somewhere else to host it.

“Surprised? I’m a god when it comes to parties,” Tony shook his head at you as he carried boxes in. You and Tony brought over some extra decorations to make sure this placed was decked out to your standards.

“Great, a bar!” Tony smiled when he realized that there would be alcohol at the party, “That’s the best part.”

“Before you go drinking on me, we need to make sure this place is ready, all right?” You cocked your eyebrow at him.

“All right,” He groaned and walked over to you and started to sift through the boxes, “I just picked up a bunch of stuff from my mailbox, so there might be some-”

“Are these all unopened holiday cards?” You cut him off when you held up the stack of cards addressed to Tony.

“What can I say? I’m popular.”

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I was sent to Kosovo. There was this Serb, General Raddick, who led a unit who would gointo villages and, you know, destroy ‘em. Women, children, all, all killed because he wanted to ethnically purify his country. He’d done this twice before. I mean, we had facts, proof. 232 people just erased. I was the sniper sent in to stop him. He was set to leave in a couple hours. It was his son’s– son’s birthday. A little boy maybe about six or seven. I can still hear the music from the party, you know? That song just playing in my head. Nobody knew where the shot came from, but, you know, they knew why it came. They said I saved over a hundred people. But, you know, that little boy who didn’t know who his father was, who, who just loved him… he saw him die, fall to the ground right in front of him. That little boy all covered in his daddy’s blood was changed forever.


bones rewatch1x21: the soldier on the grave
“I was sent to Kosovo. There was this Serb General Radik, who led a unit who would go into villages and, you know, destroy them. Women, children, all killed because he wanted to ethnically purify his country. He’d done this twice before. I mean, we had facts. Proof. I was the sniper sent in to stop him. He was set to leave in a couple of hours. It was his son’s… his son’s birthday. A little boy, maybe about six or seven. I can still hear the music from the party, you know, that song is just just playing in my head. Nobody knew where the shot came from, but, you know, they knew why it came. They said I saved over a hundred people but, you know, that little boy, who didn’t know who his father was, who just who just loved him - he saw him diefall to the ground right in front of him. That little boy, all covered with his daddy’s blood. Just changed forever.”

January 2, 2016 / 22:48 || { 2/100 - 100 days of productivity }
I literally worked on this one project for seven hours today, but somehow I forgot to take a photo for the 100 days of productivity thing I’m doing! 

So this is a (very low quality, once again (sorry)) photo from right now. I’m going over the notes we worked on today, and wrote down a couple of things I need to get done tomorrow in my bullet journal. I missed my bullet journal checkboxes! After having a regular, traditional planner this first semester, it feels great checking off boxes again, haha.

Also, I’m still mad I live in a country where there’s only daylight for a couple of hours during the winter, because that means none of those pretty study photos that I love taking….