radiation burn

  • *Soldier 76 and Mercy examining Reaper’s body after a failed attack on Objective A*
  • Soldier 76: So, what’s the verdict?
  • Mercy: He’s dead.
  • Soldier 76: Yeah, I meant what killed him?
  • Mercy: What didn’t kill him? We’ve got stab wounds, laser and radiation burns, this appears to be some sort of residual neurotoxin. And these pinpoint wounds, I’ve never seen anything like them.
  • Submitted by nocturnalwyvern
A Little More of This

Sometimes you just gotta write smutty bed sharing. You just gotta, because @alienor-woods prompts you too. Thanks bae, this is entirely dedicated to you <3

definitely nsfw. 


They get into a groove of it, push and pull and not that, I did it anyway, and somehow managing to make it all work. Well, “work.” Bellamy’s not sure they’re really getting any closer to saving everyone from the end of the world, but Clarke is so sure there’s a solution, so sure that if they just keep working, they’ll find something.

He loves that about her. Loves her certainty that borders on pigheadedness because underneath it, Clarke Griffin fundamentally refuses to give up on people. And there’s no way in the world Bellamy Blake can give up on Clarke Griffin. Not at this point. So he sticks with her, tries to help, tries to guide her and advise her and just support her when lack of sleep and heart crushing disappointment threaten to overwhelm her. And Clarke lets him, looks to him, leans on him.

Clarke’s habit of taking over his space hasn’t been lost on Bellamy. They’d picked right back where they had been in terms of their trust, their ability to get each other like no one else, their ability to listen to each other. But now, it’s more than quick shoulder squeezes and out of the blue hugs, Clarke a surprise in his arms. Clarke’s proximity isn’t to get his attention or to prove a point, not anymore.

He’s not sure what exactly pulls her into his orbit, right up close so that when he shifts his arms brushes her side, or that when she cranes her neck to look at him, she has to turn just a bit further because she’s so close. She touches him now, as if to reassure herself he’s right there, that she found her way home- home from the woods, home from the City of Light. She touches him like Bellamy is her only barometer of safety, like touching him reminds Clarke this isn’t a dream.

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Is There A Reason You’re Naked In My Bed?

Originally posted by justwhatevermark

Drabble Game #12 - Mark Tuan/Suggestive


2:19 AM. That’s what the clock on the wall read. You and Mark were the last ones awake. The floor and couch in your apartment were littered with the sleeping bodies of the rest of the boys.

“Look at all these lightweights. Can’t even handle a few simple drinking games,” Mark joked as he looked around the room. “I hope it’s okay that we stay here?”.

You chuckled. “Guess I don’t really have much of a choice do I? I’m not about to wake the sleeping bear, are you?”

Mark clasped his hand over his mouth, muffling his laughter as you pointed to JB propped up against your recliner, mouth wide open as he snored.

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desires | jimin

Originally posted by kpopidolaegyooo

Pairing: Jimin + Reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff/Smut + Bad Boy!Jimin

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: It wasn’t your place to worry for him, you shouldn’t, it wasn’t good for you. But since the day you saw him that hurt, you couldn’t help it. 

Author’s Note: SO this scenario is kindaish based on lust but I also tied it in with this idea I had before where I wanted to write a bad-boy jimin au, so I kinda mashed it together! Hope you like it anon!!

Readers POV

You knew you shouldn’t have come. You knew coming would put you in trouble, especially after he told you not to.

But you couldn’t help it. Not after he came back hurt last time, hurt bad.

Flashback

“Wha-” you gasped, as you opened your front door at 2 am in the morning.

A body fell through, collapsing onto yours as your arms shot out to hold them from falling to the ground.

“y/n…” a low voice grunted, as you struggled to pull them up when you took a good look at their face, your eyes widening in shock.

“J-jimin?!” you cried in surprise as you cupped your hands around his pale and bloody face. Dragging him to your couch, he groaned in pain as you placed him down gently, careful of his wounds.

What happened to you…” you whispered, as he opened his eyes slowly, staring at you.

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A Sadist’s Paradise - pt.2

Genre; Smut

Length;  3,900+ words of pure smut

Kink(s); Daddy and Sir kink

Originally posted by minyoongiaesthetic

Previously;

Yoongi bit his lip and grinned; he loved seeing you cry, seeing your tear stained face filled him with this near orgasm-inducing amount of ecstasy. “Let’s show them what-” He softly teased while lightly brushing the floggers vicious tails against your bare, abused flesh. “-a good little slut you are for Daddy, shall we babygirl?” 

Though you wanted to say no, you just couldn’t find your voice. A stifled whimper flowed out of you as you peered up at him. 

He had both phones in his hands and after a couple minutes, he turned to you with a huge smug grin across his face. “They’ll be here in ten minutes babygirl..” Yoongi’s pompous chuckle filled the room as he combed through his hair with his slender fingers. 

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The world of Pixar’s Cars is pretty much exactly like our own, but with one key difference: Humanity has been replaced by sentient cars who murder the ozone layer with every breath. Other than that? Same shit, different body shapes.

Now, consider the backstory of one character in particular: Sarge. Sarge is an Army Jeep who was built (Born? Bred?) for war. Specifically, World War II. His primary purpose is slashing the tires and fuel lines of German Panzers. According to the Blu-Ray extras, Sarge loves talking about his WWII days, “Like the time his tank friend lost his track in the Battle of the Bulge, and Sarge had to tow him to safety.” That means even the battles are the same across worlds. Even Sarge’s license plate refers to the year of the Pearl Harbor attack – the year America officially became part of the war effort.

And you can see that, apart from the fact that it was fought entirely by motor vehicles, everything about WWII appears to be exactly the same. Which … very strongly implies that all of the atrocities of WWII also happened, only to cute whimsical cars. Nazi Volkswagens rounding up poor, innocent Opels and sending them to the scrapheap. Vintage Mazdas, their paint still scarred with radiation burns some 60 years after the Nagasaki and Hiroshima bombings. Even airplanes are sentient in this universe, which means some of them personally dropped those bombs.

A ‘Cars’ Holocaust? 5 Insane Implications In Famous Movies 

Bright as the Night Sky (Part 10):

Wow! 10 chapters in! I didn’t think this fic could be so long! As always I assumed it would be this short sappy fic and then I just get carried away with the scenes and the characters so here it is! 

Shout Out: @sparkleywonderful @dr-woodsprite @iwouldtrustmylifetohagrid @fck-tamlin @the-bookish-soul @cchcutie @mm23219 @feyreismeiamfeyre @rowanismybae @daughterxofxnight @acourtofrunesandwands @acourtofwishesandrhys @theatrebabe224 @dragonbound135 @acourtofredqueens @iamanthophilous @feysandfeels @feysand9299

Sections:

[AO3]:

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

Part 5:

Part 6:

Part 7:

Part 8:

Part 9:

Part 11:

Part 12:

Part 13:

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Watery Grave

Paul Lahote/ Twilight Imagine

The Reader resists the imprint, much to Paul’s chagrin, as she wants to keep her independence

Ive never done Twilight before so here’s a shot at it

You tried to ignore the chill that ran up your spine, not because the breeze had picked up and the sun had shielded itself with a cloud, but because you watched the last of the pack swim toward their net destination, a flat rock 30 yards away, you realized not only that you we’re alone with your imprint, but his increasing proximity. Refusing to turn around, you felt the old dock shift as he moved, his weight causing it to shift and groan.

“We have to talk about this.” Paul murmured lowly, though his voice seemed to roar in your ear. Your eyes fell closed against it, against him. He tentatively touched your arm, so you had no choice but to face him, albeit stepping back as you did so. It was hard to notice that the laughter and splashing that accompanied the rest of the boys had died out, meaning they had either continued their journey across the rocks that jutted out from the water, or, more likely, they were watching the two of you, waiting for a favorable outcome.

“No we don’t, I’m going to continue to pretend it never happened and you should consider doing the same.” Your voice sounded harsh in your ears but you willed yourself to stay strong. The idea of being an imprint was new to you, not something you couldn’t handle but it had been so sudden. One minute you we’re just a normal kid, offering witty commentary for your merry band of idiots you called friends, but now, now it was something else. Now they all looked at you differently, as if you were different, as if you were his and they were afraid to get too close. You just wanted it to be the same as before.

Paul had taken a step closer, craning his neck down to look at you through long lashes, and you tried to ignore the fluttering and burning that stirred in your chest. This aching, radiating burn happened whenever Paul was around, as if your body was trying to tell you something your mind wouldn’t accept. Within a moment, your logical sense kicked in, you were not a prize to be won, something to be claimed as a mate.

“That’s not how this works and you know it.” he said, an edge to his voice that was all too audible.

“And yet that’s how it has to be.” You state lowly, and before he could respond, looking at you tentatively with his lip caught between his teeth, a wave sent the dock lurching, throwing you off balance and straight into your imprint. His arms braced you as your legs fought for balance, and it wasn’t until you looked up that you realized he was looking at you as if he intended to kiss you, and when he tilted his head, to your horror, your observation became a reality. For a moment you considered it, some invisible force tying you together, drawing you into him, closing the gap

With a gasp you pulled away. You had let yourself get too close. All the things you detested came back. The idea that someone was clipping your wings of freedom, splicing away your individuality, all without a word of consent from you. Like an arrangement beyond your control, you were expected to accept your fate tethered to this supernatural being, to this supernatural life you neither asked for or we’re interested in. You stumbled backwards on the still unsteady dock.

“No, no i can’t, I didn’t ask for this, and I cant, I cant think with you here, I can’t be here” You couldn’t bear to wait and see the look on Paul’s face as you delivered what seemed to be the final blow, so you turned as gracefully as you could manage and dove into the water, hoping the frigid temperatures would awaken your senses and clear your head. You swam more gracefully than walked, quickly moving toward shore without needing a breath. As you went to kick to the surface, your ankle burned and stayed in place. Reaching down, you noticed the small clasp was stuck on something tethered to the ocean floor. Pulling and pulling, you almost gave up, no use in dislodging whatever was anchoring you to the ocean floor. In a last ditch effort you tried to slip the anklet over your foot, but it proved to no avail, as it was a well fitted as it had been the day it was given to you. Your lungs started to scream as panic set in, images of your watery grave flashing before your closed eyes. You had used so much energy flailing and fighting to unhook yourself, your lungs ached and burned and your we’re simply exhausted, and your mind started to fog. You could’ve sworn you heard a splash close by but it was likely your imagination as you slipped into the dark unconscious.

Sputtering for air, you lurched forward, couching out what seemed like half the ocean in your lungs. Your trachea burned and a strong hand came to gently back your back, trying to help your breathing return. An unseen hand wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and when you looked up, you saw the familiar face of Emily, who nodded and moved to stand beside Sam, who was amongst the rest of the pack, drying themselves a ways away. Looking beside you, you found a sopping wet Paul, eyes brimming with concern. He cared, he cared as more than a stupid imprint, he actually cared about you. You realized, a sense of remorse threatening to pull you under.

“I, uh, I’ll just” Paul started awkwardly, and made a motion to leave, and after your last conversation, you couldn’t blame him. Reaching out, you clasped his forearm, and pulled him closer,

“Stay” You said, voice still weak after the burn of the ocean water. Without saying a word, Paul moved closer, allowing you to bury yourself into his eternally warm chest, and the safety of being held and the security it brought, was enough to lull you towards sleep. This was it, this was what you had been searching for, but you were too busy running from Paul to acknowledge the potential brilliance of your relationship, the way it felt right, like two puzzle pieces finally interlocking, like everything would be alright again. Clutching him tightly, you murmured, “I think I might love you.” as you fell into the sleep that was beckoning you into its arms, and just as you were about to give into it, you heard a low rumble, “I think I love you too.”

anonymous asked:

I don't know if you're doing song prompts, but if you are, could you do Bellarke to She is the Sunlight? 😊

A/N: Because I hate myself and everything about the emotional turmoil these fools put me through ever week #IfIHaveToSufferWeAllHaveToSuffer

And if loving her

Is heartache for me

If holding her means

I have to bleed

It’s chaos. Complete and utter madness. The shrieking of alarms letting them know the Death Wave is looming, crashing down any second. The way their feet pound as they run, their frantic intake of sharp breath and quiet hisses. The rocket is packed, necessities and people alike. Through their suits, sweat dampens their brow and slides down their backs. 

And yet…. She stands there in the middle of it all, helmet off, a serene look on her face.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bellamy demands.  Why is she just standing there? A totally blank stare mares her face as she looks right at him. Like she sees right into him. It makes him shift uncomfortably.

“Trying to remember,” Clarke replies, absently. 

This is no time for nostalgia. 

“We’ll remember later. Right now we have to live, Princess.”

He grabs her hand to tug her along behind him as he climbs up into the rocket, but her fingers slip deftly out of his, pulling him back around and towards her. She stands on her tip-toes, barely even reaching his shoulder, and presses her nose against his collarbone. Breathes in deeply. Once… Twice. 

“Clarke…” His voice is hoarse. 

As much as he’d love to just freeze time and hold her, breathe her in like she’s doing to him, kiss her… He shakes his head. 

He can’t. They can’t. 

They don’t have the time. 

“I’m right behind you,” Clarke whispers, releasing him. 

He believes her, foolishly, until the second the rocket door slides up behind him. He shouldn’t be surprised, this is Clarke after all, but he’s in shock. So shocked that when he looks through the tiny window and out at her, his brain can’t process what he’s seeing. He looks around at his equally horrified friends faces as if to ask that they are seeing the same thing he is. 

I’m sorry, she mouths.

No. 

Her hand comes down around the button that will fire the rocket up and into space. 

She can’t be doing this. 

To herself.

To him.

To them.

“Clarke!” Bellamy screams. His fists come pounding down on the rocket door, willing it to slide back open. 

She has the Nightblood, but she’d been sick just hours before. Coughing up blood, her skin practically sizzling with radiation burns. She’s staying behind for whatever reason, some Clarke must-atone-for-her-sins logic, but there’s no guarantee at all that she’ll be able to make it. 

If anything, she’s practically good as dead.

May we meet again.

And then her hand is slamming down on the button and everything is moving even as he continues to scream and beg and plea. It’s violent and brutal and deafening. Everyone is screaming around him, desperately clawing for something to hold onto. A life-line.

He numbly looks at his hands. Even through the material of the suit he can feel they are slick with blood. 

He just left his life-line down on Earth.


—-

Then I am a martyr

Love is to blame


She hurries through the trees, the fresh bark pulling at her fingertips. A warm colored yellow sun catches the gold of her hair. Her breath quickens as she pushes herself.

Faster, faster, faster.

The ever-present countdown in the back of her mind is slowly winding down. Closer and closer it calls, nearly here.

She grips the walkie tightly in her hand, bursting into the clearing where she left the rest of her gear earlier. She can’t hear them yet, but maybe soon. Hopefully soon. 

Clarke crouches down, begins fiddling with all the little dials and switches. God, she hopes today is the day. 

It has to be. 

There’s only the sharp whine of static coming from the radio in her hand, but there’s always static. Every single month, every single year. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually she has to hear something. 

“Hello,” she says, hesitant. 

She’s so sick of her voice being the only thing she hears. 

“Hello, this is Clarke Griffin. I repeat, Clarke Griffin. I’m alive. I’m still here.”

She waits.

And waits.

And hopes and prays. 

And waits and waits and hopes and prays and she does it every single week. Hope is exhausting and she doesn’t think she can take it anymore. Hot tears slide down her cheeks leaving a burning trail behind them. She let’s out a frustrated grunt and brings the walkie to her forehead. 

She should just end this torture. Throw the damn thing away and never come back for it. 

But the what ifs are too strong even on her most bleak days and she can’t help but wonder if they made it. If they survived and are ever going to be able to come back to her. 

“Please,” she cries. “Please, I can’t do this alone anymore.”

Her chest heaves as she struggles to inhale, to breathe. Panic is settling in. 

And then, remarkably, the static stops. 

“This is Bellamy Blake,” a voice breaks out, strong and clear. 

His voice. 

“I repeat, this is Bellamy Blake. I’m coming to get you, Princess.” 

anonymous asked:

Did they got back to Paris? or they decided to stay in London? Does Sirius meet Marlene and fall helpless in love with her? Does James buys all the stock of red paint in europe just to paint as many portraits as he can of Lily? anyway you're an excellent writer. I'm here for all the new stories or continuations you want to make. Love your works xx

  • they go back to paris. once the seine is in your veins, it stays there. 
  • but they take the boys when they go back, and james’ mum comes and visits and james takes her on long walks through the green green gardens, holding her hand.
  • (when she dies, they fly her body back and bury her next to his father, but after that, james has nothing left for him in england.)
  • the boys become a part of life in paris, with their own flat (a lot bigger than lily and james’) and they meet lily’s friends
  • sirius doesn’t fall helplessly in love with anyone, but he and marlene do go shopping for ridiculously priced clothes and spend days eating macaroons 
  • james paints and paints and paints, until all of paris is in his sketchbook, until all of paris is in their flat, lining the walls, so when lily wakes up she doesn’t see her kitchen table but the palace of versailles and when james takes a shower he looks at the arc de triomphe through the steam
  • he gets a tiny gallery…. so small it’s barely noticeable from the street
  • but people come. people can’t stay away. 
  • they come for paris and they come for her 
  • the girl in the paintings with fire on her head and trees in her eyes and who seems to radiate from the canvas, burning burning burning 
  • sometimes people see her in the gallery, smiling, holding james’ hand, radiating in real life as well
  • but not all of his paintings of her hang on walls
  • some of them stay private… just for them… the one of her sleeping, naked, gently, looking like a nymph wrapped in cotton sheets… the one of her laughing, cupping her tea in her hand and laughing so hard he’s scared her ribs might crack…. the one of her and his mother, holding hands and leaning together as if they know something the rest of the world doesn’t…. the ones where lily takes up the whole canvas, when james has to go out and buy more red paint once, twice, three times a day, the ones he can do in minutes because he knows her so well, the ones he slaves over for days because he wants to get her perfect
  • yes. these ones stay private. for them and only them.
  • and when he’s ready, he gets down on one knee and asks her to let him stay forever
  • and she says okay.
Bound By Chains - Chapter 21

Pairing: Eric/OC
Fandom: Divergent
Rating: M

She’s bound to a monster. And he has personality issues.

A/N: Thanks to everyone still following the story. There’s only 1 more chapter left! Can’t believe we have come so far already! Grab yourself a cuppa and get comfy for this emotional ride!

I just want to say a huge thanks to everyone who has helped and listened to me ramble on! You’re all stars!

Tags: @dauntlessmetalmom @equalstrashflavoredtrash @badassbaker @red-diary @pathybo @murmelinchen @insertamazingwords  @feminamortem @halefiresurvivor @suchlonelymuchsoul @elaacreditava @lauraaan182 @synnocence @jcause @glittergiirlgg @platitudinise @frecklefaceb @mimigemrose @sparklemichele @beltz2016 @ariwolff14 @queensoybean @impalalala6799 


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