remind me to never use a brush again to ink something as little as this


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

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

“Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.” -Sylvia Plath

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader
Word Count: 7,774
Chapter Index
◇ Soulmate!Au, Slowburn, Angst

Warning: Depression and death mention, underage drinking, please take this into consideration before continuing. 

If the kink forming in his neck, and the uncomfortable sitting position he’s in says anything at all – it is that for some reason unknown to him in his half awake, half asleep, groggy state – is that he isn’t in his bed.

The second thing he notices is that even though he lacks a blanket, he’s comfortably warm. And within a moment, as his ears perk up to his surroundings and he starts to hear the hushed whispers of two people in the same room as him – he remembers what had happened.

Keep reading

Saudade [1]

pairing: Jungkook | reader I Yooongi
genre: angst (Soulmate!au meets Hanahaki!au)
word count: 3.327
warnings: none
author’s note: Hellooo, Toombler! This is the first instaallment of the Saudade series (Whoot Whoot) I’m warning you guys now, i have no plot, idk where i’m going with this. Let me know if you guys want another part to this! xxx

Series: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3


Saudade;                                                                                                           ↪ The feeling of intense longing for a person or place you love but is now lost

The sky was a painting tonight.

You marveled at the beautiful twilight hues. Shades of violet bled into the indigo sky, creating bridges of colours you could only describe with the paintbrush in your hand, and the canvas in front of you. You mixed and created shades of pink, purple and blue you could not name. You paid no attention to that, art did not need a language; it was the expression of what words fail to communicate.

Art is an entity of its own.

Like you.

Many described you as wild – you were as wild as the winds that blew the curled red leaf in the air.

You watched the sun in front of you dip below the horizon like a candle being extinguished. You dipped your own brush into the paint and brushed it across the canvas, now adding the finishing strokes of cerise and amber.

You gave your painting a final look before setting down your paintbrush.

You huffed. In front of you was no match to what you saw a few minutes ago. You could never paint the splashes of colours you formed in the sky. The true and raw beauty of the sunset could never be captured. That is by you – a self-proclaimed artist.

It was rumoured that everyone has a different sky that is shared with their soulmate – except all celestial objects stay in the same position for everybody, so weather is not affected. Everyone has the ability to draw on the sky, making splash of colours or little notes for only them and their soulmate to see.

You shivered from the chilly winds as they ran across your skin. It was exhilarating as it was terrifying. You were currently situated at the rooftop of your art institution. Every evening, you came here and tried to create a somewhat decent painting of the evening sky. And every evening, you failed.

You mastered the skill of painting fruit baskets and fields of flowers. You could recreate the face of a person you had met for the first time with deadly precision. So why could you not paint something as simple as the sunset? Children could paint it. Hell, Kindergarteners could finger-paint the sunset, yet you couldn’t. Why?

Walking to the edge, you gripped the thin metal railing. It always amazed you at how fast the night changes. Now, as you looked at the early night sky, all traces of the colours had bled into one – a magnificent shade of midnight blue. The cold winds of nightfall pierced the thin layer of your shirt. You wrapped your hands around your body as you attempted to warm yourself. In vain, you rubbed your hands up and down each other until you felt a hint of warmth spread across your body.

The night held so many mysteries.

You turned around to wipe off the wet paint on your palette and you put it, along with your brush, into your bag. Slinging the back on your shoulder, you picked up your easel and walked to the room across from you. The room was small and mainly used for storage. Sometimes, you would find couples inside it. Those encounters never ended well.

You made a silent prayer in your head as you turned the brass door knob to the room. To your surprise, the light was already on. You could’ve sworn that you turned them off when you came to get the equipment. Hesitantly stepping inside, you put down the easel at the back of the room.

Whoosh, the door closed. The sound made you jump and you heard a deep chuckle come from beside you.

You let out a shriek as you made eye contact with none other than Jeon Jungkook.

“Jungkook!” you shoved the boy in front of you, “you scared the shit out of me.”

“Oh Y/N! Y-you s-should’ve seen y-your face,” Jungkook tried to imitate your reaction before he doubled over with laughter once again. “Oh man, y-you looked s-so terrified,” he spluttered.

You felt a smile of your own forming before you crossed your arms together and bit your lip. You tried your best to stay mad at him. You never could, but you tried. Every time.

Jungkook’s  amber orbs blazed with the golden light of a summer evening. His eyes reminded you of a sunset – no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t manage to look away.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N,” Jungkook waved his hand in front of your face. You snapped out of your trance and shifted your gaze from his face to the ground.

“Hey, Y/N, are you okay? Did I go too far? Do you want to hit me? You can hit me, just don’t hit my face. It’s the only thing I have going for me,” he offered you a comforting smile.

His smile alone was enough to make you feel better.

You shook your head and opened your mouth to speak, “Jungkook, just… don’t scare me like that ever again.”

He nodded and moved across the room. You thought he was going to leave until he walked back to you with a brown bag in his hands. Instantly, the smell of Tteokbokki hit your nostrils and you felt your mouth water a little. You hadn’t eaten since lunch. You reached out to take the bag when it was pulled away from your grasp.

Nuh uh,”Jungkook waggled his finger at you, “first, you have to show me your painting. You never show me your paintings of the sunset.”

“Um, no. There’s a reason why and that’s because they’re all trash. Absolute trash.”

“You’re being way too critical of yourself. Your paintings are never short of amazing.”

“But you haven’t seen these ones, that’s why you’re saying this.”

“Then show me,” Jungkook said.

You took a hold of both of his hands and looked up at him pleadingly

“Jungkook… please don’t make me.”

He huffed and looked away. You wondered what he was thinking about.

You heard the rustle of the paper bag as he handed it to you. “Thank you, kookie. I owe you one,” you said as you took a bite of the soft rice cake.

“Don’t thank me, I know you hadn’t had dinner so I brought you some food. It’s what friends are for,” he shrugged his shoulders as he reached for a rice cake.

You momentarily stopped chewing. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach drop in disappointment every time you heard that word.


The two of you walked out of the room and sat on the cold, concrete floor.

The night sky was a sharp contrast to the once melodic array of warm colours – it was now black as ink, the only light illuminating from the stars.

“Hey, Jungkook.“


“Remember the Twinkie on the bus? The one I gave you in second grade?”

“The one you found on the floor and gave me without telling me? Nice.”

You grinned and gave him a rice cake. “It never really fell on the floor. I made that part up.”

You couldn’t see his face but you could tell that he was smiling.

“Hey, Y/N”


“I-I think that I’m going to tell Hyojin that I love her,” he had mentioned out of the blue.

Your chest tightened, the same way it did when Jungkook first told you about his crush on your sister. You felt a tingling, itchy feeling clawing up your throat and stopping midway. It felt like a hairball that had been stuck, but you managed to swallow it down with some water. You sat still, vision blurring, and in that moment, you heard your heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower’s stem.

“Y/N, are you okay? You look like you’re –“

“I’m okay, Jungkook. I just choked a little on the rice cake when I tried to talk at the same time,” you lied, clutching the brown paper bag resting in your lap.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow but did not question further. “Well, what do you think I should do?”

“You should do what you feel is right.”

You couldn’t make out Jungkook’s face. You only saw the highlighted parts of his face as the moonlight shone down upon him.

“What do you think is right?”

“It doesn’t matt—“

What do you think is right?”

You sighed, “you really love her, don’t you?”

“With all my heart.“

“Maybe”, you said gently, “you’re trying too hard to hear it. Don’t say it yet.”

Jungkook’s face fell faster than a corpse in cement boots. You saw his body go rigid, his mouth hung with lips slightly parted and his eyes were slightly widened at your statement. Slowly, the shock wore off of his face and was replaced with a gaze that felt like an act of violence – a glare to stop your heart. You heard him as he scoffed, “…unbelievable.”

You felt your temper rise at Jungkook’s audacity to scoff at you, “what? You asked for my opinion and so I gave you my opinion. Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

Jungkook laughed heartlessly, looking down at you as if you were a complete stranger. “I’m going to tell her,” he said with an air of finality and a tinge of annoyance directed towards you.

Instead of lowering your head you lifted it, a stony glare carved into your dark eyes. Anger blurred your sight but you tightened your jaw and glared at him, “and what am I supposed to do? Sit by while you date other girls and fall in love with someone else and get married?” Your voice tightened, “And meanwhile, I’ll die a little bit more every day, watching.”

Jungkook turned, but too slowly to be normal. When he spook his voice trailed slowly, like his words were unwilling to take flight. There was a sadness in his eyes, the brown too glossy, “Y/N, p-please, stop. Y-you’re just…jealous, just admit it,” you heard the slight hesitance in his words. “You know what, I’ll help you find someo—”

“Yes! I’ll admit, I am jealous. I’m jealous of every minute you spend with her, of every concerned expression you send her way, of every tear shed, of every glance, every touch, and every thought. I want to rip her to pieces and purge her from your mind and from your heart. But I can’t.” before you could register what was happening, your brain made a decision of its own.

“Y/N, please don’t—“

Words flew from your mouth that you never thought you’d even think, let alone say out loud. You knew instantly from the look in his eyes that they’d hit their mark. In that instant, your relationship shattered into glassy shards. Nothing would ever be the same again.

“I love you,” you blurted out. “I-I know you don’t love me, so don’t say it back.”

Jungkook shot up, his tall stature looming over your own. You stood up beside him, with your arms crossed and your eyes locked on him. It takes him a while to realize that you weren’t joking. You got up on your feet, standing a few inches away from him. "J-Jungkook?” you placed your hand on his arm in an effort to comfort him. Jungkook shoved your hand away.

“Don’t touch me.” Just a few words, but they brought tears to your eyes. You never thought this was how it would feel to have your heart broken.

“Jungkook, please. Don’t do this.” You pleaded him as you covered your face with your hands and wiping away your tears.

Oh no! I’m not doing anything here. I told you not to say it and yet you still said it.” Jungkook was now shouting at you.

“I’m sorry,” you sounded like you were choking on your tears. You never could keep your emotions under control; you couldn’t fight away the tears. You stepped forward, trying to reach out to him. Jungkook put his hands in front of him, halting you from taking another step.

“I said don’t touch me,” Jungkook’s voice cracked. Under the moonlight, you could see that his cheeks reflected your own tear-stained ones.

You didn’t try to get closer to him again. You sat down and tucked your knees to your chest, putting your elbows on your knees, and covered your face with your hands, then started to breathe slowly.

Silence gnawed at your insides. It hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. You needed to fill the void with sounds, words, anything. The silence was poisonous in its nothingness, cruelly underscoring how vapid your conversation had become – it clung to you two like a poisonous cloud that at any moment could choke the life from them.

You couldn’t stand the deafening silence anymore. “Jungkook,” you whispered, not daring to look at the face in front of you. “I-I love you and I can’t stop loving you. You overtake my affections and leave my heart in shattered disarray of pieces. Every single time you steal a part of me, you make it impossible for me to put myself together. I know you can never love me and yet I always delude myself in the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, you’ll learn to love me back. Why is that? Perhaps I hope that you return what you’ve stolen. You never do. You smile, and it’s intoxicating. Your fingers brush through my hair, and it’s addicting. You laugh, and it’s contagious. You and your flirtatious self. But I know, and you know that you could never — would never return the love I shared with you.”

“You love Hyojin,“ you continued for him. "I know. Y-you’re in love with…her,” the bitter taste of those words lingered on your tongue.

Your eyes met his warm brown ones. “Yes,” he whispered, his lower lip trembling. “It’s her. It’s always been her.”

Jungkook’s words fell out of his mouth like vapour but landed in your guts as shrapnel. You felt your insides tear, and the blood drain from your face. You would have laughed but he was dead serious. His eyes were cold like you’d never seen and his features immobile. He handed back the painting you gave him just yesterday and you let it fall as soon as its weight had hit your palm. There was the mute sound of paper on cement but neither of you moved to pick it up. You were trying to understand the words he told you but you couldn’t. Then he turned to go, shoulders sunken and his hands in his pockets. Before you knew what you were doing you were standing in his way and locked eyes, the perfect distance for a kiss, but he shook his head. You could see your pain mirrored in his dark eyes.

“I’m sorry that I love you, Jungkook,” you said through your tears.

“Y/N, please. Let me go.”

“I can’t – not like this. Let’s talk about this. Please.”

There isn’t anything to talk about.”

Jungkook’s eyes were trained on some invisible specter behind you. His heavy eyelids took a fraction too slow to blink, his irises too stationary. It was as if his brain was suffering a massive short circuit and was struggling to compute. You moved into his line of sight, touching his cheek with the side of your thumb, your lips forming a pensive grin. Jungkook’s head tilted upward to your face, his eyes sliding into focus. Your voice came out in a breathy whisper, “can I just have one kiss?”

Jungkook made no motion to move and so, you leaned in. all of your senses were screaming at you to pull back, to step away from Jungkook – your sister’s boyfriend. And yet, you couldn’t. You knew he didn’t love him back, but you couldn’t resist. You leaned in a little closer, your foreheads touching. Dear god, you couldn’t fight against the thoughts that were going through you. His very smell was flooding his senses now.

“No!” he seemed to snap out from whatever trance he was previously in. “No, I thought you were my friend,” Jungkook yelled. He pulled himself away from you as if he touched a hot coal. Jungkook turned around and made a mad dash towards the exit.

“Wait! Jungkook,” you called after him. “Please,” you closed your eyes, pleading.

He didn’t.

you belong among the wildflowers

Summary: Emma Swan’s life has been far from easy. Neither has Killian Jones’. Through a handful of meetings, a couple tattoos, and some fantastic music, maybe they’ll find a happy ending. (CS Modern AU heavily inspired by the music of Tom Petty) | Rated GA, 7k | tw: minor mentions of alcoholism

a/n: HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, HOLLI!!! aka @mryddinwilt​ I started planning this AU quite a while ago, in honor of our shared love of “Wildflowers”, but then it kind of spiraled when I sat down to write last Monday only to learn of Tom Petty’s passing. So this is kind of double duty as your bday present and an ode to one of my all-time favorite musicians.

thank you to @shipsxahoy and @optomisticgirl for looking at this!

Hope your day was amazing, Holli, and hope you enjoy this! Thank you for always being an encouraging, awesome person!! <3

“You belong among the wildflowers…you belong somewhere you feel free.”

She wasn’t sure when she first heard the song. It must have been on the radio when Emma was a kid, in one foster home or another. The memory was fuzzy, but the sentiment was clear: that she deserved to be happy one day, and to have love and peace.

Those all seemed like things well out of reach for a 16-year-old runaway orphan, but it was a nice thought. And a wildflower was as good as anything else to get a tattoo of, especially when the main goal in getting a tattoo was more just getting one out of rebellion than wanting it to carry any specific symbolism. Who knew, though? Maybe she’d eventually get that.

At least, that was what she told herself as the needle stung the skin inside her wrist. She liked to think she was tough, and she’d certainly been hit harder, but—ow. Oh well, it was probably due punishment for using a fake ID to get it in the first place.

On the other side of the dingy parlor was a guy who couldn’t be more than couple years older than her—fresh out of high school, probably, since it was early summer—also wincing through the work being done on his forearm. But when he realized she was staring, he sent a sly grin and a wink her way, making her blush. What? He was cute, even if his “beard” was patchy stubble at best and doing nothing to mature his babyish features.

He left halfway through hers being done, but was smoking against the building outside once she finished, with a guitar case propped against the wall next to him.

“Want one?” he offered, holding the pack out to her; she didn’t realize she’d been staring again. She also had never smoked before, but—eh, what the hell? She strode forward and, as expertly as she could manage, slid one out of the box and held it between her fingers like she’d seen done so many times. He deftly flicked his lighter and she lit the cigarette, then brought it to her lips and inhaled…and then sputtered and coughed once the smoke hit her lungs, which was received with a deep chuckle.

“First one?” he teased, blue eyes laughing. Her response was continued coughing. “Well, you never forget your first.” She glared. “Don’t breathe so deep,” he offered, his accented voice turning gentle.

Once she’d regained her faculties, she tried it again, doing as he said. She wasn’t a fan but it was definitely better.

“There you go, love,” he cheered, sounding almost proud.

“Not your love,” she threw back.

“Fair enough.” She joined him against the wall and they settled into an easy silence. He didn’t have to say anything for her to get the sense that they had more in common than being freshly tatted; the fact that he was alone, too, spoke volumes.

But then she nearly jumped when he introduced himself. “Name’s Killian; Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan.”

Keep reading

This Is Us- Chapter 18

Operation Lard Head

Catch up on earlier chapters here Chapter 17, Chapter 16, All The Rest

There were moments when Jamie had to literally bite the inside of his cheek to stop the words I love you from slipping off his unguarded tongue.  

If it were up to him, he’d have married her the first morning he woke in her bed. Instinct warned him to go canny.  Claire never discussed her marriage or break up with Frank except in the broadest of terms and that worried him. Jamie sensed the struggle inside of her. He just didn’t know if she was wrestling with a broken heart or her own demons.

They had a couple months to plan, to dream, to just be. He wanted every single day of that time for them, to have her to himself, to become hers.

In the fall, Faith would be transitioning to preschool. Jamie knew that before they picked one that she’d be happy in, they would need have a plan to handle the public aspects of what was going to happen.

There was no question in his mind about amending the birth certificate and he didn’t think in Claire’s either. If anything their relationship solidified their unity of thought. The key point of decision lay in the timing. He delayed the discussion wanting them on solid ground as a couple first.

Claire thought she’d understood what being in the whirlwind of the press once more would be like. Jamie knew different. It was going to be like living in a fishbowl and, with no false modesty, he understood he was a big fish in a small Scottish pond.

For all its salacious aspects, the press coverage on her was relatively tame. She had been the flavor of the week with the press striking then moving on quickly. They might have come back around a few times smelling fresh meat but again, it was hit and run. Jamie garnered a certain amount of coverage all year round and there was no way to escape that fact.

Complicating matters, Slainte was picking up market share faster than projected. Jamie was facing considerable pressure to expand operations to meet demand.

A rival company, originating in France with a product name of Babbelas was attempting a run at Slainte. Jamie had Geneva and Geillis researching both its ingredients and following the money behind it’s development.

On top of that they were having some trouble ensuring consistency of vendor deliveries to keep production schedules as planned. The pressure cooker was about to heat up. He could feel it coming.

Jamie dragged his mind back to the conference room table where he was meeting with Murtagh, Fergus and the rest of creative.

“The concept tested well across nations in the focus groups.” Murtagh told him.

“I’m not surprised, ye did a good job, rehearsals tomorrow?” Jamie verified.

“Aye, we’ve plenty of space in the lunch area and it’s not too complicated. I’ll hold our wee camera, it’s not exactly commercial quality but good enough and we have a bit of editing software for a rough cut. I’ll be able to show you those by the end of the week in case we need to do any fine tuning. We booked the studio with their in-house crew directing and doing the sound for the top of next week. We’ve time enough to get it right before the pros take over.”

“Operation Lard Head?”

“I canna help it, the name just stuck.” Murtagh smiled.  


By mid-morning on the following day Jamie had already put out two fires, metaphorically speaking. Mrs. Fitz had been just as frantic as he and was giving him the old rolled eye from the inner window that let him look out onto the rest of the floor.

Now they were having a problem with their Osha supplier. It was one of the special herbal ingredients that made the product work so well.

But it was hard to grow in controlled settings and could only be cultivated in the wild in certain parts of Canada and the United States. Their last delivery was low, even  factoring the seasonal ebb they’d been warned about this month. If their next delivery produced similarly low numbers, they would end up short during this critical production period.

Jamie’d spent the last twenty minutes trying to chase down the head of the supply company that was giving him the runaround. He left messages three places offering to meet in person.

Half the team was working on tracking down an alternative Osha supply but right at the moment, this man was his only source of supply. The rehearsals were scheduled to begin in a half an hour and that had been occupying the rest of the team.   

Jamie’s skin prickled just then and he looked up completely astonished to see Claire, coat half on, cheeks red with exertion, Faith in tow, striding around the corner with Faith’s purple backpack in hand. Mrs. Fitz was just about to launch into gatekeeper mode when he leaned his head out of the doorway.

“What’s wrong?” He called out as he reached out to hoist Faith up and ushered Claire through his door, closing it firmly on Mrs. Fitz’s openly curious stare.

Faith gave him a loud smack on the lips in greeting and he smiled even as he checked her out. She seemed fine to him.

“Jamie, I’m so sorry. I know, I wasn’t scheduled to go in today and the daycare is closed for a professional development day. But a man I operated on two days ago needs to go back under It’s a tricky procedure. I really have to be there. The Crookes just left to go visit their daughter. I misplaced my phone and couldn’t call you in advance—-”

He put Faith down on the floor and his arms around her.  “Shhh,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead and hugged her briefly.

“It’s fine, Sassenach.” Jamie wasn’t sure how he would reorganize his day, but there was nothing else to be done.

“I know it’s dreadful timing. I feel awful about just dropping in like this. I packed a few toys, her iPad and a lunch.”  Claire apologized again.

“Go, we’ll make do. Tend to yer duties.” He reassured her, smiling down at Faith, “the lassie and I will be fine won’t we mo nighean?” Faith nodded up at her Da with an answering smile of her own.

The last thing Claire needed was to expend precious time and energy worrying about him or Faith. She needed to focus on her surgery, especially if it was delicate enough they’d called her in on her day off.

Claire reminded Faith to be a good girl as Jamie opened the door to let her go. She kissed his cheek with another word of thanks and started down the hall. She brushed by Geneva on her way called out rushed hellos and disappeared around the corner.

Mrs Fitz was just about to launch into the third degree when Geneva cut her off, striding into Jamie’s office.  

“Is Claire ok?” She asked puzzled at seeing Dr. Beauchamp at Slainte.

She’d thought Jamie was dating her but he’d never said as much and she hadn’t seen Claire since Quarter Day.

Her eyes spotted Faith standing a little behind Jamie.

“Oh, goodness, what a pretty girl. Is she Claire’s?”

“Aye.” Jamie said, it wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth.

“She is really quite impressive, isn’t she?  It’s a bit intimidating knowing there are women like Claire in the world. I can barely get out of my own way most days and she is a doctor and a mother? Well, she at least gives me hope that it can be done!” Geneva smiled as did Jamie. Geneva was crazy for children, always had been.  

Geneva knelt down on the carpet in front of her.

“I’m Geneva, what’s your name?”


“That’s a lovely name. How—–”

Jamie wanted to cut off the cross examination from his legal eagle and interrupted the conversational flow.

“Did ye need something Eva?” Geneva was momentarily distracted but did look up, suddenly remembering that she had come in on a mission. She reluctantly rose to her feet.

“Yes, actually, the Osha supplier says he’ll meet with you but he’s got a plane to catch later today and he’ll be out of Scotland for the next month. You’ll need to leave in fifteen or twenty minutes to get to him on time.”

Iffrin!” Jamie exclaimed.

“I know but at least I convinced him to meet with you before he left. We still don’t have Geillis’s analysis of the Babbelas product. The interruptions in deliveries might be unrelated, but if they are squeezing the market, we have to be prepared. You already know how difficult it is to find reliable sources for it. We have to keep our current supplier happy.” Geneva smiled with some sympathy as Jamie ran his hand roughly through his hair.

“Aye, Eva, I thank ye for setting it up. I’ll let you get back to your day.”

This was a very pointed dismissal and Geneva could not ignore the command. She gave one last lingering look at Faith and went back to her own office.

Well, no help for it, ten minutes later, Jamie dropped Faith off with Ian.

“Uncan!” Faith exclaimed, wide grin of greeting.

“Neath!” He gathered her in a huge hug.

Murtagh was passing by as Faith started chanting Da, Da, Da.  He quickly looked over his shoulder as Angus and Rupert rounded the corner and scooped Faith up to distract her while Jamie extracted himself and made ready to leave.

“MurTagh, Tagh, Tagh, lass.” he said emphatically, hoping to disguise her vocalizations as Jamie walked out of the office. He needn’t have bothered as Angus and Rupert were wrapped up in an argument over who was going to say which lines.


The group had made good progress running through the various ads targeting the expansion into European markets through the United LQ deal inked earlier in the year. Murtagh was reluctant to continue going over lines.

Angus was a natural, not giving a care to the presence of the camera but Rupert was clearly not comfortable in front of a lens. He would look at the camera in such a way that made the viewer acutely aware that he was ACTING! That wouldn’t do at all.

In order to break Rupert of his self-consciousness, Murtagh decided to project the feed onto two monitors mounted in the lunch area so they could see themselves and just let them talk as they normally would, no thought to the camera. He hoped it would desensitize the experience for Rupert.  

Rupert had dressed in jeans and a dark green Slainte t-shirt.

Angus, on the other hand, collected off beat t-shirts and today’s choice was a brown tee that read:

All Mushrooms Are Edible…Once.

This one courtesy of MoTown Mushrooms, a small specialty farm in Vermont.

The two of them were arguing the finer points of why Spongebob looked like a kitchen sponge even though his parents had been free form sea sponges resembling  loofahs.

“I’m just saying it’s a recessive gene, that’s all, like a bairn having blue eyes even when the parents dinna have them.” Rupert was explaining.

Behind him, Murtagh heard a sharp cry of alarm and then Ian’s unmistakable gait as he hurried along the wood floor toward Jamie’s office.

Remembering that Faith was their unexpected guest for the afternoon, Murtagh left the camera rolling on it’s tripod and pivoted to lend a hand.

“Here, Mrs. Fitz, let me just wrap the towel and hold tight, wee bit of pressure.” Ian was saying as he wrapped the hand in a kitchen towel and held it up and over her head for her.

Murtagh saw Mrs. Fitz sitting in her office chair with long faint streaks of blood running from hand to wrist.

“What’s amiss?” he asked.

“The letter opener, the one shaped like a dirk?” Glenna was saying, her eyes still wide and pain-filled. “It’s as sharp as a wee stabbie, slipped and cut my palm.”

Several minutes passed and still they couldn’t stem the bleeding. By this point Faith had come out of Ian’s office to see what was happening.

“I think we need to take her to the clinic, she’ll need stitches.” Ian confirmed as he lowered the dish towel the third time to verify that the bleeding wan’t stopping.

“My auto is a stick shift. I don’t think I can manage to—”

“No, dinna fash, Glenna, Ian will drive ye there and then take ye home in his car, we’ll get yours to you later tonight when we check on ye at home.” Murtagh kissed her cheek lightly. “I’ll tell Himself what happened. Ian I’ve got Faith, ‘tween Fergus and me she’ll be fine. Just make sure Glenna is seen to, aye?”

And with that, they managed to gather Glenna’s belongings up and get her down to the parking area and off to the clinic.

When Murtagh returned Egg Head and Lard Bucket had moved on to discuss the relative merits of Scottish industry in the world.

Fergus, pragmatic to the core, decided he couldn’t be two places at once. He needed to be in the lunch area observing the dynamic duo, taking notes, catching anything they said that might be used in later ads and needing to tend to the lass.

Well, so. The lass was hungry, she had a lunch box, they had a lunch area, he needed to be in the lunch area ergo….He and Faith sat a bit to the side at a small table  slightly off-camera. Geneva had just placed her lunch on the same table and was moving the chair out to sit down to join them. Faith was sitting on a few large directories, a makeshift booster seat but just as captivated by the entertainment in front of her as everyone else.  

In fact, now that he’d taken the time to notice, Murtagh could see several other people from the company engaged in similar activities of eating and smiling along with Angus and Rupert as they bantered with one another.  

Angus was moving his hands about as he interjected, “and I’m saying thanks to Scotland, the world has whisky, penicillin and insulin, telephones and faxes, golf and bicycles, postage stamps, television, the steam engine and—–” his voice rose up in dramatic tones, “the cure for the common hangover!”

“Weel, so we do but that’s mostly self defense.  Did you know we hold the record for the longest running hangover in the world?” Rupert informed him.

“Go on wi’ ye?” Angus wasn’t actually surprised by this fact.

“Lasted four weeks.” Rupert confirmed. “Ken, it seems as if we do have a lot of words for drunk in Scotland.”

“Ye think ye have good recall of them?” Angus had a familiar, speculative gleam in his eye.

“Better than you!” Rupert confirmed, just warming up. Doing this sober would make for a change.

“Oh? Let’s hear it then, I’ll give ye a fiver if ye can break my record of 30.” Angus bet but then added, “Pub conditions, aye? Thirty seconds, no repeats and in alphabetical order.”

Rupert grunted. He moved his head from side to side, cracking his neck. The lunchroom was crowded with colleagues drawn by the internal feed from the monitors and money was starting to change hands along the sidelines.

Angus looked at him, “Ready?” Rupert nodded. “Ok, 3, 2, 1 go!”

“Badgered, banjaxed, bladdered, bleezin’, blootered, buckled, cabbaged, goosed, guttered, hawf-cut, hammered, lashed, leathered, mangled, minced, mingin’, oot yer tree, pished as a fart, rat arsed, reekin’, rubbered, sloshed, steaming, stocious, tanked up, warped, wasted, wellied.”

The crowd broke into cheers and applause.

“Oh, 28– too bad ye just missed it.” Angus announced.

A smattering of nos! And money changing hands once again, a reckoning for the winners and losers in the crowd.

Rupert had worked up a sweat but his competitive spirit was awakened.

“Two for one ye cannot do better.” Rupert challenged.

“Yer on. Prepare to weep, my lad. Ready?” Angus widened his stance, danced a little like a boxer entering the ring.

“Without repeating any of mine.” Rupert reminded him.  

“Like I need to use yours? Ok and….Go: awa wi it, Bernard Langered,  disguised, etched, fecked, foo, footered, howlin’, legless,  jaiked up, mad wae it, mashed, minkit, monkey full, mortal, nicely irrigated, oot the game, pie-eyed, paralytic, pickled, plastered, rendered, ruined, stewed, stottin, steamboats, tooteroo, torry-ed, tramlined, troubled,  zombied!” A huge cheer broke out. Angus had defended his crown matching his record!

Rupert laughed and congratulated him. They pulled up two chairs, still on camera and sat down.

It was clear Rupert had long since forgotten about the lens and was perfectly at home now. He pulled out a ten, handing it and a cold can of Slainte to Angus.

At this Rupert tapped his can of Slainte against Angus’s and said, “Slanj!”

Angus pulled his can back last minute.

“Oi! Whatcha doing? Ye don’t say slanj that’s what a bawheeded twonk or an Englishman on holiday says!” He looked truly put out.

“Stop being a tosser!” Rupert retorted.

“I mean it. If yer no’ going to say it right I’m no going to stand wi’ ye on the telly.” Angus declared.

“Christ man, the wheels turnin’ but the hamster’s long deid.” Rupert shook his head.

“It’s slahn-ja-va, no’ slanj. And ye put the accent on the wrong end!” Angus insisted.

“Ye witless bawbag, that’s what I said, slanj.” Rupert went again to clink the soda cans.

“Have ye no pride, man? That’s no’ a proper toast, and ye dinna ken how to clink the can proper either.” Angus was disgusted.

“Yer being a twatwaffle.” Rupert told him.

“Ye clink the top of the can and the bottom of the can for a proper toast.” Angus informed him.

“Says who?” Rupert was genuinely curious.

“Me granny, that’s who. Always, tops and bottoms. Even with the wine glasses. Like so–” at this Angus demonstrated, clinking first the top rim and then the bottom of the can and repeating, “Tops and bottoms! Now, you give ‘er a go.” He encouraged.

Rupert looked askance at him. Angus nodded and Rupert drew in a breath.

“Aye, weel, as Homer Simpson says,

‘To alcohol! The cause of – and solution to – all of life’s problems.’”

Then Rupert tentatively reached his can over to Angus and clinked, “Tops and bottoms!”

“Hey– that’s no’ good. Ye need a better toast than that!” Angus admonished.

“Why?” Rupert asked to Angus’s deep sigh.

Angus shook his head so the back of his hair swung free of its thong. He cleared his throat and held up his can, seeing others gathered at the tables raise their drinks to join in the toast.

“He is not drunk, who from the floor,

Can rise again and drink some more;

But he is drunk who prostrate lies,

And cannot drink, and cannot rise!

Tops and bottoms!”

At that he got many around the room clinking tops and bottoms of their improvised drinks be they in glasses and cans and bottles.  Rupert was grinning, enjoying the opportunity to watch Angus in his element, and stone cold sober at that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rupert saw Faith tentatively approach with her juice box in hand. He smiled at her.

Murtagh was about to run forward and pull her back, though what he would do with her he didn’t know, everyone else was gathered in the lunchroom and, no fool Faith, she wanted to be near the action.

He let out a small cry of alarm when Geillis reached her hand out to him from behind. He hadn’t even heard her approach. She was carrying a thick folder, no doubt some kind of analytic report for Jamie.  

“Whose child is that?” She asked staring. “I swear I have seen that hair before.” This said in a speculative tone.

“Ah, that is Faith, she’s Claire’s daughter. Claire had an emergency and Jamie offered to cover but he’s meeting with the Osha supplier.” Fergus supplied from behind them.

They all stood round the camera watching the monitors. Some people are naturally more photogenic through a lens, Murtagh thought, and Faith was luminous.

Her pink cheeks and bright green jumper set her skin and hair off beautifully. Every eye was on her and the conversational hum of the room seemed to quiet.

“Oh, apple?” Rupert was asking Faith as she held up the box for his inspection.

Rupert gently touched his can to her juice box, “Cheers!”

He made to clink tops and bottoms with her, Faith complied but had an odd look on her face.

“That’s no’ what my Da says.” Faith informed him.

Murtagh felt his heart literally stop in his chest. Praying that Rupert would be his usual un-curious self he chanted please dinna ask in his head over and over.

It was now completely silent in the room.

“Oh?” Rupert’s only response.

“He says lang time deid.” Faith announced.

“Aye, lass that’s an old one, right enough.” Angus put in just as Faith reached her juice out to tap Rupert’s can once more.

Just then Angus let out an enormous burp, surprising Rupert into releasing the loudest fart Murtagh had ever heard. Both sounds amplified by the microphones they were still wearing.

Not missing a beat a tiny, delighted voice squeaked out into the silence.

“Tops and bottoms!”

To the raucous delight of the crowd who all toasted that one.

“What the hell are ye doing!” Jamie hissed from right behind Murtagh causing the man to jump ten feet off the ground in fright.

Were his compatriots at Slainte trying to give him a heart attack?

Murtagh noticed that Jamie hadn’t yet registered Geillis’s presence, and he wasn’t sure whether Jamie had noticed how packed the lunch area was.

Murtagh quickly grabbed his arm,  nodding in an exaggerated way at Fergus indicating he needed to corral Faith as quickly as possible, as he shoved Jamie out of the doorway and back toward his office.

Jamie backed down as soon as he saw Fergus moving toward Faith and allowed himself to be borne back. When they were safely in his office, with Faith and the door closed, Murtagh filled him in on what had happened with Mrs. Fitz and Ian.

“The truth is I wasna focused on the wee lassie, Angus and Rupert had gotten going and it was like the floor show at a Vegas casino. Everyone was caught up in it.”

“I ken, it’s fine, Murtagh.” There was no point in getting upset. Jamie sat Faith on his lap and pulled out some sticky notes and colored pencils for her to play with while she sat with him at his desk.

“Even if some suspect, and I don’t why anyone would, no one here would breathe a word. They are loyal, we are a family.” Fergus reminded them.

Jamie looked one to the other.

“It will come out anyway, at some point. My only concern is that Claire feel herself ready for it, that it no’ come as a surprise. She had some bad experiences before with press.” Jamie explained.

“She is right to be concerned.” Fergus agreed. “It could make things hard for Faith in school or with friends.” Seeing Jamie’s stricken face he quickly added, “But she’ll adjust with time and be fine.”

Just then Geillis knocked on the door, Jamie beckoned her in with a wave of his hand as he nodded for Murtagh and Fergus to go, thanking them for watching her.

Geillis rarely sat for meetings and this one was no exception. She dropped the folder on his desk and began pacing but her sharp eyes watched as he took in the contents of her report.  

“Not a duplicate of our formula.” He observed.

“True, I think the combination of herbs is quite standard but there is an ingredient that I can’t unmask. The analysis isn’t exact, it breaks things down but doesn’t necessarily tell me each combination that made up the formula they are using.”

“Our Osha supplier swears he isna selling to them, do ye believe him?” Jamie asked.

Geillis laughed, “I wasn’t there, you were, you tell me?”

Jamie gestured to the report, “According to this, the answer is no.”

“Not for that specific product. But you can buy an ingredient and compound the raw material with another and create something that masks itself in the testing.”

She looked thoughtfully at him. “But you know, if you wanted to, you could interfere with the supply chain of a competitor just for the hell of it. What would stop someone from buying it up to choke off availability and just holding it for a time, disrupting the production of a competitor even if they themselves don’t need the ingredient? They can create chaos and later on can resell the product if they don’t need it to recoup the money they spent, meanwhile their competition is weakened.”

“Christ, ye are a devious wee thing!” Jamie said, not without admiration. “And if ye wanted to pay them back in kind, what would ye do?”

“I would hit them sideways, but not in the way you are thinking.” She said.

He raised his brows.

“They will expect it, you see. And to be honest, based on my testing there is nothing unique or even proprietary about their formula. It would be a waste of time and money to try and create a similar problem for them. You need to find a different pressure point.” She mused. “What has Geneva dug up on them?”

“Nothing yet, she’s still chasing the subcorps down through Nevis and the Caymans. There are several layers of subsidiaries to peel away.” Jamie was frustrated.

“No one is that good at hiding, something will turn up. In the meantime, we need to focus on ensuring our suppliers are delivering on time and in the amounts we need. I can reformulate a little bit using what we have on hand without impacting effectiveness, the taste might be a little different but not enough that a normal consumer would notice.” She offered.

“Do what ye can.” Jamie decided, taking another look through the report.  Geillis’s back was to him, looking over the floor.  

Just then Faith piped up, “Park?” Jamie half heard her. “Pease?”

“Hmm? Aye, mo nighean. Let me just finish up.” He said distractedly.

Geillis half turned to him, “Shall I leave you to it?”  

“Aye, thank ye, Geillie, I’ll catch up wi’ ye tomorrow.” Jamie said as he maneuvered around Faith to return the folder to Geillis as she was exiting the door.

Jamie had to fire off a few emails, update Geneva on his conversations with the vendor and return a half dozen calls, one of which was to Ian. He had just dropped Glenna off at home, four stitches and some pain meds but she was feeling fine. Geneva and Fergus offered to take care of Glenna’s car.  Everything else he needed to tend to could wait until tomorrow.

“Ready, lass?” He asked as soon as Faith had finished packing everything back in her bag.

“Yes, Da! Park and ducks!” She urged, pulling him along by his hand.

Arwen falls in love when she is just ten years old, with the gardens of her father’s home. She likes the smells and the flowers and brushing her hand against the petals’ silk-soft flesh.

But autumn comes to Rivendell and with it, the gardens wilt, and the flowers fall dead at her feet until she cries under the withering trees.

Galad,” her mother says, wiping the tears from Arwen’s cheeks like they pain her. “Why are you sad?”

“I do not want them to die,” Arwen says, cradling what is left of her first love; half-hearted blooms crumbling in her hands.

“Ah,” Celebrian hums, a melodic sympathy. “What a tragedy it is, to love what does not last. How fortunate that you and I will live forever.”

But what good is living, Arwen thinks, if it causes this much pain? 

Her brothers bring her yellow flowers from Lothlórien, which do not die even as they rest on her window sill for many years, but it is not the same. She knows now, what loss tastes like, and so she is not the same, either.

Arwen falls in love again when she is two hundred, in the midst of adolescence, heart overflowing with a song she cannot name. She is in Lórien with her mother and her mother’s mother, and her grandmother’s guard Eregwen.

Eregwen is silver-haired with stern eyes that feel like frost on Arwen’s skin whenever they catch her. She is tall and strong and can shoot three arrows one through the other in the time it takes to blink. 

“She is also old enough to be your mother,” Elladan laughs, plucking a golden apple from the tree above their heads.

“Or grandmother,” Elrohir adds, always quick to join in teasing her.

Arwen glares at them both. “What do you two know about love, anyway?” Her brothers have had no great loves of their own, more interested in things like war and glory, fingers inching towards their swords even in their sleep.

When she confesses her love to Eregwen and gives her the bracelet she’s made from a lock of her hair, a token of her affection, the guard accepts it, as graceful and stoic as always, and her refusal is not unkind. 

And when Eregwen dies later that same decade in a skirmish with some orcs, Arwen weeps bitterly into her bed sheets though she hasn’t thought of the guard in some years.

Even immortal things are unsafe, she’s learning. There is no soft place to rest her love so that it may not break.

Arwen falls in and out of love enough times in her life to lose track. For she has such a very long life, and time is a difficult thing for immortals to keep track of. It moves differently for them, sometimes stretching languidly in a century that feels like one honey-sweet summer, and sometimes falling over itself in a jumbled up rush. 

She is closer to three thousand years old than not by the time she meets the boy called Hope, the false son her father brought home to Rivendell for safe-keeping, as if he was some rich trinket rather than a child. 

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Winter Bones [ Jeon Jungkook ] 1/3

Originally posted by kdramagif


Rating : PG-13  | Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

Summary: SOULMATE AU!   “It won’t disappear, you know. The pain?” She added with a knowing smile as she gestured her chin towards his mark. Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.  “It just gets less painful. But it won’t disappear.”

A.N : Set in the same universe as hymne à l'amour  Let me know what you think! Not really proof-read to there may be some mistakes (Will edit more later)



Jungkook’s soulmate’s name appeared on his nineteenth birthday, a minimalistic typography that looked more like some aesthetic tattoos his classmates had gotten during a summer break instead of a soulmate mark. He expected searing hot pain on his wrist that morning, or a prickling sensation that his friends had felt when they got their mark. He even half-expected nothing, preparing himself to live a life without a mark like one of his friend whom he loved so dearly. No one told him about the sharp and icy pain on his wrist right before the mark appeared. Not even Seokjin, who gave him a complete lecture on soulmate, told him about a dark blue mark and the biting pain that reminded him of a winter day. It took him a minute to noticed the name written on his wrist, another minute to felt his heart sank, and an hour spent in the bathroom, trying to scrub away the name, leaving his wrist red and raw.

Jimin was the first one to caught a glimpse of his mark that day, despite Jungkook’s attempt to cover it with his sleeve and a black watch. His eyes were bright with happiness that Jungkook envied as he hugged the younger male and congratulated him.

“That’s great! We should celebrate it!”

“I have an extra class, hyung. We’ll talk about this later, yeah?” Jungkook smiled and made his way to the front door.

“Oh sure! Happy birthday!” Jimin shouted before Jungkook closed the door behind him.

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{ five’s company }

t/w: none

french used:

bonjour - hello

oui - yes

mon cher - my dear

magnifique - magnificent

comment allez-vous? - how are you?

mon coeur - my heart

au revoir - goodbye 

inbox || masterlist


Lafayette needed a break. After being on his feet for almost half of the day, he finally had a chance to take a breather and retreat to the bathroom. He washed his hands, splashed his face, and tried to wake up. He missed his boys. He missed you. 

A newfound energy came about him when he looked at the time on his phone. He was almost done. This was his last assignment then he’d get to be home. He thought about going to Hercules’ studio. He just wanted to be near one of you and since Hercules had the most flexible hours, it wasn’t like Hercules could really get in trouble for having his boyfriend in his office. 

Plus, maybe he could look at the pretty dresses and nice suits his boyfriend made. 

If not, he was sure he could at least pop in to see John or Alex. Mr. Washington was a dear friend to him and he was sure that the older man would be more excited to see him rather than immediately ask him to leave.

He decided to go to Hercules. Maybe they could get lunch together. 

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Title: Seduction

Summary: His mission was to seduce the angel, not to fall in love with her.

Characters: Natsu, Lucy, Zeref, Erza, Jellal

Pairing: Natsu/Lucy

Genre: Romance/Comfort

Word Count: 1,107

Also found on

“I don’t understand, Natsu.”

Onyx eyes snapped open at the sound of his name, peering up quizzically at the gorgeous angel. Her head hovered above his, her golden hair like a curtain around the duo, the tips of them tickled his chin. “What dontcha understand?”

With his horned head laying on her lap, her slim fingers absent-mindedly threaded through his thick, pink hair. He didn’t complain as he felt her red painted nails scrape lightly against his scalp. She dragged her hand around his slightly curved horn down to his ink-stained cheeks as she answered his question. “Why haven’t you completed your mission yet?”

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Crumbs- Percival Graves (Part 1)

Pairings: Percival Graves/OC

Warnings: None, unless you need a warning that Percival will slay your soul with his perfection. 

Request: “SOMEDAY KILLED ME. I’m typing from the grave … to request more Percival, because I can’t deal. Maybe something with 50/102? (I’m weak for danger-dodging kisses.)”

50. In order to avoid a dangerous situation, both characters are forced to stay hidden in a small, enclosed space.

102. “Kiss me, quick!”

A/N: AH what is wrong with me? Why am I such a jabber jaw? I literally can’t write anything short to save my life so consider this the first part of a two part series. Hopefully I’ll have the next one done tomorrow. Once again, I’ve made up some characters and something for the sake of the plot but hope you don’t mind. Eek!

The sound of tiny, flapping wings was incessant. I narrowed my eyes, rolling up the sleeves of my cardigan, because now I meant business. The paper currently fluttering over my head, which had been intricately folded into the shape of a bird, didn’t seem at all phased by this. I had already decided to jinx whoever had thought it was a great idea to send me a memo and then charm it to act like an utter idiot when I tried to coax it down from the ceiling. It had to be a joke. I was sure that when I finally got my hands on the paper and opened it up, there would be a big ‘HA’ written in bold, dark letters. It would take some investigating to figure out just who the culprit what. It was a good thing that was what I did for a living.

“Alright, you stubborn piece of crap.” I muttered, brandishing my wand toward it. “Accio memo!”

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A/N: So, this is my first smut, and I’m super nervous about posting it. Sorry if there’s any mistakes, it was a bit rushed since I wanted to finish and submit it in time for Smut Week. So I did the best I could, especially since all my knowledge of what sex is like comes from fan fiction or friends. Hope you enjoy some AU Negan!

Summary: Being the kind and helpful student you are, you join Coach Negan after school to help grade some Health quizzes. One little accident occurs, and one thing leads to another.

Word Count: 3,033 words

Pairing: Teacher! Negan/ Student! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal sex, Oral sex, Inappropriate behavior in a classroom, Swearing

Tags: @negansmutweek @negans-network

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What’s Invisible to Others pt.1

Fem! Reader x Sirius Black

A/N: A little idea I had recently. Enjoy!

Summary: The reader is an artist searching for inspiration, and finds it when she spots a shaggy black dog.

Originally posted by breeleebooks

Why was this such an issue? You’ve never been without inspiration for this long. 

It had to be a conspiracy organized by the muses themselves! 

Now that you had the means to actually make a living as an artist, you suddenly lost the passion and inspiration to actually create something.

All your ideas were either cliche or failed to invoke the right emotions. They lacked that edge and creativity most of art pieces conveyed.

It also didn’t help that everywhere you turned you reminded you of your current crisis. 

You recently moved into a flat/studio. It was a spacious long room room with big windows. Your bedroom, living area, and studio weren’t exactly defined spaces, they all sort of blurred together. Your couch was covered in sketches and water colors, and the coffee table had random brushes and tools. 

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Dream Sweet in Sea Major 2

When considering traditional standards of beauty or masculine charm, the features that made Yagura recognizable were not often considered. A notable scar below the one eye, irises colored bleeding pink, and a diminished stature that confused him with children if viewed from behind. No, Yagura was not what tradition would call beautiful, but he was other things.

Among those things he was old, considerably old, and in all the years of his long existence he had learned how to be. He knew what angles worked for him, what lighting suited his features, and how to lower his tenor to a velvet edged voice that could turn razor sharp in a second.  He knew how to hold himself, how to dress himself, how to carry himself. He knew his worth and his worth was pretty damn high. The world was meant for him and was his. He acted as haughty as he pleased and the world slid right into his palm.

It gave him no little delight to be proven time and time again that the world was his to manipulate and take from as he pleased. The woman in the doorway seemed to do nothing more than stoke his already engorged ego.

There was blood across the floor and a dead hand under the toe of his designer shoes. Yagura leaned his head to the side and lowered his lids before lifting a rolled cigarette to his lips and cupping the end. A small burn of red and the end caught and began to smoke.  

With the toe of his shoe he poked under the dead hand and kicked it up so it flopped back down onto the face of the corpse just as he took a long drag to exhale in semi dramatic fashion. The woman in the doorway didn’t move, and her eyes were still glued in appreciation to his figure even though half the other employees were scared and hiding.

“That’s enough for now,” he said to the other boys, turning away so the tail ends of his jacket flapped like a cape behind him. It made his walk all the more purposeful as he walked past the hungry woman and left her wanting. He didn’t even glance her way as he called out to the boys behind him.

“I think they got the message here. We’ll be back in the hour though if they step into our turf again.”

“You think we needed to leave so few alive?” Haku asked in a clear voice that reminded Yagura of the ice.

“Ao?” Yagura grunted before exhaling smoke again.

Ao came up behind Hake and purposefully stopped to turn and look behind them before pulling his gun out from the front breast pocket of his gray pinstripe. He aimed in less than a second and recoiled only slightly when the shot rang out and sank into the woman in the doorway’s forehead.

Slowly, purposefully, Ao put his gun away and reached for his hat instead. The rack had all their hats, as well as a few others that would never be worn by their owners again.

Yagura fit his fedora and pulled the front down low over his eyes before stepping out. A thin mist had settled and every so often the rain would come and wet the world further. It was perfect weather and the Mizu boys were all the stronger for it.

Haku begrudgingly followed his betters out and kept his head down, least his questions lead to more avoidable bloodshed. One woman was too risky to leave alive if she sported a handgun in the belt on her thigh? Apparently.

Ao drove, but Yagura rode from the backseat and was the real directioner for their group. If he didn’t want to go back to Mei’s place than they didn’t have to. She was technically their boss and really the only person that could handle Yagura enough to boss him into doing things for her.

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anonymous asked:

Could you do a kitty first kiss fic pls?? I'm having a really bad day and I need something to light up my mode

I posted this on ao3 a while ago and I’ve been meaning to post it on here so here you go! 


Kit jumped from a rafter hurling a butterfly knife into a target with one hand and drawing a sword from its’ sheath with the other. He rolled into a somersault and came to a halt, panting.

He glanced at the target. The knife was stuck quivering a few inches from the center. He was getting better at that. A few more weeks and his aim would be perfect.

I’ll still never be as good as any Shadowhunter that’s been training since they could hold a knife. He thought dejectedly. He pretended it didn’t bother him, but there was a part of him that regretted the fact that even Tavvy was going to be a “better” Shadowhunter than him one day.

He flicked his sweaty hair off of his face just as a boot collided with his back. The impact sent him sprawling and soon after the weight of another boy was pinning him to the warped wooden floor of the training room.

“Ack!” Kit choked out. He twisted to see Ty’s solemn face staring down at him with a hint of amusement.

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Essays in Existentialism: FtWD II


Previously on FtWD

Even with the breeze wafting in from the ocean, the last bits of summer rage through the salt spray and blindingly blue sky. The trees all shake their leaves, filling the quiet world with the noise of their tap dancing feet while the birds cut through the wind and lazily squawk, half-hearted and disinterested.

“Not like that,” Elyza shakes her head. “Do it again.”

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anonymous asked:

You’re drunk and want my name tattooed on your ass. This is a good one to do...

I want to thank @lilbreck for always being in my corner even when I’m being a dummie about drabbles.  I’ve often said that she pulls me out of my personal bubbles more than she knows and this story is for her just because of that reason.

It’s a little over 4k so I’m gonna go under the cut so it doesn’t take up a lot of dash space. Though I can only be so sorry about it being grammarly incorrect so please excuse them. I will make up for it later. This can also be found in my new drabbles page Granted Wish on



“No one says ‘just one shot’ and really means it Care,” Katherine cries as she grabs Caroline’s hand dragging her up on the bar stool and finally the bar top.

Caroline laughs as Kat hands her a shot glasses filling it up as the next song starts up in the rowdy bar they’ve been in for, oh, four hours now. Their small drinks clink and it’s down the rabbit hole for Caroline as she swings her hips bumping along with Kat to the beat of the song. She keeps her head up dancing knowing Kat will never tire as she sways putting on a show with her footwork making the crowd cheer loudly along with her.

Kat reaches for her hand as the bartender scoots them off in need of room to serve the guests the pair of them have been entertaining making Kat roll her eyes and Caroline acquiesce to his need graciously. As graciously as a girl filled with whiskey and tequila anyway, strictly top shelf, she was raised right after all in the small town of Mystic Falls. Kat seems to disappear into the crowd leaving Caroline to hunt for a stray chair or table to wait for her so she can go home before she’s too drunk.

Her head sways to the new rhythm of the song playing, it’s one she’s heard for years and for some reason it makes her smile as Kat comes back holding two waters and two beers walking like she’s in a pool of jello. Caroline smiles reaching out to help her as they find a corner of the bar close to the digital jukebox she finds herself leaning on to start in on her drinks. The water is invigorating as it hits her tongue, the lively bar crowd doing a lot to keep her body temperature running high.

“I figured one more wouldn’t hurt,” Kat states as she sips from her beer nudging a smile from Caroline as the blonde shakes her head sipping her drinks with glee.

Caroline only knows three words an hour later, ‘one more beer’ as she observes Kat chatting up the brooding guy she had had her eyes on in the corner of the bar with way too much gel in his hair. Miffed Caroline realized far too late that she wasn’t going to come back with a bottle of water like she said when she sees Kat grab for his hand. It’s a sign that Kat has decided to leave with him something that is confirmed when Kat throws her a sly look and Caroline reaches for her jacket preparing for her journey home. Alone.

Caroline mouths to her friend she’s going home, no need to mention how annoyed she is that once again Kat managed her to move past her three drink max only to leave her high and dry. She counts her drinks, eleven, including shots. They shouldn’t feel this good, she thinks as she pulls her leather jacket back on knowing she doesn’t need it in the hot California air even in the dead of night.

She makes herself focus, knows that with every tap of her heels on the pavement she’s that much closer to her comfy bed she never should have left. Looking back when she’s down the block she discovers that Kat was quick about her escape to as she is nowhere to be seen. Looking back so swiftly makes her sway so she grabs onto the metal rails of a tattoo shop she always passes on her way to work.

Before Caroline can think about it too much she’s slipping inside as her eyes devour the brightly colored displays on the walls and even the front desk. Her eyes release the sketches only to find a man with plump pink lips and dark blonde messy curls atop his head with blue searing eyes focused on three sheets of paper over the front desk.

“Hey, I’m Rose,” The woman with the spunky brunette hair said in a friendly tone as Caroline waved, “I’ll be with you in a moment. Feel free to look around.”

Caroline smiled knowing she was acting drunk because she was staring not at Rose but at the man Rose was talking to and eavesdropping was not above Caroline, especially when drunk. She caught her say his name, Klaus, it suited him even though it made Caroline’s eyebrow rise notably. When he realized he had an audience in her Klaus waved her over, Caroline shook her head but Rose also waved her back to them.

Rose’s eyes flickered from her to him as the corner of her mouth lifted, “Maybe you can help us out,” she says as she slides the papers Caroline can now see are sketches over to her.

“Currently,” Klaus speaks surprising Caroline yet again with his British lit though if he sees her shock he doesn’t show it, “I’m unable to choose between three of these designs. So you can see why I need you.”

“Actually, I don’t.” Caroline squeaks sobering at the worst possible moment because his eyes are so incredibly blue and pleading, “I don’t even know why I came in here.”

“You’re here now,” he replies smoothly as Rose disappears into the back office, “And you’re wearing the shirt of one of my favorite bands -One of my favorite songs.”

Caroline looks down at the cut up yellow and blue Beatles shirt Kat sneered at earlier that evening, “What song?” she inquired only raising her eyes as he makes a noise sounding faintly of amusement.

“With a little help from my friends,” he answered with a bit of intrigue in his tone as he closed some of the space between them.

She rolls her eyes even though internally she’s interested in where he’s going with this, “We’re not friends,” she reminds him hoping she can blame her flirty tone on the alcohol.

His eyes narrow in her lips, her smile, “Give me time,” he tells her as she looks from him over at the sketches he’s kept near this entire time.

“Are these yours?” she asks surprised when she sees his name just on the edge of the paper knowing the answer already before her eyes lock back with his.

“When you make something, it becomes a part of you,” he explains, “That’s why it’s so hard to choose,” Caroline has already surmised this but she won’t mention it yet.

“I like the lines of this one,” she whispers in awe as her eyes took in the thin lines of the antique compass following with the words, ‘Wherever you want to go’ wondering what it might look like in color, “It’s soft almost like they’re just shades.”

“Is that the only thing jumping out at you,” he queries making her blush as his words his breath tickles her cheek, “I suppose I should consider it.” he says her before she can reply.

Rose pops her head back in to find Klaus has just decided, “Great, “I’ll get Trevor to start gearing up,” she tells him reaching for the design as his attention goes back to Caroline.

“Do you have any?” he probes and for a moment Caroline is lost about what he means making her blush profusely when she realizes.

“I have two,” she admits as he smiles in her direction, “Teenage rebellion,” is all she’ll say after when his eyes linger on the star by her toes.

“And the other is?” he asks as his foot sets itself in front of her own closing the rest of the distance between them as she lifts her hand to brush her hair back.

“Just there,” he breathes over her wrist making Caroline inhale swiftly at the feel of his hot breath over her skin, “beautiful.” Klaus compliments her.

Without touching her Klaus has a way of making Caroline feel warm all over making her slow drunken brain short circuit when he speaks again, “You’re welcome to one of these designs.”

“When you’re ready,” Rose calls from the further end of another room making Caroline jump back from their close distance, not an easy feat in her shoes.

“Klaus reaches out catching her arm before she can dive into the glass display next to them, “Um, thanks,” she manages out as the heat of his hands seeps into her body.

“Where are you getting it?” she tests straight after making him the surprised one for once and mentally she gives herself some points for fortitude.

Klaus winks as his hands ride off of her waist only to set his fingers on the hem of his Henley and pull it over his head exposing the other images already inked into his flesh, “Can you guess?” he questions.

Caroline’s eyes shoot up towards the ceiling as he strides around her leaving his sketches and his shirt on the desk leaving her spinning with possibilities. When she trusts that he’s been stamped and seated her greedy eyes search for his sketches reaching for his shirt. An involuntary shiver runs over her at the feel of the still warm fabric smelling so fantastic she has to remind herself of what she’s doing.

She smiles as Rose comes back in to help her wagging her razor perfect eyebrows at her, “Decide on one?” she asks as she reaches back into her little office to grab a hanger for Klaus’ shirt.

“I don’t even know that I want one,” Caroline articulates as she gives up Klaus’ shirt to the brunette, “I mean, they’re beautiful.” She compliments, “And I thought you couldn’t tattoo people who are drunk?”

“You don’t seem all that drunk,” Rose replied as she reached for the two sketches making Caroline’s hold on the edges become harder to escape from.

“Thanks,” Caroline says feeling the bite of her challenging tone as her eyes lock on the one sketch closer to the right replying in a defiant tone, “I want this one.”

Klaus’ deep pink lips form a stunningly broad smile when he sees her walk into the back, “Jeremy will help you,” Caroline hears Rose say as she removes her jacket exposing her arms to the cold room.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he teases as she takes a seat on his side waiting for Jeremy to appear so they can discuss where and how she wants it to look.

“Bite me,” Caroline replies making him laugh and making Trevor throw her a dirty look as Jeremy comes around the corner waving at her with Klaus’ sketch in his hand.

Keep reading


Here’s the promised continuation of my modern Feysand au that @feysand17 and a few anons requested! 

You don’t have to have read the first part, Cooking, to understand this one, but I would suggest it just for some back story. You can find it here.


Our boys’ night out had turned gossipy rather fast.

It never came as a shock when Cassian used the time he, Az, and I got together at the bar without the girls to talk about the girls.

Keep reading

Sisters (fluff fanfic (yes another one) to forget about 141)

“Onee-chan?” Hinami called out as she peered into her room. Once she realised touka wasn’t here, hinami took a seat on the bed, deciding it was probably best to just wait here for her instead.

Looking around, it wasn’t much of a room, considering it was a prison cell, but touka had clearly tried her best to make it as homely as she could. Her manga and books were scattered across the bed, a calender on a old dresser kaneki had found for her and a old kettle with two mugs set up on a small wooden table next to her bed. It wasn’t much and yet it still reminded hinami of the apartment she shared with touka for a short while.

Hinami wished she could go back to those tranquil days, living with touka, visiting her beloved cafe and being visited by kaneki. Even now, hinami felt the bitter pain of guilt that constantly reminded her that she left touka once to join kaneki and again to aogiri. Yet, despite all that, touka still forgave her and welcomed her back into her life, even if she didn’t deserve it.

It wasn’t long before hinami picked up the sound of more than a few voices from a few hallways away. It was the children and touka. With an excited smile, hinami jumped up from the bed and followed the sound to another spare room that the children slept in with the young kids seated in a circle around touka, who read one of the few children’s books they found in this junkyard of a ward.

“Hinami-chan!” The children yelled with excitement as they all rushed to her side, hugging her legs and all telling her a thousand things at once.

“Leave her be.” Touka shouted out. “Don’t suffocate the poor girl.”

The children took a step back and continued rambling. Hinami nodded along, not really paying attention and took a seat besides touka, the two girls smiling at each other before the children finally finished.

“The manager was telling us a new story.” Yuki told hinami with bright eyes. “Wanna hear it?”

“But I just read it.” Touka complained, throwing her head back dramatically. She looked back down to the children who continued to wait patiently, their eyes fixed on hers.

“Come on, Onee-chan.” Hinami nudged touka, a growing smile on her face. “I want to hear it too.”

With a frustrated sigh she opened the book once again, reading out the story softly with everyone listening intently. Hinami wasn’t paying much to the story, though. Instead, she thought back to how touka used to often lay down besides her at night and read her one of her books to help her sleep as a child, just like her mother had done. She could almost still remember the gentle tone she spoke with, the feeling of her fingers as they brushed through her hair and the comforting smile she always wore when she saw hinami grow more tired with every chapter.

Once touka finally finished the story, shutting the book, she told the kids to scat and play around for a while. They did as they were told, hinami already hearing the children squealing at they played a game of tag down the halls. Now it was only hinami and touka left in the room.

“You’re so good with the children.” Hinami commented, resting her head on her hand with a thoughtful look on her face. “You’re almost like a mother to them.”

Touka flinched, her hand unconsciously moving down to her stomach before she quickly removed it to brush back a strand of her hair.

“Is that so?” Touka laughed awkwardly, unable to meet hinami’s eyes. “Well what can I say? I’m a woman of all talents.”

“Can’t say you’re hairdressing skills have improved much.” Hinami giggled when she saw touka wince at her comment, trying to ignore the insult. “Or your cooking skills-”

“What is this sass I’m hearing?” Touka pinched hinami, who shrieked back, batting touka’s hand away. “Don’t make me draw on your stomach again.”

“That’s not fair. You drew in permanent ink too.”

“Serves you right for having your stomach exposed.”

They continued to tease each other for some time, laughing over the pranks they used to do on each other in their more younger years. It was so easy to forget everything when they talked like this and to just think back to the past, almost like this whole hopeless situation they were trapped in never existed to begin with.

But hinami knew better.

She looked down, falling into silence and bit the inside of her cheek, her hands twisted around the end of her blouse. Touka watched hinami fidget in her seat, taking one of hinami’s hands into her own and rubbing small circles with her thumb.

“What’s up, hinami?” Touka asked, with her eyes remained on hinami’s.

“It’s just…” She struggled to find the words, her lips quivering. “Can we ever go back? Back to how we used to be? I know it’s stupid, but-” she swallowed the lump in her throat, pressing her lips tightly together. “I’m just so scared that this- that we won’t-”

“Oh, silly hinami.” Touka kneeled down to hinami’s side, pulling her into a tight hug and squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s going to be ok. Even if times have changed, I’ll always be here for you. So don’t worry, little hina.”

“Sis.” Hinami whimpered. They pull back from their embrace, hinami flushed with watery eyes and touka smiled gently, brushing back hinami’s hair from her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Touka-chan, the children said you would be-” Kaneki stopped in the doorway, noticing hinami in the dim room. His smile was replaced with a concerned frown when he saw hinami wipe her teary eyes. “Hinami-chan? What’s wrong? Was it ayato? If it was ayato-”

“Slow down, idiot.” Touka rolled her eyes, standing up and pulled hinami up with her. “She’s fine, just a little emotional.”

“You sure you’re ok?” Kaneki asked again, walking over to the two girls. “If there’s anything I can do-”

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Touka cut him off, but edged a little closer until their arm brushed against against each others, kaneki’s eyes locking onto touka’s with a small blush.

“I’m fine, Onii-chan. Really.” Hinami nodded, pulling back kaneki’s attention but at the corner of her eye, she saw kaneki’s fingers laced in between touka’s. “I should be going. I promised ayato I would train with him.”

Just as hinami was about to leave, touka caught her arm. Hinami turned, her eyes widened at the thought that something was wrong, but relaxed when she heard touka whisper something in her ear.

“Stay strong, hinami. Everything is going to be-”

“Hinami!” Touka screamed, her arm reached out for her little sister as hinami felt something sliced through her, her body burnt with a sudden shock of pain that coursed through her body.

Hinami flew back and crashed down into the hard floor, blood spilling out her mouth. She brought up a trembling hand from her stomach, her fingers coated with red as the fear overtook the agonising pain.

“O-Onee-chan.” She croaked, hearing her sister’s distant voice pleading out for her. “I’m sorry. I..I wasn’t…strong e-enough.”

(I told you @mamasaiko)