ring shout

Trouble in Canada // 2

a/n: You all have been so patient and I know I’m a bit late (4 months late soz about that). Every single one of you have been so amazing with the support of this, and it blows my mind every time I get a notification that TiC got another note. And when I posted earlier today that I was posting it, I absolutely loved the response I got in my inbox.  It made my heart incredibly happy and with each message that came in, not gonna lie, i teared up a bit. You all have been so lovely and good sports (especially when i posted that fake TiC2 WHAT A TIME). So from the bottom of my heart, thank you for all the support. I have met some of the most incredible people through TiC and I cherish every single one of you. I feel so emotional posting this, but you all finally deserve the second part to probably the most angsty piece I have ever written (and will ever write omg).  So, please enjoy the second and final installment to Trouble in Canada :)

THANK YA TO MY LOVELY @whitechocolateperfection for reading over this and giving me confidence :) you’re the best and i love you a whole lot 

Trouble in Canada (1)  |  Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

“We need to talk,”

        Those four words held a weight so heavy that you lost your grip on your tea.  Your mug dropped to the floor, shattering in pieces and tea spilling all over the hardwood floor.  You immediately went to pick up the broken pieces.  On your knees, you picked up the shards of glass as Shawn was stood in the same exact position; not moving a single bone in his body to help you.

        Collecting all the tiny shards in your hand you swiftly moved past Shawn to go throw the pieces out in the kitchen.  You opened the trash bin, and right as you were about to throw out the broken mug, Shawn’s voice interrupted your movements, “Is that the mug I got you?  The one from our first Valentine’s day together?”

Keep reading

gods of wood and stone

(this may or may not ever turn into something, so I thought I’d leave it here as the product of my procrastination.)


Obito gets lost on the way back to the afterlife.

It sounds like the start of the worst joke ever, like something Kakashi would mock him for forever after finding out about it, but it is, Obito admits to himself with great reluctance, actually true. This is definitely not the Pure Land, Rin is definitely not waiting for him, and he is definitely alive, because apparently using Kamui to skip out on your path to the afterlife leaves you alive even when you don’t want to be.

The worst part is, Obito can’t even regret it. He’d make the same decision again, because Kakashi needed his eyes so he wouldn’t just stand on the sidelines like a useless lump or throw his life away trying to take a hit. With Kamui, Kakashi has a chance at getting them a victory against Kaguya. Without it—

Without it he’s dead, and Obito doesn’t need the blood of any more teammates on his hands.

Cursing quietly, Obito pushes through a particularly tight net of tree branches, trying to figure out where he is. Another dimension, he can tell that much—Kamui gives him a good sense of such things—but unless he wants to kill himself with chakra exhaustion he can’t teleport back out of it. He could try it to get back to the afterlife that way, or just use a kunai, but—

Obito is a stubborn bastard. He was fine dying to save his friend, because there was no other choice and he was dead at the end of the war anyway, but if he’s alive? Yeah, fuck that, Obito is going to survive. It’s what he’s always done, and even if it’s against the world’s best interests, Obito is going to keep it that way. He’s alive, and no one can take that away from him.

The forest thins out up ahead, the spaces between the tree trunks widening as the ground grows rocky, and Obito makes for it, hoping to find some higher ground so he can at least get a look at his surroundings. The earth is covered with old leaf-litter, soft and silent underfoot, and Obito feels like he should know it, like this whole area is familiar, but he can’t quite place it.

He rounds a thick stand of trees, pushes through a thicket of brambles that curl away from the touch of his Mokuton, and hears—

War. War like the one he just left, the one he started, but without the monstrous roar of the bijuu or the overwhelming lash of chakra from shinobi with no concept of human limits. The earth trembles beneath his feet, the air rings with shouts, and there’s a clang and crack of weapons meeting. Fire roars, the smell of scorched cloth and flesh rising in its wake, and there’s a loud cry.

A familiar cry.

Obito reacts without even thinking. He dodges around the last copse of trees, chakra already surging within him, and bursts out onto the battlefield just as there’s a flash of yellow light.

Years of learning how to craft a plan, how to alter it on the fly, how to act and react and take advantage of every skill he’s managed to cultivate—that’s enough to let him take in the fight in one swift glance, ignoring that fact that it should be impossible. Senju on one side, heavily armored and fighting desperately; Uchiha on the other, backs bared because their stupid pride won’t let them wear armor, but pushing the Senju back. Two sources of chakra brighter than the rest—one on the far right, two heads with long black hair, a dragon made of wood, a familiar gunbai and a curl of scorching flame. The other is at the far end, almost dead-center. A fading glow of gold, black hair, Uchiha symbol, and he’s turning but it won’t be fast enough.

But Obito has faced a man who’s even faster, and he can make it in time.

It’s nothing conscious that drives him—the connections are simpler than that. Half a moment to judge, another bare fraction of a heartbeat to let Kamui whirl to life, and there’s a beat in Obito’s blood that sounds like the cause the cause the cause. Nothing solid, nothing certain, but trained instinct and denial working in tandem as he whirls off the battlefield. A portal into the Kamui dimension, and almost before he fully materializes he has another forming, leading right back out, and he snatches up a staff from a pile of stored weapons and is gone. As soon as he’s through he shifts his body sideways, back into the other dimension as he phases through the man—no armor, just robes, and fuck but Obito can’t believe he’s part of a clan filled with such arrogant assholes, thinking they’re too good to wear armor in a fight—and brings the shakujo around.

A sword collides with it in a flash of yellow light, and red eyes framed by white hair go wide.

Obito snarls, in no mood to call for a truce here and now, and plants the butt of the shakujo in the ground. He leaps, using it as a pivot, and slams a foot into Tobirama’s armored chest with all the force of his chakra behind it. The future Nidaime goes flying, and Obito lands lightly, yanking the staff up as he turns.

Uchiha Izuna rounds on him with a victorious laugh, red-and-black eyes bright with triumph, and opens his mouth.

Obito sweeps his feet out from under him, dumps him on his ass, and buries him in grasping roots that drag him to the ground and pin him there. “When the hell is it ever going to be enough for you bastards?” he snarls right in the man’s dumbfounded face. “How many innocent people need to die in this stupid fucking war before you finally decide that you’ve had enough revenge?!”

There’s no answer, only blank gaping, and Obito growls, pivoting on his heel. Several knots of fighting shinobi are watching him with one eye, clearly wary, but not enough to stop their own battles. It’s not going to be enough to save them, because in a split second Obito has made up his mind. It’s a stupid decision, probably the worst he could come up with, but if there’s a chance in hell of stopping all of this before it starts, Obito will take it.

“Stay there,” he growls at Izuna, leveling his shakujo at him, and then turns. A burst of speed sends him hurtling right at a Senju kunoichi with her hair in a topknot and the ponytailed Uchiha she’s fighting, and he shoves right behind them, knocking the woman into the man and pinning them both with Mokuton. The Senju lets out a startled cry, but Obito is still moving. Branches and roots erupt around him, grabbing for shinobi without discrimination.

Those in Obito’s path don’t have nearly as much of a chance to fight back; Kamui makes him a ghost, and even when he’s tangible his speed leaves him all but untouchable. He plows through the ranks separating him from the other fighting pair, drives forward with a wave of Mokuton subsuming everything behind him. There’s a snarled knot of fury growing larger and larger in his chest, a twist of something that’s very close to grief, and he’s had enough.

With a shout, Madara shoves Hashirama away, then whirls in, sword sweeping down. Hashirama catches it on a thick burst of wood, shoving him back, and in the same moment Madara’s eyes flicker up above Hashirama’s shoulder, taking in the rest of the battlefield in an automatic sweep.

Obito, barely three yards away with his shakujo already swinging, catches his eye and bares his teeth in a wolf’s grin.

Oh, he’s going to enjoy this.

Hashirama must see something in Madara’s face—either that or his instincts give him warning, but Obito likes the idea that Madara’s dumbfounded expression serves as warning enough. The man ducks, rolling to the side, and the ring of the shakujo sweeps across the space he just occupied. It just misses Madara as he leaps backwards, a fireball bursting from his lips, but Obito phases right through it, landing lightly and spinning the staff through his fingers.

Madara feints left, but this is man who trained Obito to begin with, almost a century younger and far less skilled, and Obito easily spots the misdirection. He lunges the opposite way, catches Madara’s sword when he reverses directions, then twists past the blow, drives an elbow into Madara’s gut, grabs him by his long, thick hair, and uses it as a handhold as he spins, knocks Madara’s feet out from under him, and drags him down to the ground.

From above and behind him, there’s a cry, and Obito wrenches the sword from Madara’s hand, keeping the other man pinned with the shakujo against his throat, and half-turns to level the blade at Hashirama. It taps the Senju’s chest as he pulls up short, eyes wide, and Obito snorts.

“One move and I’ll happily put another hole in this waste of space,” he growls, seeing the way Hashirama’s eyes flicker from him to Madara and back.

Hashirama stares at him for a long moment, then nods and takes a careful step in retreat. One half-glance around them and he says very quietly, “You have Mokuton.”

Madara makes a sound like a pissy cat dropped into a pond. “You have the Sharingan,” he spits, as though this personally offends him. “You’re an Uchiha.”

“And that fact has been responsible for pretty much all of the misery in my life,” Obito retorts, and for a breathless, terrible moment he’s back in that clearing under the full moon, a handful of seconds too late to save Rin from Madara’s manipulations. One blow and he can stop all of that here and now, can prevent so much of the pain that might come.

Hashirama must see something of that in his eyes, because he takes a quick stride forward, only to pull up short when Obito snarls and levels the blade at his throat again. “Please, don’t!” he insists.

“Get lost, Senju!” Madara snaps at the same time. “This is an Uchiha matter, I will handle—”

“Clearly it is a Senju matter as well,” Tobirama says coldly, coming to a halt a short distance away, but his eyes are on Obito’s sword where it touches his brother’s collarbone.

“I don’t think so,” Izuna counters, equally chilly and just as biting as he edges closer, Sharingan eyes narrowed and wary. “Just because some Senju bastard couldn’t take no for an answer when it was coming from an Uchiha kunoichi—”

Instantly Tobirama whips around, offended rage written clearly across his face, and he grabs for his sword, only to be pulled up short when Hashirama reaches back and grabs his wrist.

“But—” Tobirama starts to protest.

“Izuna,” Hashirama says, carefully even, and he doesn’t look away from Obito but there’s a spark of tightly contained fury in his dark eyes. “Mind. Your. Tongue.”

Izuna flicks a glance between Hashirama and Tobirama, swallows, and takes half a step away from them. “Brother,” he complains.

Madara gives Obito a dark look, but he doesn’t try to move. “You wouldn’t stand for such an insult to our clan, Izuna,” he huffs. “Don’t expect the Senju to have any less pride.”

Narrowing his eyes, Obito presses the shakujo in a little more firmly. “Don’t bother taking that high and mighty tone, Madara,” he bites out. “You’re the one I hold responsible for all of this, and I’m going to fucking take it out of you hide.”

Red-and-black eyes go wide, and Madara almost flinches away from him, hands rising in something like surrender.

Obito doesn’t want surrender, though. He wants to rip into Madara the way he wasn’t able to before, wants to get a hand in his chest and tear the heart right out of him, pay back every bit of pain that Madara inflicted on the world, through Obito and through Zetsu and by his own hand as well. Wants to rip and slash and hack away until this monster is nothing but a pile of bloody flesh, unable to hurt anyone ever again. It overwhelms him for the space of a breath, white-hot rage the only thing inside of him, and before he can think to stop himself he tightens his grip on his shakujo and—

Big hands grab him, one arm around his waist and the other around his chest, and with a jerk he’s hauled right up off of Madara, dragged back against a broad chest as dark hair tumbles around him. “No,” Hashirama says, halfway to a plea, and his grip tightens enough to force the air out of Obito’s lungs.

Obito freezes, stiff and stunned at the touch of another human. Years, it’s been, since anyone touched him to do anything but inflict pain, and his muscles go tense and tight in anticipation of a blow.

There isn’t one, though. No hit, no pain, no kunai slid into his kidneys to gut him and leave him for dead.

No pain, just—

A trickle, wet and hot, against the back of his tattered robe. Blood, by the smell, and since Obito doesn’t bleed anymore it has to be Hashirama’s, has to be from when he knocked the sword aside to save the man who will eventually kill him.

It’s too much. The thought of it, the reality of standing here over Madara, able to end everything before it begins, and Hashirama is the one to save him—

What Obito did, the people he killed—that’s on his head. But it’s on Madara’s too, on Zetsu’s, on Kaguya’s. Uchiha Obito should have died in a cave-in when he was thirteen, but he didn’t, and the reason for that is right in front of him. The reason he didn’t carved a seal into his heart, killed his best friend, and gave him a twisted, broken vision of the world as an illusion, and then set him to unmake it.

Obito is responsible for his own actions, and he knows it all too well. But Madara was the trigger. If Obito was the sword then Madara was the hand that forged and wielded him, and that has to mean he bears at least a part of the blame from the hell of the past few years.

No,” he snarls, and though he shoves backwards to loosen Hashirama’s grip and get away he doesn’t reach for Kamui, doesn’t try to hurt the man (again, again, something in him whispers, hurt him again you mean). “Let go of me! He deserves whatever I do to him!”

Hashirama’s grip isn’t harsh, but it is immovable, and he’s as solid as an oak as he drags Obito back another step. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “This isn’t the way.”

Naruto, Obito thinks, guilt and grief and regret and anger all wound up and tangled together. He curls his fingers into fists, takes a breath that vibrates with anger, and does the hardest thing he’s ever managed in his life.

He opens his hand and lets the weapon go.

RFA; jealous Mc

aaa hii :3 second one !! if you have any suggestions, please message of comment ^^


YOOSUNG

  • You overhear him talking on the mic, while you were decorating your office space with Polaroid pictures on the wall.
  • “Let me get your number!” You hear Yoosung say, as he quickly grabs his phone and inputs the number
  • Is that a girl he’s talking to?
  • Maybe
  • Probably
  • WhY
  • calm down, mc
  • “When are you available?” Yoosung asks through the mic.
  • You feel a grip on you chest.
  • While you were lost in your thoughts, Yoosung was fixing up his stuff, getting ready to meet up with this person.
  • “I’ll see you later.” Yoosung leaves, giving you a kiss on the cheek.
  • You then rush and put on your black dress, black sneakers and rush off to the mall, where Yoosung mentioned he was going to.
  • You spot Yoosung at this ice cream shop, waiting for someone.
  • Then, out of fucking nowhere, this girl comes and sits in front of him.
  • You rush home, and the rain starts pouring.
  • You get to the front of your house, and you realize
  • fuck
  • really?
  • You left your keys inside.
  • You couldn’t help but join the rain, and start crying.The tears fell off your face, along with the rain. Your hair was everywhere. So were your emotions.
  • After a few minuets, Yoosung comes back, getting out of the taxi, he rushes towards you.
  • “MC? What are you doing out here?” He asks you worried. He then carries you, unlocks the door and puts you down on the kitchen counter. He, like flash, gets you a towel. He helps you dry up, then starts heating water to make you hot chocolate.
  • “Are you going to tell me why you were out there?
  • You avoid looking at him, instead looking at the floor.
  • “I like your dress.” He says, stirring the mug of your hot chocolate. “I saw someone at the mall, wearing the exact thing, the same beautiful hair, the same sparkling eyes. Except, she wasn’t wearing the smile you wear.” He cups your cheek.
  • “Who was the girl you were with awhile ago?” You finally get the courage to ask
  • “Samantha.” He answers. “She plays LOLOL. I managed to save her in a battle and she wanted to treat me as a thank you.“ Your tears started flowing like a waterfall.
  • Yoosung hugs you tight. “Princess, she’s gay. She introduced me to her girlfriend when you left.”
  • You apologize. He kisses you and says sorry for not telling you.

JAEHEE

  • You had nothing to do at home, so you decide to go the Jumin’s office and help Jaehee organize some documents.
  • You were telling her all about the lunch you had where you messed up the recipe and almost burned down your apartment.
  • She was smiling.
  • Then some dude calls Jumin and Jaehee to a meeting.
  • “What is this about?” Jaehee asks Jumin.
  • “I have no idea.” Jumin says, walking out.
  • “I’ll see you in awhile pumpkin.” Jaehee says, rushing to Jumin.
  • I miss Jaehee already, you told yourself.
  • I’m going to bring her home
  • And dominate her
  • And cooking her dinner
  • You were always insecure and anxious that Jaehee would leave you, since she was always meeting with different people, while you were finishing school.
  • The meeting finishes and everyone comes rushing out like ants.
  • You want for Jaehee’s arrival.
  • Jumin, you could see in a distance, talking to Mr. Chairman.
  • But you couldn’t find Jaehee anywhere.
  • You continue organizing the documents, and suddenly, Jaehee arrives.
  • finally
  • “Jae-” Before you finish your sentence, this hot ass lady comes inside.
  • She was following Jaehee.
  • This lady
  • In a really short dress
  • Really pretty make up
  • Classy shoes
  • Was getting your girlfriend’s number.
  • you grow quiet and leave the room.
  • Jaehee recited the number as the pretty lady wrote it down a piece of paper.
  • She leaves, giving Jaehee a smile.
  • You make your way to the lounge, where you bought an iced tea and sat on the floor.
  • You give Jaehee the look as she approaches you.
  • “I love you with all my heart, she is getting my number to contact Mr. Han about the new project.” She drops to her knees, infront of you, sitting on the floor.
  • “I’m sorry.” You say, as she gives you a peck on the lips.

ZEN

  • You never really got used to Zen always being surrounded by girls.
  • But you understood and accepted it.
  • Zen brought you to one of his meet and greets.
  • The crew asked you to help with documentary, and take pictures. You took your camera and took pictures of the event set up while they haven’t open the doors yet.
  • Zen was getting ready and talking to some of the staff members.
  • You point the camera at him as he was just walking alone, reading something on his phone.
  • “Zen!” You call out, and he couldn’t help but smile as he turns to you.
  • You click the button and it shutters, taking a picture of your
  • beast
  • angel
  • The event starts and there’s a super long line all the way outside. They were all wearing his merch and clothes with his face, they had posters for him to sign and gifts to give him.
  • He was famous.
  • You took alot of pictures
  • of zen
  • of the event, the fans, the staff being cute and all.
  • Then you decide to rest, since this was taking forever. You left your bag at the table, where Zen was meeting people.
  • You get your water bottle from your bag and take a drink.
  • Zen peeps a smile at you. And you smile back.
  • Maybe i should line up too.
  • You just watch him happily meet all his fans, which made you smile, seeing him happy.
  • Then this girl comes, and Zen’s eyes grow big.
  • “Hey.” She says.
  • “Han? Is that you?” His confused face brings a smile.
  • Who was she? you asked yourself.
  • A small girl comes from behind the lady’s legs. And Zen carries her. They take a picture together. And he gives the lady a hug, and the kid a kiss.
  • After that, your mood instantly changed.
  • Moody bitch
  • The meet and greet ended, and everyone was taking a break before having to set up for tomorrow’s event.
  • The crew had food delivered, and everyone was chill.
  • You were pretty moody with Zen, since he didn’t tell you about whoever she was.
  • You go outside to get some air, and Zen follows you.You were ignoring him though.
  • “MC? Why are you ignoring me?” You try to keep walking and ignore him in th2e cold air of the night.
  • “MC.” He finally gets to you, grabbing your arm.
  • “Who was she?” You say, with watery eyes.
  • “My ex-girlfriend.” He sighs. “She told me she was coming with her daughter.”
  • You pull your arm to yourself, away from Zen.
  • “We aren’t anything anymore. I love you, and you only.” He says, looking at you with truthful, sparkling eyes.
  • But youre a moody bitch and you run away
  • tears running down your face as you run away, no idea where you’re going

707

  • “We’re going to a party!” Seven comes out of the room, running towards you.
  • He was pretty excited
  • You were already ready, wearing jeans and a pretty blouse.
  • He was wearing those light brown shorts, along with a nice collared shirt, which he wore a jacket over
  • “MC?” He whispers. You lean towards him to listen to whatever bullshit he has to say.
  • “Look at me.” He says, you turn and he gives you a big kiss.
  • “Seven!” You pull away out of embarrassment.
  • He smiles at you. That bright smile.
  • Your friend pulls you into this game, where you pass the card with your lips, as if your kissing the next player, except, there’s a card in between your lips.
  • You and Seven sit down. He was sitting next to this girl, and you were sitting next to your friend.
  • The card was held by the lips of the girl next to Seven.
  • BEING IN THE GAME
  • YOU THOUGHT THE CARD
  • WAS GOING TO BE PASSED
  • The girl blows away the card and presses her lips against Seven’s.
  • Seven pulls away instantly, while you leave the room instantly, you go outside to the garden to get air.
  • Shit.
  • SHE IS GONNA GET IT
  • BITCH FEEL MY WRATH
  • Seven follows you, with a cup of water.
  • “Here.” He hands you the cup, which you aggressively accept.
  • “It didn’t mean anything. She went for it.” He said.
  • “I know.” You sigh.
  • “Did ya get jealous?” He asks, laughing.
  • You give him the fuck you look.
  • “You’re the cutest.” He smiles, softly pulling your face into a kiss.
  • Oh boy he felt that kiss
  • It was long
  • Like him
  • Fuck just kidding
  • I am a sinner
  • “Why don’t we just go home?” He breaks the kiss, smiling at you. You nod, and you both leave.

JUMIN

  • Jumin came home to his apartment while you were cooking dinner.
  • “Good evening, kitten.” He says kissing your cheek then grabbing a glass of water.
  • “I’m making pasta.” You smile.
  • “Smells great.” He replies. “I’m going to take a shower.”
  • He drops his bag and phone on the table.
  • You finish cooking and setting the table, and Jumin wasn’t done yet.
  • His phone started ringing.
  • “Jumin! Your phone is ringing!” You shout out.
  • no response
  • Okay…
  • Jumin comes out in a gray shirt and boxers, quickly taking his phone and answering it.
  • mkay.
  • He comes back and sits infront of you, then sighs,
  • “Everything okay?” You asks as you pour yourself a glass of water.
  • “Father has made plans for another blind date as a possible wife.”
  • ah okay
  • you feel a heavy weight on your chest.
  • “Okay, well. What do you feel?” You ask, trying to keep your cool.
  • “Nothing.” he says blankly, then starts eating.
  • You finish dinner without a single word after that.
  • You slept in the living room, not wanting to be in the same room as him at the moment. He didn’t mind.
  • why didn’t he mind
  • does he not love me anymore?
  • your thoughts consumed you as you slept.
  • You woke up in the middle of the night, having a panic attack.
  • You didn’t know what to do.
  • You try to go back to sleep, but end up thinking about it until sunrise.
  • You make pancakes for breakfast, it was Jumin’s day off today.
  • I can spend time with him
  • You thought.
  • Jumin comes out, casually dressed.
  • “Heading out?” You ask.
  • “I’m eating breakfast with the blind date girl.” He says, grabbing his keys, phone and leaving.
  • maybe he doesn’t love me anymore?
  • You hated yourself for thinking that way, so you eat your breakfast alone.
  • You didnt want to be a burden, you fix up your clothes and stuff, arranging them in a suitcase. Jumin was out the whole day, it was already 5 in the afternoon when you finished everything and finally poured your heart into a letter.
  • Maybe you were overthinking a little.
  • You made your way back to your old apartment.
  • While you were settling in, Jumin had everyone searching for you.
  • At around 1 in the morning, you still couldn’t sleep, someone knocks on your door.
  • You peep at the hole and see Jumin, looking worried.
  • AH YOU WERE A FUCKING MESS WHAT NOW
  • You try to wipe the tears off your face and open the door. His eyes grow big and he runs into you, hugging you tightly. You felt his warm embrace again. There he stood, with you in between arms, close to his chest.
  • “I’m sorry.” You say as the tears finally start flowing out your eyes.
  • “No, I’m sorry. Father forced me. I didn’t tell you. I let you sleep outside the room. I let you eat alone. I let you go for fuck’s sake.” He held you closer.
  • “I’m never going to let that happen, ever again.” He looks into you eyes and kisses you.

YEEEEE what did you guys think of that ?? tell me pwease :3 also !! send requests, i’d love to waste time i should be using to study :>

The Mysterious Girl (Loki Laufeyson x Reader)

Request: Hi can a request a fluffy Loki x reader fic where the reader is in a situation where she cannot talk often (maybe her voice causes glass to crack and shatter and people to fall unconscious) instead she uses actions to convey her feelings. when Loki arrives with his brother for redemption he tries to get her to talk by annoying her to no avail. They’re alone one time and the reader snaps telling him to stop; he falls unconscious and she cares for him until he comes to. Please and thank you!!

Requested By: Anonymous

Word Count: 1, 988

Warnings: None (I think)

A/N: First Loki imagine, wooo! I hope you all enjoy, especially all you Loki fans out there. It was a refreshing change to write about him, so I’m glad I got the chance! If you would like to be added to my Tag List for all future updates, just let me know! FYI, (Y/E/C) means ‘your eye color.’ Enjoy!

Tag List: @mp938368 @gcneral-organa @thatgirlsar @jumperswellies @quicksoldier @kitkatgaming @marvelfandom-stuff @itsmaytimetosaygoodbye @agentraven007 @marvelgoateecollection @thaniya82

MASTERLIST

Originally posted by avengers-of-mirkwood

Loki was not happy. Not happy at all. Why wasn’t he happy? Because he was on Midguard. And what was wrong with being on Midguard? Thor, his brother was there. And he was stuck with him.

“Brother, do not worry. I’m sure that my comrades will not hate you. That much,” Thor comforted, slapping his brother on the back.

Stumbling forward, Loki looked back at his brother and scowled. “Oh, yes. I’m sure those mortals just love me after all that I did.”

Sighing, Thor looked at his brother. “You knew not what you were doing. Besides, you are repentant.”

“Am I?” Loki sassed back, earning a disapproving look from the ‘better’ sibling.

“Well, you will be. At least once they are through with you.”

Rolling his eyes, Loki trudged along beside his brother, looking up at the building. Sure, it was impressive for Midguard standards, but not for Asgard. If that was even his home anymore.

“Welcome, to the Avengers,” Thor announced, pushing open the glass doors with ease.

This will be just great, Loki thought to himself as he followed his oaf of a brother inside.


Well, could be going a lot worse, Loki thought as his brother’s teammates glared down at him.

“Why do we have to keep him here again?” Clint asked through gritted teeth, glaring at Loki. Hand tight on his bow, he never removed his eyes from the god.

“Look, I’m not excited about reindeer games being here either,” Tony grumbled.

“But there is no other option, apparently,” Nat finished the sentence, remembering all too well what she had to do to her best friend to get him out of his head.

“He is my brother,” Thor started, looking them all down. “You will be courteous to him, even if he is deserving of your hatred and spite.”

“He destroyed New York with an alien army,” Steve said, glaring at Loki.

“And tried to take over the world,” Bruce added.

“He’s adopted,” Thor said sheepishly, to which Loki rolled his eyes. Bored, Loki began to look over his foes- allies. Most of them Loki remembered. Some, were new. Like the man with the metal arm, the red man, the girl with glowing-red eyes, and many more. As Loki skimmed over his subjects- friends, his eyes landed on one girl in particular. She was odd, but not in the bad sense. She was odd in the sense that she was quiet, odd in the sense that she distanced herself from others. Curious, Loki continued to look at her, until she noticed and began blushing prominently. Her eyes darted towards Clint, and he saw immediately.

“You stay away from her,” Clint almost growled, moving in front of the odd girl. Loki did not care though. He was intrigued by this girl and wanted to know more. Wanted to know what she liked and disliked, why she was here. One way or another, Loki was going to know that girl.


Two months have passed since Loki arrived at the Avengers compound, and things were a little better. The others were talking to him now, and Loki wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. The company was nice from time to time, when they weren’t glaring at him. Loki always brushed them off though. Some people just don’t understand that he had changed.

Mainly, for her.

Loki had tried everything to talk to the girl. Anytime that he nearly got close to even saying hello, the mother hen swooped in between them.

“No way,” Clint growled one day, standing in front of the girl once more.

“I just want to talk to her, I’m not bad anymore,” Loki had pleaded.

Laughing, Clint shook his head. “Yeah. I’ll believe it when I see it. And good luck talking to her anyway, she-”

But before the mother hen could even finish his sentence, the girl had tapped on his shoulder. The girl had obviously communicated to the arrow man, Loki just did not understand how. She didn’t move her lips, but rather her hands. When Loki first saw this, he thought she was doing magic.

“Are you a sorceress?” Loki had asked in amazement, to which Clint glared him down, offended.

“Out.” He demanded, and Loki quickly made his way out, not wanting to find out what would happen to him if mother hen got any angrier.

So Loki’s quest to talk to the mysterious girl continued, always trying to get close to her. Over the two months that he had been there, he had learned three things about the beautiful and mysterious girl:

1) She did not like mornings. Her face scrunched up in the cutest of ways whenever she was woken up before 9 a.m.

2) Her favorite color was green, or so Loki assumed. She always wore some article of green, whether it be the oversized green sweatshirt she stole from the man with the metal arm or her green shoes, which she wore everywhere. 

3) She loved movies, more than life itself apparently. Whenever Loki was looking for her to talk to her (before mother hen showed up), she was sitting in the room with the screen, a different movie on it each time he saw her. Some days it would be little cartoons dancing and singing across the screen, others it would be miniature people falling in love. Without fail though, Loki noticed that every Friday night she watched the same movie, over and over. One with a half fish-half human hybrid and her colorful fish friends.

With each new little tidbit of information about the girl, Loki grew more and more interested. Loki not only thought about her all day, but even dreamed about being able to talk to the beautiful girl, face to face. Just when Loki was about to give up on all hope of ever speaking to the girl, a bit of luck was finally in Loki’s favor.

The heroic team was heading off on a mission, one where they needed almost every member, except for the mysterious girl. Loki, jumping at the opportunity to speak with her, helped pack everyone’s bags that night. To the team, he seemed just a bit too happy.

“Are you sure we can leave him here, Thor?” Steve had asked, glancing at Loki.

“Believe it or not, he is acting a lot better,” Thor commented as he put everyone’s luggage onto the quinjet.

“Yes, but he will be here all alone,” Tony added. The girl, apparently did not like that for she stomped her foot in defiance.

Thor had saw her little foot stomp and smiled. “He will not be alone, (Y/N) will be here.”

Aha! Her name! Loki thought, adding another piece to the puzzle.

Laughing, Clint put his supplies in the quinjet. “Yeah, if anyone can handle him, it's  (Y/N).”

This seemed to have made (Y/N) happy, for she nodded her head in triumph.

“I’ll be good,” Loki started, causing everyone to look at him. “Promise.”

“We shall see, brother,” Thor said, clapping his hand on his brother’s shoulder, causing Loki to lose his footing for a moment. “If not, well, you’ll be in for a shock. (Y/N), take care of him for me. Don’t let him get into too much mischief.”

(Y/N) smiled and nodded at Thor, waving the team goodbye.

“That’s no fair,” Loki grumbled to himself. “I’m the god of mischief. It’s literally what I do.”


As soon as the quinjet had disappeared over the horizon, (Y/N) had went back into the compound. Not wanting to lose her in the maze of halls and corridors, Loki followed right after her.

“So,” Loki started, falling into step with her. “Just you and me.”

All she did was quirk up an eyebrow at him before continuing on her way.

“Right. Silent treatment. Well, that has never stopped me before,” Loki continued as he followed her into the room with the screen. Lighting up at the opportunity, Loki walked over to the shelves full of discs.

“Shall we watch one?” Loki asked, digging through the movies. “I’ve never actually seen one of these ‘movies.’ What do you recommend?”

He was met with silence. Smile faltering a bit, because literally the girl of his dreams would not talk to him, he turned back to the shelf. Finding something somewhat familiar, Loki held out the case to her. “How about this?”

Looking back, her whole face lit up and she nodded enthusiastically, causing Loki to smile. “Okay,” Loki said, looking at the title before putting the disc into the strange contraption. “The Little Mermaid it is.”

Moving towards the couch, Loki sat down next to her. Trying to control his breathing, he constantly found himself looking at (Y/N) throughout the movie, committing every detail of her to memory. Loki did this so often that he ended up missing the movie.

“Wait, why is the fish-girl having problems with her father?” Loki asked. No answer.

“Why is the crab singing to her? Life is not better down where it’s wetter. You’re wet all the time. Plus there are sharks, nasty little creatures. Worst than bildshnipe, I hear. Or at least Thor tells me.” No answer.

“OH NO, A SHARK!” No answer.

“Don’t go near the evil squid lady. Why would you go near the evil squid lady?” No answer.

All this time, (Y/N) never answered. She did seem to be getting more and more annoyed, though.

“Wait, why does she need to kiss the Prince? To get her voice back? That is highly unlikely, magic does not work like-”

“WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP ALREADY?!” The girl shouted. A ringing noise sounded through the room, and before Loki even knew it, he was out cold.


Blinking away the black spots in his vision, Loki was met with a pounding headache. Staring up at the ceiling, Loki started to feel alarmed until he felt something moving through his hair. Looking around, Loki was soon met with the most beautiful pair of (Y/E/C) eyes he had ever seen. What made them even more beautiful was that they were your eyes.

“What happened?” Loki groaned, trying to sit up. He was soon pushed back down by (Y/N) so that his head lay on her lap. She held up a finger as if to say ‘one moment’ and grabbed the nearest notebook and pen she could find. Sprawling out her message with one hand and combing through his hair with the other, she finally had written out her message:

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to knock you out. I’m an enhanced and my voice knocks people out, especially when I yell. I didn’t mean to make you pass out.’

Reading the message, Loki began to smile. “It’s alright, Love. You didn’t mean to. I’m just glad that we are finally communicating.”

Blushing at his words, she began to write out another message.

‘I get that, now. I mean, who talks during a movie?’

It was Loki’s turn to blush now as he read your note. “Sorry, I am not familiar with proper movie etiquette. But I’d love to learn.”

Smiling, she wrote down her next message.

'I’d love to teach you, if you gave me a chance. Then you can ask all the questions you want, whether about me or the movie.’

“Sounds absolutely, perfect, Love,” Loki said with a smile. The pounding in his head had finally stopped, and Loki was able to sit up now, but he didn’t want to leave her gentle caresses just yet.

'Can you sit back up yet?’ She wrote out, quirking another eyebrow up at him.

“No,” Loki lied. “Not yet. Still hurts.” She nodded at his answer and continued to card her fingers through his black hair, leaving Loki in a bliss. Well, he was the god of mischief, after all. What else was he going to do, except lie a little to stay with the girl of his dreams?

So it’s Mary Underhill’s 274th Birthday

You might not know who she is and that’s alright, most people don’t. However, I thought it’d be cool for me to introduce her to you. 

Mary was originally Mary Woodhull, born June 12, 1743, and was the older sister of Abraham Woodhull and second daughter of Richard Woodhull IV and Margaret Smith. 

Apparently, or at least according to my sources, despite the seven year age difference, she and Abe were pretty tight. Same goes for Susannah, the older Woodhull kid. Apparently, both sisters “doted on their baby brother” and Abe “was equally fond of them.” The quotes come from George Washington’s Secret Six which definitely isn’t the most reputable source and doesn’t exactly cite there the information is from, I’m going to assume that since they were siblings that this is a fair assumption to make. Additionally, it’s pretty cute so I thought I’d include it since we’ll never see the Woodhull siblings’ bond as Turn cut them all out completely. 

Mary married Amos Underhill, who owned a mill before the Revolution. The property was destroyed by the British, another casualty of the Battle of New York. They bought a house, but their financial situation was slipping. Mary was pregnant at the time so they obviously needed to find a solution. Their home became a boarding house. Abraham would stay in their home when on missions to the city. 

Another notable person to stay at the Underhill’s house is Robert Townsend, Culper Jr. himself. It is believed that this is where Townsend and Woodhull warmed up to each other, spending years in each other’s company when boarding with the Underhills and probably how Robert was recruited into the ring.

There were suspicions that Mary might also be the famed 355, a mystery woman working with the ring. However, this is extremely unlikely and all speculations based on the idea the 355 worked in the city rather than on Long Island. I am of the personal belief that 355 was Anna Strong, but the ridiculous debate over 355′s identity is another post that I’ll probably put together soon. That does not mean Mary didn’t contribute to the ring. 

Personally, I just think it’s cool to learn more about the families of important figures in history. Without the Underhill boarding house, we probably wouldn’t have Culper Jr. at all with the ring becoming less invaluable and becoming obsolete far earlier. 

Plus she just seemed sort of rad from what I’ve read. It’s her birthday! So why not make this post. 

who cares | 11 (m) ✓

• pairing: kim seokjin x oc
• genre/warnings: angst, adultery mentions, mature themes, smut && fluff
• words: 8,762
→ summary: what happens when Taehyung falls for someone who’s already taken? Can he control his feelings or will they take over and render him powerless? In the end is it all her fault or his…?
• note. inspired by Dean’s album 130: trbl

» playlist | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11

a/n: the end is finally here! This last chapter is more of a separate entity of who cares as a series, and definitely shows the process of repairing a broken relationship. Thank you for reading! It’s been a whirlwind! Oh, and p.s! I’m really thinking of writing a oneshot where Taehyung finds love~ so look out for that one day!

Keep reading

8

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966) » Tuco

You never had a rope around your neck. Well, I’m going to tell you something. When that rope starts to pull tight, you can feel the devil bite your ass.

a mafia!sehun scenario pt.1 

(a combination of angst, smut and fluff. You have been warned.)

… … … … … … … … .  … …… … …  … … … … . 

Your red tartan shirt bristles behind you as you march, furious, towards the dancing neon lights that adulterate the street ahead of them. Kyungsoo had gone out. Again. Barley a week after promising to become less involved in mafia business and he’d slipped away from your shared apartment the second your back had been turned. Your brother’s lack of sincerity hurt, but what really fuelled your rage was the greater, heart-rendering betrayal you’d stumbled upon not an hour ago. Your boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend, with his face buried between another’s woman legs. For weeks you’d suspected him of an affair, but to have it materialized in front of you had been too much to handle. You’d cried angry, shameful tears and stumbled home, in hopes of finding your older brother’s comfort and warmth. Instead, the house was cold and empty, and the nearest trace of your beloved big brother was a scrawled apology on a ripped piece of paper.

So yeah, you were pissed. And you weren’t about to let Kyungsoo get away with it. You knew how often he frequented this club, though you’d never actually visited it in person before, and that it was a place his gang would often strike deals with neighbouring groups.

You knew very little about Kyungsoo’s group, mostly because he refused to tell you anything or ever let you meet with any of the members. Not that you were exactly pleading for him to let you. He knew how much you hated that part of his life – the gangs, the money, the fights. You had no idea in what the hell he was involved in, but you knew it wasn’t even a little bit legal. He’d come home bloodied and bruised so many times that you were coming to be pretty handy with the makeshift doctor’s kit you kept underneath the kitchen sink. But no matter how many times you would complain about how this life was hurting him, he’d always simply reaffirm the same, undeniable truth – you needed the money. At which point, your yelling would abruptly cease, as you could offer no worthy response – he was right, you really, really needed the money.

You think however, slamming through the club’s dingy doors, that you’re not completely clueless about this part of Kyungsoo’s life. He’ll occasionally let slip some crucial piece of information that you’ve built up a fairly solid background. His gang – exo – run your area. They’re a group of 9 men and you think perhaps the leader was.. Suho, was it? Something like that. But you know that while they’re in control of the local area, they are not the absolute power at the front of it. They’re one of many gangs that help control the whole of Seoul for the big boss. That’s what you’ve taken to calling them, since Kyungsoo absolutely refuses to disclose any clues about their identity. You’re not aware of much else, other than that exo has had to regularly defend their territory lately, so Kyungsoo had been coming home more bloodied and bruised than ever. It worried you to no extent, but you knew that he would never leave his gang. Because as much as you were his sister, they were all his brothers, and his level of devotion to them ran deep. But he had swore he would spend less time out on these jobs, and the clear disregard for your wishes stung deep.

The club seems so busy that the walls themselves vibrate. Everywhere you turn, people slam against one another with shuddering fervour, and more than once you are jostled violently to the side. Craning your neck, you hope to catch a glimpse of Kyungsoo’s dark hair in the crowd, but with this many people and the twitching purple lights, it’s impossible to see. Your fists clench as you attempt to  reign in your growing anger and, thinking you see an opening in the middle of the floor, you push towards it.

It takes a considerable time, but eventually you manage to squirm your way to the forefront of the crowd. In the middle of the floor, two boys dance opposite each other, mirroring the other’s moves in a routine like motion. Around them, the partygoers cheer ferociously and stomp their feet to the beat of the mismatched song. You sigh irritably and scan around the room. From this angle, you realize there is a seating area above the floor. It trails around the room with a number of plush purple comforters at different points, tables situated between them. You growl, realizing this is Kyungsoo’s likely location.

Your attention is drawn back to the boys for a moment as the audience’s approval rears up once again in thunderous applause. You cringe slightly, and then realize it is because the floor beneath them has opened up and is now sprouting water, soaking their clothes.

And yes, you’re angry, very much so, but, well you know how to appreciate a nice view, alright? You’re so lost in the fluidity of the dance for a moment, the stark contrast of the boy’s physiques and their opposing blonde and black hair that you fail to realize everyone around you has moved back, and that you are a definite two paces in front of the crowd with water sloshing at your ankles, impatient shouts ringing at your ears.

Cursing at your own mindless ogling, you try to take advantage of the situation and glance up to see if you can better see Kyungsoo. However, as your eyes drift upwards, they connect with the blonde boy in front of you. His movements have paused, realizing your stance, and he seems to be assessing you, almost. His hair, wet and tousled, bats impatiently around his forehead, only lightly obscuring his dark eyes. The water drips untroubled down the long bridge of his nose and puckering over his full lips, before leading a dangerous path towards his lean and open chest. His attire, you note, leads very little to imagine, with his white shirt soaked through and ripped open, and his dark jeans equally distressed, clinging tight to his skin.

You snap out of your undignified gawking and clear your throat awkwardly, realizing he is smirking at you.

You’ve never been very good at holding the gaze of people so attractive they make your eyes hurt, so you look down immediately, blushing darkly. You hurry to stumble back into the safety of the crowd, but just as you begin to move, so does he. Suddenly, he seems to barrel towards you, as in, literally right towards you so that he is practically running at the crowd. Your eyes widen in considerable shock and you’re hurrying to distance yourself when he leaps into the air, twisting his limbs in a stance that frankly seems both unnatural and dangerous when-

He lands at your feet, on his knees, with his head hanging in front of you. The crowd roars their approval and, running his hands through his hair, he turns to look up at you, grinning this time. His boldness shocks you, though you can’t deny how attractive the sudden confidence is. You’re on the verge of grinning back when your eyes flick south again and realize the red ink on his shirt. Your eyes darken as you take it in, recognizing the same mark on Kyungsoo’s jacket at home. You know exactly what type of mark that is.

Of course. A man lands literally on his knees in front of you and he too, is involved in the mafia. What a blessed, blessed day.

Your interest evaporates instantly and you sigh audibly as he stands, especially when you realize his frame dwarfs your own. He blinks down at you, body still very, very close to your own and quirks an eyebrow at your admittedly not very club like attire.

“Enjoy the show?” He asks, eyes crinkled in a half smile as he leans down slightly.

You match his eyebrow quirk with your own and reaching your hand up, flick some of the water from his performance at his face.

“I’ve seen better.”

Over his shoulder you finally catch a glimpse of your traitorous brother, laughing loudly in a booth with a red haired man in front of him. Your earlier feelings of anger are quickly recalled at the sight, and glowering at the image, you shoulder roughly past the still-smirking man in front of you and slosh loudly through the water stage. You catch the grin of his dark haired partner as you do so, but make no effort to return such niceties – you are much, much too angry for that.

You land in front of your brother will a dull thud, water dripping from your jeans. He and the men around him turn to look at you in interest, but this quickly turns into panic as Kyungsoo realizes who it is standing, glowering in front of him.

“Y/n-“

“What the actual fuck Kyungsoo?”

He stumbles around to exit the booth and the members around him seem shocked at your tone. If you were perhaps calmer, more in control of your rational sense, you would perhaps note that these people around him are the infamous exo gang and have absolutely no clue as to who or what you are, or what you are doing.

“Y/n, calm down-“

“Don’t you dare!” You growl, snatching away from him as he attempts to placate your flailing limbs. In the process, your hand reaches up and strikes against his cheek, and though the men behind him make small sounds of outcry, he only stares at you.  

“You promised me, you promised-“ Your voice continues to raise as your hysteria does, and now not only him, but the men around him reach forward to steady you.

“Little sister, you’re making a scene.” He mutters quietly, latching onto your wrist, a slight red blossoming on his cheek.

Little sister? D.O, what’s going on?” From behind him a tall man asks, taking you in quietly. You glare at him in response, and his gaze hardens.

D.O? D.O? Is that what they call you here?” You hiss. “Is this who you are, D.O?” You question sarcastically and his grip on your wrist tightens.

He leans toward you darkly, ignoring the questioning shouts of the men behind him.

“This is not a place for you, y/n. Go. Home.” He punctuates his last two words harshly, though you see the quick scan he does behind you and realize faintly, that a small crowd has gathered to spectate. Still, unwilling to back down, your matching dark eyes challenge his.

“Go with me.”

You realize that you have laid out a very clear and obvious choice in front of him, and so does he. His eyes widen slightly at what you appear to be asking of him, but you refuse to submit to the hurt that blossoms there. He watches you for a few moments longer before sighing angrily and releasing your wrist so abruptly that it seems to fling across the small space between you. He backs away from you and stands in front of the men in front of him, closer to them than he is to you.

“Who’s the girl, D.O?” Someone asks from behind you and turning slightly, you realize a much larger crowd has gathered than you originally expected. You turn back to your brother, your palms clenched tightly together. He’s turned his back on you, leaning close to the tall man from earlier, who continues to stare at you tensely.

“She’s nothing.” Kyungsoo replies simply and, looking out across the crowd, smiles sardonically, rolling his eyes.

“As if I would associate with the likes of her.”

The crowd titters in cruel excitement behind you and hot, angry tears spring to your eyes. You scoff in disbelief and wonder how the situation escalated from bad, to worse.

He looks back at you once more and there’s a regretful understanding in his eyes, an almost tug in his limbs that make it seem as though he wants to approach you, but confirmed with a certainty that he won’t.

Overwhelmed with hurt, you turn on him and weave through the crowd who, having just witnessed your utter humiliation seem willing to leave room for your escape. This, small mercy you suppose you can appreciate.

Bursting out the doors of the club, you let out a sudden, feral scream. The hinges of the doors trickle shut behind you, but you ignore it, squatting to your knees and taking your head in your palms, willing the tears to stop.

You can’t believe Kyungsoo would willingly treat you this way. For a long time you’d regarded your brother as the one person in the world you felt you could rely wholly upon, who you were sure would never break or abuse your trust the way he had only moments ago. Your anger, while still present, is overwhelmed by the hurt of your brother’s disloyalty and your own humiliation at his hands.

Your inner monologue is interrupted as the doors once again swing open behind you. Initially, you take no interest in the likely drunk trespasser, expecting them to perhaps vomit in the muddy patch across from you before then stumbling back inside. Instead, slow, careful steps click against the pavement next to you and, spreading your fingers slightly, you realize a group of 3 men or so have come to gather around you.

You stop crying, and raise your head slightly. One directly ahead of you, one at each side. Your breath comes in quick, sudden gasps but you figure this is probably a good thing. They will not expect much of a girl who looks afraid.

(Though, you figure it’s probably important to note that you are very, very afraid anyway.)

A man with a dark suit, dark hair and darker eyes grins sardonically down at you. A cigarette dangles precariously from his lips and after a moment, he draws in a breath that seems almost laborious and crushes it under the heel of his shoe. He makes the sudden twist of his foot seem intimidating, and though he seems keen to maintain a supposed easy going stance, every inch of him stands firm and calculating.

After a moment’s pause, he squats down in front of you and pulls your hands away from your face, keeping them still in his palms. His hands are cold.

“And who might you be?” His words are smooth and clear, ringing out across the suddenly empty street.

Fighting hard to maintain a facade that doesn’t show how intimidated you have become, you raise your head higher, looking him dead in the eye.

“No one to you.” Your response is casual, cool, the opposite of what you feel in the moment.

He hums, the pressure on your wrists increasing slightly.

“No one to D.O either, apparently.”

You lose your composure for half a second, anger slipping through your eyes and he clicks his tongue, smiling.

“Ah, so sorry. Too soon?” His head tilts to side, mocking arrogance dripping from his every feature – the twist of his lips, the slight crinkle of his crescent eyes. Your fear is evident, but quickly overwhelmed by the irritation this man’s presence inspires.

“Is there a point to you speaking, or is it just that no one else wants to listen?”

The men to the side of you let out little chuckles, and he himself seems delighted by your notable indignation.

“Awfully brave thing to say of a girl who’s hands won’t stop shaking.” He holds up your trembling fingers as though to prove his point, loosely combining them with his for a second.

“It’s because I don’t find you attractive. I tend to get uncomfortable when ugly men insist of touching me.”

The men next to you really are laughing now, and though the man in front of you smiles still, he squeezes his fingers into your own harshly, so much so that you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from yelping in pain.

“But you didn’t mind when Kyungsoo touched you, did you? I bet you were loving it, his hands on you.” You attempt to back up slightly, disgusted by what he appears to be suggesting, but he doesn’t let you, snatching your body closer to his.

“That’s what you are isn’t it? I saw you on the floor too, standing closer so that little brat would come grind on you or some shit. I gotta say, you’re not very subtle about what you do, or what you are. But hey,” He pauses, reaching his hand to roughly tug your chin up to meet his, before letting his eyes travel slowly, leeching over your every curve and dip. He flicks his eyes up once more, settling on the disgust that screams in yours.

“I’m certainly not complaining. I respect a girl who knows exactly what she is – a dirty, little who-“

He doesn’t get to finish his monologue because, having heard enough of just exactly what he perceives you to be, you lurch forward bite harshly into the soft skin of his cheek. He yells in pain but you grind your teeth until you feel the blood spurt up in between them. He slams his palms against your face and the two men at your side rear you up and away from him. Breathing heavily, you spit out the blood in your mouth onto the street.

“Bitch.” He hisses, pressing his fingers to the blood trailing down the side of his face.

You hum in agreement and lean forward in your captors grip slightly. “And one that would never fuck you.”

His smiles and laughs are gone now. He takes two steps toward you before pushing open his jacket slightly to reveal a glint of metal against his hip.

“Maybe I ought to teach you a little les-“

The doors behind you slam open as Kyungsoo launches himself at one of the men holding up your arms. Beside you, the tall man from earlier does the same. And then, all at once the men you had seen sitting in the club seem to trickle out on the street beside you, taking up equally defensive positions.

Your arms now free, Kyungsoo takes a moment to look up from his attacker and shift his head frantically down the side of the street.

“Y/n, go!

You nod back quickly, but, turning back to the bleeding man in front of you as he faces off with the red haired man you’d seen your brother laughing with earlier, you can’t resist pulling the pepper spray Kyungsoo had insisted you carry from your pocket, and unloading the contents of it on his face. He shouts in pain as it sprays into his eyes and, satisfied, you drop the empty can and sprint off down the street.

“Dick!” And really, as you shout it, you’re unsure who it is you’re shouting it at.

As it turns out, you are even less athletic than you previously thought, and that was already pretty bad. So you’re not running for long when you slip into a small, decrepit alleyway and lean down in an attempt to catch your breath.

Your hand is spread over your stomach and your hair bats impatiently around your eyes when you jump at the intrusion of a rich voice ahead of you.

“Is this how you usually spend your Friday nights?”

You turn your head slightly and notice him, still damp from his performance as he leans against a wall and takes you in.

“Well, this is more of a Saturday night thing but, well I’ve had a rough week.”

The corners of his lips tug in a half moon smile and he takes a few more, easy steps toward you. You lift up your palm suddenly in an attempt to maintain a barricade.

“Listen, I’ve really had my fill of all and any of the male species tonight, so if you’re planning on intimidating me, d’you think we could, you know, move it to tomorrow night or something?” You huff and he’s really smiling now, eyes crinkling.

“But don’t you already have Saturday plans?” He asks, his head tilting to the side.

Despite yourself, despite the overall shitty nature of today and despite that little red inking on his shirt, you feel the laughter bubble in your chest.

It expands until you’re heaving through the chuckles, ignoring the tears that stream down your cheeks. You sigh, leaning back on your heels and sliding against the wall until you’re sitting, legs propped out in front of you. You hear him as he walks towards you and, as he comes closer, you loll your head to the side to look up at him. He blinks down at you, smiling gently, before he sighs loudly and slumps down next to you.

He nudges his knee against yours slightly and though you know you should probably attempt to create some space between you, remind yourself that not only is he a stranger, he is the worst kind of stranger, you can’t seem to muster the energy to pull away.

“What happened?” You sigh, drawing up your knees to rest your head on them.

“What didn’t?”

You lapse into a comfortable silence for a moment before he mimics your position, resting his head so that you both blink at one another, each taking the other in.

“I have a serious question.”

You steel yourself, nodding.

“Why’d you flick water in my face?”

You snort.

“Maybe I was displeased with your performance.”

“No, that’s not it.” His eyes twinkle with a childish mischief. “I saw you looking.”

You scoff, raising your head. “Looking at what?”

He raises his eyebrows, again repeating your motions. He gestures down to himself, over his still open shirt and dark jeans. “All. Of. This.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin does not falter.

“I was looking at the other one.”

“Kai?”

“Yeah, that.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

You pause, feigning shock.

“You don’t know. I could be a terrible truth teller.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“100% a thing.”

“Doesn’t sound like a thing.”

“It’s a thing!”

His grin widens and he tilts his head further, regarding your now ruffled exterior. After a moment’s pause, he sticks out his hand towards you.

“Sehun.”

You hesitate, eyes flickering between his hand and loopy red handwriting barely visible in the light of the dumpster. After an awkward pause, you figure your night can’t really get much worse than it already has and well, he did make you laugh. You slip your hand into his gently, noticing that it is surprisingly warm and immediately worrying that your palms are sweaty.

“Y/n.” You respond, sighing.

Dropping your hand, he leans his head back against the wall again, closing his eyes briefly. You study him as he does so, your eyes canvassing along the general slump of his arms as they rest against his knees, the slack in his strong jaw.

“You look tired.” You observe meekly, and his eyes flicker open, familiar smile finding his lips once more.

“I am exhausted.” He grunts slightly, twisting his body to face you.

“You uh, I mean, you don’t have to stay here with me, if you’re tired.” You stumble over your words, suddenly embarrassed. “Actually, why are you here?” You enquire, gesturing around the dimly lit alleyway.

He shrugs, and his eyes cloud over for a second.

“My friends got in a fight.” He mutters. You regard him quietly, with not a small ounce of curiosity.

“You’re not gonna fight with them?” You enquire, and if on cue, his phone buzzes loudly in his pocket. He barley glances over at it before, reaching into his jacket, he flings it across the space and it lands with a dull smack against the wall, crumbling on the cracked pavement. You do not flinch.

Turning to look at you, his gaze seems much more intense, much more sudden than his previous teasing looks. You think that you should probably look away, that this interaction has become much more serious than either of you intended for it to be but, always curious, you do not.

“I’m tired of fighting with them.” He mumbles, almost meekly, as though he is ashamed of what he is saying.

“Do they know that?” You approach carefully and when his gaze finds yours, it is light again, infused with teasing.

“They would, but unfortunately I’m a terrible truth teller.”

You snigger slightly and he responds as such, blinking at you still.

You exhale loudly, eyes wondering over the starless night above you.

“My brother hurt my feelings.”

You grunt the words out forcefully, tasting them like bile in the back of your throat. He responds gently, carefully as you had done only moments ago.

“What happened?” He tries again, and you blink the tears out of your eyes, your breath catching slightly.

“I just-“ You break away, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. “It’s just been a shitty night.”

You feel his eyes on you as you struggle to regain your composure, and furiously blink away the tears that so desperately want to fall.  You hear the slight shift as movement as slowly, he leans closer to you. When you don’t pull away, he continues to shift, until his head rests carefully on your shoulder.

The gesture is a little strange and made awkward by how much taller he is than you. He has to shift quite far down the wall for his head to reach your shoulder, so he is practically lying beside you. He doesn’t seem to quite know how the rest of his body should face, because his long limbs hang nervously by his sides, as though you will jump away at any moment.

Despite this, and all the circumstances around the uneasy embrace, you appreciate it, and the hesitant warmth that scatters from his body to yours. You smile gently and rest your head against his, wanting somewhat to place your hand over his, but worrying that this will perhaps be too much. So instead, you inch your pinkie finger towards his, until they brush gently against the other. For a while, you both sit like this, leeching onto the other in the bristling of the slight spring chill and each enjoying the comfort of one another’s company.

“Thank you.” You murmur, and though he doesn’t respond, he turns your hand over slightly so that he is tracing small, nonsensical patterns on your palm, humming quietly as he does so.

You spend a while there with each other, until eventually the dark night gets darker, and the chill around you becomes too insistently bitter to ignore. You raise your head slightly and his movements on your hand cease. He raises his head to look up at you earnestly and in that moment, in that one, gullible moment, you make a decision.

“You wanna go get a drink?” You blurt out suddenly and he lifts his head from your shoulder, surprised.

“A… drink?” He draws out and you nod, perhaps a little too furiously, in an attempt to dispel some of your nervousness.  It doesn’t work and a slow, easy grin slips onto his lips.

“I mean – I’m just- not that you have to or anything like that – I just thought maybe you would uh- right, yeah, so I’m just gonna leave now.“ You stand up, your cheeks flaming as you stumble over your words. A drink? Really? Why not just scream that you want to do him right here in this alleyway? You groan internally, and his playful laughter bubbles up beneath you.

You go to walk away and quickly you realize he is lumbering beside you.

“So, where we going?” He asks. You turn to him, surprised, and slow your scurrying pace to a standstill in front of him.

“Uh- what?”

“You know, to drink?” He teases, mimicking drinking from a glass. You scoff slightly, surprised, and pleasantly so.

“Uh well-“

“Have you ever noticed people seem to make really rash, dumb choices when they’re drunk?” He interrupts, eyes skimming briefly over yours.

With a surge of confidence, you gnaw on your lip slightly, and follow his dark eyes with your own brazenly.  

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Things progress very quickly after that. As it is, it turns out you and Sehun do not require many drinks at all to make thoughtless, impulsive choices, and you’re barely tipsy as you stumble through the door of his apartment, his lips connected to yours.

It’s a decision you know you’ll regret in the morning, a very, very silly decision that neither of you should be making. Still, as his long fingers press gently against your ribcage, his leg pushing between the two of yours, it’s not one you can seem to pull yourself away from.

His movements are tender as he touches you, careful in a way that drives you to the brink of insanity as you just want more and more of him. He presses you against a wall, arms caging either side of you as his mouth works languidly against yours, peppering your lips with gentle kisses until your mouth slips open against his and his tongue slips against yours. You groan slightly, and you reach out your hands to brush over his cheeks, before smoothing down the sharp angles of his body until you reach his waist, at which you pull him flush against you.

He chuckles slightly, as the movement nudges his mouth away from yours so that he instead breaths hotly on your neck. You both take a moment to breathe, before he reaches down and tugs meekly on your thighs. You twine your calves easily around his waist as his lean fingers spread across your legs, moving his right hand up to your neck to brush away loose strands of hair and the collar of your shirt, sucking lightly on the skin there. You bite back a moan and your back curls against the wall, pushing your breasts against him.  He lets out a ragged breath and pulls away from you suddenly.

“We can still… stop if you want.” He hums slightly, hands suddenly hesitant against your thighs. You frame his face with your hands and press your lips firmly against his, much harsher than he had done. He grunts slightly in surprise and fists his hand in your hair as he returns the kiss with just as much fervour. You take the chance to stretch your arms out slightly behind you, peeling away your tartan shirt and letting it drop to the floor, leaving you in a loose tank top. You pull away, and skirt a thumb over his swelled bottom lip, before pressing insistent kisses against his jaw.

“I don’t… wanna stop.” You mumble and you think you hear him curse slightly under his breath. He tilts your chin up and reclaims your mouth, pressing against the sliver of skin exposed where your tank top has ridden up.

He readjusts his grip and pushes away from the wall. Surprised at the action, you press your head into the space between his shoulder and neck and, as he walks, push at the jacket on his shoulders. It slips from him easily and you lean back up to kiss him again, your hands resting at the nape of his neck.

You’re unaware you’ve reached a bedroom until he settles beneath you, bringing you down so that you’re sitting on top of him. You shift slightly so that your legs are on either side of him, and press against his crotch. He pulls away from you, moaning out your name quietly and you smirk, pleased at your apparently significant effect on him. You tilt your head down to nip at his neck before reaching down to pull on the ruffled white shirt he wears, pushing it over his head. It lands with a wet thump against the floor and as you turn to laugh slightly, Sehun takes the opportunity to flip you over, so that he hovers, shirtless above you. You press your hands against his back and his own palm flattens against your stomach. Instead of removing your flimsy top, his fingers crawl beneath it, reaching up over your stomach and fluttering over your ribcage before falling on top of your bra.

You grunt and flop beneath him, throwing your fist against the bed sheet.

“Don’t tease.” You huff and he chuckles at your frustration, before helping you remove the top. He pushes you further against the bed and crawls over you, until your head rests carefully on the navy blue pillow and he marvels down at you, smiling gently.

“Are you sure?” He whispers against your collarbone and you almost whine at him to hurry up already. He seems to sense your exasperation though, because he makes quick work of removing his own jeans before then pulling off yours, kissing along your legs as he does so. When he pulls down your underwear, his fingers press into you slowly, and he appears about to add his mouth too when you shake your head, pulling his face up to yours.

“Later.” You gasp and he nods, settling over you once more, fingers curling inside you. Again you slam your fist against the bed sheets and let out a loud groan, roughly pulling his head down against your own. He removes his fingers and you shudder at the loss of contact, but then his hands are slipping underneath you to unclasp your bra (and really, you have to take a moment to appreciate how quickly he does remove it, because you’ve been wearing one for years and it still takes you some time in the morning). Immediately his hand is on your chest, rubbing slowly against your breast. You throw your head back against the pillows but it smacks against the headboard instead, and you groan at the sharp gasp of pain.

Sehun stills, gasping before moving his hand to cradle the back of your head gently, lust quickly overcome with concern.

“Ah, y/n, are you alright?” He whispers and you wince slightly, but nod. You stare at him for a moment, his knuckles running softly against the back of your head. The concern in his face surprises you, but makes you feel good in a way you cannot explain. You skim your hand over his jaw and his gaze is drawn back to yours, wherein he blinks down at you with a firm sense of tenderness. You smile, and lean up to press a chaste kiss against his lips, hand still smoothing down his jaw. When you pull away, his eyes are soft, face settled in a small grin as he runs his hand through your hair.

“Do it now.” You whisper, wracked by a sudden eagerness to have him thrusting into you. He nods slightly, and leans down to kiss you again, before reaching into a draw and rolling a condom onto himself. You place your head back on the pillows as he braces above you. After a moment, he pushes into you, and you emit a high pitched gasp, your walls settling around him. He waits a moment too long to move, and you have to kick his shin slightly to signal that you’re ready. He huffs out a laugh and slowly begins to press into you, hands fisted in the sheets next to your head as he builds up a steady rhythm. Of all the boys you’d ever had sex with (which, admittedly, was really not that many) you’d always been pretty quiet in bed– sure, it’d felt good when they’d moved inside you, but it hadn’t exactly been earth shattering. But Sehun. The way he thrusts into you is, frankly, ridiculous. With every smooth roll of his hips he seems to find a different sweet spot and when you’re a moaning mess beneath him, he adds two fingers. You yelp, body twisting unnaturally beneath him, but he just keeps going, a thin layer of sweat forming on his chest. You lean up, trying to match his rhythm and he kisses you roughly, lips slanting over yours, your moans meeting in a mismatched choir.

It’s not long before the familiar pleasure begins to build, and by his sudden alternating change in pace you sense he’s close too. His hand gropes your chest and he leans down, taking your nipple in his mouth and just like that, you’re a goner. You’re on the verge of a scream as you come around him and he all about collapses on top of you, thrusting out his own orgasm. Your hands link as you both ride out your highs, Sehun sucking on your chest.

Spent, he pulls out of you slowly and tosses the condom into a bin beside him, his body flopping down next to yours. You throw your arm over your eyes, trying to calm your ragged breath as he does the same.

Silence settles around the two of you, panting, sweaty and naked in his dark sheets. Embarrassed, you wonder if, now that you’re finished, he expects you to leave. You shift away from him slightly, moving to the edge of the bed when he rolls over to his side and gets out the bed. You rush to do the same, shuffling awkwardly on the wooden floors.

You watch his figure retreat to a small wooden closet in the corner of the room and bite your lip, shifting your hands to cover your exposed breasts.

“Uh, should I-“ You begin, but are halted as, after having pulled on a set of loose tracksuit bottoms, he begins toward you, a shirt in his grasp. You raise your eyebrows questioningly, but he just gestures for you to hold your arms to the side. You do so, a little reluctantly, and he pulls the shirt onto your shoulders, humming.

He kneels to do up the buttons and as he finishes, pulls you toward him to place a soft kiss on your clothed stomach. Unsure of how to react, your hands simply hover above his tousled blonde hair.

He stands once more and intertwines his hand with yours, pulling you back toward the still–warm bed. He pushes you onto the sheets gently before then following suit. You turn on your side and he carefully places his hand on your waist, shifting a little closer.

“Is this… is this okay?” He mumbles and turning your head to face him, you nod slightly. Reassured, he smiles and moves closer, arms pressing more firmly around you.

“Don’t go.” He says and you face him once more, tilting your head in confusion. “In the morning, don’t go.” He elaborates and you smile softly. Instead of answering, you lean forward to press a tender kiss on his lips, and then his cheek. His eyes closed, he lets out a small contented sigh and you turn back around, closing your eyes.

He presses a soft kiss onto your head and, choosing not to think of what will happen in the morning, you clear your mind, and drift into a tranquil sleep.

 ((pls forgive any spelling/grammar errors as it is 1am and I cannot find the energy to check this. Also, I am a holy untouched virgin so idk how accurate the smut is but???? enjoy??? if you’d like a part 2, lemme know!))

McIntosh County Shouters

Georgia

A shout or ring shout is an ecstatic, transcendent religious ritual, first practiced by African slaves in the West Indies and the United States, in which worshipers move in a circle while shuffling and stomping their feet and clapping their hands.

Despite the name, shouting aloud is not an essential part of the ritual.

The ring shout was practiced in some African American churches into the 20th century, and it continues to the present among the Gullah people of the Sea Islands.

The Wife Of A Future Mafia Leader Pt 6

Originally posted by bangsongguk

Title: The Wife Of A Future Mafia Leader.
Genre: Angst, Mafia life.
Member: Jongup.
Word Count: 2048.
Description: What was it that made Jongup so determined to have you? Is it simple or more complicated than one could handle?

Jongup was never a social child, his nightmare was when his father would knock on the door to his playroom to tell him he had to greet his guests. He was the child that hid behind his father’s legs as he timidly looked up at the frightening men his father mingled with, his business partners Mr Moon told Jongup.

“It would be a shame for such a well known mafia to fall apart because of the next leader in line” Jongup was only four at the time and though he didn’t understand what that man was talking about, his words left an unhealable wound in Jongup’s heart, he spent forever thinking about it. Until he was seven years old and things started to make sense.

Why he didn’t get to go to school, why he didn’t get to go outside and play very often and why there were always such scary looking men visiting his father, everything began making sense to Jongup. And he figured out why he had to be the best, the best of the best, the top of the list and the person that sent a shiver down your spine just by hearing his name because you knew what he was capable of.

Because it would be a shame for his father’s mafia to fall into a pitiful pool of shame and embarrassment.

Not long after Jongup turned seven his father had taken him with him to work for the first time. Jongup was astonished, it was every little boy’s dream but so, so much worse, it was every little boy’s nightmare.

The guns were used in such malicious ways, so many of the men his father worked with had lost their sanity and their sense of humanity long before he was brought into the world by his mother. The sight of the main building sent shivers down his small spine and though his eyes were curious Jongup kept them to the floor to stop as much of it haunting him as he could.

When Jongup was eight years old he was forced to go to work with Mr Moon for the millionth time. Jongup just knew it was going to be another horror-filled day. I only his mother was here to protect him, he wished for her so desperately, with all his little heart, but she never came to his rescue, forcing him to follow his father out the front door of his house every morning.

Jongup was ready, he had pep talked himself as much as an eight-year-old could prep themselves. He was ready for the angry shouts, gunshots ringing in the air, the smell of cigarettes and angry men shouting everywhere he went. But when the car finally came to stop Jongup’s young mind was put into shock, it was a house, a simple, normal looking house and the person opening the door was calm, he was smiling a truly happy albeit nervous smile to his father.

“And this must be young Jongup, what a fine young man you’re growing into” His hair was ruffled and he looked at the owner of the hand, the man who opened the door in astonishment. This man was nice. This man showed no intentions of anything sinful, nothing harmful and nothing against the law.

Mr Moon’s hand on Jongup’s back pushed him into the house, rather gently, like he always was when none of his work partners were watching. Because if this was a work partner he wouldn’t dare touch his son in front of them.

He was told to take his shoes off like the polite guest he was and he looked up into the eyes of the house’s owner and the tall man smiled down at Jongup.

“My daughter Y/N is waiting in the lounge room, you are more than welcome to play with her” The man spoke and Jongup stood dumbfounded.

“Thank you, sir” He sputtered and bowed, and then he rushed to follow the adults into the lounge room. Jongup was waiting for it, a gun to be shown or angry shouts, it was only a matter of time before it would all start and the false atmosphere he felt would reveal what it truly was to him.

But there was no shouting, there weren’t even any weapons in sight, instead, just like the man had promised, a young girl sat tucked into her mother’s side shyly and there was coffee sitting in the kettle, ready to be poured for whoever wanted some. He could only stare, you weren’t brave enough at the time to look him in the eye. If Jongup knew he was shy than you were straight up antisocial.

“Y/N, would you like to show Jongup your toys?” Jongup hadn’t even realised he had spent the past however long it was staring, watching the shy figure in front of him with keen interest. You looked up at your mother and her question seemed to bring you out of your shell the tiniest bit. You presented a sweet smile to your mother, nodding before slipping from her arms and onto your feet.

You looked at Jongup expectantly, waiting for him to stand up and follow you to your room where all your toys were left waiting for you to play with them again.

“Go on son, I’m sure Y/N has lots of interesting toys to play with” Mr Moon gave Jongup a pat on the back with a chuckle and it was then that Jongup realised he was in fact yet to stand up.

“Jongup, come on” Your voice was so sweet, Jongup had never heard anything like it, he had never seen another child in the flesh for that matter, only ever staring at his TV in a daze as he dreamed of having a friend to call his own. You were holding your hand out, oh and how small it was. Jongup realised he was already so much bigger than you the moment he stood, shyly holding your hand and looking at his father as you pulled him away from the living room.

“These are my favourite toys!” You giggled, Jongup figured he liked that sound, the sound of having someone feeling a certain happiness with him, even if it were just for all the toys in the room.

“You have so many” Jongup gasped and you gave another bubbly laugh.

“My dad always said I was lucky, do you think that’s true Jongup?” You looked at him with your beady eyes gleaming at him, there was teddy stuck to your chest as you hugged it tightly and Jongup nodded.

“Yes, but I also think I am very lucky to see you and all of these toys Y/N” Jongup answered and your little mind thought Jongup had never been able to play with such fun things like toys before coming to your house.

“You can play with whatever toys you like Jongup!” You grinned and Jongup stared at you.

What a pretty girl.

————

“Jongup, you remember Y/N? Her father is in debt to us?” Mr Moon randomly questioned Jongup one day, much further in the future. Jongup gave a nod, of course, he remembered, he could never forget that sweet child like smile and that adorable giggle that sang innocence to him. Jongup was never given the chance to make another friend after that day, of course, he remembered the closest thing he had to one.

“I do” Jongup answered and Mr Moon gave a somewhat proud tsk as his head tilted to the side and he reached into his pocket.

“My son how she has grown, I was right you know, a beautiful young woman is what she is becoming” Mr Moon took a photo from the pocket of his jacket, he passed it to Jongup and his son blinked at him.

“You saw her father again today?” He asked and Mr Moon chuckled as he nodded.

“Of course, and Y/N was there with us, she’s the one who gave me the picture, she’s in high school now” Mr Moon grinned, it was as if he were talking about the achievements of his own child, not the daughter of the man who owed his family his life as well as his whole families but was somehow friends with Mr Moon.

She’s beautiful.

Jongup tried to stop his jaw from dropping, you had grown up indeed, and his father wasn’t wrong, a beautiful young woman you were becoming, your hair was long and you were thankfully still untouched by the darkness of the world which allowed you to show a bright and innocent smile, just like Jongup remembered it to be but matured.

“Wow, she’s growing up” Jongup commented. He wondered to himself if there was ever the chance that you could have gone to the same school, even if it were for a short amount of time, so he could protect to from harm whilst teaching you how to protect yourself so he knew you would be safe when he graduated.

But of course his father had never allowed him to go to school, Mr Moon was Jongup’s teacher in life, anything he ever wanted to know he would just ask his father, and of course that is what he was told when he asked why he wasn’t at school making his own friends. Because he did ask a lot.

“I’m raising you so you can lead this mafia with pride Jongup” Something he was told many times and the words of his father would play in his head of every time he questioned what he was doing with his life.

Right, because this is what I was born to do.

Jongup sighed and Mr Moon looked at him, straightening the jacket he wore and making sure his hair was still jelled away from his face. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands on the table in front of him as he watched his son.

“Jongup, there is an important part of leading this mafia I’ve never talked to you about” Mr Moon started, effectively earning Jongup’s attention and slight irritation.

Great, here we go again.

Jongup fought the urge to roll his eyes and Mr Moon took the photo from Jongup’s hand to sit it on the table, stopping it from distracting the younger male.

“You need to get married in order to be powerful. The most powerful leaders are those with a partner next to them” Mr Moon monotoned and Jongup tensed as he heard those words, marriage, he had never thought he would reach such a stage in his life.

“I know a lot of strong people with daughters that would happily marry you, it would bring strength to them as well, unless, is there someone you would have in mind Jongup?” The picture was right in front of him, it was as if your eyes were boring into him for an answer. Jongup had spent so long in the dark part of the world, he was the devil in so many people’s eyes and he had grown used to his fate. Jongup could never imagine turning your life upside down, but the smirk that had grown to stain his lips became visible as his eyes took in your figure and the picture was back in his hands.

“I already know who I want father” Jongup chuckled to himself and put the picture forward as if they were trading Pokemon cards among themselves.

“You want to marry Y/N? Are you sure about this Jongup? Her family is in debt to us, after all, remember, power Jongup power” Mr Moon’s eyes were widened, he couldn’t hide the fact that he was shocked by his sons wants.

“I know what I want father, you can consider this as the last of their payment to our family” Jongup grinned, standing up and walking away.

“I wouldn’t want to have anyone else” Jongup muttered, thumb swiping over his lower lip as he entered his room. Jongup kicked off his shoes and pulled himself out of his jacket before falling onto his bed.

“And now I just have to hold on until you are of age my princess” Jongup chuckled, as if you were really in the room, sitting next to him and listening to him.


This is shorter than I wanted it to be but I was motivated to get it done and this is what happened! Let me know if you all enjoyed it!

The Consequences of Interfering

AN: A companion piece to Interfering. In which there is shouting, shenanigans, and Sherlolly.  ❤

Greg thanked the angry Detective Sergeant and jotted the final notes in his pad before turning away. The clean-up crew were finishing up and one by one the Yarders were leaving the scene. 

He sighed and tucked his pad into his inner pocket as he walked toward his car. It was going to be a long drive back to Scotland Yard.

He slid into the front seat, turned the car on, and peeled away from the curb. 

‘So,’ he broke the silence as he merged onto the expressway. ‘What’s the story?’

In the backseat, Molly sat rigidly, her arms crossed tight and a scowl on her face. She glared at him in the rear mirror, sniffed, and then turned her face toward her window.

Next to her, hands cuffed behind his back (an appeasing act for the sake of the DS he had slugged upon the Yard’s arrival), Sherlock was sitting uncomfortably stiff and staring determinedly out his own window.

They were like two similarly-charged magnets, an invisible force pushing them away from the other.

Realising he wasn’t going to get an answer from either, Greg resigned himself to a long, silent ride.

That is, until Sherlock had to go and put his gigantic foot in his slightly smaller, yet still gigantic mouth.

‘I just don’t understand why you’re so upset.’

Greg grimaced. He’d been married long enough to know that no good would ever come of saying that.

Slowly, like something out of a horror movie, Molly’s head turned toward Sherlock. Her eyes were narrow slits and her lips were pulled back tight.

Was it just him or did the temperature in the car abruptly drop twenty degrees?

‘The Great Sherlock Holmes doesn’t understand something?’ Molly mocked. ‘Say it isn’t so?!’

Sherlock very nearly snarled, ‘Forgive me for not lowering myself to the average human’s intelligence level to discover the source of your irrational anger, but I’d rather not debase myself in that way.’

Greg considered pulling over for a moment and just kicking Sherlock out of the car. Let the idiot walk the forty kilometres back to Baker Street. Handcuffed. 

But then Molly spoke. Her eyes flashed dangerously and Greg swore he saw smoke come out of her ears and nostrils. ‘You want to know why this average, stupid idiot is so angry?’

By the slightly panicked look on Sherlock’s face, it seemed the Great Detective had realised his misstep. 

‘I’m angry because you,’ Molly poked him in the arm hard, ‘you great,’ poke, ‘big,’ poke, ‘pompous,’ poke poke poke, ‘neanderthal, were almost killed tonight! Who said you had to push me out of the way?! I can take care of myself! I’m not some bloody helpless damsel in distress!’

Sherlock had scrambled away from her and huddled in the corner of the seat. ‘Why the bloody hell are you upset? I saved your life, you should be grateful!’

‘Grateful that you almost got killed?!’ Molly shouted.

‘But I didn’t!’ Sherlock retorted. ‘And even if I had been, it would have been worth it to keep you safe!’

Molly glared at him, enraged. ‘I’m not important and I’m certainly not worth dying for!’

Sherlock eyes flashed in fiery rage. He sat up and leaned toward her, until they were almost nose to nose. ‘You have no right to say that, your life is invaluable to me!’

‘What makes my life so ‘invaluable’ to you?’ Molly spat. ‘Because I keep you in body parts?’

‘No!’ Sherlock denied it vehemently, red with anger.

‘Because I clean up after you, let you do whatever the hell you like in the lab?’

Furious didn’t even begin to describe Sherlock’s face by now. ‘No, Molly, just shut up-’

But Molly continued on, shouting to talk over Sherlock. ‘Because I’m convenient and a pushover, always on hand if John’s not available?!’

‘Because I love you, damn it!’ Sherlock bellowed.

‘Well, I love you, too!’ Molly shouted back.

They both fell into stunned silence. 

His ears still ringing from the shouting match, Greg peered hesitantly in the mirror. They were staring at each other, faces blank as if processing what they had both said and heard. 

Finally, Sherlock cleared his throat and turned to look out his window. ‘Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up,’ he said disinterestedly.

Hurt flashed in Molly’s eyes before she turned her head away. ‘Yes. I suppose so.’

Greg silently cursed the Great Consulting Idiot. With a sigh, he propped his arm on the door’s ledge and rested his head against his hand. Still another twenty minutes to go. And if he thought the ride before the fight would be uncomfortable, after promised to be unbearable.

But then Sherlock said, ‘Obviously the next step is marriage.’

A chorus of horns erupted around them as Greg nearly ran them off the road in surprise. He straightened the car and met Sherlock’s amused gaze in the mirror. 

His swerving had dislodged Molly, who had fallen against Sherlock. She had caught herself, one hand on his thigh and the other caught between them.

‘Really?’ She asked dubiously.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulder dispassionately, but even Greg could see the twinkle in his eye as a genuine smile spread across his face.

‘Oh, you stupid man!’ Molly declared and grabbed his cheeks, hauling him close to snog him thoroughly. An act to which Sherlock happily complied. Very happily.

Erm, okay, not wasting time then. Greg cleared his throat and determinedly did not look in the backseat, even as he pressed on the gas just a little harder.

He needed to get them to Baker Street before Sherlock managed to get out of those handcuffs.

I'll Find Her and Bring Her Home. I Promise.

Hey everyone! I got this dialogue prompt from @random-superwholock-images and this was tons of fun. Thanks again Squishy! Hope you like it. As always, leave whatever comments/critiques you have in my inbox or in the reply sections! Thanks!

Summary:Claire and Alex are best friends with the reader, the Winchester’s adopted sister, and when you disappear after a hunt with Jody and her family, the girls decide to take matters into their own hands…

Warnings:Mild language (d—, s—) agnsty fluff? I dunno…

Tags: @winchesters-favorite-girl @the-third-winchester-warrior @daughters-and-winsisters @supernaturalmarvelgirl @lil-sister-winchester @jensen-jarpad @random-superwholock-images @winchester-sisters-imagines

“Claire, you don’t have to do this by yourself.” Alex pleads with friend and near sister, her dark hair brushing in front of her eyes briefly. “What if she doesn’t want to be found? Or if you end up in trouble?”

“No one wants to be alone. Even when I was on the run, part of me wanted to be found. To be safe with someone, even if I didn’t know who that might be. It’s why I kept going back to Randy.” Claire shoves another pair of shirts into a dark duffel bag before scanning the room for weaponry. She talks as she gathers her hunting items. “Look, Jody and Sam and Dean aren’t gonna get anywhere with their searching. Y/N knows what they’re looking for, so she knows how to stay off their radar. And there’s a reason why she hid her journal for us before she disappeared. She doesn’t want the boys to go get her. Y/N wants us!”

“Dean told us-”

“Dean is wrong, okay? Just because he’s a Winchester doesn’t make him right about every little thing.” Claire raises her voice before seeing the hurt flash across Alex’s face. Claire puts a final ponytail holder on her wrist, zips up her duffel, and spots her angel sword across the room. She sighs, grabbing the angel weapon and turning back to Alex, a weary gentleness in her eyes. “Alex, I’m going after Y/N. I don’t care what happens to me, but I’m gonna find her. I’ll find her and bring her home. I promise.”

“Then I’m coming with you.” Claire raises an eyebrow and Alex rolls her eyes. “You’ll need backup, whether you want it or not. You know that I hunt as well as you. And Y/N means as much to you as she does to me, so…I’m coming.”

A small hint of a smile passes over Claire’s lips. She tosses an empty duffel bag she had slyly grabbed over at Alex, fully well knowing that Alex would join up. “Good thing I packed you some extra shirts then.”

Alex smirks back. “Let’s go get our girl.”

**************************************************************

Jody calls up the stairs to the girls’ bedroom. “Claire? Alex? Dinner!”

No response.

Hmmm….odd…Jody learned a long time ago with her late son to go with her parenting intuition. She begins climbing up the stairs. “Girls? Sam and Dean are coming over again and you know they eat everything!”

Nothing.

Jody pushes open the door of her new daughters’ bedroom. She bites her lip and sighs at the sight that hits her tired eyes.

Empty.

“Alex! Claire!” Jody shouts ring through the whole house fruitlessly; there’s no one home but her. A pit forms in the sheriff’s gut. She glances around at the teens’ room, looking for some kind of clue. There’s not much, but there’s enough for Jody to piece together what’s happened. Two duffel bags gone, the lack of clothes in the drawers, no wallets on the night stands, and the most obvious one: Claire’s missing angel sword.

Damn it. Jody reaches into her pocket with a heavy hand, fearing the worst. The past two days have really taken a toll on her, trying to find out what happened to Y/N. Claire and Alex loved her like another sister, as did Jody. Her disappearance his everyone hard. Y/N was a good kid, always doing the level-headed choice, becoming the Winchester’s conscience. Running was so out of character, it hit Sam, Dean, Jody, and the girls in the gut that morning yesterday.

She presses a number on her speed dial and holds the cold box up to her ear. Her breath trembles just barely as she hears a dial tone and almost immediate click.

“Jody. What’s going on?” A familiar rolling voice responds over the phone.

Sheriff Mills takes a deep breath. “Sam. Is Dean with you?”

“Yeah, hold on. I’m putting you on speaker.” Jody wipes her eyes for a second, hot beads of water stinging. “Okay. We’re listening.”

“You got anything?” The gruff tone of Dean Winchester cuts over the tinny audio.

“Yeah. Bad News. Claire and Alex are gone.” Jody pauses. “And I’m pretty sure they went after Y/N.”

**************************************************************

The sky darkens from a shade of twilight gray to a deep, midnight navy. Clouds hide the moon and starlight. Icy, biting wind cuts into your body and face. Acrid winter air and blustery gusts blow, swirling invisible needles of pain into you. Yet you run. That’s the only thing that can make sense to you right now. Running. I have to get away. They’re in danger. I have to go… The same phrases repeating over and over in your mind. You don’t know what they mean, but you know from the pit in your gut and the panicky state you’re sent into whenever you try to remember why that something is coming. Something big.

And you have something to do with it.

You don’t remember how you got the series of deep gash marks on the backs of your arms, where you came from, your family if you even have one, your own name, nothing. Just a whole great big series of nothing. You know that you’re dangerous though. I mean, why else would a person carry around so many different weapons constantly? Or have wayyy more cash than anyone should in a duffel bag on your back. Or how every time you saw something strange, your first instinct was to try and help. Or kill.

But you know nothing.

Except that you have to run. Danger is coming after you, apparently something even more dangerous than you. That idea alone makes you shudder. But, it’s bad. And you don’t have the foggiest idea on what to do but run.

Your mysterious life on the lam has led you all over the US over the course of three days, beginning back in the mid-west. You found town names that elicited feelings in you, hoping to find some kind of connection to anything. Right now, you are back in somewhere called Poughkeepsie again. It feels…safe for you. You know it has significance, but, like everything else about your life, you just don’t know. You’ve been circling some of your paths in an effort to throw off who, or whatever, was pursuing you.

You run your fingers through your freezing hair, trying to come up with a place to stay the night where you won’t be recognized. The hotel knew you, as did the Women’s shelter. You sigh and bite your lip. It looks like your options are either the street or the homeless shelter. You could snag a hot meal, maybe even a shower if you went to the shelter, but that risked being spotted or followed. A cold wind stings your face and you bundle in yet another layer of plaid. Your stomach growls in envy, moaning for sustenance you haven’t received for a day or two. And dumpster diving wasn’t something you could just bring yourself to do yet.

Maybe…you don’t want to, but hijacking a gas station wouldn’t be the first time you’ve robbed a store. The last time went smoothly and so did the others, but you know luck has to run out eventually. You quicken your pace against the stinging wind and find a corner building doorway to rest for a moment. Cars drive past at a decent city speed, the lights just a little too bright for your taste.

That’s when you see him. Your heart quickens, sending a small rush of heat and adrenaline through your body. Perfect. A man, clearly well off in life, is walking down the street your way. He pauses at the crosswalk and presses the button, hands in his coat pockets, clearly outlining a wallet. A pickpocket target. You might not go hungry tonight after all…

You brush a stray piece of hair from your face and step towards the street as the light turns green. A familiar orange hand made of tiny lightbulbs flashes on the opposite side of you. You stride along the crosswalk, the wealthy man coming towards you. You rub your fingers together, warming them back up for a clean swipe of the wallet.

But you never make it to the man. You hear him shout at you suddenly mixed with a blaring horn. Blinding light fills your eyes as you turn your head and reel back at the glaring brightness. A scream dies in your throat before it can hit the chilly air. You go flying for a moment and then hit the hard, cold pavement, the pain of the car worse than any wind hitting you before. That’s the last thing you register is the extreme pain. And the rich man running towards you.

*************************************************************

Dawn peeks over the land as Claire sighs in the shotgun seat of a borrowed car Alex drives down I-280. Yes, they really did borrow it. Nothing was hot wired or stolen or anything like that classic Winchester business. Though, it is a classic car. 1966 light blue Mustang, a loan from a friend of Alex’s. But, for Claire, the excitement of the pretty classic wore off fast as the two girls drove down the monotonous stretch of land across Iowa. Lotta farms, not much else. Alex tries to make the boring landscape go away by cruising at 90mph for most of the flat land everywhere. They’d be out of the state in a half-hour if things kept up.

“Alex, when we get to the next town, I’ll take over. You’ve been driving all night just to get us to here.”

“I’m fine,” Alex responds with bloodshot eyes. “I can go for a little bit longer.”

“Alex, you haven’t slept all night. You gotta let me take over before we get pulled over by somebody.”

“Okay, okay. I will. Just let me cross the state line first. Then we’ll switch.”

“Deal.” Claire turns back to the roadmap she had stolen from Jody. She felt bad when she took it, but getting Y/N was more important. On the map, Alex and Claire had marked out some locations that were safe for a runaway. Alex’s bait and lure life over most of her youth gave her traveling and runaway knowledge. Claire was runaway for years. Combined with what they knew about Y/N, the two girls had made a list of where Y/N would go, as well as where she wasn’t. Usually those points were in areas Sam and Dean thought their younger, adoptive sister might be.

“She’s got a three day start on us, roughly. We’ve struck out all the areas Sam and Dean thought Y/N could be, but lucky for us,” Claire reaches under her seat and pulled out a lovingly worn black leather book, “She’s got a list of safe hideouts under code names. Like this one.” She runs a finger down a handwritten page of your journal to a name. “Nice Cinderella’s.”

“Yeah, that’s our house. You know, two girls and their guardian? Well, stepmom kind of, but same idea.”

Claire shrugs. “Makes sense. Most of these are under mythology and fairy tale names. Like over here, Bobby’s house is listed under Hephaestus’s Dump. Scrapyard.” “It’s gonna take us time to figure all these out…”

“There’s some coordinates in the back that line up with the codes, but they’re in code also.” Claire pulls a face looking at some of the numbers. “What kind of language is this?”

Alex glances over quickly before turning her attention back to the road. “Calculus, I think. My old boyfriend took it and I’m pretty sure that’s what it looks like.” Alex let’s out a sigh herself. “She went through a lot of code, didn’t she. This is not gonna be fun.”

“You expect any less from Y/N?” Claire smirks gently. “Think about it. I mean, she’s crazy smart, but she’s just…”

“Gone.”

“Yeah. I’m still trying to figure out any idea to what happened.”

“What do we know? Just, trying to make a timeline kind of thing.” Alex keeps her eyes on the road as she spots an exit sign coming up in the distance. She slows the car down to 70 mph. Claire stares and Alex shrugs. “Typical cop hideout.”

Claire nods. “So…we know Sam and Dean and Jody found whatever they were hunting.”

“Because we were there too.”

“Right. We snuck behind watching them with Y/N.”

“Then there was an attack behind us from a hiding creature.”

“Y/N tackled it and got a little scraped up. I chopped its head off and then Sam and Dean showed.”

“Yeah. Then Jody got mad for us following, but it was good because that creature would’ve gone into town on a rampage like the one they were hunting.”

“Which we still don’t know what it is.” Claire sinks down into the shotgun seat some more before continuing. “Everyone leaves: Winchester boys to a motel and us girls back home.”

“Y/N gets bandaged up by Jody, we talk upstairs, wake up and she’s missing.”

“And doesn’t show up on anything. Phone ditched, no credit card trail, no cars stolen, nothing. Completely invisible. Sam and Dean freak out and start searching the nearby areas for a Jane Doe.”

“Nothing pops up for two days, and they were going to expand the search to other towns and hunting safe houses.”

“Today. But we found her journal she left yesterday and decide to go after her.”

“Aaaaaand then we’re driving.” Alex smiles as a mile marker appears. Only 20 more miles of unbelievable flatness and dull farmland til Illinois. But her smile disappears fairly quickly as the two girls drive past the freeway exit.. Red and blue lights start flashing in the rear view mirrors and familiar sirens ring out on the flat land. A cop car peels out from the Interstate off ramp and follows Alex.

“Aww, shit.” Alex pulls off onto the shoulder and stops the car. Claire reaches for the glove compartment for the hidden tranquilizer gun they had also stolen from Jody. She hides it in her inner jacket pocket as the officer walks towards the driver’s side of the car.

“‘Scuse me ladies, but may I ask what you two are doing at this hour of night?” He has a deep voice with a slight twang of a Midwest-hillbilly accent. Kentucky maybe. A grey mustache dons his upper lip and thick holster on his hip.

Alex puts on a sweet smile and a heavy accent of her own. “Officer, I’m just driving my sister and I back to our farm and Ma over in the next state over. She ain’t doing so well and my sis and I wanna see her real soon before noon hits.”

The cop scratches his head. “See now, girls, I’d let you get going now, but I just got in a call from a friend of mine that this car is on the stolen vehicles list and I’m sure you two wouldn’t happen to know anything about that now, would you?”

Alex turns her head at Claire and widens her eyes. Claire leans over, copying Alex’s accent roughly. “Sir, now why would our car be on a watch list? It’s been our Mama’s car for at least 40 years.”

“Kid, when I get a call from Sheriff Jody Mills saying that her two girls ran off in a ‘66 blue Mustang, don’t play dumb with me. Now, I know that something’s a’going on so you better come up with a good reason why you just lied to a federal officer.”

Claire stammers for a sec. “Uh…we-”

“Oh, that’s it,” Alex interrupts, dropping the phony accent. She yanks the tranq gun out of Claire’s jacket and fires. Two large darts sticking out of the policeman’s chest, the cop falls backward onto the asphalt with a heavy thud. Alex brushes a stray hair out of her face and tosses the gun in Claire’s lap, hitting the gas again.

Claire stares, completely shell shocked. “You just shot him!”

“With the highest dose of darts we have. Good call on loading those up. We gotta swap cars next town over.” Alex drives like nothing happened.

“You just shot a fed!”

“Like you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

Claire raises her eyebrows. “Wow. Didn’t expect that to come out of you.”

“Hey, we’ve gotta get Y/N back. And now we’re on a smaller timetable. It’s like you said. We’ll find her and bring her home.”

The Mustang cruises back up into the triple digits as the fire of determination rekindles back up in the girls.

8 | Tomorrow

BTS MAKNAE LINE X READER AU

WORD COUNT: 3,646

WARNINGS: SWEARING, ANGST, FEELS, ETC

masterlist | ask | prev | next


“Y/N are you listening to me?” Your mother snapped her fingers in front of your face at the dinner table, 

“You should stop putting so much salt on your food - it’s bad for you.” She spoke calmly in her soft voice as she took the table salt away.

You’d being staying at your childhood home with your parents just outside of town for the past 5 weeks as part of your bail condition. Unable to venture into the centre of town meant that you couldn’t go to work, not that you were welcome there anyway, you couldn’t see Belle, and you couldn’t go home. The once strong, independent, socialite you were was now entirely gone; you felt like a stranger to yourself.

“Two more days.” Your dad cupped your face and kissed your forehead,
“Two more days and then the world will see that you’re innocent in all of this.” He smiled kindly as he stood up from the dining table, taking the dishes into the kitchen.

Do you need a hand with those?” You shouted after him, desperate to find something to do.
Living back at home with your parents was great for the first three days or so, especially as your mother made it so you did barely any housework or laundry, but soon enough having no independence, nowhere to go and nothing to do got depressing.

“I’m okay Y/N. You go on upstairs, use my phone to ring Belle.” He shouted back. Anybody who saw him would be intimidated, he was a big guy with a loud voice and a constant frown, but he was easily the kindest man you knew.

Keep reading

By Force of Friendship

Note: A little early, but since my workday is crazy tomorrow I wanted to go ahead and get this up since it was written. So here you go! My contribution for Barricade Day(s) 2017. Warning for….a lot of sads. I think a lot about how Enjolras was the last man standing and must have seen his friends fall, and this is the result of that. 

The acrid, smoke drenched air reeks of death.

Yet as Enjolras knocks down a National Guard officer with the butt of his gun, life rushes through him. His heart smacks against his chest, his breaths rapid and ragged in his ears. Dawn breaks over the horizon, bathing the barricade in gold and red light, casting shadows in slices on the ground. His blood feels hot in his veins, every inch of him pulsing with feeling.

They were going to die.

His own words resound in his head.

Brothers, he who dies here dies in the radiance of the future, and we are entering a tomb all flooded with the dawn.

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youtube

The ring shout

sacrifice

another quick entry! this time for klanceweek prompt #2: sacrifice

still debating whether or not to cross-post these entries on ao3 so let me know what you think. again, you can also find these short ficlets on twitter!

day 1

This is the last thing Keith expected to happen when they landed on Gordania.

When they respond to a distress beacon, it’s usually to free people from Galran control. Occasionally, the aliens invite the team for a party or celebration, seizing any opportunity they can to boast their connections with the legendary Voltron. There have been, of course, times when the aliens try to deceive them.

But this is a whole new level of deceit.

Keith sighs and glances down at the thick coils of rope wrapped around his torso. His eyes flick up to the circle of aliens surrounding him, a race of towering people with beady black eyes and physical features similar to that of a frog. They smile at Keith, bearing rows of glimmering fangs. Currently, Keith is tied to the trunk of a tree. A tree, which is soon to be set on fire.

That’s right— Keith Kogane is about to become a human sacrifice.

“Your death will not be in vain,” the nearest alien urges. Gordanorns, that’s what they’re called. “The gods are pleased that we have chosen you.”

What does he even say to that? Keith tries to wriggle his wrists free of their restraints and winces at the pinching pain. “Are you sure the, uh, gods want someone like me?”

“Of course.” The Gordanorn holds a long stick. A tiny flame flickers at the end. “You should be honored.”

“Right, right,” Keith mutters. Another experimental tug and, nope, there’s no way he’s getting out of this. Keith is well and truly fucked.

Just as the Gordanorn lifts the “ritualistic flame,” a shout rings out over the murmurs of the crowd. “Stop!”

Surprisingly enough, the Gordanorn does as it’s told. It halts and adjusts its hold, brandishing the stick like a weapon. Inky black eyes scan the area in search of the speaker. “Who dares to interrupt this ritual? Show yourself!”

From his place on the platform, Keith can’t quite make out the identity of his rescuer. They gradually push their way to the front of the group and— seriously? There’s no mistaking the familiar suit, accented with blue plates. Even Lance’s gait is distinct enough to recognize.

“I refuse to let you sacrifice my—” Indecision flickers across Lance’s features. Keith can decipher it even from this distance. Lance sets his hands on his hips, lifting his chin. “My husband!”

Keith wonders, for a second, if the Gordanorn already lit the fire and he’s dead.

“This man is simply a fellow paladin.” The alien assumes its full height, leering down at Lance. “I will not be tricked.”

Keith tenses, unintentionally straining against the ropes. He won’t make it out of this alive. But Lance isn’t panicking and carries on as if he hasn’t just been called out.

“Oh no, we’re married alright.” Lance cups his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “Isn’t that right, babe?”

Warmth floods Keith’s face. When he escapes from here, he’s totally kicking Lance’s ass. Regardless of whether he saved him.

“Uh, yeah,” Keith answers awkwardly. “I knew my… husband would come for me.”

“Oh, I’ll come for y—”

“Why don’t you tell these nice Gordanorns why they can’t burn me at the stake,” Keith interjects through gritted teeth. “Babe.”

“I was getting to that.” Lance walks over to the platform Keith is on and hoists himself up. His long legs and arms make the task look effortless. He sidles up next to the alien holding Keith’s life in its webbed hands. “You see… if you kill him, we won’t be able to form Voltron anymore.”

The Gordanorn blinks. “And?”

Dammit, Lance.

“Oh. Well, alright. That’s not the only reason,” Lance continues, undeterred. “He’s also part-Galran.”

Gasps and outraged mutterings fill the air. The Gordanorn on the platform snarls at Keith like a rabid dog. They lift the stick, flame inches away from Keith’s face, and he squeezes his eyes shut. This isn’t exactly how he planned to die, but oh well.

Keith waits for the crippling pain of being stabbed but— it never comes.

Cautiously, Keith opens his eyes. He’s met with a tousled head of chocolate brown hair. Lance is furiously slicing through the rope with what appears to be a rock, sharpened to a dangerous point. A few seconds of frantic cutting and the rope falls. Keith immediately works his way free and allows Lance to tug him off the stage.

As Keith scans the crowd, he notes the unconscious Gordanorn on the ground in front of the platform. The others stand around their fallen warrior, flailing and panicking amongst themselves. Meanwhile, Keith and Lance dive into the cover of the forest. They jump over roots and silently navigate through the trees. Lance takes the time to say, “I know, I know, we’ll talk about it when we get to Blue,” and leaves it at that.

Thankfully, the blue lion isn’t far from the village. The moment they step into the clearing, Blue crouches down, lowering their jaw to let the two crawl inside. Lance, for some reason, has yet to let go of Keith’s hand. He doesn’t until he climbs into the pilot’s seat.

Lance quickly takes control and helps Blue swerve through the branches overhead. Once they reach the treetops and effectively put enough space between themselves and the Gordanorns, Lance heaves a loud sigh of relief.

“Good riddance,” he mumbles and glances over his shoulder, shooting Keith a wobbly grin. “Sorry about the husband thing.”

“It’s alright.” Then, realization strikes Keith. “Wait, what did forming Voltron or being half-Galran have to do with us being married?”

“Well, you know, I was hoping they had at least some semblance of a heart. But that didn’t work so I had to go with the other excuses. The marriage was a failsafe, you know?”

Lance rambles away, and Keith edges closer, shaking his head. “Still not seeing a connection.”

“Just… ugh! I reacted, okay, I have no other— oh.” Lance freezes. He lifts a shaky hand to his cheek. The place Keith had just gently pressed a kiss to. “Keith…?”

“Thanks for saving me, husband.” Keith pats him on the shoulder, laughing at the way Lance startles at the touch. “I guess I can forgive you this one time.”

Never one to be outdone, Lance snorts and turns to Keith. “Whatever you say,” he answers cheekily, punctuating the sentence with an exaggerated wink, “babe.”

Oh, I’m definitely kicking his ass once we get back to the ship.

Forbidden Fruit - Jared Leto x Reader

Title: Forbidden Fruit

Pairing: Jared Leto x Reader

Word Count: 3,250

Warnings: Implied Smut, Minor Nudity, Cheating

Summary: When you agree to take part in one of your friends’ videos you are excited. And excitment that turns into nervousness when you realize the kind of scenes you have with your crush and best friend Jared Leto.

Originally posted by vampirechelon

“Just a minute and we’re done sweetheart.” the make up artist told you with a smile and you gave her a nervous one.

“Oh no, don’t rush. Take your time.” you shook just softly your head and she chuckled.

“If I didn’t know any better and if I didn’t have eyes of my own I would say you’re not really excited about this huh?” she teased you slightly and you gave her an awkward smile.

“I- I- No, it’s not that. I’m just a little… nervous. Not- not about the scenes- it’s just that- it’s something new for me and… yeah.” you breathed out nervously and she nodded her head with a soft smile.

“I know what you mean- up to some part I guess.” she chuckled “The first time I came to work here as a make up artist I was shaking like a leaf. But then I saw that as far as it had to do with the thing I love most then- I would be fine.” she shrugged.

“I guess this can apply only if you love acting and singing though.” she added with an awkward laugh.

“Well, I guess.” you mumbled “Mostly acting, actually but- I am not doing it entire for that.”

“Then what if not your love for acting?” she asked, eyes focused on her work though.

“My love for my best friend.” you breathed out and she smiled.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

skam needs to end with Vilde, Eva and Noora having gfs and not being emotional unfulfilled in realtionships with subpar guys tbh

That’s the dream!!

Eva and Vilde happily dating, Evak going strong, Yousana having gotten together somehow. And Noora all alone on the conch and DING DONG the doorbell rings Eskild shouts “NOORA! Someone is here for you!!” The hetros hold their breath they are thinking Willy is back, BUT

Originally posted by leatherjacketrenegade67

THERE SHE IS!!! Noora’s secret long time crush from London. Wearing a flowery dress looking nervous in the hallway! 

“What are you doing here?” Noora asks in English.

She looks nervous before replying “I had to see you” in Norwegian and it just like that love actually scene where Colin Firth learned Portuguese and confesses his love for his housekeeper except it is gay and in Norwegian, which makes it ten-times better!

Truth

pairing: daveed diggs x reader

request:  Can you write a FIC where Daveed has feelings for his best friend (reader) n she finds out while playing truth or dare n then she gets mad that Daveed never told n then they end up having hot passionate angry sex ?

summary: reader and daveed and rafa have been friends since college. they’re at a party. this is what happens.

warnings: lots of swearing, lots of alcohol, lots of sex. like, kind of kinky sex. a little bit of choking. if you’re not into that probably don’t read this.

word count: 3,989

a/n: i really wanted to post this before i had to leave my house tonight so there may be errors as i didn’t have time to read it over. this request revived my soul, thank you @mynanimmous for sending it in. AS always, my inbox is open for comments or questions or requests!


“We are not having the party at my place again,” Rafa groans. “There’s no way. I just got the stains out of my carpet from the fourth of July party where someone,” he pauses to glare at Daveed, “dropped an entire tray of cherry and blue raspberry jello shots.”

“Dude, I’ve told you a million times I’m sorry.” Daveed groans.

“Sorry doesn’t get me back my security deposit!”

Keep reading

Misunderstanding

Summary: Can I request a fic please? A Peter Parker x reader in which he keeps skipping on dates and reader doesn’t know why and assumes he’s cheating so it all comes out into this big fight and you break up with him and leave only to be attacked by some guys. Then you get rescued by Spider-Man, who rips off his mask in front of you and reveals himself as Peter before kissing you because he was soooo worried?

Warnings: cursing, mentions of cheating

Word count: 501

Originally posted by wondersgal

It wasn’t the first time Peter missed a date. In fact, it seemed to be a regular routine and you were beyond your last straw. It was obvious Peter wasn’t coming, so with a sigh, you stood and exited the pizzeria into the pouring rain.

Tugging the hood of your jacket over your head, you headed toward his apartment, deciding to confront the asshole once and for all.

This was your last chance, Parker. You blew it.

Arriving at the door, the key Peter had given you was used to open it up. Aunt May was no where in sight but there was light streaming from beneath the crack of Peter’s bedroom door.

Slamming the door shut behind you, you approach the door and don’t bother knocking, turning the knob to see a disheveled Peter — blazing your anger.

“You’re a real fucking asshole, Parker!” you hissed, tossing the key at him. “Some boyfriend material you are!”

Peter flinches, your name leaving his lips in a sad tone. “I’m sorry, look I-” he pauses, unable to finish the sentence. I was late because I stopped a robbery on the Fifth.

“That you what? Forgot about me while getting laid?” you snapped. His lips parted, a hurt expression marking his face.

“I would never cheat on you.”

You swallowed, trying to gain some composure. “Then why do you never show up for dates? Hell, we hardly even talk anymore. Just save your breath and admit you’ve been seeing someone behind my back, Peter. No you know what? I’ll save myself the trouble and leave you.”

With that, you ignore Peter’s useless attempts to apologize and leave in a rush, mind whirling at what you had done.

Tears blurred your vision, you pause by an alleyway, unable to run anymore.

“It’s not everyday we get a pretty crying lady in our alley,” a hoarse voice said, the stench of cigarettes filling your nostrils. Spinning around you see two men with evil smirks cast hungry gazes down your body.

“S-stay away!” you say, voice shaking, backing away.

Their laughter echoed through the streets, nobody else in sight.

Chest heaving, you do the one thing you can think of: scream for help and run. Sprinting through the alley, you continue screaming until the sound of groans and shouting ring behind you. Looking back you see red, blue, and black collide.

It was Spider-Man.

You can’t help but stare, watching as he knocked one of the harassers unconscious and webbed the other to a nearby dumpster. Spidey turns before running towards you, tearing off his mask before his lips connected to yours.

The air in your lungs disappeared, shock settling in your veins as you pulled away.

“Peter?”

Peter’s gloved hands cup your face, worry etched into his face. “I was so worried I thought they’d-”

Unable to contain yourself you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as humanely possible as you pressed your lips to his.

You’re forgiven.

I love you.