strangers morning

Sade Smols

I always scoffed at the local legend about the tiny people who lived in our town. That’s what the adults talked about when we were growing up - the little helpers who lived in the cracks and crevices of homes who scared away bugs and cleaned up crumbs. I never saw one. No one I knew did. But still, people talked about them as if they were there, like modern fairies.

This morning, I woke up to one sitting on my pillow, deftly cleaning a puddle of drool off my pillowcase.

He seemed as startled as I was.

“It’s okay,” he assured me.

I was surprised how loud and clear his voice was, as he was only four inches tall.

“I’m Sade Smols,” he said. “I’ve been cleaning here for the last six months.”

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Running Late (Part 2 of 2)

Summary: College AU. You grow infatuated with a cute stranger who always happens to be late for class. Unfortunately, things don’t go as planned when you finally interact with him.

Word Count: 1,995

Part 1

A/N: Here’s the second and final part of this fic. I hope you all enjoy it. 

Originally posted by in-perfectenschlag

7:30 AM. Right on schedule.

Entering the department building, you make your way to your classroom and prepare yourself for another day of lectures and presentations…and the cute stranger who made a fool out of you with just one glance and a smile. Your series of humiliating moments from the day before still linger in your mind and with certainty, those moments still linger in the mind of the cute stranger as well. Maybe going to the library is the better option to let those memories be long forgotten over the weekend. You certainly don’t want him to taunt you about yesterday’s occurrences.

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on the may 15th fansign, mental health, darkness, and hope

on May 15, 2015, during 화양연화 Pt. 1 I went to BTS’ fansign at Sinchon and had a conversation with Namjoon that I, at the time, chose not to reveal for personal reasons. at that time, because of that decision, there were a lot of people who criticized me—people accused me of saying something mean to him, accused me of hiding some secret relationship between us, called me a slut, etc. I didn’t say anything about it at the time because it seemed pointless, but now that 화양연화 has come to an end for real, and following the release of YOU NEVER WALK ALONE—plus, the upcoming 2 year anniversary of this extremely fateful conversation (lol)—I have decided to write about it, if only to explain a little of why I feel such a connection to the concept and so people will understand why I kept it private for so long.

I just want to go ahead and give people some warning: it’s not only a post about BTS. it’s a post about my life, and it contains a lot of sensitive material, like self-harm, suicidal ideation, and drug use. please bear that in mind if you decide to read it, I don’t want anyone to be upset by that content.

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EVAK FANFICS RECS / PART 4

ONESHOTS:

  • I’ll take you as you are by Behindthecities
    Summary: Even can’t sleep so Isak draw’s him a bath.

  • One More Second by kosekardemomme
    Summary: Isak invites the boys over to hang out with Even, for the first time with just them, just after Christmas. “Evak” can’t keep their hands off each other, though.

  • isak x even | dance so good by BloonStuff
    Summary: When Isak happens upon Even out of bed in the first time in a few days, he decides to make the most of the moment. 

MORE UNDER THE CUT

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cosmic-files-87  asked:

2/11/15 MSR for the angsty list....I know....I am an ass.... (but really!!!!! Please write that!!!!)

2 - I don’t need you. I don’t need any of you.

11 - You can’t keep hurting me and then demand I apologize instead.

15 - You betrayed me.

Author’s Notes: Okay, this one hurts. Like a kick to the groin kind of hurt. I almost feel bad. It is high angst & will probably piss some of you off. If you proceed – you were warned. Post IWTB.

Two Weeks, Too Cold

It’s been two full weeks since she’s seen him.

She can’t remember the last time she went more than a day without hearing his voice – What’s up, Doc? – watching him as he watched her, or felt his broad chest against her back as he spooned her to sleep.

I won’t be coming home, she had said. Don’t do this, he had begged.

Scully keeps telling herself that she made a mistake by letting him kiss her as she stood in their front yard with tears rolling down her face, by entertaining the notion that they could ever hide from the darkness. It was cruel, she thinks, because even then she knew that she wouldn’t be coming back home.

Which isn’t exactly true, because she did come home, briefly, to gather a bag or two of her belongings. Her chest aches at the memory – of the desperate tears and of his voice breaking on each  I’m sorry and please don’t leave me.

That was two weeks ago. Two weeks that have been filled with work, because if she can’t help the man she loves then at least she can help a child breathe. Two weeks filled with too much coffee, because her fingers feel ice cold without his own interlaced with them. Too little sleep, because her skin trembles and aches without his hands there to gentle away the nightmares.

Two weeks, she has decided, is long enough.

I just want to see him, she tells herself as she guides her car onto the long gravel drive that leads to their shared home. The house is modest, but cozy. Most of all, it’s theirs. The few tangible things they’ve shared in the past have been wrenched away from them – but not their home. No blood to scrub out of the carpet, no taped X in the window to summon life-threatening information. It’s just home, and it’s theirs.

She steps out of her car into the crisp air of early morning to pull open the gate, and she smiles to herself. The ritual of it is comforting. Countless mornings and evenings have began and ended with opening this gate, letting herself back into the beautiful, private world she shares with Mulder.

Pulling into her spot in front of the house, she sees a strange car. She frowns curiously. Did he go out and buy a car after I left? She wouldn’t put it past him, except that it would require his actually leaving the house (and nothing short of a psychic priest has convinced him to do so thus far).

On her walk to the front door, her heart begins to hammer against her ribs at the thought of seeing him again.  It’s only been two weeks, she chides herself. Still, she expects that he may be angry. When he’s hurt, he tends to deflect – in his case, that means petulant withdrawal and an abundance of sarcasm.

She draws in a deep breath and unlocks the door. He may still be asleep, she realizes as she steps into quiet darkness. It’s just after five o’clock in the morning. Just because she hasn’t been able to rest doesn’t mean he can’t.

But oh, she’s finally home. She closes her eyes, relishing the smell of Mulder’s aftershave mingled with the scent of the roses he had delivered to her office just a week before those goddamned agents showed up at the hospital. She remembers bringing them home, carefully tucking them into a vase of water. They’re beautiful, she had told him. Not as beautiful as you, he had replied, his hand tucked against the small of her back.

“Who are you?”

Scully starts at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, opening her eyes to see a woman standing at the threshold where kitchen becomes living room.

A woman.

Tall. Brunette. Holding a glass of water. Wearing only a t-shirt and a confused expression.

“This is my house,” Scully says, the words scraping past a throat that has gone as dry as desert sand. “Who are you?”

The woman stares back, tugging at the hem of her t-shirt uncomfortably.

No, not her t-shirt. Mulder’s t-shirt. Scully’s favorite shirt that Mulder owns, because it’s soft and worn and somehow still smells like the cologne he wore the first time she slept in his arms, even after all these years.

I’m going to be sick, this is not happening, oh Mulder what is going on…

The woman finally speaks, clearing her throat. “He – he said he lived alone.”

I’ve wandered into the wrong house, Scully thinks numbly. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.

But no. That’s Mulder’s shirt, and that’s the drinking glass my mother gave to me when we moved here. That’s the couch where Mulder and I made love less than a month ago.

“Scully.”

This can’t be the wrong house, because that’s Mulder. He’s standing in front of her, and he’s not wearing my favorite shirt, he’s not wearing a shirt at all, and he looks terrified, and oh God I’m going to be sick…

“Mulder?” Her voice sounds tiny. Her hands are still freezing, but now her palms are sweating as her stomach churns. Please explain this, Mulder, she begs silently. Please please please please.

“Who is she?” When the other woman speaks again, Scully wants to scream at her. She has no right to ask that. Scully is the one who should be demanding an explanation. She’s the one who deserves an answer. Not this stranger, with her morning-after hair and her long smooth legs brushing the hem of Mulder’s shirt.

I’m going to be sick.

“Mulder?” This time, her voice is louder, sharper, less please tell me this isn’t what it looks like and more how fucking could you.

He doesn’t acknowledge the other woman’s inquiry, instead stepping toward Scully with his hand outstretched. “Scully,” he begins, and her name on his lips tells her all she needs to know. She’s heard him speak her names countless times – calling to her for help, playfully teasing her, comforting her in times of distress, moaning in ecstasy as she coaxes him to climax, even shouting in anger during a particularly intense argument.

Never – never – has he said her name with this desperate, helpless tone threaded through it.

The woman has disappeared, and Scully can hear her in the bedroom – our bedroom  – gathering her things, probably eager to get away from this house – our house – and whatever is about to happen between them.

Mulder moves forward, and she sees panic etched into the lines of his face.

She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head as the full realization of what’s happening settles over her. “No,” she chokes, swallowing against a throatful of stomach acid. “No, no, no.”

“I’m sorry, Scully, please let me explain.”

Her eyes fly open, and she wraps her arms around herself. “Explain?” Her voice catches on a sob. “What is there to explain?” She stares at his face, his beautiful face, and it’s more than she can take, his eyes full of regret. She backs away, grappling for the doorknob.

“Scully, don’t leave. Please.”

Two weeks, Mulder!” Her stomach aches, her head pounds, and I need to get out of here, this is not happening. “I was gone two fucking weeks!”

She is hot and cold at the same time, her clammy palms sliding against the doorknob as her fingers shake uncontrollably. She feels the heat of his body behind her, and oh God, she wants to lean into him, just to warm her hands, but nonononono, she has to leave, she cannot stay another minute in this house.

When he places a hand against her shoulder, her entire body recoils. “Get the hell away from me,” she gasps, her breaths coming in shorter spurts now, her lungs burning.

The doorknob finally relents, and she shoves against the door, stumbling outside where it’s still so cold, it’s not home, and she can’t breathe, and fuck you Mulder how dare you how fucking dare you.

He follows her across the yard. “Scully, please.”

She doesn’t break stride or respond. She’s almost to her car when she feels his hand catch the arm of her coat. She jerks free, but his grasp is lighter than she expected, and the heel of her boot slides against a leftover patch of ice. 

Under any other circumstance, she would have caught herself. The reflexes instilled in her all those years ago in FBI field training never failed her before, but she can’t even catch her breath so how is supposed to support her full weight?

Maybe she doesn’t even want to.

Her knee meets the ground with a sharp crunch, and she hisses in pain.

Immediately, Mulder is at her side. “Oh God,” he says, and reaches for her again. She slaps his hand away, and finally the tears she’s been fighting break through, streaming hot against her chilled face.

“In our bed, Mulder,” she says bitterly, leaning back against the tire of her car. “I was gone two weeks, and you fucked someone in my bed.” She tries to suck in a lungful of air, but is met with resistance when the breath halts on a sob. So this is what suffocation feels like.

“I was drunk,” he whispers miserably.

“When are you not?”

He flinches, but continues. “I don’t know what happened. Scully, I don’t even know her.”

“Where did you meet her, Mulder?” She glares through her tears. “All this time, while I’ve been working, have you just been out meeting women to bring back to our home? Our bed?”

“Of course not,” he breathes, staring at her in horror. “Never. You know me better than that.”

“I thought I did,” she whispers brokenly. “I never believed you would do this. Not in a million years, Mulder.”

“Neither did I.“ His voice is pitiful and sincere.

She swallows thickly. “You betrayed me.”

He sinks all the way down beside her. “I know,” he says quietly. “I know, and I’m so sorry.” There is a heavy silence between them for a moment before he adds, “Scully, you left me.”

Scully shifts to face him, and grits her teeth against the pain that the motion sends shooting through her knee. “You’re unbelievable,” she spits venomously. “You screw another woman in my bed, on the sheets you bought for me on my last birthday, and you’re making this my fault?” She fumbles with the top of the tire, trying to pull herself to her feet.

“Scully, stop,” Mulder pleads. “You’re hurt – your leg.”

“You’re damn right I’m hurt,” she snaps. “And it has nothing to do with my leg.”

She gives up on standing for the moment. “You never answered my question,” she tells him, her eyes burning hot into his.

“What question?”

“Where did you meet her? I’ve never known you to socialize, but clearly, there are a few parts of your character I somehow missed in all our years together.”

He stares at his hands for a moment before meeting her gaze. “I went on a walk and ended up at a bar. It’s a couple miles down the road. I had more than I planned, and she – she offered to drive me home.”

Scully folds her arms tightly around her midsection. The tire is wreaking havoc on her back, but she barely notices.

“Classy, Mulder.” She closes her eyes again, but the tears fall anyway.

He sighs. “You left, Scully. You just left, and you wouldn’t return my calls. I didn’t know if you were ever coming back.”

Scully tenses as another wave of nausea washes over her. “I left because you wouldn’t leave the house unless it was to spiral back into your fucking paranoid obsessions!” 

She covers her face with both hands. “You can’t keep doing this,” she sobs. “You can’t keep hurting me, and then demand that I apologize instead.”

“When have I done that?” His voice is laced with disbelief. “When have I ever done that, Scully?”

Fuck you Mulder fuck you fuck you fuck you –

“Fuck you,” she cries, gripping the edge of the tire again and heaving herself to her feet. “I don’t need you.” 

She ignores the throbbing in her knee when she puts weight on it. “I don’t need anyone,” she says, her voice breaking. “I think we both know I’ve survived greater losses.” She wrestles with her purse, digging for her keys. “But it’s fine. I don’t need any of you.”

Mulder touches her shoulder, and she shrugs him away again. “Don’t touch me.” She yanks her car door open. “I told you to get away from me.”

“Scully, I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “You may not need me, but I need you. I always have.”

“You didn’t need me last night,” she tosses back viciously as she forces key into ignition. “I can’t take care of you anymore, Mulder. Figure it out.”

He positions his body so that she is blocked from closing the door. “Scully,” he tries again, his voice echoing with despair. “I’m begging you. Please. You came back for a reason. Please don’t leave again.”

Her chin trembles as she answers him in a voice as brittle as dry ice. “I left for a reason, too.”

She grasps the door handle in her hand despite the remaining tremors. “Move.”

He slowly backs away, and at last she sees tears shining in his eyes. It’s too late, it’s too much this time, I can’t.

The sound of her slamming door causes him to jump. The pressure she places on her gas pedal makes her moan with pain as her knee protests the movement.

When she glances in her rearview mirror, she sees a tear-blurred image of her entire world, standing with his arms hanging helplessly at his sides.

He’s still not wearing a shirt, she realizes.

Go back inside, Mulder. It’s too cold out here.

I would know.

END.

Before you ask, yes, there will almost certainly be a follow-up.

Right Next To Me

Cassian Andor/ Reader

Words: 714

Summary: A cramped space in someone’s house is better than sleeping in Cassian’s U-wing. Anywhere but that ship.

Prompt: “We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair” with Cassian please? :-)

Tagging: @kwaiky, @attentionseekingprincess, @ly–canthrope, @can-t-figure-it-out

Author’s notes: This is a repost from yesterday. I’m not too sure what happened but the fic wasn’t showing up in their respected tags so no one could really find it. Here’s to the fic showing up in the damn tags. I struggled with finding out the “space reason” and after skimming through a few fics with the same prompt, I went with the good ole fashion “damn, that’s a tiny bed…what ever shall we do?” BITH! SLEEP IN THE SAME BED, THAT’S WHAT!


Supposedly, a man happened to spot you and Cassian discussing with a confidant who happens to be his friend. Assuming you two are with the Alliance, the kind man offered up a room in his home as asylum from any potential threat. A Rebellion sympathizer’s home is better than sleeping on the U-wing bench while sitting up. Though Cassian is skeptical of the man, you take the sympathizer’s offer with a punch with your elbow to Cassian’s left side. Best not to make a scene in a town full of locals.

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Daryl x Reader - Green eyed monster (30 days series)

MASTERLIST

30 DAYS DRABBLE CHALLENGE

–> DAY 1

–> DAY 2

DAY 3: Jealousy and fight

–> DAY 4

So, I want to do this challenge with the pairing “DarylxReader”.

I’ll try to upload a story everyday, I hope you like it!

–> Requests are open by the way

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Daryl x Reader

Warning: Sexual Reference, fluff, jealous Daryl is so cute ♥

Another day begins in Alexandria, well, actually it’s already afternoon.

The fact is that yesterday, after a very long and dangerous ran, where I almost become walkers’ snack, my beloved man wore me out because he wanted to show me how much he loves me, so I sleep all day.

When I wake up I glance at the clock, it was already half past two in the afternoon.
However, what woke me up wasn’t the fact I felt rested, but by the commotion downstairs.

I walk down the stairs, into the kitchen and notice Rick, Carl and Daryl sitting with a stranger:

“Good morning” I said sleepy.

All men in the room turn toward me, Daryl stood up to kiss me on my head: “More like good afternoon, sunshine”.

Smiling I turn to look at the stranger: “Who is he?”
Daryl wraps his arm protectively around me: “Just a prick who stole from us and lost all the supply me and Rick had gathered”.

The stranger smiled and say: “Name’s Paul, but friends call me Jesus”.

I smile back at him: “I can see why! My name is (Y/n), nice to meet you”.

For some reason Daryl walk away from me to sit again on his chair.

Notice the tension Rick decide to tell me what’s going on: “We talked with Jesus here, he said he came from another community called “Hilltop” .

With wide eyes I crouch in front of Jesus: “There’s another community?! How much of you live there? Have you got all you need to survive? Because here we have medicine, guns and…”
Jesus interrupt my prattle laughing: “Hey hey slow down! We’re fine, actually we were talking about to start some sort of trade between Hilltop and Alexandria”.

Rick speak again: “We’ll preparing to go to the Hilltop with the others, you’d like to join?”
Before I could speak, Daryl answer for me: “ Nah, she’ll stay here”.

I stand up from my crouched position: “I’m not a child Daryl, I can handle myself well, more over you can’t decide for me…Rick, I’ll be ready in a few minutes” with this, I leave the room and walk upstairs for a change of clothes and to take my weapons.

While I was changing,  Daryl enters in our bedroom; I could see into his eyes that he was pissed about what happened minutes ago: “(Y/n)…I know you can handle yourself well, it’s just…I don’t trust that prick near you, He could do something bad”.

Smiling I hug him, burying my head on his chest: “Everything is gonna be fine! I know we don’t know him, but Jesus seems fine and like you say, I can protect myself”.

We parted, Daryl peck my lips before heading downstairs.

—————————————————————————————————-

 During our journey to the Hilltop I wanted to learn more about Jesus.

He is so funny, I laugh so hard that my cheeks start to hurt, without notice that my closeness to Jesus was irritating someone: “Have you two done? it’s not the time to goofin’ around”.

I turn around and see Daryl looking at us with anger and irritation:

 “Well I’m sorry Mr. Dixon, we’ll try to not annoying you” I say, a little hurt by his behaviour.

—————————————————————————————————-

After a while, we finally arrive at Hilltop.

It was so beautiful! There is so much green, and an awesome mansion in the centre of the community!

While the others were choosing who had to speak with the Hilltop’s leader, Jesus was explaining to me how he fights since I didn’t see him carry any weapon.

“Those are my weapons” he say while lifting his hands.

Then he proceed to explain all the techniques and how he learned them.

“You know what Jesus? You’re so cool!”

He thanks me while laughing.

Someone cleared his throat, turning around I see Daryl looking at us in the same way as before during the journey: “Maggie will talk to your leader, you should go with her”.

Jesus nods and walks away, leaving me and Daryl alone.

When I walk to him to grab his hand he just move away.

“Okay, what’s your problem Daryl?”.
“oh now you have the time to talk with me?”.
Surprised by his answer I asked him: “What do you mean?”.  

“Is Jesus cooler then me? Because apparently you spent all our journey flirting with him; what then? You will stay here with that prick?”.

Taken aback by his answer I can’t help but laughing.

I get it now: “Isn’t the tough Daryl Dixon jealous?”

“I’m glad you find it funny (Y/n), besides, I’m not jealous” He answered, turning his back to me.

Smiling, I hug him from behind: “Daryl…you know that you’re the only one for me. I just wanted to know him better since there is the possibility of trading between Hilltop and Alexandria. If we make a deal, we’ll see him a lot and, since you didn’t trust him, I wanted to make sure that Jesus was okay”.

Daryl turns around into my hug and suddenly attacks my neck with kisses.

I can’t help but moan: “Daryl… what are you doin’?

Detaching from my neck, he smile: “Making sure he understand that you’re taken”.

I touch the place where he kissed me and I could feel a growing hickey.

I turn around and before I could walk away from him, he draw me to his chest and whisper: “And tonight you’ll learn it too.”

With that he walks away.

With a smile on my face I can’t help but think that tonight will be a long and tiring night.

Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.
—  Albert Camus
Date #7 (M)

Author’s Note: Recently, I’ve been struggling with my writing and each time I read a scenario from these awesome writers on here, I go, “damn, why do I even bother” because let’s be real, I’ll just be one less shitty writer that stops writing because she sucks socks. Writer’s block hit me real bad and I considered looking for another thing to love like, sports or something lol. 

Which is why I’m dedicating this scenario to Rys @optosomnio (surprise ayy) who’s been really encouraging and sent me a bunch of prompt/quote blogs to help me get over the problem. And I got my muse back mostly because of the countless prompts and quotes I went through and this scenario happened. Also ily rys <3


Jeon Jungkook. 4 641 words. Fluff + M for implied smut.

❝ Tired of waking up in strangers’ bed every morning or leaving at an ungodly hour to wonder the streets, Jungkook comes to you with an irresistible proposition; “So date me. I can make you forget about Taehyung and you can help me understand what it’s like to be in a committed relationship for once ─seven dates, just seven dates.”❞


You’re not quite sure why, when Jungkook, clad in black skinny jeans, denim jacket over plain white t-shirt that does a generous amount of justice to his chiseled chest and side parted dark locks that makes him more attractive in your eyes, approaches you with a smile that oozes confidence, borderline smugness and emanates the sweet scent of trouble ─a surge of warmth sweeps through you and makes home in every crevice of your heart, definitely lacking the usual eye roll or inquisitive, faux ignorant, arch of brow.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” He whispers from next to you, voice so velvety, brushing your skin like divine satin.

“First off, no pet names. Second off, I must be crazy for agreeing to this, Jeon Jungkook what have you done to me?” You sigh, exasperated.

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