that is the single most terrifying thing i have ever saw in my entire life

instant gratification 03 (m)

Originally posted by bangtan7beyondthescene

➾10.8k 

➾ smut, angst, fluff

➾the final part of this series, please read the first three parts if you haven’t!

instant gratification 01 | 02 | 2.5


It’s like time has slowed to an ambling crawl, and all that ever exists has ceased to matter; except in this room with the three of you standing, facing each other like fighters in a ring. All you’re aware of is the way your breath has frozen over in your chest, and the way Jeongguk is clutching something so tightly in his hand, mirroring your own fisted palm.

“Jeongguk, no,” the sound of your voice pierces through the tense atmosphere, and is that really your voice? Why does it sound so unconvincing, so lacking in resolve, so broken? You clear your throat and attempt to try again, because your eyes are locked on Jeongguk’s own milky caramel ones, filled with a murky rage that threatens to break past the surface. “Jeongguk, this is not what it looks like, I swear-“

He only responds with an acerbic laugh that’s short and cutting, and it makes every breath you take feel razor sharp.

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~ Taking notice in best friend!Hoseok’s friend, Yoongi~ PART SIX

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 7]

Originally posted by sugaa

“Sorry, I don’t think I heard you,” Hoseok tilted his head toward you, eyes still trained on the road.

“He was with a girl,” You repeated, slowly.

“What!? With who?”

You shrugged, “Didn’t bother to find out. Whoever it was, they were holding his hand, standing a little too close to him and staring at him as if he was the only man in her life.”

“Uh, it could–”

“Can’t be a relative. The way they were was too…intimate,” Then you let out a humorless chuckle, “Who knows? Maybe they’re making out in some mirror maze right about now,” You looked out the window. Then Hoseok parked the car, not anywhere near either of your houses. 

“Y/N, don’t say that. Yoongi really likes you. He wouldn’t–”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t. I’m just as confused as you are,” You crossed your arms, stubbornly. 

“Then why didn’t you ask him?” He asked, turning so that his left arm was rest on the steering wheel and his body was facing you. 

Looking down in embarrassment, you shrugged, “I didn’t want to make any assumptions…but I saw them together and Hobi…they looked really good together. Way better than Yoongi and I’d be.”

What are you talking about? Have you seen your pictures together? You’re the most compatible couple I’ve ever met! Even better than the Jikook bromance,” Hoseok shook his head.

“But you didn’t see them.”

“Didn’t have to. You guys belong together. He was going to ask you out, you know?”

“Yeah,” you muttered under your breath.

“You did?”

“I kind of figured by how he texted me. And then I saw him with some other girl, flirting or not, and I was terrified. I’ve been single for nearly my entire life and if there’s one thing I learned, is that I am not girlfriend material.”

“Don’t be silly, Y/N. You’ve been Yoongi’s girlfriend for the past few months without officially being his girlfriend,” Hoseok rolled his eyes at your obliviousness. 

“I have?”

“Yeah! Who’s the one to visit him when he’s stressed with work? You. Not to mention, who’s the only one he lets in while he’s working? You. And who’s the one to make that gummy smile appear on his face whenever they’re around? Oh, let me thing. You! Y/N, he’s so in love with you, even if he doesn’t realize it yet.”

Normally this would be when you’d quickly deny his feelings for you, but this time, you didn’t. “He’s in love with me?”

“Head over heels in love with you,” Hoseok confirmed with a grin. 

“Then what was he doing?” You pondered.

Hoseok shrugged in response. “Maybe it was an ex trying to get him back. Yoongi wouldn’t do that to you. Did he in any way seem happy that she was there?”

“I might’ve not seen his face. Kind of hard when you’re faced with some stranger clutching onto your boyfriend’s––er, crush’s––hand.”

“Confront him. He might still be at the pier!” Hoseok urged, starting the car back up again.

“I don’t think I’ll have to,” You looked at your phone when you received a message. Yoongi.

“Why’d you answer so nicely?” Hoseok piped after reading over your shoulder, both of you parked in front of your apartment building.

“What am I supposed to do? Yell at him? I don’t think I’d want to provoke him by accusing him of anything. If he wants to explain, he’ll explain,” You nodded to yourself, proud of your answer.

“Good luck,” He gave you a smile and a thumbs up. After returning the gesture, weakly, you stepped out of the car and entered the building. 

“If she’s hurt by the end of the night, I will not hesitate to punch him in the throat,” Hoseok mumbled to himself, driving home.


I didn’t think I’d finish this so quickly but hereeee! 

part seven??

The Labyrinth Chapter 37

Originally posted by bts-we-are-bulletproof

Genre: Gang AU/ High School AU

Pairing: Reader/Jimin ft. all the members

Length: 6.4k

Summary: Looking back on your past, your life has never been anything out of the ordinary. Although your parents had left you on one mysterious night, leaving you little to no explanations, you live out the rest of your years residing in a new town under the custody of your aunt. That is, until you return to your hometown to investigate the whereabouts of your parents during your senior year in high school. It was that fateful decision that led you to find a boy collapsed on your front porch one night, wounds gaping and life fading when your entire life is spun out of control. Somehow being dragged into a life of crimes in the underground business of his, you discover the twisted secrets hidden behind the world you thought you had known all along. 

A/N: This contains smut, so for all my non-smut readers out there: beware…

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

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A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Seven)


Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?

Many a red-headed man I’d passed on the long road from Lallybroch. Every single time, my stupid, desperate heart had leapt with joy; and every time, I cursed myself for the fool that I was. For Christ’s SAKE, why the bloody hell should he be on the road from Inverness, Beauchamp? Jamie Fraser is south, in Edinburgh, with his wife. With his daughters. Happy. So, pull yourself together. 

So deep had been my longing, though, that my traitorous eyes had tried over and over to convince me that it might be, it MIGHT be this time! (even when the actual travelers hadn’t looked remotely like Jamie). Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, one had been a very tall boy no more than twelve, and I still had had to see his face from ten feet before I would allow my heart to quiet. Not him. Not him. 

Blind hope, indeed. 

But this time, as I whirled and fell on the hillside, heart exploding, in a single moment, I was certain. Even from a great distance, even two decades later, even not yet able to see his face through the snow-flecked gloom, even had he not been screaming my name, yes, I’d know the shape of that man anywhere. It was Jamie, tearing toward me on horseback, riding like the hounds of hell were at his heels. And the SIGHT of him? A relief and a love smashed through me, so deep and so visceral that I staggered downward; not running, not even making my way down the hill;  just slipping, pulled toward his orbit. 

Alive. I had known for months, believed, had confirmation from Jenny herself, and yet the proof was now there before my eyes. Not under a stone on Culloden Moor; that nightmare was now banished forever. Jamie Fraser was ALIVE.

I saw him kick hard, spurring the horse to an even more astonishing pace—how loudly must he have been screaming that I had been able to hear him from so far away?—and found myself bursting out with joyous laughter at the way his shirt flapped like a sail in the wind. Nothing changed, then, if the ridiculous man had ridden without a coat or a cloak against the wind and the sn—


Wife. 

No.

Daughters.

Please….please, no.

This changes absolutely nothing, Beauchamp. This ends with you going through those stones, sooner or later. Make it sooner. 

But he came for me—Jamie came! He’s HERE.

He’s happy. He may have come, but he’s happy.  Don’t make him suffer by forcing this impossible choice. 

Just let me say goodbye.

Please. 

Let me hold him, just for —

Beauchamp: 

Can you honestly do what needs to be done if you have to look him in the eye and pull yourself out of his arms?


“CLAIRE!—What are ye—? S T O P !”

I was running up the hill, stumbling and tripping, going as fast as I could. I couldn’t stop. If I looked at him—If I touched him…

Everything seemed to slow to single frames, impressions:


The slow shrill cry of my breaths,

the grass suddenly inches from my nose as I staggered low over a boulder.

Hoofbeats, closer, louder.


I’m running for my life through quicksand,

every footfall sinking me deeper, and slower, as the monster gets closer and closer and—


A fierce whinny, a curse.

A voice— my voice—screaming. “STAY AWAY!”

Boots hitting the ground,

“CLAIRE, STOP!


Running, both of us running,  

and I couldn’t stop.

I must not st—


Time smashed into its normal pace again as I fell, mere yards from the crest of the hill, and cried out in pain.

“CLAIRE!” God, he was so close, pounding up the hill behind me, no more than thirty—

Don’t!” I shouted as I scrambled to my feet. 

“CLAI—”

“DO—NOT—TOUCH—ME!”  I screamed it over my shoulder with all the violence I possessed, a feral beast, cornered and ready to go for the throat as it went down.

Silence fell on the faerie hill. Stillness, and absolute silence.

When human thought returned, I was on my feet at the very top of the hill, the stones screaming their evil song behind me. My body was slung sideways, both arms raised in defense; my head hung at an improbable angle so as to look nowhere, see nothing: not the stones, not him. It was elemental in my body, in that moment: the absolute imperative not to look at him. If I could keep from looking, keep from getting trapped in those eyes, everything would be alright.

It was a ridiculous logic, I knew; somewhere in the recesses of my consciousness, that was obvious. Jamie Fraser was HERE. He wouldn’t simply let me walk away unacknowledged; but such was the depth of my panic and hysteria that I couldn’t move. I was bare millimeters from completely falling apart, abandoning all my noble resolve, and flinging myself into his arms, begging him to choose me  take me and damn the fucking consequences.

But it still wouldn’t change a bloody thing, the rational half of my mind whimpered. He would still be married. He would still have his children. We still could not be together, or at least not under any circumstances that honor would permit. I still could not force him to make that choice. 

Hold yourself together, Beauchamp. No tears, remember? You said you could do the same for him; could be calm and sure for him. Now, do it. Stand strong.

“….Mo nighean donn?”

That flower-stem snap.

That voice—Jamie’s sweet, clear voice; my very heart speaking aloud, quietly, but with every ounce of pain and longing that I felt in my own breast. 

Look at me, mo nighean donn.”

Stand. strong.

My mouth was dry and my entire body was shaking, each word an effort. “— Can't—”

A sudden, vicious snarl. “LOOK at me!”

I half-growled, half screamed, “I—CANT!” 

Desperate. So desperate, that ‘can’t’. I was shaking. Going into shock, in fact. Could feel the darkness and the manic energy and the absolute inability to retrieve words or actions closing—

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.” 

He said it like he always said his own name: low and distinct, with honor in every syllable.  

BE STRONG.

“I have ridden,” he said, in a voice so quiet and deep and measured, “night and day for nigh on a week, terrified that—terrified th—*Please,*” His calm vanished and the words were tumbling out of him in a frantic rush. “Please, for the love ye bear me, for the love that brought ye to find meTURN.”

STAND.

God, but I can’t stand.

“By everything that is holy…” A whispered moan. “Let me see your face, mo ghraidh.

….and damn my weak, foolish heart, I turned. I looked.


Day and night for a week, he’d said, and I believed it. Even at a distance of twenty feet down the hill, I could see just how bloodshot his eyes were, wide and wild. He was pale, underneath the red of wind and exertion, paler than I remembered. That glorious hair was now worn long. If it had been tied back, the ride and the wind had undone it. It was wild and tangled, whipping about his face, his chin covered in stubble that nearly amounted to a beard. His clothes—nothing but shirt, breeks and boots— were filthy and torn and splattered with mud. He looked, quite simply, dead on his feet.

He was the most beautiful sight I’d ever beheld.

God, you’re so like her, I wanted to moan. I’d known it, had had my heart broken every day to see the proof of him in our daughter, and yet seeing him now before me, I was absolutely run through to find her broad, good-humored face there, the same dark blue eyes aslant the high, flat cheekbones and wide mouth. 

He’d aged, of course, as had I. The lines around eyes and mouth were deeper, the skin more weathered and coarse, but it was still him. His nose had been broken, at some point. It made him look fiercer, though perhaps that was simply fatigue and the vast waves of emotion obviously rushing through him, through us both. 

Jamie had staggered back a pace or two back as he stared up at me, nearly toppling down the steep incline. “Jesus….Christ…” he whispered. The back of his hand was pressed to his mouth as though to stifle a cry, “You’re….You….” The hand became a fist and he shook his head as a gasping smile broke from him. “Claire—God, Claire, mo chridhe!” He moved, about to sprint up the hill. 

I jumped backward. Raised my arms against him. No.

Hurt. Betrayal. Pain. It was as though I had shot him at point-blank range…And something deeper shone beneath it all: some blazing intensity I couldn’t quite identify. He looked as though he would bleed out there on the spot, from this newest wound. 

So will I, my love. 

But he heeded me, standing completely still. His hands shook, half-raised before him. He simply didn’t know what to do with them—I knew because I didn’t know what to do with mine. His mouth worked as he tried to speak, to ask, to say something, but failing. Those eyes held everything, though. Pleading.

Silence on the hill. Silence and screaming. 

“You—survived,” I managed at last, weakly, with something like a laugh.

“Aye—” He exhaled in a huge rush, clearly grateful that I’d broken the stalemate. “It was a verra close thing.” He spoke fast and frantically, babbling, even, as though terrified to let silence fall again. “I should have died in the battle, or from the firing squads after, or of my wounds festering, but— Aye, I—I was—spared.”

“Thank God,” I whispered, and his eyes lit with such hope and relief that I could have cut my bloody tongue out at the root.

STOP this instant, Beauchamp. Nothing has changed.

Jamie was the one to break the silence, this time. “Your letter,” he gasped out.

“You read it, then?” A stupid thing to say. He’d obviously read it, but I clung to conversation just as he had. The stupid words were something, something to keep from falling off the edge of this insanity. “When?”

“By providence, I arrived at Lallybroch the same day you’d left, and….Oh, God, CLAIRE….”

Oh, God, Jamie. 

Each time my name left him, it seemed to tear a piece out of both of us. I could only look down at him, waiting.

“When I saw your hand on that letter,” he said, voice shaking uncontrollably, “the print of your ring in the wax, I …”

He shook his head, at a loss, mouthing it over and over. I…I….

Through the snow, though darkness was creeping steadily around us, I could see the first tear sliding down his cheek. “….I felt as though I were dying.”

So did I. So do I.

“To know you’d survived—that you’d come back, and—and,” his eyes lit up. “Brianna.”

From his lips, our daughter’s name sounded like strange music from another world, and I wanted to listen to it forever.

“It would have been enough—more than enough—only to ken our bairn had lived, that the both of ye had lived and been cared for, but to….Claire, I simply couldna believe my eyes.” He shook his head, violently. “To see…to SEE the lass…our daughter.” Jamie released his sobbing breath and closed his eyes, holding out his hands before him, tears streamed down his cheeks. “Her entire life, there before me… and she so happy and so braw and bonny and—God, it tore out my beating heart.” He heaved a breath and smiled up at me, beaming with love and joy, though it was difficult for him to get out the words. “She’s—more wonderful than I ever could have imagined, mo ghraidh….Our Brianna.”

I forced a smile and choked down a sob. “I’m so honored,” I whispered, so haltingly, so carefully, so, so carefully, “to have been able—to bring her to you, in some way.”

My love.

My own love.


Nothing has changed.

I know. 


I took a step, two steps, backward toward the stones. This was the part where I was to be strong. 

Jamie’s eyes snapped into laser-focus, a predator’s, and that unknown intensity I’d seen earlier flamed now into life. It was anger

“Why would ye just GO?” His voice was still wretched with pain but he was snarling, stammering, growling in mounting fury. “Ye—ye came for me and—Ye came all the way from your time through the stones and then meant to go back and leave forever wi’out even—Damn ye, woman, ye didna even—If I hadna come just in time—Foolish—wretched, FOOLISH—” He hurled the demand toward me with his entire body. “WHY?”

“You *know* why.” It was all but a moan. 

He growled again. “Ye dinna ken —” 

“I know that you’re married,” I got out, moving sideways around the rim of the hill, countering his advance. “I know you have children. Jenny told me everything—how hap—”

“No, Claire, ye dinna understand!” Something had shifted in his eyes — relief? — and he was once again still, though scarcely fifteen feet in front of me down the hill. “Jenny lied. She lied, Claire,” he insisted, the words falling out of him. “She lied and made ye think I was—”

You’re not  ??”

Jenny lied! Thank the bloody stars above, the horrible bitch LIED!!! Jesus H— 

My smile broke through like the dawn, a blaze of glorious, raging happiness as I gasped out, “Then, you’re not married?”

And I watched as that hope shriveled and vanished to dust. His eyes dropped to the ground. “I am marrit.”

I swayed, eyes closed. I couldn’t bear this any longer, couldn’t take this agony raging in my heart, both the emotional and the physical heart. I felt light-headed, felt pain in my limbs. I couldn’t be strong. I couldn’t.

Just a little while longer. Say your farewell, and be gone. It will be alright, Beauchamp. 

“Then she didn’t lie,” I said, simply, my throat burning with the effort not to wail. “You have a wife and two beautiful daughters.” I caught my breath and opened my eyes, managing to smile, though I was so very near the brink. “I meant what I wrote in the letter. Every single word. I want you to be happy—and I’m glad that you are. I’m glad that you have a family and that they have made you happy.”

His brows were drawn up, making him look absolutely crazed. He mouthed the word like he’d never heard it before. Happy?

“But I—” Somehow, I kept up the smile as I whispered through wooden lips and burning throat and the tears. “—but it means—that I have—to go, now— before—”

“NO,” he snarled, springing with sudden force. I staggered still further away around the hill as he bellowed, “You’ll NOT—”

“BE STILL!” I bellowed back.

And once again, he heeded me. 

“For God’s fucking SAKE, you bloody — Scot!” I shouted down at him, suddenly just as furious as he. “Have you NO notion of what — Don’t you understand? I’m giving you up! I’m letting you go!” I gestured wildly behind me to the stones, choking on my tears. “I’m leaving so you don’t have to choose! Do you think I’m so arrogant as to believe I’m worth upending your happy—”

“DAMN YOU, woman, I havena been HAPPY in TWENTY YEARS!”


Silence on the faerie hill. Silence and screaming. 


When he spoke again, it was once more in that quiet, aching whisper.

“Jenny led ye to believe otherwise and may she be damned for it.” He took a step forward, pointing.  “But in that letter, ye renewed a promise to me; and I’ll give ye the same, now.” Another step. 

I stepped back. 

He surrendered, went to his knees, hands clenched in the posture of oath-taking. “No lies, Claire.” His eyes blazed into mine. “Nor secrets. Not ever. Not now. I swear it on Brianna’s life.”

God, my heart…

“Will ye hear what I have to tell?” 

…it simply couldn’t take this.

But I nodded. 


“I left Laoghaire more than a year past.”

LAOGHAIRE?!?”

The outburst was so violent, so loud and so shrill in the wake of my long silence, that it startled us both. Jamie had to put a hand out to steady himself as he jumped, and the acute panic of a fresh hell showed across his face.  “She—Jenny didna—?”

“No, she BLOODY well DIDN’T!”

“Aye, well—ah …ehm…Claire?” 

He was peering leerily up at me, and little wonder, for I was laughing—actually, CACKLING with laughter, hands clutched to my belly as I doubled over with it. 

“No, Jenny didn’t tell me who,” I sighed, when I had calmed down (marginally). “The only detail your darling sister deigned to divulge about your wife—” 

Of all people. Of ALL the marriageable women in all the bleeding Highlands. He had married —had had children with—loved—

All levity, all scorn dropped out of me, and my voice cracked, a whispering shell. “—was that you were happier with her than she’d ever seen you….And that you had two little girls that call you Da.”

“But they’re not mine, Claire. They’re not mine,” Jamie said again more urgently as I stared. He gritted his teeth. “And I shall wring my sister’s neck for a wicked liar when next I see her, for she kens fine that I’ve not had ninety-nine happy minutes in that marriage since it began.”

I was so cold. Frozen, in every cell. 

“Two years ago, we wed,” he began carefully. “She was marrit before, twice, and found herself a widow wi’ two bairns to feed just as I was newly come back from England.” 

His words were running together, a bit. There was so much warring within him, so much he clearly wished to say, but cold and fatigue and emotion were taking their devastating toll.  

“I’m fond of her lassies—Marsali and Joan. They’re aged fifteen and twelve and have had a cruel, rough way of it, in lives so short. Wi’ all that they’ve endured, I was glad—honored, even— for them to take me into their hearts as a father, but hear me, Claire.” He held my eye. “I’ve shared scarce more wi’ them than what loving gentleness I could offer, and a scant few months of meals shared ‘round the same table. No more.” He shook his head with a sound of shame and regret. “Christ, I sound an unfeeling wretch. I do care for them, I do.

But they weren’t born of his love; nor had he had a hand in raising them.

“Their mother…She…”

She. 

“I did have hope, at the beginning; hope that perhaps there could be some — tenderness between us. Nothing like—” He make a vain gesture up at me and closed his eyes, as though he couldn’t bear it. “—like what I kent it could be between a husband and wife, but something good to keep me sane; keep me alive….Can ye see?…Have ye kent that same hope, Claire?…. Only she couldna; or I couldna. I’ll accept the blame in full, but in the end, the ‘why’ and ‘who’ dinna matter. It was a broken thing within months, and I knew that if I’d stayed….” 

He hung his head, and for the first time, I could truly see the twenty years that had gone from his life. 

“I left for Edinburgh; have been there ever since. I provide for them, but I havena called Balriggan home for over a year…nor shared her bed since long before that.”  

The wind whistled between us. What he was saying…

I was numb. I was…It was like I was underwater, with news being shouted to me from dry land as I slowly drowned. 

“I’ve lain wi’ three women, since you’ve been gone,” he blurted suddenly, urgently against my silence, his voice so miserable, his eyes imploring. “Laoghaire, and two single-night encounters, and from one of those—From one of those nights…”

Oh, Jesus…

“William,” he whispered, nodding in confirmation, his eyes absolutely wretched but shining with the need to confess. “He’s a — a bastard, in England, and I shall never see him again. I’ve never told anyone of him, not even Jenny or Ian. His mother, his putative father—they’re both dead. He’s highborn, in the care of a man I trust. John will give him a good life; better than ever a convicted traitor could.” 

He closed his eyes and I could see his mouth working furiously as he tried both to form words and to hold back his weeping. “But he’s my son,” he whispered. “My only son, alive in the world because of me, and he’s bonny and canty and strong, just like Brianna, and there are days when I canna seem to live wi’out seeing him, holding him, or —” And he went silent, hiding his face in his hands until he could manage to speak. “Nor can I regret that he lives, for those years I had near Willie were the closest thing I’ve had to—to — And that only a shell of what….”

He raised a hand up as though he would cup my cheek across the chasm between us; then dropped it. Both hands lay on his thighs, aimless. 

“No. Happiness has not been granted me, Claire.” He stared at his palms, speaking in the barest, broken murmur. “My heart left wi’ you and the bairn; and while it is my duty to go on, to care for those under my protection, as I shall do, I’ve had little joy save the knowledge that at the end, I’d die and be able to find ye, just as I promised. Two hundred years, I said I’d wait. I’ve been counting.”

The snowflakes danced around us in the near-night, oblivious to desperation or to miraculous sparks catching in dark, deep places. 

“And to then learn in a moment that you’d come back…”

I tried to speak; but I was shaking so hard that I couldn’t open my mouth. I clenched it tight, feeling the tears slipping over my lips. 

“Claire?” he moaned, reaching out a hand. “…Lass?…Love?…I feel as if I shall die if I canna touch ye….Please.”

My knees had locked — everything within me had locked, between Jamie and the cold— and as I tried to adjust my footing, I accidentally stumbled backward a pace.

Despair escaped out of him and he jumped up as though to run to me, but he thought better of it, and came back down to his knees.

“Twice, I brought ye here to send ye away, mo nighean donn, because I knew a better life awaited ye on the other side of those accursed stones. Perhaps it does, this day, as well, but this time, I shall beg. Don’t go.” 

He raised both clawed hands to me. The tears were flowing so violently and his face was so deeply contorted so as to be barely recognizable. 

“Don’t go. Stay wi’ me. Stay. I canna…I canna do it…Please.*please*….”  

I was paralyzed, completely immobilized by — by —

“Is it too much to forgive, Claire?” came the cracked moan of my heart through the darkness that had suddenly hidden him from me entirely. “Laoghaire and—and William? Do… do ye not want me?”

God, Jamie…” I whispered, so softly that surely only the grass and the snow could hear. 

It was the first time I had said his name aloud to him.

“….you’re all I want.”


“Then  what   else   matters?”


“….Nothing.”


Nothing else mattered.

And I was flying down to him, and he was flying off his knees to catch me, and the feeling of his arms around me, of Jamie’s arms around me at last was —

Like lightning, striking upon the sand. A flash of light, of power, instantly transforming the hundreds of tiny fragments— the millions of shards weathered to all but nothing by time—into a single, molten one. A whole. 


END OF PART I

Silent is the Sea | SICHENG

Genre: mermaid!au | fluff | angst

Member: Sicheng / Reader

Word Count: 6,800+

Note: a collaboration with the wonderful @tenpioca, check her version out here


Mermaids are liars. They’ll manipulate you until you brandish your hand of your own accord, happy for them to pull you under with cruel mirth.

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Family || Park Jimin

Originally posted by sweaterpawsjimin

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre: Fluff


There was something about being at the mall that you absolutely hated. You hated the big crowds, and the pushing through people to go and get things done. You hated feeling strangers bodies brush against yours, but as your boyfriends birthday was coming up you made an exception to go and find him a birthday present.

The birthday present had already been found, a sweater Jimin had pointed out to you a couple days prior. You were sure he was going to like it, as it was from you and it was for him. There was a sense of pride swelling up in you for finding something Jimin would like so much. Your friend’s has come with you, saying they could use a trip to the mall and so here they were.

You followed behind them silently, looking around at all of the people. The mall was always a busy place and that’s why you didn’t like coming here. It was a one time thing and you were definitely willing to sacrifice it to get Jimin something he would love. A small smile lingered on your lips as you watched your friends travel up ahead. They were off in their own worlds and so were you.

You were almost completely distracted by Jimin that it scared you when you felt someone bump into you. Your eyes flickered down to the small body that had run into your own and you could see a small child with tears in his eyes. Your heart reached out to him instantly and as he rubbed his eyes in front of you, you bent down in front of him and gave him a kind smile.

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Little Kylux things I get emotional about at night

Hux and Kylo are rivals, and although I love their hatefuck-proneness as much as the next guy, rewatching the movie again (and again, and again) I became obsessed with the thought that their resentment might be pretty fucking recent, and that despite everything, Kylo trusts the shit out of Hux. Emotinal and biased meta under the cut.

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anonymous asked:

*coughs up blood* p-parkour continuation, death by arahir's writing is how I wanna go... ur too good I love you omg.

yo here have some passably cute and anguished parkour

sheith parkour au part 3: matt falls into a romantic comedy by accident

[part 1] [part 2]


Dear Katie,

I’m disowning you.


Matt doesn’t talk to Shiro for a full twenty four hours. Not because he’s mad, but because he can’t look at Shiro without his bright eyes and his red face and Keith’s soft little Sir playing on loop in his mind.

It’s the like an intrusive thought, but instead of something innocuous like wanting to drop his phone off the side of the Garrison, he wants to jam his head against the wall until the memory is gone or he sustains permanent brain damage.

He’s about thirty seconds from giving in when the door to their room slams open—actually slams—and Shiro flings himself inside.

“Someone sent him flowers,” he moans in absolute agony. Shiro should be at lunch, far away from Matt, which means he actually hunted Matt down in their rooms to cry about this, which—

“Wait, what? Flowers?” Matt asks, because it rings a bell in the worst way.

“I knew this would happen,” Shiro mutters, not listening. “He’s got that hair and the legs and the accent…”

Keith has at least two of those things, but so do most people, and there’s no way two people at the Garrison have been bewitched by that hair. It’s not statistically possible. “How did they send him flowers all the way out here? How did you even find out?”

Shiro flops down on his bed and pulls his pillow over his face in a fair imitation of a distraught teen girl. “Iverson,” he says into the cloth, followed by something long and moaning that Matt can’t make out, which is probably for the best.

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stopping for gas (1306 words)

based on the snippets of footage from 13x03 we’ve already seen, here come the angsty scenes between dean and jody you never wanted (but they were in my head nevertheless so now you can suffer, too!!)


having jody sit next to him in the impala has to be one of the strangest experience dean has ever had to live through. she doesn’t fit naturally like sam who spent most of his life in this car; she doesn’t have the same terrifying yet calming presence that cas has.

used to have. he chokes back tears. no use thinking about that now.

they’ve been silent almost the whole drive – what started as a forced conversation about the case soon became an uncomfortable silence. thankfully jody doesn’t ask, doesn’t press, just accepts dean’s unwillingness to talk and scribbles down some notes for the case.

still, it’s different. her presence reminds him of everything that went wrong in the last few weeks: sam taking off with jack, jack being there, having no leads on his mom, and cas –

well, cas.

at this point, he’s too tired to even think about it. it’s like running the same laps for years before finally collapsing and giving up; he won’t reach the finish line anyway. not that there ever was a finish line, because a happy end has never been an option for them.

he taps on the steering wheel and sighs. jody looks up and frowns at the fuel gauge. “we should probably stop soon,” she says. “we’re almost out of gas. i thought you’d take better care of your lady.”

it’s a joke, it’s a joke, it’s a joke, he knows this when he grips the wheel tighter. “i know,” he answers curtly. i haven’t taken care of anything the last few weeks would be the better answer; i couldn’t.

the truth is, as pathetic as it is, stopping for gas used to be easier when not everything reminded you of your dead – whatever. he knows it’s bullshit, he knows that all these gas’n’sips aren’t out there to hunt him down, to mock him, to remind him of one of the worst mistakes he’s ever made, but somehow his brain and his heart don’t connect all that well these days.

sam has taken care of filling up baby the last few weeks and every single time dean had sat in the front seat, hands curled so tight around the wheel that they started to hurt by the time sam went to pay.

thinking about the time he let cas go when he was his most vulnerable, without – almost – without a second thought, he wonders how different it would have been if cas had just been able to stay. how different they would have been.

maybe cas would still be human. hunting with them. being with dean (in every sense of the word). at the very least, he probably wouldn’t be dead, stabbed in the back because he thought that he isn’t worth anything to anyone.

because dean never told him. anything.

he almost misses the next gas station because he’s too lost in thought – if not for jody’s disapproved humming, he probably would have.

then, he just sits there, frozen in place.

asking sam – or rather, commanding him – to fill up the tank had been easy. sam knows that asking questions is futile. jody? not so much. the most terrifying thing is, he probably would answer if jody asked the right questions.

when he feels jody’s gaze on him he knows he’s been silent too long for it to not be weird. he’s pathetic.

“you okay, friend?”

and there it is, the million dollar question.

no would be the easiest and the hardest answer.

“could you, um,” he says instead. “would you mind filling up the tank?” please don’t ask, please don’t ask, please don’t ask. “i got cash,” he continues and pulls out his wallet. jody puts a hand on his arm.

“i got this,” she says. “but would you mind telling me why you want me to do this?” of course she would ask.

dean takes a deep breath. “never mind,” he panics and is out of the car in one swift motion. jody sighs and gets out of the car, too.

“dean,” she says forcefully when he fumbles with the gas pump. she sounds so scarily like a mom – not his mom per se, which makes it even worse – that he can’t help but stop and listen to her. he’s terrified.

“i don’t… want to say that i know what you’re going through. because i don’t. but i want to say that i’m there for you. for whatever you want to tell me. trust me, i’ve got two teenage girls at home, whatever it is that’s eating you up it can’t be worse than this.”

i bet it could, he thinks and for a moment he contemplates just breaking down and emptying his heart out right here, right then, in this dingy gas’n’sip, but he can’t. if he breaks down, he’s done for good and that’s not an option.

he tries the next best thing. “cas used to work here,” he says. “i mean, not here specifically, but – you know.”

jody’s face softens and he wants to cry. “oh, dean,” she says, slowly approaching him and taking the fuel hose out of his hands. when she pats him on the back, his entire body tenses and relaxes at the same time. “i’m sorry.”

they fill up the tank, dean just standing next to her, helplessly – he doesn’t know what to say and he isn’t entirely sure what she may already know.

“i wish i could have met him,” she says after a few moments, cautiously. “you should have brought him over to dinner sometime.”

it’s not an accusation, far from it; it’s more an acknowledgment of everything dean can’t say. he swallows. the thing is, he would have loved to bring him over to dinner. his mom is gone right now and the truth is that she was gone long before that – jody is the closest thing he ever had to a mother.

although it wouldn’t have meant anything, he would have loved to bring him over. fake it for one night. just one. “yeah,” he agrees hoarsely. it’s getting harder and harder to choke back his tears.

“well, maybe you can make good for that when he comes back.” she smiles. he wants to object, wants to say he won’t come back, but she doesn’t let him, already knowing what he’s about to say. “aww, come on, don’t be like that. you know i saw my own son come back from the dead. and you two brother have died more times than i can count. nothing’s final. you just have to have confidence.”

she doesn’t say hope nor faith, and he’s eternally grateful for that. she also doesn’t expect an answer which makes his heart swell up even more.

“alright, i’m gonna go pay,” she says. “you want any snacks?”

he shakes his head and watches her shrug and make her way to the building before surprising himself and saying: “wait!”

she stops in her tracks and turns around. “you’re worse than alex,” she says. “what do you want?”

he can’t say anything; if he says something, he’ll cry, and that’s not an option. instead, he takes the few steps and pulls her into a hug. she needs a moment before leaning into the hug, putting his arms around him and embracing him firmly.

“it’s going to be okay,” she says softly. “you can tell me anything when we get out of here, okay?”

he nods. his face is probably a grimace by now, strained from the efforts not to cry, but the prospect of maybe – just maybe – telling jody everything is making it harder to bear all the shit that’s currently going on in his life.

after a few seconds, she pulls out of the hug and nods towards him. “i’m gonna bring some ice cream,” she says. “the monsters can wait.”

Flood my Mornings: The Difference

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.



That same night


“Are ye alright, Sassenach?” 

“Mmhmm.” My sleepy sound resonated through his chest and thrummed back against my ear, bringing me into greater consciousness. “Why?” 

“You’re still awake.” 

“As are you.” I turned onto my side and snuggled against him once more, throwing an arm over his bare chest.

He laughed a soft, low affirmative. “Can I get ye anythin’?” 

“No,” I yawned, “’m’fine…. Just can’t seem to fall fully asleep.” I laid a kiss on his breast. “Enjoying this too much.” 

Both his arms wrapped more securely around me. Peace

As much as I still felt huge and sore and foreign in most parts of my body, it was heaven beyond imagining to be laying in our bed, NOT pregnant, and with both children asleep. The rest of the evening had been a blur of feeding, nappy changing, the bliss of a hot (but too-brief) shower, squalls from Ian to be soothed, a glass of water for Bree to be fetched, a hasty sandwich to be scarfed down, another glass of water, another squall, and finally, bed. 

There we’d lain for an hour or more in the quiet, just holding each other, healing the ache that the separation of the past week had occasioned. Not that we would trade a single moment of the past week—we had our son, now, and that was everything and more. Still, it was restorative, vital to touch one another again, held tight together in peace with no distractions. 

“I dinna think I’m wrong in recalling,” Jamie said suddenly, absently stroking my hair, “that folk didna fuss over new bairns so verra much back in our time. My time.”

Like a flash, hurt barreled up within me, bordering on rage, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from snapping back in indignation. I closed my eyes. Jesus H. Christ, I’d forgotten the intensity of those postpartum mood swings. My throat was tight as though (or no, because) I was about to cry, and it showed. “Have I been fussing?” 

“No! No, no, forgive me, lass.” His complete lack of hesitation eased the knot. “Even if ye were, I’d no’ blame ye for it.” A warm squeeze and a kiss on my forehead served to soothe my irrational ire entirely. “But nay, it was all the pamphlets and warnings and such, I meant.” 

“Ah. Don’t blame you, there.” 

It hadn’t been lost on me, today, how tight and grave Jamie’s face had gone as the maternity discharge staff conducted their seminar of infant-care advice. ‘Advice,’ forsooth: for over an hour, they’d delivered lectures and preemptive scolding over all the errors we—he, being the implied subtext, with many a censorious glare cast in his direction—were evidently going to make, not to mention all the gory details of the harm that would come to the baby when we did. By the end of it, Jamie—who had entered the room rosy-flushed and summer-tanned—was positively pallid. 

“I tell ye true, Sassenach,” he said, “I didna ken a tenth of all the things that might go wrong from the smallest negligence—That there are so many wrong ways to lay him down to sleep, or times and ways in which to feed him, or sounds and coughs for which I must be on alert—That he might suffocate or suffer God-knows-what terrible illness or pain or lasting damage unknowingly at my hand. It’s all….It terrifies me.” The tone of his voice told me far more than the words themselves.

“It is a lot,” I agreed, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be an adjustment, but there’s no shame in that.” 

I felt, rather than saw him cock his head to look down at me. “It doesna frighten you, then?”

“Maybe it ought to. Well, it does. I don’t think there will ever be a day when raising a child doesn’t bring worries and grey hairs. But on the whole, no, I’m not afraid.”

“A mother’s gift, I suppose,” he mused. “How I envy ye that calm, Claire—that it comes so naturally.”

“Hardly!” I laughed ruefully. “Would that it did.” 

“No? Oh!” I felt him stir. “But of course it will all be easier for ye this time around, seeing as how ye’ve done it all before wi’ wee Bree.” 

“Well, experience helps, certainly, but—Even if I were—What I mean is, even if you had—Oh!” I sighed in frustration, my words feeling slow and stupid in my current state. 

He was about to say something, then stopped. 

“…When Bree was born,” I said at last, tracing slow patterns on the planes of his abdomen to avoid his eye, “It was over a year before I found Penelope, you know? There was a minder who I’d hire for an evening or two a month when I was on the verge of breaking down, but I—” I struggled to keep my voice under control. “I had isolated myself from all forms of connection and help, at that point, so….It was just me.” 

Jamie tilted my face upward and brought his mouth to mine. He knew.  

“It’s the way I wanted it, I told myself,” I continued when we separated again. “It was worth it for my independence, for the life I wanted us to have, but God, it….Forget ‘scared’—Every goddamn moment, I was petrified that I’d make a mistake and end up hurting her. I went into a dead panic every time she so much as cried or spat up. There were so many nights, for months and months and months, that I—I just—would sit alone and shake and sob (even when all was well with her!), because I was just so bloody afraid that I’d do something, that day, or the next, or ten years down the road to harm her, to destroy this perfect little joy—my last link to—” my voice broke, “—to you.” 

Jamie clutched me, fiercely, and I clutched him back, letting his nearness warm me, dull the edge of that remembered pain. “I came out the stronger for it. I did, undeniably. BUT,” I laughed weakly, “I also learned that self-imposed isolation does absolutely no one any good, in the long run. Things got so much better, brighter once I learned to ask for help, once Penelope came.”

A tiny, pitiful wail sounded from the closet-nursery. Jamie and I both made at once to jump up, but I was fastest to my feet. 

There, now, winky, love,” I crooned as I lifted Ian from the bassinet. “Hungry again?” I held him securely against my shoulder as I turned back to the room, joying in the closeness of him there on my skin, even as he continued to cry.

Jamie was kneeling at the end of the bed now, facing us, eyes wide with concern for Ian….and yes, with the question that still remained. 

“I’m not afraid this time,” I said simply, coming to stand before him, “because I’m not alone.”

Never again to be.” Jamie rose high on his knees, his hands reaching to hold us close, his face and voice breaking with love as he whispered, “We are neither of us alone.”


The livestream kept dropping out and now I know what a pararibulitis attack feels like because my heart stopped several times (though sincere gratitude to sharkcats​ for literally saving my life on this front). But here are some things I’m thinking about this episode, sweet jesus dicks in my mouth, what a wild fucking ride and a half that was.

  • I screeched at the screen when Silas was trying to lie to his mother. Even with the very existence of Wendimoor at stake, he couldn’t bring himself to say that he’d killed his beloved. He said that Pantos tripped on a rock and his head exploded which wow, there’s being a bad liar and there’s being Silas. And “there’s no such thing as Dirk Gently” is excellent because it suggests that the prophecy knows who Dirk truly is. It didn’t tell them to find Svlad Cjelli. It didn’t tell them to find Project Icarus. It told them to find Dirk. But I love Silas and would happily fight someone to protect him.
  • Within ten seconds Dirk and Todd are fighting over Mona, and within ten minutes Todd’s being demoted over Mona. It’s hilarious, but also super-ominous. I don’t think Max is going to go for the whole love triangle cliche but still, why wouldn’t Todd be stressed and intimidated by the sudden introduction of a childhood friend who has the same experiences as Dirk? Who maybe understands Dirk in a way that Todd never could?
  • Why was Todd asking for a phone call at the police station? Who the fuck was he going to call?
  • … what if he was going to panic and call Estevez though.
  • “This is easily the best interaction with a police officer I’ve ever had” yes Dirk, because the other two died.
  • Dirk in handcuffs after being free for a fraction of a second. Presented without comment.
  • Dirk saying “I love you” for the first time on screen. Also presented without comment.
  • It’s highly likely that Todd’s “I need you to help me find Amanda” and “we’re all being punished” is going to be the start of Dirk’s existential hellspiral into holistic anxiety and depression and rewatching this episode in a few weeks time is going to be very painful.
  • I appreciate how relatable Susie was for the majority of the episode because it really hammers home how utterly human she is, and I feel like that’s going to be one of the most tragic parts of her character. She does some housework, fixes her hair and produces a metric fucktonne of money and literally all of us would do the same. It’s a fundamentally comprehensible thing that she does. She finally responds to her son in the way we all wanted her to respond. She’s one of us until the precise moment when she’s not.
  • I did not at all enjoy seeing Amanda covered in blood. I did enjoy seeing her and Vogel continue their road trip. And Vogel baby, I know you’re missing your older brothers but you’re plenty scary enough by yourself if you need to be. Please never change.
  • Dirk has a colourful jacket again and it’s not what he would’ve chosen for himself, sure. But he’s wearing a mutant hybrid of his Blackwing uniform and a gift given to him out of the kindness of Hobbs’ heart and that’s probably a very good representation of where he’s currently sitting emotionally. He’s just gained two new friends on top of getting two old ones back and therefore he doesn’t care as much that he’s still marked on his jumpsuit as government property.
  • “A government prison for psychics” is Blackwing in a nutshell though, I don’t give a single solitary shit how good Riggins thought it would be.
  • Ken had one scene and literally stole the entire episode. Much in the same way that he hopefully steals Blackwing. But I’m hoping that in the same way Amanda can virtually throw Vogel at people who piss her off, it’ll turn out that Ken can throw the rest of the Rowdies in the direction of the CIA and watch as they wreak havoc.
  • So I’m assuming that if Priest hadn’t turned up, Martin could’ve just… killed Friedkin? Flat-out murdered him? Is this a thing that was going to happen on-screen?
  • The entire fucking scene with Friedkin and Priest. I just. I don’t have words to describe how much I adored their dynamic in a hideously villainous, entirely magnetic kind of way. Friedkin was so shaken up after Martin fed on him, much in the same way that he was shaken up after being attacked by the Rowdy 3 in Very Erectus, and he instigated the conflict both times and fully deserves all of the trouble he’s in but it explains so damn much about why he’s doing what he’s doing.
  • Priest was responsible for bringing in thirty of the original forty-two subjects and I’m willing to bet cold hard dirty cash that he captured Martin, Gripps and Cross (and can you imagine how traumatizing it would’ve been if he captured a much younger Vogel too). He knew how to deal with Martin. He’s so confident in his ability to inflict violence that he can say to Friedkin “ethics is not a priority” and “I’m no good” because he knows damn well that Friedkin’s shaken up enough that he’s susceptible to someone more forceful (and I’m down for a power struggle between Priest and Ken over ultimately control of Blackwing).
  • It’s unlikely as all hell but christ, what if Priest was the one to collect Dirk during Blackwing Mark I? How terrifying would that be for a small child? Where is this angst fest?
  • Boy oh boy, “I’m just a gun, Friedkin… I don’t do anything unless you pull the trigger” is a hilarious counterpoint to “don’t take the shot” because Friedkin saw his shot to be in charge… took the shot… and now he’s so far out of his depth that it’s not even funny. I don’t know what the moral of the story is here beyond “some shots just shouldn’t be taken”.
  • The Lux Dujour poster on the wall like surprise bitch, bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.
  • And I’m officially calling it now; Susie used to be a first-class grade-A bitch before the accident. Her now-deceased manager said that the accident was the best thing that happened to her and I know he was an asshole, but that doesn’t mean that he couldn’t be right about this. Her son said that he’s not scared of her any more. Her new behaviour is different enough that her husband is commenting on it with “none of it is going to fix what happened… you can’t change who you really are”. I’m thinking that if the accident wasn’t her fault, it was at least some sort of cosmic retribution. And I don’t know how i feel about the whole disability-as-karma trope but I’m also willing to give Max the benefit of the doubt and see where they’re going with it.
  • But speaking of Susie curing her limp. It was utterly heartwarming to see her on the trampoline and it begs the question; could she theoretically cure Todd and Amanda’s pararibulitis? Or could she make it worse? Because lordy may, that could be a clusterfuck and a half if she turns out to be the Bellatrix to the Mage’s Voldemort.
  • That ending rivals the ending of Watkin where Gordon Rimmer beats Sammy’s head in with the guitar. This is a villain coming into their own. This is our introduction to someone with depth and complexity beyond what we’ve been shown so far and it’s chilling because they were so close to being sympathetic in so many ways. “The silence is nice” is going to haunt me for the next week at least, holy shit. The final scene was a literal “kick the dog” moment. Max, no. Max, why.

And I’m going to spend the next week paranoid that the Mage is lurking behind me because of terrifying holistic reasons.

Pet Store (Newt x Reader) AU

Originally posted by lunastorta64

Request:  Can I request Newt Scamander X Reader AU where the reader works at a pet shop and Newt goes there everyday. He can’t tell whether or not it’s because of the reader or the animals. The reader’s coworkers make up a plan to get them together. Really fluffy please. Sorry if it’s confusing.  - Anon

I had too many ideas I had to post this today

IMPORTANT CHARACTERS

All the coworkers are my actual friends irl

Bevin:  Sarcastic and lonely manager

Lauren:  Crazy about animals.  Reader’s best friend.

Brady:  Just a guy that needed money.  Cashier.

Christian:  Cashier.

Blake:  Short and dumb.

Not very fluffy sOrry


You were the co-manager of a local pet store in America/England.  You were the person that would walk around and make sure everything’s running smoothly and the employees are doing their job correctly. That’s because one time Brady dumped a whole bottle full of alcohol into a fish tank in hopes it would lower their stress when people tap on the glass.  Yeah, they all died.

Lately you’ve all been noticing the same man coming into the store often, whether it was to purchase another pet and food, or just look around.  According to cashiers Brady and Christian, his name is Newton.  He had beautiful curly cinnamon-colored hair, lots of little freckles spotting his face, and a blush that even made the stony-faced manager Bevin smile.  Yes, you had a slight crush on the man.  All your coworkers picked up on that rather quickly.  Everyone was talking about it at your next totally important meeting that involved you all sitting in the storage room in a circle eating ice cream.

“Good lord just talk to him already!  It’s pretty obvious he likes you too.  I swear half the time he comes in here it’s just to see you, Y/N,” said Bevin.

“Yeah, one time he was checking out and I saw him turn around and look at you where you were standing by the reptiles,” Christian added.

“Instead of me checking him out, he was checking you out,” Brady said.  “Heh, see what I did there?

“Your cashier humor makes me sick,” Blake said shaking his head in utter disapproval.

“Yeah Brady, shut up.  No one asked you to speak,” said Lauren, chucking a spoonful of ice cream at his face.  “I ship Y/N and Newton even more than Dean Winchester and myself.  And that’s saying something.”

“Look, I don’t know a thing about the guy other than the fact that he’s really cute,” you finally spoke up.

Lauren shot up and shoved her entire container of ice cream down onto Brady’s head like a helmet (he had no reaction whatsoever).  “I will not have it!” she exclaimed loudly, aiming her spoon at you from across the room.  “We shall get you two together if it’s the last thing we do!”

“Yeah.  This–er–dark and depressing Y/N is really getting old.  You could use a boyfriend.  *cough* And a life *cough*,” Bevin said in such a Bevin-like way, always having to have a smart remark at the end of almost every sentence.

“I’ll try and talk to Newton the next time he comes in here,” Christian offered.

“So will I,” Brady added, ice cream container still on his head and covering his face.

Lauren looked over at him and tore the container off his head, ice cream dripping down his face, and threw it into the corner.  “Fine.  Just please don’t dump a bottle of vodka on him!”

“Still haven’t forgiven for that incident, huh?”  Blake spoke, arms crossed.

“He murdered my best friends, the Great Value fishies!”

“I didn’t know fish were susceptible to alcohol poisoning!” Brady tried to defend himself.

“WELL IT’S PRETTY DAMN OBVIOUS!”  Lauren screamed and tackled Brady to the floor.

**Time skip to the next day brought to you by the guy at Petco that told me and Lauren all about his floppy-eared rabbit that runs around the house for no reason**

Newt was indeed at the store around noon to buy rabbit feed, where he ran into Lauren.  She looked him up and down silently and then ran off to find you where you were speaking to Bevin in your shared office..

**Newt’s POV**

What was that all about?  I don’t know.  Gosh, I hope I see that lady again today.  The employee with the lovely H/C hair, E/C eyes… Oh, who am I to get all excited?  I don’t even know her name yet!

**Normal POV**

When Newt got the rabbit feed, he went up to the checkout to purchase it.  He was a bit sad that he didn’t see you there today. but he walked up to the register.  Christian was the one checking him out.

“You’re here a lot, aren’t you?” Christian said to Newt.

Newt looked up, surprised he actually talked to him.  “What?  Oh, yes.  I, uh, love animals.”

Just then when you saw Newt on the security cameras in your office, you walked out purposely, and said something about packages to Brady who was standing next to Christian at the second register.  Newt looked at you with admiration, but then his gaze when back to normal as soon as you left.

“Got a thing for Y/N, don’t you?” said Christian.

“Who?”

He pointed to where you walked in.  “Her.  You stare at her every time you come in here,” Christian answered.

Newt blushed.  “Uh…”

Brady jumped in the conversation.  “Ya know, you guys would be real cute couple.  Y/N’s a single pringle and she’s ready to mingle.  Your name’s Newton, right?”

He nodded, but really slightly.  “Er.. yes, b-but most people call me Newt…”

“Okay, well, Newt, you gotta talk to her.  It actually pains me to see you look at her that way everyyy singllle dayyy,” Brady dragged out.

“How do I know she won’t reject me???”

“Trust me, she won’t.  At our last meeting she wouldn’t shut up about how cute you were,” Christian replied.

“R-really?”

“Yes!  Y/N, get out here!”  Brady said loudly, and you and Bevin and Lauren walked out of the manager’s office.  Great, the whole gang was here, which only made Newt more intimidated.

You walked over to where Newt was across the counter.  “Newton, right?” you said.

His cheeks tinted pink. “Y-yes, Miss Y/N.  But please call me Newt, everyone does.”

You giggled.  “Just Y/N’s fine, Newt.”

There were a few seconds of silence, neither of you knew what to say next.  Lauren leaned across the counter.  “Newt.  This is the part where you ask her on a date,” she said in a fake-whisper, clearly loud enough so that everyone else could hear.

“Right…,” Newt said and Lauren clapped her hands happily.  “Y/N… would you like to go on a date with me?”  he asked, sounding more confident.

You grinned.  “Yes!  Wait…” you then realized you had the graveyard shift too.  “Hey, Bevin, can I have the rest of the day off?” you asked her.

Bevin looked at you with a ‘seriously that is ridiculous how could you ever think of such a thing face’.  “Fine,” she groaned.  “You two adorable lovebirds have fun,” she said, actually sounding happy for once.

“Great!” you exclaimed, and walked around the corner to where Newt was and walked out with him, chatting it up.

Blake came out from the storage room.  “Ah, true love is a beautiful thing.”

Bevin looked at him disgusted, and then turned around to face Lauren, Christian, and Blake.  “GET BACK TO WORK, ALL OF YOU!  I DON’T SIT HERE ALL DAY TO SEE YOU GUYS LOOK LIKE PROUD PARENTS AT Y/N FINDING A BOYFRIEND.”

They all looked at her terrified and scampered off to their designated work areas.  

Bevin walked back into her office, slumped down on a chair, and sighed.  “I wanna boyfriend…,” she said and began to quietly cry and opened another container of ice cream.


Please let me know what you thought of it and what I could do better next time!

“Do you understand now” prompt

Kat has had boyfriends before.  She has had sex with men before.  She had experienced every single heterosexual experience she could and was totally fine with all of that.  Were they the greatest moments in her life? No.  Did she enjoy herself? Sure. Most of the time.  In fact the brief relationships she had with men were nothing short of pleasant.  Were they the things that movies and epic romance novels were made out of? No.  But maybe that wasn’t for her. Maybe those moments and experiences were for other people.

Kat was totally fine with that.

She would just have her flings, and go from dude to dude and that would be enough for her.  

Love and commitment was terrifying to her, so it really didn’t matter if she would never experience that.

Really, it was all good.

But when a mysterious, confident, beautiful, and female artist walked into her life one day…suddenly she was not fine, and nothing was “all good”.  

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(W)rapped Around Her Finger (pt 2)

Originally posted by minshoseok


A/N: I had such a hard time writing this, and I rewrote this like multiple times but this was the best I could do and for that i’m sorry. I had such a hard time making J-hope look like a douche. He’s such a cutie! Hopefully you all like this little series. I had fun writing~

Thank you for requesting and I would love to write more for people! Send in your requests~ I just don’t write smut hehe.

Request: can i request a yoongi or jhope fanfic? im not creative maybe where you’re both famous rappers and he has a huge crush on you i cant think of a plot (sorry) so surprise me! :) but i would like angst and fluff :)) thank you in advance if you decide to do it!! 💕💕

Part 1

pairing: j-hope x reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

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A sliver of silver reflection.

I remember years ago, while working in C-Sec there was this case where Turian children kept disappearing on one of the wards. Posters were popping up on every street corner, countless faces. Within weeks the outpost I was stationed at was packed with dozens of Turian parents begging for their children to be found. Often mothers doing most of the talking while the fathers were either out trying to find their sons and daughters themselves or simply did what they could to somehow get us to work harder on figuring out what in spirits name was going on. This was all happening within my first year as a C-Sec officer, before I got moved up to investigations at the C-Sec HQ.

My immediate thought was to figure out where all these kids were from and after a few days of asking around and looking through the public records of all the parents that had approached us I was able to narrow it down to a half dozen blocks of residential buildings. A mostly Turian enclave area of the Citadel with some Volus and Elcor mixed in, maybe even the occasional Salarian. 

One thing I noticed was how quiet the streets were. For an area that housed over ten thousand residents, the main streets were mostly empty. The local park had the occasional shady figure who would run off if you tried to get close, but for the most part it was also empty. 

I walked down a few dozen more blocks, out of the enclave and into the Asari/Salarian dominated area of the ward. Children and families were noticeably making up over half of the locals walking by. Asari school groups, and the occasional Salarian cluster created the kind of bustle you would expect. 

Growing up on Cipritine I was accustomed to streets filled with other children playing war, and building forts out of dumpsters and cardboard in back alleys and raiding the bases other ‘factions’ of kids who were part of different educational regiments or schools. 

As a kid I was much more fascinated with tearing things apart and figuring out why they work and trying to improve them or splice them into something else. 

Sol, my sister, took after me in this aspect a little as she got past her infant years my tools and projects would often go ‘missing’ often ending up under her bed or hidden in a closet.

I was never the kind of kid who was into reckless violence and growing up unless I had some kind of conviction for what I was doing. I only ever got into one fight with this one kid named Valaksus because he kept harassing the smaller kids. Ended up breaking his arm, and dislocating his other shoulder; I only walked away with a bloody face. We ended up moving to the outskirts of the city after that.

I could see the value in something like hand to hand as a form of protection for myself and others. Aside from that, if I didn’t believe in learning something I never really gave it my full attention much to the frustration of my father. I hated rifle training and hunting trips when I was young, needless violence, and why did I have to kill them? I always had a moral high ground of thinking people could, with enough persuasion see things my way and that violence could be avoided. My dad tried to help me understand that the convictions of the self and the convictions of the cause must always be worth dying for, and while this may seem close minded as I argued, he pointed out that some people’s causes are for peace and for helping others like he was with his job at C-Sec. keeping an open mind is always important when dealing with so many different people he said; but sometimes violence is necessary. Sometimes people need to die, and it is their conviction to their wrong doing that decides their fate. When I asked him how he decides who lives and dies he simply said their lives weren’t up to him; and that whether they needed to die or not wasn’t a choice he could make as a cop, but rather a personal belief he had to set aside for a noble cause: Staying within the lines of the law and of civility.

So walking around on the Turian enclave later that night while off duty I happened to pass by an alley when I saw a kid out of the corner of my eye at the far end. 

She ran off before I could say anything, and given the lack of any other kids in the area and the fact that they’ve been going missing, I ran after her. Down the alley, through some fences, and two residential buildings I followed her to this basement under some shabby restaurant that had closed years ago.

Ended up upon this ring of Turians who were selling the kids to Batarian slavers and auctioning others to Krogans who wanted to take their revenge out on the Turians who put their species down with the genophage. The kids couldn’t fight back. The kids would get shipped out to other parts of the citadel and would be beaten to death and disposed of, even cooked afterwards by some of the Krogan, most of the kids were homeless but as they ran out of those, they started taking the ones who had families just to keep the business going. 

Even to this day I can’t recall the firefight that ensued, or even fully recall tracking down every monstrous customer of this nightmare from the ledger I found and doing the world the service of removing them from it. I had never in my life experienced such an intense rage towards another person or group of people. 

 I killed them all. Every single one.

When my dad found out he was furious. Yelled at me about fair trial and following the rule book. Especially when it came to those that I had tracked down. 

He ended up covering the whole thing up, aside from giving me credit for shutting down the crime ring, which gave the promotion to the investigations unit, no one ever really knew or found out about everyone who had bought the kids. Several of them were returned to their families after a couple raids on batarian slavers weeks later, and the ones I saved that night went home the next day. The young girl I had followed had managed to escape and led me to where she was taken, before running home once she knew I would enter the building. Turns out she knew I was a cop because she had seem me on patrol weeks before. Within weeks the enclave seemed to be no different from the streets back home.

But he covered the whole thing up.

It was the only corrupt thing he had ever done in all his years at C-Sec. I know damn well I would have lost my job and probably gone to prison for murder.

But… they had to die. Of this I was fully convinced. 

From then on my relationship with him got even harder, we hardly talked, and anytime we did, it was either him lecturing me or both of us arguing. I began to loathe all the rules and red tape the came with the job and after what I had witnessed. 

The capability for unimaginable cruelty of other people. I always had more of a mind that taking these kinds of scum off the streets in such a way that they could never harm anyone ever again was worth whatever means it took to accomplish that, even if it meant bending or breaking some of the rules. 

This is how I went about my job at C-Sec for years, each year feeling more and more restrained by the rules that felt like they were only there to help the bad guys get away. People like Dr. Saleon. 

And then I met Shepard, this… amazing human who taught me how short sighted my frustrations had left me. Who showed me more than I ever would have learned with C-Sec. She showed me the direct approach of convincing others to see her side or dealing with them if they won’t. Who had the ability to set out the ideals I had as a kid and put them into practice in the real world. And who’s combat ability was a terrifying force to be reckoned with. The first few missions with her I caught myself distracted by how quickly she moved from target to target, clearing rooms faster than I had ever seen. The Geth, and the Pirates, Mercs, assassins. The minute she arrived they didn’t stand a chance. 

I aspired to be like her. How even with merc bands smart enough to talk first, she would give them the opportunity to leave, rather than shooting them first. Always offering the handshake first and the barrel of a gun second. 

Every encounter with Saren she fought him through words as well as weapons, and her spirit never seemed to back down. Her influence was so great she was able to convince him to take his own life, the last act of defiance against Sovereign. A power with words I had never seen in my entire life.

It was as if she was glowing and I was careful to absorb all I could from her and to be at her side no matter the situation. 

After Saren, I went back to C-Sec with a renewed fire and passion for serving; for protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. And even though the frustration of the red tape was almost immediately apparent, I kept my head held high, and always offered the handshake and a way out, before going for the gun. Those months I brought in more criminals alive and unharmed (mostly) than I had ever done in entire years of working with C-Sec. Many of them recognized me next to Shepard on the vids of the battle for the Citadel, cutting through Geth heavy lines and kind of gave up as soon as I showed up to whatever operation they had going so I guess that made the job a little easier. 

 Intimidation wasn’t something I was used to, but I learned how useful it was in ending fights before they even began. 

 And then Shepard died.

 I… 

 It’s still kind of hard to talk about or clearly recall.

It felt like losing a part of myself, and life on the Citadel fell apart. 

The constant drug busts and same scenario criminal kingpin wanna be’s made me feel like I wasn’t accomplishing anything.

I was losing it. 

Everything Shepard had taught me, everything we accomplished. 

Everything she taught me to be, everything that I was and wanted to be. 

I was losing control of it all. 

I had to do something. 

Had to stop the problem at the source. 

It’s what she would have done.

I Ended up drifting for a few months from colony to colony in the terminus systems looking for trouble as I went before losing my way all the way to Omega. 

I needed a cause to believe in and Omega was no shortage of causes. 

And well… Heh… I’m sure your familiar with how that went down hmm? 

When Shepard came back from the dead it felt like a part of myself that I had lost had been restored. I fought better, the banter came natural, I could let my guard down around her. I could truly feel like myself around her. 

No way was a I about to let a rocket to the face cut short what had been returned to me only moments prior. Though I’m sure how high I was off the stims might of affected how i was feeling. Three days straight of shooting bad guys can make even me a little… whats that human word? Cookoo? 

With Shepard back in my life I could feel more myself, and I could let my guard down around her, even more so than back when we took down Saren. It felt more natural this time round for us to be just us. 

Just like old times, but better still. 

And with very few people onboard the Cerberus ship that we felt like we could trust (I removed like three dozen hidden cameras and audio devices from the forward battery, as well as a algorithm tracker from my terminal) It was only normal that we turned to each other more and more. Old friends, a hard thing to find back then. 

And then after Shepard helped me with Sidonis, and the way Kaiden reacted to Shepard on Horizon, I suppose I should have expected Shepard to want more than friendship, me being the only one she could fully trust. And well… being completely honest that caught me completely off guard. 

It was… nerve wracking and awkward, but the more we felt out our feelings the more natural it became, the more… right it was and the more we could feel like ourselves. And this innate need to find ourselves in each other and to support each other defined every aspect of who we were, and spirits be dammed if I ever let anything happen to her because I know I’ll lose myself as well. 

 It’s a kind of belonging of the soul that I think we all strive for, and I couldn’t be more at peace with having found my place in this world by Shepards side. 

Because as I’m sure you know. 

There really is no Shepard without Vakarian. 

 And damn does being me feel good. 

 G.

Originally posted by condvit

Creepypasta #1128: The Most Beautiful Garden

Length: Long

There are very few completely untouched places left in this world. Everywhere you go, you find evidence of mankind’s encroachment; on a disused hiking trail you’ll find a bottlecap or a crushed aluminium can, letting you know that you are not the first – and definitely won’t be the last – human to visit that place. 

Certainly, there are some areas which are more untouched than others. I always watch with intense fascination when documentary crews descend into some rare piece of jungle that has never before been explored. I picture being one of the first to lay eyes upon previously unseen places, and imagine what it’s like to breath air untainted by car exhaust and pollution.

Those places are all almost gone now, or virtually inaccessible to someone like me – an unremarkable nineteen-year-old girl from New Zealand.
But that lust for natural discovery never left me, and so I found my own realm of mostly unexplored, unpolluted wonders.

The ocean.

Getting a diver’s certificate isn’t actually all that hard. The PADI Advanced Open Water certification is basically all you need to free dive in local waters, and as long as you’re medically sound, it’s just a matter of time and equipment – both of which I had.

Around the coastlines you still find plenty of the same human garbage littering the sea; floating scraps of net, rusty pieces of wreckage, beer bottles filled with silt, and tangles of plastic. But the farther out you go, away from civilisation, the more pristine things become – the more beautiful.

My first dive near Great Barrier Island was an especially exquisite experience, and I ended up signing up to do conservation work so I could access the waters that were off limits to regular visitors. I’d do days of back-breaking labour, carving walking tracks in the sides of cliffs, then I’d have three days of bliss, diving in waters where few other people had ever been before.

It really is like another realm down there. Spiky sea urchins crust the rocks, sharp amongst branching corals and sea sponges. Shoals of fish swim around you curiously, not recognising a human as anything more than an interesting anomaly. They nibble at your fingers, then dart away. Everything is coloured a strange yellow-blue-green, as though all red light has been stripped from existence, and all is enchantingly serene – in that slow, soft world where even sound must succumb to the calming depths of the syrupy seas.

Yet it was on one such diving trip that I found the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

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Baby Howlett (II) | Old Man Logan

Originally posted by thatfunnyweirdindiechick

You can read Part One here 

So you guys have been demanding for this to be written since April, and I thought.. well, why not? But I’m going to make this clear now, there will not be a third part to this fic. I just wanted to kick off for whenever I open all Logan requests again sometimes within the first or second week of June!

Previously - Logan learns of your pregnancy through Lauras confession.

Now - Snippets of the most precious times throughout your pregnancy lead you up to one of the happiest days of your life; the birth of your daughter y/d/n Howlett. 

Warnings: none? Logan is head over heels for his daughter???? 

ITALICS ARE FLASHBACKS; flashbacks are a sonogram appointment and Logan meeting your baby for the first time. Anything in regular text is present. 

Guys, when I open my Logan requests again, I’m going to finish the fics with no links in my Masterlist; AND THEN I AM ONLY TAKING THE FIRST DOZEN REQUESTS. I have no motivation to write for Logan anymore (I still love him tho) and would much rather write for someone else given that he has the most prompts of any character in my masterlist. 

Tag List: @rivertales @drewkelliii @house-of-penguin @weasleytheking @xavier-chxrles @hookedonawolverine @tigers-have-teeth @buckybabble @liveourlifelikenobodyelse @agirlinherhead @katiedreamy

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As It Seem: Chapter 13

Table of Contents

Según Parece: Lista De Contenidos

Summary: The reader reacts to Dean’s bombshell from the end of last chapter

Word Count: 3103

Warnings: Depression, slight suicidal thoughts

Beta’d by: @kclaire1 te quiero!!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER


~Reader’s POV~

I was going to ask you to marry me.

I don’t know if Dean could see the way his words completely knocked the air out of me, but he kept nervously talking and my brain was scrambling to keep up with his words while it processed that confession.

Marriage?

“I know, it’s crazy. Especially over there. I mean, we’re both technically legally dead. We’re both hunters. It’s not like we would be married long before one of us died, probably. Stupid idea. But I just… every time I saw you, I knew that I wanted something more. I just—”

He cut himself off and took a deep breath which gave me a second to prepare myself, but I had no idea how to prepare myself at all. He had completely thrown me off balance with his declaration. And when his eyes opened again and bore into my very soul, I saw a conviction there that scared me.

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