the agony of the feet

Hiraeth (M) | Pt.1

(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

Originally posted by jungkooz

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4 | pt.5 | pt.6 | pt.7 | pt.8 | pt.9 | pt.10 | pt.11 | pt.12pt.13 | pt.14

Words: 12,957.

Genre: Zombie apocalypse au, smut, fluff, angst.

Summary: “I guess we’re not so different after all, huh? Brains, brawns – what does it matter when we’re all just scared of being left alone and stupidly hopeful?”

A/N: Inspired by the wonderful game The Last of Us.

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Oh, Captain! {James Potter x Reader} *SMUT*

FINALLY. I FINISHED IT. Fucking hate random writer’s block but I hope y'all like this one. Sorry if it’s not as detailed or as intricate as the other smuts I’ve written (lol you naughty readers ;)) ) but i did my best. Also, I might not open requests next week ‘cause it’s Holy Week from where I am but mainly because my parents will be home. 

Anyway, here you go, my sweet children!

Enjoy!

@allertonn @all-the-hp-love

WARNING: SEXUAL THEMES, ORAL SEX, DOMINANT! JAMES

xx


(Y/n) kept her eyes focused on the approaching Hufflepuff while trying to guard the hoop. Gryffindor was now on tie with the rivalry team and both only needed fifty points in order to determine who wins the game. As she swatted the quaffle with her broomstick, her team captain, James Potter, cheered; thinking they had succeeded in slowing down the opponent’s chances of winning. However, it was only a distraction as the other Chaser zipped to one of the hoops that (Y/n) was supposedly guarding and threw the quaffle perfectly through the ring.

The crowd roared and applauded at the sight before the game commentator could announce the team’s victory.

“Hufflepuff wins!”

Gryffindor students all groaned in defeat as their own team flew down from the cloudless blue sky and landed on the ground to properly congratulate the opposing house. James was the first to approach the Hufflepuff captain and shook his hand with a firm grip before turning away, leading his teammates towards the exit quietly. He had scheduled the field for Quidditch practice almost every week and yet all their hard work were put to the garbage bin, losing more luck to win the house cup this year. He couldn’t accept this defeat at all. As he calculated every single movement that he made during the game, his mind began to retrace its steps and wonder what went wrong.

Or rather, who went wrong.

The team was all appalled at his silence, having been used to hearing him brag or attempt to motivate them when he finally spoke in a deep voice.

“Get changed and come back here for practice tomorrow morning. That’s all,” he was normally not this serious but his expression shook everyone so they decided not to delay and immediately went to the locker room.

(Y/n) was about to slip away to the dormitories to avoid facing her teammates or worse, her own team captain. She didn’t want to see the disappointment written on his face nor did she want to hear him tell her she was going to be replaced especially since she had worked twice as hard just to please him. She took her broomstick with her and made way to the opposite direction when she heard someone clear their throat.

“May I ask where you’re going?” James asked, his hazel eyes on her.

She turned around and looked down, refusing to meet his gaze and mumbled a seemingly believable excuse, “I-I’m going back to the dorm. I left my clothes there and my broomstick needs repair.”

James walked closer to her and inspected her broomstick before smirking, “It looks like it’s in perfect condition. Pity it’s not quick enough.”

“Look, James, it wasn’t her fault-” one of the teammates tried to defend but James glared at him before he could continue.

Everyone was definitely scared now. Famous James Potter and his jokes and pranks, now completely furious over a game. He had every right to be. They were supposed to play against Slytherin and winning against them could only mean championship but now they had to lay back and watch from the benches in agony.

James dismissed the whole team except (Y/n) who shuffled her feet before finally looking at him. Once they were alone, she tried to speak to him in a small and gentle voice but he backed her against the wall with both his hands on each side of her head.

“J-James…what are you doing?”

He leaned in close to her, his forehead pressing against hers before whispering to her lips, “Tell me, do you still need to leave?”

He kissed her softly and ran his other hand down to her waist, slipping them beneath her shirt to feel her skin and moving it to her lower back. He kept his kisses teasingly light and gentle.

She kissed him back and entangled her fingers through his messy black hair when he pulled away and moved close to her ear, hot breaths down her neck.

“Worked so hard for me now, didn’t you, love? Such a sweet girl.”

He planted small kisses down her neck while she moaned pleasingly.

“Unfortunately for you, it wasn’t enough..,” he leaned in close to her ear once more, “But luckily for me, I get to punish you,” he breathed before adding,

“After all, naughty girls ought to be punished now, don’t you think so?”

James smirked and in a quick flash, his lips went back to hers, now harsh and rough. He sucked onto her bottom lip and held her by her thighs, carrying her and allowing her to wrap her legs around him. She was his addiction and all his pent up frustration and sexual desires went straight to her delectable lips, tasting them vigorously. His tongue pried her mouth open, meeting hers halfway, unafraid to show the lust they felt towards each other. He ripped her robe open and peeled it off of her while she removed his, discarding them onto a pile on the floor. He grinded his hard tent against her clothed core, an indication that he wanted her now. His lips left hers immediately and began to trail down on her throat to her collarbone where he nipped and sucked onto her precious skin.

“J-James…Want you now…,” she moaned, making him stop and look back at her.

“You don’t make orders here, (L/n),” he demanded, “Now, take off the rest for me. Wanna see you, dear.”

(Y/n) obeyed and removed her clothes in front of him. James could not keep his eyes off of her the entire time, watching the last bit of fabric fall down to the ground. He took off his sweater as well, revealing his white undershirt that stuck to his muscled body before he walked towards her, pressing her against the wall once more.

“Let’s see how wet you are, doll,” he reached down and trailed his fingers down her underwear, feeling her wet entrance. Without another word, he knelt down slowly and raised her leg over his shoulder, pulling her panties aside and sliding his finger up and down her soaking slit. (Y/n) gasped and did her best to balance as he continued teasing her with his finger. He slipped inside and attached his mouth onto her clit, his finger now moving in and out of her smoothly, all soaked up with her juices.

It was a heavenly feeling to have him down there, finally playing with her and going as far as licking her slit. Apparently, he was not only talented in academics and Quidditch, but he was also talented in combining both his finger and tongue on her. James licked her hungrily and even went as far as sticking his tongue in to taste her, eyes staring right back at her. She grabbed his hair in an effort to get him closer but all it did was make him moan against her slit, sending vibrations that made her call his name desperately.

“James!”

He pulled away and gave her one long lick before tugging down her panties, exposing her fully to him.

“Sorry, darling. Can’t cum yet. You’ll have to wait,” he smirked while removing his pants together with his boxers, his length all hard and ready for her. He carried her once more in his arms and pressed her against the wall, teasing his tip on her wet entrance.

“Captain…please, I want you,” she moaned, clinging onto him.

“Captain, huh? I like the sound of that,” he said before placing a soft kiss onto her lips and finally entering her in one quick push. He was certainly bigger than she had anticipated but she was definitely not complaining. She loved every hard thrust he gave her, his hands squeezing her ass as he persisted in hitting that glorious spot. Her walls were already tightening around his length and he could almost sense that she was about to cum once more.

He moved her up and down onto his member quickly as he chased his climax, both of them moaning.

“A-Ah….Captain…”

“Louder!” He shouted, slapping her ass hard while continuously thrusting into her wet core. His glasses were already fogged from the intensity but he did not care.

“Oh, Captain!” she moaned louder and felt his cock throb inside her, making her release all over him with another moan of his name, nails scratching onto his back.

James pushed inside one last time before he finally came, painting her walls with his seed. He panted heavily and kept her in his arms until they came down from their high.

The two got dressed afterwards and left the room together, their teammates waiting by the door, all of them shocked at what they heard.

“Tomorrow again?” (Y/n) asked James with a smile on her face.

“Certainly. Just don’t practice without me,” he winked before kissing her once more.

say you love me

summary:

you’re a doctor who finds bucky in an alley way, bleeding out. you help him, and get way more than you ever asked for. (based on this request.)

word count: 5.7K

pairing: bucky x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, open ending, bad writing

a/n: listen, i dont think this is good but i hope this is what ya wanted. there’s no smut in this, sorry my dudes :/ i left this ending kind of open and abrupt, so if y’all want a second part, i can write it. 

Originally posted by natpekis

masterlist | request

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Have You Ever Seen a Man Break

Request: “Part 2 of Have you seen a heart shatter please!! It was so beautifully heart breaking oml we need a happy ending;_;” among other sweet reblogs and messages from all of you :)

Word Count: 2,521

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by many. This is the sequel to Have You Ever Seen a Heart Shatter. Here is Part 3 to the series.

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in


Wind chimes dance and ring against one another in the slight breeze. You latch the screen door behind you and step onto the front porch, glass of iced tea slipping between your fingers, drips of condensation roll down the side of the glass and burst against the red wood beneath your feet. Songbirds chirp in the nearby bushes, passing news of some new visitor rumbling past the house in a flawless black vehicle.

You fall onto the two-person porch swing and pull your knees up as the world rambles on around you and the lazy birds. The smell of orchids and freshly turned dirt float by as another short gust of wind sends the wind chime tinkling again. The evening summer sun rains down onto you, warming your cold bones, loosening your tense shoulders.

A sigh drifts out of your mouth as you tilt your head back and close your eyes. Who knew the south could be so peaceful?

Cicadas buzz in the fields across the road as another car thunders past and spits pebbles out everywhere. The entire world is at peace here and has been since you arrived eight days before.

The only missing piece is Newt’s laugh. Which, you remind yourself before the tears can nip at your eyelids, you are perfectly okay with never hearing again.

“Get up.”

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Rosa?”

Your little sister wraps her bony hand around your wrist and tries to jerk you forward. “I’m serious. Get up.”

You pull your arm from her grip and frown. “Are you okay?”

“No. We need to go. Now.”

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Does anyone else ever have the experience where your daydreams are, like…… off if you’re not in the right place? For me, my daydreams are always the best and most enthralling when I’m at home. When I’m at my dorm, though, they almost feel wrong. I don’t even know if I’m making any sense I need to go to sleep now omg

your idiot

Originally posted by jypnior

pairing: Mark Tuan x Reader

genre: angst / fluff

word count: 2.4k

There was a loud buzzing coming from Mark’s bedside table, stirring him from his slumber. He looked over at the alarm clock which read, 1:37 AM. There was a loud groan that fell from his lips; he knew what that meant. Mark answered the phone with a less than enthusiastic voice.

“What?” He growled, throwing his head back onto the pillow.

“Geez, had I known I would get this reaction I wouldn’t have called,” you huffed into the phone.

“I’m sorry Y/N, what can I do for you on this lovely evening?”

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Sensitivity

This is for @flange5, who needed a pickmeup. I meant to have it posted last week, sorry I’m behind. :( 

She asked for some H/C and thanks to @arukou-arukou for the prompt. 

Look for the cut!



Steve woke from a nightmare filled with mud, and the taste of wet metal, and snow whipping against his cheeks like miniature blades. For several seconds, he couldn’t move. His chest was paralyzed, his joints were frozen, and he was chilled straight down to his bones. He stared up at his ceiling, eyes wide and teeth chattering loudly in the silence, and he couldn’t breathe.

Above him, the heater kicked on with a loud fwoom and a blast of heat poured over him. He choked on the sudden influx of air, eyes watering in the heat, and then his muscles finally unlocked. He rolled out from under the press of the hot air onto his right side and managed to suck in a breath. The force of the air diminished to a gentle stream, warming up his room and chasing the chill out of his skin. Steve tugged his knees up and shivered while the room went from pleasantly warm to stiflingly hot. He dropped back onto his back and pushed the blankets away, groaning. The sheets were soaked in sweat and he felt weak as a cooked noodle.

“Captain Rogers?” Jarvis asked gently.

Steve sat up and braced his elbows on his knees. Even in the heat, his nightmare sweat was cooling on his skin, and he needed a hot shower and a cup of something warm, and he felt miserably sensitive. “I’m good, Jarvis. Thank you for the heat.”

“Of course. Shall I let Sir know that you’re awake?” Jarvis offered.

Steve hesitated. His skin was alive with tingles and he could feel the weave of the sheets against his skin, the hairs on his legs and arms were standing straight up, and even his nail beds felt sore. He could just ask Jarvis to warm up the shower and heat up the bathroom floor, and stand under the spray for as long as his overly sensitized skin could handle the punishment. Eventually the hypersensitivity would fade back to regular sensitivity, and could go back to ignoring it.

“If he’s… if he’s not busy,” Steve said instead. “Could you?”

“I am quite sure that he is not busy,” Jarvis said.

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Height Issues | Josh Pieters

Request - Yes

A/N - I don’t like how this turned out but I wanted to give you guys an imagine today 

Could you do an imagine where the reader is pretty short like 5'2" and she’s dating Josh. And she gets like insecure that she’s so small but Josh doesn’t really care bc he thinks it’s cute that she’s so small. Thankyou 💛

——————————————————————————————-

It got quite frustrating being short, you couldn’t reach certain things on shelves in shops and it was embarrassing having to ask strangers to get something for you. It was a nightmare trying to find clothes that fit you, everything was usually to long. When you went out to a bar, you were often asked for ID because you were thought to be underage because of your height.

There was tall. Then there was Josh Pieters tall. Your boyfriend was a freaking giant and everyone knew that. It looked odd seeing you side by side, you’d often get weird looks when you were out. It never really bothered Josh though. You couldn’t help being short and he couldn’t help being tall. What mattered to him was the relationship and how you got together.

It honestly bothered you, it bothered you that Josh had to bend down and kiss you, and had to get things out of cupboards cliché. You couldn’t take a mirror selfie because you wouldn’t be able to get his head in the shot. It was such a struggle just to be ’#couplegoals’ as the viewers would often say.

Josh noticed your strange behaviour after a few days of you constantly wearing high heels. You never wore them unless you were out, even then half way through the night they would be off and your flats would be on. When he tried to question you, you’d brush it off and say you were changing your style.

When you and Josh were gonna go for dinner 10 minutes away from his place, you had just left the apartment before you were limping and you didn’t have a great poker face, it was obvious you were in a lot of pain. That’s when Josh snapped.

‘Right Y/N, what’s with the shoes? It’s been like what 4 days of you wearing high heels, and you never do that. What’s going on? Don’t lie to me.’ Looking at you, clearly annoyed.

Trying to put a smile on your face, you sighed 'I already told you I’m changing my style, is that a problem?’ you didn’t wanna have the conversation out side. If you were gonna have a fight it was best to be inside - at least you’d be sitting down, inside. Not having to stand up in excruciating pain.

'That’s bullshit, and you know it. I thought we trusted each other enough to say what was bothering us.’ Seeing the unamused look in Josh was giving you, you knew it was time to come clean.

'I feel like I’m too short. I don’t like it anymore so by wearing heels it gives an illusion that I’m actually taller.’ You said, his face softening hearing that you’re insecure about your height. 'I hate it Josh, I hate my height. I hate how to look taller I have to wear shoes that is literally crippling my feet. I hate it.’ Nearly in tears you take off your heels, cringing when your bare feet on the ground you repeat 'I hate it’ almost inaudible.

Josh takes your heels out of your hand and strokes your cheek with the other. Y/N how many times do we have to go over this. Your height isn’t an issue. I love you and your friends and family love you, that’s all that matters. Looks aren’t everything you know? I don’t like my hair and I could dye it but I won’t. It’s what makes me, me. The same goes for you. If you weren’t short, you wouldn’t be Y/N. As for these’ regarding to your shoes, 'you don’t need them any more’ he throws them over the fence, your feet to sore to even care at this point. All you wanted was food and a rest, your feet were in agony.

'I don’t care if you don’t have shoes, we are still gonna go for dinner’

Josh crouches down to give you his signature piggy back. You weren’t gonna say no, so you hopped on with out a problem. As you hugged onto his back he said 'Don’t ever put yourself down again, got it?’

'Got it’

Our Fault - A Oneshot of the Prologue

[Inspired by a post by @debete.]


Mrs. Potts and Chip are in the kitchen when they hear the screams. Such a sound seems so out of place in the castle that both of them stand up to see what is going on.  Chip runs off towards the ballroom, disobeying her orders to stay out of sight.  Mrs. Potts had brought him along this evening simply because she needed the extra hand; preparing for a ball is always stressful, especially for the head housekeeper.

She calls after him, but when he does not return, she sighs and tries to follow.  It is only when they reach the ballroom that she realizes the guests are fleeing, terrified of something inside.  This does not make Chip falter; he weaves through the white gowns and scared faces, not even stopping to let them pass.  Mrs. Potts does not have the agility that her young son does, however, and she has to shoulder her way past the panicking young ladies, calling his name again and again until he stops near the threshold and she finally grasps his shoulders.  But then she sees what has made Chip stop, and her heart skips a beat as she utters a cry of exclamation.

She notices Adam first.  He’s sprawled on the ground, writhing, crying out in pain, struggling to get to his feet but keeps slipping back to the ground.  But the more she watches, she realizes that he’s changing.  His clothes are ripping, horns are sprouting from beneath his wig, claws tearing through his sleeves and brown fur covering his face.  His voice deepens with every cry until it’s more of a roar than a shout.  It’s a repulsing sight.  But before Mrs. Potts can tear her eyes away from it, she hears him call out for his mother.

It hits her like a dagger to her heart.  She can tell it affects the other servants present just as much; Plumette puts her hand over her heart, Cogsworth dips his head in shame, and Lumiére visibly recoils; the candelabra he’s holding slips from his hand and clangs on the floor.

The sound alerts the second presence in the room, the figure standing over Adam as he wails in agony.  She is tall and fair, a being of pure golden light.  Her feet are not even touching the floor, and she towers over the ballroom with an air of magnificent beauty.  She has a kind face, but her eyes show no mercy as she looks up at the servants, who all cower under her gaze.  She raises a shining hand and points at them, and without even speaking the message is clear: You did this.  

The horrible part is, she’s right.  Without even asking, Mrs. Potts knows immediately what this is about.  It is their fault. They made Adam the monster he has become, and now he has an appearance to match.

The air grows cold.  The wind starts to pick up, and Mrs. Potts tightens her grip on Chip’s shoulders.  Something is about to happen, but Mrs. Potts can’t find it in herself to try to escape; the scene before her is so surreal and mystifying.

Suddenly, there is a small whimper from the other side of the room. Mrs. Potts turns her eyes to where the Italian maestro and his wife stand, staring in horror at what is unfolding before them.  

The maestro has his arms wrapped around his wife and their dog in an attempt to shield them from what’s happening, and the madame is clutching her husband’s arms, her painted face horrified and afraid. The dog is the source of the noise they had all heard, and for a moment, the witch diverts her attention to them.  Her cold eyes take them in, their outfits, their expressions, their clasped hands.  All they receive in return is a look of indifference.  Then she raises her hand, and in it she holds a pristine red rose.  Mrs. Potts opens her mouth to cry out a warning to the musicians, to run, to get away, they have nothing to do with this…

But then everything erupts in gold and white around her.  Chip is wrenched out of her grasp by some unseen force, and she reaches out to find him again, but she can’t feel her hands.  She can’t hear the cries of the other servants and she calls out to Chip again and again, but he doesn’t answer.

There’s one last thing Mrs. Potts realizes before the world fades to black: she can’t feel anything at all.  Not the wind, nor the floor beneath her feet, nor the beating of her own heart.  For this one moment, she is completely and utterly alone.

And it terrifies her.

Welcome to the Freakshow Part 2: Disobedience Will Not Be Tolerated

(gore, violence, general horror aspect)

   Kidnapped by the ringmaster of one of the biggest travelling circuses and forced to perform, the beast has to accept his new life and try to survive…

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jerseydevious  asked:

i trust you to do something fun with #15

So, this gave me a chance to do some Bruce & Alfred angsty-ish hurt/comfort instead of just whining at you that there isn’t enough of it for me to read. I sort of cheated a little with the prompt and I hope you don’t mind.

***

The sun was coming up by the time Bruce limped into the gallery and stopped by a white marble sculpture, streaked with faint veins of gray. Being on his feet was agony to the sutures across his lower ribs, the mangled lacerations bandaged over his legs.

But here, surrounded by things his mother had collected and loved and admired, he at least wouldn’t irritate wounds by throwing things. Memories stayed him where his temper might fail.

Thirty more seconds was all he had in him and as the edges of his vision went black he sank to the floor and leaned against the pillar the statue sat on. He just barely kept himself conscious, and the throbbing radiating from a half dozen points on his scarred body was preferable to sleeping quite yet.

Closing his eyes would mean seeing it again. Three lives, gone just like that, and one of them a good detective. Some days it was easy to believe Gotham was getting better, but nights like this one— mornings, he supposed— made it clear that if anything, the entire time he’d spent in the cowl was only to watch it decay further.

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anonymous asked:

angst? I'll give you angst, scenario where Keith's female s/o jumps in front of him to protect him from an attack and she ends up dying, but with a sad smile, kind of like that anime sao where asuna jumped in front of kirito to protect him? Ah if you don't know what I'm referencing to you can search this up on youtube to see what I'm trying to say😅

crying I know exactly what you’re talking about ahdjskskskskks. But yes here you go. Enjoy because I couldn’t due to my tears blocking my vision


Terror and panic filled your body down to your very core. You could feel your armor rubbing against itself as you took large leaps, dodging blasts and swipes of guns and blades. You tried so hard, your breath becoming more and more heavier as you tried to keep up with everything going on around you. But you turned.

There was Keith, choking out a Galra on the ground as he shouted with rage. His double-edged sword feet away from him. His face became red from the work he was exerting on himself and transferring to the neck of the soldier below him. His hands turned white. But he wasn’t looking, he wasn’t looking when a soldier stood behind him by just a meter or two. But you?

You were.

You shouted, louder than you believe you’ve ever shouted before. Your throat ached but that didn’t matter. He did. He always did and he always will and that’s exactly how it will be until the day you die.

“Keith!” You had never gotten to your feet as fast as you did, your all white armor contrasted greatly against the orange blood-stained ground as you ran toward them. He turned, face fading from red to pink to its normal color. His dark eyes stared at you in confusion, watching you come closer, but you weren’t looking at him. You bored your eyes into the horrific being behind him.

His head turned, watching as you grabbed the forearms of the Galran, the blade cutting up and through your stomach. Keith’s eye grew wide, watching as your stomach became marred by the barbaric blade. His feeling in that moment was the same as the soldier he just murdered. His mouth opened but nothing came out, he was still on his knees over the once alive soldier he was choking to death moments before.

His body turned, the end of the armor on his shin catching onto the armored knee of the soldier caused him to stumble. But he still caught you. He always did. His arms reached out and he caught you in his arms, staring at your face and the blood leaking onto the ground. He took a large breath in, then out. He began to breathe heavily, a panic attack taking over him as he didn’t know what he could do. He couldn’t take out the blade, you’d die faster and that’s the oppositeof what he wanted.

Pidge saw this. They were meters away, when they heard your shout. Meters away when they saw the blade go in your armor and out the other side. They screamed in agony, and anger, sprinting toward the soldier. Their feet kicked off the ground, bouncing them to the shoulders of the murderer before them, and they wrapped their grappling hook around its neck.

Keith didn’t see this, he was too busy watching you slip away from him slowly. Tears began forming in his eyes, tears forged by regret, sadness, and anger. Your back was supported by Keith’s arm, and you looked at the blade that cracked your armor, cracked your skin. You immediately looked to Keith, and smiled.

“Y-Y/n? I, I don’t understan-, I, w-why? Whyd you do this to me? Why?” His tone was soft, but his voice was not. It was rough, and cracking like he’s never spoken before this moment. He looked at all the features of your face after taking your helmet off. Tears fell from your eyes, passing through your hair, and over your ears. You still smiled, and still looked up at him.

“I’m sorry, Keith.” You couldn’t feel anything anymore, your sense of touch had gone numb. But your feelings had not, neither did Keith’s. Keith could still feel, mentally and physically. So you tried to do what you thought was lifting your hand to his face. From birth to death, you’ll always be caring.

As soon as your hand touched his skin he began to sob. Snot leaking from his nose onto his pale lips. Tears falling onto your armored chest.

“No. No. No. No no no no no. Please do-don’t go. I don’t, I don’t want you to go.” He cried. “Please.” The cracking of his voice told you that he had broke, finally, after all these years he came out of his shell. In the worst way possible.

“I love you, Keith. Keith I love you. Don’t, don’t forge-”

Dying to some is like falling asleep. You lay there, as your heart slows and you don’t feel a thing, your chest stops moving and you’re gone. But to you? Oh no, that’s not how it was.

The way you felt during your death was the equivalent to an animal shedding its skin, an animal that isn’t meant to shed its skin. The effort and work put into it made your death harder and painful than Keith would’ve wanted. You were stiff and could barely move without whimpering.

He gazed down at you as his tears landed onto your cheeks and the bridge of your nose. He wiped them away and watched as your smile went with them.

“No.” He choked out.

The muscles in your body relaxed, the natural stance and grip of your hand disappeared and went dead-weight. Keith still held it against his wet cheek. He cried more, and more, and leaned down into you, hugging you close to him and rocking back and forth. His skin felt hot, and his threat was slowly swelling up. He felt as though he had swallowed sand paper.

The feeling he had in his heart, was ravaging. His chest hurt and so did everything else. He loved you. He loves you.

“I love, I love you so, so much. I’m sorry.”

The two of you were brought to the safety of the castle-ship. Pidge filled with depression, as she stood away from the two of you, scared, upset.

“I’m sorry.” He said as he handed you off, walking to his room only to stay there. He loved you. He loves you. And he was afraid to lose you. And he lost you.

Prison is Hell

By reddit user SamMarduk

I hate it here.

Granted, I deserve it.

I’m currently locked down behind massive, concrete walls and solid steel doors in a maximum-security penitentiary. I was locked up what feels like a lifetime ago now. I earned it, I did. Every second I rot here is justice, but that doesn’t change the fact that I hate it.

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10 Thousand Steps // Chapter 1

Word count: 1.3k
Genre: Romance, Angst & Smut ( both in later chapters)
Pairing: Min Yoongi x Deaf!OC
Warnings: Impaired hearing, language
Synopsis:Yoongi felt a certain way encountering a deaf girl on his way to the nearest cafe. Thing is, he doesn’t know she’s deaf—yet.
A/N: I’m aware that this is pretty short but I’m so excited to share this new idea! The chapters will be more lengthy throughout the updates! Hope you all enjoy~

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hayeshaizy  asked:

D7

Two people have asked for an unexpected horse story, so here it is.

Horses show signs of colic (abdominal pain) in different ways. In a mild case they may do little more than glance at their abdomen while their guts churn away. In severe cases you can have a rolling, kicking, thrashing explosion of horse unleashed upon the world with no chance of getting near it.

One night in the middle of winter I was on after hours duty (some of the best stories happen after hours) when I was called out to see an Andalusian gelding with colic an hours drive away. I was a little excited because I hadn’t seen many ‘fancy’ horse breeds in person before, but was less thrilled at the concept of a hour drive on a rainy winter night on gravel bush roads to get to it.

When I finally arrived at the property in he the middle of Woop Woop the owner was trying to walk the gelding in a small yard.

I say trying, because the Andalusian only wanted to roll in agony on the ground and kick its feet up in the air.

Examining this creature as it was would be near on impossible, so I quickly gave it a generous dose of pain relief and sedation. The highly dramatic antics for its abdominal pain reduced, and I confirmed that its guts were extremely active, so most likely a spasmodic colic rather than a surgical one.

And it was farting like you wouldn’t believe.

With every flattus came a brief period of relief. Basically this big fancy grey horse looked like it was dying because it really, really needed to fart.

Naturally, I asked how this had happened. It turns out the gelding and his Shetland pony paddock mate had somehow accessed the shed, and feasted upon the chicken feed inside, consuming many kilograms between the two of them. Of course I asked to see the pony.

The shetland pony was also colicing, but with nowhere near the same drama as its Andalusian friend. It to had a severe case of flatulence, but with every passing gas it would merely turn to look at its behind, then continue eating the hay in front of it.

Conclusion: The Andalusian is a delicate flower with no pain tolerance. The pony is a tank.

Sometimes Rain Falls

A BTS Fanfiction

Type: AU/Alternative Universe

Summary: Sometimes a normal life is a good one to lead; its nice…its easy…
But sometimes, normal isn’t the way that things were meant to be. And when you’re chosen as a possible candidate for one of the kingdom’s 7 princes, life isn’t as nice and easy as you always presumed it to be…especially when you catch the eye of more than one of them…

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Chapter 16

TAE-HYUNG - (The night before)

He watched her look around in confusion when she realized he’d disappeared from behind her, grinding his teeth angrily as he watched his brother comfort her in her apparent distress, circling her waist with his arms and burying his face in her neck.

He should be doing that.

The hunger pulls at his jaw, stretching his gums so that his fangs reveal themselves to the midnight air, the usual pain that accompanied them causing him to stumble back in agony, leaves crunching quietly under his feet, and he just about manages to escape the sights of his brother as he lunges back into the darkness. He ends up curled into the wet, cold, earth beneath him, groaning silently as he claws at his jaw, begging the pain to stop as tears leak from his eyes, and blood begins to drip from his gums onto the ground- this being a recent development in his distraught, yet determined, attempt at restraint.

When he finally manages to push the pain back enough to look back up in her direction, she’d gone.

He’d been so close once again…so…infuriatingly…close…

‘What are you doing?’

Its just as he takes a clawed swipe at the ground in his fury that he hears his voice, the question causing Taehyung to snap his head up in his direction and see his older brother languidly resting against a tree, appearing irritatingly at ease, until the smirk he’d been wearing dulls, and Namjoon’s eyes begin to widen as they catch sight of the blood trailing from Taehyung’s lips.

‘Taehyung…why-‘

‘Leave me alone.’

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anonymous asked:

the "heroes don't take sick days" prompt from the sickfic prompt list for fenhawke?

There’s misery in the madness of being still. Silent and restless, wanting and waiting. She knows the shape of her bed posts too well, every crack and every flaw, the freckles of scattered stain. Too well does she know the way the wind tosses the drapes, from breeze to gale, of raindrops against glass. The ceiling is charted territory, a map too long studied, every hill and every plain. The fire is monotonous, a rolling thing, and no crackle and no pop is any different from the ones she’s heard before. With each passing hour the bed grows more and more cramped, a prison of lessening comfort.

She pushes herself up to sit, and a searing pain makes its way across her middle. Pressing a hand against the bandages, the wound too large for magic to heal. Muscles torn and organs rendered, how could she ever thank Anders for what he had done? The days spent draining every ounce of mana, the nights of fitful sleep by her side. And her, unable to move, unable to speak, helpless and watching, wanting to reach but could not touch. The guilt, for wishing it was Fenris by her side instead. Oh, how it hurts when she thinks of him. In the haze of it all, she thinks he might have cried. That knot between his brows, his beautiful lips in that downturn, the careful and worried way he cradled her in his arms. I’m sorry Hawke, I am so sorry. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.

She pushes past the ache, the agony, breathes a sigh of relief when the pads of her feet touch floorboards. The wood is colder by her bed, the warmth of the fire not quite reaching. She sits there for a moment, on that edge, hands wound in bedsheets and sweat on her brow. Even to just sit up… the effort was enormous. Her hands shake, she grits her teeth, squares her jaw. They call her the Champion of Kirkwall now. Protector of the city. The hero who can’t even leave her bed. Unsteady feet on unsteady legs, giving out under the first step. Clinging to the bedpost, biting her bottom lip and closing her eyes. Ignoring the spasm of pain that sears through her body.

She tries to simply stand. To straighten her spine, to draw herself to full height. Her body will not let her. She stays hunched, as though an old woman, and it almost makes her want to laugh. Her knuckles are white as they hold to that post. The path to the door has nothing to hold onto. One foot in front of the other, shaking step after shaking step. Leaning her head against the door, wrapping her hand around the knob. A shuddering breath of relief but her legs are still wobbling, threatening to give. Instead, she pulls open the door.

Stumbling through it, arms outstretched for the railing, desperate and falling… and it’s his arms that catch her. Bending down, arm under her legs, effortlessly taking her into his arms. Wrapping her arms over his shoulders, burying her head into the crook of his neck. “You are not supposed to leave the bed,” he tells her.

“Fen,” she breathes. “You’re here.” She feels every inch of him stiffen, that clench, fingertips pressing into her skin. He finally sighs, and the rest of him relaxes with it.

“I never left,” he says softly. Bringing a chair to sit outside her door. Arms crossed, feet planted, listening to Anders softly speaking to her inside. He never once heard her voice. He was afraid he would never hear it again. It was Aveline who brought him different clothes, forced him to change. Out of the clothes sticky with Hawke’s blood. Fenris had watched her turn pale in his arms, limp and lifeless, and all he could do was hold her. All he could do was put her on that bed. All he could do was watch Merrill and Anders hover over her. All he could do was wait.

He moves to take her back to her room, feels her hands fist in his tunic. “No, please. Please don’t put me back there,” she says. He thinks for a moment, carries her down the stairs. Gently placing her on the couch in the library, pulling pillows from chairs to prop her up. She’s curled up, watching him through eyes that refuse to remain open. Lighting the fire, going to fetch a blanket. By the time he returns, she’s already asleep. He drapes it over her, pulls it to her shoulders. Gently brushing back that stray lock of hair, tucking it behind her ears. Leaning down, his forehead pressing against hers, closing his eyes. Listening to her breathe, fingers curling at her cheek.