the ones on the left are orange in case it's not clear

Random Trinket Table

Have you ever thought to yourself, “Man, I want something useless but mildly interesting that isn’t from the trinket table in the player’s handbook!” Well, you’re in luck. Because I love random, useless trinkets and I’ve created a list for all to use. Even though there are plenty of other random trinket tables out there, you can never really have too many. Am I right or…? Anyways. Table below the cut!

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With You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, Angst

Word Count: 4K+

A/N: Holy shit, guys. This is the longest one shot I’ve ever written and I’m not sure what happened, but it just took on a mind of its own. Like, who am I? Anyways, enjoy!


You were never one to hold back, especially when you wanted something. In this case, it was someone. In fact, the more the object or person of interest resisted, the more determined you were; you always enjoyed a challenge. From the moment that Bucky Barnes first stepped foot out of the elevator doors, you were drawn to him.

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creideamhgradochas  asked:

Could you do 067: "I came home to a Nerf gun on the front porch and a note that says ‘Here is your weapon. I have one too. Loser cooks dinner. Good luck. xo’" from the 101 Fluffy prompts with Bucky please?

Why of course I can!!! And I am so fucking sorry this took a century and a half to post. I’m a horrible person. xxx

Originally posted by gliceria

Home Sweet Nerf Gun

Bucky came home to see an offensively bright, neon pink and orange nerf gun on the front porch. Just laying there all innocently on the doormat (the doormat says ‘Welcome! Beware of husband, cat is shady, wife is cool though’). With a curious grin he climbs the three porch steps and halts before the gun that has a small torn piece of scratch paper perched on top of it. It reads in your familiar script: Here is your weapon, I have one too. Loser cooks dinner. Good fucking luck xo.

Bucky right out cackles when he sees your P.S - ‘p.s you should not have taught me how to snipe baby’

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13 Going on 30 (Part 4)

Summary: When your 13th birthday party goes awry, and you make a life changing wish - you wake up to discover you’ve flash forwarded 17 years ahead.

A/N: Shit gets real in this part. Lemme know what you guys thought about for this one! also yes ma’am let’s admire the beauty of this gif

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

@spidweeb you’re an absolute saint, and thank you again for all the help. 

Originally posted by mylastlove-mylastsong

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A Breach of Trust: Chapter 13

(Chapter Index: Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14)

When Reigen finally threw open the doctor office’s door, frantic and frazzled and 42 minutes late, he was certain he’d walked into the wrong room.

Colorful was the first thing to come to mind, between the wallpaper and the rug and the toys scattered across it. Blocky cartoon animals rung the wall, each a solid unnatural unapologetic color: pink tiger followed by orange monkey followed by green giraffe. The rug matched in vibrancy, stark geometric patterns stained across it like paint spatter. Camouflaged among the pinks and blues and greens were the toys: one abacus-like contraption of twirling wires and movable pieces, two simplistic puzzles where single pieces belonged distinctly to each of the six gouges in their surfaces, a single plastic truck gunked at the wheels with paint chipped along all sides from years of use.

Reigen looked up, and registered the three distinct sets of moms and children spread around the waiting room, each parent varying degrees of visibly exhausted. The left-most mom sat rocking a snotty and red-cheeked baby on her knee. The right-most spoke quietly and tersely on the phone while her son probed her iPad. The brother-sister pair in the center eyed the abacus toy on the rug with furtive, eager glances to their mom and back.

Reigen would have eased the door shut with a quiet, embarrassed apology for his mistake. He didn’t, once he noticed the married couple tucked away in the wooden chairs in the corner. Recognition registered like surprise in Reigen’s mind—he hardly recognized them—and it was Jun who caught his eye. She flagged him over.

He stepped carefully across the colored rug, lest he step on some well-disguised toy strewn somewhere. He kept his steps high, and relaxed only once he’d made it to the open seat beside Tetsuo. He took it, attention divided between Tetsuo and the kids, who filled him with sort of a confused wonder–the brother-sister pair had now scrambled to the abacus toy, eyes alight, and were spinning its plastic pieces.

“Dr. Wong is a pediatrician,” Jun said, following Reigen’s eyes and guessing at his silent confusion.

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Sanitarium

Originally posted by jjilljj

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: HarelyQuinn!Au / Angst

Rated T for mentions of violence, blood, death, brain-washing and mature themes

Word count: 4.4k

Synopsis: The government hired you to cure Kim Taehyung from his madness, yet, every time you see him in that damn white room you lose sanity and yourself a bit more.

Author’s note: I should really really thank my lil Rosie and the sweet Mari for supporting me so much! This is dedicated to both of them <3 and of course feedback is always appreciated!  

part 1 // part 2 // drabble


                                                                       “He whispers things into my brain,

                                                                               assuring me that I’m insane.”

 

First session

The room smells like disinfectant, medicines and something ferrous you can’t quite define. Everything is white – almost blinding, you think –  the walls, the floor, the table you are sitting behind, the chair in front of you and also the sole window on the left. A window equipped with bars, of course.

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It is important to know the political and physical geography of today’s events.


First, there were five distinct groups.
The Trump supporters were based in Terry Schrunk Plaza. They tended to wear flags, fatigues and red Trump hats. A handful of minorities were present.


Surrounding them were four different groups.
A peace group began their protests outside Portland City Hall. The diversity in this crowd ranged from different ethnicities, to clothing, to age (young children and their parents, teenagers, millennial, boomers, and a group of 80+ year olds who have been part of Portland protests for decades.) By 11:30, when I arrived, City Hall walkway and the sidewalk in front were packed, making it difficult to walk along the sidewalk. The crowd shortly was filling one of the lanes of traffic along 4th avenue. A number of religious and ethnic community leaders gave speeches. Chanting and loudspeakers were directed towards the small group of Trump supporters who came to the west end of the park with signs and flags. This was, by far, the largest of the anti-Trump groups.


On the east side of Schrunk Plaza a group made up of Union members and an older crowd with a megaphone taunted the Trump supporters closer to the stage in the plaza. The chanting was robust from both sides.


And in Chapman Park there were two groups, though at times difficult to distinguish between them. The color of the day was black. Some were covered head to toe. Others wore t-shirts with slogans attacking both the Trump administration and the Portland police. There were a number in the park who were there to protest the Trump rally and call for peace. And then there were those itching for a fight: Angry at Trump, his supporters, the media, and the Portland Police. Perhaps especially the Portland Police.


The largest area with direct contact between the opposing protestors was between SW 4th and SW. 3rd on Madison. That is where the largest conflict occurred. It made sense this was the area that police heavily patrolled. A concentrated line of police in riot gear spaced just a few feet apart, three to five feet off the sidewalk. At times one lane of the street included patrol cars or vans with running boards and handles on the outside that acted as transport for twelve or more police. One lane was always open to cars on SW 4th, 3rd, and Madison. That made it easy for police and security teams from at least three of the groups to ask, (Yes, “Ask”, This is Portland) people to stay out of the street. Those in Chapman Square, Schrunk Plaza, and along Madison Street had either a barrier of police in riot gear or yellow police incident tape to show them where the demarcation lines were.


Perhaps the most obvious part about the Portland police presence was whom they were watching. The anti-Trump demonstrators outnumbered the Trump rally by estimates of 20:1. And the police approach was clearly that Trump supporters were considered in danger. Police stood facing Chapman sometimes shoulder to shoulder. To the east and west of Shrunk Plaza they were not as concentrated, 8-10 officers with one or two facing the Trump supporters. The rest focused on the peace group at City Hall or the union chanters at the Federal building.
That focus was commented on constantly. Along with those comments was a memory of the action several weeks ago when buses were ready to transport Trump marchers back to the starting point when they marched through a multi-ethnic neighborhood chanting anti-immigrant slogans. No riot police presence was evident then, so police are seen as protecting Trump supporters while aggressively agitating those against the Trump administration.


About 30 minutes before the scheduled end of the Trump rally things began to change significantly.


I stood at the Northwest corner of SW 4th and Madison starting around noon. I could see straight down the line of the police facing Chapman Square. I could also see the peace groups gathered at City Hall and the small contingent of Trump supporters in constant shouting. I could see into Chapman Square itself only a few feet. Lots of black clad people concentrated in the SW corner of the square, making it hard to see much in the center.


It was a busy corner.


For a time, there was almost a joyous atmosphere to the crowd. But it was not without its tension.


At one point, as I was talking to a friend, a group of Trump supporters carrying various flags and paraphernalia came through the crowd outside City Hall. They made it a point to shoulder their way pushing people. When they got across the street, one of them had his red hat knocked off of his head. It fell to the ground and a heavyset black clad fellow in his 20’s grabbed the hat and started to walk away with it. My friend intervened and told him, “We don’t do that,” effectively de-escalating the incident and sending the anti-Trump guy across the street to Chapman Square and the Trump supporter on his way north on 4th.


A white truck circled the blocks several times. It seemed to want someone to get agitated as it constantly sped up to trap people in crosswalks.


A number of individual incidents took place with police isolating people for a time and searching bags, taking away poles, and then releasing them.


Then the scene got intense around 3:20.


Scores more police arrived with insignia from several agencies. A loudspeaker announced the “Because of Criminal activity, people need to move to the center of Chapman Square.” Something had happened. We could not see what that was from the corner next to the Portland Building.
Standing where I was, NOT in Chapman Square, across the street, I figured I’d be able to watch the situation. But that was not to be.


As I stood there, I was suddenly pushed by a Police officer with a baton telling me that I had to move. I said, “the announcement said people in the Square. I am not in the Square. And I am observing as an elected official.” (I had my little magnetic nametag on my right side of my shirt.)


His response was to say, “Hello Lew. We’ve met. But you still need to leave this area.”


So I started walking north along 4th watching the Square.


It became clear that more was going on there. Within a few minutes several large reports rang out. Smoke of some form was evident. Angry voices rang out across the park. I could see batons being swung. I could not see whether people or objects were being hit. I called to one of the activists I saw in the center of the square to come my direction. He was helping a woman who was clearly disoriented and upset. They came under the chain that surrounds the park and into the sidewalk and street, yelling at the police for what was likely tear gas or pepper spray of come kind.


What sounded like a series of pellets being fired could be heard.


The next announcement said that police had been assaulted and that the gathering had been declared illegal.


Eventually the line of police stopped a few feet in from Main Street while still in Chapman Square.


By that time I’d seen a number of water bottles and rocks thrown at the police. I did not see who threw them. But they landed near the front of the police line.


A new announcement said Lonsdale Square had also seen criminal activity and that it too must be cleared.


I started walking that way. At one point a group of folks threw several newspaper vending machines into the center of the street. Then came several orange cones.


Remembering the fire that was started at the May Day march, I walked directly over to the growing pile and stood there for a while. A masked friend from the crowd yelled at me to watch out because tear gas weapons were pointed at me in the center of the street. I decided to stand there a while to see if anything more would take place. Nothing did.


I left to go closer to the stand off line.


There a few individuals were yelling at police. One attempted to get others to join him at the front of the line. It was only marginally successful.


But something had changed.


The large group of black clad people gathered to march north along 4th.


The police line dispersed and moved back to the Madison Street location.


I looked down 4th to see the group chanting and heading towards Morrison, possibly Burnside, with Police in pursuit.


(Note that because 4th and 3rd avenues had been blocked, the peace groups at City Hall and the Federal building were separated from the smaller groups in Chapman Square. I wonder how they would have handled the pushing and shoving. Some folks had simply sat down in Chapman Square, only to be moved forcibly with batons.)


By this time the Trump rally was officially over.


It was clear from looking across the street that those in Schrunk Plaza were agitated and looking to the police for directions out of there. Those directions had a small number walking out the SE exit and up Jefferson Street.


I walked up to City Hall. (Hearing along the way from ACLU legal observers that flash and tear gas canisters had been used around 4th and Morrison and that the group had been surrounded and everyone arrested.)


At City Hall the numbers had diminished somewhat, but the enthusiasm had not. Chants were still going.


I do not believe the group at City Hall knew that the Trump rally had ended until police started letting a larger number of folks out of the Plaza on the west side.


Anti-Trump demonstrators formed a gauntlet for them to go through for a time on the corner of Jefferson and 4th. There were a few punches thrown before police broke up that gauntlet. Only to see another one form half a block down. And then still another skirmish in the next block. That seemed to be the case along a path that went several blocks south and then doubled back on 5th avenue to the Portland building.


By the time I got to Madison again, a pepper spray incident had taken place involving the police. Demonstrators were treating several people, including a photographer.


As I left down town I unsuccessfully tried to find the larger group that had moved north. Helicopters were circling. I did not find them. But I saw both brief skirmishes and measured conversations taking place throughout the downtown.


Take a ways:
If the message was that Portlanders reject the Trump agenda, that came through loud and clear.
Were the Black clad folks heading into the streets to create more problems? Possibly.
Did Portland police give clear directions? No.
Was the strategy simply to move the more volatile elements away from each other before the end of the Trump rally? Well, that worked.
I’ve been told that at least one brick was thrown at police prior to the closing of Chapman Square. That would likely be grounds for some action. Was it over reaction?
Did the isolation approach work for the five rally groups? The peaceful groups continued to make their views clear. At what cost to future demonstrations? I know one former state senator who lost a great deal of respect for the Portland police after being manhandled and tear gassed while standing in what she had been told was a safe place to be.
I have not seen the media coverage beyond one article that spent ¾ of the time talking with and about the Trump supporters. I get it. The huge numbers of people protesting them were there because of them. And I think it was also likely that the reporter had not met or talked with that group before. I’d also say that the reporter decided to lump all of the protestors in one easy meme rather than understand the differences and how that played out on the streets and parks downtown. And of course the adrenaline spikes when there is action. Understanding the deeper issues or differences takes time for broadcast news and greater history and awareness for print. These days’ reporters are given neither time nor support for providing context.


Finally. It, frankly, could have been a lot worse.

—  Lew Frederick, Oregon State Senator (via Facebook)
Cold Hearted (Prince AU) Part 5

Originally posted by sugaglos

Requests are open!

Also quick note, I’m linking videos for the dance scenes, in case my description is a little off. They’re not carbon copies of what I imagined, but it gives an idea of what they will look like. I’ll just mark it with an X

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7Part 8Part 9, Part 10

Word Count: 4418

“To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love.” -Pride and Prejudice.

Warnings: Blood (In later parts), Smut (in later parts)

     Kiss me.

    Jaebum opened his eyes. It must have been two in the morning, the sky was dark, and heavy snow was blowing past his window.

    That dream had been strange, why would that, that, princess be asking him that? He hated you. Right?

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Sprace- Soulmate AU (Markings)

Race slammed his lunch tray on the cafeteria table. “When I meet my soulmate I’m kicking their ass.”

A small laugh bounced around the table. Race’s soulmate was notorious for getting into fights, which usually resulted in Race covered in marks. None of the bruises or occasional cuts actually hurt, but he was still pissed each time he woke up with new ones.

“So the glasses,” Mush began with a chuckle, “Do you really have a-”

“Of course I fucking do.” Race sat down and took off his sunglasses to reveal a sickly yellow-green color coating almost the entirety of his left eye.

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The Dashing Florist. CS AU.

So this is my first shot at a one shot - since the word count is 11,579, I guess I didn’t succeed all that well. Sorry! 

Anyway, this fic is gifted to @lenfaz for her birthday, Happy Birthday shipmate, as she mentioned she would like this to happen in her reblog of the original prompt post  I hope you enjoy it Lena. 

Thanks as always to my incredible beta @ilovemesomekillianjones and her continuing encouragement for me to write whatever my crazy muses throw at me. You’re the best!

Also available on AO3 and FFN


The door jingled as it was roughly pulled open, the sweltering heat followed Graham Humbert as he stormed into the office.

“He’s done it again,” an accented voice rang through the space.

“Done what?” a muffled voice called back. Graham followed the sound and found a very pert ass sticking out from under a desk.

“He’s parked his delivery van in one of our bays. August is looking for somewhere to park that doesn’t involve a three-block hike.”

The body under the desk wriggled back a little, then there was a sharp crack, followed by a ‘fuck’, and finally his boss pulled her lithe body from under the furniture.

Emma rubbed her head where it had collided with the desk as she stood. “This is the third time this week,” she grumbled. “And it’s only Tuesday.”

“I know. You have to do something about it, Em. We need our vehicles on hand, not miles away.”

“I know,” Emma agreed on a tired exhale, brushing her hands off on her black skinny jeans. “And I’ve told him this as many times as I can remember. I pay way too much for the privilege of those parking bays and he thinks he can just…” she stopped mid-rant. “You know, I’ve had enough of his shit. Maybe it’s time to do something that will get the message through his thick hair.”

“His what?” Graham asked.

“What?” Emma responded, unclear on what he was asking her.

“You said thick hair.” Maybe she hit her head harder than I thought, he mused.

You know what I mean, Graham. Time to get the message through his thick skull,” Emma exaggerated the word, nodding once in self assurance before she marched for the door.

“Hey, now, Swan. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Like flash him your boobs. Not everyone is pulled toward their magnificence.”

Emma protectively cupped her breasts. “Don’t listen to him girls, there isn’t a man alive able to resist your charms.”

Graham laughed at her as she left.

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anonymous asked:

Hi😘omg i loveyour blog so so much and i am so grateful that i found your bolg and your fics you can't even imagine. I was just reading every story in your mastelist and if you don't mind or when you have time can u make a fic where eleana is realy pregnant? Not where she lost another baby or where kaden bought clothes for orphan chids❤️❤️❤️pls and thank you

Since so many people have asked and I keep avoiding it, I guess I can give you a lil something. 

Or a 2k word something. All in the name of fun.

Psst. For some more you can look at my masterlist here if you want.

***

Eleana watched as Drakon, the almighty and powerful, fluffed the cushions at her feet so she was more comfortable. She was laying on a couch, her long hair tangled around a myriad of pillows and her arms happily twisted in a white velvet blanket.

“Now how is that?” The bronze male asked. His eyebrows had knitted together and his hands were now steadily stationed on his hips. He ran an eye over her, evaluating whether he thought she had sufficient comfort or not.

“Perfect. Thank you.” Eleana offered him a sweet but tired smile.

He grinned at her, and pulled up a chair to sit at her head. Drakon was keeping her company while Kaden was off gallivanting with Miryam, and Eleana was thankful for it. Otherwise, she would be a nervous wreck. Her mate certainly was, no matter how hard he tried to disguise it, and Drakon and Miryam were not only very good distractions, but also wonderful hosts and people.

Eleana ran a hand down her bulging stomach. Only two weeks to go and she would finally be a mother. The pregnancy had been a hard one, she was sick every day and was often too weak to leave the house. Kaden was in ruins over her state, and constantly tried to siphon her pain to him through the bond. She kept reminding him that it’s not how the bond worked – you’d think he’d have it down after so long – but he insisted on trying anyway. She loved him for it, but also worried about how he might fare if… how he might fare if this pregnancy ended the way all their others had.

“There is something I need to tell you.” Drakon placed one hand on her forehead, and the other on her hands now settled on her belly.

“Yes?” Eleana rapidly became nervous, her mind thinking of the worst-case scenarios. It wasn’t Kaden, he was still sending messages of love through the bond every five bloody minutes, and it wasn’t Prythian. She had spies set up so she would know if anything major happened at her homeland while she was gone. So what made Drakon speak with such severity in his voice?

“Rhys and Feyre are coming.” Drakon said, and it was much worse than anything Eleana could’ve predicted.

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in the face of all that’s known

ch. 1 out of 10; pg-13 to R; MSR UST; angst/case-file; set immediately after Amor Fati; After years of being gaslit by the universe at large, Scully seeks to overcome an overwhelming despondency (and Mulder’s attempts to crawl into her brain) by solving the mystery of the Town That Didn’t Know Anything. Without Mulder.

chapter list

Author’s notes: Jesus, this took me a long time. I wrote and rewrote and rewrote it again. Writing as Scully does not come very natural to me (I find Mulder a lot easier), but I have high hopes for this and want to write a story that both fleshes out characters we know and love while telling a bizarre and slightly scary little story. Constructive critique would be very helpful. Beta readers, too. Readers in general would be great. I hope you enjoy it.

***

ch. 1

His head felt heavy in her lap. Dead weight, a crate of oranges, ten large textbooks neatly stacked from her thighs to the tip of her nose. Heavy, damp and feverish as she stroked his hair, mindful of the bandages that capped it.

The tape recorder on the coffee blinked spider-like in the dark and waited patiently in apology for the restlessness of its owner. It listened because she didn’t want to, not really. But in dreamy monologue he referred to it, a cold, black thing, as you, I couldn’t find you, then you were there, can you get me a glass of water. And then we. He said we a lot.

She turned it off when the pain meds kicked in and he began lolling about, lifting his fingers in the air to count them and fail, rolling his face into her belly and burrowing in like a sleepy lapdog.

“I spent a good amount of my life trying to get in other people’s heads,” he moaned into her shirt, talking to air. “But you find out there’s not a lot worth listening to.”

“You’re not still hearing them,” she wondered uneasily. He bumped his head insistently against the fingers that stopped moving in his hair and she resumed petting him.

“I am a little,” he admitted. “Bits and pieces filter in. The headaches are gone. I hear maybe a few voices at a time, and only when they’re right next to me.” His chuffed laughter into her bellybutton tickled and made her squirm. “It’s why I don’t let you take me to my PT appointments. You should’ve seen how disappointed Brendon was that it would be me stretched out over that medicine ball.”

Her fingers had stopped again but now he was too tired to pout. The solid heat of him in her lap, the humid air of his sweltering apartment: how worthless it all was in calming her cold as lake water insides. It filled her suddenly like a downed ship. “It’ll stop soon,” she said, not bothering to mask the harshness of her voice. Why even bother? “Dr. Farrah said your brain activity is steadily decreasing to a normal rate. You’ll be cleared for desk duty at the start of next week.”

He pulled his head back and stared at her. Topsoil brown in the pulsing light of the fish tank, they bored into her, a psychic lobotomy, and she felt him inside her playing clumsy archeologist.

His voice went louder than it had in weeks, intrusive and unaware like the rest of him, his gangly limbs and too big nose and tendencies to never shut up. “Not yet. I’m not ready yet.”

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The Tide

Here’s my latest fic! It’s very long but screw it, might as well post it here too.

Cross-posted from AO3.

Summary: Lance doesn’t know whether or not he can trust Keith to have his back. But now that he’s stuck under a tree, with broken bones, and on the verge of drowning, it seems he might not have a choice.

4k+ under the cut!

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Fated to You (M) | Part 1

REVAMPED

NEXT ⋙

⇢ Pairing: Jimin x OC

⇢ Genre: angst & fluff // smut in later chapters

⇢ Word Count: 4.8k

⇢ Description: While away on a small vacation, Jane finds herself on the edge of a battle with her past. It isn’t until a shy boy from upstairs catches her attention, taking her on an adventure to help her fall in love with the world all over again. Unbeknown to them both, this chance meeting only leads to a series of unfortunate events in which these star-crossed lovers are pushed to find the meaning behind their suffering.

“Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart.”

Trigger Warnings: depression, mentions of an attempted suicide

Originally posted by bwipsul

It is almost her final day in Jeju, and she is dreading it more than she would have expected. It has been three years since her move from the states to Seoul, and although this vacation is long overdue, it doesn’t provide the healing powers she desperately needs. One might say that Jane is still sick, but that word doesn’t begin to describe the type of inexplicable ache that plagues her entire body. It’s as if a fog has taken over her very thoughts, leaving her mind empty and her limbs on autopilot.

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I’m yours

How long are you going to lay in the dark?

 

Until she comes back. Until the world sits back on its axis and things are right again. Because her being dead isn’t right. It isn’t right and it makes him feel like he’s dead too.

 

Philip’s body is aching because he hasn’t moved in hours, static running back and forth through his fingers like waves. He can’t breathe through his nose because he’s been crying for so long and so often, and his eyes are so swollen that he’s better off keeping them closed. Helen had knocked on the door a while ago and he’d tried to give her an answer, but he could only croak something about wanting to be alone before he even really thought about it.

It’s been a week. One week. And even though they weren’t living together before everything happened, he still expects to see her around every corner. He still expects to get a call from her, to hear her voice. He wants to ask her things. And now that he can’t it feels like a pit in the center of his heart, something that he needs to fix, that he’s desperate to fix, that’d he’d do everything to fix and when he realizes that he can’t, that this is one of those impossible things, permanent, forever, he falls deep into another wave of tears, hysteria, a deep pool of pain and horror.

My mom is dead. She’s dead and I’m never getting her back.

 

There’s another soft knock at the door. Philip can’t bring himself to say anything so he just hopes whoever it is will go away, will give up on him, will leave him here in the dark.

But the door opens and the orange hallway light comes flooding in. He tries to close his eyes tighter, tries to even out his breathing so he can pretend to be asleep, but whoever it is doesn’t leave.

“It’s me,” Lukas’s voice says.

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Wherever You Are Is The Place I Belong [Narry] 4/?

Summary: (part three) Niall and Harry get a little help, and everything goes right this time. 

A couple days later and Niall is in gym class, finally feeling like he’s shaken off the bad feelings from the past few days and grateful for the good distraction of burning muscles and a shirt stuck to his back with sweat. They’re in the middle of a pretty intense footie game, when Niall accidentally collides with a player on the opposite team and they both go down, to some extent.

Niall gets up but the other guy, an omega named Josh Niall recognizes from his Literature and Comprehension class, he stays on the ground, curling up and clutching at his stomach.

“Shit, are you okay?” Niall asks, crouching down and putting a hand to Josh’s shoulder. Josh groans weakly and rocks back and forth, and so Niall lifts his hand to flag down the teacher. Mr. Higgins blows his whistle and Niall winces. At the shrillness of the sound, nothing else.

“Devine!” Mr. Higgins says, running over and moving Niall out of the way so he can crouch beside Josh instead. “What’s wrong?”

“Hurts,” Josh finally groans, covering his eyes like he’s trying to hide his tears.

“It hurts like five minutes on the bench or,” Mr. Higgins trails off, looking around at the growing crowd like he isn’t quite sure what to do, and, great, that’s exactly what they need.

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a drabble™

Prompt- Hey idk if you do request but if you do could you make some Lance fluff along the lines of where Lance finds a abandon infant on a mission and he sneaks it into the castle and basically raises it. I love your blog TYSM- anon

This took me way too long to write… I don’t even remember how long ago the request was sent? Sorry! I’ve figured out I’m much better at angst than fluff, except for when the fluff comes after angst. Fluff on its own? I’m not as good at that. This is pretty short, just a drabble really, so it won’t be on my AO3 (probably). And since it’s not a full one-shot,,, it doesn’t have a title. Oops. I’m not sure how I feel about it, so if you like it let me know I guess? I hope you like it, anon! Still, this was really fun to write!


“This is why I have trust issues,” Lance grumbled to himself, pushing vines out of his way with the end of his bayard.

According to Allura, the mission was supposed to be nothing more than routine scouting. A distress beacon had been detected, but her scans picked up no alien settlements, or organisms besides plants. But she’d insisted that they check anyway, so they’d all flown down in their lions and split up to search.

The princess had declared the planet ‘entirely harmless,’ much to Hunk’s skepticism. Lance was beginning to realize that they should start listening to the yellow paladin’s instincts.

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anonymous asked:

Can you do a fem!reader where youve been with the junkers forver (polyroadrat) and when yall join overwatch you're used to wearing tiny short cutoffs and just a thin wrap or crop top like thing and 76 has to have a 'chat' with you bc luico, mccree and others are getting distracted?

((So anon, you don’t know how happy I was when I got this because this is pretty much my HC for my OC Ava. None of the Junkers really worry about modesty, they ain’t used to the ‘normal world’ yet so this was suuuuper fun to write!!))

“Y/N?”

You froze mid-step, turning around curiously before grinning wide as your eyes landed on the vigilante Soldier: 76. You bounced on the balls of your feet slightly before walking towards the older man and cocking your head to the side. He had his mask on but it looked like the tip of his ears were slightly pink, straightening his jacket in a fidgeting motion. Head tilting to the other side, brow cocking up you continued to examine him before he cleared his throat.

“Oh sorry Soldier”, you exclaimed with a slight jump, eyes jumping back up to his mask-covered face. Rocking on your feet you gave a soft admonishing giggle for yourself before again tilting your head. “How can I help ya?”

“Y/N”, he started, rolling his shoulders as he looked down at you through the mask. He still fidgeted slightly, an uncomfortable gesture that you had seen before. “I would like to talk to you about your–choice in outfits.”

Straight and to the point, as was the vigilante’s way. Looking down at your outfit, your brow furrowed in confusion. You didn’t understand what was wrong with your outfit, you had even worn extra layers today! It was summer in Gibraltar, the little island balmy, warm and comfortable. The proximity to the ocean made it way more tolerable than the sweltering heat you had grown used to growing up in the irradiated Australian Outback so you had more than enough clothing for the weather. Today you were dressed in a pair of light, sun-faded cutoff jean shorts that ended just below your ass. You and Mako had sewn patches into it, one of a pig, another one of Jamie’s smiley faces and a neon pink pachimari. Your top was a heart covered shiny pink scarf that Mako had helped you make into a crop halter top, your smaller chest easily bound and covered by the material. Underneath you wore a baby blue bikini top, just as extra support and in case you decided to go to the beach like you had several times that week. You had two mismatched knee high socks on, one blue and red horizontal stripes, the other green and purple tie dye, both tucked into the orange sneakers Lena had given you as a gift. You spun around, looking at your outfit, legitimate confusion on your face as you turned to look back up at old man.

“What’s wrong with my clothes”, you asked incredulously, motioning up and down at your outfit.

“That’s not the problem”, Soldier answered, obviously exasperated as he pointed at your shorts and the fact that most of your torso was uncovered. “I’ve gotten several concerned comments from other agents. The revealing nature of your outfits are–distracting. ”

“But I even wore socks today”, you exclaimed, pointing at you socks for emphasis. You didn’t understand, your hand running your thick hair confusedly, scratching at your scalp. “What’s revealin’ about any of this?”

Back in Oz, what you were wearing would be considered damn near formal, covered skin being looked at as a sign of mourning and grief. There was practically no protection from the sun on the continent after the Omnium explosion, leaving the land ridiculously hot and painfully dry. While skin did require protection, usually in the form of several layers of mud or dirt as a protective barrier, wearing too many layers of clothes was practically out of the question. It would cause most to break out in heat rashes or drop from heat stroke. So most Junkers preferred to wear as few layers as possible; Jamie and Mako going completely shirtless, you wearing things that left most of your legs and torso bare. It was uncomfortable for any of you to wear more because all of you had grown used to the Junker way of living and clothing yourselves. Plus you were so particular about what touched your skin, strongly disliking the confined feel that some fabrics gave you. Winter and fall and really cool days were the only exception to any of the rules, and today definitely wasn’t a cool day.

“Look”, Soldier sighed and it just seemed more and more obvious that the man didn’t actually want to be having this conversation. He dragged a hand over his masked face, sighing once more before continuing. “You’re not an agent. I don’t have any authority over you and quite frankly I don’t care. I just thought I’d bring it to your attention.”

With that he did a sharp about face and walked off, your bewildered expression lost to the soldier. Throwing your arms up in the air, a bit of agitation slipped out as you stomped your foot and yelled at the back of the man.

“Tell them the next time they have an issue they can tell me to my face!”

Some of Jamie’s spitfire slipped out but its intensity was minimized by your sweet, awkward voice. Soldier paused for a second before you swore you saw his shoulder shake in laughter, throwing a thumbs up before continuing down the hall in the opposite direction.

anonymous asked:

I CAN 30000000% IMAGINE YOU WRITING A HANAHAKI DISEASE SCENARIO OKAY CHOOSE ANY HAIKYUU CHARACTER IDEC ITS JUST HANAHAKI GETS TO ME (PREFERABLY FEMALE PRONOUNS AND THE GIRL HAS THE DISEASE BUT THEN AT THE END THE GUY FINDS OUT AND THEY'RE LIKE GOOD FRIENDS OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE )

This. I can’t believe I did this. Basically 10k, and apparently I torture myself for fun. I bled for this thing like some Grecian slave about to get whipped by his master, good god, and I’m still not happy with it, but it’s done, and it’s out. I hope you enjoy. I really, really hope you do.


The Hanahaki Disease is an illness born from one-sided love, where the patient throws up and coughs of flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. The infection can be removed through surgery, but the feelings disappear along with the petals.


“There have been cases where patients have died, yes.”

You can still envision the doctor’s face, drawn and tired as he delivered your diagnosis to you in an empty room that smelled of man and disinfectant. The first hint you’d received was how the doctor had handed you your new medication with the ease of a thousand-day’s repetition, and you knew you weren’t rare at all.

Looking none the worse for wear, you had made your way out of the flooded hospital feeling no more important than you were when you had entered.

Having this disease- having any disease- made work difficult, certainly. The punctures in your skin were awkward to explain at first, but your co-workers had gotten over their steadfast suicide prevention printouts when they had accidentally opened the door to your office one afternoon to find you keeled over and suffocating. The injection packets carefully placed in a drawer at your desk had transformed into a lifesaver in that instant, from its prior purpose for reminding you how damaged you are. And after you had taken the afternoon off to save everyone from the trauma of having to make eye contact with you for the rest of the day, they hadn’t bothered you about it since.

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