to bring me the horizon again and then can you feel my heart comes on

I want to take you to the movies and i want to pay for your ticket i want to buy a large popcorn for us to share so that i have an excuse to touch your hand and i want to look at you whenever there’s a joke so i can see you laugh and it will warm my heart. i want to stand outside the theatre at midnight while you wait for your dad to come get you and i want to here you talk about the movie i want to see the combined light of the coming soon posters and the moon on your face.

I want to take you to the beach. i want to put up the umbrella while you laugh every time i think it’s in the sand but falls over a few moments later. i want to see you dive headfirst into the water, i want to stand there in awe of your bikini clad confidence while i stand in my oversized t-shirt and shorts. i want to hold your hand as we walk in the surf i want to feel the water hit my ankles, i want to swim out as far as we can go and see who can hold her breath the longest.

i want to rake leaves with you, with our little brothers… i want to listen to you talk about how much you love him, i want to watch your eyes light up, i want to grab your arm and pull us into the giant pile of leaves. i want to collaps laughing beside you as the sun starts to dip below the horizon i want to notice the leaf in your hair and laugh as i brush it away.

I want to take you ice skating, at the rink they set up in the park next to my house. i want to hold your hand because it’s been so long since i’ve worn a pair of skates. i want to fall on my ass and then on my back because i’m laughing so hard, i want you to land next to me. i want to give you my coat and take you home when you get cold. i want to make you hot chocalate and throw marshmallows for you to try and catch in your mouth. i want to cuddle in front of the fire underneath a huge blanket and tell you how cold your hands are.

i want to take you to the fair at the end of summer. i want to win you something at one of those games tables. i want to scream and giggle with you while we ride the zipper i want to swear that i’ll never do that again but know that i’ll be back next year. i want to eat cotton candy while we sit on a bench watching people walk past us. i want to get stuck at the top of the ferris wheel with you, i want to talk about how small everything looks from up here i want to tell you that no matter how high i got i’d still be able to pick you in a crowd.

I want to take you stargazing. I want to climb onto my roof with a blanket and a bottle of wine. I want to listen to the leaves rustling beside us and i want to listen to your wine drunk ramblings about how the stars are so beautiful. i want to show you how even though we are so very small in this universe i couldn’t feel more comfortable and significant lying here with you.

i want to go shopping with you. i  want to find the dress shirt i need in ten minutes but stay in the store for hours because you can’t decide between the hundreds of dresses you see. i want to sit in the chair outside the dressing rooms. i want you to show me every dress, i want to tell you that you look amazing in every single one of them, half because i want to leave this chair but also because you do look amazing in anything you wear.

i want to take you to the school football games. i’ll have to bring my camera i want to end up having just as many photos of you as i do the game. i want to kiss you every time we score, and because that doesn’t happen very often at our school i want to kiss you every time the other team scores. i want to end the night drinking that crappy hot chocolate that’s really just chocolate syrup and boiling water.

i want to meet your parents because they’re so much more accepting than mine who will still think we’re just friends. i want to hold your hand under the dinner table. i want to pretend to be casual and confident when really my heart is racing my stomach is doing backflips and i can’t catch a breath.

i want to hold you in my bed. i’ll be the big spoon because i want to protect you and keep you warm. i want to put my laptopat the foot of my bed so we can watch movies. I want to play with your hair and kiss your neck. i want to feel you breathe against my chest. i want to pile as many blankets as i can find on top of us. i want to let you fall asleep on my chest. i want to stay awake for as long as i can because i want to savour that moment i want to memorize the curve of your body and the smell of your hair and the rythm of your breathing. i want to only sleep when i can no longer hold my eyes open and dream of nothing but you.

i want to take you on cheesy dates and hug you so hard that you forget everything wrong with the world. i want to kiss you so hard you forget to breathe.

but most of all i want you to want me

anonymous asked:

"I figured out how to triple-distill and vacuum-extract coffee to raise the caffeine concentration 20-30x" teach me your ways pls

Okay kids pull up a chair and learn how Auntie Systlin took her chemistry minor and habit of collecting neat virgin glassware and figured out how to brew potentially lethal hyper-espresso in her kitchen. 

This is going to be long as hell so I’ll put the goods after the cut.

Note that this evolved from doing my best to figure out how to approximate Funranium Lab’s Black Blood of the Earth brew. I’d read the glowing reviews online, but being naturally cheap, couldn’t quite bring myself to drop the $$$.

And then my eyes wandered to my shelf of virgin labware equipment and I went “Hey…I bet I can just make my own.”

Based on Herr Direktor’s notes on the Funranium labs website, I tinkered and fooled about and eventually came up with my own brew that, if not Black Blood of the Earth, will punch you in the face and leave you smelling colors.

Let’s do this.

Keep reading

this is the fic I promised @requiemofkings to go along with their beautiful art


Andrew might be the only person in the room not uncomfortable in the sudden silence. Neil is on his feet, eyes too wild, too tipped towards turning into Nathaniel. He is a study in battle, poised to run but ready to stand and fight with everything he has. The disjointed team that has become Neil’s family stares back at him, everyone facing down the front of his fury, with Andrew at his back for support. If he needs it. This isn’t an argument Andrew wants to be part of if he can avoid it. He gave up fighting for himself years ago.

Matt is the first one to try for words. “Neil, we didn’t –”

“You did,” Neil bites, and he doesn’t stop when he makes his best friend flinch. “You meant it. He’s not a fucking monster.”

It looks like Matt wants to get to his feet but is thinking better of it. It’s rare that Neil goes off like this, at his family least of all, but it’s human instinct to not look threatening when a wild dog’s hackles are raised.

The others let Matt carry the conversation. Smart, but it’s not going to do them any good. “Okay, Neil, we’ll stop calling him that.”

The harsh laugh that froths at Neil’s mouth fights to realign his rapid breathing. “Will you, though? It’s been years, and no matter how much he does to prove you wrong, you still can’t see past your hazy impressions of him.”

Keep reading

astrological movie masterpost

***IF ITS ITALICIZED THEN THIS FILM IS AVAILABLE ON NETFLIX RIGHT NOW***

any genre film based on sun/moon 

aries sun/moon: “boyhood” (growing up and all the rash and/or unwise decisions that come with that. competitive upbringing)  “the aviator” (a frenzied soul who fakes it till ya make it. big dreams, a big persona, and a pioneer to an industry but deeply troubled behind it all), “the wolf of wall street” (honestly this movie was so fast-paced and mad that i could only take it in small doses. everyone is selfish and turns on a dime) 

taurus sun/moon: “the grand budapest hotel” (a film rich in aesthetic. a hotel owner who is a professional lush sets out on an adventure as he is being pegged for murder. a tale of paintings, pastries, and paramour), “big stone gap” (excessive family. stubborn and perseverant. a bit apprehensive of change)“today’s special” (a chef gets back to his roots and has to learn why he was passionate about food in the first place and how to savor every second) 

gemini sun/moon: “ferris bueller’s day off” (witty and incredibly adaptable. can make friends with anyone, anywhere. being childlike and curious, enjoying the little things), “black swan” (ambiguous film where you don’t know what to believe), “the truman show” (his whole life has been unknowingly documented. everyone is just playing a role. media manipulations)  

cancer sun/moon: “take care” (feeling like an inconvenience. wanting to be taken care of. guilt trips), “lymelife” (putting family and ‘home’ into perspective. awkward, at times endearing, a bit hectic), “high fidelity” (old fashioned guy. stuck in the past wondering where it went wrong), “the other woman (2009)” (learning to be a mother. the emotional rollercoaster of trying to love and be loved) 

leo sun/moon: “confessions of a teenage drama queen” (i mean…do i even need to explain this lmao), “beaches” (pride and loyalty. learning to love without having to be the only one receiving love), “anywhere but here” (self-centered mother who wants her to be a star. fixed opinions but is powerful & warm)“grease” (good girl, bad boy. popular. all love their hair lol)

virgo sun/moon: “beyond the lights” (never feeling good enough. a mother who compulsively criticizes her. the theme of ~what happens behind the scenes~ and going back to the basics)“short term 12″ (wants to service everyone else but forgets about themselves), “the intern” (an observant elderly man is methodized and eager to work, always there for advice & support), “as good as it gets” (a bitter man who struggles with OCD overcoming his fears and unleashing his compassionate side)

libra sun/moon: “legally blonde” (a bit superficial. values doing the right thing. people think she’s air-headed but is actually more ‘in the know’ than given credit for)“can’t buy me love” (getting caught up in the popular crowd. pretending to be something you’re not), “he’s just not that into you” (most confusing movie ever. literally nobody can make up their mind lmao) 

scorpio sun/moon: “st. elmo’s fire” (this film has literally everything scorpio and/or related (8th house) in it; secrets, betrayal, intimacy, transforming, debt, etc), “stealing beauty” (uncovering mysteries, forbidden affairs, paranoia. a taboo film), “lila & eve” (crime drama. goes to show just how far two resentful mothers will go)

sagittarius sun/moon: “bruce almighty” (humorous. has the theme of ‘luck’ and ‘higher power’) “away we go” (redefining what ‘home’ means. traveling across the country, new experiences, lots of bad jokes) “funny face” (an amateur philosopher has strong opinions for the modeling industry, wants nothing more than to travel for lectures), “good will hunting” (a genius and self-righteously so but doesn’t know how to truly appreciate life) 

capricorn sun/moon: “uptown girls” (learning to adult from a surprisingly mature child. a mother who is too concerned with her career to pay attention to her daughter), “the pursuit of happyness” (suffering hardships, feeling down & out as he climbs his way up the totem pole. a tale of being a father being able to provide), “the devil wears prada” (another tale of climbing your way to the top, along with the cost of it)

aquarius sun/moon: “scott pilgrim vs the world” (not your average film, includes an alternate dimension. has its technological, futuristic quirks. becoming superior to the rest and standing out in the process), “mona lisa smile” (50′s women gaining new perspective from a ‘subversive’ professor), “the martian” (innovative, humorously noble, feeling castaway, ‘space pirate’) 

pisces sun/moon: “the imaginarium of doctor parnassus” (a fantasy world with a damsel in distress but everything isn’t as it seems),  “because i said so” (milly is bright-eyed and a bit hopeless. her mother pays favor to her. always ends up doing what other people want because although she is highly spirited, she can be a pushover), “amelie” (imagination, imagination, imagination. sets out to help others by being a bit manipulative in the process), “big fish” (reality vs fantasy. idealized & exaggerated upbringing)

romance films based on venus 

aries venus: “10 things i hate about you” “she’s all that” (both films show they can treat romance as a competition but once they are in love, will do whatever they can to keep it alive), “two night stand” (hasty romance. lessons of ‘rushing’. a candor appreciation for another), “beginners” (being honest with yourself. ‘a movie with an unflinchingly tough heart.’)

taurus venus: “dirty dancing” (stubborn, sensual, and learning to position yourself securely lol), “the great gatbsy” (wealth. everyone indulges themselves, goes overboard out of love), “happily ever after” (sudden yearning for stability, excessive in more ways than one) 

gemini venus: “save the date” (a girl who is scared of commitment. covers up her fear with humor. ‘word vomit’ through the whole movie lol. works at a bookstore. has a sister dynamic in the film of the one who is a bit silly & immature and the one who acts like she knows everything), “how to lose a guy in 10 days” (a two faced romance. lighthearted mind games and calling each others bluff), “garden state” (a lost fella falls for a quirky compulsive liar. a surprisingly intelligent and outlandish film) 

cancer venus: “closer” (kind of shows more unhealthy traits of this placement but shows they just want to be in comfort with you but can guilt trip people and ask for reassurance where its not needed), “a walk to remember” (two lovers jaded in their own right find love. trying to protect one another from getting hurt and hurt each other in the process), “brooklyn” (building a life together. choosing between a lover at home or a home within a lover) 

leo venus: “elvis and anabelle” (a radiant beauty queen has a near-death experience that alters her way of existing. brings a boy out of his shell through theatrics and love), “take this waltz” (she meets a man and starts rethinking her own loving marriage, does she want more? demanding, bold, and has a childishness to it), “anomalisa” (uplifting one another, making each other feel extraordinary) 

virgo venus: “people places things” (a man of many standards and subsequently hypercritical in the name of love), “me before you” (taking care of another. breaking free from routine), “when harry met sally” (constant challenging of standards. loving the little things), “enough said” (looking beyond imperfections. practically endearing) 

libra venus: “hitch” (got his heartbroken. now runs a business as a ‘love doctor’ where he gives men the push to pursue love through setting a meet-cue. but when he falls for a girl he has no idea what to do), “alfie” (a womanizer who refuses to be seen as a regular person who experiences the everyday woes that we all do. says he’s ‘always okay’), “27 dresses” (jane is a ‘more’ evolved version of this venus. loves love, is a major people pleaser. her sister on other hand pretends to be whatever her partner wants, is a major socialite) 

scorpio venus: “love actually” (falling for what you can’t have and having difficulty expressing it), “no kiss list” (liking someone you can’t have and making that person feel like you can’t like anyone other than them), “chasing amy” (obsessive. sabotaging a relationship out of fear), “a dangerous method” (a forbidden and intoxicating affair with a patient), “last night” (temptation and affairs) 

sagittarius venus: “begin again” (greta is independent, blunt, and spontaneous. teaches dan and his daughter a few important lessons. love is a learning experience), “definitely, maybe” (flashbacks to 3 romances, all with women who either write, travel, and/or simply free-spirited. habits of running away. being judgemental of how to live life. expanding horizons. shamelessly honest), “they came together” (clumsy, a straight up mess. light-hearted. mocks romance films) 

capricorn venus: “timer” (doesn’t see the point of a relationship if they aren’t ‘guaranteed’. uses a timer to tell you when you’ll find your soul mate)“meet my valentine” (a family man who finds out he’s terminally ill is determined to find a loving provider to replace him), “before sunset” (an assertive romance, at times a bit cynical, but cheeky and loving) 

aquarius venus: “friends with benefits” “no strings attached” “sleeping with other people” (all the couples in the films were meant to keep things casual but got messy in the process), “frequencies- oxv: the manual” (s/o to @astr-logy for the recommendation! a film about being outcasted, breaking the world & love down to an equation, feelings of not feeling) 

pisces venus: “500 days of summer” (tom is a prime example of the idealization and fantasy romance that can come with this placement), “practical magic” (loves unconditionally but there is a tragic twist. two sisters - one who has a homemaker persona and one devastatingly bored of the mundane), “listen to your heart” (a deaf girl, who is a bit of a damsel in distress as her parents crush her dreams, and an amateur piano composer find inspirational love) 

romance films based on venus in the houses

venus in fire house (1st, 5th, 9th): “50 first dates”“the holiday”, “deadpool” (a stretch? no), “before we go”

venus in earth house (2nd, 6th, 10th): “everything before us”, “friends with money”, “chocolat”

venus in air house (3rd, 7th, 11th): “celeste & jesse forever”, “nick and norah’s infinite playlist”, “her”, “the beauty inside” 

venus in water house (4th, 8th, 12th): “the time traveler’s wife”, “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind”“stuck in love”, “candy”, “comet”

action/drama films based on mars

aries mars: “death proof” (daredevil central. going toe-to-toe with a killer), “crank” (a film literally about keeping your heart rate up. will die without an adrenaline rush), “spring breakers” (living in the moment. playfully deviant and childishly so), “the challenger” (learning to fight for what’s worth it; choosing your battles) 

taurus mars: “matilda” (all the antagonists were greedy slobs who put themselves on a pedestal by making everyone else feel inferior), “the shawshank redemption” (avoids conflict, plays his hand slowly, no stranger to money), “american hustle” (luxuriating in ‘sin’, glorifying the hustle, high-resistance characters) 

gemini mars: “pirates of the caribbean” (jack sparrow is a character that’s easy to be allured to but difficult to trust. never seems to be who he appears and covers everything up with slurred antics), “seven psychopaths” (comical murder film where even has a darker or lighter side than you thought), “the prestige” (two illusionists go head to head to out-trick another. the huge secret of ‘duality’) 

cancer mars: “punch-drunk love” (stereotypical ‘nice’ guy with a lot of problems and insecurities. falls into a weird blackmail ploy), “mad max: fury road” (emotionally raw. recklessly protective. driven by the familial and home), “mr nobody” (recounting of memories. driven by pure emotion) 

leo mars: “hot rod” (acts like a big shot, always attempting to prove himself worthy), “guardians of the galaxy” (everyone has a major ego and wants to show off. music reminds me of the 80′s which reminds me of hair which is leo lmao), “frank” (i feel like many would believe this to be a more aquarius film with its long-standing reputation of being one of the most unconventional films of all time but the film is about fame, how to get there, how to stand out, and being histrionic in the making) 

virgo mars: “pay it forward” (actions geared toward helping others, insecurities and not wanting others to feel sorry, a need for efficiency), “captain america: the first avenger” (modest, just wants to contribute. high energy, lots of stamina ‘i could do this all day’), “cyberbully” (theme of words cutting deeper than you’d think) 

libra mars: “mean girls” (acts nice & unassuming only to better manipulate a situation), “gangster squad” (puts justice into their own hands. has people in pocket and knows how to work a room to use people to one’s disposal), “v for vendetta” (another film of putting justice into your own hands. created a tragic scenario to trick evey into learning no matter what one goes through, the right thing to do is the only appropriate way to live)

scorpio mars: “heathers” (conniving & hypocritical. veronica isn’t a saint herself but disproves of people who are cruel and sets out to teach them a lesson), “mr & mrs smith” (secretive. both know they’re spies but never tell each other & don’t feel neither has the right to be; in the same field of work but criticize each other for it), “django unchained” (rescue and revenge. will exploit anything or murder anyone to get back to his lover)

sagittarius mars: “maidentrip” (a young adventuress sails across the world)“artifact” (documentary film giving insight into the truth of the music industry. pretentious, pseudo-intellectuals), “the believer” (heavily controversial film. audacious in the name of beliefs and what one believes to hold verity) 

capricorn mars: “erin brockovich” (a relentless environmental activist sets out a case against a gas company where their supplies have left residents fatally ill. demands respect), “whiplash” (pushes limits beyond limits. ambitious to the core and seeks to achieve aspirations continuously), “american psycho” (a successful banker has an alter, killer ego who relishes in all that he does & ‘achieves’)

aquarius mars: “the big lebowski” (acts above violence and just says ‘fuck it’ to everything), “equilibrium” (feelings are literally outlawed but an enforcer soon falls victim to rebellion), “terminator” (a cyborg on a mission. a young boy fighting against the technologically advanced) 

pisces mars: “snowpiercer” (sacrifice, clairvoyance, spiritualism. as pete travers said, ‘a slambam sci-fi thriller with a brain, a heart and an artful sense of purpose’), “fight club” (gasp. shocking it isn’t aries mars, right? the story is about a man wanting to escape his everyday life, has an addictive personality, and finds himself immersed in this extracurricular activity), “philomena” & “of mind and music” (one defines true forgiveness. looking past all the tragedy and finding the beauty) 

growing pains ❀ peter parker

summary : if there’s anyone terrified of the future and the uncertainty it brings, it’s peter parker. luckily, you’re his shoulder to lean on, and, as he hopes, always will be. 

word count : 1.5k

  Peter took great pride in his intelligence, his knowing of things that other people were not as aware of or didn’t bother trying to learn. He was a collector of knowledge and knew too much about a little bit of everything. Above all else, this was one of the main reasons as to why the future, and the looming threat of it, was an anxiety inducing topic of conversation. 

   What college are you planning on attending? His palms start sweating.

   What do you want to be when you grow up? His heart starts pounding. 

   Do you always want to live in New York? Blood rushes to his ears. 

   Is Y/N always going to be a part of your life? The worst question of all, the one that made his face go red and his knees go weak as he tried to come up with a plausible answer in just a few short seconds. It was the one question that had no defining response to it. There was no way to tell. College, he could figure that out in no time. He could go Ivy if he really wanted to. He knew that he’d end up doing something related to science when he was older, after Spider-Man was long since retired. He loved New York with all his hearts, loved Queens most of all, and couldn’t see himself being anywhere else. He’d never leave Aunt May, either, at least not so soon. 

   But with relationships, especially the ones you have at fifteen years old with a mind clouded in the wonderful pieces of your first beautiful love, you never really know for sure. And Peter Parker is a boy who likes knowing for sure. The fact that he doesn’t has been practically haunting him for the past few weeks now, as summer comes to a close and Junior year is just too visible on the horizon. 

   Unfortunately for him, Peter was not the type of person that was an expert at concealing their feelings. In fact, he was rather an open book, at least to someone who knew him as perfectly as you did. To you, Peter wore his heart on his sleeve and was undoubtedly honest to a fault. His expressions, his mannerisms, were enough to clue you in to when he was upset, stressed, angry, and each emotion in between. 

   Which was why you could tell he was distraught the moment he walked into your room, flopping down onto your bed with a slight pout visible on his lip. He played it off like he was perfectly perfect, but you knew better. He’d been reading on your bed for over an hour without a word and while typically you’d enjoy just being in his presence, talking aside, there was something different about tonight. “Pete?” He lifted his eyes from the page he had been struggling to read for the pat fifteen minutes. “You okay?” Concerning gaze, worried twist of your mouth, he knew the look on his face was conveying anything but happiness- and he was so, so happy to be there with you. The prospect of the future, these growing pains he had feeling more and more frequently, was what was causing him the discomfort. 

     Despite knowing that you weren’t going to believe, he gave you a sweet smile anyway and nodded vigorously. “O-Of course, my love.” His smile stretched wider. “Why- why wouldn’t I be?” That look of innocence was utterly deceiving. 

   “You’re a really bad liar,” you replied, shaking your head. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you took his novel away from him and ignored the indignant sound of protest that passed his lips when you did so. You held up your hands and with a defeated huff, Peter laced his fingers through yours. “What’s on your mind, Peter Parker? You know you can tell me anything.” 

   “Yeah, yeah, no I know.” His voice was quiet as he stroked your hand, gentle as ever, absentmindedly with the pad of his thumb. His gaze was focused on your hands and not your eyes the way it usually was. 

    “Then look at me, would you?” You took one of your hands out of his and placed it under his chin, tilting his face up toward you. “C’mon, brown eyes, why are you so stressed lately? It’s the summertime, we’re gonna be juniors. If you’re upset about something, I wanna know what it is.” 

    His weakness, as always, was you and that unparalleled way you had of convincing him to relent . “I’m, um, I’m scared, I guess.” The admission came with an obvious hesitation on his part, but you waited patiently for your boyfriend to continue. “Scared of the future,” he elaborated. 

    You moved your hand again to cup his cheek, soft as usual. “What about the future?” 

    “Well I, I kind of take pride in being, you know, smart and knowing pretty much everything,” he hated how conceited he sounded in that moment, but you nodded along anyway and squeezed his hand comfortingly. “But, the future is- it’s, like, the one thing I can’t know. That scares me Y/N. I hate that. Because I need to know the future. I need to know what’s gonna happen to me, to… to, um, to us.” 

   You opened your mouth to give him a reply, but he was on a roll, quickly intercepting the chance to speak more, which you gave him without protest. “You… you know how I feel about you. You make me the best possible version of myself and you are the most supportive person I’ve ever met besides Ned who’s more like my fan club than anything but he’s my best friend so it doesn’t really matter but anyway,” he let out a breath, “I am- I am so lucky to have you in my life, you know? So lucky to even be existing at the same time as someone so wonderful inside and out. A- And I… I can’t think of… of being without you. Okay? It scares me.” 

    The vulnerable boy in front of you had your heart, no doubt about that. You sat up, crossing your legs and opening your arms, knowing he’d be wrapping himself around you in no time at all. He had his head on your shoulder and his  delicate curls were tickling your cheek because of his permanent bedhead and you could both feel your hearts swelling with love for the other person. He rearranged himself so that his head was in your lap, staring up at you with those doe eyes that made your stomach fill with butterflies.  

    “You’re a sweetheart, Peter.” You ran your hands through his hair the way he adored and you heard him let out the happiest of sighs, a tiny smile, this time genuine, appearing on his face. “And in case you didn’t realize already, I want us to be together for as long as humanely possible. Forever, maybe. I know we can’t be certain of anything that happens to us, but I’m certain that in this moment, you’re the only person I want to be with. There’s no telling what will happen to us a year from now, or ten years from now, but right now, you’re my whole heart, okay? Don’t worry.”  

      Maybe it was the way you were looking at him, maybe it was because you called him your whole heart in the same breath as saying that you wanted to be with him forever, but almost every ounce of Peter’s worries about growing up and getting older slipped from his mind as you leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead in the tender way that you always loved him. 

    “Can you get me a sharpie?” He asked, pointing toward your bedside table. You reached over and handed it to him, giving him a questioning look. He took the cap off and stuck it in his mouth for a second, lifting up your hand and drawing a thin, somewhat haphazard circle around your ringer finger. He drew a little circle on the front of it before taking the cap and placing it on the marker again. “That’s a permanent marker. Just like my love for you.” 

   You giggled, you couldn’t help it, and raised your hand so you could get a better view. “Your love for me is a permanent marker, huh, Pete?” He laughed too, but his cheeks still went pink in the way that made you grin. 

    “You’re so annoying!” He groaned, playfully glaring up at you from his spot on your lap. “Let me be the smooth talking one for once!” You took his face in your hands again, your face above his. 

    “Nah, I like my Peter a blushing, beautiful mess. Never change.” 

    “If I never change, does that guarantee we’ll always be together?” 

     The sweet innocence of him was what made you adore him, the hopeful smile he gave you as he asked the question. And a question like that requires only one answer. “We’ve already grown up together. Forever isn’t that much different, huh?” He sat right up at that, unable to contain his happiness when he wrapped his arms around your waist and practically tackled you in a tight embrace that he had no plans of letting you out of at any point in his life. He’d be utterly ridiculous to let the girl who knew best how to comfort him, how to ease his worries, and was there for him through everything get away. 

    Even through the pains of growing up. 

Preferences: First ‘I Love You’s

Requested by @aelinashryvergalathynius22 (I worked on this instead of part 7 oh well I needed a distraction)

Rowan:

He says it right before you’re about to leave for a long time. He kisses you passionately and whispers it into your mouth and then sends you on your way before you can even reciprocate the feelings. You cherish the words close to your heart every time you miss him - which is all the time - and a lovesick smile never fails to make it’s way onto your lips every time. When you get back, you race right into his strong arms, feeling home, holding him tightly as he lifts you from the ground. ‘I love you too,” You murmur into his shoulder, and Rowan’s arms tighten just a bit. You don’t part for many minutes. 

Rhysand:

He’s known it ever since he first saw you. He’s wanted to say it every day, every moment since then, but has reigned himself in, refusing to lose you because he can’t control his emotions. Finally, a good couple months after you are together, Rhys finally says it. You’re on a bridge of all places - Rhys says it was so he could jump off it if you had a bad reaction and you slap him for talking that way - and you are both looking out at the slowly flowing river and the sunset just beyond the horizon. His arms are curved around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder and he finally works up the courage to say what he has wanted to for what seems like forever. ‘I love you,’ he announces, tensing just a bit when you don’t respond right away. He awkwardly coughs, ‘just thought you should know.’ You chuckle, relaxing into his hold and leaning back into his chest a bit. “Rhys, I love you too, I didn’t think this was hidden knowledge.’ And that’s when Rhysand realizes that he wasn’t actually being as discrete about his feelings as he thought, and those three words don’t have to be said for both of them to know they are true. 

Dorian:

He says it for the first time during sex, which, for such a avid book reader and romance enthusiast, is actually a bit disappointing. To make up for it though, Dorian worships your body, murmuring those three words into each and every crevice and corner of it. ‘I love you,’ he whispers again when both of your are spent, tucking your into his side and kissing your temple ‘I love you so much, you don’t even know.’ ‘Well you gave me a pretty good estimate just then,’ you giggle, tracing random patterns along his chest. ‘You’re wicked, you know that right?’ He chuckles. ‘I know, but you love me,’ He murmurs into your hair, ‘That I do,’ That thought running through your head sends large waves of tingles throughout your body, making your toes curl and your cheeks hurt with how much you are smiling. Dorian loves you.

Keep reading

Part 2- Hal Carter 

Read part 1 here

Pairing: Hal Carter x Reader
Part: 2/?
Warnings: Smut - slight angst 
Summary: Hal takes you for a ride in his pickup truck
A/N: This is the second part in a series based on this post. I’ve been writing this for a while and I’m honestly so proud of it. Thank you for @writemarvelousthings for encouraging me. Please come let me know what you think! This is the song I listened to while writing - You Belong To Me - Jo Stafford
Word count : 4,157

Originally posted by lancetucker

The creak and slam of Hal’s red pickup truck door is unmistakable as he pulls up to your house and got out. Checking your lipstick one last time, you kiss your mother on the cheek and tell her not to wait up. She fixes you with the stare that you knew all too well. You skip out of the house, the screen door shutting behind you with a screech. Looking up you see Hal, he’s leaning against his truck a playful smirk spreading on his lips when he spots you. 

“Well don’t you look like sugar and spice and everything nice” he drawls, a cheeky chuckle following his words as he rids himself of the straw he was chewing. He takes you in his strong arms planting a sweet kiss on your cheek. “Your momma isn’t watching out of the window again is she?” he mumbles. 

You laugh and shake your head placating his fear, “she’s fixing dinner”. 

Keep reading

John, frustrated with his place, with his restraints, with his own damned pride, finds himself walking out on the moors in the early morning hours. It is quiet in that way that only the moors can be:  peaceful, but busy with the murmur of late frogs and early birds, the buzz of bees, the song of the wind through the long grasses. 

Beyond the hills, the trees, the horizon, the sun rises. 

John ducks his head into the cover of his collar and walks, the hem of his coat dragging wet through the morning dew. The house behind him is sleeping, but for the first scullery maids and stable boys, and John imagines that he can leave behind the disaster he’s made in his heart as easily as he does his overbearing mother, his newly engaged and unbearably delighted sister, and the oily slick memory of Lord Mycroft Holmes, looming out of the darkness of the safe and familiar rooms of home.

If he is to be unhappy now, it will be only of his own making. 

Yet John remembers the softness around those pale eyes just yesterday, the confession in them as he passed Clara Bingley into Harriet’s waiting arms, and cannot now suppress the seedling of hope growing beneath his breast. 

And then, a hush.

Through the fog, through the grey-green-violet fields, through the first weak strains of sunrise, there is a miracle with hair wild and shirt open, coming across the moor toward him: Sherlock Holmes. 

He is now as John had for so long not been able to imagine him to be – soft-edged and warm-cheeked, looking over John with such wonder and longing, as if he can scarcely believe him to be real. 

If John had been able to see this truth in him from the very beginning, he might have saved them all a great deal of pain. But what’s done is done, and it has been Mr Holmes’ goodness of heart that has slowly begun to repair the damage left in John’s wake, and John can see him now for who he truly is. 

Mr Holmes stands in front of him. John swallows. “I couldn’t sleep,” he offers in explanation. Niceties and social rules hardly seem to apply to a meeting on the moors at sunrise.

“Nor I,” Mr Holmes says quietly. “My brother…”

“Yes, he was here.” John offers a shy smile to soften the blow.

Mr Holmes’ neck and cheeks are flushed against the chill of the morning, and the colour deepens with embarrassment. “However can I make amends for such behavior?”

John would lower his own eyes in shame but finds he cannot tear them away. “After what you’ve done to protect us from Ms Morstan, and I suspect for Harriet, it is I who should be making amends.” 

“You must know,” Mr Holmes chokes out, suddenly overcome, “Surely you must know it was all for you.” John does know. John does, and he nods, and Mr Holmes says, quickly, breathlessly, as if he might lose his nerve, “You are too generous to trifle with me. You spoke with my brother last night, and it has taught me to hope as I’d scarcely allowed myself before. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed – but one word from you will silence me forever.” 

John looks up into Sherlock’s eyes, willing him to see there how John’s feelings have changed, and says nothing.

After the longest moments of John’s life, Sherlock begins again. “If, however, your feelings have changed…” His lips are trembling as he pauses, collecting his courage. John holds his breath. “I would have to tell you. You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love – I love – I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.” 

Oh, but to hear it said, to hear it confirmed, to hear that it is still, after everything, still true: John’s chest is full to bursting, an ache of light and adoration that stills the flurry of John’s thoughts and soothes the very deepest places in his soul.

He steps forward, takes Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock, unblinking, lets him. 

“Well then,” John whispers, bringing Sherlock’s knuckles to his lips. I shall never be parted from you from this day on, he breathes over them, and Sherlock’s chest hitches as if he has heard the words said aloud. “Your hands are cold.” 

John closes his hands around Sherlock’s fingers, holding them close, holding them with promise, and Sherlock leans in, resting his forehead against John’s, letting himself be held, letting himself give in. 

Somewhere in the distance, the sunrise crests over a ridge, and warms the first tentative breath of a kiss. 

The Signs as Their Breakup Songs

Aires: Gravity - EDEN
“But if you keep second guessing then there’s only gonna be one end

But you can leave if you really want to
And you can run if you feel you have to
And I’ll be fine if you ever ask me
I know its hard, but no one said its easy
Falling’s easy”

Taurus: Santa Monica Dream - Angus and Julia Stone
“I’m singing songs about the future
Wondering where you are
I could call you on the telephone
But do I really want to know?
You’re making love now to the lady down the road
No I don’t, I don’t want to know

I’m somewhere, you’re somewhere
I’m nowhere, you’re nowhere
You’re somewhere, you’re somewhere
I could go there but I don’t

Goodbye to my Santa Monica dream”

Gemini: Ghost - Halsey
“You say that you’re no good for me
Cause I’m always tugging at your sleeve
And I swear I hate you when you leave
But I like it anyway

My ghost
Where’d you go?
I can’t find you in the body sleeping next to me
My ghost
Where’d you go?
What happened to the soul that you used to be?”

Cancer: Two Years Ago - Ellie Goulding
”It’s now just sparks
Now the fireworks are fading
Is it over?
Lost you in the summer two years ago

You, you, you
I’m still thinking ‘bout you, you, you
Two years ago
You, you, you
I’m still thinking 'bout you, you, you
Two years ago

If there’s no storm, why’re we a shipwreck?
Thought our love is insurmountable
He knows my heart is still aching
Never thought it would be caused by you”


Leo: Fix You - Coldplay
“When you feel so tired, but you can’t sleep
Stuck in reverse
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can’t replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you”

Virgo: The Space Between - Dave Matthews Band
“You cannot quit me so quickly
There’s no hope in you for me
No corner you could squeeze me
But I got all the time for you, love

The Space Between
The tears we cry
Is the laughter keeps us coming back for more
The Space Between
The wicked lies we tell
And hope to keep safe from the pain

But will I hold you again?
These fickle, fuddled words confuse me
Like 'Will it rain today?’
Waste the hours with talking, talking
These twisted games we’re playing”

Libra: Oh My Word - Flip Grater
“Oh my word I’ve been waiting
For you to walk on by
Oh my word I’ve been staying
Inside safe and dry

Will you live underground
And crawl out when it’s light
Do you fail to stand up
And stand in when it’s right

Oh my word I’m just saying
Would you aim this high
Oh my word I’m just waiting
For you at my side”

Scorpio: Can’t Forget You - My Darkest Days
“Whoever said this pain, would ever go away
Didn’t know what it meant to, be here without you
Is everything you see, reminding you of me?
Does it hurt when you breathe too?
'Cause it does when I do, cause it does when I do

When anybody says your name I wanna run away,
I keep remembering I can’t forget you
It doesn’t matter when I try it happens anyway,
It’s been forever and I can’t forget you
With every single day, it won’t go away
The way I feel about you
And when it’s said and done, you’re the only one
And I can’t regret you, so I can’t forget you”

Sagittarius: Doomed - Bring Me The Horizon
“You can have my heart

So come rain on my parade
'Cause I wanna feel it
Come shove me over the edge
'Cause my head is in overdrive
I’m sorry, but it’s too late
And it’s not worth saving
So come rain on my parade
I think we’re doomed
I think we’re doomed
And now there is no way back”

Capricorn: Please Don’t Go - Barcelona
”All those arrows you threw, you threw them away
You kept falling in love, then one day
When you fell, you fell towards me
When you crashed in the clouds, you found me

Oh, please don’t go
I want you so
I can’t let go
For I lose control”

Aquarius: Oceans - Seafret
“It feels like there’s oceans
Between me and you once again
We hide our emotions
Under the surface and tryin’ to pretend
But it feels like there’s oceans
Between you and me

I want you
And I always will
I wish I was worth
But I know what you deserve
You know I’d rather drown
Than to go on without you
But you’re pulling me down”

Pisces: Running Up That Hill - Placebo
“You don’t want to hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware that I’m tearing you asunder.
There is thunder in our hearts, baby.
So much hate for the ones we love?
Tell me, we both matter, don’t we?

You, be running up that hill
You and me, be running up that hill
You and me won’t be unhappy.”

Usually, I lie. At a party, someone asks the question. It’s someone who hasn’t smelled the rancid decay of week-dead flesh or heard the rattle of fluid flooding lungs. I shake the ice in my glass, smile, and lie. When they say, “I bet you always get that question,” I roll my eyes and agree.

There are plenty of in-between stories to delve into; icky, miraculous ones and reams of the hilarious and stupid. I did, after all, become a paramedic knowing it would stack my inner shelves with a library of human tragicomedy. I am a writer, and we are nothing if not tourists gawking at our own and other people’s misery. No?

The dead don’t bother me. Even the near-dead, I’ve made my peace with. When we meet, there’s a very simple arrangement: Either they’re provably past their expiration date and I go about my business, RIP, or they’re not and I stay. A convenient set of criteria delineates the provable part: if they have begun to decay; if rigor mortis has set in; if the sedentary blood has begun to pool at their lowest point, discoloring the skin like a slowly gathering bruise. The vaguest criterion is called obvious death, and we use it in those bizarre special occasions that people are often sniffing for when they ask questions at parties: decapitations, dismemberments, incinera- tions, brains splattered across the sidewalk. Obvious death.

One of my first obvious deaths was a portly Mexican man who had been bicycling along the highway that links Brooklyn to Queens. He’d been hit by three cars and a dump truck, which was the only one that stopped. The man wasn’t torn apart or flattened, but his body had twisted into a pretzel; arms wrapped around legs. Somewhere in there was a shoulder. Obvious death. His bike lay a few feet away, gnarled like its owner. Packs and packs of Mexican cigarettes scattered across the highway. It was three a.m. and a light rain sprinkled the dead man, the bicycle, the cigarette packs, and me, made us all glow in the sparkle of police flares. I was brand new; cars kept rushing past, slowing down, rushing past.

Obvious death. Which means there’s nothing we can do, which means I keep moving with my day, with my life, with whatever I’ve been pondering until this once-alive-now-inanimate object fell into my path.If I can’t check off any of the boxes—if I can’t prove the person’s dead—I get to work and the resuscitation flowchart erupts into a tree of brand-new and complex options. Start CPR, intubate, find a vein, put an IV in it. If there’s no vein and you’ve tried twice, drill an even bigger needle into the flat part of the bone just below the knee. Twist till you feel a pop, attach the IV line. If the heart is jiggling, shock it; if it’s flatlined, fill it with drugs. If the family lingers, escort them out; if they look too hopeful, ease them toward despair. If time slips past and the dead stay dead, call it. Signs of life? Scoop ’em up and go.

You see? Simple.

Except then one day you find one that has a quiet smile on her face, her arms laying softly at her sides, her body relaxed. She is ancient, a crinkled flower, and was dying for weeks, years. The fam- ily cries foul: She had wanted to go in peace. A doctor, a social worker, a nurse—at some point all opted not to bother having that difficult conversation, perhaps because the family is Dominican and the Spanish translator wasn’t easily reachable and anyway, someone else would have it, surely, but no one did. And now she’s laid herself down, made all her quiet preparations and slipped gently away. Without that single piece of paper though, none of the lamentations matter, the peaceful smile doesn’t matter. You set to work, the tree of options fans out, your blade sweeps her tongue aside and you battle in an endotracheal tube; needles find their mark. Bumps emerge on the flat line, a slow march of tiny hills that resolve into tighter scribbles. Her pulse bounds against your fingers; she is alive.

But not awake, perhaps never to be again. You have brought not life but living death, and fuck what I’ve seen, because that, my friends at the party, my random interlocutor who doesn’t know the reek of decay, that is surely one of the craziest things I have ever done.

But that’s not what I say. I lie.

Which is odd because I did, after all, become a medic to fill the library stacks, yes? An endless collection of human frailty vignettes: disasters and the expanding ripple of trauma. No, that’s not quite true. There was something else, I’m sure of it.

And anyway, here at this party, surrounded by eager listeners with drinks in hand, mouths slightly open, ready to laugh or gasp, I, the storyteller, pause. In that pause, read my discomfort.

On the job, we literally laugh in the face of death. In our crass humor and easy flow between tragedy and lunch break, outsiders see callousness: We have built walls, ceased to feel. As one who laughs, I assure you that this is not the case. When you greet death on the daily, it shows you new sides of itself, it brings you into the fold. Gradually, or maybe quickly, depending on who you are, you make friends with it. It’s a wary kind of friendship at first, with the kind of stilted conversation you might have with a man who picked you up hitch- hiking and turns out to have a pet boa constrictor around his neck. Death smiles because death always wins, so you can relax. When you know you won’t win, it lets you focus on doing everything you can to try to win anyway, and really, that’s all there is: The Effort.

The Effort cleanses. It wards off the gathering demons of doubt. When people wonder how we go home and sleep easy after bearing witness to so much pain, so much death, the answer is that we’re not bearing witness. We’re working. Not in the paycheck sense, but in the sense of The Effort. When it’s real, not one of the endless parade of chronic runny noses and vague hip discomforts, but a true, soon- to-be-dead emergency? Everything falls away. There is the patient, the family, the door. Out the door is the ambulance and then farther down the road, the hospital. That’s it. That’s all there is.

Awkward text messages from exes, career uncertainties, generalized aches and pains: They all disintegrate beneath the hugeness that is someone else’s life in your hands. The guy’s heart is failing; fluid backs up in those feebly pumping chambers, erupts into his lungs, climbs higher and higher, and now all you hear is the raspy clatter every time he breathes. Is his blood pressure too high or too low? You wrap the cuff on him as your partner finds an IV. The monitor goes on. A thousand possibilities open up before you: He might start getting better, he might code right there, the ambulance might stall, the medicine might not work, the elevator could never come. You cast off the ones you can’t do anything about, see about another IV because the one your partner got already blew. You’re sweating when you step back and realize nothing you’ve done has helped, and then everything becomes even simpler, because all you can do is take him to the hospital as fast as you can move without totaling the rig.

He doesn’t make it. You sweated and struggled and calculated and he doesn’t make it, and dammit if that ain’t the way shit goes, but also, you’re hungry. And you’re alive, and you’ve wracked your body and mind for the past hour trying to make this guy live. Death won, but death always wins, the ultimate spoiler alert. You can only be that humbled so many times and then you know: Death always wins. It’s a warm Thursday evening and grayish orange streaks the horizon. There’s a pizza place around the corner; their slices are just the right amount of doughy. You check inside yourself to see if anything’s shattered and it’s not, it’s not. You are alive. You have not shattered.

You have not shattered because of The Effort. The Effort cleanses because you have become a part of the story, you are not passive, the very opposite of passive, in fact. Having been humbled, you feel amazing. Every moment is precise and the sky ripples with delight as you head off to the pizza place, having hurled headlong into the game and given every inch of yourself, if only for a moment, to a losing struggle.

It’s not adrenaline, although they’ll say that it is, again and again. It is the grim, heartbroken joy of having taken part. It is the difference between shaking your head at the nightly news and taking to the streets. It’s when you finally tell her how you really feel, the moment you craft all your useless repetitive thoughts into a prayer.

At the party, as they look on expectantly, I draft one of the lesser moments of horror as a stand-in. The evisceration, that will do. That single strand of intestine just sitting on the man’s belly like a lost worm. He was dying too, but he lived. It was a good story, a terrible night.

I was new and I didn’t know if I’d done anything right. He lived, but only by a hair. I magnified each tiny decision to see if I’d erred and came up empty. There was no way to know. Eventually I stopped taking jobs home with me. I released the ghosts of what I’d done or hadn’t done, let The Effort do what it does and cleanse me in the very moment of crisis. And then one night I met a tiny three-year old girl in overalls, all smiles and high-fives and curly hair. We were there because a neighbor had called it in as a burn, but the burns were old. Called out on his abuse, the father had fled the scene. The emergency, which had been going on for years, had ended and only just begun.

The story unraveled as we drove to the hospital; I heard it from the front seat. The mother knew all along, explained it in jittery, sobbing replies as the police filled out their forms. It wasn’t just the burns; the abuse was sexual too. There’d been other hospital visits, which means that people who should’ve seen it didn’t, or didn’t bother setting the gears in motion to stop it. I parked, gave the kid another high five, watched her walk into the ER holding a cop’s hand.

Then we had our own forms to fill out. Bureaucracy’s response to unspeakable tragedy is more paperwork. Squeeze the horror into easy-to-fathom boxes, cull the rising tide of rage inside and check and recheck the data, complete the forms, sign, date, stamp, insert into a metal box and then begin the difficult task of forgetting.

The job followed me down Gun Hill Road; it laughed when I pretended I was okay. I stopped on a corner and felt it rise in me like it was my own heart failing this time, backing fluids into my lungs, breaking my breath. I texted a friend, walked another block. A sob came out of somewhere, just one. It was summer. The breeze felt nice and nice felt shitty.

My phone buzzed. Do you want to talk about it?

I did. I wanted to talk about it and more than that I wanted to never have seen it and even more than that I wanted to have done something about it and most of all, I wanted it never to have hap- pened, never to happen again. The body remembers. We carry each trauma and ecstasy with us and they mark our stride and posture, contort our rhythm until we release them into the summer night over Gun Hill Road. I knew it wasn’t time to release just yet; you can’t force these things. I tapped the word no into my phone and got on the train.

I don’t tell that one either. Stories with trigger warnings don’t go over well at parties. But when the question is asked, the little girl’s smile and her small, bruised arms appear in my mind.

The worst tragedies don’t usually get 911 calls, because they are patient, unravel over centuries. While we obsess over the hyperviolent mayhem, they seep into our subconscious, poison our sense of self, upend communities, and gnaw away at family trees with intergenerational trauma.I didn’t pick up my pen just to bear witness. None of us did. And I didn’t become a medic to get a front-row seat to other people’s tragedies. I did it because I knew the world was bleeding and so was I, and somewhere inside I knew the only way to stop my own bleeding was to learn how to stop someone else’s. Another call crackles over the radio, we pick up the mic and push the button and drive off. Death always wins, but there is power in our tiniest moments, humanity in shedding petty concerns to make room for compassion. We witness, take part, heal. The work of healing in turn heals us and we begin again, laughing mournfully, and put pen to paper.

Daniel José Older

Extended Imagine - Morning Light

Intro | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

The sun rose over the horizon, sending glimmering rays through the gap in your curtains. You squint, trying to keep the light out, but it’s no use. Cursing under your breath, you throw the blanket off and go to close the curtain. Well - you try to, anyway.

Keep reading

cloud nine.

word count: 1253
pairing: changkyun x reader
notes: fluff, rich boy au

“Where are we going?” You’ve been asking the same question for the past 3 minutes since Changkyun dragged you out of work. All it took for your boss to let you go was the smell of Changkyun’s money. He might as well have laid out a red carpet for you too if he wanted to kiss his ass even more. 

“You’ll see,” he says again, leading you out the company building and to his black Porsche parked right on the curb. His chauffeur shuffles to open the backdoor with his tailcoat flailing in the wind, surprised by how fast his young master is walking towards the car. Needless to say, you stumble over your own feet a couple times trying to keep up. 

“Get in,” he commands gently, ushering you into the car first. 

“This is kidnapping!” you shout as you duck into the all-black interiors. The car smells of new leather with a faint hint of the ‘Royal Pine’ car freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. Changkyun swings the door closed behind him, whispers to the chauffeur, and you’re speeding down a highway before you even know it. 

“Kidnapping? That’s hardly it. Plus, you owe me,” he smirks. With a swift motion, he swipes his Versace sunglasses off his face and into the open collar of his black dress shirt. 

You groan at the memory of last week’s events. You were just dumped by your boyfriend, and you decided to drink your heart out with your friends at the bar. Not to your surprise, each of them went to hook up with the guys they just met and you were left drunk on almost 20 shots. To make matters worse, your idiot friends thought it was a good idea to text Changkyun, who they won’t shut up about. You can’t even count the times they’ve told you to ditch your boyfriend for Changkyun.

 Except that the two of you are in two different worlds. It was only pure chance that you even encountered him two years ago on your school. You pretty much lived under a rock back then, so you had no idea who that insanely alluring man was. He was speaking for the business majors in your university, and he wandered off from his butler and got lost. You found him circling around the fountain, and couldn’t find the heart to walk away, even though you were already late for class. You exchanged small talk while taking him across the campus. He just never told you much about him, you had to find out yourself.

The fact that you stayed in contact is even more surprising. After minimal research you found out that Changkyun owns the biggest corporation in South Korea, and his assets are through the roof. There isn’t anyone (except you) who doesn’t recognize his handsome figure and charming voice. He’s a top celebrity in his own sense. 

And you? Well, just a college graduate still struggling to find a stable job to pay rent. It was even harder to do so at the time, having to support your ex-boyfriend’s spending habits. Little did you know, he used the money to take his side chick out on dates. That’s shit that always happens in dramas, but you really played yourself. 

Well, back to the nightmare at the bar: 

Changkyun drove himself to the entrance right after he received the text, still half dressed. He dug through the sweaty sea of people until he finally spotted you sprawled out on a table in the back. He carried you to his car, and just as he was about to lay you down on the seat, you threw up the 20 shots plus everything else you ate that day. 

Let’s just say he chose the wrong day to drive himself. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant trip to your house with you passed out and him covered in throw up.

You woke up that morning with a loose t-shirt, and Changkyun sleeping soundly next to you, half-naked, smelling like your strawberry body wash. He didn’t let you hear the end of it that day.

And now you’re driving through what seems like miles and miles of grassland, on a strip of a strangely paved road. 

“You seriously bought a new car?” you finally ask, a hint of annoyance in your voice. 

“I mean, why not. Cleaning takes money and so does new car,” he responds. He really meant what he said, without a hint of cheekiness. 

“Can’t relate…” you mumble under your breath. 

“What?“ 

“Uh, nothing,” you cough. “So where are we going?” You look out the tinted windows again. Still nothing but green grass lines against the bright white horizon. 

“Don’t you get tired of asking the same question?” He glances up front. “We’re almost there, relax.” A clearing appears up ahead, and soon, a huge runway comes into view. Not too far off, you see… a plane… in the middle of nowhere?

You then find yourself standing in front of the steps to the shiny white jet.

“Alright, let’s go!” Changkyun gives you a small push with his innocent dimpled smile. 

“Huh?!” The whole time you were dismayed, wondering if this was all just a really strange yet realistic dream. But knowing Changkyun, this shouldn’t even be a surprise anymore. 

“Before you ask again, we’re going to Paris,” he announces, like it’s a perfectly normal situation. Your mouth hangs open, and then panic follows soon after.

“W-what do you mean we’re going to Paris?! This is crazy! I don’t even have anyt-“ 

“Stop worrying so much Y/N,” he laughs heartily, cutting you off. “You’re going to age too quickly.“ 

"How can I not! I mean, this is so out of the blue… Im Changkyun, I knew you were crazy but this is a bit too mu-" 

"Relax, relax,” he coaxes again. “I did all the preparations already, and I told my maids to pack your things, they’re all already on the plane okay?" 

You groan, bringing your palm to your forehead. "That’s great… but that’s not the main issue here…" 

His eyes widen and he turns to you with a anxious expression. "Did you want to go somewhere else? Rome… Australia? Or do you not like the jet? I can change it right now if you want! What color? Blue? Black?" 

You laugh continuously at his franticness, and at how cute he is right now. He may be too rich for his own good, but he has pure intentions. You know he’s trying to cheer you up in his own way, and you really appreciate that. A warm feeling wells up in you, and you didn’t have the heart to reject his thoughtful gesture. 

You tackle him softly with a big hug, and he shuts right up. He slowly lifts his hands, but they just end up hovering over your back. "Uh… Y/N?” He tries to play it cool, but you can feel the warmth from his face. 

You nuzzle against his shoulders, and slowly breathe in his scent of mixed colognes. His heart is beating right next to yours, and it’s having a hard time keeping up with his. 

“Thanks Changkyun,” you whisper next to his ear. You pull away, and he just stands there, stunned. You chuckle to yourself. Where did the usual cool Changkyun go? Now he looks like a cute little stray wolf pup. 

You twirl around and skip up the steps. You look back down at Changkyun, and smile wholeheartedly. “Come on, let’s go!”

Competition | highschool!au

Originally posted by eunwoooo

Jennie x Reader (fem)

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Summary: ‘Jealousy does not become you, Jennie Kim.’

Requested by @jeonmyg

A/N: I apologise in advance because this is all over the place. :/ Hope you guys still enjoy it, though. 

Part I | Part II

Word Count: 6,052

Warnings: Nothing much, a couple of swear words.

“I like you.”

      You’re not actually quite sure what you had expected, but you were pretty sure it wasn’t this. Jennie looks as if she had just stared into Medusa’s eyes and subsequently, had been turned into stone. Her expression is still, too still, her eyes are wide and she is utterly silent.

     You fidget, your fingers intertwining and you bite your lip, a wave of anxiety rushing over you like a waterfall.

Keep reading

there is no law that the gods must be fair

*me, languishing in the angst pit 6 days after the finale with a glass of wine in hand* this is my home now and i’m gonna stay in it for the next 9 months

missing scene from 413. clarke radios in from the tower and bellamy hears her.

wc: 1.3k | ao3

Maybe some tiny, morbid part of her always knew it would end like this.

Not like this exactly; out in the snow all by herself, the words ‘manual operation’ somehow making no sense and yet sitting heavy on her chest at the same time while her timer continues to blink, unawares that it’s no longer tracking the time until she leaves for survival, but the time left until her death.

Clarke figures that a small part of her always knew since Abby’s vision that she wasn’t going to make it to space, but she’d be damned if she didn’t see to it that her friends got there.

That doesn’t mean she’s okay though.

The radio is clutched tight in her hand, trembling slightly and she decides to try one last time.

“Raven?” she asks into the nothingness, voice small.

There’s no reply.

Licking her lips, she brings the radio closer to her helmet until it’s almost touching the glass, hand wrapped in an almost vice like grip around it. “… Bellamy?” she tries once more, hoping in vain that he can somehow hear her.

Silence again, but just when she’s about to shove it back into the bag, there’s a burst of static followed by a crackle and then-

“Clarke?”

His voice is tinny, almost too weak to be heard over the interference, but she manages. Her eyes squeeze shut wanting to commit to memory the way his voice sounds like gravel, the way his tongue curls so gently over the consonants of her name as it’s the last time she’ll ever hear him say it.

“Bellamy I-,” she pauses to swallow heavily. “I’m not going to make it back in time,” she tells him in one breath, biting the bullet.

A beat. And then, “What the hell does that mean?” he growls.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

prompt for rebelcaptain: soulmate au where they meet in dreams before they actually meet

As Though from a Dream



“You believe in soulmates, don’t you, Andor?”

Cassian is sixteen, still young enough that he hasn’t yet forgotten how to laugh.

“And you do, Martog?” he asks the skinny boy across from him in the mess hall of the latest Rebellion base on Talus.

Martog spoons a thick stew into his mouth and pouts. “I thought everyone believed in soulmates.”

“I believe in them,” Eller Myr says. Eller, who will not live to see twenty, pulls up the sleeve of his tunic to show them a purple mark near the crook of his elbow. It’s the size of thumbnail. If someone squinted and wanted to believe it hard enough, it could have been described as being shaped like a star. “It’s my soulmark. My other will have the same one on their arm.”

“I thought you were supposed to know your soulmate by the first word they spoke to you,” Alicele Fosbos says. She pushes the blonde hair out of her eyes and frowns deeply.

Eller shakes his head. “No, it’s definitely by a soulmark.”

“But I don’t have a soulmark,” Alicele says, her face falling.

“Maybe it will appear soon,” Eller says, putting a comforting arm on her shoulder.

“What happens if your soulmates dies before you meet them?” Alicele asks, but Eller has no answer. Nobody has an answer. They don’t ask the question’s twin: What happens if you die first?

Martog glares at Cassian. “If you don’t believe in this, then what do you believe in then, Andor?”

This time, it is Eller who laughs at Martog. “Don’t you know already? He believes in the Rebellion. That’s his soulmate.”

Cassian blanks his face and takes a sip of water. He feigns a carefree shrug. He doesn’t tell them about the dark haired, green-eyed girl who haunts his dreams.


+

The first time he dreams of her, she’s running on a black sand beach. The waves crash, violent on the shore, and without knowing how, he knows she needs to stay away, that he needs to stay away. There are sneaker waves here that will tear a man out to sea and drown him before anyone even knows he is missing. But she seems to know this. She runs toward the moss-green mountains and he can almost feel the cool air on his skin. When she vanishes from his dream, he wakes.

She grows up with him. Her skinny legs and braided hair change into womanly curves and a severe bun on the back of her head. The land where he first dreams of her changes from fire and ice to jungle to desert. He knows her and he doesn’t know her. He wracks his memory, trying to think of where they might have met, where she can be placed in all his travels, but it’s a reflexive habit, him trying to apply logic to something knows has no logic.
For two months she visits him every night, but the dreams are awash in blood, and he wakes up, heart pounding. He requests a handful of sleep aids, and for the first week, he is dreamless. But when the pills run out, she returns, and for the first time he feels her make eye contact with him.

It is then that he hears his name on her lips. “Cassian?”

He jerks awake, drenched in a cold sweat. He requests more pills until eventually, he needs to see her again, until the sensation claws at him during his waking hours.

He has come to admit that she is always going to be a part of him. He just doesn’t know why. Not yet.

+

“We need to find Liana Hallik,” Draven says in the briefing. Cassian sits next to Alicele and Captain Rois, watching their silent nods.

On the screen, the dossier flashes with Hallik’s aliases, her list of crimes and last locations. And then the blue holo follows, blinking to life, a phantom from his dreams.

He feels the blood drain out of his face.

“That is, she goes by Hallik. Her real name is the one that is important: Jyn Erso, daughter of Galen Erso, Imperial scientist.”

Cassian struggles to find his voice. His tongue is twisted; his mouth is dry. The words burn as they leave his lips. “Let me do this, sir,” he says. “Let me find her.” Her face is etched on his heart. He could find her blindfolded or in the dark of space; he would find her or he would not stop until he did.

Draven won’t deny him this request—Cassian knows this. He is their best spy, by a mile. It is his job to have.

“Find her, then,” Draven says, shutting the screen down. “And bring her in.”

Bring her home.

He dreams of her again that night. This time, he says her name, and she looks at him. Jyn.


+

“When was the last time you were in contact with your father?” he asks her. What he really wants to say is “How is it that you are real?”


+


He had expected her to return, and when she is gone too long, he goes to find her. Cassian finds Jyn in the cargo bay of the ship as it glides through the gate toward Scarif.

“You told everyone?” he asks, but he knows that she did. He can still feel where she squeezed his arm. There’s a heat burning in his belly, one that’s gone from ember to flame in the space of a week.

She holds her pendant in her hand and looks at him. “Do you believe in another life after this one?” she asks. She turns her eyes to him, and he sees the girl in his dreams.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you believe that after we die, we get to live again, somehow, maybe as someone else?”

“I’ve never thought about it,” he admits. “You believe this?” he asks, as Bodhi brings the ship down to what Cassian knows to be a suicide mission. From her expression, he knows Jyn feels the same.

“I have to. How can it be fair that this is the only chance we get?”

(We’ll take the next chance. And the next. On and on until the chances are spent.)

+

He’s dying, but he’s not alone. His wound bleeds him of his energy, but Jyn carries him. She carries him, she carries him.

In the turbolift, they can only look at one another and see the the life they should have had, the one together. He could kiss her. She could kiss him. But would it mean anything more than what they already share?

On the beach, she holds him close and tells him this: “I dreamed of you.” And he understands. It wasn’t just him all this time. It was her, too. It was always them.

The rising wave approaches: water and land; the disappearing horizon.

Do you believe in another life after this one?

I have to. How can it be fair that this is the only chance we get?


The light comes to swallows them whole, and he is filled with a strange and awful ache, one full of wonder and loss and pain. “Find me again,” he says softly, and he feels her tears against his face.

And before he draws his last breath in this life, he hears her answer, as though from a dream, a whispered I will, and he finds that in that ache, there is peace, too.

Pirates of the Caribbean sentence meme!
Quotes from all four movies under the cut - 300 total! Send in a sentence or send in  for a random starter!

1. A wedding? I love weddings! Drinks all around!
2. Best start believing in ghost stories. You’re in one.
3. I feel nothing.
4. You’ve seen a ship with black sails that’s crewed by the damned, and captained by a man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out?
5. But I have seen a ship with black sails.
6. So this is where your heart truly lies, then?
7. I’m actually feeling rather good about this.
8. I thought I had you figured. Turns out you’re a hard man to predict.
9. A dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest.
10. Honestly, it’s the honest ones you have to watch out for.
11. So we’re all men of our word, really.
12. Well, you’ve proven they’re mad.
13. That’s not much incentive to fight fair then, is it?
14. In a fair fight, I’d kill you.
15. Put it away. It’s not worth getting beat again.
16. I want you to leave and never come back.
17. I’m disinclined to acquiesce to your request. Means ‘no’.
18. Well, I suppose if it is worthless there’s no point in me keeping it.
19. The code is more what you’d call ‘guidelines’ than actual rules.
20. One good deed is not enough to save a man from a lifetime of wickedness.

Keep reading

One Last Try (Gaston x Reader)

Part 2 of “Another Look Around”

Originally posted by good-gay-sherlock

Word Count: 2,123

Warnings: None

Tags: @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aioli @lovelylpevensie

A/N: Ok wow so the amount of love on my last post was incredible. Really. You got no idea. I never expected such a positive response to my first ever Tumblr fanfic, so THANK YOU TO ALL THE LOVELY SMOLS WHO LIKED/COMMENTED/REBLOGGED. YA’LL MADE MY DAY. Originally I had no plan to continue this story, buuuut…after several requests, I present to you, part 2 *dramatic overture*


  You waited with bated breath until the sound of Gaston’s boots on the stone stairs had receded into silence before allowing yourself to draw air. With a gasp, you wiped a hand across your forehead and pushed yourself off the door.

   Belle was still staring at you in befuddlement. She placed the loaf of bread in her hand on the table, then mounted her hand on her hip. “Honestly, (Y/N), what’s gotten into you? You’re face looks like a tomato.”

   “Does it?” you panted, raising your palms to feel the heat in your cheeks. You giggled breathlessly for no reason. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from smiling.

   “Wait a minute…” Belle began suspiciously, moving towards you. “Was that Gaston that you were talking to?”

  You swallowed, dropping your arms to your sides. Belle gasped loudly. “It was, wasn’t it!” Looking completely aghast, she rushed forward, gripping your shoulders and looking you directly in the eyes. “Tell me what happened. Every bit of it.”

   With much difficulty, you were finally able to force your lips out of their grinning state, returning Belle’s gaze. Your heart was still relentlessly thudding against your chest, and you covered her hands with your own as you admitted rather timidly, “Oh, Belle you’re going to kill me.”

   Her eyes bugged. “Did he propose?”

   You raised an eyebrow and said, “When does he not?”

   “You didn’t say yes!”

   “No, of course not!”

   “Then what happened?”

   You bit your lip. “Well, he asked to have dinner.”

   “And you said yes?!”

   You frowned. “No.” Then you paused before adding, “But I didn’t necessarily say no either.”

   Belle threw her hands up and sighed. “Well if it wasn’t a yes or a no, then what was it?”

   “I don’t know! I guess it was a maybe, we’ll see.”

  Belle’s face said it all: she couldn’t believe the words that she was hearing. How could she? You and her had spent many days in the past mimicking some of Gaston’s most ridiculous lines and gestures. Belle would imitate his voice and stick an imaginary bouquet in your face while you clutched your stomach and nearly fell backwards laughing. You would make her choke on giggles by miming his smirk and wiggling your eyebrows. You had spent some of the merriest times in your friendship joking about Gaston and his infatuation with you. No wonder it was shocking for her to now hear you say that you had practically accepted a dinner date from him.  

   “Are you insane?” she finally squeaked. You wiped your sweaty hands on your skirt. “Probably,” you muttered back, stepping past her to the table and tearing off a chunk of bread from the large baguette. You popped it in your mouth as Belle began pacing across the room.

   “But - I don’t understand, (Y/N). You’ve always said that Gaston was wasting his breath with you. That he was utterly absurd and you would sooner court Madam Roux’s old tabby cat. Besides, you know what he’s like! He’s rude, and conceited and -”

   “Belle,” you interrupted. She froze where she was and looked at you. “Hold still before you wear a hole in the floor.”

  She exhaled exasperatedly and crossed her arms almost sulkily. “I just don’t understand what’s gotten into you,” she mumbled.

    You pursed your lips and raised your hands in a clueless gesture. “Neither do I.” The smile began to return as you continued, “I wouldn’t be able to explain it if I wanted to. There was just something different this time. For a moment, I was looking into his eyes and I actually think I saw..”

   “What?“

   “Well, something along the lines of sincerity.”

   Belle scoffed. “Oh, I don’t doubt that he’s sincere. Sincerely full of himself.”

  You tossed her a disapproving look and shot back, “No one’s without their good qualities, Belle. Besides…I think there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

   Belle faced you with a stern expression. “You honestly think that there’s a chance that Gaston is a decent man underneath all of his peacock feathers?”

   You grinned at her and answered, “Call me crazy if you like.”

  Your best friend shook her head. “You’re completely crazy,” she lamented before snatching the baguette, ripping off a large piece and stuffing it in her mouth.


   The rest of the day dragged by uneventfully.

  You’d left Belle’s after eating a large lunch, then headed straight to your own house. After running the rest of your errands and taking a long bath afterwards, the jitters in your stomach had begun to grow.

  Essentially, you were meeting Gaston tonight. You were walking straight into the thing that you’d been trying to avoid for the past four years, but instead of dread, you felt only nervous excitement.

    Your earlier encounter with Gaston had undeniably changed something in your mind. Thinking of him - his looks, his voice, or even just his name - gave you a new feeling that you weren’t familiar with. It made your stomach tighten, but in a good way. It made your breath catch in your throat and your thoughts go fuzzy. Right at the moment, you weren’t sure if you liked it. But there was no going back now.

   The sun had reduced to a formless lake of burning orange hanging on the horizon by the time you left home for the final time that day. The skies to the west were a deep, silky navy dusted with stars, and the full moon was proudly standing out against backdrop. Villeneuve’s streets were lit with flickering lamps, and the amount of people milling about them was dramatically reduced due to the impending night.

   The tavern was only a three minute walk from your neighborhood, and your heart thumped a little quicker with every step you took. Every stride carried you closer to a night that would either live in your memory as a nightmare…or a dream.

   Well, you thought as the bar came into view, here goes nothing. Inhaling shakily, swishing your skirt out behind you and blinking a few times to clear your mind, you finally pushed through the door.

  The smell of ale and smoke dropped over your senses in an intoxicating veil. The light inside the tavern was dim and golden, and though the noise was jarring, an odd sense of calm settled in your stomach upon entering, soothing the nerves.

   Without wasting a moment, you weaved your way around the boisterous crowd to the bar, where you spotted the familiar face of Louisa as she filled two heavy metal steins with beer. She happened to glance up as you made your way to her, and she gave a startled smile.

   “(Y/N)! What brings you to this neck of the woods?” She questioned, sliding the full mugs to the end of the bar. You returned her smile as you leaned against the counter. “Girl can’t get a drink in this town?” you joked. Louisa cocked an eyebrow, reaching for another mug as she replied, “Last I knew you weren’t exactly a frequent to our fine establishment, dearie.”

    You traced circles in the wooden tabletop with your fingernail, saying, “Well, you’re right, I’m not. Just needed a change in scenery for once.”

   Liar, liar, a little voice inside you sung. You shook it away as if it were a pesky insect.

  “Now that I can understand,” Louisa said before placing the mug in front of you. “Careful now. This stuff’s strong enough to make steam come outta your ears.” You laughed lightly and thanked her, wrapping a hand around the cup. You then turned and leaned your back against the bar, taking a sip of the alcohol and letting your eyes wander casually around the packed pub.

   You nearly choked on the beer as your gaze snagged on one man in particular who was sitting near the roaring fire with his friend, LeFou at his side.

   Gaston reclined in his chair with his legs spread and his arms draped lazily over the armrests. His position caused his shirt to strain over his muscled chest, and his head was tilted to the side, a bored expression on his face.

   Until his eyes caught yours.

   You swallowed not-so-subtly.

   He blinked, a surprised smile flitting onto his face as he smacked LeFou on the arm, who nearly tumbled off his own chair before he too noticed you. “(Y/N)!” he welcomed loudly over the noise, beaming happily. The momentary lull of anxiety vanished, and your pulse shot back to a dangerous pace.

    Since there was no way to escape him now that he’d caught sight of you - and since you didn’t feeling like leaving either - you knocked back one more gulp of beer, thinking that you’d need it, then placed it on the counter.

   Your palms were sweaty as you stepped away from the bar and slowly worked your way around the many tables and bodies. You could feel Gaston’s gaze on you the whole time. When you finally navigated your way to him, you watched as his chest rose with what could either be an inhale, or pride. He shifted his shoulders.

   “(Y/N),” he greeted, almost savoring the sound of you name on his tongue. “You came.”

    “I’m a woman of my word, Gaston.”

  His smile deepened to a smirk, and he straightened up as he said, “Well, it’s a great pleasure to see you again.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “I’m sure it is,” you returned sarcastically. By this point Gaston had risen from his seat and advanced towards you until you stood separated by two feet at the most. Your heart flipped as his eyes briefly scanned your form before returning to your face. He then extended his hand and offered smoothly, “Drinks are on LeFou.”

   Despite your insides being a mess of butterflies, you couldn’t help but laugh. You took Gaston’s hand and asked, “Does he know that?” Gaston made a face that said who knows? and replied, “He won’t mind.” He flashed you a winning smile and then, his fingers laced through yours, led you to one of the only empty tables on the opposite side of the place. He politely gestured for you to sit first, then called towards the bar, “Louisa! Another round for the most beautiful girl in town!”

   You suppressed a blush as Gaston sat down backwards on the bench next to you so that his back and elbows rested against the table, enabling him to face you. “You weren’t kidding about saving the flattery for this evening, were you?” you teased.

   Gaston gave a short, low laugh and answered, “I’m a man of my word, dear (Y/N).”

  You continued the small talk until Louisa arrived with two more beers for each of you. She gave you a sly smile before returning to the bar, which you tried to ignore by quickly averting your eyes to the first stein.

   After several more minutes of chatting with Gaston, the rigidness started to melt off your body, and you relaxed, switching positions to straddle the bench and face him. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or maybe it was simply the ease of his company, but as the minutes wore on, a warm, electric feeling began to bloom in your stomach, working its way through your chest and into your head.

  You were unable to look away from his burning whisky eyes. You began to appreciate just how deeply attractive he was, and when you realized it, you didn’t try to banish the notion from your brain as usual. You let it linger, let it take over. You relished the sound of his rough voice and laugh, memorized every facial expression, every smug little grin, and even the slightest shift in his body language. Your body subconsciously drifted closer to his, feeling a strange need to be in some sort of physical contact. The most noticeable difference was that for once, he wasn’t trying to impress you or pepper you with compliments. For once, he was actually talking to you. Asking you about your family, your ambitions, and your daily activities. He remained flirtatious as always, but in a subdued and intimate way that was a hundred times more attractive than flowers and chocolates.

  If you’d been paying attention, you would’ve heard those little alarms in your head that warned you against falling for anything stupid. But it was too late. You were in too deep, and though it was something you’d never dreamed of admitting to yourself, all you wanted to do was stay trapped in this moment with Gaston, legs brushing, his arm extended behind you on the table, his fingers casually twisting a strand of your hair, and his eyes looking so deep into yours that you imagined he must be able to read your every thought.

   This was it. This was his second chance. One last try at winning your affections. One last try at achieving the ultimate goal. One try at earning your love slowly and purposefully the way it deserved to be earned. And as the hours dwindled away, Gaston could somehow sense that it was working.

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Three)

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?
  • Links to past installments:  (One) (Two)

(Three)

Jenny

I’d run upstairs the instant Claire was gone through the door—first to the bedchamber overlooking the road, then up still further to the upper floors, so I could see her for just a moment longer. For, damn me, but I couldna take my eyes off her…just kept—watchin’ her— until the last.

And even when the shape of her had long vanished over the horizon, I was still watchin’, staring into the spot where she’d been, the last place she’d inhabited before she’d gone away….just as she’d promised. 

The letter—God, Claire’s letter—was clutched tight in my hand and heavy on my heart. But it was also heavy in my hand, I realized. There was more than paper, therein, I’d swear to it; firm, whatever it was, but not rigid, exactly, for I could still bend it easily.  

I had the nail of my finger under the edge of the wax before somethin’….somethin’ stopped me—or could it be someone?—and I shivered. 


“Jenny?” 

Claire was in the doorway of the kitchen, cloak on, the letter clutched to her breast. 

I stood, awkwardly. “You’ve finished?” 

She nodded, and her eyes closed, of a sudden, and she looked so very young, like one of the bairns in a thunderstorm, all scared and—small—So sad, and—

—and I wavered. 

But before I could say anythin’, Claire was there right before my face, pressin’ the envelope hard into my hands. She didna let go, just kept—holdin’ on to me, eyes boring into mine so I couldna even blink. 

 “Whatever hurt there is between you and me, Jenny—” Those whisky-colored eyes were shining wi’ feeling, ready to spill over wi’ it. “—I beg you to see that Jamie gets this.” She added her other hand and squeezed me so hard that own hands were shakin’ along wi’ hers. “Please don’t wait too long to give it to him.” 

My voice cracked, and I couldna look away. “Why’s that?” 

“There are things in here, that—” the paper crinkled, loud and violent, that bitty sound, “—that will give him peace….I hope.” A small, broken breath. 

Peace…Peace for Jamie…

“Please, Jenny—PLEASE—promise me that you’ll give it to him.” Those wildcat eyes begged, and I could do nothing but nod. She heaved an enormous sigh and closed them, nodding, herself. “Thank you.” 

She released me, then and made for the door, pulling her cloak tight about her. Her eyes were on the handle as she said, “Goodbye.” 

And then before I could blink, she’d come back again and thrown both her arms ‘round me. Unnaturally tall as she was, my arms were trapped down at my sides, so I couldna have hugged her back, even had I wished to. 

Her voice was a ragged sob of a whisper. “I do love you, Jenny.” She kissed my cheek.

And then she was out the door, gone. Forever.  

And it was only as she was far, far gone, a vanished speck through a frozen windowpane, that I realized….

I *had* wished to. 


“Mam?” 

I nearly leapt out of my skin as I whirled like a guilty bairn to the door behind, where Maggie stood wi’ her own babe on her hip. 

Ye’ve been up here for an age and a half, Mam. Did…” She gave me a significant look, “….something give ye a turn?” 

“I’m fine, mo chridhe,” I promised, flustered-like, bustling past her down the stairs to resume my work and hide my face. “Perfectly fine, nothin’ to—”

“But who was she, Mam?” Maggie’s voice, her footsteps, chased me down the stairs. “The dark-haired Englishwoman? Why was she here?” 

“She was a traveler. No one ye need be worrit about.” 

“Mam, I’m no’ a wee bairn. We all heard the great skelloch the two of ye were makin’. Clearly she was someone ye kent well, and it sounded as though she had come were wi’ a purpose, and  “ 

“Maggie, do not— ” 

“But what was it she wanted of ye, Mam? She stayed hardly an hour, and we  “

I dinna wish to DISCUSS it, Margaret.” 

From the look on her face, I’d shouted it, violently. She went all meek-like and left me standing alone on the stairs landing without another word. I started to go after her, but—I let my hands fall back to my side, clenching into shaking fists.  

What was it the Englishwoman had wanted of me, Maggie, love? The woman who saw ye delivered into this world? Only to come make peace and to mend your Uncle Jamie’s heart…and I… 

*I*….

Hands of guilt seemed to shove me toward the door, toward the stables. 

Janet Murray, go after Claire. Go after her right this moment. There’s still time to catch her up! 

“Aye, and WHY should I?” I muttered under my breath, stormin’ to the pantry and busyin’ my hands, furiously flyin’ from task to task. 

WHY? Because it was doomed from the start! 

Dinna lay the troubles of their marriage at my feet. It was GOOD for Jamie to be marrit. He NEEDED a woman.

You saw her fetch at the wedding. Jesus God, woman, THAT was your warning. THIS is the test. 

I wasna going to see my brother die alone, and I couldna have dreamed that she’d saunter in one day after—

No one could have supposed Claire was alive; but now that you know, you MUST make this right. 

Go and stop her…GO!

She had no right —No RIGHT to just vanish as she did. God, the —the arrogance of it — I threw an old jar against the wall, the crash of the pottery against the stone some kind of satisfaction amid the storms of rage and of shame within me.  not to even CHECK !—And ‘complicated,’ she says…COMPLICATED! 

She said she’d be able to explain. 

All can be made right, Janet Murray. Go after her, beg her to  

I'll no’ beg that Sassenach witch for anythin’. The rage was boiling up within me, and suddenly even the promise of delivering her letter seemed like the vilest of insults. ‘Will bring him peace,’ she says…How could she POSSIBLY ken what can bring him peace, having been gone from him for twenty

YOU would know, just fine, if it were Ian. Separation couldn’t change your knowing of him, could it? 

I ignored that pleading, reasonable voice and stormed back up the stairs. The only sensible thing was to pretend as though the letter had never existed. 

Jamie need never know. If he wasna precisely at *peace,* now, he’d at least settled into a living, and found a certain

He hasn’t. 

NO sense at all in opening up old

And since when were love or mercy about *sense*?  

What he doesna know canna pain him, and that’s all there is to it.

I stormed upstairs and threw the letter resolutely into the back of the drawer, coverin’ it over wi’ old underthings and rags where Ian wouldna find it. 

But all the rest of the day, that stern voice haunted me, warred with me. 

Go after her. 

Leave me be. 

What’s done is done. 

No, it isn’t. 

GO AFTER HER.

Claire let him suffer. 

She stayed away for TWENTY—

She doesna DESERVE  

That was Jamie’s judgment to make, woman. Not yours. 

I told her only the bare facts. 

No. You lied to her. 

He DOES have a wife!

He DOES have two daughters that called him Da!

You told her all the difficult truths and made them as painful to her as you could. 

And you told one lie.

 That Jamie is happy.

Is he?  

No…

The guilt shuddered through me, a fist wrapped around my throat. 

He’s broken…

He’s still hurting…still raw….

From want of Her. 

And you sent her away. 

The look on her face as she begged me to give him that letter—

But the THINGS she did to  —

What you’ve just done is worse, still For you did it from spite, Janet Murray; of your own pride and

Across the house a door CRASHED open and I reeled back from the spice cupboard as though shot, my blood poundin’ in my ears as footsteps came thunderin’ in from the front door. “What in GOD’s holy name—???” 

“I dinna need to WASH to see Mam,” a grumpy voice protested from the foyer. 

“Oh Mary, Michael, and Bride—IAN!!” I’d forgotten—completely FORGOTTEN to be sick with worry for my wee scoundrel who’d run away. Lord forgive me, what sort of mother FORGETS

I flew across the house, my guilt over Claire momentarily replaced by outrage at myself and fury at my son and RELIEF. “Ian!!” I sobbed as I threw my arms around his thin frame. “Ian you –YOU–oh—!” I swore violently, a great string of things, but all grateful, all emphatic with love as I squeezed him tight, wetting his shirtfront “—I’m so glad you’re safe, a chuisle.

“I’m fine, mam,” he said with a sigh, though he returned the hug. 

I pulled back and slapped his shoulder, hard. “Well ye WILLNA be by the time I’m done wi’ ye! What were ye THINKING, Ian Murray, runnin’ away like that wi’ no word???”

“I DID leave word, Mam!” 

“Oh, ye think a wee note is enough? Not in this house, Ian. God, I’m so fashed and so happy in one single moment—” True enough; I was panting with the rush of the relief and the fright of the last two weeks. I hugged him again, then pushed him toward the stairs. “Off wi’ ye—we’ll deal wi’ your punishment later.” 

I turned from one Ian (well, the back of one, as he sulked off) to sigh in relief at sight of the other. “There’s my sweet lass,” he said, grinnin’ that bright, warm smile that I loved so well and holding out his arms to me.

All but fell into them, I did. “Mo ghraidh, ye found him.” I pressed my head against his chest, so happy to have him close; so happy for the relief of havin’ him hold me. There, against his heart, all could be well; all the voices and the shame and the rage could be silent. 

He kissed me, touched my cheek, then turned for the study. “I didna do much.“ He thudded into an armchair and pulled me into his lap. “In fact, I didna even get to Edinburgh.” 

“No?” I grinned, kissin’ his dear face. “Was he making such puir time? Chasin’ after lost pups and rabbits, again, aye?” 

“Nay, he’d already been to Edinburgh. When I came upon him, it was head on, already on their way back to us.”

I jolted back. “Their?” 

“Aye, Ian and Jamie.” 

JAMIE?”

Go after her 

“Aye, who else?” Ian kissed me, blithe as ye please. “Said he didna trust Wee Ian to come back unescorted, and rightly so.”

Go after her

“Well, and — it’s good ye were able to meet Jamie on the way.” I brushed my hands nervously down my skirt, tryin’ not to give in to the feelings risin’ up in my gullet. “He’ll have needed to be back in his shop as soon as possible.”

“Oh, nay, he left Fergus in charge. Said he was past due for a visit. No sense in him making the journey twice, now, is there?” 

“Jamie’s — He’s — ?” I felt as though I were going to faint. 

Go NOW

What if he finds out? 

You MUST tell him. 

I canna — I CANNA —

I screamed it at my conscience, but it wasna like the rage of before: a scream of panic. The weight of what I’d done—it was fallin’ down all around me and over me, smashin’ apart my anger and my stubbornness and my pride only to reveal beneath all my darkest shame and regret and 

“Jamie’s gone to Balriggan, then?” 

“NO, a nighean,” came a grinnin’ voice that paralyzed me as surely as the bolt of a crossbow in my spine, “he’s behind ye.”

Lord, help me, 

I canna


Smoke. [Bucky x reader]

Request: Hey! Absolutely love you and was wondering if I could get a request based of these prompts? “She’s got tangled hair and cigarettes” “I like the look of your face when you’re yapping on about him” “I don’t wanna be your friend I wanna kiss your neck” “When I see your pyjamas I can’t stop smiling at you” Bucky X reader if you don’t mind xx

Warnings: slight angst, drinking, drunk reader, smoking (duh), one or two swear words.

A/N: my first dedication goes out to the beautiful @minervaem without whom I would not own thousandsof goats 
Also to @buckyywiththegoodhair because Nicole is a sweetheart and offers some of the best advice, and @just-some-drabbles for putting up with me and just reassuring my lame self generally 
Thank you to the all three of you for generally being awesome ahhhh i don’t know how to talk or dedicate stuff to people help

here’s my masterlist 


Originally posted by jlstreck

He often found solace in the wisps of smoke floating to the ceiling. The fashion in which it danced gracefully through the air, weaving its way down your lungs as you drew in a deep breath, inhaling greedily in the temporary high it gave you.

His eyes observed the rough tangles of your hair that carelessly cascaded down your curved back. Your fingers enclosed around a cigarette, eyes closed gently while the city continued on in the merciless manner it always did.

Your conversations were something he’d like to equate to smoke as well. It gave him peace in the restlessness, adrenaline in the pure form of adoration.

As your fingers outstretched to slowly offer him the small half burnt roll of tobacco, he made sure to notice how your mouth emerged in an imperfect circle, the exhaust falling over your lips like the remains of what used to be a powerful waterfall, now reduced to the calm flow of water from the edge of a cliff.

“Fuck him,” your voice declared sturdily, artificial tranquility seeping through your words. 

Bucky chuckled deeply, raising the cigar to his mouth, trying to push away the aching sense of happiness he achieves with those few words.

“You’re laughing now, but I’ll eventually find someone who’s good to me,” you objected, a smile taking over your face. “And you won’t be laughing then.”

Bucky elected that appropriate moment to hastily take a wind of smoke, delaying the time for his reaction.

The twinkling lights of the offices which had just been illuminated glimmered in both your irises, occasionally being disrupted by the blinking of your eyelids as the breeze blew over your heads in a flurry. 

The soft blaring noises of the cars brought him happiness as they drove, full of life, through the busy streets of New York, distracting him from the harsh real life he found himself living. He let the sounds of other people’s lives calm him down, keep him grounded. 

“God, he’s such a loser.” You snapped him out of the daze he so often found himself in when he was in the familiar setting.

He tilted his head to look at you, eyes trained on the bottle which had made its way to your hands. The second bottle shared between you two this evening.

You took a swig of the liquid, each drop assisting in forgetting everything, forgetting him.

He who was not the first of many, who had so recklessly played with everything you were sure of, everything you stood for and tore you down.

“He truly is.” Bucky nodded along with you, wanting nothing more than to clasp your hands in his and pull you through the heartbreak you so desperately tried to mask.

“But he’s a funny guy. He makes me laugh, and he doesn’t listen to me that often, but when he does, he understands. He took me to one small part of Central Park once. That was nice.” You had a smile on your face and Bucky couldn’t bring himself to hate that fellow for that particular reason. Because in the end, he did make you happy, even if it was for the shortest of time. 

“I like the look on your face when you’re yapping on about him,“ he admitted to himself but kept from you, seeing a small twinkle in your eyes which he was sure was only for the moment.

You were intoxicated, and intoxicating both. He found himself wanting to have more of you to himself, to get drunk off of the feeling of your skin contrasting his, your fingers intwined with his, but was too late in realising it.

“To be honest, he’s kind of a jerk. And he’s not a nice person. He’s trouble for me, but he still gives me a thrill, I think. I guess I like the thrill, not the relationship,” you said thoughtfully- drunk, but thoughtfully-, evoking a sense of admiration in Bucky.

“But I still love him, you know?” You sighed, gulping another bit of the magical substance which to you, seemed to drive away negative thoughts from your mind. “Which is stupid, because he doesn’t deserve me. He probably deserves a nice punch in the nose for cheating on me, but not me. He doesn’t deserve-”

Your voice cracked, sending thuds of agony to Bucky as he shifted closer to you almost automatically, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, hoping that the sad look in your eyes as you looked to the horizon would disappear.

“Don’t allow him to make you question yourself. You are worth so much more than him,” he said, almost commanded, watching as the bottle made its way to your mouth again. But he just let you do it. “If he can’t see the kindness in your heart that makes me- us love you, or the excitement in your eyes when you see something you love, then he isn’t worth keeping around.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked down at your folded knees, trying to process what he said.

It was silent, and he could almost feel the gears turning in your brain, the very same that induced the thoughts that you had or the ideas you spoke of.

“You said ‘me’.” Your voice was confused, accusatory.

“What?” Bucky asked, lost.

“You said ‘me’, but changed it to ‘us’. You said you love me, but then you changed it.” If you weren’t drunk off your ass, maybe you would have kept it to yourself. It wasn’t the first time Bucky was so careless with his words.

“You caught me.” He shrugged, earlier upset but now thanking the fact that this would have slipped your mind by the next morning.

“You love me?” you asked almost innocently.

“Of course I do. I’ve told you before.”

“I don’t remember,” you murmured, shifting to look at him.

His serene eyes told you nothing that you wanted to know, showing you none of the pain swimming underneath in his mind.

“You won’t remember this either.” He sighed, and you did the same, making him quirk an eyebrow at you and smile.

“Why don’t you ever say it to me then? I always thought you saw me as a friend.” He turned away from you again, looking back at the setting sun. He’s had this conversation too many times for him to want to repeat the same answer.

“I don’t wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your neck,” he sang softly instead, quoting the song he had been listening to on repeat for a week, his gaze focusing on the skyline. 

“Your lips pressed to my neck. I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.” You half-sang, half-giggled, seemingly forgetting about whatever had just been said, instead focusing on a different song.

His fingers tightened ceremoniously around your shoulders in an attempt to make sure you wouldn’t slip and fall off the edge where you both had resided. 

“Can I say something to you?” you asked, pausing momentarily to look at him.

He gave a small hum as an answer, and you took it as a yes, leaning in to whisper into his ears.

A slight chill ran down his spine as your lips ghosted over his earlobe, making him gulp nervously and force a straight face. If this was going anywhere where he wished it would go, he would have no clue how to react.

“You know,” you began sultrily, not helping his state, “when I see your pyjamas I can’t stop smiling at you. I like you in them.

Bucky stared blankly ahead, taking a moment to register what exactly you had just said. 

“Okay, come on sweetheart. I think that’s enough for today.” He spun around, trying his best to keep his voice from cracking, to hop off the ledge whilst ignoring your cries of protest.

His rough hands held yours securely as he helped you down, throwing your one arm around him to help you stagger along.

“Bucky just because I kind of love him doesn’t mean that I love him more than you,” you whispered, sighing soon after.

All he could do was smile sadly as you continued walking, the sun have gone down already, trailing with it all the words he could have confessed and feelings he could have acted upon.

In the end, all your conversations and gestures would be washed away in the morning along with the liquor because as he said, your conversations were like smoke.

And smoke was only vivacious for a brief period before it dissipated into the atmosphere, leaving no trace of even being there.



TAGGING:

@aya-fay, @imabookworm31, @allofthesearetakendafuq, @crapythings,@melonberri,@redstarstan, @buckysberrie,@jarnesbrnes, @imagination-imagines,@karollbey, @frnchhhh @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aioli,@talesoftheimpala@shamvictoria11, @knittingknerdy, @beccaanne814-blog, @catwomvn, @tchoolla, @a-reallyshadycroissant@intenselyupset