too many laws

i’m..convinced the mcelroys are incapable of creating a show without a gay character of some kind? 

like. taz has 3 canon gay relationships, monster factory’s mëlissa has a girlfriend, bone dogg from touch the skyrim has kissed and married (and killed) 2 men, busto 2.0 from car boys has had intercourse with both himself and iron man, doug from law abiding citizen is undeniably falling in love with russ, and at one point in things i bought at sheetz, dwight and justin just straightup get married

theasexualscorpio  asked:

Hello! I'm working on a canon-divergent AU fic, and I was wondering...what are acceptable reasons to break a betrothal in Westeros?

Ummm… mostly we just know unacceptable reasons, really. I mean, it depends what you mean by “acceptable”. Just because one party decides to break the betrothal contract doesn’t necessarily mean the other party’s going to be especially pleased by it. And there’s certainly going to be some social criticism, one way or the other. Also, in our-world medieval times, where these could be the reasons to invalidate a betrothal:

  • revelation of an existing betrothal or marriage
  • evidence of infidelity
  • evidence of infertility
  • failure to meet the financial or property stipulations of the betrothal contract

the party whose actions invalidated the betrothal generally had to pay some kind of financial penalty. There could even be a suit for breach of promise.

But I can at least give you some reasons for broken betrothals we’ve seen in ASOIAF:

  • Joffrey Baratheon and Sansa Stark: the treason of Eddard Stark. (“Your Grace, the gods hold betrothal solemn, but your father, King Robert of blessed memory, made this pact before the Starks of Winterfell had revealed their falseness. Their crimes against the realm have freed you from any promise you might have made. So far as the Faith is concerned, there is no valid marriage contract ’twixt you and Sansa Stark.”) Mutual agreement on both sides. (Although Sansa had to make sure she didn’t look like she was pleased by it.) Note that Ned had wanted to break the betrothal based on the revelation of Joffrey’s incestuous parentage, so that would also be a reason to consider a marriage contract invalid.
  • Robb Stark and Roslin Frey: broken by him, because he married Jeyne Westerling instead. Caused the Freys to desert him, and also eventually the Red Wedding, so y’know… not exactly acceptable there.
  • Arya Stark and Elmar Frey: broken by the Freys, after Robb married Jeyne; pretty much mutual (Robb was in no position to complain, and Arya never even knew she was betrothed to begin with).
  • Brienne of Tarth and Ronnet Connington: broken by Ronnet, on meeting her, because he thought she was ugly. No mention of any financial penalties, but certainly the parents were displeased (and Brienne was utterly crushed).
  • Brienne of Tarth and Humphrey Wagstaff: because she beat him in single combat. Mutual, as he had told her he would expect her to not wear armor, and obey his wishes or be chastised, and she said she’d only allow herself to be chastised by a man who could outfight her. No mention of any financial penalties.
  • Maegor Targaryen and Rhaena Targaryen: not sure how definite the betrothal actually was (whether it was just proposed or what), but it was broken by the High Septon on the grounds of incest.
  • Duncan Targaryen and the daughter of Lord Lyonel Baratheon: broken by him, because he married Jenny of Oldstones. Which started a mini-war because of the insult to the Baratheons.
  • Jaehaerys Targaryen and Celia Tully: broken by him, because he eloped with his sister Shaera. Caused major offense to the Tullys, though it didn’t go as far as war.
  • Shaera Targaryen and Luthor Tyrell: broken by her, because she eloped with her brother Jaehaerys. Ditto re the Tyrells.
  • Daeron Targaryen and Olenna Redwyne: broken by him, because he preferred the company of his boyfriend. It’s not said how offended the Redwynes were, but Olenna likes to say she was the one who put an end to the betrothal.

(Also, several betrothals broken by the death of one of the parties before the wedding: Alys Karstark and Daryn Hornwood, Brienne of Tarth and the younger son of Bryen Caron, Robert Baratheon and Lyanna Stark, Catelyn Tully and Brandon Stark, Arianne Martell and Viserys Targaryen, Viserra Targaryen and Lord Manderly, Laena Velaryon and the son of a former Sealord of Braavos, Lucerys Velaryon and Rhaena Targaryen, Jacaerys Velaryon and Baela Targaryen, Tywald Lannister and Ellyn Reyne.)

Oh, and note that according to one rumor, Rhaenyra Targaryen tried to seduce Criston Cole because she hoped if her betrothed Laenor Velaryon found out she was not chaste, he would break their betrothal. (She didn’t want to marry him, as he was gay.) Though whether she was a virgin at her marriage or not, she and Laenor were married anyway.

Anyhow, hope that helps!

Got7 as police officers:

Jaebum: usually an undercover because he’s got the looks/takes the police car on a cruise when on duty/the first to fall asleep in case meetings

Mark: the single, women officers all have a thing for him, but he never notices and counts them as extremely friendly coworkers who love their job/everyday at work is a good day for him

Jackson: asks too much questions about each case/wants to help catch bad guys but is always given paperwork to do/constantly begs chief to put him in an active unit “please please please please”

Jinyoung: right hand man of the chief/tries to save Jackson from trouble most of the time/has the best stories of catching bad guys

Youngjae: the happiest officer on the job/whenever he pulls a car over for speeding, he never forgets to talk about his dog with pure excitement for a few seconds

Bambam: the officer who adds additional accessories to his uniform to display his pride in serving the community/checks himself out at every glass door before entering

Yugyeom: a newbie on the job/gets pranked too many times at the station that he pulled his gun on accident a couple of times

November Madness

Nothing like an election
To ensure no discretion
And tear our country in two
Over hot topic issues

Where morals have gone astray
Justified both night and day
Family values hard to find
In a world a bit unkind

Maybe my eyes only see
What hurts me internally
As I miss child innocence
Where truth was not on the fence

There’s more than one topic view
Where arguments will renew
Like the law on school bathrooms
And what about selling ‘shrooms

I think there’s too many laws
Invading our human flaws
So if people would be kind
The Gov gets off our behind

Tomorrow’s lil election
Not something I see as fun
Just a day to bring out hate
As peeps quarrel and debate

❬ ❬  Fixing The Licking Flames  ❭ ❭

Pairing: Alpha!Steve Rogers/Omega!Reader/Alpha!Bucky Barnes
Word Count: 5,525
Warnings: Smut, Dirty Talking, A/B/O Dynamics, slight Daddy Kink
Request: “ Can you write something where Alpha!Steve and Alpha!Bucky have the same mate - Omega!you ”
Summery: Bucky returns back from the mission early, an alpha needing to take care of his omega. Steve isn’t as happy as he wishes he was that Bucky’s back, but he reluctantly lets Bucky take care of you. Bucky ponders on the fact that your group is a triad, and how your bonding mark came to be with him. Bucky’s knot is what breaks your heat, and as much as you love Steve, sometimes you just need the wounded super soldier in recovery. 

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Law that’s not how you train dogs at all??

IT CALLS FOR A DOG AU! Veera said like wow imagine this and then I was like hell yeah and ta-daa, I had to draw it. Law is the frustrated owner of this mutt Luffy, give him strength.

  • University: you need a certificate of training issued by an organization that trains Service Dogs
  • Me: *asks someone knowledgable in these things where I can find an organization that will issue training certificates to owner trained dogs* *gets in touch with one, is reading*
  • Organization: The ADI Public Access test is $350
  • Me, a broke student with no money: ..... Mom... We need to talk.
Part 2

[Part 1]

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Personal Headcanons: Law
  • If he was from our world he’d be English-Indian (Indian father, English mother - they met on med school fight me);
  • Law is aromantic - not sure about his sexuality though, but I like to think he’s a grey ace;
  • He suffers from OCD and PTSD; as a doctor he does his best to keep them under control, but some days he relapses and his crew likes to make sure he’s comfortable. They give him space, cook his favourite comfort food and make sure he knows they are there for him;
  • Jean Bart became his older brother figure after he joined his crew; he’s really loyal and cares a lot for his captain;
  • He has a soft spot for tiny fragile creatures, he knows how it feels. He really wishes to be for them what Corazon was for him, but his social awkwardness and attachment issues don’t help much;
  • His tattoos are not only a reminder of the people he’d love and lost, but they’re also the way he found to bring them with him when he manages to give them justice;
  • He likes music quite a lot, it makes him feel comfortable, and more often than not the boys catch him singing Soul King’s songs on the shower;
  • He has a deep connection with his sword because it is cursed, just like he thinks he is, and that’s the main reason why he chose to keep it (besides, it looks badass);
  • He secretly feels flattered when Luffy treats him like a nakama, but he will never let him know that;
  • When time comes, he’s going to be by Luffy’s side to make him the pirate King;
  • He thinks he’s cool but he’s not

Islam seems to be filled with too many laws. However, Islamic laws provide a system and an organization for a religious life of a Muslim. Planning constitutes of setting up conditions and principles, and it is an essential part of any successful action as if any activity is not properly planned, it is bound to fail. As they say, “If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.” Dr Bilal

help me escape, please.

genre: angsty, lots of drabble, fluff that can only be seen through a microscope
pairing: jimin x reader (first person; idk why i just started writing it like that and didn’t stop)
word count: 7k
author’s note: this is based on a dream i had. yes, the things in this happened in my dream, and yes i dreamt of jimin. it scared me but yeah
warnings: implications of violence

The camp sat in the middle of nowhere, in the barren emptiness of neglect and abandoned souls. This camp wasn’t rainbows and butterflies, telling fake ghost stories by the lit campfire or dancing to campfire songs strummed on a battered acoustic guitar. No, this wasn’t that sort of camp at all.

The Youth Institute of Refinery and Reform was an underground, government-run facility that ticked all too many of the government laws deeming it illegal, but for the past 15 years no one had done anything about it, the cold place continuing to run.
With the name being somewhat self explanatory, it was a place where young men and women were sent to smash out bad habits, turn them into perfect people; refine and reform, but it was never the case.
It was a place with no emotion, no mercy, no hope for help and no escape, unless the people admitted met the requirements of what was considered “better,” whatever better had meant.

With a place as cruel as this, came people who were against it. My mother worked for the government as a neuro scientist, a psychiatrist of sorts, who was too qualified and in turn too envied to be given the glory of the abilities she was capable of, so in the unfair society we live in, under the watchful glare of the government, she was assigned to the institute to monitor the individuals… Patients that were admitted. She had worked there for a number of years, the number too irrelevant to count, and over the years I would see her also mentally deteriorating from whatever horrors she’s had to encounter within.
The place, of course, was supposed to be a secret or at least on the down-low, but when I was 16 I overheard her conversation over the phone with someone by the name of Director Choi, and confronted her about what her actual job was. Since she had grown frail, she gave in and told me everything but warned me that we both could be in big trouble if any information was falsely leaked.

As for me, I was a budding journalist in the middle of college, ambitious in seeking out any juicy information I could get my hands on. I had always hated what the institute had done to my mother, even though she tried not to show it, I knew, so I had nagged her for months to get in so I could investigate and file an article- exposé on whatever cruel actions were being forced on the patients, and to hopefully bring justice to the youth of the world that were held under the grips of the government, and finally after a whole year, I got my shot.

Due to my mothers extensive years in the facility, she had gained a high rank, you could say, within the hierarchy of the institute. With this she managed to get me one week inside, to do “whatever I pleased,” with restrictions. Of course. I should be happy, I mean I am ecstatic. But why am I scared? Thoughts pass through my mind as I pack my duffel bag with what I needed, and I was intrigued by what situations may arise and what I will encounter within, what people I’ll meet and how they are like. With a humph of a sigh, the stuffed duffel bag zipped closed with a final tug, and was slung over my shoulder as I bounded down the stairs.

My mother was waiting by the door, accompanied by two large men clad in all-black suits, equipped with earpieces and too-large sunglasses. A snort accidentally escaped my throat.

It’s like the fucking men in black. It’s ridiculous.

My mother shot me a glare as we made our way towards the all-black car with all-black tinted windows, and I ignored her stare as I flung my duffel bag into the vehicle, followed by hauling my body into the rough leather seat.

The drive was long, taking a full day, as I could see, even through the darkly tinted windows, the sun setting against the purple horizon of bare nothingness, shooting rays of muted warm yellows and oranges in all directions. The air turned cold, an involuntary shiver crept down my spine as my arms subconsciously wrapped over my body, closing tightly around my torso. We pull up in front of a tall grey building, which lacked windows, following that strange stereotype of sanitariums and mental hospitals. I step out of the car, adjusting the straps of my duffel bag to evenly distribute the weight on my shoulder and began following my mother and the two men inside the cold, hard building.

The two men stopped at the first security gates inside the foyer, leaving me to follow my mother in the twists and turns of narrow, dimly lit corridors to her small shabby office and adjoining lab. There was a small rap of knocks on the door to her office just as I set my bag down on the smooth marbled floors, a tall woman with a hard face, dressed in a pantsuit took a step in, silently handing my mother a clipboard. I stepped from foot to foot behind her as she flipped through the pages, analysing the neat cursive scrawled on the pages. She gave a small nod to the woman as she stepped out of the office.

“We have a new individual,” my mother told me, before silently gesturing for me to follow her out the door.
Waiting outside, was one of the security guards clad in the murky grey coloured uniform I had seen many staff wearing.
“A guard always accompanies a staff member. You must always be with one, please. Don’t stray inside this walls,” my mum said, in a hushed but strained voice.
The way she had said it sent chills down my spine and I reluctantly give her a small nod of my head and begin trailing behind her, the guard behind me.

We reached a different room, sort of like a mini infirmary, equipped with a single bed, a small bench with medical supplies and an IV drip ready to be used at the side. My mother instructed me to sit at the chair in the far corner and stay quiet, so I obeyed, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. Not long after, there was a small knock on the door before a young man walked in, accompanied by a guard behind him.

He had his head hung low, stark black hair like a curtain covering his eyes and shadowing his face. Despite the obstruction to his eyes, I could see that his eyebrows were knitted together, his teeth catching on his bottom lip, gnawing at the plump, pink skin. He had a solid build, his shoulders weren’t very square and his body was straight, but nonetheless solid. He was twirling and tugging at his thumbs, feet shuffling awkwardly- nervously, not knowing how to present himself.

My mother started towards him, lightly guiding him by his shoulder as she nodded to the guard to leave. The door clicked shut behind him, as my mum eased the young man onto the edge of the bed and she took her seat across from him.

“Hello, I will be your doctor for your time here. You can call me Rose, I’m fine with informalities. This is my daughter, Y/N. She will be sitting in on our sessions,” my mum gestured towards me and I uncross my legs to give a small bow. He lifted his head slightly to give a nod of a bow, before hastily casting his eyes downward again, but not before I could catch the warm deep brown colour of his eyes, opened large and swimming with fear.

My mother started asking him general questions; name, age, where he was born, where he had lived and similar questions. He answered quietly and politely, always ending each of his answers with a “Miss Rose” despite my mum trying to tell him that just Rose was fine. I sat in the back, silently listening, my eyes casting over the young man seated on the bed, watching as he bit his lip and pulled on his tshirt while my mother talked to him. I didn’t know this guy, but for some reason my heart clenched to see the amount of fear he was in.
That was the day I met Park Jimin.


Park Jimin was 22, the same age as me. He was born in Busan, studied dance at Busan Arts Academy then proceeded his education in Seoul until he was 21. That was all the information I had gotten, I never found out how he had come to be admitted to the institute.

After the short meeting with him, walking back towards my mother’s office, the staunch guard following me, I couldn’t stop thinking of those deep brown eyes so wide in fear that I nearly overshot my walking. I took a few too many steps past and away from my mother’s office that I was harshly tugged back, grips on forearm by the emotionless guard. Rubbing my arm, I enter the office and sit at the desk, pulling out my laptop. Opening up a new document, I begin typing. I started with his hair. So stark black that even when the light shined on it, no other hues but the darkest black appeared to the eye. The fringe of it hung low, split 2:3, grazing above his eyes in soft feather-like strands. Then his eyes. The deepest, yet warmest dark chocolate brown colour. Arguably richer than chocolate. Evenly shaped, rectangular and slightly droopy, but had been expanded in fear. His other facial features. Soft, pink and plump lips, always catching in between his teeth. His teeth, a pearly white, one front tooth only slightly crooked giving off a unique charm. His face was a rounded oval shape with full cheeks, yet his jawline had been significantly defined, the shadows below the bone harsh under the blue-light. Then his build. An average height, straight shoulders and figure. He had been slouching in recoil, but his build was noticeably strong.

With a sigh I sit back and stare at the words on the screen. Rubbing at my face, I haul myself up and take a few paces around the room. My mother soon walked into her office and explained to me that Jimin was sent to a room to get rest, and that tomorrow morning I was to accompany him to breakfast.



Day 2
I woke up with a start to my alarm set for 7am, fumbling at the buttons on my phone to stop the nonsensical ringing emitting from it. Dragging my body out of bed, I made my way to the bathroom ensuite and washed my face. I stared into the mirror, analysing my plain face. I shook my head and left the bathroom to get dressed.

I checked the time - 7:46am - and step out of my assigned room, making my way to a room on a different floor scrawled in my mother’s handwriting on a small ripped piece of paper. When I reached the destination, a guard was already standing by the door. I give him a nod, before giving a light knock on the door. I step back to wait momentarily, and it wasn’t not long until Jimin steps out, his hair sticking up in some parts of his head. Instinctively, I reach my hand up to smooth down the stray hairs, focusing on one strand that refused to stay down. My eyes travelled down to his, and I heard myself gasp as they stared back in curiosity. I hastily drop my hand taking a good step back, smoothing down my top.

“Ah.. Sorry it’s a habit,” I give him a sheepish smile.
He shyly smiles back in return, nodding his head in understanding before focusing his eyes back on the floor.
“Uh I’m here to take you to breakfast.. Are you ready to go?”
He glances at me still donning a small smile, and shyly gives a nod. I smile back, and step aside for him to walk beside me, silently guiding him towards the cafeteria.

7:59am - we were right on schedule as we entered the bustling open space through the heavy metal double doors. Almost immediately after entering, Jimin had begun tugging at his shirt, eyes glued to the floor, the black curtain of hair shadowing his face from the brightly lit cafeteria. I could see him gnawing on his lip again, no trace of a smile anymore. His eyes vaguely expanded and following the lines of the vinyl on the floor. I bit my lip, lightly touching his shoulder.
“Jimin? Are you okay?”
His eyes met mine, and I saw the same fear I had yesterday. Absolutely terrified and expanded so large in size my heart clenched.
“Hey it’s okay, come on.”
I lightly guided him to an empty table at an abandoned corner of the large space.

As I sat him down, I never realised I had been subconsciously tracing small circles on his lower back, and swatted my own hand away, sitting opposite to him. I worriedly watched him, analysing the emotions flashing on his face as I saw his shoulders rise up and down. He was hyperventilating. Hurriedly, I rushed to his side of the table and put and arm around his shoulder.
“Hey, Jimin. Look at me. Focus on me.”
His deep brown eyes searched mine, as his shoulders continued to heave up and down, his breathing becoming more erratic.
“You can talk to me, okay? It sounds super stupid for me to say this because we just met, but I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise you that. Do you understand me?”
And as I pulled him in for a hug, I frowned as I realised I had really meant it.


It was now 5:13pm in the evening, and I was sitting back inside my mother’s office alone, once again staring at my laptop screen and the small blinking cursor begging for me to type more words. I shut the lid down and stared at the clock. It wasn’t another 40 minutes until dinner time.

Before I realised I began pacing, my mind relaying over the events that occurred during the day.
Jimin had suffered a severe panic attack, and was hastily given a mild sedative after our short embrace, his hands clawing at my arms, eyes expanded past the maximum as the guards struggled to keep him still. I had remembered my own voice shrieking, “be careful, you’re hurting him!” before Jimin’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped limp to the ground.

My eyes flicked back to the clock - 5:32pm - There was still plenty of time before I had to take Jimin to the cafeteria again, but before I knew it I was out in the hallway, carefully closing the door shut. I made it to Jimin’s room in less than 5 minutes, and warily eyed the guard down, “May I see him?”
The guard looked me up and down, eyes narrowing in suspicion, minutes passing before I squeaked out a please and he finally opens the door.

Inside the room, the curtains were half drawn, only a sliver of light shining through the crack in the linen. My eyes scan the room, stopping at a lump laid atop the covers in the middle of the single bed. I lightly pad my way over to the bed, gently taking a seat on the edge, tentatively reaching my hand out to rest on his back.
“Jimin, are you alright?”
The lump shuffles and turns around to face me, eyes still on the mattress. He gives a small nod, almost hard to miss, and begins chewing on his lip again.
“Okay, well I’m right here. We don’t have to talk, we can just sit here.”

“It was my dad,” I was startled by Jimin’s voice breaking the deafening silence.
“Wh- What did your dad do?”
“He’s not really my dad. Step dad. He put me here.”
His voice was only just above a whisper, as his fingers trace the lines and patterns spread across the bed sheets, eyes following the movements.
I didn’t want to ask the wrong questions so I kept silent, donning an encouraging expression to allow him to carry on.
“He abuses my mother. She has no control. I tried to stop him. I tried to stop him,” his voice trails off as I instinctively rub circles on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, you can take your time telling me. Doesn’t have to be in one go.”
He nods, casting his eyes to the far wall, slightly glazed over and out of focus.

I didn’t want to break the silence, but we were already late for dinner call.
“Jimin, are you ready to go to dinner?”
At my question, he jolts up, distancing himself from me and pressing his back against the wall. His eyes widen and his breathing begins to accelerate.
“Please. Please don’t make me.”
Surprised by his reaction I get up from the bed and try to approach him, but he flinches away.
“Oh no, no no. No, Jimin I won’t make you, I’m sorry,” I took a step back and watched him from a safe distance, pulling at my thumbs in worry.
His breathing slowed down, and his muscles relaxed, his shoulders drooping.

“I- I’ll leave you alone now,” I stuttered out, taking backward steps towards the door.
“No- Wait. Stay.. For a little bit,” he raises his eyes to meet mine, showing an unreadable emotion, “Please?”
Feeling my heart tug at the plea in his voice, I pull up the chair from the desk and sit diagonal to the bed.
“You’re.. You’re good to talk to,” he quietly mumbles, “I only trust you right now.”
My chest tightens at how small he sounds, as if the whole world was against him for doing absolutely nothing wrong and I quietly sit and watch him playing with the hem of his white tee, tracing the stitching and rolling the edges up and down. He looked so focused, I spare this chance to analyse his face. He had soft features, they were kind. And warming, I didn’t need to see it to know that his smile could warm up a whole room.

After a while, he began speaking again. He told me of his younger brother, who was taken away by his grandmother because she didn’t want him around his violent step-father. He told me about how his favourite place to breathe was this one small beach in his hometown of Busan, how the sunsets there were as soft as the colour of violets and the petals of roses. How the sea air was refreshing, and whipped a healthy glow onto your cheeks. He talked about the small bed of flowers that lined a path he used to walk to and from school, and how he would always pick a different flower to put in his mother’s hair when he got home each day.
He talked, and I listened for hours, and before we knew it, the room was silent again. But it was comfortable.
Jimin’s head started to droop, his subconscious beckoning him into a slumber. His eyes closed and opened lazily again as he began to nod off. Just as Jimin’s body betrayed him, and he started sliding down onto the bed, I put the chair back and quietly made my way out of the room, gently closing the door shut.


Day 3
I awoke and got ready the same as the previous day and headed straight to Jimin’s room. I knocked before entering, only to walk in on him shirtless, back turned.

“Ah! Sorry!” I fumbled with the door, almost slipping and falling while I slammed it a little too loud shut.
I caught my breath and leant against the wall. The door cracked open, and Jimin’s head pops out, peering at me curiously.
“Y/N? You okay?” his voice soft, with a sense of humour behind it.
When I looked at him, he was showing off a small smile, amusement clear in his eyes. I push myself off the wall, slightly rolling my eyes before facing him.
“How are you doing today?”
He shrugs, averting back to shy Jimin, and suddenly finding the floor more interesting.

“Uh, it’s almost breakfast time..”
Jimin’s head whips up, once again looking terrified at the mention of meal time, shuffling in his step. Hurrying to get my words out, I stumble while approaching him.
“Uh wait- But don’t worry. I talked to my mum and we made some arrangements with the staff. They can bring food to us- I mean, you. Just until you’re like, um you know.. more comfortable. Being in the cafeteria and all.”
His brows knit in confusion at my rambling, eyes searching mine, and as if on cue, one of the kitchen staff appears with a steel trolley, two trays of food on top, looking between us with a judgemental expression. She walks away, waving her hand behind her, grumbling about something incoherent. I look at Jimin.

We ate silently inside Jimin’s room, the occasional comment about the eggs or bacon coming up. I could’ve been dreaming, but I swear with my soul that Jimin kept smiling weirdly into his food, then covering himself up by coughing or stuffing more hash brown into his mouth. I decide to break the silence.
“Hey Jimin, want to hear a joke?”
His head perks up, his face beaming in curiosity, and gives a small nod.
“What colour is a hamburger?”
“… Burgundy.”
There’s a pause before he breaks out in a full-out grin, his eyes disappearing, creating small little crinkles around the crescent-shapes.
The once silent room was soon filled with Jimin’s ringing giggles, his hand subconsciously covering half of his face.
At the sound of his laughing, my heart blooms and I can’t help smiling widely myself. He removes his hand and I suddenly gasp, finding his smile breathtaking. I mentally confirm, that his smile indeed could warm up a whole room and I feel small butterflies constricting my breathing, clenching my heart and making me light-headed.
Jimin was beautiful.

We spent the rest of the morning talking, me hearing stories of Jimin’s childhood; his adventures with his real father before he was ripped from him, when his mother would bake and he’d help only to create a mess in the kitchen. In turn, Jimin asked me small questions, finding interest in my favourite colours, and being intrigued by the stories I’ve encountered and written. I could feel Jimin growing more comfortable, and opening up in front of me. I’d see hints of his habits, like how he always covers his face when he’s embarrassed or laughing, or how he’d fold his hands in front of his lap while absentmindedly talking, or the small crinkle of a frown between his brows when he’d try to recall a more distant memory.

When the room turned silent again, I decided to speak up.
“Jimin, you start therapy this afternoon. Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to join you,” I could see his expression glaze over in worry, and I hurried to say more, “but I’ll be here to talk afterwards.”
At my comment, he eases a little, and takes a deep breath.
“You’ll be called at 3, and I can walk you there if you’d like?”
He nods, giving me a grateful smile.

3:00pm came earlier than expected and we found ourselves outside the double doors leading to the therapy wing of the building. I look at Jimin apologetically, but he smiles in understanding. The guard that followed us takes Jimin by the arm and leads him through the double doors.

I returned to mum’s office and result in staring at the clock as the minutes slowly tick by, tapping my pen impatiently against my notebook.
Time passed too slowly, each tick of the clock hand menacingly mocking me, growing louder in my ears.
I groaned, rubbing my face and getting up from my seat.
Why was I feeling so concerned for Jimin?
He will finish in 10 minutes.
I forced myself to wait until 4:55 before making my way over to the therapy wing.

I stand outside, checking my watch every 10 seconds.
He should be done by now. I waited a little longer, not realising I had been pacing back and forth, glancing at the door after each round.
A doctor followed by two guards come through the doors. My eyes search behind them, looking for the black curtain of hair. When I didn’t spot him, I look at the doctor who already had his eyes on me.
“Where’s Park Jimin?”
The doctor eyes me questioningly, before clearing his throat.
“He’ll be kept overnight for closer monitoring.”

He walks away as I frown in confusion, staring at the double doors.

Kept overnight? But it was only his first session.

Still in confusion, I make my way back to the office, overthinking different scenarios which would cause Jimin to be kept overnight.

Did he say something wrong? Did he lie? He wouldn’t lie would he?
Or did he assault someone?

I shake my head.
You’re being ridiculous, Y/N. He’ll be fine. You’ll see him tomorrow.


Day 4
For the whole day, I did not see Jimin.
I had gone to the therapy wing twice, as well as checked his room a few times. But there was no trace of Jimin.

I tried not to think about it, because why would I be so concerned for him anyway?

And it hit me. Had I grown to care for him?
No, that’s not it. I’ve only known him two days.

Or was it?


Day 5
I woke to my alarm again, groggily getting up.
The first thought that enters my mind is Jimin. I shook my head as I busied myself with getting ready for the day and step out of the room, making my way towards the dining hall.

I hope Jimin is okay, what are they doing to him?

I get my breakfast and sit at an empty table, chewing at whatever food was thrown onto my tray, hardly tasting the blandness of it. Countless of thoughts enter my mind, about Jimin, not about Jimin, my mum, this building, that guard. I clear off my plate in no time, and robotically put the tray away, walking the corridors to my mum’s office.
I once again sit at the empty desk, laptop flipped open in front of me, staring brightly back; welcoming but not welcoming enough. With a sigh, I get up from my seat and find myself pacing again - a habit I seem to have acquired during my short time here.

What is this feeling? This unnecessary amount of concern, the sour taste at the back of my throat?
Just why were they keeping Jimin for so long, what are they doing to him?
I hope he’s okay, damn it, why do I feel this way?

You care for him, you idiot.

I groan and slump to the ground, leaning against the cold, hard stone wall, scraping my hand frustratedly down my face.
I wanted to scream from the amount of worry that was eating away at my stomach, churning at the thought of pain being possibly inflicted onto Jimin. Jimin who was so sweet, so pure and kind. Who has full cheeks, a warm smile and a contagious laugh.
Exasperated and with insanity gnawing away at my thoughts, I get up and roam the corridors again, finding myself in front of the doors to the therapy wing.
I press my face onto the small window of the door, eyes peering around, but seeing nothing in return.
Without thinking, my fist collided with the door, causing a loud rattle to echo through the hard empty hallways, inflicting an inhuman-like moan to draw from my throat.

This fucking place, it makes me crazy.
How can my mum stand it?
There’s no sunlight, no life.
It makes me sick.
I want to get out of here. But where the fuck is Jimin?

A split second later, the corridors descend into pitch black, lights weakly flickering before going completely out. Small red lights that line the ceiling every few meters begin flashing at an erratic and constant speed, accompanied by a deafening siren.
Blindly, I feel the walls, eyes having trouble adjusting to the lack of sight, the red lights only providing small glimpses of the sickly-looking hallways originally painted a murky yellow, but now looking like a poisonous brown. Not knowing what to do or where to go, I lean against the wall, scrunching my eyes shut from the blaring siren emitting from the speakers at each corner, the sound drowning out my own thoughts.

God, fuck. What is going on?

There is a loud bang, and a figure comes crashing out of the double doors of the therapy wing. The lighting was terrible, but there was no mistaking the black curtain sweeping back and forth over the figure’s forehead.

Jimin?!” a strangled cry comes out of my throat.
At the mention of his name, his head whips to my direction and he stumbles towards me. He stops in front of me, his knees buckling as he fists at my shirt, falling helplessly to the ground. Instinctively, I kneel and take his face in my hands.
A choked sob falls from my mouth when I take in the sight in front of me. The skin swelled; a massive patch, in hues of black and purple, had been branded across half of Jimin’s face. His eye was swollen shut, his lip cracked and painted with dried blood.
There were tears streaming down his face, leaving trails where there was blood smeared on his cheeks. I sat him up in a crouch, frantically trailing my hands all over his face, swiping away at his hair to get a better look at him.
“Oh my God, Jimin. What did they do to you?”
He grabbed at my shirt, tugging and fisting at the material, clawing at me.
“Please. Please, please, please. Don’t make me go back there. Please, don’t let them take me back. Please, please.”
I choke on my breath at the pain in his strangled pleading, my throat constricting at the tears painting his face accompanied by the contorted expression of agony flooding his features.

“Patient 48021, Park Jimin. He’s escaped!” A booming voice sounds from around the corner.
Jimin begins to tug at me again, struggling to scramble to his feet. I help him to his feet, as they trip over each other, balance becoming something unknown to them.
Still with fistfuls of shirt in his hands, his knuckles pale from the grip, he pulls me towards him, a groan emitting from his throat.

“Y/N. Y/N. Please. Please, help me escape, please.”
I nod erratically, words failing to form a reply, and with all my might, I haul Jimin into a better standing position, snaking an arm around his waist and carrying his weight on my shoulders. We stumble-run around the corner opposite to where the voice came from, finding ourselves at a dead end.
My head whips around at my slim options, trying to calculate what to do.

What floor are we on? Therapy wing. Therapy wing, 4th floor!

I turn my head once again, eyes falling on an emergency stairway exit. Readjusting Jimin’s body, I plead him and his legs to cooperate, as we sloppily jogged towards the door, kicking it open with a loud crash. I glance behind me before dragging Jimin into the landing of the stairway, making my way down and praying that we don’t trip and fall. On the way down, Jimin’s small voice repeated the same sentence, “Please don’t make me go back. Please, please don’t make me go back.”
Swallowing the lump of a sob in my throat, I repeat the same reassurance to him, claiming we were getting out of here and never coming back.

Suddenly, four floors felt like 20, and my pace slowed down painfully, struggling to keep Jimin’s weight on my wobbly feet. A relieved whine escapes me as I read the door with a large G painted on it, and I yank it open by the handle, pulling Jimin out with me. We found ourselves in a parking lot, at the back of the building, empty all except for one car.
Stumbling, and tripping over our own feet, we make our way towards the lone car, surprisingly and to my relief, finding the door unlocked. I haul Jimin into the back seat, checking all his limbs were inside before slamming the door shut.
I had only driven a car once, the short commute to college meaning I never really needed to get my license, and now I’m filled with panic, praying my short experience in a car wouldn’t get us killed.
I never noticed the warm, salty tears streaming down my own face until my fingers were slick, unable to properly grip the handle of the glovebox to find the hot wires.

God fucking damn it!”
My fingers fumbled with the wires, and I heard a low whimper from the back seat followed by a quiet, “hurry up, please,” weaved within choked up sobs.
I had no idea what I was doing, only following the actions of the ridiculously stereotypical ‘hunky’ actors in the shitty GTA-like action movies where getaways always looked easier than it seemed, but to my own surprise, when two wires collided with each other, a spark appeared and I hear my own breath being drawn from my lungs.
I try the wires again and let out a cry as the engine roared to life, a low moan growing from below the car.

Thanking the heavens the car was automatic, I put the car into reverse, and back out of the space, locking it into drive before slamming my foot on the acceleration, crashing straight through the chainlink fence and swerving dangerously onto the road.
I had no idea where we were, it was the middle of no where, but I drove on the road, and I kept driving until I could see the sky painted in the same warm hues as my first day arriving to the institute, the un-tinted windows causing the saturation of the sunset to blind my eyes. I squint through the tears, and the brightness and focus on the lines painted on the road as it began to get darker and darker. Panic sets in as I realise my headlights weren’t turned on and the car slows to a stop. I pull over to the side of the road, the car becoming silent, only leaving my heavy uneven breaths and Jimin’s silent, whimpering cries to fill the small space.


Day 6
I don’t remember blacking out, but it was morning when my eyes opened again.

I frantically turn in my seat, causing a groan to sound as I notice the knot in my back. Jimin was still asleep, face screwed up in pain, his breathing hollow with his chest heaving up and down in uneven movements. Frowning at the subtle moans that come from the back of his throat, I lift his shirt to see the same coloured bruises littered on his ribs, hugging his torso, leaving next to no amount of skin-coloured flesh in sight. My eyes flood with tears, as Jimin starts awake from the gesture, scrambling to sit up and tugging his shirt down. I mumble out an apology before twisting back to the front, wiping at my eyes.

It hit me that my mum was still at the institute, not knowing I had escaped, and I pull out my phone to dial her number only to find 8 missed calls from her. I dial her number and begin to hyperventilate, waiting for the crackling on the other side signifying she picked up.
I silently sob in relief as her voice sounds frantically on the other side.
“Mum. Mum, I’m fine. I’m with Jimin. They did terrible things to him, mum. They beat him. I had to get him out of there. I had to.”
She shushes my rambling, saying she understands. She hurriedly gives me instructions: keep driving west, and there’ll be a motel. At the motel, mention where you came from and that I was sent by Rose, they’ll let you make a phone call, and stay the night free of charge.

“Call the police, they will come for you. Take care of Jimin, you’re all he’s got now. Y/N.. Y/N, there’s something I never mentioned when I told you about the institute. I have been working with several people to try and shut down this wretched place, the couple who owns the motel are some of them. And no opportunity to end this place has arisen until now. Please be safe, stay warm, I’ll try contact you as soon as possible. I love-”
My mother’s voice grew frantic, before the phone call was cut short. My jaw was slack in shock as I stare at the phone screen, my mum’s smiling face staring back in the photo. I didn’t want to think about what happened to her, but silent tears rolled endlessly down my cheeks as I put the car in drive and made my way west, Jimin silent in the back, and I could see from the corner of my eye, him occasionally glancing worriedly in my direction, his bottom lip catching between his teeth.


We pulled up in front of an old motel, and a middle-aged couple comes rushing out even before I could get out of the car. I sat emotionless, as the woman opened my door, eyes scanning me in panic, helping me out before taking me inside.
“Wait, Jimin,” I worriedly cry.
“He’s right behind us,” the woman cooed in my ear, petting at my hair and rubbing at my arm before setting me onto a chair, “you’ll be alright.”
I wanted to faint, and I did just that, seeing Jimin crouching in front of me and taking my hand before darkness flooded my mind.


I don’t know what time it was, but it was night. I was laid on an old couch, in unfamiliar surroundings and I jolt awake.

“It’s okay, dear,” the woman spoke, getting up from her seat to hand me a glass of water.
“Where’s Jimin?” my hoarse voice sounds, hand reaching to take the water gratefully.
The woman nods her head to the side of the couch, where Jimin was sat on the ground, head laid on the armrest, the black curtain covering his eyes once again.
“He wouldn’t leave you alone,” she spoke again, “wouldn’t let me give him the chair to sit in either.”
I reach over and brush the hair from his eyes, heart aching at the sight of the bruises. He jolts awake at the sound of sirens, as I turn my head out the window to see flashing lights.
Policemen and paramedics rush through the door, crowding Jimin, and checking his injuries taking him straight into the ambulance, his panicked eyes looking for me. He meets my eyes as I mouth, “it’s okay,” before the doors of the vehicle shut.
My vision was blurry from new tears, as I was led to the police car and carefully placed in the back seat, streams of reassuring messages attacking me from all angles. The couple were outside the car, being questioned by two policemen, before approaching my window.
I croaked out a thank you, clutching onto the woman’s hand who smiled reassuringly, her eyes still drowning in concern. I try smile back as best as I can before the police car was pulled out of the motel parking lot, the figures of the couple, who’s names I never learned, turning into small dots on the horizon.


One Month Later.
I had learned two days after our escape that my mother was shot twice by a guard for fighting back, once on the side of her torso and another through her heart, before she collapsed and died. The police made to the institute shortly after, bringing authorities from several different countries and arresting all staff within the building for abuse, and mistreatment of human-kind, and skills. The place was shut down, releasing more than a thousand young patients trapped within the cold walls to their family members who had assumed they had disappeared. It turns out, the government were snatching up young people for experimentation, and not refinery. It was all a bullshit cover story that was eventually unveiled to reveal a cruel and sickening process behind the stone walls, that even my mother knew nothing of.

A month on, the story is still painting newspapers, making a feature on different news channels and causing marches against the government for their cruelty and lack of humanity.

I reach over to turn the TV off, watching Jimin in his sleep. A month on, he’s still kept in the hospital, due to his extensive injuries that were far more severe internally than externally, but he was lucky he got out before it got worse.
He stirs in his sleep, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, the skin between his brows creasing. He begins to thrash and I rush to his side.

“No, please! Don’t, no! Leave me alone, please-”
I shake him awake, and his eyes fly open.
“It’s okay Jimin, it was just a dream.”
He sighs in relief, eyes fluttering shut as I stroke the back of his head.
“I still won’t let anything bad happen to you. I made a promise, and I keep those promises.”
He nods, opening his eyes to stare back at mine. I place my hands on either side of his head, and plant a kiss on his forehead, before he wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a tight hug.

Everything is going to be alright now.

Originally posted by h-farah01

AU where Sanji escaped from the Vinsmokes and FAILED to reach East Blue, instead accidently stumbled upon DOFLAMINGO and hE ACTUALLY TAKE CARE OF HIM NICELY AND UNDERSTANDS THE KID’S PROBLEM ABOUT PARENTS AND ALL BECAUSE I MEAN HOLY SHIT??? Also, oh you can’t fight? it’s ok. we can try using your knowledge and brain. you like to cook??? go on and cook all you like. and he enjoYED BEING THERE BIG TIME also at some point he probably ended up talking that he wanted to be an invisible man aND IMAGINE THE LENGTH DOFLAMINGO WILL GO TO FIND HIM THE FRUIT

also he met Law for a while before Cora took him away and imagine in Dressrosa arc Law all be like “step aside, Sanji. I am going to kill that man” or something alongside the line and he was all like “HOW CAN YOU THINK THANK WAY ABOUT THE MAN WHO SAVED OUR LIFE???” and Law was like “The man who saved me was Cora-san.”///