ugh i like these but the first one looks ugly with not many frames

No One Else - Chapter 2

Originally posted by fy-sexo-exo

Summary: You find yourself caught in the EXO gang even though you had just finally reached some form of freedom from your family. Will Sehun ultimately destroy your little bit of peace? Or will you join in his gang to find the place that you truly belong?

Scenario: Mafia/ Gang AU, Sehun Leader

Paring: reader x Sehun

Warning: Language - Possibly smut later on

Word Count: 3466

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

(Sehun’s POV)

The world was shaking. I groaned aloud, letting the world know that it should probably stop its movements if it didn’t want me to do something about it. Stupidly, it did not listen to my command, but instead I could now hear something. Was it a voice? It seemed familiar. I tried to pay more attention to understand what it was saying. “Sehun! Sehun! Wake up! What the fuck happened to you! Wake up” The voice sounded panicked, but hearing the person’s voice left me a lot calmer than before. “Chanyeol” Chanyeol stopped his shaking and yelling for a second, then continued a lot more harshly. “Sehun, you there? You alright? Answer me!” he was in fits. Sighing internally, I decided to have a little bit of fun. “Come closer” I croaked out. Chanyeol listened immediately and his ear was right beside my mouth, right where I wanted it. “STOP SCREAMING YOU IDIOT!” I yelled back as loud as I could. Chanyeol flinched backwards and I put a smirk on my face.

Moving to get into a sitting position made me realize how much pain I was in. I winced and exhaled sharply on my way up, making Chanyeol flutter his hands about me to try to help. I flicked them away and tried to give Chanyeol some answers. “That girl can fight.” Was the brilliant response I came up with. Chanyeol’s eyes got big “That girl did this? I thought maybe she was with another group that jumped you! How could she do this to you?” He was right to be shocked, I was still in shock. This girl had experience in fighting. Whether it was professional or street based, I couldn’t tell, but I was determined to find out. “We need to find her, we can’t let her go free. But before that, what happened to Mr. Byer?” Chanyeol’s face became stoic once again “He’s gone, I called the crew to take care of the body. Should be finished within the hour.” “Good, now take me home. I need to wash up and then we will find this mystery girl”.

Keep reading

The Crocodile Glasses

When knock-off copies of Jagged Stone’s super-awesome Eiffel Tower start popping up, Jagged is not pleased. Still, it doesn’t take long to come up with a solution- he just needs to release his own official line of sunglasses! And naturally, he needs one Marinette Dupain-Cheng to design them for him. Now, if only Marinette could figure out how to execute some of Jagged’s more out-there ideas…

(AO3) (FF.net)


When the first reports of knock-off Jagged Stone sunglasses came in, the singer-slash-songwriter was furious.

“A designer made those specially for me and I won’t have someone else profiting from her work,” Jagged told Penny as he filled out the paperwork for the report. His assistant loyally copied down every word for the press release. “That’s not fair to her.”

“Will you be releasing an official Jagged Stone Glasses line, sir?” Penny asked. “That way your fans can buy the glasses legally and the designer can get a portion of the sales.”

Jagged Stone perked up at the suggestion. “Yes! Perfect! What do we need to do to get that started? We would need to get in contact with a sunglasses manufacturer, right? You could do that, couldn’t you Penny?”

“I can do that.” Penny made a note. “Do you want her to design any other sunglasses so you can have a variety to offer?”

And that was how Marinette found herself getting a call at eleven o'clock at night from the rock star’s assistant, asking for three more sunglasses designs.

Keep reading

It’s Mother’s Day this weekend, yeah?

To mother is to hide.
From the very first moment, squeezing into a bar stool, not letting them see you sitting there with your huge tummy, gazing into other people’s beers with longing. Being invisible in the kindergarten’s whatsapp groups, taking notices of birthdays and parents’ days, blending in a sea of generic first- names, not letting them know whose mom you are.
Hiding behind empty words like lactation consultants and educational consultants and sleeping consultants, who might not know a single thing about your child, but they sure do know more than you. It’s hiding behind a tree in the playground to steal a few drags off a cigarette. It’s hiding in the toilet at home just to spend four minutes alone with your smartphone.

To mother is to fake.
Faking your enthusiasm over complete strangers’ ugly babies, just because you are walking the streets with a baby carrier and so are they. What a lovely drawing sweetheart, oh how talented you are. Faking being in the mood, because it has already (only) been six weeks since you gave birth, and of course you’ve missed him. Singing lullabies out of tune and faking a smile, because your voice is breaking, it’s the same songs they used to sing you when you were little and you want it too, you need someone to tuck you in and make you feel safe.

To mother is anxiety.
Full time. Why isn’t he sleeping, oh why isn’t he sleeping and why is he sleeping for three hours straight and how come no child has invited him over to play. It is to be anxious over the fact that your old life is over and you don’t even know yourself anymore and you are lost. Dreading the moment they’ll finally grow up and leave you and who’s gonna be with you and what’s gonna be with you then.

Being a mom is having framed photos of your kids on your desk at work, but not the best ones, because knock on wood. It’s buying all their clothes in warehouses, but sending them over to friends’ houses in the afternoons wearing the fancy Gap kids’ jeans that grandma bought for them.

Being a mom is letting them eat too many snacks and chips and Mack and Cheese from a box, and whining to high heavens when someone dares giving out lollypops or coke in the kindergarten. Cause if we don’t introduce them to Coke before they turn eight, they’ll forget it even exists.

Being a mom is being certain that you are not like everyone else, and what are those parents even thinking, I bet they are busier taking selfies than actually looking at their kid jumping on the trampoline. Yes, of course we would love to spend tomorrow afternoon with you guys!

Being a mom is sewing their Halloween costumes by hand and piping birthday cakes and copy-copy-copy but rolling your eyes every time someone mentions Pinterest moms because you are SOOOO not one of those.

Being a mom is being quiet, and not fighting next to them and not swearing near them and not saying what you really think, and maybe it’s for the better because you don’t even know what you’re thinking. And why.

Being a mom is to be proud. And transparent. Running over the bipolar scale between manic and depressed, giving up everything you own, everything you are, in one second, just for them, and feeling sorry for yourself and for all that you have lost. Laying yourself down on the sacrificial stone slab, bearing the cross and sitting alone in the dark.

To mother is to love, more than you ever thought possible. It’s missing the way things used to be. Before. It is devoting yourself to them, limitlessly, letting it consume your very being, but eating the last remaining chocolate bar alone and telling them that there weren’t any left at all.