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#the choice
renegadesstuff · 2 days
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The looks 🥺🥺
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julesthequirky · 5 months
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The Choice
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All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.
Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.
Characters/Pairings: Reader x Dean, Reader x Beau Arlen, Reader x Soldier Boy, OC mother, antique salesman
Warnings: (Warnings will be updated when chapters are released) Language, typical SB behaviour, smut, asshole mom.
W/C: 19,348 (so far)
A/N: All spicy chapters will be symbolised with a chilli pepper.
The Choice now has a Spotify playlist, which will be linked here.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven 🌶
Chapter Twelve
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suspendingtime · 8 months
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"It creates such a safe space, where you can play, and share ideas with one another. And it makes it feel authentic. It breeds chemistry. What's so special about this production is that it is really a family off screen. We all really support and take care of one another." - Simone Ashley
BRIDGERTON 2.06 'The Choice' | BTS 'At Home and on Set With the Bridgertons' | 1/?
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STAGE 1, GROUP W
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Top 2 qualify, 3rd has a chance.
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Music under the cut.
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watergh0st · 15 days
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sorry for the lack of posting lately, i've been in art block 😭
anyways, gl!ranboo is sm fun to draw :3
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definitely enjoying exploring different art styles
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gingersp1ce547 · 2 months
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Thinking about the surge of people who are ok with staying on the island if it means being with their loved ones. Thinking about how if the feds weren’t in the picture the island would be a place of healing and happiness for so many. Thinking about how eventually leaving isnt a choice, it’s a necessity for survival, especially for the eggs.
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todayontumblr · 11 months
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Tuesday, May 16.
it's nearly 3am, for pete's sake. let that cat in!
what's the matter with you, man. let that cat in this instant!
listen, and listen well, dammit, because I won't ask twice. that itty-bitty puss has been purring, meowing, and hissing for hours now, and, though it may be the winter outside, and it is christmas, this isn't your classic december 24th scenario. there is room at this inn, and we're going to let him inside, out of the cold, as if it it were the baby jesus himself. because, in many ways, he is—and apparently there's a northern star above our house.
you've got work tomorrow, I've got work tomorrow. and you can bet your ass that all the while that little critter is out there hollering all alone, meowin into the festive abyss, with nothing for company but a christmas tree, decorative lights, and wide-angle lens, we are not going to get a moment's shut-eye. and that's not good news for you, because I know for a fact you've got your end-of-fourth quarterly all-synergy christmas review at the office tomorrow, and I know your job's on the line. you think the board are gonna be happy when you drag yourself into the office with bags around your eyes, your tie on backwards, and cups of starbucks holiday blend in each hand? it may be the season of goodwill, but that don't count for much in your line of Business—even lonesome mr. whiskers could tell you that. 
speaking of, you hear that? give it some time and that one little whine is gonna attract all the other december strays. before you know it, we'll have a gregorian chant of kitty kats decorating our front lawn, and freestyling their own carols with not a care for tune or harmony. who knows—one of them may have a little catnip on their person. and then we are really in trouble.
if reason does not persuade you, then surely you are moved by the plight of this destitute animal? listen to his lonesome cries ringing out into the depths of the night, and pinky swear me that your eyes are dry at the intensity of his despair? because I do not consider it possible for anyone of reasonable mind to withstand, in spirit, that animal's pain as expressed through this his wretched song. this may be the season of merriment and jollity, but these are distant lands to the furry friend who currently finds himself lost, adrift, and alone at our most decorative doorstep.
if you are still cold-hearted to his plight, then consider this: he was brought to our door by its luminous, festive character. this cat has seen the tree, and fairy lights wrapped in an embrace around the columns, and understood its greater significance. this cat has come to understand this as a home of compassion, charity, light, and warmth during these darkest days of the year. if we ignore the sound of his cries, we are not merely heartless, but hypocrites to the decoration that adorns our front porch.
the choice is yours. it is almost 2:30 AM. the cat remains alone, waiting, wailing into night. 
what are you going to do?
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arinewman7 · 27 days
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The Choice
Illustration by Frances MacDonald
ca. 1909
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brachiocephalics · 3 months
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ten dead millions injured
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freckleslikestars · 11 months
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Maybe... I could have become something different. If you'd lived, I could have truly changed. But you are gone. And I am what I was bred to be.
Claudia Black as Aeryn Sun
FARSCAPE | 3.17 The Choice
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lostfieldtapes · 11 months
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GENERATION LOSS: THE SOCIAL EXPERIMENTS The Choice
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renegadesstuff · 3 months
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THE WAY THEY KEPT STARING AT EACH OTHER 🥺🤍
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julesthequirky · 2 months
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The Choice: Chapter Nine
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All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.
Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.
Characters/Pairings: Fem!Reader, Dean, Beau and Ben (Soldier Boy)
Warnings: Language, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, angst, dashed dreams, mental breakdown.
W/C: 1,617
Everything hurt. Your throat felt tight and sore. Your head pounded, and your eyes felt gummy from all your tears. Your knees ached, and your soul felt irreparable. God knows how long you’d been here for. It felt like a century.
“Sh, sh, shhh.”
There was that low, soothing voice again.
Your fingers felt stiff as they clutched the jacket of the person it belonged to. Your tears had soaked into their shirt, leaving a wet patch. They were warm, whoever they were, with a steady heartbeat, which helped to calm you. And they smelt nice. Musky aftershave…
Hands pushed at your shoulders, pulling you back. You didn’t want to leave the safety or the comfort of whoever’s arms you were in. The busy hum and the bright lights of the mall came rushing back. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing you were anywhere but here.
Warm, dry hands cupped your face, thumbs stroking over your hot, gummy eyes, catching any lingering tears caught on your lashes.
“C’mon, darlin’.”
You expected a Southern drawl but got Dean’s deep-timbred, Mid-Kansas accent instead.
“It’s safe. Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you. Not on my watch.”
Shame filled you, remembering the event that transpired and what you must’ve looked like to everyone in Walmart. You couldn’t.
“Hey, hey. Look at me. Look at me.”
Your eyes open, and Dean’s green eyes filled your vision. Magnetised, you focused on the flecks of colour, the hue changes and just how emerald they looked in the brightness.
“Where’s Ben?”
You’d left him alone in the middle of the store with Mark and the girlfriend.
Dean’s lips turned into somewhat of a smirk.
“Well, after you ran out, he tore right into the guy. Beau had to pull him away before he could land a punch. They’re both still inside the store, waiting for you. I suppose he’s not such a bad guy after all.”
Oh.
“We can go right home, put all this right behind us. I won’t pry. Hell, I don’t blame you if you never wanna talk about it ever again, but if you do want an ear, I’m here.”
Thanks to Dean, the intensity you’d felt a moment ago had calmed. The tightness in your chest and throat receded, your breath steadied, and the thoughts in your head cleared. You flung your arms back around him, breathing in his manly musky scent that was so distinctively his.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“No…I’m okay. Thanks, D.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.”
Your knees were aching on the hard mall floor. Dean pulled back and helped you up. You turned to the store and took a deep breath. Beau and Ben were inside, waiting. They would understand if you decided to abandon the shopping trip. But in all honesty, you weren’t a quitter. At least not in trivial matters.
You brushed yourself down and wiped your eyes. They still felt a little gummy but were quickly returning to normal.
You just hoped that Mark and his girlfriend weren’t still inside.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
You shook your head. “No, I want to.”
You took steady steps towards Walmart. Your cart and shopping were still in there, probably being looked after by Ben and Beau. You wondered how Ben was getting on. How angry he must‘ve been flashed through your mind. Angry enough to have a punch-up in public.
The hand on your lower back had your shoulders and back easing. It reminded you that you weren’t alone. Dean had your back. Literally. His touch felt natural like it belonged, but there was no way in Hell you were telling him that. You’d look crazy.
You returned to your cart, manned by Beau and Ben. Your ex-husband was nowhere in sight, and relief ran through you.
“Darlin’,” Beau hugged you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, almost setting you off again. “He never deserved you. He’s an asshole.”
Beau’s Southern drawl comforted you to no end.
He let you go, and you gripped the bar of the cart. So much was added. All that was missing were groceries. You steered the cart away from the clothing section. Walking in a daze, you grabbed items from the list in your pocket, whipping around the store. Ben added a crate of beer and the whiskey he had been drinking from.
You paid for the items, not bothering to bag them until you reached your cart. You opened the trunk. The guys helped you put it away, and you soon found yourself in the driving seat, staring into space, with Ben beside you.
The image of your ex’s new girlfriend’s pregnant round belly occupied your mind.
Ben poked you.
“You gonna drive?”
“Right.” You murmured.
You couldn’t remember the drive home or how the groceries made it inside. Somehow, you ended up in the room where Dean was sleeping, pulling open a drawer and taking out the set of baby booties from within.
The dream you so long wished for was now being taken over by someone else. Sitting on the bed, you let your heart break all over again.
*
A loud crack pulled you out of it, then a yell of rage. Sitting up, you placed the baby booties on the mattress and slowly headed down. Dean and Beau were surrounding the kitchen. From further in, you heard grunting, huffing and panting.
“I am NOT the one to blame!!”
Beau and Dean looked at each other. You stepped closer. You saw Ben’s eye lock on you from the space between Beau and Dean. Your heart leapt to your throat, and he was barrelling through both of them in a matter of seconds just to get to you.
“You!” He roared.
He was dirty and unkempt. His undershirt had stains on, as did the grey sweats he wore. He had great big bags under his eyes, and looked absolutely feral.
He grabbed your arm, gripping it tightly. Your eyes widened in shock, unable to free yourself.
“This fuck up is on you! I’m sick of taking the fucking blame for your fuck ups!”
You could barely take it in. Your brain was on the go-slow still.
“I didn’t—”
“No, but they sure have.” He pointed to Dean and Beau.
Ben was angry and bitter and had been for a while. He stormed past you and up the stairs. You followed, scrambling up after him.
“What are you doing?!”
“I’m doing what they’re too fucking pussy to do.”
He headed into the room you’ve been sleeping in, Dean’s room. Your heart leapt to your throat again, and your pulse spiked as panic shot down your system. Not the baby clothes.
The door barged open, slamming into the wall and splintering. You ran in after him, gripping the back of his vest, desperately trying to pull him back. He shoved you off like he was swatting a fly, and you landed on your ass with a thud.
He picked up the booties on the bed, keeping them in his fist. He turned to you.
“Where are the rest!”
You shook your head.
“I’m gonna start tearing out each fucking drawer until I find them.” It wasn’t a warning. It was a promise.
When you didn’t answer, he yanked the first drawer out of the chest, throwing it on the bed when it didn’t have what he was looking for.
“No!!”
You scrambled up.
“Please!” Your desperate, futile beg went over his head.
You needed him to turn and walk away like your life depended on it.
“I won’t ask again. Where are they, Y/N?”
You shook your head, pleading, tears streaming down your eyes, still trying to pull him away, feet slipping on the carpet. But he was superhuman. Your strength was nothing compared to his.
He couldn’t really be doing this.
The emotion in your chest expanded as he yanked open another drawer, ripping it from its hinges and chucking it on the bed when it wasn’t the right one.
The gaping wound seemed only to worsen.
“Stop!!” You screamed, raining your fists down his back. He ignored you and opened the third drawer.
The wound gaped further. Your heart lurched when his hand reached out. You leapt up, straddling his back and covering his eyes. He yanked you off, pushing you back against the bed. You grunted as pain sliced all the way up your back.
“Please, Ben.”
You didn’t understand why he would do this.
He turned to you, fists full of the tiny garments. “Your problem, Y/N, is you don’t believe in yourself. These clothes fulfil nothing. They don’t mean shit! Wake the fuck up and stop holding on to shit that’s meaningless.”
His words shredded your heart.
“They mean everything!”
He shot you daggers.
“Bullshit!”
Spittle flew off and landed on your forehead. You grimaced as you wiped it off and scrambled to get up as he turned away.
“No!! Please! No!”
No amount of begging or pleading would work. They all fell on deaf ears. He gripped the doorknob and swung it shut behind him, leaving you screaming and crying. You tried the handle; it rattled, but the door remained. He was on the other side keeping you from the clothes.
Your fists bashed on the splintering wood, and your throat burned from begging, pleading and sobbing, your energy fast draining. Anger spiked your system, and you kicked at the door. When that didn’t work, you gathered the remnants of your energy and threw it at him.
“I hate you!!”
Silence.
You slumped against the door, eyes hot and gummy, stinging with fresh tears.
Of course, you didn’t hate him. It would have made everything so much easier if you did.
Tags: @yvonneeeee, @curlycarley, @angelbabyyy99, @sassy-pelican, @k-slla, @deans-spinster-witch, @ashdoctor, @eretsupremacy89, @fanfic-n-tabulous, @deans-number-one-fan, @afro-hispwriter, @tiredstrangerr, @zemosdarling228, @justjensenandhisalteregos, @ladysparkles78, @nescavaneck, @winharry, @stellasfictionalworld
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colorful-craze · 11 months
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I just think it’s funny how we all expected Ranboo to face reveal in Generation Loss but instead he dropped the hardest f-bombs I’ve ever heard and then made us kill him
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suspendingtime · 7 months
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LT: "One, two, three."
ALL: 🤗👋🙌👏
ALL: 👐✋🤚🤲🫱🫲🖐️
ALL: 🙅‍♂️🙋‍♀️🤷‍♂️🙆‍♀️
ALL: 😅😂🤣
BRIDGERTON 2.06 'The Choice' | BTS 'At Home and on Set With the Bridgertons' | 5/?
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genlossobsessed · 17 days
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showfall had access to Ranboo's memories, and therefore, probably his mind, too.
so, they probably knew that he wouldn't listen to them, when putting in the code.
they gave him the illusion of free will, with an optional guide, when it was most likely all planned out.
they knew he'd disobey. they knew he'd be caught. they knew they'd get to the final point, the choice.
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