*sits in corner and hope she likes it*

Uneasy || Grayson Dolan

SUMMARY - on tour, Grayson gets a lil sick  and doesn’t know what to do, so he calls you up.

WARNING - nothing, just cute fluffy Grayson.

WORD COUNT - roughly 1,000

AUTHOR’S NOTE - requested by an anon. i hope you like it and have a good day my lovessss.


Grayson paces his hotel room as Ethan sits on the corner of his bed, watching him. They were in Chicago, and had just finished up a show. Tomorrow, they would set off to their next destination. There’s only five more shows on the American leg of the tour until they come back home to Los Angeles, where she’d be waiting for him. 

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Jughead x Reader

Request: Jughead has a major crush on the reader, but the reader keeps talking about her crush to the squad and it’s always so cute happy positive impressive things so Jughead thinks it’s Archie. He gets really mad at the reader and asks out Betty, and the reader sees it, but Betty tries to tell him he’s getting it all mixed up and it’s one giant confusion.

I really want a really angst jughead one shot but I don’t know what to request, can you just work your magic? Please?

Warnings: None I don’t think

Word count: 3,327

A/N: Based loosely on the emotions faced in episode 10. Also yikes on the word count but I worked super hard on this one and it’s worth the read I promise.

‘As she sits across the cold stone table on a brisk Friday evening, the boy can’t help but notice the way the moonlight bounces off her hair on the left side of her face. The fluorescent bulbs from up above cast a shadow down her face, making her eyes glow. Those same piercing eyes look up from her romance novel, almost like a prediction of his future, and she can’t tell but the boy’s heartbeat quickens, as in this moment their souls have gotten one inch closer than they were before.’ Jughead writes as he sits across from (Y/N) in Pop’s, working on his novel.

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A love that never dies

Request: Can you do an Elijah Mikaelson imagine? Where the reader and Elijah were together and married before he was turned and when he was turned she was turned too. And when Elijah and the reader go to help Elena with Klaus, Elena walks in on Elijah and the reader having a cute moment and when the reader is leaving she over hears Elena asking Elijah about their love and he gets all glossy eyes and tell her about their story and how their love will never die. Fluff fluff fluff! Please and thank you! 

Disclaimer: There’s is slight mention of rape and also i changed it a little. I switched Elena out with Hope and made Hope around 15-16 years old in this. 


Originally posted by onlygodcanjudgeme-sh

Going back a thousand and a hundred and something years I didn’t expect my life to turn out like this. Ending up with the best guy. Ending up with the best family. Ending up with the best story.

“Honey, you’re missing a button,” Elijah said referring to the back of my long wine red dress I was wearing for the Mikaelson ball tonight. After having stopped Klaus from trying to kill Elena we, mostly just Elijah and i, decided having a classic Mikaelson ball would lighten up the mood.

“Really. I didn’t notice,” I said trying to bend my arms to button the top. I had one arm reached over my shoulder and the other one was pushing up the back of the dress so that I could reach the low cut back. I let out a huff as I for the third time failed in buttoning the stupid dress.

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on sketches

Sometimes Percy lets Vex go through his sketchbooks when he’s not using them - a sign of how much he trusts her, really.

A lot of his notes from before they met are messy and jumbled and - in many places - heavily damaged and torn. He doesn’t sketch people or places, just scribbles out ideas that would later become his guns. Vex finds a page early on where he tried to keep count of the days since he got free of Whitestone; it stops after a month and a half.

And then she hits the part where she knows they’ve met. He sketches out Keyleth’s circlet, Scanlan’s various instruments, little pieces of his new companions. And her. The first one is just a brief sketch, a scribble of what’s obviously her and Trinket. It’s cute, really.

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Express Yourself

A Bucky Barnes One-Shot

Character Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1048

Warnings: Oh, so much fluff….

Request: Hello, I was wondering if you could please write a Bucky x reader where the reader is a art student and maybe he asks her why she never paints him but she does she just never shows them to him😊 With like a lot of fluff. Sorry if it’s to much but I just love your writing. - @baileys-corner

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long! I hope you like it! And I know absolutely nothing about Art, so please excuse me, I tried my best! lol

Originally posted by ofallingstar

The ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room as you stood and looked at the canvas sitting on your easel.

You sighed. For some reason this painting wasn’t conveying what you wanted it to. You were being critiqued in two days and being the perfectionist that you are, this just wasn’t going to do.

You took the canvas down and grabbed a fresh one. Sitting it on the easel, you grabbed your phone and pulled up your favorite playlist. You were hoping that some music would get the creative juices flowing.

Before you could hit play, the door to your tiny apartment opened. Bucky walked in, holding two cups of Starbucks in his hands. He smiled at you, walking over and handing you one. After leaning down to kiss your cheek, he pointed to the blank canvas, “What happened to the other one you were working on?”

You shrugged, wiping your hands on your paint stained jeans, “I was having trouble making it do what I wanted it to.”

He nodded in understanding, having heard that same comment leave your mouth multiple times over the course of your relationship. “What is the subject this time?”

“Expressionism,” you said looking up at him. You laughed softly at his confused look. “Think of it as trying to express the meaning of emotional experience, rather than the physical reality.”

He shook his head with a smile, “How do you paint emotions?”

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Meet the Gang || Jughead Jones

Prompt from anon: I don’t know if you do this but I’m gonna ask/request. I would like to see the gang reacting to Jughead bringing his visiting boyfriend to Pop’s for the first time. Please and thank you either way.

A/N: Fun fact, this fic was inspired by the scene in “Supergirl” where the gang meets Maggie. :)

Gif by @aleclightwqqd


“What do you think she looks like?” Betty asked as she sipped her milkshake.

Archie shrugged.

“I think she’ll have pink hair.” Veronica said.

Betty raised her eyebrows at that.

“What? Why?” she asked.

Veronica shrugged.

“That’s just what I think. Pink seems to be Jughead’s color.” she said.

Archie laughed.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked. “Have you ever seen Jughead wearing something that was pink? Ever?”

The Lodge girl shook her head.

“No, but it doesn’t mean he can’t like it. Or have a secret love for it. It’s just a theory and a color, Archiekins. Chill.” she said.

Betty bit back a smile at her remark while Archie rolled his eyes.

“Well, I think she’s gonna be cool. That’s for sure.” the ginger said.

Betty and Veronica nodded in agreement.

“I wonder where they met.” Veronica said.

“Probably the movie theater at the next town over. She doesn’t live here, right?”

“Yeah,” Archie answered. “She lives twenty minutes from here. At least, that’s what Jughead said.”

“Why haven’t we met her yet?” Veronica asked. “Haven’t they been dating for like a year or something?”

Betty “mm-hmmed” as she sipped her milkshake.

“You guys know Jughead,” Archie said. “He’s always very mysterious. Probably just wanted to add to his mystery.”

“Still,” Veronica mumbled. “It’s a pretty long time.”

Archie shrugged again.

“Maybe,” he said as he sat back in his chair. “But whatever. We’ll meet her soon enough.”

“Oh, there’s Juggie!” Betty exclaimed.

Archie looked up and Veronica turned around just as they saw Jughead walk through the front door of Pop’s. He looked… nervous? Since when did Jughead ever look nervous? The jock waved at Jughead, catching his attention.

A second later, you walked in behind the beanie-clad boy. He took a deep breath and took your hand in his, leading you over to the group at the booth who were looking at you and him with wide eyes.

“Hey guys,” he said.

He looked at you and softly smiled.

“This is Y/N,” Jughead said before turning back to the group. “My boyfriend.”

You smiled at the group.

“Hey! It’s nice to finally meet you guys!” you said.

The three teens at the booth instantly smiled at your upbeat attitude. They especially couldn’t stop smiling at how in love Jughead appeared when he looked at you. It made them all melt.

“It’s nice to meet you, too!”

“Nice to meet you!”

“Hey man, nice to meet you.”

Jughead smiled at his friends’ reactions. He knew deep down they could be accepting but he couldn’t help but feel nervous before he introduced you to them.

“Sit, sit!” Veronica said as she moved over to the corner of the booth.

You sat next to Veronica and Jughead took his seat next to you so you were right between the two of them.

“So…” she began. “Start from the beginning. Where did you two meet?”

“Another refill please.” Jughead said as he brought your and his empty milkshakes glasses to the counter.

Pop smiled as he looked behind the beanie-clad boy at you and the group, talking and laughing amongst themselves.

“See? Nothing to worry about. I told you they’d like him.” he said.

Jughead smirked.

“Yeah, yeah. You were right.”


A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Please send me feedback!


@lydixstiles @jughead-from-riverdale @pinkhappypanda @iamthegoatmaster @subsi4123 @deanskitten @latenightbooknerd @lostinpercyseyes @captainelsaeverdeen @itsjaynebird @allineedisconnor @superoriginalteenwolf @sastielstan @1amluke @satanwithstardust @babearchie @theselfishllama @katshrev @juggiesjuliet @betty-coopers-number-one-stan @imperfectanatomy @casismyguardianangel @irrajj @fangites @apocalypticangell @sparklingriverdale @jvghead-jones-iii @onceuponagladerhead @isabellaskyliner @vodkaluh @tegan-eva @murderyoursoul @regenpony @xbobaaa @farmfreshcoldsprouts @hellolittlebigstudent @audreyxhorne @faithmichaluk @thebloodyshuckface @castawayalicia @lost-in-wonderland-x @holoqraphik @nadya0128 @soulception @jughead-archie-imagines @juggys-betty @twizzlersnizzler @riverdale–trash @barbarachern @likesiriusly @thatsavagehufflepuff @multi-madison @mrs-fangirl @thatcraxygirl15 @frobert20 @miss-mia-rae @buckyplease @myblackwings5 @thecrossroad-demon @writing-in-riverdale @jghdjns-iii @johnmurphys-sass @killjoyloki @annoyingsibling @gentlydean @ljrflowerprincess101 @goneghost123 @nafa1604 @elisayzrawr @that70skiwi @thedum1 @bex09 @the-local-dreamer-star @stephyra17 @reginaphlanageadams @river-vixns @genderabused @wetsknn

Drabble to go with this piece commissioned from @askbroodyelf, and a short break from writing another massively long fic that seems to never end.

Cole suppresses another sigh.

Humans really could be so complicated, making their lives so much harder than they needed to be.

It is so obvious - he had seen them sneak around each other at Skyhold, stealing glances and hearing Cullen’s thoughts so clearly whenever she was near, filled with want and guilt and fear of losing her –

resist, she is not yours, you alone cannot demand her attention

and she laughed at what he said, fingers grazing his armour –

so strong, so kind, I want him so much

It had taken months for them to take any steps at all, and Cole had to listen to their thoughts about each other nearly constantly. If only they could hear what he hears and just do what they want. Cole is frustrated because now, even after all the stuff before in Skyhold, they are doing it again, denying what they really want. The army is one day away from Fort Adamant and Cole has noticed that everyone’s thoughts have become particularly loud.

Kilastra sits at the fireplace, surrounded by friends but thinking of one in particular. She knows acutely where he stands, just over there with his men, firelight dancing over his features and he is thinking only of her, back hunched, half-listening to the stories his men are telling.

do I tell her, we could die tomorrow, she could die tomorrow – maker, I can’t

and she thinks

will it hurt him for me to stay with him, should I really add more burdens, I don’t want to hurt him

Cole is sitting next to Kilastra, he feels her worries acutely, they radiate out from her as the anguish coils in her chest and so he reaches out and places a finger on her wrist, startling her out of her thoughts:

“You should go to him. He wants you to.”

Kilastra blushes brightly, but she looks at Cole out of the corner of her eyes and says:


Hope blossoms from her, soft and pink and warm. It makes Cole sigh with relief.

He smiles at her, reaches to touch Cullen’s mind and says, “She is like sunlight, making everything brighter by her presence, warm and kind and maker, maybe I am in too deep…”

“Okay, Cole, you can stop –”, Kilastra says, her blush even brighter now and Cole knows she sounds stern but her heart is happy, beating fast.

Cole watches satisfied as she gets up and goes to him. Cullen pretends not to hear her coming, pretends he isn’t aware of every movement she makes and when she asks “do you have a moment?”, his heart leaps into his throat and he thinks for you I have everything, but he says “Of course” and they make their way out of the camp together, shy and nervous, their hands itching to touch but restrained.

As they turn the corner and out of sight he hears –

maker please keep her safe, I love her, I love her, I love her

oh yes Cullen, I need this, need you more than anything

Lips sliding together, desperate hands and desperate love and a bright, burning joy.

Cole smiles as the rest goes silent.

Calling it Hope

Summary: Abby misses Marcus after returning from Polis, so she seeks comfort in his room, his trinkets, his clothes. Of course, because she’s back in Arkadia, nothing is ever really private…and she learns some news that changes everything for her and the man she loves. 

(Translated, my Abby/Raven brotp feelings got away from me and I cried three times while writing this and it’ll probably have another chapter).

Everything looked like him, smelled like him, felt like him.

From the trinkets on his bedside table to the paintings on the wall, Abby could practically sense Marcus Kane in the room. She could see him sitting in the chair at his small metal table poring over maps of the surrounding area, laying in bed reading one of the numerous books from his amassed quantity on his bookshelf, gently hanging his guard jacket on the hook on the back of the door.

He was everywhere and nowhere, with her and in Polis.

Some logical part of her knew it was silly, girlish even, to come wandering into his room in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep. What was she, a lovesick teenager? She’d only returned from Polis that morning, could still taste their goodbye kiss on her tongue. His “may we meet again” still echoed in her heart, her head, written into her pulse. A few hours was by no means enough to stir the deepest depths of absence-induced longing in her heart, but it was enough to make her uncomfortable: enough to drive her thoughts back along the path she’d travelled and up into their room in the tower.

What was he doing right now? Had Roan fought and won? Was the alliance still intact? And if it wasn’t, had he, Octavia, and Indra gotten out of the city safely?

Again, logic: there was little merit in giving weight to unfounded questions and doubts. But with Luna’s arrival – and illness – it had been a chaotic day, and Abby had quickly begun tiring of reining in her wayward brain. Her exhaustion pushed her doubts into a downward spiral, and a constant, nagging churning in her stomach hadn’t subsided since she heard the Polis gates close behind her. It had become increasingly difficult to force herself to remain sensible where Marcus Kane was concerned.

Such ruminations would be typical of the kids – of Monty and Harper, maybe, whom she’d just learned were in a relationship – but she was a grown woman, well past having learned how to cope with the absence of the man she loved. She constantly reminded herself that Marcus was fine, that this was by no means the first time they’d been separated, that they’d been parted during far more strenuous times in the past. All things considered, this separation should have given her less cause to worry than the others.

And yet, when she woke from a hellacious City of Light flashback of a nightmare, there was only one person she wanted to see. One man whose arms she wished were around her, one voice she wanted to hear soothing her as she briefly struggled to see through the hazy mirage of dreams. But her bed was empty, the sheets around her cold with his absence, her skin cool without the warmth of him beside her. As she took a seat in one of the cold metal chairs at his table and rested her elbows on the surface – then her head in her hands – she took deep breaths and tried to shove the tears searing at the corners of her eyes into submission.

It may have been late – later than almost anyone else in Arkadia would be awake – but she’d left the door open out of an informal self-reassurance. She couldn’t give into this now: not when they’d only been separated for less than a day. She just needed to be here, she told herself, for a few minutes. To feel him for long enough to calm her racing heartbeat, to absorb the remnants of his smile and laughter that remained in those stationary objects. Being here was like sitting in the sunlight; she felt safe, warm, hopeful.

When she was here, she was with Marcus.

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BTS as types of drunk
  • Namjoon: becomes even more philosophical, thinks he's some sort of greek master and everyone around him is his pupil. Does not shut the fuck up about the universe, even if nobody cares.
  • Yoongi: happy drunk. Suddenly loses his resting bitch face. Sings loudly and wildly out of tune.
  • Jin: eats everything in sight and falls asleep in a ramdon corner. Somehow never has hangovers.
  • Hoseok: sensitive drunk. Gets touchy. Wants to hug and kiss everyone and tells everyone he loves them, including the waitress and the bouncer.
  • Jimin: a hoe. Takes off his clothes. Gets horny. Grinds on anything anyone. Dances like his rent is due tomorrow.
  • Tae: talks a lot of shit. Wants to adopt 50 puppies and picks their names. Cries if someone mentions dogs.
  • Jungkook: gets drunk after one beer. Sits in a corner hoping nobody talks to him. Starts sweating when a girl asks if she can put her coat down next to where he's seated. Gets a raging boner.

Sam x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,325

Originally posted by spn-mostly

[Gif not mine, credit as stated]

“Do you think she ever got sick of what we were doing?” Sam asked Dean solemnly, his heart throbbing as he stared down at the dead grass and leaves that surrounded his feet, “I–I mean, ya know… Ever wanted it all to just end?” 

Sighing, Dean placed a hand on the back of his younger brother and attempted to soothe him with sympathetic affection. Seeing as though this didn’t work in the moment, Dean let go of Sam and placed his hands in his pockets.

“I’m sure she never meant this,” He mumbled, his voice raspy with sorrow, “She was a good girl–a good hunter,” He looked up at his brother who only stared at a baron tombstone with a name that broke him to pieces, “She stayed for you, Sammy.” 

“She could’ve left. I told her so many times that she could’ve left.” 

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” 

Sam looked at Dean inquisitively, his head cocked to the side for a moment, but the sorrow never leaving despite his curiosity–he was such a mess. His eyes were bloodshot and his face had stubble growing, his hair was longer than it had been and shagged all about. He was incomplete without her; he didn’t know how to act or how to more or less survive without her presence.

“She would’ve done anything for you. Would’ve gone out and defeated the nastiest of monsters just to make sure you were okay,” Dean continued, “Hell, she even helped me out with those clowns a long while back. She did most of the stabbing and slashing. She made sure you were safe and when you ran away screaming, she made sure to attack those who made her Sam scream in fear,” He let out a light chuckle, “Sounded a little weird, didn’t it?”

A breathy little huff of air puffed out of Sam’s mouth as he smiled lightly at the thought. He remembered when she’d done that for him. Y/N had always been one for ‘taking one for the team,’ but Sam had hardly noticed how often she did take one for the team for him. He never noticed how often she would stay awake at night while he was still asleep to make sure he could stay asleep. He never noticed how on edge she was when they had to go on a hunt without Dean, because that was her back-up if she couldn’t do enough to protect Sam. She’d more or less tell him to stay back, to keep away from all the danger just so he wouldn’t get hurt.

But this time, she couldn’t stop how much he’d be hurting. He was hurting beyond belief; every bone in his body ached,e very muscle was sore, every nerve was on edge – and he hadn’t even been hurt physically. Her death impacted him more than he thought it would, but he’d been insane to think that it would’ve just been like every other death he’d experienced. His own and people he loved.

How sad, he thought.

“She was a good person,” Sam mused, “She did a lot for us. It’s hard to believe we’ll never even get to thank her for that.” 

Dean nodded, sighing lightly, “I think she knows.” 

Sam looked at Dean, “You think so?” 

“I know so.” 

A small smile lifted the corners of Sam’s lips. Just thinking about the fact that maybe she knew how thankful he was for everything she’d done made him feel a little bit better. He wished he could’ve told her in person; wished he could’ve said ‘thank you’ so many times. But right then would have to be enough. Just a single ray of hope, but enough to get him through.


Year later

Sam had been minding his own business in the bunker. Sitting at the table with books surrounding him like they did every evening. Whether or not he did it to keep himself occupied or to actually study things, nobody knew. All he did was sit around at that table and look through books upon books, either searching for something or seemingly intrigued in something. Dean teased him a lot about it; called him a bookworm and everything, but if he were going to be completely honest, he was proud of his younger brother. It’d taken him so long to get over… Her death… But a year later, he was flipping through books like they were links on a website. Dean often questioned what he was so eager to find or if he was even trying to find anything in the first place.

Dean was getting ready to go to the lab they had in the bunker. He was pretty curious about what technological devices were down there, plus they’d already had Charlie down to fix and explain everything to them. He wasn’t necessarily tech savvy, but he was object savvy–Dean would be doing a little rummaging.

Though, his rummaging plans would soon be tarnished as he heard a loud banging noise at the door at the top of the stairs. He glanced behind him to find that Sam was too engrossed in his literature to even take a gander at the door that needed opened. Laughing lightly to himself, Dean backed up and high-tailed his way up the stairs to unlock the door. He hadn’t even considered the fact that they weren’t expecting visitors.

Carelessly, Dean unlocked the door and swung it open.

What lay before him shocked him so bad he almost fainted.


She leaped forward and placed her hand on his mouth, “Shh!” She gestured her head downward toward Sam whom she’d noticed had heard Dean’s cry, but then he’d turned back around, rummaging through books upon books, “You have to keep quiet!” She whisper-shouted.

Dean was very quick to rip himself out of her grasp. He grabbed the door and slammed it shut, unsheathed a sharp knife from his belt loop, slammed her up against the wall, and placed the knife at her throat.

“You better explain to me real fast why you’re not layin’ in that casket Sammy and I both made and buried you in,” Dean growled, “You a demon? Huh?” He hissed, the knife almost scarping her skin.

“Go ahead,” She provoked, “Cut me.” 

Without hesitation, Dean grabbed her forearm, and ran the blade across. Blood poured out of the wound and as Dean came to the realization that it really was Y/N, his eyes widened and the knife he held in his hand dropped to the floor with a loud thud.

“Dean!” Sam called, “What are you doing up there? All you had to do was answer the door, not fight a demon!” 

Dean swallowed harshly and didn’t even try to stop his younger brother as he heard him incline the stairs. His footsteps stomped on the metal one stair at a time and Y/N realized that she was in for a very rude awakening when his eyes would meet hers. She wasn’t even concerned about all the blood falling down her arm; at least he’d know that she wasn’t a demon. 

“Dean, seriously. What are you–” Sam’s breath hitched in his throat as soon as his eyes met Y/N’s, “–Y/N?” He choked out, throat bobbing as he swallowed harshly and he kept getting choked up, “But… But.. We lowered you into the… The ground. You were–you were… Dead… You were…” Sam couldn’t seem to make any sense out of it and she didn’t expect him to. 

There were a lot of things she needed to explain but now was the time to listen to their wrath. She owed them that much. 

“That demon killed you!” Dean roared, anger spewing out of every crevasse of his body, “There’s no way you survived that! Cas wasn’t even around to save you and there’s no way he could have anyway. You were dead, Y/N!” 

Her shoulders grew heavy. It felt like she was carrying the weight of the world all on her own. She knew there was no time to pity for herself, but she couldn’t help it. She’d spent the better part of a year miles and miles away from the man that made her feel like she was on cloud nine and the other one who always kept her grounded. She hated the fact that she had to do that to them; that she had to do that to herself. She wanted to stay. She wanted to stay right there beside them for a very, very long time, but how could she do that now when they might not have actually wanted anything to do with her? 

“I know none of it makes sense,” She started, earning a small huff from Dean but nothing from Sam, he just stared at her – eyes glazed, “But if you just let me explain. I can–” 

“A whole year,” Sam whimpered out, throat bobbing and dry, “A whole year you were gone. We thought we put you in that grave. We thought we did what was best. We gave you a proper burial and I cried for hours on end right there at that tombstone I  made for you because I thought you were dead!” With every word his voice grew, until he was yelling by the end of his statement; a yell that cut deeper through Y/N than any blade had ever done.

“I know,” She spoke quietly, shutting her eyes, avoiding their gazes, “I know what I did.” 

“Then tell us why, Y/N,” Sam grabbed her hands, falling to the floor, collapsing right at her feet, face buried at her stomach, “Please just tell me why.” He was pleading, a gut wrenching plead that Y/N had never before heard come out of his mouth. She’d never seen him so upset – not over anything. 

“Look at him,” Dean gestured toward his brother, literally on his knees before Y/N, face buried in her stomach as tears fell down his face, “You see what you did to him? He missed you more than even I thought he would. I didn’t think you made that big of an impact on him – no offense – but you did. Your fake death or whatever…It had a major effect on him. For days and weeks and months, he sat in his room. He wouldn’t come out, he wouldn’t eat. It took me three very, very patient months to move him out of that room and put him at the table in the library,” Dean sighed, his eyes trained on his little brother, “You made him go crazy.” 

“You remember how we were cornered?” She asked; right hand carding through Sam’s hair gently as he kept his face buried in her tummy. 

Dean nodded.

“How Crowley was there?”

He nodded again.

“I made a deal with him,” She swallowed harshly, waiting for Dean to come back at her with something that would either irritate her or make her feel like scum. But he said nothing, just crossed his arms and let out a rather long exhale, “He told me if I didn’t fake a death – made by him, by the way –  he would make the both of yours very, very real.” 

“Our what?” Dean asked, slightly confused.

Y/N sighed, looking from Dean to Sam then back at Dean again, “He would’ve killed you both. I couldn’t let him do that.” 

Sam pulled himself away from her, and stood. As he looked at a rather large wet spot on her shirt, he realized how ridiculous he probably seemed. But he really didn’t mind being viewed as ‘odd’ all that much for what he’d just done. He’d missed her more than anything. He was so in love with her that all of his feelings vomited out of his body like a massive wave of nausea; he was angry, he was sad, he was happy, he was in love – all of those things came out as a gigantic flood of tears and yelling and pleading. He couldn’t help it. He was sensitive to emotion; especially when it came to things or people he cared a whole hell of a lot about. 

Y/N placed her wounded arm behind her back and waited for a few seconds before the blood finally stopped dripping. She hadn’t done anything particularly unique to it, but she’d picked up a few spells while being away for a while. She always kept a specific ingredient with her at all times; made sure she had a surplus of it. She was smart to know she’d always end up getting injured no matter where she went. 

She extended her arm, “I’ve learned a few things,” She changed the subject, not wanting to discuss what those boys most certainly did, “Spells, actually. They come in handy.” 

Sighing, Sam and Dean turned and walked down the spiral staircase. They had their shock; their “What?!” moment. Things as such happened more often than not to Sam and Dean, she shouldn’t have felt like she’d be any different.

“You comin’?” Sam called from the bottom.

Y/N walked toward the railing, looking over, “You don’t want me to leave?”

He chuckled lightly, forcing it almost as all of the pain radiated in his chest from all those unanswered questions, “Of course not. You’re home now.”


She practically bolted down the stairs as soon as those words left his lips. When she reached the bottom, she didn’t hesitate to jump up into his arms. Her smaller frame wrapped around his taller and larger one; legs wrapping around his waist, face buried into the crook of his neck, arms squeezing tight.

“I love you,” Her voice was soft, a crack to be heard as warm tears fell down her cheeks and onto his skin, “You’ll always remember that, right?” Her voice a small whisper.

Sam kept her tight in his arms, his hand running up and down her back as he nodded slightly.

“I’d never forget.”

The Janitor and the Music Teacher

So like idk if this is good or if it just isn’t but I’m gonna post it so you guys can say if you like it or not I guess haha

Beca Mitchell put the mop back into the bucket with a sigh. She’d finished this corridor, finally, although she had taken a little longer than usual. Miss Beale was teaching a music class in the classroom closest to where she was standing, and the melody was simply uplifting, filling every crevice of the corridor as well as the classroom.

Beca loved music.

She loved the tunes, the backing, the melodies and the lyrics. Everything. She loved instruments, too. The sleek look of the violin, a shining silver flute. Her favourite, however, was the piano. The melodies the piano could play was what kept Beca going, most nights. Beca admired anyone who could press down on the ivory keys, with just the right tempo to keep up with, and make music.

Like Miss Beale.

Beca thought Miss Beale of some form of royalty amongst the other teachers. She admired how many instruments the woman could play, her bright blue eyes, even her red hair was perfect. She was perfect. The perfect teacher. She was nice to every student, whether they liked her or they hated her, and she could play almost anything she was given. She had a talent that Beca only in her wildest dreams could she wish to possess. The talent of music. Sometimes, like today, Beca stood outside her classroom and just watched. She watched and she listened and she admired. Sometimes Miss Beale caught her, too. And, of course, Miss Beale smiled sweetly, and Beca would redden and look down at her cleaning. So far she has learnt that anything that sounded happy in music was in major key and anything that sounded sad was in minor key. She has been especially proud of herself when she listened to a piece of music and could tell it was in major key, even before the students had put their hands up.

But, as per usual, Beca was fast to leave when the bell went, always afraid that Miss Beale would shout at her for watching the lesson without permission.

A few days later, and after Beca had accidentally been caught moving about slightly to the music, Miss Beale actually walked over to the door.

“Shit!” Beca exclaimed, rushing to pick up a rag to make it seem that she was actually doing her job.

Miss Beale watched her amusedly, a smirk on her face, as the shorter brunette almost knocked over her bucket of water in her haste to clean ANYTHING.

“You’re Beca, right? Beca the janitor.” Miss Beale asked her, and Beca stiffened, too scared to look up.

“Y-Yes Ma'am.”

Beca glanced upwards at the redhead, who’s grin was so wide that it made Beca slightly at ease.

“Do you wanna come in?”

Oh. Well, that made sense. Miss Beale just wanted her to clean the classroom. “Sorry, Ma'am, I’m only allowed to clean classrooms when no students are in there,”

“Not for that reason! I’m not leaving here until you come in, so…”

Beca looked down again, knowing she had been intruding and watching for far too long now. “Uh, no, Ma'am, my job…”

Miss Beale laughed, and god, her laugh was one of the nicest melodies the brunette had ever heard. “I know you don’t need to clean anything until after lunch, Beca. You’re done for the morning, right?”

Beca was not about to lie to a teacher like Miss Beale. “Yes, Ma'am.”

“So come in, you can watch at the back if you feel more comfortable.”

Beca bit her lip. “Th-Thank you, Ma'am. That’s really kind of you.”

“Of course,” Miss Beale chirped, opening the door wider and letting Beca quietly slip in.

The brunette sat down on the floor in the very back corner of the room, barely believing what was happening. She was being allowed to actually sit through a music lesson, and Miss Beale had actually spoken to her. It was almost like being in school again. But this time, everyone wasn’t laughing at her when she got the answer wrong. Beca smiled happily as she watched Miss Beale play a piece of music on the piano whilst a student accompanied her with their violin.

When the lesson was over, Beca stayed in her corner, half hoping Miss Beale would forget about her and she could slip out.

“Beca?” Miss Beale called, and Beca shot up with wide eyes.

“Y-Yes, Ma'am?”

Miss Beale chuckled. “It’s cute that you call me ma'am, but Chloe is fine.”

“Chloe.” Beca tried out, the name rolling off of her tongue with ease. “I like your name.” She smiled. Beca looked down shyly. “H-how do you spell it?”

Miss Beale gave her a slightly confused, slightly scrutinising look, but replied happily and confidently. “C-H-L-O-E.”

Beca recognised the sound of four of five letters.

“You can come closer, I don’t bite,” Chloe chuckled. “Did you enjoy the lesson?”

Beca’s eyes seemed to light up at the question, and she treaded carefully in her used converse.

“Yes, Ma-Chloe. It was…really good.” Beca replied lamely, not knowing what else to say without sounding like a total freak.

Chloe smiled brightly. “Good! Do you like music?”

“Yes. I love it.”

Chloe tilted her head and smiled even brighter. “Can you play?”

Beca looked down and her shoulders deflated slightly. “No. I don’t know how.”

“Oh…” Chloe’s smile slipped from her face and she looked sad for a second, before smiling again. “I can teach you!”

“Really?” Beca asked quietly, barely believing why she was hearing. She could feel the joy rising in her and the lump in her throats beginning to form.

“Of course!” Chloe grinned. “How about today after school?”

Chloe could see that Beca looked like she was about to cry and she stepped closer, suddenly producing a tissue and putting her hand on Beca’s back. Beca sniffled loudly and let a watery smile grace her features.

“Th-Thank you, Chloe. That means a lot to me,” the brunette bit her lip and caught Chloe’s eyes to try and show her gratitude. She sniffled again but refused the tissues Chloe was offering her.

“Tonight at 4:30?”

“She probably won’t even turn up.” Beca muttered her thought out loud, but Chloe heard it.

The redhead looked concerned, then affronted, then sad. “What makes you think that?”

“Im sorry, ma'am, it’s just…nobody else really talks to me, unless they have to.” Beca’s eyes were at her feet, looking reprimanded.

“Why’s that? And I told you to call me Chloe.”

Beca only shrugged. “I’m sorry, Chloe.”

“That’s okay,” Chloe replied easily. “So, today at 4:30.”

“Sounds good.”

“And what instrument do you wanna learn?”

All of them, Beca thought. “I like the sound of the piano.”

“Piano it is!”

Chloe found the janitor slightly odd, but intriguing. It was almost like talking to a little kid, or one of her students. Beca seemed to think she was constantly crossing the line, almost like talking to people as a whole was new to her. But Chloe was determined to show the brunette that she wasn’t going to bail on her, Beca already seemed incredibly vulnerable as it is. She looked up at the clock and saw it was 4:35, and she sighed, thinking Beca really wasn’t going to show up. She looked out to the door again and found Beca just waiting. Chloe frowned and got up, opening the door.

“You could’ve just knocked, you know,”

Beca jumped. “Sorry,” she said quickly.

“It’s fine, just next time come right in,” Chloe smiled.

They both sat down at the piano, and Chloe took in the way Beca’s eyes seemed to gloss over as she saw the keys, and her wrist twitched.

“You can touch it, Beca. Go ahead,”

Hesitantly, the small brunette pressed down on a key and grinned as it made a noise. She pressed down again on another, and another, before doing two at once. Chloe watched her, finding it amusing how Beca seemed just like a little kid trying a piano out for the first time. Soon, Beca was playing an awful combination of notes and smiling happily.

“You like the piano, huh?”

Beca looked at Chloe and nodded. “Yes. It’s my favourite instrument. I’ve never been allowed to play one before.”

Suddenly, Beca blushed and looked down at her lamp, as if she had given away too much information. Chloe gave her another scrutinising look. She wanted to find out why Beca had never been allowed to before. She wanted to find out why she seemed so timid all the time.

“Well, now’s your chance. Do you wanna start by learning the notes?”

Beca nodded. “Yes, please.”

Chloe produced a sheet of music that had a row of notes perfectly drawn on them.

“There are acronyms that we use to remember the notes. The most common ones are Every Good Boy Deserves Football, E, G, B, D, F, which are the lines in a stave. This is the stave,” Chloe pointed to the five lines on the row. “And FACE. F, A, C, E. those are the spaces in between the lines. Are you with me so far?”

Not really.

Beca nodded.

“Great! So I’m gonna tell you what each note is and I want you to write it underneath, okay?” She was given a pen. Beca’s heart sped up. This was it. Chloe was gonna find her weird now and kick her out.

“Okay, so, A,”

Beca startled. She knew a. A was in her name.  Beca wrote


In childlike writing.

Chloe furrowed her eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. 


Beca refrained the urge to smile. That was in her name as well.




This was easy, Beca thought. She knew all the letters already.


Beca stiffened, panicking. She put the pen to the paper, but couldn’t write anything down. She didn’t know how to write it or even what it looked like. She looked down and her eyebrows furrowed deeply in worry.

“Beca? The letter d,”

Chloe watched in concern as Beca’s eyes darted around. The redhead sighed internally. She thinks she knows what was going on.

Deciding to test her theory, Chloe got up and wrote the word lace on the whiteboard.

“What does this say?” She asked kindly.

Beca’s eyes widened. All of those letters were in her name, so she sounded them out how they were said in her name.

“Lllllaakeh.” She said hesitantly, and by the look on Chloe’s face, it wasn’t right.

“Lace, Beca. It says lace.”

Beca bowed her head in embarrassment, trying not to cry. Chloe sat down next to her, moving to place a hand on Beca’s back, but the brunette flinched violently, so Chloe was fast to place her hand back on her lap again.

“Beca…” Chloe said softly. “Do you know how to read?”

Beca went incredibly red, and her eyes gathered with tears. She was jittery for a short moment, before jumping up and making to leave the room.

“Beca? Please-”

“I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry, I…” she ran out before Chloe could do anything.

“Wait.” Chloe sighed, wincing as the door slammed shut.

She hadn’t meant to insult Beca. Or make her upset. Chloe wasn’t even sure what had happened. One minute they had been comfortably talking and Chloe had been showing her the keys, but the next Chloe asked something personal, TOO personal, and Beca fled. Maybe Beca really didn’t know how to read, and was extremely self-conscious of it. Chloe would have to find out tomorrow.

Listen, do you know how lonely it must have been for El to be in the Upside Down for so long, all alone? To hear and see monsters around every corner, in every shadow? To get nights with no sleep, with no dreams, for months? And then…

Then she closes her eyes, so exhausted after a week of scavenging for food (looking in every freezer, hoping against hope she might find actual, un-tarnished eggos), and sees him: 

It’s Mike Wheeler, sitting on that ratty old sofa in the basement, reading a comic. But he’s not reading it, not really. His eyes scan the words but they don’t register them. He doesn’t even seem to be awake (and she thinks that maybe he’s trying to reach out to her, like she’s doing to him). Until the lamp flickers beside him. He’s startled, and El is standing right in front of him, and he can’t even see her. 

But at least she’s not alone. And he knows he’s not, deep down, even if he tries to rationalize it. They’re not alone just then, as the light glows so bright it seems like it might shatter. 

By Chance

//Okay, I hope I did it close to how you want it! I was slightly confused by where the location was, so I just did it in the room that Lee was in Gotham when Jerome came back to life, hope that was right. I found it hard to find a place to end it, so I just sorta eventually ended it so it didn’t go on too long.

Requested by anon.

Warnings: Crazy Jerome, fluffy Jerome.

Rating: Fluff.

Title: By Chance. //


Y/n sighs, turning the corner and steps into the room. A white cloth sits on a metal table, pulled back like something had been covered in it earlier. Y/n’s eyes scan the room. “Lee?” She calls out, stepping through the doorway completely, stopping just in front of the table. Her gaze falls to the floor, and her eyes widen as she takes in the dead officer. “Wha- Lee?! L-” The door swings shut, and a hand covers her mouth, and someone puts a gun up to her temple, laughing.

“Boo! Heh-heh-heh.” Y/n’s eyes widen, and she grabs at her attacker’s wrist, attempting to get away. “Oh,” he says, his voice rough and dry sounding. “Who are you?” His voice goes slightly higher pitched as he asks this, and he pushed her towards the metal table, hoisting himself up onto the counter across from it. He rests his arms on his legs, and his hands sit in his lap, his gun pointing out at her slightly. Y/n stares forward at him, blinking slowly, still in shock.

“W-who am I? Who are you! And-and where’s your…your face…?” The boys head tilts, and he grunts, making a rough, confused noise.

“My face?” His voice pitches up unnaturally at the end, and he goes into a wheezy, hysteric laughing fit. “Ahhh, doesn’t matter doll.” He slides off the table, and points the gun at her lazily. “Now, tell me. How old are you?”

“I-what? What does that have to do wi-”

“Ah, ah, ah. It’s rude to not answer questions.” He says, smiling at her through his bandages.

“Well, then answer mine first. Who are you?” The boy’s body tilts backwards, tossing his head back as he laughs softly.

“Ah-I-ah- I like that. I’m Jerome. Maybe you’ve heard of me?” After he finishes his sentence, his whole body convulses as he hacks and clears his throat, twisting his body and head in a jerking manor to turn back to her. He moves his face close to hers, his eyes dropping to her lips before quickly moving back to her eyes. “Sorry about that,” he says, pulling away and laughing lightly. “So, I answered your question. Now answer mine,” although he isn’t asking a question, his voice tips up again as if he is. She stares forward at him, and shakes her head.

“I’m 15.” She replies quietly. Y/n is a little freaked out by this whole situation, but at the same time, a little excited.

“Fif-teen?” He asks, breaking the number apart. “That’s a little young, don’tcha think?” He smiles cruelly, moving closer to her. “So, uh…whatcha do to get yourself in the GCPD, eh?” She stares forward at him.

“Pardon?” She laughs.

“Why are you here?” He repeats, drawing his words out.

“I’m trying to find my dad,” she replies, pulling back from him a bit. This just invites Jerome to move in closer.

“Ooo-hoo. Who’s your father, huh?”

“Jim Gordon.” When y/n says this, Jerome pulls back quickly, spinning and clapping loudly, laughing harshly.

“Oh, that’s just great! Ol’ Jimbo has a daughter? Who’d ever guess his daughter would be so interesting.” He turns back around to look at her, tilting his head. “Me and your father sorta go back a bit. I’m actually hurt he didn’t tell you about me,” he places his hand over his heart, and then shrugs, pointing his gun back at her. “So, what’s your name?” He asks, leaning forward and meeting her gaze with his unsettlingly wide one.

“I’m y/n.”

“Ooo-hoo, that fits!” He exclaims, clapping his hand against the gun. “So, tell me y/n, are there many…cops out there?”

“This is a Police Station, Jerome. What do you think?” Y/n quips, causing Jerome to laugh again.

“Ohh, I like you, y/n.” He points to her with his gun, and then laughs again, turning around in a semi-circle once more. “Well, I do have to go. I have a face to find, after all. But I think I’ll come back for you.”

“Is that all?”

“What? Do you think I’m going to kill you?” He asks.

“Well, I could inform the GCPD of what happened.”

“I’m sure they’ll figure that out on their own, sweet cheeks. Dead bodies don’t typically just disappear.”

“Well, no. But they do get stolen. I mean, this is Gotham.”

“Hah, hah. I really do like you. But you see, I really gotta go now sweet-cheeks. I just have to figure out who has my face.”

“Try the news. I’m sure if there’s a lunatic somewhere it’ll be on the news. Plus, I think I might have heard something about a…cult?” Y/n sighs, standing up. Before she can move, Jerome turns back around and points the gun at her.

“Sorry, I might like you, but I can’t let you leave until I do. For safety, of course.” Y/n sighs, and leans back against the table. “Plus, I like the company.” He says, turning the tv onto the first news station.

Blossom ~ An Avenger’s Story (4/15)

Originally posted by allthisherostuff

AU Summary: Y/N and Bucky’s relationship further develops as they stay in hiding. 

Notes: WARNING there’s smut. yeah. big shocker. please dont hate me. i hope you guys like it though. 

Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5


“Metal prosthetics isn’t really that rare these days.” she explained. “So it didn’t surprise me when my abilities sensed all that metal in you.”

Bucky stood quietly in the corner, not looking at her but he listened, intently.

Y/N continued, “The same goes for any object made with any metallic elements. I can manipulate them. Like magnets.”

“And the child?” he asked.

She looked down at Jack sitting next to her on the couch. “He was made to be like me. Only stronger. To create an army of people like us that, hoping to control HYDRA. Control the world.”

Bucky didn’t ask any questions after that. He knew that Y/N contemplated on killing the child just to get rid of such a creature. An enhanced baby that can only grow stronger than her? With powers that can rival her own? The only logical way out of this mess was to kill it. But it was a baby. A human child with it’s own life and thoughts and a future. Even Bucky would have trouble murdering a mere child. Especially now that he’s sworn off to hurting more innocents.

And Jack didn’t ask to be enhanced. He was a victim. 

Keep reading


Summary: Before Sansa leaves for King’s Landing, Jon unexpectedly gives her comfort, and something more, in a time of trouble. Ned Stark puts a stop to it.

For @jonxsansafanfiction Day 7: Flowers (Jon x Sansa: 15 Days of Valentines). Multiple POV.

Shoutout to @janebrkin for the lovely idea of Jon comforting Sansa during thunderstorms when she was little - I was inspired by your story and people should go read it! :)


Jon knew it was wrong, truly wrong, because his father was angry. Lady Catelyn had been known to come down hard on him for some perceived slight, but his father was fair, and rarely raised his voice. Lord Stark’s face was stormy now, his grey eyes like chipped flint.

“Never again, Jon, do you understand? You cannot–” Jon had seen his father at a loss for words before, but never with his mouth working quite this way. “Sansa is meant for–”

“A prince, I know, father.” Joffrey had pranced into Winterfell like the spoiled brat he was, and something about the way Sansa looked at him made Jon’s blood boil.

His father swallowed, then nodded. “Yes. A prince.”

Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His father had ordered him into the Lord’s Chambers and pointed for him to sit, after bellowing at Jon and Sansa in the godswood. Sansa had fled. “Why were you cruel to her, father? I gave her the crown. It was my fault. Sansa didn’t do anything wrong.” Jon wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong either, but he knew Sansa was blameless.

His father ran a hand over his face. “I’ll talk to her, Jon. It’s not your fault, either, you just – you must promise me, now, never to be alone with Sansa again.”

Jon didn’t fully understand why he had to stay away from his half-sister, but he swore the oath then and there. He didn’t even risk saying goodbye to her when he left for the Wall. Sometimes, when he took the watch at night, he’d look out over the shelf of ice and remember the crown he’d placed in Sansa’s red hair. He’d whisper a prayer into the cold air that Joffrey had become the prince Sansa deserved.


It was only flowers. Sansa liked flowers, liked to plait them in her hair and tuck them into Lady’s collar. So when Jon learned what had happened to upset her, he picked most of the blue roses in the glass gardens. He snapped off the thorns and wove a kind of crown –lopsided, hardly the perfect construction Sansa would have made. Jon might not get along with Sansa easily, but he cared for her, just like he cared for all his family. Maybe not quite the same way, since Sansa had come of age and he’d been less able to meet her eyes. Something tightened in his chest now when he saw her toss her hair over her shoulder, and he wasn’t inclined to examine the feeling too closely.

Sansa was ecstatic when the royal visit was announced. Jon would need to practice staying out of the way, but Sansa was to be put forward as a candidate for betrothal to the Baratheon prince. Sansa had always been a thoughtful, courteous girl, and she’d made a gift for Joffrey. Jon had seen her bent over her work in her lap, the tip of her tongue sticking out as she concentrated. She’d presented Joffrey with a handkerchief, emblazoned with a golden lion, that even Jon could tell was finely worked. Joffrey had bowed to her, and Sansa glowed with happiness.

At least, she did until she picked up the handkerchief by the corner that afternoon, where Joffrey had dropped it in the mud. Joffrey and his guards had just passed by the training yard, where Robb and Jon were sparring. The sound of their ugly laughter made Jon angry. He came at Robb quicker than he should have, and got in a few blows before getting thwacked in the shoulder by Robb’s wooden sword. He was rubbing his arm as he saw Sansa and Jeyne walking together. 

Robb kept striding towards the gate. Jon saw Sansa was slumping, with her head down, and he slowed his pace. Being a bastard had few privileges, but this was one of them. Jon noticed things others didn’t, and since his station lent him a kind of invisibility, he was able to hear and see details others missed. He’d surprised his lord father more than once with his knowledge of the goings-on around the castle.

“I’ll never be able to get it clean, but I suppose it makes no difference. He didn’t care for it anyway.” Sansa was twisting the dirty handkerchief in her hands. “Oh Sansa, I’m so sorry, I’m sure he didn’t mean what he said.” Jeyne sounded as if she didn’t believe her own lie. Sansa had shaken her head. “It doesn’t matter, Jeyne. I’ll stitch him finer things. I’ll be more beautiful, I’ll make him love me.” The tremor in Sansa’s voice scared Jon the most, made him afraid for her, afraid of what she might give away to this boy. So he decided to give her something of her own.

He’d found her in the godswood the next day, and listened to her, and held out the makeshift gift. “The crown of love and beauty, for you, you’re already beautiful, Sansa. He’s your prince, he’ll love you and treat you kindly. He has to. Any prince would.” You’re worth loving, he wanted to say, but he thought that might be a step too far, even though it was true. Jon placed it on her head. She’d smiled, and asked him to play an old game. Father had crashed through the branches a few minutes later, yanking him by his injured arm, while Sansa ran. 


The stitching, Sansa thought numbly, I’ll never get the mud out. She’d begged gold thread from her mother, too, to make sure the lion’s head gleamed. Her favor had floated half-in, half-out of the puddle. Joffrey’s sneering remark echoed in her ears. All she could think was that her needlework must have been coarse, and uneven, though she’d checked and checked. She had to do better, though she wasn’t sure how. So when she heard someone step through the trees into the godswood, she was momentarily angry. Couldn’t she be left alone, to cry, to be unladylike for once in her life? She wiped her eyes, and held tight to the low tree branch. A light rain had started to fall, and the bark was slightly slippery.

Jon emerged from the leaves. He was prone to sulking, and there was an anger and melancholy that never left him. But before her mother made it clear she was to have nothing to do with Jon, when she was very little, and scared of storms outside her window, Sansa would sometimes go to him at night and ask to sleep in his bed. Robb would let her too, of course. He would chuckle, and muss her hair, and tell her there was nothing to worry about before falling back asleep. Sansa would still shake, though, each time the thunder boomed. Robb was big and strong, her oldest brother. He wasn’t frightened by the storm. But Sansa was small, so small it was hard for her to climb into Robb’s bed. She couldn’t stop the fear that coursed through her each time the thunder sounded as if it would swallow her up. Jon would tell her it was all right to be scared. He would hold her, and talk to her, until the rain ceased. She could still recall how warm he’d been, how he’d sing to her in a high, sweet voice if she asked. Her lady mother forbade her from joining her half-brother in bed when she turned six, and Sansa learned that the word “bastard” separated Jon and Robb. Although Sansa dutifully turned her head away now when Jon walked by, she remembered that he’d been gentle with her, when they were children.

Still, she was ashamed of her tears, and wasn’t sure she wanted to share them. “Did you come to mock me too, Jon?” She heard the thread of anger in her voice, but held her chin high. Jon stopped in front of her, strangely quiet. It took her a moment to realize he was holding a mass of blue flowers in his hand.

“No, Sansa. I – I came to see if you were all right.”

If he had been wheedling, or commanding, she would have sent him packing. Instead he let the silence draw out between them, and Sansa began to relax. Then, slowly, she began to talk, in fits and starts. “I wasn’t – the gift, Jon, I made Joffrey a favor, I spent weeks on it, getting every stitch right, though there’s no reason for you to know that–“

“I saw you,” Jon said. “You’d work on it day and night. You brought it outside a few times, while we trained.”

“The sunlight, it’s best for certain techniques, I – you noticed?” She thought Jon Snow would be the last person to pay attention to an embroidery hoop.

“You seemed…tense, while you did it. And you stuck your tongue out.” The corner of his mouth quirked.

“I do that when I’m concentrating. Though I’d rather others couldn’t tell.”  She gathered her skirts in an effort to look dignified, even when sitting in a tree. “Yes. Well. I’d hoped – I’d hoped the prince would like it. I’m only a lady, Jon, not a princess, I have to show him I’m not stupid, I’m worth marrying, worth bringing to King’s Landing, there are so many others he could choose. I heard him, did you know that? I heard what he said, when he dropped it. ‘Trust a dog not to know a lion’s likeness.’” She twisted her damp hair around her finger. Jon listened to her, really listened as she talked, it felt liked so few people did that anymore. “I did my best, Jon, I asked Maester Luwin to show me pictures in the library, I stitched the lion as fine as I could.”

He held the flowers out to her mutely. “Thank you Jon.” Sansa was polite, but puzzled. “What is it?”

“It’s a crown,” Jon said. “Love and beauty.” She and Robb and Jon had played this game a thousand times when they were younger, the Queen of Love and Beauty. Robb, her bright-eyed brother with the easy laugh, had always won, and named her his queen. Jon was the one before her now, serious and solemn. She bowed her head. When he placed the crown on her hair, his touch was light. He told her she was beautiful, and any prince would love her.

She drew strength from his gesture, enough to bring back some of her good humor. “Should you swear fealty then?” Robb would have teased her, and chucked her under the chin. She half-expected Jon to stammer out an excuse, and leave the way he came. Instead Jon simply went down on one knee, and took her hand. They were too old for this game, and perhaps that was the reason for the flush on her cheeks. His curls were wet, and stuck to his forehead. He brushed the back of her hand with his lips. “My queen.” Jon looked up at her with dark eyes as if she already was a queen, as if there was no room for doubt.

She held onto that look, even after father’s lecture, even after arriving in King’s Landing. She thought back on it when Joffrey’s men struck her, when Littlefinger undressed her with his eyes.

After she bled, when she was to be wed to the man she knew to be a monster, she picked at the blue roses she’d embroidered on her gown. I’m already beautiful. Any prince would love me. Sansa started to cry. Jon had spoken those words that day as if they were as true and as plain as the rain that soaked her hair. 


Promise me, Ned. Ned knew he was terrifyingly close to failing Lyanna, when he saw Jon Targaryen kneeling before his daughter in the godswood, as a crown of winter roses graced her hair. Sansa’s gaze was rapt, and Jon looked at her like she was the sun and stars together. No, he thought, Jon, stop, you can’t, a love like this once broke the world apart. So he shattered the scene, sending Sansa running, dragging Jon back to Winterfell’s halls. He’d forbid his daughter and his nephew from spending time with each other. He’d send Jon to the Wall, and escort Sansa safely to King’s Landing, before he’d let a love so strong and dangerous bloom again.

anonymous asked:

G. Pike/Kima(/Allura) or O. Pike/Keyleth

pikeleth + the stars or space

aka the Vox Machina Are A Bunch Of Spacers And Pike Is Real Gay AU

“So you’re Grog’s sister!”

Pike stares up––and up, and up––at the beaming redhead. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. I’m Pike.”

The redhead offers a hand, shaking Pike’s enthusiastically. The drink in her other hand sloshes over the rim of her cup, foamy brown and splattered across the already-grimy floor of the backwater dive. “Keyleth! It’s great to meet you! Grog talks about you all the time.”

“Good things I hope?” she asks, a little teasing, and the redhead––Keyleth––smiles, almost wistful.

“Yeah. He really likes you.”

“Aw, yeah. That’s Grog.”

Keyleth shifts her drink to the other hand, looks around the bar. “So, um. Are you looking for him?”

“Well, yeah.”



“Yeah.” She hesitates, then tilts her head to the back corner where a motley group of spacers sit crowded around a table too small for the lot of them. “Um, you had better come sit down. There’s uh, a lot to talk about.”

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H.G x Reader #13

Prompt: You get hit by Dolohov’s curse in an attempt to save Hermione and Hermione takes care of you over the summer.

Dolohov raised his wand, aiming at your girlfriend. You got tunnel vision and aimed your wand at him, stunning him briefly.

Hermione!” You yelled.

She turned around, momentarily distracted and concerned at your anguished shout.

You barreled toward her.

You jumped in front of her and shielded her with your body just as Dolohov raised his wand and wordlessly fired the curse.

The purple light raced toward you and a ragged gasp left your mouth as the purple beam seeped into your body.

The last thing you heard was your girlfriend crying your name alarmingly and your last thought was a hope that your girlfriend was okay before the world turned black and your body shut down.

When you began to wake up your first thought was ’is Hermione alright?’.

You tried to blink your eyes but they wouldn’t budge. Finally, despite the So, burning sensation of having sand in your eyes, you were able to open them.

You took in your surroundings and groaned when your eyes caught sight of the beam of sunlight filtering through the curtains.

A stirring out of the corner of your eye made you turn around.

Immediately, you grinned. Smiling hurt your face but you couldn’t stop.

Hermione was sitting beside you in a seemingly uncomfortable position but was beginning to wake up.

She rubbed her eyes and looked up- like the past few weeks there was hope in her eyes and her heart that you could possibly be awake.

“[Y/n]?” She asked, as if she couldn’t quite believe you were awake.

“Hey, ‘Mione.” You murmured roughly, reaching to stroke the side of her face.

She grabbed your hand and leaned into your touch.

“How are you feeling?” Concern was evident in her tone but she was smiling.

“I’m okay. A bit thirsty is all.” You admitted.

She summoned a glass of water and raised it to your lips, wiping off the small drop that rolled down your chin with her sleeve.


You nodded and closed your eyes, lying back down. “A lot better. Thanks.”

“Good. You’re welcome.” Hermione placed her hand on your arm.

You screeched at the sudden pinch on your arm, your eyes flying open.

“What was that for?” You whimpered.

“For being stupid.” She growled. “Why would you risk yourself like that? For me of all people?”

She was pursing her lips and had her head tilted expectantly, glaring at you.

You rolled your eyes and rubbed your arm. “Bloody hell, 'Mione. I thought it was obvious.” You muttered.

“I love you. I’m not stupid, I just didn’t want you to get hurt.” You looked up at your girlfriend, pouting slightly.

Hermione’s lips twitched as she felt her angry resolve melt away at your adorable expression.

She smacked a hand frustratedly down her face and leaned over you.

“You are stupid.” She mumbled, pressing her lips against yours. “I love you too. I just wish you hadn’t gotten hurt. I was so afraid you wouldn’t wake up… you didn’t wake up in weeks and when you did… you were screaming in pain…”

Hermione was a strong girl- er, woman. So, seeing her eyes become glazed with tears absolutely broke your heart. “Hey it’s okay, 'Mione.”

You wrapped an arm over her back and pulled her down on top of you. “I’m okay now.” You reassured softly, tucking a strand of brunette hair behind her ear. “I’m very much awake and I’m here to stay for a very long time.” You pecked her nose and cuddled her closer to you.

Hermione sighed.

Deep down she knew you would do it again and again if it ever came to that. It brought a tiny smile to her face despite the gnawing worry it gave her. She knew exactly how you felt because if she were in your position she would have done the same thing you did for her without a second thought.

“Good.” She pressed her forehead against yours and looked into your eyes. “But, I’m not leaving your side until you get 100% better. You already saved my life, the least I can do it help you recuperate.”

You didn’t feel your girlfriend owed you anything but, you knew how persistent she could be so you merely nodded in agreement. “Deal.” You grinned.

“And, you’re stuck with me all summer. I don’t want you getting hurt again.” Hermione declared, running a hand through your messy bed-ridden hair.

“Even better.” You smirked wolfishly and kissed her again. “This is going to be the best summer ever.”

“Despite the fact that your insides were nearly melted?” Hermione rose a brow.

“I mean, I’ll be in pain for a while,” you said, reaching for the glass of water again. “But, at least I’ll have you with me through it.” You rose your glass up and pressed it to your lips.

Hermione giggled at your ’suggestive’ raise of a brow and nodded. “Indeed you will, [Y/n]. Indeed you will.”

Purple Part Nine | Taehyung, You

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Photo Cred: Haru Haru 

Why do you have to be different?

Tori gave Taehyung a worried look when she saw the expression on his face; one of complete shock.

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