little reputation things™
  • *ahem*
  • i i i i  see how this is gon go
  • “but if i’m a thief then he can join the heist”
  • baby let the games begin! let the games begin! ahAH AHHHHHHHH
  • ahHHH and ya heard about me”
  • ed sheeran rapping on a taylor swift song
  • “i swear i don’t love the drama IT LOVES ME”
  • ed in the background of the last chorus: “be yoUR A TEAM NOW”
  • the string plucky things in the beginning of i did something bad
  • “if a man talks shit then i owe him nothing”
  • “and i’d do it over and over and over again if iiiii could”
  • “they’re burning all the witches even if you aren’t one”
  • taylor apparently wanting to be set on fire
  • ((agreed))
  • the harmonies on this album filling my entire soul
  • “oHHH LORD SAVE ME MY DRUG IS MY BABY I’LL BE USING FOR THE REST OF MY LIIIIIIIIFE” aka the only prayer i’ll ever say again
  • i get so high OH… trip of my life OH
  • the way she sings “using for the rest of my life oHH OH OH OHHH” after the bridge damn son
  • “my reputation’s never been worse so he must like me for me”
  • taylor finally discovering alcohol
  • the way she says “coz i know that it’s delicate” so…. delicately
  • how delicate feels like a rain shower in a desert
  • :) i :) don’t :) like :) your :) little :) games :)
  • OH look what you made me do
  • “i don’t like your kingdom keys, they once belonged to me”
  • “i’m sorry the old taylor can’t come to the phone right now. why? oh! BECAUSE SHE’S DEAD” is singlehandedly the most iconic thing i have ever and will ever hear.
  • so it goes being chill and then the chORUS AND ALL THE PIECES FALL!!! RIGHT INTO PLACE!!!
  • ;) scratches ;) down ;) your ;) back ;) now ;)
  • o n e  t w o  t h r e e
  • how getaway car is the only song i ever want to hear ever again
  • think about the place where you first met me
  • “there were sirens in the beat of your heart”
  • the way she says getaway
  • the chorus of this song feeling like driving down a highway with the windows rolled down in the middle of the night
  • GO! GO! GO!
  • being part of a heist, leaving money in a bag in a shady motel, stealing keys and getting tf out in her getaway car. zoom zoom bitch.
  • “all the boys in their expensive cars, the range rovers and jaguars never took me quite where you do” calvin harris WHOM
  • the drums in king of my heart are more important than my need to breathe
  • “your love is a secret i’m hoping, dreaming, dying to keep”
  • ~up on the roof with a school girl crussshhhh drinking beer outta plastic cupsssss~
  • i’ll never let you goOOO
  • but we were dancing BASS DROP dancing with our hANDS TIED, HANDS TIED
  • “oh baby can we dance, through an avalanche?”
  • “swaying as the room burnt down, i’d hold you as the water rushes in” …. “so i punched a hole in the roof, let the flood carry away all my pictures” ….. h e c k
  • how dress is literally an orgasm turned into a song and i’m… into it
  • take it oH OH OH OH OFFFF
  • “carve your name into my bedpost”
  • “but if i get burnt at least we were electrified”
  • wildest dreams who???
  • “and i woke up just in time, now i wake up by your side”
  • say my name and everything just stops -EVERYTHING STOPS-
  • ra’lin’ the chandilier
  • AWaaaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAAY
  • “and therein lies the issue, friends don’t try to trick you, get you on the phone and mind twist you”
  • the sound of shots being fired from every possible angle
  • if only you weren’t…. so shadyyyyy :)
  • they don’t care about the HE SAID SHE SAID
  • the way she says “and here’s to my baaabyyy
  • the organ?? piano???? during “and hereeee’s to youuu…” oh my god
  • her voice at the end when she just says “nice things” 
  • her world crumbling around her and that’s just fine?? because of joe???? i wasn’t ready 
  • “loves me like i’m brand new”
  • “all my flowers grew back as thorns” …. “all the flowers that we’d grown together died of thirst” again…. clean WHOM
  • i’m laughing with my lover makin forts under covers trust him like a brother yeah you know i did one thing right
  • not because he owns me but cos he really knows me. which is more than they can say.
  • “you don’t need to save me, but would you run away with me?” “yes.” :’)
  • call it what you want is the lightest, softest pink sunrise seen from the window of a peaceful airplane in the early morning of a good day
  • how we went from pop anthems to??? i’m bawling in a sea of tissues on my bedroom floor at two in the morning and new year’s day is the most beautiful song i’ve ever heard??? 
  • it’s just a guitar and a piano and she’s harmonizing with herself
  • “don’t read the last page, but i stay”
  • “i want your midnights, and i’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on new year’s day”
  • “i can tell that it’s gonna be a long road” as in she knows that even if it’ll be a long road they’ll always be together don’t TOUCH me
  • hold on to the memories, they will hold onto you
  • hold on to the memories, they will hold onto you
  • hold on to the memories, they will hold onto you
  • and i will hold onto you
  • “please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh i could recognize anywhere”
  • oh cool my heart’s shattered into a million pieces this is fine thanks
  • how there’s ten seconds of silence at the end of new year’s day because you bet your ass i need recovery time before the album starts over again and i gotta get back to boppin’
  • ((they were not ready for it))

losing you hurts and i’m not going to pretend it doesn’t. losing you feels like losing a limb. losing you feels like choosing drowning over a life raft because i know eventually, i have to learn how to swim. losing you feels like watching all five fingers grow numb instead of wearing a coat. i could choose you. i could come running back into your arms and you would hug me back, but you can’t make this better.

you want to be friends. i want to, too. but being friends with you comes with too much pain. too many i love yous i have to swallow. too many memories that keep resurfacing and resurfacing and resurfacing. too many thoughts of god, you like me, but not enough to want me. too many feelings of never being good enough. all i ever wanted was to be good enough, but not for just anyone. for you. your approval meant everything to me.

god, you were all sunshine and then you were rain. you were a thunderstorm heart and hurricane lungs, but to say i loved every second of it wouldn’t even come close to admitting how much i loved it. the chaos. the i love you so badly my heart is bleeding out of my chest. the i will wait up all night just for you to tell me how beautiful i am. the i will wait up all night just for you to tell me i’m gonna be okay when i’m feeling so low, i cannot breathe. the staying up until 4 a.m. missing your skin. crying because you’re not with me. crying because my chest feels empty without you. (imagine how i feel now.) the poems. the poems. the poems. the way being with you felt like poetry. raw sex, raw feelings, raw bruised and bloody lips stained red. vulnerability.

to be wanted by you was amazing, even through the pain. i became addicted to it because it made the good days that much better. your lips on my neck. your hands on my heart. your voice. laughing. talking. telling me you love me. over and over again until i believed it. telling me about our stone house and our three kids and how you were trying your hardest to better your future, all for me. your cheekbones smother my thoughts. the way you’d drive your friends around for free. the way you’d stay up all night if it meant i didn’t kill myself. i miss every part about you. i thought you were the most amazing person this world had to offer. i really did. i wanted you to know strong love, my love, for the rest of your life because i knew you deserved it.

when you left me without saying goodbye, put your head on her chest at night while we were still dating, took photo booth pictures with her in the mall kissing her cheek, my whole world started crumbling. how am i supposed to feel when the most perfect person in the world does something so bad, i can’t even get out of bed without wanting to die? how am i supposed to trust someone ever again when even the most perfect person has trouble staying loyal to me? what is wrong with me? what was wrong with us? what could i have done to make you stay? i would have done anything, i swear to god.

so yeah, to say losing you hurts would really be an understatement. so yeah, a lot of days, i’m just waiting for the day to end so i can sleep off the exhaustion of getting through another day without you. so yeah, i do a lot of things just so i’ll forget how your voice sounds: i hang out with my friends and do my schoolwork and eat dinner with my family and ask for extra hours at work and i don’t bring you up. so yeah, someday i’ll move on and find somebody who treats me better, but i’ll still remember how it felt to love you. so yeah, you didn’t choose me, you chose her. and maybe a part of me is fucking livid, just like i should be. but more of me hopes you’re happy. because all of me loves you. all of me always will. i know you’re still that perfect person, deep down inside of you.

—  losing you

You want to know what’s been messing me up lately? Ever since taking Old English?

These douchebags right here. It looks like a weird runic letter ‘d’ doesn’t it? EXCEPT IT’S NOT. It’s ‘eth,’ which does not use the ‘d’ sound. They use a ‘th’ sound.

“Okay, Jurakan, why is that an issue?”

Because twatwaffles it means I’ve been saying everything wrong.

There’s a lot of Norse mythological names like:


and everyone says them


and that’s not how they’re supposed to be said at all. Because the letter ‘d’ in their name? Isn’t a the letter ‘d’, it’s ‘ð’. Meaning those names/pronunciations should be:

-Iðunn (E-thun)
-Viðarr (vih-THAHR)
-Hoðr (HO-thur)
-Hermoð (HER-moth)
-Skaði (SKA-thee)

We mythology nuts have been saying these things wrong for so long? And basically because the runic letter looks kind of like a ‘d’ we decided it was even though it has a completely different sound???



Imagine that Icarus didn’t fall. That Apollo heard the cries of his lover and caught his hand just in time. We would have two suns in the sky, curling around each other in fierce adoration and burning with the merciless vigor of love.

Imagine the loss the ocean felt when she watched from a distance, longing lacing around her heart and regret tearing through her throat. In a jealous rage, the ocean would make the world end. In less than a minute she would flood the coast and sweep inland, with the heat of her fury evaporating the ocean spray. Only the return of Icarus to her embrace would dissipate her wrath and spare the lives of mortals.

Imagine that Apollo, like any other god, is selfish to a fault. He craves worship and the sweet words of his lover won’t be enough for eternity. Icarus would eventually fade and crumble between his fingers, and Apollo knows this. With a sorrowful excuse dripping off his lips, he lets Icarus slip from him like the wax melting beneath his hands.

Imagine the receding waves that reached up to meet Icarus’ anguished screams as he fell away from his lover. While his tears sizzled on the still-hot wax of his burnt wings, reeking of betrayal and absent abandon, he cursed the gods and pitied those who worshiped them.

—No matter what variation the myth takes on, the fall is inevitable, and somehow it’s more heartbreaking that way | a.h

Candy Hearts


Based on the word “Inevitable”

Draco’s eleven.

He’s gasping lungs and cracked open ribs as he clutches the acceptance letter in his pocket and glances up at the frost laced rooftops of Diagon Alley, realizes that there’s an entire world beyond the manor walls and he hadn’t even realized it.

He’s eleven and catching sight of her through shop window reflections like crystal balls. Dragging himself into Florish and Bots because there’s curiosity, no, interest, no, enchantment, maybe, ebbing like magic through the whorls of his fingertips. And she’s in his peripheral, schoolbooks clutched to her chest and smile soft, eyes wide and lashes fluttering. Luminescent in the light filtering through the window.

Draco watches as she rolls her sleeves up to her elbows and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, strains on her tiptoes to reach a book on one of the higher shelves and –

“Here,” he says, grabs the book and slips it into her hands. Ignores the spark that catches between their fingertips and tugs, oh yes, he’s close enough to see the color of her eyes like rainbows reflected through a prism, the butterfly soft smile that traps itself against her mouth as she meets his eyes –

Says her name, “Y/N,” like wind chimes or a symphony.

And Draco thinks that it might as well be a spell.


Draco’s twelve.

He’s glances cast across a classroom, over his shoulder, when he hopes that nobody is looking. Fingers brushing and elbows knocking and, “Excuse me, I didn’t watch where I was going.” He did, and he’d be lying if he said that touching her felt anything less than a charm.

He’s twelve and he’s the pride swelling in his chest at his first Quidditch match when he can hear her somewhere below him, cheering his name. He tells her that she’s his good luck charm the next day, doesn’t quite catch the blush that suffuses her cheeks before he turns away.

But it’s the last day of term and she’s slipping by him in the train corridor and, “Have a good summer, Draco,” she says, hesitates, brushes her lips against his cheek.

He hadn’t quite believed in magic, until then.


Draco’s thirteen.

He’s Blaise’s snickering and Pansy’s knowing looks and jealousy, hot and potent, bubbling like a potion he hadn’t managed to get right in his stomach as Cormac McLagen smirks and smiles and sidles up beside Y/N in the Great Hall during breakfast one day.

He’s thirteen and he’s fucking captivated as snowflakes dust Y/N’s lashes and the wind twirls the ends of her scarf, as she wipes butterbeer from her upper lip and giggles at something that one of her friends whispers into her ear.

“I’ll help you back,” he offers, seizes a chance, when her friends have run ahead of her on the path back to the castle.

And she smiles at him, tucks an arm through the crook of his elbow. Tells him about the trouble she’s been having in Transfiguration lately and if she can’t figure it out her parents will have her head for sure and –

“I can tutor you, if you’d like,” he says, wonders if Blaise had spiked his pumpkin juice with Felix Felicis that morning. Hopes that she can’t feel his heartbeat through the jut of his elbow.

“I’d love that,” she replies.

And he can’t quite believe his luck.


Draco’s fourteen.

He’s library desks cluttered with books and ink blotches, Madam Pince’s furious hushing when he and Y/N forget to be quite. The way light streaks and shimmers around her, distorted as though they’re drowning in the Black Lake.

He’s fourteen and strangely, oddly hopeful as he clasps her fingers, marvels at the fit of her hand in his, shows her the correct hand motion and heart stops, starts, stutters when she doesn’t quite pull away.

“I aced my last test,” she tells him, runs towards him in the corridor, throws her arms around his neck till he can feel her heartbeat crash against his.

“I guess you don’t need a tutor anymore then,” he says. A frown is burgeoning on the cusp of his mouth.

“No, no,” she says hurriedly. “I still do.”

And he isn’t sure why he hasn’t transfigured this, them into something else yet.


Draco’s fifteen.

He’s the firewhiskey on his lips and the castle floor on the palms of his hands as he reaches forward and spins the bottle yes, hopes, wonders, waits as it spins, spins, lands on her, oh yes.

He’s fifteen and he’s the lip-gloss on her lips, the way they crash head on like a train-wreck, a car crash and he doesn’t have an algorithm for this: him, her, the kiss.

Because her mouth fits neatly against his and she tastes like melted sugar, like cotton candy, all soft edges and fluttering pulse points. His eyes are closed and he can’t quite believe/ only he can, he’d rigged the game.

Afterwards, afterwards, afterwards:

He pulls her into a broom cupboard and threads his fingers through her hair, tastes butterbeer on her tongue and feels his tonsils glued together because this is a secret and he can’t quite find the right words to say.

But things are different, they’re different and he holds her hands as he walks her to class, kisses her across the tabletop in Honeydukes and grabs her, twirls her after Quidditch matches. He wraps his scarf around her neck and they pass notes in class, sit at the top of the astronomy tower at night and map out the handful of constellations that they know.

It’s this: him, her, and how he hadn’t anticipated that the winds would change.


Draco’s sixteen.

He’s late night kisses and early morning platitudes, worried questions and, “Draco, I know something’s wrong.” The mark on his arm and the worry that’s coiled tight in his gut as he attempts to keep it covered up.

He’s sixteen and he’s breaking, the world too heavy on Atlas’ shoulders. Because he has a noose around his neck and he can’t do it, can’t, can’t, can’t.

They lose their virginity to each other the night before he’s meant to kill Dumbledore. And it’s like falling through a pensieve to a memory he didn’t know he had; soft lips and rolling hips and gasps, teeth, fingers fit neatly in the groove of her waist.

Here’s how it goes:

A girl, a boy, a tragedy. He’s Icarus and she’s the sun and it’s not her that kills him, oh no, it’s the ocean and melted wax dripping down his back.

He tells her ‘I love you’ before he tells him ‘I have to kill you’.

And there’s a green light and he’s Gatsby and he’s never managed to reach what he wanted, no, has only ever been a cautionary tale.

He’s sixteen and he’s a mistake, a heartbreak, the boy who made all the wrong choices.


Draco’s seventeen.

He’s the shards of a broken chandelier stuck in his mouth, his hands, vocal chords torn to ribbons as lights flash green and screams echo through the hallowed corridors of the manor. The letters he’d sent her that don’t have a reply, the ragged stitches of a heart never meant to mend.

He’s seventeen and the room of requirement is burning around him, life flashing before his eyes, flames licking at his heels. It’s her, her, her. And Crabbe’s gone, the room is charred but it’s not over yet, is never over.

There’s blood on his hands and in his throat when he sees her again. When he grabs her, yells, watches as a Death Eater’s body crumbles to the floor.

Her palm is sweaty against his, breaths ragged and tears sooty.

There’s a war raging around them and he finds that he doesn’t quite care.


Draco’s eighteen.

He’s the faded mark on his arm and the ring in his pocket and the happiness – cautious, unsure, new – that permeates the walls of his new home with her. Because the war is over and the world is still turning.

He’s eighteen and he’s a happy ending, maybe, a fairytale that didn’t quite end with them riding off into the sunset but ended like this instead: him and her and he thinks that that’s all he ever really needed.

langst lancelot and Protective Mother Allura™

Lotor: Why, hello, gorgeous!
Lance, flushed: H-Hey there.
Lotor: So, you’re the flirtatious Blue Paladin?
Lance: Haha, yep! That’s me!
Lotor: The one who’s never seen without a smile?
Lance: You got it!
Lotor: The one who is under appreciated?
Lance: Well… I - I guess -
Lotor: The one who is invaluable?
Lance: Wait, why -
Lotor: The Paladin who is replaceable?
Lance: Please -
Lotor: The one who is the weak link in Voltron? The useless one? The annoying one? The one everyone doubts and ignores?
Lance: yeah
Lance: that’s me.
Lotor: Well then!
Lotor: Good thing you’re pretty because that’s apparently all you are, Blue Paladin Lance!


Hunk: Dude, that Lotor guy was weird.
Pidge: Yeah, well, like father like son.
Lance: He… was a little -
Pidge: Shut up, you were flirting with him the whole time! You don’t get a say in this.
Hunk: Honestly, man, control your crazed bisexual urges.
Shiro: It was… inappropriate, I have to say. Makes me question if you take being a Paladin seriously.
Lance: yeah whatever
Keith: It doesn’t matter anyway
Keith: It’ll be a thousand years before a prince is interested in you
Pidge: Geez, you swing in both directions and still miss.
Lance: yeah, that’s me.


Lotor: You’re very pretty.
Lance: You’re not too bad yourself.
Lotor: Your fellow Paladin’s don’t think so?
Lance: I’m a joke.
Lotor: They are blind to that beauty.
Lance: you’re full of crap, princey.
Lotor: I am full of honesty and a need for you as my consort, actually.
Lance: What’s a consort?
Lotor: Like, a romantic partner. You get the perks of royalty. I’ll have your companionship.
Lance: Well, I’m busy being a Paladin.
Lotor: No wonder they don’t take you seriously when you’re stupid enough to think they’ll keep you around.
Lance: Screw you.
Lotor: I see.
Lotor: I’ll give you three quintents to think it all over, love.
Lance: Well, we’ll see how good you take rejection in three quintents.
Lotor: Indeed.


Lance: Hey… Am I… Like, attractive?
Keith: Um, I don’t know.
Keith: Maybe if I squint?
Lance: Thanks, man, really boosts my confidence.
Keith: Well, it doesn’t need a boost, so you’re welcome.


Lance: Hunk, buddy, give it to me straight. Or bi. Am I ugly?
Hunk: Uh, no.
Lance: Are you lying?
Hunk: Well, personally, you aren’t my taste. A bit too skinny. Your elbows could poke someone’s eye out.
Lance: I’m offended. Revolted. I’m suing.
Hunk: You’re not ugly, I guess.
Lance: okay.


Lance: Pidgeon, despite your lack of taste in human beings, what do you think? Would you date me, ever?
Pidge: Hell no.
Lance: Alrighty then.
Pidge: Maybe if you got a face transplant. And arm transplants. And leg transplants. And a brain transplant. And -
Lance: I get it.
Lance: I’ll just go drop dead.
Pidge: Damn okay


Lance: Coran, we’re close, right?
Coran: Well, I’d like to think so! Why? Something on your mind?
Lance: I… I’m considering leaving team Voltron.
Allura, appearing out of nowhere: WHAT
Lance: not gonna ask where u came from
Allura: Why would you consider such a thing?
Lance: Y-You… know, Prince Lotor. He said… I could come with him. He says I’m not appreciated here, that I’m useless here and well… he’s right? I think he is, at least.
Allura, wiping her sad, neglected son’s tears, holding him tightly, Protecting Him From The World™, furiously searching for the rest of Voltron, assuring him that he is loved and cherished and that they will always be there for him: VOLTRON GET THE Q U I Z N A K IN HERE, HOW DARE YOU MAKE OUR LOVABLE, HILARIOUS, ADORABLE BLUE PALADIN FEEL SO MISERABLE, I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW WE ARE HONORED TO HAVE HIM BE APART OF THIS TEAM AND THAT VOLTRON WOULD CRUMBLE WITHOUT HIM AND ANOTHER THING



Allura, arm around Lotor’s throat, holding his arm behind his back: SAY IT
Allura, grinning maliciously: Louder for the people in the back.

concept playlists

your girlfriend is in a wiccan garage band & you now smoke the same cigarettes she uses. you can’t sleep, you just wanna be sucked into her world & never look back

the local church bell echoed the 3AM chime precisely as you reached a field clearing off the forest’s trail. you’ve only seen this place in faraway dreams. the girl who led you here whispers why you should stay, never wake up. you take her hand

the monarchy is crumbling around you. everyone you ever loved has been killed in attempts to get the king back in control. the woods calls to you, the old gods. they want you to bring back peace to this land, no matter the carnage

there’s missing persons flyers all around town & whispers about the woods. it’s been hard to sleep lately but tonight you feel especially on edge, you think something is in your room. it’s someone you don’t know; you don’t know anyone over 10ft with claws


Series:Yoongi | Jin | Jimin | Namjoon | Jungkook | Taehyung

Genre: Angst, but a happy ending; Soulmate!AU where you lose color vision when you meet your soulmate

Pairing: Hoseok X Reader

Word Count: 3.3K

Originally posted by jitonic

“Which color is this?”

You glance over at the thing your mother is pointing at, and shake your head at it in disgust.

“Ew, no.” You say, tugging her away from the hideously colored, zesty orange scarf, “That is gonna look absolutely terrible on you—don’t buy it.”

“Relax.” Your mother rolls her eyes, still letting you guide her to the… safer section of the store, “It’s not like your Dad’s going to mind, sweetheart.”

“Yes, but,” You shrug defeatedly, “That’s because Dad can’t see how hideous the color is. I still can.”

“I thank you for the sentiment, honey.”


The two of you share a private grin, before your mother hums delicately and busies herself looking through racks and racks of shirts, feeling the material absently. You only watch, noting to yourself sadly how she frowns confusedly at certain shirts of the same design, but different colors. You sigh then, propelling yourself forward.

“Take this one.” You push the plum colored shirt back onto the rack, and press the maroon one into her hands, “It suits you better.”

“Oh, thank you sweetheart.” She says gratefully, smiling gently at you, “What on earth would I do without you?”

“I ask myself that every day.” You mutter to yourself as you watch her make for the changing rooms, “Indeed, what would you do?”

Sighing, you take out your phone, trying to preoccupy yourself with one of your apps so that you can pass the time away. No matter how much you play, though, you can’t get your mind off your mother’s predicament.

Why on earth would people actively look for their soulmates, if their vision turns grey the second they do? What on earth would possess them, for them to do that? It doesn’t…it just doesn’t make sense.

Your mother comes back, by then, clothes bundled up in the shopping bag. You take it from her and, sighing at the ugly orange scarf at the bottom of the pile, make your way to the cash counter with her so that you can pay.

“Good morning Ma’am!”

You trace the countertop idly as your mom exchanges pleasantries with some guy behind the computer. You don’t look up, not until your mom nudges at you to hand her wallet over. Fishing it out, you present it to her, before lazily trailing your eyes upward, locking on surprised cocoa brown ones, before everything turns grey.

Keep reading

12.16 coda

AAAAAND we’re back, lovelies! As usual, if you’d like to be added to my master taglist, shoot me a message and I’ll stick you onto the next one!

It feels wrong for some reason not telling Castiel that Claire shows up on their case in Wisconsin, but he’s been swallowing that bullshit about “giving people space” for months now and he’s trying to do right by her at least. Let her make her own choices. Besides, it’s kind of nice having her tag along. She’s a pretty cool kid.

He should have called the minute he figured out what Mick was up to. He knows he should have. But it all happens so fast with the bite and the cure and he’s too busy blaming everyone in that room for what’s happening to his - to Claire. His hand, his hand shoved that poisonous needle into Claire’s skin, he as good as killed her himself. “I need some air.” He yanks on the doorknob like he wants to rip Mick’s head off his body and and steps out into the cold night air.

For a minute all he can do is stand on the threshold, chest heaving. He’s frozen to the front step, a terrible ringing in his ears.

And then he hears another high-pitched, agonized scream. It scares him into moving.

Keep reading

lost thoughts

Originally posted by yixingsosweet

Title: lost thoughts

Pairing: Kim Minseok/Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU.  You hear your soul mate’s thoughts inside your head since the moment they/you are born.

Summary: The sound of his voice inside her head brings a smile to her face or a frown to her features. If only Minseok wasn’t so teasing maybe things would be a little bit easier.

If only her mind could shut up for three seconds, she would be able to study.

And she really meant those words, without caring that she liked neither this topic nor studying whatsoever, but she really needed to pass this exam, yet, the voice on her head kept singing hit songs, thinking about food and some other dirty thought that would cross their heads. Not that she had two voices inside her head, one coming from a male and the other completely hers…but it was rather something she was born with. All her life she had heard the voice of her soul mate and she’d like to think it’s beautiful –and in some way it is- but at this point, it was annoying. She had heard his voice as a kid, mostly talking about how he had lost a game with his friends and asking who she was, then when he was a teenager he would be colder…slightly lost in the feeling of going through puberty and finding new lovers, and now…the man that she recognized as Minseok was nothing more than doing anything to get her riled up.

From what he thought, she could tell that Minseok was a pretty vivid and lively person. Sometimes he thought about his friends, giving them presents or teasing them as a way of showing them his love. Other times, he simply thought about food and how grumpy he was because he was hungry. From what she knew, he was on summer break at this moment and she was taking classes in the summer, hence why she was so mad because he was doing this on purpose. Back when they were both children, they didn’t know that they could have a full conversation with their thoughts, but now that he learnt that he could talk to her and hear her just from thinking…he used it to his will.

Keep reading

Dear MC,

I saw how happy you are since you met RFA. You were determined to do your best for them. You vowed to yourself that you will make them feel loved in everyway you can.

You loved Yoosung so much. You taught him that it’s okay to grieve, it’s okay to be lonely and that it’s okay to let go. That he won’t be alone even if he does. That you were there for him. That he is loved and the people around him understands his pain.

You became Zen’s muse and you loved every freakin’ second of it. You were there for him. The world that he worked really hard for may crumble into pieces but you won’t think twice to pick him up and help him stand on his feet again.

Jaehee was sad and you knew it. And o god you loved her, you loved her so much. You stood up for her during the time when she was confused of what she should do. You took her hand and guided her to a place where she can be happy cause you know she more than deserve it.

Jumin was someone hard to reach. He was tangled with webs of despair that seals him away from the world because he was hurt and lonely. But you made your way unto him and held him in your arms. You taught him how love makes people vulnerable but it’s always okay -  It’s always okay because you won’t hurt someone you love.

And Seven, he said things to hurt you. He pushed you away and rejected you but you endured it all. You let him see how people don’t give up for someone they love. How it’s okay to rely unto someone and share the pain. How you were willing to accept him- the past,present,and future him. How you love him unconditionally. How his every flaw and mistake doesn’t define him. That he can be selfish and have you as his own.

You loved them with everything you have. 

You saved RFA.

 but who saves you?


The old gods are dead.

Zeus gets high alone and remembers the days when the sky was his, before life caught up with him in a dark alley way.

Hera waits at home. She knows. She knows it all. She wants to tell him it’ll get better, he’ll be okay, she loves him. She wants to take her own advice. She wants to lie. She never will.

Apollo and Artemis travel the world. They have a one way ticket to the moon.

Poseidon swims into the sea, or maybe it’s the sky. No one can tell the difference anymore. The girl with serpents for hair mourns for him on the shores of the end of the world.

Hades lies awake, his wife curled around him. He smiles because people finally believe in death.

Athena cries. She is transparent and weightless as she rides the midnight train, her voice is hoarse from protests. Wisdom left here long ago.

Demeter counts down the days until her daughter returns. She is made of memories and madness, but what’s the difference?

Persephone wears her strength and her darkness. Beauty is power, and she will make the world know her name.

Ares crumbles like dust. He stopped understanding war a long time ago. Senselessness topples heroism every time.

Aphrodite gets drunk on the sky again. She catches her reflection in the clouds. Her innocence has left her a long time ago.

Hermes runs through the streets. He is young, young and beautiful, and he knows it. As he slips away, his smile doesn’t.

Dionysus watches it all. He watches the family he once knew laugh and cry and forget. He never forgets. He’s been here a long time. He is watching them flicker out and fade.

The gods are dying. The gods are dead. The gods are us.

- @rustofstardust


Let’s have a look at what Missy had to go through in The Doctor Falls and the end of World Enough and Time.

Missy was genuinely trying to do well in the Doctor’s little test. She went out of her way to explain shit to random snacks and actively tolerated people she’d normally kill for the lols. When she finally ran into herself you could clearly see that she was not amused at all. the look she gives the Master is a, ‘you better not be here to fuck up my day’ look.

Originally posted by onlylostphysics

When the Master starts to torment Missy with what he did to Bill she knows that all the effort she’s put in with the Doctor is about to crumble around her. She has to stand there and take what the Master says without showing her hand because she knows that biding her time and staying on the Master’s side is the only way that she can protect the Doctor.

Then she has to stand there with the Master while he verbally abuses the Doctor, knowing full well that the Doctor is going to assume the worst of her. She endures those sad eyes and who-knows-what in response from the Doctor.

Following that Missy must partake in the physical beating of the Doctor - someone she has clearly grown to love - if not actively in love with. If she doesn’t hit him, repeatedly, the Master will assume that she’s on the Doctor’s side. If she ends up tied up as well then there’s no hope - so she plays along - beating him with her umbrella. She does the best she can - knocking the Doctor onto the keyboard so that he can re-programme the Cybermen.

Originally posted by 3rddoctor

After that, on the balcony, she has to assist the Master in tormenting the Doctor verbally. This would be just as bad because Missy knows how much the Doctor’s companions mean to him and the longer she continues this charade, the more likely the Doctor is to never forgive her for the mistakes of her past. She probably already assumes that the damage done to their relationship is fatal yet she continues to try and save him the only way she knows how.

When she gets her chance to free the Doctor, she does. As soon as the Master wakes up, she has to try and ingratiate herself back toward the Master to keep an eye on him without risking a full scale confrontation.

For the next two weeks at the farm it falls to Missy to keep an eye on the Master. In order to do this she basically has to abandon the Doctor’s side and play mediator between them. She can’t be honest with the Doctor because the Master will sense her disloyalty and remember - Missy’s probably still trying to play the Master for their Tardis.

Originally posted by doctorwhogeneration

There are several other scenes scattered throughout with Missy’s changed behaviour shows through and then she quickly corrects it for the benefit of the Master (see her referring to Bill as ‘she’ instead of ‘it’).

Then she has to put up with the Master’s overt sexual overtones toward her while she is effectively baby-sitting him to make sure that he doesn’t do anything like kill the locals for the hell of it. She ends up showing her cards by giving the Master the device to fix the Tardis. In order for Missy to survive to reach this point in her time stream she knows she has to get the Master out of the spaceship. Considering everything is about to go to hell she basically nudges him on his way.

Originally posted by timclady

Worse, she is faced with the prospect of killing herself in order to make sure that the universe is not left with the violent version of the Master loose without the Doctor to keep him in check. She knows that there is a very good chance that no one is making it off the ship alive so at least this way, Missy knows that the only version of the Master that survives is her - the version that sought out the Doctor instead of burning the stars.

One of the worst things she had to face is the goodbye to the Doctor. She wants to do as promised - to stand with him - but she has to turn him down to make sure that the above happens without the Master becoming suspicious of her motivations. You could see how much it hurt her to say no to the Doctor.

We know she planned on coming straight back to stand with the Doctor but never got the chance. So as the final part Missy died alone, killed by herself and knowing full well that the Doctor, whom she lied to in order to protect, would think the worst of her.

Throughout the entire experience she showed at tremendous amount of fortitude and courage. She faced her darkest demons - alone - and won. I can’t help but think that when Missy said, “I know I’m going to die.” I think she meant her real death - her end - because part of her remembers what happened or at the very least had a feeling that this was coming. Like a storm.

It’s the age of question - if you play a game of chess against yourself - who wins?

Originally posted by savingpltravers

The Final Goodbye

It’s finally finished! I originally wrote a short little blurb that was inspired by this post, but some of y’all wanted more pain and asked for a continuation, so here’s the full fic. Just a heads up, this is the first fic I’ve ever written so yeah. Enjoy *cue the evil laughter*

Thanks to @clockworkofbooks for beta reading and coming up with the title. 

     Aelin was surrounded by bodies.

     The battlefield was pure chaos. They’d been fighting since dawn, all the forces of Maeve, Erawan, and her finally clashing in what was the bloodiest battle she’d ever witnessed. Their lines had collapsed, and it was now a melee, every man or woman or witch for themselves. She was right in the middle of it, and everyone fought on around her, unaware that Adarlan’s assassin and the Queen of Terrasen was right in their midst.

     Rowan had been separated from her almost as soon as the battle had begun, and she’d caught glimpses of her Court throughout the day. Every time she did, some corner of her killing-numb brain had registered that they were still alive, and been grateful.

     The sun was shone high above them, beginning its descent as the day wore on. Her body was aching and she moved like someone possessed, brain on automatic. Every blow she landed was aimed to kill. She was a whirlwind of flames and death and destruction.

     Truly, the Valg prince that had chosen to go after her didn’t have a chance.

     She spotted him first, the ebony collar stark against the silver of his armor and his host’s pale, beautiful face.

     Blood sprayed as she dispatched her current opponent, but she paid it no heed. Hefting the dagger in her hand, she threw it right at him, the silver of the steel flashing. He caught it right before it hit him right between his eyes.

     The Valg’s slow grin at the sight of her was enough to send shivers down Aelin’s spine.

     “It’s the fire-breathing queen herself,” he hissed. “You die here and now.”

      Aelin smirked. “As if you’d be enough to kill me. I took on three of your brothers and burned them all to a crisp. You really think you’d fare better?”

     “I suppose we’ll find out!”

     Their clash sent shockwaves of flame and darkness throughout that battlefield. She thought she heard someone calling her name, but all she could think of was the battle before her. Her weapons were coated in her flames, and step by step she drove the Prince back.

      He swept his sword in a great arc, an attempt to disembowel her. The fool didn’t realize that he left himself open to her.

     She stepped into his guard, and with a dagger of pure flame beheaded him.

     His body stayed upright for a moment, then fell to the ground with a crash.

     She burned it to a crisp for good measure.

     Aelin’s breath was coming out in harsh pants. Black blood coated her, and despite her massive reserves her flames were running out. She allowed herself a moments reprieve to survey the battlefield. The screams of the dying and the clang of metal on metal and the roar of wyverns were deafening.

     She didn’t know how long they could last.

     Aelin looked around, searching for her next opponent to fight. And then she saw him.

     And her world began to crumble to ash around her.

     Across the field, he dispatched his opponents with the same cruel efficiency that she’d been taught. As he gutted a soldier wearing Terrasen’s colors -one of the Bane, some part of brain dimly recognized- he saw her, and turned to face her.

      The din of the battlefield faded to the background as a strange ringing took over her ears. Time slowed down.

      Sam Cortland was grinning at her, a black collar around his neck.

      “Hello, Celaena.”

      She could hear nothing but the pounding of her own heart. Images flashed through her mind. A dark, damp dungeon, a mutilated body, the smell of a rotting corpse.

     Athril’s ring pulsed on her finger.

     “Oh, wait,” Sam said, cocking his head to the side in a predatory way that was so decidedly not him. “You go by Aelin now. Who would have known that you were the lost princess of Terrasen. Then again, I suppose Arobynn did. That was why he favored you, wasn’t it?

     It couldn’t be him. She’d seen his body years ago, laid next to it, been to his grave. He couldn’t be here.

     She didn’t think she was breathing.

     A piercing shriek was heard above the noise of the battlefield. Their gazes snapped upwards, just in time to see a bird plummet down and shift in a brilliant flash of light in front of them.

     “Get away from her,” Rowan snarled, covered in crimson and brandishing a bloody sword. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his hatchet, and most of the sheaths on his weapons belt was empty.

      “If it isn’t the King of Terrasen,” Sam sneered. “Nice to see that you’ve moved on, Aelin. Was that all it took for you to forget me? Some Fae Prince making eyes at you?”

     His words hit her like a punch to the gut.


     This wasn’t Sam. Sam wouldn’t be saying these cruel things to her.

     The collar at his neck gleamed. Somehow the Valg inside of him had accessed his memories and he was using them to hurt her. It was just another one of Erawan’s tricks.

     She refused to be manipulated by him.

     “Is that the best you can do?” she smirked, forcing that easy arrogance back into her voice, the one that had been as easy as breathing. She took a step forward until she was standing right next to Rowan. Her mate’s warmth was a comfort. “Wearing the body of a dead lover that I’ve moved on about? Really, you and your master will have to try better.”

     Valg-Sam smirked. “How cold, Aelin. We thought for sure this would be enough to bring you to your knees. You’re even more heartless than we anticipated. Tell me, do your subjects know what kind of person you are? Does your Court?”

      Rowan stepped forward with a snarl as a bolt went through her chest.

      “Enough talking,” he snarled. “We’re in the middle of a battle. Are we going to fight or not?”

      Sam’s smirk developed a wolfish gleam. “Be careful what you wish for, King.” Then he struck.

     Rowan shoved Aelin back, parrying Sam’s blow with his sword.

     “No!” she yelled. “I’ll be your opponent!”

     They both froze.

     Sam’s grin deepened. “If that’s what you want.”

     Rowan stepped up to her side. “Aelin, you don’t have to do this.”

     She looked up at him, his green eyes shining with fury, love, concern.

     “Yes, I do,” she whispered.

     Her mate, her heart, opened his mouth to say something, probably to argue, but he closed it after a moment. “I’m here,” he said instead.

     “I know,” she said, the corner of her mouth tilting up. She turned to Sam. “Let’s do this the old fashioned way, shall we?” she said, motioning with her sword.

     Sam grinned. “As you wish.”

     Taking a breath, she took a step forward. And like a snake, struck.

     Sam parried the blade with that same easy arrogance that’d he’d once possessed.

     “You’ll have to do better than that, Aelin,” he sneered.

     “I’m just getting started,” she snarled back, and went right for his throat.

     It was like being back in the Guild and sparring with him, except this time he had the strength of a demon prince from another realm to help him. Back then she’d always beaten him easily, but now it was taking all of her skill and concentration to not die.

     She felt Rowan behind them, watching them like a hawk. His magic pulsed in the air, ready to provide support should she need it, but he maintained his distance as she and Sam circled each other.

     He moved first, sweeping his sword in a blow aimed straight at her head. She ducked and danced back out of reach as he lunged for her. She spun to meet his sword.

     They were a blur of armor and steel.

     All of her tricks, he countered, just as she did the same to him.

     The sound of metal up metal was deafening as they clashed and sprang apart and struck at each other all over again.

     Then he lunged, leaving the tiniest opening for her to take advantage of. 

     Stepping into his guard, Aelin disarmed him. He froze. A blow to his head with the hilt of her sword was enough to make him collapse to the ground.

     “You bitch,” he wheezed when he’d come back to his senses.

     Aelin could barely get the words out. “Is that really the only insult you people can come up with?”

      “Well? What are you waiting for?” Sam struggled to get to his knees, but he pushed himself into an upright position. “Finish it.”

     She opened her mouth, but she didn’t get a chance to speak.

     The only warning she had was another pulse of Athril’s ring on her finger. Darkness exploded from Sam, screams erupting everywhere around them.

      Before she or Rowan could make a move, the darkness disappeared as quickly as it came.

     In front of her, Sam was on all fours, chest heaving with the force of his breathing.

     He looked up at her, and it wasn’t the Valg inside him that was staring at her with desperation.

     “Celaena,” he groaned. “You have to kill me.”

     Aelin froze.

     Something in his face shifted, but he was back in a second. “Please, I can’t hold him back much longer.”

     She finally forced her voice to work. “Sam, I can’t -”

     “Please!” he screamed, voice breaking on the word.

     She took in the sight of Sam struggling to stay on his knees before her, the Valg Prince inside twisting his features into something unrecognizable as it took over once again.

     Aelin raised her flame-coated sword and, tears streaming down her face, plunged it through the heart of her first love.

     And then the screaming began.

     The flames vanished as they were drawn into Sam’s body, and Aelin stepped back. Rowan reached for her, joining their hands. As soon as they touched, Aelin felt his magic pouring into her, bolstering her diminished reserves.

     Sam’s screaming grew more intense as Rowan’s magic increased the power of her flames.

     Tears streamed down her face. She knew that this was how he’d screamed when he’d been taken apart piece by piece by Rourke Farran. And so Aelin didn’t look away, even as she felt the wound being torn wide open once more.

     Sam’s veins, his skin, was glowing from the light of her flames. His eyes shone golden. And then it all stopped.

     “Sam!” She shrieked, diving for him as the collar around his neck cracked and fell off, and he collapsed to the ground. She gathered him into her arms.

     His eyes fluttered open.

     “Celaena?”he whispered weakly.

     Celaena. The Valg Prince was gone, and Sam was back.

     “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Gods, I’m so sorry.”

     “Don’t be,” Sam groaned. “It wasn’t your fault. You had no way of knowing what would happen.”

     “How…how is this possible?” she whispered, taking in his face. Though his brown eyes were filled with pain, they were still his brown eyes, the ones that she’d grown up with, the ones that she’d come to love.

     “I don’t know. All I remember…is waking up in a dungeon and then getting that stone collar put around my neck.”

     Aelin swore softly.

     “There are so many things that I want to tell you,” she whispered. “Arobynn…he was the reason you…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. “Lysandra was the one who killed him.”

     Sam blinked. “He’s dead? And at Lysandra’s hands?”

     She nodded. “It’s been months. The Guild is Tern and Mullin’s now.”

      “Those bastards can have it,” he coughed, no small amount of cold satisfaction on his face.

     “Sam…I’m sorry,”she repeated. “This…everything, it was all my fault. Arobynn wasn’t the only one who was responsible for your death. It was my fault too, for daring to defy him.”

     “Celaena, it was my decision too. I knew…on some level that Arobynn….wouldn’t have let us live in peace, and yet…whatever time we had…I’m grateful for it.”

     “I never got to tell you,” she whispered, “that I loved you. Some part of me always did, and always will.”

     His eyes were shining with tears. His looked over her shoulder, gaze falling on Rowan.

     “Does he make you happy?”

     Aelin glanced back at her mate where he was guarding them, making sure that no one would interfere.

     “Yes,” she said, unable to keep the smile small off her face even as a pang of guilt went through her.

     Sam smiled, and her heart shattered a bit more.

     He sighed in what sounded like relief. “I’m glad…that you found someone who makes you happy, even if it’s not me. You…deserve it.”

     A violent cough wracked his body. Blood coated his lips, and he groaned in pain. “You should leave me,”he said. “I’m not…worth staying with any longer.” She heard his unspoken words.

     I’m not worth staying with because I won’t last much longer.

     “No,” she moaned. “Please, you have to hang on. You can’t leave me again. We can heal you. Rowan -”

     Sam stopped her with a hand on her cheek. “You know I can’t stay. I don’t belong here, not anymore.”

     “I don’t want you to go,”she whispered, almost like a child.

     “I know.” He coughed again, more violently this time. He took a shuddering breath. “There’s something you should know.

     “What is it?”

     “Your parents are proud of you.”

     Silence washed over her mind.

     ”What?”she whispered. “You…”

      “They were all there with me. When we realized that Erawan was trying to bring me back, they wanted me to pass on a message.”He took a breath. “They’re proud of the person, the queen…that you’ve become, and they wish more than anything they could tell you that in person. Marion…wants to thank you for finding Elide. She wants you to tell her that she’s proud of her. Orlon says there’s no one more worthy of being the next Queen of Terrasen. And Nehemiah…”

     Aelin sucked in her breath.

     “Nehemiah loves you. She’s sorry for sacrificing herself, and she hopes you can forgive her. More than anything, she’s proud to be your friend, and she’s happy that you’ve found good people to surround yourself with. She’s grateful that you protected Eyllwe as if it were your own kingdom. And she’s glad to see that you lived up to the name she gave you.”

     Aelin was sobbing now.

     “And I…despite the circumstances, I’m happy for the chance to see you again

     Sam gasped, coughing again. His mouth was completely crimson. His breathing accelerated.

     “Celaena, I’m scared,” he whispered. He was losing consciousness, fast. “What if I don’t go back there?”

     “Shhh.”She held him a little tighter. “It’ll be okay.”

     “Will…“ his eyes fluttered as he struggled to keep them open, “will you stay with me?”

     “To whatever end,” she whispered back, voice strong despite the tears streaming down her face.

      “The battle raged on around them, but Aelin held Sam as his breathing steadily grew more and more faint. He let out one more exhale, and then his chest stilled.

      She gently laid him down on the grass, closing his eyes, and slowly rose to her feet.

     “Fireheart…” Rowan took a step towards her.

     The flame inside of her guttered, then exploded. 

     Every one of Erawan’s minions within a 100-meter radius was burned to ash. 

     On her forehead shone the mark of Brannon as she looked at her mate, the killing calm overtaking the turmoil of her mind.

      “It’s time for Erawan to die.”

@verbumamantem @arya-drottning @montherox @queenofunrequitedfeels @illyrian-wingspans @freelancing-fan @rainstorms2004 If I missed anyone I apologize!

anonymous asked:

do u ever think about ravens roost not getting destroyed, and julia and magnus keeping on living in their town? how long do u think it would take for magnus to get his memories back like that? what if he never met merle and taako and it wasnt until the day of story and song?

I don’t know what prompted this but THANKS ANYWAY



He was sitting in the mud room, strapping on his boots. The good ones, not the ones he usually wore to town. Rich, thick leather that the salesdwarf had insisted was drakeskin but was probably closer to salamander. Julia had gotten them for his birthday.

“I’ll be back,” he said, not looking up from the buckles. “Soon. I promise.”

“Let me come with.”

He grimaced. Of course she knew where he was going. It had beamed straight into her head, too, hadn’t it? “Jules–”

“You don’t have to go alone.”

“I know, I know that,” he said, standing and grabbing his duster from the the coathook. Stiff and heavy, it was one of the first things he’d purchased when he got to Raven’s Roost. It frayed at the sleeves, the elbows had nearly worn through, and its rust color had long-since faded into a creamy tan. He hadn’t thought anything of the color before today. “But this is – it’s personal.”

“It’s personal for me, too,” she argued, folding her arms. “Or am I not involved?”

Magnus shrugged on his coat and turned to face her. She glared at him like she did whenever he was being particularly stubborn – or when she was about to do something particularly reckless.

He wanted to throw his arms around her, lift her up and kiss her the same way he had for years. But he’d been afraid to, since yesterday. He wasn’t sure what he looked like to her anymore. He wasn’t sure what he looked like to anyone.

Keep reading

Another bug! Her name is Iris and she’s a guard captain and skilled duelist. She’s very stern and aggressive and demands respect from foes and allies alike. Unlike Holloway she never ‘abandoned’ her people and shares their hostility and untrusting nature. She clings to order and duty and looks down on his idealism despite their world crumbling around her.

somebody else // stiles stilinski pt. 5

Summary: Stiles broke her heart and now she can never look at him the same. They remained friends, but she can’t exactly find it in herself to truly forgive Stiles and he doesn’t know how to accept her new relationship with the one person he can’t stand. Overtime, they both eventually got over each other… or have they? 

Requested: no, collab with @minhosmeanhoe 

Warning: yes, mature language & themes

Inspired by this song


Nothing had ever compared to the emptiness she felt inside. She was absolutely sure that she felt her heart break at his harsh words. Her throat felt permanently closed and she felt like she couldn’t breath. It felt like there was a rock in her stomach where there were once butterflies.

Regret washed over her as she replayed the heart wrenching moment over and over again. How could she have been so foolish? What did she think would happen? A small part of her hoped that once they kissed and her lips returned to their familiar home that things could go back to normal. How could she have been so naive? Nothing was ever going to go back to normal because there never was a normal.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

au prompt: Castle or Beckett is a secret service agent to President Castle or Beckett. who plays what role is up to you :)

The terrorist attack on the White House comes totally and utterly unexpected, in sync with the wave of horrific explosions and decimation sweeping over a slew of major cities across the nation.

And all he can think about is the job he’s had for the last four years: keeping her safe.

Rick Castle, head of the secret service team assigned to protect President Beckett, moves into action the second the missile hits the East Wing of the White House. He hustles Kate out of the Oval Office and scans his eyes over the unfolding chaos before it can touch her.

“Castle,” she gasps, jerking on his hand, slamming them both into the wall as a spray of bullets begina to rain through the air.

“Shit,” he breathes, withdrawing his own piece, aiding in the returning fire of his team, trying not to watch the bodies of government officials falling dead in the halls. “Go ahead of me. Keep going-”

“No,” she hisses, her fingers hooking at his forearm, and he growls, hates now more than ever how stubborn she is. 

“I’m covering you, go,” he commands, keeping both hands on his gun, his arms in position as she leads them down familiar corridors.

At least she knows the drill, isn’t trying to be a hero-

He hears her grunt, the slam of her body into another wall.

Castle immediately spins, sees her pinned by a man in all black riot gear and a gloved hand around Kate’s throat, a knife in the other.

Her knee pistons up into the man’s groin, has him doubling over just as Castle fires the shot into his head.

“Are you okay?” Castle questions, hearing the wheeze of her lungs as she coughs, but she’s already nodding, returning to the mission at hand, running.


She waits for Castle to unlock the panic room with his gun cradled in her palms, her heart rabbiting but her finger steady on the trigger as she waits with bated breath.

“Okay, we’re in. Hurry, before someone sees,” he murmurs, his hand at the small of her back.

Kate lowers the sig, but doesn’t give it back until they’ve slipped inside the secret room embedded into the wall, until the door that blends all too perfectly with the wall slides back into place. 

Castle is one of the only people on the planet who knows about the panic room, one of the selected few allowed to know, and probably the only person she’s always trusted would never turn on her. 

He proves her right.

Castle keeps one hand on her arm as they descend down the stairs, the pathway long and dark, foreboding. She feels the cool air embrace her the lower they travel, the weight of moisture clinging to her skin.

The underground safe room was built over a mile deep and by the time they finally reach the floor, the second security enclosed entryway, she’s panting.

“You okay?” he asks, his own breath quickened, his eyes glimmering in the barely lit corridor.

“Let’s just get inside,” she murmurs, but Castle lifts a hand to her face, his palm a familiar fit to her cheek.

“We’re surviving this, Kate.”

“Maybe, but no one else is,” she mutters, scraping a hand through her hair. “I ran like a coward. I’m supposed to keep these people, this country, safe-”

“By dying for your cause? Because that’s all you would have accomplished up there,” he reminds her with a narrowed look. “We’ve gone over this multiple times-”

“Doesn’t make it easier,” she snaps, stepping away from the caress of his hand and punching the code into the lockbox. “How long are we staying in here?”

“As long as it takes,” Castle sighs, following her in as the vaulted door swings open. He slams it shut behind him and enables every lock equipped to withstand all forms of enemies. “We should have electricity down here, so I can have eyes on the outside.”

She reclaims his hand again as they start down the final corridor that will lead them into a safe room the size of a studio apartment, stocked with food and weapons, and hopefully enough hard walls to keep them alive. 

He laces their fingers, squeezes a little too tight, but she welcomes his firm grip, the confirmation that they’ve survived. For now.


Kate is curled on the sofa against the wall, her heels and pantsuit gone in favor of jeans and a black sweater, boots better suited for running, fighting. He’s trained with her for years now, knows she can hold her own against a man twice her size. But right now, with a throw blanket he knows once belonged to her parents tugged up to her chin and her eyes so hollow, she looks so small, fragile.

Castle was recruited to lead the security team for President Beckett during her first month of presidency, his knowledge of terrorism after losing both his mother and daughter in the 9/11 attacks profound, aiding him in his career in counter-terrorism.

He didn’t want to work in secret service, to spend his days guarding some woman, but then he met her. He made the deal to work for a year with her and then act on the opportunity to return to his original unit. But after getting to know Kate Beckett, learning her story of rising from homicide detective to senator, the source of her drive born from the grief of losing her mother, he chose to stay.

He chose her, always her.

“Thank you,” she murmurs after he’s set up the security feed and finished sorting the guns and ammunition he stocked down here over a year ago.

Castle glances up from a pile of grenades, rises from his haunches, and mutes the monitor showing them a live feed of the horror unfolding across the property. “For what? Getting down here was a mutual effort.”

“For keeping me safe, not just today,” she answers, biting down on her bottom lip. “For making this job more bearable.”

“You’ve been an amazing leader, an extraordinary president,” he says, his brow still knit in confusion. Her job was the most stressful position in the world, but she’s good at it, and he thought she enjoyed it. “You’ve done right by the people, by justice. Today? This was completely out of your control, Kate.”

She sighs, not wholly convinced, and Rick crosses the room to ease down next to her. 

“Stop thinking like the president, hoarding all the guilt,” he murmurs, earning the turn of her gaze, the shift of her body towards him. “Just be a normal human being who survived nearly being assassinated. You’re alive, that’s all that matters.”

“What about you?” she inquires, her knees bumping his thigh as she faces him now. “Castle, I hate that your entire life has become centered around protecting me-”

“Even if this wasn’t my job, it’s what I’d be doing,” he states, shutting down that line of thinking before it can begin. “Keeping you safe… it’s all that matters to me. You’re - you already know.”

Kate raises her fingers to graze along his cheek and he catches the back of her hand, turns his lips into her palm. It’s been too long since he’s had the chance to touch her.

“I love you too,” she whispers, leaning in to nudge her nose to his cheek. She sighs out in familiar appreciation when he brushes his lips to her mouth, buries his fingers in her hair and deepens their kiss. 

Kate’s soft moan has him desperate for more, but he remains glued to the spot, waiting for her to make the first move even as he suckles on her bottom lip. All it takes is a stroke of his tongue over hers to gain the surge of her body in his arms. 

“I think it goes without saying that I’m done hiding it,” she mumbles, dragging him down on top of her, cradling his body in the embrace of hers.

“Good, because I wasn’t sure how we were going to make it another four years like this,” he breathes, smirking against her mouth when she chuckles. He chokes on a groan when her hands slide beneath his shirt, splay at his shoulder blades. “Kate, I should-”

“Remind me why I’m alive.” He drops his forehead to rest against hers, closes his eyes to the flames of sensation she elicits with the innocent touch of her fingers down his spine. But he’s helpless when her mouth opens beneath his, when her chest lifts to press against his. “Rick-”

“You’re alive because you’re too good to die,” he mumbles, kissing the skin between her brows, dusting his lips down her nose. The whimper that climbs her throat is muffled by the kiss he layers to her mouth. Her ribcage stutters beneath his hands as he skims his palms to her flesh, caresses the taut muscles and sinewy curves of her body. He should be watching the door, guarding her, but the world is crumbling around them and all he wants is this, her. “Because I love you too much to let you, Kate Beckett.”


She remains tangled with Castle on the couch for a long time. Her eyes often drift to the monitor on the table across the room, to the chaos that has gone quiet, but the White House grounds are still roamed by murderers. She knows she has responsibilities, duties as a leader of the country, but Castle has a point - the only thing she can accomplish by taking any course of action now would be adding to the bloodbath with self-sacrifice. 

Castle has explained their exit strategy and has plans to communicate - once the chances of having a phone call intercepted have lessened - with Ryan and Esposito. The two secret service agents have apparently owned a role in this emergency game plan concocted between her three men since the early days of her presidency.

“They love you too, you know,” he murmurs the explanation into her hair while he brushed his hand up and down her spine. 

She nods before lowering her head to his chest, fighting off thoughts of loved ones, her lack of them. Her mom’s been gone for fifteen years, her dad passed last September. Castle’s been without his eight year old daughter, Alexis, and his mother, Martha, since long before she ever knew him. 

The list of those she cares about has only continued to shrink, but her ferocity to protect those she has left has grown.

Kate curls in closer to him. “We’re a family.”

Castle’s fingers bury in her hair, circle along her scalp. “Does that explain why they call us mom and dad?”

She scoffs, turns her head to brush her upturned lips to his collarbone. 

“We have contacts across the globe,” he picks up, circling back to their original conversation. “They’ll send reinforcements. It’s just a waiting game right now.”

“If we get through this, I don’t want to run again,” she confesses, feeling him shift beneath her, attempting to catch a glimpse of her face, but she keeps her cheek pressed to the spot above his heart.

“This isn’t a new idea, is it?” he murmurs, curving his palm at her nape. She shakes her head.

“I want to change the world and I - I feel like I had a good run these last four years, but this job… I’m tired, Rick. And after this?” She sighs, unfurls her arms from her chest and lifts her head to meet his eyes. Soft and understanding and so very blue. “I just want to live for me for a little while. I want to go back to New York and collaborate with the NYPD again, I want - I want to get a loft in the city and a beach house in the Hamptons like the one you always gushed about-”

He huffs a laugh, his cheeks warming with a hint of color. Kate balances a hand on his chest, cranes her neck forward to rest her forehead to his, nudge her nose to his cheek.

“I want a life. With you.”

“All you’ve ever had to do is say the word,” he replies, stroking his thumb to the hollow spot at the base of her skull. “I want all of that and I - I want to try writing again.”

Kate sucks in a breath, can’t help the smile. He’s been writing her short stories for years now, snippets of characters and enticing political thrillers that she’s never been able to get enough of. His writing career was cut short after the national tragedy that took his family and she never questioned it, didn’t have to. But to witness his passion for the written word and weaving of a tale renewed… it has her heart fluttering with excitement.

“Man, we really have to make it now,” he chuckles, grinning at the press of her kiss to his mouth. 

“We’re going to make it. We’re going to stop the bastards who bombed my house, took strikes at our city, our country. We’re going to rise again as a nation, like we always do, and then you and I are getting our happily ever after,” she lists, feeling her heart skip and accelerate at how badly she wants it. “And years from now, you can publish a loosely inspired novel about it.”

“Ah, President Beckett, you get me.”

His phone buzzes from the pocket of his slacks and Rick quickly leans over to snag the device.

“It’s Esposito, we need to get ready,” he murmurs, his chest expanding with a deep breath as he lifts his eyes to hold her gaze. “You’re glued to me the second we step out of here. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

“It’s mutual. I’ve got your back out there, Castle,” she reminds him, nodding her head towards the arsenal of weapons. “No more overprotective bullshit. You’re my partner.”

He sighs, but doesn’t argue. “Deal, Madam President.”

She shoves lightly on his shoulder as she reaches past him for her clothes. “And stop calling me that.”

Cold Shoulder

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Language, Steve’s kind of a jerk, angst, fluff

Word Count: 1700+

Request: Can i request? Steve and reader are in a relationship, Steve gets mad at reader because she’s been too reckless on a mission and disobey his orders? So he gives her the cold shoulder and she’s trying to make him forgive her while he’s working which made him more pissed off and he snapped at her and she gets angry and tells him that she worries about him too and they made up in the end :)? Thank you

A/N: So, this had been sitting in my inbox for a while and I’m so sorry I’m just now getting to it!! I did end up tweaking it a little bit to fit with how it ended up. I hope you enjoy it! 

The gifs, not mine. Credit to the wonderful owner.

A boom rattled the walls and windows, causing the three sitting in the living room to jump and pivot in the direction of the noise. Bucky, Wanda and Sam twisted around, tense at the loud footsteps that headed towards them, at the ready for whatever was to come. Coming around the corner, Steve charged into the room. His lips were pulled tight, the rage rolling off of him in waves. The three relaxed only enough knowing the threat wasn’t an intruder. Their eyes followed Steve as he crossed through the room, shooting each other worried glances.

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