meetmyinnerdemons  asked:

Hi, I wanted to ask you if you know any fanfictions about Johnlock texting/letters/internet messages, something connected with that? :)

Hi Lovely!

I thought I didn’t have many of these, so I was so excited that I would be able to get this done in 10 minutes… it’s now 4 hours later and I finally got a rough list done for you and I STILL can’t find the one I wanted to add to this list! I’m so angry, because I THOUGHT it was an FFNet fic, but i can’t find it urg. Oh well. I hope you like what I have picked for you instead!


  • Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2799 w, Ao3) - John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can’t find words big enough to thank her for saving John’s life at the warehouse. For afters, there’s a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of Unkissed
  • Happy anniversary by Salambo06 (E, 3772 w., Ao3) - John inhaled deeply, feeling his cock pulse under the silk gown, and he let his eyes travel on the lean body in front of him. Sherlock was kneeling on the bed, their bed, and the picture had been taken so John could perfectly see his bare chest and pelvis. But what mattered most, what made John harden rather quickly, was the pair of panties Sherlock was wearing in the picture. Black, string over each hip and laces that outlined Sherlock’s erect cock barely hidden under the soft underwear.
  • A Brand of Gold by aquabelacqua (M, 12,757 w. Ao3) - John sank deeper into the pillows, let the mist and blur of the wine settle around him, let it shore up his nerves and dim the warning signals that flashed dully in the back of his mind. He let the rest of the disappointment about Lucy and his strange accommodations and about the weekend as a whole fade into obscurity. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there. He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes. **MUST READ**
  • Come Home by hudders-and-hiddles(E, 3763, Ao3) -  When John leaves for a medical conference, Sherlock tries to entice him back home.
  • A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb  (E, 32,690, Ao3) John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX **MUST READ**
  • The Real Meaning of Idioms by feverishsea (T, 21,691 w., Ao3) - After two weeks away, John finally texts Sherlock. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to respond. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to keep texting him. And he really doesn’t expect things to spiral out of control so rapidly.
  • Bread and Wine and Curry Once a Week by cwb (E, 8737 w., Ao3) - "I am not agitated. I’m just tired of it. The insinuations, the comments, that I have no… no interest in relationships, or sex.“ John and Sherlock muddle through a relationship. **FAVE!**
  • Entanglement by orphan_account (G, 3218 w., Ao3)On Christmas Eve, snow covers London, John visits Harry, and Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson untangle some knots. Lovely pining Sherlock fic. Love this one!
  • Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., Ao3)Throughout his life, Sherlock Holmes has always taken facts and held them close like treasures, because in a world of complex emotions, unpredictability, and the unknown, logic has never failed him. Puzzles can always be solved and equations will always have an answer; he seeks and finds comfort in the steady absolution of facts and the knowledge that everything has a definition: an unchanging, consistent meaning. However, at age thirty-five he discovers the exception to all of his neat, tidy logic when he meets John Watson, the one person who evades definition and refuses to be easily categorized—and who makes Sherlock question his own previously unshakeable ideas about everything from life to love. (Apparently a WiP, but it feel complete enough, as the “last chapter” has been waiting for over 2 years)
  • Tease You Till You Come by phoenix089 (E, 6090 w., Ao3) - Initially, Sherlock was rather put out by John’s lack of presence on the case. But then he starts to recieve pictures, several of them, of an unexpected nature. The case is forgotten rather quickly after that.
  • Text Me When It’s Over by immaculately-flawed (K+, 1K+ w., FFnet) - After the fall Sherlock starts writing texts to John. Of course, he never sends them… Until he does by accident. Post Reichenbach fic but not angsty.
  • Texts and Tea by JillianWatson1058 (K, 959 w., ffnet) - A John who is woken up at 2:30 in the morning is not a happy John. Sherlock, frankly, doesn’t care. He just wants his tea.
  • Message Not Sent by Queerasil (K, 762 w. ffnet) - Sherlock texts John after the fall and during the hiatus. The messages are sent, but never received. Sequel to WORDLOCKED, TSTM, and Wait, How Do You Play This Game Again?
  • Iunctum by Fudgyokra (K, 221 w., FFNet) - He stood still for a long time, staring not so much at the words he’d been sent, but at the signature that marked them: A simple ‘SH,’ neatly tucked at the close of the words ‘I’ve missed you.’” A 221B ficlet; Sherlock’s return from the fall.
  • The Art Of Communication by StillWaters1 (T, 2K+ w., FFNet) - Lestrade was used to getting odd, non sequitur texts from Sherlock. But when “John went out for milk” was followed by a terse “two hours ago,” Lestrade immediately understood three things: John was missing, Sherlock was quietly panicking, and this could all end very, very badly.


  • Letters by Jenna Flare (T, 2K+ w., FFNet) - John leaves letters on Sherlock’s grave as a method of coping. Sherlock reads them every week. Sherlock/John, John/Mary. T for swearing. Post-Reichenbach
  • Letters From Beyond by LittleBabeBlue (K, 637 w., FFNet) - A letter for John was found in Sherlock’s coat after he jumped. Post-Reichenbach.
  • Dear John by starwarsfreak95 (T, 601 w. FFNet) - Not all Dear John letters are bad. Sherlock tries to explain to John why he did what he did and how much John means to him.
  • Pen Pals by WerewolfDoctor (K, 2K w., FFNet) - Most people don’t become pen pals by one of them writing a not-suicide note. Then again, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have never exactly been normal, have they?
  • In the Dark Hours by hubblegleeflower (E, 51,639 w., Ao3) - John, wounded and silent, drifts back to Baker Street for healing…and then goes home again. He visits, gets more upbeat, chattier, smiles, jokes… and still goes home again. Sherlock wants him to move back in - it just makes sense - but John shows no signs of doing so. This is the story of how John and Sherlock learn to say what needs to be said when they’re both so very, very rubbish at talking.
  • There’s Something Living in These Lines by teahigh (orphan_account) - (M, 4676 w., Ao3) - Two men, complete opposites in almost every way, who speak only in letters and pages torn from books.
  • Correspondence by Cleo2010 (T, 8031 w., Ao3) – Sherlock’s been spirited away on a case for Mycroft. Part of the deal was that he and John could communicate via letter until the case was completed. Maybe the cliche is true, absence does make the heart grow fonder. Or perhaps something is growing on the feet in the fridge. Read their letters month by month. Written after series one.
  • White Blank Page by SarahCat1717 (M, 11,936 w., Ao3) – Post-fall, Sherlock is off eliminating Moriarty’s crime web. He finds he misses John. He can’t divulge that he still lives, but he placates his need to communicate with John and still feel a connection with him by sending him blank letters. But over time, this writing exercise lends itself to Sherlock exploring his feelings for his friend. What will happen when Sherlock returns to London and the man he has been “writing” to regularly for the past two years? NOT S3 compliant. Mary who?
  • Get It All in Writing by aceofhearts61 (T, 2423 w., Ao3) – Sherlock and John write each other love notes. Part 8 of A Love with No Name
  • and stand there at the edge of my affection by coloredink (G, 2683 w., Ao3)
  • Winter of Life by You_Light_The_Sky (T, 5178 w., Ao3) – It was an experiment, really. On Christmas, Sherlock wrote to Santa asking for a friend. He got a broken toy soldier instead. This is the story of how he finds him again and again.
  • Dear John by wendymarlowe (E, 3 Parts, 30,802 w. Ao3) – With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.)


  • The Case of the Vanishing Blog by Hekateras (K+, 2K+ w., FFNet) - Sherlock is in it for the hunt. John is in it for the action. Even so, the events at the Pool leave a mark on both, unwilling as they are to admit it.
  • One-Way Mirror by StormyNight108 (K+, 830 w. FFNet) - Post-Reichenbach one-shot. It’s been months since the incident, where a man lost his best friend. Slowly but surely, John’s life is starting to turn up a little. That night, his blog is updated to share good news to his followers, and one anonymous commentator is quick to share his happiness. It’s about as close to his friend as he can get right now.
  • Don’t Go Without Me by MirabileLectu (T, 1K+ w. FFNet) - Deep in the recesses of the cluttered space under John’s bed, far from the prying eyes of nosy landladies, there is a box.
  • To Sleep, Perchance to Smother Your Flatmate with a Pillow by Linpatootie (G, 5308 w., Ao3) - Sherlock wants to conduct a sleep study of sorts. John contemplates smothering him with a pillow. Part 1 of Two Coffees One Black One with Sugar Please
  • Journal of Truths by Goddess_of_the_Night (T, 2317 w., Ao3) - When John escorts Sherlock back to Baker Street from the tarmac, he discovers a journal that Sherlock has kept secret…that he has kept secrets in. What he sees when he opens it is nothing like what he expected. He expected scrawling notes of observations, or maths equations, or drawings of plants…anything but what he actually finds: confessions.
  • You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., Ao3) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock’s study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn’t entirely mind.
  • Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by cypress_tree (E, 10,669 w., Ao3) – John helps Sherlock with an experiment: for an entire month, they are not allowed to touch each other and must remain at least one metre apart at all times.
  • The Great Sex Olympics of 221B by XistentialAngst (E, 58,611 w., Ao3) – John Watson thinks Sherlock Holmes should admit that he, Watson, is more of an expert on sex than Sherlock is. But Sherlock refuses to concede the point. He comes up with an experiment plan that will resolve the issue. The results will determine who wins the prize. But sometimes even the best thought-out scientific study has unexpected consequences.


  • I Believe In Sherlock Holmes by Cennis (K, 2+K w., FFNet)When John came to Baker Street one Sunday about six months after the funeral and found an elegant wooden cane, expensive-looking yet sturdy, stuffed away in the shoe cupboard, he began ‘blogging’ again. It began with post-it notes. POST-FALL.
  • In case of emergency by AlessNox (K, 520 w., FFNet) - Sherlock is charged with making a list of what supplies they would need in case of an emergency.
  • The Three-Word Tin Collection by TheBookshelfDweller (K, 1K+ w., FFNet) - What happens when Sherlock has to store the things he wants to say to John while deconstructing Moriarty’s web, but the Mind palace proves an inadequate place to store them?
  • 206 Reasons by whitchry9 (K+, 1K+, FFNet) - John won’t wake up, so Sherlock lists all the reasons why he should. Because he appears to be a bit besotted. How inconvenient.
  • Because Blah Blah Blah Happy by cwb (E, 4,578 w., Ao3) – John is entirely done with the milk situation and gives Sherlock a list of shit he’s pissed about. Sherlock sets out to make John happy. John is happy. Sherlock makes his own list. They are both very, very happy.
  • The Trouble With Being Subtle. by VictoryCandescence (NR, 5429 w., Ao3) - In which Sherlock experiments, John misinterprets, and everyone else stands back and waits for the light to turn on.
  • The Importance of Torn Papers by MyLittleCornerOfSherlock (G, 2427 w., Ao3) – Little things make a big difference, even little notes of thanks. Small reminders to show he cares.
  • Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w., Ao3) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s ‘Heart of Darkness’, and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts’ now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.
  • See Recipe for Details by pandoras_chaos (E, 4,981, Ao3) – John knows Sherlock’s mouth will never water over the sweet smells of baking chocolate biscuits or a lovely roast chicken, but he’s watched Sherlock nick mince pies out of Mrs. Hudson’s fridge often enough to deduce that the man does have taste, albeit confusing and obscure.
    So John makes a list: Things Sherlock Likes

And I have a few on my Marked For Later List which also have this theme. I HAVE NOT READ THEM, so I don’t know what they are like; I was waiting for them to finish before I do. As well, Alexx has a tonne of lists you can check out too!

The Twins’ Relationship with Ginny is Highly Underrated

It’s great to watch it develop over the course of the series.


“Hurry up!” their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister began to cry.

“Don’t, Ginny, we’ll send you loads of owls.”

“We’ll send you a Hogwarts’ lavatory seat.”


“Only joking, Mum.”

The train began to move. Harry saw the boys’ mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved.


Fred and George challenged Harry and Ron to a few games of Exploding Snap, and Ginny sat watching them, very subdued in Hermione’s usual chair.


“What do we want to be prefects for?” said George, looking revolted at the very idea. “It’d take all the fun out of life." 

Ginny giggled.

"You want to set a better example for your sister!” snapped Mrs. Weasley.


“Come on, Ron, you were always saying how boring Scabbers was,” said Fred bracingly. “And he’s been off-color for ages, he was wasting away. It was probably better for him to snuff it quickly — one swallow — he probably didn’t feel a thing.”

“Fred!” said Ginny indignantly.


Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer.

“C'mon,” said Fred, grabbing Ginny’s hand and starting to pull her toward the wood.”


Fred, George, and Ginny came to sit next to them too, and Harry was having such a good time he felt almost as though he were back at the Burrow.


“Oh, hello, Harry!” said Ron’s younger sister, Ginny, brightly.

“I thought I heard your voice.”

Turning to Fred and George, she said, “It’s no-go with the Extendable Ears, she’s gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door.”


“Asleep, yeah, right,” said Fred in an undertone, after Hermione bade them goodnight and they were climbing to the next floor. “If Ginny’s not lying awake waiting for Hermione to tell her everything they said downstairs then I’m a flobberworm…”


“Yeah, size is no guarantee of power,” said George. “Look at Ginny.”


Fred, George and Ginny were doing a kind of war dance to a chant that went: “He got off, he got off, he got off…" 


"He got off, he got off, he got off…”

“That’s enough - Fred - George - Ginny!” said Mrs. Weasley, as Mr. Weasley left the kitchen.


Fred, George and Ginny were still singing. "HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF-“ 

"SHUT UP!” roared Mrs. Weasley.


Fred and George still looked mutinous. Ginny, however, took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it. […] The twins glared at Sirius for another minute, then took seats either side of Ginny.


“Come on, Ginny’s not bad,” said George fairly, sitting down next to Fred. “Actually, I dunno how she got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us." 

"She’s been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren’t looking,” said Hermione from behind her tottering pile of Ancient Rune books. 

“Oh,” said George, looking mildly impressed. “Well - that’d explain it.”


“The thing about growing up with Fred and George,” said Ginny thoughtfully, “is that you sort of start thinking anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.”


“Hey,” said a voice in Harry’s ear. He looked round; Fred and George had come to join them. 

“Ginny’s had a word with us about you,” said Fred, stretching out his legs on the table […]


“Luna and I can stand at either end of the corridor,” said Ginny promptly, “and warn people not to go down there because someone’s let off a load of Garrotting Gas." 

Hermione looked surprised at the readiness with which Ginny had come up with this lie; Ginny shrugged and said, "Fred and George were planning to do it before they left.”


“Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!” said Ginny, her jaw set so that her resemblance to Fred and George was suddenly striking.


There you go,“ said Fred proudly. "Best range of love potions you’ll find anywhere." 

Ginny raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Do they work?” she asked. 

“Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question…" 

"… and the attractiveness of the girl,” said George, reappearing suddenly at their side. "But we’re not selling them to our sister,“ he added, becoming suddenly stern, "not when she’s already got about five boys on the go from what we've…" 

"Whatever you’ve heard from Ron is a big fat lie,” said Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf. “What’s this?" 

"Guaranteed ten-second pimple vanisher,” said Fred. “Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don’t change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?" 

"Yes, I am,” said Ginny. “And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?”

She was pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks. 

"Pygmy Puffs,” said George. 

“Miniature puffskeins, we can’t breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?" 

"I dumped him, he was a bad loser,” said Ginny, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. 

“They’re really cute!”

 "They’re fairly cuddly, yes,“ conceded Fred.

 "But you’re moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren’t you?” Ginny turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. There was such a Mrs. Weasley-ish glare on her face that Harry was surprised Fred didn’t recoil.


“And speaking of hitherto unsuspected skills, Ronald,” said George, “what is this we hear from Ginny about you and a young lady called — unless our information is faulty — Lavender Brown?”


“Then, as Charlie isn’t coming home, that just leaves Harry and Ron in the attic, and if Fleur shares with Ginny —" 

"— that’ll make Ginny’s Christmas —” muttered Fred.


Under cover of a particularly jazzy number called “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love,” Fred and George started a game of Exploding Snap with Ginny.


Admittedly, it took very little to set her off lately; she had been crying on and off ever since Percy had stormed from the house on Christmas Day with his glasses splattered with mashed parsnip (for which Fred, George, and Ginny all claimed credit). 


Ginny was now climbing through the hole in the wall, closely followed by Fred, George, and Lee Jordan.


“She’s sixteen!“ shouted Mrs. Weasley.

"She’s not old enough! What you two were thinking bringing her with you—”

Fred and George looked slightly ashamed of themselves.

BΔSTILLE Song Catalogue

[Last updated: 25/03/17]
This is a list of every Bastille song we know about!

If you can’t find a copy of anything in the list, feel free to message me and I can probably hook you up. At the bottom of the list I’ve also included songs by Dan Smith before Bastille formed and songs he created with Ralph PelleyMounter.

If I’ve missed anything please reply/message me so I can update the list! I’ll be updating it periodically anyway with new stuff they release.

Keep reading


2014 Christmas cover
2016 adult ceremony dance cover
2017 we don’t talk anymore cover
+ own it dance cover
& when jungkook had the chance to choreograph small part of 21st century girl he choosed to do that part with jimin
i love supportive boyfriends who are passionate about the same thing just imagining them the two of them together late at night in the studio working , teasing *cough* flirting *cough* filling eachother with praises and overall enjoying each other company make me so soft
❤ i choosed the right ship to stan ❤

It has to be destiny

I hope that you like it, because I was waiting for request like that, like… whole my life.

Originally posted by cumberbatchlives

Doctor Stephen Strange opened his eyes and looked around with furrowed brow, not recognizing his surrounding at first. He sighed seeing that he was sitting in his armchair in the library of Sanctum Sanctorum. The flame in fire place, that he was sitting close to, was slowly dying out. Looking at himself Doctor noticed that he was covered by thick blanket, his cape nowhere to be seen.

Slowly, Stephen got up from armchair and laid the blanket on it before he made his way out of the library and looked around the corridor, trying to figure out, where could his cape went. Smelling the smell coming from the kitchen, man smiled and went in the said direction, his smile only growing when he heard the tunes of  Frank Sinatra’s Witchcraft. Trying to make as little sound as possible, Strange peeked into the room, to see you, dancing slightly with his cape of levitation, humming to the tunes of the song and occasionally turning to the stove to stir, whatever was in the pod, with your wooden spoon.

Leaning against the doorframe, man crossed his arms at his chest and looked at you with soft eyes. The way your hips swings, how you spin with the cape of levitation, the sparks in your (r/c) eyes and smile, oh this gentle, beautiful  smile you barely was showing to anyone in normal days. But it wasn’t normal day. The Christmas was nearing, snow covered the streets completely and it was that time that everyone felt the atmosphere of the holidays that were only one week apart.

Seeing you like that, Strange couldn’t help but think about the day he meet you.

It was in Kamar-Taj. When the Ancient One finally allowed him in, he was greeted by your amused face. You definitely weren’t new there. Yet Strange assumed that you couldn’t be there longer than Mordo. At least that’s what he thought, taking in your appearance. Your hair were in colorful mess, that he barely could notice their natural (h/c) color. Your robes were loose, showing your bandaged chest, where he was able to see a small pentagram-like tattoo. You didn’t look like you were used to what the monks were wearing, more like if they made you wear the clothes you were totally against to. Oh, how you laughed, not even two days later, at the sight of his face, when Mordo told him that you were with the monks from when you were barely a teenager, becoming the one of the best among them in matter of weeks. Strange never got to know your story, of how you got there, but he didn’t care, not after you showed him that past doesn’t matter, that his hands didn’t really mattered in the mystic arts, and that it was your destiny to meet. He didn’t agreed with you at the beginning, but he learned to trust your words with time. You were the one who introduced him to Wong and helped him with his studding, never getting mad at him and having a lot of patience with him. It was you, who showed him, how to get books from library that Wong didn’t want to give him yet, telling him the story of how you did the same, years ago, with former master librarian.

It was right before Kaecilius attacked, that Strange understood that his feelings for you weren’t just regular, boring friendship, but something much stronger, yet how strong he didn’t really know, not then. It came clear to him in Hong Kong, when while rewinding time he saw your lifeless body lying in the rubble of destroyed Sanctuary. When you stood up, Strange couldn’t help himself and hugged you, pulling you to his chest with all his force, and despite the circumstances he laughed at how shocked you were at the fact that you were alive.

“I love you.” Were his first words when he saw you, half year later, entering the New Your sanctuary as the new guardian of it. In that moment smile that was on your face only grew at wat you heard. It turned out as the best day of Doctor’s life in the moment you dropped the bag with your thing and hugged him, answering to his statement with the exact same words… after you called him a dumbass.

It was two years from when he meet you, and full year from his confession, and every day of it was just perfect, yet it was probably the first time he saw you cooking something else than water for tea.

Strange blinked, focusing on reality when he felt the weight of his cape resting on his shoulders and pushing him into the kitchen, where you were now completely focused on preparing the food, still swaying your hips to the sound of the music in the background, your humming quiet, yet the best and most perfect sound for Stephen’s ears.

Standing behind you and placing his shaking hands on your hips, Doctor started moving with you, his lips carefully kissing your uncovered shoulder, then neck and ear, at which he blew slightly.

“Frank Sinatra Witchcraft, 1957, composed by Cy Coleman with lyrics by Carolyn Leigh.” You giggled, turning off the stove and turning around to look him in the eyes.

“My favorite song.” Strange hummed, bowing his head and kissing your lips.

“I thought it was Hey Jude by The Beatles.”

“No.” You bopped his nose. “It’s my favorite Beatles song.”

“Ah.” He kissed you again. “And why are you cooking? I though you are not capable of such an act.” Rolling your eyes you pushed him slightly, and went to the cupboard to get plates.

“And where did you get that idea?”

“Taking the amount of pizza boxes and other take-outs that we are nearly drowning in?” He leaned against the table, watching you as you putted your dish on the both plates.

“Just for your information. I can cook, I just choose not to do it.”

“Then why today?” He took the plates for you and sat at the table, watching with smile as you poured wine in the glasses. He took his time smelling the dish and his mouth watered at the smell.

“Pizza Hut is not delivering today because of snow.” You sat in front of him and gave him his wineglass and giggling at him, eying the food in front of him. “It’s chicken with rice and vegetables with curry and pepper.” Strange took a bite and his eyes widened.

“It’s delicious.” You grinned at his words and started eating yourself.

After the dinner, Stephen washed the dishes and took you back to library where the both of you sat on the sofa, covered yourself with blanket and looked at the flames in the fireplace that Doctor rekindled, sipping wine, your head on his shoulder, the sound of burning wood and your breaths the only sounds in the room.

When Doctor reached to table for his book, you stopped him and climbed on his laps after placing both your wineglasses on the table, and hugged him with gentle smile on your face. When he hugged you back, you felt that you wanted the time to stop at this very moment, just so you can stay like this for whole eternity.

When you lowered your head to his neck and started nibbling at his skin, Strange smiled and started playing lazily with your hair.

“And what are you doing?” You chuckled soundlessly in his heck and looked at him with innocent eyes.

“Dunno. Though it may be the perfect moment for the dessert?” Smiling, Strange placed his hand on your neck and pulled you for lazy, gentle kiss, the one that made you melt inside.

“Have I ever told you, how much I love you?”

“Few times.” You pecked his lips and started playing with his robes. “But you may remind me. You know how forgetful I can be.” Smiling Stephen pushed you on the sofa and hovered above you, capturing your lips once more, yet with much more passion than earlier.

Maybe you were right and it was destiny that he get into an accident that evening? After all, if not it, he wouldn’t have meet you, and world would be much likely destroyed. And now, because of his careless behavior on the road, he was there, with the most perfect woman in the universe, knowing that she was his whole world, and that for her, he would do and fight everything. It has to be destiny, there is no other way that he would love this much someone who wasn’t destined for him. Even though he doesn’t know her story, he doesn’t care. It was past, and it’s now that mattered…

And now, he had a very important matter in his hands… and below him…

Yes, it has to be destiny.

things i’d like from @crankgameplays:

  • a full cover of “i can’t help falling in love with you”
  • a full cover of “you are my sunshine”
  • a full cover of “have yourself a merry little christmas”
  • a full cover of “first day of my life”
  • maybe a hug or two
  • thanks

this list is subject to grow the more things i realize i want from you. thank you. goodbye. 

Mulder & Scully Save Christmas On Mars! Wanted to put something special together to celebrate the holiday so I “unearthed” this vintage comic book cover from Christmas’ past. Merry X-Mas, X-Philes!

On The Door Step - part 1

Parings: Dean x Sister!Reader x Sam

Summary: In 2000, John Winchester opened the door to his current motel room and found a little girl at his feet, sleeping peacefully with a fuzzy white blanket tucking her in a wicker basket. Now, nearly 16 years later, (Y/N) has still yet to find herself in the world of the Winchesters.


Warning: Slight season 10/11 spoilers, moody teenager, cursing, angry Dean, mentions of character death

Words:  1,332

A/N: Hi again, just wanted to thank everyone for the notes on the prologue. After a while of thinking over the story, I have discovered what I wish to do with it! And I apologize in advance for long periods between posts. Enjoy!

My bare feet feel cold against the bunker’s tile floor as I make my way to the kitchen in the dark. The sleeves of the huge hoodie Sam bought me last Christmas cover my hands, keeping them warm from the chilly air. Expecting to see my brothers sitting at the table, their faces glued to computer screens and bodies jittery from caffeine, my heart sinks closer to my stomach when I find the kitchen empty.

“Where the hell are you?” I breathe into the empty space.

I check my phone, reloading my messages. Nothing. Radio silence.

Sam left me at the bunker a week ago, telling me he had to stop Dean from doing something stupid again. He’d given me a hug, a kiss on the forehead and then rushed out the door in a blur. Other than a message explaining how I have to stay in the bunker and that they’ll call me out of school until further notice three days ago, there’s been nothing.

Balling the ends of my sleeve into my hands, I cross my arms and sink into the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. The dark thoughts I have been fighting so hard to keep back come creeping back in.

I haven’t even heard anything from Castiel or Charlie… At least one of them would give me some kind of update.

I run my fingers through my hair, slightly pulling at the strands as I can feel the tears weld up in my eyes. They can’t be dead. They’re Winchesters.

Just as I’m edging on the ledge of an anxiety attack, my phone lights up and vibrates against the tile floor. I scramble to pick it up, dropping it in the process of switching the small green icon to answer the call from Sam.

“Sammy?” I ask weakly, biting on my thumbnail and hoping it’s not an officer calling me because they found their bodies.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Sam says calmly and releasing a sigh. “I’ve been meaning to call, but things have been… busy.”

I roll my eyes. They’re always hiding things, or trying to hide things from me. They dropped me off at a library before they asked the man who cut off his arm questions and they also tried to cover up the fact that that man’s family was going to burn the bunker to the ground (I wasn’t home for that either, they thought it would be best to drop me off at Jody’s for the weekend).

They can never tell me everything.

“Is Dean okay? And have you heard anything from Charlie, she hasn’t been answering.”

Sam takes a moment to breathe deeply, and I can just imagine how tired and stressed he looks. A heartbeat later, Sam’s ready to talk.

“(Y/N), Charlie’s dead.”

“What?! When?!”

“She’s been dead for a couple of weeks, (Y/N/N).” Tears well up in my eyes, and I have to fight them from falling. “Dean killed the men that did it.”

Of course he did.

“Castiel isn’t doing to well, but the three of us will be home soon.” With that, Sam hangs up and I close my eyes as a few tears trail down my cheek. She was my best friend. How could they not tell me? How come it took so long to tell me?!

I can feel the slow simmer of my blood beneath my flesh and my eyes flicker to the digital clock on my phone’s screen. I have an hour to get to school.

My fingers hold the ice pack against my eye lid as my body shifts in the chair across from the principal’s office door. The secretary judges me from her thick pink rimmed glasses, and I glare back at her in response. My leg bounces with the left over adrenaline from the fight that had just taken place in my math class. To be honest, I don’t know the kid that I started this fight with, I’m not even sure he deserved it, but I had to do something.

“Winchester,” Principal Young calls from her office door, just as Dean and Sam walk into the front office. They both catch the eye of the secretary, and I snicker as she ogles at them. Dean glares at me, silently asking me if I think this is funny (he’s completely unaware of the old woman practically drooling over them). 

I quickly make my way to the small office and take a seat in front of the wooden desk, my hands between my legs and my head ducked down. Young takes his seat at the desk, pointing to the other two uncomfortable chairs for my brothers to sit. Once they do, he sets to work, explaining that I have one last chance to clean up my act or I’ll be expelled.

Young finishes by giving the same spiel that he’s given me before. “You’re a good student,” “You have good grade, you just need a better attitude.” The same tune… yadda yadda.

Frustrated, I drop kick the ice pack into the parking lot once we were excused. Dean is the first to speak up.

“So, what? We come home and you decide you just have to punch the first kid you see?” He hollers, tossing my book bag at me. My bag drops to the concrete, the zipper undoing and spilling the contents. I watch the blank notebook papers dance in the air, tucking my hair behind my ears before bending down to pick it up.


“No, Sam! I wanna know!” Dean continues to yell, tossing his hands up. “Every time we’re gone, you’re “the best student of the school” but when we’re here, you seem to lose your fucking mind!” 

“Dean!” Sam shouts at our brother, pulling on his shoulder to force him to stop. “You’re making it worse.”

My body feels extremely warm and my cheeks are damp with tears I hadn’t realized I was shedding. My stomach clenches tight and my vision blurs with the unsheded salty water and my shoulders quiver and the palms of my hands dig into my eyes as the reality really sets in that Charlie is gone.

“(Y/N)?” Dean kneels down and places a hand on my shoulder.

“I miss her,” I meet his eyes, my voice quivering. I haven’t cried this hard since Sam dragged Dean’s wounded body to his room, telling me that Metatron killed him.

Dean pulls me into his chest, my fingers wrapping tightly around the flannel. Dean hugs me tight, smoothing out my hair, mumbling, “I miss her too.”

After several long minutes of my brothers giving me hugs, Sam walks me to the car with me tucked under his arm, promising me that we’ll get back to the bunker and we’ll sit down and watch whatever movie I want. No matter how cheesy and romantic it is, we’ll watch it.

Castiel greets me with a weak smile as I take my spot in the back of the Impala, and my eyes drift to the cuffs around his wrist. My eyebrows raise, “why is he cuffed?”

“Rowena did something,” Sam answers bluntly. “We’re taking precautions.” Nodding along to Sam’s words, I tuck my bag between the seats and smile at Cas.

“Would you like me to heal that?” Castiel huffs out, slowly raising a hand towards his own eye. Before I can speak, Dean interrupts.

“Cas, you need your strength.” Cas seems to ignore my brother, still watching me as he waits for an answer.

“No, I’m good.” I sniffle, forcing a large smile. “It adds character anyways.”

Castiel smiles weakly before resting his head back and slightly closing his eyes. Dean speeds out of the parking lot, Sam grumbling something underneath his breath, and I lean back into the seat, my eyes growing heavy as I watch the trees pass by.

I’ll never forget you, Charlie. I close my eyes, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she can hear me wherever she is.


Third Christmas

the series is as follows so far:

FirstSecond ThirdFourthFifthFifth Christmas, Part 2SixthSeventhEighthNinthTenthEleventhTwelfthThirteenthFourteenthFifteenthSixteenthSeventeenthEighteenthNineteenthTwentiethTwenty-firstTwenty-secondTwenty-third


He stood for a good twenty minutes in the Christmas shop, surveying rows and stacks of ornaments, wondering which would be a good fit for their third year together. He’d gotten her the alien and the Woodstock Snowman and he was leaning towards the Dog trapped in Christmas Lights when something else caught his eye.

A crystal snowflake, cut in such a way that the light caught it from a hundred different angles.

Without thought to price, he bought it, along with two stockings and a box of candy canes.


Knocking lightly, he didn’t hear a sound from inside her apartment but given her car was parked at the curb, he used his key, figuring she was probably asleep on the couch. Opening the door, he found the room dim but not pitch black, the only light coming from the TV, which seemed to be on the Weather Channel. Locking behind him, he silently got out of his shoes, hung his coat, tiptoed to the couch, finding her just where he thought she’d be.

Looking up from her sleeping face after a minute, he saw her half-assembled Christmas tree, two sections done, the rest spread across the carpet. With a quietly sad sigh, he lay a second blanket over her and got to work, the glow of the tropical update assisting in his task. It didn’t take too long to get the tree together, after which he opened up the ornaments, putting the newest addition on first, methodically hanging the rest like they’d done in the past.

After stashing the boxes back in the hall closet, he returned to find her eyes open, looking at the tree. He could almost see her trying to remember if she had done it before she fell asleep and kneeling down in front of her, hand pushing back her hair, finding her forehead warm, “hey there.”


“How are you feeling?” Even in the dark, he could see her turn slightly green at the question so he moved on quickly, pointing over his shoulder, “hope you don’t mind. I tried to be just as OCD about it as you are.”

She wanted to make a joke, give him something to hold on to but the chemo she’d received earlier in the day was taking its toll, wiping her out to the point where even moving her eyelids was exhausting. Forcing her focus on the tree for a moment, she looked back up at him, her voice frail, shatteringly feeble, low to the point he had to lean in, “it looks beautiful. Thank you.”

“I’m not done yet.” Standing after dropping a kiss to her nose, he moved to the other items he’d purchased, affixing the two stockings to the mantle with sticky hooks, then crooking a candy cane in each, he adorned the tree with the rest. “I decided we needed stockings and candy canes. You’ve never put them on before and they looked festive, so I bought ‘em.” Pulling one back off the branches, he returned to sit by her head, unwrapping the candy as he did so. Holding it out to her, “share?”

“Oh, Mulder, I don’t think my stomach can take it right now.”

“It’s peppermint though. That’s supposed to be good for nausea.”

Her heart warmed at the idea of him reading something and paying attention and thinking of her in the middle of wherever he’d been shopping. Wiggling her hand free, she took the candy and sucked on the end for a moment or three before handing it to him, “your turn.”

It took nearly half-an-hour to consume the striped goodness, which they did in silence, Mulder having flipped through the channels on her TV until he found ‘The Christmas Story’, sound off but better than watching half of the country basking in warm temperatures while they had wind chills in the negative double digits. Tossing the now empty wrapper on the coffee table, “you want some help getting to bed or would you like to stay out here?”

It the quiet of winter darkness, rainbow reflections dancing on the walls and in Mulder’s ancient-souled eyes, she didn’t know how to hide anymore. “I was sick in bed earlier and never got around to cleaning it up.”

Tilting his head, he smiled softly at her, his hand back on her forehead, fingers in her hair, “then thank God I gave you something peppermint or this would be an unbearable conversation.”

Oh, he so desperately wanted to make her feel better and for just a moment, she did, chuckling a wet, tear-y laugh, then wincing, her head aching as well. Seeing her, he stopped smiling, getting serious, “spare room?”

“Covered in Christmas presents that still need wrapping.”

“Well, damn it, woman,” he stood, then held out her hand, “can you give me 38 seconds to get this sofa open for you? You need a better place to sleep than all curled up like that.”

Bracing herself, she stood slowly, but the horizon change still got her, the dizziness driving her stomach contents up her throat. Luckily, Mulder was ready with the trash can she had conveniently placed beside the couch and luckily, it was over quickly, nothing left in her stomach to come back out but the few dry heaves that made the bones in her back crack and her jaw pop, Mulder wincing involuntarily.

He also stood the entire time with one hand on her back and one on her hip.

They were beyond trivialities at this point.

He took the can quietly from her when she finally straightened up, letting her grip his arm as she moved the four steps to the chair. Handing her the bucket, “that does not count in my 38 seconds, just saying.” He swiftly lifted the coffee table out of the way, then, with Scully looking on confused, he rotated the couch ninety degrees before pulling out the bed. It had sheets already on it and Mulder grabbed two pillows from the hall closet and her spare comforter, elegantly tossing them all in place, “time?”

Feigning looking at her watch, “41 seconds. Better luck next time, buddy.”


As he helped her stand, then settle down on the couch, she asked over her shoulder, “why did you move the couch?”

“So you could lay down and still see the tree.” Holding a finger up, “hang on.”

All she had time for was a deep sigh at the heavenliness of the pillow sinking under her head, her fatigue at its breaking point, before Mulder returned, wrapped in sweatpants and an old, torn t-shirt emblazoned with a Care Bear dressed as Batman with the superhero’s iconic symbol beaming from the animal’s chest. “I forgot about that shirt.”

Mulder clicked off the TV, then slid under the covers, not touching her, remaining on his side of the mattress, “the things I can find at a church rummage sale, Scully, would blow your mind.” Trying his best not to jostle her, he got comfortable, turning on his left side, facing both the tree and her profile as she stared at the ceiling, “I’m just glad you steal enough of my clothes on cases that I have a permanent stash here.”

Since she was on her back, she had to choose between turning on her left side to face the tree or on her right to talk to him. The tree won, given she couldn’t bring herself to roll twice and he’d moved the couch so she could fall asleep to the lights. She did, however, reach behind her, her hand flailing until Mulder saw it, taking it in his, “come closer.”

This was something new. They’d bunked down together before, mostly when he refused to leave her alone because she was so sick from previous treatments and she was too scared to be left. When he didn’t move, she pulled his hand towards her, giving him a second indication that she really wasn’t kidding but wanted him closer.

Scooting until there were just millimeters between them, Scully closed the gap, “I am freezing and you are the best furnace I have.”

Carefully letting his hand fall over her hip and around her waist, settling on the mattress in front of her belly, “is this okay?”

Already relaxing under the warmth, “perfect.”

“Whatever you need, Scully.”

Shifting her hand so she could tuck it under her cheek, keep her fingers warm, “thank you.”

Tentatively, daringly, bravely, stupidly, he kissed her lightly on the scar left at the base of her neck, the chip removed and gone, the cancer rampant in its place. He didn’t linger, he didn’t push, he didn’t expect but simply touched for a moment, then drew back, “did you ever sleep under the tree as a kid?”

“A few times,” her neck tingled, “Missy and I would,” her heart skipped, “but I haven’t since I was about 12,” her pulse quickened for a fraction.

“Well, it was high time you did it again then.”

“Yes, it is.” Quiet descended again, until, “the new ornament is beautiful.”

Desperate to tell her it paled in comparison to its owner, he instead moved just a little closer, moved the blankets a little higher, returned his hand to her a little heavier, resting it instead on the downward slope of her side, “are you warm enough?”


Safe and sound for the moment, queasiness calmed for the moment, Mulder wrapped around her for the moment, she slipped into sleep, knowing he’d be there when she woke up in the morning.

 i’ll make a new home for christmas

this is for @angerybisexual cause she encouraged me to write my Christmas fic even though it’s April.

summary: @1975cashtons describes as such “you’re heard of pwp….now get ready for fwp. fluff without plot

words: 3673 (I know I’m insane)

warnings: I think there’s some cursing

a/n: I'm sorry for any typos or editing mistakes I’ve been up for almost 24 hours so I’m bound to have messed uo but if I didn’t get this up I might’ve actually died

The door slams shut behind you, and a shiver runs through your body. The wind had been like a blade, cutting you to the bone. There’s snow in your hair, your nose and cheeks are rosy from the cold. You pull off your hat and scarf being careful not to take your headphones out of your ears. You drag your bag in the direction of your room cursing your past self for not spending an extra twenty dollars and getting the bag with wheels.

Keep reading

Lay Me Down - part 1

Originally posted by daystilchristmas

Pairing: Dracoxreader

Words: 1498

Warnings: none

A/U:  1. First I thought of putting a “_” instead of a specific house. In the end my Hufflepuff pride took over. #sorrynotsorry. 

2. I was listening to “In the Lonely Hour” by Sam Smith and thought of this. Not sure why I’m writing a Christmas story in February, but here it is. Enjoy.

                           “I know you’ll understand us. Love, mom.”

                          “Believe me, I love you, but not in that way.”

This was the tenth time you had read both letters. You were better than self-pity, yet you couldn’t help but to re-read them almost every day. Who could blame you, right? If one receives a letter that her muggle parents are going on a cruise for Christmas and New Year’s and a day later receives another one from her boyfriend telling her that he no longer wants to be their boyfriend they would be feeling a bit down too.

Since you were  a new transfer, you didn’t know a lot of people, and those who you got along with were away with their families. Now, you were alone for Christmas break. You thought of going home but you would be just as alone there. At least here someone else would cook for you.

With a huff, you made both pieces of paper into a messy ball and threw them on the wastebasket. Giving them one last look you decided to head down to enjoy the feast. Through the windows you could see the snow fell down rapidly covering the trees and grass. The Great Hall was completely decorated with Christmas theme. Before heading to the table, you grabbed your instant camera and took a picture of the beautiful view.

“Whatever is that thing you have there?” Asked someone from behind you. you looked back and your eyes met big blue eyes. They stared at you expectantly, waiting for a reply. It was the entitled slytherin, Draco Malfoy.

You looked back at your camera for a few seconds, grabbing the photo that had just printed and shaking it lightly. “It’s a camera. It takes pictures,” you said, showing him the picture you had just taken.

“Why would you bring such thing here? Ours are much better than those muggle things. Those don’t even move,” He said. You rolled your eyes., not interested in hearing him talk trash about muggles. You were raised as one. Your parents, friends, everyone you knew were muggles. For the longest time, you thought you were one. That was why you were pretty attached to your “muggle” things.

“I brought it here  cause I wanted to, you don’t have to look at it,” you said rolling your eyes, “Now, my Christmas sucks already I’m not making it worse by hearing to your ‘muggle-hate crap’ so goodbye, Draco.”

“Whatever mudblood.,” he snarled. You flipped him off on your way to your table. You didn’t look back to see his reaction, though you were tempted. Would he be offended? Would it mean anything to him, or it was another muggle thing? You resisted temptation and went over to the Hufflepuff table.

Once there you looked around, Gryffindor had around five students, they were all talking happily while eating Christmas cake, the situation was similar over at the Ravenclaw table. Draco sat alone in the long slytherin table. Although yours was completely covered with Christmas garments, on  it there were only a few turkey sandwiches, crumpets and cake. The small quantity given by the fact that you were the only Hufflepuff that stayed back.

An hour later, you were filled with turkey, cake, and whatnot. So you decided to head back to your dorm. You stayed back curled up in the sofa next to the chimney, trying to keep warm, with your headphones connected  to the phone. You listened to Sam Smith with your eyes closed, lowly singing along to his songs and losing track to time.  You opened your eyes and looked down at the phone displaying Sam Smith’s face. The short interaction with Draco about muggle cameras coming back. That’s when you remembered the letter and things one of your friends back home sent you. A small silver bottle, it said “eau de parfum” on the outside but the letter she wrote explained it did not contain a perfume at all. You laughed to yourself, Sandra would never change.

You thought about it. You couldn’t do it, could you? It was completely forbidden. Yet, if you would ever break the rules, now would be the perfect time. Most people were gone, and your phone indicated it was late at night. After considering it for a while you decided to just go with it and do it. You headed quickly upstairs to retrieve the bottle and your yellow scarf with your phone still on you hand.

You ran through the halls, looking back every so often to make sure no one had caught you. It was almost three a.m so you doubted anyone would be up, but in this place, you could never be too cautious. Soon enough you found the kitchen, there, with what little light you had from your phone you started to search for all the ingredients. You placed a glass jar on the table and bent down to look for herbs.

A hand grabbed your arm and you froze, afraid to look up. Other hand took one of the earphone away from your ear and you mentally cursed yourself. How could you been so careless? Leaving your earphones on was such a dumb move. Slowly you looked up, hoping it would be Dumbledore the one to catch you instead of Snape. It was neither. Instead, the blond slytherin boy stood next to you. “What are you doing here?”

“You ask that to me, muggle?” he asked offended, “I’m not the one sneaking into the kitchen at this hour.”

“My name is Y/N, not ‘mudblood’ or ‘muggle’ or anything of the sort. Why I’m here it’s none of your business. Why were you following me?”

“I saw you running down the hallway, thought something might have happened since you were going in direction of the Great Hall. Obviously you weren’t going there. You were thieving.”

“Whatever, Draco. You caught me, now either go tell Dumbledore, McGonagall, whoever. Or let me finish what I started.”

“Your are much rude than I would expect from a ‘kind’ Hufflepuff.”

“And you’re just as annoying as I would expect from a Slytherin,” you said. You knew that if he hadn’t told anyone yet, he would be wanting something in exchange to keep quiet.

Draco rolled his eyes and looked at the silver bottle in your hand, “What’s that?”


“C’mon, Y/N, I’m not telling.”

“You’re not?”

“As long as you tell me your plan.”

You huffed, “There it is, typical slytherin.”

He laughed, “So?”

“It’s vodka,” You replied, he didn’t seem to understand that, “alcohol, Draco. It’s alcohol.”

“And what are you planning to do with that?”

“Drink it,” You said, at this point it didn’t seem like he would tell anyone, so you just continued to search for the rest of the ingredients. “And since it’s Christmas I don’t want to drink it just like that. I want cola de mono,” you explained, placing the milk, sugar, and the silver bottle on the table next to the jar.

“Cola de mono?” He asked his interest peaking.

“Monkey’s tail,” You translated, “It’s a typical christmas drink where I’m from,” You said looking for the rest of the things required to make the drink, but as much as you looked, you couldn’t find them, “Since I can’t go home, I’ll bring part of it here.”

“Muggles and their weird customs. It sounds rather appaling to drink something with such name.”

“Well, you don’t have to drink it,” You said, sighing, “but if you do want to try it, help me find the cinnamon and vanilla. I just don’t see them. And I need them”

He looked at you for a while, not sure if he wanted to help you. He said to himself he didn’t even want to be there, that he should go back to the slytherin common room. Yet, there he stood. Opposite you, not moving to leave. With a short huff, he decided to ignore his brain and help you. It didn’t take him much time to find what you needed. They were in the top shelves, too far up for you to see.

“Here you go, cinnamon and vanilla,” he said handing them to you. “If you were taller you would have see them long ago.”

You grabbed the bottles and started to make the recipe, “Well thankfully you’re here,” you said while you stirred the milk, water, and vodka. You froze for a few seconds when you realized what you had said, feeling how your cheeks turned red. You didn’t see his reaction, you just stared at the jar and continued to stir with force. You added the coffee, cinnamon and vanilla and continued to stir.

“Done,” you said, taking the jar in your hands, “It has to bee at least a liter, maybe more,” you said, “get glasses,” You were about to put the jar back down, when you heard people coming. Draco and you looked at each other in alarm, “Oh no.”

Part 2


Lin x Reader

This idea just kind of showed up and slapped me in the face because I just moved to a new house and I too, am surrounded by boxes. This gets super angsty, sorry. Also there’s about 1,161 words because I lack self control. I also didn’t edit this, I just kind of wrote it. 

Moving was never your favorite thing to do. The endless boxes are have to sort through, the re-organizing once you’ve settled into the new place. Lin however, loved moving.
“It lets you look through things you may not have seen in years! Memories Y/N, memories!”
You never really felt like you could match Lin’s undying enthusiasm for life. With a sigh you began to sort through and unpack the boxes that were piled all over the place.

You had finished the bathroom, and the kitchen. Remembering the time that Lin accidentally dropped a frying pan on your foot, breaking 3 toes.
“Holy shit! I’m so sorry! Should I call 911?! Oh god are they broken? Please don’t break up with me, I didn’t mean to break your toes.”
“Why would I break up with you over this you dork?”

Moving through the boxes you made your way to the boxes in the bedroom, sorting and hanging up shirt after shirt. Once those were done you found a box that had a little stuffed dog that was won for you years ago.

Third date, going smooth. Things are great, he’s great don’t mess it up. You silenced the thoughts in your head as you and Lin walked hand in hand down the street. “Oh! An arcade!” you blurted before you could stop yourself, cursing yourself afterwards. He probably thinks you’re a massive loser now, what girl plays video games?
“You wanna go in? I love video games” You were shocked when he met your enthusiasm with no sign of mocking.
“Uh, heck yeah!”
The date which consisted of a nice dinner soon morphed into a three hour competition for who can beat all the games in this arcade. The last was the claw machine, you were dreading it. The score was tied and you could not for the life of you win at the claw machine.
“Alright, hate to break it to you, but I’m kind of a boss at this.” You laughed.
“Oh really?”
“Oh yeah. I can win anything from the claw machine. It’s a God given gift.” He shrugged his shoulders. You were skeptical. There was no way.
“Alright then I want that dog. All the way in the back behind the monkey.” You placed your hands on your hips and waited for his story to be proven fake. He merely smirked, put the coins in and began focusing. When he had it lined up, he hit the button and watched as your eyes bulged and your mouth fall open. You were soon handed a stuffed dog.
“I think, that means you lose the game.” You were completely fine with that.

You smiled as you set the dog down, remembering the end of the night and how when he kissed you goodbye you already knew you were falling in love with him. You continued slowly, in no rush to finish unpacking the bedroom because the living room was last and had the most work by far. When you eventually made your way out there you found yourself laughing at the pictures and the stories behind them. It was easy to overlook the pictures when you see them everyday, they melt into the background. The picture from the Christmas where Lin covered himself head to toe in Mistletoe,
“I’m not kissing anything lower than your lips, let me make that clear.”
The picture you didn’t want to take from a vacation where you go too much sun,
“Lin, come on. No! I look like a God damn lobster!”
“A cute lobster!” 

One of the last things you found in the mountain of boxes in the living room was his sheet music. You don’t remember packing it and whoever did was a cruel, sick person in your eyes. You pulled out the sheet music he had been working on right before it happened. Tears filled your eyes as the unwanted memories flooded in.

“Okay, I’m flying at about twelve percent right now, I need some coffee. Do we have any?” Lin called from his spot at the piano, where he had been practically all day.
“Um, no I think we’re out but I can head to Starbucks and get you something if you want?” He thought about it for a second before sighing.
“Nah, I’ll go. I need to get up and move before I become permanently stuck to the piano bench.” You laughed.
“Okay well, if you feel so inclined I’ll take a frappuccino.”
“Surprise me.” He acted as though he were deep in thought before smiling, “Something sweet?”
“Little bit of cinnamon.” You both laughed at your shameless reference to In The Heights. He kissed you before turning to head out the door. Turning as he walked out to say, “I love you.”
“Love you too,
When he was gone you made yourself busy by cleaning up a bit, fiddling about your apartment for something to do. You had almost lost track of time when you realized that Lin hadn’t come back yet. It was a fairly short walk, there should be no reason for him to be gone this long. Still you tired not to worry. Maybe he just ran into a friend, he’s a popular guy. When he went from being an hour late to two you grew a bit more anxious, deciding that if he was talking to a friend you were going to go drag him back. You grabbed your keys and phone before heading to the door. You were stopped, however, when there was a loud knock on the door. You rolled your eyes, of course Lin would forget his keys.
“You know, for a genius you should do act like a-” you stopped when you were face to face with two police officers. “Uh..”
“Y/N?” One asked.
“Yes? What’s going on?”
“There’s been an accident. Your..boyfriend? Lin-Manuel, he didn’t make it…” The officer kept talking, explaining all that had happened, that the paramedics tried the best they could. He apologized and just kept on talking but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear over the sound of your world crashing down at your feet.

And now here you were, alone, surrounded by the memories with Lin that he used to love to dig through. Standing in a new apartment to get away from the memories of him that haunted you every step you took in that apartment, surrounded in them once again.

You know, not all memories are good, Lin.”
“Yes, you’re right. But they’re still important regardless, and besides nothing in this house holds bad memories for me. Because of you.”
“Sometimes the good one’s are the worst though, because you can never go back.”
“Those are the best! Because whenever things are bad, you can look back to those memories and say, ‘things were great, so things can be great and things will eventually be great again’. If you can keep that mentality, you can get through absolutely anything.”

If anyone wants to yell at me for making this unnecessarily sad, you can, my messages are open

Jealousy (Remus Lupin)


Request: Hi! Can I please a young Remus lupin one shot where he gets jealous of me and Sirius but we’re just friends and then he confesses his feelings to me and its all fluffy? Thank you😊💙


It was Christmas Eve and I was snuggled upon the cosy armchair by the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Stockings of all colours were hung upon the fireplace, whilst thick streamers of holly and mistletoe dangled criss-crossed from the ceiling. A tall frost-covered Christmas tree sat in the corner of the large room, bedecked with garlands of tinsel and fairy lights. My five best friends surrounded me, each with smiles spread wide across their faces as they cracked jokes and told each other stories.

“Y/N, try some eggnog, it’s Mrs Potter’s special recipe,” Sirius exclaimed as he poured the frothy substance into a red and gold mug.

“Drink as much as you want,” cried James, “She sent us 10 bottles of the stuff!”

I chuckled as Sirius carried the drink over to me, gesturing for me to move over as he did. I snuggled further into the chair arm, allowing more room for Sirius to sit next to me. He tugged on the blanket I had wrapped around me, unravelling it before laying it upon the two of us. I threw my legs over Sirius’ and rested my head on his shoulder. He placed the mug in my hands and I took a sip, allowing the sweet, creamy taste to dance on my tongue.

“Mmmm, this tastes amazing!” I sighed with delight as I took another sip.

“So Y/N, how come you didn’t go home for the holidays like you normally do?” Sirius questioned, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy.

“Oh,” I said, slightly taken aback by the question, “there’s a lot of tension between my family at the moment, and Christmas wouldn’t have been very enjoyable because of it. That’s why I decided to stay here, plus this is our last Christmas at Hogwarts so I’ve got to make it a good one!”

“Oh yeah, well now you can join me in the family issues club!” Sirius joked, before turning more serious, “But for real though, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“Thank you, it means a lot.” I smiled, lifting my head from his shoulder and glancing around the room to see the others in their own conversation.

Well, all except Remus who was sat on the floor quietly, staring down at his mug. His sweater paws were wrapped around his mug tightly, next to his book which had been tossed aside. His facial expression looked slightly pained and worry spread through my body. I placed my mug down next to me and stood up from where I sat on the armchair, before walking over to Remus. I sat down next to him and nudged him with my shoulder.

“Are you okay, Remy?”

“I’m fine.” He shrugged, without looking at me.

“You sure? You really don’t seem it, but it can’t be the full moon as that’s not for another week yet!” I exclaimed, worry clear in my voice.

“I’m fine! Just leave me alone!” He yelled, causing everyone to turn round in shock at his sudden outburst.

“As you wish.” I huffed, before standing up and brushing off my trousers.

Avoiding all eye contact, I left the common room and walked up the stairs to the girls dormitories, ignoring Remus’ calls for me to come back. I laid upon my bed, staring up at the old wooden panels, feeling tears prickle my eyes. I just couldn’t understand why Remus, of all people, would shout at me like that. I had thought of him as one of my best friends, as much as I’d hoped one day he may become more than that. I tried to ignore the horrible sinking feeling in my stomach as I just lay there in silence.

After a while, I heard a light knocking on the dormitory door, before it cracked open to reveal a worried looking Lily.

“You okay?” She asked, her worried expression growing.

I just nodded in response. Lily has known about my feelings for Remus since I first realised them in fourth year, so she knew that his words would’ve affected me worse than if it was James, Sirius or Peter.

“He is sorry,” she sighed, “he’s been trying to get up here but you know, the slide-”

“Seriously?” I chuckled at the thought of Remus being shot down the girls dormitory stairs as it turns into a slide. “Even though he knows boys can’t get up them?”

“Apparently so,” Lily giggled, “but I do think you should go talk to him. He feels really bad about it and I don’t think Sirius made it any better by calling him a moody git.”

I groaned, knowing Lily was right and mumbled a ‘fine’ whilst rolling off the bed and heading back down to the common room. I saw Remus sat alone in front of the fire, his head in his hands. As I sat down in front of him, he glanced up at me, guilt flooding his eyes.

“I’m an ass-” He started.

“Yes, that’s true.” I deadpanned.

“I’m sorry, truly.” He whispered, “I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to shout or say that, I had just been watching you and Sirius and you guys looked so close and happy and-”

“What does Sirius have to do with anything?” I cut off his rambling, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion.

“Uh, well, I,” Remus stumbled over his words before taking a deep breath, “truth is, I really like you, Y/N. You’re the most beautiful, smart and kind person I’ve ever met and when I saw how close you and Sirius are getting, I couldn’t help but feel jealous. I’m sorry I took it out on you, I know I shouldn’t have.”

I was lost for words. He liked me. Remus John Lupin liked me.

“Remus I-”

“I know this is probably going to make things awkward between us now that you know, since you probably like Sirius anyway, but I just had to tell you.” He mumbled, looking down at his hands.

“I was going to say I like you too, silly.” I smiled, seeing Remus’ expression go from sad, to confused, to happy in the space of a few seconds. “I’m not really into dogs, I prefer wolves.”

“In that case,” said Remus, taking my hands in his own, “will you do me the greatest honour of accompanying me to Hogsmeade next weekend?”

“Of course!” I whispered, a huge smile spread across my face as I wrapped my arms around Remus’ neck and hugged him tightly.

He snaked his hands around my waist and leaned back a little, looking into my eyes. Our lips were inches apart, so close I could feel his light breaths fan across my face. Edging slowly closer, he closed the gap between us and placed his lips on mine.


Characters: Gabriel x Reader (eventual), Taylor (OFC)

Words: 700 

Summary: You release steam by pulling a prank on your best friend. 

Warnings: None

A/N: This take place prior 2x15 before Sam and Dean meet Gabriel. 


Pranks Masterlist

Originally posted by lucifersagents

College was hard. It was especially hard during finals. Everyone was studying, turning in forgotten papers, trying to get extra credit, and stressing themselves out. Your workload this semester was relatively easy, Norse Mythology and Anthropology, and teaching Recent American History to the freshman class.  

All your friends were currently studying in the library while you were redecorating your best friend’s dorm room. Taylor was obsessed with Christmas, she put up a miniature Christmas tree at the end of September. She couldn’t wait until Halloween or Thanksgiving had passed.

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