but this lines had been in my head

You asked me why do people bother pursuing you. What about yourself, do people find attractive. I opened my mouth at the thought of the multitude of reasons forming in my head—desperately wanting you to know every one of them. But the words couldn’t come out. In a sliver of a second, the moment passed and the line between friendship and lover remained uncrossed.

But had I been braver I would’ve told every single thing I adore about you. To make you never doubt anyone’s gravitation toward you. But to tell you this, would mean the destruction of our platonicy and I would rather have you half way than not at all.

The cliche between best friends

“make the princess speak and you will have the crown of kings.”

my knees hurt, as usual, from scrubbing. technically i’m too high of Maid Station to help out with these things, but i like seeing what happens when you clean. the development of things. how a lot of effort can make something. i like learning and trying and working hard to get towards something.

and i’ve seen them, from the back of pillars, from behind cracked doors, from beside her (on the best days) the way they talk to her. oh beautiful won’t you just look at me. oh darling. if you speak i’ll be your prince. if you speak i’ll be your king. 

the princess, i know, finds the lines of suitors boring. it’s in the way her hands are always moving. she hides yawns, leaves early, we make her apologies. once, a man comes and tries to startle her into screaming. she rolls her eyes and looks directly at me. i have to hide my smile behind my sleeve. he is taken away while still screaming.

by accident, i find her once, crying. when we imagine princesses, they always cry daintily. hers is hoarse, angry, and something in it breaks me. in my station i should apologize and bow and leave. instead i am frozen, watching her shoulders heaving.

she looks up and spots me, her cheeks ruddy. i know i should go but instead i make a big show. i act as one of her princes. i make grand gestures and speak in deep voices. i frantically offer her handkerchiefs and trip over my own two feet. a smile crawls up over her, slowly. i dab my sweat away and offer her the used rag. i feign a fluster, turn a terrible cartwheel, make shadow puppets. the sound of her laugh, raw and rusty, sends shivers through me.

for a while, i do not see her after this. but then i am called to her chambers. she is crying again. i offer silly gifts, pebbles and dusting rags and a candlestick from her own kitchen, pretend to steal it, use it as a hat, rock it as a babe. she laughs more easily this time, gladly, and when she laughs i am taken by more important maids, thereby officially Excused.

it goes like this for months. the winter comes. i rarely see her. i spend my week thinking about ways to please her. i knick interesting cookies, show her shiny buttons, learn to cartwheel in a full skirt, and then promptly how to make it look foolish again. i learn how to juggle hot bread and dance as a man would, i learn how to balance on a ball and how to fall down without hurting myself, how to fake a fight with my own body, which colors she likes and which don’t please her.

i show up on a cold eve with a knotted line of scarves hidden down my sleeve, worried and breathless, wondering why she’s been crying. the door opens and she is sitting there, happy. at first i’m confused, but she waves me in. next to her is her small dessert, in two containers. i’m not sure how to respond, so i fake a fall to hear her laugh, and then sit at her feet. she gives me ice cream - so rare a treat. i know what went into making it - the hours of shaking. it’s smooth and tasty. i don’t feign my reaction, but she laughs anyway, kindly. 

it goes like this. i see her more frequently. she likes giving me new things, watching me discover i hate kiwi and love oranges and would die if it made her laugh breathlessly. i’ve made her keel over with cackling and she’s put a fire in me. sometimes we just sit there, quietly, enjoying each other’s company. 

it’s in her hands, always moving. little things i thought were just her, fidgeting. here’s how she says she’s thirsty, this is what her hands do when she needs a second to think, here’s how she shows she’s happy. this is how i learn to speak back to her. around her i spend much of my time smiling. i feel every visit is a gift. a new part to unravel. i find out she doesn’t respond to spoken things, that she needs to be looking in order to know you were speaking. sometimes she has me talk and she holds her hands to the base of my throat, her eyes wide and wondering. sometimes she just looks at me and i forget that i’m her jester in chief. i get caught up in her eyes, in how expressive they are when she’s happy, in how when she’s sad i feel like i’m drowning.

i never see the king or queen, but i know when she’s had a visit with them, because she never comes back happy. two winters i have known her, two winters and now we dine frequently. i am often called to stand beside her, to whisper translations of her desires into the ears of someone more important than i, someone who gets to be the voice of royalty. i can’t decide if i’m her friend or her plaything, but i don’t know i care much of the distinction. every moment i’m near her is a moment free of friction. i take stock of suitors and curtsy to them in daylight only to mock them in the candle’s eye later.

she asks me one night to stay. it has been a bad day. it’s completely not okay. i cannot say no but i cannot, by my station, stay. but she begs with her eyes and her hands and i know i’ll take the punishment. 

we lie beside each other. i make sure to turn to her when i speak. in the dark she can’t see me, so i move my hands in the way i’m learning. she asks if i am ever lonely. i cannot tell her that i am always lonely without her beside me, so instead i say i think all people are very lonely and just are pretending. she laughs a little at that and says she thinks her parents are the two most lonely people that ever met. her mother was like her; broke a fairy curse and talked, just once, although nobody knows what she said. well, excepting her father, who was the only one around, and who won her hand in marriage.

from her mother she learned the art of hands, of speaking without words - from her father she learned that who she was included a curse. that she just wanted someone who would make her open like a rose - someone who could fix her. how she stared out into the royal garden and wished on flowers to be what her kingdom needs.

she fell asleep pressed against me. i couldn’t breathe. i was still awake in the morning. 

the punishment never came. we spent nights like this. the handmaidens had grown to know me. whenever their princess was stubborn, i worked magic and made her lovely.

it was a terrible thing. i did too good a job, i think. the princess glowed too much or shone too brightly - or at least, i saw it that way, so who knows what the truth is. every day it felt like we were being rushed with princes. 

her father’s temper at hosting failed. it was the day before her twenty-first birthday and first time i’d ever seen him. he stormed in at the end of the session. “just speak!” he said, “it’s not that hard! do for others what your mother did!” 

“tomorrow is your last day of this,” he warned her, “either you pick a prince or i pick for you. i’m done with it.”

he stormed off. she was left shellshocked and trembling. that night she didn’t ask me to come, but i waited outside, just in case she changed her mind. i understood why she needed space. either she’d speak and be married tomorrow or she’d be married shortly. i heard her crying and it took everything in my power not to rush in and hold her, cradle her gently. but i cannot come into a room of a royal person without being invited. i stayed there, tears in my own eyes, thinking of treason.

the next day was a huge festival. what had been a birthday celebration was turned into a day about princes. i watched her shake her head. i tried to cheer her up. i tried everything. i frequently came inches from causing public humiliation, toed the line of mocking and failing to acknowledge my station. she wouldn’t smile. not once. not even for anything.

the day was long. the bonfire wore down. i watched her crumple into herself. i was out of ideas. i knelt at her feet. her eyes barely looked at me. just wait, i said to her with my hands, i’ll be right back. i took off running.

the price of stealing is losing my hands. these things that i spoke to her with. these things that mattered so much to me, that helped with my comedy and cleaning. 

i didn’t think of them. i bloodied my fingers when i ripped the royal roses from their stems. and then i ran, as fast as i could, back to her feet. i picked them to show you, i said, as she gasped, looking at my treason, they’re beautiful and nobody told them to open to reveal their secrets to the bees. they are unbroken. as you are. as you always will be. 

she fell off her throne and for a second i was beyond speaking, worried something had happened, or she’d fainted, or i’d said the wrong thing. but then she was on her knees, her arms around me, and i heard it. i heard the soft croak of her speaking. just one word, and it sent shivers down me. my name, in her voice, awkward and unwieldy, but full of love and passion, burning fire through me.

i felt a hand on my shoulder. i was pulled away from her. they already had me in handcuffs while i struggled to get back to her, to tell her i loved her, to beg her to run off with me or maybe just hold me around her, maybe just have her for a moment, because i couldn’t live without her for a moment longer.

they put me in the cells. i rotted in there, for a while or for no time at all, i’m not sure. the thorns scarred my palms. i watched the scabs build up and flake off. every time someone came down, i flinched, wondering if i would be the next to be taken and chopped into bits.

but one day the light was different. not the smoky torch of the jailer, instead a bright light in a lantern. at first when i saw her, my breath caught in my throat, mistaking her for my princess.

but she was my queen. at first we stood in silence. and slowly, i moved my hands to speak. is she married? is what came out, even though i should be more worried about me myself and me.

she is not. she bit her father on the arm when he tried to make her. then she fought him. and then ran away. it took us a bit to find her, i’m afraid. she threatened her own life and the life of everyone in this place. the queen was smiling. i was told there was a young woman who could make the princess speak, whom she would die to save, who brought roses to her feet. someone in a cell, rotting. are you her?

the memory of her voice rang through me. i’m she.

yes, her hands said, for even now, aren’t you speaking to the silent Queen?

she opened the door. come, she said, let’s get you cleaned up for the ceremony.

the crown of kings. when she wraps her arms around my neck and laughs next to me, i am royalty. when she smiles or makes a joke or asks to see my cartwheel again, i’m lost in her. i kiss her whenever i can, which is often. we have roses in a vase at the base of our bed, and for all of the kingdom, i’d give my hands if it would keep her laughing.

the next time she spoke was just once, at our wedding, where she said the two words i do to bind us for eternity. she had learned from me, from holding her hands over my voicebox, the way i learned from her how to use hands to speak. sometimes at night she says my name, just because she likes what it does to me.

i’m more blessed than a king. every day i spend with her is a day i spend happily. 

I finally got to experience being saved by Genji as Mercy

My team was pushing attack on Temple of Anubis and I was following at the rear. Enemy Mei flanked us and started to freeze me. Just as I was frozen solid, Genji jumped in and deflected. The icicle that had been meant for my head was sent back into Mei’s face and she died. My friend playing Genji said with a smirk in his voice, “Denied!” I thanked him in voice chat and spammed the “Thanks” voice line.

The best part was that everyone got to see his point of view because that was the first kill in his potg.

Originally posted by leftnipsdoodles

Aisles [m]

Aisle Three

Summary: Jungkook was your best friend. You held onto his secrets. And he knew all of yours. Except for one. One that would change your friendship forever. You were in love with him.

Pairing: Reader x Jungkook

Genre: bestfriend!au, college!au, angst, smut

Word Count: 5,802

Originally posted by sugutie

Aisle One Aisle Two Aisle Three

Surprisingly, it was easy for you to lie yourself and to everyone around you. Flashing a smile anytime someone around you asked you how you were doing. The layers of concealer under your eyelids hiding more than the lack of sleep. You tried to keep yourself busying, burying yourself under piles of books and notes to occupy your mind with anything but Jungkook and how he wrinkled his nose when he smiled.

 In a very strange way you found solace in the amount of schoolwork that was piling up in the pages of your planner. Exams, research papers, and presentations were keeping you out of the house and inside the walls of the library. You were regretting your schedule for this semester, but with the MCAT looming you couldn’t afford to take any risks. Medical school was the light at the end of the tunnel, and not even a bunny toothed boy was enough to keep you distracted.

 Hoseok however, had a problem with the fact that you should probably start paying rent to the librarian. He missed you, constantly sending you reminders to eat and drink water during the hours you were studying. You had regretted the night you told him that you hadn’t eaten since 7 in the morning and 45 minutes later a freckled teenager came into the library with the largest bag of Chinese takeout you had ever seen. And your name was scribbled on the front.

Y/N 9:35 PM: Hobi, I appreciate the thought but can you please stop sending me food while I am in the library.

Hoseok 9: 47 PM: I’ll stop sending you food when you actually sleep in your bed, for once

Sighing, you throw your phone back down on the table. He had a point. You hadn’t slept underneath sheets in weeks. By the time you got home from school you were too tired to make it your bedroom. Every morning waking up regretting the fact that you had decided to buy the lumpiest couch known to man. You knew that this wouldn’t last. That eventually you wouldn’t be able to hide behind the excuses of academics to avoid having a life. You were going to burn out.

But two days later you found yourself in the same position.

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This prompt was sitting in my massive page of notes, and I don’t know what message it came from, but it was next in line to be written, so!

Neil would be worried that Andrew was cheating (even though he never would) and Andrew would have to reassure him.


There is a winter inside of Neil that he hadn’t had time to prepare for, like he’s living in a summer home that doesn’t know what to do with cold weather other than bow its head and take the damage. 

He’s never been jealous before. He’s never been so willing to kill someone who hasn’t killed anybody first.

He looks up from the breathe in breathe out of day to day life and Andrew is there like the respirator he’s hooked into. If someone looks at Andrew, Neil feels it like a hitch in the machinery of his breathing — what if Andrew looks back? What if he gets enough distance from the bad things in his life that he realizes Neil is just another bad thing in disguise? What if he understands, as Neil does, that he deserves someone who isn’t violent and shaky and dishonest by nature?

He takes Marshall down to the floor of the court, hard. His head spills back in such a way that Neil can tell he’s been concussed, brain pitched back against skull. He scrabbles with Neil’s wrists but Neil pins his hands down on his own throat, pushing in just so. Marshall’s hands flex away from his windpipe. He thinks his own face might be screwed up into a snarl but he’s too numb to tell.

“Did you fuck him?”

Whatthe fuck, Josten, no, do you think he would let me—“

A lift and a slam back into the floor, and Marshall gurgles. “I didn’t ask if he let you. I asked if you fucked him.”

“No, no, I didn’t, Neil, come on.” His voice is garbled, Neil’s hands on his hands on his throat are a sweaty stack. “I know you’re together,” he says quietly, “and I wasn’t… I mean I flirt—I hit on everyone.”

“Not him,” Neil says icily. His fingers curl, Marshall makes a small, wet sound. He thinks about the way that Andrew let Marshall sit next to him on the bench. Neil had been playing, and he’d seen Andrew’s mouth move, talking to another teammate for the first time since they’d signed together. Marshall had thrown his head back and laughed.

Neil had taken a ball to the abdomen and reeled into another striker, been shoved back, started a slurry of violence that ended in a yellow card. When Andrew finally looked at him, it had been with disappointment.

Neil blinks and feels the padding of Marshall’s gear under his thighs, the wheezing rise of his chest. He lets go of his neck and he coughs and gasps.

“You can’t—“ he tries. “He wouldn’t want—“ He hates the ugly way he’s trying to convince himself out loud, the tremor in his voice. “He didn’t come home until morning. He smelled like your shitty menthols.”

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Gotta Get Better. (Pt. I)

Summary: Singers, Y/N and Harry, have been in a relationship for 3 and half years. Comfortable around each other, the couple have been there for each other during a lot, that until life decides to turn upside down.

Italics are flashbacks.


“You have been together for a year, is that correct?” Miranda, the interviewer for Vogue asked you.

You smiled, nodding. “Yes, it is.”

“And how would you describe Harry? Does it ever get hard with both of your careers?”

You took a breath, “We’re both doing what we love and it was basically how we met. I would never describe our relationship as hard, just needs a bit more effort than normal ones because of our careers and distance but like, we love each other and that’s all that matters. You know what they always say, distance makes the heart grow fonder.”


“So now what? You’re leaving? That’s what you’re going to do?” You followed Harry who was storming through the apartment, jaw clenching before snatching his car keys. “Harry, just talk to me, goddammit!”

Harry stopped, shutting his eyes before sighing and looking behind him where you stood, lip quivering as you fiddled with his oversized sweatshirt’s sleeves that you had worn. “I need to think.”

“And I need you to think with me, Harry.”  


“Harry, you look great. Does that have to do with a certain someone?” Jimmy Kimmel asked, making the 3 boys snicker and Harry to chuckle under his breath, looking at his mates for help.

“Uh, thanks for the compliment.You’re looking rather dashing yourself.” He replied smoothly, trying to stifle his wide smile.

“Are you trying to be sneaky? It’s not working.” Jimmy shook his finger, pursing his lips.

Harry felt Liam slap his back as his mates laughed at him. “Not so quick.” Louis said, laughing.

Harry blushed, shaking his head as he looked at his lap. “It has to do with my incredible mates and wonderful fans.”

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Courage

Requested ages ago by @grace-for-sale​. Hope you like it!

Summary: AU in which Dean and Cas are both high school teachers. Dean has a crush, but no courage to do anything about it.

Word Count: 1600ish

Warnings: None. I wrote something without smut. What??


“You’re late, Mr. Winchester.”

“The bell was literally ringing as you said that, Lydia,” Dean smiles. “I think we can all let it slide.”

Lydia smiles back and starts sharpening her pencil in the sharpener by the door, where she’s clearly been waiting for him. “I can let it slide,” she agrees, “since you were just out there talking to Mr. Novak.”

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16 | You’ll Never Walk Alone

BTS + GOT7 X READER [GANG!AU]

WORD COUNT: 4,529

series warnings: mature themes, strong language, violence, substance abuse, eventual smut. this chapter contains graphic content such as mental physical abuse, violence, blood, gore, dead bodies, grief and death

Originally posted by herthealbum

masterlist | ask | prev | coming soon

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So we all looked at this image and were like “Oh wow okay that there is Gay Crisis. Observe–Will Poindexter is completely losing his shit because he has a huge secret crush on Derek Nurse, and he’s pretty damn sure his secret won’t survive actually rooming with Nursey.”

And yes, absolutely, that is what I see when I look at this picture. It’s likely also what Lardo sees, and probably Bitty, too. Maybe Chowder as well, although that’s a more difficult call–he might be too close to both Dex and Nursey to see it.

But it is definitely not what Derek Nurse sees.

Derek Nurse just sees one of his best friends having a breakdown (a semi-public breakdown, at that–and not even semi-public in front of strangers, but semi-public in front of a bunch of their friends and teammates) because the two of them are going to be rooming together next year.

I mean. Not to put too fine a point on it, but if one of my best friends had had a breakdown about rooming with me when I was in college, I’d have been devastated. Absolutely devastated. And maybe I’m sensitive, but who’s to say Nursey isn’t? We all know the chill is fake, after all. Maybe (maybe) he doesn’t head off to his dorm room to cry once he realizes exactly how Dex is reacting, but you gotta believe he’s at least having a conversation with Chowder that includes something along the lines of “I really thought we’d been doing better this year, you know? Like, I thought we were actually friends now.”

Anyway. I had a point in here somewhere. Oh, right, it’s this: I can’t look at this panel and not feel horribly bad for Nursey. I just can’t. And…I still think we might actually get canon NurseyDex out of this (and I fully believe we’re getting canon not-straight Dex at the very least), but…at this point I kinda don’t want to see it until and unless we see Dex making a metric fuckton of apologies. Please excuse my language.

Sugar Sweet | 6 | (M)

word count: 4.4k

genre: smut + fluff; college AU + fuckboy!kihyun

pairing: reader/kihyun

summary: your best friend & roommate changkyun just wanted to help get you laid. instead you found solace in a pink haired man named kihyun who had a smart mouth with sharp words you weren’t afraid to let cut you, as long as he didn’t mind you hurting him a little too.

dedicated to: @honeyheonie, @lostinmonstax & @jooheonster, who legit were some of my biggest backbones to keep me going (cough & for @tomatoholmes bc she stans ki cough)

a/n:  i’m v sorry this took so long, i didn’t even realize it had been nearly two months since ss 5! time is going by too quickly, but i think i’ve truly found a solidified plot line to the point where i think i’ve speculated where everything will go and therefore than means more concrete chapters, sooner updates and a finalized chapter count! i cut this chapter off a little early bc i didn’t want to head into the next part just yet, but stay tuned for Jin’s party kiddos :) much love to all those patient guppies who stayed by my side and encouraged me to continue despite the many setbacks i felt.

music: suffer - charlie puth

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 7

masterlist

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A temp I barely knew was actively trying to get me fired behind my back.

This happened a while ago but decided to post today as she rang a member of the office and used the threat of unfair dismissal claim if she wasn’t given a good reference. Not sure if it belongs in here or not.

TL:DR An office temp I’d spoken to a handful of times conspires to have me fired without my knowledge. It’s a very long story so be warned it’s a bit of a vent.

So, we had a temp covering maternity leave that turned out to be a bit of a nutjob. She was EA to Deputy CEO and seemed to think this gave her some sort of status. We’ll call her the temp. I’d spoken to her twice maybe three and was incredibly nice; I make it my business to be nice to everyone. What she didn’t know is that from about a week after she started I knew she was sending daily complaints (all unfounded and untrue) to my manager about me. My manager and I get on socially and professionally and he was dumbfounded by her doing this. I still have no idea, why she did it to me either and until today I’d put her out of my mind.

We are talking 3 or 4 complaints a day and asking for stuff to be taken further and why wasn’t I getting warned/reprimanded, whatever?

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Words Aint Enough

It’s finally here. 
The one shot was inspired by this song by Tessa Violet: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWAAFCZeIKM

Plot: Y/N never asked him to commit himself to her, but when Harry flirts with someone else it breaks her heart. 

Warnings: None aside from mentions of Sex. But there’s no smut. 

…. now….

I was in love with him. Whole heartily and knees weakening in love. Even though we were destined to fail.
What Harry and I shared was special, a bond much stronger than anything else I knew. Or so I’d thought. From the moment we met he was magical to me and enchanting. I couldn’t get enough of him. He was addictive.
And I would always do my best to keep him.
I liked what he liked, learned to care for the things he cared about and felt proud whenever he discovered as a happy surprise that I enjoyed the same things he did. Harry liked me a lot. I hoped that maybe if I adapted more to his likings he would learn to see in me what I had long begun to see in him. A plan that couldn’t possibly work.
Times passed and my heart grew heavier. Far too long my infatuation with him received little response and though I had tried not to let it hurt me and had kept on telling myself that some of his love was better than none at all, it’d pained me. There was only so much I could take, but to my misfortunate I’d realized too late just how much I depended on him. Too much. So far too much.

Harry had contributed a lot to me staying oblivious to his lack of romantic feelings for me. So many times he’d stolen a kiss to my cheek, had held onto my hand or had pulled me in to sit on his lap for no apparent reason at all other than the fact that he’d wanted me to be near him.

„You’re like my puzzle,“ Harry had murmured into my neck one evening after he’d pulled me onto his lap.

I’d giggled. „Because I’m confusing?“

„No,“ he’d laughed against my back, „It’s because we fit so well. With you sitting like this… ’S nice, you know?“

I wish I would have had the guts to tell him right then and there.

My fingers had squeezed his before leaning back into him. „Yes, I know.“

Always being the more confident between the two of us, I’d assumed those sweet gestures were him taking the steps I never dared to. Steps towards us being more than close friends.

But I’d been mistaken about quite a few things…

The first kiss he’d given me had been what doomed it all to change. His game of stolen touches and unspoken feelings couldn’t be played for much longer without me going insane over how much my feelings tore at my heart. And what had instantly followed our first kiss was much more.
I remembered that morning so well. I had opened my eyes and found him asleep by my side. Unlike all of his other touches, which could have been excused, this hadn’t been an accident. Kissing someone all night and whispering words over adoration… Sleeping with them. That doesn’t just happen.
Especially not when you’re as sober as Harry and I had been when we’d stumbled into bed and into each other’s embrace.

As I’d lain there I allowed my hand to reach out and touch his warm skin gently.
Images of Harry’s face only inches away from my own had clouded my memory. His kiss, foreign as I’d never got to taste his lips before and then familiar at the same time due to how many times I’d been staring at his mouth. Every curve, extra soft section and particularly warm spot of his mouth… I’d got to know them.

The smile was impossible to keep from my gracing my lips. Harry… my Harry, was naked and asleep in my bed, wrapped up in my sheets while I was wrapped up in his arms. His chest was pressed against my bare back making me feel safer than I’d ever felt before and when I turned my head just a little bit I could press my lips to one of his many tattoos. Even his legs were intertwined with my own. There would have been no untangling us even if we’d wanted to.

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I Know Your Wife (She Wouldn’t Mind) - Part Seven

Summary: You explain everything to Kathryn after faking your way through the rest of the convention. Back in Vancouver, you and Jared have to have a serious talk about the future of your pregnancy
Jared x Reader (mentioned Jared x Gen, Jared x Reader x Gen), Jensen, Kathryn Newton
Words: 4.6k
Warnings: pregnancy, angst, smut
Beta: @blacksiren

I Know Your Wife (She Wouldn’t Mind) - Series Masterpost

Your name: submit What is this?

For once, you were grateful that you were flying back on Monday morning so that you were able to spend Sunday night in the hotel.

You promised Kathryn that you’d tell everything to her that night, seeing as the small break for lunch really wasn’t enough time to explain yourselves properly.

She agreed to keep it quiet and, seeing as she didn’t have any panels left where she might accidentally slip up, you trusted her.

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Over Our Heads

Title: Over Our Heads

Summary: When Sam leaves you and Dean alone in the bunker to have a movie night all by yourselves, feelings that have been under wraps for years begin to surface. Will it be the start of something new or will it turn into yet another moment you’ve had with the eldest Winchester?

Author: deanssweetheart23

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester (mentioned)

Word count: 2482

Warnings: Language, the slightest bit of angst. Pure fluff.

Author’s Notes: This is my submission for @idreamofhazel ‘s and @impala-dreamer ‘s “Sammy Says” writing challenge. First of all, congratulations to both of you amazing human beings because you deserve it. Second of all, thank you so much for letting me participate, I loved writing this.

Also, I’d like to thank my amazing twin @ravengirl94 for putting up with my whining and for helping me figure out what I wanted to do with the ending here. Thank you so, so much, Emily, you’re the absolute best.

Now about this fic: My prompt was “You mind doing a little bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?” and is included in bold in the text below. (This is written both from the reader’s and Dean’s POV and includes a flashback in italics.)

Originally posted by personal-interest-in-you


Your fingers curled into your palm whilst you sat on Dean’s bed, head rested against the headboard, body just mere inches away from his as the world in the screen before you came to life.

It was one of those rare nights that you had nowhere to be and nothing to do. Miraculously enough, the world seemed to be doing just fine without you and the Winchesters brothers were more than happy to take advantage of all of that tranquility and stagnation while it lasted. Sam, for instance, had already hit the bar for the night -he had said something about needing to spend some time with himself but you were pretty sure that his sudden outing had something to do with that beautiful librarian that had been flirting with him all week- while, much to your surprise, the older Winchester had decided to spend a lazy night in with you, filled with cooking and silly jokes, wonderfully interesting conversations and laughter.

However, as fantastic as the evening had been, it was getting late and you were getting more and more tired.

Stifling a yawn, you turned to see Dean already staring at you, green eyes bright and wide in the dim light of the bedroom.

“What?” you asked.

He smiled that half-smile of his that always caused your heart to flutter unevenly.

“C’mere.” He whispered, arm draping over your shoulder to pull you to him.

You opened your mouth to object but the look on his face, vulnerable and intense, pierced through your very soul and you leaned against him, letting his warmth seep into your skin and his scent, so utterly and uniquely Dean, to overwhelm your senses, comfortably resting your head on the crook of his neck.

“Better now?”

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Auntie Bells

by reddit user Pippinacious

Auntie Bells wasn’t really my auntie, or anyone else’s for that matter. I’m not sure she even had any real family at all. It was just what everyone called her. She’d been a fixture in the neighborhood since long before I was born and there wasn’t a single person who didn’t at least know of her.

She was something of a living legend; a crazy cat lady type without the cats. It wasn’t unusual to look out your window in the dead of night and see Auntie Bells shuffling down the street, big walking stick clutched in one hand, her tameless hair shining white in the moonlight. And if you didn’t see her, you’d hear her. Auntie Bells took her name from the bracelets she wore on both wrists, strands of twine run through a countless number of tiny bells that tinkled with her every movement.

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Dream Lord
Justin, Travis and Griffin McElroy
Dream Lord

-I have had control of my dreams for so long that I’m worried if I go in…willy-nilly…the dreams are just gonna run rough-shod over my emotions.

-Yeah, the Dream Lord will be like “Finally, a weak point!”

-”Finally!  Now experience all the emojis you’ve been holding back!”

-<laughter>

-“You’ve been holding onto these emojis in this bottle, I’ve been saving them, experience them aaaall~!  Have sex with the teeth that fell out of your head ‘cause you’re naked at school and forgot your lines at the plaaaayyy~!  And you’re falling–”

-”And you’ve forgotten how to run quickly and you feel like you’re moving through molasses!”

-”And also you’re flyyying off a cliff…and you’re on fire and your parents are there and there’s your grandma~!”

-”And you’re trying to punch the dude but you can’t remember how to make a fist!”

-”You can’t remember how to make a fist and your f–hands are bones and teeth~”

-Uh–

-”I am the dream master experience your emojis~”

Colored Pills (Richie/Eddie) 1/5

Definition of Amaranthine

1: undying

2: dark purplish-red

Summary: 

Edward Kasprak has no friends, and this does not surprise him. Richie Tozier has 5, and that surprises everyone (Except all of the friends who love him and would do anything for him.) Eddie’s mom cares too much, Richie’s too little and both of their fathers are gone in some capacity or another.

In a life stuck in black and white, their mental health both in tatters, colored pills are supposed to save them.

But maybe, if they try hard enough, they can save each other instead.

Warning(s):

Bad Language, depression, mental illness’, ANGST, fluff, homophobic slurs

A/N:

Hi, so this my first tumblr fic, and I’m excited slash nervous. If anyone wants to ever be on a taglist, and i have one so far, I am willing to add. Comments are so appreciated. This is also if Pennywise was never real, and the boys are 17. I really hope you like it, and I hope I post this right because I have no clue what I’m doing. Thank you!




In Derry, Maine or rather everywhere on Earth, people had soulmates.

When you first see your soulmate, when you meet them and touch them, your world turned from black and white to color.

In Derry, your soulmate was the person you had to be with, no question, and if you weren’t with them then you were outcasted, but most people wanted to be with their soulmates anyways, and they were with them from the moment they met them.

For example, when Bill Denborough met Stanley Uris, because he had accidentally bumped into him, the world turned to color.

Bill had just jumped back, and Stan stood there, shocked.

The boys, at the age of ten, had found their soulmate.

Things like this weren’t uncommon, like when Ben and Beverly brushed hands at the library and when Ben saw color he became so excited he just kissed Beverley right then and there.

Or when Mike met Alice, and he knew before they touched and she thought he was crazy so he just grabbed her hand and everything turned into color and she screamed.

These things were normal and expected.

And there were the two boys who hadn’t met.

Eddie had a system.

He would get up, take a shower, brush his teeth, get dressed, and eat.

Then he would do the whole thing over again, flicking the lights twice as he entered or left a room and turning everything on twice.

He would lock the door twice, make his bed twice, turn off the water twice.

Edward Kaspbrak did everything twice and he did that because he had a case of moderate OCD.

As for Richie, his predicament was different but just as debilitating.

The losers club, which were what Richie’s friends Bill, Stan, Beverley, Mike, and Ben, called themselves, had been calling themselves since they had become a group.

They were the ones who noticed something was off with Richie. One day he would be running at 4 in the morning, getting shit done, kicking everyone’s ass and just as quickly the next day, he wouldn’t talk or eat or get out of bed no matter how much you coerced him.

He also talked of the clown, the one that no one else saw or heard.

But all of that was common in people with bipolar disorder, the mood swings, the hallucinations which felt so real, the suicidal thoughts.

Only problem was, Richie had no clue he was even bipolar

His mom didn’t care, she was a drunk and a bitch. His father didn’t care because he was never even home.

But then, when Richie councilor noticed that Richie would either be unable to keep his attention in class or he just wasn’t there, his parents cared because they had to pay attention to him, and whatever problem he probably had.

So go deal with it, they sent him away to some fucking medical center that he was going to spend a year in.

And this was when Richie and Eddie would meet and they’re world would translate it to something bright and colorful.

And it was going to suck for them both.




Pennywise had an annoying obsession with red balloons, and Richie of course couldn’t see the color red but after knowing that was what the clown carried with him, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to see it. Pennywise would carry the stupid ass balloons around with him, and he would make this creepy smile through his face paint, and Richie hated it.

Richie’s fear of clowns definitely stemmed from the dancing clown who followed him around.

The clown, Pennywise, also liked eating children.

“Richie.” Pennywise chuckled, watching as Richie sat in his bed, which was encapsulated in the small white room he now resided in.

Richie turned his head to look away from the ball he had been previously smacking against the wall and looked at the clown.

“Pennywise.” Richie mulled in response before the ball hit the wall again with a thud and then landed back into Richie’s hand.

“You want a balloon? That would cheer you up wouldn’t it!” The clown gave a high pitched laugh before extending his arm forwards, balloon in hand.

Richie had to fight the urge to punch the clown in the face.

It was in this moment, the one right before Richie yelled, the Eddie turned the corner with his freshly washed blankets and pillow and into his new room.

“No jackass! I don’t want a fucking balloon, why the fuck would you ask me that?!”

Eddie stopped in the doorway and looked at the boy before speaking up.

“Wow trashmouth, this is a nice thing to walk into your new room with,” Eddie muttered, and he could already feel the tension. It didn’t help that he could feel the dirt from in the walls. He looked around the room for a moment. “Who are you even yelling at?”

Eddie dropped the blanket and pillow on the bed and wheeled his suitcase to the wall before pulling out his hand sanitizer and putting some on his hand.

Richie could tell the young boy was analyzing the room around him.

He began rubbing it in and Richie could practically feel the burning in his own cut and bruised skin, but he ignored it.

“No one. It’s not real,” He said, and he was mostly saying it for himself. Eddie knew it would be rude to push, especially because he didn’t even know why this boy was here, so he kept his mouth shut, instead, beginning to put his stuff away.

Richie eyed him from afar, and he was almost certain he knew the answer to the question he was about to ask, considering he was now turning on the lamp for the second time in a row, but he had to ask anyways because he had to know what his roommate was like.

“So what did they put you in here for?” Richie asked.

Eddie looked at the boy, and he knew this question was gonna he asked so he should have been prepared but he really wasn’t. He took a deep breath before responding.

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder,” Eddie replied simply and Richie raised his brows like he hadn’t known.

“Ah,” Richie replied simply, and he waited for the other boy to ask him back but Richie realized he may be too polite for that, so instead he told him. “They say I’m bipolar, moderate to severe. The whole nine fucking yards, mood swings, wanting to die, hallucinations. All that fun shit.”

Eddie nodded his head, and the yelling made more sense, but he figured it had been a hallucination in the first place.

So he asked about the hallucinations because even though he didn’t know this boys name, he seemed pretty open.

“What do you see?” Eddie asked, and Richie laughed lightly.

“You’re gonna think is weird, all of my friends do.”

Eddie had thought about saying something along the lines of, well at least you have friends that think your shit is weird because I don’t have any, but he didn’t.

“I don’t think anyone here has the room to judge anyone else, including me,” Eddie told him. Richie nodded his head.

“Well I see this thing,” He started, and Eddie shifted to sit on his own new bed, placing his slippers down on the ground and sitting crisscross. Richie sighed. “His name is Pennywise, the dancing clown. He’s creepy and he carries around red balloons and he eats children.”

Eddie thought about commenting on the eating children, but something else was pressing more in his mind.

“You can see color?” Eddie asked him. Richie tilted his head, in confusion.

“Why would you ask that?” Richie asked, wondering what that had to do with Pennywise.

“Well you said he carried around red balloons, so you can see them as red?” Eddie asked. Richie’s confusion melted away from his face.

“Oh. No. He’s just told me they are because it represents the blood of the children he eats,” Richie replied. This time Eddie had to say something about the children.

“That’s fucked up,” Eddie said, and Richie hadn’t really expected it for some reason. “Eating children, that’s so fucked.”

“You’re right there, Mr. Clean,” Richie said, pushing his glasses up on his nose and then looking back at the smaller boy who was now frowning “It is damn fucked.”

“Okay Trashmouth, my name is Eddie, so don’t call me Mr. Clean.” Eddie replied, already becoming annoyed by the curly haired boy with the coke bottle glasses, but for some reason, he was also so drawn to him and Eddie didn’t particularly like the feeling.

“Oh, I’m sorry Ed’s. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He said, and he didn’t let Eddie respond to him to the new “I’m Richie but apparently you know me as trashmouth.”

Eddie didn’t want to laugh, because then the other boy would know that he thought he was funny, but he couldn’t help it.

He just thought the boy was kinda funny and kinda witty and he liked it.

He liked it a whole fucking lot.


TAGLIST: @edsrich @reddie-is-canon @to-obsessed @jamespottev  @exceededexpectations  @eddies-inhaler  @mbates12  @welcometotheoceanofno @caterpillars-of-the-commonwealth @the-losers-club00 @blackslipons  @all-my-reddie-fics @temptedtozier @howellhxlic  @tastefulcaring  @anniewdoodles @simply-pink16  @plutaars @jerome-valeskalaughs  @nirraein @crazybunny02-blog @ahyesfandoms@secondtimethecharm @velvetinetears

to you (unfinished, off the top of my head)

It all started with some friends and a van
a kick drum inside my ribs
Preaching electric into a microphone stand
Raise your red plastic cup
And Turn the laughter up
We fell asleep in the grass on the summer fest days
You’d never guess I’m still trying to get my head screwed on straight
All us believers still believe
Everytime we sing “two more weeks”
Someone shoulda thrown us in a cell and swallowed the key
Somebody shoulda told us to leave em be
The only news we tuned in to was the traffic update
Nothing feels as close to home as nightime windows down on 88
Lax to berlin and back
Wake up on the west coast inside a flask
The good books in the drawer next to the bed you pissed in
passports a blur, full of stamps from places I missed you in
They’ll tell you everything about last night that you forget
Pack your suitcase, joes in the back smoking a jazz cigarette
They hated me before they ever loved me
I’m not ready for things to change
I miss you missing me in the good old days
Got stuck in the cell of you and me
I guess it still beat solitary
—–Worry worry
Put my head in such a flurry
Freckle freckle
What makes you so special——-
One of these days yr gonna wake up in heaven
Laugh about that night you got four stitches above your eye
when they let the guitars fly
Never trust a band that wouldn’t bleed for you
Never believe in anyone who wouldn’t drive through the night
(To you)
They never tell you in school you’ll feel so alone
Wake me up again when were in the same time zone
The way I’d take a cornfield over a coast
Mulitply me times what you adore most
There were nights between yellow lines
When I confessed to you riding shotgun asleep under purple skies
They say
You get what you get
Well we Got lost in the middle of nowhere And you almost quit
Tonight Come together
Come apart
You can get lonely when u
Only read the charts
Called everybody I knew in this life
Can we get it together just for tonite

I miss old friends and “play it agains”
Please Send my love,
to everyone above

— 

Pete posted the above to one of his secret blogspots (deleted long ago) on August 13, 2008. This has always been my favorite. A few things:

  • This was posted just before the release of Folie A Deux was announced, while the band was still working on the album, and was titled “to you (unfinished, off the top of my head)” (the you presumably being Patrick who was using the words for lyrics **I’m going to edit myself here and add that it can also be a broader “you,” meaning the fans). You’ll see a lot of lines from Coffee’s For Closers in here and the chorus from w.a.m.s
  • During the Save Rock and Roll record cycle, Patrick mentioned revisiting some of Pete’s older lyrics and finding some that he had initially dismissed for dumb reasons like being irritated with Pete over something else.
  • Cut to American Beauty/American Psycho and you can a slightly modified version of the line “When I confessed  to you riding shotgun asleep under purple skies” has made it into “Favorite Record,” along with references to “windows down,” “drive through the night,” and “play it agains.”
  • There are a lot of references in here to the band’s connection with/devotion to the fans–“All us believers still believe every time we sing ‘two more weeks’,” “Never trust a band that wouldn’t bleed for you, Never believe in anyone who wouldn’t drive through the night (To you)”
  • In this interview, Pete mentions “Favorite Record” was the song that almost didn’t make it on to AB/AP but that it won out because it felt like a song that was for the fans.
Roses - Fred Weasley

Prompt: Ravenclaw reader has been receiving gifts from an anonymous sender and after her friend drags her to the second match of the Triwizard Tournament, their identity is revealed.

Word count: 7,305 (sorry I got carried away)

Warnings: Maybe two swear words, other than that nothing


A bouquet of luscious red rose tied together rested against the door frame. Your breath hitched in your throat as your school work fell from your hands. They collided with the floor in an instant creating an echoing crash to follow.

Most cases you would have rushed to pick them up but the gift contained all your attention. Your fingers pressed to the side of your jaw, the palm of your hand covering your mouth to mask the gasp.

You scanned the hallway searching for any form of life. The empty corridor suggested no lead on as to who dropped the surprise off. Although there was a note attached to the clear plastic outer layer.

Bending down at the knees you plucked the thick card from the envelope and flipped it open. Excitement flooded you like a schoolgirl receiving a valentine. Not that this was too far from reality.

You unfolded the card gleefully yearning to see who the sender was. The tilted black cursive reflected opposite to the chicken scratch you had been gifted with the week before. This was neat, almost as if it had come fresh from a typewriter.

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