doors of the night

A Package Marked “Return to sender”

Story by reddit user manen_lyset

My neighbor is one of those annoying wannabe YouTube personalities. Over the years, I’ve seen him cough out cinnamon, lay flat on the hood of his car as it slowly creeps down the driveway, and douse himself in lukewarm water, all the while screaming epic win, epic fail, or, fuck, epic maintenance of the status quo, for all I know. It can get tiring to watch him go about his shenanigans in the pursuit of viral fame. So, when he knocked on my door the other day, told me he was going away for a few weeks, and asked that I get his mail, honestly, it was a relief. I can’t explain the peace of mind I had knowing I didn’t have to brace myself for any of his stupidity for a while. I was always afraid his stunts would wind up bleeding over into my life.

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His Broken Crown (Bill Denbrough x Reader)

Bill Denbrough x Fem!Reader

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: You haven’t seen Bill in at least a month and his always locked door haunts you every night. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and you’ve never been more desperate to see him in your life, even if it means sneaking into his house. 

Warnings: To clear this up: THIS DOES NOT ROMANTICIZE DEPRESSION. If you think romanticizing depression is cute, then stop, take a good hard look in the mirror…and go fuck yourself. But of course, there is cursing. Mention of Georgie’s death. This is based off the song “You Can Be King Again” by Lauren Aquilina. 

Words: 1,852

Bill’s door was closed as it always was, and you wondered what he could be doing in his room, all alone for so many hours. It’d been seven weeks since “the thing that was not to be spoken of”, and it seemed to him that that he was all alone in the world. Bill was convinced he was on his own, and so what? There was no one who could help, and his own parents had given up on trying.

You found yourself in the empty hallway to his room, leaning against the wall right next to Georgie’s empty room. Had he gone blind? He’d definitely forgotten what he had and what was his. A room, parents, friends, a bike, stability. Bill had these things. You leaned back against the wall, tilting your chin up to stare at the ceiling. A small smile tugged your lips. Technically, you weren’t supposed to be here. His parent’s didn’t know you crawled in through the window, but at the moment there were other things clouding your mind. Maybe that’s what he was doing in his room. Staring at the ceiling.

Bill had things. He had good grades, a house, a warm bed. Above all, he had you.

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Imagine stiles telling lydia to close her eyes as he holds her hand while he’s carrying the mountain ash with his other hand. He already knows he doesn’t have to close his eyes since he’s scared of being blind, but her worst fear is the Wild Hunt (he doesn’t know that but she does) And when she hears the horses and lightning in the background she shuts her eyes even tighter as she let’s stiles hold onto her hand yanking her and pulling her in the right direction. And when he does, this it feels like her 6x02 trance. When her memory was trying to guide her back to stiles and what happened that night. As they burst through the doors into the library. Still holding each other’s hands, stiles throws the mountain ash to the ground and lydia opens her eyes as she watches the Wild Hunt and the horse jumping off the ground turn into stone. And she breaths out relaxed and she hunches over and hugs stiles’ tummy closing her eyes, pressing her head against his chest. And he wraps his arms around her shoulder and kisses the side of her head ever so gently.

Obsessed - part 8

Over the course of the next few days Vanessa finds herself exchanging flirtatious text messages with Eric, ignoring Shannon’s texts and calls all together. She eagerly opens the door when Eric arrives for their date Wednesday night, greeting him with a smile and hug. “You look stunning,” he tells her, and she blushes at the compliment.

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Things that Go Bump in the Night

Are sometimes things that also squeal…

(From 019 of @raptorlily​‘s autumn prompt list: here. And Just a warning for minor descriptions of gore and injuries)


Spooky Tunes for the read

“Betty. Stay here.”

The swishing ponytail indicates the series of no’s before they start leaving her mouth. Back and forth, back and forth, until her voice stutters the refusal.

“Jug, no, I-I-I-” Her eyes address his own - he realizes her neck is no longer swiveling to and fro. The irises are wide, blown with the sliver of light from the car’s front console. He has a hand on the passenger door, a foot breaking into the damp night air, but he takes a moment to reach across the middle to grab her hand. It’s dark, but not the blinding kind, he can see that her eyes are flooding with tears.

Betty’s nose twitches twice. Its movement shakes a tear from her right eye. It’s light and can only skim slowly down her cheek, every centimeter down seems to line in time with the clicking of the car’s blinker. Usually, he’d take the role of wiping it away but the risk of moving from the already open door keeps him stagnant. Getting the door open was only half a victory, he still needs to go through it. Shutting it would bring them back to square one and that’s the last place he wants to be. 

He really doesn’t want her trying to leave the car again.

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Rattle around in your bones

Klaroline AU Week Day 4: All Humans. College Bartender AU. Enjoy!

Klaus has seen it all. As aggrandising as that might sound, it’s true. Love, separation, heartbreak, reunion, celebration and commiseration have been his to observe night after night free of charge. Well actually, that’s not true. He’s the one charging. Working behind a bar during college might suck in terms of time management, the crazy shifts and the stupid hours; stumbling into class genuinely 15 minutes late with a starbucks having only managed to do half the seminar prep but at least he gets a show. He doesn’t play the part of The Bartender however, the sympathetic guy who knows exactly what to say and gives drinks on the house to those patrons having a really rough night. For one, his manager would kill him if he gave out free drinks to one and all. Secondly, Klaus doesn’t care about the problems of the riff-raff that drifts through The Grill’s doors night after night.

What with the trials and tribulations of his own life, the soap operas that are his siblings and the fact that every hour he’s tending bar is another hour he’s not painting he has neither the time nor inclination to care for the walk on characters in his life story.

And then she walks in.

It gives the infamous line ‘of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to walk into mine’ new meaning. Blonde and if her bright floral sundress is any indication probably remarkably preppy, the girl slams through the bar doors clearly on a mission. Usually its to track down a wayward lover but not this one. Stalking up to the bar itself she drops her leather satchel decisively on the ground and kicks it at the foot bar that runs along the ground so no-one will steal it. As Klaus watches she clambers with surprising grace given how short that skirt is onto the stool directly in front of him and slaps her hand on the table. “Shots please”

Relaxing his face into his patent What Can I Get You expression, Klaus casually abandons the glasses he was cleaning for Matt to finish up. “How many and which beverage love?”

The girl’s own features pucker into momentary confusion, clearly not expecting an Englishman on this side of the pond before she says determinedly “Whatever’s strongest”

There it is. Everyone reveals themselves eventually. Whoever she is, she’s on a mission to get pissed. Klaus can respect that. Chuckling he moves to oblige.

She’s clearly not interested in picking up a lover or fishing for a new one given her appalling posture either. He absent-mindedly wishes he’d had the opportunity to ask her to pose for his Literature series of art prints when he was painting The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Though her face, lightly dusted with freckles, eyes flecked with mica would enchant any man.

Perhaps friends will later arrive. Few people Klaus have ever seen are this chipper at the idea of getting drunk unless they have an audience.

“Seven’s a good number to start with isn’t it? I’ll have seven.”

Wrong again. As he slides the shots forward, he watches with ill concealed curiosity as she tugs them greedily forward and starts downing them like a pro.

Aware of her audience, his customer lowers her latest empty glass a tad defensively. “It’s five o’clock somewhere right?” her eyes turn big and pleading at evident fear of judgement. Something’s prompted this day drinking session and Klaus actually finds himself intrigued as to what. Hey, it had to happen sometime.

An old song Klaus grandfather used to sing springs to his mind and before he can stop himself Klaus finds himself saying “No judgement here. T’ain’t no sin to take off your skin and rattle round in your bones”

The woman giggles, her nose scrunching up in a way that is undeniably endearing. “That’s a good saying. In the case, I’m Caroline Forbes.” She practically pokes him in the chest with the enthusiasm she generates in shoving her hand forward for him to shake. “What’s yours? We might as well know each others names considering we’re going to be spending the evening together”

“My name is Klaus Mikaelson” he offers in return, fighting the urge to laugh, a smile curving up his face. She’s a fiery little thing.

Caroline raises a glass and then after a moment, slides one back over the table-top to Klaus. “To mutual benefitting relationships” she prompts but Klaus simply slides the shot back to her.

“I’m working love” Caroline wilts a little at the reminder before perking straight back up again. Something tells him that’s a defining characteristic of this literal ray of sunshine.

“Well I still think you should drink up. You can have a water or a coke or something right? Because Mr. Mikaelson I’m about to make you a very rich man. Same again please”

Caroline’s shot glass is still raised, eying him hopefully. One eyebrow raised as if he disapproves of her Klaus finally caves. Deftly picking up a clean shot glass, he reaches to his right for the soft drinks tap and squirts a sip of coke into the glass before raising his hand to meet her toast.

“To mutually beneficial relationships” there’s the clink and they both throw their respective drinks down their gullets. Klaus knows he’s not imagining the appreciative gleam in his customer’s eye when she winks at him. Skin beginning to flush from the alcohol Caroline’s gaze continues to rake down Klaus’ body, the fitted white shirt popped open at the neck to reveal the layers of necklaces. She leans forward on the bar which does wonderful things for her cleavage before nodding her agreement


Half an hour later, Klaus is pouring a particularly tipsy Caroline into a cab having finally convinced her to call her flatmate Enzo to come and collect her. “He’s not my boyfriend I swear” she reiterates for the twelfth time, hand waving around to indicate her Scout’s Honour.

“He knows Gorgeous” Enzo complains good naturedly from his seat next to her, sharing a meaningful glance with Klaus. The two men had bonded over Caroline berating mankind (in the specific form of her cheating ex Tyler, her reason for entering the bar in the first place) and counting her lucky stars over how attractive the men in her life were.

“I remember that sweetheart. Now don’t go far okay? This is starting to get good” he makes her promise.

Caroline eyes him a little blearily from the inside of the vehicle. “I don’t have your number” she announces a little shrilly, clearly distressed. Smiling fondly at her, Klaus reaches up to unhook the arrowhead necklace decorated with a wolf that Rebekah gave him for his first gallery show. He presses it gently into Caroline’s hand.

“You don’t need it. I’ll be wanting that back Caroline. It’s my lucky charm”

Caroline looks down at the pendant with childlike joy. It’s positively adorable. Her manicured nails close around the charm like it truly is a talisman.

“Now it’s mine”

Yes, Klaus thinks as he watches the cab pull away before heading back into bar, I think it is.

the-little-random-me  asked:

What about a headcanon for Harry Hart + cats?

Harry used to think he hated cats. When he was little he often crossed paths with his aunt’s cat. A mean old thing that would hiss and scratch. 

He got older and soon grew accustomed to one that stalked his street. Sometimes he would feed it scraps of his lunch and it always repaid in kindness with rubbing and purring. He would find that cat there almost every day until suddenly he didn’t. 

Then of course Mr Pickle came along and no other pet would ever compare to his tiny companion. 

Then not much long after he fell in love with a Disney Prince named Eggsy who bursts through the door one night with a small shaking cat in tow. Weak and cold it takes a while for her to recover but as soon as she does she latches herself to Harry. Eggsy is not so secretly jealous and calls Harry the Disney Prince.

Also Eggsy sometimes calls him Big Cat

My Dearest James Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: No one ever thinks a child could be happy in an orphanage. The connection between you and Bucky had been instant, finding peace and happiness in each other.

Warnings: This one’s gonna have pockets of sad, mkay? Mentions of death. Depression.

A/N: So, school’s still pissing me off… Anyway, I know I have other series to work on, but this one won’t let me concentrate on them. This one will be maybe 5 parts or so? Also, I just can’t seem to leave little Bucky well enough alone. 

After making sure everything was ready for the day’s breakfast, Father Coulson followed Sister Maria out to the dormitories. They knocked on every door, making sure those inside heard and were getting out of bed. After reaching the last set of doors, Sister Maria turned to him.

“It stormed last night,” she stated. “Will you go, or shall I?”

“I’ll go, Sister. You go ahead and join the others for breakfast,” he gave her a small smile. “We’ll be in shortly.”

She nodded and headed back to the dining area, leaving him to fetch you and your companion.

You didn’t always hate storms. In fact, you used to love them. You would help your dad bake cookies, while your mom would read to you. You loved storms, until you lost both your parents in one in an accident. Since then, they terrified you. It was part of the reason Father Coulson and Sister Maria fought to allow you to continue this habit of yours, despite others’ concerns.

Another reason they allowed it, was because of James Barnes. The first two years of James’ residence at the Winchester Children’s Home, he kept to himself; he never played with the other children, he’d hardly eat, and he never said a word. He would do his schoolwork and his chores without complaint, but other than that, he kept to his books and his drawings.

Everything changed when you came to stay at Winchester’s. When you arrived, tiny and scared, cheeks stained with tears and clutching a stuffed tiger, James immediately stuck to you, determined to make your transition easier. The nuns were a little surprised to find he was finally spending time with someone, but it was nothing compared to what they witnessed at dinner a few days after your arrival.

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anonymous asked:

“I can’t sleep, can I stay here? for nadia? i love ur writing so much by the way! keep on keeping on!

aww, thanks!

They are not particularly surprised to find the countess on the other side of their bedroom door after they hear knocking late at night, nor do they mind her visits. If anything, she is a welcome presence to share in their insomnia. She lingers in the doorway, the combination of stray moonbeams through the window and the dim light of the candlelit corridor casting an ethereal glow over her silhouette, giving her an air of divinity that is immediately contrasted with a request that is profoundly human.

“I can’t sleep.” Her tone is casual; she keeps her wits about her even in a state of need. “Can I stay here?”

“Of course,” they answer all too quickly, but are too tired to truly fret over their potentially embarrassing enthusiasm. “I mean, it is your palace.”

Nadia finds their quip amusing and smiles as she enters the guest bedroom. “You are going to join me, aren’t you?”

They settle beside the countess in the lavish bed. A floral scent floods their lungs upon her pulling them into her arms insistently, enveloping them in a comforting warmth. Her fingers lightly run through their hair and over their scalp, drawing out a muted noise of contentment.

“Sleep well, magician,” she murmurs.

They think they feel her lips pressed to their forehead before they drift away. 

Slytherin: Hey, Ravenclaw, you said you would help me out if I needed something, right?

Ravenclaw: Yeah, what’s up?

Slytherin: The password to my dormitory is something bigoted again, and I was hoping I could stay in your dormitory. Could I have the password?

Ravenclaw: Of course! Just knock on the knocker and answer the Eagle’s question.

Slytherin: Wait, I have to actually think of things to get in?

Ravenclaw: Yeah, what’s the problem?

Slytherin: Fuck it, I’m asking Gryffindor, they can’t possibly be asked to think.

  • What she says: I'm fine.
  • What she means: The phantom exterior like fish eggs, interior like suicide wrist-rags, I could exorcise you, this could be your Phys-Ed, cheat on your man, homie-AGH tried to sneak through the door, man! Can't make it, can't make it, the shit's stuck! Outta my way, son! DOOR STUCK! DOOR STUCK! PLEASE! I BEG YOU! Grenade! You're a GENUINE DICKSUCKE-