empty-day

you know what would have been great? if ron got sorted into slytherin.

imagine– we have this kid on the train, the first friend harry meets, with his corned beef sandwiches and smudged nose. ron is eleven years old and he wants gryffindor, because he’s a weasley and that’s what always happens. but it doesn’t happen.

what a way to redeem slytherin house– or, god, at least complicate it. because ron is petty. he is mean and sharp and ambitious and jealous– and he is loyal to the ends of the earth. he is all those things, and he is and always has been good.

potter becomes before weasley in the alphabet, so harry says not slytherin please and gets told might as well be gryffindor. percy and fred and george are all sitting there in red and gold, ruffling the already-ruffled hair of the boy who lived, smug, and then ron sits down and the hat spits out slytherin!

c'mon it’d be fun. just imagine–

  • the weasleys freaking out– but even that first christmas molly sends him a sweater in beautiful green and silver.

  • snape taking points from gryffindor when ron breaks rules or mouths off. “i’m in your house.” “hm, couldn’t tell which weasley it was…” /drifts away

  • sitting with harry in potions and in flying– whatever classes they happen to share. meeting up to study. scarfing down their breakfasts at separate tables so they can go hang out in the empty classrooms before the day starts. hermione reads while they play exploding snap.
    • the trio signing up for all the same electives third year. this friendship being something they earn and work for; not just the one that looked easiest. (not to bash canon ron&harry, the bros to end all bros, but by putting this very obvious obstacle between them– it makes it that much clearer to the reader that this is a love worth fighting for, because they’re fighting for it).
    • ron being jealous that harry and hermione get to share this house, this home, these hours, while he’s stuck with malfoy and parkinson and goyle– because that would eat him up some days, some months, this insecure kid who’s been the last at everything all his life. this kid who always leaves and always comes back.

  • ron, who constantly compares himself to his brothers– not as smart, not as popular, not as good. one more nail in that coffin, here, yeah? he’s not a prefect, not a quidditch star, not a troublemaker– and even when he becomes those things, someone else has always gotten there first
    • well, i guess he got to this house first at least

  • ron still snaps at snape in potions, after hermione’s been ignored three times, “you know, sir, i think hermione might know the answer.” he still pulls the bars off harry’s window with a stolen, flying car. he still shows harry around the burrow shyly, not knowing what a wonder a warm home is. he still stands up in the shrieking shack as best as he can with a broken leg and tells a mass murderer that if he wants harry he’ll have to go through him first. 
    • ron weasley is a lot of things, but one of them is absolutely a true friend.

  • in their second year:
    • when everyone calls harry the heir, they eye ron at his side and sniff.
    • when hermione lays petrified in the medical ward, ron sits at her side and reads her homework assignments aloud and thinks my house this was my house
    • when ron hugs ginny’s damp, shaking frame after the chamber, ron says sorry and sorry and are you okay and i’m so sorry and ginny calls him an idiot.

  • the trio spends more time in the library with hermione, since ron can’t come to gryffindor tower to study, and homework remains a thing that has to happen. fred and george constantly try to sneak him into the tower anyway. 
    • “c'mon, ronnykins, you belong here, you deserve it, no one’s gonna fuss, it’s your BIRTHRIGHT,” and ron fusses and rolls his eyes at them
    • and then in fourth year in one of those periods where he’s not talking to harry and harry’s not talking to him– he just snaps at the twins
      • because it’s not, alright?
      • not his birthright, not his house, and maybe no one would fuss if he snuck in, maybe no one would care, and that makes it worse not better, because then he’s just that weasley who should’ve been gryffindor
      • and isn’t
    • (and harry overhears this caterwauling, feels his heart fall to his toes, and goes and awkwardly asks ron if he wants to go a few laps on his firebolt). 
    • (because, god, harry-the-chosen-one, harry-in-the-cupboard-under-the-stairs, harry-who’ll-save-us-all– he knows what it’s like to have should have beens on your shoulders, and he knows what it’s like to not be wanted).

  • ron cheers for gryffindor during quidditch matches in those first few years, and sits with hagrid and hermione and neville. harry’s seeker, and fred and george are beaters, and ginny becomes chaser eventually, and honestly screw the slytherin team. they have each and every one of them said disparaging things about ron’s mother.
    • harry and hermione badger ron into trying out for keeper fourth year; he and harry have been practicing on the quidditch pitch because its a non-library-shaped place to hang out where both of them are allowed. ron makes the slytherin roster, and malfoy grudgingly provides ron a team broom after the captain chews him out for a bit.
      • “he may be a weasley, but he’s our keeper, don’t you want to win, draco”
    • but the sort of things they spit in the locker room, the words the players hiss or snigger, the slurs that come easy to their tongues– ron would like to say that he considered just walking out of the cesspit, but instead he snipes and sasses and shouts and sometimes tries to spell slugs at the worst of them. 
      • it doesn’t do much, that one irritated voice of protest– except that it does. and he’s got a new (hand-me-down) wand, after the gilderoy fiasco, so the slugs even come out the right end.
    • fred gives him a black eye with a bludger one time (though ron does manage to block the quaffle) and molly sends a howler to gryffindor table with the morning post. (“RON DID YOU TATTLE”) (“IT WAS CLEARLY PERCY, FRED, SIT DOWN”)
      • (the weasleys often have family conversations across the great hall, with hufflepuffs and ravenclaws covering their ears long-sufferingly between them)

  • in the lake, it’s still ron hanging there in the water, still and bloated. it’s still harry’s heart that stutters in his chest, for all it’s just a game, just a game, just a game, right?

  • ron listens hard and tries to talk himself out of fist fights, all that next year in the slytherin common room as they read aloud rita skeeter articles.

  • when hermione calls dumbledore’s army to its first session in that pub, there are green scarves in that crowd– ron and one of the beaters who ron’s gotten to help glare to rest of the slytherin quidditch team into submission.

  • ron beats draco to being prefect (i think i remember it was dumbledore and not mcgonagall who seemed to award prefect status– snape doesn ’t get a say).
    • percy is SO PROUD, as usual, but so are fred and george. “did you see the little malfoy git? green with shame, my god.”

  • when harry has the dream about sirius, ron isn’t there to wake. but when draco’s pulled out of bed to be a professional bully– er, i mean inquisitorial squad member– ron follows at a careful distance and curses draco from behind. 
    • they ride thestrals over london. harry finds the prophecy and ron thinks about the sorts of things that get decided at your birth.  
    • sirius black was a son of slytherin who had a lion living in his chest that he couldn’t hide away. 
    • ron was meant to be gryffindor, and through a haze of injury and fear he watches sirius die just out of harry’s reach.

  • just imagine: ron with his temper and his sharp words and his fierce loyalty. ron who looks into the mirror of erised and sees house cups and prefect badges and ambitions earned– he could belong in slytherin. there is nothing wrong with wanting things, and he wants them so bad.

  • there are so many reasons to fight a war, and so many ways. harry and his sacrifices, his loving resignation. hermione’s good right hook and bottomless bag of supplies. luna, brilliant and a bit batty. lee jordan’s radio and mcgonagall’s burning patience and brittle, certain bones.

  • just imagine: when the last battle comes, there is a slytherin on the field who is not snape.

  • when draco and his parents walk away, in that last battle, ron–
    • who slept in the same dormitory as the boy for six years
    • who heard draco’s nightmares and saw him paling and desperate all sixth year
    • who is as pureblooded as lucius’s spoiled whelp
    • who remembers grimacing at the thought of squibs
    • who has known magic all his life
    • who spotted draco penning letters home to his mother every sunday and hiding them when the other boys could see–
    • ron sees them going.
      • he sounds no alarms. he says no farewells.
      • he turns back to his friends, and his fight, and lets them be.

  • just imagine: when harry kneels on the train platform and his second son asks him “but what if i get sorted slytherin, dad?” harry can say, “the bravest man i ever knew was in slytherin house. whatever you are, wherever you go, we’re going to be so proud of you." 
    • and they can both gaze over to where ron is squawking beside his daughter’s trolley of luggage because crookshanks (who will live to be forty eight million years old) has latched onto his shins with a violent fondness.
I really miss you tonight. And I’m not trying to say that I don’t usually miss you or that I haven’t been empty for as long as we’ve been apart. I miss you every moment and I have been empty since the day I left home. What I mean to say is that tonight is too quiet, and the room is too dark it and the sounds she makes as she stirs in her sleep only make me more aware of how incomplete I am without you. I try to sleep, and I feel a coldness around me where your arms should be. I close my eyes and I expect to see yours meeting mine when I open them. You are the only thing, the only person who has the ability to make me feel like there is no need to need. And by that I mean that you are all I need.
—  ms-spelled 

anonymous asked:

Maybe some time you could talk about Susan and what it would be like if she didn't desert Narnia

How about we talk about what might have happened if Narnia hadn’t deserted Susan?

What if, instead of sending a stag to lead them astray, the Pevensies had been given time to end their first rule– to have finished their reports, their negotiations and treaties, that letter in the bureau Lucy was half-done penning to Mrs. Beaver to thank her for the fruitcake and to ask about her grandchildren. 

They had lived there more than a decade then, grown from children to kings and queens, to brave young adults with responsibility heavy on their shoulders. They had lived through storms and wars, peace and joy, lost friends to battle and old age and distance. They had made a home. What if they had been given time to say good-bye? 

What if we didn’t tell Susan she had to go grow up in her own world and then shame and punish her for doing just that? She was told to walk away and she went. She did not try to stay a child all her life, wishing for something she had been told she couldn’t have again. 

There is nothing wrong with Lucy loving Narnia all her life, refusing an adulthood she didn’t want for a braver, brighter one she built herself. But there is also nothing wrong with Susan trying to find something new to fall in love with, something that might love her back. 

You can build things in lipsticks and nylons, if you don’t mind getting a few runs in them. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be pretty, especially when pretty is the only power left to you. 

Let’s talk about being the last one left. No, really, think about it. You get a call in the middle of the night, in the little flat you can just barely afford, and you are told there has been an accident. 

Think about it, that moment– you scramble over everyone you know, everyone you love, and try to figure out where they all are that night. There are things rushing in your gut, your fingertips, your lungs, your ears– there are words in your ears as the tinny, sympathetic voice starts to tell you: it is everyone. 

They were on a train. Something went wrong. They probably died instantly. A rushing sound. A bright light. (You try to imagine it, for years. You try not to think about it. You imagine it, for years–a rushing sound, a bright light.)

Your little sister, who you always felt the most responsible for, who you never understood, really– Your big brother, who disapproved of your choices but loved you with a steadiness you could never regret leaning into– Your little brother, a smug and arrogant ass except for the days when he drowned in self doubt– Ed was going to go far and you knew it, were waiting for it, were shoring up your defenses and your eye rolls for the days when he’d think he ruled the world–

Your mother is gone. Your father, with his stuffy cigar smell and big hands and the way he got distracted telling stories– he is gone. Your cousin Eustace, who suddenly lost that stick in his ass one summer. That friend of his, Jill, who you’d never actually quite met. Gone. A rushing sound. A bright light. 

Go on. Walk through this with me. You can’t sleep all night long, because you still can’t understand it, still can’t quite breathe in a world where you are the last Pevensie. You finally fade sometime between midnight and dawn and when you wake up you don’t remember for half a second. You think ugh and you think sunshine why and then you remember that you are an orphan, an only child. You remember there probably isn’t anyone else to handle the funeral arrangements. 

Get up. Make tea. Forget to eat breakfast and feel nauseous and empty all day. Call the people who need to be called. Your work, to ask for the time off. The mortuary, to ask about closed caskets. Distant relations. Friends. Edmund’s girlfriend and Peter’s boss. You listen to Lucy’s friends weep hysterics into the phone while you stare out the kitchen window and drink your fourth cup of tea. You call Professor Diggory, out at the old house with the wardrobe that started it all, and it rings and rings. You don’t find out for three days that he died in the train crash too. When you do, you stare at the newspaper article. You think of course

You are twenty one years old. You have ruled a kingdom, fought and won and prevented wars, survived exile and school and your first day as a working woman. Nothing has ever felt worse than this. You have a necklace in your dresser you meant to give your mother, because she loves rubies and this glass is painted a nice ruby red and it is all you can afford on your tiny wages. 

Excuse me, a correction: she loved rubies. She is dead. You never wear the necklace. You cry yourself to sleep for weeks. The first night you don’t cry, the first morning you wake up rested, you feel guilty. You wonder if that will live in the pit of your stomach all your life and you don’t know. The years reach out in front of you, miles and eons of loss. You are on the very shore of this grief and you do not know how you will survive feeling like this for the rest of your life. But you will survive it. 

Get up. Make tea. Make yourself eat breakfast. Make plans with a school friend to do lunch. Go to work and try to bury yourself in the busyness of it. Remember that you’d promised to lend Peter a hand with some task or other, but you don’t even remember what it was– Collapse. Hide in the bathroom until you’re breathing again. Redo your makeup and leave work the moment your shift is over. Drop your nylons and your sweater and your heels in the apartment hallway. Fall into bed and pull the covers over your head. 

Get up. Make tea. Eat. Don’t think about them for weeks. Don’t feel guilty when you remember. Feel proud. Spend an indulgent weekend in your pajamas, reading Lucy’s favorite novel and making Ed’s favorite cookies and remembering the way your mother smelled and how it always made you feel safe. Love them and miss them and mourn them. Keep breathing. Cry, but wash your face after in cool water. Wake in the morning to birdsong and spend three hours making breakfast just the way you like it. 

Imagine the next birthday, the next Christmas, the next time you hit one of those days that herald the passage of time, that tell you how much you’ve grown and how much they haven’t. 

Lucy, Peter, and Edmund will be at the same height for the rest of your life. Lucy will always be seventeen for the second time. You see, you think you know, when you lose them, what the dagger in you feels like. But it grows with you, that ache. You grow with it, too, learn how to live with that at your side but it grows, that ache, finds new ways to twist– 

At the first friend’s wedding you go to, you cry because it’s lovely, those two smiling and promising and holding hands– but you also cry because you wonder what Lucy would have looked like in white, joyous and smiling and promising the rest of her life to a boy who deserved her. 

Go on. You tell me if Susan deserted a world or if a whole life deserted her. You tell me who was left behind. 

So yes, let’s talk about it– what if Narnia hadn’t deserted Susan? What if lipstick and nylons were things worn and not markers of worth? 

What if we had a story that told little girls they could grow up to be anything they wanted– all of Lucy’s glory and light, Susan’s pretty face and parties, the way Jill could move so quiet and quick through the trees? 

Because you know, some of those little girls? They were the little mothers, too old for their age, who worried and wondered, who couldn’t believe like Lucy or charge like Jill. Susan was reasonable, was hesitant and beautiful and gentle, was pretty and silly and growing up, and for it she was lost. She was left. And when Susan was left, so were they. 

The little girls who worried louder than they loved, who were nervous about climbing trees and who would never run after the mirage of a lion, who looked at the pretty women in the grocery store and wondered if they would grow up pretty too– some of them looked at their little clever doubting hands, after they read Peter and Eustace and Jill scoffing at Susan’s vanities, and they wondered what they were worth. 

Imagine a Narnia that believed in all of them. Imagine a Narnia that believed in adult women, lipsticked or not. Imagine Susan teaching Jill how to string a bow, arms straining. Imagine her brushing blush on Lucy’s cheeks, the first time Lu went out walking with a boy she was considering falling in love with. Imagine that when the last door to Narnia was shut, there was not a sister left behind. 

Doomed — Min Yoongi

Words: 5390

Warnings: demon!Yoongi + angst + filthy smut + fluff

Description: Arent people supposed to be scared when they find out that a demon has been stalking them?

This amazing moodboard was created by @candys-and-moons so everyone go follow them right now!!! They’re amazing :)

[01] [02] [03] [04] [05] [06]

Let me know if I should make a part two to this :)

~

Everyone gets that feeling when they feel that someone is watching them. Monitoring everything they do. Stalking them.

That’s how you felt almost everyday. It was as if someone was actually watching you. Or spying on you.

You began to think like this since you were little. About 10 years old. Whenever you were somewhere, you felt a presence, even when you were alone. It was like someone was always there with you. It started off simple, but got worse and creepier as you grew older.

When you were 13, you couldn’t stand being home alone, because you always felt that someone was going to come for you. You would hear strange noises such as people talking when you were home alone, cabinets closing on their own, footsteps when no one else was home.

By age 15, you watched a lot of horror movies, and deemed your experiences as “being haunted.” You were sure that you were being haunted by a ghost, or something like a ghost. There were no other explanations for the things that’s been happening to you.

You told your friends and your parents, but no one believed you. Everyone thought you were either joking, or just crazy.

When you were 16, you asked your parents to get paranormal experts to come to your house and see what was going on. Your parents were reluctant at first, telling you that maybe a therapist should come to the house instead. But you kept asking them, telling them that you were so scared that something might happen to you. And then they finally called the experts.

When they came, the concluded that there was nothing paranormal going on inside of your house, giving your parents another reason not believe anything you said.

Even though the “experts” said that there was nothing, you knew there was something. You always knew that there was something going on. You weren’t crazy, no matter how much people tell you that you are.

You will never forget about when you were 18. You were almost finished with school. You remember sitting in an empty classroom one day during your free period. You studied for a huge test that you had to take.

The room was quiet at first, but then you heard a quiet tap on the window. You didn’t think much of it, thinking that it was probably just a tree branch or something.

Then it happened again. And again. And again. This continued for about two minutes before it started upsetting you. You groaned and tried to concentrate on studying. Once you groaned, the sound stopped. It was probably just a coincidence.

It didn’t stop there. You heard something fall down. It was a light sound, but you still heard it. You looked around the room to see what it was. There was a piece of chalk rolling towards you.

You raised and eyebrow. How did the chalk fall if nothing was touching it?

You stood up, picking up the piece of chalk that had fallen. You walked to the chalk board and placed the piece of chalk onto the teacher’s desk.

You turned around, dusted your hands off and started walking back to your seat.

And that’s when you heard it. The sound of the chalk falling again. You thought nothing of it. The teachers desk was probably just slanted, which is why the chalk keeps falling off. But why didn’t anything else on the desk fall off?

You turned around, bending down to pick up the chalk once again. You stood up, holding the piece of white chalk and as you looked up, you saw something strange.

The chalkboard had something written on it.

“Specto tu. Protinus te videre, XXI.”

Those words were not on the board before. How did it get there? Who wrote it? What the hell did it even say?

You thanked god for modern technology as you took out your cellphone and took a picture of the words written on the chalkboard. You put the picture into a translator website and waited for it to do its magic.

As the page loaded, you read what the words had translated to.

“I’m watching you. See you soon, 21.”

If you weren’t already creeped out before, you were ten times more creeped out now.

Without even thinking about it, you packed up your books and left the room, not looking back.

Who wrote that? Who’s watching you?

The answers to you questions went unanswered for years after that. You were always so curious.

You were 20 years old when you moved out of your parents house and into your own apartment.

The strange things never stopped. On multiple occasions when you would walk into your apartment, you would see lights that were turned on (and you were sure that you had turned them off), cabinets were open, loose papers were scattered all over your desk. You were a very clean and organized person, so you knew that it couldn’t have been you.

Getting a surveillance camera installed in your house didn’t help, as much as you really wanted it to. It just gave you more reason to believe your 15 year old self when you said that something paranormal was going on.

When you got home from work, you would check your camera, seeing if anything happened.

Of course something happened.

The cabinets opened—by themselves. The drawers in your desk opened and papers flew out of them, creating a big mess. The light switched flicked on, on their own.

You were terrified. Something was haunting you and you wanted to know why.

Today was your 21st birthday.

You spent the day shopping with your friends. You weren’t really a party girl, so you decided to do something less wild and more fun. Shopping is always fun.

“This would look really nice on you, y/n!” One of your friends smiled, giving you a cute pink dress that she had picked up.

It was cute, but it wasn’t really your style, so you put it back as you friend walked to go look at other clothes. After returning the dress to the rack that it had previously been on, you turned around, only to bump into someone.

“I’m so sorry.” You apologized. It was a man. He had jet black hair and dark brown eyes. He was quite handsome.

“Don’t be sorry. It was my fault.” He says, patting his clothes as he stood in front of you.

You two stood there, just looking at each other for a couple of seconds. He stared into your eyes. It was like he could see right through your soul. You couldn’t look away. It was like you were dazed.

“Y/n, come on. Let’s go to another shop.” Your friend calls. You blinked a few times, snapping out of your daze.

You walked away from the man, following as your friends walked out of the shop.

He seemed so familiar, but you were sure you hadn’t seen him before. You’d never seen him in real life, or even pictures, so why did he seem familiar?


You closed the door of your apartment and took your shoes off, placing them beside the door.

You and your friends had a good time out, shopping, eating and gossiping. It was like you were in high school all over again. You missed hanging out with them all the time.

You plopped down on the couch, grabbing the tv remote and pressing the button to turn it on.

You pressed the button, but nothing happened. You pressed it over and over again, but nothing. Maybe the batteries were out?

Just then, you felt something brush past your leg. Without thinking, you yelped and placed your feet on the couch, looking down at what had touched you.

It was a cat.

What was a cat doing in your apartment?

The cat looked up at you. It had black fur and brown eyes.

“What are you doing in here?” You asked the cat, as if it would talk back. You stood up, still looking down at the cat.

“I should get you out of here. Your owner is probably looking for you.” You say, putting your arms out, but then retracting them, not knowing if you should touch the cat.

Suddenly, something happened. You weren’t sure what it was exactly, but all you saw was a flash of white and then something stood in front of you. It wasn’t the cat.

It was a man.

You screamed and ran into your bedroom, scared for your life. You didn’t bother to look at the man, you were too terrified.

You closed your bedroom door as you entered, locking it.

What the hell just happened?

“Y/n.” You heard a voice say. The voice was kind of deep. You were too scared to reply. How did he even know your name?

“Y/n, I hope you know that locking the door isn’t going to stop me from coming in.” The man says.

You stayed silent. You didn’t know what to say. What were you supposed to say?

You heard no more noise on the other side of the door, but you were still scared.

Then, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You didn’t want to turn around, but your feet had it’s own plans.

You turned around, coming face to face with—

The man from earlier. The one from the shop. The one that you bumped into.

Your eyes widened.

You backed up, hoping that you could run away, but for every step you took back, he took a step towards you.

“Why are you here? Why were you a cat? How were you a cat? Who are you? What are you?” You asked. You had so many questions and they all came out at the same time.

“I’d rather not show you my actual form, for your sake. And do you know how much strength it takes to shift into a cat? You should be praising me. I’m so tired right now.” The man complained.

What was his “actual form”?

“What are you?” You repeated your question.

“A demon.” He said. “Yeah, right.” You say, not believing him. The man chuckled before closing his eyes. What was he doing?

As he opened his eyes, his dark brown eye color was no longer there. Now his pupils were a fiery red color.

You yelled and tried to run away, but he held your arms, not letting you move.

“Let go of me!” You yelled.

“Y/n, calm down.” He says, his eyes going back to their original color. “How am I supposed to calm down? You—you just—I can't—” you stuttered, not knowing what to say.

He stared into your eyes and you felt yourself calming down. It was like he casted a spell on you or something.

“Did you just cast a spell on me? Are you a witch too?” You ask, not able to take your eyes off of his.

He chuckled. “I’m not a witch. I’m a demon. A handsome one.”

You wish you could roll your eyes at his comment. “Who are you?” You ask. “And why do you seem so familiar? I’m almost one-hundred percent sure that we’ve never met.”

“Y/n, I’ve been with you since you were young. Don’t you remember me? Haven’t you got my little notes and messages?” He asks you.

“What messages?”

“Specto tu. Protinus te videre, XXI.” He spoke.

Your eyes widened. That’s what was written on the chalkboard that day you were in school! “You wrote that? How? Why? Why couldn’t I see you?”

“Being a demon surprisingly has its many perks. One of them being invisibility. And it was a reminder. Didn’t you translate it?” He asked you.

“It said I’m watching you. And see you soon. Then it said twenty one.” You say.

“I was watching you. I’ve always been watching you. And it was a reminder because I’d see you on your twenty-first birthday, which is today.” He explains, letting go of your hands. “Happy Birthday, by the way.”

It was him. He was the thing that was always with you. The thing that creeped you out. The thing that you always knew was watching you.

You brought your hand up to his face and slapped him, anger filling you.

His eyes widened and he held his cheek in pain. “What was that for?” He asks.

“You! You’re the reason that I spent almost eleven years of my life scared to death! I was always so scared, and it was because of you! You messed me up, man.” You explained.

“I’m sorry?” He said, but it sounded more like a question.

You slapped him again.

“What was that one for?” He asks.

“That’s for messing up my house when I’m not home. You always leave my lights on. And you leave my cabinets open. And all of my papers are always all over my desk.” You say.

“I’m sorry. I get bored sometimes when you’re not home.” He admits.

“Who are you?” You ask.

“I’m Yoongi. Min Yoongi. You’re y/n y/l/n.” He finally introduces himself.

“Well, Min Yoongi. You’ve been stalking me for eleven years, why?” You question.

People supposed to be scared when they find out that a demon has been stalking them for so long, so, why didn’t you feel scared?

“You’re interesting.” He says, simply.

You rolled your eyes, finally out of his spell, or whatever it was.

After a moment of silence, Yoongi spoke up. “I’m not here to hurt you, so if you’re scared of me, you don’t have to be. Although, I’m not getting any scared vibes from you. You’re not scared of me?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I am. I just think that I was more scared when I didn’t know who or what you were.” You admit.

“Really? Then maybe I should erase your memory.” He smirked.

“No. No way.” You say. “I was joking.” He chuckled. “Or was I?”

“Min Yoongi I swear to—” you started. “Don’t say it.” He warns you, eyes turning red.

“Sorry. Sorry.” You apologized, looking down at the floor so you wouldn’t have to look into his eyes.

Yoongi took a deep breath before speaking again. “You should go to bed. It’s late.”

“It’s 6 pm.” You tell him.

“So? It’s never too early to go to sleep.”

You shook your head before opening your bedroom door and walking out into your living room.

“What are you still doing here? Leave!” You hear Yoongi say. He wasn’t talking to you, so who was he talking to?

You turned around to look at him, but he was facing the kitchen. In the kitchen stood another man. He looked the same age as Yoongi, maybe younger. He had orangish/reddish hair. You noticed something. In front of him, on the counter was a cake. That wasn’t there before.

“Who is this?” You asked.

“I’m Hoseok.” The boy with the orange hair smiled at you, walking over to where you and Yoongi were standing. “I’m Yoongi’s friend.”

“Hi.” You said before looking at Yoongi. “So what? Is my house like a demon magnet now?”

“Hoseok, get out.” Yoongi said, not answering your question.

Hoseok sighed and looked at you. “It was nice to meet you. Bye.” He smiled before you saw a flash of white. He was gone.

You looked over to where the cake was. Yoongi saw where you were looking and spoke. “It’s yours.” He says.

“Is it?” You asked, walking over to the cake.

“I told Hoseok to bring it for you. It looks good, right?” He asks.

You saw what was written on the cake and smiled.

“Happy Birthday, y/n.”

“As long as you share it with me, I promise I won’t trash your house anymore.” He smiled.

Despite being a demon, Yoongi was a nice guy. Maybe you wouldn’t mind having him around.


“We need to have another girl’s day out.” Your friend says. She was sitting beside you on the couch in your apartment.

“Yeah. I want to hang out with you and the rest of the girls more.” You tell her.

“We should go to a club or something.” She suggested.

A club? “I don’t think so.” You say. You weren’t really a fan of going to the club. The club is just a place where random guys try to hit on you all night, and you didn’t want to go through that.

“Oh, come on, y/n. Don’t be such a party pooper. We could go out to the club and have fun. You could meet a guy there!” She persisted.

“Why would I want to meet a guy there?” You asked.

“Y/n, you haven’t gotten laid in like a year. You need to meet a guy so you two can hook up! You really need some d—” Your friend explained, but was cut off by someone else talking over her.

“What’s this talk about y/n needing to meet a guy?” The person asked. You recognized the voice and turned around to see Yoongi.

“Y/n, who is this?” Your friend asks.

“This is—” You started. “I’m Yoongi. Y/n’s boyfriend.” Yoongi finished for you.

Your boyfriend? Since when?

“Y/n! How could you not tell me that you have a boyfriend?” Your friend questions.

“I’m sorry, y/f/n.” You looked at your friend. “I wasn’t planned on letting you meet him. He promised me that he would stay in my bedroom while you came over.” You looked back at Yoongi.

“Sorry. I got bored in there.” He shrugs. “Y/f/n, would you mind coming back another time? I need to speak to y/n about something.”

“No problem. I’ll be on my way.” Y/f/n says, before getting up and walking to the door. She winked at you before leaving and closing the door behind her.

You turned around, only to see that Yoongi was closer to you than he was before. “You’re my boyfriend?” You asked. “Since when?”

“Since now.” He states. “Is it true?” He asked, not giving you time to respond to his statement.

“Is what true?”

“She said you haven’t been laid in a year. Is that true?”

“Does that matter to you?” You ask, raising your eyebrow. Why did he want to know?

“Just tell me.”

“What if it is true? Why do you need to know?”

Yoongi took two slow steps towards you so he was now standing on front of you with barely any space between you.

Would it be wrong to say he looked really hot right now?

While living with Yoongi, you can’t help but look at him sometimes. Like the times you two are just talking to each other and he smiles. You like his smile. A lot.

And the times he would come out of the bathroom only wearing boxers. His hair would be wet and he looks so good. You didn’t know if it was okay for you to think about him this way.

“You seriously went that long without getting laid? You went that long without letting someone touch you? Pleasure you?” He asks. As he spoke, you felt his warm breath on your lips. “It’s been about three months since I revealed myself to you. We spend like all day together, so why haven’t you told me?”

“Can we not talk about this? It’s embarrassing.” You say, turning around so you could walk away. When you turned around, Yoongi grabbed one of your arms and turned you back to face him.

“Yoongi, I—” You started, but Yoongi looked into your eyes and suddenly you couldn’t say anything. He was controlling you.

For about thirty seconds, he just stared into your eyes, and you were unable to say or do anything else.

Yoongi put his fingers on your chin and lifted your head up. He almost instantly lowered his head and attached his lips to your neck.

His actions made your eyes widen. “Y-Yoongi.” You stuttered, finally able to speak again.

He hummed in response and started kissing and sucking on your neck. It felt unbelievably good.

“Yoongi. Yoongi, wait.” You spoke, putting your hands on his shoulders and pushing him away. He looked at you and raised an eyebrow. “Why are you doing this?” You asked him.

“You don’t want me to do it?” He asks. “I-I didn’t say that. I just—” You started. “Then shut up and let me do what I need to do.” He speaks over you, pressing his lips against yours after he finished talking.

His lips felt so good against yours. You didn’t realize how much you liked his lips until this moment.

Yoongi held your waist with one hand, pulling you against him. You used one hand to run fingers through his hair and the other hand was still rested on his shoulder.

His tongue entered your mouth, exploring it and even meeting with your tongue.

You lightly tugged on his hair, causing him to groan into your mouth. Hearing him groan sent waves of pleasure down your body. You wanted more.

Yoongi pulled away from you, removing your shirt and his shirt before placing his lips back on yours.

You placed one of your hands on his neck, slowly trailing down to his chest, and then to the bulge that was evident in his pants.

You palmed him through the black sweatpants he wore and once again, he groaned into your mouth.

Yoongi placed his hand at the hem of your pants and pushed them down. You stopped out of them, now only left in your bra and underwear.

You pushed Yoongi’s sweatpants and boxers down and he stepped out of them before breaking away from you and sitting down on the couch.

“On your knees, baby girl.” He says to you. You did as told and got on your knees, coming face to face with his length. Yoongi leaned forward and removed your bra before speaking. “Be a good girl and suck.”

You nodded before putting one of your hands on his length, stroking it a couple of times before putting your lips around the tip. You decide to tease him by licking and sucking the tip, and only the tip.

“If you keep teasing me like that, you’re gonna be in big trouble, y/n.” Yoongi speaks in a stern voice. Trying to push his buttons, you continued to do what you were doing.

Yoongi got fed up and placed his hand on the back of your head. “It seems like you want trouble.” He says before pushing your head down onto his length. You took more of him in your mouth. He began thrusting his hips into your mouth, making you take in all of it.

The back of you throat stung, but you loved every second of it. “You love it when I do this, don’t you, y/n?” Yoongi asked, as if you could answer.

Suddenly, he pulled you off of him, standing up and picking you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist so you wouldn’t fall.

He walked to your bedroom, and while he walked, you felt his length brush against your core, which was still covered by your underwear. You sucked in a breath at the contact, causing Yoongi to laugh.

When he got you your room, Yoongi rested you on the bed, wasting no time before getting on top of you and attacking your lips with his.

Yoongi used this position as an advantage to grind down onto your clothed core, causing you to moan inside of his mouth. He chuckled before removing his lips from yours and putting them on one of your breasts. He used one of his hands to touch the breast that his lips weren’t on. He alternated between both breasts. You loved the feeling he was giving you.

Yoongi looked up at you, pressing his lips to yours as he slid your underwear off, both of you were both completely naked now.

“I’ve wanted to do this to you for so long, baby.” Yoongi admits before running his fingers up and down your folds. “You’re so wet for me. I love it, babe.”

You moaned as he stuck two fingers into you, not giving you time to adjust to them. Since you were so wet, his fingers glided in and out easily. He curled his fingers inside of you, touching the special spot that make you gasp.

“Yoongi.” You moaned. “What is it, baby girl?” He asks.

You just wanted him inside of you already.

You moaned again and since you didn’t answer his question, Yoongi spoke again. “Use your words, baby. Unless you’re not going to get what you want.” He smirked.

“You’re such a tease.” You say as his fingers kept going in and out of you. “I’m just getting started.” He says, pressing his fingers against your spot.

“Yoongi! Fuck!” You yelled, shutting your eyes tightly. “What do you want, baby girl?” He asks.

“I want you, inside of me.” You said. “I am inside of you.” He said.

“No. I want your cock inside of me. Right now, Yoongi.” You finally say. “You want my cock? Beg for it, baby.” He responds.

“Please, Yoongi.  I can’t wait anymore. I need to fuck me right now. I’m so wet for you. Please.” You begged. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He smiled, taking his fingers out of you.

He kissed your lips before aligning his length with your entrance. He gave you no time to prepare, or get used to it as he slid inside of you and began to thrust in and out of you at a fast pace.

He used one hand to prop himself up and placed the other hand on your thigh, gripping it as he easily pushed and pulled himself in and out of you.

He angled his hips a certain way and his length repeatedly pressed against your special spot as he went inside of you. “Oh my—yoongi!” You yelled, enjoying the pleasure that was being given to you.

“You like that? You like when I fuck you like this, y/n?” He asks before placing his lips on your neck.

He continued to thrust in and out of you at a fast pace. You were basically shaking from pleasure underneath him.

“Yoongi, I’m so close.” You informed him, feeling your orgasm reach closer and closer.

“I’m not letting you cum that easily. Beg me if you want to cum.” He tells you, looking at you.

You shook your head, teasing him.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, shocked that you refused to obey him in a situation like this.

“Beg me.” He repeats himself.

You closed your eyes and bit your lip, holding back any sounds that would come from your mouth.

Yoongi suddenly pulled himself out of you completely before turning you so that you were laying with your stomach against the bed.

“On your hands and knees.” He instructs. You listened and did as told, having your ass on full display for him.

“I can’t believe you were being such a bad girl just then.” Yoongi says, rubbing both of your ass cheeks with his hands. “Do you know what bad girls get?” He asks.

You shook your head. “Bad girls get punished.” He tells you, just as you felt a sharp pain on your butt cheek.

“Never.” *spank* “Disobey.” *spank* “Me.” *spank* “Again.” *spank*

He spanked you a couple more times and surprisingly, the pain felt good to you. You loved it.

You laid there, taking the hits. A few tears escaped your eyes, but it didn’t matter to you. You loved everything that was happening.

When Yoongi was finished, he caressed your cheeks, running his hands over all the spots he hit.

He flipped you back around without warning, almost immediately slamming his length back into you, causing you to scream out his name.

“I know you want to cum, so you better beg me.” He said into your ear. It sounded more like a growl, which turned you on even more. Your orgasm was so close.

“Please let me cum, Yoongi. It’s so close. You make me feel so good, baby. I need you to let me cum.” You begged, tired of waiting.

Yoongi smirked pressed a quick kiss against your lips before looking at you.

“You can cum, princess. Cum all over me, baby.” He spoke while thrusting in and out of you, again at a fast pace. “Just make sure you look at me while you cum, okay? Keep your eyes open for me, baby.”

You moaned, feeling your orgasm come closer and closer until you felt the tight knot in your stomach finally unravel. Your orgasm washed over you, taking you into a state of pure bliss.

You looked into Yoongi’s eyes as you came, obeying what he said before. You had the urge to close your eyes, but Yoongi stared into yours, not letting you close them.

“Fuck, Yoongi.” You breathed. “I’m close, y/n.” Yoongi tells you as he continued thrusting.

You began to tremble from overstimulation, but you loved every second of it.

Yoongi let out a string of curse words as you finally felt him release inside of you. His warm liquid filled you up.

He thrusted slowly, a few more times before pulling out of you and laying down beside you.

The room was filled with nothing more than the sound of the two of you trying to catch your breaths.

“That was amazing.” You admit, turning your head to look at the man beside you. As you looked at him, you saw that he was already looking at you.

“You can say that again.” He smiles at you.

“That was amaz—” You started again. “Don’t actually say it again.” Yoongi says, playfully rolling his eyes.

You giggled as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. You rested your head on his chest.

“Yoongi,” you started, looking up at him. “Yes, baby girl?” He asked.

“I know you’re a demon and everything, but can demons have relationships? Or is that like, against the demon code or something?” You asked him.

“You want a relationship?” He asked you. “Do you?” You ask.

Yoongi nodded and you smiled. “Then yes.” You spoke, biting your lip.

“Y/n, do you want to be my girlfriend?” He asks.

“Yes.” You nodded and Yoongi smiled at you.

Without telling you what he was doing, Yoongi brought one of his wrists up to his mouth and bit down, hard.

You raised an eyebrow, confused, but deciding not to ask any questions yet.

When he pulled away from his wrist, you saw the blood leaking from his arm.

He placed his bleeding wrist in front of your mouth. “Drink.” He instructs.

“Okay, you’ve asked me to do a lot of stuff today. This is the weirdest one.” You admit.

“Just do it. If you don’t hurry up, blood is going to get all over your sheets and I’m not washing them.” He tells you.

You rolled your eyes before opening your mouth. Yoongi pushed his wrist to your mouth and you licked the blood off of it, swallowing it.

When he pulled his wrist away, it wasn’t bleeding anymore. He smiled and looked at you, putting his index finger and thumb on your chin. He brought your mouth up to his and kissed you.

“So what am I now?” You asked as you pulled away from his lips. “Am I demon now? Or am I a vampire or something? I think I saw something like this on the Vampire Diaries one time.” You tell him.

“You’re still human.” Yoongi chuckled.

“What?” You ask. “So I drank your blood for no reason?” You pouted.

“It was for a reason. Your mine now, and if anything or anyone who’s supernatural gets close to you, they’ll know that you’re mine.” He explains.

“So you marked me?” You asked and he nodded.

“This is cool. Who would’ve thought that the thing that was haunting me for eleven years was actually a really cute demon who I like very much.” You say.

Yoongi playfully rolled his eyes.

“Go to sleep, loser.”

Inexorable (3-FINAL)

Plot: How does is feel to be arranged to be married to a cocky, arrogant Mafia leader? Once you look at his face, you think you’re lucky, but then he opens his mouth.

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, Smut, Mafia au!

Warnings: dom!Jungkook, steamy hot tub sex yes

Notes: Last part, ya’ll. I hope you like it. I changed the gif because tumblr is being a meanie and it’s not letting me put in my own shit. This brings us to the end of this mini-series! I hope you enjoyed it. 3,430 Words

Part 2 | Part 3 (FINAL) | masterlist

Originally posted by minyoongislaysme

It was safe to say that there wasn’t as much tension between you and your husband anymore. Everything seemed so much more calm than before. Maybe it was because you guys barely talked; or maybe it was because he locked himself in his office all day, working.

An empty cabin was always nice, but you wanted to talk to him. You actually liked arguing with him; teasing him, and he would tease you back. His touch – it was gentle, even though he was being cocky. You hated to admit it, but you were slowly getting used to him.

Now it seemed like the both of you were more like frenemies rather than complete enemies. There was a sort of understanding, considering you were now aware that you were both forced into this marriage when you would rather stay single, and he would rather marry someone else.

“Princess,” Jungkook called you from behind the black kitchen island, his whiskey glass in his hand as he leaned against the countertop – you had no idea when he started calling you that, but it stuck. “I need some beer and and ice.”

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anonymous asked:

I was wondering, how much/many of your ideas should you reveal and create up front ad post online and how many should you keep to yourself as an artist? I have all these ideas for like, potential shows (im a student) that would function well as webcomics. But I'd like to be a board artist or show creator. Should I make those webcomics?

Here are your options:

Option 1: Hold onto your ideas

You hold onto your ideas until you can pitch them to executives, even though that may be years and years from now. So if you’re a student right now, that means you’re probably between 18-22. I didn’t get to pitch Infinity Train until I was 27, I didn’t get to make the pilot until I was 29. Now I’m 30 and I’m still waiting around for a possible greenlight. That is 3 years of my life waiting for other people to get moving so I can get moving. If your life goes like mine, that’s 7 years until you’ve made something. One thing. 7 years. How old were you 7 years ago and how many ideas have you had in those 7 years that could also be turned into things? YOU WILL NEVER RUN OUT OF IDEAS.

Something else to keep in mind, I was able to get moving on those ideas because I was working in the industry already, had contacts, and had started building a reputation. If you walk up the front of Nickelodeon or Disney or something and just knock on the door, they’re not going to listen to your pitch. So when will you have those contacts and reputation? How will you build those connections?

Well the first thing you do is start making and producing work. That means, ironically, you gotta start using those ideas you’re holding onto. Why would you expect anyone to want to help make your things if you’re not already making things? That brings me to…

Option 2: Make your ideas

If you don’t have work, then how are people finding out about you? They’re not. You’re not an artist if you’re not making work, you’re just a person with a bunch of thoughts. Lots of things have thoughts. Cows have thoughts. The thing with thoughts is that they’re NOT REAL. It’s all just up in your head. How are you different from any other person? Everybody has ideas, it’s making the idea into a reality that’s the accomplishment.

It’s tempting to not make things. If you make something, then that means it can be a failure and that other people can criticize it. If it remains a thought in your head, then no one can say anything bad about it and it’s just a perfect thing forever that only you know is perfect. You become the person that’s like “Then there’s this guy, he’s got like a sword, and he’s like SWUH! and it’s SO awesome!” and people go: “Wow that sounds fun!” and then you go: “Yeah, I’m gonna make it someday” and they go: “cool!” and then you sit around and waste your life and never make it because why would you? It’s perfect in your head! You already got the compliment from someone, you KNOW there would be fans and people would love it because the version you have in your head is so great! You don’t have to actually prove that it’s a viable idea or that you can even make it because you’ve already done it in your imagination.

Deep down though, you’ll know it’s not true, and it will just make you feel guilty, regretful, and jealous of people who DID actually make and follow through on their ideas. It poisons your soul, then you die, then your guts fertilize some plants which get eaten by a cow, which gets turned into a burger, which gets eaten by an actual artist and used as caloric energy to power their actual artist hands.

————-

I think the real question you should ask yourself is “would I rather see this thing exist than not exist?” Because the fact is, if you want the thing to exist, you have to make it, no one is going to suddenly knock on your door and beg you for your ideas. Don’t sit around and wait for a future that may never come, become an active participant in what you want your future to be.

As my friend Toby once angrily yelled into an empty street one day: “IDEAS ARE FUCKING INFINITE, JUST MAKE THE THING!”

  1. Even perfect effort is impossible. You’re going to read a lot that it is better to aim for perfect efforts over perfect results. But thing is, even the former is impossible. When working on a project or preparing for an exam, you will reach a saturation level where any improvement beyond that point will be minimal. You need to figure out a point of balance between your school work and the other parts of your life by learning when enough is enough, otherwise you will lose yourself in endless frustration because you will keep pursuing an unattainable goal.
  2. Grades are meaningless. This is something that took me 1.5 years of weekly therapy sessions to realize. Your self-worth is not in your grades. Your self-worth is in who you are as a person, which rests in your passions, your relationships and the things that you do to make the world a better place. You are your own person and you will keep being just as awesome as you are right now even if you don’t get that A, even if you don’t get a passing grade and even if you drop out. School is hard, but there are other things which are hard and just as rewarding as school, such as kindness, friendship, volunteering, sports, honesty, and so many other things. You don’t need a grade to prove that you are a valuable human being, because, guess what, you are valuable no matter what a report card says about your academic performance.
  3. Perfect discipline will strangle you. Do plan your assignments and study sessions, use a planner if you feel like it or whatever you like. But don’t get hung up on yourself for skipping, postponing or just not doing something. Being perfectly disciplined 100% of the time is impossible, and trying to be so will only cause you stress and anxiety which will hinder your productivity. It’s okay to change your plans and it’s okay to take time for yourself and to take time with your friends. Give yourself an empty day every once in a while, you not only deserve it but you also need it for your mental balance.
  4. Set yourself reasonable goals. Your to-do list doesn’t have to be 10 feet long even if you are late in every course. The day doesn’t get longer just because you add more stuff to do on your list. Even if you don’t finish everything by bedtime, going to bed later won’t allow you to be more productive tomorrow. It is way better to underestimate your capacity on a given day and end up doing a few extra things than to get mad at yourself for not doing everything you wanted to do that day.
  5. It’s okay to botch things. Sometimes you just don’t have time to do everything perfectly and you need to prioritize. It’s okay to do so. Everyone does it to some extent and everyone gets through just fine, and so will you.
  6. Nobody notices those minor mistakes you hate yourself for. I swear. Nobody. Fucking. Notices. For your teacher, your copy is likely to be just another copy in the pile of hundreds they have to go through every time they correct an assignment. If they do take notice, they will not think less highly of you for it because everyone makes mistakes. All the time. Even your idols have made mistakes in the past and still make them frequently. So really, none of those matters.
  7. Living with perfectionism is living a life dominated by fear. You don’t deserve to be constantly scared of fucking up, to hate yourself for every minor mistake you make or to be terrified that someone will uncover your (perceived) lack of worth. You deserve to be happy, to be fulfilled and to have fun. If you feel like your aspirations to perfection are taking over your life, please seek help.
not to offend anyone but...

written in these wall are the stories i can’t explain leave my heart open but it stays right here empty for days she told me in the morning she don’t feel the same about us in her bones seems to me that when i die these words will be written on my stone & i’ll be gOne GOne tonight the gROund beneath my feet is Open Wide the way that ive been HOLding On too tight with nothing in between the STORY OF MY LIFE I TAKE HER HOME I DRIVE ALL NIGHT TO KEEP HER WARM & TIME IS FRO-OH-OH-OH-OZEN (the story of the story of) THE STORY OF MY LIFE I GIVE HER HOPE I SPEND HER LOVE UNTIL SHES BROKE INSIDE THE STORY OF MY LIFE (the story of the story of) written on these walls are the colors that i can’t change leave my heart open but it stays right here in its cage i know that in the morning now i see us in the light upon a hill although i am broken my heart is untamed still and i’ll be Gone Gone tonight the fire beneath my feet is Burning Bright the way that i’ve been holding on so tight with nothing in between tHE STORY OF MY LIFE I TAKE HER HOME I DRIVE ALL NIGHT TO KEEP HER WARM & TIME IS FRO-OH-OH-OH-OZEN (the story of the story of) THE STORY OF MY LIFE I GIVE HER HOPE I SPEND HER LOVE UNTIL SHES BROKE INSIDE THE STORY OF MY LIFE (the story of the story of) & i’ve been waiting for this time to come around but baby running after you is like chasing the clo-OU-uds the story of my life i take her home i drive all night to keep her warm and time is fro-oh-oh-oh-ozen THE STORY OF MY LIFE I GIVE HER HOPE (I GIVE HER HOPE) I SPEND HER LOVE UNTIL SHES BROKE INSIDE THE STORY OF MY LIFE (the story of the story of) THE STORY OF MY LI-I-I-I-IFE THE STORY OF MY LI-I-I-I-IFE the story of my life

The Pawns And The Kings

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Originally posted by bangtanbtsmut



Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Smut

Plot: The reader is kidnapped, left alone in utter darkness. Once the day of her auctioning comes, she’s given to the head of one of the worlds most powerful gangs, Jungkook. She was nothing but a gift to him. But her little soul turns out to have the power to turn the tides in the worlds angriest ocean. And it turns out, Jungkook isn’t the only man whom eyes have settled upon her.

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Something about Fate

Dean decides to go to a new psychic in town - just for the hell of it, of course - with his roommate Castiel, and doesn’t get the reading he was expecting.

~5.2k

AO3

“Hey, Cas, have you ever been to a psychic?”

Dean watched as Castiel looked up from his book with his eyebrows pinched together.

“No.” A pause. “Why do you ask?”

Dean shrugged.

“Garth texted me. Apparently there’s one in town that he went to yesterday and he’s obsessed. He said she really knows her stuff.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow before returning his attention to the textbook he had sprawled across their kitchen counter, so he could eat and study at the same time - a sight that was not all that uncommon in their apartment.

“Psychics don’t exists, Dean,” he said, matter-of-factly, as he turned the page. “People who claim to be psychic are scammers hoping to draw in the desperate or the gullible. Garth is the latter, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, he’s not -”

“Remember when Gabriel told him that stop signs with a white rim around them were optional?”

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled out a stool on the opposite side of the counter from his roommate.

“Duh, Cas. I know that they aren’t legit. Everyone does. But at the very least they’re supposed to be super good at reading people and then you essentially pay them to tell you what their first impression of you is.”

A small smile crept its way across Castiel’s face.

“I could tell you that for free, you know.”

Dean flipped him off as he got up and pulled out an apple from the refrigerator, not even bothering to look back as he did so.

“Whatever. I think it could be kind of cool.”

“Then by all means…” Castiel wrote something down in a notepad and flipped to the next page. “I think you should do it. I have free time tomorrow if you’d like to find this psychic then.”

Dean tossed the apple between his hands.

“You’d come with me?”

“Of course. I would never miss the opportunity to witness someone predicting your death.”

Castiel laughed as Dean flipped him off again.

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