he writes with his left hand

Keeping the Old - Ch. 6

SUMMARY:

“From his ears, only the breathing of two was beating rhythm into the quiet. His hand gripping tightly around Jughead’s sleeve moved to latch onto Betty’s wrist that was lying flat over the denim jacket’s left chest pocket. Her hand re-positioned and grasped around his own, holding him still, telling him to wait, telling him to hope.”

(Enjoy the pain! <3 and a big thanks to @raptorlily for screaming at me with every draft to this chapter!!)

AO3 link


Chapter 6: With Bated Breath

He wasn’t breathing.

Yet somehow he was finding the air to scream out.

“Jug!”

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nerdalicous18 asked:

Hi, I’m writing this story about how the world is split into left handed and right handed people. And some left handed people are born with ‘the blessing ’ which gives you better eye sight or more agility. But it’s only the left handed people. Until ( he who shall be named later) a right handed person is born. What do you think about it? I’m left handed and I’ve noticed that not many people are left handed so that’s where my inspiration came from.


I think it sounds fascinating! :)

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Have a writing question? I’d love to hear from you! Prohibited questions: howto portray/describe things (characters, emotions, situations), specialist knowledge questions (medical, military, mental health, etc.), asking for tropes/cliches or resources, triggering/controversial topics; broad, vague, or complicated questions. See master list & main site for more info!

brains off

Imagine there’s a heart pumping in a few hands
Because I’m going to write this in what lasts the best song I’ve heard
And the last bible is written with his blood on the walls.

I want to know what’s under each building
Swim comfortably with you in the sewers
Reign among tyrants
Because only they know how to choose a leader
Because the only leader is the one who leads among others

Imagine a heart
With what is left over from all those whom the king ordered to kill
Only because he knew that their position was theirs.
What merit will a princess have if the fool is her father.
I have fallen in love with the terror you infuse me
As I did of all the bad ones of Disney.

An epitaph dictates: - on that curve I resurrected -
On the lines of your hands.

Imagine the drawing of an upside down heart
My inner girl licks that strawberry iceberg in the shade
The animals have gone hunting
There is no turning back
Someone will have to die on the third day.

It’s a [Tinder] Date! (Part 1/3)

Summary: Thinking he needs to find a date, Natasha signs Steve up to Tinder. In Queens, Peter Parker does the same to you. It’s a match! 

Word Count: 1,723

A/N: This is already planned out and written (in my head). I loved writing this.

Originally posted by imaginingbucky


Nat raised a brow, a mysterious curve to her smile. Steve was immediately suspicious. He felt his shoulders stiffen and his back straighten. He knew he looked like he had a stick up his ass, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when Natasha looked like the cat that had eaten the canary, and wanted to get caught.

“You left your phone on the coffee table,” she said. Her tone was relaxed, which made Steve more nervous.

His eyes narrowed. “What did you do, Romanoff?” he questioned, broad arms crossing over an equally-broad chest.

She merely shrugged before she turned her right-hand palm-up and relaxing it. Steve’s phone was revealed. “See for yourself.”

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Everybody loves a mute Vagabond so here’s something I was thinking about.

The Vagabond, mercenary for hire is called in by the Fakes. Does some jobs and gets invited to join them.

It’s when they’re hanging out at the pent house after a heist does it actually come up. Jeremy asks him why he never talks. They’ve heard him hiss on the rare occasion, but never a single word despite knowing them for a while. Ryan- they learn his name first- just shakes his head and texts Jeremy why.

Then they think of ways for him to better communicate. Jack likes his texting, Jeremy suggests pen and paper, Michael talks about a computer programmed to talk, and Geoff finally comes up with a reasonable answer. Asking if Ryan knows sign language. Ryan does.

So they look at each other. Out of them, one has to know sign language. Right? They spend the next ten minutes angry at everyone else for not knowing and arguing about who would learn it. Gavin walks in from his room, asking what they’re talking about.

Jeremy asks if Gavin knows someone who knows sign language. Gavin nods.

“Yeah I know sign language.”

The skepticism is evident among the group, but Gavin insists he does and asks Ryan to sign something. Ryan does and Gavin looks at him with confusion.

“My hair is pouring babies.”

Everyone laughs except for Michael who says, “Well no one here knows sign language then.”

Gavin huffs and swears that’s what Ryan is saying. So they humor the lad and ask for him to translate. Of course, Ryan really is just messing with the poor boy. Sometimes saying really sentences and sometimes not even signing anything and doing more of an organized flail.

They never truly believe he’s fluent as he says until he gets into a heated argument with Ryan. The words stop flowing and their hands are moving far too quickly. It doesn’t stop until Gavin is signing at the speed of light for a good five minutes, ending with a smooth hand glide up his neck and a hip swaying exit.

The crew asks what it was about and Ryan shrugs, texting them.

“He said I was wrong. Insulted me, my family, my cow, called me a bitch and left.”

4

An Examination of Every Instance Where Alexander Hamilton Explicitly Stated His Love for John Laurens

Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you_ - Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, April 1779

We all love you sincerely; but I have more of the infirmities of human nature, than the others and suspect my self of being byassed by my partiality for you. - Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, June 30, 1780

I feel the deepest affliction at the news we have just received of the loss of our dear and inestimable friend Laurens.  His career of virtue is at an end_  How strangely are human affairs conducted, that so many excellent qualities could not ensure a more happy fate?_  The world will feel the loss of a man who has left few like him behind, and America of a citizen whose heart realized that patriotism of which others only talk_  I feel the loss of a friend I truly and most tenderly loved, and one of a very small number. - Alexander Hamilton to Nathanael Greene, October 12, 1782

Poor Laurens; he has fallen a sacrifice to his ardor in a trifling skirmish in South Carolina.  You know how truly I loved him and will judge how much I regret him. - Alexander Hamilton to the Marquis de Lafayette, November 3, 1782

Tipsy - Request

Requested by anon: I would like to request a Sherlock x reader where he has been drugged and how he’s really cute and a little dirty towards her in front of John. Haha like while “high”. Just super fluffy and cute and maybe a little smutty/implied smut/ a little dirty haha. I get if you’re too busy or don’t feel like writing it, no problem. Love you.
& anon: I have a request for you (if youre still taking..?) so sherlock and john gets drunk and sherlock starts hitting on (and gets kissy and touchy) on reader which has been her girlfriend for months xD ?

Pairing: Sherlock x reader.

Word count: 2,026

Warnings: Just like in “The sign of three” this things gives a lot of twists.

A/N: Drunk Sherlock and Watson are my fave, I loved this so much!

Enjoy!

Sherlock and John weren’t the kind of men to get drunk every week, however and because of the stress they had been put through in their last case, they decided to go to the bar together.

At first it was just beer and talking and complaining, but then, someone recognized Sherlock and decided to put a little something on his beer which, added up to what he had already drunk, ended up turning him into a dizzy, slurry mess.

John was drunk as well, but for a different reason: he had mixed tequila with beer.

They walked – stumbled – their way back to Baker Street. It wasn’t even ten o’clock when that happened, so both (Y/N) and Mrs. Hudson were up and sharing a cup of tea while the boys came back, doing all kinds of strange noises as they walked in that called both women’s attention.

“What are you two doing here?” Mrs. Hudson asked as she and (Y/N) walked out to the stair case where John and Sherlock were laying. (Y/N) couldn’t help but to laugh at the image and the sound of her laughter caught Sherlock’s attention.

“(Y/N)!” He cheered drunkenly, “AREN’T YOU THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BEING ON EARTH?”

“Wow, someone’s loud tonight.” She joked and Sherlock walked to her and held her tightly against his chest.

“You are sooooo beautiful!” He slurred, “And so hot, would you be my girlfriend?”

“I am already your girlfriend, Sherlock.” (Y/N) spoke clamly, unable to contain the giggle that left her lips.

“I’m such a lucky man I’m jealous of myself …” Sherlock cupped her face and started kissing her passionately, like never before. (Y/N) tried to pull away but Sherlock’s grip was tight and it wasn’t until he needed air that he let go off her.

“You’re so drunk!” She giggled.

“And you’re stunning.” Sherlock mumbled, “Delightful, splendid, a Greek muse right in front of me! DATING ME!”

“Sherlock Holmes is a poet when he’s drunk, what are the chances!” Watson spoke from behind, right before he bursted in a dry laughter. Mrs. Hudson laughed with him and then both women dragged them upstairs.

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anonymous asked:

snowbaz soulmates au where the ink you write on your skin appears on your soulmate's skin and vice versa

Okay, I really let my imagination run away with my words here. :D I really love this trope. But what if we took this a step further? What if, instead of soul mates, this was actually a spell that could be used to communicate with someone from far away?

Sometime around seventh year, this spell is taught in Magickal Words. And you get forced with a partner to learn it. Baz and Simon get partnered up, of course. And Simon botches the spell and makes it relatively permanent.


At first, neither of them really do anything about it. Simon might occasionally draw a stupid face or something on his arm just to piss off Baz. But Baz makes certain to no longer make notes to himself on his skin. It’s like this for almost a month. Until Simon goes on a mission for the Mage, and he receives dozens of cuts all over his arm and a few across his chest. It isn’t until he’s checking his cuts on his way back that he notices something written on his wrist.

Snow. Are you hurt?

Simon is really confused by this at first. Because why on earth would Baz be writing to him when he never has before? He immediately searches for a pen.

I’m fine, he writes back. Why? His handwriting is atrocious compared to Baz’s.

Suddenly, all these small arrows start appearing on Simon’s skin, each one pointing to his cuts. He looks under his shirt at his chest; there are some there, too.

I’m covered in scars, appears underneath his writing.

Fuck. It suddenly makes sense. He must have really fucked up the spell, and now Baz is getting all these marks on his skin where Simon’s cuts are.

I was cut, Simon writes. Do they hurt you?

Not much, Baz writes back. Be careful next time.

Simon doesn’t write back. He doesn’t know what to say. They don’t speak about it at all when he gets back. Nothing happens again until a few weeks later, over Christmas break.

Simon is sitting on his bed at Watford, trying to enjoy the quiet, when a large scar appears along the side of his neck and over his collarbone. He doesn’t notice it immediately, but begins to feel a burning sensation there. It isn’t until he goes into the bathroom to shower that he sees it. It terrifies him to see such a scar that large. He immediately runs out of the bathroom and grabs a pen.

Baz, what happened?    

Dueling. The reply is almost instant.

With who?

My father.

Did you lose?

Yes.

This almost makes Simon shiver. Baz so easily admitting defeat. In the form of one beautifully written word on his skin.

Simon walks back to the bathroom and stares at the scar in the mirror. It still burns. Burns like magick. Baz must have been hit pretty hard to have a scar left like this. He traces it up and down, wondering what it must look like against Baz’s grey skin.

Does it hurt? Came another set of words on the back of his hand.

It burns, Simon writes. Are you in pain?

I can handle it, forms along his right hand. Simon snorts at this. Of course Baz would be ambidextrous. Simon searches along his arm for a place to write but it’s all full of words. He then looks down at his legs. He’s wearing boxers, so he can write there. He’s not sure if Baz will see it immediately, but he decides to write there anyway.

I’m not left-handed, Baz, he writes. And then because of the extra space on his leg, he adds, I can’t write on my right arm.

So you decide to write on your leg instead? Idiotic, Snow. The reply appears on Simon’s leg, right under his own words. And it was almost instant again. Simon tries not to wonder if Baz is actually wearing pants at this moment.

You wrote on your own leg too, Simon writes.

To prove a point that it’s idiotic.

How is it idiotic if you’re doing it too?

There isn’t an instant reply this time, and Simon realizes they’ve written all the way from his knee cap to the top of his thigh. Something they could only do if they’re both not wearing pants. Simon really tries not to think about it.


(I don’t know what this was, I’m sorry. But maybe I’ll turn it into a real fic one day :D)

Ball Chain & Satin

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: “Can you write a one shot where Bucky and Reader are getting married, but Bucky is scared. Angst or fluff, it’s up to you. Thanks!” Requested by Anonymous.

Word Count:1,391

Warnings: Language (probably)

A/N: I’m working on my requests, yay me! Oh boii, the fluff is strong :) Hope you’ll like it!

Originally posted by heartsandwheels

You were in front of the mirror, admiring your sleeveless satin wedding gown when someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

Grabbing a fistful of satin, you gathered up the skirt of your gown and moved closer to the door. You pressed your ear against the wood and heard him shuffling around on the other side of the door.

“Buck, what are you doing here? We’re not supposed to see each other before the ceremony.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“You’ll see me in an hour. Now, hush!”

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A Quiet Realization

The realization that she loved James Potter didn’t hit her like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t some epiphany she had in the middle of Charms while watching him laugh with his friends. She didn’t suddenly see him on the Quidditch pitch and think Oh my God, I’m in love!

No, Lily Evans realized she loved James in a slow trickle, little bits flowing in one at a time. First it was his laugh, that infectious mischievous laugh that meant something was afoot. Then, it was his hair. That stupid perpetually messy hair of his, that begged for her to tame it. Next, his hands. Spindly capable hands that could cast a quick spell just as well as they could gingerly bandage a cut. His eyes were next. Those brilliant hazel eyes that saw everything, and were almost always laughing. The first time she saw him cry, she almost came undone herself. She’d never known eyes like his.

His temper was quick and fierce, and once you crossed him he never forgave you. Everyone knew it. It was one thing that Lily couldn’t stand, until she saw that part of him unravel completely their sixth year. Sirius had messed up bad. The day he forgave his best mate, Lily fell for his new-found gentleness. She watched as James became more rounded and fell for every softened edge. She fell for his loyalty and the way he faced danger head on, standing straight and unafraid.

The last piece clicked into place on an average morning their seventh year. They sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, steadfastly ignoring the growing number of empty seats around them. Classmates were dropping like flies. The owl post came, with the Daily Prophet and its daily list of the dead. He leaned over her shoulder and they both scanned the list. A thought floated up to the surface, gentle as can be. James, she realized, was the only person she couldn’t bear to lose.

It wasn’t a shot in the dark or a bolt of lightning. It came as easy as an old memory. She wasn’t sure how long, but it had been there for a while. She glanced up from the paper and met his eyes. “I think I might love you,” she said quite simply.

He blinked a moment, taken aback by her statement. Finally, he spoke. “I think I might love you as well.”

It was a quiet confession, not a big declaration or a whirlwind event. They both turned back to the paper in comfortable silence and, when they were finished eating, left the Great Hall hand-in-hand.

[LIST] BTS' Habits

V:
• He says “Mom” and “It hurts” a lot
• Bite his nails
• Open his mouth
• Touch cute stuff
• He speaks and makes weird sounds while sleeping or he’s going to order things to the members while sleeping
• Say weird things

Suga:
• Bite his nails
• Sleep whenever he has free time
• Write lyrics
• When he’s nervous he speaks satoori
• Make rhymes in every situation

Jin:
• When he’s hungry he blinks his left eye
• Eat all the chicken legs
• Grab his hands behind his back
• Sometimes he speaks while sleeping
• Make a flying kiss

Jungkook:
• Sniff (he has rhinitis)
• Stomp around
• Wring his fingers
• Make a shock face all the time

RapMonster:
• Turn his shoulders
• Put his fingers on his lips/eyes
• Being sexy

Jimin:
• Being forgetful
• Look into space
• Dance to any kind of music (the place doesn’t matter)
• Lift up his pinky finger while drinking water
• Push his hair back

Jhope:
• He blushes when he brags on himself
• Touch himself while sleeping

I let another boy grow your face,
Your name,
Your smile,
And I cannot wipe the lies
From his ivory slate.
 
Pristine eyes shone
With another’s anger,
With the wrath that left me marked
By your sandpaper tongue.
 
You push the world
Through the filter in my head,
I am curled between your fingers
Like a puppet on strings.
 
I was dragged head-first into fog,
His headlights gleaming
Through the heavy air.
 
I handed him your name.
(I thought he deserved it)
—  poeticallyordinary
In the Corner

Summary: based off this imagine given to me by @n-octicolor

Pairing: Castiel x reader

Word Count: 3k (whoooooop go me!!!!)

Warnings: cheesy fluff, dry humping (hUMP THAT LEG LADIES), Cas comes without u even TOUCHIN HIM (bc thats hot), language, slight dirty talk

A/N: I didnt proofread this. I’ll go back and fix any stupid errors tomorrow. :-) enjoy!

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“You got 20 minutes, princess!”

“Shit,” you muttered, getting out of your chair and practically running down the hall to your bedroom.

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(( OOC: I think the only reason I would like to see Rowling write a marauders series is this… to finally SHOW how James Potter changed and matured and became a better person. She talks about it… she says he was a good man, but so much is left up to speculation… and then the only canon scene written about him is him being a little shit. And this ONE moment is then used to condemn him by the fandom, over and over! There’s so much more to him, and with as much research as I’ve done on him now, I know the timeline of his progression, but not many specific details. *grabby hands* I want details for my baby!!!!!! ))

anonymous asked:

Random reminder that I remember you.

Nonnie, listen, I know this was meant as a message for me but I can’t help but think about Stiles being forgotten by everyone. Everyone except Derek who called Scott after a nightmare to check up on everyone and is more than a little concerned to be met with who? when he finally plucks up the courage to ask how Stiles is. 

And so, somehow, he finds a way to send messages to Stiles in that dark, lonely place. He doesn’t actually know he’s sending them but when he dreams, he dreams of Stiles. Sees him, trapped and scared and vulnerable - although he can never reach him, no matter how fast he runs. Instead, he pictures himself writing messages on walls, on the inside of books, on discarded pieces of paper; all in the hopes Stiles might see them. 

All the same message: I remember you.

Stiles begins to see them everywhere. They give him hope, hope he’s not lost. Hope that he’s not so easily forgotten as he had always feared, even before he fell down this rabbit hole. And yeah, he doesn’t know it’s Derek. Maybe it’s a trick, or maybe it’s his dad or Scott, but there is something, something, he can feel; something that boils his blood and soothes it in the same breath, and it reminds him so badly of Derek that he shakes with it, remembering the day Derek left. Remembering that night, when Derek slid through his bedroom window, still not gone (knocking first, Stiles noted fondly at the time) and hugged him. Just….hugged him. Tight.

Then, one night, Stiles catches the words being written on a door. He runs to it, tries desperately to grab the phantom hand writing as it goes along but he can’t and he wants to scream because the hand is warm but he can’t touch it, can’t even really feel it, but it’s there and it’s real and when he starts to cry, pushing his head against the door, the hand lingers long after it’s finished writing. 

Meanwhile, back in his old loft, Derek dreams of the boy he reluctantly came to care about; tries to hold him - can’t see him or feel him but he can smell him. Stiles’ scent calls to him in a way not even Cora’s does, in a way Laura’s never did. It’s only then Derek realises, waking with a jolt, that Stiles isn’t just his anchor; isn’t just some endearing asshole who confuses him to no end, who makes him want to bare his teeth and throat at the same time, but something more.

And there, lying in his old bed covered in sweat and regret after regret, feeling utterly helpless, Derek whines for his mate.  

Lance keeps a very in depth journal of his thoughts and feelings. It includes dates, ages, times, and sometimes context snippets to help him remember. He does this in hopes that all his insecurities get transferred from himself to his little leather bound book. It usually only works for a few minutes before he just gets washed over with his feelings again. At home, he’d gradually stopped using it after he’d been getting promoted in the garrison, but he still took it everywhere he went. He’s realized that soon after becoming a paladin, he started writing in it again. He didn’t realize how bad it became until he wet from once every few days, to every day, to multiple times for the day. 

He writes in it after a particular hard day with Voltron, but Pidge finds him writing in it while alone int he training room and makes fun of him for keeping a diary. Lance feels embarrassed, so he quits it cold turkey. Soon he’s itching to write in it ll the time but stops himself. He stays up all night more often, paces his room more often, works alone in the training room. He’s health starts to deteriorate and no one really notices. Hunk asks a few ‘are you okay’s?’, but lance just pastes on a fake smile and sends him on his way. The stress of not writing and getting his feelings down on paper ends up affecting him on a mission and he gets badly hurt trying to protect the other paladins.

He wants to recover on his own, much against Coran’s and Allura’s wishes. He barely makes it to his room and passes out. Shiro and Keith come to makes sure he’s okay because Shiro’s the leader and Keith feels bad for snapping at Lance pre mission. They find him knocked out. Lance’s journal is open on the headboard. Shiro looks it over and Keith just thinks it’s dumb scribbles. The words are scratched along the 2 pages in circles, ovals and spirals. The pencil is almost down to nothing. Shiro an only make out a few words here and there. ‘I’, ‘help’, ‘can’t’, ‘worthless’, and ‘weak’ make the most appearances. 

Shiro closes the book and flips it in his hands. There’s no title. The leather is worn and the pages are old. Keith takes it from him and opens it. He flips a few pages scanning it. Shiro tries to take it back. He reasons that it’s Lance’s property, but Keith reasons that it was left open. Keith stops fighting against Shiro and looks at him with wide eyes. He hands the book over and Shiro glances over the page in confusion. He flips that page back then forward. Pages and pages of Lance’s writing. It looked much different to the page that was left open. Very elegant and slow strokes across the papers of a book filled with words that Shiro cursed himself for not realizing sooner. 

Lance had felt inferior to them, like he didn’t belong. He’d been feeling that way for weeks because of how they treated him. How they joked about him. How they pushed him off to the side for their own missions. He knew Keith was feeling the same way. They had been unconsciously pushing him away lately. Shiro had been noticing that Lance spent more time alone with the Blue Lion instead of having meals with them or training with them. 

“Sh-shiro, I- How did we not see this?” Keith hisses, guilt dripping from his words. 

“Lance, obviously has had experience with putting on an act. We’ll help him. We’ll all help him. We have to.” 

Our Secret

Originally posted by kulo-ren

Charachters: Reader x Jughead

Word Count: 1,109

Warnings: None?

Anon Request: Can u do an imagine about being jug’s gf but no one knows and when he gets in a fight with reggie and stand up for him? 

A/N: I had fun writing this one, I hope y'all enjoy it!


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His lips smashed onto yours passionately and you kissed back with just as much eagerness. Your hands knotted it’s way in his hair lightly pulling every now and then, while his hands left small bruises from where his fingertips dug into your hips. 

 You moaned quietly only spurring him on further. His lips left yours and quickly found their way to your jawline. Kissing his way down your neck, leaving his mark on you. But you didn’t care, all you wanted was him. 

 You pulled him back to your lips where your tongues wrestled for dominance, but you had no chance of winning. Suddenly you heard footsteps and immediately jumped away from each other and tried to make yourselves look like you hadn’t just spent the last 10 minutes heavily making out. 

 You peered around the corner the both of you had been hiding behind and saw Archie walking down the hall. You pulled out your phone to inspect the marks on your jaw and neck and immediately cursed. 

“Fucking hell Jughead, how the hell am I supposed to hide these!?” You exclaimed quietly as you tried to shift your shirt to hide them, but that didn’t work. He pulled off his sweatshirt and offered it to you which you gratefully took, the over sized jacket effectively did the job. You left the corner you both had been occupying first so as not to seem suspicious. 

For the entirety of your relationship you both tried to hide the fact that you were dating, not wanting any of the drama that it would bring. “Hey Y/n.” Archie greeted. Jughead appeared from around the corner. “Oh… hey…” Archie greeted him awkwardly before leaving. 

“What was all that about?” You asked him as his hand found its way on your hip. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He practically spat as he watched Archie walk away. “Whatever you say, now come on, lets go to the lounge, I needed to ask Betty for some notes.” He nodded and the both of you made your way to the said room. 

 You and Jug walked over to where Betty, Veronica and Kevin were. “Hey Betty, can you lend me those notes for that class I wasn’t able to make it to last week?” “Of course.” She said as she went digging through her backpack. Kevin was the first to notice your sweatshirt. “Hey isn’t that Jughead’s jacket?” He asked as he shot the two of you a look.

“I-I.” “She was cold, I lent it to her.” “Yeah, yep. That’s- yeah I was cold and he let me borrow it.” You winced at your obvious lie but prayed they’d buy it. Kevin gave the both of you another look before deciding to drop the subject, at that moment they all heard Reggie start to speak up, this time it was about Jason Blossom’s death.

“And Sheriff Keller’s grilling me, Mantle the Magnificent. ‘Cause I’d want Blossom dead. When he was, like, the only good quarterback we had.” He looked over at Moose who had been smiling. 

“And speaking of offensive tight-ends, I should’ve sent the cops to you, Moose. Because here’s another unsolved mystery. What exactly were you and Kevin doing at the river, huh? Or does being with the sheriff’s son give you a free pass Keller?” Reggie was clearly trying to start something with anyone who’d listen. 

 "Reggie’s just being a blowhard, Kev.“ You heard Betty tell Kevin. "I don’t care what he says. I mean, let’s think about it. If a kid at Riverdale killed Jason, it’s not gonna be a jock, right? Now, let’s be honest. Isn’t it always some spooky, scrawny, pathetic Internet troll, too busy writing his manifestos to get laid? Some smug, moody, serial killer fanboy freak… like Jughead?" 

Everyone looked at Jughead while Reggie laughed. Jughead just glared back in response as he leaned against one of the many counters. "What was it like, Suicide Squad? When you shot Jason? You didn’t do stuff to the body, did you? Like After?” Jughead rolled his eyes. 

 "It’s called necrophilia, Reggie, can you spell it?“ "Come here, you little-.” Reggie had hopped over one of the couches when Archie came out of nowhere and immediately blocked a blow that was was meant for Jughead’s face. “Hey shut the hell up, Reggie.” “What do you care, Andrews?” Reggie threatened.

 "Nothing, just leave him alone.“ "Holy crap. Did you and Donnie Darko kill him together? Was it some sort of pervy, blood brother thing?” You snorted when he said that as you thought about what actually had taken place between you and Jughead on July 4th. “What’s so funny you introverted freak.” Reggie asked as he stared you down. 

“Nothing just… I think it’s funny how you are such a dick all the time. I wonder if this stupid massive ego you always use is to make up for something. Are you lacking a little in the size department?” You asked with a cheeky grin. Everyone started laughing while Reggie just started at you with absolute hatred before a thought crossed his mind making him smile evilly. 

“Oh, I get it. I bet you were another accomplice in this whole scheme. Which one of you held Jason down while the other killed him, huh?” “I cant say anything for Archie but I know for a fact that Jughead and I were not at all near Sweetwater River during the time of Jason’s death. So go try your little theories somewhere else.” You instantly regretted your words when you realized what you said. 

 Reggie smirked as everyone else watched with curiosity. “And what’s that supposed to mean dork? What could you two have possibly been doing that could be used as a credible alibi?” He asked with an eyebrow raised. You opened your mouth but no words came out. 

 "Because we’re dating, and we just happened to be getting more action than you have in your entire life on July 4th, Reggie.“ Jughead replied with a narrowed eyes and a smirk as he pulled you into his side. You along with everyone else in the room gasped. "I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone!?” You whispered loudly.

“Ooooh Reggie got burned!” Someone shouted leading to everyone laughing causing him to storm out of the lounge with a pissed off look. You looked back up at Jughead with awe and confusion all at the same time. “What? I couldn’t let him go off on my girl like that.” He simply stated making you feel all fuzzy inside as you smiled at him widely before kissing him on the cheek making him blush.

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.

Keep reading

don’t think about allura deep in thought — eyes focused on a map of constellations before her, brows furrowed, tip of a pencil on her lips, hair tied back except for that one silver strand that’s slipped out of her bun. 

don’t think about shiro checking on her in the middle of the night — finding her in the command room, sighing softly to himself when he sees her standing in the same spot as when he left her two hours ago, slipping his arms around her to embrace her from behind, stepping close against her to catch the little jump she makes when she realizes he’s there.

don’t think about his breath on her neck as he turns his nose toward her, her arm slowly lowering the pencil in her hand down to the table — the hint of a smile stretching over her face as his lips graze the point of her ear as he murmurs,

“hey, princess.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas extended out his hand. It wasn’t the first time Cas tried to return a gift when they fought. It’s not like they fought often, but sometimes the life got in the way like it had today, sending Dean packing to his room and Cas with nothing to do but go to apologize. It’s his fault, really. Dumbass should’ve answered his phone.

“It’s a gift. You keep those.” They’d done this before, but Dean wasn’t that pissed to ignore the fact that Cas was still in his room trying. He usually just waited around outside like a lost puppy.

Castiel shifted his feet, unsure of what to do. “I should’ve ––”

“Damn right you should’ve.” Dean looked at the angel in the eye, not daring to hide the anger and pain he felt. “You go dark like that right now? I thought the worst, man. The worst.” Dammit voice for breaking at the last word. He was not gonna get emotional.

For what it was worth, it seemed to stop Cas. “There is no excuse,” he moved to sit down on Dean’s bed. Dean tracked Castiel the entire time, his jaw clenched as he waited for Cas to continue. “I-I’m sorry, Dean. There is nothing I can say…”

If he didn’t look like a lost puppy then, man did he look that way now. Dean felt himself soften even though the anger was still there. He thought back to the entire year Cas has had, between Lucifer and losing Kelly and Dagon…

“It’s been a rough year for you. I mean I’m pissed, but I get it.” Dean shifted so that they were facing each other, knees knocking together. Castiel wouldn’t meet his eyes in the slightest, but if Dean was going to say what he was about to say it was probably better that way.

“Look,” he sighed before he moved to prod Castiel’s hand so that it opened up for him. “I called you god knows how many times. I thought Dagon had gotten to you or something or worse. Then when we found her and Kelly and there was no sign of you I thought something else must’ve gotten you. I never once thought you were ignoring us…” he felt that anger again, but he steeled himself. “But you can’t do that, okay? Just, not to me.”

Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand, grounding them both. “I need a win, Dean. I need to win one for you. For myself.”

“I get it man, but you’re not the only one throwing snake eyes here.” Dean moved to grab Castiel’s other hand, the movement causing for both their heads to  inadvertently move forward so that they were nearly touching foreheads. “You and me…” He almost added and Sam, but that was not the point right now. “Face it, we’re just better together. And we’ll get that win. Together.”

Castiel moved forward so that they foreheads touched fully, nothing more to be said. Dean knew if he said anything more he might ruin it, ruin what they have right now. 

“Together,” Castiel whispered. It was enough to calm Dean down fully.

They remained that way for a while before Sam called Dean back to the bunker. The hunter squeezed the angel’s hands once more before resting his lips on the angel’s forehead for one moment. When Sam called again twice is when Dean reluctantly moved and left Castiel in his room.

For his part, Castiel then spent the next ten minutes fighting with himself over what he was about to do. Dean would kill him, or worse, if he did what he was about to do, but if it was to keep those hands from hurting an innocent soul than Castiel would move Heaven and Hell for Dean. Dean was Castiel’s reason for living, even after the hell of a year he has had. He wasn’t going to let that soul be tarnished further with this burden. The choice had been made, even if Castiel’s being didn’t know if it was right.

With tears in his eyes, Castiel grabbed the colt and left his heart in Dean’s room.