his face was shrouded in darkness

sometimes @wymack comes up with really good sentences and I get inspired by them


“I hate you,” Andrew says, kicking away from the Maserati and taking a long drag of his cigarette. The night is dark on the horizon, but Andrew is shrouded in the amber glow from the light poles in the parking lot. The sharp shadows across Andrew’s face make his cheekbones look hollow and his eyes look like frozen amber instead of their usual polished gold.

Neil shakes his head in denial and watches Andrew stop moving, tilt his head as if deciding something, and then pivot back to start pacing. His hair is getting longer, brushing the tops of his ears and his eyebrows. Neil knows that there hasn’t been enough time to cut it, not with the stress cycling around them, depression and anxiety pulling at both of them in waves. “No, you don’t,” Neil says.

Andrew’s eyes flick towards Neil, assessing, but inevitably Andrew continues to pace. “More than anything,” Andrew promises, flicking ash at Neil as he walks past.

Making a face, Neil brushes the ash off the front of his Foxes hoodie. “I think, for you, ‘I hate you’ is interchangeable with ‘I hate the way you make me feel.’” Now that the words are out, Neil realizes that he’s been feeling this way for a long time. He’s confident that this time, he has Andrew figured out.

Andrew stops walking, and he drops the hand holding his cigarette to his side. Smoke curls up the back of Andrew’s hand and along the sheer black of his armband, before finally disappearing in the cool air of the night. Neil pushes his advantage and approaches, gate slow and loose, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly to the side.

“What I’m trying to figure out,” Neil breathes, carefully watching Andrew’s constricted pupils, the spattering of pale freckles over Andrew’s nose, “is whether you mean feeling this in particular, or feeling anything at all.”

“There is no this,” Andrew instantly snaps, as if he had known exactly what Neil was going to suggest.

Neil smiles ruefully and backs away. “I know,” he says, and turns to walk back inside. He ducks his head, heart heavy with the knowledge that Andrew would have and could have gone on living just fine feeling nothing at all.

One Love (Alexander X Reader)

My longest story yet: 2051 words

Major Angst, tissues are recommended

Thanks to @gratitudejoyandsorrow and @hamilficsfordays for being your awesome selves and believing in me.

Tags: @yayhamletnonstop @iputmyselfintothenarrative @ruth-hamilton-delrio


You feel world weary and bone tired. The thought of your bed is comforting. You smile as you see your husband waiting on you to join him. You quickly get in and curl up next to him. He is cold to the touch, but it doesn’t bother you. You suddenly remember something that needed to be done and jump up to do it fast so you can get back to Alexander. “Just come back to bed.” He murmurs. His voice sounds a little off but it pulls you back to his side.

You lay in bed shrouded in darkness. You can see Alexander’s silhouette on the other side of the bed. Everything feels right in the world. The sun starts to rise and Alexander begins to fade away. You stretch your fingers out to touch his face but just as the sun reaches its zenith, he whispers that he loves you just before he disappears.

“Nooooo!” You scream, sitting bolt upright in your bed. You reach out to grab the hand that you know should be there but all you find is empty sheets. It all starts coming back to you. The duel with Aaron Burr. He shot and killed your Alexander. It had been three months ago. You bolt for the bathroom to deposit whatever was left in your stomach into the toilet. Even being sick reminds you of your beloved Alexander. The way he held your hair out of the way so you wouldn’t get anything in it. The slow, soothing circles he would rub on your back. You succumb to sobs after you can’t throw up any more.

Once you cry all you have left in you, you slowly make your way downstairs. All the children are gone already, off to school or play dates. Thanks to your sister, Angelica, your children have been taken care of while you were still mourning the loss of the love of your life. She had left you a small plate for your breakfast but knew you probably wouldn’t eat it, although she would beg you to. You decided to appease your sister by eating some of the food she had prepared for you. You knew you needed to move on, get on with your life. It was what you thought Alexander would want you to do.

After eating everything that you could manage to stomach, you made your way to Alexander’s study. You stand before the door. Taking a deep breath to steel your resolve, you open the door for the first time in months and you are almost bowled over with memories. The most prominent one, the last one is thrust to the front of your mind.

You open the door to Alexander’s study to find him writing, as usual. You slowly walk over to stand behind him in his desk chair. You place your hands on his shoulders to rub them. “Alexander, come back to sleep.”

He sets his pen down to caress your hand. “I have an early meeting out of town.”

You place your chin on his shoulder. “It’s still dark outside.”

He places his hand on your cheek, causing your heads to touch. “I know. I just need to write something down.”

You shake your head at his words. It was always his response when he was in his study. “Why do you write like you’re running out of time?” You move to wrap your arms around his neck from behind him, placing your head on top of his.

He tries to shush you but you continue. “Come back to bed. That would be enough.” A small smile spreads across his face as he tries to appease you.

“I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

“Come back to sleep” You whisper in his ear.

“This meeting’s at dawn.”

You sigh, finally feeling resigned that he is not going to join you. “Well, I’m going back to sleep.” You place a kiss to the top of his head and begin to leave.

He grabs your hand before you are out of reach and pulls you to look at him. “Hey, best of wives and best of women.” He places a chaste kiss on the top of your hand, just like he did on the day you met.

You collapse to your knees as the memory wrenches your heart. If you had only known what that meeting was, you would have tried harder to get him to stay. You sat inside the doorway of his study, sobbing into your hands. Once you felt like you had no more tears to cry again, you dried your face with your handkerchief. Well, it wasn’t yours, it was Alexander’s but you held onto it, a physical piece of him you could still hold. Bringing yourself up off the floor, you walk over to his desk, Alexander was still the last person to touch it. You expressly forbade anyone touching this room, so you would always have this room that was just Alexander’s. It was still a mess, like always. Your eyes caught a piece that didn’t have Alexander’s scribblings all over it. It only had your name in the most elegant script you had ever seen in the center with the Hamilton family seal in bright red wax just underneath, holding it closed. It was from your husband, you just knew it. As you carefully reached your hand towards the letter, you blinked and it almost looked as if it had faded from view, just like Alexander had done in your dreams over the past few weeks. But, your tired eyes were playing tricks on you, the letter coming back into focus. Grabbing it quickly before you thought it would disappear again, you held it close to your heart. After taking a moment, with shaky hands, you break the three month old piece of wax. You gently open the last piece of correspondence that your beloved husband had written you.

My dearest Y/N,

You are just leaving the room heading back to bed after trying to get me to join you. I can not tell you hard it was to deny you of your request, especially if I am not able to return to you, my darling.

If I don’t, please don’t waste your precious time mourning my passing. Even though I am gone, I will always be with you. When darkness comes and tries swallow your sweet, bright light, I will light the night with stars, hear me whisper to you in the dark to bring you back to the light where you belong. Please know that I am never far away, I am always in your heart to guide you. I know that the path after this, if I don’t make it, will feel lonely and ragged. But along with our children and our dearest sister, Angelica, my love with surround you like a crimson robe, filling you with warmth, giving you comfort and make you look like the queen you are. You are the queen of my heart. Even though, I had made mistakes and forsake you, my love for you will
always be an all-consuming fire. Yes, my love, I will always burn for you. I implore you one last time, my one and only true love, please, do not cry for me. It will cause my soul grief to have to watch.

Loving you for forever,

Yours and only yours,

Alexander

You read the letter over and over again, crying, even though, beyond the grave, your one love begs you not to. As his words flow over you, your resolve begins to harden. He didn’t want this for you. He didn’t want you to be remembered as his weeping widow. Legacy. The one thing, besides you, that he had always wanted was to leave a legacy that would be remembered. You decide, here and now, that you would pick up your husband’s mantle. You would do everything in your power to protect his legacy, to tell his story. You gently fold the precious letter and place it in the locket that Alexander had given you.

“I saw it in the shop and I just had to get it for my darling Y/N.” He whispered in your ear as he clasped the locket around your neck. You turn round in in embrace so he can see it. The smile on his face grew wider. He lifts his hand to your face to caress your cheek, “It suits you.”

Another memory, this time a happy one, comes to mind. You find yourself smiling, really smiling, for the first time in months. You finally begin to feel alive again.

Hours later, you hear Angelica and the children start to come home for the day. You race downstairs to greet them. They all stop in shock when you come barreling towards them with a pep in your step and a smile on your face. You wrap your arms around your sister first. “Y/N, are you alright?” she asks, gently wrapping her arms around you like you were a porcelain doll, ready to crack at any moment. You pull back, smiling, then turn and start loving on each of your children. You look at each of them and you see the bits of Alexander in each of them. Alexander Junior had his eyes, John had his nose, James had his dimples, William had his chin, Little Angie had his mischievous grin, and Baby Philip, oh, he was spitting image of him.

After sending them to play, you are left alone with your sister. “Y/N, what happened? Don’t get me wrong, I am so happy that you aren’t mourning anymore. But, what changed?” She held both of your hands in hers. You gently pulled them away. “I finally realized that how I have been behaving is not what Alexander would have wanted for me. He would want to me to live my life, not waste my time on tears. I am ready to pick up where he left off.”

And you did. You spend hours going through all of his writing. You interview anyone who had been at his side, from soldiers that fought with him in the Revolutionary War to the other politicians who had been with him or against him. You rally and stand against slavery and support all of Alexander’s causes. Knowing that Alexander, not only wanted his story told but those he surrounded himself with, you petition for funds for a monument to be raised in George Washington’s honor. You spend the rest of your time on this earth trying to make sure that the name Alexander Hamilton and all he did for the great country he helped create would not be forgotten. You always felt like there was something more you could do but you always felt that if Alexander had survived, he would have done a much better job than you did.

50 years after Alexander’s death….

You are lying in bed, surrounded by your remaining children, Alexander Junior, James, John, Eliza, and Little Philip. You tell them that you loved them all dearly and to never forget you or their father and to always tell his story. “It’s almost finished, Mom. I promise to tell his story.” John told you, holding your hand. You smile, and as you look up from his eyes, off in the distance, you see an ethereal figure walking toward you. As it gets closer, you slowly begin to start noticing things. Dark, flowing hair, warm brown eyes, and the gentle smile of your beloved husband. “My Alexander.”

“Yes, Mom?” Alexander Junior asks but you don’t respond to him. Your eyes fixated just beyond the foot of your bed, past your children. Alexander stretched out his hand for you to come with him. You smile, sigh and close your eyes.

You open them and take his hand. As you look at your hand in his, yours is no longer the withered, fragile hand of an 97 year old woman. It looks like it did way back in 1804, the year Alexander passed. He looks exactly as he did that morning of the duel. “My one love, you told my story.” He grinned his small, shy smile that only you got to see. “No, I told our story.”

Monotone Hands

Warnings: None. But you’ll drown in the fluff tbh

Word Count: 2,757

Pairing: Phan, as usual.

Summary: (Highschool!Phan)

Phil Lester knew two things:

1) The boy with monotone hands sat next to him in Literature.

2) He was falling in love with the giant dork.

          Monotone hands. Bright face, shrouded by a cloud of smoke and boredom. Dark jumpers and grey jeans. I swear, he’s colorless. The colorless boy sitting next to me in Advanced Literature. The boy who would come in every single day with hands covered in swirls of grays and whites and blacks, and sometimes he would just stare at them for the entire period, and smudge the acrylics with his thumb. As if he wanted them to fade away forever.

I think his name is Dan. At least that what the roll calls him. Well, no, they call him Daniel, but he always corrects it to Dan. Just Dan.

      I’m interested in him. Not necessarily in a romantic perspective, but maybe in a curious way. I wanted to know why he was so grey. I wanted to know why his lips were always chapped, where he got that scar on his knuckle from.

I’m guessing he takes art. He had that kind of look, like he sees the world differently than everyone else. I notice, sometimes, that he doodles. In this little notebook that he slides into a satchel at the end of the hour as chairs squeak on the floor. They’re wonderful, the drawings, little pieces of life on a thick sheet of watercolor paper. People, birds, plants. Little things with big stories.

It was nearing fall, that kind of weather where it was too humid to wear a sweater but too cold to wear a t-shirt, and leaves crunch underneath your feet wherever you go. The bell had already rung, Mrs Whitaker had already started the lesson, and I was worried. No, I was so much more than worried. I was anxious.

Dan never missed a lesson. Never. He was the kind of person that showed up with a canteen of tea and a pack of tissues and worked through the day sick. I could tell, he had done it a lot this year. Maybe he just does it so he can go to Art.

It had already been thirty minutes into the loud period when Dan shuffled into the room, a steaming coffee in one of his hands, a bright orange pass clutched in the other. The class went quiet as he handed Mrs Whitaker the slip and sat down carefully in his assigned seat next to me. The class went back to the previous state of loud laughter and chattering.

I stared at his hands. No paint. No monotone. I furrowed my eyebrows, shortly after thinking a small fuck it, and ripped a piece of paper out of my binder and scribbled a note on it. I let it fall over Dan’s notebook.

He glanced over at me, quirking an eyebrow. I didn’t look back until he read the note and passed it back to me. His handwriting was messy and connected, while mine seemed to be neat. I almost laughed. My handwriting was shit, but I guess it isn’t as slanted as his.

“Why no paint?” I had written, and he responded,

“On my hands? I skipped art. Why do you care?”

“I’ve never seen you without it,”

He ripped up the paper, letting it fall to the far too clean floor.

I didn’t send him any more notes.

——

      The next day, there was an odd tension in the air between Dan and I. I could tell that he was glancing at me from the corner of my eye. I hope he couldn’t tell I was too. His hands were back to monotone, most of it being grey. My heart panged. I had messed up. The one chance that I had to understand, I blew. Great.

       I sighed at the notes in my binder. There were only a couple messy sentences and scribbles from testing pens. Shit. I had zoned out, and now Mrs Whitaker was talking about some completely different subject, how titles affect the whole story, or something. Perfect.

I pursed my lips and shut my eyes. Either fail the major test about this at the end of the semester, or ask Dan for his notes. I didn’t have any other friends in Advanced Literature-

Dan slid his notebook slightly over to my desk space. I glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at me, Just staring at the front of the classroom. I let out a tiny sigh of relief and started to copy his notes. I wasn’t going to complain, and Dan had obviously slid them over to show me.

His handwriting did suck, though.

——

      Christmas came and passed, half-term tests were struggled through, and every day in Advanced Literature Dan shared his notes. Even if I didn’t need them, he always made sure to turn his notebook a bit so I could read his slanted, shitty handwriting.

Maybe he thought he was making up for ripping up that note. Maybe he was just being nice. Either way, I was happy for his help. I really was struggling in that class.

But today was different. When he slid his notebook between us, there was a couple words squished in the margin.

Sorry about the note.

I pursed my lips. So that’s what this is about. I reached over and wrote beneath it.

No problem, but you owe me.

As if.

:(

He let out a chuckle, before glancing down at my shirt, and whispering, “You like Muse?”

“Who in their right mind wouldn’t like Muse?” I mumbled back, trying not to get caught by the teacher.

I could’ve sworn that Dan had mumbled, “I’m so glad I tore that note.”

——

          A couple months later, and Dan and I had been talking every day, and gotten to know each other so well they could recite exactly what the other’s schedule was, who the teacher is, and if they hate the class on a scale from one to ten. I knew that Dan’s favorite color was grey, but he always said red, people wouldn’t look at him odd. I knew that Dan’s favorite jumper was a big black one that covers his hands and nearly falls off of his shoulders. His lips were always chapped because he has a bad habit of biting them, and he got that scar on his knuckle because he broke a glass table as a kid. I knew that he hated the way that his dad would work late and the way that his mother would plaster on a fake smile when she talked to the neighbors. I knew that Dan’s eyes seemed to have a couple specks of gold peeking out of the color of milk chocolate. I knew that he hated the way that his soft brown hair was curly, so he straightened it, even though I always tell him how nice it looks curled.

And I knew that I was falling for the boy with monotone hands.

      We were sitting in his bedroom on a weirdly cold Saturday, him laughing at some  stupid joke that I just made, and my eyes were glued to him. He was sitting at his overflowing desk, covered in lead and paint and sticky notes. I couldn’t help but notice the way that he covers his mouth with his hand, the way that he hunches over, shoulders shaking. He grinned at me and stood up.

“Oh, yeah,” He started, flopping next to me on his bed, “Can you model for some art shit tomorrow? I need to paint someone for a huge project, and I think it would be kinda awkward asking someone else,”

“Sure,” I said, ignoring the way that my stomach was in knots at the fact that our shoulders are bumping on the mattress, and that our knees were touching. His bed was far too small for two gangly teenage boys.

      I glanced at his hands. There were faint stains of black and grey, and I still didn’t know their reasoning. At first, I thought it was a kind of aesthetic thing, but after knowing Dan for a while, I knew that it was so much more than that.

“Dan?” I asked.

“What?” He replied, picking up my hand, playing with my fingers. Another thing I learned about Dan in these past months is that he liked touching. He liked throwing his legs over me when he sits on the couch sideways, he likes it when our shoulders touch. It’s not like I was going to complain.

But I couldn’t help the way that my heart seemed to break every time I couldn’t kiss him.

“Why are your hands always grey?”

He paused for a second, then continued to play with my hand.

“I don’t know. I just like to paint in black and white, I guess,”

“No, that’s not it. You suck at lying, Howell,” I snorted, turning to him. He glanced at me, before looking at the ceiling.

“I… I don’t know,” He mumbled, “It’s just that everything seems so grey right now. I’m sure it will get better, but… I just don’t know.”

      I swear to god, with every word that he said, my heart broke bit by bit until it shattered into a million pieces. What they say is true, about how you can feel the pain in your chest. All I could do was grab Dan and pull him into a hug. He laughed into my chest weakly, and wrapped his arms around me as well, and rambled, “Phil, I’m sure I’m fine. It’s okay.”

But it just wasn’t.

——-

       The next day, I showed up at Dan’s front step, shivering as I rang the doorbell. I pulled my arms tighter to myself. It was far too cold to be spring.

“Oh, hello Phil,” Mrs Howell said, opening the door with her usual smile, “Come in. Dan’s upstairs.”

“Thanks.” I mumbled, giving her a weak smile before rushing to Dan’s room. For some reason, she always seemed to be way too strict.

“Hey,” I said, opening the door to Dan’s room, shutting it behind me and plopping down on his bed shortly after kicking my shoes off and throwing my coat over Dan’s head. He wrinkled his nose at me, chuckled, and threw the coat over a shelf.

“I’m just about ready,” Dan responded, “Can you sit in the chair?” He gestured over to his desk, setting up an easel with the sound of metal against metal. I sat in the leather desk chair, swirling around once, to meet a grinning Dan staring right at me.

“What?” I ask, squinting at him, stomach erupting in butterflies.

“Nothing, you absolute nerd,” He chuckles, before grabbing a medium sized canvas and setting it on the easel, sitting down on a tall stool that always sits in the corner of his room.

His room was amazing, a cozy shade of warm grey and covered in little pieces of paper filled with doodles and notes. His bed was always messy and covered in quilts faded with age; There was a small bookshelf that was overflowing onto the ground and covered in cups of tea. Some posters were sitting along the walls, rolled up, forgotten. The ground was a white kind of fluffy carpet that your feet sunk into. A slight sign of youth through little plushies that were thrown on the desk and shelf littered with art supplies.

I pulled my knees to my chest, staring at Dan as he pulled out brushes and acrylics. He was a wildfire. Blaring heat that seemed to sting your eyes, a strange kind of beauty that mystified millions. He was out of control, terrifying even, but utterly gorgeous.

“Alright,” Dan started, pushing his fringe out of his eyes and off of his forehead, (Jesus. He even had a pencil behind his ear.) “Get however you’d like. I’m just going to sketch you out first, and then paint. It’ll take a while,”

“I’m fine here,” I pulled my knees tighter to myself. Dan grinned, and tugged the pencil out behind his ear, and started to sketch. I closed my eyes.

And I could feel myself falling for the boy with monotone hands even farther.

——

“Do you want to take a break?” Dan whispered into the silence an hour later, “I’m done with sketching.”

I shook my head no, keeping my eyes shut.

“Good,” He said softly, “I didn’t either.”

I could feel his grin from here.

——

         The hazy heat of the late afternoon sunshine was warm on my face, and I could hear the soft brushing of Dan working on his canvas, and the leather was soft and comforting against my back. I sighed, letting out a lazy smile.

“We’ve been doing this for six hours, Phil,”

“I’m fine, are you?”

“I’m… I’m the happiest I’ve been in a while.”

I opened up my eyes, adjusting to the brightness in the room, before looking over at him. He was grinning lazily, hair still pushed back, little smudges of paint on his face. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach twisted into knots. He looked so warm.

“I think I’m done,” Dan whispered, looking at the canvas, and wiping his brush on a little cloth that he had sat on a shelf beside him.

“Can I see?” I say, and stretch out of my position in the chair.

“‘Course,” He replied, standing up, and smiling at me, “Thank you, so much,”

“I loved doing it, Dan.”

I walk over to the easel, and all I could do was grin. So, so wide that my mouth hurt and my eyes crinkled.

Dan had painted me so well it was like a photograph, in warm sunlight on a cracked leather chair, knees pulled up to my chest, eyes closed. I was smiling like I knew a secret, and my hair was messy. My jumper was too big for my body, slightly falling off my shoulders. He even painted the mismatching patterns on my socks.

And I was full of color.

My jumper was green and my eyelids and cheeks were a soft pink. Golden sunlight hit my face. My socks were purple and red and my jeans were blue. I seemed to have an aura of color, and all around me was grey, and black, and white.

But I was so, so bright.

I turned to Dan, tears coming to the rim of my eyes. He was looking at me with a nervous-giddy expression, eyes crinkled in a half-smile.

“I swear to god, everything is so bright with you around,” Dan whispered, grin growing.

“I’m so glad you ripped up that note,” I replied, pulling him by his collar, pulling his lips to mine.

——–

“Com’on, Lester, move your ass!” Dan laughed at me, pulling my arm, “I have something to show you,”

“Five years, Dan, and you’re still a pain,” I smirked, and he quickly replied,

“You love me. Keep your eyes closed. It’s a surprise.”

I let out a huff, grinning, as he continued to tug my arm around a corner, and through a couple doorways, from what I could tell, until we came to a stop, in a more crowded room.

“Okay, open.”

My eyes blinked open, and my hands immediately went to my mouth, eyes already watering.

In a large plaque at the top of a clean, white wall, was the words Daniel James Howell imprinted in large letters, and below it, was what must have been fifty paintings. And in the center, was the one that he had painted exactly five years ago.

All around that one portrait was paintings full of color. Lush green forests and loud cities and landscapes and rooms, and around the edge of the wall were a couple black and white paintings of people and buildings. All of them so well done, it was almost like a photograph. It was like I was giving the world color.

At the bottom of the wall, written in Dan’s shitty handwriting,

I swear to god, everything is so bright with you around.

Philip Michael Lester, will you marry me?

       I spin around in the crowded room full of murmurs, but all I could see was the boy with vivid, colorful hands, eyes crinkling at the corners, down on one knee, holding a little velvet box with a golden band inside. His hands were covered in different colors of paint, greens, blues, purples, pinks, reds, yellows.

I nod, words getting stuck in my throat, before escaping, in a quiet,

“Of course, you dork,”

And I sprint right into his arms, Dan giving a surprised noise, before pulling me into a kiss.

I could feel him smiling.

Reverence - 7. First tradition

Originally posted by spnfans

Summary: Dean x Reader: The reader pulls Dean along back into normality with the one thing he hadn’t expected. Pulling him out of his hurt and pain from his nightmares after their hunt. 

Word Count: 4085

Triggers: Remembering nightmares and pain. Mentions of death and blood in nightmares. Very little, not very detailed.

Y/N = Your name  Y/E/C = Your eye colour  Y/H/C = Your hair colour  
Y/L/N = Your last name

Note: This is a slow burn type story, really slow, but I promise it’ll be worth the wait! The full story will be written in third person limited point of view with Dean as the main character.

Chapters: Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9
Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15

— 

Groaning, Dean raised his hands to his face in a weak attempt at wiping away the residual tiredness in his body. As predicted, his night had been filled with nightmares. Awful visions shrouded in darkness and coloured in blood. The pleas and deafening screams that had drowned out his own as he suffered throughout the night were still ringing in his ears and visions of lifeless bodies and blank eyes swam in front of his own bloodshot eyes.

It’d been a bad hunt, and an even worse night. Even if the hunt was over and they’d made it back in one piece before two full days had passed. Fuck, bad didn’t even begin to cover the horrors his mind had thought up to torture him further as he tossed back and forth in a hellish, twisted version of the hunt that had almost gone wrong.

He felt even more tired than he had been when he went to bed, if such a thing was possible. Sighing as he kept his head on the pillow for a few more seconds, he tried to clear his mind of the awful images to no avail. Dean gave up on any thought of more sleep as he stretched out his body. Willing every part of himself to fully wake up and wincing at the protests coming from his tensed muscles. Yesterday’s hunt and subsequent quick drive home was finally catching up on him, that and he’d probably been twisting and turning in his sleep again. It was time to get up. He wouldn’t be able to get any more sleep anyway.

Dragging a hand through his messy hair he pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans before staring at his door. Was he really ready to face them? Guilt still gnawed at him, and he still believed things would have gone differently if he’d just been… Better. If he’d only been stronger, a bit more careful. If he’d only…

No, there was no way around it. He couldn’t just stay in his room and sulk like some angry teenager. He had to face them, had to smile, no matter how painful it would be. After all, time with Sammy and (Y/N) was probably the only way to heal the hurt in him. And truth be told, he wanted to see them. The nightmares had been worse than usual with the inclusion of (Y/N). Normally the nightmares were focused only on his brother, but last night’s dreams had featured her as well. Her small body crushed, her hands limp, eyes empty and the easy smile she normally carried wiped away for good. He wanted to make sure they were ok. He needed to be sure they were alive. To replace the images of death that had haunted his dreams with images of the two of them… With life.

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4

Most Spooky Cemetery: Highgate Cemetery, England

Winner of this years Most Spooky Cemetery Award is Highgate Cemetery in England.  Other than some of the amazing architecture seen in the cemetery, and being the final resting place for famous people such as Karl Marx, Douglas Adams, and Charles Dickens’s parents, this cemetery is known for its ghosts and strange occurrences.

Several incidents have been documented in the cemetery. One account is that of a man whose car broke down near the cemetery gates.  To his horror, peering out at him from the graveyards iron gates was the face of a ghoul with glowing red eyes.  

Another man was horrified when he saw a strange phantom with pointed ears, glowing eyes, and a large nose jump over the graveyard fence and land in front of him.  Many believe this sighting to be that of the infamous Spring-Heeled Jack.

Other than these two specific incidents, others have reported seeing the spirit of a nun floating over the graves.  A dark figure in a shroud has also been seen standing still and staring into space.  If it is approached, it will immediately disappear.  Once it vanishes it will reappear a short distance away, still staring at nothing.  The ghost of a crazy old woman with long gray hair can also be seen running among the gravestones.  Legend states that she is searching for her children, which she supposedly murdered.  

Finally, the most famous haunting in this cemetery is that of The Highgate Vampire.  Unlike classic vampires, The Highgate Vampire is described as a 7ft tall, shadowy man.  He has piercing eyes, a long black coat, and a top hat.  When seen he vanishes into thin air. Supposedly, one man was killed by this vampire in the cemetery, while several others were visited by him in their bedrooms at night.  

ML Reversed Crush AU: Rooftop talk

It was a cold Autumn evening for the black cat hero as he ran across rooftops. Thankfully the cold never seemed to phase him. Right now he was running across rooftops to clear his head.

Today was the day he was going to finally confess to a certain Blunette designer that he had fallen so hard for. But like usual, he ended up chickening out at the moment.

Why was he so afraid of rejection anyway? He knew how kind hearted Marinette was. Worst case senario would be a soft rejection. That was what he wanted to think. But his mind had different plans.

‘What if she couldn’t face you afterwards due to the awkward result? What if she doesn’t want to hangout with you anymore? What if she thinks you are a creep because you still try to talk to her after the rejection? What if…’ and other dark depressing thoughts shrouded the blonde model’s mind.

Adrien was so distracted by these gloomy thoughts, he didn’t realized he had just missed one of the rooftops.

The sudden falling brought Chat noir back to reality.

“Damn it” he muttered as he prepared for a tough landing. But just as he was about to hit the street, a certain ladybug print yo-yo caught his waist, suspending him a few feet from the ground.

“Careful Kitty, you wouldn’t want to end up losing one of your lives on a fall.”

Chat noir looked up to see his partner in Crime fighting, Ladybug smiling above him.

“So what is causing you to be so clumsy tonight. You are usually slightly more graceful at night time.” Ladybug teased as they sat on the edge of the roof.

Chat noir laughed hollowly at the comment. Ladybug could tell something was bothering her partner tonight.

“Is something wrong Kitty? You would usually say something like ‘I was simply falling for you’ Did something happen?”

Chat noir shook his head.

“It is nothing My ladybug. I was… simply thinking about…. umm… how absolutely ravishing you look.” Chat noir says as he tried to hide his mental stress.

Normally Ladybug would take the compliment and tell him to quit acting so cheesy. But Ladybug knew him to well to fall for it. Ladybug simply raised her eyebrow incredulously at the black cat.

“Okay, Ill talk. But I wasn’t lying about how you look. You do look as lovely as always.”

“Talk first, flirt later.”

Chat noir took a deep breathe.

“Have you ever… had a crush on somebody?” Chat noir ask as he rubbed his temple nervously.

Ladybug felt her face heat up at the comment.

“I-I can relate. W-What did this have to do with what is bothering you.”

“Well there is this amazing girl I have my eye on.”

Ladybug felt her heart thump of the way the cat said that. She could see it plain as the full moon in the sky. The cat was smitten.

“Oh…” Ladybug sighed.

Chat noir turned to Ladybug as he noticed her trying to hide a frown.

“I see you are worried that this girl will steal me away from you. Not to worry, No one could ever separate me from my precious partner.” Chat noir said with a cheshire grin.

Ladybug looked at the goofy cat’s grin and felt her heart warm up a bit. Ladybug chuckled at the expression

“I am not worried about that you silly kitty. I am worried you will be too distracted in order to fight the bad guys, and we don’t need anymore hinderances for you.” Ladybug joked, hiding her slowly breaking heart.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. I haven’t even told her yet, plus I doubt she would actually go for the real me.” Chat noir sighed.

“Is your real self as much of a flirt?”

“Contrary to what you think. I am actually very mild mannered in the real world.”

Ladybug tried to imagine a calm Chat noir and began to laugh.

“Yes, yes, laugh at the kitty. I am so glad you are taking this seriously.” Chat exclaimed in over the top sarcasm.

Ladybug calmed down.

“You have to admit it is a bit hard to believe. But I will try to picture it. Please, continue.”

“Okay, Anyway I want to confess to her. But I just feel like if I get rejected, I will lose her entirely. We have just become good friends. I couldn’t imagine my normal life being as great without her…”

Ladybug placed her hand on the Cat’s shoulder.

“Chat… You are an amazing person. Sure you are a bit of a flirt, and you do go a bit overboard with puns. But I am 100% sure, that if you are even half as kind and sweet as you are as Chat noir, she will definitely go for you.” Ladybug assured the cat, despite how much saying that hurt her inside.

Chat noir felt her blue eyes on him and turned to Ladybug and smile.

“Thank you.” Chat noir said as he stood up now brimming with confidence. “Perhaps I can win this girl over. But even if I don’t. I still have the most incredible person to have my back.” Chat noir said as he winked at partner.

Chat noir was just about to go, but Ladybug stopped him.

Ladybug could feel that she might lose her partner to this unknown girl, so she wanted to put it out there in one last gesture, her ladybug persona giving her the confidence she needed for one final shot.

She kissed him. It only lasted a few seconds, it was powerful, passionate, and conveyed everything Ladybug wanted to say. As she released him Chat noir was indeed surprised.

“M-My Lady?”

“For luck.” Ladybug then swung off before Chat noir could say another word.

Chat noir was sitting on that rooftop as he touched his lips. His face blushed as realization struck.

“My Lady…. I didn’t know… I am sorry…”

_______________________________________________________________________

What did you guys think?

So you want more?

meadow-of-muses  asked:

Aria went back to the theatre. She snuck in the way she came and began to look around for the phantom. She carried a basket with her and a smile on her face. She went to the stage and pulled out the picnic blanket then laid food on top. "Erik?" She called hoping he would enjoy a meal with her. (Aw)

He lurked within the shadows, his golden gaze observing the opera house, a shroud of silence and darkness seeming to have over taken the usually noisy and bright stage. Within the silence, the sound of doors creaking open sounded loudly within his ears, causing him to shift his gaze towards the sound as he straightened his form. 

He became more curious when he began to hear footsteps grow louder and louder as they reached the stage. He slinked deeper into the shadows as he awaited to see the owner of these footsteps, his eyes narrowing slightly as he caught sight of a woman coming towards the stage. But his eyes soon widened lightly as he recognized this young woman who came up on stage.

Aria…he did not expect her to come to this place during the night. Though he rather it be her than some random stranger who got curious. He at least knew her.

When he saw her emerge on stage with a basket in her hand along with a blanket, he couldn’t help but raise a brow. Then when she laid it out on stage, he took a single step forward within the shadows, uncertain as to what she plans to do next. She began to lay food on it? Was she here to enjoy a meal? Interesting.

Then she called his name, making him raise his brows for a moment before they straightened slightly as he spoke.

“Mademoiselle..Quite an interesting set up you have at the moment.”

He was truly curious as to what her plan was, never having seen someone set up such a thing on stage without it being a part of a play of some sort.

I'm here now, don't worry. (A Phanfiction)

A short Phanfiction I wrote based on the Phan!family artwork by Phantheraglama.
————————

Written as Phil’s POV

————————

My eyes shot open, blind in the darkness of my room. The baby monitor on my bedside table had woken me, a soft whining, close to crying coming from it. I groped about on the table until my hands found my glasses. I put them on as I sat up.

“Phil?” A groggy voice, laced with drowsiness, asked.

“It’s Winnie, I’m going to check on him.” I replied as I pulled back the covers and stood up. The man in the bed next to where I had lain only moments before, grumbled and reached out for my hand, grabbing my wrist. His delicate touch sent a shiver up my spine and I tried to focus on his face, shrouded by the darkness in the room.

“You’re such a good father…” Dans’ soft voice announced as he released his grip and rolled over. I quickly pulled the covers over his sprawled out form and made my way into the hallway.

The dimly illuminated hallway seemed endless as I dragged my sleep riddled body towards the nearest room, to check on my daughter before going to deal with Winnie. I peeked into the room right next to ours.

I smiled at the curled up girl fast asleep in her room. The fairy lights above her bed twinkled and a quiet tune from her my neighbour Totoro music box played on a loop. She looked so delicate and peaceful as she gripped her pillow in her small hands.

Returning to my current task, I shuffled back into the hallway and quietly tiptoed across the hallway to the other side, directly across from me and Dans’ room. The distressed sound grew louder and I pushed open the door slowly.

The Winnie the Pooh nightlight provided enough light to make out the small figure thrashing about in his crib. His whining had become a soft sob that hurt my heart to hear.

I rushed over to his crib and made a comforting hum as I picked him up, wrapping my arms around my son and kissing the top of his head. His sobs became a quiet gurgling.

“My brave little boy.” I whispered to him as I rocked him back and forth in my arms. Tear tracks lined his face and I felt my heart break in two.

“Don’t worry Winnie, I’m here now.” I murmured to the child in my arms, as I wiped the tears from his face delicately with my thumb. He had fallen silent since I had began rocking him, and at my touch he wrapped his small fingers around my thumb. His bright blue eyes shimmered in the faint lighting.

“Da..da..” Winnie managed to say as he closed his eyes and nestled into my embrace. A strong affection surged through me for my son in that moment. His eyes fluttered open only moments after he closed them. I shifted so my hand held his head more firmly and I began to gently massage circles into his scalp. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes again.

My eyes travelled across Winnies’ room and I smiled at the way Dan had decorated it. Paintings of the characters from Winnie the Pooh adorned the before, white barren walls as wall art. Owl, Tigger, Rabbit, Piglet, Eeyore, Kanga, Roo and of course Pooh bear himself graced the walls and all smiled at the crib.

Winnie shifted in my arms and I returned my gaze to him. His short chocolate brown locks had begun to grow in the past year and they fell across his face. They curled naturally just like Dans. I brushed the hair out of his face and watched how his chest rose and fell in a steady pattern.

I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall and it read quarter past three in the morning. Drowsiness weighed down my eyelids, wishing them to close however I determinedly kept them open, thinking of ways to stay awake until the infant in my arms fell asleep.

“Whether near or far…” I began, my voice hoarse from lack of use but I continued anyways after clearing my throat.

“I am always yours…” I sang softly to Winnie as I rocked him back and forth gently. My thoughts were no longer set solely on my son, but my entire family.

“Any change in time…We are young again” My memories bringing me back to when me and Dan had first met at the train station. “Lay us down, we’re in love… Lay us down, we’re in love…” Emotion began to swell in my chest as tears gathered in the corner of my eyes.

“In these coming years… Many things will change. But the way I feel… Will remain the same.” My voice sang quietly as I thought about how lucky I was to have met Dan, to have fallen in love with him, to have married him and started such a perfect family with him. We had grown so much, aged and changed but yet we had never stopped loving each other. The thoughts sent the tears that had pricked my eyes earlier, spilling down my cheeks.

“Lay us down..We’re in love…” Tears trailed down my face as my voice cracked with emotion and I smiled at Winnie when I realized he had fallen asleep. His rhythmic breathing reassured me. I stood up and walked over to his crib.

“Lay us down… We’re in love…” I sang the last line as I lowered Winnie into his crib and covered him in his blanket. I leaned in and gave him a kiss on the forehead before quietly exiting his room.

By the time I had returned to mine and Dans’ room, sleep threatened to overtake me at any second. I placed my glasses on my bedside table where I had taken them from not half an hour before and slipped under the covers. As careful as I had been to not disturb Dan, I must have disrupted him because I heard him whisper my name groggily. I snaked my arms around his waist and drew his body closer to mine, his back against my chest.

“Is Winnie okay, love?” Dan asked, as he rolled over, wrapping his arms around me creating a cuddle-like position. I loved holding onto him, just enjoying his presence.

“He’s asleep, don’t worry.” I murmured to the man I held comfortingly in my arms. I felt every breath Dan let out through my thin t-shirt, against my chest. I snuggled closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder.

“I heard you singing. Winnie must have went out like a light. It lulled me to sleep as well.” Dan whispered as he looked me in the eyes. A faint blush rushed to my cheeks and I planted a kiss on Dans head.

“I love you.” I whispered.

“I love you as well Phil, I love you so much.” His voice raw and earnest and I smiled as we fell asleep wrapped in each others embrace.

(Please don’t steal it and all that shit.)

I have so many feelings about Rollo’s victory scene

a) He practically falls from his horse but he refuses help and gets to his feet alone. My proud baby!
b) He gets a true hero’s welcome. The cheers and hugs and falling rose petals (OMG THE LOOK ON HIS FACE). It’s almost as though he can’t believe it’s all for him.
c) HIS SMILE despite the bloodied face, swollen eyes and generally messed up appearance. I CRIED.
d) THE WAY GISLA LOOKS AT HIM AND RUSHES TO HIS SIDE. JESUS. AND THEN SHE KISSES HIM. BLOOD AND ALL. I SQUEALED! (Then I realised that it’s really the first time we see them kiss properly. Their first kiss was during the consummation, shrouded in darkness. The second was the peck she gives him when she tells him they can’t have sex.) It’s such a lovely moment between them and I’m just sorry we never had more.
e) I don’t care what anyone says, THESE TWO ADORE ONE ANOTHER. It’s love and it’s beautiful.
f) She’s pregnant and SHE’S HELPING TO HOLD HIM UP. *SOBS*
g) “Hail, Caesar!” - Literally Rollo’s crowing glory. I can’t even. It was perfect.

*edit* The one other kiss was in the pantry scene. Thanks for the reminder laryanstarsley!

5

And here it was, beside the lake, reflected in the dark waters. The white marble tomb, an unnecessary blot on the familiar landscape. He felt again that rush of controlled euphoria, that heady sense of purpose in destruction. He raised the old yew wand: How fitting that this would be its last great act.
The tomb split open from head to foot. The shrouded figure was as long as thin as it had been in life. He raised the wand again. The wrappings fell open. The face was translucent, pale, sunken, yet almost perfectly preserved. They had left his spectacles on the crooked nose: He felt amused derision. Dumbledore’s hands were folded upon his chest, and there it lay, clutched beneath them, buried with him.
Had the old fool imagined that marble or death would protect the wand? Had he thought that the Dark Lord would be scared to violate his tomb? The spiderlike hand swooped and pulled the wand from Dumbledore’s grasp, and as he took it, a shower of sparks flew from its tip, sparkling over the corpse of its last owner, ready to serve a new master at last.

It just hit me…. we’re going to see another set of vows. We all know the writers of Sherlock have left out important things so far because they will be *more* important later - like Sherlock finally being able to dance, John’s bedroom in 221b, a kiss between leads that isn’t shrouded in darkness - but that also means vows. We heard Sherlock’s, and we heard the fact that it was his “first and last” (he pledged himself to John, for better or for worse, till death do they part) but we never heard John’s. WE’RE GOING TO HEAR JOHN’S VOWS. Imagine, hearing John Watson say all those things we know he feels while we watch Sherlock’s face as he listens to the man he loves declare, in front of everyone, his undying commitment. Sherlock will be silently sobbing, finally hearing his vows reciprocated after all those years. My God, i can see it now… John’s voice on the verge of breaking - he’s never been good at that sort of stuff but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make this absolutely perfect - and Sherlock unable to pull his eyes away from John’s, tears streaming down his face as he finally, finally understands how much he’s always been loved.

after the end of our story

So, a while back @teamhook asked me to write a fic where Killian is tempted by a siren using Emma’s form. It took me a while to think of where I wanted to go with this and it’s a little different, but anyway, I hope you all enjoy. This is set after Killian dies but before he arrives in the Underworld.

Also on ff.net here

                                                   ….

He’s dead.

Or at least, he thinks he is.

The skiff sails down a river, moving without wind or waves and guided by some unseen hand. A lantern is hung above the bow, swinging back and forth from the mouth of the swan. The whole boat is shaped like the large bird, carved wings that cup and cradle him as he lies on his back and stares up at the moonless sky.

A sailor was always buried at sea, sewn up in his own hammock and consigned to the deep. But no linen shrouds his face and he floats instead of sinks, drifting along water as dark as ink. He thinks he might drift forever, the river doesn’t seem to end and he catches no sign of shore or bank beyond the yellow cone of light.

Gold hair, that was as bright as the sun gone white as the moon, silver and gold, he’ll take either one, for he’s a pirate and she’s a treasure, a hidden jewel with gemstone eyes.

Keep reading

Seeing you Again...

Kanan found himself slipping away, into the comforting arms of the force, after many years of rebellion and fighting. He only regretted one thing. His hands reached to touch the white bandage. He hadn’t gotten to see his crew, his family, before he died. 

Kanan awoke, confused, but centered. There was a strange sensation, almost a feeling, a feeling that told him to…

He reached up, and carefully removed the bandage. He was welcomed with the soft light of the sun. 

Wait…

Kanan’s face broke into a grin as he realized he could see. Colors that he hadn’t seen in so long were everywhere: from the soft blue of the sky, to the dry tan of the sand. The shroud of darkness had been removed.

But immediately that grin died.

He was gone. He couldn’t tell his family the good news. 

His family.

Immediately, he was plagued by images. 

A young man, a smirk on his face, raven-hair pulled into a ponytail, his beautiful, blue eyes filled with mirth,

a woman with brightly-painted hair, and colorful armor, her face more mature, 

a lasat, older, but just as gruff and lumbering, 

an old droid, orange and yellow, same as always, but with a few more dents, 

and a twi’lek.

 A twi’lek that had bags under her brilliant green eyes. She was older, but still beautiful.

He was shocked to realize these were his crew members. The one’s he hadn’t laid his eyes upon for years. He was almost at the point of crying, something he hadn’t, couldn’t, do when he was with them. 

He watched as the older Ezra flirted with the older, gorgeous young woman that must be Sabine. Karabast, he had missed her work. He inspected it now, marveling at the gorgeous new patterns. 

He watched as they gathered around a mural on the side of the Ghost. There, an Old Jedi was depicted, aquamarine eyes, and a blue blade. 

It was him.

Hera, reached up, a sad smile, and brushed her hand on the cheek of painted man. Sabine bowed her head. Ezra stared straight into the eyes.

Kanan moved in closer. 

Ezra shifted, and Kanan realized he somehow knew the older Jedi was there. 

The force was a strong thing, but the love he felt for this group of people was stronger.

Ezra looked up in the air, seemingly straight at him, a sad smile. 

He wouldn’t leave them. Ezra knew it. The rest of the crew knew it. Kanan knew it.

And now, he was free from the chains of blindness. He could finally watch his crew grow up.

At the Illuminati Pyramid Headquarters

Illuminati Member: Our great scheme is working master. Now 99% of people out there believe that the earth is round. The fools.

Illuminati Boss: *speaking from the darkness, his face shrouded in shadows* Excellent, soon our master plan will be complete. Once everyone on earth believes the earth is round we will make billions of dollars from our investment in globe manufacturers. It’s the most brilliant, nefarious scheme ever hatched. But tell me minion… who is this 1% who we cannot convert?

Illuminati member: His name is Bob sir… or as he calls himself “B.O.B”. He did that Airplanes song with that Paramore chick that one time.

Illuminati Boss: Then he must be stopped. We will send one of top generals who will destroy him with his powers of false science. Minion… release General Neil Degrasse Tyson from his cryogenic chamber. Once this “B.O.B” is converted to our Round Earth lies then there will be no one left to stop us!

Nights like these, I find myself shrouded in an almost-total darkness, with nothing but the glow of my laptop before me to leak some light upon my weary face. My earphones clog my ears from the noise around. From then on, the music begins to play. The notes flow easily into my mind, and I am suddenly bathed with all His promises, and in a quick turn of events, I find myself lifting my arms to worship Him. There’s no looking ridiculous in His eyes. This is my time with Him, a moment of ecstasy the best of any drug will never equal. These are my worst nights, and He taps my back, and tells me with no hesitation that He has a plan to bring every humongous jigsaw puzzle into place. During these nights, I hear Him talk…to me. I hear His divine words and they echo over my mortal mind. The song changes. My arms are lifted, and so are my spirits once again.
—  Over the night’s brewing storm

the dust is settling, but the sun is still gone.
he’s only a shadow of the man he once was,
but a shadow can’t exist in the dark.

he’s fading away like the signs of youth
on the faces of the experienced;
caught by the hands of the clock &
entombed beneath the sands of the hourglass
like buried treasure soon to be forgotten.

there is no fire left inside of him.
no passion or desire to press onward into
the congregated swarm of strangers’ faces
pulsing in the streets for a shred of purpose
like flies circling around the bullshit.

anonymity seems to shroud his face &
his intentions are lost in his expression.
his screams for salvation are muted by
the echoes of his past solecisms that
linger still, in the chambers of his heart.

he’s lost his faith in the idea of happiness
somewhere in the bottom of a bottle,
but he’ll search every one to locate it again.
all he ever finds is a welcomed numbness &
a temporary measure of confidence that
dissolves into regret & uncertainty.

it’s the worst at night when the silence falls &
the only sounds are the voices in his head.
like a panel of judges pointing out his
every misstep with sharpened words that
cut straight through to his core.

he resides in the depths of depression
with emotions like gossamer that
tear & shred with the slightest agitation
until there’s nothing left to destroy &
the only solace to be seen is surrender.

A Chance

{ Closed RP with @sasuketemeuchiha}

He couldn’t believe that it would happen…

He couldn’t believe that it had come to this…but it did. It happened. And there was not a thing he could do.

One of Konoha’s most powerful clans has been wiped out…and there was not a damn thing he could do about it.

Tobirama stood a top of the Hokage monument, ruby eyes overlooking the dark village, the night covering it like a shroud…and he stood there like a silent sentinel…overlooking the village that he had come to found and build alongside his beloved brother…

But now…now it was facing a dark time…and yet there was not a thing he could do.

Just a few minutes before, he had been informed that the plot of the Uchiha’s massacre had been done…all by the hand of a single boy…a child…and there was not a damn thing he could do.

Hiruzen had informed him, however, that there was just one survivor…Itachi’s younger brother had been spared. Tobirama honestly not sure how to feel about that…for it was a mixture of both relief and pity…the child was all alone now…with no one.

The former Nidaime had also been told that the boy had been taken to the hospital for treatment…

He stood there…like a stern and silent guardian force…he stood there for a long time…thinking.

“What would you do…anija?” He spoke to no one, but to the stone face of his brother…he expected no reply however. Once more he fell into silence…what would Hashirama do?

What would he do in this dark time?

Finally, he said with a steel conviction shining in those ruby eyes, “It’s time I set things right…” and in a flash he vanished…making his way to the hospital where the slumbering child awaited.