how unfortunate for you all

Body Heat

Request: Can you write a Sirius Black x Reader but the reader is James’ sister and Sirius tries to flirt with the reader and James is all like are you flirting with my sister and Sirius fires back or something?
Warning(s): Bar scenes, drinking, swearing, intense hugging(?), major Sirius feels. Honestly, just look at the title.
Note: This is my first Marauders’ imagine, so feedback is appreciated.

⇢  A Sirius Black x Reader work where the reader is James’ younger twin sister.


Most brothers preferred to keep their social life separate from their siblings’. James Potter was no exception. Which is why, when Lily and Marlene urged you to meet the Marauders at the bar with them, you fervently declined.

“A bar? Filled to the brim with drunkards? James would never let me out of his sight,” you argued, moving away as Marlene approached you with a tube of lipstick. “I’m not going.”

She crossed her arms, her lower lip jutting out. “Please, Y/N.” Marlene gestured at your attire: Black hot pants and a long sleeved crop top. “You’re already dressed for it.”

You glared down at your outfit, tugging at the hem of your shorts. “I didn’t know you guys chose clothes for me to wear to a bar.”

“What did you think? Your arse is hanging out for tea with the Minister of Magic?”

Lily gave Marlene a warning look as you flushed a bright red. “Don’t listen to her, Y/N. Your arse is not hanging out.” She paused, giving you a once over. “Well…You’ll blend in, at least.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “James is going to kill me.”

“So what?” Marlene interjected. “He’s your brother, not your dad. Who cares what he thinks?”

I do; he’s my brother.”

A slight snort came out from Lily. “Marlene is right. You’re your own woman. You shouldn’t let the opinion of that arrogant toerag dictate your decisions.”

You and Marlene exchange glances. It was quite obvious that, over the years, James’ crush was becoming less unrequited. And although it was disturbing at first, you quickly accepted the idea that one of your best friends fancied your brother.

“You mean that arrogant toerag you so happen to like?” you said, raising an eyebrow. 

Lily raised hers back defiantly. “I don’t like James Potter.”

“Yeah, right,” Marlene scoffed. “That’s like saying Y/N doesn’t have the hots Sirius Black.”

You frowned, ignoring the slight amount of heat rising to your cheeks. “But I don’t.”

Now it was Lily and Marlene who gave each other incredulous looks. It was clear neither of them believed your poorly concealed lie. They knew, no matter how much you denied it, that you had developed a crush on Sirius the moment he gave you a bundle of white flowers for Christmas. Just the thought of his hand brushing against your cheek as he tucked a single flower behind your ear made your butterflies come alive.

“Let’s pretend, for now, that we believe you.” Marlene checked the time. “But in this moment, I hear the firewhisky calling my name. Are you coming?”

“Sirius will be there,” Lily sang.

You threw your head back defeat. “Fine.” You paused. “But not because I want to see Sirius.”

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@paperhatcollection I’ve been wanting to do a comic adaptation of your ‘Hunger’ fic because I simply adore how you write Black Hat and Flug’s dynamic~ ❤
Unfortunately this is all I’ve got so far, the barest sketches of scenes I’m looking forward to drawing. I figured I’d show you them anyway so you know how much I love your work so far! Keep up the wonderful fics! :D

stilesandderek  asked:

Isaac!!! <3 Hope you've been well buddy! I saw you have prompts open so I have to ask! What are your thoughts on werewolf!derek who wears glasses but merely for the sake of appearing human. One day he's picking up his little boy from preschool and his glasses fall off his face and teacher!stiles picks them up and realises 'oh, the lenses are fake?' I can only imagine blushing derek ensues~ :)

Ruebin my friend!!!! I hope you like this lil thing I wrote ^^ It’s kinda short but sweet too, you feel? 

(Thanks to @drgrlfriend for making this ficlet SO MUCH BETTER)

Also here on AO3 

Title: Make Me Go Blind

Stiles likes to think that he is, in general, a professional. Sure, he has moments where he gets frustrated – whenever one of the kids gets into a fight again, or pees in their pants – but he usually keeps his calm. Kids are, after all, child’s play (pun intended) compared to some of the adults in Stiles’ life. Toddlers are generally more likely to follow Stiles’ orders than adults, in any case.

There’s just one teensy thing that always throws a wrench in Stiles’ professional facade – Derek Hale.

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Stop That

Word count: 2,612

Warning: smut will be in the next part, angst

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Request/summary: @omgdeangirl – “Hey you should make a smut where the reader thinks Dean is in love with Jo but he’s actually in love with the reader and they end up fighting before getting together.

A/N: sorry it took so long but this is going to be a two parter with the smut in the second part because I got a bit carried away with writing the plot whoops. Also let me know if you want tagged in the second part.  Enjoy!

Originally posted by sensitivehandsomeactionman

The room was almost as dark as the night sky outside. It smelt like someone had emptied barrels of beer all over the floor; there were a few beer puddles to be fair but nothing disastrous. You sat at the table beside Cas, him as stone cold sober as always (apart from that one time that we don’t talk about). Sam and Bobby were in the living room, sharing stories over a few beers. The overall mood of the house was contentment, even happiness that the hunt was over after weeks of treacherous work.

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8

Some men are born to plow fields, some live to be great physicians, others to be great kings. Me? I was born to serve you, Arthur, and I’m proud of that, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

What’s in a Name? (Ethan Dolan x Reader)

Summary: Requested. It seems to be love at first sight when you meet a stranger at a masquerade ball, but soon you find out that it’s in your blood to hate him.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 2,084.

A/N: So this is super dramatic, pretty AU, a little rushed, but that’s okay. I absolutely loved this request when I first got it, so not only will there probably be a part two to this, I’m also going to make it a fanfic on Wattpad, so follow me @dolcns to know when it’s posted!

(not my gif)

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The Fight For Independance(Platonic!Hamilsquad x African American!Reader)

Requested by: Anonymous

Summary: Living as a woman during the Revolution is hard enough, being African American on top of that makes it 1000 times harder. After being caught up in the street by a racist man, you meet up with Hamilsquad who protects you and makes you feel loved.

Warnings: Racist remarks towards African Americans made by white males, hitting, brief mentions of slavery.

Time Period: Hamiltime

Words: 1352

A/N: Hello! So this was requested over a month ago, but here it is. I’m so sorry for the wait and I hope if you are the one who requested it, this lives up to your expectations. Also, I hope I didn’t offend anyone with this story because that was not my intentions. In case you were wondering, I have two King George III stories coming out soon along with part two of Love and Trust, another Lafayette story, and an angsty Thomas x Reader. I hope you enjoy and have a fabulous day!!


It wasn’t easy being a person with colored skin during the American Revolution. While you were lucky enough to live in New York, where slavery wasn’t as predominant as in the south, you still weren’t treated with the respect you deserved. On top of it all, you were a woman, which meant you received even less respect.

Instead of being enslaved, you worked as a maid for a white family, where you received a small, weekly wage that was just enough to get by on. Of course, the Revolution had reduced the amount of jobs and pay available.

Luckily for you, you had met the four best friends you could ask for: Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens, Gilbert…Marquis de Lafayette, and Hercules Mulligan. All of whom disagreed with the idea of slavery, and wanted to achieve freedom for all. John was even working on starting the first black battalion!

You had met your friends one night when you ran into them at the local bar. It had been your place of employment for a while, you were a waitress. One night, you kept serving them round after round, and you overheard their abolitionists ideas. You had agreed with them, introduced yourself, and the rest was history.

Present day, you were walking home from your job and going to meet the boys at the local bar. Eyes focused on the ground, you sped up, careful not to bump into anybody. It was dangerous for you to be walking alone, especially during time of war, but you didn’t want to burden any of the guys. They had more important things to worry about, like how to win independence.

Unfortunately, all had not gone as planned. While you had thought you were being careful to not hit anyone, somehow you had bumped shoulders with a white man. You prayed he would just let you be, but you weren’t that lucky.

“Watch it, you dumb slave girl.” the man spat at you.

Instead of answering, you thought it would be best to look at the ground and keep quiet. For some reason, the man you had bumped into took this as a sign of defiance.

“Hey! I was talking to you.” he growled and gripped your forearm tightly. You struggled as you tried to get the man to release his iron grip on you. “Don’t you have anything to say, or are you so stupid you can’t even speak?”

Although you were struggling, nobody in the streets stopped to help you out, you were all alone. “Let me go, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” you finally spoke, hoping that would satisfy the man enough to let you go.

“Ah, so the piece of filth can talk. Who do you think you are, disrespecting someone like me?” he asked, shaking your arm, gripping it even tighter.

You held back the tears that were forming in your eyes, not wanting to give this man the satisfaction of seeing you look weak. With all the strength you could muster, you confidently spoke. “You don’t scare me.”

“I don’t scare you, eh? You’re lucky you are semi-protected here in New York. If you spoke to me like that anywhere else, I’d have the right to whip you!” the man shouted and you knew your arm would be badly bruised.

Just as you thought he was going to let you go, he brought his hand up and slapped you hard across the cheek. The force of the blow caused you to let out a yelp.

Finally, the man shoved you to the ground and walked away like nothing had happened.

Shakily, you stood up and brushed the dirt from your dress, readjusted your shawl, and took a deep breath. You walked even faster to get to the bar, this time avoided everybody at all costs.

Once you finally reached the entrance, you adjusted your hair so it covered the mark left from the slap. You also pulled you sleeve down enough so it covered the fingerprint marks left from where you were grabbed.

Inside, you quickly spotted Alexander and the rest of your friends. You navigated through the hot, stuffy room and sat down between Hercules and John.

“Hello, (y/n). We thought you would never make it.” Alex laughed as he pushed in your chair.

You laughed nervously. “I apologize, I was let out later today than usual.” you lied.

“It’s alright, mon amie. You are here now and that is all that matters.” Lafayette stated, raising his glass in the air before taking a sip.

The night wore on and you began to forget about what had occurred just hours before. The boys didn’t question or notice your bruises, for which you were thankful.  You got lost in the conversation with your friends, laughing and joking about whatever came to mind.

Eventually, it got so hot in the bar that you subconscienciously rolled up your sleeves and tucked your hair behind your ears. It hadn’t even been a minute since you did those actions when John’s face turned to one of horror.

“(y/n), what happened to your cheek?” he asked in shock, gently touching the delicate area of your face.

You winced and pushed your hair back over your cheek. “It’s, um, nothing.” you said very unconvincingly.

The boys just rolled their eyes because you wouldn’t tell them the truth. John was going to press further when Hercules touched your arm. “What did you do to your arm, (y/n)?” he asked as he looked at the bruises.

“I-I tripped?” you tried telling them, but it came out as more of a question.

“You did not trip, those are fingerprints.” Alex pointed out, a look of anger crossing his face.

“Please, (y/n), tell us what happened.” Lafayette begged, concern crossing his entire face.

Instead of answering, you began to cry as you were ashamed to recount to the boys what happened. At first, they all just stared at you in shock, but eventually, John was the first one to move to comfort you. He gathered you in his arms and stroked your hair in an attempt to comfort you. Soon, the other boys followed suit.

After a few minutes, you regained your composure and took a deep breath before explaining. “On my way home, I bumped into a man I didn’t know. I tried to just leave it be, but he grabbed onto my arm and started shouting at me. He told me I was nothing more than a worthless, piece of filth and tried to threaten me. When I made an attempt to stand up to him, well, he-he hit me.” you trailed off at the end, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lafayette stared at you in shock before he spoke. “(y/n), do not listen to that asshole for one moment. You are the sweetest, most generous person. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“Thank you,” you smiled. “But that is how must people see me so it is not surprising that is how I get treated.” you admitted, looking at the ground.

John’s head snapped towards you. “(y/n), it is not fair how you are treated, so don’t think for a second you deserve it. In fact, I hope you know that I am fighting this war to win you your independence as well as the colonies.” he told you confidently.

Alex was next to speak as he brought you into a comforting hug. “You do not need to worry about that happening again, because from now on I will walk you from work to your home everyday I possibly can.” he promised and kissed your knuckles.

Hercules leaned forwards and kissed your forehead before adding your two cents. “And if that ever happens again, I will make sure that whoever made you cry will pay for it.” he threatened, but gave you a loving smile.

“Thank you.” you murmured, pulling all the boys into a giant group hug.

Although you knew it would be a long journey to gain your independence, you knew it would be alright with your boys at your side.

Captured

Words: 651

[A/N: Sorry I keep changing up the format, I’m still trying to figure out how I want everything to look/work!]

Originally posted by visual-17

You were just taking a normal walk, while your boyfriend, Wonwoo, had been at work. You knew he was in the mafia, but that was all. Of course there were a few talks here and there about torture, but you always shut him up.

Yet somehow you still ended up being kidnapped for information. Johnny was the culprit of your disappearance; the only reason you knew him was because of Wonwoo. Johnny had been using some new kind of torture methods that Wonwoo wanted to learn.

You got to experience these things first hand. It involved a lot of clamps in places that slowly cut off your circulation. There was even some spontaneous knife throwing. You suppose it could be fun, if it weren’t happening to you.

“Ah, good morning [Y/N]! Still no signs of your boy; how unfortunate for you.” Johnny began to remove all of the clamps that were currently on you. “Lucky for you, the dreamies are coming to see you! You’re the perfect test subject for torture beginners!”

You stared him down and gave no response. There was no point.

“No words? Huh, I didn’t think I clamped your tongue.” He laughed, “Well, if you aren’t going to speak I suppose I’ll keep the clamps on your feet. Enjoy it!”

Suddenly, a heavy pounding could be heard from the metal door.

“I guess the dreamies are excited about today. Come in!” Johnny yelled out as he picked up a knife.

The door swung open to reveal Wonwoo with Jisung and Chenle in his arms. Your eyes widened at the sight, and you almost screamed for him.

Johnny raised his eyebrows, “That wasn’t how I planned for today to go…”

“Give me her, now. If you won’t, I’m taking these two with me, and I’m taking her myself. This can be a peaceful exchange.” Wonwoo said as Chenle squirmed around under his arm.

Johnny sighed, “They aren’t much use to me but Taeyong wouldn’t be happy if they were gone. He wouldn’t be happy if [Y/N] were gone either.” He paused, “You’re in our building right now. You’re outnumbered.” Your feet felt like they were going to fall off.

Wonwoo stepped aside to reveal Seungcheol, “You think so? I think that he brought the proper amount of backup, and that they’re kicking your peoples’ asses at this very moment.” Jisung also started squirming, in fear.

Johnny’s eyes widened in fear, “Shit! Just… take the girl and leave. All of you! Put Jisung and Chenle down, too, They’re starting to get annoying.” He removed all of your restraints, clamps, etc., and you let out a sigh of relief for your feet.

Wonwoo put the two boys down and they ran behind Johnny. As soon as you were able to stand, you got up and slapped Johnny across the face. You painfully ran away from him and to Wonwoo. Wonwoo picked you up and dashed out of the building with Seungcheol close behind.

“Why are we running out?” You asked Wonwoo as he sprinted.

He spoke between breaths, “First of all you just slapped a manic. Second, we lied about everyone else being here.”

Seungcheol shouted from behind, “That idiot fell for it so easily! How the hell are they a quickly rising gang with guys like him?” He laughed.

You three eventually got to their car and were able to get away.

As Seungcheol drove, Wonwoo turned to you, “Sooo… Are you going to tell me about those clamps? Did they make you wanna reveal all my shit? Was it painful?”

Wonwoo kept asking questions but you only replied with a roll of your eyes.

“Okay, well then. No matter what, I’m just glad you’re back here with me, [Y/N].” He gave you a small smile.

You returned the smile, “Me too.”

“It would just be nice if you could give me the torture tips, though.”

        “one thing i’ll never truly understand is why people completely freak out when they find out what songs i’ve written. i mean— does it count as a good thing when they’re like  oh wow, really? i would’ve never expected that, that’s crazy!  because honestly, i’ve no idea how to take that,”

Daryl Dixon || On The Road

Originally posted by brickylnetwork

You were sat in the middle of Rick and Daryl. You had all decided to go on a run together and you had found a van full of food. You had found it in the middle of nowhere full of food and you saw it as a win for the day. “I say we celebrate with a drink from the vending machine over there,” Rick says pointing at an old gas station and pulling into it. You were trying to break into it when you heard walkers coming your way and it sounded like lots of them. “Y/N. Van. Now.” Daryl ordered pushing you into the back.

You watched as they were struggling to fight off walkers. “You need me!” You yelled going to get out when Daryl pushed you back in. “I need you alive.” You rolled your eyes and they continued to fight. You groaned grabbing your knife and jumping down stabbing walkers in the head and helping fight back. “Y.N!” You rolled your eyes and continued to fight.

You stood with your hands on your hips. “See I’m fine, now lets get back in the van.” You said putting your knife away before falling to the floor. You were sweating and murmuring. “She’s been scratched.” Rick said rolling up your trouser leg. “Oh would you look at that.” You said before passing out in Rick’s arms. “We need to get her back home now.” Rick said picking you up and putting you into the back of the van. “Daryl stay with her.” Rick said going to the front and starting the engine. “Daryl!” He screamed, Daryl jumped in the back and held you in his arms. “You’ve gotta stay with me now Y/N, We can’t lose you.” He said pushing your hair out of your face.

You looked up at Daryl who was looking at you. “Morning.” You said looking around before noticing where you were. “We’re in the infirmary?” You asked sitting up and looking around. “Y/N…I.” You looked at him and then to the door. “Why is there blood everywhere?” You looked down at the sheets and noticed there was blood on the bed. “What happened?” He took your hand in his. “You were fighting walkers… You got scratched and so we brought your back. Denise had to take your leg.” You moved the covers and saw that below your thigh was gone. “She said you’ll be fine though, you’ll be back to your full health soon.” You shifted in place and looked at the stub. “But I don’t-” He looked at you and you looked back. “How am I going to defend myself? How can I fight off walkers? I’m just going to slow you all down.” You said starting to panic at the thought of everything. “Everything will be fine I promise.” He said leaning over and kissing your forehead. “I promise.” You nodded and he hugged you.

“You need anything?” Rick asked popping his head in the door. Daryl had his head resting on the bed while you were reading to him and playing with his head. “A new leg?” You asked with a small smile. “Unfortunately we’re all out. How you doing?” You closed the book and looked at the sleeping Daryl. “I’m okay, I freaked out earlier but I’m okay now.” He hugged you across the bed. “You’re still a good member of the team to us.” You smiled and looked over at Carl in the doorway. “Besides, something being taken away from you enhances your skills, you’ll see,” Carl said with a small laugh before walking away. “Bye.” You whispered as Rick left the room. “Goodnight Daryl.” You whispered before leaning down and kissing his head.

“Goodnight Daryl.” You whispered before your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “No, no, no!” Daryl yelled trying to get your breathing again. He began CPR and nothing was working. “RICK HURRY!” He yelled still trying to get you back. He continued blowing air into your lungs and doing chest pumps but it was no use. “RICK!” He screamed at his friend who pulled into the gates and came to the back.

“She’s gone,” Denise said looking at you in the infirmary bed. You were laid weak and limp. Your arm was hanging off the edge and you were just sprawled out. Daryl flipped a metal table over and screamed. “FUCK!” He yelled making everyone in the room flinch around him. “Daryl she needs.” Rick started but Daryl grabbed his knife and stood above your body. He put both his hands on the side of your cheeks and kissed your forehead. “I love you.” He whispered closing his eyes letting the tears floor before stabbing you in the head to prevent you from becoming a walker. “It was the righ-” Daryl walked out grabbing his bow and arrow and walking out of the gates.

teddyduchess  asked:

jon x sansa black pretty please! jon as assassin would be hot damn.

Mhmmm, Jon as an assassin, yes. But okay, this is probably not what you wanted because there’s a considerable lack of action. I still hope you like it! 

Tagging @manbunjon​ because you also asked for black. 


There were two factions to the League: spies and assassins. As the bastard son of a Targaryen, Jon had been expected to follow the path of spies. They are born from wealth and privilege, with exceptional good looks and charm that cannot be taught. It was the logical next step. But Jon hadn’t always been a Targaryen. He’d been a Snow first; poor and forgotten by the system. He grew up with a chip on his shoulder and a knack for going unseen. When his mother died and Rhaegar Targaryen showed up in his life, Jon immediately gravitated towards the assassins. They’re fighters. Spies are liars. He may live the life of a criminal, but assassins had a code of honour that Jon could respect.

Unlike his half-siblings, who respect nothing, but themselves.

“Brother,” Aegon greets, once he rounds the corner and spots Jon. His smile is tight-lipped, verging on a sneer, but to anyone else, it would appear polite, maybe even fond. Jon knows better. After seven years with the League, he can read the Targaryens like a book.

Aegon comes to a stop in front of him. “You aren’t going to dinner dressed like that, are you?”

This is a conversation Jon’s had far too many times and one he is growing weary of. “I’m wearing what I always wear.” The League may see him as a Targaryen, but he’s a Snow through and through. They didn’t raise him. His mother did.

“Yes, unfortunately I am all too aware of how you dress,” Aegon continues, his facade faltering to give way to a distasteful frown. “But tonight is important for the League. You surely own something… better.”

Jon grits his teeth. Aegon knows the assassins live their life free from most material possessions. It’s in their culture to denounce them so that they won’t be swayed in the future by victims who try to bargain for their lives. He knows this, yet he still treats Jon as poor and uncultured. It shouldn’t bother him; he’s used to being the bastard, but it does.

“Leave Jon alone, Aegon,” Rhaenys interrupts just in time. Her long blonde hair is plaited down one side and she’s wearing a form-fitting red dress. “And go powder your nose.”

Aegon huffs, but walks away nonetheless. Rhaenys is next in line to lead the League after Rhaegar dies and anything she says is law. Thankfully, his half-sister is much more tolerable, and she dislikes Aegon nearly as much as Jon.

“My brother is a prick, isn’t he?” she sighs, before turning her gaze onto Jon. “But he is right, you have to change. I know father tailored you a tux.”

He doesn’t try to hide his groan. He hates dressing up.

Rhaenys looks at him with a bemused smirk. “You will grow to enjoy it eventually, Jon.”

“I won’t have to.”

“You will,” she says. “Do you think the League will go to Aegon if both father and I die?” She laughs loudly, the sound echoing in the narrow stone corridor. “Please; this place would be driven to ruins if it was up to that idiot. No, you will by my second-in-command once I take over.”

Jon blinks, unable to fully comprehend what she’s saying. It’s honestly the last thing he ever expected, which is why he blurts out the first thing to come to mind, “you don’t even like me.”

His half-sister laughs again. “I don’t like anyone, Jon. Don’t take it personally.” With those last words, she leaves him, disappearing down another bend in the corridor.

The League has become his home over the past seven years – from the dilapidated castle to the ragtag group of men and women he serves with. But he never thought he would one day have to lead this place. It had never been a dream of his. In fact, he doesn’t really know what he wants for the future. He doesn’t like to think about it often because it means facing who he is and what he’s done, and that person doesn’t deserve a future.

Jon rubs his eyes and returns back to where he came from to change into the tux. He hates it – hates the way it feels like he’s suffocating from the falseness of it all – but whatever tonight is, he has to attend and pretend he’s much more charming than he is. Even Tormund is more appealing than Jon, but in a way that you’d watch a bear dance in a circus – with abject horror and fascination.

The grand hall is decorated in golds and whites. The torches fastened to the stone walls flicker amber light across every corner of the room. Dinner is being served on a long table at the opposite end where Jon can see guests are already milling about chatting to one another. He’s been to his fair share of dinner parties over the years, but something about tonight feels more important. Aegon, for one, is actually smiling and joking with the people around him, and that’s always a sign of some impending doom.

“Jon!” his father booms, and suddenly several pairs of eyes are on him, as he begrudgingly makes his way over to Rhaegar and the group of people he’s with. “This is my son. He’s –”

“Lyanna’s boy,” someone finishes, a mixture of awe and bewilderment in his voice. Jon immediately glances towards the man, frowning as soon as he catches sight of dark hair and grey eyes. He knows those eyes. But how?

“You knew my mother?” Jon asks without much preamble, to Rhaegar’s irritation, but he’s an assassin, not a spy. Charm is not really in his arsenal.

“Once upon a time,” the man says sadly. “We grew up together. She was a dear friend to our family until –” He stops himself, glancing surreptitiously at Rhaegar, before smiling wide. “Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Eddard Stark, but you can call me Ned. This is my family.”

He gestures to the people beside him, and suddenly Jon is very aware that they’re all staring at him with a mixture of fascination and wariness in their eyes.

“This is my wife, Catelyn.” Wariness. “My sons, Robb, Rickon and Bran.” Fascination. “My youngest daughter, Arya.” Boredom. “And – oh, there she is. That’s my eldest daughter. Sansa, come. This is Rhaegar’s son, Jon.”

Her blue eyes catch his and she rakes her gaze down Jon’s body then back up again, making his neck and cheeks warm from the attention. Her lips are pursed in an impassive line, but Jon can read her too, and that was definitely appreciation. He wants to tell her, the feeling’s mutual, but all he can do is stare.

“Ah, the infamous Sansa,” his father says when Jon doesn’t speak. “I hear you are back now from Paris.”

She smiles; it’s soft and gentle, but something about it is off, and Jon doesn’t know why he thinks that, only that he’s positive he’s right.

“I am, Mr Targaryen,” she affirms. “Three years away from my family is three years too long.”

The younger sister, Arya, snorts, and one of the boys (he’s already forgotten which one’s which) elbows her none-too-subtly in the ribs.

“Please, you must call me Rhaegar!”

And so the night carries forward in this fashion. A lot of pleasantries and empty, meaningless words. Jon doesn’t get to speak to Sansa or the rest of the Starks, as he continues to be swept from one group to another by his father. He knows he doesn’t attend these functions often, so when he does, Rhaegar always takes the opportunity to show him off. It should offend him to be treated like a piece of property, but he knows it’s his father’s way of showing he’s proud of what Jon’s accomplished within the League. And it’s honestly so stupid to crave the approval of a man who had never been there for Jon during his childhood, but it’s hard not to let himself get swept up in it too.

He has finally managed to extricate himself from a very handsy older woman, and slips away from the crowd to find refuge in the corner by the refreshments. He’s nursing his whiskey when someone sidles up beside him.

“I hate these things.”

Jon doesn’t turn, so much as he glances through his peripheral at the copper-haired woman in that sinfully tight emerald green dress. Her hair is swept up in one of those intricate updos and her lips are painted hot red. She looks like the type of person who would fit seamlessly into these kind of parties.

“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“I did once,” Sansa admits quietly, angling her body so she’s looking at him now. “Getting dressed up, being told you’re beautiful and dancing with handsome men? What girl wouldn’t like that?” She laughs a little sardonically. “I realised a while later that it’s all an illusion. False words for naive little girls.”

“I can’t imagine you naive either.”

“Then you’re pretty awful at reading people, Jon Targaryen,” she teases. “I thought spies were supposed to be observant.”

He snorts before he can stop himself. “It’s Jon Snow. And I’m not a spy.”

This surprises her and she furrows her brows as she studies him. “You’re not?”

“I’m not…” He should probably try to impress her considering who she is and the kind of family she comes from, but the thought of lying to her doesn’t sit right either. “I don’t really like this. Any of it. Being dressed up and talking to people I don’t know.”

Sansa giggles, and Jon’s heart stutters a little at the sound. “I couldn’t tell. So does that mean you’re…”

“An assassin,” he finishes for her, feeling his chest tighten in a different way. He normally never has to tell girls about what he does, but everyone in this room already knows, so there’s no point in lying about it.

“An assassin,” she repeats, taking her time to enunciate each syllable, as if she’s testing out the word on her tongue. “Does it not bother you to… you know?”

Jon looks away. He can’t answer her question while looking in her earnest blue eyes, and it pains him to be who he is and stand next to someone as beautiful and innocent as her. “Most of us do. But it’s a cross we all bear.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Because we have to,” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “The law doesn’t actually protect people anymore. If it ever did.”

Sansa nods, and then much to his own surprise, she places a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Jon.”

He wills his breathing to calm, as he says, “you don’t even know me.”

“No, but I know people,” she tells him. “I know a good man from a bad man, and you’re good.”

It’s hard for him to fully comprehend her words – harder even to really take her in – but he tries to. He so desperately wants to. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says, giggling again when he takes her hand and leads her swiftly out of the grand hall.

They race down the empty corridors, up the spiral staircase and stumble out, laughing, onto the roof. The air is frigid in spite of it being mid April, but the days are growing longer and at eight o’clock, the sky is dusky, streaks of pink and purple light disappearing into an endless canvas of navy. It’s beautiful.

“Next time, you’re carrying me,” Sansa huffs from beside him, her fingers intertwined through his, but as he glances back, she’s smiling bright and wide, so different from the way she smiled at his father. This one is genuine; it’s real, and it takes his breath away that it’s because of him.

“Am I now?” he says, grinning stupidly back at her.

“Yes! You try running in heels, Jon Snow!” Sansa tries to look indignant, but when he tugs her closer, the smile returns.

“You’re beautiful,” Jon tells her without thinking. Once the words leave his mouth, he flushes. “I know you don’t place a lot of trust in those words anymore, but… God, you’re bloody beautiful, Sansa.”

To his delight, she actually blushes and ducks her head. She’s adorable too, and that’s a dangerous combination.

“Do you want to dance?” she asks instead, and he has to laugh this time, because they’re standing on a rooftop, freezing, alone and without music, but he has never wanted to dance with anyone more in his life.

He wraps both arms around her waist. “I’d love to.”

As soon as they start moving, Sansa’s head drops to his shoulder, fitting perfectly into the space between his neck and shoulder. He can feel her breath tickling his skin, and for once, Jon is happy to just be.

They stay like that for a few minutes, each lost to their own thoughts, as they watch the sky slowly submerge them into darkness. But then Sansa shivers in his arms and he has to pull back to look at her face. “We should go inside.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to get pneumonia.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to get pneumonia.”

“Fine then I don’t want you to get sick,” he says, matching her exasperated tone.

Jon, just shut up and kiss me.”

He freezes for a split second, watching as she raises a brow challengingly, before he comes back to himself and chuckles. When he finally kisses her, she responds instantly, tightening her arms around his neck as her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers from her touch and that makes Sansa smile against his lips. After they pull apart, they’re both breathing heavily and leaning into one another.

“If I get pneumonia because of this, it’ll be worth it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Sansa laughs.

He is and she’s pretty much the reason why.

The King’s Favor: Part IV

“You’ll start work tomorrow then?”, you asked standing up to lead the new nanny to the door.

“Yes, of course”, she said stepping out, with a small smile you closed the door and sighed. Thank the heavens you managed to find a decent dwarrowdam for the task…and in time too, the King and Queen were due to arrive tomorrow evening and you intended to keep your promises.

Soft gurgling invaded your little reverie and you felt a slight smile creep to your lips. You strode over to the massive wooden cradle and peered over the at the smiling toddler. He immediately glanced up at you with his big, sky blue eyes and batted his dark lashes at you before reaching out to you with his chubby hands. You gently picked him up and kissed his curly brown locks, “Awake from our nap, my little one?”, sitting down in an armchair you placed the little prince on your lap and giggled as his grin widened and grew into an adorable laugh.

Keep reading

Happiness Can’t Solve Everything

Warning: Mention of suicide, please read with care

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Jack bit back the question that rested at the tip of his tongue, the one he had been wanting to ask all those weeks ago when he discovered Joe unconscious, the bottle of pills resting beside him.

But it wasn’t time.

He couldn’t ask it.

Even if he yearned desperately to know the answer.

But no, it would be unfair to Joe, who was only just adjusting to being back home, adjusting to having time where he wasn’t watched constantly, adjusting to not being asked a question every five minutes.

If Jack were to ask his boyfriend a question, he worried it would set him off, and that was the last thing he wanted, not after just getting him back.


“I can hear you thinking and worrying,” Joe suddenly said, pushing the hair out of his face as he turned to look over at Jack. “Just spit it out.”

“Spit what out?”

“What ever is floating around in that mind of yours,” Joe waved a hand towards his boyfriends head, a small frown tugging at his lips, “You clearly have something to say, so just say it. I’m not going to bloody break.”

“I don’t have anything to say.”

“Yes you do!” Joe sat up abruptly, shifting his entire body to face Jack, “So just say it! I’m so sick and tired of people not saying shit to me just because of what happened.”

“Do I not make you happy?” Jack blurted out, causing Joe’s face to change from one of frustration to shock in only a split second, blinking his eyes over at Jack.

What?”

“I just..well,” Sighing, Jack dragged a hand across his face, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling, “Did you do it because I’m not making you happy? Or because you feel trapped with me?”

“You…were you….that’s been worrying you?” Joe’s surprised tone is what brings Jack’s gaze back onto his face, nodding.

“I mean, one of the things. I’ve been worried about other stuff too…but Joe, you have to tell me if I’m making you unhappy. Especially to the point of..of….”

“Of killing myself?” Jack can’t help but flinch at the bluntness of Joe’s words.

“Yes.”


“I want you to listen to me,” Joe reached for Jack’s hands, his eyes locked with the younger mans, “And I mean listen to me, alright?” Once Jack has nodded, he continues: “You are one of the few happy things in my life. You are able to make me so incredibly happy that I honestly cannot believe you are in my life. I love how happy you can make me, Jack, how happy you do make me.” Joe smiled softly at Jack, the truth behind his words heavy between them, “But unfortunately how happy you make me doesn’t just magically get rid of all my problems. There is still a lingering darkness, that deep feeling that just can’t be shaken off. You help though, Jack, I promise. You make it easier for me to deal with those feelings, and you are able to be my light in that darkness.”

Pausing for a moment, Joe wet his lips, “That doesn’t mean I don’t have periods of my life that are more difficult. Like a couple weeks ago. It had been building up for some time, love, and I had just felt like there was truly no other option but to end my life. But do not place that on yourself. Because you have done absolutely nothing wrong. If anything, you’ve done everything right. Because you give me a reason to wake up in the morning, a reason to get out of bed and go about the day, and above all else, you give me a reason to smile even in the darkest of times. I’m sorry you thought that you weren’t making me happy, because you do. I promise.”

“But it doesn’t take away your problems,” Jack repeated weakly, his voice small sounding.

“Not all of them, no.”

“I’m still going to try.”

“I have no doubts about that,” Joe laughed wetly, a few tears falling down his cheeks, “I love you Jack. And I’m sorry for what I put you through. You don’t deserve that, not when you’re so incredible and amazing to me.”

“I deserve you,” Jack is quick to correct, “And as long as I have you, that’s all that matters.”

“I’m right here.”

“And I’m going to make sure you are always right here.” Jack leaned forward, pressing his lips against Joe’s.

anonymous asked:

Playing mystic messenger are we? Same here, just restarted for like the 3rd time in a row. If requests were open, I'm not gonna lie. I would asked for an mystic messenger au.

Yeah, I’m just fifty hourglasses away from unlocking V’s route. So close! Yet so far. ;_; It’s good to see you’re enjoying it too! And that AU would be interesting for sure. I’ve definitely thought about it, so I’ll be prepared for that possible future request. *_*

10 Things Everyone Applying to Clinical Psychology Programs Should Know

 Once again there were so many more things I could have put on this list! (To the point that there is a little bonus point- I couldn’t help myself). When I applied to clinical psychology PhD programs, I kind of had no idea what I was doing- it was the grace of Dumbledore that landed me in just the right place. Here are 10 (okay, 11) things I should have known or sort of figured out on the way.  

  1. Fit is key. You’ve probably heard this a thousand times already, but here I am to drill it in some more, because it’s that important. All clinical psychology programs (all graduate programs) are not alike, and you need to find the ones that your interests and your needs. This includes: research training, interests, opportunities, and facilities; clinical training, opportunities, populations, supervisors, and facilities; specializations or other specialty training; association with other key groups; fit with your advisor, including working style; fit with your lab; the overall approach of the program; and other unique interests or needs you might have.
  2. Focus your interests. Spend some time considering what kind of research and clinical work you’d like to focus on in graduate school. You won’t necessarily do this same work for the rest of your career, and it’s definitely possible to be a “generalist,” but you will be focusing on one area at least while you are in graduate school, and you want to make sure it’s really what you want spend that much time and effort and frustration on. You want your interest to be focused enough that it makes sense to the faculty you apply to work with, and sounds exciting to them (so not just “depression”), but not so focused that it won’t appeal to many faculty or sound like you are only interested in a specific type of study versus of body of ideas (so probably not “the impact of depression on eye movement in teenagers”).
  3. Don’t overemphasize location over everything else. It’s not that location isn’t important. You are going to live in this place, for at least four years. And you probably have preferences about that, and maybe a family or other obligations to consider. I get it, and I’m totally on your side- you should get to live in a place you want to live. BUT. Do not apply to programs just because you want to live in the place where the program is. It’s a bad idea, because: 1) you’re not likely to be picking programs that have great fit (see #1. It’s #1 for a reason, y’all) and 2) everyone else wants to live there too, so it’s likely to be even more competitive than usual. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot at the starting line. If you are going to invest all this time, money, energy, etc. to pursue this, go to the best program you can. Hopefully it will be in a place you want to live. Otherwise, you might find you like it! (and it is only 4ish years, if not).
  4. Prestige is kind of important, but those lists don’t really measure it. It’s hard because we all want to know which schools are the best, and those online lists are one of the only places we can find that will tell you anything. But here’s the thing- they’re not very good measures of how good a program is. It’s true that in general, some programs have better reputations than others, but often it’s much more about the individual faculty member (like, no matter where Beck is, he’s a really big deal and his students carry lots of prestige). Fit can capture a lot of this- what do you want to get out of the program? Can that program, and that particular faculty member, get you there?
  5. Funding is mandatory. You should not accept a spot at a school if they are charging you tuition. You should not accept a spot at a school if they are not offering you a stipend or some other financial (non-loan, straight up cash) assistance. This is not med school, you will not make the amount of money you need to pay back those kinds of loans without a serious amount of pain and suffering. Don’t do it. Do not do it.
  6. Check for APA accreditation, attrition, match rates, and licensure rates. This is truly one of the best ways to know whether a program is a quality program, and whether it does well by its students. It’s hard to get lots of kinds of jobs (federal jobs, academic jobs) if your program or internship was not APA accredited. Attrition, match rates, and licensure rates can give you a sense of the quality of the program, including how well it prepares students for internship and what kind of reputation it has.
  7. Personal statements are actually professional statements. One of the easiest, and biggest, mistakes that a person can make is to go too personal on their personal statement. This is totally confusing given its title, but a personal statement is about you making a statement about how you see yourself as an up and coming professional, why you believe you will be successful in graduate school and as a psychologist, and why you particularly fit that specific program and lab. There should be personality, but this is about selling yourself as a professional. You want to convince the people that read your personal statement that you can be a successful grad student and psychologist, and that it would be exciting to be a part of your career.
  8. GPA and GRE scores matter, but everything else is what makes you stand out. Your GPA and GRE scores will get you in the front door, application wise, but after that, they matter very little. What matters more is: your personal statement, your letters of recommendation, your experience (particularly research experience), and your interview. My advisor never talks about applicant’s scores. He always mentions how cool their interests are, or the exciting research they are currently doing. You want to use the little time you have (on your personal statement, vita, and then in person) to communicate about what makes you, your experiences, and your interests unique, and exciting. The other thing that sticks with people is dedication and passion- we can tell if you truly love it, and it makes a difference.
  9. You’re interviewing the whole time you’re there. Generally, applicants stay with graduate students and spend a couple of days with the program with they interview. That whole time is the interview. It’s difficult to be “on” and ready that whole time, but keep in mind that the short time that you spend with your possible advisor is important, but it’s not the whole interview. The other faculty, the staff, and the grad students have input as well. There have been a shocking number of applicants who act like they’re on vacation or do generally silly or inappropriate things during their interview, and it’s unfortunate. Be yourself, but stay professional.
  10. Everybody knows how nervous you are. All the graduate students have done this. Even the faculty have done this. We get it. When you interview, you are nervous, anxious, exhausted, confused, just running the whole gamut of emotions. It’s tough to be on your best game with all that going on. Usually, people will cut you some slack because of that. We understand you may not always say exactly what you meant to say and won’t know exactly what to do. That’s fine. That’s why it’s important to be yourself. Clearly state how excited you are, how passionate about the field you are, ask lots of questions, be ready to talk about your interests and background, and we’ll let the little things go.
  11.  (Bonus!) You’re interviewing them, too. This goes back to fit. When you apply, and when you interview, make sure you like them, too. You are going to spend at least four years in this area and at this program. You are going to spend it with these people. This is a huge decision, and you want to make sure you are making the right one for yourself. Ask lots of questions about the program, the area, the culture. Make sure you can see yourself there. Different programs and labs have different approaches, different cultures, different “feelings,” and you want the one that’s right for you.