i just had to write it okay

anonymous asked:

laura... i totally forgot about your bts!purge au... omg... i rewatched the trailer... im sobbing... this is gonna fuck me up so well... i love you, man™

i love u too! i really hope y’all like it. i just thought it would be a fun spooky little series! i had a lot of fun writing it, i’ve definitely gone places i’ve never gone before… but it’s halloween! so it’s okay! (i hope) 

Originally posted by 1hoseokie

onnastik  asked:

Would you write some Host being terrifying, please? There's so little of it and I crave it...

Okay, I’m just gonna try a little something here. I haven’t really done much of the Host, so this is pretty much a shot in the dark for me. I don’t know if it qualifies as terrifying, really, as it’s more of… well, trying to get into the Host’s head, and seeing what he “sees”. At any rate, I hope you’ll like it.

(And yes, my boy Dark just had to put His two cents in. Even when I’m not actively trying to write Him, He still likes to pop up.)

Originally posted by markired

Second Sight

The Host is seated before his (currently off) microphone, listening to the static “snow” from the monitors nearby. His head is filled with the noise of the movement downstairs that the static only partially blocks out.

Though his eyes are gone, his consciousness can stretch farther than the five senses would allow. The soft drone of Dark’s aura, the electrical spark of Google’s power core, even the strange, over cheerful music that Wilford hums… he can not only hear it, but feel it.

He allows the paranormal perceptions to buzz around him like bees, using the static to anchor him to the linear world, to keep him from getting lost on that plane of the mind.

Keep reading

Friends to Lovers with Chenle
  • woah, for a sec I thought this serie was dead
  • and it actually was, I just found a way to keep it alive
  • but damn, I really missed writing things like this!!! makes me feel homesick fgdhjs
  • shall I start right away!! I’m excited, lmao
  • okay so,,,
  • you two got introduced to each other thanks to one of the other members,, try to guess who, lol
  • jiSUNG PWARK
  • like, you two had to study for a test or smth and he knew nOthing about it, and you, being a kind soul decided to help him
  • and even if he told the other members multiple times before that you were coming, this little kiddo just doesn’t listennn
  • so in the middle of the little study date chenle randomly decided to go to the living room or smth and got shOcked when he saw you
  • like ???? why is this goddess here??? anD WHY IS SHE W JISUNG ISTG THIS KID
  • “uhh, chenle?? can you leave?? me and y/n are trying to study”
  • and you smiled at him and you left him speechless, s p e e c hless, he could barely react to bow at you and leave
  • and woah, since that day you didn’t left chenle’s mind alone for not even one second
  • as soon as you left he only kept asking jisung about you again and again and lmao poor baby
  • and you also asked about him but really low-key, like you waited for jisung to touch the topics at first
  • “y/N! ugh, you have no idea how annoying chenle is being lately. he only talks about you and ugh, I can’t tolerate him anymore”
  • “uh, chenle is that really cute and adorable guy that interrupted our study date right??”
  • “yea- wait, what”
  • bc lets be honest, you were also really attracted by him bc tHIS BOY HAS THE VISUALSSS
  • so the two of you also started to,,, kinda,,, start bothering jisung and, lmao poor maknae
  • but eventually he got his revenge don’t worry (◕‿◕✿)
  • he made a whole plan to seat you two up and damn, he truly enjoyed that revenge
  • actually, it was an idea of the other members, probably jeno or donghyuck but it was possible thanks tot he six of them <3
  • like, them all told chenle that the dreamies were going to an arcade or smth, and that he could wait for them outside of a cafe that was nearby the dorms
  • and he told you that,,, to avoid being interrumpted by this loser again,, you two should go to that exact same cafe to study
  • and that’s how you two had your first date :’)
  • and it was awkward af lemme tell you
  • chenle was so shy and quiet the whole time and he only kept giggling bc of how nervous he was and you had to do the first step,,, and like all the rest of the steps too, lmao, he did nothing
  • you went to the cafe that jisung told you about and :o! look who’s randomly there, playing with his phone while sitting in a bench outside and clearly waiting for someone
  • your heart started to beat at the speed of light and you got quite nervous but you nEEDed to talk with him
  • so you decided to sit by his side and just look at him, waiting for him to lift his head and notice you
  • aND WHEN HE DID IT WAS SO CUTE, HIS WHOLE FACE LIGHTED UP AND HIS EYES SHINED AND UGH MY HEART
  • “y-y/n..”
  • “hey, chenle! what are you doing here?”
  • and he started hyperventilating basically, lmao he was like “sHE KNOWS MY NAMEGFDHJSKL”
  • “i-i was waiting for the other dream members, they told me to wait for them here”
  • and in that moment you literally sighed out loud bc you knew perfectly what the coconut head had planned and you k n e w that there wasn’t a way of escaping from this now
  • so you just decided to go with the flow and,,, well I guess you’re in a date now ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
  • “aren’t you freezing here? why don’t we go inside the cafe and we can,, wait for jisung there”
  • and aw chenle is so gullible that he didn’t realized that he was being scammed until jisung messaged him and told him that, mAgically, all the dreamies suddenly couldn’t go
  • :-)
  • and he was d y I n g, he didn’t know what tot talk with you, he didn’t know how to answer your questions and seem interesting, hE COULD BARELY COMMUNICATE WITH YOU WTFDHJSKAODJ
  • but he still tried his best, talking to you about how at a very young age he started to feel so much passion and love for music and how he decided to be part of the dreamies
  • and he wasn’t aware of how interesting he actually was or the way you were basically drooling over him as you heard him talking bc, again, hE HAS THE VISUALSSSSS
  • he was too shy to even make visual contact so he spent the whole time watching the way he was playing with his fingers and vfdghj my son <3
  • you only make visual contact like two times and in both moment he got sO flUstered, he started blushing and giggling and you started giggling too and :’)
  • gdhsjk how adorable
  • he payed for everything and once the little date was done he walked you home just to make this moments by your side a bit longer
  • and, I mean, he’s a gentlemen so he even carried your bag the whole time, isn’t that precious
  • you two exchanged numbers and, well, chatting online was a complete different story
  • you discovered that he was actually pretty funny and easy-going and that charismatic and beautiful personality totally got you
  • and you had a lot more of those dates, and it was so cute seeing how in each he was opening up to you more and more
  • or how he started to get lost in your eyes instead of avoiding them or how he started to play with your fingers instead of playing only with his
  • but any relationship was confirmed until you two kissed for the first time <3
  • it was so cute, ugh, and you didn’t need the help of the other six losers this time
  • as always, he walked you home after one of your deadly sweet dates, this time talking a lot and laughing out loud as you did
  • and, this time he was the one doing the first step, he just wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he didn’t lmao
  • you were saying goodbye to each other cutely, like you always do, but when the minimum moment of silence happened, he went for it
  • “y/n, can I show you something?”
  • “uh, yeah?”
  • and he hE GAVE ONE STEP CLOSER TO YOU AND SMILED AT YOU AS HE INTERLACED HIS FINGERS WITH YOU
  • “c-can I?”
  • “uhm, yes”
  • aND HE SMILED TWICE AS WIDELY TGFHDJK”
  • “please, enjoy this, y/n”
  • aND HE KISSED YOU BIH, HE KISSED YOU GFHDJKSO I’M SCREAMING
  • long short story, you were a couple now :’) the cutest one ever
  • okay and the end!!
  • ugh, this was really adorable, I loved it
  • anyways, lmao gtg <3 bye
Flowers

Whenever Draco has a bad day, Harry buys him flowers. 

The first time it happens, Draco comes home from work with a scowl on his face. He just got some really bad news and knows the next few weeks will be hell for him. When Harry asks about his day, he doesn’t say anything. He knows, if he opens his mouth now, he will only snap at Harry and he really isn’t in the mood to fight. Not after the day he had. So he sits there, throughout their dinner, saying nothing.

When he gets up to take a shower, he catches Harry gazing at him sadly. Draco knows Harry is only worried about him, but this gets him even more irritated. Because now, on top of his bad mood, he feels guilty for making Harry feel this way.

Taking a shower normally relaxes him, but when he walks into his and Harry’s bedroom, his muscles are still tense and the scowl still won’t leave his face. The crease between his brows deepens even more when he sees something odd on his bedside table. That bouquet of peonies wasn’t there before. When he hears Harry enter the bedroom, Draco doesn’t turn around.

“Do I look like a girl, Potter?” he grumbles through gritted teeth. Why would Harry get him flowers? Harry doesn’t reply. Instead, Draco feels his arms wrap around his waist from behind. When Harry starts nuzzling his hair, Draco sighs and puts one of his hands on Harry’s.

Harry is only trying to cheer him up. And although Draco would never admit it out loud, getting flowers from his boyfriend is… kind of nice.

From this day on, whenever Draco comes home grumpy or moody, Harry will excuse himself quickly and return with a bouquet of sunflowers, or daisies, or hydrangeas… sometimes Draco doesn’t even know the name of the flowers Harry gets him. The only thing he knows is, it warms his heart when Harry is standing in front of him, smiling almost shyly, with a big bouquet in his arms.

So now, Draco isn’t that irritated anymore, when he had a bad day at work. He’s still moody and grumpy, he can’t control that, but he also knows that Harry will buy him flowers. And while they’re beautiful and Draco always admires and appreciates them for as long as they’re on his bedside table, it’s about so much more than just the flowers.

It reminds Draco of how thoughtful Harry is. It’s a sweet little gesture that reassures Draco.

Harry will always be there to cheer him up.

To make him feel loved.


Part 2

I am broken. I’ve been abandoned and ignored too many times to still be whole. I don’t trust people anymore, not with something as important as my heart.

You were different. You slipped right through the cracks. I told you things I never meant to tell anyone, things I’d hidden so deep that I had to crawl through the darkness to find them. You brought out a version of me I didn’t know existed anymore. But, you didn’t fix me. I am still broken and now you’re leaving and that’s okay. I’ve been broken before, one more crack won’t kill me. Just please stop asking me if I’m okay. Please stop caring so much. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.
—  “Are you okay?”
To my favourite person in the world,
I know things are over, and I know that means I don’t get to create any new memories with you. I know I have told you not to talk to me again, but every day I talk to you, sometimes in whispers, sometimes in sobs, but every day I do. I know a lot of things now and one of them is how incredibly I miss you, but how that alone is not a great enough incentive to get us to talk again anymore. I know what we had was special and invaluable, and I know it because I know a lot of people, a hell lot of them, and still nothing makes up for the fact that we won’t get to stroll around aimlessly together anymore. I know I am sad, I can feel it every day as I lay my head down to sleep, and I know why I am so, but I also know that I have tried with all my heart for the both of us and it went in vain. I know what would feel good and what is right to do, and it aches me that this time they are two completely different things. I know I had you. I know I lost you. I know things are shitty. I know it’s already been a while. I know I should’ve been feeling better. But I am not. And that’s okay, or at least that’s what they say. The one thing I don’t know is whether this will end up being just a break or a good-luck-in-another-lifetime kind of thing. And it’s scary how I don’t even know which of them would be a better option. I don’t know why I’m writing this as well, but I guess if I ever figure out why I still talk to you in my head every day, I’ll figure out the rest of this.
Love, always.
—  far-far-awayy 

anonymous asked:

Do you think on the ride home Dean took off his flannel and made Cas put it on to replace his bloody shirt?

“I really am alright, Dean. You don’t need to sit back here with me.”

Dean ignores Castiel’s reassurances, just like he has been ignoring them for the last fifteen minutes.

Dean?

“Cork it, Cas! Mom’s drivin’, Sam’s shotgun, and I’m back here with you, makin’ sure you’re really holdin’ it together. That’s just the way it’s gonna be so stop tryin’ to fight me on it!”

Both Mary and Sam give each other wide-eyed looks, but stay quiet—knowing that Dean is still processing everything that had happened back in the barn. He’s still drowning in the feeling of being out of control, and it’s driving him absolutely nuts.

“Here, Ma” Dean grunts, shoving the Impala’s keys at the woman and then turning back to tend to his angel.

She swiftly nods and takes the keys before ushering her other son around the far side of the car—and then, all at once, they climb in to join Castiel, who has already been carefully placed in the backseat by Dean’s steady hands.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” Dean asks—slightly calmer now but his voice still has a rattle to it.

“No, Dean. I’m feeling fine—just like I said before.”

“Well, you don’t look fine. You’re kinda pale. Sam, doesn’t he look pale to you?”

Sam turns around and gives Cas a sympathetic look before shrugging silently at his older brother, knowing that his opinion doesn’t really matter right now anyway.

“Yeah, see—Sam thinks so. You should lean back a bit.”

“These seats don’t recline, Dean.”

Dean frowns at him. “Then scoot down a little! Jesus, Cas … I’m just tryin’ to make sure you’re okay!”

“I am okay … I have already told you—”

“Scoot down, Castiel!” Mary grits  firmly from the front of the car—glaring at him through the rearview mirror, eyes flicking back and forth between the angel and her eldest son.

He wants to protest again, but then Castiel nods, finally understanding that the only one not fine right now, is Dean, and doing what he asks—no matter how pointless it is, will make him feel a little better … a little more useful. Cas scoots down in his seat.

Dean smiles, happy that his friend is finally listening to him. “Alright then … better?”

Castiel stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Yes … better.”

The proud smirk that immediately graces Dean’s face seems to trim away the tension in the car—until the moment that the folds of Cas’s coat fall away, exposing the dirty, blood-stained white button up beneath. “Oh … shit, man! That looks bad!” the man yelps as soon as he sees it.

Castiel squints and cocks his head to the side, finally following Dean’s eyes down to where the usually clean looking garment, is now a tattered mess strewn about his body. “Oh. Yes, well … I can just—” Cas begins, already lifting his hand to will the mess away, but he stops mid motion—cutting the magic short because the man beside him is starting to fidget in his seat. “Dean? What are you …”

Dean teeters back and forth, wriggling from side to side in the confined space until he finally manages to free one of his arms from the black coat and plaid overshirt that he’s wearing.

“Hold on … almost …” Dean soon rocks all the way over until his head is practically in Cas’s lap—but he doesn’t seem to notice because he’s too focused on freeing his other hand. “There!” he yelps victoriously, finally holding up the plaid shirt for everyone in the car to see.

Sam nods and Mary holds back a chuckle, and Cas just continues to stare at the man—confused and slightly annoyed by everything that he’s doing.

“Okay, Cas. Your turn” Dean says after another moment, eventually turning happy eyes back on the angel.

“My turn?” Cas asks, feeling suddenly nervous about what he’s expected to do.

“Yep” Dean chirps, looking Castiel up and down with a long pull. “Strip and put this on.” He holds the flannel out towards him, but he doesn’t hand it to the angel just yet, as if he’s planning on dressing him himself … and at this point, Cas wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what Dean had in mind.

“Dean …” Castiel grumbles again, now—rolling his eyes for all to see. “You realize that I can fix this, don’t you?”

Dean only grips the shirt tighter in his hand.

“I am an angel … I have the power to—”

“Just put on the damn shirt!” All three Winchesters bark in unison.

And that makes the angel finally throw up his hands in defeat. “Alright!” he exclaims, quickly sitting straight and leaning forward so that he can work his body free from his coat. But before he can completely shimmy it off, Dean’s hands are on him, fiddling with the buttons of Cas’s dirty white shirt. “Um … what are you doing?”

Helping” Dean snaps, but his cheeks are turning red and his hands are starting to shake against the angel’s chest.

Cas stares at him a moment, and then up to the front of the car where Sam and Mary are vehemently avoiding eye contact with anything but the road. So he turns back, just as Dean undoes the final button and pushes the cloth aside, displaying every inch of Castiel’s unmarred skin.

The man then stills for some time—never looking away and holding his breath until the second Castiel is finally able to speak.

You see, Dean … I’m all healed.”

Dean quirks up the side of his mouth, but his face quickly falls flat again, while his eyes bounce away and back several times, seeming torn as to where to look now.

After that, it only takes another minute for Cas to slip out of the ruddy, old shirt and into Dean’s flannel—and for the first time since they left the barn, Dean doesn’t interfere, nor do Mary and Sam act like anything is happening just behind their heads. In fact, the frenzied tone of their drive has seemed to mellow, and even Dean appears to have settled down; although, his hands still twitch with the need for something to do … which doesn’t go unnoticed by the angel at his side.

Castiel sighs, flicking his eyes down towards the soft plaid that’s now draped over his own shoulders—the fabric is warm and smells like Dean; so just as he begins to fasten the last two buttons, he purposely skips one—so the thing is now bunching up across his stomach. “There” he confirms, drawing Dean’s focus back to the task at hand, and of course—Dean notices the mistake instantly.

“Ah—jeez, Cas … you’re helpless, ya know that?” Dean mutters with a smile, reaching over eagerly to straighten out the buttons and get them all in the right order.

But Castiel just smiles too, taking the moment to take in the worried Winchester—his charge, his family … a man that he loves—and he nods. “You’re right. What would I do without you?”

when i was seven the sea-witch cursed me.

she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.

he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.

my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship. 

we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair. 

in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me. 

my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul. 

and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.

i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me. 

i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty. 

i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.

the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill. 

when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.

for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.

i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.

i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.

at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.

after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.

i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.

but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.

and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.

i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?

it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.

i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.

when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.

my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.

this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.

the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.

even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i ask the ocean “why do you do this to me.”

i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.

in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.

the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.

i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.

the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something. 

a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”

i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.

by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.

it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake. 

i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly. 

the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me. 

i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.

i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch. 

when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her. 

this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.

and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.

One Direction’s Niall Horan Going in Another Direction?

Horan pictured above at the Grammy Universal Music Group after party on February 12

Could the One Direction star be in the process of cutting ties with fellow band members?

Niall Horan (23) posted on his twitter earlier today about his electricity woes, having been without power for the past 24 hours.

Pictured above, the One Direction star’s tweet about his power outage

With a net worth of £33 million ($47.53 million) as of last year, fans online are wondering if something isn’t wrong in the life of their favourite Irish singer.

“He’s a multi-millionaire, why didn’t he just go stay in a hotel?”, questioned one anonymous fan, “What would he even do at home for 24 hours without power?”

Another fan who was equally dumbfounded said: “If he’s so rich why doesn’t he just pay somebody to fix the problem already?”

But the most interesting comment came from a fan who asked “Why wouldn’t he just stay with some of his equally rich fellow band mate best friends? If my best friend was without power for 24 hours I wouldn’t leave them to stay alone in their own house.” We here at the AAS couldn’t help but wonder the same thing so we reached out to Horan’s band mates for commentary.

Liam Payne pictured above with rapper Drake working on the album to come out “soon”

Unfortunately, fellow band member Liam Payne (23) who is currently searching for his elusive solo album, to come out “soon”, and is busy answering fans’ questions on twitter could not be reached for commentary. Zayn Malik (24), who may or may not be a former member of the band could also not be reached for commentary as he is currently occupied with being persistently prospective ‘super model’ Gigi Hadid’s boyfriend prop for her Instagram photo ops.

Malik and Hadid pictured above in a recent pic with Malik sporting an old hair style from last year

However, we were able to contact Horan’s fellow band members and rich husbands Louis Tomlinson (25) and Harry Styles (23) who refuse to let Horan who has been without power for longer than anybody can remember to stay in their meditation tea house. Styles commented:

“That hat man, he really needs to step up his style if he wants to put one foot inside our meticulously decorated tea house. There’s vintage furniture in there, one of a kind stuff!”

The Tomlinson-Styles’ meditation tea house

Tomlinson added: “Never really liked the lad. Was always weirdly invested in our relationship. I think it all began when he started to care more about golf than football. More than football!”

Horan on one of his frequent trips to the green

“I really think he stalks my husband. He likes all of his pictures moments after they’re posted. Even the fans don’t get to the pictures that fast!” Styles said. “Honestly, I think this power outage was a sign. It’s time to move on. Our relationship involves two people, not three, even though he seems to think otherwise.”

Tomlinson and Styles pictured on a date at the 2015 American Music Awards

“He calls himself captain, you know? Of our ship. We caught him once dancing and dressed like a sailor. It’s at the point where we really feel like he should keep his distance from us,” Styles explained.

“This past year and a half away from Niall has been a wonderful and much appreciated break, but when I went solo he was right in our faces again and wouldn’t leave me and me social media alone. It was frankly quite disturbing,” Louis added, troubled.

Horan and band members discussing Valentine’s Day plans and Horan showcasing his investment in Styles and Tomlinson’s relationship early on in the band’s career

“You know he started a fight with Steve once, saying that he wouldn’t take his place as my biggest fan even over Niall’s dead body. He’s gone mad, I tell you. Did you know he once sent me a truck load of footballs just because I like the sport? We just don’t know what to do. He needs to stop,” Tomlinson said.

“He forgets that I have been and always will be Lou’s biggest fan,” Styles complained, “We had some good times together as a band, we really did, but Niall needs to move on. It’s not 2012 anymore. Somewhere along the way his obsession with us went from cute and endearing to creepy and annoying.”

Louis Tomlinson and Steve Aoki pictured above who have recently been working together and released their single “Just Hold On”

Who knew it would come out in 2017 that Niall Horan is the cause of the band’s split thanks to a simple tweet about a power outage?

(for my love @rated-l-for-larry without whom half this shitpost wouldn’t be possible. you asked for it and i delivered. hope you enjoy 😘)

god ok i had to share this high school au snippet cause its just so bad its so bad you guys thb are so bad

Taako doesn’t talk to the new guy except the new guy is a hall monitor and catches Merle with a lil’ ziploc of weed at Davenport’s locker. Taako and Magnus are collateral damage, okay, they weren’t doing anything, they weren’t even buying anything, they were just hanging out with Merle because Merle is their good good friend, and Merle happened to have a bag of weed peeking out of the corner of his bag.

“What’s that,” the new kid says.

“It’s oregano,” Merle says, completely straight faced.

“I know what pot smells like,” the new kid says. Taako thinks that’s bullshit, the guy looks like he’s never smoked a day in his life.  

“Hey thug, what’s your name?” Taako says.

“What?” the new kid says. “Er, Kravitz.”

“Cool cool cool,” Taako says. “So, Krav. Baby. How ‘bout you run along, and we pretend this never happened? No problemo.”

“Um,” Kravitz says. “No?”

“Cool,” Taako says. He turns to Magnus. “You know what you need to do, m’dude.”

“I’m on it,” Magnus says seriously. This isn’t their first rodeo.

He takes the ziplock bag out of Merle’s bag. He pours the pot into his palm. Kravitz looks like he wants to stop the events that are unfolding in front of him, but isn’t sure how to deal with this sort of audacity. Taako watches Kravitz watch Magnus. Merle is shaking with suppressed laughter. 

Magnus tosses the weed into his mouth. Kravitz’s face contorts in disgust. Merle is cracking up.

“You can’t just—!” Kravitz says.

“Ain’t got no evidence now, babe,” Taako says smugly.

Magnus swallows, and grins.

My friend and I had a very long discussion on how to approach this. I hope this comes out okay! For @ohwhataprettypinkhat

“What planet has three freaking suns?” Pidge asks as she slowly walks back into the castle. Her skin is tinged a deep red that’s burning and painful, and the other paladins are sporting similar looks and burns after performing a casual exploration mission on a new planet that did not end well in their favor.

All had thought it would be safe to dress in casual clothes, and now all are suffering the consequences with painful burns splayed across their skin.

To a blind eye, Pidge, Keith, and Shiro seem to be the worst off, but Hunk and Lance aren’t any better. Their skin appears two shades darker, and both are sporting an unhealthy pinkish tinge that enforces how miserable the two are feeling.

Allura and Coran were quick to inform the paladins that the pods wouldn’t be able to heal something they had know prior knowledge of, so the others opted to retreat to their rooms for the day and rest off the heat exhaustion mixing uncomfortably with the burns.

Keep reading

okay so, i’m really about to rant on the toxicity that’s going on in this fandom rn when it comes to the fans who write for the fandom. 

recently, us writers (specifically ao3 writers) have been receiving backlash by anti shipping fans who have started this morale crusade basically going around and telling authors that what we’re writing is wrong and just giving us a lot of shit for it. it’s gotten to the point where multiple prominent authors have left the fandom because they’ve been harassed so much and many authors have expressed their thoughts about quitting writing for bts as well.

“shipping members is wrong and harmful” 

how is it harmful when kpop idols actively promote their ships through fanservice and skinship? unless you see people directly tweeting at idols, there is absolutely nothing harmful about it. i’m also tired of writers being targeted and policed. writing fanfiction has always been an outlet for my emotions and i shouldn’t be made to feel guilty just because some self entitled fans think that they’re so morally right and justified and i’m tired of being told that i’m not allowed my creative freedom just because some people don’t like shipping.

well guess what? if you don’t like it then don’t fucking read it. 

stop destroying creativity and what could be one of the only things in life that helps someone get through hard times. writing is supposed to be our safe space and our break from reality and sometimes it’s how we tell our own stories. 

what right do you have to harass us like this?

How They Feel About PDA (Avengers Preference)

I am the worst! Sorry guys! Between a full course load and two jobs I’m drowning a little, but I still really love you guys!

~~~

Tony Stark:

He loves it (the little shit). He likes to make sure everyone around knows exactly who you’re with. Since you refuse to wear the t-shirt that says “Property of Tony Stark” (even though he wears his “Property of Y/N” all the time) he’s gotta let people know some other way. He doesn’t go so far as to touch you inappropriately (maybe a quick slap or pinch on your “perfect” butt but nothing more than that). Kisses, however, are a different story. Quick pecks in the grocery story line, heated kisses in front of the press, tender kisses in front of the team before they leave on a mission. Tony doesn’t care what others are thinking, he just wants you to know his feelings for you, and the best way to do that is with his lips on yours.

Steve Rogers:

Steve isn’t exactly embarrassed by PDA. Sure it wasn’t highly approved of back in the day, but c’mon he was best friends with THE Bucky Barnes, so he was rather used to PDA. So no, Steve wasn’t embarrassed by PDA, it was more that Steve was surprised someone wanted to display PDA with him. Yeah he was bigger and muscular now, but he still remembered all those dates he had been dragged on where the girl didn’t even bother to learn his name, let alone let the rest of the world know they were together. So when you grab his hand and kiss him in front of everyone like you hope the world is watching he’s shocked, rather than embarrassed, that such an amazing and beautiful girl would care to claim him. 

Bucky Barnes:

While it took him a while to warm back up with the idea (just like with everything else), Bucky was soon back to his charming, PDA loving self. While he loves holding your hand, he prefers to place his hand on the small of you back since you can’t wander as far away. And he loves to drop small kisses to your forehead, temple, of nose when you make him laugh (whether from cracking a joke or because you “just look so cute when you’re frustrated”). He also loves leaning his forehead against yours and gently nudging your nose with his when you’re having hushed discussions in the middle of a crowded room. Bucky loves to feel your skin on his in anyway he can. And while he prefers you not hold his metal hand, it’s mostly because he knows he can protect you better if he has it free. 

Bruce Banner:

Surprisingly Bruce doesn’t mind PDA. While he’s almost never the one to initiate it, he’s not about to pull away when you grab his hand and kiss him in public. He likes the kisses you press to his cheek when he knows you’re being possessive, or the ones you press to his lips when he knows you’re drawing strength from him. And even though he loves the kisses you initiate most, he’s not afraid to initiate a few moments of his own. When he needs calming down you can feel his lips press firmly to your temple, or when he’s feeling particularly protective he’ll wrap you up in his arms shooting glares at anyone who gets too near. 

Clint Barton:

It’s not that Clint doesn’t like PDA, it’s more that Clint is too preoccupied watching the world and dangers around him to do anything more than hold your hand or press a quick kiss to your forehead. When you’re out and about he’s often found looking at the guy acting slightly sketchy across the room rather than looking at the shirt you’re trying to make him get. But it’s fine because as soon as your lips make contact with his and he recovers, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, and forgetting about the rest of the world, since his world is wrapped securely in his tight embrace. 

Pietro Maximoff:

Believe it or not, but Pietro actually gets super embarrassed with PDA. Growing up with just him and Wanda, other kids often teased him when he would act sweetly towards his sister. While that never stopped him from caring it has caused him to be slightly more reserved when it came to showing physical affection. It took him a while to get comfortable holding your hand in public (but he eventually got used to it when he realized other guys were staring at what was his, and even though he’s embarrassed by PDA he’s way too possessive to let it slide). But Pietro definitely still blushes when your lips sweep his cheek, and his wide eyes will make a quick sweep of the room to make sure not too many people are watching as he returns the favor.

Thor Odinson:

Thor loves PDA. Too much. It honestly doesn’t matter where you guys are. Whether you’re window shopping in Midtown, or in the middle of SHIELD HQ, he’ll simply sweep you into his arms and kiss you senseless. People have tried to tell him why he isn’t allowed to basically frisk you in front of everyone, but he hasn’t quite gotten it yet. Apparently in Asgard it is a great sign of how successful a King’s reign will be when he loves his Queen enough to show physical affection in public, and he definitely loves his Queen. So while your Midgardian friends may get a little uncomfortable with the way Thor kisses you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive, your Asgardian friends simply cheer at the sign of what surely looks like the greatest reign Asgard will ever see. 

Loki Laufeyson:

Loki kind of hates PDA. He hates looking weak in front of others, and he’ll be honest (with you)- you’re his weakness. So while he’s more than happy to have you stand by his side, he would prefer if you both kept your hands to yourselves until you were in private. The only time his rule wavers is before he goes off to do something stupid and possibly not come back, or after you have done stupid and got hurt. In those few instances he has no qualms about fiercely pressing his lips to yours and letting you feel all of his emotions rolled into that one kiss, no matter who is watching. 

Sam Wilson:

Oh Sam. While he doesn’t like to make out or blatantly show you off in public, he does enjoy small and sweet signs of PDA. He likes to wrap his arms from behind you while you wait in line and hum the jeopardy theme song in your ear. He likes to sneak up behind you while you’re looking at a book and swiftly kiss you on the cheek. He likes to give you eskimo kisses when he knows you’re mad at him. He likes to carry you bridal style to breakfast and to bed when you’re too sleepy to walk and you cuddle into his chest. He loves to show you he loves you in the little things, because he knows that that is what truly matters.

Scott Lang:

Scott is kind of childish in his PDA (like most other things). Think high school boy with his first girlfriend. Heated kisses and some light frisking no matter where you are or who’s watching. His arm’s always around your shoulder to make sure people know you’re his and so he can keep you close. It often makes you roll your eyes because you know he can be sweet and sensitive, but he keeps that to closed doors. He would prefer to make you blush when people find you straddling his lap, or make you laugh when Tony has to loudly clear his throat for the third time because you’re making out in front of his lab… again. It’s what makes Scott, Scott.

T’Challa:

T’Challa is a reserved man. He prefers to keep his private matters private, and that includes you guys’ relationship. So while you guys are out and about the most the paps will ever catch is hand holding or a guiding hand to the small of your back. But that isn’t the full story. Anyone working inside the palace or Avengers HQ will tell you that you two always have skin to skin, but more like lip to lip, contact. The servants and fellow Avengers have seen it all. From T’Challa randomly pushing you up against a wall to “suck your face off”, to him pulling you in for a close dance as he presses his forehead against yours and looks into your eyes as he hums your favorite song to you. T’Challa is a reserved and private man, but still a man who is deeply and madly in love. 

~~~

Again I’m so sorry guys! I hope this is okay! I didn’t have time to edit because I’m just trying to get it out there for you guys, but I hope you enjoy it! I had a lot of fun writing it! (Also there are over 2000 of you?! WHAT?! Love you all dearly!)

Angst/Fluff Prompt List MVPs

This list contains some of my FAVORITE prompts. I tried to make sure it was balanced, but I’m not sure how well I did on that front lol. These are good for ANY fandom! (Please do not steal/repost the list, thank you <3)

  1.  “Stay here tonight.”
  2.  “I’ll keep you warm.”
  3.  “I’ve got you.”
  4.  “You mean too much to me.”
  5.  “I can’t sleep, can I sleep here?”
  6.  “We’ll figure this out.”
  7.  “This isn’t goodbye.”
  8.  “Here let me help you.”
  9.  “Kiss me.”
  10.  “I care about you.”
  11.  “Don’t cry.”
  12.  “Please don’t do this.”
  13.  “You make me feel safe.”
  14.  “I can’t do this on my own.”
  15.  “You have no idea how much I want you right now.”
  16.  “Why are you crying?”
  17.  “Nothing is wrong with you.”
  18.  “Tell me what’s wrong.”
  19.  “Just breathe, okay?”
  20.  “Don’t lie to me.”
  21.  “Who hurt you?”
  22.  “Don’t be scared, I’m right here.”
  23.  “You make me happy.”
  24.  “Don’t be afraid.”
  25.  “Come cuddle.”
  26.  “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
  27.  “I’m not leaving.”
  28.  “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
  29.  “I’ll always be there for you.”
  30.  “You’ve been quiet.”
  31.  “Calm down.”
  32.  “I’m just looking out for you.”
  33.  “No one is perfect.”
  34.  “It’s just you and me.“
  35.  “What’s on your mind?”
  36.  “I think I’m in trouble.”
  37.  “You’re in danger.”
  38.  “I can tell you’re lying.”
  39.  “It’s okay to cry.”
  40.  “Just go away.”
  41.  “I’ll keep you safe.”
  42.  “Are you okay?”
  43.  “Come with me.”
  44.  “I care about you.”
  45.  “Do you hate me?”
  46.  “I’m worried about you.”
  47.  “You look like hell.”
  48.  “It doesn’t matter.”
  49.  “You’re a terrible liar.”
  50.  “Everything is fine.”
  51.  “I don’t wanna be alone right now.”
  52.  “I need help.”
  53.  “I’m not okay.”
  54.  “Talk to me.”
  55.  “What happened last night?”
  56.  “You’re fun to touch.”
  57.  “Stop it.”
  58.  “I made a mistake.”
  59.  “This place is creepy.”
  60.  “Hold still.”
  61.  “We need to talk.”
  62.  “Here take my sweater.”
  63.  “I need a place to stay.”
  64.  “Never stop smiling.”
  65.  “I’ll keep you warm.”
  66.  “Please don’t go.”
  67.  “I hate you.”
  68.  “Get out!”
  69.  “I don’t need you.”
  70.  “I’m not ready to say goodbye.”
  71.  “Carry me.”
  72.  “Do not tempt me.”
  73.  “I missed you.”
  74.  “No one is perfect.”
  75.  “Do you have a problem with me?”
  76.  “Nothing is going to happen to you.”
  77.  “You need to be more careful.”
  78.  “You don’t have to leave.”
  79.  “I don’t feel well.”
  80.  “I didn’t drive all this way to say ‘hey’.”
  81.  “Please don’t hurt me.”
  82.  “I’m on my way.”
  83.  “We’re gonna be okay.”
  84.  “Why didn’t you just call me?”
  85.  “I need to tell you something.”
  86.  “I love your smile.”
  87.  “Are you hurt?”
  88.  “Look at me.”
  89.  “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
  90.  “You need to take your shirt off.”
  91.  “I can’t breathe.”
  92.  “Don’t move.”
  93.  “Are you cold?”
  94.  “Stay there.”
  95.  “I’m a mess.”
  96.  “Please don’t be mad at me.”
  97.  “This is all my fault.”
  98.  “You did what you had to do.”
  99.  “Don’t you ever change.”
  100.  “I love you.”

One-Up (1253 words)

The first time it happens he almost forgets about it afterward – how couldn’t he with Cas dying. But now that he thinks about it he distinctly remembers the way the words slipped from his tongue, the way he desperately tried to put them back in.

… devastatingly handsome friend…” – yeah, he had fucked up then. Thankfully, no one had said anything, and he wouldn’t be Dean Winchester if he couldn’t bullshit his way through, pretending to actually be Cas’ wing man.

It was almost a blessing that Cas was busy dying that evening because the thought of him hitting up with Mandy still leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

The next time it’s at a restaurant and the waitress is obnoxious and weird and definitely not cute, so he has to say something, right? Right?

“Want some dessert, sweetheart?” she asks, her eyes never once leaving Cas.

“Actually, he doesn’t need dessert, he’s already sweet enough,” Dean answers for Cas and takes pride in the way her smile falters for a moment. Sam doesn’t comment, so Dean takes it as a success. 

(And if Cas complains on the drive home that he actually wanted dessert, well, that’s not his fault.)

After that, it’s a competition, a compulsion, to indulge in the flirtations only for as long as it takes to make it clear that Cas is his. Not that he is, not really, but no one needs to know that.

It’s not like Cas will ever see these women again. Really, he’s just doing him a service because Cas certainly doesn’t want to have regrettable one night stands right? Right.

Dean comes across as an asshole more times than once, but he doesn’t care. The incidents are numerous, both a reminder how hot Cas actually is (not that he particularly needs one) and a reminder how much fate hates him.

“Hey, beautiful, what can I bring you?” – “Well, my stunningly beautiful friend here” (the emphasis is important) “Likes his coffee black, as I would know.”

“Care to show me where you got that tie from? And maybe wanna show me how to put it on?” – “Actually, if you want to know, I put it on for him, every day, thank you.”

“Hey, you think you could give me the phone number of your sexy friend over there?” – “Sure. It’s 1234-FUCKOFF. Want me to write it down?”

Okay, that last time had been at a bar, with Cas and Sam sitting on the far edge in a corner booth, and that was probably better for all because no way he could have spun that into just a snarky remark, a humorous attempt to one-up her. Not that he wanted to, what did the bartender think she was?

The next time, the waitress doesn’t back down. It’s on the time they walk into the bar; he can see her watching Cas hungrily and coming over almost immediately after they sat down.

“Hey guys,” she waves at them before turning her attention completely on Cas. “What can I get you, sugar?”

“Coffee, black, no sugar. At all.” Dean doesn’t even try to hide his discontent.

“Oooh,” she says and pretends to adjust her name tag – Mandy, another proof that fate was out to get him –, effectively pushing her breasts out of the shirt. Or maybe that’s just his jealousy, who knows. Bottom line, she’s definitely attractive and he prays to God that Cas isn’t interested.

“I see now,” Mandy continues. “You need something else to sweeten up your day, right?”

Cas’ first instinct is to look at Dean, bless him, so that gives Dean the chance to retort: “Oh no, he’s already sweet enough. More and he’ll get diabetes and you don’t want that, right, honey?” His voice is dripping with sarcasm now.

Sam clears his throat. “I want – ” he starts but Mandy interrupts him.

“Why don’t we let your friend” (and this emphasis was clearly uncalled for) “decide what he wants?” she asks sourly.

Still none the wiser, Cas looks at the menu and up to Mandy. “Dean is right, I don’t like sugar in my coffee,” he says. Sam snorts.

This isn’t the end of this – far from it. Every time she comes back, she has another cheap flirtation on her lips and every time Dean has to scramble up the best retorts. It’s getting annoying and, frankly, frustrating, because by now she must have realized that Cas is taken?

(Well, not taken, but definitely not available.)

But she seems completely unfazed and, Dean is sure of it, almost fascinated by the competition. The worst part is at the end; she brings them two bills – Sam and Dean together, Cas’ coffee on a separate one – and even from across the table Dean can see that she wrote her number down on it, complete with a heart and all.

Hey,” he says before he can stop it.

“What?” she asks innocently. “Did you guys want separate bills, too?”

“No, actually, I wanted to pay for Cas’ coffee.”

“Oooh,” she says for the second time in the day and Dean feels the urge to slap something, a brick wall, a pillow, a kitten, something. She taps her finger against her cheek, seemingly trying to understand the situation. “So you bring a chaperon to all your dates? That’s not classy.” She winks at Sam and lays down the other bill in front of him.

Well, if she thinks that insinuating he’s gay is going to make him back off then oh boy she’s got the wrong target. Right now, Dean is so fucking exasperated that she’s still trying to get in Cas’ pants that he would scream ‘I’m fucking gay for Cas’ from the roof tops, so he almost shouts: “Oh, no, no such thing. We’re well past the dating stage, sweety.”

Which is the stupidest thing in the history of stupid things he’s ever said – because that’s not innuendo, that’s not even remotely true, and he can feel Sam roll his eyes and say “Dude!” at the same time that Cas tilts his head to look at him confused.

At least that makes Mandy shut up, if only for a while until she regains her snark and says: “Must be one hell of a relationship then where you don’t even kiss each other one time in two hours.” 

(Which, true, he should have thought that through.)

 “So if you’re interested in…  pursuing something better for you, I’ve got just the thing,” she continues, tapping on Cas’ bill and that’s enough, that’s fucking enough, he’s had it with this bullshit, so he stands up and runs the two steps to Cas’ chair, violently jerking him upwards and planting a kiss on his mouth.

He can hear Sam mumbling and Mandy exclaiming ohmygod and also, most importantly, he can hear Cas sighing and feel him smiling and deepening the kiss, and – ohmygod, they’re actually kissing, and his anger dissolves almost immediately. Cas is kissing back and he seems happy and right now, Dean couldn’t care less about Mandy and Sam and all the other customers who are probably wondering what the fuck just happened.

They break apart after what seems like an eternity and Dean can’t hide his smug grin. Sam’s face is buried in his hands and Cas calmly puts a few bills from his pocket on the table. “I’ll pay for both. Keep the change.”

Fuck, Cas is actually almost as sassy as him, and that just makes Dean love him even more.

Why can’t we all just

Gather all the ships!! Klance, Sheith, Hance, Allurance!! Rarepairs!! Bring them all!

Let’s all have a seat and y'know have some tea!

Everyone would just chat about cute headcanons about their ships together!!

And there’s no fighting! Just support! Support their headcanons and AUs! Hell, even give them a few ideas or suggestions of your own!

Example:

“Honestly I feel like Klance would really work if the setting was in an autumn month. The falling leaves, bundling up, decorating for the holidays? Cute shit amirite?”

“That is cute!! Honestly I had the same idea, but with Allurance, they would just curl up by the tv with hot cocoa and watch movies!”

“I see Kidge as the type of couple to have a full out fucking war in the leaves”

“Omg that would be adorable”

“Okay but hance? Grocery shopping for Thanksgiving. Hell yeah, Hunk’s gonna teach his bf the ways of the kitchen.”

“What if Shiro took Keith shopping for warm clothes, but he just refused to wear all the knitted things bc Shiro says it ‘looks adorable on him’”

“These are all adorable and someone should write these down”



Why can’t the fandom just get along and support each other’s ships instead of hating each other for them??

anonymous asked:

richie crying, eddie comforting him, I NEED IT

Thank you so much for sending this… I didn’t realise how badly I needed to read/write this until I got this ask

(Note: they are both, again, 18 in this. Okay let’s be real, in all of my reddit writings Eddie and Richie will ALWAYS be 18)


Eddie could see it clear as day: how Richie was slowly distancing himself from the group, and how, when he did hang out with the losers, his jokes were getting more and more frequent. The rest of the losers couldn’t see it as well as Eddie could, but they just didn’t know the older boy the way that Eddie did.

It was a Friday afternoon and the losers were doing what they had been doing every Friday since they met: sitting by the quarry in a circle, passing around bags of lollies, making up jokes, and telling each other stories from their week at school.

Everyone was sitting criss-cross on the small rocks by the water, dust and dirt spread all over their legs. Eddie, though he was sat in the same position, had a towel placed underneath him to avoid anything out of the ordinary touching his skin.

“Did you guys hear that rumour that Henry spread around?” Beverly said, her head turning side to side and looking at each person in the group.

Richie kept his head down, staring at his hands in his lap as if he’d never seen anything more interesting in his entire life. However the rest of the group all shook their heads no and motioned for Beverly to continue.

“He’s been telling everyone that he read Richie’s journal and in it he said he was gay!”

“What!?” Ben exclaimed. “What a stupid rumour!”

The rest of the group nodded their heads and laughed along, yet Richie simply didn’t move once. Eddies giggles slowed down when he noticed this, and he moved closer to Richie.

“Hey, it’s just a dumb thing that Henry made up,” Eddie said as he placed a hand on Richie’s knee, attempting to cheer the older boy up. “No one believes it, don’t worry!”

“Yeah, man,” Mike jumped in. “None of us believe the shit that comes out of Bowers’ mouth.”

Richie’s head snapped up and he stared intently at Mike. The look on his face wasn’t happiness like Mike was expecting, however it wasn’t a look of sadness or anger either. Simply a look. And as fast as his head has risen, Richie was up and running through the trees and out into the street.

“Well, th-that was weird,” Bill pointed out. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement except for Eddie. The small boy was still staring at the spot in the trees where Richie has disappeared into, and suddenly it made sense. Why Richie hardly ever hung out with everyone anymore. And why, when he did, he was so far away, like he wasn’t even listening to what people were saying. He’d just crack his inappropriate jokes, then leave as fast as he had arrived.

But Eddie had put it together. It was true - the rumour. It was the only explanation.

“I’ll get him,” Eddie said quickly. He didn’t bother waiting for anyone to protest and he dashed off into the trees in search of his friend.

As he exited the trees, he was expecting to have to run all over town in an attempt to find Richie. What Eddie wasn’t expecting though, was for Richie to be sat on the pavement directly across the road. He had his knees shoved underneath his chin, his hands pressed into his face and a pair of violently shaking shoulders.

Well, this was certainly a sight that Eddie had never seen in all his years of knowing Richie. Richie was the smart ass kid who had a comeback for everything. He didn’t get sad. He didn’t storm off. And he certainly didn’t cry. Ever.

Eddie looked both ways numerous time before running across the road. Richie heard the heavy foot steps and gently pulled his hands away from his face. He looked up and saw the smaller boy standing next to him, a look of pure understanding and sympathy plastered all over his soft features.

“It’s not just a rumour, is it?” Eddie whispered as he placed a hand on Richie’s shoulder. As much as he wanted to sit on the pavement next to the sad boy, he couldn’t even begin to imagine how many bugs and dust and dirt were spread all over the cement. He regretted not grabbing his towel before he ran away from the group.

Richie didn’t reply. He simply put his head back in his hands and began sobbing once more.

Eddie didn’t know what to do. He had never been very good at comforting people, let alone comforting a crying Richie of all people.

“Oh, fuck it,” Eddie muttered to himself. He sat down on the pavement, pushing all of those thoughts of germs far into the back of his mind, and pulled Richie’s hands away from his face.

“Do you hate me?” Richie whispered with his head still looking down. It was so soft that Eddie almost didn’t hear. Almost.

“Are you serious?” Eddie said, a defensive chuckle escaping his lips. He reach forward and grabbed Richie’s face in his small hands. “There will never be a single moment in time where I will hate you. Ever. Do you hear me?”

Richie nodded, and Eddie wiped the tears that were streaming down the older boys’ face.

“That’s why I’ve been avoiding you so much. I didn’t want you to know I liked you,” Richie sniffed.

Eddies eyes widened. Well, he wasn’t expecting that.

“Wha- what did you just say?”

“You didn’t know?” Richie asked. Eddie shook his head, eyes still as big as his face. “Oh. Fuck.”

Eddies hands never left Richie’s face as the tears started to calm down. The feeling of the smaller boys’ finger tips (Jack Dylan) graz(er)ing over his cheeks helped settle the sniffles and soon enough Richie was giggling uncontrollably. Eddie looked back up to Richie, confused thoughts running through his head as he wondered what Richie could possibly be laughing at when this was such a serious time.

“What? What’s so funny?!” Eddie questioned.

“This is just so weird!” Richie giggled. He wrapped his hands around eddies wrists and pecked him on the cheek, a wide smile making its way onto his face as he pulled away. Eddie could still feel the linger of Richie’s soft curls on his face, and shortly after he too was giggling uncontrollably.

Before they knew it, both boys were laying back on the pavement, arms wrapped around their stomachs and howls of laughter erupting from their mouths. The laid there for what felt like forever, chuckling even more when they’d open their eyes and look at each other.

After a few minutes, Eddie opened his eyes at the same time as Richie, yet no sounds came out of either of them. The stayed laying on the footpath, staring into each other eyes until Richie finally leapt up and onto eddies lap so that he was straddling the tiny boy.

“Wha- what are you doing, Rich?” Eddie asked. Richie didn’t say anything. He just put his hands on either side of Eddie’s head, leant down, and gently placed his lips on top of Eddie’s. So light, like a soft breeze washing over them.

Eddie couldn’t believe how right it felt. How nice and how gentle. And he couldn’t believe he was actually kissing back until he grabbed Richie’s plump cheeks and attempted to pull their faces even closer together. If that were at all possible.

They pulled away, foreheads resting against one another’s and hot breaths coming out of their mouths.

“Well, I didn’t know how badly I wanted that until it happened,” Eddie breathed out, a light giggle escaping his lips.

“I’ve always known how badly I wanted that.”

Post catws, after failing to find Bucky for about 5 months, Steve comes home from the grocery store and checks his answer phone messages while he puts stuff away. The first one is Fury informing him of another mission the day after next, the second is drunk Tony demanding he comes to the party, and a few other random ones that Steve listens to, until the sixth message, which starts with a few seconds of silence, before rapid fire Russian, Steve knows its Bucky.

Ten minutes later, Steve is playing the message for Nat, who wears a serious expression at first before she starts laughing and looking up at Steve with an odd expression. Steve is getting increasingly frustrated and demands to hear it from the start, so he plays it again and listens to the angry Russian for a few seconds before Nat pauses it.

“Direct translation?” She asks and Steve nods. “‘You fucking meatball, what were you thinking covering a grenade with your body, like you are some unlimited resource, and can be spared. What the fuck were you thinking, I leave you alone for five minutes…’ do you want me to continue?”

Basically the two minute long message is Bucky angry ranting at Steve in Russian for all the dumb shit he remembers. “’I know you stole my shirt you asshole.’” Is the last thing Nat translates before the call abruptly ends. “What shirt?” Nat asks but Steve doesn’t say anything, instead he stands up to retrieve the aforementioned shirt to show Nat, Bucky’s shirt that he stole before Bucky went to war, since it smelt like him…. 

“That little shit stole it back! He fucking stole it!” Steve yells as he walks out of his room, and Nat doubles over laughing.