i was not even born when you dreamt of open water

So, I totally dreamt about Destiel going canon last night.

I think in part because what Kathryn said at the con, which people are still trying to figure out what she could mean that wouldn’t involve Destiel, but are coming up with nothing. Then again, what the show seems to thinks would make majority of people happy (while make some others unhappy), as opposed to what would make majority of fandom happy (while making a few unhappy) has a while margin of error as far as not matching up.

Which I know, but my brain apparently wasn’t having that.

So in the dream, I am watching Supernatural, and didn’t realize I was dreaming until the end when I woke up because “This is too good to be true”.

Backstory on the things that I knew had happened leading up to this scene: Mary and Mick both left the BMOL, Mick now working with the Winchesters and basically using everything he knows to help improve the American MOL with the Winchesters.

Due to their inability and desperation to find Kelly (now that they know Lucifer is free and in a stable vessel- thanks, Crowley), the Winchesters basically trap and capture a demon, then torture it to talk, since they know for a fact, demons would also be scrambling for Lucifer’s baby, while not falling under Lucifer’s control again, because literally, first opportunity, he was Camp God again last season, so the demons are wanting a new ruler, to be raised by one of the Princes of Hell.

Kelly, of course, trusts the demons at this point, because they are the only ones going out of their way to protect her and her unborn child, and even dying for her, while angels and hunters are out to get her. Under torture, the demon finally admits that the demons have Kelly at a lake beach house and are planning to kill her as soon as her son is born for part of a ritual to ensure the child’s soul is tainted and dark from birth, since parentage actually has nothing to do with whether or not a Nephilim would be evil.

So, Dean, Sam, Mary, Mick, and Cas all set out on a rescue mission at this point, because Kelly is getting very close to giving birth- like within 24hrs. They set out on a night mission to take the demons by surprise, since they won’t be expecting them. In the demons paranoia, though, they specifically chose the beach property for the fact that they only have to guard three directions, and the body of water wide open to a wall of windows protects itself, where as the other three sides are surrounded by woods.

So you have the Winchesters creeping forward through the trees and brush, silently taking out any demons sentries they see, while Mick and Castiel are coming forward on the other side of the house doing the same.

When they manage to make it from the trees to the sand of the yard without incident, save for Mick and Cas still aren’t there,  they’re actually optimistic they can do this. Kelly is safe so long as the baby lives within her, and they had to have taken out probably half the demons not standing guard near the steps or on the porch, which can be easily seen in the light of the full moon and clear sky. After all of this getting so screwed up to this point, trying to hunt a victim and an innocent baby, Lucifer going free and currently planning to launch some sort of major assault, they’re glad they have the opportunity to maybe fix some of it, right here, right now, undo their past mistakes and also not give Lucifer what he wants.

Except, as they step out into the sandy yard, the demons near the house all smile, and then start to retreat in the house, closing window shutters and basically barricading the place while more demons come from the lake view side of the house and from out of the trees they’d just come through, and the Winchesters realize this entire thing was a trap set for them.

Intense and desperate fight scene in the yard with just three of the five team members all fighting hard and dirty because of how very outnumbered and caught by surprise they are. To which they win, but only just, Sam pulling himself up off the sand, wiping blood from his face and cradling bruised if not cracked ribs, while Mary and Dean both finish off their last opponents. Dean moving to check on his brother, while Mary finishes hers off, all of them trying to catch their breath as the final body hits the ground, until more people come running through the trees. Their eyes all go wide, and Mary turns at the sound, angel blade in hand, ready for a second wave of demons, plunging her sword forward- straight into Castiel, whose eyes go wide in stunned pain, hair a mess, and sporting various cuts and scrapes from his and Mick’s own fight with the demons, when they realized it was a trap as well.

Mary’s hand flies free of the blade handle, backing away just as a frantic Dean shoots forward, “No, no, no! Cas!” “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see-” Dean grabbing Cas by the lapels of his coat and helping ease him down to sit against a wood pile. Cas pulls a bloody hand away from the sword protruding from his body, panicked expression turning to Dean as he struggles to breath, both of them knowing full well as soon as the sword is pulled out, Cas will instantly die, though he’s dead already.

Mick wipes a hand over his mouth in horror, and Mary is still apologizing, and Dean holds out a hand, cutting her off.

“We still have to save Kelly. You three get in there. I’ll follow. I just-” He looks down at the sword, then looks to Castiel, as Mick gathers Mary and the three of them dash toward the house as the clock ticks down. They can hear Kelly crying out with labor pains from inside. When Dean looks at Cas, a question in his eyes, hand hovering near the sword, Cas frantically nods his agreement, hands curling in Dean’s coat as he braces himself.

Dean swallows and nods, pained and torn, but knowing nothing is going to change what’s happening, and there is no last minute miracle to be had here.

Their heads are bent close together, and he whispers, “Okay, on three. One, two-”

And Cas tenses, a sudden panicked moment of ‘Oh God, don’t blame yourself for this, it wasn’t your fault-’ as he blindly jerks his head up, screwing his eyes shut and pressing him mouth to Dean’s ‘-I love you’, only barely catching the corner of his mouth, just as Dean yanks the sword out in a blinding flash of light, 

Then the light fades, and we see both Dean and Cas still holding onto each other with their heads down and eyes clamped shut, which suddenly pop open, Dean’s in pain, knowing what he’ll see, and Cas in shock and confusion he’s still alive, both of them staring wide-eyed at each other not sure what just happened or how, and literally both of them looking back and forth for a half-second where Cas’ wings should be across the sand, then back at each other, still not understanding.

“You okay?” Dean asks, voice shaky and unnerved.

Cas looks just as shaken. “I-I think?” he manages, startled silent as Dean quickly presses his mouth fully to Castiel’s.

Pulling back, Dean lowers his head on a shaky, heaved sigh. “Thank you, Chuck.” Then he’s handing Cas his weapon, and taking the one he just pulled out of him, still stained in Cas’ blood, before pulling him to his feet. “C’mon. We still have to go save Kelly and her baby.”

And then the two of them dart forward across the sandy yard and toward the house where the first sounds of a fight have begun, and Cas keeps to himself the fact that while he’s physically fine, he knows something is different about him, though he doesn’t have time to confirm, but he thinks- he thinks- he may be human now, with a silent understanding from Chuck of This is the last time I’ll do this.

…And then I woke up.

Can I please write for the show now??????

Binary Star

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jaebum / Mark

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3,790

Summary: In some cases, these close binary systems can exchange mass, which may bring their evolution to stages that single stars cannot attain.”

You and Jaebum have been dating forever when Mark Tuan shows up in your classroom. You’ve always been against change - a bit debilitating, being a writer - but for some reason this new kid has you thinking there might be an upside to chaos. 

Originally posted by justmarkbum


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Bad Girl: Sad Boy || Kim Namjoon (A)

Picture mine

Story dedicated to the lovely @norikoazami

Namjoon x reader

Genre: Some angst, served with a side of fluffy, sprinkled with a bit of smut, and drizzled with some more heartfelt angst.

Word Count: 3,560

~ Took a quick break from Summer Boy this weekend. Hope you all don’t mind! I wanted to write this story while it was still fresh and I had the motivation for it. Enjoy ♡


I made my way down the alley, short heels sliding on the wet pavement. The humidity after the rain lingered in the warm night. The air hitting through the ripped holes of my jet black jeans. The cars of the busy highway could be heard off in the distance, while everything around me was silent. The white street lights lit my path through the abandoned alleyway, leading to the abandoned lot after the buildings. I heard a small crash from one of the dumpsters at my right, followed by a black cat running from out of it.

Finally reaching the empty lot, almost empty except for a single car. His car only. I could already make of his tall figure sitting up on the hood of his old Chevy Malibu. My steps approaching him was the only nearby noise but he didn’t even try to look. He only moved every time he brought the dull cigarette from his lips. He was staring off into the distance of the city skyline, so far away and yet so close.

I ran my hand over the faded paint of his car, looking up at him as he was illuminated under the street light above us. The light made strong highlights and contours on his beautiful structured face. I walked over to the front of the car, leaning against it and took a look at what he gazed off to.

   “What are you doing?” His voice was deep and sounded dry of any emotions. Yet is was like silk to me and caused a feeling of shudder.

   “Wasting my time and wasting your life,” I answered over-honestly. I could see the smoke that had just left his mouth, die away in the air from the corner of my eye.

  “I meant here, with me.” I knew what he meant. He knew that too. I could feel his eyes burning a hole through me without having to look back. My body always naturally reacted that way from his stare.

   “Does the answer really change Namjoon?” His name tasted like old honey on my lips every time I pronounced it.

He wasn’t my boyfriend because we both hated titles. I did, however, love him, though. He lived for love and loved his addiction and me too. Being a lover on the side might not sound appealing to some but for me, I wouldn’t have any other way. He was worth having in your life in any way. He has a fire and he walks with it, he had a fire but talks with fame. He was a born philosopher and longed for anything and everything. He prayed for love and for peace and anything new. He created big dreams and still settled for small conditions. He never rejected the people he met, he once told me everyone was worthy and full of unknown knowledge and potential. Even someone like me. I don’t know if I believed all that but damn could that boy talk. Talk and talk like he knew it all but most of the timed talked about wanting to know more.

He walked into my workplace about seven months ago. The moment my eyes landed on him and his on mine, it was the first time I had that burning sensation. When I saw the fire he held around him. He sat and watched me through my entire performance, never had I been so distracted, five full songs later and he met me at the bar. Then my broken smile touched him unexpectedly. I was more of a hard rock and he grew up on hip-hop but I had never felt like I’ve gotten to know anyone so well by knowing nothing at all. That was the first night I dreamt of Kim Namjoon and after that, he was everywhere and he was everyone. I did not see him for almost a full month until he showed up once again outside of the bar I worked at. He had approached me with concern as to why my face of an angel was all he thought about. He had first come to the bar on his way to another town and when he got there, all he could think of was coming back. He was convinced there was something meant for him here and it started with me. I clung to him like safety and we could not be separated. I learned more about him and his lust for knowledge and everything he was deprived off as a child. He was full faith believer, opening up to the wonders of his mind and the world we shared.

That’s when I knew he’s what I needed. He was that one percent of the world that didn’t follow the norm. He taught me what no school, no class ever could. He eased my impulsive behavior and made me want to become more like him. So since we’ve met, I’ve tried hard to not get into trouble but there was a war in my mind that I could not contain. I only ever wanted to have fun, letting my immature heart show me the way. I may not be the only one, who regrets the things they’ve done but seems to be only me, who can still stand that reflection that I see. It’s been so long since I’ve been able walked down the street where I grew up and smile at the people who once knew me. Most of them look away or just don’t recognize me during the light of day. I had created myself on pure sin and self-destruction long before Namjoon. He was Plato and I was his Bonnie on the side.

  “Shouldn’t you be working at this hour?” He asked more specifically. A cough erupted from his chest probably after a strong drag from his cigarette. He didn’t offer me any, knowing I would reject it anyway.

     “I quit.” I could hear the bottom of his shoe hit against the metal of the car. I took in a deep breath, the kind you take right before a doctor stabs you with an injection. Preparing for what was to come next.

   “What are you talking about?” His voice had cut off the monotone expression and spoke with angered worry. “You can’t be serious. You need that money (Y/n).”

   “I don’t want it!” He huffed behind me like he was about to laugh, that’s how I knew he was upset. He tossed the remains of his cigarette on the floor in front of me, the car was shifting as he made his way down from it.

   “Don’t be stupid (Y/n). How else are you going to pay for your education?” I rolled my eyes as he was going to begin to lecture me, which I had learned to usually love. but not when it came to this. “You’ve been saving up money to go back to school and now you’re just going to quit?” He took everything I did too personal. As if I were purposely trying to annoy him with my life choices.

  “Yeah okay. That’s how easy it is, right?” He was standing on his feet, facing me but I would only give him my profile. “I go to back school, graduate, get some shit job. Work all my life until I get pregnant, have a bunch of kids and then just wait to die old.” That’s what he wanted. The life everyone wanted and aspired too. “I don’t want that. I want to do more and live in other ways.”

   “You have the chance to go to school. Do you know how much I envy that?” I crossed my arms over my chest. I knitted my brows as my eyes began to water from anger. “Do you want to spend your life like me? Going from place to place, never having a home or a chance?”

   “Yes! I want to leave here Namjoon, go see what else is out there!” I turned to face him with pleading eyes. Pleading for him to understand me.

  “There is nothing out there for people like me, (Y/n). This is your best chance.” I stepped closer to him. Grabbing at the loose material of his shirt, clinging onto him and bringing him closer.

   “Take me with you.” He signed, gently taking my wrists in his hands. “There is nothing here for me Namjoon. Please.” He stopped trying to fight me for a moment, actually looking me in the eyes, not liking how they teared up.

    “What about your family? You can’t just leave them.” He was willing to play any card. Anything that he could think of to make me change my mind.

    “They don’t need me. I’m old enough to go on my own…” It was him who told me that I needed to my decisions for myself and not others, even if that meant causing others pain. I had already done that enough to my family.  “Their lives are better off without me anyway.”

His shirt slipped out of my softening grip, I turned away from his face in shame. It was true and he knew that, he would just never admit it. I was waiting for him to respond with another argument but I was surprised when he grabbed me by my arms and pulled me against him. He pressed his lips against mine, tasting like bitter tobacco and sweetened coffee. He kissed me slowly, like he always did, slow but warm and meaningful. His lips were just as soft and plump every time. His fire aura could be felt in my body when he touched me and kissed me like this. From the beginning, he warned me that he could get up and leave at any time, out of the blue with little to no warning. Which might be why he always kissed like it was the last time.

   “Don’t…Don’t ever say that again.” He had his nose brush against mine, foreheads connected. He hand cupped my cheek, using his thumb to clear my face from a tear, that I hadn’t even noticed slip out. I nodded my head lightly, leaning my cheek against the comforting softness of his palm. Namjoon leaned up and kissed my forehead, pulling me into his chest and wrapping his arms around me. I could hear his heartbeat, like a drum playing a beautiful melody. His cheek rested on top of my head and messy hair. He didn’t pull away not even when it began to pour rain. “I’ll take you home.”


I opened the door to my small and ragged studio apartment, the sound of our wet shoes muddying up the floor as we stepped in. It wasn’t a nice place but it was all mine and here no one could bother me or be bothered by me. Namjoon walked through my place already familiar with its structure and where everything was. Going straight to my wardrobe to pull clothes for the both of us, while I grabbed a towel from the bathroom.

There was already had a drawer of his clothes in there for him. Namjoon would usually stay in his car or in a motel but since coming here, there was one night where I trusted him enough to allow him to stay the night. That same night I found myself sneaking out of my bed to the couch with him as he laid awake. On that couch is where we made love for the first time. It was a feeling I won’t forget, the feeling of falling in love for the first time. He’s had me feeling everything, from hate to lust, from lust to love and love to truth, that’s where he has me now. Stuck between our fantasy love and the painful truth.

We both got changed into dry clothes before I asked him to spend the night with me. I’ve been growing undependable to not have him close since the first time. We both let ourselves enjoy each others company despite the effect it was having on our lives. He stopped traveling to stay here and I stopped living to keep him here. I was a nonbeliever with a foolish dream to start my life over by not doing anything at. Now believing that having him by side will show me the way out of my mind.

   “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you but,” He laid in my bed with me by his side, legs, and feet entangled under the sheets for warmth. “I will love you more than you will ever know.”

His voice soothed the severe thoughts in my head for a perfect moment. His hands ran up my back with my leg swung over his waist. My head rested next to his as I ran my hand through the thick stands of his hair.

   “I want your love and all of your love without having any regrets.” Namjoon’s hand ran down my back and to my leg that was hooked around him. He grabbed the back of my thigh and pulled me on top of his chest.

   “Baby I want you to know how much I love you,” He held me with no space between us, I was pressed against him by his own demanding hands. “How much I need you.” He guided my lips onto his. Running his mouth over mine with passionate longing. My eyes shut gently, taking in deep breaths through my nose, his hands making goosebumps form over my surface. Taking in the taste only his lips allowed.  I slid myself off his chest, to move up closer to his lips, afraid to disconnect them. He had me in flames.

He pulled off my clothes, positioning my legs on either side of his hips. Not pulling away from his kiss for even a moment. It took my breath away and was the most pleasant feeling of suffocation there was. He admired my body, worshiped it while I gave myself over to him like many times before. I could beg him for pleasure and would go to him blind after dreaming about his every night this week. His hands caressed and his fingers dug into the bare skin of my intimacy. Making every inch of my skin burn up at his command. Soft moans fell onto his lips while they still pressed against mine. They were moist and tender from all the physical friction. He pushed my hips to grind against his hard crotch. Namjoon was mellow when it came to be vocally honestly about how good he felt during our lovemaking sessions. He was loud, grunt and groaned at the feeling as our beautiful bodies collided, bumped, and grind.

He led me to sit on his length, everything in us stood still, our breaths and moans stopped, to enjoy the union of our bodies as one. He was part of me and I was part of him, and the fire that he had in his soul was burning up inside me. He held me close, closer than ever before, bringing my hips to the rhythm of our hearts. Our bodies mixed in sweat and arousal. I watched his eyes, big pools of warmth and mystery. They seem to draw you in, making you feel lost yet at ease. His tranquilizing voice only adding to his attraction and appeal, urging you to try and figure him out even if you can’t.

He spoke my name like is was a secret of the universe; like it was the only name he ever needed to know. His hands tightened around my hips driving me faster and harder to our climaxes. He wanted it more than anything, he searched for the feeling of ecstasy in our pleasure, sharing the high and feeding off each others euphoria. My whimpers became likes cries of pain. The pleasure ripping through my vocal cords as his encouragement. My hands scratched at his soft skin, making him grunt at the slight pain that he enjoyed.

  “N-Namjoon… my god!” I struggled to speak what I wanted. My head was feeling hazy and the words could just barely came out. I wanted to tell him how good he felt, how well he made me feel. How no one had ever taken me like he had but he already knew that.

   “Yes! That’s it (Y/n), baby. Yes!” He tossed his head back, his neck vein throbbing out and gripping my hand tightly. My body began to tremble over his, his fingers were locked with mine keeping me from escaping and only being with him. His fire spread through every inch of my body taking me high out of this world and to our own.

My legs laid numb against his, his arms kept my naked sweat glistening body warm without the covers that were kicked to the foot of the bed. I was back where I started the night, my head by his and leg swung around his waist. I watched how his chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing, how his hair stuck around his sweaty forehead, eyes being a muted high while sober. He was the most beautiful thing the universe could have created, an absolute dream. He once told me that everything that is beautiful had to be once broken to become that way, that’s what gave it value and worth. He was broken and I couldn’t fix him or make him better but I could wait, wait a million years if he needed. All he had to do was call for me and I would come running, through storms and oceans. One day the world would realize his worth and love him, so I loved him before they all did.

 “So can you love me?” He suddenly said. My hand rubbed on his chest, feeling how it vibrated as he spoke, “When my mystery fades and you’re used to my face, until you can’t love me?”

  “Yes but until then,” I ran my hand down his cheek, turning his face to look at mine, stroking where his dimpled showed in a smile. “Baby I’ve got you.”


I woke up the next morning with the sheets tucked around me, a loud shutting sound is what brought me awake. The sun was barely coming up and it made a light gray color shine in through the blinds. I turned around onto my back in the empty bed to find Namjoon standing by my wardrobe, taking his clothes out of his drawer. He was changed into his dry clothes from last night and his actions seemed slow and hesitant. He stopped, as he felt me staring at him, his eyes found me reading an apologizing sorrow look on them. I felt my heart sink out of my chest and a painful feeling of dread overwhelmed me. Still, I brought myself to foolishly ask him,

   “W-what are you doing?” I gulped as my mouth seemed to dry. He looked down at the bag he clenched in his hand and let it drop to the floor, with a thud on the wood. He stepped over it and took a seat on my side of the bed. The sheets were pressed against my bare chest as he tried to take a hold of my hands. Like he always did, when he was about to speak the cold bitter truth.

   “(Y/n) I-” I yanked my hand away from his touch and bit my lip to keep it from letting out anything stupid. “You knew I couldn’t stay here…” He signed. Namjoon looked down to his lap and hands I had reject for the first time.

   “So you were just going to leave without-!” I stopped myself and shook my head, turning away from him. “Of course you were…” I mumbled to myself.

I knew of this. How love could be mean and how it hurt but it was only his love that burned and bled. So I sat and watched him gather all of this belongings. Packing everything that would ever remind me that he existed and was ever in my life. He was removing himself from me and could not leave anything that I could cling onto desperately.

   “I will love you till the end of time,” Namjoon mumbled against my ear, arms holding me like a python. I took in the scent of his skin, coffee, cigarettes, and honey. “Promise to remember that you’re mine (Y/n)…”

    “I could wait a million years.”

Someone like Kim Namjoon was a like a butterfly, beautiful and fragile. Could only be admired from afar and if you got too close, you risked destroying it. He flew away for his own safety and was a victim to his wanderlust. He left because he was sure he would come back, this was where he knew he was meant to be. But he got here too soon, there was still so much more he needed to see and learn about himself. He left now because now he was sure that he would have something to come back for. He will come back for me one day. He was giving me time to find my own safety and clarity without him. I might be just a low life bad girl but he too, was a sad boy with a lust for everything.


Unexpected (Part 2)

Summary: 
Getting married to Willas Tyrell was never in your plans but a princess has to do what the people expect from her. It was also never in your plans that he would be a man so different from what you first imagined, or that would captivate you so easily. 
Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, after all. 
Pairing: Willas Tyrell x Princess!Reader
Other Characters: Cersei Lannister; Unnamed Handmaiden
Word Counting: 1.2k words
Chapter: 2/?
Warnings: This is set around season 3. Reader is barely 18 and Willas is on his late 20’s so that may be a bit weird to you guys. I kind of imagine Willas like Jared Padalecki but it’s just me. 

The only advantage you’ve had in your life above Joffrey was that King Robert had actually tried to spend time with you. You were the first child, an adorable baby with an easy laugh and curious for the longest time of your life. When Joffrey was born, you lost your spot as Robert’s favourite for a while until he realised Joffrey was a terrible child and didn’t give him as much attention as you did.

When Robert died, Cersei had taken your education to a different direction. Your duty was now to marry and be the perfect example of the sister of a young king. When Myrcella left to Dorne you explicitly not allowed crying or showing any hard emotion, as well as in the Battle of Blackwater: recently, you’ve earned the fame of being a calm and quiet young woman, who didn’t waste words in useless matters, always standing by her bother’ and mother’s side during the audiences.

When your grandfather arrived with news it wasn’t surprising to you: You were to be married to Willas Tyrell in a fortnight, time enough for him to reach the town, for the important people to be present and for your dress to be made. The day was today, though, and you were holding yourself as hard as you could no to break down right in front of the sept while then septon started the ceremony.

“My princess.” Your handmaiden stood by your side in worry when she noticed your paleness.

“I’m just dizzy.”

They said Willas Tyrell was a cripple man, broken beyond the maester’s skills to repair. Margaery had promised you her brother was gentle and kind but that didn’t calm you down.

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Side Story: Betrothed (Stronger Together)

A/N: Country bumpkin ain’t a man who likes to wait. —–

I woke up this morning with a determination, and a strange hunch.

Zelda isn’t doin’ well today.

The mirror door was unmoved, so my head assumed she was fine, and proceeded with the usual drill: get up, early morning training with the soldiers, then breakfast, then specialized training, then paperwork, then lunch.

And after all that, whatever her sweet heart desires.

Actually, nope.

She dives daily into that darn pile of papers - shucks, I bet it’ll disappear the day hell freezes over - for a couple of hours.

These days have been the exception though.

‘Cause she is mine now.

Rembemberin’ any moment of the last four days makes me crazy happy. And to think I almost convinced myself I didn’t deserve any of it.

Now, despite my hunch, I’m headin’ to Auru’s studio, ‘cause I gotta ask him something concerning the relationship Zelda and I are havin’ from now on - and by that I’m meanin’ “what do I do to be with her for the rest of my life”.

I knocked​ the door and it immediately opened.

‘I was just thinking about you, son’, he cheerfully welcomed me, ‘Take a seat’.

Auru poured some tea before starting speaking.

‘The Princess’ behavior has been quite unusual these days’, he commented, very serious, ‘This morning she seemed quite upset, and the last weeks I had seen her quite downcast, sometimes even on the verge of tears’ - he sipped quietly his tea - ‘I wondered if you had any information on that, since you are very close to her’.

Well, I guess it wasn’t time to play dumb.

‘I dunno why she was upset this morning’ - my hunch was bullseye! - ‘but I do know the reason of her earlier demeanor’. I stayed silent for a moment, and took a deep breath. There’s no way back on this anymore.

‘It was I’. I breathed in again.

Auru just raised an eyebrow in not-so-much surprise.

‘I confessed my feelings for her on a letter while I was at Snowpeak’, I explained him, fidgeting a lil’ - why in the Goddesses’ green land was I actin’ like that?, ‘To my surprise, I found out she loved me back when I returned’.

‘So everyone’s suppositions were on point’, he affirmed, holding his chin. ‘Specially Lady Naima and Ashei’s’.

‘What were those two saying?’. I bet my soul almost left my body at those words! Them ol’ cheeky nosey rascals!

‘That sooner or later your friendship would turn into something more than that’.

I bet my arse it ain’t what they really said - or thought.

‘Anyway’, Auru continued, ‘since my doubts are partly cleared’ - he grinned - 'I have a glimpse on why you have come here’.

'You betcha!’, I chuckled, 'I wanna know the deets on all the protocol to court and marry her’.

He hummed affirmatively, musing for a second.

‘Well, it’s simple’, Auru started, 'just go and ask her’.

Wait.

What?!

I should’ve looked really, really dumbfounded.

'You thought it was a near-impossible feat, full of treacherous, gossipy courtiers and suitors?’, he cackled, hitting the desk with his palms, 'This is not a dungeon or a temple, son!’

'You ain’t no kiddin’ me’. I couldn’t believe it.

‘Absolutely not’ - he was crystal clear like the waters of Lake Hylia - 'and even if you had any opposition, who would dare deny the hand of the Queen to the Hero of Light, bearer of the Triforce of Courage, and​ Commander of the Army? And most importantly​, she is her own woman, her choice shall prevail always ’.

And then it hit me like a mad goat: I’m not a mere country bumpkin anymore - at least for more formal purposes. Ordon born and raised, ‘till I cross into the Sacred Realm, y’all.

‘’You’re right’, I smiled, still struck by the sudden realization I had.

‘You should go with her’, Auru suggested, ‘The Queen is at the Library’.

She always goes there when she’s feeling down.

‘Sure thing. Thanks’. I got up, waving goodbye to Auru, and dashed to the Library.

She was hidden between piles of book, eyes rimmed in red, brows frowned. I’ve seen that expression before, when she read the Kingsrecord. Not good.

I sat in front of her and the barrier of books between us. She didn’t notice me, so I wrote a small note and threw it over the wall.

'Howdy, my sunshine? A lil’ birdie told me you weren’t fine’.

A bittersweet smile graced her lips. 'Link’, she whispered, her eyes meeting mine. A bit dull, but still shinin’, full of that gleam that stole my soul.

'Can we go to my chamber to talk?’, she asked, rubbing her temple, ‘ I would not like anyone to overhear us’.

We moved to the place quickly, taking some books with us. They were about the Sheikah.

Once the books were on the table and the door closed behind us, she threw her arms around me.

'I dreamt of the future’, she sighed, 'it does not look good’.

She told me of what she foresaw. It’s grim, and gritty and terrible. Those kids will have it hard. I know it might be strange, but I feel that despite the dark scenario, they’ll succeed.

'But it ain’t the immediate future, is it, love?’

‘No’. She sighs and swallows hard. 'But it makes me feel like we are trapped in an endless cycle of destruction, and no matter what we do, or how many times we defeat our enemy’ -she pauses- 'it always will happen again. It is like a curse’.

‘Oh, love’, I held her tight, 'you always carry the weight of the world on yer shoulders alone; don’t do that, please’.

She hummed, and clung tighter.

'Lemme share the burden with you’, I finished.

Zelda broke the embrace and looked me in the eye; her gaze was all “what the heck do you mean”.

‘Zelda?’

'Your love is the real thing’.

'Dontcha steal my thunder, love’. I warned her, making her lips curl into a tiny smile.

I took a step back and cleared my throat.

'I told ya the other day I wanted to go all the way with you’, I remembered her, ‘No matter what happens now, or in a bajillion years from now on, or even in our next incarnation’.

I offered my hand to her, just like when it was the last battle against Ganondorf.

‘I never thought I’d be making you this question outside my imagination, so here it goes’ - I inhaled deeply, ignoring my face probably resemblin’ a crisp red apple- 'Zelda Nohansen, will you do me the honor of marrying me?’

She placed her hand over mine silently, holding it softly. Her cheeks were of a dusky pink, and her smile like a ray of light breaking through the clouds.

And from her lips, the most beautiful words were uttered.

'Yes. I will’.

The weight of the world will feel like a feather if I’m with her.

Fic Prompt (part 3 of 3)

Prompt: Can anyone write a fic where Sansa Stark get sick of all the mistreat and bullshit of this “family” and leave in the quiet of the night and Jon realize he’s been dumb all along

Part 2 can be found here: http://kittykatknits.tumblr.com/post/166129779927/fic-prompt-pt-2-of-3



Sansa pulled the edges of her cloak closer as an imagined chill went through her. She deliberately avoided Jon’s gaze, not wishing to give away any thoughts.

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Hands

 Patrick Turner sat down in his living room, and lit a cigarette, having put his son Timothy to bed. Even though it was only 8.30 pm he felt exhausted and considered going to bed, but eventually could not decide to move. He knew if he went to bed now, he would probably lie awake for hours, even though his body felt tired to the bone. He had had a long day at his surgery, skipped his lunch break because of a beginning flu epidemic, and had hardly gotten any sleep the previous night because he had been attending a difficult birth until the wee hours.

Even though he constantly felt exhausted, sleep did not come easily to him these days. Since a couple of weeks he had a recurring dream about hands. A woman’s small and tender but also strong hands, gently touching his hands, his cheeks, the nape of his neck. He intensely felt these hands running through his hair and touching his bare forearms in a firm but affectionate grip. More recently, the image of these hands also appeared more and more frequently in front of his eyes during the day, causing him to drift off into daydreams while sitting over paperwork or waiting for the autoclave to finish.

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So Little Time (So Much to Do)

Characters: Dean x Reader, Bobby, Sam

Word Count :3506

Warnings: Character Death, Angst, Light nudity and violence, Swearing

Request: I’m rewatching Season 7 and I have a lot of Bobby emotions, naturally. Could you do one where the reader has Bobby walk her down the aisle at her wedding (to any character I don’t care) and share the father-daughter dance with her? (Even though they’re not related, he’s still a father figure to her) 💞💕

Y/N:  Sorry this one took so long.  To do it justice I had to get to a pretty emotional place, which is difficult for me sometimes.  I really hope this is what you wanted love.  I used the song So Little Time, So Much To Do, which was my Father Daughter Dance song.  The time line jumps between season 7 and 4.


It wasn’t the first time he’d died.  You’d been there with him during the apocalypse.  You’d heard the sickening snap as his neck broke, before your own death found you.  You hadn’t even realized you were dead until you were alive again.  

This was different.

There was no resurrection. No deals.  No hail Marys’.  No miracles. There was just Bobby, pale and dead.

And you couldn’t place it in time and space.  Hell, you’d all fought the Devil, Angels, Demons, monsters.  And it was a bullet that killed him?  A fucking bullet.  

Inside the cabin your husband was obsessing.  Staring at that clipboard, those numbers Bobby had died to give him.  He was blaming himself, drinking himself into a shallow grave.  Another shallow grave.  

You tightened the blanket around your shoulders.  It was freezing.  But you couldn’t be in the cabin.  You couldn’t see the remnants of your life scattered in each room.  Because Bobby had loved you.  Truly loved you.  And the proof was everywhere.  There were pictures of you with your frizzy-puberty hair and braces.  The damn hoarder even still had your report cards.

(“How do you get an F in History, Y/N?  You’re damned good at doing research!”  

“My teacher didn’t appreciate my essay saying that President Roosevelt was actually killed by a Windego.”

“What were you thinkin’? You’ve got a solid head on those shoulders.  Try using it next time.”)

It sometimes seemed life pivoted around moments, single excruciating moments.  Choices were easier, if not less painful.  A slow progression was devastating, but you could see it coming. It was the small moments, the accidents, the impulse choices.  Those were unbearable.  

If your father hadn’t bought that cursed necklace for your mother.  If you’d known the colt wouldn’t work on the devil.  If the bullet had been an inch higher.  

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Blood Brothers - or the one where Hux and Techie are twins.

I wrote angsty/fluffy family drama with Clan Techie and Hux. Because that’s a thing I do now. 

Thirty years after losing him during the siege of Arkanis, General Hux finds his twin brother in a shipment of prisoners. 



Two and a half standard days.

Three-thousand and six hundred and seventeen minutes. Two-hundred seventeen-thousand and twenty seconds. Twenty one. Twenty two. Twenty three. Twenty four…

Numbers tick by in his head, familiar, comforting, like a heartbeat, while his hands twist themselves into idle empty knots. It isn’t much of a distraction, but he knows how to make do. There are nine of them left in a room that is exactly fifteen meters squared. Measurements slot into place with a glance, the sound of his irises clicking reverberating through the hollow parts of his skull. Five meters by three meters with a drab grey ceiling four meters overhead. Everything is grey. The bare walls, the floor, the ceiling. He feels too garish against it. Obvious. He isn’t exactly sure what environment he’s meant to blend in with, all of the too-bright colors of him, yellow and copper and fish-belly white, but it isn’t this. He sticks out like a bruised thumb, however much he tries to disappear into the walls out of sheer force of will.

His hands move invisible wires. He needs something to do with them or he’ll start to panic again, and he’s already picked the sleeves of his shirt to fraying. Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine…

They’ll come for him next, probably. It had been the loud ones first, the ones who shouted and pounded at the walls while he curled into a corner, eyes shut tight, and tried not to exist, but they were all gone now. The twenty men from Peach Trees who had first been herded into this room culled down a few at a time; eighteen to fourteen and now just nine. Everyone huddles along the walls in little clusters, vacant-eyed and numb. It’s just the dregs left, cowards and addicts. Like him, they’ve all reached that zen state of exhaustion where they’re just too tired to be scared anymore.

A little part of him suspects that he was always meant to end up here. It feels like something has come full-circle. Like a code locking into place. He knew it somewhere in his gut when he saw the red and black emblem on their ships. The sounds of blaster fire, the march of armies in white boots and faceless helmets. Of course this was how it would end. That jagged edge inside, where if feels like something was torn away a long time ago and the resulting wound scabbed over but never healed, twinges. It’s a phantom pain, like the ache in his eye sockets no matter how much he rubs.  

Close your eyes baby, don’t look. It’ll be okay. It was his mother’s voice, maybe, although he probably doesn’t remember it right anymore. Sometimes when he is waiting for sleep, curled up in the little nest he had made for himself behind the server banks, he tries to remember her face. She died when he was five.

Time has worn the oldest of his nightmares down to almost nothing, just fear and panic and the all-consuming terror that something was missing, the distant rumble of an explosion, and his mother’s voice soft beside his ear.

There are no beds in the grey room, nothing but a low bench spanning one side, so they sleep on the floor or slumped against the walls. There’s a tap on one wall that will dispense cold, faintly metallic tasting water into cupped hands, but no one has been using it to bathe. The room stinks of fear and other things, but he’s smelled worse.

“What do they want with us?” The clan member who spoke is bruised and skinny, and scratches his arm like a junkie.

Nobody answers.

As the transport they had been forced onto left atmo, he had seen the compound burning through the viewport, oily smoke reaching up into the sky. It should have been pleasing- gods know he’s dreamt about it enough times, furtive and secret like somebody might pry open his head and find out- but it had just made him want to throw up.

After a long moment someone says. “When they take over planets they take children sometimes. To train for their armies, or-“ and he’s surprised to find that it’s him.

Keep reading

The Castle Made of Snow

While the show is the show,  and the books are the books,  given certain season six set rumors that surfaced this week,  I thought I would take stab at the Ghost of High Heart’s prophecy concerning Sansa.

“I dreamt of a maid at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs. And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow.” (Storm of Swords 646)

The first line is generally agreed to prophesy the Purple Wedding. The purple serpents dripping venom from her hair references the poison secreted within her amethyst hair net. This part of the prophecy has already occurred. Since Sansa is the maid then, what does the second line mean?

The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. (Storm of Swords 1183)

Here we have Sansa making a castle made of snow, and the castle made of snow is identified as Winterfell. Either this snow castle is the snow castle from the dream or Winterfell is the snow castle in the dream, with this event providing the key to reading the dream.

Petyr Baelish enters the scene and helps Sansa building the castle, and then attempts to seduce her.

“May I come into your castle, my lady?”

Sansa was wary. “Don’t break it. Be …”

“… gentle?” He smiled.

“Winterfell has withstood fiercer enemies than me. It is Winterfell, is it not?”

“Yes,” Sansa admitted.

He walked along outside the walls. “I used to dream of it, in those years after Cat went north with Eddard Stark. In my dreams it was ever a dark place, and cold.”

“No. It was always warm, even when it snowed. Water from the hot springs is piped through the walls to warm them, and inside the glass gardens it was always like the hottest day of summer.”

She stood, towering over the great white castle. “I can’t think how to do the glass roof over the gardens.”

Littlefinger stroked his chin, where his beard had been before Lysa had asked him to shave it off. “The glass was locked in frames, no? Twigs are your answer. Peel them and cross them and use bark to tie them together into frames. I’ll show you.”

He moved through the garden, gathering up twigs and sticks and shaking the snow from them. When he had enough, he stepped over both walls with a single long stride and squatted on his heels in the middle of the yard.” (Storm of Swords 1184)

The imagery of Sansa and Littlefinger as giants walking among Winterfell seems pretty clear. Littlefinger kisses Sansa, but then they are interrupted by little Robyn Aryn, who barges in, oblivious to what is going on. He excitedly asks about the castle, and Sansa tell him that it is Winterfell, the great castle of the north.

“It’s not so great.” The boy knelt before the gatehouse. “Look, here comes a giant to knock it down.” He stood his doll in the snow and moved it jerkily. “ Tromp tromp I’m a giant, I’m a giant ,” he chanted. “ Ho ho ho, open your gates or I’ll mash them and smash them .” Swinging the doll by the legs, he knocked the top off one gatehouse tower and then the other.

It was more than Sansa could stand. “Robert, stop that .”

Instead he swung the doll again, and a foot of wall exploded. She grabbed for his hand but she caught the doll instead. There was a loud ripping sound as the thin cloth tore. Suddenly she had the doll’s head, Robert had the legs and body, and the rag-and-sawdust stuffing was spilling in the snow.

Lord Robert’s mouth trembled. “You killlllllllled him,” he wailed. Then he began to shake. It started with no more than a little shivering, but within a few short heartbeats he had collapsed across the castle, his limbs flailing about violently.( Storm of Swords 1187-1188)

So, here we bring in the imagery of the giant dying in Winterfell, the castle made of snow, but it is just a toy doll. Others have interpreted this as the full meaning of the prophecy. It simply referred to this one scene, which would be a pretty weird thing to prophesy, a doll getting its head ripped off. The argument is that prophecy is just that, a bit arbitrary and ultimately meaningless, despite being real. I think this is a misread of the scene, however.

The giant imagery provides foreshadowing of the future event and a key for reading the earlier prophecy. Sansa and Littlefinger appear as giants among the castle made of snow, Winterfell, as does Robyn. The giant losing its head reminds us of this. The giant Sansa will slay at Winterfell will be either Littlefinger or Robyn. Which one is easy to work out, with the right references. Going from the end of Storm of Swords to the beginning of Feast of Crows we find the answer with Arya.

Arya could see the arrow slits in the great bronze breastplate, and stains and speckles on the Titan’s arms and shoulders where the seabirds nested. Her neck craned upward. Baelor the Blessed would not reach his knee. He could step right over the walls of Winterfell. (Feast of Crows 101)

This imagery of the Titan of Braavos stepping over the walls of Winterfell, mirrors the image of Littlefinger stepping “over both walls with a single long stride”, but how is the Titan of Braavos a stand-in symbol for Littlefinger?

The device painted on the shield was one Sansa did not know; a grey stone head with fiery eyes, upon a light green field. “My grandfather’s shield,” Petyr explained when he saw her gazing at it. “His own father was born in Braavos and came to the Vale as a sellsword in the hire of Lord Corbray, so my grandfather took the head of the Titan as his sigil when he was knighted.” (Storm of Swords 1003)

There we have it. The Titan, specifically its head, which Baelish is likely to lose,  is the sigil for his house. The Titan, which Arya imagines stepping over the walls of Winterfell, is Petyr, the giant,  stepping over the walls of the snow castle. We can only hope that Sansa, learning of Littlefinger’s betrayal of Eddard, will sentence Petyr to be executed  but then have the same change of heart Jon does with Janos Slynt and decide to swing the sword herself, as Ned would have done.

One in the Same

Originally posted by minimochijimin

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Angst

Content: Taehyung falls in love with the “clone” of his deceased lover

Word Count: 7k+

Warnings: Violence, mentions of death, unedited

A/N: Merry Christmas, I come bearing pain. Also, @thedemigoddeatheater you asked for it :’)

Cromulent: (n) appearing legitimate but actually being spurious

When you were first born, you dreamt of the sky. It was vibrant blue and wide, the expanse dotted with small wisps of clouds that dragged lazily in the summer breeze. It stretched endlessly from where you stood in a field of barley flowers that raced along with the sky to meet with the horizon. From this, you registered your first emotion; wonder.

Only sparsely scattered trees and a small greenhouse interrupted the skyline. The moment your eyes touched the shelter, a smile tugs at your lips. Your feet began to move on their own accord, and then you were running, running barefoot towards it, ignoring the way small stems caught at the hem of your dress. As you got closer to the greenhouse, you could spot figure just a head of it. A young man with his hands shoved into blue overalls, a black tee shirt and sun kissed skin. The smile on your face became impossibly wider at the sight of him, and when you were a few feet away, it was easy to see he had a brilliant one to match. Something warm and dizzying all at once crawled up your spine, tickled the nape of your neck and stained your cheeks pink. He opened his arms as you approached him, laughed as you quite literally flung yourself into him, eyes closed. There was the sensation of falling, and when you opened your eyes again, you were greeted with the white popcorn paint on the ceiling rather than the endless sky. The young man was still beside you, his arms hung loosely around your waist. It takes a second to grasp that there’s less denim blue overalls and more bed sheets and bare skin.

He didn’t seem to mind though, and neither did you, pressing your face into his chest as he stared down at you with a somewhat reverent look. When he entangled your adjoined legs in the sheets, a quiet laugh bubbled up in your throat, and you met his eyes once more. His hair was a mess, disheveled by sleep and maybe something more than that judging by the purple bruises that blossom down his jawline to the juncture of his neck. The young man laughed at your suddenly bashful expression. His laugh was rich and deep and pure joy, paired with a boxy smile to pull that giddy feeling again from the base of your spine.

Adoration.

You could hear a voice in your ear, just as warm as you were feeling.

“What are you smiling at Kim Taehyung?”

Keep reading

Imagine Getting a Tattoo With Jared

“I’m scared,” you laughed softly as you grab the page from the printer, looking down at the two soundwaves printed on it. 

“I promise it doesn’t hurt that bad, really. It’s nice.” your new husband says as he opens the door from his office for you, waiting for you to walk out before following you. “He’s gonna be here soon," 

The more you thought about it, the dumber getting a tattoo right before your honeymoon seemed. Wouldn’t you have to keep it clean or whatever? It’s not like the two of you were flying to some tropical place with a lot of sand and water but what about sweaty passionate sex? Is there some rule about that?

Jared had hired someone to come to the house, Zane..Zach…no yeah his name was definitely Zach. It was some tattoo artist Jared said he’d known someone had used before and loved…it really didn’t matter to you. The two of you weren’t getting some intricately designed tattoo, in reality it was just a squiggly line, and that’s what it would look like to most anyone who saw it. But the two of you knew what it was and that was what was important. 

The doorbell rang as the two of you go upstairs, Jared had cleaned off the counter in the kitchen to make space for Zach to set all his stuff out. You went over and opened the door, smiling as you let Zach inside. "Hey!” he smiled, shaking your hand before following you to the kitchen. 

“Hey,” You smiled back, introducing yourself as the two of you walked. He and Jared started talking as he set up whatever tools he needed. Jared handed him the page you’d printed out and Zach began tracing them over onto another sheet. 

Jared looked to you and grabbed your wrist pulling you towards him, you watched Zach carefully as he transferred the soundwaves over. You wanted them to be absolutely perfect. 

“I love you,” Jared grinned down at you.

“I know, it says so right there.” You laugh softly, pointing towards Zach and his tracings. 

The two of you had each recorded ‘I love you’ and you were getting each other’s tattooed on. Jared said he dreamt it. You were pretty sure it was probably something online, but whatever, it was cute. 

You decided you would go first, you sat down on the chair, laying your arm out on the counter as Zach transferred the drawing of Jared’s 'I love you’ over onto your forearm in a purpley ink. It felt sticky and you wiggled your fingers a little as you prepared to sit still for a while. There were a lot of small lines and details and you just silent prayed they’d show up on the tattoo. 

“Ready?” Zach asked as he turned on the tattoo gun, glancing up at you. You nodded and smiled nervously. “Just relax,” he said, Jared pulled over a chair and sat next to you, holding your other hand. When you looked over at him you could tell he was trying not to laugh at you. It was your first tattoo! What did he expect? And he knew you hated needles. 

“Don’t be a jerk,” you laughed, punching him playfully with your other hand. 

“I’m sorry, you’re just cute.” He grinned, taking your hand again as Zach began to ink your arm. 

The three of you made small talk as Zach continued on your tattoo. You did your best not to cry despite it hurting more than you had imagined, damn you low pain tolerance. 

After almost an hour Zach finished, you were happy with it, he went through and did every line perfectly. Every detail. “Do you like it?” he asked, as he wiped your arm one last time before grabbing the plastic to set over it. 

“I love it, it’s amazing. You can see all the really little lines and I love it. Thank you, now make his just as amazing.” you laugh softly, pointing to Jared as the two of you stand up to switch seats. 

“It looks really good, I can’t wait to tweet a picture of them together.” Jared smiled, kissing your cheek. 

“Think you’ll be getting more tattoos?” Zach asked as he began to transfer your 'I love you’ onto Jared’s forearm. 

“No, probably not. I think I almost cried like the entire time. One is good. I like this one.”

“We’ll see about that, I'lll make you get more.” Jared joked as you watched Zach begin on his tattoo. “I said I wasn’t going to get more and I ended up with the triads and the giant one on my back. It’s addicting”

“That’s true,” Zach chimed in, motioning to his two full sleeves. 

You just shook your head and scooted the chair a little closer, leaning your head against Jared’s shoulder as you watched Zach’s movements carefully. It was definitely an art, and even with a simple black tattoo that was visible. 

“So are you guys all packed? Where you going again?” Zach questioned.

“Yeah we’re mostly packed, just the little things left.” you nodded. The flight was tomorrow and you couldn’t be more excited to get away from everything, you loved LA. You were born and raised there but sometimes it got to be a little much. 

“We’re going out to Paris because I’m so romantic,” Jared smiled, adding the last part sarcastically. 

“Paris was my idea,” you shrugged. “Ive only ever been there for a day and it was because one of my flights got delayed.”

“I’ve never been, seems cool though. I’m sure you two will love it.” Zach replied. You turned and kissed Jared softly before nodding and laying your head back on his shoulder. Maybe it was the endorphins from the pain but you couldn’t stop smiling. You wanted to tell Zach to hurry, you wanted all of time to hurry, you wanted to be in the hotel room finally, laying next to your husband and ordering room service and having the time of your life on the honeymoon of your dreams. But you waited, because that’s what you had to do. 

See You Then

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers + Supernatural - Sam and Dean Winchester + Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers

Rating: PG-11 (for blood)

Original Idea: An Imagine.

Notes: I had something to say about this. But now I can’t remember what it was… I could turn this into a multi-chapter fic really easily. Maybe I will at some point. (I really liked Steve being on the other side of the “Language” remark.)(It’s also longer than usual…)

^^^^^

Dean handed me a gleaming dagger. “Don’t let go of this, kid, unless that beast tries to get you to stab yourself with it. One side of the blade is iron, the other is silver—it should pretty well gank anything except a vampire, a demon, or an angel,” he instructed. I took the hilt and tucked the blade into my boot. Dean patted my shoulder. “Good girl.” He turned to his taller younger brother. “Ready, Sammy?” he asked. The other Winchester nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”

The three of us carefully snuck into the old house. All the furniture was broken and rotted. There were no signs that anything had lived here in years. “Should we split up? Cover more ground?” Sam whispered.

“Yeah. I’ll go with her around the back and you check upstairs,” Dean whispered back. He put his warm hand at base of my spine and guided me towards the back of the house—where the kitchen was.

I took a deep, shaky breath, and started peering into dark corners, using my phone’s flash as a flashlight.

I turned around to see Dean looking in a cupboard—more examining the old food than searching for clues. “I don’t see anything. I don’t think there’s any sort of supernatural monster h—” The older Winchester turned around as I started speaking and putting my phone back in my pocket, and his face dropped, cutting my sentence off. I scrunched my eyebrows as his mouth opened.

Kid!” he shouted.

I turned around to see a creature—huge and an ugly concrete gray—looming over me. It grabbed me by my temples and snarled. Blood dripped down my face where its claws punctured my skin. I shrieked, ripped the knife out of my boot, and slit the monster’s wrist. It howled in pain and let me go.

But it was too late.

Everything went foggy and sound spiraled away. I felt myself falling—through empty space—forever. My hands were on my temples, stemming the blood flow. The wounds were tiny and didn’t hurt too badly but head wounds always bled a lot. Blood was dripping into my eyes and matting in my hair.

I was falling endlessly through clouds. Maybe I was flying. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know what was up or down. I was confused and hurt and there was a dagger in my hand.

“Oof!” All the air left my lungs as I landed hard on my back, barely managing to keep my head up to avoid a concussion. I grimaced in pain and shoved the knife back into my boot to get it out of the way so I could hold my head and put pressure on my punctures. I was grateful to be on solid ground, but my face was covered in gore and I ached. My eyes were closed so I had no clue where I was or what happened, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. “Sam? Dean?” I groaned. No answer.

Then, footsteps. Fabric rustling. A presence near me. A hand rested gently on my shoulder.

“Are you alright, miss?” a voice asked. Not Dean. Not Sam.

I peeled my eyes open to see a young man—younger than Sam and Dean both—with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes looking at me earnestly. He was handsome—clean-shaven, strong jawline, defined cheekbones, soft eyes. I winced. “I think so. Where am I?” Behind him, I could see bricks and buildings, like I was in an alleyway.

“Brooklyn,” he answered.

“Brooklyn? What?” I muttered, staring down at my knees, head still in my hands. I caught sight of what he was wearing. “Wh-wh-when am I?”

“When?” he clarified, almost smiling. “Nineteen-forty-two. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Nineteen-forty-two?!” I demanded, all memories of pain gone. I tried to leap to my feet frantically, but I’d sustained enough blood-loss that it made me dizzy. I swayed on my feet and would have fallen had the young man not stood and steadied me.

“C’mon, little doll. Let’s get you cleaned up and then maybe we’ll get some answers, okay?” he asked, slinging my arm around his shoulders and helping me stagger out of the alleyway. “I’m Bucky. What’s your name?”

It took me a moment to remember I had a name. “C-c-cass,” I stuttered.

After a few minutes, Bucky led me up some stairs and opened a creaky door into an apartment. “Steve! Do me a favor and grab the bandages I keep under the bathroom counter and a couple rags!” Bucky called into the living space. I looked up to see a scrawny, short blond boy not much taller than me stand up from a sketchbook on a table and rush out of the room without a single question. Bucky eased me down onto a threadbare sofa and sat on the coffee table in front of it. He took my wrists and gently tugged my hands away from my temples.

The skinny, frail boy—Steve—came back in, panting heavily despite the short trip, and put several bandages and damp rags on the table next to Bucky. “What can I do?” he asked.

“Clean the blood off her hands. I’ll wrap her head.”

“Shouldn’t we try to get some of the blood out of her hair?” Steve asked as he dragged a damp cloth over my bloody palm. His voice was weirdly familiar but I couldn’t quite figure out why.

Bucky licked his lips. “Yeah. Help me get her to the sink.”

“Why are you helping me?” I asked groggily.

“Because you’re injured and it’s the right thing to do,” Bucky answered.

“Not to mention he thinks you’re pretty,” Steve chimed in as he cleaned off my other hand. Bucky glared at him while I managed a weak smile.

“Thank you. Both of you,” I muttered.

“You’re very welcome,” Bucky replied. Steve nodded in agreement. They bent me backward over a cracked porcelain sink and gathered all of my long hair into it. Steve put a rag on both of my temples to keep them from bleeding into my hair and Bucky started rinsing the blood out. I winced in irritation as the pain spiked—I had a headache and a back ache and I just wanted to sleep. Nineteen-forty-two. Nineteen-forty-two. How is that even possible? I thought, flummoxed and befuddled.

Once the blood was out of my hair, Steve wrapped it in a small towel as Bucky wound a bandage around my head, covering the painful wounds on my temples. I winced and hissed involuntarily but he was remarkably gentle.

“Shh,” Bucky soothed as he tied off the white gauzy stuff and wiped a drip of water from my hair off of my face. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. It’ll hurt for a little while, but it’s going to be alright. You can rest now. You’re safe here, with us.” He gave me a strong-armed hug. “When you wake up we’ll talk about getting you home—and what you’re wearing because I’ve never seen clothes like that before.”

I managed a breathy, weak chuckle before my vision swam and I was falling asleep.

I dreamt of Sam and Dean, frantically searching the old house for me, running around with their flashlights trying to find out what the creature was and how to reverse it. Time was passing for me and for them. They went back to our motel and started looking up everything they could think of. I was drifting passively behind them, trying to get their attention, but it wasn’t working. “She was just gone, Sam!” Dean exclaimed. “One second the creature was letting her go, and the next she vanished! I don’t know how or why!

It’s okay, Dean, we’ll find her,” Sam commented. “First, we gotta figure out what that thing was.”

“Can we call Cas? Angels can DeLorean their way through time!”

“We can try.”

I jolted awake with a gasp and instantly regretted it. A throb pulsed through my head and I groaned with complaint, grabbing my temples.

“Buck! She’s up!” the weirdly familiar voice of scrawny Steve called quietly.

The two young men rushed over to me. Bucky eased my hands away from my head.

“You okay?” he asked gently. I scrunched my eyebrows—which hurt.

“Y-yeah,” I muttered.

“So, where are you from?” Steve asked.

“More importantly, when are you from?” Bucky added.

“Two-thousand… fifteen? Sixteen?” I’d been hunting with the Winchesters so long I’d forgotten what year it was. “From… all over, really. Never settled down,” I muttered. Bucky licked his lips—a gesture that I normally would have found insanely attractive had my head not been filled with cotton balls.

“Well, doll, that makes it kinda hard for us to get you home,” he joked.

I smirked weakly. “It’s okay. My brothers are looking for me. Trying to get me home.” The Winchesters weren’t really my brothers, but it wasn’t like that mattered—they weren’t even born yet—and that was weird to think because to me they were old.

“Do you think they can do it?”

“They’ve never bailed on me before.” I sighed. “You guys are taking the fact that I’m from seventy years in the future remarkably well,” I commented.

Steve shrugged his skinny shoulders. “There’s a war goin’ on. Nothin’s too weird to believe anymore,” he remarked nonchalantly. Bucky grunted in agreement. I smiled and leaned against Bucky’s muscly shoulder. He idly stroked my still-damp hair and pursed his lips while looking at Steve, I could sense silent communication passing between them—like the unspoken language Dean and Sam had when they hunted.

Oh man I missed those two knuckleheads. “How long was I asleep?” I asked.

Bucky shrugged. “Couple hours. Feeling any better?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “I feel like I’ve slammed my head in the refrigerator door or somethin’.”

Bucky chuckled and Steve pulled his sketchbook off the table. “Here,” he offered, showing me the open page. “Still subjects are… hard for me to come by. I like drawing. I just thought…” He trailed off, blushing all the way down to where his skinny neck disappeared into the collar of his too-big shirt. I brushed a wisp of hair out of my face and gently took the little book in my hands.

It was an amazingly detailed portrait of me asleep, looking peaceful, without the bandages and blood. Somehow he even got the perfect fade on the triangle of scars I had on my chin from when I got chicken pox as a kid.

My mouth was hanging open, pain momentarily forgotten. “Oh my gosh. That’s amazing!”

Steve blushed again. “Thanks. I know I should have asked you if I could draw you—”

“No, no! It’s fine!” I cut in. “It’s beautiful. You’re very talented!”

In the corner was his signature, and instantly I knew why I recognized his voice. Steve Rogers.

This scrawny, skinny kid was Captain Freakin’ America!

Or, at least, he would be—quite soon if my middle-school history project told me anything. If I ended up in 1942, he would become Captain America in 1943.

So that meant Bucky… was Bucky Barnes—the Howling Commando that died in 1945 (I did a huge history project on him in high school because we had to choose a World War II topic other than Captain America, so I picked his closest friend because no one else had thought of it—none of my classmates could remember any of the Howling Commandos). It hurt my heart, knowing that the young man who’d been so kind to me would be dead in three years.

I was just smiling like a fool at the picture, impressed at how much talent he had.

When I got back to my time, I was hunting Captain America down and making sure he remembered me.

I yanked my phone out of the pocket of my leather motorcycle jacket—causing the boys to pull back in alarm. “What is that?!” they demanded in unison. I glanced at the black smartphone screen, realizing I was in the 1940s.

“A phone,” I answered.

“No way!” both of them retorted.

I nodded. “Yeah. In seventy years, phones look like this. It doesn’t work here because it has no wires, but it has a camera on it.” I slid my camera open and took a picture of Steve’s drawing.

“Bull—”

“Language,” Bucky chided.

I showed him the picture I took. “See? Camera. Plus phone.”

“That’s weird,” Steve muttered.

“I just wanna show my brothers the picture a nice boy from the forties drew of me while I was recovering,” I remarked. Steve blushed again, muttering something about how it was no big deal. Bucky smirked, brushing a small string of hair out of my face and tucking it behind my ear—which made me blush. Rarely had I met guys as nice as these. Sam and Dean would love the bond I’d seen between the two. Sam would appreciate Steve’s creative intelligence and Dean would appreciate the sense of big-brother that Bucky radiated. “Take a picture with me,” I told them. It wasn’t a question. “Smile!” I flipped the camera to the front one and took a couple pictures with them. “There. Now I can show my brothers the brothers who cared for me when I needed it.”

I made a split-second decision. Quickly, I pulled my tiny notepad out of my pocket and scribbled down my phone number.

“Memorize this or keep this with you. If either of you live to see two-thousand-fifteen, call this number on December twelfth. I’ll be the one on the other end of the call.” I handed them the slip of paper, keeping to myself that Steve would only be about thirty in 2015 and as far as I knew, Bucky would be long-dead. They didn’t need to know that. I couldn’t spoil their lives for them. They had to take it one day at a time, just like everyone else.

“Really? That’s a thing?” Steve asked. I handed him back his sketchbook, giving it a nostalgic glance.

“Yeah. Not to give away too much, but that’s a thing.”

Everything started to spin and get dizzy. I gave them both kisses on the cheeks. “See you then!” I called.

I fell through the nothingness again and landed with another painful, “Oof!” on my back.

Sam and Dean were standing over me, looking concerned. We were in the Men of Letters’ bunker. “Are you okay? How long were you gone for?” Dean demanded. I rubbed at the bandage around my head as Sam passed me some pain pills and a glass of water.

“Couple hours. I’m okay. I met the two nicest guys. They helped me out.” I showed Sam and Dean the pictures I took. “One of them drew this of me while I took a nap because I had a headache—the blond one in this picture. It was the brunet that found me when I landed in an alley. I ended up in Brooklyn, New York in nineteen-forty-two. How crazy is that?”

“Crazy. Let’s get you to bed and let you sleep off the pain. How does that sound?” Sam asked.

“Great.”

They took me to my room and let me put on my pajamas in private before tucking me in.

As soon as they were out of earshot, my phone started ringing. “Hello?” I asked.

“This is Steve Rogers. You may not remember me. I’m the kid—”

“—from nineteen-forty-two Brooklyn who helped me when I had a bleeding head,” I finished. “Yeah. I remember you. I actually just got back from meeting you for the first time.”

“So you knew I would survive to twenty-fifteen,” he commented. “You knew all along.”

“Yeah. But I couldn’t give you any spoilers.”

“And you knew Bucky was the Winter Soldier.”

“The what?”

“The Winter Soldier. The HYDRA assassin that I fought last year to take down SHIELD,” Steve explained.

“He’s still alive?” I demanded. “Everything from history says he was killed in nineteen-forty-five!”

“He wasn’t. He’s alive. And he’s out there somewhere.”

“That bit I didn’t know.”

“Do you still have the pictures you took on your phone?”

“Of course. I literally just got back like ten minutes ago.”

“Can we meet somewhere? Please? Catch up?”

I smiled. “Of course. Tomorrow though. For now, I need to sleep. Where did you have in mind?”

“Somewhere in New York?”

“Sure. I’ll see what I can do. Like… the base of the Avengers Tower maybe? I think I can find that.”

“Sure. See you there.”

“See you then.” I hung up and my phone started ringing again. Another unfamiliar number. “Hello?”

“You told me to call you on December twelfth, two-thousand-and-fifteen,” a blank, confused voice commented slowly, as if trying to sift through memories. “I don’t remember much else. Just that order. I don’t remember why or when.” My mouth dropped open and I clapped my hand over it to keep from gasping too loudly.

“Bucky!” I whispered.

Fanfiction - Daisies & Thistles (College AU)

All my fanfiction

Daisies & Thistles

“Do ye need help?” Jamie tentatively touched the closed door. “Why is it taking sae long?”

“No!” Claire’s irritated voice sounded from the inside of the bathroom. “Why don’t you try to pee on a stick to see how easy it is?”

He snorted, a timid smile dawning on his mouth, amidst all the nervous tension.

“It would probably be a lot easier.” He replied. “I can aim.”

“Alright.” She opened the door and sighed, folding her arms. “It’s done. Now we wait.”

“Come here.” Jamie asked, opening his arms. She obediently walked to meet him and her breath caught in her throat as soon as she felt his arms embracing her, strong and supportive. “I love ye, mo nighean donn. I’m here – no matter what happens.”

“I know.” She whispered against his collarbone. “Just a couple of minutes longer. So, what’s up with you and Tom Christie?”

“Ach.” Jamie rubbed her back, feeling her starting to relax. “We went to school together back in Scotland, in Broch Mordha. He isna a highlander – born and raised in Edinburgh, I believe – but went to live there when we were teens.”

“He seems to have some kind of feud with you.” Claire said slowly, tucking her hands on the waistband of his jeans. “What did you do to make him hate you so much?”

“Why do ye think it’s my fault?” Jamie raised a brow and asked, outraged. “Why canna be his doing?”

Claire’s body shook with supressed laughter. “I love you, James Fraser. But you are trouble.”

“Alright.” He sighed, pinching her buttock in retaliation. “Wee Tom wanted to be Head Boy – dreamt of leading the school and being looked up to. But the headmistress chose me to represent the school in such capacity and he was verra angry. It didn’t help that I was a much better rugby player than him, or that the lasses…erm…fancied me.”

“Tom wanted to be prom queen and you stole his crown.” Claire clicked her tongue. “Boys. And people say girls are vindictive.”

“There’s more.” Jamie said haltingly. “We got into a fight – and because there were witnesses who saw that I only defended myself, Tom ended being expelled from the school.”

“Ah.” Claire withdrew slightly to look into his eyes. “That’s quite ancient history though – he might have changed. Maybe we can hope for the best and meanwhile…you’ll be careful?”

“Aye.” He smiled and kissed her forehead. “I wouldna dare to tell ye what to do, Sassenach – I learn from my mistakes, believe it or not – but I’ll advise ye to stay away from the man. I’m concerned that he might hurt ye somehow, or come close to ye just to punish me in some way.”

She looked into his eyes and saw real fear there – and slowly exhaled and nodded.

“Alright.” She kissed his lips, slightly cold. “I think it’s time.” Claire gently let go of him and walked to the washbasin, where she had left the daunting item, looking like a weird thermometer. She quickly grabbed it without looking into it and closed her fist around it.

“Well, how does it work?” Jamie asked in a somewhat strangled voice. “How do ye know the result?”

“Two stripes means it’s positive.” Claire bit her full bottom lip, her hand nervously waving, the test still secluded between her fingers. “That I’m pregnant.”

“Do ye want me to see it?” He proposed softly. “Or we can do it together.”

“I think…” She brushed her stubborn curls, falling in a cascade around her shoulders, looking utterly lost. “Will you hold me while I look?”

“Always.” He smiled and came behind her, his strong arms folding around her waist. He was slightly bent to better fit her body – his jaw resting on her graceful shoulder. She went almost boneless, breathing deeply and surrendering to his calm centre – her head leaned back, searching for the hollow of his chest where it fitted perfectly. He kissed the top of her head, encouraging her – and slowly his fingers entwined with hers, offering her his strength, until she reluctantly opened them.

For a moment they only listened to the distant voices outside, students going out to grab some dinner, friends returning from long walks in the park, a couple trading harsh words bellow the dorm’s window – unintelligible, but quick and angry, like a hive of bees commanding an attack. The world was all around them, still happening in its own pace, heedless of the defining moment they were living.

Claire suddenly recalled with vividness a time of her life in Southern Europe – her uncle had been doing some excavations on Roman occupation in Lusitania – and the field of daisies that grew behind their accommodations. She used to go there at sundown – her young fingers plucking white petals from the divinatory flower, chanting “He loves me…He loves me not…”. Back then there wasn’t even a love interest – but she found it amusing and comforting that life could be settled so easily, by the willpower of a single flower. This was eerily similar – only this time the flower had been replaced by a white pharmacy test and she already knew she was loved.

“One stripe.” Jamie whispered in her ear. “That means ye’re are not pregnant. Aye?”

“Yes.” She answered in a low voice. “I’m not pregnant.” Claire didn’t know what she was feeling – there was relief there to be sure, but also a pain she hadn’t been expecting. She turned to face Jamie.

He was serene, his face a mask of stilled waters – but for the briefest of moments, when she had turned, she had seen it – the loss.

“Tell me what you’re thinking. Please?” She added in a murmur, her thumb tracing the curve of his high cheek, until it reached the edge of his long and straight nose. “Don’t hide from me.”

“I ken it wasna the right time, Claire – how hard it would be for the both of us.” Jamie smiled shyly. “But the idea of a child – yer child – grew on me today. So much so I began to think I was going to burst from it – from being so full and so complete.”

“Are you disappointed then?” She searched his eyes, blue and limpid, stormless like a merciful sea. “Do you wanted it to be real?”

“Part of me did.” Jamie admitted in a hoarse voice. “I was watching you in the field today – imagining yer belly round and swollen with our bairn – and I almost lost it. I wanted to take ye to my bed and make ye scream and cradle ye inside my hands afterwards. I craved to kiss ye, until yer lips were bruised and swollen from it, so everybody could see; and to tell ye all the poems I know by heart. It was so powerful, Claire. It made me afraid, because I wasna aware of that part of me.”

“I saw it too.” Claire whispered, her heart thundering inside her chest. “You and our child together – a family of my own. I was afraid, but then I was…hopeful.”

“You will be the mother of my children, Sassenach.” His hands travelled along her arms, until they reached her waist and her flat stomach. “I shall see ye so, when the time is right.”

“So…we wait?” Claire asked softly.

“We wait.” Jamie nodded, smiling as he watched her lips already parting to receive his kiss. “And maybe I can practice the part of making ye scream just now.”

****

“I have something for ye.” He said tenderly, kissing her temple. She nuzzled his shoulder and turned her face to look at him, glaring at her with love in his eyes.

They were sitting by the same fountain where they had talked the first night – the glorious day they assumed their feelings, discovering they were entirely reciprocated.

“Do you?” She asked, curious, in a hoarse voice. They had made love, urgently and passionately, on the floor of the bathroom, barely restraining enough to rid themselves of clothes. He had made her scream – repeatedly – and she had clawed his back with her nails, temporarily tattooing him with the echoes of her release. They were barely composed when Ian had entered the dorm, looking embarrassed and mortified – his blushing enhanced by Claire’s tousled hair and the bruises on Jamie’s neck. “What is it?”

“Give me yer hand.” He asked, reaching out with his own palm. She diligently complied.

He traced the lines on her palm with his fingertips, exquisitely soft as the brush of a painter, awakening the butterflies in her belly. He stopped when he reached her Venus Mount and, bending over his head, lightly bit her there with his teeth, making her gasp. She then felt something cold on her finger and saw that he had placed a silver ring there.

“It’s not much, mo ghraidh. But if my love for ye is endless, my words are not. I wish I could tell ye, again and again, that ye are my life – each time with a new word, made only for ye. Perhaps this ring can tell ye how I love ye, when I fail to do so.”

“Jamie…” She whispered. It was a thin band, with intricate thistle blooms carved at the centre of each link. It was her in a way that nothing else was – not the clothes she chose herself, not the books she read all her life, not the reflection she saw on the mirror. Jamie had looked into her soul – and understanding and cherishing the fact that something of them both now lived there – had turned their essence into something she could wear everyday. “It’s perfect.”

“Will ye wear it, Claire?” He asked, his voice hopeful and warm as a summer morning. She knew what he meant. The ring was not a proposal – not yet, anyway – but was a promise and a vow between them.

“Yes.” Claire kissed the ring, feeling the metal reassuringly cold and real against her lips. “As long as we both shall live.”

Kiss the Nightmares Away

Fandom: Love Live! Sunshine!!
Pairing: KanaMari (otherwise known as calamari)
Words: 1657
Summary:  In which Mari comforts Kanan after a bad dream.
Links: FF is here! AO3 is here!


Mari loved how warm Kanan was. Whether it be on the coldest night in the dead of winter or in the middle of the bone-chilling waters of the ocean, Mari was able to feel the faintest aura of warmth that would creep her skin and permeate her soul with a comforting heat, leaving the fuzzy residues of love in her chest.


Mari loved how strong Kanan was. Whether it be hefting oxygen tanks to and fro or in the middle of Aqours practice, Mari could see her muscles tense and relax, and Mari would always wonder how someone so powerful could be so graceful.


Mari loved how sweet Kanan was. Whether it be supporting the others through words of encouragement or in the middle of a night of passion, Mari could see the love shining in her brilliant purple eyes, and Mari would always wonder how someone like her could somehow turn cold in an instant.


The sound of sheets rustling disturbed Mari’s thoughts. She looked over her shoulder, only to see Kanan scooting closer to tuck her knees behind Mari’s, in a sort of question-mark formation. A strong, yet gentle arm snaked underneath Mari’s arm to wrap around her middle, and Mari felt herself being pulled closer to an overwhelming source of warmth. Mari sighed contently, taking in Kanan’s scent—the strange mix of mikan and the ocean was always a comforting one. She melted into Kanan’s one-arm embrace, a small smile creeping onto her face.


Mari loved it when Kanan spooned her.

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I Hunger For Your Beautiful Embrace

Chapter Four: Cupid’s Spell

Legatus Harry is governor of Capua and Dominus of his estate. He governs with a firm and harsh rule and has never been known to be soft. That is until Louis comes into his life. A beautiful slave who creeps into Harry’s house and heart.

But in the times of Ancient Rome, when sex, wars, and death are the entertainment of the times, life and love are rare commodities.

A/N: This was inspired by the show Spartacus and certain situations will be similar. This chapter has very brief Niam smut and then finally some Larry smut yay!

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