just past midnight here

BriWoon; hear me out

Dowoon doesn’t talk much, doesn’t talk at all really, so maybe that’s why. The boy seems to fade into the background, only making his presence known through the giggling gaggle of swooning girls that have taken to following him around. Still, Brian already feels more partial to the kid than he does to the rest of the school.

(Or, my take on BriWoon’s egg scene, which is considerably gayer and has no chance of ever becoming canon.)

Read on Ao3

Brian can still feel the weight of the girl’s stare on the back of his neck. It’s hard, unwavering almost, certainly uncomfortable enough to have him quickening his step in an effort to get away.

He just wants to get out - get away. The students crowding the hallway are all looking at him, looking at her, at the way she seems so defeated. Brian knows because he caught a glimpse of her expression just before her smile faltered enough for the guilt to sink in and he turned away.

The whole thing is a downright mess, one Brian knew was a long time coming and one that he still chose to ignore in hopes that it would solve itself given enough time. Of course it didn’t - of course - and now Brian has to deal with the stares and the whispering and the uneasy feeling coiling tight inside his stomach.

His shoulders are tense, expression closed off. It’s enough of a warning for the others students to back off and make space for him. Brian marches down the hallway. He just wants out to get out, get away, he needs to-

The boy comes crashing into him before he has time to react. Brian stumbles back, caught off guard by the body that all but slam into him, shoving him backwards. Instinctively, Brian puts a hand around the other boy’s arm to steady them both, keep them from falling to the ground.

Biting down on a grunt of pain from the dull hit, Brian huffs out an annoyed, “hey, watch where you’re-”

The boy looks up, a flash of dark hair and even darker eyes. His gaze flits to him for a second before moving away to stare past his shoulders. He shrugs Brian’s hand off with a sudden, jerky movement and then he’s gone, walking away before Brian has the chance to demand an apology.

“Hey!” Brian shouts after him because he’s frustrated and uncomfortable and itching for anything to let it all out on. The boy though, he doesn’t turn around, just keeps on walking. Brian hurries after him, hands tight at his side to keep them from shaking, nerves frayed at the edges, looking to snap, finally.

Brian reaches him before they boy can disappear down a corner. “Hey!” he calls out again, grabs the boy by the shoulder’s and turns him around when he still doesn’t get a response. “I said, watch where the fuck you’re-”

Brian’s doesn’t get to finish, his next words dying swiftly on his throat when he sees the boy reach up to tug a pair of earphones Brian hadn’t noticed away from his ears. It’s quiet as the other boy’s eyes travel down to the tight grip Brian has on his shoulders, then up to Brian himself. He raises an eyebrow up at him, just this side of mocking.

“I - sorry,” Brian forces himself to grit out. It leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, the way the boy just keeps on looking at him, never saying a word. Brian doesn’t like it, feels himself tense and tense and tense because the students are all staring again too, looking at him reproachfully, judging, and Brian - Brian just wants to get out, get away.

“Sorry,” he says again - “just - shit, sorry,” - misses the way the boy smiles up at him, just a tad amused, a tad knowing, because Brian’s already turning around and walking away.

His name is Dowoon. Yoon Dowoon.

Brian doesn’t know how he didn’t recognize him before, back when the boy bumped into him a week ago and Brian messed up like he always does and lashed out. They share a class - math, the one they share with the girl too, the class where she first started looking at him and hoping and everything suddenly became a problem.

Dowoon doesn’t talk much, doesn’t talk at all really, so maybe that’s why. The boy seems to fade into the background, only making his presence known through the giggling gaggle of swooning girls that have taken to following him around. Still, Brian already feels more partial to the kid than he does to rest of the school.

The students have them both already labeled and firmly packaged into the not approachable box, after all. Admittedly, Brian’s case has more to do with him defaulting to insensitive asshole when caught out of his comfort zone - which involves things like speaking about feelings or speaking with girls or worse, speaking about feelings with girls - than the aloof air the kid has going for him.

Right now though, Dowoon has lost that distant look. Brian watches him with a detached sort of curiosity as their teacher drones on and on. Dowoon sits exactly one seat to the right from Brian’s own desk, far enough from the front of the class for their teacher to miss him dozing off.

But then the teacher calls on him and Dowoon doesn’t wake up. The class swivels around, curious, watching. The teacher calls on Dowoon again and still, the boy sleeps on, head firmly pillowed in the circle his arms make, head turned away.

Before Brian can think much about what he’s doing, he reaches out. Hesitantly, he drops a hand on Dowoon’s shoulder and shakes him lightly, just enough to snap him back to attention.

Dowoon looks up, blinks slowly up at Brian, whose hand is still curved around Dowoon’s shoulder. Once, twice, and he still doesn’t look away, even when their teacher calls his name again.

“You’re up,” Brian says, nodding his head to where the teacher is waiting for Dowoon to solve a problem on the board.

There’s a crease on the boy’s cheek, red against the pale of his skin and patterned like the knits of his sweater. Brian swallows. “Go,” he urges and watches as Dowoon’s eyes slip to his lips for a heartbeat before the boy turns his head towards the front of the class and sees the exasperated teacher holding out a piece of chalk towards him.

Without a word, Dowoon stands up and heads to the board. He solves the equation fast, faster than anyone would have expected and then walks back to his seat, ignoring the way the class claps and whistles for him.

When he sits back down, it’s with a careful nod in Brian’s direction. Caught off guard, Brian manages to smile in response, just a quirk of his lips to show that it’s okay. They’re even now, he thinks. Brian made amends.

Dowoon stares at him for a second, dark eyes focused and steady before he breaks out into his own kind of smile, a small one, more of a promise of what it could be than anything more present.

Still, Brian thinks, it’s okay. They’re fine now.

Brian is late for dinner but, as the situation stands, he’s really past the point of caring.

He’s still aching with frustration, running on a heady mix of unease and regret, the same awful mess that made him fuck up and hurt the girl again. Brian can admit that he acted like a downright asshole. He had smirked and teased and wound the poor girl up so much until she had looked ready to crack, clutching at her broom like it was the only thing keeping her from screaming out in frustration.

Brian almost wishes she had. It would have made things easier for him, certainly. If she had screamed at him, called him out on his behavior, then Brian could have snapped back, make her see sense; make her realise the he wasn’t the perfect guy she had painted him as, the kind that only needed a little bit of fixing up before being introduced to the parents.

But she hadn’t, so Brian had done what he did best and avoided the problem by covering it up with snarky jokes and a handful of smirks. And, eventually, when that hadn’t worked, he had taken the low road and left her alone while he got out - got away.

The arcade is almost empty by this hour. Brian is thankful for that, he needs the mindless sort of quiet that comes with places like this.

There’s only Brian, the owner who’s bustling somewhere in the back, and a guy that looks haggard in the worst of ways lingering around, frazzled and wild enough in the shadowed set of his eyes for Brian to know that he means trouble.

Still, Brian is set on keeping his head down and out of other people’s business. Today’s been shitty enough as it is and Brian is here to unwind and forget. So he turns back around and slips what little change he finds in his back pockets into the biker game by the corner of the arcade and forces himself to focus.

It’s only after he’s played a few rounds hat Brian notices the kid killing time by the other end of the arcade.

Dowoon is here, he realises, wonders how he didn’t spot him before. Brian’s been seeing him everywhere lately at school, turning down corners, hiding from his followers; anywhere, everywhere.

Brian watches him play for a while, feeling almost fond as he forgets the day’s worries and just watches Dowoon instead.The boy is staring intently at the screen of the arcade game, completely focused on winning his fight. Brian would think him expressionless, blank almost, but there’s a little frown wrinkling his forehead, belying his frustration. It’s cute, telling enough of a mark for Brian to realise that he’s more into the game than one would think at first glance.

Brian sees the guy coming before Dowoon does.

“Hey, fucker.” The words are spit out with enough scorn to make Brian’s hackles rise. It’s the guy from before - of course it’s him- and he’s looking straight at Dowoon, stalking closer towards him, trouble in every step he takes.

“Hey, brat - fucking look at me - I’m talking to you.”

The guy is close to Dowoon now - too close, just a few steps away and looming even closer. Still, Dowoon doesn’t look away from his game, eyes firmly locked on the screen.

Brian briefly wonders if the kid has a death wish of some sort, acting like he doesn’t know the guy is there, ignoring all the threats the man is lashing out at him, voice loud enough to echo and ring.

Brian doesn’t know much about Dowoon. They’re classmates, maybe-friends, if the way they have taken to acknowledging is anything to go by, but they haven’t exchanged a word. Brian has tried to, awkward and stilted as his attempts were, but he isn’t exactly well-known for making friends, after all, and well, Dowoon doesn’t seem to keen on helping him out either. He always has his earphones in, shutting out the world with music Brian has never gotten close enough to hear.

Still, when the punch comes flying, Brian is there to stop it.

The guy smells like a bad case of hangover - breath stale and sour when he breathes out in surprise all over Brian’s space - and he has about the same strength of one too. Brian catches him by the wrist, forces his arm back before it can touch a hair on Dowoon’s hair.

Dowoon stands up suddenly, eyes shifting around hurriedly as if he were just now realizing the situation and - and oh, Brian thinks,stomach sinking, how was he so stupid not to see it before, when all the clues were right there. Dowoon’s lips part in slight surprise when he sees Brian - locked in a shaky standstill with the drunken man and then - and then he turns on his heels and leaves.

He fucking leaves.

Brian only has the time to huff incredulously at the sheer nerve of the kid before the punch comes, sending his head snapping backwards and all thoughts of Dowoon and his dark, dark eyes out of his mind.

The owner steps in before the fight can get too out of hand but by the time he finds them Brian is bleeding from a split lip and he has the guy’s face pushes against the biting metal of the arcade game, struggling to break free of his hold.

The owner snaps something at him, scandalized and just this side of afraid. Brian snaps something back. Ultimately though, he lets the guy go because the owner is threatening to call the police on him and Brian really has no reason to draw this out when Dowoon is not even here. Honestly, who even does that?

So Brian leaves. The corner of his mouth is pulsing enough to ache and the sour taste of blood still lingers stubbornly on his tongue from where the man got in a sloppy hook. His shirt is rumpled and stained red around the collar and Brian just wants this day to end already.

He’s half-heartedly trudging his way home, scuffing his shoes against the cracks he finds on the pavement and wondering when his day went from shitty to downright hellish, when he sees him.

Dowoon is sitting by a plastic table out into the street, looking, at first glance at least, content and completely at ease as he sips on drink he probably bought from the corner store. Brian blinks, blinks again, and then huffs.

“You,” he says as he takes a seat in front of him, making sure he’s facing Dowoon head on, and points at his bloody lip, “have a lot to answer for.”

Dowoon takes a long sip, loud and just this side mocking. Brian has a feeling the kid is laughing at him from behind his straw. He shrugs then, playing up the disinterest. Brian would buy it but he knows now, sees the way Dowoon’s eyes linger, the way he watches his lips.

“You’re-” Brian starts, finds that it’s hard to say it with Dowoon looking at him like he’s waiting for him to gather enough courage. “You’re-”

“Deaf,” Dowoon croaks out, voice raspy with disuse. He talks like he’s playing a guessing game, unsure and shaky in his pronunciation, stilted too, but he’s talking and Brian finds himself wanting to hear more. “Say it.” Dowoon gestures at his ears, hands flitting around like they want to spell the words logged on his throat, painted sentences Brian won’t understand. “It’s- it’s okay.”

“I’m-” I’m sorry, is what Brian intended to say, but he’s not, not really. He has no reason to be sorry for Dowoon, who looks amused more than anything else, still sipping calmly on his drink. “I didn’t know,” is what he settles for in the end.

Dowoon shrugs. It’s no big deal, the gesture says. Still, Brian feels like it is, not for the reasons Dowoon may think, though.

“I’m glad, though, to know now,” Brian says, smiles in the same breath because for him it is a big deal, it means understanding Dowoon a bit better than he did before. “Now I realise you weren’t ignoring me.”

“I was,” Dowoon says, chewing on the words, taking his time with each of the words, voice rough like gravel but more than welcomed nonetheless. He smirks too, well-meaning enough for Brian to huff out an incredulous laugh and point at his bloody lip.

“I took a punch for you,” Brian reminds him, finds himself fighting off a smile when Dowoon raises an eyebrow at him, plainly stating I didn’t ask you to. And fine, maybe he didn’t, but Brian wasn’t going to let him get beaten up while he just stood there and watched. He may be an asshole, yeah, but he’s not going to let someone get hurt when he can do something about it. “A thank you would be nice, at the very least.”

Dowoon stares at him for a moment, eyes settling on his lips for a bit longer than necessary, maybe, before he reaches into his pocket, places a packet of tissues and - is that an egg? - on the table in front of him.

Brian stares at it, snaps his head up not a moment later when he hears a deep, stuttering sort of sound. It’s - it’s Dowoon’s laugh, he realises as he watches Dowoon’s eye crinkle softly at the corners, watches how his shoulder shake in mirth.

Dowoon stops when he sees him staring. Brian catches a glimpse of the red tips of his ears when Dowoon leans forward to push the egg closer to him.

“Here,” he says softly, pointing at his own cheek. Brian complies, holding the egg against his cheekbone like all the ajummas tell little children to do to their scrapes and bruises.

They’re quiet as Brian places the lukewarm egg against his bruised cheek. Brian has never been comfortable with silence, never really knew what to do with it when he found himself caught in it, but Dowoon is still drinking from his straw and looking content as he watches Brian watch him in return. He’s smiling too, the curve of it highlighted by the fluorescent lights of the store behind them both and Brian can’t help but smile back, even when it aches and pulls at his bruised skin.

“I have to go now,” Brian says regretfully after enough time has passed for them to begin shivering in the cold and the corner store to close. “You should head home too. But I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Dowoon nods, swift and firm, and something in him, some lingering doubt, eases at the gesture. Brian stands up, waves him goodbye, regretful to leave but finding comfort in the thought that it’s only few hours until he sees him again.

Brian’s a few blocks away when he hears the hurried steps. He turns around, alert, only to find Dowoon hurrying towards him, a somewhat sheepish expression on his face as he comes to stand next to Brian.

“What are you-” Brian starts to question, doesn’t get really to finish because Dowoon places his palm over his mouth to stop him, warm in the cool nighttime air.

When he’s sure Brian won’t speak, Dowoon brings his arms out, spreading out his palms out and placing them one on top of the other and shaking them once. Brian watches him, commits the movement to memory as Dowoon gives him one last smile and turns on his heel and walks away.

“Hey!” Brian calls out to him when he sees him leaving- “hey, wait!” - before he realises how stupid he’s being and huffs out an annoyed breath. Honestly, who does that? Brian won’t play along, he’ll ask Dowon what he meant tomorrow. He can wait.

(Later, after a hurried search on the internet because Dowoon is a brat who likes to play games and Brian is weak, so weak, Brian recognizes the gesture for what it is.

Arms out, spread palms. Thank you.

Brian laughs, long and unburdened and thinks that he can’t wait for tomorrow to come.)

Another one to add to the list of ‘fics I could write 100k about if I only had the time’

I wrote this twice and I’m still not happy with it but I know that if I don’t post this now it will rot in my drive like so many of my other fics so, yeah. I hope this doesn’t suck.

Anyways, please do drop me comments if you liked it and tell me if the plot twist was really a plot twist, maybe, hopefully? Pretty please I beg you guys comments are so precious <3

anonymous asked:

H-Happy Father's Day! I have cookies and a collection of iconic literature. Sorry if they aren't good gifts..... -Dailyharuno

“Haruno, I love it. There is no need to apologize for being such a generous young man! You did not need to go out of your way for me, after all.” [@dailyharuno​]

Daddy Doesn’t Have to Know - Part 6

Title: Daddy Doesn’t Have to Know - Part 6

Characters: Negan x You/Reader

Synopsis: An encounter with another survivor triggers Negan.

Warnings: SFW, lotsa cursing because duh, Negan

Note: And here it is! No smut, just plot. I was planning to post this tomorrow since it’s past midnight here but I don’t think I can sleep knowing that y’all are waiting for an update lol. Will also be editing and fixing my masterlist tomorrow in case you’re all wondering why it’s not updated. Enjoy! xoxo

DDHTK Masterlist

“What?” you asked in surprise.

Negan rolled his eyes and stepped on the brake, slowing down the vehicle until it lurched to a stop. “I said I’m not fucking bringing you back to Alexandria today.” He grumbled.

You grimaced and stared at him, your confused expression never leaving your face. “What?” you reiterated.

Negan groaned, rubbing his chin before reaching for his red scarf that was left at the backseat. Turning to you, he handed it and asked you to wear it around your eyes. You made a face at him and shook your head.

“I’m not wearing that. Why the fuck do I even need to wear that? And I thought we were going to look for the shit you wanted? Where the fuck are you fucking taking me?” you asked in a single breath, making Negan chortle at the way you were blabbering things.

“You’re starting to sound like me and I fucking love it.” He said with amusement.

Keep reading


cangel week ★ favourite season

Can’t fight kyrumption, cinnamon buns. It’s fate. It’s the stars. […] You gotta let her know what’s brewing inside, ‘cause, man, it’s real and - and you don’t wanna miss that shot.

The Prologue

‘What if Arobynn Hamel had never saved Aelin,what if she never fell into the Florine river’

Its past midnight here and im tired so I’ll just apologize in advance because i got this idea two days ago and now we are here ​} … So without further ado:

Aelin ran through the darkness, her heart thundering in her ears drowned out the sounds of the hooves behind her. Her breath burned in her throat but she did not stop as the man gained on her. She faintly heard the gushing river far below her as she hurtled onto the rope bridge, her footing was unsteady over the planks and the bridge swayed as another, heavier weight bounded over it far behind her. She managed to stay upright even as the posts at each end began to creak and the sound of planks snapping filled the air. Her focus narrowed on the two posts as she made a running leap onto rock. Crying out as she collapsed onto the hard ground. As the posts at the far end gave way, twisting just in time to see the bloodthirsty face of her attacker a mere meter away before he plunged down into the ruthless waters of the Florine river.

She didn’t wait,  walking into the depth less forest ahead of her, into the unknown. It was so dark. So dark and so, so cold as the little girl navigated her way through the maze of trees shivering and alone. At some point she began to cry, tears of anguish and helplessness, screaming at the stars and the gods and the world until her throat turned raw and she ran out of tears. She clutched her amulet against her chest throughout the night, as if it would somehow guide her in the right direction and lead her home. Lead her to whatever was left of her home. She whispered their names into the darkness, mother, father, Orlon, Lady Marion…

She had never felt so alone, wandering through the forest with darkness and cold, empty air surrounding her. Aedion had been her constant, her rock while she learnt to navigate the court despite her young age. Aedion. Gods, she hadn’t heard any news of him. She was prepared to get on her knees and pray to whatever Deity would listen to keep him safe, protect him. A bitter part of her doubted they would pay any heed to her prayers now, after robbing her of so much.

Her tiredness had been tugging at her incessantly for a long while when she eventually found the abandoned barn, Its roof was in tatters and the wooden walls were splintering, its paint peeling off. The moon had reached its peak in the sky casting a white glow that broke through the roof’s holes, stacks upon stacks of old hay and straw towered above her and she climbed to the top and settled down underneath the blanket of stars, staring at the stag of the north until her eyelids drooped and her breathing steadied.

So Princess Aelin Galathynius closed her eyes and followed her body into oblivion.

‘Terrasen has fallen.’

A heavy silence fell among the group as they absorbed the information. The dread that had been building in his chest since the news came of an attack on terrasen finally cracked. There wouldn’t be any coming back from this, his fellow warriors had tried to sail and aid them, but Maeve had refused. Refused for some petty grudge as she was denied the right to see her niece in the short eight years she had lived.

Eight years old. Aelin Galathynius is eight years old, her family dead and she might be dead, was as good as dead. For the first time in centuries he felt hot anger ignite in his chest like the princess’ legendary wildfire, an emotion. The girl was being hunted by assassins and soldiers, she was likely terrified, alone and cold during winter. Saving Terrasen, a country he had no ties to yet still felt it was his duty to protect, protect Aelin of the wildfire.

He looked across the table the six of them had gathered around and saw what seemed to be devastation written on Fenrys’ face as they digested the news. A deafening silence had filled the room since the messenger spoke then abruptly left after scenting the anger that poured of Rowan and the rest of the legendary warriors. Even Salvetterre seemed to take his time digesting the news although his eyes were calculating, perhaps trying to figure the odds that the young princess had survived the attack. Vaughan and Conall were unmoving, sitting next to each other across the round table. It was shock, Rowan realised, that they were experiencing. Terrasen was a strong land that had flourished and rivalled Maeve’s land in that sense. Gavriel was sat to his right and his fight reflected Rowan felt in that moment. Disgust. Horror.

Amidst the sea of anger in Rowan’s gut, there arose a beacon of hope, the princess was not yet confirmed dead. A small part of him knew that she would fight until the last breath, she would not let go and for reasons unknown, he knew that she was alive. He could feel it in the very core of his being although he couldn’t explain it. From the rumours of the young princess across the sea, he knew she had unfathomable power that was still growing, she was strong. And some unearthly presence told him she would fight until her very bones gave up on her so that one day she would grow up remake this world, raise it up from ashes of tyranny and greed. Rowan thought it time for a new world to rise.

So, he looked to Fenrys, the wild one he knew would fight for the girl who in turn looked to Conall. He then shifted his gaze to Gavriel, letting the small, hopeful flame ignite his eyes, who was loyal to the very bone but as honourable as he was loyal, Rowan knew he would fight also. Lorcan’s face was cold, his mouth set in a hard line as the commander’s brain determined whether it was worth it. The warriors communicating silently in a way that had been practised over many years, they all turned to Lorcan who nodded once which was the only confirmation they needed.

They had no idea where the young princess was, what state she was in, but they knew that she was one on them and their fellow brothers and sisters across the sea had been attacked in cold blood, so they would help in whatever form they could.  She was so young. Too young to lose so much. She may already be so broken that she was beyond saving. He knew the others were contemplating the same thing, yet when Lorcan voiced it aloud Fenrys let loose a snarl vicous enough to earn him a challenging glare from him.

The messenger had only given the barest of details, an assassin had killed the king of Terrasen along with the parents to the Heir of the throne, all in their sleep and the princess had not yet been confirmed dead. The attack was confirmed to be from Ardalan when their forces began marching on Terrasen, the king was already in Orynth on a visit that would’ve been planned to every last detail in order to disable it’s monarchy and seize the throne for himself. There was no news of officials in Orynth, nor the young Ashryver prince that was a cousin to the princess. Rowan felt inclined to hunt the messenger down and squeeze more information out of him, but they worked with what they were given until a plan began to form that would develop over their trip.

Maeve considered their proposal silently, in her usual cunning way of hers and Rowan feared for a split second that the girl would not be safe here. But the princess was Terrasen’s last hope and it was necessary. It wasn’t pity or empathy that fueled this mission, but white hot rage the burned in his gut. Rage at Ardalan for attacking his brothers and sisters who were defenseless and weakened without their monarch.

Her majesty agreed easily, to rowan’s surprise, allowing Rowan to go along with Gavriel and Fenrys, they were under a strict order to retrieve the princess then leave without wasting any time and three warriors were more than enough for the mission.

As they began the journey, Rowan felt a dormant part of himself wake up after many centuries, a part of him he thought was long gone. The spark of hope for the young princess turned into a flame that ignited his burning rage that he allowed to swallow him and fuel his determination.

Prince Rowan Whitethorn rallied his fellow warriors and set out to find Terrasen’s lost princess, to find Aelin of the wildfire.


a little taako

Soup from today’s episode reminded me a lot of this other child from a certain videogame I love very much, a game that also happens to have it’s 1 year anniversary today!

Happy birthday, Undertale!


I wrote a take on the crypt scene from the trailer.


Baelish should not be here. He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t deserve to stand at the crypt of Ned Stark. He betrayed Ned Stark.

Just seeing that worm down here makes Jon’s skin crawl. Granted, that’s how he reacts to seeing Littlefinger in any context. But it’s especially bad down here.

Baelish’s presence doesn’t even make sense. The man is almost always either hovering around Sansa, or trying to. Even when doors get slammed in his face, he’ll wait by those doors, ready to pounce the moment she emerges from the council chamber. Ghost even started sleeping right outside her bedchambers to keep the man away.

Seeing him here, though, it’s especially odd. And not just because Sansa isn’t here. It’s past midnight, everyone should be asleep.

Jon was unable to sleep for a number of reasons. His whole world has shattered and turned itself upside down over the past year. And the revelation Bran arrived with certainly hasn’t helped. In addition to his identity crisis, it’s subconsciously made him a bit more receptive to… well, thoughts he shouldn’t have. Especially at night.

The King figured no one would be down here now. That it was safe to visit his mother’s crypt.

He and Sansa decided to keep it secret for now, not wishing to ignite anymore chaos within their already-fragile government. Or, rather, Sansa decided. Jon jumped at the chance to abdicate in her favor. He’s never felt comfortable with his title.

But they especially didn’t want Littlefinger to know. If Baelish found out that Eddard Stark’s eldest son, the King in the North, wasn’t really Eddard Stark’s son… That he was in fact a potential rival to that dragon queen currently setting half the south ablaze…

As she pointed out, it’s better keeping things quiet.

Still, Jon likes visiting Lyanna’s grave when he’s restless. It helps at least add some context to his new identity.

Littlefinger shouldn’t be here.

Jon supposes it’s better than having the man hovering outside Sansa’s bedroom window, but he still has no place in these crypts.

Baelish hovers around Robb’s crypt instead, studying it by the light of his lantern. With his black cloak and white fur collar, raised arm, and pale face, to Jon he looks like a vulture. Fitting.

The King in the North loathes to be alone with this man. He always feels on the verge of snapping and throttling that vile son of a snake. Especially when he sees that condescending smirk.

Jon knows better. He can’t trust himself alone with this man, not here, with no sleep. But before he can flee, the vulture looks up and spots him.

He straightens up, turns theatrically, and smirks. “Your Grace! I suppose sleep eludes you as well?”

No, I’m asleep right now, actually. This is how I do it, the king thinks impatiently.

“Aye,” Jon says, reluctantly walking over to Robb’s crypt. He wants to know what Baelish was looking for. He stands next to the man silently, arms folded in front of him. He examines Robb’s newly-finished resting place. The masons did good work.

There’s silence for a while. Until…

“You see me as a threat, don’t you, Your Grace?”

Jon glances sideways at Baelish. “I see you as lots of things, Lord Baelish.” Sometimes I see you in my dreams, your cries for mercy dying away as I crush your neck beneath my boot. “You’re a powerful man, and you didn’t become powerful by accident.”

“Good. You’re a smart man. But you must believe me, I only want what’s best for Sansa.”

“I believe you want Sansa,” Jon replies before he can stop himself, “As a smart man, I know the difference. And I also believe that your desire for her is not what’s best for her.”

Baelish doesn’t know that Sansa’s told Jon about him selling her to the Boltons. He doesn’t know that he’s a dead man walking. That the only reason he still breathes is because Sansa wants to milk him dry of all of his contacts, gold, and secrets before she has him executed. He doesn’t know she’s only pretending to trust him again out of resentment towards the half-brother who was crowned over her. He doesn’t know that she’s faking her apparent receptiveness to his attentions. He doesn’t know that she spends at least a quarter hour every evening detailing how revolting she finds him to Jon. Baelish thinks he’s playing the Starks. He doesn’t know they’re playing him. He’s a man who thinks he knows everything. He knows nothing.

“Oh? The man who got her out of King’s Landing before that lunatic Cersei Lannister executed her for a murder she didn’t commit?”

Jon seethes. You’re the one who framed her! But he’s not supposed to know that.

“A man who immediately let her be kidnapped and tormented by a sadist?”

Baelish flinches. “It was a mistake. But I remind you, when you were both about to fall to that sadist again, I was the one who gathered the men you needed. The army that won you back your home.”

The same men you might have gathered before. The one you could have used to win her her home back without selling her to her raper! Jon is ready to scream.

“If the aid you gave us,” Jon says after several deep breaths, “Came under the condition that you have her, then you’re not the sort of man I trust her with. You are her uncle, I’d remind you. You are the Lord Protector of her cousin. The ward of her grandfather.”

“I made no such condition.”

“Are you making a proposal now?” Jon asks.

“No, that would be improper. I’m just… interested.”

“Yes, you’ve made that clear.”

Baelish snorts. “Not just in Sansa. But in you, how you see me. It’s clear you don’t like me. I can’t imagine why.”

This is a trap. Jon chooses his words carefully. “I don’t like the way you do business. Even in the North, we know what trade you deal in, my lord. I also don’t like how you got your current title. You served the Lannisters very well for years. And were richly rewarded for it. Once you got what you wanted, you betrayed them. Just because it served my interests doesn’t mean I can’t find it suspect.”

“I see. But why would I betray those who so rewarded me to serve the Starks if I didn’t truly care for her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you do. But even if that’s so, that doesn’t mean you’re right for her. Besides, after what my sister endured, she doesn’t need that sort of attention.”

“She’ll receive it regardless,” Baelish points out, “You of all people know that.”

Jon’s heart begins to thud in his chest. There’s something in the man’s tone… He turns slightly and looks Baelish in the eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Though I don’t have any siblings, I understand the instincts of a protective male relation, especially when it comes to suitors. I grew up watching the Blackfish with Catelyn and Lysa. I see hints of it in your little brother. He doesn’t like me, either.”

“We don’t like how you look at her.”

Baelish smirks. “I don’t like how you look at her, either.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Despite what you pretend to think, we both know that when it comes to Sansa, you have far more in common with me than you do with your brother. You don’t care a fig about my business. You don’t care about shifting loyalties. If you did, you wouldn’t be so friendly with the wildlings. The real reason you see me as a threat, Your Grace, is that as a brother, you’re less a Bran Stark and more a Jaime L-”

Jon has him against the wall. He clutches Baelish’s throat the way he’s dreamt of doing for nearly a year. Baelish struggles only a little, grasping Jon’s wrist. He still smirks.

“I observed Jaime Lannister as well,” he chokes out, “I was one of the first to see it! Not hard for a brothel-keeper to notice!”

The King in the North tightens his grip. He can’t stand another word.

The man is silenced, aside from a few choking sounds. His smirk finally drops. His face starts turning blue. And, at last, he looks truly afraid. Now it’s Jon turn to smirk.

“You know nothing, Petyr Baelish,” he hisses, “Better to stay silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. So why don’t you shut up for once?”


That voice…

It’s become an instinct with him, the way he responds to that voice. He knows it at once. It commands every ounce of his attention at the slightest syllable. And he cannot resist it.

He drops Baelish, who crumbles on the floor, sputtering and clutching his throat.

In a flash, Sansa’s crouching down on the ground beside him, helping Baelish to his feet. She glares at Jon, who stumbles back.

“What are you doing?” She cries, “You could have killed him!”

Jon swallows. Not ‘could have’. ‘Would have’. Would have killed him.

“You don’t understand, he-”

“-I don’t care!” Sansa snaps, “He’s my friend, Jon! And even if you don’t care about my feelings… Strangling a guest, a vassal, an ally under your own roof?! What are you, a Frey?!”

That hurts most of all. Jon is speechless as Sansa tries to soothe Baelish and escort him towards the exist. It’s only now that Jon notices Ghost. He shares a look with his direwolf, and the beast follows the two out.

Jon sinks to his knees when she gone, clutching his temple. Oh, gods. How much did she hear?

He recalls something his fa–Lord Stark– once said, “Cutting out a man’s tongue does nothing. It merely tells the world that you afraid of what he has to say.”

What did strangling Baelish tell Sansa?

How will he face her again?

Even if she isn’t convinced now, the idea will be planted. And she’ll be looking for it. And, eventually, she will know for sure.

He was her brother.



“He’s a madman!” Littlefinger moans, still clutching his throat as she escorts him back to his chambers. He says much for a man who claims, “He’s broken my neck, I’m sure of it!”

“I’ll have a maester called,” she tells him, depositing him in his rooms. She turns away, as eager as ever to leave him. He reaches for her.

“Sansa… Stay with me, please.” His voice, like the rest of him, is pathetic.

“I will come right back once the maester has been fetched,” she lies, fleeing. Her heart pounds. She gives a quick instruction to an on-duty guard to get Maester Daemon, but then hurries off to Jon’s rooms. He’s not returned, so she rushes back down to the crypts.

She finds him on the floor, back against Lyanna’s tomb, head in his hands. Her heart sinks. Perhaps she’s become too skilled at masking her feelings for her own good.


He looks up and scrambles to his feet. “My Lady!”

She stifles a giggle. When he’s at his most nervous, he addresses her by title or style. He doesn’t do that with anyone else, she realizes. Only her. Gods, how did she not realize it before?

Sansa walks toward him, gentle smile on her face. “So, what are we to do now?”

“I-I-I don’t know. Have I ruined everything for you?”

“Not everything,” she replies, “Littlefinger has lived out enough of his usefulness, I think. He’s officially become more trouble than he’s worth.”

Jon closes his eyes for a moment. “I’m glad to hear that, at least. But I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She pauses, take a deep breath, and makes her decision. “You love me. That’s nothing to apologize for. I’ve always wanted to be loved by a good man.”

Jon goes white. “Of course I love you,” he sputters, “You’re my–”

“–Don’t,” she stops him, moving up close and pressing her fingertip to his lips, “Don’t do that. Please don’t pretend anymore.”

Jon closes his eyes again. “Sansa, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t want to be like the others.”

“Mission accomplished.” She smiles. “You’re not.”

She leans forward and presses her lips to his. He’s still for a short time, but then responds enthusiastically. When she pulls her mouth from his, she presses her forehead to his and sighs.

“So I ask again,” she whispers, stroking his cheek, “What are we going to do? You are still a Stark as far as the world knows, and we do not want to provoke the Dragon Queen. So how do you intend to manage this?”

Jon takes a few deep breaths. “I’m not sure. This sort of thing is usually more your specialty. Any suggestions?”

“I suppose we’ll just have to be discreet.” She smiles. “You’ve become a man of many secrets, Jon Stark. Who knew you could be so duplicitous?”

He grins. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything except that I love you.”

Gods, that feels so good. It feels even better to reply, “I love you, too.”

They trade more kisses.

Petyr Baelish is arrested for treason the next day. Sansa revels in the shock on his face as she accuses him. Littlefinger’s trial goes a fortnight. All that time, she and Jon steal wicked kisses whenever they can steal away. They’re like naughty children.

But even he doesn’t know about the things she’s sent for, the materials she’s required. The herbs, shipped in from The Vale, that she hides in little silk bags she keeps in the locked drawer of her desk.

She watches in satisfaction as Longclaw sinks into Littlefinger’s neck, as the blood sprays, as Jon wipes his blade once the deed is done. Their eyes meet as the gallows are cleared. She feels so free.

She feigns a headache at dinner and retires early. She sneaks into Jon’s chambers and slips naked beneath his furs. When he finally enters, his jaw drops at the sight of her. His grey eyes seem to glow with lust in the candlelight as he steps to the side of the bed. She expects him to kiss her.

He does, in a fashion. He drops to his knees, reaches up, grabs her thigh, and pulls her roughly so her spread legs hang over the bed. And he kisses her other set of lips.

Sansa doesn’t know what she expected, but it isn’t this. Her toes curl, her eyes roll back, and she’s as much at his mercy as Baelish was.

She doesn’t mind, as she knows the feeling is mutual.

notyourplotbunny replied to your post “I need Saphael ideas for Valentine’s Day, help…”

rafe being passive aggressive with candy hearts

he knows they cant eat them but its the principle (sp?) of the matter bc noone has celebrated valentines day at dumort in decades 

Okay, I guess I changed it a little bit but I hope you like what I made of it, I certainly had fun writing this :D And thank you for the idea! ♥

Also posting it already because it’s just past midnight here so it’s the 14th for me already - it will be up on AO3 in about an hour (it won’t let me set the correct date before 1am…)

“What is up with this stuff, seriously??” Stan complained and Simon glanced up from the comic he was currently reading to look at the small pink candy heart the older vampire had pinched between his index finger and thumb. It wasn’t the first one a clan member had discovered in the hotel and the fledgeling couldn’t help but think that the idea was absolutely hilarious.

“What does this one say?” Simon asked and he felt his lips already tugging into a grin when the other groaned.

U suck.”

Laughter bubbled up in Simon’s throat and he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the little messages engraved into the sweets. Whoever had taken the time to scatter these in the whole hotel was clearly a genius in Simon’s book and he would love to know who was behind all of this.

“I’m still convinced that this is your doing, Lewis! You’re the only one here with this stupid kind of humour!” Stan glared at him but without any heat and Simon knew he wasn’t actually mad. He was simply an old, grumpy vampire without a sense of humour and probably didn’t even get why half of the things were funny to the clan members who bothered to keep up with the modern world.

“Stan, seriously, I would be proud if this had been my idea but sadly it isn’t.”

“I found one with ctrl + z in one of the cupboards in the kitchen,” Lily commented from where she was curled up in the armchair with a book perched in her lap, not taking her eyes off the pages while talking. Stan and a few other vampires frowned, clearly not getting the joke, while Simon stifled more laughter by pressing his hand to his mouth.

“When I got up and went to the bathroom there was a blue heart balanced on the tap with the words get lost. I always thought these candy hearts only had nice messages on them but clearly, there are mean ones as well,” another female vampire added and a few other clan members told about their findings as well. Simon’s favourite ones certainly were the drop dead, bite me, tbh I’d rather not and in ur dreams but the u suck was right up there as well.

The first one to discover the candy hearts scattered across the hotel had been one of the oldest clan members who had been very confused about the I literally can’t message on a yellow heart in their room because they couldn’t figure out what it was supposed to mean. Simon had tried to explain the meaning but he wasn’t too sure that the other vampire had understood.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, someone probably just wanted to lighten the mood,” Lily commented with a shrug and it might have been a slightly weird thing to do so with almost insulting messages on pastel coloured candy hearts but most clan members did think they were funny and a few had actually started a competition about who could find the most hearts - and the ones with the best messages.

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anonymous asked:

What happened though? :o you can't just leave it there.

hahaha, sorry about that! It’s just that it was way past midnight here in São Paulo when I posted that AND I WAS STILL SO HYPED! 

Anyway, so. Last night was Gabriel Falcão’s debut as Enjolras (he’s one of Pedro Caetano’s understudies). He was acting opposite Vitor Moresco,* and I think he wanted to do something memorable, maybe? I don’t know.

I was sitting on the very first row. They’re called AA rows and are so fucking close to the stage, you can see the orchestra. I’m not kidding, I think I was only 4ft away from the stage, and I was at the dead center. Why is this relevant? Because I was motherfucking 4ft away, directly IN FRONT of the actors when it happened.

So at the end of the barricade scene, moments away before Enjolras climbed to the top, waved his flag, was gunned down and finally fell to his death, there’s a moment when he goes to the ammunition chest. Grantaire was the one guarding it and, seriously, it was such a great, BLINK AND YOU’LL FUCKING MISS IT moment, I’m still shook:

Gabriel, as Enjolras, rummages through the chest, Moresco (as Grantaire) mildly panicking in front of him. When he gets what little he can collect, he FUCKING GRABS MORESCO’S FACE AND GOES FOR THE KISS! Moresco was so clearly shocked for a second there IT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL! But then he dove in as well. It was a quick, impulsive, WE’RE GONNA DIE AND I LOVE YOU peck on the lips. I swear that my heart stopped for a moment. =‘D

Later, at the stagedoor, I asked the actors to sign an e/R bottle my best friend had given me as a bday present two weeks ago. The first to come out was Moresco and he FUCKING FLIPPED OUT when he saw the art on the bottle. He was so in love with it, it was adorable! I then thanked him for the kiss scene and he so stoked! He said that moment was completely improvised and caught him by surprise, but that it was great! Because he’d been trying to do something e/R-ish for some time, but never had an opportunity for it.

About ten minutes later, Gabriel walked out and I thanked him as well. He seemed very confused for a second and then was, like, “ooohh, that! No, see, I’d meant to kiss him on the forehead.” Which honestly makes the whole thing that much better. Moresco basically made the kiss happen because he misread Gabriel’s intention. I fucking love Vitor Moresco <3

*Vitor Moresco is the understudy for Bruno Sigrist, the ~official Grantaire, but he’s played R so often by now, we can almost say the actual Brazilian R at this point.

Hope (Disney’s Descendants)

Pairing: None

Word Count: 965

Warnings: None

Note: Okay, so this is more of a Pirate Crew fic than a Harry-central one, and honestly features a lot more Uma and Gil than Harry, but I keep putting off posting it because I don’t quite like how it came out. Mostly because I haven’t read the book yet, so I only have the trailer and song to go off of while writing them. However, I’m running out of time, so I’ll just post what I do have and hope that it isn’t horrendously inaccurate. I mean, it’s technically the second here, sine it’s just a little past midnight, but I haven’t gone to bed yet, so we’re counting it. Shhhhh…

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BTS Mafia AU.- Angel in Hell (Part 3)

Part 1, Part 2

You woke up with a thumping headache and a dry mouth. You needed water, and a pain killer. What time was it? You looked around your small room and realised you didn’t have a clock, and since there was no window, you had no idea how long you’d been asleep. You stretched onto the bed, groaning.

“I should probably shower.” You said to yourself. It would seem that you would have to learn to content yourself with solo conversations from then on, seeming as you were locked inside a room 24/7. At least for now. You still had hopes of escaping somehow, but you had no idea how. You were trapped between a few cement walls that you could most definitely not go through.

You stood up, and stumbled. You felt a rush of blood drop from your head to your toes as your blood pressure lowered. You had probably been on the bed for too long. Your hand gripped onto the bedside table until you could steady yourself. With a sigh, you began walking towards the small wardrobe, hoping there would be something for you to wear in there, so you could change out of the grubby clothes.

Inside the wardrobe, you were surprised to see quite a few items of clothing, all of which were your exact size. You rummaged through them, choosing a nice set of white lacy underwear, a sweater, and some skinny jeans, and darted to the shower. Inside the bathroom you saw all sorts of toiletries, shampoos of all sorts of scents, conditioners, body gels, lotions, and all kinds of beauty products, everything you hadn’t gotten the chance of bringing with you. Was Taehyung expecting someone to move into this room before your arrival?

You shrugged, not wanting to dwell too long on what that room was meant for, and quickly undressed yourself, leaving the dirty clothes on a pile on the floor. You turned on the water, and once it was hot enough, you jumped in, feeling the warmth of it relax your muscles. You moaned lightly at the feeling. You let the water run through your body for a few moments, relishing in the feeling, before picking your shampoo and shower gel.

You took what seemed to be hours in the shower, cleansing yourself, and trying, for a brief moment, to forget everything that had happened. But Taehyung’s smile kept popping up in your head, making your cheeks immediately heat up. How could someone so beautiful be involved in such dark businesses?

You got out of the shower, and got dried and dressed fairly quickly. You debated whether you should put make up on or not, but in the end you decided to lift your mood by applying a little bit of eyeliner, mascara and lipgloss to your face.

You walked out of the bathroom, still drying your hair with a towel, when you heard a soft knock on your door. Your heart began to race.

“C-come in…” Your voice spoke shakily. Your heart began to thump so loudly you could hear it in your ears.

Someone unlocked the door with a soft click, and opened the door. Closing the door behind him, Taehyung smiled at you. For a brief moment, you thought he was blushing as he examined you in the outfit you were wearing.

“That looks good on you” He told you, grinning with that precious rectangular smile of his.

“It was in the wardrobe…” You told him, looking down at your hands with a blush rushing to your face.

“I know, I put it there.” He laughed, and your head immediately snapped up to look at him.

“What? When?” You asked. He walked closer towards you.

“While you were asleep. You didn’t really think I’d leave you here with only one change of clothes and underwear did you?” He laughed again, as he sat down onto your large double bed like it was his own.

“But… When did you leave this here? How long ago?” You asked him, utterly confused.

“About 6 hours ago? You’ve been sleeping for a day and a half now… Do you usually sleep this much?” He asked you with another laugh. Your eyes went wide.

“What?!” You almost screeched in shock.

“Don’t worry, it was probably the sedative, and the stress. I’m sorry about that. I had a rough guess about your size, a couple of the girls here have sizes similar so they helped me out a little. I’m fairly good with sizes anyway. I chose things that I thought you might like. I hope I did a decent job…” he trailed off, his bravado dropping a little towards the end of the sentence.

You smiled at him, your hands playing with the sleeves of your sweater.

“I loved them… Thank you.” You thanked him sincerely, you had never worn clothes as nice, or as expensive looking as these. Was thanking your kidnapper a stretch too far?

“Look… I know you probably hate me. I know what I did… What I’m doing is wrong. But had your father not given you to us… to me… You probably would have been shot that night too. Not because we wanted you dead… This keeps sounding worse and worse doesn’t it? When you are in a business like this for so long, you forget what it’s like to be normal, what the things you do sound like to normal people… If you had heard the shot… and ran to the living room… We would have had to dispose of you too… I’m glad he handed you to us… at least this way you are safe… well as safe as you can be.” He tried explaining, getting frustrated at how awkward and wrong it all sounded.

“It’s… okay…” you tried to awkwardly comfort him, by placing a hand on his knee. He looked up at you, and for a brief moment you saw something flash across his eyes.

“It’s not okay… I know it’s not. Having you locked in here it’s not okay. But I can’t have you at home… Not yet. And if Namjoon, or anyone else saw you, they would punish me… and make you work like the other girls… or worse. Please… Please Y/N… Don’t try to escape. I promise you things will get better… Please just have patience…” He begged you, his eyes full of panic, as he looked straight at you. You felt your heart break a little at the thought of him so worried for your sake.

“Taehyung…” you whispered his name so softly, your voice was barely audible, but despite the thumping beat of the music blaring outside, he heard you. His eyes were completely focused on you.

You wanted to tell him not to worry, that you were okay, that you didn’t hate him, but you couldn’t find the words. You didn’t know what spell this handsome man had put you under, but it was surely confusing your brain. So instead, you cupped his cheek, and kissed him gently. Your soft lips melded perfectly with his.

At first, Taehyung was shocked, but he took no more than two seconds to respond to your kiss, moving his lips against yours with such passion, you felt your insides burn with it. Your hands travelled to the back of his head, letting your fingers lace with his hair, gripping it tightly. His hands snaked around your body, and gripped onto your hips tightly, pulling you closer towards him.

You parted for air, panting slightly, with your lips plump and reddish, and your pupils dilated. Taehyung stared at you, with his eyes wide, and his lips parted. You could almost hear the wheels in his mind turning, his whole body tense and twitching slightly, as he tried to repress the need to lunge forward, push you onto the bed, and fuck you silly…

“Y/N…” He moaned your name, his fists balling, as he struggled to repress his basic instincts.

“How do you know my name?” You asked him between jagged breaths. He smiled.

“We grabbed your ID card and the rest. You have a beautiful name… Suits you…” he told you, caressing your cheek gently with his fingers. You melted into his touch.

“Will you come visit me every day then?” You asked him, staring at the door behind him, which you believed he had left unlocked.

“Every day… and if you want… I can stay here some nights too… Now, I’m not saying we have to fuck, but I can keep you company if you feel lonely…” He told you, trying not to sound awkward and failing miserably.

“Will you stay here tonight then? I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a while…” you asked him, trying to hide the cheeky smile that was forming on your lips. He laughed.

“Baby, it’s already tonight. It’s just past midnight. But when my work hours here are over, if I’m not required upstairs, I’ll come right here, and spend the night with you if you want.” He told you with his precious grin. You returned it, and kissed him once more, holding his face between the palms of your hands.

All you could think of was “tonight”.