like he actually wrote this

They call him the Guess Monster. With his flawless aim and terrifying ability to read and predict his targets, he was a born assassin. Other than that, not much else is known about him. To hire this mysterious man is tricky, somehow he always knows who needs him and who he needs to kill. It goes with the alias most people conclude. He is an enigma wrapped in a mystery and sealed in a conspiracy. Not much is known about him although rumour on the streets says that he’s part of the notorious assassins organisation; ‘Shiratorizawa’. To attempt to dig any deeper is a fools quest - those who have tried to unravel the mystery have simply ceased to be…

I told myself not to but after reading @gue55-monster‘s headcanon submissions, this one in particular stuck out to me and I couldn’t help myself. I have so much other stuff to do which is why this is a massive scribble but I can never resist an opportunity to draw my son being a murderer. 

AND just on the off chance there ends up being a Shiratorizawa Assassins!AU, I would be totally on board with that. *hint hint*

Everlasting Party - Mystic Messenger Time Loop AU (pt 21)

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Summary: You’re caught in a time loop during the 11 days leading up to the RFA’s party unless you can do… what, exactly?

13+. Small spoilers for an event common to Yoosung, Seven, and Zen’s routes.

Busy week so this chapter’s a little later than usual, but it’s also pretty long. Thanks for reading!

You glance up at the security camera above the door to the apartment as you shift your grocery bags to one hand so you can type in the passcode. Briefly you wonder if you ever make eye contact with Seven when you look at the cameras. Well, you doubt he’s keeping an eye on them 24/7. Maybe he just has it set up to notify him if a stranger comes by or something. The only stranger you can think of doesn’t seem to have any trouble hacking the security feeds, though… Ugh.

There’s a click as the door unlocks and you nudge it open with your hip, using your foot to shut it behind you as you enter the apartment. You flick the lights on and give the desk a wide berth on your way to the kitchen to set your groceries down on the counter. You didn’t buy much – there’s hardly any point in stockpiling ingredients for later – but you do have a few vegetables, snacks, and other foods now. At the very least, you never have to worry about something going bad before you get the chance to use it.

Somewhere deep in your purse, your phone rings. You set down the milk you were about to put in the fridge and dig around in your bag until you find it, barely glancing at the caller ID before swiping to answer. “Hello?”

“It’s me.” His deep voice is instantly recognizable.

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Athlete!Jimin x Reader

Practice was due to start in 10 minutes and you were still trapped on the third floor. Class was running over due to the horrendous scores on the Chem exam but you really didn’t care. 76 was still passing for you and as long as your average wasn’t awful, you were golden. Finally, finally, the ancient of days teacher finished going over the last question and dismissed the class.

You fled the room as quickly as possible to the nearest bathroom. You had 5 minutes to change and get out to the track. In 2 flat, you had your uniform off and a sports bra, crop top, and shorts on. You hoisted your backpack loaded down with books on your back and took off down the hallway, tackling the stairs like the athlete you were. You looked down to your wristwatch and saw it was a minute to go before you had to be out to the field.

You hit the last landing and shoved open the doors, sprinting for the open space without a lick of shade in sight. It was a hot April day and guaranteed to be a sweat out. You flung your heavy backpack to the side and joined the lineup of students. The coach was known for being mean, although well meaning, as he wanted each student to succeed. The captains of the team, two seniors, a boy and girl started drills and you were relieved you made it to time to not get called out to do additional exercises.

You were in the middle of high kicks down the field before you noticed who exactly you were near. Your two girlfriends on the team were on the clear opposite side and you couldn’t join due to you being late. But literally, the hottest guy on the team (if your opinion) was right next to you, black bangs flopping over his forehead as he effortlessly executed the kicks. Your breath quickened as his head turned, and he gave you that crescent-eyed smile he was renowned for.

Before you knew it, you smiled back, teeth and all, dimples and all, not holding anything back because it was Jimin, the sweetie that everyone loved and adored. He was a nice boy, smart and kind, never picked on anyone, and had a diverse group of friends, two who were on the same team on as well.

Hoseok and Jungkook were currently in front of him, the former screaming out to inspire energy in himself and the latter giggling at the antics. Jimin giggled too and your heart melted at the sound of happiness. Kicks were over now and you dropped down to sit and stretch. Your forehead was to your knee when you heard a tentative “hi” from your right side. You turned and Jimin was there, his forehead to his knee too, smiling again and fingers in a wave.

“Hi Jimin,” you greeted, waving back. You two spoke from time to time, seeing as the majority of the year, you two were teammates. Never ate lunch together though, and only shared one class, and sat on clear opposites of the room.

“How was your day?” He asked and the question actually threw you off guard enough to make you lose your count.

“Um…good, I’d say,” you replied. “Now that you’re talking to me,” you thought. “How about you?”

“Excellent!” He replied and smiled again. “Only thing is, it’s so hot today!” He blew air between his lips and you couldn’t help but watch them pucker, the nerve you had before he fanned himself with his free hand.

“Well maybe we’ll get a few clouds come along,” you optimistically said and managed to tear your eyes away from him to search for your friends. They were eyeballing the mess out of you and you knew you’d owe an explanation.

No clouds came along. It was 4:30, no breeze, real feel 85, and you were dying. Or at least you felt like it. A meet was in two days and everyone was timing. Your events were the 400 and 800 so you watched the sprinters go first. Jimin was a sprinter, one of the best in the 100 and 200. He seemed happy with his times although exhausted as he pulled off the track to meet back up with his friends.

Before you knew it and right in the middle of your friend’s sentence, Jimin pulled his shirt off and not even she could complete her thought. A collective hush fell over the girls as all heads swiveled to take in the sight of chocolate abs. Everyone was sweating, but instead of looking icky, he looked simply delectable, like he’d just gotten out the shower. His hair was wet with sweat and droplets were making their way down between his pectoral muscles and disappearing into the band of his underarmor shorts.

Now Jimin wasn’t the tallest, or the smartest, or the handsomest, but he was fantastically cute, and now he was amazingly sexy on top of it. The only noise cutting through the nearby silence was Hobi yelling and threatening to pull up his shirt as a well.

“Mochi sexy,” your friend muttered am you could only nod senselessly in agreement. Your crush was only solidified. The yelling of your captain finally pulled you out your reverie and you belatedly realized that you needed to line up for your timed lap. You took your place and saw that Jimin was standing on the sidelines, still shirtless, still choking you with the sight.

You took off at the whistle and at first, just felt defeated. You’d never catch the eye of a guy like Jimin, who was the ultimate package, and even if you did, he wouldn’t spend any time on you. The defeatist thoughts made you angry, mostly because you knew you shouldn’t think lowly of yourself. You pushed yourself to run faster and pulled ahead to join two other girls in the front. You forced yourself to clear your thoughts, if only for 30 seconds and focus on your breathing technique and the sound of your trusty sneakers hitting the astroturf. Before you knew it, you’d hit the line and pulled off your get your time.

“Shaved three seconds off! That’s good!” You looked up at the sound of his voice. There he was, up close, personal, threatening to snatch your sanity. You were on the shorter side, so Jimin did feel tall to you at 5"8. The moles on his neck and below his clavicle on the left side taunted you as you forced yourself to look him in the eye. He had to know he was wrecking you. Had to. Those deep brown eyes looked clever enough.

“Thank you Jimin,” you answered in what you hoped was a professional tone. There was now no in between with this fellow.

“No problem! Want me to time you for the next too?” He offered, this time showing off his white teeth between pillowy lips. Lort.

“Sure, that would be great,” you found yourself saying. You quickly retreated to your water bottle on the other side of the track and took a gulp before giving a thumbs up to your friend lining up for her 400 heat. Three minutes and it was time for your two laps. As Jimin promised, he timed you, and clapped after you’d completed causing you to blush at the fact that you had your own cheerleader.

“You’re doing awesome today,” he complimented and offered both hands in a high five gesture. You accepted and before you knew it, he’d locked fingers with you, bringing your arms down together to your sides. Kid was still naked and looking down at your feet was a huge mistake. You knew it earlier but had chosen to turn your blinders on. You could see everything in those sinfully tight underarmor shorts. No! You hurriedly took your gaze away, resulting in tightly squeezed eyes shut and a harder grip on Jimin hands.

“Y/N,” you heard and cracked them open to look him in the eyes. He was doing that full on grin again, the one that made you grin too. “Would you like to come hang out this weekend at my place with some friends? We’ll have snacks and games and I know you like pizza, everyone loves pizza-“

"Sure Jimin! I’d like that,” you cut him off as he seemed nervous and he broke his hold on one of your hands to scratch the back of his neck. “And Jimin?”

“Yeah?” He said, meeting your eyes again.

“Can you put your shirt back on? I’m oogling, they’re oogling, we’re all oogling, and I can’t think straight,” you ended in a laugh. He blushed madly before going to retrieve it and if possible, his face flushed even more.

“Oh! Your times!” and he ran off for a pen before coming back and taking up your hand. “For encouragement,” he said. You watched him start to write before he told you to close your eyes and felt the tip of the pen on your skin.  You thanked him again for timing you and watched as he took off to join Hobi in cooling down. You watched him happily before starting to stretch as well, 5 o'clock having arrived, signaling the end of practice.

Later in the locker room, you finally looked at your hand and saw that Jimin had added his phone number. The weekend couldn’t come fast enough.

au for @everythingelsegoesherethen: dean winchester owns the marauders’ map and uses it to make sure he and castiel always ‘accidentally’ meet at strange times.

Since he became a Prefect at the beginning of his fifth year, Castiel Novak has dealt with a lot of troublemakers who clearly just haven’t read the Hogwarts rulebook.

Dean Winchester is not one of these.

Dean Winchester is clever. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s read the handbook and

And he never, ever gets caught.

Which is why Castiel is confused when he apprehends Dean for the third time in a month, trying unsuccessfully to get into a secret passage out of the school that Cas /knows he knows exactly how to access. And yet he’s tapping all over the one-eyes witch with his wand, cluelessly trying every combination of “Let me in!” that he can, acting for all the world as though he’s under some kind of Confundus charm.

He turns the light of his wand on Dean, and Dean turns around, doing a very good job of pretending to be startled.

“Dean Winchester?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” the boy grins, blushing and looking down at the floor but not seeming at all upset that he’s just been caught breaking five school rules at once.

“Yes, well, you’re out of bed after lights out, you’re messing with school property and you’re using magic in the corridors.” Cas is a little flustered and he can’t even explain why, but he still manages to tick at least some of the offenses off on his fingers.

“I /am? Oh, man, Cas, I’m so sorry. And I promise you it won’t happen again.” Dean is all mock-apologetic as he claps Cas on the shoulder and starts to walk away down the corridor.

“F-five points from Gryffindor!” Cas calls after him in a shaky voice.

This becomes a recurring problem. The following week, Cas runs into Dean in the restricted section of the library without a note giving him permission to be there. A few days later, he catches Dean in the act when he’s just about to set off a whole box of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes fireworks. Another time, he finds Dean on the Quidditch pitch after dark when it’s supposed to be locked up, flying loops just to show off. Sometime after that, Cas goes to take a bath in the Prefects’ bathroom at the end of a long day, and he finds the tub already overflowing with bubbles, Dean in a pair of red swimming shorts lazily swimming laps.

And for some reason it’s always harder for Cas to keep his cool around Dean that it is around anyone else. Usually he’ll dole out detentions without even blinking;the whole school respecting his authority, but something about this kid has him barely remembering the name of the red and gold house that he’s supposed to be taking points from. It /irks him, because he was given the Prefect position for a /reason, and he’s supposed to be unbiased and impartial and above such things.

After all this has been going on for a good few months, and Cas is no closer to figuring out what exactly is going on in Dean Winchester’s unfairly pretty head, he finds a piece of parchment on the floor. It’s on his normal patrol route, but not on a main corridor - it’s on one of the back routes that only Cas is responsible for walking down on his shift after lights out. It’s placed right in the middle of the corridor where Cas is guaranteed to see it. Almost as though it was left especially for him.

He picks it up. It looks blank at first, but when he unfolds it, he sees that it’s a map - an incredibly detailed map of the whole of Hogwarts castle, every room drawn, Cas believes, perfectly to scale, labelled in calligraphy, every secret passage and hidden entryway marked. Not only that, but the map is enchanted, constantly moving, staircases twisting their way through the halls in what Cas suspects is real time, and most importantly of all, tiny sets of footprints making their way through the castle halls, each with a name attached to them. Cas spots his own name next to his own footprints, which are still in the exact spot that he’s in.

He takes a step forward, and the footprints move with him.

Most of the spots are clustered in the common rooms and dormitories at this time of night; just a few Prefects and professors wandering up and down the corridors. But Cas has a sneaking suspicion he knows who this map belongs to, and the person doesn’t seem to be in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitories where he should be. Against his will, Cas finds his eyes skating over the map, looking for the potential offender.

Dean Winchester’s spot is pacing the Tallest Astronomy Tower.

Of course, none of this necessarily means that the map /actually corresponds to where people actually are. It could just be an example. Could be everyone is placed randomly and doesn’t move, no matter where they really are.

Which, of course, explains why Cas is already walking purposefully towards the Astronomy tower, taking each set of stairs two at a time, checking the map every few seconds to make sure Dean is still in the same place.

He reaches the door to the tower, and he’s not even completely conscious of why he’s doing it, but he runs a hand through his hair to fluff it up and he straightens his blue and bronze tie before he walks inside.

Dean’s there, as predicted, no longer pacing but standing in the center of the room - waiting for him? The tower is open to the heavens - not like the Great Hall, not like an enchanted version of the sky, but actually open, the summer night stars glinting down and reflecting off of magical lights that have been conjured and left to hover all around the edge of the circular tower room, a light breeze ruffling Cas’ robes as he steps towards Dean, noticing that the usually bare wooden floor is scattered with large, puffy gold and bronze cushions.

Cas holds out the map. “I think this is yours.”

Dean takes it from him, not at all surprised to see Cas there. “Don’t think it’s really anyone’s. Thing kind of has a mind of its own. But yes, I’ve been using it for a while.”

“Tell me something?” Cas asks. “You just admitted this is yours. With this you can see anyone coming at any time, you can always stay one step ahead of any professor or prefect, you never have to get found out by anyone. But you keep letting me catch you. Why?“

"That depends,” Dean says with a smirk. “Why’d you bring the map back instead of handing it into a professor? Seems like it’s a contraband object. Seems like I /should get in trouble.”

Cas opened his mouth to retort to that, but realized he didn’t have anything to say. Why /had he come here? Dean was right, after all. His first instinct, as a Prefect with designs on Head Boy at some point in the future, should have been to turn the object over to a member of staff. His mind shouldn’t even necessarily have jumped to Dean. But it had, and now he was here.

“Alright. That aside, why’d you wait for me? Why’d you pick a specific place, here, that you have /no reason to be and just pace around hoping I’d show up to find you?”

Dean spluttered, but quickly recovered. “Why’d you look for me on the map? Why’d you stare at it for so long that you saw where I was in the first place?”

“Why’d you decorate? The stars, the lights, the cushions? Why’d you set this all up for a special occasion?”

They stared at each other for a while, breathing heavily, waiting for the other one to be the first to break.

Cas cracked, and Dean gave up at the same moment, and then he both of them were lunging towards each other, Dean grabbing Cas by the tie he’d just straightened, pulling it askew, Cas fisting both of his hands in Dean’s robes, both yanking the other towards them, crashing their lips together so hard that it was almost painful when they met, their bodies falling into each other, their teeth clashing and their noses bumping and when they pull apart, they both tumble down onto the pile of cushions they’ve set up and /now Cas understands why they’re there, /now it makes sense because their landing is soft and they can reach for each other again immediately, both of them lying on their sides in the heap of fluffy pillows, kissing each other over and over and over again, each one making their lips tingle. Over time, as they grow used to the feeling, the kisses become slower, softer, more languid, and the hooded eyes when they pull away from each other are less from desire and more from tiredness, and they’re both sure they’d be happy to sleep here.

"So, what? You’ve been risking detention and house points for Gryffindor and your reputation as someone who never gets caught just to… just to get my attention?” Cas asks finally, propping himself up on one elbow.

Dean tugs him back down and kisses him again. “Well, you’re risking your Prefect position right now. But I feel like you always have to risk a little something to get the best things in life.”

And between holding hands on long walks by the lake, between screaming themselves hoarse together at Quidditch matches, between feeding each other Bertie Botts’ Every Flavour Beans while studying in the library, and between many, many more long nights in the Astronomy tower, Cas learns that as frustrating and complicated as he is; Dean is definitely one of the best things in his life.

haha Ha so john wrote sherlock a letter. like, he sat and got a piece of paper and a pen and he physically wrote. like, the real actual words he couldn’t say out loud, he wrote them down, and quite possibly he didn’t manage to do it right on his first try, so he crumpled the paper and started all over again, he Did that

I don’t need to be taken on ridiculous, expensive dates
Or to be showered with gifts at every opportunity
I don’t need you to be by my side every second
Or to show the entire world just how much you love me
I would be content to spend even just five minutes next to you
Smiling and laughing and forgetting that the rest of the world exists at all
I look forward to even the most mundane little moments that I get to see you
Because even just the smile you give me in the hall makes my heart race
So no, I don’t need anything extravagant or artsy
Not when I all I want is you
—  5/16/16
interlude: what are you wearing?

jikook / 1,178 words / rated T for suggestive themes and drinking / AO3
i actually decided to write this

“What are you doing?”

Jimin furrows his eye brows and pulls his phone away from his face just to check–yep, Jungkook is calling him at four in the morning, asking him what he’s doing. “I’m sleeping. What do you think I’m doing? What are you doing?”

“I,” Jungkook pauses, “I’m calling you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jimin says. “At four a.m.? Are you still in the studio with Yoongi-hyung? Are you guys okay?” He’s tired and kind of annoyed, but if Jungkook is calling him and being weird this late, Jimin doesn’t want to hang up on him in case something’s wrong.

“Yes! I’m great!” Jungkook says. “Super. What are you doing, Jiminnie?”

“You already asked me that,” Jimin grumbles, looking suspiciously at his phone. “Kookie, are you drunk?”

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“Closed Book”

Do you miss it?”

Archimicarus distractedly looked away from the window flooded with spring sky. He was perched on the edge of the chair with bare human feet, looking thin and terribly small in Oliver’s overlarge tunic and baggy breeches. He titled his head at Lisa. “I’m sorry, what?”

I asked if you missed it. Flying, I mean.”

He shrugged, the movement exaggerated like he was recreating something he’d seen. Even as a human, her Archimicarus still reminded Lisa of a falcon. Slight and bony, featherless skin the same shade of brown, a beak-like nose, intense raptor eyes slowly blinking at her from inside a person’s skull. “I’ve gotten pretty good at levitation spells.”

She knew that voice, melancholy and evasive; just not the face. How can someone be so different, but not have changed at all? “But it’s not the same.”

No,” He looked wistfully back at the window.”It’s not.”

We could always- well – we know the spell works in reverse, too. Gabe’s been having fun running around as a lion familiar. You could always…go back.”

It was my decision, little eyas.” He reminded her. “And I don’t regret it at all. Even with clipped wings and all those idiots in the papers that think we’re something shameful, being human has been a new, terrifying, wonderful adventure.”

Lisa drifted to the piles of printings that had accumulated on the coffee table. She’d been so absorbed tending Archimicarus and recovering with the others in their own little secluded corner, the rest of the world had still turned. It seemed leaking scrolls with the transformation spell on the Infinity Fair had thrown everything into a satisfying kind of turmoil. Familiars and witches crossing what had been impossible boundaries, the Magisterium-mandated separation of material and spirit blurring.

Their names came up of course. Heroes shattering the system of familiar servitude or anarchists spreading immorality and societal decay, depending on the publication.

She squeaked with surprise as Archimicarus wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Another thing I couldn’t do,” he murmured. “With those old wings of mine.”

Steven couldn’t even scroll down his phone anymore; he bounced on the couch cushions. “Oh my gooooooosh!”

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Night 5

Night 1


It wasn’t that Balthazar was pretentious about alcohol, despite a somewhat ‘been there, done that’ attitude towards it. He’d had a few uninspiring evenings lately that had involved alcohol and he just didn’t feel the same sort of buzzed happiness that several beers used to provide. Instead, there seemed more often to be anxiety, morose speculations and hangovers.

But that evening had been different. There was certainly no time for morose speculations with Meg leading the proceedings. The drinking games had begun spontaneously over dinner and soon the idea of a film and an early night, ready for the next day’s lectures, had been completely abandoned. 

Balthazar had no idea what time it was when Peter eventually pushed him through the doorway of the bedroom by the shoulders. “Ok, you need to sleep.”

You need to sleep,” Balthazar muttered. “I mean, everyone sleeps.”

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Imagine being teased by Woozi for having a picture of him as the background picture for your phone.

We all know the Doctor is looking for Clara. One time, he even crossed paths with her (in Hell Bent. But obviously Clara set this whole thing up)
Even so, we see in their meeting on the American Diner that he carries his guitar with him at all times. And when it’s time to pick a song, he plays “Clara”.
My headcanon is - this song, Clara’s theme, is the song he’s been practicing on the TARDIS throughout series 9. I feel like this is the song he actually wrote himself while he was alone, about his feelings to her, and he was actually planning to play it to her once he was finished.. But things happened and now he’s carrying his guitar with him, because he’s certain that this particular song he’s been writing is dedicated to her, so even if he doesn’t remember Clara, the feelings that come with the song will give him a reflection of her and that’s why he holds the guitar so dearly.
And of course, he keeps carrying it on because “if” he ever meets Clara while searching for her, he’ll get the chance to play the song to her for one last time. (Wait, he did.)

Sometimes I like to think GRRM simply forgot he never actually wrote Sandor kissing Sansa. Then he panicked when questioned and went, “Oh, shit. Ummmm…that Sansa sure is an unreliable narrator! Yes indeedy! Heh heh. That’s the ticket. It’ll, umm…come into play later. I totally meant to do that.”

I know it’s not true but it’s hilarious to think about.

i often think about how harry’s into photography and how maybe it’s because he finds comfort in being on the other side of the camera for once or how maybe he wants to capture moments of his life through his own eyes instead of everyone capturing them for him so he can look back at his photos and think “that’s how i saw it” not “that’s how they saw me” and how seemingly so much of his life is on display and maybe he wants to capture the things no one else will ever see and keep them all to himself and create his own story