murmuring stream

The Houses as Nice Sounds

Ravenclaw: Rain pounding on the windows. Book pages being turned. The world underwater. A heart beating. The flutter as cards are shuffled. Piano music. The whisper of the wind.

Gryffindor: Fire crackling. A cat purring. The pop as a cork is removed from a bottle. Thunder. High heels tapping against tile floors. Birdsong. The roaring crescendo of applause.

Slytherin: Waves crashing against the sand. Fresh snow crunching underfoot. Whale song. Coins clinking against each other. Ice cubes in a glass. Old music. The silence right after a storm.

Hufflepuff: Laughter. Leaves rustling in the breeze. The soft murmur of a stream. Bumblebees buzzing. Stones skipping across a lake. Bubbles popping. The final note before a song fades away.

russianspacegeckosexparty  asked:

Bucky shedding genuine tears when he sees all the people of the Jewish community especially the children and teens who are dedicated to not allowing history or textbooks erase his Jewish heritage. They tell stories about his heroics as a Howling Commando and Jewish grandmas love him

Oh man.

(Fair warning: we’re going to the fluff place and then the EMPHATICALLY NOT FLUFF place and then back to fluff again.)

It’s Cap who gets talked about the most, of course, because he’s Cap- because he wears the flag uniform and does all the dumbass things that anyone with half a brain wouldn’t and rescues the whole damn world. No one would have expected otherwise; Captain America is the figure from World War II who represents goodness in the face of unspeakable evil, and everyone needs that.

But as time passes, Cap’s still the one on the covers of comics, but it’s another trio that make the most impact: Gabe Jones. Jim Morita. And Bucky himself.

A Black guy, an Asian guy, and a Jewish guy. All the Howlies were heroes but these guys were brave while everyone with their backgrounds was getting pushed down. They gave kids who had no one else to look up to a role to play in the games on the playground. Everyone knew it, too: Someone threw a slur at you, threw a punch at you just because of who you were, and you had a face to cling to in the back of your mind, giving you that strength to fight back. Everyone knew Captain America was a hero, and Cap chose to work side-by-side with those guys. What kind of hero wouldn’t do the same?

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More Fluffy Dating Newt Scamander Headcanons

-Your first date would be a little awkward at first, especially because you were rather confused as to why he was whispering to his coat pocket, but he then began to switch from nervous into a relaxed and confident man as the night went on

-Newt would definitely be the type to gently press kisses to you at random to show how he feels

-like if he’s proud, he’d kiss the top of your head with a smile, if one of you were sad, he’d pull you close and kiss your tear stained cheeks, and if he missed you, he’d melt into the kiss, wanting to savor every minute

-hand holding would be frequent as well, and you two often did it while out and about or staying in reading, fingers interlocked as you delved into your novels

-he would also take you on spontaneous dates. One day it could be a picnic in the park, the next it could be stargazing at the rooftops

-Newt fussing a little when you got even the tiniest of paper cuts because any type of pain was heartbreaking when it came to you

-“Newt, it’s okay, I just stumbled a little down the stairs.”

-“I know y/n, but you could have hit your head broken something, and I can’t cuddle you properly if you’re beaten up darling”

-of course, Injuies would be sealed with bandages and kisses pressed softly against skin

-his smile widening when instead of fleeing from the rain, you would pull him into the center of it so you could be like the cinnamon roll children that you are

-Newt then pulling you close as raindrops slid down your chin and then kissing you sweetly, just like in the muggle movies you two watched

-him still getting butterflies when he saw you in your radiant elegance

-“Merlin Y/n, you’re stunning love”

-“That outfit brings out your magnificent eyes, and your lips…how did I ever get so lucky?”

-carrying you bridal style when you fell asleep, and this would be followed by cute little whispers

-“darling, I know you’re asleep and probably can’t hear me, but I really do love you. You’re such an important part of my life, I can’t imagine it without you”

-you’d always be in his mind. When working on his manuscript, he would have to go back and cross out what he wrote because while thinking about the way your eyes glistened, he wrote that down instead of notes on bowtruckles

-you would make it a routine every Saturday morning to try and make breakfast, and of course you let him help despite his previous experiences

-he’d sometimes doubt himself, especially when comparing himself to his brother, but you would be right there to tell him how amazing and handsome and intelligent he was

-Neither of you would be afraid to cry around one another, and would notice when one was upset right away, taking one other into a tight embrace

-you and newt would also be the couple to leave love letters. Sometimes when he was away he’d carry them in his pocket or he’d leave them around the house for you to find before you went to work

-massages after long days down at the case and at his desk writing

-his torso would be littered with freckles and scars like the night sky, but you’d simply tell him not to worry and to just enjoy relaxing for once as you pressed against his aching muscles

-you’d fight a few times, all couples do, but you’d also make up soon after, for you both would murmur streams of apologies

-cuddling all the time, as this was one of Newt’s favorite ways to show love. He could get close and intimate while kissing you as you entangled your fans in his hair, and he wouldn’t want to be in this position with anyone else than you, his darling.

Whisper to a Scream

I have no request for this but it’s an idea that popped into my head. 

Warning for violence. 

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Jughead murmured into Betty’s ear, placing a light kiss on her temple. He handed her a to-go cup filled with coffee, just as he had every morning since they started dating.

“Good morning,” Betty smiled. She closed her locker and held her textbook under her elbow. “Where’s your darling roommate?” She quipped. Jughead and Archie always showed up together.

Jughead shrugged as he sipped on his own coffee, his book-bag slung over his shoulder. “He said something about Veronica wanting to show him something before class, so they’re probably in the janitor’s closet making out.” 

Betty burst out laughing. They turned away from the bank of lockers and started towards their first class.

“Did you finish the History essay? Archie’s light was out pretty early last night.” 

Jughead readjusted the strap on his shoulder. “Yeah, I finished it in the kitchen, Archie passed out and was snoring, so I let him get his beauty sleep.” Jughead quipped as they entered the classroom. 

Archie and Veronica rushed in behind them, just as the teacher started her lesson.

When their first class was over, Betty, Jughead, Archie, Veronica and Kevin all had a free period. Because it was raining heavily, they decided to go to the library.

Archie sat at a round table near a bank of windows and opened a notebook. He started to scribble down song lyrics. Jughead looked through the bookshelves and found The Killer Book of Serial Killers to pass the time. Betty did trigonometry homework, as did Kevin. Veronica read Romeo and Juliet for English.

They weren’t allowed to play music in the Library for the consideration of those studying; all you could hear were pencils scratching paper and keyboards clacking. 

That’s when they heard it - Betty looked up from her textbook in confusion; Jughead knew exactly what it was and it made his blood run cold.

“Was that…?” Kevin whispered.

Another shot rang in the hall, louder this time, closer.

Students started scrambling around them - books and papers went flying, chairs toppled over, some students around them ran for the shelves in the back of the Library. 

Jughead pulled Betty off her chair and shoved her under the table they were sitting at. “Everybody get under the table!” He hissed to his friends.

Chairs toppled over above them. Veronica and Kevin scrambled under the table next to them. 

This is a code red - repeat, this is a code red.” A voice read over the PA system.

“Archie!” Jughead hissed.

Archie slowly knelt down. “Jug, I think we should move something in front of the library doors.” His hands were shaking.

Another bang. This time there was screaming. 

“Okay,” Jughead murmured. He crawled out from under the table. 

“Don’t,” Betty whispered. A single tear rolled down her cheek - she swiped it away furiously.

Jughead squeezed Betty’s hand quickly. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”  

Betty watched Archie and Jughead sprint away from them quickly. She had Kevin and Veronica on either side of her. Kevin was biting his lip so hard, blood had formed. Veronica was rolling her pearls between her fingers.

A single tear rolled down Betty’s cheek. She slowly started counting in her mind. Was she waiting for the next gunshot, or for Jughead and Archie to come back to the table?

Another scream in the hallway.

Betty made it to twenty-one in her mind when she heard muffled footsteps. She opened her eyes to see two pairs of shoes - she knew they belonged to Jughead and Archie.

They both scrambled under the table - Jughead wrapped his arms as best he could around Betty. “Shh,” He whispered in her ear. “It’s okay.”

“D-did you see anything?” Veronica whispered.

“No,” said Archie, his voice breaking.

Betty squeezed Jughead’s forearm. She could feel her nails breaking his skin, but she couldn’t move.

Jughead’s breath caught in his voice as they heard a fresh round of shots followed by a blood curdling scream. The room was silent when they heard the library door handle jiggle.

Veronica sucked in a breath as they heard thuds against the door. They grew louder and louder until they heard the door crack open.

Kevin was taking shallow breaths. He slowly placed his hand over Veronica’s.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.” A haunting voice called out.

Betty gripped Jughead’s arm tighter, fresh tears welling in her eyes.

“I said come out!” The voice yelled angrily, knocking a stack of books over.

Veronica shook next to Betty. Betty closed her eyes, trying to control her breathing.

“Chuck?” A voice squeaked above their table. It sounded like Ethel Muggs. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Back the fuck up, Ethel.”

Footsteps. Betty squeezed Jughead’s arm tighter. He gently brushed his thumb across Betty’s hand. He hoped she couldn’t tell he was shaking.

The smell of urine filled Betty’s nostrils. She didn’t know where it was coming from.

“Have you seen that little bitch? I know you have.” Chuck hissed at Ethel. “Where is she?” Footsteps as he moved closer.

Ethel screamed, but no shots went off. It sounded like she was gasping for air. 

Betty turned slowly to look at Jughead - even making the smallest of movements terrified her. Jughead’s eyes were red rimmed, but she saw no tears. His face was hardened. 

Ethel’s body dropped to the floor in front of them - her hands were clasped around her throat; she was gasping for air.

Betty choked back a sob. She released Jughead’s forearm, barely noticing the bloody marks she left behind, only to grasp his hand instead. 

“C’mon bitch I know you’re in here!” Chuck yelled again as he flipped a desk on the other side of the room. 

A fresh round of shots went off. They heard someone gasp.

“I love you,” Jughead whispered in Betty’s ear. He slipped his hand out of her grasp.

Before Betty could fathom what was happening, Jughead crept out from under the table.

“Chuck, stop this.” Jughead said, voice unwavering.

“Ha,” Chuck spat. “I should’ve known if I was looking for Betty, her little bitch would show up instead.”

Betty’s blood ran cold.

“Why are you looking for Betty?” Jughead asked. “She’s never done anything to you.”

Betty felt a warm hand cup her palm. Veronica squeezed weakly.

Chuck laughed coldly. “Never done anything to me? She almost drowned me. She got me kicked off the football team. She got me suspended. She ruined my life! So now, I’m going to ruin hers.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Jughead said firmly.

Betty peered under the table to see if she could see anything. Two pairs of feet, inches apart. Books all over the floor. Tables flipped over. Chairs pushed aside. There were two students across the room, hiding under a table. She couldn’t tell who they were.

Ethel was lying on the ground, in front of the table Betty was hiding under. She was facing away from them, breathing shallowly.

“Yeah?” Chuck said menacingly. “And what are you going to do about it? You’re what, 120 pounds? You need to step the fuck back and tell your girl to get out here. I’ve got a gun, remember?”

Betty heard the sound of the gun cocking. She wimpered audibly.

“You want her, you’re going to have to get through me.” 

Betty saw the feet step even closer together. 

“That won’t be a problem.” 

The sound of the gun firing ripped Betty through her core.

“Jug!” She screamed. The force felt like her throat was exploding.

“Found her,” Chuck murmured. She heard footsteps.

There was a sudden flurry of movement as Chuck turned towards their table. People in masks and suits tased Chuck and tackled him to the ground.

After what seemed like an eternity, they cuffed him and lead him away. Betty crawled out from under the table and over to where Jughead was laying on the ground. He was bleeding profusely.

“Jughead,” Betty murmured, tears streaming down her face. She placed both hands over his wound. “Jughead, please, open your eyes.” She hiccuped.

Officers rushed over to them. Sobs were wracking Betty’s body. 

“Jughead don’t leave me. I’ll be lost without you,” She whispered, cupping her hands over his wound. Blood was still rushing out of him. His breathing was shallow.

“We need to move him, Miss, and you need to come with us.” Someone pulled her up by her underarms. 

“Betty,” Veronica sobbed as they were rushed away from the scene. 

“I can’t leave him,” Betty whimpered brokenly. ”Please.”

A/N: So, I only made Chuck the gunman because the only person he was the only person I could think of, other than Jughead, that would have a motive.

The evening of February 1st, 1924 — decades before she had a similarly profound first encounter with dance — 44-year-old Keller had a transcendent experience. With her hand pressed against the radio receiver in her living room, she “heard” a live Carnegie Hall broadcast of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 in D minor, also known as Ode to Joy — one of humanity’s most beloved pieces of music, which Beethoven, by then deaf himself, had composed exactly 100 years earlier.

The following day, Keller wrote an electrifying letter of gratitude to the New York Symphony Orchestra, articulating the trans-sensory transcendence of her experience and of music itself.

Keller writes:

Dear Friends:

I have the joy of being able to tell you that, though deaf and blind, I spent a glorious hour last night listening over the radio to Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony.” I do not mean to say that I “heard” the music in the sense that other people heard it; and I do not know whether I can make you understand how it was possible for me to derive pleasure from the symphony. It was a great surprise to myself. I had been reading in my magazine for the blind of the happiness that the radio was bringing to the sightless everywhere. I was delighted to know that the blind had gained a new source of enjoyment; but I did not dream that I could have any part in their joy. Last night, when the family was listening to your wonderful rendering of the immortal symphony someone suggested that I put my hand on the receiver and see if I could get any of the vibrations. He unscrewed the cap, and I lightly touched the sensitive diaphragm. What was my amazement to discover that I could feel, not only the vibrations, but also the impassioned rhythm, the throb and the urge of the music! The intertwined and intermingling vibrations from different instruments enchanted me. I could actually distinguish the cornets, the roll of the drums, deep-toned violas and violins singing in exquisite unison. How the lovely speech of the violins flowed and plowed over the deepest tones of the other instruments! When the human voice leaped up trilling from the surge of harmony, I recognized them instantly as voices. I felt the chorus grow more exultant, more ecstatic, upcurving swift and flame-like, until my heart almost stood still. The women’s voices seemed an embodiment of all the angelic voices rushing in a harmonious flood of beautiful and inspiring sound. The great chorus throbbed against my fingers with poignant pause and flow. Then all the instruments and voices together burst forth — an ocean of heavenly vibration — and died away like winds when the atom is spent, ending in a delicate shower of sweet notes.

Of course, this was not “hearing” but I do know that the tones and harmonies conveyed to me moods of great beauty and majesty. I also sensed, or thought I did, the tender sounds of nature that sing into my hand — swaying reeds and winds and the murmur of streams. I have never been so enraptured before by a multitude of tone-vibrations.

As I listened, with darkness and melody, shadow and sound filling all the room, I could not help remembering that the great composer who poured forth such a flood of sweetness into the world was deaf like myself. I marvelled at the power of his quenchless spirit by which out of his pain he wrought such joy for others — and there I sat, feeling with my hand the magnificent symphony which broke like a sea upon the silent shores of his soul and mine.

Let me thank you warmly for all the delight which your beautiful music has brought to my household and to me. I want also to thank Station WEAF for the joy they are broadcasting in the world.

With kindest regards and best wishes, I am,

Sincerely yours,



miriannemiri  asked:

Luke rescuing Vader?

Luke broke into a run as he finally caught sight of Vader between the trees, slumped down not far from his crashed and still smoking TIE fighter.

“Father!” he shouted, skidding to a stop and dropping to his knees next to him, his hands fluttering uselessly across Vader’s chest. He had never before been so glad to hear the steady, mechanical breathing, though right now it was far too shallow and labored. He had come as quickly as he could, stammering some excuse to Leia that he couldn’t even remember now, as soon as he had felt the fragile brush of his father’s plea against his mind. He had been surprised at the strength of his reaction, at the surge of terror that had ripped through him when he felt how weak Vader was.

Now he reached out and took his father’s hand. He squeezed it gently, relieved when Vader returned the pressure. “I was afraid I wouldn’t – ” Luke couldn’t finish the sentence. “Where are you injured? What can I do?”

There was nothing obviously wrong with him, no outward injuries Luke could see, and he feared any damage was internal or to his life support.

“Luke,” Vader said, between rasping breaths, “I did not think… you would come.”

“Shh, Father. Of course I came. What happened?” Vader was alone, and there had been no Alliance activity in this system as far as Luke was aware. He should not have crashed.

“My Master was… displeased with me,” Vader replied. Luke frowned. That wasn’t much of an answer. He would need more specific details later, but even without knowing exactly what had happened, his anger flared at the Emperor’s cruelty.

“What do you – Hey, don’t move!” Luke pushed lightly against his father’s chest as Vader tried to get up.

“You cannot carry me, young one.” The gentle rebuke was accompanied by a hint of humor from his father, and Luke ducked his head to hide a small smile. If his father was well enough to joke with him, he would probably survive this.

“No, I don’t think I could,” Luke agreed. “But let me help you.”

He helped pull his father to his feet and let Vader drape an arm around his shoulders for support, wrapping his own arm around Vader’s waist. His father leaned heavily on him, and Luke drew on the Force to help him bear the weight. Their progress was slow, and the first time Vader stumbled, he almost took Luke down with him.

Luke kept up a steady stream of murmured encouragement, trying to soothe the growing frustration he could sense from his father. Vader did not like admitting weakness, much less showing it, and being unable to walk under his own power had to hurt his pride.

Despite Vader’s shielding, Luke could feel echoes of his pain. He worried at the sharpness of it and was glad they did not have much farther to go before they reached his ship.

“I trust you had the sense to bring more than just your X-wing,” Vader said, his voice weaker than Luke had yet heard it, and he clutched his arm a little tighter around his father.

“I borrowed a small shuttle.” Luke was trying very hard not to think about where he was going to take Vader. He would not trust a civilian hospital, and he did not think his father would allow him to bring him back to the Alliance. Nor was he foolish enough to think the Alliance would willingly treat him. No, bringing him back with him would be more of a death sentence than leaving him here, untreated. That left only one option, and Luke’s mind shied away from it. He knew if he set foot on the Executor, he would not be allowed to leave it. But for his father’s life?

His shuttle finally came into view, and his steps faltered, his body trembling with the strain of carrying his father’s weight, the Force augmentation of his strength notwithstanding. He almost lost his grip on Vader, but held on with sheer willpower.

“Almost there, Father,” he muttered, even though Vader could see the shuttle just as clearly as he could. The encouragement was as much for himself as it was his father. He wished he could have landed closer to Vader’s crash site, but there hadn’t been a clearing large enough.

Luke managed to get Vader onto the shuttle and settled into the copilot’s seat without further mishap, but as he turned away to run the ship’s startup sequence, Vader’s hand clamped around his wrist. Luke stilled and closed his eyes, unwilling to look at his father.

“I need to return to my ship,” Vader rasped. Luke nodded once, feeling his stomach twist in resigned anxiety. “Luke, look at me.”

It took Luke a moment to turn and meet his father’s gaze. “I know,” he said quietly. “I knew that when I came.” Now he regretted the hasty lie he had told Leia. He should have said a proper goodbye, or even told her the truth, even though he knew she would never have let him go if he had.

Vader released his wrist and reached up to tentatively brush the tips of his fingers along Luke’s cheekbone. Luke blinked in surprise but didn’t pull away from the contact. “You will be allowed to leave. I will not keep you,” Vader promised.

Luke released a surprised breath when Vader’s thumb swiped across his cheek, brushing away a tear Luke hadn’t realized had escaped his eye. He captured his father’s hand in his own and bowed his head.

“Thank you.” Relief lifted the weight of anxiety from his shoulders, but he felt a small, sharp jab of disappointment at the thought of leaving his father, and he spent the short flight to the Executor contemplating it.

So this is obviously a little longer than three sentences, but it got away from me. I couldn’t do it justice with only three sentences. It’s also a bit disjointed, and I might edit it later and make something longer out of it. It has some promise, I think.

Also, I’ll let you decide whether Luke chooses to leave Vader or not, once he delivers him back to his ship. :)

Send me a set of characters and an AU setting for a three sentence fic!

wolfandthief  asked:

Bughead Prompt: Everyone always saw Betty Cooper as perfect, and she hated that. It made her feel as if she had to try harder just to keep up that image. To not disappoint the people she loved. She just wanted someone to see beyond her facade, and see her flaws, but still love her anyways. She would soon find out Jughead was that person.

The pressure to be perfect was real for Betty Cooper - Alice was always telling her to sit up straight, tuck in her sweater, maintain A’s in every class while working on The Blue and Gold. Betty hasn’t been able to fail at anything since she got a C+ on a Science test in third grade.

It was a facade Betty hated. She wanted more than anything to go to bed at a decent hour instead of staying up finishing her articles for the school paper and studying to get ahead of the next English quiz.

She wanted to go to school in sweat pants and a tank top, hair loose and her shoulders. Instead, she had to look perfect to maintain the image her mother created for the family.

It’s why, instead of yelling back at the people who made her upset, instead of shedding any tears, she let the anger and hurt build up inside of her.

It’s why, after days of constant abuse from her mother, after a particularly heinous remark about her sister from Cheryl, Betty could feel herself breaking.

She popped into an empty classroom as the first tear rolled down her face.

Jughead spotted Betty closing the door behind her, entering the dark classroom as he rounded a corner.

He followed her quietly, opening the door and peering inside. “Bets?” He whispered when he spotted her crouched down on the floor. He realized she was crying. “Bets, what’s wrong?”

Betty cried harder when she realized who was kneeling down beside her.

“Betty?” Jughead tried again, gripping her hand in his.

“I’m not perfect.” Betty blurted out through the tears.

“I know,” Jughead answered.

Betty looked at him confused. “You sure know how to make a girl feel better.” Betty murmured, tears streaming down her face. One of her fists was balled up tightly.

“Betty, nobody is perfect. Being perfect is overrated.” Jughead smoothed a hair out of her face.

“Tell that to my mother.” Betty whimpered. “That’s what she expects of me.”

“Betty, nobody is perfect.” Jughead said again.

“My facade is cracking.”

“Cracks let the light in,” Jughead said as he reached for Betty’s other hand. He loosened the grip she had on her fingers.

Betty relaxed a little when he said that.

“You know what I like about you, Betty?”  He smoothed his thumb back and forth over her hand.

Betty shook her head, her sobs subsiding.

“I like that if you drink a soda at lunch, you always get the hiccups. I like that when you eat a hot dog for lunch, you always end up with mustard on your cheek, no matter what. I like that when someone offers you gum, you ask what kind, because apparently you’re picky about your gum choices.”

Betty smiled.

“I like that you never learned how to ride a bike, and that when we were nine, you refused to hang out with me and Archie unless we called you ‘Cooper’ because you just wanted to be one of the boys. I love that you get up early on Christmas to try and snoop, even though you’re never successful at it.” Jughead continued. “I like that you’re not perfect, Betty. You’re damn near close, but if you were perfect… well, you wouldn’t be Betty Cooper.”



“Thank you.” Betty sniffed, and leaned in to kiss him lightly on the lips.

The Principal’s Office

My very first ToG fanfic! I got this idea in my head that Aelin is a teacher at a school where Rowan is the principal and here is the culmination of said idea. Please feel free to message me with any/all criticisms! I am always happy to learn from others’ opinions of my own writing. Enjoy!            

Part 2 Part 3

Aelin was having a very rough day. She accidentally hit the snooze button one too many times and woke up forty minutes late with some hearty swear words on her lips. After sweeping her unwashed hair into a bun at the top of her head and grabbing the stick of deodorant to put on in the car, she left her apartment in an unbuttoned shirt—not having the time to care if her neighbors saw her in lacy white bra that she had snagged off of the floor of her bedroom—and her pants, wrinkled and without a belt. All the way murmuring a steady stream of “shit shit shit shit shit shit” throughout the rush.

Her boss was going to kill her. Principal Whitethorn had always had a stick up his ass, but recently, Aelin thought he had been especially ornery. And even more so when it came to her. He was always criticizing, sending her emails saying that this one thing that she did was not up to his standards and sending her critical glares in the teacher’s lounge. 

While Aelin slammed her mug of coffee into the cupholder, effectively splashing it on her pants, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse and immediately dialed Dorian’s number and started speeding out of the parking lot. 

A cheery hello—much too upbeat for this early in the morning, Aelin thought—answered on the third ring.

“Dorian! Oh my god please save my ass before it gets chewed out!”

Keep reading

Winter Depression

I’m not in the best shape and my imagines are reflecting that. Sorry.

Warning: Possible trigger


You laid in bed, crying. It was Christmas Eve but that didn’t matter. Depression didn’t care what day it was. You had the covers bunched around your head the only opening just big enough for you to peak your nose out and avoid the stuffiness the underneath of a blanket.

You could hear your family having fun down the hall at their family dinner. They’d been talking and laughing all day happy to see each other but you… You weren’t quite so happy. You had been given odd jobs, sent away from their joy as though having you around could ruin it. You knew that wasn’t their intent, and usually you wouldn’t have minded but today it made you feel isolated, soon after they’d said dinner was ready to be served you had quietly retreated to your childhood bedroom, not wanting to intrude on them, or spoil their happiness.

You looked around the room, thinking about how little had changed in three years. You still liked all the bands you did then, more or less, and you were still battling a depression so deep that the only reason you even got out of bed that morning and drove the three hours to see your parents was because Andy wasn’t home, having gone to see his parents for Christmas, and the apartment felt too empty. You’d come here to avoid exactly this, but instead you were about to breakdown in a house full of people you barely kept in contact with. You should’ve stayed home, in the bed you shared with Andy. At least then you’d be comfortable.

Your phone rang and you steeled yourself when you recognized Rebel Love Song. That was Andy’s ringtone.

“Hello?” You asked, feeling uncertain as your paranoia got the worst of you. What if he didn’t want to be with you anymore. What if he was about to break up with you?

“Hey, babe, where are you? My plane got delayed till tomorrow and I came home to an empty house. I’m worried,” he told you and you could hear the relief in his voice. Shortly after the two of you met you’d attempted suicide. Even though it was two years ago he still worried when he didn’t know where you were.

“I couldn’t stand to be alone so I came to see my parents,” you told him and he was quiet for a moment.

“I’m going to FaceTime you,” he said and you tried to tell him not to but soon enough he was FaceTimeing you and you felt obligated to answer.

“You’re squishy faced,” he laughed and you flushed.

“Are you okay?” He asked immediately after, worry lacing his tone as he took in your eyes that were already red from the need to cry. You didn’t even try to lie to him. You just shook your head and felt a tear slip down your face.

“I should’ve just brought you with me to mom and dads,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m heading to your parents now, okay, I’ll call you and we can talk on the way there. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too, Andy,” you murmured, tears still steadily streaming down your face. You wanted to tell him not to come, not to inconvenience himself, but you couldn’t make yourself say it. You wanted to see him so badly.

“I left my bag in the car so I’m just going to head out, okay? I’ll clean you once I get on the road. You’re not alone, (Y/N). No matter what you’ll always have me,” he made a kissing noise at the phone and smiled at you before signing off. You thanked everything that he was coming. You needed him so badly.

Then suddenly you panicked. What if he didn’t come. What if he was just saying that out of obligation? What if didn’t really love you? What if-?

Your phone rang and you picked it up hastily because Rebel Live Song was playing, which meant Andy was calling.

“Andy?!” You asked and he chuckled, but you could hear the sadness in his voice.

“Yeah, (Y/N), it’s me.” He sighed and you heard anger at himself in his voice when he spoke next. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“It’s not your fault,” you tried to reassure him, but he was silent and you started fearing that he was fed up with you already, deciding that you weren’t worth keeping around, giving up on-

“(Y/N),” he said softly, “You’re so important to me. Please don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t,” you promised, wanting to believe it, but something inside you made you feel so insignificant and unworthy of his affection.

“I think about how alone you must feel and it breaks my heart,” he said through a thickness in his throat.

“A-Andy?” you asked. “Are you crying?”

“No, of course not,” he said and you heard him sniffle.

“Andy, I love you,” you murmured sitting up in bed and dragging the covers around you as you sought out your headphones. You plugged them in so you wouldn’t have to hold the phone the whole time. 

“I love you so much, (Y/N), you don’t even know,” you heard him sniffle and started to cry again.

“Stop crying,” he said when he heard you sniffle, “I can’t see,” he told you and you laughed.

“What?” you asked and he chuckled.

“You’re crying, and it’s making me cry and I can’t fucking see,” he said through a thick laugh and you nodded.

“Okay,” you said, sniffling and wiping your nose on your comforter, not caring that it wasn’t sanitary. You were past caring about such trivial things.

“Thank you,” he laughed, and you nodded.

“No problem,” you assured him.

“Fuck, I’m still crying, tell me a joke,” he said and you laughed. He did this sometimes because it forced you to accidently cheer yourself up, but you didn’t mind. You thought it was cute.

“Why did the chicken cross the road?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and you could hear a grin in his voice.

“It wanted to prove it’s friends wrong that it wasn’t a chicken, it was actually a duck, but then it got run over because chickens are stupid as fuck,” you told him, giggling, and he chuckled.

“That’s the best worst punchline ever,” he said and you giggled.

“Well I can’t have my favorite man crying on the road, can I. Watch out for chickens, Andy,” you told him and he laughed.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised and you smiled. You had really gotten lucky with this one.

The One with Donna’s Favorite Pajamas

Title: The One with Donna’s Favorite Pajamas

Summary: Christmas has become just another day for Dean, not worth celebrating. Donna, on the other hand, loves Christmas. Can she instill him with the Holiday Spirit by Christmas Day?

Author:  Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Characters:  Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

Word Count: 925

Warnings: nsfw, explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex

Author’s Notes: Written for the 12 Days of Christmas Challenge from @waywardlullabies. Day 2 of 12 Days of Christmas, Prompt: Patterned Pajamas + Cold Days

Originally posted by winterism

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[aesthetic] Bellarke AU: Bellamy Blake is a Kataw - an ancient ranknof Filipino merfolk and the reigning sovereigns of the ocean. Clarke Griffin is a witch, blessed with the elemental gift of drawing energy from water - from the murmuring river streams, glass-smooth ponds and the tempestuous sea. Their hearts are drawn to each other in the same way their souls ache to heed the call of the ocean, but the fickle sea can be a cruel mistress and Bellamy and Clarke will need to weather the storm of their own prejudices and stubbornness before they can find safe harbour in each other.

requested by @ajrchaosrising

Make Ups and Break Ups (Kai x You)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2,487

Note: This came out way longer than I thought, but this was supposedly a “drabble” to make up for the lack of updates and the lack of fluff on this blog. Just based on a thought (what would happen if your new ex is dating the ex of your past ex?). I promise to write more for members that aren’t Jongin. ;~;


Anger seethes from your eyes as you crane your neck to catch of a glimpse of the happy couple seated amidst the many others in the cafe. With your back pressed against the wall of the store beside the cafe, you make sure not to be seen as you trace the figure of Oh Sehun through the broad glass windows.

Once your loving boyfriend, now a terrible, terrible ex.

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A Court of War and Starlight: Part 41

(Read: Part I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII | XVIII | XIX | XX | XXI | XXII | XXIII | XXIV | XXV | Nessian I | XXVI | XXVII | XXVIII | Elucien I | XXIX | XXX | XXXI | XXXII | XXXIII | XXXIV | XXXV | Elucien II | XXXVI | XXXVII | XXXVIII | Nessian II | XXXIX | XL | Feyrhys I | XLI | Elucien III | XLII | XLIII | Elucien IV | Nessian III | XLIV | XLV | XLVI | Elucien V | Azriel I | XLVII | XLVIII | XLIX | L | Elucien VI | Moriel I | LI | LII | LIII | LIV | LV | LVI | LVII | LVIII | LIX | LX | LXI | Nessian IV | LXII | LXIII | LXIV | LXV | LXVI | LXVII | LXIII | LXIX | LXX | LXXI | LXXII | LXXIII | LXXIV | LXXV | Epilogue )


Lord Helion stared at the scroll in my hands, his expression one of awe. I had explained in detail everything that Macha had told us, and we had all been left stunned by the revelations.

Nesta murmured, “So I can … create? This power–it doesn’t have to destroy?”

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Bathtub Blunders

Mabel filled in the gargoyle she’d drawn with a gray crayon. It was coming along nicely, considering her current awkward posture. Her arms hung over the side of the bathtub, reaching down to a footstool where she’d had Dipper place her sketch pad. Just as she finished the fill, her mermaid lungs began to ache again.

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With Love (Chanyeol x You)

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 4,249

Note: First scenario since my semi-hiatus! I know it’s Valentine’s Day, but I wrote angst? Based on somewhat of a true story.


The shrill ringing of the school bell has the teacher announcing sudden homework and students scrambling to keep up with her rapid chatter as they scribble down the endless list of homework, before being dismissed for recess. You sling your heavy bag over your shoulder, before slipping out the door of the classroom and to your locker. Your mind is so busy trying to process the amount of homework you’ve begin given within your first three periods of class that your head almost reels.

Low murmuring in the school hallways and sneakers squeaking against recently polished floors is soon interrupted when an unmistakably familiar voice booms, “_____!”

You’re almost expecting it when a pair of arms is thrown around you from behind and a heavy weight falls on you. “My _____,” his deep voice chimes. “I haven’t seen you all day!”

“Chanyeol, get off me,” you croak to the male who is twice your size. “If you continue crushing me with all your weight, I’m probably going to die and you’re never going to see me again.”

Immediately, your words cause the giant to get off you and look at you with panicked, widened eyes. “Oh my gosh, did I hurt you?” he asks.

“Maybe you should’ve asked that the first million times you’ve done that to me,” you grumble, recalling each moment Chanyeol has thrown his weight on you when enveloping you into a supposed “back hug”.

Although you’re seemingly irritated by Chanyeol, when he flashes you one of his toothy grins, your rigid lips can’t help but crack a smile. No matter how angry or sullen you appear to be, Chanyeol has always had the power to make you smile with his toothy grins and peculiar antics.

That is the Park Chanyeol who you had become best friends with.

That is the Park Chanyeol who you had fallen in love with.

And your thoughts travel back to a breezy autumn day in sixth grade. The day you first met Park Chanyeol.

Students chased each other around the class and Oh Sehun was teasing you about your hair as you sat at the desk by the open window, attempting to read a book. Sehun had been playing with your hair, and you had been swatting him away, as usual. Immediately, Sehun slipped in the seat beside you, and students scrambled into their chairs and muffled their chuckles when the door swung open and the teacher stepped in, a stern look upon the contours of her face. You could already hear the stream of murmurs in the class when your teacher glanced over at the troublemaker boys at the back of the class and announced, “We have a new student.

Heads whipped towards the door as a tall boy with scrawny limbs and a head of ruffled dark locks stepped through the doorway, his uniform shirt slightly wrinkled. “Hello, I’m Park Chanyeol,” the boy chimed. “I hope we can all become great friends!”

Uninterested in the new student, you simply kept your eyes glued to your book. “Take any empty seat you’d like,” your teacher instructed, and the boy named Chanyeol took the seat right behind yours.

At that time, you had mistaken fate for an act of sheer folly which had gotten you into detention for the first time.

It had been twenty minutes into your teacher’s lecture when a finger tapped on your shoulder and a low voice called, “Hey.”

Although you chose to ignore it, the boy continued prodding you with the end of his pen and blowing puffs of air at the back of your head until you turned around in frustration and hissed, “What?”

“I’m Chanyeol,” the boy introduced, his voice a hushed whisper. “How about you? We should become friends.”

“I’m trying to pay attention to the le-”

“Mr. Park and Mrs. _____, would you like to tell the class what you are talking about?” the teacher suddenly asked. All the students turned their oppressive stares to you and Chanyeol. “What is so important that you are interrupting my lecture?”

You stammered as you tried to form words. You could hear the other students snickering at your baffled state. You were never one to cause trouble and get into detention.

“Although you are a new student, Mr. Park, I’m afraid rules are rules,” your teacher sighed. “Detention.”

Thus, a  long afternoon was spent in an empty classroom, angrily glaring at the white board on the wall before you. Chanyeol sat at a desk on the opposite end of the class, glancing guiltily at your hunched figure. Not ten minutes had passed before the teacher announced she would be back after a teacher’s meeting and left the room.

Once the door had clicked shut, Chanyeol arose from his seat and nonchalantly walked through the room, taking the seat in front of yours. He turned around in the chair to face you, a silly smile plastered on his face. “Do you want us to get in more trouble?” you asked.

“I’m sorry about getting you in detention,” he apologized. “But I want to make it up to you?”

You averted your gaze elsewhere.

“Meet me outside the school. Tomorrow after school.”

Although you attempted to stay angry at the boy, he wiggled his eyebrows playfully and drastically begged you to meet up with him, causing you to crack into a smile and roll your eyes playfully. “Fine,” was your answer.

But one meeting led to many.

And many led to something more than just acquaintances.

The two of you, despite such drastic differences, had become best friends.

And you still are, even in your Junior year of high school.


Chanyeol shouts, bringing you back into the realm of reality.

“What?” you ask.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing you by the arm, “we need to talk.”


“What is so important that you literally dragged me outside?” you ask, sighing heavily. With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you and Chanyeol walk side by side, the January breezes tickling your cheeks.

“Do I seem different?” Chanyeol abruptly asks.

You pause in your movements to examine the lanky figure beside you. Same mussed, dark locks. Same pointed ears. Same bright smile. “No,” you say. “Why? Did you get a haircut?”

“No,” he almost scoffs. “I’m disappointed. You’ve been best friends with me since middle school and you don’t notice anything?”

You shake your head.

“I found a girlfriend!” he announces, jumping in front of you.

The moment the words leave his lips, a loud pang is heard as your heart falls and shatters. You draw in a shaky breath, before forcing a smile and proceeding to ask, “Who is it?”

“Jung Seoyoung,” he says. “I’m going to have to introduce you to her sometime!”

Immediately, you recognize her from a few of your classes. Seoyoung has flowing locks of dark hair and glimmering brown eyes, a face that has boys swooning. Not to mention, she’s light-hearted and laughs easily, always approaching others and being generous, unlike you- aloof and somewhat distant.

“How did you two get together?”

“Well,” he says, kicking dirt off the ground. “You know how I told you that I liked someone from my biology class.“

You nod.

"Well, that someone was Seoyoung, and I think we were meant be, because our teacher paired us up together for a project!”  Chanyeol beams, before continuing, “I decided to ask her out, and she said yes!”

A lump forms in your throat and you almost choke on your own words.

“Are you okay?” Chanyeol asks, cocking his head. “Whenever I tell you that I’m in love, you’re usually scolding me and asking me what I know about love.”

It pains you to know that he knew so much about you but couldn’t see your true feelings for him.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asks.

You want to tell him that you’ve had the biggest crush on him since your first year of high school, and in all honestly, your heart breaks a little each time he tells you about his latest girlfriend or secret admirer.

“You know, you can tell me anything,” he says. “We’ve been through everything together.”

It’s true.

You had even been there with Chanyeol through the period in seventh grade of his awkward voice cracks and sudden growth spurts, and Chanyeol had been there with you through your gawky phases of frequent mood swings.

You were never afraid to tell Chanyeol anything, except for this.

“I’m alright,” you sigh. “Just stressed from the amount of work I have today.”

Once again, a smile crawls up the sides of his face. Chanyeol ruffles your hair playfully and says, “My ______ is such a good student, I wonder how an idiot like me became best friends with her.”

You want to disappear, and your wish is granted when the bell suddenly rings.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Chanyeol says.

As his heavy footsteps diminish, you pull out your phone.


“Explain to me again why we’re sitting here in the student lounge when I could be taking a nap in the library.”

Kris!” you shout at the lanky male, who is sprawled out on the coffee brown couch in the student lounge. “We are supposed to be having an important conversation!”

After seeing the exasperation and concern knotting  your eyebrows together, the male props himself up and sighs, “Alright, I’m sorry. Now, tell me- what’s wrong?”

You sullenly glance at the light olive green and crimson red squares furnishing the carpet of the lounge. You hug a pillow to your chest, unable to express yourself in words.

“You’re not usually this gloomy,” Kris remarks. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Chanyeol,” you sigh.

“Did he reject your confession?”

“No,” you grumble. “I didn’t even confess to him.”

“Then what happened?” Kris asks. Chanyeol may be your best friend, but Kris is a close childhood friend feigning to be your knockoff older brother. He is, perhaps, the only one who you trust enough to tell of your hopeless crush.

“He found a girlfriend,” you mutter.

Kris falls silent, his lips forming an ‘o’.

Your heads turn when the door to the lounge creaks open and a familiar male with scrawny limbs and flat hair steps in.

“Kyungsoo,” you call. Kyungsoo is another close friend, one who you had met as your desk buddy in eighth grade.

“You called Kyungsoo here?” Kris asks.

You nod. “He’s friends with Chanyeol, and he’s pretty good at giving advice, unlike someone,” you say, raising an eyebrow at Kris.

“Is anything wrong?” Kyungsoo asks, panting heavily and pushing his round spectacles up the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

“No,” Kris replies. “We were just talking.”

“I thought you were dying or something,” Kyungsoo sighs, plopping down on the seat next to Kris. “Do you know how worried I was when you sent me all those urgent texts begging for me to meet you in the student lounge? I literally sprinted here from study hall.”

“Sorry,” you grumble.

“Anyways, what’s going on?”

“_____ has a hopeless crush on Chanyeol but Chanyeol’s found a girlfriend and now she’s depressed,” Kris says.

Kris,” you shriek, smacking the male on the arm. “How could you so blatantly say that? I haven’t told Kyungsoo, yet!”

“Haven’t told me what? The fact that you like Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo asks. “I already knew that,” he states, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s pretty obvious. Anyone can see that.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

The two males nod in unison.

“If anyone can see that, why can’t Chanyeol?” you ask.

“Well,” Kyungsoo begins. “Maybe he does see it, and maybe he feels something for you, too, but he could just be mistaking it as friendship. He could think that the love he has for you is simple, platonic affection.”

“That’s obviously not the case since he found a girlfriend,” you grumble.

“Who is his girlfriend?” Kris asks.

“Jung Seoyoung.”

Pretty and popular Seoyoung.

“What I’m saying is,” Kyungsoo continues, “maybe he is in love, but he’s just lost. He’s looking around to find the one who’s stolen his heart, when in truth, she’s been here all along.”

Kyungsoo flashes you a smile, before Kris blurts, “Or Chanyeol’s just really stupid and a blind idiot.”

“If you really think that way, what should I do?” you ask.

“Tell him you like him,” Kris shrugs nonchalantly.

“Do you think I wouldn’t have done that if it was that easy?” you hiss.

“Well, why haven’t you done it?” Kyungsoo asks.

"Chanyeol’s always talking about some girl he likes and it feels so out of place to confess to him,” you sigh. “He likes all these pretty girls with bright personalities like him, while I’m an antisocial and indifferent geek.”

“If I were you, I would’ve confessed to him anyway,” Kris shrugs.

“I’m sorry, but I am not oozing with confidence like you Kris Wu,” you scoff.

“Why don’t you write him a love note?” Kyungsoo suggests. “You always say that you’re awkward when speaking to people, but you’re writing is amazing. You spend a lot of time reading books and writing, so why not?”

“Yeah,” Kris agrees. “Write it with love.”

Kyungsoo’s words begin encircling in your mind, and you realize- it’s not such a bad idea.

“Not matter how much of an idiot Kris is, I’m with him on this one,” Kyungsoo says. “You should tell him you like him.”

You open to mouth to respond, but you’re interrupted and absolutely startled when a voice at the door asks, “Tell who?”

You whip your head to face a beaming Chanyeol nonchalantly leaning against the doorway and secretly pray that he hasn’t heard anything.

With a bounce in his step and a quirky smile, Chanyeol steps into the lounge and collapses on the seat next to you, wrapping an arm around you. “Does my _____ have a crush on someone?” he chuckles.

A veil of tense silence settles across the figures in the lounge.

“Who is it?” Chanyeol asks, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. Kyungsoo’s eyes widen in alarm and Kris almost chokes. When you don’t reply, his eyebrows furrow in concern, as he asks, “Is something wrong?”

Suddenly, Chanyeol whips his head to the two other males. “Did the two of you do anything to my _____? If you did, I’m going to make sure-”

“Chanyeol,” you say. “It’s fine. They were just helping me.” You shrug his arm off and sling your bag over your shoulder. You give a weak smile at Kyungsoo and Kris. “Thanks, guys,” you mutter, before dragging your heavy feet through the door.

Only one thought surfaces to your mind, and you’re sure Kris and Kyungsoo are probably thinking the same thing:

Park Chanyeol is an idiot.


After a night well spent tearing papers with sappy words and madly scribbling your feelings for Chanyeol, a simple letter with the blatant truth that you loved Chanyeol and could never get your mind off his goofy grin was what you had settled with. Sealed in a pink envelope with a sticker of a heart, the letter rested in your bag.

“Did you write it?” Kyungsoo asks, the next day, suddenly emerging and matching his pace with yours as you walk to your locker.

Carefully fishing out the pink envelope from your bag, you show it to Kyungsoo before slipping it back inside.

“What if he doesn’t like me back?” you ask, sudden trepidation pulsing through your veins.

“The worst he can say is no.”

And it’s almost fate, how Chanyeol just happens to be standing in the hallways as you and Kyungsoo pass him. “_____,” Chanyeol sing-songs.

Immediately, your fingers wrap around Kyungsoo’s wrist, and you flash him a look that says, “Don’t you dare leave me in this situation.”

When you whirl around to face Chanyeol, the color drains from your face and your stomach churns. Seoyoung stands beside Chanyeol, their fingers intertwined. Chanyeol mutters something, which causes her to giggle and turn away with flushed cheeks.

“______,” Chanyeol calls, “I want you to meet someone.”

“Yeah?” you ask, tremulously.

“This is Seoyoung,” he introduces. Although you’re familiar with the fact that she’s a nice person, you can’t help but feel resentment towards the girl.

“Hi,” you say.

Although you feel a jealous kind of anger bubbling up and turning your ears red, you can also see the reluctance and disapproval in Seoyoung’s eyes, as she greets, “I’m Chanyeol’s girlfriend, Seoyoung.”

You almost scoff at her childish jealousy, until you realize you’re the one being childish. As Chanyeol’s girlfriend, Seoyoung has the right to be jealous of you.

But you’re simply Chanyeol’s best friend.

“Should we all eat lunch together?” Chanyeol says, his eyes lighting up. “Kyungsoo can join us, too!”

You flash Kyungsoo a pleading glance, before saying, “Actually, we have somewhere to be.”

“Oh?” Chanyeol says, his face becoming sullen.

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says. “We promised to meet up with Kris in the student lounge.”

“Maybe next time, then?” Chanyeol asks.

You manage to choke a weak, “Sure.”

“See you,” Chanyeol chimes, wrapping an arm around Seoyoung and leading her to the cafeteria.

Kyungsoo watches you with unease, as you lean against a string of beaten lockers gazing sullenly at Chanyeol’s diminishing figure.

“You alright?”

You nod.

As you begin to have second thoughts about delivering the letter in your backpack, Kyungsoo’s words ring loud and clear.

The worst he can say is no.


The following days are marked with nothing but brute emotional pain and constant wrenchings of your heart.

Between classes and after long tests, you’re always having to deal with Chanyeol asking you, “Do you want to study with me and Seoyoung?” or “Should the three of us eat lunch together?”, and Seoyoung giving you unfriendly glares and an obvious cold shoulder, which results in you politely turning him down and using the same excuse that you had promised to meet with Kris in the gym or Kyungsoo in study hall. It pains you to see Chanyeol’s glum face each time you refuse him.

But by now, you’re not quite sure whether you’re avoiding the happy couple because you don’t want to get in between their happiness or because you want to shun Chanyeol for not noticing your true feelings.

Not to mention, you’re beginning to feel guilt towards Kris and Kyungsoo, who you’ve been constantly summoning to the student lounge after your classes to vent your bottled emotions. Each time you step inside the lounge, you have to deal with an overly eager Kris, who asks, “Did you give the letter to him yet?”

And each time, you answer with a concise, “No.”

It’s a stuffy afternoon after a long biology class, and you stand at your lockers, attempting to wedge your books inside. The sound of footsteps behind you, and you presume it’s Chanyeol, wondering whether you want to join him and Seoyoung as a third wheel. But when you turn around, you can quite confidently say that you’re alarmed when Seoyoung stands in front of you.

Although she simply wears tight jeans and a oversized hoodie over a simple shirt and her hair falls in unkempt swells over her shoulders, she still manages to look glamorous. But your stomach drops when you recognize the oversized hoodie she wears as Chanyeol’s. Your thoughts suddenly travel back to your middle school years, when Chanyeol had wrapped you in his oversized jackets and hoodies, incessantly whining that you would catch a cold.

“I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, but I’m just wondering, can we speak for a moment?” she asks.

With your lips pursed and eyes averted, you respond with a slight nod.

A thick wall of tensions stands between the two of you as you sit on a bench outside, watching as a few of the rowdy boys play a vigorous game of soccer in the grass field. Sunlight filters between the leaves of the trees looming over your two bodies.

“If you don’t have anything to say to me, I’ll be leaving,” you announce.

“No,” she says sharply. “I have something to tell you.”

You watch as she turns her head to face you.

“I don’t want you hanging out with Chanyeol anymore.”

Although you’re utterly shocked by her words, you pretend to scoff and ask, “That’s all you wanted to tell me?”

“Listen, Chanyeol and I are dating, so the two of us would appreciate it if you just left us alone,” Seoyoung says coldly. “I know you’re probably going to say that the two of you have been best friends for years and that Chanyeol is the one initiating your conversations, but it would be better if you just pretended not to know him anymore.”

Suddenly, you’re even more angry at Chanyeol.

How could he be dating such a jerk?

“You don’t have to worry about me speaking with Chanyeol ever again,” you say. “There’s nothing between us anymore.”

Without another word, you abruptly get up off the metal bench and run away. You can feel the tears swelling in your eyes, but you’ve promised to meet up with Kris and Kyungsoo in the lounge once more. What would they say if they saw you crying?

You wipe the tears away with your sleeve and heave a sigh.

As you enter the familiar hallways of the school building, a hand grabs you by the arm. “_____,” Chanyeol says.

Immediately, you wrench your arm free from Chanyeol’s grasp, lowering your head so that he won’t see your tears.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asks.

“I’m alright,” you respond.

“That’s good,” he says. “I was beginning to think that you hated me.”

“What makes you say that?” you rasp.

“I just thought you were ignoring me these days. I was getting worried that Kyungsoo had replaced me as your best friend.”

You mutter, “I should be leaving now.”

“Is it that guy you like?”

You abruptly stop in your tracks.

“Is he the one making you sad?” Chanyeol asks. “Remember, if there’s any guy bothering you, I’ll make sure they’ll regret messing with my ____. And if there’s any guy who turns you down, I’ll make sure to beat them up for turning down such a perfect girl.”

Oh, Chanyeol, you think. If only you knew.


It’s quite odd how you don’t see Chanyeol for the next few days, until you’re walking through the empty hallways after class and happen to encounter Kris. The tall male immediately grabs you by the wrist and asks, “Have you seen him?”



Although you’re avoiding Chanyeol, the look of concern on Kris’s face is enough for your resentment to wash away.

“What’s wrong with him?” you ask.

“He’s in the empty class next to the janitor’s closet,” Kris says. “Fix him. I don’t care what happened or what you do, but that boy isn’t himself.”

Immediately, you rush to the empty classroom and push the door open, revealing nothing but hazy sunlight of the setting sun through the vast windows and empty desks. When you step inside, you can see the faint figure of Chanyeol sitting on the ground with his back resting against the wall. You take the seat next to him.

“What happened?” you ask.

“We broke up.”

“Chanyeol,” you stammer, “I-I’m sorr-”

“Don’t be. Do you know why we broke up?” he asks. “She said it was because the two of us were too close and that we couldn’t date as long as you were my best friend. Have you heard anything more ridiculous?”

You do nothing but listen as he continues to ramble on.

“She had nothing to worry about. The two of us are just really great friends, and she doesn’t see that. You’re my best friend, and I can talk to you comfortably about anything, even about the girls I like and these odd questions I always seem to have.”

Once again, you begin to feel anger bubbling up.

Even now, he still can’t recognize your feelings?

“You seem to be really quiet today,” Chanyeol remarks. “Is something wrong?”

You startle Chanyeol when you abruptly stand up and yell, “Are you an idiot Park Chanyeol?”

The look of confusion on Chanyeol’s face is suddenly replaced with a similar anger. He stands up from the ground and looms over you. “What is wrong with you these days? You’ve been avoiding me but you won’t tell me why,” he retorts. “You’re calling me an idiot when you’re the one who can’t even muster up the courage to confess to the guy you like? Do you know how pathetic that is?”

His words cause you to wince. He knows that his words have hurt you, and that’s exactly what he meant to do.

“Why don’t you confess to the guy you like? Maybe then I’ll listen to what you have to say.”

Your sadness turns to anger, and you suddenly remember the letter in your backpack. “Do you really want me to confess to that guy I like?” you ask, a tear running down your cheek. “Fine.”

You zip open your backpack and pull out the pink envelope. You hand it to Chanyeol, who looks at it with confusion. “Why are you giving this to me? Give it to that guy you like.”

You can see the utter realization flash through his mind when he looks at the tears streaming down your face and the words scribbled on the pink envelope:

“To Chanyeol, With Love.”

at first glance

a/n: and this one is for sugapark because she likes the kinky things ;u;

min yoongi’s very first impression of his boss as the smaller built man strides regally and with purpose across the main hall, shoulders straight with an almost bored expression on his face as the entire company freezes in their place in a unified display of respect, is that he looks so very young.

park jimin, founder and ceo.

with his rounded cheeks and baby-like features, not even the immaculate, straight-edge brioni power suit hanging off his shoulders in a perfectly tailored fit, nor the flawlessly styled hair swept out of his face, not a single strand out of place, can water down the childish and youthful effects of genetics.

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I wrote a thing for what turned out to be @generalgingerbeer‘s prompt on the kink meme, because great minds really do think a lot. Emotional hurt-comfort, post-coital cuddling, and Hux realizing just what a mess Kylo is. I guess I should warn for references to some mental health stuff, read the prompt and judge what you think you’ll like.

After Hux and Kylo have sex for the first time, Kylo goes weirdly quiet, not responding to anything Hux says. Hux is a bit freaked out, wondering if he did something wrong or hurt Kylo somehow…

Until Kylo, who’s just not able to put what he’s feeling into words, sends out a chaotic rush of emotion in Hux’s direction. Just a massive force powered wave of incoherent feelings, and underneath it all a quiet thread of “I love you I want to stay here please let me stay please love me back…”

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Chanting is no more holy than listening to the murmur of a stream, counting prayer beads no more sacred than simply breathing… . If you wish to attain oneness with the Tao, don’t get caught up in spiritual superficialities.
—  Lao Tzu
this will end // the case study of vanitas

“You should be able to look wherever you want.” Noé keeps his eyes fixed on the silver moon. He can feel Vanitas staring at him. “Look at anything that catches your eye. Anything you find beautiful.”

They both fall silent for a little while. Then, when the quiet must become too heavy for Vanitas’s flighty ears to handle, they breathe out a laugh and say, “And yet your eyes forever stray away from me, just as they do now. How insulting.”

Rating: T
Word count: 1,800~
Summary: Noé and Vanitas discuss beauty on the balcony. Set one week after Memoir I. Noé/Vanitas. 

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Within His Arms - 1

Summary: Losing your father was like losing a limb, you didn’t know what to do now your world had been ripped apart. The Winchester boys were back but you wanted nothing to do with them after the history you had together. But when your family is all gone, maybe you’re only choice is to find yourself with the only people you can trust.

Author: Hashtag Heather
Words: 2299
Warnings: No real swearing, themes of grief
Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

The world was rushing by at a speed your eyes couldn’t keep up with, only able to focus on the changing colors of the sky from afternoon to night. Your hands sat in your lap, fingers never settling their nervous movements; you knew today was coming but you didn’t think it would come so quickly. Your throat felt dry, it was like you were trying to swallow a golf ball and it lodged itself in your larynx, your ears felt as though they were filled with water so every turn of your skull felt off balance. The black dress clung to you in an almost uncomfortable way and your hair felt wrong being pulled back off your face, but that’s how you were supposed to look. You felt cold, but it wasn’t the temperature or weather, it was your insides, your very essence; ice was slowly covering your heart, the only way to stop the pain in your hollow empty soul. You felt like a machine, not at all like a human being; you wished you could have been a robot and could simply remove the emotions.

The black sleek car continued along the quiet roads and across a bridge over water, the world seemed so quiet, so calm; no one knew your world was absolutely shattered. Hurricanes were pushing through your brain in the form what if’s, almost’s and if only’s; each one destroying the walls you attempted to build. A tear threatened to escape your eyes; you swiped at it, not wanting to seem weak as the eyes of the driver met yours. You hated the way he looked at you, his eyes were full of sympathy and pity; you didn’t want his displaced emotions! You knew this moment was coming and he had no idea how you were coping.

 That was the curse of being the daughter of a hunter.

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