“Oliver said there’s an ARGUS plane on the other side of the island.” Felicity.

“It’ll take us all day to get there.” Diggle. “Anything could happen to Chase to set off the explosives.”

“Oliver said he wouldn’t kill him,” Felicity said, hanging on stubbornly to her optimism.

“Yeah, but that still doesn’t guarantee the explosives won’t go off,” Dinah chipped in.

“I still think we should wait for Oliver,” Quentin said. “If anything, we should look for his son.”

Samantha perked up. “I’m on board with that plan.”

Slade listened to all the chatter with half an ear as they each tried to come up with a plan. He remained silent, not because he had no opinion, but because he felt something. In his gut. Something wrong.

The short hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his heart hammered in his chest. There was definitely something wrong, and that something wrong was coming fast.

“We have to go underground,” he shouted, silencing everyone.

They all turned as one to stare at him.

“Why?” Rene asked.

Without answering, Slade ran toward the only place he knew would be safe, not waiting for the others to follow. After a beat, he heard rapid footsteps behind him, but he kept his concentration on looking for one thing.

The entrance to an ARGUS prison block.

Slade had spent the last three years in a cell on the other side of the island, but if he knew ARGUS, he knew that they would be thorough. There was bound to be another block on this side.

“Where are you taking us?” Thea called out from behind him.

Slade didn’t answer.

“Slade!” Diggle shouted.

At last, Slade saw something metal rising out of the ground in the distance, maybe 400 metres away. His pace sped up as gooseflesh crawled up his neck.

“Run!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Run like the devil is on your heels!”

Sweat popped out on his brow as they finally reached the entrance. He wasted no time in wrenching the door open. “Get in!”

No one moved, to his everlasting frustration.

“We need to look for William!” Samantha cried.

“And the plane,” Rene added.

Slade grit his teeth and growled, “Get. In. Now.”

A grave look appeared on Diggle’s face, finally catching Slade’s bad feeling, and ushered Felicity before him. “Get in,” he repeated, and finally, they all began to move.

No sooner had Slade shut and locked the lid that the ground beneath them shook violently, throwing him off the ladder. Explosions sounded overhead, through the thick concrete. The floor shook as the shockwave reached them, but the walls held firm.

“Go deeper,” he commanded, getting up from the floor. “Through that door and down the hall, there’s a stairwell at the end. That will take us lower.”

They all turned to go, except for Felicity, who stood with her hand over her mouth and tears swimming in her eyes.

“Oliver…” she whispered.

Slade approached her slowly, getting in her field of view. “He’s gonna be all right,” he said, attempting to reassure her. “Kid’s got more than nine lives. He’s more worried about us, I’d wager.”

She blinked up at him, as if just realizing he was in front of her. After a tense moment, she nodded, and turned to follow the others.

Slade took one look back at the door above his head. “You better not make a liar out of me, kid,” he said, before following the others into the bunker.

Just In Case (Olicity, 5x23 spec)

(what we’re all assuming will happen based on this tweet)

They’d been here too many times before.

She wanted to say that. She wanted to scream it from the treetops so everyone would hear how frakking ridiculous it was that just when they were on the cusp of having everything, something swooped in and turned the entire world upside down. Really, you think she’d be used to it, should even expect it. But it always surprised her, every single time.

This time was no different.

Felicity stared up at him. 

The words were on the tip of her tongue, everything she’d kept at bay since last summer - everything buried under fear and anger and hurt and regret - but she didn’t say any of it. Now was so not the time, and at the end of the day, the words weren’t necessary. She didn’t have to say any of it, not anymore. They both knew. They always had. So instead she gripped his suit, so tight her fingers hurt, pouring every ounce of love she felt for his man into these few precious seconds.

He did the same, and the love and gratitude and openness staring back at her took her breath away.

The conversation they held with their eyes lasted all of a second, but it also felt like it encompassed an eternity.

Felicity nodded, her lips twitching in a small smile. It was reassuring, confident, strong, as much for him as it was for her. He returned it, but his had an edge of sadness hooked to it. She understood exactly what it meant - it wasn’t sadness fueled by regret, but sadness that they were back here, again, always.

Well, she thought, that just meant that when they got out of this, she was going to tell him to absolute hell with taking things one step at a time. She wanted him, she always had, and the wall that had been between them since the very beginning - the very, very beginning, since always - was finally crumbling and she was ready to kick it down the rest of the way so there was nothing left but them. She was going to ask him to dinner, or have him over, ask him if he wanted to cook, but maybe not because she hadn’t done anything food-related in the loft kitchen since he left. Everything was dusty and unused, almost like it was all waiting for him. Sort of like her, she mused to herself, waiting for her to come back to herself, to him, to each other. So yes, definitely dinner, but maybe going out for dinner, like their first attempt at a date, only this time…  

Oliver’s lips twitched up again, this time with something softer - with pure, radiant love - like he could read her thoughts. With a reverent, “Felicity,” he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He barely left Felicity a second to react, for her lips to form a startled, ‘Oh,’ before he wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her up against his chest, his lips slanting over hers.

It was their first kiss in months, but it felt more like years. Decades. So much had changed and evolved and shifted over the last year and all of it was summed up in this one single moment, of them finally coming home to each other.

Just like their silent conversation, the kiss was short, but the weight of it made it feel longer, and Felicity knew it would resonate inside her for the rest of their lives. 

When they pulled apart, Felicity was a little breathless as she asked, “What was that for?”

Oliver licked his lips, brushing his forehead against hers before he set her down, stepping back. 

“Just in case,” he whispered, his fingers interlacing with hers.

It wasn’t sad, or tragic, or filled with any fear that they might not find each other again. 

The kiss was a symbol of a simple fact: he loved her.

Felicity pulled him back to her, grasping his hand tightly as her other came up to cup his cheek, to pull him down for one more kiss. 

This was one was quicker, but it was just as powerful.

Oliver’s eyes were closed when they pulled apart, his brow furrowed in question, and when they fluttered open, finding hers, Felicity smiled. 

“Just in case,” she said.

I love you, too.

Where The Heart Is (Negan x Wife)

Summary: Negan’s wife has a work meeting and he spends Saturday with their daughter Emma.

Characters: Negan x Female

Word Count: 2,964

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Slight Daddy Kink, Fluff, Swearing, and Angst 

Author’s Note: This fic was requested by anon who sent:

Can I request Negan pre-apocalypse where he’s doing daddy duty while his wife is away and then awesome smut ensues when she returns

I had a fun time writing this one, though I am not sure if this is what you wanted anon. I had one helluva time trying to name this fic. I was going to write in Negan’s perspective, but I had other plans. I don’t think I’ve ever packed a fic request so full of smut, fluff, and angst before. Also, please don’t hate me.

I am always happy to hear what you think! Shoot me a message and tell me what you thought! If you want to be on my tag list, let me know!

Originally posted by may85

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brother, let me be your fortress

Genre: Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship
Word Count: 6,129 words 
Pairings: Rucas (major), Joshaya (slight) and Smarkle (slight) 
Summary: Riley goes into a coma on a Tuesday night, and for the first time, the rest of the group becomes the rock that Lucas can hold on to. (Lucas-centric-ish)
A/N: Yeah, this is a pretty long, angsty one. 


Josh sighs in relief at the sight of her in the Emergency Room, calling out her name in a strangled voice as he makes his way to her. She looks up, eyes glazed and wide as though she has finally realized where she is. Josh watches as she tries to say something but he does not give her a chance to. He wraps his arms around Maya and hugs her tight, not wanting to let go.

Maya is shaking, shock evidently consuming her as she leans into his embrace and buries her face into his chest. He can feel the wetness of her tears seeping through his shirt but he cannot bring himself to care less.

Maya is here. She is safe. That is all that matters.

“Riley,” Josh hears Maya’s muffled call for his niece and his heart sinks.

No. Maya’s safety is not all that matters because Riley is not with them. Riley is not freaking out at the sight of tears in Maya’s eyes. Riley is not here to cry about the patients in pain all around. Riley is not out in the waiting room with them because she is lying in the operating room as the doctors try to save her.

Josh pulls away from Maya gently, grabbing her face in his hands as he regards her. Bile rises in his throat at the blood that stains Maya’s dress. The once white dress is now covered in the dark angry crimson liquid. There is dried blood on Maya’s arms, probably from cradling Riley right after she was hit.

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Taking Care // Derek H x Reader

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader
Fluff, cuteness, sick!Reader, maybe a swear word or two
Word Count:

Request: Heyo! I saw you wanted requests, so could u do a Derek hale x reader where she’s his mate (human, but knows about everything) and he keeps her secret from the pack because he’s worried about the people out to get him. Suddenly she gets sick tho and he’s gotta take care of her which leads to the pack being curious and worried about where he is every day for a week. Fluff please :3 thanks lovie!

A/N: Wow I haven’t written for Teen Wolf in such a long time! I’m sorry about that, most of my focus has been on my main blog @Lady-Thor-Foster. I’m excited about picking my fics back up again and writing new ones! Chapter Two of Muse is coming out ASAP. I’m still taking requests!

Originally posted by teenwolf--imagines

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Flinthamilton Fic


It’s my first fic for the fandom hooray. I was BLOWN AWAY by Black Sails, and I had to write something for these two. Enjoy!

James did not know it could feel this way.

The times he’s been with men in the past were quick, hot, dirty. In the farthest depths in the farthest back part of the ship in the dead of night, when no one was around or awake to think about what two people were doing in the dark.

The encounters were dry, painful, sporadic. A hand here, another there, rubbing this, poking that. Always fast, never slow. James and whoever he was with couldn’t bear look at each other. When they were done, they would stalk back to their barracks, and never say another word to each other the whole time they were deployed.

James thought that’s how it would always be, that that is what someone like him deserved. If it was immoral, he thought, what right did he have to have it feel good?

Then he met Thomas.

James felt the air shift after they shared their first laugh together, he felt the earth move when they kissed the first time. Supple lips against his, an anchoring, comforting hand at the nape of his neck, guiding him, teaching him, accepting him. Accepting James and everything he was, awaiting everything he would be. That night at the table, a low warmth seeped deep in his belly, rising in his body to his chest while he defended Thomas. It spread to his arms when he placed his hands on either side of Thomas’s torso when their lips deepened. This is as far as the warmth will go, James thought, and that would be enough for him.

But oh, oh, how wrong he was.

He realized how wrong he was when they were in Thomas’s room in London, gilded and pristine and quiet, dimly lit by two candles. Both men already free of their clothes, their hands smoothed their way across each other’s skin, Thomas’s impossibly soft under James’s hands. His hands, though they trembled slightly, ran over the other man’s body with a type of reverence James didn’t know he could express. His eyes fluttered closed when Thomas moved to sit behind him and run his hands across his back, he couldn’t help but groan when he felt lips dot along his shoulders and down his spine.

“You have the sky on your back,” Thomas whispered, breath curling over James’s skin as he spoke.

“What?” James whispered, voice ragged.

“Your freckles, they’re like stars. You have millions of them, all over you,” Thomas said, dotting kisses anywhere he could find.

James chuckled roughly, “I-I believe they’re from my skin being terribly pale, Thomas,” his ability for dry wit was stunted while Thomas left more open mouth kisses on his back.

“Nonsense, they are stars, and they are beautiful.” He kept moving kisses across his back and the back of his neck, moving to kiss the top of James’s arms while his hand stroked his forearm, making goosebumps rise along the skin.

“I want nothing more than to float away in them, and learn every constellation,” murmured Thomas, moving so his lips met James’s, moaning while it deepened. The red headed man let himself be pulled back among the plush sheets as Thomas moved so he was on top of him, legs on either side.

“You’re breathtaking,” whispered Thomas, trailing kisses down James’s chest, his hands dragging along the place his lips just were. James closed his eyes, and reveled in the this feeling, a delicate closeness he never knew was possible. Thomas moaned when he reached James’s hips, the strong muscle and bone moved under his teeth as he dragged them. He let his lips roam down James’s strong legs, grateful that the other man moved his legs so his lips could bless his inner thighs. James groaned and threw his head back.

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reyes-of-sunshine  asked:

“I’m not wearing that.” reyder

I’m not wearing that

“You must be joking,” Reyes huffed, staring at Scott as if the Pathfinder had just sprouted horns and a fluffy tail. “I’m not wearing that.”

“Oh, come on, it will be fun!” Scott singsonged, pointing to the heaps of clothes stashed in his wardrobe – each worse than the previous one, with clashing colors, ridiculous fabric and terrible cut. Worst fashion disasters Andromeda had ever seen. “And besides, it’s for a good cause!”

“How is making an idiot out of myself going to help anybody?”

Using his biotics, Scott let various garments float in front of them, his gaze searching intently for the most outrageous pick.

“I told you. Sara is stuck in the Nexus med bay again and she’s going crazy from boredom. We need to cheer her up.”

“By dressing up as fabulous hobos?”

“She’ll love it, just you see.”

Reyes let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his forehead.

“The things I do for you…”

Scott laughed and let one of the shirts smack Reyes right in the face.

“Less grumbling, more getting dressed.”

* * *

“Vetra? Could you come to my room for a moment?”

She lifted her gaze from the gun she had been upgrading and looked with surprise at her omni-tool.

“Yeah, sure.”

On the way to the Pathfinder’s Quarters, Vetra couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. Scott was the type of guy, who preferred to go out to his crew rather than summon them to his own room. Especially during Reyes’s visit. They hardly needed an audience, right?

She pressed the button, opening the door, took a step inside… and froze. Full body paralysis as she took a long and good look at the two men in front of her.

Scott was dressed in a turquoise sweatpants, a neon pink translucent Blasto tank top, orange socks adorned with tiny silver stars and purple, oversized crocks. Big headphones hung casually around his neck. On his left wrist he had a rainbow bracelet, on the right a few garish rubber bands. And to top it all, a pair of mauve party sunglasses stuck on his nose. Reyes wore an identical outfit, just in a slightly different color scheme (pink sweatpants, turquoise tank top, orange crocks, purple socks).

Vetra stared, and stared, and then stared some more, infinities upon infinities rolling by as her brain was trying to process what she was seeing.

She gave up eventually and shook her head, as if chasing the cursed images away.

“You know what, I don’t even want to know. Why did you call me?”

Scott’s smile was brighter than his top. The shirt, not Reyes, although the Charlatan, once he actually put on the outfit, started to radiate lethal doses of joy and excitement.

“Take a photo of us and send it later to my omni-tool, okay?”

“Sure. Whatever.” Vetra reached an inner zen state.

“Okay,” Scott clapped his hands. “Let’s strike a pose. Three… two… one…”

Arms were extended, muscles flexed, confidence oozing from every pore.

“Done. The photo and I,” said Vetra and forwarded the image on her merry way away from this nuthouse.

When the door closed behind her, Reyes turned to his boyfriend.

“Do you really think Sara will like it?”

“Oh yeah.” Scott giggled stupidly, sending the picture to his twin. “She’s gonna piss her pants.”

* * *

As it turned out, Sara’s reaction thankfully wasn’t as urinary as expected, although she apparently had a fit of laughter so intense she had to be sedated. Doctor Carlyle sent Scott about a dozen angry emails, banning all interRyder communication until Sara was well again.

“Worth it,” Scott decided with a smug nod.

As soon as I read that prompt I couldn’t help but think of this picture by @scottryder-spacetwink. Sara’s reaction is totally understandable because my own was similar. Sorry for the addition of crocks, I just had to.

If you liked this ficlet please consider buying me a coffee. Any future food donations are greatly appreciated.

danibwills  asked:

A Jon x Sansa New girl AU please !

I hope this is alright! Sorry it’s a million years late! <3 

It was a Wednesday morning when Sansa walked in on Harry arse-naked on top of some blonde in their shared bed. At first, she’d just stood there, thinking about how ugly Harry was and how gross he looked in the throes of sex. Everything about it looked so mechanical and dull – and god, if you’re going to cheat on your girlfriend who you just moved in with then at least throw it all away for a night (or rather morning) of passion. That’s why people cheat, right? They get so overwhelmed by sexual chemistry and something new that they can’t resist themselves, so what does it say about Sansa that her boyfriend of a year cheated on her for mediocre sex?

She’s not sure and it’s better if she pretends she doesn’t know the answer to that question.

“Sans? Where do you want this?”

Her brother is studying her with his arms wrapped tightly around a box labeled ‘shit Sansa doesn’t need’ courtesy of her little sister.

“Um, just… anywhere is good. Thank you, Robb.” The smile she offers is faint and lacking any warmth, but it’s the best she can do considering she’s twenty-six-years-old and moving in with her brother and his two flatmates. She loves Robb and there’s a part of her that still worships the ground he walks on, but she honestly does not want to live with him and his friends. Sansa was supposed to be getting her own space, settling down and being a grown up, only that all went crashing down around her when Harry decided to stick his prick in somewhere else.

She grimaces at the thought and that catches Robb’s attention.


“Harry was gross, wasn’t he?” she asks instead, looking around the room. It’s a decent size with two large windows to one side that faces another apartment complex. It’s not a great view, but the room is well-lit and she likes that.

Her brother chuckles in surprise. “We’re just glad you didn’t catch anything.”

Sansa’s grimace grows and she throws a pillow at his head. “Ew, Robb. Don’t even joke about that!” She’s already been to the GP for a very thorough STI test, and thankfully, she’s clean. She supposes the one good thing Harry has going for him is a healthy knowledge of sexual education and the follow-through to always wear a condom.

“Sorry,” he laughs, putting both hands up in the universal sign of surrender, but when Sansa rolls her eyes, her brother moves towards her swiftly and wraps her in his signature bear hugs. “Hey, you’re better off without him, yeah? You’re way too good for a weasel like Harry.”

“I know that,” she mumbles into his shirt.

“I love you, Lemon.”

“Love you too, Bacon,” she says, shaking her head at their stupid childhood nicknames. Lemon for her for the amount of lemon cakes she used to eat and Bacon for him for the amount of bacon he used to steal from everyone’s plates. In their defence, Sansa had been four and Robb seven.

Once her brother leaves her new room, Sansa flops down on the bed with a heavy groan. She doesn’t know what’s more tragic – the fact that her boyfriend cheated on her or the fact that she doesn’t feel even a smidgen of heartbreak.




Sansa grabs for her towel and runs out into the living room where Robb is sitting on the L-shaped sofa with Jon playing some video game. Both are staring up at them with wide eyes, but she takes no notice of this. She’s too busy glaring daggers at the scrawny man before her.

“How do you not – didn’t you hear the shower going!” She’s not screaming any more but she is still very close to killing him.

“What? Mate, did you fucking walk in on my sister showering?” Robb is now on his feet with a scowl on his face. Theon instinctively recoils back in fear, which really irks Sansa, because he should be more afraid of her.

“I didn’t mean to. I swear it was an accident!” Theon says in a rush. He looks to Sansa and seems to be imploring her with his eyes. “Honest, Sansa! And if it makes you feel any better, you have a very lovely figure.”

“Ugh, douchebag jar now!” she screeches in frustration, grabbing an empty can from the nearby table and hurling it at Theon’s head. He ducks in time but the physical action does make her feel a little better. “You guys need to fix that lock or I swear to god I will make your lives hell.” With that said, she storms back to the shower to finish rinsing out her hair.

Day six of living with the boys is going disastrously. Not only has Theon seen her naked but she’s pretty sure she’s heard her brother having sex multiple times now, and if it happens again, she’s going to cut off her ears.


It’s Valentine’s Day and Sansa officially hates her life. Harry and her had plans to travel down to London and stay at a nice hotel. Of course now her Valentine’s Day consists of cocooning herself in a duvet while watching Bridget Jones’ Diary and drinking wine. It’s mean and petty but she’s fuming that everyone she knows has plans. Even Theon sodding Greyjoy has a date! How did that buffoon trick someone into going out with him is beyond her, but she supposes the silver lining is that she has the flat to herself.

Bridget has just shown up to the garden party in a little bunny outfit when the door to the flat bursts open and Jon comes stumbling in decked out in his fireman uniform. He looks weary and exhausted, and it takes him several minutes to notice her. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have at all if she hadn’t shifted on the sofa causing the leather to squelch underneath her.

Fuck!” he exclaims, jumping back in surprise. His curly hair is in such disarray and his eyes are so comically wide she has a hard time stifling the giggle rising up her throat. “I didn’t – I thought you’d be out or something.”

Sansa arches a brow. “With who? My non-existent boyfriend or my illustrious ex?”

Jon flushes and rubs the back of his neck. “Right, sorry. I just thought you of all people would have a date.”

Me of all people? What’s that supposed to mean?”

If it’s possible for a person to turn into a tomato, Jon is doing a very good job right now with that transformation. “Nothing. Um… Bridget Jones?”

“You like Bridget Jones?” This is news to her. But then most of what she’s found out about Robb’s sullen best friend is news to her. “Didn’t peg you as the type.”

He shrugs as he kicks off his shoes and drops down next to her. “It’s alright.” But thirty minutes later, Jon is completely gripped by the story. He’s laughing and shaking his head in time to each crazy or absurd thing Bridget does. It’s surprisingly endearing and Sansa finds herself watching him for the rest of the film instead. He has a very expressive face when it’s not wearing that grumpy mask he has on most of the time.

“Why aren’t you on a date?” Sansa asks once the credits start rolling.

Jon blinks at her, fingers clenching and unclenching around his coffee mug filled to the brim with red wine. “Don’t really feel like dating.”

“Bad breakup?” she pushes, because she really doesn’t know a thing about Jon and she should considering they’re now flatmates. He’s also the most sane one out of the three of them.

“Does it count as a reason if it was over two years ago?”

Sansa surprises herself by laughing at that. “Yeah, sure. If it was bad enough.”

“Is my ex getting into a car accident, going into a coma for three months and waking up only to decide to travel the world without me bad enough?” he asks, and if it isn’t for the glimmer of a smile on his lips, Sansa would be horrified by that tale.

She pretends to think about it for a second. “Hmm… I guess I can give you that one.”

“You’re so gracious,” Jon says, chuckling. “So what was your bad breakup? Robb didn’t really tell us anything other than Harry is a twat and he’s going to gut him like a fish.”

“Oh god,” she sighs. Robb really needs to get a grip on this overprotective brother thing. If she hears he actually tried to fight Harry, she’ll kill them both. “I think you have me beat on the bad breakup front but I think coming home to see your boyfriend breaking in your new mattress with someone that’s not you is pretty rubbish.”

“Ouch,” Jon says, as he reaches over to place a comforting hand over her own. His hand is big and warm, calloused but still soft enough to make her body shiver from the contact. “That is shit, Sansa. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s okay,” Sansa says automatically, before feeling emboldened by the wine to add, “but you know what’s the most screwed up part? I’m actually more upset about the mattress than I am about Harry. I mean – I paid for half of that mattress and mattresses are expensive, Jon. They’re supposed to be an investment, right? Except now I’ll never be able to use it.”

He shakes his head, smiling bemusedly at her. “You’ll buy a new mattress.”

“But it was a really good mattress!” she whines. “It has one of those memory foam things.”

“Oh jesus, yeah, that’s definitely a real loss,” Jon nods with a completely serious expression. “I’m sorry for your pain.”

“Shut up.” She swats at him with one of the ends of the duvet. “You’re an asshole.”

Jon grins, grabbing the remote from her and flicking through Netflix for something else to watch. “I hate to break it to you, Sans, but everyone in this flat is an asshole. Even you.”

“Excuse me?” she cries out indignantly.

Uhuh, so you’re saying you’re not the one that threw all of Theon’s toiletries into the toilet? Or the one that keeps turning down the boiler so it’s practically the Arctic Circle in here?”

“Well…” Sansa chews on her bottom lip as she hides behind her wine glass. “In my defence, Theon deserved it and – I like the cold.”

“See,” Jon smirks now. “Asshole.”


Theon gets dumped by his girlfriend on a Friday.

In the five months Sansa’s been living with them, Theon’s been with this girl for three of those months and he was actually normal. He only had to add to the douchebag jar every other day as opposed to every day. They were even becoming sort of friends because apparently boyfriend-Theon likes to get Sansa’s opinion on how to dote on his girlfriend. It was cute, which was why when Theon comes home looking as broken as an abandoned puppy, Sansa is game with the boys to taking him out and getting him shitfaced drunk.

She’s not much of a drinker herself. Sansa doesn’t like to lose control. As a Scottish woman from a very Scottish family, this is practically unheard of, but her mother is from a posh family in Oxford, who doesn’t believe in drinking in excess, so that’s probably where she gets it from. It works out in their little ragtag group because by ten-thirty, Theon and Robb are so drunk they’re swaying and stumbling into anyone in a ten-metre radius, and Sansa just knows she’s going to have to shove them in a taxi soon.

Bitch,” Jon slurs beside her. The two of them are leaning against a table, watching as the two idiots tell some wild joke to a group of girls, who look way too young for them.


He glances down at her for a brief second before returning his focus on the boys. “Theon’s ex. She was a bloody bitch.”

“What actually happened?” Sansa asks. She doesn’t know the story and she’s too afraid to ask Theon in case he starts crying, because drunk Theon? She can handle that. Emotional and crying Theon? That’s out of her realm.

Jon sighs and angles his body towards hers so he can lean in to speak more privately.

It is incredibly unfair how attractive he is. Sansa shouldn’t even be thinking that he’s hot because he’s her flatmate, and over the past few months, Jon’s become something like a best friend to her. They spend most weekends together lying on the sofa watching Netflix and drinking wine. He’ll occasionally drop by the preschool she works at if it’s his day off to bring her lunch. And if he’s working late, Sansa will wait up for him just to make sure he’s home in one piece and there’s someone there for him to talk to if it’s a particularly gruesome fire. She doesn’t want to ruin that by something as stupid as attraction.

“She told Theon that he spends an unreasonable amount of time with us,” Jon says lowly, the timbre of his voice sending shivers up her spine. “She actually told him that he shouldn’t have flatmates at his age and gave him an ultimatum to either move in with her or break up.”

“He chose us?” Sansa’s voice wavers and she forgets all about Jon and his stupidly attractive face and body because she’s suddenly overcome with such affection for Theon. Yeah, he’s a bit perverse and has no brain-to-mouth filter, but he chose them.

“Of course he chose us,” Jon says, looking at her incredulously. “Theon may be a prick most of the time but he’s loyal.”

“He just gives off the impression that he’d drop us for the next best thing,” she admits with shame colouring her tone.

To Jon’s credit, he chuckles and touches her shoulder gingerly. “I’m not saying he’s not an opportunistic twat or that he won’t screw us over one day but never intentionally.”

That sounds more like the Theon she knows, but even so, Sansa can’t find it in herself to really hate him for being that kind of person. It’s just who he is. With a father like Balon Greyjoy, it kind of makes sense for him to be the way he is, but Jon’s right. He is good. Given the chance, he would do the right thing – which is exactly the moment Sansa spots his ex-girlfriend and anger curls deep in her chest.

“Wait here,” she tells Jon and starts forward without waiting for a response. As Sansa gets closer and closer to Naiyla Rochelle, she starts to realise she doesn’t exactly have a plan. She wants to punch her but that probably isn’t going to help Theon any. She could tell her if she ever contacts Theon again, Sansa will have her killed and hide her body in the river or something, but that seems very extreme and hyperbolic.

Naiyla,” she greets with a wide obviously fake smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

The brunette startles at seeing Sansa but plasters on an equally fake smile. “Sansa, hi. How are you?”

“Pretty great.” She’s at least a good foot taller than Naiyla so she uses her height to her advantage, straightening her limbs to appear more intimidating. “I’m so sorry to hear about you and Theon. It’s such a shame. But I guess it worked in my favour, you know?” She smiles bashfully. “I’ve always had the biggest crush on Theon.”

“Really, you?” Naiyla looks sceptical.

“Are you kidding?” Sansa says with wide eyes. “He’s a bit rough around the edges, I admit, but when he cares about someone, he’s loyal till the very end. He’ll wade through trash just to get back to the people he loves.” She glances behind her and waves in Theon’s general direction. “Oh, I have to run now. So nice to see you again. Have a good night, Naiyla.”

When she saunters back to Jon, he has one brow arched and a bemused smile on his face. “What did you say to her? She looks ready to kill you.”

Sansa smirks. “Nothing. I was the perfect lady.”

“Yeah,” Jon smiles, fond. “I bet you were.”


Sansa goes away to a teacher convention for four days. It’s the longest she’s been apart from the boys in seven months and she really misses them.

She misses the lazy afternoons with her brother sitting on the roof of their building. She misses Theon yelling and shouting at the football match as he simultaneously tries to explain to her what’s going on. She misses Jon and his hugs and how he always smells like smoke and something distinctly him. She misses the way he catches her eye across the breakfast table and gives her a small barely-there smile. God, it’s pathetic but she even misses the way he would argue with her about the best way to handle problems in the flat.

When Sansa finally returns, it’s to an empty flat and she can’t help the kernel of disappointment from ricocheting around in her stomach. She wasn’t expecting a welcome back party but she did expect something. Dropping her suitcase in her room, Sansa immediately goes to take a shower because three hours on a bus has made her feel gross and sticky. But once she’s done, there’s still no one around. In fact, by the time Sansa finishes her dinner, she’s beginning to get a little worried about where everyone is. It’s a Sunday so they should all be home. None of them ever do anything on a Sunday.

To Flat Fam

Sansa: Where are you guys?

Barely a minute goes by before she gets a response.

Robb: Ur home!? I thought u were getting back on the 10th!

Sansa winces at her brother’s text speak. She hates text speak.

Sansa: It is the 10th!

Robb: Oh shit. Sorry Sans. Theon n I are in Manchester for the footy. We’re getting the late train back. Won’t be in till midnight.

Sansa: Okay. Where’s Jon?

Robb: Wait is he not in his room?

Sansa: No.

Abruptly, her phone starts buzzing and it’s Robb ringing her.

“Uh hello?”

“Okay, so don’t yell at us but we didn’t tell you because we didn’t want to worry you,” Robb greets without preamble.

“What are you on about?”

Her brother sighs heavily on the other end of the line. It’s a bit of a strain to hear him over the roaring crowd in the background. “So Jon, our resident idiot, got himself hurt during a house fire. He had a concussion, a couple of fractured ribs and he lost a lot of blood. He’s okay now but he’s supposed to be on house rest.”

Sansa’s heart slows to a worrying pace. The very thought that she could’ve lost Jon and no one even thought to tell her is making her body shut down, like it just doesn’t know how to react.

“He’s at the station,” Sansa says mechanically, working on autopilot now. “I have to go.”

“Sansa, don’t –”

But she’s already hung up and grabbed someone’s jumper from the back of a chair. Coincidentally, it’s Jon’s. His scent overwhelms her and she’s stuck between being furious with him and just wanting to bury her face in his chest so she can breathe him in and be sure he’s really there.

It takes her nearly twenty minutes to reach the station. The entire time people have been giving her a wide berth as she stomps through town in Jon’s way too large jumper, her pyjama bottoms and the three-inch heeled boots she left lying by the front door. It’s probably not going to get her on any street style list but she’s glad for the space it’s providing her.

When she enters the station, her eyes immediately zero in on one of Jon’s coworker. She’s met all of them several times now at house parties and pub nights, so she doesn’t hesitate to grab him by the shirt.

“Where’s Jon?” Sansa demands. He shrinks from her glare. “Edd, I’m not kidding around. Where is he?”

“Uh… upstairs. In the… um, office.”

Unclenching her fist from around Edd’s shirt, Sansa continues to stomp her way upstairs until she sees the office and barges in. Jon jumps from his seat with a hand over his heart as he stares up at her.

“Not one text!” Sansa shouts at him. “I didn’t get one text from you this entire weekend. You know, at first, I thought to myself, ‘oh he’s probably busy,’ so I didn’t overthink it, but I just found out from Robb that you were in an accident?” He opens his mouth to reply but she cuts him off. “What if it was more serious? What if you had died? And the last thing we ever said to each other was just… I don’t know. I don’t even remember, Jon! I can’t even –” Her voice breaks and she realises belatedly she’s crying. “I can’t remember!”

Jon’s up and out of his chair in seconds, cupping her face in between his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sansa,” he murmurs between kisses to every inch of her cheeks. “But I’m here. I’m here and I’m alive and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t promise that,” Sansa points out, glaring at him even though she’s still crying. “No one can promise that.”

“Okay, how about I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life however short or long it is talking to you every day?” Jon suggests with a faint smile.

She shakes her head. “That’s silly. You don’t have to talk to me every day.”

“But I want to,” he says seriously. “I want to talk to you all of the time. When I don’t, it’s like – nothing feels right, like I’m missing something.” He leans forward slowly to give her ample time to move away and kisses her. It’s barely there, just the soft press of lips, before he’s pulling back. “I’m so bloody in love with you, Sansa.”

Instead of responding, Sansa grabs the collar of his shirt and drags him back to her so she can show him just how much she loves him too, how no one’s opinion has ever meant more to her than his, how he can fix any bad day just by wrapping his arms around her and letting her cling onto him.

When they’re lying in her bed later that night, Sansa rolls over, her cheek pressed into his bare chest and whispers, “I love you too, Jon.”


“You two are real cute and all but I do not want to walk into my own home and be greeted by the sight of my best friend and my baby sister having sex.”

Sansa untucks herself from Jon’s side so she can turn and roll her eyes at her brother. “We’re literally cuddling on the sofa fully clothed.”

“Yeah, well, this is a PDA-free zone,” Robb huffs as he disappears into the kitchen with the groceries, while Theon walks up to the back of the sofa with an awkward smile on his face.

“Uh Sans… Can I talk to you for a second?”

She nods and then turns to Jon to see if he knows what’s going on but her boyfriend just shrugs. Sansa follows Theon out of the living room to the corridor. He looks even more uncomfortable now than he did before, which is really bizarre. She’s never seen him this awkward in her life.

“I ran into Naiyla today,” Theon says. “Apparently, she thinks we’re together?”

Sansa barks out a laugh. “Oh my god, I forgot all about that!”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Remember when we took you out after she broke up with you?” she asks, to which he nods. “I saw her there too and I might’ve told her I had a huge crush on you and insinuated she was a pile of trash.” Sansa shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry…”

“Sorry?” Theon repeats and laughs loudly, drawing her into a hug. “Oh no, don’t ever fucking apologise for calling her trash! I mean that’s awesome. Thanks, Sans! I didn’t even know you liked me that much.” And in typical Theon fashion, he winks at her.

“Don’t push it,” Sansa says, heaving a sigh. “I like you a small amount but I hate Naiyla more for what she did to you.”

Theon sniggers. “Yeah, she’s a fucking bitch. Tried to get back together and everything.”

No, really!”

“Yeah, apparently she ‘missed me so much’,” Theon mocks and rolls his eyes. “Never again.”

“I’m glad you’re over her,” she says emphatically, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Honestly, you can do way better.”

“It has been like, nearly a year since we broke up, Sans,” Theon says. “I’m ready to move on and whatever.”

“Good! That’s really good. It took me awhile too after Harry but…” She glances back towards the living room to the sounds of Jon’s laughter. “It was worth it to go through all of that shit to get to him.”

A rare genuine smile appears on Theon’s face and she almost wants to comment on it but his next words are even more surprising that she doesn’t get a chance.

“I’ve never seen either of you look so happy… but it’s not just that. It’s like you’re both finally at peace or something. I don’t know.” He shrugs a little bashfully, like he doesn’t want anyone to know he can actually have meaningful thoughts. “It’s nice to see, that’s all.”

“Aww, Theon, you do have feelings!”

“Oh fuck off, Sansa.”

LeviHan Week: Day 1 - First/Last


Levi slid from the horse. His chest burning with the effort to breath. He stood for a moment to regain his balance, the movement having knocked his balance. The sun was bright and hot. Scorching his beaten skin. Slowly he gathered Hange up, pulling her from where she sat slumped on the horse. She felt tiny in his arms. Never would he had thought she would feel this small. His eyes burned. Tears gathering. Slowly he walked to the shoreline. The sand crunching beneath his boots. He stumbled a couple of times. The sand uneven beneath his feet. Pain seemed to course through his entire body with every step he took.
When he couldn’t go on anymore he slumped to his knees. Hange still held in his arms.
‘We made it. I told you we’d make it back.’ He whispered.
Levi wasn’t even sure if she could still hear him. Her breathing was very shallow now. Her goggles were still on her head. Levi shifted so he was sat down, Hange in his lap. Carefully he pulled the goggles free tossing them onto the sand beside them. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket pulling out Hange’s regular glasses. Gently he placed them back on her face.
'There. Now you can see.’ His voice was rough. The words hard to get out. Her eyes remained closed. The damaged one scarred and rough. He wondered what happened to the patch she had been wearing. It didn’t matter. It was gone now. So much was gone now.
He sat, Hange cradled in his arms, for a little while. The water lapping against the shore just ahead of them. He felt weak, the pain which wracked his body on the brink of overwhelming. Just a little longer.
'They all made it. Those stupid kids. They’ll get to go home and grow old. Not us though. We get to die like heroes. They’ll write books about us. Like the ones you had under your bed.’ Levi said. His eyes firmly on the horizon. The sun was setting now. The sky turning hazy. A light breeze ruffled his hair and he looked down at Hange. Her eyes were open and she looked up at him with her one good eye. A fraction of a smile on her lips.
'Hey Shitty Glasses.’
'Hey.’ She croaked. Her lips were dry and chapped. Blood streaked across her chin.
Levi shifted her into a sitting position, still in his lap, but so she could see out over the ocean now. She rested her head back against his shoulder looking out over the glittering water. The sky had turned it a deep orange colour. It was quite beautiful but Levi’s eyes were fixed on Hange.
'Did you know there are birds that move through the water like they’re flying yet can’t actually take flight in the sky?’ Hange said out of nowhere, her voice rough.
'Well that’s fucking stupid.’
'They’re called penguins.’
'What’s the point in being a bird if you can’t fly?’ Levi asked mockingly.
'I dunno. What’s the point in being a man if you only grow to your height?’ Hange replied.
She tilted her head back to look up at him. Her cracked lips spread in a grin.
'You’re a fucking idiot.’ Levi said smiling down at her.
'You love me anyway though.’
Hange was looking at him with such intensity now it almost blinded him. He took hold of her hand and squeezed.
'Yeah I guess I do.’ He told her.

They sat together on the sand for what felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been that long. The sun sinking low in the sky. It had almost disappeared behind the horizon when Hange coughed. Blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.
Levi wrapped his arms around her. Hange pressed herself further into him. Her head was tucked under his chin. Her breathing was laboured. It wouldn’t be much longer.
He was staring out over the water. The last strip of sun dipping below the horizon when he felt it. The stillness in his arms. The tears fell silently down his cheeks. His heart ached. Yet he felt numb. All the pain that had plagued him gone.
He closed his eyes. Pressed his face into Hange’s hair. Breathed her in one last time.

A bird flew over the silent scene. It’s wide wingspan casting a broad shadow over their still figures. The water lapping gently at their feet. Two figures alone on a quiet peaceful beach.

Levihan Week Day 1: Celebration

Pairing: Levihan, obviously. 

Word count: 1540

A/N: *SPOILER WARNING, DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE NOT CAUGHT UP WITH THE MANGA* I’m sorry if this seems rushed or sloppily written, I wrote it in the middle of the night because I hate myself… Also, this story can be seen as completely platonic or more. It doesn’t matter much to me either way because I love their relationship regardless. <3 Enjoy!

The reverberation of mingling laughter and cheerful conversation buzzed unpleasantly in Hange’s eardrums. The fourteenth commander of the survey corps had managed to sneak away from the noise and humid atmosphere, disappearing from the celebration entirely.

Hange brought her knees to her chest, clenching her jaw tightly as she stared ahead of her. The streets lacked any sort of activity; it was much different than earlier when hundreds had crowded the roads with cheers and victorious shouts. The civilians now sought refuge in their homes, peacefully unaware of the turmoil she and her comrades had endured during the mission. Meanwhile, the military had arranged an expensive anniversary ball; they drank and stuffed their mouths, remaining blissfully unscathed.

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Fic Writing To Do List

I was tagged by @allwaswell16 and @haloeverlasting, thanks lovelies!

Do Dis: List all the things you’re currently working on in as much or little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on. This can be writing, art, vids, gifsets, whatever.

i apologize in advance for how long this is going to be.

1. mpreg exchange.  i’m not saying much about this because it’s an exchange hah

2. larried in vegas.  i have this one outlined, i just need to write it.  essentially, louis wins tickets through the radio to go to the bbmas and he takes his bestie liam, even though liam isn’t all that thrilled about it.  louis is obsessed with zayn, who is up for like 20 million awards and he’s performing, so louis is about to wet himself in excitement.  their seats end up being shit, but they’re sat next to the most beautiful man ever to exist and his best friend and they bond over their mutual love of zayn (other than liam, who isn’t impressed) and ot4 go out clubbing together in their newfound friendship.  long story short, they end up super drunk with zayn and wake up the next morning and essentially have to put together the pieces of their ridiculous night using the clues found in photo and videos on their phones.

3. 50s direction.  louis’ dad died in the war, harry’s dad kicked him out of the house when he learned harry was gay.  they’ve grown into the men that they are because of these defining experiences and it’s told primarily through niall and liam’s povs in the “present” and harry and louis’ povs in the flashbacks.

4. bodyswap.  it’s done being written…at least if @gettingaphdinlarry thinks it isn’t missing anything more haha i really really hope she things it isn’t missing anything more…anyway, once it goes through the major renovations to make it actually pretty, it’ll be publish.  yay!  basically, @juliusschmidt wrote this awesome ficlet where harry is not famous and he wakes up in louis’ body, which got me thinking about what louis, who is in one direction still, thought when he woke up in harry’s body.  the first chapter is posted, it’s just the resolution i guess that i’ve got like 12k of sitting in a doc.  that’s scary.

5. timey wimey.  it is a canon divergent fic where larry was never together and starts in june 2015.  harry has just learned from niall and louis that the hiatus is going to be longer than he anticipated and he freaks for various reasons.  he goes to bed frustrated and confused and wakes up even more so, because he’s in a room he doesn’t recognize and he eventually learns that it’s now november 2018 and he isn’t harry of one direction because one direction was never formed and he and the boys don’t know one another.  he has to then figure out how to make it back to his universe and hopes the boys are the key to that.  enter confusing feelings for harry when he’s thrown back into what feels like the x factor era of learning about louis minus all the pressure of the show and the band, having to figure out how to explain things to the boys, and what to do with these feelings he’s developed if he ever does get back.

there will also be more random birthday fics for friends and feelings challenges and i have so many other ideas and i think i actually missed a few fics i’ve been meaning to write on this list so basically I’M RIDICULOUS AND DON’T KNOW HOW TO TELL MYSELF NO.

i’m now tagging…i have no idea who has already done this and who hasn’t because i’ve been avoiding my dash since monday, but i’ll try @alarrylarrie, @alienproof, @tommosgun, @letsjustsee, @becomeawendybird, and @londonfoginacup and hope that y’all haven’t done it yet

anonymous asked:

Hey, so I've read how to train your galra and he who fights monsters, which both have a broganes theme and I was just curious about why thiv has klance/sheith/shance. Have a nice day! (Also your writing is great)

hey! well, I’m actually not a huge fan of the “broganes” thing, simply because I feel like it simplifies Keith and Shiro’s dynamic and relationship too much. I adore the complexity of it in the show, because I feel like their relationship has great emotional depth and meaning for two male characters who are outwardly aloof, who have been through a lot, and yet who are able find solace in each other and trust each other implicitly. Whether it is romantic or not, that depth doesn’t change. 

in my 2 previous klance fics, keith and shiro weren’t actually related but had close friendships and saw each other as family. I don’t think that aspect of it has changed in thihv, although of course now there is actual Sheith. I’ve shipped Sheith all along, though, haha, and you may not have picked up on it…but there were definitely people who read the 3rd part of how to train your galra, Star-Crossed, and sensed some definite Sheith-y vibes when Shiro was comforting Keith. Not on accident, that. For starters, Shiro literally offered to help Keith through his heat, which is NOT a brotherly thing to do. Secondly, they had a conversation while Lance was in the healing pod which intentionally but subtly hinted that Keith & Shiro were not always platonic. These are the passages I’m referring to:

“This place reminds me of the Garrison,” he said.

Shiro turned his head, expression unreadable. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keith murmured. “All these white walls and people in uniforms. And you.”

Shiro exhaled. “Keith…”

“The last time I felt like this was when I heard the news about the Kerberos Mission,” Keith told him. “Like nothing mattered anymore.” His mouth twisted. “I got kicked out of the academy right after that. But I didn’t care. How could I care about something like that, when you were…were…”

“Keith, stop,” Shiro whispered, rolling onto his side and touching Keith’s face. “Stop. Remember what I said about beating yourself up for no reason?”

“I missed you,” Keith whispered back. “I thought I would never see you again.”

And this:

Keith nodded and closed his eyes, shuffling closer to Shiro’s warmth. “I miss him,” he said. “I miss him like I missed you, but different, too. With you, it was…I was angry. I couldn’t believe how unfair the universe was, to let something like that happen.” He shuddered, remembering fights, fists flying and a bloodied lip, bruises littering his skin for weeks afterwards. “But with him, it’s…quieter. Sadder. I was angry at first, but now it’s just…”

“Empty,” Shiro finished.

So! I guess that’s what you’d call subtext. There’s more, I’m sure, like how Shiro frequently jokes about Lance & Keith’s sex life, which is NOT something I’d do with my sibling, but with my best friend who I may or may not have had a crush on or a thing with at one point before mutually breaking it off on good terms? Yeah, sure.

Sorry, this was long! But it’s a good question and I felt it should be addressed.

Klance Week Day 6 - Quote

bet yall thought i was done 

you were wronggggg

ao3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10988796

I want you
I’ll colour me blue
Anything it takes to make you stay
Only seeing myself when I’m looking up at you
- Troye Sivan, Blue

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Keith shook out his arm hopelessly. He hated being able to feel his heartbeat on a good day, but right now it was eery. He refixed his gaze to the cyropod in front of him. Lance looked so still; he couldn’t be sure he was even breathing. His skin was washed out by the blue light of the pod and the lack of blood. He seemed lifeless. Keith took a deep breath to calm his speeding heart. He would be okay. He would be okay.

He’d been repeating this mantra to himself for the past few hours. It was the only thing keeping him together at this point. Nevertheless, he felt like he could fall apart at any second. He didn’t know why it was so bad this time. They’d been here before, Lance comatose in a pod, Keith watching over him until he awoke or was forced to leave by a team mate. Every time was scary and took years off his life but this time was different. He felt it deep into his core, like he was on the edge of exploding and imploding at the same time. Like he could scream or burst into tears or break everything in the room. The desperation and anxiety was eating at him.

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WIP Wednesday

For @the-notorious-bhg ^_^

This is going to be the third installment of The Heero Torture Series (@morbidbirdy I promise to tag you when I post the whole fic). Here’s a sneak peek:

Again that persistent rumble quivered just below his diaphragm, bubbling up to the surface. He felt how his face was twisting to express great agony, but did nothing to stop the blatant display of emotion. He stood rooted to his spot and watched, anguished, as the bereaved left the amphitheater to face grief in everyday life.

“You seem lost,” a brash female voice interrupted his dark musings and that bubbling-rumbling thing jolted up like a frightened kitten, lodging itself in his throat. The choice of words was extremely disturbing. Heero turned slowly towards the voice and was hit with an impact of burning recognition as his gaze fell on the lovely young cellist from before. The young angel had shed her feathery wings, though her dainty arms were still clad in white satin gloves, the tips on her fingers blackened after wielding her instrument. A shiver crept through him as his glance slithered over her childlike form, sucking in every detail of her bright and sprightly beauty. Her flared white dress glided gracefully across her petite contours, topped with a strapless white corset clinging desperately to her juvenile curves and blooming femininity.

He stopped short of staring inappropriately and looked up to meet her eyes. She was looking at him with an elfish smile, her raised cheeks dotted with faint freckles. Now that he was seeing her up close, he deduced that he was at least ten years her senior. She couldn’t be a day over sixteen, and she played the part well with that cocky twinkle shining gleefully in her purplish-blue eyes.

“–'scuse me?” He finally replied, doing his best not to slur the words while maintaining a hard guarded scowl on his alcohol-numbed face. He must have failed, because the girl’s cockiness seemed to swell in response. She clasped both gloved hands behind her back, stretching to her full height – chin up, chest out, shoulders back and eyes front with a playful smirk hovering over her cherry-red lips.

“Well,” she stated casually, rising up and down on her tiptoes. She had a kind of wiggly looseness about her; infantile, yet meretricious. “Everyone else looks like they’re dying to get away from here, but you… You just look like you’re looking for somewhere to belong.”

“I do belong here,” he argued weakly, his drawling voice lacking the strength to offer any real protest. The words felt heavy on his tongue. Judging by her arching eyebrow, he must have been slurring badly.

“Hmm..?” The young cellist let out, her plump lips curving into an all-knowing smile. She had picked up on his heavily intoxicated state.

“What’s with the hand?” She then changed the subject and gestured with her chin at his useless left arm, hanging immobile in its sling. Unconsciously, he reached his other hand to conceal it under his trench coat.

“Building fell on it,” he replied in what he hoped was a sarcastic tone.

The girl laughed, and brushed a lock of auburn hair off her face. “Seems to be a common denominator around here.” She pretended to ponder it over, placing a gloved hand under her chin, and then added: “Hmm, maybe you do belong after all.”

He scoffed, having no interest in her approval. He turned to leave, spinning to face the other way, but his feet refused to unroot themselves from the ground. He could never leave this place; never. He stared numbly at the black wall stretching alongside the stage, his eyes fixated on the burning candles flickering at the foot of the memorial.

“Did you lose someone?” The girl asked pertly, her voice devoid of real sympathy or genuine curiosity. Or maybe he just couldn’t tell anymore. The young angel was a baffling mixture of childishness and vulgarity; arrogant and cute like an entitled princess, while showy and cheap like a young harlot. A forbidden fruit, shamelessly ostentatious and excruciatingly desirable from head to toe. With her frizzy reddish-brown hair, brilliant purple-blue eyes and marvelous pale skin, she looked perfectly charming. He traced his gaze across her exquisite milky-white neck. It was slender and not the least blemished, deceitful in its innocence. A dozen hands might have caressed it already, but none was the wiser. He was very much the same at her age, riddled with hidden scars and raging depths of agony no adolescent should ever have to contain. Now, he wore his scars for the whole world to see. Crippled, hollow-eyed and debilitated, there was nowhere left for him to hide his abominable life.

“Myself,” he murmured a vague answer, his gaze blurring as he kept staring at the black memorial wall. His eyes lifted to look at the row of apartment buildings rising in the near horizon behind the wall. “You?” He asked after a while and finally turned to face the girl again. The arrogance vanished from her fair features, melting into a bleak expression. The girl cast her gaze down, shrugging her delicate shoulders.

“I just came here to play.” She swung her foot in-and-out of her floor-length gown, staring at it quietly, before adding: “For my grandmother.”

Something about the way she spoke convinced him of her sincerity. His gaze lingered for a while, studying the features of her milky-white face with lusty red lips and delicate silverfish eyelashes. She could tell he was ogling her, so he looked away, facing the empty arena.

“Yo'very talented…” he tried to pay her a compliment, slurring the words so much that she laughed again.

“And you’re very drunk!”

He actually smiled in response, allowing himself a small smirk. “Apparently… yeah.” He agreed helplessly. The girl smiled.

More to come in:

Yeesh! 1.800 words of a what-if story set in ep 112 and told from Jace’s POV. What if Jace and Alec didn’t make up? What if Magnus didn’t interrupt Alec’s wedding? 

“You okay?” Clary asks in a gentle, worried tone as she joins Jace in the choir loft of the festively decorated chapel.

Hiding in the shadows of a massive stone pillar, Jace shakes his head. “It should’ve been me down there, by his side,” he whispers and nods at the altar where his parabatai’s about to get married - with Hodge Starkweather as his suggenes.

Originally posted by magnusandalec

Fandom Writing Challenge



word count:

human!au, break up (but not really), angst with a happy ending


The door slams shut behind him as he enters his empty apartment. And it’s not just a lack of a person that makes it empty. No. It’s the lack of an old coat on the hook in the hallway and blue mug with a drawing of a small kitten on the kitchen counter, or no books on the shelves, no clothes in the closet, no toothbrush, no shoes and ugly purple slippers, no ten-year-old laptop with a small bee sticker on it, no… There is nothing. Cas is really gone.

Dean sighs and rubs his eyes. He’s always known he would fuck up eventually, but he didn’t expect it would hurt so bad.

Even though he was already tipsy, he goes straight to the liquor cabinet and grabs the bottle of whiskey. He settles in his too-big bed and drinks.

And he drinks and drinks and drinks, but it doesn’t help him forget the color of Cas’s eyes, or the look on his face when Dean told he doesn’t love him.

Dean Winchester is a liar, but this lie was the biggest he’s ever said. He was angry, but that was not an excuse. And now he’s paying the price. Cas is gone.  

The phone rings. It’s probably Sammy, worried and with a comforting speech lined up. Dean doesn’t answer.

It was such a stupid fight. He doesn’t remember how it started, but, oh boy, does he remember how it ended.

A loud sob wrenches out of him, making him flinch. It seems he’s back at crying. Great.

He drops the empty bottle on the floor and burrows his head in Cas’ pillow. It smells like him, but barely. It will wear off in a day or two.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, “Cas, Cas, Cas.” He says his name like a prayer, like it would somehow summon him here, like it would fix everything.

The tears won’t stop and he’s shaking. Only a week ago they were lying in this very bed and cuddling and talking about the future. They were supposed to be together in that future.

It must be hours later that he finally gets up. But only because his bladder is full.

The clock says that it’s three a.m., so he decides to watch some trash TV show. As he makes himself comfortable on the old lumpy couch, he notices something behind one of the cushions.

It’s a sock. A regular, black sock.

He remembers now. How it started. Cas always left his dirty socks all around the apartment. Dean always complained about it. Usually, it would end with Cas rolling his eyes and taking the socks to the laundry hamper. This time, though, it has escalated and ended with Cas leaving.

Dean wants to cry again, but every bit of energy he had in his body has now evaporated, so he just sits there, in the dark, clutching the dirty sock.

There has to be something he can do. He has to get Cas back.

In a minute, he gets dressed and finds himself on the way to Gabriel’s house where Cas is most likely staying.

He will get his angel back.

“What do you want, Dean?”

Cas looks so beautiful and Dean is so distracted that it takes him a moment to realize that Cas has asked him a question.

“I want you, Cas. I’m so sorry. Please, come home. I didn’t mean-”

Whatever Dean expected would happen, Cas laughing in his face wasn’t it.

Stupefied, he stands there while Cas grins like Dean has told him the best fucking joke in the world.

“Cas?” He asks, uncertain.

“Are you serious, Dean?” Cas leans casually against the door and crosses his arms. “Do you really think I want to be with you? I was just waiting for an opportunity to leave. You’re so pathetic if you think you deserve me. You’re worthless, Dean. No one wants you, especially not me.”

At that moment, Dean feels like he was both hit by a truck and pushed off a cliff. His chest feels empty and his legs can’t hold him up anymore. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe…

“Dean, Dean, wake up, Dean.”

Something is shaking him, but he can’t see what it is. “What?” Dean opens his eyes and meets a concerned look. Cas’s look. “What?” He repeats, confused and lost.

“Dean. You had a nightmare, you were crying and calling my name,” Cas says. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

A dream. It was just a dream. Dean lets out a long, relieved sigh while his eyes dart all over Cas’s face and body as to make sure Cas is real.   

“Cas, I’m so sorry,” Dean says and throws his arms around his boyfriend. “You were gone. I was so stupid. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Dean, please, calm down. It was just a dream. I’m here and I’ll never leave you.”

“You can’t know that. What if you get sick of me, or I do or say something and-”

“Dean Winchester, look at me,” Cas says, his voice grave and stern. Dean looks up at him and shivers under the unwavering gaze. “I love you. You are amazing and beautiful and giving and caring and funny and smart and everything I want. Do you understand me, Dean? I will never leave you.”

Unable to speak, Dean nods and hesitantly presses his lips against Cas’s.  

“I love you too,” he says once they have pulled apart. “I love you so damn much.”

They sit in silence for several minutes, holding each other, their fingers caressing each other’s skin.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you about your socks.” Dean says after a while.

“My socks?”

“Yeah, I won’t do it again. You can leave them wherever you want. Except maybe the kitchen. We eat there.”

Cas lets out a small laugh, “Were you dreaming about my socks?”


“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. I promise I won’t leave them around anymore, okay?”

Dean nods again and, closing his eyes, he smiles. Everything is okay. Cas is here.

the-last-hair-bender  asked:

I want to know more about your light side verse and the brother padawans. Like, do Feeamor and Xanatos bug Obi-Wan but then get mad if they see anyone else bugging him?

Oh absolutely. They are both very protective of their lineage brother. Feemor is more subtle, which is half of what makes him terrifying. Xan wouldn’t know subtly if it hit him across the face, and his Attachments are STRONG. It’s what keeps him Lightside in this verse. He teases Obi more than Feemor, but that’s because Obi’s one of HIS people, he’s allowed to tease him because Obi knows it’s just teasing. No one else gets to mess with his brother(s).

Title: Waiting On You
: Explicit
Word Count
: 76k
: 8/8 (Complete)

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

Jack Zimmermann was accustomed to dealing with difficult situations; he was captain of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team after all, but this? This was never in the job description.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Bitty whispered into the side of Jack’s neck, breath hot and sweet against his skin. The kegster ended a while ago but Bitty was still feeling the effects. When he fell off the coffee table attempting to dance to All the Single Ladies, Jack swept in ready to piggyback him to bed.

“Alright,” Jack said, mouthing I got this in Lardo’s direction before heading to the stairs.

“I don’t wanna be a single lady anymore,” His voice faltered and Jack became acutely aware of Bitty’s thighs around his hips. “I want a person. Everybody else has got a person.”

“With moves like that I don’t think you’ll have to wait long,” Jack said, supressing a chuckle.

“Mmhmm,” Bitty mumbled, fighting a losing war against sleep. Jack pushed open the door to Bitty’s room with his foot and ducked inside.

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