Sansa bit her lip and nodded. Arya lowered her face to stare sullenly at her plate. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. She rubbed them away angrily, determined not to cry. (Arya II, AGOT)
When the bar was down, Arya finally felt safe enough to cry. (Arya II, AGOT)
It was the scariest thing she’d ever done. She wanted to run and hide, but she made herself walk across the yard, slowly, putting one foot in front of the other as if she had all the time in the world and no reason to be afraid of anyone. She thought she could feel their eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin under her clothes. Arya never looked up. If she saw them watching, all her courage would desert her, she knew, and she would drop the bundle of clothes and run and cry like a baby, and then they would have her. She kept her gaze on the ground. By the time she reached the shadow of the royal sept on the far side of the yard, Arya was cold with sweat, but no one had raised the hue and cry. (Arya IV, AGOT)
Two of the guardsmen were dicing together while the third walked rounds, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Ashamed to let them see her crying like a baby, she stopped to rub at her eyes. Her eyes her eyes her eyes, why did … (Arya V, AGOT)
She could not have said how she got back to Flea Bottom, but she was breathing hard by the time she reached the narrow crooked unpaved streets between the hills. The Bottom had a stench to it, a stink of pigsties and stables and tanner’s sheds, mixed in with the sour smell of winesinks and cheap whorehouses. Arya wound her way through the maze dully. It was not until she caught a whiff of bubbling brown coming through a pot-shop door that she realized her pigeon was gone. It must have slipped from her belt as she ran, or someone had stolen it and she’d never noticed. For a moment she wanted to cry again. She’d have to walk all the way back to the Street of Flour to find another one that plump. (Arya V, AGOT)
Everyone was moving in the same direction, all in a hurry to see what the ringing was all about. The bells seemed louder now, clanging, calling. Arya joined the stream of people. Her thumb hurt so bad where the nail had broken that it was all she could do not to cry. She bit her lip as she limped along, listening to the excited voices around her. (Arya V, AGOT)
She had cried in her sleep the night before, dreaming of her father. Come morning, she’d woken red-eyed and dry, and could not have shed another tear if her life had hung on it. (Arya I, ACOK)
I won’t, Arya thought stubbornly, but when Yoren laid the wood against the back of her bare thighs, the shriek burst out of her anyway. “Think that hurt?” he said. “Try this one.” The stick came whistling. Arya shrieked again, clutching the tree to keep from falling. “One more.” She held on tight, chewing her lip, flinching when she heard it coming. The stroke made her jump and howl. I won’t cry, she thought, I won’t do that. I’m a Stark of Winterfell, our sigil is the direwolf, direwolves don’t cry. She could feel a thin trickle of blood running down her left leg. Her thighs and cheeks were ablaze with pain. “Might be I got your attention now,” Yoren said. “Next time you take that stick to one of your brothers, you’ll get twice what you give, you hear me? Now cover yourself.” (Arya I, ACOK)
He was going to take me home, she thought as they dug the old man’s hole. There were too many dead to bury them all, but Yoren at least must have a grave, Arya had insisted. He was going to bring me safe to Winterfell, he promised. Part of her wanted to cry. The other part wanted to kick him. (Arya V, ACOK)
“But one guard won’t be enough, we need to kill them all to open the cell.” Arya bit her lip hard to stop from crying. “I want you to save the northmen like I saved you.” (Arya IX, ACOK)
She looked at their filthy hair and scraggly beards and reddened eyes, at their dry, cracked, bleeding lips. Wolves, she thought again. Like me. Was this her pack? How could they be Robb’s men? She wanted to hit them. She wanted to hurt them. She wanted tocry. They all seemed to be looking at her, the living and the dead alike. The old man had squeezed three fingers out between the bars. “Water,” he said, “water.” (Arya V, ASOS)
Arya had never heard of Old King Andahar. She’d never seen a horse with two heads either, especially not one who could run on water, but she knew better than to ask. She held her tongue and sat stiff as the Hound turned the stallion’s head and trotted along the ridgeline, following the river downstream. At least the rain was at their backs this way. She’d had enough of it stinging her eyes half-blind and washing down her cheeks like she was crying. Wolves never cry, she reminded herself again. (Arya IX, ASOS)
My school’s 7th-12th grade art room (it’s a k-12 school so) is an absolute horror show. Like, I was going through all of the paint with some people to find some white because I swear we have every color but black and white.
So, we’re digging through and we go down to this shelf that I have NEVER touched, and I have never seen anybody, including the art teacher, ever touch either. And this one guy pulls out this little mini toolbox, and we’re like “ooh what’s in it”. So of course, we opened it.
And I’m not joking you guys here, the WAVE OF STENCH that came from that toolbox was DISGUSTING. It smelled like moldy cheese and dead rat and rust and anything disgusting you can think of. There was also a weird piece of metal that had “she’s falling save her falling falling save me save me” carved into it which was also mildly terrifying.
So then, after we couldn’t handle the smell anymore (like I almost actually vomited I couldn’t handle it anymore) we closed it up, shoved it back into the depths of hell where it came from, and proceeded to have a good few rounds of Smash Bros. on this kids Gamecube that he brought in. No teachers noticed the entire time.
So yeah. We can find that shit in that art room, but god forbid you try to find a glue stick or some scissors.
Could you write something where Lance calls out for Keith in his sleep because he's having a nightmare and Keith is up training late so he comes and talks to him? I don't know if that made sense, sorry
I am so weak for Klance and anything to do with nightmares/late night talks/bed sharing. Like. It’s a problem. It’s a real problem.
“Keith? No, no please… Keith! KEITH!” Keith froze, dumbstruck, one foot still halfway through a step, staring uncomprehending at Lance’s door. There was another muffled sound and something that sounded like a curse. Before he could think better of it, Keith reached over and pressed the button to open the door.
The room was dark, leaving him squinting and just barely able to make out the shape of Lance sitting up in bed. His hands were clenched into fists in the blanket tangled around his legs and half falling off the edge. His shoulders were heaving with breath, and when he turned to look at the opening door his eyes were wide and glowed in the dark. As Keith’s sight adjusted, he could see the sheen of sweat across Lance’s forehead and upper lip, shimmering in the pale light spilling in from the hallway. His shirt clung close to his skin, almost as sweat-soaked as Keith’s own.
“K… Keith?” Lance asked uncertainly. “Are you…?”
“I… Uh, that is, I—” Keith coughed, suddenly awkward. “I heard you calling my name?” Lance’s fists clutched the blanket even tighter, turning his knuckles white.
“That was… Sorry, I had a bad dream. I’m fine, now.”
“Oh,” Keith said. He felt a flush creeping up his neck. His heartrate, still elevated from his late-night training session, pounded irregularly against his ribcage. “I’ll just… go, then.”
“Why are you awake?” Lance burst out as Keith turned to exit. He paused, looking back over his shoulder, and shrugged.
“I train when I can’t sleep. It helps tire me out and clears my head.”
“How often can’t you sleep?” Lance asked. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them, leaving the blanket discarded in a messy puddle at the end of his bed.
“Oh, um… I dunno… Not too often, when we’re busy running missions and stuff.” He hesitated in the doorway. “Did you, uh, did you want to… talk? About your… dream?” Lance hesitated, shaking his head slightly.
“No, no, you should go to sleep,” he urged. “It’s just a stupid nightmare.”
“What, did you dream I get crowned winner of our rivalry, or something?” Keith tried to joke. Lance’s entire body flinched and Keith felt his attempt at a grin fall off his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Look, don’t worry about it,” Lance said, staring past Keith at a point on the wall. “Go to bed. Like I said, it’s just a stupid nightmare.” Keith glanced out into the silent hallway. His limbs ached for the soft comfort of his bed, but whatever clarity he’d achieved in his head had vanished. He sighed, turning back to Lance, crossing over and sitting on the bed next to him. Lance yelped, scooting further away, until he was pressed against the headboard of the bed.
“Talk,” Keith said.
“I told you, I’m really fine—”
“Well, you don’t seem fine. If you really want me to leave, I will, but I’m sitting here so if you need someone to listen, then talk.” Lance hesitated a long moment, licking his lips carefully, before he gave in.
“I have a dream where you die,” he said. Keith blinked.
“Have a dream, like… one you have had multiple times?” Lance’s nod was a bare bob of the head, hardly visible in the pale light leaking from the hallway.
“This was the… third or fourth?” he said. “It’s nothing flashy, really. We’re fighting Galra, and we think we’ve won, and we’re laughing and tossing some insults back and forth, as we do, you know, but something goes wrong and an airlock opens up. I always manage to grab hold of something and I try to grab your hand, but every time I’m just a second too late and you get sucked out into space. And every time I watch you getting pulled away from me with this expression of slight surprise on your face and…” His fingernails dug into his palms. “It scares me so much. I have to lose you, over and over and over—”
Keith wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it. In fact, later, he wouldn’t even remember moving. All he knew was that he had suddenly reached out and grabbed Lance’s hand in his own. Lance went silent as his eyes went round, staring between Keith’s face and his hand as if he had never seen either one before.
“You haven’t lost me,” Keith said. “You won’t. I’m right here.” He squeezed Lance’s hand. Lance, perhaps on nothing more than instinct, squeezed back.
“What if the last thing I ever say to you is, is, how stupid your mullet looks, or making fun of you for some idiot stunt you pull, or bringing up that dumb rivalry—”
“Lance, slow down,” Keith said. “Look, I… I can’t tell you neither of us is going to die, because, we’re fighting a war. Sometimes things happen. But I know you don’t actually… We’re a family, right? All of us Paladins? Sure, we’re kind of dysfunctional and imperfect, but you guys are the best family I’ve ever known. I… I think I know you don’t actually hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you,” Lance burst out. His hand squeezed Keith’s so tightly he was worried it would cut off his circulation. “You… Do you… You don’t hate me, right?” Keith laughed, low and humorless.
“Not even a little.”
They sat quiet for a moment, the calm buzz of the Castle filling the silence. Keith finally glanced up at Lance. He was curled up against the headboard, still, his eyes locked on Keith, their hands grasped tightly between them.
“I should… probably sleep,” Keith said, but made no move to get up.
“Yeah,” Lance said, but did not let go of Keith’s hand. Silence reigned another long moment. “Hey, uh… Do you feel like you can get to sleep right now?” Keith shrugged.
“Probably not really,” he admitted. Lance nodded.
“Yeah. Yeah I don’t sleep well after nightmares,” he said. His thumb brushed so lightly across the back of Keith’s hand that Keith wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it. “You know, sleeping with someone else is… Sometimes it’s soothing.” Keith went stiff and Lance jumped. “Sleeping in the same bed!” he shouted. He glanced to the empty hall and lowered his voice. “I– I didn’t mean like that I just meant sleeping in the same bed. Like. Kind of cuddling. But we don’t have to call it cuddling. It doesn’t have to be cuddling. Not that kind of cuddling.” Lance still had not let go of Keith’s hand but there was an odd tension in his fingers, as if he were on the brink of pulling away. “Maybe that’s just me, I mean I grew up in a house full of siblings and cousins and we had to share beds and bedrooms a lot, so I kinda got used to hearing someone else breathing as I was falling asleep so if it’s weird for you I get it we don’t have to do it I just—”
His words started to run together so fast that Keith could barely distinguish them anymore. He reached over and grabbed Lance’s shoulder, staring him dead in the eye, and Lance froze mid-word.
“I’m not opposed to trying it,” he said, each word slow and deliberate. He shied away from examining too closely the idea of what exactly he was getting himself into. An entire night with Lance’s heat pressed against his side, of the slow rise and fall of Lance’s breath in the bed next to him, might prove to be far, far worse for Keith’s sleep than being left alone with his own thoughts. Lance nodded once, in acknowledgment, his eyes as wide and round as saucers. “Let me just… close the door,” Keith muttered. He glanced down at their intertwined fingers. “Um…”
“Right!” Lance squeaked, pulling his hand free. Keith’s hand felt abruptly cold and empty. He stood, crossing the room to close the door. The room plunged into near complete blackness.
“Um…” he said, shifting from foot to foot. “I usually just… sleep in boxers and a t-shirt,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Lance said. His voice sounded oddly high-pitched. Keith could barely make out the shape of the bed.
“Right, I’ll just… Okay.” Keith kicked off his boots, pulled off his pants, and carefully made his way back to the bed. He dropped onto it and looked at roughly the spot where Lance’s face was. “So…”
“Okay,” Lance said, his voice still high pitched. “Now we… Now we sleep. Right.” Somehow, in a jostle of limbs, they managed to lie down next to one another, Lance a bare inch or two away from spooning Keith. Keith felt his heart pounding wildly against his chest and flushed with the knowledge that Lance might well be able to feel it too. “Hey, Keith?” Lance said softly.
“Can you… tell me one more time, that I won’t lose you?” Keith flipped himself over, wriggling awkwardly to keep the blanket in place, and found himself nose-to-nose with Lance.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.
“Okay,” Lance breathed. “G’night, Keith.”
Somehow, Lance’s heat and even breathing soothed the storm in Keith’s mind, and before he realized he was getting sleepy, he drifted down under a quiet ocean, and slept.
[Please do not send me prompts at the moment, I am working through old ones]
rain falls through the tattered grey sky like bullets of a pellet gun, hammering the earth and its inhabitants mercilessly.
Min Yoongi stands near the window and listens to the rain battering the roof
above his head and the window through which he looks at the world dancing below him. People are lost
lambs running here there, shielding themselves up with their open umbrellas and
looking for a safe space. But to him it’s ‘just rain’. It cleans and purifies,
washes away our sins from yesterday, gives us a new beginning.
is sad but rain is fulfilling.
opens the window, just a little and puts his hand out to touch it.
sleeve of his shirt starts to get soaked and he doesn’t really care. The sweet
smell of rain pours in through the small crack; it’s so full of earth; he
inhales it all at once. If he could keep some of it in a jar forever, he would
take it with him everywhere. His bed room though always smelled like bitter
perfume and cigarette smoke, the air was so thick sometimes he felt like he was
choking on it. And when he couldn’t
breathe anymore he just had to get out. He would always leave without a word to
anyone; wander around town for hours and hours.
days ago he didn’t come back home and stayed out all night just watching the
stars. That night Min Yoongi saw the whole universe moving above his head, a
sky freckled with so many stars he didn’t even knew existed. In Seoul
the only ‘stars’ you saw were on posters with a twinkling smile. He felt
like a small kid who had just seen a real tiger for the first time, except, he
has never actually seen one of those either. He has never even been to a zoo or
an aquarium, even an amusement park.
that day, Min Yoongi came to realize how sad his childhood truly was. He was
never deprived of any of his materialistic needs. But now that he looks back, a
little bit of affection would’ve shaped him into a better human being. He only had
a brute for a father and a mother who disappeared from his life, never showed
her face again.. He doesn’t really have
a fond memory of being happy, like ever and that’s a bit depressing.
had found him that morning, sitting on a park bench looking all morose.
Yoongi, hearing that familiar voice, had looked back. The boy looked concerned.
He always cared too much.
“I watched the stars all night” Yoongi had
told Jimin. Jimin sat beside him, a hood over his head and hands shoved deep in
the sweatshirts pocket.
your ‘path to rediscovery’ going
looking for inner peace. One of these days I’ll find it.. I think I should just
shave my head, it’ll help with the flow of thoughts and new ideas-”
worry about that… You dye your hair so much it will fall off on its own.”
both ended up laughing and sharing a cigarette before walking home
together. Another thing Min Yoongi
learned that day was the true meaning of ‘Existential crises, as he was
standing right in the middle of it.
hears the bed creaking behind him, while he’s still staring out, he doesn’t
really make an effort to turn and look at the cause of it. He’s more interested
in the outside world; the streets down there have turned into a river of dirt,
flowing from one alley to another.
back to bed” he then hears a sleepy voice behind him. But he chooses to ignore
it “Why did you open the window? It’s so cold. Close the window and come back
finally turns and looks at the person sprawled on his bed.
sleeps without any manners, she doesn’t sleep on her side she sleeps on both –
right in the middle. But that’s not the
only problem; Looking at her just brings back the taste of last night’s whiskey
and regret in Yoongi’s mouth. He hates that aftertaste; it’s bitter and burns a
pit in his stomach. Her face is covered with her long blonde locks and she’s
wearing his t-shirt.
rolls his eyes and walks past the bed towards the bathroom.
Yoongi washes up quickly, runs his finger through his messy hair and studies
himself in the mirror. He finds a stranger staring back at him: With tired
baggy eyes and face covered in fading bruises. His hair is no longer a shade of
green, it’s not any shade at all. It’s just black - Plain, colorless black.
He can’t remember the last time he saw his hair in its natural form. He
noticed how his skin looked too pale under the burning fluorescent light in the
bathroom. He looked like he was glowing.
It was becoming harder and harder for Yoongi to recognize himself these days.
steps out of the bathroom, Minah was still sleeping - thankfully. He looks around for his jacket, finds it under a heap
of clothes and exits out of the room.
moment he stepped out of that room a strong smell of fresh coffee wafted
through the air and hit his nose buds. His feet automatically chased the source
of it which led him to the kitchen. Jimin sat near the dining table reading a
book. He looked up at his hyung once and
then went back to reading.
found a mug and poured himself some of the bitter caffeine, sat on the chair in
front of Jimin and sipped it quietly.
to move” Jimin decides to speak first, snapping Yoongi out of his peaceful
train of thoughts. “We’ve been here for almost a month. It’s time to move
brings the cup up to his lips, first taking in its smell and then tasting it
slowly. Jimin always made the best coffee.
If you want to-” Yoongi said, sounding a wee- bit disinterested.
already bought Yungshin, his men are looking for us like hounds. Your father is
hunting us down too. Ho-seok and I are his top fucking priority right now. We
need to move out of here quickly-”
you found Taehyung’s location? Where is that asshole hiding?”
don’t worry. We’ll find him soon, he’ll eventually come running back to us
hyung. Where else could he go?” Jimin said drinking his coffee, turning his
attention towards the book again.
make all the arrangements to move out ASAP. We’ll be stronger if we’re together,
finished his coffee and got up to leave.
I need to tell you something else. It’s important.” Yoongi sighed. He was
really getting bored of this conversation; one, he was craving a cigarette and two,
he promised to see Choi, the old man they owed ten grand to. He and choi were
‘friends’ now, a strange bond formed over drinking together every other day.
sat down; literally fell on the seat, to show Jimin how disinterested he really
was right now.
Yoongi asked him. Jimin spoke in his body language way louder than his words;
Yoongi noticed how he straightened his back and leaned ahead on the table, he
looks around nervously, as if looking for the right words to say. He looked
like a doctor who was just about to give some really bad news to his patient.
fell back on his chair, hearing that name after almost a month, still for some
reason brought a burning sensation in his chest. He could feel – no, he could hear
something fizzing up inside of him. He buried you, even though you’re alive, he
buried you every day.
it was working too. He was with Minah every night so he could forget your face;
he drank every day with Choi because the taste of burning alcohol was still
more endurable than you in his head. But now hearing your name again feels like
the nails in your coffin that he hammered for past one month are getting pulled
“What about her?” Yoongi asks after a small
pause, he did his best to hide the growing strain in his voice.
hyung.. is-” Jimin looked so small whenever he had to confess something. He
looked like he was 14 all over again.
you be fucking quick about it. I have important business to attend-” Yoongi
is there. With Jin and Y/n”
didn’t say it out loud. The sole purpose of sending you there with Seok Jin,
was to keep you far away from this shit storm. Hoseok was one of the ‘co-producer’
of that shit storm, what the fuck was he doing there? He was dangerous. Not in
the sense that he could hurt Y/n, but he could attract people who wanted to.
went there looking for Taehyung, turns out Jin and __ were in the same place.
They were actually living at his house”
was living with Y/n, Jin let it happen. This was a fucking joke, it had to be.
It had to be, this didn’t actually happen, did it? Should he laugh? Taehyung
was dangerous, in a sense that he could kill Y/n. How Jin could let it happen?
heard the door opening behind him, sound of bare feet dragging on the floor.
Hold it in he told himself, hold it in Min
Yoongi. The urge to completely dismantle this place and run out of here, he
was holding it in with all his might, crushing his teeth and hiding his balled
fist underneath the table.
Did it-” Yoongi asked and Jimin nodded.
lied when you said you didn’t know where he is? I asked you 5 minutes ago. All
this time, you lied to my face-”
didn’t want to let you know.” Yoongi kicked the table with his one foot in
anger and got up.
long did you know? How long have you and Hoseok been in contact?”
2 weeks now”
you’re telling me now?”
said that he wanted to deal with Taehyung himself. I-“
do you fucking work for? Me or Jung “fucking”
we need to leave. We’re not safe if we’re miles apart from each other. You
can’t protect people by sending them away from you. HYUNG-“
was already up and about. As he was about to open the door and run out when a
hand landed on his shoulder. He eyed the women from the corner of his eyes.
are you okay?” Minah asked looking worried.
fucking touch me” he snapped at her and she retracted her hand at his warning.
And then Yoongi was out in the rain, running somewhere, hoping to find some
peace and quiet. His head was screaming again.
some alcohol could numb it. He needed to see Choi anyways.
sorry for the potentially sexist sounding remark, but i've never encountered a (young?) guy who likes nature - and tbh, never seen one who makes their blog so aesthetically pleasing either. i really dig it. you keep doing you, buddy. it's really refreshing!
I don’t think it’s sexist, it’s just not common (apparently) for an 18 year old dude to have a passion for nature.
Summary: These are the minutes before the ceremony on the reader’s wedding day.
Characters: Reader, Dean, Cas, Sam mentioned
Word Count: 727
A/N: Pure feel good fluff!
You looked at yourself in the mirror. The reflection you saw there was someone you had always wanted to be. You were a woman in love, content, happy, and completely sure of what she was about to do. Your gown was simple. There were no sparkles, no full skirt, no ruffles. It was an off the shoulder lace gown with three quarter length sleeves. It was not too body hugging and the skirt had some movement in it. You usually wore your hair loose, but today you had put it up in a bun at the nape of your neck. You wanted Sam to take it down tonight. In a few minutes, you would officially be a Winchester.
There was a soft knock on the door. You turned from the mirror. “Come in.” It was Dean. He had no doubt come to check on you and report back to your groom. You had never seen Dean in a tux before. The butterflies started fluttering in your stomach. You had never seen Sam in one either, but you were about to.
Dean walked over to you and took your hands in his. He kissed you lightly on the cheek. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. My brother is a very lucky man.”
“How is Sam?”
“He’s pacing. He can’t wait to see you.”
“Keep him calm, Dean. Tell him I’ll be holding him soon.”
Dean tilted his head. “For you, I will.” He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. “He wanted you to have this.”
You took the envelope from his hand. Sam had addressed it to: Y/N, my love, the woman who will be my wife. “I’m going to give you some privacy so you can read that.” You nodded still staring at the envelope. Then you looked up at the man who would soon be your brother. “I’ll tell him what you said.”
Dean turned and opened the door to leave. “Dean, tell him I love him.” He smiled and gave you a thumbs up.
You sat down with the letter. Your hands were slightly shaking as you opened it.
You make me feel things I have never felt before, and right now all I can think about is
spending the rest of my life with you. I’ll make you happy. I will live to see you smile. You
are beautiful in every way. I’m going to tell you every day and never let you forget. You are
everything that’s right and good in the world, Y/N. I will do all I can to be the
man you deserve.
My home is wherever you are. You’ve made me feel secure, and I didn’t think I’d ever have
that. I am going to remember everything about this day, so I can tell our children about it.
You are precious to me, my bride. Thank you for choosing me.
All my love is yours always,
You dabbed the tears at your eyes with the handkerchief you would be carrying today that had belonged to your grandmother. Cas appeared in time to see you press the letter to your heart. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Aren’t humans supposed to be happy on their wedding day?”
You smiled your most radiant smile. “I am happy Cas. Happier than I’ve ever been. Will you sit with me? The waiting is hard.”
“Of course. Is that what I’m supposed to do?”
“Yes, that’s what an attendant does. You are my bride’s angel, so that’s what you do. Do you have Sam’s ring?”
“It’s here.” He reached in his pocket to retrieve it and gave it to you. You held it in your hand. It would practically fit around two of your fingers. You brought it to your lips and kissed it before handing it back to Cas.
The church bells began to ring. Cas said, “I think that means Chuck’s here. It won’t be long now.” The butterflies in your stomach made their presence known again, stronger this time. It wasn’t everyone who got married by God himself.
“Will I be a good wife, Cas?”
“You already are. Nothing will change today except your name.”
Cas looked off into the corner of the room, then back at you. “Chuck says it’s time. Sam is waiting for you at the altar. Are you ready?”
Note: I don’t actually know that
much about Star Trek as I only recently started watching it, and have
been watching more of TNG than TOS, so I apologize for anything I
might of gotten wrong.
KIDGE WEEK DAY 1 – JEALOUSY
Soda Pop Bubbly
Besides Shiro Keith had
never really had friends. Had never really tried. His early years had
been spent living in the middle of nowhere West Texas being
homeschooled by his father. There had been no other kids around.
There hadn’t been a lot of other people around period. There had been
the waitress at the dinner they went to so his father could watch the
news, and the grown sons of the owner of the ranch his father had
worked on. The waitress had been nice. She had given him free slices
of pie regularly. The rancher’s sons had been dumb, mean, or both.
His father had been a conspiracy theorist and an incredibly paranoid
one at that, so they hadn’t had Wi-Fi, smart phones, computers, or a
television because his father hadn’t wanted to make it easy for the
government to spy on them.
After his father…went
away when he was nine Keith had been shipped off to a foster home
already filled with six other kids and located in the city of
Lubbock. The city had been like another world, and the other kids
just as alien. He hadn’t known about Transformers, Batman, or any of
the other things they talked about, and they hadn’t known about the
Barney and Betty Hill abduction, the Roswell crash, or anything else
His father had once told him
that the majority of humanity were blind men who believed they saw
all. He had learned in that first foster home just how true those
words were. He also learned just how cruel kids could be. After that
first home he didn’t bother with the other kids. With anyone really.
They all had their heads in the dirt while he was gazing at the
I mean if “You have to tell me why we’re committing a felony before we do it. Not that that’s going to stop us, but at least I’ll have all the facts.” doesn't scream Coliver idk what does
This is also for the anon who asked for: “How inconvenient. I guess I have to deal with you.” X coliver? :)
Mildly jumping at the sound of his name, Oliver turns from
his locker to see a smirking Connor Walsh standing on his left.
Oliver blinks once, then twice as if unsure what else he is
supposed to do, “Em, hi Connor.”
Connor’s smirk diminishes ever so slightly, not by much. In
fact it’s rather unnoticeable to anyone except someone who knew Connor really
Which is odd because Oliver feels like he doesn’t know
Connor even remotely well after all this time.
Oliver tries not to let old feelings of betrayal and
resentment rise to the surface at the thought of how long it’s been since
Connor looked him in the eye, let alone the last time they spoke.
“How are you?” Connor asks, leaning his shoulder against the
locker beside Oliver’s. Oliver’s stomach twists at how familiar this all is,
even though they haven’t been friends in so long.
“I’m fine.” Oliver replies courteously, returning to taking
books from his locker and hastily stashing them in his bag, “I’m happy that
school’s over for the day, you know? Same as everyone else.”
If it were anyone else who had asked, Oliver would have
responded with the same answer but finished with politely returning the
question. But Connor Walsh was not everyone and Oliver doesn’t really care how
Connor’s doing these days anyway.
Well that’s probably a lie. Oliver just doesn’t feel like
hearing all about the great sex Connor had last night with some junior guy in
the all-boys school across town, or maybe he’s even branching out into fucking
college guys now.
He doesn’t feel like listening to Connor complaining about
his homework or how much studying he’s supposed to do because he’ll come out
with all As anyway and he certainly doesn’t feel like listening to Connor’s
fake attempts at small talk after they haven’t talked in so long.
“That’s eh, that’s good.”
Oliver hums an affirmative noise as he fumbles to close his
bag and shut his locker at the same time.
Oliver huffs and wonders why lockers must be so complicated
“Here let me help-“
“It’s fine Connor.”
“No please let me-“
“I said that it’s fine!” Oliver’s voice rises dangerously
towards a shouting height that echoes in the deserted high school hallway.
Connor’s wide brown eyes blink in shock and Oliver knows
he’s mirroring a similar expression, except his is more of horror at his own
“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to yell” Oliver stutters softly
Connor nods in understanding and Oliver isn’t sure whether
he feels resentment or relief that Connor still knows him so well after all
this time. That they both still know exactly what the other means in the vague
words they say.
It’s an uneasy sort of comfort that Oliver isn’t familiar
After finally shutting his locker and swinging his closed
bag over his back, Oliver turns to fully face Connor again.
“What do you want Connor?”
“I just wanted to-“
“And don’t bother coming up with some bullshit reason about
how you just want to chat or see how I’m doing, I won’t buy it.” Oliver snaps
sharply “You’re clearly here for something otherwise you wouldn’t even be
looking at me so why are you here?”
Something flashes across Connor’s face, an emotion that
Oliver either has never seen on Connor’s face before or one he simply can’t
remember seeing Connor wear but Oliver doesn’t have enough time to analyse it
before Connor speaks again.
“I need you to hack a phone for me.”
Oliver couldn’t stop the small laugh that escapes past his
“Really?” Oliver asks, his eyebrows darting up to his
hairline, “You haven’t spoken to me in two years and now you’re asking me to
commit a crime for you?”
Hello again! Nearly three months since @0kbutmichaelclifford hosted her Hogwarts!5SOS Blurb night and I’m still thinking about this concept! Never enough Hogwarts!5SOS if you ask me… I hope you’ll enjoy the 6k+ (I know, but apparently I don’t get the definition of a blurb!) of Hogwarts!Ashton below. Let me know what you think?
1. Potions Class
yawning when you walk into the dungeon, following your housemates into the
Sixth Year Potions class. It’s Monday morning, first class of the new semester
and it seems as if both Gryffindors and Slytherins alike have a lot to share
with their friends.
Hogwarts Express had pulled into Hogsmeade Station on Saturday evening,
bringing back the students who’d gone home over Christmas break, and clearly
most inter-House friends hadn’t had a chance to catch up yet. The chatter is
loud, but somehow still quiet; alerting you that something’s missing. You revel
in the extra couple of moments without the worst sound known to you: The Giggle. You rest your head on your
table, cushioned by your bag, while you count your blessings of some extra
Ashton Irwin-free moments on top of the Ashton Irwin-free day yesterday.
to the rumor mill, Irwin visited family abroad over break and had been unable
to catch the train back. He’d arrived late Sunday evening, after curfew, and
the late hour had kept him from showing his face in the Slytherin Common Room
to visit two of his sidekicks: Michael Clifford and Luke Hemmings, two of your
Fifth Year housemates.)
your luck eventually runs out and Irwin shows up for class. Fortunately for
you, so does Professor Slughorn and the old man doesn’t waste time: after
hurriedly greeting the group of students, he beckons you all to the front of
the class where several cauldrons are stood simmering. Many of your classmates
are greedily breathing in the intoxicating fumes wafting off the unidentified
potions and you roll your eyes: how did these idiots even make it to N.E.W.T.
level Potions when they pull stunts like sniffing potentially toxic vapors?
cauldron, obviously attracting the most attention from your fellow students, is
soon identified: the way the people surrounding you are gluttonously breathing
in the fumes makes it easy. Slughorn points at you to explain the potion to
your peers. (You’re not surprised by it: both you and your class have already
made peace with your role as Slughorn’s star pupil.)
Amortentia, the world’s most dangerous love potion.” You start. You hear
someone scoffing and you don’t need to look to identify the person: Ashton Irwin
has never dealt well with being second-best. You glare at him and he sticks out
his tongue. Shaking off his childishness, you continue explaining.
potion causes the drinker to grow an infatuation with the one who administered
it. Beware: it is not love; the potion needs to keep being fed to the drinker
if one wants the effects to last. The mother-of-pearl sheen and the spiraling
steam are two of its most noticeable characteristics. Also, the potion smells
differently to every individual, depending on what that person finds
good, Miss Y/L/N,” Professor Slughorn praises. “5 points for Slytherin. Care to
share what you smell? For the sake of this class, of course.”
Slughorn winks at you and you grin. Before you can answer however, someone else
shares their input. (You’d be more surprised if he hadn’t opened his mouth.)
me to guess, Professor,” You have to hand it to the kid, though: he never did
keep his distaste for you under the teachers’ radar. “Y/N is a complicated
person, after all. No one really knows whether she comes from a long line of
Acromantulas or Dementors…”
interrupt him, ever so politely, but with a tone as poisonous as your supposed ancestors.
“It’s not so much an ‘or’-matter, Irwin, as it is an ‘and’-matter. And don’t
worry, you can’t please either one of
my bloodlines despite your valiant efforts of being noticed. Not the Dementor
one, since you already are a sad excuse of a human being and not the
Acromantula one either, since I’ve never seen someone as tasteless as yourself.”
smile finely at him, your classmates sniggering behind their hands, and Irwin’s
right eye twitches. (You mentally congratulate yourself: the eye-twitch was
always the ultimate end to your feuds. It usually only takes one more push
before Irwin starts blowing things up, throws hexes your way, and inevitably
lands himself in detention for another week. Call it one of your talents, if
keep it short,” You turn back to Professor Slughorn and the man gives you a wry
smile, still somewhat keeping an eye on a probably less-than-amused Irwin. “I
smell the Quidditch Pitch, vanilla candles and the waxy scent of the vinyl
Muggle records I collect.”
well, my dear,” The old man excitedly claps his hands and shoos everyone back
to their worktables. “Now it’s your turn: 2 hours ‘til the end of class. Should
be just enough time for you to brew your own Amortentia. Ingredients are in the
supply closet like always. Samples are left in a named vial at the front of the
class in the panniers for your House and the remainder of your potion should be
Vanished before you leave the classroom. Best of luck to you!”
remainder of the class progresses without much difficulties (other than the
occasional smart remark from Irwin). By the end of the two hours, you bring
your sample to the front like instructed.
While you’re busy doing so however, someone else casts a
Notice-Me-Not-charm on themselves and manages to steal a sample of your potion
before you can empty out your cauldron. They’re careful not to swap your
scantling with theirs when leaving theirs in the basket full of Gryffindor
vials and hastily exiting the dungeon…
A/N: Sooooo part 1 went over really well. Like WAY better than I ever
thought it would, which is so amazing. And a little fucking scary honestly. I
really hope you guys continue to like it. (Please let me know I’m a slut for
tumblr notifications) Thank you so much for reading!!! You’re all just
delicious little confidence boosting nuggets and I love you.
“Do you want me to find her?”
Sam looked across the diner’s
table at Cas. Nobody had spoken about the whole soulmate debacle since that
morning in the bunker. Two days. It had been two days, and even though they
were on a case it was all Sam could think about. Not talking though, was the
Winchester way so he kept his mouth shut.
“I don’t know Cas,” Sam answered
quietly, glancing over at Dean. “I mean, we find her, then what?”
Neither one answered.
“Guys I’m serious. I’m at a loss
“Look, all I know is we need to
make some kind of decision. I can barely think about this damn case. We’re
distracted, Sammy. Someone’s gonna get hurt if we keep this up.”
“Dean’s right. You’re both very
distracted by the whole situation. I will do whatever I can to help, no matter
what you choose to do, but you must choose something.”
“Ok. Ok, we find her. Just where
she’s at. Don’t kidnap her or anything. Maybe if we know where she’s at it’ll
help us know where to go from here?”
It shouldn’t be a question, but
Sam had no clue what would help and what would make everything worse.
“Well, you heard the man Cas. Go
look for Sam’s baby mama.”
After Cas left, Sam and Dean both
agreed to put a lid on that situation in order to finish the case in relatively
one piece. It was a salt and burn that shouldn’t be taking this long. They knew
that they had to put everything about Y/N aside, at least until the case was
done. They also knew they were both completely full of shit, and there was no
way either was going to stop thinking about it.