round clutch

My job might suck ass sometimes, but I got misty-eyed  watching tonight’s Fargo Season 3 premier and the things I designed and helped make (ALL THE CHARACTERS’ NAMETAGS YOOOOOOOOO ) in action.

Bonnie picked up the final batch of S3 nametags from me today and we both thanked each other for the hard work and she said it’s been lovely getting to know me.

Then said cast and crew of Fargo S3 thanks me and my workplace for helping make this new season awesome ;u;

No Son of Theirs

Fandom: Harry Potter (Marauders)

Word count: 1224

Characters: Sirius x reader, James and sister!reader

Warnings: asshole parents

Summary: After his parents disown him, Sirius turns to James and the reader (his sister). Part 2 Part 3  3.5 (drabble)   Part 4  Part 5 Part 6  Part 7  Part 8

As Sirius walked away from Grimmauld Drive, the rain was insistent. It sank through every layer he had on. He’d left in such a hurry that he hadn’t picked up his coat from behind the door. Before he’d even reached the end of the street, he was shivering.

He’d been planning this for a while, he told himself. His parents were cold, cruel racists, and god help Regulus, still stuck with them. He wanted to leave them. That was why he had been packing.

But he hadn’t meant for them to find out.

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@outofmychair | speak no & see no | continued from here

          As the monstrous gurgles grow fainter and fainter until their inevitable silence, Ignis assumes the danger to be at bay for now. His single dagger disappears into the air, while his opposing hand clutches the round end of his cane. When no sound emerges from Noctis following their short-lived scuffle, worry clenches in his gut. The cloud of foreboding seems to forever follow their trail, yet now it looms over him with distinct concern.

“Noct?” He calls out, clearly disturbed by the prince’s answering silence. Only minute whimpers come forth, which urges his worries to grow tenfold that Noctis is either trapped or harmed. “Are you there?”

Hand outstretched, he searches for the prince with faint lines around his eyes that grimace as if mentally willing himself to see Noct’s condition.

Wanted to try story writing, so I thought up a short story and recreated a scene in SFM. Many, many thanks to @soulburnin for the Reach ODST models and damaged torso decal for the spartan.

Flying low over a barren valley, I almost missed the brief blip on the motion radar. And under normal circumstances, had I noticed it right away, I would have ignored it and kept flying, but this time, for whatever reason, I ordered our pilot to land. Something just didn’t feel right. Ordering Dubois to stay on board with the pilot, Xavier, Brickman and I got ready to move out. 

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Tear my heart open

Stalk my masterlist here!

Plot: Y/N is forced to torture Dean under Alastair’s influence, will you follow through or will you refuse?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader 

Word count: 2771 

Warnings: blood, violence, use of weapons, swearing, torturing, abuse. Sorry if I missed anything! Also the gif and video used aren’t mine!

Authors note: based on the Supernatural episode ‘On the head of a pin’ where Dean tortures Alastair and also based on Scars by Papa roach. It is a pretty dark and sinister fic but I thought it was different so I hope you all enjoy it x 

Tagged: @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @imnotlikeyou0214 @xxtaylorsingerxx @my-name-is-alice-ayers @gabby913 @bowties-scarves-and-impalas

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How Do You Fall In Love

Slowly with my hands in front
Eyes closed praying it’s not still dark

Gingerly like in horror movies
Hoping you’re not an asshole
Ripping out my heart

Expertly like a tightrope walker
Concentrating on each step

Fiercely like a hungry alligator
Mercilessly twirling you round
Clutching you through life’s hiccups
‘Til you’re hopelessly

anonymous asked:

Sansa's first pregnancy is difficult, Jon feels guilty that this is his fault, his desire for a family placing both her life and the baby's in danger. Sansa does her best to convince him otherwise, she too wants to fill Winterfell with children again

A moment of maturity in it. And labor woes, of course. Enjoy!

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Can you plz do an imagine where your dating Andy and you’re a youtuber and you get him and the rest of the band to do the whisper challenge for a video and most of its just them laughing at each other cause they can’t get the sentences right?

(A/N So I completely failed at writing this imagine and had horrible horrible writers block it was awful! So my friend @petraackerman wrote this one for me she had a magical thing of inspiration and then yeah, I wrote the first two paragraphs that’s it xD anywho I am alive and back onto the internet so I’ll be posting more imagines now yay!!!!)

“Ok we are almost ready,” You said as you finished setting up your video camera. You were a pretty well-known YouTuber and today you were doing a video with your boyfriend Andy and his band Black Veil Brides. You had read some of the comments that people had sent to you with suggestions of what you should do for the video. The one suggestion that came up the most was the whisper challenge so you thought, why the hell not?

“OK so what are we doing?” CC asked. He and the rest of the band were sitting on the couch in your basement. Your computer was down there, so that was usually where you filmed most of your videos.

“I’ll tell you when we start filming,” You said. You started the camera and you sat down on the couch and the spoke to the camera. “Hi my lovelies! I’m PrincessKitKat, and I’m here with my boyfriend Andy and his band Black Veil Brides. Today we are going to play the whisper challenge so, um, yeah.”

“PrincessKitKat?” Ashley asked you.

“Ashley can you just….ok? Anyway, I have our first phrase so let’s start this thing.”

Andy put on the headphones and you then began the game. You thought of a sentence and spoke closely to Andy. He paused listening to the sentence and once you stopped speaking, you looked at him expectantly. He stared at you blankly for a brief moment before cocking his head to the side slightly.

“What the hell did you just say to me?” he asked, his eyes wide, causing you to laugh. When you didn’t respond, he made an attempt to repeat what you had said, “Oh pear, what tack on Trojan?”

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Hogwarts Express

Characters: Dean x Reader

Words: 1602

Summary: Today is the day- the first day at Hogwarts.

Part 5 in Magic Series. Part 1 here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here, and Part 4 here.

Okay, I really meant to include more. But I am exhausted, and I think this ended is a great spot. Expect a lot next time, I promise! Enjoy! :)

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I’m a slightly drunk idiot and I just responded to holywaterforyou​ privately with this drabble instead of publicly.  Because I’m driving the struggle bus today.  

Anyway, again, congratulations for the new addition to your family!  

He stares at her, sleeping fitfully on her side of the bed, discomfort painted on her face as she groans and clutches her rounded stomach, blinking awake.  

“Your son or daughter has an arm,” she snorts and slings one arm across her eyes, fumbling for Hiccup’s hand with the other and placing it on her stomach.  The child inside punches, a clear little fist against his palm, different from the foot he felt yesterday, full of personality and promise. “I didn’t realize I was signing up to be a punching bag.”  

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Five Fall Collections We Can’t Wait to See

Who to watch at Fashion Week Fall 2015

The creative buzz and chaos of fashion month will commence once again this Thursday, starting off with the first round of presentations at New York Fashion Week. In anticipation of the big event, we’ve rounded up which runway shows we’re most excited to see, from Stella McCartney in London to Dries Van Noten in Paris. Scroll down to take a look at their past collections and shop our favorite designer pieces to get you in the mood for all the fashion festivities.


If we could afford it, we would fill our entire wardrobes with Céline. With one wise move after another, like creating the minimalist’s ideal handbag to designating Joan Didion the face of Céline for Spring 2015, Phoebe Philo is on a roll, with no sign of slowing down. Her clean lines and beautiful silhouettes, teamed with her impeccable presentation, make our jaws drop every time. We can only assume her fall’s show will be just as memorable.

Céline Spring 2015 runway

CELINE VINTAGE small clutch

Tortoiseshell round-framed sunglasses

CELINE VINTAGE pussy bow collar shirt

Stella McCartney

Stella McCartney knows what a woman wants and how she wants to feel. This sentiment is clear throughout her collections, which consist of wearable pieces that look comfortable, relaxed and effortlessly sexy. Never too basic or annoyingly serious, Stella has a rare skill for making everything look easy. We can’t wait to see where and what she shows next.

Stella McCartney’s Resort 2015 collection

Cut-out denim playsuit

STELLA MCCARTNEY mini ‘Becket’ satchel

STELLA MCCARTNEY blossom dress


We’re convinced that Valentino dresses are what dreams are made of. A marriage of chiffon, lace, organza, embroidery and glimmering embellishments, Valentino’s signature fairy tale aesthetic is one that never, ever gets old. Chiuri and Pierpaolo Piccioli’s designs range from resort-ready separates to red carpet gowns, all in touch with an ethereal lightness. We’re awaiting their next collection with wish lists in hand.

Valentino Spring 2015 runway

VALENTINO beaded collar cable knit dress

VALENTINO stud detail clutch

Valentino Floral-Embroidered Ankle-Wrap Espadrille, Blue

Dries Van Noten

Fashion enthusiasts know that, at a presentation, the atmosphere is just as important as the actual clothing, and there’s no one better than Belgian designer Dries Van Noten to create an immersive experience. From having Colin Greenwood of Radiohead play live at his show to using a specially-made mossy carpet as his runway, Dries is never short of creativity. His Spring 2015 show was, in one word, dreamy. We don’t doubt his next show will be equally as enchanting.

Metallic Jacquard Roslyn Coat

Metallic & Chiffon Darah Slip Dress


Louis Vuitton

A fashion editor’s paradise, the Louis Vuitton show is always wonderfully over-the-top. Instead of your typical runway, the models inhabit a themed world, offering up every notion that fashion is about much more than what you’re wearing. With Marc Jacobs at the helm, and his visual kaleidoscope dream world still vivid in our memory, we’re expecting an amazing presentation in Paris later this month.

Louis Vuitton Spring 2015 runway


LOUIS VUITTON VINTAGE tote print scarf


Which shows are you looking forward to seeing this month? Sound off on our Facebook, Twitter or Instagram!

revenge is sweet

ugh I’ve forgotten how to title Happy very late birthday to Sam (@candy-harts) I hope you like 3000 words of these idiots being idiots <3 <3

(probably riddled with errors because I didn’t really read through too much)

It’s pretty damn difficult to persuade theHouse Elves for them to let her use their kitchen, but after reassuring them that she’d let them clean up whatever mess she made and accepting at least a week’s worth of food on their behalf, Lily finally manages it.

The cake isn’t exactly the best- she added maybe a bit too much flour and it’s a bit burnt on the outside- but she figures it’s nothing a bit of frosting can’t fix. So she then goes on to whip up a batch of frosting that’s far too much for a cake that size but nonetheless, Lily spoons the entire thing on to the cake until it’s almost perfectly level and twice its original height.

All in all, it takes her three hours of her evening and when she returns to her dorm later that evening (after properly thanking the House Elves for their generosity and hiding the basket of pies and pastries and Firewhiskey and most importantly, the cake in the Astronomy tower) she has a cake batter staining her front and a dusting of cocoa powder over her cheeks. She’s quick to clean up before her roommates return and evade their questions of why she was missing this evening and is that chocolate smeared behind your ear.

By the time Lily’s finally scrubbed herself clean, some of her roommates have already returned. There are a few casual questions about what she got up to that evening and Lily manages to throw them off her tail with an airy, “Just getting some work done in the library. Wanted to have my weekend free.”

“You’re a fucking nerd, Evans,” Mary declares as she strips out of their stuffy uniform required shirt and into a t shirt. The sentiment is echoed all around by the others.

She shrugs, accepting the fact, knowing that if she just goes along with it, they wouldn’t bother to pry too much into her former statement. Apparently, it isn’t really that necessary because as soon as she turns around and drops the towel to grab a shirt from her trunk, there’s a bout of scandalous giggling behind her. She squeaks when Jillian reaches over to pluck at the red of her bra strap, sending it snapping back against her shoulder, stinging the skin there.

“Lily Evans, you slag,” she gasps dramatically. “Are you planning on wearing naughty things under your clothes to dinner?”

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where the heart rests, pt 1


A fix-it fic, of sorts. Canon-compliant. This is me, trying to grieve, trying to heal, trying to make sense of the nonsense that was the final Bleach chapter. I know there have been an influx of sad IR fics over the past month as people try to come to terms with this ending, and I promise I’ll contribute something less angsty soon for those who want to ignore the last chapter altogether. But the first step for me personally in any sort of healing process has always been understanding the cause of the pain. So this is me, trying to understand what could possibly have happened in the void ten years for us to reach… this.

This fic is canon-compliant, with all the heartbreaking implications that phrase entails. Yes, it’s going to be painful to read as an IR shipper. But despite that, I hope you’ll give it a go, because the ending to this fic (hopefully, if I’ve done my job right) embodies everything that the IR ship has ever embodied for me: faith, hope, and an unwavering courage and determination to forge on against impossible odds. The ending to this fic embodies why I won’t give up shipping them, even after ‘canon’ has ground us into the dust. In a way, I’m almost glad canon’s gone so completely off the rails; it’s given me a chance to explore the worst possible outcome for the IR ship, and demonstrate how even from these circumstances they’ll find their way back to each other. Across a thousand worlds, across a thousand lifetimes, in every AU and version of reality, in every single grain of possibility and every alternate future that Yhwach has ever seen—none of that matters. In all of those instances, they’ll find a way. As Rukia once told Ichigo all those chapters ago—they’ll always make their way back to each other, through whatever means necessary.

And I believe her. I believe them.

I want to invite you to believe with me.

Title: where the heart rests

Pairings: ichi/ruki, forever and always. eventual ishi/hime. Peripheral IH, because we’re canon-compliant. 

Warnings: IH 686-compliance i kid, I kid. No warnings. This doesn’t even have adultery in it! (Although, that might depend on your definition of what adultery is. No physical adultery in this one, at least. That’s…. coming in a different fic lmao) 

Rating: T, for tragedy teenagers and up 

Part 1// Winner, Loser, Victor, Prisoner

It was supposed to end with this.

It was supposed to end with him; the final enemy, the antithesis of all they stood for. It was supposed to end here, and they were supposed to rebuild. To heal. It was all supposed to be sunlit from now on. Everything, all of it, all their struggles and conflicts and misery, was supposed to end with Yhwach—

So then why, Rukia wonders, is it still raining?

When he stumbles back through the portal, Ishida and Renji on either side of him, the first thing Rukia notices are his eyes. She feels a trickle of something cold and fearful down her spine. She’s seen those eyes before on him. She’s seen those eyes before, and they are not the eyes of a victor.

“Is he—“ she starts, but he cuts her off before she can finish, getting to his knees before her and sweeping a hand over Inoue’s forehead.

“Is she alright?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“I—yes, for now,” Rukia answers, taken aback, and he raises his head to meet her gaze. “I performed some kido on her to stem the superficial bleeding, but I do not think her injuries are life-threatening. Ichigo, is he—gone? What happened?”

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theravenofwynter  asked:

Prompts: When A realized they were in love with B, when did B realise the same thing. Any pairing :)

Well we all know know where I am going given free reign :)

Shakarian Fluff

This has become quite an opus. I will split this up into two part because it is getting ridiculous. 

Expressions -  Garrus

He never noticed when the Normandy became home. The transition was so subtle that it sailed passed him without leaving a mark on his consciousness. The walls that once were so alien and constricting became familiar, the scratch by the elevator doors bore traces of Tali’s over eager rush to the cargo bay when Shepard called to arms. The dark speckles that spilled in patterns in front of the silent Mako, a reminder of Wrex’s zealous bloody mindedness, when Garrus had to drag the Krogan to the infirmary only for Chakwas to huff in exasperation in response to his pleas for help. Memories filled the entire ship to the brim. To pin point the instant of revelation in all that chaos and eddies of memories, would have been impossible. He simply woke up one morning knowing, the Normandy was his, she was home. 

Laugher drifted towards him from the weapons bench, snapping him back to reality. The Mako needed tuning again. Why Shepard insisted on trying to climb those damn mountains on Edolus, those rocks blew the suspension to shit. She laughed manically when he screamed at her to stop trying to kill them “No pain no gain Vakarian! I can totally do this!” Tali was visibly shaking next to him. His subhamonics rumbled as he smirked at the memory. 

“Skipper, you can’t just say that!” Ash snorted from the other side of the cargo bay. 

“I do what I want Chief, it my ship” Shepard’s voice rang with amusement.

Garrus looked up from his console, curious at what the humans were talking about. 

Shepard was facing away from him, her posture relaxed as she leaned back on one leg. Ashley noticed the Turian watching them and squeezed an eye shut, Shepard realised her chief’s attention was else where and followed her gaze. 

Their eyes met. Shepard’s smile spread and crinkled her eyes. Her blazing red hair framing her face. The face he had seen harden to granite when screaming orders on the battle field, now turned soft, delicate and something else? Humans were difficult, their features far too expressive for a turian to make proper sense of. His people communicated what limited emotion they required through their subharmonics, there was never any need for lifting of brow plates, though he liked that one. Shepard did that a lot. He tried to copy her once, she just patted him on the arm and told him to keep practising. 

The Commander broke eye contact and turned back to Ashley. And odd sensation ran though him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, like a shiver all down him. Where did that come from? He shook his head trying to dislodge it. 

“Vakarian?” one brow was quirked up, examining him. “You okay?” he didn’t see Shepard approach whilst he was trying to work out what was happening to him.

“I, yes, I mean yes, fine. Sorry lost in thought.” his subharmonics sounded oddly discordant with his voice. 

“Good, I need you” she said, briefly distracted by brushing an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. His subharmonics reverberated, his eyes widened in shock. She chose to ignore it, or she simply didn’t notice. “You’re coming with me, Virmire next. The slarians have a lead on Saren” 

“My rifle is yours” he blinked in confusion. What the hell was that? What was this nonsense he was spewing. 

Shepard’s brows knotted. “Garrus, are you sure you are okay? Is this about  Saleon?”

He shook his head “No, definitely not. I am fine. Really. Ready to go. Well almost. The Mako needs some more calibration, you’ve managed to wreck this thing again.” 

“So judgemental Vakarian” her eyes crinkled again. “See you in a bit Garrus, need to raise our little quarian too, be ready” she turned on her heels and headed to engineering. He watched her go, she never called him by his proper name before. As she neared the elevator his eyes followed her, noting the way that her hips swung as she walked, the soft curves of her waist exaggerated in the harsh light spilling from the EzoCore. 


The Normandy was silent. It was the middle of the night cycle, but the silence was deeper. They lost Ash on Virmire. The crew was in shock, the humans bumped into each other, apologised quietly and separated, hiding in corners of the ship, carefully avoiding Ashley’s work space in the cargo bay, even Wrex kept a respectful distance.  

Shepard’s silence was most palpable. She said nothing as they returned to the Normandy, walked straight into her cabin and locked it, no one saw her since. 

Kaiden tried to talk to her, pleading with her to come out. Liara hammered on her door. Nothing. 

He spoke to Tali in hushed tones, the quarian was shaken to the core by the events. But this was hours ago. 

Garrus sat in the mess hall, contemplating the cold plate of food in front of him. The rest of the team went to sleep, some with Chakwas’s help, others collapsed into soundless sleep through sheer exhaustion. Garrus did not want either. He just stared at the plate before him. Only hours ago he saw the Gunnery Chief laughing with Shepard. Just hours. He’s never lost anyone this close. C-Sec was a comfortable and relatively safe posting, the worst he ever saw were flesh wounds, none fatal.

He heard the door open, instinctively he looked towards the med-bay. 

“Over here” Shepard’s voice was ragged. 

His eyes snapped to her, her easy posture of earlier gone. She was clutching herself round the middle, as if trying to cradle a wound. 

He sprang to his feet “Shepard, are you hurt?!”

“No, just trying to hold it together. Today. Well. Today really” she sighed. “Mind if I join you?”

“Do you really have to ask?” he sat down and moved a chair out for her. She seemed so fragile, her movements jagged, all fight gone out of her. A low growl escaped him, anger welling up suddenly. 

She exhaled heavily as she sat next to him. 

“I am not going to bother asking. Do you want some food? You haven’t eaten since this morning. I… err… only have this…” he pushed his cold plate toward her apologetically. 

She examined the dextro food in front of her gingerly and then looked into his eyes. “You know it’s not advisable for me to eat this? You trying to finish me off Garrus?” she almost smiled. Her eyes were rimmed with red, glossy and wet. She’s been crying. Of course she has been crying. Rage reared its ugly head again, he growled quietly. 

“Hey, no need for that. I can take a bite if it will make you happy.” she didn’t break eye contact, she wasn’t afraid. It was something else. Damn humans with their stupid expressions, he will need to look that one up when he had a chance. 

He sighed resigned to his own ignorance of nuance. “What would make me happy, is knowing that you’re okay. Spirits know I would do anything to keep you from this disaster.”

Her eyebrows raised and her mouth opened, her lips making a soft little o. 

“What? Did I say something wrong?” He tilted his head to the side. “I am sorry, I am still learning to read human expressions, I didn’t mean anything by it”

Shepard shook her head. “No, no, of course not. I just didn’t expect that”. She prodded at the food in front of her. A veil of hair hiding her from him. Silence hung between them. Garrus was thinking franticly of something to say, he was struggling for words. Shepard broke the silence first. 

“Do you think I made the right call?” he still couldn’t see her face but her voice was heavy. 

“There is no right or wrong in this Shepard. You made a difficult call, there was no other way.” he lowered his head to her level, speaking softly. 

“What if I sent you after Ash and went after Kaidan myself? What if there was another way?” she spoke sinking lower in her chair, her arms squeezing tighter around her middle. “What if we could have saved her…” her voice was warbling now. 

“What ifs do not matter Shepard. There are no what ifs in battle, you do all you can and hope against hope that it turns out okay. Do not blame yourself for this, don’t you dare. You did everything in your power, and sometimes things, well they just don’t work.” he moved closer to her, reached out to her, his hand shaking. Why was his hands shaking?! “Shepard, there is no one in this galaxy who could do what you do, there is no one like you” his voice was soft, subharmonics gently humming. His hand closed the distance and brushed the sheet of hair away from her face. A shock went through him as he accidentally brushed her face, silent tears made tracks on her cheeks. She was so small, so brave, his words caught in his throat as he realised the truth of his own words. There was no one in the entire galaxy like her, no one so fierce, so loyal, so gentle. 

She looked up at him, her face scrunched in absolute agony and she flung herself into his outstretched arm still frozen from the shock of revelation. 

As he drew her, sobbing, onto his lap, that was the moment he knew, he wouldn’t hesitate give his own life for her, he would move galaxies to protect her from this pain. He knew he loved her.

For Mia, on her birthday

Slightly belated but no less heartfelt. Happy birthday to dottierthanthou, who is smart and passionate and kind. 

His knuckles ached from rapping. “Iinsist you open this door. Do you hear me, Lieutenant? I insist.”

“I got this. The sooner you chill, the sooner I’ll be done and out.”

“But how are you meant to dress your own right arm?” He could see the awful gash now, deeper in the middle from the bite of the curved blade. It was a clean cut, there on her bicep, but it needed more tending to than a one-armed woman could possibly provide. He’d paused just for a moment to wash the ichor from his hands in the kitchen and she’d nipped around him and shut herself up in the bathroom, adamant that she would do this on her own.

“I’d be able to do it a lot more easily if I had some peace and quiet.”

Perhaps he would have abandoned his attempts then, if only he had not heard her soft hiss: “Oooh. Fuck.

With that, he produced the debit card he now carried in his back pocket, slipped it between the bolt and the wall, and let himself into the privacy closet.

She stood before the counter clad only in her brassiere and jeans, pressing a cloth to her wound. The accustomed sight of her unclad body held only slight distraction in the face of his duty. She just had time to interject, “the hell?” before he had her scooped up in his arms. With the utmost care, of course, but with firm purpose. He snagged the open first-aid kit and marched into the living room.

The lieutenant was taking this about as well as he’d expected. She squirmed and scrabbled against him. “Crane.” His name was threat and plea and epithet in a syllable. “Put me down. It’s a fucking scratch. It’s nothing.”

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Broken Promise (Part Two)

Description: A few months after Y/n and Sam break up, Y/n is struggling to readjust.

The second installment of my Broken Promise series. 

Part One Here

A/N: There really isn’t a lot of time with Sam in this part, but that’s because I need to set some things up for what’s going to happen later in the series. Bear with me! I promise Sam will be back in full force for Part Three!

TRIGGER WARNING: Brief reference to abuse near the end.

Six months after.

It doesn’t quite seem real to you.

Can it really be six months? Six months since your entire world fell apart? Six months since your heart shattered into pieces you still can’t seem to pick up?

Can it really be six months?

You look around your small apartment, trying, and failing, to ignore the half-unpacked boxes scattered throughout. You’re always saying you’ll get to them eventually, but then again, you always have another reason to put it off, too. If you’re being honest, you never really thought you would have to. You never thought you’d be calling this place home.

Has it really been six months?

You glance over at your phone resting quietly on the kitchen counter. You know without looking that there are twenty-four voicemails from Sam saved on it. One for every week you’ve been gone. You know without looking that there are at least a dozen texts from Dean, the earliest begging you to come back and the latest begging you to answer your damn phone.

Has it really been six months since you’ve seen them?

As you lean against the counter, just staring, your phone starts to vibrate and Dean’s contact photo flashes onto the screen.

Your hand shakes a little as you pick it up, thumb hovering over the accept icon.

You hesitate a moment before speaking. 

“Hey, Dean.”

“Holy - Y/n?”

You offer him a humorless chuckle. “Who else would be answering my phone?”

“No, I just - I didn’t expect - how have you been? Where have you been?”

“I was working some cases a few towns over,” you reply, picking at a hangnail on your thumb. “And then when I got back, well…” You shrug even though he can’t see you. “Didn’t really have anywhere to go. So I started apartment hunting. I’ve been settling in.”

“You still here in Lebanon?”

“Yeah.” You weren’t sure why you’d decided to stay, so close to where everything seemed to slip through your fingers.

But here you were.

Six months?

“Well, listen, Sam and I have a case and we could use-”

“Send me the details,” you cut him off, quickly rattling off your current email address. “I’ll take care of it.”

There’s silence for a long moment, and then, “You’re going to work it alone?”

“That was the plan,” you reply breezily.

“Hell no,” he says immediately. “Hunting alone is a stupid decision. Even Sam and I don’t pull crap like that.”

No, you think bitterly. You just run around starting apocalypses and cheating on people.

I’m not working a case with Sam,” you say fiercely. “And no Sam means no you. So yeah, I’m working alone.”

“I’ve got another guy I can call in,” Dean finally says, after a long pause. “I’ll give him your contact info and let him know you’re looking for backup.”

You can’t guarantee you’ll let Dean’s friend help you, but you know he won’t let it go otherwise. “I’ll wait to hear from him. Bye, Dean.”

“Hey, Y/n?”


“Just - just be careful, okay?”

You hang up.


“You Y/n?” The man who asks is about the same height as Dean, with lazy posture and an even lazier smile. The bright blue eyes peeking out from a mop of brown hair don’t fool you, and neither does the supposed casualness. He may be leaning against his truck like he doesn’t care, but his muscles are tense, ready.

“Yeah. You’re Will?”

He nods, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Dean said you needed my help with a case. What are we working with?”

“I don’t need help,” you say quickly, glaring at him in an open invitation to contradict the statement. “Dean just doesn’t like letting people work alone.”

Will smirks. “Yeah, well, the guy looks out for his friends. Can’t blame him for that. You saying you don’t want my help?”

“I’m saying I don’t need it.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Do me a favor and lose the act, okay? You’re a hunter. That means you’re not stupid and you sure as hell aren’t helpless. I’m not here because I don’t think you can handle yourself. I’m here because Dean called in a favor. Now what are we working with?”

You bite your lower lip. “Looks like a spirit,” you finally relent, and Will’s posture relaxes a little at your words. “Should be a quick salt and burn, really.”

“Then let’s burn the bastard.” He pushes off of his truck and stands up fully. “Your car or mine?”

“Yours,” you reply. “It’s closest.”

He pulls out his keys in response.

“Hey, Will,” you say suddenly as you cross to the passenger side door.


You brace one hand on the door frame. “You came because Dean asked you to, but that didn’t mean you had to stay.”

His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “True. I didn’t.”

“So why did you?”

At this, Will just grins. “Well you’re easy on the eyes, Y/n. And I take time to appreciate good views.”

With a shake of your head, you slide into the passenger seat, looking stubbornly out the window for the entire drive.

But it’s been a while since you’ve felt butterflies in your stomach.

Six months.


“Y/n, you good?” Will’s panicked voice is coming from somewhere to your left, and it’s with no small amount of effort that you push the toppled bookshelf off of your legs.

“I’m good!” you call back. When you try to stand, you let out a groan of pain. “Might have a busted up ankle, but other than that…”

Will comes racing around the corner, the shotgun filled with salt rounds still clutched in one hand. His eyes flood with relief when he sees you.

“Did you get the bastard?” you ask with exhaustion.

“He’s not coming back,” Will replies.

You nod. “Good.”

What should’ve been a salt and burn turned out to be a little more complicated. The spirit wasn’t tied to his remains at all, but rather to a lock of hair his wife had kept in a scrapbook. When you were trying to burn it, he took you by surprise.

“Let’s have a look at that ankle, huh?” Will asks, and before you can process, he scoops you up easily and starts to carry you out of the building.

“I can walk,” you protest, pushing against his chest.

“Stop that,” he complains. “I’m gonna freaking drop you.” He walks to the truck parked out front and sets you down carefully in the truck bed, letting your legs hang over the edge. From your raised seat, the two of you are almost eye to eye. “Which leg?” he asks, looking up at you while one hand rests on your knee.

“Left,” you reply, trying not to wince as he carefully removes your boot and starts to roll up your pants leg. The ankle in question is already swollen. Despite the dim lighting, you can see the discoloration as well.

Will’s hand is gentle as he cups your foot. “Can you move it?” he asks, brow furrowed as he studies the injury.

You wiggle your foot a little. It hurts like hell, but it’s not impossible.

“Good,” he says quietly. “I think it’s just a bad sprain. I’ll grab something to wrap it with.” When he looks up at you, soft smile in place, he looks so much like Sam that your heart stops.

You suck in a breath, gasping like someone just punched you.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you reply. “Just hurts.”

“We’ll get you patched up.”

After rummaging around in the backseat for a while, Will comes back with a roll of gauze. He wraps your ankle with practiced hands and then grabs your waist to help you lower yourself back to the ground. After that he helps you into the passenger seat.

“You want to grab drinks or something?” he asks, looking at you with a smile. “Celebrate a case closed?” It’s the smile, you know, that reminds you of Sam. They have the same dimples, the same crinkle in their brow.

Your answering smile is thin. “I should probably just go home. Busy day tomorrow.”

“Sure thing. I’ll drop you off.”

“I’m going to call Dean,” you reply. “Let him know the case went off without a hitch.”

But when you call, it isn’t Dean who answers.


Your stomach threatens to jump up into your throat. “Sam?” you choke out.

“I - there - Dean’s in the shower,” he stammers, and he sounds so damn sorry. “I thought - I thought it might be important so I answered.” He takes a deep breath. “Is everything okay?”

Your hand clenches into a fist.

Because it’s not okay. Nothing is okay. Nothing has been okay since that night. But how the hell are you supposed to tell him that?

“Everything’s fine,” you reply through clenched teeth. “You can tell Dean the case is closed.”


You hang up before he can finished.

Will shoots you a look, worry plain in his gaze. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” you reply tersely. “Fan-freaking-tastic.” 

You look at your inbox, at the twenty four messages and the countless texts and the picture of Sam that still stares up at you from the background of your phone.

“Right. Because that’s what fine looks like,” Will replies, and while his tone is teasing, there’s something serious lurking just beneath the surface.

You don’t respond.

“So listen,” he says after a long moment. “I was thinking. We made a pretty good team back there.”

“We didn’t die, if that’s what you mean.”

“You know what I mean.” He rests one arm against the window, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “We made a good team,” he continues. “Maybe … we should keep working together.”

That’s enough to get you to look at him.

“You know, partners,” he says with a shrug. “Two people working cases is better than one, right? And this way the Winchesters are off your back.”

Well he’s not wrong.

“I - I don’t know, Will.” You look back down at your phone, the words to each voicemail - because you memorized them - looming in the back of your mind. “It’s been a long time since I’ve worked with anyone long term.”

Six months, to be exact.

“Then how about this.” Will brings the truck to a stop just outside your apartment, turning in his seat to face you fully. “How about you sleep on it, and then tomorrow, when I take you to dinner, you can give me your answer.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re taking me to dinner?”

And there’s that smirk again. “It’s not really a date without dinner, is it.” 

Shaking your head, you look at your phone again, pulling up your inbox again as the number twenty four glares up at you.

The voicemails are the first things you delete.

“Better be a damn good restaurant,” you finally reply. 

Will laughs. “And here I thought you’d be a cheap date.”

He helps you upstairs after that, making sure you have everything you need in your apartment before leaving.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he tosses over his shoulder, and you’re smiling when you close the door.

It’s been a while since you’ve had a date.

Six months.

The picture of Sam is the last thing you delete, but it’s deleted all the same.


Two months later.

Where the hell have you been?” Will demands before you’ve even made it through the door.

You startle a little, key in hand. You didn’t even know Will was coming over tonight.

“I was out with a couple of friends,” you reply with a laugh, shutting the door behind you and taking off your shoes.

“What friends?”

“Just some girls I went to school with.”

He folds his arms over his chest, watching through narrowed eyes as you stride past him and head for the kitchen. “I didn’t know you were going out with them tonight.”

“I didn’t know you were planning on stopping by,” you counter playfully.

Will’s expression is anything but playful.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” he asks quietly.

Your brow furrows. Truthfully, you hadn’t even noticed the missed calls. You pull the phone in question out of your pocket, frowning at the screen. Twenty missed calls and at least as many texts. “Sorry,” you reply. “The bar was noisy, I didn’t hear it going off.”

The sound of his hand slamming on the counter almost makes you drop your phone.

“You pick up your fucking phone,” he hisses, stalking toward you and backing you up against the sink. “You always answer your phone when I’m calling.”

I didn’t hear it,” you reply angrily. “And since when do you need to know where I am all the time?”

That’s the first night he hits you.

Read Part Three Here

Clint had been shut up in his bedroom for what felt like weeks, he was scared for his friends. He felt like he was being watched everywhere he went, so he barely went any where. It was a cycle of constantly looking over his back, and avoiding anyone he liked around this castle. Today was a morning he was starving and was walking as quickly as he could to the Great Hall. He had deep bags under his eyes, and looked like he hadn’t got much sun in the past week. He still went to quidditch practice, but had no desire to fly for fun. One of the times he could actually feel free around here, felt striped from him. His Fathers words were burned into his skull and he had been on his guard ever since.

Originally posted by darkprincess99

He was rounding down the stairs clutching his wand tight and trying to pay attention to anyone and everything out of place. As he rounded the corner into the Great Hall, someone he didn’t see coming bummed into him. That was a bad mistake for them. Clint didn’t even move, he used his momentum to quickly pin the student to the nearby wall putting his wand to their throat. In his flight or fight adrenaline, he didn’t notice the face until now.