shoulder tear

Since I’ve been traipsing around a different continent for the past three months, I haven’t even seen the rest of the season and the finale… but let me tell you what happens anyway after last night’s Apparent Clusterfuck:

As Dean Winchester stands next to his prone angel, morbidly fascinated by the ash wings burned into the ground around his feet, he feels completely and utterly numb. He’s only had the presence of mind not to step on them, an easy thing given the fact that they’re so bare of feathers.

Carefully, and still without thinking, the hunter lowers himself to his knees, brow furrowed and lip trembling as he attempts to process what is clearly right before him.

Castiel is dead.

Still, Dean can’t help extending a shaking hand. His fingers gently trace the curve of Cas’s cheekbone in a way he never would have allowed himself if the other was still breathing, and despite the fact that his mouth feels like sandpaper and he can feel Castiel’s skin turning cold he asks the question anyway:

“…C-Cas?”

Dean can feel Sam staring holes through his back, but that’s the extent of any response to his query.

“Cas, wake up.”

His voice is a broken croak, but Dean keeps speaking anyway, turning bolder and more desperate with every second that reality sinks in.

“Cas? Castiel, wake up. Wake up, Cas! Cas!”

He’s pawing at his angel now, vision blurring until he has to blink to clear it. He all but throws himself across Castiel’s torso to uselessly slap at his cheeks in an attempt to rouse him.

“You stupid son of a bitch, wake up! Wake up, Castiel! Don’t you dare leave me, don’t…”

Castiel is still motionless when Dean collapses against him. “Don’t go,” the hunter whispers pitifully into his angel’s neck. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows a sob. “Please. I… Cas, I…” His heart is in his throat as he turns his head to press a light kiss behind the other’s ear, moving to put his lips against Castiel’s own for the first and last time. “…I love you, you dumb angel,” he murmurs. “So you gotta wake up. Cas. Cas, I love you, so you hafta…”

When nothing happens, Dean curls himself over his angel and cries.

Sam joins him after a time, crouching to put a hand to his shoulder and blinking back tears himself. Soon, though, they have to go. “Dean. Dean, we have to get out of here.”

“Sammy, I–”

“I know. It’ll be okay.”

But when they both turn away from Cas for the first time, God isn’t who they’re expecting to find. In all honesty, they’re not expecting to find anyone… and yet, there he is: Chuck, dressed in a robe and stained pj pants.

“You love my son?” Is all he asks, piercing gaze boring into Dean. Dean takes a step back as if to protect Castiel’s form from his own father, and that apparently is good enough. Chuck nods sagely. “I don’t play favourites, you know,” he says. “I did that once with Lucifer and it didn’t end well… but Castiel is, different. He’s everything I didn’t know I wanted angels to be. He makes mistakes. He learns. And yet every time I bring him back, he ends up risking his life for you.”

Dean holds his breath. Chuck sighs. “I love my son, I would give him the world if I could.” There’s a beat, and Chuck tilts his head to the side. “But we’ve both seen what happens when he has unlimited power. Besides, at the end of the day… I think he really just wants you.”

And then God is gone.

Dean is confused for only a moment before there’s a gasping breath from behind him and a hacking cough, Castiel sitting upright and flushed and so very alive that Dean can do nothing but throw himself to the ground. He tackles Cas in a kiss before the other has time to say a word, pressing him to the floor and putting everything he is into the contact.

When he pulls away, Cas is bright red and smiling with the approximate wattage of the sun. “Dean,” he murmurs, awed. “I’m… I mean, I…”

Dean presses a finger to the other’s plump lips. “I love you,” he says simply.

And Castiel moves to kiss him again.

A Simple Suggestion

Originally posted by akumatisedmari

So I had a dream last night. A dream that Ladybug and Chat Noir moved out of their homes into a studio apartment together so they could be around each other and get to akuma attacks quickly and always be alert.

But they never detransformed. They were always suited up and just lived together like two best friends and kept the city safe.

@philosophy-and-coffee said it’d make a neat fic idea and had a few cute ideas to add on to it, so…naturally, I wrote it. 

A Simple Suggestion
Summary: Breaks from patrol often allow time for Ladybug and Chat Noir to talk and be themselves. But when a silly joke starts to seem all that…well, not silly, the two find themselves considering something neither of them had ever before: moving in together. 
The tricky part is still keeping their identities a secret.
Rated: G (might change to T later)
Pairing(s): Ladybug/Chat Noir

Chapter 1 - A joke
Word count: 1,464
Read on: ao3 | here


It had started out as a joke.

Chat Noir had thrown the idea into the air one night when they’d taken a break from patrol. The city was quiet, the breeze that danced through the open sky was refreshing, and the laughter that had accompanied his voice had made Marinette smile all too wide.

“What if we moved in together?” he’d asked with a nervous twitch of his tail. “I’ve been preparing to move out for a while, but…I don’t know. Something about the thought of living alone makes me nervous.”

“You mean-” Marinette’s eyes widened. “Us? Move in together? Like, Ladybug and Chat Noir living together?”

“Yeah,” Chat laughed. “What if?”

At first, she’d given her partner nothing more than a chuckle and a dismissive pat on the shoulder, shaking her head at the simple notion. It had been such a funny thing for him to suggest that the giggles that rose from her throat had been all too hard to suppress. Even if she secretly didn’t despise the idea, she knew it would never work out.

“How would we even manage that?” she asked, swinging her legs over the ledge of the apartment complex they had paused upon and taking in a breath of the atmosphere. She could detect a small hint of food cooking somewhere, and in the distance music played, which added to the comforting ambiance of the city she adored so much. “We’d just walk around in our own home transformed, like it was a completely normal thing?”

Chat Noir offered a shrug, looking a tad sheepish. “Hah, yeah, I guess that does sound kind of stupid.”

A frown replaced Marinette’s smile, and she felt a small hint of guilt for her previous comment. “Well,” she said in an attempt to fix her blunder. “I don’t know about stupid…”

“It would probably be weird,” Chat continued, “and awkward at times…and it wouldn’t be easy…”

Marinette nodded.

“…but I dunno,” he sighed, shifting his gaze. “Part of me thinks we’d be able to make it work.”

Allowing the thought to process, Marinette tapped her finger along the aged paneling of the roof they sat atop, teeth nibbling on her bottom lip as she sought for a reply.

Would they be able to make it work?

After all, she’d been thinking about moving out of the bakery soon due to space, and she didn’t like the idea of living alone either…and Alya was already sharing an apartment Nino…

“Maybe,” Marinette said, a hint of humor in her voice. “But we’d be together all the time, and I can’t exactly picture myself cooking dinner wearing a skin-tight suit. Even if it would protect me from burns.”

Chat supplied a small snort of laughter at her statement. “I guess that’s a bonus. Would living together be so weird, though?”

Marinette opened her mouth to answer with a “yes, of course!”, but paused as she couldn’t exactly find an explanation why it would be so odd for them to live together under those circumstances. Sure, it’d feel a bit off to walk around an apartment with her suit on, but by now Marinette was used to wearing polka-dots for long hours. She felt more natural in her transformation than she ever had five years prior when she was fourteen, freshly new to the world of superheroes and saving the city, and for a brief second the thought that maybe Chat’s idea wasn’t such a stupid one passed her mind.

It would be a hell of a lot more convenient for the both of them. They wouldn’t have to worry about when the other would show up during akuma attacks, or struggle going through a battle alone while one of them was on their way.

(Or, on the rare occurrence that a certain Ladybug slept in late during a rather difficult akuma attack, Chat Noir wouldn’t have to suffer through another hour of holding a violet butterfly within his paws and panicking over what he should do with it.)

A small grin twitched at the corner of Marinette’s mouth before a second thought passed her mind, causing the hint of a smile to fall.

She knew Chat Noir was dying to get out of his house. Nineteen years old and still suffocating under the watchful eye of his parents (parent?), Chat often expressed his sorrows about his home life with a forlorn sigh. Though he never delved too deeply into personal details, Marinette could tell just by the carefully worded sentences that he was having a difficult time staying happy in the house he’d lived in since he was a baby.

And, although she couldn’t relate, Marinette did feel for her friend. There were often times where she had considered begging Tikki to let them reveal their identities to each other just so she could take Chat Noir to the bakery and gift him a place to live that he looked forward to coming home to.

(Too many nights had she found Chat patrolling the city when there hadn’t been a scheduled patrol, after all.)

And now the words were on the tip of her tongue; the confirmation she knew her partner was secretly hoping for notwithstanding the fact that he was writing it off as a joke.

A joke that tugged at his lips in a sort of dejected smile that did not—would not—reach his eyes.

“I wonder how that would work,” Marinette whispered, eyes falling to the city streets below, where cars trailed lazily down the two-way street in a pale river of yellow lights. “Maybe we could make it work.”

One of Chat’s velvet ears twitched against his shaggy blond hair, and his eyes met hers for a fleeting moment. Even in the second of shared eye contact Marinette could see the tiny spark of hope that glowed within them, and she couldn’t stop the smile that began to spread across her face.

Maybe they could move in together. Sure, she’d have to talk to Tikki about it first, and they’d have to find an inconspicuous apartment in the middle of the city together, and it would wouldn’t be easy…

But…

But…no. That was just silly.

A silly, silly idea. It wouldn’t work out. How would they keep their identities secret? How would they be able to live life as normal civilians and go about their daily duties—work, university, grocery shopping—without revealing themselves?

You’ll never know until you try, a little voice peeped in the back of Marinette’s mind. What could be so bad about it?

What could be so bad? Well, they could accidentally come home destransformed, or sleepwalk in their pajamas, or both walk up to the front door at the same time without their suits on, or, or-

Or…what?

All of those situations could easily be avoided. They could set rules. Marinette could make masks so they wouldn’t have to be transformed all of the time, or they could turn out the lights every now and then. Or maybe they could set certain days where they would stay transformed so they could hang out.

Huh…the whole idea was beginning to seem a lot simpler than it had been three minutes ago.

Yeah, Marinette replied to the earlier thought, what could be so bad?

She knew of plenty of things that could be bad, as her anxiety had ways of creating the most outlandish situations. For now, however, she ignored them.

Looking over to Chat Noir, Marinette smiled, giving his back (which was slumped over in a sad sort of way) a gentle pat. He responded by sitting up straight, a question on his lips and hope in his gaze, ears perked up in interest. They stared at each other for a breath or two before Marinette exploded into a fit of laughter, her stomach clenching with the force of of her chortle.

Chat flinched at first, obviously surprised by her sudden outburst, but a second later he joined her in the ocean of giggles that had flooded between them. His smile was so wide that Marinette could see the white glint of his teeth and lovely crinkles around his eyes, as well as the shake of his shoulders and a single tear—whether it be from laughter or relief—that slid down his cheek.

And that was how Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Ladybug, nineteen-year-old baker’s daughter found herself transformed and heaving box after box into a studio apartment smack dab in the middle of Paris a month later with a black cat trailing just a step behind her, placing a few of his own boxes on the wide, empty wooden floor.

It had been a crazy, crazy idea.

But sometimes, Marinette knew, the craziest of ideas were the best of all.

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Today on ‘I’m Gonna Cry over Fanart’

2

She walked up to Nico, who was standing to one side in the shadows, as usual. She grabbed his hand and pulled him gently into the firelight. “We had one home,” she said. “Now we have two.” She gave Nico a big hug and the crowd roared with approval. For once, Nico didn’t feel like pulling away. He buried his face in Reyna’s shoulder and blinked the tears out of his eyes.

You’re In Love With Him But He Likes Your Best Friend: Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist linked in bio


“Out!”

It’s the first thing Y/n wakes up to, Savannah’s outraged voice echoing along the walls of Y/n’s bedroom.

Y/n groans, squinting her eyes open at the sudden movement of her bed shaking wildly.

Savannah’s pulling the stranger out of Y/n’s bed, her merciless hands continuously pushing him out the bedroom door. He’s half awake, his slumberous daze making him scramble as he attempts to throw his clothes back on.

“Fuckin’ Jesus” the unknown man grumbles, his eyes still half closed from the immense amount of alcohol he consumed the previous night.

Savannah remains relentless, despite his attempt to get fully dressed. He even falls at one point, when he hops on one foot to get his leg through his jeans, but she doesn’t stop for a second.

You, get out of here!” she demands, her hand giving him one last shove out the door before she slams it shut.

Y/n groans again, her sensitivity to anything other than complete darkness and silence making her throw the duvets over her head and bury her face in her pillow. She’s well aware that she has to embrace the very few seconds she has of total peace and quiet before Savannah begins to lecture her for the irresponsibility she just walked into.

She’s only able to reunite with darkness for a split second before Savannah pulls the covers completely off of her, bringing her back into the horrifying sunlight.

Y/n falls off the bed, letting out a groan as her still slightly intoxicated body makes contact with the wooden floor. Her hungover state is making it nearly impossible to figure out the chaos unraveling in the room; all she can really understand is the pounding in her head and the burning in her eyes every time she exposes them from their lids.

She rolls over onto her back, huffing as her fingers dig into her eyelids. She coughs, her abrupt movements making her stomach flip with every turn she makes. She’s given no time to recover before Savannah rips her arms away from her face, gripping onto her wrists as she pulls Y/n off of the floor.

“What the fuck is going on here, Y/n?!” Savannah yells, eyes glaring at Y/n’s very, very hungover stance.

Y/n nearly trips over her own two feet as she attempts to balance herself after Savannah harshly pulled her up from her collapsed figure. If she had the capability to answer back, she would have, but she’s still fucked up from last night and can barely stomach the sunlight seeping in from the curtains.

“Is this what you’ve been up to?!” Savannah spits, angry laughter tying into her words, “Is this the kind of shit you’ve been doing while cutting everyone off?! Sleeping with random guys?!”

The last thing Savannah expected to see was Y/n in bed with a half-naked man and empty bottles of alcohol scattered across her bedroom floor. It was extremely rare for Y/n to carelessly consume alcohol and have consistent one night stands. Savannah’s witnessed her go through these phases only a handful of times throughout their friendship, all of which stemmed from Y/n’s toxic intolerance of being alone.

She should have seen this coming, though. After finding out she’s been in a relationship with someone Y/n was in love with, the first thing she should have done was check up on her. But there was so much fear holding her back, so much guilt preventing her from confronting her about it.

She wouldn’t know exactly what to say, or how to say it, without making it sound like she was the shittiest friend in the world. She had a feeling Y/n had feelings for Harry, considering she had mentioned him a plethora of times once she met him.

And Savannah still took it upon herself to date Harry, for her own selfish reasons. She never thought that it was the potential reason Y/n was so distant. That thought was the last one in the back of her head, completely throwing her off guard when she found out.

She’s tried to reach out to her multiple times, only to be deliberately ignored and shut down. After a while, she figured all Y/n wanted was space, so she stopped trying for a couple days.

But nothing stopped Harry. He’d spend hours knocking on her front door, on his knees, begging for her to speak to him. He’d call her when he wasn’t near her, because he had driven himself crazy knowing he never told Y/n what he needed to tell her so urgently.

Y/n knew—she knew just how much effort he was putting into seeing her again. She heard him, every day, through her front door, but she never knew what to do. The constant fear that Harry didn’t feel the same way back was all the convincing she needed to never speak to him again.

There’s only so much her heart could break, and she didn’t know how many more times it could before she finally snapped.

Y/n grips her head as she squints her eyes shut, hissing at the throbbing in her head when Savannah’s voice booms throughout the room. The overwhelming migraine taking over Y/n’s head practically forces her to sit on the edge of her bed, the palm of her hands still digging into her eyes.

“Not cutting anyone off,” Y/n mumbles, grumbling when she opens her eyes properly to look at Savannah, “I’m just adjusting.”

It isn’t a lie. Her intention wasn’t to ignore them, not at all. But as time went on, the more her emotions started becoming fragile; one wrong sight would have made her break.

And as stupid as it sounds, having sex was the only time she felt wanted after Harry and Savannah started dating. Even if it was in a drunken state, even if it was just purely for physical pleasure, the hours spent with random men were the only moments she felt purpose.

It was also her biggest distraction. Having one night stands was her emotional outlet, her way of letting out all of her emotions without actually doing so. It sure as hell was better than being alone—anything was.

Savannah sighs, shaking her head softly as she kneels eye level to her. She’d never seen her like this before, so lost and broken. She would have lectured her further if she wanted to because she had every right to smack some sense into her. But after all this time, after all the pain she could only imagine Y/n going through, could she really do that to her? Could she really blame her for doing this to herself?

“Y/n,” she rubs her legs, “I have been the shittiest, most horrible friend to you. I was so selfish and so inconsiderate, and I don’t blame you for not speaking to me these past couple days. But, Y/n, this—” her hands gesture around the horrendous state of her bedroom, “this isn’t adjusting. Having drunk sex isn’t going to rid your feelings for Harry. You’re suppressing your emotions, you’re running away. That’s what you’re doing.”

Y/n’s lips begin to quiver as her eyes well with tears; the first time she’s truly cried since the night she saw Harry at Lexi’s. Savannah feels somewhat relieved when she sees the tears falling from Y/n’s eyes. It isn’t a familiar sight to see, but it shows her that she’s actually accepting what she’s been hiding all along.

“You have to talk to me. I don’t care if you yell at me, Y/n. I don’t care what you do to me, but you have to talk to me. You have to show me something. I can’t be hearing about your feelings from Harry, that’s not fair for anyone.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Y/n whispers, her words breaking beneath cries she so desperately wishes she could stop.

But there’s no going back now. The alcohol is still running in her system and she’s reacting instinctively. There is nothing holding her back, not now.

“How was I supposed to tell him that I was in love with him when I knew he didn’t feel the same way? And how was I supposed to tell you anything about him when I knew this would end up happening anyways?! And what was I supposed to say to the both of you when you both decided to take it upon yourselves to flirt in front of me?!

By now, Y/n’s blood is starting to boil. The words coming out of her mouth are laced with venom, her sudden shift in mood making Savannah swallow thickly. But everything in her is operating a million miles an hour, her words coming out faster than her brain can register. She doesn’t even remember standing up from the bed while she paces around her bedroom, empty bottles rolling around the wooden floor.

“Because no matter what I would have done, it would have ended the same! The way it always does, Savannah! The way it always ends with you getting what I want, even if I want it more—“

“Y/n—"

“Even if I need it! You still get it!”

The harshness in her voice is replaced by violent cries, her words drowned in uncontrollable sobs.

The pain is all over. Everything she’s attempted to numb is now all hitting her at once. All the loneliness, all the anger, all the hurt she’s been burying is now reaching the surface. She can barely breathe, all of the emotions suffocating her, squeezing against her throat.

Savannah is quick to embrace her shaken body, shushing her as her hands rub up and down her back.

A part of her always knew she was the reason Y/n’s love life was barely existent. Although Y/n never admitted it, she drops hints at it every so often. She did notice how all of Y/n’s high school crushes ended up liking her instead, and did notice how whenever Y/n tried to date, she would barely mention them to her. It was as if she was hiding them from her, completely intimidated that Savannah would take away her only chance at a relationship.

And Savannah can’t shake the horrible feeling she has when Y/n admits all of it to her.

Y/n buries her face in her shoulder, her tears soaking through her t-shirt. She wishes she could hold a grudge against Savannah, but she doesn’t have the heart to blame her for anything that’s happened. Everything is because of Y/n, everything happening is because of her fear of emotions and every bit of her has no one else to blame.

“I need him.” Y/n sobs into her shoulder, her hands tugging at the ends of her shirt for some sort of release.

“I need him so much. And I hate it—I hate that I do so m—much.”

“Oh, Y/n.” Savannah kisses her temple, holding her higher against her.

She knows how much Y/n needs him, and knows now more than ever. She was her happiest when she first met him, she was almost an entirely different person. But now, after everything that’s happened, Savannah has never seen her more of a wreck than she is in this moment.

“Let’s sit you down, you need to breathe.”

Y/n whimpers as she’s placed back on the bed, Savannah reminding her to breathe every couple of seconds. She looks at Y/n with sadness in her eyes, comforting her whenever she needs it most.  

“He needs you, too, you know.” Savannah sighs, shaking her head as she takes Y/n’s fidgeting hands into hers.

“I never noticed it until you distanced yourself from us. He didn’t open up to me the way he should have, never talked to me the way he had with you. When I asked him about it—asked him why he wasn’t communicating with me properly, he always mentioned you.”

Y/n flutters her eyes shut, pursing her lips with the slight possibility that Harry may actually feel the same way towards her. There was always a part of her that fully believed the only reason he’s tried so hard to reach her was because he felt guilty for hurting her so much.

But knowing that there’s a chance in Harry reciprocating feelings gives Y/n an overwhelming sensation she’s ever experienced before. It’s the first time in a while there’s a particular type of warmth in her chest, and she swears she begins to tear up from the bit of happiness she’s been missing.

“He would tell me that you were the only one he truly felt comfortable around. Even confessed you were the only one he’d ever be able to talk to, even if we were in a relationship. He was going absolutely mental.”

Savannah sweeps the pad of her thumb under Y/n’s eye, catching the few extra tears that are overflowing. She smiles weakly at her in reassurance, raking her knotted hair between her fingers.

“No matter how much he claimed to like me, he loved you. He’ll always love you. And even when he was completely oblivious, I know now that, deep down, he was always yours. He was never really mine, no matter how much we all thought differently.”

Y/n nods slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips when she hears Savannah’s words. It’s the first sense of hope she’s felt in a while, and it almost completely rids the pain. Almost.

“I’m sorry for ruining your relationship, though. I kind of feel like this is all my fault.”

Savannah laughs softly, finding it almost completely unbelievable that Y/n always finds a way to apologize, even when things aren’t her fault.

“Are you serious, Y/n? Nobody, including me, can love that man half as much as you do. I ruined your relationship. You barely had anything to ruin.”

She runs her hands through Y/n’s hair one last time before patting her shoulder, a smirk growing on her face as she stands up from her kneeling position.

“Now, up you go. I believe you have to talk to someone who’s been dying to see you.”


It’s when Y/n is about to walk out of her door, freshly showered with a new change of clothes, ready to face Harry when she realizes she never said it.

She never fully told Harry she loves him, not when he was conscious, at least. She had felt it for so long, it has taken over her for so long, yet she never told him how she felt. It almost makes her wonder if it’s the reason why he’s been trying so hard for her.

He needs to hear her say it.

“It’s not hard.” She mumbles to herself as she unlocks her front door.

“Not hard, I just have to fucking sa—”

“Y/n!” Harry breathes out, springing from his position on the ground up to his feet.

He twitches when he instinctively brings his hand up to reach for her, but he holds himself back. He isn’t quite sure how far he’ll allow her to go, but if it were up to him, every part of her would be against him. Every single part.

She sucks in a breath, not expecting to see him waiting on her doorstep, and certainly not expecting him to seem so relieved to see her.

“H—Harry,” she whispers hesitantly, “what are you—“

“I’m sorry!” He stutters, interrupting her before she has a chance to finish asking her question.

“I know how inappropriate it is of me to just sit on your doorstep so unexpectedly but I knew Savannah was coming and I thought that maybe this would be the only time I’d get to see you and I was going to come in but some guy came running out of here and I didn’t want to get in between your time with Savannah so I just figured I’d wait until you came back out but I wasn’t sure if you ever would so I just figured I'd—“

He stops rambling when he feels Y/n’s hand on his cheek, her eyes looking at him with so much tenderness he swears his heart melts.

“Catch your breath, Harry.” She mumbles, rubbing her thumb along his cheek, “Just take a breath.”

He inhales sharply as he closes his eyes, turning his head so that her hand is against his lips. He kisses her palm softly before she moves it to play with his unbrushed hair.

His eyes flutter shut at her touch, his body almost completely melting into her. He feels his weakest now more than ever, and he’s never been more relieved to be this close to her again.

“Who was he, Y/n?” he whispers.

“The guy, who ran out of here, who was he?“

As much of a coward as it makes him, the thought of her in bed with someone else physically and mentally pains him more so than he’s ever expected. His head swims with thoughts of her naked, trembling, crying as she devotes her love to some other man, and the more he thinks about it, the more sick his stomach feels.

“Have I been trying for nothing? Have I been wasting my time?”

How could you ever doubt my love for you? is the first thought that comes to her. How could you ever question how much I love you?

Instead of saying the words right at the tip of her tongue, her eyes crease inward, slightly shaking her head as she scrapes her fingertips delicately against his scalp.

“I don’t know, Harry.” she whispers honestly, “I don’t know who he is.”

He nods softly, but nothing in her answer reassures him. He knows there is no other explanation for a guy to run out of her house at nine in the morning without a shirt on.

“May I come in? Wanna talk.” He asks tentatively.

“Of course you can.”

Silence falls between them as they both claim spots on opposite sides of the room. 

There’s a tension in the room they both can’t seem to shake, an unaddressed barrier between them making it nearly impossible to find an appropriate way to start a conversation.

Harry’s the first one to break the silence, however, after a few minutes past of each of them refusing to make any eye contact with each other. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

The question caught Y/n’s attention quickly, her head that was once resting in the palm of her hand now up on its own, a small “hm?” parting past her lips.

She’s acting dumb even though she knows exactly what he’s talking about. She just isn’t prepared to answer him, not in the way he wants her to.

“That you’re in love with me. Were you ever going to tell me?”

She shrugs, her teeth biting her bottom lip as she tears her gaze away from his. She isn’t used to confrontation, especially when it involves her emotions. It’s one of her weaknesses, but there’s absolutely no way around this one. Even if there was, she wouldn’t have the audacity to take it. He deserves to know—everything this time.

“I told you before.”

Harry’s jaw clenches, eyes narrowing as he looks at her from across the room. No, he may have been oblivious about her feelings in the beginning, but he sure as hell would never have forgotten it if she told him how she felt.

“Bullshit!” He scoffs. “You didn’t tell me shit! We wouldn’t be here right now if you had told me!”

She sighs, her cheek laying right back down in the palm of her hand, almost as if shying away from him.

“Well, it’s just—you were sleeping.”

Harry stands from his place on the couch, face scrunching in aggravation as his hands rub up and down his face.

“You’re kidding me, right? You have to be fucking kidding me right now!”

His fingers harshly grip the roots of his hair before stomping is way towards her. If he doesn’t get any answers out of her, he swears he’ll lose his goddamn mind.

His hands grip the sides of her face, squeezing her jaw between his hands as he looks at her bewildered.

“I need answers, Y/n. I don’t think you understand how many fucking answers I need right now.”

He speaks through clenched teeth and a tightened jaw, frustration boiling in his blood as she gives him the outright most ambiguous and outrageous answers he’s ever heard in his life.

Y/n places her hands on top of his, her fingernails digging gently into his skin. Despite the harshness of his stare, this is the first time she’s seen him in weeks, and she still finds him to be the most beautiful sight she’s ever seen.

“It was the night after I drove you back from Lexi’s, when you and Savannah were kind of going through that rough patch.”

He falls to his knees in between her legs, an almost unnoticeable smile tugging at his lips from the memories of that night. Because although Savannah had left him by himself, he had a night with Y/n that changed him forever.

"You fell asleep on me, after you told me you were still going to fight for her. That was probably one of the worst things you could have said to me, but you didn’t know, and I was angry at myself for not telling you sooner. I didn’t know how else to tell you unless you were—you were sleeping.”

His hand reaches up to her lips, his thumb tracing along the outlines of her mouth once she’s done speaking. No matter how much she confuses him, and no matter how fucking angry she makes him, he wouldn’t want to be staring at anybody else right now.

“I loved you then, too” he whispers, “I didn’t know it. I didn’t know anything until you left me. I knew you meant everything to me, I knew you were the only one I trusted so deeply. But the second I lost you, I felt empty.”

He presses his forehead against her collar bones, her heart beating quickly against his neck. She sighs, her fingers intertwining with his against her lap as her hips slide more towards the edge, her knees supporting the sides of his chest.

“Didn’t matter that I had Savannah. She was lovely, don’t get me wrong, but she wasn’t you. I tried so hard to make myself believe I was just missing you as a friend, but there was nothing that convinced me.”

His tearful eyes looked into hers, both chuckling slightly at their current state. They’re both crying, both their hearts racing in their chests. If someone were to tell them now that there’s a feeling even remotely close to how beautiful they feel now, together, they wouldn’t have believed it for a second.

Y/n wipes away the loose tears on his cheeks while she sniffles, giggling softly at how stupid they probably look.

“I’ve always loved you, Harry,” she whispers, “there’ll never be a time that I stop. No matter how hard I try, my love for you is stronger.”

It’s when the words fall from her lips that Harry realizes all he needed was for her to hear her say it. Her voice is so sweet as she says it, too, and her eyes leave no trace out doubt when she looks into him.

He tries to hold back the irresistible urge to kiss her, but it’s completely impossible. His lips press feverishly against hers, both of them releasing moans at just how right it feels to be kissing one another. Their kiss isn’t the slightest bit romantic. It’s harsh, it’s desperate, it’s messy but it’s just what they need.

Harry crawls on top of her, his hands on every part of her they can touch. He groans when he feels her nails scratch down his back, leaving her giggling underneath him.

“Mine.” He growls, his thumb putting pressure right underneath her chin.

He admires her face, the glorious look of her swollen lips, wet eyes, and pink cheeks. It’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. A soft whimper leaves her lips, craving nothing more than to feel his lips against hers again.

“These lips are mine. All of you—all of you is mine. No other fucking wanker gets you the way I do.”

She smirks, her eyes half-lidded.

“‘m not allowed to sleep with random guys but you’re allowed to fuck my best friend?”

He presses his lips against her again, his hands brushing loose strands of hair away from her face as he does so.

“Never fucked her,” He mumbles against her lips, “couldn’t get you off my mind.”

Y/n rolls over so that she’s on top of Harry, her legs on either side of his waist as her hands roam his chest through his t-shirt. He looks priceless like this, weak and breathless underneath her as her hands grip the sides of his face.

“The prettiest man I’ve ever seen.”

He blushes, his bottom lip in between his teeth as he sends her the biggest grin she’s ever seen on him. His eyes are full of love, too, and Y/n swears every breath she had the chance to take has been knocked right out of her.

“Nobody makes me feel the way you do, Y/n. Nobody.

Double Team

Title: Double Team

Summary: Sam and Dean get rough when they double team you in the shower. Inspired by this imagine (x).

Author:  Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Characters:  Sam Winchester x female reader x Dean Winchester (no Wincest)

Word Count:  1883

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

Author’s Notes:  Thank you @mamapeterson for the advice and being my always awesome beta. I wrote this because my brain needed a break from the plot driven piece I’m working on, so I hope you guys enjoy some gratuitous smut. Let’s just put it out there that this is going to be one seriously cold shower by they time they’re done, I know that. Suspend your disbelief and pretend it’s a never ending hot shower. :-)

Keep reading

And you feel safe with me. You lean your head on my shoulder and press the tear-hot skin of your cheek into the itchy wool of my sweatshirt—masculinity swallowed and emotions dripping from your parted lips. I’m a midnight text of twenty screenshots and a 7 a.m. jab between the ribs because “How do I get her to notice me?”. But all I know is you don’t even realize who’s already noticed you. Because I’ll drop Lincoln to leave your favorite coffee pooling steam on your desk, and shower past midnight after sacrificing a night’s worth to your betterment. And maybe I’m just not good enough and maybe I just read things wrong. So I guess I’ll text you after every drink like you asked, and will refrain from asking why you didn’t just ask me to drink with you.
Even if it hurts.
—  text me if you care about me.
2

She was achy, her eyes were killing her and the constant thrum in her head was just a friendly reminder that she had cried herself to sleep last night, and was now paying the consequences.

She was sure she didn’t look that great either. Her normal put together look was just not gonna happen today, she was too damn tired. Running a hand through her messy ponytail, she sighed, buttoning the blouse she had on, holding her hands to her heart. How did she get here?

She had never thought he would hurt her, she trusted him. He knew how important that trust was to her, so how could he do this?

The “he” in question was none other than her boyfriend of six months, Jughead jones.

Leaning against her locker, gently resting her head on the cool metal grates she closed her eyes. She was early and she allowed herself a minute to enjoy the quiet of the empty halls. She had to wake up practically an hour early to avoid Jughead, he always walked her to school and she couldn’t even look at him right now.

Thinking of the beanie wearing boy, her eyes welled with unshed tears, she loved him. She was so stupid. She should have learned, it was nearly impossible to love her. Archie had made that clear, and now the picture in her phone of Jughead and Sabrina spellman further cemented that fact.

She had been having an amazing day, cherrleading with Ronnie, manicures with Kevin. She settled into her bed content and happy last night.

That was until she received a picture message from Cheryl blossom with the words

“I know we aren’t besties, but I wanted you to see it from me first. Sorry girl.”

Attached to it was a picture of Jughead kissing the short haired blonde in a booth at pops, it was taken from a distance so it was a bit blurry, the beanie was visible and the curvy blonde was recognizable from any distance.

Obviously he didn’t care about her at all,he didn’t even try to hide. It all happened right there at pops, she was humiliated, heart broken and just sad.

Suddenly students started filtering in and she lifted her head from the locker. Immediately she noticed the looks, people were staring at her whispering. Holding her head high, she clutched her books to her chest. They wouldn’t win, not with her.

Suddenly the front doors slammed open and jughead stood feet away from her, he looked almost worse than she did, the blood shot eyes, dirty flannel and missing beanie.

Woah. She had only seen him without a beanie a few times and that was never in front of other people. She wasn’t going to stand here and admire his mess of black waves though, she had to go. Get out of this hallway. Turning on her heel, she took off, shoulders slumped and tears steaming. She heard his heavy, quick footsteps behind her.

“Betty, bets, please. Talk to me, you wouldn’t answer any of my messages last night and when I came over your dad said you wouldn’t see me, I have to explain, please let me explain.” He was pleading. She could hear it in his voice. Jumping to stand in front of her he reached for her face “bets” she flinched away. All she could see was that damn picture.

“Just…just leave me alone.” She whispered

“Betty.” He choked out.

Suddenly she was ushered into a classroom and was being embraced by the gorgeous raven haired girl she was lucky enough to call her best friend.

“It’s not what you think B, I was there I saw it all. That skank pretty much jumped him. I know it looks horrible, but you have to believe him. He loves you.”

Betty couldn’t comprehend all this. It was too much

“ I have to go, class is starting. Thank you Ronnie.” She walked out the door.

Maybe she was right, maybe it was all a misunderstanding. But could she let her heart be that vulnerable? She’d allowed her heart to be destroyed by Archie, she couldn’t let that happen again.

Walking into her chemistry class, she took a deep breathe, she forgot. She sat next to Jughead in this class. The room went quiet as she took her seat. Everyone was waiting for her to explode. Fortunately for her, her family had taught her to only explode on the inside.

As soon as professor flute started speaking, Jughead turned to her.

“ I am so sorry baby.” She straightened a bit, he only ever called her baby when he was scared.

“I didn’t even realize it was happening. One second she’s asking for my ketchup and the next she’s sitting there, talking to me, touching me. Than before I knew it she attacked me. I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have let her get that close, I don’t think. I’m the biggest asshole in the world. But I promise you, I did not kiss her. I would never. I.. betty .. please you have to know how much I love you.”

She looked into his eyes finally, her heart ached when she noticed the tears in her eyes.

“She’s beautiful juggie.” She whispered

His eyes widened and he shook his head, placing his hand under her chin

“Betty.. don’t you get it? You’re everything.”

Her eyes closed and she let the tears hit his palm.

“I love you Jughead. I can’t.. I can’t let you break my heart.. I don’t..”

“No.” he said drawing the professors eyes towards his. Even the old man seemed to realize this couldn’t wait “No Betty. That’s not me, I will never break your heart. Not on purpose. You know me, I would rather die than hurt you. You’re so beautiful and good and kind I… God please don’t leave me. ”

She closed her eyes when she felt his tears hit her arms, that he was gripping.

“I believe you ” she finally breathed out, grabbing his hand.

Almost all of the tension he was holding in was instantly released. “Thank you, thankyou so much.”

“I’m gonna kill Sabrina, you know that right?” She said her face hard as stone.

Jughead nodded

“If it makes you feel any better, I pretty much lost it on her, called her a few choice names and then very gently shoved her out of the booth.”

Betty laughed, leaning into her boyfriend.

“That’s nothing compared to when I see her.”

He snorted
“I know, I expect nothing less.”

Looking into his eyes, she saw the love shining through them, it made her heart flutter

“I love you Jughead.”

He dropped his lips to hers, with the brightest smile she had ever seen he whispered

“Not nearly as much as I love you Betty Cooper.”

As soon as there lips touched each other’s the class erupted into simultaneous
“Awwwwws”

And professor flute cleared his throat effectively ruining the moment.

“Now if we can continue.” He raised a pointed brow towards the couple.

Swinging his arm over Betty, Jughead smiled at the teacher

“After you.”

Betty giggled.

bts and boyfriend material things

seokjin: his huge heart and broad shoulders to catch your tears, your fears, and all the anxieties in your heart. his warm meals and cheesy pick up lines. his genuine and soft laughter that rings your soul.

yoongi: his comfortable silences and understanding gazes. his drive and productivity that would always spur you on in your own goals. his loud understanding and quiet fire. his
personality, as cool and refreshing as the ocean.

hoseok: he is intent on making you smile and would do everything and anything to get you to do it. he is sensitive and kind regarding your needs and feelings. his warm heart comforts you.

namjoon: his complex mind and deep thoughts always challenge your growth and help you learn more about him and also about yourself. his keen aesthetic eye and impressive clothes sense. he has a perfect music playlist for every occasion.

jimin: he is both sensitive and strong. his laughter gives you butterflies. he is always sensitive and keenly observant, he would remember even the smallest of details and touch your heart.

taehyung: his gaze is both tender and passionate at the same time. depending on the occasion he proves himself both serious and joking, both relaxed and aggressive. he is a best friend before he is anything else.

jungkook: his fiery spirit would be intent on not letting you down, ever. he cares in more ways than he lets known. he is an intense empath, and a faithful listener. your pain is his pain, your joys are his joys.

Gasoline [unfinished WIP, KHR]

Going through my folders and posting what isn’t going to be finished or is dropped, so I can get it out for good and focus on what I do want to write.

Warnings for: born-a-female-Tsuna, mentions of attempted marital rape, forced marriages, drug-induced death and general mafia behavior.

Summary: Prior to marrying Iemitsu, Nana was a very accomplished black widow. Tsuna shouldn’t have to follow in her footsteps like this, but Vongola has left her no choice in the matter. So she will have the mafia fear her as she once feared them, and she will survive.

———–

Prior to marrying Iemitsu, Nana Sawada went under a different name, and was a very accomplished black widow. She slipped poison in drinks and drugs where nobody would think to look, put needle marks in skin and occasionally knives in the backs of men who treated her like an object rather than a person.

Tsuna never wanted to learn such lessons. She wanted her marriage, when it finally did happen, to be the once-in-a-lifetime event her mother gushed about having with Iemitsu. After the mafia came and ruined her life, she still clung to feeble hopes that maybe she could still get that.

But it isn’t to be.

Timoteo intends to make a statement, one way or another. Unfortunately, even if a woman should rule as Decima, she must still have a husband. And Xanxus isn’t about to touch the woman that froze him once upon a time. So he’s reached out beyond Vongola to allied families, and they’ve sent their best to him. And now he’s made a choice, and once again he’s forcing it on her.

Tsuna can lie to everyone but herself; she’s afraid. Terrified, in fact. The thought of a stranger touching her makes her want to vomit. The thought of this man breathing in her general vicinity makes her want to vomit, actually. She shakes and quivers and hides beneath her bedcovers, and for once, Reborn says nothing. He doesn’t scold her. He slides a mug of hot chocolate topped with enough whipped cream to give her diabetes her way, wordlessly tipping his hat down as he leaves the room. It doesn’t take someone of Reborn’s calibre to know the man doesn’t like this any more than she does. But he’s her tutor, not her father (no matter how much she wishes otherwise some days), and so he can only stand back and watch this trainwreck.

Maybe that’s why she confides in her mother. Why when everyone is gone, Tsuna goes downstairs, starts to speak, and then bursts into tears. Everything comes rushing out, every lie about the mafia she’s ever told, and she begs her mother’s forgiveness for the lies, and Nana gives it readily, wrapping arms around her and letting her cry into a warm shoulder. The tears eventually leave, and Nana sits her down, gets her a glass of cold water, and begins to tell her a story.

It is not a nice story.

But it teaches Tsuna what she needs to know to survive. Because Nana was once a prominent black widow that nobody could ever track down. Her husbands died of natural causes - all the autopsy reports say so - and while people had their suspicions, there was no evidence for them to pin her with. And after a time, she’d learned how to disguise herself, going from one husband to the next.

Now she cups Tsuna’s small hands in her own, and drops the mask she uses around everyone. “Tsunako, do you want to learn how?”

Tsuna can’t say yes fast enough.

———–

Her first husband dies to poison.

It’s tradition, her mother insists, when she shows Tsunako had to make a clear, tasteless, odorless toxin that’s practically untraceable once its inside the system. It’s homegrown, and Nana is a perfectionist at teaching it. She has Tsuna make batch after batch after batch until eventually she gets everything perfect. And then she gets a dropper and begins to administer one drop to Tsunako a day.

One drop doesn’t kill her. It makes her feel like shit, but she muscles through it, because a true poison user is protected against whatever they brew. Bianchi is the same way - she can eat whatever she makes and the poison won’t kill her or even make her queasy. Nana is immune to whatever toxins she injects into the veins of others, and eventually Tsuna will be too. They have time - the wedding isn’t due for a while, and nobody is going to force her and her husband together until then.

Tsuna sees Reborn watching them, once, but he vanishes too quickly for her to ask him if he’s going to tell anyone what she’s doing. She doesn’t ask afterward, because there’s a look in his eyes that’s… proud. It makes her feel warm, and when he drills her on her lessons later on, she doesn’t complain, driven by her twin desires to survive what’s coming, and make the man that has become her father in so many ways proud.

Spring passes into summer, and the wedding is held. People flock from all over to see it, and Tsuna is dressed to the nines and sent out at the alter. Her husband is a tall, weedy-looking young man who looks far too smug. She hates him at once, and his oily touch doesn’t remedy that.

The poison is not in his drink, but in her lipstick, and when they kiss (him pressing far too close, too hard, disgusting) she feels a sense of predatory satisfaction. The next morning she wakes up and screams, which brings the bodyguard outside the door running. She plays the part of the horrified wife, discovering her husband’s cold, lifeless body in bed. They rush the body away, and bring her to Reborn to keep her safe while they go question guests and comb through the drinks menu.

Reborn eyes her fingernails, but his eyes flicker upwards when she taps her lip in pretend thought. There’s a ghost of a smile across his face, but it fades once the door opens and Timoteo enters, looking both furious and terrified. He questions her if she feels ill, or if anything felt off at the wedding. She answers no to both, wringing her hands and playing up the ‘Dame-Tsuna’ act to full effect. It works, and the old man leaves.

“You’ve been hanging around Bianchi too much,” Reborn murmurs, not moving his lips, and Tsuna has to bite her own to hold back her return of its not Bianchi I’ve been spending so much time with lately, but you already know that.

————–

The death is passed off as a heart attack a week later when no results come up showing foul play. Tsuna doesn’t even get to play the widow in mourning before Timoteo’s given her another husband, this time in the form of a 40 something lech that’s like every old man out of a hentai. The old man gropes her and laughs too loudly and tries to sneak a hand up her dress to cop a feel, but Tsuna smacks his hand away and smiles the same smile her mother does at home even as her stomach rolls and her anger burns a hole through her heart.

He tries to take her no less than four separate time against various walls, each time growing more and more impatient and annoyed when Tsuna darts away. The poison is in her nails this time, and when he finally grabs her too hard she scratches him ‘on accident’ and then demands he leave her alone, she doesn’t want to be touched. She closes herself off in her room and locks the door. Her new husband pounds on it and snarls demands, but she puts her headphones on and ignores him until eventually he gives up and goes away.

This poison is far more slow-acting, and it doesn’t strike until early the next morning during breakfast. Bianchi and Reborn have taken her out to a nearby cafe for breakfast, citing ‘comfort food in these troubling times and a female shoulder to cry on’. In reality Bianchi wants to know her methods and trade tips, and Reborn pays for a tiny cake and congratulates her on finding sneaky solutions to her problems.

“I thought you’d go running off and tell Timoteo,” she confesses to her tutor. Reborn gives her a look.

“I’ve been around this business long enough to know how these things go, Tsuna. Trust me, I don’t judge you one iota for what you’re doing. But you should probably change your methods here shortly.”

She nods, having already planned to use a needle on whoever the unfortunate third soul is. They finish breakfast and head home, laughing and talking about whatever strikes their fancy, and when they arrive home its to a Timoteo that looks far older than before. “Grandfather? What’s wrong?”

He gives her a pitying look. “There’s… there’s been another death, my dear.”

She drops to her knees in shock, Bianchi by her side instantly, hooking an arm around her shoulders and murmuring comforting words as she ‘helps’ Tsunako up. Reborn’s face is shadowed, but Tsuna can see the sparkle in his eyes from her position. “What happened?” she asks in what she hopes is the right tone of voice.

Later, Reborn toasts her in the privacy of the bedroom, and Bianchi congratulates her on another job well done. This death is passed off as a choking accident, as apparently the man had been shoving as much food in his gullet as possible when the poison had kicked in. Nobody had managed to get to him in time to prevent the ‘choking’, which just made the victory all the easier.

Save or Break

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Matt (OC)

Warnings: Lots of angst, language, mentions of death

Word count: 1482

Summary: Dean thinks the reader left him for someone else but is that the real reason?

A/N: This fic is for my newly introduced “songfic friday”. Song inspiration for this one was “Breakeven” by The Script.

Originally posted by bittercasblogger

“Sometimes the strongest among us are the ones who smile through silent pain, cry behind closed doors, and fight battles nobody knows about.” -Unknown


Dean’s loud voice, thick with anger and despair filled your ears as you threw your clothes haphazardly into your suitcase.

“What do you think you’re doing Y/N? You’re going to bail out on me and Sammy just like that? After everything we have went through you’re going to call it quits? Because of what? Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

Hearing his words brought tears to your eyes. You were seconds away from breaking his heart but you had to do this. You did not have another choice, not after what you had found out a while ago. Your hands were shaking; you stopped what you were doing and took a deep breath. Turning towards your soon to be ex-boyfriend, you looked into his eyes. He stopped with his wild gestures, his chest heaving from all the anger and frustration.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and started to speak, trying to sound as cold as possible. “I can’t do this anymore Dean. I don’t want to. Yes, I quit. I’m leaving you. This was never the life I imagined for myself. I want more, okay? And you can’t give me more Dean. I’m sorry.”

His arms dropped dead to his sides. His mouth fell slightly open and a shocked expression spread across his face as he stared at you, letting your words sink in. “You’re… What? Why? I thought… I mean we talked about this. You never wanted more. What changed?”

You could see in his slumped shoulders and teary eyes how much you had hurt him. ”I have to do this,” you kept telling yourself in your mind.

“I-I don’t know Dean, okay? I simply changed my mind. I want to get married and have kids and I want to come home to something that is not as broken as what we have. Let me go Dean. I’m done. Let me be happy.” 

You continued to pack the last pieces of clothing and zipped your suitcase; you didn’t have the courage to look him in the eyes right now. The guilt you felt when doing so made you question your decision but there was no going back now.

Keep reading

Eye for an Eye

Part 1: Banished

Based on @samijen’s Ender Eye AU

Read on AO3


Ryan’s reign of terror had, at long last, come to an end.

With much resistance, his hands had been bound behind his back and he had been forced to his knees, but there was still a fire in his chest and defiance in his eyes.

Gavin now stood over him, sword outstretched, the tip pressing lightly against his forehead more in a show of dominance than real threat; still, Ryan refused to yield, causing a ruby droplet to gather against the edge of the blade where it met skin, beading and eventually breaking, running down his face and gathering in the corner of his right eye. He didn’t even blink.

To Gavin’s right, Michael stood with one hand on the hilt of his own sword, ready to defend if need be, and to Gavin’s left, Jeremy wore a disappointed expression hidden beneath cold eyes. Far behind them, Geoff and Jack watched on reproachfully.

In front of them, crowds of villagers had eagerly gathered to watch justice be dealt, many of them seeking some kind of personal vengeance for the horrors Ryan had unleashed upon the world.

This part was ceremonial. They’d discussed Ryan’s punishment at length in private; they all knew how this was going to go down. Michael was prepared to carry out the orders, should it come to that, but they all doubted it. Ryan wasn’t one to give up without a fight. They were much better prepared for the alternative.

“Ryan Haywood,” Gavin began, sounding much more in-control than he felt, “For the crime of necromancy, use of illicit magic and manslaughter, you have been found guilty.”

A cheer went up from the audience.

Ryan glared back at him along the length of the blade, his icy blue eyes condemning.

For just a second, Gavin faltered and looked away before he regained composure and went on; “How do you wish to die?”

“I do not.”

Ryan’s response was immediate and unflinching. He continued to glare at Gavin.

This time Gavin glared back, a self-satisfied smile curling into his lips.

“Then you shall be banished to the Nether until you do.”

Ryan’s eyes grew wide at the realisation, “No! You can’t!”

“Light it up,” Gavin commanded Jeremy, who immediately knelt at the base of the obsidian archway a little way behind Ryan, sparking a small fire with flint and steel.

The portal shimmered to life, purple waves of light gently lapping at the obsidian border, softly humming, vibrating, almost beckoning.

Ryan was all too familiar with the sound. It immediately sent waves of panic through him and he thrashed about, trying to free himself of the coarse rope that tied his wrists.

“Please, no, anywhere but there…”

“An eye for an eye, Ryan,” Gavin mocked, “You brought the monsters here, now we send them one back.”

Michael picked him off the ground, the strength of Mogar coursing through his veins; Ryan tried to find his footing, but Michael gave him a sharp shove backwards and he felt the sudden cold embrace of the light of the portal. He remained suspended there for a moment that felt like an eternity, cursing his own mistakes, their treachery, everything that had led to this point, before the world he knew faded to the dim red glow and heat of the Nether. He stumbled backwards, falling on his left shoulder, tearing his shirt and leaving a bloody scrape along the length of his arm from the sharp, rocky netherrack. He sprang to his feet and dove for the portal, but he was too late. Just as he reached it, the light stuttered and went out completely. Momentum carried him forward and he landed hard on the other side of the portal, taking the brunt of the impact on his chin, leaving his face bloody. He struggled to his knees, looking back at the empty obsidian archway forlornly.

They must have destroyed the portal in the Overworld.

He was trapped.

The acrid, sulfurous scent of lava and netherrack flooded his nostrils, burning in his sinuses and bringing tears to his eyes. The sound of the mobs that lurked in the darkness echoed around him. His blood turned to ice. With his hands still bound, he felt acutely vulnerable, and for the first time in a long time, he truly felt afraid.

Part 2

A World of Color

Originally posted by thelongwindedblues

Request: “ This idea came from new-fanfic-order’s Marvel blog, but I think it would be really good! A soulmate fic where your soulmate is the only person you see in color, but since kylo’s clothes are monochrome, only he knows you’re meant for eachother.”

Summary: Soulmate AU: (Y/N), princess of Lysatra, has been cursed from a young age by the infamous Supreme Leader Snoke. In hopes to end the last of the Resistance’s allies he happily awaits the day for his curse to enter the last phase. With all things going according to plan Snoke sends his most trusted knight and apprentice, Kylo Ren to finish the job. Little do either of them know however, that things are going to take an unexpected turn.

A/N: I really seriously love this concept haha, I hope I did it justice. I also remember someone requesting something along the lines of a Sleeping Beauty AU (I unfortunately cleared it cause my requests are closed but it’s meshing into this one) and it seemed so perfect for this. Hope you all like it!


In the dim light of the seemingly grand but bare hall Kylo stood with all his attention focused before him. Despite Starkiller’s destruction, Snoke assured he still had a space in which he could speak to his apprentice. Though rather than a hologram, Kylo was looking directly into the sunken eyes of the humanoid he called master. 

Snoke shifted his boney hand slightly, observing it for a moment before he spoke.

“Do you know why I have called you here today?”

Opting not to nod Kylo simply stared at his master, “Yes.”

Snoke smirked as he turned to face Kylo. Though Kylo was accustomed to his masters appearance, the sight would send chills down anyone else’s spine. 

“As I knew you would. …Today is the day in which we get one step closer to destroying the Jedi, as well as the Resistance.”

Snoke straightened himself in his seat as a more mischevious but subtle smirk settled onto his face.

“Lysatra has long been a sympathizer for the Resistance and a known home to force users and former padawans alike.”

Instantly Kylo stopped the horrid memories from playing in his mind once again. It was as if his subconcious was programmed to replay the fateful evening every time the word was uttered. What was done was done and he was onto a far greater path. Wasn’t he?

“Their beloved princess is not only intelligent, but a rare force user. A balance within herself. Mastering both the light and dark without claiming either as a refuge. Word has already surfaced that they wish to send her to Skywalker, further train her in her abilities. With her Skywalker would double his odds of defeating us. That is where you come in, my wise apprentice.”

Kylo straightened his shoulders, as if in an interview for the first time.

“As you know, in my own ability, I placed a curse of the force upon her through a tainted kyber crystal. Now after years of waiting, she has finally fallen into a deep, unshakeable sleep. That, however, is not good enough. We need to be sure Skywalker gains no more assets whatsoever. She must be rid of.”

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For @illustraice and her amazing Sun/Moon spirit au? THIS WAS SO RUSHED, BY I wanted to give you something in addition to the writing.

Thank you for all your amazing work. (PLEASE DON’T LISTEN TO EINE KLEINE BY RACHIE. it really hurts with this au.)


It’s entirely a lie that the gods whisper amongst themselves. Behind soft tones and intrepid smiles, he knows what they say about her. About him.

But his golden light conceals too much. He can’t see the truth behind the glaring brightness of his own being.

They say that she’s weak without him. That they’re two halves of a broken whole, and that the moon cannot shine without the sun.

They forget that she is the night sky and all it encompasses. They forget that she holds the stars in her small hands, that she grasps the distant galaxies with her glowing night.

He doesn’t get to see her much. But when he does, the old scars across his back and his chest and the ones that sear in his heart all ache.

Vague memories of bloodless war flit through his mind. Her blue eyes are ever closed in his presence. Her dark gown spilling over like ink around her form.

She is perfection. Everything he is not.

She is not his to have. Her silver heart belongs to a human she once met.
—-

She reaches for a man she knows is no longer living. But her moon shines just for him…for Adrien.

It wanes when the remembrance of war hurts her. It waxes red and full when her anger writhes and pulls at the oceans.

She once was human. Once was on earth long enough to meet a boy with golden hair like wheat and eyes the color of sunlight through leaves. A boy who fought in a revolution with ideals as pure as newly born life wavering under the spring sun.

“Wait for me. Wait for me, my Lady. When it is over, we can see each other again.”

But he never came for her. She’d searched long and hard across the streets of Paris, her form slowly shifting as the constellations on her back faded.

Mortals had so often made wishes on her stars, but she lamented that she cannot do the same as her heart leaked open and her tears doused the corpses that littered the battleground.

It’s been centuries, and her heart still aches.

(As do the old scars that gleam like starlight across her ribs and back, the scars the curl around her legs like sea foam.)

So she waits with a smile that cuts across the dark like her crescent moon, watching the world turn while she waits for a soul to be reborn. Her eyes drift into a sleep, dreams dancing across her sight full of wishes she cannot grant.
—-

It is the strangest thing, he thinks, to make wishes on a flower.

The Earth is such a beautiful balance…one who’s beauty brings with it a sharp regret that he can’t quite recall.

There’s peace in this field of sunflowers that rise like curious sentinels for their king. He feels safe in their shade, hidden from the glare of his own sun.

There’s a little lark that sits on his shoulder, head tilted inquisitively at him. He gives it a gentle smile, and turns back to the flower he holds.

(The local flower spirit…a tiny pink robed girl by the name of Rose…has kindly left him to his devices.)

But he holds not a sunflower, but a delicate dandelion in between his warm hands, and he heaves a breath.

“I want to see her.” He whispers.

He watches the seeds drift away on the sudden breeze. They spiral upwards into the sharply blue sky, a color that distinctly reminds him of the one he adores.

His wish is carried away on the breeze. He hopes the wind spirit cannot hear it. But then again, he wonders if he should have wished on the stars instead.

Maybe then she would have heard the sound of his golden heart reaching across the sky for her.

They meet once more during an eclipse.

He thinks it oddly fitting that the darkest time of existence for him is when he can see her.

She thinks it oddly disquieting that the brightest time of existence for her is when they cross paths.

An eclipse. Solar or lunar, she can’t quite tell yet.

But those familiar tendrils of heat reach out for her. Her hands feel cold and there’s an old timeliness pain that lances through her as he calls her name.

Still, she curls into herself, a full moon who’s silvery light wanes in the face of the golden sun.

Her eyes remain closed, but somehow, her frigid fingers reach across the brief expanse, seeking a warmth they do not want.

“What are you afraid of, Night? Why do you curl away from me?” He calls out, slight irritation causing him to flare red and orange for a moment.

She lets the frost under her shadow creep into her tone…lets the elegance of snow and ice under stars color her answer.

“I don’t love you. I don’t want eternity with you. We may remain friends.”

He’s frustrated. And he can’t catch her glance, because still her eyes are closed against him and the tears well up in his own gaze.

“I understand.” He says quietly, and the rest of the eclipse is spent in silence.

But there’s a gentle smile in her goodbye and he just barely catches the tips of her fingers to press a burning kiss to them.

She opens her eyes the smallest bit, oddly gray in the light of the blue stars that color her gown.

And then they part.
—-
She hears the wish he made on her brightest star.

She can’t grant it.
—–

They think the night needs the day to shine. How wrong they are…it is the day that wholly depends on the night.

It is his golden heart that aches for her. It is his balance that is broken when she disappears and he remains.

Her night sky remains, but there’s a wailing loneliness that makes it seem so much dimmer.

His cries echo across the stars, and his tears become rain.

She hides on Earth, and while her heart aches still, she shifts her dark umbrella higher over her shoulders and lets the tears roll cruelly over it.

She cannot grant his wish when she’s working so hard to grant her own.

There’s someone she needs to find.

Relentless | Calum Hood Series Pt.6

                                                 Part S I X 

Request: Being the cousin of Ashton Irwin was exciting, especially when invited to their tour to hang out with his best friends. You found yourself becoming fond of Calum Hood, who finds you annoying from your constant appearance. But what would happen if you stopped giving him that attention?

Word Count: 3k+

A/N: 100 notes is the goal, lovelies! im so happy a bunch of you are enjoying this series. i love writing each part knowing that a lot of you will be satisfied to read it! gives me a ton of confidence in my writing xx

Parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. [DONE]

                                                 I M A G I N E

Helsinki, 23:07 P.M. (post-concert, almost midnight)

“Hold on for a sec.” 

Those words stood still in the silence, making your bones completely freeze and stop you from joining the rest of the boys outside. The yanking of your hem became a distant memory as you looked up at the sweaty, yet stern-faced Calum right in front of you. 

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