Dean’s attention was pulled away from Charlie (who snorted
into her drink) when Castiel grabbed his arm.
“Uh,” Dean said, feeling like he was missing out on some
vital information. Castiel’s wide eyes were a little too bright and his cheeks
were flushed with pink, indicating that he was probably a little bit drunk,
though that still didn’t help clear up the situation.
“Come here!” Castiel dragged Dean by the arm across the
crowded room until they stood in front of a short brunette who Dean thought was
named Meg. Castiel wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist and squeezed him to his
“I told you!” he told Meg triumphantly. “I have a boyfriend!”
Meg looked Dean up and down incredulously. “You’re dating Dean Winchester?”
Starting to catch on, Dean put a possessive arm around
Castiel’s shoulders. “Yeah, he is. Got a problem with that?”
Check out the inspiration behind Harry’s home here! The amazing @graceak made a phenomenal playlist to go along with Harry’s story, and I could not recommend it more. You can find that here!
As always, this miniseries is dedicated to @stylesunchained. I hope Part VI mends everything Part V managed to break, my love! And, once again, thank you all for your continued support. I am over the moon about the response this story has gotten, as I’m unworthy of all of your love. (That doesn’t mean I won’t take it, though!)
Let me know what you think! Happy reading.
“But it’s like…” Harry stops and starts again. “I met with Carly, her replacement, and she’s nice enough. So nice. Lovely girl, really. But every time I talk with her about the plans, I jus…I can’t smile. I can’t get excited about it. ‘m not supposed t’ be talkin’ with Carly about them. She’s not the one who made ‘em. She’s not the one who…well, y’know.”
“If I’m being honest,” Gemma sighs on the other end of the phone, “I would’ve done the same thing, had I been put in that situation.”
“I know,” he mumbles. “I would’ve, too. And I wouldn’t’ve been as nice.”
Please consider: The Les Mis musical, but Grantaire’s verse of Drink with Me is replaced by the first verse of the Matter song from Ruddigore.
(My eyes are fully open to my awful situation; I shall go at once to Roderic Enjolras and make him an oration I shall tell him I’ve recovered my forgotten moral senses
And I don’t care tuppence halfpenny for any consequences
Now, I do not want to perish by the sword or by the dagger,
But a martyr may indulge a little pardonable swagger
And a word or two of compliment my vanity would flatter,
But, I’ve got to die tomorrow, so it really doesn’t matter!)
When Lance was eight years old, his abuelita sat him on her knee and told him; love is a leveler.
At the time, Lance had no idea what she meant. Love was still a rather far-off and foreign concept, but he was enamoured with the general idea behind it, even if it seemed a bit confusing. The phrase stuck with him, but had ultimately been pushed to the back of his mind when he couldn’t figure it out.
Now though, his back arched against the wall and Keith burning caustic kisses into his skin, he thinks he might get it.
He’s trying to look stubborn, frowning so hard that he resembles a frog, but Louis can see his lips twitch, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners. He’s obviously charmed, even though he knows he shouldn’t be, and Louis, well. Louis is very good at charming him.
“Harry,” Louis mimics his sigh, pouting at him. “Why not?”
Harry’s lips break into a full blown grin momentarily, before he’s running his hand down his face, trying to school his expression into something more serious. He’s an open book, Harry is–with every thought etched into the lines of his face, the dimples on his cheeks.
“I don’t want to,” Harry says, and it sounds weak.