A/N: welp, this is almost over. There is another chapter left - and epilogue of sorts - and I’ll do my best to finish it soon, so that I can update next Friday and wrap this up.
Bill’s mind burned, and so did Stanford.
He was aware, dimly, of what was happening around him. Of the boat sailing through the air, flames at their heels, hot wind filling its sails and blowing through his hair. He was aware of arms around him, a shoulder against his cheek, Stanley’s voice, telling him to hold on, we’re almost out, stay with me, don’t you dare, stay with me.
I’ll be the one to take you down with me!
He tried to reply - tried to speak to Stanley, tried to scream against Bill, but could do neither. His jaw wouldn’t move, his eyes wouldn’t open. He could only tremble in the grasp of that unnatural fever, the heat unbearable, eating at him from the inside out. It burned. He burned.
And, beneath his closed eyelids, he saw things he was not supposed to see - disjointed images there one moment and gone the next, like a tape on fast-forward.
Things belonging to other dimensions. Other timelines. Other realities. Bill’s memories, and his own - flashing before his eyes and then gone, photographs thrown in the fire and forgotten, burned away from his memory.
Could you write about a motorbike ride with Sirius? Tysm!
The radio was blaring as you were finishing up your make-up. One swipe of bright red lipstick later and you were done. You sighed contentedly as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You were wearing a tight navy dress. It had a plunging neckline and the hem ended just below your knees. You looked at your watch. It was already ten minutes past seven, which was when your boyfriend said he would be there to pick you up for your date.
You walked out of the bathroom and sat on the couch, picking up the book on the coffee table about Quidditch. You didn’t particularly care about the sport, but Sirius loved it and played it at school so you wanted to learn more about it.
Your reading was interrupted twenty minutes later by a sharp rap on the door. You let Sirius in, putting your hands on your hips and giving him a dirty look.
“Sorry, love. You can’t rush perfection.” He ran his hand through his long hair and winked at you. He wasn’t kidding. Sirius looked great tonight. He was wearing dark jeans and a tight black t-shirt, with his favorite leather coat over it.
“And they say women take forever to get ready! Who knew my boyfriend would spend more time on his hair than I would.”
Sirius laughed and pulled you in for a hug. You rested your head on his leather-clad shoulder.
“(Y/N), you look absolutely ravishing tonight. How on earth did I get lucky enough to be dating you?”
He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted your head up, taking the opportunity to kiss you hello. You kissed him back, pressing your body into his as his hands traveled down your back, resting firmly on your ass.
You stepped back and admonished him. “Cheeky boy!” Noticing red lipstick smeared on his lips, you licked your thumb and wiped it off.
“Only for you, love. Come on, I have a surprise for you.” Sirius took your hand in his, guiding you out the door and waiting patiently as you pulled your wand out to lock up.
You turned to your boyfriend, about to ask what the surprise was, when he winked at you and your vision went black for a moment. You put your hand up to your head, feeling a hard outer shell.
“You got me a helmet?”
He nodded, a mischievous glimmer in his gray eyes. You pulled the helmet off your head to get a better look at it. It was a flat black color with small, silvery flames lining the sides.
“(Y/N). Turn around.”
You obeyed, turning towards the street. You gasped, as you saw a ghastly looking machine. It was black with chrome accents, and it looked absolutely scary.
“Sirius what the hell?” You looked at him incredulously and he had a sheepish grin on his handsome face.
“I bought it. It’s a motorcycle. And our method of transportation for the date tonight.”
The color drained from your face. “I know what it is. And I’m not riding that thing. It’s too dangerous.”
Sirius arched an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, I’m much more dangerous than that bike. And you’ve ridden me. Numerous times. Quite fearlessly, if I do say so myself. The motorcycle should be no problem.”
Oh you were going to make Sirius regret that later. He winked at you and sauntered towards the bike swinging a leg over the side to mount it and resting his hands on the handlebars. Sirius motioned with two fingers for you come over, and you did so, albeit a bit hesitantly.
Standing next to him, you turned his head to capture his lips with yours. You trailed kisses down to his chin and up his sharp jawline, stopping only to whisper in his ear.
“You know babe, normally I’d fight you on this. But tonight, with you in those jeans,” you touched his knee, and lightly dragged your fingers up towards his thigh, “and that jacket, on this motorcycle. I just simply can’t resist.”
You picked up your helmet and slid it on before hopping on the motorcycle behind Sirius, holding him around his waist.
“Let’s do this.”
He started the engine and you gripped tighter.
The motorcycle lurched forward and lifted off the ground.
You screamed at the top of your lungs. “YOU DIDN’T TELL ME THIS WAS A MAGIC MOTORCYCLE!!!”
You felt his deep laugh rumble from how close you were pressing yourself against him, but you couldn’t hear it because of the wind.
Eventually, you felt your pulse slow down and you looked down, watching the city fly by beneath you. The air was warm, and Sirius was warmer. He reached back with one hand, stroking your knee gently before returning it to its original position.
Soon, the motorcycle began to descend and Sirius landed it gracefully outside of the restaurant.
He turned off the engine and stood up, taking your helmet off and stowing it away in a compartment.
You stood up too, even though your legs felt like jelly.
“Well, love, what’d you think?”
“I think you were right. Riding a motorcycle is not nearly as horrifying as riding you.”
Sirius chuckled and snaked his arm around you. “I assume that’s payback for earlier?”
“You assume correctly,” you said with a smirk, “but thanks for the ride.”
A/N:Hah, so this started out as a scenario based on this prompt, and I was taking it pretty seriously sort of, but then I got really tired at the end and I didn’t feel like proof reading so this happened aaanndd I’m gonna sleep now
At the start of the year, you
promised yourself you wouldn’t procrastinate in college.
Hell, at the end of senior year, you promised yourself you
wouldn’t procrastinate in college. But of course, things didn’t exactly go as
planned, and you found yourself sitting in the back of the school library,
furiously typing your essay for English that was due first thing in the
morning, while trying hard not to pass out right on the keyboard.
You moved your eyes to the corner of
the computer and realized it was now just a little past two o’clock in the
morning and you let out a groan. Your roommate was blissfully sleeping back in
your dorm, most likely dreaming about that kid in her English class, and you
wished you could be doing the same.
“Next time, I’m doing my stupid
assignments right when I get them,” you mumbled to yourself, although there was
no true intention behind it. Seriously, who in the world actually did their
assignments right when they received them?
A yawn escaped your lips and you
rubbed your eyes to wake yourself up. It barely worked, but you only had about
a paragraph and a half left and you’d be done.
It was the qualifying game Gryffindor versus Slytherin, it always seemed to come down to the two of us. And Slytherin was playing especially dirty today.
I was a chaser on the Gryffindor team for the 3rd year in a row and we were a pretty badass team, mostly thanks to Oliver Wood and his ridiculous practice and training schedules. In all of his crazy work ethic and insane competitiveness I somehow developed a super large disastrous crush on him (not that I would ever tell him that). But this made putting up with his 11pm and then 6am practice times a little easier.
Headcanon for Kenma being gifted an 18+ game by one of his friends (most likely Kuroo, because Kuroo), and when he looks at the box art he realises one of the characters looks like his crush/partner?
(I’ll go with both Kuroo being the one to give Kenma the game, and the character sharing a resemblance with his crush, because it makes the whole situation all the more awkward. Oho ho ho.)
Kenma knew he couldn’t expect anything good when Kuroo said he got “the best birthday present ever” for him with a smile so wide it put the Cheshire cat to shame. But as he warily pulled the present out of its sloppy wrapping, he had to admit that this exceeded even his worst expectations.
The fact alone that he held an 18+ game in his hands, not only made his cheeks flush a dark red color and his palms slightly sweaty, but he also felt a wave of irritation wash over him. And the situation did not exactly take a turn for the better when Kuroo urged him to look at the cover more closely, and Kenma’s eyes finally found the reason for his friend’s excitement. In that very moment, the sole reason he had been given the game dawned on him: one of the scarcely clad main characters in the picture bore a striking resemblance to his crush. Putting it down in his lap and turning his gaze to the side, he felt as though his face was ablaze with the embarrassment that seemed to fill his whole body, spreading to his every pore. Trying to compose himself, he closed his eyes for a long moment, but the fact that Kuroo kept on chuckling delightedly didn’t exactly help his situation much. When he was finally able to lift his gaze again, he looked him straight in the eye, the lines of his face set into a scowl, before he got up and left the room without uttering a single word, ignoring the cheerful yells of “Have fun~” and “Don’t worry, I’ll leave you two alone for a while” following him until the door of his room fell shut behind him.
It had been hard enough for Kenma to maintain eye contact with his crush anyway, but it now became almost impossible for him to do so. Whenever they talked to him, he gave a start, and he felt his cheeks flare up. Nervousness and guilt crept up on him, as though he had done, or was doing, something forbidden. Something outrageous. But how could he not feel that way when the moment they entered his field of vision, his mind conjured up the box art – and his crush’s face being the one looking up at him from it.
11.03 “The Bad Seed” Coda. 800 words. Dedicated to my dear @astra-lux.
When Dean gets up from the table to head off to bed later that night, he stops and turns a few feet away to look directly at Cas, gaze filled with questions. A silent exchange passes between them, more cautious uncertainty than anything else, until Dean huffs and says “Just- Come on” and Castiel smiles, rising to his feet. They don’t touch while they bid Sam good night, or hold hands as they walk out the door, but almost immediately they fall into step and it’s like a single pair of footsteps puttering down the hall.
Sam has no idea if they talk or not, if Dean continues his line of apology. But the next morning when he walks into the kitchen, he finds them side by side with Cas’ hand in Dean’s.
“How come you didn’t heal these?” Dean grumbles low, touching a thumb to the inside of Cas’ wrist. Sam spots the reddened skin, probably tender from wearing the cuffs, and Dean looks so unhappy, guilty about it, gently releasing his hold to take the other hand.
“It slipped my mind,” Cas replies, both cheeks coloring when he notices Sam. Dean doesn’t see him for another moment or two, until Cas coughs and nudges his arm.
“Sammy,” Dean says then looks back down, turning Cas’ wrist and sighing at it. Eventually, Cas tugs himself free and shyly tucks his hands back into his sleeves.
Sam crosses the room toward the counter. “Guess I’ll put on the coffee then.” Like a saint, he ignores the fact that Cas is still curled inside Dean’s grey robe. He also glimpses a soft, old shirt that Dean dug out from in his dresser, Sam’s sure. He almost thinks Cas looks better this way, with his hair so hopelessly disheveled, as if their lives are normal for once, comprised of slow, sweet mornings and coffee and eggs.
[A/N: Basically - four times people thought Abby and Marcus had already kissed and one time they actually almost did. It’s really fluffy until it’s not because I really decide to twist the angst knife at the end and I’m sorry? But I’m not?]
Raven rounds the corner and nearly falls to the floor as her leg unexpectedly buckles underneath her. She sighs and leans against the wall; knows that she’s probably being overly dramatic but - if anyone asked her, she’d probably say that her life is kind of shit right now, all things considered.
She takes a moment to get her bearings back and straightens out once again, decides to turn left instead of right on her way to the cafeteria even though it’s a longer route and therefore ten times more painful on her leg. There’s a chance that she’ll run into Wick if she takes the shorter route and all things considered, having to deal with the added ache in her leg is preferable to seeing the sad, lost look in his eyes one more time.
All thoughts of Wick disappear when she sees Abby emerging from her room, looking more rested than she has in weeks.
She grins and calls out Abby’s name.
Abby turns and smiles at her, patiently waits for her to catch up before continuing onto the cafeteria.
“So, I see that Kane made sure you got good night’s rest last night.”
She grins as a muscle twitches in Abby’s cheek; knows that the phrase sounds vaguely inappropriate because that’s exactly how she intends it to sound.
She swallows back the grin but can’t quite keep the teasing glee from her voice as she continues.
“I saw you sleeping in that back booth in the cafeteria and sent Kane over to make sure you actually slept in your bed.”
Abby stops abruptly in the middle of the hallways and holds her hands up in front of her.
“That’s not - Raven. You know that’s not - I mean. That isn’t - between Marcus and I - that’s not what’s going on. He just tries to make sure I don’t work myself into exhaustion.”
She looks so flabbergasted and awkward that Raven can’t help but throw back her head and laugh, loudly and without concern. It feels good. And even though the look on Abby’s face is still half caught in impatience and embarrassment, she smiles back at Raven, genuine and warm.
Raven lets out one last chuckle.
“Whatever you say, Abby.”
She leaves a half spluttering Abby in the doorway of the cafeteria and makes her way to Octavia and Miller in the corner, grinning the entire way over.
Not even 9 a.m. and she’s managed to make Abby blush and fumble her words. Maybe life isn’t all that bad, after all.
“You feel your heart taking root in your body, like you discovered something you didn’t even have a name for” Richard Siken
Dean is drunk. Oh God, he’s so drunk and he can only think about one thing and that’s his baby brother sprawled next to him on his bed, pink sweater ridden up above his belly, all relaxed and giggly, giving him all sorts of naughty thoughts. Sam is quite stoned too, as much, if not more, as Dean.
“Okay, okay, my turn.” Before adding anything else, Sam snickers. Why, Dean doesn’t know, doesn’t care. He doesn’t even care that it’s actually not Sam’s turn. He has rarely seen his brother so cheerful so he’s enjoying this moment and drinks in the sight of his beautifully happy baby brother. It was supposed to be a celebratory drink after a particularly tough hunt, but without Dean knowing it, it has turned into one of these good old benders they used to go on when they were eight years younger and their livers seemed invincible.
Sam’s hysterical laughter finally stops. “Uh…alright, truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Dean answers distractedly, like the four or five times before, because they’re both too wasted to get any dare done. All his focus is on the happy tears still slowly rolling down his brother’s cheeks. He wouldn’t do that normally – he hasn’t done it in a long time – but he’s drunk so what the hell, he thinks before reaching out and wiping them away.
If Sam registers what is happening, he doesn’t let it show. Dean would like to say he seems lost in his thoughts but he rather seems to be struggling to try to think straight.
Finally, Sam takes a deep inhalation. “What….is….” He interrupts himself and frowns.
All Parts __________________________________________
Nina felt Eric gently bump her side and take her hand. She was thankful that the concert was packed, and that none of their friends could see the gesture between the tightly compressed bodies. Nina was enjoying the night, but when MCR began playing, her eyes were drawn to Eric a few feet away from her. She could hardly contain her smile when she saw him working his way through their friends to stand beside her when their song started.
No one could know what they had. No one would understand. One year ago when Nina turned 16, a week before Eric, they sat together until midnight waiting for Nina to see color. As they counted down, grasping hands tightly, Nina’s heart was racing. The clock struck midnight… nothing. 12:01…nothing. Eric finally accepted their fate at 12:15 when Nina had remained speechless with tears starting to fall down her cheeks.