that probably says more about my prospects than anything else really

Destiel, Bi!Dean and preparing the audience for a “shocker”.

I just did a re-watch of 12x10 and it really got me thinking again about Benjamin and Cas’s talk in the car with the boys about Benjamin and his female vessel.

At the time the episode aired, I think I was so excited about the prospect of Cas being in a female vessel, and how this could potentially shift a heteronormative audiences perception of Dean and Cas that I didn’t realise just what else they were trying to do.

This is about reassurance.

This is the conversation that was had in the car:

CAS: Benjamin is always very careful. Long ago, he found a powerfully devout vessel in Madrid, and her faith, it… she gave him everything – her trust and her body.

DEAN: Wait. So Benjamin’s a woman?

CAS: Benjamin is an angel. His vessel is a woman. But it – it’s – it’s more than that. She’s not just his vessel.

Just this small exchange is important as exposition for the audience. It is about preparing the audience for what is coming up. The idea that Cas was also once ‘a woman’. Which, okay, no he wasn’t a woman, he just had a female vessel, but imagine how that would have gone down had this exchange not taken place? Imagine how a general audience would have reacted to Cas and his female vessel had Benjamin just been another angel in a male vessel?

Probably a lot like the way Dean acted here, with confusion.

By giving us the Benjamin character and this particular scene as well, the writer has successfully prepared the audience for Cas in his female vessel. Preventing raised eyebrows and confusion because the audience will remember this conversation and apply it to Cas.

“Castiel is an angel, his vessel WAS a woman. His vessel is now a man, Cas is still a dude and it’s not weird. Cool beans.”

(when I think of a general audience watching SPN lets just say that I certainly don’t think of the fandom or tumblr. I think of my brother and that is something I won’t get into here. Heteronormative doesn’t even begin to cover it.)

The fact is, making one of your three main lead male characters a woman for an episode is a weird thing to do, the kind of thing that would probably make some audience members uncomfortable. So adding in this exposition, this reassurance, removes that level of discomfort, it gets them used to the idea first, like a buffer.

See for a show like SPN, whilst its always been a bit weird with its story lines, it’s never been all that progressive. As much as we would all like to wish that all SPN viewers were like us – liberal forward thinking people who are willing and eager for TV to break a few taboos – the chances are that is very much not the case. Its an old show, it has an established audience (apparently a bipartisan audience amazingly) and therefore breaking boundaries the way more modern shows have (such as American Gods, How to Get Away with Murder and Orange is the New Black) just isn’t really in the cards. Those shows established the taboo stories, the queer main characters, the representation, from the start. They built their audience on those foundations. SPN can’t do that without isolating part of its audience – unless it thinks very carefully as to how it may present such notions.

I hope I am explaining this in a way that makes sense. See this is of course about Bi!Dean and Destiel (as if anything on my blog WASN’T about those topics). Because here’s the thing. On any other, newer show, for Dean to come out as bisexual, for two male lead characters to enter into a homosexual relationship, it wouldn’t be a big deal. Those shows could build their audience around those concepts, because they would be ingrained into the show from the start.

For Supernatural, that sadly isn’t the case. SPN didn’t clearly establish Dean as Bisexual early on, and Destiel isn’t canon, it has always been the subject to interpretation with just enough ‘no homo’ so that anyone who chooses not to see it doesn’t have to (again, excluding 12x19 but we’ll get there)

One of the biggest hurdles to getting bi!dean and canon destiel, is for the SPN creators to overcome this fear that half their audience would reject them if they actually went there. It would be seen as coming ‘out of the blue’ and all those heteronormative people would raise their eyebrows and moan and be utterly confused by it.

That’s why Supernatural needs the buffers. It needs the gradual exposition, the subtle desensitisation of a general audience to anything even mildly “progressive”. If Supernatural wasn’t putting these buffers in place already, I would think we would have a problem. I would be much more apprehensive at even the idea that destiel could be a thing that is actually happening.

What is so fantastic, is that just like in 12x10 with the fem!Cas buffer that was Benjamin, we have already been getting buffers all throughout the last few seasons.

Here are some of my favourites:

  • Jesse x Cesar – 11x19 – These guys are my absolute favourite, they were created specifically to show the audience that you can be a gay man and also a macho man. That gay men aren’t stereotypes, that hunters can be gay and settle down and especially that gay romance doesn’t change the theme of the story. The big take away from this episode is that it shows the general audience that men like Dean Winchester can be gay/bisexual.
  • Hannah – 10x17 – This was a real eye opener for any Cas x Hannah shippers. Because Cas didn’t treat Hannah any different, and he had exactly the same warmth and affection for Hannah in her male vessel that he did in her female vessel. Basically this was a nice punch in the face for any homophobes watching. SPN doesn’t care about your heteronormative ships. You wanna ship Hannah x Cas? Fine! But Hannah’s in a dudes body now and guess what? Cas doesn’t care! How do you feel about THAT?
  • God is Bisexual – 11x20 – This was just a nice big fuck you to homophobes everywhere. Don’t like queer characters? This is NOT the show for you! Because in our world even GOD is queer! Yay for LGBT representation! It works as a buffer because once again it is sending a message to the general audience that this is the kind of thing you can expect on our show. We are changed now.
  • Dean rides Larry – 12x11 – Okay so maybe it’s not an obvious buffer, but it is kind of a subliminal message so I’m counting it. Dean riding that damn bull was the most sexual scene we have had on this show in seasons (and no that god awful thing that happened in 12x02 doesn’t count – nor does the same god awful thing from 12x08). The jokes alone, the sexual innuendos. This entire episode is loaded with subliminal messages basically screaming at the general audience to maybe just consider the fact that Dean likes guys.
  • 12x06/12x20 – Max Banes – like Jesse and Cesar Max works as a buffer because he is another way to get the general audience used to the idea that characters that are similar to Dean Winchester can be queer and it’s no big deal. Max is badass, funny, smart and charming and also 100% canonically queer (whether gay or bi we know textually that he is totally into dudes). Sam and Dean don’t bat an eyelid at his sexuality, so neither should the audience. It is just one part of his character and certainly not what his story is all about. Max is proof that you can have a queer character who is a badass and a hunter whose story is basically nothing to do with their sexuality. Their sexuality just happens to be a part of who they are.
  • And finally – Destiel – season 12 – I’m making this its own buffer because honestly? There is no way to view Dean and Cas’s relationship as non-romantic at this point. I think that the writers have slowly been turning up the dial on Destiel probably since 11x18. 12x19 really drummed it in for us though. The angel/human love themes of 12x10, the textual “I love you” in 12x12, the MIXTAPE and everything else about 12x19. This is all preparation. It is indeed a build up to a reveal. Destiel is it’s own buffer and even if people do still accuse it of ‘coming out of nowhere’ once it goes canon, all the writers have to do is gesture at season 12 and the fucking mixtape scene and say to those people “in what universe does the gifting of a mixtape between people who are not explicitly related NOT have romantic connotations?” Only a fool would argue with that if they had any knowledge of pop culture history. Sorry, but that’s the truth.

Anyway, that’s my thoughts on that. A show with a long established audience about to make a move that could potentially appear (but not really) out of left field would need to build up that move through a series of well thought out buffers, symbols, themes and subliminal messages before actually making it.

Like how Benjamin was the writers way of normalising Cas’s female vessel, the past two seasons have been a journey to normalise bi!dean and destiel in preparation for making both of these things explicitly canon. Yes we still have a way to go - it still needs to be stated explicitly in the text that Dean is into guys, in love with Cas bla bla bla, but we are getting there.

In summary. Destiel is endgame. Dean is bisexual. The general audience better learn to throw their heteronormative goggles in the bin because this is the state of this show right now, and it is good. 

let’s hurt tonight

hello, this was loosely based on a request that i will put below, that scene is in here but it’s definitely not the main focus of the one shot, hope you like it!!

anonymous: hiii i was wondering if you could do something where harry is eating you out but your work calls and you have to answer while he keeps going down on you???

Heels in one hand, purse and phone in the other, you skipped down the stairs to where Harry was waiting, hands in his pockets.


He turned at the sound of your bare feet padding on the hardwood and a grin stretched across his face when his eyes landed on you. You still weren’t used to that look; his eyes flaming with desire as they made their way across your body. You would never admit aloud what that look did to you, but you were sure Harry knew anyway.


His eyes slowly made their way back up to yours, but darted traitorously to your mouth, “I like your lipstick.” Was all he said as he admired the redness of your mouth as it stretched into it’s own grin.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

do you have any tips for young writers?

Read widely, and deeply, and over again. Reading is not an avoidance of writing; I think it’s study. The more you read, the better you understand what language is capable of — specifically on a technical level, how it functions, or might be worked into functioning, in the telling of X. And discerning how someone else’s sentences work, or someone else’s poems break, or why precisely you need to go for a walk after reading someone else’s essay is not copy or emulation, but apprenticeship. (Frank McCourt: ”He says, Ah, boys, boys, You can make up your own minds but first stock them. Are you listening to me? Stock your minds and you can move through the world resplendent.”) Surround yourself with evidence of what language can do and it will agitate and add to your own perspective, which is the seat of your own voice.

Don’t think too much about audience. Write first of all for yourself, on behalf of what moves and matters to you, and maybe second of all for a few people you love. I think write to them, rather than for or at or, strictly speaking, about them? While I’m sure these are, in some sense, four distinct actions, I also suspect — I mean, I personally find — there’s a lot of overlap. These people you love might be writers, too, whose work and minds you admire, and whose reactions you trust; they might not be writers at all. But it helps to have a small, grounding faction outside of yourself: a spotting mechanism, not for approval but as a gauge of your own patterns.

Be prepared for rejection, of course. I would not put—especially in the context of just starting out—too much emphasis on publication, or really much at all. Don’t be in a rush. (Having said that, I’ve been in a rush before; it’s a good lesson and a good feeling, but learn it and move on.) Don’t bother trying to decode shades of rejection in a response. Instead, do try to sit through several stages of thinking something is Done. I don’t know if I know when something is done, but I’ve learned to ride out the exhilaration of having written a piece: to expect the doubt and not short-circuit it, to go back and reconsider, and to do this maybe, probably, several times. And on the question of rejection: it will happen a lot, and you can’t know the reason in each instance. A lot of extremely-competant-to-unimpeachable-to-truly-great writing is turned down because of space or length or outside/contractual deadline or notable similarity to something else recently accepted. When you are sending your work out, try to keep both these things in mind: that it may not be about your work, and that your work may not be ready.

Keep a list of passages from literature that move you. Make playlists of songs that round out or score what you’re trying to write, if that feels like a natural and adjacent organizing point re: themes and feeling – a mutable soundtrack to your narrative-in-progress, an inexact mirror. (But maybe don’t listen to the playlists while you write; I don’t know about that.) (I’m extremely unmusical, and not even adept at expressing what I’m responding to in music or why, but a song can lay me out for a day or more. Once, a friend who is widely artistically talented said she thought she might be so enamored of music in part because it eludes her creatively. I think this is right: the marooning comes about precisely because I lack musical talent or inclination, because I am so inarticulate about how other people’s talent operates and affects, because it would seem I am never able to do anything about [the feeling]. I am unequipped to respond; my reaction gets lodged. So on one hand, when I’m writing I’m often trying, in the context of my subject, to pin down, put words to, this actual feeling — the visceral lodging/dislodging — that music sometimes generates. On the other, I’m challenged by the dubious prospect of cultivating the feeling for effect, of learning how to generate it and deliver it to the page myself, from scratch or somewhat at will.) What I mean to say is music might be another check, like people. And this other check may not be music, but painting or photography or fabric or—.

This is advice is never far from me:

Eileen Myles

Martha Graham to Agnes de Mille

Elena Ferrante

Octavia Butler

On that last bit: make writing a daily habit, no matter how little time you may be able to give it. You will have to learn for yourself when to push through blockage or malaise or distractibility, and when to go for that proverbial or actual walk. Whatever your habit entails, keep at it. I’m excited for you. xo

back home

ive never written anything w this relationship so i am pleased as punch and kinda wanna live in this world for a little while so i might post more

join my writing challenge here

words: 2k

warnings: parent death ment

feat: everybody except scott and thor. i’ll probably find some way to work them in though.

a/n: bucky’s gonna b a bit of an ass



You were practically jumping up and down in the elevator because of how excited you were as the doors slid open. It’d been almost 6 months since you’d last seen Tony which was without a doubt the longest period of time you’d gone without seeing him in your life. Things had become chaotic in your life and his but the two of you still talked on a regular basis. You were his one sense of stability at this point in his life and he had proven time and time again that he would do anything to keep you safe.

Keep reading

INTJs: From an INFJs Perspective

As we all know, INTJs are quite complex and individualistic. This has many manifestations, both in how they are perceived and how they perceive themselves. Here are some characteristics I’ve noticed that I’d like to share:

1 - INTJs are hard to get to know. Like really. They’re masters of hiding who they really are deep down and people are prone to assuming that they are merely bitter and hate humanity, but they actually care a good deal. They just aren’t terribly good at showing that they care.

2 - INTJs do not pick up on subtle hints unless they are actively watching for them, which they rarely are. For an INFJ such as myself who communicates through subtle hints a good deal of the time, it has turned into a fun game to see how obvious my hints can get until the INTJ notices. So far they haven’t noticed a single one. (Seriously, INTJs. I’ve seen you people walk into stuff and trip over things that would have injured another person, but you all just get up like nothing happened and move on. It’s incredible, really… It’s like you’ve got metal skeletons or something.)

2a - This item is more of an elaboration on #2 than anything else. When someone likes an INTJ and they attempt to show the INTJ that they like them, it’s difficult to actually get them to realize it without coming out and saying it to their face which is often a daunting prospect. (Any other types feel me here?) I know an ENFJ who likes an INTJ and ENFJ’s main way of showing someone they like them is giving them random hugs. INTJs aren’t too keen on this as ENFJ has found out and ENFJ is a little discouraged, not to mention that INTJ makes a small effort to avoid ENFJ now and it’s making ENFJ rather sad.

3 - INTJs are focused and serious. Very much so. So much so, in fact, that you’ve sometimes go to throw a small object (like a brick) at them to get them out of their hyper-focus state. Although, from past experience I would not at all recommend attempting to bring them back to reality; they are not happy when someone brings them back to this dimension where incompetent humans such as ourselves roam and talk non-stop, haha. (Also, bricks aren’t 100% reliable because INTJs often have their robot guard blast them out of the air and promptly terminate you to reduce the chances of further distraction.) INTJs, when interested in a topic, become a knowledgeable expert almost overnight. If you ask them about a topic they know a lot about (for example, the INTJ that co-runs this blog and does most of the MBTI Chronicles posts is big into firearms, as am I) and they will talk your ear off if you let them. Find a solid common ground and they’ll probably like you. (Being able to think for yourself is another requirement for being an INTJs friend, btw.)

4 - INTJs, when mad, don’t get angry like most others do. While a lot of people become physical and emotional, INTJs will usually become cold and they will openly show their disdain for the thing or being that managed to make them angry in the first place, often roasting them (if it be a person) mercilessly. This is often a terrifying thing to witness because INTJs rarely get visibly angry. People may be well-acquainted with their death-stare, but a full-on angry INTJ is usually enough to make most people shy away, leaving the INTJ to simmer down alone, which is probably best for humanity in general. They rarely get physical when angry, but if a close friend is getting physically abused they will often step in and terminate the abuser.

5 - INTJs can be poetic if they want to be. Not all INTJs take an interest in poetry, but if an INTJ wants to convey a poetic message they can indeed convey it through their writing. INTJs are also brilliant technical writers, able to explain complex concepts through simple language that most would have a hard time with. Having an INTJ explain something to you through writing is about as good as it’s going to get.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this little list of (slightly humorous) observations about INTJs. :)

INTJs, what are your thoughts? I’ve known several INTJs for a while, but I’m yet unsure if I know the personality type well enough to make an accurate list of traits.

Thanks you all for reading to the end! It’s almost 800 words long and that’s a fair chunk. Good job! Thank you for following the blog and INTJ promises more MBTI Chronicles posts soon! :)

- INFJ admin

DIR EN GREY Kyo [2017.08.04 - MIND-V Vol 4- Interview]

“Which is why, I am simply, a voice and nothing more. “ - Kyo

Vocalist Kyo’s identity is something that has received high appreciation not only in Japan, but the world over. But, according to the man himself, just to what esteem does he hold himself?

Regardless, to solely believe in oneself self alone is the peek of self confidence.

But to the Kyo san who continues throwing his voice out into the world through DIR EN GREY and sukekiyo, just what is his reason to continue?

His visually shocking front page spread together with his thoughts and imagination, Kyo san shares all.


Keep reading

Catsitting | Kyungsoo

Pairing: Kyungsoo x reader
Genre: fluff, slight-but-not-really angst, Hybrid!AU
Words: 6.6k+

You somehow find yourself ‘catsitting’ for your best friend while he’s on a week-long trip. The only problem? His ‘cat’ hates you.

Originally posted by glorious-soobooty


Keep reading

title: i’m so tired (my mind is set on you)

summary: Clarke can’t sleep. Bellamy’s already there. They cuddle but, like, for emotional comfort.

A/N: It’s set before somewhere between 402 and 403 because I was supposed to post this last week but got lazy s m d h


Clarke’s nightmares aren’t what they used to be. Which isn’t to say that they’re any better. They still leave her feeling hollow, wishing she’d never gone to sleep in the first place. They’re just different. Once, she used to dream of the blood on her hands, of the dead screaming in her ear. Now her dreams are sharper. More urgent. She needs to do something. But before she can, she wakes up. And there’s a hole in her chest where they used to be something else, and there’s static in her head where there used to be so much more.

But these days, she’s been waking up to strong arms around her and hard muscle against her back. She should be uncomfortable with how tight Bellamy’s holding her, but she only melts in what she can only describe as relief. The world’s ending, she reminds herself, but he’s still here.

Keep reading

Summary: Sansa is kind of YouTube famous and decides to vlog her family holiday for her viewers but her first video has unexpected results. 


The thing is Sansa didn’t mean to get into YouTube. She had aspirations of being a theatre actress, doing Shakespeare on the West End or something equally as prestigious, but one drunken night at uni, Sansa decides the world is in dire need of a video on how to do your makeup drunk. It’s not her proudest moment and she even uploaded it without any editing whatsoever, but somehow, by the time she woke up the next morning, she already had over 100,000 views. It’s utterly bizarre and – well, it’s kind of cool. Jeyne thinks it’s good exposure because it’s not like she can’t just quit YouTube if she wants, so she uploads a couple more videos. One of her doing the everyday beauty routine challenge and another drunk one where Jeyne and her drink wine and talk about fuckboys. By the end of the month, she’s kind of YouTube famous and life ceased to make sense anymore.

Her family at least thinks it’s hilarious. Robb constantly asks to appear in her videos and her views skyrocket each time because according to her fans, her brother is ‘so hot holy shit let him impregnate me’, which is really, really disgusting. Occasionally Bran will join her if he’s visiting her at uni and they’ll just drink and review movies or shows together. The only two people who adamantly refuse to have anything to do with her channel are Arya and Rickon. Rickon’s still in that awkward teenage phase where hanging out with his older sister is uncool and Arya just scoffs at YouTube in general. But when the trend of vlogging starts taking off, Sansa decides to give it a try. She’s going on holiday with her family and a few of their friends, so it’s the perfect opportunity to test it out.

– although not everyone thinks so.

“Get that fucking camera out of my face, Sansa,” Arya spits out as they stand in the queue waiting to check in their luggage. Sansa sticks out her tongue and her sister rolls her eyes in exasperation. They’ve always had an antagonistic relationship, as sisters do, but it’s gotten worse with YouTube. Sansa doesn’t really know why but she doesn’t want to dwell on it either. Arya can be a cow so it’s probably just that.

Sansa turns the camera to Robb, who’s wearing a greying hoodie, sunglasses perched on his nose and an empty Starbucks cup in one hand. “Hungover, Robb?”

He looks up blearily, notices the camera and flashes a weak smile. “Like you wouldn’t believe.” Looking directly at the camera, he adds, “listen, kids, if your best friend breaks up with his girlfriend and you think it’s a good idea to go cheer him up with a bottle of whiskey eight hours before flying, don’t.”

Arya, Bran and Rickon snicker, but Sansa is a little frozen with this new piece of knowledge. “Wait…” But she doesn’t get a chance to ask because Jeyne comes bounding forward with her hot pink suitcase rolling behind her.

“Morning, Starklings!” she greets brightly – to much groaning from her siblings. She plants a kiss on Sansa’s cheek and squishes Robb’s face between her hands. “Hi, sunshine. Saw your Instagram story last night. Looks like you and Jon had a great time.”

“Story? What story?” Robb questions, rubbing his cheeks, before his eyes widen. “Noooo, I didn’t. Did I? Shit.”

“You did, you so very did,” Jeyne chirps, as she turns to the camera with a wave. “Our resident heartthrob here took our resident grump to a strip club.”

“What!” shouts all four Stark siblings, Sansa included.

Arya punches Robb in the shoulder. “Why would you do that to Jon? Does he look like that would cheer him up? He’s not you or Theon.”

Her brother rubs his shoulder, glaring at Arya. “Drinking games weren’t working! And he didn’t want to talk about it so…” He shrugs sheepishly. “We were out of options.”

“That’s so like you, Robb,” Sansa says on a sigh. “Maybe you should’ve just left him alone.”

She doesn’t usually voice her opinions on any matter involving Jon – mostly because she doesn’t think she has a leg to stand on. They’re not friends, not in the way he is with Robb or Arya or even Bran and Rickon. Actually, she seems to be the only person he doesn’t get along with. But she knows him. He’s Jon. He’s the guy who sat with her on her fifteenth birthday when she walked in on Joffrey making out with Margaery. He’s the guy that drove her home when she got drunk for the first time at seventeen and was too terrified to call Robb or her parents. He’s her grumpy knight in shining armour and she’s been in love with him for six years, so she knows him, probably better than Robb does, but of course no one knows that.

“Speak of the devil!” Arya exclaims as she walks quickly towards Jon, throwing her arms around his waist in a tight hug. He chuckles and wraps his arms around her. Sansa watches them whispering to one another, Arya rolling her eyes and then Jon ruffling her hair with fondness. It twists something inside of her that makes her shut the camera off and look away.

“Are you okay?” Jeyne says under her breath so only Sansa can hear.

She nods mutely, not wanting to say anything to betray how painful it’s always been to see Jon interact with her siblings, how effortless their friendships are and the stark contrast it is to how he is with her. She doesn’t need him to love her back, not in the way she loves him, but she can’t even have his friendship and that stings.

“Morning,” Jon greets as he reaches them with Arya tucked under his arm. “So I guess you’ve all heard.” They nod and there’s a round of commiserations. “Okay, good. Now that that’s done with, let’s not bring it up again.” His voice is teasing but there’s a sharpness to it that means Jon’s serious, so they all laugh and carry on, changing the topic to whether their flight will be delayed.

Theon’s the last to arrive, and thankfully by that point, the queue’s moved up enough that they only have to wait a further five minutes to check in. Her parents arrive back from their morning stroll around the airport just in time and soon they’re all heading to board the plane. There’s a scuffle as they near the gate as everyone’s looking at their tickets to see who they’re sitting with.

“Oh c’mon! Someone else sit next to him!”

“Awe, Jeyne, I’m not that bad.”

“Piss off, Theon. I will stab you!”

“Jeyne, honey, it’s only a couple hours.”

“Yes, Mrs Stark.”

Sansa muffles her laugh behind her bag as she searches for her passport which she shoved down to the bottom as they went through security. Once she has it in her grasps, she pulls out the ticket and reads out, “26C.”

“Oh,” says a voice from behind her and Sansa quickly turns around. Jon’s looking at his ticket then back up at her, a faint smile on his lips. “26B. I guess we’re sitting together.”

“I guess so,” is all she can manage, as her whole body stiffens at the prospect of spending nearly three hours on a plane beside Jon. A single Jon. It’s just all too much for Sansa to deal with this early in the morning. His hair is as unruly as ever, curling just over his forehead, and he’s wearing a thin black jumper that strain against his broad shoulders and a pair of dark-washed jeans. Too much. It’s too much.

Sansa grabs for Jeyne and tugs her forward, turning away from Jon. “I’ll sit with Theon.”

Her best friend’s face widens with joy and then suddenly pinches together as she frowns at Sansa. “Why would you –” She glances behind them where Jon is still standing, now rolling his eyes at whatever Robb is saying. “Oh no, absolutely not. You are not running away from him again.”

“Again?” Sansa cries out indignantly, catching the curious gaze of her father. “What are you talking about?” she hisses a little quieter.

“Um, remember when Robb and Jon came out with us that night in freshers?” Jeyne raises a brow and Sansa deflates because she does remember. “He was practically ready to propose to you.”

“He was drunk.”

“He couldn’t stop staring at you or smiling at you,” Jeyne says. “And then he asks you to go outside with him and you panic and run away.”

“I went to the bathroom!” Sansa whispers harshly, but she did panic. She had been so sure she would never be more than Robb’s little sister to Jon that when he had taken her hand and asked if she wanted to get some fresh air, she panicked.

“And what happened next, Sans?” Jeyne asks, voice a little gentler now.

Her heart breaks all over again as she leans her forehead against her friend’s shoulder, a resigned sigh escaping her lips. “He met Ygritte.”

“That’s right, he did, and guess what? They broke up and you’re not bloody running again,” Jeyne says as she pushes Sansa back upright. “You’re going to sit there and be charming and he’s going to fall in love with you all over again.”

“You’re delusional,” Sansa murmurs instead.

“No, I’m brilliant. Now, c’mon.”

The first hour actually passes by in near to complete silence. Sansa doesn’t know if she’s disappointed or relieved; she’s existing in the realm between both emotions and it’s making it really hard for her to sit still or sleep. Jon seems to be sleeping just fine, his face relaxed as he leans as far back as the chair will go. But as the second hour approaches, the man beside Jon, a terrifyingly large and bulky man with multiple tattoos winding up his arms and peeking from his cargo shorts, slumps his head onto Jon’s shoulder with a thump. He startles awake, wide-eyed and confused, and Sansa can’t help laughing at his expression and the situation he’s now in.

He groans quietly. “Of course this would happen to me.”

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, Jon,” she says, nudging his shoulder with hers. “If only I was as lucky to have a handsome man resting on me.”

Jon quirks an eyebrow at her. “Then let’s trade seats.”

“But how could you wake him!” she whispers back, smiling brightly at him and forgetting for a moment that she’s still madly, desperately, stupidly in love with this man.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he says but his lips twitch and it’s adorable how hard he’s trying not to smile.

“I’m enjoying it just the right amount,” Sansa says before she’s reaching down for her bag and grabbing her camera, turning it on and recording. “Now I’m enjoying it too much.”

Jon eyes the camera and then glares at it. “Sansa,” he says warningly. “If this goes on the internet, I’m going to –”

“What?” she questions with an innocent smile. Sansa turns the camera onto herself. “He wouldn’t dare threaten this face, would he?” She gives a little pout, and in the background, she sees Jon cracking a fond smile as he reaches forward to tug at her loose plait.

“I’ll get you back for this.”

She focuses the camera back on him again. “Hmmm, no, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no, Jon, you big puppy dog. I can outplay you,” she says still sweetly innocent. She’s enjoying this weird banter they have going on far more than she should because Jon just broke up with his girlfriend and this is only going to end up with her getting her heart broken in the end. Only she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care so much she might as well repress whatever self-preserving brain cells she has left.

“Outplay me? I didn’t realise this was a game,” Jon says, amused.

“Life’s a game, Jon Snow,” she quips back, to which he actually laughs so loud the man leaning on him jumps awake. He stares at Jon and then at Sansa’s camera and yawns before leaning against the window and falling asleep once again.

Both Jon and Sansa stifle their laughter but it’s no use so Sansa does something wildly inappropriate and presses her face into Jon’s shoulder, muffling her giggles into his jumper. He doesn’t seem to mind or maybe he’s too busy trying not to laugh himself.

For a few seconds, Sansa just allows herself the comfort his warmth provides her before extricating herself once she realises her camera’s still recording. She turns it to face her and makes a face. “We’re going to hell.”

Jon nods in the background. “First class tickets.”

“At least I have you as company,” she says, smiling back at him, and he returns her smile.

When she passes out later at the hotel trying to edit the footage, the last thing Sansa expects is for it to be uploaded by the time she wakes up and for her to receive way more notifications than should be normal.

Aromanticbabex: Okay but am I the only one who would still climb hungover Robb like a tree?

1534 likes

Sansa blanches. How is that the most liked comment? Ew!

Lyla Patel: Sansa, you’re so pretty! I’m so glad you’re vlogging! Your videos always makes my days better!

1045 likes

A smile so wide blossoms on her face and she quickly replies, ‘Thank you, Lyla. I appreciate you and all my fans so much! Xxx’

But then the comments sort of devolve from there and she really has no how idea how to handle any of it.

Al Nottellingu: WHO IS THIS JON AND WHY HASN’T HE BEEN IN HER VIDEOS BEFORE?!!!!!!!

893 likes

           Lili Cho: I CAN FEEL THE SEXUAL TENSION FROM HERE!!!

            Roseand Tenforever: I ship it! I ship it so hard!!

            Tom Hart: I AM COINING JONSA AND NONE OF YOU CAN TELL ME ANY DIFFERENT!

Siobhan Hughes: Ummmmmm why the fuck would anyone break up with a man who looks like THAT! Sansa, get in there, girl!

679 likes

Sansa slams her laptop shut and throws a pillow at Jeyne’s head. Her friend groans and rolls away from her. She throws a second pillow at her.

“WHAT!”

“Did you edit my video and upload it for me?” Sansa demands angrily. She slides out of bed to go and sit on top of Jeyne’s prone figure.

The girl huffs and tries to kick her legs out to dislodge Sansa. “I thought I was being a good friend! You looked really tired!”

“But now the entire internet thinks me and Jon have something going on!”

Jeyne opens one eye to narrow it at Sansa. “Well, don’t you? You two were awfully cosy on that plane.”

Jeyne,” she groans, pinching her friend on the hip. “He just broke up with his girlfriend! What if Ygritte sees it?”

“Then her bloody loss!” Jeyne suddenly thrashes wildly and Sansa ends up falling backwards onto the floor. A bruise is definitely going to form on her ass now. “Stop worrying about some girl you don’t even know and go after what you want, Sans.” She leans over the side of the bed to look down at her. “Look, I know Joffrey and Harry really screwed you over in the whole relationship department. And then after Ramsay, you’re kind of hesitant but we’ve known Jon since forever. He’s good and decent.”

Sansa rolls her eyes, even though her whole body’s recoiled at the mention of Ramsay but she’s trying desperately not to dwell on those months in her life. “I know that. Of course I know that. I’m the one in love with him, aren’t I?”

It’s hard to concentrate on having a good holiday when her mind is whirling with what Jeyne’s said. She doesn’t know why she doesn’t just go for Jon aside from the courtesy of giving him a wide berth while he heals from his breakup, but that’s not even what’s making her hesitant. It’s much more convoluted than that. It’s being cheated on in both of her previous relationships. It’s being stalked by a classmate for three months until he’s finally arrested for something completely unrelated – since reporting a stalker who hasn’t done anything means nothing to the police. It’s all of those things that make Sansa start to wonder maybe she shouldn’t be with anyone ever because everything she touches gets tainted one way or another and the last thing she’d want is to taint someone as pure as Jon. He’s the last good man on this planet that’s not related to her. And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? He’s really, really good. He’s honourable and honest and so loyal. He’d never cheat on his girlfriend. When he loves someone, she’s his whole world. Sansa saw the way he used to look at Ygritte, and although it had killed her to see him look at someone that way that wasn’t her, she was happy he’d found someone who made him that happy.

God, she hates love. She hates everything about it.

“Alright, sourpus, what’s got your knickers in a twist?” Arya asks, slumping down into the beach chair beside her. She’s in a simple black bikini with a ball cap turned the wrong way around on her head. She has a bottle of some obscure Spanish beer in one hand.

Sansa shields her eyes from the sun to look at her sister. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re glaring at the ocean like it personally offended you,” Arya points out with a long drag from her beer. “Honestly, you’re in bloody Spain. What have you got to be so angry about?”

“I’m not angry, I’m just… thinking,” she says lamely as she watches Jeyne tackle Theon into the ocean while Robb looks on with an amused and somewhat impressed expression.

Uhuh, well you should think less,” Arya says. “Because you’re on holiday. Thinking is for losers. C’mon, Sans, have some fun.”

Sansa sighs. “What do you care if I’m miserable or not?”

Her sister snorts and rolls her eyes. “I care. Hey, I do. Just because I think you’re a spoiled princess most of the time doesn’t mean I don’t care if you’re happy or not. You’re just annoying.”

“I don’t know if I should be comforted or insulted,” Sansa chuckles as she swipes the beer from Arya’s hand to take a sip. As soon as the liquid hits the back of her throat, she makes a face. “I forgot I hated beer.”

Her sister snatches the bottle back. “Good. More for me.” They fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, both of them too busy watching their family and friends get into an all out war with each other. “Is this about Jon?”

Sansa’s head snaps to Arya so quickly she probably has whiplash now. “What?”

“He has no idea you fancy him, you know?” she says nonchalantly as if Sansa’s whole world hasn’t just been turned upside down. “Jon’s a bit of an idiot like that. Actually, both of you are idiots like that.”

What?

“I mean god, he fancied you for so long it was honestly super gross,” she continues. “When he started dating Ygritte, we were all like ‘what the fuck’ but also kind of glad he was moving on.”

“What do you mean ‘we’ and what are you talking about!” Sansa is about to hit her sister out of sheer frustration.

Arya finally turns to look at Sansa and she’s wearing a long-suffering expression. “We as in the whole bloody family. Okay maybe except for Rickon. But everyone else kind of guessed it.” Her sister shrugs. “We didn’t think you were interested.”

“But I –”

“You’ve always been the type of person to keep your cards close to your chest,” Arya rattles on, cutting her off. “It was hard for any of us to tell.”

“So what changed?”

“Ygritte.” Her sister sighs and takes another pull from her beer. “When he started bringing her around, it was like – I don’t know. You just looked so broken.”

Sansa bites down hard on her lower lip but the memories come flooding back anyways.

The first time she saw Ygritte and Jon together was at her childhood home during Easter holidays. He’d brought her back with him from uni and it was just so obvious how smitten he was with her. Seeing him like that, so in love with someone else, had ripped out every wall she’d ever built around herself. It was like her mind had just given up trying to protect itself, like it didn’t care anymore what the rest of her did; it just wanted to succumb to its own self-pity and heartache. For days, Sansa had lived on autopilot. She smiled and made small talk but nothing could penetrate through the haze she was living in. Eventually, Jeyne had to come kidnap her and drive them back to uni early before Sansa completely fell apart.

The months that followed were the most agonising of her life. It feels melodramatic now to think it but Sansa couldn’t describe it in any other way. She knew even then how stupid it was to feel such a loss so acutely when Jon had never been hers to lose in the first place, but the petulant, childish part of her mind still screamed out that he was hers. He was her grump in shining armour and no one else’s. It was pathetic and she felt pathetic for thinking it.

“I hated her so much,” Sansa admits after a long silence. “I know that’s awful. I didn’t even know her but I just did. She was everything I wasn’t. Strong, smart, witty – it was like this realisation that I could try all my life to be like Ygritte but no one would ever look at me the way Jon looked at her.” She looks at her feet buried in the sand and says quietly, “because none of them would ever be him.”

Arya reaches out to grip Sansa’s hand. “You don’t just fancy him, do you?” She shakes her head. “You love him?” She nods. “Awe shit, Sans, then tell him.”

“I can’t. It’s not – he just broke up with Ygritte. I’d be an asshole to dump all this on him now.”

“You’re an asshole for not telling him in the first place,” Arya says but she’s smiling softly at her. “I’m no Jon interpreter but there’s a good fucking chance he loved you too.”

That night Sansa can’t bear to be around her family as they mill around the hotel bar chatting and drinking. She has too much to think about so at the first opportunity – which is just when Robb and Theon decide to do a duet at the karaoke machine – she slips out onto the beach with the goal of just walking aimlessly for as long as she needs to clear her mind. As always, Sansa has her camera and she begins to record the ocean as it laps up onto the sand. It’s close to a full moon and the silver light reflects off of the murky surface of the water. It’s beautiful and romantic, and so of course, she feels lonely for the first time in a long time. Sansa’s normally okay being single. After the debacle with Harry and the incident with Ramsay, the thought of any man being near her made her queasy, but now all she wants is for someone to wrap her up in their arms and just hold her. It’s a silly thought, probably born out of all those Disney movies she used to watch as a kid, but it’s there anyways, niggling at the back of her mind as she walks down the beach.

The air is humid and makes her hair stick to the back of her neck but there’s a cool breeze coming from the ocean that eases the humidity. She’s nearing the edge of the hotel’s property when she hears someone call out her name. Sansa turns and squints against the darkness.

“You shouldn’t be walking out here alone,” he says, jogging up to her. “It’s not safe.”

“Jon,” she breathes out, her whole body instantly relaxing at the sight of him. “I was just… clearing my head.”

He nods, grey eyes watching her carefully, before his cheeks flush. “Your viewers seem to like me.”

“You watched it?” Sansa asks, a little incredulous. She turns the camera off and puts it back into her bag.

“I always watch your videos, Sans.” He sounds so casual but the pink flush spreading across his cheeks makes her think this is anything other than casual. It’s unfairly adorable.

“I didn’t… know that,” she says slowly, unsure of what else to say now. “I can take it down if you don’t want anyone to see. Jeyne edited it so I didn’t really get a final say before she uploaded the video.”

Jon shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was funny.”

“Yeah,” Sansa says with a cheeky smile. “You and that man looked really good together on camera.”

He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Never,” she agrees, smiling even brighter.

“Figures,” he mumbles, chuckling softly. “You know… we looked good together too.”

“What?” Sansa’s heart all but stops. She’s not really sure what to say or what he’s implying.

Jon takes a couple steps closer to her till they’re only a foot apart. “I wish I knew,” he murmurs softly. “Maybe I wouldn’t have wasted everyone’s time pretending I still didn’t care.”

“Jon, what are you talking about?”

“Do you want to know why Ygritte and I broke up?” he asks instead, which really annoys her, and if she isn’t already so close to coming completely undone she would kick him for being so cryptic.

“It started a couple months ago,” Jon continues when she doesn’t answer. He’s looking at her warily and it’s making her heart beat faster and faster. “Or maybe earlier, I don’t know. But when I found out what was happening to you with that Ramsay guy, I was just – it was all I could think about. Robb and I would spend hours researching what legal action you could take. We’d take turns driving past your flat and making sure you were safe. I was so worried out of my mind that I guess I just neglected Ygritte. And when she tried to bring it up, I snapped at her. I was furious that she couldn’t understand how important this was, how it was you.”

Sansa doesn’t really know anymore if she’s breathing. She wonders if she might’ve just wandered into the ocean and died because this is too surreal. This is Jon telling her she means as much to him as he means to her.

“Once Ramsay was arrested, I promised her I’d get better but it was like – for over a year, I was so sure I was in love with Ygritte. She was great in every way, but…” Jon pauses to glance towards the ocean. “The thought that someone could hurt you and take you away from me suddenly made me realise that I never did move on. And I think after awhile Ygritte figured that out too.”

He looks back at her then and takes her hand in his. “I don’t deserve you but I just need to know if there’s even a chance you feel the same way or if I completely misread the signs in that video and made a total prick of myself. If I did, I promise I’ll never bring this up again and we can go back to –”

Sansa cuts him off by pressing her lips against his. He freezes at first but then his hands go immediately around her and she’s wrapping her own arms around his neck, carding her fingers through his hair. It’s everything she ever wanted and so much more because it’s not just a kiss, it’s a confirmation that Jon really is hers and has always been hers and will forever be hers.

“God, I love you so much,” she admits quietly when they pull apart. “But you really are an idiot.”

“I know,” he chuckles. “And I’m sorry it took me this long to get here.”

“You’re here now,” she tells him, dropping a chaste kiss to his lips just because she can.

“I am… and for the record, I fucking love you too.”

++++

Aromanticbabex: I can’t decide if I want to climb Robb or Jon like a tree. Maybe both together? Anyone else?

2019 likes

           Alison Lowe: I would let them do ungodly things to me

           Superwholock: You guys are gross (but if I had to choose, I’d choose Robb!)

           R0cket Racoon: Uhhhh, are you serious? It’s Jon all the way!

           Sansa Stark: Can you guys please stop trying to climb my brother and my boyfriend? (Also, Jon all the way indeed ;)) xxx

Wonder Starks: I think I peed myself laughing watching Robb try to give Jon ‘The Talk’!!!

1938 likes

           Wonder Starks: Also, how cute is Jon surprising Sansa with a holiday! I wish someone would fucking whisk me away from these exams! Where’s my grump in shining armour!

           Dasha Santos: Seriously, where’s my fucking grump!!!1!@£@!$£!!!

Tom Hart: JONSA IS REAL!!!!!! MY OTP ARE ON HOLIDAY TOGETHER!! I BETTER BE INVITED TO YOUR FUTURE WEDDING, SANSA! I TOTALLY COINED YOUR SHIP NAME!!

1903 likes

           Dani Johnson: I’m not crying you’re crying!!! T_T

           2Slow Veryfurious: This is the best Christmas present ever!!

           Arya Stark: You guys need to get a fucking grip.

           Jeyne Poole: Don’t be rude, Arya. This has been in the making for like seven years!! Do you know how tired I was of hearing her pine away for him?

           Robb Stark: Ugh, do YOU GUYS know how tiring it was for ME to watch my best friend stare longingly at my baby sister? That’s way worse!

           Arya Stark: That’s because you think Sansa and I are like 12

           Robb Stark: But you are…

           Robb Stark: Arya?

           Jeyne Poole: I think she left, idiot.

           Robb Stark: Oi, don’t call me an idiot or I won’t take you out on that date!

           Jeyne Poole: I NEVER EVEN SAID YES!!

           Robb Stark: The lady doth protest too much ;)

           Robb Stark: Jeyne?

           Robb Stark: Oh goddamnit.

           Tom Hart: OH MY GOD! REYNE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tell the Truth: Alya confronts Adrien, trying to convince him to confess his big secret–because what’s the harm, especially when she’s already figured it out?


For @miraculousfluffmonth Day 14, although in all fairness, this post is probably a better submission for the day.


“Adrien, we’re friends, right?”

Adrien smiled at Alya uncertainly, not entirely comfortable with the fact that she’d cornered him after class like this. Usually, she and Marinette would stay to chat with him and Nino, but Marinette had needed to rush home to the bakery today, and at a look from Alya, Nino had fled. Adrien hadn’t been able to do more than pick up his bag before Alya had been there, sitting on his desk and blocking the quick exit to the aisle.

He was fairly confident that Nino wouldn’t just abandon him without good reason, but still. Alya was being…odd. “Of course we’re friends,” he answered.

“So we can tell each other anything,” Alya continued.

Adrien did tell Nino almost everything, and he had done so with Chloé when they’d been kids, so…. “Yes?” He hadn’t meant it to come out as a question, but he still didn’t know where she was going with this.

And he still felt like he’d gotten trapped somehow.

It was an unnerving feeling, especially with Alya.

The girl in question smiled at him and leaned closer. “Which means you don’t need to hide with me.”

“H-hide?”

“The truth.”

Something twisted inside his stomach. “What truth?”

“You know which one,” she said, which did absolutely nothing to calm his nerves. He knew she’d been looking into the identities of Ladybug and Chat Noir, but she’d been doing that for ages. He hadn’t realized she’d been this close. There hadn’t been any hint of it on the Ladyblog.

He supposed he should be grateful for that, but in retrospect, it wasn’t terribly surprising. Alya was tremendously curious, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep a secret once she’d uncovered it. He took a shaky breath and tried to relax, consciously unclenching his fingers. Plagg wouldn’t be happy with this. That was probably the reason he was still hiding, assuming it wasn’t just because he’d gorged himself on camembert again and was sleeping it off. Even if Alya had realized Chat Noir’s secret identity, it didn’t mean she knew anything about Plagg or the kwami’s importance in the transformation.

Adrien wasn’t sure how much he could tell her, though. He’d assumed keeping their identities a secret was to protect their friends and families from Hawk Moth or others like him and to a certain extent to protect himself if anyone close to him got akumatized again. What he didn’t know was if Plagg would be in any sort of danger if he was discovered. Not from Alya, surely, but Plagg had seemed pretty adamant that Adrien couldn’t tell anyone about him, and he wasn’t firm on a lot of things that didn’t involve cheese, so it must be for a good reason.

Still.

Even if Alya wasn’t going to tell the world who he was—something she must have reconsidered, given how publically she had been searching for their identities and how Lady WiFi had been ready to unmask Ladybug so everyone could see her—that didn’t mean the other problems with her knowing went away. He swallowed. “How…how long have you known?”

She smiled and straightened up. “Honestly, I wasn’t absolutely certain until right now, but your reaction definitely clinches it.”

Keep reading

3

Chapter One
Björn Ironside X Reader

Your father, King Ecbert of Wessex, hadn’t told you about the arrival of the Viking Ragnar Lothbrok to the castle. But then again, he never told you anything, believing that you were as unimportant as the servants. He hadn’t cared for your mother either. Always more of a fan of your sister in law Judith, they’d lain together multiple times and you couldn’t understand how your brother was alright with it. But as soon as your mother died he payed less attention to you and didn’t even really acknowledge your existence. As soon as he started having meetings with Ragnar Lothbrok, he got Athelstan to teach you Norse, but no one told you why. If you had then you wouldn’t have done it. You learnt languages quickly because you had nothing else to do. So you were now fluent in Norse but had no idea what words were specific to their culture.

A few months after their first meetings, you were invited into the throne room. Greeted by the same bright blue eyes of the Viking. He looked at you carefully and now you could see a tall blonde man behind him, along with the usual entourage that came with him. Your father beckoned you over and after a side glare at him, you walked over to him.

“This is my daughter, Princess Y/n.” Your father smiled and you saw the blonde boy fidget slightly.

Keep reading

Nightmares and Daydreams - Isaac Lahey

A/N: I love me some Isaac so when anon requested this I couldn’t help myself.

Prompt: Can you do an Isaac lahey smut where you’ve always been there for him as a friend but you’re not that close however he would always come to you when he has nightmares about his father and you tell him that you thought he was in love with Allison but he says something like “oh baby you’re so very wrong, you are the only girl that has my heart”

Word Count: 2,660

Warning: Fluffy smut. 

Keep reading

Auston Matthews - Part 29

Really long… preparing for more angry messages and asks…

I stare at my phone screen a long time, my fingers hovering over my keyboard with Auston’s name at the stop of my screen. Stifling a groan I click my screen off and throw myself back onto my bed. Ever since Mitch texted me earlier today all I can think about is Auston and the fact that he hasn’t talked to me. I don’t think he would have let Mitch text me unless he was okay with it, but he hasn’t texted, called or snapped me in the last three days.

               Does he even care anymore? I think to myself and quickly shake the thought out of my head. Of course he cares. Auston may not have said it, but I know he cares about me just as much I care about him. I just need to be patient. I spent the last twenty-one years of my life without him, I can stand a few more days.

               My phone rings on the pillow next to my ear and I nearly roll off the bed. I fumble with the screen and finally accept the call.

               “Hello?” I say.

               “Hi, honey,” my dad’s rough voice comes through the other end and I can’t help but smile.

               “Hi, dad! What’s going on?”

               “Still plan on picking me up at the airport tomorrow morning?” He asks.

               “Yep, bright and early at 8:15,” I repeat what my mother told me on the phone yesterday morning.

               “Good girl, you’re going with me to the game on Tuesday with me, right?” My dad asks, a little bit of hesitation in his voice.

               “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?” I ask him, frowning at the ceiling.

               “Hey I don’t know! You moved out, didn’t know if that meant you were too cool for me or something,” he says defensibly and I giggle.

               “You’re safe dad, we already know I’m cooler than you yet I still choose to spend time with you,” I say, rolling my eyes.

               We chat a bit more until three o’clock hits and the Leaf’s game comes on, being one who can’t talk to anymore while watching hockey, I hang up with my dad and snuggle down into my couch with Zalla and Andie. This is the Leaf’s last game on their short road trip and the first night of a back to back, coming home to play the Blues tomorrow. While my dad primarily works for the Red Wings, he travels around looking at other team’s prospects and possible trade bait, which is why he’s coming when St. Louis is in town.

               I had debated whether or not to watch the Leafs after Auston left, but it was the only way I didn’t feel quite so alone in this big house in a big city. Though I don’t cheer when they score, I just watch, much like my first game in Toronto with Auston’s family. My mind wanders to Mitch’s message about coming over when they get home, being a Sunday, their game is early and they will be home early tonight. I debate with myself if Auston will come with him or not. I highly doubt he would come, but I can’t help but get my hopes up.

               The game ends in overtime with the Hawks scoring just seconds in, a score of three to two. The urge to text or call Auston is almost overwhelming and let out a wail of despair when my phone goes off but it’s only a snapchat from my friend. I miss him. I miss him so much.

               Auston POV

               I stare at my lock screen as I board the bus to bring us to the airport. It’s the picture I took of Y/N when she was getting her dress fitted on her second day in Toronto. The background is a blur, only her smiling face and body in focus. I puff out a small laugh that despite everything, nothing has changed, this picture was accurate then and it still is now.

               When my screen lights up and starts ringing, I nearly jump. Looking around to see if anyone notices when I put the phone to my ear.

               “Hey,” I say after making sure everyone in a few seat radius is occupied with something else.

               “Hey, so I was able to track down Y/L/N before he went home. Looked like a fucking idiot walking around the Joe asking by the way,” Dylan’s voice says through the receiver.

               “Great, can you text it to me? I’ll call him right when we land in Toronto,” I mutter into the phone, sinking down a little in my seat.

               “Sure…” Dylan pauses on the other line like he wants to say something else.

               “What?” I ask him.

               “It’s just… does this have something to do about Y/N? We heard she moved to Toronto a few weeks ago, and I know you… ya know…” Dylan trails off.

               I don’t say anything and Dylan sighs.

               “I knew it. Look, I know you have a thing for her and she probably does you, but just… take care of her. I got to know her more last season before she got heavily involved in school stuff, she’s a great girl… very much like her dad just prettier,” Dylan laughs and I find I’m able to smile.

               “I know Larks, she told me about you actually. Something about falling down the stairs and blaming the black eye on a high sti-“ I snicker into the phone and he cuts me off.

               “Alright that’s enough story time. In my defense it was both the high stick and the combined falling that resulted in the black eye,” Dylan grumbles into the phone and I roll my eyes.

               “Whatever, bud. But really, thanks for hunting him down for me,” I say seriously.

               “No problem, bud. Good luck,” he responds and we hang up. Instantly I get the phone number in a text and quickly save it. As the bus pulls up to the airport I mumble what I have planned to say over and over again as we board the plane and set off towards home. Towards Y/N.

               Regular POV

               Mitch sends me a text as soon as they land and I send in a phone order for delivery from my new favorite Chinese buffet who, I recently discovered, deliver. He mentioned that it’s him and two others coming, who he doesn’t name.

               By the time they arrive it’s close to eight, coming directly from the airport. I don’t bother to get up from my place on the couch when they file in, too absorbed in my sweet and sour chicken. I scan the faces and turn my attention back to my plate when I don’t see the one I was looking for. Mitch, Morgan and Will shuffle to their respective spots they all claimed within the first few weeks of discovering my house. Mitch is in the chair beside me, Will is sprawled out on the sectional with the footrest and Morgan is sitting on the floor with his back against the couch by my knees.

               Almost instantly I relax for the first time in three days and realize how incredibly tired I am. These thoughts are validated by Morgan glancing up at me after thanking me for his meal.

               “Have you slept in twenty years?” He asks, a teasing tone in his voice and I scowl at him.

               “Count to twenty and I’ll answer,” I reply sweetly and he scoffs at me.

               “Good to be home, smartass.”

               I nudge him with my foot and he flicks it with his finger making me squeal with the sting. Quickly, we fall back into the usual banter, I make Mitch go wash his hands before he even thinks about touching the Xbox controller and he huffs at me muttering under his breath as he makes his way to the bathroom.

               No one mentions Auston and I don’t bring him up either. Soon enough, I doze off to sleep, my head on the armrest and my legs stretched out to almost where Will is sitting. I startle awake around three in the morning from an insignificant dream and blink in the darkness, disoriented. I move to sit up but realize there’s a blanket across me and my heart warms. Glancing around now that my eyes have adjusted, I can see Mitch reclined in the chair and Morgan on the other end of the couch where Will had been. I can hear Will’s soft snore coming from down the hall in the spare bedroom that I had thought I would be able to convert into an office but I had to put a bed in there instead thanks to a certain hockey player falling down my stairs one night after having a little too much to drink.  

               All of them seemed to have found blankets for themselves as well and their quiet breathing is reassuring. They stayed with me. My heart blooms and I snuggle back down onto my spot, sleep coming easy again.

               A few hours later I tip toe around them, heading upstairs to shower and get ready to head to the airport to pick up my dad. Zalla and Andie seem to have learned how to tip toe as well as they slink across the hardwood floors, being my shadows like usual. When I pull my shirt on my bracelet jingles on my wrist, I had thought about taking it off the last few days, but I found too much comfort in the strong band and beautiful charms. I finger the charms gently as I make my way downstairs and sneak through the foyer and out my front door without waking a single one of the boys.

               Zalla and Andie come with me, I know they miss dad as much as I do. They seem to sense my excitement as I drive closer and closer to the airport, their whines echoing in the backseat. Right as I pull into the pickup area my phone goes off.

               “I’m outside, honey,” my dad’s voice comes through the car speaker and I think my dogs are going to combust in the backseat.

               “I see you!” I squeal as I make the small loop and put my car into park before jumping out and into my father’s waiting arms.

               “Hi, baby girl,” my dad coos in my ear, I think he’s just as emotional as I am. Happy tears trail down my face as he lifts me off my feet, his arms right around me. I inhale deeply, taking in the husky and smoky smell of my dad and our wood stove from home.

               “I missed you,” I whisper and he laughs.

               “I gathered that,” he sets me down and puts his hands on my shoulder, examining me. “How you doing? Big girl in a big city,” he winks at me and I giggle.

               “I’m good, dad. It’s been a learning process. I now understand why mom never let me buy and eat an entire birthday cake myself.”

               “Ahh yes, that was the first lesson I learned too,” he wraps an arm round my shoulders and leads me back to my car where my dogs are quivering with excitement. “You brought the girls!” He exclaims and leaves me on the sidewalk like a piece of gum, diving into the backseat and being licked to death by Zalla and Andie. I don’t blame him though, I would have done the same thing.

               By the time we get back to the house, the boys are gone and for once the living room is spotless. I smile at the room and give my dad a tour of the now unpacked house, spending the rest of the day showing and telling him everything I’ve been working on at the university.

               Once we get to the arena there are hardly any people milling around yet. But that’s what happens when you get there two and a half hours before the puck drops. My father is familiar with the arena and leads the way through the bowels of the Air Canada Center, sticking close behind him and avoiding looking anywhere but at his back.

               Every time my father stops to talk to someone, I reach up to the ball cap I had thrown on before leaving the house and pull it a little farther down my head. No one my father stops says anything to me, which I’m used to from my years of following him around as a child. It isn’t until we turn down a hallway to head to the elevator that someone acknowledges me.

               “Mike, how are you?” My dad exclaims, clasping hands with the Leafs head coach. I can’t help but peek up at him, my dad and he had worked closely together over the years until Babs left Detroit to take on Toronto, growing up I had been close with one of his daughters when we were dragged by our dads to various games and practices.

               They make small talk a minute before Mike notices me standing behind my dad’s shoulder.

               “Y/N! I didn’t see you there. Heard you’re doing some big things in the Astrophysics department,” Mike winks at me and my cheeks warm with the smile forming across my face.

               “That she is,” my dad says, squeezing my shoulder, a proud look on his face that I beam under.

               “I heard you’ve been here over a month and haven’t come to visit me yet,” Mike quirks an eyebrow at me.

               ‘I’ve been here!” I gesture to where I know the family room is down the hall before I realize what I’m doing and I try to play if off as fixing my hat. My dad and Mike both raise their eyebrows at me. “Don’t give me that look,” I blush under their stares and look away.

               “She’s got a point Mike, she has been here,” my dad says, smirking at Mike and I scowl.

               “I’m surprised she admitted it,” Mike adds, both of them clearly enjoying themselves.

               “Shouldn’t you be yelling at your players or something,” I mutter and he laughs.

               “Only if they piss me off, Y/N,” he says, though he does glance at his watch. “Though I do have other things to get going besides yelling.” He shakes my dad’s hand and pats my shoulder. “I look forward to seeing you after the game, and you,” Mike then directs his attention to me. “I look forward to seeing you around here more often as well.” I make a noise in the back of my throat and nod at him with his knowing smile on his face.

               We head back down the hallway to elevator right when a group of boys rounds the corner in front of us. I immediately see Mitch and I know Auston will be right behind him. I duck into my father’s side and try to stay in his shadow praying that no one notices me.

               “Y/L/N!” Someone shouts behind me and both my father and I whip around on instinct. Babcock is standing down the hallway we just left, leaning against a door frame, a smirk on his face.

               “Ms. Y/L/N, to be exact. I forgot to comment on your hat, looks better than red and white in my opinion,” he says and I can feel the stares of nearly everyone in the hallway. Frowning, I reach up to the ball cap and pull it off my head. I turn it in my hands a Toronto Maple Leafs logo glares up at me, I hold it at arm’s length away much to amusement of the people watching me. What the…?

               “Now the real question is, are you going to put it back on?” Mike winks at me and then disappears into the door frame he had been standing in.

               I look from where he had been standing back to the hat and eye it warily. Turning on my heel I continue walking slowly with my dad, growing closer and closer to the group of guys still watching me. When I’m within fifteen of them I huff out a small laugh and plop the hat back on my head, adjusting my pony tail.

               “Where did I go wrong?” My dad muses beside me and I smile at him, continuing to ignore the gawking Leafs players to my right. They had been trying since I got to Toronto to get me to wear some sort of Leafs gear and apparently one of them had left a hat one night and I grabbed it by mistake.

               “Nineteen years ago when you showed me the sky,” I say back to him and he laughs softly, putting his arm around my shoulders and kissing the top of my head.

               “Then I wouldn’t change a thing,” he says and I squeeze his hand. Here is the only boy that would love me no matter what I did.

               My dad takes me up to the scouting booth where much of the Leafs front office people are. He talks with Brendan Shanahan for a few moments as I make my way to one of the free seats and try to ignore everyone around me. It used to amaze me that my dad worked and knew all these people, now I just want to watch hockey.

               We have to wait quite a while longer before the actual game starts and nearly the entire time my dad is either talking to someone in person or on the phone. I take the free time to people watch as fans file in, I start making a mental list of how many Matthews jerseys I see. I lose count very quickly.

               The game wears on, a nail bitter to the very end, even though the Leafs are up by two after an empty netter with two minutes left. With a final score of six to four in the Leafs favor, everyone leaves happy. My dad looks at his watch and mutters to himself, rubbing his face.

               “What are you thinking about?” I ask him, he only every does that when he’s stressed.

               “What? Nothing, just we have a little time before my flight leaves. Want to get some dinner?” He asks standing up and gathering his laptop and notes.

               “It’s almost ten…” I stare at him.

               “I didn’t say we have to go an eight course meal, Y/N,” my dad laughs. “I just need something to hold me over before my short flight home to your mother.”

               “Alright,” I sigh, standing next to him and stretching, my hand brushes against the hat and I smile.

               I drive my dad through Toronto as he looks for someplace we wants to eat and he finally decides on the restaurant that I went to with Auston’s family on my very first night here. As I sit down at a table just a short distance away from where I sat then, I almost feel the bracelet heat on my wrist. I touch the charms as my dad busies himself with the menu.

               “You seem awfully intrigued by that bracelet, Y/N,” my dad says, not even looking up from his menu. Okay, maybe he’s not as busy as I thought.

               I shrug my shoulders and put my hands on my lap.

               “Let me see,” my dad presses, putting his menu down and reaching towards me. I obey and place my wrist on the table in front of him, he gently lifts it and examines the little dangles.

               “This middle one is quite extravagant,” he muses, touching the blue and gold one. “Who gave you that one?”

               “Auston,” I mutter, my cheeks flaming and my dad chuckles.

               “Should have guessed,” he whispers more to himself than to me and I frown at him. I hadn’t mentioned anything about Auston to either of my parents, though my mom suspected it, I had never confirmed anything. Before I can ask, he puts my wrist back on the table and pats my hand before turning his attention back to the menu.

               “You’re being weird today,” I tell him, picking up my own menu.

               “What else is new?” He asks, not looking at me and I nod in agreement.

               Once I’m able to get him to leave and into the car towards the airport, I finally ask.

               “Is there a reason you didn’t want to go back to my house before your flight?”

               “What are you talking about? We were already out, no need to go all the way home and then back in just under two hours.” He’s talking fast and avoiding my eye contact. I pull up to a stop light and eye him.

               “Dad… I live less than fifteen minutes from the airport…” I quirk an eyebrow at him and he squirms in his seat, thankfully I got my poker face from my mama. “You just going to avoid my eye contact the rest of the way?”

               My dad turns his head slightly towards me and opens his mouth but seems to think better of it and looks forward again. “Yes.” He says and I sigh at him.

               We ride in silence the rest of the way until I pull to a stop outside the entrance, it’s a ghost town, not a person in sight. Sadness aches in my chest, it had been so nice having my dad with me all day, it kept my mind off of things. Now that he’s leaving and I have to go back to an empty house, a sadness comes over me.

               “Are you positive you and mom can’t just move here?” I ask him, tears in my eyes.

               “Oh, Y/N, as much as we miss you… I think you’re doing just fine on your own, baby,” he reaches across the console and wraps his arms around me. I lean into him and nuzzle my face into his neck.

               “But I miss you,” I whine and he laughs.

               “I think there are quite a few things you would miss in Toronto if you were to leave,” he whispers and I can hear more behind his words.

               “You’re going great kid, I’m proud of you,” he squeezes me once more before letting me go and reaching into the backseat for his briefcase.

               “Love you,” I say as he climbs out of the car.

               “Love you so much more,” he answers and winks at me, closing the door gently and tapping the roof.

               I blow him one more kiss and wait until he gets inside the airport to pull away. A few tears fall during my short ride home. I had thought having my dad here, even for a day, would make me feel so much better and now that he’s gone, I feel a hundred times worse and even more homesick. Even when I pull into my driveway, I can’t get myself to climb out and walk inside for another ten minutes.

               When I finally get myself composed, I step out of the car and trudge through the snow to my front door, not even noticing the other car sitting in my driveway. I fumble with my keys at the door, I realize my porch lights aren’t on. I tap the glass around the out light bulb and stop myself. That is exactly how horror movies start out, dumbass. Finally getting the door open I step in and close the door behind me before I even realize that the lamp that I always keep on in the foyer is also off.

               I hear a snap and suddenly there’s a light near my feet and I squeal, whipping around and pressing my back to the door looking around in a panic. Looking down at the floor I’m surprised not to see some half eaten zombie crawling towards me but a rope of what looks light white Christmas lights, which lead through the foyer and into the hallway behind it.

               I eye the lights for a minute and taking a deep breath, I step forward.

Late Night Wanderings

@d-athanasi | AO3I hope you enjoy this. I thought doing a diner AU would be a fun change; I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it!

by @nightlight9

Stiles doesn’t know how started spending all of his nights hanging out in a forgotten diner instead of getting a good night’s rest. Okay, so maybe he does actually know how he got here, and it might have everything to do with one surly worker with a quiet disposition and a big heart.  


Stiles doesn’t know how he got here. One minute he had been staring aimlessly at his computer screen, going crazy trying to figure out a good argument for his essay, and the next he was in his car, driving around town at 12:34 in the morning. All he wanted was to find something to do that would take his mind off of all the work he was avoiding. Ending up at Pop’s, a 24-hour diner Stiles didn’t even know existed, was a complete accident. But it turned out that it was exactly what he was looking for, even though when he first stumbled inside, all he could hope was that it wasn’t the start of a b-rated horror film featuring his death.

Now, most of his nights are spent at the small diner.

“I’m cutting you off.”

Stiles blinks up at the man towering over him, a pout pulling at his lips. Okay, so maybe he does actually know how he got here, and it might have everything to do with one surly worker.

The first time that Stiles saw Derek, he thought that the older man might be a tragically beautiful serial killer, because even though he was the most attractive man Stiles had ever seen, the frown pulling his lips down suggested violence. Instead he turned out to be the tragically beautiful owner of Pop’s, whose resting face naturally looks violent. And, after that fateful night, he also happens to be Stiles’ favorite unobtainable companion.

Except when he decides it’s his ‘duty to the public’ to cut off Stiles’ caffeine supply.

“That’s not fair,” Stiles whines, tightening his hands around the coffee mug and glaring up at Derek. “I’m a paying customer. You’re supposed to take my money without complaining or questioning my life choices.”

“If you expect that kind of service you should go somewhere else.”

“Derek.” His voice is all whine. “You have to give me more coffee. How else am I going to finish all of this?” He gestures to the counter where several textbooks have been left open.

Derek snorts. “Stiles, you’ve been staring at your books without doing anything for ten minutes.” He grabs Stiles’ discarded pencil (which rolled across the counter and was forgotten) as evidence of his lack of work. “It’s almost 2 o'clock, you haven’t done any work, and you’re cut off. “ Derek reaches over the counter and presses the pencil’s eraser against Stiles’ forehead. “You know, normal people would be thinking about going to bed.”

Stiles bats the pencil away and snorts. “Yeah, well I think we can safely deduce that I am in no way normal. Why else would I be hanging out with you practically every night?”

Surprisingly, Derek doesn’t take the bait. It makes Stiles pout again; he loves the way that they banter and tease each other. But Derek just calmly pries the mug from his fingers and replaces it with a tall glass of water, a smirk teasing his lips. Obediently, though with an eye-roll, Stiles sips at the new drink. In all honesty, he’s not even feeling jittery from all of the coffee. He’s long suspected that Derek swaps his caffeinated coffee with decaf, but he hasn’t been able to prove it. Either way, he’s definitely more than ready to head back to his dorm and sleep for a few hours.

But at the same time, Stiles doesn’t want to leave Derek alone. He knows that he must be used to it; obviously he was alone before Stiles wandered in and kept coming back. But Stiles hates picturing Derek wasting time by himself. The first night they met, Derek had been behind the counter waiting for orders even though no one was there. And he’s never mentioned having anyone to go home to.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I loved your fic earlier about Andries and the press. And now I'm so sorry to ask something so similar but could you write a fic about the press getting pictures of Neil's scars after they're at the beach or something? And also Neil's response to reporters because I am trash for sassy Neil. Thank you!

sorry this has taken me so long to get to! i hope you like it!

“You haven’t got to do this.”

“Of course I do.”

Wymack made an exasperated noise as though this was a conversation he’d had one too many times before. Neil suspected he probably had. “Not everything has to be a fight.”

Neil’s lips twisted into a smile, a dead smile, more grimace than grin. “But I love to fight.”

Wymack looked like there were a thousand and one things he wanted to say to Neil, none of them pleasant, but in the end he simply clapped Neil on the back. “Let’s get this over with then.”

There were lots of things in the world that Neil Josten didn’t understand. He didn’t understand how Tetsuji Moriyama was able to treat the Ravens like he did. He didn’t understand how his father lived with himself. He didn’t understand how he had landed on the feet with the Foxes. But, most of all, he didn’t understand why the press wouldn’t leave him alone.

He made a good story - he understood that - but there were better stories out there. There were people who’d just won more money than most people would ever see in their lifetime. There were celebrities cheating on their partners and being cheated on. There were murderers and con-artists and bank robbers and a million stories which were far more interesting than him going on holiday.

Apparently though, being shirtless on the beach was the hottest story that everyone just had to know about.

Pathetic, really.

The Foxes were waiting for him outside Wymack’s office, offering him a collection of supportive words. Dan’s words rang in his ears - “Give ‘em hell, kid” - but it was drowned out by a single stark realisation: Andrew wasn’t there. Everyone else was. Even Aaron was sulking in the corner, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else, but there was no Andrew.

They’d argued last night. Andrew didn’t know why he’d agreed to a meeting with the press: “If you keep giving them what they want every time they run a story on you, they’ll never leave you alone.” Andrew was right. Neil knew he was. He couldn’t help himself though. He couldn’t stand letting them print lies and speculation. He’d spent his whole life running and hiding and being unable to stand up for himself even when he wanted to so badly he felt like he would burn from it.

He hadn’t thought their argument would stop Andrew coming though.

As if he could read his mind, Wymack said “He’s in your dorm.”

Neil simply nodded, not trusting himself to say anything.

Thankfully Wymack didn’t push it and simply opened the door to the stadium. The second they appeared, the cameras were on them, flashing lights and shouts of his name. With a stony face, Neil marched to the spot which had been marked out for him to stand on while Wymack stood off to the side.

Neil wasn’t like Kevin. He couldn’t flash a winning smile and have the press eat out of his hand. He hadn’t been trained to tell them exactly what they wanted to hear while giving away as little as possible. Kevin was polished and prepared, the perfect media showcase. Neil was rough around the edges and ready to fight back. Maybe that was why Wymack hadn’t bothered wasting his energy on getting Neil to prepare a statement.

His blank expression didn’t change when he took the microphone.

“Honestly, I’m not sure what you’re expecting me to say to you all. Haven’t you got anything better to do than take pictures of university students on holiday? A pretty pathetic job, don’t you think?”

A wall of noise hit him as questions were hurled at him from every direction, almost indistinguishable from each other. They were all variants on the same question though: How did he get his scars?

“I rescued a baby from a burning building,” he shouted over the noise, only to continue more quietly when the press fell silent, desperate to hear his every word. “Ran in, jumped through fire. Had to smash a window to get to them. Or maybe it was from the lion I fought last summer. Got ambushed while on holiday. I forget the details.” He could see the reporters’ expression changing, the manic glee at the prospect of getting Neil Josten’s story giving way to bitter disappointment and barely concealed anger as they realised he wasn’t going to give them what they wanted. A small smile curved to his lips.

“What were you and Andrew Minyard doing at the beach together?”

Neil didn’t bother to stifle his scoff. “Frolicking in the sea and building sand castles. What do you think we were doing?”

“It’s a bit strange, isn’t it?” The young man who’d spoken had the haughty expression of someone’s who’s face was permanently etched into a sneer. “Andrew Minyard on a beach vacation. He doesn’t seem the type.”

The smile fell from Neil’s face. “What type does he seem?”

“Less holiday in the sun, more rehabilitation. Can you give a statement about Andrew’s recent time in rehab?”

“Don’t.” Wymack spoke so softly that Neil almost didn’t hear him through the blood rushing in his ears. The whole world tilted as his fingers tightened around the microphone. If he threw it now, he could hit the reporter right between the eyes before he knew what was happening. It wouldn’t kill him (more’s the pity) but it might hurt enough to knock some sense into him. Either way, it would make Neil feel better.

He didn’t throw it though, even as his fingers itched to. Instead he held it tightly enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Are you happy?” Neil looked from the man to the other reporters. “Are any of you happy? You’re so bloody obsessed with other people’s lives that you can’t be happy with your own. It’s not healthy, you know, to need to know the ins and outs of a stranger’s life. It’s disgusting. My life, Andrew’s life, has got fuck all to do with you and you’d do well to remember that. You want a statement? Go fuck yourself. You can quote me on that.”

He didn’t wait for the fallout before he turned and left the stadium. He didn’t stop to talk to the Foxes, their cheers of congratulations mixed with Kevin’s despair following him as he headed out the backdoor and took off at a sprint towards the dorm. He didn’t stop running until he opened the door and saw Andrew sat cross-legged, facing the television with the remote in his hand. The television glowed a dull grey before it clicked once and the screen fell black.

“Did you watch it?”

“No.”

“Liar.” Neil shut the door behind him as he stepped into the room. “What did you think?”

“I think you’re an idiot.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I think you enjoy the attention.”

Neil lifted one eyebrow. “Do you?”

Andrew didn’t answer. His silence said enough.

Moving across the room, Neil sat down next to Andrew on the sofa. As he did Andrew shifted, uncrossing his legs and putting his feet back down on the floor. There was a couple of inches space between them.

“Yes or no?” Neil eventually asked.

“I hate you.”

“I know. Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

Neil turned towards him. Andrew didn’t move, still staring straight forward. Lifting his hand slowly, Neil paused just before he touched Andrew’s jaw.

“I said yes.” Andrew still didn’t move.

With a quiet sigh, Neil turned Andrew’s head towards him, leaning in to press their lips together in a gentle kiss. At first Andrew didn’t kiss back. Despite the “yes”, Neil started to pull back; by now he knew Andrew’s reactions well enough to know when something wasn’t right.

Before he could break the kiss, Andrew moved. His hand came up to the back of Neil’s head, threading his fingers through his hair and holding him tightly. He kissed back now, hard and bruising, his body pressing against Neil’s as his hands moved to rest on Andrew’s waist. Andrew pushed him back against the sofa and Neil let him, pliant beneath him. This was what Andrew needed, what they both needed, and Neil was more than happy to give it to him.

The pink flush that coloured Andrew’s cheeks when he pulled back several minutes later was the only indication that he was at all affected by the kisses. It was enough for Neil.

“Frolicking in the sea and building sand castles? Is that really the best the famous Josten wit could come up with?”

Neil smiled. He was still smiling when he kissed Andrew again.

Okay, so I haven’t been able to get this post by @voltron-messenger out of my head for the past few days, so to get out of my writing slump, I wrote my own adaptation of it…

Keep reading

today in “breaking my own heart”

I messaged @dsudis with, “ZIMBITS PERSUASION AU WHERE JACK IS ANNE”

(Persuasion is a Jane Austen novel where Anne, the heroine, was once persuaded to break an engagement to a poor man she truly loved. Ten years later, they meet again when he is no longer poor and she is no longer young and pretty. You can get the important bits from this post and this post.)

So here’s how that went.

Keep reading