vinyl seats

Kiss me, I'm Irish ☘

Just a little smutty Friends to Lovers (with no pining!) fun for this holiday, dedicated to @swallowedsong for various reasons. Sláinte! (rated M, 3000 words, AO3)

She almost choked on her green beer as her best friend’s feet came up off the ground as the burly, flanneled lumberjack (well, big guy in flannel shirt) at the bar planted a smacking kiss right on those unsuspecting lips. She’d told Killian what would happen if we wore that shirt, but he didn’t listen. Emma’s laughter is lost in the packed pub filled to the brim with St. Patrick’s Day revelers, but she knows Killian hears it, his telltale eyebrow lifting as Paul Bunyan releases him and gives him a jovial pat on the back.

“You had to know that would happen at some point, lad.”

“Aye, mate…sláinte!”

Emma shakes her head at Killian’s seemingly unflappable facade, watching as he shares a big grin and a toast with his kissing buddy at the end of the bar. But as he makes his way back to her she can see the signs of his mild embarrassment in the red glow of his pointy ears to the sheen of sweat at the hollow of his throat.

“Regretting that shirt yet?”

“Why Swan? That was the best kiss I’ve had all night.”

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Amelia (Part 1 of 3)


Pairing: Lin-Manuel x Reader

Summary: You technically met Amy first.

Note: Untitled Garbage Mystery Fic is no longer Untitled or a Mystery!

Okay, so this was initially gonna be a small thing and then it kinda got away from me so it’s a slightly less small thing? I basically needed to write something that wasn’t academic for once in my life and then this happened (with a great deal of help from @fragmentofmymind who is the greatest and listens to me every time I hit a metaphorical writing speed bump)

It’s far from the best thing I’ve ever written but I’ve had fun in this universe so far (and hope you do too). Thanks for being patient with me, my dudes. I LOVE YOU LOTS.

Word Count: 11,336 (shout out to slow burn lmao)

There’s a quiet power in wielding a camera, a strength in the ability to either capture the world in its purest truth or manipulate it into something brand new. You had learned this at a young age, stealing your grandmother’s Polaroid camera and discovering how different the image you could create would look in different types of light and more or less motion, even if you didn’t fully understand why it worked the way that it did.

It became a part of you, filling your heart with a curiosity for telling stories through images. The photo you caught of your mother as she laughed quietly to herself in the kitchen, a snapshot of your best friend right at the moment she caught you taking it, a poorly framed photo you accidentally took of yourself while trying to change the roll of film.

It was all magical to you, and it never really stopped feeling like you’d tricked the universe into allowing such beauty to exist every time you snapped a one-of-a-kind photograph.

A camera is built out of complicated technology. The mechanics of focus and aperture, f-stops and shutter speed were more than science and math to you–they were your doorway into a new world, the look of which you got to decide.

Your hands felt most comfortable when stabilizing a camera, your eye most at home behind a viewfinder, your fingers their most graceful as you pulled focus to a new subject–

“Are you even listening to me?”

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Three is the Magic Number

A little early birthday present for @schmerzerling. Dean and Cas needed to have this threesome, and the world needed to read about it. I honestly had no choice but to write it.

Rated: E. 6.6k. Castiel/Dean. Threesome M/M/F.


He takes Cas to dinner. Raul’s again. Cas doesn’t question it. Cas really hasn’t talked much since…since the night before. Probably better that way.

They settle into the vinyl seats and sure enough Mandy’s there in the blink of an eye.

“Back again, handsome?” she asks Cas, barely looking at Dean as she fills their water glasses.

Cas looks up, just as confused as the day before only this time more tired. “Dean insisted.”

“Cas here just wouldn’t shut up about the sunrise special,” Dean lies before Mandy’s face has a chance to fall.

“Well, we’ve got all sort of good stuff on the menu. Anything you want, I can make sure you get it.” The girl knows what she wants, Dean will give her that. It still throws Cas; most people that flirt with him aren’t quite as direct. Most idiots that want to get with him are pretty damn shitty at communicating how much they want him. Some of them even waste years of time beating themselves up until it’s almost too late and even then they’re still chickenshit.

“Cas doesn’t eat out…much,” Dean says and Mandy finally acknowledges his existence with a quirked eyebrow. “But he liked it so much here, I insisted he make an exception.”

“That so, handsome?” Mandy asks. Cas doesn’t look flirty, rather he’s some combination of confused and livid but Dean knows he won’t make a scene. “You look a bit rougher than when you were in here with your friends yesterday.”

“We had a long night,” Cas mutters. “Your concern is appreciated though.”

“I’ll give you guys a few minutes,” Mandy says and retreats. She’s in a cute blouse today and another pair of dark slacks.

Dean stares after her too pointedly then looks back at Cas. “Can’t fault the service here.”

“Dean…” Cas starts and he has that tone. The “we need to talk about what happened last night tone” that people get with Dean. It’s a tone Dean happens to fucking hate.

“You don’t need to say anything, Cas,” Dean mutters, pretending to look at the menu. It’s a blur of red and black. Reminds him too much of blood and ooze and… “You’re fine. We’re celebrating.”

“Are you fine?” Cas shoots back, face hard.

“I’m always fine.”

Dean gets a glare for that. He deserves it. But Cas doesn’t ask any more stupid questions, so it’s worth it. Cas turns his attention to the menu and pretends not to notice Dean keeping his attention on Cas. He looks fine now. Healthy. He’s fine. He could have died last night and never known all the things Dean’s never going to say, but he fine.

They eat. Cheeseburgers with bacon. No tomato for Cas. They make small talk as best they can in public. There’s only so much you can say about the devil’s love child before you start getting looks. Mandy is attentive, smiling at Cas each time she stops by the table. Dean notices that one of the buttons at the top of her blouse got undone.

“You know she’s into you,” Dean says, looking across the café to where Mandy is glancing over her shoulder back at Cas.

“I gathered that, thank you.” Cas sounds less than impressed. “I’m not particularly…”

“Come on, you should give it a shot,” Dean hears himself say, barely able to keep the tremor out of his voice. “Teachable moment, remember.”

“Dean, you know I would rather-” Cas stops himself before Dean does. “I’d need much more than a moment, anyway.”

Dean gulps. He knew Cas would say that. He knows what’s on Cas’s mind and it’s not banging the cute waitress. But he deserves that sort of…fun, pleasure? It would be so much easier. That Dean could help him with, even though the idea turns Dean’s guts to lead. Then again, maybe he could make it work.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Dean says with sly grin. He’s not going to think about this. There’s been too much thinking going on lately, not enough doing. “Like I said, celebration time.”


“You boys need anything else?” Mandy ask when she reappears beside the table, eyes bright and hopeful. “Coffee? Tea?” Her eyes rake over Cas and she bites her lip, sending every signal in the book. “Some dessert?”

Dean grins as Mandy looks between them, mostly at Cas. Cas gives Dean the ‘is that an innuendo?’ squint and Dean nods. “You know in fact we would like some dessert. My buddy here’s kind of shy about it so we were hoping for…something to take back to our room.”

“Really?” Mandy purrs, finally looking at Dean with some interest.

“Yeah, but we were hoping for something we could split.” Mandy’s eyebrows go high just as Cas’s eyes get even narrower. “Anything like that on the menu?”

Mandy looks between the two of them, licking at her lips. “I think I can get something like that for you. You over at the Lakeside?”

“Room 108,” Dean tells her.

“Delivery takes about an hour. That okay?”

“Only if it comes with some drinks.”

Read the rest on AO3.

No Place like Home

for @txf-fic-chicks  post-episode/missing scene fic challenge … cranked out after feeding the dog and cat and before leaving for church … proofed while my kid watched, at high volume, Shawn Mendes sing ‘Mercy’ … any and all errors are her fault :)


She needed to eat.

He needed to eat.

That’s not to say they wanted to eat but need took precedence over desire to curl up and die while the Peacock brothers headed to points unknown with their mother in the trunk and a straight family tree laid out in front of them, uncurving, unbranched and unthinkable.

Scully saw that he was guiding her towards the diner across the street and thinking about shaking his steadying hand from her elbow, she felt him lean in, “we need food before we drink liquor or else we’ll be drunk as soon as we open the magic bottle and passed out by the third sip.”

She couldn’t argue the sound logic and relented, her feet shuffling her across clean roadway and up unchipped curb to a diner that looked like it fell out of Maybury, much, she cringed, like Andy Taylor had. About to slip further into her depression from the last four days, she perked up at the smell of homemade food and ‘Chantily Lace’ playing passively through the speakers. Leading her to a corner booth, complete with red, shiny vinyl seats and chrome table edges, he gestured in a gentlemanly fashion, “ladies choice. Left or right?”

Choosing left so her back was to the wall, she slid in, involuntary smile floating up at the memory of 5-year old Dana and her family eating out on the rare occasion her father deemed them rich enough to afford a restaurant dinner for his family of six.

Mulder caught the memory skirting across her face and tapped her hand, “hey, dime for the thought behind the smile.”

Settling into the cool backrest, the material creaking slightly under her movement, “once in a blue moon, dad would be home and he’d look at the family checkbook and doing all kinds of math in his head and dramatically scribbling for effect on the corners of several old newspapers, he would decide that the bank account could handle taking six people out to the local diner in town for dinner. Now, today I understand that he would have taken us regardless but all his showy dramatics back then made us appreciate our night out more than probably most kids did. We didn’t see him as much as most families so a night out was special enough but then when we’d see just how special it was and we thought it was costing him a small fortune, we made sure not to fight, we were extra polite, we talked and tried to one up dad with stories of how tragically exciting our elementary school lives really were in comparison to his boring existence on a Navy carrier.” Thanking the waitress for the water she’d just set down, Scully pulled the glass towards her, spinning the ice with her straw before looking back at him, “there was a diner like this in town, blue and green instead of red but I swear to you, that waitress over there is the same and I desperately want to ask if she lived in San Diego in the 70’s.”

Mulder, glancing over his shoulder, returned to her gaze a moment later, smiling as well, “I double dog dare you.”

Scully felt some of the angst of the case draining away, “no, I’m good for now with the wondering and the suspecting, proving isn’t necessary to existence at the moment.”

“Fine. Take away my fun.” Opening the menu, “what are we eating? Want to share a shake? Pretend we’re 13 and on our first date?”

With an eye-roll, she poked his leg under the table with the rounded toe of her boot, “I don’t share ice cream well, Mulder. I’m greedy and terrible and need to selfishly have it all to myself. I will, however, give you the cherry from the top in compensation for the denied double-dog dare.”

Tapping the side of her calf back in response, “fair enough.”


Burger and meatloaf consumed, shakes slurped and cherry surrendered, Mulder sat back, “what’s next, G-woman. We don’t leave until tomorrow morning.”

“Well, you’d mentioned gallons of liquor and I’m still pretty okay with that idea.”

Figuring there had to be some kind of liquor store around the town that time forgot, he signaled the bill, stood to leave and held out his hand, “come on. Inebriation awaits.” Dropping a sizeable tip, he then charged the meal to the Bureau and led her out with his now standard hand on her back, guiding her forward simply because it always felt like the natural thing to do.

He chose to turn left randomly and before reaching three storefronts down, Mulder pulled her to a stop by the back of her shirt, halting their beeline to liquor and forgetting. Looking over her shoulder, “what?”

Mulder, eagle-eye that he could be, was pointing to a flyer in the window of the Post Office, “we should go see that.”

Following his finger, she read the sign, “you want to go to Home Elementary School’s production of,” squinting slightly to make sure she was reading it properly, “Wizard of OZ?”

“Yeah. We need some culture, Scully. We never do anything cultural, worldly, sophisticated.”

The eyebrow flew miles into the air, “elementary school plays are cultural, worldly and sophisticated?”

“We just lost, into the general population, an entire incestuous family who keep their mother in a trunk. We need this more than we need the entire contents of a liquor store, trust me.”

Realizing he was completely right, “let’s go.”


The folding chairs wiggling in haphazard rows across the cafeteria floor transported her back to an age where folding chairs were meant to wiggle in haphazard rows across the cafeteria floor. She grinned as she bought her $3 ticket and nearly giggled at the flying monkey who took it at the door, the small boy poking his friend and whispering, “go show them two seats and they’re tall so put them in the back.”

The friend whispered back, “shut up, Tim, I know what to do.”


In an 8-year old huff, the friend led them to two seats in the back row, handing them copy paper programs before walking away. Scully leaned up to Mulder, talking low into his shoulder, “they think I’m tall.”

“They’re delusional kids huffing glue. You’re the shortest thing in adult world and they’ll be bigger than you by sixth grade.” Dropping into a chair and patting the one beside it, “now, sit before they call the giant squad to come take you away.”

Smacking him hard on the upper arm, she settled in, “you are enjoying this too much already.”

“If I had popcorn, I’d be in heaven.”

While he lamented his missing snack, around them parents and kids, grandparents, friends, assorted other relatives filled the seats for the next 15 minutes, the room soon darkened and the play beginning.


An hour later, they had witnessed four stage-frightened kids, one tremendously loud and surprisingly on-key Dorothy, two fighting trees who threw their apples at each other instead of the main characters, several set mishaps including the curtain falling to reveal the wizard before the wizard was to be revealed, a crier, two trippers and a nervous nose-picking palace guard who then screamed when he realized his nose was bleeding from the aforementioned furious gold-digging.

Once Dorothy finally got back to Oz and all was set right with the world, the lights went down, another kid wailed at the sudden darkness, then, the stage lit up again, a straggling line of kids awaiting applause in the middle of the floor and visibly fearful it wouldn’t come.

They didn’t have to worry … because Mulder was there and he was so damn happy with what he’d just experienced that he jumped from his seat, clapping as loud as his cupped hands could achieve, his yelling praises and congratulations and hooting driving the rest of the hesitating audience up and standing, first looking at Mulder and each other to see if this was proper etiquette then realizing their kids needed hooting and yelling.

Scully buried four fingers in her mouth, letting out a wolf whistle that echoed throughout the cinderblock room. More whistled joined and it took nearly four minutes for the room to quiet again to a manageable level. Kids cheered, bowing and giggling, coming out to the audience to find their families while Mulder and Scully stood quietly alone, grinning at the best night they’d had in a very long time.

The ticket taking flying monkey turned from his parents in the row ahead of them, “hey, which kid do you belong to?”

Mulder gave him an appraising look, wondering fleetingly what it would be like to be owned by a kid, “none, actually. We were just passing through and decided to take in a show.”

The kid nodded, then looked up at Scully, “sorry I didn’t realize you were that short. I would’ve had Tim put you closer up.”

Scully smiled at him, “I saw the whole thing and it was wonderful. Thank you for doing such a good job.”

Something twinged in Mulder’s chest as he watched her speak to the younger boy. He wanted to see her with her kids, watch her raise them in Scully fashion, science quizzes at the dinner table and midnight slime concocting at the kitchen counter because she had to prove Mulder wrong about the consistency and use of Borax in solution.

He would revisit the fact that he was at these midnight sessions and dinner table tests another time but for now, he took her elbow as the kid turned back to his parents, “come on, shorty, time to go.”

Instead of moving, Scully put her hand on his shoulder and climbed onto the folding chair, making her taller than him by several inches. Standing in front of her now and grinning up like a love-struck fool, she grabbed his tie, fiddling with it for a moment, “not so short now, am I?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

Returning his grin, she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, crowds be damned, “thank you for the culture, Mulder.”

Arms around her waist, he held her steady and safe high up in the air, “thank you for the world, Scully.”

Summary: What happens when Jon and Sansa break up - Multiple POVs [inspired by this amazing Bellarke fic]

– warning: mature language – 


For the most part, Arya doesn’t like to involve herself in her siblings’ lives. What they do and who they do are none of her business and she likes to keep it that way. It’s all in a vain hope that they’ll return the courtesy but of course that never happens. The Starks are entirely too involved in each other’s lives, especially Robb, who thinks it’s his duty to order them around just because he’s the oldest. But Arya still tries to keep her life to herself and she actively avoids any and all discussions of her siblings’ love lives. It frankly does not interest her in the least.

So when she finds herself coming home early from hanging out with Gendry and the boys, the last thing she wants to witness is Jon and Sansa fighting. They always bicker every now and then – the problem with opposites dating, she supposes – but this feels different, wrong. And Arya is definitely intruding, only she can’t find it in herself to leave. Call it morbid curiosity.

“You went to Petyr, Sansa, don’t you get that!” Jon yells. “You went to him instead of me!”

“I was trying to help! And it’s not like you were even listening to me. You keep doing this. You keep shutting me out!” Sansa’s shrill voice echoes in the empty house, so laced with hurt that Arya has to suck in a breath.

“So it’s my fault now?” Jon snaps back. “I told you I had it figured out! I had everything under control and then you – you went to fucking Petyr! Petyr, Sansa!”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have if you had just trusted me from the start! But you never have. You always try to shoulder everything yourself and you never let me in.” Sansa’s voice breaks and Arya can imagine her sister so clearly now, red-faced and cheeks splotchy with tears. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me, Jon. I can’t do this. It hurts too much.”

There’s a moment of silence before, “so that’s it? You’re giving up on us? That’s really it?”

“Don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare say that I didn’t put everything into this relationship, Jon Snow!”

“Then what, Sansa! Why are you doing this! We fight! This is what we do!” Jon shouts, sounding more and more desperate with each word. It’s unnerving for Arya to hear him like this. Jon’s always been her hero, the person she could depend on to save the day, to always know what to do, but here in this moment, he sounds so small, so lost.

“Maybe it’s not what I want to do anymore! I’m tired of fighting with you. I’m tired of trying when you won’t let me in,” Sansa says but the fight is gone from her voice too.

“I let you in…” But there’s doubt in his voice and even Arya knows he’s lying. More quietly, Jon says, “so that’s it, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The door leading to the kitchen clicks shut, loud and final even from where Arya is hiding, and then she hears Jon’s heavy exhalation before footsteps lead up the stairs. She doesn’t know what just happened or what they were even fighting about but this feels wrong. Everything about this feels so wrong.


It’s a bit selfish that Tormund is more upset that he won’t get to see Brienne anymore than he is about his friend’s breakup but it’s not like Jon will let him comfort him either. Nor would Tormund even know how to. He’s not really a relationship kind of guy and breakups are completely beyond his understanding. The only thing he can really focus on is how Brienne won’t come around anymore because Sansa won’t come around and that really bloody sucks. He’s kind of grown attached to the woman. There’s something so fierce in the way her gaze flickers around the room, noting everything with calculated precision as if she’s eyeing her best escape routes. It’s weird, sure, but it’s hot as all hell.

He hoped at first that Jon and Sansa would reconcile by the end of the first week. It just didn’t seem possible for those two to stay away from each other for longer than that. They were both stupidly loyal to one another and stupidly in love that on occasion Tormund had walked into a room to see them cuddling only to walk straight out again. But a month has passed and it doesn’t look like they’re getting back together. This is probably it for them. It’s a shame too because he really did like Sansa. She was good for Jon. She made him less of a moody prick.

– which was why when he spots Brienne in a cafe sitting alone in a booth, he instantly sidles along the vinyl seat across from her. She looks up from her book, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips.

“Miss me?” he asks, unable to keep his eyes from appraising her. She’s in a plain beige jumper and dark jeans. Her short cropped blonde hair is messy and falls a little over her forehead. Adorable.

“Don’t you have other friends, Tormund?”

His eyes light up and she realises her mistake instantly. “So we are friends!”

“By proximity,” Brienne snaps irritably. “But now we don’t have to be so go away.”

“We could be again,” he says easily, leaning back and smiling broadly. “I don’t know about your side but Jon’s still hopelessly in love with Sansa. It’s pretty obvious. Man is pathetic.”

There’s a flash of hope then amusement before Brienne schools her features into that impassive mask she always wears. “It’s not our business to meddle.”

“But if they’re both miserable without the other, isn’t it? As friends?”

“I… guess…” Brienne looks thoughtful and then she sighs. “Sansa’s lost weight.”

“Um… congrats?”

“No, you numpty, she’s not eating properly, she’s not sleeping. If I don’t force her every morning to get out of bed, she might not even do that.” Brienne runs her fingers through her hair and Tormund desperately wants to do the same, see if it’s as soft as it looks. “Do you even know what they were fighting about?”

Tormund abruptly sobers up at that and shakes his head. “Every time I ask, Jon just shouts at me so no. Haven’t got a bloody clue.”


“So she’s really a mess without him?” Tormund asks, aware of how this knowledge makes him ache a little because he really did like Sansa. A lot.

“Yeah, and Jon?”

“Hopeless,” he answers easily. “Pathetic. More of a grumpy cunt than ever before.”

Brienne laughs, looks surprised that she did, and shakes her head. It’s adorable. So fucking adorable that Tormund has to hold himself back from just reaching across the table to kiss her. He can do that later. They have friends they need to sort out first.


At sixteen, Rickon is the youngest of the Starks and he’s more than aware that he is because none of his siblings ever lets him forget it. It was nice at first, to be coddled and spoiled by his siblings and parents, but he’s sixteen now. That means he’s almost an adult – not that that means shit to his family. It’s why Rickon spends so much of his time outdoors with his friends. Anything to stay away from the manor and keep active.

But Sansa is home for a week and he can’t help lingering around her. She’s always been his favourite. Sure, he gets along with all of his siblings but Sansa just gets him. She’s always been there for him, a calming presence in his life, and now that she’s home, he just wants to spend all of his time with her. But she’s different. Her smile never quite reaches her eyes and there’s a slowness to her movements like she’s treading against the current. It’s hard to look at her and see the sister he loves so dearly so broken. It makes him hate Jon because Rickon knows this is his fault. He broke his sister’s heart and Rickon’s not sure if he could ever forgive Jon for that.

When Rickon enters the lounge, Sansa is sitting curled up against one end of the sofa with a blanket cocooned around her. She looks so tiny. He hates seeing her like this so in spite of being sixteen and almost a man with a reputation to uphold, he drops on the sofa and curl into her like he was six again.

“Hey,” Sansa chuckles softly as she wraps an arm around him. He’s getting too tall for this but he doesn’t care. His sister is hurting and he needs to help. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Rickon hums, resting his head against her shoulder. “You don’t come home that much anymore.”

Sansa’s face falls. “I know. I’m sorry. Work is crazy and I promise I’ll –”

“Sans, it’s alright,” he says, feeling bad for making her feel bad. “I was just observing. Are your shifts really bad?”

“No, it’s… I’m in pediatrics right now and that’s really nice,” she says but he heard her, that falter at the beginning. He knows what she’s thinking without having to ask because he may hate Jon right now but Sansa loved him with everything she had. He’s not a particularly romantic teenager. He’s still in that stage where all he can notice about a girl are her boobs, which he knows distantly is really horrible because he has two headstrong sisters who would kill him if they knew that’s how he’s been reducing the girls in his class to but his hormones are out of whack and it’s honestly hard to focus on much else right now. So yeah, romance is completely not on his radar at all but he’s not stupid. Jon and Sansa dated for years and they’ve probably loved each other for longer. Everyone could tell. When they looked at each other, it was like they were seeing the sun for the first time or the ocean or whatever that makes people that blindingly besotted. A part of him is glad Sansa at least found that kind of love in her lifetime but he’s also angry on her behalf that she lost it too. She deserves the world.

“Is that where you want to be?” Rickon asks after realising he’s been silent for too long.

Sansa shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She turns her head to look at him. “You don’t have to check up on me. I’m… managing.”

Of course his sister knows exactly what he’s doing. She always could read him. Rickon sighs. “Are you?”

She’s quiet for a long while that it makes Rickon a bit antsy. “No,” she finally whispers softly, heartbreakingly anguished. “No, I’m not.”

Rickon nods, not knowing what else to say. He shifts so he can wrap his arms around his sister. “You will be though.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs before falling asleep a few minutes later, and in that moment, Rickon decides that love sucks.


As soon as she enters the pub, she’s assaulted by a loud raucous shout from the corner where a group of burly men are watching the football. Ygritte rolls her eyes and continues forward until she spots him slumped at a lone table, gripping onto his pint like it’s his lifeline. She walks forward, dodging the stumbling drunks, and drops into the seat across from him.

“When the bartender calls your ex-girlfriend to come and drag you home then that’s a sign that your life is really bloody pathetic,” she says, mild, watching him curiously. “What the fuck is up with you?”

Jon snorts, lifts his eyes to glance at her and then looks back down at his pint. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” she tells him. “You’re the farthest thing from fine.”

“Go home, Ygritte,” he says, sounding exasperated, but he’s also scowling at his pint so it’s really hard to get a read on his emotional state right now. She just knows he’s clearly not fine and he hasn’t been for two months.

“Not without you so either come now or you can finish your pint and tell me what’s really going on.” But she already knows what’s going on. Everyone bloody knows and it’s really honestly the last thing she wants to do right now because listening to her ex-boyfriend talk about his other ex-girlfriend is not exactly fun for her. But it’s also been years since Jon and her broke up so it’s not like she’s jealous or hurting still. She just really hates talking about emotional shit.

“I…” Jon starts, and for a second, Ygritte thinks she’s going to have to beat the truth out of him, but he sighs again. “I fucked up. I fucked everything up.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure you did. So what happened?”

He flashes her a scowl before it falters and then he just looks broken. “I kept pushing her away. I knew I was doing it too. That’s the fucked up thing, right? I knew I was pushing her out and I still did it.”

“You did that with me too,” Ygritte says gently, which isn’t really a state of being that she’s used to but there’s something wild about the way Jon looks right now, like if she said the wrong thing, he’d bolt.

He smiles faintly. “I know.”

“You want to hear my theory?” she hedges because why the hell not? There’s no guarantee he’ll even remember this in the morning.

“Yeah, why not?”

Ygritte snorts. “You’re scared she’ll leave you anyways. I mean it’s understandable, sort of. You grew up knowing your father wanted nothing to do with you and your mum, and then your mum dies when you’re fourteen. You’ve had to do everything on your own. So letting someone else into your life, having them play a major part in your decisions and shit, yeah, that frightens you, Jon. You don’t want to go through all of that again.”

“Huh,” he says, studying her quietly. “When did you get so smart?” He flourishes his hands around, nearly knocking the pint off of the table.

“I’ve always been smarter than you,” Ygritte says, pulling the pint towards the centre just in case. “It’s not really hard to be smarter than you. You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

He laughs but there’s no real humour in it. “I miss her,” Jon says quietly, thumping his forehead down. “I miss her so fucking much, Ygritte. She’s… She’s Sansa.” He suddenly sits bolt upright, staring wide-eyed at her. “Oh. Oh. I shouldn’t say that to you, right? You’re my ex!”

“Jon, we dated when we were seventeen,” she laughs loudly. “I’m fairly sure I’m over you.”

“Right… of course,” he nods gravely. “Then yeah, I bloody miss her. It’s like… With her, everything finally made sense. You know? And I fucked it all up. She thinks I don’t trust her but she’s the only opinion that matters.”

“Fucking hell, Jon, then go tell her!” Ygritte snaps.

Okay, she is over him and she really doesn’t want to date Jon ever again but she can’t help the spark of irrational jealousy. She’s fine on her own, she really is, because she has a great job she loves, friends she loves and she’s independent. She likes being alone. But the fact she can’t ever imagine someone loving her as much as Jon loves Sansa kind of stings a little. It’s stupid and totally irrational because she’s awesome. Why wouldn’t someone love her? Right?

Jon nods and jumps to his feet, swaying and nearly toppling into the next table. Ygritte sighs, standing up too. “Okay, lover boy, maybe tomorrow. Let’s get you home to sleep this off first.”


Sansa is her best friend, the greatest person she knows, but holy shit is her friend also dense as a fucking log. It’s the only reason why she would willingly go out on a date when she’s still so clearly, pathetically in love with Jon. She’s not ready to move on – nor does Jeyne think she should because those two are the real deal – and this date is a supremely bad idea. But does she listen? No, of course Princess Sansa bloody Stark won’t listen to Jeyne.

It’s why she can justifiably march over to Jon’s flat and demand he go win her best friend back because four months is four months too bloody long for them to go without each other. It’s not that she’s worried Sansa’s going to have such an amazing date she’ll forget about Jon because that is laughable, but it’s the fact that Sansa is so desperate right now to feel anything that she would conceivably date someone to just forget how much she’s hurting.

The door peels open a couple seconds after Jeyne starts pounding on the frame. Jon is standing there in ratty sweats and a thin shirt with holes at the collar. He looks like a really handsome homeless man. “Jeyne?” he squints at her. “What – is Sansa okay?” His eyes suddenly widen and every muscle in his body tenses simultaneously like he’s readying himself to go to battle. Jeyne rolls her eyes. At least now she knows they’re both equally as pathetic as each other.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s healthy, ten toes, ten fingers,” Jeyne tells him and watches smugly as he visibly deflates.

“So what… um, what are you doing here?”

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” she begins quickly. “There’s no easy way to say this. Sansa’s going on a date. Tonight.”

Jon’s face wilts, dying right before her eyes, and it pains her so despairingly she reaches out to grab a hold of his hand. “Her heart’s not in it, Jon,” Jeyne assures him. “She still loves you. But you need to… You need to show her you still love her too.”

“Of course I still love her,” he replies forcefully. “But that wasn’t our problem. If she wants to… If this is what she needs then she should do it.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Jeyne throws her hands up in the air. “You’re both so dumb!”


“No, stop it, you are!” she shouts. “I’m so sick and tired of both of you pining away for each other instead of just talking like bloody adults. Put on some shoes and go out and fight for her. This cowardly thing you’re doing,” she gestures to his whole body, “is not you.”

Jon rubs his chin with one hand. “She deserves better than me.”

“Yeah, probably,” Jeyne bites out because she’s pissed off and he deserves that for being so obtuse. “But she chose you. All she needs is some indication that you still want her too.”

“Yeah… I, um… I have to go. It’s nice seeing you again, Jeyne.”

She’s going to kill him. She’s going to kill him then kill Sansa. She’s going to kill them both before they put her in an early grave.


The thing is Robb had a plan. It was a very intricate plan to get Jon and Sansa back together because over four months with those miserable sods was just beginning to grate on everyone’s nerves. He was going to invite them both to the Stark cabin in the Lake District and lock them in there together for a whole weekend. It was going to be super romantic and brilliant and then they’d both owe him for the rest of their lives. Their firstborn would be named Robb Junior. It was all going to be awesome.

So of course as most of Robb’s plans goes, it completely falls apart when he goes to visit Jon at the fire brigade station and he realises that not only is his best friend not alone but his baby sister is there with him. He thinks about ducking out but he’s also too curious for his own good at times.

“You’re okay,” Sansa breathes out and the relief on her face is so palpable Robb instinctively sighs with her even though he really has no idea what’s going on.

“What are you doing here?” Jon’s voice is hesitant, wary even, but Robb’s known the man since he was five years old and his best friend is practically bursting with being able to see her again.

“Edd texted me. He…” Her voice breaks and she muffles a sob behind her palm. Jon’s instantly at her side, gripping her shoulders, as the tears rush down from her face. “He said you were in the hospital. That you got hurt in a house fire.”

Understanding rushes over both Jon and him. His best friend smiles softly. “I’m okay, Sans. Look at me, I’m here. It wasn’t anything. They just wanted to check me over but I only have a couple bruised ribs. Nothing serious.”

She nods and then without warning, she punches him in the shoulder. Even Robb has to wince from where he’s standing. “You asshole!”

“What?” Jon looks affronted and he steps back instinctively from his raging sister. Robb’s a little proud of her.

Four months, Jon,” she yells at him. “I haven’t seen you in four months and it takes your coworker texting me that you’re in the hospital to bring us together? Do you know how stupid that is?”

“Yeah,” Jon mumbles, looking at the ground.

“Yeah,” Sansa repeats, the anger suddenly leaving her, and now she just looks young and vulnerable. Like when she was a gangly ten-year-old and crashed her bike and Robb had to carry her home. He had been so worried then, every whimper of pain a piercing stab into his own body, and he feels that way now. But he can’t carry her pain now any more than he could then.

“I should – I’ll leave you alone then.” Sansa turns to leave but Jon immediately grabs her wrist and pulls her back.

“Don’t. Sans, please,” he says softly, almost too softly for Robb to hear. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Sansa isn’t looking at him and she doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry. You were right. I did push you away. As soon as I found out they were going to charge me with assault, I should’ve come to you. You shouldn’t have had to find out from Petyr to begin with. But even though I knew they had no evidence against me, I just didn’t want you to see me like that… It’s hard for me to let people in,” Jon admits, his hand still wrapped around Sansa’s wrist. “But it’s harder to not be with you.”

“We can’t do this if you don’t trust me, Jon.”

He tugs her again so she has to look at him. “I do trust you. I always have. I just didn’t trust myself not to screw it up.”

His sister laughs a little. “You’re a grumpy idiot.”

“I know that,” Jon laughs too. “Robb tells me everyday.”

Robb smiles because that’s true. He totally does. Who else would if not for him?

The silence stretches on for a long while as the two stand there staring at each other. “I missed you too,” Sansa eventually says. “But I can’t do this if you’re not sure, Jon. I can’t go through all of this again. You broke my heart.”

“I know, I know.” Jon rushes forward so he’s cradling her face in his hands. “And I’m in this completely. I want this. I want you. Sans, you have to know you’re it for me.”

“Yeah?” she asks, the insecurity so audible there Robb has to bite his tongue to keep from jumping in to rally for his sister. But as Jon rests his forehead against hers, Robb realises he doesn’t need to.

“Yeah,” Jon answers. “There’s never been anyone else.”

“So we’re doing this again?”

“If you’ll have me,” he says, pulling back to look at her. She smiles and it’s this inexplicable brightness that makes her seem so breathtakingly ephemeral Robb is a little floored by this side of his sister. Jon kisses her then, at first slow and sweet, but that soon gives out to something more desperate and needy, with hands carding and tugging through hair and pulling at clothes. Robb immediately turns around because like hell is he going to stand there and watch his best friend and his baby sister fuck right there on the floor. For his very delicate sensibilities, both his sisters are still virgins and Robb would like to continue to believe that for the foreseeable future.

Before he completely exits the station though, he hears Sansa one last time.

“You’re it for me too.”

anonymous asked:

Fanfic about Betty and Jughead having a pregnancy scare but before she can tell him she's not pregnant, he tells her how he would want to keep it and why?

Decided to combine these two requests, hope that’s okay! 

A/N: Takes place when Betty and Jughead are in college so they are probably around the age of 20 or 21. 


Betty slid across the vinyl seating on the booth at Pop’s, her heart beating wildly in her chest as she lifted her chin to meet Jughead’s gaze with nervous eyes.

“I have to tell you something,” she told him, her voice low and unsteady as she sucked in a shaky breath.

“I wanted to talk to you too actually,” Jughead admitted, pushing aside his plate of french fries and leaning forward on the table to place his hands in front of him.

“Oh okay,” Betty muttered, glancing down at his folded hands on the table and fidgeting uncomfortably in her seat. “Well I think it’s best that you go first then.”

“I wanted to explain to you why I freaked out about what you told me last week,” Jughead began, and Betty’s head quickly snapped up to meet his eyes.

“Jug, you really don’t have to-”

“No, I do,” he said quickly, cutting her off before she could finish her sentence. “I just didn’t want you to think that my reaction meant that I wasn’t being supportive or that I wasn’t going to be there for you every step of the way. I realized how unfair it was to you and I couldn’t live with myself if you thought that it meant that I didn’t - that it meant I didn’t love you or-”

“Of course I never thought that, Juggie,” Betty assured him, placing a now-steady hand over the top of his and giving him a small smile. “I know you’d be there for me.”

“I think that I was just afraid of turning out like my own father,” Jughead admitted, shaking his head at the memory of growing up feeling uncertain and scared most days of the week. “I’ve never known exactly how my life was going to turn out, but I knew with absolute certainty that I never wanted to be like him.”

Betty swallowed hard, rubbing her hand up and down his arm reassuringly as she urged him to continue his story. She knew it was hard for him to talk about his past with his father, and having to bring it up after trying to forget it for so long must have been hard.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my Dad,” he added quickly, his brows drawing together as he stared distantly at the plastic covering on the menu in front of them. “But I hated living with him. And I promised myself that if I was ever lucky enough to have a son or daughter of my own, I would be the kind of father that they could be proud of all the time and not just certain moments.”

Betty fidgeted again, knowing that she needed to tell him. This affected his life just as much as it affected hers, and he deserved to know the truth.

“Jughead, you need to know that-”

“So that’s why I wanted to tell you how excited I am for this baby,” Jughead stuttered out quickly, flipping his hands over and lacing his fingers through Betty’s. “I’m excited to show him - or her - how much I’m going to try to be a good father in every way possible. And I’m excited to do it with you, Betty Cooper, every step of the way.”

“Wow,” Betty muttered, feeling her stomach drop with every single word he spoke. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jughead assured her. “Just know that I’m here for you no matter what. We can finally get that apartment together. I saved up some money from working for Mr. Andrews’ last summer and I’ve been doing pretty well at the pizza place so-”

“I’m not pregnant,” Betty blurted out the words, her hand withdrawing from his as she watched the look on his face change from happy to shocked in just a quick millisecond. 

“What do you mean?” he breathed, his brow furrowing together in confusion. “I thought you took a test and-”

“It was a false-positive,” Betty explained, leaning back against the seat as she picked at a fraying piece of thread at the end of her sleeve. “I went to the doctor and everything. There’s no baby. There never was.”

“Are you - how do you feel about that?” Jughead fumbled for the right words, unsure of what to say to her in this situation.

“I’m not sure,” Betty mumbled. “If I’m being honest? Part of me is a little relieved.”

Jughead nodded as if he understood, but his expression remained distant. “And the other part?”

“Kind of disappointed,” Betty whispered, her voice cracking ever-so-slightly as the tears popped up at the corners of her eyes.

Jughead quickly slid out of his side of the booth to join her on her side, immediately taking her face in his hands to wipe away the falling tears with his thumbs.

“Look at me,” he whispered, locking his hands firmly on either side of her face as she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. “I meant everything I said. Every word of it. It’ll happen for us one day, when the timing is right. And I will love that baby with all my heart because it’ll be part you and part me and every bit ours. Okay?”

Betty nodded timidly, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his as she breathed a sigh of relief. “How did I get so lucky with you?”

“I ask myself the same question everyday,” Jughead whispered. “Come here.”

Without another word, Jughead slid Betty into his side and she curled up against him, his arms folding around her as if to protect her from anything that might hurt or upset her in the future. And in that moment Betty realized that she felt safer than she had felt in her entire life and if every moment from that point on was exactly like that, she really would be the luckiest person in the world.

anonymous asked:

(Dexydex) congrats on mills! Also diner date prompt for ya!

Thanks, yo! @dexydex

There are two things a diner at 11 ‘o’ clock at night can be; boring and empty, or chock-full of interesting characters.

Dex and Holster are used to catching people’s attention when they’re in drag, it’s unavoidable, and when Nursey and Ransom are out with them, they’re going to be noticed, too.

Nursey and Holster are both completely relaxed being the center of attention, happily eating their burgers. Ransom is less comfortable in the public eye, and Dex is just pissy.

“Want a fry, babe?” Nursey holds up one of his French fries for Dex.

Dex scowls. “No, I can’t,” He whines, “I can’t eat when I’m wearing this!” He gestures to the corset that hugs his torso tightly.

Holster swallows a big bite of burger and points at Dex. “That’s why I don’t wear a corset, dude. Who cares if my figure isn’t ‘hourglass’? If I’m gonna rock a crop top, why not show off this sick bod?”

Dex sticks out his tongue. “I guess we’re two, very different drag queens. One of us cares about looking good, and the other eats greasy burgers while wearing lipstick.”

“Don’t be mean! You’re drag mother didn’t raise you this way!” Holster gasps in mock-offense.

Dex just sips his orange juice and raises his eyebrows.

“Want a fry, babe?”

“Nursey, I already said no!”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

Holster turns to Ransom. “Should I get a corset, dude?”

Ransom shakes his head. “It would look so weird, bro.”

Nursey nods in agreement. “You’re too big.”

“Wow. Thanks, guys.” Holster deadpans. “Also, just take the corset off of it’s bothering you, Scarlet,” He tells Dex.

Nursey rests his chin on Dex’s shoulder, flashing his bedroom eyes at his boyfriend. “But baby, you said that I could take it off for you.”

Dex flicks Nursey’s forehead. “Later, dork. When we don’t have an audience.”

Nursey giggles and snaps his teeth playfully at Dex.

“Oh, right!” Holster shuffles through his purse and pulls out a thick wad of cash. “Scarlet, dude. How much did you make tonight?”

Dex reaches into his bra and pulls out his own stack of money from where one might expect to find breasts. He and Holster count their earnings separately.

Dex smirks. “Six-hundred fifty two, thanks to your cult following.”

Holster snorts. “Weeeeaaaaaakkkkk. Eight-hundred, twenty one!” He fans himself with his stack of bills.

“Some of our money should go to Chowder, though,” Dex points out. “He did tell a lot of people about our show.”

“Yeah…but…” Holster frowns. “…Fine.”

“Hey! I should get a cut, too!” Nursey says indignantly.

Dex raises his perfectly drawn-on eyebrows. “And why is that?”

“I taught you how to do your makeup! And my physical appearance draws the crowd in.” Nursey appeals. “So technically, I should always get a portion of your profits.”

“You don’t need it. You’re a silver spoon kid, Nurse.” Dex fidgets, trying to get the corset to stop digging into his hips.

Nursey leans heavily against his boyfriend. “Well, I would use the money to buy you gifts like heels and corsets and shit.”

Holster perks up. “What about me? I love heels! I love gifts!” He holds out some of his earnings. “Wanna buy me a gift with this, Rans?”

“Dude, hell yeah.” Ransom stuffs the money in his jeans pocket.

Dex sighs. “That defeats the whole purpose of a gift,” He says, sounding very put-upon.

Ransom shrugs. “If ya don’t get it then ya just don’t get it, man.”

“Check out what Rans bought me for my birthday.” Holster lifts up a leg to showcase his neon orange pumps. Unfortunately his leg is sticking out into the aisle, and a distracted waitress bumps into it, dropping a plate of food. The ceramic dish shatters on the linoleum floor, and Ransom, Nursey, Dex, and the rest of the customers all cringe.

“Are you okay?” Dex gets up to help the waitress collect the fragments of plate, but the corset prevents him from bending over too far without being in serious pain.

Holster joins them, waving Dex away. “Don’t worry, Scarlet. I got this. ’S my fault anyways.”

Dex plops back down on the vinyl seat, looking pained, tired, and fed-up.

Nursey rubs Dex’s back assuredly. “I think that’s a signal. Maybe we should head back.”

“Good idea.” Ransom gets up and stretches, yawning. “I’m gonna pass out soon, anyways.”

Holster nods from his spot on the floor. “Good deal. I’m paying.”

Dex huffs and opens his mouth to disagree, but Nursey quickly places a hand on the small of Dex’s back and steers him towards the door. “Thanks man, we’ll be outside!”

Ransom, Holster, and the frazzled-looking waitress finish picking up all the pieces of broken plate, and Holster asks for the check. When she comes back, receipt in hand, Holster makes sure to tip her very generously.


: Dean finds out you’re coming back into town. 

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester, Jess, OFC Lacie

Warnings: Angsty (kinda), drinking, breakups, sadness, Ash’s bad writing, lack of talent of any sort, cliffhangers?, IDK reader beware.

Word Count: 2.5k(ish)

A/N: Welp, this has been in my google docs since… Feb of last year. I’ve decided to post stories about whatever I want because I can. Also, this was unbeta, unedited for the most part, and I’m not sorry. lol. Be gentle, it’s been a while. I’m having difficultly with jumping tenses so just pretend that I’m a good writer and ignore all my mistakes.


Originally posted by sweetpea9873

He had to rip the tag off his new flannel and give his old boots a little spit shine, but it’d be worth it. Dean’s hand shook slightly as he buttoned up his shirt; nothing a quick glass of whiskey couldn’t cure.

A buzzing phone catches his attention, one last look in the mirror and he moved to answer.

“Hey man.”

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anonymous asked:

has anyone told y'all quentin tarantino isn't indie cinema yet

What’s happening, what’s this in relation to? I *eyeroll* Tarantino.

I saw him at one of those old school diners in LA last month. He was there with his girlfriend. It was the kind of place that pretends like it’s the 50′s, with red vinyl seats and headshots of classic actors on the wall, and he sat in a booth and pointed out headshots to his girlfriend and explained who each one was. Like… ugh. No thanks.

Care For A Waffle, Agent?

Originally posted by bottomsquall

Characters - Sam x Reader

Summary - You just wants to eat your waffles, damn it.

Word Count - 1,203

Warnings - Fluff. A Jerk. Language. A buttload of waffles.

A/N - This was originally going to be a drabble to unstick me from my rut, but ended up being long enough to just call it a fic. Also, thanks to everyone for helping me hit 800 followers, then going on to 900! I am absolutely blown away!!! Love all of y’all to bits! <3

You sat in the diner, yawning away at the early hour. You couldn’t believe how you managed to end up on another case right after hunting that wendigo in Minnesota, barely a break in between.

The old red vinyl seat creaked as you settled in the booth, looking through the small menu. Your eye was drawn to the ‘pig ‘n a poke’ special, but you were on a mission. Waffles. You were going to have a cheat day and you wanted the biggest stack of waffles you could eat. You deserved it after that wendigo clawed the hell out of your leg.

The waitress came up to you, plonking down a mug before filling it with coffee, your order as you walked in.

The bell over the door rang, a tall drink of water waltzing in and taking a seat at the counter. He was at least 6 feet tall, dressed nicely in a clean-cut suit. What caught your attention though, was the length of his hair. It was long enough that it started to curl at the ends, a cute flick that touched the edges of his collar.

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