we might have to push it back anyways because of the hurricane

alpha & omega part ii

part i part iii

summary - anxiety loses his hoodie and then there’s a lot of drama

pairing - eventual prinxiety

word count - 1,549

warnings - angst

tags - hurt/comfort, angst-to-fluff

a/n - by popular request, here’s part two! it drifts slightly more into fan-fiction territory than realism, but considering the last sanders sides video, i’m not exactly sure where that line is anymore.

tagging - @ace-anxiety-sanders @pointless-blog-name @lampisimportant @pippa-frost @jinxed-unicorn @starrykid​ @pattykrabbies @frustratedwaffle @soft-blue-badger @extremepenguin10@sanders-sides-burnt-my-crops


Anxiety’s world is ending.

It’s crumbling to pieces around him in the form of the piles of clothes he’s tossing from his closet, which are flying across his room in dull-colored wrinkles. He shoves aside the boxes and action figures littering his closet floor, shining the flashlight on his phone across the dusty space in hopes of finding what he was looking for. The corners reflect his light back at him mockingly through spider-webs and dust bunnies, and he groans in frustration, tossing his phone at the couch as he crawls deeper into the closet space.

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platinumparfait  asked:

Is it an unhealthy use of Fi if ever the user doesn't think about how other people feel when there's so much turmoil on the inside that the user can't even fix? An example of this would be me figuring out how to control my emotions towards someone that I don't get to think about how my actions are actually causing him to feel uncomfortable. I just thought that the feeling I have towards him and giving to him isn't really a problem until he told me he feels uncomfortable because of it.

This is extremely common in Fi types, but you know what? I don’t think it’s necessarily unhealthy. I think it’s normal. I’m not really thinking about how you may feel in response to my answers as I write this; I’m just focused on answering you!

The natural preoccupation of an introverted function is pointed toward one’s internal mechanics. Introverted Feeling therefore is preoccupied with how it feels over the needs of others, simply because what is going on inside the Fi user is so incredibly intense, it’s hard to divert energy outside oneself when one is having strong emotions. If I am upset, or depressed, or hurt, it is extraordinarily difficult for me to tune in to other people or to notice how I am making them feel. In truth, I simply do not care. I feel like I am dealing with a hurricane inside me; they can wait until I have figured out how to find the eye of the storm.

That does not make me a bad person, unless I am being horrible to them.

I found myself in a bad mood the other day and snapping at people. I did not like it, so I stepped back and asked, “Okay, girl, what is REALLY going on? You know damn well that the things you’re mad about today do not really upset you. 99% of the time, you are super chill and nothing upsets you.” Turns out, I was anxious about my kitten’s first trip to the vet and channeling that anxious energy into “anger.” I directed it into taking issue with minor problems, nitpicks, insults, and misunderstandings instead of saying: “I’m anxious, but it will all be fine.”

Here’s my take, as a Fi user / my life emotional mantra:

Your emotions are your responsibility. You cannot control how others treat you, but you can control how you respond and how you treat other people. If your feelings are out of control or causing pain, you have to reign them in.

Your mental well being takes precedence, because you are all you have. Guess who the one person you are going to spend your entire life with is? You. Thus it is in the best interest of yourself to take care of your mental health. If this means staying away from toxic people or those who bring out the worst in you, so be it. If this means you need alone time to deal with your feelings, so be it. If this means you have to stand up for yourself, so be it. But you owe it to yourself to be the healthiest person you can be, emotionally; so it’s up to you to find out what works, what you believe, what matters most to you, and stand by it.

You should value other people’s feelings as you value your own. Since you automatically have a Fi thing where you think, “But I wouldn’t want someone to treat me like that,” you probably already have an idea of how to treat other people as human beings with feelings. Part of respecting other people is listening to them even when you are in pain and learning and abiding by their boundaries. If someone says, “Please don’t do that to me, it makes me uncomfortable,” you need to stop doing it out of respect for them.

I had a bad habit as a teenager (call it my “rebellious” phase) where I would push my dad’s buttons all the time for kicks. I never once thought about how he might feel; I was too wrapped up in my own moodiness. Once I matured, and felt guilt for being unnecessarily rude, I realized what I was doing was causing him anguish and was unnecessarily cruel, and I would not like others doing that to me – and I stopped. I now direct those energies (my natural intuition into how people tick) into being a peacemaker between him and my brother, who also pushes his buttons but not intentionally; I use it to solve their communication problems and diffuse anger before it erupts. The feeling that leaves me with is so much more amazing than the selfish emotions I had from causing trouble.

There’s a reason Fe’s think Fi’s are “selfish.” Plain truth: it’s hard for us to look beyond ourselves to other people, and our compassionate treatment of others is often tied to our own wants, beliefs, and desires. (”Well, I would not want to drive that far, so she doesn’t want to drive that far, either.”) The “selfishness” is something we cannot help, in the sense that we have literally no choice but to deal with our emotions and our morals FIRST. Because we are not “tuned in” to other people emotionally, when we people please (to avoid conflict, so we don’t have to deal with other people’s emotional angst)… we get it wrong. The solution is effective communication and to train yourself to actually think about how the other person feels by asking them what they want.

I had a miscommunication this week with a friend, where I realized she thinks she has to take a day off from work to visit me whenever she drives out. When she worried that she could not get a day off (and therefore could not come) this weekend, it was an enormous relief to her to have me say, “Come anyway, we can have fun over a single night.” She thought I always wanted her for two nights, because that’s how it’s always been. I, meanwhile, thought SHE always wanted to come for two nights. I never imagined she thought that my invitation to come hang out only referred to two night stays! I had never invited her for one night, because I would not want to make that long drive just to stay one night. I was thinking about how I would feel, and assuming she was the same; when she is the opposite. As an SFJ, she would be happy with one night, so long as she got to see me, and talk, and do things, and have a brief break from work.

I am gradually learning to tune in to my friends… and ask them questions. I think sometimes my fear of conflict or hurting their feelings is unnecessary; because open, emotionless, curious conversation does not hurt feelings and in this case, could have saved her endless angst (”Can I get time off???”). 

Ideally, a Fi needs to figure out how to handle and deal with their own emotions in ways that do not cause collateral damage; they need to mature to the point where they know what battles to fight and what insults to take personally, so they have more energy to divert toward paying attention to their friends and family’s emotional responses. A Fi will never “read” the emotions the way a Fe does, but a Fi CAN learn to be socially appropriate and ask what the other person wants. If anything, Te users like to have their cards on the table, but a high Fi can be too shy to ask, “What do you want from me? From this relationship? Am I giving you what you want and need?”

But sometimes, asking is what the Fi needs to do.

- ENFP Mod

How I Really Feel

(requested by anon)

Kai Parker x Reader
word count : 4 2 51
warning : smut , bites , blood sharing ..
summary Reader is a part of the MF gang and a which with a different kind of powers. She likes him but Kai doesn’t seem to like her but that’s not exactly true.
*not my gif
NOTE : I maay have gotten a tiny little bit carried away with this one…😅🙈
 _______________________


“Just another boring day in Mystic Falls…” she thought out loud , walking around the town square. It was summer vacation but there weren’t many summer activities to do in her small hometown , so Y/N and her friends hung out together either at Grill or the swimming hole or at the Salvatores.
Y/N stopped in the middle of the street , seeing Kai only a hundred meters away walking down the sidewalk with his phone in his hands. They had welcomed , reluctantly , Kai into their group. He acted ‘nice’ towards every single one of her friends except her. She didn’t understand why and sometimes wondered if it was because her magic was a bit different than the one most witches have. Y/N had too much of it and sometimes when she was upset things like earthquakes , hurricanes , wild fires and so not typically naturally happening events happened. When she had been a little girl and her dog had dissapeared , Mystic Falls had suffered by pouring rain for days until the cute little fella had returned safely home. Y/N actually liked Kai. He was funny , charming but also dangerous. There was something very exciting about him and she felt drawn to him more and more each day but it was useless. No matter what she did , he still seemed to dislike her.
“Hey!” she said , blocking his way. He looked up at her , surprise in his eyes for a moment before his eyes returned to his phone screen.
“Heey …” he trailed off , stepping aside continuing on his way , leaving Y/N feeling hurt yet again.
Every time it was like this - he’d utter a few words to her and then just go away to talk to someone else. That’s why she had been surprised when a few days after running into him , he had walked up to her , offering his help to control her magic from creating mayhem and destruction around town. Y/N had agreed partially because she wanted to spend time with him and maybe figure out why he doesn’t like her , the other half of her had said yes because her magic was starting to get out of hand.


Kai rang on the doorbell , shifting nervously on his feet waiting for her to answer the door. Y/N opened less than a minute later, taking his breath away yet again. She was wearing a short dark blue dress with a slight floral pattern and ankle high boots , her hair pulled behind her back in a light braid. He had offered to help her with a spell to control her magic , now he was wondering how he was going to do that when all he could do was think about her in that dress. Every time he was around her , he had hard time to focus on anything.
“Hi.” Y/N said with a shy smile. “Come on in.”
Kai stepped inside , looking around her house. He had never been inside her house before and was absolutely fascinated how well everything inside suited her. It was as if he’d recognise this was her house no matter what.
“Nice house.” he said , picking up a picture of her from her graduation. It had been 5 years since the picture had been taken and she hadn’t changed much except she was even more beautiful now. His breath got caught in his throat. Kai returned the picture back in its place , turning towards her. 

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Tells Your Story, Part 4/5, Lin-Manuel Miranda x Readero

Prompt: Reader is asked to be a part of the Hamilton Mixtape

Words: 1449

Author’s Note: 2 fics in 2 days? What? Anyways, might have a holiday inspired fic soon!

Warnings: None?

Askbox | Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5


Waking up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee reminded of you when you were a kid. Your parents were basically incapable of starting the day without a cup each, and you remember waking up to the stench and feeling sick to your stomach.

You couldn’t understand why someone would subject themselves to the torture that was drinking coffee. Then college hit, and you found yourself unable to function without it.

On a usual morning, you stumbled out of bed, eyes squinting at the unfamiliar light as you forced yourself into your kitchen to set up your coffee maker.

Today, you woke up to not only the smell of coffee, but to an entire breakfast.

You glanced over at the empty spot in bed next to you, the sheets were disheveled and Lin’s phone was still perched on your bedside table.

Right. Lin. That was a thing that happened.

You flung yourself out of bed, grabbing the first shirt your hands found from your closet and a decent pair of underwear before making the trek to your kitchen.

You stopped in your tracks at your open bedroom door. Lin was moving around the kitchen, humming to himself as he dirtied dish after dish. You allowed yourself a moment to take it all in.

Lin, in this next-morning domestic bliss, was only sporting boxers and a wife beater, his tan skin contrasting nicely with the marks on his neck.

‘Marks I made.’ You reminded yourself proudly.

Lin turned to place a pan in the sink and caught a glimpse of you admiring him from a distance. He grinned immediately as he took in your appearance.

“Morning.” He nodded to you before getting back to work. As if this was a normal thing, as if this happened everyday.

“Hi.” You responded, completely breathless.

This hadn’t happened before. You had had one night stands, you had had partners and long standing relationships, but this was new. The feeling of watching him move effortlessly around your kitchen. He knew exactly where the silverware was without being told, he wrote ‘milk’ on the grocery list that was pinned to the fridge.

You took a few cautious steps forward, testing the waters. For all you knew, you could share breakfast together and he could parade out of your apartment never to be seen again.

You truly doubted it would happen, but you had learned to keep your guard up over the years.

“I was thinking-” He flipped an egg, “-we could see Chance the Rapper tonight, he’ll be on the mixtape and you might want to get a few samples from him while he’s in town.” You allowed yourself to relax as you perched yourself on a kitchen bar stool.

He was making plans, he wanted to keep seeing you.

“You can swing that?” You asked. He turned to you with an expression that said ‘I could swing anything.’ and you were reminded of who you were dealing with here.

There was a moment of silence after you hummed an agreement, Lin felt your uncertainty of what was supposed to happen next.

“Last night…” He started, “I don’t do that. Ever.”

“Me neither.” You breathed, relieved you could work this out together, that he was just as nervous and unsure and completely enthralled as you were.

“I just know that I like you a lot, and that I don’t plan on leaving you alone anytime soon.” He checked to see if you were okay with that, “You’re stuck with me, babe.” His eyes darted nervously between the task at hand and you as you took in this sentiment.

“Okay.” You told him, pushing out of your chair to tidy up after him. If he was the hurricane that came in the destroy the place, you were certainly the calm after the storm.

You and Lin spoke every day, saw each other at least every other day, whether that was in the studio or out and about the town.

You were very much still in the pre-game part of your relationship. Neither of you were particular in labelling the other as a ‘significant other’, and you didn’t call your little outings ‘dates’. He was affectionate. So affectionate it didn’t take long for everyone to put two and two together, within a week you had texts from your publicist.

Something about the virtues of taking a vacation.

He also heavily used twitter as an outlet - his direct line to people who wanted to know what he was up to. Apparently, the only thing of interest he was ‘up to’ was you. Fans eagerly connected the dots, and it wasn’t long until media outlets and all that had an idea of what was happening.

You both heavily ignored any implications or stories about your relationship, and continued to collaborate in the mornings while he performed during the night.

“My parents want to meet you.” He said, about three months into your relationship, “I mean, they already know about you, they’ve followed your music since forever, but they want to get to know you-”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” His eyebrow quirked up - you really did love how expressive his face is.

“Yeah. When?”

“Now.” He checked his watch for the time. Javier would be on tonight as usual, and you both were planning a simple dinner, “If I let them know now they can have dinner ready in an hour.”

Jesus Christ, when you said yes you thought you would at least have a week to prepare. Come up with some witty jokes and have a few nice stories to ease any tension.

“Sure!” You smiled through gritted teeth as he went to call his father.

They welcomed you with open arms into their home. Luis, Lin’s father, immediately beat Lin out for the most charming man you’ve ever met. He was the chef of the house, dinner was delicious and all from scratch. You didn’t have to worry about providing stories because they were happy to share their own embarrassing ones about Lin.

When he played Charlie Brown in elementary school, for instance, and the girl who was playing Sally was too late in pulling the football away. Lin ultimately kicked it into the audience, sending the vice principal to the hospital with a broken nose.

“I saw Mr. Rodriguez at the store the other day!” Luz exclaimed about Lin’s former vice principal.

“How is he?” Lin asked, poking at the last of his food.

“Good! Nose is still crooked, but he seemed to be over it.” The table laughed as Luz moved to clear the table.

You immediately followed, grabbing anything she couldn’t as she lead you to the kitchen.

“We’re glad you could make it tonight.” She started, voice low in case the men were listening in, “He seems happy.”

“He makes me very happy.” You told her honestly as she started scrubbing away at the dishes, you taking your place next to her with a dishtowel.

“He has that effect on people.” She smiled softly, and you could feel just how much this family deeply loved each other. “He does this thing-” She shook her head, laughing lightly at her son, “-he’s always working. Never thinks he’s working hard enough, in fact. Just like his father.” She teased affectionately.

“What do you do about it?”

“I work twice as hard.”


Lin gave you a little tour of his childhood home, all the way to his bedroom. His bed was tucked into the corner, an old David Bowie poster pinned on the door.

“Oh my god!” You shrieked, making your way to his bookshelf. You pulled out a recognizable CD from his collection, “My first CD.” You mused, turning it over in your hand.

It was a notorious flop. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but you were just getting your start. You had no label representing you, and no big names featured so people were uninterested in buying it. You didn’t even own a copy.

“It’s got a lot of use. I wrote ‘In the Heights’ from that album.” You inspected the back of the case, reading down the song list. Some you haven’t performed in years. “I have another one back at my place. You can keep that one, if you want.” He shrugged, fingers grazing the spines of his extensive collection of books.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. Your genuine smile still left him as breathless as it did the first time he saw it.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” He smiled, “Love you.” He said, for the first time. You could hear his parents’ playing a record in the distance, their giggling as they sang along.

“Love you too.”

Getting in the Way

Title: Getting in the Way

 Prompt: For @plaidstiel-wormstache #Keep me Sane on a Plane #Jessie’s Everything Challenge.  I picked the line “Your mouth is talking, you might want to look into that.” And was challenged with the song “Bad Moon Rising” by Creedence Clearwater.

 Prompt 2: @winterladybr: Are requests open? If so, can I get a Lucifer x Reader angst? You can create the plot, I just need the angst ❤  

 ***I hope it is okay that I combined them.  I saw this request and then listened to the song and it clicked…hope it is angsty enough ^^

 Pairing: Lucifer x Female!Reader

 Summary: Being in love with Lucifer isn’t easy.  Being a human makes it harder, being a hunter…doubles that. And when you hear about a horrible thing Lucifer did…you decide it is time to leave.  Little does Lucifer know that his words to defend his actions, would be heard again, in a time and place he never wanted to ever hear them.  

 Warnings: ANGST! Language. Death. ANGST!

Masterlist of FanFiction 

Originally posted by totallysupernaturaloneshots

I see a bad moon a-rising. I see trouble on the way.

 

“What?”

“I’m not a hundred percent…but who else could it have been?”  Sam said through the phone.  As much as you wanted to speak up and defend your boyfriend…you had to agree with your friend.

“Yea…it sounds like him.  I’ll talk to him.  Thanks for letting me know, Sam.”

“Sure thing.  See you later.”  

I see earthquakes and lightnin’. I see bad times today.

You sat in the chair, a scowl set on your face, your arms crossed as you waited for him. A couple demons sat there, giving you a look, but they dared not say anything.  You weren’t sure if it was some order from your boyfriend to leave you be, or if the look of pure anger on your face that was keeping them quiet. But whichever it was, you were glad that they were keeping quiet.

Not all demons were compliant with your role in this life.  In his life.  You had a number of them continuously try to kill you when your guard was down.  But you always thought it was worth it to be with him…at least…you used to.  

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there’s something better to come (it’s on the horizon)

<< iii. things you said too quietly >>

[did no one ever tell you about the boy? (who fell in love and told it to the world)] ao3

Summer cannot come quick enough.

With the exams over, the professors had given up trying to control the fifth years and so, almost every lesson is spent lazing on the grass. Lily and her friends used to spend their time outside underneath the Beech Tree, but given recent events they’ve taken to sitting on the lake’s shore, paddling when it gets unbearably hot and making bets on how many pieces of toast the squid will eat when they’re bored.

Lily reckons her friends miss the company of the Marauders, who shared the spot beneath the Beech Tree, and though she won’t admit to it, she misses their company too. They never say anything though, so Lily keeps quiet about it, grateful none of them have pressed the matter. It’s embarrassing enough to even admit to herself she misses them.

She and Mary are the only ones out at the moment, Marlene and Tegan have both gone to the owlery to send letters home and Gemma is in the library, finishing a History of Magic essay for Binns, the only teacher still giving homework. The grounds are scattered with groups of fifth tears, but they’re in a secluded enough position that it’s quiet.

“I spy with my little eye -” Mary groans and rolls onto her back, flinging her arm over her eyes dramatically.

“No more. I’m shit. Also, you’re a cheat. How am I meant to know what specific type of cloud formation that is?” She says.

“Should have paid attention in Astronomy then.” Lily retorts, smug.

“Whatever.” Mary flips over again and props herself up on her elbows. “I can’t wait to never have to spend another midnight freezing my tits off on top of that bloody tower.”

“I can’t believe you’re dropping it.”

“Not all of us can be good at everything, Evans.” Mary grins. “I wasn’t blessed with clever genes -”

“Just big boobs ones.” They laugh, Lily looking forlornly down at her chest, remarkably flat next to Mary’s. She looks up when Mary’s laugh cuts off abruptly. “What?”

“Um…” Lily snaps her head around to see what Mary is staring at. The sun is behind him, but Lily would know that hurricane hair anywhere.

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sugar, sugar...

prompt: We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair (requested by @odonorude, @theedarkswan, @noonesthatpowerful, @fallen-angel189 and 2 nonnies)


    The sounds of the street cleaner and the rustle of trash bags filter up from the open French doors of their tiny balcony, signaling the morning after ritual Bourbon Street knows all too well. He can hear the world below coming to life, but he refuses to move a muscle and risk waking the sleeping angel currently, and quite unexpectedly, snuggled against his chest.

    The events of the evening prior are slowly coming into focus, memories of their raucous behavior causing him to press a wide smile into the crown of her hair. They’d had the kind of fun that only happens when you are on vacation, fueled by the exceedingly strong rum of the hurricanes at Pat O’Briens and the tropical heat customary for August in New Orleans. It was an inhibitions down, flirtation on high kind of night, hours of bodies pressed close kind of dancing and laughing to the point of tears…and drinking, lots and lots of drinking. By the time they’d made it back to their room, the one they’d been forced to share thanks to Mary Margaret and David accidentally booking a two bedroom suite instead of three, it was well after 2am and they were both falling over drunk. Not one to take advantage of a lady under the influence, he had simply stood in stupefied awe as she drunkenly declared it was “too damn hot” followed by her crawling under the sheets in just her black bra and matching panties (oh and the green beaded necklace he’d gotten for her because “it matches your eyes, Swan”). Following suit, he’d stripped to his boxer briefs and stumbled down beside her, his blood pumping hot at her proximity just a few inches away. The last thing he can clearly remember is falling asleep to the adorable sound of the occasional hiccup interrupting the soft snores coming from her side of the bed.

    So, waking up like this, with her forehead pressed to his collarbone and her arm possessively draped over his waist, he finds himself simultaneously surprised and increasingly aroused. They’re so entwined that he can’t quite fathom how it could have happened during sleep, making him wonder if more amorous activities had actually occurred later in the night that his hangover is not allowing him to remember. If he finally kissed Emma Swan and has no memory of it, he will never have another drink again as long as he lives.

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    Anon prompted: I love your Mpreg Kurt verse. Could you write more with little family moments and the boys growing up?:)

    More Mpreg!Kurt here

    Halloween (Pregnancy)

    The movie Blaine put on for them has become more or less background noise as the excited father-to-be is more focused on talking to Kurt’s bump. Kurt strokes his fingers through Blaine’s hair absentmindedly, sort of watching the movie but mostly listening to the gibberish Blaine is saying to the still unborn fetus. 

    “…and you’re going to be born right before Christimas, too, oh buddy, that’ll be so exciting for you and your Grandma Carole makes the best food…" 

    ”…which he won’t be able to enjoy for a couple of more years,“ Kurt chuckles. 

    Blaine looks up to him with a smirk. "You know what’s before Christmas?" 

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    3

    Title: Three Days Ago - part three
    Fandom: Supernatural
    Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
    Warnings: Fluff, some strong language, following parts will have smut and a lot of more angst.
    Word Count: 2175 words
    Summary: You got captured by a Wendigo, three days prior. Dean feared for your life, but was able to save you. The feeling that your disappearance triggers forces Dean to realize that the life as you know it is likely to change. Is he willing to make the change for you? A part where we look at Dean’s point of view and get an idea of what is going on in his mind.
    Author’s note: Part three already! I know I said in the early beginning that this was going to be a three parter, but I am happy to say that it’s probably going to be more like ten. Enjoy!

    Read previous parts here!
    Three Days Ago - part one
    Three Days Ago - part two


    Motionless Dean sits on the bench sideways in the motel room. There’s a bottle of whiskey keeping him company on the table next to him, smelling good. He has been in this spot for what seems like hours, elbows on his knees and his fingers forked together. The room is dark, except for the dim light coming from the table lamp. In the double bed you are fast asleep, covered under cotton sheets. After moving from the shower to the bed, where the two of you continued to be intimate with each other in a way only possible when both bare their souls completely, you fell asleep safely in his arms. When he was absolutely sure you were far gone, Dean slipped his arm from under you, grabbed the bottle of Jack from the counter and settled down on the exact spot where he’s sitting right now. Pondering he watches your chest rise and fall, calmly breathing and comfortably warm for the first time in three days. Last night when you retreated into the bathroom, he knew something was off. You’ve had more than your fair share of rough cases, but you seemed to handle it differently this time. Dean sensed you were trying to get away from him, something that rarely ever happens. As he fixed you something to eat, he heard you cry…
    It broke his heart.

    The Winchesters saved you, well… most of you.
    They saved you and yet they didn’t.

    A part of you will always remain in that mine deep underground, hanging from the ceiling like a piece of meat, having to endure the agony of not knowing if you were going to live or die every time that Wendigo came back to its layer.
    A part of you will always remain in that vamp nest up in Detroit, where one of those bloodsuckers took a bite from your neck, almost bleeding you out before Dean could rush you to hospital.
    A part of you will always remain in the Villisca Axe Murder House in Iowa, where you were pinned to the wall by the ghost that was responsible for the eight-fold homicide in 1912, and forced you to watch the slaughter of two teenagers who dared each other to spend the night in the haunted home.

    The job is claiming its toll, weighing heavily on you and the weight is becoming more than you can carry. You’re weary, tired even. Tired of this life. The other day Dean found himself on a real estate website which you accidently had left open on your computer. It advertized a small cottage in Bayside, Texas, for reasonable money too. Of course, the $ 119.000 seemed too good to be true for a beach house on Copano Bay, but the pictures weren’t lying. Great view, cozy, peaceful, nice weather, besides from hurricane season. Of course it wasn’t a big place and the property needed some TLC, but he can’t blame you for lingering on this specific page.

    Because, truth be told; he is tired too.

    Troubled Dean takes another swig of the amber colored liquor, waiting for the after burn to settle down in his chest. He has stood for many difficult choices in life. Choices that were going to mean the difference between life and death, choices that regarded the very existence of mankind.
    Find his Dad by himself or pull his brother out of Stanford and be together again? Offer up his soul in exchange for Sam’s life or accept his death and stay behind? Say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to becoming the vessel of an arch angel?
    Then there was his interruption of the title fight between Lucifer and Michael at Stull Cemetery. Stopping the youngest Winchester from finishing the trials. Accepting the Mark of Cain. Killing Death instead of Sam, resulting into the release of the Darkness.
    He made his choice, every time. The moment he was confronted with the dilemma, a strong voice in his mind spoke up so clear, no one could convince him otherwise. Was it his conscience, his upbringing, his lion heart? Or maybe he is nothing but a selfish bastard who couldn’t handle the idea of ending up alone. He doesn’t know, but he still stands by his decisions today.

    Because he chose family.

    Again he finds himself at a crossroads, but one of a different kind. The end isn’t near, the world is not coming to an end for a change. No dark force was unleashed on earth, no one needs rescuing from hell, heaven or purgatory. Shit, no one even died. Yet, of all the choices he had to make, this one might just be the most difficult.

    He guesses that’s what loves does, it complicates things.

    He loves you, he’s done denying that. The relationship the two of you have is way past platonic or ‘casual’, no matter how hard he fought it. He pushed the inevitable away as far as he possibly could, but eventually reached that moment of clarity in which he realized that all the angels and demons combined couldn’t stop this feeling. Dean isn’t even sure when it hit him. It could have been almost a year ago, when he felt the urge to take your hand in his while driving down the 101 along the west coast and gave in to it. A leap of faith… Boy, he was scared shitless. But he remembered thinking ‘fuck this’ and did it anyway. You tend to have that effect on him, giving him courage, persuading him into doing things he never thought he had it in himself to do. Your response was even better than he could have hoped for, because you squeezed his hand and smiled at him moved and when the car came to a stop at the next traffic light you kissed him for the first time. Dean smiles at that memory. That was the day this beautiful journey started, three days ago was the day that this same journey could have ended.

    You could have died.
    Fuck, he could have lost you.

    He runs his hand through his moist hair, trying to shake the feeling. The thought of never again feeling your touch on his skin or your love in his heart frightens him to a new degree, causing him to ask yourself why he is still living this dangerous life.
    He, the hunter to the bone, is questioning everything he is.

    Before getting involved with you, Dean could never picture himself as a stand up citizen. All he ever did was hunt, it’s the only thing he knows and he didn’t mind doing it either, especially if it meant saving people. But ever since he crossed paths with you, that attitude changed. What else has changed is that nothing is coming from them. The balance has been restored and there is no big bad they need to take out. For the first time in years they have been working simple salt and burns to pass the time, occasionally a shifter or a vamp case, or the Wendigo job they just finished up. There used to be a time that he appreciated those simple hunts, but now they don’t seem worth the risk. Because what if next time he can’t reach you in time? What if next time one of those monsters get to you before he can? What if next case you die?

    Death is certain, it’s the only thing in life that is. Eventually we all must leave this world. As a Winchester he learned to bend that number one rule of the universe a little, because the boys have died more than he can count, but times are different now. With the last of the Four Horsemen gone, there are no get-out-of-jail-free cards in this game anymore. No more favors from God or Death, no more extra lives left. Who dies now, stays dead. Period. And that’s okay, as long as it gets to mean something. Dying to save your family, to stop the apocalypse, those are causes worth that consequence. But finding your end in a dark alley on a vampire hunt, or in an abandoned farmhouse crawling with ghosts, is not. He, Sam and you shot, stabbed, beheaded, torched and exorcized more monsters than anyone.
    They killed Azazel, Ruby, Lilith, Dick Roman, the Mother of All, Cain, even Death himself. They jammed the devil back in the box and stopped not one, but two apocalypses.

    It’s enough.
    It’s more than enough.

    Struck by that epiphany he stares at the wall in the small motel room. The white wallpaper is completely covered with news articles, police records, wild life reports, traffic cam images, pictures, maps. Red threads run from one thumbtack to the other, connecting dots to evidence they found on the people that went missing in the area. One of those people is you. His focus freezes on your picture, then he gets up from the bench and approached it. It’s the first item he takes off the wall, but after observing the image of his beautiful girl for a couple of long seconds, he returns his attention to the other pieces of paper on the wall and starts taking it down. It’s therapeutic, soothing even. With every piece that comes loose, a tiny bit of the gigantic weight that he has been carrying around for decades, falls from his shoulders. Slowly but surely the dull colorless wallpaper is unveiled again, small holes left by the thumbtacks the only thing remaining. When the wall is bare, he lets a sigh slide off his lips, after which he looks at your sleeping figure. This case is over, yet the contradicting thoughts that race through his mind will not leave him to rest. He has been here before, but never was the voice that tells him to throw in the towel so loud and clear. Never before has the highway to the exit been lit so brightly…
    Might this actually be his last case?

    The thought scares him, because if it would come down to that, what the hell is he going to do next? Dean doesn’t have an answer and he’s quite sure he’s not going to find one by pondering either. The only way of knowing is to experience it, but he isn’t sure if he’s ready for that. Quitting on this life is easier said than done, it’s certainly not something he is going to decide on overnight. But coming to think of it, it dawns on him that this option has been softly knocking on his door for years now.

    Dean decides he has consumed too much alcohol and hasn’t had anything near enough sleep to think straight, so he tiredly strolls to the bed and settles down on it. Despite that the old worn down mattress dips deeper than he anticipated, you don’t even stir, so tired from the past three days that even a bomb wouldn’t be able to wake you up. He chuckles, lovingly sweeping a few wayward strands of hair from your forehead. He grants himself a little more time even though his heavy eyelids are trying to force him to call it a night. But how the hell could he possibly shut his eyes when they capture you like they are now? You lay on your stomach, face turned to his side of the bed, right arm under your pillow, your left folded, hand under your cheek. Freshly washed hair drapes down your angelic face, covering your shoulders and back like fallen leafs in the fall. Your expression is peaceful, as if for a little while during your few hours of sleep you are without worry. Slow and calm breaths pass your lips rhythmically, an assuring sight that once again reminds him that despite all odds you are alive and well. Thin sheets wrapped around your body only leaves the skin from the lower back down unexposed. The table lamp is the only source of light left, casting dim yellow rays across the room and leaving plenty of darkness for shadows to form and outline the gorgeous shapes of your figure.

    Damn, you are a sight for sore eyes.

    He smiles at the thought, then shrugs out of his pants after which he holds the covers up in order to slip under them himself. The moment he turns towards you and lays his head down, the weariness almost instantly forces him to drift off, but when you respond to his touch, he fights to stay awake just a little bit longer.

    Long enough to feel how your roll on your side without really awakening, offering him space to come closer.
    Long enough to take her hand when he wraps his arm around your body as he gently pulls you into his chest, fingers interlocking over your heart.
    Long enough to press a lingering kiss on your cheek, drawing a smile on your lips.
    Long enough for him to realize that he has made his final decision.

    He will choose family.


    Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

    Tags: @kbrand0 @nocsa @crapythings @theyaremyveryownthoughts @effie-w @impalas-engine @mysoul4dean @drrubywatson @doctor-director-professor

    Aaaan here it is - the last drabble from this prompt list. This one is dedicated to my darling @crashed-down-in-a-hurricane who made my lovely, lovely icon and something that will be posted later. She’s a treasure that I’m so happy to have met. <3 This little thing was planned to end at a different point but it somehow felt fitting. Anyway, here it is - enjoy! 

     “My parents are coming to visit me and they think I’m in a relationship but it turns out my partner was cheating on me so could you maybe pretend to be them to avoid the awkwardness?” AU (Fenris x Hawke – pre-slash)

    It was the knocking that woke Fenris on what should have been a peaceful Saturday morning. Anders, his roommate, spent the weekend with his new boyfriend. Fenris hadn’t bothered to ask him who it was because it was practically common knowledge around campus that the tall and lanky boy had snagged the most sought after bachelor in Tevinter. One Dorian Pavus. 

    Fenris wondered why he had actually retained that knowledge but then he simply pulled the pillow over his head and decided to ignore the rest of the world. Maybe the person trying to bash his door in would get the hint and leave. Preferably before there was a whole in the wood.

    Minutes passed and the knocking continued. It had steadied though. The frantic edge seemed to have calmed down somewhat. Now it was an almost soothing staccato. The rhythm was slow and pushed Fenris further and further towards sleep again. He closed his eyes and curled up a little tighter. 

    Then there was silence.

    It happened so suddenly that Fenris frowned beneath his pillow. Should it really be over? Had he managed to discourage the person behind his front door enough that they left him alone and in peace? Maybe it had been Anders after all? His roommate usually had his thoughts on everything but the most important stuff – like his house keys. Fenris had found himself opening the door to a sheepishly grinning Anders more than once. Yet he couldn’t really be angry at him. 

    Time went on and the knocking didn’t return. Fenris sighed and crawled back out from under his pillow. The air got stuffy rather quickly and he didn’t fancy suffocating because of some idiot who decided his door made a good punching bag. 

    He’d just settled back into a comfortable position when his phone started to ring. Rolling his face into the pillow Fenris screamed. What had he done to be punished like this? It was the first weekend in months that he had completely to himself, with neither work nor roommate demanding his time. Why couldn’t he just sleep in and enjoy two days of doing nothing?

    It took him a moment or two once he’d stopped screaming that he recognized the ring tone. It was Hawke’s. Garrett Hawke, his best friend and also his might be crush, wasn’t a student at the Tevinter university. Yet he could always be found somewhere on campus, either in uniform or not. The Hawke family took care of the university’s security with all of the family members working in one position or the other. The elder Hawkes, Garrett’s mother especially, mainly worked from the office on the other side of town and rarely visited the university.

    “What do you want, Hawke,” Fenris growled into the phone.

    “Fenris? Is that you? Maker you sound tired. Did I wake you?” Hawke, to his defence, really sounded sorry. “Don’t you have to be at work in an hour?” Fenris didn’t answer the question, knowing that only moments later Hawke would remember.

    “Wait – it’s your free weekend, right?” And there is was. “Damn, I’m so sorry, Fenris. Really, I am. But I am also in a lot of trouble right now.” That made Fenris sit up. Hawke rarely got into trouble and most of the time it was either just Bethany or Carver being mad at him for one thing or another. But this sounded a lot more serious.

    “What happened?” Fenris asked, already on his way out of bed and into the bathroom. He knew that trying to brush Hawke off would only end up in him feeling like a bastard. That meant he might as well just get up because there would be no more sleep for him.

    “Well, you do remember Isabela, right?” Hawke sounded cautious and Fenris thought for a moment. The name rang a bell.

    “Isn’t that your girlfriend?” He wondered, one hand running through his hair to try and get it into some kind of order. Which was useless, as it had grown too long again. He would have to visit the hair dresser again and get his undercut cleaned up again. Maybe he would try a bit of colour this time.

    “Well, she was,” Hawke admitted, effectively pulling Fenris back to the conversation.

    “Was? She isn’t anymore?” Fenris turned on the faucets and held his brush beneath the water.

    “No, we split up on Wednesday.” Huh, that was truly something he hadn’t expected. From what he knew and had experienced Hawke and Isabela had been inseparable ever since they got together.

    “She fell out of love with me and in love with that little mage girl,” Hawke sounded less sad than Fenris would have thought. He certainly didn’t sound heartbroken.

    “Merrill?” he offered helpfully when it became clear that his friend tried to remember the name. Fenris didn’t have much to do with the girl but she visited two of his classes on elvhen history and they often ended up in heated discussions.

    “Yes! That’s her,” Hawke’s grin was audible even through the phone. Fenris dragged the wet brush through his hair, slow and precise to disentangle the knots.

    “Anyway, Bela and me talked and we decided that it would be better to go our separate ways,” Hawke continued and Fenris wondered when the man would talk about the problem.

    “Now, the thing is – Mum doesn’t know that I split up with Bela,” Hawke said slowly. Fenris wondered why that was but he knew if he remained quiet for long enough that the whole story would find its way to him eventually. Hawke always caved first.

    “In fact,” and there it was, “she only knows that I’m with someone.”

    “And what is our problem?” Fenris decided to ask, hoping that he could speed the conversation up a bit. By now he had tamed his hair enough to put it into a low ponytail. He really needed to get it cut again. He heard Hawke take a deep breath and braced himself.

    “Mum is coming for dinner tonight and I told her that she would meet my partner then.”

    Silence had never rung so loud in Fenris’ ears.

    “What exactly are you asking, Hawke?” He knew the answer already but it seemed so farfetched that he needed to hear it. All the while his heart didn’t care and happily skipped a beat or two at the thought.

    Another deep breath from the other side of the line.

    “Could you, please, please, come over tonight and pretend to be my boyfriend?”

    some more of that lilo time travel verse where liam and louis from 2010 appear in the future and no one knows what to do with them. you might wanna read the other parts before this one if you haven’t.

    (big love to spareourworld, liamharryy, and ofstellardust for the beta. love u all xoxo)


    They’ve been sitting in silence for nearly a minute when Louis clears his throat and says, “did we ever end up living together?”

    Keep reading

    Fragile

    Chapter 1 Chapter 2

    Genre: Angst and fluff but right now mostly just angst

    Summary: Simon is depressed and anxious, and his symptoms came from, among other reasons, the disappearance of his mortal enemy, Baz. Simon is forced to go to a school for fragile teenagers. Nearly two years after Baz’s disappearance, something finally happens. (Sorry this is so vague, I don’t want to give anything away.)m

    Chapter 2

    Simon

    Something was poking me in the back. “A pencil,” I think. “Or a textbook.”  Because I should be crammed in a high school locker with pencils poking into my back and my arm bent at an unnatural angle. But I’m not.

    My eyes flutter open and I’m greeted by a fading blue sky full of fat orange and pink clouds. It’s beautiful. For a second, I am immobilized by relief that I’m not back in that dreadful locker and that I’m not experiencing that night again. There is something poking into my back though. A tree root probably. I sit up and take in the courtyard around me, made even more beautiful by the sunset. The sunset. If the sun was setting, that meant that dinner was over or almost over. Shit.

    There’s a figure standing across the lawn, waving at me. I get up and gather my stuff and go to see what they want. When I get closer, I see that it’s Penelope Bunce, my best friend and sole confidant when I need one. “You missed dinner,” she informs me.

    “I assumed so,” I reply. “Happen to save me anything?”

    She smiles and pulls a bundle out of her bag. “Sandwiches and some scones from tea,” she says, handing the food to me.

    “Thanks, Penny. I’m starving.” I tear open the napkin and practically inhale a scone.

    She rolls her eyes. “You’re always starving,” she jokes. Suddenly, her eyebrows crease together and she crosses her arms. “Crowley, Simon, you look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.”

    I tense up immediately. Penelope can not know that the dreams have gotten worse again. Last year when this happened, she insisted on sleeping in my room because she was worried I’d hurt myself in my sleep. I secretly appreciated it because it was hard waking up alone in the dark after a vivid nightmare about being alone in the dark, but I’d never tell her that.

    She narrows her eyes. “You’re hiding something.”

    “No I’m not.” I try, my panic rising up.

    “Yes you are. I know you and even if I didn’t, you’re a terrible liar. Tell me what happened,” she demands. So Agatha hasn’t told her anything. I almost wish she had so I would be spared the anxiety of having to tell her and see the reaction. Penny’s staring daggers into my head, waiting for me to cave.

    “The dreams are getting worse again,” I mumble.

    “What?” she asks sharply.

    “The dreams. About Baz. They’re getting worse again.” I’m staring at my feet so I don’t have to see her face.

    It’s as if I’ve triggered a bomb. “And you didn’t tell me immediately?! Did you tell Agatha? This is serious, Simon! First it’s the dreams, then everything else. Do you even remember how bad it was last time? Because I do!”

    She’s referring to the weird psychological side effects of the dreams that happened right after Baz disappeared and less intensely, a year ago around this time. Every time someone would tell a story or ask for advice I would instinctively try to figure out what Baz would do in that situation or what his opinion would be. It still happened to me occasionally, but it was never as bad as the first few months after the investigation started. It had felt like there was a beehive in my skull, buzzing and chatting and constantly calculating every possible way in which my missing enemy could relate to what I was doing.

    I still can’t meet her eyes. I feel like I’m being scolded by my mum. But I don’t have a mum, so I don’t really know what that feels like. “Yes, Penny, I remember. I was the one experiencing it,” I remind her.

    “Then pretend like you have some concern for your own health and give the rest of us a break,” she snaps. By the rest of us she means herself. She and Agatha are my only friends and Agatha is great, but she has bigger concerns than my well being. “I’ll go get my stuff,” Penny says.

    My head snaps up. “What? No, you’re not sleeping in my room.”

    “Well, you can’t sleep in mine because I have a roommate so I don’t really have a choice. I am not leaving you alone at night with the creepy bees inside your head to keep you company. I’ll meet you up there in an hour,” she declares. I just sigh and mumble something resembling assent.

    I don’t have a roommate because I got here in the middle of the year. Watford isn’t a mental hospital so most of the kids who go here don’t need immediate care. I was a special case. They flew me up here in mid-march with one duffle bag of stuff and a whole lot of depression and anxiety. No one quite understood why Baz’s disappearance affected me so violently, being that he had been bullying me since we were fourteen. Two years later, nobody but me has any idea. Even I only have a hunch… and it’s not a theory I like very much.

    I take a shower when I get up to my room, even though it’s only 7 o’clock. I need to be reminded of what it feels like to be warm and clean, two things I definitely weren’t on the night that my dream took place on. Of course, showering, like anything else, brings the bees into my head. They tell me that Baz showered in the morning and that he took cold showers in the summer. I stay in there for almost an hour and only get out when I hear Penny rapping on the door. I answer the door with a towel wrapped around my waist and she raises an eyebrow in question.

    “Is this a bad time?” she asks.

    “Come in,” I reply with a sigh. She walks passed me into my incredibly messy room and flops down on the other bed that I usually use as a place to pile all of my clothes I’m too lazy to wash.

    “I brought my laptop and we have an English test on Friday. Want to study?” she asks.

    I change in the bathroom and flop down on the other bed next to her. “No.”

    She stays quiet for a minute, like she’s trying to think of something else we could do. There really isn’t much because our school issued computers are blocked against anything non-educational. “Okay. Want to talk?”

    “No,” I say again. She looks over at me, worry evident in her expression.

    “Should I tell the nurse about this? She could give you something so you could sleep,” she suggests.

    “No,” I say more forcefully. I feel bad even saying it. Penelope doesn’t deserve this. She’s only trying to be a good friend and I’m pushing her away.

    She doesn’t seem shaken by it anyway. Then again, she’s had far too much practice at hiding when she’s hurt. “You should try to sleep. I’ll wake you up if it looks like something bad is happening.”

    As tired as I am, sleeping, at this point, would just exhaust me further. When I close my eyes, instead of rest, I get punches and tight spaces that I can’t escape from. Even worse than that is the emotions. Enormous waves of terror, confusion, pain, and something else that I can’t quite place thrown onto me by my own fucked up brain. Still, I tell Penny “Okay, I will. Just remember to wake me up.” And it’s the truth. I sleep because when your best friend looks at you like the only thing that will make her feel okay is you closing your eyes, you do it. I led my eyelids slide shut and prepare for the hurricane.

    Baz

    It’s been six months since the Numpties let me go. Six months of wandering aimlessly throughout Europe, trying to figure out a way to tell the world I’m not dead or in the mafia. I’ve been avoiding what I want the most, which is to see Simon because I know that he would hate me and it would kill me. But I can’t bring myself to do anything else so I’ve decided I don’t care. I haven’t seen his dad anywhere, and he isn’t going to Wavering Wood anymore which means I’ll have to do what I’ve been avoiding for half of a year: confiding in my family.

    I stand at my front door, dressed in jeans, a Wavering Wood High School jumper, and a beanie pulled over my long hair. Before the Numpties, I was known for wearing expensive suits whenever possible so the disguise is actually pretty effective. I’ve considered every possible way to approach my father from climbing in through windows to catching him by surprise in public, and finally settled on knocking on the door.

    This was a mistake. I can figure out where Snow is myself… somehow. I turn around and start to walk down the steps, but the sound of the door swinging open stops me in my tracks. “Can I help you?” a kind female voice says from behind me.

    I’m frozen in place. If I turn around, Daphne will cry out and hug me and alert the entire neighbourhood of my presence. If I keep walking, I might be throwing away any chance at seeing Simon ever again. “Sir, can I help you?” she asks again. Very slowly, I begin to back up on the steps and turn around with a finger held to my lips. When I see her face, it takes all of my strength not to abandon my attempt at keeping quiet and wrap my arms around her. Her expression twists into a grimace tinged with worry. Not exactly the reaction I was expecting, but not all that unusual. “Baz…?” she whispers softly. She looks like she might faint.

    “I can explain, Daphne,” I say, trying to keep my voice from breaking. She stares at me and blinks hard before motioning for me to come inside.

    The inside of the house is different than I remember it. The paint and furniture are mostly the same, but there is more stuff lying in piles around the house, and there is a sadness in the air that feels like it’s been there for a while. I follow my stepmother into the one of the many living rooms in the house, and we sit in chairs across from each other. She, like everything else in the house, looked the same, just sadder.

    I clear my throat. “I can explain everything, but first you need to go get my father,” I tell Daphne. Without answering, she gets up and leaves the room. My knee starts bouncing rapidly and I feel like I might throw up. Daphne’s reaction, or rather lack of one, was enough to put me on edge. I expected hugs and crying and having to spend several minutes convincing my parents not to call the police. I was ready for hysterics. Silence however, I was not prepared for.

    When Daphne and my father enter the room, I stand up right away. I don’t expect a lot of emotion from him, and I don’t get any. Daphne is crying silently now and my dad looks borderline catatonic. They’re afraid of me. I guess they have the right to be, considering I disappeared for two years and then just showed up at their door, but I can’t help but feel betrayed. Well fine. If they’re going to act like they don’t love me, they shouldn’t expect love in return.

    “I came to do two things. The first one is to see Mori,” I tell them. Neither of them show any sign that they’ve heard me. “Take me to Mordelia,” I repeat irritably.

    As if on cue, a girl with dark hair wearing a purple dress strolls into the room. Mori. I see her before she sees me. I’m across the room in two steps and hugging my little sister to my chest. She shrieks and kicks me in the stomach, but it just makes me laugh. “Same old Mori,” I mumble into her hair. I feel her freeze up as she realizes who I am. Her reaction to seeing me again is the opposite of my parents. She wraps her arms around my neck and sobs into my shoulder. The gaping hole in my heart made by two years of trauma is partly filled by seeing my little sister again. But only partly.

    “You’re back!” she half laughs, half cries. There’s something beautiful about her innocent acceptance of the situation. I’m back. As if I’ve just been away on holiday. Which I guess, for all my family knows, I have.

    I set her down on the ground and look her up and down. I feel a pang of sadness when i realize how much she’s grown. How much I’ve missed. “Crowley, Mordelia, you’re almost taller than me,” I tease. Her grin is threatening to split her face in two.

    “Where did you go?” she asks me.

    “Um…” I glance over at my parents, whose expressions have changed from terrified to moderately upset. “I had to go to see a friend,” I tell her. Mori nods, but I can tell she doesn’t quite believe me.

    “You’re staying right?” she asks.

    I knew this was coming. It still hurts like hell to say out loud. “I have to go do something important. I just wanted to come and see you,” I say, hating myself more with every syllable.

    I can’t stand to watch her face fall the way it does so I turn to face my parents instead. My father doesn’t look afraid anymore. He looks angry. “So you finally come home after running away like an ungrateful idiot and now you’re just leaving again?” He asks. It dawns on me how much I didn’t miss the sound of his voice.

    “Yes,” I respond without hesitation. I don’t even let myself think about telling him what really happened, because I don’t trust myself not to let it slip out.

    His eyes light up with fury and frustrated confusion. “You are staying right here until we call the police,” he spits with an embarrassing amount of conviction.

    “Actually no, what I’m going to do is walk right out of here after asking you this question: Where is Simon Snow?” I revel in the looks of absolute ignorance on their faces when I finish.

    My father seems like he might breathe fire if he opened his mouth again so my stepmother steps in. “Why do you care about Simon Snow?” There’s something distinctly judgmental in the way she says his name. I suppose her doubt is reasonable being that I knocked him unconscious and forced him into a locker. I was saving his life, but of course she doesn’t know that.

    “Not your problem. You know where he is so tell me. Where did his family move to?” I ask. Wow, I am really living up to this role as the ungrateful shit who hates his family.

    Daphne eyes widen. “Baz, Simon’s family didn’t move. David is an alcoholic that rarely leaves the house, and Simon doesn’t live here anymore.”

    Oh god. “What does that mean? Where does he live?” I plead. Don’t say it. Jesus Christ, please don’t tell me he’s-

    “He goes to Watford School for Fragile Youths. He started about a month after you left,” she says gently.

    I hear her, but I can’t process the words coming out of her mouth. He goes to Watford School for Fragile Youths. Snow goes to Watford? But he’s not fragile. He’s healthy and smart and strong and beautiful and he’s the motherfucking sun

    He started about a month after you left.

    No.

    I am breaking. I am breaking because I broke him and he had to be put back together again by people he doesn’t even know. I made him that horrible word that they call kids who go to Watford. Fragile.

    “It’s okay Baz, they’re helping him up there,” Daphne assures. If my emotions weren’t so mangled at the moment, I might be touched at her attempt to comfort me. Tentatively, she hugs me and I hug her back. When she lets go, I hug Mori goodbye and leave the house without acknowledging my father. Then, I start looking up directions to Watford School for Fragile Youths.

    It’s time to go put the sun back in the sky.

    A Good Ol' Fashioned Teenage Rampage (A heap of plotless BDFF fun!)

    Yes, I know I have a lot of work to do on Broken Masks, I haven’t updated in ages and I’m a terrible person, but silly BDFF teenage shenanigans, heloooooo?

    Anyway, I hope you enjoy this silly thing. It’s kind of bitty and rambly, but it’s fluffy with a few shots of cute Siren, so what else do you want? Doesn’t fit into canon, basically in this version Amy’s with Philip and totally cute with Si & Kier, and while she hasn’t been stabbed she also isn’t turning human (too many loose ends, all I wanted to write was silliness). Also the thing with Gary and the Blue Oblivion has happened but no one was killed :) Just forget the canon for a moment, eh? xD

    WARNING: Contains sheep’s brain highs, irresponsible shenanigans (don’t try this at home kids!) and strong language (some of a homophobic variety from Gary. Fucking Gary.) All ends well but you have been warned!

    Hope you enjoy! :D I’ll get back to work on my multi-chaps/prompt fills now! (by the way I’m still accepting ITF prompts, mostly Siren, but I might take some time to get them done so be warned, you might be waiting a while!)

    Have fun! :D

    (Also available on ao3 & ff.net)

    Keep reading

    Summary: Adrien is excited to reveal his true identity, while Marinette is terrified. But Master Fu says they can’t afford to be distant any longer. Chat Noir and Ladybug are meant to work in tandem both in and out of uniform, their strength stemming from the bond created between them. Yet, teenagers are sometimes better at dancing blind than running with wide open eyes, even with the steps laid out before them.

    Steps in the path of an expanding world. Apart, they’ll flounder. But together, they might just stand a chance.

    Takes place following season 1.

    Start of Book One

    Start of Book Two


    Book Two

    Chapter 5: Faults and Virtues of Fear

    A whole week.

    That was how long Marinette had been plagued by this stale, empty feeling. Like every move she made, every thought in her head, was swimming slowly through a pool of water. All her senses seemed dulled, all her emotions cut at the stem before shriveling up above the source. Part of her dangled, only a hair’s breadth from plummeting through empty sky. But she held on to the rope and kept her eyes closed.

    She pushed on.

    But it was beginning to wear on her.

    A whole week she’d spent saying little and sticking to routine. A week that she could barely look back on and remember because she was so preoccupied with guarding herself against every possible breeze that could knock her from her perch.

    And Adrien, well, he wasn’t just a breeze. Or even a strong gust. He was a hurricane that bombarded her constantly. Every day—despite how he kept his back to her these days and never met her eyes. The distance didn’t do any good—the windows still shook around her, rattling against their locks. Though she stayed hunkered down in the corner, she knew it was only a matter of time before that storm broke through.

    She could feel it in her gut, the inevitability. But she didn’t know what to do about it—didn’t know how to defend against it.

    One week.

    Beside her keyboard, the sound of Tikki breaking a cookie in half drew her attention. The kwami was facing away from her, chewing quietly.

    Gulping, Marinette found her voice. Inside, her anxiety was teetering. She needed to talk to someone. Yet, the only subject she could seem to think about lately was the one she was also trying to forcibly ignore.

    But Tikki knew, so it could be safe. Maybe.

    “You haven’t had a whole lot to say about this,” she said, voice relatively flat.

    Turning her bulbous head, Tikki paused in her chewing, but said nothing.

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    Can’t explain how much I loved this back in 2008, when Sarah Palin had JUST been announced as John McCain’s running mate just days before and the political world EXPLODED (because people either LOVED that choice or HATED it!  And she just totally overshadowed John McCain.)  And with Obama in the race, this election was SO exciting!  This was the first time I EVER heard Tegan talk about being political (which I really am) and I LOVED it!  SOOOOO FUCKING AMAZING.

    T.Q.: “I’m so obsessed with your election, it’s sick.  Like, I don’t know what I’m gonna do.  I might get television… cause I wanna watch it so bad.”
    A.B.: “You’re gonna break down and get it?”
    T.Q.: “I don’t know!  I just like, really don’t want to miss anything, you know what I mean?  Like I know there’s the whole internet and stuff, but…”
    A.B.: “It’s crazy…”
    T.Q.: “Um, like, wow… like, I watched this Congresswoman… person… today?  And she… not Sarah… but someone else.  I really love that her name is Sarah, too, because I constantly use it as if she’s my sister.”
    A.B.: “Who?”
    T.Q.: “Sarah Palin!  Like…”
    A.B.: “Oh, I see.”
    T.Q.: “Hellloooo!  …Sarah!”
    A.B.: “I didn’t even know there was a hurricane until like yesterday.”
    T.Q.: “I know, I didn’t know that either, no, I told you I didn’t know anything about that, but I have been obsessed with this whole thing, and I love that I don’t have to even SAY her last name because everyone has got it on their brain right now, so I’m just like, ‘Can you BELIEVE Sarah’s kids.’ And they’re all like, 'I know!’  Did you see Sarah Palin’s daughter like LICK the baby’s head? … It’s so weird!  Like can you imagine, you just lean over and lick their head??  Not endearing!”
    A.B.: “I know… I mean, a head-licker in the office seems like it would get us killed!”
    T.Q.: “It’s totally weird.  The whole family, it’s just psychotic… but in a weird way, I’m captivated.  I didn’t want her to go away!  I’m not saying I want her to win… but doesn’t it feel like SHE’S running for president?!  I mean, in Canada, we have a conservative government too, so I’m not just like…”
    A.B.: “She’s BORN for that platform.  She’s riveting.”
    T.Q.: “Right?”
    A.B.: “Riveting.”
    T.Q.: “She is AMAZING.”
    A.B.: “She’s riveting.”
    T.Q.: “Like when she was like, 'When he’s done pushing back the waters and saving the earth,’ I was all like, 'Oh my GOD!’”
    A.B.: “That’s what I was thinking… who?  I was thinking, who was she talking about?  Who?”
    T.Q.: “Obama!”
    A.B.: “No, I know…”
    T.Q.: “Oh, but you thought…”
    A.B.: “But you’re just so into her, and she’s just… she’s…”
    T.Q.: “Oh, all right, you were thinking about the speech, and I was just thinking, 'I love you!!’”
    A.B.: “Exactly.”
    T.Q.: “Probably it’s too much to tell her I like her?  Probably too much.”
    A.B.: “Send her, um, send her a dozen dozen roses.”
    T.Q.: “You think so?”
    A.B.: “Yeah, on a cloud of tissue paper, just covered with…”
    T.Q.: “I think it would be misconstrued.  Anyway… I’m totally… totally being sarcastic right now, and um… in case that’s not clear… But I am still really obsessed, I am really obsessed, and I think you guys are gonna do the right thing, but I just don’t trust you.  Only because you’ve proven to me time and time again that you make bad decisions, when it comes to leaders and things, you should just let Canada vote, and then just take what we give you.”
    A.B.: “That’s great.”
    T.Q.: “I know, right??”
    A.B.: “That would be so funny.  Where’s mandatory, where’s mandatory votes, who was telling me that…”
    Audience: “Australia.”
    A.B.: “That’s it, that’s it, I think that makes so much sense.

    ….

    T.Q.: "What if she likes my band??  Oh my god, can you imagine if she liked our band?? …she hates our band.”
    A.B.: “Why??”
    T.Q.: *rolls eyes* “We’re gays!”

    April Fools?

    Request: could you possibly do an imagine where the guys prank calum that you are pregnant for april fools, but it turns out to be true?! thanksx

    Backstory: You and Calum have been dating for about a year and a half, which means the boys know you quite well. Without your permission, they have decided to play a prank on Calum. 

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