#otp: that little fallen angel on your shoulder

[signorcerullo]

make me choose: anonymous asked deanjo or samruby?

"On the bright side, I’ll be there with you. That little fallen angel on your shoulder."

[dontshootmespence]

Broken Homes Fix Broken Hearts

A/N: How do you love our OTP? Let @veroinnumera and I know!

Chapter 34

After a night filled with newly-engaged love-making, they fell asleep, tangled up together without a stitch of clothing to speak of. It had been the most restful night she’d had in forever, and she was pretty sure Derek’s too, considering he was lightly snoring behind her.

I don’t snore.

Yes, you do, Derek. I’ll film you.

Don’t you dare.

Turning over, she ran her finger over his jawline and waited for him to wake up, smiling when his eyes popped open. “Hey fiancee,” he mumbled sleepily. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m fantastic, fiance,” she replied, laughing as she lifted up her hand and marveled at the ring. Last night, she really hadn’t had too much of a chance to look at it; she’d been too overwhelmed. But it was beautiful, and the fact that it was his mother’s ring made it all that much more special.

“I don’t ever want to leave this bed.” Derek murmured, stretching.

“Me either, but we have a wedding to plan, so we may need to get up.” Juliet grinned.

“Nope. Not happening.”

She rolled her eyes and started to move to get up, but a set of arms snaked around her waist and pulled her back. Juliet let out a squeal of surprise which devolved into laughter. “Derek Morgan! You are incorrigible!”

“And you love it.” He chuckled, rolling her over and pinning her arms gently as he began to attack her with kisses.

She really did. And she was about to let him have his way and spend the day in bed when a loud ringing began. He groaned and pulled away, grabbing his cellphone off the nightstand. “Babygirl, this better be good,” he started, smiling as Garcia started rambling. Juliet could barely hear her, but from what she could gather, she was asking about the engagement. It didn’t surprise her that he’d told them beforehand. “Yes, I asked her.” He turned to Juliet and kissed her forehead. “Yes, she said yes.”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Garcia screeched through the phone. That Juliet heard. “Oh my god, you’re going to live happily ever after I’m so excited!”

Garcia was the cutest. “That’s the plan,” Juliet replied. “Talk to you soon?”

“Yes, we have so much planning to do!” She clapped excitedly and said goodbye, leaving the two lovebirds to revel in the glow of being newly-engaged.

Juliet tried to get up again, succeeding this time when she coaxed Derek with the promise of pancakes. “So, I would like to know what ideas my fiance has about the wedding.”

Derek shook his head. “I’m not falling into that trap. The correct answer to that question is whatever you want, dear. My mama taught me that a long time ago.”

Juliet hip-checked him teasingly as she handed over a spatula. “Nuh uh. You are not getting off that easily mister. Tell me.”

He shrugged, looking over at her. “Honestly, all I need is you in a white dress and someone willing to marry us. Hell I’d elope if that’s what you wanted. The only thing that matters to me is you, Juliet.”

She blushed, and ducked her head shyly. Even after all this time she still melted when he talked like that. It almost didn’t feel real. And now she got to spend the rest of her life with him. Pulling herself together, Juliet shook her head. “Now that’s a trap I’m not falling into. I may not know much but I know your mother would murder me if she didn’t get to see her baby boy get married.”

“So no eloping then? You don’t fancy a quick drive to Vegas?”

Juliet grimaced and shook her head. “No way. I want to shout it from the rooftops. Okay, well I’m going to be running things by you all the time because I don’t want you to hate anything I pick. What do you think about getting married in the fall? Next year?”

“That’s good by me. I could picture you floating delicately over fallen leaves somewhere. Maybe a light blue for a color? Not too many jewels please?” If it made her happy, he’d do it, but being bedazzled wasn’t exactly his cup of tea, or mug of coffee really.

“Do you know me?” She laughed. “I’m no sparkly princess. I’m thinking I want to go for a vintage fairy-like vibe.”

Derek had absolutely no idea what that meant. “Whatever you wear, you’ll be beautiful. Who do you want to be your maid of honor?”

“Emily,” Juliet said immediately. “We’ve gotten really close. I figure Garcia is going to be your best woman?”

Chuckling, he kissed her neck as he passed her to grab something from the refrigerator. “You assume correctly.”

A few hours later they finally made it out of the house. Derek made one more impassioned plea for taking her back to bed, but Juliet had insisted. She wanted to share this with everyone that mattered to them. Of course, Garcia had probably already told everyone, even some random strangers Juliet was sure, but still.

As they stepped through the glass doors into the BAU, an explosion of confetti went off. Juliet laughed, as it cleared she could see Penelope holding a mini confetti cannon. “Hi Pen.”

The blonde didn’t speak, just tottered over and enveloped them both into a hug. “Oh I love you I love you I love you! I’m so happy, my heart is singing!”

“Too. Tight. Can’t, Breathe.” Juliet murmured into her sequined blazer, causing Penelope to reluctantly release.

“Sorry! I’m just so excited.” She squealed, grabbing Morgan’s face in her hands and kissing his cheek. “You did it! Well, we did it. Let’s be honest this wouldn’t have happened without me. And I mean-”

“Hey babygirl?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I say hi to everyone else?”

Penelope blushed, glancing back as if suddenly remembering that the rest of the team was standing behind her. “Oh. Right. Whoopsies!”

“Congratulations,” Spencer said, smiling as he embraced Derek in a warm hug. “And congratulations to you,” he continued, turning to Juliet.

Juliet was a wonderful torrent of smiles and laughs as everyone on the team congratulated them on their engagement. Even people she barely knew came up to hug her and tell her how happy they were for the two of them. It felt like a dream, walking through a cloud city where nothing could go wrong.

Rossi insisted on having drinks at his house in the near future in order to celebrate. Penelope and JJ started asking when they were going to start having little ones running around the house. And Hotch even broke out with one of his rare but genuine smiles. “Do you have a date yet?” Emily asked.

“Not yet!” Derek exclaimed with a mock tone of surprise, “But sometime in the fall.”

Juliet leaned into Derek’s embrace and sighed. “I’ve always imagined walking down the aisle among a sea of yellow, orange, and red leaves.”

They all chatted for a little longer before Rossi clapped his hands. “Alright, that’s it. We’re not going to get anymore paperwork done tonight so who’s up for good liquor at my place? Huh? What do you say.”

JJ had to beg off to head home to her boys and Emily mentioned something vague about meeting up with an old girlfriend. Juliet had known her long enough to know she meant she had a date, but didn’t pry.

The rest of the team started to collect their things while teasing Rossi about his extensive Scotch collection. Juliet went to the lair with Garcia to grab a gift she’d made for her and Derek.

That left Agent Morgan standing alone by the front doors, waiting for the team. A ringing started and after a moment of feeling around for it, Derek fished his phone out of his jacket pocket. The caller ID read: Unknown. Frowning, he picked up.

“Hello, this is SSA Derek Morgan speaking.”

“Congratulations on your engagement, Agent Morgan.” A voice crackled through on the other end of the line.

Derek tensed, unable to recognize the voice. “Who is this?!?” He asked pointedly.

“Enjoy it for tonight. Because by tomorrow, if you haven’t broken things off...well, let’s just say you’ll be sorry.”

He looked around calmly, trying to see if anyone within earshot was on their phone, but nothing. “I don’t know who you think you are,” Derek whispered, “But I won’t be doing that.”

“Is that so?” The person asked condescendingly. “I thought you cared about your family more than that.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He asked, his voice raising in pitch with each passing moment.

There was a lingering silence on the other side of the line before the chilling voice broke through again. “Fran. Sarah. Desiree.”

Derek’s mouth went dry. “I don’t know who you think you are but-”

“Goodbye Agent Morgan.”

The line went dead. Derek nearly jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Whoa. Everything okay?” Juliet asked, searching his eyes with her brow furrowed. Taking a deep breath, he nodded and smiled. “All good.” There was no reason to scare her when he didn’t even know if this was real.

So, he ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach and held her hand, walking out to the car with the BAU in tow ready to drink the night away.

He definitely needed a drink.

@virgoswlw​​ @crimeshowtrash​ @literallyprentissstwin​ @jazz91121 @tommyhollandd​ @spencer-puppies-and-stuff​ @fl0werb0nes18​ @stunudo​ @spencerthepipecleaner​ @theofficeofsupremegenius​ @ultrarebelheart​ @lookwhatyoumademequeue​ @lukeassmanalvez​ @mentallydatingspencerreid​ @nobravery​ @criminal-anatomy @matthew-gray-reidler​ @remember-me-forever-silent-angel​ @original-criminal-fanfics​ @lovelukealvez @stories-you-wont-hear @speedreiding @marvelfanlife @butsomeofusarelookingatthestars​ @wonderboygenius​ @naturallytom​ @imagines-for-criminal-minds​ @acespence​ @sweater-vest-reid​ @criminalmindskeepsmealive @spenncerreiid​ @sam-carter-in-training​ @parker-hopper @spencerwreid​ @ssahotchner​ @profiler-in-training​ @were-skye​ @trollitis​ @heyboywonder​ @ficrecswithcassie​ @janiedreams88@gingeraleandcontemplation @cynbx @fortheloveofspencerreid​ @tippy06​ @cleocc @bestillmystuckyheart​ @ssaunitchief​ @xxm3xxj​ @xocriminal-minds-imaginesxo​

[lolcat76]

Perdu

your-otp-prompts

Your OTP is dead and both of them live together happily in the afterlife…. until they find out Person A is due to be reincarnated. Person B refuses to spend the rest of existence without them and asks to be reincarnated too. They then spend their new mortal lives trying to find each other again.            

@okaynextcrisis just a THOUGHT in case either of you are BORED and/or NOT ENTIRELY FILLED WITH ANGSTY FEELS“I think you were right,” Bill said as he sat on the side of the bed next to her. “The Gods – or God – they exist.”

Laura sighed and stretched, one long leg creeping out from the covers to tease his thigh with her toes. He always woke before she did, long before they’d found themselves in this cabin, where the days were always sunny and the nights were just cool enough that she needed to curl into him to stay warm. Back when she’d fall asleep without him, and wake up with him breathing ambrosia, or worse, Joe’s rot-gut on her neck. Even in the throes of his worst hangover, he was still awake before she was, breathing a night of regrets into her skin as he tried to keep the chill of mortality from creeping any further into her bones.

Then, he woke her with reports and updates. Now, he woke her with random thoughts. Was your hair always this red, or is it just the sun here? Are there fish in that lake? Is it against the rules to find out? There’s a constellation of freckles that looks just like Virgon on your chest. When I was a kid, we had a dog that kicked in its sleep, but damn, woman, nothing like you.

Non-sequiturs and random thoughts, but never theological debates, and she was too warm, too comfortable and too naked to engage in any sort of deep conversation. “Hmmm...I would have thought the cabin and the pantry that’s always stocked with food was enough to tip you off on that score.”

“I had a pretty good idea,” he agreed.

She liked his ideas, especially here, especially now, where there was no concern of infection or exhaustion or dropping dead while he rambled about gardening. She had some damn good ideas as well. Laura wiggled a little closer to him, her arms escaping the comforter to wrap around his waist. “If you want further proof, come back to bed, and I’ll shout them, or him, or whomever, down again just for you.”

He didn’t pull away – he never pulled away from her, not once, not since that first handshake after the end of the worlds – but he didn’t come any closer. This was apparently a serious conversation.  Laura tucked the duvet under her shoulders. “Bill? What brought this on?”

“We had some guests this morning.”

Guests? They didn’t have guests. That was the trade-off – sacrifice for the good of humanity, die of cancer, and walk around naked if she so chose in her little cabin in the afterlife. She’d held up her end of the bargain, so why the frak were they suddenly worrying about guests?

Gods, if it was Ellen Tigh, she’d give up her immortal soul here and now.

“Maybe guests is the wrong word,” Bill sighed. “Landlords? And I guess our rent is due?”

“Bill, you know you’re awful at metaphors. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

He shrugged, the grin her teasing brought to his lips not quite reaching his eyes. “All this has happened before, and all this is happening again.”

He was even worse at quoting Scripture than he was at metaphors. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, I’ve been told I’m going back to Earth.”

***

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. She was not spending the rest of eternity alone in a cabin. She was not giving up Bill, not just when she’d gotten used to his snoring and was finally able to live with him without wanting to smack him every time he asked her why she didn’t just wash her dish rather than leaving it in the sink.

No. She might not have been the most devout follower of the Gods, but she was devout enough. And sure, she thought Baltar’s sermons were 97% bullshit, but she’d believed in the other 3%, so why the hell were the nebulous Almighties showing up now and ruining her happily ever?

No. She wasn’t losing Bill again. Not now, not ever.

Laura kicked off the covers and dug through the rumpled bedclothes at her feet to find the t-shirt she’d tossed aside last night. No, she muttered as she tugged the shirt over her head, no, not this time. She pushed him out of the way and strode into the living room of their cabin, ready to do battle with…with what, exactly?

They didn’t have a phone, and even if they did the cabin didn’t have a phone book. She couldn’t just look up Gods Comma The in the Yellow Pages, punch in a phone number and insist that whatever holy beings were in charge of their interior design report for the full Roslin interrogation. She didn’t even have a damn airlock here.

She might have been the more faithful, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t shove a deity or two out an airlock if it meant keeping Bill with her.

But deities were nowhere to be found, and she was left standing in one of Bill’s old t-shirts and bare legs, trying to choke back tears at the realization that if this was going to happen, there was nothing – nothing – she could do to stop it.

“Laura?’ Bill asked. So hesitant. He hadn’t been timid around her since she was dying of cancer. He wrapped his arm around her waist, so gentle that she could almost feel him slipping away.

There was nothing she could do to stop it. Nothing, except this. She twined her fingers with his, squeezing so tightly that she was almost certain she’d broken a bone. Hers or his, she couldn’t tell, and didn’t particularly care.

“You’re not leaving me again. I don’t care what they said, I’m holding on to you and I’m never letting go. If they want you, they have to take both of us.”

***

It was her little ritual to mark the day her life fell apart with a strong drink in a shitty bar. Counterintuitive, but she had a sick appreciation for life’s little ironies. A shitty bar was where Rick told her he wasn’t going to leave his wife, and a strong drink was what led her to wrap her car around a telephone pole.

If she’d been as good a drunk then as she was now, she could have made it home, her car, her criminal record, and her unborn child intact. But, shit happened, and she was perfectly happy to revisit her past mistakes every year on this day. Maybe this time would be the time she’d finally get drunk enough to really wreck her car and never wake up. Practice makes perfect.

“All this has happened before,” she muttered, before throwing back another shot of tequila.

“All this will happen again.”

Laura looked up, her vision more than a little blurry. Most of the regulars at Joe’s knew to steer clear of her, if not by her attitude, then by the sharp tongue of the bartender who usually lectured her about being self-destructive, then dumped her in a cab. Rich coming from a man who was well past retirement age, but still pouring shots and cleaning up vomit. All this will happen again, she’d heard Jack say every Friday and Saturday night, when she’d been perched on her barstool. She’d never heard someone say it so…hopefully. As if all of this happening again was a good thing.

Maybe for him it was. This guy was new, and by the looks of his white starched uniform, not someone she wanted to know. Damn San Diego anyway. She should have moved back to New York or headed north to Los Angeles. Any city where she could hide among the freaks and dregs, instead of fighting for a spot at the bar with sailors and college students.

He looked a little long in the tooth to be a sailor, white uniform notwithstanding. He looked too old to be in a bar like this, and if she hadn’t just knocked back her fifth shot of tequila – Your last shot, young lady – she might have thought she was too old to be there as well.

“What do you know about what’s going to happen again?” She wobbled on her barstool, and she would have fallen off if he hadn’t grabbed her by the belt loops of her jeans and jerked her upright. She yanked his hands from her jeans and slapped them on the bar. “I didn’t ask for a hero.”

“I didn’t volunteer.” He smiled at her. Warm, his smile. Warm, his voice, too low and rough to be safe. Warmer still, his hands curling into hers.

They fit, his callused fingers twined against her own. Laura hadn’t held hands with a man since the accident that had broken 17 bones in her body, including four in her hand, but damn if his grip didn’t fit perfectly in hers.

Jagged edges looking for a match. If she were less drunk, she’d be pleased. If she were more drunk, she’d fuck him on the spot. She was just drunk enough to know that whatever this was, it was a bad idea. “I’m going home.” She slapped a couple of bills on the bar and pushed herself off the stool.

“That’s only two bucks,” Jack yelled after her as she weaved past Chads and Brads and Tyffinies and sailors, but Jack knew she’d be back. She’d make it right with him tomorrow, or the next day. Tonight, she needed to get the hell out of this bar.

She swayed on the street, punching in her password for Lyft again and again before giving up and muttering fuck it, I’ll walk. Laura made it halfway down the block before the night caught up with her, and she ducked into a storefront to throw up a night’s worth of booze and fish tacos.

“Happy birthday,” she whispered, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.

“As far as birthdays go, I’m guessing you’ve had better.”

Yes, just what she needed, the creep in the Navy uniform following her home. “If you touch me, I’ll fucking rip out our balls and feed them to the rats.”

He shrugged. “In San Francisco, I’d be worried, but this is San Diego. There are no rats.”

Not with four legs, anyway. “Whatever you think is going to happen, I can assure you it won’t.”

He brushed her hair back, then offered her a bottle of water. She swished it in her mouth, then spat the remnants of $60 worth of dinner and drowned sorrows into the gutter.

“Thanks,” she said, and held out the bottle.

He grimaced “Keep it.”

“Well, I’m going home now.” She stumbled down the street and would have taken a header in the middle of Friday night traffic if he hadn’t caught her again.

“Do you mind?”

“Matter of fact, I do. You might be intent on killing yourself, but I don’t want to see it.” His hands were still on her waist, still holding her more or less upright.

“I’m not trying to kill myself,” she said, unsure whether she was trying to convince him, or herself.

“I’m glad,” he said, “because I’ve seen you die once, Laura Roslin, and I don’t want to see it again.”

Who the fuck is Laura Roslin, she wanted to ask, and she would have if those five shots of tequila hadn’t chosen that moment to knock her ass right out.

***

The first thing she thought when she woke was that she desperately needed to brush her teeth. The second thing was that she probably owed Jack an apology, and definitely a tip. The third thing was who the hell was in bed with her?

She was still dressed, more or less. Shirt, underwear, socks, but her jeans were gone. Cracking her eyes to survey her surroundings, she was relieved to see that she was in her own bedroom, and her jeans were folded nightly on her desk.

Small mercies, but it didn’t explain how she’d gotten into her own bed, or who was breathing on her neck.

She’d had awkward mornings after before; she could survive this one. Wake him up, send him home, pretend that nothing happened for another 364 days.

Only problem was, he was already awake.

He was always awake before her, waiting for her to open her eyes and smile at him before he got out of the rack and started his day. “I love waking up to you,” he said, every morning.

Dammit, Jack, she’d settle up her tab but she wasn’t giving him a tip if whatever he’d given her last night led to hallucinations like this.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said. Nothing better than bringing up bodily functions to chase a man from her bed.

“Okay. Go.” He rolled onto his side and burrowed his face into his pillow, breathing into her 800-thredcount pillowcases just as easily as he’d breathed into her neck.

Is this all there is, Bill?

“You don’t have to be here when I get back,” she said.

Is this all there is?

“You said you wouldn’t let go.”

“No, I didn’t.” Yes, I did. Didn’t I? She didn’t remember saying it, but it felt real.

“Go to the bathroom. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Hair a little too processed, crow’s feet a little too prominent. She was too old for this, for waking up to a stranger in her bed. Even her robe, soft cotton instead of satin, was an old lady’s robe.

Is this all there is? A late night and too much to drink?

It was all that she had to offer. She tugged the belt of her robe a little too tight around her waist and ventured out of her bathroom, only to find her bed empty. Thank god, she sighed, breathing in a moment’s relief.

Until she heard pots and pans clanging in her kitchen. Why wouldn’t he just leave? She didn’t need to have breakfast with a stranger.

Saul will be here right after Jaffee brings breakfast, he said.

“Are you telling me you don’t want me to be here when breakfast is served?”

He pulled her closer, whispering the word no over and over again into her skin, brushing his lips against the ribs that had become too prominent in the last few weeks. “I want you to eat. If I could make you breakfast in bed, I would.”

Laura shook her head, trying to clear it from the fog of too much tequila and too much…whatever this was. She didn’t know any Saul. She didn’t even know this man’s name, or why he was here.

He was cooking her breakfast. Nobody had cooked her breakfast since college. He was making a mess of her kitchen, dipping low-calorie, high-fiber bread into an egg wash. He looked up and caught her eye, grinning at her as he dropped two slices of bread into a frying pan. “The French call it pain perdu, lost bread.” He gently laid a slice into her skillet. “Lost. How sad is that?””

“Lost bread.” Laura hummed. “It has a certain romance to it. Lost in what, I wonder?

“Do you really want to know?”

“No,” she admitted. She pulled plates out of her cabinets and folded napkins, waiting for breakfast to be ready. “I think I prefer things to be found, not lost.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” he muttered as he slid the French toast on her plate.

For the first time in she didn’t know how long, she thought God just might be listening.

[qaanngi]

17, 35, 43?

Thanks for sending!

#17: Any OC OTPs?

No shame, I ship my son Dai with @ambalambs​ Inquisitors Neydiri & Senrian, just because. No alternate universe where they meet in some elaborate story, just shameless fluff that spans universes. He’s a charming 6 feet tall white haired anime boy water god with abs & tatts for centuries. Pair that with a couple of 5 feet elves? Hell yeah. Tbh I could ship him with anyone. He’s romantic like that. A lil clingy though, ngl.

He’s also got like Jaeger co-pilots 9000% drift compatible vibes with Nadi/Van, & maybe some unresolved feelings, idk I haven’t developed them that far but they love each other & would die for each other. And maybe some unresolved sexual tension with my bubble tea shop fallen angel, but I haven’t even drawn that one so that’s on the shelf for now.

#35: Any sibling characters?

Back when Van was Nadia, had a glowing green hand & dated a hooman named Cullen I did actually give her a younger brother & an extensive backstory only one other soul knew about :D

His name was Yusuf. Like his sister he was charming, but unlike her he wasn’t such a little shit with a penchant for getting into a lot of trouble. For now he remains in storage should I decide to recycle him. Ngl I do borrow his hairstyle a lot.

#43: Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess.

Girls. Monsters, troublemakers, underdogs, charming little assholes who can sweet talk an ocean into buying a bottle of water. Smartasses with great asses who are also, incidentally, badasses, usually proficient in some kind of martial art and dual wielding because there’s some innuendo on that which implies bisexuality. On that note: queer characters - so far no one in my metaphorical house is ever heterosexual. Children who have been abused and thus haven’t grown up well and have Issues, archers, thieves, anything slightly within the realm of the rogue class. Brown eyes. Asian because representation. Eloquent bastards who could tear their enemies down with words. Cunning, clever, cautious, analytical people. People who have the potential to be a great asset or formidable foe, and the most important part is that their story involves their choice on that matter.

I’m not even remotely ashamed. When I make characters I make people I want to meet - people I would find interesting, and those I think could carry a story on their shoulders by their past, their decisions, and their morality/moral dilemmas.

Again, thanks for sending!

[acourtofhopeanddreams]

Last night I dreamt I went to Winterfell again...

Fandom: Game of Thrones Characters: Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Myranda, Ramsay Bolton, Daenerys Targaryen OTP: Jon/Sansa Setting: Modern AU // Rebecca Fusion Atmosphere: Slightly creepy and horror like Triggers: implied/referenced rape/non-con Written for: @jonsa-week - DAY 3 - WHISPERS AND SECRETS Words: 5628 Links: AO3 // WATTPAD

Last night I dreamt I went to Winterfell again. I don’t think those dreams will ever go away. I don’t even know if I want those dreams to go away.

It all started years ago in King’s Landing. I was accompanying Daenerys Targaryen, a wealthy young lady who mostly based her entire reputation on the riches her father had gathered. Most of my tasks consisted of packing and unpacking her bags and being her sparring partner during the endless tennis lessons she was taking, even though she was not getting any better. The rest of the time I attempted to converse with her, even though I didn’t share her interest in the famous or wealthy.

“Jon!” Daenerys jumped up from her seat and her hand hit my shoulder over and over again. “Do you see who’s coming in there?”

I looked up from the book I was reading and I pushed my glasses up to have a better look at the red haired beauty who entered the lobby of our hotel. I had never seen her before, although I vaguely remembered a picture of her in a magazine I had bought a few days ago.

“That’s Lady Sansa Stark!” Daenerys spoke too loud to be polite, but she didn’t seem to notice how everyone turned their faces to look at her. “Last year she was here with her husband Ramsay Bolton, a charming and very admirable man. He died in a tragic accident with his dogs ten months ago.”

I let my eyes wander over her.

She was wearing black from head to toe and her face was hidden in the shadows of the black cloche resting on her long hair.

“Sansa!” Daenerys rushed towards her and she took Sansa’s hands in a firm grip. “I’m so sorry to hear about the death of your husband.” She tightened her grip and Sansa turned her head so her eyes met mine. “I admire it that you’ve brought yourself to come here for your annual holiday though.”

“We can’t all dwell on the past, can we?” Sansa kept on avoiding Daenerys’ glance and she curled her lips up into a smile. “How do you like King’s Landing at this time of the year?”

I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, for a moment slightly uncomfortable and then I realized she had really been talking to me. “It’s a little too perfect, if you ask me.” I bent my head and stared at my feet.

“Don’t mind him. He’s not used to this luxury and world. And unthankful on top of that.” Daenerys pushed me aside. “Would you mind joining us for tea?”

Sansa froze for a second and then she shook her head. “No, I have to unpack my bags.” Without another word she walked past us and disappeared into the elevator.

“Don’t you see what you have done?” Daenerys raised her eyebrows while she turned to me. “Because of your impolite answer she’s gone now!”

“My impolite answer?” I swallowed and I scratched the back of my neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Of course you didn’t. You know nothing. Now excuse me. I feel a migraine coming up. I will stay in bed for a few days.”

And so I ended up needing to have breakfast on my own the next day. The entire conversation and everything that had happened had made me nervous, but when I threw over my full glass of water, all over my table, lady Sansa Stark was so kind to invite me to have breakfast with her.

She seemed polite, more polite than she had been the night before. She asked me about my family, how I had ended up serving Daenerys Targaryen and what part of King’s Landing I loved most. The moment I had to admit that Daenerys came here every year, but never left the hotel she invited me to visit one of her favorite places.

And since Daenerys indeed wanted to stay in bed all day, I accompanied Sansa to one of the cliffs, looking over the sea.

“I never knew a place could be this beautiful!” I curled my fingers around the railing and let out a deep sigh. Countless birds in all different colors were circling around my head and when I looked down I saw small white dots where tiny ships were sailing over the bright blue water. “Thank you so much for taking me here.”

“You’re welcome.” Her face was drained of all color and her lips were forming a straight line. She was probably plagued by a memory, by the image of how she had stood here with Ramsay, not even a year ago. “I will go back to the car. Take all the time you need.” She turned around and without another word she left me behind.

I had met women before. I had been to countless parties with Daenerys, but not one had had an effect on me like Sansa had. I felt my heart racing in my chest while I thought of her eyes, her wonderful eyes looking at me as if I was special. I stopped breathing when I thought of her hand, that had reached for mine a few times during our ride here. I knew that a woman like Sansa was out of my reach. It was all I had heard ever since I had started working for Daenerys. But I also knew that during this one day we were spending together, Sansa had already given me more beautiful moments that I had ever shared with Daenerys.

And she continued to do so the next day. And the day after. And the day after. She took me to musea with dinosaurs bigger than I had ever imagined them to be. She took me to restaurants more expensive than anything even Daenerys could afford. And she took me on a picnic in the early morning on the beach, with the sound of the maddened sea as our background music.

“I never want to leave this place again.” I actually meant that I never wanted to leave her again, but I didn’t want to upset her, especially not since the summer was almost over and Daenerys could decide to travel back to Dragonstone at any minute now. “Thank you so much for spending all this time with me.”

She smiled. She smiled and she took my hands in hers. “I’m glad I could show this world to you, Jon.” When she said my name it was as if a choir of angels started singing, but they kept quiet the moment she closed her eyes and leaned in to press a soft kiss on my slightly opened lips. “Thank you for being the most amazing company I’ve ever met.” She pulled back and for a moment I just stared at her with my eyes wide open.

I didn’t know what to say or what to do. I didn’t know if I should kiss her again, if I should thank her for the kiss. “It was my pleasure.” I eventually said.

And my lips were still tingling when I returned to my hotelroom.

“We’re going home tomorrow, Jon.” Daenerys sat on the edge of her bed. Her suitcase was already packed. “I’m done with King’s Landing and how ill it makes me feel.”

“As you wish, my lady.” I bent my head slightly, but as soon as I could I rushed out of the room to find a telephone. “Could you connect me to Lady Stark’s room, please?” My voice was trembling, but after a few terribly long minutes it seemed that Lady Sansa was not there. “I understand. Just let her know that I’ve called.” I hung up again and let out a deep sigh. I let my back rest against the wall and I only shook up when a silhouette appeared on the floor in front of me.

“Is everything alright, Jon?” Sansa cocked her head, an amused smile playing around her lips.

“Yes, no…” I shook my head. “We’re traveling home. Tomorrow.”

“Do you want to travel back to Dragonstone?” She crossed her arms over her chest and she locked her glance with mine.

“I have no choice, I have nowhere else to go.”

“Yes, you have. You can come with me to Winterfell, if you want of course.” Her smile brightened and for a moment I just stared at her.

“You’re offering me a job?” I dropped my jaw and raised my voice, but Sansa’s laughter echoed through the hallway.

“No, I’m asking to marry me.” She shook her head and I kept silent for a moment. “Well, what will it be? Dragonstone or Winterfell, it’s your choice.”

“Winterfell…” My voice was barely a whisper, but I straightened my back before I kneeled down in front of her. “Lady Sansa Stark, would you want to marry me?” I almost tripped over the words, but her eyes started glimmering and she wrapped her arms around my neck before her lips touched mine.

“Yes! A thousand times yes!”

“What’s going on here?” Daenerys threw the door of her room open and she widened her eyes when she saw us. “What does this mean?”

“It means that Jon is coming to Winterfell with me. We’re getting married.” Sansa pressed another kiss on my lips. “I will let the hotel staff bring your bags to my room.” She turned around and walked away while Daenerys was still staring at me.

“Extra tennis lessons?” She raised her eyebrows. “And here I thought you were a decent young man.”

Normally her words would have hurt me, but this time I simply shrugged them off. I was starting a new life, a new adventure, and I would enjoy each and every second of it.

And the first few days after my proposal I did. I enjoyed the small marriage ceremony, with just the two of us and a priest in a small chapel. I enjoyed our journey through Westeros, through all those places I had never seen before. I enjoyed her touch, her love, her sweet words and her tender kisses. Until it was time to go to our final stop. Until I was going to see Winterfell for the very first time.

I was nervous. I was more nervous than I had ever been before and the moment I saw how the entire household stood lined up in front of the castle I felt the slight bit of confidence I had gathered fade.

“Seriously Myranda? The entire household?” Sansa shook her head but then she started to greet each and every one of them before introducing them to me.

Their names were one big blur and all sounded alike, but I smiled politely and nodded my head as often as possible.

“Myranda, this is Jon Snow, Lord of Winterfell.” She turned her head to me. “Jon, this is Myranda, our head of the household.”

I held my breath while Myranda stared at me. If looks could kill, I would have fallen dead on the floor, but I tried to keep my dignity and held out my hand to shook hers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss Myranda. I promise that nothing will change.”

“Excellent.” Her voice was cold as ice and I felt how my muscles tensed. “I’ve prepared the rooms in the west wing for you. Just like lady Bolton…” She made sure to emphasize the last name. “…Asked me to.”

Days passed, weeks passed.

I tried to feel at home, but no matter how much I tried I never managed to feel comfortable. Technically I was now the Lord of Winterfell, but I made sure everyone simply did everything exactly like Lord Bolton would have done it. I thought that was what Sansa wanted. I noticed how she seemed absent sometimes. I noticed how she didn’t always sleep by my side during the night. I noticed how sometimes her eyes went glassy while she stared at nothing in particular. I wished I could help her and be there for her, but Lord Bolton had been charming and intelligent. I was none of that. And the more time passed, the more I realized that I could not replace him. I could not replace him as Lord of Winterfell. I could not replace him as Sansa’s husband. I could clearly not replace him in the eyes of Myranda either.

She had shown me around in his rooms once. She had shown me his bed, his clothes. She had shown me his perfume and had told me how Winterfell used to smell of him. She had told me how she could still here his voice in the middle of the night, especially when the dogs howled and the cold wind blew around the house.

Eventually I decided that I had to do something, that I needed something to keep me occupied, to distract me, to help me to prove the North that I was good at something, that I was a Lord they could admire and look up to. “I want to throw a masquerade.” I had just won my first game of chess and Sansa was sitting on my lap. “Just like Ramsay used to do. I’ve heard people talking about it and I would like to keep the tradition he started.”

Sansa hesitated. She loosened her grip around my neck and a frown covered her forehead. “I don’t know…”

“It will be fun, I promise. It will give us something to look forward to and it will give me something to do.”

She paused for a moment, but then she pecked my cheek. “Fine, we will throw a masquerade.” She stood up from my lap. “But I want nothing to do with it. I leave it all to you.”

“I will not let you down, I promise.”

The next few months I spent all my time on the masquerade. I sent invitations to literally everyone in Sansa’s address book. I also sent an invitation to Daenerys. I took care of the decorations and the buffet. I instructed the maids and servants on where the furniture should be placed and I came up with countless suggestions for costumes for others. I had however some trouble with finding the perfect costume for myself. After all, I wanted to impress our guests, but most of all my wife. I wanted to show her that I was worth her love and attention, that I was good enough, that I could be the Lord of Winterfell, that I was maybe not better than Lord Bolton had been, but that I was not worth gossipping and whispering about either.

It was Myranda who helped me out eventually. She led me through the hallway to Sansa’s favorite painting on the wall, a portrait of her elder brother a few years ago dressed as the famous phantom of the opera.

I couldn’t thank Myranda enough for her help and immediately I contacted one of the best sewers in town to make me an exact replica of the costume Robb Stark had been wearing. Although I knew I was not as handsome as he was, I couldn’t help feeling pretty pleased with myself when I eventually stared at my reflection in the mirror on the evening of the ball.

Downstairs the living room was already filled with laughter. The air was filled with excitement and not just the air.

My heart was racing in my chest, hammering against my ribs and I carefully put the mask on covering half of my face. My suit fitted perfectly and I noticed how my shoulders were slightly broader than I remembered them to be. I would certainly make an impression, an impression that would stick with each and everyone who was here to witness it.

“Jon? Are you ready yet?” Sansa raised her voice and I took a deep breath.

“Did all the guests arrive?” I yelled back. I had not told her anything about my costume. I wanted this to be as much of a surprise for her as for everyone else. I wanted her to remember this moment as the moment Jon Snow, a simple boy with no rank or fortune, became the true Lord of Winterfell.

“Yes, you’re late at your own party.” Sansa sighed and after one more look at my own reflection I turned around.

On top of the stairs I stood still once more, but then I straightened my back and lifted my chin and started to walk down. I was waiting for the applause, for the compliments, for the excitement spreading through the main hall.

Instead there was nothing but absolute silence.

“What does this mean?” Sansa’s lips were forming a straight line. Her chest moved up and down rapidly and she stared at me as if I was the worst creature she had ever seen in her entire life. “What are you wearing?”

“I thought that…” I let my eyes wander over the crowd, but no one applauded, no one was enthousiast, apart from Daenerys who didn’t seem to understand what was going on either.

“Ramsay wore the exact same costume last year.” Sansa turned her head away from me. “I can’t even look at you. Disappear. Disappear right now. This party is over.” She walked away and slammed the door behind her.

I wasn’t able to move. I was just standing there, on top of the stairs, wondering how this could have happened.

Then I saw Myranda. Her lips were curled up into a devilish grin and her laughter echoed through the absolute silence. She had done it on purpose. She had told me on purpose to wear this costume. She had tried on purpose to make a fool out of me.

And I, foolish as I was, fell for it. And I, stupidly enough, had not questioned her true intentions when she had all of a sudden started helping me. And I, the simple boy with no important name or fame, was once again reminded that I would never be seen as a Lord, that I would never be able to compete with the ghost of Ramsay Bolton, still wandering through the hallways.

That night I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Sansa’s horrified face when looking at me. Every time I turned around I heard Myranda’s laughter in my ear. Every time I slightly drifted off I felt the humiliation and shame consuming me. Eventually I stepped out of the bed. I had to talk to Sansa. I had to explain what had happened. I had to ask her for forgiveness. But when I knocked on her door she didn’t answer. I didn’t need to think twice where she had been going.

The memories must have become too strong. She must have fled to the place where Ramsay’s ghost was still floating around. She must have tried to find his smell, his belongings, those pieces of him that had stayed behind.

On the tips of my toes I walked through the hallways until I stood still in front of the door leading towards Ramsay’s old room, which was still exactly like it used to be. I didn’t knock on the door. Instead I started talking. I started stuttering my apologies. I started explaining everything that had happened. I started to tell her that I knew I could never replace the one true Lord of Winterfell.

But when the door was finally opened it was not Sansa who smiled at me. Myranda opened the door a little wider and gestured me to come in. “Did you sleep well last night?”

“To be honest? I haven’t.” I let out a sigh.

“It must be the nearing Winter. It happens to keep people up.”

“You know exactly what’s keeping me up!” I raised my voice and pointed my finger at her.

“As if you wouldn’t have discovered sooner or later that you don’t belong here. You’re not a Lord. You’ve never been one and you’ll never be one.” Myranda walked towards me and I walked backwards until my back touched the huge window.

I needed air. I needed fresh air. I needed to breath. I threw the window open and I closed my eyes while I curled my fingers around the railing.

“You shouldn’t have come here. No one wants you here. Lady Sansa doesn’t want you here. She doesn’t need you here. No one does. You’re useless.” Myranda spoke softly and she placed her hands on both my sides. “You’d be better of dead.”

“I’d be better of dead.” I didn’t know why I repeated her words, but all of a sudden the ground beneath me seemed to call me, seemed to lure me.

“It only takes one step. One step to end this misery. One step to end Sansa’s misery. One step to end your misery.”

I don’t know what would have happened if the dogs had not started barking at that time. But I snapped out of my miserable state and quickly I walked passed Myranda to escape the room, to escape the house, to go where the sound wanted me to go. I knew I had to find her. I had to find her as soon as possible.

But there was nothing but barking and screaming and screaming and barking.

“What happened?” I grabbed the first person I vaguely recognized from the party.

“The dogs escaped.” Violet smirked as if she was drinking in each little bit of drama with everything she had. “They found a dead body in the woods.” She paused for a moment and I felt my knees shaking. “Ramsay’s body.”

My heart stopped beating and I pushed her aside. I really had to find her. I really had to find Sansa. “Sansa?” I screamed her name and eventually I stood still in front of the door leading to the kennel. “Sansa?” I whispered and I licked my lips. “Sansa? I’m sorry.” I paused for a moment. “I know that you’re reminded of him wherever we go and whatever we do.” I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. “I know that you can’t love me as much as you loved him.”

“Loved him?” Sansa raised her eyebrows while she opened the door. “I never loved Ramsay.” She shook her head. “I hated him. He was manipulative and mean. He was wicked through and through. He wasn’t even capable of something like love.”

I kept silent for a moment. “I’m still sorry…” I eventually said.

“Don’t be. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore.” Sansa sighed and she fell into my arms. “You were the best thing that happened to me during the last year, but it’s all over now. It’s all over now…”

“I don’t understand…” I held her as tightly as I could. My hand went through her hair and my other hand rubbed her back. “What do you mean it’s over?”

“I killed him.” The words sounded cold, almost emotionless and I didn’t know what to answer, how to react. “I killed him.” She started crying. She started crying in my arms and in between her sniffing she told me the story of what had happened.

“Everything seemed so perfect at first. He was nice and charming and witty. But as soon as we were married, as soon as he was the Lord of Winterfell he showed his true colors. He started to fire the people I trusted. He started to spend all my family’s money on things we didn’t need. He invited girls to come over. He ignored it when I didn’t feel well, when I didn’t want to be with him. Do you remember that cliff we visited in King’s Landing?”

I nodded.

“He took me there. He took me there and told me that he would never love me. That he would keep on inviting women over. That he would keep on taking what he deserved. He said there was nothing I could do about it. And he was right.

I couldn’t divorce him. I would be alone and without my castle and without anyone.

He was the Lord of Winterfell and I was nothing but his wife.” She took a deep breath. “One day, when he came back from one of his many trips to King’s Landing he went to the kennel. I knew he was waiting for one of his lovers to come over. I think he was waiting for Violet, but when I appeared in the door opening he only smirked. He had great plans for the castle. He would take down all the paintings from the Starks. He would break down the walls of Winterfell. He would use the fortune, my fortune, to build the palace he had always wanted to own. And at the very last he promised me to break down the crypt. He would take down the statues of my father and aunt. He would take down the statue of my brother.

I snapped. Something inside of me broke and I pushed him with all the power I had.

He fell on the floor. his head hit one of the gates and he died right away.

I never wanted to kill him, I never wanted him to die and I for sure didn’t want to go to jail because of him. So, I took his body and brought it to a quiet place in the woods. Then I set the dogs free, hoping they would eat him until there was nothing left of him. Nothing.” She hissed the last word and I straightened my back. “I’m sorry.”

“It was an accident.” I spoke firmly. The man I thought I couldn’t compete with was a monster. The man I thought Sansa had loved had hurt her, raped her, destroyed her. I was the better man. I would prove her that I was the better man. “Apart from us no one knows what really happened and we will keep it that way.”

She looked up and she nodded, although she didn’t seem to believe me. She didn’t seem to dare to believe me.

In the days that followed I changed everything. I took control of the house. I gave the order to throw all Ramsay’s stuff away. I gave the order to kill his dogs. And I told Myranda to look for a new job, because she was no longer needed nor wanted here.

She didn’t take it lightly. Nor did she react well on the discovery of the body of the man she seemed to truly admire. She insisted to use her right to get a two months notice. She wanted to stay until all the facts about Ramsay’s death had been cleared up.

I wanted to refuse her that right, but the last thing we needed right now was a law suit so I allowed her to stay.

And eventually, on a rainy Monday morning, I accompanied Sansa to the prosecutor.

We were both convinced that it would be nothing but a formality, that they would determine that Ramsay had committed suicide, that he had been the one ending his life himself, that he had let his dogs end it for him. But we were not prepared for Myranda and Violet, determined to prove that Ramsay Bolton’s death had not been by his own hand.

“Ramsay Bolton would never take his own life!” Myranda spoke firmly. She had her hands folded in front of her and she had not looked at us once ever since she had entered the room. “He had everything he wanted and dreamed of. The only thing he feared was dying a slow death because of a horrible disease that couldn’t be treated nor cured. He was young. He was popular. He had no reason to end his own life.”

“And he had no plans to do so either!” Violet stood up with a bunch of papers in her hand. “I found these in his personal belongings…”

“Do I want to know how you got those?” Sansa’s expression hardened and I squeezed her hand in an attempt to calm her down.

“He would have wanted me to have them. He had asked me to come over the night he died. I’m sure it was to present me his plans for the future, for Winterfell. Tell me, does a man who wants to die make plans to restore an entire castle?”

“Restore? Restore?” Sansa raised her voice. “He wanted to destroy it!”

“And there we have our motive.” Violet crossed her arms over her chest and smiled a satisfied smile.

“I didn’t…” Sansa shook her head. “I wouldn’t…” She stuck the tip of her tongue between her lips. “I couldn’t…” She lost her balance and tripped over her own feet, but I caught her before she hit the ground.

“Stay calm…” I hissed between my teeth. “Don’t give them a reason to jump to conclusions.”

The prosecutor took a deep breath. “We need to investigate this case. Miss Violet, do you happen to have found Ramsay’s planner among his personal belongings?”

Violet glanced over at Sansa once more before she stepped forward. “Yes, but I’m sure there is nothing suspicious in there. I checked it already.”

“I will be the judge of that.” The prosecutor stretched out his hand and started to turn the pages until he found the correct date. “I see he had an appointment with Dr. Tarly at ten. Does anyone know why Ramsay went to see a doctor?” The prosecutor looked up and we all shook our heads. “Fine. We will go visit him tomorrow then.”

“I will go with you.” Violet hurried to interrupt him.

“I will accompany you too.” I stepped forward and straightened my back and lifted my chin. I wanted to make sure Violet wouldn’t manipulate the judge. I had to make sure we would find a way to prove that Sansa, my Sansa, had nothing to do with this.

Even though she had.

And so I accompanied the prosecutor and Violet the next day on our way to King’s Landing. It did not take long to find the doctor mentioned in Ramsay’s planner, but it did take long to find the name he had been using for himself since it turned out that he had not introduced himself as Lord Ramsay Bolton from Winterfell.

But there had been an appointment at the mentioned day in Ramsay’s planning. And the description of the doctor took away the last little bit of doubt. It had been Ramsay Bolton visiting him and it had been Ramsay Bolton diagnosed with an illness that couldn’t be treated.

Although doctor Tarly, a nice young man who I trusted within a few seconds, had mentioned that there was an experimental cure that could maybe cure the disease, Ramsay had not been willing to take the risk.

He had thanked doctor Tarly for his help, had even paid double the price, and had then left the office.

After doctor Tarly’s story no one doubted anymore that Ramsay Bolton had committed suicide. After all, the one thing he feared was a slow and painful death. One he was promised by being diagnosed with greyscale. And while he planned his own downfall, he had tried to take my Sansa with him.

While I happily called Sansa to deliver the good news, along with the time of our foreseen arrival at Winterfell, Violet had the task to tell Myranda that their biggest nightmare, the bad dream they had not wanted to believe, had been true in the end.

In silence we traveled all the way back and I jumped out of the car when I saw Sansa at the last crossroad. While I wrapped my arms around her I lifted her feet of the ground and twirled her around.

But our joy was interrupted by a soft orange glow brightening the nightly air.

“That’s weird. It’s the middle of the night.” I cocked my head and put Sansa down while she followed my glance.

Her eyes however widened and quickly she started running. “It’s Winterfell! Winterfell is on fire!” She rushed towards the gate and I followed her, but when we arrived we were stopped before we could enter our castle.

“What happened?” I raised my voice and straightened my back. I was starting to feel more and more comfortable when it came to my role as the future Lord of Winterfell, although it now seemed there was not much left to rule over.

“I don’t know!” One of the servants ran towards us. “I’ve made sure to check if all candles were extinguished. I must have missed one.”

“I saw Myranda shortly before midnight! She had one!” A maid, carrying a few buckets filled with water, was out of breath when she finally reached us. “I told her to be careful with it, but she just laughed.”

“She wanted to be with him…” I spoke softly and I wrapped my arms firmly around Sansa.

For me Winterfell was nothing but a castle, a pile of stones, and more bad memories than good ones. For her Winterfell was her childhood, but also the bad dream that had haunted her ever since she had married Ramsay. Maybe, just maybe, it was not that bad that it burned to the ground, that there would be nothing left but a pile of ash and that all ghosts would burn with it.

Now Winterfell is nothing but a dream, a vague memory of an adventure that has brought me and Sansa closer than we would have been without it. We found a safe place in White Harbor. It is much smaller than Winterfell, but we will be happy here, which is all I’ve ever wanted and all that I need.

[oldofbadchoices]

Odds for angel/Harry!!!

1. Who is the most affectionate?

They’re both in the same level. Not very affectionate to begin with but as time goes on, people (read: Hermione) start to notice that they’re always touching each other, little, otherwise unnoticeable touches, like shoulders brushing and one sitting in the arm of the chair the other is sitting,

3. Most common argument?

Harry being a martyr and Angel being “cold”.

5. Who is most likely to carry the other?

Harry, mostly because Angel 1) has little to no upper body strength and 2) her magic’s too unstable

7, What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

Awkwardness increases by 200% + avoiding being in the same room together

9. Who worries the most?

They’re both worriers but it’s more noticeable in Harry, Angel may look ok but she is probably having a panic attack inside her head.

11. Who tops?

They alternate, they’re both switches

13. Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

Harry, he needs the physical reassurance.

15. Who wakes up first?

They both wake up roughly at the same time

17. Who says I love you first?

Angel says it very quietly when she thinks Harry has fallen asleep in her lap while both of them are alone in the common room during sixth year. He is shocked and ten seconds later Angel hears an “I do too”

19. Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

Depends, Ron, Hermione and Ginny know first because they see them everyday but Angel’s grandparents are the first adults to know about it.

21. Who is more likely to start dancing with the other?

Harry

23. Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

Neither

25. Who needs more assurance?

Angel, she feels as if she will drag him down.

27. Who would sing to their child back to sleep?

Harry will do it more often but Angel will sing if she thinks no one else is there to listen

29. one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

Angel always gets this pain in the back of her head when she’s around Harry but she learned to live with it. Little does she know it’s because she can sense Voldypants disgusting magic :)

SEND ME A SHIP + OTP MEME AND I’LL TELL YOU 

[signorcerullo]

Look, I like the Samruby “I can make him worse” jokes as much as the next guy, they’re funny, but just as jokes. I think anyone who believes that’s genuinely Ruby’s mindset has vastly misunderstood her character and their relationship. Ruby doesn’t think she’s making him worse! She thinks she’s making him better!

You have the understand, Ruby genuinely believes that what she’s doing is good. She’d probably admit that the things she’s doing to reach her goal are bad, but she genuinely believes in the righteousness of her cause. She sees the angels as the oppressive rulers (which… they are) and the devil as their benevolent savior.

And then there’s Sam. Satan’s vessel. The Antichrist. She’s just a regular demon and Sam is this wonderful human who’s been chosen for their righteous cause. The man who’s been granted these wonderful powers to help save the earth by freeing the devil. And then she finally meets him, and learns that he’s been taught to hate all these things about himself. He’s got a father who would rather see him killed than fulfill his destiny and a brother who thinks he’s a freak, who wants him to suppress all these things that make him beautiful.

She can’t stand it. This man that she grows to love has been chosen for this beautiful destiny and he’s been ostracized for it. She teaches him to use his powers. Guides him down his chosen path. And yeah, she’s lying to and manipulating him, but it’s only what she has to do to help him. And when he’s freed the devil she reassures him that what he did was good and amazing and that he’s going to be rewarded for it.

He didn’t need the feather to fly. He had it in him the whole time.

[riverdalewritings]

Someone to Watch over Me - Betty x Veronica Imagine

Warnings: None

Request by anon: Beronica where Ronnie is sick and Betty takes care of her, and at the end of the day, they realised that they have feelings for eachother ~AND KISS ~and then Betty gets sick and Ronnie takes care of her.

Here you go! I didn’t get to write Ronnie taking care of Betty, because the imagine was already four pages long in my Word document, but I hope you like it anyway!

     “Come to my place ASAP,” was what the text from Veronica said. Betty didn’t mind, as she usually had no plans on Saturdays anyway, but she was slightly worried. Was Veronica in trouble?

     Betty showed up to Veronica’s twenty minutes later, a little frantic, ponytail slightly askew. She threw open the front door, and almost smacked Smithers right in the face.

     “Oh! I’m sorry!” Betty blushed, but didn’t slow down. She practically ran up the stairs, panting, trying to get to Veronica as fast as possible. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she reached Veronica’s door and pushed it open.

     “V?” Betty called out, because the room was dark, light blocking curtains covering the windows. Veronica was in bed, still in pajamas. She turned slowly towards Betty, a soft smile on her face, and gestured to her to come over. Betty walked, gingerly, towards the bed, and sat down on the edge.

     “V? What’s wrong?”

     Veronica curled into Betty’s lap, and got herself comfortable before answering. “I’m sick, and you need to take care of me.”

     “...that was what I needed to come over here for? ASAP? What about your mom? Or Smithers?” Betty looked down at Veronica, and couldn’t help running her fingers through the loose strands that had fallen out of V’s loose bun.

     “Not you,” Veronica sighed, nuzzling further into Betty’s lap.

     “Alright,” Betty agreed (as if she’d ever say no anyway). “What do you want? Soup? Orange juice? Do you need tissues or anything?” Veronica didn’t answer, but Betty could tell she was smiling. “Ok, tell you what. I will go make you chicken noodle soup, and I’ll set up Netflix. How about that?” Veronica nodded in agreement.

     When Betty came back, soup tray in hand, Veronica was sitting up, waiting for her, remote, or something, in hand. “Is Gentlemen Prefer Blondes ok?”

     “Sure,” Betty said, smiling. “I just don’t know how true that title is.” She sat down next to Veronica, and place the tray over her lap.

     “Well, I don’t know about gentlemen, but I prefer blondes. Blondes who are named Betty, and nurse me back to health.”

     Betty chuckled. “Please, V. I’m not ‘nursing you back to health’. I’m spending the day with you, and I made you soup. And brought you water. You’re out of orange juice, by the way.” Veronica didn’t say anything, but she laid her head on Betty’s shoulder, and looked up at her, like she was waiting for something.

     “Uh, V..what are you doing?”

     “Flirting.”

     “Um..” but Betty didn’t know what else to say. Sure, her and Veronica were probably closer than other friends, and, ok, yeah, maybe Betty had had feelings for Veronica for a while, but Veronica had never acted like this before. Betty figured that she would just chalk it up to her being sick. Veronica was a touchy feely type, and maybe when she got sick, she was even more so.. Still, Betty couldn’t help the little flip of her stomach when Veronica cuddled into her, pressing play to start the movie.

     Veronica ate her soup the best she could, while wrapped around Betty, and hoped B would notice that she kept glancing at her. Veronica was smitten with Betty the second they had met, all those months ago, and being well versed in human behavior, had been testing the waters, to see if Betty felt the same. She was almost 100% sure she did, but she decided to step up her game today. Of course, she was actually sick, and could probably benefit from a shower, and new pajamas, but she figured that Betty wouldn’t mind. They were besties, after all.

     When the movie got to Marilyn Monroe singing, “I’ve heard of affairs that are strictly platonic,” Betty and Veronica were settled in quite comfortably, and by the time the movie had ended, Veronica was asleep, right arm laid gently across Betty’s stomach. She decided to lay there, so Veronica’s sleep would go undisturbed, and closed her eyes, too.

     When Betty woke up, she had no clue what time it was, but Veronica was hovering over her, smiling. “We fell asleep,” she said simply, like it was a normal thing between them to cuddle and fall asleep. Betty sort of wished it was.

     “Yeah..we did. What time is it..?” Betty asked, groggy, voice still gritty with sleep. She positioned herself up on her elbow, and tried looking around for her phone.

     “I have no clue, but I’m feeling a lot better. So thank you, my little nurse angel.”

     Betty smirked. V was being ridiculous, but she was so cute. “I’m very glad, but all I did was make you soup, which you barely ate because you kept clinging to me. And you didn’t even touch your water. You basically just slept, which you definitely could have done without me.”

     “True..” Veronica moved closer to Betty, so they were both staring at each other. “But, maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe, this was my plan all along.”

     Betty chuckled at that and looked to the ceiling, shaking her head. “What was your plan? To have me make you soup and then sleep in your bed?”

     “Yes.” It came out as a whisper.

     “V, you didn’t need a plan..”

     “What?”

     “I said, you didn’t need a plan.” By this point, both girls were talking softly, Betty’s voice just shy of a whisper, like this was some shared secret between the two. As if everyone didn’t know already that they harbored feelings for each other. “I’ll spend my time with you whenever you want, V. Even if it is just to make food. Especially if it’s to,” she swallowed, “sleep, with you.”

     Veronica looked at Betty, as though it was the first time she was seeing her after a year away, and searched her face, for any little sign that Betty might be joking. When she didn’t see any, she lifted her hand to Betty’s face, and leaned in.

     Their first kiss was a ploy by Veronica to shock Cheryl Blossom. Their second kiss, however, both girls would count as their first. It was gentle this time, because it was for Betty and Veronica. No one else. They had all the time in the world. They didn’t have to impress anyone, they didn’t have to rush. Betty ran her fingers through Veronica’s hair, and shifted up, over her to get better leverage. Veronica had rested her hands along Betty’s jawline and neck, softly, a gentle coax to pull her closer. Minutes passed, or maybe even hours, until both girls pulled away, breathless, smiling. Veronica was about to speak, but Betty beat her to it.

     “I wish you hadn’t done that,” and Veronica was pretty sure that the entire world could collectively hear her heart shattering, falling into her stomach and breaking into a million pieces. Betty rested her forehead on Veronica’s shoulder, but V couldn’t feel anything.

     “What do you..” she tried to ask, but her entire mouth had gone dry. “I thought..”

     Betty, her thoughts collected, realized what she said, and how wrong it had come out, and almost broke her neck due to the speed of her popping her head up in order to explain herself. “No! No, no. God, V, no. I meant that I wish we had done that earlier, because now I’m going to get sick,” Betty rushed out, smiling. “No. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

     “Oh, god, B!” Veronica tried to throw Betty off of her, but she had no strength. “You scared the shit out of me. You’re so mean.”

     “Sorry! Sorry.” Betty kissed Veronica’s cheek in apology, and laid back down next to her. “I’m really glad you did that, for the record.”

     Veronica rolled her eyes playfully, “Just for that, you can make me more soup.”

     “Yes, my sickly princess,” Betty laughed out, and Veronica joined her. Betty leaned down for another kiss, the soup already forgotten.

      On Monday morning, Betty sneezed the moment she opened her locker, and almost banged her forehead on the door. Sniffing, she reached into it, grabbed her books, and closed it, only to be met with Kevin’s smiling face.

     “Beronica is endgame, finally.”

     “What?”

     “Veronica was sick on Saturday, which I know because she posted a pic of you walking into her room with a tray of soup, and now you’re sniffling. You totally got together, didn’t you?” Instead of answering, Betty just looked down and smiled.

     “Oh, you have no idea how happy this makes me. My OTP lives.”

     Betty rolled her eyes, but laughed despite herself. It was hard to get mad when what Kevin said was true, and especially when Betty could still feel Veronica smiling against her lips.

[signorcerullo]

MAKE ME CHOOSE: @friday1221​ asked samruby or chestervelle? 

“Sam, you’re not alone.”

[signorcerullo]

he was an abomination, she was a demon, can i make it anymore obvious?

[signorcerullo]

The water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud but no one heard a thing. 

[signorcerullo]

rise above the present day  rise above the popular melee

i see you the way you are i see you the scar

[signorcerullo]

if i could only change one thing about supernatural it would be the soundtrack. remove all the classic rock and replace em with britney spears songs, i genuinely think that would improve the shows’ quality with like 10%.

[signorcerullo]

my god it just hit me that everyone talking about loving lazarus rising today are referring to destiel’s first meeting and not samruby