She presses down until the bone of her wrist can be felt. She is alive. She. Is. Alive. The sun sets, creeping down the horizon in progressions of diluted gold touched with purples and pinks. The clouds are wisps in the sky that drift in laze. The world is calm in its ruin. (Dimitri x Female Byleth)

He isn't trying to be difficult or ungrateful. He just doesn't know how to make a home anymore.

They don't talk about how sometimes Stiles wakes up with a scream in his throat, or how Derek places a hand over his heart and rubs, smooths the scream away. They don't talk about how Derek likes to put his nose between the curve of Stiles's neck, his hand under Stiles' shirt as his thumb sweeps against the soft belly.

Sometimes his mom would sing. He doesn't remember the words but he remembers the soft way she'd sing melodious and quiet like a small bird. Sometimes she'd sing in Polish there was something sad in the octaves of her voice, something in the words he didn't have the meaning of.

New York is a city of colour and he's not sorry he doesn't get to see it. (Magical Realism. Open/Ambiguous Ending)

Sherlock's eyes snap open and a biting retort is edging out of his mouth, but it fails to come out as he sees the face of his ariolus, more accurately his ariolus's choice in clothing. Well from what he make out, his ariolus has a horrendous fashion sense and apparently a partiality for ugly jumpers(AU canon divergence/magical realism/dream sharing/eventually Johnlock)Inside A/N.

Derek scowled and turned to look at Deaton. "These are the reinforcements you called? A bunch of children?" He looked at them in disgust and turned back to Deaton. "This is the help we need; a brat who calls himself Stiles, a spoiled princess, a kid that looks better fit to help grannies cross a road and not to mention, an Argent? (Will contain Sterek)

The fact that he has standards is the most important thing. He's a teenager with standards, as if he wasn't weird enough before. Apparently his standards will never get him laid because everyone in the pack is a dick. All of them are huge dicks bent on cockblocking him for the rest of his life. Assholes.

Amber eyes flashed in a proclamation of war, Stiles leaned closer and let his lips brush against Derek's. "You love me," he hissed. The wood behind him creaked as Derek's nails dragged. "I don't." "You don't?" There's a challenge there, in those two little words and he won't accept it, he won't.

A collection of Teen Wolf prompts, I'm doing mainly Sterek but if you want to see anything please do go ahead and ask. Also I'm accepting prompts! : ) *Rating subject to change* (Names will be drawn out of a hat to be fair)

Thank God for all the murders in this town. Wait-that made him sound a little psychotic. No, he was just appreciative of the sudden openings left in the wake of...deaths. Shit that didn't sound any better.

Really Talia should have killed him back then because he was going to taint everything in darkness and blood. (Dark character study) For Dances-like-flames

"Come on John, staying in the same room as Anderson has shown a decrease in IQ as well as lower functioning of the brain, and we would not want that! It really is no wonder everyone in the department is getting dimmer and slower. Whatever Anderson has is contagious, come now before you contract it as well. You need however much of it you currently have or you'll be just like them!"

There's a wolf on his bed...chewing on his pillow. Stiles stared at the wolf. The wolf stared back, its jaws clamped around the pillow. The wolf is large, black and has fangs that he's sure would tear him apart...shit. Soulmate/Spirit Animal AU

Everyone has scars. They just can't always be seen. (14 short character studies)

He rubbed his hand over his mouth. "It's alright for you to date anyone and by anyone I mean anyone." Dean stared at Sam intensely. "You want to, I have no problems with that. Unless the chick is a demon, then I have problems. Seriously Sam, no demons." "That only happened twice," Sam muttered.

When Dean first sees the stiff, serious librarian who never smiles, he just wants to fuck with him. Just wants to piss him off so badly that he loses his shit. And that's exactly what he tries to do.

"Just for tonight," Dean pleads, Cas can have this, one night where he's not out there. Where he doesn't have to worry, has a bed, is safe. Just one night. "Please." His voice breaks, "One night."

He was supposed to be Batman this year. At least he was.

Wings. Cas had feathery, glittery wings attached to him, along with a golden halo on top of his head. And he was holding a plastic Jack-O-Lantern basket in his hands. (Slight Destiel really, very slight.)