#DOES THAT NOT JUST MAKE YOU WANT TO FIND THE NEAREST CLIFF AND THROW YOURSELF OFF IT??????

[dylanconrique]

tim walking in on his girls in the middle of a very intense giggle fit would cure me.

[primofate]

im feeling kinda akward since its my first time requesting,i really really really like your writings and im wondering if you could do some angst for albedo, anything you feel like tbh, but if may i be a little selfish i was thinking on something like he hurt you, so you break up with him or maybe he break up with you and regret later, im in love with the genius and your writings so why not lol, hope you are doing well, xoxoxooxox

Thanks for the request anon. <3 Sorry it took so long, but I’m feeling angst today so here goes. Let me know what you think <3

QUEUED POST

Scenario: Breaking up

Characters: gn! reader x Albedo

Warnings: angst, break ups, regrets, did I say angst?

Categories: angst in Part 1, comfort in Part 2 (It was getting too long so split it into two parts)

Read: (Part 2) (Part 3 - Final)

Albedo

Alone.

These days you found yourself alone in your shared home. It had been nearly a year since the two of you decided to live together. Maybe that was a bad idea.

You were smitten. He was such an intelligent man, and truth be told you loved how his mind worked. He was silent and mostly kept to himself at first, but with you, there were subtle touches, fleeting kisses. Oh and his eyes, the way his eyes brightened or the way his lips turned up at the sight of you. The way he held you close at nights, up until the morning.

Gone were those days. 

He was hardly home. The intelligent man you had fallen in love with, was also a workaholic. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming. There were so many signs.

Maybe he changed. Maybe you changed. But the little things weren’t enough anymore. He came home just to sleep and wake up, and he was off again. 

“Bedo, have you got some time off on the weekend? We haven’t been up to Starsnatch Cliff in a while,” you had prodded him a few days ago, wondering if the problem would be solved if you made the first move. 

“Sorry, Y/N, we’re just about to discover more about the properties of electro crystals... It’ll be useful if we want to sustain higher energy concentrations on...” and just like that he had gone off a tangent explaining the whole thing. You smiled a little, it was still endearing how excited he got discussing those things. 

But you couldn’t help but be lonely at how he seemed to love his research more than you. 

‘Maybe I just need to be more proactive. That’s it! I’ll go and visit him at the lab today!’ Surprising him was one of the things that you had always wanted to do. But not a lot of things got past Albedo. He was observant like that. You made a quick run to the bakery, getting him some croissants and welcomed yourself into the Favonius Headquarters. 

You looked up at the sign on his laboratory door. That sign was always there though, Klee had told you about it, and Sucrose had also talked about it once or twice before, telling you that it wouldn’t be a good idea to go in if the sign was up. But when was it ever down? So, you shrugged, and pushed the door open with a wide smile.

“What are you doing here?!” There’s a wild look in Albedo’s eyes the moment you step in. He didn’t appreciate being disturbed. You tilted your head a little at his reaction, you weren’t expecting that.

“Oh, since you’ve been so busy these days I just thought I’d drop by and give you something to--”

“Y/N, did you not see the sign on the door? No disturbances, even from you,”

“I’ll just be quick, I’m just dropping this off,” you lift the paper bag from the bakery and lay it down on the nearest table. Albedo closes his eyes with a sigh. 

“...We’re working on something dangerous right now, I don’t have time to eat. Please take it back,”

Surprisingly, you obey quite quickly, and take the paper bag back into your hands. Annoyance start to pulse in your veins. “Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

Sucrose had been standing there the whole time, and you can see the slight wince on her face at your cold statement... But Albedo had returned it ten fold, snapping an answer back. “Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

You didn’t expect how much it would sting. Your shoulders slump downwards at the realization that this... had gone too far. You couldn’t take it anymore. Sucrose opens her mouth, but doesn’t know what to say looking back and forth between you and Albedo. 

The Kreideprinz had continued with his task as if nothing had happened at all, but he knew what he said. He didn’t want any interferences nor accidents happening in the lab and that was the only thing he cared about at the moment. 

Your foot moves to step back, but your eyes are glued to Albedo. You can only see his back. His hair tied up neatly, the shoulders that you loved to wrap your arms around and his hands that were always gentle. You took a good look, drinking the whole scene in like you hadn’t had a drop of water in days. 

This was the last time you would lay eyes on him and it broke you into so many pieces. You turned away without another word, Sucrose staring at the door, before she decided that she needed to follow you. “I-I’ll be back, Master Albedo,” she rarely ever abandoned an experiment, but she knew that you needed a friend right now. 

Ironic, because it should have been Albedo running after you, but instead the green-haired girl caught up to you just as you reached the fountain in the middle of Mondstadt. “Y/N!” she jogs, and stops when you do as you hear your name.

Tears prickled your cheeks, but they were more of frustration than sadness. You stand there for a moment, drying your tears and turning around towards Sucrose, gaze on the pavement. “Y/N...” Sucrose approaches carefully, hand resting on your shoulder.

“...I don’t know anything other than Albedo, Sucrose,” you start, a curtain of memories flashing through your mind. “...Without him, there isn’t much reason for me to stay in Mondstadt,” Sucrose shakes her head rather hastily. “H-He’s just... a little occupied right now, Y/N, I’m sure he doesn’t mean what he said,” You close your eyes, the scene repeating in your head.

“Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

“Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

A hard lump forms on your throat at how hard you try not to sob. How hard you try to keep yourself together and Sucrose sees it from the way your lips tremble. “Sucrose, please watch over him,” and that is also the last that Sucrose sees of you. 

That night, Albedo arrives home exhausted, just as he always does. But now that he was home, he could at least expect a warm meal and a warm hug. A soft smile tugs on his lips at the thought.

When he turned the lights on, he was met with a strange stillness instead. His hand stays on the switch as his eyes scan the living room. It was...quiet. There were no plates on the table, and there were no sounds from the kitchen.

Deep in the pits of his stomach there’s an anxiety that starts bubbling up. He brushes it off, opting instead to check the kitchen. “Y/N?”

Empty. 

His footsteps hasten as he opens the bedroom door, expecting you to be curled up there, asleep. 

Empty.

Albedo takes in a shaky breath. You were probably just out in town, doing some late night shopping. Yeah, that’s it, perhaps you just didn’t have enough ingredients for dinner today and--his eyes land on the bedside table.

The photo frame is gone. The photo of the two of you standing side by side together with comfortable smiles on your faces, his hand on your waist, and the house on the background. 

He throws open the closet doors. Your clothes are gone. Your shoes are gone. Even your scent seemed to have disappeared. The anxiety that was once a small bubble in his stomach had started to claw it’s way out, wrenching his heart in places that he didn’t know could hurt. The tears pooling in his eyes were so foreign that he didn’t even know what was happening until he hears himself gasp back a sob.

You’re gone. 

Suddenly it was so hard to breathe, but he pulls himself up and out the door. There’s no way. Where would you go? Perhaps you were just around Mondstadt, trying to get a breath of fresh air to calm your nerves. He searches everywhere. The church, the tavern, the Good Hunter and even atop the rooftop of the Favonius Headquarters. There was a decent view of the city there, and his eyes roam the streets, just to get a glimpse of you.

“...Please...” There’s another lump in his throat, his eyes dart around looking for any small sign of you. 

“Albedo? Tired?” you ask as he returns home one day. He merely lets out a small “Mm,” and pulls a chair out from the dining table to sit on. You walk into the kitchen to fetch him a cup of tea, and he snatches your hand to press a soft kiss on the back of it. “Thank you, love,” 

“...Please!” his grip on the stone walls of the rooftop tighten. His vision blurs.

“Al! Don’t do that!” you try to swat his hand away from the pot, a short laugh coming off of your lips at how mischievous he could be sometimes, trying to dip his finger into the sauce. He has a grin on his face as he successfully tastes the sauce off his finger, making a sound of approval as he draws you in for a light kiss on your forehead, “It’s good, as always,” 

His legs buckle, and he finds himself on his knees, hands fisted upon the cold stone wall. “At least tell me where you've gone! I can’t--” he doesn’t know when the last time he cried was, but whenever it was, he doesn’t remember it to be this bad. The pain was unlike any injury he had, it grasped so tightly at his heart.

“Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

“Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

He furiously shakes his head because he knows that it was his fault. “I didn’t mean it, please give them back,” as if there was someone else who took you away. As if there was a God listening to him right now. 

He realizes that the worst of it was not that you had left, but that you had left no traces of you behind. No photo. Not a piece of clothing. Not a trace of your existence.

Nothing for him to hold on to.

That night, he dragged himself back home. Face flushed and hot from the tears he had shed and the ones he was attempting to hold back.

That night, he painfully got into bed.

Alone.

Taglist:  @larkspyrr @rim0na @sweeti-pie @l3mon-mxshroom @hai-q-haikyuu @tkshoki @kyquu @KimbapSana @fanfictionenthusiast

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[sickfic-with-kiko]

Oooh would you possibly consider writing a fic about that scenario you mentioned of Kenma getting sick during a livestream?

Heyy I was wondering if you could do one where Kenma and Kuroo are just playing games then kenma feels sick and pukes and Kuroo takes care of him🥺🥺

“Hey, everyone. It’s Kodzuken here.”

Kenma waves to his online audience, booting up his game and adjusting his headset. He’s getting ready to play the latest open-world RPG, recommended to him by his viewers and the most voted on his Twitter poll by a landslide.

The chat is immediately filled with supportive messages, most asking him who he plans to main, and some asking him where his roommate is. The roommate in question, Kuroo, is currently cooking up healthier versions of Kenma’s favourite snacks.

Kenma watches the opening cutscene of the game, blinking slowly to adjust himself to the bright light. There’s an ache building up behind his eye, reminding him of the time he’d deprived himself of sleep and tried to fill in the gaps with energy drinks. Kuroo had really gotten annoyed that one time.

“Right. I’m going to walk around and see what I can do.”

As soon as he’s placed into the fantasy world, he begins to walk around as the default character. He swings his weapon around and breaks a few crates, obtaining ore and food items. After dashing for some time, he finds himself at the edge of a cliff.

“Wait, do I take fall damage?”

Before anyone can answer his question, Kenma walks right off the edge of the cliff, watching his character flail around and the chat explode.

riri_ka: KODZUKEN NO---

pedrosenpai: you really just killed him like that…

“...Oh. He died.” Kenma chuckles, as his character respawns. He’s known to be merciless with in-game characters, sacrificing them without a second thought if it helps him win. The chat spams a bunch of crying emojis and comments, and Kenma climbs back up the cliff after some struggle with getting stuck.

He eventually gets around to reaching a village, talking to the NPCs and piecing together what the game’s objective is. As he takes in the storyline and comments on everything he does, he starts to feel a tug at his stomach.

It doesn’t bother Kenma all that much. He manages to forget about it as he’s practicing the combat mechanics, getting stuck into making combos and figuring out enemy weaknesses. “I think I’m going to main her for the time being.” He chooses a female character wielding a claymore sword, and the chat erupts once again. The general consensus is that he’s made a good choice.

He picks up his water bottle, taking a sip as he closes the character screen. His body seems to warn him that he’s done something wrong. His lunch seems to sit heavy in his stomach, all of a sudden. He takes a deep breath, believing that it’s just a wave of something mild. It doesn’t go away.

“I’m gonna try and fight one of the area bosses.” Kenma warps to an area full of enemies, dashing towards a ferocious-looking plant with teeth around the corolla. It’s good practice for reading attacks, even if it decimates his party.

amphibiansoul: uh you’re getting beat up pretty badly…

darknighthero: and there goes hot sword lady

As expected, his first attempt leaves his party resting at the nearest inn. He lets out a sigh, glad that he doesn’t need to pay any in-game currency to heal. He watches the health bars refill, and in that moment, he’s jealous of video game characters.

Kenma’s stomach grumbles, loud enough for only him to hear. He brushes it off as much as his body will allow him to, pushing the nagging ache to the back of his mind. He hasn’t even gotten two hours into the game yet. He still wants to explore a little.

He recognizes nausea sitting in his chest, enough to be annoying. “I guess I should do one of the lower rank quests.” He keeps talking, so as not to rouse needless concern. He’s going to be just fine.

Kenma is used to having stomach aches and feeling nauseous, especially after sleeping too little or eating junk to keep him going. And he’s used to riding it out, until he feels the feeling slowly ebb away. But at the back of his mind, something tells him that he’s starting to feel worse.

He momentarily looks away from the monitor, sipping some water to try and calm down his stomach. It doesn’t work, and he can feel exactly where the water is sitting. He considers quitting the stream, but he’s close to finishing his quest. He hopes his body will hang on for a little longer.

“You’re going down.”

Kenma swallows, using up his willpower to go against the end-of-quest boss. As he heals and buffs his party, he’s slowly becoming aware of the sloshing in his stomach. The bright screen doesn’t help the queasiness becoming more apparent.

walkingturtle: hey is it just me or does kodzuken look pale today?

wadacchi: kodzuken are you okay?

mustardnwasabi: you can rest if you need to, don’t feel pressured

With a groan, Kenma clutches his aching stomach. The chat is filled with worried listeners voicing out their concerns, and he realizes that faking it is only getting him so far. He attempts to address them before turning off the stream, but a sick feeling in his throat makes him freeze.

He’s going to throw up. Whether he’d suddenly gotten worse or he’d powered through it for too long, he doesn’t know. Nor does he really care. His only concern is cutting the stream and grabbing a receptacle closest to him.

Kenma feels something surge up his throat, and instinctively reaches for the trash can next to his chair. He rolls his chair out of view, hastily bending down onto the floor. No matter how sick he is, he’s not broadcasting it in full view. Warm spit pools in his mouth, dripping into the trash can. He places a hand on his stomach, feeling it grumble against his touch.

A silent gag forces up his stomach’s contents. He’s relieved he’s not a loud puker, but he’s sure that everyone has heard the splatter of vomit against the trash can. Tears prickle at his eyes from the force, and he feels his cheeks redden. He hopes he doesn’t have a fever in addition to everything.

Kenma hurriedly mutes the stream, the closest button he had managed to reach. The sense of relief is quickly painted over by another intense wave of nausea. His stomach squeezes painfully, and a buzz in his ears mutes his surroundings.

He doesn’t notice a presence beside him, until a hand begins to pat his back gently. His head snaps up, only to sink back down after another round of vomiting hits him. “Breathe, Kenma. It’s okay, I turned off the stream for you.”

Kenma wants to thank Kuroo, but he instead grimaces at the pain of his stomach having emptied itself. He nods instead, rinsing his mouth and leaning his head against Kuroo’s flank. He sees the look of surprise on Kuroo’s face, but says nothing.

He crawls over to his bed, picking up his phone and seeing countless mentions of his name on Twitter. “I didn’t cut the stream fast enough,” he sighs, letting out a breath through his nose. His mouth doesn’t taste disgusting when he breathes, at least.

“I’m sure they’re all just worried about you.” Kuroo says, attempting to be reassuring. It reminds Kenma that he’s in front of a wider audience now, that could potentially see him in less than ideal moments. He lets out another groan, squinting at Kuroo.

“What if I don’t want to be fussed about?” Kenma’s mouth forms a pout. “This is what I don’t like about being a Youtuber. I want to be sick in peace. Nobody wants to hear what their favourite YouTuber sounds like when they vomit.”

Kuroo lets out a hearty laugh, pulling the covers up for Kenma. He’s one of the few constants in his life. He cares for Kenma, and Kenma does the same. Having him is a comfort, and almost feels like a luxury.

“Well, don’t concern yourself too much.” Kuroo gives Kenma a gentle pat. He doesn’t say anything to worsen his dampened mood. He knows how Kenma neglects himself when he’s focused, and that lecturing him while he’s sick won’t help. He understands, without Kenma having to tell him.

Kenma tugs at his hoodie, before he can leave to bring him something. His eyes plead him to stay, and Kuroo responds with a loose smile. It’s the expression he uses to tell Kenma that he’s hopeless, and so is he for being utterly in love with him.

[redgillan]

Under Pastel Skies - 1

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 2,183

Warnings: none

A/N: This is brand new and probably one of the softest series I’ve ever written. I hope you enjoy it, these two are going to fall in love so hard!

“I don’t feel good.”

You started rocking back and forth, your breathing coming too fast and too shallow. A drop of sweat rolled down from your armpit, making you hyperaware of the fact that you were looking like a mess. You pressed the back of your hand to your forehead and groaned; your hairline was wet.

Looking at your dress, you felt bile rise up in your throat.

You should have worn the blue dress. Blue was a nice colour, everyone loved blue. Blue made people calm and at ease. No, instead, you had taken Natasha’s advice and put on the tight orange-red dress that clung to your body and made your breasts look incredible.

But now the dress stuck uncomfortably to your body, the space between your breasts was wet and glistening. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think. Red was the colour of passion, of anger and danger, and you just had to deal with your poor life decision.

Although deep down, you knew it wasn’t about the dress, or its colour.

“Relax,” Natasha said, sipping her lemonade. “I’m here, it’s going to be fine.”

“I am not fucking relaxed, Nat,” you repeated with a scoff. “I’m at a bar, about to meet a potential sugar daddy; that’s not what normal people do on a Friday night.”

“You’d be surprised,” she sassed. You gave her an unimpressed look. “Look, you can live with me for as long as you like, and you can work odd shifts at the hotel for the rest of your life if that’s what you want. But I know you, you’re an artist, and artists need freedom and benefactors. Sam is the reason I finished paying my tuition. You can call him my sugar daddy, but I prefer the word scholarship.”

Yeah, it was only a matter of perspective –and vocabulary. Some may call this whole thing brilliant, others stupid. You weren’t quite sure what to think yet.

“And this guy’s legit?” you asked for the nth time.

“Yes, Sam says he’s a great guy; sweet, handsome, thoughtful. He’s the whole package.”

“Mmmh.”

You eyed the pair of napkins the waiter had placed on the table along with your drinks, and wondered if it would be appropriate to stick them under your armpits to sop up the sweat trickling down your sides.

“Oh, fuck it,” you grumbled, reaching for the napkins.

You patted your armpits dry while you anxiously scanned the growing crowd. It was a high end bar, definitely not your usual hang out spot. The patrons were dressed in designer clothes and wore jewellery that cost more than your three years of art classes at the School of Visual Arts.

“Do we really have to stay sober?”

Natasha cocked a brow at you. “You don’t drink.”

You only groaned in response.

“I know how you’re feeling, I’ve been there, too,” she replied. “It’ll be like a normal first date. You’ll get to know each other, see if you guys hit it off, and if everything goes well you’ll talk about the arrangement. You can’t give consent if you’re under the influence of alcohol, so drink your lemonade and stop fussing, yeah?”

Like an obedient child, you brought the bent straw to your lips and took a quick sip of the icy refreshment. You toyed with the straw and watched the ice cubes slowly shrink. It was strangely soothing.

“They’re here.”

And just like that, your panic returned full force. You snapped your head up and tried to smile when you saw Sam approaching your table. You set your drink down on the coffee table and wiped your clammy hands on your dress.

Natasha stood up and gave Sam a kiss. While she wiped off a smudge of lipstick she had left on his upper lip, you glanced at the man behind Sam.

He was tall, muscular, and had a mysterious air about him. He was dressed casually, in black jeans and white t-shirt with a maroon bomber jacket that suited his pale complexion. The left sleeve of his jacket was tucked inside, empty.

Even without being an expert in behaviour analysis, you could tell he felt uncomfortable. He bowed his head to hide his face and kept looking around as if someone was going to attack him or as if he wanted to know where the nearest exit was.

Sam whispered something in the man’s ear and clapped him on the back before he turned to you.

“Okay, we’ll let you guys get to know each other.” Natasha looped her arm through Sam’s, and gave you an encouraging smile. You heard Sam whispering to his friend again. “Buck, seriously, you look like someone shoved a broomstick up your ass. Relax, man.”

“We’ll be over at the bar if you need anything.”

She gave you a thumbs-up as Sam led her across the crowd, toward the bar. With an authoritative look, Sam pointed to the seat across from yours and mouthed ‘sit’ at his friend who rolled his eyes and ground his teeth in response.

“Hi,” you started, trying to sound cheerful but the slight tremble in your voice gave you away.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he cut you off, “you seem like a nice girl but I’m not looking for anyone, least of all a sugar baby. I told Sam it was a stupid idea, but he never listens. This has nothing to do with you, I’m sure you’re great. I’m really sorry, I hope you’re not disappointed.”

He had barely made eye contact with you during his long-winded speech but you did notice that they were blue. Now that you knew this wasn’t going anywhere, your shoulders lowered and you felt yourself smiling.

“Of course, I understand. I wasn’t particularly thrilled, too. No offense.”

He bent his head and ran a hand through his hair, his lips curved up in a soft smile. “Is your friend as meddling as mine?”

You let out a loud laugh, your eyes widening. “More! If meddling were an Olympic sport, Nat would have more medals than Michael Phelps.”

His shoulders shook in a soundless chuckle but he still wasn’t looking at you. “So why’d you agree?”

You took your glass of lemonade and played with the straw while you searched for an answer that wouldn’t sound too desperate or dramatic. You majestically failed.

“I guess I felt like I had nothing to lose.” You shrugged. “It’s like when you’re standing on the edge of a cliff and you only have two options; jumping off the cliff or getting eaten by a pack of wolves,” you said, checking them off on your fingers as you enumerated them. “You have to choose the lesser of two evils.”

He frowned, a curious glint in his eyes and a hint of a smile curved his lips. Your eyes widened when you realized you might have offended him.

“Not that I think you’re evil,” you rushed to add. “What I meant to say is that sometimes you don’t really have a choice. And when you have no other option but to jump, well... your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.”

He slowly raised his eyes to meet yours, a form of understanding in the depth of his icy blue eyes. He was truly handsome; a little older than the men you usually went out with, but he had kind eyes and very, very nice lips. You looked away, feeling a little foolish.

“Wow, I’m fun at parties, uh? Guess you dodged a bullet,” you laughed, cringing a little as you said it.

He returned a tight smile, loaded with something sad. He looked at you a moment longer and you held your breath, suddenly hoping he would stay and chat. A solemn expression crossed his face and he seemed to go through some kind of inner struggle before he reached a decision.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said, shaking your hand before wishing you goodnight. You watched him leave the bar, his shoulders hunched forward, looking as tense as he did when he entered.

That tiny flicker of hope left with him.

“Hey!” Sam called out, a deep frown on his face as he approached you. “Where is he going?”

“It didn’t work out,” you answered with a shrug.

Sam deflated. “I bet he didn’t even try.”

“Does it really matter?” you replied, shrugging into your coat, something way too thin for the changing weather. “He’s not ready, and honestly, you can’t blame him. This sugar daddy-baby thing isn’t for everyone.”

“I know that,” Sam argued, blowing out a frustrated breath. He turned to Natasha, silently pleading with her to understand, but she was as clueless as you were.

There were lots of reasons Sam wanted Bucky to meet you, and none of them included sex. It was difficult to explain his motivations without betraying his friend’s trust; without telling you too much about Bucky.

“I’m not trying to find him a girlfriend,” Sam continued. “He needs more friends, and he has connections to help you in the art world. I thought you two could help each other out.”

You wrapped your scarf around your neck and grabbed the backpack you had shoved under your seat. It contained your work uniform, clean underwear, toiletries, a bottle of water, your wallet, and a couple of granola bars. Your whole life was in that backpack.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” you said, adjusting the trap of your bag. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” You turned to Nat. “I’m going to stay at the hotel tonight, my shift starts at 6 so you’ll have the apartment to yourself.”

Without waiting for an answer, you disappeared into the crowd and headed for the door. Outside the wind was blowing, the cold air biting at your face and bare legs. You took a deep breath, watching as the cold air turned your breath into white smoke.

People were milling about, taking pictures of the skyscrapers, walking hand-in-hand and marvelling at pretty much anything. New York was full of contradictions; kind and hard, smooth and rough, poor and rich. It was exciting to live here, it was exciting to see how people lived together despite their differences. For an artist such as yourself, it was a gold mine of infinite inspiration.

In front of you, a taxi drove closer to the curb, then slowed as a man stepped onto the street and opened the door. He looked over his shoulder and saw you standing there. Sam’s friend smiled at you.

He noticed your light coat, your backpack and your scuffed ankle boots. It was hard to believe that under your coat, you were wearing a sexy little number. He imagined that this was more your style, and he liked it. It was fresh, laidback, casual. He could even see a few drops of paint on the toe of your boots, a smattering of orange and blue.

“Hi, again,” he said. “Wanna share a cab?”

You nodded eagerly, your face half buried in your scarf. You were positively freezing, you didn’t even think twice about following him. He let you climb in first and jumped in after you, angling his body to hide his missing arm.

You gave the driver the address of a Holiday Inn in the Flatiron District and sank into the seat. It dawned on you that you didn’t even know his name. Sam had called him Buck, but you were pretty sure it was one of those nicknames only long-time friends are allowed to use.

“Bucky,” he said with a genuine smile after you told him your name. “I’m sorry I ruined your evening. How long are you going to stay in town?”

“No worries, you didn’t ruin anything. And I live in New York. I live with Natasha.”

“Aren’t we going to a hotel?” Bucky asked, looking out the window with a frown.

“Yup, I work there. Breakfast attendant. I figured Sam and Nat would like some privacy and sometimes my co-worker at the front desk let me borrow a room for the night.”

The car pulled to a stop at the curb and you reached into the front pocket of your backpack to retrieve your wallet. Bucky stopped you.

“Please, let me pay,” he said. “As a sorry for dragging you to a bar and leaving without even telling you my name.”

“Ouch, yes, when you put it like that it wasn’t a great night,” you said with a crooked smile. He responded with an exaggerated cringe. It made you laugh. “Hey, it wasn’t you who dragged me to a bar, it was Sam. You can always tell him to pay you back.”

His eyes brightened. “I definitely will.”

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you giggled, closing the door behind you. You walked up to the big automatic doors and waved goodbye one last time.

“’Night, angel.”

Bucky asked the driver to wait until you were safe inside before driving away. As he watched you, he thought back to what you had said earlier.

Your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.

This time, it made him smile.

part 2

[sunflowersteves]

Unforgivable || ch. two

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Your life with Natasha seemed like pure bliss until the team mistakes you for an agent gone rogue. 

Word count: 2K

Author’s note: Cliff hanger, I knowwww. There will be one more part! I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: angst, fluff!, swearing, angsty plot, basically the whole team is a dick

Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Your feet start to ache as you continue to walk on the dirt road that led from the compound. You honestly had no idea where you were going, your phone was at five percent, and the Avengers had just threatened your life. Tears started to prick your eyes as you thought about Natasha. Anger consumes your thoughts, hot tears, and furrowed eyebrows. How could she not trust your love for her? How did the Avengers even have any information like that?

You blamed her for not trusting you. You blamed her for not trusting her love for you. You blamed her friends for not looking into it more. You blamed her for-

You just sigh and shake your head. A part of you wanted to give her a chance, to go back and see if she believes you. The other part never wanted to see her again, ever. Another part of you growled at the side that wanted to go back; you were almost ashamed of it. The Avengers had threatened you. They threatened your life and never once believed you over some paper.

But you were so confused. Your heart clenched at the thought of never seeing her face again or never having her fiery hair tickle your cheek.

You abruptly stopped as the road split into two. You tried checking the map on your phone but it acted like there were nothing here but fields. You sigh, sitting on a large rock near the road. You felt a vibration from your phone and quickly looked at it.

Hot RedHead: It’s over. I never liked you anyway.

Tears started to fully flow now, your chin wobbling. You started to chew on your lower lip to help stop the raking sobs flowing out of your body but it was no use. You were now leaning against the rock and pulling your knees up, resting your hands in your head. God, this all seemed so pathetic. You really love Nat, you can’t get her out of your head but what does she think of you now?

Natasha’s POV

Natasha was going as fast as she could, turning corners on her motorcycle it almost fell over. She had no idea how far you had gone. She was hoping you were still walking along the road. She knew you would push her away right when you saw her but can she blame you? Her friends made her believe you were a Hydra agent. But all she could think about was cradling you in her arms and telling you she’s sorry, hoping you’ll forgive her.

She knows it’ll take time. However long it’ll take, she doesn’t care. She’ll wait until you’re both 60 and a little wrinkly if she has to. But Nat also understands if you don’t choose her. With the amount of damage, she and her friends caused she doesn’t blame you if you never wanted to see you again. She would definitely respect that choice.

Fire burning anger ignited in herself. She can’t believe how shallow it was to believe her friends who stupidly mistook you for someone else. She felt so much anger towards them, convincing her that you were with her for information. How could they be so stupid? How could she be so stupid to trust them?

She came to a screeching halt as she spotted you leaning on a rock. She propped her motorcycle and carefully walked over. She practically whimpered as she could hear your soft snores. She could see the tear-stained cheeks and her heart constricted. Your nose looked stuffy from all the crying and your eyes had a slight puff to them. 

She presses a hand onto your forehead and could feel the heat radiating off of you. It had been quite a hot day in New York and she didn’t know how long you had sat out here. She sighed and picked you up, laying in her arms you subconsciously snuggled into her. She feared that if she took you on her bike, you would end up falling off. So, walking it is.

Natasha marched along the dirt road, tears flowing down her cheeks. Some dripped down onto her shirt as she couldn’t wipe them. She just whispered “I’m sorry,” over and over again and carried you to the nearest bus station. 

After about an hour of walking, Natasha had finally made it to the bus station. She paid for your ticket and sat you on the bus, head leaning on the window. She looked around and saw that only an old woman sat on the other side. She told the bus driver to keep an eye out for you and she nodded, telling her that no one would touch you. Nat just nodded and started to trek back to the compound.

--

Reader’s POV

It had been a couple of days since Nat broke up with you. You kept telling yourself that you were...handling it but in reality, her leaving had hit you pretty hard. You hadn’t really left your apartment, only going to the store for groceries. You called in for work telling them that you were sick but they knew you were lying. Especially your best friend, Shuri. Right when you called in sick, she immediately asked what was wrong but knew you needed time off. 

You sat on the couch and sadly ate ice cream and started watching The Lovebirds. You would be drowning in your favorite wine but they ran out so you turned to tubs of ice cream. As the movie progresses, you find yourself crying with some tears dropping into your ice cream as Issa Rae and Kumail Nanjiani realize they’re still in love with each other. 

You turned off the TV as the movie was over and was about to get ready for bed, especially since you’ve run out of sick days but something caught your eye. Your bag had sat on the dining room table, completely untouched. A little note stuck out of one of the pockets. You walk over and carefully take the note out.

Meet me at the blockhouse in central park on the 7th, 9 pm.

You sigh, that was tonight. But you knew exactly who it was. You knew Natasha wanted to speak with you, maybe she changed her mind? That definitely explains how you don’t remember ending up on a bus.

You just shook your head, crumbling it up, and tossing it in the trash. There was no way you would fall for that, right? I mean, it’s just the Avengers wanting to throw you in jail or maybe that’s just where they wanted to kill you. You and Nat had met there, her asking you for your number and you had many dates walking around central park. 

They just wanted to reel you in. They were smart, you’d give them that but there’s no utter way you’d go. So, you got ready for bed and fell right asleep. The next morning you had to go to work, as much as you trudged along, groaning loudly as you got dressed. You stayed quiet on the subway as your friend talked your ear off.

You walked into the International Rescue Committee, slightly waving at some of your co-workers. You sat at your desk, doing some paperwork before visiting some of the kids you’ve helped. You especially couldn’t wait to see Peter, who has been attached to your hip since you arrived. You’re typing away, sipping on some coffee until you jumped a bit from a voice behind you.

 “Oh shit, you look awful.” You roll your eyes and give a look at Shuri who’s snickering at your reaction. You and her both turn a bit more serious as you sigh and turn to her small tears forming in your eyes. She wraps her arms around you into a full hug. “Nat broke up with me. Her friends saw my name in a Hydra file and thought I was out to get her.” 

Shuri gasped, hugging tighter. “Did they believe you?” You shook your head and ignored the stares you were getting from you crying in Shuri’s arms. “I see why you took some days off. Don’t worry about it. I’ll fill out your paperwork. Go see Peter.” She smiled brightly as you thanked her, kissing her cheek. “You’re the best boss ever!”

You walked next door to a large and fancy apartment complex where most of the refugees stay. You knew he was playing sports with some of the other kids so you walked past the complex and to the basketball court. “Y/n!” Peter ran towards you, locked you into a huge as you giggled and ruffled Peter’s hair. “Good to see you, kid.” He goes on to ask a bunch of questions, wondering where you’ve been and why you weren’t there. You explained some of it, to which he nodded and then declared to hate the Avengers now.

You laughed but you knew he was serious. He meant well. You and the rest of the kids start playing some basketball, laughing and playing around. What you didn’t notice though was the Avengers walking up to the basketball court. Before they reached you and notified you of their presence, one of the kids fell onto their knee and scraped it pretty bad. 

Loud cries and sobs filled the air and you ran over, inspecting the wound. “Sh, baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you. Peter! Get the aid kit!” He ran into the complex to grab one from the front desk while you rub circles into the little girl’s back. Peter came running back and you took some soap and water, cleaning the wound. “See that bird over there? I want you to look at it okay? See it? It told me the other day that it likes your paw patrol shoes.” 

The little girl cried out only a couple of times as you cleaned the wound and put a power rangers band-aid on her, which you knew was one of her favorites. She clung to your leg asking if you can get her ice cream because it still hurts. You laugh and nod, holding her hand.

“Y/n.” Your whole body froze, slightly turning to see the Avengers standing before you. You gripped the little girl’s hand while pulling a frown on your face. “Peter, take her to get ice cream.” He just nodded and gulped, taking the girl’s hand and walking to the ice cream shop next door. He gave you a concerned look but you nodded, making sure he knows you’re okay. 

You open your mouth to speak but Clint just shakes his head, the rest of the Avenger’s head hanging low. You were honestly scared shitless, you tried not to give it away. However, it was pretty obvious as your hands were trembling and your breathing was fast. They were here to end it, weren’t they? I mean, sure you’ve stayed away from Nat so what could they possibly want?

“You should know that we’re sorry.” Your eyes practically bulged out of your head. Sorry? Huh? “The person on that file wasn’t you. The picture was the exact opposite. We shouldn’t have reacted that way. We’re very sorry and hold us accountable. If you can, please forgive Nat.” And with that, each Avenger apologized for what they did and asked you to consider taking her back.

You would just raise your eyebrows but then they told you that she feels horrible, not sleeping or eating. She feels like shit for not trusting you, the love of her life, and trust them instead. You couldn’t speak, just shaking your head as tears threatened to fall. They nodded and walked away going back to the compound.

Now you had to make a choice. Forgive Natasha or never see her again? On one hand, you wanted to be back in her arms again. Smelling her shampoo and kissing her temple all while that passion and love fill your stomach. But on the other hand, the Avengers had threatened you and your life. Natasha thought they were right. Natasha believed them, believed that you used her for information.

Although, you know you’ve already made your decision.

~~

Unforgivable Taglist: @messuhp​ @dark-heart-no-soul​ @jenny-song​

Taglist: @hailmary-yramliah​ @kitkatd7​

[pumpkinpielattesaremyjam]

Lucio x reader (dark)

TW: domestic violence, dependency 

He’s not really sure how you two got here, screaming at one another. You’re usually so level headed against his own volatile nature. When his anger is boiling over, triggered by some imagined slight, your gentle hand presses firmly on his shoulder, your calm voice cutting through the haze of emotion.

You’re one in a handful of people who can make him feel remorse about, well, anything. You’re his voice of reason. He’s never said this to you, but without you Vesuvia would crumble. 

Something must have happened earlier in the day to put you on edge. He was just too self absorbed to notice.

Now you’re yelling back and him, and Lucio has never backed down from a fight. It’s a compulsion, deep and itching, to hunt attack break anything that challenges him.

“What is wrong with you?” Tears stream down your red face, distress and hurt etched into every crease on your forehead and around your mouth. “You selfish bastard.” Your chest heaves and you throw back your hair with your fingers, clawing at the smooth locks he loves to play with. 

“Don’t talk to me like that!” He barks back, pacing. You two are circling one another now, two predators sizing each other up, searching for a weakness and waiting for the right moment to lunge. 

“Why don’t you grow up and start caring about your city!” You step forward, hands waving erratically. “I just can’t believe you! Don’t you care about anything but yourself?” 

Lucio seeths, jaw tense and teeth bared. He rushes you, and you stumble backwards, eyes wide. Fearful. He hates that look on your face. It should snap him out of his rage. It only makes him angrier. 

His hand rises and slices through the air before he can comprehend what he’s doing. 

Stop, stop, STO--

Your head snaps to the right, and your hands fly to your face. You clutch at it, sobbing as you sink to your knees. Lucio stares. 

What..? What had he done?

He hit you. He… backhanded you. His gaze follows his arm, still held aloft. Golden and sharp and deadly. He hit you with his prosthetic. 

Slick, thick dread floods him and Lucio backpedals. You’re hunched over on the carpet, head hidden by your arms. You rock back and forth, shaking and choking on soft cries. 

Lucio falls beside you and pries your arms away.

Apologies spill from his mouth. He holds your thin wrists in one hand, frantically checking your face. You look anywhere but his eyes. A red splotch has blossomed on your skin, and it’s going to be a nasty bruise. He didn’t split the skin, thank the gods, but it was a strong, painful blow.  

Your sniffles break his heart. He’s about to pull away, to find the nearest cliff and throw himself off it, when you throw yourself into his arms. He catches you reflexivity, wraps you in a tight embrace. He can’t breathe through the lump in his throat.

He hit you, and now you’re crying in his arms. Seeking his comfort. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. What more can he say? There is nothing he can say to make this better. Nothing will take this back. There is no atonement for this.

You cling to him, rub the unharmed side of your face onto his white shirt. Lucio’s body curls around you and he cries with you. His shirt is soaked by the time you’ve cried yourself out. You sit in his lap on the floor, slumped against him. 

“I want to go to bed.” You say. Lucio laughs, a high pitched, mirthless sound. He picks you up effortlessly, a reminder of how much stronger he is. He sets you onto the bed. You look so small in the mass of silken sheets. 

He turns to leave. Your wavering voice stops him from fleeing. 

“Where are you going?” 

Lucio forces himself to face you. The mark on your face is like a dagger to the heart. He deserves the pain. He deserves to rot in hell. 

Before he can say something, and he has no idea what to say, you interrupt. 

“Don’t leave me.” Your voice wobbles. You’re terrified he’s going to leave and never return. It’s what he should do.

“Darling… I hit you.” Lucio winces, blinks against the burn of tears. 

You lightly touch your cheek, and your fingertips faintly glow. In moments the proof of his crime vanishes. 

You look at him. The worry and love in your expression makes him sick. 

“Please, stay.” You plead softly.

Lucio crashes to his knees at the side of the bed and he leans on the mattress. His human arm snakes across the bed, stopping before he can touch you. 

“You can’t forgive me for this.” 

“I can.” You protest stubbornly. 

“You shouldn’t.” 

Silver eyes meet your own, shining with remorse. “I hit you, love. I hurt you. You should hate me. You should tell me you never want to see me again.” 

You roll onto your stomach and reach to cup his cheek with one hand. 

“You didn’t mean it.” It’s crap, you both know it. Whether he meant to hit you or not isn’t the issue. The issue is that Lucio lost control of himself. You know he’d never hurt you with a clear head, but tonight he hadn’t had a clear head. What would happen the next time anger clouded his judgment? 

Would he catch himself, or would there be a repeat of tonight? Would it be worse? 

Your hand slides down his cheek and moves to his hand. You hold onto him tightly. You don’t have the answer to these questions. What you do know is the shameful fact that you love him still, would love him no matter how many times he might strike you. 

The knowledge twists in your stomach  

Lucio does leave. Somehow you find more tears to cry yourself to sleep. A broken part of you desperately hopes he returns to you. 

[jerkbitchidjitassbutt]

What If I Told You (10)

Characters: Jensen x Reader; Jared Padalecki; SPN Cast members at times.

Summary: You and Jensen have been the closest of friends for years after meeting on the set of SPN, but what will happen when you and Jensen have a kissing scene?

Series Masterlist / My Masterlist

Series Warnings: Cursing; divorce; break up; angst-ish at times, but mostly fluff. For this chapter: teeth rotting fluff.

I consider this an AU, as Jensen is divorced from an unnamed ex in this fic. This is completely a work of fiction, and I wouldn’t want his reality to be any different, this is purely for entertainment.

A/n: As @our-jensen-ackles-love​ said, “Final-fucking-ly”. 2700ish words - its a longer one.

Peering at your reflection in the antique mirror situated in the corner of your bedroom, you adjusted the hem of your dress repeatedly, nerves making your fingers twinge with anticipation. Clint had dropped you off with a promise of returning in a little over an hour, allowing you time to change and ready yourself for Rob’s party this evening. It was being held at an upscale tavern in downtown Vancouver to celebrate his birthday and return to Supernatural after a brief hiatus. Truth be told, Rob would use any excuse to throw a party, but you never minded in the slightest. The majority of the crew and cast would be there, including those who were visiting or locals to the area.

Your curls were still intact from your scenes filmed earlier in the day and it only took a small amount of convincing from you to pursue the makeup ladies to touch up what they had done instead of removing it all as they would have on any other day. You rummaged through your walk-in closet, tossing article after article of clothing until you decided on an above-the-knee navy dress; it was covered in lace, had sleeves to the elbow, and a tantalizingly low-cut v-shaped neckline. You knew everyone would be dressed to the nines and had already conversed with some of the other people from set to determine that a dress was appropriate attire. Pairing it with a pair of nude heels and clutch, it actually took you very little time to get ready, which was not only surprising, but slightly torturous. It meant you had too much time to stand and fidget, as you were doing now.

Tonight was the night you’d hopefully find out if your best friend felt the same for you as you did for him—or your friendship would never be the same. Even if the last few days hadn’t been the scenario you’d played them out to be in your mind, you knew you’d never be able to go back to thinking of him as only your friend. Pretending before was quite tranquil, a simple ignoring of feelings and thoughts, but now that those same feelings had come roaring to the surface it would be impossible to return them to their composed state.

Tonight would more than likely determine the rest of your life, in one way or another. The thought both terrified and excited you, making you want to cry and scream at the same time, but thankfully Clint saved you with a message saying he was on his way back to your apartment after changing himself. Draping yourself in your cream colored pea-coat, you retreated out your front door to meet him.

Clint was dressed in an all-black suit and black shirt, accentuating the silver in his beard.

“You clean up nice, Clint, as always.” You posed with a smile as you buckled into the passenger seat.

“So do you, kitten.” The nickname was special, and not something he gave to everyone he lended his services to. At first you found it a bit patronizing but grew to understand it as a term of endearment and now loved it.

Driving through the darkening streets lightened by the glows of downtown, you twiddled with the zipper of your clutch and felt your heart hammering in your chest.

“Y/n…” Clint’s voice boomed above the soft music playing through the speakers, “Calm down honey. You only do that when you’re nervous… and I don’t think you have anything to be nervous about.” He reassured knowingly. A bit too knowingly. Taking in your raised eyebrow, he offered quietly, “What’s said between bodyguards stays between bodyguards.”

His eyes focused back on the road and his shoulders stiffened, though a small smile played at the corners of his lips, making you smile in return.

He weaved through the urban streets towards the tavern, pulling into a parking space with perfect precision. He hopped out and rushed to your side of the vehicle, courteous enough to open your door and lend you a hand in your unsteady heels. Offering his elbow, which you graciously accepted though you towered below him by his sheer size, he walked you along the sidewalk to a large pair of deep-colored wooden doors fit with wrought iron handles. Muscling the large hunk of wood would’ve been a feat for anyone, but Clint pulled it open with a breeze, revealing a large crowd of Supernatural cast and crew members. Screams of welcome were thrown in your direction as you shrugged out of your coat and stowed your purse before you were tackled by a few, but notably Ruth, Kim, and Briana, Sam Smith not far behind. The venue was large, with high ceilings and a second floor that could be seen from the first, a dark railing lining the stairs and large overhang. Shining wood adorned almost every surface, from the bar top to the walls with splashes of silvered steel and black iron chandeliers. Soft lighting made everything sparkle, including the martini glass that was practically thrust into your hands by your friends.

You anxiously searched for Jensen, or Jared, as they would be arriving together. Neither could be found or seen, so you settled into the small group and chatted for a bit until others came to greet you. Richard hugged you and Rob gave you a peck on the cheek.

“Alright,” he said. “Who’s the first to dance with the birthday boy?”

“Ooh, me!” you grinned widely, placing your drink on the nearest corner of the bar. You do just about anything for a slight distraction from glancing toward the door every five seconds, so you hopped into Rob’s arms on the dance floor. Other members of the crew were already twirling around when Rob spun you into the open space, a giggle escaping your lips as the lines of your dress whirled around you. His arm circled your waist, pulling you close as you danced back and forth.

Sighing as you rested your head on his shoulder, you said, “This is nice. It’s been a long time since I had a handsome man twirl me around a dance floor.”

“It is a treasure.” Rob laughed gently, swaying you to the upbeat music.

You sighed once more, feeling your nerves itch even as you rocked back and forth to the beat.

Rob placed his lips closely to the shell of your ear to whisper, “Relax, Y/n. He’ll be here soon.”

You quickly pulled back, a look of surprise and shock met Rob’s eyes. The look was enough to send him into a fit of laughter, his bright smile and throaty chuckle vibrating through his arms that held you, “It’s okay, honey. I know who you’re waiting for.”

“Seriously?” you cried. “Does everyone here know something?”

“We’re not gossipers.” He reassured you, but it did little to quell the rapid beat of your heart. “Let’s just say we’ve noticed something there for a long time. Now, just dance with me.”

He pulled you back to him and lightened the mood with a joke about Rich and his directing abilities, causing you to giggle as he twirled you once more.

Jensen waltzed into the space with Jared on his tail, both dressed in blue suits. Jensen’s was a deeper, royal blue with a crisp white shirt underneath and pocket square; Jared’s a tad lighter and paired with a black button-up and tie. Cliff stood watch behind them with Clint by his side, shoulders squared as they conversed, looking like a pair of brick walls near the door.

Jensen’s eyes darted around the room quickly, searching for you, but Jared quickly distracted him with a bump of his elbow and a glass of whiskey on the rocks. As you were, they were quickly accosted by their friends, pulling them each in for a hug or a fist bump. Words were exchanged above the music and Jensen tried to concentrate, but he couldn’t keep himself from scanning the crowd, desperately seeking out your form among the bodies.

“Don’t worry, she’s here.” He heard a small voice beside him say. He looked down to see Sam next to him, his mother on the show and his friend in reality.

“Hey, pretty lady. How are you?” he smiled, hugging her into his side.

“I’m great… but get on with the real questions.” She laughed. “I know who you’re really looking for.”

Jensen wore a soft yet stunned expression as he stared down at Sam until the smile spread across his face once again, “Where is she?”

“She’s dancing with Rob. You could always cut in.” Sam grinned widely, pointing over her own glass towards the dance floor.

You were shining in the dim light of the space as your skirt and hair spun around you and your face held so much joy as you laughed in Rob’s arms. The dress you were wearing showed every curve of your body, accentuating your hips with the flare of the skirt, and the modest lace showed small amounts of skin. Jensen felt his mouth run dry at the sight.

Sam nudged him in his ribs, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“I—I should wait.” Jensen bargained, “She’s having fun.”

This time, Sam’s nudge was a bit more than a nudge, a prod of her hand into his side made him jerk and chuckle, “Ow!” he exclaimed through his laugh.

“I’m not sure what has been keeping you two from each other for so long, but no more waiting.” She eyed him suspiciously, sensing his nerves. “Jay, you have nothing to be nervous about. I promise.” She assured him.

“Pinky swear?” he proposed.

She took his outstretched finger, before ushering him away, “Go on. Go get her.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He handed off his drink before weaving through the crowd, saying hi and chatting briefly with a few others along the way.

Rob had just slowed his pace as the music changed, the beat and melody shifting into a smoother sound. A modern version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” flowed through the speakers, and a gentle, feminine voice filled the air.

Suddenly, a voice that caused chills up your spine sounded from beside Rob, “You tryin’ to steal my girl, Rob?”

You whirled quickly to reveal Jensen, looking stunning and wearing a dazzling smile. His hair was brushed with a part down the side and the blue of his suit made his tanned skin flush.

My girl.

The words made your insides melt as a grin fell upon your lips.

Rob looked up to him and quipped, “Wouldn’t dream of it, man.”

“Mind if I cut in?” Jensen asked with a friendly slap to Rob’s shoulder, to which he gave you a quick peck on your cheek before gesturing to his friend.

“Absolutely. I think this is a good song, anyway.” He said the last part quietly, but both you and Jensen caught it.

Sweeping you into his arms, Jensen couldn’t help but notice how perfectly you fit into the curve of his body. The height of your heels allowed you to rest your arms comfortably on his shoulders as he pulled you close and began to move to the music.

“Hi.” You said sheepishly, glancing up at him through your darkened lashes.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The way he held you sent a shock through your body, making your skin buzz and tingle. His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, his palm flat against your rib cage as his thumb rubbed against the fabric of your dress. His other hand held yours close to him as your chest pushed against his, leaving no space between the two of you.

Jensen dipped his head low, the scruff of his cheek tickling yours as he whispered in your ear, “I missed you.”

This is the way you should be held.

Helplessly turning to a puddle, you were thankful for his hold on you, otherwise you may have collapsed. The velvety smooth tone of his voice and those words made your knees weak. This feeling—this overwhelming sense of affection that made your heart just about stop but pound at the same time—this was something you’d never felt before. The feel of his hand in yours made your world come into focus to just one person.

Your grip tightened around his neck as you closed what little distance remained between your upper bodies, pulling him so that you could wrap your arm around his shoulders. “I missed you too.”

You danced in silence for a few more moments, thinking briefly about how much those words meant. You’d missed a feeling you’d never felt before but knew within your core that you couldn’t go one more moment without it.

When the song began to shift into another upbeat tune, Jensen regrettably pulled himself from your hold, but to your surprise, he took your hand to lead you to the staircase.

Your heels clicked against the wood as you hurried behind him, neither of you witnessing the grins and giggles that came from your friends who watched him lead you away. At the top of the stairs, he turned to a door that lead outside, opening it and motioning for you to move through with a smile. Small lights hung from a pergola that covered the entire rooftop patio that housed a few tables and chairs for the patrons, but you were drawn to the view. All of downtown Vancouver lit up the night sky, the hustle and bustle of the cars below you adding to its brightness. Stepping closer to the edge, you marveled at the sight.

A pair of strong arms slid around your midsection, the warmth from seeping beneath the fabric of your dress. Jensen’s chin came to rest on your shoulder as his hands folded in front of you, pulling you to him.

Unable to resist, you ran your hands along his forearms as they caged you, quickly threading your fingers with his. A sense of calm washed over you, but still your heartbeat paced, as if being in his arms was both tranquil and exciting.

“Wow. Its beautiful.”

Feeling the hum of vibration coarse through him, Jensen smiled, “You sure are.”

Giggling, you couldn’t help but call him out, “Cheesy, but I’ll take it.”

He quickly spun you in his arms, “I’m serious, sweetheart. You’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

He kept you in his hold with one arm but trailed the other hand up your body, running his palm against your back until it caressed up your shoulder to the base of your neck. Sliding your arms around his waist beneath his suit jacket, you reveled in the feeling.

Jensen ran his thumb against the curve of your jaw, speaking softly, “Y/n, I know we’ve been friends for a long time, and in that time, I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve learned what I want out of life, and it took me a while to see that what I’ve wanted has been right here the whole time. I’ve asked myself so many times if I dared to cross this line with you because I never wanted to lose you as a friend.”

Jensen’s freckles danced in the shining light from above and below as your pulse pounded and tears came to your eyes, but his hold never loosened. His hand came to cup your cheek as he continued, “I’ve asked myself so many questions, ‘How would you feel?’ ‘What would you think?’ ‘What would we do?’”

Taking a deep breath, his eyes became downcast, “We’ve both had our share of loneliness in the past, but this has always been there, beneath and beyond our relationships with other people.” When his eyes met yours once more, they were glistening like reflective pools of emerald, his face mere inches from yours. “Y/n, I think we both deserve happiness and if I found that with you, it’d be a dream come true, and I don’t think I can keep this in anymore. What if—what if I told you that—”

“I love you.” You sighed. “Jay, I’ve loved you for so long. I can’t pretend anymore…”

Your words were silenced as his lips crashed to yours.

<Series Masterlist / Part 11 (coming soon)>

A/n 2: I received an anon ask when I was looking for fic ideas(see below) for a Jensen x actress!reader fic a while ago, but recently got hit with a spark of inspiration. This is based off of the song “What if I Said” by Anita Cochran and Steve Wariner and will be a short mini-series. Also there is a wife mentioned in some parts, but I purposefully left this person nameless as to not insinuate anything for Jensen’s real life.                                                                

Anonymous said: Hi! Just saw your post about looking for fic ideas. I’ve had this idea that I really like where reader is an actor on Supernatural and is friends with Jensen. They have a scene where they have to kiss or even just have to be right up in each other’s space and it makes them realize they like each other. It’s probably a common thing to write about, but I thought I’d ask anyway. Thanks!

[lady-divine-writes]

A Change in the Weather AU (inspired by Cacophonylights's A Change in the Weather) - Chapter 30

Read on AO3.

(Author’s note - the above cover gives hint about this chapter, and chapter 31 :D)

Kurt appreciates drama.

He appreciates it to a degree rivaled only by his dad’s love of NASCAR and Finn’s obsession with grilled cheese sandwiches.

It might even be said, by a select few, that he possesses a flair for the dramatic.

Kurt isn’t, however, a fan of the fact that drama seems to follow him wherever he goes, comes courtesy of big ticket items, and hangs over his head like a sword held aloft by a single thread of red rope licorice.

That he doesn’t appreciate.

The drama Kurt does enjoy happens to be genre-specific, goes hand-in-hand with sweeping, over-the-top, romantic gestures, and maybe a dance number or two.

Like the situation he’s currently in, preparing to perch atop a magnificent red roan mare. Kurt has never been up close and personal with a horse before. The first thing he notices is they’re so much taller - and wider - in real life than they seem on screen. He also didn’t know he’d have to be introduced to his horse before he could mount it (though when you use a word like mount, the need for an introduction makes sense).

Their groom teaches Kurt how to brush his mare’s mane (which he is determined to braid somewhere along the way, get it out of her eyes). Then he earns her favor by feeding her sugar cubes. She plucks them one by one from his outstretched palm, and Kurt falls instantly in love.

If his future as a Broadway phenom ever hits the skids, equestrian sports are beginning to look like an acceptable replacement.

But there is a problem.

Everything about potentially riding this horse terrifies him.

Sebastian rented the horses from a stable nearby, one the Smythe family frequents whenever they’re in town. The horses don’t belong to the Smythes, but according to the man who saddled them, they might as well, as Sebastian’s family reserves the exact same beasts every summer.

Sebastian mounts his own mare with the skill of an accomplished equestrian because of course he does. Kurt, on the other hand, requires the assistance of two bubbly blond stable hands (who remind him enough of Brittany and Sam that he has to do a double take) and a large wooden block. Sebastian watches the calamity go down from his own saddle with intense interest and a twinkle in his eye. Between trying to maintain balance and not roll his ankle, Kurt spots Sebastian sporting his signature smirk and braces for the taunts guaranteed to come, which he plans to volley with comebacks he’s already preparing in his head. But when Kurt finally finds his seat, Sebastian gives him a smile that appears to have nothing devious hiding behind it.

“All set?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Kurt manages, panting from the exertion of pulling himself up and throwing a leg over, doing both so enthusiastically he nearly propelled himself clear over the other side of his horse. “All set.”

“Everyone’s first time goes like that,” Sebastian reassures him with a dismissive wave and only a sliver of innuendo.

“Even Julian’s?” Kurt asks bitterly, his ego stinging. He imagines the older Smythe boy launching himself onto a stallion’s muscular back from the ground using only the saddle horn to boost him up, then galloping off into the sunset, leaving the rest of his family in the dust.

But Sebastian dashes that image with a nod. “Yup. Julian excels at a great many things. But for some reason, horseback riding isn’t one of them.”

“A-ha. Somehow I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve got no reason to lie, babe. And besides - I have videos.” Sebastian bounces his eyebrows, apparently relishing the fact. “Lots of them.”

Kurt’s left eyebrow bobs up. “So you gather blackmail material on your brother, too?”

“I don’t see why you’d assume he’d be immune.” Sebastian’s horse, itching to get on the trail, shifts her weight underneath him. He strokes her neck, shushing her to keep her still. It’s such an endearing gesture, so unlike the Sebastian Kurt once despised … but so much like the Sebastian he’s grown to love. “It’s tit for tat, really. Lord knows he’s got tons of stuff on me. I’ve got stuff on Liv, too, but I’m smarter than to use it.”

“Why’s that?”

Sebastian barks out a laugh that, underneath the surface, is laced with genuine fear. “Are you kidding? She’d murder me in my sleep!”

“Then why have it?”

“As leverage against Julian.”

“And that works how exactly?”

“If I let something I have on Livvie slip but I can convince her that Julian is responsible …” Sebastian sucks a breath in through his teeth, his eyes going distant, like he’s imagining the outcome of such an act, the gruesome devastation that would ensue. “But I’d only do that as a last resort. Julian would have to do something particularly heinous for me to go that far.”

Kurt shakes his head disapprovingly. Poor Olivia. Kurt wonders if she knows that she’s Sebastian’s nuclear option. Sebastian and Julian must be rubbing off on Kurt more than he knows because he also wonders how much that information might be worth. “Oh what a twisted life you lead. You are truly a criminal mastermind.”

“You know it,” Sebastian says, throwing Kurt a wink. He clicks his tongue and leads his horse away, Kurt’s mare following behind as if she knew that was the plan all along.

Sebastian takes them to a rise overlooking the beach, the trail to get there narrower than Kurt likes. He’s sure his horse knows what she’s doing. This isn’t her first time walking this trail, after all. But again, Kurt’s mare is a big animal, and she lists from side to side. This trail, flush up against the cliff side, is one Kurt would think twice about taking on foot before calling it quits, doing an about face, and going off in search of the nearest coffee shop. Since there are no seat belts, the only thing keeping him from sliding off and falling to his death is the strength of his thighs.

Kurt thought his thighs were strong. Only now does he see that cutting the 30 Minute Buns and Thighs video he used to do religiously from his cardio rotation was a huge mistake.

Fear for his life aside, the view from the overlook is spectacular, but the height vomit inducing. Kurt leans forward, barely budging in his saddle to peek over the edge, and his stomach lurches up into his throat.

He has to trust his horse. She wouldn’t go running off this cliff for no reason. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt herself. But what about him? Would she buck him off? What motivation would she have to do so? Horses, like dogs, can sense the good in people, can’t they? Not just the shallow good like, “I put a dollar in a Salvation Army bucket once,” but the deep down, selfless good. Kurt isn’t a bad person, but he can be a bit inconsiderate at times, especially with wait staff.

If this horse decides to judge him, his inability to stop snapping at waiters will be the hill he ends up dying on, he just knows it.

The path takes his mare nauseatingly close to the edge for a brief second, and Kurt bites his tongue to keep from screaming.

“Whoa, Nellie,” he says in a wobbly voice, pulling up beside Sebastian’s mare, stopped on a ledge wide enough to accommodate both animals … and the two of them should Kurt decide to crawl off his horse, lay flat on his stomach, and hug the ground.

Sebastian, watching Kurt’s silent crisis run its course, points out, “You do know your horse’s name is Desiree, right?”

“I do. And by the way, I have questions about that. But whoa, Desiree doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

Sebastian shrugs. “You’re not wrong.”

“So,” Kurt starts, swallowing half a dozen times to stop his voice from shaking, “does your exceptional riding proclivity qualify you as a ‘horse boy’ then?”

Sebastian chuckles. “No. No, Livvie is the horse person in our family. Always has been”

“That’s right,” Kurt says, wrapping the reins around his hand for security so tightly he’s afraid his fingers might turn purple. “She got the pony.”

“Mm-hmm. Pony, private riding lessons, the whole bit. The trails around the beach are perfect for horseback riding. So when we’d come out here, my dad and mom would take her, and Julian and I were forced to tag along. To teach us important life lessons, they said. I think they just didn’t want to leave us alone, afraid of the trouble we’d get into unsupervised. Needless to say, Molly here and I have a special relationship.”

Kurt eyes Sebastian coyly through lowered lashes. “Should I be jealous?”

Sebastian eyes him back, wearing a way-too-suggestive smile considering the subject matter. “Tremendously.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn to ride a horse,” Kurt admits. “I think a lot of kids do.”

“Did you picture yourself as Liz Taylor in National Velvet? Or Robert Redford in The Electric Horseman?”

“More like Viggo Mortensen in Hidalgo.”

Sebastian gives that some thought before commenting, green eyes aimed at the sky, peering at strings of clouds overhead. “I can see that. I think you’d look rather distinguished in a Stetson Diamante.”

“I’ve always thought so,” Kurt says, pulling himself up in his stirrups, a proud expression on his face.

Sebastian’s eyes, tracing the clouds, find the ocean, stare off into the sunset as the tide rolls up the sand. “Julian teased her endlessly for it.”

“Julian did?” Kurt asks with a dubious tilt of his head.

“Yup. Just Jules. I didn’t.”

“Why not?” It sounds like an odd question after Kurt asks it, grilling his boyfriend to find out why he didn’t cut down his older sister over one of her favorite hobbies.

“I envied her her love of riding,” Sebastian replies without turning to look Kurt’s way, the way Kurt had expected. “You know, when kids ask their parents for a pony, it’s usually because they think it’s going to be fun and exciting, make them look cool, turn them into a superhero or something. Not her. She loved riding for the sake of riding and for no other reason. She loved horses simply because she wanted to take care of a horse, even before she ever sat on one … or so my parents tell me.” He looks at the reins pooled in his hands, the horse’s mane beneath them chocolate brown, close to the shade of his own hair. Sebastian sniffs … or Kurt thinks he does. He only sees the subtle movement, doesn’t hear from where he and his horse are standing. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything that way.”

Kurt nudges his horse closer, feeling too far away with the few feet of space between them. “Not even your car?”

“Oh, well, cut me to the quick, I guess.” Sebastian throws his head back and laughs. This time Kurt definitely hears him sniffle, sees him wipe a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand. But there must only be the one because when he turns to look at Kurt, his cheeks are dry. “No, Olivia is special. When you take riding lessons, the first thing your instructor tells you is that riding is less about getting on a horse’s back and flying down the straightaway and more about taking care of something other than yourself. You put your horse first at all times. Its comfort is paramount.” Sebastian looks back at the ocean, clears a catch from his throat. “To ride a horse is to put your trust in someone else, and have someone else trust you back. Whatever you do, you do to bring out the best in the animal you choose to ride. If you hate horses, you’re going to be a lousy horse person. Olivia doesn’t see things the way they are,” he says after a pause. “She sees things the way they could be. People, too. Always finding the best in everyone. She’s not a cynic like me and my brother. She inherited the lion’s share of my parents’ optimism and goodwill. She didn’t leave any for the rest of us. And she knows what she wants, has since she was little. She launches into life with both feet. So does Julian, though, in his case, he doesn’t always land on them.”

“What about you?”

A hint of the cynicism Sebastian mentioned comes to rest in the corners of his mouth, pushing it into a half-grin. “I’m not quite as brave as they are.”

“I think you are.”

“Reckless isn’t the same as brave, babe.”

“I think it depends on how you look at it, on how you define reckless. But you have so many opportunities available to you. And a built in safety net. You can afford to be reckless.”

Sebastian chews his lower lip, seems to contemplate his next words carefully. “Because I have money, right?”

“Right,” Kurt answers quickly, then suddenly feels like he’s taken a wrong turn down a one-way street.

“Money doesn’t help when you don’t have a path.”

“Yes it does!” Kurt says, wondering why it is that Sebastian doesn’t see his wealth as a boon when it’s as clear as day to Kurt. Enjoy all the things his wealth can buy him. Sebastian had repeated that sentiment last night when they were talking about Kurt going to NYADA, and taking that $10,000 check so he could get there. Which proves that wealth can definitely buy a future. A good one, even if Sebastian might be on the fence about which way to go. “It can help you build your own path. It can build you a dozen paths!”

“But where would they lead?” It’s a rhetorical question, but one that sounds like he’s pleading with Kurt to give him an answer. Not in general terms, but a specific destination. “If I don’t know which direction I want to go, what good does a path do me?”

“It gets you started going somewhere! Anywhere!”

“And what’s wrong with staying where you are when you don’t know where to go?” Sebastian asks, his voice so thick under the weight of his emotions, it cracks. This isn’t just a friendly discussion they’re having anymore, Kurt realizes. This is something else. Something Kurt doesn’t fully understand. “Isn’t that what they teach you in wilderness survival? Stay where you are until someone finds you? Hug a tree and shit?”

That remark strikes Kurt as so absurd considering the context of their conversation, he almost bursts out laughing. “Do I look like I would know the answer to a wilderness survival question?” But then that context becomes clearer, and Sebastian’s remark even more absurd. Wait … is he thinking about … staying in Ohio!?!?

“Do you think money solves everything, Kurt? Do you think those rich people on the Titanic could buy their way off that sinking ship?”

“They kinda did,” Kurt says sheepishly, face scrunching apologetically knowing that’s not the answer Sebastian wants to hear. “They were the only ones allowed on the lifeboats, so …

“Yeah. Right. Okay,” Sebastian says, each word clipped within an inch of its life. He turns away in frustration, focusing on the sunset as if he has to watch every last minute of it or suffer dire consequences.

“But you’re not on a sinking ship,” Kurt continues, watching his step with every word. “You can literally choose any direction and go. You wouldn’t have to know what’s there or even have a reason why. Just pack a bag and start walking.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Sebastian mutters grimly, followed by something else Kurt doesn’t catch, although he does hear the words know what you want to do.

“It sounds to me like you’re making excuses,” Kurt counters but not unkindly, “and I don’t know what for. To tell you the truth, I feel like I’ve entered an argument already in progress.”

Sebastian bristles, his back going rigid. Kurt holds his breath, unsure what he’s about to do. Would he turn his horse around and leave without a word, abandon Kurt there on the top of this rise in the dark?

No. Kurt is confident he wouldn’t. Sebastian isn’t that person. Not anymore. He wouldn’t do that.

Besides, Kurt’s mare would simply follow his. He’s really in no danger unless Sebastian comes up to him and shoves him off his horse.

Kurt isn’t convinced his thighs would protect him.

Kurt’s words seem to take the steam out of Sebastian. When he turns around to face Kurt, he looks tired. Worn down. “I’m sorry. Kurt. I’m not trying to start a fight. And don’t think I don’t understand where you’re coming from. I do. I really do. Maybe not from first hand experience but I get it. And you’re absolutely right. When you don’t have money, when you have to worry about where your next meal is coming from or how you’re going to pay your rent, it sucks. Money greases so many wheels, can take you to so many places. I’m fortunate. So fucking fortunate. But there’s something to be said about having an identity that doesn’t revolve around money.”

“I don’t … I don’t think I understand.” Kurt says it, but then he realizes that’s not entirely true. On some level, he does. For a good portion of his high school career, he had to contend with being known as the one out-and-proud gay kid. To most people, it was his sole descriptor. But there’s so much more to him.

Just like there’s so much about Sebastian’s situation that Kurt doesn’t understand.

“No matter where I am, if I’ve been there longer than a week and you ask someone about me, ask them to describe who I am, they’ll tell you I’m some rich douche. That’s it. That’s what I am. That’s who I was at Dalton. It doesn’t matter that I was a straight A student, 5.0 GPA, on the lacrosse team, that I was a Warbler, or any of that. I’m an asshole and I have money. That’s it. That’s my identity. But not you,” Sebastian says, his voice becoming hard and soft at the same time. “You’re Kurt Hummel. You’re a trail blazer. You’re compassionate and brave and talented ...”

“Who told you that?” Kurt interjects, squashing uncomfortable laughter with disbelief.

“Blaine for one,” Sebastian admits, though from his expression, he would rather pry up his fingernails than say that name. “The Warblers, your friends at that public school you went to, your teacher Will Schuester, your father, your stepmother, Finn and Puck. You do your own thing no matter what other people say. And even if they knock you down, you stick up for them. You ran for student body president on a platform of stopping bullying. I would never do that!”

“You don’t want to stop bullying?” Kurt asks, appalled enough to overlook the fact that Sebastian knows any of that. But when Sebastian shoots him a You have got to be kidding me! look, Kurt is immediately confronted with the reality of who he’s talking to. Sebastian was a bully! He blackmailed and schemed. He photoshopped vulgar pictures of Kurt’s stepbrother, and tried to steal his boyfriend. He’s only recently redeemed himself for any of that. There are people who would still consider him a bully - Kurt’s friends, people he loves - who haven’t had the opportunity Kurt has to get to know him.

But it’s also an unfair question. From what Kurt has learned, Sebastian wasn’t always that way. The person he was while he was at Dalton - that person was created, and by someone other than himself.

“I would never run for student body president in the first place!” Sebastian yells. “I don’t care about other people’s problems! I can’t be bothered! If I went to your school God forbid and people bullied me, I wouldn’t want to help them! I’d want to watch the place burn to the ground!”

“That … that’s not true!”

Sebastian leans towards him threateningly. But not threatening to hurt him. Threatening to make him see the truth. “Isn’t it!?”

“I …” Kurt puts a hand to his head and closes his eyes. Sebastian’s words pound in his brain. They connect a bunch of dots, but they also leave other sections of the overall picture blank. “I’m sorry, I … I don’t know what’s going on. We’ve gone from horses to your sister to student body president to arson and I … I think … I may have missed the point somewhere.”

“The point I’ve been trying to make,” Sebastian says slowly, bringing his mare closer to Kurt’s, “and very badly is that money is a wonderful thing to have. But it shouldn’t be your identity. You need to be something more. Money will never make you a whole person if you can’t be one without it.”

Kurt nods, relieved to have it summed up so nicely before either one of them accidentally says something they’ll both regret. With his own deadline of NYADA looming, Kurt forgot that Sebastian said he hasn’t chosen a college yet. What if that’s not the entire story?

What if he doesn’t know what he wants to do with the rest of his life? And what if that scares him?

“Okay,” Kurt says, accepting Sebastian’s hand when it finds his. “I … I think I get it. That makes sense.”

“I’m glad. Because believe it or don’t, I didn’t bring you up here to start an argument. I just wanted to watch the sun set. Show you one of my favorite thinking spots. To be honest …” Sebastian shakes his head “… I don’t know where half of that came from.”

Kurt gives Sebastian’s hand a comforting squeeze. He hopes that Sebastian might be willing to bring this subject up again at the beach house when they’re both a little more level-headed, better equipped to handle it. “Where would you say you fall on that spectrum? Between being whole and being not?”

“I’d have to say I’m extensively ventilated …” Sebastian brings Kurt’s hand to his mouth for a kiss, disarming smile locked back in place. “But on the mend.”

Kurt watches Sebastian run his thumb over his knuckles, hesitant to give his hand back, even with the darkness settling in around them. “You know,” Kurt says, “this picture you’re painting of who you are … if I wasn’t here, seeing it for myself, I don’t think I would ever believe any of this about you.”

Sebastian frowns, looks like he’s about to rush to his own defense, but he stops. “I guess I didn’t really give you the chance to find out for yourself.”

“Why isn’t this the foot you put forward all the time?”

“Because … I don’t like being vulnerable with people.”

“You don’t have to be vulnerable. But nice would be …” Kurt searches his head for the perfect word, but only comes up with “… nice. You know what they say - more flies with honey and all that.”

Sebastian sputters. “There you go again with those archaic expressions! Who on earth wants to be surrounded by flies? Being this version of me is too much work for too little pay off most of the time. For what I usually want, my methods get me results quicker.”

“So … what does that say about me?” Kurt asks. “You and I have been at this for months. And it’s not as if I rolled over for you the first chance I got.”

Sebastian tugs Kurt’s hand, brings him close enough to give him the whisper of a kiss against his cheek. “That says you’re worth the effort.”

***

It’s been well over a week since the Smythes descended on the beach house, and as much fun as it is having them there, Kurt is steadily becoming paranoid. He wouldn’t have had Olivia not made that remark about keeping an eye out for her mother. Now he’s convinced that every look Charlotte tosses his way holds significance.

A silent warning.

That she knows about him and Sebastian, and that the two of them are royally screwed - Sebastian more so than he, of course. Only she’s too nice to shred him to pieces in front of the family, so she’s waiting to do it in private.

He won’t know for certain until she corners him and they talk.

So he does the mature thing.

He avoids being alone with her at all costs.

He doesn’t hide behind curtains or vault over furniture when he sees her approach. He simply makes certain he’s never by himself for longer than a few minutes. That amounts to trips to the bathroom and any time he needs to change clothes, which (and he’s not proud of this) he’s done twice as an excuse not to talk to her. With Sebastian’s new found need to be with Kurt every conceivable second, that takes care of every time else. Still, in the confines of the beach house, Kurt knows it’s impossible to dodge Charlotte forever. He just hopes he can figure out what he’s going to say when the time comes, how he’s going to defend his and Sebastian’s actions.

How he’s going to make being a boyfriend-for-hire in order to deceive her in specific sound not so bad.

Sitting on Sebastian’s lap on the porch swing, Kurt’s favorite place in the house to be hands down, he’s finding it difficult to relax. Even though she’s nowhere where she can see them, Kurt feels her eyes on him. Several times he pops his head up and scans the beach to see if she’s walking along the shore, but no. She’s not there.

This is all in his head. He knows it. He’s building it up to something bigger than it needs to be. But if he doesn’t deal with things soon, he’s going to give himself a nervous condition.

“Hey, babe. I have to run to the bathroom,” Sebastian says, sliding his hands underneath Kurt’s rear and relocating him to the far side of the swing.

“O-okay,” Kurt says, a knot starting in his stomach, like a stop watch zeroing out before a tie-breaker race. “Don’t take too long.”

“Yeah, alright. I … won’t,” Sebastian says, giving Kurt an odd look before heading towards the door to his room. Kurt watches him go, crossing every finger on both hands and his toes in his socks, praying Sebastian returns before Charlotte discovers he’s alone and swoops in. Kurt doesn’t see her, hasn’t seen her for most of the day actually. He’d be hard pressed to say whether or not she’s even there.

Kurt and Sebastian ate dinner on the porch, intend on sleeping out there, too, in the tent still set up in the far corner. Did he see her before dinner? Or did Greg take her out to eat? They’d been discussing an Italian place not too far from the beach. They could be there, enjoying a romantic evening alone, with not a single thought to the deceptive practices of her son and his boyfriend. Or did she go shopping with Olivia? Olivia mentioned wanting to hit Yankee Candle for apple pie scented wax melts after stumbling across one of Kurt and Sebastian’s vanilla scented votives. That’s a possibility.

Unfortunately, there’s only one way for him to inconspicuously check. He’d have to go inside and take a peek for himself. If he texts Olivia, he runs the risk of her coming out to ask him what’s up with her mother in tow.

Kurt gets so wrapped up in thinking about where Charlotte could be that he misses her sweeping through the door right as Sebastian leaves, stopping her son to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, Kurt!” she says brightly, striding across the porch toward him, wrapped in the coziest looking, camel-colored, cashmere duster. He’s been looking for one just like it - not super chunky the way knitted dusters tend to be. This one looks soft, and clingy in all the right places. And that color - super complementary. Once she’s done verbally disemboweling him, he’ll have to ask her where she got it. “I was hoping I’d get you alone! You and my son seem to be locked together at the hip lately! I’d need a crowbar to separate you two!”

“That seems to be the consensus,” Kurt says, banishing the image of sweet matriarch Charlotte Smythe wielding a crowbar. He shouldn’t be this nervous around her. She’s never given him reason to be. She treats him like he’s part of the family. Besides, Sebastian and Julian both agree that Olivia is the scary one. Not their mother.

Then again, where do they think Olivia gets it from?

“That’s not a bad thing. I remember being your age, locked at the hip with my boyfriend,” she reveals, a speck of wickedness coloring her smile. “But as much as I adore my son, I was hoping I could talk to you - one on one.”

Kurt’s stomach flip-flops the way it did during his NYADA audition. The only difference is, at his audition, he had a pair of gold pants to give him strength. He loves borrowing Sebastian’s Ralph Lauren lounge pants, but it’s not the same. “Absolutely. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I feel like you may be avoiding me … just a little,” she says, bringing a hand up, putting her thumb and forefinger together for emphasis.

“Oh, uh … no. No I haven’t. Not … consciously,” he fibs, but she stares him down. Even if she doesn’t know about him and Sebastian pretending to be boyfriends, she knows that Kurt has been lying about something. Charlotte is an intelligent woman. Kurt is not about to disrespect her. “I’m sorry if it seems that way. That wasn’t my intention.”

She stays silent a moment longer, scrutinizing him the same way Carole does him and Finn when her motherly instincts tell her not to trust them. And Carole’s instincts are pretty much consistently on the nose. But Charlotte may not feel comfortable scolding her son’s boyfriend.

She may have decided to let the guilt eat Kurt away for her.

“Sebastian says you have quite a fondness for this old swing,” she says. “But before you came along, he’d never come out here. Ever. You would think he was afraid of heights or something the way he avoided it, and my son is definitely not afraid of heights. In fact, if someone were to ask me what Sebastian is afraid of, I’d have to say there isn’t a thing … except losing you. And your good opinion of him.”

Kurt goes temporarily speechless. He wants to say he knew that, but he can’t. Because he didn’t. “Really?”

“A-ha. So imagine my surprise when I found out that the two of you weren’t actually an item.”

Kurt’s eyes pop open. He hopes he looks stunned, hurt, maybe even a little too scandalized for words. But he knows he’s not that good an actor. Not yet. Give him a couple of semesters, maybe a year abroad …

But right now, he probably looks exactly the way he feels.

Busted.

“That’s … that’s not …” Kurt tries, but he can’t get the rest of the words out. They physically refuse to leave his tongue.

“It’s not what?” Charlotte asks in that stern way mothers do when weeding out the truth.

When they know for a fact that they’re being duped.

“You’re … you’re right.” Those words are a bit harder to say but at least they come out. “We weren’t a couple. B-but we are now,” he adds, praying that makes everything right, that he didn’t inadvertently toss Sebastian under the bus and lose him everything.

“As of …?” she presses.

Oh God, Kurt thinks, losing the feeling in his entire body. Even his tongue goes numb. Nope. He didn’t lose Sebastian everything before. But he may right now. God, he wishes he’d thought to talk to Sebastian about this! Gotten some sort of story straight. “A…after the gala?” More like after they got to North Carolina, but Kurt is not about to split hairs.

Charlotte, who had been sitting with her legs crossed, an elbow resting comfortably on one knee and her chin cradled in the palm of her hand, straightens in surprise.

Oh no! Kurt panics, knowing by the look in her eyes that she’s putting two and two together, time lines readjusting, figuring out just how long they haven’t been a couple.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for lying to you! It’s … it’s all my fault!” he says, hoping that if he keeps her attention locked on himself, that if he can somehow spin it so he’s the perpetrator here and not Sebastian, she’ll forget that they were going to empty out his bank account and take back his tuition money. They can’t do that! Not after what Sebastian told him today! Not after everything he might be afraid of! “Are you angry? Disappointed? I’ll make it up to you somehow! I swear!”

“Calm down, dear.” She has an exquisite poker face. Kurt has to give her that. He doesn’t have a clue what she’s thinking. But the parts of her expression that aren’t blank are slightly sad. “I’m not disappointed. Or angry.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Kurt says, feeling like he’s walking on eggshells made of plate glass and battery acid, “how did you figure us out?”

Charlotte smirks. “Well, whether they like it or not, I know my children. And to be honest, because he’s my youngest, I probably know Sebastian best of all. Which is how I know this arrangement the two of you had …” She wiggles her forefinger between Kurt and an invisible placeholder that represents Sebastian “… whatever it entailed, wasn’t your idea. But I can appreciate you throwing yourself on that grenade, and don’t think I don’t know why.” Kurt is about to launch into a new line of disagreeing, but Charlotte sighs uncomfortably, and that makes him hold back. “Kurt, I’ve walked in on my son mid-coitus more times than any mother should, and what I saw when I walked in on the two of you … that wasn’t Sebastian. Not the one I’ve seen torturing himself with different sexual partners for years. The giggling, the smiling - that was different. It was honest. It’s what I’ve wanted for him for longer than I can tell you. And I was so happy to see it. But in a way, because of that, I knew it wasn’t real.”

“But … why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because of all the boys my son knows, he chose you. So he had to have a reason. And aside from that, I like you, Kurt. My husband husband likes you. We think that you’re good for our son. So I thought that, given enough time, what you two were pretending to be might become real.” Charlotte smiles. “As it turns out, it did.”

“Yes, it did,” Kurt agrees shyly.

“And I don’t want you to worry. Sebastian is safe. And that’s not contingent on you or on anything the two of you do. Gregory and I, we both bear some responsibility for Sebastian hatching this little scheme. Ultimatums don’t always work the way you intend them to.” That should sound like she’s admitting defeat, but the wink she gives Kurt admits anything but. “Just make sure you get what he promised you.”

“I did,” Kurt assures her. “It and a lot more.”

“Good,” she says. “Very good. You know, being a parent, you raise your kids the best way you know how, in the hopes that they grow into adults that can make good decisions on their own. I may not agree with all of the decisions my children have made, but they are their decisions to make. I can’t micromanage their lives. I have to trust them.”

“I think my dad would agree with you,” Kurt says, thinking back on all the times his father stressed that Kurt was an adult, that he’d be out of the house soon, and that his decisions were his own. And as much as Kurt appreciated the sentiment, the look in his father’s eye when he said it, one he probably thought he was covering so well, gutted him.

“Your father is a good man,” Charlotte says, giving Kurt’s hand a pat. “And from what I can see, he did a wonderful job raising you.”

“Thank you,” Kurt says, feeling way more at ease now than he did when this conversation started. “For what it’s worth, I think you guys did an amazing job as parents, too.”

Charlotte’s smile dips, wobbles at the corners, and Kurt wonders if he said something wrong. She sits back in the swing, turns her head slightly away. She gazes down the beach, the same way Sebastian does when he thinks about something sad, watching the water rush in to meet the shore, then out to join the waves. “Thank you, Kurt,” she says finally. “That does mean a lot.”

***

Julian’s demeanor has been changing in increments.

Kurt thinks he may be the only one who notices since he’s spent time alone with every member of the Smythe family and no one else has mentioned it. But Julian has become sullen.

Downright sulky.

He hasn’t gotten on Sebastian’s case recently half as much as when he got there, hasn’t flirted with Kurt in the past few days other than to tell him he looks good wearing his clothes (a black Henley Kurt thought was Sebastian’s, which had found itself in Sebastian’s room due to an unfortunate dry cleaning mishap).

The change started about the same time Kurt began to notice that the long phone conversations Julian had been having with Cooper - the ones that started in the family room or in the kitchen after dinner but eventually sent Julian outside searching for privacy - seemed to happen less and less, and with no estimated time of Cooper’s arrival in sight. Kurt reminds himself that Julian and Cooper’s relationship has always been a volatile one, so maybe this is just the way things go between them.

But it’s still heartbreaking.

Julian seemed so happy when he first arrived, first told them about Cooper spending the summer with him, and now ...

Kurt hopes that their flame hasn’t burned out so quickly, the way he feared his with Sebastian would, the thrill of the chase gone, the shine of the taboo beginning to take on a matte finish.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Julian says, catching Kurt off guard and staring as he makes his way up to their towels spread out on the beach. Kurt wasn’t staring at Julian, even though he’d been looking in the man’s direction. He was just staring, lost in his own thoughts. But he’ll never convince Julian of that. “Why don’t you take a picture? It lasts longer. In fact, I have a few I can text you, save you the trouble. They’re organized by various states of undress …”

“That’s a surefire way to end up with a broken screen,” Olivia says while Sebastian scoots his towel over, scoops up his boyfriend.

“Happen to have any of you in a Franciscan robe?” Kurt counters. “Maybe even a kaftan?”

Julian smirks, and even though it makes him look as handsome as ever, it doesn’t brighten his face, doesn’t reach his eyes. “You know, I might.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Olivia snickers, “so be careful what you ask for. Even if he does, nothing says it’ll be PG.”

“Speaking of, what are you two gentlemen doing tomorrow night?” he asks. “I mean, between the sex, sex, and more sex.”

“Have they been having a lot of sex?” Olivia asks offhandedly while she scrolls through her phone.

“As far as I can tell. I don’t know one hundred percent. They haven’t invited me to join in.”

“We don’t have any hard and fast plans,” Sebastian says, diverting the topic of conversation away from his and Kurt’s sex life. “Why do you ask? And before you say anything, threesomes are out.”

“Airiel Down is playing at Red Hat,” Julian says, reaching into the pocket of his shorts for his phone. “I got two tickets. I was going to take Cooper, but he hasn’t …” Julian’s voice waffles, goes minutely hoarse.

Olivia’s eyes dart his way.

No. That didn’t go unnoticed, Kurt thinks when her gaze shifts to Sebastian, and then Sebastian looks at Kurt. All three of them had heard the same thing.

“Anyway, anyway,” Julian says, pushing past it, “no reason for them to go to waste.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you could still go. Scalp the other ticket,” Sebastian suggests, but from the tone of his voice, it sounds like he’s asking another question entirely.

“I’m sure, little bro. No worries.” Julian chuckles, but it’s as dry as the sand they’re sitting on. They watch in silence as Julian types out a text and attaches the electronic tickets. A second later, Sebastian’s phone in his pocket beeps. “Your boyfriend here needs a night out, and exposure to some of our fine North Carolina culture.” Julian grins. For a moment, he’s closer to normal than he’s been in days. “Besides, you two need to give that beautiful ass of his a break.”

[wtch-and-the-warlock]

Unlikely Team

Here is part two to “The Forest Meeting.” When the second pair for this unusual team form and the four get their relic, they must live with the final outcome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Don't panic. Do not panic. Everything is under your control. The young brained male ducked behind a tree as he slowed his breath while a pack of Beowloves were sniffing the air. He had run them around in circles till he found a place to rest and gather his thoughts. The sound of their growls brought chills down his spine. He looked down to his weapons around his wrists, remembering why he was there. He could not run from them. Face them... Face them! The man grit his teeth as he lept up the tree and aimed down The Queen's Servant's sights. Deep breath... In... Out... FIRE! He let loose a barage of bullets on the nearest beowolves, catching the pack off guard. Their glowing eyes turned to him as howls erupted, alerting nearby Beowolves of the attack. He had to silence them before it was too late. Leaping down from his safe spot, the blades on his wrists extended as he launched himself at the enemies. He swung his arms loosely as his body seemed to flow with each action he did. The grimm could hardly keep up with him as he bobbed and swayed from one to the other with slashing motions. They would snap and bite, causing his heart to jump. He had to block out the anxiety welling up inside. If he didn't then... As he snapped back to reality, one Beowolf was reared back, swatting him aside into a tree. This knocked the wind out of him as he wobbled to his feet, launching back into the fight. More beowolves trudged from the tree line, eyes beaming at the young man. He took a deep gulp of air as he realized he was beginning to get outnumbered. That is when he heard it. The unmistakable sound of gunfire. The grimm in the distance began to dissipate as the young man saw his opportunity to take out the ones he started with. Their throats were no match for his sharp blades. The boy leaned back on the nearby tree taking deep breaths of air as his eyes looked out to a young tanned man in golds. He was fiddling with a pistol, counting under his breath. "Five, six, seven. Down seven." The tanned boy looked over and rolled his eyes as he made his way over to the tree. "Well it seems I'm stuck with you. You need to know how to maximize efficiency when it comes to taking on enemies like that." "oh.. uh.. Thank you. My name is Tyrian Callows. Thank you for helping me. You seem to be quite the marksman with that pistol." The young man looked over Tyrian then let out a small scoff. "My name is Arthur Watts. Young genius of Atlas." "Oh! Atlas huh? No wonder your weapon is so advanced. Well I guess this makes us partners... Right, Arthur?" Arthur looked over to Tyrian almost as if he wanted nothing to do with him, but rules are rules. "I believe so. Just don't get in over your head again. I have limited bullets at the moment, so I can't save you all the time." Tyrian hung his head for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right. Sorry for that." "Do not apologize to me. Just do better, got it?" "Got it." ------------------ Cinder and Hazel walked not too far from one another as they looked for the tell-tell signs of the relic holding place. As they walked, Cinder tried to make small talk. Emphasis on small talk. Hazel was not much of a talker, so she had to do her best not to be bugged by the silence. "So... How are you able to do that thing with the dust? It looks painful," she asked as she looked up his arms at the embedded crystals. Hazel made a grunt sound as his voice came out low and deep. "My semblance negates any pain that I feel, so this means nothing to me," he said as he gestured to his arms. To think there was a pain reducing semblance! "Hazel, that is amazing!" The young man looked down to Cinder, his eyes almost glazed with unfeeling. "If you say so." He continued to walk, leaving Cinder in his dust. Even in her glass heels, she was able to catch back up with him. He seemed focused on the distance. When Cinder went to ask him what he meant, Hazel spoke up. "There it is." Off in the distance stood the relic podium. Cinder felt even more excited as she rushed ahead of her partner to look at what was in store for them. Upon the podiums were different gemstones of varying colors. Which one should she choose? There were so many of them. Wait... "Hey, Havel. Which one do you think we should pick?" The lumbering man joined her side as he looked over the gemstones. He soon reached out to the purple gem and handed it to Cinder. "Amethysts are good." Cinder looked over the gem then put it away in her satchel. "Right. It does seem rather nice." Now was the time the two had to get a move on and look for the extraction point. ----------------------------- After half an hour of walking and clearing out grimm, the duo found themselves at the bottom of the cliff where they were meant to meet. There is no way they could make it up there. "Hey, Hazel. Any idea how we should make our way up?" Suddenly a familiar voice spoke up behind her. "So you are unable to think for yourself as well? You are two for two right now." Cinder whipped her head around to see the jerk from before and a young boy with a braid behind him. "Really? Don't you have anything better to do than be rude?" "Look, if you want to get up the cliff, you need a thought out strategy. Do you know anyone who can do that? Oh. I do. It's me." Cinder rolled her eyes at the nerve of this guy. "Oooooooooooooh okay mister higher-than-you. What do you think we should do?" Arthur cleared his throat as he looked up the cliff. "Well if we could find a way to make a make-shift staircase or trail up the cliff, we wouldn't have to worry about climbing." "Well how would you suppose we do that? Call in a stone mason?" "Sharp words as usual," Arthur scoffed as he looked at his scroll. "I have the ability to use hard light dust to construct simple platforms. If I had some assistance with altering the landscape a bit, I could use the dust to form platforms." Cinder went to complain before Havel stepped in. "I can use my dust and semblance to crack the surface. Would that help any?" The tanned boy raised a brow in thought before nodding. "That is a possibility. We can start there." Without a second word, Havel jammed two more dust crystals, this time earth, into his arms. The power surged through his veins as he began driving his fists into the cliffside. At first it didn't seem to be doing much, however cracks began to form as rocks soon tumbled down. Tyrian rushed forward and used all of his strength to pull Hazel away from being crushed. the girl in glass turned to Arthur looking none too pleased. "Way to go, smart guy. Now what is your big plan?" Anger seethed in Arthur's eyes as he began to spit out his words. "Well why don't you be useful and do something instead of running your mouth like a simple nuisance?!" She took that challenge and turned to the other two, looking at the cracks that had formed. "Hey, braid boy. Lemme ask you something. Are you a good climber?" The man looked to her and nodded. "It's Tyrian, by the way." "Okay, Tyrian. That works." She pulled a large pouch out and handed it to the boy. "If Hazel can give you a boost, do you think you can climb a good way up?" "I... I can certainly try. What is this?" he asked as he looked at the pouch. "It's sand. My semblance allows me to heat things up, so I can create glass with this sand. Once you climb up enough, toss out the sand. I will do my best to try and form platforms." Arthur, realizing this plan had some substance, took a step forward. "I see. Not useless after all. It will need stability. Once you form platforms, I will activate my dust and give the glass some extra strength. They won't last long, so we will have to be fast." Cinder rolled her eyes, but any help would do. "Fine. Let's make this work." Tyrian looked to the bag then looked over to the towering man. "Do you think you could give me a bit of a boost?" Havel silently nodded as he laced his fingers together. Tyrian got a running start as Hazel threw the scrawny boy into the air. His heart raced as her opened his blades in order to sink them into the nearest crack formation. Once well lodged in, he began to climb. The other three watched from below in anticipation of their next move. "This better work," Arthur muttered to himself, not missing Cinder's ear though. "If it doesn't I'm sure you'll think of something," she said, her voice full of sarcasm. Tyrain made his way to the final crack, several feet away from the top. His eyes glaced down as he fidgeted with the pouch. "Alright! I'm going to throw the pouch now! Get ready!!" Not a moment later, the bag was tossed into the air as sand spilled out like rain. Cinder focused on the are and began exerting heat towards the sand particles. Clumps of glass began to form close to the cliff while Arthur fired off what looked to be small pucks at the forming glass. Hard light dust erupted, forming a sor of makeshift frame work for the glass to follow. It wasn't perfect, but it was working. A simple set of thick glass stairs stood on the cliff as Tyrian set his feet on the top step. "All right, said Arthur looking to the two, "We don't have a lot of time. Let's get going." Hazel nodded as he went first, followed by Arthur behind him and Cinder in the rear. The climb was rather uneventful for a while as Hazel soon met up with Tyrian. Arthur looked to his watch as he turned his head to Cinder. "Let's go. Only a minute left!" Cinder went to say something snarky when she heard the glass beneath her feet begin to crack. She couldn't get a word out as she fell through the surface of the glass. She expected to fall to the bottom, but felt someone grip her hand. There was Arthur, holding her wrist and struggling to pull her up. "Damn it! Your glass was too thin towards the top!" "You're going to complain at me right now?! Really?!" Hazel noticed the stairs were beginning to crumble while the other two were left hanging on. He grabbed Tyrian and reared back. "Prepare to land," he said as he threw Tyrian to the ledge, watching him scramble to his feet. Once he knew Tyrian was safe, he went back to Arthur and Cinder. "Hold on." The boy reached down, making sure Arthur still had a grip on Cinder. Once she was safely out of the glass fissure, he grabbed ahold of her. With both Arthur and Cinder in his grasp, he ran to the top stair and used as much force as he could muster to leap. This man managed to launch himself enough to grip the cliff's ledge. Tyrian, waiting at the top, scuttled to help Arthur and Cinder off of Hazel so the three of them could successfully pull Hazel to safety. The four students took the time to catch their breath after that death defying stunt they just pulled. No arguments were had. No words were thrown. The four just sat in silence, realizing that this fiasco was going to be one of the many they would eventually get into.

This was not going to end well...

[5lazarus]

fadewalker: in the city you find yourself tracing the shape of the one you love, and you are wrong

Just because he sees it first in the Fade does not make it any less real. He tries to explain to his new contemporaries, again and again, how the world is malleable, how he had ripped it in two and how it was bleeding together again, but it unsettles Cassandra, disturbs Rainier, panicks Iron Bull. Varric only understands it through the pen he wields, but still stone is unyielding, but when they are gathered around the fire one cold night in the Hissing Wastes, Dorian turns to him thoughtfully and says, “So how do you know? How do you know that we’re as real as you are? If, in the Fade, this fire,” and he waves a gauntlet at the campfire, “is just as hot? Even though it’s just a reflection?”

“I don’t,” he says. “I think I am, but I myself am only one of Mythal’s better-wrought creations. Some of her guard thought of themselves as reflections of her Glory, and worshipped her and themselves accordingly. We would respond to shifts in her nature, of course, but we were ground in our own being too. I am Mythal’s Pride, of course: both her spirit and her son.” He thinks about his father, Lahtaras, sanding away at a marble pillar. “But I was Solas first, and that is what I will remain, no matter the fluctuations in the Fade.” 

When they go to bed, Imladris asks, hand on his hip and pressing him closer, “So when you see me in the Fade, is that of my own making? Or is it only your perception? Or just a conglomeration of both? And with the Veil fading, will I change? Will others’...perceptions shift my very nature?”

She has always worried about control. He lets her draw him in and presses a kiss to her forehead. She’s running a little hot, as always, and she looks away when he tries to brush the hair plastered to her face. “You are already changing,” he says, and when she tenses he hurries, “not metaphysically. Though I wondered, at first, with the Anchor...no. It is a mistake to think of us as beings, fixed in time. Time isn’t fixed, what we are is always shifting. Didn’t this saying survive? Through the same river, the same diverse waters shift...you are you, whatever is done to you. Or whatever you do. But you are all those things, all those things that could be, and converge in this moment and leave. And before I completed the Veil, it was always so. And now we can only see it in the Fade.”

“When we’re dreaming,” Imladris says, and she reaches out and touches his face. He turns to kiss her palm, and she pushes him down so she can make his way up his body, and he threads his fingers in her hair as she kisses him. It was a long day and they are sand-sore and sweaty, and he thinks distantly that he’ll just throw the tent into the nearest oasis to remove the stench of unwashed bodies and sex, and then he is only thinking about her and those discreet little breaths she takes when he does that.

He is dreaming, of course, but that does not make it any less real. His wandering thoughts take him to the ancient city of Imladris, more east of Arlathan than he is accustomed to roaming. The city winds itself above a river delta and laces through a narrow valley and into its cliffs, where a few dwarven thaigs still remain. The People of the Jewels, the Simaril Elvhen, retain better diplomatic ties with the Children of the Stone. He finds them utterly fascinating. The city is beautiful, of course--they pay tribute to June and Sylaise, though luckily the Evanuris mostly ignore them. Solas walks through the old stone streets that gently rise to the fall of his feet, and he feels untainted, young, whole. He catches his reflection in a bakery’s window, and smiles at himself. He is unmarred by Mythal’s vallaslin, but he still has hair, and it is red, tinged with gray at the temples--though cut short. The clothes he likes too: no armor, just leather leggings and a green tunic with gold edging, the pattern is new, something Imladris made, and the belt at his waist was a gift from Vivienne. The wolfpelt is old. He lost it long ago, but it dates this self-image. This is him winning the revolution, a lifetime ago. He runs his fingers through it: perhaps he will grow it back. He has always been impatient with it. Mourning had really just been an excuse to finally shave it, but perhaps it is time to move on. He imagines himself with a beard and laughs aloud at his reflection suddenly sprouting one: no. He could never take himself seriously, a glowering paterfamilias like Elgar’nan or even Rainier. Solas moves on and catches glimpses of life during his revolution: a young woman with June’s vallaslin shoving a girl with Sylaise’s, urgently speaking; a spirit of Fortitude handing out leaflets on a corner, wisps of Curiosity arousing more attention; and a man marked by June glowering at the edge of a rally, taking notes on the speaker for the police. This was just before Andruil went mad, then. He pauses to watch the cop: a waste of a spirit of Duty, he thinks, then reproaches himself, not wanting to tempt it towards corruption, though it should have known better to take a constable’s form. A woman is watching in term, and he knows her before he even looks at her: Envy.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says. He glances at her: she has the audacity to take Imladris’ form, both the city and the city’s descendent, his lover, Lavellan. She has kept Mythal’s vallaslin, but removed the scars. She looks less brutal and brutalized this way. He is angry, but lets the demon speak. “What you’ve been saying--about the past, and the present, and all possible futures being intertwined. It’s been bothering me. Especially when we found those venatori slaves.” Imladris would never refer to the captives they freed as slaves; this must be partly a reflection of someone in their party, likely Dorian. Envy touches her face, traces where a gash above the jawbone should be. “You know, at least in Tevinter they don’t brand their slaves. We do.” This is definitely a reflection of Dorian’s. Solas cools slightly: more irritation than anger. He waits. Why has she come to him, and not the other mage? Then she says, “I know you offered before, but I was wondering, could you still remove the vallaslin? Are you willing? Do you want to?”

Irritation is overwhelmed by shame. Solas takes a step back, and he is less what he wants to be and more what he is: no, he will not grow out his hair, the clothes are his usual sweater, and for a second Mythal’s vallaslin flickers across his face and disappears. Does he envy her that much? Would he prefer to see her unmarred? He could remake her, utterly, in his image. Horrified, he wakes up. The tent smells disgusting, and it is too hot--Imladris has rolled away from him in her sleep. Solas hides his fade in his hands for a moment, overwhelmed, and then breathes. Be better, Fen’Harel: your Pride was always your downfall. Now he knows. Imladris is resolutely shaped by her past, fixed in what she has clawed herself into: the Inquisitor. She wears her hair pulled away to brandish her brutalized face at everyone who would dare gawk, she paints her vallaslin brighter and copies out other clans’ patterns onto her limbs for state occasions. She has been hunting slavers in the delta of the city that gave her its name since her mother placed a staff in her hands. Lavellan, breaker of chains: she would never wish her vallaslin away. Solas sighs explosively and stares up at the cloth ceiling. A wind rustles the canvass. So he had made that, not Dorian. What does he envy? Her potential. Her victory. Her fate. She would be so upset, he knows, if she knew he would prefer her unmarred, without the vallaslin. The lack of scars was a nasty touch. The demon was less sloppy than he assumed.

He wonders how to translate this into terms she could understand: I dreamt I walked the streets of the city that gave you her name, and at a rally I met Envy in your shape, and she offered me the ability to play Fen’Harel again, to blend what has passed and what was lost into now, what you and I are building. And it was cruel. It was cruel to me, and worse to you, and I woke so I could see you.

Imladris shifts in her sleep, rolls over, and regards him suddenly. He starts. It is the very intense stare of one barely conscious.

“Yes?” he says.

She pats his face absently and falls back asleep. Again, he takes her hand and kisses it. If they have time in the morning, or perhaps tomorrow, before they drift to sleep, he will ask her: why do you fix yourself in the Fade with all of your scars? You yourself rarely shift. In the city you find yourself tracing the shape of the one you love, and you are wrong, because she cannot be bound by one dream or one city or one shape, she is her breath in your ear, the way her eyes cut across the room, the little sigil for protection she sewed into your shirt. When he sleeps again he does not dream of Imladris, neither the city nor the woman nor his Envy for her, but he drifts amongst the dunes of the Hissing Wastes, and instead he sees the terror and anger Rainier holds for the desert, and the man who died. When he wakes he mentions none of this to his companions, for how on this earth could he translate?

if you liked it, read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833073/chapters/54568945

[writethehousedown]

Bottled Up Feelings, Chapter One (Cheryl/Blu) - Zyan

a/n: hi! it’s me, I’m back, after having failed at doing ficmas due to some shenanigans with my wifi, I’m determined to finish the Be Mine Week - this is a threat.

So this whole fic was inspired by a prompt I saw in @dailyau: "You’re a genie and you said I could wish for anything. I, of course, wished for infinite wishes. Oh, wait, does that mean we’re stuck together forever?“ with a thing or two changed. Also - I didn’t know wether to leave Sum Ting’s name like that or not, so I just used her real name, but she is a cisgirl in the fic. Hope that kind of makes sense.

Thanks to Frey and Grapefruit for beta-ing, and to Winter for brainstorming with me. Love y'all. Hit me up at @chachkisalpaca if ya want!

Chapter One: Crisis Chocolates.

One of Cheryl’s biggest prides was her dance studio. She’d worked her whole life to be where she was, and nothing made her happier than seeing her students become skilled dancers.

She especially had a soft spot for the little ones; she taught ballet classes on the kids, Wednesdays and Fridays and it was the highlight of her week. They were always full of imagination and stories to tell, brightening up her days by giving her a good laugh.

Another class had gone by, and Cheryl was trying to get the kids to behave while they waited in the main hall for their parents to pick them up. They were all around her, telling her about their holidays and what they’d done. She listened to every single one of them with a smile and replied as enthusiastically as she could.

She loved her children, and her children loved her back.

“Miss Cheryl! Miss Cheryl!” One of the kids called, tugging on her skirt. Cheryl turned to see Lily, secretly one of her favourite students.

“Yes, love?”

“Mommy told me to tell you she can’t pick me up, so my auntie will come instead.” Lily stretched her arm looking for something in her backpack and pulled out a note. “Here.”

Cheryl read the note trying to not roll her eyes. She knew Lily’s aunt, but they weren’t on the best of terms. She nodded with a forced smile and soon Lily was back to chatting with her friends.

She took a deep breath and swore she wouldn’t let Vivienne’s presence affect her. She’d just come, pick her niece up, and then she’d be gone. It wasn’t that big of a deal, right?

Cheryl tried not to worry about it, until the kids started leaving, one by one, and at some point Lily was the only left and Vivienne was nowhere to be found.

She sat next to Lily on the floor by the entrance and let the little girl ramble about her dolls and how she’d performed an important surgery on one of them, and now missed playing with her, but she obviously had to rest to get better. Cheryl listened to all of her occurrences with a big smile, forgetting, for a moment, that it was closing time and Vivienne still hadn’t arrived.

Finally, she appeared bursting through the door and trying to catch her breath, looking as if she’d ran all the way from her office to the studio.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” She breathed out, leaning on the nearest wall to catch her breath.

Lily stood up with a jump and Cheryl followed her, adjusting her bag and searching for her keys in her pocket.

“I’m so sorry, Lily love, but I had a very important meeting. You think you can forgive me if I let you eat candy before dinner?” She offered and Lily nodded, beaming, and then Vivienne’s attention fell on Cheryl. “Thank you for staying with her, I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Don’t worry, I love this small bean, so it really wasn’t any problem.” She winked at Lily and they followed her out of the studio. “I will have to talk with your mom when she picks you up on Friday, though, if you’re planning to be Fairy number one at the Valentine’s Day Show.”

Cheryl turned to see them once the doors were locked and saw Vivienne pursing her lips, shoulders tense and her grip on Lily’s shoulders a bit too tight.

“Yeah, actually, since Lily’s mama’s got a raise in her job I’m gonna be picking her up from now on. I thought my sister had already told you…?” Cheryl blinked many times before she acknowledged what Vivienne had just said.

“Oh.” Was all that came out of her mouth. She chewed on the inside of her cheek until she rearranged the thoughts running in her mind. “That’s perfectly fine, so I’ll just talk with you on Friday about the cost of Lily’s costume and you can tell Emma. All right?” Vivienne nodded, her grip on Lily loosening.

“All right,” Vivienne repeated, taking Lily’s hand, clearly wanting to escape from the conversation, but she turned around one last time, much for Cheryl’s annoyance. “By the way, I’m sorry I never texted you back. I’m… Still thinking about it. See you on Friday.” She and Lily waved at her, leaving Cheryl frozen in her spot with a blind anger taking over her, as she saw the pair walk down the street.

*

Cheryl didn’t usually drink in the middle of the week when she had to get up the next morning for work. But this was a special occasion - she tried to convince herself as she poured glass after glass, until the wine bottle was half empty.

Why had she been stupid enough to think it’d be a good idea to mess with one of her students’ emotionally unavailable relative? And the worst part was that she never even planned it, never intended to actually make a move on Lily’s hot aunt — it just happened that they frequented the same bar and drunk Cheryl wasn’t the same as sober Cheryl.

It just happened, and six months after spending their first night together, Cheryl very much regretted it.

She sighed as she ate what she liked to call her “crisis chocolates” saved up for moments like these. Tomorrow she’d for sure regret it, but right now there wasn’t anything else that could cheer her up.

Well, except the marathon of El Bahiano, her favourite soap opera. It was from Argentina and the dubbing was awful - much like the acting - but it was Cheryl’s biggest guilty pleasure. Besides, it had drama and lesbians, so what else could she ask for?

Cheryl was finishing another glass of wine when the soap opera took yet another turn, and before she noticed one of her favourite characters was throwing herself off the cliff. Familiar “To Be Continued” credit rolled around and a voice told the viewers to tune in next week for the big finale. Cheryl spit out her drink.

“What? How dare they end the marathon there?! I need to know what happened with Lorena!” She exclaimed offended, trying to blindly reach for the remote with her free hand, as she kept cursing the TV. Then, she heard a loud crash and the place got significantly darker.

Cheryl froze, slowly turning to where there once was a lamp lightning up the living room. She left the wine glass on the table and cursed herself, stumbling to look for the broomstick.

Definitely it had been a bad idea to drink a whole bottle alone — it had been a bad idea to drink, period.

With an annoyed groan, she made the mental note to swing by Vinegar and Bo’s shop tomorrow to buy a new lamp.

*

“Hey girls, is anyone here?” Cheryl exclaimed as she wandered around the antique shop.

Antique Shock was owned by two of Cheryl’s best friends, Vera - commonly referred to as Vinegar - and her girlfriend Bo. They’ve had it since they graduated from college, both girls thinking it was a great use for their history diploma — besides, they loved vintage things, so why not?

Cheryl hung out at the shop all the time when she was just beginning with her dance studio and she was still learning how to cope with the attention span of her five year old students. Nowadays she barely went to visit them every other week, but they were still pretty close.

“I thought I could smell bad spray tan,” said Vinegar from the counter. Cheryl smiled as she approached her, blowing air kisses at her. “How are you, baby? It’s been a minute since I’ve seen you around.”

“Oh, please, I was here before Christmas, don’t be so dramatic.” She looked around, trying to find something resembling a lamp. “So, yesterday I may or may not have gone into a drunk rampage ‘cause—”

“Oh, please tell me it didn’t have to do with Vivienne or El Bahiano,” Vinegar cut her off and Cheryl rolled her eyes.

“Y’know, I hate when you think all of my drunk rampages are either because of Vivienne or El Bahiano,” she began, Vinegar cocked a sceptical brow. “This time, it was both.” Vinegar let out a loud laugh and Cheryl folded her arms offended.

“What happened and what did you break this time?” She inquired with an amused smile and Cheryl rolled her eyes.

In all the years Vinegar had known Cheryl, she came to know that drinking when she was pissed was a tendency of hers, getting clumsier with each drink. Vinegar could say without an ounce of doubt that during Cheryl’s early years as a dance teacher she’d helped pay their bills with the amount of things she’d broken in her flat as a result of this.

“Lorena throws herself off a cliff! And they dared to end the marathon right there! I might just sue them, honestly,” she said with a tone so exasperated you’d think she was talking about real life events. Vinegar laughed again. “Ugh, I’m not in the mood for talking about Vivienne right now, like, I even ate all of my crisis chocolates, so figure out yourself if what she did pissed me off. I can tell you I need a new lamp, though.”

Vinegar pursed her lips and disappeared behind a door for a moment, coming back with a dusty box.

“We got these around Christmas, I think. We planned on fixing some of them, but we totally forgot since we have our hands full with this wardrobe we bought a few days ago,” she commented while opening it, pulling some lamps out.

The majority were tiny and had cracks here and there, some lacked a shade or a spotlight; overall pretty minor stuff. Cheryl peeked inside the box to see if there were any left, and she found one pretty weird looking.

“What about this one, V? How much?” She asked taking out the lamp. The base resembled the figure of a woman with her arms up, the paint was blue and the shade was a bit worn-off, but other than that, it looked fine.

“Huh, weird, I don’t remember this one,” Vinegar commented, lips slightly pursed. “Fiveteen pounds.”

“Deal.”

*

Cheryl sighed in relief when she got home, wanting more than ever to take a warm bath, eat dinner, and go to sleep.

She put some leftovers from her lunch in the microwave and sunk into the couch, looking over her unopened texts. Most of them were from the parents of her students, a couple from her friends, and one from her sister, asking if she was coming home for the weekend. A tiny part of her was disappointed there wasn’t a text from Vivienne — just a tiny bit.

A weird noise came from somewhere in the apartment, taking over her attention. Cheryl cocked a brow, looking around. She saw the box where the lamp she’d just bought was and remembered she had to clean it, the weird noise suddenly forgotten.

Cheryl took it out and wiped the dust off with an old cloth, the lamp quickly getting a shiny blue tone. She smiled, pleased with how it looked and turned around to check on her dinner.

Suddenly, there was a cloud of white smoke and she started coughing desperately, not being able to breathe. She turned back around and instead of the lamp she saw a woman sitting calmly on the table. Cheryl nearly had a heart attack.

“Shit, I forgot this was part of the deal,” the stranger said, waving a hand, trying to dissipate the smoke.

Once it cleared out, Cheryl was able to see her. The woman was short, with long orange hair pulled up in a ponytail, milky white skin and the weirdest clothes she’d seen in a while.

She turned around, almost as if she was looking for something, and locked eyes with Cheryl. Her eyes were as blue as the ocean.

“Who are you?” Cheryl managed to ask. The stranger hopped off the table and gave Cheryl a smile.

“My name’s Blu without an E, and I’m the genie of the lamp. I’m here to grant you three wishes.”

[let-me-breathe3]

What We Leave Behind

So I decided not to do nanowrimo this year (when november 1st happened and I did absolutely nothing) but I thought it would be fun to share this short story I’ve been working on for a while. 

Its based on the myth of Pandora’s Box. I hope you like it!

The grey shine in the sky above me was a mockery of real sunlight, but it was enough to wake me up. I winced in pain - not from the light, but a stinging pain in my left hand. I rolled my head to the side to look at it. There was a rose lying in my palm. It had grown from the ground, it’s roots wrapping around my wrist. It’s thorns were lodged in my palm. The base of the flower was bright crimson, but the colour bleached the further it got from me; the tips were completely white. 

I awkwardly pushed myself into a sitting position, careful not to move the hand too much. I began to remove the flower. I started by tearing away the roots. It wasn’t difficult; they had sprouted from a crack in the ground. It was too dry to hold them properly. Removing the thorns was harder. I bit my lip as I pulled the rose out of my hand. I curled my hand into a fist to ignore the beads of blood rolling down my skin.

I ran my clean hand over my aching back, dislodging the small rocks embedded in my skin. My hand came away covered in dust. I wiped it down on my front. It was an unfortunate consequence of sleeping on the ground, but better than the alternative. The night in this place was starless. Every time the light faded, I faced the same choice; stumble through the complete black and hope I didn’t run into one of the monsters, or lie down where I stood and pray that none of them stumbled upon me. I made the same choice every time. 

I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my head on my knees, wishing I hadn’t woken up here. The lands were ravaged, devoid of all life. The dry, cracked ground was bleached of colour. Debris was scattered across the ground as far as I could see, the remnants of something great. The emptiness was all there really was. I walked every day, trying to find a way out. I had lost count of the days I was in this wasteland. Before, I was in a barren forest. The trees were tall enough to throw shade over the land, but they had no leaves, no blossoms, no fruits. The bark had peeled away, leaving only grey husks. Worse, still, were the bodies that were rotting on the forest floor. When the monsters fell, none came back for them, unless it was to tear into the already rotting flesh. If there was one upside to the wasteland, it was that it was easier to run if I needed too. In the forest I was always one misstep away from a brutal death. 

Closing my eyes was a tiny refuge. I could imagine green fields that stretched over the horizon. I could feel the soft grass wrapping around my arms as I laid down. When I woke, there would be no rose thorns; instead, there would be wildflowers. I would wake with the glory of the rising sun. The red of dawn against the pale blue would be enough to bring tears to my eyes. I would welcome the rain. I would tilt my head back, and laugh for the storm clouds. I would dance to the music of thunder. 

Claws dragged against rock, and my eyes flew open. My heartbeat kicked out of control. I turned slowly, taking deep steady breaths. I grabbed the nearest stone. It wasn’t much, but at least I wasn’t completely defenceless. 

The monster was hunched over an oddly large boulder. From what I could tell, its skin was grey, but it was stained dark brown from old blood. Its back was spiny. I cringed as the monster moved and the skin stretched over its bones. It had long thin arms, which ended in disproportionately large claws. They were pure black, as if they had been carved from obsidian. Dust was gathering on their tips as the monster scratched at the rock and the ground. Whatever its intentions, it hadn’t noticed me yet. Trying not to panic, I pushed myself to my feet. 

Rock scraped against rock, and I froze. The monster stilled, before snapping its head up. Its grey face was covered in dark spines. Its nose was as flat as a snake’s, but its ears were long and pointed. I stared into its cold black eyes. It let out a low growl. I swallowed my fear, and took a step back. That was a mistake. 

The monster screamed - a blood-curdling, harrowing cry - and pounced at me. I threw the rock, and it hit the creature squarely in the face. I ran, not bothering to see if the monster had stayed down. Only a few seconds passed before I could hear it growling behind me. I didn’t dare turn, but I knew it wasn’t far behind. 

It crashed into me, knocking me to the ground. It scratched at my arms, snarled in my ear. I tried to push it off, to no avail. I scrambled away from it, but it pinned my arms to the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut, and waited for the end. 

But the end didn’t come. 

Instead, the monster peeled itself away from me. I sat up, confused. 

In front of me, there was a man in a long black robe.

*

He had tan skin and golden eyes. He looked young, but I knew he wasn’t. I blinked slowly. In all the time I’d been trapped here, I’d never seen anyone like me. And yet, there he was, as solid and real as the monster that had just tried to kill me. The monster in question had slunk over to the man’s side. A chill ran down my spine as he ran a hand over its head. As if it were some sort of pet. He tilted his head. 

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice as gentle as an ocean breeze. 

“Who are you?” I asked, rather than answering. I knew I had a name, but I’d forgotten it long ago. The man smiled. 

“I am Death.” Oh. Maybe the monster hadn’t retreated after all. Maybe this was the end. “Are you alright?” 

“I think you’d fare better answering that question yourself,” I said. “Does the monster answer to you?” 

His eyes hardened, and his smile faded. He removed his robe, and I flinched. 

There were dozens of monsters clinging to him. Some of them looked like animals, some looked like hybrids, and others looked like nothing at all. A green and sickly ghoul with hollow grey eyes was wrapped around his left leg. One that was only white skin and bones was hanging around his neck. I wondered how I hadn’t seen its arms before. Another was a rotting corpse, clinging to his waist. It was a surprise he was standing upright, with all of them weighing on him. A few of them took an interest in me, but they didn’t come near. The monster that attacked me handed Death’s robe back to him. It swallowed the monsters, as if they were nothing but shadows. 

“They are drawn to me,” said Death, coldly. “I don’t know why, and I don’t enjoy it, but they don’t harm me, so I put up with it. For now.”

I frowned. “If you’ll fight them later, why wait?”

“Because here, it appears there is nowhere else for them to go. When we escape, they will leave. I think.” 

I straightened. “Do you know of a way out of here?” 

“I have heard rumours, whispers, of a gate. A gate waiting to be opened.” My heart stuttered. A laugh bubbled through my chest. There was a way out of this place. If I could find it, I could leave and forget about this hell. 

“Do you know where it is?” Death shook his head.

“We could look for it together,” he offered. I considered it, but I had survived this long by avoiding the monsters. They may not harm him, but they did harm me. I couldn’t risk being near him if he attracted them. I shook my head. “Very well. If I make it to the gate, I will see you there.” 

He bowed his head in farewell, and walked away, in the direction I had come from. I watched him until he was a shadow on the grey horizon, before I turned to start my own search. 

*

After three days of walking, the wasteland stopped - with a cliff. It stretched across as far as I could see. My heart sank. I had three choices ahead of me. 

One - turn back, and find another way out of the wasteland. That would take days, and there was no guarantee I would find something new. The only likely option was I would find the forest again. I never wanted to go back there. I may never even make it out again. I could end up spending eternity wandering the lifeless land. Or be struck down by a monster searching for the gate. 

Two - walk along the cliff edge, and wish for another way down, or another way out of the wasteland. Walk until I realised it was futile and was faced with another set of bad decisions. There could be another way down at some point, but it was just as likely that I found something worse. Even more likely, knowing this place and my luck. 

Three - scale the cliff. 

I grimaced, and peered over the cliffside. It was a treacherous drop. All I could see beneath was fog. There could be anything below - or nothing. I glanced over my shoulder. There were no good options. Each had a multitude of risks and dangers. But, looking down, there was opportunity for something new. I sighed heavily, and prayed the unknown was better than the known. 

I sat on the edge, and gently eased myself down. My feet reached out for footholds. My left foot touched on something, and I carefully rested myself on it. I twisted, gripping the cliff’s face as hard as I could. Slowly, but surely, I began climbing down. 

When my legs were weak, my hands were sore and my aching arms were shaking with the effort to hold on, the sky started to darken. I peered down, but there was no sign of ground. A cry tore through the growing darkness. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Fear burned in my throat. My breathing quickened. I should never have tried to scale this damned wall. My grip on the rocks weakened. My foot slipped. I let out a yelp, but managed to find my footing again. I leaned my head against the cliffside. Blinking tears and dust out of my eyes, I attempted to clear my mind. I hadn’t run into any monsters since meeting Death, and I’d made it this far. Climbing would be hard enough in the dark, without terror clouding my mind. I took three deep breaths, steeled my nerves, and continued my descent. 

As it grew darker, I relied on my instincts and senses more. I fell into a simple rhythm. Though there were more monstrous calls, I ignored them, focusing only on my climb. I had to reach the ground soon. I had to. 

Right? 

As exhaustion tugged on my eyelids, and I sincerely believed my limbs were about to drop off, the darkness began to fade. The light was brighter than it had ever been. I almost smiled upon seeing it. I glanced down, and whatever joy I had vanished. There was still no sign of the ground. 

A soft groan echoed below me. I tensed, but continued climbing. It wasn’t like the violent shrieks of the monsters. It was gentle, almost peaceful. 

Rocks gave way to sand. I didn’t have time to think before I was sliding down, plummeting to whatever lay beneath. I screamed. My entire body burned as it scraped against the rough sand. My feet slammed against something hard, sending a shock up my spine. I crumpled to my knees. I gasped for breath. I was alive. By some miracle, I had survived, and made it to the ground. 

The fog wasn’t as thick as it seemed from above. I could see quite far ahead of me, but for the first time since I’d been here, I couldn’t see the sky. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or afraid. I heard that gentle moan again - louder this time. There were shadows shifting in the mist, but they didn’t come close. I ventured forwards. 

The further I walked, the more the ground reminded me of the wasteland. It was flat, lifeless and seemingly endless. It was colder, though, and the ground was softer. 

When night came, it was sudden. I considered wandering through the night, but in the darkness, the fog was far more ominous. The gentle calls were replaced with scratching and scuttling. I felt something brush against my leg, and gave up. I laid down to sleep. 

*

I blinked sleep out of my eyes. I tried to sit up, but found my arms tied to the ground. They were chained with seaweed, this time. At least it was less painful than rose thorns. I struggled out of my bonds, and continued my journey. 

My mind drifted to the gate as I walked. I wondered what it would look like. I imagined a grand, ornate gate, towering above everything. It would stand out against the bleak surroundings, and when it opened, warm sunlight would wash over the land. For a moment, I saw this world coming back to life. I saw the wasteland turning green, a lush forest - an ocean. When I blinked, that world disappeared, and all I could see was the huge skeleton a few feet ahead of me. I shivered, but there was nothing I could do. I walked around it. 

Doubt crept into my mind. I was trusting the word of a stranger. A stranger called Death. He said he’d heard whispers - those must have come from other monsters. If they were to be trusted, I may as well have stayed put when I first woke up here. And even if these whispers were true, all of the monsters were heading for the gate too. This journey was towards everything I had been running from. 

I paused. Far ahead, there was a faint glow in the mist. I forgot all my fears and doubts and broke into a run. The fog thinned the further I ran. The light burned brighter. 

I skidded to a halt. The light was coming from a cave. Now that I was close, I knew it was firelight. I could hear roars from inside.  The monsters had gathered. I was in the right place, that much was clear. Whether or not I should go further was another matter entirely. 

“You made it.” I whirled around. Death was standing behind me. “I’m glad.” I nodded. 

“Me too,” I said. He held out a hand. I didn’t take it. 

“Aren’t you going in?” he asked. I opened my mouth, and shut it again. There was no answer I could give. Death shrugged leisurely. “Suit yourself.” 

He strolled past me. The monsters barely reacted, too distracted by the gate. I clenched my fists, and marched in. 

My heartbeat slowed. I had never seen this many monsters, nor been so close to any that weren’t trying to kill me. Even more were slinking in, from tunnels in every direction. They were climbing over the walls, screeching and yelling, or feeding the huge roaring fire in the middle of the cave. The ground shook with their movement. 

The gate was above. It was completely different to what I had imagined. It was circular, simple. The only patterns it had were made with claws. Monsters trying to break out. It must open from the outside. 

Please open, I thought. Please. 

The gate twisted slightly, and stopped. For a moment, silence rang through the cave. The monsters were frozen in anticipation. I held my breath. 

The gate twisted again. This time, it kept twisting. The noise resumed, louder than before. It didn’t bother me. Nothing could, because sunlight - real, beautiful sunlight - was seeping into the cave. It was more perfect than I remembered. It was warmth and happiness and safety. I grinned. It washed over my face and I laughed.

The gate - more like a lid - was lifted away. I shielded my eyes from the brightness. 

When I lowered my arms, the monsters were pouring out, any way they could. Some grew wings and shot out faster than I could blink. Some floated towards the light, or climbed and jumped out. Some simply vanished. They were free. So was I. 

But as I watched them all disappear, I didn’t move. I clung to the nearest wall, and stared at the hole in the roof of the cave. I shook my head. I couldn’t go. 

“Changed your mind?” I jumped at Death’s voice. 

“Yes,” I said. He frowned. 

“Why?” 

“Because I remember my name.” It had returned to me with the sun. “I am Hope.” In the corner of my eye, I saw him smile.

“Then surely you will be needed, on the other side,” he said. 

“No.” I faced him. “No, because on the other side, the world may as well be new. There is hope abound. The future needs it, but only if the past is bleak.” 

“I’m not sure I understand.” 

I smiled sadly. “It is not just how we go forward that matters - it is what we leave behind. And what we have left behind needs me - needs Hope. Outside will have me too, because they will know that Hope will never abandon that which needs it most.” 

Above, a shadow grew. The gate was closing. The prison would be shut once more. Death nodded slowly. 

“Then this is goodbye, Hope.” 

I bowed my head. “Goodbye, Death.” 

He didn’t fly or jump or vanish in the blink of an eye. He faded into the shade. A soft thud sounded through the cave. The sunlight was gone - the gate twisted shut. 

*

I left the cave from a different tunnel than I’d come in from. Though I must have spent days wandering through the tunnels, it was never that dark. When I slept, I was at peace. When I woke, I was unafraid. 

But glory came when I ventured outside. The sky was no longer grey, but a bright and brilliant blue. The ground was not dry or dead, but covered in soft green grass. I tilted my head up and laughed. I danced, spinning in circles. I rolled in the grass, pressing my face against the earth. And when I walked away, I left wildflowers in my footsteps. 

[kyokajiro-imagines]

The league of Disney Villains part 2:

A/n: this is really long but totally worth reading!

[In the same industrial shed as the last part]

Hawks: *Is standing on pile of crates- The rest of the league are standing around*

Hawks: ALRIGHT! Votes are in for the cast places and scene recreations we’ll be doing from our first movie- Cinderella!

Shigaraki: The *bleep*.

Dabi: I second that notion.

Toga: Can I stab someone in it?!

Hawks: No-

Mr Compress: I’m looking forward to this- We should have fun.

Hawks: That’s the spirit!

Spinner: I refuse to waste my limited life on this- *Twice pokes him*

Twice: If you voted for who I did then this should be fun! > If you didn’t vote for them then this will totally suck.

Shigaraki: If any of you morons voted for me as the princess I’ll disintegrate-

Hawks: STOP! Come on guys, we’re having fun! I’ll announce the rolls.

Dabi: Kill me now.

Hawks: As the fairy godmother- SHIGARAKI. *Is trying to hold in his laughter as everyone howls with laughter- Twice and Spinner high five. Shigaraki looks lost, angry and confused all at once*

Toga: PLEASE CAN I STAB SOMEONE?!

Shigaraki: Why is that relevant?!

Toga: It just is-

Hawks: NEXT! As the Prince- Twice!

Twice: GET READY FOR THE MOST CHARMING, MOST CAPTIVATING, MOST DEVISHLY HANDSOME- > This whole thing is a moronic- I won’t act for this!

Spinner: HAHA!

Mr Compress: Oh dear who’s the unlucky main?

Hawks: I don’t know- *Pulls paper out to check- Pauses, tries not to laugh, fails- Spends next 5 minutes on the ground crying from laughter*

Dabi: You right there?

Hawks: Fine- Alright- *Gets up* Ok- Our main star of this recreation as Cinderella is- *Covers mouth, winces and proceeds to stop laughter*

Hawks: Dabi.

*Everyone howls with laughter- Shigaraki joins and slaps the floor, accidentally disintegrating part of it

Shigaraki: Revenge has never been sweeter.

Dabi: THE HELL DID YOU DO THIS?!

Toga: Oh my gosh! You’re gonna looks so pretty! *Pulls out knife*

Twice: Aww c’mon. > IGNORE HIS PLACEMENT AND STAB HIM!

Toga: ESPECIALLY AFTER I STAB YOU!

Dabi: *Holds up cross- Hisses* Get away from me psycho-

Hawks: *Ignores the chaos beginning*

Hawks: As the step sisters we have Toga and Spinner, Mr compress is stage hand 1

[10 minutes later]

Hawks: Alright- *Looks up* Is everyone ready?

Dabi: NO! I will cremate you, you little- *Is using flames as defence against Toga*

Toga: *Giggling as she dodges* This is fun!!!

Twice: *Cheerleading* Stay alive Dabi!!! > Get im’ Toga!

Shigaraki: This is stupid.

Spinner: 60 bucks if Toga doesn’t stab Dabi in the next 10 minutes?

Shigaraki: Hell yeah- I’m in. I bet he does.

Mr Compress: I place a bet of 70 that Hawks stops them-

Shigaraki: Higher, old man.

Mr Compress: 100 dollars- If I’m right you both pay up?

Shigaraki: Better.

Spinner: Deal!

Hawks: Alright- You guy’s continue your bet and I’ll go get costumes!

Dabi: *Dabi runs past- His arms bleeding and Toga is slipping after him* Holy *Bleep* she stabbed me in the arm!

Toga: STABBY STAB STAB!!!

Shigaraki: Haha! Pay up morons-

Hawks: What measurements are you? I need to know for your costume.

Shigaraki: Guess chickenman-

Hawks: Says the future fairy godmother.

Shigaraki: *Taking coins from Spinner and Compress* At least I’m going to be a rich godmother!

Dabi: What the hell?!

#Take 1- Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo

Hawks: Alright- Everyone In positions! Handyman, you’ll run in when Dabi dramatically throws himself on to the nearest object and sobs about his problems!

Shigaraki: *Is in the fairy godmother costume- Bow and all. His hands are still on his body and face*

Shigaraki: Are you aware that after this I’m going to throw you off a cliff Lion King style?

Hawks: Ha- I can fly~ *Spreads out wings, Dabi whistles and Toga seems to be taking notes*

Shigaraki: Then I’ll throw you into the nearest meat grinder.

Spinner: Woah- Is there a need to do that?!

Twice: *Dressed as the prince but still wearing his mask*

Twice: THERE IS ALWAYS A NEED MY PRISTINE SCALY FRIEND- EVEN IF ITS HIDDEN IN THE DARKNESS OF THE NIGHT AND THE SHINING EBONY OF THE STARS! > There’s always a reason idiot.

Dabi: Ugh- Why are you talking like that?

Twice: Whatever do you mean my fair Cinderella? > Cinderella? More like lady cremation hehe < I talk as a prince of my standard should- My vocal presentation should be as strong as a dragon and as smooth as honey! Now come, take my hand! > Don’t do that- I don’t even want to do this.

Dabi: What. The. Hell. I refuse.

Mr Compress: Fabulous language my friend- Keep up the act! *Bows- Hawks claps*

Hawks: Alright, Cinderella - or lady cremation- Go get into the dress.

Dabi: No.

Shigaraki: I’m in this damn cloak, get into your dress.

Dabi: I refuse- *Toga runs in*

Toga: YEET! *Throws destroyed hot pink dress at him- Runs up to Hawks, high fives him and runs behind Twice*

Hawks: Fine- Take of your shirt and put that on. *Toga pulls out notebook, writes notes*

Dabi: The heck- No! *Picks it up* This isn’t even a proper shirt! *Throws it at Twice who catches it*

Hawks: Do it or Twice will clone Toga and leave you in a room with 10 of her. Doors locked, no escape.

Dabi: *Looks angrily at dress then Toga several times- sighs*

Dabi: Fine. Give me the *bleep* dress. *Snatches it from Twice- Storms off into other room*

Hawks: Alright- Here’s a pouch full of glitter and a wand~ *Passes both to Shigaraki- The wand is a stick*

Hawks: Wave your wand, do the lines we practiced and glitter bomb Dabi. Then Spinner will fix his outfit to the gown. Everyone ready?

Dabi: *Storms in- Is in shredded pink dress* Why the hell did you spend money on this?!

Toga: He didn’t- I stabbed it for him!

Hawks: Normally I waste my money on sparkly jewellery- This is way better!

Dabi: Wait what-

Shigaraki: Back on track hot topic and chickenman- I don’t want to be here all day.

Hawks: Right! IN POSITIONS!

(Five minutes later- A rock had been put on top of fake lawn and a forest backdrop had been hung on the wall. A spinner clone was hanging from the roof by string and holding a flashlight which was being used as a spotlight- All the lights were turned on. Dabi was standing near the rock and to the side out of the set was Shigaraki and a Spinner holding a large gown and clear flip flops- The conversation for those?

Hawks: Sorry, I could only find these- Can you make special and unique footwear for Dabi out of these?

Shigaraki: What do you want me to do? Throw glitter on them?

Hawks: Sounds good- Do Whatever you want.

Hawks and the rest of the league were sitting on crates)

Hawks: And action~

Dabi: *Deadpan* Oh dear my dress, my life is ruined just like it, I’ll never get my *bleep* happy ending, life isn’t fair- *Puts hand on head and throws self on rock* Sob sob sad noises whatever- My life is terrible-

*Glitter explosion, Shigaraki walks in*

Shigaraki: Stop Crying and get over it- I can get you to the ball.

Dabi: My is that- Who are you oh ugly mystical lady.

Shigaraki: Your damn fairy godmother- *Swishes wand- His face is blank and he looks dead inside* Now get up. Blah blah blah- pumpkins, horses and yadda yadda~

Hawks: *Gestures to Toga who starts playing music- gestures to Shigaraki who Inhales, growling*

Shigaraki: Stupid chicken- *inhales again* Salagadoola mechicka boola- Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo- (Proceeds to walk around Dabi and swish his wand, performing the song Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo- finishes*

Dabi: *Trying not to laugh as Shigaraki flips him off, hitting in the head with a wand*

Shigaraki: Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo. *Throws glitter on Dabi and waved his hand* Magic happiness and cringe- Be back before midnight blah blah blah or else.

Dabi: Hey- *Is somehow in Cinderella ball gown with flip flops on- Two of Shigaraki’s hands are on each shoe- they’re his wrist ones. Looks like there were no glass slippers available*

Dabi: THE *bleep*?!

Shigaraki: Manners you ungrateful brat- *Hits Dabi with wand again- the rest of the league are trying not to laugh* What do you think?

Dabi: You’re suppose to be hitting less and rhyming more- *Is hit with wand again*

Shigaraki: Shut up, I do what I want. Now go- Be free. Preferably hit as many pedestrians on you’re way there- *Shoves a confused and outraged Dabi off set*

Shigaraki: *Walks to the centre of the stage- bows and throws glitter. Runs off*

Everyone: Silence.

Hawks: Oh my gosh. I can’t believe I actually got to witness that- *Bursts out laughing along with everyone else. Dabi and Shigaraki start growling at each other- It isn’t that intimidating due to their fabulous outfits*

Mr Compress: Now, now, time for the next scene!

#Take 2- Its midnight!

Hawks: Annnd action! *Crates have been stacked like stairs and a carpet has been stuck over them- a platform is at the top and Dabi is with Twice. Dabi is fidgeting angrily in his dress*

Toga: *Whispers* Stab him- stab him-

Twice: Come on Dabi- Just leap into my arms and dance! > Don’t- I can’t be seen with you like that~

Dabi: I got into the dress, am wearing dead people and am now being forced to re-enact one of the most annoying scenes of all time.

Twice: Like this- *Attempts to Grabs Dabi’s hand- He jumps out of the way and points angrily, picking up dress*

Dabi: *Bleep* NO.

Twice: Here, if you can’t dance I’ll guide you- *Dabi set hands on fire growls and crouches gremlin style*

Twice: Jesus- > We’re going to get killed by the mogwai over here! < I KNOW! I’ll just clone you Dabi and show that clone what we’re doing! Now prepare yourself my fair lady cremation, for I shall show you my love! > KILL ME NOW. *Makes Dabi clone- It’s just a normal Dabi, not a Cinderella Dabi. They look confused*

Clone Dabi: What the hell? Aren’t we suppose to be at the-

Twice: Shhh my precious Dabi- *Puts a finger over his lip, gestures to the stairs* We’re Disney now! > Run. *True Dabi watches near the edge of the balcony, observing*

Clone Dabi: What’s happening? And don’t touch me-

[TBC...]

[lothiriel84]

All This And Heaven Too

And the words are all escaping me And coming back all damaged And I would put them back in poetry If I only knew how, I can't seem to understand it

A Good Omens ficlet. Aziraphale/Crowley. Warning for implied/referenced self-harm.

He says it first – six thousand years, that’s how long he’s been praying for Crowley not to say it out loud, and now that it’s safe for him to do so, it just doesn’t seem to occur him to.

He says it, and Crowley smiles at him – warm, fond, and unambiguously wistful, of all things. “Course you do,” he nods, and helps himself to another glass of wine. Two hours and plenty of bottles later, he’s standing helplessly on the pavement in front of his bookshop, watching as Crowley gets into his car and drives off; and not for the first time in his long existence, he wonders if he’s been doing it all wrong, again.

.

They’re having a picnic at the bottom of the cliffs at Birling Gap, in the South Downs, when he says it again. Crowley’s eyes are trained on the horizon, his smile ever so slightly frayed around the edges this time. “You’re an angel, that’s what you do,” he states, matter-of-factly, throwing his half-eaten apple in the general direction of the seagull lurking at their feet. “Comes with the job description, and all that.”

The seagull snatches the apple, struggles a little to keep hold of it with its beak. Aziraphale thinks of the first humans venturing out of Eden and into the unknown, with nothing but the aid of his flaming sword, and wonders if they ever felt as inadequate as he does right now.

.

Next time he says it, they’ve only just finished moving to their new cottage in the outskirts of Peacehaven, East Sussex. (Aziraphale still can’t quite decide whether that’s an oddly apt name for their shared retirement spot, such as it is, or something more along the lines of cruel irony.)

“I wish you would stop saying that,” Crowley shakes his head, somewhat tiredly, running the tap to fill the kettle that’s been sitting unused in his flat for nigh on three decades. “Teacups are in that box, I believe,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, and Aziraphale won’t break down and make a scene right there on the doorstep of their newly decorated living room, but it’s a near thing.

.

They’re out stargazing on top of the cliffs at Beachy Head, the few inches separating them a wider distance than the light years of empty space stretching out in between stars and galaxies.

“I always thought you’d say it first,” he whispers, halfway between defeated and quietly resigned; somehow, it’s like they’re standing at the End of the World all over again, only it’s the other way round between them this time, and he supposes he’s had it coming all along.

Listen to yourself. (Don’t make me say it.) I don’t even like you. (I do.)

“I did,” Crowley sighs, his voice so soft he can barely hear it. “As good as.”

He closes his eyes, a single tear running down his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re good, Angel.”

And he wants to believe it, he really does, but this feels like the closest thing to an outright lie Crowley has ever told him, ever since the Beginning.

.

The bookshop is sitting all around him like the empty shell of its former self. Again, he tries not to think of the twisted irony of it all.

It’s better this way, he reminds himself, and quite firmly at that. There’s only a finite number of times you can let down a fellow entity before they give up on you, doesn’t matter how selfless your intentions. (Not always entirely selfless, but most of the time, at any rate.)

He’s still got his books, so there’s that. He selects one from the nearest shelf, reaches to switch on his reading lamp, only to remember there hasn’t been any electricity in his bookshop for almost a year. He could miracle it, of course, but somehow, it doesn’t feel right, not anymore.

Candle it is, then. There’s a box of matches buried at the back of his desk drawer, and he strikes one, lighting the candle in one fluid move.

(Crowley wouldn’t want him to use candles, not after the bookshop burned down. Still, Crowley’s not here, and Aziraphale finds himself staring with sudden fascination at the burning match, flame licking the tip of his thumb and forefinger before flickering out.)

He strikes another match, book lying forgotten as the light of the candle slowly dies out.

.

“I’m going to ask exactly once, Angel, and it’d better be good,” Crowley all but growls, hands still fisted in the lapels of his jacket, and he supposes he should feel mortified, or show some contrition, at the very least. “What, in Somebody’s name, did you think you were doing?”

“I – believe I wasn’t, I’m afraid. Thinking, that is.” He never wants to see Crowley this livid – and utterly, thoroughly wrecked behind his facade of righteous fury – knowing that he’s the one who caused it in the first place.

“Right.” Crowley lets go of him, takes a step back for good measure. “If this is about the fight we had three days ago,” he goes on, or attempts to, because Aziraphale’s hands are clutching at the front of his jacket – and he’s never kissed anyone before, not in the way he’s kissing Crowley now, all clumsy and hungry and alive, but in many ways, it doesn’t matter.

“I won’t say it again if you don’t want me to,” he breathes between their lips, Crowley’s eyes wide with something akin to terror, yet quite different at the same time. His sunglasses lie on the floor, where Crowley threw them as he materialised into the bookshop and smacked the smouldering match from Aziraphale’s fingers; he picks them up, presents them to their rightful owner as a peace offering of sorts. “But I don’t have a job, not anymore, and it’s never been about being an angel in the first place.”

Crowley swallows, makes to put on his glasses, then seems to think better of it. “Come home, Angel?”

They do.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Could you please do another set of HCs about meeting their femS/Os ex-boyfriend but with Bakugou, Shoto, and Hitoshi

Sure, definitely! Thank you for requesting!

Katsuki Bakugou

The only thing more fiery than his explosions are his personality so everyone around him tries to make sure they don’t piss him off in some way or another, or they’ll get blown up into another dimension.

Now, since he’s got together with his S/O who’s a real angel, at least around her, he learnt how to behave non-hostile. More or less because he can actually feel at ease around her, like he doesn’t have to constantly have his guard up or be a strong hero.

He honestly enjoys just about anything his S/O loves, be it gardening, reading, playing video games, dancing or anything of the sort, as long as it makes her happy and he gets to see it. Hell, if he feels like it, he’ll actually join her in whatever hobby she’s invested at the moment.

Her smile always made his heart skip a beat and unlike his usual condescending grins, his face actually managed to calm down, looking unusually peaceful and content.

Their date was supposed to be a a nice trip to the mountains, a place with fresh air and only nature where they could both relax, enjoy the beauty of the world and also train their Quirks as best as they could.

Everything was going fine, they stopped half-way through their hiking to their destination since they found a nice clearing where they could spar and help each other develop or better their Quirk special moves.

As she tried to practice her most effective move with Katsuki’s help, he managed to parry it and sent her flying, hitting the ground and laughing at her obvious mistake, reassuring her boyfriend that she’s okay and unharmed, when suddenly, a condescending chuckle echoed through the forest.

As Katsuki was there to help his girlfriend up, a boy around their age walked out of the forest, smirking in superiority at them.“Ehhh~? What is it, S/O? Still as weak as usual? Crying to be saved?”“What the hell are you doing here?!”“What, are you surprised to see a true hero in front of you? I can give you an autograph if you ask very nicely.”“No, no, no, no! I never wanted to see you again! Why are you literally everywhere I go?!”“Oh, you know you need me in your life. You might be messing around with this lowlife, but you know, deep down in your heart, that such a weakling like you NEEDS me!”“GO! AWAY!”

Hearing someone talk in such a degrading way to HIS lover really made Bakugou get more angry than he has ever been in his entire life (and we all know he’s always angry).

Calling her a weakling when she’s the strongest person he’s ever met? Saying that he’s a lowlife?

No.

Such a patronising jerk with a God-Complex needs to be eradicated.

With a growl full of rage, he lashed out at the jerk, throwing the most powerful explosions at him, easily overpowering him and making him run away scared with his tail between his legs.“Tsk. That fucker better not bother you again, or I might just beat him up until he goes on his knees to apologise for being such a lousy cockroach.”“Thanks for that Katsuki. I…I guess I really didn’t want to actually deal with that bastard ever again.”“You won’t have to. If he has anything in that thick skull of his, he’ll know not to mess with me or my girlfriend.”“Aww, you’re such a sweetheart! Thank you, Katsuki.”“Shush. Don’t mention it.”

She only grinned at his adorable face and hugged him tightly, finding it adorable how he actually tries to escape from her grip, even if he secretly loved the affection.

Shoto Todoroki

Sweet Todoroki loves his girlfriend with all his heart, even if he doesn’t really know how to show it really well, but bless his heart, he’s trying his best, learning and asking for advice from his older siblings.

He may not outright say it, but receiving hugs from her and her kissing his cheeks are the things he loves the most that she does, and in turn, he thinks kissing her forehead and hands are the best way to show her that he loves and respects her with every fiber in his body.

He loves intimate places where he can just relax with his S/O, just the two of them, nice and quiet, reading a book, drinking some tea and all that. He enjoys the classic, traditional Japanese things, so he’d love to take her to a nice festival where they wear pretty yukatas and there are lots of little festival-game booths and traditional food stalls.

When he sees her in her gorgeous f/c outfit, with her hair in a simple but stylish updo with the pin he gifted her on her birthday, his face becomes red as a tomato and freezes on the spot for a second, just admiring her beauty and be like “Damn, SHE is MY girlfriend and SHE is an absolute GODDESS!”

Since they’re both training to become heroes, they always manage to ace all the little games and earn lots of cool prizes, making all the stall-owners forbid them to play, much to their amusement.

As they were walking around and munching on some dangos, they hear a voice calling out for her, making her turn around confused, with the dango in her mouth.“Oh, woaw, you never lay off those sweets, do you, S/O? Its starting to show.”“Do I know you?”“What, you don’t even remember your own boyfriend?”“My boyfriend is next to me, you weirdo. He’s gorgeous and smart. You don’t seem to be like that in any way.”“So that’s why you got all dolled-up like that? To impress this…This guy?”“It’s a festival, of course I’m gonna get prettied up.”“Okay, fine, whatever you say, what do I have to do to make you come back to me and ditch this wannabe weirdo?”“I don’t know, just about run away, jump off a cliff and never bother me again?”“Wha-”“And don’t insult my boyfriend again, or there will be hell to pay.”

The ex-boyfriend tried to touch her, but Shoto was quick to grab his wrist and freeze it, glaring at the ex with everything he had, seeing fear in his eyes.“S/O’s beauty is ethereal and not for peasants like you to gaze upon. Leave now or else I will make your cells freeze and slowly die.”“Y-You freak! Let me GO!”“Only if you won’t ever bother S/O again.”“Fine, fine, I won’t!”“And take back your insults.”“Fine, I apologise! Sorry, uh, S/O!”

Shoto only nodded and used his fire-side to melt the ice, watching as the jerk ran away for his life.

The girl only kissed Todoroki’s cheek and held his hand, leading him to a nice place where they could watch the gorgeous fireworks together.“These fireworks are amazing! Thanks for taking me to this festival, I’ve never been to one before.”“The fireworks may be beautiful, but your beauty surpasses anything in this world.”“You’re such a sweetheart, Shoto.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, holding his hand tightly and looking up at the sky, enjoying every moment of that night with her beloved.

Shinsou Hitoshi

Shinsou is an amazing guy with a Quirk that makes everyone make jokes that he’d make an amazing villain, which only piss him off to no end and make him strive and struggle as much as he can and even harder to prove to the world that he’s actually a hero and wants to use his powers to save people in need.

Dating Shinsou was something neither he nor his girlfriend expected any time soon, but they are both enjoying every bit of it, finally feeling like they met someone who understands them and is there to support them through the good and bad times of life.

He’s a straightforward and pretty stoic, not caring much about the others around him, so if he wants to tell his girlfriend something, he’s going to be direct, but try not to look like a jerk or someone without emotions.

He absolutely loves cats and in some ways, he’s really cat-like himself and after his S/O realised that, she knew exactly how to make him smile and purr-

By scratching him under his chin or playing with his fluffy hair.

It really calms him down and he’ll just lay his head on her lap, at her mercy, letting her do what she wants with him.

Since they love cats so much, he’d suggest for him and his girlfriend to take care of a kitten and even volunteer to the nearest pet shelter, just to be around kittens. 

There, he could just relax with her playing with his hair and casually pet kittens and play with them.

What they weren’t aware of was that by some annoying coincidence, in that same day, her ex-boyfriend also decided to come over and look for some pet to adopt.“Well, I wasn’t expecting that. You and some creepy zombie weirdo taking care of some cats. How disgusting.”“Why…Are you here?”“What, am I not allowed to get a pet just because you are here?”“But you hate animals! My puppy was afraid of you! She would run away whenever she saw you!”“Yeah, well, your dog was absolutely STUPID! Just like you!”“Don’t you dare insult my dog! She’s an infinite times smarter than you will ever be!”“Who do you think you are trying to control my life?! You’ve always been like this! Possessive and controlling as if you’re some Queen whatever who knows it all!”“N-No, I never did that! All I ever did was try not to let you control my life! I have my own life and rules, which you never accepted!”“My way was always the better way, I was only trying to help!”“By abusing me?!”

But before he could say anything else, he just stopped abruptly, looking dead ahead.“Apologise.”“I apologise for my words, S/O.”“Now slap yourself as hard as you can.”“Is this right?”“Yes. Because you deserve it.”“I deserve it.”“Now, leave this place and never return. You won’t adopt any pets. Ever.”“I will leave now.”

The guy left in a very robot-like way, leaving her blinking in confusion, then looked at Shinsou who, despite his stoic, bored face, had rage burning in his eyes.

Realising that he used his Quirk to save her, she hugged him tightly, scratching his chin and smiling up at him like a kitten.“See, Shinsou, dear? Your Quirk is absolutely amazing! You really saved me back there.”“Hm, no big deal, really.”“It was a big deal. Shinsou, you are my hero!”“Your…Hero?”“Mhm! My very cute, kitten-like hero that I love very much.”“I guess I like how that sounds. Say it again.”“What? You like it when I say that you’re my hero~?”“Maybe I do.”“Well, you better like it, since in a few years, you’re not going to be only MY hero, but everyone’s hero!”“That’s gonna fun. But until then, being your hero is what I treasure most.”“I love you, Shinsou.”

By that time, he was already cuddling a kitten, his head on her lap, enjoying her playing with her hair and silently purring in happiness.

[khaleesirin]

Fallen

Pairing: Alto Saotome x Sheryl Nome

Anime: Macross Frontier

Summary:  They say the best way to feel the ocean is to dive into it headlong, without restriction.

One - Shot

Written to remember love.

__________________________________________________________

They say the best way to feel the ocean is to dive into it headlong, without restriction. To feel the cold rush of salt-water embracing your dry skin. He did it once, in summer of 2061, after the war is over, after he touched the limits (or unlimit) of the sky. He was not supposed to go to the beach that day, if he remembered correctly (sometimes a certain someone can make him believe that he chose to do something he didn’t initially mean to do). It was the hottest summer he experienced in their most uninhibited vacation. There, when everyone was watching the sky under their parasols, appreciating its calmness, commenting how a certain princess really does love pretty things, he only walked away, his eyes only remembering the azure of the ocean, not of the sky. He was not remembering his dream, but of a dreamlike passion he saw from someone else’s eyes. The azure of the ocean. There, in summer of 2061, he climbed the nearest beach cliff, and dove into the ocean, headlong, without restriction. It was uncharacteristic of him, to deny himself the beauty of the sky, in order to taste the salt of the sea.

But he couldn’t help it, he had fallen a long time ago.

When, exactly, did he start to fall? He heard few of his underclassmen before that it happened during the heights of war, when one of his close friends supposedly betrayed their nation, and when he needed someone else to protect. Someone who needed protecting. He couldn’t help but laughed at how wrong their assumption is, because if there is someone who needed protecting, it was him, not her. Yet, he was guilty of that as well. He told her once to stop fighting her own fights, to give up her dreams, to live a passive life, to cherish the small breaths she could breathe into this world. He told her once, through his action, that he would protect her, so she could stop pretending her strength, so she could stop pretending that her life didn’t matter. But she didn’t listen. She chose not to, because she was not pretending. There is no pretence in her strength. She would fight her fights even if it means losing her last breath, because that’s how she chose her life. No, it’s not that she didn’t listen, it’s because he didn’t want to hear. Maybe they’re right, that he had fallen in that moment. Or maybe, back then, he was already falling.

So when she chose not to be protected, when she chose to take her last breath in her own terms, he could only hold her, he could only taste the lips of her sorrow, of her valor, of her ideology. He could only asked her, if he could stay by her side. If he could be there, to follow her, because if she desired to die, he didn’t want her to die alone.

So when she asked him to give her more strength to continue her battle, a strength to believe that she was doing what she believed was right, he gave it to her. He gave himself to her, headlong. With no restriction.

Because he couldn’t help it, he had fallen.

His brother told him it was before that, it was before the betrayal, before he had to choose which side to follow. While they were walking on the hallway of his father’s household, his brother, in his peculiar way of telling people, chimed that he already chose before he decided to choose.

“For why exactly do you worry?”

For why exactly do I worry? He didn’t know, at least back then. She asked him the same question before, when he tried to sneak in to his father’s household he swore never to set foot again, a place he wouldn’t step in despite his father’s illness, because he was worried about her. He only realized later that she asked for his brother to let her stay in their mansion, exactly because she thought he wouldn’t go there. She didn’t believe that he would break his promise of his own pride, a promise he didn’t destroy even after knowing that his father is in bad condition, for her. Because he is worried about her. She didn't believe him capable of swallowing his pride, for someone else.

So when he tried to sneak in to the mansion, only to find his brother waiting for him at the end of the line, pointing out to him that he finally chose to break his promise of a lifetime, he could only disagree in silence, because his brother was right. For whatever reason, he went there. For whatever reason, showing to his father that he is the man he wanted to be didn’t matter. For whatever reason, he chose not to be the man who remained indecisive. He chose, as his bestfriend wanted, to not have any regrets in his life. He chose to look for her.

For why exactly do I worry?

But he didn’t see her.

Maybe that’s how you start falling, when you have an image of someone, an image that is made of and creates your understanding of that someone. That once the image you have of them and of what you are seeing in front of you, clash, you are shaken. Maybe you start falling when you begin to find someone by looking up, when you begin to see them as more than just. Maybe you start falling when you can’t accept that the person you look up to begin to unravel themselves, begin to distance themselves from the person who they always say they are, when they begin to drift away from what they believe.

So when she told him that she was done singing, that she was tired of singing, of reaching out to people, of sharing her feelings to everyone, of trying to knit people together to experience a certain harmony, he rejected her, because he knew she was lying. He reminded her of what she told them before, of the words he still holds in his heart, that all the things she accomplished, of all the things she was able to do, she did it through hard work, she was able to do it because she decided for herself, because she chose her own destiny.

So when she rejected him, when she rejected that she was becoming she wasn't,  he asked her to watch him. He performed for her. He performed for her. To let her know that she’s right, that whatever you do, you have to choose for yourself, that you can still do what you failed to accomplish at first. He performed for her. Because he believed, as he later told her, that she genuinely desired to reach everyone, that performing is not her doing, but of being. He reminded her, as when she taught him back then, that to walk away from the life she chose is not who she is. To face life, headlong, without restriction, is who she is.

And she couldn’t help it, she is fallen.

Later, 10 years after the war is over, when she did a final concert to remember all the lives lost, and all lives nourished, he asked her.

“When do we start falling?”

She smiled at him, not the kind she usually throw at people in public, not the kind of smile brimming with confidence, but a smile with contentment.

“You started falling, when you try to dive headlong, deep, in order to reach someone, in order to save someone, only to realize that they don’t need saving, that even after they have fallen, they still dream for the sky. And you continue to reach for them, because you want to share that world with them.”

After this is over, we can talk. So come back. You can rarely find a woman like me.

Yes, maybe that’s it. Maybe he started falling in love, the moment he reached for her when she was falling. That though she has fallen, she still continues to chase the world. Funny, he already found her amazing then.

They say the best way to feel the ocean is to dive into it headlong, without restriction. He only did it once. He only did it once. Falling, that is.