#also please do not at me over the colouring that dark scene was IMPOSSIBLE to make look nice

[khaoray]

Can I say whatever I want? Go for it.

[kiasnocturnality]

⋆ :₊ ᥫ᭡ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒖

⊹ ° . tips: be sure to only begin your play-through from the main menu. Your choices have consequences and will unlock different scenes and endings.

“Thank you.” His faint smile returns and he approaches you as you hold your arms out to either side, “I promise to make this as unintrusive as possible.” He reassures you in a voice that makes his simplest words sound like poetry as he approaches and begins patting you down. He finds your car keys, a lip balm and nothing more. This seems to reassure him as his body language is far less stiff when he pulls away. “Very well, you can use the telephone. Though, I’m still your host and I would feel a terrible gentleman if you left you in this state. I’ll have the staff prepare a change of clothes and meal for you. Come along.” He beckons you with a wave of his hand as he goes out through another door and begins leading you through the manor’s hallways. 

“This is your home?”

“Yes, it’s been in the family for centuries.” He has the widest smile you’ve seen on him yet, it’s full of pride but also humour for a joke that seems to have gone over your head. 

“It’s very beautiful.” 

“Thank you, I do my utmost to maintain it, a task impossible without the manor’s staff.” He seems to praise them a lot and you wonder if he lives alone here with them; rich people aren’t exactly known to be so appreciative of their subordinates and so you enjoy the way this trend is broken by… 

“What’s your name? I’m Y/n.” 

“Alois Leblanc.” He replies in a thick french accent this time as he bows his head while falling into pace beside you. The two of you return to the dining room and you notice that the glass of blood is now gone. Does he know you saw it? Either way, he pulls out a chair for you and then pushes it in once you’re seated. He goes over to one side of the room where he rings a bell and the nearest door cracks open. You cannot see who is behind it but you catch whispers of a hushed conversation. 

“-Prepare… tonight… perhaps… clothes too.” From Alois. 

“-Hunter then?” A mature female voice replies.

“No, no… telefone… for it, yes?” 

“Yes, my Lord.” Spoken much more clearly. Obviously, the rest of the conversation was kept from you on purpose. The woman, approaching her middle-ages, steps out, dressed in a simple black and white uniform with blouse and fitted trousers. 

“Come along, my Lady, you’re soaked through. We’ll have a change of clothes prepared for you immediately.” She says. You give a little nod and follow her, wanting out of your wet clothes. Alois is proving himself to be more trustworthy and you hope that you’re doing the same in his eyes. The maid has faded red hair that fades to darker roots that show she likely had it a bright red colour not too long ago and is now trying to grow it out. She leads you to a guest room and opens the wardrobe where she pulls out a few shirts and bottoms, trying to find clothing in your size, if the way her eyes flicker from you to the material is anything to go by. She presents you with a simple dark blue jumper and black bottoms. 

“And your shoes, please.”

“My shoes?”

“Yes, they’re making quite the mess around the manor.” 

“Oh… of course. Sorry.” You slip them off and watch as she picks them up and exchanges them for a pair of socks passed into your hands. You change into them and follow her back to the dining room where Alois is sitting at the head of the table. There’s a bowl of soup and bread prepared at the seat Alois had directed you to earlier. When you sit, he gestures to the food. 

“Forgive me but I’ve already eaten.” He says and you give a simple nod, swallowing thickly as you recall the glass of blood you found at his seat not that long ago. You glance down at the orange-red tomato soup and the little garnish set in the middle of it, sliced bread and butter on a little side dish nearby. 

⋆ :₊ ᥫ᭡ “This is very generous, thank you.”  ⋆ :₊ ᥫ᭡ “I actually ate shortly before the crash too…” You refuse to eat the food, it could be poisoned. 

[wallacejwriting]

descent snippets; #4

From Chapter 4

cw for: panic attack and anxiety

I honestly just picked Liesel stuff. There's a scene after her in the chapter but screw that, have some Liesel.

(Please let me know what you think!)

#1:

Hand, door, turn, and Nat pulls open the door and stumbles into the brighter space of the apartment, proper. First, it is nothing but bright light and the smell of chicken and soy sauce and green onion. There is noise, the rise and fall of television voices, and Nat puts one hand to their head and wishes it would go away. The noise falls away, the lights dim, and Nat manages to squint and see. On a dark blue couch is a woman who looks mildly familiar. She holds a white carton and a pair of chopsticks. Her hair is a mane of black curls that make her round face seem rounder. She is tiny — slim and short and with her body all pulled together into one little place. All around them both, the mess of living, amplified. Several bins of sorted recycling next to a door that must lead to the hallway or outside. Dishes are stacked up, like with like, along the counter. There are no pots or pans among them, just plates, bowls, and mugs. And chopsticks. Maybe a dozen pairs, each different, each artistic. “You’re awake,” says the woman. Nat drags their gaze back toward the woman and stares at her. At her shirt, at her jeans, at her ankles and feet, exposed and bare— oh. The skin tone registers, deep rich brown that reminds Nat of summer, and a memory from earlier clicks into place. Her name is Liesel. They are roommates, now. What sort of city is this, that Nat can get a room in a place with a stranger when no one knows anything about them?

#2:

“I know you probably have a lot of questions,” says Liesel. Yes, Nat has a few. Like what spices are in this fried rice, and what is fried rice, and also where can Nat get more. Rice was near impossible to get up north these days, so Nat never had reason to learn how to cook with it. The carton is half empty. Nat sips water and tries to remember what they wanted to ask about, before the food consumed them. It’s hard. The food’s warm and delicious, and the smell blocks out any of the awful smells Nat’s been dealing with over the last few days. Like the copper smell. The smell that started after the— The lights flicker. Nat’s fork clatters into the carton, which thumps onto the coffee table. Nat grips their head and closes their eyes. Don’t think about it. “Nat?” Liesel’s voice is steady. She doesn’t sound scared. “Are you okay? Can I help?” Can she? The copper wire smell is back. A whimper slips from Nat’s throat. Nat opens their eyes. They turn enough so that they can lift their head and stare at Liesel. Not at her eyes, but at everything else. Details. Use the details. Nat’s head pounds. The too-fast drumbeat of their heart booms in their skull and behind their ribs, threatening to burst at any moment. Nat takes a deep breath. Focus. Liesel’s chin is square, her jaw sharp and angular up to flat ears decorated with golden hoops. Her cheekbones arch strong beneath her eyes, and her expressive eyebrows are pulled tight over the bridge of her wide, sharp nose. Nat’s gaze slips to Liesel’s. Dark brown with flecks of reddish brown. Like river mud mixed with clay. A rich, earthy colour that speaks of summer. Nat breathes in. They smell campfire smoke and taste the sharp juice of a roasted apple slice. They break their staring contest with Liesel and stare, instead, at her hands. They’re small. The nails are painted a soft lilac. “Um… do you feel better?” asks Liesel. Nat nods, quick and jerky. They return to their food, less enthusiastic than before. Their heart is slowing, but it’s still too fast. It aches against their lungs. They can’t breathe shallowly enough to stop aggravating it, so they stop trying.

#3:

“Just give me a few minutes,” says Liesel. “I promise this won’t take long.” Nat frowns. Learning a whole alphabet? Maybe some of it, but there’s no way she can memorize and recognize the whole thing in just a few minutes. Nat sneezes. Campfire smoke tickles their nose. The smell of it, anyway. And that sharp apple scent is there, too, mixing into memories of some of Nat’s favourite summer nights. They watch Liesel watch the video, curious what she’s trying to do. Nat’s mouth twitches up on one side as Liesel mouths the letters and moves her hands in time with the person on screen. Then, Nat blinks. They watch her hands more closely. Those gestures aren’t clumsy or novice at all. Liesel forms each letter with the grace of a pro. Each twist of her fingers, each shift of her wrist, all with the practiced ease of someone who’s been signing for years. Nat stares at her hands. Then, they stare at her mouth. It still mouths. They drag their gaze higher and watch her eyes. With Liesel staring at the screen, it’s easier to look at her eyes than before. She watches the TV, scarcely blinking, her gaze darting around the screen. The video ends. In the sudden silence of the room, Nat finds they’ve leaned forward and their chin is too close to Liesel’s shoulder. They jerk back, ears burning hot and loud, and stare at their lap.

#4:

A slow, wide smile stretches Nat’s face and they bounce slightly in place. Liesel’s a metahuman. Nat knows another metahuman. Nat can ask someone else about being a metahuman! The lights flare and the TV flickers channels before shutting off altogether. Nat squeaks and the lights dim again. Liesel is grinning. It’s clear in her voice even before Nat looks up. “You are amazing.” She stares at the ceiling, lights reflecting in her deep eyes. So are you, Nat wants to say but can’t. Instead, they wave until Liesel looks at them, then point to her and smile. She beams, dimples appearing on either cheek as her mouth stretches wide. Her front teeth are a little crooked. They bend toward each other, just slightly. Nat’s smile grows. What else can they ask? What else do they want to ask? Nat’s fingers flutter in the air. Static dances across their tongue and their teeth. There’s a lightness in their chest and Nat understands, in that second, what they’re feeling. Human. For the first time since… since before they’d left Heron, they feel human again. Like a person and not a shadow. “What’s your power, anyway?” asks Liesel. “I mean,” she gestures to the ceiling, “something with all this, but how wide is it?” Nat thinks. How to use one word to describe it all? E-L-E-C-T-R-I-C-I-T-Y. Liesel’s eyes widen. “You mean it’s not something within it? It’s just… all of electricity?” She gestures widely, painted and chipped nails flashing. Nat watches her hands move, swaying with her motions. Their ears swallow her words and Nat nods. “Wow. That’s amazing.” Nat’s face warms. No, they still think she’s cooler. To understand people, just by looking at them? Nat would give anything for that.

[margowrites]

Hi my lovely friend! I have another request if that’s ok, please and thank you❤️❤️How about from teaching ideas- “How do you spell it?” With either Bucky and reader or even Bucky and Steve (either is totally fine) and you can add an AU if you like! Could be like college AU or something or regular! Yay! Thank you! Hugs and love❤️

Can’t Take My Eyes off of You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (College AU!)

Summary: You’ve been infatuated with a boy in your class for quite some time. This time all the seats are taken and he’s sitting next to you, making it harder for you to concentrate on the lesson. Bucky asks for help with spelling, not that he really needs it but it’s an excuse to hear your voice.

Word count: 1,625

Author’s Notes: My sweetie pie @jobean12-blog ❤️ I can’t thank you enough for being so incredibly kind and sending me requests 🥺 they make me truly so happy and I’m so honoured to write something for you! Hugs to you my beautiful friend ❤️❤️❤️

Warnings: Fluff, crushes, Bucky is a little sassy towards the Professor, Professor Wilson, mild language (one or two words of fuck), crushes to lovers implied.

If it was under any other circumstances, you would be positive that it was the heatwave outside that caused you to sweat profusely and your clothes to stick to your skin. You would blame it on the sun that was far too hot combined with the speed walk you did across campus just so you wouldn’t miss your class. You would blame it on any other reason apart from the true reason as to why you were currently sitting in your seat with your heart pounding out of your chest, covered in sweat with your hands shaking and unable to grip your pen.

And the real reason wasn’t because of the summer heatwave, the sun or the unbearable and sticky humidity. Your current state is all because of one boy; A top A student in all of his classes, a boy who makes all the girls and even some of the boys swoon just because of his existence. A boy, who loves his leather jackets - even in the scorching heatwave - likes to keep his hair tied back into a bun or low ponytail. A boy who loves to wear his dark jeans and dogtags. An almost 19 year old boy named Bucky Barnes, who you also happen to have a very big crush on. The same boy who was currently sitting right next to you because he was late to class and all the other seats were taken.

This lesson wouldn’t be easy. You were just so infatuated by him. Everything Bucky did fascinated you and you often found yourself staring at him in a dreamlike state when the two of you had the same classes. Watching the way he would roll his toothpick between his teeth, the way he would hold his pen and letting the tip of it glide smoothly across the paper to write down notes. The way he would swing back dangerously in his chair only to be told off by Professor Wilson because, “boy, you could swing back so much your head would crack against my floor and I’m not cleaning it up. Sit properly!”

Bucky even smelled so good, like soo soo good. A sandalwood scent mixed with sweat and something else permeated the dusty air around you that tickled your nostrils that you were sure you would be smelling for days. Not that you would ever complain about that. Being this close to him was a once in a lifetime opportunity and you would make the most of it.

“Y/N?” His voice rang through your ears, snapping you out of your current thoughts. His voice was deep for a college boy, his blue eyes watching you carefully.

You cleared your throat and shifted awkwardly in your chair. Your damp clothes from the sweat squeaked against the hard plastic, causing your cheeks to heat up in embarrassment. If Bucky heard, he didn’t comment on it. That was the other thing you liked about him. Bucky was mostly polite, unless you crossed him, in which his ex-girlfriend caused a scene in the cafeteria one time and Bucky came prepared with his colourful language. They had been having problems for quite some time according to his other friend, Wanda who filled you in on all the gossip. “I- yes?” You stuttered, shaking your head as though it might just shake your nerves away.

“I said, can I borrow a pen? I gave mine to Steve who is currently holding it hostage…” he chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. Wait, why was he nervous?

You nodded and pulled a spare black pen from your pencil case. From your observations, you learned he loved to write in black ink only and that’s what you gave him with shaky hands, you pushed it towards him and smiled.

“Thanks, doll! I owe you one!” He smirked, plucking the toothpick from his mouth and licking his plump pink lips.

Oh Jesus Christ.

You knew this would be impossible. Everything Professor Wilson was teaching right now went right over your head. You just knew it was something something about dinosaurs. No information was registering and trying to concentrate just wasn’t going to happen. Not when your crush was right next to you, anyway. The veins in his hands were prominent and the temptation was strong to run your fingertips over the lines. His other hand was moving quickly as he jotted down notes, already halfway down the page. You blinked and stared down at your blank page. Your mind refusing to soak in what’s being taught and your hand refusing to lift your pen and write. Something would be better than nothing, you tell yourself but you’re nervous. Bucky is more interesting than the lesson.

Bucky stops writing for a few seconds to look at you. He frowns, curious if something is going on because from his own observations he knows this is one of your favourite lessons and you’re always keeping up.

Bucky leans in, his breath fanning against the shell of your ear sends a shiver down your spine. “Are you okay?” He smiles, his shirt too tight for his body, you notice.

You nod and smile awkwardly. “Yeah, I’m fine, just finding it difficult to catch up this time.” You sigh, your racing heart still pounding in your chest. The room feels much hotter than it was when you first arrived, even with the air conditioning cranked up.

“Okay, doll. Just checking.” He smirked and started to swing back on his chair as the professor started the second half of his lesson.

Professor Wilson walked around with his hands behind his back as he talked about fossils and mammals that existed almost 169 million years ago. “Mr Barnes! Put your legs on the ground in this instance!” Professor Wilson lectured him and shot him a stern warning look.

“They are on the ground.” Bucky sassed back, rolling his eyes and earning giggles from girls a couple of desks away. Professor Wilson sighed and shook his head.

“If you fall and crack your head I-”

“Yeah, yeah. You won’t clean it up, I know.” Bucky dismissed Professor Wilson’s worries with a wave of his hand and started to take notes once again as soon as the professor carried on with his lesson.

“And the Tuojiangosaurus was found in China 157 million years ago. It was known to be 7.0m in length and weighed a hefty 1500kg.” Professor Wilson brought up slides of what the dinosaur would have looked like.

“What a fuckin’ beast.” Bucky murmured under his breath, “how do you spell whatever he just said?”

A breathy laugh escapes you and you scratch an itch on your nose. “Uh so, TUOJIANGOSAURUS.” You spelled out for him slowly.

“Thanks doll. I thought you weren’t paying attention to the lesson.” He teases, a sly smirk on his face.

“I remembered the spelling from my spelling bee test.” You grow shy under his now intense and impressive stare.

“Well, he should have these in big letters on the board.” He scoffed and you giggled.

“He… does…” you point to writing under the pictures, the names of the dinosaurs in big black bold letters. A shade of pink dusts Bucky’s cheeks and he dips his head with a smile.

“I know, I just like hearing your voice. You sound really sweet. S’like music to m’ears.”

Oh my goodness. This couldn’t be happening, right?

“Oh I uh- really?” You stammered, mesmerised by his homely blue eyes.

“Really doll, I’ve wanted to ask you-”

“Barnes! Since you’re distracted. Tell the class about the Triceratops. We’re waiting.” Professor Wilson stands in front of your desk, his arms folded over his chest and his foot taps impatiently against the tiled floor. All eyes are on Bucky as he sighs and subtly rolls his eyes under his eyelids.

“The- whatever you just said is a horny dinosaur with teeth.”

“Correction. He has a horny beak.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Please elaborate next time Barnes.” Professor Wilson shakes his head and his eyes narrow on your blank page. “Miss y/l/n? Why have you not been taking notes?!”

Your voice was lost, what could you tell him? That you were too busy watching your crush and not paying attention?

“She’s not feeling well and she can copy my notes. S’no big deal.” Bucky spoke and you felt so relieved. Professor Wilson seemed to be satisfied with that answer and went back to finish up his lesson.

“Thank you.” You leaned in and whispered, sighing when things didn’t feel any better for you. Your heart rate was still out of control and you’re pretty sure there might be a damp spot on your seat.

“It’s okay, doll face. You can copy my notes and be my study buddy in the library if you want to.”

If you want to? Of course you want to!

“Yes- I’d like that!” You smiled and pulled your lip between your teeth. “What were you going to say earlier? Before Professor Wilson interrupted?”

Bucky’s cheeks turned from a light shade of pink to a crimson red. He chuckled quietly and nervously.

“You’ll say no!” He chuckled, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips.

“Try me.” You challenge, mimicking his movements with your eyes.

“I’ll tell you when we’re at the library. Deal?” He winks, and shushes you as he writes down his final notes, catching the slight nod of your head.

Your mind went into a frenzy. All it took was for all the seats to be taken and for Bucky to sit next to you this once to escalate things. You wished he was late sooner. What was he going to say to you earlier? You couldn’t wait to find out as you sunk back in your chair with the biggest smile on your face, feeling like the happiest person in the world.

[bruhstories]

Personal Demon

Summary: Because of a mistake, you're assigned a devil instead of an angel. Pairing: Demon!Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader Warnings & Conent: oh boy, here we go - language, mentions of suicide, mentions of self harm, mentions of rape, fingering, unprotexted sex, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of reader in an asylum, sliiiiight dumbification of reader, slight corruption of reader, Eren's a little shit Word Count: 3.9 k

A/N: So I wrote this in, like, 3-4 days because I felt like it's pretty bad but not bad enough not to post it. I hope you still enjoy it, though!

You always felt it — breathing in your nape, moving in the corner of your room at night, whispering things you shouldn't dare think about. Your own personal demon. Most of the time you did a good job at ignoring it. Most of the time you abused substances to make it go away, at least for a minute. With the puff of weed or a bottle of alcohol, it stayed away, only watching from afar and never involving itself with you. Most of the time.

Keys clung in your hands, door shutting behind as you walked into your apartment, fingers wrapped around your grocery bags. Yet another night of drinking the voice away.

"Not today, Satan." You hummed, popping open a bottle of gin, nose scrunching at the bitter taste.

"I keep telling you, the easiest way to get rid of me would be to kill yourself." It spoke, this time outside of your head.

"And I keep telling you to stay the fuck away from me." You growled back.

"We both know that's not possible."

Another sip and you put the bottle down, hands digging inside the bag for a snack.

"You're gonna need something stronger than that."

There it was, the bar of chocolate you so eagerly starved for. The TV suddenly turned on. It was craving entertainment.

"Anything unusual happened today?"

No, it was craving attention and you were not about to give it any. You put the groceries inside the fridge and grabbed the bottle, plopping on the couch.

"How long are you going to pretend I'm not here?"

"As long as I need." You snapped back, eyes glued to the TV.

"Well, that didn't last long." It laughed. "Come on, Y/N, we've been together for, what, 24 years?"

"Can you just shut up? Disappear? Crawl back to Hell?"

"Nope. Waaaaait, I know why you've got your panties in a twist. It's because that Jean guy you like hooked up with Mikasa, right?"

It was impossible to deal with. Every single second, it was there. Since you've been born, it was there, always watching, always following you, always. You tried to go to a priest, a monk, anything, but nothing helped. The angel that was supposed to guide you happened to be a demon and there was nothing you could do about it. But you were not going to give it the satisfaction of ending your pathetic life, no matter how much you wanted to, because despite being a demon, it still had to keep you alive until your time came. It, however, did like to push you over the edge, push you until you grabbed a knife and slit your wrists, only for the knife to get shoved by some invisible force before you could finish the job. It tormented you and it loved it.

"I told you, not today, Satan."

"Ugh, my name's-"

"I don't care." Your head snapped into the direction of the voice, only to be met with a wall. "Let's face it, we shouldn't have been in this situation, so why don't you shut your mouth up and let me get on with my life?"

"What life?" It laughed and you could already picture the sneer on its face, flashing you fangs and a forked tongue. "That's not even what I look like."

"Get out of my head!" You screamed before grabbing the bottle and emptying half of its contents.

"Careful, Y/N, the neighbours might call the police and you don't want to end up like last time, do you?"

Last time... you were but a child, throwing plates at the wall only to make it stop talking when your parents admitted you to an asylum. You had to live with it for half a year before they let you out.

"Please, please stay out of my head." Tears pooled at your eyes as you clutched the bottle at your chest.

"Now why would I stay out when it's just so much fun in you?"

"God, I hate you so much!"

"Me or beardy up there? I couldn't quite get it." It laughed again, laughing at your damn misery as you got up from the couch and left the apartment.

The alcohol already made its way to your brain when you reached the ground floor of the building. Rain poured outside but you didn't care, you just ran as far away from it as possible and for the first time in years, it didn't follow you. Grateful and content, you slowed down, admiring the beauty of the city which you ignored because of the voice inside of your head. The smell of rain, the colourful buildings, the empty streets, everything felt new and refreshing, and you took it all in. Time seemed to slow down without itconstantly nagging in the back of your mind and you realised you were pretty far away from your home, an area unknown to you. Still, you knew how to get back, you hoped, but when you turned around, a man pushed you into an alleyway.

"Satan?" You whispered, dizzy from the lingering gin and smell of rain. The man pinned you to a wall and finally you were beginning to realise what was happening.

"Call me whatever you want, baby, just keep that pretty voice down." His hand moved up your thigh and panic seeped through your veins. "We don't want to draw any attention, now, do we?" He kissed your neck and you froze on the spot, eyes widening in fear and body shivering.

"L-let go of me!" You managed, the alcohol numbing your arms, rendering you unable to push the stranger away.

"Shhh, don't fight it." The man squeezed your arms, his fingers bruising the soft skin. Anger, sadness and pain coiled together in your chest and you couldn't breathe anymore. Oh, how you wished you never left your flat, how you wished you stayed back and listened to itconstantly yapping, like a maggot crawling into your brain. "Aren't you a pretty one?" He cooed, his hand travelling lower, lower, to the point where tears started rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the snot and rain on your face.

And then it happened — in the blink of an eye, your assailant was thrown against the other wall by the too familiar invisible force as you sank to the ground, eyes puffy and red, legs trembling.

"The fuck? What are you?" The man hissed at you, his hands holding his abdomen.

"I'm the devil." It spoke, voice inhuman and perilous, and you could only sneer at him. For the first time you were happy it was there. Sick, twisted thoughts invaded your mind and you wanted to watch him suffer, and itknew. It knew, because the devil was always in your head.

"You crazy bitch!" The assailant, now helpless and overpowered, did not know about your own personal demon, and he tried to get up, tried to leap forward at you and strangle the last bit of air out of your lungs, but he couldn't. Somethingwas holding him back.

"You want him dead?" It asked, but you know the devil took more pleasure in inflicting pain rather than swiftly killing.

"No." You grinned, eyes dark and dangerous. "I want him to suffer."

"That's my girl."

Blood-curling screams echoed in the alleyway. You didn't know what it was doing to him, but you knew for a fact that you were enjoying the sounds that came out of your attacker. His wrists contorted in a way you didn't think was possible, and the melody of broken bones reminded you that what was happening was wrong. For a moment, your brain was rational, telling you that it should stop, that you should both just leave and forget this ever happened. But... it also felt good, it felt like you've just been reborn, discovering a deeply buried part of you that ached to be exposed. Then, his legs twisted and the man winced in pain, so much pain, and your heart fluttered in your chest.

"More?" It asked and you nodded.

"More."

His arms looped, like a deformed puppet loosely strung, and it made him dance in the rain until his body gave up from fatigue.

"Aw, I was really hoping he'd be a feisty one." It mused, and you also clicked your tongue in disappointment. Before you left, you gave your assailant a good kick in the stomach, your boot stomping on his face with so much anger and force that what remained was unrecognisable.

Wet clothes piled on the floor, you wrapped your naked body in a blanket to warm yourself up. What just happened? What did you do? Why did you allow it to happen and more importantly, why did you love every minute of it? The questions jogged in your fuzzy brain, as you slowly sobered up.

"Why did I enjoy it, Satan?" You asked, lips quivering.

"I told you, my name's not Satan, it's-"

"Eren, I know. I remember." You could feel it quirk a brow, surprised and impressed by its name rolling down your tongue so naturally. "Why did I enjoy it? It's wrong and disgusting."

"Do you remember what happens when you say my name?" It sounded almost concerned.

"You physically manifest, I know. Now answer my fuckingquestion."

"What do you want me to say?" Itasked, fragments of muscle, skin and silk pulling together from thin air. First, its legs. Then, its upper body, draped in a charcoal-black robe. "That you're as sadistic as I am? Maybe it wasn't a mistake that you have a demon, not an angel." And finally, its face materialised in front of you — long dark brown hair falling down his shoulders and eyes so green, it felt like a forest was in them. It looked almost human, the hooked nose, the elongated ears, the deeply sunken emeralds and jagged mouth betraying its true nature.

"I thought you'd have fangs." Was your only response at the scene unfolding in front of you, blanket clutched at your chest. Any normal person would shudder at the demonic sight of Eren appearing in front of them, but to you, it felt comforting to finally assign a face to the voice you so desperately tried to ignore.

"And I thought you wanted to get rid of me." It scoffed, its facial features changing, becoming softer and resembling a human man, but those eyes didn't change an ounce.

"I don't know what I want anymore. If it weren't for you, I would've been raped and dead, probably."

"Just embrace it, Y/N. Just let go of that annoying voice in your head that tells you it's wrong." He encouraged. "There's no such thing as good or bad, right or wrong. It's just surviving, adapting or dying."

Eren looked unbelievably human and incredibly handsome in the dim light of your living room lamp. Maybe it was the alcohol that hasn't left your body yet, or maybe it was the fact that he saved you, again, but the truth was that the devil in your house was making you feel something you couldn't even feel for Jean — and you thought you were in love with Jean.

"Alright, let's pretend for a moment that I give into temptation." Your eyes found his and you felt hypnotised, the rational part of your brain slowly overshadowed by your instincts and feelings. "What then? Do you leave me alone? Do you go back to hell? Do Igo to hell?"

"Oh, I wouldn't call it hell. More like a demonic paradise." He shrugged, eyes bored and blank, devout of any emotion. You leaned forward trying to search for something in his darkened orbs.

"Why are you being nice to me? You're supposed to save me from death, not rape."

He clicked his tongue, your question drilling into his brain, repeating itself over and over again. Why did he save you? It's not like he cared, he only did his job, right? Right?

Wrong.

The demon you grew up with, the demon who tormented you, the demon who tried so desperately to ruin your life did, in fact, give two shits about you and your pathetic existence. Just not in the way you thought.

"Let's just say no one gets to touch you but me." Eren closed the gap between you two, his nose almost grazing over yours. He was absolutely intoxicating and you always fought with the constant need to let him control you. After all, he was always with you, he saw you hit your lowest points, he saw the best of you, he saw your naked body, he saw everything, ergo you were his. Your head quickly turned to the side before you leaned back, exhaustion written all over your face as Eren clicked his tongue. The thing about demons was that they couldn't physically interfere without their human's consent, only using invisible force to stop you from dying and he was just so close.

"Ah, but you can't touch me, though." You trailed off, brow quirked at his narrowed eyes. You've done your homework, you knew what he needed, but still, that side of you tried to prevail over the side that craved his touch.

"Yet." Eren snapped back before your drifted to sleep.

Once again you dreamt of it him, his cock buried deep inside your needy cunt as you screamed his name over and over again while you came undone. When you jolted up from your sleep, he was there, watching you, like a predator stalking its prey. Normally he wouldn't be there, but since you called his name, Eren was glaring down at your helpless body, famished for something only you could give him.

"What's the time?" You groaned, fingers rubbing your eyelids.

"Three in the morning." He answered, eyes glued to you. "Bad dream?" The demon sneered. You knew he'd been in your head again, you knew those dreams existed for a reason.

"They wouldn't be bad if you'd just stay the fuck out of my mind." You hummed with a fake smile.

"Alright then, look me in the eye and tell me, reallytell me you want me to leave you alone." But you couldn't and he knew it. "Stop fighting it, Y/N. For two decades you kept trying. Maybe you should stop being stubborn and just give in." Eren shrugged, his voice tempting and you only wondered if that's how Eve felt when the snake tempted her. You weren't a Christian by any means, but you knew the story well enough to figure out the consequences.

"I have work tomorrow. Please let me sleep." You got up from the couch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

And that's when Eren reached his limits. He followed you into your bedroom, something knocking the wind out of you as you fell on the mattress. Somethingpulling the blanket off of you. Somethingtravelling down your arms, goosebumps dotting your skin as he stood in the doorway.

"I can't touch you, but I can do so many things to you." He inched closer, his figure imposing and dangerous and you could feel your core burning. "I can smell your arousal, Y/N. I know you want it. You just have to say it." Eren demanded and you hated that he was right. Slowly but surely, the battle in your heart and mind was coming to an end the more he got closer to the bed. "Say it."

You whined and writhed in pain and pleasure, and in the blink of an eye your life flashed before your eyes as you came to the conclusion that you've tried so hard to stay away from the demon, but either he was too persistent, or you were too weak. Or you just simply wanted him to ravage you and you were okay with that. Your hands stopped moving, your body stopped fighting.

"Do it..." You half-begged, judgement clouded, vision blurry. "Please, do it! Touch me, break me, fuck me, please! I need you, need to feel you..."

Like some sort of spell had just been lifted, Eren felt relieved. The sight of your sprawled body, combined with the lustful look in your lidded eyes only fed his hunger and he was famished. Calloused fingertips grazed over your knees, up your thighs, sending chills down your spine as you arched your back, pulling the demon closer to your face.

"Kiss me?" You asked, voice sweet and needy and he crushed his lips onto yours. They were surprisingly soft, tasting of whiskey and honey and the flavour lingered on your lips after he pulled away. Your body quivered under his touch, yearning for more, hands tugging at his silken robe to expose the chiselled chest. Eren pressed his forehead onto yours, hot breath tickling your cheeks.

"I'm going to ruin you, Y/N." He dug his teeth into your shoulder, the imprint burning into your skin, all the pent-up frustration slowly being released with each movement. He dragged one hand over your breasts before settling on one nipple, fingers pinching it to earn a reaction out of you. A whimper escaped from your lips as you pushed your chest upwards, wanting him closer than the laws of physics would allow. Your slender hands tangled in his locks as Eren left a trail of purple marks and bites all over your neck and shoulder.

"Fill me up, please..."

"Patience." He mused. "I've waited so many years for this, you can wait a few more minutes." Head buried between your tits, his hand travelled lower until it found your wet cunt. Fingers grazed over your folds before he drove his index into your soaked pussy and that's when you knew just how much you craved him. Your silken walls clenched around his curled-up finger and your neediness made him add another one, moans drilling through his eardrums, into his brain. "Fuck, you're so wet..." Eren hummed, vibrations tickling your skin. You couldn't form a coherent sentence even if your life counted on it. All you could think about was that if his fingers stretched you, his cock would tear your cunt apart — and you reallywanted to feel that. Fingernails dug into his back and he hissed, his tongue flicking your nipple and all the build-up was too much for you.

"Eren, please..." You mewled, your chest rising and falling with each breath, with each touch, each lick.

"You want me to fuck you? Want me to tear you apart?" The demon growled. His sudden change in tone only further added fuel to the fire inside your core and you eagerly nodded.

"Yes, God — yes! But Eren, I want to see you, not this pretty face you put on." You pleaded, eyes teary and demanding.

"No." He simply answered and that instantly made you jolt up, forcefully pushing him off of you.

"Are you trying to screw with my mind again? You've literally been with me for 24 years!" You shouted, and even Eren was slightly confused. "You tormented me for two decades, put me in an asylum, constantly stopped me from killing myself and now I can't even see the real you?" You threw your hands at him and he caught your wrists with ease. "You owe me at least that, Satan." Tears freely rolled down your face and you could feel his hot tongue lick the salty drops from your cheek. Your pain was his pleasure, he was a demon after all, the embodiment of all evil, but he decided you were corruptedenough to at least see his true colours, which you only managed to glance at.

"You're right, Y/N," Eren kissed your forehead and you couldn't even notice the manipulative hints in his voice, "you deserve at least this." He pulled back, and slowly his face distorted, allowing you to look at his disfigured mouth, elongated ears and abnormally long tongue.

"Thank you, thank you!" You beamed with bright eyes.

The woman who battled her demon? Gone.

In her place stood only a shell of a person, whose sole purpose was to get fucked by the demon in front of her. You feverishly parted his lips with your tongue, touch-starved and desperate, and Eren threw you onto the bed, robe pooled on the floor. And you were right, his cock wouldtear you apart by the looks of it. Before he could do anything, you spread your legs for him, like a good little slut, mouth agape and nothing but lust in your eyes. The sneer on his face was unlike anything you've seen before, and it both terrified and aroused you.

"Eager to please, aren't you?" He climbed onto the bed, the velvety tip of his cock barely touching your wet slit.

"I'm begging you, Eren, please fuck me!"

The demon scoffed at your pathetic words, but he couldn't deny how much he loved to hear your needy voice. You wouldn't have to know that, of course. He ever so slowly pushed the tip in between your folds, your cunt greedily taking it all in while you whimpered at the foreign sensation.

"Shhh," Eren cooed at you mockingly, "you love it, don't you?"

"Y-yes, please, d-deeper..."

Was it really you speaking or was this another one of his demonic tricks? And more importantly, did it even matter that he made you say those things when his cock felt just so good inside of you? Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you as Eren thrusts became harder. Your tits bounced with every move, pleasure engulfing both of you and you never knew demons fucked so raw.

"Fuck, you're so tight." He hissed into your ear, the compliment only making you clench your walls around his impossibly hard cock. "Such a good girl." Eren praised you, knowing perfectly well how much you lacked appreciation from your parents, knowing perfectly well how your childhood traumas and frustration only aided him. He was your demon, after all. When your only response was to roll your eyes at the back of your head like a possessed woman, Eren picked up the pace, his abnormal tongue licking at your collarbone.

"D-do you l-like it?" You asked, concerned that he might not be satisfied with you. He wouldn't be fucking you so hard if he didn't, but you were so brainwashed that nothing made sense anymore.

"I do, doll, now be a good whore and rub that clit, will you?" The demon urged and with a shaky hand you complied, the friction mixed with his thrusts sending you into a frenzy. You were close and he knew it.

"Oh, f-fuck! Eren!"

His cock hit that sweet spot and you were done for, your legs loosened around his waist, falling onto the bed, but he kept on fucking you.

"My turn." Eren growled, his hands lifting your hips like you were some sort of ragdoll between his fingers. Your vision blurred, every word you tried to utter lost in your throat the more he buried himself into you, yet somehow you still managed to clench your walls. With one final thrust you felt him spill his hot seed, cum dripping out of your sore cunt as he pulled out.

Eren plopped next to you and you curled up in a ball, head on his chest. You were craving his attention, his care, but he responded by bringing his hands behind his head, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. He wanted to hold you tightly, he wanted to pet your head, but he couldn’t. And you were alright with that, because you knew that, no matter what, you would always have your own personal demon at your side.

[rumblelibrary]

Can you do a Baron Zemo x Emo! Reader smut? Like reader gets teased by others or like Sam and Bucky always comment on there music or outfit? And it ends kinda fluffy?

Net of Desire [Baron Helmut Zemo x Emo!Reader]

Word count: 2k

Warnings: SMUT and a bit of annoying commenting on outfits

Author’s note: I hope I channeled your desire here, sorry for taking so long!!

You were sitting on the armchair side ways, legs thrown on one of the arms there, a book on your lap. Sharon’s apartment still the most luxurious place you have ever been after Zemo’s jet.

“Are you not getting changed Y/N?” Same asked as he took off the expensive suit Zemo gave him for something more toned down.

You looked up from the book you just stole from Sharon’s coffee table up to him.

“Nope”

Sam sighed “you know, it is about not being noticed, not please notice me so half of Madripoor is on our asses” he said trying to be ironic.

You looked at him, again, eyes casting back on the book a second after.

Bucky moved inside the room wearing a fancy blazer, giving Sam just another excuse to not shut up.

“See? Even the 1940’s man got changed, can’t you?”

Once more, you didn’t answer his teasing.

It wasn’t the first time it happened, Sam begun this little teasing game when you grew enough comfortable with him, it was innocent at first, you laughed it off, but with some time it begun taking a tool on you.

You wanted so badly to send him to fuck off, you did actually more than once, but it just never gained the effect that sentence was meant to have. So by now you resumed to just allow yourself to keep silent and let it go, if you can’t fight them…even though it still hurt you.

Zemo observed the scene from afar, he sipped his whisky analysing the situation, noticing the discomfort you sported in your body language. His eyes drifting onto your criticised outfit as Sam called him to stand.

“So, you’re not coming?” Sam asked now surprised.

“No, I prefer to rest” you said hating yourself for not snapping at him before.

So they left, you were alone, again.

The loneliness feeling sinking into you as you stood up moving in front of the big baroque mirror leaned against the wall.

You liked yourself, you felt yourself now, like this, in these clothing, in the fishnets Bucky frowned upon so much, in the dark colours. This was you. Why you couldn’t be you?

You sighed deciding to go over the news and check from your computer the news and political situation, the world was on fire, the news talking about the Flag Smashers everywhere.

“Do they always bother you like that?”

Zemo’s voice rang through you, you gulped softly as you looked at him, purple turtleneck and all, gracing your sight with his figure and charm.

“Mostly” you admitted “Shouldn’t you be downstairs, with them watching over you?”

He smirked “I pulled my dance moves out, those two can’t appreciate anything different than the standard, it was easy to leave when they look away for the embarrassment” he assured to you, his words slightly ringing through you.

He moved closer as he leaned on side inspecting what you were doing, his eyes darting on the screen “And they worry about your clothing” he chuckled as the news about the flag smashers were more than worrying.

“Have you ever thought..”

He begun but you quickly killed any phrase “No I won’t change”

He smirked but continued just as you didn’t interrupt him “….to send those two to fuck off?”

You smirked nodding slowly like you’re considering it before letting out a soft chuckle.

“Done it already, it didn’t work that much”

He looked at you as his eyes travelled over you  “I like it, it is provocative”

You rolled your eyes, you just hated it, you didn’t want to be indulged, yo stared up at him as his eyes weren’t mocking you, there was no play of words in him, at least not now.

You couldn’t deny you felt attracted to him, the confidence that rose through him, the intoxicating charm, the controlled attitude.

“You’re provoking me”

He smirked “That’s what I do better, however I feel like we both are well into provoking the two of them”

“Pissing them off” you corrected

“Give them a reason to shut up” he shot back as his right hand on your laptop closing it.

He was inches away from you by now and you just closed the space between the two of you, you didn’t need all the convincing he leaned onto you, but it just made it hotter.

His lips tasted sour like the shot he had before, the tension of the escaped peril back at Shelby’s  still lingering over you more than you though, a sense of urgency taking over your senses.

Then he pulled back from that kiss, hands grasping onto your hips, he pressed his forehead against yours as he pulled your hoodie off you, you dragged him by his sweater to the room Sharon gave you.

You weren’t processing it that much, he was hot, the feeling was mutual and he was the first person to just look at you in a way you never felt before.

He took off his turtleneck as you undid his belt, there was a rush within the two of you, you couldn’t hold it back, maybe it was also the possibility to be found or how Zemo wasn’t touching anyone from seven yers.

He cursed in Sokovian under his breath as you laid on the bed, he peeled off the black skinny ripped jeans you wore leaving you in those dark fishnets while your hands went down to your hips to take those off. “Keep them” he requested, hands moving over the intricate design of it positioning himself between your legs, he leaned down hovering you “So beautiful” he whispered joining your lips again as his hands ripped off the only part of your fishnets he needed access from, his fingers playing with you so securely you felt your body showered by pleasure shivers. “Zemo” you groaned as he leaned closer to you moving your underwear on side to better access to your wetness.

“Look at you, so helpless” he murmured against your lips “how could anyone want to miss this sight?” He groaned against your lips, he was a tease, a very hot one. He knew how to make you shiver, tremble, ask for more with just the little charm of his fingers, but that wasn’t enough. You didn’t want to reach your pleasure like this.

Your hands moved down pushing his pants and underwear off him going to pump his hard on.

“Don’t make me wait” you groaned as he could’t say no to such a request, his hands leaving your core unattended as he pushed inside you easily earning a groan of pleasure and relief from you.

He begun moving soon, slow at first, testing you and your body before changing angle slightly and moving harder inside you. 

“Fuck”

He smirked to your little curse, his hips making their way inside you deep and steadily, his fingers grasping your thighs once more, slipping between the fishnets, moulding with them, breaking them as he used them to guide you even more closer, if possible, his lips biting and sucking yours, his need not even mildly concealed while he dragged his lips onto your neck, one hand still tangled to the fishnets while the other run over your body searching for the most sensitive spots to play with them adding pleasure to the existing one.

You grabbed his neck, you pulled his hair dragging him closer, he loved it, he adored the way you desired him, to feel desired felt old, it felt impossible after so many years behind glass wearing always the same clothing, hearing only the same phrases.

Pleasure seemed the first reason the two of you went down onto this situation, in the end it was pleasure and closeness. Neither of you felt the need to get parted even after you both moaned and shouted your orgasms. He would stay still and hover you, you’d stare at him with a soft shiver tracing your body. He would sit up, staring down at you in your only fishnets pulling up one of your legs to his shoulder to kiss on the inner side of your knee.

A smile played on your lips, and then on his.

“Oh you” he smirked leaning down between your legs.

Beside the clear embarrassment that sourced in your companions when coming back from the party they just found your hoodie around and nothing else but moans of pleasure coming from your room, the best part was the next morning when nobody really had the will to speak up.

You were sitting on a stool in the kitchen applying your make up in front of a tiny mirror when Zemo made his way in front of you standing on the other side of the kitchen isle, glares darting over him from everywhere as your distressed fishnet was proudly wrapped around your legs still. You looked up at him as he smiled at you and leaned on his elbows leaning his face forward, you smirked taking his chin into your hand gently as he looked up while you applied a bit of dark eyeliner underneath his eyes.

Not a single comment being made that day.

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​ @rhymerhymerhyme @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose

Let me know if you want to get tagged to my publications too <3

[moon-stars01]

Screaming Colors

Minghao x Reader

Author:chimout

Summary:She watches him as he obliviously paints an evening sky he has never seen, and decides that he is the most beautiful art she has ever seen.

Gene:blind Minghao,fluffy fluff,art student au,high school au,cute,photography

Rating:General Audiences

•Screaming Colors•

He is standing there, his eyes clouded over, unfocused gaze wavering through the air. His hands are in his pockets, his dog's tight leash wrapped firmly in his grasp, and she wonders how such a beautiful and stunning person could even manage to exist. Her heart thumps in her chest as her breathing stops short, and she watches as he reaches down to pet the dog, his eyes still skimming over the busy trail in front of him. And, as the scene traps her in a boundless vortex, her fingers reach for her camera, and snaps the moment into a single frame.

Her first shot of him was in art class; he sat two seats away, a dazed gaze always flitting off into some unbound space she could not comprehend. His focus never seemed to stay fixed, and she can still remember their teacher's desperate voice as they tried to gather his attention back towards the matter at hand. But his gaze continued to stray towards some unknown abyss, and she wondered what he was dreaming of, because his photography and graphic designs could never tell her so much. They were blurry and insignificant, earning him questionable grades, and she wondered why the boy was in such an advanced class in the first place. He never seemed to truly care about his subject; the matter was always a sort of point and shoot, and the lack of thought was maddening on her behalf.

She never toyed with the idea that he is, most probably, blind, until one day she saw him in the art room alone, his hands coated in dry paint, pools of liquid spilling onto the floor below as a canvas screaming with curious colours stood in awe in front of him. There were no brushes lying about; he had painted the masterpiece with his own two hands.

And his gaze was still aimed at the sky.

Her curiosity only grew steadily from then on. Quietly, she'd follow him, watching him from the corner of her eyes as he dipped his fingers into red and blue and yellow, and allowed his fingers to dance across white sheets as they painted the evening sky. And the more curious she becomes, the more her heart speeds at the mere sight of his breathtaking form.

She watches him as he turns towards the sound of her camera, the dog beside him merely panting in recognition as it barks softly at the scurrying squirrels around them, excitement splurging in vivid pace. He tilts his head in confusion, his eyebrows digging deeper into the bridge of his nose, the haunting blank stare now somehow focused on her. "Is anybody there?"

A small breath escapes her nose as she presses her lips together, unsure whether to reveal her ghostly presence. She stares at the camera in her hands, her fingers shyly skimming through past pictures she took of him; her mouth aches to share words with the model she has long admired.

"Hi," she whispers, and she is unsure if he could hear her until she sees his frown lessen. "Sorry for scaring you."

"Do I know you?" he asks, and her heart is thumping because she wishes he would somehow recognise her. But she barely speaks in class, and she has yet to hold a conversation with him, and she finds it impossible that he would somehow find familiarity in her voice unless—

"You feel familiar."

She freezes and swallows softly as he elicits an awkward laugh, his hand finding the back of his neck almost instinctively, and the dog beside him whimpers and the sudden tug. "Sorry, that may have sounded strange. I mean, it feels like we've met before."

That much is true; he is as much of a stranger as she is to him, despite the lingering watch she keeps on him. She ponders upon her words, trying to hide the stalkerish secret she keeps. "We haven't met before. . . but we do share a class."

"You're the one who keeps taking pictures of me!" She freezes, and she finds him grinning, a blush on his cheeks as his stare seemed to wander away from her figure and towards the nature around them. "I was wondering who my personal photographer was."

"I—I'm sorry—"

He blushes deeper, and the shade of red against his cheeks is the most beautiful shade she's ever seen. "It's alright. It's actually quite flattering. I'm Minghao. I don't think I've caught your name."

"Y/n," she replies instinctively, and her fingers ache to capture the smile he directs at her. "You're a really great artist, by the way." This time, her cheeks are the ones wearing crimson hues. "Your paintings—they're remarkable."

"I've never seen them for myself." He wears a coy smile, as though there is a joke that only he and he alone could understand. "As you can see, I'm blind."

She smiles shyly back, silently musing over his subtle pun. "Um, yeah. I didn't realise when I first noticed you."

He cocks an eyebrow. "My photographs weren't obvious clues? Either they somehow all came out really good, or you suck as a photographer."

A laughter escapes her before she could stop it, and she sees him smiling wider at the sound. "No, they were really horrible. I just thought—I don't know—that you maybe had a lack of interest in the arts."

"Art is my favourite subject, actually," he corrects, and leans down to pet his guide dog that has been obediently quiet ever since the chattering animals around them disappeared. "But I can't do anything with things I can't touch. Which is why painting is my favourite medium."

"Because your hands are your brushes," she realises, and he nods, his fingers dancing on his thighs. "You can feel where the colours go just by touching the canvas."

He laughs, and it sounds almost nervous and shy, as though this is the longest conversation he has held with a complete stranger. She doesn't blame him; her chest is aching by now, and her mind is still having trouble grasping at the fact the conversation is even reality. The whole scenario simply seems somehow surreal in both their eyes.

"Kind of. I can roughly imagine the image I'm painting, but I can't actually see the colours. I usually dip my hands in some paint and hope the colours come out alright. Usually, my friends would tease me because I'm painting the sky yellow and the sun black." His face is red as though the confession is a crime, and she is astounded by his obvious luck and talent as she remembers the first evening sky she ever saw him paint.

The question slips before she could even consider it: "What if I described the colours to you?"

He chuckles. "My friends have tried, trust me. They just go, 'Yellow is the sun, and black is dark.' Which is nice of them, but it doesn't help much, since I've never seen the sun and everything looks dark to me."

She laughs. "Well, they are right. The sun is yellow, and black is dark, but yellow is also the colour of warmth, that fuzzy feeling when you laugh so much your stomach hurts, when the world suddenly seems so bright. And then black is that feeling when you're really sad and everything just seem so out of reach, like you're falling into an abyss that you can't escape. It's the colour of depression."

"You're better at this than they are," he says, and she laughs again, and he smiles suddenly, his face glowing gold. "Your laughter sounds like yellow to me."

"Is that how'd you paint me?"

"A giant blob of yellow on a blank canvas," he agrees, chuckling softly in amusement as his dull irises sparkle in new life. "You could start helping me paint from now on."

"Yeah?"

"As long you stop taking pictures of me when I'm unaware," he compromises. "I swear those pictures must be really embarrassing."

"Actually, you look quite charming in them."

He smiles. "What colour am I, then?"

She ponders silently as she watches the white clouds float past, the butterflies in her stomach finally settling somewhere deep. "You're a multitude of colours, Minghao," she decides, and she could feel his smile stretching, her answer obviously pleasing him. "You're yellow and black and everything in between. You're screaming with colours."

[jaskierswolf]

Hmmm Geraskier Legally Blonde AU. Music major Jaskier follows his long-time muse Chiridean to law school (what, like it’s hard?) but finds him smitten with all-star student Yennefer. Cue Jaskier needing the broody TA, Geralt’s help in not flunking out. Jaskier ends up rocking the high-profile case of Callonetta, even after evil law professor Stregobor attempts to toss him out. (I also needed an excuse to put Jaskier in a playboy bunny outfit. For reasons.)

I am so so sorry this took so long. I almost made it into a longer piece and honestly I may still use the scenes in this to expand into a longer fic on AO3 if I have time but for now...  voila! _____________

Jaskier was tearing his hair out. There was no way he would be able to get the grades he needed to get into law school. He was a musician for fuck’s sake. There were so many words and they were all so boring. The paragraphs blended together and blurred making it nearly impossible to focus. He groaned and thumped his head on the table. He could do this. He wanted to do this. He had just hit a wall. He’d been concentrating so hard for weeks, which was, quite frankly, impressive for him. That sort of focus was usually reserved for his composing.

“Come on, Jask. You can do this!”

He couldn’t do this.

“How’s it going, buttercup?” Triss asked as she popped her head around the door.

Jaskier pouted and gazed wistfully out the window at the parties in the street below. “I should be out there, Triss. I could have been up on the stage or snogging some gorgeous person behind the curtain!”

Triss smirked and put her hands on her hips. “Snogging?”

Jaskier winked. “Or fucking,” he added with a shrug. “Anything is better than this shit!” He said gesturing widely to the the stack of books on his desk.

“You could just give up?”

Jaskier gaped at her and huffed. “My muse!” He whined.

“Suit yourself,” Triss shrugged. “Ready to go again?”

Jaskier groaned but nodded as Triss passed him another test whilst setting an alarm on her phone.

“Go!”

He sighed but began to scribble furiously. He could do this!

__________

He’d fucking done it. Jaskier Pankratz was at Law School. His parents had never been so proud. They’d restored his inheritance to their estate and he finally had access to his bank accounts again. No more living on tips and barista wages for him. He grinned. He’d always known that Chireadan would be the best muse! He strutted down the halls dressed in his favourite black skinny jeans and a shocking pink crop top, his guitar slung over his shoulder and an ice coffee in hand.

It was time for the next part of his plan. It was time to get his muse back!

He smiled and waved cheerfully at his fellow law students as he danced through the corridors, sipping his ice salted caramel latte through a straw. Most of them looked at him as if he was from another planet. Their clothes were black, black and black. Did no one in law school know what colour was? Yes he was wearing black jeans, but his top was brightly coloured and more than a little bit sexy. He’d paired the outfit with some designer sunglasses, a gift to himself to celebrate his reunion with his credit card, and a pair high heeled ankle boots that laced up at the front. His fashion sense was just wasted on these clever folk.

He sighed dramatically and glanced up at the doors. He was absolutely not lost. It was just… nothing was very clearly marked. Perhaps that’s why you needed all the extra tests to get into law school, even getting to class was a fucking exam.

“Are you alright?” A deep gruff voice asked. “You look lost.”

Jaskier spun around and peered over the top of his sunglasses. His jaw dropped. The man in front of him was fucking gorgeous. He had the most beautiful silver hair that was pulled into a bun, revealing a sneaky undercut on either side of his head. He was wearing a black turtle neck that was a tad too tight and stretched over hidden muscles, and on his face were a pair of thick black rimmed glasses. It shouldn’t have been so sexy but holy mother of fuck. Even the ratty old tweed jacket looked good on him.

“Lost in your eyes maybe,” Jaskier winked and bit his lips.

“Hmm.”

And then he turned and walked away. Jaskier pouted. The man must be straight. There wasn’t even a blush on his face, either that or Jaskier was losing him game.

Nah. It wasn’t that. He looked fucking hot and he knew it.

Jaskier hurried after him and placed a hand on his arm. “Wait! No. I’m sorry. I am lost, like actually lost and not just in your eyes, although can I just say,” he gestured to the man’s body. “Wow. What colour are your eyes? Yellow, no golden… doesn’t matter. They are gorgeous.”

The man raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m Jaskier by the way. Jaskier Pankratz.” He held his hand out to shake but the man ignored it so he ran his fingers through his hair instead.

“What class?”

“Oh umm, excellent question,” Jaskier stuck out his tongue and he dug through his pockets for his schedule. It was already coffee stained and torn in the corner but who gives a shit. “Professor Stregobor?”

The man let out a weary sigh and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Fuck.”

Jaskier tilted his head and put his free hand on his hip as he sipped his coffee. “Why ‘fuck’?”

“You’re not going to last two minutes. Follow me.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. What was that supposed to mean? “Oh hang on!”

“Follow me.”

Jaskier’s jaw snapped shut. He hadn’t even made it to class yet and he was starting to regret everything.

_______________

“Come on…” Jaskier drawled as he rest his chin on his hands. The table was sticky and covered in beer but he ignored it. He had a job to do. He jutted out his bottom lip and widened his eyes at Chireadan.

Chireadan like everyone else in this damned party was dressed casually in a rather lovely blue jumper and chinos. Jaskier, who had been invited to the party by one Yennefer Vengerberg, was wearing a black corset, fishnet tights and a ridiculous pair of bunny ears. He should have known better than to trust Yennefer. She was fucking gorgeous and a phenomenal lawyer but she had taken a dislike to him. It was shame. He was pretty certain that under different circumstances they could have been friends. She was just ambitious and did not hesitate to trample on others to get what she wanted. He respected that.

It just had a few unpleasant side effects. Like turning up to a non-costume party dressed as a playboy bunny. At least he looked cute.

“No, no. Out of the question!” Chireadan said in his adorable little accent. It was what had drawn Jaskier to him in the first place. “I’m just not interested anymore.”

Jaskier let out a soft whine and batted his eyelids. “But I need you, you’re my muse!”

“Well you’ll have to find a new one. I’m done being fodder for your terrible songs.”

And like that the spell was broken. Jaskier gasped and sat back in his chair. “I. You. What?!” He shrieked.

“It was just one love song after another, and none of them even made sense? Do you even know how to rhyme? And we’re not even in love.” Chireadan huffed. “I want a girlfriend and I can’t do that with you trailing after me acting like a lovesick puppy. No. Julian. We are done.”

“Oh no. We are not done because you say so. We are done because you are a terrible muse with fucking awful taste in music. I cannot believe I wasted years on you!” Jaskier snapped. “I was just trying to repay you for saving my life but you. you.. ungrateful swine!”

“You’re acting like a child.”

“I’m a musician! I’m allowed to be dramatic!” He yelled and stood up, kicking the chair out from underneath him. “Yennefer Vengerberg will never love you. You’re wasting your time.”

“I know,” Chireadan sighed wistfully. “but I love her.”

Jaskier scoffed and fled the house. His pride was wounded. Not only had Stregobor called him a talentless fool who would never succeed in court, his muse, his precious muse had insulted his songs. He was fucking done with it all. He should never have come here.

His eyes stung and his throat ached as he bit back a sob. “Fuck!”

He shivered just as a heavy coat dropped around his shoulders. He touched the fabric in the dark; tweed. He smiled into his lap; Geralt. He felt Geralt sit next to him silently and he rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder.

“I spoke to Yen,” Geralt said in a low whisper. “I’d like to say she’s sorry for the costume joke.”

Jaskier chuckled. “Of course she’s not.”

“No.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier sighed dramatically as he looked up at the stars. “What am I doing here, Geralt? I’m a musician, not a lawyer, and apparently I can’t even do that right.”

“What? Who said that?”

“Chireadan,” he whined.

“He knows fuck all,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier sat up and stared at Geralt in disbelief. “Does this mean you like my music, Geralt?” Geralt scowled and refused to meet his gaze. “Oh come on, I’m having a shit night. Humour me?”

“I like your music.”

“What do you like about it, three words or less?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt groaned.

“Please!”

“It’s catchy.” A pause. “And I like your voice.”

Jaskier swallowed as he tried to remind himself how to breathe. He was certain it was the booze and Geralt actually being nice to him for a change but he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to kiss him. He cupped Geralt’s face, turning it gently so he was looking at Jaskier. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt’s eyes flickered down to Jaskier’s lips. There was no mistaking that and even in the dark Jaskier was pretty sure he could see a blush on Geralt’s cheeks. He was fairly certain that if Geralt didn’t kiss him now, he might die. He licked his lips and tilted his head at his friend. “Geralt?” He asked quietly.

Geralt hummed, the ever present scowl on his forehead deepening. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me?”

And he did. Then he did it again, and again, until Jaskier had forgotten all the sadness in his heart because all that mattered were Geralt’s lips against his. __________ Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @victorieschild @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @electricrituals @geralt-of-riviass @00qtee @kittynannygaming @stinastar @scribblesonmapleleaves @thecomfortofoldstorries @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67

[tinnchan]

atotsweek2021 day 7: We will never be apart, indefinitely

This is going to be long! And I know these type of posts can be annoying to some so I am going to put them under a cut. Click to just read a long, wordy attempt at gushing at so many people in the fandom.

Favourite gifset/graphics

Honestly, this fandom is so talented when it comes to graphics and gifsets it's almost impossible to pick one so bear with me as a list down all of the atots giffers out there.

@ataleofthousandstars is one of the most creative person in fandom. I keep constantly getting floored by her amazing gifsets. The way she grasps on themes and concepts easily for her gifsets. It's like storytelling.

@atotsphutian is massively talented and her agenda of giffing smiling Phupha and Tian is so valid. This piece might be my favourite of yours, Lara. It's so beautifully done.

@barncsbucky 's play with light and dark gifs is one of the best thing i've seen, especially this!

@billkinsdancing is king of blending. The rendering and colours of his gifsets are always so creative and pretty. No one does it like Quan and this gifset lives rent free in my mind.

@kaonoppakao idk man, maybe this belongs in the Louvres or something.

@mixmetawin 's lyrics and quote sets are the most amazing atots work i've had the privilege to see and everyone should def check them out especially this one.

@phapundao do you ever look at a piece of art and feel like home? This is how I feel about Nuria's gifs. I see some gifsets on my dash with those specific colour schemes and feel and I know they are hers. This still takes my breath away.

@taleofstars every Kit gifset is my favourite gifset until the new Kit gifset comes along. Kit always chooses the best themes and the best scenes. Always keep giffing our hornbills Kit otherwise I'll </3. This just feels me with so much warmth.

@tiansgalaxy 's gifsets are lil, precious gems. The colours and letterings are always so gorgeous and these gifs are just so beautiful.

Favourite fanart

@ktrless style is so so lovely. Do you all want to get emotional over a great, funny comic starring birds?

@viriyanon Angela!! You are also an amazing text poster and writer but I am putting you in the fanartist cathegory because your wingmen art brought me so much joy <3 Please keep fan-arting!

@evenasyoungastheyare makes the most amazing charcoal pieces and linking only one would be a disservice. Go check them all out!! They make my heart sink and flutter.

Favourite fmv

If i ever only have under 5 minutes to live and I need to recapture the essence of Phutian and atots in the most perfect way I will watch this video by the talented @thranduel.

Favourite fic/meta/textpost etc

@serannes is the most hilarious person in the asian drama/BL fandom and have these as exhibit A.

@eyepietime All of Maria's metas and posts and her fic are my favourite things ever because she is the most intellectual smort person in this fandom. You all just go read all of her tags under atots posts for some of the most brilliant and inciteful lil nuggets (it's so sad that you keep em in the tags!! the world deserve to know).

@thebadmoonsrising is one of the fandom's most amazing writer. She has Tian and mostly Phupha nailed to the T. Her characterization is amazing. Please everyone, go check her on going photography!AU for some of the most beautiful and vivid descriptions ever though my other fav fic of hers is here.

@morathicain has written my favourite piece of Phutian fluff ever. It is absolutely precious and beautiful.

and amazing blogs I love interacting with or whose tags always make me smile or including other amazing creators (whether for atots or not) whose content you must all check out: @thedownloey @nct-oli @everybodyelsesgirl @nanzhujues @onlyifyoubadd @laowen @earthmixs

[sirtadcooper]

🎨 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Astrid, Astrid, Astrid, what am I going to do? Sort through your consistently perfect gifs? Pick favourites? You have truly set me a great challenge.

Usually I will go through a person’s whole edits tag but I have sorted these into Narcos and The Mandalorian because I was just looking to see how much you had made and accidentally saw a major spoiler for The Mentalist which I am only on season 2 of. I’m looking forward to [redacted] happening, though, because I was starting to ship them a few episodes in! Anyway, onwards with my impossible task.

Narcos

So before I start on this list I want to say that your colouring? It’s perfect every single time. Seriously. Fair warning: I’m going to be saying “perfect” a lot.

Javier Peña + that thing he does with his right hand - A great compilation! I never noticed this little detail so this gifset was a real (pleasant) surprise. I was checking the notes just to see what the general consensus was and I like the he-wants-a-cigarette theory. Just excellent acting from Pedro what a very keen eye you have! Or maybe you just spend a lot of time fixating on Javi’s hands...

Javi being snarky - Gosh, I love this one! Javi’s sense of humour got me though Narcos, although I think only one or possibly two of these gifs is from season 3? The way the life drains out of him over the course of the series just breaks my effing heart, baby. By the end of the three seasons I was pretty cross with the guys in episode one for calling him an asshole, but maybe I can see their point now, haha! But I still love him. I will protec.

1.05 There Will Be a Future | 3.01 The Kingpin Strategy - It was a great choice to jump from one scene to the other like this. Really adds to the heartbreak. It makes the contrast between his life now (sharing stories in the cool dark) and what it could have been (warmth and light and checked shirts) all the more vivid. The way he looks back at her in the last gif? Ouch.

Narcos, “The Palace in Flames” (2015) | We Can Be Heroes (2020) - A parallel I love and respect, thanks for making such good gifs of it. Shout-out to @keanurevees for being the single funniest person on this planet.

“Jungle Rescue Javi” in Convivir - Listen Jungle Rescue Javi can come and rescue me anytime. You’ve done a great job of colouring so many scenes with different lighting conditions and still have that green shirt look like a green shirt. Like it’s the same hue in each one. How did you do that? That’s pretty neat.

We’ve all gone off the rails down here, Javi. - This scene! I’m not okay! I love the colouring work you have done here. It’s just so perfect, so nice to look at. The whole set has this earthy colour palette and I mean, even Javi isn’t wearing a colourful shirt for once. This is serious.

Javi wearing a leather jacket - These gifs are so HQ I could practically reach out and touch his jacket, you can just feel the textures... with-with your eyes...? You’ve picked shots that all work together as a set, nothing stands out for the wrong reasons. No wide shots, no super close-ups, nothing to throw us off of our jacket appreciation rhythm.

Javi and his yellow aviator sunglasses - My biggest “YEAH BOY!!!” ever for this one. The amount of work that must have gone into this. 24 individual gifs coloured to your usual levels of absolute perfection and then laid out in this very pleasing and completely accurate, not-a-pixel-out-of-line way. Amazing.

Javi chasing Franklin Jurado through Curaçao in Best Laid Plans - Gosh this scene was so tense! You’ve done a great job colouring this despite the changing lighting conditions and the blazing sunshine. Well done! And I never noticed until I saw this gifset for the first time that he’s wearing a pink shirt and jumps from a pink building, haha!

Javier Peña leaning over tables - You see stuff like this? This is why I consider you to be the ultimate expert on Narcos. You make compilations like this and make it look effortless. I wouldn’t know where to start looking for scenes like these without having to rewatch the whole series and take notes. But, hey, maybe that’s what you did. But the fact that you did and made this set is still amazing.

NARCOS | 1.06 EXPLOSIVOS - Great job with such a dark and unforgiving scene! You have the Talent. He looks really pretty here.

Javier Peña + favorite look - Gosh, yes. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Pedro Pascal is a very talented actor. He takes clunky vintage tactical equipment and makes it look flipping incredible, like something he was born to wear. Also thank you for that delectable bonus gif. Arms.

The Mandalorian

Okay I have rambled for, like, 800 words already so I’ll try to say a bit less about these. I’ll try.

Din’s beskar spear heel kick in The Rescue - First of all, I saw this and now I’m pregnant. This is on the list because not only is it Din’s hottest moment for me, but because colouring-wise it is impressive. It’s bright, there’s no colour cast at all, and yet the blacks are really deep and rich. Gideon’s I’m-evil-I-must-wear-nothing-but-black cape looks especially good.

Din’s walk - You are the compilation queen! There’s nothing really that I can say here that I haven’t already said about your other compilation gifsets, it’s just perfect as usual, ya know? You make it look so easy. How does Din look so good when [New Yorker voice] he’s just walkin’ here?

Din just being a dad - Yeah. That’s the Good Stuff.

Din’s shoulder/waist ratio whenever he walks into a room - Everyone shut up I am Thinking.

Din engaging in a dogfight while his son has the time of his life on the backseat in The Siege - Like with your set of pink-shirted Javi chasing that guy in Narcos, you have a real talent for giffing action scenes. You’ve coloured this really well. You can still see details in the clouds and the shadows and your colour balance is impeccable.

Din lifting his helmet to sip soup in The Siege - I love the warmth of this little scene and the colouring you’ve done here. And the bonus gif... same, Grogu, same.

And I think I’ll stop there. I have sadly had to leave out some really excellent posts but I had to draw the line somewhere, haha! You, my friend, are just incredible. Time and time again you grace us with perfect gifs in crisp HD 4K 1080p HDR. And for what? Not for money or reward, but for love. Thank you for all that you do, because you may make your gifs look effortless but I know it is anything but. You’re amazing, you’re talented, you’re perfect.

creators send me 🎨 and i’ll tell you my favourite of your last ten creations and why

[writesowhatnext]

the feeling that we’re meeting // sirius black

Summary: Sirius Black has never liked the reader and this he made known. Maybe it’s because she’s a Slytherin. Maybe it was the bat-bogey hex. Strange, though, how things change with a war in full throttle.

Request: hello :) can i have an angst to fluff w sirius pls? (slowburn) post-hogwarts a few years where y/n was one of the main targets along w snape for james’ and sirius’ ridiculing and bullying, and they were just dreadful to her (she was in slytherin) :( but then a few years after hogwarts she joins the order and sirius acts just rlly immature and mean to her but then slowly starts falling for her as he starts noticing little aspects of her personality :) and at the end can there be like a fluffy cuddling scene where she asks him why he was so nasty to her and he talks ab how guilty and sorry he is :) ty babe!

A/N: I liked this request tbh bc it’s so important to remember that sirius is a brill character bc he’s so realistic with his equal good and bad traits – I was a bit liberal with canon context but I can’t say I don’t enjoy a world with James and Lily alive :) Also I listened to ‘For the First Time’ by The Script when I was writing and I agree

Reader: female, Slytherin

Warnings: female!reader, drinking, death eater parents, innuendo I suppose, also long af, injury, parental abuse, battle, deaths

Every time you tiptoed down the stairs of number twelve Grimmauld Place, you had to remind yourself that the war was far more important than whatever colour you’d like to dye Sirius Black’s hair. You considered pink, but thought better of it when you realised, he’d probably enjoy it.

It had been months, but you remembered the first time you set foot into the Black family home like it was yesterday. Following Dumbledore through the strange threshold, your nerves climbing as you heard the strangely familiar voices of the boys that had tormented you till you cried from the other room, you found yourself pulling at your sleeves, desperate to be anywhere else. The silence that fell as you stepped out from behind the Head of the Order was suffocating, and you could feel all eyes were on you. Biting the bullet, you glanced up from the crusty carpet, facing people you’d never wanted to see again. You recognised them all despite the years passed, standing together equally unenthused to see you. Remus was taller, impossibly, than you remembered him and Lily’s face was all angles now. Sirius’s hair was longer and styled differently, more like a muggle’s, but James still had the same half-broken glasses, and Peter the same child-like roundness to his cheeks.

“This, as I’m sure you know,” Dumbledore began, crossing his arms over his front. “Is Y/N-“

“Dumbledore, Sir,” James interjected, his tone as incredulous as his expression.

“You can’t be serious!”

You exhaled sharply from your nose at Sirius’ words, dipping your head when it seemed no one else saw the irony.

“Y/N is an excellent witch and she’ll be an excellent addition to the Order.”

“Sir,” Sirius huffed, shooting you a glare before stepping forward towards Dumbledore. “Her parents are death eaters; you can’t possibly trust her.”

“Remind me, Sirius,” you said, your voice echoing in the room for the first time. “What was tattooed on your brother’s arm.”

Although you were entirely correct, you felt a pang of guilt at the hurt that flashed in his eyes before the ever-familiar Black scowl creased his brow. Dumbledore’s presence beside you suddenly felt less and less comforting.

“She was always excellent in Charms,” Remus said gently. You faced him sharply, surprised to see his eyes so apologetic.

“And Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Lily’s tone was light and you were oddly pleased to see a smile on her face. You hoped that meant you would have at least one friend here.

“I wonder bloody why,” Sirius muttered, storming past you into the kitchen, shoulder hitting yours. You clenched your jaw, biting your lip to avoid saying something you’d reject.

“I hope you will treat Miss Y/N with the respect all allies deserve in this time. She’s risking her life to spy for us. You are all aware of what she’s put on the line for this,” Dumbledore said, an air of finality to his tone before he left you there, in the lion’s den, alone.

“Well,” Lily said, standing up from the armchair she’d been nestled into. She offered you a calloused and freckled hand with a smile. “Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix.”

It didn’t take long for the older members of the Order to trust you; they didn’t care about petty squabbles and rivalries, only the information you could provide. The story, however, wasn’t the same with your old Gryffindor pals. Lily, you accepted with equal parts hesitance and glee, was a fast friend. She had got into the habit of asking you how you were daily and offering you tea in the mornings. Sometimes, after a long mission, you found yourself talking into the night with her.

“Wait, wait,” you said, hand sloppily gripping the stem of an old wine glass you’d found in the cupboards. “You and Potter are married?”

She giggled at your response, leaning her elbow on the armchair next to her as she careened forward, the carpet crunching at the shift.

“Yes,” she nodded, smiling brightly. “I was just as surprised as you, at first, but he-“ a hiccup escaped her lips, earning a round of laughter from you both. “He’s a sweet guy. A tosser, by all means, but loyal and brave and kind.”

You’d never considered James Potter any of those things at Hogwarts, but now, in the real world, you found yourself slowly warming up to him.

“He’s changed, you know,” she said earnestly, suddenly a lot soberer than you felt. “They all have.”

You pursed your lips, taking another sip of the dark wine in your glass.

“Sirius hasn’t.”

She sighed, rubbing her eye with the knuckle of her thumb.

“He’s always hated me.”

Speaking of the devil, a familiar shadow appeared in the doorway before you could carry on your conversation. Sirius stared at you for a moment, his dark eyes locked on your face. He swallowed, mouth curling downwards slightly as he looked at your messy hair and casual position, sat in a place he’d hated for years. Something stirred in his chest and his expression shifted ever so slightly, but before you could question it, he disappeared up the stairs. You huffed, shaking your head as you turned back to Lily.

“See?”

It wasn’t another twenty minutes before James walked in, an amused grin playing on his lips at his wife’s tipsy state.

“C’mon, love. Let’s get you to bed,” he said, gently taking Lily’s arm to lift her up.

“Wow,” she said, whispering very loudly to you. “James Potter with a good idea; there’s a first.”

“Oi!” he laughed, poking her in the ribs and catching the wine glass before she could throw it onto the floor. It would’ve been a shame, you thought sarcastically, if someone ruined such a lovely carpet. He turned to you then, still smiling.

“Cheers, Y/N.”

He shot you a wink before escorting Lily upstairs, her drunk rambling fading the further away they got. You chuckled under your breath, pleased that maybe you weren’t such an outcast as you took another sip. Your mood soured dramatically, though, as you remembered the time, not exactly excited to be returning to your parents.

The next week, you had a few days between missions. Although you probably should’ve been resting at home like everyone else was, Remus included, you ended up on all fours in the Black family living room, pulling up carpet. Remus sat in the armchair at the other end of the room, a newspaper in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. Occasionally, he’d throw a teasing remark at you or ask for help with a tricky crossword clue, but mostly the silence that settled between you was comfortable. You were halfway across the room, surprised you hadn’t thrown up yet at the awful stains on the underside of the carpet, specifically avoiding the one that looked like blood.

“What are you doing?” a voice asked you from the doorway. You looked up, blowing a loose strand of hair from your face as you met Sirius’ eyes. You frowned, sitting back on your feet, carpet still in your hands.

“The laundry,” you replied dryly, a smile tugging at your lips to hear Remus snort into his mug.

“My mother loved this carpet,” he said, a strange look on his face. If you hadn’t known him better, you would’ve mistaken it for approval.

“And a charming family keepsake it is.”

He stared at you for a moment, his gaze steady and unreadable. You doubted whether destroying the carpet without asking him was such a good idea.

“Thank you.”

Without giving you a second to process, he turned left, the front door slamming not a second later. With wide eyes and your jaw on the floor, you looked to Remus, who seemed just as surprised as you.

“Did that just happen?”

He nodded slowly, his brows drawing together. You hummed, matching his frown before you started pulling roughly at the carpet and he returned to his paper.

“Six letter word for a muggle screenplay?”

You didn’t think that much more about Sirius’ gratitude in the next few days, too busy with keeping your lies straight and the war to waste time on why you hated each other. You did notice, despite yourself, that he seemed gradually less and less opposed to your presence. His conversations seemed to dry up less when you entered a room, his glare settled on you less often in Order meetings. As things got more and more difficult at home, the pressure from your parents to get the dark mark growing, it was the small things that helped.

“Y/N,” Peter said one morning, crossing his arms on the breakfast table. You’d warmed to Peter; he was always a little lost, a little wayward. It made you smile most of the time and you couldn’t help the motherly instinct you felt toward him, despite your similarity in age.

“Do you have a spare towel?”

“Why? What did you do with yours?”

A blush covered his cheeks and immediately you found that you really did not want to hear his answer.

“Yeah, I’ll fetch it,” you said, moving to exit the kitchen with a great deal of haste. You’d stayed at the headquarters a few times after hard or early morning missions and Sirius, despite your history, had been kind enough to give you towels to use. You’d been sure, though, that Kreacher, the house-elf, was behind that.

You hadn’t anticipated seeing Sirius in the corridor, muttering to himself as he stood next to the velvet curtain on the wall. His arms were full of what could only be described as junk, the nail of an old bed-frame catching on the fabric. He didn’t notice you behind him as he struggled and with a decidedly irritated yank, he pulled the wooden post free. However, much to his chagrin, and everyone in the house’s eardrums, the curtains fell loose and an extortionately loud screeching filled the air.

“This house is full of blood traitors! Mudbloods!” it hissed, echoing through all the rooms. Seeing Sirius’ arms full, you bent down next to him and gripped the metal rod of the curtain, eager to put it back into place. He jumped a little when he saw you, stumbling out the way slightly, his eyebrows threading together as the high-pitched shouting continued. You took one look at the ugly, yellowing woman in the portrait and shoved the curtain in front of her face, hoping you’d never see it again. It took some jiggling, but soon the portrait was covered and you could only hear rustling behind the fabric, muzzled yells rattling the frame.

“A charming woman, your Mother was. I’m surprised you don’t leave the curtains open all the time,” you said, a distasteful expression tainting your features. Sirius looked at you for a moment, his jaw clenching slightly.

“It’s okay,” you said, smiling a little. “You can laugh.”

He didn’t, but the slight upward curve of his lip didn’t escape you.

“Did you ever have the pleasure to meet her in the flesh?” he asked. Your brows raised at the first real question he’d asked you since you joined the Order.

“No, sadly not,” you crossed your arms and leant on the door. “My parents spoke highly of her, though, which is never the best sign.”

He only nodded, standing awkwardly for a moment before turning to leave. You blinked, before remembering where you’d been going.

“Sirius,” you began, the light tone not suiting his name in your mouth. “Do you have spare towels? Peter-“

Sirius smirked, a strangely handsome expression on him.

“Peter dropped chocolate frogs all over his again,” he huffed, shaking his head. “Just ask Kreacher.”

You barely paid attention to him leaving as you wandered upstairs, in search of the grumpy house-elf. You were pleased to know that Peter’s towel hadn’t been ruined by something more suspect than chocolate, but you couldn’t deny that you were even more pleased that you’d finally had an interaction with Sirius that didn’t involve a row.

Your next interaction, though, was less than ideal. You stumbled toward twelve Grimmauld place with a throbbing headache and shaky legs. Your parents had not been kind when they discovered your treachery, your place in the Order; you were lucky to escape with your life. That’s all you could tell yourself as you dragged yourself up the steps, knocking loudly on the door. It was just your luck for Sirius, of all people, to open it. His expression was at first worried before he realised it was you and a frown settled on his features. As you looked down, trying to concentrate on the swaying floor, you didn’t notice the concern that returned upon seeing your injuries.

“What the blood-“ he began, grunting slightly as you collapsed into him, no longer able to keep your body upright.

You woke the next day in a clean bed with a dull headache. The house-elf shuffling around your room had garnered your attention, and you blinked at him as he placed towels, sheets and clothes in a pile next to the bed.

“Kreacher?” you asked, your voice sore in your throat. “Why am I here?”

“You’re a blood trait-“

You shot him a dry look.

“I mean, how did I get here? Why are you putting clothes out?”

The house-elf sighed, a grizzly sound.

“Master Sirius ordered me to,” he said gruffly. “Said you shall be living here.”

“Oh.”

You frowned, barely registering Kreacher as he made to leave.

“Thank you,” you called after him, earning a grumble in response.

You and Sirius never spoke about the fact that you were now living in the Order Headquarters, in his house, but you never forgot the kindness he showed you. It was a strange feeling, to be grateful to Sirius Black, especially after everything he’d done to you as a student. The topic of your parents didn’t even come up until the night before a particularly difficult mission planning to infiltrate a meeting of death eaters.

“Lily,” you said, sitting on the counter in the kitchen with the others dotted around, even Sirius. “I don’t know if I should come on this mission.”

“What?” Remus asked, placing the chocolate he’d been aiming from his mouth down on the tablecloth.

“I was useful to the Order when I knew things and now,” your voice broke slightly at the memory of the last time you’d seen your parents. “Now I have no information and I might have to… I might have to fight the people that raised me tonight and they don’t have any qualms about killing me or any of you where we stand.”

“Exactly!” James said, moving his arm from the back of Lily’s chair to rest his elbows on the table. “They don’t care about killing us. They killed Gideon and Fabien. You saw what they did to Frank and Alice.”

Your chest tightened. Frank and Alice had always been kind to you; now they were at St. Mungo’s.

“Information or not,” Sirius said, surprising everyone. “You’re a good fighter; we need that.”

The silence that followed his words made you feel like you were missing something as you stared at him, seeing his eyes soft for the first time.

“Sirius is right,” Lily said, nodding. “We have to do all we can; you know that more than most of us.”

The mission had been horrendous.

It had been a bloodbath of proportions you’d never seen before. You’d lost Benjy and Caradoc and Dorcas; people you looked up to. You’d expected losses in a war, you weren’t stupid, but you’d never anticipated the weight behind a spell thrown by your own parents. Despite your own casualties, you’d taken out six death eaters and despite yourself, you were glad your parents weren’t among them. The journey back to the house was a quiet one: Lily busied herself with James’ broken arm and Remus wiped the blood from Sirius’ forehead, dabbing delicately at the cut above his eyebrow. You all disbanded when you got inside, tired and aching, disappearing into your rooms with heavy hearts.

You couldn’t sleep, though, too haunted by the flashes that appeared behind your eyes. It must’ve been past midnight when you tiptoed downstairs, more desperate than ever to not agitate the portrait. You didn’t notice Sirius in the kitchen until you’d shut the door behind you, jumping out of your skin to see him sat there with a glass and a bottle of firewhiskey.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, lifting his glass and taking a swig. You’d come down for tea, but the idea of numbing your senses appealed. He must’ve noticed the way your eyes lingered on his glass and without a word, he reached behind him to grab another, pouring you a liberal shot. You sat down almost tentatively, fingers gliding around the edges of the glass.

He watched with an amused smile as you downed the whole thing, wincing at the burn before you rested it back on the table. He filled it again immediately.

“Rough night.”

“Indeed,” you said, rubbing your eyes and sighing. “I never thought we’d be here.”

He raised an eyebrow, stretching the bandage on his forehead as his lips pressed against the rim of the glass.

“Me and you,” you laughed a little. “Drinking together.”

“Not something I’d have bet on,” he muttered, laughing too. Your smiles both faded as you looked at each other, though, across the plastic gingham table cloth.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

The question tumbled from your lips before you could stop it.

“I don’t hate you.”

You shot him a very dry glance. He shook his head and sighed, putting his glass down a little too loudly before running a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but you.

“You’re a pureblood Slytherin,” he said, running his hands over his face. “And I hated it. I hated anyone that reminded me of this place. And you- you were everything my parents wanted me to be: smart, loyal… dark, I thought.”

You nodded, sipping your drink quietly.

“You were an easy target, too, for a pillock like me. Didn’t have that many friends-“

“That was because they were all stuck-up death eaters.”

“I know that now. It didn’t matter then, though. I was a kid, though, and I thought it was just kids’ stuff-“

“You know, that time you exploded my cauldron in the final Potions exam, I cried for a whole week.”

He had the good sense to look guilty for a second before amusement lifted his cheeks.

“You did bat-bogey hex me for that.”

Your cheeks heated up at the memory, your fingers fiddling with the glass more.

“Which is entirely illegal.”

You smiled, pressed your lips together as you shook your head. It all seemed so long ago; so childish, now. You leant your elbows on the table, resting your chin on your interlocked fingers.

“It was a good shot, though,” you mused, enjoying the way his lips spread into a dazzling grin.

“A bloody good shot,” he laughed. He leant back slowly, tilting his head to the side and biting his top lip. The mood dropped again as he stared at you.

“What?”

“I’m really sorry.”

You wanted to take the piss, but something about his tone or the look in his eyes trapped your words in your throat. You just watched as he stood up, moving towards the sink.

“I made your life hell because I hated my own,” he said, pressing his hands to the counter, leaning forward. “It wasn’t fair. I’m not surprised you hated me, I deserved it.”

You stood up slowly, softly stepping toward him.

“I did hate you,” you said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I hated you for so long it was all I could think about. Even here, I hated seeing your face.”

He turned to you, expression hard and tears sparkling in his eyes.

“I’m not sure if I do anymore.”

He turned around slowly to lean back on the counter as your hand slid down his arm. He caught it gently in his, surprising you.

“I want you to forgive me,” he whispered, staring at you so intensely a lump formed in your throat. You felt like you’d never even met this Sirius before.

“I-“

“I want to earn your forgiveness.”

You were at a loss for words as you looked at him, frozen in place. His hand was warm in your own and you couldn’t, for a moment, think about anything else. You bit your lip and nodded, stepping towards him gently.

“I’d like that.”

You leant into him, your side pressing against his, enjoying his warmth and the new feeling in your chest. You’d been in the war so long you forgot what real life felt like. You felt his hand hover around you nervously before it settled against your back, his hand resting on the counter next to you. And there, with the moonlight pouring in behind you, is where you stood till the sunrise peeked over the horizon; your hands clasped together with Sirius’ arm at your back, silent as you both felt a hope you’d not felt in a good few years.

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator

@loveisblindness​

@decadentwastelandtrash

@xinyourdreamsx​

@brainlesspasta​

@hariosborn

[cathrrrine]

Otherworldly | SPN x The Witcher

Originally from my AO3

CHAPTER 2 - If It Isn't The Butcher

----

“She sent us here?”

The three of them were now seated in a tavern, not unlike the bars they were used to, but a little less cleaner than what they preferred.

”Atë sent us here.” Red confirmed. She recalled the conversation she had with her sister.

—

”She’s not here for games. She’s here to destroy the world.”

Red turned to her sister, Natalia, who looked as disheveled as an unattended child; hair messy, bags under her eyes, food staining her shirt and crumbs from the sandwich she ate before stuck at the edges of her mouth. She hadn’t showered or eaten properly for days, engrossed with her research on Atë.

Red, the ever caring sister, handed her a cup of coffee. ”Drink.”

”You’re not listening-“

”Drink. Then I will listen.” Red repeated. It wasn’t a request. Natalia sighed, knowing full well that her sister wouldn’t take no for an answer. Her hand reached for the cup, much to the satisfaction of her sister, and she took a sip of the warm beverage.

”Good. Now, what did you say?”

”Atë. She’s here on a mission to take what isn’t hers.” Although her words made Red’s spine shiver, she did not display her fear. Instead, she took the hair brush on the table and ran it through her sister’s hair.

Both of them had red hair, Natalia’s a few shades lighter than Red’s. But although they had the same hair colour, they didn’t share the same texture. Natalia inherited their mother’s straight and silky hair, while Red took to their father’s soft and curly hair. The two of them inherited the red from their father, who was a kind yet stern man.

Both their parents were dead now. They were all they had left. Well...except for the Winchesters, who came into their lives a few years back.

“She’s done this before. In 1834, look.” Natalia showed the proof from her laptop screen. Indeed, it was true. It was a report about a woman with a description that matched Atë’s. “She burned houses, people, crops...she took babies just to murder them. Atë kills and conquers.”

“There’s no doubt she came back to do this again. She wants to cause chaos. That’s all she knows.”

“There’s also something else.” It took Natalia a few clicks on her laptop. “It’s been said that she can send people to another universe.”

“What, like with aliens and shit? ”

“Maybe. It’s not impossible. If we’re not careful, she’ll send us off to wherever she wants to. And then we won’t be able to save the world from her antics.”

They shared a look. Fear was evident im their eyes.

“She’s extremely powerful.” Natalia sighed. “But we need to fight her.”

—

“This wasn’t an accident. She does this to people. Goddess of Mischief, remember?” Red scoffed, taking another swig of water. She would’ve gone for ale, like the white-haired man who lead them here, but she didn’t have any money. At least, none that were worth in the world she was in. So, instead she asked for water, which was fortunately costless.

“How do we get back?” Sam was worried, Red noticed. He never really put his emotions on display, but she’s known him long enough to point out his tells. If he was worried, his eyebrows would knit together subconsciously and he would constantly run his hands through his hair.

Red put her hand over his, and he looked up at her with a smile in his eyes. He intertwined their fingers together, and she stroked his hand with her thumb. It wasn’t an uncommon thing between them. Every time they noticed the other was nervous or scared, they would reach for the other’s hand.

“We have to find a witch.” said Red. “If we were back in our world, Rowena would be able to help us. We need to find someone as powerful as her.”

“Do they even have witches?”

“We could always...” she trailed off as her eyes landed on the person she was looking for. “...ask.”

“Him? Are you kidding me?” Dean shook his head disapprovingly. “He didn’t want anything to do with us.”

“I could ask.”

“No.” Sam gave her hand a squeeze. “He could kill you. We don’t know him.” It was a joke, but there was a hint of truth in there.

Red returned the squeeze, as if to say ‘Don’t worry’. Then she stood up to walk over to the Witcher’s table before they could protest further.

“Not much for company, I see.”

The man ignored her, but she knew he was listening. “We need your help.”

“I’ve helped you enough. You want any more of my services, you pay.”

She started to feel hopeless, but at the back of her head she heard her sister scolding her for giving up too early. “You know we don’t have the money. We’re not from your world.”

He acted as if he was unbothered.

“Listen.” She seethed, frustrated with the way he was treating her. “All we need to do is find a witch. Then you can leave us from there. You said you’re a Witcher, do you know anything about magic?”

The corner of his lips twitched, a laugh threatening to start. “Witchers hunt and kill monsters. What you’re looking for is a mage.”

“A mage?” Red took the seat across him and sat down, forcing him to look in her eyes. “We’re looking for a powerful one. Can you lead us to them?”

His amber eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of the tavern. He wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of helping the three strangers, but he did not like the idea of stringing along dead weight. He had jobs to do.

“No.” He hummed, downing the glass of ale right after to avoid looking at the woman in front of him.

“No? Seriously?” She didn’t yell, but it seemed like she was close to it. “Okay, what do you want? Besides money.”

“I want you to go away.”

“We don’t know anyone else in this world.”

“You don’t know me either.” That was true. They didn’t even know each other’s names. He stood from his seat and grabbed his things, making a beeline for the exit. She followed suit, hot on his heels.

Red was pissed off. “At least tell me where I can find a mage!”

“Pay.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She groaned. “Haven’t you heard anything I said? We’re lost! We don’t know anything about your world.”

They were already out the door, him at the front, trying to block out her voice.

“Look, please, just listen to me. Our world is in danger. We need to go back to save it.”

He knew a few things about saving. At this, he stopped in his tracks, contemplating. Red almost cried in relief when he did.

“If we don’t get back soon, the world- our world, will suffer. There’s someone who wants to destroy it and we’re the only ones who know how to stop her.” The last part wasn’t completely true. They were the only ones who knew what she was going to do to their world, but they didn’t know how to stop her yet. “Please.”

He turned, hearing the desperation in her voice. He gazed into her eyes, filled with a fire that he recognised all too well.

“Oi, that’s the Butcher!” A voice cried from their right. It was a man, obviously drunk, and he was dragging along a sword. The Witcher sighed, a scowl starting to creep on his face. He knew he would face something like this.

“If it isn’t the Butcher.” Another voice yelled. Red went silent, recognising the venom in the tone of the random man’s voice.

“Butcher?” She whispered.

At least half of the townspeople stopped in their tracks when they noticed the ‘butcher’, and a few men crowded around them.

“Get inside.” The Witcher growled to Red, but she couldn’t hear him among all the noise that the crowd was causing. The tension was thick, and Red reached slowly for her blade, ready to defend herself.”

“You’re no welcome here. You know that.” The drunk man slurred.

“I was here for a job. I seek no trouble.”

“No trouble? You’re presence is trouble itself.”

“Back off. I was just leaving.” But the drunk man wasn’t listening. He took his sword and swung. The Witcher dodged it, taking out his own sword from it’s sheath. They fought, the Witcher obviously winning, but he wasn’t planning on killing anyone today. He waited for the right moment before throwing a forceful punch his way, knocking the drunk man out immediately.

Red watched as the scene unfolded, not realising when a couple of men crept up behind her.

“You a friend of his?” One of them breathed, close to her neck. She whipped her head around, her face inches away from his. She took two steps back, trying to assess the situation.

“So what if I am?” She questioned.

“Then you just found yourself some trouble, missy.” In the blink of an eye, he swung a blade her way, missing her by inches when she managed to dodge it in time.

She rolled her eyes. “Can’t I get a break?”

Red attacked him, plunging her knife into his thigh. It wasn’t enough apparently, because he stood up fine, pouncing at her once again. She was quick to twirl her body around and kick him in the face, so hard that she could feel his teeth through her boot.

He fell, spitting out blood. It was a move that she used frequently while hunting, and it never failed to knock her victims out—whatever the species.

Another man moved to attack her from the back, this time she was caught off-guard. He had wrapped his arm around her neck, choking her. Just as she was struggling to stab him, his suddenly grip weakened. Red turned around to see Sam, holding a piece of hard wood that he used to hit the man on the head.

They shared a wordless grin for a second before resuming the fight. Dean had also joined, kicking and throwing punches. There were at least a dozen of men who were attacking them all. Why? The three humans didn’t have a clue. But they fought anyway.

Red turned to look for the Witcher, and was surprised when she found him struggling in a chokehold. He seemed strong enough to hold his own, but she ran his way and punched the side of his choker’s head, feeling the crack of her knuckles as it connected with his skull. It was enough to disorientate him.

“I had that.” The Witcher grumbled.

“Oh, yeah, sure you did.” She taunted, turning back to the man and kicking him in the stomach, then again in the face.

The Witcher stared at her, millions of thoughts popping into his head. Maybe she wasn’t dead weight after all.

Maybe he would consider helping her.

[wherethingscomebackx]

Top 25 Larry fics of 2019

It’s that time again!

You may be familiar with these lists:

Top 25 Larry fics of 2016

Top 25 Larry fics of 2017

Top 25 Larry fics of 2018

As always, I read a lot of fic and the majority of it is Larry. I like making lists and I like Larry so I thought I’d do some minimal research of the top 25 larry fics published/completed in 2019 in order of least to most kudos (with links). All of these fics are top notch so you should all check them out! 

25.) Foolishy Laying Our Hearts on the Table by @runaway-train-works (11k)

“You think Harry wants that?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten.

“Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.”

Or

The one where Harry is in love with his best friend Louis but doesn't think he stands a chance until some wisdom teeth and a rather unusual confession might just change his mind.

24.) Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices by @toomanydreamers (126k)

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

23.) all we can do is keep breathing by @avocadolouie (310k)

“Harry, I-I’m so sorry…” Louis stutters out, trying to keep his voice level and even, to portray a depiction of strength, but with the way Harry is looking at him, staring at him like he has a personal passage way straight to Louis’ soul, it’s so hard, nearly impossible.

That simple opening phrase, that short introductory acknowledgement that is often rushed out so easily, painlessly, at a safe distance. Giving a doctor the ability to portray empathy without true emotion, without feeling the full brunt and sheer force of the underlying pain itself.

But Louis feels it, he feels the crushing agony laced behind the phrase, he feels the weight of the painful words slipping from his lips, the cause and effect that the three-word expression holds. The distantly empty “I’m so sorry” that doctors throw out in self-preservation, isn’t at all empty for him. Louis recognizes it, he understands it, he feels it.

--

a fated story of two broken and battered boys who barely survived the unimaginable and how the love of one little brave girl defies all the odds and somehow puts them back together.

22.) Raise a Glass to the Four of Us by @2tiedships2 (25k)

Louis stared at his luggage.

Well. Apparently not his luggage, because the clothing he was looking at currently was a: worth more than everything he currently possessed, b: not his size at all, and c: more suited for a fancy ass lawyer than a holiday in NYC with his best mates.

“Ooh, nice loafers,” Niall said as he pulled one out of the suitcase. “I love the rainbows.”

“Okay,” Liam began. “What do you want to do first? Eat, shop for new clothes, or spend hours on the phone with the airline?”

Louis continued to stare at the luggage.

21.) You Have to Retreat to Advance by @2tiedships2 (18k)

“What am I going to do, Perrie? I can’t go on this retreat by myself. My boss literally said he wants to meet my omega.” Harry paused. “Okay, not literally but he definitely expects me to be bringing him.”

“Don’t people go on these things by themselves?” Perrie asked.

Harry shrugged. “Of course but that’s not the point.”

“What’s the point?”

“My boss is expecting to meet my omega! I don’t have an omega!”

“Is this a paying gig?” Perrie asked.

“You mean paying an omega to spend the weekend with me? I’m sure the resort has nice amenities. Does that count?”

“I take that as a no,” Perrie said with an eye roll. “It’s okay, Louis might be willing to do it for free.”

“Who’s Louis?”

Or the one where Harry is expected to bring his longterm omega to the company's mountain retreat. Since he hadn't told anyone that they'd broken up months ago, he now has to find someone willing to play the part.

20.) A Darker Shade of Love by LittleSpoonStyles94 (750k)

Louis is a 30 year old multi-billionaire with a very dark past. He is violent and is a sadist with a taste for pain. Harry Styles is a 19 year old student who sets out to London after being kicked out by his homophobic father to follow his dreams. He wants to go to the best University to study but he needs a lot of money so he starts to work as a part time stripper at a gay club to support his studies and his life. The club he works at, Garland's, is part owned by Louis Tomlinson. When they meet, its life changing for the both of them.

19.) You Still Make Sense to Me by @amories (37k)

Harry, Louis, and their family navigate life together through the years.

18.) Like Water Over Fire (Like Water On Fire) by @mcssymon (119k)

“I’m sorry your highness, I think I misheard you, did you really say that you are hoping to meet your husband?” Oh god, Louis panicked. Was Prince Harry gay? Was he even allowed to be gay? Surely he wouldn’t be allowed to have a selection from a group of men, right?

Prince Harry looked partly like he wanted to laugh, but also very, very nervous about what he had just admitted, “Yes, sir, you heard correctly”

Or Prince Harry has 46 men and 13 weeks to find the husband of his dreams, Louis has a limited amount to time to live out a royal fantasy. They might just be exactly what the other needs.

17.) waiting for the tides to meet by @nauticalleeds (59k)

Louis lets out a deep breath, thinking about Harry’s soulmate. Thinking about how Harry’s soulmate is probably as beautiful as Harry, some person that Louis cannot compare to, and how the universe has chosen them to be Harry’s. Fuck the universe. “Fuck you,” he calls out to the universe. He’s aware of how crazy he sounds.

Maybe he is crazy, with how he’s falling for Harry. And fuck that, too.

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

Featuring a lovely cup of OT5, a road trip down the coast, and a scene where Harry eats a whole head of lettuce. Don't ask why.

16.) Call Answered by @vondrostes (249k)

The day after his 27th birthday, Harry Styles attempts suicide. Louis is flown to his bedside to unravel the mystery of why he did it after a flash drive is found with a note attached, addressed to Louis. On it are a collection of 78 songs, all written for different dates from their past.

15.) Counterbalance by @louandhazaf (44k)

Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class.

14.) Everywhere and Nowhere by @2tiedships2 (16k)

Niall took a seat and said, "Apparently Louis' downstairs neighbor is a fan of giving Louis creepy gifts. Maybe I should go introduce myself and tell him that Louis actually prefers food."

"What has he given you?" Liam asked.

Louis shrugged as it were no big deal. "There was a rabbit's foot keychain on the door a little after he left from introducing himself and there was a small teddy bear sitting by my door tonight. Obviously I can't prove it's from him, but they seem to have his scent. I could be wrong though."

"Wow," Liam said, looking deep in thought. "That's old school."

"What's old school?" Niall asked. "Giving creepy gifts?"

"I've never known an alpha to do it, to be honest, but he's courting you."

Louis couldn't contain his look of disbelief directed at Liam. "He's courting me. Like some sort of romantic shit they'd do in the 1800s or something?"

13.) Swallow The Knife by whoknows (76k)

“You came,” Louis says, still breathless, clinging to Harry, uncaring that his sweat is getting all over Harry’s presumably clean dad shirt, or that he’s making Harry hold up all of his weight.

“Of course I came,” Harry says. He shifts, one arm curled underneath Louis’ arse, the other spreading wide in the middle of Louis’ back. “If I ignored you every time you pissed me off we would have stopped being friends a long time ago.”

Louis already knows that, of course. It doesn’t do anything to stop the pleased squirm in his belly every time Harry proves it, though. They fight like nobody’s business, both of them too stubborn to pull their punches when they’re arguing, and it used to get them in trouble, but they always make up.

Adrenaline makes Louis loose-lipped, and they both know it. He tightens his arms around Harry’s neck, buries his face in his hair. “I missed you,” he confesses, quiet. “Doesn’t feel the same up there by myself.”

12.) and oh, all of your saturdays could end up in woe by ihavetoomuchfreetime (70k)

a fic in which louis' in a long-term relationship with an abusive asshole, niall, zayn and liam are so far but not really, and harry is that all too friendly guy who works in sainsbury's.

11.) thinking about the t-shirt you slept in by @absoloutenonsense (52k)

Harry's alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam's latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis' financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

10.) Consequences by @allwaswell16 (78k)

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

9.) Strawberries & Cigarettes by @dimpled-halo (76k)

Harry looks up and immediately freezes. Next to Ms. Archie stands the boy from just the other day. The boy with the leather jacket and chipped black nails, that might or might not be sketched in the very book Harry has just placed on the table in front of him. The leather jacket is missing today, probably because they aren’t allowed as part of their required uniform attire, but Harry can still see the fading black nail polish on his nails, and eyeliner around his eyes. Harry’s mouth goes a little dry. This boy is so intriguing to him.

“Ye-yes, Ms. Archie?” Harry tries to play it cool, but he’s almost positive that his cheeks are burning red, and he’s relieved neither of them can tell how fast his heart is beating in his chest.

The boy seems to also recognize Harry, because his lips curve into a knowing smirk.

“Harry is at the top of his class. He’s your best bet at getting familiar with things around here.” She explains.

Louis nods, his smirk still very prominent on his face. “Thank you Ms. Archie. I’ll be sure to take advantage of young Harold here.”

*

Summary: Two stories, eleven years, and the two boys that never stopped loving each other.

8.) Pain makes people change by Deidei (113k)

An organization called Canis Lupus existed solely for changing humans imprisoned in their wolf form back to their human form. Some people after experiencing some traumatic event can only ‘’protect’’ themselves from the pain by forgetting everything. To do that, to feel safe, they shift into their wolf form.

Which they'll be stuck in forever should no one intervene.

Louis Tomlison went through a traumatic experience at the age of twelve in which he lost his mother, to make the pain go away he shifted into a wolf and fled. He survived in the wild as a wolf for five years until Canis Lupis caught him... Though he wasn't alone, he had a pup at his side.

7.) Pretty Please (With Sugar On Top) by @angelichl (113k)

Harry is a sugar baby omega who cons rich alphas for a living. Louis is a rich alpha with too much self-control.

6.) Enemies with benefits by ssii8 (267k)

Where Harry is captain of basketball team and Louis is captain of football team and they hate each other. But somehow this doesn't stop them from having sex.

And everything is perfect until they start to feel something more.

5.) Ready To Fall by whoknows (21k)

“Ninety and rising,” Nick says triumphantly, as though making Harry’s heartbeat pick up by thrusting an obscenely attractive person in front of his face is any kind of success. “Louis Tomlinson has just walked into our control room and suddenly our dear Harry Styles has lost all ability to speak. Could this be some kind of strange coincidence?”

“I hate you,” Harry hisses, forcing his eyes back into Nick’s direction, uncaring that the mic must have picked it up. “I thought we agreed that you were going to play fair.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick denies, except he’s holding up a picture of Louis’ face now, sharp cheekbones prominent, soft lashes nearly sweeping against his cheeks as he looks down, and his fucking mouth –

“A hundred and two!” Nick crows, all but clapping his hands together in glee. “The highest it’s ever been!”

“To be fair, I did bend over the desk on purpose,” Louis’ voice comes crackling in the headphones. Harry practically breaks his neck whipping his head around at the sound of it, gaping at him through the glass panel. “You can’t really blame him for getting a little excited about that, can you?”

4.) Close to Nowhere by @angelichl (34k)

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

3.) Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by @angelichl (40k)

They had to pull back for air. Louis surveyed the guy’s face, in awe of his blown pupils and sharp jawline, the way their shared spit glistened on his lips.

“Hi,” he breathed. He blinked, and came back to himself a little bit, blushing at his own boldness. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

The stranger removed his right hand from the curve of Louis’ waist in order to cup his jaw, tilting it up to the angle he desired. He pressed their lips together, murmuring, “Definitely.” And then he kissed harder.

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

INSPIRED BY CLOUDS.

2.) Let Me Feel Your Heartbeat by @angelichl (34k)

Harry is 98% sure Louis hates him. So he feels like his bewilderment is justified when the omega offers to help him through his rut.

1.) All My Colours by IceQueenRia (267k)

Green… yellow… red. Red! RED!!!

Some people were born Dominant and others submissive. Sixteen year old Louis Tomlinson was a submissive and was proud to be so… until he was forced to his knees for the first time. The man before him was every subs nightmare, an abusive Dom, the kind who didn’t believe in the colour ‘red’ unless it was in the form of blood.

There were others, but Louis was the ‘favourite’ and he was the one the Dom liked to ‘play with’ the most. In fact, when the rescue team arrived, Louis was the one currently providing ‘service’ to the Dom.

Or

Louis, Zayn and Niall are abused subs. Liam Payne is their devoted new Guidance Counsellor who just wants to make Niall smile and hear Zayn speak. As for Louis, he knows his guidance won’t be enough to help the boy heal. No, Louis Tomlinson needs something very special and very specific. He needs Harry Styles.

[poptropicontent]

top 10 poptropica main streets

aka @cacaocheri and I almost went insane pls

10: poptropicon

we both agreed that there were SO many epic colours and small details that were so immersive and really contributed to the atmosphere of the island but got v busy in some places which is why it's unfortunately tenth <\3

9: mythology

we refuse to talk about the new main street but the old one,,, SO good,,, it had so much texture and layering going that stayed to true to ancient greece and the spirit of the island like WHY did they then go and butcher it literally heartbroken rn.

8: wild west

one of the MOST unique main streets of all time. cowboys... horses... middle of absolutely nowhere... it's so in-character for an island and I LOVE the small animations you can find just chillin around the island... small details...

7: steamworks

steamworks is such a unique island as it is and?? main street is the literal embodiment of that quirkiness like there's just so much do and so many places to go,,, and the consistent colour scheme? consistent steampunk vibes? incredible.

6: counterfeit

PARIS!!! FRANCE!!! the privilege to even witness this island is far beyond mortal senses like,,, there's so much going on and so much that stays true to the aesthetics you'd expect for an art-centric island hdbwjjdbd we just love it here

5: reality tv

this main street manages to do SO many things like it sets the scene perfectly for the island and contrasts in the best way possible to the reality tv show the player enters in question,,, that and it also happens to be like the only street on that island

4: virus hunter

ilysm cherry thank you <3 I'm a shameless virus hunter stannie

the main street for this island has IMMACULATE vibes and i will not tolerate virus hunter slander pls. its sets up such an uneasy atmosphere only for it to be pretty much irrelevant for like three quarters of the island and I think that's so sexy of virus hunter

3: monster carnival

ohohoho this main street is GODLY. there's so many places to go and?? the atmosphere is just AMAZING with the whole temptation of the fair being set up on the next street over. we are both madly in love w this main street and rightfully so bc PLEASE it's so pretty

2: ghost story

NIGHT!!! NIGHTTIME!!! the ghost story main street is single-handedly one of the most devine main streets on this list it literally offers so much and subtly serves different purposes depending on what part of the island you're up to. also may I mention; old-timey aesthetics. perfection.

1: game show

I know we just praised number two for having old-timey aesthetics but man game show is BEAUTIFUL. SPECTACLAR. INCREDIBLE. all the colours... all the small details... dark clouds... rainy... technology... and the BOTS. it's pure eye candy and SO pretty that it was literally impossible not to have this at #1 we literally decided in unison that it was perfection.

@cacaocheri pls thank you so much for working on this with me our minds are permanently merged now.

[abeautifuldayfortea]

Storm

Summary: For the lovely @ladylouoflothlorien who requested this, I hope you enjoy! A/N and timeline for this story is below the story. Reader is an elf child from Celebrian’s escort travelling from Imladris to Lothlorien in TA 2509. For context, Osgiliath was lost in TA 2475. Quote in italics from Unfinished Tales, JRR Tolkien.

Hi hon, could I please request something with Saruman & Reader where the reader was rescued by him as a child and has been raised by him. Something a little angsty where they’re watching his descent into madness and serving the dark lord. Maybe he tries to hide what’s going on from them but they were raised smart and it’s not exactly difficult to figure out. I think this definitely calls for some(?) angst but as for where the loyalties and morality of the reader lie by the end of it is completely up to you. I just saw you were interested in writing for Saruman and this popped into my head, which is strange because I haven’t written anything like this before!!

Words: 1380

From his window in Orthanc, Saruman watched with calculated interest as a lone figure rode hard, out of the safety of Isengard, shrinking and disappearing altogether as they turned behind the feet of the mountains. It was for the north that they rode, onwards toward Imladris and Doriath, seeking Radaghast with his message, and in time they would return, bearing news to him from distant lands. Something about the child had changed irrevocably and though they tried to conceal from him its nature, he could sense their mind had altered from the course that he had set it on. Even the firm persuasion of his voice could not fully ease their troubles.

Making fully sure they were out of view, he sat smoking in thoughtful silence within the privacy of his chambers. Never before had he reason to doubt their will or their capability ere the shadow of Sauron had taken up his mantle in Barad Dur. Yet now, his faith in them wavered for he saw within them a growing doubt, no more than a flicker, but what he was sure would in time grow to a fire that would consume them both. This he feared beyond all else and though he knew it was wise to dispose of them, his heart refused and reminded him of a simpler time, if ever there was one.

Beyond the whistling despair that painted the skirmish he had found them by  the gaping mouth of the Redhorn Pass as he journeyed south to the new capital of Minas Tirith to proffer advice. His absence had cost the Gondorians dearly and thirty years on, the sacking of Osgiliath still marred the hearts of many like a suffocating tar. They needed guidance and he would be the one to give it.

But there, at the Redhorn Pass he sensed the biting sharpness of a greater grief and fear. Overhead, the looming shadow of Caradhras cast itself, breathing its chill on the very ground at its roots like the beckoning onset of winter.

The hewn earth. The song of the mountains echoing down the channels. The iron tang of blood on the wind. A memory came to him then on the same winds, a time long ago, far away and hazy as though he stood on the other side of a frosted window, intruding on something that was both intimate and distant. The shaping of iron, the forging of rings and a young man with dark hair and his master by his side. His name was Curunír then.

The vision awoke with him a great unquenchable desire for a past he could not quite remember and yet he yearned for every ounce of it, but as he did, it faded and however hard Saruman pursued it, he could grasp at nothing but a frosty wind. Before his feet lay the scattered bodies of elves, the battered standard of Imladris laying torn … and something else. The bated breath of a child. He was watched.

Saruman turned then beyond the violence and bloodshed, and toward a copse of shivering young oak trees. An elf child. Young but not quite naïve. Impressionable still. His eyes lit.

He remembered with sour hatred the founding of the White Council and Gandalf. His endearment with the hobbit people of the north and though he had mocked him then, he understood now what bound him so tightly to that merry folk. And while his heart went out to the child, he was struck with the bitter undercurrent of jealousy for Gandalf’s hobbit folk. He would take them under his wing to forge as his creation. Not as a child of the woodlands but one that would love fire and iron.

“Well, will you not come forth and tell me your name?” His voice was a gentle suggestion, light, guised as an offer but beneath it was a power so compelling that they could not refuse it. And so it was that the child strode forward to meet Saruman without fear or suspicion and gave him their name. And it is told that they were ensnared and spellbound to him, for a person’s name is ever sweet to the ears of the one it belongs to. In Saruman’s face, the child saw the visage of their lifeless father, only older and wiser for that was the veil he assumed to their eyes. Everywhere Saruman went, the child followed, growing tall and lithe like the long shadows of dusk in the even longer march of time. Their sharp eyes were ever watching and learning, for along his many wandering travels, Saruman taught them the secret way of words and to delve beyond them to discern secret thoughts.

By the time Saruman received the Keys of Orthanc, he was just as endeared to his charge as they were to him and it was as though they were molded from his own flesh and blood. To his charge, he spoke openly of preserving the Free Peoples and while they knew of his research of magic rings, he hid from them his truest desire to be recognised and undisputedly powerful. To rule. Yet this they discerned also, for they walked together through many centuries and as the time passed them by, they saw that he strayed from the road he had set himself upon, walking in the murky in-between of good and evil.

It was at the second meeting of the White Council that it was revealed to them, clear as day. There would be no attack upon Dol Guldur despite Gandalf’s protestations. It was unlike him to be careless, to claim the Ring had fallen to the sea, to deny the possibility of Sauron’s return. Saruman was always thorough, and they knew this to be true. Gandalf sat then, silent, smoking and Saruman mocked him as he always had done.

A beat.

It was in the space of a thought that Gandalf passed his gaze over to the elf by Saruman’s side, searching for some unknown thing within their gaze.

Looking keenly at Saruman he drew his pipe and sent out a great ring of smoke with many smaller rings that followed it. Then he put up his hand, as if to grasp them, and they vanished. (Unfinished Tales, Tolkien)

And the moment passed as quickly as though it never happened. The child who was now no longer a child, watched on as the hazy fumes meandered lazily out of his hands and they knew then that they were not mistaken.

Altered and seduced as Saruman’s mind was, his charge remained steadfast by his side, for the love between them was too great, though they grew ever more uneasy at the methods he resorted to. A ring he had crafted and many coloured robes he wrought, but he did not don them. They noticed the long nights Saruman spent secluded within the high chamber of Orthanc, casting his mind this way and that and communing at times with some veiled power that they shuddered to think of. A host of orcs and men arrived at the gates of Isengard and were welcomed. “As I have given you a home, they too shall have theirs” he had said, and he cast such a pitiful look at them that his charge relented. Great pits were delved and filled with fire and it was with despair that the young elf found themselves at the shores of darkness, upon the cusp of a war that should never have been.

And yet now they rode hard to find Radaghast and set his beasts to Saruman’s task. Before them lay the chance to turn away, to divert the course of the coming war. A chance to warn of bloodshed. A chance to stop children being orphaned before their time. In a sleepless dream, they walked in the halls of memory, to a bloody day at the Redhorn Pass, Celebrian’s abduction, the loss of family and the beginning of a new one. A day when a weary traveller came by and took them in as his own child. 

An impossible choice. One that would result in war either way.

They laughed at the folly of it, a peal of bright bells on the air for in the moment for there was nothing they could do but bask in the freedom of clear air with the countless miles between themselves and Isengard. A fair wind danced beside them, masking the foul tang of iron deep beneath the impenetrable tower of Orthanc. Overhead, the stars wheeled as night came and went like the swift kiss of ignorance upon their brow and for a moment in the wan gaze of the moon, everything in the world was as it should be. The knowing silence of the coming storm.

A/N: This was a challenging request (and my first for that matter) and I had much trouble trying to fit in a plausible scenario that matched the original timeline. A goodly amount of research and two weeks worth of fretting over the timeline went into this, but it still feels off :/ and I can’t say that I’m happy with the finished product.

Because the request asked for the Saruman’s descent to evil, the child/reader would need to have a lifespan that would need to stretch for a minimum of 500 years or so. Elves are the only race (bar Tom Bombadil and other strange beings) that has a lifespan matching this and so it is the race that the reader in this story belongs to. Personally, I am of the opinion that elves would take in other orphaned elves and so the scenario from which the child is rescued from must be far enough from the major elf cities to warrant them being raised by Saruman. Hence, I placed them as a part of Celebrian’s escort bound for Lothlorien from Rivendell in the year TA 2509. This small party was ambushed by orcs at the Redhorn Pass (I chose to set the scene at the junction between the Redhorn Pass and the Redhorn Gate because the Pass is described as ‘narrow’ along the cliffs and hence there would not be much room for the reader to hide! The general timeline I used is below:

TA 1000 – Saruman arrives in ME and goes into the east on regular trips

TA 1601 – The Shire settled

TA 2400ish – Saruman returns to the west, discovers Gandalf’s possession of Narya

TA 2463 – White Council formed, Saruman becomes jealous of Gandalf because he is mooted to be head of the council instead of Saruman

TA 2475 – Osgiliath taken

TA 2509 – Celebrian captured

2759 – Saruman gets the keys to Orthanc and settles in Isengard

2851 – 2nd White Council meeting, Gandalf urges attack on dol Guldur, smoke ring incident

[just--another--daydreamer]

Snippets

» Shota Aizawa x gn!reader (They/Them pronouns used)

»Genre: Angst »Summary: While investigating a murder, Aizawa finds a piece of paper that reminds him of the past »Warnings: murder; blood; (short) description of a dead body & injuries; police; implied depression; trauma »Words: 2.2k » A/N: I listened to the song “Red” by Survive Said the Prophet as an inspiration for this. Repost because it didn’t show up in the tags

You can find a link to my Masterlist etc in my bio and pinned post

The scene was a mess when Aizawa arrived. The glass of what used to be a rather fancy door and windows cracked under the soles of his shoes as he approached the building. The automatic door did not open anymore, so he simply stepped through the giant hole in the pane, closely followed by his fellow pro-hero Midnight.

On the dark marble floor that adorned the bank’s entrance, the shards looked like stars in the sky of a clear summer night. However, the stars were not of their usual colour – they shone in a bright red. Aizawa’s eyes looked for the source of the red colouring and quickly fell onto the reason why he was there in the first place.

There was not much left of the expensive suit that the man had been wearing. It was ripped into pieces that hung loosely from his body, exposing the bone-deep wounds the man was covered in. An obnoxious smell came from the victim, but Aizawa refrained from covering his nose. Instead, he just clenched his jaw, the sensation a minor distraction from it.

Kayama crossed her arms in front of her chest. “He’s dead.” Aizawa huffed in an amused manner. “I couldn’t tell, thank you for pointing that out.” He took a few brave steps toward the body. The investigators who had been taking notes and pictures of the victim and the scene made room for the hero. Their job was done and they disappeared outside.

Aizawa crouched down to get a closer look at the man. He was not particularly interested in the dead body itself, but in his suit. Trying not to get too much blood on his hands in the process, Aizawa reached into the man’s pocket. His fingers grazed a tiny piece of paper. ‘Bingo,’ he thought before letting it disappear immediately and without anyone noticing. He was proud that not even Kayama’s watchful eyes had picked up on him doing this. He was glad that the police had not found it yet, making it easier for him to maybe take a look at it later, despite already knowing what the piece of paper was. Though, there was something in his mind that told him to leave it there, to forget about all this. To leave it to the police. Aizawa should let this rest and move one. God, that was giving him a headache. He got up with an annoyed gnashing of teeth.

“Oh, the heroes!” A fairly young policeman interrupted Aizawa’s ‘investigation’ by approaching them. “Any witnesses?” Kayama asked without hesitations. “No, that’s why nobody called the pros. He was found like that by a civilian when he was already dead.” The man pulled out the notes he had been taking prior to the heroes’ arrival. “Has he been identified yet?” Even though they were not technically a part of the investigating forces, the heroes had to know everything. Catching the foe was their job after all. “No. We’re working on it,” the man answered Aizawa’s question. “You’ve taken a look at the body?”

“Yes.” “Do you have any idea who could’ve done this?” the policeman asked. Aizawa averted his eyes, afraid that the officer might know that he was lying when he said, “No. Isn’t it your job to find that out?” His worries turned out to be unjustified as the policeman clicked his pen and let it, alongside with his small notepad, disappear in his pocket, an offended frown on his forehead. “That’s correct,” he answered, clearly struggling to keep his composure after Aizawa’s comment. “The video tapes are being investigated at the moment.”

Aizawa huffed again. “Yeah, good luck with that.” Kayama gave him a warning side-look. He knew he went too hard on the newbies sometimes and being in no good mood after his small discovery did not make that any better. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” the young man stated. “This was the work of someone who knew what they were doing,” Aizawa explained. “There were no witnesses so that person knew the perfect timing for their attack. I’m sure they were aware of the security cameras as well. Even though they completely destroyed the place which makes it seem like a messy, spontaneous attack, it was a coordinated one for sure. This wasn’t a simple robbery ending in murder, this was an assassination.” The man looked at him, stunned. Kayama, on the other hand, was not too impressed.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that the murderer was a pro at what they were doing. They probably-” Aizawa stopped himself before he could reveal any more of the things going through his head. “That’s it, that’s all I’ve got.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Eraserhead.” Still a little stunned, the policeman bowed his head, Aizawa did not bother to do the same.

They watched as the man joined his colleagues outside.

Aizawa rubbed his jaw. It hurt from how much he had been gritting his teeth. In his pocket, his fingertips touched the tiny piece of paper again. Snippets of the past that he had been trying to forget at any cost came back all of the sudden and with the force of water masses making their way through a dam after weeks of heavy rain. He closed his eyes for a moment. Home. He needed to get home right now.

Midnight frowned at Aizawa. She opened her mouth to say something, but he silenced her by raising his hand in a defensive manner. “I know what you’re going to say, save your breath.” But, as it was to be expected from his friend, Midnight spoke anyway. “You’ve found another snip.” “That doesn’t matter.” “That means it was them.” Aizawa really did not want to have this conversation right now. He buried his hands in his pockets again, closing his fist around the paper, and started walking towards the entrance of the bank. The night was bright from the red lights of the many police cars outside the building, reflecting off the wet asphalt. Some reporters tried to get a picture of the heroes leaving the building or even the crime scene. Their flashing cameras blinded Aizawa and he looked down as he lifted the warning tape to pass beneath it.

He was sure that Midnight would follow him but he would not have thought that she would catch up so fast. “You should tell the police everything you know about them,” she ordered. “I haven’t seen them in three months-” Aizawa sighed. “-since they lost their hero license, became a vigilante and broke up with me.” “Aizawa, that did not look like the work of a vigilante. That was a villain’s work.” He recalled the images of the scene and shook his head. Both to erase the picture of the corpse, and to disagree with his friend. “I’m sure they had their reasons.” Midnight huffed. “And you’re still defending them? Why?” Aizawa did not have an answer. “I’m sure the investigations will give some more insight.” “The investigations that you are impeding?” He did not have an answer to that either.

“I didn’t think you were the kind of person to let your feelings get in the way of your work.”

Stopping in his tracks, Aizawa sighed. “I didn’t think that either.” A hand of his wandered from his pocket to his chest, right above his heart. The pain that he had been trying to ignore came back, full force. It spread like a forest fire in a dry summer from his chest through his entire body, replacing the numbness he had been dealing with for the past months. The pain took his breath and made it impossible for him to move. He needed to get home, please, he needed to get away from Kayama, away from everyone.

For a mere second, he thought of how he needed you. You would know what to say, how to help him. You would know how he felt by just looking at him. But then he remembered that it was also you who had gotten him into this situation in the first place. That you were the one who had just murdered that man. Why was he defending you? He did not know. It was not the right thing to do, probably. Maybe. Maybe? He had no idea.

Aizawa’s fingers held onto his shirt that hung loosely over his chest. It did not ease the pain. Neither did holding onto that piece of paper you had left for him on the body. Just like you had left them at the scenes after the last few crimes you had committed. But with the difference that this had been your first murder.

“They’re not a villain, Kayama.” Aizawa was glad when he felt the first few raindrops hit his clothes and hair. The rain would cool him down, sort his thoughts out. Or so Aizawa hoped. “They may have lost their hero license but that doesn’t make them a villain.” “So you’re calling them a vigilante?”

“The hero system is not rational. Vigilantism is not rational either,” Aizawa was not sure where he was going with this. Maybe this was just him convincing himself that, no, you were not a villain. He clenched both his fists until his knuckles turned white. He thought of all the times they had put hero students so very young in dangerous situations, leaving them mentally scarred forever. He thought of the students who died horrible deaths upon being put into fights that were not even theirs yet and might not even become theirs in the future. He thought about the rejects, those who did not fit into heroism. He thought about those abusing their power. And finally, he thought about you, who had always fought against these problems in your own way and thus lost your license. And Aizawa had been too much of a coward to follow you.

He felt like he had broken into pieces that day, ripped apart into tiny snippets. It was not impossible for him to comprehend your thoughts and motivations – no, they even made sense to him. But a part of him stuck to what he had been taught to believe in. No, it was not only his heart that had broken that day.

It started to shower and thunder could be heard in the distance. Aizawa’s clothes started sticking to his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. He should get out of the rain to not catch a cold but instead he lifted his head and faced the sky. The rain mixed with the tears he had been shedding in secret and hidden from his friend’s view.

Aizawa had not allowed himself to cry until now. And hell, it felt good. The pain in his body eased, returned to his heart until that was the only place to ache.

“Give me the paper.” Kayama came closer and, in that moment, Aizawa was incredibly thankful for the rain. He reached into his pocket and placed the snippet on Kayama’s hand.

“It’s a location, just like the last few times. They want to talk to you, Aizawa.” “Yeah, it seems like they do.” “You should accept their offer.” “Did you change your mind about them all of the sudden?” Aizawa raised his eyebrows at Kayama. “No,” Midnight admitted. “But I’m your friend and I see that you’re hurting.” She rested her free hand on his shoulder. “And I trust your judgement that they have their reasons.” Aizawa ignored her last statement. “I’m not hurting.” “Oh shut the hell up.” Kayama lightly punched his bicep, it barely hurt. “It’s not far from here. A five-minute walk. Do you wanna go?” Aizawa nodded.

He did not know why he had agreed to meet you. It was not rational, not at all. The walk there felt as though it lasted hours – every single step took so much effort, like the street was made of gum sticking to his soles. At this point, he could see their breaths in the white lights of the street lanterns. The cold bit into Aizawa’s skin, made its way through his flesh and stuck to his bones, slowed him down even more. The rain was getting into his eyes, blurring his vision. Maybe the world did not want him to get to you, he thought. But when he saw your silhouette in the distance, an umbrella in your right hand to protect yourself from the rain, he remembered why he was there. He was there to make things right. Between him and you as well as in the society he lived in. He would do anything to fix this mess. To protect his students. To protect his and your ideals. To protect the ones he loved. To protect you. And to be protected by you.

“I am here,” was all he said when he came to a stop two metres before you. All Might’s catchphrase, ironic for the situation he was in. Even though it was dark, he was able to see you smile. It was a warm smile, the one he had missed so incredibly much. You offered him your hand and he took it with no hesitation. It felt familiar and sent electricity through your touching palms, up his arm and through his entire body. Somehow, the snippets of who he was came together and he felt whole again.