#and you can just see the realization in her eyes when Clay says he doesn’t want to lose his brother either

[oddly-casual]

Trolls band together spoilers

I like this thing Viva has going on with her cape being her safety blanket. Especially since it’s literally a patch of fake grass which could also be used to camouflage herself.

Like we’re introduced to her with it on, but only when she finds Poppy and gets excited does she take it off, like rips it off.

And it stays off for the whole song. It’s only later when Poppy starts asking Viva about their separation does Viva visibly get uncomfortable and puts the cape back on as she leaves.

That cape stays on even when Poppy and them all leave. The last time we see it on is when Viva appears with Bridget to help in the fight. She admits she’s freaking out but she takes her cape off anyway and it never comes back.

It gets flung in the water, sis had no intention of getting it back. But I think that’s really cool because this was Viva putting herself on the line, taking a leap of faith for people she loves even when she’s lived in fear for so long.

[jdzone]

obviously band together spoilers but, RAMBLE RAMBLE

i’m so torn up abt the fight before branch poppy and tiny leave…

john dory getting caught up in his old role- having actually /seen/ floyd too, there’s a reality to the situation that adds pressure (HMM kinda like expectations from the crowd in BroZone days)

unfortunately, because of that pressure john dory falls back into that headspace and gets over critical of their performances (he doesn’t say his own criticisms outloud, but he never does which leads to younger bros feeling unfairly treated [WHICH IS FAIR] when jd is just struggling with perfectionism feeling the band is entirely his responsibility as the oldest and since he started it… not the sum of its parts. like he knows they’re all talented ofc he just couldn’t separate that from the performance as a whole. this was its own tangent)

clay and bruce get triggered, and they end up ganging up on john dory. poppy attempts to diffuse the situation and we see john look at her with appreciation. but bruce n clay finally have a chance after all these years to vent their frustrations - especially since in their eyes nothing /has/ changed with john dory in reference to managing the band.

(all the while branch is doing the same stressed stim from when he was a baby ARRGH)

but, like before, jd is getting riled up and tries to defend himself. it’s a lot of responsibility - the feelings that have been brought up remind him of why he left —

“Why do you think I left!? So nobody would treat me like you did.”

to hear that from bruce, who both the brother JD has spent the most time with and potentially troll altogether depending on how isolated he was during the separation… there’s layers to what jd mentions about being the oldest and responsibility. we see no parents, and regardless eldest children are often coparents and JD stands for Jeldest Daughter. anyway,,

clay raises his voice to correct jd when he deadnames bruce /again/ and… jd gives clay and bruce exactly what they want. (they don’t want to be around him. it’s abundantly clear.) he needs to diffuse the situation no matter how much it hurts. they’ll go their separate ways after saving floyd… and.. unfortunately he hits right on branch’s insecurities. so jd managed to hurt all his brothers in extremely personal ways…

and then bruce belittles branch “don’t be such a baby” (bruce you gotta take a deep breath big big) and.. branch, in all his hurt he feels towards john dory, can relate to him. the oldest and the youngest. not allowed to change. always seen as bossy or as a baby from the nature of their birth order.

we see john dory step forward, and regret and recognition on his face.

idk i wish they had all gone after branch when he left, but i realize for the narrative it worked perfectly…

anyway.

[spooky-circuits]

can we get clay and viva reaction to the whole kids appeared at the putt putt course

Viva starts talking about how excited she is that Poppy is finally safe here with her and how all her friends will be safe too now that they’re here. In her excitement she doesn’t notice the looks they give each other behind Poppy.

Clay is surprised his baby brother managed to find him with just a group of teenagers he’s as impressed as he is concerned. They tell him about how excited their families will be to know more trolls survived and he realizes that “Oh they aren’t random orphans these kids have a home to go home too.” He knows Viva won’t want to let them risk going home. Especially now that Poppy is in the picture. He understands how she feels all too well now that Branch is here in front of him for the first time since the fight and getting separated in the escape. He doesn’t regret going with Viva that night but there are days where he can’t help but think about the family he’s lost.

Clay doesn’t stop Viva when she tells the snack pack they aren’t leaving and feels guilty when Branch gives him that look of betrayal when he doesn’t speak up.

Viva is scared of loosing her sister and would hate if these kids got eaten just because they want to play action hero. She has to be the responsible one even when these kids look scared of her when she tells them they can’t leave the safety of the golf course. She knows they’ll understand once they see how safe it is here.

Branch says something to Clay from behind the door of the room the kids have been put into. “You know you aren’t going to be able to keep us here right? I don’t know if you noticed but my friends are really good at sneaking out.” Clay still feels guilty but Viva had made some good points Branch just needed to see how great this place was. “Come on Branch I know it doesn’t seem great but you’ll like it here!” The room is quiet behind him. “Branch?… Bitty B?” He opens the door to find a hole in the floor. “Wow he wasn’t kidding about their escape skills… Oh Shit!”

Viva is heartbroken that her sister would just leave she had really thought Poppy would understand but she hadn’t and her sister was gone all over again. Worse than that Clay was grabbing supplies like he was planning to leave too. “Clay what are you doing?” Her voice sounds so small Clay can’t remember the last time he heard her sound like that. She was usually so full of life and energy he hates that he made her sound like that. “I have to go after them Viva. I know you’re scared but I won’t be able to rest until I know Branch is okay. You understand that don’t you.” And she does understand. She hates that she doesn’t have the courage to go out and find Poppy. “I’ll bring Poppy back for you too. So you can stay here and look after everyone.” She hates how he’s making excuses for her but she can’t bring herself to disagree. “Just… just be safe. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you too.” Clay smiles at her. “Did you forget who put all the fire exits in Viv? Safety is my middle name!” She smiles but her face goes serious again quickly. “I mean it Clay I don’t want to loose any more people.” He smiles at her with sad eyes. “I know… Don’t worry I’ll bring them back soon.”

The snack pack was already a good distance from the golf course before they feel comfortable slowing down and Guy goes “I’m sorry your siblings ended up being uh…” he doesn’t want to say anything hurtful since Poppy was clearly torn up about having to leave Viva. Branch just looks at him like “Uh yeah thanks Guy.” Creek speaks up “At least 1 out of 3 secret siblings turned out alright.” It’s poorly timed but it manages to actually get a laugh out of everyone with how absurd their day has been. Branch especially can’t stop laughing. “Oh that’s horrible Creek why would you even say that!”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Bodies in the Theatre

Fandom: The Artful Dodger Pairing: Jack x Belle Rating: E Word Count: 1021

For today's @dodgerfoxweek prompt: post-series

Summary: Jack and Belle make a new memory on the operating table where she almost died.

She lives, and he’s afraid to be near her. She probably sees it before he does, feels it before he does, frowning because he’s always maintaining a distance, clasping his hands behind his back. He thinks, for a while, that it’s a reversion to propriety; she’s been recast, a finished vase back into raw clay on a spinning wheel, made over again, and he doesn’t realize it’s him setting her up on a high shelf, out of his reach.

It’s her who shows him, of course. It can only be her. One day, when the hospital is quiet and the theatre floor is clean, she insists on closeness. One step closer and he feels the thick slickness of blood on his hands. Two steps and she’s cut open beneath him and Jack’s demanding, “Stop. Stop,” holding out a hand to prevent her coming any nearer.

“Jack.” Her eyes are pleading, but tears wobble across his vision. “Look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” he spits, crying freely. “I’m always looking at you. You’re always right there, in front of my eyes. I see you… I see you when I try to sleep…”

His hand is shaking when he lifts it to his face, covers his mouth but can’t muffle the ragged sob. He crumples and she sweeps towards him and it doesn’t matter now because his mind has already gone there, seeing the worse. Her hand is just a weight on his back.

“It’s this room,” he gasps.

She rubs.

“It’s only a room.”

“No.” His breathing hitches, but he forces himself to stand. Her hand is on him still. “You looked… I thought you were…”

“Dead,” she finishes. And it’s the worst thing, but it comes from her living lips. “You couldn’t feel me breathing. You couldn’t find my pulse.”

Hetty will have told her, after he could not. She will have asked, naturally curious about the procedure, probably put out that she couldn’t study the surgery performed on her own body. She knows, and it’s such a relief that his lungs fill properly, his panic beginning to subside.

“It’s over now,” is her promise.

“Not in my head.”

She stands squarely in front of him.

“What’s the worst thing you can imagine?”

“You on that table,” he tells her honestly, immediately.

Taking her hand from his back, she strides to the table. Eyes locked on his, she plants her hands and pushes herself up to sit on its surface.

“Belle…” he says, voice rough, gutted from his throat.

“What next?”

He walks to her slowly, face working through all of it: her fearlessness, her determination to see him through this, her strength in sitting where only weeks ago she lay while Hetty sponged the blood that coursed from her body. He takes her face in his hands. It’s been so long. His hands healed her, but he’s been too afraid that the next time they touched her skin, it would all be taken back. Her body would remember, would recoil. She lifts her face and he brings his mouth down to hers.

“Lie down,” he whispers.

This is harder yet, and easier. She lies back without shifting away from him, so her legs hang off the table. She keeps her eyes open. She doesn’t appear uneasy. He’s trembling as he braces his hands and leans over her. Not checking is impossible; he watches her chest rise and fall, pinches her leg through her loose trousers.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

After a minute, she sighs. He folds over her, ear pressed to the thump of her strong heart.

“I remember this ceiling,” she says, so quiet. “I didn’t think… but I do. I remember your face. I couldn’t feel you kiss me—the pain was too much. That didn’t seem fair. But I was never afraid. If you couldn’t fix it, it meant that it couldn’t be fixed, and all the time I’d had was all I would get. I was relieved, when you put the mask over my face and I breathed in the ether. I was relieved if I’d spent the last of my time with you.”

He releases a pained gasp and turns his face into her blouse. He’s kissing the linen, and then Belle draws it up, and then he’s kissing her skin, her scar, the very line she teetered upon between life and death, his the hand she held as she walked it.

He sighs, hot, and her abdomen quivers. His name moans from her mouth like it doesn’t want to leave. Like the rest of him. That’s right, he doesn’t want to leave her.

They fumble her naked from the scar down, and he never thought he’d be here like this, and his exhausted mind has sketched too many scenes where she isn’t here at all. Because he still doesn’t trust his hands, they’re light, stroking her hips, but his mouth is brave though uncertain, his face between her warm thighs. His tongue licks generously and her hips roll with him. He can hear her breathing, because she does it loudly. On the table, she is alive as he has known her to be, knows her to be, and something in Jack is released.

“I can do it,” he exhales. “I have you, Belle. I can do it.”

Her hands rake through his hair, clutch, and guide his mouth back to her. The wetness on his face, winding trails of sorrow and lingering dread, disappears into the wetness of her. It’s joy now, joy, joy, her knees in the air because she can’t keep them down. He shuts his eyes, just a test, and there’s nothing waiting for him there. Her living presence is too commanding.

This is a theatre and the role she’s played in his life is once-in-a-lifetime. He tells her that he loves her, and he tells her that he loves her, and because she loves him, he knows that he can be loved. He knows that she loves him, and she says it, and he hears her. He hears the breath leaving her body. And he hears it surging back in.

[teecupangel]

Ok, so I know there are allot of ideas for the bleeding affect becoming sentient and being the ancestors. But what if it wasn’t? What if when desmond bleeds an ancestor it’s really them from their time dreaming about desmond? So example. Desmond gets out of the animus and starts bleeding ezio, ezio has no idea what’s going on and can barely understand shaun/becs/Lucy. But when he snaps out of it when he sees his reflection or someone calls Desmond’s name. Ezio wakes up like wtf kind of dream is that? Later the name desmond will mean something and he might pay more attention to his dreams.

That’s going to be hard on Ezio though unless we make it that Desmond’s Bleed is special. That, thanks to Isu BS, he’s the only person who can actually connect with his ancestors like that. Otherwise, this brings us the frightening reminder that Desmond isn’t the only person to Bleed as Ezio.

This means Ezio would also know about Clay.

Just imagine the confusion that Ezio would have whenever he and Clay connected. Whenever he takes control.

Especially once Clay learned of Lucy’s betrayal and Juno starts hijacking his Animus sessions to push him into ‘understanding’ the part he must play in the calculations.

Confusion would turn to worry once Ezio starts taking over during those times, feeling Clay’s deteriorating state, maybe even noticing marks and wounds that looked self-inflicted.

Maybe, he was there when Clay finally takes his last breath, feeling it himself and angry at his own powerlessness to stop it.

Sees Lucy’s expression as Clay dies and knows… knows that something is terribly wrong with her.

So when he starts having dreams of another, of a young man named Desmond…

He knows that he cannot trust the blonde woman.

He doesn’t understand what they are saying but he could sense the hostility from the man as well as the kindness the black-haired woman tried to show.

But they were all wary.

Wary of him.

Because they know he wasn’t this man they call “Desmond”.

And it started out like Clay, just seconds before he would be awakened back in his body.

Then longer and longer.

Until Ezio could move for a minute or so without anyone realizing it.

Being quiet seemed to do the job, slouching and trying to make himself small.

This Desmond’s limbs were longer than his so it took a while for him to get used to his body.

He could stay in Desmond’s body for as long as 3 minutes when he heard of his name pass Minerva’s lips.

That’s how Ezio realized why he was dreaming of Desmond.

She called him a prophet.

He was Desmond’s prophet.

He was meant to help Desmond.

And how could he do it…

But the only way he knows how.

He does know if Desmond sees what is happening the same way Ezio sees what is happening whenever he takes over Desmond’s body.

But Minerva had looked behind him when she had directly addressed Desmond.

So perhaps Desmond could only see from behind Ezio.

Ezio wasn’t sure but…

He doesn’t mind doing this as many times as necessary.

He looks into the mirror and stares at the empty space just above his shoulder and he speaks…

“Desmond…”

“If you can hear me, I hope that you can understand me. What I am about to say may sound too ‘ridiculous’ and hard to believe so I will tell you things I have seen. You’re with three people. A woman with blonde hair wearing white. A man who always sounds rude. A black-haired woman with a kind smile. You’re in this strange place with so many different things but I always wake up in this uncomfortable red chair of some kind. I believe that’s what’s connecting you to me.”

I hope that would be enough for you to believe me when I tell you that I can see thru your eyes at times. And you’re not the only person I have dreamed of.”

“There is another man.” Ezio paused for a moment before he corrected himself, “There was another man.”

“And… the blonde woman you’re with let him die. She did nothing as he… as we die.”

“Don’t trust her, Desmond.”

“Whatever she tells you…”

“She’s not your ally.”

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Someone Who Doesn’t Want To Be Saved

Author: RedCraneFalling

Artist: Callion

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Castiel/ Dean Winchester, minor Andrea Howl/ Sam Winchester

Length: 49000

Warnings: Temporary Major Character Death, Child Abuse, Implied/ Referenced Underage Prostitution, Canon Typical Violence, Homophobia/ Parental Homophobia, One use of the F slur

Tags: Childhood Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, John Winchester’s A+ Parenting, Wing Fic, Grace-Soul Bonds, Loss of Virginity, AU - Canon Divergence, Parental Guardian Gabriel, !Kid Sam

Posting Date: October 2, 2023

Summary: A child shall be born of twice-tainted blood, the eldest of two and the two soldiers’ son. A saint’s soul emerges, yet a hunter is made. Born martyr from love, built killer by pain. On his hundredth season, the lock he will break, as Mother kills Child for her Father’s sake.  All God’s angels shall perish by creatures of ol’ ‘less a Seraph gone wayward does hopelessly fall Fledgling angel, Castiel gets in an accident shortly before his seventh birthday, and quite literally falls out of the sky and into Dean’s lap. The two quickly become close, but both of their families are hiding dark secrets. Dean’s in the form of an absent father who seems to drain all happiness from his two children whenever he’s around, and Castiel’s in the form of a prophecy which unites the two boys, but may ultimately tear them apart.

Excerpt: Dean starts climbing and Castiel waits for him to be about halfway up before he flaps his wings twice and jumps to the branch. “Hey no fair!” Dean calls after him, “I forgot you could fly. Flying is cheating.” “You didn’t specify no flying when you made the rules,” Castiel calls back laughing from his perch on the branch.  Castiel watches Dean climb the rest of the way up, his muscles stretching and coiling under the skin of his arms. He’s strong and lithe, graceful and sure of his movements in a way that Castiel can only imitate in flight. On the ground, the calculated angular movements of an Angel make him look robotic in comparison. He is unnatural where Dean is at home, as a true son of the Earth. And God took clay from Earth’s four corners and gave it the breath of life. Man is better than angel. Created for more than just the divine. Their perfect imperfections leave room for beauty. When Dean gets up to the branch he’s huffing with exertion. There’s sweat on his brow where his hair sticks to his forehead, and his cheeks are bright red around his freckles. The flush brings out the green in his eyes.  “Cheater,” Dean accuses when he sees Castiel’s cocky grin. He reaches out and gives Castiel a light shove.  Castiel moves exaggeratedly with the shove, and falls sideways off the tree branch.  “Cas!” Dean yells in alarm before he realizes that Castiel is simply floating in the air slightly under the branch with one leg still hooked over it. “Gonna give me a heart attack,.” Dean grumbles.  Castiel laughs and uses his wings to right himself so he’s sitting on the branch again. He straddles it, facing Dean.  “Would you like to race back down?” he says with a cheeky grin.  “No,” Dean pouts, crossing his arms “You’d probably just jump, Mister I-Can-Survive-a-Tornado.” Castiel laughs boisterously, and it seems his laugh is contagious because Dean starts laughing as well. They both smile, looking at each other. The sun dapples Dean’s skin with patches of light through the leaves.  Castiel walks with the brothers back to the nearby motel they’re staying at. Dean is in an uncharacteristically carefree mood, skipping and chattering on like the first time Castiel met him. When they reach the motel, Dean’s face falls as he looks at a big black car parked outside their room. He picks up Sam and turns towards Cas frowning.  “You gotta go home now, Cas, but we can watch Scooby Doo another day, okay?” he says. Castiel is confused but agrees and flies away.  The next time he sees the Winchester brothers, Dean has a black eye. He won’t tell Castiel where it’s from.

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

[samseabxrn]

Happy DADWC! Can I get "Grace, Dark, Holding" from the 3-word prompts for whoever you're feeling tonight!

Hello! I have some Hawke/Sebastian tonight for @dadrunkwriting. Egregious use of the Chant of Light ahead:

She can’t stop wondering how different things would be if it was a vase of Andraste’s Grace on the table, and white lilies never entered their home. If she had come home from the Keep just an hour earlier last week and heard about her mother’s beau at dinner.

“Hawke.” Sebastian’s voice rings through the room, dark and silent. She blinks. She hadn’t even noticed him enter. He takes his time crossing the room to her bed with the light footsteps of a rogue.

He pauses in front of her, a lord asking for favor. She tips her head in a silent acknowledgement, and he takes a seat by her side.

He takes her hand in his and she feels the calluses on his fingers, his skin worn from the bow. A Chantry brother shouldn’t have hands like that. It’s not the first time she’s lamented it.

“You’ll ruin your eyes sitting like this,” he murmurs. It’s such a strange sentiment, almost paternal. It’s wrong. He brushes a bit of hair back from her face, and she flinches.

She’s so lonely. It’s loneliness that’s led him here. Loneliness that led her mother to her death. She wanted to be her father made over, but Hawke is her mother’s daughter. She’ll fall in love, and one day it’ll end.

She wants what she’s always been denied. So did her mother, and so does Bethany. The curse of the Hawke women.

“Have you eaten?” His voice was the larger part of what endeared him to her; it would reach her from anywhere in the Chantry. Now, it’s so gentle that she wants to cry and she wants to hit him.

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” she snaps. She wants the lecture, but it doesn’t come.

“All right.”

“You’re not here to pray for me?”

“For you?”

“For my mother,” she corrects, feeling stupid. It’s been a long time since she’s had to do this, and the anger is boiling deep inside her tonight.

“Prayer is meant for willing ears,” he says. It’s earnest in a way she feels she might never be again.

“So the Maker has turned his gaze to us after all?”

He laughs sharply at that, but there is none of the victory she normally feels when she can free a laugh from him. “You may be on to something there.” He cocks his head. “Do you wish for me to pray for you, Hawke?” he asks in that low, soft voice.

“For my mother,” she stresses, and he shakes his head.

“That will come. I’ll see to the service myself if you wish.”

It’s a strange thought that comes to her then: having always been fond of him, her mother would be exceedingly pleased to know Sebastian would arrange her funeral.

“All right,” she echoes. “To both,” she continues flatly. He squeezes her hand once. That she feels it is the surprising part.

“You have grieved as I have,” he starts after some thought. “You, who made worlds out of nothing. We are alike in sorrow, sculptor and clay, comforting each other in our art.” He clears his throat. “You are not alone, Hawke.”

She blinks and lets his hand, still holding hers, come into focus. There’s a bracelet clasped around his wrist, a thin ring of silver. She gave it to him, she realizes dully. Found it somewhere in Lowtown. She taps it, and his eyes flick to the motion, startled.

“Of course not. You’re here.”

“And how do you feel?” he asks quickly.

“Angry, still.” Her eyes are still on the bracelet. It would clash with the gold of his armor, if he were wearing it. That’s why she gave it to him.

“As was I.” His lips thin into a line. “As I said: willing ears.”

Sebastian does not do anything without purpose.

“Was your mother’s death the worst of it?” To his credit, he does not flinch: the prince turned brother has heard it all, she must assume, and her grief-stricken bluntness cannot compare.

“The more I think on it, she was not a particularly loving mother. It was the principle of the thing, I suppose,” he says delicately.

“So you’ve always been principled.”

“You never seem to remember the reason I was sent here,” he says. There’s a wry twist to his lips. “It may not get better. It likely won’t.” He pauses. “Another, if I may?”

She cocks her head.

“All things are known to our Maker, and He shall judge their lies. All things in this world are finite. What one man gains, another has lost.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” she says darkly. He inhales sharply at that, the quietest thing. If she weren’t listening for it, she’d never know.

“You can come see me anytime,” he says, rising to his feet.

“Don’t,” she says sharply, her hand coming up to curve around his wrist. He stills at that, the first sign of hesitation she’s seen tonight, lining his widening eyes.

“Hawke…” He trails off. They’ll need me at the Chantry, he’ll say, but—

“I need you here.” He blinks at that, some color rising in his cheeks. He’s still here, and she’ll relish in it for years. That is if came down to the Chantry or her, she might have a chance in it. “It didn’t feel hollow. When I killed him.” She looks at him again, expecting disappointment. But his eyes are bright in the moonlight with something new. Understanding, maybe. Fervor. “It felt wonderful.” He draws closer, just a bit.

“Did it now?” It’s barely a whisper.

“Won’t you stay, Sebastian?” Her voice cracks on his name. It seems to land in him like an arrow, for he falls back to her side and lets his hands drop to his boots to tug them off.

It is a different verse that comes to her mind as they lie side by side, one that always haunted her from her mother’s books of scripture. You have brought sin to heaven and doom upon all the world. She tucks her head under his chin and listens closely for the hitch in his breathing.

“I shouldn’t have taken your offer that first day on the Chanter’s Board,” she murmurs. “I shouldn’t have taken that from you.”

Slowly, he wraps his arm around her.

“Perhaps it was for the best,” he says. But there’s a shake in his voice. It’s not convincing. Not to her.

When she falls asleep, she swears she can feel the ghost of his lips on her forehead.

[sweethartlullaby]

you, among the art iii

word count: 2091 genre/theme: fluff and angst later, sculpting series, graduate student and her professor/supervisor, female and male pairing as always, imagine whoever you would like... find part iv here sweethartlullaby ꕤ masterlist

“Shit, shit, shi-excuse me.” Why, out of all days, is today the busiest day?

And why, out of all days, is she late today?

His office is buried deep into the end of the hallway and its door seems to stare down at her as she approaches. She knocks twice quickly before she takes a deep breath and slightly opens it. 

He’s wiping the blackboard when she looks in. He doesn’t directly look at her when he tells her to come in. Her fingers curl into her palm to stop herself from crumbling as she approaches his desk. She didn’t even get to look at herself before coming here. She has made bad impressions in the past so she’s hoping it doesn’t happen this time. 

“You-”

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” She blurts out. Before she can repair the damage evident on his face, more words roll off her tongue. “I got the schedules messed up and I didn’t realize that there was a class today and that I should have been here much earlier than usual. I’m so sorry I just-”

“We don’t have class today.” His voice cuts through hers like a knife slicing through the air. 

Her jaw hangs open with words lingering in the air. It’s unclear if he’s mad or not. He looks…the same. His lips are in the signature straight line, eyes a little more tired than usual, but nothing else.

No, he can’t not be angry, or even just a bit ticked off. He has to be. She’s late and has cut him off. More importantly, he cut her off too.

“As I was saying,” he dusts his palms off and nudges towards his desk. “You left your sketchbook here the other day.” 

Ah.

“Oh, I…I’m sorry. I…” She can’t find the right words. Everything feels like a pile of letters in her head.

“Sorry.” She just murmurs, head hanging low. 

“Well, as per your concern, you can introduce yourself to the students tomorrow. We can meet here at 0900 hours. I would like to run through the agenda and all the projects going on before we can start class.” She still can’t look at him but she nods slowly. 

“Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She squeaks out an ‘okay’ before almost running to the door.

She’s following him like a dog. The students were giving her weird looks when she introduced herself. They act as if she is not supposed to be there. 

“...wouldn’t you agree?” She snaps back to the small statue in front of her and quickly scans it. 

“Yes.” She says, even though she has no idea what he just said. They’re currently looking through everyone’s group projects. She’s been making notes on whatever the professor says, adding her own along the way. However, she hasn’t really spoken much.

As if he reads her mind, he says, “Well, do you have any extra comments on their work?”

“I…Well…” From the corner of her eye, she can see the 4 students’ and his eyes all on her.

“I like the idea. However, I do recommend showing what you mean instead of relying heavily on your description.” She steps up and points to parts of the figure.

“It’s the size of a child’s doll so that means you don’t really have to worry about minor details. But you should take advantage of using clay. It’s much more malleable and therefore, it might be easier to bring your vision to life. This is a great first step and I’m excited to see how it turns out.” She smiles a little before she realizes she might have spoken too much. But the students nod before suggesting ideas. What is surprising though, is that he seems to be content too, with lips turned upwards just a slight amount. 

A wave of relief washes over her. She answers as much as she can and the professor steps in when he needs to. She gets more comfortable speaking and by the end of it, she feels much more like herself again. 

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asks slowly as the last student leaves. He stops gathering his things and looks up at her.

“Oh right, I forgot to tell you.” Her heart drops a little.

“I have an emergency at home and I’ll be away for the rest of the week. I’ll be back Monday for class.” 

“Oh.” While it’s not what she expected, her body still feels uneasy. There’s a beat of silence before she realizes something. “But, my monthly evaluation will be next Tuesday.” She says.

“Ah, right.” He hesitates, chewing down on his lip. “I’ll try to come back earlier but in that case, we will have to work on the weekend.” She twirls the loose piece of thread around her finger, fighting the urge to stand up for herself; but nothing comes out as he prepares to leave.

“And,” She holds a breath. “I usually hold office hours on Fridays so can I ask you to fill in for me tomorrow?” The way he says it sounds less like a question and more like a statement. She only nods.

“Thank you.” is all he says as he leaves her. 

“I don’t know! I’m just a completely different person around him.” She groans into her palms.

“I think the nerves are getting to you.” Her friend chuckles.

“I’m literally the most outspoken person our class knows and I still can’t bring myself to speak to him sometimes! It’s ridiculous.” Her hands fall onto the desk, picking up the pencil she hasn’t used in the last thirty minutes; even though she says she would be doing work. 

“Well, you did choose him. I personally think this was a long time coming.”

“That’s mean.” She narrows her eyes at her friend.

“Were our alumni warnings not enough?” Her friend crosses her arms and leans back on her chair. 

She doesn’t answer. Is she being naive? She heard so many warnings about him and she still chose him. Ever since the first presentation, she’s been on edge around him and feels that she is constantly making the wrong move.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Her friend asks.

“I’m doing his office hours for today since he’s got some emergency to attend to.” Her friend only raises her eyebrow. 

“Alright, that’s enough. Move.” She points towards the door and her friend walks out with her palms in the air. Just before she is fully out of the room, she says, “I’m just saying…”

“I don’t want to hear it!” She says without turning to her. When she’s alone again, she finally relaxes in his chair. Maybe she is just making too many excuses for him. He hasn’t been the friendliest, even though he was the one asking for her to accept him. It’s been almost a month and they have also barely worked on her project. She’s not the type to be scared but his presence itself tends to shut her up.

She sighs. 

Has she made a mistake? Has she overestimated herself? No, she couldn’t have. She knows herself enough to know that she is strong enough for this. 

“It’s just a challenge, not a threat.” She murmurs to herself before she sits upright. She repeats it to herself a few more times before she hears a knock on the door. 

“Come in.” A student pokes his head in and looks around before he speaks.

“I’m looking for the professor.”

“He’s not here today. I’ll be taking over office hours. Do you have a question?” She smiles at him, hoping she doesn’t sound or look too nervous. The young man takes a few seconds before he fully steps in and takes the seat across from her. Their conversation lasts fifteen minutes and two more students come in after him. 

It’s five in the afternoon when she finally starts working on her project. Just because he isn’t here, it doesn’t mean that she isn’t going to start working. So she puts a pair of earphones in and chisels away. The hours pass and she manages to finish the hands of her sculpture. 

By then, it’s almost eleven. She hasn’t realized that most of the lights outside are off, and she is probably the only one in this part of the building. It’s way past dinner time and her legs can’t find the energy to walk her down onto the street and home. 

And for some reason, it feels…hot.

So, she slightly pushes the windows open, hoping the wind can cool her off. With no one left in the building to help her, she’s stuck here. 

I just need some sleep.

She takes a seat in her chair and leans forward on her desk, resting her head on her arms. Her body feels heavier than the other times she is sick. But with no medicine or energy, she’s left to lay on this hard desk, hoping the sleep will help.

When she wakes up, she sees light through the windows. 

Her body aches when she moves so she stays still and slowly lifts her lids. It doesn’t make sense. She fell asleep on her arms so why does it feel like she is lying on a bed?

She looks around slowly and after a few seconds, she starts to feel the warm towel on her forehead and the blanket on top of her. A small grunt leaves her as she pushes herself up, feeling as if she is breaking free from a cast. 

“You should keep lying down.” Someone says. Before she realizes it, she’s pushed back onto the bed gently and the blanket is pulled back up to her chin. 

“S-Sir?” She asks in a whisper but he just shushes her as he fixes the towel on her forehead.

“Yes, just relax. I’m here.” He says softly but she cannot respond. He says a few other words but they’re too faint for her to make out. With her head drowning all the sounds out, she just listens to her breathing. Within a few short seconds, she falls back asleep. 

“Thank you.” She says as he hands her a cup. The steam warms her cheeks as her palms hold onto the warm drink.

“I’m sorry.” He says as he takes a seat across her. 

“You said that already.” They’re in his office and he set her down on the couch she had never noticed before. Apparently, she slept for almost twelve hours. Saturday’s sun greets them through his large windows, where a slight crack he left lets a small breeze in. 

“I truly am.” 

She sighs. “Then help me get my project together, just enough to convince the faculty that it’s going great.” She places the cup on a small table.

“Don’t worry, you have my undivided attention now.” He says with a small smile. 

“What was your emergency anyway?” She asks as she quickly stands up which, she realizes all too late that, is a mistake. Her vision becomes dotted with colourful spots and just as she gets on her two feet, her knees buckle and she falls.

Except…she doesn’t.

She looks up and sees that he’s holding her by the arms. With one swift move, he pulls her up as if she’s a feather. 

“Uhm…” She clears her throat as he places her back down on the couch. 

“Take it easy. You’ve been lying down for hours now.” His voice is stern but not like the way a parent scolds a child. It’s a little…

“It was just something I had to deal with back home.” He speaks before she finishes her thought. 

“I-I see.” What is she doing, stuttering?

“Hm,” He says and leans a little closer to her face as if he is suspicious of something. “That’s strange.”

“What is?” She says, looking down so he can’t see the red on her face.

“You seem to be quieter lately. I always thought you were a…” He pulls back and ponders for a bit, chewing down on his lip as he thinks. He does that a lot. It makes her wonder what it’s like to bite down on it too.

“A chirpier person.” She snaps out of her thoughts and blinks at him. 

“I…I am.” She straightens herself and looks at him. He’s right. She shouldn’t be so scared of him. He’s just a tall, steely…caring…slightly sexy…man.

He chuckles at her and walks to his desk.

“Get up slowly this time. I’ll get a few things then we can head to your studio.” 

a/n: this is part iii!! this is where it starts to get a little interesting! i'm really excited for the next few parts. they might take a while but i hope everyone's enjoying it so far! i understand that this might be less popular than the one shots that i usually write but i really wanted this to be a story with more plot and build-up than usual. thank you for reading and for your patience! i truly appreciate your notes and support <3

[neon-lights-and-glitter]

Regrets Part 2 Preview

A/N- Here's a little teaser to part 2 of Regrets. It should be posted around 5/6PM today.

Little did you know, once you had left, Clay had called Urban. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but he knew had to talk to Urban before you got to him. Urban answered Clay’s phone call in a panic.

“Is she with you? She stormed out and hasn’t responded to a single call or text since she left.” Urban asked as he paced around the living room, you had each other’s locations on, and he was about to just show up to where it said you were just to make sure you we’re okay.

“She was, she just left.” Clay told him, Urban instantly letting out the breath he was holding.

“Fuck, I was so worried.” Urban told him, running his hands through his hair.

“Look.” Clay sighed, sitting down on his bed. “I don’t know how exactly to tell you this nicely, you know you’re one of my closest friends, but she is also. She told me everything that happened and you’re a dick for saying what you said to her. There was absolutely nothing she could have said or done to make you say that. You crossed a line that I didn’t think you would even come close to. You really hurt her, and she thinks it’s her fault.” Clay told Urban who could already feel his eyes watering, he knew he hurt you, he just didn’t realize how badly he did so.

“I can-“Urban started before he was cut off by Clay.

“I don’t want an explanation or an apology, I’m not the one you should be apologizing to. Save it for her. I’m going to be completely honest with you when I say that I don’t think you are any good for her anymore, she deserves better then someone who would even think something like that, even if they didn’t mean it. I’m telling you this as a friend because if you don’t fix this and learn how to communicate with each other, then you’re going to lose her. She told me that she doesn’t see your relationship ending any other way then a breakup. A breakup that she’s considering initiating herself, and if she does, I’m not going to try to stop her.” Clay told Urban.

“I didn’t mean what I said, and I never meant to hurt her like that.” Urban said, his voice cracking as he talked.

“I’m not the one you have to convince Urban. You know I want what’s best for both of you, and I do think she is good for you, you are usually a better person now that you have her, but I just can’t say that you’re good for her right now. All you can do is talk to her about it and apologize, but neither of us can force her to accept that apology.” 

“I know.” Urban sighed. “Fuck, I really messed up this time. I don’t want to lose her.” Urban sighed.

“Tell her that and show her that by listening to her, and actually following through when you tell her you won’t flirt with girls at the club. I know you don’t do it on purpose, but they don’t know that, and I do get how she sometimes does think your flirting with them. Show her that you do care about her.”

[superzombiewho]

Anastasia was sitting in front of a fire, just getting done with shooting zombies for the day. Her older brother, Nikolai, sitting behind her, messing with a strand of her curly ginger-brown hair that she had put down for the night, staring mindlessly into the flames.

Takeo was cleaning his katanas, Tank ran off to get more Juggernog, and Edward, well his usual. In his office hiding away from the world, working.

It was quiet and peaceful. A moment everyone cherished. A moment everyone got to relax and get the tension out.

Only, Tank came back, breaking the silence.

“Hey, Anya, Sauerkraut wants you in his office. Says he has something for you.”

Anastasia slightly smiled. She had grown feelings for the German doctor. And he was asking for her.

But Nikolai didn’t seem to like that.

“What could German want with you?”

Anastasia quickly put a straight face on, clearing her throat.

“I don’t know brother. But I’ll be fine.” She responded while getting up.

“Scream if you need us, Doll.” Tank said as she walked off, a silent two finger salute was all he received.

Anya ventured to the office. Seeing dim candle light on the floor and wall. She got to his door, knocking three times.

She heard small German mutterings, before she heard a “come in.”

Opening the door enough to let herself in, Edward looked up at the woman.

“Ah, Liebling! Dempshey did in fact relay my message.” Anastasia slightly blushed at the given nickname that he had given her a little while back. Back in the Giant.

She cleared her throat before speaking. Not really trusting her voice 100%. “Were you worried he’d be defensive and not send me?”

“Perhaps. But zhen again, he knows jou are jour own independent voman. Jou can handle jourself.”

Anastasia smiled at that, it took a while for the men to realize that when first meeting her, always protecting her. But then one close call really showed them she doesn’t need men to protect her, nor tell her what to do.

“Anyvays, I called jou here because Ich have made jou somezhing.”

She raised an eyebrow at this.

“The great Dr. Edward Richtofen, sentimental? No! I must be dreaming!”

“Haha. Very funny. Vill jou just come here?”

“I thought it was hilarious.” She responded walking up to him.

“So what you got, Doctor?” She asked looking at the table, displayed with guns. But these aren’t normal guns. These aren’t military appropriate. Guns that could send you to jail for war crimes.

“Zhese are all zhe vonder veapons we have. Most of zhem are ones jou already know, but zhere is one, zhat I have made specificly for jou. If jou so choose.” Edward picked up a beautiful silver and black gun with green accents displayed.

It was a nice rifle type shaped weapon. Something not too small, nor too big. It wasn’t light, but it wasn’t heavy. The beautiful art work was a marvel to look at. Anya could definitely tell, he had put a lot of work into it. He had made it to her perfect preference. Something to easily manage, something that had good shooting power with great ammo, and something that could match her personality and attire. It was perfect in her eyes.

“E-Edward, it’s beautiful.”

“I thought you could use a powerful weapon that fit your preference perfectly.”

Anya gently took it into her own hands. Edward watched her admire his work, moving the gun around, delicate hands tracing the designs.

Edward admired her cuteness. Admiring something so powerful and deadly. He could see the sparkles in her blue eyes. He saw the small smile she had. The orange candle light lite up her face, loose strands of hair framing her features beautifully. He saw just how beautiful she was and fell in love with her more.

He was brought back to reality when she cutely looked up at him.

“I undershtand if jou’d prefer shomething else-“

“I love it!”

Edward smiled.

He lead her to a small shooting range he had set up.

“It’s is called Supernova. It has zhe ability to shrink zhe target and explode. Give it a try.”

Anastasia pointed the gun at a clay pot, pulling the trigger, they watched at the pot shrunk and exploded into tiny clay pieces.

Anastasia looked at it in wonder and amazement. She looked up at Edward smiling wide. Edward smiled back. Adoring her child like giddiness.

“I take jou like it.”

“I love it! It’s amazing! The best gift I could ever have!” She happily hugs him.

The hug caught him off guard. But after a few seconds, he returned the hug. Protectively securing her in his arms. After a few seconds she pulled back. Making him disappointed.

She looked up to his blue/green eyes. She stood on her tippy toes, placing a hand on his chest, the other holding her gun at her side, planting a kiss on his cheek.

The German closed his eyes, planting the softness of her lips in his memory, hoping for more. When he opened her eyes, she stood normally, still smiling.

“Danke, hübscher.”

And with that she left the German speechless. His mouth hung open, a blushing mess and eyes slightly wide. After a while, Anastasia long gone, Edward smiled and went back to his work.

The three men saw Anya walk back, a new gun in hand. But what really caught their attention, was Anya’s loving smile on her face.

Leaving the men to look at each other.

———— • — • ————

I wrote this from @madcharlie77’s CoD zombies writing prompt. I decided to take my own little spin on it, making it fluffy.

Anastasia Belinski is my OC, I plan on doing more things with her, and I thought this could be a great way to start it.

If there is any mistakes, or if anything looks like it’s repeating, I apologize, this is my first time actually writing a fanfic away from a script to guide me. I tried making the characters personalities the same as in the game as best as I can. So please don’t come after me.

I hope you enjoyed!

[crookedherringcolorclod]

What does Amaya Think of The Sakamaki Brothers

Shu

•Amaya likes Shu’s company a lot. She always finds it fun whenever she tried to wake Shu up. Meanwhile, Shu is rather annoyed because he always gets found by Amaya at least a dozen times a day.

•No matter where he is Amaya always finds him because someone’s calling him if the teacher is asking for him, etc.

•Amaya doesn’t know when this started but Shu would call her by her name. Her real name was Charlotte.

•Whenever Amaya is annoying Shu or just out of the blue, he would call her Charlotte. It makes Amaya very curious, especially when she found out “Shu” is not Shu’s real name.

“Hey, won’t you tell me your real name? It’s not fair you know mine.” Amaya would whine, holding Shu’s cheeks in her hands.

“Mmm, it’s not my fault your older sisters still use your real name, Lottie”

“Hmph”

Reiji

•Finds him nice to be with occasionally.

•It’s because Reiji sometimes reminds her of Asa, except that he’s not as kind as her. Not kind, but quite strict.

•Reiji would call Amaya out on her grades in her Japanese history subject and even went as far as to tutor her when Asa can’t tutor her.

•Even if Reiji’s methods were quite harsh, Amaya did improve, albeit slowly. Reiji was quite shocked to find out that Amaya has skills when it comes to engineering.

“How on earth did you do that?” Reiji asked, his eyes widened in shock as Amaya slowly fixed an old jack-in-the-box. Her pale fingers carefully closed the box.

Amaya slowly turned the lever of the jack-in-a-box when she spoke. “My father used to work in a factory, he has always liked tinkering around and I just watched him play the gears and bolts. He has always liked watching the humans invent.”

“If he were still alive… he might have liked to see your work too, Reiji.”

Ayato

•Ayato likes to troll Amaya. One of his jokes was that Amaya probably eats bugs and places some in her bag.

•She fights back by placing her glass eyes and polymer clay eyes that she uses for her dolls around his room. Especially in his Iron Maiden

•Ayato doesn’t like the fact someone would dare defy him. Amaya just had to be one of those people.

•Ayato finds her almost as creepy as Asa. Especially because of that one time she teleported in front of him and let prey escape the moment Ayato thought of murdering them.

•How did she even know that Ayato decided to kill his prey? Honestly, it freaked him out.

•Thus, from that day forward, they would annoy the hell out of each other, the day they finally get along is the day that chaos would unfold-

Kanato

•Amaya is one of the few who managed to get on his good side, and it all started when Kanato found out Amaya makes dolls.

•He would sit back and just watch her hands carve wood, remove porcelain from her fingers, and sculpt out faces.

•Amaya gets weirded out because she heard his shrill shrieks rather often and now, he’s quiet as a mouse other than his rude remarks from time to time. Saying that the eyes are slightly uneven, or that the clothes don’t match the doll.

•Nevertheless, she continues her work, enjoying a bit of company while she works on limbs, sculpting, and painting.

•Until she realized Kanato destroyed a good amount of the dolls she made. There can only be one doll maker in the house apparently.

•Amaya always has to brace herself when Kanato decides to destroy more dolls. No matter what hiding place she came up with, the dolls won’t come out in one piece. She even noticed that the dolls that Kanato never broke are the ones he likes the most.

Laito

•Amaya cannot get a read on Laito at all. She admires his mental will, especially since she never expected it from him of all people.

•Whenever she enters dreams, there is always a certain wall to break before even entering someone’s mind. Most humans’ mental fortitudes were fragile, and it was her first time looking into someone else’s mind aside from her sisters.

•With Laito, there is no opening. Until he starts getting his night terrors. Amaya took the initiative and had a peek into Laito’s head, and a peek was all it took for her to stay away from his mind.

•Girlie was scarred for life.

•Laito eventually found out someone was trying to pry into his head and tried to scope out Amaya and her sisters making Amaya stop entirely.

•Oops

•Amaya sometimes spits out her consciousness into the form of bugs to keep him away from her.

•After all Akemi gets scared of him and kept warning Amaya about not getting too close to him.

•Asa and Amaya know that Akemi is overprotective and paranoid at times dues to her past and Amaya would take her word with a bit of salt. However, this one time, Amaya agrees with Akemi’s suspicions.

•She and Laito only talked when they were not the only ones in the room.

Subaru

•Amaya is quite fond of Subaru, she wanted to make friends with him. Amaya would be asking Subaru if he’d like to join in any activity that she’s doing at that moment but never pushed him when he said no.

“Sub sub, wanna help me polish this porcelain for my new doll?”

“I told ya to stop calling me that!!! I don’t want anything to do with those creepy dolls!!!”

“Ok then, Bara-chan-“

“DON’T CALL ME THAT EITHER”

•Subaru is not so fond of Amaya’s hobbies, mostly because they’re like Kanato’s hobbies.

•Other than the nicknames, Subaru doesn’t hate her. He just doesn’t like when she tries to dote on him. Makes him feel embarrassed and gives Ayato and Laito more things to tease Subaru about him.

[soupbender]

i will only break your pretty things (preview of a jinzula fic)

The bowl has a chip in its edge. This flaw has been smoothed over by time, barely a blip on the grey-grained clay—a nothing, really. Yet it’s staring at Azula. It should have been replaced.

She tries to call the waiter over, reflexively sitting straight up and simply ordering, “You.” It’s only a blink later when she realizes this is ridiculous—her server is long gone, off to another table the second her food was deposited, lost in this sweaty, crowded scene. The restaurant is open-air but it feels like choking. This whole, horrible place does.

Not for the first time tonight, Azula wonders how she ended up here. Her. In the Lower Ring. How out-of-it was she on the trainride? How much of her mind was lost in anger as she marched out of the Jasmine Dragon? She dismisses all of this quickly enough—she was right to leave and she was right to come here. She’s made a sound decision. If not by logic, then by the fact that she made it. It has to be correct.

Still. There’s a chip missing from the bowl in front of her, and she no longer has an appetite for noodles.

“Are you going to finish those?”

The girl from the other table, the table right beside her own, is leaning over completely inappropriately. What kind of animal is she, to butt into a stranger’s space, to ignore a wall just because it’s invisible and made of air and not real at all? Because everyone has walls around them, all the time, obviously. Unless—and this is the worst possibility—the girl’s actions are commonplace for this area. When Father had said the Earth Kingdom was run by peasants, she’d assumed he was exaggerating.

As Azula simply stares at her, the girl’s grin wavers, and she clarifies, “I’m joking. You only just got your food, duh.”

“I’m not going to finish it,” Azula replies belatedly and to the wrong part of the conversation. She should have kept her mouth shut, ignored her with a regal dignity. But now she’s chosen this, and it’s smart, because she ought to attempt fitting in. There are a million reasons why attracting attention would be… inopportune.

“Oh,” The girl’s brows furrow, her eyes darting down to Azula’s perfectly good noodles. (‘Perfectly good’ if you have zero standards, which seems likely for this restaurant.) “Did they bring you the wrong order? You wanna trade?“

She offers a plate filled with thin slices of beef, covered in sauce and scallions.

“No,” Azula answers sharply, but her stomach growls. Amazing, how even her own body is learning to betray her.

The girl’s smile returns, just like that, that easily. Like it’s easy to be care-free, happy. Like you can choose it at a moments notice. (Or pretend at it — Azula thinks of braids and pink and doe eyes, and her guard goes up yet further.)

“Right, uh-huh. We’re trading.”

Not a moment later, the dishes have been swapped. Azula eyes the meat warily, but the smell is, admittedly, not unpleasant. She takes a tentative bite.

“So, what’s your name?” the girl asks, making conversation. Small talk.

On Ember Island, it had been a passing fascination to see how the world would treat her as any other teen. To taste what a life without power was like. Now, she doesn’t have to taste it. It’s been kicked into her teeth like mud; she’s swimming in vulnerability and reliance. And who she is without power, it turns out, is herself.

Which is pretty wretched.

“I’m no one,” says Azula clichely, and then corrects, just for the hell of it, “you can call me Lee.”

Jin laughs, “How mysterious! You know, when it comes to Lee’s, I once went on the strangest date…”

[whichcouldmeannothing]

everybody wants you

merry new years eve! got something for you all! been pretty sick fro the past few days, so I've been pretty mia, but! I'm getting some needed work done on the big hangster chaptered fic! to guilt me into speeding up work, here's a little snippet! if you want to get notifs for it, subscribe to my ao3 to get notifs for when it drops!!

In Geography, Jake learnt that for a tsunami to happen, the earth’s plates shift a little bit under the ocean. It then causes a huge ripple effect in the water, causing a huge tsunami to swallow people alive. He hated Geography, but he remembered watching the film strip of the massive wave building up on the horizon.

That night was a tectonic shift, and Jake is drowning.

He gets up in the morning, Bradley smiles at him and he can’t breathe. 

He thought he’d gotten over how he felt for Bradley following TOPGUN, but suddenly, they’re more than roommates. They talk about their days, they bitch about their squads and on their rougher nights, with the lights off, they talk about things they would never tell anyone, and the other tries to comfort them.

Instead of indifference, Bradley treats Jake with camaraderie. And it’s disconcerting. It’s hard to treat the biggest asshole in the room with friendliness, Javy would know, but Bradley does it. It doesn’t feel like his friendship with Javy. If friendships were clay sculptures, his friendship with Javy was the result of a lot of sanding and hard work. Him and Bradley were perfect as soon as they came out of the mold. 

And it works, stunningly well. The things that Jake always viewed as opposing him worked wonders alongside him. They were stunningly in sync in the air, their trust in each other as deep as the ocean they were sailing on. 

And suddenly, he’s back at TOPGUN. He’s back to looking at Bradley with sparkles in his eyes and a yearning in his bones. Smiles seem to come more easily, and compliments are always on the tip of his tongue. He goes from calling him just his callsign to nicknames for his name to regular terms of endearment. If anything, just to see the tips of his ears go pink.

It was easy to tamp down any of his feelings when he thought Bradley hated him and would have gone on to be an instructor or something bigger far away from him. But now that they laugh and joke, walk together in hallways and gossip at night, it’s near impossible. It isn't hard imagining what it’s like to be in a relationship with a guy you literally live with.

And sometimes, Jake can almost believe that Bradley might feel something too.

It’s the way he smiles, exasperated but entertained. The fond way he says “You’re an idiot” whenever he boasts about something. The hands on the shoulders seem to linger just a bit too long. The easy way he seems to just break out compliments.

It isn’t enough, Jake will always want more, but it is something. 

And one day, realizing the futility of his situation, he accepts his fate. He’ll take what he can get with Bradley. This insane little jump-rope with the definitions of friendship. That has to sustain him. Being near the sun is enough, he doesn’t need to get burnt. 

And then someone tries to break down his door. 

It’s five pm, dinner starts soon, he’s just showered, no one should be bothering him. So, he angrily sets down his face cream. Can’t the guy make sure his skin is moisturised without someone causing harm to his door?

“Wh-” He pauses. “Phoenix?”

Phoenix stands in front of him. She looks sick of this shit, and Jake doesn’t even know what this shit is for her. She’s in a black tank, her hair is in a ponytail and a waterbottle is in her hand. It looks heavy, and she isn’t opposed to beating him senseless. So, he schools his face into something unpunchable. “Hey there, birdie.”

Horrible start. Her anger is barely restrained, biting remarks held back by her clenched teeth. She breathes, and then she says something that throws him off. 

“Please help me.”

“Sorry, what?” Him and Phoenix aren’t friends, they are people who snipe at each other. They aren’t amicable enough to trade favours or share jokes or smiles. 

“You know how annoying Rooster can be, right?” And this, he knows deeply. The man feels emotions strongly, and if someone pisses him off, Jake’s in for thirty minutes of his ranting back in the room.

“I’m pretty familiar.”

“Good. I just ran here, from the gym, because Rooster can’t stop talking about your stupid fucking teeth and I’m so done. I hate your guts, but if I can’t even throw punches without him waxing poetic about you, I’m going to kill myself.” Phoenix always has such a way with words. But, he’s a little confused.

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“Kiss him. Date him. Fuck him. Something. He’s not going to make the move, and I want peace. So, please,” She begs, her hands pressed together. “For your sake, for mine, for everyone who has to see you two moon over each other, please do something.”

She slams his door shut. Jake stares at the wooden surface.

Hell of a thing he just heard. Hell of an exit too. 

Before he could even blink, the door bursts open again. 

“Hi, have you seen Phoenix?” Rooster. Sweaty. Flushed. Panting. In a tank top with his broad shoulders.

And on instinct, no thinking and no deliberation, he moves forward. His hands move up to cup Bradley’s face and he lays a kiss on him. For a split second, he worries that Phoenix lied and that he has made everything bad and awkward by laying his hands on him. He starts thinking about how he can apologise and play this off. 

And then Rooster kisses him back. 

He kisses back with passion like he’s confident in what he’s doing. He knows his terrain and he’s right where he belongs. It’s the best form of Rooster, the one who trusts himself, and Jake has him under his hands.  Jake moves his hands from his face to the straps of his tank top and pulls him closer.

Rooster breaks away a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner.”

“Plenty of time to make up for then.” And he goes back into the wave, letting himself get swept away by the tide. 

[percontaion-points]

Firstlife chapter 10

Today’s review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 10

“A covenant was offered to me years ago. My parents told me the offer was revoked. I’d done too much...”

 “No,” Archer says. “No. An offer is made to every child and once made, it remains active until Firstdeath.” 

Expression agonized, Clay whispers, “But...you don’t know the things I’ve done.”

 “I don’t need to know. Nothing you’ve done can compare to the things I did, and yet, when I was ready, I was welcomed with open arms.” 

The only thing I’m getting from this is that you can commit genocide and they’d still accept you. 

Two Prynne guards approach our well-lit square. Just before they reach us, however, they veer to the left, as if deep, deep inside they know to avoid what their eyes cannot see. 

Messengers in action. I can’t see them either, but I can see the result of them. 

Surprise! There’s more to the world—worlds—than I ever thought possible.

And they never once think that there might be more than Myriad and Troika? That the beings who view all living humans as being cannon fodder for their war HAVE AN AGENDA?!

“You should have told me you were a guy before I showered in front of you,” I snap at him. 

Unabashed, he says, “You’re in a mood. Is it that time of the month for you, too? Have our cycles finally synced?”

Again, as an author, you have the power to write literally anything. And the author actively chose to write Archer as a misogynistic pig. 

“Have you accepted your importance? Have you realized you’re the final drop of water that causes the cup to overflow?” 

For a war that’s been raging for millenia, I refuse to believe that a single person would somehow stop all of that. 

“She doesn’t want you.” 

“She doesn’t know what she wants.”

Hey bozos, not only is she standing right there, but she is also perfectly capable of making up her own mind. 

“I won’t let you hurt her the way you hurt Dior,” Archer says through gritted teeth. 

Dior? 

“By the time I finished with your darling,” Killian says, his tone nothing but silk and heat, and yet I pick up the underlying note of his rage, “she was begging me for more.” 

That rage...over a girl... Killian is doing his best to hide his feelings, but he’s failing. 

He loved Dior, didn’t he?

I love how the author set up this trilogy about the eternal war between heaven and hell. And the two main love interests hate each other… Because of a girl. 

 The sky is nothing but snow, ice and rock—and falling straight for us.

Chapter 10 summary: Ten and Clay get settled, and Archer encourages them to take a nap. Ten wakes up from a nightmare to find Sloan over her. Sloan is insanely eager to jump Archer’s bones, but that excitement quickly dies when Ten explains that not only was this Bow, but also a TL. 

There’s this really long scene where Ten leaves the magical hut to pee. The only thing missing from it is the actual description of her urinating. As she’s pulling her pants back up, she realises that Killian is there, and gets angry that he’d watched her pee. 

The four of them go back to the cave, for no real reason. Clay then says that he’s done being indecisive about which side to choose. He had been reluctant earlier because he’d apparently done a lot of terrible things. Archer had warned him that you never know when your firstlife is going to end… Which is such a shitty thing to say to somebody who’s probably not even 20. There’s also this bit about Archer saying about how he’d escort the souls of dead children to the afterlife, where they’d finish growing, and then chose a side. After having been indoctrinated in Troika. Clay signs up with Troika, and then bro-hugs Archer. 

Ten warns that they need to leave now, and they start to go. But right outside, they run into Killian, who starts to go at it with Archer. They start screaming about some girl named Dior. 

Sloan wants to leave, but Clay wants to stay. Clay’s actions are confusing to Ten, because he met Archer a few hours earlier; why does he suddenly want to go to his secondlife immediately after signing?

The earth starts to shake around them, and they think that this is another battle going on around them. But with horror, they realise that the battles have loosened the snow and rock on the nearby mountain peak, and there’s now an avalanche. 

[niall-lovely]

The Archer

They see right through me

They see right through

Can you see right through me?

“The evening is going swimmingly so far,” he says, looking back at her. So far , he doesn't mean anything by it, but he does. Just a little. An invitation, for precisely what he's not sure. He wants to know what it feels like to touch her, but it's more than that, it always is with her.

She smiles, tempted by the offer, or maybe simply amused, he's not sure. They turn to look at the bed together and she takes a step back, abandoning his personal space. “So what did you think of my act?”

He tells her the truth. “I thought it was sensational.”

“Thank you,” she means it and he realizes how important his opinion is to her. She looks down, he knows that look and prepares to watch her walk away. But she doesn't, choosing instead to once again invade his personal space. He likes it. The reminder that she isn't predictable.

Her fingers touch his waist lightly, he can barely feel it through his shirt but he knows it happens. “Midge,” his voice is hoarse, how is she doing this to him? He wonders but there's no time, or maybe there is. How long has she been looking at him like that?

“Make a joke,” he's so good at reading people, but never her. Those blue eyes seem to morph in front of him, turning darker, more serious. “Lenny, make a joke.”

He can't. Getting her name out was hard enough. A lot of things are hard , he thinks. It's all he can think about. It's consuming him. This power she has, he hates it. He hates not being the one in control. So does she, he thinks but changes his mind. She hates being the one with the power, it's why she's begging him to say a joke. “Anything, it doesn't have to be good.”

“What if I don't want to?” he challenges, almost impressed that he could sound so confident. Of course, he could, he's Lenny Bruce. But he’s not when she's around. He's anything she wants him to be, clay for her to mould. She's closer now, her hands are sliding up his tense torso. His body is screaming for her. Please , he begs if only in his head. Please what? He's not sure. Does he want her to stay or leave? Stay , he screams but knows she’ll still leave, sooner or later and it kills him.

Her fingers stroke the nape of his neck, just like they had when they danced. He can feel her breath on his skin, it sends waves through him that he doesn't want to understand. He doesn't want to do much of anything but pin her against the doorframe. “Please,” he whispers, this time out loud, resting his forehead on hers. Time moves excruciatingly slow as she brings her lips closer to his. Their noses touch and he wonders how much time has passed. Hours, maybe but it's still dark out. They brush against him and he realizes he's shaking. She makes him so weak, he wants to cry.

She has a husband or at least had one. It's unclear to him what's going on with that but it's none of his business. What stands out to him is that someone had the opportunity to kiss her, to touch her and they gave it up. Lenny wasn't sure how he was going to touch anyone else after this, even if they stop now, even if they never really kiss, he knows the feeling of being this close to the sun.

Her lips hover next to his. A hand comes up to cup her face. Her skin is soft and he tries to remember if he's touched her there before. No, he decides, thinking it was too intimate for a night other than this one. One of them stopped it with a joke, but he's all out of them now and so is she. He waits. This whole thing is one big waiting game, a test of his true abilities. He wants her to make the first move, or maybe he just can't. Her lips part and he accepts them.

He doesn't really expect anything. Not because he doesn't think it would be good but because he doesn't know how it will make him feel. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose when it finally happens. She has him against the doorframe, the control now looking good on her. She either knows what she's doing or is one hell of an actress. He wonders how many times she’s done this exact same thing. It makes him sad, the thought of missing out on ‘firsts’ with her.

She bites his lip, “fuck,” he whimpers into her mouth. He feels her smile and it makes him smile as well. This is right , he thinks, he could feel it in his bones that every moment in his life has prepared him for this one. They break apart, ending what he would later characterize as one hell of a first kiss. He smiles again, maybe they can still have firsts together.

“Do you wanna…” he doesn't know how to ask. It's so much more than sex for her, for him too. Or maybe he's putting her in a box and it's just something casual for her. She pulls him inside the room by his tie. He kicks the door shut and hears the other number fall off. She's in a rush to undo his shirt. He wants to savour the moment.

Her lipstick is smudged and he knows it’s on his neck. He doesn't even remember her kissing him there. Just relax , he begs himself, don't overthink it . But he does because she is not just anyone and he can't pretend like she is. He pulls away and she protests with a whine. He brushes a piece of hair behind her ear. The flower he put there not hours before is now gone, to where he isn't sure.

He wants to tell her he loves her. He doesn't even know if it's completely true. It's a half-truth, at least. He wants to kiss her, he wants to fuck her, he wants to spend days memorizing every mark on her skin but they don't have days, only this night. He kisses her again, harder this time. He’ll at least show her if he can't tell her.

There on the bed now. She's lying on top of him as he unzips her dress. His heart speeds up as he remembers what it felt like to have her head on his chest when they were dancing. He had almost kissed her forehead but held back, barely . It starts to feel like more than a half-truth.

She pulls away from him to slide the dress the rest of the way off before going to unclip her bra. No , he stops her, that's his job. He tosses it across the room before slipping off her garter and stopping. It hits him what he's about to do, that she's real and in front of him.

“I want you,” he mumbles as a manicured hand slips down his pants. His head falls on her shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, “I need you,” I love you . He stops himself. His skin is burning for her. He wonders what she's thinking, he hopes what they’re doing holds the same significance to her that it does to him but it's doubtful. He moans her name and she curses as if he is touching her.

She pulls her hand away and undoes his belt, then his pants, and, before he knows what happened, he's naked in front of her and is convinced that no one has ever felt more vulnerable than he does at this moment. “Wow,” she whispers, not for him to hear but he does and can only hope it was a good ‘wow’.

She's on top of him, kissing his lips, his jaw, his neck and he's moaning with every contact. he's never like this, he thinks. It makes him feel despite and pathetic but that's what he is. Only for her.

He doesn't remember her panties coming off but they are suddenly missing and he has the first opportunity to touch the skin on her hips. She sinks down on him. He's not wearing a condom. Is she on the pill? He wonders. No, she can't be, not married. Unless she is, he has no idea. It doesn't matter anyways. Nothing matters but her.

She says his name for the first time in this context. He never wants to hear anything else. She’s so beautiful with a few stray hairs sticking to her head with sweat, the way she tucks her head into his neck and grabs his shoulders with her nails. It stings. He likes it, reminds him once again that this is real. He needs to say it. You can’t, he reminds himself painfully.

He heard this thing once, he couldn't remember from who, about how you can tell if a woman is faking it because she’ll look good well doing it. That couldn't be true, he thinks as he watches her come. Her hair is a mess, makeup smeared, and eyes closed as she cries out, nails digging deeper into his back. He is convinced that she is the most beautiful woman that's ever existed.

He listens to her breathing as he holds her. He traces her skin in the light of the digital alarm clock. She is asleep, he can hardly tell, she doesn't make a sound. He's sure that's intentional, leftover from her married days. She's gripping him tightly like she's worried he’ll leave her. He is doing the same. Once he is really sure she's out, he kisses her forehead and tells her. “I love you.” when he wakes up the next morning, all that's left of her is a note.

I love you, too

-M

[sweethartlullaby]

you, among the art ii

word count: 792 genre/theme: fluff and angst later, sculpting series, graduate student and her professor/supervisor, female and male pairing as always, imagine whoever you would like... find part iii here sweethartlullaby ꕤ masterlist

It’s her first day. 

He spent about thirty minutes trying to pick out the perfect shirt this morning. Ever since the last end-of-year meeting, he has been very conscious of his fashion choices. 

You’re already on such thin ice; try not to look like you hate it here.

He’s wearing a white shirt today, one his mother bought for him when he went home this summer. As fall approaches, he lets himself breathe. The air gently floats into the room, wrapping him with comfort. With the windows open, he leaves the cardigan hugging the chair. 

He has been creating sketches in his notebook, finding things to fix even though he doesn’t need to. He can’t let himself sit idle. He has to stop himself from checking the time. With every tick of the wall clock, he grows even more nervous. He’s also a man of tea so the unusual cup of coffee today has his fingers shaking and his heart beating in his ears. 

One minute before the scheduled time, he hears a knock on his door. He turns to see her head poking inside, searching the room until her eyes finally fall on him. All of a sudden, he feels so small. 

“Oh, hello.” She says and smiles a little before she lets herself in. Her hair is in a low ponytail, and her light blue shirt sleeves are up to her elbows. Her dark pants almost hide the smudges of clay, but not well enough to his trained eye. 

He studies her for a moment too long before he realizes he is supposed to speak. 

“Uhm, hello.” He says. She stays by the door and all he can think about is that she is going to make a run for it any second now.

“Well,” She squeaks out before she clears her throat.

“Sorry, I’m not usually this nervous.”

“Do I scare you?” He says, half-joking. 

“Oh, gosh no!” She finally steps closer to him. 

“If I’m so scared of you, I wouldn’t be here.” She explains as she looks at his desk, a clutter of paper and ink. 

“Are these your upcoming projects?” She asks, keeping her hands behind her back. He hesitates. How does he tell her he was such a nervous wreck that he took it out on his sketchbook? When he takes too long to answer, she speaks.

“Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to pry. I just-”

“They’re just ideas.” He says and he fights the urge to cringe at the way he says it. It’s always been a bad habit. The nerves make him cold and uninterested. It is probably why he barely speaks to anyone at gatherings.

“Oh.” She steps away from the table as if she crossed the line.

The coffee isn’t helping. He’s too freaked out to think of what to say. Should he apologize? Should he tell her it’s okay? He stands frozen, his tongue trying to push the words out. It takes him another two minutes of silence before he finally blurts out letters that he hopes form into words.

“Why not…I mean, why don’t you tell me about your…project?” He takes his cup into his hands to hide their trembling before he leans onto the window frame and watches her. 

“Right! So, as you know…” She gets closer again and uses her hands to explain her vision. He doesn’t ask a lot. She seems to know what she’s doing. She knows what she wants. Her vision is tremendous and creative and he can’t help but watch in awe as passion pours out of her.

It’s in the way she speaks about her work. It’s in the way she moves as she describes it. It’s almost as if he can see exactly what she means. 

“I understand that the final project may not even be tied to Black Swan but that’s actually what I am going for. I want even more fear and anguish than was shown. I want to capture so much in just one statue. It’s…” She exhales before she finally looks at him again. 

“It’s a lot, I know. But…I’m excited.” The corners of her lips turn up into a small smile. It’s refreshing, to see someone so in love in this field again. It almost reminds him of why he is here in the first place. 

“I think…it’s going to be amazing.” He says slowly. He’s never been the greatest with words, but that’s why he’s a sculptor. There’s much more for him to show than to say.

“I really look forward to working with you.” He brings his hand out and when she doesn’t take it immediately, he almost pulls it back. But then she grips him and gives him a firm shake.

“Me too.”

a/n: hellooo!! this is part two of the sculpting series. i'm soooo sorry if it sounds so choppy i honestly dk whats wrong with me. but i will try write better for the next parts!! i'm uploading a part iii right after this one since this is a bit short. i hope you enjoyed and i'd love to hear what you guys thought about it (pls be nice), who you imagined, and any songs that came into mind!