#i just imagine people being like “wow light is so considerate to be so friendly to someone that weird”

[jichanxo]

okay i know they went to university basically never because plot, but i'm forever amused by the idea of strangers seeing these two together and being baffled/wildly wrong about them

[mystical-flute]

We Were Both Young When I First Saw You (SF Week Day 1)

Partners In Crime or Enchanted Forest AU

AO3 || FFN

“Papa, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, Baelfire. We’ve only got a bit further to go.”

Baelfire couldn’t help but frown at the castle looming in the distance. He wasn’t entirely sure what his Papa’s version of “bit” was, but he knew they wouldn’t even reach the castle by sundown if they tried.

They had been journeying for weeks now, having only barely scraped enough money together for food or the occasional night at the inns on the route from Senaela. There was to be a spinning contest in Misthaven, hosted by the Queen and Prince Regent. The prize money would be everything to them - and Baelfire knew his Papa was the best spinner in all the realms.

But that didn’t mean Baelfire wasn’t tired of traveling.

Still, he pushed on. For his Papa. For a better life.

Despite the burning in his lungs and his legs, he pushed on, the cart moving slowly through the forest.

They stumbled upon a small village, and were settling down to eat the rations they’d found when the sound of horses cut through the serenity.

The lead horse had a banner with a crest of the royal family on it, and Baelfire sighed in relief. It wasn’t their Duke’s men who came to take him away to fight against the ogres. They had escaped. They were safe.

“Clear the area! Make way for Princess Emma and Prince Neal!” the man on the lead horse called.

The residents buzzed with excitement as they cleared the main street of the town, gathered on either side. Children stood on tiptoes, peeking out from behind their mother’s skirts or seated upon their father’s shoulders.

Baelfire and Rumplestiltskin stood off to the side in surprise.

“Princess Emma and Prince Neal seem quite popular…” he said softly.

“Oh, they are!” the woman standing next to him remarked. “The whole royal family is, actually. They say the prince was a poor farm boy before Queen Snow married him. They always hear out the woes of the farmers that live on the edge of the kingdom.”

More horses galloped through, carrying banners of the royal family.

“Emma and Neal seem to be following in Queen Snow and Prince David’s footsteps too. They’re always out talking to the people. It really makes me feel like I’m being heard, y’know? My mother used to tell me we’d be lucky to see King Leopold once a year.”

“We don’t even know what our king looks like,” Papa said. “Only the duke of our area.”

The woman smiled kindly. “Have you considered staying here after the tournament?”

“Well… the people here have been quite friendly,” Papa hummed in consideration.

They couldn’t very well return to their village they’d come from, given they had managed to escape from the Duke and his awful reign of terror. The truth was, Baelfire wasn’t sure if Papa had thought it all the way through after their escape.

Finally, three horses arrived. One white, carrying a girl with blonde hair, one chestnut brown, carrying a younger boy, and the third was a majestic black stallion, carrying a woman with dark hair and sharp features.

The horses came to a halt, and the riders dismounted, leading their horses to the troughs of water available.

Baelfire felt his heart stop as the girl met his gaze, fingers moving of their own accord in a shy wave.

“Princess Emma!” the woman next to them called. “It’s so lovely to see you and Neal out and about.”

Emma laughed a little, hopping over a small mud puddle to meet them. “It’s nice to see you too, Miss Diana. Neal and I figured we’d get a bit of freedom before the contest starts and Mama and Daddy have us stuck being stuffy royals all day.” Her face, which had screwed up into a scowl, softened as she looked at Baelfire and Rumplestiltskin. “I don’t think I’ve seen the two of you before.”

Papa bowed immediately, holding on to his walking stick carefully. “No - no your highness. We’re new here… we’ve come from Senaela for the contest, you see.”

“It’s okay - you don’t have to bow. I’m surprised that news of the contest reached there after mother and father had a falling out with King Thomas and Princess Ella…” Emma trailed off, then shrugged. “Welcome to Misthaven regardless. It’s nice to see some new faces here.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

“Emma,” she said. “I’m Emma.”

Baelfire still felt awestruck, reaching to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m Baelfire. This is my Papa, Rumplestiltskin.”

Emma curtseyed just a little. “It’s so nice to meet you both. What’s - ”

“Emma! We need to get back to the palace!” the older woman called.

A scowl appeared on Emma’s face as she turned away from them briefly. “Coming, Regina!” She turned back, smiling at Diana. “You’ll help them get to the palace grounds tomorrow, won’t you, Diana?”

“Of course, Princess Emma.”

Emma gave them a small wave before retreating back to her horse, and within moments, the royal caravan had gone, and Baelfire’s heart was still stuttering.

The next morning, Baelfire was in awe as he took in the castle grounds. It looked more like a festival than a normal contest. Tents of food and other vendors lined the edges of the main path, and games were scattered along the immaculate lawn.

Papa was up on the stage, spinning up a storm with the other contestants, but he could see the piles of wool next to Papa growing larger than the others.

Baelfire sat on an empty patch of grass, listening to a small group of musicians playing. This place was a dream. No evil duke, no ogres… were they finally safe here?

“Hello Baelfire.”

He jumped to his feet and twisted around, bowing. “Hello Princess Emma.”

“How are you enjoying the festivities?”

Baelfire smiled. “It’s very fun. Why did you guys throw a festival like this? I thought it was just a contest for spinners.”

An early spring breeze brushed against them, and Emma pulled her cape tighter around her. “It’s a spring celebration. We’ll hand out the yarn to those that need it, so people can make blankets and warm clothing for next winter,” she explained.

“Wow… that’s so kind. I didn’t think royalty could be like that.”

Emma giggled, holding out her arm to guide him through the festivities. “Well, Daddy knows how hard it is to survive winters. He didn’t want to see the people suffer when he married mother.”

Baelfire smiled. He couldn’t imagine being worthy of living in a place like this. But then, anything would be better than the village they’d come from, with the ogres and the dukes drunk on power.

“What are you and your Papa going to do after the contest is over? Will you return home?”

Baelfire bit his lip. “We don’t really have a home anymore. We fled from the Ogre Wars. The duke wanted to take me away to be a soldier on the front lines.”

“You can’t be much older than I.”

“Fifteen.”

“We’re the same age, then. And they expect you to fight in a war?”

“It used to be thirteen.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “That’s terrible! I mean, Mama taught me how to fight, but she would never tell people our age to go fight in a war! You must stay in Misthaven. You’ll be safe here.”

“Thank you, Princess Emma.”

“Emma! There you are!” an older woman called.

Baelfire glanced over his shoulder, then stiffened when he realized the queen and prince regent were coming toward them. His manners kicked in when he saw the sword on the prince’s hip, dropping into a low bow.

“Mama, Daddy, I was just showing Baelfire around,” Emma explained. “His Papa’s in the contest today. Rumplestiltskin.”

“Ah, the favorite to win,” David said. “Your father is quite the talent.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” he managed to squeak out. “We’re very honored to be here.”

Snow glanced up at the sky, gauging the direction of the sun. “We should be announcing the winner in about an hour, if you would like to wait with your father, Baelfire.”

He nodded slowly as Snow and David walked off. He and Emma wandered around the square for a bit longer before he stood on the stage alongside his father, who was a bundle of nervous energy, his good leg bouncing.

“And the winner of this year’s contest is… Rumplestiltskin!” Queen Snow announced.

Despite the thunderous applause and cheers from the people fathered, all Baelfire could focus on was the wide smile on Emma’s face, and the light dusting of pink in her cheeks.

Perhaps they would stay in Misthaven after all.

[wienerbarnes]

Old Friend

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 2,333

Warnings: nothing this time! warm feelings

A/N: ok so I have an idea but it'd kind of be a bigger plot point for this universe so I'm gonna try and do some head cannons to fill in some gaps before writing the next big part! feel free to send in any ideas! ill write em if they strike the inspo :)

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

“Bucky! You’re finally back!”

Your body jumped into his arms with excitement, happiness and joy radiating off of your body immediately causing a toothy smile to grow on his face. He caught you in his arms, wrapping both around your waist and lifting up off the ground, your arms curling around his neck.

“Sorry, I was longer than expected.” Bucky says, slowly letting you down back on your feet.

What was supposed to be a week long investigation in London turn into seven weeks as a string of human trafficking crimes were tied to more and more people, forcing him and Sam to extend their stay.

Bucky enters your apartment and makes his way to one of your cabinets, taking out two placemats, a set of plates, and silverware as he watches you make your way back to the stove. Regardless of the fact that he’s been away for a while, the two of you seem to fall back into rhythm as though nothing’s changed.

“I found this easy tomato soup recipe so I made it with some grilled cheese sandwiches,” You explain, slowly stirring the red liquid in the pot. You don’t turn around but Bucky can hear the proud smile in your voice. “I even remembered to wash my hands this time,”

“I missed you.” He says suddenly, seemingly not being able to hold himself back. You pause your stirring and look over your shoulder back at him, “I missed you, too, Bucky.” A wide smile spreading across your face.

Something changed in him the last seven weeks.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. At first it was worry; constantly wondering if you were safe, if you had gotten yourself into any complicated situations without him around to help you. Everytime Sam’s phone would ring, a part of him was terrified that it was a phone call to inform him that you had been found and were being transported back to prison. You don’t have a phone or any other means of communication, so it was hard for him to constantly be worrying without any way of checking in on you.

Soon, the worry was replaced with longing. He began to miss your different colored hair, always changing it up for appearance, but also you making him guess what color you were going next before not telling him anyway. He missed the way you were always coloring your nails, changing out your earrings everyday with something new and colorful, the way you would tell him awful jokes he’d heard a thousand times before, jokes that would make blush and cringe, the way you’d tell him stories from your past; the fact that you trust him enough to do so in the first place.

Everything he saw in London reminded him of you in some way. Everything he saw, he wished you were there with him to share it with. He couldn’t wait to tell you about the people, the buildings, the food; he could only imagine the way you’d fake an accent to see how long you could get away with it around locals or the way you’d tease about how “they’re driving on the wrong side of the road.”

“Oh! I forgot to tell you, I did a thing!” You snap him out of his thoughts with the placement of the soup bowl and two sandwiches on the table in front of him. He sits down and his eyes widen as you pull down your pants.

He doesn’t have time to be distracted with your lime green cheeky underwear because he’s distracted by the large outline of a tattoo running down your leg.

There’s no shading or color, only black lines that outline countless flowers and leaves, lines filling in the spaces in between. The tattoo spans from the top of your thigh, disappearing in between your inner thighs and trailing down to your ankle. You twist your leg in a bit to show how it wraps around, and you're completely unaware of the look on Bucky’s face. He never knew he had a thing for tattoos until now.

He closes his eyes while you're not looking, trying to calm the heat he can feel against his neck and ears.

“How did- How did you even do that?” He asks, glancing up at the smile on your face as you stare down at your own leg.

“Okay, so- I found this cool tattoo shop, right? And I go in and they tell me that I need an ID and money, both of which I obviously don’t have, so I left. And then,” You pause to shove your tomato-soaked cheese sandwich into your mouth, red liquid dripping from the corners of your mouth, barely making it onto the plate and dirtying the cloth underneath.

“Then, this guy comes out of nowhere from the shop and he says that he’d be happy to tattoo me for free so he can build his portfolio! So, that’s what I did!” You finish explaining.

“Was he like… sterile?”

“Duh, Bucky. What kind of person do you take me for?” You reassure him.

He pushes both thoughts of another guy rubbing on your thighs and the amount of risk that came with pulling that stunt as you both catch up on each other’s lives. He tells you about London, you tell him about the tattoo experience, he tells you about London life, you tell him about your trips to the fresh market and how you’ve been getting better and better at cooking.

He’s washing the dishes while you towel dry them and put them away in your small cupboard when he brings up an idea to you.

“So, I want you to meet a friend of mine.” He suggests to you.

“Bucky, you know I can’t meet any of your friends.” You respond, deflated, after a moment of silence.

“I know what you're thinking, but I promise this guy is as safe as safe can be. I was thinking of taking a drive to visit him tomorrow, and I think you guys would get along well.” He continues soaping up the china in the sink, but doesn’t look at you; he can guess the nervous look on your face as he senses your tension and hears the increased beat of your heart.

“... Are you trying to set me up with this guy?” You ask, offense present in your voice.

A chuckle escapes him, “I think this guy is… a little out of your age range. Look,” He turns off the water as you dry off the last plate. “Do you trust me?”

“With everything.” You say without an ounce of hesitation.

“Then come with me tomorrow.”

After a moment of thought and consideration, you agree.

…

“I didn’t know you had a car!”

“Got it just for you, doll.”

“Is your license even in date? Have you had your vision checked recently, old man?”

He closes the door behind him and makes his way to the passenger side to open the car door for you, “We’ve got a bit of a drive, I figured this was more comfortable than the bike.”

You’ve dressed up today, a pair of shorts that show off your tattoo, with a large long-sleeved t-shirt adorning your frame, a mis-matched jacket and sweatshirt hanging off of your shoulders. He likes that you’ve got a thing for layers, and he’ll never get over the comfort you take in having fun with your appearance.

A two and a half hour drive leads you both to a reserved house, trees and bushes decorating the front of the property and a basic Welcome Home sign hanging from the door.

“Bucky… who do you know that lives all the way out here?” You ask as he parks. As much as she trusts him, she had nightmares about who she would be meeting today. Her biggest fear was Sam or Sharon. As full of love Bucky is, she wasn’t sure his friends would feel the same; they have a large responsibility and clearly value their job and their morals, which would make it hard for them to see her in the same light Bucky sees her in.

“You’ll see, babe. Just relax, c’mon.” Bucky says, turning off the car and opening the door. You can’t help the warmth flooding your face at the pet name and you hope Bucky doesn’t notice enough to tease you about it as he opens your door for you.

Bucky flips through his keys as you both approach the porch and he finally sticks a silver one into the lock, turning it to the left.

“Must know them pretty well to have a spare key.”

“You have no idea,” Bucky mumbles.

“Steve?” Bucky calls out into the house.

“Back here, Buck!” A raspier voice echoes back.

A elderly man steps out from a side hallway. A friendly smile sits on his face, and you return it, not being able to help it at the sight of a nice-looking old man in a sweater and soft looking slacks.

“I’m Steve. It's a pleasure to meet you.” He holds out a hand, and you shake it, replying with your name as well.

“Sweetheart, this is Steve Rogers.” Bucky informs you.

You freeze, smile dropping from your face and hand pausing in Steves.

“Steve… Rogers? The Steve Rogers? Like- Captain America? But… You-You died!” You exclaim.

“I did, didn’t I,” Steve laughs out, releasing your hand. “Have you eaten?” He asks.

“What the fuck?” You ask, seemingly more confused by that question than the fact that Steve Rogers is, 1: Old, and 2: Alive and well living in a beautiful home in the outskirts of New York.

Another laugh sounds from the older man, “Why don’t you have a seat, I’ll make you guys something, I’m sure you’re hungry after the drive.” He trails off, making his way to the kitchen.

“Wow, nice to see you're a chef now. You’ve come a long way from having no taste buds a century ago.” Bucky jokes, a light smile on his face as he makes his way after Steve towards the kitchen island.

This isn’t fucking real right now. Who else is the government hiding? Cobain? Kennedy? How the fuck am I in Captain America’s super nicely furnished-old-timey style-house that’s hidden away in paradise? It’s so different for you to see Bucky so relaxed. He looks incredibly carefree, joking around, teasing with his best friend. It makes you feel warm inside to see him this way, because as much as the two of you get along, it is rare to see him so happy and bubbly.

You glance around the walls, the place definitely embodying the aesthetic of Steve Rogers, with wooden accents to furniture and decor  and copious amounts of pictures everywhere. Him and his wife, pictures of young adults and children, his kids and grand-kids and great-grand-kids you assume, some of Bucky, both old and new, some of Sam and Sharon.

As the three of you talk, Bucky realizes that he didn’t remember the fact that you were dusted in the snap as he was. You were in the prison when it happened, and it was where you returned when everyone was brought back, but it was large news that Steve Rogers sacrificed his life for the world, along with Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, and other heroes. He watches you and Steve interact easily, as though you’ve known each other forever, as he tells you about his time returning the stones, the way he lived when he returned to the forties for good, what it was like seeing life evolve as he already knew it in his mind.

You asked question after question, like a child meeting their favorite celebrity or going on a field trip to their favorite place. You were animated with your questions, exaggerating your thoughts with your hands, all while cursing like a sailor with your vulgar language, all of which Steve loved.

He knew the talking-to he was going to receive from Steve later, he saw it in the look he gave him when he entered the kitchen behind him. He has never brought anyone to see Steve, besides Sam, of course, let alone a girl. This most definitely looks like you and him are in some sort of relationship; this is pretty much the equivalent of meeting the family. Or at least, as much family as he can get away with for now.

He’s not going to know what to respond when Steve asks him about you. In regards to anything; whether or not you two are dating, whether or not he’s going to tell Sam or Sharon, what his feelings are for you. Does he have feelings for you?

The rest of the afternoon is spent sharing stories, looking at pictures, and more and he can see how happy you’ve acted since being here. It’s definitely been a change in your routine for the past two years as you’ve really grown into yourself again.

Bucky’s brain doesn’t shut up the entire drive back to your apartment. He thinks about long drives with you every weekend, he thinks about you meeting the other people that are important to him, he thinks about finding a way to get you a new identity, but cringes at the thought of having to call you another name other than your own. He constantly glances at your sleeping body in the passenger seat next to him, facial features soft as you dream, mouth open just a bit where he can hear the softest snores. You’re using his jacket as a pillow as your sock-covered feet are curled beneath you in the seat.

He sits in his car for a few minutes after dropping you off at the door of your apartment, refusing your invitation inside with a made-up excuse about checking on Alpine and needing to change her box and food, even though he’d bet anything that that cat is fast asleep on his pillow.

He takes a deep breath before taking out his phone and selecting a contact from his favorites. It rings twice before he hears a voice on the other end.

“Hey, Sam? You free? I wanna… I wanna talk to you about something.”

[imaginexmeintheuniverse]

Yule Ball from the Sidelines

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1, 988

A/N: i feel like this started off sorta well but then I had no clue how to end it??? Anyways this is my first time writing for him and i love him to bits so i hope you enjoy this! Also idk why but i just had Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra paying in my head

"And there's nothing I can do to change your mind?" You looked at Cedric with glassy eyes, trying your very best to hold back the tears.

He shook his head, answering you wordlessly, and you averted your gaze from his grey orbs in favor of the floor. You stood, and began to walk down the hall without casting so much as another glance his way, leaving him to watch as you disappeared around the corner.

And that was the last time you spoke to your best friend.

That was a couple months ago. You've seen him, and heard about him, of course since he's one of the two Hogwarts champions in the tournament, but you haven't had any direct contact with him since your fight.

Cedric Diggory is currently in second place after the first task, and despite still not being on speaking terms with him, his safety always remains a constant concern in your mind— especially after his injury from the dragon.

With the first task already completed, everyone is chatting on about the next big Triwizard event— the Yule Ball which has completely taken over Hogwarts for the last week. The whole school is buzzing about who's taking whom, what they're going to wear, and practicing (or not) their dancing.

Wanting to get away from it all, you escape to your favorite spot on campus: a big old tree not too far from the castle where you could always go whenever you need space.

"Y/N," Your ears perk up at the sound of a familiar voice you've missed dearly for some time now. "I thought I would find you here." You shift over on the blanket you have laid out to give Cedric a place to sit next to you. The boy still is your best friend, and that means he knows you better than anyone.

"Hi," you greet him, your voice small as you offer him a forced smile.

"How have you been?" There's a certain discomfort that comes with making small talk with the person you're supposed to be closest to.

"Uh, fine, I suppose," You set your book down as to not be rude, but start to fiddle with your fingers as a substitute distraction. "How about you?"

"I suppose I'm also fine," he chuckles awkwardly, leaning back against the tree and looking up at the cloudy sky. The wind picks up, causing you to shiver, and he reacts instantly, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you to his side. It's a simple action that was first nature to the both of you, but has grown foreign given the distance you've taken from each other. "Here, take my scarf," Before you can protest, he's already got the warm wool wrapped around your neck.

You thank him quietly, accepting the friendly gesture. It all feels distantly familiar, but strangely nostalgic and you're not quite sure what to make of the sudden visit. Why now, after all these months? You had been avoiding him of course, and he had more than enough to be busy with, but what's so special about today?

"Has anyone asked you to the Yule Ball?" he inquires, catching your eyes, his head adorably tilted to the side as he does so.

You open your mouth to answer, but close it when you see a small group of Ravenclaw girls wave to Cedric as they pass by— among them is Cho Chang, whom you know your best friend has a soft spot for. They giggle, and continue on their way after he smiles and waves back to them. Turning his attention back to you, he looks at you expectantly, waiting for a response.

"I-I already told Professor Flitwick that I would perform with the orchestra," you inform him, eyes darting around, trying to look anywhere but into those enchanting silver pools. You're lying of course, because you're trying your hardest to keep down whatever it is you're feeling at the moment.

"Oh—"

"Speaking of which," you cut him off before he can say whatever it is, and stand abruptly as he blinks a few times in surprise. Bending down to hastily gather your things, you try to wrap things up as quickly as you can, "I have to go, um, practice—" Offering him one last awkward smile, the pang of insecurity you've just experienced gets the better of you as you say, "but I don't think anyone's asked Cho yet, y-you should definitely go for it."

With that, you leave him sitting there to process what the hell just happened as you walk away without looking back.

Great. Now you have to go beg Professor Flitwick for a spot on the orchestra.

~ • ~ • ~

It was a miracle that you were allowed to join the orchestra on such short notice. You were so thankful Professor Flitwick let you in; this way you didn't have to worry about all the annoying details that came with attending the ball.

You didn't have to spend hours practicing your dance steps to avoid looking like a fool, you saved yourself some dreadful shopping trips to find the perfect dress, and you certainly did not have to worry one bit about finding a date. You're perfectly content playing your instrument in a uniform sea of musicians as the Yule Ball commences.

What you weren't expecting however is how you would feel when you saw Cedric enter in the line of Triwizard Champions with Cho Chang on his arm. To make matters worse, you already knew that the champions open the dance, and you're completely miserable as you watch him twirl her around the dance floor, looking like he's having the time of his life.

To be fair, you did this to yourself— not that he would've asked you anyways. Even if he would have, you would have been his date as a friend.

Once the more formal part of the dance concludes, the orchestra is dismissed, and you sit at a table enjoying refreshments with the other students who bear the same robes as you while the Weird Sisters play on stage. As much as you try to focus on the conversation, your eyes keep wandering to where Cedric dances with Cho.

Then, one by one, members of the orchestra leave the table to join the dancing crowd around the performers, and you join them, making the executive decision not to let yourself sulk in a corner for the rest of the night.

Surprisingly enough, you are able to get your mind off a certain Hufflepuff Champion and his date, and you actually have fun as you jump to the music with your bandmates. That is until you see Cedric leave with the hall with his arm around Cho's waist, and then your thoughts snowball into imagining the scenario of him ending the perfect night in a perfect manner with his date. You feel your heart fall, and there's less of a spring in your step as you force yourself to continue dancing to keep your mind off it.

No such luck.

The Weird Sisters end their set, bidding Hogwarts and the ball attendees a final farewell after obliging to two encores, and a soft melody plays. Most people retire for the night, leaving a few couples to dance closely to the slow music.

You yourself prepare to follow your fellow musicians out when you're stopped by a light tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you face to see the Champion himself. Your best friend whom you've estranged yourself from since the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric Diggory, stands before you, dashing as ever in his formal robes and dimpled smile, with his hand extended out to you. "May I have this dance?"

"What about your date?" You ask, reluctant to take his hand; you want to be sure there won't be any conflict.

"I walked her back to the Ravenclaw tower and wished her goodnight," he explains, never losing his smile as he does so. "I was honest with her; told her I had another girl I needed to dance with before the night was over."

Not being able to stop the smile that takes over your features, you place your hand in his, and he guides you back to the dance floor where he starts to lead you around in slow circles. He may not have invited you to dance with him in a romantic context, but you missed your best friend deeply, and you were happy to just be with him again.

"I'm sorry," you say so quietly he almost doesn't hear you. For a second you think he might not have, but then he responds after a few seconds when he makes sense of what you're apologizing for.

"It's okay," he reassures you, pulling you closer to him. "I shouldn't have let you go that easily, and I'm sorry."

Knowing that this whole situation was in fact entirely your fault, you're inclined to tell him otherwise, but you know that there would be no point to that because he's too humble. Instead, you simply state, "You have nothing to be sorry for," like it's a fact.

Before he can object, you hug him close, burying your face in his chest, like you're making up for all the hugs you've missed.

You don't know how much time passes, but eventually, the distance between your bodies is nonexistent and the circles you were swaying in had slowed down considerably. The dancing has essentially been reduced to the two of you holding each other as close as you can while a soft tune plays in the background.

"Y/N," He's stopped moving completely, and you look up at him with a slightly puzzled expression, wondering why. For a few seconds it seems like he's hesitating as though he's weighing out his options.

"Cedric, are you—" Your sentence is cut short by your hitching breath when he hooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head upwards so that it's easier for his lips to meet yours.

The kiss isn't long, but his lips are impossibly soft against yours and they move gently, handling you with care. He pulls away and your eyes stay closed for a moment after he's done so before fluttering open to be met with his dreamy grey orbs.

"Wow," is all you can manage to get out. He chuckles, not being able to resist how adorable you are all flustered like that. Even in your band uniform, he still thinks you're the most beautiful girl at the ball. "Did you just—" It felt like a dream, and even now, while he looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky for him, you're not sure if it was real. "Was that—"

"Yes," he laughs, already knowing what you're thinking. "And I'll do it again to prove it."

He leans down to kiss you again, this time both his hands are on your waist, helping you reach his height. His grip tightens as your lips move softly against his. This kiss is longer than the first one, but still short due to the fact that you're still in a public area.

After you break apart, you resume letting him lead you around slowly, and neither of you can keep the huge smiles off your faces. You stay like that until you're the last ones left and are forced to call it a night.

He kisses you one last time after walking you to your dorm, and you remember something just as he bids you goodnight. "Cedric, wait!" You call out to him, and he spins smoothly on his heel with an eyebrow raised. "Y-Your scarf- I still have it, do you want it back?"

Cracking a smile, he replies so smoothly it leaves you flustered, "I suppose I'll have to come back here for it another night then, won't I?"

[angrypixie-sarisa]

A call a day keeps the problems away (not really)

Piedras Rodantes Pt. 10

Sam xMexican!Witch!fem!reader x Dean (polyamorous)

Description of this part: just some random conversations you had with Sam while he’s away 

Warnings: none? some curse words? suspicious Dean?

Not my GIFs, credits and love to the owners. 

Sam’s lungs ached for air and he loved it. He kept running, trying to make it to the motel room earlier than the day before. He pulled out his phone to check the hour. Should he call? It was still pretty early. Wait, what day of the week was it? Was it Wednesday? If it was, then maybe… Maybe he could catch you awake. The sun would be going up in just a couple of minutes. He bit his lip in consideration. He walked towards the stairs and sat at the first flight. Coincidentally, he had a perfect view of the horizon.

He called. His heart was beating fast. It only had been a couple of weeks but he was already feeling a little bit nostalgic.

The phone rang five times. Dread started to form a knot in his stomach. What if he was wrong? What if you changed your plans? What if you slept in? What if you were in danger? What if?

“Good morning, Sammy.” Your sleepy voice made it to his ears and relaxed his muscles. He took a deep breath and laughed the last bit of fear away.

“Hey. Did I wake you?” You moaned loudly. He pictured your stretching figure in your window sill. That’s where you liked to say hi to “Mr. Sun” as you called it. He pictured your arms stretching, taking the phone farer from your mouth. The hem of your t-shirt slightly rising above your abdomen.

“Nope, just really want coffee.” Your voice got clearer. Sam kept imagining you, sitting with your legs pulled up to your chest, your bed hair wild and your head resting in your right hand as you looked focused on the horizon.

His laugh traveled from your ears to your chest. What a beautiful laugh.

“Hang in there, just one minute.” You sighed.

“The things I do to upgrade myself.” You both shared the laugh this time. Honestly, it felt weird, it really did. He had being having trouble falling asleep. Somehow, sleeping beside you or just having you in the room soothed the late night thoughts, the tensing of muscles, the ache of old wounds, the nightmares. Even the charm you gave him had trouble to break into the barrier. He did sleep better than before he met you, but nothing was better than the feeling of you in his arms or the warmth behind his back, to know you were there.

“Shhhh, Mr. Sun is rising.” As the light started to shine through, you kept silence, feeling the slow, yet faster than it seemed, light illuminating both of you and neither of you took your eyes out of the rising sun until a minute went by.

A silent laugh coming from your lips broke the silence.

“Buenos días, Señor Sol.” You whispered eagerly.

“Buenos días, Señor Sol.” Repeated Sam. And you laughed again, cooing at his pronunciation.

“Don’t laugh.” He protested, also between laughs.

“No, it’s a happy laugh, not a mock laugh. Mi vida, you sounded good, I really appreciated it.” Mi vida?  That was new.

“What’s “mi vida”?”

“My life.” You answered without hesitation. You had called him your heart, your life. A blush covered his cheeks. He couldn’t think of something as cheesy as that in English nevertheless he didn’t want to. They sounded good, right, that way.

 Dean thought he had heard something as he came out of the room. It was way too early for him to be awake but sleep had forsaken him and there was nothing to do about it. When he realize his brother wasn’t anywhere to be seen it wasn’t long until he had dressed to find the answer to the question. Why?

He heard something from below, coming from the stairs. It was Sam and he was…laughing?

“Yeah, okay. Talk to you later.” What the hell was going on?

                                          ****************************

Dean had left to get dinner while his brother took a shower. The secretive phone calls appeared to be very rare or he just hadn’t come to listen to those that often. Whatever the case was, Sam was hiding something from him, again.

Sam stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his waist and hair dripping when his phone rang. Your name appeared in the screen and he instantly smiled. He picked the phone, ready to voice a creative hello sentence but never getting the chance to phrase it.

“Samuel Vicente Winchester!” Oh no, you middle named him and with your middle name of choice nonetheless.

“Whatever I did, I can explain.” He replied; fear making his heart beat quickly.

“You mixed the pepper with the centipede’s legs! And put milk in the octopus ink jar! Just what were you thinking?! It’s a miracle that I’m alive! It’s a miracle that my plants are alive, who they’re upset by the way!” He sighed; rubbing his temples. Classic you, putting the safety of the plants before yours.

“They have tags for a reason!”

“Okay, in my defense, they weren’t tags on those or at least, I think so.”

“None sense, I put tags in everything so something like this won’t happen. And yet it happened!” Sam was trying to recall the day he was helping you in the kitchen. You were making a potion, eco-friendly (like everything you did), for your doorstep. The purpose of it being washing away unwanted energies that could come with the presence of other people entering your apartment. Just then you had bought some ingredients that needed to be put away in their respective jars and he may have or not be sleepy that day hence the whole mess.

“Yeah, you’re right, I messed up.” He sighed.

 Dean was near the door, a bag with dinner inside in hand, when he heard his little brother having a conversation. His voice sounded shy, maybe embarrassed?

“Sorry, I won’t do it again.”

“Damn right you won’t.” Sam shifted in his feet, not knowing what to say.

“Are you alright?” What a stupid question. Of course you were fine. You were fine enough to call and scold him. However, deciding he had suffered enough, you didn’t answer with a snarky remark. Your voice calmed down into the sweetness it usually held.

“I’m fine, we’re all fine.” He laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Tell them I’m sorry.”

Them? Who were they? Why did Sammy need to apologize? Who was the other person or people at the other side of the phone?

“Will sure do.” You resisted the urge to yawn and failed. It had been a long day cleaning up the mess of the mixed ingredients.

“Go to sleep. Talk to you in the morning?” Sam asked softly.

“Yep. Night night, Sammy.” That returned his smile. Even if the calls were like this sometimes, they still left him with a smile at the end of the day.

“Night, sweetheart.”

You hung up; scanning the room. Your plants seemed to hold their breath as they waited for you to say something.

“He says he’s sorry.” If they had eyes, boy would they be rolling them. And if they had mouths, they would be surely trying not to smile.

 Dean entered the room just in time to see Sam hanging up. He still was wearing nothing but the towel.

“Dude.” Dean groaned. His brother rolled his eyes as he went to the bathroom to change, leaving his cellphone lying in his bed.

The older Winchester took out the take outs. He kept glancing at the phone, debating whether he should just check on it or not. It was his brother’s privacy rights. But the last time Sam hid something, or more like someone, from him it didn’t end well. Just as he decided not to, just from now, Sam came out of the bathroom fully clothed and all was forgotten as Dean’s mind slid into dinner.

                                             ************************

The calls started to be rarer and rarer. He told you it might get like that, that it would sometimes get really busy or some hunts would leave him really tired. You also knew there was something else. You knew Dean was growing suspicious. Why did Sam feel the need to hide you from his brother? You didn’t know and you didn’t stress the fact. It felt like their trust had been worn out, like they were both walking on eggshells.

You hadn’t had a conversation about Dean or Bobby. You knew about their existence and maybe Bobby knew about yours, maybe. And even though Sam told you everything in regards to the apocalypse and Lucifer, he still hadn’t entered into detail of his relationship with his brother or parental figure.

Sam’s name appeared at your phone screen, pulling you out of your thoughts. You took another sip of your wine before answering with a smile on your lips.

“Hey there, hot stuff.” You heard his shy laugh through the intercom. Pride overflowed you; you loved it when you made him blush.

“Hi.”

“How was your hunt?” It was supposed to be a simple salt and burn, but you knew better than to find comfort in that. You didn’t approve of the method hunters used to get rid of ghosts. You had dealt with some yourself and they were other ways you could get the same result.

“Uh, it was…it was okay. Got some bruises.” You rolled your eyes. Of course.

“Right. Dean patched you up?” You could feel the tension on the other side of the phone.

Dean listened carefully, you were on speaker. They were at Bobby’s place. Dean was checking on baby and Sam supposedly went for some beers.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, he did.” Why were you talking about him? Why was this chick talking about him?

“Well, that’s good.”

“So, listen, we kind of need info.” Wow, wow, wow. He was asking you for help? Was Sam out of his mind? There was no way Dean would let a random chick help with the hunt. He put down the cloth he was clenching in his fist and made his way to were his brother was. And he would’ve, hadn’t he hesitated.

“Sammy.” You said quietly. You sighed.

“Are you sure you want my help?” You sounded hesitant as well. Something about your tone made the older Winchester lower his guard.

“I mean, I would gladly help you, I just… I don’t want to cause any problems.” Sam took a deep breath. He had become more reckless with the pass of time. Maybe it was desperation or fear. He would always doubt whether or not to ask your help for hunts. As if telling you about them or asking for help would jinx your safety. Lately, he had been wondering, what if he told Dean? What if he told Bobby? Shit, even Castiel? He kept thinking of how useful some of your tricks could be and more importantly, he didn’t know why, he had wonder about you meeting his family.

“You won’t, I promise.” You bit your lip, glancing around your kitchen table. Your gaze landed in a coin that wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Y/N?”

So that was your name, huh? Well, Dean would have to have a talk with this Y/N.

“Okay, how about this? Eagle, I help, sun, I don’t.” Both brothers furrowed their brows in confusion. What the hell?

“What?” Sam said and Dean whispered.

“¡Ay! It’s a Mexican coin! In one side there’s an eagle and in the other the Aztec calendar, featuring the sun. Do you wanna do this or not?!” Sam laughed. It had being a long time since Dean heard his brother laugh or laugh genuinely. It made it really difficult for him to grow suspicious about you.

“Okay, okay. Eagle, you help, sun, you don’t. Okay, go.” You flipped the coin; the three of you heard it bounce in the table until it came to a halt.

“So…” You started. For a second, Sam thought it had stopped at sun, or whatever. Which would be a shame; he really thought your help would come in handy.

“What can I research for you, kind sir?” He smiled and began to tell you about the next job, what they already researched and what still needed to be solved.

Dean took a deep breath and made his way back to the impala. If Sam’s decision backfired he wouldn’t hesitate to kick your ass. But it didn’t. In fact, it was one of the easiest hunts they had had so far.

[werevulvi]

Writing this text led me to several important realisations, suddenly crying my heart out, and then feeling a lot better. So I felt it’s important to post. Also I’ve got a question towards the end, for anyone who knows how to use tumblr better than I do. Sudden internalised lesbophobia thought of today, me to myself: "Even if there was a cure for homosexuality, I would never want it..." "...wait... I said 'cure' didn't I?" "Oh, shit. Well if that ain't a freudian slip, I don't know what possibly could be."

That's... my doubled-sided coin in a nut shell. Trapped in one single sentence. I don't actually want for my sexuality to change, even if that was possible (which was what I thought I meant to say), cause I'm happier with other women than I could ever even imagine being with men let alone was, like really a hell of a lot happier with women and I want to nurture and savour that, and I live in one of the most pro-lgbt countries in the world... but I'm still struggling to view it in a fully healthy light. My dumb brain still whispers that it goes against nature, that it's somehow sick. Why do I care? Sitting by a computer obviously goes against nature too, and praying to Satan while wearing a hooded black robe in a dark candle lit room at midnight is often considered "sick" by some people too, and kinda for the same dumb reasons (meaning a harmless something that just goes against people’s personal beliefs), but apparently I have no moral quarrels with those sort of activities. But clearly my women-loving activities, whether romantic or sexual, keep grinding my gears.

Like... maybe that's also intrusive thoughts? Aside from my "regular" sexual intrusive thoughts, I mean. Cause really what else is up with those random "voices" whispering homophobic shit to me? Of course they're intrusive thoughts. I can't believe I didn't realise that before. I'm such an idiot! Oh well, better late than never, here we go again *pats my own shoulder*

However, I had a good conversation today with an acquaintance who might become a friend. He's a gay man, somewhere in his late 40's, very sweet, humble yet straight-forward and kinda blunt, and talks really a lot. He hosts "rainbow cafe" events in the only city on this small island around once or twice a month, which is casual gathering for lgbt people and allies. Sometimes, it's just me and him, because no one else attended. As was last evening, just he and I, and we ended up talking about everything from David Bowie to homophobia in muslim countries, and from to "Will and Grace" to his ex/on-off boyfriend and my girlfriend. I always love hearing him talk of his ex boyfriend. They seem worlds apart yet very understanding and caring of each other, and casually bickering like they've known each other forever. It's clear to me that they're still very good friends. It was perhaps a seemingly simple, just friendly conversation, but it felt so good. Like... just fucking finally having a normal conversation with another gay person about gay stuff irl. I don't know why but that makes me cry right now. Fuck, I just need to feel normal and not just be told that I'm normal. Cause there is a big difference. And during that conversation with him I felt normal. He didn't say it, not even once, but he made me feel normal by simply treating me as if I was. That's it... that clicked something within me. I don't cry often, so when I end up bawling like that... I KNOW it's important. Cause it only happens that I cry when a feeling is so strong I can't possibly bottle it. Instead it explodes. Now I feel a hell of a lot better... wow, that was cleansing! Also I finally managed to tell him about my detransition, which I had not been able to muster before, and then I've met him during those kind of cafe events some 5-10 times by now for a whole year. But now it was easy. I felt considerably more confident than ever, which made me far more conversational than I've been in a long time, and his reaction to that was... he seemed unphased.

Not shocked, not clenching his gut in discomfort at the thought of the horror I must be going through. He seemed to understand it's a difficult process, but didn't make a big deal out of it. In that sense too, he made me feel normal. It's not about me being normal, just feeling it. If even just for rare moments here and there. I've... never felt that way before. That's definitely worth crying over, and it's entirely connected to my internalised lesbophobia. Cause I think with my lesbian discovery, so soon after my detransition, it felt like insult to injury. Like I'll never be a normal woman at any point, no matter how far I detransition, cause I'll always be a lesbian woman. And I think that's the thorn that I didn't even know I had in my side, until it was forcibly pulled out. I no longer doubt I'm a lesbian. I haven't for the past few months. I haven't felt a single doubt about it since my girlfriend and I first got physical, and I mean it. I've felt and known sincere certainty about my sexuality ever since. Not just that I love her, and am very attracted to her, but that I just can't possibly feel that sorta thing towards any male. No man could ever make me wet by just kissing me, but she can. And I know why. It's as clear as the sun is bright. I think unfortunately though... the more sure I get that I really am a lesbian, through and through, the more scared of it I become. It's as if the more sure of it I become, the more inevitable it feels. Question is, why do I treat my homosexuality as some kind of inevitable doom? I read too much crap. No doubt that all the gut-wrenching homophobia that keeps popping up in my tumblr feed is getting to me, feeding my fantasies of corrective rape and drilling thoughts of it being "unnatural" and "wrong" into my already fragile and tormented skull. If only I could filter blog contents somehow without unfollowing or blocking anyone. Cause I want to read some 90% of the content of the radfem blogs I follow, but fuck it whenever I get face fucked with another post of absolutely vicious homophobia (especially when targetting lesbians specifically) I lose my ability to distance myself and I feel like utter and absolute shit. It sucks my ptsd-brain into a vacuum of impending darkness. I get (extra) vulgar when I'm upset. Sorry not sorry, it's a coping mechanism. Trust me, it lightens my mood, and that's the purpose of it.

Or in simpler language: I get a little triggered. Or like... badly triggered, but pushing it aside, pretending everything is fine and dandy, but my insides keep screaming and tossing about.

And I can't keep exposing myself to that, just hoping I'll get desensitised soon enough. I guess tumblr has some kind of function to filter out tags that I could try, but then you guys and gyns don't exactly always tag your shit. Sure it's good to expose homophobes' bigotry so more people will know about, absolutely. But I don't need any more exposure of that, thank you I've had enough. So oh well, oh well. Maybe I could create a second account for following blogs I know are crammed with such nasty shit I can't possibly avoid without making too big of a sacrifice, and keep my main blog clean from that, but means unfortunately unfollowing a lot. Which I don't wanna. Also I really don't have the spoons to create a second account and filter through all the 500 or so blogs that I follow. I just simply don't.

I don't fucking know. But that crap is really, really getting to me and I know I need to take some distance from all the horrid homophobia in the world, or at least a damn break from it. ~Cause I've got a feeling~ ~that it's stunting my healing~ I'm in such a strange mood tonight. My dark humour is coming to my defense. It's late, I need to sleep but I'm hyperactive due to being over-tired. Cause sometimes my brain just does the opposite to what it’s supposed to. It needs me to finish this first. But anyhows. If anyone's got any advice on how to avoid specific(-ally nasty) tumblr content without unfollowing (people who don't fucking tag their nasty posts), that'd be great. Desk top, not app, btw. I mean especially the endlessly big posts of more and more people adding cited quotes from TRA's such as "lesbians who don't like dick should be raped by girl dick, killed, gutted, turned into sex slaves, forcibly impregnated, yadda yadda" you know the drill. And oh it drills... If in any case a clarification was necessary.