#song fic: a star is born shallows

[jafndaegur]

Blue and Grey [tears reflected in the mirror]

Zen x MC

a/n: A song fic within a song fic. Reverse isekai. If you know the songs, then you know the songs.

Jumin | x |

Can you look at me? 'Cause I am blue and grey

The tears reflected in the mirror mean

My colors hid in the smile, blue and grey

When MC had first sung for Zen, he had been thoroughly mesmerized and floored.

Within the first five minutes of the RFA party, Jaehee has rushed over to the little group, quickly reporting to Jumin and MC that the singer for the event called in—there had been a last minute emergency and they wouldn't make it.

And while they had Zen's press conference in the first half of the evening to occupy all of their attention, after the chaos that came from his sudden confession, they still had to worry about the night's entertainment.

MC had remembered squeezing Zen's hand in hers before going to Jahee and Jumin, talking to them in a hushed voice before making her way to the back parking lot where the car that had picked her and Zen up was. She returned carrying a guitar case, and she swallowed slowly as she felt his curious gaze follow her up to the stage. In real life, she performed often at bars, semi-formal restaurants, weddings, birthday parties, you name it.

But something like the RFA party in another world from her own scared her. 

Masking away the stage fright with a smile, she found Zen's eyes in the crowd. She felt a sense of calm soothe her nerves as she made her apologies into the mic for the change of plans for tonight's enjoyment. Her fingers strummed the chords of the guitar.

MC smiled prettily, her eyes gazing tenderly at her Hyun Ryu as the song that filled her heart overflowed.

"Tell me something boy, aren't you tired trying to fill that void."

The atmosphere of the party changed. It probably looked ridiculous, her up on stage dressed up in a pretty black dress and one of Zen's sweaters. Not to mention guitar music was so out of place in the fancy RFA ballroom. But her guitar had been the only thing she'd been able to bring with her from the real world into the world of Mystic Messenger. And she brought it everywhere since her arrival. Only now was she grateful that she had.

"Or do you need more?" She felt a thrum in her heart as Zen walked toward her, his gaze never left hers. "Ain't it hard keeping it so hardcore?"

He reached the stage where she sat and reached out. A strange bubbling warmth seeped in her chest and she tried not to giggle. Getting up from her seat, she slipped her hand into his and pulled him up onto the stage. 

In that moment everything was perfect.

"I'm falling, in all the good times I find myself—" she sighed breathily as Zen's knuckles gently grazed her cheek. "Longing for change."

She regretted her hand leaving his, the lack of her skin against his, the lack of him living and pulsing within her hold. MC strummed the next chord. 

"And in the bad times I fear myself…"

The look on Zen's face suddenly brought her reeling to reality, panic stricken and reaching for her again. And MC's perfect moment shattered as she disappeared.

It had been half a year.

It had been half a year since MC woke back up in her bedroom, with her phone clutched in her hand and the Mystic Messenger game's blue "Good End" card blinking up at her. 

Now she meagerly stumbled day by day, deprived of the vibrance she'd been exposed to through her RFA loved ones. Life felt so empty without everyone, their brilliant laughter and their wonderful friendship.

She'd miss Seven's exhausting energy, and she missed talking about Yoosung's late night endeavors. Jaehee's favorite coffee had always been a fun topic to converse on, and MC often missed laughing at Jumin's stiff jokes. And Zen…

Her romance with Zen had been unexpected. As MC slipped out of bed to stand in front of her room mirror, she could imagine her boyfriend behind her, his large body behind her and embracing her warmly. He was so protective, and anytime he held her it felt as though she were enveloped and hidden away from the world. MC felt her lip tremble and her hand braced against the smooth surface of the mirror as she let out a sob. How was this fair? To spend eleven days in another world, in a love so deep that it was the sole focus of her heart, only for all of it to be so cruelly ripped away and strewn into the fantasy. As if it had never existed.

Her phone rang and MC scrubbed her palm against her eyes furiously before answering.

It was the entertainment agency she worked for. 

"Hey kiddo," her manager's voice greeted warmly, although to MC's ears it sounded robotic. "That new hire I was telling you about is splitting your gig tonight. We figured it would help to have a more experienced singer on scene with him."

MC stared blankly into the mirror watching as the tears refused to stop their path across the plane of her cheek. Had they told her she'd be mentoring someone? It was hard to remember things these days, mostly because she didn't care to anymore.

"Sounds good, we'll talk later then. Take care." She hung up the phone and went about her day until it was time to force some makeup onto her face and dress up nicely for her gig.

By the time she walked into the bar, it was already an hour and a half after the new hire's shift had started. He must've been taking a break because the piano accompanist was playing a light jazzy tune that seemed more ambience than anything else. Something about the melody was familiar and haunting, like a song from the fleeting wisp of a dream. She made her way to the stage before nearly tripping and falling over.

The new singer started speaking, his voice oh so familiar and oh so tender. "This will be my last song of the night before my beautiful partner will provide the best final half! Please enjoy."

MC stared into the crimson eyes of Hyun Ryu, his smile wide and pearly, and he gripped the microphone, leaning in close with the long strands of his ponytail slipping over his shoulder. His tongue flicked out and licked his lips before he started singing gently. 

Oh. This song…

"Tell me something girl—"

MC dropped her purse and her coat at the closest booth and raced to the stage weaving in and out of tables.

Zen chuckled and MC felt her heart thunder in her chest. He continued, "Are you happy in this modern world? Or do you need more?"

MC stopped at the stage stairs, wondering if she should wait until after his song, after all...this was a performance. But Zen reached out his hand, and suddenly the overwhelming wave of nostalgia and deja-vu rushed her.

"Is there something else you're searching for?"

She grabbed his hand, unprepared for him to pull her against his chest. 

Zen's hand sifted through her hair before he gently cupped the back of her head and forced her to look at him. "I'm falling, in all the good times I find myself longing for change…"

MC gripped the front of his shirt, unable to believe that he was here. Living. Breathing. Existing in her arms.

"And in the bad times," his voice cracked a bit. "I fear myself…"

The piano melted away and so did the audience. Nothing else in the world existed, only MC, Zen, and their little song.

MC rested against him, trembling. "I'm here," she whispered.

He chuckled and rested his chin on the crown of her head.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Far From the Shallow

Day 31 of 2018′s 31 Days of Ficmas.  Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the list!  Note: new for 2020.  Credited as 2018 for organizational purposes, & back-filling the prompt.

Prompt: Midnight

Rating: General, with occasional strong language

Pairing: 12xRose, Human!AU, SuperStar!AU, vaguely A Star is Born!AU

Summary:  In an effort to combat low ticket sales, Ian Noble’s record label insists he takes to the Times Square New Year’s Eve stage with the label’s newest pop princess - but it’s a backup singer that captures his attention.

2018 31 Days of Ficmas masterlist

AO3

---

Resettling his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, Ian Noble paused for a deep breath before pushing into the practice room.  He still wasn’t entirely clear on how his manager had convinced him to do this, but it was too late now to pull out and he’d just have to grin and bear it.

“Right, ready to start kiddies?”

His fleeting hope of finding a bunch of professionals on the other side of the door was quickly dashed. His band was ready, as always, but they were the only ones.  His ‘partner’ was nowhere to be seen, her backup singers/dancers/hangers-on lazing around the room, laughing and joking.  A few dancers were stretching at the barre, but that was it.

Shaking his head in disgust, he headed for his bandleader and dropped his bag at his feet.  “All good?”

“We’re ready,” Craig confirmed.  “She’s not here yet.”

“Of-fucking-course not.” ‘She’ was the current Pop Princess – Serenity Lake.  Twenty-two years old, she was every bit the bubblegum-pink, super-sweet platinum blonde teeny-bopper he loathed above all else – except unprofessionalism.  Though, it seemed, she was that as well. “Practice started when?”

“At three.”

“And it’s now?”

“Three-oh-five.”

“Can we start without her?”

Craig exchanged looks with their drummer, Rob.  “I don’t think that would go over very well.”

Ian bit his tongue, hard. The sales for his last tour had been… not great (Clara, his manager, had used the word catastrophic), and it had been decided by PR people and good-for-nothing label execs that he needed to ‘reach new crowds’, even though the album itself had sold well.  One of the arse-wipe suits had decided the perfect time and place was a duet with the label’s newest acquisition.  On New Year’s Eve in Times Square, New York.

Perhaps Clara had made the right call by telling him over the phone while he was already on the plane under false pretenses.

“So we just wait then, til the fucking princess arrives?”

The band shrugged, and he shook his head in disgust before turning his back on them.  The practice room was large, easily the size of a ballroom, with industrial-sized windows opposite a mirrored wall, complete with ballet barre.  Two of the female dancers were still warming up, while another four sat around chatting up the men.  Two backup singers were sprawled on mats, with no sign of the usual third.

“Is everyone else here at least?”

“Actually-”

Craig was interrupted by the door swinging open, a young blonde in workout clothes hurrying in with a tray of drinks from Starbucks.  Rage ignited inside Ian, and before he consciously made the decision he strode across the room towards her.

“You!  Blondie!”

She startled slightly, turning to face him.  “Me?”

“Yes, you.  Aren’t you supposed to be a professional?  We’ve been waiting for you!  You might be queen on your own fucking tour, but now you’re wasting my time, and my band’s time.  I don’t like this arrangement any fucking more than you do, but it’s what the High fucking Council of Douchebags wants, so it’s what we’re going to do.  Get over yourself, dig deep for some fucking work ethic, and let’s get through this so we can both get on with our fucking lives!”

Rant over, he settled his hands on his hips, still glaring at her.  To his horror and disgust tears had welled in her eyes, though they hadn’t fallen yet.  That just confirmed that she would be a flash in the pan; if she’d gotten this far without developing a thicker shell, she wouldn’t get much further.  Maybe she had a bulldog manager that treated her like the fucking princess she thought she was; maybe she was shagging one of the label heads and used that to get what she wanted.  He honestly didn’t care; he just wanted to get the show over with.

“Well are you going to say anything?” he snapped.

“I’m Rose,” she whispered.

“What?”

“I’m Rose, I’m Serenity- Miss Lake’s new backup singer.  She texted me- well her assistant did- that they were stuck in traffic and had me go out to get some tea.”

He never would’ve been able to hear her, if the room wasn’t dead silent.  No one seemed to be breathing; he sure as fuck wasn’t, as he realized the enormity of his mistake.

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”  The girl sniffled, but kept up a brave face, glaring at him.  “She should be here in just a minute.”

“I-” he grimaced, removing his sunglasses.  Shit, shit, shit.  “I’m very sorry, that was completely unprofessional.  Erm, Ian Noble.”

“I know who you are.” Her lips twitched, not quite a smile, but she no longer looked so close to tears.  “Big fan, actually.”

“Uh, thanks.”  Ian blinked at her, at a loss.  He was, ironically, saved by the real Serenity Lake.

“Hello, darlings!” The pop star strutted into the room, tossing her hair over her shoulder.  “Who’s ready to have some fun?”

-

Ian watched sourly as Serenity practiced her dance moves.  They had one song, a duet he’d done when he was just starting out with a woman who’d long since disappeared from the spotlight so thoroughly he couldn’t remember her name, complete with a dance routine.

To her credit, she’d taken one look at his face and suggested he leave the dancing to her; he was so grateful, he didn’t even care if it was a dig about his age.

Happening to glance towards his left, he found the girl he’d yelled at standing next to him, guilt flooding through him.  Watching her watch the dancing for a moment, he hesitated before speaking quietly.  “I really am sorry.”

“Thank you.”  Staring straight ahead she barely acknowledged him, though her shoulders untensed slightly.

“I don’t want to make excuses, but I really don’t want to be here, and I took it out on you.”  He kept his focus on the dancers as well.

“Thank you,” Rose repeated.

“Um, you’re a backup singer?”

She shot him a confused, questioning look, but nodded hesitantly.  “Yes.  I came Stateside with Jo Shannon, who opened for Serenity on her last tour.  When it ended Serenity offered to keep me on, and I accepted last week.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Sticking his hands in his pockets he looked around awkwardly, but no one appeared to save him. His band was, of course, playing for the dancers, and the various assistants had disappeared, leaving them alone.

“Where’s Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?”

“Beka and Margot went for a smoke break.”  Rose’s lips twitched in amusement, but she kept her blank expression.

“You a song-writer?”

Her face lit up, saying it all, even though she tried to play it cool.  “Sort of- I mean, I have ideas, I don’t know if they’re any good though.”

“If you want-” he had no idea where the offer was coming from, why he was taking an interest in this girl’s career.  Maybe it was the fellow Brit in the room, or guilt over yelling at her.  He tended not to care about the support, as he called them.  Didn’t matter whether or not they were there, he hardly noticed them unless they fucked up.

She was different.

“Ian!” Serenity chirped. “We’re ready to run through now.”

“I’ll get Beka and Margot,” Rose volunteered, scurrying out the door and returning thirty seconds later with the other two.  They lined up in the back across from the band, Ian and Serenity taking their spots front and center.

For no reason he could adequately explain, he spent more time watching her in the mirror than the star of the show.

-

After seven hours and a break for dinner, they finally called the rehearsal quits.  Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve, and they’d only have one chance to get it right on live television.  Most of the group packed up quickly, disappearing out the door amid bursts of laughter.  Serenity was first out, oversized sunglasses dominating her face and only making her stand out more than she already did in a fluorescent pink sweatsuit and large handbag.

Ian lingered, taking his time packing up his notes and arrangements, barely acknowledging his band’s goodbyes and dismissing their offers of getting a drink.  The girl, Rose, the one he couldn’t take his eyes off of, was lingering as well, and then suddenly they were the only two left.

Abandoning his things, he approached her when she made no move to leave.  “Rose?”

She yelped, spinning, and putting a hand to her chest.  “Shit! You scared me half to death. What?”

“Erm-”  Shuffling his feet, he found it hard to meet her eye. “Listen, I’m sorry-”

“You’ve said that,” Rose cut him off with a sigh, before offering him a tentative smile.  “And I accept your apology.  It’s all good, really – you don’t need to keep saying it.”

“Right.  Thanks.”  He rocked back on his heels for a moment.  “If you’re not busy, I thought… I mean, if you’d like an experienced professional’s opinion, maybe I could take a look at one of your songs?”

Her expression shuttered, eyes narrowing in suspicion.  “I highly doubt I’ve written anything worth stealing,” she said stiffly, shouldering her bag.  “Thanks, though.”

“What?  No!  No no no. Really.  Listen, you know Johnny Rotten?”

“I’m from London.”

“Right.  Well, when I was just a kid starting out, and not knowing my arse from my head, I got five minutes alone with him in a limo – five minutes.  He asked if I was a songwriter, I said I was, he told me to sing him something.  The next day I was in front of suits from EMI. A week later I had my first contract.”

“That’s nice.”  Rose folded her arms across her chest, turning to go, and in desperation he caught her arm.

“No, listen, my point is – you seem like a nice girl, and I was an utter bastard.  Let me make it up to you.”

She looked down at his hand on her arm, which he promptly removed, then back up at him, steel in her eyes.  “I want to succeed.  I want to make it.  I want it more than anything – except my dignity.  I’ll make it on my singing.  And if I don’t, I don’t, and I’ll figure something else out.  But I will never trade sex for opportunity.”

“I would withdraw my offer if you tried,” he shrugged.  “I don’t know what to say to convince you to trust me.”

Biting her lip Rose looked towards the door, the wheels turning in her mind.  “D’you know a good place in this God-forsaken town to get chips?”

-

Thirty minutes later they were seated side by side on a bench overlooking the Hudson River.  It was too dark to see much other than the occasional light, though the path itself was well-lit.

“So why are you such a surly bastard?”  Rose carefully selected a chip before turning expectant, curious eyes on him.

Picking at his own paper basket, he glanced at her quickly before looking out over the water.  “I’ve been in this business too long.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not…” he sighed heavily, trying to figure out how to put it into words without scaring her off her chosen career path.  “It’s not about music.  For others, I mean.  To me, as long as I believe in what I’m singing, then hang the rest.  I don’t care if it’s… a sold-out Shea Stadium or half-empty corner pub.  The money, the trappings, the fame… it doesn’t matter.  Well it does, but only so far as is required to keep playing the music I want to play, supporting my guys, you know?  Yet everyone else is obsessed with all of it, far more than the music.  To them, it’s just a way to make money.”

“Too much of a purist,” she teased gently, nudging his arm with her elbow.  “I get it.”

“I’ve seen too many talented musicians ruined by the trappings,” Ian said quietly, staring down at his hands.  “Money, fame, sex, drugs, alcohol.  I don’t touch any of that shit.”

“You’ve made a lot of incredible music in your time.  You still feel like you’ve got more to say?”

“Sometimes… sometimes I feel like there’s a black hole within me.  That it’s just… waiting.  For the right song, the right lyric, the right chords.  That eventually I’ll write the perfect thing that fixes it.”

Rose nodded.  “I think I know what you mean.”

They lapsed into silence. Putting his rubbish on the bench next to him, he leaned back and spread his arms, staring across the water.  For late December in New York, it wasn’t too terribly cold out; at least, not enough to make him call it a night.

“Tell me something, boy,” she started to sing suddenly, a halting flow to the words.  “Aren’t you tired tryin’ to fill that void?” Standing up, she wrapped her arms around her waist as she turned to face him.  “Or do you need more?” Another pause.  “Ain’t it hard keeping it so hardcore.”

Sitting up straight, Ian stared at her in surprise.  “Did you just write that?”

Rose nodded shyly, tucking her hair behind her ears.  “I’ve had the tune for a few days, but couldn’t figure out the right lyrics.”

“Almost sounds like it’s about me.”

“I don’t think there’s any life rights involved,” she said dryly, blushing.  “Not that it’s much good, anyway.”

Ian considered it, already hearing the sample on a loop in his mind.  “Actually, it’s brilliant.  It deserves to be heard.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, before smiling reassuringly.  “By you. It deserves to be heard from you.  Thank you for sharing it.”

Her head ducked for a moment, and when it raised, she readjusted her scarf around her neck to try to hide her red cheeks.  “This has been brilliant, and thank you for the chips and just… listening to me, but it’s getting late and tomorrow’s a long day, so-”

“Right, yeah.” Standing up, he brushed himself free of crumbs before gathering all the trash and tossing it in the nearest waste bin. “Can I give you a ride back to your hotel?”

-

The next day was a blur, full of interviews and strategy meetings over Skype with Clara.  He’d been inspired when he got back to his room, staying up far too late scribbling out fragments of songs.  It was seven by the time he was due at the staging area, and he spent an inordinate amount of time in hair and makeup, forced to watch the show on telly.  The official kickoff was at eight, though he and Serenity weren’t scheduled until roughly eleven fifteen – with live TV, they had to be ready to go at any moment.

Throughout the evening he caught the occasional glimpse of Rose, each time looking more harried and panicked until he finally snagged her as she passed his dressing room, pulling her inside.

She yelped, trying to scramble away until she realized it was him.  “Ian!”

“Sorry, sorry.”  He got her steady before letting go, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace.  “What the hell’s going on?”

Rose licked her lips, glancing nervously towards the door.  “Don’t freak.”

“Why would I freak?”

“No one’s seen Serenity since breakfast.”

A dull buzzing started in his ears, mind already whirling with alternatives and potential plans. “What’s being done?”

“We’ve been calling her, her boyfriend, her parents, everyone, but there’s no sign of her. Police are looking, but… it’s New Year’s Eve, they don’t exactly have the time for that right now.”

“We go on in half an hour,” Ian pointed out, eyes narrowing in thought.  “What’s the plan?”

Rose shrugged helplessly. “Hope she shows?”

“Right.  Well, you look busy, I won’t keep you.”  He crossed his arms, gesturing towards the door.

Shoulders unhunching, she smiled shyly at him.  “It’s okay. I like talking to you.”

Their eyes held, and for a moment, just a single heartbeat, he thought he saw something there, but then she blinked and it was gone.  “Right! Gotta go, lots to do.  See you out there, hopefully!”

Then she was gone in a whirlwind, leaving him with more questions than answers.  One of the songs he had toyed with the night before came to him then, and grabbing his coat, he went in search of his band.

-

“Thirty seconds,” a producer barked in Ian’s earpiece, and he gave him a thumbs up across the stage. He was waiting in the wings, his band already on stage setting up while some pop star on the West Coast performed. The backup dancers and singers filed onto the stage then, and he caught Rose’s eye.

She shook her head and he nodded in return, before giving his bandleader the prearranged signal.

“Miss Lake isn’t here, so you’ll have to go on without her,” the aide at his side informed him.  “The backup singers will handle her part, the dancers will stick to the routine, just… do as you rehearsed otherwise.”

“Actually, we’re going to do something different,” Ian informed him, giving him a grin before walking up onto the stage, not giving him a chance to argue.  “Hello New York!”

The crowd went wild, though whether it was for him or in anticipation of Serenity he didn’t want to know.

“There’s been a bit of a change, and Miss Lake unfortunately won’t be joining us tonight,” he announced, relieved when no one booed, though a murmur rippled through the crowd. “Instead I’ll be doing a brand new duet with the lovely, talented Rose- well, Rose.”  Belatedly he realized he’d never bothered to get her last name.  Oops.  “Rose?” He turned to look at where she was standing, frozen, at the mic, one of the other singers nudging her forward.

Eyes wide Rose did, coming up to his side and waving tentatively at the crowd.

“Now, Rose here is a talented songwriter, but you don’t have to take my word for it – you’re about to find out yourself.”

Covering the mic so only she would pick up his next words, he leaned in close.  “I know I said I wouldn’t steal it, and I don’t consider what I’m about to do breaking that promise, but it’s not entirely keeping it either.  Just trust me like I’m trusting you.  This is your moment.”

“I don’t-” she started, but he thrust the live mic in her hands and she stopped.  Nabbing his guitar from Craig and slipping the strap over his head, he readjusted his headset, praying the mic would pick up his voice.

He began picking out the melody he’d arranged overnight, took a deep breath and began to sing.  “Tell me something, girl.”  He met Rose’s eyes just as they widened, relieved when they didn’t seem to hold any sort of homicidal intent.  “Are you happy in this modern world?”  The crowd was silent, more so than he’d ever heard, and if he hadn’t been performing so long it would’ve been entirely unnerving.  “Or do you need more? / Is there something else you’re searching for?”  His heart leapt to his throat, and he wondered if she’d be able to see the truth in his next words.  “I’m falling. / In all the good times I find myself longing for change. / And in the bad times I fear myself.”

The band behind him came in, softly at first, and he met Rose’s eye again and nodded.  She came in perfectly on time, her voice seemingly more beautiful than it had the night before when she’d sung the very same lyrics. “Tell me something, boy. / Aren’t you tired trying to fill that void? / Or do you need more? / Ain’t it hard keepin’ it so hard core.”  His heart stopped when she continued, mirroring his pre-chorus.  The hesitation in her voice made him wonder if, possibly, it was the truth for her as well. “I’m falling. / In all the good times I find myself longing for change. / And in the bad times I fear myself.”

And then she went solo, singing the part she’d added in the car the previous night just before they reached her hotel.  “I’m off the deep end / watch as I dive in / I’ll never meet the ground. / Crash through the surface, where they can’t hurt us / We’re far from the shallow now.”

-

Ian stumbled off the stage somewhat in shock.  They’d made it through, Rose performing beautifully, a haunting vocalization in the middle of the song he was certain was already going viral online it was so damn good.  He kept Rose pressed to his side, not letting her escape as he fought their way back to his dressing room, waving off the comments being thrown at him.  The crowd had gone ballistic, a thunderous roar of approval so great it had been a veritable wall of noise.  He didn’t want to know what anyone else thought until he’d heard from her, explained his side.

Slamming the door behind him, he finally let her go and turned to face her, braced for a slap. “I’m sorry I ambushed you, but I haven’t been able to get that fucking song out of my head.  It’s incredible, Rose, and that reaction we just got? That was for you.  You. As a singer and a songwriter.  I mean, that- that-” he fell silent as she stared at him.

“You violated my trust,” she said quietly.  “I shared that with you in confidence, and twenty-four hours later you gave it to the fucking world.  I can’t- I’m sorry-”  Rose darted forward, hand covering her mouth, and he could only watch, disappointed and angry with himself, as she ran away.

“Fuck!”  He wanted to throw something, destroy something, but the small rational voice in the back of his head reigned him in.  He was already on thin ice for going rogue; better not to ruin in all in a fit of rage. Slamming back a glass of water and wishing like hell he drank, he got himself together before heading for the inside viewing area where a party was raging.

Clara was going to kill him.

-

Sparkling water in hand, Ian sulked in the back of the room.  The network hosting the concert had offered their nearby studios to the performers, hosts, and crew, most of whom were finished with their work and ready to party.  Ninety seconds remained in the year, before it would finally be over and they could all pretend, if only for a little while, that everything would magically be better.

“Ian.”

Her voice sent a shiver racing down his spine, and he turned to face her, resigned to his fate. “Rose-”

“Thank you,” she interrupted.  “The song was perfect.  It was true to what I had written, and yet somehow so much better.  That’s down to you.”

“How many offers did you get?” he asked after a moment, studying her face.

Her neutral expression melted into a grin.  “Six different labels want to sign me.  I haven’t made any decision yet.  Not about that, at least.”  She looked decidedly nervous, rubbing her palms on her skirt.

“Then what did you make a decision about?”  His heart picked up pace, hoping for something he wasn’t willing to consider within the realm of possibility.

“I… I really liked talking to you,” Rose said quietly.  “Something about it… I don’t know.  I thought- I mean- maybe this is totally crazy, but-”

“Ten!  Nine!  Eight!” Everyone’s attention focused on the telly, where the ball was nearing the base.

As the countdown continued, things became clear in Ian’s mind.  This girl, Rose, made him feel alive again in a way he hadn’t in a very long time.  And, if he understood her stuttering correctly before they were interrupted, she was trying to say the same thing.

Eyes darting up, he spotted a spring hanging from the ceiling, and smiled.  “Mistletoe.”

“New year’s about to start,” she replied, breathless, stepping closer.  “Would hate to start it out with bad luck.”

“You just became an overnight sensation, you can’t risk it.”

“Four!  Three!  Two!”

“I am sensational overnight.”  Eyes wide, she was definitely leaning in.

Hand coming up to cup her cheek, he closed the distance between them.

“One!  Happy New Year!”

Their lips met, and the fireworks started.

We’re far from the shallow now.

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

this is hungry work

the wench and the witcher

"this is hungry work”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader.

Summary: Your Witcher will be gone at first light. He’s determined to keep occupied until then.

Warnings: NSFT/18+ - you should not be interacting with this fic if you are under the age of 18. Facesitting, overstim, intercourse, sweet-yet-possessive!Geralt. It’s... it’s just smut, y’all.

A/N: Full disclosure, I tried to tell myself I wouldn’t use this song for any of my fics and I should have known better. It’s just peak Hozier, and I would be remiss for excluding it. I have approximately 3 fics left in this series - yikes, I accidentally wrote a series - and then we’ll see where the Wench wants to go from there...

@coconutxraikage - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @witchernonsense - @owillofthewisps - @hina-chans-stuff - @yespolkadotkitty​ - @wastingmypotential​

The only Heaven I'll be sent to Is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well, amen...

The light of the full moon shines in from the window, fills the room with the silver-ice glow. It’s cool and soft – enough to see by, making up for the embers that now barely smolder on the hearth. It should be cold without the fire’s warmth, but the heat flashing over your skin leaves you misted with sweat. It weighs down your curls and makes them stick to the back of your neck, to your face; each sharp inhale feels heavy and damp in your lungs. One hand grips the headboard so hard that your palm aches.

The other hand is fisted in Geralt’s hair.

Your thighs bracket his head and he holds you in place over his mouth. His fingers press bruises into your flesh. With a ragged cry, your body arches and your hips press down; you grind down onto the Witcher’s greedy tongue, calling his name as you come again. You briefly wonder if anyone has ever died like this. The low vibration of the Witcher’s growl hums over the tender, throbbing flesh of your cunt and you double over, whining.  Trying to pull away is futile; his grip on your thighs is too strong.

There’s no counting at this point. The pleasure borders on agony and Geralt is relentless.

He leaves in the morning.

It seems he’s determined to keep himself occupied until then.

“Gods,” you pant as your hips rock in time to the tide of your orgasm. “Geralt – “

Hazy golden eyes flash up at you, the dark of his pupils wide and fathomless. Your limbs feel like water, putting up no resistance when the Witcher shifts and turns you onto your back like you’re a ragdoll. He fairly glows in the moonlight, miles of pale skin stretched over powerful muscle that flexes beautifully as he pulls your legs over his shoulders. The tip of his tongue flicks sharply over your clit and you jump with a low hiss, “Son of a bitch – “

Geralt chuckles softly, noses at your damp curls. “I’ve met sailors who swear less,” he taunts.

You give a breathless laugh of your own. “You’re one to talk – oh!”

Fingers press, three thick digits slipping into your cunt with an obscenely wet noise and little resistance. The stretch makes your toes curl.  Geralt laps casually over your aching clit again to pull a sharp, desperate noise up from your throat.

“M’gonna miss that sound,” he growls and repeats the motion.

You whimper. His fingers press and thrust in time with the movement of his tongue until you’re shaking and cursing, fingers gripped tight in his shock-white hair. He groans against you when you tug, pushing the pads of his fingers up to stroke and circle over that soft spot inside of you – the one that makes your back arch from the bed as lightning goes flashing up your spine. His mouth closes over you, his cheeks hollow to apply a teasing suction and your voice breaks on a whine, “Geralt - fuck - I’m gonna - “

It’s a violent rush of blinding sensation – you shout, gushing over Geralt’s fingers as your hips rock into his mouth. He doesn’t stop.

You come again. And again.

He doesn’t stop until your muscles ache, until your voice is raw and you’re begging brokenly for respite. Panting, you glance down to see your Witcher smirking, his mouth pink and swollen, slick with your cum. He bows his head and makes his slow, ambling way up your body, chasing each flex of your muscles with a nip of his teeth. He’s already littered you with deep red marks, spots that you’ll press your fingers to when he’s gone, relishing in the dull ache. You shiver when he traces the bruises with his tongue, whine when he takes a beaded, tender nipple into his mouth. The sharp thrill of pleasure makes your cunt clench down on nothing and you whisper his name.

Geralt rumbles appreciatively. He guides you onto your belly, settles his warm, solid weight over your back. His lips feel like a firebrand on your shoulder blade  – his cock slicks over you, catching over the tiny ridge of your clit and making you gasp, “Please.“

He growls into your neck, easing his hips forward. The length of him splits you open, stretches your sopping cunt around him until you sob. It’s a slow and filthy pace that he sets. He rocks into you on a deep, grinding rhythm that makes you grit your teeth around a moan. Your fingers curl in the rumpled bedding beneath you. You feel the wet heat of his breath against your shoulder, the scrape of his teeth, and the steady, torturous rock of his hips. Your voice is a broken, ragged thing, harsh to your own ears when you cry.

A sharp, sudden push of his hips punches the breath from your lungs. “That’s my girl,” he pants against your hair. “Sweet girl – you take me so well, sweetheart. So fuckin’ pretty, taking my cock.”

He fucks into you, deep and unrelenting strokes. You pant, and grunt, too fucked-out to be self-conscious about how you might sound. You feel utterly spent, like there’s no possible way your body can respond, or keep up, but it does – you do. The Witcher pulls you up in one powerful motion, sitting back on his haunches and crushing your back to his front with one arm gripped tight over your chest. His skin is sweat-slick and scorching hot against your back. You grip at whatever you can reach, grasping at his hair, clawing at his arm; he chokes out a groan and his free hand pushes down the softness of your belly until his fingers brush where the two of you are joined, where you are stretched around him, soaked and quivering.

“Let me hear you,” he rumbles. “Say it, sweetheart – tell me – “

A flex of his hips. You feel every blood-hot inch of his cock, and clench down – your legs shake as you whimper, “Geralt – “

“Say it.”

He thrusts up into you, hard – a claiming. “Yours,” you gasp. “Oh gods – m’yours. Yours yours – “

The pads of his fingers drag over your clit. Your muscles lock. It’s a conflagration in your blood, roaring through your veins, leaving ash it its wake – your voice cracks as you scream. You hear Geralt snarl and swear as his hips stutter – he trembles against your back, pulses deep inside of you – filling you with the sticky heat of his cum. Your eyes roll back and then you’re floating, warm and boneless as if drifting on an ocean tide.

Geralt’s voice drifts through the fog. You come to as he pulls you against him, cradling your head on his shoulder while he strokes your limp curls away from your face with a tenderness that constricts around your heart. He’s watching you. Staring; as if attempting to commit each line of your face to memory while his thumb brushes at the corner of your mouth.

“Say it again,” he mumbles.

You have to remember how to breathe for a moment. “I’m yours,” you whisper.

Geralt kisses you lazily, delicately, and rolls you under him. His remarkable stamina has him pressing against the inside of your thigh again, hard and slick; you gasp when he slides in. You’re tender, borderline sore, but your hips still lift to take him. Your cunt still pulses at the welcome intrusion.

“One more, sweetheart,” he purrs against your mouth “Give me one more, c’mon…”

The Witcher barely moves. Just soft, shallow thrusts of his hips with his forehead pressed to yours and his fingertips tracing soothing patterns over your sensitized skin; you shake beneath him. The both of you balance on that precipice for an age, until a lark begins to call out its song in the courtyard outside. Geralt manages to coax one last slow, shivering orgasm from you; he moans into your mouth as he comes – you feel the steady throb of his cock, the warmth filling you as you shudder. You’re vaguely aware of Geralt’s weight settling beside you. Exhausted as you are, you utter a murmur as he curls you into his side.

Geralt’s fingers trace soft, meaningless sigils over your back as you let sleep take you.

[storm-and-starlight]

2021 WRAP UP

It’s hard to believe that I’ve been writing enough to do this for two straight years in a row, but here it is, the end of 2021, and I have been!  All my stuff below the cut: completed fics, collabs, posted works-in-progress, WIPs, and future projects. (future projects are, unfortunately, subject to quite a bit of change)

COMPLETED FICS

AO3

I’ll Sip the Sunlight From Your Eyes - The Witcher Netflix, E, Merperson!AU, Geraskier

Sunlight never reaches the deeps. Even in the shallow surface waters, the light is blue-dim and dappled -- not even the strongest rays reach the black, fathoms below. The only light there comes from what you carry with you, and for Geralt, that's plenty. But Jaskier is a siren, of shallow waters and sunlight and the places where the sky meets the sea. No matter what he might say to Geralt, the deeps will never be his home, the dark and the cold and the crushing weight far too alien for him to be happy. Lucky for them, then, that sunlight is never far away.

This is a snippet from a much longer fic (the one labeled Stars Above Us) that I’ve been working on for a while that is, basically, merpeople!Geralt and Jaskier and just. so much softness. This is the first scene I ever wrote from that fic, and also basically just pwp.

All Those Wonders Sit In Wait For Us - The Witcher Three: Wild Hunt, E, A/B/O, Yenralt

Witchers don't leave the Path. Witchers don't retire. Witchers don't have lovers or daughters or vineyards in Toussaint to go home to when the weight of everything becomes too much. They don't. They have the Path and the keeps and the strength of their arms and nothing else. And then the schools fell, and the Butcher of Blaviken fell in with a bard, and the wheel of time kept turning, turning until it turned right around to where witchers weren't needed anymore, and now Geralt has a home and a mate an a sneaking suspicion that it's time to let go of everything Kaer Morhen told him he couldn't have.

After making it through TW3, I fell entirely in love with Geralt and Yennefer’s game relationship,went looking for fics, went looking for omega Geralt fics, couldn’t find any, and decided to write my own.  It then promptly turned into an 18k monstrosity about moving on and realizing one another and Geralt jumping out of windows and I love it very, very much.

Death and Destiny, Heroics and Heartbreak (It’s onion)- The Witcher Netflix, E, scenting, Geraskier

The thing about witchers, Jaskier has found, is that the enhanced senses are very much enhanced, meaning that Geralt can pick out the individual scents of everyone, including himself. And Jaskier, apparently. And his own scent on Jaskier. And he likes it. To his surprise, Jaskier does too.

This fic. Ah, this fic. This fic was my first ever fic to break a thousand kudos, and I wrote it in about a week while working full time (which is actually quite a feat for me, I have to constantly ration spoons)(except on this fic, apparently). It’s sweet and soft and somehow turned from pwp to 14k words of fluff and Geralt and Jaskier finding out that all their rough edges somehow still fit together.

While the Crown Hangs Heavy on Either Side - The Witcher Netflix, E, Warlord!Jaskier, Angst, Geraskier

Fifteen years ago, Valdo Marx Pankratz de Lettenhove picked up a saber, talked a pirate band into swearing to his banner, and set out to conquer the Continent, and to the surprise of every living lord and noble actually managed to do it. He pillaged, marauded, and called himself Emperor, and all the while his younger brother changed his name, became a bard, and fell in love with a witcher. Ten years ago, Emperor Pankratz died, and Jaskier the bard took his place.

This fic was born out of two things: an interest in warlord!Jaskier and a complete lack of fics for it, and the song Battle Cries by The Amazing Devil. It didn’t change much over the writing process, but it came out lovely and poetic and sad and I’m very very happy with it.

‘Cause We’re One and the Same - The Witcher Netflix, G, Trans!Geralt, Trans!Jaskier, pre-slash Geraskier

Geralt and Jaskier might have a bit more in common than they realized.

This fic was inspired by a lovely piece of art by itsrapsodia depicting t4t Geraskier, and I ended up writing their first realization that “hey we’re both trans men” in about forty-five minutes because I was just so enamored with the idea.

Tumblr

Dear Gravity, You Held Me Down in this Starless City - The Witcher Netflix, M, Character Study (tw for non-graphic mention of noncon)

A Renfri character study that I wrote based off of a handful of Fall Out Boy songsand all the Feels I was having about her character. Also featuring a Supernatural reference! (because I am exactly that kind of fandom trash)

A Musing on Names - The Witcher Netflix, G, Character Study

A look at the name Geralt through the ages, and what it means.

Golden Days - The Witcher Netflix, G, Songfic, Geraskier

A little ficlet about love and time passing, based off the song Golden Days by Panic! at the Disco. I’m actually quite proud of this one, even if it didn’t get much traction.

Hunter - Supernatural, T, Character Study, Sam/Jess

A look at what it was like to date a hunter, from Jess’s perspective.

Trans!Dipper Ficlet - Gravity Falls, G, Character Study

A very short little thing I wrote, just to get my headcanon as to why a trans Dipper Pines would actually go by Dipper and not anything else. You could probably read it as Wendy/Dipper if you wanted, but I intended to write them as just friend.

POSTED WORKS-IN-PROGRESS

Forever Wanting More - The Witcher Netflix, M, Witcher!Jaskier, Longfic, Slow Burn, Geraskier

Geralt has always been a little afraid of losing control. And after what happened the last time, it's not an unreasonable worry, one which the Council shares. He's been watched since he left Kaer Morhen, but he's always been... perfect. Kept himself in control, never done anything to create a reason to come after him. And then he meets a girl. A girl with a grudge against a sorcerer, who asks him to give her her revenge. And he fucks it up worse than anything else in his life. --- Julian has always told himself that he doesn't mind being a Witcher. It's not like he's got another choice, after all. But when the Council asks him to take down a half-feral fugitive, he starts to think that might not be true anymore.

Ah, fwm my beloved. This fic has taken me an age to work on, and will take me probably three more to actually finish, but I’ve got big big plans for it and like hell I’m dropping it. It’s been kind of on hiatus while I work on college and on Gravity Falls stuff (I switched fandoms for a couple months and I’m working on cleaning up another smaller fic for it), but I’ll come back to it and turn it into the epic I know it can be.

WORKS-IN-PROGRESS

Love’s Worth Running To

Yep, I’m still working on this a/b/o angst. It’s been fighting me for a good two years now, but I’ve been chipping away at the plot oh-so-slowly and I think I might finally be getting somewhere. Any road, I’m not gonna let it go.

Winter’s Heart

Fae AU, my beloved. I have big big plans for this fic, that require a bit of space to work on it, but it’s going to be something lovely about faeries and curses and being trans.

Stars Above Us

The longer version of the merfic that Sip the Sunlight is an excerpt from. I’ve made good progress over the last year, and it’s starting to take shape as something proper.

FUTURE PROJECTS

Cyberpunk AU

You might know this one from the prompt fill I put out a while ago, but it’s basically a mix of a cyberpunk dystopia, a ghostfic, and a murder mystery. I’m currently working on getting the plot to gel together and turn itself into something cohesive, but I’ve got the aesthetic down and the ending.

[firewoodfigs]

no matter the hearts you burn, in mine you shall always remain 

read on ao3  

[I highly recommend reading on ao3 instead because of the long notes. also because I have no idea how to centralise things on Tumblr 🤣]

for @moms-made-fullmetal-2020, day 7: farewells and new beginnings. thank you once again @waddiwasiwitch​ for organising such a lovely event! 

Summary: The label ‘bastard’ bears multiple meanings for Roy Mustang, who is the result of a dangerous, illicit affair between two childhood lovers. The story begins in an Imperial Court, deep in the heart of Xing.

Translations: 

要选 (yào xuǎn) means "want to choose", but Yao Xuan’s name would probably be written as 姚璇 (yáo xuán) in Xingese. The first character is a common Chinese surname and what I’m guessing is the Xingese equivalent for the Yao clan, and the second character means “jade”. Hence why Yao Xuan mentions that her name is a wordplay on “choice” later on.

亲爱的 (qīn ài de) - dear; a term of affection.

再见 (zài jiàn) - farewell, goodbye.

心肝 (xīn gān) - darling; a term of endearment. However, translated literally, it means “heart and liver”.  

A/N: I know Ling’s name in FMA is structured as Ling Yao, but for the purposes of this fic I rearranged the name such that the clan name comes first - hence Yao Xuan instead of Xuan Yao (in part because the latter has a different meaning). It’s also common for surnames to come first for Chinese names. 

Songs: Chrysanthemum Terrace, Endless Love

-------------------------------------------------------

The Imperial Court is a terribly lonely place.

Underneath every smile plastered on perfect porcelain is a heart that mourns and yearns for a life outside the palace. Engraved on walls of gold and jade are recurring motifs of phoenixes and dragons, a reminder to all the concubines sequestered within to remember who they serve. Who their heart rightfully belongs to for the rest of their lives.

The Supreme Eminence, the Sovereign Emperor.

Her fate is inescapable from the day she was born. You are the oldest daughter of the Yao clan, Yao Xuan. It is your duty to produce an heir for the Emperor, for us. She doesn’t have a say in the matter, doesn’t have a choice, because her destiny has been plotted out like a graph from birth.

It’s only been months since she entered the Imperial Court as a concubine, but Yao Xuan finds herself already suffocated by the politics and overwhelming expectations of perfection that line every crevice, every footstep. Mornings are a particularly tiresome affair - she awakes even before the sun rises, to begin dressing up for a man that she’s frankly not even interested in.

But he owns your life now.

The entire thing is ritualistic, but doesn’t offer a sliver of comfort like a religious ritual might have. She sinks gracefully into the warm bathtub filled with red petals for her at six in the morning, before letting the ladies under her dry and tug at her raven tresses methodically. It hurts - the teeth of the jade comb stabs at her scalp mercilessly, and is an added weight to the already heavy burden on her shoulders. Her face is powdered alabaster with lead, eyebrows darkened with charcoal and lips painted a bright crimson, before she’s swathed tightly in gold satin and scarlet silk.

Though red represents prosperity in Xing, she finds there is nothing prosperous about dressing up everyday for a man who only spares her a momentary glance as he scans the throng of women lined up orderly at the paulownia pavilion for him.

Who shall it be today, Your Majesty?

Secretly, Yao Xuan begs for the Emperor to not pick her for the night, in spite of the pleasant, seductive smile that tugs at her lips mechanically whenever he saunters past her. His eyes scan her like she’s nothing more than a slab of meat at the market, and she finds her heart shattering every time she remembers a man who looked at her like she was the world to him.

Christopher Mustang. He’s nothing more than a forbidden fruit now, but it’s the fact that he’s dangled in front of her that exacerbates the cruelty. Once he was her childhood lover, but now he’s a soldier - General Mustang - in the Imperial Court who’s sworn fealty to the same sovereign entity.

She wishes this was not their destiny, but fate is cruel and ineluctable and they can only share forlorn, fleeting glances whenever she strolls past him after another day of rejection to return to the royal chambers with the other ladies to dabble in senseless politicking disguised by equally mindless embroidery.

Sewing has never been one of Yao Xuan’s talents, but there’s really nothing else to do in the stifling confines of the palace. Her fingers ache as she pricks herself with the needle, but it pales in comparison to the pain that shreds through her as she laments for a love and desire buried deep within by the immeasurable weights of duty and destiny.

~x~

Years pass, and spring comes in full bloom.

Yao Xuan is a wonderful sight to behold in the warmth of spring. Her cheeks are suffused in pink, mirroring the petals falling delicately above her, a lilac robe embracing her magnificent figure. But in spite of her beauty the Emperor waltzes past her in his full regalia without even passing a glance, and with every step she finds her self-worth getting trampled on.

The other members of the Yao clan have expressed their displeasure many, many times at the very apparent lack of an heir, but there’s nothing she can do. It’s all a matter of chance, and there’s nothing she can do to improve her luck: concubines are not allowed into the Emperor’s room unless they’re chosen.

(It’s strangely paradoxical, because her name’s a wordplay on choice, but she’s neither chosen nor given a choice.)

The routine repeats itself: she returns to her chambers after receiving a severe scolding from the other members of the Yao clan for being utterly, utterly useless. The only thing that stings is the needle - she refuses to let tears sting her eyes in front of them. Instead, she bows her head subserviently and promises to do better the next time, but her feet wander when night falls.

Yao Xuan finds herself at the paulownia pavilion again, admiring the lotuses that float gracefully atop shallow waters and decorate them in flecks of white and pink.

Purity and enlightenment.

There’s nothing enlightening about her entire predicament - she doesn’t know what else can be done to make herself more attractive to the Emperor, but every dismissal comes with disapproval and disappointment, and it’s a painful pill to swallow. It sits uncomfortably in her gut as she drums her fingers against the chrysanthemum-coloured balustrades to distract herself from the nauseating feeling bubbling in her throat.

“Lady Yao? What are you doing out here so late at night?” The familiar voice of her childhood lover abates the nausea a little.

“Just thinking, General Mustang.” She turns to look at him, but her resolve crumples along with her face when she witnesses his kind, strong stature under the moonlight. There’s nothing more I want than to be with you, qīn ài de.

“Are you alright?” General Mustang stands with a respectable distance between them, but she sees love and sincerity pooling in his eyes, and her own desire that she’s tried to suppress since her entrance to the Imperial Court makes a fiery resurgence.

“... I’m not,” and she begins to cry. Instinctively, he wants to embrace her, whisper sweet nothings into her crown of black tresses, but he can’t.

General Mustang grips the hilt of his blade in an attempt to resist temptation, but she inches forward daintily to reach for his hand, and his resolve likewise falters. He automatically responds in kind when she rests her palm on his, and he’s quick to intertwine his fingers around hers, tracing circles on the back of her palm while murmuring soothing platitudes.

In the end, years of suppressed desire inundates them, and despite the alarm bells ringing in their heads their feet move involuntarily, as if possessed by some kind of uncontrollable automatism, towards Yao Xuan’s chambers. She disrobes, he disarms, and their bare bodies finally become one in the darkness.

There’s nothing pure about their union, only immoral, but it’s the first time they’ve felt happiness after an eternity of loneliness and despair.

~x~

sentenced to death 

even before you were born curse the stars, cruel fate — they have damned you! but i knew, even then you were born to be loved in my womb, in my heart i carry you with all my love.

~x~ 

She’s not sure if the nausea is due to the tempestuous storm of emotions writhing in her gut after enduring incessant reprimands and lashings from the other members of the Yao clan, or the symptoms of something a lot more petrifying.

But it persists for weeks, and she’s late.

Late.

A terrifying consequence after an illicit affair. It goes without saying that they’ll both be executed upon discovery, for it is impossible that this is the Emperor’s scion. After all, he’s never even laid a hand on her, and the only logical conclusion is that the child growing inside her belongs to her lover.

The inevitable fate that awaits them is only death and dishonor. They would face opprobrium in its most unadulterated form, no doubt, and she would be exiled from the Yao clan for the shame she’s brought to her family’s name.

Yao Xuan could bear dying alone, being humiliated and scorned by her clan, but the thought of her lover and her unborn child being murdered alongside her kills her.

An unborn, innocent child who has done nothing wrong except exist.

Despite the wrongness of the whole situation, there’s a part of her that’s secretly elated - excited, even. For this was the fruit of their love, and her heart was already beginning to bloom with adoration for her son. Or daughter, but her maternal instincts convince her that it will be a son.

Fortunately, she’s not selected by the Emperor that day. Yao Xuan endures the rest of the day with as much normalcy as she can before making her way to a secluded veranda at night that’s a safe spot away from prying eyes.

She spots General Mustang, who has received her note earlier in the day to meet her here at midnight, and walks to his side.

“What’s the matter, Lady Yao?”

Yao Xuan doesn’t speak. Instead, she bends over gracefully to pick up three abandoned petals on the ground and lifts it up to his eyes, her other hand resting on the barely discernible swell of her stomach.

General Mustang’s eyes widen. They’ve known each other for years, and it’s easy for him to understand her message immediately.

Pregnant. With our child.

He closes the remaining distance between them and splays an open palm on her stomach.

“I plan to run away with this child, General.” Alone. The implication is clear - she doesn’t want him to be involved, doesn’t want him to be stripped of his title and suffer a dishonorable discharge and be executed.

But there’s nothing more dishonorable than leaving the woman I love to go through this alone. “Not by yourself, Yao Xuan.”

She pushes his palm away gently from her stomach, and meets his gaze with a stern one, trying not to let his use of her full name unwind her. “Yes, General. I will not do this to you - not after you’ve worked so hard to get to where you are now.”

“You’re more important than all of that,” he murmurs, but there’s an edge to his voice that makes it crystal clear that he’s made up his mind, and there’s nothing she can do that will deter him from acting upon it. He clasps a firm hand around her wrist. “Let’s go.”

Yao Xuan casts a final glance at the overbearing silhouette of the palace grounds before whispering a quiet apology to her sister - they’re ten years apart in terms of age, but it will be her turn to bear the unbearable burden of being a concubine this time - as she elopes with her lover and a stomach that’s beginning to swell with life.

Together, they traverse through the desert with nothing to their name, but full of love for their unborn child.  

~x~

the stars stare down at you as we traverse through the desert. the night is cold but here you will stay warm, within me. you are a blessing, God’s gift to me. a journey thus sublime — you must live, new life.

~x~

Her son’s birth had been a difficult one, and life afterwards with her husband as fugitives in the harsh desert wasn’t easy. But she’s surprisingly content. Happy, even, with the simple domesticity that they’ve been blessed with, and whenever Yao Xuan looks at the innocent bundle of joy in her arms she smiles with the knowing conviction that they’d made the right choice.

She can’t help but think that their beloved son - Roy Mustang - is perfection in a swath of linen the first time she sees him, and she loves him with such a fierce tenderness that it engulfs her completely - even more than her love for her husband. Chris shares the same sentiments, and they both share an unspoken consensus that they would die for him instantaneously should the need arise, without second thought.

And like a fulfilled prophecy, the need does arise.

Roy Mustang is a little toddler of four, brimming with innocuous delight whenever his mother reads to him about the basics of science, before reciting tales of knights in shining armour slaying evil dragons that breathe fire afterwards.

(His father has a nice voice, too, and Roy is equally delighted whenever he reads to him, but he finds himself preferring his mother’s voice to his bright tenor.)

Yao Xuan rests a hand endearingly on his arm, and Roy thinks there’s nothing like the warmth of her bosom as he snuggles in adorably. The gentle lull of her voice has an almost soporific effect, and he finds himself slowly dozing off.

Until his father barges in. He speaks with a pitch higher than Roy is accustomed to, and the panic radiating off his body, his every movement, causes him to stir slightly. “We need to go now, Yao Xuan. They’ve found us.”

The book she’d been reading earlier falls to the ground unceremoniously with a loud thud, jolting Roy awake. “What’s wrong, mama? Papa?” He blinks, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes blearily. At the sight of the fallen book, he picks up the book immediately and brushes off any imaginary specks of dust, grabbing it firmly with his tiny hands.

“We need to run, son,” she picks him up deftly, allowing Roy to rest on her shoulder while stroking his tuft of raven hair with trembling hands.

Together they begin to run through the desert, Roy’s eyes wide as he takes in the stars gleaming brightly overhead and the cold wind slapping his face, but the wind and stars are not their only companion. His parents hear footsteps inching towards them, metal clanging against armor and know that they’re close to getting ambushed.

Is this it? The punishment for our sins?

“Stop right there, the both of you.”

General Mustang stiffens. That voice…

“General Lan Yan?” he calls. It’s difficult to make out the man’s identity, especially when he’s decked in black from head to toe and has a mask on, but he would recognise that voice anywhere.

The masked man removes his visor to confirm General Mustang’s thoughts, as the other soldiers draw their swords, inching closer to form an inescapable circle around the two traitors.

“We’re trapped, aren’t we?” Yao Xuan whispers to her husband. She holds her son closer to her as he starts sobbing into her shoulder, his young mind confused and scared by the dangerous-looking strangers swarming around them.

(The only people Roy knew who wielded swords were the knights from fairytales, and the men around him looked nothing like heroes.)

“We’re under orders from the Emperor to execute the both of you,” General Lan Yan announces, eyes steeled in resolve but with a tremulous edge in his voice. He winces at the thought of being ordered to kill a former comrade, a friend.

A friend who he had once admired, trained with and fought against. Years ago, they’d started out with relatively bad impressions of each other. Lan Yan had thought he was an arrogant bastard, even though everyone called him the golden boy because of his impressive swordsmanship and mastery of alkahestry. On the other hand, Christopher Mustang was inclined to think of him as a rival, an annoying panderer, given that he was constantly trying to one-up him.

But they’d eventually grown to become close friends, for they were more alike than they thought. Not only did they have similar tastes in food and literature, but they’d shared the same ideals and hopes for the future of Xing as well.

How terrible that we have to be reunited like this, my friend. The words, though unspoken, lingered on the tip of their tongues.

“I only ask that you spare my son, General Lan Yan,” And my wife, but I know that’s asking for too much.

“... Very well, General Mustang. I’ll give you and Lady Yao five minutes,” he states. Beside him, a masked man begins to prepare lethal poison in two silver cups.

“Thank you, General Lan Yan.” An indescribable gratitude fills General Mustang’s voice, as his wife’s cries begin to mirror his son’s sobs.

Sorrow, sympathy and guilt tugs at General Lan Yan’s heartstrings as he looks at the terrified child in Lady Yao’s arms. His mind races, cogs working in overdrive, scrambling for a final favour he could do for General Mustang. He couldn’t save him or his wife, but perhaps he could save his son - after all, the Emperor had made no mention about executing the product of their affair.

The least I can do for my best friend would be to bring his child to safety.

“... To my sister. Across the desert, in Amestris, there’s a tavern in Central called The Blue Porcelain. Please bring him there for me.”

“I will do that, General Mustang. On my honor - you have my word.”

Four minutes left. “Listen, Roy, we’re going to have to say goodbye here,” Yao Xuan whispers softly, but she can’t restrain her voice from cracking at the thought of having to bid her precious son farewell.

“Why, mama?” Roy sobs, tightening his hold around her neck while still clutching onto the book with a vice-like grip.

“... Your father and I did some wrong things in the past. But listen carefully, xin gan.” A term of endearment, but Yao Xuan feels like her heart and liver are being ripped apart from her at the moment as she loosens his arms to look him in the eye. “We’re going to send you to live with your aunt, but I want you to be good for her, okay? I know she will love you as much as I do, if not more.”

She runs a thumb across his soft, wet cheeks, savouring the feeling and ingraining it in her memory. “Make sure you eat well everyday, shower twice a day. Study hard, and do your best in school. Don’t skive off. Be kind to those around you, and… and I hope you grow up to be a wonderful man like your father.” Yao Xuan weeps, tears mixing with her son’s. “There will be bright days, rainy days, but I know that you will come to find people who care about you as deeply as I do. And no matter what you do… know that we will always love you, Roy.”

“I love you too, mama, but don’t go, please,” Roy begs. He’s not quite sure what’s going on around him - they were the heroes and heroines in the books they read to him, and they were supposed to protect him, not abandon him.

What does that mean? Will I see them again?

General Mustang rubs at his eyes impatiently. “We have to, Roy. I love you, and I know that you will grow up to be a fine man. I know you’ll surpass me.” He flashes Roy a watery smile as he places a warm hand on his forehead, but it’s full of faith and certitude.

This is our son, after all.

“I love you too, papa. I need you,” Roy pleads with all the desperation of a child who wanted nothing more than to be with his parents every day.

Their hearts shatter when General Lan Yan signals that their time is almost up. Ten seconds.

“Be strong, son. We’re so sorry,” Yao Xuan mourns as Roy is pried from her arms and lifted onto a horse by General Lan Yan. “Zai jian, xin gan,” she bids farewell solemnly as she watches his small, struggling frame disappear in the dark, unforgiving night, deserting them to face their death. The wind carries his desperate wails, and for the first time since her pregnancy the nausea is back with a wrathful vengeance.

But it won’t be here to stay this time.

She crosses an arm with her husband as they receive the cups of poison with unwilling hands, pulses beating violently as they repeat their vows of undying love to each other for the last time.  

Farewell, my son.

~x~

your first breath, first taste of this wretched world: a cry of triumph, a fist of victory, a defiance of death. my soul sings into satin and linen: affection for perfection.

~x~

It doesn’t take long for Roy to cry himself to sleep. His petite body shuts down quickly from the sheer exhaustion of doing so, and he’s out like a light soon enough as he traverses across the desert with General Lan Yan. When he’s awoken by the onslaught of a particularly harsh wind and what sounds like an oncoming sandstorm, he’s pulled back into sleep by a gentle force on his pressure point.

Suddenly, he’s roused from his slumber by someone shaking him, and as he cracks an eyelid open to peer out the window he realises that - wait, this is not the desert. The scene around him is a stark contrast to the vast expanse of sand and ochre that he’s used to. The alleys that they pass by are narrow, and they reek of something unfamiliar. It’s unpleasant. Roy doesn’t like it.

Then the memory of what happened hits him like a truck, and he begins to bawl again even as he’s brought out into the sunlight, towards a strange-looking establishment. It’s nothing like Roy has ever seen in his life, and though it’s significantly cooler he finds himself already longing for the desert heat beating on his back.

The Blue Por… He tries to read the sign on the door, but it’s a word too big for his age.

General Lan Yan raps on the door while keeping a steady hand on the boy’s sobbing frame. “Miss Mustang?”

The door opens to reveal a gruff-looking woman. “What?” Roy finds himself intimidated by the woman’s brusque and domineering persona. She’s decked in a plum-coloured dress with lips to match, with mother-of-pearls and gold branched around her neck like a collar. Her hair and eyes are jet black, like Roy’s and his parent’s, but he finds that she looks nothing like his mother, who’s kind and sweet and -

- he bursts into tears again.

“What’s going on?” The Madame asks, bewildered by the sight of a crying child and a man who, from his ostentatious armor and features is obviously from Xing. There’s a sense of guilt lingering within her when she looks upon the distressed child, so she stretches out to rest an awkward hand on his unruly black hair (which reminds her a little of her brother’s, who’s never been known to make acquaintance with a comb).

“Your brother…” General Lan Yan straightens, chiding himself mentally for letting his tongue slip. “General Mustang said to bring your nephew here, miss.”

My nephew. Nephew.

God, she wasn’t even aware that her brother had a son. How did he even find the time to raise a child while serving in the Xingese military?

“That’s Madame Christmas to you, and where’s my brother?”

“I hate to inform you of this, Madame Christmas. He is dead.” There’s a certain fluidity in his response that disguises his remorse, his reluctance, but his eyes prickle marginally at the thought of his deceased friend and his wife.

Christmas feels like he’s just thrown her under a moving train. “Don’t joke around.”

“I… I am afraid not. I’m here to carry out his last wish,” General Lan Yan replies somberly. Beside him, the child fidgets, gripping onto the book he’d brought along with him so hard that the edges begin to leave marks on his palms.

“How?”

“... It is not my place to say, Madame. We’ve been silenced by a royal decree,” and it’s true. She wants to go after the man with a quick fist, but there’s nothing that belies the brutal veracity of his statement on his expression.

Christmas swallows the painful lump in her throat before choking out her next words. “And what… what was his last wish?” I definitely need a drink after this.

“He only said to bring the child to you. I assume he intended for you to raise him as well.”

“... Where’s his mother?” It’s more rhetorical than anything, but Christmas wanted to believe that there could be a different answer by some stroke of luck.

“Dead, as well,” he whispers, and Roy’s cries amplify tenfold as he flinches away from the General’s hand - his hand reminded him of the villains in the stories his mother would read aloud to him - and huddles into itself.

“... I see.” She pauses for a moment to take in his frail frame. “Well, I’ll be taking him, then,” she motions for Roy to come over before gesturing for the General to leave.

(As much as she wanted to flip a finger, she realised that she would have to rethink some habits now that she had a child under her wing.)

“Thank you, Madame Christmas. I entrust the boy into your care,” he bows before turning to leave, glancing at the boy’s shuddering figure for one last time before returning back to the carriage.

Here’s to a new beginning for your son, General Mustang, Lady Yao. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for the both of you.

~x~

It takes time for the child to adjust to the novelty of his new home, his new beginning. But eventually, he does.

Aunt Chris and his mother are two worlds apart. For starters, they looked nothing alike. And where his mother was delicate and soft, Aunt Chris was loud and rough.

Nevertheless, they are alike in some ways, he learns. Roy’s the only boy in the bar, as he later learns it’s called, and despite her initial crabbiness Aunt Chris is surprisingly tactile and nice. It doesn’t take long for her to grow fond of the boy, the same way the girls in the bar fawn over him from the moment he steps in. He’s rather petulant and sullen initially, but this doesn’t come as a shock for someone who lost his parents at such a tender age.

When Roy first arrived at The Blue Porcelain he’d holed himself up in the room assigned to him, reading the only book he’d brought from home over and over again (Roy also discovered that his mother had left a poem, a letter of sorts within, and he never went anywhere without it - he treated it like a talisman).

But Aunt Chris doesn’t let him sulk for long.

No matter how grouchy he was, she would always drag him out forcibly for dinner, and made a conscious effort to talk to him daily even though he clearly wasn’t the biggest conversationalist around. She’d tried reading bedtime stories to him, even, and indulged him when he whined about wanting to hear about princesses and knights.

Where his mother’s voice was like silk, hers was a lot more like gravel. Nevertheless, Roy eventually comes to appreciate it, and would even look forward to their nightly sessions where he could tell her all about what he’d learnt at school that day.  

Aunt Chris also nags at him the same way his own mother did - she’s always yammering at him to finish his food, hold his chopsticks properly or do his homework, and while it gets on his nerves occasionally he comes to understand that it’s their way of showing affection.

It’s therefore a no-brainer for him to draw both his aunt and his mother when he’s assigned with the task of producing an artwork of his mother for school, but when he shows it to Aunt Chris she begins to tear up.

He’s puzzled. Am I really that bad at art?

“What’s wrong, Aunt Chris?”

“Nothing, boy. It’s lovely,” she says sincerely.

Roy grins. “My teacher said so, too. I’ve been doing well in all my other subjects in school too, you know. Top of the class,” he chirps happily, puffing out his chest a little in pride.

“That’s wonderful, Roy-boy. I’m sure you’ll grow up to be a great man one day, like your father.”

“... Really?” There’s a certain melancholy that laces his voice, as if he was unsure of himself.

His aunt, on the other hand, is unequivocal that he would. She was no fortune teller, but there was a fire that illuminated his eyes. The mark of a warrior, a leader. “Absolutely. You’re destined for greatness, my boy.”

(Roy didn’t know this yet, but he would one day negotiate treaties on behalf of his country with a future distant relative and ascend to a rank higher than his father’s so that he could marry the woman he loved without any ramifications.)

~x~

(look, a bastard child!) no, you will embark towards glorious greatness. life doomed you once, but in your hands it shall soon rest. hear me now. heart and hearth: keep them ablaze, alight. no matter the ones you burn, in mine you shall always remain.

~x~

The war-torn desert reminds Major Mustang of a childhood memory that he’s tried to suppress for a long, long time. With every howl of the wind, the ache in his heart only grew stronger. Hotter. Like an inferno threatening to consume his innards.

He’d always been acutely aware of the pain of having your parents ripped apart from you in front of your very eyes. It was the kind of anguish that abated only slightly with time, but then and now grief would come back with a vengeance. Always, in the most unexpected of moments.

And yet here he was, doing the exact same thing years later.

Spare no one, the decree says. In response, The Flame Alchemist obeys.

Destined for greatness, my ass.

He would have liked to seek out a certain childhood friend for comfort, but he couldn’t bear to touch her. Not like this. Not when he’d stained his hands scarlet, not when he’d been a contributing factor to her involvement in the war. In any case, he highly doubted that she wanted to be even associated with him at this point, which suited him fine. He didn’t deserve her.

Not in the least, you monster.

The whiskey does nothing to assuage the emotional storm brewing within him. A distasteful mix of sorrow, compunction, longing. Alcohol, he realised, could not bring him absolution or erase his sins. It only offered a brief respite, a numbing agent.

Major Mustang sinks onto the floor of the weather-beaten tent as he digs inside his pockets for an old poem that had offered him comfort since he was five, even before his vocabulary was wide enough to comprehend its intended message.

He hadn’t cried, not since the war happened, but his mother’s predictions had been eerily accurate. Prophetic, even. For indeed life rested in his hands - with a snap, he could destroy an entire population; he’d burnt so many hearts, so many hearths, that his were now darkened with despair and remorse.

I really am a bastard of the most reprehensible kind, aren’t I? 

Lost in a pool of words and grief, he misses the presence of a blonde girl who was only slightly shorter, younger than he was. Riza Hawkeye comes in through the tent flap and stares at him wordlessly. She sees him grasping tightly onto a familiar piece of crumpled parchment, as if it was the last shred of hope in their wretched lives.

Overcome with sympathy, Riza decides to push aside the conflicting feelings raging within her - for now, at least - and sits beside him.

He’d shown her the letter once, when they were children - the only memento his late mother had left behind. Riza had never seen him go anywhere without it. It was obviously of great import to him, and his mother had clearly loved him dearly.

“No matter the ones you burn, in mine you shall always remain,” Riza whispers. And it’s true: despite the atrocities they’d committed outside, the crimes against humanity they’d perpetrated, there was a part of her that still loved him, as his own mother would have.

For the first time since The Ishvalan Extermination, Roy allows himself to mourn in her arms as he clutches desperately onto a yellowing letter.  

-----------------------------------------------------------

special thanks to @hirayaart​ and @x-rainflame-x​ - thank you so much for helping me read through this, and for your invaluable feedback 💖 

you can read the full poem here  if you’re interested ^_^ 

[wordsturnintostories]

where the stars collide

summary: stargazing with jungkook turns into… beating hearts and swollen lips. word count: 2.6k note: another oneshot that originally belonged to another fic. when i read through it again, i suddenly had Jungkook in mind because it fit so well. since you guys liked king of bangtan so much, i thought i’d give you something else that’s kinda similar. ✨ long-haired jungkook is all i'm really saying. you know which look. warning: kissing, kissing, more kissing, fluff, jungkook's handsomeness

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

He points up at the sky, his other hand in between his head and the rough natural wood of the park bench he’s lying on.

“There.”

You follow the finger. Nothing.

“Another one, there.”

Nope, just the sky, thousands of stars that don’t move. You don’t see it.

“Jungkook, I don’t-”

“Over there! Over there,” he sounds so excited pointing out all the shooting stars for you. But again, you miss it.

“Did you see it?”

“No,” you mumble, a little embarrassed that you’ve seen none of these previous shooting stars. “I miss them every time. They’re too fast?”

The truth is, you’re Jungkook-gazing instead of stargazing and when he finds a new shooting star to trail after with his finger, you have to tear away your eyes from his giddy face and that takes a few seconds. Who could blame you? He’s decidedly too pretty to not look at him. Additionally, it seems that these shooting stars are not patient beings. At least you don’t miss the magnificent flares and sparks the campfire sends flying every few minutes. Of course, they don’t compare to burning rocks in the sky, but hey. You can’t have it all, right?

“Baby, scoot over,” Jungkook demands suddenly, standing over you while you sit up on your wooden bench. There goes the separated-bench date. Not that you mind.

“Scoot where? There’s no space.”

Jungkook grins. “Are you sure? Make sure NASA doesn't hear.”

You groan but there’s a tiny grin at the corner of your mouth that you can’t prevent. His puns are terrible, of course he would never admit that.

“You know you love me,” he says while simply picking you up, hands on your hips, and lying down instead of you, putting your body down on his so you straddle him. You breathe. Once. Twice. God must’ve blessed his thighs personally. You send a silent thank-you to the sky.

“Yeah,” you breathe. How is he always so physical? Sometimes you think he can’t live without physical contact because he always finds a way to touch you, especially when he thinks you don’t notice, even if it’s just your feet touching underneath the table or his fingers lingering in your hair. Not that you don’t appreciate it, but his desire to be so close to your body, to share that level of intimacy, it makes you a gooey mess inside. Like chocolate soufflé. Jungkook makes your heart melt with every little touch.

And now you’re sitting on him, his warm big hands sneaking under the fabric of your hoodie and gripping the bare skin of your hips, a beautiful contrast to the cool night air, just like your flushed cheeks. A tingling warmth washes over your entire body and you hope he doesn’t notice.

But Jungkook’s eyes follow the stars; he’s smiling at the ethereal beauty of the universe and looks ethereally beautiful himself, golden and silver in the flickering lights of the night and the campfire that’s still dancing to some unheard song’s melody. You wish he could see himself, in that soft sweater you know he’s wearing because you love it, in his sweatpants that make his legs look so lean and perfect, with his face that is swept over by limitless enthusiasm every time he spots a shooting star.

To be honest though, he is the real shooting star. He is the glowing thing you admire in the darkness, the once-in-a-lifetime sight you have put your eyes on, extraordinary because of how unique a creation he is.

In this flickering, perfect moment beneath the night’s shimmering arc of unearthly glory with Jungkook, you swear you won’t let him pass the sky and burn off in your atmosphere. Shooting stars may fade but Jungkook won’t. He’ll stay among the glowing myriads of stars forever. You let the oath fall over your lips silently and lock it away in your heart, placing one hand on your heart, the other on his. We’ll be eternal, Jungkook.

As if he feels something happening, his hand moves to grasp yours on his chest. You love how long his fingers are, how they wrap around yours so gently.

His round brown eyes seem to have traded the night sky for you because he’s not watching the stars anymore, yet his face still features that expression of utter admiration. Your fingers play with his in a sweet game of lacing and touching.

“How are you so gorgeous?”

He shatters your defenses. 

“I- um. Thank you.”

“I look at the stars and I look at you and I see beauty both times. But you I can touch, you belong with me. How does the universe choose which pleasures to give to me and which to keep for itself?”

He slowly pulls you down until you lie on his chest. The most beautiful words come out of his mouth and you’re not sure whether he’s aware how sweetly they nestle in your heart, so you just caress his cheek, his face, letting your fingertips run little trails over his nose and his lips. He hums, letting his chest vibrate. A question arises in you, born from the softness of this shared peace.

“Do you really think the universe exists? Like, that it’s a being with a conscience?”

His hand glides underneath your sweater anew, brushing over your skin while he thinks about an answer.

“I think… that the universe is kind. It’s trying to make our lives worth living.”

“How so?”

“Well, sometimes we meet the right people at just the right time and say that it's such a coincidence and we don’t realize it’s the universe pulling us together. And when we go through a hard time or we just don’t feel good, it sends us shooting stars so we can wish for things that will make life better. The universe could be behind all things, or not at all. I would just like it better if it was.”

“More logical?”

“No, more romantic.”

He kisses your forehead and you lean against him, reveling in his affections. Jungkook is a romantic.

“Wow, you really thought about this.”

“Mhm. What do you think?”

You’re not sure whatever you’re doing right now can be called thinking. Listening to Jungkook means just enjoying him, his voice. You almost feel bad for not being able to pull up some deep thoughts about his topic but you know it doesn’t matter to him, so you just say what comes to mind.

“I think I would love to see one of those shooting stars and wish for something.”

He chuckles, running his nose’s tip against yours. The delicacy of the contact makes your breath hitch. You don’t move, don’t look away, not when his gaze is setting your veins on fire.

“You won’t find them in my eyes, darling.”

“But I can try,” you breathe, trying to imitate his low whisper that gives you shivers on your back.

Where his hands are. They slide up, then run down your spine with his nails caressing your skin. Simultaneously, your sides are trapped by his shoulders. He sits up a little to look at you better.

“So try,” Jungkook challenges, waiting for you to take the first step. That’s what you love about him, he’s never just taking or demanding. His affection is a simple invitation. His love is a delicious fragrance you are free to capture or release.

Tonight, you capture. You dip in, hands still on his chest but lips pressing into his. Even if there are no stars in his eyes, you close yours and there are enough stars there to pretend they belong to him. They only appear when he kisses you, so they might as well be his. Soft lips make soft sounds as he accepts what you give and adds to it with his own spin on kissing - breathing some air onto your lips before he pushes against them, again and again like a shallow wave lapping at a luxurious beach.

You’re completely caught up in his grasp, in his warm shelter underneath the far away stars that watch your love unfold. 

He flips you, heavy body gently pressing against yours. There’s a wonderful tension in him, the way he won’t crash down on you, how he holds you even though he is so excited for your touch. Your mind starts drifting off to imagine what else he could do to you in this position, a little further down the road, after some more heated back-and-forth, here, where no one is watching, outside, under his strong, moving body. You blush furiously, suddenly over-aware of the hotspots where your bodies are touching. Your calves, hips, your abdomen,…

Jungkook pulls you in again, kissing all over your face, mimicking the path your fingers painted on his face before. Soft giggles are his reward and when he moves back to your lips, you part them, giving him more access, more space to love you. It’s not one-sided, though, as he grants you the same, letting you explore his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. You suck on his lower lip, just where he likes to bite it whenever he teases you. Jungkook moans a little, and suddenly, you do think you see a shooting star in his eyes, like a flash passing by. The sight makes you stop and he whines from the sudden loss of affections. Above him, a real shooting star crosses the sky. He smiles a dazed smile.

“Did you see it? A shooting star, right now?”

“Yeah,” you raise your eyebrow, “how did you see it? You’re looking at me.”

“True,” he kisses your cheek, “but when I don’t look, I can feel some of them.”

“Feel. You feel shooting stars.”

“Yeah,” he licks his lips, “on my skin, right here.”

He pulls his sweater off, slowly as if to tease you while his hips move against yours as he straddles you, licking his lips again. The sweater comes off, revealing his body. His long hair’s strands fall in his face, adding to the wild handsomeness that is your boyfriend's face. How does the universe choose which pleasures to give to me and which to keep for itself?

It’s all tease when he takes your hand to let it wander from down below, from his abdomen over his abs to his chest, all the while searching your face intently for every tiny reaction he can draw from you. Controlling your breathing is so much harder than before, but you try to play it cool while you explode on the inside. Taking off his sweater was a powerful move and that little sneaky shit you call your boyfriend knows it. Letting your hand find the spot on his bare skin - it’s frustrating to realize how well he knows you. By now, he’s got you at his mercy but it’s an ecstatic feeling with him.

“Kook,” you whisper, unsure whether you intended to plead or to counter-tease. It comes out wrong either way. He’s messing with your head.

“It’s right… here,” he responds, still pressing your hand to his skin. It’s all warm, almost sizzling hot actually, and you wonder if little flames are going to appear around the outline of your hand.

“You’re so hot,” you say a little breathlessly and go stiff immediately. Crap. Frickin crap. Not. at. all. what I wanted to say. Stupid, stupid, your mind repeats and oh, how you wish teleporting was a real thing by now.  The biggest grin is plastered onto Jungkook’s face when you dare to look up again.

“Glad you think so,” is his elaborated response before he comes down again, mouth running against yours with untamable ferocity, proving your embarrassing statement in a different way. He’s hot the way he kisses because he kisses like there’s nothing he adores more than you, like there won’t ever be something else on his mind and like you deserve every single treasure he has. He flushes the embarrassment away with a single kiss. His agile body moves between your legs and that’s just mean.

You moan underneath him, your hand still placed where he put it, just on the left side of his ribcage, while he goes for your throat, nibbling gently. All of a sudden, there’s a tiny shiver tickling under your fingers as if a tiny electric current just appeared and disappeared.

“Jungkook!”

“Mmh, baby?”

“I felt it!”

“Hmm. I told you,” he laps at your skin lazily, not strong enough to create a hickey but definitely with enough intent to give you goosebumps. Your boyfriend is set on wrecking you gently and you love it.

“But- it’s not really a shooting star, right?”

He stops, running his nose over your cheek instead. “Oh, but it is.”

Another tiny shiver shakes the tender skin under your fingers. You feel the same excitement that he had before spread through you.

“Really!? You really feel shooting stars on your skin!? You weren’t joking?”

“Why would I joke about something so beautiful?”

His eyes glow that sweet amber honey for you, like he’s swallowed a piece of a star and now it’s starting to shine through. All his eyes fix on is you, not the stars, not your hand on his side, and slowly you think he’s drowning in you the same way you are drowning in him. Does he even know how precious he is to me?

You place a gentle kiss on his swollen lips and he goes for it, welcoming it, worshipping every second of it as if he hadn’t kissed you once today. Oh, God. Never take him away from me.

An idea is born when your fingertips rest on this precious inch of buzzing skin. You need to show him just how much he means to you, what a treasure he is. The bonfire cackles in the background and when you look up to him, sparks fly around him like a personal corona. It’s an image for eternity.

Slowly, very slowly, you pull him down, down on your body singing for his touch, with your bare calves rubbing against his, and your hips eager to remind him how to do the bachata you both practiced in that tiny, hot dance studio, on your fourth date. His mind seems to remember, working to your favor and not his as it pulls up a flood of memories for the both of you. He’s tensing further down but you don’t act on it. Not yet. Another electric spark runs past your fingertips. He’s magical.

"But why do you feel them?”

“I think the univ-”, he starts and it’s the go for your idea. Your nose runs over his shooting star spot. He sighs.

“Keep going, darling,” you whisper, eager for his hitched breath. Wreck me and I’ll pull you down with me. You grin at how sultry you sounded in your head. Boldness. You wear it better every time. Does he know he’s the only one who will ever get to see that?

“I-I think the universe wants to make sure I don’t-” While he speaks, you run your tongue over the tender spot he’s revealed to you.

“Mmh baby,” he breathes, head almost lolling around.

"You didn’t finish.”

"Make sure - God - makes sure I don’t - ugh - miss my wishes.”

Satisfied that he’s holding his breath in anticipation, you nibble on the spot, even letting your teeth graze it. His eyes close as he slacks a little, not quite able to hold his weight off you, which reveals to you just how many shivers you send to dance over his skin.

It’s a ballet of sorts, goosebumps and shivers making for graceful yet uncontrollable dancers, the orchestra a collaborative effort of your licks and his hums and little growls. It’s when you suck it lightly that he really pants.

“Darling,” he hums, almost voiceless, “y-you make the stars dance.”

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

tags: @xmagicxshopx, @taeshuworld, @justanemptydream, @hoodmeup, @gingerpeachtae

[starkerinlove]

A Star(ker) is born

Yes,I am proud of that pun, come at me:) This is only a fic idea.

Tony Stark, a timeless artist, is known for his rough but soothing voice, writing and making songs popular among all genres and ages of people

Tony himself bored of the exhaustive demands of his record. The media knows him for his lavish parties, night club scandals and innumerable awards and ofcourse his crazy fan base.

Peter, the doe eyed 19 year old, with a beautiful voice and an angelic face. He works at bars and clubs singing for pennies and tips.

Tony sees Peter for the first time on stage at a small club which he came to after being bored of his business associates in the other high end club.

Tony is impressed and mesmerised by the boy and his voice, something that hasn't happened to him in a long time.

Peter sees his idol, his freaking inspiration sitting in a bar and listening to him and immediately flounders. Tony just smiles and quirks his head for him to continue.

Peter sings a new song, something he hasn't ever sung in public, a song he wrote about Tony Stark and how his music was the best memories he had with his family. ( I'll always remember us this way)

Tony invites Peter to come with him for his world tour. They have an amazing time together. Tony after a long time enjoys being on a tour, showing Peter new places, writing songs, and singing together, on stage during the day. They laugh, they write, they live like an a hozier song fairy tale.

They fall in love a little bit more every song they write, they love each other a little bit more everytime they share a smile on stage.

They kiss on stage for the first time singing 'Shallow'.

The media backlash against their relationship, that Tony is too old or a predator, or Peter is talentless or a gold digger affects them soo little, it is laughable.

They are both happy, truly happy and are so in love with each other. The first collaborated album they release after their official relationship is the best album of the decade and really Starker records are only getting started.

Okay, there's that. Oh, and no, Tony wont die, like ever in any of my fics. So they are gonna be happy, because i said so. Does anyone wanna write an actual fic, pls?

[the-nazario-chug]

The Shallow

Author's Note: Hope you guys enjoy this! I've been wanting to make a Raleigh fic forever lol I'm actually really proud how this turned out, which does not happen often.

Summary: Leraine Young, AKA Raine, has returned to the Madison Square Garden. This time not as the opening act, but the act. However, her notorious fake-ex crashes the party (in the best way).

Pairing: Raleigh Carrera (M) x MC (Leraine Young)

Word Count: +2,100

Disclaimer: Pixelberry owns Platinum and Raleigh Carrera. A Star Is Born and all the rights belong to Warner Bros. Pictures.

The energy of the concert hall is on fire. When a crowd of twenty thousand people is stomping their feet and chanting her name like she just won the world series, it's hard not to get nervous. And excited. Also nauseous.

With that in mind, she should try not to puke on stage in front of thousands of her fans, a jumbo-tron, and just about the entirety of the American press.

So no pressure, as usual.

Raine! Raine! Raine! Raine!

Needless to say Zadie and her team had gone all out for this show. Raine is all dolled up in a gorgeous purple and blue gradient leotard, covered in sparkling rhinestones and flashy tassels, complemented with rhinestone fringe ankle-boots. Her black wavy hair dyed with a dark red ombre and her makeup neutral with a dark lip (though with a sprinkling of blue eye-shadow glitter). She's clutching Raleigh's guitar which he had given to her the day they met, something she now considers her good-luck charm when the man himself isn't present. (it also goes well with her outfit, which is a plus.)

Speaking of her handsome as sin, totally not fake ex-boyfriend, he did say he'd be here to send her off tonight. Raine's seen hide nor hair of him, but she didn't want to take it personally. If he’s busy she knew they could meet up later and celebrate. Unfortunately, it is a sacrifice commonly made in their line of work, so they both tried their damnedest to not let it get between them.

As Raine tries to sneak a peek through the curtains, she feels a tap on her shoulder and turns (definitely hoping for it to be Raleigh) to see Fiona grinning at her. Looking suspiciously like the cat that just caught the canary.

"There's been a change of plans. Open with your rendition of 'Shallow' from A Star Is Born. It'll be our little announcement for your cameo in the movie."

This is a little odd, it wasn't often Fiona changed plans last minute. It didn't really make sense how eager her manager looked either as she was hardly easy to please.

It also happened that song was supposed to be a duet.

Though as the cheers rose to a roar, the thought was swept from Raine's mind. It wasn't so unusual to go solo for a duet, and she has a long performance to ready herself for. So, she takes deep breaths as Fiona gives her a thumbs up and hurries off to the wings.

Despite the cacophony out on the stage, Raine can still hear the echo of her heels beat in sync with her thumping heart. And when she grins wide and gives a cheery wave, they become even louder than she thought possible. Raine laughs in delight.

The lights blare down and she can hardly see a face in the stadium.

"What's up MSG! How are we feeling tonight?" Raine yelled into her microphone as she yanked it from the stand, and turned it to the screams from the audience.

"I'm thrilled to be here for all of you. I know you're as hyped as I am for the new movie 'A Star Is Born' coming out this fall. So tonight I'm happy to start off with the premiere hit 'Shallow' as the cherry on the cake! I hope you all enjoy!"

In the excitement, Raine adjusts her guitar and readies herself to strum the melody. A lilting acoustic intro filters through the speakers.

Only thing is, Raine hadn't started playing yet.

Her chest constricts as the cheers rise again in intensity. In the din, Raine can hear footsteps against the floor of the stage, and when she turns she can't hide the way her jaw drops.

"Tell me somethin' girl,"

Raleigh is sauntering towards her, all bow-legged swagger and strumming his own guitar. He doesn't even bother to keep that cocky smirk off his face 'cause he knows he got her good.

"Are you happy in this modern world? 

Or do you need more?"

Looking up at her through his lashes, eyes bright and his hair tousled to perfection. He's wearing a tank top with a suspiciously familiar rhinestone design and how dare you level tight denim jeans. Suddenly her heart is racing for an entirely different reason than just the thrill of performing. This had been planned since the start and she was none the wiser. Last minute change of plans, her ass.

Raine decides not to bother getting lost in all the details though. Any surprise that includes her man serenading her while looking fine as hell, she isn't going to complain about.

"Is there somethin' else you're searchin' for? 

I'm fallin'"

He was close now, real close. The soft timbre of his voice rolling over her in waves, tempting Raine to close her eyes and appreciate the soothing tones. The only thing stopping her is Raleigh's eyes, piercing hers with an intense honesty and longing she had only recently gotten to see in earnest. A gaze she was starting to adore. Her own stare, meanwhile, wanders down to his arms that are looking too good in that top, the muscles tensing with a light sheen of sweat reflected from the packed stadium and lights. She'd be embarrassed from her ogling, if his survey of her in return wasn't as shameless.

And as sure as Raine is that they are not supposed to be seen together like this in public, she should have guessed that Raleigh would be this ostentatious while breaking that rule.

"In all the good times I find myself longin',

For change,

And in the bad times I fear myself."

While Raleigh continued plucking the instrumental, Raine finally registered some fans talking in her periphery.

"Oh my god, didn't they break up?"

"He's trying to win her over! That's so romantic!"

"They still look so good together, are they gonna start dating again?"

Taking another breath in, Raine knows her part was coming up. So she gives into her temptation and takes a step closer to him. Close enough that she can feel the heat of his breath against her cheek. She raises the mic between them.

"Tell me somethin' boy,

Are you tired of tryin' to fill that void?

Or do you need more?

Ain't it hard keepin' it so hardcore?"

Filling the space between them with her voice, she thought about how fitting this is for them. Though she didn't doubt it was intentional. Now she understood why Fiona would have this change of heart, allowing them to be seen like this. It was as dramatic as their faux break-up for sure. Generating hype for her upcoming cameo and therefore, her royalties.

But Raine didn't care about that. All she cares about is the man in front of her. The spotlight is shining a halo around his perfect-messy hair, and she finds herself wanting to run her fingers through it. For a brief moment, she wonders if her urge would give their game away somehow. (Not that she already had with that lean in.)

Screw it. Raleigh can surprise Raine at her own concert, she's allowed to have some surprises up her rhinestone encrusted sleeves too.

"I'm fallin'," As Raine continues the chorus, she reaches up strokes her free hand through his dark locks. She holds in her own giddiness while Raine swears she can hear squeals erupt from the crowd, but Raleigh is all she wants to keep her attention on. A surge of satisfaction and affection grows in her chest when she sees the shivers that course through him, and how his eyelids flutter in pleasure. The almost inaudible rumble from Raleigh's chest that she can feel from their short distance apart. Pride that she's the one who can do this to him.

"In all the good times I find myself lo-ongin'

For change," Her hand drifts from his hair to his ear, and cheek. Restraining a shiver of her own as her thumb rubs the stubble along his jawline, then glides to his mouth and grazes his bottom lip. Raleigh's eyes are dark and the electricity of the connection between them sparks with vigor. God, she wants to kiss this man already.

All good things to those who wait, she decides, especially when Raleigh Carrera is concerned.

"And in the bad times, I fear myself-"

Her voice echoes throughout the Garden, and as Raine reaches up again to brush a stray lock of hair from his brow, it feels like they're the only two in the world. In the silence of thousands holding their breath, and the air crackling with unspoken tension, she's never felt so connected to a single person.

In that moment they both grin, their hearts zinging with that knowledge. Raine tilts her head back slightly and serenades the hell out of her beau. When her belting voice reverberates, the tension cracks and their fans cheer unabashed again.

"I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in

I'll never meet the ground!

Crash the surface, where they can't hurt us, we're far from the shallow now."

High off the thrill of the stage, and each other, Raine and Raleigh lean closer and sing together. Practically nose to nose, Raine can hear the cheeky intrusive thought in the back of her mind that he is so it for her, now.

"We're far from the shallow now…"

As the crowd's cheers reach their peak again, they both stay in each others space. For a second it feels like they're in their own little bubble again, like no one could hear them.

Until Raleigh mutters something that is very much heard by everyone.

"Be my girl, Leraine."

Raine's eyes dart to his, to find him already looking up at her with a soft smile.

"Raleigh… ?" Right now that's all she can squeak out, she knows he's aware how close the mic is to their faces. And their audience is almost unnervingly silent. Raine supposed some part of her knew they'd get back together in public after the concert but she wasn't expecting it to be so quick.

He smiles patiently, and steps back before going down on one knee. Thousands of voices gasp and mutter amongst themselves. But Raleigh's only looking at her.

"I know I messed up big time, and I didn't realize it until it was too late. I never meant to hurt you. And I never expected how much that would hurt me. 'Cause you make me want something real, Leraine. You make me want to be real. What's between us is like nothing I've ever known before, and I was an idiot for not seeing that sooner. Do you wanna give this another chance?" Raleigh's voice is soft but sure, like he's been waiting to let all of that out forever.

Some of it is for show, Raine isn't naive enough to think otherwise. So no one suspects their first go around was fake. But what Raine does know is his feelings are real and just for her. What the public knew didn't matter as long as she had Raleigh Carrera in her life.

Pulse hammering, Raine smiles and whispers into the world.

"Yeah, I'd honestly love that."

Raleigh grins and surges up to meet her, and all of the sudden he's holding and kissing her finally without anymore waiting necessary. And all she can think is woah. Their guitars and the microphone who knows where now. Hopefully not smashed on the ground.

Still, she doesn't regret what just happened in the slightest.

In the elated screaming around them, Raleigh mutters against her lips, "I'm totally gonna spin you."

"What? You are not-!"

He's got that shit eating grin on that she knows means, I've got a great idea everyone else knows is bad but none of you can stop me.

"Yup, I'm doing it. This is happening."

"Raleigh, no it's-!! Auh!"

Even with her protests, she's still laughing when Raleigh lifts her by her thighs and spins her on the stage. Much to the delight of everyone in attendance.

When they're both out of breath and Raleigh's put her back in his arms, the words he whispers in her ear Raine knows are meant for her alone.

"I'm glad I've got you keeping me honest, love."

Lights flash around them as he keeps holding her close, no doubt the paparazzi and fans alike capturing every moment. And just like the song from their impromptu duet Raine can see with clarity how crazy her life has now become. How deep they both are in this sea of stardom.

Well, so long as Raleigh’s there with her, she can’t bring herself to mind.

[unclefungusthegoat]

Will The Circle Be Unbroken? - Far Cry 5 Week (Day 6): Music

Hello all! So in all honesty, I wrote most of this an entire year ago hahaha, for the Hope County Gothic Festival but got really shy about posting it. But I figured I could use it for the Far Cry 5 Week, for the Music day! It’s a songfic, featuring a song that I really wish had been in the game - Will The Circle Be Unbroken and it’s FUNERAL FIC HOOORAAAAY. 

Here is the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9F1l6xXLSI0

Get ready for some ALTERNATIVE EULOGIES too, because sadness is fun.

This can be read on AO3: HERE

All my FC5 Week fics can be read: HERE

Trigger Warnings: Canonical Major Character Deaths, Mentions of Child Abuse, Mentions of Drowning, Decomposition, Fire and Funeral Pyres

The ceasefire was fragile.

Undefined.

No flag upon ramparts, or ink marked on a page. Just an agreement, whispered, gestured and silently promised, that a single night would be set apart for retrieval and burial of the dead. Sundown until sunrise. Not a shot to be fired, confession to be heard, building to be bombed, or heretic strung up. Just stillness and rest. A new Sabbath, of sorts. And for the people of Hope County who spent vast swathes of the day clinging to their lives, it seemed nothing short of a miracle.

It was on this night, on a dusty road through the dead farmland, that a procession of faithful came marching. Their faces were turned to the darkened sky. Eyes burning with sorrow, searing vibrantly like stardust. Alight with fury. Dampened with grief. And with their gaze, they spared no glance for the heretics who lined the path. No care for the vengeful, who bit their tongues and held in their spittle, and sought a glance of the dead to ease their blood lust. Not even a thought for the sinner who had taken so much, challenged their holy purpose. Given them this weight upon their shoulders.

The Father led with faltering step.

His eyes were hazy behind tinted glass. His fingers trembled. His scars, his sins, seemed to burn. But his voice was resolute, the melody echoing through the dark:

There are loved ones in the glory, Whose dear forms you often miss; When you close your earthly story, Will you join them in their bliss?

Carried aloft upon the faithful’s shoulders, upon beds made from velvet, slept the Heralds of Eden. Stilled into a long awaited peace, punctures incarnadine between their ribs a stark reminder of how they had suffered.

Each lay daubed in their own decay.

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

It was a song they had always known.

And though it was his flock that called the hymn forth, Joseph could only hear Jacob's low timbre, humming it to ease him into sleep when the belt marks on his back cut too deep. After Old Mad Seed had bellowed Bible verses in his ears, and torn heathen drawings from where they were pinned proudly on the bedroom wall. On the school bus after another endless night hearing Mother scream.

Then slowly he heard his own voice, tinged with a weariness too antiquated for how young he had been. He heard it reverberate through the orphanage halls, the eve before John had been taken away. He'd stroked his brother's hair and caught his tears with his thumbs, and sang until the sun rose:

In the joyous days of childhood, Oft they told of wondrous love, Pointed to the dying Saviour; Now they dwell with Him above.

The lyrics had been worn down by their use when he had been alone. Comforting. Protective. Like an old pair of boots too reliable to cast aside, or a threadbare blanket that still smells of home.

Or the memory of a brother stood boldly in the fire’s glow.

“Jacob...”

Dog tags now around his own neck, metal scraping with every step.

A blood soaked rabbit’s foot.

“You sought purpose. You were lost. I showed you who you once were, and opened your eyes to the Garden you were born to protect. And you cast aside your weakness- the weariness wrought deep within your soul by governments and generals who sought to use your compassion for their selfish ideals. You became strong, brother. You sheltered our Eden with a heart forged in battle. You asked nothing but brotherhood in return. You embraced your family with the strength of gods. And you carried that strength until the end.”

The Soldier, freshly slain, lay proud, like a Viking martyr. Knife threaded between his fingers, the ancient burns that speckled him like rust on the armour he still seemed to bear. His Judges crowned the mountain ledges, howling to the night sky. In the torchlight, his fiery hair shimmered like copper wire; a fleeting glance might think it a halo encircling his skull. His mind, once full of the horrors of war, now quieted. His mouth, that knew the taste of man, free to taste the soil.

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

“Faith...”

He had yet to choose another.

None else had her heart, her spirit, her devotion.

“There were some who thought you cruel. Calculating. Jezebel incarnate. They did not understand that you were a mother, and with the burden of motherhood comes a heavy hand. I chose you because you did not shy away from the lessons children must learn. You took the lost and gave them wings. You took the despairing and gave them hope. You took the sick of soul and gave them peace. You took the name of Seed and let it’s glory shine through you. Rest well, my sister. Sleep well, my Faith.”

The Siren once wielded beauty. Now her face was swollen and pallid, bloated where the water had filled her pores and the creatures of the lake had begun to strip her skin away. Yet how sweetly she was scented by the flowers in her flaxen hair! It mingled with the fresh smell of the trees and the distant tang of smoke, heightened in the darkness, when the senses are keen. Even in death, she seduced onlookers with her song. A song composed of silence, of hope and dreams now lost, underscored with the cries of those who mourned.

You remember songs of heaven Which you sang with childish voice, Do you love the hymns they taught you, Or are songs of earth your choice?

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

“John...”

He’d finally reached the sky.

Feathered his wings.

Joseph’s heart was fracturing. Oh, the things he wished to say...

“I carry your sin upon my shoulder, that same shoulder three times you felt bitten by wrath. It is a sin of neglect. Neglect of your faith and your body, and by that, God, for we are made in his image. You saw a god every time you glanced in a mirror. A cruel world made you vain and selfish, and the child who had suffered so greatly thought you invincible. You drowned in your pride, as I drown in my regret that I could not save you. I pray that you know my disappointment, John, and I beg mercy for your soul. In all my prayers, and my dreams of eternity together, I ask only that God sees how very hard you tried.”

The Baptist had rotted where he had fallen, swallowed by the damp earth. Shards of dirt had claimed the sorrows inked upon his flesh, the stories he’d wanted to the world to know. His palms were frayed by rope. His lungs were lined with lead. But now he lay in the starlight, arisen from nature’s oesophagus to be cleansed and laid to rest with honour. The bones of his collapsing face seemed testament to how he’d be forgotten. But oh, how they cried his name! A saint, redeemed. A sinner, saved.

You can picture happy gath'rings 'Round the fireside long ago, And you think of tearful partings, When they left you here below.

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

In the distance, he could see the pyres silhouetted by the moonlight. Though their bodies were cold, his Heralds would soon feel warmth again, and the embers that rose from the flames would carry their souls to the stars.

It would be a sight remembered for an age; the first flames of a Collapse long awaited.

And soon, all would burn-

-------------------------------------------------------------

Joseph’s eyes flickered open, and the fuchsia tinge of this new world’s morning mist settled into view. He sat lost in the blossoming forest, somewhere near the old compound. Sweet nectar scented the air. Damp grass and sodden earth cocooned his feet. He shivered slightly, his naked chest baptized by the dew.

Before him lay a single grave, shallow and solitary. Dirt was unceremoniously cast across it, and a rusted iron crucifix of Eden’s Gate, now New Eden, stood guard.

No flowers.

No velvet.

No choir of lamenting brothers and sisters.

Not even their names.

His body had whined under the strain of shovelling. Age and years of almost starving had weakened his arms, but when the Judge had offered to accompany him, to put to rest the overwhelming guilt that had consumed them, and to move the dirt for him, he gently refused. He owed it to his family to do it himself. It had taken him days to hike across the county, alone with only his memories, to collect their remains. What little remained of them after all those years.

He had had not the strength, or enough of them left, to dig three.

But they were reunited now, in eternal embrace. No ceremony. No procession. No pomp and martyrdom, as he had dreamed. Their resting place was the picture of modesty. Humility. A grave for the truly devoted. Their bones would turn to chalk and clay, and they would feed the insects and the reawakened soil.

Watch the new Eden grow.

Someday he’d be buried there with them.

Together forever.

And he thought, as he rested beside them to finish their song:

What more had they ever wanted?

One by one their seats were emptied, One by one they went away; Now the family is parted, Will it be complete one day?

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

[shipersanonymous]

A Flash fan fiction ❤️

By ShipersAnonymous and Annasorayasmith

....

I remember.

I remember it all. In flashes of red. The agony. The betrayal. The sound of my heart breaking. The silence as they each forgot about me.

As they left me behind.

I remember. And I don't intend to forgive.

..................................................................................

Author's Note:

A-hoy there shippers!

So I've been biting my tongue to keep this in cause I'm terrible at keeping secrets! But it's finally here!

I can't tell you how over the moon I am at this collaboration with @annasorayasmith who trusted me enough with her thoughts and let me put them into words.

I've never done anything like this before and this story has so much it's a challenge to find out which angle is better suited to tell the story (their all so good!). I hope that together we can do the story justice and hope that you enjoy it!

We've mixed a little Godly mythology into this with a bit of romance, a lot of familial drama and a splash of angst! It's a Barry/Eobard fic but to my shippers out there don't worry West-Allen will still form apart of this wild mix!

To my lovely co-author, thank you a million times over for sharing your imagination with me and believing in my skills enough to let me copilot. I look forward to reaching our destination but I'm stoked for the journey we're embarking on!

All aboard!!!

XOXO

💜🖤

*************Cliffhanger Warning*************

Prologue

His chubby fingers curled over the bar of gold that formed part of the crib’s frame. With curious eyes, he lifted himself onto the tips of his toes and peered inside. A flushed face, wrinkled and topped with a thin sheet of glossy, auburn hair, rested soundly against the mattress. The creature looked so small and fragile, like if he reached in hard enough he could hold its head between his infantile hands and squeeze with enough pressure to make it burst.

He smiled at the malevolent thought. 

As if sensing his darkened intent, the babe’s lips trembled before a holler, loud and panicked pushed out of them.

Strong voice for such a tiny thing.

His mother came rushing in, the worry in her eye unmistakable, fuelling his hatred. She swooped the hollering child into her arms and pressed it against her bosom. With the honey milk voice she used to reserve just for him, a song echoed from her chest and ruffled the clouds that they called home. The love in each note pronounced. The admiration and affection clear in each word.

The lullaby breaking his heart.

He shuffled to his mother’s side with his head hung in sadness. With the gentleness mastered only by a child, he tugged at her skirt for attention.

“Ami?” he called, a name he’d lovingly kept from his days as a babbling infant learning to speak, but his call went unanswered. Her attention had been captured by the creature that now laid still in her embrace.

The embrace stolen from him.

“Ami?” he tried again and this time her gaze turned towards him, her body continued its gentle sway as she danced with the little god.

“Achilles, my sweet, hush a moment and let mama put Apollo to sleep.” she pleaded softly, the affection in her golden eyes shining through like the rays of the rising sun. He could never deny her a wish when she smiled at him so warmly. So he swallowed down his pride with hopes that his good behaviour would win her favour enough for him to keep her love. As she carried on singing and swaying, he diligently held on to her skirt.

His tiny palm began to sweat and he tightened his grip. His unripe muscles thumped with a dull ache and stiffness, yet little Achilles persisted.

He was too afraid to let go.

At last she replaced the child in its bed of gold and turned her full attention onto him. His heart beat hopeful that his determination had paid off and when she smiled down at him he reached out his arms, begging her to pick him up. Needing to be encapsulated by her warmth, reassured that he hadn’t lost her. Instead she knelt down before him and drew him in for a hug.

“My sweet, sweet Achilles. I’m afraid I no longer poses the strength to carry you like I used to. You’ve grown so much,” she says once they pull apart and her eyes sparkle with a gleam of sadness, coloured by a hint of maternal pride. But little Achilles, small as he was, failed to read the emotion on her face and simply attached meaning to her words.

Was he now too big because she had a smaller model to compare him too? Was she now too weak because her strength had been exhausted on the creature that lay fast asleep in his crib? Regardless of the reason, there was a single common thread in both explanations.

Apollo.

This fiend he had to call brother had stolen from him the one thing he treasured most. The one fortune the stars had granted him. The love of his mother. He could feel it in the core of his very being.

“Iris!” his father’s thunderous voice boomed from a distance and she turned her head towards the sound.

“In a minute my lord,” she called back.

“Your father is in need of me, I must make haste. I plead thee, Achilles, do not wake thy brother,” she asked and he nodded.

As a reward for his compliance he received a kiss on the forehead before his mother took her leave. He waited till he was truly alone and approached the sleeping babe. Peering into the cot once again, he was filled with a dark determination to see his beloved mother rid of the parasite that harmed her so. With no one there to bare witness his eyes flickered a deep red and the corners of his lips turned up into a grin that rid his childish face of all its innocence. The old woman had warned him that the child that grew within his mother would bring nothing but misery. If she was right about that she must have been right about his quest.

It was his destiny to save his Ami. To rid the heavens of the abomination that shared his father’s blood with him. To be a hero that only a son of Zeus could be. As the seed planted itself into his naïve little heart and took root, the red glow died out of his eyes but it did not disappear completely. It simply slumbered behind the hazel of his irises, awakening each time he laid eyes on his bother.

…

The red in his eyes glows brighter than ever before as Eobard, triumphantly gazes down at a semi-conscious Barry. The loud roar of thunder drowns out Barry’s pained whimpers but the grimace on his bloody and bruised features is enough to appease Thawne’s sadistic hunger for the time being.

The blood stained rain drops, drip from his fingers to pool at his feet where it joins the river of red streaming from Barry, whose breaths are shallow. Each inhale agonising as it vibrates through his shattered ribs. Each exhale bringing him closer to his end.

Barry’s vision is blurred from the swelling of his eyes and bloody rain that wets his lashes, and yet he can still make out the haunting red orbs that glow like demon flashlights.

“W-Why?” he manages to whisper, searching for closure. A reason for his sudden and unjustified demise. Eobard let’s out a spine chilling cackle that slices through the night air, bleeding into the symphony of the storm.

“Poor, unsuspecting fool,” he spits.

“So naïve!” he punctuates his point with a kick to Barry’s side. The young man groans out in pain, a soft, tortured sound as he is too weak to scream.

“So unaware…” another kick.

“…Of the gift you’ve been granted. The honour bestowed upon you. So unworthy of the blood of Zeus.” A sneer of disgust crosses his lips as he gazes down at the weak, trembling figure at his feet. The thought that he is somehow connected to the whimpering mess, shames him. It dulls the glory of the Godly name bestowed upon him.

“Your existence is a mistake! A universal miscalculation. An error bound to bring misery to who’s ever path you cross.” Eobard sneers as he takes the two steps needed to close the distance his kicks had opened between them. Barry simply lays on his back, barely conscious, his eyes closed, his mind flipping through his memories with Iris to help ease his physical pain.

Her smile. Her touch. The sweet smell of her skin. The softness of her lips. The feel of her hair between his fingers. The lively sparkle in her eyes.

“But I intend to fix that.” Thawne declares as he sinks down on one knee and violently grabs Barry by the collar. The brisk movement sends a shock wave of pain through the injured boy’s body and forces his eyes to open as much as the swelling will allow.

Fear slithers into his heart.

“It’s why I was born. My destiny. And believe me when I say….”

Thawne holds his free hand up for Barry to see and though his vision is still impaired, Barry hears the moment his hand begins to vibrate. It’s a gut twisting sound that creeps into his bones and paralyses him. He’s never heard it before but something in him recognises it as a bad omen.

Death is coming.

“… that I’m going to enjoy the honour of ending your worthless life.” An evil smile of satisfaction thins Thawne’s lips as the prospect of his victory gives him the last bit of strength he needs.

A bolt of lightning lights up the sky with the brilliance of stadium lights.

A thunder clap, deafening like the roar of a mighty lion, rattles the wet earth.

Thawne, oblivious to it all, begins to lower his deadly hand onto Barry’s chest.

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Song List

tagged by @schoute to list 5 OTP/OC songs, thank you! Since I am almost done with my fic that features Sophie and Connor from DBH I thought I would do them. Music is, of course, very important to their story :D Some of these are referenced in the story, others I listened to a lot while I was writing, or it just makes me think of them :)

1. A Lover’s Concerto-Sarah Vaughn 

2. Your Song- Elton John

3.Don’t Worry Baby- Beach Boys

4.Play Me- Neil Diamond

5. Harvest Moon- Neil Young

6. Shallow- Gaga and Cooper from A Star is Born (ha.)

Some Sophie specific songs: 

Nightbird by Stevie Nicks, Please Let Me Wonder, The Beach Boys

And some Connor specfic songs:

I’ll be back and  Something- The Beatles (which is kind of funny because he’s not the biggest fan of the Beatles, tehehe)

tagging @dickeybbqpit @galadrieljones (do you have a playlist for Arthur and Mary Beth? :D) @skyholdherbalist @thevikingwoman @muse-of-nightmares @deviantramblings @out-of-the-embers @savbakk (who also did the art, THANKS! :D) @briarfox13 @agentkatie <3

[cakesunflower]

Lie To Me [L.H.] // Youngblood Song Fic Series

Disclaimer: Third installation of my Youngblood Song Fic Series. No parts have anything to do with each other, they can all be read individually ((though I’d love for you to read them all!)).

All Installments: Youngblood [C.H.] | Want You Back [L.H.] | Better Man [C.H.] | Monster Among Men [C.H.] | Ghost Of You [L.H.]

Lie To Me [L.H.]—I know that you don’t but if I ask you if you love me, I hope you li-li-li-lie, lie to me.

The sun burned her eyelids, making Y/N squeeze her already shut eyelids and mentally curse herself for not drawing the curtains the night before. Sunlight always streamed into her bedroom in the morning, the position of her bed in relation to the window bathing her in it and often waking her before she wanted to. She buried her face into the pillow, muffling her groan as her right arm stretched out next to her, only to be met with an empty space.

Forcefully blinking her eyes open, Y/N frowned sleepily, confusedly, when she registered the wrinkled sheets next to her, the only imprint of the body that had been sleeping next to her but was no longer there. Her heart thudded and Y/N wanted to snap at herself for feeling the tug of disappointment because this wasn’t the first time she’d woken up with him gone. She should be used to it. Of course, she wasn’t.

However, it wasn’t until she’d pulled the covers off her naked body and pulled on a pair of night shorts and a random shirt that she suddenly smelt the delicious aroma of waffles wafting into her room. Y/N frowned for a second as she left her room, walking down the narrow hallway of her apartment before it opened up into the kitchen, brows smoothing to raise at the sight of her missing bed partner pulling out the syrup from a cabinet.

“Oh, hey,” Y/N sounded, voice hoarse from sleep as she walked further into the kitchen. “I thought you’d left.”

“Not without breakfast,” Luke chuckled, already dressed in the clothes he’d shown up in last night. Y/N bit the inside of her lower lip, admiring the black and white striped sweatpants and simple black tee with his band’s newest album name written above his heart. His blonde curls were a mess, a mixture of bedhead and sex hair, and Y/N’s fingers itched to run through them again just like they had been last night. “What’s the mood for today? Tea or coffee?”

Y/N fought the smile from tugging at her lips, sitting down on one of the chairs at the round table she kept in the kitchen. “Tea, please.”

With her arm propped on the back of the chair, Y/N rested her chin on her palm, eyes following Luke’s every move as he made his way around her kitchen, having been here enough times to be familiar with where everything was kept. She watched as he put the kettle on after filling it with enough water for two cups, before moving to the cabinet where she kept her mugs and then getting the tea bags from another one.

There was always a heaviness in her heart whenever she watched Luke work around her apartment as if he lived here, a rock settling into the pit of her stomach as the sight of him making her breakfast allowed her mind to wander into the familiar yet dangerous territory of her imagination. He looked so comfortable there, Y/N couldn’t help but observe with a fond smile as he pulled out the pot of sugar, as if he belonged right there. Those were thoughts that often crawled out from the back corner of her mind whenever Luke was in her apartment, making Y/N think of an imaginative situation twisted from the bitter reality that what she wanted was, probably, never going to happen.

Still, a girl could dream.

She loved watching Luke make himself comfortable in her apartment, loved that he knew where she kept everything and loved how fucking domestic he looked. The flutter of her heart and shallowing of her breath every time he came into her mind wasn’t just because Y/N loved watching him act like he lived here with her. It was because she loved him and she enjoyed the warmth that bubbled in her stomach at the thought for a brief moment before reality settled like a hard rock, reminder her that she was being stupid.

Because he didn’t love her. And as much as she loved being with him, the heartbreak was always ever-present.

“Hey, you good?” Y/N blinked, not realizing just how long she’d lost herself in her thoughts. Long enough for Luke to sit down next to her with two plates of waffles and two mugs of steaming tea. She looked at him, caught the slight concerned wrinkle in his brows and wished he’d stopped looking at her like he cared. She knew he cared about her—but just not as much as she did about him. Not the same extent.

“Yeah, just tired,” she forced a smile, quick and brief before looking away for him to not catch the fakeness of it—would he catch it?—before reaching for her mug. She took a sip and hummed, Luke already having put in just the right amount of sugar she liked. “‘S good,” she mumbled quietly against the rim.

Luke smiled, goofily proud before taking a bite of his syrupy waffle. “You comin’ to the rehearsal show tomorrow?” he asked once he swallowed.

Y/N almost felt pathetic every time her heart fluttered in her chest when Luke asked her that, asked if she would show up to his band’s special rehearsal, their final one before tour started where they invited all their friends. It wasn’t unusual for him to ask her to come, always giving her a pass so she could come. Above all else, she and Luke were friends and he always wanted his friends to come to their shows, especially when they were in Los Angeles. And she loved to go—loved listening to those songs live in all their glory and loved watching Luke perform on stage. Every time she did, she would come to the same conclusion that Luke was born to be on stage—he was a rock star to his very core, and the sight of him doing what he loved filled Y/N with more pride and love and adoration than she could comprehend.  

Still, she wasn’t going to give in right away. “I don’t know,” she teasingly hummed, poking a piece of waffle with her fork as she smirked, “Your band’s kinda lame.”

Luke pouted and Y/N resisted the urge to kiss him because they didn’t. They only ever kissed when they were fucking, otherwise only expressing a kiss on the cheek or forehead when they were with their friends. Never on the lips, never an indicator that they were anything more. Their friends knew what they were doing, knew that Y/N was who Luke saw most of the time when he was in Los Angeles, but to everyone else she was just a friend of the boys. Has been for years. Nothing more, nothing less.

What bullshit.

Y/N hated that unofficial rule but she knew better than to say anything against it. Knew that if she did, Luke would drop her faster than a hot rock. And that wasn’t entirely his fault—she knew what she was getting herself into when she and Luke started sleeping together, knew Luke was too far gone, too damaged from one mess of a relationship after another to pursue a new one. He didn’t want that kind of commitment; not now, not anymore. And Y/N was convinced that she was a misogynist because she’d rather silently love Luke without him knowing and get to be with him than risk losing him altogether if she told him what she really wanted.

Wasn’t love about suffering, anyway? Or was that just something Y/N told herself so she didn’t feel too pathetic about this situation?

                                                         *****

Of course Y/N knew Luke was leaving. They’d been prepping for this tour for months, she listened to the boys talk about it when they were together and heard every word Luke said when they were laying in either one of their beds, tired and spent with hearts beating to the lull of the conversation. But watching them rehearse for one last time, singing some of their best songs for her and all their friends before they left in a few days, unsettled her stomach more than the beer she was nursing. He’d leave, they’d talk once every few days, and Y/N would be left rejecting any guy that tries to make a move on her because the one she was in love with was far away. In every sense of the word.

“How d’you like it so far?” Luke’s question yanked Y/N out of her pitying thoughts as she blinked up at the tall man. His eyebrows were raised expectantly, an excited and hopeful gleam lighting up his bright baby blues and Y/N couldn’t help but smile automatically.

“It’s awesome,” she nodded in honest appraisal, glancing around to see everyone and enjoying some drinks. Y/N figured while she lost herself in her thoughts the band was taking a break halfway through. “The songs sound really great live.”

Luke’s smile widened, dimples and teeth and happiness brightening his features and Y/N had to hide her lips by taking a sip from her cup because they were quivering from the wave of sadness that washed over her. The only thing that was running through her mind was that he was leaving. He’d go to live his dream and have the time of his life and she’ll be left in California, hating herself for not having a better handle on her feelings. For falling in love when she wasn’t supposed to.

But it was Luke; stupid, perfect Luke with a heart of gold and shoes to match and how could she not fall in love with him?

And she knew. With every fiber of her being, with every crack in her heart that he didn’t love her the way she loved him and still she stayed. She yearned. She fooled herself. What am I doing?

Suddenly she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her heart hammered and Y/N told herself to calm down but still her skin heated up like an angry fire. She’d gravitated towards the back of the crowd during the break, her ears deaf to the sound of the band performing Amnesia because all she could hear was a ringing. Like her heart was flatlining, and maybe in a way it was—every time Luke left, every day that went by where she couldn’t tell him how she felt, Y/N felt like she was dying inside.

So before he could leave her this time, Y/N put down her cup and took advantage of the dark room and everyone’s attention towards the front to quietly leave the room. She commended herself for not stumbling because of how numb she felt, like her body was shutting down because she was too close to Luke yet he was so fucking far away.

It wasn’t until she was outside of the building, getting into the Uber she didn’t remember requesting and on her way home back to the loneliness of her apartment. There was wetness on her cheek and why was she crying? How had she let her fall so fast for someone who didn’t feel that way about her? Because even though she may not be able to read Luke’s mind, Y/N knew his mind as well as she knew his body.

And she knew he didn’t love her.

                                                            *****

Y/N was definitely drunk.

She’d thrown herself a little pity party as soon as the Uber dropped her off. Stumbling into the apartment with tears that had gathered in the elevator ride up burning her eyes, Y/N pulled out the first bottle of vodka she could get her hands on. At first she considered wine, but getting happy wine drunk wasn’t fitting her mood. The harshness of vodka better fitted the misery she’d launched herself into. Crying over a man that wasn’t hers to begin with.

When did I become this pathetic? It was a question she’s been asking herself time and time again.

Y/N was so busy wallowing in her heartbroken misery, pouring herself drinks and listening to one of the sorrowful playlists on Spotify that she hadn’t noticed her phone buzzing consistently on the kitchen counter. Text after text poured in, all from the one person she couldn’t stop thinking about. And she wouldn’t know Luke was wondering where the hell she had gone until there was a pounding on her front door, startling her up from the couch and nearly spilling the bottle she held.

She stumbled slightly, past tipsy but not yet completely drunk, not bothering to put down the half empty bottle as the world spun around her yet she somehow managed to make it to the door without falling over. Although, as soon as she opened it, she wished she had fallen and maybe even hit her head hard enough to knock her the fuck out.

Because Luke stood there, pursed lips and clenched jaw and a clinch between his brows, and she wanted to hide behind the couch at his domineering presence. “I know you said my band was lame but I didn’t think you’d actually leave halfway through rehearsals,” he scoffed, not even waiting for her to say a word as he pushed past her and walked into the apartment as if he owned the place.

He didn’t even bother to spare her a look.

She managed to shut the door as she heard him let out an affronted breath behind her. “Seriously, why did you—are you drinking?” Luke cut off, his tone taking an incredulous turn as he finally noticed the bottle in her hands.

And when Y/N finally turned to look at him, that’s when Luke’s annoyed expression scrunched into a worried one. Because suddenly he wasn’t irritated at her sudden departure from the rehearsals—now he was taking in her red rimmed eyes that were glassed over with what she drank and with tears, a look of devastation across her face and Luke could feel his stomach twist because he’d never seen her like this. He never wanted to see her like this.

“Y/N,” he breathed, eyebrows drawn together in frightened worry as he took a few steps towards her. “Why—what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

His hands were almost to hers, just a few more inches, but Y/N moved back, needing to put the distance between them to breathe. Her movements were jerky, quick and unthinking, and Luke froze, eyes widening slightly because she’s never done that. Never moved away from him, never refused his touch.

Y/N tried to calm her breathing, deaf to the music playing softly in the background and only being able to hear the pounding of her heart. She felt dizzy; head spinning with the relentless waves of emotion washing over her and lightheaded by Luke’s attention fixated on her. Sure, some of the dizziness had to do with the liquor running through her veins, but at this point it only served the purpose of liquid courage.

Which she needed, because as soon as her eyes reluctantly met Luke’s waiting worried ones, Y/N’s already dry throat was forced to deal with a lump forming, choking her with the words threatening to escape. Three words she’d been practicing in the Uber and saying over and over again between gulps of vodka and gasps of sobbing air because she couldn’t believe she was going to do this.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” Luke spoke up again, voice gentle and soft and Y/N’s heart clenched at the term of endearment, at the sound of his voice, at him. How could he look so effortlessly beautiful, with a dark blue shirt half heartedly tucked into his black pants and loose golden curls she yearned to run her fingers through? How could he look like that and not expect her to fall in love with him? He took another step towards her, though this time he didn’t reach out because he knew he’d get the same reaction as before. “You gotta tell me what’s wrong. I can’t help you if you don’t.”

It was now or never. Y/N knew if she didn’t get these words out now, she never would have the courage to say them again—and she wasn’t risking alcohol poisoning again to have a second chance at this.

So she put the bottle down, her movements swaying and Luke’s hands jerked out automatically to steady her but Y/N grasped the top of the couch, not needing his help. She squeezed her eyes shut, head bowing as she tried to straighten out the words she wanted to say. Her heart was thundering, throat dry and hands shaking.

Her eyes met Luke’s, once again burning at the sight of his open and earnest ones, and Y/N finally uttered the three words she’d been practicing to say.

“This is over.”

She so desperately wanted to sound strong when she delivered that blow, wanted to appear steady when that was the last thing she felt. But Y/N’s voice cracked at the last word, the one that ultimately decided their fate, and she clenched her jaw to anchor herself. To keep the tears at bay.

Because the look on Luke’s face, shocked and bewildered and unblinking, really did make Y/N want to finish off the rest of the bottle.

“What?” The word, filled with so much confusion, was uttered through a disbelieving laugh as Luke shook his head once, and Y/N knew that he was wondering if he’d heard her right. Her heart was in her throat because he had. “I—You’re just—What’re you saying, Y/N?”

Her tummy felt warm and fuzzy, but not the good kind. It was the kind where everything was hot and turning itself over out of nausea, and while Y/N didn’t feel like she had to throw up, she most definitely felt like something was trying to crawl its way out because she was really doing this. She was ending what she and Luke had. Because, at the end of the day, it really was better for her to not have him at all than to have just a piece of him every once and a while.

She was too selfish to think that was enough.

“I’m not doing this anymore,” Y/N clarified, her voice breathless as if she’d just ran a mile when really her emotions and alcohol were overwhelming her. Luke was overwhelming her. She noticed the way his lips parted, curled downwards in utter confusion as she shook her head quickly before stopping abruptly. Everything was swaying. “I can’t—This was a bad idea. We never should’ve started this bullshit. I can’t do it.”

“Bullshit?” Luke repeated, eyebrows shooting up. Where the hell was this coming from? What the hell was she doing? This time, Luke threw all caution out the window as he closed the distance between them, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks. “Y/N, what do you—”

But the second his warm hands and cold rings touched her drunkenly flushed cheeks, Y/N tore herself away as if his touch was a scathing fire. “No, stop!” she cried, hands coming up to slap away his wrists and Luke instantly drew back, staring at her in concerned shock and his chest sank helplessly because he didn’t know what to do. “You can’t do this anymore—we’re fucking done with this, Luke!”

He watched as she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes while letting out a deep breath and Luke clenched his jaw. He ignored the hammering of his heart inspired by Y/N’s outburst, ignored the way his stomach clenched uneasily as his brain registered her words and the meaning behind them. Confusion and sadness and anger overwhelmed him and suddenly all Luke could seem to focus on was the last dangerous emotion prickling his skin.

“Why?” he demanded, his tone taking an unkind tone that rarely ever showed. That never showed towards Y/N, but he didn’t seem to care that he was using it on her now. He wanted answers.

Y/N dropped her hands from her eyes, red and teary as she took in the hard lines of his face, the look of anger and edginess she didn’t think she’s ever seen twisting his features. The fact that she’s the one who brought it on made her want to cry all over again. And when his one word question echoed in her mind, all the air rushed out of her lungs and Y/N choked back a gasp because she couldn’t tell him.

Should she tell him?

“Because—” Y/N cut herself off, suddenly wishing she had drank more than she had because she didn’t even fucking feel tipsy anymore. She just felt sober, the tense situation diluting the damn alcohol in her veins and making her hyper aware of the nerve wracking happenings of her apartment. “I just—” she shook her head with a groan, eyebrows furrowing into an exasperated glare as she said, “I don’t owe you an explanation!”

“Bullshit, you don’t,” Luke instantly retorted, face scrunching into a scowl and Y/N wished he’d stop staring at her like that. She honestly hadn’t expected him to be so upset about this, but she still wasn’t going to go back on it. She couldn’t. “You and I got involved because neither of us wanted a relationship and we’ve been doing this for too damn long for you to just walk out without giving me a proper fucking reason.”

Y/N let out a breath, her eyes widening and heart hammering as she stammered out, “Maybe I do want a relationship! Things change, Luke.”

Luke stared at her incredulously. “Since when?”

She wanted to scream. “Since I fucking fell in love with you!”

The only sound that followed Y/N’s devastating blow was the sharp intake of her breath, crushing realization that it was out there. It was out in the open, and she couldn’t take it back. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to.

Luke gaped at her, bewildered and stunned and silent. Y/N wished he would say something but she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to hear it over the thundering of her heart. Dread and fear mixed into an ugly concoction in the pit of her stomach, throat drying as if she hadn’t drank something in days. At least the tears hadn’t escaped yet.

“You—” Luke cut himself off with an inhalation of his own, gaze flickering around her face as he tried to make sense of the situation. He was quiet for a moment, shoulders squaring when he finally said in a voice holding only the tiniest semblance of disappointment. “You weren’t supposed to do that.”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open slightly, chest falling as she let out a tense breath, staring at Luke in exhausted disbelief. You weren’t supposed to do that. Those few words were enough to tighten her throat and entice a fresh wave of burning tears. Luke’s eyebrows were drawn together in dismay, lips tilted downwards like her confession truly troubled him. Like he didn’t know what do with this information.

Y/N knew what she wanted him to do, but she also knew there wasn’t a chance of that happening.

So she let out a bitter scoff, throwing Luke a hurt look as she snapped, “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Luke’s jaw clenched, the muscle jumping under the facial hair he’d been growing as he began shaking his head, as if he was denying this. As if he was shaking out the words she’d thoughtlessly yelled. “I don’t want more, Y/N. You know I don’t.”

His words stung and Y/N tried not to physically recoil because he didn’t even try to sugar coat it. She wished he would be a little more empathetic about this, more understanding, but Y/N stopped wishing for Luke to do things he didn’t want to do. She would just be setting herself up for more disappointment.

“I know you don’t,” Y/N muttered, her lower lip quivering. She needed another drink. Her voice was hoarse from emotion, unsteady as she spoke. “But I do. And this isn’t going to work, so you need to leave.”

Luke felt as though his teeth would shatter from how hard he was clenching his jaw. Y/N wouldn’t even meet his gaze in this moment. He didn’t expect her to. Still, he managed to ask, “Do you mean this isn’t going to work or our friendship isn’t going to work?”

Y/N looked at the ground, arms crossing over her chest in an attempt to hug herself. An attempt to hide herself. “Both.” Her heart cracked as she croaked out the word. “I can’t—” She paused, inhaling sharply as she forced herself to look at Luke. He stared at her expectantly, almost sadly. “I can’t be friends with you with how I feel. I can’t be around you. I’ve been keeping this in for too long and now that you know I just—I need to move on.”

She was stumbling over her words between soft gasps, trying to get a handle on her torrent of emotions overwhelming her. But Y/N was finally walking away after pushing aside her feelings. And walking away from someone you love wasn’t easy by any means.

Luke frowned, eyes widening ever so slightly in question as he asked, “How long? How long have you been feeling this way?”

Y/N sniffled, shaking her head shortly. “Too long,” she repeated, her chest tight. A small, dejected smile graced her lips as her head tilted to the side sadly. “I know that you don’t love me, Luke, and that’s—that’s okay.” She didn’t miss the way he inhaled sharply, his lips she loved to kiss parting slightly. “But I’ve been hopelessly, stupidly waiting around for longer than I should’ve and i-it’s time to put an end to it.”

“An end to us,” Luke breathed, and for the first time, Y/N heard the sorrow in his own voice. She blinked back the overwhelming tears when she saw the sadness in his pretty baby blues. Almost dumbfoundedly, he added, “You’re really puttin’ an end to everything.”

Y/N shrugged, the action half hearted yet broken, expression crestfallen. “It’s the only way I can ever hope to be happy.”

Luke looked away with a shake of his head. “I didn’t know you weren’t.” He met her gaze again. “How am I supposed to just. . . Not have you in my life anymore?”

At that, Y/N couldn’t stop the sharp, humorless laugh that escaped her, an almost disbelieving look coming across her features as Luke looked at her confusedly, unsure of what warranted that reaction. “Are you kidding?” Y/N laughed out, eyebrows shooting up. “You go on tour and we barely ever talk. Come on, Luke, you and I both know you only have me in your life to have sex. I’m sure you’ll find girls wrapped around a block to fill that space.”

Her words were harsh, spoken out of drunken misery that Luke winced slightly, face scrunching up in his own expression of disbelief because did she really just say that? Anger and hurt bubbled inside and it could be seen in the way his eyes narrowed, but Y/N didn’t seem to care. “Is that really what you think?” Luke demanded. “That sex is all you’re good for?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Y/N retorted with a raise of her brows. Her sorrow was mixing in with exasperation and anger of her own, flustered that this was happening and wanting it to be done. Each moment that passed by she swore she could hear a piece of her heart chipping off. “We have sex, we make pointless conversations, you go on tour and forget about me until you’re back for more. It just took me too long to realize that I deserve more than that.”

Luke ran a frustrated hand through his hair before gesturing at her exuberantly. “You never said you wanted more than that!” he exclaimed, his voice bouncing off the walls of her apartment as he stared at her in disbelief. “If you had then—”

“Then what?” Y/N bit back a hiccup, scoffing out a breathy, grim smile. “Then this would’ve ended a lot sooner than today, Luke, and you know it. I was just putting it off because I was too much of a fucking coward to tell you how I feel because I know you don’t feel the same way. I was putting off the heartbreak. But it’s here and it’s time for you to fucking go.”

The blood in Luke’s veins froze, icy and prickling and he wondered just how long had he been blind to Y/N’s feelings? He had never wanted to become someone who didn’t see what his friends were feeling, what they were going through, but he had failed in this instance. He was angry and sad and heartbroken and guilty. He regretted that he hadn’t seen this coming, was heartbroken and upset that Y/N had been feeling this way for so long and hadn’t said a word until it became too much. And, lastly, Luke was pissed that she ruined something that was going so well.

His hands fisted at his sides, chin lifting at the sharp breath he took in as he gazed at Y/N. Her tear ridden eyes and defeated shoulders should’ve made him feel more sympathetic, should’ve made him want to reach out and hug and comfort her because this whole thing was shit and he hated that both of them felt this way.

But he was angry. And because Luke, much like Y/N, could sometimes lose his handle on his emotions, he shook his head with a disappointed scoff and began walking past her towards the door, feeling her gaze on him as he muttered, “Hope you’re happy ruining this.”

Y/N’s jaw slackened, turing to watch him go with eyes widened in shock and complete sadness. She hadn’t expected this kind of anger—the silent kind where he couldn’t even look at her. It made her want to throw up. With the smallest ounce of confidence she had left, Y/N shakily said to his back, “I’m watching the man I love walk out of my life. What makes you think any of this makes me happy?”

Luke froze just as his hand gripped the doorknob, broad shoulders rigid as the lump in Y/N’s throat intensified. There was a beat of sorrowed silence, and Luke didn’t even bother turning around when he said in a hollow tone, “You’re the one telling me to walk away.”

The door opened, and he was gone.

Y/N fell against the couch, her knees finally giving out from under her as the door slammed shut and she sat on the arm rest, gripping the top of the couch as she stared after where Luke had been. He was gone without sparing her a last glance, without looking as effected as she felt, without even considering the possibility of him maybe returning her feelings. Because he didn’t. He never had.

Her living room smelt like him. And Y/N cried.

tags: @aphroditebeautyshit @crownedbyluke @gotta-try-something-new @tothemoonmikey @cartiercalum @perfectlycake @cakestan @luke2k18 @candidcalum @polarizehood @calumsbabylon @vaporlewk @irwinofficial @modelukes @lukesback @lovelettercalum @thesamebutwonderfullydifferent @my-world97 @mollypayge @the1weliveinnow

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Shallow; Roger Taylor x reader x oc male

*Author’s note*

Okay folks here is the next part I have for you all. Now I do NOT WANT ANY HATE FROM THIS CHAPTER. Cause I am aware of the fued between Bohemian Rhapsody and A Star is born (I personally love them both so if you asked me which to choose, I just can’t both stories are beautiful and it was good to see Bradley Cooper’s directorial debut and it’s sad he’s not getting credit as a director for the movie for the oscars)

Now I’ve decided to include some real facts based off the real Roger Taylor so I hope that’s okay but you all can still imagine Ben Hardy!Roger if you all want, or if you’ve been imagining the real members of Queen that’s fine too :) okay the next two chapters are coming up and they are a 2 parter so they literally go back to back and then that’s all for now afterwards. Hope you all enjoy this fic and listen to the song as well.

Taglist *always open*:

@onebigfangirlworld

@mr-badguymercury

@phantom-fangirl-stuff

@labessieisallama

@starswin

@5sos-wdw

@isabella-bby

@dj-lowkey

@naturalswifty89

_____________________________________________________

*July 20th, 1983*

It was yet another concert.  The crowd, the lights and everything a Rockstar craves for. I smiled and I said into the microphone.

“Thank you Kansas, now this next song I wrote with a very special friend of mine. And you all will be the very first people to ever hear this song. Now I would like to welcome to the stage; you all know him as the drummer from Queen.” With that the entire crowd screamed hysterically. I smiled as I cried out, “Please give a warm Kansas welcome to Mr. Roger Taylor!”

The crowd went nuts as Roger came out from backstage holding an acoustic guitar.  I smiled gratefully at him, remembering back to when I had asked him to do this song with me.

It was about a month ago, Roger was doing some of his solo stuff when he came over by my flat one day just to catch up and that’s when I told him of a song that I had in mind that I wanted to do for my upcoming show in Kansas City, Kansas.

I told him that I wanted this song to be a pure duet, no backup vocals just two people singing this song with raw passion and I asked if he was willing to help me out.  Without question, he agreed and together the two of us got to work on how this song should go.  As we worked on the song in my studio he approached me at one moment and said.

“Alright (y/n) I have a question for you, of course you don’t have to answer it. I feel like you don’t answer anything though but I—”

“What Rog?” I asked stopping his rambling.

“This song wouldn’t happen to be about you and Jack would it?” he asked me.  I stopped the track and my fingers paused from the controls.

“What are you getting on?”

“Nothing I just—it feels like a love song and lately you and Jack have been getting pretty close.”

“It’s not a love song!” I snapped.

“Really?” He takes the sheets of paper and continues, “‘Tell me something boy?’ ‘Tell me something girl?’ ‘Crash through the surface where they can’t hurt us?’”

“It’s a metaphor Roger!” I tried to reason.

“First of all that’s my line and second I’m not judging love. You seem a lot happier with Jack than you did with that tosser Adam.”

“Oh I don’t know—you think?”

“Yeah. Look, I know that I haven’t been easy on the kid but now I’m starting to see the impact he’s made on you. Your eyes glow after hanging out with him, your smile actually reaches the corner of your eyes.” I looked down bashfully and I said as I tried to brush off my blush.

“Well it’s still not a love song.”  Roger said not another word but kept smirking softly at me as we kept working on the song.  Tightening up any lose rifts, making sure the lyrics were just right, until finally the song was perfect.

Now back to the current time frame, Roger came up to me and we both hugged each other and he tuned up the guitar before finally playing the chords and then finally singing.

Play Video

I knew I wanted Roger’s voice specifically because he has this rawness that some country singers have so I thought Kansas would love to hear his voice along with mine for this specific song.

*Roger*

Tell me somethin', girl Are you happy in this modern world? Or do you need more? Is there somethin' else you're searchin' for?

I'm falling In all the good times I find myself Longin' for change And in the bad times I fear myself

         Roger played the instrumental break and then I picked up the song.  At the chorus, I raised my voice with such passion as the crowd cheered for me before the two of us did the duet, sharing the same microphone and occasionally smiling at each other as we sang the duet.

*Me*

Tell me something, boy Aren't you tired tryin' to fill that void? Or do you need more? Ain't it hard keeping it so hardcore?

I'm falling In all the good times I find myself Longing for change And in the bad times I fear myself

I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in I'll never meet the ground Crash through the surface, where they can't hurt us We're far from the shallow now

*Both*

In the shallow, shallow In the shallow, shallow In the shallow, shallow We're far from the shallow now

         As the song picked up with the electric guitar as well as some other accompaniment, Roger handed me the guitar and I began playing as he raced up and began playing the drums.  The crowd continued screaming and cheering as the song continued on and as I vocalized before continuing to sing.

*Me*

Oh, oh, oh, oh Whoah!

I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in I'll never meet the ground Crash through the surface, where they can't hurt us We're far from the shallow now

*Both*

In the shallow, shallow In the shallow, shallow In the shallow, shallow We're far from the shallow now

Once the last note was played the crowd cheered and I smiled as I gestured toward Roger who stood up and took a bow.  He also directed towards me and applauded for me before he raced off stage.

By the end of the concert after a few more songs, I ran off the stage with all my helpers coming over to me handing me towels and water bottles telling me what a great concert I gave out.  At that moment Roger came over to me and picked me up in a hug and spun me around.

“Oh love you were great out there!”

“So were you, thank you so much for recording the song with me.”

“I’m happy I could help you love,”

“(Y/n)!” We both turned around and we saw Jack running towards us.  Roger grinned down at me and shoved me forward a bit before stepping aside but still keeping a watchful eye. “You were amazing out there.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, everyone was going crazy. And is that really the first time you ever performed that song what is it called? Shallow?”

“Yeah Jack I just—thought I’d give you Kansas folk a song you all could enjoy. Do you think the other southern states will like it?”

“Even if they don’t Kansas will always love it, how did you come up with a song like that?” he asked.  My heart skipped a couple of beats and I heard Roger cough something out and I sent a glare at him telling him to fuck off.

“Oh it was just—on a whim. I’m really glad you decided to come to this concert Jack.”

“Me too.” He said with a soft smile.

Ohh if only he knew, maybe if Adam didn’t fuck our relationship, then maybe one day I could confess to Jack telling him that this song was truly about us.  With me being the Rockstar and him the modern boy and the two of us hoping to escape the deep end of fame and be in the shallows so that a relationship can truly blossom between us.

[paige-in-a-story]

Shallow.

**Gif is not mine**

Title: Shallow 

Pairing:  Sam x reader 

Warnings:  lots of flashbacks, and slight angst and fluff 

Feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome 

A/N: This fic is dedicated to @kayteonline for the @spnfanficpond ‘s Galentine’s day challenge! I hope you love this fic, as much as I did writing it for you! Happy Galentine’s day ladies! 

A/N: This is also heavily inspired from the song, ‘Shallow’ by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper from ‘A Star is Born’. 

Song lyrics are in bold italics 

Tell me something boy 

Aren’t you tried of filling that void? 

or do you need more? 

Ain’t hard keepin’ up being so hardcore? 

Many, many moons ago, you fell in love for the first time. You never felt that way about anyone before. You never loved anyone like that since. 

His name was Sam Winchester. 

You were both seventeen at the time.  Along with his older brother, Dean, and Dad, John Winchester moved into town not too long ago. 

You had 12th grade English together; Mr. Harlan introduced Sam to the class, and there was an empty desk right beside your own. 

It was meant to be, you would muse to yourself. 

You’ll never forget as class resumed itself and you dove back into the book you were reading. 

“Psst.” 

You cut your eyes up at Mr. Harlan who was in the middle of a heated coffee sermon. 

You turned around and met Sam’s eyes, who was wondering if he could borrow a pencil. You had no problem with him borrowing a pencil. He could have kept it for all you cared. 

You also offered him your notes, and told him you would bring up to speed on the semester. 

Sam was very grateful for that, and doubled down to you that you didn’t have to go through all that trouble. 

You insisted, saying that it was no trouble at all. 

And the rest was history. 

If only there was a better ending to your story. 

Sam was in town for about two months, and things really escalated between the two of you.  

It was coming around three months, and it was about that time. That time when Dean, John, and Sam moved onto the next town, the next case. 

A part of Sam didn’t want to leave you, but he knew he was going to have to go. He knew you weren’t going to take it very well. Sam loved you too, he loved you very much in fact. But this was one of the prices they paid doing what they do. 

You went blissfully unaware of what the Winchesters really did. As far as you knew, Sam’s Dad was a mechanic, and Dean shared a few tricks of the trade. 

All Sam was going to tell you was, his Dad got a better job somewhere far from here. It’ll come to him when the times comes. 

That time never comes. 

John woke up the boys up in the middle of the night, and they booked. 

You never got a goodbye. 

You got nothing. 

You went to school with the hope he would come again. 

But he never did. 

Eventually, that hope disappeared, just like Sam did. 

You never forgot Sam, and as a comfort, you liked to think that Sam never forgot you. 

Twelve years later 

You’re almost the same as you were twelve years earlier. There are some changes. You’re thirteen years older. You no longer live with your parents. 

Well both of your parents are dead. 

You’re were a nurse practitioner, and you work at Guardian General Hospital, in the emergency room. 

What was supposed to be any other night shift, was much more than that. When a man comes in your hospital doors. He was supporting someone who was taller than him, who was holding onto their side. 

“My brother needs a doctor!?” 

When you looked up from the desk where you sat at you could not believe your eyes. 

It was Sam Winchester. Like you, he was twelve years older, and appeared to be suffering stab wounds. 

You hopped up and lead them to a station, and told him to keep applying pressure. You reassured them you’d get them fixed up in no time.

“You need any help with that, hon?” One of the older nurses who was pulling the graveyard shift with you. 

“Nope I’ve got this one. Thank you though.” You smiled, as you rushed around the ER like a chicken without a head. 

You closed off the curtains and asked how this happened. 

Both of them gave completely different explanations. 

“Well don’t worry cause you’re in good hands now. You’re going to be fine, Sam.” You said, as you got started. 

“How did you know his name was Sam?” Dean asked, as he squinted his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows.  

“Just like how I know your name is Dean. You’re Sam and Dean Winchester. Your Dad’s name was John. It was 12 years ago this fall that y’all drifted through town and...Sam and I had English together.” You sighed, remembering much more than that. 

“With Mr. Harlan, right?” Sam said, in between his small and quiet winces of pain. 

“That’s right.” You nodded. 

“I don’t even remember that. Not to be rude or anything but what was your name?” Dean wondered. 

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N.” You admitted. 

Dean thought about your name and it wasn’t ringing any bells. Sam thought about it and all of his memories with you came flooding back at once. 

“Y/N....” Sam sighed, looking up at you with those eyes he looked at you the first time you talked. 

“I’m going to warn you this is going to sting a bit.” You bit the bottom of your lip and did what you had to do, and his loud groan of pain broke your heart. 

Dean excused himself, saying he was going to try and get some coffee, and would be back soon. 

You finished cleaning Sam up, stitched him up, and ensured he was comfortable. 

After you were done, you removed your gloves, and washed your hands and took a seat, and you let out a long sigh. 

You couldn’t believe after all these years, Sam Winchester was laying before you. 

“I’m sorry Y/N...I left without saying goodbye and I never came back to visit or anything...” Sam apologized, guilt written all over his face. 

“No phone call, no letter, no nothing. But it’s okay. I forgave you a long time ago.” You shrugged, honestly just happy to see him. 

“I can explain everything, but you have to promise me you won’t freak out.” Sam bit the inside of your lip. 

You didn’t quite understand what he meant by that, but you were all ears. 

“So you’re trying to tell me that monsters are real and you’ve saved the world numerous times from total destruction...?” You couldn’t believe it. And all this time you were still convinced that they were a family of mechanics. There was much more to the Family Business than you knew about. 

“You got it right.” Dean replied, as he sipped his hot coffee. 

“I appreciate you telling me. I’m sure it won’t help me sleep at night, but I barely sleep as it is.” You shrugged. 

“How are your parents, Y/N?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“In a much better place now. If Heaven even exists.” Which told Sam and Dean everything, without you even having to say it. 

“It does.” Sam reassured you. 

You talked for a bit longer, but you knew that you were going to have to get back to work sooner or later.

“We don’t want to hold you up, but I’m glad y’all got to catch up.” Dean smiled, and thanking you again for fixing Sam up. 

“It’s nothing, really.” You insisted, just like how you always did. 

“I’ll go bring the car around if that’s alright..?” 

“Go right ahead. I’ll get him to ya in one piece.” Dean offered you a smile, appreciating it very much. 

When you went to help Sam up, he pulled you into him and as you were going to ask him what he was doing, 

He cut you off with a kiss. 

When you pulled away, you shook your head, asking what was that for. 

“I don’t know I just felt like it.” Sam shrugged as a big smile crept on his face. 

You only smirked down at him, and then dove in for another kiss.

That’s what you said to Sam when you kissed him for the first time. And just as you pulled away, Sam breathed out and asked what was all that about. 

“I don’t know I just felt like it.” 

You wheeled Sam out on a wheelchair, and Dean took it over from there. Sam and you already exchanged numbers, and you asked how long were you going to be in town. 

In all honestly, Dean and Sam were probably booking it sometime tomorrow. Before Dean could say anything, Sam interjects, and tells you in the next couple of days. 

You told him to have a better night, and to let you know if you need anything. 

You all said goodbye, and you made your way back inside the hospital. 

Dean and Sam rode in silence, until Dean broke it with, 

“Couple of days huh?” 

“Dean...Y/N was a special girl to me.” Sam admitted, shifting his glance out the window. Dean understood where his brother was coming from. 

“If you need a couple of days, I get it.” Dean nodded. 

Sam and Dean got settled into their motel room, and passed out for the night.

When Sam woke up, he woke up to text from you that read: 

“Hope you got some rest. You looked like you needed it.” 

Sam smiled down at his phone, and responded and then realized you weren’t going to reply instantly because you were probably asleep after working the night shift. 

But, he was wrong. 

“Happy to hear it.” 

Sam couldn’t resist shaking his head, and writing: 

“Shouldn’t you be getting to bed?

“Now I can sleep. I’ll text you when I wake up.” 

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.” 

“Thanks Sam.” 

A couple of hours later 

“Good morning” 

It was two o’clock in the afternoon when you wrote him. 

Sam chuckled down at his phone and wrote this, 

“Good afternoon, Y/N.” 

“What are you doing for dinner tonight?” 

Without missing a beat, Sam replied: 

“I don’t know what are you doing for dinner?” 

Then you wrote: 

“How about I bring you and Dean a home cook meal?” 

Sam threw it out there to Dean, and Dean wasn’t going to turn down a home cook meal. 

“You don’t have to do that, but we appreciate it.” 

Sam also sent along with that the motel and their door number. 

You told him that you would be there around six. 

Right around six, there came a knock on their motel door. 

“Hey Y/N, come on in.” Dean got the door, as Sam was fixing himself up in the bathroom. 

“Hey Dean! How are you? How is Sam feeling?” You asked as you held on the tubs of different containers filled with warm food. 

“I hope you didn’t go crazy.” Dean said, as he helped you unload it on the table. 

“By crazy, I baked some chicken, mac and cheese, and green beans, and I made a pie.” You smiled. 

“You made a pie?” 

“I couldn’t remember which one of you liked pie, but I made it anyway. It’s a blueberry pie.” You told him, and Dean hugged you from the side, and that’s when Sam came out of the bathroom. 

“Sam, I like her.” Dean said, pointing at you. 

Sam and you both laughed, and you hugged Sam from the side, and asked how he felt. 

“I’m feeling alright.” Sam said, biting down on his bottom lip, as he slid his hands into his pockets. 

“Remind me before I leave, I’ll change out your bandages.” You said, as you walked back over to the table to fix them both plates. 

Sam and Dean really enjoyed the food you fixed them, and Dean ate the pie straight from the plate. 

You were just glad you didn’t have to eat alone, and you got the chance to cook. 

Dean pretended that his phone ringing. He decided to step outside which gave you and Sam the room. 

“You want me to switch out your bandages?” You wondered, as Dean slammed the door shut behind him. 

Sam nodded his head, and sat up, and tore off his shirt. Sam laid on his side, so you could work on the side where you patched him up. 

It seemed to healing well, you thought to yourself as you worked in a peaceful silence. 

 “How’s it uh looking?” 

“It looks alright. Who did this to you?” You inquired, as you finished up. “Doesn’t matter.” Sam said, letting out a small sigh. It did matter to you at the very least, but you weren’t going to push the issue. 

“Can I tell you something, Sam?” As he stood up and threw his shirt back on, carefully. 

“Go for it.” 

“I can’t stop wondering why after all this time...you and I...” You nervously looked down at your hands as you said this. 

“I like to think everything happens for a reason.” Sam chuckled, which allowed you to smile a little. 

“You were my first...everything, Sam. And just when I think I fall in love, none of it was ever the same in comparison when I was with you.” You laughed, hoping you didn’t sound stupid. 

“I’ll be honest with you, a couple of girls have come along my way. But none of them were you. And like I told you about Dean and I’s lifestyle. It isn’t easy.” 

“No matter what you tell me, Sam. Nothing is going to scare me away from you because a part of me always loved you. Everyone thought I was crazy but look where we are.” You flashed a brow. 

“What are you trying to say?” Sam squinted his eyes. 

“All I’m saying is why don’t we give this another try. You and Dean can go home, and you and I can talk and see each other when we can. We won’t move it too fast, but I don’t know, Sammy. The both of us are going to want this.” You said, doing everything in your might from crying. 

“If there is one thing I know is, that I want this.” Sam said, taking your hand. You finally met his eyes, and you instantly melted. 

And, that was you all you needed to hear. You cupped his cheek, and you knelt in front of him on his bed and kissed him. Sam supported your back and held you against him, while you kissed. You stopped yourself before things got out of hand, but you weren’t going to deny that you enjoyed it. 

I’m off the deep end 

Watch as I dive in 

I’ll never meet the ground 

Crash through the surface 

Where they can’t hurt us 

Were far from the shallow now 

The End..? 

[ao3feed-rhink]

I'm Falling (Longing For Change)

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2WlawI9

by jackettslutt

"I felt like I was less than half of something; there was a void within me. I don't need anything more, now that I have you."

--

Rhett mistakes Link for a street walker; a rather unfortunate first encounter. But as time goes on, as they bond between glasses of alcohol and breath-fogged windows of the car, perhaps that's not entirely a mistake. Perhaps something special begins to spark between the two that neither of them every expected.

{Inspired by a Shallow by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper (ily)}

Words: 2309, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Rhett & Link

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Rhett McLaughlin, Link Neal

Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal

Additional Tags: Prostitution, Day drinking, minor alcoholism, Art, Twink, feminine!Link, rich!Rhett, Song fic, shallow - a star is born (inspired), Love Story, Short Story, Possible smut, Somewhat sad in the middle, New York City, im bad at tags, Homelessness, Asshole!Rhett (at first), rhink, Run Away, Some Humor, Mentions of past abuse, bartending, Groping, Sexual Frustration, Link is a poet, Rhett has problems

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2WlawI9

[borhapparker]

i want to do a soulmate tattoo au fic with ben or tom to the song of ‘shallow’ from ‘a star is born’

should i do it?