along with the weight of his thoughts

My home.

It’s his bed sheets. The way they feel on your skin. There the right amount of slack so you can grab them in your hands. There also the right amount of tightness that they don't get all crumpled under you leaving wrinkle marks along your skin. His bed has become home for you. Especially in the last week. You know you should be in your own bed, alone. But that’s just it. He’s not in it. The way the mattress moves under his weight when he rolls over to pull you close into his chest. It’s heaven. Even when you can bearly take the heat of the blankets mixed with his radiating body heat. You would still rather lay there sweaty with your body's draped together then be alone.

“You’re my home. You know that right? Where you go. I go.”

Stolen - FE Heroes Fanfic (Kiran/Alfonse)

I got to thinking about Kiran and Alfonse being from separate worlds, and then this came about. Basically, I thought about what would happen if Kiran went back to his regular world and then couldn’t return to Askr. 

Normally I post anything longer than 1,000 words on AO3 (and this is 1200 words) - let me know if you want me to put it up there, as well. Please excuse any typos - I haven’t been good at catching them in my own writing lately. 

Kiran’s hand runs along Alfonse’s forehead, sweeping his blue hair across. The prince’s head is a comfortable weight against his thighs. From beneath his hood, Kiran studies the blue eyelashes pressed against pale skin. Alfonse is looking a little more gaunt than he did the last time. His forehead is cool beneath the hair, and for an instant fear grips Kiran’s chest tight in a familiar ache. How much time is left? Kiran forces a smile, even though Alfonse isn’t looking at him, and shifts the hair back across the other way.

Kiran glances down the couch, taking in the sight, committing it to memory. Their hands are twined together on Alfonse’s chest, which rises and falls, cool through the fabric. Alfonse is wearing a loose cotton shirt and pants borrowed from Kiran’s closet. It looks strange, but yet completely normal. If Kiran wanted to pretend, he could imagine that Alfonse will wear this all the time. He’s already grown more familiar with the un-protective garments. 

Through the windows one can hear the sounds of children playing in the street below, if one wants to. Kiran doesn’t want to. He ignores the low drone of the airplane in the sky and the shouts and squeals. Instead he listens to Alfonse’s breathing as if it’s the most important sound in the world, and tries to determine if he’s asleep, or still awake. 

Just as Kiran thinks the prince is on the edge of sleep, the cell phone beside him vibrates. It buzzes through Kiran’s body, fracturing what little pieces remain of his heart into a single, all-encompassing question. 

Always the question, when the alarm goes off - how much time is left? 

Alfonse stirs as Kiran reaches out and slaps the alarm into silence. The prince blinks and focuses, and then slides up onto his elbows, a soft, secret smile darting across his mouth. 

Kiran feels his cheeks heat up at the expression - he still can’t get used to seeing that look directed at him. The prince rises up into the cowl of his hood and presses a soft, cool kiss to his mouth, and Kiran’s blush deepens. His fingers go to the gold-dipped hairs near Alfonse’s jaw, and he melts into Alfonse’s mouth like there will never be enough time for them. 

It wasn’t always like this between them, but Kiran can’t place the exact moment he realized he was in love with him, and that the prince’s feelings were reciprocal. It just became reality, just as that fateful day Kiran had been in the middle of his math class, listening to his professor drone on about theorems and the existence of an imaginary number, and between one drowsy blink and the next he found himself tossed into a new world, familiar and yet completely foreign. 

“Were you watching me sleep?” Alfonse asks in that gentle voice that is only for Kiran. His hand snakes up into the cloak, cold fingers running along Kiran’s warm neck, eliciting a shiver. 

“Were you sleeping?" 

"No, just enjoying the cuddling." 

Kiran makes a face and gestures like he’s going to shove him off the couch. He could never actually do it, but Alfonse laughs anyway, and sits up. He slides against Kiran, bicep to bicep, hip to hip, hand to hand. Alfonse never talks about the events in Askr, since Kiran left, but Kiran can see the signs in his tired body.

Alfonse’s eyes go dark, hooded as he tries to disguise the pain from Kiran. "It’s nearly time,” he whispers. 

Kiran’s fingers go to the strings which will pull the hood closed around him. It’s so selfish, but he can’t keep the word from escaping from his lips. “No.”

They get nine hours from the moment Alfonse appears. Nine hours and a few precious minutes. It hurts Alfonse less if he goes right away, when the alarm goes off. But as much as Kiran hates to see him in pain, he’s desperate for a few more minutes. Especially this time. 

Alfonse takes hold of his hand and presses it to his chest. Through the shirt he feels Alfonse’s heart beating, slower and slower, and yet the seconds seem to be ticking away within the ribcage, faster and faster. 

“This is yours,” Alfonse says, in that old-fashioned way that is completely genuine. Nobody says it like that in the “real world”, but Kiran loves it. 

He pulls Alfonse to him, and the hood shifts off his head and flops to his shoulders. Kiran presses their chests together, hooking his chin over Alfonse’s shoulder and hanging onto him. How much time is left? he thinks, and then dashes the words from his mind. “You should go,” he says instead, strangled. 

“If I could stay, I would,” Alfonse says, cool cheek pressed against Kiran’s. “You know I’m working on a way, back in Askr." 

The country name sends a fresh wave of cold through both of them. It is Alfonse’s attachment to that country that draws him from Kiran, the cursed link between the prince’s blood and his homeland. Even the fact that Alfonse’s heart belongs to Kiran cannot keep him here, nor can it return Kiran to Askr. 

Kiran swallows, and Alfonse’s arms are tight around him, one finger digging into his spine, but he doesn’t mind. "Come back to me,” he says, like always. 

“I will.”

They sit in silence, and then Alfonse lets out a little pained noise, shoulders curving inward protectively as if struck by a savage blow. Kiran knows what that looks like. He’s seen Alfonse take mortal wounds again and again. 

Kiran pulls back, and stares right into those blue, narrowed eyes. “You should go,” he says, even though his heart is breaking. “Go, and take Br… Briedablik with you.” His voice cracks. 

Alfonse shakes his head vehemently. They both know why he’s sent back here, again and again. The summoning weapon sits on the table beside the couch, glowing faintly. It doesn’t belong here - but it calls Alfonse to him, for nine hours at a time. 

“I love you,” Alfonse says, though his eyes are narrowed. 

“I love you,” Kiran echoes. And he does. He knows what Breidablik’s absence is doing to Askr, what it is doing to Alfonse. Breidablik belongs in Askr - like Kiran’s heart. The weapon will turn the tide against Embla. 

Alfonse leans in, and their lips touch. 

Their last kiss, although Alfonse doesn’t know it. 

“I’m ready,” he whispers against Kiran’s mouth. Then Alfonse stands, always graceful despite the pain. 

Kiran draws in a deep breath, bracing for what he’s about to do. His eyes feel puffy and hot but he won’t let tears blur the view. He takes in Alfonse, those bright, loving eyes, and presses this vision into his memory. 

With trembling fingers he picks up Breidablik. He caresses the weapon, steadying his heart, and then looks once more at Alfonse. 

“Goodbye, Alfonse,” Kiran says. “Please don’t hate me.” Then quick as a lightning spell, he reaches out to take Alfonse’s hand. He presses Breidablik into Alfonse’s dry palm and curls the prince’s fingers around the grip. 

“Kiran–!” Alfonse shouts, trying to withdraw. 

Kiran has the upper hand, the element of surprise. He turns Breidablik toward the prince’s chest and pulls the trigger. 

The last thing he sees before Alfonse and Breidablik disappear is the anguish in Alfonse’s eyes. 

His legs tremble, and he falls to the floor, all his strength leaving him in a rush. Alfonse will prosper, and take back his kingdom from Embla. 

It’s what Kiran should have done ages ago. It’s the right thing. 

He only had to sacrifice his heart to do it. 

thorduna  asked:

Sorry if you wanted more of a plot or setting prompt, but all I got is can I please have Loki rimming Thor?

you sure can! ~500 words

Honestly, Loki doesn’t know exactly how they got to this point. Which is how it is the vast majority of the time they end up in one of these situations.

Thor looks down at him from where he has Loki pinned under him on the floor, his cheeks flushed pink from the exertion of their impromptu wrestling match and the copious amount mead they’d indulged in just before it. His weight settles heavy on Loki’s chest, his breath coming it out with a soft wheeze. Thor buries a hand in Loki’s hair, pulling tight enough that Loki hisses. His other hand cups Loki’s chin, his thumb dragging along the edge of his bottom lip. He looks thoughtful and depraved, a smirk curling his lips, and a shiver crawls up his spine.

“This mouth of yours,” Thor ponders, the rough scrape of the calloused pad of his thumb on the delicate skin of his lip covering Loki in goosebumps. “It always brings you so much trouble when it has nothing productive to do, doesn’t it?”

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You know how Mark’ll just get really appreciative of things?

I wrote a lil’ fluffy MarkXReader blurb thing and Idk what to do with it so here :P

(never shared anything I’ve written before so this’ll be fun :D [i tried real gud] )

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Scassira had been dreaming once more, the warmth next to her an illusion to her senses. She could see his face as she coiled along his torso, grinning down atop his form as they played their game of war. Who would conquer the lands of their other? A favorite, one where they would entangle their limbs, laugh, and banter with playful jibes. 

He would always win, though sometimes she felt as though she let him, wanting to have the weight of her love atop her. The heady feeling of being conquered by this one man, one who’d tamed the most fierce of hearts thought to be without emotion. He was about to speak to her, to say something. So close was she to hearing that honeyed timber of his words when…

Her eyes opened. And beside her was a cold spot, her fingers moving to caress it as she looked over and saw nothing but his pillow and the haze of frigid morning. Her eyes flickered to his dress shirt that still lay where he placed it along the back of a chair, a sudden feeling of longing coursing through her chest. The sun filtered through the window, bathing her in its warmth. A mocking torture that made her subconscious believe it was him. 

Scarred fingers curled into his spot, digging desperately along the fabric as she curled her body toward it and inhaled deeply along his pillow. It was losing his scent. She shook her head and a sob let go as she flipped the fluffy thing over. “No, not yet..” Her voice cracked; the power scent had on one’s memory was intoxicating, and she craved it each night, each morning like a drug she could not get enough of. 

A single moment of each day, believing he was there. 


little dancing feet

follows this, because writing papae Solas has become my way of coping with stress, apparently


He walks the mountain slopes – the safe routes where the stones won’t slip, and his steps are sure and his focus steady as he picks his way along familiar footpaths. The sling bears her little weight with ease, and he’s grown used to the feel of it, and of her, tucked safely against his chest and beneath his coat, to ward off the cold.

He walks in silence, enthralled by her gentle, humming noises, but even as he stores them away for safekeeping he catches himself thinking years down the line, and to a set of small feet following, and a small voice keeping up a steady stream of chatter to fill the space between his breaths – a dearly precious thought, for one who has so long been resigned to a path much darker, and much, much lonelier.

But for now he allows himself to enjoy the quiet – her quiet, and her lovely, wordless sounds – for that, too, is a fact dear and precious in its own right.


“This is a very small sock,” Dorian observes, holding up the aforementioned object with a strangely delighted grin.

Sprawled on the blanket before her, Sage kicks her legs, and Ellana blows a stray lock of hair from her face, expression contorting with annoyance. With only one hand, changing her daughter is something of a struggle, but it’s practice she sorely needs, lest she saddle the nursemaid with all the work.

Not to mention, it’s a matter of pride – just because she’s lost an arm doesn’t make her useless. Or at least, it shouldn’t.

“I could do that, you know.”

Glancing up, she doesn’t bother hiding her surprise. “Weren’t you just complaining about the smell? It doesn’t get any better when you’re elbow-deep in it, and I’ve seen you deal with filth before. You can’t magic this away.”

“You wound me.”

She swats him lightly with one of the clean linen diapers. “Hardly. If I were really trying, I’d smack you with a dirty one.” But she moves out of the way when he kneels down beside her, and observes with growing amusement as he pokes one of Sage’s feet, watching her tiny toes curl with interest.

They sit there for a while in silence, Ellana watching Dorian fiddle with the strip of linen, turning it over in his hands with an expression that bravely attempts at conveying scholarly intrigue, but doesn’t succeed in hiding the fact that he has no idea where to begin.

Then, clearing his throat, “You know, this doesn’t strike me as a naturally intuitive skill–”

“I’ll instruct you.”


It’s the most half-hearted game of chess they’ve ever played.

“Arishok to–”

Sage makes a noise – a soft coo that rises from where she lies in the curve of a massive arm, and Iron Bull’s grin stretches with a laugh. “What, you don’t think it’s the right move? Forgive me if I don’t trust you – since I’m playing your old man, your opinion’s clearly biased.”

Another string of syllables follow – a seamless, meaningless babble, but Iron Bull nods along intently. Solas observes his shifting expressions, the eye-patch quirking with his widening grin, and it’s with exceptional care that he makes to shift in his seat, careful not to disturb the blanketed bundle in the crook of his arm.

And it’s something of a sight, Solas decides, watching someone of Iron Bull’s stature gently rocking a babe small enough to fit in the dip of his palm.

A long moment follows in which neither of them say a word, busy watching the small bundle, and the wide eyes trained on the sharp horns far above her head, obscuring her view of the sky. And it’s a good few minutes before Iron Bull speaks up, although without lifting his eyes to Solas–

“Wait – whose turn is it?”


“Purrs, hisses. Fur, soft to the touch. Touch it. I want to touch it.”

“Kit,” Sage chirps, ever-shifting thoughts echoed with far more simplicity, and pointing to the little shape slinking past the corner of the tavern.


There’s a pause - a pause he feels, along with the childlike need that kindles, small flames that simmer with excitement. It’s a joy unlike anyone else’s joy, this wild, childish thing. More similar to a spirit’s delighted glee, and he has always been good with spirits.

Then, “Catch?” she asks, tilting her head up to look at him. The hat casts her face in shadow, and shields it from the glare of the sun, but despite his small cares, there’s a pale dusting of freckles growing ever darker across the bridge of her nose.

A smile meets her inquisitive gaze, curving under the wide-brimmed hat. “Okay.”


At her first banquet she’s toddling with ease, if a bit too much enthusiasm at times as she physically launches herself across the room, the bell-shaped skirt of her dress a pale cloud of green and her curls bouncing about her face, and her shrieking laughter ringing loudly above the ballroom chatter.

She commandeers him for a dance, of course – no one is surprised, least of all Solas, and somewhere in his peripheral he catches the band changing their tune to one that’s not so quick; accommodating for the little legs desperately trying to keep up with the dancing couples around them.

She’s balancing on his feet, little arms raised high and her lip sucked between her teeth in concentration, and it’s difficult keeping a straight face, watching her very serious expression as he makes to twirl in a slow circle, steps steady and deliberate and her hands tucked against his palms. He feels the eyes of the ballroom on his back, and hears the murmurs below the music, but the brief glance he offers across the room is to Ellana, leaning against a pillar with a private smile and laughter in her eyes.

By the third song, Sage is half-asleep, the excitement of the day no doubt playing some part in the heavily drooping eyelids and the earnest yawns, but – “No,” comes the prompt answer when he attempts to lift her up, even though she’s barely standing. But she acquiesces when he promises he’ll keep dancing, although she’s fast asleep long before the band stops playing, arms gone slack about his neck, and sprawled against his shoulder with all her small, honest weight. But he stays where he is, swaying gently to a song from deep in his memory, and feeling her steady breaths under the press of his palm against her back.

He senses Ellana approaching, her steps quiet across the polished floors, shoes long discarded and the skirts of her dress caught between her fingers. “Everyone else has stopped dancing,” she observes, pausing to tuck a stray curl behind a jutting ear. “And there’s no band playing.”

“She would not have let that stop her, I think,” Solas chuckles softly. Then, tilting his head, “Nor would you.”

Her smile widens, and she moves to wrap her lone arm around his midsection, tucking the sleeping shape between them. But Sage doesn’t stir as they sway together in their silent dance, the ballroom empty save the servants clearing away the tables; the only music the clink of trays and glasses, cutlery and plates.

And the softly fluttering heartbeat, caged so gently between their own.

Alright listen up because I had this thought and it won’t go away until I tell someone else and since im alone in my dorm y’all get to hear it

so lets talk about Hanzo, his chicken legs and lady ankles

So I remember how the Overwatch devs spoke about how Hanzo had “delicate ankles” after people mistakenly thought his boots/whatever were prosthetic replacements for his actual legs below the knee. I’m saying what if they kind of are, but it’s just not his whole lower leg?

I personally have weak ankles and a very high arch on my foot (its along the medial longitudinal arch which is the one on the inside of your foot, going from your big toe down) so I have a really tiny area on the outside of my foot trying to support all my weight, on top of crappy ankles that all in all want to make my feet turn inwards when they should be resting on the outside part.

this, essentially, is what the foot usually looks like when you show the sole. So you need a orthotic meant to support the inner part of the foot.

So how does this relate to Hanzo? I’m suggesting that Hanzo has a high arch on his foot, possibly also weak ankles, and has some kind of high tech future super support orthotics.

What’s important to remember is how often, fast and quietly Hanzo runs. My turned in and weak ankles often roll and twist when I try to run even a bit. Having the support on the bottom of my feet helps, but I would need a lot of ankle support too to be able to run normally.

Looking at his shoes/boots you can see that they offer support mostly on the toes, heel–and most importantly, arch and ankle. Plus there’s all that extra stuff in between the metal on his knees and feet, which could also be supportive in some high tech way. 

In total, these new age orthotics could be helping correct his posture, the way his feet and ankles sit and enhancing his ability to run all at the same time. 

Plus its fun to imagine tiny Hanzo picking up archery because it involves less running and he works on the movement part later when he gets help for his fucked up feet.

So I encourage you all to please support Hanzo Shimada and his delicate ankles.

Work Out... For Me


Could you please do an imagine where Roman and his girlfriend are working out and he is totally checking her out the entire time?? Maybe a little smut (:

“No. Hell no.”


“The outfit. That is not gym appropriate. At all.”

I look down at my midi compression shorts and sports bra. The sports bra is really more of bralette length. I personally thought I looked decent.

“What part of compression shorts and sports bra doesn’t scream appropriate?”

Joe quickly pulls me to the side by the weights. His thick brows almost join as one. “All of this,” he uses his finger to slide from the hem of the bra, down to the waistband of my shorts, “is only mine to look at. And these are way too short.” His free hand quickly skirts along the tops of my thighs, sending sweet waves of want a little north of where his fingers roam.

I smile at his territorial rant. Him wanting me all to himself, twenty-four seven is the biggest turn on yet. “Surely you didn’t think I was going to wear a sweater and sweat pants.”

“Actually, yes.”

I thread my fingers between his, and lift his heavy hands closer to my face. I kiss each knuckle softly wanting to ease his tension. “This is a private gym. There are a total of maybe twenty people here. It’s no big deal.”

“All of this precious skin showing is a big deal.” His hands glide down over my shoulders and stop at my thighs. “It’s mostly guys in here, baby. How about you slide my shirt on?”

My fingers automatically curl against his yummy abs. “No. Hell no.” I shake my head. “There are also women here. You shirtless is not appropriate gym attire.”

“Ooh. Touchy, touchy, aren’t we now?” His tone is playful, but it doesn’t hide his scold on me.

“Hmm.” Double standards. Completely lame of me. “I see your point. I still don’t want you shirtless.” I wrap my arms around his wide torso and squeeze him a little.

“I’ll grab one of the gym shirts. You can take my shirt.”

Joe’s fingers find their way to my hair, pulling my face up to his. His perfectly pink lips press against mine and I am reeling. Jesus, I love him. As quick as his lips came to mine, they’re gone. I groan inwardly, but comply with the exchange of shirts because we’re here to workout. Not to make out.

I hop onto a treadmill, adjust the incline and get to speed walking. Most people listen to music at the gym. But no song could ever compare to watching Joe workout. I watch him work with the weights, testing and pushing his own limits, his tattoo sleeve glistening with sweat… He watches me, ogle over him. And so a pattern develops. I move to the stair master and he moves to the treadmill right across from me. The thick veins wrapped around his arms are just begging me to reach out and grab him. The intensity in his stare does bad, bad things to my libido. I move to the weights, and of course, Joe moves to one of the back machines in my line of vision. A delightful and antagonizing view.

After a few more switches, and a lot more eye fucking, we meet in the hallway to the locker rooms to stretch.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Joe asks, his voice thick and I know it’s because he’s ready to go… the bulge in his basketball shorts is unmistakable.

“I definitely did.” I peel the lime green shirt off of my body and throw it over my shoulder. “Did you?”

He lets out a deep breath. “Delayed gratification really isn’t my thing. You should know that by now.”

Boy, do I. Patience isn’t my strong suit either. I move over to him and twirl the strings of his shorts. I make sure my fingers graze his pelvis just enough to tease him. “Then how about… we skip the shower and head straight home.”

One eyebrow shoots up. Clearly we’re both feeling frisky. “You getting impatient, baby?”

The tips of my finger cling to the waistband of his shorts and I tug him to me. He stumbles forward and my back hits the cool wall. “Very.”

“You’re giving me your hungry eyes, baby.” Joe licks my lower lip quickly, and then bites down roughly. The small sting of pain shoots straight between my hips. “I’ve got a better idea.”

He quickly leans down, grabbing the back of my thighs and wrapping them around his hips. I wrap my arms around his neck as he makes a run for it.

“What are you doing?” I squeal, bouncing against his body. And god, does it feel good.

We zip down the long hallway, past men’s locker room and into the women’s locker room.

“Joe!” I half whisper. I don’t want anyone that may be in here to catch him. “You can’t be in here. You’re going to get us both in trouble.”

In his thick voice, laced with arousal, he whispers into my neck, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

I throw my head back as his grip on my behind tightens. Fuck it. “I won’t tell.”

He continues his assault on my neck, my collarbones, my jaw and finally devouring my lips with his. It isn’t until I feel the water rain over my face that I realize he walked into one of the small shower stalls. If anyone comes in, he’d definitely be spotted over the barrier. A man over six feet is kind of hard to miss, but thankfully he chose a corner shower at the back so if anyone spots us, they have to want to see us.

“You have to be quiet, baby. Okay?” He wraps my legs around him tighter before letting my back rest against the tiled wall. He tugs my sports bra off and it lands on the floor with a splash.

“I can’t make any promises.” I’m not shy about my pleasure where he’s concerned.

“I love when you wear my clothes. You smell just like me.”

I lift his shirt over his head and let it fall. Joe sets my feet on the ground, and the squish of my sneakers in the water makes me realize our little mistake. He moves quickly to take every item of clothing off me, like a child on Christmas morning. If he doesn’t care about our clothes and sneakers, neither do I. My fingers fumble, but quickly work their magic to get his glorious body naked. And before I can grasp it, Joe picks me up and wraps me around him.

His erection presses and slides against the tiny nub between my legs and I groan a little louder than I should. Joe muffles my groan with his mouth. I hungrily bite at his lips, kissing him hard, having no mercy on him as he moans into my mouth. His hips leave mine for a split second, and then he slowly slides himself into me. I cry out a long, broken, high-pitched sob. At this moment if someone were to walk in, I really wouldn’t care.

When Katsura remembers Shouyou, he remembers his voice – soft and slow, as though he were measuring every word. He remembers his lectures, delivered with a gentle kind of emphasis, giving every date, every name, every word equal weight. He remembers him humming absentmindedly during music lessons, as though he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

He also remembers a lack of passion in that voice, too quiet, too reserved, too measured. Too much like his grandmother’s, after she buried her children. Too much like his own. 

Katsura remembers Shouyou’s voice and hears love in it, but his skin crawls at the thought of the emptiness underlying it.

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Littlefoot’s training is coming along great! Now that he’s easily hooding, I’m starting to take him outside for flight training. Today was his first real creance training and he took to it like a champ! No fear about being in a new environment and was flying to the glove before I could even get 30 feet away! He did way better than I expected and is working at a higher weight that I thought he would too. 

These are the longest flights I’ve seen him do so far. He flies in a very fast, darty manner and is almost twitchy in the way he moves. Can’t wait to see what his flights after game look like!

shore n : land along the edge of water


“He told me that there were big plans for that little fish.” The fallen angel’s voice carried along with the crashing of waves as the sun mellowed from its perch at the line where water met sky. “I never thought that a small little grey fish could be part of such a grand plan.”

Dean didn’t really understand the weight of this recollection but he nodded with a stern face. What he did understand was the feel of sand tickling his toes and the weight of the hand in his. Even with the salty breeze attacking his senses, he was still grounded to the man who had brought him to this place.

“I remember finding you in hell. Your soul was damaged, charred almost beyond recognition. I watched you long enough to see you torturing others. And even as I watched as you ripped souls, God’s greatest creations, to pieces… I remember what my brother had said. Don’t step on that fish. Big plans for that little fish.” Castiel turned his eyes from the bubbling ends of waves to meet the pure green that shadowed the soul inside Dean Winchester. “So I pulled you out, as I was commanded to do. Not a day goes by that I ever think about what life would be like if I hadn’t.”


“The shore always brings me solace. It was the start to everything.” With a small smile Castiel turned his shoulders to face Dean and knelt until one of his knees was pressing into damp sand. Looking up into shocked eyes, Cas sighed. “Dean Winchester, will you do me the honor of being my husband?”

Dean blinked once, twice, even thrice to make sure he wasn’t imagining what was happening. And when he searched his heart for doubt, he found none. All he could do was return the fallen angel’s smile and nod, too afraid his voice would fail him.

Just as the sun melted below the sea, Castiel slipped a ring upon Dean’s finger and kissed his salt-laced lips.

Protest Too Much (51): Devotion

Izaya’s mouth tastes better than Shizuo thought it would.

He’s put some thought into the matter. He’s imagined the bite of coffee, the haze of smoke, the coppery tang of blood and the sweet-bitter of that everpresent licorice tang that clings to Izaya’s skin like a marker for his presence. He’s dreamed of it too many nights to count, has framed Izaya’s lips to vanilla and chocolate and the dark, heavy tang of coffee and iron at the back of the tongue until he thought nothing could surprise him, until he was sure the weight of Izaya’s mouth at his would feel more like coming home than a foreign experience. But Izaya tastes better, like everything Shizuo imagined but more, richer, warmer, like there’s a fire under his skin in place of blood and electricity skirting along the palms of his hands instead of the more ordinary texture of skin. Shizuo doesn’t know how they ended up toppled over the couch with the arch of Izaya’s back caught under his hold at the other’s hip and Izaya’s hands winding to fists in his hair, has no sense of how much time has passed since his perception of the world outside faded and narrowed down to just the span of Izaya’s breathing coming hard and hot at his lips, and he can’t be persuaded that it matters, not when all his thoughts are running dizzy with heat and relief and the endless, overwhelming satisfaction of finally, finally being as close to Izaya as he has always wanted to be. Izaya is no steadier; he keeps moving, dragging away to gasp a lungful of air and then pulling Shizuo in against him again, as close as they can get, as if he thinks Shizuo is likely to come to his senses and drag free of the hold he has on the other’s hair if he once lets it go free. Shizuo can’t imagine what Izaya thinks he’s likely to object to; even when the other’s teeth catch at his lip and dig in hard enough to draw the ache of a bruise to the surface his heat-drunk body just shudders with helpless force, his throat opening up onto a groan that spills hot over Izaya’s lips as if to chase away the chill of the winter snow outside.

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Terrifying Trios

A/N: Part three of New Beginnings! Yay!!! I’m overwhelmed by the positive feedback this is getting. I hope you guys enjoy!

part one   

part two

Originally posted by acklesjensen

 “Sam I’m pregnant.” Of all the things Sam was expecting you to say, that was not it. His eyes darted to your stomach and then back up. He sat down, the weight of your statement settling around both of you.

“Jesus. Is it-how-“

“Don’t you dare ask me if its Dean’s when we both know I haven’t been with anyone other than him. I’m three months along. I-I don’t think I can do this alone Sam.” You could tell by looking at Sam that he didn’t understand how frightened you were.

“Yes you-“ The panic rose in your chest a little more with each passing moment. You had thought you came to terms with the news but the more you thought about the more panicked you became. You cut Sam off in your panic, trying to make him understand.

“The doctors kept telling me I’m a high risk pregnancy. I’ll have to give myself shots of heparin everyday at least once a day. Shots Sam! I hate shots! And they expect me to give them to myself! In my belly! Shots! Plus I’ll have doctor appointment’s almost every week, Sam I just, I don’t think I can do this alone. I wasn’t supposed to do this alone.”  The last part was a whispered confession. It was a thought that had crossed your mind many times today. You never thought about being a mother. Not while you were hunting and it never occurred to you that you would leave that life behind. But when you were younger and thought about being a mom you always thought the dad would be present. You weren’t naïve, you knew every family was different. Many kids are raised by a single parent. Who doesn’t think of that cookie cutter family when they think of having one of their own though? Two parents, the child, maybe a dog or a cat, that was normal right?

           “Y/N you won’t be alone, I’ll go to as many doctor appointments as I can, and Cas can go to the others. I’ll help you. We’ll get you a place for just the two of you and I’ll make sure you don’t ever feel like you’re doing this alone. You can do this Y/N. We can do this.” His eyes locked on to you and he held your hand in his much larger one. You had started crying again, damn hormones. Sam didn’t mind, he only brushed your tears away before placing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“He-he wouldn’t want this baby would he?” Another thought that was plaguing your mind.

“He would, Y/N. Dean isn’t himself with the mark, you know that. Dean would love this baby and love you. But I think we need to get him back to himself before we tell him. Are you okay with that?” You only shrugged; you didn’t think Dean would care with or without the mark. He never loved you like that, not the way you loved him. He only came to you when there weren’t any other options. But that hadn’t been the case for you. Dean was all you wanted. You worried that if you did tell Dean, even after the mark was gone, that he would feel obligated to stay with you. Not stay because he wanted to but because it was his duty.

This baby was a piece of you both, a piece of the man you loved; a piece of Dean. That alone was enough to make your heart swell. Your hand rested over your tiny baby bump. Your mind was in a thousand different directions. One thing you knew for sure was that you would love this little bean with everything you had. Sam’s hand covered yours and you looked up into his warm eyes. You expected to see the same fear mirrored in his eyes or sorrow, or even anger. Instead, you found a contagious grin spreading from his mouth to his eyes.

“I’m going to be an uncle.” It was impossible not to smile back as you listened to Sam tell your baby all about himself, Cas, and Dean. You just hoped Dean would soon be the man that Sam was describing.

Two months later you sat in your living room attempting to paint your toes. A knock sounded on the door and you waddled over to answer it. Sam and Cas both wore matching grins when you opened the door. Cas wrapped you in a gentle hug while kissing your cheek. Sam skipped you and went straight for the ever growing bump.

“We get to find out what you are today little bean!” You pushed him away and moved so each of them could get inside. Sam laughed at your grumpy expression.

“Is it time for another doctor’s appointment already?” All you did was go to the doctor. It was time for your little bean to come out. You sank down in your previous spot on the couch. Sam sat next to you and Cas stood across from you by the window. Sam didn’t even hesitate before he began to paint your toes for you. It wasn’t the first time since the pregnancy that he’s helped you paint your toes. You doubted it would be the last. The first time was horrible! The two of you got so giggly  that you were afraid you were going to go into labor. The skin on your toes looked red for a month afterwards. He’s gotten much better since then but you stay away from reds.

“Oh I’m so thankful for you; can you to shave my legs next? Just kidding…kind of. I can’t reach those either and no one told me that you can just kiss smooth legs away when your ego is prego. Or a social life, you guys are the only people I see anymore. You and Charlie. Well, I don’t see her but I talk to her. I miss her.” You sighed in sadness but kept your eyes closed.  If Sam kept this up you would be sleeping soon, your mind was already drifting to sleep. But Sam clearing his throat interrupted that. Eyes popping open you looked between both men who were glaring at one another. They were having a silent argument and you didn’t like it one bit. Your nerves were on guard.

“What? What is it? I swear I gave myself the shot this morning. I’m not due for another one till tonight. I swear.” Sam and Cas had discovered how bad you freaked at the idea of giving yourself a shot. More than once they had to force you to do it or give it to you themselves.

“Y/N, Dean….Dean’s been asking about you.” You gave Sam a blank look.

“Okay? What’s new? You say he’s always asking if you heard from me. I still get calls and texts from him. What’s the big deal?” Despite your blank look dread filled your stomach like lead. You did everything in your power to lose all contact with Dean. You and Sam decided not to tell him about the pregnancy. Sam kept you updated about what was going on though and your heart broke every time you heard he was getting worse. You couldn’t stand the idea of Dean being so lost. Charlie was the only one to give you news now. Sam tensed up and changed the subject when you asked and Castiel was rude enough to just zap out. She told you last week he was more violent than ever but thought her and Sam might have a cure soon. You hoped they found one.

“He knows we are in contact with you.” This time it was Cas that spoke up. Your eyes widened and you looked at him with concern.

“How? Haven’t you been careful? I told you when things got bad to leave me be. Don’t risk him getting upset. Charlie told me that even little things set him off, how did he respond to that? Huh? Fuck guys.” You didn’t know what to do, the last thing you wanted was for Dean to go after Sam and Castiel because of you. He called you every now and then but the voicemails he left weren’t exactly loving and making you rush back to him. Not at all.

“He didn’t say anything, he just told us he knew and then moved on.” Oh. Okay….you’d rather him be mad. No reaction felt worse. Yeah…you definitely wanted him to show some kind of reaction.

“So what’s the big deal then? Why are ya’ll arguing over this?”

“Because I think that means we can go about things the way we have been. Castiel feels like we need to back off from you, at least till we know that Dean won’t come looking for you.” You rolled your eyes and shot a look to Cas.

“It’s clear Dean doesn’t give a shit Cas. And I’ll be damned if Sam misses the birth of my child. Dean won’t come looking for me. He won’t. He doesn’t care. He only misses his fuck toy and nothing more.” Tears leaked from your eyes despite the anger in your voice. You were both pissed off and heartbroken and that pissed you off even more. Neither man said anything about Dean again the rest of the day. Which you were thankful for that. It was hard enough doing all these things involving his unborn child without him. Which is why when the nurse told you that you and Sam were having a little girl you burst into tears.

“I’ll give you two some space.” You hiccupped and Sam thanked the nurse.

“Shhh, hey it’s a girl! You can do all those things you talked about wanting to do! Play dress up, teach her how to shoot a gun, how to fish….and of course put giant bows in her hair. Hey shhhh-“ His efforts at helping you feel better were not working. At all.

“She-she’s she’s gonna look just like him and he’ll never know her. S-s-Sam she won’t even have the chance to be a daddy’s girl. He should be here.” Not Sam, was the silent statement at the end of the sentence. But Sam didn’t flinch or run away. He helped wipe of the gel from your stomach and held you close the rest of the day.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” You were kind of relieved that he was leaving. You wanted to sort through your emotions alone.

“Okay, hey Sam…I’m sorry about today. She’ll be lucky to have you in her life, I hope you know that.” Smiling back at you he nodded and turned to leave. You watched as his old truck turned left out of your driveway, hoping he understood why you felt the way you did.

The next few months were spent with Sam and working on the nursery. Cas coming to bring you treats and future toys for your little girl, and you trying to pick out a name. Going to doctor appointments, and distracting yourself from news of Dean. You found yourself putting the last touches in the nursery when the doorbell rang. Assuming it was Sam you waddled to your door and pulled it open. Your mouth fell open in shock when Dean stood on the other side. His eyes were as wide as yours as he took in the massive form that was your belly.

“Dean.” You hated that his name fell from your lips like an answered prayer. You hated that your heart leapt to your throat. That your eyes watered when his dazzling green ones met yours. You hated he could still have this effect on you.

“Y/N. I- can I come in?” You nodded and moved out of his way. It was clear that neither of you knew what to say. You led him to the kitchen and watched as he sat down.

“Can I get you anything?” He shook his head no, eyes still trained on you. No, not you but your stomach. You poured yourself a glass of water and hobbled over to the chair opposite of him. He jumped up to pull your chair back.  But still neither of you spoke.


“How could you not tell me you were having my kid?” The anger in his voice took you off guard. You grew defensive of your actions and yourself.

“Maybe it’s not yours!” You huffed back. His eyebrow shot up in a “don’t bullshit me” manner and you regretted your childish comeback.

“Really Y/N? Is that how you want to play this?” You were fighting the overwhelming instinct to run and hide from his piercing glare.

“No, it’s not. I don’t want to play at all. But I also don’t know what to say. You made it clear I wasn’t wanted or needed. I was only a fuck buddy and I didn’t want you to stay with us out of pity or obligation.”  He dragged his hand down over his face, drawing attention to how tired he looked. How ragged.

“Y/N, that’s not-I didn’t mean any of that. I swear, and you were more than a fuck buddy. I thought you knew that. I-Christ. Y/N I loved, no I love you damn it! And you don’t get to run away from me or this. I want you and I want this family. You don’t get to make that decision for me.” By now he was kneeling in front of you, large hands cupping your cheeks that were coated in tears.

“I thought-I thought it wasn’t anything serious for you. I thought-“

“You thought wrong Y/N, you were the only girl I was with. Since the moment you gave me the time of day, I knew you were what I wanted. You were the only thing I needed. Y/N, please. Please give me a shot. Please.” His forehead rested against yours as he begged you. You only nodded in response, to overwhelmed for words. He kissed your forehead, your cheek, and then kissed your belly.

“Is it-“

“It’s a girl….” You still felt cautious around him but maybe you could give this a shot. Just maybe.

‘Hey princess, it’s your Daddy. I’m gonna spoil you rotten.” As if she was waiting for this moment all along when Dean kissed your belly for a second time your water broke.

“Shit! Dean you need to call Sam.”


“Now! My water broke!” You didn’t have time to notice the many missed calls from Sam and Castiel.

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entire afternoons
are laid to waste
before cyclical thoughts,
as I smoke myself senseless,
for a change of pace.

days have been dismal
as of late,
they’ve stopped asking
why he just got up
and left.

no note,
no swan song airing
of pent up grievances
to haunt us
until the end of our days,

we have past the point
of hollow rumors,
speaking only
as grave-faced realists.

although our encounters
were peripheral,
i find myself searching
for his ghost
along empty waterfronts,
and forgotten parks,
hoping to catch a glimpse
of that boy
turned apparition
by the weight
of an unseen world.

A Captain walked along the corridor of the starbase followed by a bounty hunter and a couple of stormtrooper. The Captain was nervous. He was going ti dusturb the General in the middle of the night, but he had no choice: the bounty hunter seemed to have something important for the First Order.

He stopped in front of the door of Hux’s appartment. He knocked and waited.

A lot if thoughts came into his mind. He was sure that the General would kill him. He sighed moving the weight from a foot to another. The waiting was killing him.


There Are Secrets That Should Rather Be Kept

It was quite unfortunate for Rin Matsuoka that his life as a prince seemed to be more of a burden than a blessing. His favorite way of spending his day was to train his fighting skills, even though he knew that he was not likely to ever fight in a war. But he had insisted on learning it, just in case. And who could resist the wishes of a young, stubborn prince?

But nonetheless, there were duties he had to fulfill, if he liked it or not. Rin wasn’t a child anymore and with every year it just seemed like the weight on his shoulders became heavier. And to make it even worse, he wasn’t going to be taught by a teacher anymore. His parents wanted him to be ‘more autonomous’, and therefore, Rin had to visit the library more than he ever thought he would. 

For one year, it seemed to work out. Rin got along with the former librarian, who had often helped him out when he seemed to grow desperate over what he had to study. Unfortunately it had been a quite old man who had recently passed away, leaving the young prince alone with the books he didn’t always understand. Not only that, Rin had actually liked to listen to him, since this was one of the rare opportunities he had when it came to speaking to the ‘common populace’.

Rin surely wasn’t one to talk very well with strangers, so going to the library while knowing that he was going to be all by himself upset him. Actually, it made him feel a bit nervous, especially because he could always rely on the old man when it came to choice of books that would help Rin with his studying.

Though he heard that there was a new librarian, and if Rin was lucky, then he’d be able to help him as well. The young man glanced around; there weren’t many people here. 

Finding the new librarian shouldn’t be that hard, should it? After wandering around a little, Rin spotted a tall man sorting a few books. That must be him, so Rin quickly approached him, making sure that his expression looked neutral. He didn’t feel comfortable with strangers knowing how he felt, even though he could barely hold this facade up. In truth, he was like an open book.

“I apologize for interrupting you, but I assume you are the new librarian?,” Rin started, keeping his voice down so he wouldn’t disturb anyone else, but he tried to get to the point quickly. “I need the books about the early history about this country.” Actually Rin needed help with that, but he certainly wouldn’t ask.




she carved a space within his ribs,
left her name scrawled along
hollow collarbones, traced the
constellations on his back and
admired the way his shoulders
bore the weight of the world.

he tattooed his name on
her beating heart, the monster
that lived in his chest roared
to life beneath her delicate fingers
and he wished for the stars so
she could have a piece of the cosmos
to remember him by.

because, as he knew, good things
couldn’t last that long.

—  fate is a funny thing, k.t.


The thing about being pregnant that Sam was not warned about was the aches and pains that came with gaining so much weight in such a short period of time. Especially since Dean and Gabriel and Castiel were not willing to let him continue hunting. They even insisted on getting him to stop researching for a while. Apparently the stress of researching might be a bad thing for the baby.

Not that Sam was complaining much. At seven months along, he was happily comfortable on the couch watching some TV while he dipped some sausages into a container of chocolate ice cream. (And he thought at one point that the food Dean ate was disgusting… Stupid pregnancy cravings). And frankly, he was enjoying his vacation.