bathed in golden light

1. I wasn’t in love with you anymore, but god, this knocked the wind out of me.

2. You were just here.

3. You were just here.

4. Do you remember? The frozen food pressed to your shoulder, the way you shook with the knowledge of a barely avoided death?

5. My mouth. Yours.

6. I had been struggling with my old poems about you. You know, you were the first one I ever wrote. I had some questions for you, Cleveland. I suppose I don’t have them anymore.

7. It isn’t even seeing you kiss her that’s the problem. It’s that you share a table.

8. Maybe “wife” bothers me, too. I know how that word sounds, coming from you. Remember? Those long drives? Perhaps I still exist as your heart when you hit the road.

9. You still exist as mine when I hit the words.

10. I couldn’t read them aloud anymore, the poems. That old pain. It didn’t exist. We had chased it away with chocolate and cherries. Still, you occupy a shelf in the bright. In the cold .

11. You always have been impossibly careless with my heart. With my new lives, all of them.

12. There’s a Smiths song – if you were reading my texts I would send you it – it goes: and I’m not happy / and I’m not sad. I’m not sad, seeing you happy. She looks as full of light as I used to when you kissed me. I am glad for her. I know what you have to give.

13. It’s the loss of our friendship. More a removal. A reopened scar, from the last time. Remember, how we were friends? We’ve been so good at it. I can’t believe you won’t hear from me now. I couldn’t believe you wouldn’t hear from me, then. You know the words. 

14. I just wanted to wish you well. I just. I just wanted to be what I always have been. Yours, in whatever form we decide.

15. Nearly two years since we met and you still find new ways to let me down. I think it impresses me more than it wounds.

16. You told me all about her, remember? We discovered we had both loved ghosts, since the last time you cried on my couch. Do you remember? The things that we allow to haunt us take root in the end. I need to change my sheets.

17. I wonder if I am the ghost now. The woman you never had the courage to keep. Do I haunt you, darling? I can hear your voice saying yes. Feel the reach of your arms as I spin out of them, laughing. Do I echo?

18. You kissed me like you used to, the last time. You will again, the next. You always do.

19. In a poem I never got the chance to read you, I said that you exist suspended in time. In flashes of white sheets. Bathed in orange light on the Golden Gate Bridge. Spinning me around on a cold February evening. One year ago today.

20. One year ago today, you laid next to me. We cried about something that doesn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter then, either.

21. Do you remember the words? Of that last song at what we thought was the last breakfast. You sat me on your knee.

22. Your hands shook as you held me tight. I put my lips to your ear. Do you remember? The words. Say them with me.

23. In my own sick way / I’ll always stay true to you.

—  Upon Seeing Your New Girlfriend For The First Time. Charlotte Ford.
The last clip.

Everyone is gathered around a long table. The table of covered in a variety of wonderful food, and everyone is dressed in their best clothes. They all look beautiful, their faces bathed in golden light from candles on the table.

The camera pans slowly around to each person at the table as they laugh and talk and smile.

We hear Jonas’ voice.

“A world full of opportunities. A world where dreams can come true.”

The laughter at the table breaks his words.

“It sounds fantastic. And it is fantastic. But it’s not the whole truth.”

Jonas is watching them all with a small smile.

“We all have our shame, but that shame is what makes us grow. We learn from it, and we learn from others.”

The camera is focused on Eva, who laughs and drinks from a glass and talks loud. She is surrounded by the girl squad.

“We have learned to stand together.”

To Chris, who is laughing and taking selfies with the balloon squad.

“To dare to be ourselves.”

Vilde is shown dancing with Magnus, then another shot of her leaning on Eva and smiling into Eva’s shoulder.

“We’ve learned that fitting in is never as important as those who truly care about you,”

To Noora, who shares a knowing, smirking look with Sana, which blooms into a smile,

“…and those who truly care about you will always be there when you need them.”

The camera pans to Eskild, who is dancing with Linn,

“We’ve learned never to put ourselves above anyone else,”

Elias looks around to all of his boys before sharing a look with Sana,

“…and to always look out for one another.”

We see Even looking around him, at all of these people who love and care about him, and he pulls Isak in and kisses him on the cheek.

“Because you are not alone,”

Isak kisses Even, then turns to look at Sana, who winks at him.

“…And it’s better to build bridges than walls.”

We then see a shot of just Sana smiling, looking at all of her friends gathered.

“We’ve learned that hate doesn’t come from religion, it comes from fear.”

We see her phone screen light up. A facetime call from Yousef. She picks it up and Yousef’s face appears on the screen. We hear a faint “eid mubarak!” from her phone, amongst all the chatter and laughter and sounds of forks on plates. Sana smiles her widest, happiest smile.

The door opens suddenly. Yousef appears through the doorway, locking his phone and putting it in his pocket.

Sana smiles even wider. She runs up to him and nearly tackles him in a hug. Everyone cheers.

“We’ve learned that true love always finds a way.”

The camera pans back out. We hear the laughter and see the smiles of everyone from the end of the table, as if you are sitting there with all of them. The laughter fades until it’s nearly silent.

“But never forget….”

The screen goes black. The audio goes silent.

“Alt er love.”

A moment of silence, then Laughter Lines by Bastille plays as the credits roll.


“I’ll see you in the future when we’re older

And we are full of stories to be told

Cross my heart and hope to die

I’ll see you with your laughter lines”

anonymous asked:

Do you think Neil has a binder (solely) for Andrew (and him) and one for his Foxes? What's inside the binder(s)? And ohh btw I just simply love your hc about the photos ((and i want more bec i love you and your hcs so much))

thanks bb <3

(neil only got the binders because he can’t cover every spare inch of the walls of their apartments in photos and articles - even he recognises that it would make it look like a serial stalker’s den. yes, andrew’s slightly judgmental expression did help him to reach that conclusion)

anyway, a list of some of the contents of neil’s post-graduation binders:

  • every photograph and article about kevin day neil can get his hands on - and there’s a lot of them. kevin holding trophies, kevin with his teams, kevin and thea in elegant clothes at big events, kevin smiling in a way that starts fake but gets more real as the years pass. kevin, alive. kevin, victorious. kevin with everything that riko tried to take from him. (enough of them that andrew made a dry comment or two about neil at least being predictable in his obsessions) (he’s quietly satisfied by the progression, too)
  • articles on robin, as both a fox and afterwards, concrete proof of neil’s work as a captain and andrew’s…something neil isn’t quite sure of sometimes, still. photos of her standing tall and proud, no trace of the mousey child who was nearly too afraid to be a fox
  • a collection of postcards addressed to them both in renee’s neat hand - pictures of mountain ranges and jungles and forests and deserts and cityscapes, ones that still make neil think about a different kind of travel than the frightened bolt he and his mother did across half the planet all those years ago with that vague kind of longing for something different
  • the entire photographic coverage of allison’s first fashion show (neil was there, which meant andrew was there. unsurprisingly, andrew ‘i wear designer clothes’ minyard found it more interesting than neil ‘the height of fashion is my partner’s oversized hoodie and these jeans that i’ve had for ten years’ josten)
  • a heavy piece of cream card inviting neil and andrew to the wedding of nicholas hemmick and erik klose (they went. neil had never seen nicky happier)
  • a picture of matt and neil hugging on the court after eschewing the more normal post-game handshake, wearing different colours and smiles
  • articles following dan’s career, from her first teams through to the foxes, including photos of her familiarly disapproving and determined and delighted expression on the sidelines or amongst her players
  • a collection of photos taken by various foxes at their ‘reunions’ - matt and dan curled in the same armchair, dan laughing because she’s getting squashed. renee braiding allison’s hair, her face all careful concentration, while allison sits on the floor between her knees drinking wine. aaron and kevin arguing, for old time’s sake. nicky and andrew making drinks while erik watches on in the background. all of them together in one mess, no one looking the right way, someone’s eyes closed, someone laughing a little bit too hard - perfect
  • a singular photo of jean moreau, helmet under his arm as he looks down at jeremy knox, the man he followed through the professional leagues post-college. he’s smiling in it, grey eyes crinkled in the corners. (neil can’t quite explain why he kept it - he doesn’t look at it much. when he does, he remembers)
  • a collection of articles about andrew on the court, from his first year pro all the way through. articles that still call him dangerous, but mean it in relation to the scoring percentages of his opposition. photos of him stretched out in goal, immortalised in brutal determination, beside total strangers calling him talented, even calling him revolutionary because of his style of play
  • more articles about andrew, off of the court - andrew as an icon, flat-faced beside LGBT campaigners for sports, speaking bluntly and truthfully and tactlessly at events as an invited guest. 
  • andrew, whose thesis on the treatment of mentally ill juveniles in the justice system was publicised by a psu student, who stared at everyone who questioned him about it in a way that unmistakably said i meant what i wrote
  • andrew, the survivor, who donates so much of his salary to a variety of causes, who did before anyone knew and who continued after it became public like he didn’t give a fuck because he didn’t
  • photos of the andrew that belong to neil, ones that make andrew curl his lip if neil pins them up - he and his brother standing shoulder to shoulder at the reception of aaron’s wedding, caught on camera by the official photographer in a very rare moment of understanding. him bathed in the light of a sunset on their balcony, all golden. he and neil together wearing red, white and blue in the locker room of a foreign stadium, ready to walk on the court for their country. him on the couch, asleep on his belly with one of the cats curled up in the cup of his lower back
  • (neil doesn’t mean to document his own history, only theirs - it happens by accident. there’s a photo of him beside kevin, medals around both of their necks at a world cup final. a photo him in the audience of an event where andrew is on the stage, photographed looking up from the crowd with a slight smile on his face included in an article on andrew. one from a reunion, taken from behind him and andrew with the sun turning them to silhouettes, including where their hands are curled together between them. a headshot of him from a where are they now-style article on the first ncaa champion fox team, scars on display and stare as bright and challenging as ever - still alive)

cryptidsanonymous  asked:

I just read everything in your gods and monsters series and wow I am in awe. I am absolutely blown away by your writing it's beautiful the Icarus one had me staring at a wall for ten minutes afterwards absorbing what I'd just read. anywhoozle, I love everything you've written and not to rush or pressure you or anything but I was wondering if perhaps we could get more of the greek mythology stories?

a continuation of this


Caeneus has only ever had two loves in his life.

First is the sea. He’s loved her his whole life, heard her siren song from the time he had long curly hair and still tolerated being put in dresses and called a girl. He loves the sea like his parents go to temple, in an unmovable and inexplicable way that he no longer questions.

Second is Poseidon. Foolish, but so achingly kind. He’s a man who professes his wish to master the sea without ever really understanding it, and Caeneus smiles and kisses the stress lines from his brow but does not worry.

The sea has never loved him back, and it never will. She is power and coldness and loss, and her beauty is in her tragedy. Poseidon is warmth and thoughtfulness and strong hands on his hips. He is nothing like the sea, and he will never rule it.

Caeneus knows this, and he’s relieved by it. Poseidon loves him back. Poseidon is not the sea.

Then he wakes up to his lover’s lips on his neck, cold enough that flinches away from the sensation, and for a terrifying moment he doesn’t recognize the person touching him as the man he loves.

“I can do it now,” he whispers, and cool fingers splay against his waist, “I can make you the man you want to be.”

Caeneus wants the body that men usually have, wants people to stop looking at him and seeing a woman. But if Poseidon had asked, he would have told him – Caeneus would choose his lover over a new body, would rather live as he does now than have Poseidon harm himself for his benefit.

But he did not ask, so Caeneus closes his eyes and accepts the gift his lover is so eager to give him.

~

Amphitrite has never had a heart before.

She was the sea, and what she desired, she took. Men, women – she wanted, and she had, and then she moved on.

But the heart in her chest is softer, warmer. It turns her pearl hued skin pink and makes her swim to the surface to watch the sun set, makes something like empathy stir inside her when before all she had was selfishness.

The heart in her chest is in love, and she thought it was something she could control, something she could stop. It’s not. It will be one day, when she masters this heart in her chest, but not yet. She spends hours following Caeneus as he sails her seas, guides fish into his net and feels her borrowed heart beat that much faster whenever he pears into the ocean and she catches sigh of his gorgeous amber eyes.

So she says to Poseidon, “You spend too much time on the shore for a god of the sea.”

He glances at her, and his eyes are green just like hers, are cold and uncaring just like hers used to be. She wonders what her eyes look like now. “Caeneus is on the shore.”

“Bring him here if you’re so concerned with your mortal,” she says, focusing on weaving shells into her hair and giving the impression that she couldn’t care less what he does with his mortal plaything. “The palace is big enough.”

He stops and turns to her, eyebrow raised. “You do not mind me bringing him here?”

“Do with your mortal as you wish,” she repeats, and stamps down on the trembling joy in her chest, “It’s no concern of mine.”

~

Caeneus doesn’t know how to love a god of the sea. He knew how to love Poseidon – take him onto the water to watch the sunrise, feed him warm, sweet drinks, and let him curl around him at night and listen to his stories of his siblings, of impossible gods who do impossible things.

But now he sits in a palace under water, with his own room and the freedom to see the other side of the ocean he loves so dearly. There are no sunsets here, no cocoa to barter for, and Poseidon doesn’t tell him stories any more.

Poseidon still loves him. He kisses him and holds his hips when they sleep together and keeps him by his side while he crosses the sea and gains more and more control over this domain that he now commands. Poseidon still loves him, he tells himself when he itches to return to the surface and the home Poseidon build for him, and the life he built for himself.

He didn’t want to be a consort of the king of sea. He just wanted to be Caeneus, a man who loved a man and was loved in return, a man who loved the sea even though it would never love him back.

The sea will never love him back. He’s known that since he was a child, so the real question is – how much of the Poseidon he knew is left, and how much of him the depths of the ocean?

~

There’s a hurricane that requires her husband’s attention, and even he is not so foolish as to bring his lover to a place as dangerous as that. Which means it’s the perfect time for her to run into him in the interior gardens, as he stares up through the iridescent seaweed to the rays of sunlight that just manage to penetrate the water. “Do you miss it?” she asks him, and he startles, swinging around to face her and stumbling away.

“My lady!” he says, and falls to his knees before her, bowing his head. It’s what she expects of all mortals, but not from him, never from him. The heart in her chest loves him, and if it’s not her heart, well – the rest of her doesn’t know the difference. “A thousand apologies.”

“You are welcome here,” she says, and smiles. She’s never smiled quite like this before, she’s never felt quite like this before, fond and fluttery and so painfully eager that it would be embarrassing if she ever dared articulate it. It’s a wonder Poseidon managed to get anything done at all if this is what he had in his chest.

He looks up, hesitant, and she holds out her hand. He takes it, and she pulls him to his feet, pulls him closer until they’re nearly touching and he’s forced to look up into her eyes or be stuck staring at her chin. He’s warmer than her, she can feel the heat pouring off him in waves, and she wants him to hold her in his arms so she can languish against him like she would a sun-warmed rock.

Before she had a heart, she took who and what she wanted, when she wanted it.

Now she has a heart, and she takes his hands in both of hers and says, “Would you like to visit the surface? I can take you, and bring you back before my husband returns.”

He’s hesitant because he’s afraid of her. Caeneus will never love her, because although she holds the heart he loves she is not the person the heart belongs to. Not that he knows any of that, not that anyone will ever know the details of her and Poseidon’s arrangement. But she doesn’t want Caeneus to be afraid of her. She wants him to smile at her like she is a sunrise. “Yes, please,” he decides on finally.

She stands and watches as he walks through his home, as he touches the hearth and looks longingly at the bed, as he stands in the small cottage that he clearly prefers over her palace, over all the riches and adoration that comes with being consort to the sea.

Caeneus is a simple man, whose heart loves with a simple love.

He is a man whose heart loves someone who now has no heart, and Amphitrite can’t bring herself to tell him. She’s the one who took it away, and she won’t give it back.

She likes having a heart, and one day she will need to return it, but not now, not yet, not for a long time.

~

Caeneus lies besides Poseidon, curled up so his head rests on the god’s outflung arm and he can watch his chest rise and fall as he sleeps. There are bruises on Caeneus’s hips and down his chest, bite marks on his shoulder and up his neck. It’s not the first time his lover has been rough with him, and he doesn’t mind, like that Poseidon doesn’t touch him like he’s afraid he’ll break, likes that whenever he’s rough he’s careful enough with his strength not to ever cross the line from bruising to breaking.

It’s different than it used to be. It’s been different for a long time, ever since Poseidon somehow convinced the Lady to hand over her title as monarch, to share her power with him for no reason that Caeneus can see. It’s not love between them, because the sea does not love. But she got something out of it, something valuable enough to bargain away part of her power, and as soon as she did the man Caeneus loves ceased to exist.

He slides out of bed and angrily rubs at his eyes. He can’t do this anymore, can’t sleep and live with this man who has his lover’s face and memories and nothing else.

He knows this palace well, and everyone else knowns him too. The servants don’t question him, only offer shallow bows before hurrying on his way. He’s a fisherman who lives on the outskirts of society. He’s not any sort of person that people were meant to bow to. He stands in front of an ornate set of carved doors, the beautiful shimmering inside of a muscle shell of impossible size. Two guards stand at each door, but neither move to stop him as he pushes it open and slips inside.

“Lady?” he whispers. Large, bioluminescent carvings flare to life all across the room, bathing them in soft golden-green light. Amphitrite pulls herself out of bed, green hair loose around her and the rest of her on display, pale and flawless, as perfect an example of a beautiful woman as Caeneus has ever seen, and he averts his gaze. “Lady!”

“So modest,” she teases, and when he glances over she’s in a simple white robe and pulling her hair up behind her. She looks vulnerable like this, almost like his mother did when she would rouse him and his father from sleep in the darkness of early morning so they could catch the fish while they were still sleeping. “What’s going on Caeneus? I thought my husband had exclusive rights to your nights,” she winks, and he forces a smile.

He walks over to her, takes her hands in his because he knows she likes how warm he runs compared to her, and her smile slips off her face. “Please,” he whispers, “Poseidon is different than he once was, and I want to know why. Please.”

~

She shouldn’t tell him, but the heart in her chest loves him, and she loves him too, thinks she would even without Poseidon’s heart influencing her.

So she tells him, and when he starts crying she brushes away his tears and he doesn’t stop her. “He’ll never love you like he once did,” she tells him, “It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he just can’t.”

“The sea doesn’t love you back,” he says, because he knows, because he’s a skilled sailor, because he’s one of the people who has worshipped her his whole life without ever expecting anything back, because that’s what an ocean gives back – nothing at all. “Can – can I give you my heart?”

She stares. “Excuse me?”

“Let me give you my heart,” he pleads, “so that I may hold Poseidon’s in my chest. You can have mine, I know I’m only a mortal–”

“You’re all mortal to me,” she says, because a hundred years, a thousand, ten thousand, what does it matter – she and Gaia were around long before gods and humans, and they’ll be around long after them. “If I give you Poseidon’s heart, you will become a god.”

He pales and flinches away from her. He’s not in this for power, this was never about power to him. It was always about love. “Lady, I’m not trying to – I don’t want that.”

“If you become a god,” she continues, because she loves him and that means she wants him to be happy, even at her own expense, “you will be alive when the time comes for me to reclaim my title of monarch. One day I will take back my heart from Poseidon, will reclaim the cold, black thing in his chest as my own, and when I do he will no longer be master of the sea. When I do, you can give him back his heart, and he will love you as he loved you before, as he will always love you.”

Caeneus has a hand over his chest and there’s so much hope shining in his eyes that it’s almost painful to look at. “Please, Lady. Please. I love him, let me carry his heart, let me have him back once you are done. I will wait.”

“It will be a long time,” she answers honestly, “Empires will rise and fall before I’m willing to give this up, before Poseidon will be willing to give up his power over the sea.”

“I will wait,” Caeneus repeats, “I love him. If you have my heart, maybe you will grow to love him too. If you have my heart, you will protect him, you will keep him safe.”

Amphitrite loves Caeneus, and Caeneus loves Poseidon, and Poseidon is incapable of loving anyone at all. “Very well,” she whispers, because a heart is a heart, and just like Poseidon she’s unable to deny Caeneus anything.

She breaks open her chest and takes out the warm, beating heart of Poseidon. She slits open Caeneus’s chest for him, and holds him upright while struggles to take out his heart and clumsily places in into her chest. She heals over instantly, and nestles Poseidon’s heart in Caeneus’s ribcage. He too heals over, and his eyes flash with power as the heart settles inside of him.

Caeneus becomes so much more than a mortal man in that moment.

This heart doesn’t feel too different, she still loves Caeneus because she’s capable of loving and he is worthy of it. “Go,” she says, “Say your goodbyes, and leave. If you stay, he’ll just continue hurting you, and in a few thousand years he’ll hate himself for it. Leave now, and spare both of you that pain.”

He leans forward and cups her face in his hands, kissing her on each cheek. “Thank you,” he breathes, and then he’s gone.

~

Caeneus can feel the power of a god flowing into him, but he doesn’t care about that, the only reason he’s glad he’s a god now is so he’ll live long enough to get Poseidon back, to get the Poseidon who loves him back.

He goes back to where Poseidon is sleeping, and takes a long, careful look. It will be a long time before he sees this man again. He kisses him on the lips, softly and carefully, the way Poseidon first kissed him when he thought he was sleeping.

Then he leaves, stepping outside the palace and using his newly gained powers to bring himself to the shore.

~

Poseidon is furious, bur Amphitrite won’t budge, says only that Caeneus left. He throws a temper, and half the palace is lost in the aftermath, but she does not care.

She doesn’t tell him that she no longer carries his heart. It doesn’t matter. Caeneus’s heart beats in her chest, and she sits on her throne amongst the rubble and does nothing more than sigh at the way he threatens to tear the world apart looking for his lover. It will pass. The depth and coldness of the sea is unable to sustain such fits of wild passion.

Years pass. Rumors reach them of a sea god, one who is known for rescuing sailors and fisherman from storms, one who they say used to be a mortal fisherman himself.

They call him Glaucus, and say that he swallowed a magical herb to become a god.

She smiles when she hears these rumors, and thankfully Poseidon has long given up trying to get her to explain herself. The rumors are only half right, but she likes hearing them none the less.

It comforts her to hear that Caeneus is well.


gods and monster series, part xiii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

Oxygen

pairing: Ivar x Reader

fandom: vikings

warnings: spanking, choking

@nekodemon73 @kumpmk @ivarthebonelessx (I got your back here, don’t you worry)


Warm sunlight tickled your skin. The rays of sunshine were all over your body, bathing it in a golden light that almost made you look like a statue, lying on the ground with the green grass which provided an enjoyable cold contrast.
This was one of your favourite spots, away from everyone. The wind made a nice howling sound as it blew past the hills and through the small valley further down. You could see the sea from up here and often got lost in the movements of the waves for hours.
It was so easy to forget time up here, though not today. Dark thoughts clouded your mind and it was hard to concentrate on all the beauty around you.

Keep reading

adult!Remus Lupin Imagine - Stop Thinking

“Can I ask for a fic request? Lupin x reader… but it’s POA era so Lupin is a professor and the reader is a 7th year. They both dance around the fact that they’re clearly attracted to each other and he’s desperately trying to be the responsible teacher but eventually they succumb to their attraction…? :D x” - @nervetonic

“Hey so requests are open? Could you please do something with adult Remus Lupin x reader? There’s so many young Remus stuff, which I love, but I could barely find adult remus stuff. Thank you so much! :3″ - Anon

So it sure has been a long time since I’ve posted anything lololol. I am going to put a slight warning on this one - I didn’t write a student/teacher relationship, but I did make the reader considerably younger than Remus. Also I’m going to have a language warning because I definitely threw in a couple of “fuck”s. As always I proofread a bunch so if there are any errors please forgive me! To the anon whose request I combined into the original one I received, if you’re not happy with this please feel free to send in another request when I open them back up; Remus is my fave and I would be happy to write more imagines for him!

Word Count: 4,000+

The Great Hall overflowed with excited students, each trying to talk over the others as they welcomed the new members of their houses and reconnected with their friends. The sorting had just finished and Dumbledore was preparing to stand and give his traditional start of term speech.

(Y/n) glanced around Hagrid, who was seated next to her, down the long table that seated all of the Hogwarts’ professors. Her eyes connected with Professor McGonagall, who nodded slightly, offering (y/n) a small encouraging smile. (Y/n) smiled back, before continuing to peer down the table; she quickly skimmed past Snape, avoiding eye contact, before landing on a new professor she didn’t recognize.

His face was adorned with a few small slashes that had faded into the premature wrinkles around his eyes. The flecks of grey in his hair shone in the light from the thousands of candles hanging above them. He smiled slightly at something Professor Flitwick said and (y/n) couldn’t help but admit that he was handsome. She continued to stare at his profile only slightly paying attention to the other professors chatting around her.

(Y/n)’s reverie was broken by Dumbledore standing and beginning his welcome speech. She flushed when she realized how openly she had been staring at the new professor and tried to focus on Dumbledore’s words.

“This year we are happy to welcome a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Remus Lupin,” Dumbledore said, gesturing toward the man (y/n) had just been admiring as he stood and nodded his head at the students who were giving some half-hearted applause at the announcement. “We are also happy to announce that our own groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, will be taking over as the Care of Magical Creatures professor.” The Gryffindor table erupted into applause, supported weakly by the other houses, when Hagrid stood, looking a bit sheepish. “I would also like to welcome a recent Hogwarts graduate, Ms. (y/n) (y/l/n), who will be working with Hagrid in both his teaching and maintenance endeavors.” You gave a small nod and wave to your former house, who had given a few small cheers in response Dumbledore’s announcement.

Dumbledore gave a few short announcements, half-jokingly warned the first years about the Forbidden Forest, and finally concluded with a wave of his hand. The feast began and (y/n) took up a conversation with Hagrid and Professor Sprout, discussing new treatments for this year’s pumpkin harvest. Despite being engrossed in her conversation, (y/n) found herself glancing over at the new professor, Professor Lupin she had just learned, every few minutes.

~

The first few weeks of the school year were a whirlwind for Remus. Classes had been going well, the students seemed to be enjoying them and seeing Harry for the first time in so many years had been both gut-wrenching and heartwarming. Remus was currently working on his lesson plans for the next couple of weeks, and considering how successful he had been, he thought it best to send for a few magical creatures to give the students more hands on practice.

Remus considered placing his own order, but thought it would be more efficient to tack it onto whatever Hagrid was probably getting for his own class. He began the trek down to Hagrid’s hut as the sun was setting and upon arriving he was not greeted by Hagrid, but by a girl skillfully ushering a hoard of nifflers into a pen set up next to Hagrid’s garden. She was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun and Remus found himself staring at her as she shooed the last one through the gate and locked it with a tap of her wand. She turned to Remus and stopped short, jumping a little, obviously surprised by his presence.

“Sorry to scare you,” Remus said, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed at the way he had been watching her. He cleared his throat, shaking off the feeling. “Ms. (y/l/n), correct?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” (y/n) broke her silence. They both paused for a moment before (y/n) spoke up again, “did you need something?” Her eyes grew a little and she quickly backtracked. “I’m so sorry, that didn’t come out right. I just-”

“It’s alright,” Remus chuckled, “I know what you meant. I was actually looking for Hagrid, is he around?”

“No, he headed into Hogsmeade for the evening,” (y/n) paused, still looking a little disoriented, “sorry about that, but if it’s not too complicated I might be able to help.”

Remus chuckled, “I was actually thinking of ordering a grindylow to use during lessons, is Hagrid putting in an order soon?”

“Yeah, we were going to send the order in tomorrow, so we can add that to the list,” (y/n) signaled for Remus to follow her into Hagrid’s hut. “I would have loved having real lessons with actual magical creatures last year,” (y/n) said while searching for the order sheet amongst the stacks of paper spread across Hagrid’s table. “We only had one lesson that was hands on, and it was with Cornish Pixies, so I’m sure you can imagine how that ended.”

Remus and (y/n) laughed together, “I’ve heard a few stories of Professor Lockhart,” Remus said, a small smile still spread across his face.

“You’re lucky you never had to meet him,” (y/n) mumbled, still sifting through the mountain of papers.

“Actually, we were at Hogwarts at the same time, I was a bit older but I heard quite a few stories of his… escapades?” Remus and (y/n) laughed again, but he could see that something had flashed in her eyes. She stiffened slightly and looked back down at the table.

“Here it is,” (y/n) said holding up the order, she cleared a small part of the table and retrieved a quill preparing to add ‘grindylow’ to the list. “Just the one?” she asked, glancing back up at Remus.

“I think that should be fine, do you agree? You are the expert on magical creatures here,” he said, coaxing a smile out of (y/n).

“Hardly,” she said, “that’s why I’m working with Hagrid, there’s always more to learn.”

The pair paused, looking at each other, Remus still couldn’t decipher what was going on in her mind.

“I think just the one should be fine,” (y/n) said breaking the silence that was quickly becoming awkward and jotting it down at the bottom of the list.

Remus and (y/n) walked out of Hagrid’s hut in silence, pausing at the bottom of the stairs that led to Hagrid’s door. Remus couldn’t help but compare the moment to the end of a first date. He quickly forced the thought away, and cleared his throat before thanking (y/n).

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” (y/n) said, smiling before looking back down at the ground, “it’s getting dark so uh-”

“I should probably get back up to the castle before it’s too dark to see,” Remus said, trying to smile or laugh, anything to remove the tension from the moment. “I’m sure I’ll see you around the grounds,” he said starting to walk away, “or whenever I have any questions for the magical creature expert.”

“You should probably make sure Hagrid is here then,” (y/n) said smirking and offering a small wave. She turned and headed toward her small hut that had been built next to Hagrid’s.

Remus walked the entire way back up to the castle with a smile that he couldn’t quite shake off. She’s practically a student, he told himself, you’re almost double her age. Remus paused a few steps away from the entrance to his office. There’s nothing wrong with being her friend, she works at Hogwarts, and you’re bound to run into her. Remus finally entered his office, taking off his cloak and preparing for bed, the entire time repeating loose justifications for spending time with (y/n) to himself.

~

(Y/n) quickly entered her hut, shutting and bolting the door before leaning her back against it. She slid down onto the floor and pressed her palms to her burning cheeks. Holy shit (y/n) get a grip. He’s a professor. (Y/n) dropped her hands from her face and pulled her knees to her chest, but you work here now. “That doesn’t change anything” she whispered aloud, slowly getting up and changing into a huge tshirt and athletic shorts before sitting down on the edge of her bed.

(Y/n) flopped backwards and crossed her arms over her face. She replayed the evening in her mind. She had felt his equal through their conversation, and then he had mentioned attending Hogwarts with Lockhart and (y/n) had realized just how unequal they were. He was a professor, and she was still practically a student. But the way he looked at me- (y/n) cut off her own thought, you can’t think like that, he was just being friendly.

Removing her arms from her face, (y/n) slipped under the covers and struggled to fall asleep and her mind raced with justifications for talking to Remus again.

~

Over the next couple of weeks Remus started to seek out little conversations with (y/n) whenever he got the chance. Remus would “forget” little facts about magical creatures, and asking (y/n) for the answer was easier than looking it up in some old book, right? He pretended not to thrive off the way her eyes lit up when as she answered his questions, or the way her lips would curl into a smirk whenever they joked with each other.

Remus was making his way across the grounds one afternoon when he saw (y/n) coming toward him looking solemn. Completely absorbed in her own thoughts, she didn’t even see Remus coming.

“(Y/n)?” Remus called, causing to her look at him with wide eyes, reminding Remus of their first official meeting. When she didn’t answer, he continued, “are you alright? Did something happen?”

“Yeah- well, no. No it’s really not.” Remus could see the tears welling up in her eyes. (Y/n) turned her face and blinked hard, fighting them back. She turned back to him, obviously still fighting her emotions, “I have to get up to the castle, excuse me.”

Remus stood and watched her leave, then turned to continue down to Hagrid’s. When he was about halfway there he remembered that (y/n) was the reason he was heading there anyway. I don’t even have a question for her, I just wanted to see her. Remus had to sit on a nearby rock to recover from the shock of his realization. After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he rose slowly and headed back toward the castle with every intention of retrieving his bottle of firewhiskey, sitting in his office, and forgetting that this had even happened.

Sitting in his office an hour later, vision blurring at the edges thanks to bottle sitting in front of him, he still couldn’t stop thinking about (y/n).

The image of her with tears in her eyes stirred up a whirlwind of emotion in Remus. In that moment he had longed to draw her into his arms and let her cry. At the same time, he admired how she had handled herself, holding her head high despite her obvious distress.

She’s strong, intelligent, funny, beautiful. Merlin, she’s so pretty. The way she always tucks her hair behind her ears when she starts to talk about her work, or the way she smiles when she sees me coming across the grounds, or the way-

“Fuck.”

~

(Y/n) sat outside the doors of the hospital wing, trying to reign her emotions before going in. She couldn’t cry once she got inside, this was her job, for Merlin’s sake.

Draco had been “attacked” by Buckbeak earlier that day and Hagrid had sent her to check on his progress. (Y/n) wasn’t crying for Draco, her tears were for Hagrid. He had worked so hard to make his lessons exciting and informational, and then Draco had waltzed in and it had all come crashing down. She could see the defeat in Hagrid’s face, he was convinced he would be fired the second Lucius got word that his son was in the hospital wing.

She drew in a single deep breath before rising and pushing the doors open. Her discussion with Madame Pomfrey was short and to the point. As soon as it was over (y/n) rushed back down to Hagrid’s hut so that she could update him.

Once (y/n) finished telling Hagrid that Draco would ultimately be fine, his injuries were all superficial and easily healed, she headed to her hut once again sat against her door trying to gather her thoughts. She found her mind wandering to when she had run into Remus earlier that evening.

He was headed down to Hagrid’s- or maybe to see me? I’ve never seen him actually talk to Hagrid he always comes to spend time with me and ask me questions. Why would he-

“Fuck.”

~

Over the next few of days (y/n) didn’t see Remus at all; the first couple of days weren’t a surprise, there had been a full moon which would have left Remus bedridden. She had figured it out the month before that Remus was a werewolf, and while she been angry at first, she came to realize that it didn’t change him. He was still the man with the kind and gentle smile who visited her and made her laugh whenever he could. The days following the moon were a mystery to (y/n) though, he still hadn’t come to see her and she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

While she was preparing the flobberworms for Hagrid’s, now tamer, class her mind kept wandering back to him. He can’t be mad because I brushed him off when I was crying, right? That’s ridiculous, he’s my… friend? Is that even the right word for what we are? ‘Co-workers’ who spend a lot of time together and are attracted to each other? Or at least, I’m attracted to him, and I don’t think he’s attracted to me… but he has been acting weird.

(Y/n) stood up straight so that she could shake out her shoulders, she just needed to talk to him. She wanted to get back to how they had been before. Whether or not (y/n) was attracted to him was beside the point, that was never going to happen so she might as well be his friend.

Christmas was fast approaching and (y/n) planned to talk to seek out Remus, something she had never needed to do before, so that she could get weird friendship back on track. They were both staying over the break and it would be much easier to talk to him when there weren’t a lot of students milling around and they both didn’t have much work to do.

~

Remus, on the other hand, was hell bent on avoiding (y/n) for as long as he could. The first few days after his realization had been easy because there was a full moon and he needed time to recover, but after that it would steadily grow more difficult. He knew that he should at least tell (y/n) that he had no interest in being her friend, a bold-faced lie, but better than just never talking to her again. However, he also knew that he would never be able to get the words out once he saw her.

Christmas break was starting and Remus wrongfully assumed that (y/n) was going home to see her family. On Christmas Eve he sat at his desk grading the last batch of essays from the sixth years when he heard a soft knock on his already open office door.

He glanced up to see (y/n) standing in his doorway looking sheepish.

“Hi,” she said quietly, offering a small smile. “Do you mind if I…” she trailed off looking at the chair in front of his desk.

After recovering from his mild shock, Remus nodded. “Ye-yes, please sit down. Did you need something?” he asked and without missing a beat continued, “I’m so sorry, that came out wrong-”

“I know what you meant,” (y/n) said trying not to smile, remembering the way they had first met. Remus ducked his head, chuckling slightly. “I just wanted to drop by and say hello… you stopped coming around,” (y/n) paused, knotting her hands together, “I guess you didn’t need my expert advice anymore.”

The pair both gave each other strained smiles. Remus took a deep breath, opened his mouth to speak, but closed it quickly. He stood, moved across his office, closed the door, and then returned to his seat across from (y/n). Forcing himself to make eye contact with her, he felt a pang of guilt when he saw how confused and… hurt maybe? he wondered to himself.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t been to see you, but… I’m not sure that it’s entirely appropriate for us to see each other as much as we were.”

“I don’t understand,” (y/n) said, having trouble keeping her voice from wavering. “It’s not appropriate for us to talk to each other about our jobs?”

“(Y/n)-”

“No, it’s fine. If you don’t want to talk to me anymore that’s fine. It’s fine. It’s really, really, fine.” Remus could see that (y/n) was forcing back tears, and he knew that he had let this go on too long, but there was no turning back now.

(Y/n) took in a shaky breath and stood quickly forcing her chair back; the screeching sound it made cut through the heavy silence hanging in the air. She turned to the door, but before she could go anywhere Remus stood and caught her arm from across the desk.

“Of course I want to talk to you,” he said, his voice dipping, causing goosebumps to erupt across (y/n)’s arms. He dropped her arm so that he could walk around his desk and stand in front of her. (Y/n) stayed silent, staring at Remus and searching his eyes for the meaning behind his words.

Remus lifted his hand and with a lot of hesitation, rested his palm against (y/n)’s cheek. She flinched slightly at his touch, but allowed him to keep his hand there.

“What are you doing?” (y/n) whispered breathlessly.

“I’m not sure,” Remus replied before tilting his head closer to hers. He could feel his heart pounding as he watched (y/n)’s eyes flickered shut. Remus closed his too and rested his forehead against hers. (Y/n) fisted her hand into the front of his shirt, keeping the other balled at her side.

(Y/n) lifted her chin, brushing her lips softly against Remus’. “This is mad,” she whispered.

“Never been the best at making decisions,” Remus said, out of breath just from his proximity to (y/n).

“Are you going to kiss me or not?”

Remus’ stomach jumped against (y/n)’s hand as he held back a little laugh at her boldness. Pulling in a shaky breath, he pressed his lips gently to hers, then more forcefully. (Y/n) responded with enthusiasm, letting out a soft moan when Remus slid his hand back into her hair. Remus growled at the sound and snaked his other arm around her waist to pull her flush to him. (Y/n) wrapped her arms around his neck, standing up on her toes to push impossibly close to him. Remus opened his mouth, sliding his tongue across her bottom lip, when (y/n) opened her mouth in response, Remus’ eyes flew open suddenly realizing exactly what was happening.

He pulled his mouth way from her and pushed her away from him by the hips, ensuring that she was at least an arm’s length away. Remus turned away from her and ran a hand down his face, letting out a shaky breath.

~

(Y/n) stood where Remus had pushed her breathing heavily. She stared at his tense shoulders, trying to think of something to say. She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, he had been in control of the entire situation. (Y/n) stayed quiet, waiting for him to say something, anything.

When Remus finally turned around, breathing under control, (y/n) could see the regret painted across his face. Before he could speak (y/n) spoke.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t wha-”

“You don’t have to explain to me why that was a mistake, or why we shouldn’t talk about it, or see each other, or whatever you were going to say. I don’t want to hear it. If that’s what you really want, fine, but-” (y/n) paused, gathering herself, “but I’m an adult and I can take care of myself.”

They stood staring at each other while (y/n) waited for Remus to say something. When he didn’t she looked away from him, toward to door.

“Cool, okay… yeah, no this is fine.”

“(Y/n),” Remus said, but didn’t continue.

(Y/n) took a deep breath, “I’m going to go back down to my hut. I’m going to make some hot chocolate and pretend like this never happened. It’s not exactly going to be easy, but what’s a girl supposed to do,” she finished chuckling to cover the hurt that laced her voice.

Later that night (y/n) sat in a big armchair that resided in the corner of her hut, reading one of her favorite books and trying to keep her mind off Remus. She wasn’t actually succeeding though, she kept replaying their kiss in her head. It was more than just a kiss, we were making out, like full on-

(Y/n)’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. She rose slowly, expecting Hagrid with some sort of task for her that he didn’t want to handle himself. (Y/n) opened the door while saying, “hi Hagri-”

(Y/n) stopped short at the sight of Remus standing in her doorway.

“Not Hagrid.”

“Yeah, I got that,” (y/n) said quietly. “Do you want to…” she trailed off motioning into the single room of her hut, “it’s freezing outside.”

“Thank you,” Remus said stepping inside. They both stood awkwardly, not really looking at each other. Finally, Remus spoke, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Kissing me or regretting it right after?” (y/n) asked, anger bubbling to the surface.

“Both?” Remus hesitated, “it would have made it a lot easier to work here, with you, had I not.”

“But you did,” (y/n) said forcing her anger down and keeping her tone neutral.

Remus’ shoulders sagged, “I did, and- and I’m glad I did, because I’ve wanted to for longer than I’d care to admit, but… but this isn’t exactly a normal situation. There’s more to this than just-”

“Is this about you being older than me or you being a werewolf?” (y/n) asked without skipping a beat and looking, for the most part, calm.

Remus stared at her, lips drawn into a tight line and jaw clenched.

“I’ve known since last month, you’re not the subtlest when it comes to-”

“I think I should go,” Remus cut (y/n) off. He turned toward the door, prepared to leave and, as far as (y/n) knew, not return.

“I don’t care.”

Remus stopped in his tracks, whipping his head around to give her a stern look. “You should.”

“Well I don’t,” (y/n) paused, gauging Remus’ reaction. When he turned back around to face her, she continued, “I don’t care that you’re a werewolf, because you’re still you. And I don’t what people would think of us. That shouldn’t matter.”

“(Y/n), I just think-”

“So then stop thinking.”

~

Remus let out a sigh, staring at the fierce girl in front of him. She wasn’t backing down, wasn’t making this any easier for him. He hadn’t been sure what he was going to say to her or what direction this conversation was going to go in, but he didn’t expect her to blurt out that she knew he was a werewolf. He sure as hell didn’t expect her to be okay with it.

“You’re still thinking,” (y/n) said when Remus didn’t respond.

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“I’m done thinking,” Remus said stepping toward her and resting his hand on her face in the same place it had been only a couple of hours earlier.

“Good,” (y/n) whispered, fisting her hands in his shirt and pushing up on her toes, “that makes two of us.”

~

hufflebee  asked:

a very vague prompt, but still a great concept: malec + forehead kisses

Thank you francy!! Hope you like it ♥


If music be the food of love, play on. ( – Shakespeare)


It were the little things that changed after their big confession.

There was no sudden shift, no world that was turned on its axis. The revelation did not arrive violently, did not change their relationship in an irrevocable way.

Still with abrupt realisation came a budding awareness of his feelings that Alec had not been granted before.
Love seeped into every word, every touch, every kiss that they shared. And though it has always been there, in a way that Alec has come to see, being able to put a word to the warmth that spread through his chest whenever he thought of the man he loved was a soft relief. Taking his hand and guiding his heart into the right direction, it had led him right where he belonged. It was funny, he thought, that it took him so long to understand when the feeling could not be any clearer to him now.

And even while leaning on the kitchen counter, watching Magnus cook, he could not keep that thought out of his mind.

Keep reading

♦: Slow dancing // Iwaoi

no one asked for this but I wanted to write it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯


It’s calm. Soft.

They’re in the kitchen, standing side by side at the sink. Tooru’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and is cleaning the last few dishes, arms a little blotchy from the hot water.

There’s music spilling from the radio on the counter, soothing and light, and Tooru is humming along and swaying his hips ever so slightly, brushing against Hajime’s from time to time.

Hajime takes the plate that Tooru holds out to him and begins to dry it, small smile teasing at his lips.

It’s so calm, somehow, like a moment taken out of the usual rush of their lives. It’s nice.

The evening sun filters through the window to their left, bathing Tooru in soft, golden light.

Hajime’s hands still and he finds himself watching him, drawn to his glow like he’s always been, from the moment they met, years and years and years ago.

He’d been blinded, back then. Tooru was never quite as ethereal, quite as unbelievable as Hajime perceived him at first - he soon learned that his friend cried messy, heavy rivers, that he could rise and scream and scorn and hate with more passion than Hajime had ever seen in anyone.

But that’s what makes him perfect, Hajime thinks, in these tiny, soft moments he gets to share with him. He gets to stand beside the hurricane and watch him conquer - but Tooru has so many more sides that no one else knows.

Like the way his face softens when he smiles, the genuine, real and happy smile that reaches his eyes and makes Hajime want to pepper his skin with kisses. Or the way his body arches under Hajime’s fingers - he knows just where to touch, to kiss, how to love him right until he comes apart beneath him, blushing and breathless and elated. The way he’ll lean into Hajime or embrace him at the most unexpected times; on the couch, waiting in line at their favorite café, meeting with friends… or when they’re out shopping, for a walk, in the shower, or on the roof, with a blanket of stars spread out above them.

Hajime takes all these moments and treasures them, holding them close to his heart. It’s his, his, and he couldn’t be happier.

“Iwa-chan?”

Tooru’s voice brings him back - he’s holding out the last plate, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “You still with me?”

Hajime lowers his hands, setting down the dish and the towel he’s holding and leaning in, closing the distance between them and pressing a chaste kiss to Tooru’s lips.

Tooru blinks, and then a smile breaks across his face. “What was that for?”

Hajime smiles, too, and shrugs. “…’cause I can,” he says, turning his attention back to the half-dried plate.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Tooru’s still watching him, and his smile lingers.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says finally, quietly, lowering the plate back into the water.

“Hm?”

Hajime turns back to him, and is met with another kiss, a little more firm and determined than before. He chuckles into it, and Tooru lets out a tiny, elated laugh.

“…dance with me,” he says, then, and holds out his hand. It’s still wet, but Hajime honestly doesn’t care right now, even as the droplets that start trickling down his arm when he links their fingers, tangling them together.

“‘m not good at dancing,” he says, because he feels he has to - but he already knows he’s going to cave, because it’s Tooru who asked. He’s already pulling him close, anyway, like it’s an instinct, and bringing up his other arm to Tooru’s waist.

Tooru smiles like he’s won (he has) and steps in close, until their chests are only inches apart.

“…sure it’s not just cuddling you want?” Hajime whispers, pressing their foreheads together. But of course he’s hopeless, already gently starting to spin them around, in time with the slow song washing over them from the radio.

Tooru huffs out another laugh, and it’s like it lights up the room. “…can’t I have both?” he asks, with a grin that says he knows he can.

“Idiot,” Hajime says fondly, before closing the distance and kissing him again.

Tooru beams. “It’s more fun this way.”

“…you like seeing how helpless I am, huh.”

At this he rolls his eyes, taking a step to speed up their pace just a little. “Think you got that backwards, Iwa-chan.”

Not wanting to be outdone, Hajime tightens his grip around Tooru’s waist and tugs him closer, making him squawk in surprise.

“It’s not a contest,” he mumbles. (Not really, anyway.)

“It’s not?” Tooru parrots, feigning surprise. “But I’m sure I was winning! I definitely love you more, Iwa-chan!”

“Highly unlikely.”

“Positive.”

“Impossible.”

“Oh, yeah?” The corners of Tooru’s lips are twitching upwards, he can’t hold it back for very much longer, but Hajime forces a serious expression onto his own face.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’ve been hopeless since the beginning.”

Tooru’s grin is radiant, breathtaking, and just as hopelessly gone as Hajime feels. Warmth spreads through his chest.

“Me, too,” Tooru breathes, leaning in so he can rest his head against Hajime’s shoulder. Almost on instinct, Hajime untangles their fingers and runs his hand up into Tooru’s hair, lazily tousled and messy, the way Hajime likes it best.

“There’s no way you win this one,” he mumbles, breathing him in. “None at all.”

“Then we’ll have to settle for a draw,” Tooru whispers back, nudging Hajime’s neck with his nose, “‘cause I love you ridiculously much. More than anything, or anyone.”

Hajime squeezes him close at the waist. They’ve stopped moving, with Tooru backed up against the counter behind him, dishes and towels forgotten by the sink.

“Endlessly,” Hajime tells him. “More every day.”

He feels the euphoria building in both of them, chest to chest, heart to heart. Too close, almost, but intoxicating. He’d do anything to keep this for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” Tooru says, muffled and into his shoulder, voice breaking just a tiny, tiny bit. “I love you, Hajime.”

He’s never heard anything more perfect.

“I adore you,” Hajime whispers back, unable to keep from sounding too choked up.

“Aw,” Tooru says, teasing, like he hasn’t got tears prickling behind his eyelids. “Are you crying?”

“Shut up,” Hajime mumbles, with no real impact. “Shut up and come here.”

“I’m already here, Iwa-chan.” He squeezes Hajime’s waist for emphasis.

“Closer,” Hajime says, like there is such a thing. Closer. Closer, closer, closer.

Tooru tightens his grip, and oh - there is.

What’s missing is close enough.

“…kinda doesn’t feel like enough, right?” Tooru mumbles. Always right there with him.

“‘S okay.” You’re right. But it’s okay.

“I get it though,” Tooru whispers, “promise. I know you. I know you.”

I know what you’re feeling. I feel it, too.

Hajime smiles, lips brushing Tooru’s temple. Yes, he does. He’s the only one who does.


ao3

(if you liked it, consider letting me know? reblog, leave a comment? talk to me!)

Julius Grimm (1842-1906)

In 1888, Julius Grimm used photography and telescope observation to create this intricately detailed and precise oil painting of the moon. In the night sky, the moon is always lit from behind you – so the shadows of the craters can never appear as they do in this painting. Grimm instead regarded the moon as if it were a still life, bathed in golden light emanating from the left side of the painting. 

“The picture should only be hung or positioned, that the light falls onto the picture from the side where the arrow is positioned, because otherwise, in the case of incorrect lighting, the effect could be completely lost.”

red-automaton-viii  asked:

Let's say that the Lost Light ship landed on a planet that has a beach. S/O is standing near the vast ocean, gazing over the sea with the wind softly shifting their hair. When suddenly, an unexpected wave hits them that knocks them down! And as they try to stand up another hits them right in the face. The strong waves keep knocking them down over and over and they can't get up! How would Whirlbird, Brainstorm, Roddy, Megatron, and Fort Max react to this? This happened to me once lol not fun.

Whirl

  • He would laugh at first cuz he’s a jerk. 
  • Okay, he’d laugh for a while.
  • He scoops you up by the back of your bathing suit and watches as you flail around and yell at him.
  • “What you want me to put you back down? Back in the water? Okay-” “WHIRL!”

Brainstorm

  • He laughs until he realizes that you… may be drowning. Then he’s like “OH shit!”
  • He picks you up and sets you in his lap so the waves aren’t high enough to knock you over. 
  • Later he complains about all the seaweed and sand in his seams.

Rodimus

  • When the first wave hits he thinks it’s funny, but by the second he rushing to get you.
  • He scoops you up and hauls aft away from the water (he doesn’t like getting wet)
  • He wraps you in a towel and cuddles you so you don’t get cold

Megatron

  • Picks you up before the second wave can knock you over.
  • He grumbles about how you shouldn’t have gone to the beach. Too much sand, salt in the air, now he’s going to rust…
  • Once the sun starts to set he’s less grumpy. You sit on his shoulder and he watches the golden light bathe your skin. 

Fort Max

  • PANICS
  • He plucks you out of the water and frantically asks if you’re alright, rubbing your back with a digit as you cough and sputter.
  • Whether you say you’re okay or not he’s bringing you to Ratchet. 
  • Next time you go to play in the water he comes with you.

better days to come

ao3 link

a filler scene for tonights episode. 

or, exactly how aaron and robert did end up wearing each others clothes.

Robert couldn’t take his eyes off Aaron, couldn’t stop himself from drinking in every inch of his husband’s gorgeously naked form, admiring Aaron’s broad shoulders and messy hair from where he was sprawled on the blanket he’d dragged inside, the bag of shopping from David’s discarded inside the door of the cricket pavilion.

He didn’t know if he’d ever felt this happy before. Aaron was almost back to himself, bright and happy and completely carefree, tossing his hoodie aside before they’d even made it inside the building.

It was out on the front porch now, a clear indication of what they’d been doing, the rest of their clothes in a heap on the floor. Aaron grinned at him, shifting slightly so he was pressed to Robert’s side, pressing a kiss against his lips.

He tasted faintly of beer, and smoked salmon, and the remnants of the toothpaste he’d used before they’d gone on their picnic adventure, and something that was so distinctively Aaron.

Robert hadn’t been exaggerating, when he had said he’d never had any better. The way Aaron made him feel, it was like nothing he has ever felt before. He’d never felt that way with anyone before, never - every second he got to spend with Aaron, it felt like his heart could burst with love for the other man.

“Thank you, for today.” Aaron murmured, rubbing his thumb across Robert’s collarbone. “It’s been nice, just to have some time to ourselves, y’know?”

Robert nodded, humming his agreement as his ran his fingers through Aaron’s tangled curls, admiring how much brighter Aaron looked that morning, his husband having slept for close to fourteen hours the previous night.

It wasn’t going to be an easy road, but if they could have moments like this, well - they’d survive it all.

“We should get dressed,” Aaron’s eyes flitted toward the doorway. “Anyone could walk past.”

“What, you not into a bit of exhibitionism?” Robert smirked, the cooling sweat on his body indicative that Aaron felt entirely opposite, his husband having tackled him to the ground as soon as Robert had stumbled in the doorway of the pavilion.

They had a lot of making up for lost time to do.

Keep reading

Are You Gonna Marry Her?

Just a little something inspired by a post I saw about Jellybean meeting Betty and embarrassing Jughead!

Warning: mentions of steamy Bughead


“Hey, Juggie, where are you?” Betty spoke into her phone, leaning slightly to look out of the window, shifting her curtains with a delicate hand to get a better view of Archie’s house from where she stood. “You don’t exactly live that far,” she joked.

“Err, I’ll be right there,” Jughead replied, his voice a little off.

“Is everything ok?” 

“…yeah. Yeah, it’s fine. I just- I’m bringing a guest,” Jughead said cryptically. He sounded distracted, but Betty knew him well enough by now to know that there was something else underlying his wary tone. He sounded… amused?

“Well, ok. I’ll be here,” she chirped, hanging up the phone after his last promise that he’d be right over. They were supposed to be studying for a History test together. In reality, Betty had just returned from a cheer retreat and she hadn’t seen her boyfriend for over a week and she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him. She felt the tell-tale blush creep over her cheeks and spread out across her chest at the thought of Jughead’s lips on hers, on her neck, her collarbone, his hands slipping beneath her shirt…

She took a steadying breath. They hadn’t actually gone all the way yet. Jughead had confided in her about how he felt. He’d never really felt these kinds of feelings before, what he said he thought were typical teenage boy feelings had never made themselves known to him before he fell for Betty. But he still wasn’t sure what he was comfortable with, he’d told her while averting his eyes, a very out of place pink staining his cheeks while his fingers fiddled with the edge of her shirt peeking out from beneath her pale blue sweater. She’d cupped his face, waiting for him to look at her in the eyes before speaking, telling him that it was ok, that it was all ok. He could feel however he wanted and that was normal, they didn’t have to rush anything or push harder than he wanted. She was here for him, whatever he needed. He’d taken a breath, his shoulders relaxing visibly, before leaning in for a lingering kiss. She knew him now, all of him.

She was surprised, since their talk, at the fervour that slipped into their physical relationship. It was almost as if, Jughead had once told her, he hadn’t really known how to breathe before he’d found her. That every touch of her skin against his lit up a fire within him that he wasn’t aware was waiting to be sparked. He craved it. 

Just before she’d had to leave last week she found herself on her bed, seated in his lap as his hands wrestled desperately with the clasp at the back of her bra. 

“Who designs these things, NASA?” he griped, still failing to undo the tricky hooks while deflecting his teenage embarrassment. She laughed with a glint in her eye and reached round to help him, undoing it with one hand. “Showoff.”

All snarky humour vanished, though, as the offending material fell between them, leaving Betty’s chest bare before him for the first time. He gulped, moving his eyes down slightly, still feeling like he was witnessing something forbidden. 

“Is this ok?” she’d asked, and his chest tightened at her concern. Even here, laid vulnerable before him she was still worried if she had taken things too far for him. He shook his head. He wanted her to know how much he wanted her. He brought up a shaky hand to gently cup the soft mound, running his thumb experimentally across the dark pink peak. Betty’s head fell back, her mouth falling open to let out a deep moan that had all the blood in Jughead’s body rushing south, creating a feeling he wasn’t used to but was certainly coming to like. He gripped the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his, tongue exploring along with his hands in desperation, willing her to be closer to him. Her hips ground down on his and he could have sworn he was a goner.

The sound of a car horn outside pulled them apart, chests heaving, which Jughead definitely didn’t mind in that moment, as they tried to catch their breath. Betty covered her chest modestly as she leaned to look out her window.

“It’s Veronica, I’ve got to go,” she breathed. Jughead groaned, letting his head fall against her collarbone. “To be continued,” she’d promised, biting her lip teasingly.

And that’s what she’d been hoping for now, the memory allowing an anticipatory tingle to settle in the pit of her stomach. Which is why it was concerning her that Jughead was so late. She’d even told him they’d have the house to themselves this afternoon. 

Betty was bought out of her daydream by a dark figure making its way out of Archie’s house and across the street… two dark figures. She squinted to get a better look, noticing the way Jughead turned back, grabbing the little girl’s hand before they crossed the street. 

“Hey, Juggie,” Betty said, questioningly, after answering the door. “Who’s this?” He gave her an apologetic look.

“Hey, Betts. This is my sister, Jellybean. Jellybean, this is Betty.” The little girl turned to him with an annoyed look. 

“I already told you, it’s JB now.” She turned to Betty. “He never listens to me,” she snarked, rolling her eyes in an adorably grown-up way. Betty chuckled, eyes flicking between the two.

“Hi, JB. I didn’t know you’d be visiting,” Betty said, her sunshine smile lighting up her face. 

“Yeah, well mom had to go to a class out of town and I told her it had been forever since I’d seen Juggie so she dropped me off on her way,” the little girl grinned up at her big brother, revealing a missing tooth.

“That’s so sweet. Why don’t you come in? There’re snacks in my room, we were just going to study but I wouldn’t want to take away your time with Jughead,” Betty said graciously, motioning up the stairs. 

“That’s ok, I have some homework to do too,” Jellybean replied, heading straight for the stairs. Betty chuckled as she watched the confident girl go. 

“I’m sorry, Betts, I know it was supposed to be our time but when mom phoned-” Betty silenced him with a long awaited kiss. He melted in front of her.

“It’s ok, Jugs. We’ll have all the time in the world later. She’s family.” Betty turned to follow Jellybean up the stairs and dig out the History books she didn’t know she’d actually have to use today. Jughead stared after her with an awed smile. She was perfect. 

He found them in Betty’s room, Jellybean peering around in wonderment, nosing through Betty’s dressing table. 

“I like your room, I wish mine was as nice as this,” she said, longing coating her voice.

“Well maybe Jug and I could take a trip to come and see you soon and we could help you decorate. How does that sound? I’ll even bring some of the things I don’t need anymore, I’m sure I’ve got a spare set of twinkle lights lying around somewhere,” Betty smiled, giving the girl her full and genuine attention.

“Oh, could you, Juggie? That’d be just the best!” JB turned to look at him, hope shining in her eyes, fingers clutching at Betty’s soft pink duvet. He smirked, shaking his head slightly at the pair before him.

“Sure, JB. We could do that,” he replied, heart swelling with pride for his beautiful girlfriend, gazing back at him with the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. 

The day passed peacefully among the three of them, an afternoon of studying, snacks and a few movies when they grew tired of work. Eventually, Jellybean’s eyes started to drift closed and Jughead tapped her gently to rouse her.

“Time to go, jumping bean,” he murmured as she stirred, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and going to find her shoes. Jughead and Betty followed her down the stairs where they stood, facing each other, in front of the door. 

“I had a lovely day,” Betty murmured bashfully, looking up at him from beneath her thick lashes. He slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss, leaving behind the promise of their continuation against her lips. 

“Me too,” he mumbled. Jellybean cleared her throat when they hadn’t broken their gaze for a moment or two. Jughead dropped his hands from her. “Night, Betts.” 

“Goodnight, Betty!” Jellybean called as they descended the steps to the Cooper house. 

“Night, JB!”

“I like her, she’s nice,” Betty heard Jellybean tell Jughead as they stood waiting to cross the street. Jughead laughed. 

“Yeah, she’s pretty great.”

“Are you going to marry her?” Jellybean asked suddenly, a little too loudly in the quiet night air.

“Jellybean!” Jughead shouted, turning back to look at where Betty could still hear them from the porch, his eyes wide and cheeks red. Betty couldn’t help but let out a laugh, louder and purer than she had in a long time. Jughead watched her, all golden and bathed in light and couldn’t help but laugh through his embarrassment. Yeah, he though, I think I might. 

lightwoody  asked:

olive hello i just saw ur jimon drabble and ik that was a while ago but im making u write something else: malec and "make me." ;))))) take this as u will

this is finally getting answered omg

a sea of silk sheets, pillows, and blankets surrounds them in a warm and cozy bliss, and the room has a faint scent of vanilla and lilac. intertwined fingers make patterns on skin and air and magnus feels the vibration of alec’s laughter against his lips as he kisses him again, straddling his waist as the morning sunlight streams into their bedroom.

magnus’ slender fingers cup alec’s jaw as he places kiss after kiss on his lips and alec hums, his hands lazily running up and down magnus’ bare back. everything is sugary and sweet, like pancakes topped with berries and powdered sugar, or slow dancing on an empty dance floor, your foreheads touching and your arms around each other, soft music in the background.

what a joy, what a blessing to see alexander lightwood like this, wrapped in sheets and his dark hair fanned out against the crisp white of the pillow and his cheeks flushed and a huge smile on his face free of cares and worries. it makes magnus’ heart skip a beat to see the younger man under him reach out to him in a beautiful, open, and trusting way.

Keep reading

Hockey Camp - Auston Matthews (The Epilogue: Part B)

Auston Matthews x Reader

Word Count: 2946

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Wow. I can’t believe it’s over. Thank you all so much!

 [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Epilogue: A]

THE EPILOGUE: PART B

It’s been a week. One week and your whole world has been turned upside down, all because of three words.

For the first two days, Auston gives you space. On the third day, flowers arrive at your door, attached with a note in his handwriting that reads: I’m sorry. (You blame Mitch for giving him your address). The next day, it’s a box of your favourite donuts and a cute fluffy bear wearing your Furies’ jersey. The day after, a brand-new hockey stick and pucks with the words, FORGIVE ME initialed in silver sharpie. On the sixth day, he sends you what looks to be a homemade cake, with “I’m a dick” written messily on top in white frosting. That one makes you laugh.

Today, you haven’t received anything yet. You’ve just headed through the doors of the MasterCard centre, on your way to practice, when you spot him from across the hallway.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you swear under your breath, trying to walk quickly down the hall without him noticing. How had you forgotten the Leafs were practicing today?

“Y/N!” you hear him shout.

You’ve been spotted. You start running, apologizing as you weave in and out of people, trying your best not to knock them over with your hockey bag.

“Y/N - wait up!”

“Go away Auston!” you shout over your shoulder. A couple of people take notice of your exchange and start laughing.

You break into a sprint, throwing open the door to your rink and barrelling down the hallway. However, you forget how fast Auston is. He catches onto the back strap of your bag before you can make it to your dressing room. He pulls so hard you actually fall over, landing on top of your bag hard enough that it knocks the wind out of you.

“Seriously Auston?” you wheeze, glaring at him. You pick yourself off the bag and wince as you prod at your side, which had pressed up against a sharp object when you fell (presumably your skate).

“I’m so sorry - I was just trying to get you to stop. I didn’t mean to make you fall over.”

“Did you consider that I didn’t want to stop because I don’t want to talk to you?” When he doesn’t say anything, your roll your eyes, picking your bag up off the ground. “Guess that one didn’t cross your mind. Typical.”

“Y/N! Can you just give me a chance to explain myself?”

“I gave you a chance, and all you gave me was bullshit,” you say, referring to his admission that he loves you.

He looks you dead in the eye. “I meant what I said.”

You give him an incredulous look and start to turn away.

“Wait! Wait a minute, okay? Can we just…go somewhere to talk. Please? Just give me an hour to properly explain everything.”

You sigh. “Fine. Half an hour, tops.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But you have to stop sending me things.”

“But I-”

“No more gifts,” you say firmly. “And please, if you see Mitch, tell him I’m not happy that he’s giving out my address to people, and that I will expose him on Instagram. I’ve found some rather embarrassing photos from his middle school days that his followers might be interested in.”

Auston laughs. “Alright, I’ll pass the message along.”

You give him a half-hearted smile and begin to walk away.

“Wait!” he calls after you. “Where do you want to go to talk?”

“Surprise me.”

It’s later on that day. Auston has texted you from Mitch’s phone where he wants you to meet him. (You may have blocked Auston’s number one day when you were very angry.)

Steph agrees to drive you down there in the case that things go wrong and you need to get away quickly. She said her and Mitch were planning to go to a pizza place near the area anyways, and didn’t mind going in separate cars.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” you ask Steph on the ride there. Lights from the Toronto streets flash by as you make your way out of the downtown core.

“I don’t know; do you still love him?”

You turn to her, surprised. “I never-”

“Y/N.”

“Yes?”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“Really?” Steph gives you a look. “Don’t try to play dumb. Just admit it - you loved him. You still love him, for god’s sake.”

“I’m not sure I do,” you say, looking down at your hands in your lap.

“Can I tell you something, straight up?”

“Of course.”

“I think you’re lying to yourself to try and protect yourself from getting hurt again.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, even though you’re starting to understand what Steph is telling you.

“He hurt you - that much is obvious. And you’re scared of getting hurt again, so you’re avoiding confronting your feelings for him because of the chance he might reject you a second time.”

“Damn it. When did you become so wise?”

“What are you talking about, ‘when’?” You raise an eyebrow at her. “Okay, fine. I may have made a lot of mistakes in the past.” You keep looking at her. “And you may have had to get me out of a situation more than once.”

“Thank-you for finally giving me the recognition I deserve.”

Steph rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Y/N. But honestly, I think being with Mitch has helped me grow as a person. I feel more mature, and like I can handle emotional drama a lot better.”

You reach over and squeeze her hand. “I’m glad.”

“Trust me, so am I. Looking back, I can’t believe I wasted so much unnecessary energy over guys who didn’t care. But I’ve talked at length with Mitch about your situation, and Auston really does care about you. He’s realized over the past couple months that he fucked up - big time. So at this point, I think it’s up to you if you want to give him another chance.”

You nod, taking it all in. “Thanks, Steph.”

“No problem.” She smiles at you warmly, and a pang of sadness hits you. You’ll miss having her around when she leaves for Brampton in two days.

Several minutes later, Steph pulls into a dark driveway and stops. She reaches into the back seat and pulls out a blindfold from a bag you hadn’t realized was there.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She rolls her eyes. “Relax, it’s part of the surprise. Auston requested that you wear the blindfold,” she explains. “He must be into some kinky shit.”

“Steph!”

“Sorry, sorry.” She laughs. “I’m kidding. Just put it on.” She tosses you the fabric and you slide it over your head.

“Alright, what’s next?” you ask.

“Hold on a sec, just let me text Auston and let him know we’re here.”

“Did you guys set-up this entire thing behind my back?”

“Maybe?”

You huff. “Of course you did.”

“I think you’re going to like what he’s set-up. Mitch wasn’t happy when I complained that he never does anything like this for me.”

“What, tell him to meet you at strange places at night and ask you to wear a blindfold? Trust me, it’s not that great.”

Steph laughs. “Alright, I’m gonna help you out and then we’re going to walk to where Auston is.” You hear the car door open and shut, and then she opens your door. “Hold my hand.”

You take her hand and then begin to walk forward blindly, gravel crunching under your feet. “If I die, I hope you know I’m holding you fully responsible.”

“Y/N, you’re going to be fine.” You keep walking for another minute, and then Steph stops you. “Alright, we’re here.”

“Can I take the blindfold off?”

“Not yet.” She tugs you forward, and you know you’re inside a building when you hear the thud of a door closing behind you. It’s cold inside, and you feel your skin prickle with goosebumps. Steph leads you through another door and then stops you again.

“Take a seat.” Steph helps you sit down onto what you think is a bench. You hear her rustling through a bag.

“You don’t happen to have a sweater in that bag, do you?”

“No, sorry. But I do have these!”

“I can’t see.”

“Oh, right. I’ve got to take your shoes off.”

“What the hell is Auston planning?”

“You’ll see in a second.” You bend down and help her take off your shoes, and she slides on your skates.

“How’d you get my skates?”

“I have my ways.”

Steph quickly laces up both your skates. When she finishes, she reaches up to your head and pulls off the blindfold. You blink, adjusting your eyes as you look around. You’re in an unfamiliar hockey dressing room.

“What now?”

“I’ve been told I’m supposed to leave you here, and that whenever you’re ready, you can head out to the ice. You all good?”

“Yup,” you say, nodding. You feel nervous all of a sudden, but you’re not going to let it get to you.

Steph rushes forward and pulls you in for a quick hug. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll have my phone on full volume. Mitch and I are just five minutes away.”

“Thanks Steph, you’re the best.”

She smiles. “Have fun.”

“I’ll try.”

She turns and walks out of the room, leaving you alone.

You take a deep breath, and walk over to the mirror near the bathroom. You rearrange your hair, trying to pat down the frizzy parts that have stuck up from the blindfold. Once you’re convinced you look half-decent, you turn and head out of the dressing room.

The sight before you leaves you breathless.

The entire rink is lit up from tea lights and candles placed in little clusters in the stands. Their warm glow reflects off the ice and bathes everything in a beautiful golden light. Auston stands at centre ice, his hands shoved in his pockets.

You walk over to the open door and step onto the ice, slowly skating over to him.

“Hey,” he says, smiling nervously at you.

“Hi,” you respond, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear shyly.

“So, um…I figured we could talk here, since the ice is like your second home. I just wanted you to feel comfortable and stuff.”

“Thank-you, I really appreciate that.” You gesture around at the candles. “Everything’s so beautiful. It must’ve taken you forever to put it together.”

Auston flushes. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, unconvinced. “How many hours?”

“Only two. I made Mitch help me, so it’s not a big deal.”

“Well, still. I appreciate the effort.” You smile up at him. He reaches out, like he’s going to touch your cheek, but then draws his hand back quickly.

“So um…should we skate?”

“Uh…yes, let’s.”

You both begin skating beside each other, gliding easily across the unmarked ice. You do an entire lap before Auston speaks. “So, you must be wondering why I left like that.”

“Amongst a thousand other things,” you murmur.

“I don’t know how to describe it other than it being a coward. I took the easy way out.” He pauses to take a deep, trembling breath. “Once I figured out I was in love with you, I panicked. You had become so important to me in such a short time. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so strongly about a person other than you, and that terrified me. I couldn’t imagine losing you, so I decided that it would be best just to cut ties off then and there.”

You give him a confused look.

“I know, that doesn’t make any sense, but my thinking was that I didn’t want you to leave - I didn’t want to deal with that pain - so I had to be the one to cut ties first. If I had stayed with you and then left for Zurich, and we were in a long distance relationship, I feared you would have gotten bored, or met someone else like Will; someone who was closer and could love you better than I could an ocean away. I wanted to make you happy, but I knew you’d only be miserable if I was so far from you.” He looks at you, an ashamed look on his face.

“You know what your biggest mistake in all of this was, Auston?”

“What?”

“That you thought you knew what was best for me.” You look at him straight-on, your stare unwavering. “I wouldn’t have been miserable, or gotten bored, or met someone else, because all day, the only thing that runs through my mind is you,” you tell him honestly. “Did you know that Will kissed me the other week?”

He clenches his fists, anger immediately clouding his expression. “I knew it,” he growls. “That fucking Swedish pr-”

“No - stop. Before you get all mad at Will, I stopped it almost as soon as it started. Because, even though Will has supported me through absolutely everything after you left - the breakdowns, the tears, the fits of anger and rage - I couldn’t bring myself to commit to someone else, because…” you say, your eyes shining. “Because I’m stupidly in love with you, Auston Matthews.”

He looks at you, his eyes unreadable. Your heart rate spikes as he stops skating. You stop in front of him, not breaking eye contact.

“You love me?”

“Why the fuck else would I still be here?” you say, throwing your hands up, exasperated. A tear rolls down your cheek.

“No - please don’t cry.” He skates forward a little bit and cups your face in his hands very gently. His thumb brushes away the wetness on your cheek and you shiver under his touch.

“It’s not the first time I’ve cried over you, you know.”

He squeezes his eyes shut in pain. “I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking. “I am so sorry. I can’t believe I put you through that much pain. I truly thought you would be happier without me…”

“That’s also another mistake. Nobody makes me more happy, and nobody makes me more sad than you.”

Auston opens his eyes, which are now glistening with tears. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“I know,” you say softly. “And that’s why I’m choosing to forgive you.”

“You forgive me?”

You nod. A smile breaks across his face, and ever so slowly, he bends down and kisses you.

The moment your lips touch, tingles shoot through your entire body. You inhale sharply, your hand coming up to cup the back of his head, pulling him closer to you. His hands travel down from your face to your back, your waist, and then your hips, his hands warm against your skin. He deepens the kiss, spinning you around on the ice.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless. Auston’s eyes are shining, and you can see the flickering of the candles reflected in his brown irises. You stroke his cheek fondly. “I missed that.”

“Me too,” he whispers, and tugs your hand down so he can press his lips to the back of it. “I love you,” he mumbles against your skin.

“I love you too.” You’re surprised by how naturally the words leave your lips.

He smiles and kisses your hand again before bringing it down to your side. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that.”

“I love you,” you say again, and laugh.

He tugs you forward, and the two of you begin skating again, stopping only momentarily to steal kisses. Once the two of you start to get cold, you head off the ice and untie your skates on one of the spectator benches.

“Let’s go blow out all these candles,” Auston says, taking your hand. Once you finish cleaning up everything, both of you take a second to rest in the stands.

You sit down beside him, leaning into his side. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “I thought I was going to lose you today, for ever.”

“Why?”

“I thought you wouldn’t forgive me and that there was no point in even trying. I almost backed out at the last second, but Mitch convinced me to follow through with it. And I’m glad he did.”

“I’m glad he did too,” you say, taking his other hand from his lap and squeezing it. “And I’m happy that I decided to forgive you. On the ride here, I wasn’t sure that it was even a good idea to go, but Steph told me I should.”

“I guess we were both a little scared then.”

You nod. “We were scared, but yet we both ended up here in the end. I think that says something.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I’m not a big believer in fate, but I think the universe is trying to tell us that we belong together.”

You roll your eyes. “I can’t believe I’m dating such a cheesy fuck, oh my god.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So we’re dating again?”

“I’d like to try again, if you want to as well. Take things slow, and see where that leads us.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” he says happily, squeezing your hand.

You smile at him and then lean in close, kissing him very softly. He kisses you back, his thumb brushing against your cheek. When you pull apart, you drop your head onto his shoulder and stay like that just to breathe for a moment.

Things weren’t perfect, but as long as Auston was by your side, you knew you would be happy.

offended-goat  asked:

Hi! My birthday is April 3rd and I was wondering if I could get a best friends/ peeta is jealous Drabble please? Thank you so much lovelies.

Originally posted by itadakimasu-letmeeat

Wishing you a wonderful birthday! The incredible @alliswell21 has written this perfect little bit of Everlark, just for you. Enjoy!


Fluff

A/N: Happy Birthday! Here is a fluffy Everlark growing-back-together story with just a touch of spice. Enjoy!!!

Canon compliant
Rated T
Fluff and Comfort

——————

It’s a rare evening, peaceful and quiet, Peeta and I sit on the porch watching the sun dip to sleep in the horizon, displaying the most beautiful array of colors either of us has seen in months.

“Look!” I whisper, “It’s your favorite color,” I point at the glorious arrange of oranges, yellows and pinks just in front of us.

Peeta smiles at the sky contentedly, softly. At peace. “I remember it clearly now,” he says with a pleased sigh. Then his sweet, blue eyes, turn to find mine, reaching my hand with his. “Thank you,”

“What for?” I ask confused.

“You gave me back part of my identity just by knowing something as simple as my favorite color, or how I tie my shoelaces.” He scoots closer to me on the stoop while intertwining our fingers more firmly. “You help me rediscover the real me every day. Thank you for not forgetting who I was, even when I did.” He kisses my knuckles.

“Well, you’ve help me stay sane, so I guess…” I fish in my head for the right words, but he smirks and answers,

“We’re even?”

I scowl causing him to chuckle.

“No,” I counter. “We make a good team. We are good for each other.”

Keep reading

Moonie Ch. 3

Hello, lovelies! I’ve posted this on my blog, but I thought I’d put it here in case my post got lost in the ether. This community is so fun and inviting. I hope you all enjoy!

Click here for Chapter One!

Click here for Chapter Two!


It isn’t hard to get lost in the Elsewhere University Library.

One minute, you’re looking for a window seat on the second floor. The next, you discovered a staircase you hadn’t noticed before, and find yourself in a maze of unfamiliar offices and bookshelves that aren’t organized in any particular way. It’s just something about the library. The layout makes no practical sense. If you don’t stick to the well-tread paths, you wind up finding a table with a wobbly leg squeezed inside a tight maze of bookshelves.

That’s where the Librarian had sent me.

The shelves of the northwest corner on the third floor were packed so close together, I had to take my backpack off so that I could slip between them. Books filled every inch of space, forming solid walls of written knowledge. It was as if I were entering some fortress of learning, or the Temple of Doom. I began to wonder why the Librarian had recommended a spot so secluded. Were my scattered thoughts so apparent?

As I slid through the narrow opening between the shelves, my nose passed inches away from a row of books. I squinted at the unusual titles. The Thirteen Principles of Wish-making, Faire Folke and Luminous Beings, Metallurgy for Auracular Protections, Wylde Gentrye… Some of the titles weren’t even in English. Some weren’t even in any recognizable form of language. Strange symbols whirled across their antique covers. I blinked and pushed my glasses back up to the bridge of my nose. The whirling stopped.

When I set my bag down on the nondescript-green painted table, it rocked to the side, threatening to topple over. I scowled in frustration. Stupid table. Stupid library that makes no sense. Stupid librarian telling me to sit at the shitty table. I hefted my books from my bag and spread them out across the surface.

About fifteen minutes into my Calculus homework, thick raindrops pattered against the window behind me. Absently, I checked the weather app on my phone. Sunshine all week, yeah, right.

Another hour later, I was bathed in golden light as the sunset poured through the window. At least, I thought it was an hour. It couldn’t have been much more than that as I was still slaving away over my Calculus questions. They day was flying away from me. As the moon peeked out over the tops of the buildings to visit my hidden corner, my head began to feel heavy. I blinked the sleep from my eyes. Blurry numbers smeared across the pages of my notebook. I gave myself a light slap.

Leaning back, I stared at the walls of books around me. Had the Librarian sent me to the Children’s Books section? Thin, brightly colored tomes lined the shelves. I pulled myself out of my seat and strode around the table. I reached out my hand and slid a book from the stacks at random. The Good Neighbours. I fanned the thick parchment-like pages through my fingers, stopping just to examine the pictures. A tall man with horns and hooved feet carried a girl away into the woods. Men and women wore heavy rings on their fingers and on chains around their necks. Milk and bread left on plates outside of doorways. A man ran screaming from white creatures on black horses, their hounds snapped at his heels with jaws like bear-traps. It was all so horrifically familiar. My hands quivered, but I could not stop turning the pages.

It all began to make sense, in a fantasy sort of way. Fairies. Goddamn fairies were stalking the edges of the university. Whoever had taken Jenny from Lot C was not a Someone, but a Something. Frigid sweat beaded on the back of my neck at the thought of the boy with the jagged, broken smile. I wasn’t paranoid. I had been right all along.

I spent the night skimming through pamphlets and old books. I took pages of notes. There were spaces between things, where time and dimension could Fold over on itself. Things that came through these Folds were glamouredto the human eye. There were ways you could see them. You didn’t want to see them. Protection, protection, protection.

It was dangerous to make deals with the Fair Folk. They could take things you didn’t know you could give, important things. Their gifts were impossible, beautiful, and terrifying. Those who managed to make a deal were forever changed.

When I squeezed through the gap in the bookshelves and returned to my dorm room, I had somehow missed the entire weekend and was running late for Chemistry 101. My greasy hair stuck up in all directions. Dark circles sagged under my eyes.

The Librarian smiled and waved at me as I jogged out into the morning mist. “Hope you found what you were looking for!” Her thin voice rang in my ears.

For the next four days, I was possessed by an unholy desire to Know. I searched for a Fold with single-minded clarity. If I could speak to one, I could find Jenny.

The nightmares got worse. The blaring of horns and yowling dogs got louder.

Last night I woke in the small hours of morning, drenched in salty sweat, and Something was sitting on my chest. It was the size of cat, but much heavier. The space it occupied was an inconceivable black mass in the darkness. The blurry, pale glow of my laptop screen was lost in its depths. A tiny black hole rested on my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut and reached for my glasses. My fingers pawed blindly at the table until they rested on the round plastic shape of my glasses. I stuffed them onto my face.

The Thing had gone. The weight, heavy and warm, remained. I gasped for air. Panic clutched at my lungs and stomach. I grasped my chest and felt something in my hands. It was a rock the size of a baseball. A dark brown coating of rust clung to its surface. No, it wasn’t rust. As I flaked a piece off with my fingernail I stifled a scream. 

The rock was coated with dried blood.

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