everyone hates his ipod what could he possibly have on it

[4/4] Enstars: B’s-Log December 2015

Unit Song CD Vol. 2: Knights Cast Interview

Comment from Mr. Kuwabara, the music director:

Voice of sword: It’s a unit that can dance the best, so I kept in mind to set the tempo suitable for dancing. Another point is that it can also be used to battle against UNDEAD.

Check mate Knights: I remember I said “Please let me do ballad, no matter what!” (laugh) I will be happy if you can pay attention to the beautiful melody and the lyrics that are typical of Knights.

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A Little Bit Of Magic - PBB #3

Title: A Little Bit Of Magic (Hogwarts AU)
Author: bamfhowell
Artist: jewel-imagines
Beta:  galaxychld
Word count: 15,000 (exactly, how that happened is beyond me lol)
Rating: G
Warnings: Swearing and homophobia, but that’s about it!
Summary: Dan is the new potions teacher at Hogwarts and is muggleborn, this is his first year teaching and whilst he’s excited, he has to get used to being in the castle with absolutely no muggle technology. Phil is the herbology teacher and is clumsy and likes puns and likes to help Hagrid with his magical creatures. Dan and Phil eventually meet and become rather close, some of the students realize this and try to get them together before the end up of the year.

Author’s Notes

Firstly, I would just like to say a big thank you to the lovely galaxychld for betaing this fic and helping me make it look a million times better! 

Secondly, I would also like to say thanks to jewel-imagines for creating the beautiful artwork for this fic! It looks amazing! Seriously, look at them all!

You can find the artwork post on her blog here!

Special mentions to phancywork for convincing me to write an hp fic ^__^

Ngl, it did take me awhile to write this fic purely because I had no idea what I was going to write for it but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out so I really hope that you all enjoy reading it. Let me know what you think of it! 

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Stand by You

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1510

A/N: Might make a second part. Idk.

Things were rough for Bucky. He had gone through so much. When Steve found him, he wanted to keep Bucky safe for as long as he can. That’s why he called you. You never gave him a reason not to trust you. You were a genuine person that he just happened to stumble upon when he was getting re-associated with the modern world. He knew to keep you close just in case something were to happen. He was glad he did.

When Steve called you late in the night, you were worried, “Steve, is something wrong?”

He was panting on the other side of the line, “Uh, kinda. Can I come to your place? It’s important.”

“Yeah. Are you hurt?”

“No, nothing like that. I have to go. I’ll see you in a bit.” Then the line went dead. 

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Deliciously Broken

Summary: The reader has a massive crush on Stiles and knows nothing about the supernatural happenings of Beacon Hills. After a brief spat, Stiles goes missing and the Nogitsune visits her. Takes place sometime during Season 3B. Slightly un-canon maybe???

Warnings: creepy Nogitsune Stiles, extreme violence, bodily injury, dead dog, emotional trauma, sexual themes (???)

Note: this is hella dark lol. And pretty long. I don’t really know what happened with this. Should I do a part ii? Hope yall enjoy!

There’s something up with Stiles.

         Okay, obviously he’s always been a little weird, but this is different. This isn’t cute or funny or endearing. This is serious. Bad, even.

         I pick up on it when I approach his Jeep after school. “Hi,” I say cheerily to Stiles and his friends. They were in deep discussion when I came over. “What’s up?”

         “Nothing really,” Scott gives me a half-smile. Then he turns his attention back to Stiles. “I’ll talk to you later, man.” He gives him a meaningful look, and the group disperses.

         Sighing, Stiles hops into his Jeep and turns it on. “Come on, Y/N,” he grumbles.

         Frowning, I slide into the passenger seat and have barely closed the door before he’s rocketing out of the parking lot. Usually he takes more care when driving: one, his father is a cop, and two, his Jeep isn’t exactly brand new. She’s got some age on her, so she doesn’t run all that well.

         But today Stiles doesn’t care. It’s like he wants to get home and away from me as soon as possible.

         I want so badly to ask him what the problem is, but the words don’t make it off my lips. I mean, what would be the point? He’s not going to tell me. It’ll be the same response I’ve gotten for the past two years: “I’m fine.”

         I know that’s a lie. I’ve lived next door to Stiles for as long as I remember. Both of our parents are friends; they were the ones who originally arranged for Stiles to take me to and from school every day. I’ve seen him in his usual state: quirky and goofy and full of sarcasm.

         This isn’t Stiles. These dark circles under his eyes and burdened shoulders aren’t him. And it scares me.

         I decide to try and ask, at least to let him know that I care. “Are you okay?” I ask quietly.

         “Peachy.” He says in a tone that completely contradicts his statement.

         I bite my lip. “Are you sure?”

         “Yeah, totally. I’m great.”

         I twist my lips and resort to staring out the window. “Okay, then.”

         We don’t say much else until he pulls into his driveway. He slams his finger on the locks, reaching across me to shove open my door.

         I stare at him in shock. Why is he in such a rush? Does he really want to get rid of me that bad?


         “I need to go.” He says quickly. “So if you don’t mind…”

         “Of course.” I say stiffly. “Didn’t mean to be such a pain.”

         As I’m hopping out of his Jeep, Stiles says, “Hey Y/N… come on… don’t be like that.”

         I raise an eyebrow. “Like what?”

         “Don’t get all…” He waves his hands around. “There’s just something I have to do.”

         “I understand that. But you don’t have to be rude, Stiles.” I slam the door shut. He leans over to roll the window down to try to keep the conversation going, but I cut him off. Besides, if wherever he has to be is so important, then this conversation can wait, right? “Don’t bother. It looks like it’s going to rain, and it takes you forever to crank that.”

         “Y/N…” he calls through the crack.

         “Goodbye, Stiles.” I turn on my heel and stalk to my house, jamming my key into the lock. I haven’t even made it inside before Stiles has zoomed away, leaving nothing but the stink of burned rubber behind.

         I shut the door firmly and lean my forehead against it, sighing. Mom is working late tonight at the fire station. I would really love to talk to her about this. She’s busy, though, and I don’t want to bother her. I already know what she would say, anyway. “You’re too sensitive when it comes to that boy. Just let it go.”

         Easier said than done. My massive crush on Stiles Stilinski prevents me from being able to take our interactions lightly.

         A frantic whine from the dining room snaps me out of my trance. Crap. I forgot about Bingo. I jog over to my dog’s cage and quickly let him out, whistling for him to follow me to the back yard so I can put him outside.

         I head to my bedroom, turning on lights as I go. I wasn’t lying about the rain. The overcast skies have made two in the afternoon look like six in the evening.

         My backpack tumbles to the floor, along with my coat. I add my shoes to the pile, angrily kicking them off so they bounce off the wall.

         Feelings are so stupid. I hate the mushiness of my heart whenever Stiles so much as looks at me. I hate how tender I am to everything he says. I hate that as soon as he said that he had to go somewhere, I immediately thought of Lydia Martin.

         Everyone knows that he likes her. How could he not? She’s beautiful, kind, smart… the total package. I don’t know how I could ever compete with that – haha, actually, I can’t. At all.

         More than likely he’s hurrying over to her for something. Maybe he and his friends are all going out together.

         I try to shove those jealous thoughts out of my head. It always makes me feel like such a bad person.

         I lay on my bed for several long minutes. What to do, what to do…

         I have the house to myself for most of the evening. Why not put on some music and chill? Have a mini-dance party if I want? Maybe even pamper myself, paint my nails and put on that creamy, too-sweet lotion Mom put in my stocking last Christmas?

         That sounds good. Just the thing to fix up a girl with a troubled heart and a lonely house.

         My iPod is already plugged into the speaker; I just have to hit play. Elvis Presley’s “Blue Christmas” comes on shuffle. I snort. I guess it’s kind of fitting for my mood. And with winter break rapidly approaching and the weather turning drastically cooler and the trees already up in stores, I figure that maybe I do need to get into the almost-holiday spirit.

         I turn the volume on loud so that I can hear it in the shower. I take a nice, long, hot one that stretches to over an hour. I shave and then glide the lotion across my legs. I let Bingo inside and he curls up next to me on the couch. I wear my fluffy robe and eat copious amounts of ice cream and watch a few episodes of my favorite show.

         It’s around eight o’clock at night when some other program comes on the television. I turn the TV off, put away my dirty dishes, put Bingo outside, and head back to my room.

         I decide to wear some sweats and a tank. I pull my hair up into a messy bun. My face has already been cleansed of make-up from the shower, but I still take a wipe to clean off anything left.

         My iPod died while I was watching TV – I forgot to turn it off – so I set it on the charger and pull out my box of nail polish. I decide on a pretty powder pink and get to work.

         I’m just finishing my second coat when the doorbell rings. Blowing gently on my hands, I pad across the wooden floor in my bare feet.

         To my surprise, it’s Sheriff Stilinski. “Is Stiles here?”

         I cross my arms. “No sir.” No need to tell him about the little spat Stiles and I shared earlier. “Why? Is everything okay?”

         He sighs. His voice is tight as he reveals, “I can’t find him anywhere. He’s not picking up his cellphone. I found his Jeep about five miles from here, abandoned. Scott’s not having any luck either.” He runs a hand over his face. “Did he say anything to you earlier?”

         I gnaw on my lower lip. “He just said that he had to be somewhere. He seemed like he was in a hurry.”

         Sheriff Stilinski shakes his head and swears lowly under his breath. Then he glances back up at me and murmurs a brief apology.

         I shake it off. Yes, I’m a little upset with Stiles at the moment, but he’s missing. “Do you want me to help look for him? Or-”

         “No!” He says immediately, eyes wide. I jump slightly at the sudden exclamation. He grimaces at my reaction and tries again, softer this time. “No. Stay home. Make sure all your doors and windows are locked. And if Stiles comes by, call me right away. Don’t even think about letting him in. Don’t even let him see you, okay?”

         I furrow my brow. That kind of seems counter-productive. If Stiles is missing, wouldn’t it be good to bring him inside, some place safe? And anyway, why would he even come here? “But sir-”

         “Please, Y/N.” It’s startling, how intense and grave Sheriff Stilinski’s gaze is, as if something bad were about to happen. “He’ll want to kill me for telling you this, but he cares for you. A lot. And if what I think has happened… then I’m afraid for what that could mean when…” He cuts himself off. “I’m sorry. I’ve probably said too much already. I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to be careful, you hear me? And listen to what I’m telling you.”

         My head feels like it’s spinning. Stiles… cares for me. His father just told me. My mind struggles to process it – after all, he has a funny way of showing it, and has been pining after Lydia Martin for years – but I force myself to not think about it now. Something bad might’ve happened to Stiles. I need to think logically. I can let me knees turn to jelly later.

         “Okay,” I agree. “Don’t let him in; don’t let him see me; call you.”

         “Yes. Please.” He glances up at the porch light. “Keep that on tonight.”

         “Okay,” I say again. “But…” He waits for me to gather my thoughts. “Is Stiles… okay? Why can’t I let him inside?”

         “Don’t ask questions, please. It’ll just make this more complicated. And I know he doesn’t want you brought into this. He never has. But if something happens tonight, then…” He shakes his head.

         “Brought into what?” I press, as though I didn’t just hear his request for me to not ask questions. “What’s going on? What happened to Stiles?”

         Sheriff Stilinski sighs. “He’s not exactly himself, lately… sometimes. Ah…” He searches for the right word. “He’s become dangerous, under certain circumstances.”

         “I don’t understand.” I deadpan. How could Stiles, scrawny and clumsy and nerdy, be dangerous?

         “That’s his fault. We kept telling him to tell you.”

         “Tell me what?”

         “About-” His radio crackles.

         “Sheriff Stilinski, we have sights on a dark-haired Caucasian male, about seventeen, walking the perimeter of the animal hospital.”


         He sucks in a deep breath before promising to be on his way. “Remember what I told you,” he says. His eyes hold the weight of the world. All I can do is nod and swallow thickly as I watch him jog across the grass and hop into his patrol car. As soon as he turns on the engine, the lights come on. He pulls out of the driveway fast, speeding down the street, leaving only the wail of sirens ringing in my ears.

         Biting my lip, I close the door and turn the lock. Stiles… dangerous? Stiles… liking me? Stiles… missing? It’s too much to think about. My head feels like it’s going to explode.

         Sheriff Stilinski wants me to stay here. There’s nothing I can do, really… hm…

         My cellphone is on the kitchen counter. I swipe it and dial Stiles’ number. Sure, Sheriff Stilinski and his best friend hadn’t been able to reach him, but maybe Stiles wasn’t able to get to the phone at that moment. Then again, if that had been the case, he would call them back as soon as he could…

         At the very least I’ll be able to hear his voice on the awkward voicemail. Yes, I’m mad at him, but most of that has dissipated. Now I feel a looming cloud of worry hovering over my head.

         I bite my lip and scroll through my contacts. I come across Stiles’ as I stroll over to the backdoor. “Bingo!” I call into the night, pressing the phone against my ear. “Come here, boy! Bingo!”

         Nothing. Frowning, I shut the backdoor. Maybe he’s not ready to come inside. It would make me feel better, but I’m not going to force him.

         As I start for my room, still dialing Stiles, music comes from down the hall. I thought my iPod was charging? And since when did I turn my bedroom lights off?

         The Star Wars theme echoes in my dark room. I slap against the wall, heart beat speeding up slightly. What the hell…?

         When I finally hit the light switch, I jump and scream. My phone tumbles to the ground, cracking the screen. Crud. That was brand new! But can you blame me, with what I just walked in on?

         Stiles is sitting on my neatly made bed. His cellphone is sitting beside him. His shoes are severely muddy, jeans streaked with brown too. His skin is paler than usual, standing out against the gray of his hoodie. His eyes are rimmed, like he hasn’t slept in days. Across his lap lays Bingo, sleeping.

         But there’s something different about him, something almost… predatory. It’s in the way he holds his shoulders and stares at me intently, with a half-smile on his face.

         “Stiles,” I gasp. “What – your dad is looking all over for you! What are you doing here? How did you even get in?”

         That creepy little half-smile stretches into a full-blown smirk. “How sweet,” he muses.

         I gape at him. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” I shake my head. “I can’t believe you.”


         I jerk my head towards him. “Did you seriously just ask me that? After being so distant these past few weeks, you decide to pop up in my room uninvited while your dad and Scott run around like chickens with their heads cut off looking for you.”

         “Interesting comparison.”

         I cross my arms. “Seriously, how did you get in here?”

         “The backdoor was unlocked.” He strokes Bingo’s fur. “Your dog was very welcoming. I must smell familiar.”

         “Stiles, you know Bingo loves you.”

         “Apparently he did.” In one fluid movement, Stiles shoves Bingo off his lap. My dog falls to the floor with a thud and doesn’t move an inch.

         A startled cry wrestles its way out of my throat. I rush to Bingo’s side immediately, calling his name and shaking him. He doesn’t blink or breathe. I tug his lifeless body into my lap. “What… what did you do?” My voice tremors. “What did you do to my dog?”

         When I turn to glare at Stiles, I see that his eyes are closed and his head is thrown back. “Mmm…” he hums. “You feel deeply.”

         My chin trembles as I run my fingers through my dog’s fur. “Bingo…” I whimper.

         “Don’t fret,” Stiles rises to his full height, towering over me. “There’s much more pain to come.”

         “Wh-what…” I lose it, tears spilling. “Why did you kill my dog?”

         Stiles shrugs. “I couldn’t chance him barking.” He steps closer to me, reaching down to wrap one large hand around my bicep and jerk me to my feet. I let out a small yelp, Bingo tumbling out of my arms and to the floor. I try to pick him up again, but Stiles shoves me. Hard.

         I fly back against my dresser, head smacking against the wood. My jaw drops from the sudden pain as I fall to the floor. My shaking hand comes up to touch the back of my head. My hair is damp. When I pull my fingers away, they’re stained red.

         Stiles saunters over to me, crouching low so that we’re almost nose to nose. “Hurts?”

         I try to nod but my vision spots. “Why did you do that?”

         Suddenly I’m in the air, being thrown across the room. My back hits the wall, smashing through it. Drywall rains down around me. My entire body throbs.

         Stiles comes to stand over me again. There’s a crazy sort of pleasure in his eyes. “Look at you…” he hums. He yanks me out of the wall, letting me slide across my floor. Then he walks around me in a circle. “Poor little Y/N. Your heart is deliciously broken, isn’t it?” He leans down over me. “You love Stiles, but he doesn’t love you.”

         He grabs my hair and pulls me up, tongue licking the blood running down my temple. “Oh…” He shivers, inhaling deeply. “And it must really be killing you, seeing him doing this.”

         I open my mouth to respond, but he chooses that moment to duck his head. He bites down on my shoulder, hard enough to draw blood and a scream. He moans against my skin before chuckling softly. “You are divine to dine on,” he whispers. “So good… so much pain…”

         Then his fist closes around my throat. I gasp for air, hands clawing at his iron grasp but he doesn’t budge. He’s choking me, face flushed from pleasure as he does so, eyes dark and grin prominent.

         Desperately I swing my fist, connecting with his nose. It’s not enough force to break it, but it’s enough to get him to release his hold. I flip onto my stomach and crawl out from underneath him. A strong hand grips my calf and tugs me back, but my other foot kicks out and he lets go again.

         I snatch my phone off the floor before running into the hallway. Sheriff Stilinski’s contact comes up, and I quickly press it. I feel nauseous, dizzy…


         “Please…” I cry, sprinting away from my bedroom. “He’s here, he’s here…”

         “He’s at your house? I thought I told you-”

         “He came in through the backdoor when I was talking to you.” I pant, tearing past the kitchen. Just a little farther. I throw open the front door, stopped in my tracks by a figure in black standing in the way. Yelping, I stumble back. “Please, Sheriff, he-”

         Arms wrap around my waist, pitching me back into a chest. I let out a loud scream, thrashing. My phone clatters to the floor. I can hear the Sheriff yelling on the other end. Stiles brings his heel down on the device, crushing it.

         “Naughty, naughty.” Stiles scolds in my ear, gripping me so tightly I can feel the bruises forming.

         “Please, Stiles.” I sob into his chest as I’m turned around and carried further into the kitchen. “Please stop. You’re hurting me and I’m scared…”

         He sits me down on the edge of the counter, standing between my legs. I’m shuddering hard, doubled over, head resting on his shoulder. My limbs feel heavy; my head feels like it is spinning. I can’t hold myself up properly.

         “There, there…” Large hands roam my back. For a second I believe that maybe I’ve appealed to him, that maybe this nightmare is over. His lips brush across my cheek, nearing my ear. Then he whispers, “You should be scared.”

part ii


Your name: submit What is this?

Dean unlocked the motel door and swung it open. You followed him, lugging your duffle bag behind you. Sam entered last, shutting the door behind him. You shrugged off your jacket and flopped onto the nearest bed, sighing contentedly. The Winchesters chuckled at your small sprawled out form and began to settle in. After a 6 hour drive, everyone was tired, but there was work to be done. Sam and Dean had discovered reports of strange deaths and they had a feeling it was their type of gig. Naturally, they had brought you along, knowing too well the amount of trouble you would get into if left alone at the bunker.

Dean flopped onto the bed beside you, groaning tiredly. He lifted his head up to peer at his watch. “It’s 11 pm, Sammy.” He said, turning his head to look at his brother. “It’s way too late to go now. Let’s just go check out the bodies tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan.” The younger Winchester nodded, collapsing onto his bed. He looked over at you, noting the slow and deep breaths. “I think Y/N’s out cold.”

“She still needs to get ready for bed.” Dean groaned, sitting up. “Y/N,” He coaxed, shaking you gently. You stirred and cracked an eye open. “I know you’re tired, but you gotta change and brush your teeth, kiddo.”

You sighed and sat up, beginning to maneuver out of your t shirt. Dean dug through your duffle bag and pulled out your pjs, placing them next to you.

10 minutes later, you crawled into bed. Sam and Dean had changed into what counted as sleep wear for them: sweats and a t shirt. From the bed, you observed them preparing their suits for tomorrow. Dean looked over and noticed your still open eyes.

“You don’t have to wait up for us, Y/N.” He said, hanging up his dress shirt in the closet. “I’ll be there in a little bit, okay?”

You nodded and closed your eyes, sleep overtaking you quickly.

*2 days later*

You sighed and set your iPod touch down. You were bored. And you absolutely hated being bored. You stood up on the couch and peered at Sam, who was typing away on his computer.

“What’re you doin?” You asked, starting to bounce on the couch pillows. Not as good as your bed back home, but it would suffice.

Sam looked up and chuckled at your moving form. “Researching.” He answered simply. “What are you doing?”

“Jumping.” You replied. You stopped your bouncing suddenly as an idea came to mind. “Hey, can I help?”

Sam shot you a confused look. “Help? With what?”

“With research!” You exclaimed, leaping over the back of the couch to join Sam at the table. “I could help.”

“Y/N…” Sam hesitated. Pictures of the torn apart victims were definitely too gory for a 7 year old. In fact, this entire case was not appropriate for your eyes.

You noticed his apprehension and decided to step up your game. “Puh-lease, Sammy…” You pleaded, hitting him with your infamous puppy dog eyes. “I’m really good at helping…”

The younger Winchester sighed. Of course you would pull out the puppy eyes. He couldn’t say no to that face and you knew it.

“Alright, I guess.”

“Yes!” You celebrated, pumping your small fist in the air. “But wait…what exactly do I do?”

“Uh,” Sam stammered, racking his brain for something you could do. There was no way in hell he would let you dig through the victim reports. And he doubted you could even begin to comprehend the lore books.

“Tell you what,” He began, forming  an excited smile on his face. Hopefully you would buy in. “How about you draw me pictures?”

Pictures?” You frowned, scrunching up your nose at his idea. “How exactly does drawing pictures help?”

“What do you mean?” Sam replied, mock offense on his face. “Pictures are a great help! You know how in the cop shows they have an artist draw the bad guy?”

You nodded hesitantly. “Yeah, I guess so…”

“Well there you go! And that’s a very important job, you know.” Sam reached over and grabbed a notepad, tearing out a couple of pages.  He handed them to you and you climbed up onto the chair across from him. “Okay so, me and Dean think it’s a werewolf that’s killing people. So I want you to draw me as many different werewolves as you can. Make ‘em as big and scary as possible so we know what to look out for.” He handed you a pencil. “Sound good?”

You smiled and nodded happily. “Yeah!”

You set to work drawing your werewolves, mainly having to rely on imagination considering you had never even seen one in real life. You drew big hairy ones and small creatures that looked more like hairless chihuahuas. You were determined to help the Winchesters on this case.

Meanwhile, Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he observed you. Thankfully you had agreed to his idea, maintaining your innocence and saving Sam from a lecture from Dean. Sam drew his eyes back to the computer screen in front of him. Speaking of Dean, where was he? It shouldn’t take too long to pick up some food, right?

As if on cue, he heard a key being inserted into the lock. Dean walked in, balancing a tray of drinks and a bag containing some takeout.

“Hey there.” He greeted gruffly, shutting the door behind him and setting the food down on the table. “What have you two been up to?

You beamed and lifted the paper containing your drawings up to him. "Look Dean! I’m helping!”

He smiled and nodded his head, peering at the childish drawings. “That’s awesome, kiddo.” He ruffled your hair and sat down next to his brother. “What exactly is she helping with?” He muttered, leaning towards Sam.

“The case.” Sam replied, clearing away the files and laptop so he could eat. “She wanted to help with the case.”

“Ah.” Dean nodded, then turned his attention back to you. “Yo Picasso, you wanna take a lunch break or draw all day?” He began pulling out the food from the bag and placed them on the table.

You lifted your head, eyes lighting up at the foil wrapped burger in front of you. You set your pencil down, forgetting the drawings. “Lunch break! Lunch break!”

Dean chuckled and scooted your drawings off to the side. “That’s my girl! Now eat up or you’ll never be as tall as me and Sammy.”

anonymous asked:

tsukkiyama 22 <3 <3 <3

22. Are you jealous?

Sorry this took so long to write!  It’s the same college roommate au as this one.  Inspiration from this au list.

“There is no way you’re actually signing up for that.”

The distaste in his best friend’s voice made Tadashi’s hand falter when he was writing his name on the list, but he still turned to send an awkward smile back at him, “Oh come on, Tsukki, a blind date could be fun.  It could be nice to have a date on Valentine’s Day for once.”

“What’s wrong us doing our normal stuff and avoiding all the romance bullshit?”  The light frown on Kei’s face was genuine and he furrowed his brows as though he saw nothing wrong with spending yet another Valentine’s Day watching Jurassic Park marathons together. If Tadashi had hope that the reason why his best friend was so adamant to keep their routine because he wanted to spend time together, then he would be flattered.  But he probably just wants to hide from all those girls that will try to give him chocolates again.  It’s the same every year, Tadashi sighed internally.

“But it’s supposed to be a romantic day,” Tadashi forced a grin directed to his best friend.  “Maybe something exciting will happen this year.”

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Opposites Attract

Summary: Dan is the school’s bad boy while Phil is the shy nerd who likes to wear flower crowns, and things take a turn when they both end up in detention.
Genre: AU, Fluff
Word Count: 1,904
Warnings: very slight bullying but nothing too graphic!
Beta: thanks again to @luminescentlester who helped beta this fic! ^__^ <3

A/N: I probably could have done this better but *shrugs* oh well

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honeygoldd  asked:

If you don't mind can I request an angst Scenario of Hanamiya who had an s/o that went through a horrible accident and lost their memory but when they finally woke up they think that Hanamiyas some kind of a bad man, like an enemy of some sort. Does this make sense?

Yes it does, don’t worry! Here you go! -Admin Fyre

It didn’t hurt as much when you scorned his advances, because he knew you didn’t mean the things you said.

It didn’t hurt as much when the two of you fought, because you always made up afterward.

The pain never broke him, because you coming back to him was good enough to heal him.

“Makoto, don’t you ever wonder if one day I might actually leave you?”

Hanamiya chuckled, reaching over unexpectedly to flick your forehead. “Idiot. I’ll never let that happen. I’ll make sure that you don’t regret falling in love with me.”

But life was not a fairy tale, and Hanamiya was about to find out exactly how harsh reality was.


Hanamiya’s voice came out broken, disbelieving. The doctor dipped his head apologetically. “I’m sorry. I cannot say if this is permanent. It may be possible to regain some memories over time, but the circumstances vary with every case. You may go in to visit now, if you’d like. Perhaps seeing you or hearing your voice would ring a bell…?”

He didn’t need telling twice. Without another word Hanamiya pushed past the doctor and into your hospital room.

You were sitting up, looking out the window at the sunset over the city, like some typical advertisement image to a romance movie, the kind that had happy endings with tearful reunions and all.

At the sound of his arrival, you turned to look at him, eyes widening, and for a brief, fleeting moment, Hanamiya foolishly believed that you actually recognised him, that you would smile and greet him, and he’d chide you for being so careless and getting yourself hurt, and you’d apologise sheepishly and the two of you would make up, as if nothing had ever happened.

As if you’d still be in love with each other.

“W-who are you?”

Fuck. Fuck. He thought he’d be ready for it.

“I’m Hanamiya Makoto,” he began, walking slowly towards you, not wanting to frighten you. “Don’t worry, the doctor mentioned that you’d lost some of your memory…I’m your—”

“Wait!” You burst out suddenly, pressing up close to the wall of your bed, pulling your blanket up to your knees defensively, making Hanamiya stop in his tracks. “D-don’t come near me.”

Oh God. “Wait, I’m not…”

“Please.” Your voice was quavering. “I don’t know you.”

But I do, Hanamiya almost felt like retorting. His temper was wearing thin, a string that threatened to snap in two, and nothing to hold back his usual demeanor. He told himself to be patient, and yet…

He hated this. He knew what you saw: a man with pale skin and dark hair, a sinister aura and eyes that could not be trusted. For years you’d been the only one who saw past that and loved him. And now you saw him as the man everyone else saw: a delinquent, an enemy, a stranger.

Hanamiya took a deep breath. Maybe you just needed time. Maybe the aftereffects of the accident just hadn’t worn off yet.

“I’ll come back tomorrow.” He tried to smile reassuringly, but it felt wrong, so he left quickly.

The next day Hanamiya arrived at the hospital with some of your possessions, things that could stir your memory. Your favourite book. An iPod of your favourite songs. A small box.

The doctor was waiting for him at the door of your room. “I’m sorry, but you cannot go in.”

“What?” Everything that Hanamiya had planned to say to you, a night’s worth of preparation and speeches and reminiscing, gone. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“________ believes it’s best to keep things this way…” The doctor sounded apprehensive. “…until memories of you could return. You have to understand…no offense meant, sir, but ________ thinks that you…”

He trailed off, and Hanamiya felt anger boil in his veins. “That I what? That I was going to do something?”

“I don’t know—”

“I’m a monster now? Is that it?”

The doctor hesitated. “There’s nothing more I can do. This is the patient’s wish. Please leave or I will call security.”

They were treating him like a criminal. No, you were treating him like one. And here Hanamiya had thought that the things he’d brought you could allow you to remember who he was to you.

At that moment Hanamiya felt lonelier than he’d ever felt before, and that feeling seemed to fill up his lungs and crush his ability to breathe.

“When…” Hanamiya cleared his throat. “When can I come back?”

“It’s hard to say. It’s not uncommon for a patient with amnesia to be uncomfortable with people or things that would have normally been familiar with them. It’s certainly better for them to become accustomed to those things gradually again in their own time…”

He doesn’t need to dress up the explanation in pretty words. Hanamiya already knew what he meant.

Brusquely he thrust the box full of your possessions at the doctor. “Give these to ________,” he muttered. “I’ll…I’ll keep my distance.”

The doctor looked equally as awkward. “Of course. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

What would your reaction be, Hanamiya wondered, when you opened that box and found the ring inside that he’d proposed to you with, only days before your accident?

Hanamiya wished he could have told you himself that you had said yes.

A month later the box was mailed back to him.

Even though it looked as though it’d been opened and rummaged through, the sheer fact that it was sitting on his doorstep again was enough of an answer for Hanamiya.

There was a letter on top, addressed to him.

Hanamiya Makoto,

I thought I ought to return this to you.

The doctor told me that you picked out these things to help me remember, because you were my lover. You must have put a lot of effort into it, so thank you, I guess.

But I’m sorry. I can’t remember.

You’ll be angry at me. I could see it in your eyes when you came to see me.

I saw a person with nothing but pain and anger in his eyes, and I wondered, “What did I see in this man?”

I see pictures of you and me, notes that we wrote to each other, songs we sang; a happy life between two people I don’t recgonize.

I’m sorry this happened, and I’m sorry that I have to leave you. But I’m not who you know me as, nor who you want me to be.

Don’t let this change you. You will find someone who loves you as much as you loved me.

But that person won’t be me.

Hanamiya swallowed. “Fuck!” he spat, hands gripping the letter. He wanted to crumple it, tear it up, set it on fire, anything to deny the reality written to him.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to destroy the last thing you’ve given him.

So that’s it. He failed. That was the verdict. He couldn’t make you change your mind, make you realise who you had been in his eyes, make you give him a chance.

Instead he’d made you regret ever loving him.

Title: Stress Reliever

Pairing: Meanie Couple (Mingyu x Wonwoo)

Word Count: 2,298

Summary: Wonwoo’s stressed. Mingyu’s annoying. Soonyoung wants cake.

Wonwoo was stressed, to say the least.

SEVENTEEN had just ended their “Adore U” promotions and have dived straight into preparations for their next album. Despite how exciting the idea of moving on to a new era was, Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel slightly overwhelmed by the workload.

He knew that heavy daily schedules and tasks were things he’d grow accustomed to over time, but at that moment, when everything was still pretty new to him, it was tiring. From the frustrating Mandarin classes to the unsatisfying compositions he was creating, Wonwoo simply wanted a break.

And it wasn’t until after he lashed out at Mingyu that he realized that his stress has greatly affected his attitude.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Wonwoo snapped at the younger and gestured towards the laptop on the table. “I have to finish my lyrics by tonight, and I don’t have time for your small talk!”

Seeing the small smile on Mingyu’s face fall caused all irritability in Wonwoo to disappear in exchange for a sudden wave of guilt and regret.

“Mingyu, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo softly said, and Mingyu nodded.

“I understand,” the younger replied with such a soft voice that caused Wonwoo’s heart to sink. “I’ll leave you alone. Sorry for bothering you.”

Wonwoo watched as Mingyu exited the small studio, and he proceeded to bang his head on the notebook next to his laptop once the younger was gone.

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Lighthearted Recs

Another official blog rec list. The first for friendship fics can be found here. In keeping with the lighthearted trend (says the queen of fic angst), dixiedolittle and I present some of our favorite fluffy and humorous Wintershock and OT3 fics for you to read and enjoy! Please leave the authors some love if you have not before and enjoy what you read. It really does make their day!

+ Apple Pie Morning by carter

The first time they met. Apple Pie, insomnia, and The Lion King = early morning fun times. Just some fluffy fluffiness between the Winter Soldier and our favorite Sassmaster.

+ arma virumque by surgicalstainless

“Jane,” Darcy called over from her desk, “I need a word that rhymes with sculpted. Three syllables.”

Objectification of male hotness has a long and glorious artistic tradition, okay?

+ Classics by becisvolatile

Bucky, unlike Steve, knows exactly what that bike does to the girls…

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Wrap Those Boys Around Your Finger (Rian Dawson/Jack Barakat imagine)

A/N: gonna be honest here, I’m not sure about this one but I hope it’s okay. Really great request but I just didn’t know how to end it cx Hope you like it!

Also when I was writing this I imagined everyone being teenagers, there’s a little bit of context I guess.

Title cred: Dear Maria, Count Me In // All Time Low

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Senses: a Riarkle Fanfic

Summary: When Farkle kisses Riley, all his senses activate. He can tell each one apart, her taste, her smell, her touch, what she looks like, and what he hears. When he kisses Riley, everything just fits. (set during their senior year of high school into their freshman year of college)

Pairing: Riley/Farkle

Words: 2,210

Their lips touch for the first time, melting into each other, and moving with a rhythm that’s all their own. Their lips touch and he’s lost in everything that is Riley Matthews. She’s always had him around her finger but when they kiss he knows right then and there that he, Farkle Minkus, is a goner. 

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Relax, You’ve Got This

Hello My Lovelies,

For ease of access please find below links to all my previous stories.


Relax, You’ve Got This

Anonymous said to 5minutefanfiction:

It’s Finals week and I’m so nervous I’m dying LITERALLY. Maybe a Dean x Reader One Shot where the Reader’s at college and she feels the same I NEED DISTRACTION AND COMFORT AND SOMETHING TO READ BEFORE GOING TO BED OMG *sobs*


Authors Note: Ok, so I know requests are closed, but this one came in and well as a student myself I totally feel your pain. Deep breaths, remember to look after you! Take some time out to relax and unwind. Even if it’s a 10 minute walk. Just take time to breathe and sleep. You will need it. Good luck to you and everyone in finals this week. I wish I could be there to help in someway. You have spent forever learning this stuff, you know it. It’s just the panic and stress that’s blocking it.

Relax, You’ve Got This! xx


Dean looked at his phone, surprised to see her calling. She should be studying, or resting or both. Something.

‘Baby?’ he answered, panic washing over him as he listened to her crying on the other end of the line. ‘Sweetheart, what’s wrong?’

‘I can’t do it,’ she sobbed.

Dean felt a small smile form on his lips, ‘Yes, you can.’

‘No, no I can’t. It’s just too much. I can’t remember anything. And I swear I failed the last one and,’ she broke down.

Dean felt the tears forming in his eyes, he hated seeing or hearing her like this. What he hated even more was not being there.

‘Y/N, you have worked your arse off for this. It’s what you’ve wanted since you were two. You will be fine. You know everything there is to know. Everything anyone could possibly know about (insert your chosen degree).’

‘If that were the case I wouldn’t be failing miserably,’ she sobbed.

‘Babe, I’ve seen your test scores, your essay results, that’s far from failing.’

He listened as she cried and he knew he had lost her focus. She was more stressed than he first thought.

‘Y/N,’ he ordered slightly bossier than he meant. But it seemed to work as he got her focus.


‘Here’s what you are going to do. Quit the coffee for tonight, you’ve obviously had enough. Go take a shower, turn off your phone and go to bed. Get some sleep. Leave the books, just sleep. Then tomorrow morning, I will call you and we will go from there.’


‘No buts. Go. I love you, Sweetheart. I will talk to you tomorrow. Get some sleep.’

‘I think I’d rather the apocalypse.’

‘There’s no challenge in that,’ he chuckled.

‘I love you, Dean,’ she sighed, hanging up.

Dean looked at his phone. She really wasn’t coping. She handled most things fine. He also knew this was the one thing she always had dreaded.

Y/N woke up, face smooshed against papers, pencil in her pony tail, lines of empty coffee cups across the table. She heard a noise and froze. Someone was playing with her door knob. She couldn’t even remember where her demon knife was. Or salt. Where the hell had she moved the table salt to?

She could have cried, she truly had lost it.

Relief flooded her as she saw Dean step through the door, bags in hand.

‘That’s not in bed sleeping,’ he grumbled.

‘That’s not on a hunt.’

‘Something’s are more important,’ he grinned, coming over and kissing her. ‘You look like hell, are you sure you haven’t been hunting.’

‘Only for answers and sanity.’

He kissed her again and looked around. She’d lost it. Her normally tidy house was a mess, papers thrown across the table, pizza boxes piled up.

He went and put his bags in their room, stopping in the bathroom on his way out, he ran her a bubble bath. She needed to relax.

He came out to find her pouring over notes again. Taking her hand, pulling her up, he smiled as he pulled the pencil from her ponytail, the sticky note from her hair.

‘Go have a bath, a decent long, just don’t fall asleep and drown on me, bath. I’ll be checking,’ he grinned, kissing her again.

‘I have to study.’

‘This isn’t studying, this is dying. Go,’ he demanded gently, lightly shoving her towards the door.

She walked in to the bathroom and found a hot bubble bath waiting for her, candles lit and her iPod playing softly. The tears fell down her face once again as she stripped off and climbed in. This guy was just amazing.

Her friends warned he’d break her heart. But he was nothing but dedicated and loving. There was a side of him, like this, that no one else saw.

She came out later once the bath and gone cold in clean clothes. She could smell bacon sizzling. The living and dining room was cleaned up, papers organised. The chaos that once filled the place gone.

Dean came over and handed her a cup of tea, rising up onto her toes she kissed him.

‘Thank you.’

‘I’m not done yet,’ he grinned.

‘You already notched up boyfriend of the year, just by showing up,’ she smiled.

‘And I intend on banking brownie points and making sure I keep my crown for a while,’ he smirked.

‘Is it covered in diamonds and glitter?’

‘Nope, pink fluffy feather.’

‘Nice,’ she laughed.

He put a hand on her back and lead her over to the table, where he’d shifted everything so she couldn’t see it.

‘Breakfast,’ he declared, walking off. ‘Real breakfast, not the crap that’s in your cupboard. When the hell did you start living on granola bars?’

‘Ah about a week ago.’

‘Well, they’re gone. Real food. Burgers, and pie. None of that box crap.’

‘That’s not real food either,’ she laughed as he brought in a plate of bacon, eggs and toast.

‘When you cook it, it is,’ he mumbled into the top of her head.

The two ate breakfast, catching up on things. Dean asking about what exam she had that afternoon. About the subject, random questions as he tried to wrap his head around it.

‘Right,’ Dean demanded as he took her empty plate away. ‘Bed.’


‘Sleep, nap, doze, rest.’

‘Dean, I have-.’

‘To get rest so you can read what’s actually on the paperwork. Your exams at 3. It’s 8am. Sleep till 11:30, we will grab lunch, run over some notes. All of which you know. You’ve proved that over breakfast.’

‘You sneaky bastard,’ she gasped, realising what his questions were for.

‘Resourceful, Sweetheart. Now, let’s go sleep. I’ve set and an alarm. I’m even coming with you to make sure you do. And cos well, I’ve missed my girl and right now I’m going to be selfish and just enjoy holding you.’

He led her to the bedroom and pulled her into bed and under the blankets, wrapping her tight in his arms, brushing his lips lightly against her hair and neck. As she struggled to settle, he moved his hand so it was resting on her arm and just drew random patterns until she drifted off.

Y/N woke to the alarm at 11:30 to find Dean missing. She stumbled out to the living room and found him putting salad sandwiches on the table.

‘You made me rabbit food?’

‘Brain food. Sam swears by it and he’s smart, so you know, it does something. Plus, you’re out of burgers. In fact, Baby, you’re pretty much out of food.’

‘I know. That’s my plan after all this is over.’

Dean ran through her notes with her, asking questions as they ate lunch. Helping make sure her bag was packed with everything she needed, before walking her to the exam room.

‘Relax, Sweetheart. You’ve got this,’ he said gently, squeezing her shoulders. He gave her a kiss and watched as she stepped nervously through the door.

Two hours later, Y/N walked out, finding Dean waiting on the seat near where she’d left him.

‘Thank you,’ she said, kissing him lightly as he pulled her in for a hug.

‘I take it; it went well?’

‘Better than the last one.’

‘Good to hear. Let’s go home, pack away all that crap that you don’t need and start on tomorrow’s. That’s a 1pm one right?’

She nodded, as he slipped his hand into hers.

‘You’ve worked hard, Y/N. You’ll be fine. Just remember to breathe,’ Dean exclaimed, kissing her head. ‘It’s almost over. You’ve got this.’

Bad For You | Chapter One

Genre: Angst, Highschool AU

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 1.7k

Summary: Phil is the new kid that just moved in next door to Dan but he is quite different from everyone else. He has tattoos all up his arms and piercings that litter his face. Dan isn’t too keen of Phil’s appearance and immediately takes a hatred towards him. Can Dan and Phil ever be friends or is Phil too bad for him.


I glanced at the new student nervously. I couldn’t tell which made me more uneasy; his tattoos or the piercings. The two lip rings taunted me and the neon green nose ring made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. Though the tattoo that inked the new kid’s body are more than interesting, I found people of his appearance unsettling.

“Mrs. Foreman,” I raised my hand tentatively. “Can I use the bathroom please?” The teacher nodded and I began to pack my stuff into my bag in fear they may be taken, shifting my bag away from the new kid I’d been seated next to.

“Don’t worry I won’t steal your stuff,” The kid whispered while giving a dirty look at me, making me sputter and become ultimately more terrified. “Don’t judge me by my looks, I have a personality too.” He whispered while rubbing his wrists tentatively. I walked out of the classroom, my head down to avoid anyone seeing my bright red cheeks.

I sat alone at lunch, wedged between the vending machines and the old art building.

“You never struck me as the eat lunch alone type guy,” A voice spoke suddenly. “Then again I don’t judge people by the way they look.” I looked up and was met by sparkling blue eyes, a black fringe that was straightened to near perfection, and tattooed arms.

“Well I guess I’m not alone on the whole solitary lunch thing.” I put my head in my hands, not letting myself face the new kid.

“Oh I’m actually eating with some other kids I just wanted to make sure you knew that even though my outer appearance seems a bit…rough,” He gave me a judgemental look. “I’m kind enough to offer you a seat at our table.” I looked over at the group of happy kids, than glanced at the edgy kid in front of me.

“Yeah sure,” I accepted, not wanting to seem anymore rude especially due to the fact I’d basically insulted the inked kid earlier that day.

“I was kinda hoping you’d say no because I don’t plan on befriending someone like you,” Phil rubbed his neck awkwardly.

“I revoke my yes, douchebag.” I picked up my backpack and walked off the campus, ditching the last three classes.

“Wait! I was just kidding!” A voice yell after me. Tattoo Boy rushed catched up to me. “Take a chill pill!”

“You know I don’t care how everyone perceives you,” I turned around. “Everyone keeps talking about the numerous fights you’ve been in, how bad you’re doing in school. I’ve honestly had enough with this, I’m not scared of you!”

“So why do you lock your stuff when I get near? Or watch my piercings when I talk, in fear they may pop off and stab you in the eye?”

“No, ” I defended. “But even you have to admit, your appearance can be a bit…”

“Unnerving?” He raised an eyebrow. “Well since we seem to be making judgments right now, I think you’re a pretentious, stuck-up, anal, posh kid that can’t stand something different from himself.” The dark haired boy jabbed a finger into my chest.

“Fuck off,” I muttered before walking the rest of the way back to my house.


I was sat at the dinner table next to my older brother, Alex, and was mindlessly scrolling through Tumblr under the table.

“Daniel? Are you even listening to what Alexander got on his French test?” My mom snapped a finger in front of my face. “And what did I tell you about using your phone at the dinner table!” I put my phone away begrudgingly.

“Have you met the new next door neighbors yet?” Alex gave a sly smile, as I was openly gay.

“Maybe this weekend, I’m not in a good mood so I don’t think I want their first impression of me to be pissy.” I twirled some more spaghetti absentmindedly.

“Heard their son is hot, his name is Phil.” Alex nudged me.

“That’s great I’ll keep that in mind,” I pushed that to the back of my mind, mentally filing it as possibly useful in the future.

“Can I be excused?” I grumbled.

“Fine but all I wanted was some family time,” My mom guilted.

“Yeah well maybe next time,” I put my dish in the dishwasher and walked to my room upstairs.


I plugged in my iPod in my dock and put on my favorite song on full blast.

“Hey!” A voice shouted. “I get that you’re loving the new Yeezus album but is 12am really the time to show your appreciation?”

“It’s a Friday! Live a little!” I screamed back. After a whole minute of silence I turned back up my volume and continued singing and dancing along to the songs. All of a sudden a clicking noise could be heard and my window slid up and in stepped Tattoo Boy.

“Oh,” He planted his feet on the floor. “Here I am going to meet the neighbors and we’ve already met.”

“Is this how you always introduce yourself? Climbing through windows and all?”

“Only the windows of people who have good music choice,” he pointed at my iPod which had begun playing a Fall Out Boy song.

“I think I would appreciate that comment more if it wasn’t coming from you,” I turned back towards the open window. “How did you even manage to get here?”

“My window is just across so I just hopped onto your ledge,” he shrugged and starting looking through my DVD collection.

“So I’m guessing you’re Phil,” I glanced at him. “My brother described you as ‘hot’ and I’m not gonna lie I expected someone else.”

“Oh I’m sorry I forgot my suitcase and tweed suit at home,” Phil rolled his eyes. “Why do you hate my appearance so bad?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I think it’s because I’ve lived in this town for all my 16 years and not once have I seen something like this.”

“Do you still think I’m hot?” Phil winked.

“Um,” I rubbed my neck awkwardly.

“Hesitation! You could’ve easily have said no but you aren’t sure!” Phil laughed and did a little dance.

“God you’re adorable,” I whispered.

“What?” Phil stopped laughing for a second. “I’m sorry I was too busy celebrating to hear what you said.”

“I said you’re frustrating,” I lied.

“Oh Danny boy you just let yourself get frustrated,” Phil patted my cheek. “Well now that I’ve met the neighbor with good music taste and an even better movie collection, I have to go.” He climbed back out the window and hopped back onto his ledge and with a salute he climbed back into his bedroom.


“So he climbed into your bedroom!” Alex repeated. “In the middle of the night he just hops into your room and then leaves again.”

“Pretty much,” I cringed.

“Was he hot?” Alex smiled.

“I guess,” I shrugged, hoping Alex wouldn’t pry any deeper into it.

“You’re totally crushing! I’d know that look anywhere, you have a crush on the Lester’s son.” Lester that sounded very familiar.

“You mean Lester as in relation to Frederick Lester the senate?” My mouth hung open

“Yeah you didn’t know that,” Alex chewed on his breakfast. “Apparently Phil defied his parents so they moved him to our school to straighten him out.”

“Oh he defiantly defied his parents,” I mumbled.

“We should give him a ride to school,” Alex grabbed his cars keys. “Come on lets go.”


Phil accepted our ride happily, claiming the walk would’ve been ‘excruciating’. Alex had demoted me to the back seat.

“This is the senator’s son we are talking about.” Alex laughed and waited outside Phil’s house. His house was substantially larger than our own due to the fact that the Lester’s had bought the next lot over and expanding the house to twice it’s original size.

“I can’t wait to see your face when you see him for the first time,” I bounced happily in my seat as the front door to his house slowly opened.

“Oh my-” Alex mouth hung open slightly. “He’s even hotter in person and that’s coming from a straight guy!”

“What about the tattoos and stuff?” I gawked at Alex.

“Only make him ten times hotter to be honest.” he smiled. “I think I turned gay just for him only.” I swatted his arm angrily.

“What if his dick is pierced?” Alex wandered aloud. “Note to self, get my dick pierced.”

“I hate you,” I slouched back into my seat as Phil made his way to the passenger side.

“Good morning cuties,” Phil winked.

“Did you hear that Dan? He called you cute!” Alex gushed.

“Yeah, and I would prefer if he didn’t.”

“Woah sorry, I didn’t know you were some homophobe,” Phil grumbled.

“Oh Dan’s quite the opposite,” Alex laughed. “He’s gay.” He raised an eyebrow while looking me up and down.

“Definitely a bottom,” Phil said after some time. Alex broke into a fit of laughter while I turned beet red.

“Can we actually start driving?” I sighed. Being a bottom was nothing I was ashamed of, but the fact that Phil had so easily (and publicly) pointed me out as one, made me question how I came across.


“Do I look like a bottom?” I asked PJ and Chris during my free period.

“Kind of,” Chris pointed at my shirt.

“You wear a lot of black as if to compensate for something. Make yourself seem rougher around the edges so no one thinks you’re soft though we both know that’s a bunch of bullshit.”

“Okay woah that is not true!” I became defensive.

“Well it’s the only logical explanation for why you hate Phil so much, you can’t stand the fact that someone who seems more hardcore than you is putting you to shame. Essentially, he makes you look like a pussy.”

“That’s true,” PJ laughed. “He said you’re a bottom in front of your brother and it kinda made you feel vulnerable for a second.”

“I was not and will not be vulnerable, okay?” I looked them both in the eyes. “This whole thing would’ve been better if you hadn’t ditched me yesterday at lunch to go makeout with eachother.”

“This lunch we’ll sit by you and maybe Phil will leave you alone!” Chris thought aloud.

“Whatever,” I rolled my eyes. “See you at lunch.”


This is Imjustuptheblock, I just got a blog for my Phanfiction! So The YouTube Whisper is continued here, and all my other prompts/phanfiction will be here now! Look forward to that and all the other Phanfiction I’m starting. And the new TYW chapter got deleted so I have to rewrite it :’( it was really long too. Anyway thanks for understanding. I’M OPEN TO PROMPTS SEND THEM IN!

"... 'cause I'm with you till the end of the line."

Steve Rogers has never liked bullies.  

Yeah, he’s heard it all before.  Ignore them, they’ll go away.  Boys will be boys.  Just avoid them, don’t go looking for trouble.  They’ll get tired of the game and move on.

Things don’t really work that way.  You stand your ground and you fight and maybe you’ll lose and it’ll hurt like a son of a bitch.  But if you run, you won’t ever stop running.  And it’s only a matter of time before they catch up anyway.  

Steve Rogers would rather stand his ground.  Even if there wasn’t a chance in hell of winning, he’s going to stand his ground anyway.  

He’s done that against bullies when he’d been ninety pounds soaking wet, hard of hearing, with a bum heart and lungs that strained for every last breath, so sickly that it was a goddamn miracle he’d lived to adulthood anyway.  He’s going to do that again with what HYDRA had made of Brock Rumlow, a Thing, an Abomination that would probably take the Hulk to stop him.

Well, Bruce isn’t here.  Steve’s going to have to make the best of it.  

He’s well aware that it’s the super soldier serum alone that’s keeping him alive in this fight against Rumlow - that and the shield.  Steve’s giving it everything he’s got - even old dirty tricks he’s picked up from Bucky and then some.  Every blow with his fists and his feet and his shield is designed for maximum damage while he’s trying to avoid major injuries himself.  

Hill’s voice in his ear.  She’s telling him they’re running out of time.  

He needs to take Brock out or at least keep him down long enough for Steve to get that last control chip in place.  Desperately, Steve looks up, wondering if he can somehow take out the steel beams above him, make it crash down on Rumlow to pin him in place long enough to –

Damn.  Rumlow’s last punch is barely blocked by the shield and Steve’s thrown back, wheezing like he hasn’t done in over seventy years.  His ribs could be cracked, please God don’t let them be broken.

And then, there’s Sam swooping in, dropping Bucky down in front of Steve.  Rumlow reaches out with a monstrous paw, grazes one of Sam’s wings.  Sam barely gets away but Steve sees the damage.  

“I’m gonna have to miss this party,” Sam’s voice on the comm is filled with regret.  

“We’ll save you a coupla’ party treats.  Get yourself clear, Sam,” Steve rasps as Bucky extends an arm to help him up.  Bucky isn’t quite as stone faced as he’d been before.  Steve knows that look - worry, concern and it’s so achingly familiar and homelike that he wants to laugh, even in this moment when there’s a very real possibility they’re not making it out alive.  

“Do you really like getting punched that much?” Bucky asks him and yes, there he is now, Brooklyn accent now creeping round the edges of the Soldier’s normally clipped syllables.   

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve tells him.  And he can’t help the stupid grin on his face, blood, bruises and all.  

“HEY LOVEBIRDS!"  Rumlow bellows.  "Cut the flirting, it’s making me sick!”

The two of them exchange looks, pointedly ignoring Rumlow.  Bucky’s obviously waiting for Steve to call the play.

“This is just going to be like what we did in Foy.”

Bucky blinks.  No, Steve’s not expecting Bucky to magically recover all of his memories with the power of love and friendship - he’s actually prepared to explain - but Bucky surprises him with:  “I hated what happened in Foy.  You were being an idiot.”

“And you had all the stupid so we make a fine pair, yeah?”  

Rumlow bellows and rushes them, which is exactly what they’re waiting for.  Steve goes high, Bucky low and Rumlow gets a faceful of shield, actually shaking loose a few teeth and a metal arm in his gut and he goes down.  

They take advantage of that distraction - Hill’s voice is telling them they only have two minutes left.  Bucky cups his hands as Steve runs at him, boosting his leap.   Steve makes it up to the control panel, slides the chip home.

Done.  They’ve got all three Helicarriers.  

And then he turns as Bucky cries out and the sound gets choked off.  Rumlow’s got Bucky by the neck now and he sends a toothy grin Steve’s way, his intentions clear.  

Steve doesn’t hesitate.  He throws the shield at Rumlow even as Bucky somehow leverages himself up, wrapping his legs around Rumlow’s massive arm.  He manages to loosen that deadly chokehold just enough even as Steve charges in to distract Rumlow, hit him again with a satisfying crunch that means he’s actually managed to break the monster’s ribs this time.  

“Steve!  You and Barnes need to get out of there now!"  And then there’s Hill, sounding all choked up.  

Hill.  She’s their only chance.  "Do it, Hill.  Do it now!”  

Everything explodes in a hail of bullets.  

His ears are ringing.  Rumlow’s been knocked off the carrier.  There’s chatter on the comms with Hill yelling, “Phil, get that BFG of yours aimed at Rumlow YESTERDAY.  Take him out!  Take him out!”  

Bucky.  Where’s Bucky?  

He spots Bucky pinned under a steel girder.    He’s struggling to lift it up but it’s barely moving.  Their eyes lock.  

“Steve,"  Bucky rasps.  "Get out of here!”  

“No!  Not without you!”  

Somehow, Steve manages to lift it and he can feel something give way in his body, something just break but Bucky’s free.  That’s the important thing.  Bucky’s free and clear.  Steve’s vision starts swimming, blackness creeping into his vision and he growls, tries to shake it.  It’s getting awfully hard to breathe again.  

There’s another explosion and the world tilts.  

They’re falling.  They’re both falling, this time.  

“…. Steve,  Stevie, baby, please breathe for me.  In and out.  In and out.  Baby, baby, please.”

Steve’s probably coughed up half of the Potomac from his lungs and he’s so tired, so very, very tired.  But Bucky’s voice is all he hears, choked up with tears, sounding exactly the same when he’d had pneumonia that winter when he was twenty-one and was all but given up on by everyone else.

Everyone else except Bucky.

“Please, baby, don’t do this t'me.  Don’t leave.  Keep breathing for me.”

There’s soft, frantic kisses in his hair, hands clutching tight at his own.  

Breathe.  In and out.  In and out.

“M'with you till the end of the line,” Steve rasps out.  

Blue-gray eyes that aren’t so frighteningly blank anymore, meet his.  They’re bright with tears and filled with that same emotion that both of them had tried to deny for over seventy years.  

“You’re a punk,” Bucky breathes.  But he curls over Steve protectively anyway, shielding him away from the world with his own body, the way he’s always done.  

“Love you too.  Jerk.”

And that’s the last thing Steve remembers, for a very long time.  


“On your left,” is the first thing Steve hears when he wakes up, in a too-soft hospital bed, hooked up to all the good drugs and machines to ensure that he’s firmly in the land of the living.  

Sam Wilson’s sitting at his bedside.  There’s soft music playing in the background and when Steve turns his head around to have a look, the iPod display shows “Marvin Gaye - Troubleman."  It’s not half bad.  

Sam, of course, is a Jedi mind reader - Steve’s caught up to most of Star Wars now to make that reference - so the man rolls his eyes at him and says, "Your boyfriend Red October is just getting coffee.  Apparently, I’m the only other person the Winter Soldier will trust to babysit his - and I quote ‘trouble-magnet punk’.  Well, me and Nat anyway.  She’s getting pretzels.  We’ve got all the shifts covered.”

Steve went pink. And on general principles had to make a protest, “M'not that bad.”  

“And I’m not actually Russian,” drawls Bucky from the doorway, coffees in hand.  He’s got his fair share of bandages and fading cuts and bruises.  Somebody, probably Natasha, raided Steve’s closet for clothes  that Bucky could wear because Steve recognizes that shirt and the blue hoodie and the jeans, which Nat had made Steve buy because “reasons” but had been scandalously tight on him.  

He’s also the most beautiful sight Steve has ever seen.  

Sam waves airily.  “Yeah, yeah.  All-American as apple pie.”

“I’m ethnically Romanian; Steve’s Irish. And we’re Brooklyn born and bred. But yeah, we both like apple pie." 

Bucky hands Sam his coffee and gets a "Now I see why Steve loves you, Sarge.”  

And now there’s red dusting Bucky’s cheeks and at least Steve’s not alone anymore in this blushing business, because, honestly.  It’s like the Howling Commandos all over again and any moment now, Steve’s prepared to swear that Jim’s going to say something about SNRFB that Steve’s going to pretend he doesn’t understand.  

Bucky takes a seat on Steve’s other side, sips at his coffee again before he puts it next to the iPod.  

“And that’s my cue to leave the Super Soldier Boyfriends alone.  Try to remember he’s still in recovery, okay, Sarge?”

Bucky growls and Sam, laughing, takes off.  

There’s a small, comfortable silence between them.  Bucky absently reaches for Steve’s hand, rubs a thumb over still-bruised knuckles.  

“Hey,” Steve whispers, squeezing back.  

“Every memory that’s come back is all wrapped up in you, y'know,” Bucky says quietly.  “I’ve done things – "  And there it is, an agonized, sobbing breath, turning his gaze away from Steve, closing his eyes.  

"It wasn’t you.  It was Hydra.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that I remember myself pulling the trigger anyway.”

“I know that.”  

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath, looks at Steve in surprise.  Steve tugs at their joined hands and Bucky follows, gets eased into a brief, gentle embrace that has them touch foreheads together, taking a moment to breathe each other in.  

“I told you, 'till the end of the line, remember?  I ain’t backing from that now.”

“Still my little punk who don’t have enough sense to run away from a fight, huh?”

Steve takes note of the possessive my in that sentence.  He smiles.  “Always.”

They didn’t do this before, seventy years ago, even though there were so many opportunities, so many chances that they’d both carefully ignored, tried to deny.  Steve’s done with this.  Bucky’s had enough too.  There’s a brief brush of lips and the kiss deepens just a bit and God, it feels good, feels like sunshine and warmth and it’s so achingly sweet.  

Bucky pulls back after one last nibble at Steve’s lower lip, flushed and blue-gray eyes dark with want and promises for later.  Later.  

Kisses won’t magically fix everything.  Love won’t make the past seventy years of death, agony and pain disappear. They’re both still broken and still hurting and there’s as many bad days as good ones waiting for them.  

But right now, they’re together.  It’s a start.  

- end -

Note:   OMG.  I FINISHED IT.  THE BUNNY IS DONE.   ** victory dance **

Um.  There may be some more bits in this 'verse but for now, I DID IT.

Previous Part is HERE

How they pack

As requested by anon. :)

Let’s say Bleach characters were going away on vacation. What sort of packers would they be?

1. Ishida: Brings extras of everything

Extra socks, extra pants, extra underwear, and THREE extra capes.

Ichigo: You know they have stores where we’re going, right?


2. Ichigo: Stuffs things into a bag at random

And yet, somehow, he always seems to have exactly what he needs.

Ichigo: Raining, huh?

Ichigo: I wonder if I brought an umbrella.

Ichigo: Yup!

Ishida: BUT HOW

3. Renji: Always manages to forget socks

Just, always.

Renji: Aw, come on!

4. Rukia: Packs light (and borrows everything she needs from her host)

And by “borrows,” I mean “steals.”

Rukia:could pack pajamas.

Rukia: Or I could just borrow my hostess’ pajamas!

Rukia: That’s way more efficient!

5. Matsumoto: Has trouble leaving any clothes at home

She just hates not being prepared for every and any clothing situation.

Matsumoto: Like, what if there’s a cocktail party? What if we go hiking? What if there’s a flamenco dance competition?


6. Bazz-B: Brags about only needing to pack 1 of everything

You really don’t want to sit next to Bazz-B on a flight.

Bazz-B: And I have only ONE T-shirt!

Bazz-B: And ONE pair of socks!

Bazz-B: And ONE pair of underwear!

Bazz-B: I am the best packer in the world!

7. Kenpachi: Never seems to have enough room in his suitcase

He doesn’t even pack that much. But whenever he goes to put something in his suitcase, there is always less room than he remembers.

Kenpachi: Well I guess I don't have to bring the hairspray.

8. Yachiru: Likes to hide candy in Kenpachi’s suitcase

She’d put it in hers, but that one’s full (of candy).

Yachiru: “Socks” are just another word for “candy holder”!

9. Hitsugaya: Has a detailed packing list

He shared it with everyone via email. Just to be helpful.

Hitsugaya: I sent two copies to Renji.

10. Omaeda: Mostly cares about packing enough snacks

The rest, he figures, will take care of itself.

Omaeda: There is really nothing worse than being hungry during travel!

Soi Fon: Oh how your seat mates must hate you.

11. Soi Fon: Is the world’s most efficient packer

She developed the technique herself.

Soi Fon: There! Three weeks’ worth of clothing and supplies, in a 6-inch square cube!

Omaeda: But how

12. Byakuya: Rolls his clothing

He his discovered that this is the best way to take up as little space as possible without wrinkling your clothes.

Byakuya: Must better than my previous method.

Byakuya: Which involved bringing an iron.

13. Szayel: Does a lot of research

He likes to find out exactly the climate and customs of the places he is going, to make sure he packs exactly the right things.

Szayel: I used to send my brother ahead so as to collect data through the equipment implanted in him.

Szayel: Now, unfortunately, I have to use the internet.

14. Yumichika: Fills his suitcase with beauty products

Because only barbarians use hotel soaps and shampoos.

Yumichika: I am not an animal. 

15. Ikkaku: Stuffs some underwear into a fanny pack and calls it good

Ikkaku is pretty sure that fanny packs are cool.


Ikkaku: What

16. Hinamori: Agonizes about which books to bring

It’s just hard to know what sort of mood she’ll be in, once she’s on the trip.

Hinamori: Adventure? Biography? Romance? Sci-fi?

Hinamori: Maybe I should just bring them all!

Shinji: Is this why your suitcase is always a million pounds?

17. Shinji: Agonizes about which CDs to bring

It’s hard to know what sort of music he’ll want to listen to, once he’s on the trip.

Shinji: [staring at his giant CD tower]

Hinamori: We really need to get you an iPod.

18. Grimmjow: Keeps going back for stuff he forgot

It’s not unusual for Grimmjow to run back and forth two or three times.

Grimmjow: Shit! Hair gel!

Grimmjow: Dammit! Tootpaste!

Grimmjow: Fuck! My ticket!

19. Riruka: Has trouble leaving cute things at home

As a kid, she always wanted to take all of her stuffed animals. As an adult, that is still the case.

Riruka: So good I have that shrinking ability, really.

20. Yukio: Just brings his Playstation Vita and a credit card

And then buys everything else that he needs.

Yukio: I don’t understand why anyone bothers with luggage.

041. 5SOS Preference: Break Up Theme Song

I’ve done these for One Direction and YouTubers. Couldn’t leave these boys out! The songs are embedded with links to them.


“Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me!” Tugging your wrist out of his grip and then your arm, you were trying your best to keep a good pace while moving down the hall, Michael awkwardly stepping over the roll away suitcase you were bringing behind you, trying to smoothly carry it across the floral carpet. 

“[Y/N], fucking listen to me - ” His voice pleaded as he selfishly continued to try and hold your attention, to calm you down and bring your feet to a stop long enough to hear him out. 

The bottom corner of your purple bag nipped at his calve, but he tripped forward over his own feet while trying to reach for you despite your earlier pleas for him not to being constant and fluid. Michael pulled on the generous fabric of your popcorn knit cardigan, yanking on you to come closer to him, and you gave in. Spinning around, you released your hand from around the handle of your bag and smacked your knuckles back hand against his jawline, sending his scruffy chin towards the wall and bringing his bloodshot eyes to a close as they followed. You swallowed sharply to conceal a newborn gasp, surprised at your own actions, and started to cry. You weren’t a mean or violent person, but he had you so worked up and so hurt that you didn’t even feel like yourself. He fucked up and now you were fucked up.

Sobbing, you reached for your bag as it threatened to tip over and watched Michael stand up straight again, massaging the side of his face you hit with surprised eyes, presenting you with a child-like stare of fear. 

“I hate you!” Short of breath, you shot at him as your face turned red from the salt water spilling from your eyes. “And I thought I’d never hate you.” You managed to choke before rushing away to where the elevators were, just around the corner from where he stood dumbfounded. He was the one who was supposed to never let you down. He promised in the shower, kissing your wet hair as water fell over both of you, that he would never be reckless with your heart.

It was nearly two weeks now and while Michael felt he was hiding it when busy with promotion and practices, he was still feeling sore on the inside. The pain you had brought to sting his face had seeped inside and snuck around his ribs, his chest now constantly aching without you there to lay your head against it. He knew it was his fault, you hadn’t done anything, but that didn’t make him any less angry over the situation. In fact, it made him hate himself and it was hard for Michael to put that into words without sounding like a self-pitying mess.

He sat next to Luke on the plane, his Nintendo DS on his lap and mid-game and his ear buds playing in his ear. He knew if he pulled out his laptop or phone that he would be tempted to contact you or just punish himself by going through old videos and photographs that he had snapped over your six months together. It hadn’t been a long relationship, but it was one of those ones that you jump into all at once after realizing through a tiny conversation that you’ve connected with someone else instantly. Michael was picturing your lives post-tour, talking about moving into an apartment in Sydney together, or investing in a litter of kittens together and naming them all after different sides like: Mashed Potato, French Fry, Coleslaw, Ceaser Salad, and Veggie. Everything was going to be so great and he had blown it to shit after going on a bender the weekend before you came to visit. 

Michael was listening to the same song on repeat and playing it as loud as his iPod would let him. Luke was hoping to catch some sleep on the plane as were the people around him, but Michael’s pity party wouldn’t allow rest. He would have loved to sleep, but he was slipping into depression and it kept him awake with thoughts of what an idiot he was. Jack White’s voice whined through his ears and out of the buds as Luke poked him only getting a bear inspired grumble in return as Michael moved around in the tight spot, giving Luke an actual cold shoulder.

“He’s been listening to the same song the whole flight.”

The lead singer leaned forward, gripping the chair in front of him, and told Calum the row ahead out of frustration. He wanted to help his friend, but there was really nothing anyone could do. They couldn’t say any promising words to Michael since, as far as they knew, he had been the one to screw up. Luke didn’t think he had any shot in getting you back after the mistake he made. He just kept telling Michael to cut himself a break and move on.

Calum simply shrugged in response, “Let him be.” They were in for the long haul and Calum knew that. It would take Michael a long time to get over the break up since it was one hundred percent his fault, but Calum wasn’t about to tell another dude how to wallow. If Michael needed to listen to the same song over and over until his iPod broke, so be it. It beat him torturing himself in other ways.

I don’t know what to do with myself

Movies only make me sad

Parties make me feel as bad

Cause I’m not with you

I just don’t know what to do 


Exhaling loudly, you stared off the balcony as if you were intensely counting cars passing through on the busy stretch of street below. Your eyes weren’t focused on anything though. Calum was standing slightly behind you, hands behind his back and against the glass door he was leaning against. You could still picture him perfectly though, his teeth biting down on his pouting bottom lip as his eyes apologized a second before his mouth uttered the word. It felt cheap though. You didn’t think that he meant it.

He was trying not to watch you react to his words since it made his skin crawl. He felt horrible, it wasn’t easy for him to let you go and let you down, but he could’t deny that his head was leaving the relationship while he was on the road and it was taking his heart along with it. The Warped Tour had been his dream for years and it was where all his focus was, there was no room for anything else right now. He just wanted to have fun, he didn’t want to work on anything besides his music - not a relationship, not even with you. 

“You said we’d be fine…” Finally, you spoke softly, but didn’t move away from the black railing or turn to face him. You spoke as if you were communicating with the Jeep Cherokee waiting behind a red in front of a row of cars down below. “I told you we wouldn’t last the summer while you were away and you said we’d be fine…” You reminded him of his certainty only months ago, standing in his driveway and shrugging off the possibility of anything coming between you two, even distance. 

“I thought we would be.” He confessed while bringing one shoulder up to his ear. “I didn’t think it would be this hard.” Everyone told him it would feel excruciating some days, but he hadn’t been expecting it to be as challenging as it was the moment the tour started and you two were mostly just communicating via text message. 

Rubbing your lips inward, you clutched the railing behind you as you began to move to face him, keeping your eyes down and your long lashes blocking him from spotting the sadness that he knew was alive and well in your pupils. You didn’t want this. You were willing to wait and work. You were going to stick to your word. 

“I just can’t believe it’s so easy for you to give up.” A crack peeped out of your voice as your lip began to warble. You were hurt, crushed even, and you had put so much time and energy into being what you thought Calum wanted and now it felt like it was all for nothing, completely unappreciated. You didn’t want him to see you torn up about his decision, so you swallowed the scratch in your throat and released the railing to walk by him. 

“[Y/N], you’re my best friend…” He began and looked right down at your profile as you scrunched up your face in an attempt to keep composed. Calum stepped off of the glass door and watched you try to pull it open, wanting nothing more than to flee the hotel all together and walk to the airport if you had to. “I’ll always care about you, but right now…” There was a part of Calum that thought, maybe, when he was on a break from music and touring, you two could try again. 

“I don’t want to hear it.” You whispered since talking felt like it might break you down all together. For a second, you allowed Calum to see how pained your face was painted before turning away again and sliding the door open to leave. 

When the song wasn’t on or he wasn’t performing or he wasn’t surrounded by friends howling with laughter or passing him a bowl, Calum could hear the sound of your flip flops slapping the ground as you walked away from him. He tried to stay in touch after, texting to see how you were doing, calling to congratulate you when he heard through friends that you had been accepted for a magazine apprenticeship that you applied for on a whim a few days after he broke up with you, desperately wanting to make your busy. You never responded though. You had even blocked and deleted him from most social media. 

He was trying to sleep with Michael snoring above him, Ashton typing madly on his laptop to his girlfriend back home as they messaged one another before he dozed off. The only person who wasn’t bugging him was Luke and that was because he wasn’t on the bus having passed out on another band’s. Calum plugged in his headphones and listened through the song he had started to play when he realized he wanted a break from the relationship. It hurt then, but now it was like free pouring hydrogen peroxide into a fresh open wound. 

The light from his phone screen blinded him in the darkness and he squinted before beginning to torture himself by scrolling through his Twitter feed, dumb message after dumb message after sort of repulsive message. He looked at his friend’s pages in an effort to be humored, but right now his Usher themed pity party was the only thing winning, so he pulled up his own page and typed out the lyric that seemed to make the most sense: I’m twisted ‘cause one side of me is telling me I need to move on, but on the other side, I want to break down and cry. 

It was two months after he had let you leave him on the balcony, but Calum was still conflicted with his decision, up wondering if he had made a mistake or not. 

Deep down you know it’s best for yourself but you
Hate the thought of her being with someone else
But you know that it’s over
you know that it was through
Let it burn
Let it burn
Gotta let it burn


 “You seem so happy today.” Grinning at his words as they stretched out of his sun burnt lips, Luke looked over at you almost dancing as you walked down the street illuminated solely by the glow of orange streetlamps. After being with him and his band throughout the entire North American leg of their tour, you were practically bursting at the seams with radiating joy over being home. When Luke first asked if you could come along, you had been so excited, jumping up and down and clapping in the backyard. The idea of seeing a big part of the world while watching him live out his dream almost nightly was incredible in prospect, but it had grown on you. It turned out that being on tour meant you spent most of your time alone wandering around foreign cities, dining solo, and twiddling your thumbs and toes on hotel beds while he worked his press circuits, performed acoustic gigs, went to rehearsals, and everything in between you hadn’t considered. There were moments where he could sneak away long enough to take a picture of a landmark with you or grab a burger (while being interrupted for pictures every other minute), but the tour wasn’t a joyride for him. It was work and you hadn’t realized how much work it was. 

“Of course I’m happy. We’re home!” Laughing, you threw out your arm that wasn’t attached to his and smiled up at the big moon. It looked different now that you were home even if it was the same one that floated above you every night in every place you went. 

“Just for a couple days.” Luke chuckled back. It only dawned on him now that you hadn’t smiled this big in ages, not since San Francisco and that was nearly a full month ago. “Are you even going to want to come visit us in South America?” That was next on the list after all and you had agreed, halfheartedly, to come after the first week. 

The question was rhetorical. Luke confidently believed that anywhere he took off to, you would be in the seat right by him. His free hand mindlessly took out his cellphone from his pocket and checked his incoming messages as it had been buzzing constantly for the last few minutes, he didn’t even realize you had said anything until you stopped walking and took your hand from his.

“What?” Mouth open partially, he looked up and asked with his head cocked to the side. 

“I said I’m not coming to South America. I’m not going to meet you in Columbia." 

"What?” This time, he sounded more confused even if his face stayed primarily the same. Luke’s hand reached for yours, needing to feel you not pulling him away, but you wrapped it around the braided leather strap of your bag, occupying it with an apologetic smile. “Why not?”

“I’m so happy for you and it’s so amazing to see all your dreams coming true, Luke…” You had only just began to explain yourself, but he was already shaking his head rapidly with disbelief, clutching his blue eyes shut and repeating 'no’ over and over again like a toddler being told they had to have a bath before bed. “I just don’t want that to be a part of my life. I tried, but I’ve never been so lonely with someone before!” You shouted as fast as you could as his pleas against you were growing louder. For a moment, Luke raised both his hands, the phone still in his left, and covered his ears in a childish effort to tune you out. If he couldn’t hear you, maybe it wouldn’t be real. “Luke, come on.”

“I know touring is hard, but at least, we’re together!” He threw out his arms and called out in the middle of the dead street, stepping into the center of the orange hue over the jagged concrete. 

“We’re barely together, Luke. I spent more time with the hotel staff.” Somewhat of an embellishment, you said while you sadly watched him turn pale in panic. 

“But when I’m not on tour, think of awesome things are. I mean, we are so good together.” His hand was tight against the back of his neck, rubbing it as he pleaded with you to think twice. “It’s you for me. It’s you!” He shouted like it was a reflex, not having to think before he told you how he felt. “I don’t want of this without you.”

“I don’t want this at all.” Shaking your head, you nodded along with your words. “I can’t…” It was natural for you to want to comfort him when he was upset, you always had before, so you closed the space between you both and slid your hand over the side of his face, fingers taking their time to trickle behind his ear as you held his stare with your melancholy smile. 

“I fucking refuse to lose you.” Luke exhaled out, the confidence in his voice weak compared to the frenzy in his head. He knew he couldn’t change his life. He was living out the fantasies of the boy in the basement with the out of tune guitar. 

“I’m gone, Luke. My mind is made up. I belong here.” You spoke slowly in order to let every fact have a moment to be absorbed by his brain. He was hardly listening though, paying more attention to the crazed emotions wafting through his head faster than ever before. “I want to be the girlfriend of the rock star and I tried, but it’s not me. I was so unhappy while we were away…” Shaking your head, you admitted what you weren’t sure how he overlooked. 

The truth was Luke had noticed, but he never acknowledged it out of fear this conversation would have to be had.

It was his first time going to an event without you and Luke had made it clear that he didn’t feel up for posing for pictures or doing any product endorsements, but he still found himself being corralled behind the guys and listening to them talk about South America and promote some new soda drink that they were all there in honor of. It felt pointless and Luke found himself not blaming you for wanting out. With the way he was feeling, he wanted out. Ashton had to remind him before every show that as soon as he got out there and had his guitar in his hand, he would be fine, he would remember what everything was about and how good it felt. Generally, Ashton was right, but in moments like this, Luke stayed silent, accidentally ignoring the questions of the fast-talking reporters, and reciting the lyrics of a song he had become hooked on since walking you home and kissing you for the last time. 

It felt as good as performing did, breaking his soul down with Randy Newman’s words. He felt like, maybe, Randy was currently the only other person in the world who could possibly understand how out of his mind he was going. Luke had half a mind to ask him to go to lunch some time, but if he didn’t have time to have lunch with his girlfriend, when was he going to have time to meet Mr. Newman for a turkey sandwich?

I’ve been cold
I’ve been hungry
But not for awhile
I guess most of my dreams have come true
With it all here around me
No peace do I find
'Cause I’ll never get over losing you
No, I’ll never get over losing you


“If you’re unhappy, [Y/N], leave.” Falling back into the leather recliner under the sparkling sunlight that was cascading in through the open European window, Ashton stated clearly. He was tired of having the same discussion with you over and over. How many times could he tell you to stay? If you wanted to leave, you had legs. 

“I don’t want to leave you. I’m just exhausted by the parties and the rumors and the bullshit.” On the other side of the room, you were on your knees in front of an open suitcase, looking for a shirt to change into as you current one was damp with sweat. Ashton might have been okay with walking around in the humidity without a shirt on, but the world had a major problem if you did the same. 

“Well, this is my life and you knew that when we got together.” Folding his hands behind his sticky hair, Ashton shrugged, looking out the window and the world melting under hot August heat outside. You two hadn’t been together very long at all, but even if you had, Ashton wasn’t going to give up the career he had been dreaming about since before he had pubes for anyone - not even the pretty girl with the laugh that was made to inspire sweet songs. 

Suddenly, you found your hands had stopped digging for a clean t-shirt. They were putting the clothes back in the black piece of luggage, they were fixing the untidy corners of pulled out jeans, they were packing. You watched yourself shuffle your clothing and other belongings tightly around in the bag, trying to make it all work, and then looked up at your shirtless boyfriend, staring out the window without a clue as to how fed up you really were. Being with Ashton was paradise, it was better than a snow cone in weather like this, or a genuine kiss on the cheek from a formerly scared child, but the constant pull of managers trying to put their two cents into Ashton’s personal life, the fans attacking you with verbal slurs in every parking lot you walked through, and rumors about Ashton hooking up with girls, it was too much. There was only so many times you could agree to take a different exit than him before it started to feel personal, there were only so many times you could take being called a 'worthless whore’ and not react, and there were only so many times he could tell you that the girl in the photo was just a fan before it really just sounded like a line. 

You zipped up your bag with a slight struggle, shoving your fist into the center of the fabric top to keep it together, and rose off your bare knees and left, carrying it’s heavy weight in both hands and letting it knock violently against your dewy legs. Ashton didn’t even notice until the door slammed and caused him to jump out of the chair. He rushed out the door and watched you head towards the elevators, slow due to the weight you were trying to carry. A thousand things to make you come back entered his mind, he rubbed his lips together in preparation to kiss your neck, jaw, cheek, and lips until you realized how wanted you were, but Ashton didn’t move. He watched you turn the corner and sighed, happy to have a moment of silence. 

Everything was falling to shit at the moment. It was one of those weeks where everyone was worn out and needed a break with a generous side of sleep. Luke was avoiding everyone in order to keep his head clean and sane, Calum was on the phone with his mother and sister constantly as he yearned for home more than anything, and Michael was out every night and putting the band at a low number three on his list of priorities. Everyone needed a break. Ashton slammed the door of the empty bus behind him and then reached back and slammed it again and again and again. He felt like he was the only one taking things seriously. 

Out of reflex, he went in search of you. He stormed over to his bunk and grabbed his phone off the pillow case and moved his thumb around over the screen until your name appeared on his contact list, highlighted in blue. It was a sobering moment where he realized that he could not be without you. It took him three weeks that were made up of nonstop shows and naked nights without the blessing of any other hands but his own on his warm skin, but he was rotting away inside without you and growing gray. He had been too busy and wrapped up in his tight schedule to realize just how vital you were. 

He wondered if it was too late and wished for you to call him, to know how missed and needed you were. With all his weight pressed into his palms, he pulled himself onto the bunk and laid down flat on his back, legs dangling over the side. He replaced his phone with his music player and hit 'shuffle’ as soon as his headphones were on, letting a song so perfect he couldn’t have picked better himself, try to soothe the hole your absence gifted him with. If anyone knew the pain of loss it was Jeff Buckley and Ashton had never felt so inside a song before. He turned it up loudly and let the songwriter’s voice scream at him as he felt himself begin to loudly allow an ugly cry out of his entire face, shaking his mouth open and burning his nostrils while his eyes clenched together.

It’s never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It’s never over, all my riches for her smiles when i slept so soft against her
It’s never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It’s never over, she’s the tear that hangs inside my soul forever