i have been laughing for the past five minutes at my own stupid drawing

share my heart

A/N: i was forced at gunpoint tonight to write a s4 drabble about bellarke realizing how the other feels about them. Rated T. WC: 1455.


It’s quiet.

Somehow, quiet is always around Bellamy. It’s like he wears it on his shoulders, along with all the pain and hurt and guilt. She doesn’t know if he’s even aware he projects it. All she knows is when she’s sitting with him like she is tonight, sorting meat packages into piles for storage for Alpha Station’s five years weathering out the storm, everything just feels calmer.

“Pass me the checklist,” Bellamy rumbles, nudging her hand with his. It’s the first thing either of them have said for the past half hour.

She obliges, and he squints at it.

“We’ve got to sort those.” He points. Clarke glances around. “Into different kinds of meat. We forgot to do that.”

“Then we have to do it again,” she exhales, and rakes a hand through her hair, nails digging into her own scalp. That will take another twenty minutes at least. Heavy frustration washes over her in a wave. There’s too much to do. Too many small details to iron out. “There’s not enough time.”

She hears him taking a deep breath— it’s no secret that they’re both counting down the minutes. But when he speaks, his voice is even. “There’ll be plenty of time soon enough. Five years, to be exact.”

She looks up, finds him watching her, dark eyes unreadable, and nods, her throat still feeling tight.

They resume sorting, but this time, it’s his shoulders that are drawn tight, and Clarke feels terrible right then for reminding him how little time they had, as if he weren’t already thinking about it every moment of the day. She scrambles for something to say to distract him. “What do you think you’ll do?”

Bellamy looks up, quirks up a brow.

She clarifies. “What do you think you’ll do with those five years?”

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A fallen bookmark on a Thursday afternoon

Pairing: Jungkook | Reader
Genre: ANGST, Fluff and soft Smut
Word Count: 19k




He came to you like the air comes into the train station after the fast arriving of the machine.

It comes fast and unexpected, making you hoist your head to look at the long vehicle and the people inside. It is so fast you can’t even distinguish the different wagons.

As the train comes to a stop, the wind that it creates plays with your hair, leaving you breathless.

That’s how Jeon Jungkook came into your life.

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I have seen that stupid bowerbird “lemme smash” video ten times today so here’s a winteriron take on it. No-powers wingfic ahoy!

Bowerbird Bucky is a total fuckboy. He will sleep with any woman who allows it. He spends a lot of his free time trying to woo women. Steve said that Bucky had always been like that. He was kind of amazed that there was a word for it though, and equally amazed that it suited his friend so well. Bucky tried to flirt with Natasha but she shut that down immediately because ugh.

Enter Tony, her painfully awkward peacock friend and boss. (I’m never letting this peacock thing die.) He’d only ever been with women but then he met Bucky and fell head over heels before he could even try to stop himself. Natasha was super apologetic. “If I’d known, I would have stopped you.” It wouldn’t be a problem, usually; he’d probably just flash his wings and strut around like he’d always done for women and then get turned down (maybe even politely). But… Bucky was never looking at him. He was always looking at the tawny feathers of women instead.

It got… difficult as time went on. It hurt whenever Bucky left the bar with a pretty woman on his arm, or stepped out of parties with friends with benefits (apparently of which he had many), or even strutted out of the ritzy parties that Tony threw with women that he loathed and only dealt with for the company’s sake. It seemed like anytime he wanted to talk to Bucky in a social situation, Tony ceased to exist except for as a wingman or to dish out details on the ladies he knew. Steve insisted that Bucky also slept with men but it was hard to believe when Bucky always left with someone with bland coloring.

So Tony, impulsively stupid as ever, went to the salon that had helped him when he got back from Afghanistan previously and had his wings made tawnier, if only to get Bucky to look at him. (”A pity,” one of the stylists sighed, frowning at him. He swallowed down the shame. He knew he was pathetic.)

It took three days for anyone to notice. Well, not the media, of course, the media was freaking the fuck out. And Pepper and Rhodey knew of course, because they’d called him as soon as the news broke, yelling questions. But the rest of his friends? Never said a word.

Not until Bucky suddenly squinted at Tony’s wings for five whole minutes before blurting out, “Holy shit, did you dye your feathers?”

And with everyone’s eyes suddenly on him, Tony could only paste his paparazzi smile on and said, “Yeah! Do you like it?” As if he wasn’t sweating and trembling with nerves.

Bruce, Sam, and Clint hurriedly made general noises of agreement because they were always quicker on the uptake. Steve just stared at him, brows furrowed together in confusion. Natasha’s mouth was hanging open, and she looked a terrifying mixture of aghast and angry.

Bucky frowned, giving his wings another once-over. “No, not really.”

“That’s probably because you’re not used to it yet,” Clint blurted out, thankfully drawing Bucky’s attention away from Tony’s face before he could see how hurt he was. “It’s new and different now so you’ll probably like it when you’re used to it.”

“I doubt it.”

Tony felt a pair of hands wrap around one of his own, small and soft, but incredibly strong.

“How long does the dye last, Tony?” Natasha asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

The laugh that burst out of him was strangled and he didn’t even try and fix it. “It’s, uh, it’s permanent. So until I molt.”

Natasha looked quietly devastated even as she said, “They did a really good job, Tony. It looks nice.”

“Thanks,” Tony huffed out, smiling, because if he didn’t he’d cry instead.

Then he started avoiding his friends, because he was so pathetic he’d changed his feathers hoping Bucky would like it, and he hadn’t, and now they all knew what a total loser he was.

It wasn’t until he found Natasha standing in his living room a week later that he broke down. “Why doesn’t he like me?”

Natasha opened her mouth, then closed it again. “…I don’t know, Tony.”

“He didn’t even like the–I thought he’d–He’s always leaving with–” He stopped, took a few deep breaths. “…I’m pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Natasha replied viciously, reaching out to grab his hands.

“He’s obviously not interested,” Tony said, miserable. “But I keep trying to get his attention anyway. I even dyed my feathers because that’s the color he likes the most. I’m a creep.

Natasha gave his hands a squeeze. “You’re not a creep! You’re just… awkward. But we’ve been working on that! You’re making progress.”

Tony wondered what he must have done in a past life to be lucky enough to have Natasha as his personal assistant. “Now everyone knows what a big fucking loser I am.”

“You’re not a loser,” she insisted, trying very hard to keep the anger out of her voice. “It’ll be okay, Tony. You’ll get through this.”

Tony stared down at his feet, socked toes curling into the carpet. “…I don’t want to make it awkward for you and your friends.”

“Tony, they’re your friends, too.” Natasha wanted to throw something. Possibly Tony. But Pepper had informed her that that was natural. “It’s not gonna be awkward.”

“I should wait until I get most of my color back anyway,” Tony continued, ignoring her. “I don’t want– …Bucky didn’t like it.”

Natasha looked at his crumpling face and decided then and there that she was going to kick Bucky’s ass for being such a self-absorbed fuckboy. It was one thing to be oblivious (especially since Tony’s wooing skills were in the extreme ranges of painfully subtle and outrageously flagrant, and he was too afraid to fuck up his relationships with his other friends to be ridiculously obvious), but it was entirely another to have someone’s affections go so far over their head that they told them ‘nah I don’t really like it’ when it was so obvious that–that–

…That Tony just wanted to make him happy, even if he had to change parts of himself to do it.

Easter, Harry and Draco

Read the intro here

It’s easter at Hogwarts. Fred and George are both alive and kicking. They have decided that since Umbridge left, this might be a good moment to re-do their last year and cheer all the traumatized war-veterans up with some top quality pranks.

And maybe play matchmaker for a couple or two.

Maybe.

Harry and Draco

“Why are we even participating in this stupid Weasley contest?” It was the first thing Malfoy said after he’d stalked off towards the forbidden forest. Harry had so far not even been sure if they were participating or if Malfoy just fancied a walk and Harry was tagging along. Or stalking him.

“Uhm… I dunno. Because it’s fun?” It wasn’t meant to be witty or sarcastic. Harry really didn’t know why they were taking part in the hunt. Especially since the price they could win wasn’t something either one of them was able to use. At least, Harry thought it wasn’t.

“Last time I had proper fun was fifth year, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.” The depressing content of Malfoy’s answer went right past Harry, who was still a bit lost in thought.

“Are you single?”

“Am I what, Potter?” They had reached the edge of the forest. Malfoy turned around to stare at Harry in surprise and disbelief, with a still lingering flicker of sadness in his eyes. It was the last question he’d expected Potter to ask.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Harry clarified, a bit flustered.

“I know what ‘being single’ means, idiot.” Malfoy turned around again to enter the forest. “But it’s a rather foolish question to ask a gay ex-death eater with PTSD, who is covered in scars and in general not considered to be a very nice person, don’t you think?” After a short pause he added, “Who the hell would want to date me?”

His pace quickened while he spoke. He had never disclosed his sexuality to anyone outside of Slytherin, and he wasn’t really sure why he suddenly came out to Potter. Though Draco supposed the boy could hardly hate him more than he already did, and if there was anything he’d learned from the war then it was shielding himself from spells aimed at his back.

But Potter didn’t respond at all, so Draco could safely continue walking. Well, I suppose silence is still a much better response than the curses my father flung at my head.


It wasn’t the fact that Malfoy had just admitted he was gay that rendered Harry speechless. His often theatrical behaviour and flamboyant mannerisms made it hard to not at least suspect. It was the casual mentioning of suffering from PTSD. Harry had been struggling with nightmares, old reflexes and anxiety every day since the war had ended, but not even Ron or Hermione knew he was seeing a therapist for that. No one did.

He’d never even thought of the possibility of just carelessly mentioning the state of his mental health, of just being open about it. It felt almost good to hear Malfoy say he was struggling, however selfish that sounded.

Suddenly Harry realised he hadn’t responded to Malfoy’s revelation. “What about Zabini?”

Malfoy laughed, relieved the tense silence was broken. “Blaise the ace. A good friend but he’d never be interested in more. Besides, he’s not my type.”

“Theo?”

“Hells no. Guy’s as straight as they come and still not my type.” Draco was surprised at the amount of relief that flooded him when the other boy didn’t seem phased at all to find out he was gay. So surprised he gave genuine answers to his questions.

“What is your type then?”

“None of your business.” Draco was now over his surprise enough to prevent himself from giving a truthful answer. He could barely admit his type to himself, the last thing he wanted to do was tell Potter. “Why do you care anyway? The goal was finding some stupid egg not playing matchmaker.”

“I think you’ll find Fred and George disagree with you on that. Didn’t you see the other pairings?”

“They were mostly Slytherin and Gryffindor, your point?”

“My point is that they’re trying to make us get along. They’re pretty fed up with fighting now I suppose. We all are. And forcing us to hang out might stop the quarrels amongst our lower years as well.”

Sometimes it seemed like the first years hated each other with the same passion as Harry and Draco did at that age. It was very confronting to see their childhood feud damage the relationship between their houses so much.

“You didn’t think of that yourself, did you?” Draco cursed himself for missing the obvious. The sharp edges of his trademark wit had faded since he was on meds for his anxiety and nightmares. He often cursed how much they slowed down his thoughts. But then, not taking them wasn’t very pleasant either.

“No.” Harry blushed a bit and looked at his feet. “Hermione did.”

They were silent again after that, but this time it was a bit more bearable. Almost nice.

“Why are we in the woods exactly?” Asked Harry after five more minutes of walking among the trees. They were following the edge of the forest, where the sun shone through the fresh spring leaves, drawing patterns on the path.

“To find those bloody eggs of course.”

“But we haven’t searched anywhere yet, just walked.”

“That’s because I know where they hid one of them. I saw Lee and the twins come out of the forest here this morning. So if I remember correctly….” Draco craned his neck, searching the trees with his trained seeker eyes. “There.” And with a surprising ease for someone in skinny jeans and highly polished shoes he started to climb a huge oak tree standing next to the path.

Harry noticed a golden shimmer among the highest branches of the tree. “Are you sure you can climb that high? I don’t particularly fancy catching you.”

“Nice to hear you’d be happy to let me fall to my death, and yes, I can climb that high. I might be shit at making the right choices or getting people to like me, but if there’s one thing I’ve mastered beyond fucking perfection it’s climbing trees.” It appeared to be true. Already Draco was twenty feet up in the fifty feet tree and he showed no sign of slowing down when the branches thinned and started to creak under his weight.

“I didn’t mean it like that! Of course I’d catch you if you fell!” Shouted Harry back in the direction of the fine ass that steadily moved up in the tree. Draco was now so high speaking at a normal volume would be inaudible.

“I’m not saying you did mean it like that Potter.” Draco raised his voice now too, he had nearly reached the egg. “It’s just that I probably wouldn’t catch myself if I did fall.” But he let his volume drop so Harry wouldn’t be able to hear the last part.

At least, that’s what he thought.

“Catch!” Draco dropped the egg into Harry’s arms. Harry nearly let it crash to the ground because he’d only now began to process what Malfoy had told him. He hadn’t had any real fun since fifth year, suffered from PTSD, apparently wouldn’t mind dying and on a whole he just looked quite alone and miserable. It didn’t sound like much fun.

“Well, let’s see what’s in it then.” Draco climbed down the tree even faster than up. Harry didn’t respond again, so Draco took matters into his own hands.

He made a displeased sound when he finished reading the note. “If we want to win this thing we have to hold hands for 24 hours. Non-stop. No separate bathroom breaks, no separate showers, no separate beds.” Draco didn’t look thrilled at the thought. “Look, we don’t have to do this. If you want to have a date with someone I could arrange some…”

But he was quickly cut off. Harry had come to a decision. The idea of the twins to bring the houses closer together had seemed rather foolish first. A stupid search for easter eggs surely couldn’t bridge the huge gap between Slytherin and Gryffindor. But then, he’d already learned more about Draco during the past half hour than he ever thought he would. He grabbed Draco’s hand.

“Shut it and suck it Malfoy. Looks like you’re stuck with me for the next 24 hours.”


It wasn’t as bad as Draco initially thought it would be. It was much much worse. “No Potter. Just no. I am not okay with this. I will not be seen with you if you keep wearing that.”

Draco sounded properly horrified, but that just made Harry more determined to keep wearing his Weasley sweater. It was the only item he owned that had a zipper on the side so he could put it on without letting go of Draco’s hand. Mrs. Weasley had made it for him so he’d have an easier time changing when he injured himself during quidditch.

Now that all the eggs had been found the twins had called everyone to the three broomsticks to announce the winners. Draco had insisted they’d change outfits first but he was starting to regret that decision more and more with every passing minute.

He’d had no problem with putting on something different since the hand-holding didn’t obstruct magically changing clothes, but Harry didn’t know how to do that and Draco knew better than to step in and help. The one time he tried that it had gone terribly askew and the image of a half-naked Vincent Crabbe still haunted his nightmares sometimes.

“Why not? It’s either this or a house elf style tea towel.” The smug smile Harry got from annoying Draco would probably be the death of him.

“Oh my god, Potter. I will literally kill myself if you’re going to wear a fucking tea towel.”

“Really? You don’t think I could pull it off? I thought it would accentuate my hips perfectly.”

Draco face palmed himself. “Kill me. Just fucking kill me now. I’m forced to hold hands with with Harry fucking Potter who thinks he looks sexy in a tea towel. And here I was thinking my life couldn’t get any worse.”

“At least you don’t have to spent the entire evening with hair hanging in your face. I can’t put mine in a bun with one hand.” And Harry made a failed attempt to blow his long hair out of his face to prove his point.

“Yeah, right. You have it much worse than me. As always” Draco rolled his eyes. Harry snorted.

“Okay. That’s it. Dress in a fucking potato sack? Fine. Complain about your riddikulus hair? Go ahead. But I am not getting laughed at.” Before Harry could apologize or call Draco a drama queen he was violently shoved face first against the wall of his dormitory.

“What the…?”

“Shut it, Potter.” Draco twisted Harry’s arm behind his back and in one smooth movement grabbed all of Harry’s hair in his free hand. With a whispered wandless spell a magical ring appeared to tie it all together. As a petty revenge Draco pulled it much tighter than necessary.

“So. Happy now?” He released Harry’s arm from its twisted position while continuing to hold hands.

“Sort of. It’s a bit too tight if I’m being hone… Ow!” Draco had pulled Harry’s hair again.

“You’re an absolute asrehole, you know that Potter?” Harry rubbed the back of his head.

“Nope. But you have until tomorrow afternoon to remind me.”

“Prick.” Draco sighed.

“Git.” Shot Harry back as he stuck out his tongue at him. It felt good to banter with each other over the tiny things. And when they walked hand-in-hand towards the three broomsticks Harry saw Draco smile a bit from the corner of his eyes.

It might not be a perfect solution to all of their problems, but at least Draco could have some proper fun bitching to Harry the entire night, and Harry discovered he found that worth much more than a too tight ponytail or a sore shoulder.


I personally think this one is the funniest of the three, but that’s probably just my weird sense of humour.

And this isn’t the last part yet! Just the last part of today. I will still write something about the winners announcement at the three broomsticks, including a whole new ship…

Morgan Rielly - Part Seventeen

Again, I posted this on Wattpad earlier today! 

I knock on his door precisely at ten.

“It’s open!” I hear a muffled yell and I hesitantly make my way inside, still a little unnerved about last night. All the curtains are still drawn and I blink a few times before my eyes adjust to the dim light.

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Ride With Me (Part 6)

PAIRING: readerxbuckybarnes au

WORD COUNT: 2.4

WARNINGS: swearing, angst and a little bit of fluff

*Bucky learns more of (Y/N)’s brother and an unforeseeable act causes everything to change.  

Part 6 is here people get excited and hold onto your butts! It’s all about to happen !!!!!

Previous Chapter 

GIFS NOT MINE 

Originally posted by livvy1800

The grey clouds covering the sky were almost representative of your mood. You sat on your armchair looking out of the window; you spent almost half your morning assuring Wanda that you would be fine on your own. The girl was worried about you that was obvious, you had to physically force her out the door when she offered that her mobile would be on and available to you if you needed anything. Your eyes flicked towards your chest of draws, flashes of the night before burned in your mind. Groaning you rubbed your temples, trying to will the headache away. But the soft thumping on your apartment door forced you to leave the security of your room. Pulling the door open you were wet with sheepish and concerned face of Bucky.

“Hey” he greeted.

“Hi” you folded your arms across your chest, making no move to invite him in.

“How are you?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Ok, yeah stupid question I know. Can I come in?” His eyes wandered over your shoulder.

“No”

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Just; C.H. 1

A/N
I wanted to do a one shot about Fratboy!Calum and it got seriously out of hand.. Like > 23 000 words out of hand (and I’m not done yet)
So enjoy the first part, let me know if you like this then i’ll update! xx

I couldn’t concentrate with over twenty boys yelling at each other, at least half of them being shirtless, and their ball landing near our table every five minutes, distracting me even more than possible. I tried my best to keep my gaze upon the repetition of the eukaryotic cell, but I was only human and in some way, a hormonal young girl. Who wouldn’t stare. 

I drop my marker on the wooden picnic table I was currently seated at, raising my head to hear Ashton Irwin yell something towards his mate, Luke. Luke Hemmings was the typical blonde handsome guy, lip pierced and sparkling blue eyes swooning every girl he’d wink at. He was an okay guy though, when you got him alone. I bet they all were. But when they were in pack, I had gotten the advice to steer away as quickly as possible. I once experienced that first hand.

Calum Hood yelled something in return, incoherently for my selective deaf ears, my eyes slowly dragging over his sweaty, uncovered torso. I know my tongue is poking past my half open lips, probably dragging along the dried, chapped flesh, but I couldn’t help myself. If there was anything that got me hot, then it would have to be tattoos. And Calum had enough of those to stare at. His arms, his torso were covered in black spots of drawings I’d never seen up close enough to examine them and cool down my interest. He never noticed me though, being busy with football and the girls throwing themselves at his feet. 

All the boys were popular beyond belief, not only because of their winnings with the team lately, I’m sure their looks were a big deal as well. The swarm of girls around them were considered the hot, popular girls of the school. Desperate for attention and probably studying something in college because daddy had enough money. I wouldn’t take a leap that it was for that brain of theirs. I couldn’t stay that I was one to study often, but I tried to keep my grades up and hopefully one day graduate. If that were to be with honours, I’d consider myself lucky.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not saying that I am at the bottom of the pecking order. If Calum Hood was a lion, I’d be a gazelle. At least I still get to eat the grass. There are others that aren’t as fortunate as I am. He, or any other team member or any of those girls for that matter, didn’t bully me in any way or ever made me feel unwelcome. Mainly because none of them ever spoke to anyone beside their friend clique. I’ve seen the girls throw dirty looks towards some of the less fortunate students however, and that look was enough for me to stamp them with bitch. Sometimes I felt like my brain was too old for the age society had given my body, and I tried to steer away from anything that resembled high school characteristics.

I did however have a class with Calum at the beginning of the last semester, which he dropped out of as soon as he realized it interfered with his training. I knew one of his football mates though, Ashton. Once upon a time we were lab partners and got along pretty great. For that semester that is. By now if I receive a small smile from him when I pass him in the hallway, I should consider myself lucky. It didn’t matter anyway, we weren’t friends to begin with and it’s not like he had any value towards me. I couldn’t deny that Ashton was an amazing, attractive and sweet guy. I know that if I’m every in a pickle he’ll help me out immediately, because that’s just how he is. “Y/n… Y/n!”

I turn my head towards the noise and am met with my two friend’s glares. They didn’t really enjoy the fact that sometimes, even during conversations, I’d disappear into my own head to overanalyse anything that came down my path. Most of the times they’d let me be, make some stupid remark about it and move on with their lives. But exams were coming up and I desperately wanted my brain to shut off partially, keeping the motivated and socially uninterested part alive and well.

“Stuck in your own head again?” Sarah chuckles loudly as I tear my gaze away from the football field. A stupid grin makes its way onto my lips as our gazes meet. “Once you’ll get permanently stuck there.” She points her pen towards me before her gaze falls back onto the papers in front of her. “At least I won’t be stuck with you bitches.”

A gasp leaves my brunette friend Sherlyn’s lips before her marker lands against my cheek. I can’t help but laugh loudly, throwing my head back. “Thanks for the marker, needed one.” I uncap it and examine it closely, dragging it along the black ink scattered across my papers.

“Give that back.” Sherilyn leans over the wooden picnic table, swiftly pulling the fluorescent yellow colour out of my hand. The table falls back into silence and I sigh deeply, trying to gain focus back onto the eukaryotic cell I’d been stuck on since lunch. At this rate I would have to suck cock to pass this class (I wasn’t actually planning on doing that, if you’re wondering).

“When’s your last?” Sarah sparks up conversation again and I know she’s sick of studying for her economics class. I let my gaze wander over the biological figures of my own stack of papers, scolding myself for not being further and cursing myself for being so easily distracted and overall horrible.

“Thursday. It’s that bio informatics course I had to follow this semester.” I roll my eyes when I think back about my discussion with the man who took cares of all student’s curriculum. I didn’t even bother to learn his name. 

“If it isn’t mandatory I don’t understand why you had to do it. Seems like a waste of time to me.” Sherilyn shrugs her shoulders and flips another page. Normally she was the one constantly distracting Sarah and I, but this finals period she had been on fire. She had to retake some of her classes after a very horrendous year for her, and now she was determined to pass. After all, her mates were a year higher than her by now.

“The end of the school party is that Thursday. Are we going?” Sarah leans back and fishes a water bottle out of her bag pack, chugging half of it down while she awaits my answer. I let my gaze wander off to the football field again, watching the guys playful shove each other for the ball. I wonder what it’s like to be a guy. I honestly believe life would be an awful lot easier on me. I see Calum throw his head back when Luke lands on the hard grass with a thump, his hands clutching his stomach before he bends over.

“Isn’t that their frat throwing it?” I nod my head to the boys fifty meters away and both girls turn before Sarah hums in response. 

“Yes. You know those are the best parties out there. And come on, it’s the last one before I leave on holiday.” Sarah bats her eyelashes at me as she leans her head on the back of her hands, Sherilyn chuckling along. 

“You get away, Sher and I are stuck here, for your information.” I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms over my chest. I didn’t mind going to a party, but the frat parties tend to get out of hand just the slightest. And I didn’t mean the actual party, no. I mean losing my mates only to have to drag some sleaze that is pinning them against the wall away before holding their hair all night as they hover over the toilet bowl. Sobers you right up, if you’re wondering. That, and I didn’t have a skimpy outfit which seemed to be mandatory for such occasions. 

“Don’t be a sourpuss.” Sarah rolls her eyes and I scoff again, my answer delayed as the football hits my bare ankle. I merely stare down, hearing the heavy footsteps already approach our paper littered table. “Hi Y/n.”

I look up to meet Ashton’s warm smile, emanating a small smile on my own lips as I pick up the ball and let it roll into his hands. 

“Hi Ash.” I turn back towards my books and I feel his presence still there, my hand lifted over my eyes to gaze up at the tall boy. His unruly hair is matted against his face and he’s out of breath. I think they have been going at it longer than we have been here studying. And that is over a couple of hours already.

“It’s been a while.” I hum in response, nodding along, waiting to see where he’d go with this. “Are you coming to our party next Thursday?”

I throw my head to the other side to see the opinion of my two girl friends and then the decision is settled. Not that I have any say in this, because I’d probably stay home, order a pizza and fall asleep before the first movie is on. “Apparently we are.”

That cute grin of Ashton makes its appearance as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Great. Then we’ll see you there.” He nods his head as some sort of goodbye and jogs back over to the boys who by now are all hollering at their returning friend. 

“He’s so adorable.” Sarah giggles and I smirk at my mate, shaking my head lightly. “Not sure if calling him adorable will help him score.” A glare is immediately shot my way, followed by loud laughter resonating from Sher and I’s lips. 

“I’m heading off. This is distracting me even more than Netflix right now so I can as well go home. This exam is tomorrow; it’s going to be a disaster.” I groan as I slam my thousand-page book closed, fishing my papers together and stuffing them in my ratted, old black bag. 

“I’m not staying long either, I have to get dinner started.” Sher says out loud without raising her eyes off of the black letters. “Good luck, both of you.” I squeeze both of their shoulders as my form of goodbye and walk in the general direction of my home. 

Part 2 can be found here!

Despite The Overwhelming Odds Tomorrow Came

#do u guys want dan to upload a video crying his eyes out bc hes so stressed and upset and under so much pressure lately #bc i sure as fuck do not’ (based on this post by courtney). partial inspiration and title from this song.

Warnings: Homophobic slur use, use of the dreaded ‘c’ word, graphic references to self harm/suicide

He digs his fingernails into his scalp.

Everything is wrong. His hands are shaking, his breathing is shallow, his eyes are squeezed shut and his headphones are blasting loud music into his ringing ears and yet he can still see everything, every word, and he can still hear it all, every scathing comment.

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Catharsis - for day four of @pynchweek

tw for abuse/homophobia

Adam looks down at the card in his hand, drawn on pink poster paper and covered in glitter and Opal’s drawings (a bee, and a deer with seven eyes and only three legs.)

DaDDy anD Kerah,

I hatE you lEss than thE rEst

I am giving you my favouritE stick to ProvE it

from oPal.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shit. Opal is waiting, looking at him and Ronan expectantly, and Adam can’t think. He is abruptly on the verge of tears, fists clenched, thoughts boiling. Ronan looks at him, concerned. Adam forces a smile.

“That’s great, Opal. Nice capital letters.”

“Thanks,” she says, proud. “Also, can I have my stick back? I gave it on a borrow. A short borrow.”

Ronan snorts and untapes the stick, handing it back and ruffling her hair. “Go and visit chainsaw and her babies. They need feeding.”

Opal puts her stick in her mouth and marches off outside. Adam exhales shakily.

“Adam?”

“I – give me a minute,” he says, sinking down onto the couch. Daddy. She called him Daddy. He… was a father. Adam couldn’t be a father. He didn’t know how. He only knew the opposite of how. The pink glitter card sent him back into his past, returning from kindergarten with his own card, pink paper and all, proudly presenting it to his father, heart beating with excitement.

His teacher said Dads liked father’s days cards. She said his dad would love it. She said he would be happy with Adam. And he believed her – he’d never made a card for his dad before, and maybe that was what he had been doing wrong – maybe he just didn’t know how to be a good son yet, but his teacher did, and now it was going to be OK and his dad would love the card and then they’d go outside and play football like his friends did with their dads on Sundays.

It’s like he is five years old again, holding out his hope in a cheap paper card, a drawing of himself and his father done in red crayon, I love you daddy written on the inside.

Pink is gay,” his father says, looking at the card like he looks at Adam when he wets himself. “I’ve told you pink is gay, haven’t I? This is a stupid card. I can’t believe I pay tax to fund education like this.”

The card is ripped in half and thrown in the bin, flakes of silver glitter sticking to the lino of the floor. Adam doesn’t cry – his dad doesn’t like it when he cries (crying is for girls. Are you a girl?) (no daddy.) (what are you?) (stupid.)

He hasn’t made a card since. And he doesn’t trust teachers. But he remembers, and he wonders if Opal felt that hope handing him that card, and he wonders if she ever doubts his devotion to her, and he wonders if he says I love you enough for her to believe it.

A tear rolls down his cheek, dripping from his chin. Ronan catches it on his finger, kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Hey,” he whispers. “It’s OK. It’s OK – you’re here. Everything is fine.”

Adam looks at Ronan and sees what he didn’t have. Ronan knows how to be a father – Ronan knows how to joke without being cruel, knows how to encourage Opal without deluding her, knows when to make her eat vegetables and when to let her eat ice cream for breakfast. Ronan’s affection comes easily, naturally, warmly.

“I’m awful at this,” Adam says. It comes out as a sob. Ronan just waits. He knows when to listen. “I… I’m not qualified to be a father. I’ll mess her up. Break her. Ruin her.”

“Adam?” Ronan says, lifting his chin. It takes a lot of effort to meet Ronan’s eyes. “You are not ruining her. You are helping her to grow, every day. You are caring for her. You taught her to read.”

Adam sniffs, mind still jumping between past and present, to late nights and tear stained pillows, lost and longing for affection.

“Are you listening? You are doing well. You are not your father.”

“I just couldn’t bear it if… if I ever made her feel anything like he made me feel,” Adam says, and this is new ground, because Ronan knew all about the bruises but not about the tears. Ronan climbs onto the sofa beside him, letting Adam lean into his side.

“Tell me,” he says. “Let it out. If it’s still there, so much, even now – you have to let it out.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Adam whispers. “He’s stuck in me.”

“No. He doesn’t get to have that power.”

“He always had it. It’s like… his voice – that’s the voice I hear when I fuck up. And I can’t change it. It’s always there. The feelings he implanted in me are ALWAYS FUCKING THERE,” he bursts out, frustrated. There’s a rotten feeling in him, like a puss filled spot that needs to be squeezed, but it’s in an awkward place and he can’t reach and even if he cut it out he doesn’t think it would remove anything. “I hated him,” Adam whispers. “And I hated myself even more for wanting him to love me.”

Ronan runs gentle fingers across his back. “Don’t feel bad for that,” he says, “Never feel bad for wanting family.”

“Not that kind of family.”

“And did you know another family? Did you have another family to want?”

Adam shrugs. He used to think he didn’t deserve family, because if he deserved family, his parents would love him. “I don’t think… I don’t think I can love properly,” he says. “I love Opal. And I love you. But… I lie awake at night after we fight, and I run my words through my mind, and I match them to him.”

“You aren’t him. Did he ever say sorry?”

Adam shakes his head.

“You always say sorry.”

“Shouldn’t do anything I need to apologise for. I should be better. You deserve better. She deserves better.”

Ronan grips his hand. “Adam. I am not a liar. And I am telling you now that you are everything I want, and everything Opal wants. Do you know how she talks about you? On the way to school? Non stop. “Kerah, I think Cacti are my favorite kind of plant.” “Why’s that, Opal?” “Because Daddy says Cacti are cool, and they can live with hardly any water, and Daddy is always right, and when I grow up I’m going to be just like Daddy.”

Adam laughs, despite the sadness in his chest. “What high aspirations she has,” he says.

“Yes,” Ronan replies, serious. “She does.”

“Don’t.”

“Adam? You are an intelligent man. View this situation objectively. You are not your abuse.”

“But I still feel it,” he breathes, “I feel it every single day.”

Ronan is quiet, hand still clasped in Adam’s. “I can’t pretend to understand,” he says. “I only know the anger I felt for you, not what you felt. And – I know that me saying you shouldn’t feel the way you do, or that you don’t need to – well, it’s bullshit to you. You feel how you feel. But… we can talk about it. I can help you fight this… phantom of him.”

Adam closes his eyes, wonders what he did to deserve Ronan. “I’m OK. Mostly. Just… some things take me back, you know? When you shout, if you are angry. When you slam the dishes in the sink – that was my mother, after he hit me. I don’t know if she was mad at him or me or herself, but I hated that noise. Those things take me back. And specific things – someone yelling faggot in the street, a raised fist, a pink card – they take me back. And I get this… anxious feeling in my chest, how I used to feel, and … it itches, like my new life is a dream and I’m going to wake up in that trailer, shivering on the lino in the kitchen whilst my dad pants and my mother bites her nails in the corner,” he pauses, letting his thoughts gather. He’s never said this before; always held it bundled up in a tight little part of his chest, simmering. “I hate this power he still has – will always have. I broke free of so much and still… still you can’t wipe it all away.”

Ronan kisses him, ever so softly. Adam tastes the salt of Ronan’s tears on his tongue. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, “Don’t cry because I suffered. Laugh because I am free.”

“I won’t shout,” Ronan says.

“You can shout. If you are happy shouting.”

“I’ll happy shout then.”

“I’ll do your dishes.”

“Nah. Opal can do them.”

“She’ll cover the dishes with snail slime or something.”

Ronan snorts. “Seriously though… I’m proud of you. For everything you’ve achieved. And I’m proud of us, and our little family, even if it is really fucking weird.”

“Tell me,” Adam says, “Tell me if I’m ever cruel. If I ever, ever hurt you – make you feel guilty or worthless or ashamed – or if I hurt her. You have to swear to tell me and I’ll fix it. I… can’t lose you.”

“I’ll tell you,” Ronan says. “And now, shall we take Opal for ice cream?”

Adam whispers yes, kisses him quick, lighter from confession. He is tired, and his heart is heavy, but the darkness buried in him has unwound, loosened, lessened. Catharsis is tiring, but freeing, and all the hands in his life are gentle, even his own calloused palms touch with reverence and not hate.

Another little snapshot, a follow-up to this; Emma and Killian are first years at Hogwarts, and they do not get along.


Emma Swan was a know-it-all.

Killian had noticed this fact on his first day at Hogwarts, and since then, it had been proven over and over. She thought she knew everything because she came from a well-known family of witches and wizards. And he knew all about that, because there was no way around knowing it, since she kept talking about it.

“My mom says the secret is to really believe it,” he heard her saying to Elsa as they left the room after another Charms class in which Emma had been the first to manage the Lumos charm.

“My aunt always says that too!” Elsa agreed – of course she agreed, she always did. “Say it like you mean it!”

“Yeah!”

Killian glared at the backs of their heads, the memory of his own rather disappointing attempt at the charm burned into his brain. It had been a pretty pathetic flicker, especially compared to the perfect golden glow that Emma had called forth.

He wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong. He’d read up on all of the charms already, even though they weren’t really supposed to read ahead. He’d asked Liam a million questions after he’d gotten his letter.

But Killian hadn’t grown up with magic. He didn’t have a fancy magical family with a fancy house. (He didn’t know what kind of house Emma lived in, but he imagined it as a kind of manor house like you saw in the movies, with gardens and tall windows and servants.) He didn’t have a mother who told him to believe or a father who was so good at Charms that the professor kept rambling on about how he’d been his best student ever. He was Muggle-born, and Liam had already warned him that some people thought that made him a worse wizard than those who came from a pureblood magical family.

He was going to prove them all wrong. It was just a stupid charm. He knew how it worked. He’d just have to practice.

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Phan: Those Who Trust- Part 10

Wordcount: 2.2k
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: past non-con and abuse, nightmares
Summary: Dan used to be a submissive and now he’s just a broken shell of a man.
A/N: University responsibilities? What university responsibilities? Also the only reason I actually finished this today was that my washing machine isn’t ready yet and therefore I can’t go to sleep. Damn you washing machine.Thank you guys for the amazing feedback on this story and your nice words, they continue to amaze me. Hope you enjoy! :)

|| MASTERPOST ||

Dan felt weak. He didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to drink. He didn’t want to move. What he wanted to do was stay in bed all day and sleep for the rest of his life, but PJ was having none of it. His friend had stayed with him the entire weekend, hadn’t left him alone for more than half an hour and together with Phil, he felt like he had two guard dogs watching his every move. It was unsettling.

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Use Somebody (Part 1) ~ Michael Clifford Story

**Author’s Note: Is fanfiction even a thing anymore? Haha I wrote this about a year or so ago, and it was supposed to be something, buuuut then school happened and laziness followed.  I have 2 more parts to this that I may or may not post. Depends on how people feel about this one.** ~Ki

Detention.  For the first time in my entire life, I somehow have ended up here.  So what if I forgot to spit my gum out before I walked into the classroom, I think this was just stupid.  Even so, here I was, after school.  With Aunt Karen working, I’ll probably end up having to walk home.  Damn.

Taking a deep breath, I finally walked through the doorway.  “Miss Harmon, seeing as this is your first time in detention, I’ll have to educate you on what happens in here.  There will be no electronic devices, no talking, no eating, no sleeping, no singing, tapping or noise-making of any sorts, and no moving about. You are to find a seat and stay in it until it is time to leave.  The only time during detention that you may leave the room is if you have to use the restroom.  Other than that, you will remain in your seat quietly and do something productive such as homework, extra credit work or something.  If you have nothing to do, then you read.”  I looked at Mrs. Borde as she listed all of the rules of detention.  This really is a prison.

I carefully chose my seat somewhere in the middle of the room.  Dropping my backpack to the floor, I sat down and looked at the clock.  I had to be here for an hour.  An hour of nothing to do. ‘Nothing’ excluded every important assignment that was due the next day in all my classes.  I noticed that the classroom was completely empty with the exception of myself and the witch of a teacher.  “Um, does anyone else have detention today?”  I’m not one to complain about being alone in detention.  I mean, I spend the entire day around stupid people.  I honestly didn’t want to spend another hour in a classroom full of the worst batch in the school.

Mrs. Borde peered over her glasses with a scowl.  “There is another student who should be–ah, there he is now.“  He?  My brain began to run a mile a minute, trying to think of the worst people in the school how I may be stuck in here with, and then he walked in. His bright red locks stuck up and about everywhere and his boots thudded against the dirty floors as he trudged into the classroom.  "It’s nice of you to finally join us, Mr. Clifford,” she spoke with much sarcasm.

“Can’t say I feel the same way, ma'am,” he sighed. His eyes landed on me, but I couldn’t look away.  He walked right past my seat to the back of the room. I stared straight ahead, but I could hear him plopping into his seat.

“You’re late,” Mrs. Borde spat at him.

He chuckled from his seat somewhere behind me, “Is that really surprising to you, Borde?” I fought the urge to glance back at the boy behind me.

Mrs. Borde muttered something about how he’d be late to his own funeral before standing up, drawing my attention. “I have a meeting right now, I trust you’ll both be on your best behavior until I get back. I should only be gone about thirty minutes, but I will have other staff members come by and check on you two. So, don’t try anything, you hear?” I nodded when she looked at me. When her eyes trained to the boy in the back of the classroom, she said, “Mr. Clifford, I want no foolishness from you, do you understand?”

I turned to see him roll his eyes and lean back in his chair. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered.  Mrs. Borde left with a ‘humph,’ and then there were two.  Suddenly, I heard music coming from the back of the room.  I looked back to see him leaning back in his seat with his feet propped up on the desk and earbuds in his ears with loud music spewing from them.  His eyes were closed which made me feel a little less self conscious about staring at him in the first place.

I turned back around to face the front of the classroom.  Of all the people, Michael Clifford never crossed my mind as being the one to get detention.  Although, I shouldn’t really be surprised.  Honestly, he seemed fitting for that role to begin with.  He definitely had the appearance for it: from the color of his hair, to the piercing and tattoos, and all the way down to the boots he always wore.  He wasn’t always this way, but things change.  People change.

I look at the time and see that barely ten minutes had passed since I’d been in here.  I have nothing else better to do.  So, I may as well do some homework.  I reach into my bag and pull out some assignments because why-fucking-not?  As I start to read the first assignment, I am distracted by the loud music coming from the back of the room.  After about the seventh time of re-reading the same sentence, I gave up. Letting out a huff, I turned around in my seat.  Michael hadn’t budged from his spot.

I quickly rip a clean sheet of paper out of my notebook and throw it at the reclined teen.  It hits his bare arm, causing his eyes to pop open suddenly.  His frown matched mine, five minutes of being in the same room and we were already annoyed with each other.  Pulling his earbuds out, he snapped, “What?”

“Uh, your music’s a little too loud.  I can’t concentrate,” I said with the equal amount of attitude.

His eyebrows raised a bit as a smirk displayed across his face.  “Oh yeah? It’s a little too loud,” he asked.  I nodded and he chuckled.  Placing the earbuds back in his ears, he simply resumed his position with his music playing louder before.  When he’s completely deaf and bald by the age of twenty, I’ll be the one who’s laughing.  I sighed and turned back to the papers on my desk.  There’s no way this shit is gonna get done.  I may as well give up now.  I gathered all the sheets off of my desk and began to shove them back into my backpack.  Just as I was reaching for my sketchbook, I heard movement in the back of the room.  I didn’t bother to look in his direction.  Honestly, I didn’t care about what he did.

Then, I heard footsteps coming in my direction, but still I ignored them.  It wasn’t until he pulled the chair from the desk in front of me and sat on it backwards to lean on my own desk that I decided to glance up at him.  “What do you want,” I asked with venom seeping from my voice.

His familiar smirk was plastered across his face and that was when I’d noticed that he’d stopped playing his music.  “I wanna know why Miss ‘Goodie-two-shoes’ is in detention?”

“Hm,” I replied as I pulled out a pencil pouch. “I was written up for chewing gum.”

A harsh laugh tore from his throat, causing me to jump.  I definitely wasn’t ready for that. “Chewing gum?!  What the fuck?!  They’ll literally put you into detention for anything now then, huh?”

I felt slightly offended that he would laugh at my reason for being here.  “Well, then why are you in here?  What did you do so bad to have earned yourself detention?”

He looked at me and chuckled.  “Actually, I have a month of detention,” he spoke.  I gasped at his statement.  A month?  What the hell did he do?  “I skipped class to smoke at the top of the bleachers by the football field.”  His eyes stared at me, waiting for a reaction.  “Really, I was supposed to be suspended, but the old man gave me a choice and now I’m here.”

“Oh,” was all I could say.  I wasn’t necessarily impressed, but the smirk he wore told me that he was proud of what he did.

“Yeah…” He continued to look at me as if trying to start a new conversation.  “Ya know, it’s been a long time since we’ve talked, Rosie.  We should catch up on lost time.”

I rolled my eyes and looked up at him from my sketchbook.  “Why would I want to do that?”

He shrugged, “We haven’t talked in years and we used to be such close friends.  I think about it all the time and I know you do too.  I can tell from the way you look at me in the hall.”  Where was this coming from? I mean yeah, I did think about Michael from time to time and about the friendship that we had as kids (probably more than I’d like to admit).  I guess he thought about it too, but that didn’t mean anything.  We were both different people now and up until now, we wanted nothing to do with each other.  “Remember how we used to sneak to each other’s bedrooms at night?”

I giggled at the thought.  “Yeah, I was scared to death for our lives.”  Michael and I are neighbors.  Our bedroom windows just happen to be across from each other on the second floor of our houses.  There was a tree in between our houses and its branches stretched to each of our windows.  It was just hell trying to climb from window to window on that tree.  “I still liked writing notes on the paper in big letters and showing them through the windows better than that tree-jumping-shit,” I laughed.

He laughed along with me, “Yeah, but that took too long and it was better to get the message across when we actually talked, ya know? Like face-to-face,” he said with a chuckle.  We continued to talk like this, reminiscing on stupid things we’d done as children and in our adolescent years.  The time flew by and before we knew it, Mrs. Borde was walking back into the room just as we were laughing about the time we both hurt ourselves in a water gun battle.

“I see you two have become friends in here while I was away,” she spoke, surprising us both.  I imagined we both looked like deer in headlights.  “Good thing too because you’ll be joining Mr. Clifford in detention again tomorrow, Miss Harmon.”  My heart dropped to my stomach as she spoke those words.  I didn’t want to be trapped in here again.  “You’re both dismissed,” she finished as she grabbed her purse and left.

I sighed while thinking to myself.  “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said quietly to Michael.  I began to pack my things as he stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Is your aunt coming to pick you up,” he asked.

I looked up at him shocked. “No, she’s at work right now.”

“You know I can give you a ride, right?”  I had forgotten that Michael had a car and license.

I shook my head and zipped my bag up before standing with it in my hand.  I slung it across my shoulder swiftly.  “No, Michael, you don’t have–”

“Oh, come on, Rosie.  We live right next door to each other and I’m going straight home from here.  Why not?  It’ll be a quicker and it’s free ride,” he shrugged.  I cringed at the use of my nickname, but thought about the offer.  There was no way in hell he was just being nice to me for no reason.  There had to be something in it for him.

I squinted my eyes.  “What do you want out of this,” I asked.

His eyes widened in disbelief.  “Nothing! Dammit, why can’t I just do something nice for someone for a change?”

I was a bit taken aback at his reaction.  Maybe he was trying to be genuinely nice to me.  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” I sighed.  “Yes, I would like for you to take me home.”  I was reluctant about my answer because I just knew that this car ride would end badly.  We walked out of the room and out to the student parking lot together. I followed him to his shiny, black Dodge Challenger.  It was a sexy ass car, but then again, the boy was spoiled.  I got into the passenger’s side and he got into the driver’s side.

We were silent for most of the ride, there wasn’t really anything left to talk about.  “What happened to us?”

My demeanor changed, just as it does when people asked stupid questions.  “You know what happened.  We stopped talking, you made new friends, and we grew up,” I frowned slightly.

Michael frowned with his eyes still on the road.  “Wait a minute, but you stopped talking to me,” he defended while glancing over to me.  “We were best friends and we talked about everything, but then all of a sudden you decided to shut me out.  I even called to your house and knocked on your window for weeks and I got no answer from you,” he nearly yelled.

Tears stung the back of my eyes and my breath became shaky.  I looked outside my window, praying that he wouldn’t notice that I was about to cry.  One of the things I’ve hated about myself is how sensitive I am.  “You know why I stopped talking to you, or anyone else, back then,” I said quietly, not trusting my voice.  We pulled into Michael’s driveway and my seatbelt was off before he could even park the car.

“Rosalin, that’s not– I didn’t mean to–”

I shook my head, “You’ve said enough, Michael.“  Grabbing my bag, I opened the door and mumbled, "Thanks for the ride.”  Before he could say anything else, I was out of the car and sprinting from his yard to mine.  I knew that riding with him would be a bad idea and he’d only helped me prove it.

Headlights Fading (1/13)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen

Also on FF

Summary: When Emma Swan’s car breaks down outside of a small town in Maine, she finds herself stuck at the local garage, but as the repairs take longer and longer to complete, she has to decide if, in the end, she wants to leave the town at all. 

A/N: The idea for this one kind of happened when I was driving around one night and a specific song came on the radio (I can’t say which one bc spoilers) and it evolved from a oneshot to a Thing to a Thing With Photos and…yes. There will be at least three parts to this, probably more, but I apologize in advance for any mechanical-ish mistakes I make over the course of this piece because I am not a mechanic – but if you are a mechanic and want to give me tips…

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I Thought You Were Different: Book 2 (Part 29/?) (Rogers x reader)

Part 28

You didn’t know how long you had been asleep, but when you woke, the lighting in Steve’s room was different and had a warm glow that you didn’t recall when you had laid down next to him.  For all you knew, it could be just the mood you were in, feeling secure and peaceful for those few minutes or hours or however long you had been nestled under his arm. 

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As a congratulations to everyone in the Sterek fandom for winning the Backlot poll, I decided to make a SUPPPPER long fic rec list full of random fics. Some old, some new, but all of them are amazing! So behold, a huge ass list that puts Tyler Hoechlin’s booty to shame. (JK, his butt is the greatest thing on this earth… besides Pizza.)

Stardust (WIP: 1/?: Teen)

This is the story about how Stiles Stilinski becomes a man.
A much greater challenge altogether, for to achieve it –
he must win the heart of his one, true love.

Babcia Knows Best (one shot: 11,887: Teen)

Stiles takes his grandmother to bingo every Thursday. Now there’s a new guy calling out the numbers, and his grandmother has decided to set them up.

Beauty and the Ex (one shot: 26,313: Mature)

Stiles doesn’t want to screw up his chances with Josh, so he does something he may regret: he goes to Derek Hale, Josh’s intimidating ex-boyfriend, for dating advice.

Things don’t go according to plan. But with a little magic (and werewolves) they might go all right.

Incantation Ink (Series: 30,042: Explicit) 

The tattoo parlor didn’t look like much. The apprentice who was supposed to be inking Derek’s new magical tattoo wasn’t immediately confidence-inspiring either.

To Navigate your Seas (one shot: 26,010: Explicit)

Derek is a beach bum/surfer; Stiles is his new neighbor. Feels ensue.

Talk Geeky to Me (one shot: 19,873: Explicit)

The five times Derek and Stiles “fake” kiss and one time they take things further.

Professional Werewolf Witch (one shot: 5,134: General)

“Are you going to buy anything else?” Professional Eyebrows says and Stiles would like to buy him. A cup of coffee. On a date.

He just ends up pointing at the crate of whatever the fuck is behind Professional Eyebrows’ head and says, “Uh, a box of that stuff.”

P.E. turns glances at the crate and raises an eyebrow at Stiles. “You want a box of charmed rattlesnake tail?” God, magic is so fucking weird.

“Yeah.” Stiles nods because he’s making an ass out of himself. The hipster vampire browsing in the corner is not so subtly laughing at him. The sooner he leaves the better.

That’s Why He Lets Him In (Series: 12,443: Explicit)

Stiles watches him for a long beat before responding, taking in the sharp lines of his bearded jaw and the strong tendons of his neck that lead down to the soft, dark chest hair peeking out of his dark green v-neck. 

“Did you want something,” he asks, voice whiskey-dark, watching how Derek’s eyes fall to his mouth as he speaks.

“Yeah,” Derek whispers throatily, barely loud enough for him to hear. “Yeah, Stiles, I want something.”

CSI: Beacon Hills(one shot: 8,243: Teen)

Back when Stiles was in high school Beacon Hills didn’t have a crime lab, because they simply didn’t need one. Those were the days.

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Pirouette

Length: this chapter is 1688 words 

A SnowBaz fic.

An AU where Baz and Simon never got together, and Simon kept his magic, and they meet after a few years and Baz is doing ballet. Simon thinks it’s hilarious, and stays just to torment Baz.

Written for a prompt from@basiltxnpitch

Pretty sure I don’t need and t/w’s for this. Angst, dancing, swearing (of course there is swearing. If you are adverse to swearing you wouldn’t have read Carry On).

A/N: This is the first fic I have ever posted anywhere, and for a publshed author i am extremely self-consious about my writing.Also, I don’t know anything about ballet, so let me know if I get anything wrong. Please be kind and bear in mind that I’ve never done this before. Enjoy! Later chapters posted when I’ve written them.

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Five: Simon

I watched Baz’s tall form glide away from me and out of the door. I shook my head.

“Baz, you’re a fucking idiot.” I muttered. Why would he say something like that and then not explain it?

Knowing him, it was probably just some ploy to get inside my head.

And it fucking worked. Said the more annoying part of my brain.

Shut up. Said the more reasonable part of my brain.

Then I saw the clock on the wall, and forgot about Baz.

4:30? I thought I had only been here for an hour…

I had gotten here at 1:30, after my lunchtime sour cherry scones.

Shit.

I was meant to meet Penny at 2:00.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. Fuck. Shit.

I bolted out the door to the front desk and asked Miss Beat – who was thankfully at her desk this time – how to get to Penny’s bookshop.

She smiled at me as I left, looking like she knew something I didn’t. “See you tomorrow, Simon! Oh, and you should probably buy your own clothes and shoes. I’m not sure how happy Basil is about sharing his with you.”

I nodded, then froze just as I walked out the door.

I was still waring Baz’s clothes. The fluro yellow ones. The ones that smell like bergamot and cedar. Baz’s clothes. Ballet clothes.

And Baz had left with my clothes in his gym bag.

Fuck.

People were staring at me, and I even saw that angry soccer mum from before. What was she still doing around here? She was gaping. 

Luckily, that was the moment I got hit in the head by Baz’s gym bag, and relief flooded through me. I turned to my right and saw him watching me with exasperated expectation.

“Well?” he drawled. “Are you going to get changed?”

I quickly ducked back inside with him calmly following me. I bolted back to the change rooms.

When I exited, wearing my comfortable jeans, green tank top and black hoodie, I took note of Baz. He’d gotten changed too. I looked at him, incredulous.

He was wearing jeans. A pair of black jeans.

This didn’t seem like a Baz thing to do at all. He seemed like the kind of guy to just wear suits everywhere. Not black jeans and a dark blue sweater.

He must’ve caught me gawking, because he raised an eyebrow.

“What’s the matter with you, Snow? You look like you’re having an aneurism. Maybe a stroke.”

I looked at his dark, stormy grey eyes. He was smirking, but his eyes didn’t show it. They showed something else, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

I looked back at his legs, at his outfit. I couldn’t draw my eyes away.

“Y-you’re wearing jeans!” I exclaimed.

Nice one, Simon.

Baz frowned again. “Yes. So are you. So?”

“You never wear jeans.”

“Snow, you’ve only ever seen me in school uniform. I hardly think that counts.”

“No but… you’re a suit person.”

Baz looked at me like I was stupid.

“No. I wear jeans, like a regular person. Because I am a regular person.”

No, he’s not.

“No, you’re not.”

His eyes flashed with anger. “What is that supposed to mean?”

I rolled my eyes. “Baz, really? Again? How many times do we need to go through this – I. Know. What. You. Are.”

He glared at me, and I could swear he was almost hissing.

“Snow, I’m just a guy who wants to live his life. Please just – just leave me be.”

He sounded tired all of a sudden. I wondered why, briefly, then I pushed the thought out of my mind. I shook my head and pushed past him out the door.

“Whatever.” I muttered.

“And buy yourself some proper dancing clothes and shoes – not just ballet stuff.” He shouted behind me in resignation. It seemed like a strange thing to shout when he was angry at me, but he was Baz, after all. He was a very strange person.

I ran out the door, waving goodbye to Miss Beat as I left, and I pushed through people in the street. They were all bustling around me, all talking and laughing, and I couldn’t even think.

How had I been roped into this? What kind of luck (and I use the term loosely) was it that I had found Baz’s ballet school?

What had he meant when he said that it was his last safe place?

What happened to his home?

Oh shit. No.

I was not about to start feeling sorry for Baz fucking Pitch. That’s not how this was meant to work.

It wasn’t meant to turn out like this at all.

I was meant to take one lesson, torment him a little, then leave and never speak to him again. I wasn’t meant to be forced into lessons with him every day, and I certainly wasn’t meant to start feeling sorry for him.

I mean, I get that he’s had a pretty shitty life – what with his mother dying and him getting turned into a vampire and all – but he is still a vampire. He is still a monster.

Right?

I frowned and shook my head to clear my thoughts. I needed to focus on finding the bookstore. I could only hope Penny was still there.

After jogging through the streets of london for fifteen minutes, I pulled myself up and leaned over, bracing myself on my knees and panting heavily. I was out front of the store, but it didn’t look like anyone was in there. The lights were off and the closed sign up.

Then I heard the most horrible sound in my life.

“Simon fucking Snow you had better have a damn good reason for skipping out on me or I swear to god I will gut you!” It was a screech of epic proportions.

Penny was in the doorway to the store, glaring at me with pure fire in her eyes. She was wearing a blue top with a picture of a bulldog with sunglasses on it, a bright purple skirt and knee-high orange and purple stripy socks. Even the dog - the cool, sunglasses-wearing bulldog on her shirt - seemed to be judging me.

She stood above me with her feet spread shoulder length apart, her hands on her hips, waiting for a response.

I looked up at her nervously. How could I tell her that I had skived off to dance ballet – with Baz?

I straightened up slowly and looked at her sheepishly.

“I got lost. Sorry Penny.” I mumbled.

She stared at me for a moment, dumbfounded, before throwing her arms in the air.

“WELL that makes up for it! The great Simon Snow got lost, and he had to be so independent that he couldn’t even call me to ask directions!”

“I couldn’t find my phone-”

“And you couldn’t hail a taxi?”

“-or my wallet-”

“AND YOU NEVER THOUGHT TO STOP AND ASK FOR DIRECTIONS?” She shouted, pulling on her hair in anger.

“I – I did. I did stop and ask for help.”

“What? You asked for directions? When? Two minutes ago? Or three hours ago? Couldn’t you find your left and right hands to tell the directions?”

“I did stop to ask, but I didn’t realise where I was and I got kind of distracted by the dancers and-”

“Dancers?” her eyes narrowed. “Is that why you’re blushing so much? Simon Snow do not fucking tell me you ended up spending the last three fucking hours in a fucking strip club. Do not fucking say it.”

I choked out a laugh. “What? No, that’s not what I meant at all! Crowley Penny, I meant actual dancers, ballet dancers, at the dance school.”

She frowned. “You got distracted by ballet dancers for three hours?” She said it slowly, as though to make certain no words were minced.

I swallowed. “Ye-es.”

Her eyes narrowed again. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing too important.” I muttered.

She studied me for a while before letting her eyes widen in interest, left eyebrow cocked so high I worried it might end up stuck in her wild, loose hair.

“You knew one of the dancers. Was it someone from Watford?”

I frowned. “How on earth could you know that?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Simon, it’s only been a few years since Watford, I haven’t forgotten how you look when you get a taste of that place, and the only way that could’ve happened is if you saw someone you knew from there.”

“How do I look? What do you mean?”

“Simon, you look more alive now than you have since the moment we left. You’ve got that spark in your eye, the one you got when talking to Ebb or learning about spells or fighting with Baz or doing any of the things we did at Watford or-” her jaw dropped.

She stood there, mouth gaping, staring at me for three whole minutes while I felt incredibly ill at ease. She was close to it, close to working out what had been happening, but for some reason I didn’t want her to know. I wasn’t concerned about the dancing, about my masculinity. Not really. It was Baz I didn’t want her to know about. How I had watched him glide seamlessly across the dance floor, how I had worn clothes that smelled of him, how I had asked him to stay in the bathroom while I got changed, how I almost began to feel sorry for him.

“It was Baz,” she whispered conspiratorially, “that’s who you saw there!”

I didn’t want her to know.

It would make it far too real. The idea that I was almost treating Baz, a monster, the arsehole roommate from my past, like I would treat a normal person. Penny would read too deep into it.

Especially when I told her I was going back tomorrow. She would read too much from it, think that something was going on, that I was going mad.

She would read too far into it, even though there was nothing there really to read.

Right?

anonymous asked:

Tarantism, hannigram <3

Tarantism - the urge to overcome melancholy by dancing.

“You’re staring again.”

Will curls his fingers over his jaw, chin seated in his palm. He blinks once.

“Hmm?”

Hannibal nudges gently at his elbow from across the table.

“Your coffee will grow cold.”

Will looks down at his mug, at the conspicuous absence of steam rising from its contents.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he says, flicks his eyes back to the window.

Outside it is grey, a little bitter. Pine trees shift uneasily under the growing wind. Besides trees and sky, there’s not much to be seen for miles.

They are entirely alone.

Hannibal slides Will’s mug out from under him.

“I’ll heat this up for you,” he offers.

Will catches his hand, rubs an apologetic thumb over his wrist.

“No,” he replies, “it’s fine. I’m just…”

He’s not sure how to complete the sentence without hurting, and they’ve worked so hard these past six weeks to pluck those thorns from their paws. He rolls his jaw under his hand, chews the inside of his mouth.

Hannibal watches him, glacially patient. Will sighs in frustration, drops his elbow, adding another hand atop Hannibal’s and squeezing affectionately.

“It’s not you,” he says, and means it.

Hannibal nods. “I know.” He says it with a little too much confidence, the uncertainty beneath it pressing just under his skin. Will tucks an index finger under Hannibal’s, looping them together.

“Six weeks,” Will sighs, “six weeks of healing and - healing, and it’s been good, it has, but I miss - I miss -”

- my dogs, my house, my boat, my family, no, being able to think I could have a family, my old work boots, going to the grocery store, drinking whiskey on my porch, eating bad Chinese food with plastic forks, the smell of my shampoo, the sound of a phone ringing, gathering the firewood, pretending I didn’t know what it was like to kill a man -

I miss not being seen,” he admits, and bites his lip when he feels Hannibal’s fingers grow cold under his.

Hannibal tilts his head. “It would seem, then, that it is me. Since I am the only one who sees you.”

He pulls himself free, stands from the table, gathers Will’s mug.

“I had thought that clarity would bring you peace,” he says quietly.

“That’s just it,” Will replies. He follows Hannibal to the kitchen, touches his back, lets his palm rest there as an anchor. “It did, and I wouldn’t change that now, but there was a… a certain comfort in hiding.”

He steps into Hannibal’s space, pressing his cheek alongside his palm.

“I miss the stupid things that distracted me from being… this.”

Hannibal rests his hands against the kitchen counter, very still.

“What, exactly, is this?”

Will rubs his face against the cloth of Hannibal’s shirt, says very quietly, “what I’m supposed to be.”

Hannibal turns beneath his touch, sets a hand to Will’s shoulder, cups a hand under his jaw. “You have shed your skin, and now you wait for the burn to pass as a new one grows. Trust that I will see you through it.”

“I do,” Will whispers, and it’s as much of a marriage vow as the ones they made on the cliff. Hannibal kisses him, very soft, lips lingering against his. Will doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of the way Hannibal kisses, like he might melt away under his mouth and so he must savour every cell of him before he disappears.

“Would you take it back?” Hannibal asks. The words bleed hot over his skin.

Will slips his tongue between the parted swell of Hannibal’s lips. He tastes like something he knows he should regret, like the first piece of Turkish Delight popped into an unsuspecting mouth. He can’t bring himself to do anything but crave more of it.

When their mouths break apart for breath, he grips at the collar of Hannibal’s shirt.

“No,” he says, and means it, “never.”

Hannibal’s hands are at his waist, fluttering and plucking lightly where Will’s own shirt tucks into his jeans.

“Slow down, baby,” Will murmurs sweetly, “it’s only been an hour.”

Hannibal sniffs his neck, growls in that way he knows makes Will shiver.

“I wanted more of you after five minutes, Will. I wanted more of you before we finished.”

Will moans quietly, presses their bodies a little closer.

They sway together in the kitchen, the dim morning light slanting at sharp angles into the kitchen. Will’s feet shuffle under him. He looks up.

“Dance with me first.”

Hannibal laughs, the vibrato of it a pleasing rumble. “What?”

Will snakes his hand around Hannibal’s neck, teasing with the ends of his shaggy hair.

“Dance with me,” Will repeats, voice warm and fond, “it’ll make me feel better.”

“Why?”

Will shrugs. “I have no idea,” he admits, “but I want you to anyway.”

Will nudges their noses together knowingly. As if he could ever refuse. Hannibal’s brow creases in bemusement but there is a smile tucked in the corners of his eyes, a smile that only Will has learned how to see.

He kisses the tip of Will’s nose, moves a hand to the small of his back.

“Very well,” he says, drawing his right hand up and taking Will’s left, folding them together. He pulls his back straight, looks down at him with a feigned haughty countenance.

“Put your right hand at my shoulder.”

Will obeys. Hannibal winks. And then he starts waltzing.

He sweeps Will in grand circles around the cabin, feet light as air. Will stumbles at first, mouth open in protest.

“Hey,” he sputters, “I didn’t say you could lead!”

“You asked me to dance with you,” Hannibal arches a brow, “what did you expect?”

He turns Will gracefully under his arm, and despite his flushed cheeks Will lets himself laugh.

“Christ, I love you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it, certainly not the last, but he catches the shine in Hannibal’s eyes every time the words spill out. He blinks wetly, makes a little humming sound.

Will squeezes where their hands are joined, knows that Hannibal’s silence is as much of a reciprocation as anything that could be said aloud.

They keep waltzing.

Trial by Fire #28

Chapter 28: Mayday

  • Code that indicates a firefighter is lost, missing or requires immediate assistance..

summary: When a series of fires unsettles the city of Magnolia, Detective Lucy Heartfilia unwittingly reignites a war between old rivals. But when she finds herself drawn to one of her suspects, the lines between right and wrong begin to blur.

A/N: ….hehehehehe

Rating: M No NSFW in this chapter

read: part I | part II | part III | part IV | part V | part VI | part VII | part VIII | part IX | part X | part XI | part XII | part XIII | part XIV | part XV | part XVI | part XVII | part XVIII | part XVIIII | part XX | part XXI | part XXII | part XXIII | part XXIIII | part XXV | part XXVI | part XXVII | on ff.net | all parts

5…

Natsu turned the familiar hallways of the precinct. It was almost sad how well he knew this building. Even sadder was the fact that it hadn’t changed much in almost seven years. Some of the older detectives were a little greyer, while others were gone and replaced by youthful faces.

During his time as Salamander, they had suspected him many times of being an arsonist. He lost count of how many times he had been dragged into these halls for questioning. Back then he thought it was a game, taunting and teasing cops until they were red in the face and ready to blow. His anger at the force had never dwindled, and only seemed to intensify the older he became.

Which made it even stranger that he was here voluntarily.

He navigated hallways with an expertise that would make rookie beat cops jealous. It was weird going through the main desk and filling out a name tag and actually waiting around to be allowed onto the floor.

So now he was slapping a sticker name tag on his chest, decorated with flames and sideways looking dragon trying to eat the words ‘Hi my name is–’.

When he finally arrived on the right floor by using the stairs, to avoid the cops piling in the elevator, he reached the bullpen, barely able to hold back a cringe. The sight of rows upon rows of desks aligned into uniform perfection made him wanted to run over and flip over every last flawless stack of paper they had.

He was here for a reason, and he wasn’t about to be chased out by a bunch of badges and guns.

Keep reading

she takes after you

“I’m placing the blame for this entirely on you Barry Allen,” a very uncomfortable Caitlin growls as she attempts to tug herself closer to her desk, failing spectacularly. Her stomach, heavily distended from pregnancy, doesn’t allow her to hover over her keyboard quite the way she likes to and she’s beyond frustrated. (All she wants to do is distract herself with work, and she can’t even do that properly).

For his part, Barry only smiles at the sight of her, uncommonly proud of the visible evidence of their (hopefully) soon to be born child beneath her sweater. Feeling the effects of his wife’s steely scowl, however, he does offer a reply, albeit not a well thought out one: “It did take both of us to make her Cait.” He knows it’s the wrong reply the second it runs out of his mouth (too quick to take back, like most things he does).

“I’m not talking about her existence Barry,” she huffs, more than aware of that simple, biological fact (besides which, it would be pretty hard to forget her conception, the evening of their first anniversary). “I mean the fact that our daughter hasn’t even been born yet and she’s already inherited your habit for being late for everything.” He has the decency to look guilty, which gives Caitlin at least a small feeling of satisfaction.

Barry knows that the last few weeks have been rough on Caitlin. She’s grown increasingly uncomfortable, and thus unable to sleep through the night, as the end of her pregnancy has approached. They’re as ready as they can be for the arrival of Baby Allen, (when they’d learned they were expecting, Caitlin had created a preparation timeline that even he’d been able to follow mostly to the letter) but it appears that Baby Allen is not completely ready to arrive. Caitlin’s due date passed five days ago and with each passing day, she’s become more agitated. He knows that while it is partially due to the discomfort of late pregnancy (swollen ankles, abnormal hormones, sore back, and so much more), mostly it’s worry that has been making her so irritable.

“What if something’s wrong?” She asks a moment later, the annoyance she’s been channeling draining immediately away to reveal the root cause.

He’s at her side immediately, pulling her out of the desk chair and into his arms. The embrace would be awkward, curled over her expanded form as he is, except they’ve been slowly adjusting to these changes throughout her pregnancy, just as Caitlin’s body has. Adjusting with changes, making a better today and tomorrow from the unexpected, it’s what they do, it’s how they found each other and fell in love. It’s why he knows, even when she snips out her frustrations, that they’re going to be just fine, as always. It’s also why he knows that their baby is going to be just fine too.

“Cait,” he soothes into her hair, pressing a kiss against her crown, “nothing is wrong. The doctor has checked everything out and we have a c-section scheduled if she waits too much longer.” Still keeping his wife wrapped in his embrace, he pulls back a bit to smile down at her, his grin teasing. “Besides, what would you expect from our little girl? She’s already always late like me and wonderfully stubborn like you—she’s just choosing her own pace.”

It draws out the small but warm laugh he’d been hoping for. Caitlin tips her head up to meet his gaze and then presses forward to place a brief kiss to his lips. “I know you’re right, but I also know all the things that could go wrong and sometimes I can’t help thinking about them.” He gets that too, knows that with all the chaos that’s gotten them here (plenty of it bad, even if he knows the good overwhelmingly outweighs it), it’s sometimes easy to get caught up in the idea that something surely will go wrong (it always seems to in other aspects of their lives). His mouth is just parting to reply when she beats him to it, her mood still lightened by his earlier comment. “Let’s just hope this baby inherits some of our better qualities too.”

A much better topic of conversation, one they’ve spent many quiet, contented nights wondering about over the past nine months. Barry navigates them away from the desk they’re standing next to and over to the couch, carefully helping to ease her down. They cuddle up together as he pretends to contemplate his answer. “Like my incredible board game skills?”

An eye roll accompanies her laughter, and the warmth that pulls out of his chest has him amending his comment immediately in favor of something more serious. “Your laugh,” he decides with a firm nod. “I hope she has your laugh Caitlin. And I hope she’s brilliant like you, and passionate about the future. I hope she’s just as fiercely independent and unflinchingly strong.”

Nine months ago, the tears collecting quietly in the corners of her dark eyes would have alarmed him, now he knows it’s just part of the pregnancy package. Still, he hates inspiring them, even when he knows they’re tears of happiness and love. Snuggling in closer, he lays one warm hand across her stomach while the other rubs gentle trails down each cheek. Caitlin catches that hand in one of her and kisses it. “All I want is for her to be healthy and happy and to love the way you do: with her whole heart.”

“That’s a trait she’ll get from both of us Cait.” It’s a trait she rarely sees in herself, but certainly one of those that he fell in love with himself. It’s the reason why, just over eight months ago, when they had first discovered Caitlin was pregnant (not planned but certainly not unwelcome, after some initial shock and panic), he had been able to reassure her fears, without any doubt, that she would be an amazing mother. He knows Caitlin loves with a protective ferocity that has saved his life more times than he can count and that she has, and will, love their little one the same way. It’s evident in all her interactions with their respective godchildren (his godson Joe Thawne and her goddaughter Abby Queen).

“If she ever decides to meet us,” Caitlin grouses a few comfortable moments of quiet thought later, eyes skittering down to Barry’s hand where, she knows, he has just felt his recalcitrant daughter kick.

“She just already knows what I try to tell you every Sunday morning when you claim we have to get out of bed: you’re too comfortable.” To emphasize his point, Barry nuzzles his head against her neck and shoulder.

“Mmm,” she mumbles, letting herself become distracted. “Well, there’s no Sunday lunch at Joe’s to get to today…and since baby here doesn’t want to go anywhere either, I’m more then happy with a nap.”

It might, after all, be the last quiet one they have for a long time (if they’re lucky).

It still sometimes amazes Barry how little things with Caitlin—like cheering her up or distracting her fears or lazy afternoon couch naps—can feel as much like saving the world as stopping evil meta humans. If he weren’t feeling so suddenly sleepy, it might occur to him that it has something to do with her being his world, but he’s warm and pressed close to his wife, their little girl kicking occasionally at his hand and the nap overtakes him before any such thoughts can.

Their nap is somewhat harshly, but very welcomely, ended three hours later by the beginning of Baby Allen’s introduction into the world (and what Barry, surprisingly squeamish despite all his many injuries over the years, will refer to as the death of the Cozy Green Couch for a long time to come). 

Despite his many protests to the contrary (“I won’t go too fast Caitlin, I’m not stupid. Just quicker then the car!”), they arrive at the hospital valet parking in fairly good time, even though the contractions are coming pretty quickly. (“Leave it to your daughter,” Caitlin groans between ripples of pain, “to be five days late and then try to flash herself into the world at lightning speed.”) But they make it inside, get checked in and settled into a room with relatively little issue.

Caitlin is barely in labor for four hours when, in a delivery room surrounded by doctors, her parents, her Auntie Iris and Grandpa Joe (and with Uncle Cisco, Uncle Eddie and cousin Joey in the waiting room), Mikaela Grace Allen is born.

After she’s checked over, deemed perfectly healthy and cleaned up, Iris and Joe leave to join the rest of their little family in the waiting room (Iris with a camera full of pictures to show off to her husband, son and Cisco before sending off to Starling City) and give the new parents a few minutes alone while little Kella eats.

When she latches on immediately, clearly hungry, Caitlin smiles up at Barry with tired but wonderfully soft eyes and can’t help but laugh. “Hungry already—she really does take after you.”

– –

Snowbarry family fic & the introduction of Kella Allen. Figured we needed some cute, happy stuff and yesterday the idea of their child being late and Caitlin blaming Barry came to mind and wouldn’t quit :)

Dedicated partially to ttinycourageous because your tags in my last story made me laugh and smile and because you are wonderfully. Also dedicated to all the positive, great snowbarry shippers out there.

Thoughts, comments and suggestions are always appreciated!