i just can't believe they will never ever hold hands again

Part 2 of Lachesism! Lance

Hey guys! Since everyone has been asking for a part 2 for my lachesism I decided to continue it (also you guys are too sweet seriously)! I hope you enjoy it :)

You can find that post here : Part One

You can check out some of my other mini fics here

There in the middle of the hangar, sat Lance surrounded by a hurricane of black that swirled faster with each passing second. His eyes were squeezed shut, not seeing the paladins, yet they all felt like he just knew. It was when he opened his eyes that all hell broke loose.

Lance’s eyes glowed a pale blue amidst the chaos of the black storm surrounding him. He almost seemed to stare at the team unseeingly, his eyes shining unnaturally. 

“Lance?” Shiro asked,”…What’s going on?” He didn’t reply, the only movement he made was the slow blink of his eyes. “Buddy, I need you to work with me ok? What is happening?” Shiro tried again, only to be greeted by silence. The team was beyond freaked out at this point, because where the Lance they knew? What was this, this thing in front of them?

“Lance you better knock it off! This isn’t funny man!” Hunk yelled, taking a step forward, “Let us help you!” 

Lance cocked his head to the side, his brows furrowing. “Blue is someone here?”

If the team thought they were freaked out before, then damn, they were terrified right now. Lance’s voice was creepy, it was as if someone layered his voice a thousand times, each one seeming farther away than the one before it. 

“Can he not hear us?” Pidge whispered, her voice sounding smaller than usual. 

“Blue can you please tell Lance that we’re here to help?” Shiro asked, but the Blue Lion was not listening. Her eyes were fixed on Lance and Lance alone, who was now slowly standing up, the storm around him condensing to two black orbs that sat in each of his hands. 

“Whoever it is, can you please tell them to leave? I’ve almost got this part down! See,” Lance said, dispersing the two orbs into multiple orbs that circled his head,”I’m finally getting the hang of this thing!” The team stared at the menacing blackness that loomed over Lance, who seemed unaffected by the eerie energy it was giving off. 

“That’s it, the show is over,” Keith growled, stomping over to Lance determinedly.

“Keith no! We don’t know what’s going on!” Shiro shouted, reaching out for Keith, only to just miss him. He could only watch as Keith made his way to Lance and grabbed his arm. 

The movement above Lance’s head stopped as he turned to face Keith, his eyes still glowing that pale blue. 

“Snap out of it Lance! You need to tell us what’s going on!” Keith shouted, gripping Lance’s arm tighter. 

“Keith? W-what are you doing here?” Lance stuttered, his eyes going wide and his breath beginning to stiffen. “Blue? Why is he here?” He began to shake, the black orbs above him started to reform into a storm. “Y-you need to let go of me Keith. Y-you n-n-need to let go of me r-right now.”

“Like hell I am!” Keith yelled, “You need to let us help you Lance!”

He didn’t seem to be listening, his eyes gaining that unnatural glow to them once again. The hand touching Lance’s arm began to burn, causing Keith to let go briefly. The effect was already beginning, however, despite Keith letting go. Big fat tears welled up in his eyes and hole seemed to form in his chest, this aching feeling setting root within him. 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, I’m sorry Keith, I-I didn’t mean to give that to you, let me help ok? Let me just-” And just like that, the feeling was gone, contentment taking its place. Keith could only stare at Lance with his mouth open in shock. The glow began to dim from his eyes, returning them back to normal and the darkness practically vanished in moments. 

“How the hell did you just do that?!”

“Umm… what do you mean?” Lance asked, playing with his fingers. 

“What do I mean? How about the whole, my-emotions-just-went-from-fucking-depressed-to-sunshine-and-rainbows in two seconds??” Keith shouted, causing Lance to shrink into himself even more. 

“Um.. well you see-”

“Hold up, wait just a moment. What just happened. Like right now, in this moment, what is going on?? Because there was a huge storm above your head like a minute ago and now its gone??? You had glowing blue eyes and did something to Keith?? What is happenning?????” Hunk interrupted, stepping in between Lance and Keith. 

“Uhhh, well-”

“What the fucK?? Don’t give me that look Shiro, because I just watched some freaky shit happen. How did you even do that? When did you even start doing that? Could you always do that? What even is that? What-” Pidge rambled, gesturing around her as Lance refused to meet any of their eyes. 

“All right, how about we all give Lance some space ok? Let’s all go to the lounge and talk about this peacefully, alright?” Shiro intervened, going to place a hand on Lance’s shoulder before hesitating. “We’re going to need you to tell us what’s going on, ok Lance?”

Lance continued to stare at the floor, simply nodding before leaving the hangar. 

Lance was in a state a shock at the moment. He couldn’t believe how stupid he was, what idiot lets their biggest secret get discovered that easily? He barely even put up a fight and now here he was, sitting in the lounge, about to explain to the team how much of a screw up he was. He let out a sigh and stared at the empty couches in front of him. Maybe he could just take their anger away so they wouldn’t kick him off the team?

No, that would just prove he’s more pathetic than he already was. For once, Lance wished he couldn’t feel, that all these dark emotions would disappear like he had done for others in the past. 

“Lance can you explain to all of us what happened in the hangar?”


“Well umm… I was practicing,” Lance said, twiddling his fingers nervously.

“Practicing?” Allura questioned.

“Yeah I was practicing my…powers. Trying to make them stronger I guess.” He refused to meet anyones’ eyes, choosing to stare at his fingers instead.

“And what are these powers?” Shiro probed, leaning forward a bit,”What are you able to do?”

“I can, I can… control emotions. Not like that! Like I can take away emotions and kinda harvest them I guess? And replace the emotions I took away with different ones,” Lance clenched his fist, forcing himself to explain further to avoid having to look at his teamates, his friends. “I was trying to put them into a physical state, so I could use them in combat and just to get them out of me. I’ve never tested one of the orbs on someone, but I know if you were to touch one you’d feel all the emotion pent up in there.” He created a small one, reaching inside of himself for that energy that was always there, ignoring the slight gasp that came from Allura. Lance shrugged half-heartedly, “It’s something I’ve been able to do since I was fifteen.”

“Have you ever…took some of our emotions?” Hunk asked quietly, placing a gentle hand on Lance’s shoulder. 

“I uh…yes. I just, I couldn’t stand knowing you guys were upset and that I could do something about it. Everyday I could feel your emotions and I just felt so, so guilty that I wasn’t doing what I could to help!” Lance spit out bitterly, rubbing a hand through this hair. 

“Lance… you shouldn’t have done that. Those were our emotions and you shouldn’t just take them from us without even telling us!” Keith yelled, standing up, “You had no right to make that decision!”

Lance looked up at them all, his eyes beginning to glow once again. “What did you want me to do? J-just sit there and let you feel that pain, watch as it festered and boiled inside of you? How could I do that to a person, to my friends?” Lance clenched his fists, his eyes slowly turning to that pale blue color. “Why can’t you just let me feel useful for once?”

Part Three

Aubrey tells Beca about Chloe's toner:
  • [BECA is walking out of an elevator and makes her way down the hallway. Her phone begins ringing and she frowns at the caller I.D. before answering]
  • BECA: Aubrey?
  • AUBREY: Hi Beca. How's L.A.?
  • BECA: Um yeah...good...thanks...?
  • *pause*
  • BECA: So...this is a surprise. I mean, you don't often call me. In fact, you've NEVER called me. Ever. And it's, what *pulls phone from ear to quickly check the time*...3am where you are? Is everything ok?
  • AUBREY: *sighs* No, not really. I called about Chloe.
  • [BECA gets to her hotel room and stops, unlocking the door]
  • BECA: Why, has something happened to her? Is she okay?
  • [BECA steps into her hotel room, closing the door behind her]
  • AUBREY: No, Beca, she's not.
  • [BECA freezes]
  • BECA: Oh my god. What happened?!
  • AUBREY: You did.
  • BECA: What?
  • AUBREY: You happened. Chloe was perfectly fine until you happened.
  • [BECA swallows loudly as she walks over to her hotel bed and sits on the end of it heavily]
  • AUBREY: I've known Chloe for ten years. I'd never seen her look at anyone else the way she looked at you. The way she STILL looks at you.
  • BECA: I don't-
  • AUBREY: *sighs* -Beca, I know you and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye. But there IS one thing that's important to both of us and that's Chloe's happiness, right?
  • BECA: Um...yeah.
  • AUBREY: So why is it since you left I've been having to take care of a mopey Chloe?
  • BECA: Um...
  • AUBREY: She barely eats, barely talks, NEVER laughs...
  • BECA: Aubrey, I-
  • AUBREY: ...it's been three days and you've barely texted her!
  • BECA: Woah Aubrey, I asked her if she was alright with me going and she said yes!
  • AUBREY: Oh WAKE UP Beca!! She never wanted you to leave but she told you you should because she wanted to support you!
  • *pause as AUBREY catches her breath*
  • AUBREY: *sighs* Beca, I promised Chloe I wouldn't tell you this but I can't bear to see her unhappy anymore so...
  • *BECA strains her ears, desperate to know what AUBREY will say*
  • AUBREY: ...Chloe broke up with Chicago before you left.
  • BECA: What? Why didn't she say anything?!
  • AUBREY: Because she believed that this LA thing was your big break. She didn't want to risk telling you and for you to decide not to go and miss out on your dream.
  • BECA: Oh...
  • AUBREY: I just thought you should know because *sighs* Beca I'm not an idiot. I've seen the way you've looked at her during this tour. When she's been with Chicago? That's not the look you give your friend when you dislike the guy she's seeing. BELIEVE me I know, I never liked Chicago either. But not because I was jealous of him.
  • [BECA brings a hand to her face and pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes as she tries to process what has just been said]
  • AUBREY: Beca this is your life. I'm not going to tell you what to do or how to live it. Just...remember what's important okay?
  • [AUBREY hangs up and BECA places her phone on the bed, looking down at her feet.]
  • ---------------
  • [14 hours later. AUBREY is in her hotel room gathering final strands of her hair to place in an already established 'up-do'. There is a rumble of thunder and heavy rain sounding from outside the window. AUBREY hears a fast knock on the door. She opens the door to see BECA stood on the other side, soaked from the rain, clearly cold, gasping to catch her breath.]
  • AUBREY: Beca wha-
  • BECA: -Where's Chloe?
  • AUBREY: She's gone down to the dressing rooms alrea- hey, wait!
  • [BECA has already begun running off and AUBREY watches as BECA dashes down the hall and through a door that leads to the stairwell.]
  • ---------------
  • [CHLOE stands in front of a long mirror in the dressing room that is situated at the side of the stage where they will be performing their final show of the tour, smoothing down the front of her black dress with her left hand, then glances at her phone in her right. She sighs as she sees she has no message from BECA.
  • FAT AMY clears her throat beside her and CHLOE furrows her brow, looking to her right at FAT AMY and CYNTHIA-ROSE. She sees them nod to the mirror, their eyebrows raised expectantly, presumably to make her look in it's reflection.
  • CHLOE looks back at the mirror and sees in it's reflection BECA stood in the doorway, soaked and breathless. CHLOE turns on the spot and is clearly speechless.]
  • CYNTHIA-ROSE: Um...me and Fat Amy have somewhere we need to be.
  • FAT AMY: We do?
  • [FAT AMY sees CYNTHIA-ROSE's facial expression and clocks on]
  • FAT AMY: Oh RIGHT. Yeah. Let's...go to that place...that we have to go to.
  • [FAT AMY and CYNTHIA-ROSE make their way out of the dressing room, grinning at BECA who gives them both an awkward polite smile before they close the door behind them.
  • BECA begins to slowly walk towards CHLOE who is clearly nervous and surprised.]
  • BECA: So...you broke up with Chicago?
  • CHLOE: Uh...yeah...who-?
  • BECA: Aubrey called me.
  • CHLOE: I told her not to say anythi-
  • BECA: I know. But I'm pleased that she did.
  • [BECA pauses a couple of yards from CHLOE, not bothered that she is still soaked from head to toe.]
  • CHLOE: Your job-?
  • BECA: -Doesn't matter. None of it matters. LA. My dream. None of it. Not really.
  • [BECA slowly takes a few steps forward so she is now mere inches from CHLOE]
  • BECA: But you...
  • [BECA and CHLOE hold eye contact, but it isn't weird. They have looked at each other this intensely before. In that shower cubical at Barden six years ago when they sang 'Titanium' together.]
  • BECA: ...Chloe you matter. You REALLY matter to me.
  • [Tears appear in CHLOE's eyes]
  • BECA: On the flight over here I realised I could live my life just fine without ever becoming a Music Producer. But my life wouldn't be worth living if I didn't have you in it. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner-
  • [BECA's sentence is interrupted as CHLOE brings her hands to BECA's face and pulls her into a deep kiss. BECA immediately wraps her arms around CHLOE's waist pulling her tighter to her. Their faces rock gently from side to side as they intensify the kiss, inhaling deeply. Before long CHLOE opens her mouth wider, inviting BECA's tongue into her mouth which takes CHLOE by surprise and elicits a small squeak from the redhead when BECA begins rolling her tongue with hers. They mutually, reluctantly, break the kiss, grinning. CHLOE bites her bottom lip. BECA keeps her hands in CHLOE's hips.]
  • CHLOE: I...don't know what to say.
  • BECA: Have I mastered the impossible and made the great Chloe Beale speechless?
  • [CHLOE lets out a small giggle then her face turns serious as her blue eyes inspect BECA's face nervously.]
  • CHLOE: I don't want to say how I'm feeling in case I freak you out.
  • BECA: Chloe...?
  • [BECA smiles softly, leans her face closer to CHLOE's face, and keeps CHLOE's eye contact with her own eyes.]
  • BECA: *whispers* I love you.
  • [A smile spreads on CHLOE's face as she takes a deep breath]
  • CHLOE: *whispers* I love you too.
  • [BECA and CHLOE kiss again, this time gently.]
  • FAT AMY: *outside the closed door* Can we come in yet?
  • [BECA and CHLOE part their lips, holding each other's hands as they lean their foreheads against each other. BECA closes her eyes clearly frustrated with FAT AMY's timing.]
  • FAT AMY: *outside the closed door* It's just...Aubrey's out here and really wants us to finish getting ready - OW!!
  • [BECA and CHLOE pull their faces apart. CHLOE giggles quietly as BECA rolls her eyes at FAT AMY getting into trouble with AUBREY.]
  • FAT AMY: Okay FINE, Aubrey says take as long as you need - OW!!
  • *pause*
  • FAT AMY: Look, can we just come in before I get battered again? - OW!! Aubrey what now?!
  • [BECA looks to CHLOE apologetically and CHLOE gives her a wink with a sweet smile. BECA quickly leans back to CHLOE and places a brief kiss on her lips before turning her head to the door of the dressing room.]
  • BECA: Alright Amy, you can come in.
  • [The door of the dressing room swings open and FAT AMY, AUBREY, and CYNTHIA-ROSE stand in the doorway with expectant looks on their faces, the rest of THE BELLA's stood behind them with similar expressions. They all squeal in excitement at the sight of BECA and CHLOE grinning whilst holding hands and everyone outside the door tumble into the dressing room to congratulate BECA and CHLOE.]

This is a story BASED ON the Lost Lance AU which BELONGS TO @kaxpha
which is AMAZING and everyone should check it out. This particular one-shot which is longer than I thought it’d be is based on this post and this animatic.

This is one of my favorite klance AUs ever, because you can just tell the sheer amount of thought and effort that went into it. I hope I was able to do it justice.

aNYWAY here it is. Sorry, I’m posting this later than I originally planned.

Lance’s leg was bent at an awkward angle, and every time he got the nerve to look at it just made him feel worse than before. 

Hunk had suffered a few bruised ribs at the very least, and it was likely Pidge received a minor concussion. One of Shiro’s legs had been grazed by a laser, and Keith seemed to be the only one of the five of them who could still stand on two feet.

But Lance couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever felt happier. Because they’d finally done it.

They’d taken down Prince Lotor, heir to the all-powerful Galra empire. He kneeled on the ground, hands clutching his stomach. Lance couldn’t help but feel a bit smug at that— he was the one to land a shot there.

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anonymous asked:

Fem!S/o having a crush on Prompto and is really nervous to tell him because they are really good friends and she doesn't want to ruin the good relationship they have but can't help falling for him everyday.


The expression on his face said it all.

You shouldn’t have said anything. You panicked––after finding him like that, bound at his hands and feet to that device, you almost broke down then and there. When the others got him free and he dropped to the ground, you collapsed at his side and pulled him into your arms.

He gripped you so tightly that you weren’t sure if he knew you were real or not. You whispered into his ear that everything was going to be okay, that he was safe, that nothing bad was going to happen to him again.

Prompto had just admitted his deepest, darkest secret––the truth about his past, had exposed the one thing that he’d always been fearful of. And maybe that had made you bold, maybe you thought he would understand. But you looked at his stunned face now, and immediately regretted the words as they passed your lips.

“I’m in love with you.”

You shook your head, turning from him to walk away. 

“Never mind,” you whispered, barely audible. “Forget I said anything.”

A hand on your wrist stopped you. “Wait.”

Your blood ran cold, your pulse pounding in your ears. You tried to tug your arm out of his grip.

“It’s fine, Prompto,” you said quietly, trying to keep the tears welling in your eyes at bay. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to ruin our friendship with a stupid crush, so just drop it, alright? Let’s just go, we have to find Ardyn and––”

Prompto pulled you back, and spun you to face him before claiming your lips in a gentle kiss. You squeaked in surprise as one of his hands came to cup your cheek, the other holding you steady at your waist. It took you a second to respond to his kiss, melting against his touch.

He pulled away, his fingers trembling, his breath shaky.

“After knowing what I am,” he mumbled, his thumb running across your lower lip. “After finding out this secret that I can’t take back, this past I can’t escape…I need to know if you really mean it.”

You searched his eyes. You were met with the clear blue you’d grown to know, the icy pools that you sank into to feel safe and protected. They were marred with worry and fear, and your heart tensed knowing that he had been hurt so badly.

“I love you, Prompto,” you promised, your hand reaching up touch the one that he held against your face. “Your past doesn’t change that. I love you.”

A tear slipped out of his eye and he surged forward to kiss you again. Your arms looped around his shoulders, pulling him tight against you. He shook ever so slightly in your grasp, as if he’d just woken up from an age-long nightmare and could finally breathe. You couldn’t help but let your tears fall as well, the bite of salt slipping past your lips and onto his tongue.

You pulled back and he kissed your tears away, you doing the same for him. You leaned for forehead against his as you both exhaled, trying to calm your racing hearts.

“I love you too,” he said, breaking the quiet. “I always have. Please believe me.”

You gave a nod, lifting his tattooed wrist up to your mouth. You kissed it gently before lacing his fingers with yours. “I believe you.”

anonymous asked:

#42 isak and even ??

42) things you said when you asked me to marry you (this was requested by three people so i figured y’all really want this. it’s okay - i wanted it too.)

Isak’s still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he enters the kitchen to Even making breakfast. He’s gotten years to drink in this sight on both the good days and the bad days, but the revelation that Even’s here, for him, is still enough to knock the wind out of Isak. It’s been so long, but Isak will always be that insecure boy in the kitchen of his old apartment, wondering if he’d dreamt up a world where someone as beautiful as Even would stay with him when the morning came.

“What are you doing over there?” Even says. He glances up from the eggs to beam at Isak. “I woke up extra early on our anniversary to make you breakfast, and I don’t even get a cuddle for it?”

“We could’ve cuddled in bed,” Isak grumbles, but he dutifully makes his way over to Even, wraps his arms around his waist and presses his nose against Even’s back. He breathes in, and Even’s familiar scent calms down the flutters in his stomach. “Seven years, baby,” he whispers.

“Feels like longer,” Even says.

“Yeah,” Isak says, but he’s been saying this as soon as he met Even, hadn’t he? Falling in love with Even had been like discovering something new and familiar all at once, and even though they’ve only officially been living together for three years, Isak can’t remember a time when he didn’t come home to Even. They’ve weathered storms, fought and broke and healed, but in the end, this is where he belongs, holding Even safe in his arms.

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Home to you.

Did someone say angsty one way communication. Okay, it’s not texting but I’m SO your girl for angsty one way communication! This one is classic rip your heart out and duct tape it back together with glitter glue. Enjoy :)

“I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m trying to get back home to you, and I won’t ever stop until I do.”

His hand dropped, grip still tight around the shell as he turned back to Ariel.

“Ariel, is there any chance-”

“I’m sorry, Captain. Unless you can hold your breath for… I mean I’m a fast swimmer but not that fast.”

“But you could reach Storybrooke? Would you ensure that my message was received?” She nodded and he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. “Thank you Ariel. This, this means more to me than I could ever hope to describe.”

When they reached the water’s edge she reached around her neck and unclasped her necklace, her tail reappeared as she dove into the cloudy water. No sooner had her tail passed beyond his view there was a bright light and a wave came crashing back towards the shore, Ariel caught in its tow.

“Ariel!” Hook dove forward, catching her arm before she was pulled back under. She was fumbling with something around her neck and soon she’d two legs under her again.

“You were out of my sight for no more than a moment, you couldn’t possibly have-”

I’m sorry, Captain. I’ve made the trip to Storybrooke countless times now but this time… I couldn’t break through. It was like the fury of a storm pushing back against me.

“So the ways are shut to you? Have you ever experienced such a thing before? Has something happened to the town?”

“No, It was more… more like reaching a locked door than an empty room.”

“Thank you for trying, Ariel. Perhaps another way…” He reluctantly handed her the seashell but she shook her head.

“Keep it. Talk to her sometimes. Maybe she missed your first message, so tell her again.”

He nodded and within moments she was no more than a ripple on the surface of the water.

“Emma? Ariel tried to reach Storybrooke, to ensure that you knew the truth but she was unable to pass. I hope you’re safe. I never meant to leave you. I’m trying to come home. I love you.”

She had clasped the shell around her neck hours ago, in the hopes of catching his voice again, and now she’d heard the message a dozen times. Each time a flare of anger rose up in her and she finally glared up at Gideon. “You’re telling me that instead of asking for my help in defeating the apparent source of all Evil, you thought it made the most sense to kidnap my true love and hold him for ransom? Did it occur to you for even a moment that I might have been more willing to help you before you tried to kill me and ripped my true love away?”

“Tell you my plan when you could have chosen to stop me? I’ve worked too hard for this to let it rest on the whim of another.”

“Let me talk to him,” she insisted, putting down what she had been working on suddenly.

“Not until you help me to-”

“No,” Emma interrupted. “Keep him trapped in another realm, fine. It will hurt me like hell but it won’t get you a single step closer to your goal. You need me. But until I’m sure that it is really him, that you haven’t killed him and recorded this message somehow, I’ll not so much as help you resolve a parking violation.”

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anonymous asked:

"Forgive me...Please...I can't live without y-you..." For Yura and Beka?? Pls??!!! I am angst trash! XD -Red

Yuri believed that he had gone through hell, that he had experienced pain in his eighteen years of life.

But nothing had ever felt as bad as this.

He sat on Victor’s couch, crying into Makkachin’s fur. It had been nearly midnight when he had arrived, rain-soaked and sobbing, to Victor and Yuuri’s shock. He had given no explanation for his arrival or why he was upset, he had simply launched himself into Victor’s arms, crying on his shoulder.

Shocked and worried, they guided him to the couch, bringing him hot tea and a towel to help dry him off. They had begged him to explain what was the matter, but Yuri only kept crying, burying his head in his hands. Eventually, Makkachin padded up to Yuri, snuggling against him, causing Yuri to drop down and sob into her fur.

Yuri’s phone had fallen out of his pocket when he sat down and it was constantly buzzing, someone desperately trying to get a hold of him.

“Yurio, your phone is ringing,” Yuuri said gently, “Do you want us to answer?”

Yuri shook his head, sobs quieting a little. He had no desire to answer who was on the other line, he wasn’t in any condition to talk.

“Are you sure?” Victor asked, looking down at Yuri’s cell, which was buzzing again, “It’s Otabek-”

Yuri’s sobs increased at the sound of his boyfriend’s name, burying his face in his hands again. He knew he must look absolutely horrendous, face red and blotchy, clothes damp and cold.

Yuuri sat down next to him, putting a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Yurio,” he began softly, “Did you and Otabek have a fight?”

Yuri’s head shot up, red-rimmed eyes blazing, still full of tears.

A fight? If only you knew, Katsudon, Yuri thought savagely, trying to get himself to calm down enough to talk.

“Yuri, tell us what’s going on,” Victor said, sitting on the coffee table in front of them, “You’re scaring us.”

Yuri took a deep breath, trying not to start crying again. “Beka…” he choked out slowly, “I…fuck.”

Victor raised an eyebrow slowly. “So, this is about him?”

Yuri nodded, running an unsteady hand through his hair. “I told him I…god, Victor, he didn’t say it back.”

“Didn’t say what back?” Victor asked gently, while Yuuri squeezed Yuri’s shoulder reassuringly.

“That he loved me,” Yuri confessed in a whisper, clutching his chest, “Fuck, I’ve never…I’ve never said that to anyone before and he…”

His eyes shot up, filled with pain and insecurity, “He didn’t say it back! He just fucking sat there. And I…I couldn’t take it, it was too much…”

“So you ran,” Victor finished softly, sharing a knowing glance with his husband. The three sat in silence for a moment, interrupted only by the buzz of Yuri’s phone. Sighing, Victor leaned down and without bothering to ask, he slide it open to answer.

“This is Victor,” he said quickly. There was a pause on the other line before a calm voice came through.

“Is he there?” Otabek asked, a waver in his voice betraying fear, “Is he safe?”

“Yuri’s here, with us,” Victor answered while Yuri buried his face in his knees, “He’s very upset.”

“Can I talk to him?” Otabek asked softly. Victor looked over at Yuri, who held out his hand wordlessly, taking the phone from Victor.

“It’s me,” Yuri said, wincing at how wrecked his voice sounded.

“Oh, Yura,” Otabek said sadly, “I’m so sorry! You surprised me and then you left so fast…I was so worried about you!”

Yuri swallowed, closing his eyes in attempt to stop the tears from starting again.

“Yura,” Otabek said nervously, words beginning to come more quickly, “Forgive me, please! I can’t live without you, you know that. Of course I love you. I’ve been dying to say it to you, but when you said it to me I just…I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that you wanted me.”

Yuri sniffed, rubbing at his eyes, still not saying a word.

“I love you,” Otabek continued frantically, “And I’ll say it over and over until the day I die, if you want me.”

“That day better not be any time soon,” Yuri whispered after a moment, feeling himself beginning to relax, “Because I love you, too, and you have a lot to make up to me, Beka.”

“Then come home. Come home Yura, and let me.”

There’s an undeniable crime problem in Los Santos, an affluent city rife with thieves and bandits of all pedigrees, which isn’t in itself all that strange. What’s odd is the incredibly high number of unsolved crimes, of acts no one claims, ones that the LSPD can’t even begin to lay blame for. Even when committed in broad daylight, even when the police arrive on the scene in the middle of a heist, no one manages to catch more than unclear glimpses of the culprits, no bullets hit their marks, and when all is said and done there is somehow never any reliable evidence. No camera ever manages to catch a thing, no trap is ever successful, and never has a single witness managed a coherent report, like somehow none of them ever pay enough attention. Like somehow what they’ve seen can never be put into words.

Throw a stone and you’ll hit a crook in Los Santos, from thugs to conmen to masked killers they all call the city home, all know their place, yet somehow the balance of powers never really makes sense. Like something is missing, like everyone’s fighting to be second best while the title of top dog goes empty. Not that the reluctance to take charge is all that surprising, considering the way any crew which starts to grow big enough to extend their hold over the city is cut down. Driven out or found murdered, often laying in the remains of what was clearly a vicious shoot-out, though the killers are never found. Like vigilantes, only not nearly so altruistic; the spoils belonging to the defeated gangs are always taken, and only reappear at the scene of yet another unclaimed crime.

There’s a crew in Los Santos, so ingrained in the essence of the city itself no one seems to remember how things were before they arrived. The Fake AH Crew; legends in some circles, monsters in others, both consummate enigmas and borderline celebrities, the crew with the world at their feet. The main six players of the inner circle aren’t odd, exactly, each criminals of great renown but still holding pretty standard goals, greedy and bloodthirsty and perhaps more loyal than most but still acting well within their given standard of normalcy. They aren’t unusual, really, but these days they do have their little quirks.

As the leader Geoff has always had to present himself as reasonably level-headed, controlled outside the occasional snaps of frightful anger, a little overbearing in his need to dictate every plan maybe, but what criminal kingpin isn’t? What’s odd is the new fear kept behind closed doors, Geoff second-guessing his own ideas to a degree that is wholly out of character, running over plans again and again, pulling them apart and looking for flaws, debriefing even after successful missions when everyone else just wants to celebrate, unconsciously pressing his hand to his heart like reassurance that it’s still beating.

Jack drives like she’s made a deal with the devil, like every vehicle is just an extension of her being, inherent ability paired with unmatchable knowledge of every backroad and alley in the city. What’s odd is the nightmarish daydreams she gets sometimes, when she looks back at her latest baby and sees flickers of crunched metal and shattered glass, the phantom scent of spilled gasoline and the unmissable click-whoosh of catching flame.

For all his quick temper and flippant attitude Michael can be utterly pedantic about checking and rechecking the timers on bombs, which honestly isn’t an awful trait in the resident explosives guy. What’s odd is the way Michael gets angry about it sometimes, storms about the penthouse yanking out every last alarm clock, the way he swears he can still hear something ticking with furious intention, like the last seconds of a countdown.

He may be happier in a no-holds-barred fist-fight but nobody could say Jeremy isn’t good with a gun, an excellent shot with just about any weapon he can get his hands on. What’s odd is the little burst of panic he gets right after firefights, patting down his own chest, checking again and again like he can’t quite believe he wasn’t hit.

Ryan isn’t wracked by guilt, doesn’t regret what he does the way some might; he’s a killer and he owns it, he chose it, and it truly doesn’t bother him. What’s odd is the way he still can’t sleep, can’t close his eyes some nights when the darkness squeezes close and he feels so cold, like the depths of the ocean are pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs.

In terms of his own safety Gavin is as reckless as they come, all slapdash impulses and delighted disregard, chasing amusement at any cost when it’s only his own neck on the line. What’s odd is that sometimes Gavin walks around with a parachute strapped to his back and no intention of flying that day, utterly overzealous precaution without any real explanation as to why, like some part of him is always terrified that he’s going to fall.

Maybe the Fake’s know, on their worst days, that something isn’t quite right, something about them has gone awry, but the concern never lingers in the face of their unmatched success. Because a crew’s a crew, right? Maybe they’re a little luckier than most, maybe they’ve been unstoppable for so long it feels like no one else is really trying, like they are the merciless gods of their city. Maybe they catch themselves drifting sometimes, losing time or memories or thoughts or scars. Maybe they all know something is not quite right, a distant siren in the back of their minds begging them to pay attention, but surely it doesn’t mean anything.

You can romanticise it all you want, call them the scariest, the most dangerous, devastatingly talented in all the worst ways, but at the end of the day all humans are flawed and all crews will fall. Whether or not falling is enough to shake them from their throne is, however, a completely different issue. If a crew dies in the woods (the city, the sky, the sea), and nobody is brave enough to tell them, did it even happen? 

There’s an empty penthouse in Los Santos, one that cannot be sold, one no one likes to talk about, not really. What has been said is that the door sticks sometimes, cannot be opened no matter how much force is applied. What has been said is that things move around all on their own, new stains reveal themselves and furniture appears and disappears like someone’s been squatting, but the dust is too thick for anyone to have visited. What’s been said makes shivers run down spines, hair stand on edge, gives rise to furtive glances and shared discomfort, an unspoken agreement never to return.

Maybe this alone wouldn’t be such a problem, maybe owning the most prestigious penthouse in a city overrun by wealth would be enough to attract some sceptic, but there is of course the matter of the previous owners. The most despicable, untouchable, indelible criminal gang the city had ever seen. Has ever seen, even this long after their passing. They died, at some point. No one quite remembers when, or how, no one really seems to talk about them anymore, not beyond wild stories of their antics, amazing heists and unspeakable terrors fading off into silence, like they did in the end. How bizarre it is that the crime levels didn’t actually drop even after they were gone.

There’s something deeply wrong in Los Santos, something strange and unsettling, like a catastrophic event has knocked the whole city just slightly out of sync with the rest of the world. It’s in the way the LSPD have cabinet upon cabinet of unsolved crimes that never manage to make their way into reports, years of unacceptably unpunished offences that would bring the might of a federal investigation if only they were disclosed. In the way a startling amount of those offences resemble crimes from days long past, copycat plans following acts of a crew long buried, new targets hit with the same old flare, methods and motives impressively in-character down to the smallest details.

There are secrets in Los Santos. Things no one knows, things everyone knows, an awful, impossible, inescapable reality they’ve all been trapped within. It’s in the way unease builds and dissipates without cresting, citizens never quite recognising their own discomfort, never fully acknowledging the oddity of acting without reason, of crossing the street or averting their eyes, of taking the long way home simply because that one corner just didn’t feel right. In the way the city is beset by sudden inexplicable explosions, the way gunfire rattles without a source, the way empty streets echo with chilling laughter like the ghost of a memory, the phantom chill of a nightmare, the ceaseless loop of those who will not be laid to rest.

dexphagus  asked:

Hi! Could you please do a no. 10 for SuperCat? Thanks and happy new year!

(The happy new year just showcases that it’s been 84 years since I last posted anything but I thought I’d try seeing if I could still make the words do the Thing I am sorry this took so long).

10. “I just want this.”

& bonus 19. “Come home with me.”

It starts with a messy kiss on Cat’s balcony, as Supergirl tells her goodbye and wishes her luck on her latest adventure.

They’re stood close together, arms pressed against one another as they both gaze out at the city, and Cat can’t help but revel in being so close to the woman that has come to mean so much to her over the past few months.

Kara might think that Cat is only interested in the Supergirl side of her, but that is far from the truth – and Cat would tell her so, if only Kara would tell her the truth. But her final fishing attempt had been brushed off with a soft smile and an amused laugh, and Cat isn’t going to push it any further.

If Kara wants to keep up the charade, then so be it.

Keep reading

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Ao3

“What’s taking so long?”

Sherlock’s voice, petulant and lazy, drifted in through the open door of the loo, and John grinned around his toothbrush, absolutely bursting with affection.  It had taken him roughly seven minutes to learn how to move again after Sherlock had collapsed on top of him.  The sticky mess between them had made itself a bit of a hindrance, and John had pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s head and reluctantly left him laying there to nip into the loo for a wet rag.  He’d spotted his toothbrush out of the corner of his eye and thought it wouldn’t hurt considering where he’d had his mouth not too long ago.

He poked his head around the door.  Sherlock was on his back with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed, still completely nude and absolutely shameless about it now.  John’s heart lurched in his chest at the sight; he was still getting used to the idea that this was real.

“Here,” John said, the word garbled around the toothbrush still stuck in his mouth.  Sherlock cracked one eye open to look at him, and John tossed the wet flannel, which landed with a plop on Sherlock’s chest.  “Clean off a bit with that.  I’ll be out in a minute.”

He ducked back into the loo, unable to wipe the smile off of his face.

“If I don’t clean myself off would it convince you that I’m not posh?”

John laughed.  “Nope.  I’d still think you were posh and maybe just a bit kinky.”

Sherlock grumbled unintelligibly, and John could just picture him rolling his eyes, which only made his grin widen.  He spit into the sink and rinsed his toothbrush. When he rounded the doorway into the bedroom the wet flannel hit him squarely in the stomach.  He caught it before it could fall to the floor and gave Sherlock a look.

Sherlock shrugged.  “That was for taking so long.”

“Impatient git,” John said, but he couldn’t keep the fondness out of the words. It was impossible to be annoyed when Sherlock was looking up at him from the bed, naked and relaxed and soft beneath the thin veneer of his irritation.

John threw the flannel into the hamper in the loo and then crawled back onto the bed.  Muted light peeked through a gap in the curtains on the window, announcing the beginning of another cloudy day in London, but John couldn’t find it in himself to care about the time or his lack of sleep because Sherlock’s hands were warm on his arms as he leaned over him for a kiss.  It was soft and unhurried, a slow press of lips and tongues that teetered precariously between chaste and the scintillating promise of more.


“Mmm?”  John let his lips wander to Sherlock’s jaw, freeing his mouth up to speak.

“I was thinking.”

“You don’t say,” John said.  Sherlock pinched him gently, and he smiled, nudging his nose just behind Sherlock’s ear.

“I was thinking,” Sherlock said again, “we’ll be needing to come up with a different name for me.”

John frowned, pulling back to look at him properly.  “What, for a case or something?  Did Lestrade text you while I was in the loo?”

He was met with that certain expression that told him he was being extraordinarily daft.  

“I meant for Little Watson,” Sherlock said, over enunciating each word as if he thought it possible that John might have forgotten how the English language worked. John couldn’t muster the brain space to be offended by it because every thought in his head was pushed aside to make room for the words now streaming out of Sherlock’s mouth.  “She already calls you ‘daddy.’  It will be far too confusing for her to associate that word with me as well.  She’s quite intelligent, of course, so I don’t think it would matter in the long term, but it would probably be best for her language and cognitive development if she were to learn to associate us with two separate–”

“Sherlock, stop talking.”

Keep reading

What do I taste like?

What do I taste like?

“So what’s it taste like anyway?” you ask him flipping the page of the book you don’t even know the name of, you’re honestly so bored but Harry’s here and he looks delicious in his red button up and you didn’t want him to study alone.

He looks at you and waits for you to continue.

“You know…pussy” Harry’s eyes bulge out but quickly recovers. An amused glint in his eyes as he smirks. He knew you were curious about his sex life, he knew you would be jealous of the girl who’s been texting him. He knew you’ve wanted him for the longest time, he did too. He thinks you’re fucking sexy and so cute. How can you do that, be such a tease without even knowing it? Pisses Harry off really.

“I’m just curious is all” you can hear your heart pounding and you’re hoping he doesn’t hear it. He’s probably no stranger to it by now. Your heart pounds every time he smiles at you, or when he “accidentally” grazes his hand against yours while you two walk to the coffee shop near campus, or when he calls you baby in front of his friends, or when he bites his lip every time he sees you all dressed up for a party (which rarely happens so it’s an occasion really, especially for Harry), or when he plays footsie with you during class. His friends think you guys fuck all the time by the way you two act. But no, you’re different to Harry and he’s different to you.

“Where is this coming from?” He puts down his pen and pushes his books aside. His phone vibrates and you frown. You couldn’t get cuter he thinks. “I’m not sleeping with her” he winks. He needs to let you know that he’s single, at all times. He was never really anyone else’s after you came in his life.

“I just want to know what it tastes like” you tell him raising your eyebrows and he raises his. “Look, it doesn’t taste like chicken” Harry snorts. “Does it taste like tuna? Potatoes?”

You put your book that you’ve been paying no attention to what so ever aside when Harry scoots next to you. “It doesn’t taste like tuna or tomatoes” he tell you.

“Potatoes” you point.

“Neither” he chuckles. He can smell you, apples? Hmm apple pie, he could just eat you up.

“Then what?” You bat your lashes, trying to look as innocent as possible. His smile softens and he drops his head to the side. Harry’s so smitten it’s beyond him, he’s even gone as far as telling his sister about your pretty brown eyes and your coffee skin. He loves coffee.

“Well, some do smell like tuna…” he says, laughing at your disgusted face. “Only some, I’ve been very lucky in that case” he’s back with the smirk.

Your heart breaks a little at the thought of him going down on someone other than you. But you’re not gonna let that upset you. Of course he’s been with other girls, he hasn’t tried you yet. He’ll be sticking when he does.

“I’m not getting an answerrrrr” you tease and he rests his back on the headboard, mimicking your position.

“Well, it depends. It’s always a little different and…and it’s always little salty…and everybody’s unique” you stare at his lips and watch them smirk and taunt you the entire time. You wonder what he would think of you.

“What do I taste like?” You surprise him and yourself by saying that out loud. Your cheeks flame but you confidently look up, his eyes now different. From soft to very dark…hungry. Harry’s shocked, but he’s been waiting to do this for a while.

“Open your legs” his hand slowly moves between your thighs, leaving goosebumps. Your eyes widen and ears feel heavy. Is this even happening? He searches your eyes for a second, thinking maybe you’ll stop him. You would never, you’ve wanted his hand between your legs since forever.

“Open your legs baby” he tells you again and this time you oblige. Your legs open slowly and your skirt raises up. Harry’s hand slowly travels up and up and up and…oh.

He made sure to feel your silky skin. Harry wants to make you whimper and say his name and hold you till he’s full. But not now.

His fingers rub over the silk and he smiles when he feels the tiny ribbon on top. You bought this one with him not too long ago, he remembers of course. Harry loved teasing you, so he picked it out as a joke. But was it really?

Harry licks his lips, his eyes all over your face. Jumping from your eyes to your lips to your cherry cheeks, he was enjoying this.

You gasp as his cold fingers slide in your panties and he rubs you gently. He’s trying to be as soft as possible, you look so sweet and pretty and small that he doesn’t want to scare you off. He looks down at his hand between your thighs in awe and he’s so fucking hard.

“Shh” he whispers and slowly pushes a finger inside you. Your mouth opens and you hide your face in your left hand, right fisting his silky shirt. He twists and turns his finger, he thinks you’re so warm. So warm and tight and oh god Harry just can’t. He wants to feel you and taste you till the very last drop. How amazing would that be.

You uncover your face and let out a breath when he brings his finger out, out of your knickers and in his mouth. All the while his eyes remain on yours and you lose your breath all over again.

He leans closer so you can feel his breath on your neck. All Harry wants to do is lick you up and mark you all over so when he leaves you would feel him there for hours…and somewhere else.

“You taste so fucking good”

You think you just died.

anonymous asked:

You can't leave Vietnam AU like that, we need to know the resst ;)

Vietnam AU

“This is the day the Lord has made,” Murtagh FitzGibbons Fraser intoned from the lectern of St. Bride Church. “Let us rejoice and be glad.”

Jamie sat up a bit straighter at the end of the front pew, twining his fingers through Claire’s, exchanging a small smile with his godfather.

For as long as anyone could remember, every Sunday morning the Fraser-Murray clan had attended eight o’clock Mass at the church their forefathers had built at the turn of the nineteenth century. Just a ten minute drive from the Big House, it had originally served just the family and tenants of the Fraser estate. Jamie, Jenny, and Murtagh were the only Frasers remaining in the area – most of the extended family had moved to Asheville or Raleigh after World War II – but those three stubborn Frasers had held strong.

Jamie and Jenny’s parents had been married at St. Bride’s. The three Fraser children – including the eldest child, Willie, who had died of smallpox when Jamie was small – had been baptized there. Murtagh – who lived in his own cottage on the estate with his wife Suzette, who he had brought home from France after landing on the beaches of Normandy – ran the lector program. Jenny and Ian had been married there, and Young Jamie and Maggie in turn had been baptized there.

And as Claire rose with Jamie, watching Father Kenneth kiss the Word of God, smile out at the congregation, and begin reading from the Gospel of Luke – she saw herself and Jamie standing before the priest at the altar. And standing off to the side below the gorgeous stained glass window of Michael the Archangel, just behind the baptismal font, gently holding a fussy newborn while reciting the baptismal promises. And exchanging proud smiles with Jamie as a beautiful red-haired girl received her First Communion. And holding Jamie’s trembling hand as they watched a handsome red-haired boy be confirmed.

This was her place. He was her place.

“Thanks be to God,” she whispered. Serene.

“I was thinking of taking Claire up the mountain – to the old cabin. I can check on it, and maybe bring back a bottle or two for dinner?”

Murtagh chewed thoughtfully on his pancakes. “I haven’t been up there since the fall – would be good to make sure it’s gone through the winter without any major damage. Take note of what would need a repair, all right?”

Claire nodded her thanks as Suzette poured another cup of steaming coffee. “What’s the old cabin?”

“It’s the house that was built before this one – on the highest part of the Ridge.” Jenny wiped maple syrup off Young Jamie’s face with the corner of her blue-and-white striped napkin. “It’s just a few rooms – we haven’t updated it much over the years, except added a generator for electricity.”

“We stay there overnight sometimes when there’s a lot to do in the whisky caves,” Jamie added, serving Claire another slice of Mrs. Crook’s excellent bacon before nibbling on one himself. “It’s where we let the bottles age. We only take them out once a year, to sell them to the restaurants and bars in town – but I want to find a good one for us to enjoy tonight.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’ve got Jamie smiling again, Claire,” Ian said quietly from across the table. “And Lord knows, Jenny and Murtagh and Suzette and I have been trying to do that since he got back from ‘Nam.”

Claire dropped her eyes to her lap, cheeks flaming. Under the table, Jamie lay a gentle hand on her knee, squeezing softly.

Murtagh coughed.

“Well then. Can you pass the strawberry jam please, my dear nephew-in-law? These bannocks won’t eat themselves.”

Fresh air. Pine. The soft, damp smell of decaying leaves. Flashes of green as the first grasses and flowers shot up from the forest floor.

And Jamie – solid and quiet beside her, never letting go of her hand, silently savoring the stillness.

It had been about two hours since they’d left the house – Jamie toting a backpack full of snacks from Mrs. Crook, Claire wearing Jenny’s pre-pregnancy jeans and hiking boots. They hadn’t spoken very much on their journey – both lost in their thoughts, both afraid to pierce the quiet with the sound of their voices.

“It’s just up over the crest of this hill,” he said softly, after a while.

“How can you even tell where we are? It’s just trees and more trees,” she teased.

He flashed a brilliant smile. “My father started taking Jenny and Willie and I hiking in these woods as soon as I could walk. He’d take me up to the caves and let me play with the spare pieces of wood while he and Murtagh and my grandfather Simon sorted the bottles. Believe it or not, there are plenty of landmarks along the way – trees and rocks that you’ll recognize in time.”

In time.

For Claire would be coming back.


They hadn’t talked about it – hadn’t even broached the topic. But it was Sunday afternoon, and Claire’s plane ticket back to Boston was for tomorrow morning.

Panic surged.

Jamie – ever perceptive – stopped as they crested the hill.

There it was – a small cabin, simply shingled and with just a few windows. It was immediately clear why the first Frasers had chosen to build there – for the ground in front of the cabin gently sloped into a grassy clearing.

“There used to be a barn here as well, but it was gone even before my grandfather was a boy. This place – it’s always been a refuge. A – well. I knew a guy in the Marines whose parents were German, and he told me of something called a ‘fridstool.’ A private place where you can be alone with your thoughts.”

Claire turned to meet Jamie’s eyes. The one-o-clock sun streamed on his face, sparking his hair like fire.

“And you’re OK taking me here? To your private place?”

He sighed and settled his hands on her hips, turning her to face him. Licked his lips, and burned his eyes into hers.

“I want to share *everything* with you, Claire. Here – in my most private place. Where we can pretend we are the only man and woman in the world.”

Another surge – but this time of love. And want.

And need.

“Yes,” she replied to his unspoken question. “Of course. Yes.”

He swallowed, and smiled, and gently led her down the hill.

anonymous asked:

I really want Kara to stand up to Eliza for Alex. It's not Kara's fault that Eliza put so much pressure on Alex and she had her own very considerable problems to work through at the time, but those sisters would go to the wall for each other and I can't imagine Kara not calling her out for it once she'd twigged what was happening. Especially with Maggie's backing.

She loves Eliza.

She always has.

She’s loved her since she took her face into her hands and first called her sweetie.

Loved her since she introduced her in public as her daughter, but made sure Kara knew that she would never, ever, ever pretend to be replacing her mother, because her mother would always be special, always be cherished, always be alive in Kara’s memories, in Kara’s heart.

She loves Eliza, and she thinks, now, that her love for her – her need for her, for an older woman’s arms to wrap around her tiny body when she had a nightmare [and Rao, she had so many of them], to tell her it was going to be alright, that there is no shame in surviving – might have made her miss certain things.

Certain things about how Eliza treats her older daughter.

Certain things about how Eliza holds Alex to superhuman expectations.

Superhuman expectations that have made Alex drink. That have made Alex suppress herself. That have made Alex isolated and self-destructively reckless and, until Maggie, almost completely unable to assert what she needs, what she wants, beyond when she needs Kara to be safe, beyond when she wants to protect Kara.

And of course she wants to protect Kara, because Eliza has made her believe that she, as a person, is worthless without doing so.

Without being perfect.

So Kara keeps her eyes, her ears, extra open the next time Eliza comes for dinner.

She tries to keep a lid on the shame burning inside her that it took her so long to realize, took her so long to realize that Alex’s extreme anxiety, extra drinking, around Eliza was actually a response to emotional abuse wrapped in love, not an overreacting paranoia that was kind of cute but not that serious.

She tries to keep a lid on her own shame, because she’s been talking with Maggie about it – drinking with Maggie about it – and Maggie is nothing if not straight-up with her.

“Should you have realized when you got older, Little Danvers? Sure. But when you were a kid? Kara, your entire planet had just died, you had no one. You had to restrain yourself in ways I can’t even begin to imagine, and it… of course you just wanted someone to care for you like Eliza did. And you know what the point of beating yourself up for not realizing it sooner is? There is none. Absolutely none. Point is, you’re realizing now, and you can validate Alex now, and that’s what you’ve gotta focus on, okay?”

So she tries to keep a lid on her own shame, so she can be at her best when Eliza comes over next.

She brings pie and Kara groans in ecstasy, and she brings tiramasu and Maggie thanks her profusely, but both little sister and girlfriend exchange tense glances behind Eliza’s back when Alex’s face falls, because Eliza hasn’t brought anything for her.

“You’re always going through so many different food phases, Alex – almost obsessively healthy some weeks, carelessly unhealthy other weeks – I can’t keep track of all that, dear.”

Alex grimaces and Kara steps forward. “Next time just ask me, Eliza: I always know what Alex is eating these days, so if you want to surprise her, I can help!”

“You’re so thoughtful, Kara dear,” Eliza praises, and Maggie squeezes Alex’s hand as Alex rolls her eyes and bites her lip.

Kara flushes.

That didn’t work.

She’ll have to try harder.

Eliza gives her the opportunity again when they’re sitting down to dinner, and Eliza wants to know why Alex could have not recognized Rick Malverne until it was too late, how she could have let herself get her sister put into such an impossibly position, and of course she did a wonderful job keeping herself alive until Kara and Maggie could rescue her, but really, Alexandra, how could she have let it come to that in the first place?

Alex guzzles root beer like it’s whiskey and Maggie is about to speak, her hand on Alex’s thigh, but Kara beats her to it.

“Eliza, Alex has been through hell and back, and I love you, Eliza, you know I do, but you don’t get to speak to my sister that way. She did things that you can’t even imagine to keep herself alive, to keep me safe. She would have died for me, protecting me, and she almost did. And if there’s anyone to blame for all this, anyone whose fault this whole Rick Malverne thing is? Other than him? It’s mine.”

“Kara, don’t – “

“No, Alex, it’s true.. It’s true and it doesn’t matter how many times you tell me it’s not my fault: Eliza clearly wants to assign blame, and I understand that. I do, too. And it’s Rick’s fault. But it’s also mine. Mine, because I was the one who didn’t listen to Alex – Alex, who you unfairly put in the position of caring for a devastated child when she was just a child herself – and ran to the scene of that car crash. I exposed myself to Rick, and I was the one he was using Alex to try to manipulate. Alex is a hero, Eliza, and I know you love her, I do, I know, but you need to start talking to her like you do. Or you can leave my home until you’re ready to give Alex the respect she deserves.”

Her voice trembles and she adjusts her glasses with trembling fingers, and Alex is crying and Eliza’s eyes are wide and Maggie is holding Kara’s shaking hand under the table, biting her lip because Kara is nearly breaking her fingers, but she doesn’t mind because god, Alex’s kid sister really is a hero, isn’t she?

“Kara, I’m sorry I – “

“It’s not me you have to apologize to, Eliza,” Kara interrupts, her voice soft and her voice coated with love. For Eliza, but mostly, mostly, for her sister.

Her sister, who she would die for without a second thought.

Her sister, who would die for her without a second thought.

Her sister, who she lives for, every day.

Her sister, who lives for her, every day.

Her sister, who Eliza spent years emotionally abusing in Kara’s name.

And Kara won’t have it anymore.

“Alexan – Alex – I – Kara’s right. Your sister – you’re sister’s right. I’ve never been fair to you, Alex, and I’ve never… I told you last year to take care of yourself, and I told you I’m not disappointed in you for being gay, but Alex, beyond that, I haven’t… I’ve quite failed you, haven’t I?” She voice quakes and she closes her eyes, counting to ten, a habit she’s acquired when interacting with her oldest daughter over the years.

“I love you, Alex. And I know I haven’t been nearly good enough at expressing it. But I’m going to do better. And when I fail – and I will fail again, I’m sure – I want you to tell me. And I want Kara to tell me. And you, Maggie, sweetie. And Alex, I… I am so proud of you. Of the hero you’ve become. The hero you’ve always been.”

“It took Kara telling you to get you to say all that,” Alex whispers, and Eliza nods sadly.

“Yes. And that isn’t right. I know. But let me try, Alex? Let your mother try?”

Alex grips Maggie’s hand, swiping comforting circles onto her thigh, and Alex leans into Kara’s strong arms. 

“I’ll think about it, Mom. I’ll think about it. Okay?”

Eliza nods, a small, hopeful smile on her face. “That’s all I can ask for, I suppose, isn’t it?”

Alex nods as her lips tremble, and she breathes in her little sister’s scent, focuses on her girlfriend’s touch.

She’s going to be alright. Because these women think she’s perfect, including all her imperfections, even if her mother is still learning that.

Your Move

The nine times Simon and Baz prank each other and the one time they don’t

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

March 24


Curses are an interesting breed of magic.  They require a certain level of creativity.  Like a charm, curses are often made of the mage’s own words rather than the scripted lines of a spell.  The tricky thing about curses, though, is the choice of words.  Curses thrive on poetry.  They have a flair for the dramatic, eloquent lines of verse instead of magic thrown haphazardly into a few words.  

           Curses are showy and elegant, which is why they are so well-fitted to villains.

           This morning I’m out the door before Snow has even begun to stir, my wand tucked into my pocket.  The passages are cold with the morning frost, and birdsong echoes off the stone of the walls.

           I spent all of last evening crafting this curse, after I’d dumped the rest of my tea out the window.  Salt.  He’d turned the sugar into salt, and I hadn’t even had the sense to stop after the first sip. I just had to keep drinking, even before I was sure he had done anything to it.  Pride and spite are just two sides of the same coin.

           I’m the first one in the dining hall, which is exactly what I’d hoped for.  The tables are set, the chairs are tucked in, and the mouth-watering aroma of pastry wafts from behind the closed kitchen doors.  Immediately my eyes are drawn to a particular seat towards the right of the hall.  It’s the first place I look every time I enter, and from that moment on it’s the place I avoid looking at for the rest of the meal.

           As I make my way over to Snow’s seat, I find myself stepping lightly and my heart starting to pick up, like I think I might get caught.  The involuntary adrenaline of the oncoming curse increases as I reach the spot. What luck that Snow hasn’t sat anywhere else since our first year.

           Pulling my wand from my pocket, I cast a quick look around the room to make sure no one has snuck up on me, and take a breath that reaches deep within my belly, igniting that familiar spark of magic.  I lower the wand to tap Snow’s plate.

“Tick tock, hard as rock,

Stone and glass and marble block,

Soft and fluffy cherry scone

To his teeth be hard as bone,

Any food to touch this face,

Toughness of cement encase,

And when hands do wash this plate,

Return then to your former state.”

           I don’t see any obvious change in the plate I’m cursing, but I know it will work.  The spark has fanned into a flame, dancing through the wand and sinking into the glass.

           It takes a few seconds longer for my magic to burn out and my heart rate to slow back down, but as soon as I feel it soften I turn and leave the dining hall.


When I return later, I do the same thing as I always do.  I glance at Snow’s seat to find it empty still, and then make my way to my own table on the far side of the room.  Dev and Niall are already there, and they both give me a silent nod as I slide into my seat.  I can’t help but look back at Snow’s table, my eyes darting from the door to where Bunce is already waiting and back again.

           “Everything alright?” Dev catches me scanning the crowd of students.  “You look jumpy.”

           “Didn’t get much sleep,” I tell him, and he shrugs like he doesn’t particularly care if I’m telling the truth or not.

           When Snow appears in the doorway, I automatically drop my gaze back down to my empty plate.  I don’t see him sit down at his spot, exchange pleasantries with Bunce, jump back up to retrieve the famed sour cherry scones from the front of the hall, and yet I still manage to see all of it.  It’s in my periphery, it’s constantly on the edge of my awareness, biting through the shell I keep trying to put up around myself.

           I can’t help but watch when he brings the first scone to his mouth.

           The effect is visibly immediate.  His eyes widen and his free hand flies to his mouth. Bunce looks concerned, and Snow is staring at the scone in betrayal.  Tentatively he goes in for another, much smaller bite.  Once again he is the picture of dismay.

           My tea for your scones, I think.  Fair.

           But he looks so miserable that it almost takes some of the fun out of it.

           I see Bunce drop one of her own scones onto his plate, and I can’t help snickering at her mistake when he can’t bite into that one, either.

           I remember to look anywhere else just as Snow casts a withering glare in my direction.

           We’re even, don’t you dare try to pull anything.

           But if we don’t settle it officially, he will do just that.

           I push my chair back from the table and stand, mumbling an excuse of “not hungry” before stalking to the doors.  I feel Snow’s eyes on me the whole way.

           When he catches up with me, I’m leaning casually against the stone wall just out of sight of the dining hall, my arms crossed, a bored expression smoothed onto my face.  Snow marches up to me, red-cheeked and scowling.

           “What the fuck did you do, Baz?” he growls, his tone accusatory.

           “Magic, Snow,” I tell him, not wasting time pretending it wasn’t me.  “It’s what we came to Watford to learn, did no one ever tell you?”

           “You spelled my food?” he says like it’s the worst offense in the world.

           “Cursed, actually, and it’s the plate, not the scones themselves.  That’s why Bunce couldn’t help you.”

           He backs off an inch or two, crossing his arms over his chest in a mimic of my own posture.  “So that’s how you want to play?”

           “Don’t peg this on me, Snow,” I raise an eyebrow at him, “you’re the one who had to start something.”

           “But you responded,” he retorts, a lock of bronze falling into his eyes, “and you made it personal.”

           “Because what could be more personal than scones?”

           “I’m not kidding, Baz.”  He takes a confrontational step closer and I’m glad no one is around to see my shoulders stiffen.  “This isn’t over.”

           Of course it’s not.  Because he’s Simon Snow and I’m Baz Pitch, and we’re enemies.  It can never just be “over” for us.

           So I lean as close as I dare, holding his blazing gaze in my own.  “Fine,” I murmur, “have it your way.”

           “It’s on.”

           “Your move.”

Bees Sting

This is for “Ash’s Negan Writing Challenge” . The prompt is “ Negan x OC with a mental health illness.”

Negan x Bee

Warnings ~ Negan language, self harm, bit of angst, fluffy Negan (for those of you that prefer a more assholey Negan)

1500 words

I am writing more to this but wasn’t sure it would be done in time. So be on the lookout for another chapter!

I’m only tagging @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash & @negans-network as I’m not sure who would like this.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

OMG that interview with Nathan,he's a bless. And that makes me wondering if you could write a castle fic about it? Like Castle makes snuggies for everyone in the Castle household? Or like he makes one for Beckett the first year they work together, and Beckett just can't believe he makes it himself ?

Hi Anon! I hope you like this! :)

Snuggie Love

A post-2x18 ish ficlet

“For you.”

She blinks, staring at him with a blank face, the gift in his outstretched arms ignored for the time being. He makes no move to take the bundle back, though, instead shifting his grip to make it easier to hold onto – just in case they’re here a while.

“What are you talking about?” Beckett asks finally, her brow wrinkling in confusion. “What is this?”

“A gift?” he says, his eyes opening wider. “An object given willingly to someone else without expected repayment; often in celebration of a notable event in the recipient’s life?”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Thanks, Merriam Webster. I know what a gift is. What I don’t know is why you’re giving one to me.”

Another sarcastic response almost rolls of his tongue, but he curbs it, licking his lips and going for honesty instead. “Because you’ve been through a lot recently, and I thought having something comfortable and warm might help make things a little easier as you look for a new place.”

Beckett softens a hair, her eyes darting to the fleece in his hands. “That's… actually kind of sweet, Castle.”

“I know,” he says, allowing his smile to widen when she purses her lips in an attempt to hide hers. “But seriously, I know when your apartment exploded, you lost a lot of the little things like throw pillows and blankets. The comforting stuff. So here’s a piece to start off your replacement collection.”

At long last, she takes the bundle from his hands, trailing soft fingers over the vintage, colorful elephant pattern.

“I made it,” he adds proudly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Beckett freezes, her eyes lifting to meet his.

“You… made this.”

His head bobs. “Uh huh. It’s really easy once you get the hang of it. I made one for Alexis and one for my mother – though she never uses it – a few years ago, and I made one for myself last winter.”

Beckett nods, looking almost thoughtful for some reason. His fingers itch to reach for her, to brush his thumb over her lower lip before she can pull it between her teeth.

“What?” Rick asks, tilting his head. “Is it the pattern? Because I debated, but I remembered seeing that painting in your old place, and then there are the elephants on your desk, and–”

“No,” she interrupts, flattening her palm against the fleece, protective. “No, the pattern is beautiful, Castle. It’s just… I didn’t know you even knew how to sew.”

“I taught myself after Mother refused to make me an ET Halloween costume. She said I was too old.”

Beckett’s lips purse, her eyes sparkling with something he’s come to recognize as her own eagerness to hear his stories, to know what makes him tick. “How old were you?”

“Thirty-two,” he answers, delighting in the bark of laughter that spills from her mouth. “It was Halloween, Beckett. There was a theme Alexis and I were working with.”

“Sure it was,” she laughs again, shaking her head. After a moment, the mockery falls from her face, leaving a gentle, soft smile on her cheeks.

“Thank you. I can’t believe you made me a blanket.”

Just like that, his anxiety over the gift is siphoned away; she likes it.

“Oh, it’s not a blanket,” he says, watching her eyes narrow in suspicion at the correction. Maybe he should’ve allowed her to discover it on her own, but oh well; the cat’s out of the bag now.

“It’s not?” Beckett asks slowly, studying the fabric in her hands like she’s afraid he’s given her something that might explode. “What is it then?”

“Well it is a blanket, kind of. But that’s not all it is.”

She exhales, dropping her head. “Do I want to know?”

“It’s a Snuggie, Beckett,” he announces, nudging the bundle until it unfurls, the bottom hem nearly touching the floor. “Here, look. These are the sleeves, and I put Velcro on the back so you can close it and it keeps all of you warm. Nobody wants a hospital gown version. And oh! Best part,” he says, manipulating the fleece until she can see the front, “is the pocket. That’s my personal addition to the design. That way you can store your phone, or snacks, or just keep your hands warm while you watch TV.”

“You made me a Snuggie,” she repeats after a long pause. “You made me an actual Snuggie like they sell on late night TV infomercials.”

“Yes? They seem silly, I know, but they’re so comfortable. Once you’re wearing it, you’ll forget that you ever felt ridiculous!”

To his astonishment, instead of shutting him down with a sharp barb, she just laughs. “Somehow I doubt that, but thank you. This really was nice of you. And ET costume or not, I’m still surprised you know how to make something like a Snuggie.”

Rick smiles again, preening a bit harder. “I have many, many talents, Beckett. And I’d be happy to show them all to you, just say the word. Any time, day or night.”

‘Mhmm, I’m sure you would,“ she murmurs, folding the fleece with unexpected care. Once she’s done, she cradles the gift to her chest, regarding him with soft eyes. “See you tomorrow, Castle.”

“See you tomorrow,” he echoes, watching her hoist her bag onto her shoulder and slip away from her desk, never loosening her hold on the fleece.

He can’t be sure, but he’s sure he sees her press her face – and a sweet, shy smile – against the fabric before the elevator doors close.

A/N: I hope you liked this! For anyone curious, this is the interview with Nathan the prompter mentioned. 

Until It’s Gone - Ch.10

Overview: Both brothers had loved and lost her. One night, Sam gets a phone call that changes everything.

Characters: Sam, Dean, Reader

Warnings: There are none. Except you might be angry with the end result depending on what ship you wanted to sail. Either way, come roll in the fluff with me.

Word Count: 1,823

A/N: And the last chapter is here. Oh sweet loves of mine, thank you for sticking with me on this one. This series was written from a very deep place in my soul about a similar experience in my own life. Writing this series has helped me process through everything, and having you guys to yell and cry alongside me and to just support me overall has meant more than you’ll ever know. So thank you. My betas and my loves, @wheresthekillswitch and @hannahindie, bless you both. I love you dearly.

Feedback is always loved and appreciated! 

Read (Ch.1) (Ch.2) (Ch.3) (Ch.4) (Ch.5) (Ch.6) (Ch.7) (Ch.8) (Ch.9)

My tags are way down below. Let me know if you want to be added to anything that I write :)

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said with no hesitation.

“How do you know?” His warm hand came to rest on your shoulder, and his fingers began to draw small patterns on the exposed skin on either side of your tank top strap.

You leaned into the contact and briefly looked up at him with a smile, “I always know.”

He smiled back and raised an eyebrow in amusement, “So humble, Y/N.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at him before returning your gaze to your main fixation, “It’s why you love me.”

He pulled you close against his chest, arms wrapping around your front, and rested his chin on the top of your head, “One of the many reasons.”

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Title: the agony of love

Rating: M

A/N: for @rebelcaptainprompts  agony, fingers, shiver OMG GUYS THIS IS IT *hisses* I’m writing smut and it’s not leaving tumblr because my little brother it on ao3 and ff.net >.> celebrate with me. It could be read as the ending to The cliffhanger ending to my temptation fic but you don’t have to read that first

Jyn couldn’t take it.

She couldn’t take it, Cassian’s mouth hot on hers, his fingers digging in to her skin, him pressing her hard against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, as he scraped his teeth over the corner of her jaw.

This was the fruit of her labors to get him to crack.

This was the fruit of his labors to get her to crumble.

She drove him insane, and this was how she was paying for it, and she’d gladly suffer this agony for it, this painful ecstasy of of love, of hope that she never thought she’d ever be able to feel.

Her fingers scrabbled under his shirt, pulled at it until it came off, and his mouth returned to hers, and she found a scar above his heart, and he shivered as her fingers danced across it. He kissed away the smirk it made, tasted it and memorized it. 

Keep reading

Us Against the World

A/N: This is a direct sequel to Me Against You!! This takes place during Spiderman Homecoming, and much of the story is based solely on my knowledge of the trailer! When Spiderman Homecoming comes out, I might consider redoing this series so that it fits in with movie canon ( *whispers* If I get begged enough I’ll definitely consider redoing this based on the movie!! ). 


Tagging: @tomsleftbrow 

You walk into a hall that’s plastered with Knights Rule posters and majorly congested, kids rushing in every direction, a ( red and blue ) beach ball being tossed around, laughter echoing. You must be walking too slowly, because several people try to mow you down.

In an act of self-preservation, you press into a wall of lockers. Soon the crowd will thin, and you can navigate your way without incident. As you wait, you try not to think about your old school three blocks over, and the fact, that after your last class, you wouldn’t be walking back with …

No way are you going there.


Your gaze shoots up from the floor to a rotund giant of a boy. “Ned!” You blurt out, eyes going glassy with horror.

Normally you would be happy to see one of your dearest friends, but not when you’ve just broken out of Wakanda to head back to Queens. It’s been close to a year since your fight with Peter; you’d hoped that your friends from your old neighborhood would forget about you, but it appears that Ned hasn’t. 

King T’Challa had sent papers to Midtown High’s principal, stating that you’d moved to Greenland to be with your ailing Grandmother. Everyone was under the impression that you were in Greenland, playing the dutiful granddaughter. No one knew you were hiding out back home – which makes you wonder how Ned had managed to track you down.

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Please, no.” You chant desperately under your breath, grabbing Ned’s hand and dragging him into the first empty classroom you can find. “What the hell are you doing here? More importantly, how did you find me?”

He, at least, has the good grace to look ashamed. “I saw you heading into McDonald’s with some other kids. I asked around, found out a new student had transferred here. Figured it was you.”

“Did you tell Peter?” Your anxiety swells to a fever pitch. “Please tell me you didn’t tell Peter.”

“I . . . Didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure that it was you. But that’s why I’m here, actually.” Ned’s face is unusually serious. “Peter’s in trouble.”

You snort to yourself, moving over to sit on the teacher’s desk. “Please. Parker can handle himself.”

Ned stares at you. Initially, you grab your hands to steady them against his intense scrutiny. You’re not scared, no – but uncomfortable, definitely. Wordlessly, he hands you his phone. There’s a live feed on YouTube, already playing on the screen. There, in living colour, is Spiderman – no, Peter – arms and legs outstretched, straining with the effort of holding two halves of a metal ship together.

“Oh, crap,” You breathe. Peter, what have you done?

You quickly flick through Ned’s phone, only to find more videos and articles all talking about how the masked vigilante Spiderman was struggling to keep the Staten Island ferry from collapsing off the coast of New York. There are over two hundred people on that boat. People with lives of their own, families waiting … You feel an overwhelming urge to flee the room. You look to Ned, but he doesn’t say a word. His brow is furrowed. Instead, you hand Ned back his phone, swallowing back the instinct to rush over to Peter, quashing back the hopeful voice whispering that this is your chance to make up with him.

You cross your arms over your chest, fighting to keep your expression affected and superior, though objectively it’s neither affected nor superior. “No, no and no. There is no way that I’m going out to bat for Parker.”

You’ve managed to keep your low profile for two weeks. If you do this, there’s a chance your face could end up splashed all over the tabloids, the very thing that you’ve been trying so hard to avoid. You could be thrown back into – You shudder, fighting to keep your breathing from slipping into hyperventilation. No. No way.

“He needs help!” Ned protests. “He told me about Germany, and Peter said you were amazing –”

Now you want to slap Peter for being a snitch. Nobody likes a snitch. “Newsflash: I don’t do that anymore. I’m never using my powers again!”

And it was true. You’d kept to your word, locking your powers up where they belonged, where you could never use them again. Captain America had been firmly supportive, enveloping you in a warm and tight hug that nearly set you off crying again. Clint, Scott and Sam had all offered you words of encouragement, along with more warm hugs that had soothed you infinitely. Wanda Maximoff had given you odd, furtive looks when you’d announced your decision. You’d gotten the sense that she was sympathetic, that she knew all too well the fear of having powers that you couldn’t control and feared.

“You have to!”

“You can’t make me do anything!”

Shock flits across Ned’s face at your outburst; then, his face hardens and he turns to leave, but not before he tosses out over his shoulder, “He’s never stopped talking about you. Even after the two of you fought. He moped around for weeks after you left, you know. He liked you, he wanted to ask you to the prom. Now you’re just going to abandon him? I can’t believe you!”

“He liked me? Like, just as a friend, right?”

Ned doesn’t reply. But you’ve known him long enough to know his face when he’s screaming internally with panic. It’s obvious that he’s gone and revealed something he wasn’t supposed to. You watch Ned practically sprint out of the room with a twinge of guilt in your intestinal region.

You should be glad Ned’s gone. There’s no one around to bother you anymore.

But your mind is glued firmly on Peter, in over his head, struggling to save everyone.

“You’ve got class,” You remind yourself weakly. “Creative writing.”

But you’re already slinging your Anello pack over your shoulder and running out the door.

You’ve got a ship to catch.

You’ve blown sixty bucks on cab fare, but the cabbie had gotten you to Battery Park in less than half an hour, speeding like a bat out of hell the whole way there.

You’ve never been to the park before; if you were here for leisure, you would take in the sky that seems much bluer down here, the noise of the ferries, the seagulls wheeling overhead. But you’re not here for a relaxing picnic today. Your feet fall into step, heels barely touching the ground, toes pointed forward. You dash down cobblestone paths, pushing past stunned people, some of whom are running and screaming in panic, some of whom stand rooted to the spot, utterly transfixed by the sight of the famous Spiderman holding a crumbling ferry together with a mixture of sheer willpower and his spider webs. Someone elbows you in the back, and you tumble to the ground, scrambling off the ground after a minute of lying there, stunned. There are scrapes on your hands and knees, but it could be worse.

A frantic scream rips its way out of your throat. “PETER!”

He might be hundreds of miles away, but you swear his head turns in the direction of your scream, as though he’s managed to pick it out from a crowd of thousands. His face remains tilted towards the spot where you stand, and you can’t help but wonder if he knows you’re here. Your ribs convulse and your lungs hold tightly to every millimeter of air so that you don’t sob in fear, which hasn’t happened since you were a kid. You’ll let your face turn blue before you let strangers see you cry.

“Peter,” You say again, your voice cracking like an adolescent boy’s, betraying the messy wad of emotions within you. “Peter.”

There’s no way he’ll be able to hold that together on his own.

Fear. It coats your mind like a sticky spider’s web. If word gets out, Thaddeus Ross could very well have you thrown back into that hell-hole of a prison. You could lose your freedom in one fell swoop. It would be so easy to run; to pretend that you never saw anything.

But you can’t. Peter needs you. And you know that if the situation were reversed, he wouldn’t even hesitate to help you. The two of you might have parted on bad terms, but however much you hate him for being Tony Stark’s lapdog, you know that you’ll hate yourself even more if you stand by and let him die.

Okay. Okay. I can do this. Focus.

The power burns beneath your skin, begging to be released. After a year of being locked up in the deepest recesses of your mind it snarls like a wild animal in a cage. You scream and thrust both hands outwards, forcing the powers that sleep deep inside to the surface.

Slowly, but surely, with the screaming of metal, the two halves of the ship start moving towards each other. You’ve taken some of the burden off Peter, but now it feels like you’re pushing and shoving against a brick wall that refuses to budge.

A sharp pain slices through your head, agonizing enough to make you whimper. You wipe at the thick, warm blood that gushes from your nose, wondering if this is the punishment that comes from a year of pretending that you were normal, that you weren’t a freak who should be locked up far, far away, where you couldn’t hurt anyone.

Your hands tremble. The ship groans, threatening to collapse, and more frantic screams split the air. You wonder if Peter’s one of them, screaming with the effort of holding three tons of metal together. Gritting your teeth against the pain, you shove the two halves back into place once again, sweat dribbling down your neck and into your collar. There is only one thought looping through your mind: Don’t let go. If you do, it’ll be the Titanic all over again. People will die. Peter will die.

And you know that if he does, you won’t ever recover.

You and Peter are still holding the boat together when Tony Stark comes swooping in.

Never in your life have you been so happy to see him.

The Three List | Barry & Iris | Script Fic
  • Barry: Hey, Iris?
  • Iris: Yeah, hun?
  • Barry: Do you remember when you were with Eddie & you told me about your 3's list?
  • Iris: My 3's list?
  • Barry: Yeah, you know, three guys you could cheat on Eddie with.
  • Iris: *snorts* oh, right. My 3 list.
  • Barry: You don't still HAVE that, do you?
  • Iris: *blinks* What?
  • Barry: Your 3 list. Do you still have it?
  • Iris: Uh...probably somewhere. Why?
  • Barry: *clears throat* I was just wondering if Oliver was still on it.
  • Iris: *smirks & crawls over to him* Babe, you know that's not a serious thing, right?
  • Barry: what do you mean?
  • Iris: *laughs* even if Oliver had given my fangirl self the time of day when I was with Eddie, I wouldn't have slept with him.
  • Barry: *blinks* you wouldn't have?
  • Iris: *laughs* Who do you think I am, Bear? You think 'he's on my three list!' would've sufficed if Eddie had caught us in bed together?
  • Barry: *blushes fiercely* No, I guess not.
  • Iris: *cups face* Babe, you've got nothing to worry about. *kisses him* You're the only one I want.
  • Barry: *after many kisses & sweet nothings whispered* But is Oliver still--
  • Iris: *rolls eyes & gets off him* oh, for crying out loud.
  • Barry: Wait, Iris, I didn't mean-
  • Iris: You most certainly did. *starts to walk away*
  • Barry: *panics* Iris-
  • Iris: Calm down. I'll be right back. *dashes up the stairs & comes back 10 minutes later* Found it!
  • Barry: *shifts towards her, eyes wide* What did you... *spots piece of paper she's holding* Oh.
  • Iris: *hands paper over* Take a look for yourself.
  • Barry: *scans list of names & frowns* He's still on it.
  • Iris: Mhmm.
  • Barry: This doesn't make me feel any better, Iris.
  • Iris: *crosses arms* that's the original list. I only updated it once, a couple months after I'd moved in with Eddie.
  • Barry: *still frowning* where's that one?
  • Iris: *makes circling motion with her finger*
  • Barry: *checks the other side* This one looks pretty much the same. I don't see-- *jaw drops*
  • Iris: *starts to grin* See something you like, hun?
  • Barry: Am...Am I...? *squeaks*
  • Iris: *nods* Mhmm.
  • Barry: I'm in the number 2 spot!
  • Iris: That's one above Oliver, I believe.
  • Barry: *still gawking* I don't understand.
  • Iris: *comes & sits next to him on the couch* After you told me how you felt when I was with Eddie, I had a lot of feelings that I didn't know how to deal with. Then when Eddie got all secretive on me I started thinking about you even more, and how my best friend would NEVER keep secrets from me the way my boyfriend was doing.
  • Barry: *winces* sarcasm is warranted.
  • Iris: in the past. *waves it off*
  • Barry: *swallows hard & nods*
  • Iris: That night when I came back to my dad's & you were there reassuring me, I felt like that was a safe place to put them. My feelings for you.
  • Barry: On your 3 list?
  • Iris: *nods* On my 3 list.
  • Barry: Did Eddie ever see it?
  • Iris: *laughs* Are you kidding? If Eddie had seen the updated version, he would've figured out what was up right away, even before I did.
  • Barry: And what was up?
  • Iris: *smiles & gently kisses him* I was in love with my best friend.
  • Barry: *has warm fuzzies* Iris...
  • Iris: So, you can keep that if you like. Oliver's name is still on it - BENEATH yours though. I don't have a need for it anymore. I haven't looked at it until today in over two years.
  • Barry: Yeah?
  • Iris: *nuzzles & kisses* yeah. You're all I want, Bear. If I can't have you, there's no one else I want. Not even a one night stand with a celebrity.
  • Barry: *smiles*
  • Iris: Do YOU have a 3 list? *raises eyebrows*
  • Barry: WHAT? *squeaks*
  • Iris: You heard me.
  • Barry: Iris.
  • Iris: BARRY.
  • Barry: *sighs & then laughs* I have a 1 list.
  • Iris: *eyebrow furrow* What's a 1 list?
  • Barry: *pulls out wallet & digs out tiny scrap of paper inside & hands it to her* Same thing as a 3 list. Except mine only has 1 name on it.
  • Iris: *jaw drops when she reads it* I'M the only name on your 3 list??
  • Barry: *grins & pulls her close* Yep.
  • Iris: But of all he gorgeous celebrities, even SCIENCE NERDS, you only chose--
  • Barry: You're the only one I've wanted since the day that I met you.
  • Iris: *teary-eyed* Barry...
  • Barry: Getting a chance with you? 10 times better than any hook up with ANY celebrity.
  • Iris: *sighs contently & kisses him* I love you, Barry Allen.
  • Barry: I love you, Iris West.
  • Iris: *nuzzles & pulls away after a while* So what are you going to do with my 3 list?
  • Barry: Give it back to you. *hands it over* You decide what to do with it.
  • Iris: *grins* Mmk. *pecks him in the cheek, stands up & heads to the roaring fireplace*
  • Barry: Wait, Iris, what are you doing?! *speeds over*
  • Iris: Getting rid of it. I don't need it anymore.
  • Barry: Well, maybe you should keep it. You know, as a keepsake.
  • Iris: *eyes him suspiciously* Why do you want it?
  • Barry: *I* don't want it. It's yours. I gave it back to you. So you--
  • Iris: BARRY.
  • Barry: *swallows* I mean, you ranked me ABOVE Oliver, so...
  • Iris: OHMYGOD. *rolls eyes & shoves it into his hand* You keep it. It'll be YOUR keepsake. *walks back to the couch & sits down*
  • Barry: It's not really MINE, so--
  • Iris: *gives him THE LOOK* one more word, Barry, and I WILL throw it to the flames. Not even your superspeed will stop me.
  • Barry: *nods & swallows* Right. *tucks paper into pocket & comes to sit next to her* So...
  • Iris: *raises eyebrow*
  • Barry: Now what?
  • Iris: *irritation fades away & she pulls him close, kissing him* Now I get some one-on-one time with #2 on my 3 list.
  • Barry: *pulls back after a few kisses* I thought you just said--
  • Iris: I swear to God, Barry, if you don't just kiss me--
  • Barry: *speeds them up their bedroom, drops her on the bed & takes off t-shirt, then hovers over her & kisses her, lingering*
  • Iris: *moans* Don't tell my boyfriend about this. He'll be extremely jealous.
  • Barry: *restrains groan* On my life. *mutters & kisses her again*
  • ...
  • A/N: Just did (as of 4/2/17) a bit of an edit, b/c I watched the 1.08 scene & realized it's actually called a 'three' list, not a 'threes' list. So I changed all those & added a short line to something Iris said early on.