i've had this in my drafts since the day it came out

veliseraptor  asked:

I've seen a few of these floating around, but one from you of an AU where Steve goes to Asgard and Loki has been a prisoner there since the end of Thor?

He was lost.

Steve had just needed to get away from the noise and chaos of the mead hall for a little while. It was fun, sure, and Thor and his friends were good company, but after several hours of singing and drinking and fighting and shouting and more singing and drinking, he was getting worn out. Not wanting to drag down the high spirits with his flagging energy, or embarrass Thor in any way, he excused himself to take a walk. 

But he’d had more Asgardian mead than he thought, or maybe it was just stronger than the earth stuff, because he found himself struggling to remember his way back to the guest wing where Thor had deposited him and Romanoff as Midgard’s visiting warrior-dignitaries. He took a wrong turn, and suddenly, the palace that had been a simple, easily-navigable structure by the light of day transformed into a dimly lit labyrinth. 

Which was how Steve came to be near hopelessly lost at night, alone, in the royal palace of an alien world, praying silently that he didn’t accidentally start an interplanetary incident by peeking through the wrong door.

He’d started going down, any time he hit a staircase, hoping he’d eventually end up on the ground level and the palace entry. There were guards there, and one of them would be able to give him directions, he reasoned. Only, he’d gone downward quite a bit now, the air growing cool and dry, no longer scented by the heady flowers that wafted their aroma in from the palace gardens. The corridors were narrow here, and he got the distinct, foreboding sense that he was someplace he shouldn’t be. At one point he doubled back up the spiral stair he’d come down, only to find two bifurcating hallways where he could have sworn there had only been one when he’d come out of it. He took a wild guess at which one had been his original route, only to find the corridor darker and narrower than he remembered. He was on the verge of doubling back again when it opened into a vestibule – a round, stone chamber lit by torches, but otherwise empty. There were no doors, and no windows. And for the life of him, Steve couldn’t figure out what in the hell this room was even for. Were Asgardians just so bored with immortality and overwhelmed with resources that they built rooms with no purpose, just because they could?

Head aching from the mead, and frustrated with his predicament, Steve leaned against the wall with a groan. He let his skull thud pack against the stonework–

–And froze when he heard a click, the stone behind him moving back.

Damnit, was his first thought. I broke a royal palace. No one would notice one stone in one room that didn’t have any purpose, he reasoned frantically, moving away from the wall and looking at the stone that had receded into some kind of depression. It wasn’t cracked though – maybe he could wiggle it back into place?

Steve reached out and touched it, then yelped as the stone lit up, glowing a brilliant green, then a bright gold under his fingers. He drew back, but there was a rumble of stone on stone, gravelly and low, as a whole segment of the wall drew back.

Every bit of common sense was screaming at Steve to turn back, leave it alone, and go find Thor. This wasn’t his world. Wasn’t his business.

But, as Bucky often bemoaned, Steve Rogers had very little common sense.

Pulling one of the torches down from the sconce that held it, Steve made his way into the exposed, narrow corridor, facing the draft of cold air that flowed through it. The stone floor angled downward under his feet, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. There wasn’t any dust, but he didn’t know if that meant this corridor was often-used and cleaned, or if it had just been sealed too well for too long for any dust to get in. 

Mind reeling at all the possibilities, he nearly stumbled when the corridor turned sharply and opened out into a large room.

With another room inside it.

No, not a room. A cell, Steve thought, thinking of the glass cages at SHIELD and the observation rooms that abutted them. Only there was no glass he could see – just a shimmering gold barrier made of energy – or magic. 

He stepped closer, curiosity overriding his caution, and felt his breath catch when something – someone – inside the cell moved. A figure on – a cot? A bed? – rolled over, then frowned.

“Is it mealtime already?” a voice murmured, low and flat.

Steve stepped closer still, looking the man over. He was young-looking, though on Asgard that meant little. If he were human, Steve would peg him at about his own physical age. He was pale – from lack of sun, being locked up down here? – and had black hair down back his jaw. He looked puzzled at first at Steve’s appearance, but his puzzlement quickly turned to alarm. 

“Who are you?” he demanded, the imperiousness of his voice at odds with the cowed way he scrambled back on the bed until his back was against the wall. “Who sent you?”

“I– no one,” Steve answered, startled. “I– my name is Steve. I got lost.” His frown deepened. “Who are you?”

The man blinked a few times, then laughed. Steve’s shoulders tensed –  it wasn’t the kind of laugh that spoke of a well-balanced mind. “I’m no one,” he answered, not looking Steve in the eye. “No one at all.”

“And what are you doing here, No One?” Steve asked carefully. Was this a prisoner? Why wasn’t he with the others in the dungeon that had been part of the tour Thor had offered before? 

The man fell silent, staring at a point past Steve, face going slack. “I too, am lost. Have lost.” He chuckled again, going limp against the wall like a puppet with its strings cut:

“I lost.”

Pacific Rim!AU where Park Jimin used to be a Jaeger pilot but ends up being ripped from the cockpit after a surprise attack from a category 4 Kaiju, leaving his partner still stuck in their Jaeger while Jimin got washed away in to the ocean.

Jimin wakes up at a shore somewhere in the countryside, where he’s found by Kim Taehyung with no memory of who he is, where he came from and what he used to do. Taehyng helps him recover and the only thing they both know about him is that he’s a Jaeger pilot and that his name is Jimin from where it’s written on his helmet (Jimin always writes his names on his stuff because his partner always takes his stuff and they always ended up bickering playfully). 

Taehyung suggests that Jimin contact the PPDC (Pan Pacific Defense Corps) again but the thought of Kaijus make Jimin panic and thinking about being in a confined space of a Jaeger cockpit has him hyperventilating (even if Jimin doesn’t remember, his body and subconsciousness clearly does. As a result from the incident, Jimin has PTSD).

Jimin and Taehyung works at a wall construction site for a few years before Jimin notices himself on TV, where PPDC “pays tribute” to one of their best Jaeger pilots they’ve ever had (because Jimin is supposedly dead) and it makes a weird feeling grow in him.

Jimin hadn’t known that he was that great. He’d entertained becoming a pilot “again”, he wanted to help but because he can’t remember anything, the thought of being a Jaeger frightens him, seeing as it’s all “foreign” to Jimin. Which was why he was working at a wall construction site, because at least he was helping with protection that way. 

But when he saw and heard about himself on TV, Jimin felt some kind of hope.

Had he really been that great? 

Jimin decides that he wants to become a Jaeger and Taehyung helps him contact the PPDC, who readily welcomes him back because they already knows that he has amazing combat skills (he just needs to train a bit to become good again) and that he already has a compatible drift partner.

When Jimin arrives at the Shatterdome (with Taehyung), they’re greeted by various officials and the Head of the Shatterdome.

The ones who stands out the most among them, though, is Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook’s dark gaze on Jimin has him curious about the quiet and mysterious pilot, who is harsh and mean to Jimin. He seems to have made it his personal mission to make Jimin quit and Jimin doesn’t know what the other’s problem is. Despite that, Jimin can’t help but feel some something warm in him when he looks at Jungkook.

Turns out, Jungkook had been Jimin’s partner and lover and when Jimin had been ripped off of the cockpit and fallen into the dark water, Jungkook had felt it all- the pain and the fear that Jimin had felt. All these years, Jungkook had thought that Jimin was dead but when he found out that the other was alive and safe, he’d cried for days, until Jimin arrived at the Shatterdome. 

When Jimin just looks at Jungkook without any reaction other than a kind smile which he always gave to strangers, Jungkook realized that Jimin couldn’t remember him and his heart broke.

The reason Jungkook is acting the way he is towards Jimin is because he wants the other to quit, so Jimin wouldn’t have to go through an attack like that again- what if Jungkook lost Jimin for real next time it happens?

So Jungkook is brutal against Jimin, pushing him to exhaustion but he should’ve known that his ex-partner wasn’t one to give up easily. 

Despite their clashing at the “start”, they find themselves falling in love again and little by little, Jimin starts to remember things, even if they only feel like deja vu’s.

Burnt Into Ashes (OCs, sickfic, part 3)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3

By the time Elliott got to the restaurant, Liam was waiting for him with an unbridled glare. Elliott half expected a slap in the face when Liam strode toward him - it had never happened before, even during their worst fights heading into the breakup, but Elliott wouldn’t have put it past him.

“You’re late, Chapman,” Liam snapped, though Elliott thought he saw a flicker of…something in his face. It might have been sympathy, but it disappeared so quickly that he could just as easily have imagined it. “What do you have to say for yourself, then?”

Elliott opened his mouth to reply, to tell him he was sick, he shouldn’t even be here to begin with when he wasn’t scheduled, but he didn’t have a chance to form so much as a syllable before his nose twitched. Liam was the last person he wanted to sneeze around, but he didn’t get a choice in the matter as he hastily twisted to the side.

hh’EHGKTzISSH’u!” Wincing, he emerged from his forearm, trying to blink away the pounding ache that spiked in his temple. His throat burned, and he didn’t trust himself to speak without coughing.

Liam recoiled, and in his haze, Elliott couldn’t tell whether it was out of disgust or…other reasons. “Good lord, keep that to yourself, will you?”

Elliott scowled and cleared his raw throat. He tried to pretend the comment didn’t sting - he supposed he should’ve expected  it. “Tryi’g. You’re the ode called mbe id. How lo’g ab I worki’g, adyway? You ndever said.”

Elliott knew he was pushing his luck, but Liam, for once, did not admonish him for his bristly tone. Instead he seemed to genuinely consider it. “Through the lunch rush, at least, and quite probably through dinner as well. I suppose I did say you could do half, inconvenient as it is…”

“Id–idcodvediedt?” Elliott stammered, incredulous.

“Yes,” Liam said briskly. “We are short today, as I said. So I’ll need you as long as possible.”

Elliott stared, mouth hanging open. He wasn’t sure if it was the fever or the shock of Liam blatantly ignoring how ill he was that was muddling his head, but either way, he didn’t have enough time to sort out his thoughts before Liam spoke again.

“Get to work now, will you?” With that, Liam turned on his heel to wait his own tables, leaving Elliott standing, stunned and shivery, in the lobby. He wished more than anything that he could keep his sweatshirt on while he worked, but alas, he hung it on the hook in the coat room and clocked in before trudging to his section. He was freezing, and it made him cough each time the tremors tore through him.

As he rattled off the specials to the couple at his first table, he kept stumbling over the words, trying not to stammer or sniffle. In the end, he wasn’t sure how much they even heard through the thickness in his voice, and he didn’t care. He had to sneeze so badly that he barely scribbled down their orders and took their menus before he wheeled around and buried his face in his elbow.

hh’GSsSH’mpf! hnh’nKGTZSHh! h-hh-hAH! AEGKJISsSHU!” Trying to hold them back did absolutely nothing but make the last of the triple harsher and wetter. He bit back a groan as he straightened, increasingly aware of how badly his body ached and how much he wished he could just sit down.

“What did I say about keeping that to yourself?”

Elliott jumped, snapping his head up to find Liam in front of him, arms crossed. Elliott didn’t have the will to argue, and his words came out feeble and hoarse. “Told you, I’b tryi’g. Y’kdow I cad’t stop theb like–” Like you can.

Liam’s frown deepened, though he glossed over Elliott’s unfinished reminder as if he hadn’t heard it at all. “Be that as it may, I won’t be losing customers because one of my employees is–disgusting–around the food.” He tripped over the middle of the sentence, and Elliott knew what he’d meant to say. Sneezing. He was sneezing around the food, and Liam still had trouble saying the word in public.

“Either that or spe’d half the day sdeezi’g id the bathroob,” Elliott muttered with a tired sniffle. “A’d you’ve already mbade it clear what you thigk of that.”

Liam appeared to be considering his employee’s predicament, lips pursed in a thin line. He soon made it clear, however, that this was not the case. “Regardless, have some courtesy. You can do as you please later.”

“Rhh-huh’IGHJShihSsH!..right…” Elliott breathed, dissolving into a regrettable bout of coughing. God, he wished Liam weren’t such an arse. He’d give just about anything for a bit of rest and a hot cup of tea. It would at least soothe his throat, which had been destroyed by the single sneeze.

“Did you even bother to take anything this morning?” Liam asked, clipped and irritable. If Elliott hadn’t known better, he might have mistaken it for some sort of abrasive concern. But of course, Liam had to be long over him. It had been months, after all.

Elliott balked at the question. “Nd-doh,” he admitted, sheepishly. “Forgot.”

Liam sighed, exasperated. “Of course you did.” He turned to leave without a hint of sympathy, nor an offer to let him off - as if Elliott expected either. “Just don’t pass out on me, alright?”

Elliott had taken to absently massaging his temple with the heel of his hand, and though he was sure he might fall asleep if he stood still too long, he replied with a mumbled, “Woulded’t dreab of it…”

Despite what he said, Elliott couldn’t shake the bone deep exhaustion that had him dragging through the entirety of lunch. He did his best not to look as miserable as he felt, but if he accomplished even a fraction of the attentiveness he didn’t have, he would have been amazed. Three times he wrote an order down wrong and had to stumble back to the kitchen to exchange it, each time earning him a grumble from Liam and a look of pity from anyone in the vicinity. Twice, he was asked why he was there, and when he offered his reasoning, his co-workers were stunned that even Liam would keep him there looking as awful as he did.

Elliott himself did his best to avoid the mirrors in the bathroom, especially when he ducked in to succumb to another sneezing fit. He didn’t need to make it worse by seeing how terrible he looked with his own eyes. It was enough to read the looks on everyone’s faces, ranging anywhere from poorly concealed disgust to deep concern.

Still, he managed, for the most part, to keep pace with the rush until near the end when a series of dizzy spells overtook him. He was aware by now that his fever had risen, and while he tried to ignore it, it was wearing him out. His shirt stuck to his back and he shivered each time a draft hit him. He was on his way back to a table, bearing a tray of drinks when he caught himself stumbling sideways. He caught himself against the wall, but in the process sacrificed the tray and its contents to the floor with a loud CLANG!

Someone came over and put a hand on his shoulder. “Whoa, hey, are you alright?” It took him a minute to realize it was Gabriel, one of the restaurant’s newer employees - a tall, lanky fellow about Elliott’s age, and kind as anything. Elliott was grateful for the steadying hand as he tried to straighten and regain focus through the fog in his brain.

“Y-yeah, I’b fihh-huh–IGKtZIhSSH!” The sneeze cut him off, and he was immediately bracing himself against the wall again, bent almost double. “Hehh-hh’EHJSsSHISH! hah’AEGHSsChU! hih’yIGHTSsSCHU! h-haehhEIJhSSCHISSH’uh!” Gabriel kept a steady hold on his arm, and if Elliott were honest, it was half the reason he didn’t sink to the floor then and there. He brought his free hand to his face, covering clumsily with the back of his wrist when the sneezes kept coming. “h-hih’IhJSCHISH’U! huh’UHKgTZISSH’h! hah’AEHJSZHISHh! huh’EHGKTzISSHU!

Each one was explosive and had him curling in on himself. He couldn’t take a full breath between, and even if he could, breathing hurt after all the coughing he’d done over the course of the day. He couldn’t even attempt to stop the sneezes, they were so forceful, so insistent, so merciless.

Gabriel’s hand left his shoulder, and for a moment, Elliott was sure he would fall over. He tried to open his eyes to see where his co-worker had gone, but each time, he had to slam them shut again. “hiEHh–EHZhJISsSH’U! huh’UHkGTZSCH! Hh-h-hehh! IDhJzSSCH’u!

Just as Elliott was considering letting himself drop, the hand returned, and this time with another that pressed several paper napkins into Elliott’s own. He hadn’t thought about it until now, so wrapped up was he in remaining on his feet, but he desperately needed them. He crushed them to his face as the fit finally tapered off, blowing his nose in the aftermath. The ordeal left his head spinning, and Gabriel steadied him when he swayed.

“Are you certain you’re okay?” Gabriel asked. “I don’t have a car, but I can call a cab for you.”

Elliott had time neither to answer nor recover before another voice cut in.

“Oi, what’s going on here?” Elliott blinked in an effort to clear away the fuzzy blackness at the edges of his vision and found Liam, gesturing to the pool of drinks on the floor. “What are you two doing? This isn’t the time for tea and cuddles, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He pointed at Gabriel with a sharp jab of his finger. “You - clean that up while I deal with him.”

“But–Liam–” Gabriel started.

“I said take care of it!” Liam barked, and then turned to Elliott without leaving any room for discussion. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, anyway?”

“S..sdeezi’g…” Elliott mumbled. Both his own voice and Liam’s sounded distant in his ears, and he was surprised at how difficult it was to get the one word out. It was like speaking through molasses, like his lips had gone numb and he had forgotten how to make words.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Liam said, nearly shouting at him. “Your table is waiting, and now you’ve been here for god knows how long chatting with the new boy–”

“Liam, you’re being a bit hard on him,” said someone else, a girl - Alisa. She was always sticking up for Elliott when Liam came down hard on him, and Elliott was especially grateful for it right now. He was starting to zone out of the conversation, only catching snippets of what they were saying. His hearing faded in and out, though he caught a bit where Liam barked at him again to retrieve another tray of drinks.

Elliott willed his legs to move, but they wouldn’t budge. “Liab…” he said, barely a whisper. “I…I ndeed t’ sit d…” He didn’t manage to finish the sentence as the blackness encroached and the scene blurred before him.

“Watch it, he’s–!”

Elliott didn’t get to hear what he was. He was only aware of his body going weak, and then his knees buckled. He didn’t feel himself hit the floor.

anonymous asked:

*whispers* sparring sessions between Mustang and Hawkeye...

*whispers back* Sparring sessions between Mustang and Hawkeye with kissing

Warning: Some slight lime.

Duel Desires

Based on this art by thesilentwatcher.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Roy teased as he dipped away from Riza’s right hook, “I’d say you’ve been practicing.”

“Rebecca doesn’t like to hold back,” she mused between pants. “So I’ve had to adjust my style a little.” He swung twice and she avoided both would-be blows by side-stepping and quickly skirting around Roy’s form, raising her fists to protect her face again. When he turned just enough to catch her eye, she lunged forward and pumped her right fist out again, expecting to make contact with his shoulder. Instead, and very much to her surprise, Roy’s arm shot up and he grasped her wrist.

Before she could brace herself he tugged her forward and off balance. Riza stumbled past him and managed to catch her footing before completely falling, and then felt a light tug on her ponytail. She hopped forward a few paces to distance herself from him before turning around and raising her hands again.

He returned the gesture by bringing his fists closer to the smug smirk on his face.

Riza resisted an eye roll. It seemed that he too had been practicing with someone else; likely Havoc given his rather cocky demeanor that evening. Still, she was confident she would win the night’s round, considering she had a few more tricks up her sleeve.

He lifted a brow knowingly. “I guess I should have figured, seeing that your style is particularly scrappy tonight.”

“As long as you win, you win. Right,” she proclaimed, following her question with a forward lunge. Roy reacted by sidestepping before her fists made contact with his arms. As she whirled around to continue her assault, he pumped his fists forward and into her arms as she shielded her face. Before she could gain traction her back hit the wall, and within moments she found herself imprisoned between his two arms. She kept her expression even as Roy advanced forward, just close enough for their noses to touch… and for her to see the beads of sweat that had accumulated on his brow.

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Amethyst is a violet variety of quartz often used in jewelry. The name comes from the Ancient Greek “améthystos” – a- (“not”) and méthystos (“intoxicated”)– a reference to the belief that the stone protected its owner from drunkenness. The ancient Greeks wore amethyst and made drinking vessels decorated with it in the belief that it would prevent intoxication while Medieval European soldiers wore amethyst amulets as protection in battle in the belief that amethysts heal people and keep them cool-headed. 

The origin of these beliefs stemmed from the myth of Dionysus and his initial struggle with Hera’s curse. Shortly after Ampelos’ death and Dionysus’ acceptance of immortality, Hera struck the young god with a curse to deter him from setting forth to Greece and to prevent him from completing the tasks required of him in order for him to ascend to heaven as an Olympian. In his madness, he wandered Egypt and Syria aimlessly for many years, completely out of tune with reality. It wasn’t until he came across Rhea in Phyrgia (modern day Turkey and where Dionysus was raised) that he was able to find a way to subdue his curse:

❝ To Dionysos alone had Rheia given the amethyst, which preserves the winedrinker from the tyranny of madness.❞ (DIONYSIACA. book 12. )

Since then, Dionysus has always branded a pendant of amethyst to better control his madness, and while it aids him in keeping his head cool, it does little to help Dionysus if he doesn’t have a strong will to fight off the madness in the first place– which usually happens when he’s wronged by someone or provoked beyond that which he can tolerate and gives in to his anger and/or grief. However, once he does enter his state of madness, the amethyst is the only thing that can assure that he’ll eventually come back from his spell. Without it, there’s little that can be done to bring him back to reality.

/// Request ///

“Hey could you do a song preference kind of thing? I don’t really have anything specific but maybe something kind of sad-ish and not a 5sos song please :) thanks!”


It was the middle of the night and the sound of my phone ringing startled me from my mindless staring at the ceiling. This was a normal thing for me now - never being able to sleep at night because of the thoughts running through my mind and the pain aching in my heart. Tonight was harder than usual. It would have been mine and Calum’s 5 year anniversary, and it was also the one year mark since our break-up.

We were together for 4 years and I was sure he was the one I’d be marrying someday. We were in love. He was my soulmate. We had planned out our entire lives together. But then one day, everything changed. The life of being a band member’s girlfriend wasn’t easy but we had made it through plenty of tours in the past. This time was just different for some reason. We spent more time away from each other than we did together. I don’t know, maybe that’s what the whole thing came down to.

It was our 4 year anniversary and also the day before he left for tour again. This tour was the biggest one yet, and he’d be gone longer than ever before. I was trying to stay positive and was looking forward to spending the day celebrating 4 years, but I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach since the minute I woke up that morning. I couldn’t help but feel that something was off. Calum was supposed to pick me up later that afternoon for our date. But when he showed up unexpectedly on my doorstep with that look in his eyes, I knew.

As cliche as ever, his reasoning for splitting up was because of tour. He tried to reassure me many times by telling me that all of his feelings over the years were real, that he was in love with me and always saw a life together for the two of us. And I never doubted that for a second. But he said as happy as I made him, this isn’t what he envisioned for himself, or for me. He barely spent any time at home anymore and regardless of how much we tried to deny it, it took a toll on our relationship. He said it wasn’t fair to either of us and that we both deserved more than a relationship based on phone calls and seeing each other briefly every few months. I think a part of me knew he was right, but the idea of living without him was something I couldn’t even fathom at the moment. I sobbed and begged him not to give up just yet… to give it a chance, to give us a chance. But he had already made up his mind. And with that, he was out of my life and off to somewhere new again.

I was absolutely heartbroken. I had never felt so much pain in my entire life and there were times when I felt like I didn’t even have the will to live anymore. I was hurt, sad, pissed, just about every emotion in the book. How could someone who truly loves you just disappear from your life and never talk to you again? Although a part of me knew it was probably better that way because talking to him would make it harder to move on and let go. About a month into tour, photos and stories of Calum and other girls started to surface. It was like twisting the knife in my back even deeper, but I had to face it. Being committed to me all those years prevented him from going out and meeting other women like his bandmates were able to do. A few months later, he started dating someone new. I think that hurt even worse. Hooking up with different girls in different cities was different because there weren’t feelings involved. But dating someone new meant he had feelings for someone else and I didn’t know how to handle that. She’s from LA which made sense because anymore, the guys spend more time there than they do at home. A year later and they’re still together. My heart still aches and I still miss Calum but I’ve moved on.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Hey.. it’s.. it’s Calum,” he said with a quiet raspyness to his voice.

“Hey,” I whispered, trying to steady my breathing.

“So it’s been…,”

“I know,” I said, cutting him off.

“….How are you?,” he asked hesitantly.

“It’s been a lonely year,” I replied, trying not to let him hear the sadness behind my words.

“I miss your voice,” he said hesitantly after a bit of silence.

“You know… it still hurts me to know you’re not alone? Don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your life.. but it still kills me,” I spit out. 

“Maybe I don’t want you out of my life anymore,” he replied.

“Whatever Calum, I bet I don’t even run through your mind,” I shot back.

“I’m the one who called you, didn’t I?,” he replied, and I didn’t know what to say, so I sat there not saying a word.

“I write songs about you all the time,” he said quietly, almost whispering.

“You know, it’s 4am and you’re keeping me from closing my eyes yet again. I just have to know, does the thought of me ever keep you up at night?,” I asked.

“Of course it does, all the time. I miss you,” he answered.

“Calum, why did you even call me? What was the point?,” I finally asked after a few more seconds of silence on both of our ends. Awkward silence is something that had never happened between us before.

“I don’t know really. As selfish and crazy as it sounds, I guess I just want you back in my life,” he said.

“You know Calum… I miss you. I always miss you. I probably always will. But you gave up on me… you gave up on us. and now I’ve given up on you.” I said as a tear rolled down my cheek and I ended the call.

Ok this was shitty I’ve never done one of these before so don’t judge me but I wrote it a while ago and decided to finally post it. Idk, let me know what you think??? 

➸ hair stylist/make up artist and actor/model AU

Clint sighed, the brush twirling carelessly between his fingers. Most of the time he liked his job, he really did. Being the makeup artist on sets of actors and models, making them gorgeous enough to be worshiped, flirting casually with some of the biggest names in society, definitely had its perks.

Today, though… Today was the special kind of hell that made him question if the others had been a hallucination. He’d been hired out for a men’s fashion magazine shoot. Men were even more particular about their makeup, because unlike women who were going for a certain look or effect, men wanted all the benefits of makeup without actually looking like they were wearing any at all. Today there had been a steady stream of haughty men who had either not spoken a word to him, or done so only to tell him what a terrible job he was doing.

And the very last model he was supposed to work on before he could get paid, pack up, and go home, was late.

Of course.

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