my*fanfiction

anonymous asked:

CAN I PLEASE GIVE YOU A BELLARKE PROMPT BC I NEED THIS: 'getting slightly too drunk in the middle of the afternoon and slow dancing to dumb cheesy old music and kissing in a way that’s more laughter than actual kissing, mouths clumsy and hands gripping tight and sunlight slanting over them as they move lazily together '

More fluff! It’s short but sweet.


Bellamy found Clarke in the kitchen, fiddling with the music on her computer with an open wine bottle in her hand.

“Isn’t it a little too early for that?” he asked.

She turned around, giving him a smile as Otis Redding began coming out of the speakers.

“This is our house, Bellamy Blake,” she said, stepping towards him. “Our first house. All for us.”

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User Account Control

(( I think about it too… ))

“You’ve input the wrong symbol again.”

Alfred stopped, fingers pausing over the flat panel that served as his keyboard, the letters upon it a translucent, light blue. He peered up at the screen, scrutinizing his own code. Finding the errant symbol, he muttered a curse and corrected it.

“See, this is why you shouldn’t program while you’re tired. You make too many mistakes.”

“Shut up, Art’.” Alfred commanded absent-mindedly. It was useless, however. Arthur had already become self-aware enough to have found his own command systems and disabled them. That should have bricked his control box, but the whole thing was still functioning and Alfred hadn’t really thought it all that necessary to figure out why.

That didn’t make the A.I. any less annoying.

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A Moment To Forget Me, Chapter 1

Delphine has a chance encounter with a beautiful stranger, leaving her feeling more alive than ever before. But their meeting wasn’t merely a coincidence, for they both have a history neither of them remembers. Cophine AU with elements from canon.

“How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d.” - Alexander Pope

Also available on AO3

A/N: Thanks to everyone who helped me on this project because I fell in love with this idea and wanted it to be the best it could be! Thanks to obcrack for the beautiful artwork, thanks to jaybear1701 and thecirclesquare for being my wonderful beta readers, thanks to kimnrowdy for helping me edit and cheering me on, and thanks to 324b21-clone for letting me shout ideas at her. Also tagging eatingpizzawithcophinegeekspirallingorphanblackballpit​. I will do my best to update this regularly. Thanks for reading!!!!


The alarm clock woke Delphine with a start, and she scrambled across her bed as quickly as she could to stop it. Once it was off, she sat staring out the window, blinking at the gray sky and the blinding morning sun. She looked over at her phone, the date and time flashing at her: Tuesday, February 14, 7:02am, Valentine’s Day. Delphine groaned as she got out of bed in a daze and got ready for work.

Delphine made her way to the subway platform, stifling a yawn as she joined the crowd waiting for the train. Her eyes were glazed over, already bored with her predictable life, another Valentine’s Day alone save for her mundane job. She watched a train stop on the opposite platform, watched it pull away and leave behind dozens of people moving in the same glazed-over manner, on their way to jobs they probably hated before joining the throngs of unhappy couples off to predictable romantic dinners.

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You Can Walk Under My Umbrella 3

The final chapter of this crazy little AU is up. Based on a prompt by honeysticks. Continued as per request by lenfaz and kat2609. (also on ff.net and AO3). Also, here are chapter 1 and chapter 2.


Emma raised her chin and parried the stranger’s cocky smile. Instead of showing surprise or flutter she just replied in a deliberately bored voice:


“What took you so long?”


Her demeanor didn’t fail to throw the handsome bastard off track a little. He blinked in confusion and frowned. “Excuse me?”


“You heard me.” She fixed him firmly. “How long have you been lurking here?”


He scratched behind his ear, and she noticed they were a little pointed, almost like the ears elves were usually portrayed with. If his gesture was a sign of nervousness, anyway, he covered it up quickly. “Actually, I was heading home, love,” he replied smoothly. “I happen to live not very distant from here, just like you.”


“Hmm.” She nodded and pressed her lips together. “Listen, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.”


His momentary nervousness seemed to have subsided, and he pursed his distractingly beautiful mouth into an amused grin. “Please, do proceed.”


“I’m pretty good at telling when someone’s lying to me,” Emma told him. “The thing is… you really do not live far from here… but you’re not here by coincidence.” She threw him a challenging look.


“Neither are you,” he replied without hesitation, much to her surprise not denying her statement.

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Can’t Hug Every Cat

Summary: Normally, Daiki considered himself a dog person but there was just something about the cats in the cafe that charmed him. And they were definitely a lot easier to deal with than certain customers. (CatCafe!Aomine AU)

Characters/Pairings: Aomine Daiki, Kise Ryouta, Momoi Satsuki, AoKise. There’s also cameos of certain people.

Notes:

Title came from here.

This fic sprung from this Tumblr post I made and the response to it. Which was kinda of crazy to be honest, haha.

Many thanks to my fellow AoKise fans on Tumblr: bunnyhips, sumeragimikoto, maosstuff, limitlessmonster, kaijoskopycat, moustachiopenguin, plaire, kaikazecchi, drawverylittle, ninannarambling, who put up with my shenanigans in making this. Thanks also to everyone else who showed an interest in the idea. I hope you all enjoy this.

If I don’t get the other thing done, here is my AoKise Day gift to the fandom. I hope you all like it. <3

And if anyone’s interested, I had Lullatone’s Elevator Music album on repeat as I wrote this. I imagine it’s also the kind of music they’d play at Nyan Nyan. :3

This is also available over at AO3.




“‘Guess who stowed away in my bag last night,” Daiki grumbled, frowning, as he came in through the service door to only jump back out when Satsuki came at him, eyes wide and all keyed up.

“Dai-chan! You have to help! Miko-chan is–”

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Letters

summary: everything he should have said.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six |


The moon, bright and full, cascades shadows all around. The stars glisten in the calm night sky and there is a peaceful silence that consumes the streets, but the only thing Sakura can hear is the rapid thumping of her shocked heart. 

Sasuke’s lips against hers was a sensation she never thought she would forget, but she had. His kisses are feather light as they reclaim her lips after six months of absence, and his hands familiarize themselves with the warmth and curve of her body.

Sakura closes her eyes and snakes her arms around his neck, pulling him flush against her. The kiss deepens which causes her to melt into it as her walls that she rebuilt over the past six months continues to stand strong. Sakura doesn’t have to knock down any walls for Sasuke, since he already held the key to her heart the entire time.

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Fairy Tail Angst Week
May 4th: Day 4
Prompt: Bleeding Out/Bandages
Ship: Gruvia
Characters: Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser
Warnings: None

Notes: Sorry this is late! I decided to make this a little less angsty and kinda happy at the end. I can’t write Juvia suffer anymore :~:


When people fall, they would bleed, and Juvia didn’t doubt that. She was bleeding, from her hands, her face, and her heart. She’d never fallen this hard before.

Her only saving grace was the person kneeling next to her.

“Juvia. Juvia, wake up.”

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Flower Boy

Description: Due to certain circumstances, Dan Howell along with his mother and step dad end up moving to a new little town. Here Dan thankfully meets some new friends along with some new enemies. Nothing his witty comebacks and sarcastic attitude cant handle. But he’s pretty sure he has nothing that could have prepared him for the one and only Philip Lester. The only person who can make Dan want to rip his hair out while simultaneously make his heart leap 50 feet in the air. (Pastel!Dan & BadBoy!Phil)

Warning!: Strong language is used in this fanfiction! Both curse words and some slur terms are used that may be triggering to some readers!

A/N: *Decided to make this chapter mainly Phil oriented "u—u

————————————————————————————-

Chapter 9

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Affaire de Coeur

Prompt# 5: Gone Forever

Summary: "I love you. I’ll always love you, but I can’t be yours when you were never mine.“ A companion piece to milkintheam’s "Paramour”. [NaLu] [Modern AU] [Oneshot]

AN: As a companion piece, this can be read on its own, but I would recommend reading milkintheam’s original piece “Paramour” :)

Read it on FF.net

Affaire de Coeur

He isn’t sure when it happened, but one day he found his eyes lingering a little bit longer than then they should, and the urge to touch her became more than just friendly. He kept it to himself, tried to bury the truth of the matter beneath layers of denial and skewed reasoning, but it was there. Even when Lisanna (his girlfriend of practically forever) was beside him, he would still find himself admiring how beautiful Lucy was when she smiled.

Then, on the creaking swing in the empty playground, the words "I’m in love with you” escaped her pretty pink lips, and something in him broke.

She was drunk – he was drunk – but it didn’t change the fact that he knew exactly what he was doing when he fell into her arms that night. He knew that it was Lucy he was kissing. Understood that, even as his teeth grazed her fluttering pulse, he should stop. Underneath the buzz of alcohol was an insistent whisper telling him that he was going to ruin everything. He was risking the best friend he had, laying their friendship on the line in exchange for the taste of her. Part of him knew, even then, that they would never be able to go back. Still, her lips were drugging and too sweet – the sounds she made too lyrical – for him to stop. In Lucy, he both lost and found himself.

He didn’t think of Lisanna until the morning. 

Even as Lucy moaned his name beneath him, as her nails bit pleasant pricks into his skin, he didn’t think once of the blue eyed girl or the pain his moment of weakness would cause. The realization that his girlfriend was one of the last things on his mind terrified him in ways that few things could. 

The fact that he couldn’t bring himself to regret what had happened between him and Lucy scared him even more.

He should have regretted it – he should have wished it never happened – but even as his heart raced with remorse for the amount of damage he caused, he just couldn’t. He couldn’t look at Lucy laying peacefully between her scattered sheets with dawn’s light tangling in her hair, and wish it had never happened. 

And he hated himself for it – he still hates himself for it.

So he ran. He told himself, told her, that it was a mistake – his mistake. He had Lisanna. Sweet, beautiful Lisanna that was probably waiting for his phone call at that very moment, and he couldn’t hurt her like that. He wouldn’t let himself slip again. Somehow he would find a way to see Lucy as his best friend – only his best friend – and things would go back to how they were before.

Except they didn’t.

Days went by without him hearing or seeing his blonde friend, and in his chest a heaviness he didn’t know existed started to weigh him down. Every one of his girlfriend’s smiles made guilt churn in his gut like rancid butter, and he couldn’t even stand to look at his reflection without feeling anger bubble beneath his skin. Anger towards himself, because he had screwed everything up and he didn’t know how to fix it. All he knew was that he missed Lucy – missed her with a hunger that kept him up at night. Every few hours he would find himself staring at the blank screen of his phone. He wanted to call, wanted to hear her voice and hear her tell him that everything between them was fine, but something held him back. Part of him was afraid she wouldn’t answer.

Another part was terrified that she would.

At the end of the second week he found himself in front of her apartment door, pacing anxiously until he finally found the nerve to knock. He remembers how sweaty his hands were, and how words that he doesn’t even remember (a tangled mixture of apologies and excuses) fell from his lips in a torrid jumble of sounds. Then she told him that she missed him… And he found himself falling back into her arms, threading his fingers through her hair, and losing himself all over again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Every time he wakes up tangled in her sheets he curses himself and swears that he will be stronger next time – because it is wrong, and it is unfair to both Lisanna and Lucy, and damn it he knows that. He makes promise after silent promise, oath after oath, but he just ends up breaking them all. He just can’t imagine life without her. Her friendship, her laughter and her smiles, is the spice to his otherwise bland life. He can’t let her go, but he can’t seen to keep himself away either.

With every brush of her lips he feels weightless – like everything is right for that mere moment in time. Being with her is the brief pause in the storm, the small window of sunlight, before reality drags him back down. Guilt latches onto his skin like a pack of lead leeches until even the most mundane tasks seem to be too much of an effort. He sees Lucy less. Partly because it has become impossible for him to resist reaching out for the sanctuary she offers him (the sanctuary he doesn’t deserve) and partly because he is too ashamed to show himself. 

She hasn’t had a relationship since their first night together, and he knows that he is the reason why. He is selfishly holding her back, hoarding her affection to himself, even though he knows the right thing would be to let her go. To leave her alone and let her heal, let her get over him, but somehow he can’t even manage that. He can’t even be the friend that he wants to be, because a good friend would let her go and he just can’t

Now, standing in front of her apartment, he stares at the envelope taped to her door, and feels the first stirrings of regret begin to prod at his chest. It’s addressed to him in Lucy’s neat, curvy script. He’s afraid to open it, but he has already tried knocking on the door and was answered only by silence on the other side. He tries to tell himself that she must be out running errands, or that maybe she decided to take an impromptu trip, but every excuse he creates rolls off like rain water. 

She hasn’t returned his texts for the past week, hasn’t accepted his calls either. He had told himself she must just be busy, she’d get back to him when she had some free time, but this morning when he tried to call her phone had been disconnected. Looking at the envelope staring back at him, he feels his pulse race as he takes it with a shaking hand. He had ran up the stairs, down the hall, and his blood is still pulsing swiftly in his veins in response, but now, with the paper sitting his palms, he can hear it pounding in his ears like some sort of tribal drum.

He’s not sure how long it takes him to open it, but he’s sure it is more than a few minutes. He is torn between wanting to know and being terrified of finding out. When he finally summons the courage, he tears the top with more care than he has opened anything in his life. It takes him another moment to calm the shaking of his hands enough to read her handwriting, and another still for him to process the words. 

I love you. I’ll always love you, but I can’t be yours when you were never mine. Please don’t look for me – I don’t think I would have the strength to leave again. 

Goodbye and Take Care,

Lucy’

Dully, he feels his body slide down the wall until he hits the worn hallway carpet. There’s a numbness pulling at his limbs, a pressure on his chest that makes him feel like he can no longer breath. It is only when he chokes on a sob that he realizes he is crying. Fat tears burn the corners of his eyes and tighten his throat, but he can’t bring himself to care. Lisanna is waiting for him at home with a meal cooked and her arms open and ready to take him in. She loves him. Natsu knows that she loves him. He loves her too, but all he can think of is how he will never see Lucy’s smile ever again and suddenly he realizes what he should have the moment his lips met his best friend’s. 

She’s wrong.

Lucy is wrong.

He’s been hers all along, he always will be, but now it is far too late for her to ever be his.

best cold ever

For a hundred times, Naruto sneezed and coughed again.

And again.

And again.

He swore to God, if he could take off his nose, he would. It’s killing him for sure. He’s never gotten cold before, up until now. It was probably the old man he helped the other day in his C-rank mission. Now he’s all weak, lying on his bed, covered up in a warm blanket.

All he wanted right now was just a bow of Ichiraku Ramen, with pork and miso, but his beloved girlfriend wouldn’t allow him to do what he likes.

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So I had this quick little ficlet pop in my head:

John stumbled as they were pushed into the small cell to sleep it off. Sherlock mumbled a deduction at the cop that was closing the door, then all but threw himself down on the tiny bunk and almost immediately started snoring. Prat.

With a sigh, John sunk to a seat, leaning against the bunk. Sherlock’s hand was hanging down and he looked at those elegant fingers. I don’t mind, he’d said. And then they’d been interrupted. Bugger.

With a thunk, John tipped his head back against the wall. Stupid. He was getting married tomorrow. To a very nice woman that hadn’t faked her death for two years. Who hadn’t left him grieving in silence. Wanker.

Sighing, John ran his fingers along Sherlock’s, just feeling the bones. The skin was rougher than it had been two years ago. The detective had been through some things, John could see that much. Not that Sherlock would tell him anything of course. Twat.

“I’m getting married tomorrow,” he said out loud. Mumbled. Leaning forward he rest his forehead against the back of Sherlock’s hand. “Should be getting married to you.” Sodding hell.

It was true, he knew it in his heart even if he couldn’t say it aloud. He’d loved Sherlock Holmes for a very long time. He’d mourned him harder than he’d ever mourned anyone. Tried to crawl into a bottle for a time, something he’d always swore he’d never do. But Sherlock had driven him to it. Cock.

Pulling back a bit, John made sure he was still snoring, sound echoing around them. He dropped his head and kissed the back of his hand, then leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. Morning would be here and with it a wicked hangover. Then the wedding and whatever the hell Sherlock was  going to say in his best man speech. Probably read straight from his blog or something. Arse.

John closed his eyes and felt gravity pulling him downward. One hand reached over to entwine his fingers with Sherlock’s, though he’d never admit it. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, and Sherlock never did make it easier. Bastard.

(also on AO3)

Vive Tu Vida (pt 1/?)

I done wrote something! It’s not Fall, true, but it is a story you’ve seen before! I’ve just added an actual plot and characters and all that fun stuff. And tbh, I’m quite excited for this mobster!finn story to unfold. It’s going to be great.

It takes place in Los Angeles, which is quite a far ways away from good ol’ England. What can I say? I love putting my characters in unknown territory.

Things will get graphic in this story, but if you take into account the kind of life they lead, it’d be irresponsible of me to gloss over the violence Finn and co live with daily. I will try to make it as easy to stomach as possible, but there are aspects to cruelty that I just can’t sugarcoat.

Also! I’m trying to become proficient in Spanish, so I figured what better place to test my abilities than in a story in Southern California! That being said, I still have troubles with the language, so if someone would take pity on me and walk me through some things, I’d 10000% appreciate it. Phrases, spelling, that kind of stuff. (google leaves a lot to be desired.)

Message if you would like/be willing to help me!

Does anyone want to be tagged for this story?

~.~.~.~.~.~

Finn leads a life of misery, pain, and regret. The gun in his hand and the money in his pocket have been there since birth, and the older he gets, the more those hopes of freedom begin to turn into a pipe dream. But one fateful birthday brings a person into his life that promises those greener pastures. In the end, he has to make a decision: stay with what he knows, or explore the unknown.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Finn shut his eyes and heaved a great sigh. The three of them had been here almost two hours, and absolutely fuck all was happening. Chop was beating a loose piece of road against the curb, and Finn got lost in the repetitive beat. It echoed in his mind until all he could do was listen and stare at nothing.                           

“Finn. Jesus Christ, mate. Snap out of it.” Finn blinked away the unfocused image of buildings as the sound cut out almost violently from his head. He looked at Chop’s wrinkled, slightly dirty suit and smiled.

“Right, sorry. Just zoned out.”

“Alright, well your dad called. We’re done.”

Finn blinked once more in confusion and set his mouth in an annoyed moue, “We’ve been here hours. What happened?”

“I dunno, mate. I’m sure we’ll see soon enough, eh?” Chop shrugged into his leather jacket and flipped the collar up, to protect against the biting cold wind that would sting their skin as soon as they left the glass enclosure. Finn sighed again and wrapped his scarf around his neck; twisting into the action as he looked for Archie behind him. The brunette was slouched in a hard, plastic lawn chair; his face propped up uncomfortably on his hand as his mouth hung open. Finn could almost feel the sore pain his friend would experience, and stepped forward to wake him.

“Arch, get up, mate. We’re finished here.”

The other man jolted to action as Finn shook his limp shoulder. “Wha say?” Finn laughed loudly and repeated himself before moving toward the exit. Chop stood next to the door, leaning back against the unforgiving bricks and smoking a cigarette. He chuckled when Finn looked over and gestured it to him.

“Warms you from the inside out, eh?”

Finn laughed under his breath and unlocked the Jag, scooting in and shutting the door quickly. He turned the heat on full blast and rubbed his hands together as he waited for his friends. If his father had indeed gotten what he wanted; it was going to be quite the long night.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Finn flinched at the sound of another punch reverberating around the small, concrete room. Fist hitting flesh over and over; the blood from the man’s face adding a slick sort of smacking quality. He looked away as the cowering, pathetic little man coughed loudly and began to cry harder. Finn’s father rose his hand up in the air and Karlof let the man drop, falling to his knees and curling into the fetal position.

“Thank you, Karlof. Let’s give him some time to think about it. I’d like a moment alone with my son.”

The lackey just nodded and walked out the door. Finn looked at his father in confusion, and the older man sighed. He closed his eyes and rubbed them before focusing on Finn with a sharp gaze.

“You are uncomfortable.”

Finn let out a surprised grunt and blinked, “What are you talking about?”

“Son, don’t try to deny it. I watch you flinch and look away and rush for the exit. Why does it bother you so much?”

Finn gaped at his dad and let the tortured sound of a weeping, bloody, half-dead man fill the empty space between them. His father sighed again and placed his big hands on his shoulders; the heavy weight of them digging into Finn’s flesh.

“I’m expecting you to be ready for this soon. What I do. What you’re supposed to do. How everyone else does their job. You have to know what to do when the time comes.”

Finn’s being flooded with shame and he looked away from the tired man in front of him. “I understand.”

“Good. Now,” his father grasped his shoulders painfully before letting go, “Suck it up and act as if you actually want this.”

Finn just nodded and waited for his father to clear his throat, signaling for his son to leave. Finn zoomed out of there and breathed deeply in the corridor; fresh air from the open warehouse filling his lungs. He wanted to close his eyes and enjoy it, but knew that Carlos’ beating would be playing on the insides of his eyelids for a while. If the fucking moron had kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t have to be beaten within an inch of his life. The only thing to do after that was to kill him. His father was always a fan of brute force to get the job done.

As the screams started up again; Finn shook off the filth of the room that clung to him and blackened his heart. He began playing the song Chop’s stone had created earlier that day on repeat in his head. He started humming it loudly to drown out what was, most likely, Karlof breaking the fingers of a person Finn would miss.

As he flung open the metal door, he welcomed the wind that blew harshly against his ears. It drowned out everything until all he heard was the rapid beating of his heart and Chop’s foot hitting stone. Trying not to think of the way they’d kill his friend of ten years.

He hated his fucking life.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Bleary-eyed and sluggish, Finn made his way to the kitchen the next morning. He scratched the top of his head and pulled up on the flannel pants that had fallen down his hips. Another example of how much weight he’d lost. He sighed and shuffled over to the counter where his glorious coffee maker was as his slippers scuffed against the ceramic floor. Finn took the coffee pot and filled it with water, then let the faucet continue to run in a full stream as he left the sink. Pouring the liquid into the machine, he set the glass container on the hot pad and reached above for the gourmet coffee Maria was always buying him. He let the cupboard door slam shut, hoping to scratch the expensive wood.

Once the water started boiling and the coffee was brewing, Finn turned back and shut off the faucet with another sigh. Wasting water, scratching the fixings, marring the furniture; they were all little ways of him rebelling against his father. Maybe if he got expensive utilities bills or repair notices, he’d let Finn move out and find his own place. But, of course, he didn’t even notice and just signed whatever papers needed it. And Finn, as he made his way to his room, couldn’t exactly go up to his father and say ‘Listen here, Pops. I’m moving out on my own, see? And I won’t be working for you no more.’ Finn laughed at the thought and untied the green cotton robe Maria had gotten him last Christmas, dropping it on his bed as he walked to his en-suite bathroom.

“Yeah, and then I could say I’m moving to England and joining the circus. He’d love that.”

By now, Finn had grown accustomed to hearing his own voice in the mornings. No one was ever there with him past dawn, and not saying what was on his mind drove him crazy. At least talking to himself made the huge apartment not seem so desolate. And it made him feel a little less alone.

He showered quickly, his thoughts dampening any desire for extracurricular activities under the hot water. Waist wrapped in a fluffy towel, he used a smaller one to rub his hair dry. He walked over to the answering machine on his dresser to listen to his messages before getting ready. Dropping the towel in his hamper, Finn rolled his eyes as he pulled on his boxer briefs, listening to Robert’s request to meet with him. The man’s heavy Armenian accent sounded tinny through the device, which made him sound even more gruff than usual. Then the customary drunken message from Chop played, challenging his manhood for denying yet another invite to Venny’s club. His friend just didn’t seem to understand that Finn was repulsed by the idea of even stepping foot in a building that was built on drug and blood money.

A surprising message from Archie made Finn smile as he tucked the blue and white checkered shirt into his charcoal slacks. Finn made a mental note to call his friend to meet up with him and his sister who was visiting for a few days. He secured the dotted brown silk tie under his collar and donned on the dark grey vest that had a wide plaid design which ran in a slightly lighter color. As he was finishing buttoning the vest and removing the suit jacket from its hanger, his mother’s voice echoed through the room.

Finn fumbled with the hanger and dropped the jacket as he tried to turn and look at the machine, somehow hoping he’d be able to see her as she spoke. The disappointment at her absence was painful but foolish, so he picked up the article of clothing from the floor and dusted it off before shrugging into it. He let her voice wash over him, not paying attention to what she was saying. He saw himself in the full length mirror on his closet door. Wearing a tailored Tom Ford suit and about to step into the Forzieri black leather shoes his father gifted him for his birthday, he felt empty.

The machine beeped, telling him it was done relaying messages, and Finn sighed at the suffocating silence the noise brought with it. He finished getting ready and tied the laces extra tight, hoping that somehow it would cut off circulation to his legs and he’d have to be shipped off to some hospital to have his feet amputated. Even then, though, his father would probably just make him do everything in a wheelchair. He brushed his hair back neatly while it was still wet, and put the comb on the nightstand. He spritzed the Grey Vetiver cologne once at the base of his neck and situated it next to the comb on the stand.

He walked to his door, about to leave, but hesitated, hand shaking over the doorknob. Huffing out a great breath, he moved back to his dresser and played his messages again, skipping to his mother’s. The dulcet, soothing cadence of her voice put him at ease and he shut his eyes to focus on her words.

Hello, Finn. I hope you’re doing well. A colleague of mine and I are here for conference, and we fly from New York to Los Angeles the Saturday before your birthday. I’m happy to say that we’ll be there that entire week, so I’d like to see you. Preferably on Wednesday, when it’s the proper day to celebrate, but I know how… busy your father keeps you. I have the same mobile number, but in case you forgot, it’s 011 44 7432 211 895. Give me a ring any time you’re free. I look forward to it. Love you, Mum.

Finn stood there, staring at the little black box as her words replayed in his mind. He started up his messages, deleting the first three until all he had was her. He made her reiterate the message over and over, allowing him to memorize the inflections and emphasis on different words. The way her vowels were drawn out and the way she said different phrases. How she said she loved him.

He let the message play out and then stepped away nervously. At least seven years had passed since they last saw each other, and that was only because he had actively sought her out when he was in London for business. Their meeting had been brief and awkward, she clearly having just gotten out of rehab again. Even though she never said, he could tell. The way her eyes were sunken in and how her hands shook. She had been far too skinny and looked ill. Lunch only lasted about an hour before she made an excuse to leave without paying. It hadn’t bothered him that much, her skipping out on the meal before finishing, but the sting of her rejection cut deep like always.

Finn shook away the memories and flung his door open, letting it hit the wall in a loud bang. He stalked down the hallway, the clack from the hard heel of his shoes echoing throughout the corridor. He quickly made his way to the steaming coffee pot and pulled a mug from the stylishly designed metal rack over the counter. He filled the cup to the brim and took a long sip of the scalding liquid, burning his mouth and throat. He stood there in the fragrant steam of his expensive coffee and the smooth feel of fitted clothes, and felt a swell of anger rise in his chest. He wanted nothing more but to hurl the porcelain mug against the wall; to smash all of the dishes and cups and glasses against the pristine tiled floor; to scream and rage at the unfairness of it all.

But he didn’t. He took another sip of coffee and slowly counted back from ten until his heart rate slowed and his thoughts settled. Doing so allowed his mother’s message to play once more in his mind, and he closed his eyes at the calming sensation. Once she said goodbye, he opened his eyes and turned to place his drink on the smooth stone top of the island. He moved to the fridge to pull out an apple and eggs, determined to play out his morning like usual.

When he got the stovetop ready for his frying pan, a click sounded from the front room. Someone then began to stomp their shoes on the welcome mat, likely trying to remove the muddy quality of the rain soaked streets. As they moved further into the apartment, Finn smiled and turned to the entrance of the kitchen.

“Buenos días, Maria.”

His housekeeper, a short Mexican woman with graying hair and eyes full of wisdom, returned his smile as she pulled off her gloves.

“Buenos días, mío. ¿Cómo te va?”

“Eh, mas o menos. Un poco cansado. ¿Y tú?”

“Bien, bien. ¿Por qué está cansado?”

“Ehm, anoche trabajé… hasta tarde.”

Maria laughed quietly, and stuffed her gloves in her coat pocket, hanging it up on the rack next to the kitchen. “Ah, ¿sí? No está bien. ¿Cuando trabajas?”

“Uh, pronto?”

They both laughed this time, and Maria moved further into the kitchen. “Very good, Finn. Your pronunciation is getting much better.”

“Thank you. It’s all because of you, you know.”

“No, you do so well on your own. I just give you a push. Now, what are you making? Your pan smells burned.”

Finn smiled and felt at ease for the first time that morning. As Maria made her way to the stove, he noticed she wore the rose earrings he found for her last Christmas, and his heart beat warmer. Since he was ten and his mother moved back to England, Maria had taken it upon herself to try to give him some maternal guidance. She was a formidable little lady with a big heart and a sharp wit that kept him in line. When he moved out on his own, she didn’t hesitate when he asked her to join him. He liked to think she preferred him over his father.

“Ah, you’ve left the pan on too long, Mío. The eggs will burn this way. Let me make you something quickly.”

“It’s okay; I have to get going soon, anyway.”

“No no, just sit down and I’ll make some huevos con chorizo quickly. You need to eat for the long day ahead.”

Sighing, Finn shuffled over to a barstool tucked under the island and sat down, propping his head in his right hand. He watched Maria rustle through the fridge for the seasoned pork that she kept well-supplied. She cooked for him, cleaned, shopped, and even bought him gifts for different occasions. Everything a mother would do, except she was paid to do it. A weight settled in his stomach at the thought. His father never approved of his affection toward Maria. He said it would make him careless to grow attached to a woman who wasn’t his; as if she were a possession. Finn frowned at the thought, and had another moment of understanding as to why his mother left. And why she started abusing her xanax. It wasn’t fair to him, though, to just pack up without saying goodbye; so he was right back to being confused about how he felt about her. And her offer of a birthday visit the next week.

“¿Qué pasa, Finn?”

Finn blinked and smiled as Maria sat down a plate of steaming eggs mixed with the spicy, minced meat. There were different herbs mingled in the dish, and his mouth watered at the thought of how it would taste. Next to them were two flour tortillas, both warmed and soft.

“Maria, you didn’t have to do this.”

Maria waved his statement away and clicked her tongue in response. “Nonsense, you never eat enough. I’m making sure you have a good start to the day. Now,” Maria leaned against the edge of the island and looked at Finn, “What’s troubling you?”

Finn sighed and began to collect his eggs into one tortilla, packing it in tightly to make a good wrap. “I got a call from my mother this morning. Well, yesterday, but I just listened to her message today.”

Maria was silent as Finn finished folding the tortilla and started to eat the finished product. He could tell she wanted to reach out and touch him in a comforting manner, but she stayed her hand. Even after all this time, he still didn’t do well with physical contact. After he had gotten through half of his meal, Maria moved around until a cup of freshly squeezed, all-natural juice stood next to his boring white mug of expensive coffee. Boy, was he living the life.

“Is it because of your birthday?”

Yeah, she’ll be in town next week and wants to get together.”

“Are you going to do it?”

Finn contemplated her softly spoken question as he started to scoop more eggs and chorizo into the second tortilla. “I want to. I haven’t seen her in seven years; I might as well make contact.”

Maria sighed, “I didn’t know it’s been so long.”

Finn shrugged and took a large bite of his second burrito. Around a mouthful of food, Finn said, “It’s not that bad. I saw her when I was twenty. And then against at seventeen before that. It’s hard to really miss a woman you hardly know.”

His left hand curled into a fist despite his casual words, and Maria patted his clenched hand quickly before straightening up, breaking the rules to provide comfort. Finn didn’t hate it, mostly because he craved that attention and affection. He just couldn’t handle it all the time.

Maria went to the sink and began to fill up one side of the deep metal basin. She turned to him after adding soap, and Finn watched the thick layer of bubbles rise with the growing volume of water.

“You should have her over, Mío.”

Finn coughed around his last bite of breakfast, and took a large gulp of cranberry juice, the two flavours mixing in an odd but not unenjoyable way. He took a deep breath when the food continued its way down, then looked at Maria and her slightly crooked smile.

“Have her over here? To my apartment? Doesn’t that seem too familiar; too personal?”

Maria’s eyebrows raised in surprise and Finn bit his tongue. “Sorry, that was mean. But, can’t I just meet her somewhere public where awkward silences can be filled with background noise and nosey waiters?”

Maria sighed and took his dirty dishes, making Finn feel bereft at not having done it himself.

“Your mama is a part of you, forever. Junto a ti aprendí el significado de la palabra; amor. ‘With you, I learned the meaning of the word love.’ It’s a mother’s love that keeps us alive.”

“That’s a hard lesson if no one is there to teach me how to love.”

Maria looked at him for a long moment before turning back around. “Someone will show up to do just that. Be patient.”

Finn said nothing and got off of his chair, scooting it in quietly, essentially ending the conversation. He took his suit jacket from the coat rack and fitted it around him. Grabbing his wallet and keys from the jade dish on a table in the hallway, he said goodbye to Maria. She turned and smiled before wishing him a good day, the look in her eyes a little sad.

Finn ignored that and picked up his briefcase from the cushioned bench next to the entrance, buttoning his Diesel olive green field jacket after. He looked back one more time and heard Maria humming a tune he thought he recognized. Confused, he shut the heavy wooden door behind him and made his way to the elevator. Once he’d greeted Philip, the elevator operator, Finn mulled over the imaginary person Maria had conjured, and smiled.

~.~.~.~.~.~

“Then she asked where my place was. It was a great ending to a pretty sweet night. You should have been there.”

Finn quirked his lips in a cursory smile without looking away from his laptop, “Sounds awesome, Chop. I‘m really bummed I couldn’t make it. Maybe next time, yeah?”

Chop scoffed and plopped down in one of Finn’s guest chairs; a horrible black leather piece of furniture that had too much cushion and awkward arms. The set made the room too dark and serious. It was another great choice by his father.

“That’s bollocks, you know. I don’t even know why I bother with you, mate.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t.” Finn snapped. He dropped the pen he’d been using to record the profits of the Laundromat on Burlington. They weren’t doing as well as last month. He sighed and looked at the hard set of Chop’s face.

“Sorry, I’m just really stressed. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Chop stared at him for a minute before blowing raspberries between closed lips. “That’s okay, mate. Worried about Carlos?” Finn looked at Chop in confusion as the other man got up and went to the small bar situated against the wall to their right.

“What do you mean?”

Chop prepared two gin and tonics and brought the glasses back to Finn’s desk, putting one next to his laptop. Finn took it out of habit and watched as his friend took a sip of the strong drink. Growing impatient, Finn asked again, “Chop, what do you mean?”

Chop sighed, “I’m sorry for your friend. But, I think he’ll be okay in a couple of months. Useless, but fine.”

“Are you saying that he’s alive?”

Chop took another sip of his drink and looked Finn in the eye. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course I didn’t! How do you know?”

His friend was silent as he swirled the clear liquids together in the crystal tumbler from a set Finn’s father had given him. Chop’s hesitation put Finn on edge, and he took a sip of the alcohol to calm his nerves, barely containing his urge to cough as it burned his throat. His eyes watered as he watched Chop collect his thoughts.

“I was the one who dumped him at the hospital.”

The words sunk heavy in Finn’s mind and he gripped his glass hard. Chop sighed and sat back down, “Look mate, I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I thought your dad would have said something. My guess is that he felt sentimental or something and let the ruddy bastard live. That, or this is sort of a birthday gift to you.”

Chop grinned a little and downed his drink in one gulp. Finn watched in horror as he got up and stretched. The idea that a man was spared his life as a gift to another person made Finn wants to be ill. And the fact that Chop found it amusing scared him.

“Don’t joke about that, man. It isn’t funny.”

“Oh, come on. I wasn’t being serious. I doubt your old man would do that, anyway. He’s not one to let his emotions cloud his judgment, eh?” Chop knocked on Finn’s desk before removing his tweed jacket from the back of his chair and tugging it on. “I wouldn’t worry. I don’t think they did any permanent damage. He’s at St. Francis, if you want to see him.”

Finn nodded and sat down his full glass, closing his laptop at the same time.

“Well, I have a delivery, so I’ll see you later. If you’re free, join me at Lush tonight, amigo. Ta.”

“Bye,” Finn responded absently as he quickly donned both suit and outer jacket. He picked up his necessaries and was outside just as Chop was pulling away. While he waited for the heater to warm up in his car, Finn thought about his friend’s words, and chill went up his spine. A birthday present.

He had goosebumps the entire drive to the hospital.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Loreta was crying when Finn arrived. She sat in an uncomfortable looking plastic chair just outside what he assumed was Carlos’ room. Finn stood at the entrance of the wing, watching his friend’s wife get up and go over something with the nurse manning the station. He grasped hopelessly at comforting things to say, but all he could think of was I’m sorry. The sentiment played over and over in his head as the young woman pointed at a printout Finn couldn’t see.

He stayed near the doorway for nearly twenty minutes, agonizing over how to apologize without it sounding insincere or patronizing. Loreta and Finn knew each other well enough; he’d been by their place countless times for dinner or a game or a party. And the couple had visited him in his own apartment so often that he had given Carlos a spare key, should he go away on business and needed it looked after. He and Archie were the only people he trusted to do it; but Archie was usually with Finn when they left.

When Loreta began writing something down on a yellow legal pad, Finn took a deep breath and slowly put one foot in front of the other until he stood in front of her. When his shadow blocked her light, Loreta looked up with a scrunched brow. As soon as she recognized him, her face contorted in anger.

“Loreta, I-”

“How dare you come here, capullo? Do you know what your father did to Carlos? He nearly killed him! And you have the nerve to visit and, what, apologize? Try to make us forgive you? Vete a la mierda, asshole.”

“Loreta, I know how this must look, but I promise I didn’t… I wasn’t aware that he…”

“Oh, save it, Finn. I don’t care what you have to say, or what you’re aware of. That’s my husband lying there with a broken jaw and nose and fingers, and cracked ribs; just to start. And it’s all because of you. If you hadn’t gotten him involved in your business, he could be working with my father, making an honest living; one where death doesn’t follow him everywhere he goes.”

Finn just stood and stared as the sweet and loving woman he thought he knew call him an asshole and wish him to hell. Blamed him for decisions Carlos had made against Finn’s advice. Finn had brought him closer into the fold because his friend had asked for it; but also to be able to keep an eye on him. He tried his best to protect the man. But as Loreta started to cry again, Finn took a deep breath and accepted her hatred. He didn’t mind it; it wasn’t anything new. He sometimes wished he could go to hell, because he knew that’s where he was going to end up anyway. It would give him a chance to finally be rid of this life.

“Alright, I won’t come by again. I’m… I’m really sorry this happened, truly. You know how I feel about him, but I understand where you’re coming from. Let me cover his hospital costs, and I’ll-”

“Fuck you. Do you really think you can just throw money at us? As if you paying for shit makes us even?”

“Loreta, that’s not what I’m suggesting. I just want to help you.”

“Well, we don’t need your help, pago. You walk in here like you own the place; like nothing will ever hurt you. Like you’re untouchable. Like the men who work for you and your horrible father are disposable when you want them to be. I have news for you: you’re the worst kind of person there is. The devil himself would have to give up his throne for your family. So get lost and take your dirty money with you.”

Finn was stuck in place, Loreta’s harsh words paralyzing him where he stood. He’d heard worse, but something so vicious shot through his heart and he felt the blood run from it until all that was left was a hollow beating.

“Okay, I won’t contact you again. I hope… I hope Carlos makes it through. And that you two have a good life.”

Loreta kept her gaze hard, but Finn xould see the tears welling up in her eyes. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and turned around. As he neared the exit, a gruff, deeo voice called out to him.

“Nelson, wait.”

Finn turned back and was surprised to see Carlos’ brother Javier standing next to Loreta, two styrofoam cups filled with steaming liquid in each hand. Finn said nothing in response and stayed where he was. If he knew anything, it was to not upset this man.

Javier put the cups down on a dingy looking table next to him and moved closer to Finn, making him nervous. But he didn’t back away, his father’s harsh words about cowards rolling around in his memory. Can’t back down from a fight, no matter how bad the odds were.

When he was just a few feet away, Javier rubbed his eyes and sighed, “Finn, we’d be grateful if you would like to help us with my brother’s care.”

Loreta made a disbelieving noise, and Finn narrowed his eyes at Javier’s words, unsure if they were sincere. The older man didn’t seem aggressive or confrontational. There was nothing about his stance or tone that should frighten Finn, but he felt uneasy nonetheless.

“Why?”

“Yeah, Javi, why? You’ll let this pendejo treat us like we’re some charity-”

“Loreta, be quiet.” Javier’s sharp interjection snapped his cuñada’s mouth shut, and Finn tensed. Javier looked back to Finn with a grimace, “I know it wasn’t your fault Carlos is in the hospital.”

“I…I don’t follow, Javier.”

“Look, I know we haven’t always gotten along, but I know you’re a good man, underneath all of that. And a loyal friend. And you’re stuck in a life that there’s no escaping. Carlos told e about how you tried to make him quit. I know you’ve tried to look out for him, but, to be frank, my brother is an idiot. It was only a matter of time before he screwed up.”

Finn didn’t know how to respond. It seemed as if he was being pardoned by the unlikeliest of characters, and threw him off guard.

“Javier, I don’t understand.”

Javier moved closer until he stood right in front of Finn. Finn’s heart started to race, but he didn’t look away from the deep brown eyes. “Look, it’s not your fault it ended up like this. I, we, can’t blame you for your father’s actions. Or my brother’s. It’s the kind of life Carlos chose to live, against all advice, and he knew the consequences.”

Finn could only nod as the man squeezed his shoulders once before moving back to Loreta. She glared at him, and addressed Javier quietly; the two speaking in Spanish too quickly for Finn to follow along. His eyes moved back and forth between them, able to see Loreta’s frustration and Javier’s unwavering viewpoint. As they continued to talk, Finn let his gaze wander to the hospital room where his friend was, his whole body tensing to walk over.

“Go inside.”

Finn snapped his head back to the arguing duo to see Javier gesturing to the door and Loreta getting up to storm out. “I… Alright.” Javier gave him a sad smile before turning toward the hallway to go after his brother’s wife. Finn took a deep breath and walked to the room, his hand shaking as he opened the door.

When he stepped inside, his friend was awake and staring down at his lap. At the scuff of Finn’s shoes, Carlos looked up and smiled, but the swelling of his face turned it into a grimace. Finn opened his mouth a few times, but nothing could come out. He stared as the other man and could actually feel tears stinging behind his eyes. He blinked quickly and moved further into the room, shutting the door softly behind him. Carlos just shook his head and smiled again.

“Hey, compa.”

Fav Klaroline one-shots!

Sired :In which Caroline isn’t a vampire and Klaus didn’t expect to find himself intrigued with a baby werewolf. 

The Way Back :Caroline was tired of running, and fate seemed to be in accordance. 

Sweet Caroline :Klaus was never much of a singer, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Don’t Be Mad : A drabble* Caroline and Klaus are both intrigued by their new neighbors across the way. 

Only if for a Night :Full story. Completed. 

You Call The Shots, Babe :In a harsh whisper, she growls, “Klaus is going to kill all of you.” -– Klaus/Caroline, AU/AH. Complete 

You’ll Be Lonely :“You’re evil.” . “Unapologetically so, sweetheart.” -– Klaus/Caroline, AU circa S2/S3. Complete 

heartless :When he had an eternity, she had a deadline. 

Red Snow : She thought New Years Eve was about new beginnings, it was a chance to start over. She had no idea. Dark!Klaus/Caroline

Hungry Like the Wolf : As if dealing with Klaus courting her wasn’t bad enough, then Klaus’ wolf had to go and decide that Caroline was his mate and get involved as well.

super serious fanfiction my friends and I put a lot of effort into

“STOP YELLING AT ME, MOM!” you scream, slamming the front door of your
faded red brick two story house that had six windows and smelled like
freshly cut grass. you lived in it since you were little. You remember a
childhood memory of you picking your nose in the street and eating it as a
dog walked by. it aroused you.

your family doesn’t understand you and you’re angry at them because they
keep saying that you’re obsession with top hats, menstrual blood, and
werewolves is just a phase. You know better, and you know htat you are
alone. alone in the sickness of your own decaying mind and a Mcflurry of
teen angst. alone to walk away from the front door of your faded red brick
two story house that had six windows and smelled like freshly cut grass to
sort out your feelings while some sad song from a post hardcore band played
in th ebackground. your taste in music is unique. No one understands.
you listen to real music - not the trash they play on the phonograph these
days.

You continue walking in your eternal despair, the streets littered with
cradles and coffins. you run a hand through your naturally purple colored
hair the color of an amethyst that had bright color and let out a deep
sigh. somehow you manage to walk through all o f Central Yharham on a
night of the hunt without being attacked by anything. they all probably
knew that you had no weapn on you and didnt want to have an unfair
advantage. You start crying.

a hand as rough as tree bark but not sticky with sap softly caresses your
shoulder. “why are you sad?” a voice as rough as tree bark and sticky with
saliva asks from the shadows. You look up with your eyesy blue eyes that
glisten with tears like the stars in the universe glisten above you on this
starless night. You look up to find a handsome sort with longish grey hair
and a goatE and legs that went on forever. He was so tall that you thought
he could pluck the moon out of the sky and eat it like an apple. HOpefully
it wouldn’t be infested with worms. He had pale skin wrapped in black
cloth and nestled in a desaturated scarf that has surely seen some damage.
his eyes were a mysterious shade of nonexistent, and they were topped by a
dark hat John Wayne would approve of.

“my family doesn’t get me,” you whimper. he comes in close and uses his
other hand to brush the tears off of your chek. your ass cheek. judjing
by the dirt that covered him, he liked it dirty.

“My family is dead” he whispers to the distance. He holds you closer. you
is hold. He uses his third hand to brush through your purple hair that
shimmered brilliantly like a fucking nerd that got a 2400 on the SAT. “I
could be your new family” you say.

He stares at the distant horizon with his bandages and gives a hearty smirk
that makes the corners of his mouth crinkle. “Yeah,” he says and leans
down to kiss your forehead, “That would be nice.”

yOU laugh some more and bury your face into his chest. His clothes are
gone, so you’ve got a flesh full of abs and the sickly sweet smell of gross
werewolf pores. Your tears have faded, but you still let out a sniffle.
“I don’t even know your name.”

He pushes you away from his heavy chest but keeps his unsticky hands placed
firmly on your shouders. His smile grows deeper, and you can tell by the
look in his nonexistent eye that he truly thought you were the one.

“Guacamole.”

Anidala Week 2015: Day 3-Force Ghost

Anakin saw Luke’s face fade, darken and disappear as death pulled him further away. The pain and the horror of all the things he had seen and the things he had done dulled with the kind face of his old Master Obi-Wan. But his old friend faded away like Luke’s sweet face had. Anakin was afraid. He feared who he would see next. He feared he wouldn’t have the words to say. He feared her look of hurt and disappointment. And as all those fears welled up in him, she appeared. Ethereal and as lovely she had always been. All those years ago. She did look sad and he could see the hurt etched on her features. But she smiled faintly at him, just as Obi-Wan had. 

“Anakin.” She said softly.”I’ve missed you.”

He drew her up in his arms and sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She ran her fingers through his hair. “I know you are.”

“I love you, Padme. Forgive me.”

“Don’t speak, Ani. I just want to be with you.”

“Anything you ask for, my love.” He answered.

And voices he couldn’t discern played inside his mind. Was it Luke? Padme’s voice?

“There is good in you…There is good in him. I know. There’s still…There is good in you.”

Padme pulled away from his embrace. She looked up at him. “Come with me, Anakin.”

“Where are we going?” Anakin asked.

“Does it matter?”

Anakin was silent for a moment. “No.”

Padme reached out her hand and Anakin took it. The two lovers walked off into the nothingness.

“There is still good in him. I know.”

My Lion King.

by dimplesmcflirt

After waking up early in the morning to an empty bed, Bellamy Blake heads out to find his girlfriend. To no surprise whatsoever he finds her leaning over a canvas and all smudged in paint wearing nothing but his shirt.

Or the one where Clarke uses Bellamy as a human canvas, and they get down and dirty together after she’s done.

Surprisingly there’s some fluff too?

Words: 5400, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Tale As Old As Time, a collection of one shots.



Read it on AO3 at http://ift.tt/1GZmglp
Ashes to Ashes

Prompt# 6: Incinerate

Summary: Death always comes too soon, Natsu knows this better than some, but he never expected the Reaper to pay a visit before he even had a chance to say hello. [NaLu] [OneShot]

Warning: Miscarriage (I feel like I should post a warning because I’m sure that it can be triggering to those who have suffered through it)

AN:This was really, really hard for me to write. I imagine that it would be hard even if I wasn’t pregnant, but … well, lets just say I shed myself some tears in the writing of this. Honestly, I can’t even believe I wrote it. I can’t believe I’m posting it either – especially after so many people have done such a wonderfully angsty job on this same theme. Regardless, I hope you … er, enjoy? Meanwhile I’ll be burying myself in my comforter and crying into my pillow. 

Read it on FF.net

Ashes to Ashes

He wakes up to the sound of Lucy’s strangled scream.

At first he can’t see anything – her nightstand lamp is on and it temporarily blinds him with white light – but the room smells like blood and tears, and he is shaking under his touch when he frantically reaches for her. His hand grasps her shoulder just as his eyes adjust to the light. 

There is a red stain pooling between her thighs, soaking the sheets and her lace trimmed nightgown. Her hands clutch at the swell of her stomach while her terror rimmed eyes tear into his soul. “The hospital,” the sheer amount of fear in her voice makes him tremble, “We need to go to the hospital!”

His mind still feels numb. The only thing that he seems to be able to comprehend is that the blood sliding along her thighs makes his hands slippery when he goes to hoist her into his arms. He should call for help, should find a vehicle, but the scent of blood is making him dizzy and the way her tears burn into his neck makes him panic, so he finds himself running instead.

As his bare feet slap against the cobble stone streets, the cold night air biting against his uncovered chest, only one thought runs rampant. It repeats, stronger and clearer – more terrifying – with every street they pass. By the time his feet are standing on cold, disinfected tile and the nurses are taking his sobbing wife away from him, it has become deafening. 

It’s too early. It’s three months too early. 

Lucy is taken behind the wide double doors, but when Natsu goes to follow he is stopped by the small but strong hands of a nurse who urges him to sit. He does because suddenly it feels like it’s too much to stand. He sinks into the plastic seat of the waiting room chair as he answers question after question for the nurse. 

“How old is your wife?”

“Does she have any history of miscarriage?”

“Is this her first pregnancy? Has she had any complications?”

He answers each one in a daze (She is twenty three. No, no history. Yes, this is their first. No, her pregnancy has been perfect – their baby is perfect). 

His eyes stare at the blood congealing on the white tile in a trail leading past the painted doors, and realizes that the blood covering him has turned cold. The nurse disappears and leaves him alone in the waiting room with only stale, muted music and his own numb thoughts for company. He counts and recounts the months but the number stays the same. Three. He doesn’t know if babies can survive being three months premature. He buries his hands in his hair and blood streaks across the pink strands as he inhales, gasping and struggling to pull oxygen into his lungs. The blood on the floor has been mopped up but he can still smell it hiding like bad dream beneath the burning scent of bleach.

By the time the double doors open again he is trembling and his heart feels like it is being strangled in his chest. The air still tastes too thin, too toxic, but when he sees the doctor’s white coat stained red he gulps it down greedily anyway. “Are they…?” He can’t finish the words, his throat is too tight to let them pass. 

The doctor looks too somber. Beneath the scent of Lucy’s blood and antiseptic his pores smell like nervous sweat and disappointment. Natsu can see the doctor’s mouth moving but can’t seem to make sense of the words – the medical jargon muddles his mind despite the clinician’s clear attempts to speak his language.

“Mr. Dragneel… Do you understand?” He lays a hand on his bare shoulder. It’s cold – like ice. Something in Natsu’s expression must tell him that he is still so lost, because the doctor’s voice softens with pity. “I can’t save them both.”

The air leaves his lungs in a rush, his throat clenching around a sob he refuses to release. The doctor’s hands close around both of his shoulders, steering him back into one of the many chairs as his knees fail him. “But you have to,” he pleas. Even to his own hear’s he sounds half crazed – desperate. “You have to! They’re both healthy! The baby is healthy! She’s been taking those vitamins everyday, and, and eating those gross salads, and –”

The doctor’s voice is firm, and even with his mind fogged by pain Natsu can hear the urgency behind his words. “Mr. Dragneel, I know this is hard, but time is critical. Your wife is unconscious and I need you to give me permission to do this procedure. I need you to tell me who to save.”

Who to save?

The tired look in the doctor’s dark eyes says what he won’t in words. It’s not just about who to save, but who to let go.

Natsu thinks of how beautiful Lucy looked that morning – how the sunlight tangled with her blonde strands as she gently rocked in the nursery chair she had taken weeks to pick out. He remembers the way her delicate hands caressed her protruding belly and smiled up at him with such warmth. He remembers the sudden rush of tenderness and love that surged through him.

Love for both of them.

It should be impossible to choose. Yet, somehow, his answer falls from his lips like a bitter tasting weight with little thought. Long after the doctor leaves he can still hear the echo of it falling to the floor. The sound rings painfully in his ears but no amount of covering them will dampen its shrill scream.

It feels like it takes days for the doctor to come back, but the steadily lightening sky outside tells him it’s only been hours. There is more blood staining his coat, some of it is on his shoes, but the somber smile he gives speaks of success instead of failure.

Natsu doesn’t wait for him to speak – doesn’t wait for him to confirm that his wife is alive because their child is dead. “Can I see her?” he asks, his voice no more than a hoarse croak. 

The small curve to the doctor’s lips fades, and he gives a solemn nod. “Of course. She won’t be awake for a while yet… But I’ll take you back.”

Natsu nods silently, not trusting his voice as he follows the physician’s red and white coat down a sterile maze of doors and hallways. When they finally get to her room, it takes him a moment to recognize his wife behind the web of tubing and wires. Fresh tears burn behind his lids but he wipes them away before they can travel down his cheeks as he takes Lucy’s hand in his. Her face is still pale, her pulse weak beneath his fingers, but she is undeniably alive.

He stays by her side, her hand held firmly between his and pressed intimately against his cheek while the monitor at her bedside tracks the time with monotonous beeps. Eventually one of the nurses convinces him to go home long enough to wash the blood off his skin and change into clean clothes.

It hurts to go back to their apartment. It hurts. After showering (most of which was spent numbly standing beneath the stream with the heat turned all the way on high) he finds himself in the nursery, surrounded by the various toys and gifts they had received only a week prior – several outfits from Erza and Jellal, a cloud mobile complete with a smiling sun from Juvia and Gray, and hundreds of other little things that make his heart clench. He turns away before he can let himself think too much, before he can give himself the chance to accept that in three months time the tiny room will still be silent. He shuts the door behind him.

He has to force himself to keep from running back to the hospital. He can’t tell if he is resisting the urge to run back to Lucy, or to run away from the truth that sits like a ticking time bomb in the apartment at his back. When he walks into the Lucy’s room she is conscious. Heavy tears roll down her cheeks and drip from her chin. Each one that falls feels like a failure – a stab to his already bruised heart. “You should have saved the baby,” she sobs. “Why didn’t you save the baby?!”

He feels his throat close in on the words, strangling them, but he forces them out. “I couldn’t let you go.”

She shakes her head and her tangled hair sticks wetly to her blotched cheeks. The strands cling to her skin the way her hands cling to hospital robe covering her stomach. “I’ll never be able to forgive you,” she whimpers. The confession is no more than a hoarse whisper, but the weight of it is staggering. 

Natsu doesn’t try to defend himself, because he knows. He knows because he isn’t sure if he can ever forgive himself either. He wraps his arms around her, relieved when she doesn’t push him away. As she sobs into his chest, her tears dampening the front of his shirt, he holds onto her and lets a few silent tears of his own escape. They hold each other until morning bleeds into the afternoon, and the sun sits high and bright in the sky as if to mock their pain.

A few days later, when Lucy is surrounded by friends and flowers, he walks to his favorite meadow. He goes to find some peace in solitude, to grieve away from worried eyes and maybe even bring Lucy back some flowers of his own, but when his eyes land on the colorful petals dotting the open field he feels anger instead of comfort. It rises in his chest and ignites a flame in his throat…

In a moment his meadow is turned into a sea of flames and hellfire, smoke curling up from the ground like a grieving ghost and clawing up at the sky. He lets it burn until there is nothing left but scarred, blackened earth. The ashes that fall stick to his dampened cheeks and dust his hair as his hands clench into the the steaming soil. 

A daughter. They would have had a daughter.

Broken Dream

For Day 2 of Phanniemay: Dreams

Valerie woke up in darkness, her crawling mind slowly gathering that she was buried beneath her blankets. The shrill blare of her alarm was barely muffled and incessant. She reached out of her cozy cocoon, blindly felt along the end table next to her, and slapped at the damn clock until she eventually found the snooze button. 

As wonderful a prospect of another nine whole of minutes would probably be, Valerie already knew it was too late. The spell was broken; there’d be no getting back to sleep now that she was awake. 

She blinked owlishly, half-stupefied by the morning sunshine streaming through her window. The lingering impressions of whatever she’d been dreaming dissolved like fragile cobwebs.

Still groggy, she sniffed the air.

…was that bacon?

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