nameless face in a crowd

Raison d’Être (YOI Political AU)

Part 1 of Political AU (11,966 words)

Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov

Tags: Alternative Universe, Political AU, President Nikiforov, Prime Minister Katsuki, Mutual Pining, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Fluff and Angst, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, Smitten Victor Nikiforov, Sassy Katsuki Yuuri

Rated: Explicit

1. reason or justification for existence; the thing that is most important to someone or something; the sole or ultimate purpose of someone.

President Nikiforov of Russia has a few weaknesses: premium rye vodka, an attention span of 30 minutes, and a torrid love affair with the Japanese Prime Minister.

Anonymity was a blessing, Victor thought, watching a crowd of nameless people passing by him on the streets, completely oblivious to his presence. The chance of casually walking everywhere, of doing your own thing and being just one more face in the crowd, nameless, unimportant, was something so trivial yet so underrated Victor only felt envy for it. Some people dedicated their lives to being someone – someone significant, someone renowned, someone who stood out like he did, and while he recognized that having a public image indeed had its bright sides, in moments like these he wished to be just one more face in the crowd, nameless and irrelevant to the world.

The freedom of walking down the street holding hands with his loved one was a distant dream, for he too suffered the same bane. They would never be trivial people, free to live how they wanted, and that was a blessing as much as a curse.

Read on AO3

{Avengers Imagine}

Song of the Siren: Chapter One (maybe??)

(Avengers x Fem!Reader)

  Note: This is a small piece for my lovely followers, whom of which I can’t thank enough for all of your patience. I’ve hit a major writer’s block for the Life of an Avenger series, so I’m just praying for a spark of inspiration in order to move forward. Until then, here’s a short little piece my dreams worked up that I’m simply putting into words for you all. I hope you enjoy my insanity.

  Words: 1,745

  Warnings: swearing, near-death experience

Originally posted by ironbarnes

  **(not my gifs)**

 Life wasn’t always this difficult. Life shouldn’t be this difficult. Yet, here you are. Trapped. The last of your aching breaths leaking unwillingly from your dying lungs that feel as though they are moments from turning to dust from the immense pressure of the ocean that surrounds you. And as the world went black, all you could wonder was, “Was he worth dying for?”

  Your day began in the bustling Manhattan coffee shop that everyone seemed to go to, but that wasn’t right. Everyone in the city went to every coffee shop that existed on every stinking block, yet the overcrowded nature of the shop gave the impression of a swarm of locusts, proving once again how enslaved the human race is to coffee. Like goddamn heroin addicts, the city dwellers emerge from their caves in frantic search of their daily (sometimes bi-daily, or even tri-daily) fix.

  Stepping out from the swarm, you laugh quietly at the thought, rolling your eyes at society’s ignorance as you ironically sip your latte, thinking of what a hypocritical shit you are. However, you quickly shrug the fleeting thought away. We can all try to be non-judgmental, but thoughts plague you. Whether you want them, or not. They just do. 

  Although Manhattan wasn’t where you expected your travels to take you as the sky lethargically melted cold, gray rain drops onto your nose. Surprisingly, you didn’t mind the change from your typical treks through Amazonian jungles, the coastlines of exotic islands, or the endlessly sunny days of the African plains. But this is where the dart landed, so…here you are. You couldn’t fathom how a day so dark could still be so-

  “Watch it, bitch!”

  Alright, reverie over.

  “Watch yourself, buddy,” you scoffed at the red-faced business man. “And, little tip: maybe if you could keep your head out of your tight-knit ass, you wouldn’t run into people so much. Just a suggestion.”

  The suited and tied up man just stared at you in the way most people stared at you when you finally said fuck it to being cordial. It wasn’t a rarity. He snorted dismissively, then shook his head as he spun on his heels.

  “Bitch,” he grumbled. What a comeback. That one really stung. 

  Coffee gripped in the vice of your fingertips, you continued on your merry way. To where? Well, even you didn’t know yet. You never really did. Most of the time you just go there, wherever “there” happened to be. You only had two more days in New York before you took flight to the Philippines for the second time as the Dart of Destiny demanded. Not a hard demand to acquiesce to as Cebu was the place of pure bliss and adventure for any off-the-beaten-path traveler. Diving with whale sharks being an experience straight out of a science fiction novel. 

  But that was for the future. You always strive to live in the present moment, and at that moment, you were finally making your way lithely to the edge of the violent, crashing wave of nameless faces. You quickly wondered if you could possibly know anyone in that crowd. It simultaneously felt entirely possible due to the sheer number of people, yet completely impossible for the same reason.

  Your steps became more relaxed as you approached the edge of the Hudson River, taking in the lazy ferries that passed beneath the Brooklyn Bridge. You could picture the tourists pulling out their crappy digital cameras, snapping photo after photo of a dirty bridge that’s only half-way decent looking from a distance. You know, the same distance that Google maps have taken. You remembered just a few days ago when you went on one of those tourist busses and kept telling people bullshit facts like Ozzy Osbourne performed a whole concert on top of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or the Bank of America Tower was rumored to host meetings for the Illuminati on the fifth and a half floor. Idiots.

  Suddenly, you became very aware of the photo of you on Wall Street picking the Charging Bull’s nose, so your hypocritical ass took another cheeky sip of ironic coffee. And the judgement comes full circle. However, in the middle of your righteous sip, a thunder rolled through the heavens. You waited for the crack and flash of lightning, but the main event never appeared. Odd. The thunder also never seemed to stop rolling. Like a bowling ball down an endless alley, only you felt not on the side of the thrower, but strangely on the side of the pins as the deafening sound approached closer by the second, ripping apart the normal bustling sounds of the city, more raw and demanding than any plane or helicopter you had ever heard before. Half a second later, your eyes caught sight of the burning wreckage barreling its way through the gray ceiling of clouds in a spectacle of brilliant color and smoke, dropping two black shadows into the murky water below before it crashed heavily into the Hudson River not a few blocks down from you.

  You watched as people crowded the edges of the river closest to the crash sight, pointing at the grizzly scene before them, pulling out cell phones to (hopefully) call the police (but you were sure some were just there for the bloody photos). You stood motionless, waiting for the two black figures to resurface…waiting…waiting…where the hell were they? You felt the tug in your stomach towards the water, but you shoved the feeling down.

  Don’t be stupid. They’ll find you. Don’t be the hero. They’ll kill you.

  The voices in your head pleaded reason, demanded logic, fought against empathy, chained up your humanity. But, you knew. You knew you could save them, whoever those black shadows were. The ambulances wouldn’t arrive on time. You knew…yet, you slowly turned your back on the tragic scene. Tragic as it was, it wasn’t your tragedy to deal with. You had plenty of your own.

  Just as you were pulling up the hood on your sweatshirt, your mind reeled on itself, like a volt of electricity, your mind was shocked back to quick images of you and your sister. Smiles and laughter, colorful coral reefs, playful dolphins, mesmerizing sunsets…your soulmate ripped away by “true love” and too much trust being placed in humans. 

  However, could you just walk away? Risking your own possible death for the absolute sure deaths of two others? What is worth dying for?

  Finally, the sound of traumatized screams pierced your ears, and you turned mid-step, racing to the dock closest to you in an attempt to provide as much coverage of yourself as possible before diving straight into the gray water of the river. Ice immediately sliced down your spine with a vengeance, but you shook away the violent chill spreading through your chest as your body began to change in a flurry of sea foam. Your legs became numb as they naturally found a rhythm with the water, immediately propelling you forward like a missile destined to find it’s target. With your vision clear and your senses heightened to their max, you felt a surge of adrenaline rush through your veins as you reached the crash sight. All you could see was hundreds upon thousands of pounds of wreckage, but you quickly ripped through the debris, shoving aside heavy, black metal until a hand was spotted underneath one of the severed doors. 

  You pulled away more debris when you finally saw the face of the man you were attempting to save and…damn…that wasn’t what you were expecting. Blond hair cut in the typical hero style, the water twisting his hair with the rolling current. He looked peaceful, contempt as his body continued to sink. Your fingers grasped the collar of his navy blue, patriotic uniform, pulling him close. Your lips met his as you breathed life into his almost dead lungs. His blue eyes fluttered open, shocked (as you had expected) to be where he was, but you put him back to sleep and let him float back to the surface, maneuvering pieces of debris out of his path in a heavenly scene. However, your dumb heroism wasn’t completed until you found the other shadow.

  This proved more complex than you first thought as his suit blended in with the rest of the charred debris. If not for the shock of red and gold, he would’ve been pronounced dead within the next hour. Luckily, you found him struggling between two pieces of what looked like the wings of the jet, his metallic leg trapped. You could sense his fear as he thrashed wildly trying to escape, seeming to have given up on a more mechanical approach. You squeezed your body between the rubble, wincing at the sharp fragments that clawed at your skin, but you swam on, finally reaching the metal man, prying apart the jet with incomprehensible strength. Knowing he was conscious, you tried to avoid his line of vision as you maneuvered the water to carry him to the surface, much like a geyser, before he could really get a look at you. You could feel him struggle against the geyser, but you were stronger. In the water, you were always stronger.

Originally posted by v8r

Tony’s POV

  Not knowing things was not a feeling Tony was accustomed to, a feeling he vowed to abolish from his feeling of feelings. 

  She was a mirage. She was a figment of my drowning imagination. Didn’t know I had that kind of an imagination, but sure, why not? She was hot…ter than most delusions people have, but not hotter than Pepper. Definitely not…whatever, she wasn’t real because that would be impossible.

  On the other hand, that hailing land of Game of Thrones douche bags up in Asgard should be impossible, yet that exists…but a…a, uh…a siren. That’s just a pirate’s wet dream. This is reality. A place of science and sanity…with Norse gods randomly walking the Earth. 

  What the hell has my life become?

  Tony slumped down on the lab table in front of himself, shoving aside a new arch reactor he had been tinkering with to rid his mind of his (what should have been) moment of death, vision of the afterlife, cross between realities, whatever you want to call it. But he couldn’t. He had seen something, someone, a girl he would never be able to forget. A girl he would, one day, seek out. A girl he would find.

**Please let me know if anyone wants more of this series. Like and comment xx

Day 1

I wrote this before Reyes Appreciation Week had official prompts, but I think this counts as The Sweet Hello. Also, this is slightly NSFW, like maybe? No nudity… idk. Read at your own pleasure, I mean risk!

Jien Garson could throw a party, Reyes would give her that. Thousands of pioneers had filled the auditorium to hear her speech, and now every bar within ten miles was stuffed with those celebrating just how alive they were before they all bunkered down into cryostasis the next morning.

During the Andromeda Initiative founder’s speech every single one of them had been moved by her candor and unshakable faith in what they were doing. Even Reyes had to admit that the woman gave him high hopes for what his future could be in the Heleus Cluster. Jien Garson offered him the chance to be someone else, to be someone that had left a tragic youth behind him, shrugged out from under the cloak of mediocrity he’d worn for so long, and actually applied himself to something greater.

His blood pounded in his veins in time with the relentless beat of the music, and his chest was warm with more than just the burn of the expensive whiskey he was drinking. Reyes leaned back against the bar, languishing in the euphoric feeling that was the product of too much whiskey and newfound hope. He knocked back his drink, finishing it with a hiss. The booze didn’t burn as much as it should, a tell-tale sign that he’d had enough for one night.

He gestured for a refill, and the bartender didn’t hesitate to pour more whiskey into the glass. A celebration like this may not happen again his lifetime; he could afford to let himself enjoy it.

The bar was packed. Not only were hordes of Initiative pioneers present, but it was also New Year’s Eve and the party was in full swing. He let his eyes wander over the dance floor, enjoying the view of writhing bodies. Every species was represented in the pulsing throng. Young, old, inexperienced, it didn’t matter. Tonight’s party was an expression of pure joy, the thrill of a job well done. They deserved it.

Hell, he deserved it.

He watched them move, and smiled. Reyes loved dancing, but he rarely indulged in the activity. Though, nothing else had quite the same allure for him. When he joined a crowded dance floor, he was no one, a shadow. A nameless face in the crowd until his hands found the hips of some stranger, and the world focused in on that one person for the duration of a song.

He was someone then. For five minutes he could move his body along with someone he would never see again, could connect with them on a level he never would face-to-face. And for those few minutes he mattered.

Reyes finished his drink, setting the empty glass back on the bar before he prowled out onto the dance floor.

There wasn’t much room, and bodies pressed close to him as he found the rhythm and allowed the whiskey to loosen his muscles. The throng of limbs verged on the cusp of being chaotic, but the music kept them moving just similarly enough to bring them together, until the dance floor pulsed and pounded like waves against the shore.

He was alone, but enveloped in the heat of bodies that refused to let him feel lonely. He moved through the crowd, following the natural flow of the dance floor, not searching for anything, but letting the music carry him where he needed to go.

And then she was there. It was hard to tell through the pulsing red and blue lights, and harder still to tell through the haze of the six glasses of whiskey, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen her before. In the roiling dark, he couldn’t really see her face, but her body he understood instantly.

She was shorter than him, but perfectly so, so that his face buried into the crook of her neck naturally. She pressed her back to his chest, and her ass pressed against him eagerly. And while her body pressed to his set fire to the alcohol in his bloodstream, she struggled to keep up with the demanding beat of the music.

Reyes let his hands fall to her hips, his strong fingers guiding her body along with his. She learned quickly, and soon his hands didn’t have to instruct, he didn’t have to do anything but surrender to the heat of her body flush against his.

As the rhythm increased she threw her head back to rest against his shoulder. Her left hand snaked up to tangle in his hair, and he was overcome with a sudden, aching need to kiss her. But, he reined it in. This was a party, they were just dancing, no matter how deliciously her hips ground against his.

He bowed his head, his nose trailing against the bare skin of her shoulder that gleamed at him from under her asymmetrical, wide-necked blouse.

Her hand in his hair tightened, and before he could pull back, before the apology on his tongue could get past his lips, that hand tugged his face down to hers.

Her lips were fire against his, warm and sweet from some mixed drink. Something with pineapple, he realized as her tongue teased at his bottom lip. He moaned against her mouth, giving her the access she demanded. He could smell the salt of sweat on her skin, and a hint of something fresh and clean in her hair. Maybe mint?

His head spun, dizzy from the ferocity of her kiss and too much booze. Their movements barely qualified as dancing anymore, and as his mind raced with the possibilities of where this night might head, Reyes had to admit he was drunk.

The song ended, and she spun in his arms, her hands clasping at the back of his head as she dragged him deeper into her kiss. He moaned again, and she rolled her hips against him as she broke the kiss.

He groaned at the loss of her soft, warm lips, his head falling back and his eyes closed against his sudden frustration. She stood on the tips of her toes to press her lips to his ear.

“Thanks for the dance,” she murmured, something deliciously wicked in her low, raspy voice.

And then she was gone.

He watched her walk away, determined to burn as many details of her into his drunken mind. That woman might be in Andromeda, and if she was he was going to find her.

If, by some miracle, he managed to remember her in the morning.

but, for now
i’m an outstretched hand when you stand on the side of the stage

a voice in the chorus of doubt

i’m the laughter when you introduce spooky jim to the crowd
in yet another way,

the screams that mean so much more than just
“oh my god, you’re real”

i’m the tears that are held back during addict with a pen
the same tears that flow freely during goner and trees

i’m a nameless face in the crowd

thankful for being here

for being alive

for this hour and a half of live sounds that remind me to go on




Don’t Make It Weird pt. 8

Eren groaned when he woke up to his phone ringing. He laid there for a moment, staring up at his ceiling before he reached over to grab it. 


“Hey! Guess what?” 

He groaned again. “Mikasa, do you know how early it is?”

“Eren, it’s fucking noon. It’s not early at all.”

“What do you want?” He whined, rolling over on his stomach. 

“It’s Saturday, Dad is going out with some friends tonight—”

Eren scoffed. “Yeah, I know,” he grumbled. He couldn’t get it out of his head the phone call that he heard from Levi. 

“Uh…” Mikasa paused but decided not to dwell on it for too long. “So, I was thinking that we could go out to a party. I got a couple addresses from Sasha and Connie and they’re going too so I think it’ll be fun. You know, get out and let loose. You really need that.”

He sat up, rubbing his face and ran a hand through his hair. “A party? We haven’t been to a party in a while. Last one we went to was… graduation night?”

She laughed. “Yeah, and that one was great. So maybe we’ll have just as much fun. You never know if you don’t try, right?”

She did have a point. Eren really needed to get out, God did he need a drink or maybe four. “Okay, okay fine. Sounds good. I’ll just… have to come up with an excuse or something for my parents. Honestly, shouldn’t be too hard.”

And it wasn’t. He got Armin to cover for him if his mom or dad called to ask how Eren was doing and the moment Levi left his house with Hange and a tall blond that Eren assumed was Erwin, he was out the front door and over to Mikasa’s. 

When she opened the door, she was wearing short shorts and a crop top. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail and her grin was wide. 

“Your dad would kill you if he saw you wearing that.”

“That’s the point,” she winked playfully. “You don’t look too bad yourself. Ripped skinny jeans are your thing.” She nudged him with and grabbed her keys before stepping outside and locking the door. 

They could hear the music faintly from down the block and Mikasa was practically jumping in her shoes. Their friends met them there, Sasha and Connie already having drinks in their hands. 

It wasn’t before long until they all had drinks in their hands, dancing in the large crowd of nameless faces. Eren would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel better with a few drinks in him that allowed him to loosen up and sway to the music that thumped through the entire house. 

Mikasa kept herself close to Jean who greatly accepted her proximity and Eren stood off to the side as he finished off his fifth beer. He could definitely feel a buzz now, making him feel warm and relaxed. It was nice, compared to whenever he wasn’t tipsy. 

“You knooooow,” Sasha drawled once they gathered around him. “’s gettin’ kinda late, maybe we should get home,” she slurred and she stumbled a little, Connie catching her before she fell over. 

“Yeah,” Mikasa giggled as she leaned into Jean. “C’mon Eren, lets goooooo.”

She was obviously a little wasted than Eren was himself but he appreciated Jean helping them home. He’d only had a couple drinks, knowing that his friends would get themselves shitfaced — much like Mikasa at the moment. 

“Thanksssss, Jean,” she slurred and placed a kiss on his cheek. Eren giggled at her gesture and Jean’s blush before giving him a crooked smile. They turned around and stumbled their way to the front door, Mikasa fumbling with the keys to try and open the door. 

They couldn’t stop themselves from giggling, the front door opening before Mikasa could pick up her keys that she had dropped. 

“Hey, Daaad,” she giggled and stumbled, Levi’s arms reaching out to catch her before she could fall over. “How’s it goin’?” Eren giggled as she slurred her words even more. 

“I go out for one night.” Levi shakes his head and helped the two inside. Eren sat on the couch giggling to himself, twirling his hair with his fingers. Levi was downstairs after putting Mikasa to bed. He stared at Eren for a minute, waiting until the boy noticed him. 

“Oh,” Eren grinned, “hey hot stuff.” There was one thing Eren enjoyed about being tipsy. He didn’t have a filter. “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

Levi sighed, plopping down on the couch next to him and he rubbed his forehead. “You’re supposed to be a good influence on Mikasa.”

“It was her idea,” Eren shrugged and leaned over into Levi’s side, head resting on Levi’s shoulder. “She wanted to go out and I jus’ said yes. It was fun.”

The older man tensed under Eren before relaxing a little. “You can go out and have fun without getting drunk.” His fingers found Eren’s hair and carded through it gently. 

“‘M not drunk,” Eren pouted. “Jus’ a little tipsy is all.”

Levi chuckled a little. “Okay, without getting tipsy. It’s the same thing, Eren. And it’s extremely illegal for you to be drinking anyway.”

Eren wasn’t listening, instead he focused on Levi’s fingers through his hair and his scent that was so, so close. Levi was so close. They were touching. Their sides pressed together and Eren was in heaven. 

“Hey,” Levi nudged him. “Are you listening?”

“Hm?” Eren looked over at him, blinking lazily. “Nnnnope. Jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout you.” He giggled and his eyes flickered to Levi’s lips. They were right there. Eren could lean over and kiss them if he wanted to. 

And he did. 

He pressed his lips to Levi’s, trying to be as gentle as he could but it was difficult with the alcohol still buzzing through him, mixing with the excitement of Levi’s amazing lips on his. Eren had dreamt about this for years and he finally made it happen. 

Levi’s lips moved against his, much to his amazing surprise and he moved clumsily to sit in Levi’s lap. His hands gripped Levi’s shoulders to keep himself balanced. Levi’s hands were on his hips, gripping roughly as if Eren would slip away at any moment. 

“Eren,” Levi’s voice brought him back and they pulled away. “Eren, you’re tipsy. And this is illegal.”

“So?” He mumbled and pressed his lips to Levi’s jaw. “I don’t care. Not right now.” Levi’s head tilted back slightly, allowing Eren’s lips more access for a moment. 

“You should,” Levi murmured and his hands roamed around Eren’s back. 

“But I like you,” Eren confessed. He couldn’t help it. Levi was right there and his hands were all over his body and his lips were even better than Eren had ever thought they would be. “A lot. I like you so much. I think about you a lot and I needed this to happen.”

After a moment, he was pulled away. “But we shouldn’t do this when you’re tipsy and not in the right mind. And you’re only 17. I could get in a lot of trouble if someone found out.”

Tears filled Eren’s eyes. He knew the rejection was going to come but he was expecting it later rather than soon. Mostly because he hadn’t planned to kiss Levi but he certainly couldn’t help it.

“Eren, no, don’t cry.”

But Eren already was. He moved out of Levi’s lap, stumbling a little and he gripped the wall as he did. “I’m sorry. I-I should go.” 

“Eren, no—”

“No, this is my fault. I’m sorry that I’m illegal and drunk and that I like you. Sorry that I’m gay and you’re not and that all of this was a mistake and I’m sorry.” He was full on crying now, his hands were shaking and his knees felt like jello.

“Let’s get you upstairs.” Levi helped him up the stairs without another word, putting him to bed.

“Goodnight, Eren,” he whispered after Eren had fallen asleep and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Welcome Aboard

Spn AU: You’re Jensen’s wife and you’re officially becoming apart of the on set crew.

Jensen x Reader //Mark/Misha/Rob/Richard/Jared

Forever tag list: @Freaksforthewin , @thewinhunter, @cambriacaneatnoodles, @brokennoone , @youtubehelpsmesurvive , @chrisevansthedoritobastard , @winchesters-favorite-girl , @we-know-a-little-about-a-lot @godh8salyssa @dean-baby-Winchester @straightasdeanwinchester @animexchocolate

At almost every convention, you lingered behind the curtains, awaiting your green eyed prince to come back off stage. This was until you’d stolen a slice of the spotlight and joined the crew. Well, the crew on set and being filmed.

You and J (Jensen) had been together for about seven years now, all the while you were egging him on off set. Over the course of twelve seasons, you’d appeared here and there. Usually an extra in some horrible wig to disguise your actual looks. But when you actually got a moment in the good life, the fandom ate you up.

One episode of your character, Rebekah, and people were begging for more. That was a whole whopping three seasons ago too. Of course Rebekah had made a few pops up between then and now, keeping everybody on their toes a little about what was going to happen between her and the boys.

Everybody was positioned at their seats at the comic-con event. All but one chair was filled.

“Last but most certainly not least, the unique Y/n Ackles.” Rob had given your entrance along with Richard who instantly began clapping.

The entire audience stoop up, their applause filling the area like a roar. You’d never been apart of an event like this, so they knew it was important. Everybody sitting scooted down one chair and allowed you to sit right between Jensen and Jared.

Both of your hands waved in an exited manner.

“We love you, Y/n!” A small group of fans yelled out from somewhere around the back. The biggest smile spread across your lips while your hands made an uneven heart in their direction.

“I said it long before you did.” Jensen interrupted the sweet appreciated moment. He casually took a sip of water and pretended to be upset.

The crowd began to laugh while cameras flashed in your direction. From the corner of your eye you noticed Jared fixing his beanie on the beast he called his hair. Of course you slightly shook your head and then directed your attention back to Richard who began to speak.

“Alright, let’s wrap it up with a final question.” Hands shot up in the air, more than you’d seen since the event began.

Rob pointed to a nameless face in the crowd who happily stood up and waltzed over to the microphone.

“Hi.” Her cheeks were bright red and her hands folded together. “My question is for Y/n.” You returned her smile with your own. “Will we be seeing Rebekah anytime soon in the show for a lengthy amount of episodes?”

Before answering, you glanced over at Robert who have you an assuring nod that it was okay to spill the beans.

“Hopefully I’ll be around longer than usual this time.” You bit your bottom lip a little while trying to hold back the smile that tried to erupt from your lips as the entire audience hooped and hollered. “So far, I’m not dead or cut off. Fingers crossed that becomes a constant pattern.”

Mark chimed into the small conversation.

“Look at Misha. If he could last this long, anybody could.” Everybody, including the cast, began to laugh.

Jensen hung his head low while Jared held his in his giant man paws. Leaning over you got a better look at Misha who was close to having a bright red apple face from laughing so hard.

“No hard feelings, Misha.” Your hand reached over and patted his arm in a “comforting” manner. “I’ll send you a postcard when I takeover.”

“On that note-”

The event ended faster than it started it seemed, but you were beyond happy to finally be apart of the crew officially and out in the open. Hopefully long term this time around.


Promnis, ~2500 words. Sad and sweet. 

Another AU no one asked for. Someone mentioned long distance relationships and I tripped and fell on my keyboard. I’m a Chicago girl, so please excuse the descriptions of LA and New York if they’re not entirely accurate. Mood is the guitar on Richard Edward’s Lil’ Dead Eye-d because I was listening to it on repeat last time I was in New York and the soft, sad harmonies are beautiful and fit even if the lyrics don’t. AO3 Link, because I’m weak and am stupid excited to actually post something. Thanks to @goramidiot for reading over this and assuring me that it was not, in fact, entirely self indulgent crap  ♡

New York is cold.

Prompto stands in front of Ignis’s building, shivering violently in his hoodie and jeans as the rain pours down around the leaking plastic canopy above him. He hadn’t packed a jacket- hadn’t packed much of anything, really, other than a change of clothes and a few extra pairs of socks. He’s beginning to regret the fact now.

The building towers in front of him, painting quite the imposing picture with its barred lobby windows and rough gray stone façade that matches the color of the angry sky. He remembers it having been far more welcoming than it appears now. Prompto’s fingers hover over the plastic nameplate set next to the door, hesitating at the top when he reaches the name Scientia spelled out in Ignis’s neat handwriting.

For the first time since he stepped onto the plane in Los Angeles, Prompto considers that this might not have been the best of ideas. Ignis might not be home, after all. He might even have other guests. But it had been hard to stay entirely rational when he’d uncovered a box of old photos tucked away in the back of his closet. Most were landscapes, artistically filtered shots of the sun setting over the hills or various, nameless faces mingling through midday crowds, but somewhere near the bottom Prompto had found an envelope and several rolls of film marked “road trip” in big, sloppy letters. Inside was an album’s worth of loose photos taken over the course of two weeks when they’d made a vacation out of packing up Noct’s apartment and moving him out east. Scattered among the selfies and shaky shots taken through rolled down car window was Ignis, laughing across the front seat and suddenly Prompto’s heart had ached.

He’d caught the next flight out.

Prompto sighs and presses the buzzer, shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously as he waits.

After a long pause, Ignis’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Yes?” he asks with the curt intonation of someone who is not expecting guests.

“Hey Iggy.” Prompto replies, feeling a bit sheepish as he fidgets in the cold. “Surprise?”

There is a beat of silence before Ignis responds, “…Prompto?”

“Can I come up?”

The loud sound of buzzing seems to echo off the buildings around him and Prompto pulls hard on the metal door.


“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Ignis says, five flights of stairs later when Prompto sets his small suitcase down roughly on the floor. Ignis stands in the open doorway, dressed casually in dark jeans and a pale blue collared shirt with the top button undone. Prompto’s heart skips a beat at the sight; it takes all the self-control he possesses not to fall into Ignis’s arms right there in the hallway. He wonders if the neighbors would mind.

Instead he gives a small, embarrassed laugh and shrugs. “I didn’t really know I was coming either.”

Warmth radiates from Ignis’s apartment as Prompto steps inside and out of his wet shoes. Inside, at least, hasn’t changed much since last time he was here. The place is small in the most comfortable sense dominated by a kitchen decidedly too large for the apartment’s footprint, the marble covered island acting as a focal point for the entire room. There isn’t much by the way of decoration, just a few framed art prints and several of Prompto’s photos scattered across the stark white walls, but the whole thing still seems like an image out of a magazine.

“You could’ve called,” Ignis says, closing the door with a gentle click behind Prompto. “I could’ve sent someone to pick you up.”

“I thought you might say no.”

“Have I ever?”

Prompto smiles and steps forward, resting his arms on Ignis’s shoulders. “Plenty of times,” he teases, “you’re just too polite to say it outright.”

Ignis hums in acknowledgment, settling his hands on the small of Prompto’s back in return. “I have to be at the restaurant tonight,” he mumbles apologetically, “You’re welcome to stay here if you’d like.”

Prompto shakes his head, “Nah, I’ll come with.”

Ignis smiles.

They walk through the brightly lit streets side by side under the cover of one old umbrella, one of Ignis’s jackets draped over Prompto’s shoulders. Ignis tucks his cane under his arm, allowing Prompto to guide him through the busy streets, though Prompto thinks it is more for his benefit than Ignis’s. The other man directs him more often than not, telling him when and where to turn, calling his attention back when Prompto is momentarily distracted by the myriad of people who cross their path.

New York overwhelms Prompto. It stretches out around him in all directions like a densely packed labyrinth, a mosaic of crumbling old buildings set among the sparkling new, each filled to the brim with people pressing around as far as his eyes can see. He’s become used to the relaxed air of Los Angeles, where people only seem to crowd the beachfront and mingle along the boardwalks with an aimless, carefree air, their only purpose to enjoy the breeze that floats in from the ocean. Everyone here seems to be in a hurry, darting around each other and across streets with a determination that Prompto can’t seem to understand. He wonders how Ignis manages.

There is already a line queued outside the restaurant when they arrive. Ignis doesn’t take reservations- a subtle slight to the city’s elite- but the fact keeps the place less exclusive and always busy. They enter through an unassuming door in the back, and Prompto is quickly introduced to a host of chefs and servers whose names he forgets almost as soon as they are given. He shakes their hands anyway, grateful for their friendly smiles, before Ignis steers him out into the dining room.

“Thoughts?” he asks, and Prompto is fairly certain he can hear a note of uncertainty in his tone. Prompto understands. It isn’t Ignis’s first restaurant, but it is the first since the accident. Ignis had only just negotiated the rent on this location last time Prompto had been to New York. He has seen pictures posted among the restaurant reviews he had searched online, but it is surprisingly different in person. Prompto takes a step into the room and away from Ignis and turns slowly, admiring. The space is both comfortable and modern, set with abundant warm, dim lights that cast an intimate atmosphere over a sea of industrial style decor. Bits of steel pipe and copper accents glint around the room and lighten the weight of the dark, roughly hewn tables.

“It’s amazing,” Prompto says sincerely and Ignis scoffs lightly, “No, really. I love it, Iggy.”

“Noctis helped,” Ignis supplies, “The glass menu boards were his idea.”

Prompto swallows a small pang of jealousy and smiles, “You guys did great.”

Ignis shows him to a seat at the bar, close enough to the kitchen that Prompto can hear the sound of his voice rising over the clattering of pots and pans as he addresses his staff. Prompto resists the urge to follow, to slip his arms around Ignis’s waist and press his cheek to the other man’s back while he cooks, like they used to years ago when an entire country hadn’t separated them. Ignis doesn’t cook much at this point, his presence more for guidance than anything else, but Prompto still finds himself straining to catch glimpses of him working through the small window to the kitchen.

Before long, the doors open and a steady stream of customers fill up the space. Prompto watches them idly from his seat, fingers itching for the camera he’d left back in Ignis’s apartment. From time to time, Ignis appears with a small army of servers from the kitchen, placing dish after impeccably plated dish in front of him to try along with the correct pairing of wine. Most of them are so pretty that Prompto feels like he’s destroying a piece of artwork when he digs his fork in.

After the third set of dishes have been cleared away and a warm feeling of complacency has settled over him, Prompto can’t help leaning across the bar, kissing Ignis gently and delighting in the way the other man smiles against his lips. The couple sitting next to him glances over with curious eyes, but Prompto is too content to be embarrassed and Ignis doesn’t seem to mind.

They take a cab home at the end of the night. Prompto ignores the questions from the driver in the front seat, too distracted pressing warm kisses against the edge of Ignis’s jaw to pay any attention to the city lights that speed by outside the window.

Ignis chuckles and gently removes Prompto’s fingers from where they have begun undoing the buttons on his shirt, instead lacing their fingers together and kissing Prompto’s knuckles softly. “Tomorrow,” he promises, voice low, and Prompto shivers.

He falls asleep that night in a sea of down blankets, content in the warm circle of Ignis’s arms.


Prompto is awakened the next morning by the feeling of a soft weight settling on the edge of the bed. For a moment, he’s convinced it is Ignis returning to wake him and rolls over to make room. But the weight shifts along the center of the bed, stepping lightly onto his chest. Prompto opens his eyes and finds himself staring into the face of a large cat with bright green eyes and long, white fur dusted with dark brown and orange patches. It mews at him demandingly and presses its head into his hand as he reaches up to stroke it.

“You have a cat now?” he asks Ignis when he arrives in the kitchen, the cat following at his heels. The smell of something baking, sweet and warm, drifts from the oven and makes Prompto’s stomach growl audibly.

“Paprika.” Ignis confirms with a nod. It takes Prompto a moment to realize that Ignis is telling him the name of the cat, not asking for Prompto to fetch him a spice from the pantry, “I’m told the name suits her rather well.”

The cat pads its way across the kitchen, pausing to press the length of her body languidly against the back of Ignis’s legs. He smiles, reaching down to offer her a small piece of bacon, which she sniffs before daintily biting and bounds off toward the fire escape outside the open window.

The entire exchange is so domestic that Prompto can’t suppress the wide smile that steals across his face, “I didn’t think you were a cat person.”

“I’m not. She followed me home from the restaurant one day and hasn’t left,” he says, a small smile turning up the corner of his own lips, “much like someone else I know.”

Prompto laughs and shoves Ignis’s shoulder gently, earning him a wider smile in return. Momentarily emboldened, he reaches forward, dodging the spatula that swipes at his fingers as he steals his own piece of bacon directly from the pan and turns to pour himself a cup of coffee. Task accomplished, he climbs onto the counter next to the stove, feet swinging idly below him as he watches Ignis cook.

“How long are you staying?” Ignis asks eventually over the soft sound of frying.

Prompto pretends to consider, humming gently. “Forever?” he jokes, grinning around the bacon currently burning his tongue.

“That could be arranged,” Ignis chuckles. For a moment Prompto is silent, lost in daydreams of waking up this way every morning, instead of to his cold bed and empty apartment back home. As if reading his mind, Ignis adds, “There are photography jobs in New York, you know.”

Prompto snorts gently into his coffee in response, “And people need to eat in L.A. too.”

Ignis frowns at the pan in front of him and Prompto instantly regrets his reply.

He knows what Ignis is going to say before he has even opened his mouth. ‘The restaurant is at a critical stage right now, leaving right now would be impossible,’ or something similar enough. It’s a conversation they’ve had enough times over the years that Prompto can walk through the steps of the argument almost as though it were a well-rehearsed dance. It’s a conversation that leaves Prompto feeling cold and unreasonable, ultimately not enough, though he knows those kinds of thoughts are unfair.

It would be easiest for him to move here, to settle into Ignis’s life and the soft sheets of his bed permanently, but if Ignis recognizes this, he is tactful enough to never point it out. Admittedly, Prompto toys with the idea from time to time, but the thought of leaving the warm waters and sunsets of California for the city that sprawls outside Ignis’s windows makes him fidget with sudden anxiety. He isn’t sure if it is the change of scenery or the fear of agitating the fragility of their current arrangement that causes it. Either way, it seems better not to risk it.

Instead, Prompto grabs Ignis by his belt loops, tugging slightly to turn him before pressing their lips together in a kiss he hopes serves as an apology.

Ignis presses his lips gently to Prompto’s forehead in return when they part, and turns back to his pan.

They don’t bring up moving again.


Ignis takes the day off. He offers to take Prompto to central park, but they somehow never make it out the door, instead falling into bed repeatedly until Ignis gives up on suggesting they leave. The sound of traffic filters in through the partially open windows along with the overcast light, and Prompto drifts in and out of sleep, his heart full.  


He leaves the next morning.

Ignis stands with him at the curb, holding an umbrella against the soft drops of rain that have begun to fall again, as they wait for a driver to arrive.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to accompany you?” he asks.

“C’mon, Iggy,” Prompto laughs, “It’s just the airport. I can handle it.”

Ignis nods. They’re both aware it’s not exactly the truth, that Prompto would like nothing more than to spend another half hour with his hand tucked safely into Ignis’s, but it’s easier for them both to say their goodbyes here. Ignis opens his mouth slightly, before closing it with a gentle frown, and Prompto bites his bottom lip.

He wonders if actually saying the words would change things for either of them.

“Noct’ll be back from London next month,” he says instead, “You’re coming to the party Gladio and I are throwing, right?”

Ignis’s regards him with a small, sad smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.“

Moments later, the car arrives, tires squealing slightly as it pulls to a stop beside the curb. Prompto steps to meet it, placing his bag in the trunk before turning to call his final goodbye with a small wave that is more a matter of habit. Ignis stays at the curb even after they have pulled away; Prompto watches him through the back window until the car reaches the corner and Ignis is suddenly lost from sight.

Around him the city speeds by, a sea of faces blending together as they accelerate.

Prompto shivers, suddenly cold.

Dancing in the Moonlight (m)

Word Count: 4,607

Warning: Namjoon smut

If there were a way for you to escape responsibility, you’d gladly accept, whatever the consequences might be.

“Now smile and hold your head up high,” the voice behind you says drowning with sternness and expectations.

“Yes, mother.”

Keep reading

You are the main character, the supporting role, a nameless background character, a face in the crowd, part of the scenery. You are all of these things simultaneously. You are different things to different people. Each of us has our own unique individual world that only exists within our minds. We see every person differently to how others see them. We are seen in a billion different ways. There are all these versions of who you are, each one as real as the next.

Pocket Full of Soul (1): Introduction

Death Weapon Meister Academy is much, much bigger than Phoenix was prepared for.

He’s been nervous since he got on the plane, with a kiss from his mother and a pat on the head from his father to see him off. It’s supposed to be a short flight, just a matter of an hour or so once they’re in the air; but to Phoenix every minute feels like a lifetime, as even the view of the ground vanishing to clouds below him barely distracts from the thud of panic rising to tighten against his chest. He’s never felt this alone before in all his life, and what sounded like an exciting adventure when he managed his first partial weapon transformation now seems like an impossible responsibility against his shoulders, and the academy that seemed like such an elite structure on the glossy pages of the brochure seems now like a jail for those cursed, as he is, with the shape of a potentially dangerous weapon inside them. Phoenix tips his head against the window of the plane, feels the air chill as ice against the other side; and he shuts his eyes tight, and tries not to cry.

It’s midmorning when he arrives and disembarks from the small plane that brought him to the outskirts of the city before following the signs through the winding streets to the front of the Academy itself. The school looms over the rest of the buildings, houses and shops and offices all dwarfed by its imposing presence; Phoenix feels more lost than ever, even with the scattering of other children his age and older that are converging on the front of the school. He ducks his head, feeling horribly exposed in his own uncertainty in the situation, and climbs the stairs with a stoic determination to avoid eye contact with anyone else around him until he makes it to his classroom.

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Raison d’Être

Part 1 of Political AU (14,856 words)

Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov

Tags: Alternative Universe, Political AU, President Nikiforov, Prime Minister Katsuki, Mutual Pining, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Fluff and Angst, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, Smitten Victor Nikiforov, Sassy Katsuki Yuuri

Rated: Explicit

1. reason or justification for existence; the thing that is most important to someone or something; the sole or ultimate purpose of someone.

President Nikiforov of Russia has a few weaknesses: premium rye vodka, an attention span of 30 minutes, and a torrid love affair with the Japanese Prime Minister.

Anonymity was a blessing, Victor thought, watching a crowd of nameless people passing by him on the streets, completely oblivious to his presence. The chance of casually walking everywhere, of doing your own thing and being just one more face in the crowd, nameless, unimportant, was something so trivial yet so underrated Victor only felt envy for it. Some people dedicated their lives to being someone – someone significant, someone renowned, someone who stood out like he did, and while he recognized that having a public image indeed had its bright sides, in moments like these he wished to be just one more face in the crowd, nameless and irrelevant to the world.

The freedom of walking down the street holding hands with his loved one was a distant dream, for he too suffered the same bane. They would never be trivial people, free to live how they wanted, and that was a blessing as much as a curse.

Read on AO3

Fanart by nae812

New Years Eve a few years down the line where Jack kissing Bitty in Times Square, either in the crowd where they’re just another nameless face or in front of cameras for the world to see. Either way makes Bitty’s chest light up.

New Years Eve where Nursey and Dex have been eyeing each other all night and right before the ball drops they kiss Chowder on either cheek instead.

New Years Eve where Holster hollers at the TV because honestly they could have gotten anyone better to play in the Square than these losers when Ransom plants a huge kiss on his cheek with over exaggerated wet noises and laughs at the look on Holster’s face when he does.

New Years Eve where Shitty and Lardo are chilling and relaxed and the ball hasn’t even dropped yet when Lardo leans over and pecks Shitty on the mouth. “Wanted to get a head start,” Lardo says, looking away but grinning. Shitty is in fucking love all over again.

New Years Eve kisses.

Fic: The stain on your lips (matches the colour of mine) (The Vampire Diaries; Stefan/Caroline)

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Caroline Forbes/Stefan Salvatore

Summary: “Then, what do you feel guilty about?” He looks at her then, turns to meet her wide eyes, and he can see it there on her face. She knows. She always did.

Author’s note: So I got a prompt from the very awesome and talented knives-and-lint and I don’t usually do prompts but I really liked it, so I gave it a go. Original prompt is at the end.







He doesn’t hear the shatter of the crystal as it falls to the ground. He only sees the wine spill out from broken glass, soaking into the rug, spreading in every direction like ink being blown on paper through a straw.

It’s a bright, sparkling red in this lighting. He thinks of fresh blood gliding down skin, seeping into the collars of shirts and the front of blouses, bright red darkening as it seeps through every woven thread.

The whiter the blouse, the better the contrast.

It’s art.

Has his pulse racing, gums itching and veins yearning and he loves every minute of it.

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words that waited

We met once, years ago.
You smiled too widely,
you laughed too loudly,
and I
was in love with your best friend.
I could have asked for your number,
but I never dreamed
after we hugged goodbye
that the memory of your touch
would linger on my skin.

For days, I rubbed the cheek where you kissed me.

Last June, I saw a play
and froze the instant you walked onstage:
a little rounder, a little older,
smiling so brightly that I couldn’t see
past the curve of your lips—
and when the audience clapped,
I bristled.
They didn’t know you.
I knew you.

I tried to find you backstage,
but the line wrapped around the building,
and by the time I glimpsed your back,
you were turning to leave.
I wanted to shout.
Remember me.

But the words stuck in my chest,
as the fans pressed in.
Perhaps you knew I was there.
Perhaps you sensed it.
Or perhaps I just can’t accept
that I was a nameless face in your crowd.

Do you ever just love a celebrity so much it hurts? Like I’m talking a physical pain in the heart because the most interaction you could ever get from them would be to meet them, maybe get a hug and a picture, but you’ll never be their friend, you’ll never be in their life, you’ll never be able to experience things like seeing a movie together and seeing them laugh at the funny parts and cry during the sad parts, you’ll never spend christmas with them and see them smile as they open their presents, you’ll never go to the beach with them and play in the sand and giggle in the morning when you both wake up sunburnt… they will never say “I love you too” and genuinely mean it because you’re just another fan… another nameless face in the crowd… Of course they could say they love you because you support them, but that’s all they’ll love you for. They will never love you for the person you are because they don’t know you. They can’t know you. They’re too guarded by their security and their own fame. You can never know them for who they really are. You’ll never wake up with them in the morning and see their sleepy half-eyed stare, you’ll never be in the room when they hold their newborn baby for the first time, you’ll never hear “I’m happy you’re in my life” from them, because they’re a celebrity and millions of people love them and wish they could have that kind of friendship with them. And it will never happen because you’re one in a million and there is only one of them. You’ll never get a silly text from them during your work day, you’ll never cook pancakes with them in the morning, you’ll never have a tickle-fight with them. You aren’t special to them like they are to you. They will never reciprocate your feelings. If that isn’t pain then I honestly don’t know what is.


Stiles hadn’t seen the Argent. As far as he knew, he was in a place in which no one knew him, and anyone who did would assume something different than what appeared. The others dancing around him were in strange attire, so he could be too.

Black eyes caught the dance floor lighting as he grinned at the person he was dancing near, smile edged with sharp teeth. Little slightly curling horns of black, glowing slightly like embers, poked up out of his amber hair with a similarly blackened spaded tail flicked playfully behind him. His aura was different, darker and more sensual, movements easier as he allowed his demon to the surface in the crowded place of nameless faces, never once realizing that Chris was there, watching the floor he danced upon.

He’d been watching for a while and was on to his 3rd drink of the night when he spotted a familiar face slink up to the dance floor. He knew straight away that it was the Stilinski kid, but what caught him off guard was the additional appendages that blended seamlessly with his appearance. 

Everynow and again when the light caught his face, Chris noticed more and more off about the teen. Giving in to his curiosity, Chris ordered a coke from the bar and made his way over.

One glare at the Guy behind the boy sent him running and allowed him to slip in close to the space behind him. One hand on his waist, Chris leaned forward so that his lips were very nearly touching the others ear.

“I thought you might want a drink by now."