“This one is coffee-flavoured milk,” the waiter said, presenting the little bottle in one hand. The white label read in a light brown font: COFFEE.
“Isn’t that just coffee with milk?” I asked.
“No, no, it’s coffee-flavoured milk,” the waiter shook his head and smiled. “There’s many more flavours, if you would like to have a look. We haven’t prepared a menu yet, so you’ll have to have a look yourself.”
It was a new place. I’d spotted it while on one of my midnight walks. There used to be a hardware shop here, but then it got shut down for a few months, and this restaurant popped up in its place. “A Dairy Situation”, the sign outside said, along with a cheap graphic of a Holstein Friesian cow.
I stepped towards the refrigerator and squatted to get a good look. The waiter was right, there was quite the variety. You had the usual varieties: cocoa, strawberry, mango, orange, vanilla, pistachio, cardamom, saffron and even some strange ones like chilli, chicken, beef, wasabi, and so on.
“You make these here?” I asked.
“Right there in the back, ma'am,” the waiter nodded, and pulled out a passionfruit flavour bottle. “This is the newest one,” he said.
“I’ll have it,” I took the bottle from his hands and put it to my lips. Before I could down it, the waiter said—almost yelled—at me to stop. I asked him what’s wrong.
“There is something very important you need to know,” he nodded, “As soon as you drink it, you will return to when you were a baby. Your life, as you have lived it until now, will disappear, never to return. You will be a baby again, but the circumstances of your life will change in minute ways, culminating in a butterfly effect.”
I looked at the bottle in my hands and at the waiter.
“I’ve been here before,” I said.
“Several times,” he said, and then waved at the refrigerator. “These many times, to be exact.”
“And I’ve tried a new flavour each time?” I asked.
I contemplated the flavoured milk. “And every single time, I’ve ended up here,” I said.
“Oh, we have branches in many cities,” the waiter smiled again, but it wasn’t the same humble smile as before. Now it was a knowing smile.
I nodded. Then I flung the bottle against the glass door. The glass of the bottle shattered, and the pale yellow milk splattered across the door. I opened the refrigerator and started chucking each of the bottles at the door. The waiter watched without expression as the door was covered in different flavours of milk.
At the end, there was one flavour left. It was plain milk, without a label. Just white.
“That one’s not ready, ma'am,” the waiter said.
I opened the bottle and chugged it down. Once the bottle was empty, I slammed it on the table and wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist.
“What was this going to be?” I asked.
The waiter’s mouth opened and closed as he answered my question with a smile. Even as he spoke his words, I felt them slipping away from my mind. My vision faded, and soon, all I could hear was the sound of my own crying, and the warmth of my mother’s breast.
the first night with zevran, the warden tries to cuddle up to him only to have zevran tell them that he is not comfortable with cuddling, he is used to not being able to trust his bed mate and to always be prepared for attacks
the warden can respect that, and every night afterwards, they sleep apart but always being comforted by the sheer presence of the other
and then zevran starts to realise that what the fuck, he is starting to feel something for the warden, something much more powerful and terrifying and wonderful than he ever expected and what is wrong with him? love is a luxury reserved for everyone else but never him, so why is he feeling everything he never deserved?
and then that day with taliesen in denerim, who tries to get zevran to kill the warden and go back with him and zevran can’t breathe at the mere thought of the warden actually dying and so he tells taliesen that no, he will never let that happen
and a few days later when the warden questions him about why he won’t sleep with them and he just feels this anxiety slowly crushing him bc he knows now what he feels but what if they don’t feel it back? what will he do then?
but the warden does. the warden loves him too and in that moment he can’t think he’s just so relieved and happy and amazed that someone like them would love someone like him
and then the following day, the warden wakes up to someone wrapped around them, and turns around to see zevran, sleeping with a peaceful expression for the first time
and so it continues, for every morning to come
zevran, after years and years of being starved of love and affection, can finally sleep in the arms of someone who loves him for who he is
tired+soft klance catching some quiet between adventures:
after missions when they’re still in their armor, lance will walk up to keith and quick lay his head in the crook of keith’s neck, just to say he’s okay. he’s still here.
“keith wanna go on a date?”
“what? dude we’re not even out of our armor.”
“well that’s good bc we’re sure as heck gonna need it.” and lance tugs keith through airlock and out into the soothing silence of space
and they anchor themselves to the hull of the ship and watch the stars float by.
taking a bath together after a tough fight and falling asleep in the warm water with the smell of ocean and rain and flowers fogging up the mirrors
no but they fall asleep together everywhere. shiro starts stashing emergency Keith and Lance Are Gay and Tired blankets all over the castle for his little bros
when one is too exhausted to take his armor off the other will help, unbuckling pieces and giggling when they get stuck trying to strip off the black undershirt
“my head’s stuck”
“umm…yeah, I don’t know how to fix this babe.”
“help me, lance” and lance peels up the hem and keith’s face pokes out w his hair flying everywhere and lance kisses him on the nose
“allura says we have to go in 5. I…thought I’d find you here,” keith says, sitting next to lance. he’s studying coran’s star map, in the spot where he saved coran’s life. in the spot where keith almost lost lance.
a little star travels past lance’s face. “is it possible to miss someone you’re always with?”
keith sighs, thinking of the fleeting moments the two of them have together. those moments may be brief, but they’re theirs.
“yeah,” is all he says, and lets the galaxies swirl and tumble overhead, and rests his head on lance’s shoulder
It surprises me that we haven’t talked about the most obvious thing: humans imagine things. Humans outright make shit up. (Like these posts?) Human stories often aren’t retellings of things that actually happened. Art often isn’t a depiction of true events. Humans - for want of a better word - humans sublimate. They transform their experiences into outlandish non-reality for each others’ amusement.
It takes forever for first contact to start because the aliens planning it keep getting confused by first radio, then television. Some of these depictions can’t be possible - but which ones? The first time War of the Worlds reaches the Kuiper belt, someone panics and has to double check that a more aggressive group hasn’t actually invaded.
After humans are finally integrated into galactic culture, some issues crop up.
“Did you clean the waste facility?” the Janitorial Supervisor asks.
“Well, I would have,” the human starts, then proceeds to tell an outrageous story about a cleaning bot with a knife strapped to its back which has the entire crew searching the ship for hours. The entire crew except for the humans.
The Captain finds the humans “searching” the self-poisoning cabinet in one of the crew quarters.
“Oh my god,” the First Officer says, on seeing the Captain’s dust-speckled upper ears. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you really fell for that. Stabby is a cryptid, Harold!”
The Captain’s name is not Harold, but that is another, even longer story.
The Captain exhales. “What is a cryptid?”
The assistant medical officer sits up straighter, his drink sloshing dangerously. The Captain has learned what “a gleam in his eye” means and how to detect it. They sit, resigned. There’s no escaping now.
An hour later, the Captain explains the concept of cryptids in considerably less detail to the embarrassed and confused Supervisor. Along with the concept of lying.
“But how do you know the difference?” the Supervisor asks, wringing their tentacles in mixed embarrassment and worry.
“Find another human,” the Captain advises. “Check for signs of mirth.”
This turns out to be prescient, because on their next planetary stop, two of the human field officers come running back into the base camp, out of breath and without the rest of their scouting team.
“Nasty buggers with teeth!” one gasps. Though the other officers appear skeptical, the Captain glances at the First Officer, who is already setting down her meal and grabbing her favorite flamethrower. The assistant medical officer yanks his kit straps over his shoulders, face grim.
“Arm yourselves,” the Captain tells the rest.
It takes about four hours, but they get everyone back more or less intact. The humans change the sign in the rec room on the ship to read: “Us: 6, Them: 0″. There is a ritual raising of liquor-filled glasses, even by the injured who are forbidden self-poisoning. The Captain begins temporary hibernation very relieved that humans are so willing to count other species as “us”.
When they ask the First Officer about it two cycles later, the First Officer looks confused, then knowing.
“My great grandmother remembers when you first showed up. They picked your people for first contact for a reason, didn’t they?”
“We look the most like you.”
“Yeah, well, that was a bad call. Gran says humans debated for months whether or not you were just other humans with good prosthetic makeup.”
The Captain blinks at this. “Most peoples are shocked and upset to learn the rest of the sentient universe does not share their appearance. Wait.” They pause. “Is that why we had so many applicants for the Janitorial position?”
The First Officer ignores that, as she usually does when the Captain doesn’t really want to know the answer.
“Do you know why cryptids exist? Why horror and violence and monsters exist in our stories?” she asks instead.
The Captain twitches both sets of ears ‘no’. “It seems unnecessary to frighten yourselves over things that don’t exist.”
“But nasty buggers with teeth do exist, even if we haven’t met them yet,” she says grimly. “And we were ready, weren’t we?”
It’s true. The humans on board have been terrifyingly adaptable, even in their violence.
The Captain feels their way carefully. “You think about things that don’t exist… sometimes even things that distress and terrify you… so that you can be ready when you face real things that distress and terrify you?”
“See, this is why you’re the Captain, Harold.” The First Officer slaps their shoulder hump cheerfully, careful to avoid the spines. “And better yet, we share the things we imagine with each other. It’s like a mental vaccine.”
“And it works?”
“Eh, sometimes. It’s not perfect. Sometimes we don’t mark our vaccines properly, or don’t realize we’re adding things we didn’t mean to. Some of them have a bad effect on some people, for various reasons. But we joined the galactic community in less than a generation. Has any other species ever done that?”
Prompt by @winchesters-favorite-girl : Do you have any idea how worried I was?
A/N: ok so this turned out to be WAYYY longer than I thought it would and I’m (sort of?) sorry for how it ended but if you want I might be able to make a second part if you ask for it
Dean jolted as his phone vibrated on the nightstand next to him, startling him awake. He sighed as he threw off the covers, not even trying to be quiet for Y/N on the other bed. For a hunter, she was a pretty damn deep sleeper.
Groggily, he grabbed his phone off the table. He instantly became alert when he read Dad on the caller ID.
“Hello-” Dean started.
“About damn time,” John grumbled. “Been ringing for an hour.”
“Sorry sir-” Dean tried to no avail.
“Whatever.” He heard shuffling on the other end of the line. “Listen, I need you to drop everything and drive to Omaha. Now.”
“I’ll wake Y/N and we’ll be out there in five hours-” Dean had started to get up and move to his sister when John stopped him.
Dean froze, unsure how to respond. He frowned.
“What, uh,” he cleared his throat, “what do you mean?”
“I mean don’t bring Y/N,” John growled. “She’ll just slow everything down, and I need you now. Get your ass here in three hours.”
Dean slowly brought the phone down from his face. He glanced over at Y/N’s figure; silent, asleep, waiting to wake up to Dean’s rock music that she always pretended to hate (Dean wouldn’t know better if he hadn’t caught her- on multiple occasions- singing along to the music).
Dean couldn’t just leave her. But he had to.
Grabbing his duffle and shoving in some clothes, he bolted for the door.
In his rush, he didn’t even notice that he accidentally took Y/N’s only phone with him, too.
Y/N woke on edge. Something was wrong. It was eerily quiet- too quiet, if she knew Dean. There was either a prank or monster involved, and she wasn’t sure which one she preferred.
Stealthily moving her arm under her pillow, she grasped her gun. Taking a breath, she abruptly sat up, eyes wildly searching for a threat. When she found none, Y/N stood up. She kept the gun, though. Something still wasn’t right.
It was Dean. He was gone.
Instantly she became alert. Dean was never gone. He never went anywhere unless without telling Y/N unless he absolutely had to; even then, he always left some kind of hint. But there was none.
Did Dean go on a supply run? She wondered. It was only 8am.
Maybe he needed to leave, she thought to herself. Help dad.
Y/N frowned. If dad needed help, why wouldn’t she have come along? She didn’t even mess up the past couple hunts they went on.
“Just call them,” she muttered to herself. Striding towards the kitchen with gun in hand, she moved to where she last remembered her phone being.
It wasn’t there.
Now Y/N was really starting to panic. Dean was gone, with no note as to where he was, and she couldn’t find her phone. It was…
Well, shitty, to say the least.
“Dean,” Y/N sighed worriedly, “what did you do?“
That’s how long Y/N was alone for.
There had been no contact from Dean or her father, and she couldn’t use any of the phonebooths in town because ‘no one had used them in years so it was time to take them down.’ She didn’t even have a vehicle.
So Y/N did the only thing she knew how to do.
Waited for an answer. Waited for a hunt. Waited for a familiar face.
She ate with whatever she could buy for $100 from the guys she had hustled when she and Dean went to the bar. she would’ve gotten more if Dean hadn’t punched the guy she was playing for looking down her shirt.
She felt better afterwards, though.
The $100 burned through pretty quickly, so she had resorted to hustling again. There was no one to get save her from the creepy bar men, so that terrified her, but hey; you gotta do what you gotta do.
She was deciding whether to get food or save for when she was really hungry when there was a knock on the door.
Tap, tap tap, tap.
She heaved a breath of relief. That was Dean’s knock. Her eyes widened.
Holding her gun to the back of the door, she opened it a bit.
“Dean-” she began, but stopped herself short. Y/N had meant to rip him a new one, but it appeared that someone had already tried to.
Her brother was covered in scars and blood, caked in slime and sweat and dirt. He smelled awful, worse than words could describe. She was taken aback at his appearance. He’d never been like this before.
“Hey,” he croaked out. His voice was soft and raw, telling a million stories all wrapped up in just one word.
“Dean!” Y/N breathed out. “What the hell- where did you- I…” she rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead. “Damn it. Get your ass in here.”
Dean smiled softly at her, waiting for her to explode at him. He knew she’d be concerned first.
They were family, after all.
Silently she worked, cleaning his wounds and applying bandages and stitching him up. She didn’t say a word, didn’t look him in the eyes. Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted her to.
Y/N wiped away the last of his blood from his forehead before putting away the first aid kit. She walked to the kitchen, bringing back a glass of water.
“Drink,” she instructed. Dean drank.
“So-” he began.
“Nope.” She answered.
“Y/N, you’re obviously mad at me here,” Dean tried.
“Oh, look!” Y/N mocked. “Detective Dean here finally figured something out! Do it again; it was a great trick.”
“Y/N,” he sighed. “Listen, I’m sorry. Dad called and I- I had to go. He just told me…”
“What?” Y/N questioned. “What did he say?”
“Nothing,” Dean said quickly. “Dad didn’t say anything about you.”
“I never said that it had anything to do with me,” Y/N glared. “You left me, Dean. Don’t lie to me, too.”
“Alright,” he conceded, “fine. Dad said to meet him in Omaha for a hunt. When I mentioned waking you up, he told me… Dad said he didn’t want you to come.”
Y/N was shocked. She shouldn’t have been, since this was coming from her father. But hearing it from Dean…
It felt worse.
“Oh.” It was all she could muster. She shook her head, sitting across from him. “Well, that doesn’t matter as much as you leaving without so much as a warning. What were you thinking? You took my phone, took the laptop, took pretty much damn everything except for me, a gun, and $100 from hustling we did a couple weeks ago. I had to go back there to get more money-”
“What?” Dean stood up. “Did anybody try anything with you? I swear I’m gonna rip their lungs out-”
“Oh, so now you care?” Y/N raised her voice, catching Dean by surprise. She stood you, jabbing her finger at his chest. “I was alone for two and a half weeks with not nearly enough money to keep me going, and you have the audacity- the nerve-to come back and ask if someone tried something? Unbelievable. Of course,” she added on, seeing him open his mouth, “so was you leaving me without a note or anything, so I really shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Y/N,” Dean said, impatient. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was this big of a deal. If I had known…” he trailed off.
It was quiet for a minute. Dean wanted to reach out and comfort Y/N, but he knew that any movement towards her would result in her shuffling away from him.
He wasn’t sure he could bear to see it.
“Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Y/N finally whispered into her hands. She was leaning against the table, trying to calm down but failing miserably. “You were… I was alone. Scared. With no clue as to where you went or when you were coming back.” Her voice lowered an octave. “If you were coming back.”
Dean swallowed thickly, looking away from his baby sister and clamping a hand over his mouth.
“Y/N,” he croaked, looking back at her. She didn’t look back at him. “Y/N-”
“No.” She stood up, not even sparing him a glance. “You don’t get to talk. You left me; just like Sam, just like dad.”
Y/N knew she had crossed a line, talking about Sam and Dad, but she didn’t care.
“If I had known…” Dean trailed off. “Y/N, I thought-”
“That’s your problem!” Y/N snapped. “You don’t think, and I always have to make up for it, or pretend that it’s okay. It’s not. And I don’t know how to make you listen.”
She grabbed her coat, walking over to the door.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Dean asked, angry.
“Don’t worry,” she said, jaw tense. “I don’t leave family.”
She slammed the door without so much as another word. Dean missed her grabbing her phone and gun before she left. He certainly didn’t hear her steal a car.
It had been too long.
Only three hours, keep in mind, but too long.
Dean heaved a sigh. There were a thousand places to go, and he didn’t know where his baby sister would be. The least he could do was call her to trace the phone and find out where she was. He didn’t waste a second before calling her number.
She picked up on the third ring.
“Dean-” she sighed.
“I thought you said you didn’t leave family,” he asked, trying desperately to reign in his anger.
“I don’t.” Her voice was monotone. She held no emotion in her words.
“But you left me,” he prodded.
Dean felt like he had been stabbed. No, he had been stabbed before; this was worse. It felt like a thousand hands were ripping him limb from limb, like the devil himself was carving every word she spoke to the most fragile parts of him, inside and out.
“Y/N-” he croaked.
“Goodbye, Dean,” she said. He almost missed her voice wobble. Y/N sighed. “I’ll come back. I just need time.”
They both pretended not to cry that night.
That didn’t actually happen. There was no way that Dean could’ve messed up that badly. He was always looking out for Y/N. It couldn’t have happened.
But it did.
And that’s what he thought every single moment after the phone conversation.
Dean didn’t even care that his dad was going to kill him. He didn’t care that he had failed his duty as her older brother. He didn’t give a damn about what Sam would’ve said-
He would never know about how it was Dean’s fault. Hell, Dean probably wouldn’t even know anything for a long time.
Not unless she picked up.
Dean hurriedly scrolled through his phone, hoping, dialing her number and praying, that she’d pick up.
It went to voicemail. Y/N’s cheery voice rang through.
This is Y/N private cell! Please leave your monster and a memo, and I’ll get right back to you.
A beep! followed her voice. Dean took a moment before saying anything.
“Y/N.” His voice broke. He coughed, but it didn’t change anything. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I should’ve said it earlier, but I…” he chuckled wetly. “You know how bad I am at apologies. I’m not trying to make an excuse, ‘cause I know you’ve heard enough, but I just thought…”
Dean’s mind flashed back to their earlier fight.
That’s your problem! Y/N had screamed at him. You don’t think, and I always have to make up for it, or pretend that it’s okay. It’s not. And I don’t know how to make you listen.
“I didn’t think,” his voice softened, “and that was my first mistake. But now I’m thinking, and I…” He had trouble carrying on. His voice was wet and dry simultaneously, cracked and raw and a thousand other things he didn’t have time to describe.
“Come back,” he pleaded. “I know I should’ve said a million things back when… When we were still together. But I’m going to say them now, because you deserve to hear them.”
The tears had spilled over his eyelids now, rolling down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them away. He gazed longingly at the bottle on the nightstand beside him, but drew his attention back to his phone, back to Y/N.
“I failed you,” he whispered. His voice was wet, and it cracked on the last word. “I failed my baby sister, and I don't…” He ran a hand down his face. He tried to focus on breathing, but his breath was coming in raggedly.
“Y/N.” Shuddering breaths took up space between his words. “Y/N, baby girl, I am so, so sor-”
The message stopped recording.
Dean slid down the wall, thumping his head against it. The tears were coming in waves now: no matter how hard he tried, they still managed to spill over. He clumsily grabbed for the liquor bottle on the bedside table. He drained it of its contents, revelling in the way the whiskey burned down his throat.
He fell asleep like that; nursing an empty bottle, watching the blurred car lights as they drovepast the window and illuminated the room. His thoughts were everywhere, focused on everything and only one thing: his family.
He failed his dad. He wanted Dean to be the perfect soldier, a boy fighting a war without asking for instructions but taking orders anyways. His dad wanted a warrior, but got a coward.
He failed Sam, too. The boy he swore he’d protect. From the moment he had carried his baby brother from the fire till the moment he set foot out the door for Stanford, Dean always thought that he was there for his little brother. Now that he thought about it, Sam had alway been the crutch for Dean. Dean always felt like he had to be strong for Sam, but he couldn’t even hold it together when his baby brother left for college. His brother needed a hero, someone to side with him, but he got a silent bystander. Pathetic.
And Y/N. That probably hurt Dean the most. Everyone had left him: his father, when John had left for days– or even weeks– on end; his brother, when he went to Stanford or talked about ‘getting out of the life,’ like he and Dean could do it together; every single damn friend or family member that ever knew or met him.
But not Y/N.
She was always there for him, always watching and monitoring him like she knew exactly what he was thinking, or what his next actions were. She always knew. Y/N was there for Dean when he acted like he didn’t want her to be, always pretended that she didn’t know his weakness because he didn’t like having them. She only needed a brother. One who stayed by his side. That was all she ever asked.
And he couldn’t do it.
But now she was gone too. Because he left her. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
You loved watching Sam research. The way his murky emerald eyes squinted slightly and his effortlessly shaped eyebrows stitched together whenever he was puzzled about something. His hands just couldn’t sit still, if they weren’t tucking his soft brown hair behind his ears for the hundredth time in five minutes, they were enthusiastically typing away about a new idea or supporting his head in his hand as if his brain was the world and his firm hands were Atlas.
Occasionally he would begin absentmindedly humming whatever tune Dean last played in the car, blissfully unaware of anything happening in that moment except his topic of research.
His body language could tell you almost exactly what he was thinking about at any given moment. If he began squeezing his eyes tight, you could tell he needed to go to sleep soon, as much as he would argue that he’s fine. If his fingers started drumming on the table, you could tell he was stuck on something, so you tried to help him out. If he started awkwardly chewing his lip, you asked him if he needed a snack, which most of the time he did. If his feet started tapping continuously, you knew you had to remind his grown up ass to use the damn bathroom once in a while!
You became completely absorbed in his little world, every deep breath, every arm stretch and every quiet mumble to himself got you even more caught up in how his amazing mind worked. The louder almost impatient clacking of the keyboard broke you out of your reverie.
“Y/N, you okay sweetheart? You keep staring at me” he looked up at you over the laptop screen, with a concerned glint in his eye.
“I’m… great, just great Sammy” smiling contently at your man, you leapt up and planted a kiss onto his head as you swanned out of the room.
Summary: Dean loves his family, there’s no doubt about it. He cares more than is healthy, if anyone was being honest. Of course, this sometimes leads to conflict; especially when it comes to his little sister.
Word Count: 2586
Warnings: swearing, mild gore (its literally just a bullet like if you can’t handle that then how do you watch the show smh)
A/N: hey guys! Sorry if I haven’t been as active lately but my keyboard doesn’t connect to my tablet and stuff:( but I remembered that this was in my drafts, so I decided to edit some of it and then post it. I’m sorry about the inconvenience!!! My keyboard should be fixed soon.
“Damn it, Y/N,” Dean growled as he slammed the motel door shut. “If you’d just listen to me for once then you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“He was going to shoot you!” Y/N shouted, wincing as she landed on the leg with a bullet in it. “Do you honestly expect me to stand by while you get shot? I’ve seen you do it for me and Sam, so please, tell me: how is this any different?”
“It just is,” he grumbled, grabbing the first aid kit. “And you know it.”
“Oh, ‘it just is,’ he says,” Y/N called after him. “Good one, De. You should be a lawyer. Listen here, I saved your ass back there, and you’re acting- ah! - you’re acting like I’m dying.” Y/N panted as he dug out the bullet, his stony silence piercing the air.
“Listen,” she continued. “I get you want me to be safe, but there’s a difference between keeping me safe and smothering me.”
“Y/N,” Dean said gruffly as he tied a knot on the bandage. “This is the third hunt in the past month that you’ve gotten shot. I don’t even want to think about all those other times where you could’ve stayed safe if you hadn’t decided to do your own thing-”
Headcanon: Harry takes Draco to see fireworks, and Draco cannot get over the fact that they happen without magic
Harry 100% would’ve kissed Draco romantically under the man’s first firework show of his life…but said man was way too busy gawking and speaking about the impossibilities of fireworks without magic way too fast for Harry to even get a word in.
“How?! HOW! How does that even wor- Bloody hell! Look at that one Harry! Look, Look! It was huge! Bigger than the other ones! And- BLOO- How is it more than one colour?!”
“It should be impossible! How does it change colour in the sky?! We can barely learn those spells until our 5th year how does-”
“HARRY IT’S A HEART! Harry look! Look it’s in the shape of a heart! How-”
His words were immediately muffled when lips pressed against his, silencing anymore that he could say about the fireworks. Harry molded his lips against the others, practically coaxing him to kiss back and only once Draco did, did he pull away with amusement in his voice.
“You know, on a date the highlight is supposed to be the other person.”
Draco stared at him before flushing slightly, whacking his arm. “Shut up. I’ve never seen these before,” he said, and on cue, another firework boomed behind them.
Harry laughed, leaning in for another kiss. “I know, I know. I just really wanted to kiss you,” he hummed against his lips.
Returning the kiss briefly, Draco immediately ripped his lips away to shriek. “’HARRY LOOK IT’S THE FINALE!”
another short little thing I wanted to get out today. for the purpose of this fic, Kol is dead but can be brought back. this is the first time klaus has his humanity off and let’s say he gets it back this quickly. fluff and slight angst, fyi.
(no gifs are mine!!)
“Niklaus Mikaelson, how many times do I have to tell you this?” You scream, running from the kitchen over to the living room and nearly bumping into Klaus.
“What is it with all the ruckus, love? What have I done now?” Klaus walks into the hallway, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.
“What have you done?” You grab his hand and lead him to the kitchen while he clutches the towel.
“Love, if this towel falls, I won’t pick it up,” Klaus presses his face against your head and you pull away, pointing at the mess on the floor.
“Klaus what is this?” You let go of him and cross your arms over your chest.
“Oh, this,” he chuckles, unashamed by the sight before him. “Your little friends will wake up before you know it. Oh, and those others girls are still alive… I think.”
“You THINK?!” You rush over to said girls and press your fingers against their neck. “God damn it, Nik. They’re dead.”
“Oops?” He shrugs and grabs a bottle of water. “This no humanity deal is great.”
“Look, Niklaus. I know that this is the first time you’ve ever turned your humanity off, but you need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen! Please!” You sigh, looking at Klaus with furrowed brows.
“You know this is all your fault, right?” He raises his brows at you and you curse under your breath.
“Yes, I know, Nik, but–”
“No buts! I turned off my humanity because you left me. You turned your back on me when I needed you,” he shrugs and looks at you unapologetically.
“I didn’t have a choice!” You yell, walking over to the man you once loved. “I had to walk away from you. You practically placed Kol on his deathbed. If you can do that to your own flesh and blood, how do I know you wouldn’t do that to me? Kol was trying to make things right! HE DIED FOR YOU, FOR YOUR FAMILY! HE DIED FOR HOPE, NIKLAUS!”
“MY BROTHER WILL BE AVENGED!” Klaus throws the water bottle away, breaking a window in the process. “I will avenge my brother, you don’t have to worry about that.”
“You can’t avenge Kol this way. You can’t avenge him if all you do is throw dead people on my kitchen floor. Maybe you need to let me go to avenge Kol. You can plot your revenge on me afterwards, I don’t care Klaus,” you shrug, finally meeting Klaus’s golden specs. “Find a way to bring Kol back and make things right. And then you two can plot ways to get rid of me.”
“What did you just say?” Klaus whispers, eyes narrowed as he walks closer to you.
“I said bring Kol back and plot ways to get rid of me. I’ll work around your killer plans, pun intended,” you let out a light chuckle, unable to meet Klaus’s dark gaze.
“You think I’d kill you? That I’d let Kol kill you or that he’d let me? Are you out of your mind?” His voice is lower than before, sending chills down your spine.
“All I’m saying is I’d rather have that happen than you mope around like this. I’m sorry I left Klaus. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, but I’m not important right now. Kol is–”
“How can you say that?” Klaus curses under his breath and runs a hand down his face. “I love you, Y/N. That’s why I’m so hung up on you! That’s why it hurt me so much when you left. That’s why it hurts when you think I had a hand in Kol’s death. I would never kill my siblings. You know that.”
You stared at him, not knowing what to say or how to react after Klaus’s little confession. He tilts his head to face you, a sea of turmoil in his eyes.
“I love you,” he whispers again and you see the humanity switch turn back on, a sigh of relief leaving your lips. “Y/N, I’m so–I’m so sorry about the mess. I’ll clean it up, I prom–”
“Hey, hey,” you whisper and walk up to Klaus, gently cupping his face and forcing him to look into your eyes. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“Really?” He whispers, an impish grin forming on his face.
“Really,” you chuckle and press your lips against his briefly. “I love you.”
The marks appear halfway through the third trimester of her first year at Dupont. Alya had just gotten out of the shower when she spots it in her bathroom mirror. Etched into the skin beneath her right shoulder blade, the words follow a curved trail along her spine in tiny cursive. It takes the combined help of her Ladybug compact mirror, her camera phone, and a whole lot of squinting for her to finally make out what it says:
“while loving someone deeply gives you courage”
No capitalizations. No punctuation marks. No hint of whether the phrase begins or ends the rest of the sentence.
Okay! I have posted The Thing on AO3! If you might like sort of vaguely 17th-century historical m/m romance fantasy with ocean-flavored fairytale ripples and a decent amount of porn-with-emotions and boys who need to learn to communicate better, then come and read it over here?
At some point I’ll figure out what to do with it, but I wanted to share. *hugs you all; bites nails*