sea glass eyes

simon imagine: i love you, and that’s a wrap

REQUESTED:  ‘i really want an imagine when y/n is really happy with Simon and stuff but then like one day it hit her, she notices all these little things that tell her that he doesn’t love her anymore and then she finds out that he’s cheating and smth like that’

The entire house was silent. Nobody dared to speak. To move, to breathe. Tension filled the air, a thick, vicious substance. The marble of the kitchen island was the only thing separating me and him.

He sat across from me, his eyes focused on the surface in front of him. I kept mine glued to him. 

“How long for, Simon?”

He pulled his lip beneath his teeth, chewing the skin, still not looking up at me. I waited patiently for an answer. My legs shook discreetly against the bar stool; I wasn’t sure if this was down to nerves, or just plain anger. Anger seemed easier to come to reason with.

“I don’t know, Y/n.”

“Bullshit.” I cut him off, my tone full of toxicity. Simon was visibly taken aback. His eyes closed, as if he had just been hit in the face. I silently begged myself to keep up the anger act, knowing this would help the conversation massively. I wanted him to believe that was all I was: angry. 

“Y/n why do you even want to know? How will that information help you in any way?” He bit back with the same poisonous tone, his stubborn ways shining through. 

“Because I want to know Simon, can you not even offer me that decency?”

“Fine Y/n you wanna know! Six months, that’s how long! That better?”

“Six months?”

“Six fucking months. Better?”

My blood ran cold through my veins as realisation hit. I looked him deep in his eyes. “Six months ago…that was when we had the conversation. When I told you I felt like you didn’t love me anymore.”

His face softened, lips parting slightly. He looked up finally, making eye contact and suddenly all the anger subsided. 

“No, Y/n, I swear-”

“I was right wasn’t I?” My voice was soft, surprisingly calm but audibly hurt. “You fell out of love with me then, didn’t you?”

“No, Y/n, I didn’t fall out of love with you then.” It was his turn to hurt. He mirrored my tone, sounding hoarse and uncomfortable. 

“But you fell in love with her.”

Again he focused on the island, breaking the eye contact. I let my eyes flutter shut. It felt as if somebody had sucker punched me in the chest. I wanted nothing more than to climb over the counter and hit him, and then hug him, and tell him I hate him but tell him I love him too. I envisioned that conversation six months ago, how we sat by the fireplace, how I opened myself up to him in all my vulnerability. I wanted to run back in time and sit by my past self, tell her to run, run as fast as she possibly could. I wanted to be the Y/n from seven months ago, before it all went down hill. But in this moment, I am not Y/n from seven months ago, and Simon isn’t Simon from seven months ago and we are nothing but two broken, incompatible souls sitting across from eachother at a table. 

“Did you love her?”

“Y/n, please-”

“Simon answer the question. Did you love her?”

He inhaled, closing his eyes. “Not at first.”

“But you grew to.”


“More than you loved me?”

Laying astray on the table in front of him, his phone vibrated, breaking the silence. He looked up at me immediately and I laughed. 

“That’s her, isn’t it?”

“Y/n are you sure you want to do this-”

“Answer me Simon.”

He stared at the phone, not touching it as the vibration died out slowly. His voice was merely a whisper. 


“Simon did you ever really love me?”

“Y/n are you serious?” Again he looked up at me. His sea blue eyes were glassed over with tears, presumably a mixture of guilt and regret. His voice was louder, filled with passion and shock but still hoarse. “Of course I fucking loved you! You were the first person I ever loved, my first girlfriend, the first girl I introduced to my parents. How could you even ask that? I loved you with my everything.”

It was my turn to avoid his eye as I looked down, watching a single tear splash onto the marble. My lips trembled, chest aching. 

“So what changed your mind?”

“I don’t know, Y/n,” he sniffed, his head turning away, looking around the room. “I wish I knew.”

“Simon,” I whimpered. My entire careless, angry act shattered around me as I hugged myself, wrapping my own arms around me in an act of comfort, something I’d been doing since I was about five years old. “Is it my fault? Is there anything I could’ve done to change your mind?”

“No, Y/n please don’t blame yourself this isn’t your fault.”

“Then why wasn’t I enough Simon?”

I collapsed into tears, putting my head in my hands. Never had I been more ashamed of myself. I wanted to be rude, angry, spiteful, maybe even hateful. I wanted to come here, cuss him out and then leave him speechless and full of regret as I walked away. But instead, I crawled back into his arms, my mascara stained tears staining his t-shirt. I was broken and I knew it. Simon was everything I had ever wanted, and everything I would continue to want for the rest of my life. More than anything I wanted to fight for him - after all, if you don’t fight for what you want, you cry for what you lose - but deep down, I knew it was useless. I would be fighting a losing battle.

I think that hurt the most. Physically I was in Simon’s arms, but mentally he wasn’t here. Mentally he was with her. He had walked out of the door a long, long time ago.

Y/nickname you were enough, you were always enough I swear to fucking God. The problem isn’t you not being enough, it’s me being too much. I’m fucked up, I’m disloyal, I’m a cheat. And you deserve more than that.”

A tear landed in my hair, this time not one of my own. As he held me I became more and more aware of how alien the warmth felt. In fact, it didn’t feel like warmth at all. It was cold, and sad, and lonely. This wasn’t my home anymore and I knew it.

“Simon,” I pulled away, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. “I have to go.”

“Please, you can’t leave like this, this can’t be the last image I have left of you in my mind.” He let the tears flow freely and I bit my lip to hold mine.

“I’m sorry Simon. I need to go,” I picked my bag up off the floor, heading towards the kitchen door. As I reached it I turned to face him.

“I really hope she was worth it, Simon. I hope you change for her. I hope when you hold her it feels so warm, and so right, and so happy. I hope she appreciates your hold because every time you hold her she’s sitting comfortably in the only place I ever called home. I hope she really makes you happy, Simon.”

I wished I meant my words to be bitchy and spiteful, but I didn’t. I meant them to be genuine. Because that’s what happens when you love somebody; you want the best for them. Even if that best isn’t you. 

With bloodshot eyes he looked back at me.

“I love you, Y/n.”

I shook my head. “No you don’t, Simon.”

earth & universe : d&p
  • someone: who do you like more, dan or phil?
  • me: dan is a soft boy and he wears glittery nail polish & pretends to be tough but is so!! soft inside and he has curvy thighs n' hips and curly hair and a soft & bendy figure. he has a cute lil tum with cappuchino eyes and rosy patches on his squish cheeks. he is kinda like the universe, full of stars n meteors and all the nooks and crannies.
  • phil has more of an edge, with sky-high! cheekbones and a razor sharp jawline n his skin is pale pale blue with clouds. he has gentle freckles & lots of bumps and points. he has deep deep sea sky water glass eyes that couldnt be described in 1000 years, if u jumped into them you would never come out. he is all legs and arms & points & sharp bits but he's kinda like the earth, with such complex building blocks & pretty colors!!
  • so you see?? they are like the sun & moon, earth & sky, earth & universe. opposites, but they cannot be without eachother. so, to answer your question, no. neither & both.

Made a travel altar! Ofc there are multiple uses for everything, but here’s what I’ve got.

• Clear Quartz - for energy
• Turquoise - My birth stone, associations with luck
• Hematite - protection. Black absorbs negative energy.
• Amethyst - psychic abilities, calming anxieties
• Brown Goldstone - Beauty, glamour
• Rose Quartz - Self-love, attracting love
• Tiger’s Eye - luck, particularly when driving
• Hematite Cross - to hold while I pray. Catholic Witch!
• Scallop - all purpose shell.
• Cockle - love, friendship, relationships, emotions
• Auger - courage, or male oriented spells
• Whelk - gaining control, positive changes
• Murex - defense, protection, preservation
• Sea Glass - Sea Witch
• Bottle - Will put sand, water, and a shell in this to keep a little beach with me wherever I go.
• Love Spell Tin - I whipped up a spell to attract enduring romantic love, and plan to carry it with me in a tin. Inedible. I’ll probably make a separate post for it, but it has hibiscus, apple, rose hips, cranberry, red tulip petals, rose petals, and zebra mussel shells. Had a sea witch twist.

I keep the shells in the metal container with the pink gem on top. I keep everything in the black pouch.

Thanks Valdez

ask : Could you make a Percy imagine where the reader is badly injured in a fight and almost dies? and when she wakes up, Percy is so happy, and just cuddles her, and makes her happy and all that?

well, I really hope you like this and it doesn’t disappoint :)

warning : slight language

You didn’t know how it happened. Percy gets to do it all the time, so you can fight monsters too, right?

Well, let’s just say, you didn’t expect any of this to happen.

“Y/N! On your left!” Connor Stoll shouted. You dodged the attack from the cyclops, stabbing up with your dagger, leaving a cut that oozed gold blood running from his shoulder blade to his chest.

You wrinkled your nose. You’ll never get used to that.

“On your right Y/N!” Travis shouted, and you groaned, ducking and attacking again.

“Can’t you guys do something?” You complained lowly, blowing out the (h/c) strands that fell in your face. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Connor smirk at you. You shuddered.

That smirk never meant anything good.

“C'mon, we are helping!” Connor shouted.

“Yeah, we’re telling you what to do!” Travis finished. You gritted your teeth, wondering why you became best friends with the Stoll brothers. Stamping your feet, you turned to Connor.

“Can’t you at least help-”

Your sentence never got finished. A short, strained gasp escaped your lips, as you looked down. The cyclops’s spiked club collided with your stomach.

“Y/N!!” Both brothers screamed. The club was ripped from your stomach, leaving a dark trail of blood in its wake. You felt lightheaded.

“Shit. Travis, take her to Solace-” Connor gritted his teeth, glancing down at your injuries. “Percy’s gonna kill us.” He muttered, before grabbing the dagger from your hand. Travis scooped you up in a fireman’s carry. You clutched your stomach, maroon blood drenching your right hand.

“Stay with me Y/N. Don’t pass out, okay?” Travis said, walking through the borders of camp quickly. You replied with a weak response, and you weren’t even sure if he heard you.

“TRAVIS!!” An angered shout rang throughout camp, and Travis jumped, nearly dropping you. You knew that voice better than anyone.

“Shit.” He whispered, and blonde hair came into your sight.

“Travis what happened?” Will asked, taking you from his arms. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you coughed slightly.

“Is this really how I die.” You spoke in a monotone voice. Travis laughed nervously, as you watched his blue eyes focus on something behind you.

“You’re not dying. Me on the other hand? Maybe.” He laughed again, and you struggled to look over Will’s shoulder.

There, in all of his anger and glory, was none other than Percy Jackson. You sent a worried look Will’s way. “Alright Jackson-” Will sent a small nod your way, a small smile spreading across his freckled face. “Come with me. We don’t want three demigods injured in the Infirmary.” Will chuckled, before walking with you in his arms.

Percy grumbled in protest, the whole short way to the Infirmary. You couldn’t help but laugh, he’s so protective over everyone, it makes you wonder how he even remembers to take care of himself.

“What’s so funny?” Percy asked, as Will set you down on one of the beds. You laughed again, as he grabbed one of your hands.

“You are. Mr. I’ll Kill Anyone Who Hurts Who I Love.” You laughed again. “Calm it down hot shot, I’ll be alright.” He smiled sheepishly down at you.

“Okay, I’m not going to even sugarcoat this at all. This is gonna hurt.” Will winced, and you groaned, managing to hold a death grip on Percy’s hand. He chuckled, his thumb running over your knuckles.

“Fuck-” You gasped, before darkness enveloped your vision.

“Leo, get off of her.” You heard a familiar annoyed voice. Your eyes opened, and you squinted at the bright light, before looking into dark brown eyes. Leo was on your lap, his nose pressed against yours, a wide, lopsided smile on his face.

“Apparently you don’t understand personal space Valdez.” You said weakly.

“SHE’S ALIVE!!” He called dramatically, falling back onto your legs. You laughed slightly, before being pulled into an embrace, where Percy squeezed the living Tartarus out of you.

“Can’t-breathe-” You huffed out, and Percy pulled back.

“Sorry, I just-” He softened up, shooting you a soft smile, that you couldn’t help but love. “You’re okay.” He sighed in relief.

“Duh, she has a good doctor. You all do.” Will waltzed in, handing you a glass with a straw. Nectar.

“Anyway-” Leo scoffed, “- your boyfriend over here wouldn’t stop worrying about you for two days straight, even though I specifically told him you’ll be fine.” Leo shot a look Percy’s way. “And what do ya know, look who’s right again.” He smirked.

“Shut up, Valdez.” Percy blushed bright red. You chuckled slightly, looking at Percy over the rim of the glass. His sea green eyes met your own.

“And that’s my cue to leave.” Leo stood up, patting your shoulder. “Get well chica. Can’t have Percy worrying too much, can we?” The Latino winked playfully, and ran out, before Percy chucked a pillow at the slammed door.

“He’s annoying.” Percy laughed sheepishly. You shrugged, smirking at him while taking another sip of the nectar.

“Isn’t everyone?” You asked playfully, and Percy scoffed, burying you in another hug. You yelped in surprise, before he grabbed you and held you close.

“I’m hurting the Stolls.” He muttered into your hair after a few minutes of silence. You smiled, closing your eyes wistfully, while pressing a kiss against his cheek.

“Perseus Jackson, you will be doing nothing of the sort.” You looked up, into his eyes, and he shot a smirk down at you.

“I would never hurt them. Scouts honor.” He crossed his fingers and held them up sarcastically, making you laugh.

“So we’re scouts now?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. He smiled at you, pulling you close, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“We’re whatever you want us to be.”

- Nezzie
Strawberry Moon - (Trixya/Vatya) - spacespice

Just another Hollywood lesbian AU. Trixie is a struggling music artist finally discovered by a sleazy Hollywood manager; however, his Russian trophy bride (along with her small-waisted young lover) complicate and confuse Trixie’s rise to the top as a legend, icon, and star. 

A/N: This is the brain-vomit first outing in an AU that will be two or three parts long? Fair warning, this is heavier on Trixya than Vatya. (But I’m a slut for Vatya, so there will never be enough.) Also, I’m not a Russian fish; so, if any of these phrases are totally and completely wrong…I apologize. 

Keep reading

“I like to go beach-combing, and I like to find interestingly shaped rocks. When I really get into the groove I start finding beautiful rocks everywhere, until I discover that all of the rocks on the beach are beautiful. And so I try to find beauty even in the smallest moments, because beauty is something that can grow if you let it.”
― Douglas Coupland

Spell for emotional strength and calming

clear quartz
Sea glass (or anything else from the ocean)
Music (optional)

Sit in meditation pose with your palms facing upwards. In one of your palms hold the clear quartz and in the other your sea glass. Close your eyes and take a few deep breathes. Breathing in for 7 seconds holding for four and exhaling for 8 seconds. Then say:

Give me strength and calm this tide
The strength to survive my own turbulent seas
The calming knowledge that I will survive this no matter how many times it repeats.
I will come out even more beautiful just like you have.

This only needs to be said once but can be repeated. As you say the charm make sure to sense the light energy flowing through you from the quartz and sea glass. Feel the strength and ease the energy gives you and imagine the waves racking your body and the way they leap into the air and around you. The sea is all you can see and it is dark but the energy from your objects protects you from them. They can not knock you down. Slowly the waves begin to calm and the sun rises up on the horizon. Allow your muscles to relax as everything grows calmer. You can stay on the waters and float around a bit until you feel your ready to open your eyes.
* you can always substitute materials and add your own twist to spells never think you have to follow things exactly. Also spells can be said outloud or in your head and instead of sitting you may sit down.

Thunderstorms kisses

He’d always wondered what she tasted like. If her kisses would be as electric as the thunderstorm in her eyes. He knew it was wrong to have these thoughts when he had been in a relationship with her best friend for almost two years, and he loved Riley, he really did. But when this girl was always in his face , challenging him, teasing him and threatening him relentlessly, all he could do was stare down at this raging blond fury, and over time he happened to notice that she had the pinkest lips he had ever seen, almost perfectly shaped, with a permanent smirk that was always directed at him and he began to wonder what they tasted like.
He would catch himself thinking about her at the most random times. Strawberry lips and sunshine hair would flood his mind and afterwards he would hate himself for it because he knew he should be thinking about warm chocolate eyes and chestnut hair, but it was hard to do that when a sea of electric blue always invaded and washed away these thoughts.
After almost two years of letting her verbally and physically abuse him, he had finally begun to fight back. Not because he was sick of it, or because he wanted to hurt her, but because he knew she liked when he did, and he would do anything to see that fire in her eyes intensify. The first time he had actually fought back, by responding to one of her verbal jabs with a very clever remark in his opinion, her eyebrows had shot up in surprise and he was not sure if he should stay or run from her wrath, but surprisingly she had smiled. Though, he could not have been sure, because it had only lasted for an instant, until her face fell back to its usual smirk and she proceeded to call him one of her ever creative names in response. He noticed that she smiled a lot, especially with Riley, but he also noticed that a lot of her smiles were always a little too hard, or with a little too much teeth and they never really reached her eyes. He had never seen someone so committed to assuring the happiness of their best friend. She would sell her soul for Riley. Riley’s happiness was Maya’s occupation and he wished that she realized her happiness was important too and sometimes he would want so badly to tell her she was worth everything and more, and she deserved the world but he could not do that. They would be no windowsill conversations between them, no heart to hearts because he was Ranger Rick and she was his girlfriend’s best friend. And that was that.
He found her crying one time, underneath a staircase at school. He had never seen her cry before. The school was nearly empty and Riley had had cheerleading practice. He was not sure what to do at first, if he should just walk away and call Riley, but then a sob came from her that nearly broke his heart, and never in his life had he felt such a need to fix someone. She sat in the corner of the staircase, her knees drawn to her chest and her face in her hands, her hair cascading down her shoulders. Her shoulders shook and his insides hurt. He didn’t think she knew anyone was looking at her so he called her name. She remained in the same position and he called her name again. No response. She had to have heard him. She probably thought if she didn’t acknowledge him he would eventually go away but he refused to do anything of that sort. Without a second thought, he walked towards her tiny figure and slid down the wall next to her. He felt her body tense and then put his arm around her, pulling her into him. She lay stiff in his arms but he held on. After a few minutes he felt her finally relax against him and her head fell heavily against his shoulder. Her sobs had subsided but she still shook a little. His grip tightened and he rested his head against hers. Never did someone fit so perfectly in his arms. He heard her sigh, a sigh that sounded like it was filled with so much world weariness. They never spoke of it afterwards, it was as if it had never happened and though she had never told him to, he knew he was not supposed to tell Riley that he had found her crying. It was an unspoken agreement. The only acknowledgment that he got that had proven what had happened had not been a figment of his imagination was when the very next day their eyes had locked briefly across their lunch table with Riley and Farkle in the cafeteria and she had given him a small smile. Of gratitude? He couldn’t be sure but he thinks it was probably the most genuine smile he had ever seen on her face, even though her lips had only slightly turned upwards, but no matter how small, it had gotten to her sea glass eyes.
He could feel there dynamic slowly changing. He wasn’t sure he could say they were becoming friendlier with each other but they were becoming…something more than just two teenagers who tolerated each other for the sake of a mutual friend. They no longer needed Riley to be there to feel comfortable in each other’s presence. One day, all four of them, him, Riley, Farkle and Maya, were supposed to meet at “Topanga’s” to hang out but it had just ended up being the two of them as Farkle had ditched them to hang out with the AV club and Riley had to babysit Auggie at the last minute. He would have thought that Maya would have left to go and help Riley with Auggie but surprisingly she had stayed and it was then he had found out that she was a really good listener. Sitting opposite each other in one of the booths, with her hands clasped together on top of the table she listened as he told her about Texas sunsets, and how beautiful the horses looked when they ran together in the fields and how he had always woke up at five every morning to do things around his grandparents farm. He told her how much he missed his old home and his family and how sometimes New York could be so suffocationg with all its skyscraper buildings and millions of people. Not once did she call him a name or interrupt him as he told her, she just listened. At the end of it, it was silent for a moment and she just stared at him with her piercing eyes, as if she was searching for something in him. After a moment she leaned back and said to him,
“ Even though here might not feel like home, always remember that we will always be your family, no matter what.” She told him this without her gaze ever wavering from his face and he thinks that that was the moment he started to fall in love with her.
He began to walk her home nearly every day after school especially on the days when they all hung out till dark. The first time he did, he realized how far she lived from Riley’s house, nearly five blocks and her neighborhood was not exactly the safest, especially in the night. The first few times she fussed about it and told him it wasn’t necessary but eventually she realized she could not convince him otherwise and it became a pattern. No matter how much she claimed she could take care of herself he always noticed how she would draw nearer to him whenever they walked passed a dark ally or she received a random catcall from a pedestrian across the street. In those moments it would take everything he had within him to prevent himself from enclosing her hand in his just to assure her that he was right here beside her, that nothing in hell could hurt her with him here. In those walks he found out a lot about her. That her mom changed jobs all the time and worked triple shifts and sometimes days would go by without her seeing her. He learned that her sick grandmother lived with them and that she tried to get home as soon as possible to make her dinner and watch tv with her. He got the impression that aside from Riley, her Grandma was her best friend. Her eyes always lit up when she spoke of her.
One day after almost six months of walking her home, she finally invited him inside. He could see how nervous she was as she fumbled open the door of the apartment. “It’s not much,” she had mumbled to him and he had told her he didn’t care if she lived in a box on the worst alley in New York. She laughed at that and he saw her relax a little. Her laugh was like a drug to him, and like any addict, whenever he rarely evoked one from her, he found himself on this high. She introduced him to her grandmother who hugged him with a grip so fierce it startled him. He could have seen that she had been beautiful when she was younger. He now knew where Maya had gotten her looks from. Her grandmother had held his hand while sitting on her rocking chair and studied him for a significant amount of time, with eyes very similar to Maya’s. She then turned to Maya and announced that it was abnormal for a boy to have such a beautiful face. He laughed and then heard Maya scoff behind him. He turned to her and winked and she rolled her eyes. She walked towards the small kitchen and he swore he glimpsed a smile that she tried to hide behind her hair. He helped her make dinner, despite her refusal, and though it was only Mac and cheese, it was probably the best meal he had ever had as he ate next to her on the couch in the living room, opposite her grandmother as they watched some Spanish soap opera with no english subtitles. Though he had no idea what they were saying he laughed along with Maya and her grandmother and he thinks this was the happiest he had ever seen her. Afterwards he stood next to her in the kitchen by the sink as she washed the dishes and he dried and in that moment he felt like this was something he would like to do for the rest of his life, not just wash dishes, but just stand next to her, unconsciously bumping shoulders, and brushing fingers, as she passed the dishes to him, that sent shivers down his spine.
He helped her make dinner at least three times a week and her grandmother loved him. She would pass him worried looks whenever her grandma barley touched her food, which was most nights, and he would fix the antenna on the television on the nights they tended to get a lot of static. He looked forward to these nights, more than anything else and though she would never admit it, he didn’t know how grateful Maya was for him coming. He made her nights less lonely.
One night, just after they had washed the dishes, they heard thunder rumble outside and in a few minutes there was a full out storm raging outside. They stood by the window and watched as lightning streaked the sky outside. He felt her turn her head to watch him and he met her gaze. She shrugged her shoulders and turned on her heel, heading for her room. How he knew that that was her way of giving him permission to stay the night? He wasn’t sure, but at some point they had begun to understand each other without the use of words. He stood still for a moment and eventually followed her into the room where she had already thrown a sheet and pillow on the floor for him. He told her that he could sleep on the couch but she just shook head, mumbling something about her grandma groaning in the night and he would never get any sleep on the couch.
Later on, they lay in the dark, with him on the floor and Maya on her bed. They lay in silence and he listened to her breathing and thought of a lot of things. He thought of Riley, innocent Riley, who was probably sleeping and he felt guilty because she was so kind, and beautiful and loving and he didn’t deserve any of it as he lay on the floor of her best friend’s bedroom, her best friend who he was falling in love with one Spanish soap opera at a time. And then he thought of Maya, and everything she was, and how brightly she burned in this black and white life she did not deserve and how underneath the entire tough façade she put on at school she was just a girl trying to hold it all together the best that she could with a sick grandmother and an almost absent mother and he thought of how he so much wanted to give her a life she deserved.
He heard ruffling of sheets and then the thudding of feet landing on the floor and the next thing he knew she was lying next to him. There was absolutely no physical contact, and they both just lay there, staring at the ceiling and he could feel her warmth, so close to him, part of her hair, which was fanned out on the floor tickled his neck. He turned on his side to look at her and she mirrored him and they both lay staring at each other intently. He fell asleep drowning in a sea of blue.
They didn’t talk about how the next morning they woke up wrapped up in each other, feet intertwined and his arms around her and her face in his neck. They didn’t talk about how they lay there for a few moments, without moving, even though they both were already awake and should have long detangled. Those things remained unspoken.
He could feel Riley beginning to suspect something. Innocent Riley who should not have to suspect these kinds of things. He wasn’t sure exactly what had made her aware of it, maybe it was the lingering glances between him and Maya in the cafeteria or the fact that Maya taunted him less and less these days or that he and Maya stood a little too close to each other by the lockers. She could feel her eyes on him at certain times, especially when they hung out together as a group and he couldn’t help but feel terrible. It wasn’t as if they had kissed or anything but he could feel Riley’s eyes burning into him and feared that she could see into his mind and see exactly what he was thinking. Maya, Maya, Maya.
He knew Maya could feel her suspicion too and they cut down his number of visits to once a week as much as he hated it. It wasn’t as if they were doing anything wrong even though, in reality they really were.
One afternoon, both him and Maya stood at Riley’s locker waiting for her to finish cheerleading practice. They had begun to laugh about something, something entirely stupid but it had him gasping for breath as he laughed and she bent over holding her stomach. They were a mess, eventhough whatever it was had not even been that funny. He steadied her from toppling over with laughter and she leaned against him heavily. Eventually they calmed down, leaning against the lockers with their shoulders pressed against each other. He looked at her, her hair an absolute mess and laughed, gently pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear and smoothing down the rest with his two hands. She smiled as he did this and suddenly there faces were so close to each other and he could feel her breath on his face with the scent of peppermint and she was so close and so warm and……
He heard someone clearing their throat and there stood Riley, her hands clenched at her sides and they both straightened up. He hated being responsible for that look of hurt in her eyes. Maya looked down at her shoes and he felt sorry for her as well. She had been trying so hard , all her life, to protect her friend from the hurt of the world and here she was, the person to hurt her, sealed and delivered.
Him and Riley’s three year relationship ended that night over the phone with a lot of silence and sharp words from her side of the conversation. You would think after three years he would feel hurt and be mourning the loss if his girlfriend, but instead, he felt free. He called Maya but she did not answer the phone. He tried a few more times but it went straight to voicemail.
He thought that maybe she just felt bad about the entire Riley situation and that at school he would assure her that everything was alright and that Riley was not even that mad anyways, but for three days she didn’t show up to school and he felt a panic rise in him. He didn’t ask Riley because she still wasn’t talking to him and obviously Farkle, his supposed best friend was taking her side. She still would not pick up her phone and with nothing else to do he found himself walking towards her apartment after school. He knocked on her door loudly and anxiously. There was no response. Where was she? He knocked again and shook the handle only to find that the door was open. The pace of his heart increased rapidly and his palms began to sweat. Why was her door open and why did he suddenly feel so scared? He slowly pushed open the door and there she sat on the couch, in front of the television that blasted a Spanish soap opera. As familiar as this scenario was to him, he could not help but feel something was missing. Only then did he realize the empty rocking chair and the door to her grandmother’s room that was wide open showcasing a stripped mattress and boxes on the floor for packing. Everything connected and his eyes fell back to her on the couch, knees drawn to her chest and unseeing eyes glued to the television. If he looked closely he could have seen that her hands trembled as they wrapped around her legs. He could see that she was trying desperately to hold herself together. “Oh Maya,” he said and he dropped his book bag to the floor and made his way to the couch. He enveloped her into his arms and this time she didn’t tense but completely melted into him. She buried her face in his chest and he rested his chin on her head, smoothing his hand over her hair and she cried and shook and soaked his t-shirt with her tears. And in that moment he held her together.
He held her hand at the funeral and stayed with her at the grave until everyone else left so she could say her goodbyes without the whole world to witness and just him, and was not allowed to stay because he didn’t matter, but because he did. He took her for ice cream afterwards instead of them going back to the apartment to be surrounded by sad stories and the sickening smell of flowers. He tried to make her laugh and she appreciated it even though the most she could muster was a bitter smile. They stood on the sidewalk outside the ice cream shop and he held her hand tightly and whispered to her that it was all going to be okay and she rested her head on his shoulder. Death sucked, but it sucked a little less when you had someone to hold onto.
The first time he kissed her, they were on her fire escape. They had started to sit there a lot now because watching Spanish soap operas just really was never the same anymore. He was telling her about the stars in Texas and how when you looked up at night you could see billions of them dotting the sky unlike the too bright city of New York that drowned out the night sky. They lay on their backs looking at the sky and he had challenged her that she probably could not even count twenty stars in New York’s night sky. Of course she had looked at him determinately and started to count, hell bent to find twenty-one stars, the one extra just to make him look like an ass. And of course she did count twenty one stars exactly and she raised her arms in triumph above her head and then turned to give him the most breathtaking smile he had ever seen. This smile met her eyes and lit up her entire face, and she was brighter than any Texas sky. He took her face in both his hands and kissed her. She tasted like coffee and strawberries and Spanish soap operas and night skies and he loved her so much his heart hurt. She pulled away from him and looked at him, her eyes wide and questioning. He nodded his head in response to her unasked question and pulled her back in and his hands threaded through her sunshine hair. Her hands wrapped behind his neck and their bodies fit in ways that was too perfect too describe.
He no longer had to wonder if her kisses were as electric as the thunderstorm in her eyes. They were. And she tasted like everything he could ever want and in her arms and lost in her lips, he knew;
He was home


raythecomputerart  asked:

“I thought you were dead.” “I was.” Baron and Louise

*whistles innocently* I’m not saying “The Beginning of the End” AU, buuuuut~


He’s used to seeing her around the Bureau by now. Used to seeing a swish of burgundy dress, the flicker of sea glass eyes. It took him far longer than the others of the Bureau to use her true name, but that was no fault of his own. He hated the way it was bitter on his tongue.

It wasn’t until streaks of brown started to invade her eyes did he really start to pay attention to her.

The dress changed from red to blue, from silk to satin. It lost its frills and frump, became simple and elegant. The fur started to change, the eyes began to change, even the face began to change. Everything changed.

She started to linger in the carving room, staring at the space where the blood soaked body once laid. She stopped asking if it was lemon or milk, her hand reaching forever towards the ice box where the milk remained chilled.

She looked less anxious when Toto and Muta began to fight. She lost her ability to speak German.

It wasn’t until she whispered her name in Japanese that fear and hope waged war within his chest.

He found her, sitting at the top of a house, watching the light show he always put on for her every night. It was an attempt to woe her, and she was always astounded. But tonight she looked on, casual and expressionless, like she couldn’t quite muster up an amused smile just yet.

He was choked up on words that he wanted to say, lost in the thought that this might truly be her. She sat, prim and proper, a contrast against the way her foot bounced against the floor, or the way her thumb rubbed over her knuckles. She was still torn between two different worlds, and two different people.

“I thought you were dead.”

Her head turns slow, so maddeningly slow that he wants to make her face him on his own. But once her eyes meet his, melted chocolate mixed with caramel, he’s lost in it all, lost that he barely hears her words, but sees the grim smiles she forces on.

“I was.”


This is for the KakaSaku Music Prompts Challenge that’s not really a challenge! 

The song my spinner landed on was S.T.A.Y by Hans Zimmer, and the song always makes me feel like I’ve lost someone every time I listen to it. So, of course, this will be angsty because, well, it’s me. But I promise there’s a happy ending. 

I also cheated (i know, I’m terrible) and listened to M83′s Oblivion a lot. You’ll find that song under my music tag. 

Summary: I would choose you in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I would find you and I would choose you.

Pairings: KakaSaku, subtle mentions of SasuNaru.

Words: 7,163

[Part 1] [Part 2 ] [Part 3 to be added]

If someone were to ask Sakura when she thought everything had gone wrong, she’d chuckle grimly and say: April 1st, seven years after the war, four days after her twenty-fourth birthday.

She’d tell them that it had been a muggy day heavy with the promise of more rain—prominent enough that even she with her decidedly normal olfactory senses could smell it. But it had been the first day of Spring, seven promising years since the eve of the Alliance’s victory, and her team had decided to have a celebratory training session.

Sakura remembers because that was the day Kakashi had brought out his dogs, despite knowing that it would rain, and she had innocuously complained about the wet dog smell that would inevitably follow them until they bathed.

She didn’t really mind the smell, not really, and she supposed that Kakashi knew that because he had only patted her head and said Essence of Wet Dog is in now, Sakura-chan. How he knew what was in fashion back then, to this day, Sakura doesn’t know.

She’d say that it was a normal day as far as the rag-tagged Team 7 went, and there was no reason to be wary of anything other than the usual injuries that came from being on a team with such power houses—demigods, really. As with all other ninja activities, training sessions had their moments of danger, but one does not become a shinobi without knowing how to manage risks and how to prevent life threatening injuries in friendly spars.

Despite being ninjas with positive control of that precious life energy called chakra, they were still—for all sense and purposes—human. Unless, of course, you were Naruto or Sasuke, but Sakura had accepted long ago that those two would die of something completely arbitrarily extraterrestrial; because if a goddess couldn’t kill them, then what hope did they as mere mortals have?

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okay but an AU wherein Bucky is not taken by Hydra, but by the Unseelie court.

They build him a new arm out of twisting tree branches and vines, but they take out his (tragically fragile and human) heart and keep it in an iron casket in order to ensure his fealty. He becomes the favorite knight of the Unseelie Queen, because despite his obedience there is still an expression of horror and distaste at every act of violence he commits at her behest. His leather armor glistens black from the blood he is forced to rub in after every kill. He is known as the Black Knight.

Steve, brave noble stupid Steve, goes to get him back. And the fae are just beside themselves because here is a human that will be delicious to break, with his noble, self-sacrificing heart and his fiery temperament. And he’s so pretty with his honey hair and sea glass eyes, like the most shining members of the Seelie Court, but his unvarnished beauty is a peculiarity in the grotesque Night Court. Regardless, in order to win Bucky back, Steve has to serve the Unseelie—an uneasy match at best, and he sticks out like a sore thumb at every court gathering. He is just so bright and sweet—an excellent balance for his love, dark and sharp-edged as he is. Forcing Steve to watch every violent act that Bucky is ordered to complete and powerless to resist becomes the court’s new favorite amusement.

And Darcy is a changeling, her fey tendencies tempered by the humans who raised her, but she knows the Unseelie court and she told Steve not to go, that he wouldn’t know the rules to their games. She warned him of the consequences of serving the faeries, of the untold masses who tried to get their loved ones back only to lose their hearts in the bargain. But Steve didn’t know that Darcy was fey herself, and told her that she worried too much, and that he’d be fine and went off half-cocked and self-righteous, down the barrow and straight into a gilt trap.

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anonymous asked:

I wish you would write a fic where Steve is a siren, please?

The Commandos never wondered why they agreed to rejoin the war.  When the biographers came years later, with their staticky tape recorders and the hero worship bright in their young eyes, the men had shrugged.

“We were a bunch of idiots,” Monty offered, holding the shattered pieces of a pipe that Jones had filled with Stark explosives.

Were?” Morita echoed, staring at Falsworth’s singed eyebrows and Jones’s smirk.

“Rogers barely had to ask,” Dum Dum reminisced, the whiskey in his hand soothing the catch in his voice at their Captain’s name.  “Of course, he waited until we were on our fourth pitcher of beer.”

“Do you remember?” Dernier cut in, waving his cigarette into their circle, the orange glow winding through the air like a pilotless plane.  “Before.”  He shook his head, dropped his hand to rub at his wrists where Hydra had kept them shackled during the day.  “Sarge always told us that no one could say no to Steve.”

Morita chuckled, distracting the young reporters from the flask the others were tipping into their drinks.  “No one ever did say no to Cap,” he declared, shaking his head to brush the graying hair out of his eyes.  “Especially when it came to the war.”

Jones poured himself a fresh glass of whiskey and finished it off in one long swallow.  He didn’t say a word about the night that Sarge had settled next to him during his midnight watch, rolling a ball of wax between slender fingers, dirt and gun oil streaked across his hands.  Sometimes, Sarge had whispered, handing over the wax without meeting Jones’s questioning gaze, his shoulders hunched, staring through the dark with a sniper’s unerring aim.  Staring at Steve.  Sometimes, Gabe, Steve gets a little … carried away.  Make sure you plug your ears.

Gabe polished off the flask, and didn’t think about finding Rogers alone in the train car.  Couldn’t remember what had happened after that, just the sibilant hiss of Cap’s voice and the welcome weight of the gun in his hands, blinking awake to feel the blood running down his cheek, surrounded by the dead.

After that, Gabe had always remembered to plug his ears.

Sarah Rogers had met Joseph in Ireland, she told the boys, running thin fingers through their downy hair, lulling them to sleep.  His troop ship had run into bad weather off the stormy Irish coast, must have gotten turned around and ended up on the rocks.  Maybe it was a U-Boat, Steve muttered, voice slurred with sleep.

Bucky watched Sarah smile, and didn’t flinch at the glint of her green eyes and white teeth.  She caught him staring and rolled her eyes, raising an eyebrow at the blond boy laying between them.  Bucky bit down his giggles, and never told Steve that a submarine couldn’t get that close to the rock-strewn coast.

She had found Joseph on the beach, she continued softly, half-drowned.  Bucky thought of his uncle’s nostalgic sketches, cliffs that dropped straight into the sea, nothing like Coney Island with its shallow waves and hot sand, and curled a little closer into Steve.  He said she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.  She had patched him up, and loved him, and held back her tears when he marched off into the war and never came home.

She told them stories, at night, and Steve complained that she never sang to them, not like Mrs. Barnes sang old ballads and hummed the lullabies her grandmother had sung, when they still knew the words.  Mrs. Rogers blew a raspberry on her son’s cheek, tousled his hair and sang all four verses of Roddy McCorley in a clear voice sharper than the peal of the church bell on Sundays, echoing through Bucky’s small chest like a cresting wave.

Then she pushed them out the door to play, and Bucky broke his knuckle on Timmy Houlihan’s face.

“I don’t want you hanging around with that Rogers boy,” Bucky’s father demanded, a heavy hand on Bucky’s shoulder pinning him in place.  “Your teachers say he’s always starting fights, or that you’re starting them, that boy’s forked tongue in your ear.”

Steve hated bullies, railed at them in a high, thin voice that rippled through Bucky’s veins, left him breathing hard with the taste of copper in his mouth and bruises blooming on his hands.

He started going home with Steve, after, because Sarah Rogers never seemed angry when they stumbled in with torn shirts and swollen eyes.  She smiled when Steve leaped up to reenact Bucky’s fight, making Bucky look like a hero and not a stupid third-grader outnumbered four to one.

“Why aren’t you angry?” Bucky wondered, ten years old and finally brave enough to ask, long used to the sea glass of Mrs. Rogers’s eyes and the press of her teeth into her bottom lip.  Steve lay between them, sleeping fitfully through the fever radiating from his skin.  “Aren’t you worried he’ll be hurt, fighting like we do?”

Sarah laughed, the sound ringing through the dank room like the hollow echo of a knife against an empty glass, calling for a toast.  She ruffled Steve’s damp hair.  “He’s fine,” she told Bucky, less concerned than the doctors always were.  “He just has too much water in his lungs.”

Joseph Rogers had drowned off the Irish coast and met the most beautiful woman in the world.  Bucky shivered, and blamed it on the sweat soaking his shirt to his skin.

“And the fighting?” he asked, swaying toward Steve, because he was never going to be brave enough to ask again.

“Some of us are born for violence,” Steve’s mother breathed, quieter than the rasp of Steve’s snoring at her side.  She leaned forward, pressed a gentle kiss to her son’s overheated brow.  “And some of us are called to it, Jamie boy.”  Mrs. Rogers lifted her head and gazed at him without blinking, her green eyes sharp as the rocks that feasted on the bones of ships lost at sea.

“Is there a choice?” Bucky whispered, his hand wrapped too tight around Steve’s, squeezing his friend’s limp fingers until they went white at the tips.

“There’s always a choice.”  Sarah Rogers straightened up, and Bucky leaned into her touch when she brushed clammy fingers through his uncombed hair.  “You can fight, child, or you can drown.  It’s up to you.”

The first time Bucky kissed Steve, the other boy sunk his teeth into Bucky’s bloody lip, and Bucky shoved Steve hard into the wall, the rasp of bricks scratching pink lines down his pale skin.

Steve had a voice like a clarion call, like the trumpet that had brought down city walls.  Steve had a voice that lured men to their feet and left bodies in his wake, his smile sharp and his blue eyes glinting like the last patch of sky a man would ever see.

Bucky licked the blood from Steve’s mouth, pushed him back into the mattress and made him keen, voice high and thready and thrumming with the promise of a hurricane, the storm pounding through Bucky’s veins.

You could fight, or you could drown.  Bucky fisted his hands in Steve’s hair, pulled bruises on the porcelain skin of his throat, and waited to be swallowed by the waves.

(Author’s note: I love this prompt, thank you! I went a little vague with mythology: sirens have voices that cause shipwrecks. Sirensong, thus, is a call to violence, a lure to a man’s doom no matter on land or sea.)