that when a ship is in a safe happy bubble it bursts

A Promise (A Maeve Fic) - ACOMAF and TOG Crossover

Okay, so this was a really interesting idea that I found on @greenfire2908art‘s blog. It gave me like a million ideas, so I decided to put as many as I could in here. Enjoy everyone! 

The throne room was dark. Shadowed, black walls curved sharply away from the ebon-stained tiles of the floor, tilting up and up and up to meet in a dome a hundred feet above. This should’ve opened up the room, dispelling any claustrophobic thoughts, but instead it made it seem as if there was no space at all, as if the walls were closing in and the floor collapsing. The lack of proper furniture and ornamentation only accentuated the crushing emptiness of the great hall, and any unfortunate visitor would feel like a deer in an open field. The current subject of this strange torture was sweating and wringing his hands nervously, his words stuttering and uneven.

Queen Maeve sat stiff-backed in her throne. She did not remember any other way to sit. Her bones were made of iron, same as her heart, and her backbone did not bend. The man continued his mumbling, and Maeve stared at him unblinkingly. His lips moved, but she could not hear.

Blood-red hands, plunging deep into a human chest.

“Me wife,” the farmer said. “She’s caught the flu and I’ve not a coin-”

A shrill wine, slowly, slowly building into a scream. Then many.

“Soon the kids’ll get it, too-”

“How many?” she said, not really wanting to know the answer even as she asked.

He swallowed, dark hair shifting as his throat bobbed. “Four-thousand.”

“So, you see, m'lady-Queen, that is-”

Her hands were wrapped around his neck, nails painted crimson looking like bloody claws as they gripped tighter.

“-to ask for help-”

Tighter, tighter. The fingers went white as they squeezed the life from her King. A wraith-like face laughed, taunting, skin pale and colorless but for her hair. The hair that seemed to grow brighter with every pool of blood spilled.

“O’ course, you don’t have t’-”

As those fingers went taut, a crack chased all other sound away, buried it in cotton. The silence made the noise that much louder.


“My son, Queen. He-”

“That’s quite enough.” Maeve’s voice was calm, amenable even. It was a horrible contrast to the shrieking hum beneath her skin. She made a gesture to her guards, a single sweep of her left hand that had three full-blooded Fae males setting down spears in favor of sword or axe.

As they neared, the farmer seemed to come back to himself, glancing back at the approaching Fae. “What’s this?” he asked.

One of the males roughly pulled his hands behind his back. That was when the old farmer began thrashing.

“What is this?” he asked again, panic edging his voice. “Put me down!”

Maeve watched without speaking.

The second guard pushed the man to his knees, pressing against his shoulders to keep him from squirming away.

And the third, he snapped gloves onto his hands, to lessen the mess that came afterwards. He tested the edge of his blade on his thumb, found it satisfactory. The farmer screamed, twisting and turning, but the arms that held him were like iron bands. The third Fae hefted the sword and leaned back to give himself room.

“I’m innocent!” the farmer shouted. “I’m innocent!”

Maeve leaned forward then, a cruel light behind her eyes. “No one is,” she crooned.

“I’m inn-”

A rush of air, a geyser of blood, and the third male had eyes like granite as he wiped the farmer’s life from his blade and walked back to his place. The two Fae who’d been holding down the man did not speak as they took up their posts by the door, leaving a crumpled, headless body behind.


Mild irritation could be seen in the feathering of Maeve’s jaw. If she could have, she’d be drumming her fingers along the deep blue manchette of her armrest. One of the typical meetings again, complete with tittering court ninnies and pompous fools. Hundreds of kingdoms she’d conquered, and not one managed a decent court without its share of idiots. She’d gotten used to it, and usually the ordered murder of the courtier of her pick was enough to shut them up. But her guards were not currently present, out on a scouting mission in search of Aelin Galathynius.

A thrill ran through her blood at just the thought of the Queen’s name. She’d escaped the iron prison, somehow. One day, Maeve had pried opened the door and found it empty, naught a trace left but for a swirling series of marks, sketched out in blood. There had been no sign of the Queen since, but rumors spread quick, and Maeve heard the whispers of an army rising in the North.

A donkey’s laugh burst from one of the courtiers, bursting her bubble of calm. He was surprisingly ugly for a Fae, with a sloping brow and protruding nose, and his guffaw did nothing to help his predicament. Maeve’s eyes tightened, and she put just a bit more effort into ignoring them.

As her violet gaze drifted around the room, her thoughts burrowed deep into lost history. To a very different kind of promise.

“You will not die. Not now or ever. Not until the world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars.”

Those were the words that the gods had cursed at her, centuries ago, after the death of…everything.

“Your Majesty?”

Maeve flicked her eyes to the one who’d spoken her title.

Strangely, he did not balk. She’d have to break him in soon. “Your Majesty,” he said, green eyes bright and black hair waving, “Aelin Galathynius has been sighted.”

Maeve smiled.


No one knew Maeve’s secret, the one of the Queen Who Was Promised. Promised not just to Elena and her gods, but also to her. She did not fight for Erawan, not for pleasure, not for power or some darker purpose. No, she sought freedom. One that none could give her but Aelin Galathynius.

It was with cold anticipation squirming in her gut that Maeve watched, from the safety of a long-boat, her armada crawl forward to meet the approaching one. It was anxious suspense that gnawed at her stomach as she saw just how many men had been gathered under the same banner to kill. And it that was definitely fear that thrilled through her when she realized it was her they wanted to kill.

Another emotion bubbled to the surface, one that had been pushed down for a thousand years to keep her sane. It was excitement, joy, that turned into a burning relief. So long, and finally her dream approached. Her salvation came in the form of pikes and spears and longbows, warships slicing through the water. It came in the form of a golden-haired queen with eyes a blazing blue that would’ve been better replaced by the line of molten gold rimming the irises.

Terror coursed through her like never before. Of course, it did not show on her face, wouldn’t even if she’d wished it to. Maeve let a cruel smile split her face in half, throwing a hand in front of her. Her ship lurched forward, careening towards the opposite bank. Rows of archers stood along each and every of the ships’ railings, the ones at the head of the armada like tiny dots in the back of her vision.

“Fire,” she whispered, and it was black flames that licked at her fingers as the first volley of arrows clotted the grey sky. Shields emblazoned with a rising sun rose up to defend from the wicked-edged points, but still, faint shrieks could be heard from the lines of enemy men.

A trickle of shadow she sent, a calling, a beckoning. Immediately she was answered. A balmy wind slammed into their ranks, cutting and eddying through the sea breeze. Maeve looked up, and she met eyes of blue and gold, even from over a quarter mile away. Her raging emotions halted when she saw the prince of snow next to her. He stood taller and stronger than he ever had at her side, and through the severed bond, she could feel where his endless sorrow had been replaced by a strange king of fullness.

The hollow cave that had once housed her human heart was suddenly prominent. Once, she had been them. Happy and complete, with a wisdom that could only be gained through the acceptance of another into your life. Hatred raked its oily claws down her insides. Together, the Queen and her mate, a reminder of what had been lost, why she still wanted to kill them.

“I won’t let you.”

Maeve growled and whirled around, the shadows leaking from her in waves. Her eyes widened when she saw who the voice belonged to. A woman, with long, golden-brown hair flowing down her back and eyes like pale-blue ice. Her form was bright and shimmering, and the power that spilled from her was enough to rival that of Aelin.

“Long time no see, Mora,” Maeve snarled. “How’s the afterlife suiting you?”

Mora’s eyes tightened. “I won’t let you kill her,” she said.

“I know. That’s why you’ll have to go first.”

Quick as lightning, a needle-sharp thread of shadow shot out. Mora didn’t move as the shadow darted for her chest, merely twitched her lip. The shadow was swallowed by a cloud of ice.

Maeve bared her teeth. “Why are you here?”

Mora met her gaze evenly. “The gods have come to collect their Promise. I won’t let you kill her.”

No, and I wouldn’t even if you hadn’t threatened me.

“Of course,” Maeve said coolly. “But why are you here?”

“Because I asked her to be.”

The breath caught in her throat as she turned slowly to meet the hazel-brown eyes that she had not seen since her Mate’s death. “You,” she said, because she had no idea if she should speak in a familiar or formal manner, and the awe did not leak into her voice, even though it was there, thick and stifling.

Vaguely, she could hear the battle cries of her men, but she knew she was safe here, in the thick of her armada, for at least a few more minutes.

“Me,” Mab said, and a sad smile lined her eyes.

Salty tears spilled down her face, running through the blood that splattered her cheeks. She caressed the leathery membrane of the wing, brought it close to her chest. He was gone.

“Leave,” Maeve said bluntly, any good feeling lost as she realized a war raged around her. There was no time for distractions.

Mab flinched and took a step after Maeve’s retreating form. “I came to tell you something.”

Maeve paused.

“I came to say something He would’ve wanted you to remember.”

“Elain,” Mora ground out, and Maeve closed her eyes at that name.


Mab ignored it, continuing, “He said he’d always love you. He would still love you, you know. Even with…with how you’ve turned out. And I-”


“-I still love you. Nesta still loves you, even though she won’t admit it-”

Maeve turned just in time to see Mora strike Mab with an open palm. “Elain,” she said, and cold fire danced in her eyes. “I told you to stop. I told you-” Her eyes turned to Maeve, seething with hatred. “I do not love you, Maeve. I loved Feyre, and she’s been gone a long, long time.”

Gone, ever since her Mate’s death. When she’d felt that other line of the bond die, go taut and then snap, she’d erupted.

“He’s not breathing,” Mor whispered. “Shit. Azriel.” Her quiet sobs were muffled by the shadowsinger’s shirt, and he too let the tears fall.

They’d all been in a room together, and then he’d barged in, violet eyes wild.

“She’s here,” he breathed. “She’s here.” And when they all glanced at the doorway he’d come through, a shudder of fear passed through each of them. A woman with a plain face and blood-red hair, smirking.

“Hello, Rhysand,” she purred.

The attack came too quick to follow, and they were all frozen with shock anyway. When manicured nails had torn through his flesh, she had lunged. It was with half a thought that she killed Amerantha and rushed to her Mate’s side, the tears already stinging the back of her vision.

“Fuck,” Cassian swore, voice cracking. “Can’t someone do something?”

Slowly, they shook their heads.

Gone, gone, gone.

A scream was ripped from her throat, and the damper on her glamour fell. Wings extended, talons cut through flesh, and solid black filmed her eyes. She’d kill them. Kill them all. She’d burn the world.

And then she had.

Cassian. Mor. Azriel. Amren. All of them gone. Velaris, too. And so the gods had brought her before them, and they’d determined her fate. A curse, to live forever, until her Promise was born.

Hearing her name again brought immeasurable pain. She had learned to hide it behind a mask of porcelain skin and violet eyes, a wrath greater than that of her lover’s killer. And with each word against her, the steel of that mask thickened. “Leave,” the Queen of the Fae said, ice coating her words. “Before I lose my temper.”

In truth, she already had.

“Feyre,” Mab breathed. “You are good. You are kind. I see beneath your mask.”

The crackling of magic as the armada at last came upon the shore, and armored bodies heaved themselves into the shallow water. Maeve thought it cruel that fate decided to gift her sister with those same words as she had once told her Mate. It felt like a slap to the face. So it was with venom that she said,“We all start out good.” A cruel smirk. “But it doesn’t last long.”

The ship exploded into black mist.


Maeve let the madness show on her face as she crept up behind the Queen of Terrasen. There was none of the fear Maeve felt on her face, none mirrored in Aelin’s face.

“I’ve come to kill you,” Maeve announced, and the swirls of shadows thickened around her.

“Funny,” Aelin murmured. “I was about to say the same thing.”

And then she struck. Maeve dodged, quick as thunder, and Aelin whipped back into a battle stance. They fought long and hard, viciously trading blows. Their magic whipped out in time to the strikes of steel, up and over. Rowan did not make any move to help, she noticed, though his fists were clenched tight and his legs were tense, as if he was ready to jump in at his Queen’s first command. He glared at her with all the menace of four-hundred years of servitude.

Distracted for a moment, Maeve did not see the knife coming until the last second, and for the first time in a millennium, Maeve’s blood spilled. It flowed free and unabashed into the hard earth, hissing and popping like hot oil. The pain was nothing, a child’s hurt, but it still left her gasping. She hadn’t felt the ill of a wound in so long, that she found herself fascinated by the glossy beads dripping from the tear in her flesh, so like that deep scarlet hair.

Aelin had paused momentarily, watching curiously. She was still tense, on edge, but something had shifted in her. The hostility had lessened more to…wariness.

“Fireheart,” Rowan muttered, voice dripping with warning. “No.”

“But what if-” Aelin began, but then Maeve shook her head and was up again. The battle began anew, and she felt her strength flagging. Her well of magic was bone-dry, while Aelin continued to spew flames from her outstretched hand. She knew what was coming before it did. There was only a moment to quell that instinctual fear and replace it with the excitement, the possibility of-

The sword that plunged through her chest was burning-hot, and it rekindled something in that empty cavity where her heart should’ve been.

“I love you, Feyre.”

Aelin jerked the blade free, leaving Maeve gasping on her knees.

I’ll love you, forever and always.”

She fell to the ground as her strength failed to her, chest still heaving. Two words burst from her lips in an unintelligible gasp. Blood leaked through her fingers. Despite her lover’s protests, Aelin moved forward to crouch beside Maeve. Her eyes were cold, and no pity shown in them, but-

Aelin leaned in, the smell of crackling embers punching through the sweat and tears. “Say it again,” Aelin commanded.

Maeve breathed, “I’m sorry.

The Queen of Terrasen studied her for a long moment, gaze assessing, then gave a sharp nod. That was all, nothing more before standing up and turning away to face her own fate. There was nothing more to do, she supposed wryly, and a bit of her old spirit returned, the one that lay slumbering beneath the mask. At least she’d die with dignity, her name whispered for years after the crows had pecked her bones clean.

She missed her Mate. She could admit it with the knowledge she’d be gone in a few minutes. Cassian would’ve laughed himself hoarse if he knew she had gone celibate for so long. But the passion she’d once felt had died with a pair of violet eyes that her shapeshifting magic could never replicate.

As the blood gushed from her torso, the fear subsided, and finally, finally the overwhelming relief took over.

Maeve, Feyre Cursebreaker and High Lady of the Night Court, lay back, closed her eyes to the darkness, and felt the completion of a promise that had been prolonged for a thousand years.

Ah, peace…


Summary: So this is for the magnificent @kaitymccoy123 Spring has Sprung Challenge. Kaity so kindly bestowed upon me the prompt of “If I ever see you anywhere near her, you’ll have to deal with me.” The character of Scotty and the color Red.

Pairing: Hate to burst your little bubbles but this is just implied Scotty/reader

Warnings: Domestic violence/abuse, some serious pinning

A/n: I just want to thank Kaity for this. I’m so proud of this. It has taken me a lot of work and rewriting. It was such a pleasure to write. Also, I’ll leave an explanation at the end of the story after the tags if you want to read it. Just some extra author notes. Okay, I’ll shut up now. Enjoy the story.

Word Count: 5110 (Holy shit. Guys this is a long one)

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joeyandhispizza  asked:

Where do you think the LLs spent their honeymoon? 😁

This is a tricky question and first things first, that’s probably a thing that could go a lot of directions. Maybe they will make a trip to Europe. Or they will go away to a cabin somewhere in the woods. We read some other real sweet fanfics, in which they go to Hawaii or make a boat trip. You see, everything is possible for them and that kind of question is not easy to answer. However, every one of these options seems for one of them kind of a stretch. Luke touring Europe? Luke on the beach swimming? Lorelai in nature? Lorelai on a boat? Yeah… kind of unrealistic, right?

There’s one thing we can say for sure, they won’t go on their honeymoon right after their wedding. Since there was so little time to plan the actual wedding they can’t plan a honeymoon as well. Plus, Lorelai can’t get away from the inn again and Luke has no one, who could cover the diner on such short notice. All they can take off from work is a day after the wedding, spending it either at their house, where they also spent their wedding night or spend it in the honeymoon suite in the Dragonfly Inn. 

A honeymoon will take place sometime after the actual wedding. Maybe in the summer when the weather is better or even for their first anniversary a year later to celebrate.

To give you a “little” something, we played out a honeymoon in Europe. (Read more under the cut!)

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randomness-unicorn  asked:

SO must marry a person they don’t love because theirs parents have decided for them (it’s an arranged marriage). Theirs parents are racists towards monsters, they think that love between a human and a monster is unnatural. When they are going to pronounce the vow, SO stop and say “no”, then SO run away from the church crying. (Continue…)

This is such an interesting, different and specific ask- I LOVE IT! Okay, lights, camera, action!

Their s/o is shaking slightly as they hold their ground at the altar. The sun is shining intensely through the stained glass window behind the altar, scattering an unharmonious mixture of various hues around the church’s cold stone floor. Their feeling of dread intensifies into an incomprehensible weight on their soul as they realise it is their turn to exchange the vow, the “I do”. There is not a single audible sound in the unwelcoming room, the spectators are pushed to the front of their seats in anticipation of the s/o’s next words. All hell breaks loose when the s/o says “no”, their stomach churns violently as their ears are drowned in the buzzing of the appalled onlookers, the gasps of shock filling the air around them like a toxic gas. They are quick on their feet and run as fast as physically possible out of the church, not caring where they are running to, just vainly attempting to escape the fate which their parents had planned for them. 

They run as long as their legs can put up with until they eventually stumble and fall from exhaustion. They are scared, they are shocked, they are truly terrified - what are they to do? Where do they go? Why can’t they just think clearly?! They begin curling in on themselves for a multitude of reasons, the main one, however, is that their family has now disowned them totally - how dare their daughter have feeling towards ‘an unattractive,  undead, unfeeling skeleton!’. At the recollection of their cruel parents’ hateful words, they decide to visit this atrocious skeleton, the only one who they should’ve been exchanging their vows with. It took them nearly four hours to venture to their true love’s house in the glacial outreaches of Snowdin, but they were willing to walk any distance- if just for the slight scent of their clothes. They reach the front door, they are a complete mess. Their hair is ruffled with sharp brambles and thorns caught in it, not to mention that their ceremonial outfit is now ruined, and they had bruises and scrapes on their arms and legs from their laborious journey. They enter the house, any composure they previously had, begun crumbling away violently in front of their love.

Sans [UT!Sans]: His lazy grin snaps violently into a straight line as he witnesses his beautiful s/o breakdown in front of him. He does know what to do or say, he feels so useless! He runs over to them and picks them to their feet, only for them both to fall to the floor and begin crying in unison. After an hour of consecutive tears, his s/o finally opens up to him, confessing their hidden suffering at the fact that their parents were racist against monsters and the fact that the marriage was arranged.  Boy, this sure made Sans’ blood boil as his bones were rattling with anger as his left eye flashed a harsh yellow and blue. He managed to compose himself and cried out of love for his s/o, the joy that they didn’t actually love someone else, the pain of learning of his s/o’s sufferings, and finally he cried when his s/o placed a ring on his finger and asked the important question. Through a flood of tears, he managed to choke out a passionate “I DO”, before locking lips with his s/o for a long, long time. 

Red [UF!Sans]:  At first, he’s absolutely terrified, he runs over quickly to his broken s/o and holds their shoulders whilst he tries to calm them down with the soothing huskiness of his voice. This terror quickly converts into pure rage when he gets a closer look at the physical condition of his s/o. He’s trying hard to think what the fuck just happened to make his s/o like this? why do they have bruises and bleeding scratches over their body? WHO DID THIS?! He’s about to start bombarding his s/o with all sorts of interrogative questions, when they suddenly open up and tell him everything about the arranged marriage, their parents’ views on monsters, what happened at the altar, the journey here, and lastly the fact that they love him and only him- and that they would accept being disowned by their family as it was a small price to pay for the luxury that was their love. Red’s anger vanishes at his s/o’s last words and he begins crying heavily into their left shoulder - not once in his life has he felt this way about anyone before, or has anyone loved him so devoutly. 

Raspberry [SF!Sans]: He’s a bit on edge when he sees the state of his s/o when they suddenly burst through his front door, and at quite a late time at night, might I add! So naturally, when his s/o begins to break down in front of him he goes into a state of sheer panic, and not knowing what had lead to his s/o looking and feeling so destroyed made him twice as anxious. Eventually, he manages to calm his s/o down with some tender touches and signs of affection to pull them out of their bubble of dread, but his s/o only gets halfway through their confession of everything when they are swiftly interrupted. Razz was pissed, he just didn’t understand. WHAT DO THEY MEAN THEY DON’T AGREE WITH THEIR COUPLING BECAUSE HE’S A MONSTER?! WHAT DO THEY MEAN BY  ARRANGING HIS S/O’S MARRIAGE?! WHAT DOES HIS S/O MEAN WHEN THEY SAY THEIR FAMILY DISOWNED THEM?! He tells his s/o to stay put (and that there was food in the fridge if they were hungry) as he storms out of the house in a righteous fury. He returns several hours later, little splatters of crimson dotted about his scarf, and finds his s/o asleep on the couch. He lifts them quite easily and places them gently in his bed, he then curls up next to them and falls asleep with them. Mysteriously, his s/o’s family are never seen or heard of again, and police reports state they went missing from the venue a few hours after his s/o’s escape, the only evidence being a sharp bloodstained bone which dissipated into a fine dust during shipping to the evidence room. 

Stretch [US!Papyrus]: He sees the physical condition of his s/o when they’re barely visible behind the opening front door and he’s already freaking out. The stress he’s feeling is currently off the charts, the very air he breathes feels like its crushing him inwards from all possible sides. He clasps his s/o by the arms when they drop to the floor and begin weeping. There is a cyclone of emotions tearing his soul apart: feelings of anger at the fact his s/o is hurt, the intent to cause harm to whoever did this to his s/o, horror at the condition of his s/o, and finally the immense joy laced with unbearable pain as his s/o tells him everything - including how they gave up their identity as a human being to love him. He quite literally has no words which can even come close to the amount of happiness, of giddiness, of gaiety at the fact that his s/o willingly sacrificed their everything for him. They share a pleasant experience for a few hours, finishing in the bedroom where they both now lay next to each other holding hands tightly, as if one of them may be torn savagely away. When Stretch knows that his s/o is in deep slumber, he uses a shortcut to get to the hometown of his s/o and their disgusting parents. He sets out with an orange aura burning from his eye sockets, evidence of a struggle was found the next morning in the parents’ home, however, the parents were found unconscious in an alleyway opposite. 

Puppy [SF!Papyrus]: He has a breakdown before his s/o has the opportunity to have theirs, just the mere sight of his s/o this battered was enough to trigger dangerously upset emotions from him. He’s as much a mess as his s/o looks right now, torrents of tears cascaded down his pained face as his s/o did the exact same thing, although they didn’t understand what could’ve happened to make their poor Puppy this upset. After they both calm down, his s/o gives the details about their parents’ views on monster-kind, arranging a marriage for them and subsequently disowning them at the rejection of their ‘to-be’ partner. This tale of woe causes another flood of fresh tears to fill the floor of the room, his s/o just doesn’t know what to do so they take the role of the reassuring one to make sure their precious Puppy is alright. After voicing his empathy for his s/o, he hugs them tightly and doesn’t let go, not at all. His s/o actually falls asleep in his arms so he sets them on the plushy couch as he leaves the house to attend to some business. On the morning news the next day it was stated that there were ear-splitting screams audible for the majority of the night around where his s/o’s hateful family lived. Most residents were found to be safe and sound, although his s/o’s parents had been reported missing just after the news anchor finished showing coverage. 


AAAAANNNNDDD DONE- I hope this was alright for you! Having such a unique ask meant I didn’t exactly know what I was doing most of the time, but I think I got there eventually. 


Let It Go (James Bay) x

You sat on opposite edges of the bed, backs facing each other, hearts cold and empty. 

“What are we doing?” Mark asks quietly. The tension is thick in the room, it almost suffocates you as you try to think of the right words to say even though you know there are no right words. Nothing either of you says mattered at this point. He inhaled deeply, shoving his hands in his hair and tugging at his locks violently. You shifted a bit, turning to watch him from the corner of your eye.

“I don’t know,” you answer quietly. 

Five years together. You’d spent almost every waking moment together for 3 of them. It was a long time. It was hard work. It was starting to become too much work.

It started with a little argument here and there about laundry or a dirty dish in the sink and slowly began to escalate into personal jabs at each other, hurting each other more and more as time wore on. Eventually you two would agree to just give up and make up just for the sake of making up. Days would go by where neither of you would talk about it, letting it fester and bubble up inside until it burst out of one of you. It only got worse at that point.

Neither of you could figure out when exactly you started to drift apart. It all started out fantastic. Every bold touch, every gentle kiss, every quiet laugh shared in the privacy of the dark. All of it seemed so perfect. You just couldn’t figure out how you reached the tipping point; the very edge of the cliff. All it took was one small push and everything would come crashing down.

You turned around and laid yourself across the bed, reaching out to lightly pinch Mark’s shirt between your fingertips, asking for his attention. He looked down at you sadly, laying down to face you. You traced your fingers across his chiseled features, down his chin, his lips, his nose, eyes, and then curled a lock of his hair between your fingertips. He closed his eyes, sighing deeply, breath shaking.

He reached up and ran his fingers through your hair. You leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut and then open, staring into his eyes. You were both quiet the entire time, soaking in each other’s presence.

“Do you love me?” you ask him. His eyes travel slowly across your face, finally landing on your eyes and he nods.

“Yeah. I love you,” he tells you. 

He shifted closer to you so that your foreheads were touching. Neither of you wanted to let this moment end; this one moment of peace within the shitstorm that was managing a long term relationship. You could have fooled yourselves into thinking that you could work this out, that maybe, just maybe, this moment could last forever if you tried just a little harder. Maybe this was just a rough patch along the road to true happiness. Maybe this was all just a bad dream you both had to wake each other up from. Maybe you could save this sinking ship. Save your love.

But you just couldn’t lie to yourselves, or each other, any longer.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you whisper, “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough.” You hug each other tightly, bodies shaking with emotion, trying desperately to hold in your sobs.

“Don’t say that,” he hushes, “Don’t you ever say that. I don’t regret a single moment with you. Every single moment, hell, every single fucking fight… I wouldn’t change a damn thing.” Neither of you could stop from crying now. You couldn’t even bring yourself to say anything, just grip onto his shirt tightly as he continued to talk.

“Never ever sell yourself short. I love you. I love you so fucking much and it’s killing me…killing me, that neither of us can figure this shit out,” he rambles on. It was all so difficult to process. All of this hard work, all of this time put in, all this effort, all for nothing.

“I-” he starts, choking on a sob and holding you tighter, pressing his face into your neck. “I love you so fucking much. I don’t want this to end. I fucking hate this. I hate this so much. I hate that we can’t figure this shit out. I want so badly for this to be some shitty dream that I can wake up from. I want to wake up from this fucking nightmare and be safe in your arms.”

You’re both full-on crying at this point, gripping each other tightly as if the other was a lifeline.

“God, I love you so much,” he sobs into your hair, “Why can’t we figure this shit out?”

He lets go of you and holds your face in his hands, pressing your foreheads together as you cry. You grip onto his wrists tightly, sobbing loudly. 

“Please don’t let this be the end,” he pleads. You shake your head, eyes shut tightly, tears streaming down your face.

“We-” you hiccup and cough, “We can’t, Mark.” You open your eyes to look up at him. 


“Because we can’t keep lying to ourselves like this anymore,” you tell him inbetween sobs. He shakes his head vigorously, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. You reach up to wipe at his face as he cries.

“But why?” he asks again.

“Because we love each other.”

He chokes at this, pressing his forehead against yours again. You’re both sitting up now, knees knocking against each other, foreheads pressed together. You wipe each other’s tears away, hoping the flow will stop eventually.

“I love you, Mark,” you whisper. He nods, eyes closed, inhaling shakily.

“I love you, too,” he answers you.

“I will always love you. Remember that,” you tell him. He nods again, moving in to kiss you. He kisses you deeply, moving from your lips to every part of your face. Butterfly kisses showered all along your cheeks, nose, eyelids; worshiping every last moment he was allowed to have with you. You felt a warmth in your heart similar to when you first fell in love with him, but didn’t let yourself be fooled into thinking this was going to work out in the long run.

“God…” he whispers with his forehead pressed against yours once more. “I will always love you, too. I will never stop loving you.” He looks at you then, making sure you understood just how sincere he was in saying that. You smile a little, feeling more tears stream down your cheeks and you reach up to stroke his face.

“Thank you for everything.”

Remember Me? - Newt Imagine

Okay so when I saw both requests i had to do them together. This is also based on the movie The Scorch Trials. (If you didn’t watch it before, it might have some spoilers)

Thank you ANON and @Daesunglg

Word Count: 1657

You remember that day so vividly like it was a day or two ago. Waking up one day in a metal box with about 50 girls surrounding you, no memory of who you are or what you were before. It was a pain in the ass trying to remember anything and coming back with nothing but small snippets and parts of a memory, like looking through a keyhole.

But it didn’t take you long to remember your name. It happened when they threw a party for you, and you had to show your running skills, but ended up tripping and falling onto a rock.

It didn’t take you long though, as you were really clumsy, to fall again, but it was from one of the maze wall. You hit your head pretty hard and something in your mind clicked, and memories of a certain boy started coming back. His face, his body, his touches, his kisses. His blonde hair, his dark eyes, his kindness, his name. Newt.

You used to stay up late at night remembering and thinking of all the memories you both shared together, before you both got separated for something that, as much as you thought of it, didn’t ring any bell.

You even asked some of the girls if they have seen any boy around, and they looked at you like some crazy lunatic. So you stayed quiet and never brought up the subject, until Aris came up the box one day.

After that all hell broke loose and you succeeded in escaping the maze. It was a some part of you felt that you were getting closer to something bigger, better. Like you would see him again.


You were brought to your senses when the jeep blocking the only entry way of The Right Arm camp moved back, and in came Sonya, Harriet and a group of boys. But you didn’t mind any of them when your eyes fell on a familiar boy. Newt.

You jumped out of your seat beside the rest of your group, jogging toward the group, shouting  Newt’s name like there was no tomorrow. The group turned to look at you like you were crazy, and got weired out when you leapt onto Newt, hugging him tightly.

“I thought you were dead” You whispered, tears forming.

He lightly pushed you away and looked at you quizzically. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” He slowly asked, his voice hoarse from the dryness in the weather.

You looked at him with shock, trying to stop yourself from breaking down. Sonya was the first to jump to your aid, standing beside you.

“Sorry, (Y/N) is in shock from almost losing her life. She might have mistaken you for someone else.” She said, dragging you away from  the group. Once you were safely hidden in a tent away from everyone, you broke down and Sonya hugged you tightly.

You slowly began to explain to her everything you know from when you fell down from the wall, up until you saw him.

She calmed you down and told you that she would try and help you in any way possible. You thanked her with a smile and stayed seated in the tent calming down slowly, while she went out to finish some business.

When you were well enough you resumed you seat beside the bonfire. Your friends kept gushing on how cute the other guys were and how one particular guy kept staring at you every once in a while.

You tried not to stare back at Newt or even give him a small glimpse afraid you’d break down again.

“So, (Y/n) that little stunt was really amusing. We were almost betting that you’d trip and fall. But you even made a more fool out of yourself. I mean calm down those hormones.” One of the builder girls spoke, insulting you. Her builder clique laughed with her while some of the girls glared at her.

“At least she helped us out of the ma-“ The girl to your left began to defend you, when the sound of helicopters filled the air, and distant gun shooting interupted her.

Everyone began to panic and run to their weapons. You stood up, reaching for the handgun lodged in your boots. You clicked the safety button off and aimed it at one of the invading helicopters. WCKD

It all happened in slow motion as if this was some action movie, everything was starting to catch fire, people were being tased here and there, bullets were fired from left and right. You almost didn’t notice the man approaching you.

Someone screamed your name and you turned around in time to duck from the punch that was about to hit you in back. You quickly pulled the trigger, not waiting to see if it hit the target and sprinting away from the WCKD operative, but tripping a falling.

Your eyes fell on Newt as he fought off the men with his friends. His eyes met your briefly before they widened in shock, and you knew why.

A heavy boot came in contact with the middle of your back, stealing away your breath, before you were forcefully yanked onto your back, a loud scream falling from your lips. The man above you had his gun aimed at your chest, and he was about to shoot you when a bullet whizzed above you and punctured his abdomen.

The man lost focus and shot the bullet in your arm, his blood spilling onto your clothes, before you felt a pair of hands carry you, bridal style away from the man. You looked up to see Newt speaking to you, but he sounded as if he was speaking from miles away.

You began to cry. Cry from the pain, from the shock, from the frustration, but most of all from the pain in your chest. You know that you were acting like a kid, crying in the middle of the war

Newt placed you down beside the others and someone tended to the wound in your arm. He stared at your face and started remembering things. Memories of you and him. When he saw that gun pointed at you, it was the trigger to his memories.

His eyes began to tear up as he remembered all the good memories between you both and dropped to his knees, holding your face between his hands.

“She’ll make it. The bullet wound wasn’t somewhere too serious, and she lost some blood. But she’ll be fine” the woman spoke, but Newt tuned her out and stared at you.

He was in a state of shock and didn’t realize the men closing in on you all.

They began to drag you all away, and forced you on your knees in a line, when a blonde woman began speaking. People were being loaded onto the plane behind her. Seeing your friends being forcefully handled brought you dread and fear. WCKD was taking you back. And when you looked back at Newt, he was looking back at you, his eyes staring as if he was recalling things.

You were almost next to be on the ship when something happened. You didn’t pay attention and saw the woman and the men in black retreating to the plane.

Once it was off and away, you almost broke down again, both from relief and fear, until you felt yourself being engulfed in familiar warmth.

You looked up to see Newt hugging you. “(Y/n) I remember. I remember us. I remember you. I’m so sorry for pushing you away. I’m really sorry for forgetting about you, for forgetting about us.” He rambled on and on.

You placed a hand on his face, smiling a little. “I should be sorry for jumping on you like that, and frightening you. Newt, I thought about you every single day, hoping you were out there somewhere, alive, happy. I was so shocked seeing you here today. It was as if I was dreaming the same dream of seeing you infront of me finally after all these years. I’ve missed you so much and it was a big pain in my heart when you said you didn’t remember me. Like a part of me has been ripped out forcefully. When WCKD came back to take us, I was so afraid you’d disappear again, that’d I’d never see you again. I was so afraid to lose you” You broke down, crying.

Newt had to hold back his own tears, trying to be strong for you as he wiped off your tears, and kissed your forehead first, then your cheeks, and finally your lips.

The kiss was full of forgotten passion, broken love, and the thought of you both being together again, even if it meant for a short time. Newt slowly pulled away and smiled a little.

“I love you, (Y/n)” He whispered before hugging you again tightly.

Someone cleared their throat and you both turned to look at the boy, whose name as you learned was Thomas

“Oh sorry Tommy, this is my girlfriend (Y/n). We used to be together before WCKD took us, but we both remembered each other and I couldn’t be more grateful that I remember her” He explained, and you blushed at the ‘girlfriend’ term.

“Well I don’t want to burst you bubble, but WCKD just took a lot of people and Minho is one of them. I made a promise to Minho that I would never leave him behind. So I’m going back to get him”

Newt let go of you and began to argue with Thomas, but then Thomas sat down with the others and began to devise a plan.

You felt a sudden rush of excitement when Newt held you close to him whispering that he will keep you safe no matter what. You knew he would never lie and right at that time you fell in love with him even more.

thank you for both lovely requests. Right now my requests will be closed because my finals are approaching. The requests in my ask box will be written sometime. oh and I’m sorry if it isn’t great, its almost 1 and I have a Uni class in the morning.

June 28th, 2014 - Until the End

AUTHOR: starry-climes

June 28th, 2014 - Until the End

London, 1940, during the Blitz

The boy was standing across the room; the warm glow of the afternoon sun casting a silhouette and giving his carefully combed locks and cowlick a golden halo.

At attention, his posture straight, gut aching, England watches from the other end of the room, tracing the angles of America’s maturing face with his eyes. Gone was the turbulent youth, the adolescent glitter of the Wild West and the cocky young man dirtied by the trenches.

Now he is in his prime, withdrawn, isolated. Outwardly flashing those brilliant smiles that make England’s soul shiver. They promise hope, happiness…. idiocy. England turns to see Churchill, with deep weariness in the prime minister’s eyes, making the boy laugh.

How long could he last? England ignores the oozing blood, stitches, and bruises that cover his own body. He catches America’s blue eyes, liquid cerulean in the sunlight that hits them. They flicker over him, accessing, bland, and uninterested. England’s heart flinches, as his face remains the same. He dreads tonight.


The sirens wail. The thud thud of anti-aircraft is heard, as spotlights light up the coming storm. England walks below the suddenly turbulent sky as his citizens commendable and proactive have joined their London neighbors in the tube tunnels below, or families in their shelters. A few like him walk under the danger uncaring, daredevil.

The show rages on above. He knows that the Churchills are out walking too, and he wonders if America is being his typical self, ever curious, ever seeking, tempting fate. The aeroplanes are bold against the night sky, and the deluge begins. His boys are up there too, fighting, fighting…

England feels the first bombs hit.

His sutures strain. He gasps, swallowing the pain that comes with it. His mouth opens unbidden with the shrill shriek of the falling bombs. He feels the royal family panic; Buckingham Palace has been hit. Everyone is safe though. England gasps down blood.

He has fallen to one knee without knowing, and looks down the street at London burning, burning.

A familiar figure stands at the end of the alley, gawking at the sights above. He knew the boy wouldn’t stay safe. England feels a haze blur over his eyes and America’s distant figure turns into a fuzzy dark shadow, oblivious to England’s pain, staring away. Forever away. My boy. England’s head is sparking, black dots spinning in his eyes; he sees liquid red around his hand, puddling… my boy. Look at me. The sirens wail as America stares upward, his glasses glinting from the explosions…Ever away. So far away.


His teeth hurt. It is the first thing he realizes, his teeth are wound together, snapped tight in pain. Second are the voices, females speaking, their East London accents snapping through the echoing air.

“Is he your mate?” The voice asks to the tunnel, the muffled barrage above, echoing.

“Ah, yeah, sorta. He raised me.” It is America who answers. Shock flitters through England.

“Took care of ya, did he?”

There is no response, and England can imagine the golden hair bobbing in response.

“Maybe now it is your turn to take care of him.” It’s brusque, generous, kind.

Footsteps echo away.

England’s thoughts roil. How many times had he prevailed? His mind flits through ancient memories of his wild queen in blue and green, naked in her wrath, as the Roman ships slipped away daunted. The whipping waves filthy in fire, an Armada burning in the wrath of God. They always came, and always were thwarted. A few times not, though…the waves filled with Normans, the northern blond haired devils pillaging his people…

Rough large hands are now holding his. There is a soft touch of flesh on his bare knuckles and England’s mind stops. America had kissed his hands. “England.” It sounds lost, and America’s voice is high tenor, reverberating from the tunnel. There is something dripping on his hands. America is crying.

England tries to clear his throat and wake completely out of his pain, as America presses his forehead against England’s fingers. “England. Why did you hide it?” It is a bitter whisper.

“ ‘merica” it drags out of his throat, his eyes blinding by the light, probably only the low lamps of the tube, as he focuses on the shadow leaning over his hands.

Those piercing blue eyes, the color of sky are staring at him, tears dripping around them, nose and rims of eyes red. Men don’t cry. It is what generations of human have taught. Proper British gentlemen, but England knows times beyond these, when it was acceptable and proper to show grief. He smiles, he can feel it, and fondness is in heart, bursting like a warm bubble slipping through his pain-wracked body.

America is gawking now. Gawking as he was at sky earlier. Look only at me, England’s mind whispers, through the darkness of the past, only me.

“England.” There is a strange note of joy in America’s voice, “England.”

Arthur smiles again. His hand, slim and slender, gentry white, always protected by his gloves, reaches up and traces the boy’s puckered tearstained red lips. It is war, he may die, as much as Churchill and his people fight for him desperately and with fervor that defies logic.

“Don’t go…stay with me…please…” America’s lips are quivering under his fingers, his voice mirroring his fear of the dark.

“Yes…” England murmurs,“ ‘Til the end.”

“The end?” The boy swallows; shadow flickers through his eyes.


America is still looking at him, and over his puffy tear-stained face that idiot smile, filled with emotions this time, spreads across his face. “I’ll be here.” It is proud, brash.

“Mmm…” Promises were foolish things…

America swallows, his handsome face was too close now. England feels it now, the chapped lips against his own. His mind churns and his body aches, but he kisses back. Until the end, he thinks despairingly.