the light has just come back into his world

anonymous asked:

What if Stiles and Derek's first kiss is post-nogitsune? Would he feel like a thief? Would he mourn the body that Derek never held? Would each brush of fingertips or kiss to his temple be a betrayal? They'd probably talk about the scars too. Derek would understand-- to an extent. But he grew up not without his history on his skin so he'll never understand how it feels to have that ripped away.

Their lips brush and Stiles turns away a second later, breaths shallow, hands twitching against the folds of Derek’s shirt. There’s warm breath on his cheek, the ghost of beard still so close and all Stiles can think is that he wants this. He wants this. And…

It’s wrong.

Those fingers, twitching against Derek’s shirt, smooth and uncalloused. The scar that used to live above his third knuckle just a burn-hot memory in his mind.

Everything still feels off in his body, out of balance, and he remembers the way Derek used to look at him. All tension and frustration in ways he couldn’t start to make sense of. And now Derek’s lips are in reach, a short turn away, and he’s murmuring out “Stiles…?” and all Stiles can think is…

“Do you want me?”

He can feel the stall in Derek’s thoughts like a physical reaction, and he wonders if there was a subtle tell or if… if he’d just felt it, inside, the confusion a flicker of chaos in Derek’s chest. Can he do that? Feel chaos? The Nogitsune drank it in and Stiles…

“Stiles,” Derek breathes again, a quirk of amusement in his tone. Thumbs smooth down his hips and Stiles fights the urge to rise into the contact. “Thought I’d just answered that question.”

And Stiles could leave it at that, asked and answered. Except…

There should be a scar on his hip, long and thin, from a fence he’d scaled once and dropped down five times faster. Derek should be feeling that right now, that piece of Stiles’ history, that stupid ten year old adventure laid out across his skin. But the skin’s smooth. Blank slate.

He shivers, gripping tighter into Derek’s shirt.

“No, I––” He can’t think of how to explain it. The thoughts are a choked feeling in his throat, a twist in his gut. Something like guilt and fear and he doesn’t even know what answer he wants when he leans back enough to find Derek’s eyes and say: “Since when? Did you… I mean, before…”

He’s not sure Derek knows what he means, but there’s a hint of flush under that dark beard suddenly, and Stiles gets a little bit lost in the contrast.

“Last summer.”

“Last––?” It pulls Stiles back, his eyes startling up. That was… most of a year, that was before…

A sick lurch sets him falling back out of Derek’s grip. Too-smooth fingers (uncalloused) slip too easy from Derek’s chest. His sneaker-covered feet might as well be walking over glass and he’s being dramatic except that he’s really not. Because if Derek wanted him last summer…

“That wasn’t me.” It sounds wrong as he says it, stupid, because… he was there that summer. He remembers every moment spent with Derek, researching the Alphas, searching for hints of Boyd and Erica. Charged smirks and snark and quiet moments that felt more comfortable than they should. He remembers the moments before summer too, when the thought of Derek made his heart pound and his body thrum in a way that could have only meant fear, except it hadn’t only been fear. He’d been scared of the Alpha too, and the hunters, and that coil of electric heat only sparked through his gut for Derek. He remembers that, like he remembers the scars that aren’t there anymore, and he can’t help running his too-soft fingertips over the smooth flesh of his knuckle as he breathes out, faint and lost, “…Was that me?”

There’s a too long pause while the question burns back into his throat, buzzing through his limbs like a current until he realizes he’s shaking from them. Was that him? Helping Derek track the Alpha pack? Helping Scott learn to control his wolf? Sitting by his mom’s hospital bed, watching her lose the long war to her illness, pieces of her flaking away like old scars, like a whole identity, like––

A warm hand closes over his, large and gentle, grounding.

“It was you,” Derek says, simply. Like there’s no question, like nothing’s changed. Like Stiles hasn’t changed. 

But that’s wrong. He’s not the same person he was before the Nogitsune, and he’s not talking in the experiences change you, huh kind of way. He’d had scars before. He’d had… a whole life written on his skin. And then he’d crawled out from inside his possessed body’s throat, spawned out like some alien parasite or… clone and––

“My body died, back there.” Four months past, and he still can’t wrap his head around it. That he’d watched himself bitten and impaled, spasm and cracking and shatter to dust.

The scarred body. His real body.

And he was left in… this.

Long fingers uncurl, stretching out slow. Thin, pale digits fitting strangely perfect between Derek’s, and Stiles can only wonder what it would have looked like before.

“…What if I’m not real?” He watches Derek’s fingers twitch, barely perceptible, tightening like they’re fighting to hold onto him. And Derek’s lost enough in his life, too much. It’s a dick move to say this, to take anything else away from him, but… “What if the guy you wanted last summer… what if he died inside the Nogitsune, and I’m just––”

No.”

The sureness of it has Stiles’ throat clenching. He tilts his head, challenging. Finds Derek’s eyes again.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you.”

Which is just… it’s stupid how that makes Stiles’ heart jump. Flutter around like it’s fighting to leap the distance between them and plaster itself all up against Derek’s stupid, muscled, secretly sweet as hell chest.

Which… yeah, that’s nearly a gross enough visual to stomp his fondness boner in the bud. He sets his jaw.

“Did you know I used to have a scar on––”

“Your right hand? Just above the third knuckle, a burn.”

Stiles’ argument stalls out. He blinks, finger shifting to rub over the space, but Derek’s is already there, soothing the phantom mark over his skin.

“I… was eleven.” Because silence has never been safe for him. Because noise distracts from the too-easy pleasure rippling up his arm. “First time I tried cooking dinner for me and dad. Mac and cheese, it… didn’t go great.” He wets his lips. Looks away “Or… the other me did, I don’t––”

You did.” And Derek still sounds so damn sure. Stiles wants to believe him. He parts his lips, can’t. Because––

“Stiles, I’ve never had scars on my skin. I… can’t relate to what it’s like to lose them. But the things that have happened to me… they’re not any less real because I can’t see them. Every bullet, cut, punch I’ve taken…” He might sense the wince forming on Stiles’ face, and shakes his head, shrugging that off like it’s not important. But that’s an argument for another day. “Every scar life gave you… they’re still there. You’re still carrying them, inside you.” He flits his eyes down Stiles’ frame, then away, finger soothing over the ghost burn. “There are plenty no one would have ever seen anyway. But they made you. Who you are, and who you are…” He shakes his head, looks back to meet Stiles’ eyes squarely. “You recognized me when I was a teenager. That’s the same person who recognized me in the preserve.” Stiles feels his face heat because… even knowing Derek’s a werewolf now, he’d never put together that Derek would have heard his fangirl moment to Scott after Derek had walked away.

Before he can speak up, though, Derek’s going on. “You tracked me to Mexico. Faced down the Calaveras to save me. That’s the same person who stared down the Argents, drove a Jeep into a kanima, who hit an Alpha with a wooden baseball bat––”

“Two Alphas,” Stiles cuts in, because props, ok? “Two, that were…” His free hand mimes squishing, and Derek’s lips twitch.

“Two,” he agrees, and Stiles can’t not smile back. Just for a second –– fond, helpless –– then he’s ducking his head. Derek sighs, catches his chin. Guides it up until their gazes lock again.

“That was you,” he says, so firmly Stiles can’t help believing this time. “Was the man who clawed his way out of his own possession. Followed Scott’s howl back to the real world. And whatever happened to your body, whatever… magic gave you a new one, Stiles came out with it. Your scars are still there, just…” His fingers trail to Stiles’ chest, and something thumps out eagerly to meet them.

“Inside,” Stiles breathes, and the way Derek’s eyes warm makes him shiver with a proud ripple of pleasure.

“Inside,” Derek echoes. Runs a thumb light along Stiles’ lip. “You could have come out of the Nogitsune looking like anything. Wouldn’t change who you are.”

And damn, Stiles has fallen for a goddamn poet in a grumpy wolf’s body. …But then, Stiles is pretty sure he’d known that already.

His fingers go up, curl gently into Derek’s shirt.

“But… you like this body,” he prompts, and Derek gives an exasperated huff, pulling him in.

“I like this body,” he confirms, and it doesn’t feel wrong to hear that.

When Derek kisses him this time, Stiles doesn’t pull away.

This is so beautiful because after years and years of Harry being a sweetheart to everyone he’s met, stopping for fan photos, doing more for charity than we’ll ever know, and just being an overall positive light in this world… all that good is coming back to him tenfold with all of this support coming from everyone in his life who’s been touched by his kindness, and everyone else who has witnessed it time and again.

Be nice to nice is the best way to live… Harry’s a great example of that.

SVT Reaction to Realizing They're in Love With You


A/N: Thanks a lot for your request! Sorry that I couldn’t cover the prompt in every aspect that you wanted; I’m only one person. This one kinda got me in my feels but I liked writing it, nonetheless. I hope you like it! (Also note that I try making my reactions as gender-neutral as possible so sorry if it throws anyone off!!)

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Seungcheol: This man would have to sit down for a while, completely isolated to make sure that his feelings were clear. Not that he was unsure of how he felt towards you, he just wanted to confirm if that feeling was actually love. After much deliberation, he’d smile gently to himself and mumble, “I love them.. I love (Y/N)…” As for the confession, he’d probably hint that he’s in love with you rather than directly saying it to you because he’s someone with quite a bit of pride and I feel that it would somehow not let him directly express his feelings to you. But if you can’t catch on to any of his hints quick enough, he’ll surely tell you

Jeonghan: He’d be sure of his feelings towards you immediately. No need to think about it for this guy; just acting upon it. Don’t get me wrong though, he’d be very nervous about telling you, but he would try so hard not to let it show. When he does confess, he’ll be very direct because he doesn’t want to waste time. He’d make sure he’s made you laugh a lot and once the laughing has faded, he’d stare into your eyes and say, “You know I’m in love with you, right,” with the most optimistic look in his eyes pls don’t break his fragile little heart

Jisoo: He’d giggle as soon as he realized that this is what he’s feeling. He’s a very gentle person so his reaction wouldn’t be anything too exaggerated. When he tells you, it would be after a strung out series of cute, small, yet meaningful, gifts. He’ll most likely write it on a tag and attach it to one of the many small gifts he got you and wait for your reaction with the cutest smile on his face. Once he sees you’ve read the tag, you’ll hear the softest, sweetest “I love you” ever spoken

Junhui: This boy would be a hot mess the moment he accepts the fact that he’s in love with you. Despite his seemingly cocky attitude, he’d be in panic mode about how he’ll tell you because he wants to tell you directly but is not sure how. Jun’s confession to you will most likely be really serious and really intimate, for lack of a better word. But the boy is really dorky so he’d be another one to laugh off all the previous stress of admitting his feelings to you

Soonyoung: Hoshi’s the type whose whole world just completely lights up after he acknowledges that he has deep feelings for you. Hyper, energetic Hoshi? Double it because his love for you will fuel him even more. And goodness, this boy would overdo it, on the confession side of the scenario. One word: serenade. He’ll come up with a cute choreography to tell you and he’ll be really giggly and somewhat shy the whole time. None of this would take place in public though. He’ll probably do it during a movie night when he comes back to from the kitchen with a soda, or something of that sort. Brace yourself for lots of smiles and laughs and yelling once you return his feelings with a simple “I love you too”

Wonwoo: He’d be really calm about his realization. He’s also another member to be really indirect about it until he realizes that he doesn’t have any other method of confessing but to plainly say “I’m in love with you.” He’ll wait til you bring up an opportunity for him to say it, even if it means he has to wait weeks or even months; the man has patience. He’d be very sweet about it though, of course. Serious, but very sweet.

Jihoon: His reaction wouldn’t be anything to spectacular. He’d let out a small laugh and the only word he can force out would be “wow.” Now the confession, you already know what I’m about to say for the confession: Woozi will write you a song. It’s a very overused concept for Jihoon, but it’s also the most fitting. He’s a very creative being and wants to make sure he expresses his love for you the way he knows best. He’d play a soothing song about his feelings for you on his guitar and subtly say “I love you,” after playing the last chord of the song and wait nervously for your response.

Seokmin: Would tell you on accident as soon as he realizes he’s in love with you. He’d be just as shocked as you because he didn’t yet process the fact that he said it out loud and not in his mind. Once you assure him that it’s fine and that you love him too, he’d laugh it off and have no regrets about the way he had confessed

Mingyu: Honestly, this kid wouldn’t even be surprised with the fact that he’d fallen for you. He’d casually accept what his emotions were. However, he’s also the type to be entirely too nervous to even begin to think about telling you. He can’t really think of a way to tell you so he eventually tells you after a date when he’s walking you to your door and gosh, he’ll have the biggest smile on his face for the rest of the night. He’ll probably go home and do that little squeal that he does sometimes i’msorry

Minghao: Upon his discovery of his feelings for you, he would be a mix of happy and nervous. Minghao would know that he had fallen for you much long before he actually decides to tell you. So when he eventually does say it, he’ll feel so relieved to finally share such important information with you. He’ll be the type to just directly say it with the most amazing timing for doing so. After confessing, the two of you will just relax in each other’s company in comfortable silence

Seungkwan: Oh goodness, this worrisome little ball would be so nervous to tell you once he comes to terms with this feelings. He’ll consult with his trusted members and ask them for advice, regardless of how embarrassing it would be for him; he’d rather be embarrassed in front of them than in front of you. Whenever he does say it, it’ll be really fluffy and meaningful and there’s a strong chance that he’ll say it by accident btw

Hansol: Aw, Hansol’s reaction to being in love with you would be really cute. It’s like a really cute state of disbelief, but in the best way possible. Similar to Jihoon, he’d want to incorporate music into the confession because it’s such a big part of his life, just as you’ve become. He’d make you listen to a song that describes how you make him feel and he’d tell you directly and then he’d kiss you really sweetly and passionately after bye

Chan: I feel that confusion would be the most overpowering feeling in Chan’s heart after identifying how he feels towards you. He’d constantly question himself, things like, “How did I get to this point?” Whenever he decides to tell you, he’d try to play it cool, which, in all actuality, makes him look kinda silly but it’s something about him that you’ve always admired about him. He wouldn’t be very nervous but he’d mainly be concerned about your reaction when he says those magic words

Tatterdemalion Dreams

This is a coda to Ragtag Heroes, not really intended to become a separate thing but my attempt to get into Sirius’s head. Excuse me while I upend my drabble bin over your heads. :D


Sirius’s little brother has always been just that—little. Regulus was a slight and slender child, and has grown into a lean and lithe man, a little too thin and rawboned from constant stress but still pretty in the way that their parents always despaired of. Sirius can admit, despite his hatred of her, that Walburga Black was an absolutely stunning woman, and Regulus takes after her very much in looks.

Not so much in personality, though, regardless of what Sirius thought as a child. Not after what he’s managed to accomplish.

Slumped in a dusty old armchair, Sirius watches his brother wander around Grimmauld Place’s library, touching covers, stroking long fingers over worn spines. This is Reggie’s element and always has been—Sirius was honestly astonished that he ended up in Slytherin rather than Ravenclaw, during the Sorting. Regulus as a child, in Sirius’s mind, was forever clutching a book, sometimes as big as himself, and wandering around with a dreamy, distant expression. He thinks of it with a bit of a pang, now, because at some point during his first year at Hogwarts that warm burst of fondness at the sight of his little brother, forever trying to please everyone, transformed into something sneering and derisive and passively loathing.

Regulus being sorted into Slytherin was the final straw, and Sirius, already immersed in being different from their parents and surrounded by Gryffindors who held the same beliefs, had turned his back on Regulus, not about to associate himself with a sniveling follower.

Never mind the fact that Regulus was eleven. Never mind that their parents had always leaned harder on Regulus, who was never nearly as willful. Never mind that Regulus adored Sirius since birth, as the only one who spent any amount of time with him outside of the house elves. Sirius had turned away, found a new brother in James who suited him so much better, and left without a backwards glance.

Their parents were never kind, even to the family favorite, and Sirius watches Regulus meander through the shelves with something like guilt roiling in his gut. Should have known, he thinks, and the vague, distant regret he’s felt since learning of his brother’s death is back in full force, because Sirius had run away from the family and left Regulus behind. It doesn’t matter that they were at odds at the time; Regulus was always a gentle soul, always tried to please their parents no matter what. Sirius could have easily taken him along to James’s, could have convinced him to abandon their parents’ ideals if only he’d remembered the sweet little boy Regulus had been, rather than looking at the distant, aloof Black prince he’d been forcibly molded into.

But he didn’t, hadn’t bothered, and something in Sirius is—

“Leo Prince,” Regulus says unexpectedly, making Sirius jump.

“What?” Sirius asks, blinking.

When he looks up, Regulus is giving him that nostalgic you’re-a-moron-Siri-and-must-I-lower-myself-to-your-level look. He’s seen it quite often—usually from the child Regulus used to be, excited about some obscure spell or ritual or potion, some little-known aspect of ancient magical theory that lost Sirius completely about twelve words into the explanation. Not that he’s an idiot, academically—Sirius has always been proud of his grades—but Regulus is something entirely different. Even their parents never quite knew what to do with him, beyond shipping him off to Voldemort in a gift-wrapped package.

“Yes, Reggie?” Sirius grins at his little brother, for the sole reason that the nickname drives him batty and nothing gets his ire up like pretending to be stupid. “What was that?”

Regulus rolls his eyes so hard Sirius wonders how he doesn’t strain something. “My name,” he explains, tone long-suffering, “for teaching at Hogwarts.”

Sirius turns it over in his head for a moment. “Leo?” he repeats dubiously, because outwardly Regulus is the perfect Slytherin, and whenever he’s not being Slytherin he gives a damned good impression of being a born Ravenclaw. Nothing leonine about him, really.

That gets him another roll of Regulus’s eyes, though it’s subtler this time. “The star Regulus is the brightest heavenly body in the constellation Leo,” he says, and his mouth quirks in a wry smile. “Also called ‘the Heart of the Lion’.”

Sirius snorts at that, wondering what twist of fate gave Regulus the one Black name that suited him exactly. ‘Heart of the Lion’ indeed. “And Prince?”

“From the literal meaning of my name.” Regulus turns back to his books again, plucking one off the shelf and adding it to the already sizeable pile he’ll be taking to Hogwarts with them. “’Little King’. It’s a name I’ve used before, in parts of the Continent. So if a particularly overprotective parent should try to trace my movements, there will be a trail. Leo Prince spent two years in Italy and then Eastern Europe, studying blood rituals from ancient times.”

Of course he did, Sirius thinks with a roll of his own eyes. He’s spent several weeks already with Hermione, and even she can’t hold a candle to his little brother. But rather than say anything—although it’s tempting, because Reggie being defensive over his rituals and spells is easily one of the more amusing things Sirius has ever encountered—he just asks, “And disguises? It’s more than likely that Peter told Voldemort about my Animagus form, and I hate to say it, Reggie, but you—”

“Yes, yes,” Regulus cuts him off, clearly annoyed. He’s always been easy for Sirius to rile. “We look very similar, I’m aware. Harry thought I was you, at first glance.”

Sirius blinks and fights a frown. Regulus is pretty, and Sirius has always considered himself—not without corroboration from other sources—to be handsome. Then he glances up, catches the tail end of Regulus’s wicked grin as the younger Black turns away, and huffs. “Oh, go on, rub it in,” he growls, chucking a cushion at his smirking brother. “At least I take after Father rather than dearest Mother in looks, pretty boy.”

That earns him a rude hand gesture and a scowl. “Anyway,” Regulus says forcefully. “I won’t use charms to change my appearance—they’re too easily detected and broken, even by the simplest of wards or spells. But…” He trails off, rummaging in a cupboard for a moment, and then, with a victorious sound, emerges holding a pair of glasses with delicate silver frames. He slips them onto his face, then pulls his hair from its loose tail and twists it into a messy braid falling over his shoulder.

They’re simple changes, but they’re able to highlight the differences between them. Sirius sits up straighter, taking in the way the glasses manage to entirely change Regulus’s face, and the hairstyle gives him a bookish, distracted, professorly air. With a change of clothes—good-quality robes, he thinks, maybe a little tattered, quiet colors, slightly too large—Regulus will be all but unrecognizable. Oh, there will be similarities, but there used to be a pureblood Prince family, and they intermarried with the Blacks enough to write off the resemblance as a result of typically tangled pureblood genealogy.

Regulus is giving Sirius the same look in return, but his is faintly distracted. “You, however,” he murmurs, “will need a charm or two, if only to keep from giving any of the more superstitious students a heart attack, looking like a Grim.” He trails off, muttering under his breath, his gaze absent, and Sirius realizes that this is his contemplative look. He’s no doubt running through every glamour charm he knows, cataloguing faults and weaknesses.

Such a Ravenclaw, really, Sirius thinks, and doesn’t even bother to fight the fond smile that rises. Good old Reggie, the walking encyclopedia of spells.

Then Regulus looks up at him and smiles that singularly angelic smile that means he’s about to show how he and Sirius really are related. He taps long fingers against his lips to hide the beginnings of a smirk, and murmurs, “Well, you’re the size of a bear, so there’s no way we’ll actually be able to pass you off as a normal dog, but…white, I think. Yes, white will do nicely. Maybe with a touch of tan?”

Sirius only has a moment to feel horrified before Regulus’s wand is out and moving.

“Well?” his little brother demands, sounding unnervingly like McGonagall. “Change already, we haven’t got all day.”

It’s going to be a very long year indeed.


It’s been a near age since Regulus last set foot on Hogwarts ground. He stands just outside the gates, staring up at the vast and imposing castle—strangely comforting, a home more than Grimmauld place could ever be, and he wonders if it’s like that for everyone. Perhaps only those from broken homes, if the Black family can count as such. Sirius, at least, had the Potters, but Regulus was always a distant, aloof child with few acquaintances and fewer friends. He had no one.

Unconsciously, his fingers curl into the thick fur of the beast standing at his side, higher than his waist and as big as a bear. White fur now, rather than black, but it’s still Sirius, still his brother brought back to him. Maybe everything isn’t entirely easy between them yet, but they’ve been strangers longer than they’ve been family, and they’re readjusting. Sirius whines softly and bumps against his hip, and Regulus musters up a smile for him.

“I’m fine, Siri,” he murmurs, although his fingers stay buried in pale fur. “Just…overwhelmed, a little.”

Normally he’d never admit to such a thing, but this is Hogwarts and he’s coming back and there’s absolutely nothing in the world he’s dreamed of more than destroying the Dark Lord with his brother at his side and the Light at this back. This is a step closer, the fifth out of seven, and then there’s only the snake left to find. Regulus has thrown out his net already; there are many people who owe him favors by now, with his knowledge base and skill set and Slytherin cunning, and Nagini will be found soon enough.

Just Ravenclaw’s artefact now, and then Harry. Their goal is so close, so achingly close that Regulus can almost taste it, and after sixteen unwavering years, he’s ready. Ready for a normal life, a death not at the hands of his former master, days not spent running from even the vaguest chance that Voldemort could discover him or his plans. It’s been too long.

With a huff of very un-canine impatience, Sirius shoves at him again and then heads up the road, strides sure and confident. Regulus only hesitates for a moment longer before hurrying to catch up with him, careful of his baggy robes. He hates them, if only for Sirius’s teasing at how he looks like a waifish scholar who thinks too much to eat. Not that Sirius is one to talk, really—he’s changed from looking like a Grim to looking like something out of Norse myth that’s about to devour the sun.

But Sirius is happy to be out of that dreary and rundown house, and Regulus can’t blame him. About the only good thing remaining there is Kreacher, and the elf is getting on in years. He’d been overjoyed that Regulus returned, but as much as Regulus missed him he hadn’t been able to bring himself to stay. He’d packed everything he needed in a day and headed out to Hogwarts and his new post, Sirius in tow. They’re quite a pair, really.

McGonagall meets them at the main doors, still regal and authoritative in a way Blacks can only dream of being, but she smiles faintly at Regulus. “Professor Prince,” she says. “How good to have you back. If you’ll follow me, I will show you to your chambers.”

This is happening, Regulus thinks suddenly, as his heart stutters and leaps forward into a gallop. This is real.

Professor, she called him, and that’s what he is now. No longer a nameless, fleeing face but a person, a figure of some standing, with a name and a past even if it isn’t his own.

That’s…pleasing.

French Mistake

Past Sam x Reader; mention of Matt Cohen x ofc!Reader (It’ll make sense when you read it lol)

Word Count: 1,666

Warnings: language, angst, Sammy heartbreak…hehehe

Requested by Anon: Could you write an imagine set during the French Mistake where Sam sees the actress who plays his dead girlfriend and it turns out she’s dating someone (like Matt Cohen or KJ Apa or something) so he gets really upset because he can’t even kiss her or anything.

A/N: I kinda changed it up a bit…it’s not set in the actual episode but the boys do get sent back to that universe so it’s kinda the same. Shout out to @mamapeterson for the beta and feedback is greatly appreciated!!!

Originally posted by sammyseyebrows


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im-a-closet-narnian  asked:

Can you please write a lil something about drunk marauders + Lily? With a little jily and wolfstar if it fits? ❤

this is probably, like, not what you had in mind, but here you go babe:

  • sixth year, may. 
  • another attack.
  • at least they think it’s another attack.
  • the prophet is shit on a good day, and this morning is no exception. nothing. a fifth year gryffindor girl was pulled out of school the day before, though, so the whispers are rampant.
  • the whispers grow all day, and even after james has tried to distract himself with his broomstick, and chess, and the match, he jumps when the evening prophet owl taps at the common room window.
  • he flips to page 7. the obits.
  • always look in the obituaries, that’s what they’ve learned. (the evening prophet didn’t even used to run them, but there are too many, any more, to keep them limited to one edition.)
  • and, yeah. seven people, all from the same town. two families. no cause of death mentioned, 
  • but they know.
  • the worst part is–aside from the girl’s parents, and her younger brother–is her older brother.
  • because they know him. he was three years above them. former prefect. decent bloke. he and james played quidditch together. he’s waving at them, oblivious and unknowing. cheerful. it’s perverse. 
  • it makes james want to throw up. he runs upstairs to grab ogden’s instead. reckless, but who’s going to stop him?
  • lily’s not stupid. she saw the prophet come, and the boys pale. 
  • it’s not like she’s been dropping any eaves, but they weren’t exactly quiet about it, were they?
  • and lily wants to throw up, because she knew it was another attack. she knew it the moment mcgonagall had her fetch sarah from her potions class. 
  • and sarah knew, too. that walk to mcgonagall’s office was the worst she’s ever had to endure.
  • she’s tutored sarah in charms for the entire term, and her entire family is gone. what will happen to her now?
  • she watches potter return with an ogden’s-shaped-bottle stuffed not so discretely under a crumpled copy of transfiguration today.
  • they make eye contact, and he raises his chin, defiant. 
  • like she’s going to report him? when has she ever?
  • she mimes taking a swig.
  • it’s not her place, right? to intrude. but it looks, frankly, damn appealing. rude to drink in the common room and not share.
  • lily doesn’t even say anything to her mates, she just crosses the common room and plops down next to peter on the sofa.
  • her mates, though, who have either pretended not to watch this entire thing unfold, or shamelessly watched it with rapt fascination, follow closely behind.
  • sirius produces mugs from nowhere, the bastard, making a loud, unsubtle comment about hot choclate for all. and remus, the bastard, fills their mugs nearly to overflowing with some brilliant refilling charm. and potter, the bastard, charms each of their mugs to actually look like hot chocolate. peter adds marshmallows and steam. for affect, he says. the bastard.
  • how often have they done this?
  • it doesn’t matter, because lily can’t get sarah’s face out of her head, or her chattering voice, or her brilliant smile with slightly crooked teeth. 
  • lily wonders about her dog, who she mentioned in every lesson, and her little sister, who constantly rummages through sarah’s things, and whether sarah will be beating herself up for every tirade she’d ever given about her little sister, or if she’ll ever smile that brilliant little smile again.
  • it’s her brother’s smile. lily sees him smiling up from the prophet.
  • her dad’s smile, too.
  • and james potter reaches over from his armchair and steadies her hand. she’d been shaking so hard it was sloshing on the armrest.
  • she smiles weakly. 
  • drink, evans.
  • cheers, she says, and they clink mugs, and down them in one gulp.
  • not one gulp, because who could actually do that?
  • but they keep refilled, and that’s what matters.
  • i am scared to go home.
  • lily is the first to admit it, but everyone echoes the sentiment. all of them. even james. he’s not saying it to soothe her.
  • he means it. he’s scared, too.
  • what the fuck are we going to do? dorcas asks.
  • and no one knows the answer to that, but remus mutters something and their drinks refill again.
  • lily starts tellling them about sarah. her family, and the dog, and the little sister. james fills in the blanks with anectodes about the brother. david.
  • david.
  • lily had been trying to remember his name all damned day, and it was absurd that she should know it–she never even talked to him, except once in her first week when she’d gotten hopelessly lost and he’d helped her find her class–but she’d been beating herself up about it all day.
  • his name was david and he was sarah’s older brother and he loved treacle tart and he was a decent flyer and his broomstick’s name was jezebel.
  • it doesn’t take it away, talking about all of this, but there’s something cathartic about it. giving voice to them. more than a shit obituary.
  • lily’s gran told her, once, that people died twice. once, when they breathed their last. second, when their name was spoken out loud for the last time. she says this to her friends, and then she reads: diedra wallace. the mother. and michael wallace, sarah’s father.
  • she starts to say isabel, but she gets stuck. dorcas says it for her.
  • james says david’s name. his middle name isn’t printed in the obit, but james knew it, apparently. andrew.
  • dorcas reads a little blurb about sarah, that she’s going to go live with relatives. the location isn’t printed. obviously.
  • lily remembers something about a muggle aunt, just outside london. she always gave sarah spending money for school, even though it was a world she could never see or be a part of.
  • will she be back at school? maybe that’s for the best if she isn’t.
  • they speculate, then, about whether she’ll come back, and what they’ll do that summer, and next year, and after.
  • no one has an answer, but james says something, and he buries the rest of the word in his cup.
  • they fall silent.
  • and it might be the light, or the three mugs of whisky she’s had, or the resolve in his voice. probably all of it.
  • but realizes she adores this boy, really and truly.
  • or that she wouldn’t mind adoring him.
  • something.
  • nothing else happens that night. the something summed up what they all felt, and what else was there to say?
  • no one might report them for drinking something questionable in the common room, but their arses will definitely be in hot water if they all show up hungover to class tomorrow, so they have one last toast to the wallaces and head to bed.
head in the game (Pidge/Lance)

Summary:

Lance’s plan for his senior year goes like this:

  1. Snag a second-time championship title for Voltron Academy.
  2. Finally buy a new car.
  3. Pass AP Computer Science.

Tripping and falling flat on his face for their basketball manager? 

Not part of the list.

A/N: this ship crawled out of the woodwork and punched me in the face, so naturally I had to write fic.  for @longhairpidge and @flusteredkeith, whom I blame for everything.

[Read and review over on Ao3] or continue under the cut.


The air is heavy with defeat.

Final score: 52 to 41.  Hardly enough to be considered a blowout, but the somber atmosphere of the locker room suggests otherwise. It’s difficult to believe that this is the same team that managed to snatch a victory from under Galra Tech’s nose at last year’s championship.

But that’s exactly the problem—they aren’t the same team, a fact made painfully obvious by the stony silence of their new team captain.  Keith’s hands are fisted in the fabric of his shorts, head bent and gaze drilling into the floor.

“All right.” Coach Coran clears his throat.  “Chin up, boys.  Nobody’s died.”

Keep reading

2

Bloom

70

I’d decided to book a week off work, with no ulterior motive than to just have some time off. Just giving myself a little room to breathe, some time to clear my head, to relax and immerse myself in having no worries and doing absolutely nothing; to be blissfully un-busy.
By the Monday afternoon I was bored.

I was stood looking around my flat in silence, arms folded, bottom lip extended, and it was only in that moment that I realised being un-busy didn’t really suit me. Not anymore. Maybe when I was younger, it was fine, but after having a full-time job and living on my own had awoken this need in me to actually keep myself busy.

“Well fuck.” I mumbled to myself. “This is rubbish.”

I’d made such a fuss about taking the time off. Dave had once again been reluctant, but I’d fought another battle and he’d finally caved. I couldn’t ring up and just be like I’ve changed my mind because he’d laugh and get smug, and I’d spend the rest of the week at that sat at that desk being utterly miserable.
I needed to try and make the most of this time off.
I picked up my phone and clicked on my recent calls, finding Harry’s name within seconds and then pressing it, holding the phone up to my ear and praying he’d be free. The rest of the gang were at work, Mo was working, and Harry was one of my final hopes.
He answered pretty quickly.

“Hey, you.” His tender voice called.

“Hi! You okay?”

“I’m great, how are you?”

“I’m alright, but I’m bored. I booked a week off work and I have no idea why. I’m like… four hours in and I’m bored out of my mind.”

He released a low chuckle, a slight shuffling sound pushing through my speakers, and I could picture his dimpled smile perfectly.

“You regretting it?” He asked.

“Well, that depends. Are you working?”

“No, um, I’m working the weekend so I have today and tomorrow off. You wanna do something?”

“I need to do something.”

“So you’re using me for entertainment?”

“Are you complaining?” I raised my brows.

“Not at all.”

I smiled down to the floor, blushing somewhat, pleased that he didn’t mind that he was now on my list of people who I wanted to spend my time with. Harry was happy that I was choosing him to keep me occupied; to extinguish my boredom.

“Good. You better not be.” I cooed. “So, what can we do?”

“I was thinking the other day, about the book you got me for Christmas. I was looking through it. I still love it, by the way.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“But I was also thinking… you never took me down to that bookstore. Where you got it from. You said you would.”

“I did.” I giggled.

“So let’s go, and we’ll take the day from there.”


71

I was looking at Harry rather than looking at the literature.
His eyes were glistening as he glanced over the words of a giant book he’d picked out, something historical that looked ridiculously complicated and ridiculously heavy.
But he looked so happy.
Stood among the poetry and wonder of the written word, Harry Styles looked exquisitely blissful, his smile affectionate, his curls defined, eyes alight and heart heavy. He looked wonderful. Truly beautiful.
I concentrated on his large hands as he flicked through a few more pages, running his hands down the paper and inhaling the scent of the book in his hands and those that surrounded him.
The bookstore was tiny, and every single shelf looked like it could fall apart at any second under the weight of the books they’d homed. Every single inch of the place needed painting, or at least dusting, but it was perfect. It felt like home whenever I walked in. Dodging down those tiny little aisles and searching for hidden treasures was one of my favourite things to do.
Harry seemed to be enjoying it too.

“I need this book.” He sighed wistfully. “But we have entire day planned, and it’s just gunna weigh me down, isn’t it?”

“It looks heavy.”

“It’s pretty fucking heavy.” He nodded, placing it back on the shelf. “I’ll have to come back another day. I hope it’s not gone.”

“It won’t be. I’m pretty sure Arthur only has about ten people who come in here. He knows everyone by name. He’s great.”

“Well, I need to meet him.”

“You do. C’mon.”

I instinctively took his hand in mine, pulling him towards the back of the store, whispering a timid curse to myself when I noticed Harry tightened his fingers around my hand. I thought back to when we’d shared a taxi just over a week ago, and found our fingers intertwining, and it had felt like the most normal thing in the world.
It didn’t feel normal in the light of day without a drink in me. I could tell that it was weird that I’d just naturally take his hand in mine and think barely anything of it. I found that my fingers wove through his like silk, our touches easing together.
And even though I was silently cringing as I dragged him in the right direction, wondering how we’d ended up being that way together, I still didn’t want to pull my hand from his. I liked that I could feel his thumb rubbing against my skin, like a silent comfort. I liked that my hand was stretched to suit the size of his grasp.
I liked everything about it.

“Arthur!” I yelled gently.

We stood behind the tiny counter at the back, our hands still linked, and a few moments later he pottered through the back door, his glasses falling off the end of his nose before he pushed them back up, bringing the two of us into focus.

“Florence!” His smile grew with the word. “Where’ve you been?”

“I’ve been busy, but I’ve still been raving about this place, don’t worry.” I giggled. “I brought a friend of mine. This is Harry.”

Harry automatically reached his hand across the counter to the frail man, who reached back, and his smile warmed my soul.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” Harry greeted.

“I can’t remember the last time someone called me sir.” Arthur chuckled, gently shaking his hand.

“I told Harry all about this place. He’s been very eager to visit.”

“You have a lovely store.” Harry returned his hand to his side, squeezing my own hand with his other. “It’s a great collection.”

“Thank you. I’m very glad you like it. What’s your name again, sorry?”

“Harry.”

“And are you Florence’s boyfriend?”

“No!” He replied quickly, the two of us speedily tearing our touch apart. “We’re just um… We’re good friends.”

Arthur let out a soft snigger, shaking his head at the two of us. I glanced up to Harry, seeing the quizzical look in his eyes, and the sweet smile on his lips.

“Yeah, I’ve read enough novels to know how that turns out.” Arthur finally said.

“You must have been reading some cheesy novels.” I tried to diminish the weight of the words he’d just said.

“All the great novels are.” He concluded.

Freckles of pink were blooming in Harry’s cheeks, a meadow of flushed roses crafting upon his soft skin as he looked towards his feet, bashful and giddy over just a few words.
My stomach bounced watching him.
My head ached watching him.
I’d told myself that I wanted to enter this new stage of our friendship with an open mind and an open heart, but it still felt completely bizarre when my stomach would flip over such minor tremors in his body, how sometimes even just a few words from his lovely lips could make my heart beat a little harder. It wasn’t a feeling I was accustom to. Watching him often felt like watching the sunset. This feeling that was overwhelming, consuming, magnificent and warm, like his splendid glow could illuminate every single person within reach of his light.
No one else had that effect on me. I knew that.

“Uh, I… It was lovely to meet you.” Harry choked, snapping me back to reality as I turned to look away from him. “I’m sure I’ll see you very soon.”

“Have a lovely day.” He wished.

“Thanks again, Arthur.” I said, gradually turning on my heel.

It was like I felt like being outdoors would clear my head, like I could just forget Arthurs knowing snigger and that Harry would no longer feel like a warm sunset, but just like every other person in my life. I thought being outside would wash away those couple of minutes that had made me feel so weird and flustered. I felt like I’d gotten lost in a world I wasn’t familiar with, maybe one of the worlds from one of the surrounding novels.
But when I finally got outside, I turned to watch Harry quickly following, his cheeks still pink.
It was my universe.
They were my feelings.
Accompanied by the sound of seagulls, and the boats that were pulled into the docks on my left hand side, I began marching down the street, thinking I was moving with speed, but it took no effort for Harry to keep up with me. Harry and his stupid, long legs.

“You alright?” He asked me.

I knew he’d pick up on something, because Harry was used to slowing his pace down to accommodate for me. I was running away again, like I always did, but I was trying to keep it discrete.

“I’m fine.” I shuddered, not turning to face him.

“You sure?”

Suddenly, I stopped, halting abruptly and taking a few deep breaths, forcing myself to just take a moment and calm down, because I was getting worked up.
Harry came and stood ahead of me, his brows creased as he looked down to me.

“My sisters having an engagement party next month.” I gasped.

“Right?”

“I don’t think I’m gunna go.” I focused my gaze on the ground.

“Why?”

“What the fuck has she ever done for me?”

I was taking one emotion and twisting it into another. I had been completely dumbfounded by those unfamiliar thoughts of Harry, and I couldn’t deal with them. So, I altered where my thoughts were, turning his potion into poison and conjuring up the thought of my sister.

“What?” Harry was completely thrown off course by my tone.

“She hasn’t ever done anything for me.” I was shaking. “And-and we’re not even close. I want her to feel fucking miserable when I don’t show, because she’s never done anything for me.”

I was working myself into a frenzy, barely pausing to breathe as I rushed through my words, barely even noting what I was saying. I just felt like I needed to say something; anything to take my mind to somewhere new.

“I think she’d be upset, if you didn’t show, Ren.” Harry spoke gently.

“Good!” I cried. “I want her to be upset!”

“Is that the type of person you’re gunna be? Really? The type of person who repeats hurtful actions rather than loving ones?”

I raised my head and looked at him, noticing that my bitter words had clearly left a bad taste in his mouth.
The girl stood in front of him wasn’t the girl he knew.
She wasn’t someone I knew, either.
Throughout all the years of being beaten down by my family, I’d never let it grow into a resentment. I’d never let it develop into something where I felt the need to beat them down, too.

“I… I dunno.” I finally breathed.

“You shouldn’t want to stoop to her level, Ren. You’ve always made a conscious effort to rise above that bullshit. Don’t change now! Don’t mimic her! Your only intention here is to hurt her, and that’s not you! I know it’s not.”

He was desperately trying to get through to me, trying to push out this weird anger that had just forced itself upon me.

“I… I don’t want to hurt anyone.” I muttered.

“Then don’t hurt her. You… You should go. Do what you’ve always done and rise above it. I know it must be easy, for me to say that,” He sighed. “But you… You’re an amazing person, Ren. I admire you, genuinely. Stay true to yourself, please. You’ve come so far.”

I nodded, swallowing harshly, feeling sad that I’d let an anger fall over me and be the most prominent feeling I had.
I knew I’d never been good at handling my emotions, but in that moment, I completely lost myself, just in an attempt not to deal with something that I was feeling.

“Will you come with me?” I asked him.

“Huh?”

“To-to her engagement-do? It’s okay if you don’t want to, but, you made things easier over Christmas. And I’m guessing it’ll be the first time I see my mum and dad since. So, I dunno. I think I’d just like it if you were there.”

He was silent for a while, rubbing the back of his hand over one of his tired eyes.
Suddenly, all I could think about was if he’d had another tough night, another evening of restless sleep, and no one there to comfort him.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” He huffed. “I mean, they think we’ve broke up. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

My eyes went wide, my fingers finding the material of my coat and pulling on it, mumbling to myself a little before I managed to blurt out a sentence.

“Uh… Well… The thing is… I actually never told my parents we broke up.” His head whipped to me as soon as I said that. “I just… I never got round to it… Or… Fuck it, I just didn’t want to tell them. I wanted them to think we were still together.”

I watched a smile force itself upon his lips, and a few seconds later he just burst out laughing, turning on his heel and marching in the other direction, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head.

“What?” I cried, doing a little jog to catch up with him. “What?”

I looked up to the side of his face, his dimple digging into his cheek and his nose beginning to crinkle, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“It’s just funny.” He shrugged. “Because I never told my parents we split up either.”


72

I could tell that Harry was smug about the fact that he was sat on the opposite side of the bar than he usually was, Louis shaking his head at the two of us as he made us a second lot of cocktails, once again, free of charge.
Harry had a smirk etched into his face the entire time.

“I’m gunna slap you!” Louis scalded.

Why?” Harry played innocent.

“You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you? That you’re not working and I am.”

“It’s just fun! I never come into work unless I’m actually working. I like it.”

“I fucking don’t.”

Louis and Harry could have been mean to each other all night, and it would still be painfully obvious how much they cared for each other. Louis had been one of the few people that Harry trusted when it came to his dreams, and that made me like him automatically. I had met Louis a few times, and of course I liked him anyway, but that fact merely increased how highly I thought of him.
He gave Harry the middle finger, but it was still ridiculously endearing.

“How’ve you been, Ren?” He turned to me, lifting his eyebrows, very suggestive.

It was a little strange, knowing that whenever our friends saw us spending time together, they would automatically predict we were getting back together. Whenever one of them gave me a look, like the one Louis just had, I really wanted to burst and tell them that we’d never been together. I was trying to figure out how I felt about Harry, and I could have really done with being able to do that without my friends and his friends eyeing our every move. It seemed to put all of our movements under a magnifying glass, and when I was trying to keep things realistic and simple, I didn’t like my feelings and my actions being amplified by others.

“I’ve been good. How have you been, Louis?”

“Other than having to work with this horrible bastard,” He gestured towards Harry. “I’ve been pretty good.”

“And you’re not feeling even just a little bit sad that you’re not on this side, drinking with us?” I smirked, batting my eyelashes.

“You’re as bad as each other you two!” He slammed our drinks in front of us. “I gotta go serve. I’ll be back in a minute. And you both better start being nice to me!”

He scurried off to his left, attending to a woman who was leaning across the bar, probably just in the hope of being a little closer to him, squishing her breasts together and smiling dumbly.
It didn’t surprise me when I saw Louis pass over his card to her after preparing her order.

“Today was good.” Harry smiled, drawing my eyes back to him. “Will you be bored tomorrow, too? We could do something.”

“You not bored of me?” I raised my brows.

“That’s never gunna happen.”

Once again, I found my head dropping, unable to look him in the eye as I giggled to myself, overcome by his aura once again.
I just wasn’t used to boys looking at me in the way that Harry did. I wasn’t used to having a boy watch me with low eyes and a huge smile, or the way he always sat close to me, held himself as close as possible. I was used to either being a temporary interest to a charmless male, or a despondent sidepiece to a boy who didn’t really care about me.
When Harry looked at me and said certain things, sometimes it felt otherworldly.
I looked back up, finally thinking up a suitable comeback which could get a laugh out of him and make it easier to ignore how flustered I’d become, but the words died in my mouth.
I watched as a girl came and tapped Harry on the shoulder, inviting him to turn and see her, and she was quite the sight.

“Sorry for interrupting, but don’t you work here?” She asked him.

“Uh… Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I’ve seen you before.” She took it upon herself to sit in the seat beside him. “You look different with your hair down.”

“I hope that’s a compliment.” Harry turned so he wasn’t just facing me, accepting the girls company.

She had these beautiful, giant blue eyes, long blonde hair that reached almost down to her hips, and the friendliest smile in the world. Even I felt a little captivated by her. I wouldn’t have blamed Harry if he’d opted to completely turn away from me.

“It’s definitely a compliment. Even though, you look good with your hair up, too.”

I could feel that my hands were forming into a fist, a large intake of air pushing into my nostrils, and I turned away from the interaction. I almost felt sick.

“Uh, thank you.” Harry nodded.

“So, I saw you hand one of those cards out the other night,” She continued, leaning a little closer. “Does that mean you’re single?”

I glanced to her again, annoyed because she was being ridiculously polite and she seemed frustratingly lovely and yet I still felt like telling her to fuck off. I couldn’t even understand what was happening, other than the fact that I hated the thought of him handing his number out, and I hated the thought of this girl speaking to him in the way she was.
And I hated the thought of Harry sleeping with some girl that he didn’t even care about.
Because this was how I imagined it had gone. He’d been in a bar, maybe he’d even been working, and some random girl had approached him and flirted with him, and put her body on his, and he’d accepted her affections. He’d accepted them so openly that he’d lost his virginity to her, probably without her knowledge that it wasn’t a meaningless one night stand to him. He’d lost something within a woman who wasn’t aware of what she was taking, and I hated that.
I really fucking hated it.

“Uh, yeah.” Harry eventually answered, seemingly slightly uncomfortable as he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m single.”

“Then, can I have one of those cards?” She questioned.

I looked away again, raising my glass upward and putting the tip of the straw in my mouth, noticing from the corner of my eyes as Harry leant forward slightly, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a card for her.
My hands started to shake.
I completely looked away, glancing down to the other side of the bar, seeing the faces of happy drinkers who weren’t fazed by this girl. Fuck, I shouldn’t have been fazed by her, but I was. I didn’t want to think about all the reasons I was bothered by her, because it was too overwhelming for me to handle, but she was really fucking bothering me, and if I thought for a second that I had a single leg to stand on, I would have asked her to leave him alone.

“I’ll call you.” I heard her say. “What’s your name?”

“Harry.”

“I’m Genevieve.”

“Nice to meet you.” He mumbled.

“I hope to see more of you soon.”

I plucked up the courage to look again, watching as she walked away, checking back over her shoulder to shoot him one last friendly smile, and then she went to join her friends again.
Harry ran a hand through his hair before twisting on his chair again to face me, and he seemed a little stuck for something to say.

“She was pretty.” I squeaked, my voice unnaturally high, my eyes on my drink.

“Ren-”

“But I’m sure you’re used to it. Handing out your card. Must be a nice confidence boost.”

“Look at me.”

“You must really-”

“Ren, look at me!” He almost yelled.

I turned to face him, biting my tongue and trying not to scrunch my nose, watching him look at my face and figure out my exact emotion.

“What?” I asked.

“Are you jealous?”

“No.” I didn’t know I was lying, but I was.

“If I had known you were going to get jealous, I wouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” I squawked. “I’m fine!”

“You’re a terrible liar!” He half laughed. “Are you jealous? Just tell me!”

“I don’t know!” I yelped. “I don’t know how I feel!”

I could feel myself getting worked up and frustrated, but then I saw him smiling, this huge grin popping his lips upwards, the feeling began to wash away.

“You’re jealous.”

“Why is that funny to you?”

“Just… You. You’re jealous about me with someone else. I… I didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”

“It doesn’t mean anything!” I argued.

“It means something.” He fought back. “I don’t know what, exactly. Not yet. But it means something.”

“It’s just rude to flirt like that when you have company.” I shrugged, still reluctant to accept that I’d felt a large dosage of jealousy.

“Then I won’t do it again.” He was still grinning like a fool. “I’ll focus all my flirting on you, if that’s what you want.”

“Don’t be stupid, Harry.”

“Okay.” He held his hand up in surrender. “Whatever you say.”

I’d given Harry another reason to be smug, because as much as I was denying it, not just to him but to myself, I was exceptionally jealous about that girl, and how she’d spoke to him, and how she’d acted with him, and the fact that he’d willingly handed over his number in the way he had.
I stirred my drink with straw, whispering my next statement, because maybe I didn’t fully want him to hear it.

“I don’t think I have any right to be jealous.”

He reached out to me, taking my hand and wrapping his own around it, and his touch managed to sooth the shakes that I’d had since she approached him.

“Don’t let anyone, or anything, convince you that the way you feel isn’t justified.” He soothed.

With a deep inhale, I nodded, wondering why everyone in my life was having to teach me how I should deal with my emotions. I’d become so accustom to running from them, so used to looking the other way and simplifying intricate things.
But the main thing was that I was taking all those lessons on board, and even if my progress was slow, things were finally starting to sink in. That was what mattered the most to me.


73

“How many days until Christmas?” Harry asked me as we turned onto my street.

“What?” I laughed, buttoning up my coat now that the wind was crashing into us directly.

“How many days until Christmas?”

“I don’t bloody know!” I laughed. “Loads. Why?”

“I wanna sing Fairytale of New York to you.”

“Oh god. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Yes you do!” He objected. “Don’t lie! I know you loved it.”

I had loved it, though I didn’t really want to tell him that, and it was only the 20th of March for crying out loud. I wasn’t ready to hear that bloody song yet.
Even if it was Harry drunkenly trying to sing the words again.
Neither of us were too drunk, but I knew Harry had consumed enough that he would be able to get a decent night’s sleep, and I liked that. He deserved to have a lovely night’s sleep.
I felt like maybe Harry deserved a lot of things he didn’t have.

“You’re a fool.” I told him.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” He asked next.

“Who said we’re doing anything?” I cried.

“Me. I demand that we spend the day together.”

“You demand?” I cried.

“Yes. I demand.”

I laughed to myself as I held the door open for him, letting him inside my building again.
I’d told him I’d be fine getting home on my own, but once again, Harry had been pretty insistent that he got me home and made sure I was safe. I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t fight it, just asked if we could walk. Maybe I just wanted a bit of extra time with him.
We took the few flights of stairs, and suddenly we’d ran out of words. It must have been one of the first times all day that I’d struggled for something to say. Even when I’d been overwhelmed by my feelings and even when I’d gotten jealous of that girl, I’d still managed to blurt something out, because speaking to Harry was incredibly easy for me.
Even though we weren’t speaking, I noticed as we wandered up the stairs, that he was still smiling, and I smiled in return.
We reached my floor too quickly, our wonderful day together coming to an end, and even though I hadn’t actually said I’d spend the next day with him, I couldn’t help but think that as soon as I awoke, I would call him and make some kind of plan with him.

“Thank you, for today.” I spoke quietly as we walked down the corridor.

“Ren, can you just… stop… for a minute? Please?”

Suddenly his tone had dropped, and his smile was gone. The seriousness in his voice made my stomach churn, but I did as he asked. I stopped, standing still and turning to face him, seeing the way he closed the gap between us, his eyes down to his feet, moving his body closer to mine.
I took a few steps back, shuddering under the intense atmosphere, almost collapsing as he lifted his head and focused his eyes against mine.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered.

“I need to know how you feel.”

“Wh-what?”

“Ren, if you feel anything for me, please let me know.”

“Har-”

“Because if you feel something for me, then I want to do this differently.”

I distanced even more, my back crashing against the wall behind me, but Harry pushed ever closer, the front of his body almost greeting mine as I looked up into his olive eyes, his face sombre.

“Do what differently?”

“If you feel something for me, then I want to do this properly. I want to… take you out on a date. I want to… know that I can hold your hand when we walk down the street together. Fuck, I want to hold your hand all the time.”

“You do?” I trembled.

“If this is just a friendship, that’s fine… But, it feels like it’s not. It really fucking feels like there’s something here, and if there is then I want to do this properly. I need to know how you feel. Please tell me how you feel.”

My breathing was coming out in harsh pants, desperate to run again, but I think that’s why he cornered me. He knew me well enough that if I could just walk away from it, I would. So he didn’t let me.
He raised his hand, cupping my cheek with his large hand, running his thumb under my eye and waiting for me to say something to him, to open up and tell him how I felt.

“I-I’m confused.” I nudged my cheek further into his touch.

“I feel like the only reason you’re confused about this, is because you’re still convinced that I don’t want you. Well, I’m here, now, and I’m telling you I do. I do want you.”

I told him that I would do this, that I would accept this new stage of our friendship, but I think one of the reasons I was still in confused, and hesitant, was because I had convinced myself that Harry wouldn’t feel anything towards me. As much as I was trying to grow, it still didn’t seem right to me that a boy like Harry could want a girl like me. I hadn’t let myself truly see that as an option.
Not until that very moment.
He was there, edging closer and closer to me, so close I could feel his breath against my lips. He was rubbing soothing circles over the skin on my face, and he was telling me he wanted me. He didn’t want a fake relationship with me, he didn’t just want the girl who comforted him in the middle of the night when he was scared.
He wanted me.

“Can… Can we go inside, please?” I quaked. “Can we go inside and talk about this? Just… sit down and talk about everything?”

“Fuck, Ren… I don’t want you to think I’m trying to rush you. I’m not trying to rush you, fuck. I just want… fuck.”

“You’re not rushing me.” I moved my hand, lacing my fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “It’s fine. Let’s… Let’s just go and talk.”

He nodded, biting his bottom lip before he finally pulled away from me, distancing our lips once more, and I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about it.
I smashed my head back against the wall, trying to find the stamina to move and follow him as he made his way towards the door to my flat, running his hand through his hair. I stayed in my spot and watched him, clearly trying to soothe his racing mind, rolling his shoulders before he reached out for my door handle.

“Ren, you didn’t fucking lock it again.” He managed to chuckle.

That made me laugh too, finally feeling normal enough to distance from the wall and walk the small distance down towards him.

“Woops.” I giggled.

“You’re such-”

I watched his face drop as soon as he pushed the door fully open, standing on the outside and looking into my flat with dead eyes.
I stopped myself still, just seeing his reaction.

“What’s wrong?” I gasped.

“Ren… I… Fuck.”

I quickly ran to his side, panicked as I approached him and turned, looking into my flat in the same way he was.
It wasn’t hard to miss what had made him react that way.
It was easier to see how trashed the place was at first, how things were strewn all over the hall, my TV shattered on the floor beside my door.
I took a step inside, slowly turning to look into my living room.
That’s when it became clear that most of my possessions, the ones that were easy enough to carry, were missing.
That’s when it became clear that my complete ineptness had resulted in my flat being burgled.

I’m listening to Christmas music in June because why not and I was thinking of H and had to share this.

I’ve always imagined living with Harry in this small apartment in London for as long as I can remember, and it’s a small and not that modern or fancy but it’s home. But what about on Christmas morning. When you wake up in the morning and the light is coming through the gap in the curtains, with diffused swirls of sun drifting through the air.

The bed would be warm, a contrast with the chilling air from outside the covers. But that would seem like a different world from the one you two are in, wrapped up together in the warmth your body heat has created. One of his legs would be in between yours, with your back to his stomach, and his arm draped over your waist.

You’d wake up before him. It would be so peaceful, I can just picture it, where you could turn around and just see his face, free of any stress, any pressure, just a sleepy young man so vulnerable in front of you. But he’s so beautiful. You could notice all the little details about him. Like the freckles that adorned his cheeks and and crease that always seems to be between his eyebrows, and the way his skin looks in the light.

He’d wake when you started to stroke your finger tips across his skin. You’d start at his arm, following the curve of his shoulder and across his collar bone and up his neck. You’d know he had woken when a little smile crept onto his face, and his legs shifted a little between yours.

He wouldn’t say anything for a moment, just appreciating the two of you together.

“Mornin’” He’d say, voice thick with sleep, his arm pulling you into him. He just be so warm and so cosy, like home. You’d be able to feel his hair tickling against your neck and his hot breaths against your skin.

"Merry Christmas” Would be the first thing you’d whisper to him. The quietness seemed appropriate for the tone of the morning, matching the volume of the soft birds outside and the faint sound of a car every so often.

"Mmm” He’d him. You’d let out a squeal when his finger tightened on your waist and he flipped you around, a little grin gracing his face as he hovered on top of you.

He wouldn’t hesitate to kiss you. Lips brushing yours so lightly, yet they burnt against yours, until you lifted your chin up to connect them together. It was slow and soft, and the kind of kiss you could compare to the drizzle of honey.

His thumb would brush across your cheek when he lifted his hand up to your face and you wouldn’t be able to find any space between you two as you pulled him down by his shoulder blades. You could feel the beat of his heart against your chest and the movement of his back underneath your hands.

When he pulled away, he’d chuckle as your lips followed his as his head moved up.

"Merry Christmas, my love”

Flustered (Baekyeol)

Valentine’s Day. It is one of the busiest times of the year, at least for waiters and waitresses. Ah yes, workers like them do not simply get the day off, but it is not like Baekhyun would want to be anywhere else, especially on a day like this.

“Hey, Baekhyun? Could you manage a number seven to table three?” Johnny, one of his coworkers, asks him from the window separating the kitchen and the counter.

“Coming right up!” He starts to jumble around a few ingredients and pours them in a bowl of noodles. When it is ready, he goes through the double doors and into the floor of love struck couples and heartbroken wallets.

After he hands table three their order, a blond woman with large, ebony rimmed glasses and a pink envelope comes towards his direction; a scene in which has occurred almost every day of his life since he had began working there.

“Hello… Baekhyun,” she sent him an upturned smile, all shy and delicacy. “I was wondering if you could be my valentine.” She stretches the envelope out and Baekhyun takes it, regardless of his true feelings. He would never put down all of these confessions and embarrass the poor souls, so taking them would cushion the fall.

“Thank you, but I am not interested. You seem like a very nice girl, though.” That is his way of cushioning the fall, and it is one of the reasons why all these girls are so persistent with him. Out of all the waiters who work there, he is the only one who would turn them down so kindly. His smile is all it would take to mend their disappointment.

“Oh… thanks anyway.” She upturns her lips uneasily and turns away, leaving Baekhyun to head back to the kitchen. However, as he walked up to it he stumbles across the tall, auburn haired, and majestic honey eyed waiter– Park Chanyeol, or better known as, the reason for his frequent heart lurches and broken dishes.

Speaking of which, as they meet paths Baekhyun forgets that he still has the tray that he used to serve the dishes with, and it slips out of his hands when Chanyeol decides to stop in front of him. Just in time, though, the double door behind Chanyeol opens and collides into his back, causing him to drop his own dish and glass all over the wooden floor.

The noise is overwhelmingly loud, and all eyes are on them, as per usual. This occurs too much, and Baekhyun can not stop cursing himself each time it does. Dang you Park Chanyeol and your devilishly handsome looks!

“I-I’m s-so sorry.” Both voices say in unison, cheeks tinted and grins nervous.

They bend down to pick up the respective pieces, but before Baekhyun can touch a shard of glass, Chanyeol holds onto his wrist and stops him.

“Don’t, you can cut yourself. Let me do it,” he says, making it harder for Baekhyun to gather words out of the air in his lungs. Are the walls closing in or is it just him?

He swallows and pulls away slowly, “Are you sure? It doesn’t make sense if you end up cutting yourself too.”

“Better me than you,” Chanyeol looks up at him and their eyes lock– motionless and yet, so full of booming emotions.

Baekhyun’s vitals go haywire and he springs upwards, which does not go in his favor as he ends up knocking into another waiter, whom falls to the ground with– you guessed it– another plate to add onto the shattered mess.

After that, the rest of the day goes on with desperate attempts to hide oneself, short glances, and small palpations of the heart.

“You are so ridiculous, you know?” Johnny says when they are in the break room, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. “Just make out with him already.”

“Johnny!” Baekhyun protests as he clamps his eyes shut, only to slap the wise guy on his arm. “Don’t say that so easily.”

“He’s right, though.” A woman says, and when Baekhyun turns around, he finds the main reason as to why men frequent this place just as much as women do– Bae Areum. “About the ridiculous part, that is. You two should just focus on getting your feelings out before making out, at least.”

Baekhyun messes up his hair out of frustration, everyone seems to know what he should do excerpt for himself. “It’s not as easy as it looks. I can’t even look at him without wanting to run away.”

“How do you think he feels? He’s just as flustered as you are! Your both ridiculous in that case, to be honest. Making out does sound like a better option now that I think about it.”

“Areum!” He is exasperated as the two cupids high five one another with titters.

“Just make your move, and what better day to do it than Valentine’s Day? It’s perfect!” Johnny says elatedly, like he has come up with the best plan in the entire world.

“He’s right, take this chance and go with it.”

Baekhyun toys with the flap of his apron, contemplating. When the intimidating conversation had ended, Baekhyun went onto his duties until his shift ended at 6:00 PM.

He was in the employee lounge to grab his coat to leave, but when he came back to the main floor, the whole restaurant was empty, the lights were closed, and everything was quiet.

The only source of light that escaped was from the table in the middle, which was surrounded by a circle of lavender scented candles. There were rose petals sprawled all around them and even atop the white covered table.

Right next to the beautiful display is an even more beautiful man, his tuxedo sleek and shiny as he holds a dozen roses in his hands. Awestruck, Baekhyun advances slowly, still trying to perceive all of this, all of this amazing man.

“C-Chanyeol? What is all this?” He barely asks, as the man takes Baekhyun’s hand to place a lingering kiss atop the smooth skin. Baekhyun swears that he’s not even breathing at this point.

“Hey,” he says with a chuckle, dashing and charming. “This is my heart, I want to give it to you.”

It is hazy and oh so light around them that he feels like he could fade into the mesmerizing atmosphere. But he doesn’t, he is just so weak, so shocked, so euphoric.

“Here, I got these for you,” Chanyeol says while handing him the bokay of roses. Baekhyun’s first instinct is to smell them, but when he takes a look at them he realizes that amidst the romantic red, there is one white rose that steals the limelight.

There is a card that’s plastered right next to it, so he plucks it out and reads the soft words.

No matter how big the crowd is, you are the one that will always stand out to me.

Tears pool in his eyes as a smile tingles on the side of his lip– correction, it is at this moment that he forgets how to breathe.

He tilts his head back up to look at sweetness in its human form, but Chanyeol meets Baekhyun there and closes his lips around his in a knee bending kiss. They mold into each other as Chanyeol wraps his strong arms around Baekhyun’s shoulders, deepening the kiss and holding him close.

If he knew that kissing Chanyeol felt this wondrous and so out of this world, he would have made a move long ago.

anonymous asked:

How about the NDRV3 guys for the "nightmare about S/O's death that turns out to be real" prompt

Of course :D Just like last time I’m going to assume that the trial was last night

NDRV3 Boys having  a nightmare about their S/O being killed in the killing game, when they try and go see her it turns out it wasn’t a nightmare after all

Shuuichi Saihara:

- He was on his way to see you, he wanted to show you a good mystery novel he managed to find 

- “S/O - san I have a surprise for y-” He stops. Something isn’t right here

- He tries knocking on your door but as soon as he does, the door creaks open

Oh no. No. No.

- He walks in and the strong smell of blood hits his nose

- “S/O - san!”

- It’s no use you’re sitting against a wall, blood everywhere, a knife in your stomach

- “AHHHH!”

- He sits up in bed. A nightmare.  

- He touches his face, there’s tears there now

- He tried going back to sleep but he’s just so worried.

- Needless to say when you don’t turn up to breakfast his blood runs cold

- “Um… Akamatsu - san, have you seen S/O - san?”

- She just kind of gives him a sad look

- “Saihara - kun… Do you not remember? S/O - san… Died last night. You found the culprit and th-”

- He doesn’t let her finish. He just runs back to his room and shuts the door. He then sinks to the floor and cries for hours

- Everyone tries to get him to come outside but he only leaves when he has to eat

- He doesn’t want to live in a world without you

Kaito Momota:

- He spent the day hanging out with Saihara

- You actually joined them for a bit but then you had to excuse yourself seeing as you had something to do

- Once nighttime hit, it was time to go back to his room

- He walked into his room not bothering to turn the light on and just stood in the middle of it for a while

- “Man I’m tired…” That’s when he felt something fall on his face “Huh? Is the ceiling leaking?”

- He looked up and… There you were. Your face had a somewhat shocked expression and blood was dripping from your neck

- He screamed. This can’t be real! It’s all just a nightmare! You were alive just a moment ago!

- He woke up panting heavily

- Good. Just a nightmare. Just a horrible nightmare.

- He looks at his ceiling just to make sure but he found nothing 

- When he walks into the dining area for breakfast Saihara comes up to him instantly

- “Momota - kun… How are you feeling?”

- “Huh?.. Um I’m a bit tired ‘cause I had a nightmare… Why?”

- “Are you… Already over what happened yesterday?”

- Yesterday? What happened yesterday?

- “Wait… Don’t tell me-” 

- He looks around the dining hall, everyone but you is there

- “NO!”

- He falls to his knees and starts sobbing uncontrollably 

- It takes Saihara a good while to finally make him calm down again

Kiibo:

- He was just on his way to his research room

- He hasn’t seen you for a while so he was slightly worried but he understood that maybe you want some alone time as well

- Once he opened the door, he instantly crashed

- That’s because he saw you lying on the floor, a bloody bat by your head

- Once he rebooted you were still there. Why were you still there.

- He opens his eyes and finds himself in his room

- “A… Dream?”

- He takes some time to process everything that just happened but he’s still not satisfied

- The morning announcement rings and he’s out the door heading straight to your room

- He knocks

- “S/O - san. It’s me, open the door please”

- No answer

- He tries again and again until eventually Iruma finds him

- “Kiibo, what are you doing? S/O is dead. No one is going to open that door.”

- Dead? Dead. The dream. That wasn’t a dream.

- Sparks fly off of him and Iruma is about to fix him when he slaps her hands away

- “What are you doing.”

- “I’m going to delete your memories. You won’t even know S/O existed”

- “NO! I refuse! I won’t let you erase her existence!”

- He quickly runs back to his room so that Iruma can’t get to him

- He then replays all the happy memories he created with you and keeps replaying them over and over again

Rantaro Amami:

- He was just sitting with you, the two of you were having a casual conversation

- Then you started coughing

- He didn’t think much of it at first, everyone catches a cold sometimes

- But then you started coughing up blood

- He’s instantly by your side, your coughing doesn’t stop and you’re about to fall to the floor but he catches you

- “S/O - san! Stay with me! S/O - san!”

- You stop coughing

- But you also stop breathing

- He wakes up and quickly sits up, tears are coming down his cheeks

- This was a dream right? That was absolutely terrible

- He glances at the clock, it’s about 10 minutes before the morning announcement

- He gets dressed quickly and walks out of his room heading straight for your door

- Before he can reach it though he bumps into Shirogane

- “Oh.. Good morning Amami - kun” her voice holds a tint of sadness which causes him to raise an eyebrow at her

- “Morning.”

- “You look tired”

- “Uh, yeah I had a nightmare about S/O - san dying”

- “A… Nightmare? But Amami - kun… The trial for her death was held yesterday… Don’t you remember?”

- His knees feel weak. He ends up taking hold of Shirogane by the shoulders to remain standing

- “Dead? She’s dead?”

- She manages to take out her MonoPad and shows him your profile, sure enough you’re greyed out with the word ‘DEAD’ on your picture

- He becomes completely emotionless after that, the nightmare keeps coming back to haunt him almost every night

Kokichi Ouma:

- “S/O - chaaan~” He’s happily skipping down the hall looking for you

- *Ding Dong Bing Bong* “A body has been discovered!”

- Oh no. Not another person

- When he finally finds everyone they’re all crowded around the pool

- It looks like Gonta is pulling someone out

- He quickly scans the crowd

- No. No.

- He steps closer

- Your body is soaked, your mouth slightly open, your eyes no longer shining

- He screams

- He wakes up and finds himself struggling for breath

- Almost like drowning…

- He quickly puts on clothes and then makes his way to the pool

- Everything seems exactly the same

- “Upupupupu~”

- Oh no. It’s him.

- Ouma turns to find Monokuma grinning at him

- “Feeling sentimental are we?”

- “What are you talking about.”

- “Now now Ouma - kun, I know you lie all the time but… Should you really be lying about the fact that S/O - san is dead?”

- No… That’s a lie! It’s all a lie! You dead?… No… S/O - chan…

- He looks at the water, his vision becoming blurry

Gonta Gokuhara:

- You asked Gonta to show you all his findings one day, you were really interested!

- He was walking through the garden when he saw you lying on the grass

- You must’ve fallen asleep, how cute!

- He makes his way over to you and… Drops the notepads he was carrying

- There are cuts all over your body, your face has a pained expression

- He screams and begins to cry

- He finds himself waking up in exactly the same way

- It was just a nightmare… Calm down Gonta… 

- As soon as the morning announcement sounds, he makes his way over to the dining hall and patiently waits for you

- He waits, and waits, and waits

- You never show up

- “Gonta? Angie noticed that you were staring at the door for a long while, can you perhaps see God standing in the doorway?”

- “No, Gonta is waiting for S/O - san!”

- “Huh? F/n? But she died yesterday didn’t she? Angie saw it with her very own eyes!”

- It takes him a minute to register what Angie just told him. You were dead.

- He instantly starts crying again and Angie has to hug him to try and make him calm down

Korekiyo Shinguji:

- He’s holding his head

- There’s a knife stained in blood

- Your blood

- He walks over to your body, your throat slit

- He suddenly wakes up and sits in bed, covering his face with his hands

- It’s just a nightmare. Calm down.

- He takes a few deep breaths before he finally gets out of bed and starts getting dressed

- The morning announcement rings when he is halfway through getting changed

- He quickly puts on the rest of his clothes and is out of his room, he’s adjusting his hat and not looking where he is going so he manages to collide with someone

- “Ow…”

- “Huh? Oh… Good morning Tojo - san”

- “You seem to be in a hurry Shinguji - kun.”

- He stands and then offers her a hand which she gladly accepts

- “Ah, yes I’m off to see S/O - san”

- Tojo just stops for a second before squeezing his hand

- “Shinguji - kun, did you hit your head and get temporary amnesia? S/O - san died last night… We held the trial for her killer and you were telling them all sort of horrible things”

- “This… Happened last night?”

- She nods and then begins dusting herself off

- “I’m sorry for your loss Shinguji - kun” she then walks past him leaving him alone again

- That’s right. He’s alone now. You’re gone.

- His whole body starts shaking, he’s going mad… Kukuku… He’s going to go mad without you…

Ryoma Hoshi:

- Everyone is crowded around someone

- “Move.”

- Some people step aside and that’s when he sees you

- You’re lying in a pool of your own blood, a bloody brick next to you

- “S/O… Get up…”

- You don’t of course, but he does

- “Goddamn nightmares.” He rubs his eyes and then throws on his jacket and hat

- “S/O is fine. She’s strong and besides, who’d want to kill her?”

- Still the thoughts haven’t left him and when you didn’t turn up to breakfast he grabbed the nearest person

- “You seen S/O?”

- “Tenko hasn’t seen S/O - san! That’s probably because by the time we got out of the trial her body was already gone!”

- “Huh? Gone?”

- “Hoshi - san don’t you remember? S/O - san was murdered yesterday… By a male too!”

- He lets go of her and just chews on his licorice

- No way. Stupid dreams aren’t supposed to be reality!

- He kicks the table before leaving for his research room

- He just plays tennis by himself but he could swear he sees you sitting in the corner cheering for him

- He refuses to cry, he doesn’t want you to see him cry

Ficlet: A Secret to Share

Summary: Shiro kept a secret from Keith - but it just might save his life. 

A/N: Quickly written to satisfy my burning need for a resolution to the Kuron issues. Btw, if Voltron is going the route of clones and alternate dimension, I can have this.


Keith sat down in the Black Lion’s pilot seat, closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh. The team was coming along, but he wanted – needed – Shiro back. And Red had located Keith before. Why hadn’t Black gone after Shiro – wherever he was.

Keith curled his hands about the Black Lion’s controls and murmured, “Help me. Please. Tell me how to find him.”

The Black Lion growled to life, but when Keith opened his eyes, he no longer sat in the pilot’s seat but stood to the right of it, where he always stood when near Shiro. Shiro sat in Black’s chair, and for a moment, Keith’s breath caught in his chest. Shiro was here? Shiro was back? But when he lurched forward, his hand swiped right through Shiro’s shoulder, like how the Black Lion phased through solid objects.

So Shiro wasn’t really there? Was this a memory?

Keep reading

Add Salt to Haterade - A Naegiri One-Shot - Danganronpa Fanfic

Sometimes, writing fanfic can serve as another form of venting.

I hope you guys enjoy this. It runs longer than usual for these one-shots.

—————————————————————————————-

As soon as Makoto Naegi woke up that morning in his quarters on the Hope’s Peak campus, he wondered what people were saying.

Just the day before, they went public and announced that the New Hope’s Peak Academy would open its doors in the coming spring. Sure, various members of the Future Foundation had been working on the property for months now, but this was the first time anyone had spoken up about the reason for their presence and ongoing efforts.

They had called a press conference at the Tokyo Airport. It was the most secure location in the city, but attendance was still pretty low — plenty of reporters were hesitant to risk travel in the post-Tragedy world, opting instead to simply share information, videos, and audio obtained by an intrepid few. There were still verification measures in place, but unique individual coverage had become a lot less important.

In effect, that meant that rather than the news hitting the entire globe with shared immediacy on the same afternoon as the press conference, it had spread in a gradual, almost-viral fashion since shortly after the conference ended. He read shocked, confused, and even elated reactions on the Internet well into the night, but now that it was a fresh new day, he was hoping that more in-depth opinions had grown from the seeds of those knee-jerk reactions.

Heck, maybe people were even talking about it on TV.

With that on his mind, he crept out of bed and tried to quietly head for the kitchen so as not to wake Kyoko Kirigiri, who was still dozing beside him when he first awoke.

Makoto poured a glass of water in the kitchen and headed over to the couch wearing just his boxers and an undershirt. Flipping on the TV via its remote, he headed for a local Japanese channel and settled down on the far left side of the couch.

As he sat down, he placed the remote on the cushion to his right and sat his water on the end table to the left. On the screen, he saw a mass of protestors outside of the recently constructed perimeter wall of the campus. His expression immediately grew concerned.

“What the-?!” he muttered involuntarily. He cut himself off so he could better hear the words of the angry-looking bearded man who was standing in front of a microphone held by a nervous TV reporter.

Keep reading

Diner

2:00am, Texas.  The surface of the tables are humid and there is a familiar stickiness that is akin to something like coffee creamer and pancake syrup. Some ancient twangy country music is on in the distance, the scent of burnt coffee in the air. They sit across from each other, each with a mug in front of them. She has her shoes kicked off under the table and her feet crossed underneath her. He has his trench coat hung over the back of the booth. She reaches across the table and takes a french fry from his plate. He mumbles something to her. She glances up, smiles softly and tucks the hair behind her left ear. What is it about 2 a.m. that turns light banter in to meaningful conversations? In this diner, on this lonely highway, the rest of the world ceases to exist.  Here they are able to enjoy the silence that only comes from warm Texas nights and dirt roads. Here, they are just people.

archiveofourown.org
The Oracle & Her Glaive — an FFXV Rare Pairs Week fic
By Organization for Transformative Works

Written for day 5 of @ffxvrarepairsweek, for the prompt ‘fighting’.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV
Rating: T+
Warnings: None!
Relationships: Lunafreya Nox Fleuret/Nyx Ulric
Characters: Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Nyx Ulric, Libertus Ostium
Summary:

Before Nyx can rush in to save the day with his heroics, Luna makes a split-second decision and slips the Ring of the Lucii onto her own finger.


‘Didn’t anyone tell you? I’m the hero round here.’

Lunafreya hears Nyx’s voice fade out until only the echo remains, hollow in her ears. She feels him grasp her hand, calloused fingers closing over his own, and in an instant she knows what he’s planning to do.

She won’t let him; so many have died already for her. She won’t let Nyx be one of them.

Keep reading

Merry Christmas
(delitoonz)

.

The softest whisper of winter slipped in through the cracks in the window and bit at Jonathan’s toes as he walked down the hallway. Still dressed in the clothes he fell asleep in; a baggy pair of sweats and an old shirt that hung too far past his waist.

“I’ll tell him Momma,” he hears coming from the kitchen where sweet smells and warm light await him. “Uh huh. Yeah, we promise. Love you too.”

His feet still shuffle when he walks, he hasn’t fully awoken yet and the world slips by slowly, caught as he is still in the dreams of waking. Where everything is hazy and he has to blink just to keep himself awake.

But it’s Christmas morning and it’s too late to go back to sleep, so he ambles down the hallway to where the warm smell of coffee awaits him.

And there, standing in the doorway with a warm cup in one hand and a phone pressed to his ear with the other is Luke. Smiling and nodding along as he listens to the other end of the call.

Jonathan steps close and leans into Luke with his full body weight, pressing into the other man’s side. Sliding his fingers around the cup in Luke’s hand he rests his chin on his shoulder and whispers.

Right up against his ear, soft warm breath, “..my momma or yours..?”

Strings of tiny lights line the wall just beneath the ceiling, leaving a gentle glow that just barely lights up the corners of Luke’s face as he turns and presses a gentle kiss to Jonathan’s brow.

“Sounds good, Momma,” Luke adds to his side of the conversation, softly fluttering his eyes closed when his forehead touches Jonathan’s. His smile is a part of him that keeps him warm from within and it spreads from his face to Jonathan’s.

“We’ll be over there at eight then.” 

Jonathan’s hands hold the coffee and Luke at the same time and he isn’t quite sure which one is leaving him closer to sleep but if he leaned any harder against the other boy he would be a part of him.

His eyes shut, too much to keep open, as he considers the possibility.

“Love you too,” Luke drawls, speaking to both of them at once.

raywritesthings  asked:

Westhawne

Anonymous said: Westhawne

  • Who said “I love you” first
    • Eddie just blurts out with it one day, because what is tact when you’re looking at the most beautiful woman in the world and she’s looking back at you as though you’re the light of her life? Luckily, Iris thinks it’s the most adorable thing ever.
  • Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background
    • Iris has one of them both, and it’s one that they took on their first date. It’s both adorable and a little awkward, because Iris is kissing Eddie on the cheek, and Eddie (ever the gentleman) isn’t entirely sure what to do with his hands, so they’re just hanging limply.  It’s both a reminder of their beginnings and how far they’ve come. Eddie’s picture is always of Iris, and it changes twice a week because Iris looks ethereal in every single picture he takes of her. It’s impossible to pick just one.
  • Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror
    • Iris – mostly because she leaves for work earlier than Eddie does most days, and while they text throughout the day, Eddie appreciates the little notes and doodles she leaves for him in the morning.
  • Who buys the other cheesy gifts
    • It’s not really cheesy. Iris has always been a fan of chocolates and flowers – and while people might scoff at how stereotypical they are, Eddie knows that they don’t go unappreciated. In return, she writes him letters – and Eddie falls deeper in love with her every time because Iris has the remarkable ability to take him apart with her words in all the right ways. 
  • Who initiated the first kiss
    • Iris – she’d grown tired of waiting for Eddie to make a move on their first date and decided to take matters into her own hands.
  • Who kisses the other awake in the morning
    • When they’re both fortunate enough to get a day off together, Eddie often wakes up to Iris pressing soft butterfly kisses against the back of his neck and shoulder blade. Days like that are few and far between, but they don’t often involve them getting out of bed for extended periods of time. 
  • Who starts tickle fights
    • Iris – and she always wins. Eddie insists that he ‘let’ her win, but they both know better. 
  • Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower
    • It’s less a case of asking, and more like a silent agreement. Iris will give him a look and make some sort of motion towards the bathroom, and Eddie will take her hand and follow. 
  • Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch
    • It’s usually Eddie, and it’s usually just some burgers or whatever he can get on his way to Iris’ office. Joe teases him for it and insists that his daughter deserves something classier, but Iris insists that she’d take greasy food over a salad any day. 
  • Who was nervous and shy on the first date
    • In all honesty, they both were. Eddie was still very much in the process of trying to impress her, and to convince himself that Joe wasn’t going to kill him for dating his daughter – he had nothing but the best intentions, after all. For Iris, it had been a while, since she’d spent most of her time next to the hospital bed of her best friend, praying that he’d wake up soon. It was when Barry had been moved to STAR Labs that she was forced to start living life for herself again.  
  • Who kills/takes out the spiders
    • Iris takes them out because she’s gotten into the habit of feeling guilty every time someone kills one of them. It’s all Barry’s fault - dorky bug lover that he is. Eddie lacks the patience and usually ends up swatting at them with a shoe.
  • Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk
    • Eddie – but he’s dating Iris West. Can anyone really blame him?
Hang The Moon From My Lips; You Are Mine

A NurseyDex soulmate AU as requested by @hellokyochan

Read it on AO3: (X)

William Poindexter is 99% sure he’s in love. Derek is perfect; he understands Dex, he knows how to push his buttons and when he shouldn’t. He’s the flowing, eloquent stream that runs through William’s ravine of rough edges. The only problem? Their tattoos don’t match.

That’s the 1% for Dex. After almost two years of knowing Derek, two long years of fighting and bickering and debating and flirting and falling in love, he still isn’t really sure. Even if he is in love with him, how do you even go about loving someone you know isn’t your soulmate?

He’s tried convincing himself that maybe somehow, Derek’s really does match his. He knows that Derek has a few, but the one he focuses on is the large band on his upper right arm. Dex was born with one on his upper left. A simple, small sun. He’s tried justifying his feelings in every possible way.

Maybe it doesn’t have to do with what the tattoos are, but their size. Mine is small and his is big. Maybe opposites attract? Maybe it has something to do with the colors. Maybe they match through relation to some kind of ancient belief system? Yeah, he’s gone there. All he’s left with is a pile of maybes, hollow and empty and too heavy to get rid of.

Keep reading

You’ve Got A Friend In Me

For @divineplanets who requested: “Could you write something where the reader is depressed and they’re like sobbing on Owens shoulders and he tries to cheer her up but it’s not working so he goes and gets her her favorite food? i don’t know I’m dumb”

A/n: When I write about depression I understand that everyone is different, but I try my best to be accurate based on how I feel. I hope this is what you were looking for Hun. Not as much dialogue as I had wanted, but it is what it is I guess! Enjoy!


You’ve been strong. You’ve been so very strong. When you depression hit you full force earlier this week, you tried to escape it. You tried spending more time at work, calling your parents back home, even going out for drinks with a co-worker one night, but you always ended up back in your bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling so….empty.

It started getting hard for you to get up in the morning, and your friend even commented on how you seemed ‘out of it’ lately. If she only knew the half of it. But you would never tell her. It’s not her burden to bear and she would probably just blow it off anyway as so many people have done before claiming, “You should just stop being sad and be happy,” and things like, “a lot of people have it worse than you, you have no reason to be depressed.” And for that reason, you keep it to yourself…usually. However, when Owen walked into the employee room and found you crying, he didn’t blow it off or even ask what was wrong; he simply came to sit next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

Owen has been very kind to you since you started working with him, and even flirted occasionally, but you’d never told him about your depression or even had this much contact with him before. But your will to be held and cry it all out trumped your will to get up and run so you turned to face him and wrapped your arms around his waist, tucking your face into his shoulder and crying.

It was actually nice- cathartic really- and by the time your demons receded and you could start thinking clearly again, Owen was running a hand down your back soothingly. You had never done this with anyone before: just held onto them and cried and you don’t really know what to do or say next so your face burns with embarrassment when you realize you’re still holding onto him. You pull back, his arms slowly unwrapping from around you and you glance up at him through your eyelashes, knowing your face is as red as a tomato.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what-”

“It’s fine.” He cuts you off, shaking his head. You notice absentmindedly that one of his hands never quite made it off of your body and is resting on your hip. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You’ve never seen Owen look at you quite like this. His normal smirk that is almost always on his face is replaced with a soft frown and his normally shining eyes are filled with concern. You wonder if maybe Owen cares about you a little more than you originally thought, but you push that thought back. He’s just being kind. He raises his eyebrows ever so slightly and you realize he asked you a question.

No. No you definitely do not want to talk about it. Not with him. Not here. Not ever, really.  

You shake your head, reaching to brush a strand of hair out of your face as your frown. “No, not really.” He simply nods, that sad expression still on his face. You wonder what you did to deserve having this amazing man look at you with such care and something sparks in your mind: a drunken memory that seems more like a dream than reality. You can’t even remember if it really happened, but you can’t believe that you could just imagine that face.

It was earlier in the week when you went out to have drinks with Owen. After the long night, you walked outside to find it raining and when you said you would just run to your car, Owen tried to talk you out of it.

“You’re gonna get soaked, why don’t I go get your car and pull it up?” He asked, holding out his hand for your keys, but you brushed him off. And you remember now, very clearly, saying something very stupid in your drunken stupor.

“I’m fine. I can outrun it.” You wink and then peel your heels off and before you take off through the parking lot, you say, “Hell, I’ve been running from my depression all week.” And just like that you took off through the rain.  You remember looking back at him for a split second as you ran and seeing that look on his face, the one he’s giving you right now, as he stares at you silently.

You remain silent, not wanting to be the one to have to say anything. But after a few seconds, Owen’s face breaks into a small smile, though not quite reaching his eyes.

“What do you say we play hooky for the rest of the day and go out.” He says, a halfhearted teasing grin on his face. Your depression isn’t something you like to talk about. Maybe to your therapist every once in awhile when you’re back home, but you prefer to just deal with it on your own. And somehow, Owen accepted that right away. He didn’t push or press or ask questions, he just saw that you didn’t want to talk about it and changed the subject. And for that, you are extremely grateful. You smile at his suggestion and nod your head.

“That actually sounds great.” You say, a bit sheepishly, still very embarrassed for breaking down in front of him. But somehow, you feel like your relationship with Owen has reached a new level. You realize you can confide in him, if you choose to talk about it. He will understand and that’s the kind of friend you really need. He stands up, and holds out a hand to help you up, but his hand holds onto yours a little longer than necessary and the blush on your cheeks returns in full force again.

Okay…so maybe you like him a little more than just as an understanding friend… but you’re sure not going to tell him that.

“How about chinese?” He asks, walking towards the door and holding it open for you. You glance to the mirror above the break room sink to make sure you look at least presentable, and not like you’ve been sobbing for a half hour. You quickly turn your attention back to him and give him the best smile you can muster. You see his eyes light up, and a little bit of that worry fade away and you assume your smile must have been convincing. In fact, it almost convinced you that everything was okay. You know the depression has just been pushed away for the time being just by being with owen, but you know it will come back eventually. However, you decide to focus on being happy while you can and you nod and respond.

“My favorite!”