#I just think that regardless of any other fandom that may be occupying my attention at any given time

[the-insomniac-emporium]

We Don't Talk (About That) [Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader]

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None Summary: Affection has never been Cassandra's strong point- neither the giving nor the receiving of it. But when it comes to you, she's determined to try, regardless of the obstacles in her path. Notes: Spiritual sequel to Everybody Talks Too Much, but they can be read in any order. Reader is selectively mute, but ends up talking in this one, partially due to being high on a fever, oops. The reader in this one is also a lil bit sassier than some of my other ones, hence why it has tentatively earned my "blunt teeth sharp tongue" tag.

-----------------

“Seriously? You’re wearing white for this?” Cassandra says, eying you with a look of disbelief. All you can really do is shrug in response. After all, your hands are occupied with your current task: Wiping blood off of the corridor floor. That didn’t leave much room for miming, or writing anything down. “You’re going to fuck up your sleeves, you know that, right?” Another shrug, this time with an added humming noise, just for fun. Honestly, you weren’t even sure why Cassandra was hanging out, let alone why she cared if you got your shirt dirty. It’s not like she would be the one to do the laundry. More than that, she was the one who had decided to punish a maiden in the middle of the hallway.

Still, you would never think to voice your questions, or otherwise indicate your feelings. Not that you had feelings about her, or anything, the mere idea of that was ridiculous. For a completely unrelated reason you find yourself glad that she could not see your cheeks from where she stood. Glad I don’t talk, you think, otherwise I’d probably say something really stupid right now. Instead, you focus on your work, scrubbing hard at the floors. Despite your companion’s warning, not even a single drop of blood ends up staining your clothing. That’s why I rolled up my sleeves first, babe!... And that’s why I don’t talk, you think, shaking your head to clear your thoughts.

“That was fast. Sure you didn’t miss a spot?” Cassandra asks, stepping over to where you had cleaned. Before you can protest she’s leaning down to examine the floor. Which would, you know, be fine. If she didn’t have blood (and dirt, and who knows what else) on her gloves, that is. Groaning, you try to slap her wrist, temporarily forgetting your place. Next thing you know she’s pushing you to the ground, on top of you with her hand posed to strike. You flinch, instantly, clamping your eyes shut to prepare for the inevitable. But, just as quickly as she had gotten on you, she climbs right off, refusing to meet your confused gaze, refusing to answer your unspoken questions. “You’re lucky that mother thinks you’re useful,” she spat, leaving you with one last angry huff.

“What the fuck?...” You whisper, as soon as you think she won’t be able to hear you. Of all the things she could have possibly done in response… this was the only one you couldn’t justify. There’s only one thing that could possibly help you cope with your confusion: Cleaning. Thankfully, the same person who had just flipped your mind upside down had also left a few boot prints in her path. Humming softly to yourself, you get right back to work, gleefully ignoring what had just transpired.

-----------------

“Why do they do that?” Cassandra snapped, storming into the library, immediately demanding her older sister’s attention. However, Bela does not respond, merely looking up from her book with an eyebrow raised. Frustrated, Cassandra sits down at the table before slamming her fists onto it. At this, Bela sets her book to the side, realizing that she couldn’t ignore this tantrum. “Oh come on, you know exactly who I’m talking about!”

“Yes, I do, because they’re the only person you’ve given a damn about in a decade, maybe longer,” Bela replies, rolling her eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I have any clue what you’re complaining about this time. What did they do, hmm? Did they brush their hand up against yours? Make a heart with their hands again? Oh, let me guess, they smiled when you walked into the room.” At this point, Cassandra was nothing if not predictable, much to her own frustration. How often had she come to her sister, in confidence, to have this very conversation? Countless times, and never once with a clear goal in mind.

Just a head full of thoughts of you.

“They touched me,” she admits, after a few seconds of agonizing silence. The words feel heavy and wrong on her tongue, like they were coated in syrup, too sweet to be anything other than sickening. “Slapped my hand away like I was a kid sticking a fork in an outlet, for fuck’s sake! Who do they think I am?” Now those words felt better. Angrier- left a worse taste in her mouth, but easier to swallow.

“That depends, were you trying to stick a fork into an outlet? Sounds like the sort of thing you’d do to impress them,” Bela teases, laughing even when her arm gets smacked in retaliation. “Maybe you should just ask them, then, if you can’t fathom why they might touch you. Or you could simply wallow in self pity for another decade, pretending to hate their guts when really you’re desperate to get laid?”

“When did you get so rude?” Cassandra snaps, standing up with a scowl.

“Oh, probably about the eighth time we had this talk?” Bela replies, quick as a whip, smiling all the while. If she was going to have to endure this sort of thing this often, she might as well have some fun with it. But this appeared to be the end of this particular conversation, with a miffed Cassandra making her exit, once more leaving Bela to read in peace… for a while, at least.

-----------------

She can’t find you. She’s looked just about everywhere, asked every maiden she’s come across, and all any of them had to say were nervous apologies. Where were you? Why were you absent, now of all times, when she had finally decided to speak to you? Curse my luck, Cassandra thinks, barely restraining herself from wreaking havoc on her surroundings. Though maybe they’ll show up to take care of my mess, she muses, then thinks better of it when she imagines your exhausted expression. After all, there was only one place left for her to look: Your personal quarters. If you weren’t there, then, well, there’d be a new problem entirely.

“They better have a damn good reason for hiding away,” Cassandra mumbles under her breath. Then she’s opening the door to your room, not bothering to knock. What could you want to hide from her anyway? “Oh shit.” Evidently she hadn’t thought this through. There you were, asleep in bed, shirtless, a washcloth on your forehead. Every muscle in your body seemed to be shivering, and the occasional weak murmur leaves your lips. It doesn’t take more than a moment for Cassandra to act. Clearly you’re cold, hence the shaking, regardless of how warm it feels to her. So she’s grabbing a blanket from your dresser, quickly covering you with it. “Is that better?”

You don’t respond. Not that she truly expected you to. But the way you continue to shake has her even more concerned, and a trace of panic starts to set in. She searches for other blankets, laying them on top of you, confused as to why you aren’t getting better. C’mon, asshole, she thinks, I’m trying to help you! As if summoned by her frustrations, a maiden soon swings the door open, freezing in place when they see her. Instantly she’s whirling around to face them, a cruel remark dying in her throat. Of course it was one of her mother’s favorites. Eventually, she would have to find someone else to take her frustrations out on.

“Lady Cassandra? What are you-” Cynthia, senior staff member of Castle Dimitrescu, veteran of more than five years, starts to ask. But once she spies the pile of blankets on top of you… well, her eyes go wide. “Damn it, my Lady, you’re going to kill them!” With that said she’s rushing forward, setting down a basket of who-knows-what on your nightstand, before quickly removing the extra sheets. Half confused, half furious, Cassandra stands nearby, unable to decide how to react. Perhaps noticing this, Cynthia is quick to explain her actions. “They have a fever, the worst one I’ve seen in all of my years here. They may be shivering, but trust me, their skin might as well be on fire.”

“I was just trying to help,” Cassandra defends, words rushing out before she can stop herself. Fuck, this was embarrassing.

“Clearly, and I don’t blame you. Let’s just be glad that I came to check on them, hmm?” Cynthia suggests, giving an oddly motherly (i.e. reassuring) smile. On one hand, Cassandra doesn’t appreciate being talked to like this, at least not by someone other than her mother. On the other hand, well, she is glad that she hadn’t accidentally killed you. Taking a moment to let her heart rate slow back down, Cassandra moves to lean against the wall closest to you. She can’t help but frown when she sees the way your eyes flurry about beneath their lids. What are you dreaming about? Is it a nightmare, she wonders, or something softer, like you deserve?

“Can… can I help?” She asks, voice hardly more than a whisper. It was too late to save herself from embarrassment, but it wasn’t too late to contribute to your recovery. Or at least that’s what she hoped. There’s relative silence for a few moments, as Cynthia thinks over her words, swapping out the damp washcloth on your forehead all the while. When she finally replies, she does not look up from her task. Always the professional.

“Stay with them. If they get worse, come find me immediately. If they wake up, try to get them to drink some water, and ask if they’ve been injured recently. I couldn’t find any wounds on them, but this mess reeks of an infection,” Cynthia says. Opening the basket she had brought in with her, she removes several bottles from within, examining their labels with a tight-lipped frown. “None of these will do shit- pardon my language, my Lady- if it’s an infection, but it should help them fight off the fever until I can get them some proper antibiotics. Well, until the Duke can, that is. Make sure to ask them if they have any allergies to medicine before you give them anything, and please read the directions. They only need to take one kind of pill, alright? I only brought a few kinds in case they can’t have certain ones. Is that clear, Lady Cassandra?”

“Crystal clear,” she chimes, only briefly looking away from you. It’s enough for Cynthia, however, and she leaves with a simple bow. Once more alone with you, Cassandra approaches, gently taking your hand within her own. “You’d better wake up soon. I don’t want to have to babysit you all day…” Doesn’t want to, but would, if that’s what you needed. Wouldn’t hesitate for even a second. At most, she’d make someone fetch her a book to read while she waited. Except… now that she glanced around your room, she found that there were some things to keep her entertained. Like your beloved notepad.

-----------------

What do you mean? I don’t think she feels that way about me. Don’t be ridiculous, she doesn’t like anyone. Because I pay attention to her! It’s not hard to know what she does and does not appreciate, you just need to observe her. No, not like that, don’t be gross. Keep teasing me and my cheeks won’t be the only thing around here that’s red. Oh fuck off, fine, I’ll go talk to her, but you owe me one. Then the page ends, with the next two having been torn out. A few letters here and there are still legible, on what little remains of the missing pieces. Lov- and want her- and wish. Try as she might, Cassandra cannot find the rest of the pages. What had you possibly written that would make you discard all evidence? It’s not like anyone normally went through your notepad. Had you predicted that one day Cassandra would do this?

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” She growls, dropping the object with an angry sigh. “Who the hell were you writing about? Who were you fucking talking to? Why won’t you wake up, you goddamn asshole?” Through all of her shouting, you do nothing but shake in place, shivering against a non existent cold. Several hours had passed since Cassandra’s arrival, without you doing so much as batting an eye. Slowly but surely, she was being driven insane, exhausted from worry and jealousy alike. Strange how the most obvious answer eluded her so consistently… Yet hope does not entirely abandon her, as eventually her tantrum manages to pierce the haze around your overheating mind.

“Shhhhhhh. Please,” you mumble, eyes still closed, hardly aware of anything around you. All you really knew was that someone was being insufferable. Hell, your fever was driving you wild, and you didn’t even think about the fact that you hadn’t spoken out loud in front of anyone for over three months. Later, after you recovered, you would be glad that it was Cassandra who finally heard your voice. “Inside voice, mhm? Sleepy time…”

“Did- did you just?” Cassandra asks, stunned, shaking her head as if it might make her realize she was dreaming. But no, this was real, and you really had just spoken to her. It’s enough of a shock to render her speechless for a minute or so.

“Thanks, babe. Need to sleep this off. Or… no, wait, I was supposed to tell someone something?” You ramble, trying to sit up, a hand instinctively going to hold your head. The washcloth falls off of you, and you stare at it in confusion. Before you can start questioning the nature of it’s (or your own) existence, you are distracted by Cassandra, who has traded her own perplexion for determination. Next thing you know, you’re quietly sipping at a glass of water. Exhausted, despite having just been asleep, you eye the nearby medicine with curiosity. “I’m… supposed to tell Cassandra something, maybe? Fuck, why is it so warm in here?”

“You have a fever, dumbass,” Cassandra replies, once more finding her voice, still too overwhelmed to process what’s happening. “Look, you have to take something for your head, okay? Then we can… then we can talk about your feelings all you want, okay?” Maybe she was being a bit presumptuous about what you needed to talk about. Or maybe she was just, for once in her life, being hopeful. Regardless, she presents the medicine to you, getting ready to ask about allergies. Before she can, however, you’ve silently reached for the Ibuprofen and started opening it up.

“This’ll do. For the head, not for talking. We don’t-” you pause to take the pills, gulping down half a glass of water with them- “we don’t talk about that. Feelings. Makes her get mad, and I don’t want her to be mad,” you say, shuddering a little at the thought.

“I won’t get mad this time. Besides, you don’t normally talk at all,” Cassandra replies, rolling her eyes again. Finally, for the first time since waking up, you take a good, long look in her direction. Suddenly you’re putting the pieces together, groaning in protest when you do. How had you not realized? How deep into this fever were you?... “Don’t tell me you just figured it out, ‘babe’? I’m amazed you’re functioning at all right now.”

“Fuck you, Cassie,” you snap, mostly teasing. If she wasn’t freaking out about what you had said, well, then maybe you didn’t need to say much more at all. “You’ll still like me when I’m awake enough to be too scared to talk, right?”

“Honestly?... I was hoping this would be more of a permanent thing,” she admits, refusing to meet your gaze as she puts away the unused medicine. “But I guess I can live with being the only one who knows what your voice sounds like. So don’t you dare fucking talk to anyone else, alright?” She’s joking now, too, sounding more relaxed than she usually was. Even with your body fighting against itself, you can’t help but laugh with her. Then she’s slowly sitting on the edge of your bed, next to you, watching you with adoration clear in her eyes. “You’re going to be fine, right? Because if you die on me, I swear I’m going to kill you.”

“With you as my nurse? I’ll be lucky to last the night,” you joke, pretending to whimper when she gives you a playful slap on the arm. “Nah, nah, I’ll be alright, just as soon as I get some rest. Probably. Maybe you should, uh, stay with me? Just in case.” Next thing you know, Cassandra is pushing you down against the mattress, placing a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead. Then she puts the washcloth back on you, making sure it’s still somewhat cold. Without another word she settles in, leaning against the backboard of the bed, close enough for you to feel her warmth, but far enough that she wouldn’t risk raising your temperature. “Goodnight, Cass,” you murmur, before letting yourself drift back to sleep...

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #blunt teeth sharp tongue #that means the reader is a tad sassy #not quite unhinged tho #a nice middle ground in this one

[kindkindling]

crying for help

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles

pairing: mason/nb detective (Billie Vale)

rating: T, swearing and vague mentions of sex

warnings: BOOK 3 DEMO SPOILERS.

words: ~2.6k

summary: The detective needs to work some things out, and Ava is there to help.

ao3

You up?

I am. Is something wrong, Detective?

If I come to the Warehouse, will you spar with me?

---

The detective came at Ava once more, but they had been at this for hours now and their fatigue was showing; she easily dodged the incoming blow and deftly swept her leg under theirs, tumbling them to the mat with a thump.

Ava watched solemnly as Billie lay still, their chest heaving, not having even broken a sweat herself.

Something was obviously wrong. Billie hadn't spoken a word since they began sparring — each attempt Ava made to figure out what the issue was had been rebuffed with a shake of their head and a silent prompt to make another move, exhaustion and determination equally evident in their narrowed eyes. After the third time, she gave up and resorted to critiquing their technique instead, correcting their form and motions.

Something was wrong, but there was only so much she could do about it if the detective was unwilling to share the details.

As Billie slowly pushed themself up on hands and knees, arms shaking and still chasing the breath they couldn't catch, Ava decided enough was enough.

"We'll stop here."

The detective, predictably, shook their head without looking up, even as their sweat dripped to the floor; but Ava's patience had worn thin. They were in no state to continue, and she suspected they knew it.

"Yes, we will," she growled. She marched to the bench and grabbed Billie's water; when she returned, they had at least moved to sit cross-legged, leaning back on their hands as they tried to breathe deep. She handed them the bottle and sat next to them, silently watching as they downed half of it in one go.

It was known amongst Unit Bravo that the detective would sometimes head to the station in the middle of the night to work, though what could possibly require that level of attention in this quiet little town was beyond Ava. Truthfully, she had initially been pleased enough to accept Billie's proposition — it was a simple task to adjust the patrol routes so that whoever was out could check to see where Billie was each night, but she would definitely prefer that they stay put, and there was nowhere safer for the detective than the Warehouse — but looking over them now, she would be hard pressed to say that sparring was the better option for them right now.

They looked worn, and not just from the training. Their short brown hair had grown shaggy and somewhat dull since the team started working with them, and the bags under their eyes were only becoming more prominent as time passed. Their body sagged like every burden that had been placed on them as of late was slowly sinking them into the earth with each step, yet they refused to set even one of them down.

Their dedication to their duty was admirable, but it was clearly taking its toll, and something needed to change.

Billie recapped the bottle when they finished and stared at the floor, steadfastly avoiding Ava's gaze. Finally, after a few moments of struggle, they managed to find their voice and gave a strained, raspy, "Thank you."

"Of course." Ava hesitated, then said, "Will you tell me now what is wrong?"

They let out a long sigh before shoving their glasses up into their hair and covering their face with their hands. "It's nothing, really. I just... My thoughts were a bit much to handle tonight. Usually I would go get some work done, but..."

"...It would be a poor idea given the current situation with the bounty?" Ava ventured. At Billie's nod, she continued. "I agree. There is no reason to put yourself in more danger than is necessary. Although," she leaned forward, "you must realize that wearing yourself ragged like this will not make you of much use come the morning."

"Heh," Billie huffed and fell backward, spreading their arms wide across the floor. "It'll be alright. This isn't far off from how I'd've felt if I'd stayed at the apartment, except I personally feel a bit more accomplished."

Ava frowned. "Can you not designate some of your duties to the other officers? You seem to have quite a lot on your plate, even without your responsibilities for the Agency."

"Not really," they hummed. "It's pretty much just me and Tina, and she's already got her fair share to deal with; there's nothing urgent enough to warrant pulling her from her own tasks. And it..." they seemed to stall out for a moment, chewing on the words, their narrow gaze turned to the ceiling. "If I didn't have the work to do, I would be stuck at the apartment, just spinning my wheels in the dark, worrying about this and that. So it's better this way, to be occupied."

Without giving her a chance to respond, Billie stood with a grunt and dusted off their clothes. "Anyway, thanks for your help tonight. I'll try not to bother you for it again," they said with a wry grin.

"Detective!" She barked. They flinched as they turned to leave, and Ava mentally cursed her tone as she rose to her feet. "My apologies, but you do realize you are not alone in any of this, don't you? You are a part of this team, and any one of us would aid you, should you ask."

Billie stared back at her incredulously, meeting her eyes for the first time this entire conversation, and Ava realized just how anxious they must have been to have asked to meet.

"What has you worried?" She asked softly.

They pressed their lips and folded their arms, shrinking into themself a bit, fingers tapping an aimless rhythm on their forearm as they seemed to consider answering. For a long moment, Ava thought they would lapse back into the silence that had taken them during their training, but they eventually sighed and spoke.

"There's a couple things," they chuckled humorlessly. "I know it was determined that... that Murphy isn't likely to come back any time soon. But that doesn't stop me from wondering about it when I hear my neighbors thumping around late at night, you know?"

Ava stepped forward to rest her hand firmly on Billie's shoulder. "The Agency is much better prepared now for any assaults from Murphy or supernaturals like him than they were before. And you have us watching over you as well; suffice to say, even should Murphy return, he will not succeed no matter what he may try."

"I know." They smiled, but it was stretched thin and tight, like they were close to cracking. "But unfortunately, knowing something isn't likely doesn't stop my feelings from going haywire."

"You are always welcome to stay here, if that would help," Ava offered. "You do have a room, after all. This space is as much yours as it is ours."

She felt Billie's shoulder tense under her hand at her words and heard their heartbeat stutter. Before she could make an inquiry, however, the words started pouring out of the detective like a waterfall.

"Ah, no, I think — I think I'll be alright, that won't be necessary, in fact I think it's getting to be pretty early, isn't it, gosh it really is, so I should probably head out actually, but, um, thanks again for all your help, I do appreciate it, genuinely —"

"Detective," Ava said, gently, and Billie's non-stop tirade puttered out like a hose shutting off, their gaze dropping to the floor.

"It's just, I — I don't think that's something I can do. For a while, not forever, just... just for now," they finished weakly.

Ava crossed her arms and considered this. "It would inarguably be safer for you to be here at night than at your apartment or the station. Are you sure?"

Billie drew back and their eyes met Ava's once more — any determination they had held before was gone now, and only the exhaustion remained. "It's for the best, I think."

Ava sighed. "I will not force it force it on you; our patrols should be sufficient regardless. But I cannot help but ask... have we done something to warrant your distrust?"

"Oh, no, no no no!" Billie exclaimed, their hands waving in the air almost comically. "Not at all! You're all terrific, no complaints here! It's — it's just, it's... me."

"It's you?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Even if you were not one of us, it is our job to protect you, Detective. Your blood puts us in no more danger —"

"Ugh, no, that's not what I mean," they groaned. Ava didn't think they could make themself any smaller, yet Billie somehow managed it. "It's... Can you promise not to tell the rest of the team about this? It's kind of personal."

"You have my word."

"I... I can't be around Mason right now," they mumbled.

"Mason?" Ava's eyes widened and narrowed in quick succession. "What did he do?"

"It's not what he did, it's more what I did... or what I made him think, I suppose, and now everything's changed, and I don't think I should be around him if I'm just going to keep on doing this..." Billie trailed off, hugging themself tightly.

"Start from the beginning, please."

They gave a deep sigh. "You remember when we left the Warehouse together the other day, right? When he escorted me to the station?" She nodded. "Well, we went to breakfast, and it was... nice. We had a — a moment, I guess you could say."

They turned their face away as if to hide their embarrassment, but it only made the flush on their ears more apparent; Ava might have found it humorous were the circumstances different, and she herself were not growing more uncomfortable with the direction of the story.

"But then Haley — you've met her, the baker at the square — she came over and said she didn't know I was... seeing anyone. Mason said that I — that I'm 'only seeing him naked. There's nothing else going on here.' And that was — it hurt, and I kind of... ran out on him."

Ava did her best to contain the longest suffering sigh that had ever threatened to escape her, and she thought she did a damn good job of it. Dealing with Mason's 'problems' had always been near the top of the list of Things She Has Been Forced to Deal With and Would Rather Delegate to Nat, but this was the first time that she could recall where the problem was not his callous nature, but his own brand of naivety.

She held up a hand as if to pause her own thoughts. "You made it sound as if this were your fault. How did you come to that conclusion?"

"It's because I'm a damn fool," they said, immediately and so full of conviction that Ava almost reeled. "I knew when we first started this that it didn't mean anything. That it was just fun, something to help keep my mind off how the world had turned upside down. And that was fine, I didn't want anything more, I didn't expect it, because I... I didn't let myself.

"I convinced myself at every turn that it was what I wanted, because it was what he wanted, and if I wanted something else, something... more, then we would have to stop, because that wouldn't be fair, not to either of us." Billie's eyes were gleaming as if they were fighting back tears, and Ava felt a pang in her heart at the sight. "And it looks like I did a good enough job, yeah? Because even if I didn't manage to stop myself from being an idiot, I've convinced Mason that I don't give a damn about him aside from his body. And that was the goal, wasn't it, to keep it as this casual thing?"

The tears won their fight and spilled over, but Billie kept on. "To hell with how he kept me from losing my mind when the Maa-alused attacked me in my apartment, right? And how he can keep me from spiraling further into a mess just by being in the same fucking room, that's a normal thing for a friend with benefits, isn't it? How I can look at him and just feel this, this resolve settle in my chest and straighten my spine, make me feel like I can do anything, just because this one person believes that I can?" They were yelling by the end, their hand over their heart, knees trembling, and Ava had to catch them as they collapsed from the exertion.

"I can't, Ava," they cried into her shirt, "I can't see him right now, I can't."

She held Billie close and let them wail, making small, calming noises as she tried to soothe them. It had been a long, long time since Ava had last done this for anyone, but it still seemed to do the trick; it took a while, but eventually their heaving breaths slowed and their cries turned to sniffles.

"Think you got it all out?" She asked.

Billie huffed as they withdrew from her grasp and straightened out their shirt. Their eyes were puffy and their cheeks ruddy, but their heartbeat was settling down. "Think so."

"Good. Are you willing to listen now?"

They nodded, wiping their eyes and moving their glasses back into place.

"You are right about one thing: you're a fool."

"Well, thanks for that, at least," they mumbled, their voice still raspy.

"Not for having these emotions, but for going through such convoluted leaps to convince yourself otherwise," Ava said. "Truly, it is dizzying trying to follow you."

That got a chuckle out of them, which she considered a success.

"And do you truly believe that Mason feels nothing for you in return?"

"I mean — I've thought, at times, that maybe..."

"I cannot speak for him, but I can say that, in all my years of knowing him and how he acts and how he treats those he engages with, I have never seen him treat any of them with the level of respect that he treats you."

Ava stood and held out a hand to help Billie up; as they stood next to her, she added, "And I have never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

"Oh, Ava, please don't — please don't try to give me hope here, I don't think I can take it."

"That is not my intention," she said, using a hand to start pushing them toward the door. "I am merely giving you facts that you may not have been able to consider in all your astounding leaps of logic."

They gave Ava a small, genuine smile at the training room's entryway, their mood having finally lifted somewhat. "Thank you, Ava. Really."

"It is no issue," Ava said. "Now, go get your car ready."

"Huh?"

"You are in no state to drive yourself, so I will take you home. I would suggest calling in sick today, but of course that is up to your discretion."

"Oh no, Ava, you've done more than enough for me tonight, I can — "

"Go, Billie. I will be there momentarily."

Her tone left no room for discussion, so with a final resigned sigh, Billie conceded and walked off down the hallway. Ava watched until they turned the corner and took out their phone, dialing a number she knew by heart and speaking as soon as Nat picked up.

"Did you hear all of that?"

"I did, yes."

"You need to speak with Mason."

"I'm already on it."

#it's 2:30am take it away i'm done #i had a lot of Feelings so billie had to talk it out with someone who wasn't mason #fun fact: billie asked ava to spar bc they thought she wouldn't ask any questions and they could just bury it deep as always #JOKES ON YOU BUD #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc fic #twc a #ava du mortain #sea's OCs #twc spoilers #twc book 3 spoilers #book 3 demo spoilers #formatting is fixed now. whew that's better lol

[wickednerdery]

Title: Scorched Earth: Between Two Fires Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Marvel Pairing/character: Odin, Frigga, Ulfr, Mer!OCs, Elf!OCs Rating: Teen Summary: “Do you think yourself able to beguile me...?” Notes: This is the third part of what’s shaping up to be a legit series - 1st is FrostBitten, 2nd HoarFrost Hel - and the masterlist is here. The story on whole is gonna be very dark, this piece - which occurs a few days after the last Ulfr one - really just has discussion of slavery though. For consistency and length, it gets a “Read More”.

“King Draugluin, are you listening to me?” Odin’s inflection says question, but his tone says command.

Ulfr pulls himself from the depths of boredom to look over. “Pardon?”

“Why did you agree to this visit if you’ve no intention of being a gracious host?”

“Where are your sons?”

“My son is on a mission.”

“And the other?”

“I have only one child. One son.”

“I see...” The false king smirks. “And why is it that you are so concerned with what I do on my realm, with my people, exactly?”

“You are a young king, without true knowledge of rule. You’ve little foresight of how your policies might affect your realm and those around you.”

“Like yours.”

“Yes, like Asgard, but also Vanaheim, Svartalfheim, Jotunheim, and countless others.”

The Jotun sneers. “And what do you care of Jotunheim? You, with your long history of attacking them.” The god goes to counter, but the king cuts him off with a sweep of the hand. “Do not come to my realm with claims of concern for those you’ve history of war with. I may be young, but I am not a fool.”

“And I am the Allfather!”

“You are not my father.” The words are spat, before Ulfr hears Grim’s soothing hum. He takes a deep breath for calm. “Forgive me, I’ve many detractors as of late and my patience grows thin.”

It is Frigga who steps forward, soft smile upon her lips. “Perhaps a rest would do us all some good? We’ve traveled far and I’m sure you spent many hours atop your usual to give us the lovely greeting we received upon arrival.”

Odin’s eyes hold war-ready hardness, but he concedes with a demand to be shown his people’s quarters. His room.

“Of course,” Ulfr looks into the crowd. “Grim, would you be so kind?” 

The fossegrim stops his song to step forward with a smile and bow of the head. “Of course, Your Highness, it will be my honor.”

“Good. Rest now and tonight we will have a feast.” He stands. “Tomorrow we may speak of our realms again.” Ulfr then bids them farewell without allowing another word.

Between the elves and the Asgardians, the feast fast grows wild. The two beings growing pleasantly rowdy with one another as the hours pass. Frigga keeps company with Princess Rainaiel while Odin enjoys drink and dance in equal measure with any who will indulge him...Rassëiel seizes upon the opportunity to occupy his time and mind, the chance to add to her collection.

“If I may be so bold as to ask.” Frigga appears before King Draugluin with a smile. “Would you show me your gardens, Your Highness? We passed them upon arrival and they are so beautiful.”

“Now?” In his confusion Ulfr nearly drops his pretense, but then clears throat as he stands. “If you wish, Queen Frigga, it would be my honor and pleasure.” Because to refuse would only bring more questions and, perhaps, he could gain something of interest from her in the meantime.

He leads her casually, with pleasant talk. A discussion of their realm’s similarities and differences, of hopes for productive talks tomorrow. Upon reaching the gardens he shows her those that might be of greatest interest. Ulfr maintains his cool charm, easy laugh, but keeps the interaction superficial. 

“You are much as my son described,” Frigga notes casually, taking in the sweet smell of blooming flowers.

“I’ve not met Thor.” 

“I mean Loki.” She carries on down the row.

Ulfr smirks as he follows. “Forgive me, but your husband was quite firm you’ve only one child. One son. Thor.”

The queen rounds on him with sharp eyes, the kind that make him step back expecting a mother’s scolding. “Do you think yourself able to beguile me, Ulfr of Jotunheim?”

“I think you are -”

“Your illusions do not fool me, I was raised by witches, boy.” Her lips turn up, as if in amusement. “Loki taught you, but I taught Loki.”

“I knew magic before Loki.”

Frigga's attention returns to the flowers. “I need your help.”

“Or you’ll reveal what you know, turn me in.”

“No.”

“No?” His eyes narrow in suspicion. “Why not?”

“Your goals for this realm are noble and I think you can succeed,” the queen confesses. “All I ask is that, should Loki cross your path, you continue in your efforts.”

Ulfr doesn’t mean to smile, but does nevertheless. “You mean undo his enslavement. Won’t your king have something say about that? I mean, that’s why he’s here, is he not? To dissuade me from freeing slaves in this realm, especially should Loki be one?”

“Yes, but I’m certain you don’t care for Odin, his preferences or desires.”

“True, but the same could be said of Loki.”

“Regardless...” Her hand goes up to touch the Jotun’s face, softly cup his cheek a moment. “I trust you will do what is right.” She pulls it back.

He smiles, but confidence is slightly shaken. “By whose definition?”

Frigga doesn’t answer, but carries on into the garden. Men like him need a subtler hand, just as Loki always did. If they feel pressured into a thing, it will only cause them to fight or attempt an escape from it.

Ulfr is left to watch the queen of Asgard carefully until she fades away. There’s an unsettling feeling in his gut, but he cannot pinpoint its cause. Is it Frigga and her request, or his indecision on what he might do should he actually cross her son again? Both?

I honestly don’t know if this attempt by Frigga will pay off or not, but I admire it either way and, I think, Ulfr does too. Even if it puts him on edge, lol! My best guest as to why Odin didn’t see through the illusion is that he has a huge fucking ego so presumes no one would dare try to trick him to start, thus isn’t looking for any illusion. Frigga sees through it because she’s that skilled, the illusion is possibly similar to something she taught Loki, AND she was already looking for an “in” with this new king of Alfheim.

Gifs found on Google, adjusted by me.

Tagged: @chibiyanai​​​​ @wadeyouwitch​​​​ @creedslove​​​​ @lady-crowned-with-stars​​​​ @moonfaery​​​​ @annievvv7​​​​  @ladyfluff​​​​ @holykryptonitekitten​​​​ @lokilvrr​​​​ @janebrownnie​​​​ @lokis-little-kitten​​​​ @alexakeyloveloki​​​​ @theangelsfightwithdevils​​​​ @the-blue-tiefling​​​​ @lokis-lady-death​​​​ @dangertoozmanykids101​​​​ @prometheasmother​​​​ @vethrvolnir @wintertink​​​​ @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @drakonwild​​​​ @starscreamloki​​​​ @skoulsinner​​​​ @hiddles-rose​​​​  @the-lady-witchitery​​​​ @galaxies-inside-my-head​​​​ @jackheart180 @lukeevansandjdmobession​​​​ @endlessstairway​​​​ @steph-1986 @tom-fucking-hiddleston-1981​​​​ @lovekrystina​​​​ @madoka73​​​​ @lokikingofasgardslover713​​​​ @partiallyinthecloset​​​​ @ultrarebelheart​​​​ @gravitational-anomaly @manip-loki​​​​ @sweetfictionalworld​​​​ @lowcarbgem @tarithenurse​​​​ @beccaliciooouuusss​​​​ @michellearel1​​​​ @toozmanykids​​​​ @erasnegras @iwasbusybeingdead​​​​ @hearted-words​​​​ @foofyschmoofer​​​​ @kellatron55​​​​ @kpopgirlbtssvt​​

#loki #thor #odin allfather #frigga allmother #fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #slave!loki #OC: Ulfr #OC: Grim #frigga #loki friggason #thor friggason #ljósálfar #alfheim #OC: Rainaiel #OC: Rassëiel #elves #dragons #fossegrim #nokken #marvel cinematic universe #norse mythology #asgard #canon divergent au #jotun #frost giant #dragon #my writing #not my gif

[m00nlitknight]

librarian helper

fandom: IT (2017) pairing:  henry bowers / goody-two-shoes reader word count:  1,635 warnings:  none to really point out? henry being henry?? summary:   Oh, how one tires of stagnant days. extra:   my favorite part of this is when richie said 'mullet-boy bowers' im iconic. i also finished this at like 3am pls b gentle i hope i wrote henry ok! feedback is highly appreciated, thank you for reading!

archive of our own link.

Monday mornings in Derry weren’t ideal, regardless of the context. Teens awoken far too early for their own good, forced to come to grips with the reality that it was the first day back from the weekend. Trudging through the crowded student body and longing for the day to be over just as soon as it was to begin. A variety of feelings made the air heavy and thick with a concoction so truthful to the high school experience; frustration, exhaustion, and the underlying scent of yearning.

Few an individual found themselves bragging of the weekend’s extracurricular activities, cackling with an unusual vigor and energy unlike the rest of their near-ghoulish peers. Others were sitting on the ground, rushing through their assignments with adrenaline only just granted to them; oh yes, the heart-stopping experience of forgetting that there was homework.

Fortunately, you’d hadn’t found yourself in that predicament this morning, having thoroughly done your homework on Friday night. Best to do it then push it off and forget it; your own philosophy. Not to say you hadn’t found yourself in the same situation in times past, nor were you above those whose memory’s had failed them.

Quietly you step up to your locker, opening it and glancing down to your left, where Richie Tozier was currently scribbling nonsense down on what you assumed to be Government. You hummed, putting your things away quickly and retrieving what looked to be the same assignment - some stupid worksheet the teacher assigned, no doubt some kind of busywork. Your class truly had no grasp on the concept of being ‘quiet,’ which annoyed you to no end.

You squatted down to his level, with his pencil not even ceasing as you set the paper in his peripheral. No teachers were at their morning posts yet, either that or the ones who were supposed to be there simply didn’t care to be there.

“Oh - uh, shit, how much?” His eyes shifted from you to the paper quickly as he fumbled to reach for something - likely his wallet.

“Nothing,” Your voice leaves you laced with amusement as you push the paper into his grasp. “Just don’t get caught with it, please.”

“Aw, c’mon! You can’t just hand it the fuck over for free, man, that’ll mean I owe you a solid.”

“Just consider it on the house, Tozier. It’ll be fine, you don’t owe me.”

“Okay, okay, but don’t come hollerin’ when you suddenly need a favor from ol’ Richie, alright?”

You hum in affirmation, turning back to your locker and beginning to sort through the things that would be needed for the day to come. Around you, energy began to rise, individuals of the student body reanimating through social interaction. The morning sun may not have been enough to revitalize them, but it appeared that the promise of teenage-to-teenage interaction was.

Richie finished his work with your worksheet quickly, shoving it back in your direction with a toothy grin. “Thanks, dude, you’re a fuckin’ lifesaver, I swear.”

“Like I said, it’s nothing! Do you need help with anything else? You know I have a basically free second period in the library.”

“Nah, thanks for the offer,” He seemed to finalize, standing up to go through his own locker. “I’ll make sure to send my dumbfuck friends your way if they happen to need any tutoring, though.”

You release a laugh through your nose, head shaking as you did so. Richie looked to you with a momentary smile, only to have it fall when he looked passed to the people around you.

“Alright, don’t panic,” naturally, you felt a little alarmed as a grimace crept onto his features. “ but I think you have a momentary peepin’ Tom right now.”

“Uh ... what ... do you mean?” You couldn’t help the faint caution and apprehension crawling into your voice.

“Mullet-boy Bowers is staring at you like ... really intensely,” he turned to you once again, putting an not-so-reassuring hand on your shoulder. “If I were you, I’d get the fuck outta dodge right now.”

With that, he stepped around you, maneuvering through the hallway - likely to class - and leaving you by your lonesome and, unfortunately, vulnerable. Quickly after his departure, the bell rang shrill overhead, signaling the beginning of class as students begrudgingly made their way to their first hour classes. You made yourself among their ranks, gathering your things to hopefully outrun ( or walk in this case ) any physical advancements the fellow student could’ve had on you.

The classroom’s door frame never felt more welcoming as you stepped foot into it, releasing a breath of comfort. Most of the class had yet to filter in, meaning there was more reign to choosing whatever seat you wanted. With a hum of appreciation, you step further in, choosing a seat not-too-close and not-too-far back for your liking, sitting down and preparing for class.

You keep your attention focused on your notebook for the beginning as classmates make their way in, sitting in various spots around the room and leaving you by yourself. Booted footfalls make their dreaded way over to you, finding themselves seated to your right. Sudden fear prickles your skin, suddenly making the room too warm and too cold at once while your shoulders tense. For the love of god, be anyone, anyone other than who you thought it was.

The seat creaks, likely with the weight of its occupant leaning into your vicinity. “Did’ja get the homework done, girlie?” You can almost hear the smirk in his whisper, as though he’s a wolf bearing his maw to a sheep. You tense further, shaking your head as you unconsciously lean further into the empty space you have right.

“S’funny...swear I saw you givin’ it to Trashmouth ‘fore class started,” The seats to your front and back were occupied by others, quite possibly remaining individuals who found an alliance with Henry. “Always thought’ch’re a good girl...be a shame if someone fucked that up for y’huh?”

Blackmail? That didn’t really seem like his style, then again it didn’t quite seem like you were being offered a choice of any kind - especially if he had the man power of his goons with him.

“So what’s it gonna be, huh? We ain’t got much time,” his voice transcribed his annoyance as your mulling was cut short, sliding the paper into his vision as he diligently scribbled the answers down. Across the room you caught the eye of Richie, quickly looking away in shame. You nearly miss the amused “s’what I thought,” murmured from Henry as he finishes the work quickly, shoving your desk with a bark of laughter.

The class continues on with its usually snail-like pace, much to your dismay as you keep your eyes locked on either the clock or your notebook. In front of you sat Belch Huggins, likely to his own humor since you were no longer able to see the board, and to your back sat Victor Criss who was able to sneak in an early nap. Through the paperballs being spat at or thrown at you from your right, you couldn’t help but feel that this was in some way better than having Patrick sit nearest to you - even if he was still creepily staring into your shoulder from behind Henry with what you could only guess was that irking grin. God forbid it was his expressionless face, that churned nervousness in your gut.

The bell rang once again overhead, signaling your freedom to the library as you scrambled to gather your things and rush passed before you had the chance to get cornered. Dumping what you had in your hands in your locker - you figured it would be for later you to organize - you did your best to scamper to the library unseen.

It seemed to have worked for the most part, aside from the bemused glances you garnered from teachers. Only momentary, they shrugged it off as you being a good kid in a hurry. As you entered the vicinity, you released another sigh of relief. If there was one thing you knew, it was that Henry Bowers wouldn’t be caught dead in a library. You didn’t really worry about his friends either, they were probably busy giving some unfortunate soul a swirlie, or whatever.

“Always on time, aren’t you?” The librarian, Ms. Andrews, rhetorical question was met with a beaming smile from you. “I’ve written things down for you to do, I’ll be in and out today helping the bookkeeper in the office.”

With a timid nod, you walked over to what she’d assigned you to do, looking through the short list with a thought of reaffirmation. Checking books back in, sorting back through them, and putting labels on new ones. You didn’t think you’d get through it all in the allotted time, though you were sure she’d been aware. Despite the world’s slow pace of going digital, Derry managed to lag behind - leaving you and your school with the unfortunate continuation of the paper system instead of being able to have the use of a computer.

“I’ll be back soon, dear, you know where where everything is,” she rounded the counter top before stepping out of the room, heels clicking loudly on the linoleum outside the carpeted room. A few moments later, the sound of boots made themselves apparent on the floor outside, going unnoticed by you as you began working on what had been assigned to you.

Looking up, your eyes met the smug gaze of Bowers himself - to which you tensed up once again. It stayed like what for an uncomfortable amount of time, the stuffy silence broken by the likes of you.

“Didn’t think you’d be a fan of the library,” you murmured, closing the book and setting it on the cart to be replaced.

“Wasn’t really, ‘till a lil’ birdy told me where my favorite bunny hangs out fer her second hour,” A sly smirk crawled onto his features as he watched you grimace over the use of the pet name.

He stepped forward, watching a physical flinch from you occur whilst he leaned his elbows onto the counter. It was stupid of him to get worked up over watching you squirm like that, but he had to admit there was definitely a feeling that came along with it. Leaning onto the counter, he gazed into your face. “What’ya say to us peelin’ outta here, goin’ and havin’ some actual fun?”

You fell silent at the question, blush darkening your features all the way to the ear. Unable to keep eye contact, you glanced to the pile of books that suddenly seemed way more interesting. “I’d say,” your voice came out so much more fragile then you’d meant it to as you looked back into his eyes. “Take me to dinner first.”

At your rebuttal, he found himself at a momentary loss for words, his own cheeks dusting with a faint pink. His smirk faltered, before returning at full force. “Can’t a man get a taste first, then?”

“ Uh, ” your mouth went dry, eyes suddenly widening. How could he be so forward?

“What’ll it be, doe-eyes?”

With a glance around the vacant library, you looked to him again. “Follow me.”

His smirk turned wolfish as you led him to the vague-privacy of the bookshelves. Once the doorway was out of sight, and the two of you were tucked away into a corner, you looked to him. “We’ll have to be quick...and quiet.”

He stepped to you, only partially caging you in with one hand. “I can do quick, but I can’t promise quiet, bunny.”

“W-we can’t do much,” you stammer, face flushing as he lowered himself to your neck. “I’m n-not that easy!” You squeak when you feel his lips press against your jugular, putting an embarrassed hand to your mouth.

“Thought we had to be quiet,” he chuckled.

You put your hands onto his face, dragging him backward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. Quickly, he swatted your hands away, coming to rest his own on your waist as you replaced your hands onto his shoulders. The kiss escalated to eyes being closed, lip nipping, and heads turning for a better angle.

You gently pulled away, in turn his hands beginning to roam your mid-section with curiosity as you caught your breath. When he brushed a certain spot, you couldn’t suppress a giggle, much to his amusement as he began to brush it intentionally.

“Henry!” You giggle, putting your hands on his chest to push him away.

“Y’know, I like the sound of my name on your lips, doe-eyes,” He pressed a kiss to your lips once again before pulling away completely. “Maybe you’ll be sayin’ it with more gusto tonight, huh?”

Your face flushes, eyes widening again. “Oh - oh! Uh, maybe..?”

“Meet me durin’ lunch, we’ll talk then,” and with a wink, he set out of the library.

#henry bowers x reader #henry bowers imagine #henry bowers #it 2017 fanfiction #it 2017 #anyway #reader insert

[hshouse]

are you done with your essay?

YES!! Harry essay is here and I love her.

It’s under the read more!! 

Harry Styles: the gay icon gay women deserve.

If you walk into an arena to watch a Harry Styles concert, you might think you came to a pride parade instead of a concert. His fans bring pride flags (all kinds of them: the gay, the lesbian, the bisexual, the transgender and the asexual have all been spotted) and wait excitedly for the moment when Harry snatches the flags for himself and runs around on stage with them. To understand the Harry Styles that his LGBT fanbase knows and love, it is crucial to know both his path to a successful solo artist and how he is perceived by the general public. Before his solo career, he was a member of the boyband One Direction. Boybands (and their members) have historically occupied in a curious position in popular culture. These groups, mostly composed of early twenties men, have been openly marketed towards a young female audience (who is presumed to be straight). The magazines write about the perfect date for each member and which actress the cute one is dating - all in a clear effort to sell them as romantic/sex icons for teenage girls. However, despite all of these efforts, these boybands are also adored by the LGBTQ community. While the appeal to gay men is more understandable, the bulk of the LGBTQ fans, at least in Harry Styles’ case, is composed of lesbian and bisexual women. Through analyzing four of his songs, I will shed a light on why this appeal exist and how he has become one of the iconic gay icons of the 21st century.

The first two songs that have become an important gay anthem for his LGBT fans were written by Harry Styles during his time in One Direction. The song “Happily” is featured in the third album of the band and “If I Could Fly ” is part of the fifth album. To understand the importance of these songs, some context is needed. A significant part of the One Direction fandom (the word used to describe the collective of fans) believes that Harry Styles was/is on a long term relationship with another bandmember, Louis Tomlinson. This belief is held mostly by the LGBT fans and it has shaped the fandom from the very beginning (this video - which has been watched over five million times - provides a good introduction on the topic). Many LGBT fans were introduced to the band by hearing about this belief. In different, and often controversial and unconvincing ways, both Harry and Louis have denied this relationship. However, the fans, including myself, even after four years of the band break, still believe in the existence of their relationship (the dynamics of this group are extremely interesting but are unfortunately outside of the scope of this essay).

In both “Happily” and “If I Could Fly” Harry writes/sings directly to his lover without (or with few) pronouns. Both songs invoke a common theme of certitude about their relationship while facing outside struggles to maintain this relationship. In “Happily”, Harry directly addresses how their relationship is viewed: “I don’t care what people say when we’re together/You know I wanna be the one to hold you when you sleep/I just want it to be you and I forever”. For straight listeners, this verse may not seem like more than a common love declaration in a pop song. However, for LGBT fans this verse is understood as a clear and loud representation of the queer struggle with acceptance for their relationships. Moreover, Harry is sending a strong optimistic message about queer love: “I don’t care what people say when we’re together”. In a pop culture that still often portrays queer love stories as tragedies or unattainable desires, hearing a song showcases a fairly happy queer love story is important for young LGBT people. Later in the song, Harry also plays (as he does in many songs as we will see) with the common listener’s assumptions about his sexuality: “It’s four a.m. and I know that you’re with him/I wonder if he knows that I touched your skin/And if he feels my traces in your hair”. A straight listened will likely assume he is jealous of another man who is with his female lover. However, the lover Harry is talking to is not specified as a woman so these sexually charged lyrics are understood by his fans to be within the context of a gay relationship.

In a distinctively sadder tone, “If I Could Fly” showcases another side of queer love: the understanding that that relationship is often the only social space where LGBT people get to truly be themselves. While many are lucky to have LGBT spaces and friends, it is still not the case for everyone - especially those in the closet. When performed live, this song seems to be personal and even perhaps painful to him. He sings: “For your eyes only, I’ll show you my heart/For when you’re lonely and forget who you are/I’m missing half of me when we’re apart/Now you know me, for your eyes only/For your eyes only.” These verses seem to say that he is himself only when he is with his lover or that only his lover truly knows him. Again, for his LGBT fans this song is undeniably about feelings and experiences that are unique to queer love within the context of our society. During his first tour as a solo artist, Harry performed this One Direction song in a separate B stage alongside one of his own love songs (the small stage was quickly nicknamed “the Boyfriend stage” by fans). During one of his London shows (linked above) the fans used their phones to form a pride flag across the arena. As he sang “I can feel your heart inside of mine”, his fans held a pride flag and sang back to him “I feel it/I feel it.” An incredibly powerful moment to us and to him (as you can see in the video).

In 2017, Harry started his solo career post One Direction. His first album cycle (including album release and tour) lasted until 2018 and it included over a million albums sold and 69 sold out concerts across the world. His career has been marked by his refusal to share anything substantial about his personal life outside of what is said in his songs. Harry talks through his actions and lyrics more than through any interview. Further, his solo career has also been marked by his fashion choices. He is the face of several Gucci fashion campaigns and the first gender neutral perfume. On tour, he was usually on a two piece suit with an extravagant pattern or in a creative variation of it like this prince outfit. But by far the most unique part of any Harry Styles concert is pride flags that flood the audience everywhere he goes. During every concert of his tour he grabbed some of the flags and ran around the stage. This movement to bring pride flags is a culmination of four years of efforts from his LGBT fans. During the One Direction tours a few brave fans brought pride flags, in a movement named Rainbow Direction, and were often met with hostility from other fans. It wasn’t until Harry started grabbing the flags and, in his fashion “saying without saying” that he supported and liked this trend, that the pride flags became accepted by the larger fandom.

Two of his solo songs deserve special attention for their importance for the queer fans. The first one is “Two Ghosts”. This song, like the ones mentioned before, is believed to be about Louis Tomlinson. The song was released as part of his 2017 album but was written in 2013. During that time, the Louis/Harry belief was first partially addressed when Harry and Louis, who were self declared best friends who lived together, completely stopped interacting with each other. This arrangement was in place until the last day of the band almost 3 years later. In a five person group, it was painfully obvious. “Two Ghosts” is believed to address this new public arrangement: “Sounds like something that I used to feel/But I can’t touch what I see/We’re not who we used to be/We’re not who we used to be/We’re just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me.” Styles then goes on to repeat “We’re not who we used to be” multiple times. Regardless of one’s belief on that relationship, when the song was released, Harry’s queer fans were stunned with how raw the song was. While being a celebrity in that situation is a mostly unrelatable problem, the feeling of not being able to express queer love freely is shared by many. In particular the lyric “I can’t touch what I see” shows a sadness and struggle that is known to many, if not all, queer people.

The second song is “Medicine”. This is Harry’s most openly queer song and also his most sexually charged. The second verse of the song boldly states that he is gonna treat his lover like a gentleman - a line that is hard to be interpreted in any other way but that his lover is a man. The song goes on to describe, by using the metaphor of taking medicine, the singer’s sexual desires with this person: “Here to take my medicine, take my medicine/Rest it on your fingertips/Up to your mouth, feeling it out/Feeling it out.” These lyrics are more explicitly sexual than any of his other songs. In a fan loved moment, Harry sings “I had a few, got drunk on you and now I’m wasted/And when I sleep I’m gonna dream of how you -” and the fans complete the (supposed) lyrics by screaming “tasted”. The song then comes to its most talked about verses: “The boys and the girls are in/I mess around with him/And I’m OK with it”. These verses exemplify what queer women love on Harry: in an unprecedented hint on his sexuality Harry is said in the same breath that he says is okay with it. Again, the reassurance that it is okay to feel this way. It is crucial to highlight an unsurprising detail about this song: it was never released as a track, he only performs it live. These lyrics, therefore, are not in the canon of what non fans know about him. Harry constantly seems to want to share his experiences in some contexts but not others - a feeling entirely too familiar to his queer fans.

During his concerts, Harry talks to the fans close to him from the stage and he seems to have talent (perhaps a radar) for choosing gay fans. This video contain most of the moments mentioned here. He helped multiple fans come out during the concert, he helped a girl find a girlfriend and even said that “everyone is a little bit gay”. His connection with his lesbian and bisexual fans is evident to anyone who follows him. In a very tangible way, this connection was not supposed to exist. Harry was, and still partially is, marketed as a sex symbol who girls are supposed to want to sleep with. His fanbase is supposed to be straight women that daydream about having a chance to date him. Of course, this is an incredibly sexist and condescending way to treat women and Harry has never been okay with this framework. Considering his silence on most topics, he has been loud and clear about his respect towards women and his love for his mostly young female fanbase: “Who’s to say that young girls who like pop music – short for popular, right? – have worse musical taste than a 30-year-old hipster guy? That’s not up to you to say. Music is something that’s always changing. There’s no goal posts. Young girls like the Beatles. You gonna tell me they’re not serious? How can you say young girls don’t get it? They’re our future. Our future doctors, lawyers, mothers, presidents, they kind of keep the world going. Teenage-girl fans – they don’t lie. If they like you, they’re there. They don’t act ‘too cool.’ They like you, and they tell you. Which is sick.“ And this sentiment, if his on stage interactions are anything to go by, seem to be even more clear about his gay fans. It is not to say that every straight fan wants to sleep with him or that he loves them any less. But there is a clear understanding by him that there is something special about the LGBT fans that, despite a marketing that was not meant to appeal to gay women, stood by him for now almost a decade. Show after show he has made it abundantly clear that this relationship is just as important and sacred to him as it is to us.

#oh what a well timed asked that was not sent by me at all cause I wanted to publish it as an ask incredible coincidence. #harry essay #also like if you disagree w stuff #it's all fine #this is not a gospel #asjhdjkashd #it's a school assignment #Anonymous

[diningpageantry]

Don’t @ Me

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43092371

Chapter 1/10 of It’s A Handheld Disaster

Word Count: 3118

Fic Summary: Teenage life is hard enough, but with the added weight of their lives, both Simon and Baz thrive online in a fandom for the British crime show, Gastrell, about the genius Huxley and his "flatmate" Sam. Through Tumblr, they find each other, and sink into something more than just being mutuals.

Chapter Summary: A shitpost is taken a little too personally, and an argument breaks out. In true Baz fashion, he seeks to prove himself right in the most ridiculous way possible.

BAZ

Morning routines are the most menial shit in the realm of existence of arbitrary tasks.

Everyone seems to have them, yet nobody really has a set one. For example, my step-mum has a long, seemingly pointless hour of simply facial cleansers, serums, and hair products. When I’d asked her years ago why she does it all, she shook her head and said “You’ll never be an aging woman, Basilton.”

I couldn’t quite argue with that.

Regardless, it’s a part of life. The routines. Wake up, morning routine, morning activity, eat, afternoon activity, usually afternoon snack, evening activity, dinner, night-time activity, sleep.

A boring, underwhelming cycle of the day.

Although, I suppose it’s shittier for me, since the homeschooling doesn’t give me a chance to do much besides sit and read. Of course, I have my car and I can drive off to whatever. Hell, father even suggested I get a job to occupy myself, but I don’t quite see the point given how much money we have (and the risk factors with moving around so frequently).

So, here I am. Finishing my classes in a matter of months, then having an entire year of pointless bullshit.

Needless to say, my entire day’s routine isn’t the most thrilling. Wake up at 10 on a good day, check social media and emails, then just lay here until I can’t wait to piss. Piss. Go to eat breakfast and get greeted by screaming children and my poor step-mum trying to wrangle them in. Go upstairs, go back online, see whatever’s on my dash, reblog some shit, then try to do something vaguely productive. Check Archive, check email again. Nothing’s on the emails, ever. Text Dev and Niall, who get awfully pissed since they are in school. Get more food. Eat. Bring tea upstairs, despite the disdained look from our maid (who hates collecting my piles of mugs). Write for a couple hours. Take an afternoon nap, if I please. Wake up and sit there (again). Maybe lonely wank. Go back to the bathroom, stare at myself in the mirror for a good few minutes. Sit on the toilet for half an hour for no reason besides the fact that my phone seems more interesting while sitting there as compared to sitting in bed. Sit then on the bathroom floor doing the same thing. Go back to my bed, listen to music on my phone and work on my laptop. Write, maybe scroll. Get dinner brought to me as they tut that I should be more active. Eat. Go downstairs for an evening workout (they’re right, I shouldn’t confine myself to my bed). Come back, do exactly what I do for half the day until I pass out somewhere around 3 am. Repeat.

Dream life for an 17 year old. Social life of a god.

Somewhat.

It’s shit to say (and sort of embarrassing to share) that there’s sort of a social media presence around me. Not quite the Instagram model bullshit, but based around fan life.

Yes, it’s a laughing stock. That’s where my popularity lies--a mixed grab-bag of various ages gathering around various platforms to enthuse about certain topics. And I’m somehow lucky enough to have the slightest bit of popularity here.

As in, a large following. A large, somehow active following.

It isn’t exactly thrilling as one would like to think. Sure, it’s fun to see a scattered group of regulars pop up, and I have my mutuals, but it’s a sad existence to sit around and make various shitposts with nothing better to occupy my mind. Or, at least, that’s what Dev and Niall tell me.

All in all, I blame Fiona. She’s the one who got me into the show, saying she thought the character was a bit like me. After I saw it, I found the three connections she’d grasped at.

Gay, dark-haired, and violinist.

As if that’s a rarity.

Yet, surely enough, I did love it. The cinematography, the characters, the storyline. It was intriguing--captivating.

It doesn’t hurt that the online community was still on the smaller side when I first got there. The show was only a season in when I made my blog, and I’ve stuck through all this bullshit to get me here. One of the regulars. Reposted everywhere, uncredited usually. Big fics, large interactions. Shitposts with thousands upon thousands of notes. I’m recognizable; a suggested name.

Don’t get me wrong, the attention is spectacular. I love interacting with people beyond this depressing household, and they’re usually fairly nice (usually) (except those ravenous for an argument). It’s just awkward to share at times when people ask why your mobile’s got 99+ symbols next to the apps and you just shrug and say “I’m shit at checking it” to avoid the conversation because most people see it as childish.

It’s a shame, really. Especially since I feel emotionally attached to these goddamn fictional fuckers.

I suppose that’s what makes it all the more personal, then. Even the shitposts mean something to me.

Which is what makes this is a long, winded way of saying fuck whoever’s arguing with me about whether or not Huxley is a fucking Ravenclaw. (He is. Hands down.) How’d I get here, staring at my mobile in disbelief at a brief back and forth post turned fight? Because it feels like a reasonable question to wonder.

I got here because, as almost all mornings, I woke up, opened my phone, read my notifs, then sat here, thinking of something. Anything. Then, in a tired haze, typed out a single text post on tumblr.

huxley gastrell is a ravenclaw send tweet

Following so, I went about my typical morning. Of course. Then--then--I check my phone as I’m going downstairs and I see it. I see the “@bi-sammy mentioned you in a post!” notif, then read the God-forsaken reblog.

@gaystrell op do you take criticism on your posts?

I frowned at my phone, typing out a quick response before tucking it back into my pocket.

@bi-sammy no.

What I hadn’t anticipated, though, was the reply I’d open up to soon after I’d started poking at my morning meal.

@gaystrell well too bad bc ur WRONG and ur opinions are UGLY

#he’s clearly a slytherin this is slytherin oppression #don’t tell me he and bryonie aren’t from a slytherin family

Now I sit, staring and completely awestruck at such a post. Now, I won’t deny Bryonie Gastrell is definitely, in all possible ways, a Slytherin. Cunning and ambitious as fuck, as any political spy may be, but fuck anyone who tries to dismiss Huxley’s clear Ravenclaw leanings.

It takes me a moment to fully process, mouth robotically chewing my eggs as I contemplate my answer.

@bi-sammy there is absolutely no proof of huxley being a slytherin and more than enough support towards him being a ravenclaw. get your clueless negativity off my blog, you utter tit.

With that, I settle my phone face down onto my table and try to enjoy my lovely plate of scrambled eggs, barely ignoring the boiling of my blood.

SIMON

My phone lights up with the new notification, dragging my attention away from my laptop as the words slide down onto the screen. “@gaystrell mentioned you in a post!” I hate to admit that I get a little pattering in my heart, urging my hand out to grasp the mobile as I pause the Youtube video currently playing. As I read his words, I slowly blink out of my excitement.

Tit. He called me a bloody tit.

Of course this fucking wanker called me a tit.

He must think that since he’s this big bad blogger, he can call me a tit right out in the open. (Although, he is talking to me, so that’s a plus) (No! No no no, bad validation, Simon. Bad). What, with his thousands of followers and fans of his own, he thinks he can try to say shit out in the open?

Fuck it. He’s either getting a DM or a bloody fist fight from me. I’ll take a train to wherever the fuck he lives (which is somewhere in England, since that’s what his bio says) (and his aunt lives in London, since he’s posted about visiting her) (I really do wonder where he’s from and how close he might be--what if I run into him one day?) (No wait fuck I don’t want that anymore).

Clicking on his blog, the little person drop down gives me the option of a message. I barely think as I type it out, vision going spotty from the adrenaline of the twinging anger.

bi-sammy: i swear to god there was no point to the battle of hogwarts if you’re just going to go around and absolutely slander the slytherin name and dare say that huxley is not one of them and, rather, is a ravenclaw

At first, I grin at it, watching my lone message appear into the empty chat. It’s so freeing--so powerful to send it. I pride myself, in the moment, for this solid move of communication. Of course I’m fucking proud. I messaged the arse myself and gave him a space to fight.

Maybe Penny’s right, I should dial down the confrontation, but it’s just the internet. Nothing important happens through a stupid little argument over Huxley’s true Hogwarts house (although, I’m sure I know I’m right in my heart), but it is a bit of fun to fuck around with someone. It’s a distraction. And that’s why I’m here, afterall. To have a distraction.

Penny thinks it’s a bit silly, but she doesn’t really complain. All she’s ever said was  “I thought we left fandom stuff behind us when we were 14.” She said it over lunch, watching me scroll through my at-the-time new tumblr.

It’s funny, I thought I did leave it behind when I was younger. It seemed unneeded as life shifted. I’d just found a stable foster home, with someone who was going to keep me for a while. I found Penny a couple months before I deactivated my old account. I was happy; we were free. I didn’t need a venting place.

Shits been sort of hitting the fan recently, though. No uni plans, David’s been getting more controlling, and of course, Agatha dumping me. It all crashed on top of me a few months ago, and somehow, the only place that I could find healthy coping was online. So, I started fresh. Made a blog and settled in. It’s not big, but I’ve had a few posts get noticed. I have a good few hundred followers, and one nice anon who asks me how I am every few weeks. It’s not a lot, but it’s comforting.

I feel at home here, even with a little discourse.

Well, only when the discourse is answered. Which, in this situation, I don’t know if it will be, given it’s been over an hour now and Baz hasn’t answered.

If that’s even his name.

It’s what his bio says, at least.

baz. 17. cisguy (he/him). gay. don’t interact if you think huxley is remotely straight.

I’ve wondered for a while what Baz stands for. He refuses to answer it in asks; he always says it’s too personal. He’s sort of odd like that--never posts pictures of anything that could be linked back. Seems sort of creepy, but then again, a lot of people follow him. It’s reasonable to want space.

Maybe that’s why he’s not answering. He probably wants space of some sort, but it’d be at least decent to answer someone who tried to have a discussion (that’s at least what I’m calling that message I sent--a discussion starter).

I frown at my phone, keeping it on silent as I slide it into my front pocket and settle into my seat in maths. I’ll say it--I sulk in class, a little bitter that I don’t have his attention (despite the fact that he seems like he’s always active online, which seems odd). Eventually, I exhale and try to let it slip away. There went my one interaction with him. My few seconds of the weirdest fucking bliss online, gone.

Then, it happens. As the class is ending, I pull out my screen just enough to see and there it is. A clear notification telling me he’d answered. Oddly enough, it’s just him sending me a link to a Google Doc.

Weird.

I ignore it for the moment being, letting myself ride the wave of relaxation that I actually got a reply. It passes my mind until I’m sitting in the back of Agatha’s car, listening to Penny and Aggie in the front talking about whatever’s on their mind. The rides are sort of awkward as of recently. At least Agatha agreed to drive me home (it’s a good 45 minute walk, if not) after some convincing from Penny, but her and I don’t really chat. It’s just the two of them.

Given that time, I have a chance to pull out my mobile and thumb through what was sent.

gaystrell: https://docs.google.com/document/d/175qFASmqD7hey8lE0eoE-6VhhFYE9DP6bpnI32Aay98/edit?usp=sharing

I click on it, not expecting that much (or, really, not expecting anything at all). Yet, the second it pops up and loads, my jaw drops.

“Jesus fuck,” I say aloud, scrolling through it. Penny turns her head, frowning as I stay locked on my screen.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“No--no nothing,” I say, waving a hand. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s got to be something for that reaction,” she says, keeping turned in her seat as she eyes me up. “Just tell us, Si.”

“I mean it when I say it’s nothing.” My voice gets quieter as I shift, reading the title. “It’s just fandom stuff. It’s really nothing.”

I hear her disgruntled huff as she turns back, mumbling something about me reacting too dramatically to this. “It isn’t even real.” It’s said under her breath, yet it still rings clear in my ears.

It isn’t really fake, either.

Hell, this is six pages of real. “Why Huxley Gastrell is, Without a Doubt, a Ravenclaw”. Shared by Basilton Pitch (is that his actual name?!). Fucking hell, it’s detailed to no ends. You’d think, with this much writing, there’d be pages of pointless filler where he’d just type “im gay hi huxley is also a gay we’re all gay here aren’t we”, but no. It’s full, grammatically correct sentences detailing his points.

It’s a bit much to read in the car, so I settle my mobile face down onto the seat as I’m left reeling. That… was a bit more than I’d expected.

Shit, did he write that for me?

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

BAZ

Whoever says that having a flair for the dramatics is pointless has clearly never met me, because I wouldn’t quite call this masterpiece of an essay “pointless”. In fact, I should send it to academics. Rename it “A Study In Multi-Dimensional Characters and their Associated Generalized Personality Traits”. I’ll be hailed as a genius, as I deserve to be.

I crack my knuckles, and see the little person pop up.

Surely enough, it’s @bi-sammy’s name that he has listed online, Simon. It’s curious, he has his last name listed as “Snow”. Although, the smallest part of me believes it’s a pseudonym. Given our interactions, I doubt he’s clever enough to think of a solid pseudonym. And, even at that, why pick Snow?

Either way, it’s surprisingly endearing. Simon Snow. Sounds sweet. Sounds innocent.

I watch his cursor turn on, then his icon goes grey after a few moments. My heart starts to trip, making my cheeks begin to flush. Is… he ignoring this?

No. He can’t be. I put in hard work and dedication into this work, and I deserve the respect I’d sent into it. Fucking hell, three fully developed points (his devotion to intellectual work, his effort to step out of public light for Sam’s sake, and his overall lack of ambition for moving forward). I clearly set it out, and ended it properly; I’d proven that Huxley is a Ravenclaw. Case and point, opinion made, the end.

And, here I sit, watching him have the audacity to open it up then close it back. That was my hard work put in there, and he closes it? Who in the name of all that is sacred thinks he’s that above other people to the point where he just ignores--

Oh. He’s back on. Nevermind.

He’s… probably a school student. It’s roughly the time that most classes end, I suppose.

I make a mental apology to him, despite having never ranted directly to him in the first place.

He stays active for a good bit; long enough to show he’s reading. I assume that he’d just close off and message me, but after minutes, I notice a little highlighted comment pop up on the last sentence.

Simon Snow i………. owe you every single possible apology

Each word makes me grin like I haven’t in a while. A wide, cheek-creasing grin. There’s something so sweet to that--so personal. It feels like a note passed to me in a classroom under the tables. Like a cute “Blink if you like me”, although I doubt he has quite an intention.

Nevertheless, it warms my chest, sending my head back as I smile. I’m not sure whether or not it’s the satisfaction of winning, or his words, but I laugh outwardly into the room. It stays with me, reverberating onto my skin and my throat.

I look back at the comment, then leave it untouched. If he won’t remove it, then I won’t either.

With a glance at our personal messages tab, I figure that’s that. Even field, no more argument. No more interaction. It’s a bit of a shame, given the effort I’d just extorted for his sake, that he hasn’t answered in our chat.

While I’m disappointed to close off the document, I smile at it one last time. Sometimes I have to move on from random people, especially when they come on a bit strong.

Except, I find, moments later that I’m wrong about one thing--the moving on. He didn’t just stop his interaction, but instead made a public post.

“@bi-sammy mentioned you in a post!”

This time, I really laugh. A full bellied, hand-covering-mouth laugh.

i guess i have to suck @gayhuxell’s cock now because i was wrong and the bloody arse was right. huxley is a ravenclaw.

#fuck me i guess

I take a minute, rereading over his words a few times before typing a simple answer with my reblog.

i’m available anytime behind a mcdonald’s parking lot

#fanfiction #fanfic #carry on #fic #mine #it's a handheld disaster #snowbaz #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #simon #baz #hhehehehe #this is like the longest chapter just a heads up #it's a short fic it's under 20k

[a-writing-bear]

[PruCan] - I like you in jerseys so please be close to me

Note: I finally finished this one!!!

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17519981

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on Tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Pairing: Prussia & Canada

Word Count: 3,090

Contrary to the common belief, fighting within a game of ice hockey was not as barbaric as most queasy bystanders or overprotective mums think. In fact, one could argue that the involvement of the unspoken tradition of on-ice fisticuffs prevented unnecessary aggression when later off the playing field. Most leagues have established clear boundaries on how a scrum would occur and whether or not it deserved a complete expulsion. Like drinking and other unsavoury habits, if you were to ban the action you'll just wind up having to deal with sneaky and unfair plays that break the rules. Now That would be barbaric. Most of his fellow teammates were not necessarily angry, fighting maniacs- it was just the game. Maybe it was just something about the quick paced action, or the fueled excitement and the clashing of sticks and skates that leads to astray plunges and dirty throws- to be frank, Matthew pinned it to the fact you’ve got a lot of tense and hype-addicted jocks jostling into each other; fighting was just a way of releasing that bubbling anger. It’s kind of inevitable.

Was he surprised at the breakout of Jones and Braginsky? Not really, they had been rivals since the junior playoffs leagues ago, if the American teen wasn’t apart of Matt’s team he would have been annoyed at the futile attempt to start another racket. It had only been a fellow university team- HetaU had played this team many times before and of course, an ongoing rivalry had formed- much to the coaches’ to their dismay. The moment the visors had come off, and the gloves had been shed in a fury of threat (At least they were following the rules of a fair fight- thank god) Matthew skid to a stop and backed off, sighing at the interruption with a roll of his eyes as he searched for someone to pair up with. It seems to be an unspoken rule of any match that no matter how much shit goes down if you’re not involved you stay out of it. Preventative measures. As well as this, it’s vital to make sure any opposing team members also stay out of the conflict- the gentleman’s agreement was to always pair up with someone on the other team, hold them back away from the conflict to stop any unfair gang up.

He glided across disdainful, slightly amused yet still bothered at the squabble ahead of him. Stopping beside some guy in a blue jersey contrasting his red one, he shuffled in his skates not looking up to whoever he had ‘paired’ with. The player had already grabbed the back of his jersey (Matthew scoffed on the inside as if he had any intention to join the brawl), in reply Matthew just slung his free arm loosely around the man’s back.

“Why do they insist on this every time? Totally un-awesome.” The thick accent of whoever was beside him drew him to look up, eyes squinting through his visor as he uttered an awkward muffled agreement. He hadn’t really paid attention to who was playing on the other team, and so the view of red eyes and pale skin never really called out to him. Momentarily stunned, his attention was subtly dragged away by the allure of this other player- he hardly noticed how the man’s jerk grab of his shirt had smoothened and softened into a mirroring touch onto the shoulder, resting on him as if they were longtime friends. As if they were not currently on opposing sides. He was so close, and although sweat should probably put him off, he kinda wanted to melt into the other man’s grasp.

‘Hey man, alright there?” the voice spoke once more, now slightly teasing as he gently nudged the red clothed Canadian, red eyes still affixed to the childish brawl. Obviously, this guy was a talker, who even talks to a rival during holdouts? Nevertheless, they held each other in a cooperating grasp, both avoiding each other gaze as they finally saw the two other players fall apart- giving up from the futile battle, the referee had also decided to call quits on the match. Just as he was about to turn away and skate the hell out of the rink- he was embarrassed at how content he was next to the attractive stranger- the other guy had caught the end of his jersey sleeve, and jutted out his gloved hand as if to introduce himself.

“Beilschmidt.” voiced the eager player, the raised gloved hovered for a short while as Matthew was still trying to understand what just occurred,

“...Williams.” his reply must have seemed nervous and the guy just laughed before snarking “You sure that’s your name Liebling? You don’t sound so sure..” usually Matthew would be petty and deck the dude on the spot for such a comment (What does Lieb-whatever mean??), but his legs felt soft and his cheeks flared as he was spluttering for a comeback. Most local players in the league circuit knew he was openly gay; it had been a whole ruckus when he first came out- if not for his team and coaches, Matt would’ve been eaten alive regardless of how easy it was for him to knock someone out. Just cus he could didn’t mean he wanted to. In the end, it wasn’t such a big deal, but it was uncommon...he’d never been flirted with on the ice...and Beilschmidt didn’t sound condescending in his playful tease. Before a smart witty comeback could roll off his tongue, Matthew had to accept the miserable fact that the other had already skated off at the urgency of his team, leaving him breathless and stumped on how he fucked up his first impression with a cute fellow hockey player. Stripping out of his skates and sports gear proved difficult as his close teammates were relentless in their questions, gawking at his fluster and proving that no matter how old you were everyone loved playground gossip. He stayed back, lingering in the showers as the others filed their way out into their lives away from hockey.

Matthew was proud of his skill. He was a superb above-average and currently scouted hockey player. He was a professional in the making and so his training always left his love life in the dark- much more occupied with the puck than puckering up for people. There were the occasional hookups after games, with audience members who seem to swoon only when he was in a jersey and contacts; they tended to be put off when he was in his usual frayed hoodie and his signature glasses and were not impressed by his less than stellar quiet nature. Perhaps he was overthinking the interaction? It was unlikely he would see the guy again, the hockey playing season was nearly over and his team wasn’t going to any games anytime soon- at least not until Alfred stops roughing up competitors. Soon the shower grew cold and Matthew trudged his way back to his dorm. There never is any time for cute guys, is there? He sighed.

The last time Matthew had a boyfriend, he was berated for going to practice off-season. Mr Ex. was appalled by the number of hours poured into hockey and not into their love life and had argued whenever the Canadian said he was going to go out to skate.  Ever since that breakup, Matthew was wary of how much time was put into his sporting hobby, and while he may not be constantly training skating still provided a place for him to think. Skating to think was still around- his ex...not so much. The leisurely pace he had begun gently circled him around the large open empty ice rink (after hour privileges of local sports team meant he had access alone) and let him glaze over his coursework stress. His prized and well-maintained team jersey had been swapped out for his old tattered Canadian Olympic winter one; his parents had bought one for him and he’s treasured it ever since even with it’s slightly worn out print. His mind wandered in and out of focus, teetering onto thoughts of calling his friends or to go home and just wallow in his own stress yet somehow running its way to the topic of that mysterious Beilschmidt guy from last weekend. He wondered, if the guy goes to any local hockey games, if he liked his teammates, how good his puck control is, how strong his hands were, what he looked under the baggy clothing...right his mind was really wondering now.

“Lost in thought again? I’m starting to think you’re the dreaming type Liebling,”

As if God himself wanted circumstance to smack Matt in the face, he found the rink was no longer that empty when a starkly familiar voice rang loud and clear, snark even more present and his accent was more comprehensible without chattering voices of a crowded match. Snowy skin approached him, dazzling as the reflection of the ice decided to tease Matthew with the view of the fit but probably-straight man. Those red eyes glared in interest just as before and Matthew nearly needed to pinch himself to check he hadn’t fallen over, gotten a concussion and dreamt of the hot hockey player in his accident.

“Uh no.Besides  I don’t think I would be dreaming of you anyway.” Such a lie, Matthew’s conscious teased. The man tutted at Matthew's reaction to his entrance, but took no harm in the comment and instead swerve into more polite commentary.

“Did I say dreaming? I obviously meant dreamy, especially with those curls of yours…” the man gestured to his fringe which has unceremoniously bordered his puzzled look. The boy, beside his skates, was in low hanging pants and what should have been a geeky sweatshirt but still looked flattering on the slender frame of his and had made his way onto the rink much quicker than Matthew noticed; Gilbert, as reintroduced himself, asked Matthew what he was doing on a Friday night, on the beginning of break, lonely and lost at the local ice rink and not at some frat party or in some nasty girl’s bed only to revel in amusement at the explanation of Matthew’s predicament:

“I...those aren’t my kind of thing..” he nearly trailed off completely as he explained he didn’t like parties and nearly slipped up on explaining how he was very not interested in the feminine company of a girl (let alone nasally one), he shushed himself up as he prevented the latter from outing himself to the stranger. “I had nothing to do. So…” his hands gestured down to his skates and his glasses nearly slipped as he avoided looking too closely at the other boy.

“I’m something to do.” The air suddenly felt thick as Matthew snapped back up to look at the boy, gaping wide at the rash insinuation, “You could do me, definitely. Always love so-”

“Are you flirting with me?” His voice hiccupped in surprise as he interrupted the rambling german, and his cheeks felt as if summer had come along as they warmed up unconditionally- His mind was plagued with confusion and upright disbelief and concern at such forward approaches. Most times a hockey dude flirted with him, Matthew went home with a new bruise or a new story of homophobia to rant about to his friends, and so while he was feeling extremely flattered, his heart felt an ache of prepared disappointment.

The albino man’s confidence faltered as his shoulders sagged, just as confused as Matthew, before working out the blunt confession: “..Yes? I thought I was quite obvious…”. Forming an ‘oh’ with his mouth, Matthew laughed slightly at the awkwardness of both of them- Gilbert had warmed up with red cheeks too. The two ended up skating side by side, talking feverishly about how they both got into hockey and why they were still here wasting their first weekend of the season on ice skates and talking to a member of a rival team. After a few hours of enjoyable skating, the two waddled out and slipped off their boots as they finished up closing the rink up for the night; both giggling at random stories of sporting accidents and childhood memories. The strawberry blonde tried to ignore the fact they both walked each other to the nearest coffee shop or the fact Gilbert had ordered them both coffee even when Matthew was determined to leave five minutes earlier. He tried to not think about how Gilbert had pushed a hot chocolate it into Matthew’s hands or how he smiled when Matthew tried to shove money into his pretty face. He certainly, however, did not ignore the number that had been scribbled neatly on his takeaway napkin as they parted way.

Weeks of beating the bush around each other, as excruciatingly adorable it was, Matthew was getting antsy over the ‘will-they-won't-they’ situation he had dug himself into. His heart had jumped at the buzz of his phone, and his fingers rubbed the edges of his plastic phone case as his bit his lip thinking whether or not to reply. Gilbert had invited him on a date- some ice skating on a nearby frozen over lake; the words “bring your stick too” stood out. His confidence soared at the safety of hockey- he had been terribly nervous last weekend and had spilt popcorn over Gil in the cinema hall, and just before that he had worn the same shirt. Their first kiss had been fucked up with his glasses falling down, and their first time together was messed up with his roommate barging in way too early for a Friday night. His fumbling nature seemed to draw too much attention from Gil, who, he himself, seemed shy in his approach and slow in his movement to even be within close proximity to the blonde. Overthinking aside, Matthew had barely put on his skates on a lonely park bench when he saw a skating blurry figure zoom into view- the German had brought out a beaten up stick, possibly a homemade one, making Matthew feel awkward as he shoved his pristine barely scratch stick across the wood seating.

“You’re not wearing your contacts?” The tilt of the question was more endearing than accusatory and Matthew rolled his eyes at the idea of changing out his casual frame. Over the short time of knowing each other, Matthew’s more snarky attitude came out, more comfortable to quip and to be sarcastic with his new date. He snorted with his reply, his laces still being done as he bent over.

“I didn’t realise we were gonna clash tonight, but if you want to rough it up and break my glasses do let me know beforehand so I can break your cockiness”

“Nah not fighting- however I don’t mind roughing it up another way” again a long pause made itself present as the two stared at each other, both embarrassed at what they had said but a loud caucus of laughter rang out from the pair, unable to miss the humour in such a blatant innuendo. “Honestly...I like your glasses Liebling, one more dorky thing I can remember you for.” The two smiled as they got up to carelessly pass a puck upon the ice, the local lake had been empty and so the two basked in each other’s short conversations and scrambled over quick passes. At some point Matthew found himself speeding recklessly, round and round avoiding the arms of Gilbert in an absurd game of catch, and before he could take a sharp turn his feet had stumbled causing him to stop his skates abruptly- this of course was a doomed move as Gilbert came crashing at him, bringing both the North American and the European onto the slippery ground. Pained backs seemed insignificant as the giggled their pains away, besides both hockey players were used to such collisions.

Just as the red hoodie boy sat up, rubbing his face in glee, Gilbert had turned to him, a hand outstretched onto Matthew's slightly bruised cheek.

“Why do you avoid it when I ask you to be my boyfriend?”

Matthew gulped.

The stingy words of classmates and past nightmares floated in his head, mocking his situation; he had finally found someone he could truly be with and yet...he just couldn’t accept the words. He looked into the distance but focused on the entity that was Gilbert Beilschmidt. The man who had pale skin, as bright as the first snow. Red eyes of the glinting gemstones dreamed up in movies. The suave yet composed insanity that was his humour, his care, his livelihood. Gilbert was a long lost piece of completeness in a puzzle Matthew didn’t realise he was even completing. Busted lips and bleeding hands had always been a motive to keep hidden in the dark closet. And here was a reason he was proud to clamber out of it. Why couldn’t he say the word?

“I...I just find it difficult Gil. It’s..I don’t...I need time. But I like you...I really like you.”

Gilbert softened in his touch, resting his head onto Matthew’s shoulder and the two tried to get up, hands held grasping for connection.

“Is it too early for me to say I love you?” his breath hitched as he heard the sentiment come out unsure and airy with unresolved confusion. God yes, Matthew thought, god fuck yes of course.

“Only if I can say it back.”

Matthew would never admit it, but the first match of the following season had been his favourite memory. Was it the fact the rivalry of Al and that Ivan dude finally died down? Or maybe it was the fact that Matthew scored the most goals in his career, or perhaps it was the fact a scouting agent had slipped a card into his duffel. Who was he kidding? It was the moment they had to pair up and a familiar skater from an opposing team came over, grabbing his hand with bulky gloves and those same peculiar eyes staring at him. And as the two got ready to end the game, both departing to get changed and his teammates suddenly bombarded him on questions of who and what was that they saw play out before- Matthew confessed not only to his team but to himself, a loving thought tucked away behind a calm unwavering voice:

“Gilbert is my Lover.”

#APH Canada #APH Prussia #prucan #hetalia #hetalia axis powers #Hetalia Fanfiction #hetalia fanfics #fanfics #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshots #oneshot #prussia x canada #aph

[areiton]

Happy 300th episode, Supernatural!

I'm not watching tonight but I'm super excited and so happy for our boys and fandom! So here's 14 (one for every season!) of my favorite SPN & Destiel fics to celebrate!

~

Nintey-One Whiskey by komodobits

In the spring of 1944, the 104th Medical Battalion of the United States Army is disbanded, and its men reassigned to various infantry companies in preparation for their invasion of occupied France. For First Lieutenant Novak, this is less than helpful, as he has so far met his platoon’s designated medic a grand total of twice, and has both times found Sergeant Winchester to be the optimum combination of reckless, arrogant, and downright insufferable so as to make cohesive platoon function near impossible. When the time comes to move out, however, Castiel has to reconcile himself to the fact that men are going to go down and trust that Dean Winchester may well be the only person who can put them back together again. WW2 ETO infantry AU.

~

A Turn of the Earth by mishcollin

Dean’s your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and that he’s on the run.

Frigging fantastic.

(Or, in which Castiel gets stuck in Dean’s timeline preseries and Dean kind of hates it—until he doesn’t.)

~

Still Life by @catchclaw

Dean'd always thought that falling in love was a capital letter kind of thing, an Important Event you carved into the calendar of your life and never, ever forgot. But with he and Cas, it wasn't that simple.

~

Breathe Lightly by nhixxie

"To my first love, and my last, Dean Winchester. These are the things I want to tell you: the human body is 60% water. The number of neurons in one person is the rough equivalent of the number of stars in a small galaxy. There is 0.2 milligrams of gold in your blood. The heart is an elaborate engine. I love you."

~

The Unwavering heart of a Winchester by @violue

There’s no point in mincing words. Sam is dead, and without him Dean is a drunken shell of who he used to be. When he finally pulls himself out of a growing pile of whiskey bottles, Dean finds it hard to go back to his life. With one flippant comment from a friend, Dean thinks he might finally have a way to make peace with the loss; Sam was an organ donor, and Dean’s going to find the recipients, talk to them, and see how their lives are better because of his little brother. For the first six stops on his road trip, things go mostly according to plan, and then he meets the man who has Sam’s heart. Dean had hoped he might find peace on this trip… he never expected to find love.

~

Stray by Morgan

“Dean’s always been the type to pick up strays, even though he knows he can’t keep them. Most strays you just patch up and feed before you send them on their way.” One day he runs into a stray he might actually want to keep.

~

Gravity vs Velocity by PaperAnn

Newton's law of universal gravitation states that any two bodies in the universe attract each other with a force that is directly proportional to the product of their masses and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between the two bodies.

Dean swears he feels an honest-to-goodness gravity (not any scent-true-mates-bullshit) pulling him to a mysterious omega and makes the worst mistake of his career... he only has one thing to say...

Fuck science.

~

Ad Astara by nhixxie

One day Cas says, "Stars died for you, Dean Winchester", against ruffled hair perched atop sun kissed skin and sleepy eyes.

Dean stirs, moving to spread his palms against the contour of Cas’ back, tips of fingers languidly strumming the indentations of his spine. One, two, three, four, he counts, the closest he could get to scientifically studying the anatomy of the human body.

"Is this some physics crap again?" He frowns with eyes closed.

Cas smiles softly. "Far from it."

Dean’s fingers play at the base of his back, ninth thoracic vertebrae, Cas notes.

"Then tell me all about it."

~

The Inexhaustible Silence of Houses by Askance

Almost two years after the world doesn't end, Castiel falls from grace—and loses his voice in the process. It is the impetus for confession and change; before long, he is settling into a loving relationship with Dean, the Winchesters are tired, and hunting for a place to land has taken precedence to hunting anything else. Dean and Castiel fall in love with the strange little house on the end of Swallowtail Drive, and for a little while life is as it should be—sweet, affectionate, and beginning afresh.

But more and more Castiel sees and hears things in the house that beg the question of whether or not a place itself can be alive. The walls and rooms seem to shift and grow and breathe, and one night, Dean comes home from a hunt changed in a way that Castiel cannot explain. In the months that follow, their domestic bliss takes turns for the dark and sour, and the confusion of their circumstances will ultimately test everything Castiel knows about the man he loves, and everything he believes to be true.

[Dean/Cas Big Bang 2012 - masterpost with artwork can be found here on livejournal.]

~

All Things Shining by Askance

Something in the world is waking up.

It isn’t long before it’s brought to the attention of the Winchesters and Castiel: miracles are spreading across the country, the paranormal seems to be shrinking back on itself—and it all has something to do with the missing prayer book of a traveling preacher who died over a century ago.

Dean is convinced it’s all the lead-up to another Apocalypse; Sam and Castiel aren’t so sure. Regardless, it sends them out on a less-than-typical road-trip, following the Mississippi and remnants of a very old story that seems increasingly to call to them. And along the way the trio learn much more about themselves—and the consequences and origins of love—than they’d ever have anticipated.

~

The Cold Fusion Job by @la-rubinita

Castiel Milton is a brilliant electro-chemist at the peak of his career. He’s developed the ultimate energy source, the science behind it promising to revolutionize the world energy market and combat climate change in a way few could have ever dreamed. He’s proud of his work, but he’s grown restless and is more lonely than he realized. He’s ready for a change.

Dean is a thief and mercenary by trade, on a mission of absolution with his rag-tag family. But when the nastiest skeleton in Dean’s closet rears its ugly head, Dean is put between a rock and a hard place: steal Castiel’s research or Sam dies.

It’s all downhill from there. Dean is not the only thief after Castiel’s work, and no one is pulling any punches. Castiel ends up along for the ride, stepping up time and time again, as determined to save Sam as he is to protect his life’s work.

Dean doesn’t know what to do with Castiel and his too-blue eyes that see more than they should, or the growing affection he has for him that, like everything else about this wild night, is completely out of control.

~

Take the Long Way Home by @catchclaw

How do you know that somebody loves you? When they kiss you? When they come back? When they stay? Or is it only real once you hear it, once they say it, that thing that's always been true: I love you.

*AREI NOTE: this is Wincest, give this a pass if that's not your cuppa.

~

Path of Fireflies by @museaway

How do you know that somebody loves you? When they kiss you? When they come back? When they stay? Or is it only real once you hear it, once they say it, that thing that's always been true: I love you.

After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years.

~

Domo Arigato (Mr. Roboto) by @destimushi

Even as civilization is falling apart around him, Dean’s personal losses inspire him to create new beginnings and a second chance at happiness. Playing God isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and Dean soon finds himself stuck between a rock and a hard place: do the right thing or cling to the ghost of a past life?

#supernatural #spn 300 #spn fic #destiel fic #spn fic rec #destiel fic rec #arei reads too much

[beautifulramblingbrains]

The Dog - Chapter 8

Fandom: Vikings Characters: Ivar, Ubbe, Hvitserk, OC (However brief they appear.) UbbexOC Rating: This is Mature content with multiple trigger warnings on a range of subjects.

A/N: @murmelinchen saves every single chapter, so a huge thanks, my girl! Thank you all so much and to those still following the story. Don’t hate me too much, please.

First Chapter // 2nd Chapter // 3rd Chapter // 4th Chapter // 5th Chapter // 6th Chapter // 7th Chapter

Tags:   @pathybo@oddsnendsfanfics@sparklemichele@singingpeople@captstefanbrandt@equalstrashflavoredtrash@whenimaunicorn@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995@emmysrandomthoughts @ariwolf14@bcat1291@tomarisela@romanchronicles @colours-of-my-heart @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lol-haha-joke 

Days turned to a week. The little interaction Avery seemed to have with Ubbe shriveled into mere wishes of goodnight before they turned their backs and slept. Or in some cases, nothing at all as he crept into the room in the late hours while she was asleep.

She watched him, and she would catch him watching her. The small smiles during mealtimes from across the hall, his soft eyes as they caught each other. One time she had to pass him before taking her leave to the chambers and he'd flipped her skirt. But that was all and before she could react, he continued his conversation with Hvitserk.

It seemed whatever plans were being forged sucked the life out of the Northmen, and especially Ubbe being called to run most of the skirmishes beyond the gates. Scheming until the dead of night with the other men. Sometimes she didn't even notice him coming to bed, or leaving in the early hours of the morning.

Avery had Indra for company on those long days. She participated in washing, drying, sewing - which she wasn't good at, all while seeing the transformation of the stock the Vikings collected; the restored weapons, mended leathers.

"You are doing very well, my lady," Indra had said, watching Avery's more than disastrous attempt.

"It's okay, Indra, you don't have to lie for the sake of it. I know I'm bad." She pulled too hard and lost the thread. It signified a break, and for the first time in twenty minutes Avery looked up to the rows of tables of the great hall which were occupied by slave girls mending, forming a by-hand production line.

"It is strange you don't possess such skills," Indra said with a frown.

"I was the eldest with an infant brother. My parents had only the one son with years between us. Therefore, it was my duty to help my father. I can close a wound, though, they don't have to look handsome..." Avery watched Indra sow, delicate hands, small and quick between each stitch. "Remember, I was very young. My mother took to mending while she stayed at home. She had troubles keeping a pregnancy. And all they ever wanted was more children."

"I'm very sorry." Indra paused and touched the back of Avery's hand lightly. "It is unmerciful we should be women and unable to hold a child. I pray to the Gods and wish it upon no one. It is hard enough being a woman as it is." Avery slipped her fingers between hers and smiled warmly. "What?" Indra questioned at the doting look.

"I've never told anyone that much about my past." In all honesty, she'd never had a good friend to relay anything to. Her childhood was occupied with her parents; watching the misery of loss from her mother, while her father pushed himself to breaking points trying to keep their small holding together. Then her village was raided, forcing her to walk the roads for a while. How long for she was uncertain, until ferried away to a Keep. She had been chosen as a prime possession to show how much Benedict had sympathy for the havoc created by the heathens, and to support his claims of kindness with a mix of only orphan girls.

"You can tell me anything you wish. I will not repeat it, I swear." The room was a swell of low noise, enough for them not to be heard.

"The scar on my hip I received during the raid of my village." Indra turned fully to face her, listening intently. "It is a reminder." She could still smell the smoke and warmth from the blaze as death claimed everything around her. It all seeped into her senses if she concentrated long enough.

They'd hid in the rafters of the barn adjacent to their house, looking down upon the hay. But as the house burnt, the ashes caught the roof and it lit up to slowly creeping flames as well. They had only their clothes to cover their mouths, but her little brother began to cry as the fumes burnt his throat, his tears blackened as they ran down his cheeks.

All three would burn if they didn't move. They had no choice but to.

Her mother fled first, taking her younger brother in her arms.

"Mother, wait! Wait for me!" The sheer desperation from her voice was shrill, piercing even.

Avery had only half dangled to drop upon the hay when she heard the screams and lost her hold. And then she fell into the hands of the enemy.

"They cut my clothes from me," Avery breathed and closed her eyes, losing herself in the moment.

"My lady, if words are not ready, don't force them."

"The only reason they didn't touch me is because they found my mother first, and then made me watch. By this point my brother's body was already discarded by the buckets of my father's rain water. We may as well have been lambs to slaughter."

"Avery," Indra used her name this time to address her. What she didn't realise was that she was crying, tears falling down her face and marking the fine wood of the table. "Please, my lady, don't be distressed."

"Why was I to live?" Avery questioned. "I remember after, through the ash, children crying over their parent's bodies, an old man was blinded. Why?"

"It is the way of the Gods."

"There is only one God!" Avery snapped, her voice loud enough to cover the room and capture everyone's attention. It made her remember exactly where she was, what type of people she was talking to, quieting her anger. "And that reasoning isn't good enough for me."

Avery got up from the table, rushing towards the stairs for the quarters. Indra excused herself, entwined her hands together in front of her and followed in all her grace. Before Avery could disappear into the bedroom, Indra caught her arm. "It is a harsh world, I know."

"I'm blinded by this place. By these hidden depths in an old Christian Keep where hundreds of people perished. I sleep in their bed and I eat their food. I am what I have been afraid of for so many years." And Avery cried like she hadn't before. It wracked her body completely, and she felt hot, face red, wiping her tears furiously.

Indra stepped forward and took her in her arms for comfort, soothing her against her shoulder like a sister. "My mother used to say memories are like paper. You fold them up into tiny pieces, but in time they begin to unravel. Then you must decide what to do with them. Do you let them burn? Throw them to the wind? Or eat them so they can tear you apart from the inside out? You must choose."

Avery gathered her composure, nodded and stepped back. "It is just so hard."

"Then make it easier for yourself and forgive and forget. Live for those who can't. There is a reason for you being here, I know it. I've never known anything so sure."

Indra went on with her work after she had put Avery to bed. The hall was a lot quieter and she had her back to the large doors. She felt the draft but popped the needle through the fabric regardless.

Icy hands from the night slid upon her shoulder. "Hello, Hvitserk," she said without turning.

"You knew it was me?" He swung a leg over the bench and sat down with her between them.

"I can hear the way you walk, it doesn't take a genius."

"You are mocking me now?" He ran a hand up her thigh, up her body until he could knock away her work. She gasped in surprise, but he had already turned her to face him forcibly. "I've had a long day and would like to go to bed with you."

"I'm not going anywhere until Ubbe is back. It is my purpose." His fingertips caressed the side of her face, a small nudge to meet his lips. "Hvitserk!"

"What? You could sit on me here and nobody would notice," he said, tugging her. She merely massaged her fingers into his shoulders, up his neck and stopped.

"I have corrupted you in such a short while. Who knew the amount of confidence you secretly possess…"

She wasn't having any of it, and eventually he eased back on the thought. "Where is the problem Christian girl anyway?"

"She is asleep. And she isn't the problem, it is your dick talking." He dug his fingers into her side and she giggled. "She was not happy today. I think she feels like she is betraying everything she knows."

"She is," said Hvitserk nonchalantly, and Indra hit him. "I meant to say, no wonder. At least it is for the right cause now."

Indra narrowed her eyes. "Of course."

"We need her in a few days. We've scouted out a rich looking threshold full of virgin ladies."

"Oh really? Have fun with them, you won't be having any here in that case." He grabbed her again and she laughed, falling into his kiss. "You can make up for it tonight with that thing you do," she purred suggestively.

"Avery," a voice pierced through her dreams. "Avery, wake up." She opened her eyes to the room doused in daylight. Ubbe sat on her side of the bed, dressed and looking like he was about to leave. "I'm riding this morning, but I will be back for the afternoon. You know, in case you were missing me much."

"I don't miss you," she said a little too harshly, words wrapped thickly with sleep, and she sat up, covering herself with the furs because she now slept in just thin cotton rather than her day dress. "I mean, I don't think I will."

"Have I startled you?" he asked, barely scathed from her honesty.

"A little." She flattened her hair, lips puffy, eyes still unfocused. "I think I have slept a long while."

"You have. It is good." He roamed over her for a second, taking a deep breath. "Perhaps you want to ride with me? Get away from the Keep for the morning. The seasons are changing." She didn't reply straight away so he continued, "I can't promise much entertainment than a few hares, a deer if we are lucky." He got up and held out his hand. "And I'll tell you the about Freya."

"Hunting?"

"I wouldn't really call it that. Riding. I want to check the forest. Two things at once." When she reached to take a hold of his hand, he impatiently went the distance. Watching two pale legs slip out of the furs while her night clothes were caught up in them, he noticed that it was practically see-through. He could see her breasts, letting his eyes drop to the ground.

Avery pulled at the neckline nervously. "You've seen me before."

"I have,"he said curtly, swallowing.

"Then it is nothing new." She passed by him to the vacant chair with her clothes slung over. Though her heart raced and her breath grew shallow. She hesitated briefly as she ruffled up the end of her night dress to pull it over her head.

"You're right," his voice was rough and low as he came up behind her. He took over from where her hands were, and slowly pulled the thin material up while she lifted her arms above her head. The faintest touch ran the length of her body and goosebumps broke out across the trails of skin in his wake.

Her shallow breath turned into pants once he rid of the thing entirely. As he shadowed behind her, she gripped the back of the chair until it stung. She felt the heat of him, heard his leathers as he went to touch her bare back, and she shut her eyes in anticipation.

"My lady, I-" Indra almost tumbled on the spot with a heavy bucket in her hand, one leg still up from kicking the door open, her eyes wide at the scene in front of her.

Finally Avery glanced at Ubbe over her shoulder, trying to gather how he felt by his reaction. "I'll wait outside," he all but said, taking off with the sound of his boots hitting the floorboards and grasping the hilt of his sword tightly, passing Indra who bowed her head until he was gone.

Indra watched Avery put a hand to her mouth and fall into the chair. "My lady, my lady, what's wrong?" She was at her side in an instant, crouching in front of her, trying to see if she had a temperature or injury.

"Nothing… I…" Her breath was still short, and she wet her lips, tugging the old night dress across her lap. "I wanted him to touch me..." She felt stupid from the moment it slipped from her mouth, pushing back the hair falling into her face hung with shame.

"Well, you want to know what I think?" Indra asked all too cockily, a smart know-it-all look about her. "I think he may have wanted to touch you too. And I will admit, I want to touch you as well, as we are talking about it." Avery gave her a concerned frown. "You know what, don't worry. The water grows cold. Ubbe is waiting."

Ubbe was right, something different was in the air. Daisy's littered the open fields, bright yellow daffodils, some still fighting to open. The sun may have been out on a cloudless day but it was still cold, as though it could shift back into full winter at sundown.

She sat in front of him upon the horse. From the moment he insisted, it had annoyed her. "…I should have had my own horse."

"You killed the last one." She felt him shrug from behind, his concentration not fully on her. "Couldn't take the risk."

They rode further on, through the trees, an endless forest. It wasn't dense, nor dark like some previous ones they had ventured through, but light, an array of colours almost shimmering. "I miss the sea. I miss the sea air, that certain scent. Inland is so-"

"Flat?" he interrupted.

Avery muffled her laugh. "It's not all flat. It's just not as pretty, and quiet. The sea is deafening from time to time, never silent. That's all I was going to say."

"I don't know if I could say the same," he spoke more to her ear and it had her flinch towards him, noticing how close he was. "I've seen pretty things since I arrived."

She blushed, peering down to the ground. "Can we stop?"

Ubbe pulled the horse to a halt, and she slipped down, her shoes soft on the earth. Through the gaps in the top of the trees, it left spots open for patches of flowers, and she crouched down with an inquisitive frown. "It's early for bluebells."

"Spring is spring, it does what it likes." He followed her, an avid observer, a predator stalking prey, dropping down behind her from the horse as she held up the front of her dress and walked between the pockets of sunlight. Avery would stop every so often and pluck a flower, or a particular piece of greenery, a smile gracing her face and eyes brilliant. "I will tell you of Freya now…"

She glanced away from the flowers with slight curiosity for only a brief moment. "Why is it important you tell me?"

"Because she is the Goddess of beauty. Knows the meaning of self-worth to the point she is forceful… I believe she taints my vision with you." He crept closer, soundlessly. "I see it, time and time again." Tightly squeezing the butt of the knife, he willed himself to have the guts to go through with the one sole purpose of why he had tempted her away from the Keep.

"I am cursed?" She frowned over to him, a change in her tone of voice, blind to his confliction.

"Not at all, stulka." Ubbe couldn't help but grin. "But I am."

She had a skip to her step when she stood and passed through the trees, brandishing a hand-picked bunch of early flowers. While in his grasp, he had the cold, hard weight of metal.

She admired her find, happy in that moment. "What is her story? Is it similar to the one you hummed?"

Ubbe struggled with his intentions, sniffing and wiping his face. "She was a lover of beautiful things. It's said she went beyond the border of her Kingdom and fell for the beauty of a necklace crafted by dwarfs. She was taken with it, so much so, that she agreed to lie with the dwarfs in exchange for the necklace for there was no better treasure than her that could cover the cost."

"Just to lie with her was enough?" Avery questioned, head tilted in thought.

"Yes, her price was her love. It is known that she was a lover to all the God's. She sees no shame in lust. And no man or God could resist her..." he drifted off, shifting from one leg to the other, squaring his shoulders.

"How powerful she must have been. Everything always seems to come down to temptation, in one way or another."

He gritted his teeth and stepped closer.

But her eyes were still focused on the flowers in her hand. "Now I feel bad for picking them." She turned to look at the remaining ones on the ground. "They are so beautiful, that I couldn't resist." She bent down to stroke one gently with her finger. "And now I have killed them."

Ubbe silently kissed his teeth and looked to the sky. There was not a sound around them, as though the Gods were watching them, isolating the both of them from this world.

"And what is your story, ooh bear?" she asked, piercing his thoughts and stood up. "You have so many and don't tell your own." She turned to Ubbe and sensed his mood had shifted. She eyed him tugging at the back of his belt warily. "But it's fine to not tell them. I just wanted-"

He sighed heavily. "I had a wife," the words sounded forced. "She is dead." He teased the mane of the horse, lost in thought for a long moment. Slapping the saddle, he gave in to her innocence. "Up you go, stulka."

Without another word he lifted her onto the saddle and then settled behind her.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried."

"Don't be, for I did not love her. I try to think of a point of when I did and it does not come to me. I was very young."

They drifted through the woods in silence, an air of awkwardness, so Avery spoke quietly, "I thought I may be a spinster when I was back at Benedict's Keep. And though the thought frightened me, I was saddened that being dignified with a husband was all a girl could aspire to," she said, plucking a leaf. "I could tend to my father's animals just as well as he could. I bet I could learn to fire your arrows twice as good."

Ubbe cocked his head with interest. "Be careful with what you say. And be careful at what price you bet."

"I wouldn't want to be selling myself to a bunch of dwarfs now…"

Ubbe clicked his tongue, brought the horse to a trot that had Avery gripping onto him, then came to a stop, motioning with his head for her to look.

Two deer stood statue still, wide eyed and ears pricked towards them. He unhooked his bow, loaded an arrow and aimed.

"No," Avery said softly, making him falter. "Not today. The day is too beautiful for blood to be shed."

He glanced at her with a sad smile and sighed. "Yes, it is."

They left the deer watching them, turned back the way they came, the horse's tail swishing as it strolled the path. Avery smiled sweetly as she looked up at Ubbe, her fingertips tracing the underside of his wrist until he got the prompt to turn his hand, and she placed a small white flower against his palm.

Days passed until it arrived on the day of another raid to the West. The rooms were once again ransacked, a hollow reminder whilst they prepared and burnt what they couldn't take. Ubbe was adorned in his full armour, everything he could possibly wear so that he didn't have to carry it. And whilst adjusting his belt, Hvitserk sat atop a cart sharpening a blade as the once relaxed atmosphere changed to that of war.

"I'm in love with the slave," Hvitserk mumbled, touching the point with his finger. "If I may be favoured to live, I will make her mine." Ubbe hummed and it irritated him. "Brother, are you not here with me?"

"I am elsewhere."

"What bothers you?" Hvitserk stopped and sheathed the knife, leaning on his knees and spat out onto the stone.

"I am bewitched by beauty and what I can't have." A slight smile tugged at his mouth and Hvitserk laughed.

"Bed a thrall." He shrugged. "Get it out of your system."

"I cannot." Ubbe covered his hands with fingerless gloves, tightening them by the wrist and adjusted them under the armour of his forearm. "I thought of it."

"Ah, well, there is nothing else I can say."

"She is not like the women I know of. She doesn't want me. There is nothing that I have that can convince her, not even title, it means nothing to her." He scoffed. "That in itself makes it worse."

Hvitserk picked at his nails. "We are monsters to her. Maybe you should count your blessings and find another. She is Christian after all. All that one God and mercy…" he trailed off.

"Exactly. I have thought much on it. I took her to the woods with every intention to stop my suffering." He sniffed and wiped his nose, finally looking at his brother. "But I couldn't do it. So I will need to find her a place, away from Christianity, somewhere safe. I don't want her touched by another." Ubbe caught Asger standing in the distance with his readied horse and gestured for him to approach.

"What are you saying?"

"The Gods have spoken to me."

"Ubbe, you are not seeing things clearly," Hvitserk sighed, rubbing his forehead.

Ubbe checked the saddle, under the belly of the horse, and tugged the reigns, satisfied with Asger's work and dismissed him. "My eyes have never been clearer, brother." He climbed up onto the horse, sitting in the saddle confidently. "I'd rather she detest me but be my wife, than nothing at all."

"When will you tell her?"

"On our journey." Ubbe took off to the front, signalling it was time to leave.

They travelled for such a long while that the sway of the cart Avery rode upon became maddening. Indra sat with her, Hvitserk riding alongside, and after a few of Indra's glances and Hvitserk's slick tongue in their language, she got the notion they spoke about her. She paid them no mind, for she could only guess, watching the rolling fields shift between plains and then woodland.

She heard a horse canter back down the line and saw Ubbe pull his horse in time with the cart directly beside her. "When will we arrive?" she asked right away. Being tired and hungry, and the thought of another raid playing on her mind, grated on her nerves and she wished it would be soon.

"At this pace, dusk, most probably." He held out a hand and she blinked at him in surprise. "Come, stulka."

Avery hitched up her skirt after only a moment's hesitancy and dared the crossing over the wheels of the cart. As soon as she sat across his lap, he slowed, letting the cart grow distant. "You want to talk of battle plans?" she questioned, thinking no more on it.

"Not exactly. I have been talking about you, if you should know." He scratched his beard, and from what Avery could see, he was a little out of character, nervous even. "After this next raid, your position will become questionable. How long do we allow a person such as yourself to ride freely amongst us?"

"Are you letting me go?"

When she turned to meet his eye, there was a reluctance in them. "If I did, where would you go?"

Avery touched the cross hidden under her dress. "I'm not certain. But I thought south."

"It is dangerous in this world for a woman like you."

"I can protect myself, if given the right tools."

Ubbe laughed. "You're fooling yourself, stulka."

"I have done it before - travelling alone. I can do it again… Maybe find a life."

The trees around them grew denser, pulling the line of northmen closer together. Ubbe cleared his throat. "Do you never think of a life with me?" Avery blushed, blinking down to the ground. "I know I'm probably not what you ever imagined. But I am taken with you, unlike any other."

"We are not the same people."

"We don't need to be the same people. I'd rather have you than watch you walk away, or be left with the thought that you are with someone else. This way I can protect you, for as long as I am living. It is what I want." He licked his lips and took a deep breath. "I will do it anyway, with or without your word, and maybe you'll eventually become to love me."

"So, there is no choice?" she asked glumly.

"After this raid I will wed you," he said with determination. "Then I can make you a true woman."

"No!" Avery pushed his shoulder, and he merely laughed. She chuckled but grew serious as his face did not lose any of his persistence. She slapped him again. "No, how dare you! Don't you speak for me. I won't have your Viking paws touching me!" He restrained her easily, bringing her back into his embrace, her breath calming from the anger she expelled, though she still pursed her lips and lifted her chin in defiance. "I won't have it."

Ubbe scoffed at her, barely able to retain the grin tugging at his lips. But the sound of blades slicing through the air had him frown at her, cutting off their conversation.

The line of travelling northmen came to a halt, quirking Ubbe's head up and Avery sitting straighter. He looked up at the commotion breaking out around him, arrows whizzing past them. Horses squealed ahead, and then a lengthy battle cry tore through the trees as finally the arrows buried themselves against man, wood, or horse.

Ubbe grabbed the reins, movement amongst the trees catching his eye just in time for him to shift his body as one arrow that would have hit Avery pierced his upper arm. Luckily, it was just flesh, the bulky leathers hindering the blow, and he pulled it from himself immediately, discarding it in shock to the ground.

Avery had whitened, fear riddling her body as she stared at him, and he at her, his body fully covering her. With a snarl he plucked his small axe and launched it into the trees, hearing the bark of pain.

Ubbe thundered back up the track and let Avery down to Indra cowering underneath the cart for cover. Ragged looking Churchmen exploded through the trees, swords drawn, and clashed with the anticipating northmen. Ubbe dismounted, swinging his sword deathly; piercing stomachs, chests and slashing necks with skill she hadn't seen that closely before.

Asger jumped down from the cart and hollered, blade in the air as he crashed into battle. Even Indra yelled, throwing an axe, capturing a churchmen too close to Asger. He turned around with a silly expression in appreciation, then ran off to continue. Avery watched as Indra scavenged a bow and began pelting arrow after arrow.

And as quickly as it begun, it finished, with a few death blows upon the bodies and some men taking off into the woods after the stragglers. Even Indra was struck with the suddenness, arm tensed, scanning along the treeline.

Indra dropped the bow and turned towards Avery, checking her over, talking over the maddened shout of Ubbe addressing the crowd. "Are you okay?"

Avery ran a hand down her body, chest tight and heaving. "Yes. Yes, I think so. What was that?"

"Garrison of some sort. Thieves. Too dirty for kept men… and stupid. It doesn't matter now anyway, they are fools to attack and the survivors will be gutted."

Avery swallowed thickly, then motioned to Ubbe. "What is he saying?"

"We will not raid tonight," Indra said vaguely. Avery knew that wasn't all but didn't question further, instead tried to rid of the petrified look upon her face, gather her senses, and recover from the attack.

It was dark by the time they made it through to a clearing and set up camp. Ubbe finally entered the tent they shared, and Indra disappeared immediately, leaving Avery to stand nervously amongst the disarray of furs in her night dress as he discarded his tunic with a grunt.

She twirled her fingers, then tried to ease the tension by signalling to a pestle and mortar on the floor which she and Indra had been using. "Indra showed me how to make an ointment for the pain." She scoffed. "Though, I couldn't tell you what's in it."

His eyes were trained on her and he looked at her for a long moment. But then he wordlessly took a seat upon a sitting log and pulled back the bandage wrapped around his arm, fishing a fresh rag from his pocket to change it with. She took a few steps and went to her knees in front of him.

"It's nothing," he said irritably. She reached up to help him anyway, but he stopped her. "It's fine. Go to bed, stulka."

"At least let me say thank you." Avery frowned at him until he breathed out slowly, disdainfully. "Though, my thanks don't seem to be enough."

"Don't. Stop whatever goes through your mind. Thanks is enough. I have dealt with far worse."

"Does it hurt?" she asked, sitting down on her heels.

Strangely he smiled and sighed. "Of course it hurts."

"Then," she said, gathering herself and walking back for the mortar. "You should let me help you." She knelt down again in front of him, scooped up the substance and pressed it against the wound.

It hurt more than he would say, his jaw ticked and his leg jumped no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. She met his eyes when rebandaging, an involuntary hiss from the knot of the bow, the muscles in his arm tensing.

"Indra said it will help its healing." Avery's usual tone was absent, and she drifted down from the wound with her fingertips. Gliding over other marks from the past, the skin was softer here than she thought and enriched by the dim candlelight around them.

There may be a man Avery would eventually come to love, but none that would take an arrow so willingly. She travelled all the way to his hand and turned it over, palm up, and kissed the rough skin softly. She felt his eyes on her, and her heart hammered in her chest.

Tucking his fingers closed, she moved to turn away, but he grabbed her arm urgently and pulled her back to him; so close, so reverently, she had to steady herself with a hand on his shoulder, balancing on her knees.

He reached out to her and his touch was gentle against her cheek. "Take back your kiss from my hand and place it upon my lips," he urged her.

His eyes were filled with such longing that her breath caught in her throat.

#the dog #chapter 8 #ubbe #vikings #ubbexoc #ubbe cross oc #beautifulramblingbrains #slowburn #vikings fanfiction #fanfiction #ubbe fanfiction #hvitserk #ubbe vikings fanfiction

[smuddragon]

Colour

Part: 2/2 Fandom: Pokémon ORAS Characters/pairs: Maxie, Archie - hardenshipping Rating: T (for one single mention of Maxie touching the butt, gasp) Notes: The second half.  Fluffy domestic Hardenshipping in which Archie discovers that Maxie has synaesthesia.  (The alt version here.)  Many, many thanks to @samcybercat​ for explaining so much to me.

Read on AO3 or below:

“Maxie…”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”  In fact Archie had flopped down without looking and accidentally pressed something on the remote, but he wasn’t about to tell Maxie that.

However Maxie had been at the kitchen counter the whole time, almost directly behind the couch, and therefore had a perfect view of the large smart TV mounted on the opposite wall.  It didn’t take all his brains to work out what Archie’s problem was.  He raised a disbelieving eyebrow and looked from Archie to the screen.  “Then I take it you intended to open a web search?  Were you just getting my attention in order to show me a fascinating video about...”  He paused, there being no obvious way to pronounce ‘AAAAAAaa..;;’, “...that?”

“No,” Archie replied shortly.  Maxie was smirking ever so slightly, in that familiar way he had that meant he was teasing. “I sat on the remote, okay?”

“And how is that different to the way you usually operate the TV, or any other technology?”  He sounded amused now, quite openly trying to get a reaction out of Archie.  “Once again you have applied your... considerable talent to it.”

“I know it’s hard, but can ya stop thinkin’ about my ass for a sec?” Archie teased back, breaking into a grin.  “I need you to fix the TV.”

“I’ll stop thinking about it when you stop thinking with it,” Maxie replied, abandoning whatever it was he’d been looking through and joining Archie on the couch.  “No hurry, of course.  I do appreciate that you have a body that makes up for whatever the head may lack.”

“Then if I just gotta use my fine ass to get my way an’ take advantage of your brain, I got no problems.” Archie relaxed and rested his arms on the back of the couch, deliberately leaving it up to Maxie to retrieve the remote.

Despite the good-natured ribbing, Archie knew that Maxie didn’t actually believe he was unintelligent. In fact Maxie knew perfectly well that unlike himself, Archie hadn’t spent his whole life in front of a screen. And even if his family had been inclined or able to afford to have the latest gadgets all the time, he doubted delicate electronics would have fared well in the hands of people almost constantly on board a fishing vessel.  Any more than they would survive being sat on.

Archie felt clever fingers sneaking their way between the couch cushion and his backside, which he did not object to in the slightest.  “You’ve done enough to my brain,” Maxie accused, innocently continuing the conversation as though his hand wasn’t pressed distractingly against Archie’s ass.  A sudden pinch to the buttock caused Archie to yelp and jump slightly, allowing Maxie to snatch the remote from under him. “That’s the reason all these letters are blue.”  The faintest hint of smug self-satisfaction crossed his face as he cleared the search from the screen.

“The... letters? Huh?”  Archie had lost interest in watching TV; in fact his head was too clouded with flirtation to register what Maxie had said.  But once he managed to focus he found it still didn’t make any sense to him.  “What letters?”

“The letters you typed with your ass.”

Archie shivered a little. He didn’t think he’d ever stop getting a thrill whenever his eloquent, sophisticated husband used cruder language like that, no matter how often he heard it.  He intended to get those sorts of words, and more besides, out of Maxie in the very near future.

But for the moment he was curious to know what Maxie’s weird statement meant.  The search text had been plain white on black, he was pretty sure. He glanced at the TV, but Maxie had already returned it to broadcasting. There was a film from Kalos playing, complete with subtitles, but they were the same white text.  “I ain’t seen any blue.”

“There’s none to see, I was referring to how I—” Maxie paused and looked at him.  “Hold on, have I never mentioned this to you?”

“Mentioned what?”

“My synaesthesia?”

“Never heard of it, so I’m gonna say no.”

“In all this time, I failed to bring it up?  Surely not...”  Maxie paused again and seemed to be considering.  “Then again, I didn’t find out it was a condition with a name until I was about twenty-eight.  I believe that was during the period when we were... not on speaking terms.”

The corner of Archie’s mouth quirked up into a wry smile.  These days they had enough time and distance from that low point in their lives, and the things it had lead them to do, that he could find a dark sort of humour in Maxie’s exaggeratedly delicate way of describing it.

“That’s gotta be it, then. Hard to believe you’d miss an opportunity to talk about yourself otherwise,” Archie teased.

“If that’s the way you feel, I won’t tell you,” Maxie threatened, drawing himself up with all his dignity.

“Yes you will, you’re dying to,” Archie replied easily.  “Go on. How d’you say it again?”

“Synaesthesia.”

“'Synaesthesia’,” Archie repeated.  “So what is it?  Does it hurt?”

“No, stop being foolish.” Archie just grinned at him; he knew Maxie wouldn’t be able to resist correcting him and seizing the opportunity to explain something.  “It’s a neurological trait.  Technically it’s when the stimulation of one sensory path triggers the activation of another, unrelated one, as well.”

“Might be a bit too technical for me there, Max’.”

“Well, I don’t want to bore you by talking about myself,” Maxie drawled. “But in my case, it means I perceive letters and numerals as having specific colours associated with them, regardless of their appearance.”

Archie had never heard of anything like that—he felt he would definitely remember if Maxie had tried to describe it in the past.  “So, you were lookin’ at that writing before an’ seeing it in blue, even though it’s not?”

“Mm, not quite.  I can tell what colour the text is.  It’s more like I... experience a certain colour for the letters no matter what.  I don’t have to be seeing them.”  It must have been obvious from his face that Archie was struggling to see the difference, because Maxie looked at him with a slight frown and tried to clarify.  “Look, if I tell you a letter or number, you know straight away its form and its meaning, right there in your head.  It doesn’t need to be written down.  It’s exactly the same for me, except I know its form, its meaning, and its colour.  That’s just part of what it is.”

“I reckon I get it,” Archie said slowly.  “An’ that’s a thing? Other people have it too?”

“Indeed.  Grapheme-colour synaesthesia—that is, getting colours from letters—that’s the most commonly reported form.  But it can involve any of the senses.  Things like... spatial sequence synaesthesia, where numbers or dates seem to occupy points in space.  If you had that, you might say that yesterday is nearby," he gestured, "but last year is off in the distance.  Or so is my understanding, at least."  Maxie stopped gesturing and adjusted his glasses. "It's a fascinating subject. I think I'd enjoy researching it even if I didn't count myself among those who experience it."

Archie felt a sudden sense of guilt.  He hadn't meant to, but he had been asking questions as if it were a medical problem, hadn't he?  As though there was something wrong with Maxie.  Yet from the way he spoke it was clear Maxie didn't see it that way at all.

"Hey, Maxie, I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"If I've been talkin' like you're sick, or something."

"You never gave me that impression in the slightest."  But Archie watched his reaction closely; was it his own guilty conscience or did Maxie relax ever so slightly?  Archie could easily imagine he was putting aside an explanation he'd already prepared as to why what he had was not a disorder.

"Heh, well, just stop me if I do, okay?"  Archie rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.  He still had questions, but he wanted to proceed tactfully. "Seems like that brain of yours really did come with all the bells 'n whistles.  You always act like you see something everyone else doesn't 'cause it's true!"  He grinned and playfully poked Maxie in the side.

Maxie squirmed away and smirked back at him.  "But that would be the case even if I weren't a synaesthete, of course."

Maybe Archie shouldn't have said that.  Maxie's ego was already quite inflated enough.

"Well, you are. How'd we even get onto this, anyway?"

"Ah, yes, it was because of the letter 'A' specifically," Maxie replied, with a small, knowing smile.  "An interesting one for me, since it's the only letter that has ever changed colour entirely."

"That not meant to happen, then?"

"It's very unusual, by all accounts.  I feel it helps make the case for rethinking the definition of synaesthesia as ideasthesia; that is, the secondary quality of the stimulus is evoked by its meaning rather than its sensory properties--"

"You're taking off without me again, Max'."

"Right, I'm getting ahead of myself.  Back to the letter 'A'—for most of my life, it was red.  It's not the same for everyone, of course, but I certainly found it quite a strong association.  And immutable, or so I thought.  Imagine my surprise when I noticed that it had started presenting with a different colour in certain contexts."

"What contexts? This what you were saying about it being to do with the meaning, instead of... whatever the other blasted thing you said was.  What it looks like?"

"Exactly."  Maxie sounded enthusiastic, and didn't even scoff at Archie's paraphrasing.  He always seemed to appreciate Archie genuinely listening and trying to understand what he was on about.  "I find some letters are quite... weak, or colourless.  Their appearance is almost entirely determined by the ones around them. And even quite a dominant letter can be altered by the meaning of the word it's part of.  A word like, say, 'aqua' wouldn't look right in red, would it?"

"Guess not." Of course he would use that as an example...  "All right, what about 'magma' then?"

Maxie had a small, knowing smile on his face, as though amused by something Archie hadn't noticed yet. "Do you know, that and my name are possibly the only times when 'A' is red any more.  In any other case, it's blue.  I had no idea such a drastic change was even possible, but after many years of being subjected to a constant and very strong influence..."

He trailed off, watching Archie expectantly.  Was he actually suggesting what Archie thought he was?

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know," he replied airily.  "Perhaps someone with great presence and force of personality entered my life. Someone who so affected me that they changed the very way I think."

Archie's heart was suddenly soaring.  He was gazing at Maxie, even leaning in slightly closer.  He knew he must look like some embarrassing kid in the throes of his first romance, but he didn't care.

"I suppose you could say that even in the time we were apart, I never got you out of my head."

"Maxie..." Archie couldn't hold back.  He launched himself at his husband and wrapped Maxie up in a tight hug.  Once again the remote was crushed and the TV flipped over to an unused input, but neither of them noticed.  Archie kissed Maxie's face and the top of his head delightedly, and Maxie made a muffled noise of protest as he was dragged over until they were lying in a tangled heap together.

When Archie finally relented, Maxie propped himself up enough to straighten his glasses.  Archie was still gazing up at him adoringly, a silly grin on his face.  Maxie wasn't given to being sentimental, but to Archie his statement was one of the most romantic things he'd ever heard.  The implications moved him far more than all the sweet nothings in the world ever could.

"So, you're blamin' me?" he said playfully.

"Of course. Unsubtle brute that you are," Maxie teased back, "maybe I should just be grateful that I didn't come away with anything worse than having 'A is for Archie' permanently etched into my mind."

Archie beamed. "An' 'A' is blue 'cause it suits me.  So... what about the rest of my name?  Can you do the other letters?"  The smiled slipped from his face as his brain caught up with his mouth.  He sounded like he thought Maxie was showing him some kind of novelty trick.  "I mean, if you don't mind explainin' it to me more.  I'm not trying to treat you like a performing Spheal.  This is just how things are for you, right?"

"It's fine, Archie," Maxie replied with a reassuring smile.  "You can ask me to describe any letter you want.  I love an excuse to talk about myself, remember?" he added wryly, and Archie grinned again.  "As for your name, it's entirely blue, shading towards green at the end."

That sounded wonderful, Archie thought.  Like the ocean.

"Like the ocean," Maxie added, and Archie could have kissed him.  In fact, he did.

What a beautiful way to see the world.

#hardenshipping #aqua leader archie #magma leader maxie #synaesthesia #my art #fic

[hotcocosharing]

REQUEST: Kissing Under Mistletoe (Sera’s Fluff/Smut)

Anonymous asked: It’s Christmas Eve and you are standing under a mistletoe? Which Voltage guy that you hate the most would be standing with you underneath that?

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Fandom: After School Affair Category: Smut Character: Hidetaka Sera Notes: Nope, the guy I dislike most in voltage is not Eisuke, it’s Sera. Think I was writing non sense at some point, sorry if this’s boring. Also excuse my error, can't bother changing them on mobile

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Christmas Day was few weeks away and everyone was in a merry mood, even Ms. Zama smiled more than usual. Although Rika complained how sinful the no dating rule was, regardless, rule was rule, no one at school was allowed to date. Not that you’re bothered by it since you had no interest in dating, work was busy enough to occupy most of your days and nights. There weren’t many friends left to hang out on weekends and you had no time to attend any social events nor the energy to meet and engage with new friends. No one at work had got your interest either, Mr. Kagari was always scary, you avoided him enough not to get into any trouble or unnecessary duty; Mr. Mononobe liked to be alone plus you two didn’t really have much encounter; As for Mr. Taishi who was hardly “here”, you could barely hold a proper conversation even if he was; Last but not least, the popular and well loved Mr. Sera- there’s something off about him though you couldn’t put your fingers on it, he seems shady somehow. In short, you stayed away from them, it’s for your own good. Lying on your couch with a bag of chips and favorite TV shows, that’s your way to chill, even on Christmas Day. (Okay it may sound a littttle depressing but hey it’s way worse going out alone when everybody showed up in pairs or groups.) “The place looks great.” Coach Motai enters the staff room, admiring the newly decorated Christmas tree. “Where’s the Mistletoe?” Rika pouts, “Huh, what about it?” You ask as she goes through the boxes of decorations, “What? You can’t have Christmas without some Mistletoe!!”

“Why? It’s not like we have anyone to kiss it underneath with?” You shrug as you add more decorations along the window frames, “But it’s a very romantic traditional, don’t you think?” Couch Motai asks with his hopeful eyes, “I’d love to have a girl to kiss on Christmas day.” He and Rika begin discussing the best way to spend Christmas with your date while they are totally singles and they take no notice when Mr. Sera has called you to the English resources room. “Hello, Miss _______” He greeted you with his usual smile which you’d always found a little uncomfortable with. “What can I help you with?” The man kept smiling and handed you a box of heavy decorations, “I thought the room could use some of these.”  He did not help of course but he stayed, grading some test papers or so it seemed. Exchanging occasional eyes contacts and weird smiles, neither of you said a word. Not that you wanted to, he’s your superior, finished decorating then you’re good to go.

Maybe he couldn’t stand the awkward silence, the English teacher turned on the radio which was also talking about the Mistletoe’s tradition. How some girls purposely asked to meet their dates underneath one to increase the chance of being kiss, you couldn’t help but let out an annoyed sigh. “Not a fan of Christmas?” Your handsome colleague asked, “I just think people make it a bigger deal than it is, the Mistletoe thing. It’s just another holiday.” His eyes seems to turn dark a little or maybe it was the light. “It could be romantic.” Putting the box back on the shelf before you turned around to take your leave, “It’s only romantic if you kiss someone you like.” You weren’t entirely sure why you said that, you meant what you said but not sure why you told him that.

The next day was the Christmas party, the students had a blast and went home early while the teachers finished up and had a party of their own at a restaurant near by. Mr. Sera called you to the English resources room again, “We need to head to the party.” You remind him, vacation had officially started. “Oh I know, just need a little assistance before we leave.” You sighed and closed the door before walking towards the prince, it’s a mystery why everyone liked him. He was never helpful, always giving you his extra work. Music began to play by the time you stood next to his desk, “This is Corey Gray’s version!” You’re surprised he knew this version, everybody just played the Bieber’s one. “Oh so you know who he is.” Sera looked impressed, the corner of his lips twitched upwards in amusement. He made the first move by holding your hand and waist before you could say another word, you’re spinning. “Fancy a little dance?”

No, you thought but your feet followed his lead. “Miss ______. ”

“What?”

He pointed up and smiled, you looked up and saw the Mistletoe above, you took a few seconds before looking back at him as you weren’t sure if you’re blushing. “Mistletoe?”

“I am a man of tradition.” He chuckles in a slightly seductive voice, not that you found him seductive of course. “You called me in to dance underneath one?” You asked, expecting an explanation as he closed the distance between you two. “Whatever have you that idea?” His breath coating your nose, damn he smelled good. “It’s a good song, don’t you think?” You nodded, he didn’t care about the answer as his lips were now only millimeters away.

“Merry Christmas.” He whispered then placed his lips onto yours, wrapping his arms around you waist. It had been so long to feel such warmth on your lips, the body heat of someone else, the sweet scent and moist tonguea overlapping each other. It felt good to be kissed, to be held tightly. Was it because it’s been too long or was it because of the Mistletoe?

By the time the kiss stopped, a string of mixed saliva still connecting you two. “Tradition isn’t so bad, after all.” Sera smirks, was it showing his true self? He didn’t give you time to ask as his lips were on yours again, thrusting his tongue deeply into your mouth, making you shiver in delight. You gulp and fought back with your tongue just as hard, both entwining, massaging each other.

You moved backward, your legs hit a desk and Sera lifted you up and cleared the way before you sat on it and wrapped your arms around his neck. The sound of papers falling and flying but you didn’t care, he continued licking the seam of your lips. The kisses trailed downwards to your chin, jawline until he reached your neck. You’d feel his smirk as he found your soft spot a d focused on it by licking and sucking on your skin. You let out a small gasp before moaning in pleasure. Hands moving to his broad back while his hot lips traced down to your collarbone with his hands roughly massaging your breasts until he got on his knees to kiss your stomach, slowly and gently. He looked up to watch your every reaction, you waited with anticipation as the man patiently unbuttoned your jeans, sliding then down your legs, his eyes returned to your pink lace panties. Breathing heavily as heat rising from your cheeks and core, aching more by his horny gazes.

He didn’t remove it, he leaned in, purposely blowing cool air over it. He deliberately looked up at you before he kissed your nub through the drenched panties. Flicking his tongue over the same spot for a few moments as you bites your lower lips hard. “I want to hear you sing, Miss _______.”

You couldn’t think, you wanted him to continue but you fought the urge to say it out loud. You wanted him to fuck you senselessly but you didn’t even like Sera. Your phone vibrated and shocked you back to senses, picking up in panic, Rika’s voice was on the other end, asking what’s taking you so long and before you worked out a lie, Sera smiled wickedly and slide your panties to the side, crashing his lips to your folds. “Oh my god!” You cried out, “I…. I spilt… drinks … all over the… papers… Gotta go…”

Words were no longer an option, throwing your head back as the evil prince dipped a finger in your pussy, teasing you slowly. You hung up, hands gripped onto the desk for support while the man below began drawing circles over your clit till your body started to tremble, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The phone rang again but it wasn’t yours, the lost of his tongue had caught your attention. Sera pulled his phone out from his pocket, “Oh it’s my alarm, we’re late.” The man stood up nonchalantly, wiping his lips with your shirt as he left a trail of kisses before he pulled away completely and got ready.

“I’m gonna go without you if you aren’t moving.” He smirks again while you were left on the desk horny and astonished. You knew he was a dick!!!

#asa #after school affairs #asa fanfic #asa smut #hidetaka sera #asa sera #sera smut #sera fluff #asa fluff #voltage fanfic #voltage smut #mistletoe #kissing under mistletoe #my ask #request #my request #request open #ask away

[trubbull]

La Vie En Camaieu // Chapter 6

[[Read on Archive Of Our Own]]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Category: F/M Fandoms: Game Grumps, TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band), Starbomb, Ninja Sex Party - Fandom Relationships: Dan Avidan/Original Character(s), Dan Avidan & Original Character(s), Suzy Berhow/Arin Hanson, Brian Wecht/Rachel Bitney Wecht Characters: Original Female Character(s), Original Character, Dan Avidan, Arin Hanson, Suzy Berhow, Brian Wecht, Commander Meouch, Doctor Sung, Havve Hogan, Lord Phobos Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Colorblindness, Rating May Change

Summary: It seems like all of Dan’s friends can see the world in all its colorful beauty. He’s nearly 40 and he still views in the world in shades of grey.

At a fateful NSP/TWRP/Starbomb concert, everything changes.

**Inspired by iamavacado’s egobang story ‘Love Is Any Color’ and its one-shot 'Even Rainy Days Have Color.’ This has been posted with their permission.**

Chapter 6: Other Girls Were Never Quite Like This

Notes: Do you ever just find a song that’s perfect for something and you listen to it over and over again? I’ve Just Seen A Face (Across The Universe)

As I publish this chapter, I’m sitting alone in the living room of my biological father’s house. My mother and stepfather just declared divorce last night. He has taken possession of everything I have, including my dog, and all my precious belongings, including treasured childhood toys, precious handmade items from friends, and my signed NSP CDs and posters. I feel like I’m on a raft at sea during a storm and I don’t know what’s going to happen next. Writing these stories and the input i receive from all of you are one of the few things in this world that bring me unadulterated joy. As such, I’m going to try to continue to write, if not for the sake of my readers, but for the sake of my own sanity. Once again I appreciate all of the support, kudos, and comments I have received. I love each and every one of you. –Moobaby

The group of them headed to dinner. The Twerp guys, their interns, Brent and Vernon finally joined them from wherever they had been during the concert, doing important things or whatever, Brian, Arin, and the lovebirds, which Arin had dubbed them.

Jude sat in the backseat of the rental car between Brian and Dan. Dan occupied one of her hands with both of his, causing her to giggle as he played with her fingers, tickling her palm and her wrists just to hear her fluttering laughter. Everything about her made him think of sunshine and the song of birds, memories of his childhood home playing in the backyard. It was strange how memories that had always been black-and-white were now so vividly colored.

“What do you do?” Brian inquired. It was something Dan had been thinking to ask, but if he was honest, he thought about way too many things around Jude, and somehow when she would make eye contact with him, his brain would be filled with nothing but the chirping of crickets.

“Uh, y-yeah, I was gonna ask that.” Dan offered, quietly, earning another soft laugh from Jude that made his sheepish smile widen.

“I’m, uh, in college. Or, well, the semester just ended. In the spring I’ll graduate with my bachelor’s.” She shot Brian a look immediately, “If you quip about your damn PhD I will tuck and roll out of this car.”

“Brian, please don’t.” Dan immediately jumped in, laughing.

Brian crossed his arms, a devious smile on his lips, “Well, I kinda wanna see her do it.”

“Dude, we are on the highway, in Dallas Texas, she’ll die and I’ll never forgive you.” Dan was still laughing as he snaked an arm between Jude’s back and the seat, causing her to squeak with surprise before leaning into his embrace.

Dan closed his eyes as he buried his nose into the hair atop her head, which was so soft. He kissed the top of her head, and drew a sigh from her lips as she leaned her head on the front of his shoulder.

“So, if you’re just graduating college… Uh…” A thought occurred to Dan, and his brows shot up suddenly. The trepidation in his voice had caught Jude’s attention, causing her to pull away and avoid eye-contact.

Dan glanced at Brian, who raised a brow back at Dan. “There’s a considerable difference in age between Rachel and I, it’s not a big deal, Daniel.”

“I… Yeah, you’re right, it doesn’t really matter, but… I’d still like to know.” Dan leaned his head forward slightly, trying to catch Jude’s attention again.

“I’m uh, 23. You’re 16 years older than me.” She cleared her throat lightly.

Holy shit.

“Well, uh, the point still stands.” Brian offered, admittedly surprised.

Jude gave Dan an apologetic look, and when she did, all of the tenseness in Dan’s body melted away immediately. It really didn’t matter how much older he was than her, it wasn’t like she was underage, and he wasn’t going to entertain that train of thought any further than that.

He brought a hand up to her cheek, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb and causing her to smile. It was short-lived, however, as she hunched her shoulders to hide herself in the popped-collar of her leather jacket.

“Babygirl, nooo.” Dan whined, laughing despite himself. “Your smile is so fucking cute, you don’t need to hide it… At least, not from me.”

In the passing streetlights, he could see the redness in her face when she folded back her collar. “Alright, Danny.”

Hearing her say his name was the sweetest sound to ever grace his ears.

The rest of the drive was silent, as everyone was tired and hungry.

They finally arrived at a nice Italian place that was apparently near the hotel they were staying. Jude insisted she could pay for herself but Dan wouldn’t hear it.

After they had all ordered, and it was just a matter of being served, Arin stretched his arms overhead and sighed, leaning back slightly in his seat. “So, what now, Dan?”

Dan looked up from the table, which he had been staring at in a sleep-deprived state. Jude was sitting beside him, tapping away on her phone. “What are you getting at, Arin?”

Arin gestured obviously to Jude, whose attention was brought to the present by the action. “Hmm?” She inquired quietly.

“Oh, uh.” Dan’s face turned red. He hadn’t really thought about anything, future-wise, a little too distracted by the present at the moment. He looked at Jude, and didn’t even try to fight the smile the broke across his face as she met his eyes. “Do you, wanna move to California with me?”

Her brows shot up, and she placed her phone in her lap. “I-I mean, yeah, absolutely, I… This is just all happening so quickly.” She laughed a little to herself, feeling the eyes of everyone else at the table on her.

Dan took her unoccupied hands in his, “I mean, only if that’s what you want, princess. I mean…” He sighed heavily, and took a deep inhale of breath.

“I have been waiting, looking for you, my whole goddamn life, babygirl, and now that I’ve finally found you, I don’t want to spend another moment away from you. I know you know how it feels, to lay awake all night long, wondering if that person even existed, if that the day you found them they would feel the same way. Fuck, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to sleep tonight, knowing that you do exist, and that you do feel the same way, but you’re not gonna be there beside me.“ He squeezed her hands between both of his, and saw her previously awestruck gaze suddenly turn downward, a sheepish smile on her lips.

“I-it’s, uh, it’s not like I have a curfew or something, Danny… I don’t have classes or a job to wake up early for.” She said this very quietly, leaning closer so only Danny would hear.

The red blooming across his face gave them away, though, as the rest of the table whistled lasciviously at the two of them. “Oh, shut up!” Dan grinned with his own embarrassment.

The conversation didn’t have a chance to continue as their meals were brought to the table, and everyone groaned like pornstars at the mere smell of the delicious, authentic food.

Jude popped the collar of her coat once again before eating, but it was a few minutes before Dan noticed, and he attempted to roll it back again.

“Danny~” She whined in protest, the word muffled by her full mouth. She shook her head, then, and swallowed her food before popping the collar once more, defiantly.

“We’re gonna have to agree to disagree on this, Danny. Obviously, I’ve got an overbite.” She gestured to her face, sighing in a defeated manner. “It’s an abnormally large overbite. Like, orthodontists-won’t-touch-me abnormal. It’s hard for me to eat with my mouth closed, and it’s embarrassing.” She said all of this softly so only Danny would hear.

“It’s especially embarrassing to think you’re watching me while I eat.” She laughed a little, but it was a tight and nervous laugh. “I… I have always hated my mouth. I think it’s the worst thing about me, being fat aside.”

Dan straightened up, his face looking almost convincingly offended, “You’re not—“

“Don’t even lie to me, Daniel, I am fat.” She said, pointedly. “I’m fat, you can still think I’m beautiful regardless.” She winked at him, before resuming eating.

She had a point. He couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t a big girl, because she was. While he was pretty used to model-esque ladies, he wasn’t averse to bigger girls by any means. Fate had just always placed him in the hands of thin, leggy things.

And she had really nice legs, herself, if he was being honest.

“… Well… You are beautiful.” He said, quietly, and he could see the redness tinge her face. “And I think your smile is cute anyway, but I get why it bugs you, I won’t pester you about it anymore, babygirl.”

He kissed her temple before resuming his meal. He glanced over at Arin and Brian across the table, who were smiling fondly at the two of them.

“Fuck, I miss Suzy.” Arin whined out loud.

Once everyone had become miserably over-stuffed with food, they all made their way to the hotel. Brent, who was driving, was happy that he wouldn’t have to drive Jude home.

Brian and Dan had been sharing a hotel room. Between the eleven of them, they were split into pairs in six rooms, the only single being Brent. No one argued about the rearrangement, everyone was more than happy to give Dan and Jude privacy.

“Just, uh, you know, don’t be so loud.” Arin said, offhandedly to Dan and Jude both, causing her to flush immensely and him to become indignant.

“Arin!”

Arin just dove into his own room, which he was now sharing with Vernon, and his cackling could still be heard behind the closed door.

Dan was embarrassed, but he managed to catch Jude’s eye and give her an encouraging smile. “I, uh, wouldn’t… Expect you to want to…”

She interrupted him by grasping his hand, “Just lead the way, Danny, I feel like I’m gonna fall asleep on my feet.” She punctuated her statement with a yawn, leaning her forehead against the face of his shoulder, and uttering a sound that Dan could only equate to a purr.

He led her a few doors down, to his own room. After sliding the keycard through its designated slot and opening the door, he had to usher her inside due to the sluggishness of her feet.

The room had obviously been cleaned, and Arin had retrieved his things from the room, but it was easy to tell which bed was Dan’s as his things were piled next to it. Jude sat down at the end of the bed as she toed-off her shoes.

Dan had taken the flowers back from her so that he could place them in a glass of water. They’d need to be placed in a vase eventually, but there wasn’t anything else he could do about it.

Jude shed her Jacket and tossed it onto the other bed, followed by her socks. “Danny~?”

Dan had been in the kitchenette, so he leaned in the doorway when he heard his name called. “Mmm?” Was all he could respond with in his tired state.

“I, uh, can’t sleep in my jeans and… stuff.” She said this shyly. “So… Are you gonna be able to control yourself?” She giggled, teasingly. She was tired, and it made everything funny.

It made him laugh a little too, but he couldn’t hide the light heat building in his face. “What do you take me for, princess? I know how to keep my hands to myself.”

“Well, I mean, you don’t have to… Keep them completely to yourself…” She said this between yawns as he watched her wiggle out of the dark, ripped jeans that clung to her wide hips. They fell to the ground and she kicked them off towards the other bed and Dan couldn’t look away from her damn legs.

She was covered in freckles. She had legs that would have made some of his friends jealous, and he knew girls that were pornstars. Why he knew them was irrelevant.

She didn’t seem to notice he was watching, or if she did she didn’t say anything. She went about doing that magical thing that Dan couldn’t understand, removing her bra without taking her shirt off. It was discarded on the second bed as well as everything else, and she didn’t hesitate to curl up under the covers of his hotel bed.

The shower was calling to him, but he didn’t want to miss a moment of the warmth that was now collecting in the bed in the other room. He bounced on his heels with indecision before finally deciding to take the shower anyway. If anything, Jude deserved him smelling his best.

The moment he stepped into the shower, he was immediately grateful for his decision. He hadn’t realized how caked he felt in grime. He scrubbed at his face, feeling the puffiness and tiredness of his eyes. Today had definitely been a rollecoaster, and it all happened so quickly. He couldn’t have been prepared for it all, even if he had known that morning when he woke up, that he would meet his soulmate today. He still couldn’t have been ready for the whirlwind of emotions that berated him today.

Once he was content with his state of cleanliness, and also concerned about falling asleep in the shower, he dragged himself into the cold air of the bathroom and dried himself off. He tied back his flattened, slicked hair, as he usually did after showering. Pulling on clean boxers was the second best thing he had experienced today.

He cut out the light in the bathroom and then the kitchenette, and it was now completely dark save for moonlight that was pouring in through the window at the end of the room. Dan could just make out the silhouette of his soulmate who was silently breathing in his bed.

“Babygirl?” He whispered. No response from the tuft of red hair on the pillow beside his spot. She was already asleep.

He briefly considered sleeping in the other bed, out of respect, but his lightly shivering, bony frame was cut through easily by the cold of the hotel, and he wanted so desperately to curl up next to a soft, warm body. It’d been so long since he had enjoyed such a pleasure.

He tried his best to be very careful as he slipped under the covers beside her, and he froze stiff when she rolled over, heavy eyes looking up at him just over the edge of the duvet.

“Ah—I’m sorry, princess, I—“ He didn’t mean to wake her, but it seemed it didn’t matter, as she immediately closed the gap between them, and his body leeched the welcome warmth from her.

She draped an arm over his chest as she snuggled into his side, and Dan shifted in order to get comfortable with her in his arms, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of her head. She sighed against his shoulder, closing her eyes and smiling into his skin.

Dan heard her sniff just as he was about to doze off, and he looked at her, bringing his spare hand up to her face, feeling the dampness on her cheek. “Jude, baby?” He inquired, his voice croaky with sleep.

“I-I’m just, really happy.” She whispered, her voice tight. “I never thought that this was even a possibility for me.”

Dan rolled over slightly, just enough so he could properly embrace the redhead laying beside him. “Don’t think about the past anymore, babygirl. You’re here, now, with me, and that’s all that matters, princess.” He kissed the top of her head again.

“I love you, Danny.” She whispered, and it made Dan feel cold despite the warmth enveloping him. “I’ve loved you for so long, I’ve wanted to tell you for ages…” She continued, her voice soft and wavering.

This was really happening. It seemed to strike Dan all at once, very suddenly.

He was holding his soulmate, the both of them were only barely clothed, alone in a hotel room. He could see the color of her hair illuminated by the moonlight from behind, creating a soft halo around her face which was obscured by the darkness. He could only tell her eyes were open by the little glints of light on her eyelashes which fluttered with sleepiness and her inability to keep them open.

Dan leaned in close, and kissed her eyelid, which made her chuckle softly, almost a sigh.

“I love you, too, babygirl. You’re never gonna be alone again.”

#trubbull post #trubbull fics #lvec #moobang