#drabble tag

[muttsupreme]

Roman genuinely clinging to you so much that you can’t even function. It sounds desperate and it is desperate, but most importantly, it’s the only way that he can cope with like…..anything. Just existing.

He’s like an infection or disease that won’t leave. He forces you to stay in bed with promises of your favorite breakfast in “just one hour, just another hour, and we can have fucking blueberry pancakes and bacon.”

And if - when - you get up to pee, he comes crawling to your side of the bed so that he can keep talking to you from the open ensuite bathroom door, and feeling your warmth, and smelling your skin through the sheets. He feels partly abandoned in those few seconds, but comfortable in occupying the warm space you left on the bed.

He bullies you when you bring up excuses to leave the bed - abandon him. “You don’t have to fucking…wash your hair, shave your legs - I’ll lick your hair like a cat and you’ll be clean.”

He acts like you’re creating a disaster, like this is aaaall your fault and he’s gonna throw up. “Fuck you, can I at least come with you? Or are you gonna be a bitch and gatekeep that, too?”

If (yet again, when) you cave and let him come with you, you’re washing his hair and he’s complaining about the water temperature but not really, it’s more of an attempt to take his mind off the fact that he’s…naked? Even though it’s just you, even though he literally chose to get in here and you reassured him that he didn’t have to and you’d be out soon? But he’s there, and he’s naked, and he’s literally about to bash his own brains in because this is awful.

Until you wash his hair with your shampoo and convince him not to use his sticky hair gel just for today and he agrees. And he complains about you not using your conditioner on him until you finally do, and you use it to shape his hair into a giant spike.

But yeah, until then, his brain is focused on how this is so awful and you’re the meanest person in the world for leaving the bed.

my clingy needy disease<3

[sicksoulmark]

For the @sterekdrabbles prompt: Exuberant, Warm, Nice.

“But what do you think it means?”

Boyd sighs down the phone. He’s on holiday with his grandmother, somewhere sunny and warm, far away from the winter chill of Beacon Hills. “I think it means Derek saw that you were cold… and gave you his jacket.”

Boyd’s uninspiring response does nothing to dull Stiles’ exuberance. “But that’s a nice thing to do, right? Derek was being nice to me.”

“Well, yeah, I suppose, but-”

“But what do you think that means?”

“I don’t know what it means. All I know is I hate Scott for not answering the phone first.”

[arcanaaa]

"Do not go far from me" and it's a promise they swore as children, hushed and in darkness, but a promise sealed in tiny pinkies locked hold little sanctity when in the face of cruel destiny.

"Do not go far from me" but forces beyond their control will inevitably meddle and conspire to change them, for better or worse, and this is faced with the cold, terrifying realization that for all their efforts to cling to one another, they will eventually drift apart.

"Do not go far from me" except Gray must walk a different path from the rest of his loved ones-- and especially from Cana. And she knows it.

"Do not go far from me" because Cana knows that death follows Gray. It has followed him, perhaps since the beginning. Since the destruction of his village and his family. It has touched him and stained him and he will never escape it, no matter how much he tries to bury his past in ice, it lingers beneath the surface watching. Waiting. Until it takes him for a brief second-- and then time spirits him from its grasp. For now.

"Do not go far from me" but no matter how much Cana pleads, she knows he will go where she cannot follow, and she has no choice but to let her brother go.

"Do not go far from me" and they won't. Not even death would keep them apart-- after all, they made a promise, right?

[hopefromadoomedtimeline]

It's days like this he would reflect on the hand fate had dealt him: Born in an apocalyptic world, forced to watch as atrocities happened on the daily, and having to fight just for the right to survive a little bit longer. And yet, when he thought about it, he couldn't have more grateful to have a parent that not only managed to raise him in those hellish times, but to be the one to instill in him his hope, his determination, and his stubbornness. Through it all, she did her very best to ensure her son would continue to live no matter what, even if it may come at the cost of her well being. Or her life.

She had done so much for him, and he really, he had no idea how he could ever repay her for that.

Perhaps doing enough that for once, she may finally rest with a smile on her face. She was always so busy after all, he felt she earned more than a few days where she may simply enjoy life.

He felt she hadn't been able to do that in a long time.

[offrozenmemoirs]

Cat in the Cradle

"It seems as if Vadu has deigned to give her blessing to your younger brother. I'll admit, I'm surprised that he was chosen, given his...deficiency."

Ariortos frowns as he listens to his father. He knew nothing of his sister, otherwise, he would've known that his brother, was a sister, and to speak of her as if she were useless because she couldn't call upon the elements...It annoyed him. Had he paid attention, he would know that she showed an interest in alchemy, a field that only a few from Nihiran took up as a study. Especially within the nobility, it was frowned upon for being seen as common work, but that hadn't mattered.

Part of him does feel a sting of jealousy at Nelia, the one member of their family who couldn't use magic, and she was the one who was chosen to be blessed by Vadu. It wasn't enough that she was the only one of them to be born with the hooves of a fiend, showing just how strong their hellish inheritance was within her.

[It seems almost unfair, to have put so much work into my practice, to become one of the greatest necromancers to ever graduate from the Graneyean Academy of the Arcane Arts, to have surpassed my grandfather...For someone who can't use magic, in a family known for magic, it makes no sense!]

He bites his tongue, controlling his body so that his tail doesn't lash in irritation. He tires of listening to his father speak about his sister, but it's not her fault that he's angry. Part of him knows it's wrong to be upset with Nelia, she didn't ask for the blessing, and had even went out of her way to cover up more and more to hide the changing pigmentation of her skin. Where there had been a rich, brown color matching their usual tone, splotches of red had been popping up and growing larger. She had come to him first, thinking that it had been a sign of sickness and that she was dying.

"Indeed. Though, I believe she is more afraid than anything. She does nott understand what is going on, at such a sensitive age...Nelia is panicking. Perhaps it would do her well to have you explain the changes?"

Leonardo raises an eyebrow once his son speaks, and where he might've shrunk under the other's gaze before, Ariortos simply stares back at him, eyes hidden behind his glasses. He could never read his son anymore, as if he never relaxed, or let himself be known by others. Rafan stuck to herself, even moreso once she began to work as Vadu's enforcer...Naeem, no, Nelia, when had that happened? Liyan was far too young to do anything other than babble and crawl around, and he left her to be cared for by his wife.

"I suppose you have a point. I'll make a note to have a talk with her. To explain the gift she's been given. Lack of magic or not, she's the one who will lead us to greater heights. Vadu's blessing has not manifested in centuries. She shall come to understand her role within the house soon enough."

Ariortos gives a stiff nod, waiting to be dismissed from his father's office. His eyes scan the room, despite being highborn, he never liked being in here. Everything was far too gaudy, gilded portraits, a collection of his father's accomplishments, but what stood proudly above the fireplace, was the head of a dragon, its bones perfectly preserved.

He never liked the idea of such majestic creatures being reduced to trophies of all things. He understand the history and them being reduced to near extinction, but to have done this...Horns capped in gold, spiraling along the grooves, ruby red gemstones placed in the eyes, engravings done to the bones, and filled with silver...It did not deserve the fate of being a trophy.

"By your leave, father."

Before Leonardo could say anything, he hears his son's retreating footsteps, broken from his thoughts.

[I remember when he used to hang on to every word of mine. How he would always ask me how to apply magic to more practical uses. Where has the time gone?]

He sits in silence, contemplating just how little he knew about his children nowadays. Had he become the same person his father had been to him? No, he couldn't have been that bad. At the very least, he acknowledged his children.

Ariortos found his way to his own office, much less decorated than his father's, a simple setup, with more lab equipment within it, and built to be functional over fashionable. Within it, sat a simple desk, with no decorations, save for a photo of himself and Corvus on their graduation date. He had even smiled, or what his friend teased him as a smile. Really, it had been more of a quirk of the lip than anything. His window was open, letting some air in. He sighs as he sinks into his chair, opening a drawer at the bottom of his desk. Within it, sat a bottle of Avernian Fire Wine, he never drank, but he couldn't refuse the gift from his only friend.

He could brew some tea right now, but he felt exhausted. He sat up, preparing to get up until he saw a familiar head of hair peeking within his doorway.

"Come in, Nelia. I can see you hiding within my doorway."

"Nuh-uh."

His lips twitch in an urge to smile.

"What do you mean, 'nuh-uh'? You are not intangible."

He hears her giggle as she steps into his office, wearing a smile. Ariortos knows that things have changed, she is chosen, and he was not...But does she deserve to be punished for that?

"You said you'd spend time with me today, big brother, so I'm here to bother you, now that...dad's not spending time with you."

He hates how her smile falls at talking about their father...Sperm donor, really, it's not as if he's ever made any effort to spend time with them or get to know them. He's been the one who really took care of Rafan and Nelia, and he knew that. She carries a book of alchemy, the basics, but she's already taken to it like someone years above her own.

"Do not fret over him. Pull up a chair, we shall go over the applications of alchemy for combat today. I know you have been excited for that portion of lessons, correct?"

As quick as it faded, it came back in full force, and she excitedly took a seat next to him. She already begins questioning him, and he smiles at her.

[Perhaps she has been chosen for a reason. But she does not deserve my anger. No, I shall reserve that for father and Vadu.]

Right now, he took a small pleasure in getting to help his sister come into her own. If only to assuage her feelings of inadequacy, he would be happy to help her understand that she could be just as great as any member of House Zarin, if she put the effort in.

[ridiculously-over-obsessed]

“Just let me go. Please, I want to leave.” unless it's too close to your Dirty Tissues ideas!!

I'm sure I can come up with a new variation just for you anon lfdkjdg angst abound!!!

Pick an angst prompt, any angst prompt!!!

"Just let me go. Please, I want to leave."

Chloe twisted as she pursed her lips, eyes full of tears as she looked up at the camera pointed at her, wrists bruising as she pulled against the metal cuffs keeping them pinned above her head.

“Just let me go.” Chloe whimpered, knowing that she was being watched by the person on the other side of that camera, “Please, I want to leave.”

She pulled at the metal again, hot tears starting to run down her cheeks, desperation and fear coursing through her, “Please, please, I’ll do whatever you want, just let me go.”

Chloe’s head turned as she looked around her, biting her lip as she tried to figure out where she was and how to get out of here. It was a small room, tiny really, only just enough room to stretch out her legs, the metal walls around her plain and non-descript, unable to figure out how she’d gotten in here in the first place, there was no door. It wasn’t a particularly well lit room, a camping lamp near her feet not enough to illuminate more than a few inches over her head so she couldn’t see the ceiling, but she had a feeling it wasn’t that high. The floor under where she had been forced to sit was cold, her ankles had been tied together too, and her head hurt, probably from being hit.

She’d been getting ready to go and see Beca perform solo, her big break with DJ Khaled so she could go off and be the most amazing producer and artist that the world had ever seen. Chloe had been so excited for her, even after being held hostage by Amy’s dad and almost blown up on a boat, Chloe had been so excited that she had hugged Beca perhaps a little too tightly before rushing to change. 

And then... then she’d woken up here, feeling groggy and confused, and then frightened and panicked as she found herself tied up with a camera pointing at her. 

What the hell was going on?!

-----

“Beca!” Beca’s head turned to find Amy rushing towards her, grumbling softly albeit good naturedly as she was pulled into a bone-crushing hug, “You aca-rocked it!”

“Thanks Ames.” Beca hugged her back, trying to ignore the pit in her stomach.

Tonight had been good. Amazing even. She’d been signed by DJ Khaled, still gotten to perform with her family, given the best performance of her life, it had been objectively amazing... so why was she feeling so sad?

“We’re so proud of you.” Aubrey pulled Beca into a hug as Amy released her, “You were amazing Beca, really.”

“Thanks.” Beca mumbled against her shoulder, “Um... did you check on Chloe?”

“I did...” Aubrey frowned a little as she pulled back, swallowing thickly as she pulled a piece of paper out of her back pocket, “This was on her bed. Her stuff is gone.”

Beca’s hands were shaking a little as she took it from Aubrey, hating the way her stomach knotted as she did. She opened the note, feeling tears well in her eyes as she read it.

“Right...” She mumbled, clearing her throat a little as she crumpled it, shoving it into her pocket, “Chloe... she went back to New York. So, who wants to take me out and get me absolutely wasted to celebrate my big break?”

“Come on.” Aubrey wound her arm around Beca’s shoulders, “Let’s get some tequila in you.”

Beca nodded, throat feeling thick as she swallowed the lump in it, head down to keep the tears burning in her eyes hidden from her friends. Chloe had just... left? It was okay, if Chloe didn’t love her back, if she regretted that kiss, then it would’ve been okay. They were still friends, they could still be best friends even if Chloe didn’t love her like that. They could’ve talked about it, but Chloe had just left instead?

“It’s okay.” Aubrey whispered, the other Bellas having ran ahead, laughing and joking as they went in search of a bar, “I’ll talk to her, get her to come find you. But it’s okay for you to be sad about it.”

“I don’t want to be.” Beca’s voice was tight as she lent in Aubrey a little, hastily wiping at her cheeks, “Not tonight. I don’t want to be feeling any kind of way about this tonight, it- it was my big break Bree, why couldn’t she have just been there for that?”

“I don’t know.” Aubrey sighed, shaking her head. She was the only one who knew what had transpired between Chloe and Beca before the show, “It’s not like her to just run away. I’ll get the bottom of it Becs, you just try and enjoy tonight, okay?”

-----

Chloe pulled her knees close to her chest, shivering at the cold temperature in the tiny room she was in, throat raw from crying and pleading with the camera pointed at her to let her go. She’d probably missed Beca’s performance, she’d be so mad at her... Chloe wanted to be there for it, wanted to tell Beca how proud she was of her, how amazing she was, how much she loved her. Because one brief, interrupted kiss wasn’t enough, Chloe had to tell Beca that it wasn’t enough that she wanted so much more, that she’d been so stupid to keep it to herself for so long...

How had she had ended up being kidnapped twice in one day? The first time, she’d had her family, it had been scary but also comforting to have the people that loved her, that she knew would protect her and vice versa around her. Now though, now she was alone and cold and scared... who had done this to her?

“Please...” Chloe croaked, head resting on the wall behind her, bottom lip trembling, “What do you want from me?! I just want to go home...”

Chloe started to sob as she pulled herself into the smallest ball she could manage, head resting on her knees as her shoulders ached from the uncomfortable position she was in. The Bellas would know she was missing right? Beca would. Beca would know she would never miss her debut performance, not for anything in the whole world. But would they even know where to look for her? God, she didn’t even know where they’d look for her, the longer she was trapped here, the more she was convinced that this wasn’t a room. It was small and cramped and made of metal, what if it was a box? Someone had put her in a box, she could be anywhere, she could be on another boat in the middle of the ocean for all she knew, how were they going to find her?

“Beca...” Chloe mumbled through her tears, “Please, just let me go back to Beca, or tell her I’m sorry for missing her performance, something, anything, please just let me talk to her...”

-----

Beca sighed heavily as she leant against the bar, rubbing at her forehead as she ordered another beer. She’d tried to enjoy her night, her big break, but there was something missing without Chloe here. How could she enjoy this without having her here, without Chloe drunkly clinging to her and telling her she was so proud, and so happy, getting all up in her personal space and hugging her so tight that Beca lost circulation in half her body.

“Hey, you look more than a little glum Beca, what’s the matter?” 

Beca turned her head to find the turtle guy that had been following her around since the start of the USO tour leant on the bar next to her, frowning softly as she tried to remember what he was called. She probably should remember his name, he did technically work for her now...

“Nothing.” Beca shrugged, sipping the beer that had been set in front of her, “It’s a great night, I’m so happy this happened, it’s my big break.”

“I know sarcasm when I hear it.” Theo laughed softly, “C’mon, what’s eating at you?”

“Chloe left before my performance...” Beca mumbled, looking down at the bar, vulnerable thanks to the amount of alcohol she had, “She... she would never have missed it, at least I didn’t think she would’ve but... she’s gone.”

“I’m sorry.” Theo frowned a little, “That sucks Beca, she can’t be much of a friend if she left before the biggest night of your life.”

“I guess not...” Beca huffed, “Gee you think you know a girl after five years, countless acapella tournaments and sharing a sofa bed.”

“You’ll forget all about her once we get on tour.” Theo smiled softly at her, “Trust me, we’ll be so busy you won’t have time to think about anything else.”

“Great.” Beca nodded, “I can do avoiding the issue, I’m practically an expert at it.”

Theo chuckled as he signaled the bartender, ordering a shot for the two of them, sliding one over to Beca, “A toast, to your brand new, highly successful career.”

“And to apparently weeding out toxic friends.” Beca forced a smile as she clinked her shot glass with his.

-----

“And to apparently weeding out toxic friends.”

Chloe’s heart was breaking as she tugged furiously at the restraints holding her, weeping as she tried to free herself. There was a speaker somewhere in this tiny box she had been left in, and Chloe could hear Beca talking to that creep that had been following her throughout the tour, the one that gave her a bad feeling... Theo. It was Theo. Was he the one who had done this to her?

She’d heard the whole conversation, heard that Beca thought she’d left, why would she think that? Beca thought she was gone, someone had made it look like she’d chosen to leave and now... now she’d never come looking for her, none of them would, not until it was way too late and she was...

“I didn’t leave.” Chloe sobbed, shaking her head furiously, “I didn’t leave Beca, I wouldn’t... I wanted to be there so bad...”

“You look like you’ve had a few too many of those... how about I get you out of here, let’s get you back to your hotel room.”

Chloe bit her lip, hating the idea that Beca was going to be alone with Theo. After all, it had to have been him that had done this to her, he had to have been the one that stopped her going tonight. Why else would she be able to hear him talking to Beca?

“I swear to god, if you touch her, I will kill you.” Chloe spat, writhing against the cuffs holding her, “They’ll find me Theo, you’ll be so dead when they do, they’re going to find me!”

Chloe could hear him chuckling, knowing that he was, in part at least, laughing at her.

“Whoa, steady there Beca. Are you okay?”

“M’fine. Just... a little tired. Can you take me back to the hotel?”

“Of course I can, c’mon.”

“Wait... I need to tell my friends...”

Chloe could hear the slur in Beca’s voice, her heart pounding in fear as she tugged furiously at her restraints, determined to get the hell out of here so that she could get Beca away from him. Theo was going to do something to her, Chloe could feel it in her bones. Beca was drunk, and vulnerable, and it was her fault for not being there tonight... 

No. This wasn’t her fault, it was Theo’s fault. He was the one that had hit her, and kidnapped her, and was now making her listen as he took advantage of Beca when she couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him.

“I’ll come back and tell them once I’ve gotten you back safely, I promise.”

Like hell he would. Theo was isolating her, dammit Chloe had to get out of here, wherever here was she had to get out and go and help Beca. It didn’t matter if her wrists were throbbing, or that she could be god knows where, Beca was in danger and she had to help her.

“Leave her alone!” Chloe screamed, fighting harder than she ever had in her life, tears pouring down her face again, “Leave her alone Theo!”

“It’s okay Beca... you just sleep if you need to. I’ll get you back to your hotel room, and then we can have all the fun we couldn’t have because of that ginger pitbull.”

Chloe’s heart was threatening to leap out of her chest as she realised that Beca must be barely conscious if Theo was practically confessing to her. Beca was in so much trouble, she had to stop this.

“Chloe...” 

Her heart broke as Beca slurred her name, breathing erratic and panicked as she felt something in her right wrist snap, but still she kept struggling.

“Did... did you do something to her?”

“I did it for us Beca. Don’t worry, I put her somewhere that she could never bother us again. She’ll be in the Middle East before anyone realises she’s missing, and by then she’ll be the play thing of some oligarch.”

Chloe could feel panic taking hold of her, the Middle East? Just where the hell was she?

“Thanks.”

Chloe gasped softly as she heard Beca’s voice again, all hints of a slur gone. Wait... what was happening?

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you putting something in my drink asshole?”

There was a grunt of pain and the sound of someone being dragged as Chloe bit down on her lip so hard she drew blood. Was that Beca? Or was it Theo, had he hurt her?!

“Chicago, did you get that?”

Chloe’s head thunked softly back against the metal behind her, whimpering in relief. Beca was okay, more than that, she had been playing him the whole time. She was so smart, Beca knew exactly what she was doing, she knew that something was wrong when Chloe hadn’t shown up. All she had to do now was find her.

“Yeah... yeah I have his phone, he’s got some kind of camera on her I... I don’t know if she can hear me, but I see her.”

Chloe’s eyes snapped open again from where they had fluttered open, looking right into the camera as she nodded furiously.

“I can hear you Becs. I can hear you, are you okay?!”

“Wait... I think she can. Hang on, let me... let me turn the volume up on this thing.”

Beca’s voice was thick with tears, Chloe forcing a soft smile onto her face as she tried to adjust the pressure of her throbbing right wrist.

“Becs?”

“Chloe... oh my god, are you okay?”

Chloe’s eyes closed slowly as she nodded a little, “I’m okay. I’m okay, did he hurt you? I could hear everything, he-”

“No, I’m fine, I promise. Fuck Chlo, I... I’m sorry, I had no idea he’d do something like this... just hold on okay? Me, the Bellas, and the army, we’re on our way, we... we’re going to find you Chloe, I swear.”

“I know.” Chloe whispered, sniffing softly, “I know you will... will you keep talking to me? I- I’m kind of claustrophobic, I don’t want to be alone in here anymore.”

“Of course I will. You are about the only person I know that could get herself kidnapped twice in the space of twenty four hours, you know that Beale?”

Chloe giggled softly, nodding, “Yeah... just my luck huh?”

-----

Beca was watching tearfully as Chloe shifted in the metal box she was in, jaw clenched as the Humvee she was in rumbled quickly for the docks. Given all the information that Theo had blabbed when he was feeling cocky, plus the little they could see from the camera he’d set up (seriously what kind of sick freak was he?), they’d figured out that Chloe was most likely somewhere at the shipping docks. No boats had left since Beca had last seen Chloe, but there were several large shipping boats scheduled to leave in the next hour, so they had to get there quickly.

She had been talking to her the whole way there, feeling so much guilt that Chloe was in this position. It was her fault, she was the reason that Theo had put her in a metal box and chained her up, that she was so scared even though she was trying so hard to hide it, that she was in danger of being shipped off to god only knew where. Beca had to find her.

“Dammit...” She mumbled as Theo’s phone beeped in her hands, “No, no...”

“Becs? What’s wrong? Can you not find me?”

Beca bit her lip, “No it’s not that, Theo’s phone is dying... Chloe I’m going to end up cutting in a minute, but I’m still coming, okay? We’re so close, I swear, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t want you to go...”

“I know.” Beca swallowed thickly as Chloe whimpered, “I don’t either, but it won’t be for long Chlo, we’re pulling up now.”

“Becs, I-”

The phone died in her hands, Beca swearing under her breath as it did. Dammit...

“Beca we’re here.” Chicago turned to look at her, “Did it die?”

“Yeah.” Beca nodded, “C’mon, let’s go find her.”

“Beca, you can’t-”

“If you think you’re going to stop me coming and looking for her, you’re out of your damn mind.” Beca snarled, Chicago holding up his hands.

“Alright. But you stick with me.” He conceded, climbing out of the car.

“I will if you can keep up with me.” Beca mumbled darkly, running forward into the shipping yard with Chicago on her tail.

“We narrowed it down to these containers on the left.” He easily kept pace with her, “But there’s thirty five of them and we only have forty minutes to search them all.”

“Fuck.” Beca shook her head, “Chloe! CHLOE!”

She knew it was a long shot, but if Chloe could just hear then maybe...

“CHLOE!”

Beca shot a grateful look over her shoulder as Chicago seemed to cotton on to her idea, the group of soldiers with them and the Bellas spreading out and doing the same thing.

“CHLOE!”

She had to find her.

-----

Chloe sniffed softly as the light at her feet started to flicker and fail. Beca was gone now, she’d tried to talk to her a couple of times but had gotten no response. She’d said they were close, they were going to find her right? 

Chloe lifted her head as she heard the loud honk of a boat horn, letting out a soft sob. Oh no... were they too late? She was going to be shipped out of here wasn’t she? Beca wasn’t going to find her, she was going to end up lost forever and-

“CHLOE!”

She gasped softly, head whipping around her. That was Beca... she was close, she was here.

“Beca?” She whimpered softly. Dammit, there was no way she’d hear that, c’mon Chloe...

“BECA!”

“Sh, shut up, did you hear that?”

Beca was so close... Chloe just had to shout a little louder.

“BECA!”

“This way. C’mon soldier boy, move your ass!”

Chloe giggled softly, tearfully as she heard the sound of scuffing, as if Beca was moving something heavy. God, she had to be careful, she’d hurt herself if she wasn’t...

“Chloe? Chloe are you in here?”

“Becs...” Chloe wept softly, “Beca I’m over here.”

“There, that metal box, jesus... Chlo I’m right here okay? There’s a padlock, Chicago’s gone to get some bolt cutters, but I’m here.”

Beca’s voice was right next to her head, Chloe whimpering as she pulled a little at her handcuffs again.

“I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, if they want to ship you off before he gets back then I’m coming with you, okay?”

Chloe giggled a little, sniffing as she leant back into where Beca’s voice was coming from, “Okay Becs. I’m glad you’re here. I don’t think you’ll like the Middle East though, you know how easily you burn.”

Chloe could hear Beca laughing, “Yeah that’s a good point... they’ll sell sunscreen there though right? That or I’ll just go outside at night, I’ll become nocturnal.”

There was more noise outside of the box, Chloe unable to help the scared sob that left her mouth, hearing Beca shush her softly.

“Chlo it’s okay, it’s Chicago with the bolt cutters. We’re getting you out now, just a few more seconds.”

There was a thud against the box, Chloe wincing as light assaulted her eyes, feeling someone leap into the box with her, cupping her face in her hands.

“Chloe, it’s me, you’re okay, I got you.”

Chloe’s eyes fluttered open again, sobbing again as her eyes met Beca’s, pulling at the cuffs around her wrists and letting out a soft yelp as it made her right throb even sharper.

“Sh...” Beca shook her head a little, brushing away the tears on Chloe’s cheeks while barely holding back her own, “Chicago’s just about to get them off for you, just hold still Chlo.”

“I knew you’d know I didn’t mean to miss it.” Chloe pressed her face into Beca’s hands, “I’m sorry I didn’t make it...”

“It’s okay.” Beca grinned a little as she shook her head again, watching as Chicago quickly cut through the metal around her wrists, “They’ll be plenty more for you to see Chloe. Let’s get you out of here huh?”

Now her wrists were free, Chloe threw her arms around Beca’s neck, sobbing heavily as she buried her face in her neck, Beca hugging her back tightly as Chicago cut the zip tie around Chloe’s ankles.

“I’ve got you.” Beca mumbled into her hair, letting a few of her own tears slip down her cheeks, “I’ve got you Chlo, you’re okay now. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ever again, I promise.”

Chloe didn’t say anything, just sobbed as Beca gently rocked her in her arms, stroking her hair. It was okay. Beca had found her like she knew she would. It was all going to be okay now.

“Chlo...” Beca sniffed softly, “Let’s get you out of here so the paramedics can check you out, can you stand?”

“Um...” Chloe lifted her head a little, “Maybe? I think so?”

Beca gently helped Chloe get to her feet, letting her lean against her as they climbed out of the box, gently brushing her hair from her face and frowning at the cut on her head.

“Did he do that?” 

“Yeah.” Chloe nodded a little as they walked slowly out of the shipping container, one of Beca’s arms tight around her waist as she rested her head in the crook of her neck, “But it’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that much anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” Beca sighed, shaking her head a little, “This is my fault, I didn’t know-”

“Hey.” Chloe stopped in her tracks, frowning as she turned to Beca, “No it’s not. This is Theo’s fault, not yours.”

“I should’ve known.” Beca’s jaw was tight as another tear slid down her cheek, “His face when he caught us kissing, I should’ve...”

“It’s not your fault.” Chloe shook her head, her left hand cupping Beca’s cheek, “It’s really not your fault Becs.”

Chloe gently pressed her lips into Beca’s, not caring that it made her bottom one throb from where she’d bitten it too hard. She just wanted to kiss her, to make sure that Beca knew that it was okay, that it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t blame her, that...

“I love you.” Chloe whispered as she pulled away, “I meant to say that earlier, before we got interrupted, I love you Beca.”

“I love you too.” Beca nodded a little, forehead pressed against Chloe’s, “Let’s get you checked out Chlo, I want to know you’re okay.”

Chloe smiled softly as she lent into Beca again, walking with her in the direction of the waiting ambulance, able to see the Bellas waiting eagerly to see her nearby. 

“How did you know it was Theo?”

“That was all Posen.” Beca smirked a little, “She got a bad vibe off him, and she pointed out that the timing of it was weird from the time that he caught us to you vanishing. Plus, the note that you ‘wrote’? Please. I’ve been trying to decode your hastily written notes for me for years, I knew it wasn’t your handwriting.”

“He left a note?” Chloe frowned, “What did it say?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t like you like that. Gone home to NYC.” Beca shrugged, feeling a swell of anger inside her again, “Once I’d gotten over myself enough, I realised it didn’t sound anything like you.”

Chloe just shook her head a little, a sick feeling in her stomach as she realised just how lucky she was that her friends had figured everything out. If they hadn’t...

“We were never going to let anything happen to you Chlo.” Beca seemed to read her mind as she kissed the top of her head, “No way. I’d have never stopped looking for you.”

“I know.” Chloe nodded, her sore wrist held against her chest as she sniffed, “And that’s why I love you.”

[valentinesparda]

here we are, reminded of how we're doomed.

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

the walls are far too close together, every inch of surface covered in plastered posters and ripped paper. this part of town is juniper's least favourite, but marble was the only place to be where they could be themself. and maybe it was because they'd recently seen a few more dead bodies than they're comfortable with, maybe it was the desperate crush that they'd managed to fall into, but being by date's side was the safest place they could be as of late.

"maybe i should find a place to stay tonight. the kumakura boys know where i live, and you seemed to make a bad first impression on them by asking a bunch of questions." juniper waddles past an overfilled trash bin, trailing behind date by a few feet.

"just doing my job, you know." he turns to face them while still walking, yellow eye glowing in the dark. jun skips a couple of steps to be closer to the detective, and date cringes at the sound of how heavy their boots are against the stone walkway.

"you could be louder," he jokes, and jun immediately halts in response to his dry words. perhaps they had been a tad bit annoying. their small "sorry" is second nature to them, and they're worried date is about to scold them even more when they notice he's stopped walking as well.

a pause. date snaps his head toward the lamplight parting two buildings ahead of them, and as quick as he had done so, he's taking tentative steps back towards juniper. their head is tilted, and before they can even ask what the hell he's doing, he has his hand in theirs and pulling them deeper into the darkness they had barely just emerged from.

juniper feels their heart jump in their chest, a kickstart of paranoid thoughts and quickened pulse as they find a particularly shadowy area out of sight to nestle into, date's body caging them in without a second thought.

a meek noise sounds out from the back of their throat, a question that will not receive an answer, and for several quiet moments the two of them stand there, unmoving, as they hear the sound of heavy footsteps and muffled chatter. and for those several moments, starting from when date braces himself with a hand against the wall next to their head, juniper feels uncomfortably warm.

they don't dare make a sound, because who knows who could be traipsing about after hours? or maybe they would be able to think better if they weren't able to smell the kind of body wash date used. they're sure they recognize it, but--

dammit, this isn't the time to be distracted. some goon with a gun could turn the corner at any moment, and they'd be caught unawares. juniper knows they can't handle themself in a fight, and it's possible date would prefer to not engage any criminals, which leaves them scant for options - and thus, pressed firmly against a heavy wood panel.

"aiba says we're clear," date whispers, his sights still focused on hazy lamplight ahead of him. when he finally tears his worried gaze away from it to check on his small florist friend, he realizes what he's done.

their hair is wild as ever, close enough that he can smell their shampoo, and their thick brows are furrowed, lips downturned and jaw set with anxiety. date feels his throat is dry at the same time that he's realized that he's spent possibly too long looking down at them. he feels as though he might start hacking up a lung when juniper casts a curious glance up at him.

oh.

juniper feels their breath hitch in their throat. date's artificial eye is a blazing yellow in this proximity, making his naturally green one seem oddly drab in comparison. they notice his lips pull into a thin line, mirroring their own, and against their better judgement they let out a shuddering sigh into the cold air between them.

oh.

date tells himself to relax, to not clench his jaw so tight, to not stare too long, and his lips part in a shaky breath. but now that they've locked eyes, it's impossible not to feel himself drift closer and closer to them, like magnets drawn together. he can feel the grain of wood beneath his palm, even through the fabric of his purple gloves. juniper has ridges digging into their back with how far they've pressed themself into the wall.

oh, no.

juniper can feel his breath fan across their face, cooling the warm blush that has bloomed beneath the pale skin of their cheeks. they're scared stupid, but not so stupid that they give in to the urge to pull him as close as they could, to press their chapped lips against his, because from this distance his lips look so soft in comparison to their own.

before they can do anything dumb, date squeezes his eyes shut, his face scrunched in a look of annoyance.

"um, date, are-are you okay?" they stutter, the question barely audible enough for themself to know they've asked it, what with their heart hammering in their head.

"I'm fine. just...." he hisses, tapping his left temple with a single finger, "have an unwilling audience."

juniper lets out a small snort of a laugh, still a bit dazed from nervousness. they tilt their head, and with a gentle voice, they coo, "aiba, are you making fun of him?"

date feels like the wind has been knocked out of him, a breathless chuckle leaving him lightheaded. "she is. says my hormone levels are spiking or whatever."

juniper nods. it's a sour feeling, knowing that they have to be the one to ruin the moment - if that was a moment, they double back around to overthinking. "maybe we shouldn't be out in the open like this."

in a last bid for some sort of contact, some sort of flirtation, they push themself from the wall, and date is taken off guard by this. he watches them with an astonished look in his eyes, pulling his arms back down to his side as he takes step after step in time backward while they move forward. perhaps it was too bold of them, to hold his attention the whole time, a suggestive tango of push and pull until they're left standing in the middle of the alleyway the way they had been before.

there's a moment's hesitation on date's end, where he looks back towards the light at the end of the alley and then drags his gaze back to juniper. with his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat - for fear of his hands wandering, finding something to grab, with his body aching for the touch of their skin having been ripped away - he finally breaks the silence.

"do you still want to get a drink?"

[ephemeralove]

blood on the whetstone

Rusalka reminds her of what she can never cease to be.

When she was little, she had wanted a mother... though not specifically a mother, per se. She had wanted a family, a friend, a companion, a confidant -- she had wanted someone, anyone, who when they reached out their hand would not strike her down, but pull her back up. She had wanted to be loved.

By the time she arrives in Rusalka, Katarina has been slotted into the place where she belongs. Like one piece out of many to fashion a weapon, she is pointed twice over: first by the church towards the terrible unknown, and second by their guide Keranes. She presents them neither crimes nor comfort -- only familiar faces with which to bloody their hands. They number fourteen, a perfect mirror, and by their sacrifice they might dismantle this illusory village and cut the evil from its heart. Yet look as she might, all Katarina sees are the faces of those who have been loved.

Then one rainy day there came a woman robed in lovely colors-- a lady, not a mother -- who extended her hand. Not that Reese had known what to do with it. She shrank away as violets do, staring, quivering, scared. At that, the woman had laughed. It was a beautiful sound; no one had ever laughed for her before; and so she could not hear how still no one ever had. My name is Eremiyah, the woman had said, and that would be the first and only time Reese called her by name alone. Eremiyah, she had repeated, and there were stars in her eyes.

And there are stars in her eyes, brilliant, blue, and bright. The confusion of why Kris is here is rarely ever comparable to the joy of the simple fact of it. Her hand hovers by his elbow, but when he speaks, she knows: he is not her Kris. Perhaps he is not even Kris at all. Keranes' words echo in the back of her skull, a death knell that calls for half his number, but in her selfishness she does not want to give him up, not even if he is false. She worries that this will be their undoing, and worries more that she might regret not following him when he pulls away.

Her chin, poised between thumb and forefinger; the first hand to hold and not to hurt. "You'll do as I say. Won't you, Reese?" Pressure placed lightly at the point of bone. She could break away, if she wanted to, but then she would disappoint her. Clarisse would scoff, and Roro would laugh in the way she'd learned she didn't like. Blood smears on the fine edge of a blade Reese hesitates to hold, beading against the soft flesh of her palm, and Lady Eremiyah smiles the smile she would do anything for. "After all, your life exists for mine."

The sun has only just kissed its zenith in the sky when she looks down upon a young man's corpse. The first attempt on his life comes from the very man who had loved him into this place; the first to claim it from a girl whose mercy is to usher him away once more. It is through their first incendiary actions that Rusalka's soil turns copper and foul, though she cannot find it in herself to blame them. If not them, then someone else would have broken this tepid peace. Someone else would have hated her for the blood they spilled, faulted her for the crimes she learned because of them. Rusalka is not so different from Knorda.

Knorda was only ever beautiful when it was silent. Reese had never loved it, but she had liked it most when the night swept away the day and all its angels went to sleep, so that finally she could scrabble through the garbage for a bite to eat, and finally she could have a moment of rest until morning's first unfriendly heel found her ribs again. They were what Lady Eremiyah taught her not to be -- no, she was a weapon of a different kind. Her timidity, her soft-spoken manner, every facet of who she was refashioned into a tool until she could no longer trust herself. ...until she learned that earnestness was the best way to slip a knife between the ribs.

On their second morning, she is minded of Altea Castle -- not before her departure, but after her return. The once-and-no-longer tactician wears all the mistrust and suspicion with the familiarity of one who would be uncomfortable without it, instead standing at a lonesome edge in contemplation of her worry. Such mundane things as were her joy before (Had he eaten enough? Slept enough? He wasn't hiding any injuries, was he?) are vanished in the moment; are her sorrow now. And for good reason: Kris never comes back.

She killed because she was told to, because that was what she was made to be, and because-- she knew well this was the truth-- she had never chosen for herself to be better. In the end, she still never chose for herself, but for a bright blue star. He was the first to offer his hand and let her be; without carving her, without remaking her, she was enough for him the way she was. And he had laughed for her, once. It was a beautiful sound; no one had ever laughed for her before; and so she could finally hear how wonderful it was to be loved.

The path out of Rusalka they cut for themselves (she is not alone in her mourning, in her worry and sorrow) ends with a body. He lays in the dirt like some half forgotten thing, like his corpse is a pedestal to triumph, and Katarina hates it. Loathes it. Herself most of all for the fact that she will continue regardless of if he is true and real, because death is absolution for a sinner, and the things (the person) he loves remain behind.

The path into what she supposed was her home was as dark as she remembered, for she and they had lived there, and it was never a place meant for lovable things. But there was something worth saving now, though he would live on without her, and though he did not need to be saved. Yet he was the choice she made, and so she led them, light into the darkness.

One final act of defiance, the metaphorical guillotine at her throat--

--the metaphorical guillotine at his throat, the weapon he once polished now having bled him dry--

--the weapon she once polished now having bled her dry, and Katarina leaves her body in the dirt, blood sticky beneath her hands--

--and Katarina leaves his body in the dirt, wildflowers mournful beneath his hands, and it terrifies her that she has no answer for the question heavy at the back of her mind.

Am I... different than I was back then?

They return to Rusalka; light ebbs into darkness ebbs into light. She considers in frenetic, wounded, resentful cycles all manner of things: Who was it? Did they think he was real? Why did they choose him? Was his blood so easy to spill? They make a torrent, a maelstrom, gnashing the kindness she wants to be between the fangs of heartache. And Keranes asked this of them, did she not? She had set them upon their hearts and by this upon each other, a tepid why offered without so much as a how -- and they all had been so happy to oblige.

...In the end, she does not kill because she chooses not to, even if choice has been a hard thing to learn.

(The blade remains sharp, for the past can never be unmade. It is part of her, and she is Katarina: a lady's broken blade, the king's knife, and the sum of the love she has been given & the blood on the whetstone.)

[madderot]

Confession.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been– many years since my last confession.”

It didn’t feel right. It never had, but especially now, he was almost at a loss for words. Leaned back against the wall of the confessional, hat resting in his lap, he stared up at the low ceiling of the claustrophobic box, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I’m a liar, father. Don’t remember the last time I even bothered tellin’ no one the full truth.”

“Why’s that, my son?” The priest was calm, the easy going demeanor making the outlaw squirm. He’d bet he’d heard that kind of confession countless times before, and the casual nature of the inquiry made him uneasy, knowing he had much worse to say beyond this sin.

“I- I feel like I got so much t’ hide. Ain’t never felt like I been accepted for who I am. My daddy didn’t want me, my mama took her life t’ get away from me-” He knew that last part wasn’t necessarily true- His mother had been a troubled woman, but that hadn’t made it any easier to find her body at eight years old. “There are jus’ some things I can’t accept about myself. So why would anyone else? I was born cursed, ain’t no way ‘round it.”

He heard the priest shift and take pause as he let out a slow sigh in an attempt to calm himself. “I mean, father, I… Fuck- sorry- I was born a woman, and it just ain’t right. I’ve never been- never wanted t’ be a woman. I’ve always been a man. N’ if anyone finds out-” He had to cut himself off with a sharp inhale, tapping his foot restlessly.

“I understand.” The priest broke the silence, skipping passing further judgement for the moment.

The silence lingered for just a short moment after that, before he felt like he could speak again without breaking down.

“I’m a bad man, father. I’ve lost my faith over th’ years, always feelin’ like this sufferin’ never ends. I’ve thrown out my morals jus’ t’ make a livin’. They tell stories ‘bout me in some towns. A man in red, takin’ bounties, killin’ in th’ name of money.” Somehow, this was easier to talk about than the lesser sins he’d started with. “Not cuz’ i wanna, but I gotta. M’ useless on a ranch, can’t settle down n’ start nothin’ on my own. Can’t marry, can’t have kids, can’t even stay in one place too long.” The dark ceiling was beginning to look too familiar, and he was itching to get out. “I’ll leave here today n’ go right back t’ pushin’ coke n’ killin’ for cash, n’ th’ only thing I’ll be prayin’ for is that I’ll never see ya’ again.”

The silence was deafening. After a moment of lingering on it, he set his hat aside and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry for these, and all my sins.” He finished out his confession into his hands, words muffled for the priest on the other side of the thin curtained wall.

“Well, my son,” The man started after leaving him to linger in his thoughts for just a moment too long. “It sounds like you know better. You’ve strayed from the light of the Lord, and you’re sick of the darkness.” He remained silent though the father’s words, hands coming to rest on his thighs. “There’s always hope, my child. You can choose to repent.”

The thought of redemption made him want to scream. There was nothing to make up for what he’d done, and if there was a hell, he was certain he’d be there sooner, rather than later.

“Pray, and do good deeds. You can’t undo what you’ve done, but you can strive to be a better person.”

He continued to sit in silence, fingers digging hard into his jeans. After what felt like an eternity but could only have been a few seconds, he cleared his throat softly, nodding solemnly to himself. “Yes, father…” Though he was sure they both knew he wasn’t going to change any time soon.

“My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and…” He was surprised he remembered those closing words, the prayer coming easy to him even after over a decade of absence from the church. “In his name, my God, have mercy.” His fingertips came up to his forehead, crossing down to his chest and across to each of his shoulders, and he reached for his hat once more.

“Amen.”

[soapfcrce-a]

five times glanced at:      ( five times the receiver noticed the sender stealing glances at them )

The first time, they hadn’t known each other’s names. Soap couldn’t have been much older than twenty at the time, bright eyes and wired like a sugar rush child for his first big job. Personally handpicked by Price for a manifest grab, his stupid high wired brain even preened at the short jabs and jokes as the group spoke (“The FNG’s here, Sir. Be gentle.” “What the hell kind of name is Soap anyways?”). All in good fun.

It was hard to not notice him in the distance at the back of the hangers during the meeting, Soap’s eye caught the hood faster than the rest of him. The barracks were a contained space, word traveled, and maybe he couldn’t help but wonder if Andrew had been serious about whether or not that guy looked about as monstrous as his size. He also wondered if that was the scary bastard that he supposedly wiped the record of in the Pit—

The sharp jab to his side caught him before hood-man turning did. Soap could swear he could see the dull glint of the hanger lights reflecting off of sunglasses directed at him from the corner of his eye.

------

The second time, it’s exfil on their first job together. Still no names—not directly, anyways. It was always a weird one when the target seemed to know a lot more about the team than you did. At least nearly putting his head through the floor of the helicopter seemed to make the Russian asshole shut up for the rest of the flight…

The rush of the adrenaline had burned away finally, but there was a strange embarrassment settling on his shoulders. Painful awareness of what it must’ve looked like absolutely losing it in front of his superiors? Perhaps. Shepard and Price seemed focus on their capture, so he looked over at Ghost. Measuring the situation he just put himself in? Perhaps.

Was that the look of impressed or the look of ‘Yes, Sergent, you really did just fuck up’ he got back? Those stupid sunglasses and mask made it hard to tell. Well, hopefully the dress down wouldn’t be as painful…

------

The third time, they’re stuck in a car in Mexico. Rodolfo and Alejandro had been nice enough to give them the rough lay of the situation at least, but even Soap had so much of an attention span to listen to everything properly. Ghost…

Well, he can’t help but notice the listless reaction and half distant stare. Soap hadn’t bothered to think about it before, but masks were typically for one of two things in his experience: to hide something or to hide from something. He was smart enough to not try and barge too deep into business that wasn’t his own, but with that sad look in such big brown eyes? He couldn’t help but wonder if it was a bit of both.

When Ghost notices, it’s a miracle that he was able to play it off like the smudge on the window was the most interesting thing in the world. It’s another quiet moment, but Soap has already decided for himself that if he’s to put his life in this man’s hands then he won’t be another thing that makes him look so sad.

---------

The fourth time, they both clearly know the situation was about to turn much worse quicker than Alejandro did. The shared look of disbelief as Graves has his little villain speech, a silent question between them both. This was deeper, wasn’t it? No way he’d just betray them like this. No way the backstab was going to be this smooth, right?

An unspoken plan for when the encounter inevitably went tits up, Soap immediately grabbing one guy for a meatshield while he can hear Ghost smoothly take out the ones closest to him with a knife. When he felt Graves’s bullet tear through his shoulder, it was almost scary to hear just how panicked Simon sounded in his ears screaming his name and for him to run.

Soap decided he never wanted to hear him like that again.

--------

The fifth time, it’s exfil again. He feels the exhaustion in his bones along with the newest in pains and aches that probably also had their own pains and aches. Well, Soap didn’t exactly have falling down an elevator shaft on his bingo list…

Packed as tight as they could be like a sardine can, he could see the lights of Chicago that hadn’t gotten knocked flickering through the van windows. What a strange thing to appreciate when just minutes earlier he had nearly gotten thrown out of a window. He knew he couldn’t see it in the dark, but he still looked up at the taller man next to him. Ghost didn’t seem to take long to notice the way Soap had shuffled and looked over, a small tilt in his head as if to ask something. Maybe it was the exhaustion making him a bit delirious, but Soap couldn’t help but snort and let himself plop against one big arm for a quick rest.

He was surprised that Simon didn’t shove him off for that, but maybe a solid closeness was just something they both really needed.

[muttsupreme]

LIPSTICK ON ROMAAAAANNNNNNNNN

him w this hair in s1……ROMAAAANNNN!!!!! bring back ur s1 hair and my life is yours..

I’ve written so many drafts previously (um obviously not here but privately) about Roman using your lipstick/lipgloss and most frequently, your chapstick.

It starts with him wanting to smell like you; vanilla lip masks that look way too sticky but he tries a little on his fingertip and rubs it on very lightly after you leave your desk. Shiv’s face scrunches up when she sees him with a glossy lip for the first time since she let him borrow her Polly Pocket makeup kit when they were kids (her mom got it for her before it was even released, and assumed she’d be so excited; she was not).

Shiv will make some snide quip, privately for once.

“Uhh, did you…just come back from Sephora, or…?”

“What?” He immediately goes on high-alert, higher defense, and realizes that it must be glossy, the fucking lip mask bullshit that smells like warm vanilla and cookies and tastes like pure sugar when he stupidly licks his lips without thinking (or maybe to hope, y’know, that your spit is in it, so it’s indirect kissing). “Oh - fuck you, do you want chapped, dry, disgusting lips? Because some of us don’t want to look like ogres, Fiona.”

“Hey, I was just asking,” she says in a higher pitch with a dismissive chuckle. She doesn’t mention it again; she recognized the smell, who that smell usually follows. Roman’s wary of her from then on, for weeks.

Next time, he’s going through your bag that you refuse to unpack, because it’s only a weekend trip and then you’re going somewhere else immediately after. Why unpack when you’re gonna repack the next day?

He sees stuff, tons of stuff. Sniffs sweaters when you turn around. He’s got your blanket pulled out already, draped across the bed and him, laying on his side looking at you as you get ready for bed in the ensuite bathroom, door open so he can continue making fun of your regiment and the things you’ve packed.

From your purse nearby, or your makeup bag, he picks up a lipstick (I imagine Diorelita). It opens with a quiet ‘pop’ that you recognize and turn around to see him looking attentively at the color.

“Think it suits me?”

“Mmh, maybe. Wanna see?” You reply with a grin, watching him get a little shy on you.

“C’mere,” you encourage him, sitting on his lap as he leans against the headboard, your lipstick in hand. “Lemme make you pretty.”

He lets you, and you’re shocked he’s staying so still. When you’re done, you snarkily - but entirely jokingly - say, “Now what do we say?”

“Fuck you? Thank you, for…making me pretty,” and he does, he’s very, very pretty with that color on, and you did very well gliding it on evenly. He leans up to kiss you just as you lean down to kiss him; the lipstick smears onto your lips.

“Roro - your lipstick’s getting on me,” you try to rub it off, unsexily. You don’t really have to be sexy around him, it’s one of your favorite things.

“Um, it’s your lipstick, I’m just…temporarily borrowing it,” he huffs defensively. His heart literally does fucking cartwheels when you call him that stupid, almost maternal nickname. “Just come here - shut the fuck up, stop complaining. I’d lick the lipstick off you if you’d just get a little - closer.”

“Aw, romantic boy,” you coo, kissing him sweetly and feeling his tongue stick out, lapping at your lips, making good on his promise like a little puppy. When you’re almost positive he must be done, you pull away, but he’s not having it.

“Whoa - slow your fucking roll, you’re not going anywhere, you look…you look like a clown, lipstick’s still all over everywhere,” he says, trying to get you to come back instead of going back to the bathroom. You’re pretty sure, not positive but willing to bet, that he’s lying and you have no lipstick left anywhere on your face.

“I’ll come back,” you reassure with a whisper; you hate to leave him alone when he’s being so sweet, with such pretty makeup on. “Aww, pretty baby,” you can’t stop yourself from cooing at the unintentionally pouty look on his face, one he’d be humiliated by if he saw. You give him a chaste peck.

“Jesus, give me a second to brush my teeth and pee and I’ll be back. Promise.”

“Yeah, but then you won’t taste like you, you’ll taste like…mint and tap water,” he complains. There’s no pleasing him, other than you being beside him at all times.

Okay whatever that’s just two of my many one billion ideas of Romulus and his obsession with…….indirectly kissing you, being pretty for you, being close to you, and um, your lips in general. I could and might write another little thought-post about his obsession with your lips and stuff, who knows. I’m feeling romantical (‘roman’ being the main part of the word).

[sicksoulmark]

For the @sterekdrabbles prompt: Dark, Book, Border.

Derek reached out for Stiles in the dark, his long fingers stroking over the prominent hills of Stiles’ knuckles, leaving a pleasant shiver in their wake. Coach had given up on teaching for the afternoon, so they were watching Independence Day instead. Again. At the back of the classroom, cloaked in shadow, Stiles and Derek sat pressed together from shoulder to thigh.

“This movie blows,” Derek whispered, resting his chin against Stiles’ collarbone.

Stiles paused doodling love hearts around the border of his economics book and shot Derek the side-eye. “Pretty people really can just say whatever they want, huh?”

[arcanaaa]

To @shinebrightlikealion, the love of my life, my partner, and my beloved friend, Happy Anniversary! Here's to celebrating 11 years of our friendship and the ship that we've built lovingly through blood, sweat, and tears. Here's my gift to you, and I hope to celebrate many more years together.

An argument between man and beast was not the scene Cana expected to encounter, and certainly not this late in the morning. For Cana, it was becoming a routine to wake to the sounds of the hustle and bustle in her small kitchen while the food was prepared for Loke and herself. But she didn’t expect her lover to berate their newest addition: Sol.

“Look, as a man with a certain familiarity with feline nature, I know you have instincts that you cannot control-- however, I will not abide by your wanton destruction of my plants!”

“Mrow!”

“I won’t hear any more of your excuses Sol, if I catch you biting my plants again, you’re going in the carrier.”

Cana winced in sympathy. Poor Sol. At this moment, the Seer chose this time to walk out into the living room and approach the irate Lion. She couldn’t quite contain her amusement, as it was apparent when her arms slipped around his waist from behind the chuckle that slipped past her lips. “Caught him chewing on the leaves again?”

“Yes!” The Lion responded with a terse sigh. “He’s already chewed one of the leaves off my Pothos-- which, by the way are toxic to cats-- and nearly killed it!”

Cana hummed sympathetically. “I take it Sol didn’t eat the leaf?”

“No, I took it out of his mouth before he could, the little--” Loke sighed. “I don’t understand why he’s so fixated on eating my plants.”

“Maybe he’s bored?” Cana said. “Or hungry?”

“I fed the beast this morning,” Loke looked at her, offended. “I might be annoyed with the little beast, but I still make sure he’s fed Cana.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Cana soothed, leaning up on her tip-toes to give his chin a kiss. “I know you take good care of him Loke.” She stroked her fingers through his hair, fluffing the signature ‘ears’ of his hair style playfully before flashing him a small smile. “Even if you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him,” Loke corrected. “I’m simply establishing a boundary, as someone who is in charge.”

“Are you now?” Cana quirked her eyebrow, her lips ticking up in further amusement. “You think that you’re the man in charge, mm?”

Loke stilled. “Aren’t I not the man in charge?” He countered, a certain curiosity threading through the notes of his voice.

Cana hummed. “Well...if we’re being completely honest here...I think you’re forgetting who really runs things…”

Cana circled around him, her hands tracing around his back until she stood in front of him, her fingers lightly sliding up and down the silk pattern of his tie. Teasingly. “You might be in charge elsewhere, Loke,” Cana said softly. “But right now, the only person who is in charge right now…”

Suddenly she tightened her fingers around his tie.

“...is me.”

The Seer suddenly yanked the tie, pulling him down so her mouth could catch his, locking her lips with his in a teasing, passionate kiss. Cana may not be physically strong by comparison, but she can bring any man down to their knees without resorting to a contest of strength. With Loke, she didn’t need to exercise any physical tactics to prove she was the one in charge. All she needed was a soft touch and a kiss and he was all hers.

Their kiss lasted until she parted for air. But their mouths hovered close, as if they were on the verge of resorting back to their passionate kissing session.

“...mm...point taken,” Loke murmured huskily. “Forgive me for overstepping. I’m not sure what came over me,” His thumb caught her bottom lip and caressed the flesh, stroking back and forth in a teasing manner. “Though, I’m happy to receive another reminder...as many times as needed, if you would indulge me~.”

“First, you need to earn that reminder, starting with feeding me,” Cana retorted with a cheeky smile. “And second, not while Sol is watching. He might get jealous.”

“You’re worried he would get jealous?” Loke responded incredulously. “And not the man who’s making you breakfast?”

“Sol’s just a little baby,” She said defensively, turning to gather the disgruntled orange cat in her arms. “He doesn’t understand that what we have is not for his eyes.”

“On that we can agree.” Loke replied before smiling and shaking his head ruefully. Cana watched as he went to the kitchen to resume making breakfast-- a task he had been doing before lecturing her cat-- before she kissed the top of Sol’s head and carried him over to the spare room. With him safely put away, Cana could return to enjoy her meal in peace-- and perhaps the man who made it.

[flyingpotstickers]

Under the stars, anything could happen. Lots of things already do happen; like people falling asleep...some in love, some not. Each of them deserving of rest. Not one of them though, Kara thought, as much as this woman in her lap did.

Kara had worn Lena out in the best of ways; taking her on a date around the world. Now that Kara was out as Supergirl, well, anything could happen.

Like a date underneath the stars.

So underneath the bridge of National City, Kara settled Lena in her arms and let her rest. If anyone were somehow able to stumble upon them, well. They'd see it all written on Kara's face. The stars in the sky shone bright, but nothing would ever top the way Lena had looked tonight.

Kara knew it. Lena knew it --- hell, their shared mailman knew it.

They were in love // Thank you to @speeeenc for the prompt :)

[offrozenmemoirs]

What Do You Fight For?

Seraph sits on the ground, exhaling softly. His spear and sword rest next to him, his eyes are closed, and the top half of his armor lay discarded on the other side of him. Meditation after his training sessions was how he grounded himself once more, working off stress from his duties, and the ever growing presence of Khorne within his mind.

He should be getting some sleep, but after his time with Soup, he was restless. He reluctantly climbed out of bed, redressing himself and heading out to the beachfront. The salty scent of the sea filing his nose, and feeling the sand shift beneath his boots. The moonlight itself looked rather beautiful, but bought him no reprieve from the thoughts in his mind. The beach is empty, given the narrowly averted catastrophe that just happened, Seraph understands their aversion to any midnight strolls along the beach. It was oddly quiet, aside from the sound of rolling waves.

He thinks of the future confrontation between the group and the leader of this tribe of Cetaceans. From what he recalls, they're big on honor and strength. He was banking on that to get a duel with the leader of this tribe, if he won, he would be acknowledged as strong enough to do as he wished. A duel doesn't need to end with the death of either combatant, but...

"Do you honestly believe such a proud creature like that would yield to you? How convenient would that be?"

The echo of the chaos god's words is still clear in his mind. He struggles with the urges that come with combat, to rend apart all of his enemies, and with how fiercely he can fight sometimes...To say that Khorne is pleased with that would be an understatement. Though, that's not to say he's the only one who apparently likes how Seraph gets in battle.

"Sometimes it scares me, a little... but you know what? I like it. I swear, when we were out cold... I was dreaming, wishing to experience some of what you unleashed near that lighthouse."

The words of his lover cause a faint smile to flicker across his face, before he steels his expression once more. It's odd, not having many voices in his head, to hold conversations with the Deathwatchers, or occasional conversations with his father. Seraph's mind has been mostly quiet, with the occasional comment from Khorne, or conversations with Freya. It's odd, and he misses the presence of his father and Pharasma.

"You were quite fierce in battle. Leaping into the skies to impale your foes and then scattering them...A spear suits you much better than that scythe you had. But then there's that sword of yours...What a marvelous piece of steel. Frigid to the touch, and it only seems to like you as its master. You've done well to christen it in blood as of late."

It was true that Skadi was temperamental about who touched her, giving people a nasty case of frostburn when they touched her hilt. Even Rok had spoken about how he never touched the blade after he forged it. It had been a comfort, to have a sword similar to Joseph, especially while his scythe was being reforged into a spear. It too, held a name, Susano'o, a Kitaian deity of storms, if he was recalling his studies correctly. He couldn't put his finger on it, but, it felt right to give the weapon forged from his very soul such a name. Susano'o was much like its master, seeking a purpose, to grow into what it was meant to be.

"What will you do if you cannot convince this 'Storm Thief' to stand down?"

Seraph frowns, knowing that in Cetacean culture, in some tribes, surrender was akin to being shamed. For someone christening himself as the Storm Thief, having stolen Rhalgr's trident, had the power to back up his name. Though it was a power that wasn't earned, and in a strange sense, perhaps he agreed with Khorne's assessment, another warlord looking to make a name for themselves.

"If he doesn't surrender, then I'll do what I must and end him. Nothing more, nothing less."

Khorne hums in acknowledgement of Seraph's answer.

"And if someone comes for revenge? If you kill him, you'll have to deal with the fallout."

The elf doesn't have an answer, and it's clear on his face, lips curling into a frown.

"If I can make a suggestion...Perhaps it would be better to kill him in such a way that any challengers would be petrified. Tear him apart, rip his throat out with your teeth. Bathe in his blood and let them know that challenging you is to court death itself."

Seraph opens his eyes, to see someone standing in front of him, he doesn't want to look up, knowing what he'll see. Yet, he meets the other's gaze, staring himself in the face, a wicked grin that was far too wide, filled with teeth sharpened like knives, and that damnable blazing, piercing red gaze. He wishes that Khorne didn't stand in front of him, the waves rolling past his ankles. The shadow walks forward, staring down at Seraph, meeting his gaze as he begins to speak.

"It's always better to be feared, Seraph. Many think of me as someone obsessed with killing, to see my enemies scattered to the winds. I enjoy my bloodshed, of course, but I know the power of a reputation as well. You know that you must do whatever it takes to protect the innocent. Even if they hate you for it, they will still be alive to do so. There's still honor in shedding blood for justice."

Seraph isn't naive enough to believe that. Even if he agrees that the innocent must be protected.

"I'm not foolish enough to believe that you have my best interests at heart. You tried setting Soup's blood on fire. You and I shall never be friends, nor allies. Not after all you've done to my family and loved ones."

A dark chuckle leaves the doppelganger's lips. Seraph hates looking at Khorne because he sees himself bulging with muscle, covered in ritualistic scarring and nails more akin to claws. He sees a vicious mockery of himself, and his once blue eyes are now entirely red, blazing with a crazed fury. Veins alight with an unholy glow, as if his very blood had turned to fire. Interestingly, Khorne didn't take his current appearance into account; instead, he had his original black hair, which was shorter, with daemonic horns. It's almost a mockery of his draconic heritage. It scares him more than seeing Makoto ever did. Perhaps it reminded him of the patient ward in Ingora, where that man begged him for forgiveness. It's a reminder of what he could've been had he continued on his path…Or what he could still become if he ever lost his way.

"Say what you will, Seraph. But you're a perfect candidate for my teachings. How many did you kill in that last fight? How many of your foes died screaming? Cetaceans don't often have fear struck into them, but you...You're something special. After all, I wouldn't have my eye on you if I thought you weren't worth my time. You have my favor...My blessings will give you strength beyond strength, if you would accept me."

Seraph says nothing in response, instead, grabbing Skadi. He unsheathes his blade, and cuts the mockery of himself down, watching as Khorne's form fades into the air. He almost expected blood and guts to spill out, but instead a black mist is the only reward for his efforts. He ignores the laughter leaving its lips, a deep, rumbling tone that he's come to associate with the god of blood. He would never accept Khorne's offers. Power always came with a price, no matter the source. He resumes training, not wanting to sleep any time soon, though he's sure he'll drag himself back to the shared hotel room, and get what little sleep he can...eventually.

[hopefromadoomedtimeline]

Sometimes he wondered if he deserved a break. If he could allow himself to sleep and take it easy while someone else saves people from danger. He, just for once, could have someone else take the plethora of responsibilities that came with being the world’s last defender.

Only a single day. That’d all it be. Even an hour would suffice and then he’d make up for it by putting in twice as much effort as before. But that was him being selfish, wasn’t it? Selfish thoughts for a man who wanted to do nothing more than rest. 

That was far too generous for someone like him.

He was exhausted. And he was alone. And he knew no one else would help if he didn’t. He also knew that even if he wanted to he would never be able to ignore the anguished cries of those fleeing for their lives and desperate pleas out for someone to save them. 

Was there anyone out there that was going to save him? If he should fall, would anyone catch him? If he were to cry out for help, would anyone answer his call?

More selfish thoughts. He’s their savior, they’re not his. 

He can rest when it’s over, no matter how long it takes.

Still... part of him wonders how nice it would be just to close his eyes for a little while.

Everyone was a little selfish from time to time, weren’t they?

Perhaps there was a day where he could afford to be selfish.

...He looked forward to that day.