#imagining rocking up for a lecture and the first thing the class does is sing bakamitai together

[earnestly-endlessly]

hi! hope you're doing well :) do you have any domestic!cherik fics? or established relationship ones?

Hi anon, thanks for the ask. I'm doing very well, been super busy because I'm currently moving but it's all good. I have plenty of great domestic/established relationship cherik fics for you. I hope you enjoy!!

Domestic/Established Relationship cherik

Daycare ‘Verse’ – orphan_account, pocky_slash

Summary: A modern AU in which Charles runs a mutant daycare and Erik is his long-suffering engineer boyfriend.

Runs in the Family – Anonysquirrel (chibirisuchan)

Summary: Alex knew his own reputation. Hell, he'd started some of his own reputation, because it kept some of the smarter thugs off his back. Everyone knew Alex's reputation. There was no way Hank didn't know his reputation, but he'd brought Alex into a house with some really expensive things and a lot of innocent little kids and his too-friendly, too-harmless dad.

But clearly Hank hadn't told his family anything about Alex, just like he hadn't told Alex anything about his family. At least, not about the brain-breaking parts of his family.

"I didn't know where to start," Hank said, for the dozenth time.

Gift of the Magi, But Screw it Up – librata

Summary: He doesn't know if he's buying too much, too little, or even the right things at all, because he's never entertained a guest as important as Edie Lehnsherr.

Making perfect – aesc

Summary: As is the case with most trials in Erik's life, this one starts with Charles gazing beseechingly at him and asking him for a favor. Not that their going-on-three years relationship is a trial, even though it started with Charles giving Erik the full benefit of sad blue eyes and asking him if he wouldn't mind opening his car door since he'd locked his keys inside, but still.

Continue firm and constant – aesc

Summary: Moira hasn't seen her old partner in saving the world from threats human and intergalactic, Erik Lehnsherr, for a few years. When she finally does see him again, she finds a man different from the one who's been with her down in the dark and the dirt and the blood... or maybe he isn't so different after all.

After School Special – listerinezero

Summary: Charles was barely seventeen and Erik was his social studies teacher. But after almost fifteen years together, does it really matter how they met?

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Trying is Half the Battle – Pookaseraph

Summary: Post-Cuba, no divorce, Charles and Erik are in an established relationship and when Charles gets sick with a random flu bug, they discover that Charles can get pregnant. They then try to get pregnant, and try, and try.

We’ll all be gone for the summer – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles and Erik's usual family beach vacation gets a little bigger when they agree to watch Erik's teenaged twins for the summer. Charles is looking forward to a chance to bond with his step-children. Erik is terrified of screwing them up even more.

A Summer Day So Late in Coming – helens78

Summary: Fifty years after they fell in love, Erik comes to Charles with a proposal that rocks Charles's world.

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

Before You Attempt Me (Fair Warning) – kianspo

Summary: Charles helps Raven get ready for the prom. Surprisingly, that part goes well. The prom itself not so much. Erik cooks a lot of unhealthy comfort foods and is incredibly patient. Charles mostly frets about everything, until Erik does something neither he, nor Raven see coming.

And now you will not be alone any more – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik gives driving, sewing, and cooking lessons, soothes nightmares, bolsters self-esteem, and still can't figure out why Charles keeps smiling at him like that.

Some sense of touch and a melody – pocky_slash

Summary: On a day when Charles, for once, finds himself saying the right thing to everyone he sees, he allows himself to be talked into a field trip to a local orchard.

It’s kind of our whole thing – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: After two years of best friendship, Charles and Erik thought they knew everything there was to know about each other. They're surprised, then, when their first summer as a couple reveals that they have a lot to learn about each other and themselves.

Indulgence – grim_lupine

Summary: “The children are still asleep,” Charles murmurs groggily, flinging an arm out as if searching for Erik beside him. “The house is still standing, this is a ghastly hour, and more importantly, I’m still here. Why do you insist on doing this every morning?”

Your Father’s Daughter – ConsultingWriter

Summary: Wanda proves just how much she takes after Erik.

Pietro reeled back before leaning back in "They didn't tell you what happened? Wanda got in a fist fight and totally wailed on this guy, I mean, on one hand I feel kinda embarrassed for him, but it was so epic."

Erik's eyebrows shot to his hairline. Wanda got in a fight? That was....surprising, to say the least. Wanda tended to take after Charles in temperament and preferred talking to violence.

This Crazy Game Called Life – chiasmus

Summary: Raven declares game night in the mansion. Sean finds an elephant, Erik inherits one hundred unwanted cats, and Charles scars Hank for life with misdirected dirty thinking. This is five thousand-something words of crack with a dose of schmoop. I'm not sorry. Written for this kink meme prompt: Raven is tired of the boys going off to play chess (if they're even playing chess!) and pulls out a load of board games from one of the closets in the mansion. Madness ensues.

To my roomba with love – sareyen

Summary: There are a lot of things that Erik loves about Charles. He loves all of the obvious things; Charles’s kindness, his intelligence, his laughter, his eyes. He also loves the little private things; the way Charles sneaks Erik his unwanted tomatoes, his warbled opera singing in the shower, that sensitive spot on his hip.

And he loves the silly things about Charles, especially the way the man has a habit of talking to inanimate objects when he thinks no one is looking. Charles has conversations with the kettle, the washing machine, and their roomba – and every time Erik eavesdrops on him, he falls in love with the man a little bit more.

Everything About it is a Love Song – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's spent fifty years being a figurehead and he's ready to leave that behind. Luckily, so is Charles.

(aka Old Retired Dudes in Love)

A Very Xavier-Lehnsherr Christmas – zamwessell

Summary: Erik is discovering new things about Charles Xavier all the time. Charles sometimes talks in his sleep. Often about food. Occasionally in Latin. Charles has a scar on his left thigh from attempting to demonstrate relativity to a girl by sitting on a hot stove. Charles doesn’t mean to be so loud when they make love, but sometimes Charles can’t help himself.

Charles is a voracious reader. Charles has an unspeakably filthy imagination. Charles will try anything in bed twice to make sure he wasn’t wrong the first time.

Charles is unexpectedly fond of Christmas. Perhaps that is not the phrase. “Unhealthily obsessed” might be better.

The fluffiest holiday fluff you ever read in your dang life.

Of Crabs and Castles – flightinflame 

Summary: Charles and Erik take their children to the beach. Wanda builds a sandcastle, Nina makes some friends, and Pietro gets some exercise. Some family fun in the sunshine.

Bring Your Daughter To Work Day – listerinezero

Summary: Charles brings three year old Lorna to class with him.

Glasses – grim_lupine

Summary: Charles blinks at him bemusedly, but Erik barely notices because Charles is wearing glasses— wire-rimmed, and Erik can feel the metal humming, traces without touch the way they follow the curve of Charles’s nose and rest behind his ears.

Genetics Isn’t Sexy – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles lectures. The kids aren't very responsive. Erik, on the other hand....

Peanut Butter and Honey (The Fairytale Remix) – pocky_slash

Summary: Once upon a time there was a Princess named Anya who lived in a house with her Daddy and her wicked stepmother Charles. (A wicked stepmother is the person who comes and lives with princesses and their daddies after their mommies go away.) She had a best friend named Leroy, and one day he was lost.

The Bystander (The Consultant (aka A Westchester Telepath in the Avengers Tower) Remix) – Nanimok

Summary: When it comes to Professor Charles Xavier, telepath, SHIELD consultant and compulsive flirt, no one is safe.

Not even the Big Three.

[thevalleyisjolly]

Thinking about alternate character classes lately, and I’m always thinking about A Crown of Candy at any given point in time, so without further ado, for your consideration:

Wizard!Theo, except that he’s the only wizard ever with a positive Strength modifier because that would be hilarious.  Wizard!Theo, who learned more from Lazuli than anyone knew, whose magic isn’t loud or flashy but spell notes hidden in a false prayer book, a soft glow on the tips of his paws and a muttered breath as one of the princesses falls from the top of the staircase again only to land on their feet, as softly as a feather.  In this world, he’s officially the royal tutor, because there are things that Caramelinda doesn’t know, but she does know what Lazuli taught him and she knows where his loyalties lie and she knows that one day, one day the spark she can see in Ruby’s eyes will need a teacher but will more importantly need a protector.  And to the princesses, to the rest of the court, to the world, he’s a slightly gullible, rather awkward tutor who stands on ceremony far too much, and they laugh at him and his silly little sprinkle pet and isn’t he a bit of a large goon?  Even Amethar forgets, every now and then, what he’s seen Theo do on a battlefield, to a battlefield, because as awkward as his social skills may be, Theo is committed to the part and he plays it well.  In any lifetime, in any world, Theo loves his people and he’ll do what he has to for them.

Bonus subclass: School of Abjuration obviously, this squishy gummy bear has one mission, and that’s to protect people.

Rogue!Lapin, because obviously.  Rogue!Lapin, who never summoned the Sugar Plum Fairy, who smiled and charmed and lied his way from the street to the service of a minor but respectable lord, and from there up and up the social strata until he is chamberlain to House Jawbreaker.  Duke Jawbreaker doesn’t bother much with him, but Spearia Mentha takes one look at Lapin, standing too straight and tall, the accent of the common mountain folk still seeping out at his edges, his eyes sharp and clever even when bowing and murmuring obedience, and she thinks “Hmm.”  And when her sweet baby has to go to Castle Candy as hostage, a safe and willing hostage, but a hostage nonetheless, she writes to dear sister Caramelinda and asks would it be alright if she sent someone from her own household, just to keep an eye on the boy, for her peace of mind as a mother?  Liam arrives at Castle Candy, sans pig, plus one very stuffy guardian, and Lapin Cadbury looks up at the towering spires and parapets of the castle, and a small, rare smile flashes across his face for just a second.

Bonus subclass: Mastermind is really the only way to go, isn’t it?

Sorcerer!Amethar, but listen, alright, my kingdom for Sorceror!Amethar who grows up with magic as rage flowing through his veins, whose wrath manifests not as bursts of concentrated battle fury, but in wild surges of strange and powerful magic.  There is magic in the blood and bones of House Rocks, an old and willful magic.  His sisters protected him, as much as they could, but still, there are whispers, more so once the young prince becomes the grieving king with the eyes of the world on him.  People mutter about the witch king of Candia, they say that he’s levelled armies with his sorcery, that he’s bewitched the Emperor Gustavo into friendship, that he’s dangerous and brings only death and destruction.  And it hurts, it does, not because he cares what other people think, but because they aren’t all wrong.  Look at him, the Unfallen, alive when so many have died.  It hurts that he has so much power singing in his blood, and he’s the one who’s powerless, who can’t be the protector, who must be the protected.  Why him?  Why not strong Rococoa, or brilliant Lazuli, or kind Citrina, or cunning Sapphria?  Why is he alive and not them, when he is the wildcard, the dangerous one, the last person who should be king?

Bonus subclass: I mean, it’s gotta be Wild Magic, no doubt about it.

Druid!Cumulous is another story that writes itself.  Druid!Cumulous still swears the same vows of dedication and protection to Candia’s magic, Candia’s secrets, and so Candia itself rises to acknowledge that.  It isn’t the red glow of the Hungry One that surrounds him when he fights, but the bright pink of the frosting sprites, the warm chocolate of the fudge brownies, the brilliant lemon-yellow of the river dragon’s scales, the slightest tint of sugar plum purple.  All spirits are fickle and unpredictable and dangerous, but they can recognize faith and they can appreciate service and they can reward what is freely given.  The Sugar Plum Fairy considers this one for a while.  She has no little pet bunny in this world, no servant to demand wishes from.  But fairies are jealous, too jealous.  Hearts and minds and souls, of course they should be hers, wholly hers, why wouldn’t they be, and for all the vastness of her realm, all her secrets and all her magic, there is something more to Candia than what is just in her.  So she lets this one be, and lays her trap for another prize, a bigger prize…

Bonus subclass: You could honestly make a good argument for Circle of the Shepherd or Circle of the Land, although Circle of the Moon is pretty great for more combat-focused war guys druids.

Warlock!Saccharina’s life is still a tragedy, because magic was only the most obvious thing that the nuns tried to beat out of her.  Warlock!Saccharina is not born with lightning in her fingers and a storm in her heart, but she is born with a strength and a will that the nuns despise.  In this world, Saccharina looks in the window, in the mirror, and she still sees a blue woman, a kind woman with a kind face, reaching out to her, comforting her when the nuns mistreat her, telling her wondrous stories and magical secrets.  In this world, the Rocks sisters, held in a false afterlife, stage a jailbreak.  Rococoa raises herself back to the living, cold with vengeance against the man who murdered her.  Citrina hitches up her skirts and hikes off to Vegetania, prepared to visit as many dreams and instigate as many supernatural miracles as she needs in order to reform the Church.  Sapphria laughs and winks and goes off to do something mysterious and terribly complex and probably very clever.  And Lazuli?  Lazuli goes to find her eldest niece, and to help her do something about the frankly terrible situation she’s in.  She is no spirit of the dead that a small exorcism by a provincial abbess can banish, but something new, something more.  And when Saccharina finally drowns the monastery, a grim smile on her face, it is with eyes and fingers that glow a brilliant, sharp blue.

Bonus subclass: Either Great Old One or Celestial, depending on how Lazuli fights her way back to the waking world.  Reaching out to the mortal world from the afterlife?  Probably Celestial.  Something strange and mysterious that’s never happened before in all of creation, and isn’t entirely comprehensible even to her?  Great Old One.

Barbarian!Jet grows up with so much rage inside her, but a rage for others, a fire for others.  It’s a rage that goes bone-deep, born of so much love and fear, because Jet Rocks may be sheltered and immature and naive, but one thing she does know, one of the earliest things she knows, is that the world is dangerous for people like Ruby, people like Pops, the world does not like people like Ruby and Pops, and as young as she is, she’s already heard how people whisper and seen how they point at Pops when his back is turned.  And if they found out about Ruby-  It’s a different rage that drives Barbarian!Jet, not a mindless battle frenzy, but love sharpened to the keenest focus, to protect, to guard.  In this world, and in every world, Jet Rocks loves her sister above all else, and will do anything to make sure she is safe.  Her parents worry, of course.  Caramelinda looks into her daughter’s eyes, sees hard steel and the heart of sacrifice, and she weeps when she looks into the mirror and sees the same, this is not the life she wanted for her.  Amethar understands.  He knows.  He knew the minute his daughters were placed into his arms for the first time, and the instinct to protect something so precious, precious beyond measure.  He just didn’t want his daughter to understand as well, not so soon, not so young.

Bonus subclass: Path of the Ancestral Guardian, I think, because Jet’s rage is rooted in and for her family.  Also, imagine the confusion and the angst the first time Jet summons past ancestors to fight with her in battle, and none of them include her aunts because they’re too busy raising hell elsewhere.

Bard!Ruby tumbles out of the cradle with a cheerful tongue and a clever mind, and Amethar has to stop himself from calling after Sapphria, because Ruby is so much like her, so nimble on her feet, so clever with her words.  But it’s Caramelinda that sees it first, how Ruby’s leaps and cartwheels hang just a little too long in the air, how Jet brightens and sharpens too fast after just a word from her.  And it’s Theo, of course it’s Theo, who catches Ruby and Jet trying to rob the cookie jar with a spectral, definitely magic, definitely arcane hand floating in the air, where did she even learn that, he doesn’t have that spell, this is bad, this is very, very bad.  Ruby’s more careful after that, after Mom’s lecture about how dangerous it is, and Pops just standing there, looking stern, nodding along to everything that Mom’s saying, not saying a word to the contrary.  Her magic is just for Jet now, her and Jet and nobody else, and she does a very good job of pretending she doesn’t know anything else, pretending like she doesn’t feel the thrum inside of her, pretending like something isn’t singing in her blood with every leap and twirl and handstand.  

Bonus subclass: College of Valour?  It gets that combat flavouring without being as specific as College of Swords, but I’m open to suggestions.

Warlock!Liam, and he is so young, so lonely, roaming the forests around Castle Manylicks, when he finds her or maybe she finds him.  Just a sweet little fairy who knows where to find the best seeds, the ones that have a little bit of magic in them, and here’s a lonely little boy who’s so interested in what she can show him!  And then of course, this isn’t just any lonely little boy, this is the son of Duke Jawbreaker, someone royal, someone important.  I’ll be your friend, she says, coy and sweet, a nice friend, not like your brothers.  I know lots of things, secret things, magic things, that I can show you.  Come with me, do you want to see something really neat?  Her magic is almost golden, almost Bulbian, with the slightest whiff of something rich and sticky and sweet and purple, and Liam’s only glad that he has a friend now, someone who’s nice to him, who’s interested in the same things, who remembers his name and doesn’t pick on him because he likes seeds more than swords.  Lonely children don’t need to be threatened or coerced, lonely children don’t need deals with the devil.  Lonely children just need a kind voice and warm approval and someone to show them affection, and the Sugar Plum Fairy knows just how to work with that.

Bonus subclass: Gonna diverge from Lapin here and go with Archfey as the warlock/patron relationship, because Liam isn’t in a position where he has to pretend that his powers come from the Bulb, so the SPF can lean into her feyness more.

[ready-to-obeyme]

[OM!] (American) College!AU Demon Brothers

Scenario: Headcanons on the demon brothers as college students (specifically in the US because I don’t know how college works elsewhere), their possible majors, career goals, extracurriculars, ~GPA~ and whatever else I could think of + how meet you in college

Note: I’m hoping to do a Part 2 with the Undateables but honestly… we’ll see lol. This is based off something ~A~ and I thought of for our specific university but we’ve made it broad enough to share HAHA this turned out VERY long

- 

Lucifer

Majoring in Political Sciences with a minor in Psychology

Pre-Law-- most likely immigration law or child custody (there’s definitely a backstory here)

Initially went to community college for the first two years to save up money to take care of his younger siblings

Rejected an offer to go to an Ivy League because it was too expensive; if his siblings ever found out they’d be furious that he’d give up on that chance, but he knows he can succeed wherever he goes (and besides, family is first) 

Transferred into a 4-year university his junior year 

Very high GPA-- VERY

In a professional fraternity with Diavolo and Barbatos 

He didn’t think he’d join one either but Diavolo was the vice chair when he transferred in and the president the year after so… ~nepotism?~ and also Lucifer is charming as heck so no surprise he’d get in

Also rooms with Diavolo and Barbatos

Goes to the gym regularly just to keep fit; gets goaded by Diavolo and Satan into joining an IM team with his frat brothers and actual brothers-- probably basketball or flag football

Probably meets you at a interclub council meeting and mutters under his breath how useless the board members are and you overhear 

“Never have I met more incompetent people.”

“Lmao mood”

“!!!”

Keeps sitting next to you at every interclub meeting then after because at least there’s someone that can keep his mind stimulated (thinks you’re hot if you’re competent btw)

If you somehow meet him on campus, he’s the type of guy to put his hand up and pretend he didn’t see you (just kidding, he always ends up saying hi anyways) 

Will Absolutely Lecture You if you are procrastinating on studying especially if your midterm is, like, TOMORROW

Always ends up studying with him because he’s actually focused on studying and glares at you if you get distracted (but hey you get good scores in the end)

Mammon

Majoring in Business Econ/Economics, Minoring in Statistics

(always ends up in the middle of the “is econ a humanities or a STEM major” debate that leaves him left for dead) 

Planning to work in Business as Finance -- probably has been treasurer or finance director for a club; can even see him being a banker if it suits his plans better

Goes to a four-year university

Decent GPA (or Lucifer would absolutely destroy him), and does REALLY well in mathematics classes

Would room with Lucifer and his posse if they all go to the same school 

Probably in a Business Frat as well because he’s pretty charismatic when it comes down to it but  was an RA for some of his years for the free rooming and dining hall privileges 

Is a very chill and understanding RA (as in he smokes weed with you when he’s off-duty) but is surprisingly well-versed in dealing with roommate issues

Works part-time (gasp) to buy stuff off of Amazon and go out to places��

Spends a lot of time exploring places with his friends, going hiking, rock-climbing, clubbing-- which is expensive, as it turns out, so he needed to be able to afford it somehow

Meets you when you’re eating your lunch outside somewhere and he asks you if you have a dollar he could borrow for a vending machine snack

You exchange numbers with him so he can pay it back (even though you honestly don’t really need it, but why not) and turns out he’s in your GE class

“Heyyy wassup! So glad I have a friend in this class” 

“Oh by the way, did you finish the homework? Haha, I forgot it.” 

Mammon always repays you for your help in food though so you aren’t complaining

Leviathan

Majoring in Computer Sciences

And honestly that’s too much for me already-- the man is doing computer programming, coding-- WHEW-- and they do NOT rest

Goes to a community college but honestly has no problems cinching internships. The computer is his domain-- online applications are EASY, doing projects NOT as easy, interviews? HARD-- REALLY HARD (someone help him)

Probably intends to work with a big company like Google if only to help supply his income so he can live his life going to AX and buying merch 

Most likely moved out of his house mid-college with his online friends (who are luckily compatible with him living-space wise) and visits home once a week 

There’s two potential sides you can meet first: 

Either you meet him at a convention and you both gush about the same character and anime and somehow find each other online (not college related) 

Or his favorite Ruri-chan keychain gets broken off in the computer lab, and you’re the one running after him to give it him

He may or may not owe you his life after that (and if you enjoy anime, well that’s a bonus)

Both of these meetings can happen if he doesn’t recognize you in class because you were in cosplay-- imagine the surprise

The two of you as friends are MASTER PROCRASTINATORS at every assignment the two of you have-- so low-key not a great influence-- but you have fun together watching animes, playing games, talking about life-- anything but actual work 

Always ends up scrambling to finish things-- but he keeps doing it because it’s been working for him so far

You help him prepare for interviews because he’s always nervous before each one regardless of how well his application looks

Satan

Majoring in Comparative Literature AND Anthropology (ya boy is doing the whole nine yards)

Planning to get his Master’s and then a PhD in one of his majors (whichever proves to be more engaging for him)-- visibly excited to become a Professor

College was meant for Satan-- like REALLY; the man is in LOVE with learning; most likely to go and be accepted to an Ivy-League after Lucifer but... truly believes you can get a good education anywhere so it depends on his financial standing (and how much scholarship he gets)

Does get a little disgruntled when his classes aren’t available but doesn’t mind learning something new-- if the professor bores him to death, he’ll read the book

Really good at tutoring people; someone suggests that he works as a peer-learning facilitator/writing tutor and he does-- might as well make bank doing something you always do anyways   

Joins a writing/journal club as an extracurricular and a club that provides tutoring services to the underserved community-- surprisingly good with kids!

He knows friends in high places, so if he wanted to, could get into any party without batting an eye and his favorite professors love him

Spends a lot of his time going out to the city and exploring places, similarly to Mammon, rock-climbing, hiking, paragliding-- anything

He is VERY well-rounded as you can see; competes with Lucifer to see whose GPA is better though

You probably meet him during office hours, and you can only stare in awe as he asks questions that you had in mind, but better; if you’re visibly confused about something, he’ll take his time to help you too (it’s habit at this point)

Ask him for his contact info and you’ll get it, and maybe repay him in coffee? (You always see him at the cafe on campus.) 

Most likely to have a specific spot in a cafe that he is always at that the workers actually save a spot for him or give him his usual order before he even arrives-- may or may not have helped them edit their essays or with their homework as a thank-you so you KNOW they’ll love him forever

The type of person to help you make flashcards and cram if you need it

Asmodeus

Majoring in Dance and Fine Arts (I HC going to NYU specifically)

Considering going for an Master of Fine Arts degree but he might just move to New York and go for being a Broadway Star

College is mainly just training for him and hoping to land gigs in local theater-- and the university theater if there is one-- and building his resume for his big break 

Has SO many extracurriculars, all pertaining to his career choice, but also because he enjoys what he does: drama, competitive dance team, acapella, fashion design

Makes an unbelievable amount of friends, incredibly good at networking

The first time you saw him was when he was performing for a local theater and you were in love with his performance, and the next time you saw him in the hallway of a classroom building, you told him how much you enjoyed it

Always accepts compliments about his looks with grace, but there’s something about truly being admired for his acting and singing that has him preening

Invites you to come out to his next performance, and if not his, then to another play-- and it can be a date, but up to you ;) 

The man is the KING of Multiple Talents and has big dreams to match 

Always finds a way to hang out with you and drag you to every club that he can use his fake-id for (and when he’s actually 21 and above, gets a little offended that he doesn’t get ID’d) 

A night in the town with you is always a good night! 

Sometimes when he has practical exams coming up, he asks you to watch him perform-- and he likes your compliments but actually takes getting all the moves seriously so you better pay attention!

Most likely to move far away to reach his dreams, but he would take you with him if he could-- his little star

Beelzebub

Majoring in Physiological Sciences

Pre-Nursing or Pre-Sports Medicine 

He’s a little undecided, but he’s definitely going to go into the health field because he likes the idea of being able to use his strength to help others

Gets a scholarship from the university because he’s part of the football team, which is actually pretty hard on him because Fall Semester/Quarter he has to keep skipping classes for games  

Always brings a snack to eat with him during lecture-- and is not afraid to bring his entire lunch and make it right in the front row, though he tends to stick to the back because they tend to have electrical plugs 

You most likely meet him during lecture: he offers you an entire sandwich (not a chip bag, not fruit snacks, an entire LUNCH) because he heard your stomach growl during class 

From then on, you collect notes for him when he’s gone from games and even go to games if you aren’t usually the type to just to see how he’s doing; it’s hard trying to find you among the huge bleachers, but he always asks you where you’re sitting anyways 

Really appreciate it if you help him study into late at night because it IS hard balancing sports and academics 

He most likely doesn’t really have any time for anything else so he usually makes up for it during the rest of the year when training is less to volunteer in the hospital or at the gym as a personal trainer 

If you ask him to teach you how to properly lift weights, he’ll definitely help out and the both of you can work out together-- though you feel bad when he has to add four extra weights to each side after you finish your reps

Belphegor

Majoring in Computer Graphics/Animation

Intending to go into making animation or game design-- is one of the brothers who doesn’t really know exactly what he wants to do yet because he’s afraid that doing what he loves as a job will ruin it for him

His family reassures him that they’ll support him whether or not he continues with his path in life, but he’s considering art school and then taking internships in places so he has a better idea on what he wants

Most likely to sell his own original work and become a full-time artist regardless

I think you already know how you meet him-- he’s sleeping in a lecture hall-- either against the wall or on the small piece of wood they call a desk when class ends and he’s still sleeping; and you wake him up 

Sleepily thanks you and continues to sleep through every class that you wake him up to; when you ask him why he doesn’t just go home and sleep, he tells you he’s too lazy to walk back and forth from his dorm/apartment to campus (mood) 

When you add each other on Snapchat or something, he sends you pics of ‘places to nap’ on campus

You always end up studying together because he’s actually pretty good at understanding lecture stuff despite not being awake for most of it-- apparently he’s used to teaching himself 

Will make you art for your birthday and will vehemently refuse payment so he just tells you to take him out for dinner instead 

If you talk about how you’re not sure on what you want to do in life too, he’ll probably say ‘mood’ but is most likely to encourage you to do whatever you want to do in life too 

[lxveille]

another love song

mk x reader

word count: ~ 2080 warnings: references to alcohol a/n: university!au; another ‘trying to get back into the feel of writing’ fic so... idk ?? tbh it’s more of a fic treatment but here’s what i’m posting anyway

Minkyun has gotten inspiration for his songs from you before. This one is different.

You’re nearly always the first person to place money into Minkyun’s open guitar case when he’s busking. 

More often than not, he tries to return your money once he’s packed up for the afternoon - but you refuse, and tell him he earned it. Then he usually spends more on you than you gave by buying you bubble tea or coffee before the two of you trek back to campus.

You’re not sure what you’d do with your Saturday afternoons if not for him.

You’d met Minkyun in a literature class your first year of university. At first it had been easy to write him off as a high school class clown having some difficulty adjusting to university expectations. Except that sometimes, when your professor would really dig into the themes of a text, he’d have something to share that would stick with you. A thought - sometimes chaotically explained - that would rumble around in your brain for a week, even. Eventually, you decided a proper introduction was in order. A fatal mistake, if you’d hoped to keep up some aloof, studious front. He had a way of warming others up, it turned out. You discovered he was friends with a number of people with unfriendly faces who somehow transformed into lighthearted, open books in Minkyun’s presence.  

You feel a little lighter around him, too. 

And on the days you don’t, he invites you to unburden. 

It became a common tableau: you sprawled out, exasperated, on the beanbag chair in his dorm room, ranting about anything that bothered you while he lay on his bed, half-propped up against the wall and strumming occasional notes on his guitar. A last complaint and a final chord, and then Minkyun would be on his feet with an idea of what the two of you should do to shake it out of your system for once and for all. Those plans only sometimes included just enough beer that the both of you were giddy and ready to laugh at anything. 

If Minkyun had to name one good reason to get drunk with you, it was this: it was the only time you’d sing. The very first time you let yourself break into song in front of him had been at a bar. It had been difficult to make out your voice over the speakers, but Minkyun heard. Maybe more important, though, was the way you swayed your shoulders and rocked into each syllable. 

He would tease sometimes that you ought to join him when he busked. He might make more with you joining in. 

“Ah, but then you’d have to split it with me, too,” you’d reply. You assumed, at least, that he must be kidding. 

It was spring the first time Minkyun asked you to listen to something original he’d composed. There was something personal about it that had never occurred to you when listening to a song before. For all the times you had watched him play, it was like looking at him from a new angle. Just as his commentary used to linger on your mind, his songs began to do the same.

 And in the winter of your second year, he asked if it’d be okay to use some of your own rants as inspiration in songs. 

“What?” you asked. 

“Just - the way you talk about the guys you’re getting over, and stuff like that. It could make for good lyrics.” 

“You’re going to quote me?”

“Well,” he lingered on the syllable, then broke into a dimpled smile. “No. But I don’t wanna take inspiration without telling you!”

So it happened that when he performed songs of his own, you sometimes began to recognize bits of your own infatuations and fallings outs weaved into his lyrics. The way he framed it, it usually made it easier to get over whoever had been behind the heartbreak. 

Minkyun isn’t busking today. The drizzle is enough that it wouldn’t be worth it. All the same, he spent the better part of the morning sending you messages asking you to come over. 

When you finally cave, you put on a front of unhappiness at the door, shaking out your umbrella before passing it over to his extended hand.

“I brought some stuff for my class so I can try to get work done like I’d planned,” you told him. 

He pouted for dramatic flair. “So you’re really just gonna act like you’re at your room at mine?”

“That’s what we agreed to! I told you I wanna get this reading done so I can just be hungover tomorrow without having to worry about Monday’s lecture.” 

“Damn, and people try to frame university drinkers as irresponsible.” 

“What can I say? I’m flawless,” you comment dryly as you pass into his room. 

“So you’re still going out even if the rain keeps up?” Minkyun asks. He settles into his usual spot near the foot of his mattress. You rummage through your bag for a textbook and your printed copy of the syllabus before finding a spot somewhere closer to the pillow. 

“Mm,” you affirm, “I think I’m officially entirely over Seungcheol, so it’ll be good for me to go out.” 

“Ahhh.” There’s something guttural and mischievous in the way he makes the sound. It’d be fair to expect some ribbing comment on how transparent you could be with these things. No such remark comes. 

It’s some time later, when you’re nearly done with your assigned reading, that Minkyun announces that he finished a new song recently. 

“Like one of your own?” you ask. 

He nods, and adds how he’d been thinking of playing it out this weekend if it hadn’t been for the poor turn in weather. 

You exaggerate a gasp. “You were going to share a song with a crowd before sharing it just with me?” There’s no real offence. It’s only a pattern that you’d noticed. Sometimes he’d say it felt needed, if only because he based part of the lyrics’ premise on your own experiences instead of his own. 

“I know!” Minkyun laughs airly. “Mother nature said not to, I guess!” 

“Well, are you going to play it now then?” You should tell him to wait until you’ve finished this chapter. That way you won’t entirely lose track of things. But you’re not infallible; and if there’s one thing you’re horrible at resisting it’s the chance to hear Minkyun play. 

He hops up from the bed to fetch his guitar. And he plays. 

It’s a love song, which doesn’t come as a surprise. Minkyun told you from the beginning - or at least when he first asked if he could take inspiration from your own heart’s tribulations - that he liked to write about that feeling. The good, the bad, or at the very least what he imagined of it. 

This song doesn’t feel familiar. Usually you can tell when he’s written indirectly about your own affairs. So these endearing words, these syrupy lines of dedication, of patiently waiting for the other one to notice… They must be from his own experience. 

A corner of your heart goes sour at that thought, and retorts that it might be one of his other friends. Devoted and hoping it won’t go unnoticed would be right up Yuto’s alley, you tell yourself as your search for a likely suspect. You don’t let yourself think too much on why you don’t want it to be Minkyun’s own feelings. 

Except there’s something else that bothers you. The way he keeps his eyes on his strumming fingers, or closes them altogether. 

Normally Minkyun looks at you now and then, and smiles at your reactions to his music. Even with the unhappy songs. 

You squeeze the textbook in your lap. A corner digs into your palm. He’s somewhere in the second chorus and your mind is fogging over with an irritation. It’s not his fault. You’re not mad at him. 

You just wish you had realized you want to fall in love with Minkyun sooner.

The last chord hangs in the air before you can fully process this thought. He looks at you expectantly. 

“What do you think?” Minkyun asks. 

You force a smile. “It’s sweet.” 

He leaves space for you to elaborate. When you don’t, the corners of his lips drag down a bit. “Just sweet?” He repeats. “Is it lame?” 

“No! It’s just - it’s different from some of your other stuff. But it’s sweet. I like it. I think, um… I just was expecting it to be something based on my whole recent back and forth thing. Since you wanted to play it for me,” you try to cover for your lackluster response. 

Minkyun looks you over for a moment, then chuckles. “Not every song can be about your love life.” 

“I know! Of course! Geez, that’s not what I meant,” you rush to say, loudly, as if you needed to cover the sound of some kind of fracture in your heart. 

He leans forward to set his guitar carefully on the tiles, its neck leaning against the bed frame. “I guess that’s not totally accurate to say here though.” He shakes his head to get his hair out of his eyes as he looks your way again. 

“...What?”  

“Ah… You’re pretty clueless, huh?” Minkyun sounds content with himself, and he’s barely holding back a grin. 

“I’ve never gone on like that about someone.” 

“Yeah, I know.”  

You eye him over a few times quickly, trying to reach a conclusion that feels safe. All you can theorize for sure is that he’s practiced this all, and somehow it’s going to plan. Maybe. “What are you on about?” you ask, tone turning suspicious. 

He laughs more fully now, then shifts his position to face you directly from the other end of his duvet. “You.” 

You glance around him like this could be some hidden camera prank. “What?”

“You,” Minkyun repeats, “It’s about you.” 

In the most foolish move of the day, you suddenly felt your throat dry out the same way it does before you cry. It must have been too much at once: to realize a desire and think it ripped away only to have it suddenly offered up so easily, so soon. 

“You’re not serious.” 

“Is it bad if I am?” he asks, leaning to the right a bit as he watches your reaction. You press your palm to your clavicle, trying to get your heart and your mind in sync. “Am serious, I mean.”  

All you can manage is a shake of your head. 

Minkyun grins bright and leans forward to put a hand over the one still at your side. “You really didn’t notice?” He pulls off incredulous and teasing in one go. If you weren’t so off kilter, you might want to scold him for it somehow. 

“What was I supposed to know?” You ask instead.

He shakes his head. For a fleeting instant, you worry he’s about to brush the whole thing aside. That worry is killed pretty quickly when he leans closer instead and delicately presses an experimental kiss against your lips. 

Minkyun is back to his side of the bed in the next moment, nearly like it hadn’t happened at all.  

Your hand lifts from your clavicle to allow your fingers to brush over your own lips, still tingly with the affection. Or maybe just from his lip balm rubbing off on you. 

He gives you a second more before asking, “Still okay?” 

“Um, yeah.” 

His smile returns. “Still going out to find someone new tonight?” 

“Oh my god.” You cover your face with your hands and accuse, “You’re the worst.”

“So… is that a yes, you are?” 

He knows it isn’t. 

He’s spent all this time getting to know you. Now he gets to be the one on the receiving end of that look in your eyes. 

“Would you stop that?” You muster up as much of a snip in your voice as you can. Your gaze gives away that you’re not really annoyed. It would be difficult to be, given the way your head is still spinning from his confession.    

“Stop what?” 

The smile on his face suggests he already knows. Nevertheless, you don’t give Minkyun the satisfaction of admitting he’s teasing you. “Just kiss me again,” you swerve to a demand. Frankly, it’s the main thing you’d been thinking since the first. You’ll figure out the rest of your feelings later. 

For now, Minkyun is hardly going to deny you that.

[judehayward]

lady gaga voice slowly fadin in: ju-Das juda-ah-ah… this depressed goblin bastard is honestly my fav male muse like i dnt typically stick w male muses tht long i struggle bt................. i’ve played him the longest of them all n always seem to return to him. jst cnt stay away. way 2 attached to this absurd little man. it’s nai btw!!!! (josefine on the main). launches right in to jude’s intro without further adieu..... (u can also find his playlist here) 🧙‍🎨

「douglas booth & cis-male」⇾ hayward , jude, the senior radcliffe student’s records show that he is a pisces and 23 years old. he is studying ART, living in moris and can be protective, laidback, nonsensical & apathetic. when i see him i am reminded of wearing a faded smiley face sticker on your forehead while receiving a serious lecture, saying “fuck off” to inanimate objects, lead marbles instead of eyes. ⇽「nai & 23 & gmt & she/her.」

he pinterest:

me in the voice of a card magician performing on the street: round up round up pick a pinterest any pinterest!

ta-da it’s aesthetics:

lead marbles instead of eyes, a stolen hearse careening down the wrong lane, wearing a faded smiley face sticker on your forehead while receiving a serious lecture, bags under the eyes that are so big they could pack enough clothes for a three week vacation, a cigarette wobbling from your bottom lip as you squint against the sunlight, passing out on a stranger’s rooftop, placing sunglasses over the eyes of a biology lab skeleton, gangling around the place like shaggy minus his scooby snacks, saying “fuck off” to inanimate objects

about tha Bitch:

born in sheffield in england, bt they went back and forth between there n san fran a lot

jude was an unhappy accident. his parents never rly used protection bc they were super Liberal n Au Naturel n believed in the pull out method bc… they were maniacs. bt then the ONE time they used a condom in an effort to b safety conscious it broke n hence…. jude was born

they just kind of ran w it bc they had such a passionate relationship tht they were like What The Hell…. may as well! itll be fine we’ll learn to be good parents n love him like normal ppl do

spoiler alert: tht didn’t work out

they were ok to him like they weren’t fully Bad bt they just found him to be a massive burden n hindrance to their plans. pretty absent n irresponsible. they literally….. had sex all day every day n acted like a pair of teenagers. it ws a super weird environment for a kid to grow up in bc he literally had no role models or… guidance or…. anything rly. occasionally they’d joke around w him or pretend they properly knew what grade he was going into but for the most part they just Didn’t Care the way parents shd. they lost his birth certificate n dnt remember what they put as his middle name so he’s jst kind of like hmmmm............. n gives himself a diff one every time ppl ask. past variations hv included: jude pauly hayward, jude maureen hayward, jude van winkle hayward. says all of these w a very straight face

despite this he does hv some nice memories w them. usually he definitely sees them fr holidays. frm being rly young their christmas tradition hs been to get a bunch of chinese food like a Banquet Feast n spend all day smoking n drinking into the early hours. perhaps not the healthiest or most responsible bt 😔 jude rly likes it it’s kind of the one time of yr he feels he has a proper family

they r both suuuuper into the arts. rly good sculptors bt they paint too n they actually own a successful gallery in sheffield n san fran

(trauma tw) as a result he grew up around a lot of creative n sometimes pretentious ppl. the friends of his parents were more present in his life than his ACTUAL parents bc they were always jetting off to diff countries to scout out new pieces fr their galleries n just have a gd time in beautiful places without…. the annoyance tht ws being responsible n looking after someone. tbh some of his parents friends were rly damaging too bt….i won’t go into that just yet. it doesn’t rly…need properly explaining bc jude never talks abt it anyway n it….is rather triggering so i’ll jst….leav it for now tbh. basically they just were Not Nice n jude had a lot of bad memories he keeps repressed bt he also??? has some gd ones..... it was a strange environment bt he’s a survivor

(death n grief tw) he hd to do community service bc he kind of… hd a bit of a breakdown before the funeral of his elderly neighbour who bsically raised him bc her kids rly didnt care abt her they jst wanted her inheritance?? so he… stole the hearse w her casket still in it n ws jst like… drivin around the place sort of… tryin nt to cry…..KJJFHSFKJGHKFG i mean. it isnt funny its actually sad bt :/ in a very bizarre n jude way. he gt caught n taken in fr questioning bt her son kind of realised hw… broken up abt her death jude ws n had a heart n didnt press charges. regardless he stil hd to do community service bc it ws like taken seriously even tho it ws his first proper offence. doin it rly exhausted n depressed him so when he wsnt doin tht he ws just hibernatin in his room……. this ws like 4 months ago nw............ just some fun lore fr u all

bc of how he ws raised he has a p cultured taste. he luvs classic lit n p much anything artsy. he can play piano 2 n sometimes gets rly high n thinks he’s mozart level gd at composing he’s jst going fking wild on the keys in a trance...... i mean he’s gd bt… chill

he’s rly sarcastic n so deadpan like he’ll say smthn completely ridiculous bt he’ll say it w his whole chest so sincere.... it’s rly hard to tell when he’s joking or serious honestly. has an overflowing secret sketchbook n if he cares abt someone he’ll probably secretly draw them. does NOT share these drawings w the person he hates being openly sentimental. at heart he is jst a very Sad Boy w lots of repressed issues like depression genuinely just does NAT giv him a single break bt he plasters over this w wise cracks n never discusses his emotions ever. he’s actually p decent or at least tries to b. he’s kind of like tht bit in superbad where michael cera gets rly drunk n makes a toast to women like tht energy...........

he has rly bad insomnia so he like never sleeps idk how he’s Alive straight up. please go to bed sir............. he always has rly sleepy eyes n rubs them tiredly mid conversation. he smokes a lot of weed to try n compensate fr this n make him tired bt he still struggles a lot

ANYWAY that aside he’s at radcliffe doing art, focusing on fine art like painting is............... the thing he luvs most...... his style is kind of.......... taking normal things n painting w surreal colours.... he likes A LOT of colour in his paintings which is kind of a stark contrast to his personality bc his world’s so.... washed out n grey............ lovs art n philosophy n literature n photography n music.... 

ummMMMMmm honestly idk i’m blankin on what else to say. ull find him smoking weed reading an american classic or gnawing at his thumbnail n getting charcoal smudges on all his clothes. wandering the streets in plaid pj bottoms n dr martens eating frm a cereal box without care in the world. he’s p broody n scruffy n he’s mostly here fr a laidback time....... doesn’t rly like when ppl take themselves too seriously........ likes strange ppl thinks the world is mde richer by them n likes when ppl can jst bounce back jokes at him without being like erm. u dont make sense mate. bc frankly he can come up w some strange stuff sometimes.............. talking to him cn b like navigating a dark n bendy road without a flashlight....... 

(drugs tw) once did shrooms n woke up naked in the woods curled up in a pile of leaves. to this day he recounts this as his werewolf transformation. hs no idea hw he ended up there n when ppl r like are u not. concerned jude. tht is so strange? he jst shrugs like.............. dunno....................... suppose i’m jst a werewolf upon occasion. so casual abt it. jst truly does Not care abt most things at all..... almost to the point tht it’s concerning (sometimes way past the point tht it’s concerning too :/)

this is the desc on an aesthetic i mde of his style once n sums it up well!! ‘additionally: too many pairs of trousers, a hideous amount of white t-shirts all somewhat stained with charcoal, a jumper so thinly knit it almost looks sheer, chipped teale nail varnish, a cream corduroy jacket with a cigarette hole singed onto the cuff, vintage wiry reading glasses he almost never wears, a freshly rolled cigarette behind his ear, a thrifted t-shirt with a warped bart simpson wearing a stethoscope with the caption ‘bard knwos cardiology’ and two crops hacked that way with kitchen scissors that he sometimes wears to paint.‘

EXPERT at rolling spliffs like jst. mkes them so precise n neat....... it’s his super power. his fav thing to smoke frm is banana flavour papers.................... linking 2 this he’s like. bad w emotions bt he does try..... once his friend (maggie) ws sad so he brought her a spliff wrapped in grape flavoured paper bc it’s her fav fruit n jst like. wordlessly gave it to her. it’s the thought tht counts.....

PLOTS!!!!!

plays bass in a band which cld b a fun connection to get together??? i picture the music being like surf rock type like........... mac demarco...... bt he also luvs elliott smith n glass animals n the cure n metronomy n neutral milk hotel n talking heads n radiohead n mazzy star n wolf alice...................... idk jst like.... within tht ballpark i suppose i imagine it being................

mayb ppl he shares classes w?????? i’d like someone tht does a similar course n they hang out tgether when it comes to trips fr the module to museums or exhibits or wtever................ they both stand in front of paintings analysing it rly wrong n saying stuff like hmmmmmmmmm....... i do declare i see a, uh..... large phallus protruding from the centre of this image...... moves something in me.......... n some elderly person looking at it besides them is like Ergh. sickened n disgraced. leaves w a brow severely furrowed

someone he smokes w on the moris rooftop late at night when he cnt sleep??? mayb they’re up n cnt sleep either fr whtever reason n it’s become an unspoken kind of ritual where they always clamber out n find each other there n jst wordlessly keep them company

jude is kind of like. protective almost to a fault sometimes........... mayb some guy he’s punched......................... if they hurt someone he cares abt........... typically it wld hv been a girl he ws kind of like. affected by his first relationship bc she had a bad home situation n ever since jst wnts..... to Protect it’s kind of like an automatic instinct ingrained in him nw 😔 all sounds very noble n well bt sometimes it cn b a bit of an escalation i wnt lie

perhaps a few hook-ups??? jude doesn’t tend to sleep w ppl he rly knows bc he just..... likes it to b an impersonal thing doesn’t like getting attached fr various reasons so mayb they only kno each other via this OR mayb he bent his rules a bit..... cld either work seamlessly or hv added drama if one side hs mre feelings or whtever

currently living in moris w 2 roommates bt i’d love some neighbours perhaps..... mayb someone tht lives directly nxt door to his room n is like ://// bc he plays music loud n weeds always drifting frm his window n mking their room smell if theirs is open too................. or mayb they get on..... mayb there’s a rly mean seagull tht lands on a branch n poos on pedestrians n they both commentate on it frm their windows like david attenborough...... they’re like he’s at it again. they’ve named him n everything

HONESTLY anything if u have an idea hmu i’d love 2 hear it.......... rubs my hands tgether in excitement to plot up a storm w u all

[littlemessyjessi]

Remus Lupin: Fluffy ABC Headcanons

Fluffy Alphabet

(Shoutout to my lovely friend, Traenon! She literally saved these for me months ago from something she read and sent it to me through messenger.  So credit to OP for the prompts!)

Remus Lupin Headcanons Remus Lupin x PS Reader X Reader: PS Reader, Plus Size Reader

A = Attractive: what do they find attractive about the other?

About you- the mushy answer is your brain.  You're so fucking clever and he adores it.

Physically, he loves your back.  You're so soft and he can just pepper your back for kisses for hours.  

And he loves rubbing circled into the skin of the small of your back.    He loves your rolls and how soft and silky you are.  

He likes your shoulder blades too and how most people might not see them but he gets too and it drives him wild.

B = Baby: do they want a family? why/why not?

He does but he's just worries ya know.  He just doesn't want to pass on the werewolf gene but the thought of a little you running around just warms his heart.   Maybe not a whole herd of children but like one cool baby?  Yeah, that sounds good to him.  

C = Cuddle: how do they cuddle?

Look, just accept the fact that you're going to be the little spoon.  I mean, that's just gonna be the way it is.  Remus seems like the sweet, shy type.  But this mother fucker is dom as hell when it's personal.  He ain't gonna be the little spoon if he doesn't have to so I hope you're good with that.   Also, he loves your back so he's very into it being pressed against his bare chest.

Side note:  If you happen to be shirtless against his bare chest?  Boy is in heaven.

D = Dates: what are dates with them like?

Unexpected.  You never know with him.  From a distance you'd expect his brainy ass to take you to the bookstore or library or idk, something quiet.

Hell no.  His spooky ass ends up taking you to the Forbidden Forest.  At night.  

You later discover it's because he can see in the fucking dark and he's comfortable there.   He intentionally drug you out there just so you'd be scared and cling to him.  You nearly strangled him when you found out.

E = Everything: “you are my ____” (e.g my life, my world…)

You're his drive to keep going.  Real talk.  Remus has a lot going on and sometimes it's too much for him.  He's contemplated ending it all more than once.  You keep him going.  He loves you more than anything.  But more importantly you help him see that HE'S worth it to HIMSELF.

F = Feelings: when did they know they were falling in love?

When you shoved Sirius in the lake for trying to steal a kiss.   And then proceeded to lecture him about it....and made him apologize....to everyone he'd ever did it too.

G = Gentle: are they gentle? If so, how?

In everyday life, Remus is a sweetheart.  Such a nice boy, according to your parents, lol.   He's got a mischevious streak but he doesn't use it on you.   Behind closed doors?  Well, I done told ya.  He's dom for life.

H = Hand/Hold: how do they like to hold? how do they like to hold hands?

Remus is more of an arm around your waist kind of guy.  Ya know, he loves that back.  However, he does enjoy when he wraps his arm around you and you place you place your hand over his.   Makes him feel all the specials.

I = Impression: first impression/s

Well, you met when you were eleven and he honestly didn't think much of you.   It's not your fault though.  He was an eleven year old werewolf going to school for the first time.  Poor kid was damn near having a heart attack.  

However, three weeks later you showed him up in class and little Remus Lupin got his very first crush.  

And then you lent him a piece of parchment and boy damn near floated right off his chair.  

Been making heart eyes at you since.

J = Joker: are they into pulling pranks?

Look, everyone thinks it's all James and Sirius but you know better!  

Remus is the brains most of the time and he's a fucking instigator.  HE fucking starts it.    And you know it.  He claims innocence but he's the damn devil.  

K = Kisses: how do they kiss?

Slowly and mind blowing.    It always takes you a few seconds to open your eyes and get your head together.  Lawd, Jesus.  

L = Love: who says I love you first?

He did.  He didn't meant to.  I mean, he meant it a 1000% but he hadn't meant to say it at that moment.   You caught him off guard with a surprise hot chocolate in the hospital wing and he let it slip.  You tried to save him and acted like you didn't hear it when he panicked.  But then he stopped and was like, "Actually, love.  I do love you.  I meant it.  I mean, I didn't exactly planning on loosing it like that but I do love you.  It's alright if you don-"   "Remus Lupin, you shut your damn mouth.   If you think for one second that I'm not hopelessly in love with you than I have sorely misjudged your intelligence." you snipped. He just grinned. "Stop smirking at me.   Shut your face and drink your hot chocolate before I kick you." "Yes, love." You just rolled your eyes at him.

M = Memory: their favourite moment together

He quite enjoys the semester you were paired with Sirius for potions.   It's relevant because you teased him during potions one day until he lost it and started sucking face halfway through.  Slughorn ripped you two apart and paired you with Sirius for the rest of the semester.  

You glared the whole semester and he thought you were the cutest fucking thing on the planet.

N = Nickel: do they spoil? do they buy the person they love everything?

He does but it's less with money and more with special things that actually mean something.   Hand written excerpts from books he thinks you'll like.   Little flowers he found on one of his walks.   And a sweet or two knicked from the kitchens.

O = Orange: what color reminds them of their other half?

Green tends to remind him of you.  Much in the sense that many people associate it with nature and new life, he associates it with you for the same reason.  Being with you is natural to him and you constantly breathe new beginnings to his life.

P = Pet names: what pet names do they use?

Love, mostly.  But occasionally he'll say sweetheart or darling.  

Q = Quaint: what is their favourite non-modern thing?

Vintage books.  Because of fucking course.

R = Rainy Day: what do they like to do on a rainy day?

Honestly.  He likes to snuggle up with a good cup of tea or cocoa and read.  You'll likely fall asleep and he's very content with the idea of sleeping on his chest while he reads his book.

S = Sad: how do they cheer themselves/each other up.

He cheers himself up by looking at pictures of friends, family and of course, you.   It's a favorite.

He cheers you up by reading your favorite book that just so happens to be a children's book.

T = Talking: what do they love to talk about?

He always shares his recent reads but also he's quite fond of talking about possible pranks.   I told you.  He's the fucking devil.

U = Unencumbered: What helps them relax?

A massage does wonders for this boy.   All that stress knots up in his neck and shoulders but you've got the magic touch.

V = Vaunt: what do they like to show off? What are they proud of?

As much as he hates being a werewolf, he'll admit that it has it's perks.  He can see in the dark. His hearing is especially good.  And though he doesn't do quidditch- Remus is actually a fucking fantastic chaser.   He has no interest in joining the team but he's bomb as fuck at it.   And he does enjoying showing out for you.

W = Wedding: when, how, where do they propose?

I could see Remus proposing in the middle of the night.  You're curled up on his chest and it's pitch black.  You're nearly asleep when he asks.  You shoot up like a bolt of lightning and press your damn so face to his that he can feel your eyelashes on his cheeks.  You demand he say it again.  He does, a bit more nervously.   And he almost died...because you nearly squeezed him to death.  And also nearly ruptured his ear drums.  Of fucking course you said yes.  As if there were any other answer.

X = Xylophone: What’s their song?

"When A Man Loves A Woman" by Percy Sledge Everytime it comes on you can't help but stop whatever you're doing and sing.  It was fourth year and you were the only two people in the common room.  You made him dance with you.   Poor boy could barely keep it together but now it's his favorite.  He can't hear it without thinking of you.

Y = You’re the ___ to my ___ (e.g the cookies to my milk, the macaroni to my cheese)

You're the hot to my chocolate.  He's a fucking goober at heart alright.  And he loves his chocolate.

Z = ZZZZ: How do they sleep? Like. A. Damn. Rock.   You'll damn near have to kill him to get up to pee so I hope you have a bladder of steel.

Hello, darlings! Hope you enjoyed this little piece and I wish you all a lovely day/night, whatever! 

If you wanna see more of my content just check out my blogs! @littlemessyjessi is the main blog full of fandom fictions, imagines, headcanons and sickeningly sweet fluff! Yeah, I know, lol. Barf.  But hey, I like it. @witchyweirdness is the magical blog full of witchy content And last but not least !   @monsterbaesbymamakennysaurus is my monster blog full of all kinds of monster related content! So I hope to see you there! Love, Kenny

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Love, Kenny

[officially-tonynat-shrine]

Anything You Sing

A/N: Ok, so this was originally an ask from @shamelessbookaddict so credit goes to her. The ask: Bicth just imagining singing good ol bollywood songs to peter; him not understanding a word but loving it anyway; bruce just smirking at you when you sing something romantic

So I decided to shift the fic here instead of directly answering the ask. So if at all I make a master list, this would be helpful :D also, here is the audio of the song I used, if you want to sing along! The singer is male and I haven't changed the few lines in the song indicating the gender of the singer in the fic. I wanted to stay as true to the song as possible!

Pairing: Peter Parker x Indian!reader

Summary: You confess your love by singing a song

Warnings: the word 'fuck' twice? // Words: idk man, I didn't count

••••

Peter was having a bad day. A very, very bad day. School was hectic. He had lots of homework pending due to night patrol (totally his fault, actually. And he knew it. So he couldn't blame anyone else). His sleep schedule was an absolute mess because he would stay up when ever he got the chance to finish off his projects and models. His attention span in classes was now that of a fucking squirrel on crack and he had gone to the principal's office twice already.

Just when he had thought that things couldn't get worse, he had dozed off in yet another Biology lecture. Usually, the teacher would let him off the hook because he was a bright student and could easily catch up. So Peter tended to doze off for a few minutes trying to complete eight hours of sleep in five minutes. But today, it was a very important lecture going on and the Ms. Mason had strictly informed the class that everybody had to be attentive. Of course, Peter had to doze off. Unfortunately, he had been caught. Ms. Mason's disapproving glare was enough for him to believe that he had committed the ultimate betrayal. He was now very close to the Avengers' Tower, and he had already mentally hit himself a hundred times.

Peter just hoped that for the love of God and everything Holy, you was there. You were the only other Avenger who was his age. Of course, there was also Shuri, his homegirl, but currently, she was miles away in Wakanda. The three of you always shared a close bond and he could only hope that his bond with you would be much closer. He was a blushing mess when it came to you.

He entered the Tower heading directly for the elevator when he heard your voice.

"Pete! Hey, Spidey! Wait up!"

He turned around to see you bounding towards him. You threw your arms around him bringing him into a tight hug. You had missed him. He could understand that by the way you stood so close to him, able to listen to his heart beat rise. He hugged you back with the same enthusiasm as yours. Unable to hold back a sigh, he snuggled his face deeper into your neck.

You stepped back- not leaving his arms, he noticed, blushing wildly- and asked him with furrowed brows, "What happened, Pete?"

He smiled at you, grateful that he had someone like you who could understand him so easily. God, sometimes he just wanted to take you in his arms and cuddle forever.

"Nothing. It's just that school is turning quite hectic now-a-days."

You studied him for a moment, eyes taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the weary, tired smile he gave you. His brown eyes, usually sparkling with delight and excitement, now held exhaustion.

"Okay, that's it. You and I are going upstairs to the common room and you are going to sleep on the couch. I know you won't sleep in your room. You'll probably start doing your homework. And no arguments!" You shut him down before he could protest. Dragging him into the elevator you asked FRIDAY to take you to the common room.

"(Y/N)."

"Hmm?"

"(Y/N)!!!!!"

"What Peter?" You snapped at him. It had been half an hour since you had forcefully made him go to sleep on the couch and fifteen minutes since he had started whining about how he was not feeling sleepy.

He was sprawled on the big, grey couch, and in the short span of thirty minutes had somehow managed get tangled in the pillows and cushions placed. His head was dangling from the corner of the couch as lay on his stomach, left hand on the ground supporting his body. His right hand was somewhere in between a pillow and his head and one leg was on the couch's headrest. It was certainly a view for you. You sat at the opposite end of the couch, the book you had brought with you long forgotten.

"You know I can't sleep anywhere other than my bed unless there is music."

He didn't know how he got the confidence. He had been contemplating about asking you to sing to him while he sleeps but was too scared to see how you would react. Perhaps it was his sleepiness which made him bolder, the lack of sleep affecting his control over his speech. But it had not completely taken over him. He tried to fight the urge to just spew out his feelings for you.

"Music? What kind of music do you want to hear?"

"Anything you sing."

Now he really wanted to slap himself. He had really gone and done that. This was worse than spewing out his feelings for you. Now he was never going to get to cuddle you because he was too sleep deprived to think before he said anything and you were gonna slap him across the face and walk away-

"Peter stop panicking. Peter! Are you okay?"

You were stunned when he had asked you to sing. You weren't expecting him to be this forward. You had your suspicions on whether or not he liked you but you never acted upon your feelings and the innate desire to just ask him out in the fear of being rejected. There had been instances when you thought that maybe he reciprocated your feelings but then he would say something and you would immediately start questioning yourself. So you stood in the sidelines, trying to get closer to him so that you can understand him, only to fall more for him. Now, here he was, panicking and shaking, about to fall from that goddamn couch, pillows and all, and you didn't know whether he was just sleepy or actually liked you. So much for understanding him.

"Look, I- I, (Y/N)-"

"If you want me to sing, I can." You smiled through your stupidity and tried to stop from strangling yourself with a rope.

His eyes lit up as he groggily pushed himself up from the other end of the couch and slid towards you.

"Thanks, (Y/N). You are the best." He replied, placing his head on your lap. Consequences be damned, he was already getting detention tomorrow. Might as well do this.

You stilled, trying to form coherent thoughts. Stumbling through your words, you finally relaxed and placed your hand on his head.

Running your fingers through his hair, you decided on the first song that came to your mind.

"FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Ms. (L/N)?"

"If anyone passes by and asks you to translate the song I'm about to sing, don't do it, please."

"Of course, ma'am."

"Also, can you play the instrumental for the song when I start singing? Keep the volume at minimum."

"Okay, Ms. (L/N)."

Peter snuggled into your lap as you cleared your throat.

"Chookar mere mann ko, kiya tumne kya ishara"

"Is that Hindi? What does it mean?" Peter asked sleepily.

You smiled at him. "Sleep, Petey."

FRIDAY started playing the instrumental.

"Chookar mere mann ko, kiya tumne kya ishara"

What did you mean to do, when you touched my heart so?

"Badala ye mausam, lage pyara jag saara"

The seasons changed, and the world seems beautiful!

"Chookar, mere mann ko, kiya tumne kya ishara. Badala ye mausam, lage pyaara jag saara."

"Tu jo kahe jeevan bhar, tere liye mai gaaun"

If you say so, I'll sing for you for a lifetime.

"Tere liye mai gaaun"

I'll sing for you.

"Geet tere bolon pe, likhta chala jaaun"

I can keep on writing music from what you speak

"Likhta chala jaaun"

I can keep on writing...

"Mere geeton mei, tujhe dhoondhe jag saara"

In my songs, the world will search for you.

"Chookar mere mann ko, kiya tumne kya ishara. Badala ye mausam, lage pyaara jag saara."

You rocked him as you sang, his soft, content snores filling you with satisfaction. A smile made it's way on your face without you even realising it.

"Aaja tere aanchal ye, pyaar se mai bhar du"

Come, I'll fill your arms with love.

"Pyaar se mai bhar du"

I'll fill it with love.

"Khushiyan jahabhar ki, tujhko nazar kar du"

I'll gift you all the happiness in the world

"Tujhko nazar kar du"

I will gift you..

"Tu hi mera jeevan, tu hi jeene ka sahaara"

You are my life, you are my reason to live.

"Chookar mere mann ko kiya tumne kya ishara. Badala ye mausam, lage pyaara jag saara."

"Chookar mere mann ko kiya tumne kya ishara."

Closing your eyes, you smiled. Oh the things you would do to stop time at this very moment. You wanted to live in this moment forever.

"That was amazing."

You shrieked, not expecting anyone to be around. You turned, trying to see how many people heard you, groaning when you see almost all the Avengers.

"Why didn't you guys say anything?!" You whisper, trying not to disturb Peter who was sound asleep on your lap.

"Well, you were amazing. And we wouldn't want to awake Pete, now would we?" Tony answered.

"Okay, fair enough."

"What does that mean?"

You blanched. You had hoped this won't come up. You looked at Steve who had asked the question, face filled with confusion just like the rest of them. Of course, they were asking about the song's meaning. Something you'd rather eat shit than having to tell them.

"Nothing. It meant nothing. It's just a song I like." You lied, your tone firm with finality.

"Okay, if you won't answer, I'll ask FRIDAY. Hey, FRIDAY, what did the song that (Y/N) sang mean?"

You swore to God you had never felt so proud of yourself in that moment.

"Sorry, boss. But Ms. (L/N) has asked me to not translate it to anyone."

"What?! I'm the boss here, FRIDAY. Come on. You can't say no to me."

"Sorry, boss. Ms. (L/N) requested to not translate it to anyone. And you fall under that category."

Bucky snorted at Tony's appalled gasp. Nat was trying so hard not to laugh. Sam did not even bother to hide his laughter. Your smile widened, before it dropped. Bruce. Bruce was smiling directly at you. Fuck. He knew. Obviously, he knew. You begged for mercy, mouthing how grateful you will be if he could just shut his mouth and not tell anyone. He snorted before obliging. But you could see his gears turn. And you thought Bruce was the person who did not meddle in people's matters at all. You shook your head. You could talk to him later.

"Hey, doesn't Bruce know Hindi?"

"No!"

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Wrought Iron Machine

This fic is a remake of https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10927451/1/Iron-Lotus I published that one about 5 years ago. I was going to simply update it but I kind of didn't like what I had started. This fic will be the same exact principal and theme but with a more solid direction and (imo) better writing.

I'd also like to note that this is a somewhat AU setting in that it takes place at the time of LoK but with the Avatar characters (Azula, Zuko, etc.) still in their teen years.

Summary: Wrought Iron Machine is in an 80′s style metal band. With rival band, Fire Of Agni on the rise, Kuvira begins to far that her band is past its prime and fading out of popularity. Between an in-band rivalry and a rocky engagement, she fears for how they will fare in battle of the bands. 

Kuvira nears a sleeping Gazhan, scowling to herself as she nearly trips over an empty beer bottle. The man is a mess. A hungover mess, it’s not the kind of image she wants for Wrought Iron Machine. She doesn’t want to be even in the same realm as Fire Of Agni with their trashy and shallow lyrics. All that those kids do is get drunk or high and make a mess of whatever venue is cursed with hosting their show. And that isn’t even factoring in the controversy they had most recently stirred and continue to stir. She nudges Gazhan awake. “Get yourself together, we have another show tonight.” It takes some furious willpower to not ask him what the hell he was thinking, why the hell he thought it would be a good idea to drink so heavily the night before a show.

She knows the answer anyways. They had just finished their first show of the Fire Nation stretch of their world tour. She admits that it is reason enough to celebrate. But some restraint on his behalf would have been nice.

“Come on, Gazhan.” She hisses, giving him another nudge.

“Eh, leave ‘im.” Ming mutters sleepily. “Just let ‘im be.”

Kuvira could swear that Ming is at least slightly hungover, herself. The two usually drink together, she won’t be surprised to find that last night had been any different. “I’ll let him be when I know he won’t make us late for our own show. We’ve been in this industry for nearly two decades now, and we haven’t cancelled or been late yet.”

Ming rolls her eyes. “When are you gonna pull that stick out of your asshole? This is rock ‘n roll, not some high-class business conference.”

Kuvira pinches her nose. She doesn’t have time to butt heads with Ming again. “Just make sure he gets up.” She still has to fix herself a cup of tea. Raava knows that her throat would soon depend on those. She sits herself down, staring at the memorabilia hung on the wall; golden record won during the height of their fame, a silver one from when they had first began, a cluster of medals and ribbons, and an even bigger slew of magazine pages and covers they had been featured on.

Those are becoming fewer and fewer and she is beginning to wonder if their time in the spotlight is over. Maybe it has been for a while. People are moving onto the next big thing. Unfortunately, the next big thing seems to be Fire Of Agni. Kuvira doesn’t understand, it is just noise. Senseless noise and so much screaming. Screaming to the point where one could barely discern any of the lyrics--perhaps that is a mercy.

Kuvira finishes her tea and lights up a cigarette.

“What’s the point in having tea if you’re just gonna do that?” Baatar takes a seat across the table. There is an undertone of chiding about his words.

She gives her fiance a pointed sigh.

Hearing it he state, “you said that you were done with that.”

“Not now Baatar…” She brings the cigarette to her lips.

“Then when?” He asks. “After your lungs are black and…”

She holds up a hand.

“How are you going to sing if you burn your lungs up?”

It takes a deal of self-control to keep from slamming her hand on the table. She is tired of the well-meaning lectures. “Does it really matter?” She asked. “How much longer do you think Wrought Iron Machine is going to last? Do you remember when we played in Shu Jing, ten years ago? We sold out, the venue was overflowing. Now we just barely get it half-full.”

“We sold out in Republic City, Zaofu, Omashu, and...”

“Of course we sold out in Zaofu, that’s our home city! We sell out in the Earth Kingdom all the time, it’s our home land.”

“What about Repub--”

“Do you know who else sells out in the Earth Kingdom?”

Baatar frowns and, with a roll of his eyes, says it as she does, “Fire Of Agni.”

“And they just debuted, what? A month ago? Yet we can’t even sell out one Fire Nation show anymore. We don’t even sell half of our tickets in the Tribes.”

“Does anyone sell out in the Tribes?” Baatar asks.

“We used to…” She trails off. Her anger subsiding with it.

Baatar takes her hand and plucks the cigarette from between her fingers and puts it out on the table. He squeezes her hand. She stares at the cigarette, still convinced that it truly didn’t matter. She is under the impression that she can’t sing like she used to no matter what she does. Many years of harsher vocal styles, a few instances of laryngitis, and a phonomicrosurgery later her vocal cords aren’t what they used to be. And she is only in her early forties.

She can’t help but wonder if there was anything she could have done to prevent her case of polyps.

Perhaps she should have listened when her doctors had cautioned her to take more breaks and write a few more ballads.

Oh Raava, she could only imagine the abuse the Fire Of Agni girl’s throat and vocal cords were taking. At least Kuvira has some smooth vocals in her songs. From the sound of it, the girl does all of the screaming and her brother takes the clean vocals.

“What are you thinking about?” Baatar asks.

She doesn’t have time to answer when she hears a, “get your lazy, hungover ass out of bed, raavadammit!”

It is much too loud to be Ming. She hears a grumble and a snort and the shifting of blankets against a mattress.

“Get the fuck up!” There comes the sound of something being thrown and then footsteps coming towards she and Baatar. P’Li yanks a chair out.

“Morning P’Li.” Baatar greets.

“He’s so fucking lazy. I swear.” She turns to Kuvira. “Got a light?” Every time a new stressor arose, so would the woman’s lighter. Not that Kuvira blamed her anymore.

“Baatar just took my last.”

“Of course.” P’Li grumbles. “Ya know, this is why we’re falling behind. Gazhan can’t even roll his lazy ass outta bed.”

Kuvira rolls her eyes. Perhaps that is one of many reasons. “When are the two of you going to end this feud of yours? We can’t afford in-band fights when we have Fire Of Agni to rival.”

“It’ll end when Ghazan stops picking up groupie chicks and starts picking up his bass.” She pauses. “Fuck, you would think he’d notice how Ming looks at ‘im.”

A fair point. “As long as he’s ready by tonight, I suppose that it doesn’t matter.” And it doesn’t. It matters as little as she resuming her smoking habit. They are falling behind so she might as well do what she will. Her voice has already taken some damage, what is one more cigarette? She stares out the window as Yon Rha’s village comes into view. Is she even having fun anymore? Once upon a time, back when she was in her early twenties, back when they had only a few months under their belts, she approached every show with a sense of eagerness and giddy anticipation. Now she can’t even muster a shred of enthusiasm. Does she even like this anymore? Does she even want to do it? Is Fire Of Agni really destroying the metal scene for her that much?

When had things become less about the music and more about the fame?

[nyxocity]

It begins with fire and a promise, with blood and love deeper than bones.

It begins with fumbling hope and fractured dreams.

It begins with ending, with bitterness and goodbye.

*

Sam isn’t sure how old he is the first time he feels it.

In school he learned about the unseen pull of the moon, the tug of gravity against his skin, the attraction of the planets to the sun, and sometimes he thinks this feeling is like all of those things at once.

He learned about right and wrong, too, “should” and “shouldn’t”, “supposed to” and “never”, and this is all of those things, too, and none of them.

He just knows it makes the hollow ache in his chest go away, the feeling left behind by all these motel rooms and towns that fade away in the rear view mirror.

He just knows there’s always been Dean and there’s never been anything else.

He is seventeen the first time he kisses his brother’s mouth, taste of salt and sweat, smell of engine grease and scrape of denim.

*

His brother in his arms, taste in his mouth, blood in his blood. Dean in his arms, and it’s nothing like everything he thought he it would be. Warm, safe, loved, and he is still alone. Hand on heart, hands on skin, and still he aches, wishing for impossible things.

It’s not enough for him. For either of them.

His kisses turn hard, fingers clutching and cruel. Demanding more, taking harder, faster. Some nights he urges Dean to fuck him until the sheets are sweat slick and he is boneless, useless, belly covered in come and body sheathed in heat.

There’s something missing, something lacking. Something in the way. A nameless, formless thing that taunts him in the night, pulls him from his dreams to the window, staring at the silent streets below to where they disappear against the horizon.

Sam feels broken and he wants Dean to put him back together--but Sam just keeps cutting him, over and over and over, like he doesn't know how to do anything else, and Jesus. Dean just takes it on the chin, arms wide, smile bright, takes it all in and buries it deep and Sam doesn’t know where he keeps it, but sometimes, when Dean’s deep inside him, Sam hears him make this tiny, broken sound and he thinks “yes, that”, except it isn’t, not really. It’s just a moment, a taste and a touch, and Sam will never really know what his brother carries with him. If he bears the cross of this sin, its shape and weight burned into his soul, as inseparable him as from the tenderness of his touch, the slow, wicked thrust of his hips, and the terrifying depth of his love.

Dean would sooner die than ever let Sam know.

And Dean wants Sam, but Sam thinks maybe Dean needs more, and for the first time, Sam thinks maybe he does, too.

*

Everywhere they go, all around them, smiling boys and girls with lives and homes and schools, holding hands and dreaming futures, and Sam wants to spin into orbit with them, not around them. Summertime, always summertime when this ache throbs in his chest, a hidden road winding down into fall and possibility, where hope lies quietly waiting.

There are things he’d like to do, but Dean will never see them, never understand. Sam can’t make sense of them all, can’t qualify or quantify them all, their meaning escaping the trappings of words.

Sam asks Dean questions that Dean can’t answer, words lodged in his brother’s throat, faraway sadness in his eyes. And Sam thinks later that maybe Dean always understood a lot more a lot sooner than Sam ever did.

*

He leaves on a clear, crisp morning in late August, pack in his hand and feet on the road. John’s voice echoes in his ears, angry and harsh, and he blinks back salt against the daylight. Thoughts in California, heart in his throat, he freezes when he hears the roar of the engine behind him. Turns guilty eyes to meet Dean’s and not a word is spoken but Sam can feel it all right there, hanging in the crisp air between them; broken promise on the edge of fall. Eyes to soul and Sam gets in the car, puts his bag on his lap and his brother drives him to the bus station.

They never do say goodbye.

He feels Dean’s eyes boring into his back long after the bus leaves the terminal.

*

The city falls flatter, paler and colder than Sam had thought it would, somehow empty without his brother’s voice echoing in his ears. Empty bed, empty room, taste of salt, taste of pain, and he’d thought it would all be bigger somehow, that it would absolve him, vindicate him. But it’s just a city, like any other city Sam’s ever been to.

He holds the phone in his hand to sleep, curled and cold upon the bed. His finger twitches against the button with need so aching it stretches him thin inside.

Days are classes, lectures and classrooms and pen to paper, tactile and real, something he can hold onto. Nights don’t bear thinking about.

When he meets her, she is everything he might ever have imagined he’d wanted, if he’d ever stopped long enough to imagine. There’ve only been two girls before her, hot skin and shivering thighs that he’d slid his face between, sunk himself deep inside. When he fucks her for the first time, she whispers his name and strokes his hair, brushes away his tears and tells him it’s going to be okay, and he falls a little in love with her.

The first time she asks who Dean is, he jumps inside his skin, meets her eyes with a guilty jerk. He doesn’t ask her how she heard it, knows she already knows more than she wants to just by the tone in her honeyed voice. She sleeps by his side every night and every night his dreams are still steeped in the scent of his brother, color-taste-texture essence of Dean. What a simple thing it must have been, for that single syllable that’s always meant more than anything else ever has to fall from his lips on the cusp of sleep.

When he tells her, her eyes stutter, fall confused from his, and there’s a moment, one eternally stretching moment where he feels her start to slide—and then she smiles, big and bright, kisses him softly like forgiveness, and pulls him down into bed with her.

He loves her. God help him. He does.

Let it be enough.

*

The Impala hums through his bones and sings in his blood just like it has for more than half his life, and Stanford is a hazy, distant memory on the road behind them. Sometimes, in the moments between waking and dreaming, he gets confused, thinks he imagined it all.

Dean stares at him like a ghost from the drivers seat, eyes filled with something like sadness, but the words don’t come. The years have grown between them, lifted and divided them, sent them crashing to the shore tumbling like waves and left them here, breaking against the sand. Without their hands, mouths, skin, sweat to speak for them, the wind whistles by, wrapping around the car and through Sam’s mind.

Quiet. It’s too quiet.

He can still smell her burning.

*

It begins with fire and a promise, with blood and love deeper than bones.

It begins with a knife to the back, a promise, and a deal sealed with a kiss.

It begins somewhere far beyond where love should end.

*

Slow tentative kisses, hands fisted in Dean’s hair, pulling him deeper, closer and more, more, more, not enough skin, not enough heart, not enough love in the scars between them.

One year. Dean has one year left to live, and Sam knows he can be more than this. More than these broken, jagged pieces of boy that cut when he reaches for Dean.

One year and it’s now or never, everything to give and nothing left to lose.

They stretch and strain against the leather seats of the Impala, against the scratch of cheap sheets, against the rough burn of carpet. They tattoo a rhythm with rocking hips and deep thrusts, eyes locked and hands interlaced, slow, lingering kisses sweeter and more necessary than air to a drowning man.

And it’s good. Better than good. It’s everything he always knew he wanted and everything they’ve been afraid to let themselves have. And it’s funny and it’s sad that it took this to bring them together in just the right way.

Sand through glass, time slips away. And staring death in the face every day never did it, never made them pause, but now that it creeps in day by day on little cats feet, with dwindling minutes and hours, it finally seems real.

Sam doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry that it’s the first time either of them has truly felt alive.

*

They don’t talk about it. It’s there between them and they both know, but they never do talk about it, Sam too afraid and Dean too resigned, both of them wanting anything besides sorrow.

The days slip by and winter turns to spring. In three months Dean will be gone. Three months, no less, no more, and Sam is no closer to finding an answer than he was last summer when he fell into his brothers arms and kissed him again for the very first time.

He understands now that Dean never needed more. It was always Sam that needed more, and Dean never could deny Sam anything he wanted. Now all Sam wants is for Dean to stay, to be here by his side, fighting and fucking, hunting and living.

It’s the one thing Dean can’t give him.

*

Curled in bed with their bodies pressed together, sweaty and soiled and sated, Sam rolls over, presses his brother gently into the bed and climbs up on Dean’s chest. Stares deep into mystifying green he knows better than he knows anything else in this world and will never completely understand. Fingers curl and catch; in the tangle of his brother’s hair, clutching against the hollow of his throat, and he looks long and deep, willing his brother to open, to break, to speak, anything.

“Dean. Do you ever—“ there’s a hitch in his voice and it breaks, leaving him unable to go on.

And Dean just presses Sam’s head down against Dean’s chest to where he can hear his brother’s heart beat.

“No.”

Whispers almost inaudible, smile tangled in the ragged, emotional edge.

“Never.”

*

Twenty eight days, six hundred and seventy two hours, forty thousand three hundred and twenty minutes.

They stand at the lip of the Grand Canyon, wind and dust in their hair and eyes, and it’s all worth it for that smile on Dean’s face.

And he thought it would feel like an ending, but he’s starting to believe there’s no such thing as an ending between the two of them.

Even if he has to go fighting down into Hell armed with nothing but love to bring Dean back.

*

It begins with ending, with tears and goodbye.

It begins with death and a promise, love and blood deeper than bones.

And it never does stop.

[twelvesignsrp]

congratulations nicky, pisces is now cleo fairchild with the faceclaim ashley moore

APPLICATION

  Character Sign: Pisces

  Character name: Cleo Fairchild

  Birthday: 1st of March 1997

  Sexuality: Asexual, Panromantic

  Gender: Female

  Moon Sign: Virgo

  Faceclaim: I’m going to stick with the suggested face claim of Ashley Moore.

  Power: Invisibility. In short, Cleo loves to escape. Although she is very tuned in to what’s going on in the real world, that doesn’t mean she always wants to be. Sometimes there’s too much chaos, too much drama. It’s exhausting. She likes to escape to her own world - to dream. Unfortunately in this case, she can hide but she can’t run. Though she can vanish into the shadows, she can never physically enter the realm that exists in her mind.

  What do they study? English Literature. She has a soft spot for old- and middle-English texts. The ones that read less like the English of today and more like they come from a whole other world. The ones that sing with the sound of scratching quills and the smell of old parchment leaves even when read aloud. The ones that make her shiver under the imaginary fall of misty evening air and the soft blush of an open fire on her skin. Dark days in an unknown universe, when anything was possible, and yet it seemed like so little was possible. What a small, strange way to live, and yet even then, stories were told. The evolution of language and storytelling lives in the very heart of humanity, reflecting our capacity to change and adapt, and all the while never lose our ability to dream.

  Biography:

For as long as Cleo can remember, she’s been a reader. She knows that she hasn’t always been a reader (she was, after all, a baby once), but she may as well have been. As a small child she would read anything she could get her hands on in the London flat in which she lived with her mother and father. It didn’t matter what it was. She’d read books, instruction manuals, old greetings cards… you name it, if she was able to get a hold of it, she’d read it whether she understood it or not. Her primary school teachers saw potential in her and encouraged her love of books and learning. She had a happy, albeit modest childhood, at least for the first eleven years.

Then came the summer before she was due to start secondary school. Her mother and father, recognising that they had an exceedingly bright child on their hands, had worked tirelessly with her so that she’d get the grades she needed to gain admission to a good grammar school, and she’d done it. Uniforms had been bought, tube routes had been studied meticulously, and Cleo was already dreaming about her new classes and her new friends.

Then her mother disappeared. Gone. Just like that. One fresh, warm 4am in July, she was spotted leaving her night shift at the hospital on CCTV, and then never came home. Cleo remembers waking up the following morning to the sound of voices in her living room, and her father sobbing, an untouched cup of tea in his shaking hands. A police lady took her into the kitchen and made her some cereal, and explained that they were all looking very hard to try and find her mum. They never found her.

Cleo wanted to disappear, too. She wanted to dissolve into thin air and leave behind the chaos and uncertainty. And, as it turned out, so did her father. Two years into her secondary school education, something changed in Cleo’s dad. His tears dried. A stony determination set in his eyes. He worked more and was home less. One day, she came home from school and he finally said it. He’d gotten a better job, and they were leaving London. It turned out that Cleo hadn’t been the only one who wanted to escape. The problem was, her dad’s solution felt more to Cleo like giving up than anything. Cleo had always secretly maintained that her mother would come home. She still twitched with every knock on the door and every soft sigh of a car pulling up below their living room window. If they left, she wouldn’t find them. Her father didn’t believe she was coming back.

Exeter was fine. It was an old city full of beautiful old buildings, and Cleo liked that. But she still half-existed in her old flat, imagining her mother’s face as she arrived home to find that they were gone. Four weeks after moving, Cleo missed the bus to her new school and ran away back to London by train. She didn’t spend long there. Her form teacher called her father and he knew exactly where she’d be. When Cleo arrived at her old block of flat, the police were already there waiting for her and they took her home.

Cleo grew older and, slowly, she had to start moving forward again or she was sure she would rot. She made friends, buried herself in school work, and even made Head Girl in her final year at school. With top A-Level grades in English Literature, Spanish, History and ICT, she was accepted into Durham university to study English Literature with the hopes of one day becoming a university lecturer herself. But still, she has never had closure, and her mind often wanders back to that balmy early morning on the steps outside St. Thomas’ Hospital. She knows she may never find out what happened, but she holds out hope.

  Five interesting facts about your character:

Cleo’s favourite book is her battered old copy of the Pearl Manuscript.

Cleo is a cat person through and through. Though she doesn’t own one, she’s the kind of person who will joyfully try to coax random cats on the street to come over to her. It gets her some odd looks from passers-by, but usually she’s too absorbed in trying to get the cat to pay attention to her to care.

She can’t play a musical instrument or sing to save her life, but she loves listening to music. Not a fan of pounding club anthems or guitar-heavy rock, she likes the simpler, more calming sounds of acoustic instruments, classical outfits, and soft, dreamy synths.

Sometimes, when she’s heading back to her room late at night and she doesn’t want to disturb people by turning on the lights in the hallway, she uses the function on her phone that allows her to flick it upwards to turn on the flashlight. If nobody else is with her, she likes to whisper “Lumos” before she does it so that she can feel like a wizard.

Cleo isn’t really into the party scene that seems to go hand in hand with university life. She can sometimes act a little high and mighty about it, as though she thinks she has ‘better things to do’, but in reality she feels desperately awkward among the huge crowds and loud music, and worries that this has isolated her from a lot of people who might find her dull.

  Character Quote:

And all these truths are sold With foundations below them that were dug in winter’s cold, When the world stole our young and prayed on the old. Well hope deals the hardest blows, Yet I cannot help myself but hope.

   -Foye Vance, “Two Shades of Hope”

  If your character had a patronus what would it be? and why?

A dove. Nothing dispels fear quite like a promise of coming renewal.

WRITING SAMPLE

It was half past six, and the low September sun cast a soft, golden light over the busy quadrangle, warming the immaculately-kept grass and the top of Cleo’s head.

Normally, around this time of the day, Cleo would be putting dinner on, knowing that her dad would be on his way home from work. That was how they did things at home. She got home from school before he finished work, so she started the dinner. He cleared up and did the dishes afterwards. Then they’d both have time in the evening, whether it was spent together or doing their own thing. They did everything like that - as a team.

Except now they were both on their own. He’d started the drive back down to Exeter the evening before, leaving Cleo to face Freshers’ Week - and her first lectures - alone. Obviously, it had to be that way. She couldn’t very well drag her dad to events and classes with her.

“But still,” she had joked as he climbed into his car and she planted a kiss on his cheek. “Who’ll make your dinner for you now?”

“And who’ll do your dishes?” he’d shot back, his warm, twinkly smile sending a small shock through her when it occurred to her that she wouldn’t see it again for a while. “I’ll ring you when I get home, okay? I love you.”

And then he was gone. And now it was half past six and soon her father would be getting in from work and starting to cook his first dinner alone, all the way down by the southern coast. She felt stupid for welling up at the thought of him coming home to their house by himself, of them both eating alone tonight with nobody to grill about their day, or tease with some silly inside joke, or-

She jumped slightly as her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and unlocked it, and couldn’t help but smile at the picture of the McDonald’s bag sitting in the passenger seat of her dad’s car.

I promise I’ll start cooking tomorrow night! - Dad x

ANYTHING ELSE?

My favourite colour is lavender.

Also I haven’t done a tumblr RP before, so I might seem a little bit lost at first and might float for a day or two trying to get my bearings and figure out how this all works. I’ve obviously familiarised myself with the material for this RP in particular, but I'm very clever with the format yet. If you’re looking for people with a bit more experience RPing on this platform, I totally understand and I will absolutely not be offended at my application being rejected. Thank you for your time!