#snipets

Jensen at jib concert sings shallow with bri

awesomeness ensued

Something that I wrote while driving through the mountains of Zakopane in late December.

Awaking in the mountains under a blanket of snow had not been what she expected. Grey eyes blinking away a serene sleep to rest upon the crisp sky above seemed almost unreal to her, as if seeing it for the first time in existence. Was this the beginning? Had there been a ‘before’? Regardless, it was cold. A rush of blood had spread through her nose and across her cheeks leaving the rest of her face pale against the snow that shrouded her body. In time, she discovered the life within each limb, a sudden jerk of the leg kicked up a cloud of powdered snow that wafted across her unbroken gaze across the sky above. A second jolt of discovered energy passed through her arms as she uncovered the existence of her fingertips. Moulding a pocket of space around herself with each quake that rippled through her body, and once she had identified the ends of each limb, she began to lift herself from beneath the snow which had embraced her for so long. She noticed how heavy her head felt as she sat up. A stream of steaming black hair emerged from behind her as she propped herself upright. For the first time since awakening, her eyes had broke away from the sky to rest along the land surrounding her. A familiar collection of snow-caked trees surround her, causing a wave of melancholic nostalgia to wash across her. There were no memories within her mind to compare the scenery to, nothing but a feeling of existence which she was to pursue. That, and a name. Whether it was her own or one that belonged to someone else, she was not sure. “Alexandra.” She croaked. As if saying this name out loud would trigger the release of a wash of memories. Instead, it acted as a means to discover what voice she held. It was rigid, similar to how ice would crack and splinter so suddenly under pressure. Moments passed as she continued to sit still, her lower half remained covered by the snow as she continued to examine the world around her. She could tell that where ever it was that she had awoken, it was the tallest peak for miles around. Her hair was wet and slicked against her naked back, as if having stepped out from a hot bath. She noticed that the more awake she felt the warmer she became. Steam would rise from her skin and the cold became less prominent with every breath she took, life was burning through her. No part of her felt stiff as she attempted to stand for the first time. She left a silhouette that seared through the snow and down to the grass beneath. Her feet left no snow behind as she meandered between the trees without a particular direction in mind. Her warmth dried her hair of the melted snow which caused it to curl into crisp ringlets, draping over her figure.

It shouldn’t be this terrifying, but -- it is, and Keith stalls outside Shiro’s door. It’s past midnight, so there’s nobody around to see him hovering, hand raised to knock after just one more second.

It’s been a hell of a lot of seconds.

I can still turn back, Keith tells himself. I can just tell Shiro I fell asleep after sparring.

Yeah, right.

If that shit were true, he wouldn’t have rushed through a shower and come down the hall with his wet hair drying cold on his nape, sending shivers down his spine. He would be in bed, asleep, and not worrying about Shiro asking him to stay over tonight.

(Keith had blurted, “I’ve never been to a sleepover,” and wanted to bite his tongue clean off.)

Just thinking back on it makes sweat prick all over his body. He sucks in a breath and lifts his hand again. He can do this. One, two --

The door opens, and Keith’s world ends.

“Gonna come in, cadet?” Shiro’s smile borders on a smirk, and it’s two-thirds infuriating and one-third cute, which only makes it worse.

“Actually,” Keith says, “I was just leaving.”

“Aw, baby,” Shiro says, drawn out and teasing. He’s really trying to send Keith to an early grave. “Don’t go, pretty baby.”

“Shiro.” Keith tries to mock his tone, but it comes out soft, fond. Shiro’s grin grows, and Keith’s nerves give him the strength to push into the room. Shiro follows him, eyes curving with his dopey smile, and kisses him.

Shiro is smooth and slow and careful and yet Keith always turns rigid before he allows himself to melt. His fingers brush against Shiro’s stubble and a sigh escapes him.

Shiro’s cheeks pink. Keith nearly chokes.

“So.” Shiro draws back. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Keith breathes. “You, uh, wanted me?”

Shiro goes red. Keith can feel his own cheeks heating up; he hides his face in Shiro’s chest and holds on tight. Shiro hums, begins to sway, and it’s -- nice. Being with Shiro is always nice. Keith tips his head up and presses another kiss to Shiro’s lips. The hum spreads, warm and bright.

“What do you want to do?” Keith asks. He can feel his heartbeat picking up, thudding steadily against his ribcage as he waits.

Mouth curling and fond, Shiro runs a hand through Keith’s damp hair. “It’s Friday night. I’m thinking we can chill? I just want to be with you.”

“Pretty expressive lately, aren’t you?” Keith bites back a laugh, but he knows exactly what Shiro’s talking about. Life is better than it ever was, but nothing compares to the idea of life with Shiro by his side.

“The things a promotion does to you,” Shiro rolls his eyes. “I miss seeing you all the time.”

“Whose fault is that?” Keith says. “Should’ve made some fuck ups here and there.” 

Inevitably, his mind strays. Their relationship, objectively, is a pretty big fuck up. If the Garrison finds out that golden boy Takashi Shirogane is dating spitfire cadet Keith Kogane, it’s over. Keith swallows it down and offers a quiet, “Well, I’m here now.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “C’mere, I want to show you something.”

They wrap themselves in blankets, in each other, and huddle around Shiro’s laptop. Shiro pulls out his headphones and hands Keith one end before taking the other for himself.

“So we don’t wake anybody,” Shiro says with an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s like I’m connected to you,” Keith says lightly, kissing the tip of Shiro’s nose. His earbud falls out, but it’s a worthy price to pay for Shiro’s blush.

Shiro pulls up a documentary, but soon they devolve into stupid memes from Matt and music videos.

“I didn’t know you liked country music,” Shiro comments. “Is it because you lived in Texas for a while?”

“It’s soulful,” Keith argues. “It has nothing to do with Texas. I’ve lived a lot of places.”

“Which place is your favorite?” Shiro says as he looks up a different song. If Keith’s guilty pleasure is country, then Shiro’s is pop. His head is already bobbing slightly.

“Here,” Keith mutters. “You know that.”

When Keith was younger, if he wasn’t using a pencil to sketch, he was tapping out beats with the eraser. It was the easiest way to pass time.  It still is, and the lines and the sounds are all Shiro, Shiro, Shiro. The slant of his eyelids and the way he smiles, his laugh and his soft fringe of hair.

“Yeah,” Shiro says softly, and leans in. “You’re my favorite place too.”

jensen with jake, jason

singing

rock paper scissors, poor jensen :(

j&m honcon panel snipets, abt friendship moments

pranks

tombstone bts shenanigans

j&m should have more panels together cause they are tons of fun