!g: angst

When Nico di Angelo first looked him in the eyes with that miserable expression and told Will he was broken, Will could see he didn’t expect comfort. The way his body faced away from him, the way he was already curling in on himself, the way his eyes had immediately dropped away from him. Nico was expecting Will to abandon him, or something worse that Will didn’t want to think about. That’s what got him the most, that was the final blow that made Wills heart crack for this beautiful boy. Nico didn’t expect support. In his mind he wasn’t reaching out for help, he was confessing some sort of terrible secret that would make Will turn and run.

It’s almost a relief now, the way Nico tells him he feels broken sometimes. Because Will knows at least he’s not as broken as he was by the way he moves slightly toward Will so Will can pull him close. And he does, he holds Nico tightly enough that maybe, if he is broken, he can fuse all those pieces back together.

Coming Home (Chapter One)

Welcome to the Fic! This pics up directly after BROKEN ends, and gets off to an angsty first few chapters so holy hell guys, buckle up! 

I tagged everyone who was tagged in Broken, but if I miss you or if you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know!

MASTERLIST HERE

Buckle up!

*********************

From the End of Broken—

“Captain Rogers.” Colonel James Rhodes stood stiffly in the common area, wings so dark blue they were almost black tucked behind his shoulders, looking bruised and battered, but fierce as hell. “Thank you for meeting me, and for not involving the rest of the family.”

“Colonel.” Steve greeted him, his own wings raising in welcome and reached to shake his hand. “It’s no problem. What can I do for you?”

“Captain Rogers–”

“Wait.” Steve came around the couch, folding his arms. “Um, where’s Tony? We haven’t heard from him since he landed in Afghanistan. How did the weapons demonstration go?”

Rhodes seemed like he tensed even further, his wings shaking slightly and something awful rocked through Steve’s body.

“Rhodes.” he said slowly. “Where’s Tony? Why are you here and he isn’t?”

The Colonel’s next words made Steve’s knees give out, made him collapse onto the couch.

“Steve. We don’t know where Tony is.”

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Escape - Chapter Five

SPN FanFic

~Y/N and Dean are abducted after a night at the bar and thrown into a maze of horrors. Can Sam track down his brother and girlfriend in time? Can they even hold on that long?~

Dean, Reader; Sam

1,360 Words

Series Warnings: Angst. Show level violence. Graphic gore and blood. Extreme situations that may cause anxiety and fear. Character injury and trauma. (Extra Warnings in the tags)

~Feedback is the crack that keeps the Writing coming back~

ESCAPE Masterlist ~  My Masterlist  

Chapter Five: Some Fresh Hell


Y/N wiped her hands on her thighs, streaking the soft denim with putrid muck as she followed Dean into the next room.

Unlike the last, this room was fully lit, although having vision wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The door shut automatically behind them, sealing itself like an airlock, and Dean and Y/N looked around at the empty space. The walls were white and round, curving around the perimeter of a white tile floor that was lined with grate vents. The ceiling was low, and Dean could surely have laid his palm flat against it if he tried.

“Another dead end,” Y/N sighed and ran her hand along the wall to her right, finding no seams in the structure. She tapped her fingers against it and it echoed dimly in response. “It’s metal. What the fuck? What is this, a silo?”

“Or a shipping container?” Dean shrugged as he looked around.

“No, those are corrugated. This is more like… I don’t even know what this is like. Where the fuck are we?”

“I wish I knew.”

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winsbuck  asked:

Julian and his declaration of love for apprentice?

Oh man this is going to be a roller coaster ride of emotions

When Julian Devorak makes his declaration of love it is by no means in a private setting but in front of the crowd before him as he stands on the stage, hands tied behind his back and a guard on each side of him.

It is the night of the masquerade party and the fugitive doctor got captured by the guards sent by Consul Valerius who eavesdropped on a conversation that the apprentice was having alone in their temporary lodgings in the palace. 

Julian looked across the busy crowds until his eyes locked onto the apprentice’s who sat right in the centre of the crowd. They were easy to spot as their beauty shone brighter than the night stars that hung above them. A turbulent of emotions swirled in Julian’s chest as he spoke above the shouts and outcries that demanded blood and retribution.

“Tonight may be the last night I will be alive. This may be the last time I ever have the chance to speak freely and therefore as a man who is condemned of murdering Count Lucio I have the right as a man to speak my last words.”

Julian’s eye focused intently on the apprentice, a small and genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“My last words shall be a declaration of love.” 

The crowd suddenly went silent at his words. One could barely hear anyone breathing let along hear a pin drop.

“Y/N,” Julian spoke again, “From the moment I met you at your shop I knew that you were special. Every day you have given me something that no one has ever done, your hope and most importantly…your love. I never thought I could live on as a lone fugitive, but you gave me the hope that someday everything will fall into place. For a long time, I believed that I never deserved love and yet you gave me all the love you could give and for that I am more than grateful. No matter what happens to me, I love you with all my heart. My heart and soul will only ever belong to you. Because of you, I was more eager than ever to prove my innocence, but alas some stories do not have a happen ending…”

Julian’s voice broke as the tears he struggled so hard to hold back finally fell, staining his pale cheeks. 

“You are my shining star when I look at the beautiful night sky, my radiating and warm sun and my guiding moon. If soulmates are real than I can say for certainty that I have found mine.. I love you (Y/N).”

Those were Julians last words as he felt the rope tugged into the flesh of his neck. Julian was not going to let his dear apprentice see him sad and grieving. No, he would go down with a smile on his face.

You poor man, swinging helplessly from the chains 

suspended by your feet in hopes that your sacrifice will mean something?

Affection was never something unusual to Mike Wheeler. He had grown up in a home where his mother held him when he was upset, kissed his forehead to check his temperature when he was sick. Where his older sister would ruffle his hair, his father would put his hand on his arm reassuringly, and where his younger sister instinctively raised her arms towards him for him to pick her up.

Mike Wheeler was raised to be affectionate and caring. When he first saw Eleven, that’s what his first thought was - she needs someone to take care of her. So he put his jacket over her shaking frame, looking worriedly into her anxious eyes.

When she flinched away when he tried to touch her wrist, Mike thought it was odd, but he didn’t question it, trying as hard as he could to make her feel safe and comfortable.

The first time they really touch is when she smiles at him, when she laughs softly, sitting in his father’s armchair. Their hand are still a few inches from eachother, but her eyes touch his, and his heart is swallowed in weird wave of affection he’s never felt before. But he brushes it of, not giving it much thought. There are more important things to worry about.

Then they start looking for Will. Her hands rest on his arms when they’re riding his bike, and his face feels a bit too warm for his liking. And then, he let’s her see that he’s not a hero. He’s not fearless. And she understands, never letting him know he was one for her.

They find him. El’s hand raises to Mike’s arm in a desperate effort to get him to understand, to get him to forgive her, a touch of a person who’s never been touched with such gentleness and care before she met him, the boy who gave her something new, something she didn’t know she was missing.

And his furious, hurt expression, his anger, it’s her fault, he hates her, he hates her, he is angry at her… And anger never meant anything good.

But then, when he puts make-up on her face, something in her eyes shifts. The anxiety is still there, but it’s muffled by some sort of curiosity, and a tiny bit of strange warmth that makes Mike furrow his eyebrows in effort to focus. But then he puts lipstick on her lips, and bites his own, distracted by the way her soft eyes follow his every movement with trusting expression. Her brown, sad irises were touching his soul once again. Few minutes later, she came out of the room, dressed in pink, with a wig on, and anxious expression, and he wasn’t sure if it was possible for his heart to feel too big for his chest.

And suddenly, she doesn’t flinch away anymore. She’s the one reaching for him, holding on to his jacket as they ride trough Hawkins streets, touching his arm, looking at him with expression full of trust and warmth.

And Mike Wheeler, the boy with the huge heart that was never his, not really, since it was always shared between his family members and friends, feels like he’s suffocating and soaring at the same time.

And then there’s shouting, hurtful words, insults thrown her way and his heart is burning in anger, his fists are flying towards his best friend, because why would he call her a traitor, why would he call her a monster. And all Mike sees is her hurt, terrified expression and Lucas NEEDS to stop… And then it’s him suddenly shouting at her, glaring at her with disbelief.

“What’s wrong with you?!”

And she runs. And he wishes he could beat himself up the way he wanted to beat Lucas before.

He looks for her with Dustin. But in the end it’s her that finds them. And she saves him.

And he thinks his swollen heart will break when after all this she repeats Lucas’ words, saying that she is the monster.

He can not let her think so. He denies it fiercely, wanting, needing her to know she’s anything but monster. Words fail him, The Dungeon Master, so he reaches out, pulling her into his arms, feeling her relax into the embrace. She doesn’t even tense anymore, leaning on him, gently pressing her cheek against his arm.

They go back home, and he touches her face again, wiping the dirt and dust off her delicate features. She’s standing close to him, making his heart beat faster. She is self conscious about her hair, bit it doesn’t matter to him at all. And he let’s her know, because he can’t let her think lesser of herself.

He doesn’t know where was it all coming from, but just thinking that she doesn’t see herself the way he saw her makes him want to cry, and Mike hates crying, because he’s always cried a lot and he hates it. He doesn’t want to feel weak.

Next few hours consist of running, hectic chase and fear. Her hands grasping his jacket desperately, his hand wrapped around hers to make sure she’s close.

And his lips pressed against hers in a attempt of making her understand something he didn’t quite understand himself. But he felt it, that he was sure of. And seeing the way her face seemed to light up when he pulled away made him hope that maybe, just maybe she felt it too.

And then it’s all sweaty palms pressed together as they run, hands reaching out desparately, fingers intertwined, his thumb gently stroking her hand as he promises her the world and she lets herself feel the hope, because looking into his kind, warm, dark eyes, she feels like the world is within her reach.

The second their hand separate, it all goes really quick and all Mike remembers is the terror that filled his lungs as she dissolved into the air and his own screams echoing trough the class as he cried.

And after few months, Mike Wheeler finally understands - their hands were ment only to touch. Never to remain intertwined.

_____

This one shot was kinda inspired by the post I saw some time ago, I think it was @themikewheelers post?? I’m not sure I’m sorry but it was about how at the beginning El is afraid of being touched and gradually she starts to be the one reaching out to Mike

Shadow’s had trouble sleeping since Geonosis, but this…..this was different. The nightmares were worse, more realistic. He couldn’t escape the pain in his sleep, let alone during the day. His shoulder ached, he wasn’t even sure if the pain was real anymore, or if it was just in his head…..his head. His head hurt the most. And the damage done was not healing like he had hoped. And that hurt most of all…..


A scene from a current/ongoing, and cannon rp for Renegade Squad. Shadow struggles with his demons.

Haunted by the Past: Drabble

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Summary: Bucky can’t let go, and watching their wedding video doesn’t make things better

Warnings: angsty angst is angsty, #trashiestofthetrash fic, result of me being unable to finish, this is like half-complete just overall blah, let this fic die tbh

A/N: In the spirit of Halloween, I did a twist on what was supposed to be ‘spooky’ and just made it angsty instead. It’s not actually scary, and this is like the love-child of my Control and Counterclockwise series, because this is a part that got cut. 

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Here, have a present

Person A and Person B have been dating for about a 3 years now. 

The strength of their love was something they never doubted, nor did anyone around them. But one night, something broke in the both of them. Person A shouts, “Please, just listen to me! You never listen to me.” 

Person B sighs in exasperation, their hands going straight to their temples to massage them. “I am listening right now, aren’t I? You’re just not making any sense. I don’t understand!”

“That’s the thing, (Person B’s name). You don’t try to understand. If it doesn’t make sense the first time around, it never makes sense to you.” 

“That’s because you don’t bother to try and help me understand after the first time. You’re just as much at fault as I am.” Person B’s voice grew quieter with each syllable.

Person B stares right into Person A’s eyes. Both of them start to tear up, the love in their minds trying to overcome the overwhelming amount of hate that’s starting to bubble up and froth at their mouths, spitting out hate instead of the love their muscles remember. 

“I fell in love with you, 3 years ago,” Person B starts. “I fell in love with everything about you.”

Person A starts to cry, and their knees give out. Person B looks at the broken pieces in front of him, and the pieces just kept breaking.

“But now, I think…” Person B started. 

“I think I’m starting to fall in hate with you.”

  • Dakota: Balthazar!
  • *everyone looks at him*
  • Cavendish: Dakota, why so loud? I'm right her-
  • Dakota: (make him stop with his hand) We need to talk.
  • Cavendish: What are you talking about? and looking back, why my first name?
  • Dakota: Something happened, and I don't have much long, so please listen. *take a deep breath* I don't know how to tell you this, because you're a very dear partner, and the only friend I have in the Bureau...
  • Cavendish: Vinnie?
  • Dakota: A-And that makes it weird, because... I like you.
  • Cavendish: ...so? I like you too.
  • Dakota: No! I... I LIKE like you!
  • Cavendish: *process it, then gasp*
  • *everyone gasp and look at each other, Milo stares with a short smile, but a worried stare*
  • Dakota: I know, it's wrong!
  • Cavendish: N-No! I-It's not wrong, it's just that-
  • Dakota: *starts tearing up* I just knew you don't feel the same, and i thought it would go away if I pretended I didn't felt that, but I do!
  • Cavendish: Vinnie...
  • Dakota: *sniffles* Just... take care of yourself. *runs outside*
  • Cavendish: Vinnie? (runs after him) Vinnie, wait! I- (sees a time portal disappear, slowly fall to his knees) I... I like you too.

The most painless suffering you know is accepting that rejection is the answer to your every question.

It’s insidious, these lessons that crawl and claw and make a home in your bones. They start off harmlessly, as all things do. You start off, as all children might, offering what mere skill you have to receive praise as a reward. You receive a favorable response-

but that is to be expected. You are a child. They coddle you as adults are wont to do, raise you to the heavens until you’ve forgotten how it is you can get down.

Then comes adolescence. You join competitions, show your work to the world, and expect awards for merely trying- as they have taught you, with empty words and compliments in an attempt to keep your childish tears at bay. You are caught unprepared when you lose, when you fail, when you do worse than what you had expected for yourself.

It’s fine. You can do better next time, you think to yourself.

So you try again.

You do better. You try harder. You pour a little more of your soul into your works until your ribs ache with vulnerability, and you hope. You hope for acceptance, you hope for understanding, you hope for love.

Still, they do not understand. Are your works beyond their grasp? Are they too simple make sense of it, or are you? Have you overcomplicated what meaning there is in poetry?

No matter. You can try again.

Again. Again.

Again.

 


There is a hint of love in your chest, growing, growing, growing, and you confess as a teenager only beginning to learn what life has to offer. This is what is expected of you, is it not? What could be the point in dilly-dallying when you can pour your heart out instead of hoping for reciprocation for feelings unknown?

And so, you receive your first “no”, and you take it as it is.

You do not wonder, do not blame, do not call it your right to have your feelings returned. This is one person in a sea of many, and you are but a child only growing into your quickly-evolving body.

You fall in love with someone else, and confess once more.

Another no.

Again, you try.

 


…well, it’s to be expected. You’re not conventionally beautiful, not particularly kind, and far more selfish than a lover could be.

You take it as your due that your feelings are unwanted.

This is fine, you think. There is no nobler love than one that thrives despite being left unwatered.

You think this. You ponder this.

Eventually, you believe this as truth.


You are good enough, on your own. You are a poet, an artist, and you flourish in the sadness that comes with every rejection. You have yet to be loved by anyone outside of your blood, it’s true, but you think this is better. Safer. A comforting familiarity, the soil to artistry blossoming from hurt.



And then.



You are told that you are loved.

Wanted.

Your poems are accepted, your words adored, your artistry praised for its depth and meaning and you-


You are baffled.

This is not what you were taught to accept. This is not something that you worked hard for, only to be rejected in the end. This is not equivalent exchange, where you had offered something of yourself that could warrant someone thinking that you deserve their feelings as well.


You don’t understand this.


Too late, you learn, that the greatest poison is one that you never notice-

something you have swallowed of your own volition, and have chosen to reject the antidote for.

As It Turns Out, Spongebob Isn’t the Only One With Angst In the New Musical

  • Plankton and Karen are overcoming their marriage problems
  • Patrick feels like he’s never listened to/underappreciated
  • Sandy is alienated from the rest of the town because of her eccentricities
  • Squidward has some serious self-esteem issues (and I’m like 90% sure his irritability and depression stems from the death of his mother???? Like what happened I need to know dammit)
  • Pearl is neglected by her dad
  • Mrs. Puff is a goddamn alcoholic (no real surprise there but holy shit they actually confirmed it)

Like yeah it’s a mostly upbeat musical but holy shit it gets dark????

anonymous asked:

Can I request a scenario for Denif who thought his s/o was dead only to find out that his s/o was alive? Please inject some angst and fluff please! Thank you in advance!

He stares in complete and utter shock, frozen on his feet. You try your best to smile, to bring a smile to his face, but he stands motionless.

Finally, five words fall from his lips.

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

You sigh. You were afraid this would happen. “It seems that’s not the case.”

Denif’s sleeves sway. You realize it’s not the wind - he’s shaking from head to toe, struggling to keep his tears from falling. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he repeats. “I watched you fall into the volcano. I toppled that volcano to find you. How are you here?”

“Let’s not worry about how I survived,” you tell him gently, gathering him into your arms. God, you’ve missed the scent of Denif’s hair, the feeling of his rough hands on your shoulders. “I’m back, Denif.”

Denif cries, and you let him drown his tears in your arms.