*clasps hands*

Matchmaker

(A/N): Guys, I miss writing Peter, I need more peter requests pleaaaassseee

Request: Hii, how are you? Im from Brazil, so I’m really sorry if I write anything wrong. Can you do a imagine with Spiderman? I would really like if (Y/N) have superpowers like Scarlet Witch, and she’s new at this “world”. She’s enjoys the avengers team and gets really close to Peter, starts go to school with him, and etc. They both fall for each other and start dating. Thank you!!! ❤️

Warnings: swearing 


Originally posted by smilexcaptainx

   “They’re just a kid,” Steve whispers as he eyes the mutant sitting in Tony’s office, their hands clasped in their lap, their eyes glued to the carpet.

   “And a damn strong one too, Charles theorizes that they’re stronger than Wanda…maybe even Jean,”

   “So why aren’t they in his care?”

   “He’s getting old Steve, his mind is slipping, he can’t do it anymore,”

   “This isn’t fair to them…to have something dropped on them so suddenly,”

   “We’ll get Wanda to train them-”

   “Wanda’s still learning herself,” Tony hums, nodding his head at Steve’s point. It seems they were at a crossroads; they couldn’t personally teach (Y/N) about their powers and with Charles slowly decaying he was no longer an option, plus Wanda was still shaky with her own powers and she was no way prepared to teach someone how to control their own power.

   “What if-” Tony licks his lips, his eyes alight with his new idea. “What if we had Peter train them?”

   “Tony-”

   “Come on, they’re the same age, Peter’s great with people, he’d love them!” Steve sighs shaking his head in disapproval but at the moment it was the only plan they had, even if it was completely shit.

   “Fine, we’ll have Peter Parker, the sixteen year old spiderling train some all powerful mutant,”

   “Glad we came to this agreement,” Tony smirks as he clasp Steve on the shoulder, giving his muscles a firm squeeze. “Well, now I have some good news for the poor kid, god knows they need it after what they’ve been through,”

   (Y/N) had been deposited at their doorstep by Scott Summers after they were rejected for Charles’ school. Their powers had sprung upon them suddenly and to say it turned out horribly was an understatement. Mid fourth period (Y/N)’s hand began to glow yellow and suddenly everything around them was chaos. It took them a minute but they realized all the materials flying through the air, hitting people, damaging school property, was their fault. Needless to say their parents weren’t very happy, not one bit, and so like any “good” parent they booted their child out of their house. So after being passed from place to place to place (Y/N) had finally found a home with the avengers or namely, Peter Parker.

   After Tony’s little meeting he immediately set up (Y/N) and Peter, let them get to know each other a bit, made sure they’d get along well. At first (Y/N) had been more than shy, they wouldn’t even acknowledge Peter but as soon as he point out their NASA hoodie they perked up, a slight shine to their puffy eyes. It didn’t take long after that for the two to fall into an animated conversation about the Mars 2020 mission as though they had been friends for years and talking so animatedly and robustly was normal. It was then Tony knew they were going to get along just fine, more than fine really, most likely great. And he’d been right too.

   Tony enrolled (Y/N) in Peter’s school, made sure they had all the same classes, made sure that they were going to be friends but that didn’t seem to be a problem at the moment. The two melded immediately, finding solace in each other in such a cramped hell. They went from class to class together, ate together, hell, Peter even took them along on his little escapades, taught them how to control their powers. And in little over a year, after months of bonding (Y/N) had finally mastered their powers. In fact, they seemed to have more control than Wanda and Jean combined but that wasn’t the only thing. With Peter in all of their classes they had better grades, higher citizenship, and all together happier outlook on life.

   Tony smirks as the two sit on one of his various couches, talking about their art project while Star Wars played mindlessly in the background.

   “See? What did I tell you?” Tony snides as he looks at Steve beside him, the man nearly shrouding him with his height.

   “They were just lucky,”

   “No, I was right and you don’t want to admit it. For once Steve Rogers isn’t right and he doesn’t know how to accept it-”

   “Tony-”

   “No let me gloat Mr. Supersoldier-”

   “No, Tony, look,” Steve points at the two teenagers, his face holding a rather surprised expression. Tony rolls his eyes as he looks back to the two but his face contorts with surprise when he looks too. The two were kissing- both of them smiling as they did.

   “Well I’ll be damned,” Tony chuckles, a huge smile overtaking his features. “I’m a matchmaker too?”

   “Oh my god,” Steve groans, raking a hand down his face in sheer agitation. “Tony, you did not-”

   “Shh,” Tony places a finger to Steve’s lips, shutting him up immediately. “Just enjoy the cute teenage moment,”

   “You do realize how creepy this is right?”

  “Look at my little babies,” Tony sniffles, completely ignoring Steve’s comment. “All grown up and kissing,”

   “Oh look,” Steve mutters, shaking his head as he does, “You just made it weirder-”

   “Oh my god, if you two are going to spy can you please be quieter next time?” Peter breaks away from (Y/N) to glare at Tony and Steve, his expression less than amused.

   “Righty-o,” Tony smiles and gives him a thumbs up. “We’ll be quieter next time,”

17.

Gibson Praise is small for twelve. He has poor eyesight and a juiced up God module, the jaded fatigue of those burdened with a gift. This listless little boy, a sublime specimen at the fringe of human understanding. This child without a childhood.

Scully wants to take a Stryker to his brainpan, harvest a slice of that magnificent temporal lobe. She wants to take him to get soft serve at the beach, let him throw pebbles at the seagulls. She wants to murder anyone who would attempt to harm him.

And just to complicate things further, Mulder’s magnanimous warmth with this boy, with any child, really, sets her bones to singing that artless old song.

Are you two the parents? 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

How newt would react to finding his crush fingering herself? Lol

  • he’d be so embarrassed - for that fact that he not only caught you in the act, but he also thoroughly enjoyed the scene
  • “Oh, I’m terribly sorry” and other muttered apologies would be sputtered, his hands over his eyes
  • he’d stumble towards the exit, one hand clasped around his face and the other reaching out to touch the wall
  • then, being his clumsy self, he’d manage to fall over a lamp
  • his face would be hot to the touch as you pulled his hand away, asking if he was alright
  • and oh Merlin, you’d only just thrown a silk robe over and it was so hastily pulled around you that a gap in the midsection exposed the soft skin of your breasts, running down your stomach-
  • Newt” you say sternly, although with a smirk 
  • “So sorry” he’d reply bashfully, shooting his eyes back to yours “let’s just pretend this never happened, shall we?”
  • “I think the tent in your pants would disagree” you’d point out. 
  • he’d shuffle to his feet frantically, smoothing his hands over his pants
  • “This is awfully uncomfortable.” he’d admit quietly, stepping back towards the door
  • but he caught a hungry gleam in your eyes, similar to that of a Nundu who knew their feeding time was fast approaching 
  • “how about we make it less uncomfortable then, hm?” 
  • you’d unbuckle his pants, leaving him underwear clad
  • “I- I think dinner’s almost ready-” he’d try to excuse himself away, but ultimately felt too allured to even move
  • “Yes. It is.” you’d hum, tapping your glistening fingers on his lips
  • he was probably even more hungry than you - so he opened his mouth, accepting your fingers to suck on
  • but of course, it didn’t stop there
Blister

Lightless flame, on an alter
So far back I don’t remember
Placing it, nor striking the match
Birthing it, in flickers
Of thoughts forgotten, I see
The cheap white lighter
In hand, your hand
Blazing as a shadow
Without source
Without warmth
A wave of the hand, my hand
Killed all candles but yours
I try to snuff you out,
The searing of my soul
Felt like unnatural ice
And I blister, raised and filled
With memories of you
Ones I hate being true
With cause and effect
Being done with our hands
In each other’s
Painfully tight
Cannot stand
Up or to think
To knees I sink
Hands clasped in prayer
To a god of time to pass it by
To rid the candle of wax
Of wick, so that the flame
May die
To replace memories
Of you and I, anything touched
Years left it alive and ablaze
And I refuse that I am fuel
That I erect these effigies
Burned, burning still
From you, by me.

(clasps hands together and starts praying desperately.)

Make SM and USUM one chapter and have Sun and Moon change outfits. Make SM and USUM one chapter and have Sun and Moon change outfits.  Make SM and USUM one chapter and have Sun and Moon change outfits.

Aries: I envy you. I envy your courage, your stupidity and your childishness. Maybe you’re asking “Why?” Well, wouldn’t it be beautiful if we were all children at heart, like you? Like seeing things so horrible yet still making corny jokes? Like telling your feelings, like running until your feet hurt? Like purity, like innocence mixed with knowledge? You have experienced the world, you have experienced life. And yet, you still stand here. Brave and tall. As if to say “I am not afraid of life. I am not afraid to live.”

Taurus: I will always associate you with flowers and colours. With lilies and roses and blood oranges. I will always associate you with fruit and red-green-yellow. We will speak in colours, talk in words others won’t understand. With red-grey sand and blue-green eyes. An encouraging nod, a hug with clasping hands. Words left unspoken simply ‘cause they were never meant to be said, they were meant to be. They were meant to be. Plucking petals like a grade schooler playing games about love. Holding a magnifying glass over your head, and I could not find a flaw. I just saw you. I saw you.

Gemini: While you drink in the melodies of everyone’s laughter. The ghosts find a new home inside your body. A facade of performance, masking out true emotions. While the hallways turn vacant and your ghosts shut the doors. The voices leave the room empty, the emptiness in your chest weighing like a brick worth thousands of golden bricks. I cannot put a price on your heart, I don’t know its colours. I don’t know its voice. Or the three albums you have on repeat over the summer, or the songs you dance to at night. Simply because you are you, unique, mysterious and beautiful.

Cancer: You are a puzzle and I am not your missing peace, I don’t own it. But you do. You make up your own being. Maybe you left it in your back pocket, next to the shattered dreams or under the pillars you build when you were eight years old. The ones you made to put your broken home on, searching for stability in broken mirrors. I will linger in my map of you and I swear that even when I get back it leads back to you. It always leads back to you. To that little house with orange paint on the walls from ten years ago. With the nicotine sticking to a once white ceiling and some kind of animals running around. The dusty photographs will still stand on the desk. You will still sit on that one spot, with teary eyes and crossed legs. And you will still be beautiful.

Leo: I could never describe your beauty. Your beauty cannot be multiplied, it can only be remembered, treasured, envied, appreciated or regretted. And by remembered I mean that when you feel like you are just another extra in someone’s life that they will mention you to their parents during dinner. They will talk about your shining personality and sparkling eyes. By treasured I am talking about that “the one” experience which you deserve. A treasure filled with all things unique and irreplaceable. One that’s filled with happiness. By envied I am talking about the eyes you do not see, or do not wish to see. Or don’t notice. You stand out in a crowd, especially when you don’t think you are. By appreciated I am talking about the ones who see your true you, your tangled hair and cracked lips. The ones who still stay even through the bad times. By regretted I am talking about the people who did not see your beauty until you blossomed. I understand why you find cocoons beautiful now, and how you like caterpillars just as much as butterflies.

Virgo: Snow litters on untouched skin. Sun rains through the cracks of the darkness even where you hide. I could hear you talking every day. Forever. With delicate fingers and blushed cheeks. Your hair untamed and your fingers bruised to the bone. Delicately logical. The edges of the leafs of oak trees remind me of your way of thinking. The overhang reminds me of your mind. Which casts shadows over the villagers in the houses you build where colourless souls reside. You are so often in debate with your own head, at war with your own body. Never at peace, always restless. Always asking, “but why?” I don’t know. You like it, don’t you? Parading around in your own world? Sweet little soul in a world full of pain.

Libra: The bell of the church echoed through your head a little longer than it should’ve. It never was nice. We never played nice. We talked until our lips were dry and I stayed home when you were out cold. But memories don’t matter anymore do they darling? In this orchestra of harmonious noises where you are the leader of everything nothing can hurt you. I don’t know, I don’t know. And goddamnit I know you will try to push everything on yourself again. You always do. That’s just how you work. Why don’t you warm your hands on your own body for once? You don’t need another person to feel like you’re loved, you only need one. One whole, full, true person.

Scorpio: Everything seems darker these days. Charcoal coloured clouds are a daily thing. And your arms are always covered up along with your legs. Even in the summer the nights don’t seem as enchanting. Not when small bruises shaped like the bumps of your knuckles litter on your thighs. Self destructive lullabies, “I just need a friend, for once in my life.” A desire for someone to stay ripped from your lips. So I stayed by your side wondering, if you wanted me to stay or needed me to stay. Of course I could say you remind me of scarlet blood and bathroom tiles. But you also remind of the river I used to play in when I was nine. You also remind me of the necklace I got when my grandmother passed away. You remind me of memories, the good, the bad, the in-between. You remind me of life. Please keep on living.

Sagittarius: The reason that I didn’t cry when you left was because crying means letting go, or so you said. And I don’t want to let you go. I want you to be a part of me, forever. But I can’t do that, you would rot in the hell hole that is my mind. I can’t put you through more cruelty. I hate how I am the reason you cry on bad nights, do you still wonder if I miss you? I do. I do. I do. Regret was stronger than appreciation. But you’re so fucking strong. Your eyes still shine even when you’re sad. You think no one likes you yet you know that’s not true. You’re the reason I am alive. You let me experience pain, beauty, emotion. You let me live. You’re so much more than enough, sometimes I can’t even handle who you are. You are dazzling. But you could never control your heart, it always wandered over the streets of other people’s bodies.

Capricorn: When the sun sets over mountains and the houses made of glass shatter I will still see your name in the sky in neon lights. The little bugs in our home always wanted to be friends with you. They always say on the tip of your nose with gentle smiles. I never envied you, I wish I treasured you. You are so simplistic and nice. Nice. Too underrated for your own good, no? Aren’t we all. Your hands will still be remembered by those you touched. You always leave some kind of mark that they don’t want to wash off. You have that affect on people. You make them drown their thoughts and hold their breath when you walk into a room. You are an old soul, you know. Why? You just do. Because you’re you. And nothing can change that or the late nights, the slowness or the fastness in your walk doesn’t matter for the right people. They will walk for you until they have blathers on their toes. If they don’t you know what to do.

Aquarius: Swirls of icy wind are always your accomplice. Your cold, and beautiful; like snow. The wires always stick to your senses, they get stuck in between your backbone. They twist around your spine and plug into the back of your brain. You let other people control you like you’re a mindless puppet. I think the wires got the best of you. Whenever you speak your mind it says something beautiful and unique. You are original, not ordinary. I am sorry they teach you that being unique is bad and that you have to fit into this ‘ordinary’ world as an ‘ordinary’ person. Nothing is ordinary about you, not even your name. Your name says who you are as a person, if someone asks me to define you I will simply say your name, the definition of your personality is your name. Because your name is unique and so is your personality. Don’t let other people control you.

Pisces: The imaginary butterflies with the raven black wings told me about you. They tell me that your head is in a universe they have never seen, with all things beautiful and all things bad. They see you crying with your knees tugged up sometimes, hands in your hair as you hide beneath sheets of darkness. You write poetry with the blood in the sink and make galaxies with the stars you find inside other people their eyes. A gentle smile always embraces your lips, “So happy, yet so sad” they say. A mask is something you believe is beautiful, but I believe you are beautiful. The real you. Not the you who cautiously walks over this realm of sadness. Your moonlit hair is so silky, your sunlit eyes are so sad. Chin up little soldier.

—  Letters to the zodiac signs
4

[makes ugly whale noises at the cute] 😩

Salim, drawn in PS. 

[Caption: A realistic digital painting of Salim from American Gods. Portrait is from the hip up. Salim is seated in a wooden chair. He has short dark hair and a beard. He’s wearing a pale blue suit with pearlescent buttons over a white shirt and gray tie. His hands are clasped in his lap, and his expression is serene. His eyes are glowing orange like a cat’s. The background is deep coral red framing a window of gold.]

anonymous asked:

prompt: alicia almost leaves bob after jacks overdose

[prompted by @eskildit, who now knows better than to send anons when she has great prompt idea <3  tw: overdose, homophobia]

The night before her son turns 13, Alicia Zimmermann pulls her husband aside and says, “Promise me you’ll let him choose for himself. If he wants to play hockey, if he wants to dance, if he wants to be a waiter, we’ll be okay with it.

Bob promises her, with all the devotion she’s come to expect, but not minutes later reminds her the NHL waits for no man, and Jack will need to start preparing for the future as soon as possible.

It was a sign of things to come, and she didn’t heed the warnings.


Jack is 14 when they diagnose him with an anxiety disorder Alicia’s never heard of. The specialist recommends reducing the level of stress in his life, maybe cutting back on unnecessary extracurriculars. He knows the family. He knows Bob. He’s being gentle.

They don’t change anything because hockey is life. Jack’s happy on the ice, unhappy off, so they take the medication instead. Just another step to Jack’s already offensively complicated routine.

“See?” Bob smiles when Jack is chosen to play for Rimouski Oceanic. “He’s going to be fine. Not like you and I didn’t need a little extra help in the beginning.”

He’s talking about Alicia’s drinking nearly twenty years prior. His own cocaine problem in the early 80s. But Jack’s not twenty and whole-hog into a career, he’s a teenager. 

She wants to protest on principle, but this isn’t her life. Bob knows this world better than she ever will, and if Jack still wants to play professionally (and he does), she needs to defer to her husband.

If this is what Jack wants, they’ll make it work.


Jack’s energetic, he’s happy, he has a friend he won’t be seen without, and Alicia watches how close Kent’s fingers are to Jack’s when they walk together. It’s not what she expected, but she’s happy he has someone. 

She’s not the only one that notices how close the boys are, and Bob turns to her in bed one night, brow furrowed, and says, “Kent Parson.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Are he and Jack…?”

She doesn’t say anything, just lifts a brow and gives him a considering look. 

Bob’s lips go white with how hard he’s pressing them together. “That’s not going to be easy, for either of them.”

“If it makes him happy,” she argues, and Bob hums in agreement. That should have been the end of it. But something happens, and she’s not there to stop it. 


The night before Jack overdoses and his career goes up in flames, the Zimmermann household is in ruins for an entirely different reason.

“Jesus Christ, Robert, I’m supposed to be a goddamn activist, if this gets out —”

“I don’t have a problem with gay people —”

“Don’t lie to me!” Alicia slams her hand on the table, nearly shaking with anger. “You told him to hide.”

“I told him to be discreet. Do you think I’m doing this for me? I’m getting calls day and night from teams wanting to know if the rumors are true. I was trying to be proactive! He can’t be–”

“What? Gay? That’s what you’re worried about? Maybe we can engrave that on the back of my GLAAD award: ‘For excellence in telling your child to hide their sexuality until they retire’. So everyone can know how fucking supportive we are. Does he think I feel the same way you do?”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember,”

My God, I can’t even look at you right now. You’re going to fix this. I don’t know how, but you’re going to make this right.”


Of course, then they find Jack unresponsive on the floor with a half empty bottle of medication and they don’t immediately know it was an accident. 

For about twelve hours, while Jack’s condition is still unstable, Alicia very seriously considers killing her husband. 

They’re red-eyed and exhausted in the waiting room when the doctor on call says they need to pray for a miracle. She stares at a stain on the carpet for a long moment, hands clasped, but she’s not praying. Bob makes some kind of sound, a hitching breath that isn’t quite crying, and she turns her head to watch him fidget. 

“Robert, look at me,” she says softly, deceptively kind, and when she has his attention, and with more hatred than she ever thought she could possibly feel, she says, “You did this. And I swear to you, if my son dies tonight, I’ll leave.”

She doesn’t wait for him to answer, doesn’t even wait to see the expression on his face. She collects her purse and stands, stretching her legs and heads to the vending machines.

She buys a Dr. Pepper and a bag of Tropical Skittles.



Jack lives. 

Alicia stays.

But she moves her GLAAD award to the trophy room. Settles it right beside Bob’s Hall of Fame plaque. 

Because she will never let him forget.

Letters To The Zodiac Signs

Aries: I envy you. I envy your courage, your stupidity and your childishness. Maybe you’re asking “Why?” Well, wouldn’t it be beautiful if we were all children at heart, like you? Like seeing things so horrible yet still making corny jokes? Like telling your feelings, like running until your feet hurt? Like purity, like innocence mixed with knowledge? You have experienced the world, you have experienced life. And yet, you still stand here. Brave and tall. As if to say “I am not afraid of life. I am not afraid to live.”

Taurus: I will always associate you with flowers and colours. With lilies and roses and blood oranges. I will always associate you with fruit and red-green-yellow. We will speak in colours, talk in words others won’t understand. With red-grey sand and blue-green eyes. An encouraging nod, a hug with clasping hands. Words left unspoken simply ‘cause they were never meant to be said, they were meant to be. They were meant to be. Plucking petals like a grade schooler playing games about love. Holding a magnifying glass over your head, and I could not find a flaw. I just saw you. I saw you.

Keep reading

Downstream - ~1k, post 12.23 / pre s13, angst

The ocean is a flat plane of glass, and the boat doesn’t cause a single ripple as it glides along the surface. Dean has no idea how they managed to drift out so far, but somehow they’ve completely lost sight of the shoreline. The only indication of the horizon is the thinnest, faintest line; a stray hair caught in a watercolour canvas.

It’s light out, the air around him a diffusion of pink and gold and reflected back in the water’s mirror surface, but he can’t find the sun. Perhaps it’s nearing dawn.

Dean’s leaning back against the bow, hands behind his head. The gunwales are kind of digging into his shoulders, but he’s smiling.

His companion is silent and placid where he sits near the stern. The light is catching the tips of his hair, setting off the dark with glints of gold. Clasped hands hang between splayed knees.

Dean inhales thick, salt air and lets his eyes drift closed. “This was a good idea. We needed a vacation.”

“You deserve it.”

Dean hums, contented. “You too. Hell, we’ve all been through the ringer lately.”

Cas nods. “I suppose we have.”

Their voices float easily through the air, but in the space all around them it’s perfectly quiet, save the occasional soft, gentle slap of water against the boat.

“Seriously, we shoulda done this years ago.”

“When?” Cas asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “After the apocalypse, but before the leviathan? Maybe between the Mark of Cain and Amara?”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re kind of a downer, Cas?” Dean replies peaceably.

“Once or twice.”

Another long and companionable silence stretches out between them. They’ve been out here a while now and the sun probably should’ve risen, but it’s hardly a concern: the glow of light around them is warm enough. In fact, Dean could probably afford to take off his jacket, were he not far too comfortable to move.

“Dean. How long do you plan to stay out here?”

Dean cracks one eye. “What, you got somewhere to be?”

Cas’ answering smile is fond, and only slightly tinged with sadness. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” Dean drops his eyelid.

“It’s just, there are things you need to do.”

Both Dean’s eyes open now, and he leans all the way up to sit on the hard, wooden seat. The boat rocks and sways. “Yeah, Cas, there’s always something. But you are cutting into our hard-earned relaxation time, man. You keep this up, you can kiss that second date goodbye.”

“This is a date?”

Dean gives him a look. “You take a lot of platonic pre-dawn rowboat rides?”

“I suppose not,” Cas says, and he casts his eyes out to the water. “I’m just a little surprised.”

“But not disappointed.”

There’s a faint blush dusting Cas’ cheeks. Maybe it’s just the light. “No.”

“Because you love me.” Cas’ eyebrows rocket up to his hairline, and Dean shrugs defensively. “Hey, you said it, not me.”

“Well, that’s certainly true.”

Dean’s gotta give him that one. “Touché.”

Cas is looking at him patiently, waiting.

Feeling rather like a third-grader forced to answer a question he wasn’t listening to in the first place, Dean casts his eyes down, suddenly intensely interested in the rough woodgrain below his feet. The fact that the boat has no oars is a mild curiosity.

“I dunno,” Dean shrugs. “Probably shoulda said it then. Guess I just figured you knew.”

“Because you’re always so open and honest with your feelings.”

That’s two points to Cas.

Dean plays for time a while longer, scraping his boots through the coarse, black sand he tracked in from the beach. “Alright, well, there it is. Better late than never, right?”

This time Cas doesn’t bother trying to hide the heartache in his smile.

They sit in silence again, for minutes or maybe hours. Eventually Cas looks left to the non-existent sun. “It’s probably time to go back,” he says quietly.

Dean shakes his head. “Nah. Little longer.”

“You have responsibilities, Dean.”

Dean scoffs. “What, you mean Rosemary’s baby?”

“He didn’t ask to be what he is.”

“He’s the literal antichrist, Cas.”

Whatever he is,” Cas says firmly, “good or evil, he needs someone. He needs guidance.”

“He needs a bullet in the neck.”

Cas shakes his head. “You don’t mean that. He’s an innocent, Dean. And he needs you and Sam, now that I can’t be there for him anymore.”

Something flickers in Dean’s chest, like a moth beating against his heart. He frowns, confused, and finds Cas’ eyes.

The intent expression on Cas’ face gradually shifts to one of resignation. He sighs softly. “You forgot again, didn’t you?”

Dean jolts awake to a blaring car horn.

Sam is driving, the hideous sodium streetlights casting harsh lines of shadow across his face when he turns to the passenger seat. “You were talking again.”

Dean doesn’t answer as he reacquaints himself with the deep, aching chasm in his chest.

Sam swallows visibly, shadows of raindrops on the windshield like pockmarks on his skin. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Dean grits his teeth. “Yeah, Sam. There were these clowns. Like thirty of ‘em, and they all kept piling out of this Volkswagon.” The lie slides easy off his tongue.

Sam throws up a hand in surrender. “Okay.”

Anger is easier. Anger is always easier.

Dean closes his eyes tight and tries to chase the soft, pink-gold light of the ocean. He inhales Baby’s familiar leather scent, desperate for a whiff of salt air.

He tries to forget.

Keep Yeh Warm

Alex X Reader

In which Alex becomes attached to the first beautiful thing he’s seen in weeks.

(I’m putting everything else under a cut in case anyone still hasn’t seen Dunkirk!! It may contain some spoilers.)

Keep reading

One evening, the Maple Bay police station receives a call about a break and entry. It’s at the local church, the caller says.

The officers arrive at the scene to find the burglar lying on their side on the church stoop. They’re already restrained by an… elaborate rope harness.

Joseph Christiansen stands beside the wriggling person, hands clasped behind his back, innocently whistling the chorus of Margaritaville.

Dive Right In (Part 2)

Summary: In order to not pay out-of-state tuition, you ask your childhood friend, Bucky Barnes, to marry you. Things, as always, never go as planned. (College AU).

Word Count: 1,221

Part 1

A/N: @howlingbarnes is your best friend. And this story kicks off with Bucky’s personality shining through :D LMK what you guys think!

Originally posted by ariesw1493

Arriving before Bucky and Steve, Kayla and you were assigned a booth by the hostess and you slid across the seat to take the middle seat. Kayla placed her purse next to you.

“Gonna go to the bathroom,” she said. “Be right back.”

“Wait, what do you wanna drink?”

“Water! I’m thirsty.”

“For Steve,” you said with an exaggerated wink.

Keep reading

Two Haunted Souls

Note: this wasn’t a request, but I’m hoping this kick-starts my writing again. I haven’t had the motivation to write lately :( which sucks, but it happens ( a lot ). I hope you all are doing well! school is starting for some of you so I wish you the best! I’m just ready for Fall. also, Fall means cozy sweater!Seb. I’m very excited for that! but without further ado, enjoy this. feedback is welcome! .c

Originally posted by imaginemarvelbae



1:34am

Your nightmare clawed at your eyelids, your nails were digging into the sheet on the bed that had been pulled from the top corners of your mattress. A light layer of sweat lay on your skin, dampening the hairline on the base of your skull. It took everything in you to wake yourself up. An ear-piercing scream erupted from your chest and broke out of your dry lips, scratching at your throat. You’d feel it later on, no doubt. You always did.

Your body quickly shot up, your breath caught in your throat. As you looked around, you found yourself safe and in your room - not in the torture chamber you had been kept in for most of your teenage years. The memories plagued your thoughts day in and day out. When it was time to sleep, that’s when the demons came to play the most. 

It was hard accepting Tony’s offer for you to live in the Avenger’s compound. It wasn’t something you were used to. In the base Hydra kept you in, you had to stay in a broom closet, so it seemed, it was way too small. You were locked away like a prisoner of sorts, used for testing – like a lab rat.

Eventually, you knew you had no other choice. They wouldn’t let you become homeless, and now that you had been rescued, keeping you safe was their priority. Hydra was still out there. Everyone was easy to talk to, but more often than not, you chose to stay quiet or to yourself. 

Your feet padded down the chilly hallway as you made your way to the elevator. You knew sleep wasn’t going to be on the agenda now. Something tugged at your gut and you just needed to get out of your room. It’s like you could feel the demons staring at you, ready to pull you under and drown you again. Taking the elevator a few floors down, you exited and walked into the living quarters. You were slow-moving, slightly swaying on your feet as exhaustion swirled around your head.

To your surprise, you weren’t alone. You looked up at Bucky and met his blue eyes as he sat still in the recliner; eerily still, like if he moved, his demons would pounce on him. The lamp on the other side of the room was on, illuminating enough light to see the details on his face. 

It was covered in sweat and his eyes were bloodshot, the underside decorated with dark circles. You knew he had nightmares and that they were the very reason he’s awake at such an unholy hour. Countless times you’ve heard his painful screams on the floor above yours. 

Steve had introduced the two of you when you arrived and he was just as quiet as you had been. There were walls built up and a sort of fear of being around anyone. He had simply shook your hand, muttering a small hello while keeping his metal hand out of the way. His past with Hydra was no secret to you. 

Taking a seat on the couch opposite of him, you sat in the middle with your knees pulled to your chest. You hugged them close and kept your eyes on your feet. As you sat, you could hear Bucky’s breathing slow down. It was heavy and labored when you entered, and you found that yours had slowed as well. Being in the same room as someone that had been through much of the same thing as you, comforted you in some twisted way.

Neither of you spoke, neither of you moved from your spots, neither of you dared to close your eyes long enough to be drug back down.

3:41am, one week later

It was as if lava had been poured on your skin. You were burning, screaming as loud as you could with no voice, the demons clawed and grinned devilishly as they ripped you to shreds. Only when you shot up in your bed once again, was your voice found, a loud scream echoing throughout your room. Your chest heaved and your fingernails nearly ripped through your sheets, the soreness evident as you relaxed them. 

You sat for a moment, taking in your surroundings. Suddenly being in your room felt foreign and unsafe. You took the elevator down to the living quarters again, keeping your eyes on your feet. You took your usual spot on the couch after switching on the lamp, pulling your knees into your chest. Your eyes looked for Bucky, but he wasn’t to be seen.

Your thoughts were loud as you sat alone. Your body was still slightly shaking and you couldn’t ignore the images that circled around your mind, until the faint sound of heavy breathing sounded through the room. Your head snapped up and your eyes landed on a rather shaken up Bucky. His chest was glistening with sweat, his hair matted slightly.

The feeling of comfort washed over you and you sighed softly, watching him take his seat in the recliner again. His eyes remained on the ground as he leaned forward, his hands clasped together with his elbows on his knees. His hair fell around his face and you didn’t want to stare at him any longer, but just as you were about to look away, he glanced up at you through his lashes. No words were spoken, only a short glance of eye contact was shared.

Until the morning sun rose, you two remained still and quiet.

2:17am two days later

You hadn’t slept. You stayed awake and wondered about Bucky. The past few nights, you both stayed in the living quarters, silent and un-moving after nightmares brought you both out of a deep sleep. It was calming, but something made you want more, in a non-creepy way. You wanted to help him, but you couldn’t even help yourself. 

What happened to you both, haunted you two to the point where closing your eyes even to blink seemed like a horrible task. It made you nauseous. You wanted to speak to him, but you could never find your voice. Especially after so many nights of waking up from your own screaming.

You sighed and sat up in your bed, feeling like you were going to suffocate in this room if you stayed in it any longer. Slipping out of your door, you made your way to the elevator. It arrived at the living quarters once again. Your hugged your arms around yourself as you walked into the room. Out of reflex your eyes went to the recliner. It was empty. You sank into yourself.

You turned towards the couch and was shocked to see Bucky sitting on the side, his eyes on his hands in his lap. He looked like he was deep in thought, and you hadn’t heard his screams all night. You weren’t sure if you should sit in your usual spot – the change in seating was odd – so you made your way over to the recliner. 

You heard a faint whimper come from Bucky before you could sit down. It sounded desperate and broken; it made your heart sink in your chest. You turned to look at him and his eyebrows were creased, his hair framed his face and his eyes were staring right at you. Did he want you to sit beside him? You bit your lip nervously as you stood there, unsure of your next move.

Taking any ounce of courage you could muster, you cautiously walked over to the couch and sat down in the middle. Bucky didn’t move and neither did you. You weren’t close enough to make skin contact, but you were close enough to feel the body heat radiating off of him. His breathing eventually slowed and you felt yourself starting to fall into that wave of comfort. You felt safe and you only hoped he felt the same way.

3:03am one week later

The closeness between you and Bucky felt natural. Many times you’ve found yourself wanting to hear his thoughts, to ask him if he’s okay, what his nightmares are about, and if he felt any relief with you beside him, like you felt. But you were scared that that itself was a dream, as well. If you spoke, he’d disappear – all of it would disappear and you’d wake up in the torture chamber.

Your body felt drained of it’s energy tonight. Your nightmares only seemed to get worse. Your throat throbbed from your screams. It lasted longer and you managed to rip your sheets up this time. It’s the worst nightmare you’ve had, and that’s saying a lot. You were taken prisoner again, but you weren’t alone. Bucky was there, tied up and tortured like you had been. You screamed out and tried to save him, you did everything you could yet nothing at all to get them to stop. You couldn’t move, you were bound to that damned chair, needles poking into your skin, injected with anything they came up with.

You entered the room and avoided looking at Bucky. You knew you’d break at any moment. Crying wasn’t something you did, or even wanted to do. It was a sign of weakness, you had been told. You cried nearly every day during the time Hydra had you. Until one night, you became numb and accepted your fate.

Bucky was exhausted, like he always was. You heard his screams moments after you woke up. When they stopped, you knew he was making his way here. His eyes followed your body as you sat down on the couch. Your hands rest either side of you on the cushion, your legs hanging off the edge. 

Your breathing was ragged and you could see Bucky’s head slightly turn, his blue eyes looking down at you with a hint of worry. You kept your eyes straight ahead, trying to keep your tears inside.

Bucky watched your lip tremble and your eyes water, the rise and fall of your chest hiccuping in motion while you struggled to hold it together. Your eyebrows creased as the images and screams flashed through your mind. The look in Bucky’s eyes in your nightmare caused you to finally break. A sob fell from your lips. The sound shot through Bucky and he looked away slowly, biting his tongue. His heart broke at the sight and sound of you breaking.

Your right hand had formed a fist and you felt a touch of metal bump against the side of it. You gasped and looked down, seeing Bucky’s hand resting palm down like yours had been. His pinky nudged your hand and you sniffled, blinking away tears as you un-clenched your fist. Both of your movements were slow and you let his hand rest on top of yours. The cool metal was nice against your heated skin. You knew how hard this was for him, but both of you needed it. He knew that.

Flipping your hand over underneath his, you watched him link your fingers together. You took a brave glance at him and looked into his blue eyes. During your crying, he had shed a few tears himself. Pain crossed his features as he held onto your hand. His metal arm was something you knew he struggled with. It wasn’t something he wanted. Neither of you had a choice in your past.

As time passed by, he relaxed into your touch and you did the same, gently tightening your hold on him. His metal thumb slightly caressed your skin. All through the night, you held onto his hand and listened to his deep breaths.

1:47am, three days later

Holding hands had become the new “normal” for you and Bucky when you two sat in the living quarters. It’s not intimate, or if it was, it was only a slim percentage. Gentle human contact was something you had been without for most of your life – you figured the same for Bucky. Only tonight, you knew for sure he would need more contact. His screams jolted you awake. For the first time, your nightmares hadn’t been the thing that woke you up, or your own screams.

He was screaming continuously and your body moved before you could think. You ran towards your door, but stopped upon hearing something you never would’ve guessed he would yell. ”Y/N!” He was screaming your name. Your hands trembled and for a moment, you couldn’t move at all. You were stuck and planted, unable to move as you listened to Bucky scream for you. 

In the short time you’d spent together in silence, a bond had formed. You felt it, you knew he did, too. When he appeared in your nightmares, you didn’t think you’d appear in his. But you were wrong.

A particularly loud scream jerked your body back in motion. You started running as fast as you could to the elevator, pressing his floor number. Luckily he was above you so you’d get there quicker. Your breathing was fast and heavy, your own nightmare still fresh. But you couldn’t think about that this time. Bucky was screaming for you and you knew tonight was the night you needed to focus on him, instead of the both of you.

You ran up to his door, the sounds of his screams louder than ever. You opened his door gently and peeked inside. He was writhing around, his metal arm gripping his pillow before throwing it across the room. You rushed over to his bed and leaned your knee on his mattress. “Bucky!” You whispered, not wanting to scare him. If you did, that metal hand wouldn’t be gripping his other pillow. He was screaming again and it hurt your eardrums but you had to do something.

Your hand reached out for his shoulder and you shook it. “Bucky, wake up!” Your voice was firmer and louder, it broke him out of his sleep and his breath hitched. He jolted up, nearly knocking you off of his bed. You backed away slowly, your hands shaking at your sides. He stared at you, not believing it was you. His eyes were wide and his chest rose and fell rapidly. 

“I’m here.” You whispered, your bottom lip trembling again. A tear fell down your cheek as Bucky reached his hand out towards you, his fingers trembling. Taking a step forward, your hand slid into his. Before you could get onto his bed, Bucky pulled you into his broad chest. It was damp with sweat but you didn’t care.

His arms held you close as he sobbed into your shoulder. Your arms loosely rest around his neck, your bodies rocking back and forth. “I’m here.” You cried, tangling your hand into his long, damp, dark hair. He nodded against you, his own sobs hiccuping as his hands gripped onto your shirt, his arms nearly crushing you against him. You two stayed in each other’s arms, holding onto the other as if it were the only thing that helped, the only thing that kept the demons away.

Slowly but surely, your breathing started to calm and match in rhythm. For once in both your lives, you felt like everything would be okay; as long as you had each other to hold onto. 

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Because some people are hating on Magnus and I had some prince of hell inspiration:

Central Park had become a war zone: the only thing that remained of the once serene location, huge craters of earth, rivers turned red with spilled blood,  and half of Bow bridge; a half that was rapidly crumbling into the river than ran beneath it.

It was a bloodbath.

Magnus’ eyes drifted to the bodies that littered the ground, Shadowhunters and Downworlders and the unfortunate mundanes who had been caught in a war they hadn’t seen coming.

The warlocks who still stood were half trying to push back the demons and half keeping the wards up to drive the more curious mundanes away from the brunt of it. Keeping the glamours up so they couldn’t see the destruction behind the veil.

And right in the middle of the field, from the huge crater that was the portal to Edom, poured out more demons, by the hundreds, screeching and taking down everything and everyone in their path, bathing the ground with blood of Downworlders and Shadowhunters alike.

One came too close to a wolf that stood taller than the rest of the pack and Magnus sent out a bolt of fire, turning it to ash even before it hit the ground.

The wolf turned around and growled and Magnus rolled his eyes.

Fucking werewolves and their insistence on being able to handle themselves. Even in wolf form, Luke Garroway still liked to think he had everything handled.

He heard another wolf scream and turned sharply, keeping his arms to the side when he noticed Alexander hacking down the demon before it could cause further damage.

His eyes scanned the battlefield.

They were outnumbered. The demons were pouring out by the second, in minutes the entire field would be completely outrun by them; in hours, the entire city.

Downworlders and Shadowhunters would eventually get fatigued. But demons? Demons kept going until everyone was dead.

“Come to seal the portal warlock?”

Magnus glanced up at the circle member that was grinning at him, the black circle on his neck a stark contrast to his pale skin.

“It’s too late you know. Jonathan was the one who summoned them. Even if you are able to seal it, the damage is already done.”

Magnus’ eyes narrowed. “They might have answered his call. But they will obey my command.”

A flicker of his fingers incinerated the man and he knelt, sinking his fingers into the ground. His eyes bled till they were golden, pupils narrowed into slits as he let his power out. Felt the rush as he welcomed his father’s authority.

“Return to me!”

His words cracked like a whip; his power poured out of him in waves, rippling and sending shockwaves all over the city, pulling the demons to him like they were the puppets and he the who held their strings.

They ran. Ran from all the corners they’d burrowed into, left the downworlders and mundanes and shadowhunters they’d been attacking; his power overriding their need to render and tear; his power bringing them all to a heel.

They came in their droves, racing over each other, skittering on their claws, raced down the portal, straight down the abyss like he commanded it.

Some of them tried shaking off his call; their need for death briefly overshadowing his call for them to return.

“No!” He bellowed. “You will return. As the son of your prince I demand it. As Asmodeus’ heir, I command you!”

For a brief moment, just before the last of the demons went through, he heard it. The low chuckle of a father pleased that he’d used his power and called on his name.

Magnus blocked it out; using the last tendrils of his power to seal the portal.

Finally, he stood back up and turned around, drained of energy and power.

He met the eyes of Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike. Surprise and respect and awe and in a few Shadowhunters, fear. That did not surprise him.

His eyes found Alexander’s. He looked worn and tired, his expression slightly cautious. They hadn’t fully resolved things and it showed that he wasn’t sure how Magnus would react.

Magnus took a step towards him and staggered. His vision swarm, his knees buckled and he closed his eyes, waiting to hit the ground hard, only to sigh in relief when he instead felt himself sink against a warm lean body.

He slowly opened his eyes and met Alec’s hazel ones, concern and pride and love shining in their depths.

“Alexander.”

Alec brushed his hair back and Magnus sighed at the touch. Oh how he’d missed his touch.

Alec extended his hand. “Take my strength. Take as much as you need.”

Magnus clasped his hand and held on; taking the strength that Alec willingly gave, his head resting against Alec’s chest, finding solace and comfort in his arms.

But then he felt Alec suck in a harsh breath and he pulled away, eyes running over his face and body, searching for the source of pain. “Did something happen? Are you hurt?” When that got him nothing, he reached for Alec’s face and turned his face till Alec was looking at him. “Is something wrong?”

Alec cocked his head, throat bobbing as he pointed at the now sealed portal to Edom. “What did you mean when you said you were the son of their prince?”

Magnus swallowed.

Damn. He’d totally forgotten about that for a moment.

“Um, Alexander. There’s something I have to tell you.”