I waited 4 months to be able to make this gif set

PERFECT WORLD, by Rosamund Hodge

“Hello. My name is Claire Lewis. I had my bad luck removed at age ten, and it’s made a wonderful change in my life.”

Because ten year olds, such underachievers, am I right?

I glare at the bathroom mirror. My stomach is a knot of fear. It’s fine for Mom to stride onto the TV screen, wearing her stilettos and her pinstriped suits and that steely smile make everyone love and fear her. And Lara, my older sister, she’s got that warm grin, a double degree in pre-med and politics, and the Fulbright scholarship to Oxford. 

But me?

I try a smile. It looks way too full of teeth.

“I’m seventeen years old, I got a perfect score on the SAT, and there’s a full ride waiting for me at Harvard.”

Except I don’t have any of that yet, except the seventeen years old part.

Right now I’ve got a tutor, a load of AP classes, choir practice, soccer practice, and student newspaper duties. Also: bloodshot eyes, no boyfriend, and twelve extra pounds from all the stress-induced doubleshot mochas. 

And I’m supposed to walk onto a sound stage and convince the nation that early-intervention luck adjustment is such a good idea it ought to be mandatory.

I have to make Mom proud.

I take a deep breath and look myself in the eye.

“I know people say that early intervention puts too much pressure on kids. Makes them feel like they have to achieve. Doesn’t let them learn from their mistakes. But all it’s ever done is give me freedom! I’ve made plenty of mistakes—like the pink hair incident, ha ha—”

I pause. Try the laugh again. Give up on it.

“—but the procedure means my mistakes don’t have to define me. That the deck isn’t stacked against me. That I’m getting a chance to stretch my wings and fly.”

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Sam’s Demons

gif is not mine

Title: Sam’s Demons

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 903

Warnings: fluff and angst

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this!  Some sammy angst! Tomorrow I’ll be posting part 4 of A Little Too Late, because it’s Gabriel Saturday! So there will be two Gabriel fics tomorrow C:

You were startled by the slamming of doors in the bunker.  You closed your book, getting out of bed.  You poked your head out of your door, looking both ways.  Neither of the Winchesters were in sight.  Usually Sam would come into your room at the end of a hunt.  You slowly padded up to his door, opening it slowly.

Sam immediately turned around, his eyes appeared more tired than usual.  His clothes were bloody, causing worry to wash over you.  Sam’s expression was full of sorrow.  “[Y/N] I’m sorry.  I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Sam apologized.  “Don’t worry it’s not my blood.”

You rushed over to Sam, “are you okay Sam?”  Your eyes scanned his arms, making sure he wasn’t wounded.

“I’m just not having a great day [Y/N], that’s all,” Sam said, running a hand through his hair.  His eyes clouded with tears.  “Sometimes this job just gets to you.”

“I know Sam,” you said softly.  “Let me take care of you, okay?”

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It’s been so long since I’ve written anything that it was nice to get back into it - even if it was rather dark. I’m hoping that I’ve balanced the darkness out and not made it too graphic. 

Please be warned. It’s still a very dark request. Don’t read on unless you can stomach it. Thank you to @hiddenavengers for the challenge!

Prompt: …could you write a fic where its Bucky x reader and the reader drowns? Like she gets kidnapped by hydra and the are recording her drowning, they send the Avengers on a goose chase to find out where she is being tortured. And there is a “live” video of her dying. When they finally find where she is being kept, the discover that the video was pre-recorded and she is already dead.

‘Hope Never Dies’

You’d been having dreams.

Sometimes they were good, and other times they were bad. But they were frequent and vivid, and you couldn’t forget them.

Steve Rogers, your neighbour, had come up with the brilliant idea of making a dream journal to record everything in. Neither of you, however, had been able to make heads or tails of the dreams you’d recorded.

Sometimes the dreams even came true. Like the time you dreamt of a bookshelf setting itself alight, only to find out the next day that your favourite bookstore was closing. Or the time when you dreamt of a bird falling from a tree, and that weekend, Steve’s friend Clint suffered a broken leg whilst decorating. It was eerie. Thankfully, they were never horrendous things.

Until one night, when you dreamt of a dark and hooded stranger bursting through a door in a barrage of flames. He had one flesh hand and one metal hand, the latter of which clutched a scythe.

You were introduced to Bucky Barnes the next day.

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