and i cried and my tears were bullets

Real Bullets

Pairing: Jensen x Reader
Words:   1211
Requested by Anonymous:  How about being an actress on the show and someone swapping out the fake bullets for real ones and one of the J’s accidentally shooting you like angst then fluff

Warning: injured reader

        You were sitting on Jensen’s lap in his trailer while the two of you waited to be called onto set to film.

          “I really don’t want to do that scene,” Jensen sighed.

          “Why?” you asked, running your fingers through his short hair, “It’s just acting. Not like you’re really shooting me.”

          “Still. I don’t like it. I don’t like that I’ll be pointing a gun at you,” he said, “It doesn’t feel right.”

          “Just get your lines right and it’ll be over before you know it,” you teased him, “No worries.”

          He pulled you closer, “If you say so.”

          You kissed him softly, “I say so. I love you.”

          “I love you too.”

Keep reading

Bullets Hurt

Hippolyta x reader

Anon asked:

Could you please write a Hippolyta x reader fic where reader saves Diana during an attack? Like pushes her away and takes bullets meant for her or something, and Hippolyta is thankful but kinda freaked cause reader saved Diana from the pain but reader also almost died?

(This one may be a little shorter than the others, but I honestly really loved this idea! More will come as the week goes along!)

You didn’t even think twice when you saw the bullet heading straight for Diana. She was your best friend and the last thing you wanted was for her to be killed by mindless men.

“Diana! Watch out, Wonder Girl!” I yelled, but too late did she realize what was happening. Luckily, I was able to get to her in time and push her out of the way, not really expecting a bullet wound to hurt so much. What were men thinking when they created such dishonorable things?

I screamed in agony as five more hit the right side of my body and shattered some of the ribs resting there. The man that shot me was the last of the resistance and was immediately beheaded by Hippolyta. Diana ran over to me and held my face in her hands, tearing up.

“Y/N! Why did you do that?! That was stupid! Now you are dying!” Diana cried. I smiled and squeezed her hand a little.

I fought to keep my eyes open as I glanced at her. “It will take more than a few bullets to take me down, Diana. You should go check on the others; they are probably more injured than I am or worse.”

Despite my suggestion, she shook her head. “Everybody survived, Y/N. Please, just hang on. Hessie is on her way to heal you.”

After she said that, Hippolyta came running over to us, dropping to the sand on my wounded side. She gently wiped the blood that was dripping down my lips and shook her head smiling sadly.

“You are definitely a strong one, Y/N, so hang in there.”

I tried as hard as I could to stay awake, but the darkness came to me in quick successions and soon, I was enveloped in it. I could faintly hear Diana cry out to me and gentle lips on my forehead before I couldn’t hear or fell anything at all.


I woke up in a dimly lit room by myself. However, as soon as I opened my eyes, a guard noticed and called for Hippolyta and Diana. In less than a few minutes, Hippolyta was the first in the infirmary and was immediately by my side, checking under the bandages at my wound to see how much it healed.

Hippolyta sighed in relief. “Thank the Gods. You’ve been asleep for so long that we all thought your soul was gone.” She carefully ran her fingers through my hair as she kissed me. I responded to her quickly, gracefully putting my hands on either side of her face. 

A few seconds in, I heard footsteps and then Diana clearing her throat, which made us pull away.

She smirked. “Now, I just knew that something was going on between you two. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

The queen took a deep breath and walked up to Diana, putting her hands on both sides of Diana’s shoulders. “We wanted to tell you at the right time. We were going to tell you few weeks ago, but then the invasion happened. I hope you understand.”

Diana smiled and nodded, then walked toward me and put a hand on my chest, over my heart. “You need to be more careful, Y/N. Neither of us can afford to lose you. Not now, not ever, especially after we lost our beloved Antiope. I think we all know that she would be proud, but probably angry with you for almost dying, too.”

I chuckled and nodded in agreement. “I understand, my warrior princess.” Diana smiled and flicked my nose, making me scrunch it up cutely. Hipppolyta gazed at her two most precious loves. She would never get over the interactions they had all the time.

She walked over and sat in a chair next to my bed and took my hand. Then she started telling us a story about a place on Man’s Land that was very beautiful at the time before the word “corruption” ever existed. 

I was very fortunate to have them by my side. I would never forget moments as precious as these.

You All Had It Coming

A/N: A follow up to yesterday’s Not This Again. I also had a couple requests for it, here and on my AO3 account. And this one is fluffy BAU where there reader exacts her revenge by surprising Rossi, Garcia, JJ and Morgan with pies to face XD @coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn @unstoppableangel8


When you returned to the BAU that day, Garcia immediately came over and gave you the biggest hug imaginable. She pulled back and there were tears in her eyes, undoubtedly from the guilt she felt for being so mean to you. “You jumped in front a bullet for my JJ and I was so mean to you,” she cried, placing her hands on your face and hugging you again. “Can you forgive me? We were all being childish and then you went out there and put your life on the line and I just feel so awful and…”

“Garcia, chill,” you said, bringing your own hand up to rest on her shoulder. “I forgive you, okay? I’m not the type to insist on bigger and bigger apologies. You’re sorry. What’s done is done, alright?” You gave her a soft smile, your eyes slightly heavy after the events of the previous few hours. They had taken their toll and it was time for you to go home and sleep. “Although, I do have to warn you that Morgan, JJ and Rossi are all getting unknowing pies to the face as my revenge and you are included. So four pies.”

Her mouth dropped open and then spread into a smile. “Okay, I’m not asking you to tell me, but if you wouldn’t mind doing Morgan’s when I’m in the room I would really appreciate it.”

You told her no problem, that you’d definitely make sure she was there, and then suddenly you got distracted, watching as Blake walked across the room to her desk, having separated from the rest of the group upon their return to the bullpen. “Alright everyone, I’m a little sleepy, understandably, so I’m gonna head home. I do have one more stipulation for an apology.”

“What is it?” Rossi asked. “Anything.”

“I’m sure you probably had this in mind anyway, but I insist that everyone also apologize to Blake. She’s actually super cool.”

Rossi nodded, guilt still coursing through him that he’d been so salty with you and Blake. “Done.” 

Morgan, JJ and Garcia all agreed and the four of them walked away. Hotch told you that you’d done a great job and Spencer gave you a kiss before you turned and walked out of the Bureau for the day. 


Who gets the first pie?


Now by pie, you meant aluminum tin filed with whipped cream, and then maybe you’d make an actual pie for people to eat, but the first pie was definitely going to go to JJ; she would be the easiest because she was always in a coma in the morning, so she’d never see it coming. 

The only person you let in on your pie throwing was Blake, because she deserved to be there for every single one. Even Hotch and Spencer didn’t know when you were going to strike. 

The tension was high after a week. You still hadn’t even done the first one and everyone was waiting. In the refrigerator, you’d placed a delicious chocolate pudding pie that everyone assumed was the missile for your first strike, but as it gotten eaten over the course of the week, the team realized it must’ve been a decoy. 

That Monday morning of the second week, you and Blake rode the elevator up. She held the tin while you filled it up with whipped cream. Spencer, Hotch and Morgan were already there. As you came off the elevator, Hotch caught your eye and tried to hide a smirk as you ran up behind JJ’s desk and slammed the pie into her face. “Dammit!” she screamed. “I knew I was gonna be first!” She pulled the tin off her face and licked her lips as Spencer howled with laughter at his desk.

“Y/N, please let me be there for all of them! I’m gonna cry!”

“Of course, babe, no problem.”

JJ ran her fingers down her face and started eating the whipped cream. “At least it wasn’t shaving cream,” she shrugged. “And I feel like I owe you another apology. Come here, give me a hug.” She smiled and ran toward you, attempting to wipe her face all over yours. Running for your life, you ran across the bullpen like kids on a playground; you would only be able to evade her for so long.


After JJ got pied, you overheard Rossi, Morgan and Garcia trying to deduce when you were going to strike next and whom you were going to get. Your smile could not be contained when they settled on the fact that Rossi would be next, which naturally meant Rossi would not be next. Before they saw you, you ran to Blake and told her Garcia was going to be next and asked what might be the best way to go about getting her. 

“Don’t go for her in the lair,” she laughed. “She’s going to expect it there and plus, there’s no way you can sneak up on her in there, so my suggestion would be to get her first thing in the morning coming off the elevator or as she’s walking down the hall.” You and Blake had been close from the start, but you imagined you’d get even closer, especially given the parental relationship she seemed to have with both yourself and Spencer. 

It was only three days later when you decided to pie Garcia. Since Garcia wanted to be there for Morgan’s pie, it was only fair that the opposite apply too. “Are we still going out tonight?” she asked. “I’m seriously in the mood for Italian tonight.”

Morgan saw you approaching from behind and acted as if nothing was happening. Good boy, Morgan, you thought to yourself. You fuck this up for me you’re gonna get it worse. In an instant, you ran quietly up behind Garcia, tapped her on the shoulder, dodged as she spun around and smacked your pie-clad hand into her face. “Y/N!” you exclaimed.

“What you had it coming?” you laughed. “Two done two to go, bitches.”


Rossi’s pie was almost too easy. Seriously. After a long, but not necessarily rough case, the team headed back to the Bureau to do their after-case paperwork. Nearly an hour passed, everyone’s pens sliding across their desks in continuous monotony, and then it happened. You looked over and Rossi was sleeping with his head on his hand, which was propped up by his elbow. “Oh, this one is gonna be too simple,” you whispered to Blake, who giggled as you ran off to the break room to grab a tin and apply the necessary whipped topping. 

Upon your return, you walked up behind Rossi super slowly. While the previous pies had been fast and furious, this one was going to be slow and deliberate. Everyone watched in excitement as you walked up behind Rossi and simultaneously moved your pie hand forward while you pushed his head into your hand. Just as the delicious topping hit his face, he “woke up,” spinning around and getting half the pie on you too. “I was awake the whole time!” he laughed. “Did you really think you could fully get me? I’ve been profiling for 30 years!”

You licked the remnants of topping off your lips as a glob of it fell into your hand. “I still got you, just not fully. And Rossi…there is one thing you are forgetting.”

“What is that?” he asked with a self-satisfied smile. 

You showed him the topping still in your hand. “I can outrun you.”

He forgot about that.


Last was Morgan. He was going to be the hardest. After two long weeks since Rossi’s pie to the face, you finally came up with a good way to catch Morgan off guard. Everyone else had been pied at work, and tonight Morgan, Spence and Garcia were meeting at your place before heading to a movie.

As he walked into your apartment, he seemed like he was hesitating, not trusting you to keep your pies to yourself, so you acted as if nothing was wrong - he bought it. Yesssssss, you thought. The pie was already sitting in the refrigerator, ready to go at a moment’s notice. “I’m just gonna use the bathroom before we leave,” he said, rounding the corner toward the room.

Morgan would have to pass this way to get to the front door and your floor creaked like no other so you would know exactly when to strike. Pulling the pie out of the refrigerator, you stayed at the edge of the hallway as Spencer and Garcia stood behind you, eagerly awaiting the glorious moment. 

The second the floor creaked, you counted to two and swung your arm forward and upward, hitting Morgan square in the face and sending whipped topping all over his face and your hallway. “You realize you’re going to have to clean your own apartment up, right?” he asked, his voice muffled by the dessert topping and aluminum tin. 

“I don’t care,” you giggled. Garcia came up by your side and grabbed some of the whipped cream off his face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have sworn they were doing each other. “That was too glorious for me to pass up.”

Spencer couldn’t contain himself, wiping the tears from his eyes over and over again only to have them return. “That was glorious,” he said. “Almost makes me want one…almost.” The look on your face made him put in that last stipulation. 

“I have a bit of whipped cream left, Spence, if you wanna use that later,” you winked. 

Without missing a beat, Morgan turned to Spencer and flipped him off. “You reap all the benefits. Not fair.”

“Remember, Morgan,” he giggled as the older man turned back toward the bathroom. “You totally had this coming.”

Give me a twelve-year-old girl with eyes that swell up with tears every time she blinks because she looks in the mirror everyday hating the person she was perfectly made to look like, and I’ll tell her how beautiful she is until I’m blue in the face and have recited all of the poems her eyes have so naturally shared with me. I’ll hold her hostage in my presence until we both know for certain that her heart has reversed the curse of accepting every lie that has persistently denied what the words of God had confirmed Himself about what a masterpiece she truly is, until her heart has been thoroughly trained to beat with confidence in every move she makes. I will lift her up, I will encourage her, and I will wipe every tear away from her eye, until she understands that when bullets of insults charge at her with every intention to tear her apart, her weapon of confidence will be like knocking down a bale of hay with a cannonball.

Allow me to stop in my tracks when I hear a freshman softly sniffling in the bathroom stall, her silent cries echoing on the marble, tiled floors and solid, acoustic walls because a senior who swore that he was different and that they were meant to be reached deep down in her hopeful heart, and became the chapter that she would later on try to rip out of the pages. I will stay there with her, say a prayer to God that He would step into her brokenness, too, and tell her what that senior failed to mention: she doesn’t deserve this, and she doesn’t deserve him. She is priceless, and gold wishes to be her. She has a smile full of promise, and a laugh of contagion. She is bold and brave, sweet as sugar, and bright like the sun. And, I will tell her all of these things with no time to waste. The words are already right there on the tip of my tongue, dancing lightly on my lips, so excited to be spoken. I will remind her of who she is, who she really is, and that the person she will become scares the ordinary ahead of her. Who she was doesn’t matter now. It’ll all be apart of her testimony in the long run, the story that will touch the other hurting, broken-hearted girls that no one else can reach.

Introduce me to a black girl, who suffers to the sound of the N word that is squished against the slime of a white boy’s tongue, who has been teased for her Afro last year, and now is being pointed at for the box braids that she swore would change how people would see her this year. I will, in an instant, remind her of the magic she has stored within her curls, that sit on top of her intelligent, sparkling brain while the ignorant ones tease her for having it. I will strain my voice just to make her understand that her skin that glows like a diamond in the sunlight is nothing to be ashamed of, that brown is not bad, and black is truly beautiful. I will stay with her until she commits herself to hold her head and her undefined curls high, and to have her posture straightened when she decides that’s how she wants her hair that day, and to strut even when she is laughed at for having long braids flowing down her back, and to laugh out glitter when people long for her to cry. I’ll tell her the truth about being a black girl, and tell her that we were made to shine.

And, I will do it everyday for the rest of my life, devoting everything about me to lift up girls all over the world. I will prepare myself every morning to smile at someone, to lift them up, to encourage them, to treat them with respect, because I can do it without any trouble, without any hesitation, or without any problem. That gift has become very natural; it has become an instinct. Yet, I surprise myself every time it’s my turn to speak that way to myself.

I can’t encourage myself as quick as I can with others. I can’t let myself know how beautiful I look when I do something new with my hair, or when I make a change as small as wearing a new outfit. I stutter trying to recognize my beauty or talent, intelligence or brilliance. I have trouble practicing, even rehearsing, what I preach, and I’ve pushed it down for so long, categorizing it as a small problem, and ignoring it for the sake of my comfort zone. However, I have decided that enough is enough, and it’s time that I make a declaration for my destiny.

I will stop seeing humbleness as lacking self-encouragement, a degrading lifestyle to live. I, too, will lift myself up, recognize my intelligence, compliment my benevolent heart, acknowledge my amiable spirit, remind myself of my worth, thank Perfection, God, for creating me, and call myself the beautiful person that I am. And, I will do this not for my own sake - that’s just the sprinkles and the cherry on top. Instead, I will understand that the blind cannot lead the blind, the dying cannot lead the dying, and the insecure cannot lead the insecure. The only way that I may be able to prosper in doing one of the greatest privileges of all time, encouraging girls all around the world, is to lead myself into confidence first, to encourage myself like how I am destined to encourage others.

—  and i will love my neighbors like i love myself 
Neymar Imagine ((Part One))

“I’m done with you [y/n]” Neymar screamed at you, he has a serious expression plastered on his face, his face was red with frustration. You just stood there and stared at him as a tear drop rolled down your cheek. You were also done; done with trying to keep a relationship bound together that kept collapsing every day. You weren’t happy anymore, every day ended with an argument between you and Neymar, it hurt you…it really did that you and the person that you love most couldn’t be together for a couple hours without a fight emerging. 

“I’m sorry…I try to make things perfect, but I always mess up.” You replied as you sobbed. You couldn’t even look Neymar in the eye anymore. You just wanted to be gone, to shatter into a million pieces…to be anywhere but here. 

“Yeah…I’m sorry too, but I can’t keep living like this…where I have a fight every five seconds. I’m not sure this is going to work out between us…I’m really sorry.” Neymar said with an expression of sorrow, as he slowly edged his way toward the door of your apartment. Your heart shattered into a million pieces you couldn’t believe it…the person you would take a bullet for was walking out and you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“Neymar…please don’t” You whispered as more tears streamed out of your eyes. You were shaking you couldn’t stand it anymore. Neymar walked out without hesitating, you were broken, you just wanted to die. You went to your bed and cried yourself to sleep.

Neymars P.O.V

I just walked out on her, and it really broke my heart. I loved her more than anything and I left her. I’m so stupid! Whats wrong with me? I just sat in my car and I cried. I cried until all the lights went out in [Y/N]’s house. I gripped the steering wheel, and I rode off. I don’t know where I was going but I was just so frustrated with myself. I hated myself for hurting my princess, my baby, my everything. I was driving over the speed limit when I noticed a blinding light from the side. I turned my head and noticed they were headlights, my heart skipped a beat. The next second I was grabbing my side. I was in pain. Something hit me…I felt like I was dying…I probably was. Tears made there way down my cheeks…how would I tell [y/n] my real feelings for her if I was dying? whats going to happen to me?

Your P.O.V

It was late into the night when you were awoken by a phone call…phone calls at night were never good. You picked it up and your heart stopped when you heard the message.

tell me if you guys want a part two! :)

Request: ((Sorry - for the #5 imagine, maybe can you do one where she gets hurt on a hunt or something and maybe Dean has to patch her up? Forgot to specify! But really you should do whatever you want!))

#5 “It hurts too much.”

Hi, by the way! I’m Mika and I’m a new co-owner of this account. I’ve written tons on sites on Wattpad and Quotev, but never on Tumblr. So this should be interesting, bear with me. However, I’m delighted to take any requests you send my way! I don’t really have a preference, just I’m not that comfortable with writing smut. Sorry, about that. Anyways, LETS GET ON TO THE GOOD STUFF!

All The Love,


Originally posted by green-circles

The pain was crippling. Even knowing that it was going to get better soon, didn’t lessen the burning. You had never been shot before, which was a rarity for a hunter of your caliber. Your brothers Dean and Sam had been shot plenty of times, but they always made sure you were never on the receiving end of a gun. But with Sam being and Dean being too preoccupied in trying to survive themselves, there was no way in preventing it. Now, blood leaked from your side, no amount of gauze being able to stifle it. Dean drove faster than he had ever driven before, and Sam held your hand tighter than you could bear, but you weren’t going to complain to him. You stayed silent, and that scared them both even more.

“Y/N, please say something,” Sam pleaded with you, brushing stray hairs from your eyes. You opened your mouth, inhaling to reply to him, but the mere thought of breathing sent fire coursing through your veins, and all you could do was let out a strangled whimper.

This sent Sam into a panic. 

“Dean hurry up!”

“You don’t think I am? Fuck, if I press down on the gas any harder the car’s going to crash!” He shouted back at Sam, face red with frustration, tears burning his eyes, blurring his vision. He let out a sigh of relief when the motel came into view. He peeled into the parking lot, doing a shit parking job, but not exactly caring at that moment.

“Sam, get the door and crack open the first aid kit! I got her,” Dean ordered, watching warily as Sam ran inside their room, and Dean opened his door, rounding the car to examine you.

“Oh God,” He mumbled, trying to ease his pounding heart. You looked terrible. Your skin was pale and clammy, your eyes were unfocused. If Dean didn’t know any better, he would think you were dying.

But of course you weren’t. You couldn’t. Not his baby sister. Not his little Y/N.

“I’m sorry,” He muttered, wrapping his arms around your limp body and hauling you up, carrying you bridal style into the motel room, kicking the door shut.

Sam had prepared one of the queen beds for you, covering the sheets in towels, having gauze, a lighter, whiskey and needle, medical thread and a dozen other contraptions you were too far gone to identify. You moaned at the sight of the needle, and Sam looked at you sympathetically.

“I know, Y/N. I’m sorry. We’re so so sorry,” He told you, voice cracking. He covered his mouth, watching with tears in his eyes as Dean went to work.

You writhed in pain when he applied the alcohol to your wound, crying out in pain, tears streaming down your dirt streaked face. Dean tried to ignore your cries, but he couldn’t, not when each whimper was tuned to the frequency to break his heart over and over again. 

After an hour and a half of pure pain, your wound had been cleaned, the bullet had been removed, and you were stitched up. You breathed carefully, trying to ignore the sore feeling of your stitches expanding and retracting every time you inhaled and exhaled. Dean rested his head on yours.

“I’m sorry that this happened, sweetheart,” He whispered. “I didn’t do my job. Dad told me to protect you. If that bullet went farther, if we had waited any longer…”

You finally had the strength to speak up.

“Hey,” You mumbled back, your hand resting atop his head. “You aren’t going to get rid of me that easily. I’m one stubborn bitch, if you haven’t noticed. I love you both so much, and I’m never going to leave.”

Dean shook his head, him being as stubborn as you. It seemed to run in the family. 

“You don’t know that.”

You rolled your eyes, wincing when you let out an involuntary sigh. “But I do know one thing, our life is dangerous, it’s just who we are. You can’t protect me from everything. ”

“But you’re my baby sister,” Dean said, voice cracking as he smiled, a tear streaming down his face. “It’s my job.”

You smiled back at him. “And you’ve done an A+ job. But trust me when I say one little mess up isn’t going to get you fired. Stop beating yourself up.”

Dean nodded, before planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Love you too kid,” He sniffed, trying to play off the fact that he was crying only a few moments before. “Get some sleep for me, ‘kay?”

You and Ashton get locked out during the Purge

background: it was dark and late at night when you and ashton had returned home after your date. you expected another normal night at home, but everything changed when the sirens announced the beginning of the purge.

a/n: THIS WAS THE COOLEST REQUEST EVER thank you to whoever requested this i really had a ball writing it tbh xx

tw(s): violence, blood, etc.

word count: 1537


You and Ashton both laughed as you made your way up to your door. You nuzzled his arm as you were cuddled up against him, but you pulled away when you reached the entrance.

It was late at night, almost midnight. You two got home from your date at the movies and noticed that nobody had been on the streets or sidewalks in the city, which was odd since the nightlife was always very active. You got back to your shared home in the suburbs after a relaxing night out.

He dug in his pockets as a scowl was plastered on his face. You noticed his apparent frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find the house key,” he grumbled as he patted at his pockets.

“What?” You asked, your eyebrows scrunching in. “Don’t we always keep them on the car keys?”

“I had to take the spares for both today since I couldn’t find the original car key. I didn’t link them together.”

“Fuck, don’t we have a spare under the mat?” You asked, kicking the doormat away from your feet, but it just showed more concrete.

Ashton cussed to himself as he ran a hand through his curly hair.

“Well, it’s okay, we can-”

You stopped as the loud siren came on and echoed through the silent air. It belted out cold tones into the sky as you noticed the lights go off in one home while they flickered on in another. Your body froze and your eyes widened as the sound rang in your ears. Ashton stopped breathing just as you did, and his lips parted as he stared off into nothing. Not even a breath could be heard between you.

Keep reading


Horribly embarrassing concept sketches I did of my nuzlocke (2/2)

I’m just gonna bullet point all the random stuff I remember from sketching these…and sorry these are shitty cam pics but I dont have access to a scanner.


  • I really wanted Laila in poofy pants at some point in my sketching phase and it really was bad. None of the pants ideas worked and I cried many hypothetical tears
  • Because of the way Zach behaves, I really wanted to change the Samurott face so that it would look younger…and yeah…the mustache moving was really really hard for the first few tries. It took me MONTHS to get the final cut version of Samurott Zach
  • I will admit I drew this horrible first gijinka design without even finalizing the Samurott beard thing and so the sketches I did were all over the fucking place omfg……….I’m just glad my final design looks 100000000x better
For You (Pietro Maximoff x reader)

Pietro x reader: Reader’s powers include control of the elements and healing abilities. ( Part 2?? Maybe? )


         It all happened so fast. One second Ultron was flying a quinjet and shooting rapidly at everything, and the next it all went black.


         As I heard the bullets pounding against the hard Sokovian ground, my head spun swiftly to find the person shooting — it was Ultron. Clint and a small child were right in the path of the bullets. Just as I was about to use my powers to smash the jet to pieces, a robot of Ultron’s army smacked me to the floor. A glowing fire shot from my hands in a surge of energy, and the robot was destroyed within seconds.

         I turned my head towards Clint once more, fearing it was already too late. Just before Ultron began firing again, a flash of bluish-silver swept Clint and the kid away.

         The jet flew away, and for a moment I paused and sighed, seeing Clint was okay, but then my eyes looked upon Pietro. Oh my God, was all I could think.

         My legs ran me over to him as fast as they could go. I looked him over only to see multiple bullet wounds beginning to bleed out everywhere.

         Clint and I watched in shock, the world pausing for a single moment, as Pietro hunched over in pain. With tears swelling in his eyes, hurt clearly running like a river through every nerve in his body, he looked at us.

         “You didn’t see that coming?” Those were his last words before he fell to the ground.

         I cried out at the sight — Clint with a look of surprise and sorrow. He just saw someone that barely knew him sacrifice their life to save him.

         I walked over to where Pietro’s body had landed in the broken gravel. I bent down and kneeled by him. I can fix this. They need him more — Wanda needs him.

         “(Y/N) don’t do this to yourself,” Clint said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I turned and looked at him with my tear-filled eyes.

         “I can heal him. I’m going to heal him. Step back, and don’t stop me once I start, or we could both die.” I said softly. Clint nodded in agreement. He’d never seen me heal anyone before. He didn’t know I could — none of the Avengers did. He didn’t know how it worked, or what would happen.

         Slowly, I raised and held my hands above Pietro’s body. My magic began to work. A swirling galaxy-like purple surrounded my hands and began spreading over Pietro. My eyes started to glow the same color, just like every other time I used my powers.

         The magic encased him, and his wounds were disappearing. I heard Clint gasp in the background.

         Then came the pain — sharp and sudden. As every wound vanished on Pietro, it formed on my body.

         That was the cost of my magic. That was the only way I could heal someone — by taking on their injuries myself. It was twisted, and a cruel fate, but that’s the way it worked. I couldn’t heal without consequence. I wasn’t invincible

         Soon enough Pietro was completely healed, and I was now the one falling to the ground in pain. It felt like a thousand little daggers, but it was the right thing to do.

         Pietro stirred and his electric blue eyes shot open as he got up with his usual speed. He had a look of confusion plastered on his face. He turned over to me and his expression dropped.

         His arms wrapped themselves around me as he held my dying body. I could feel his chest rise and fall rapidly with each of his sobs. Hearing his cries hurt more than the bullet wounds.

         “(Y/N) what did you do?!” Pietro said in a frantic voice.

         “I—I healed you. I couldn’t l—let you die.” I said, coughing up blood. I grabbed his hand and held it gently in mine.

         “You can’t die on me. I need you.” His voiced cracked mid-sentence and he began to hold me tighter.

         “T—the world n—needs you. Your sister needs y—you.” I knew I didn’t have much longer. I tried to take in every last second with Pietro.

         “(Y/N) please don’t leave me.” His accent became very thick and slurred with his tears, but I still heard it, and it hurt.

         “Hey, g—go save the w—world Speedy.” Then everything went black.


Hey everyone! This is my first imagine so please feel free to message me what you think of it! I am also open for requests any time and would be happy to write anything :)



As police moved up West Florissant, many residents said they were trapped. The neighborhood consists of a series of cul-de-sacs with one main road — West Florissant, now blocked by police — stretching between them.
“I was just trying to get to my sister’s house,” cried one 23-year-old, who lay sobbing on a lawn.
He said he was walking home when officers approached him and sprayed tear gas in his face and peppered him with rubber bullets.
“These m———— came out of the cut and sprayed me in the face like this is a f—– video game or something.” the man said. His friends pleaded with an ambulance to hurry, and a neighbor offered to drive him to the hospital.
“I don’t need a hospital,” the man yelled. “This is my home.”
Explaining transitioning to my 8 year old

So I have an 8 year old daughter who I have not really explained transitioning to her cause everytime I do, she gets upset and cries. Well, today I finally bit the bullet so to speak and talked to her. Tears were shed and she said shes not “okay” with it but shes handling the idea very well actually. I explained how you can be born one gender and feel like another gender and how I don’t feel happy like a girl. I also told her my outsides can change but that doesn’t mean my insides will change at all. I showed her a few transition timeline videos so she kinda understands what will happen and at the end when I was mixing a drink mix with her water she goes

“So its like that… The water is clear and female but you add the red and now its red and male right?” Which was probably the BIGGEST step in all of this that she actually GETS IT and I just laughed and said

“Yeah its kinda like that babe.” She has a long way to go still but I explained that it is a slow process and she will be with me through all my changes so she won’t forget who I am. Her biggest fears is “not knowing who I am” Or “forgetting what I look like” which I told her we will always have pictures and videos. I think the prospect of mommy feeling better about themselves and wanting to do more things with her also helps a lot.

BTW follow me on @williamntransition

Admin Oliver:

That’s the sweetest thing. I love kids, man. I’m so happy for you. 

Collapsing, Falling

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers - Steve Rogers/Captain America, feat. Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Rating: PG-11 (for blood)

Original Idea: …

Notes: (Masterlist) … :-) I have a huge test today and a MASSIVE paper due tomorrow that I have to work on, so here ya go till I’m done.



The shot rang through the air. It didn’t echo—as gunshots didn’t. My eyes widened and I whirled around just in time to see Steve collapsing, falling onto his shield. “No!” The horrible shriek ripped from my throat before I could even process what was happening. I ran over to Steve as fast as I could and slid on my knees the last few inches. I pulled him up onto my lap. “No! No, no, no, no, no! Steve! Steve, stay with me! Steve!” I pleaded, holding onto his uniform as tightly as I could. My free hand put pressure on the blooming rosette of blood on his abdomen. I wasn’t sure why stomach wounds were dangerous (something about stomach acid getting in the bloodstream?) but I knew they were.

“What’s wrong?” Sam’s voice asked over the earpiece.

“‘M fiiiiine,” the captain slurred.

“Steve’s hit!” I cried as tears started to well up in my eyes. “He got shot! He’s fading fast.”

What?!” Bucky shouted, making feedback screech in my ear. “Kid, keep him steady. I’ll be right there.”

“That’s not going to be easy! We’re still taking fire!” I exclaimed, grabbing Steve’s shield off his arm and propping it up on my back in the direction the shot that hurt Steve came from. A couple bullets exploded the asphalt around us. For a moment I was way confused. They had one relatively big target to hit and they weren’t hitting me.

“I know, kid! I’m taking care of it!” Bucky snapped. That explained the randomness of the bullet sprays if he was taking shooters out. I bent double over Steve so I was hidden completely behind the shield and practically laid on his wound.

“Stay with me, Steve. Stay with me,” I begged. His blue eyes were watching me carefully, eyelids fluttering. “You can’t die on me! I didn’t give you permission!”

“‘Oo I ‘ave ‘o ask fo’ p’mission t’ die?” he mumbled, voice slurring worse as his consciousness faded.

Yes,” I snapped forcefully. The weakest of grins played on the edges of his face.

“Funny,” he muttered.

“Just stay awake. If you fall asleep you may never wake up again. And I don’t know what that would do to me,” I told him.

“Mmm,” was the only response I got.

Steve! Don’t even think about falling asleep!” A tear leaked out of my face and landed on his jaw. “You can’t die now! You just got Bucky and his memories back! You can’t leave him now! You can’t leave me now! I care too much about you and I don’t want you to die!” My fingers fisted in the front of his uniform were turning white at the knuckles.

Speaking of Bucky, he landed on his own knees on the other side of Steve from me, looking panicked. He looked up at me with wide pale blue eyes. “I’ll get him to cover—to the jet. You stay right here and I’ll come back for you, okay?” he ordered me.

I nodded and curled tighter behind the shield as the Winter Soldier hauled the captain into his arms and sprinted off. Had the man not had a metal arm I would have been surprised that he could carry all of Steve’s 220-240 pounds. Technically the threat around me was pretty much gone thanks to Bucky, but I stayed as hidden as I could in the open ground where Steve was shot. One of my hands was covered in the captain’s blood and the other was just hanging onto the shield as hard as I’d clung to his uniform. I was weeping, praying that Steve would be okay. I’d never established if I was in love with him or not, but he and I were very close and I wasn’t sure what I would do if he died. Probably drag his patriotic butt back to life so I could kill him myself for being such a reckless idiot and getting himself shot.

I didn’t have to wait for long for Bucky to come back and get me. About five minutes of shaking from terror and shock, he melted out of the shadow and scooped me up. I was so small that I could fit in one arm. He held me tightly to his chest while I clutched Steve’s shield. “Hey, doll, listen to me, Steve’s gonna be okay. Bruce is taking care of him and Dr. Cho is on her way to the Tower. We’ve just gotta get you two outta here.”

“Why me? I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. You’re traumatized, as well as bleeding.”

Bleeding? I thought, mind barely cooperating. I looked down to see blood soaking my left side. “What in the world?” I wondered aloud.

“My guess is you were grazed when you ran to help Steve,” Bucky remarked.

“But I didn’t feel anything!” I protested. “That’s gotta be Steve’s blood.”

“I’m sure you felt something. You just didn’t think about it because you were too focused on Steve. Be mindful of your attachments when you live this life. Any of us can be ripped away from you at any moment.” He ducked behind a pillar as a spray of bullets rang through the air. “I’m not telling you to not have friends. I’m warning you to be careful which friends you pick.”

I kind of tuned him out. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate that he was trying to help me, it was that he was helping me in the wrong way. I knew my line of work. I knew how dangerous it was.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t make friends with those around me.

Bucky darted out into the open and let off a single shot from his handgun. An assailant crumpled like a stack of pancakes. Bucky rushed forward and made his way to the jet. He carried me in and closed the door to the cargo bay.

Bruce was there and Steve was half-conscious on the gurney. I was set down in the seat next to Steve while Bucky told Bruce I was bleeding, slipped out the door again, and vanished.

I told Bruce to keep worrying about Steve. I was fine.

I took the super soldier’s hand in both of mine, leaving his own blood from my palm smeared all over his. His fingers curled weakly around mine while another set of tears fell from my eyes. I was sore from fighting but my supposedly bleeding side still wasn’t hurting. I rested my forehead against his knuckles and kept praying that he’d be alright.

“Hey,” his voice mumbled, lower than usual. I looked up. “I’m gonna be fine. I’ve had worse.” The fact that he wasn’t slurring was either really good (he was getting better) or really bad (he was in a lot of pain and trying to talk normal to keep me from crying). I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know which.


“It takes more th’n one shot to the tummy to kill Capt’n ‘Merica,” he interrupted. The slur was more comforting than maybe it should have, but it let me know that he was in pain.

As it was, it took everything I had to not make eighteen “‘Murica!” jokes while he would just lie there at my mercy.

“Well, thankfully, you are going to be okay. Sergeant Barnes got you here just in time,” Bruce said.

Relief flooded through me. I stood up and kissed Steve’s forehead.

Hello, darlin’!” he slurred. “What’re you doin’ later?”

“He’s got enough pain meds in his system to knock out an elephant,” Bruce informed me.

“I’ve got no plans tomorrow night,” I told Steve.

He almost drunkenly smiled at me. “Dinner?”

“Maybe. If you get better.”

“I’ll make sure to be better, then,” he muttered.

Bruce nodded. Keep him talking, he mouthed at me.

So I did. We made plans for a whole elaborate date that involved me teaching him how to dance and him showing me around New York while we both wore very nice outfits. He was half-grinning and his eyelids were fluttering. He sounded like a teenager that had just gotten their wisdom teeth out. I was smiling like mad, being very tempted to film him. But since Tony would somehow use whatever footage I got as blackmail on both of us, I elected to keep my camera firmly in my duffel bag.

By the time the team got back and the jet took off, Steve was healing. His intense regeneration capabilities courtesy of the serum were in high gear, working overtime. And he was starting to get some color back to his skin.

Bucky, meanwhile, was seething in his corner seat. After Sam told me to get some rest and promised he’d watch out for Steve, I went over to the Winter Soldier. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“My whole life I just wanted to protect him from bullies. Then the war started and I wanted to keep him out of that. I went to war myself because I wanted to be everything he wanted to be because he couldn’t. Then the SSR turned him into a fighting machine—my harmless, gentle, but fiery friend. And he was beyond my help. Now he’s lying on a gurney with a stomach wound and there’s nothing I can do. And I know it’s not, but it feels like it’s my fault. Like I didn’t protect him well enough,” he told me, so quiet no one else in the cramped cargo hold could hear us. I gave him a hug. He patted my back. “Get some rest, kid. We’ll be in the air for a while.”

So I laid across two seats, curled up on my side, and after a few moments of watching Steve’s groggy, bruised face, dropped off to sleep.