backwards boots

anonymous asked:

Please tell me I'm not the only person who thinks you look like Yorkie from San Junipero... Please. (PS, girlllll those cute boots tho!!)

san who what? I have no idea what you are talking about

Forgive Me? Always.

Sebastian Stan x Reader

Words: 1257

Warnings: Some swearing but fluff with Dad!Seb

A/N : Seb!Dad is my fav Seb

Originally posted by collecting-addiction


“Baby, be careful!” I silently whispered to my husband as he carried our four year old son from the car to the house.

Sebastian chuckled, “I got him, babe.” Sebastian walked heel to foot on the stairs and wooden floors trying to make as little noise as possible.

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The 70s | Leonard Snart

Imagine storyline: Imagine meeting Leonard Snart in the 70s and he saves you life from a mean drunk who is trying to hit on you and won’t take a hint

Pairing: Snart x reader

Fandom: dctv Legends of Tomorrow

AN: story created by tinkertaydust (me) on wattpad, found on my LoT community. requests are open y’all!


The warm breeze flooded her lungs as she stepped out of the diner. Y/N tugged at her flower printed shirt, the flamboyant materiel tight on her chest. Her shift had just ended and she was heading to the bar for a few drinks before going home. She made her way down the dark street, her bell bottom jeans dragging across the road. She hurried past a busy club, the pounding music stuck in her head as she smiled.

She loved this song and wanted nothing but to dance the night away. She turned a corner, seeing the rustic bar she had partied at most night.

Inside the bar was alive with music and dancing. Couples swayed on the dance floor, groups of teenagers hung near the back door, trying to sneak in without being noticed. A cloud of smoke hung permanently in the air, creating a hazed look in the bar. Y/N headed towards the bar and took a seat on the stool, dropping her bag to her lap.

The bartender didn’t need to be asked, he slide over a tall glass of beer with a smirk and a nod in her direction. She placed down a few notes and turned in her chair, her eyes scanning the bar. Her friends weren’t here yet but she was glad to wait.

“Jimmy, who’s the new guys?” Y/N asked the bartender, her eyes watching two men standing near the far wall. They were holding beers, their eyes moving swiftly across the nearly empty bar. Y/N knew nearly every poor soul in this bar; the drunk men here after a hard day at work, the free spirited women who wore long flowing skirts and flowers in their hair and even the underage kids who smoked pot around the toilets, trying to score some extra cash. These men weren’t dancing or chatting idly, they were out of place.

Jimmy shrugged. “Don’t know, they came in with a blonde girl.”

My eyes scanned the dance floor and sure enough I founded the blonde women Jimmy was talking about. She was swinging her hips to the steady beat of the music. Her hair was slick back, her body was covered with a strange off coloured bodysuit. Y/N eyed the girl, her clothing out of place too.

Suddenly there was a warm beefy hand on Y/N’s thigh, a foul breath near her cheek. “Hi darling, wanna’ dance?”

Y/N shook her head firmly, edging off the stool. The man was a regular drunk, Dan maybe, she couldn’t remember. She knew he was a mean drunk, an abusive drunk.

The man moved in closer, lowering his lips to her ear. “You want to dance with me.” It wasn’t a question. Y/N got to her feet, stepping away from the man. Jimmy was on the other side of the bar,  chatting up a pretty face. Y/N never had problems with men hitting on her, with her mean stare and quick tongue. But this drunk man wasn’t taking a hint tonight.

“I don’t want to dance,” Y/N tells the drunk man, with as much force she can muster up. The man rocks back on his heels, his movements slowly and unsteady. “Beat it, or I’ll–”

“Come on, baby.” The man says, his hand gripping her wrist and yanking her forward. The drink slips from her hand and smashes against the wooden floor, wetting the top of her boots. Y/N starts to step backwards but the man’s hand wraps around her hips, pressing her body to his own. His grip moves her lower body to the music.

A helpless yelp comes from Y/N’s open mouth, trying to struggle out of the man’s grip but its useless, he is twice the size of her.

“The lady said she doesn’t want to dance,” A new voice booms across from Y/N. She glanced up at him, seeing the man from the wall. The man that looked out of place. Up close he was rather handsome, in that rugged way. He was wearing an outer coat that looks like its used for the winter season.

The drunk man eyes him. “Why not mind your own business.”

The stranger sighs and in a big display of effort throws his drinks onto the floor, the cold beer dotting Y/N’s jeans, the glass shattering into a million pieces. He then takes hold of the drunk man, tearing him away from Y/N. She stumbles backwards, her boots slipping on the wet and her body falling to the floor, the puddle of beer wetting her backside. Y/N watches in horror and amazement as this stranger takes on this man, punch after punch slamming into his face. Blood dotted his face, smeared around his mouth. The stranger only grinned, like he was enjoying this. “You shouldn’t treat a lady with disrespect.”

Another punch to the face and the drunk man was out cold of the wooden floor, lying in his own blood and sticky beer. The stranger rounded back to you with a sly smile. He shoved out his hand, offering Y/N help.

“I’m only offering you some help up,” He said, his voice low but stern. Y/N takes his cold and he lifts her to her feet in one graceful sweep. Y/N brushed the dirt and dust from her jeans, glancing up at the man who had stepped in and saved her.

Y/N grinned at him, her teeth grazing her bottom lip. “You’re a real hero, you know that?”

The man shrugged, rolling his eyes. “I’m not interest in being a hero. I was just helping a pretty face.”

Y/N smiles again, titling her head to the side. “I’m Y/N, can I buy you a drink at least?”

The man struggles, “I don’t see the harm in that.”

“Good,” Y/N replies, picking up her bag from the ground and signalling Jimmy for two new drinks. She turns back to face the man, her curiosity biting at her mind. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“Leonard,” He replied coolly.  

“Well, Leonard. Where are you from?” She asked, taking a sip from her new beer.

Leonard grinned, his lips hiding a secret. “Do you really want to know?”

Y/N nods and he takes a seat next to her, resting his head on his hand as he watches her with keen eyes, a handsome smirk on his lips. “Well, its a long story.”

Fix This

Pairings: Vane / Reader

Warnings: Swearing (A LOT), Violence, 

Request:  @fear-of-the-guardians Hello! I hope I’m doing it right?? Never requested something but I love your writing. Maybe Vane finally ready to move on from Eleanor after Charlestown. But the girl/reader doesn’t want him at first because he left her for Eleanor once. But Charles now realized that she was the one?🤗 She’s strong and was a pirate under Ned Lows command before Charles killed him, she wanted revenge but Charles awakes her feelings again.

As a side note do people on my everything tag list want to be tagged in things other than THE 100 imagines? 

@angelaiswriting @selldraug @thenovarose @mindofthescattered @georgiagrl1990

Rackham slipped into the seat opposite your own a fake smile plastered onto his face as he tried to hide the grimace at the large line of empty glasses in front of you.

“Yes?”

“Nice to see you as well Y/N” he peered over the edge of the current glass you were nursing. “It seems your mug is empty, allow me to rectify that” waving his hand he flagged down the wench serving and grabbed another two mugs of ale pushing it over to you.

“What do you want Rackham?” you snarled, not at all in the mood for his games and flowery words. You’d come in to get pissed, a goal you had been well on the way to achieving before Rackham sat his ass down opposite you.

“Nothing my flower, not a thing. This pleasant little interlude it entirely about what I can do for you”

Sighing loudly you took a large gulp from the mug he’d gotten you. “Fine, what can you do for me?”

“Our mutual… acquaintance is looking to have a chat”

“I don’t want to talk to your fucking shit of a captain Rackham” you drained the remaining contents of the mug slamming it down onto the table. Narrowing your eyes at him. “Tell him to stuff whatever fucked up offer he has right up his arse and crawl back to that whore Guthrie”

“Such language from one so fair”

“Rackham I am running out of patience for you” his eyes widened comically and you took a firmer grasp on your rapidly thinning temper. “You need to back the fuck off and leave me alone”

“Y/N…”

It took seconds for you to prove to him that you weren’t anywhere near as drunk as he’d thought. Pushing the bench back from underneath you with a screech of wood against alcohol sodden tiles. You reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt taking a large chunk of it in your hold as you yanked him over the table. Rackham grunted in surprise as his chest slid along the table. You let go of his shirt to take hold of both shoulders spinning him over so he was on his back, staring up at you. A knife slid out of your shirt sleeve long and sharp and pressed against Rackham’s neck.

“What part of fuck off did you mishear Rackham?”

Rackham didn’t answer, mainly due to the pressure on his neck from you knife. The other patrons in the tavern too used to violence in their daily lives had barely blinked at your little skirmish with Rackham. Instead muttering about women and knives before going back to their own drinks.

“Y/N?”

“Great, just great” you muttered using your spare hand to pick up Rackham’s earlier untouched mug of ale. “Going to take this Rackham”

“By all means” he gasped out even managing a small smile as you downed the contents in his mug. The ale wasn’t good at the taverns but a person soon learnt to ignore the taste of it in trade off for the numbing effects on one’s mind. In this case you were really hoping that with one more mug of ale the owner of that gruff sounding voice behind you would vanish by the time you turned around.

Finally removing your knife from Rackham’s neck you turned around. The ale hadn’t worked that much was obvious very quickly because Captain Vane was stood there hands on his hips staring down at you.

“Vane” sliding the knife back into the sheath on your forearm you crossed your arms over your chest staring at him. “Sending people to butter me up first are you now?”

“If I did it clearly wasn’t working”

“Clearly”

Rackham had gotten up as well brushing crumbs and assorted dirt from his clothing before rubbing a hand over his throat. He cocked his head towards you “Y/N always a pleasure”

“Fuck off Jack” Vane echoed your sentiments from before as a plainly annoyed Rackham did indeed leave you both alone.

Vane’s eyes returned to you as he stared apparently not wanting to be the one who spoke first. In the game you both played of constantly trying to win over the other it seemed the most recent stakes were breaking and talking first.

In the end neither of you spoke because Vane reached out grabbed your wrist and dragged you from the taverns main room. At your show of violence the patrons had barely reacted whereas when Vane had grabbed you and you’d started shouting and thrashing they suddenly couldn’t have been busier. Refusing to look at either of you and definitely not willing to break Vane’s grip on you or get in his path.

Vane kicked open doors along the taverns corridor interrupting whores doing business, merchants snoring and thieves sneaking towards bountiful loots. Finally finding an empty room he shoved you into it boarding the door behind him to stop you escaping once again.

Practically spitting with rage you slipped the knife back out of your sleeve fingering the blade, Vane’s eyebrows rose as he noticed the weapon but he didn’t move or look slightly threatened.

“Going to stab me Y/N?”

“I should, you fucking murdered my captain for that whore Vane”

“Lowe deserved what he got” he waved away your words, unconcerned with the allegations of murder. After all it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been accused of murder. “You however are a different story all together”

“Meaning what?”

“You joined that fuck wits crew Y/N, when you knew my relationship with him”

“Why exactly should I give a fuck what you wanted from me Vane?” your voice had gotten louder and louder until the point where you were screaming. “You left me remember. Decided that screwing Eleanor Guthrie would be a better option”

“I was wrong”

Well that took all the metaphorical wind right from your sails. You had known Charles Vane for close to 10 years, ever since he’d dragged your skinny teenage ass from the sea of a wrecked British Merchant ship. Never once in the whole of those 10 years had you heard him say he was wrong or even allude to the possibility that he could be.

“You were wrong?” repeating the words even sounded strange.

He was scowling but nodding in agreement. “You were right about Eleanor, always had been” he took a step towards you in the room, starting to box you into a corner with his body.

“So now what?” snarling you held the knife up stopping his movements towards you. “You thought you’d come and claim your consolation prize? Fuck you Vane”

He took another step towards you reaching for your arms. Not at all willing to just let him take you once more you flailed out with the knife in your hand catching his forearm and cutting a deep slice. Growling Vane took hold of your wrist twisting making you let go of the knife with a cry of pain. His other arm came around your waist pinning your arm to your side as he dragged your back into his chest.

“Fucking crazy woman, stay still”

“No” hissing like a feral cat you struggled in his grasp, stamping down hard on the top of his foot with your boot.

He grunted and shifted you in his arms once more lifting so you were actually off the ground effectively neutralising your feet as a weapon against him.

“Listen to me Y/N, it’s not Eleanor that I killed Lowe for”

“Of course you did” his muscles were straining around you as you still fought to get free of his grip. “You left a bloody sign in the square Vane with his head. Who else had Lowe angered than that bitch Guthrie”

“I did not kill him for Eleanor” he repeated somehow managing to spin you around in his grip so your chests were pressed together, with your feet still lifted off the floor it put your face on the exact level of his own. “I killed him for you?”

“What?” shock had you finally stopping your attempts at escape. “How in the world do you figure that killing Lowe was helping me?”

“If I put you down will you listen?”

“Fine” He did put you back down on your feet taking a moment to look down at his arm. The cut you’d managed to inflict on him was still bleeding. “Sit down” you ordered “I’ll clean it and you can tell me how your tiny little brain came up with this newest conclusion”

He ignored your insult too used to them to care instead hooking a foot around a stool he sat near the bed. You perched on the end of it reaching out to take his arm and using the only clean water in the room to start bathing the cut.

“Rackham was the one who heard it, Lowe and his men discussing what they were going to do to you”

“Fucking Rackham, he’s about as trustworthy as a snake”

“He was right Y/N. Anne was there too”

“Fine, just what were they apparently going to do to me?”

“I’m not spelling it out” Vane caught your wrist in his own stopping what you were doing. “Safe to say the bastard got what he deserved”

“So I’m meant to believe that you killed Lowe to protect my honour?” He grunted and you shook your head. “Well fuck you Vane, I don’t need you to protect me, never did”

He lurched back to his feet pushing the stool backwards with his boot heel so it slammed into the wall. “You are a stubborn bitch. Can’t fucking win can I? Can’t protect you and can’t ignore you, can’t love you but can’t be away from you so tell me Y/N what the fuck do you want?”

“From you?” he nodded “Nothing” you snarled getting back up to your feet as well. “You broke me Vane. When you made off with Eleanor you broke the only bit of my humanity left. You can’t fix it just by telling me you were wrong”

“Then what?”

You sighed anger fading away with the outgoing breath, after a pause you shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know. I don’t know if you can”

Very slowly Vane lifted his hands placing them on your face, using his thumbs to gently run along your cheekbones. “I’m going to fix it” he swore gravel in his voice as he refused to break eye contact with you. “No matter what it takes or how long it takes I am going to fix this. At least let me try?”

“Alright” his eye brightened at your words. “Alright you can try. I’m making no promises though Vane”

Leaning down he pressed a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t worry I have ample confidence in my abilities. Got you once can do it again”

“Cocky bastard” you muttered as smirking he let go of you moving away once again.

He left you alone stood in the room wondering how you had ended up back here again, hanging around waiting for Charles Vane. Wondering how that feeling was back in your stomach, the one where you couldn’t wait for him to come back. He would win you back, you knew that for sure. Smiling to yourself though you went and picked up your knife from the floor putting it back in its sheath once more. Knowing he would eventually win you back though gave you ample opportunity to make him work very fucking hard for it. Very hard.

Ain't No Grave

———————————————————–

Once upon a fucking time, I fucking died.

Now I know what you’re thinking.

“Negan how the fuck are you gonna tell a fucking story if you’re fucking dead?”

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A Random One-Shot

A.N. So I just got a random idea to write this since it snowed for the first time, and while I don’t like snow, I did like the idea I got lol

“Bats.”

“Joker.”

The two stand opposite each other on the building, Bruce tensed, Joker shifting his weight loosely. “Drive me to the asylum?”

Bruce glances up at Joker, curious at the sudden shift in mood. They’d just been fighting, punches and kicks forming bruises that likely wouldn’t fade for days. And then…Joker had just stopped, expressionless, not a hint of a smile. If anything, this puts Bruce more on edge than his cryptic smiles.

But he nods, letting his arms drop, fists unclenching slowly. “What brought this on?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Joker steps to the edge of the building they’re on, doing a balancing act and tipping precariously. Bruce fights the urge to pull him back.

“About what?”

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Cancer

((This was intended to be a small poem thing and it grew into this. Sorry.
Until next time, GeekyZelda))


If you say
Goodbye today,
I’ll ask you to be true.
‘Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you.


The morning they received the news from the healer Silas and Sarah couldn’t leave the bed. Tears from both pooled on the pillow as he ran his hands through her hair and she clung to him like a boat in a storm. They lay between the sheets until the sun set, neither sleeping, simply appreciating the other’s presence. No plans were discussed that night, no thoughts of the future. Just their last lingering shred of hope as it was blown out the open window.

The next day, they called a family meeting.

“All Heap children in attendance, please. We have something to tell you.”

The formality of the letter spooked them all.

Simon and Lucy rushed straight to the family homestead first thing that morning. Sam and Marwick traveled through the queen’s way as soon as possible. Edd postponed a date with a cute ordinary wizard. Erik paused in the middle of a three day spell. JoJo left the sanctuary of the Grotto. Nicko sailed straight home from the Port. Jenna cancelled three meetings with foreign dignitaries. Septimus took the first day off of his career.

That afternoon, no later than 2 pm, all Heaps and associated spouses were crammed into the room behind the big red door. The feeling of safety and comfort that usually permeated the space was overshadowed by an ever increasing anxiety. Sarah sat at the head of the table. Silas served a pot of tea and stood behind his wife, his hands on her shoulders. Everyone held their breath as she loosed her news.

“I’m dying kids.”

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After years of being one of the most photographed stars on the planet, Taylor Swift recently decided she was bored with her usual “step out looking like a fresh-off-the-runway model and dazzle everyone with my poise and grace” routine. So she decided to shake things up a bit and employ a hilarious new tactic to completely stump the paps.

As the 25-year-old was leaving a friend’s house in Los Angeles earlier this week, a swarm of photographers naturally waited outside for her to emerge. But Tay was having none of it. With the help of her bodyguard, a.k.a. her partner-in-crime, she slowly walked backward (in heeled wedge boots, no less!) before quickly spinning around and jumping into an awaiting SUV.

—  MTV
Justice In The Trees

Pairing: Peter x Reader 

Rating: +13

Summary: Reader was molested by one of the newer Lost Boys and doesn’t tell anyone because she wants to be strong. Then Peter heard her having a nightmare and coaxed it out of her.

(If you are sensitive to thematic elements such as these, do NOT read.)

Originally posted by pans-dreamshade-of-neverland

Y/N tried to be strong. Being in Neverland was certainly not for the weak, so she kept it inside. Kept her fear inside.

She could still remember the night as if it was yesterday.



There was no sunset that night. Just blue light sending Neverland’s forest into it’s blue period.
She used to love the feeling the low light gave her. It was welcoming and she enjoyed the cool breeze, a break from the hot sun during the days in the summer.

She had set off for a small walk. Peter had warned her not to stray too far, and she made sure that she could still hear the bustle of camp. Her ears picked up the sounds of the wilderness around her and she smiled slightly. Suddenly, a dirty hand covered her mouth and she could feel the person’s breath on her neck. She let out a startled squeak, but the hand muffled it. Though the person’s breath was warm, it sent chills down her spine.

The person let her go almost immediately and she turned. She let out a relieved breath seeing as it was just the new Lost Boy, Landon. “Don’t do that!” She scolded with a smile. “I thought that you were a pirate!” He gave a disgusted face.

“I’m not that ugly, am I?” He stroked his chin.

“Maybe a little.” She teased and they both laughed. They had a good friendship. It was enough for Y/N to be comfortable around him. There was a pause.

“I wanted to show you something.” Landon said nodding his head further away from camp. Y/N hesitated. Pan wouldn’t be happy.

“I don’t think that that’s such a good idea. It’s getting dark and Pan told us specifically to stay near camp.” She shook her head. “Not to mention the dangers of Neverland.”

“Oh, come on.” Landon sighed. “It isn’t that far, we’ll be back before anyone notices that we have been gone too long.” He pleaded. Almost as an after thought, he added, “I’ll protect you.” Little did she know that it was an empty promise. It wasn’t light conversation anymore. It seemed that he would burst if she didn’t go with him. Still, Y/N declined and began walking back when she saw Landon’s features contort.

She was grabbed from behind again and this time, she put up a fight. He hushed her, his hand keeping her muffled and his other hand went from just under her chest to the top of her thigh. Landon began to drag her backwards and her boots made scuff marks on Neverland’s dirt floor. Panic filled her belly, despite Landon’s “words of comfort.”

She was scared and she put up a large fight to get as far from Landon as possible, but he was too strong for her. She felt weak and she bit her tongue.

“It will all be over soon.” Landon’s low voice made her shiver and he ripped off her hooded cloak. A feeling of dread filled her as she was pushed to the dirt.



Y/N shook her head as if shaking away the memory. She never went on walks anymore. The twilight now gave her tremors through her hands and heart palpitations. She pushed off of the tree that she had been leaning against and walked over to sit on a log next to the fire. Pan’s soothing flute drifted through the air, though it did little for her, She sat as far from Landon as she could, unconsciously alarming the more observant of the Lost Boys. They didn’t understand why she was so distant the past months, but said nothing.

She never danced with the boys anymore. She didn’t dance much, but every once in a while she would join. She hadn’t stepped within five feet of the fire in ages.
Sitting by the fire, trying to eat her dinner, Landon came over to sit on the log not to far from hers. He hadn’t made any attempt to talk to her since that night, so she was alarmed. She visibly stiffened. The quiet conversation between Felix and Devin, two of the older Lost Boys, had slowed as they noticed the small shift in their friend’s mannerisms. Y/N was the only girl, so they were automatically more aware for her.

Landon shifted a little closer and Y/N gripped her eating utensil. She had finished her food, now she was gripping her empty dish. She couldn’t show weakness, she just had to suck it up. What happened to her didn’t matter. Or so she kept telling herself. She kept her gaze trained on the fire and tried not to think about it.

She looked over and Landon was sitting right next to her. She gasped and recoiled, falling off of the end of her log. Landon’s mouth was upturned into a smirk and she couldn’t fight her shaking hands. Her chest moved rapidly up and down and memories from that night flooded her mind.

The flute music had stopped, Devin and Felix’s conversation had done the same and the other Lost Boys froze. All eyes were trained on the two. Felix stood up and walked over, pushing past a few of the boys. His hand brushed Y/N’s shoulder and she jumped, looking up at him. Her face grew red in embarrassment and Felix helped her up. There were tears in her eyes and she brushed a few of them away as soon as they fell. 

 She picked up her dish hurriedly and sped to her hut at the far end of camp. Pan had noticed the change in her mood, as had all of the Lost Boys, and they all shared a glance. Y/N never cried, she had always been tough, tougher than some of the Lost Boys even. Pan tried to play the flute again, but it seemed as though they all just wanted bed. After seeing something as startling as their tough Lost Girl crying, they weren’t in the mood. Pan hoped that things would be better and more upbeat in the morning.



 It was almost pitch black in the camp, the fire still had many embers, casting a dull glow to the trees. Pan stared at them, thinking. Y/N, his only Lost Girl, had always been resilient. She had told him off after badgering her once. He had admired her fiery persona and had grown respect for her. She was unlike Wendy, the first girl that Pan had brought to Neverland. Where Wendy was dainty and weak, Y/N was confident and strong. But something had changed her. Pan had thought over the events of the past few months, those that he and the boys had noticed the change, and the only thing that he could think of, was the new boy, Landon.

 This struck him as odd. Landon was a generally nice guy. Pan thought that maybe the two had a past, that was shot down immediately. Y/N had most likely been in Neverland since years before Landon was born, not to mention no one was allowed off the island. Maybe they had been in a relationship since he got to Neverland and they had a rough break up? It wouldn’t be uncommon, but Pan specifically told all of his Lost Boys, even each new one, that Y/N was off limits. Including Landon. (She was the only girl after all.) 

 Perhaps- His thoughts were interrupted by a muffled whimper. He looked up and around immediately. The whimper came again and his brows furrowed. It sounded feminine. Y/N. Pan looked towards her hut as the whimper came again. This one was louder and had a panicked edge to it, more so than the first two. He jogged to her hut in worry. Thoughts raced through his mind. Was she being attacked? 

 He rapped softly on the door of her hut. No answer. He listened and the next sound was not a whimper. It was a cry of terror. He opened the door immediately. Y/N was alone in her bed, the thin blanket was tangled around her legs, effectively restraining her. It looked like she was trying to push something. Pan walked over and put his hands gently on her shoulders. She reacted violently and Pan moved away quickly, thinking that she was awake and aware. But as soon as he moved away, she went back to her previous state, pushing at nothing. He sat on the edge of her bed and gripped her shoulders, shaking them to wake her. Y/N cried out louder this time as she woke up. She pushed her attacker away and scrambled up the bed. Tears ran down her cheeks. She saw a silhouette in her dark room and gasped trying to make herself smaller.

 "Hey, it’s just me.“ Pan said gently as he reached out for her. She curled into herself and shook violently. The dream had been so vivid for her, almost like it had happened again. "Y/N, it’s alright. No one is going to hurt you.” Pan knew what comfort was and how to extend it, but he hadn’t had to do it in a long time, so he felt a bit rusty. 

 "I’m sorry. . I-If I woke you.“ Her first instinct was to apologize to Pan. He wasn’t the kindest of the boys and she tried to stay out of his way. They were on good terms so far, aside from when she told him off, and she didn’t want to jeopardise that. Pan shook his head and reached for her. She winced and closed her eyes, expecting the worst.

 "Darling, I won’t hurt you, open your eyes.” She did as she was told, slowly, and found a concerned Pan. He had wished for a candle and put it beside her bed to cast light. “You were having a nightmare, Sweetheart.” He brought his fingers up and brushed some hair from her face. She would have said something along the lines of: ‘I know that.’ But she was too stunned from the nickname. Pan had called her 'Darling’ and 'Love’, but never 'Sweetheart’. It just wasn’t in his personality. He was gruff and unemotional. This Pan was different. 

 She only nodded and brought up a hand to dry her face. Pan handed her a handkerchief and she sniffled. He waited patiently as she calmed enough before helping her sit up. “Would you mind telling me about it?” Pan asked and she shook her head immediately. He nodded. She had the right to refuse, not like he could do anything about it. “Alright…” He paused. 

As previously stated, he wasn’t practiced in the comfort department. He decided to treat this like talking to a scared animal. He knew that it would be degrading to refer to it as such, but it was the best he had. “If I do something you don’t like, tell me.” With those words he began to move, slowly as to not startle the girl. He kicked off his shoes as he moved further onto the bed. She moved as he did. Shuffling out of his way. Y/N was left slightly confused in her reducing panicked state. What in the world was he doing? 

Six(-ish) Sentence Sunday

From my upcoming season 2 canon-divergent “Inhuman AU,” tentatively titled The Storm Inside. This is the opening of the fic, and takes place during 2x10.

Darkness. Screaming.

Fitz’s hand almost slipped on the edge of the dark tunnel into which Trip had just vanished, and Jemma grabbed onto his sleeve, screaming after their friend to come back. He turned to her, eyes wide and heart pounding. “We have to go after them.”

Being swallowed whole. Laughing yellow eyes, terrified.

They ran hand-in-hand down a stone corridor, screaming for their friends and clutching each other for dear life. Finally, they saw Trip wedged into an archway, struggling to keep the stone door from closing. “Get her out,” he yelled, out of breath, hands slipping against the rock and boots skidding backwards on the dirt beneath him.

Born again but broken. Walls crumbling.

Fitz squeezed around Trip, into the room where Skye was crying, blaming Raina for the disaster that was upon them. Although he pulled Skye hard towards the entrance, she struggled, not wanting to let the girl no longer in a flower dress get away. Trip let out a desperate grunt, the door slipped another inch closed, and Fitz shoved Skye through the gap, knocking Trip out after her. The door slammed shut before he could even reach a hand through, and he could just barely hear Jemma scream his name.

Stones cracking. Silence. Footsteps.

Raina sighed, teasingly lamenting his impending fate, but Fitz ignored her in favor of trying to pry the floor-to-ceiling door open – to no avail. Dirt gathered underneath his short fingernails, leaving shallow tracks in the stone. On the other side, Jemma screamed for him over and over again, he thought he heard fists pounding uselessly against the door, and Skye called out that Trip had run to get the explosives, that they were going to get him out of there. A blue light reflected on the wall, and Fitz turned, staring at the crystals that emerged from what had once been the alien obelisk. Thinking only that he needed to do something, he grabbed a nearby rock and smashed the crystals into nothingness. A pulse of energy threw him down, his skull cracking nastily against the floor.

And then Leopold Fitz became something completely different.

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10. Boot 

The battle for that day was going well. 

After making a fool of both the enemy Sniper and Medic, it was time to pay the dear Engineer and his sentry nest a much needed visit. With the Engineer nowhere in sight, Spy made a break for the sentry nest in a RED Sniper disguise, making quick work to place his sapper on each machine. It was incredible luck that was no one was around. Everything was going perfectly until he heard Engineer’s voice. 

At hearing his nickname, Spy subtly glanced up as he started to walk away. Maybe he could get away under his cloak. However, Spy barely took one step before a boot sailing across the sky smacked him square in the nose, knocking off his disguise mask in the process, his false identity dropping in a shroud of smoke. With a loud curse, Spy held his nose, stumbling backwards from the offending boot that landed on the floorboards with a solid thud. 

A boot. He had really thrown a boot at him.

“For fuck’s sake - you honestly threw a boot at me?!” the Spy hissed out in between clenched teeth, still cupping his hands over his nose tightly.