beating the bounds

4

Shadowhunters 209/210 Theory (Mostly 210)
My theory is based mostly on these pictures. So I could be super wrong!

Valentine is torturing Alec. Okay that’s a weird way to start of, so let’s dig deeper. Then I will explain why Valentine is torturing Alec & ONLY Alec! In the 1st picture Magnus seems distressed and worried. Magnus & Alec have their huge argument towards the end of 209 and Alec needs some space so he runs off to the institute and the episode ends with Valentine breaking into the institute and taking hostages. So in 210 Magnus is feeling guilty bc he thinks it’s his fault that Alec was taken hostage. If he would have just told Alec about, whatever they were fighting about, he would be with Magnus and safe. Then Clary sees him sulking on the balcony (Pic #2) and tries to consult him, which in turn causes Magnus to express his guilt of causing their argument and possibly that he should have stopped Alec from leaving. Clary comes over to him(Pic #3) to convince him that it wasn’t his fault and there was no way for them to predict that Valentine would attack the institute. And that they will figure out a way of rescuing Alec, Izzy, and the rest of the institute TOGETHER. Clary then gets a video through text or a live video from Valentine (Pic #4). He does this thanks to that IT girl(Lindsey?). The video is most likely Valentine beating up a bound/handcuffed Alec. V: If you want him to live then I need you, Clarissa, and your brother. A: Clary, Jace, don’t come near here (basically telling them not to help that he can handle it). V: *punches him unconscious* This will only get worse. Don’t worry he’s still alive but not for long. After they watch the video, Jace starts screaming and they (Clary & Magnus) run into the house. Jace’s Parabatai rune is red or black or whatever, it’s bad. Magnus then sedates him so he’s not screaming in pain. Also so Jace can give Alec some of his strength. And they realize they have to get Alec back. Mostly for Jace’s sake.

Now why Alec?
-Alec is Jace’s Parabatai so Jace can feel and sense that Alec is being harmed and tortured. As Alec’s brother & Parabatai he’s going to want to save him. So it’s a great way to get Jace to him. Alec’s life for him.
-Clary cares for Jace and Alec so she would do anything to help them. If she has to go with Valentine in order for Alec, and subsequently Jace, she will do it. Not activate the Soul Sword, just go with Valentine.
-Okay. Valentine has to know that Alec is dating Magnus Bane, the HIGH WARLOCK OF BROOKLYN. And Magnus is warlock(and Dot is possibly dead) and he needs one. All he has is Madzie, a 4/5 year old warlock, and Magnus is the High Warlock of Brooklyn. Valentine is not stupid. He knows that Magnus would give himself up to Valentine if it means he releases Alec, and Magnus heals Alec.
-Isabelle. It’s safe to assume that Izzy is most likely in the institute as well. Valentine could be torturing Alec right in front of Izzy. We have seen in the past that, even though she is the LITTLE sister, Izzy is extremely protective of Alec. *Side note: I think this gives evidence to many fans’ theory that Alec is autistic, even mildly autistic. She would be protective of her brother. Also Jace’s comment about Alec being sensitive. I could wrong. Like most of the public, I don’t fully understand Autism* Back to my point. Valentine realizes he can mentally torture one Lightwood while physically torture another Lightwood.
-Robert & Maryse were part of the Circle when Valentine started it. They eventually left him and got their Circle runes taken away and run one of the world’s institute. The only punishment they got was they can only be in Idris for Clave business. He could also be trying to get them back on his side. Alec is their eldest son, so they would care for him. They would willingly go back if it meant that ALL of their children are safe.
-Final point. Jocelyn! Valentine somehow finds out that Alec was the Shadowhunter that killed Jocelyn. Most likely Raj cause you know he would to save himself. Remember, Jocelyn is the love of Valentine’s life! So, he’s going to be extremely pissed at whoever killed her. But someone, Izzy most likely, points out that the demon that he sent inhabited Alec’s body, which is the only reason Alec killed her.

Sorry for long post. I had a lot to explain

I'm not dating him

Request: YES (omg thank you for requesting I’m so excited!!)
Plot/prompt(s):“Please can I request an imagine :3 You are batman’s daughter and was Jason’s best friend from a young age who’s is batgirl and was trained before dick and who helped train them. After Jason ‘dies’ dick comforts her and they become really close and he develops strong feelings for her. When Jason becomes the Arkham Knight he realises he was in love with her and becomes jealous of dick. Please can it be set during the Arkham games.” -
@exodarkwolf16 Part two: Heyy :3 you can decide who the reader picks if you want to, thank you so much for taking my request :D

word count:1,337

pairing: Jason x reader, dick x sister reader, Bruce x daughter reader

warnings: jasons death, dying, lots of crying, fighting, I think that’s all

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Prompt: Its near midnight and as Michael lays resting in the guest bedroom of her upstate home, Mike sleeping soundly across the hall, Sara sits quietly in the space between their doors pondering how to bridge her past and present life together.

Sara’s legs are pulled up, shielding herself from the question she was too afraid to ask, her hands spread across her knees, the once glittering rings adorning her fingers having since been removed.  The tan line visible even in the dark, a glowing white line of deceit staring back at her.  A reminder of the treacherous lies she’d chosen to believe, her life manipulated for the those years by a man consumed with winning.

She frustratingly pulls her long hair from her face, her fingers lacing through the auburn, exposing her eyes to the truth.  Beating herself up was bound to become a nightly habit at this rate.  The thoughts of what could have been come floating into her peripheral.  

There was a time, albeit briefly, where she had felt safe.  Never healed, never whole, but surviving.  Her son providing her with the necessary means to breathe, to get out of bed each day.  And she’d risked it, she’d left her son with a man, and the thought of things having turned out differently scared her.

But what scared her even more was the future that slept behind those doors.

In the whirlwind of events surrounding Michael’s return, she’d barely had a moment to catch her breath.  The meeting of Mike with his father had been an instant that she was sure was never going to leave her, tattooed on her eyelids, a flutter of lashes like a hazy vision that seems more like a faraway fantasy, something she dreamt up, rather than the reality of her life right now.

And when the night had settled, and her son had peacefully fallen asleep in the arms of his dad, his long fingers tangled in his auburn hair, tattoos dancing across his head like a map of his journey to get there.  It had taken the the persuasion of his whispery voice to the small boy, the promise of tomorrow, of forever, to get Mike into bed, fighting the sleep, the last image he saw before surrendering to slumber, Michael’s smiling face.

They’d stood awkwardly in the hallway, the glow from Mike’s nightlight catching them in its light, surrounding them in the truth of the moment.  Sara had stared up at him, the soft light exposing the swirl of green twisting with his blue eyes, a nervous smile painted on his face.

“So uhh, I can go—“

“No,” she finishes before him, not wanting him out of her sight, afraid if she closed her eyes, he would disappear like before.  As if her mind was playing tricks on him, a hologram of her husband standing before her.

Her hand reaches out, placing it gently on his chest, the erratic beat of his heart thumping beneath her finger, pulsing through her.

His head tilts down, and she laughs, having forgotten just how tall he was…is.  His forehead comes to rest on top of her head, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

“I…it feel like this isn’t real…” she voices, the solid figure standing before playing cruel tricks on her mind.

“It’s real,” he whispers into her, calling back to a time when she’d also been confused, but this time around, she knew Michael Scofield’s intentions, his true colors having shined through a long time ago, and ingrained in her very being.  

His words only confirming what she knew to be true.

She nods against him, both refusing to move from their positions.  They stand together, soaking up the lost time in the form of each other, illuminated in the house she’d shared with another, breaking their embrace upon the realization.  She takes a step back in her betrayal, her arms coming to wrap around herself.

“I can just take the guest room,” he motions behind him, breaking their silence.

“Uhh yeah, sure, sounds good,” she fumbles with the words.

And there she sat, curled up in the hallway with nothing but the guilt of the present, sandwiched between her past and the future.

She slowly stands, tucking her hair behind her ears, before peeking into Mike’s room.  He’s sleeping soundly, gripping his blanket tightly, a content smile in place, like his dreams had somehow bridged their way into his reality.  She can’t help but grin back at her sleeping son.

Turning, she finds her hand hovering over the door handle of Michael’s room, her internal demons, shame and guilt battling it out with the part of her that wanted nothing more than to succumb to the happy ending life was presenting her with.

Quietly, she makes her way into the room, but she’s once again met with the glow of his eyes staring back at her from bed.

His arm peeks out from the covers, patting the space on the bed left open, the side of the bed she’d always taken, like a habit he couldn’t quit let go of.

Hesitantly, she makes her way to the bed, tucking her legs under the covers, but keeping her distance from him.

Her head lowers to the pillow, their noses inches apart from each other, his eyes free to wander over every inch of her face, as if memorizing every new line, introducing himself to this new her.  She knows because she’s found herself doing the same thing.

Her hand moves to bridge the gap between them, running over his now salted hair, the short bristles like a paint brush skimming over the pads of her fingers, a familiar stroke she’d taken to so many years ago, and still familiar over the tips of her fingers.

He smiles against her arm, and she purses her lips.

“Michael,” she mutters, her voice taking on a delicate whisper akin to his own.  “I’m so sorry.”

It’s his turn to nod, seeming to understand how much weight those words carried, encompassing everything that had happened, the lies, the manipulation, and having fallen prey to the same man.

“Me too,” he promises, knowing full well that the amount of guilt dragging them both down would likely drown them both before they even got a jump on the second chance they’d been given.

Those words signifying a release, free to live their lives.  She scoots over to him, entangling their legs, and burying her head in the crook of his neck, his arm coming around to shield her from her own thoughts.

“Dad?” She hears from the doorway, Mike sleepily standing in the doorway, staring curiously at his parents.

“I’m right here, bud,” he answers, and it’s only a minute, before he’s squeezed his way between the two, Sara’s hand pushing his hair from his face.

“I didn’t want to wake up and have you not be here,” Mike says, his big brown eyes staring up at both of them, and she can see the flash of pain flit across Michael’s gaze down at his son.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Michael answers without hesitation, his eyes flitting between the two of them, a promise sealing their future.

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my ask box and I will write the next five sentences.

3

It’s a different kind of danger
too fast for f r e e d o m
these chains never leave me
I keep d r a g g i n g them around

                                                             (what you and I had made me f r e e)

These demons beat me down…
I am bound to this fight
Round after round of brutal honesty twisted through lies
It spews its intentions at me…
Contaminating me with its plague of sadness
Sometimes the darkness swallows me whole and I stare out in search of any shining beacon to guide me home
But in these moments…
Hope does not exist…
I am a faltering speck of nothing
Crushed under these heavy thoughts
Just inflate me with your beautiful lies
I am not a fool
I can see beyond your disguise
Allow me this temporary fix to a heart
Being swallowed by decay
Allow me these moments of denial
Before my life falls apart

hp fanfic idea

. totally started by watching a very potter musical.

. death eaters go back in time…to kill lily and james when they’re 15 ish so 1) they can’t get together and make harry and 2) are too weak to fight them off properly as they would’ve been as adults (because we all know james and lily were feared as a badass back-to-back battle couple during the war)

. They go. Things get fucked up. Everyone is suddenly everywhere. Everyone knows there are people from the future in the past. People from the past somehow end up in the future

now. this got long.

Keep reading

30 DAY OC CHALLENGE

1. With/without glasses
2. Superhero au
3. Sleeping
4. Animal form
5. Child
6. First major wound
7. Worst memory
8. Cooking/baking
9. Favorite kind of weather
10. Holding/with their favorite animal
11. Riding a horse
12. As a magical girl
13. Arrested
12. Beat up
14. Bound
15. Scared
16. With a cold
17. With a fever
18. Wearing a huge scarf 19. Worst regret
20. With an old friend
21. Wearing a cute onesie
22. Wearing a different style (old west movie, 70’s, etc.)
23. Fell asleep on the couch
24. Worst fear
25. Worst possible death
26. Preferred death
27. As a monster person
28. As a stripper
29. Having intense cravings
30. What their friends would be doing on the year anniversary of their death

Sam Winchester-Miss part 2

Title: Miss part 2

Pairings: Sam Winchester x reader

Word count:1007

Request:YOU’RE DOING A PART TWO TO MISS RIGHT?! RIGHT?!!!! please it was amazing

Request:Are you going to write a second part to Miss?

Request:Any chance I could convince you to do more parts to the Miss fic with Sam? I just absolutely adored it?

Request:Are you going to do a second part to miss? (if nots that totally fine) Also I love your writing ❤️

Links:Miss

Sam was in a mood. Anyone could tell. The door however, got the worst of it. The heavy, thick wood smashed harshly into the denting wall. Dean, who was innocently reading the back of a newspaper, jumped miles from his seat as he placed his broad hand on his thumping heart. He turned his head cautiously towards the 6,4ft giant who towered his way into the motel room.  

Dean’s forest, green eyes rolled over his brothers features, collecting details that would be the decider of whether it was safe to talk to his brother or not. Dean spotted his red, flushed face. His cheeks were hollowed in, sunken more than they normally were- he was biting his gums. His lip had splotches of dark red patterned into the soft, baby pink that showed how much his teeth had burrowed into the tender flesh. Sam never bit his lip, when he did he was normally trying to bite back cursed words. His fingers clenched and unclenched around his palm, nails digging slightly into the abused flesh. His back was strained against his plaid shirt.  

“Take it the date didn’t go well?”.

Dean worded it as if he was only teasing, but his voice was soft and soothing, concerned for his brother. Sam paused in place, his angered expression dropped to one of humiliation and shame. He shrugged, tucking back the long slightly waved lock behind his ear before bracing his large palms on the chairs back.  

“She stood me up’‘he shrugged, trying his best not to care. Dean knew he did care. Anyone who so desperately craved love like Sam did, would definitely care. Anyone like Sam would also overthink this, think that they just weren’t lovable enough or that they really were a bad person. It was a shame that his self esteem remained shockingly low.  

’'Ah, you don’t need her. Not like you could have stayed anyway, Sammy’'His voice softened as he tried to convince his brother it was for the best anyway. Sam nodded, the distant look in his hazel orbs highlighting to his brother that he was already taking the blame.  

Sam’s shoulders slumped, he shifted moodily to his room as he let his mind take over him.  

Why did you stand him up?

Sam really thought you were into him. He saw the signs, in fact, you made them clearer than day with the nervous stutter and the red cheeks, the way you were so shocked when he asked you out that you didn’t reply for what felt like a year. Maybe he was just getting his hopes to high. So desperate for someone to love him that he saw signs in anyone he found attractive and sweet.  

The tall hunter decided to put away his feelings as he laid on his bed and hoped for sleep to come easily. You couldn’t think when you were sleeping. You couldn’t hurt when you were sleeping.  

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

Crashes filled your ears, the pounding of metal against metal and the horrid, unearthly screech that left shivers dancing up and down your burned spine. Your wrists throbbed, your pulse uncomfortably beating against the thickly bound rope that held you captive. Blood trickled somewhere, you didn’t know where it was stemming from, it was everywhere. Crimson painted nose, crimson painted cheek… crimson surrounded you, unfortunately, it was yours.  

He paced back and fourth, the man you saw before. The man you described to Sam.  

Sam.  

You closed your eyes, a whimper leaving the tape that gagged your mouth shut but still the whimper floated away with ease and you were envious of all the free things in life. You were supposed to meet him for a date, next thing you know, darkness. You couldn’t even begin to explain what happened but you were guessing it was to do with those string of murders.  

You hoped Sam would be your night in shining armour and rescue you, but this wasn’t a fantasy and you weren’t a character in a happy ending movie. This was reality. And reality sucked.  

’'Now, now. Don’t get tired, pretty. They’ll be here soon, just wait till they heard what I’ve caught’'He snickered. You whimpered, thrashing away from his nails that raked down your tender cheek. Your head dropped, crown bowing as if you were giving in. You think you are. You’re not sure what’s happening, you feel like your dying.  

Maybe you are.  

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

Dean phone vibarted against the oak wood, the wood creaking in response as Dean shifted his heavy boots and picked up the buzzing phone that tried to tumble out of his grasp.  

’'Hello?’'Dean answered, pulling back for a second to look at the ID before frowning at it’s ‘Unknown Caller’.  

’'Hello, Winchester”

Dean cringed at the screechy voice, the sharp hiss it elicited. He knew who it was. His face fell, a pissed expression falling into place as he sat up, hand subconsciously twitching near his gun. His guard was up even though it did not mean to be.  

Dean lost colour in his face as the next words were thrown about lazily. He ended the call, tall, lean body standing up and grabbing a startled and tired Sam from his slumber. Sam’s legs stumbled clumsily, willingly following his brother as he found himself being shoved in the Impala.  

“Wh-Dean?’'Sam yawned, sleepy eyes blinking to push out any sleep that glued his eyes tight shut. ’'What’s going on?’'He mumbled, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye as he ground down. He blinked hastily before looking over at his brother who had his hands fit tightly on the steering wheel.  

’'Remember that chick?’'Dean asked quickly, face snapping to his brother and the road so quickly Sam thought it might just snap right there and then. Sam’s mood fell somber as he grutted out a grunt in response. ’'Well she didn’t stand you up”

Sam snapped his head towards his brother as he stared with narrowed eyes, confusion mixing into his features. “How do yo-”

“He called. He has her”

anonymous asked:

Um, i don't know if you did that before but, how will RFA react to MC being a virgin? (like didn't even hold hands with a guy before)

RFA + discovering MC is a Virgin

Zen

  • ( cracks knuckles ) listen m8 ya boi zen
  • will never ever force something you do not want and he would always ask your permission first ( he may have come to you so strong at first but trust this guy that he always has your best interests at heart )
  • so whenever there is a time when you two are at the right moment to kiss each other and you would never come to him first, he won’t force it to you or would just lightly give you a peck
  • but he would always be the one to kiss you first each time
  • just woke up? expect a good morning honey kiss from zen
  • going to sleep? just the same
  • you, yourself is so insecure at the fact that Zen is a good kisser ( he knows how to do wonders with those lips ) and that sometimes, you are so stiff and you worry he might be turn off at the fact that you never kissed someone and you’re not entirely good at it
  • and hell, every first you experienced is with him
  • but lately, he had noticed that you have been actually avoiding physical contact with him
  • so one day, he straight up asks you regarding the matter, with a worry laced on his crimson hues and a small pout on his mouth
  • “Princess… is there anything wrong?” cue worrywart momma zen
  • and god he looked so worried and insecure?? zen was actually getting insecure?? the world must be ending lolol
  • you hesitated at first because you considered it as p embarrassing on your part but when you told him your concerns, he sighed in relief and laughed
  • you couldn’t help but smack him in his arm because why are you laughing you jerk
  • “God… I thought you were getting bored of me!” he continued to laugh as he pulled you gently to his arms, hugging you tight like he couldn’t get enough of you “But, really? I am your first?! Ahh, god! I couldn’t believe it. How lucky can I possibly be, hmm?”
  • and when he confirmed that he was your first, he couldn’t help but stare fondly at you every chance he gets and he would smile sweetly like
  • ‘This girl is mine and I am her first oh god I am so lucky!’ look on his face
  • he would from time to time, tease you about it teasing with a little cuddling and kissing

Jaehee

  • ok getting your first hand holding with jaehee was a bit awkward
  • the poor girl was so shy that all of her attempts to hand holding was futile
  • you have tried several times too but nah, she would only look at you with a puzzled expression and would wonder why are you putting your hand in the middle of the table while eating that was not so discreet of you actually is2g
  • and you are hella nervous because you have never held hands with anyone before and jaehee is older than you are so you assumed she may have at least done it a few times
  • but she is just the same as you are
  • sometimes, there are moments where you two were walking together while going home and you just want to hold her hand but then she raises it and points at something timing’s a bitch
  • or when jaehee would give you the clean dishes she would graze your hands with her just to lay the idea down on you and you do not get what it means
  • ugh
  • so one day, after dinner, while she was brewing tea on the kitchen, you gathered your guts to tell her straight about your concern
  • “Uhm, Jaehee?” she turned to face you and when she saw that your cheeks were cherry red, she became extremely curious about it
  • “Yes?” she was looking at you, puzzled as to why you were fidgeting so bad “Is there something wrong?”
  • “C- can I… Uhm…” light lip biting “…can I hold your hand?! I- I want to feel it against mine!”
  • she was taken aback by such boldness and you looked hella cute too so she giggled a bit
  • “I’ve been trying to relay that message to you myself…” she walked to you and held your hand, lacing her own fingers to yours “I’m glad it got through.”
  • and you two have been obsessed in holding hands for a week

Jumin

  • you were younger by a few years than him so he had this mental image of you that you already had a boyfriend before him and that you are very much aware of such physical things and he always has a say to how frisky the younger generation are ( much to zen’s, yoosung’s and luciel’s chagrin aka they are younger than jumin )
  • but jokes on him you’re not he’s your first lolol
  • so one saturday night when you two played beer pong ( you taught him and he doesn’t like beer so he insisted you two use wine of any variants /merlot, chardonnay, sauvignon blanc, pinot noir, etc/ gdi trustfundkid and it became a wine pong ) you got hella drunk
  • out of the spur of the moment, you received your first ever french kiss ( it was a bit sloppy because your sorry ass is drunk )
  • and jumin was a bit too so he had no restrictions regarding the kiss ( this was the first time in your entire relationship that he had been aggressive since he does not want to pressure you on to anything you don’t want to do with him ) but when he noticed you pushed him away from you, even a bit, he immediately cut the kiss short
  • he sighed as he messed his hair with frustration and offered to wipe your lips with his hanky “I’m sorry… I might have forgotten to restrict myself. It’s because… you were very gorgeous on my eyes and I couldn’t help but praise your beauty with my mouth– in an entirely different way, of course.”
  • despite your drunk state, you blushed on his remarks because how can he say that without stuttering and with a serious expression?? gdi
  • “If you wish to erase any traces of what happened, I will not have any qualms against it.” he distanced himself from you as if he’d been burned by your presence
  • you immediately grabbed his sleeves as you gently whispered with reddened cheeks, “I- It’s my first time…”
  • his eyes immediately widened in surprise “Are you really?”
  • “Y-yes…” stop biting your lip the man has almost no control
  • “…am I your first, MC?” he asked, his eyes darkening with desire
  • “Y-yeah…” you stuttered because you can’t read his thoughts behind his hooded eyes it was so intense
  • “Then, it is an honor to me. I couldn’t possibly ask for more.” he let out a soft sigh of relief as he chuckled, his deep voice sounding so sexy at the moment “I thought you hated my touch for a moment there…”
  • then he carried you bridal style and laid you to his bed, gently caressing your hair in the process
  • “I won’t force you into anything, please remember that. Then, have a good night. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.” he said, his voice full of fondness for you
  • and you swear you couldn’t sleep properly that night

Yoosung

  • ya boi yoosung is a virgin too ( did not experience any intimate physical touch except for his mom and he was still a kid back then )
  • so when you two were cuddling together one rainy night, on his apartment, watching a scary movie he couldn’t help but scream his ass off and hug you tight, that in the process he accidentally planted a kiss on the edge of your lips
  • you both were stunned he was your first kiss and you were his too
  • and everything seemed slow mo for a moment?? he was staring into your eyes and you were hella embarrassed because you were so sure you smelled like the flavor of chips you just ate
  • but no, ya boi yoosung leaned in forward, eyebrows knitted together as he watched you intently while pursing his lips
  • he kissed you with eyes shut tight like he was concentrating
  • but his touch is gentle, almost feather-like that you swore it felt like you were just imagining things when it happened
  • and when the kiss ended, yoosung looked like as red as a freshly picked rose, he was blushing hard
  • you didn’t speak because you were so stunned that he immediately panicked
  • “U- uhm!! I’m sorry! Uwah! I did not– I mean, I meant it, but uhm!!” he was stuttering so bad you couldn’t understand what he was trying to say
  • poor boi he was too caught up in the momentum of what transpired and he’s a bubbling mess
  • he stopped fussing when you let out a breathy giggle and he was confused because why were you laughing??
  • “No, it’s alright…” you were so sure you gave him a hearty laugh that his face reddened more
  • “W- was I not good? Um… I’m sorry… It’s my first time…” he said shyly while looking anywhere else but you
  • you held his hands tightly with your own as you admitted that it was your first time too
  • his face lit up like fireworks and he couldn’t help but smile in glee as he fussed more about how the two of you were each other’s firsts
  • he leaned in once more, trying the kiss again
  • it was hella sloppy but he was willing to learn with you along the way 

Seven

  • this boi has bragged that he had experienced kissing before such a dork
  • but in truth he did not he only saw it in movies
  • you two were going heads to heads one night while playing FFS Dissidia Duo Decimal /he was sephirothy and you played cloudy/ and every time he beat you or you beat him, you two were bound to receive the punishment of the game Never Have I Ever
  • but alas, his character beat yours badly and he was pumping his fist to the air while smirking at you
  • “Ho! Ho! Ho! It’s time for your punishment~” he said as he rubbed both of his hands, laughing naughtily “Well then~ I wonder what I should ask? Hmm~”
  • you gulped because you know this was a very bad idea because Luciel seemed to be so passionate about finding things about you
  • “Aha! My cutie, how about I ask you… dun dun dun dun!! Have you ever kissed someone before~?”
  • your face flushed and almost gave away what your answer would be this dork!! is2g!!
  • “Ohhh! It seems that actions does speak louder than words!” he teased you more and because you didn’t want him to make fun of you or give him the momentum, you stood up with knitted brows and serious look as you marched up to him, standing just in front of his figure as he sat peacefully
  • he was so surprised by what you did that he gulped and asked, “Oh? What are you doing?”
  • you grabbed him, with both hands, by his collar and smacked your lips to his own you did not know if you were doing the right thing but you still did it anyway
  • he was so surprised by what you did that he blushed so hard he looked like an overripe tomato lolol
  • “Mmph!?” this is the way you will succumb to me luciel lol
  • as you ended the kiss, you let go of your hold and he was blushing hard you swore you wanted to laugh at him
  • “Anything you want to know more? Ah, for your information too, you are my first kiss.” you smirked triumphantly because he looked like he just lost all his powers as he turned to jelly under your gaze
  • he gulped as he tried to re-adjust his glasses, trying to cover up his blush and surprise because wow?? he was your first kiss?? and you were so badass about it omg??
  • “U-uhh…” he couldn’t even properly form his thoughts into words lolol
  • he swore he wouldn’t play against you with games like these any more because he knows you would take it seriously

Oh God, miss me with all this Dean/Seth stuff, seriously.

In the first place, that ending looked more like Dean going after Miz and company for payback.  You know, because three straight weeks of getting his ass beat down by them - bound to piss him off.  He didn’t even look at Seth once, really.  Didn’t hug or handshake in the ring.  So like.  There was no big Dean/Seth reunion there.  That seemed more like, “We got a common enemy.”

WWE uses that trope a lot.

Should he have let Seth get his ass beat?  Probably, but if Dean’s mad at somebody, he probably just gonna go after ‘em.

(That said, I know they’ve been tagging together at house shows, and I know people have been clamoring for a big Shield reunion, but personally?  No.  Nope.  Nopenopenope.)

Anyway, if they throw Seth into the IC title mix and make it Triple Threat (Miz vs. Seth vs. Dean) or throw Bray in for a Fourway, I’m onboard with that because it’ll mean Dean and Seth are gonna be going against each other.  Or, let Dean and Seth do an odd-couple tag team, and have Dean turn heel on Seth.  Flip the script on them.  There’s things they can do with those two that don’t involve a shiny, happy friendship.

But yo, that was no reunion there.  Not in my opinion.

old friends, a small fic for portraitoftheoddity who was having a rough day and is a gift to this fandom, deserving of many gifts of her own. warnings for some (relatively) minor torture + blood. remember this cold ‘verse (but no prior knowledge required).

The transition from unconsciousness to waking was not gentle and came with the sting of a slap across the face. His eyes opened to see a familiar, gloating face and he snarled, moving to lash out - only to be brought up short, his hands yanked over his head and pulled up until his shoulders popped. Amora smiled at him. He reached for his magic and found that tethered as well. Clever Amora. She had learned a few tricks, it seemed, since their last encounter.

“Loki,” she said. “Always a pleasure to see you again.”

Loki bared his teeth. “How I wish I could say the same.” His eyes darted around the room, but there was little he could absorb. Nothing to tell him where he was. “I must have gotten careless, to little a little thing like you catch me by surprise.” 

Keep reading

Richard Ramirez - The Night Stalker.

Richard Ramirez, the “Night Stalker”.

Born Ricardo Leyva Muñoz Ramirez, February 29th 1960 in El Paso, Texas. Gained the title of the “Night Stalker” from the media after his highly publicised reign of terror of the greater Los Angeles and San Francisco area. Ramirez was the youngest of five children; his father was a Mexican national and former Juarez policeman who later became a labourer on the Santa Fe railroad. Though he was a hard working man, he was often prone to fits of anger which commonly resulted in fits of physical abuse. Ramirez sustained multiple childhood injuries which resulted in epileptic seizures that persisted into his teens. As a young teen, he was strongly influenced by his older cousin, a combat veteran who often shared details of his horrific deployments during the Vietnam war. He even shared Polaroid photos of his victims – these included images of Vietnamese women he had raped and even images of himself posing with a severed head of a woman he had abused. Richard and his cousin would bond sadistically over the stories his cousin would share with him. His cousin even shown him certain military techniques such as killing with stealth and surety. His used some of these techniques to escape his fathers violent outbursts by sleeping in a nearby cemetery.

Richard was present when his cousin shot his wife with a .38 calibre revolver following a domestic dispute, resulting in her death. Ramirez became withdrawn from the family circle shortly after and began living with his older sister and her husband – who was a profound “peeping tom” and took Ramirez along on his nocturnal exploits. Ramirez began using LSD and sparked an interest in Satanism. His cousin was later found not guilty for the murder of his wife after pleading insanity, his military experience being a mitigating factor. Due to his release, his influence was still heavy and present over Ramirez.

In his adolescence, Ramirez began having dark and violent sexual fantasies. As a student, Ramirez took a job at a local Holiday Inn where he abused his passkey access to rob sleeping clients. This employment shortly ended when a guest returned to the hotel to find Ramirez attempting to rape his wife. The husband beat Ramirez at the scene but all charges were dropped when the couple left the state and declined to return to testify against him. Ramirez dropped out of Jefferson High School in ninth grade, at the age of 22 he moved to California which became his permanent residence.

Murders:

April 10th, 1984 – 9 year old Mei Leung was found murdered in a hotel basement where Ramirez was seeking residence in the Tenderloin district of San Francisco. The young girl was found to have been raped, beaten and vicious stabbed before her body was found hanging from a pipe. The death of Mei Leung was Ramirez’s first known killing. Though it wasn’t until 2009 that there was match of Ramirez’s DNA to the DNA obtained to that found at the crime scene. In 2016, officials disclosed evidence of a second suspect indentified via DNA evidence from the crime scene who is believed to be connected to Leung’s murder. Though authorities have not publicly identified the suspect and have not brought charges due to the lack of sufficient evidence.

“Night Stalker” crimes:

June 28th, 1984. 79 year old Jennie Vincow was found brutally murdered in her apartment in Glassell Park. She had been stabbed repeatedly while asleep in her bed, her throat slashed so deeply to the point of near decapitation. Ramirez’s fingerprint was found on a mesh screen he had removed to gain access through an open window.

March 17, 1985. Ramirez attacked 22 year old Maria Hernandez outside her home in Rosemead – shooting her in the face with a .22 caliber handgun after she pulled into her garage. The bullet ricocheted off her keys which she held in her hand to protect her face from the bullet. Inside the home, her roommate heard the gunshot and hid behind a counter when she saw Ramirez enter the house. Ramirez shot her in the head, killing her instantly.

Within an hour of the Rosemead home invasion, Ramirez dragged 30 year old Tsai-Lian Yu from her car in Monterey Park. Shooting her twice with a .22 caliber handgun, fleeing from the scene straight after. Tsai-Lian Yu was pronounced dead on arrival to the hospital. The murders on March 17th attracted great media attention, dubbing Ramirez “The Walk-in Killer” and “The Valley Intruder”.

March 27, 1985. Ramirez had entered a home in Whittier which he had previously burgled a year earlier. He shot 64 year old Vincent Zazzara whilst he slept with a .22 caliber handgun once again. Zazzara’s wife, 44 year old Maxine Zazzara was woken from the murder of her husband. Ramirez beat her and bound her hands together whilst demanding to know the whereabouts of her valuables. While Ramirez searched the room, Maxine was able to escape her bonds and managed to retrieve a shotgun from under the bed – however, this was not loaded. It infuritated Ramirez who as a result, shot her three times with .22 calibre, retrieving a carving knife from the kitchen and mutilated the 44 year old woman’s body with multiple stab wounds. Ramirez gouged out her eyes, which he placed in a jewellery box and took as a momento. Ramirez left shoe print impressions in flower beds on the residence, the police photographed and cast the impressions which was the only evidence the police were able to retrieve from the scene at the time. Bullets found at the scene matched those from the previous murders which provided police with the conclusion that it was the work of a serial killer.

Ramirez continued his horrific crimes in the greater Los Angeles and San Francisco areas. Ramirez began to incorporate rape, Satanism and torture techniques using various weapons which included: handguns, knives, machete, tire iron and a hammer. Ramirez would begin to draw pentagrams on his victims and in the premises of the houses. Even making his victims “swear on satan”. Ramirez followed the media coverage of his crimes which lead him to leave the Los Angeles area and into San Francisco. Ballistic and shoe print evidence which was found from the crime scenes was paraded on a televised press conference which the then mayor of San Francisco hosted. This infuriated detectives on the case who knew Ramirez would be tracking the media coverage of the case. This lead Ramirez to throwing his shoes off the golden gate bridge before heading back to Los Angeles.

August 24, 1985. Ramirez travelled 76 miles south of Los Angeles and followed his structured routine. He told his victim, Inez Erickson after vicious attacks “tell them the Night Stalker was here”. He drove off in a stole Toyota much to the attention of a thirteen year old neighbour who wrote down the license plate of the car due to his strange appearance striking attention. Erickson’s fiancé was able to have two of the bullets from his head which allowed him to luckily survive his injuries.

The young neighbour contacted the police of the cars license plate when the story broke. Erikson was able to provide a full description of Ramirez. The car was found four days later, police were able to obtain a single fingerprint from the rear view mirror despite Ramirez’s attempt to wipe the car clean of his prints. The print matched that of Ramirez who had a long record for traffic and illegal drug violations. A mug shot of Ramirez was released to the media December 12 1984. The “Night Stalker” finally had a face.

Trial and conviction:

At his first court appearance, Ramirez raised his hand with a pentagram drawn on his palm, yelling the words “Hail Satan”, a peculiar trademark of the murderer (see the image). September 20, 1989. Ramirez was convicted of all charges; 13 counts of murder, 5 attempted murders, 11 sexual assaults and 14 burglaries. He was sentenced to die in California’s gas chamber when he stated to reporters “Big deal. Death always when with the territory. See you in Disneyland.” The trial cost $1.8 million which was the most expensive in the history of California until the OJ Simpson case in 1994.

Death:

Ramirez died of complications due to secondary B-Cell lymphoma. He had also been affected by chronic substance abuse and chronic hepatitis C viral infection. At the age of 53 years old, he had been on death row for more than 23 years.

Numerous contributors. (Last Modified 3/6/16). Richard Ramirez.Available: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Ramirez. Last accessed 17/06/16.

All information wrote by beyondmensrea 17/6/16. Thank you for reading. 

anonymous asked:

Love your blog so much! Just curious does the Jamie in FMM Carey any weapons?

Flood my Mornings: Some Sunday Morning 

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
  • Previous installment: Aisles (Jamie visits a modern supermarket)


September, 1950

Some Sunday morning is goin’ to be 

Some Sunday morning for someone and me! 

Bells will be chiming an old melody, 

‘Specially for someone and me!

“I truly dinna understand it Claire,” Jamie said, shaking his head at me. 

What?” 

“I canna remember ye ever being musically inclined, back in the days before, but seems every moment I turn around, now, you’re fair bursting out into song!” 

“What can I say, darling?” I sighed dramatically, batting my lashes. “You put a song in my heart!” 

Our eyes met and we both burst into gales of laughter at the sickly-sweet endearment. 

Sickly-sweet….but accurate, I thought, my heart feeling light. 

We turned the corner onto Burnham Avenue, pushing Bree before us in her pram. It was a little chilly for a September morning, and there was a whiff of winter in the air; not enough to keep us from our usual Sunday walk before mass, but enough that Jamie kept his arm around me as we walked, and I snuggled happily into his shoulder. 

Summ-summy-morneeen,” sang Bree.  

“Oh, so she’s a wee songster, as well!” Jamie said, amused, peering down at her. “I’m to be overrun by you tuneful lot, then!” 

“I think I picked it up from Uncle Lamb,” I mused. “He used to sing under his breath as he dug or wrote. Used to drive me bananas, in fact,” I said, laughing. “I’ll do my best to cut it out, I promise!”

“No, no,” Jamie replied hastily, grinning. “It’s charming, Sassenach, truly. I only wish I could join along wi’ y–” 

Jamie stopped dead, staring ahead as I was… at the swarm of police cars at the end of the street. 


“God, it’s…just terrible,” I said for perhaps the dozenth time. I could see the reflection of my hands shaking as I finished pinning up my hair in the mirror. 

Approaching the melée of flashing lights and sirens, hearts pounding, we had joined the small huddle of concerned neighbors, hearing the story that trickled back in low whispers.

The Nortons. That was their name. We had never known that, just recognized them from occasionally crossing paths at the park or market: a husband, wife, and three small children, all with white-blonde hair, such that Jamie had always referred to them fondly in passing as ‘the ducklings.’ The father was a banker, someone said. The mother was often to be seen in her yard tending flowers. Nice people. Normal people.  

An armed man had broken into the family’s house in the night, threatened them, then beat and bound the parents before locking all five of them in a windowless closet. The vandal then stripped the house of its valuables and made off into the night. It was nearly eight hours later that a paperboy happened to hear the children’s cries and the family was rescued. No lasting injuries sustained, thank God, but all five severely and understandably terrified by the ordeal of the night.

Terrible,” I said again, shuddering at the memory of the five blanked-wrapped figures clinging close together in their front yard. 

As I finished affixing my hat, Jamie walked down the hall to join me in the foyer. He had said nothing the entire walk back to the house. He’d remained silent as we’d washed and dressed and gotten Bree ready, preparing for the service. 

“We’d best get on our way, I suppose,” I said, less than enthusiastically checking my wristwatch and scooping Bree off the living room rug. “Only fifteen minutes to mass.” 

“I’m no’ going to mass this morning,” he said with almost no inflection. 

“Oh, good,” I said, relieved, though a bit miffed that he hadn’t said so before I’d made a to-do of getting myself and Bree dressed and coiffed. “I’m not much in the mood eith–wh–?….Jamie, where are you going?” For he had taken up his hat and overcoat and was putting them on, clearly meaning to go out. 

He didn’t look up. “To buy a weapon.” 

Taken aback by this blunt answer as I was, I supposed it was only natural given what we’d just seen. He’d slept with a dirk under his pillow for the first three years of our marriage, had he not? I shifted Bree in my arms, letting her play with my hair. “I’m not sure there will be many stores open on a Sunday morning where you can buy a decent knife. You may want to wait until—”

“No’ a knife, Sassenach. I’m going to buy a pistol.”  

“Like hell you are.” 

He stared at me, for a moment perfectly blank with surprise. I stared right back, one eyebrow raised in defiance. He was actually speechless. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. I heaved a sigh, half-laughing. “God, men and their love of toys.” 

Toys?” Jamie whispered, sounding as though he didn’t believe his own ears. 

“Toy-toysies-toys!” came a far more cheerful voice at my ear. I knelt to set Bree down on the living room floor, opening the basket that held a small selection of toys and books. She set to her work, happily finding George the Rabbit and her favorite wooden blocks. 

Jamie was still standing in the foyer, I could see from the corner of my eye, giving me a patient look as he explained, “It’s to keep in the house, Sassenach, the pistol. I dinna mean to carry it about wi’ me.”

“Even so,” I said, rising and facing him with my arms crossed. “Absolutely not.” 

Jamie’s face hardened and reddened now. “After learning what we did this morning…? How could you possibly not wish to see us better protected, Claire?”

“The burglar didn’t discharge his weapon, Jamie. He didn’t shoot at the family. He just had a gun.”

“Ye think every scoundrel will be satisfied wi’ that? The Nortons were lucky, that’s all. We willna be caught empty-handed like they were.” 

“Jamie, darling,” I said through slightly gritted teeth, “this is a different time.” 

Jamie made an angry sound in his throat, gesturing sharply. “But there’s still evil in the world, no? I read the newspapers, Claire–I ken fine that there are as many sick bastards now as in 1743, if none so recognizable at first sight. So dinna give me that tripe that there’s no danger to be had in 1950.”

“Yes, but this isn’t the bloody Highlands, either,” I snapped, picking up my coat and purse and brushing past him, feeling the alarming heat of true discord boiling between us for the first time in recent memory, and wanting to blink my eyes and have all melt away.

“And what’s that meant to signify?” came the sharp question from behind me.

“This is an advanced civil society the like of which no one of your century could have even dreamed,” I said crisply, opening the door to the closet at the end of the hall. “There’s rule of law that keeps your ‘sick bastards’ from extorting and murdering people with impunity.” 

“Oh, aye? So it’s all well and good if Claire Fraser is shot and killed, because the perpetrator will go to prison for it in the end, is that it?” 

AND–” I ignored this jab out of hand. I was angry and getting angrier, but I was slow and fussy with hanging my things l, not ready to turn and face him as I barrelled forward. “–the other side of that ordered society is that even if Jamie Fraser thinks it’s merited, he can’t just shoot someone at the slightest provocation!” 

“I dinna intend to shoot at any provocation….” He was straining to keep calm, but I could clearly hear the danger rising between his clenched teeth. “…except that someone enters this house to do violence against my family.”

I turned on my heel and gave him a look of steel. “Jamie, I won’t have a gun in this house. They’re dangerous and unnecessary.”

“’Unnecessary’?” He was almost six feet away, but even at that safe distance, his own look could have sliced me in two. I jumped back in reflex as he snarled, “You would rather be shot–rather *our daughter* or the next bairn be killed before our eyes– than have me keep a weapon under our roof? Is that what you’re telling me?” 

I threw up my hands in abject frustration and panic. “Jamie, that isn’t bloody fair!”

“How? HOW is what I’m saying unreasonable, Claire?” He was shaking with rage. “DAMN YOU, Claire, TELL ME!”  

“What if Bree got hold of your bloody pistol without you knowing and thought it a toy and pulled the trigger?? She could—”

He was seething, deep scarlet, moments from complete eruption. “Ye think—I’d be—so careless—as to—”

Accidents, Jamie!” I said, throwing up my hands and bustling into the bedroom to escape that look. “Accidents happen! Don’t you ever see that in your newspapers? And it’s not just Bree I’m worried about—YOU could shoot someone out of your bloodyminded warrior instinct and be put away for life to rot in some prison cell, and THEN where would we fucking be??”

His voice was low and lethal from the doorway, barely a whisper.  “In all the years you’ve known me… in ALL the dangers we’ve faced…have you ever known me to act rashly in danger? EVER?” he hissed. “Have I ever struck or killed by accident?

“Jamie that’s beside the—” I turned, pleading, and suddenly he was only inches from me, his breath hot on my face. “Dar–Darling, listen, you have to trust m—”

“NO!” he bellowed, leaning down so close to me that I tried to step back but was trapped by the wall, trapped by those blue eyes blazing. “No, Claire, I DO NOT have to trust you on this. What ye choose to wear, what profession you pursue: concerning those I have chosen trust you, no matter how much they might gall me–.but I will not TRUST you and Bree to the CHANCE that invaders will be merciful or stupid!  Do ye hear me?

“Jamie, I–”

“I will NOT live knowing myself to be at a disadvantage to those that would attempt to harm my family. And the fact that you would leave ME to be shot first wi’ only a knife in my hand–That your–your–PRINCIPLES are more important than–”

“…Da?” 

We both snapped our heads to the bedroom door, where Bree stood clutching George, eyes overflowing with tears, her sweet face a mask of horror.

Jamie made a sound….a pitiful sound…shame and despair….and turned away from us both, retreating to the space between the bed and wall.

I went at once to Bree and swept her up into my arms, patting and soothing. “It’s alright, baby, hush, now, everything’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine…but God, he was right. 

It wasn’t my ‘principles,’ though. As much as I did think it dangerous to allow the easy purchase of guns generally, that wasn’t the reason I didn’t want one in our house. 

It was that I was afraid of being afraid again. I didn’t want to live once more in a world where people sought to attack, maim, rape, and destroy me and those I held dear. Knowing evil exists in the world is one thing; acknowledging that such dangers might find me, my loved ones–that was what had pierced me with terror; as if arming against danger would call it forth. 

which was utterly foolish, I realized as soon as the thought crossed my mind. The English deserters in that long-ago glade after our first wedding had not attacked me because I carried a sgian dubh–the having of it had simply allowed me to do what needed to be done to defend myself…and Jamie.

His face was averted, hung between his shoulders as he leaned with both hands against the wall; but I could see his shoulders shaking, and hear the desperate effort to which he went to suppress (almost suppress) bitter sobs.

I came close behind him, slowly, Bree sniffling and gasping on my shoulder as her own tears failed to subside. I laid a hand softly on his arm and said firmly, but I hoped not coldly, “If we must have it….we’ll keep it locked in the bedside drawer.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. Then after a long silence he turned fast and crushed us to him. “I’m sorry….sorry, Claire….I didna mean… I ken ye dinna want this…but…” 

I crushed him right back, or as best I could with only one free arm. 

No, I didn’t want this, but he was right: never once had I seen him err in battle or hand-to-hand combat. In decisions? In words? God, yes; too many times to count. But In blows? When lives were on the line? Never. There was no one on earth I trusted more than him, not just in some romantic, theoretical way; but also in the capability of his mind and body to act with decision and incision. 

I hated this…but I was choosing to trust him. 

“I’m sorry, Sassenach. And you, a leannan,” he said to Bree, “Da is verra sorry he frightened ye.” 

He spoke gently in Gaelic to her–I love you, sweetheart–and kissed her cheek, wrapping his arms around us both again and exhaling heavily. 

“Claire, I–” he said, haltingly, and I could hear the pain in it; the regret. “I ken there’s no valor in this. It’s fear that screams at me to insist upon this thing, rather than submit and trust that all will be well. It’s just that…” His mouth went dry and he had to swallow. “I’ve nothing in the world save you two.

“You think I have?” I choked out, his fear seemed to creep across the space between our feet and snake up my leg into my heart. 

He pressed his cheek hard into the top of my head. “I pray wi’ all my soul, Claire… that we never once have to unlock the drawer.”



Song: Some Sunday Morning from San Antonio (1945)


[next chapter]

youtube

After a lot of trial and error i got around to beating Alm and Celica’s Bound Hero Battle on infernal phew