broken-dolls

  • Person A: Hey, are you okay??
  • Person B: Yeah, why??
  • Person A: Cuz for one that's like your 8th coffee/redbull mix. Number two you're stirring your drink with broken doll leg...
  • Person B: *Shaking* I have reached ultimate power! I can hear colours and see sounds~
the signs as suburban haunts

ARIES: flattened paper boats scattered like the remains of a murdered animal along a dried up river, rundown motels with their blasted neon signs and smashed-in windows, pink streamers from some neighborhood child’s birthday party shuffling across the street like bright tumbleweed, a train rattling off into the breathless night & the trace remnants of a week old bonfire found in the middle of nowhere. 

TAURUS: chipped paint, shattered shot glasses lying across an abandoned pool table missing a few billiard balls, flyers rustling like autumn leaves against the tempestuous tides of the wind, advertising concerts & magic shows that took place in 2005, the sillage of old perfume clogging up the air, still thick as the scent of blood or wildflowers.

GEMINI: the corpse of a cigarette that hasn’t touched a mouth in months, a dilapidated playground where lost souls come out to play, threadbare curtains ripped like the wings of a dissected bird, strange red-brown stains across the hotel bedsheets, a gate grown weary with new-forming foliage & age, whining erroneously whenever maneuvered. 

CANCER: an empty casket, coffee rim imprints across hardwood tables, an old, tattered shoe lying haphazardly on the side of the road, a junkyard littered with ancient cars still soggy with stories, a pick-up with a broken windshield, a cadillac with a massacred paint job, someone’s motorcycle with blood staining the front tire, an askew portrait with eyes that follow you around the room.

LEO: a carnival horse with one eye scratched out, a daycare centre that shut down years ago, plagued with the colorful ghosts of children’s drawings still tacked to the crumbling walls, a spiral staircase that seems to shift direction when nobody’s paying attention, crunched up beer cans rolling across an empty rooftop & lichen kissing the concrete. 

VIRGO: the supermarket, flickering & eerie at night like the shadows unearthed beneath troubled eyes, owls stirring in between the murmuring trees, a single upturned grave in a cemetery that isn’t supposed to be notorious for hauntings, an old fountain still glistening with pennies that are no longer considered currency, a collapsed bottle of wine running the tiles red.

LIBRA: handprints imprinted onto fogged-up windows, red rooms crowded with developing photographs of people whose faces you recognize but cannot quite place, broken doll heads, a necklace that erupted into a sea of pearls, a deflated blow up kiddie pool collecting parched grass and critters, a busted arcade game & the laughter of people long gone still trapped inside the walls.

SCORPIO: books with grimacing yellow pages, someone attempting to sell you a cursed object on etsy, a leaky shower-head, a clock that’s stuck in time, a torn, unravelled couch sitting deserted in someone’s front lawn, candy stores that proclaim sales on expired sweets & ruddy patches of farmland. 

SAGITTARIUS: basements stacked with unwanted toys, a box of thin-mints, footsteps reverberating around the house when it’s 2 AM and you’re home alone, a burned down lemonade stand, that weird alien light in the third window of your neighbor’s house that never seems to get turned off, a certain rattling coming from the kitchen.

CAPRICORN: rain pummeling against damp ceilings, clothes ripped off the washing line, an empty aquarium, obscure little thrift stores that sell leather jackets from the eighties, gas station lights flirting with you from the distance, the alley where they say the vagabonds roam their night countries, sniffing up and dressing down and slitting the throats of angels.

AQUARIUS: those tiny coffee shops that fill you with nostalgia for places you’ll never visit, ‘JESUS LOVES YOU’ spray-painted across the sides of ramshackle buildings, an antique almirah scratched to high hell, a monster in the closet, the tunnel beneath the bridge that half the town believes is a gateway to hell, smoking up in trip mall parking lots. 

PISCES: halloween decor presented in shop windows a couple months early, visiting that lake where you heard that one kid drowned, the garage door slamming without cause or notice, storing fireflies in jars, drugstore makeup, birthday cake flavored oreos, a wheeled desk chair that seems to turn on its own when nobody’s in the office, a candle snuffed out on a windless evening.

THE PRETTY LITTLE LIARS ENDGAME

It is bittersweet that I present to you my last ever theory for Pretty Little Liars. I apologise in advance for the insane length, but this is covering all those frustrating loose ends across the entire series. I hope you can make it to the end so we can discuss. My only fear for this theory is that it is too daring and gutsy; it would re-define the show we thought we knew. Are the writers willing to ‘go there’ in just 10 episodes? I don’t know! Regardless if this is all right, partially right, or so damn wrong, I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did putting this together the past two months! For the last time before the show ends… I hope you enjoy!

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anonymous asked:

would you say the sith academy from the star wars universe fits for an abusive training situation?

Yes.

However, I want to point out that when you’re talking about scenarios where the teachers are sadists that’s:

1) Not what makes their training good, but is rather the method that secures the students’ loyalty.

2) Useless if the students don’t receive an education.

The problem is that in order for the setup to succeed the students still need to be taught. Which… means you still do all the “boring” and “mundane” stuff. Contrary to popular fictional conception, cruelty doesn’t make you learn faster. More than that, in poor hands, cruelty will trap you in a shock and awe setup where you’re continually having to escalate your measures in order to keep the students on their toes and the audience engaged. This is what we’ll call “not good, Bob” when dealing with a training setup because the author inevitably focuses on playing up the instructor’s sadism and not on the students education. When this happens, we get nothing but a dysfunctional methodology that creates broken dolls who aren’t particularly good at fighting.

What cruelty will provide (when not overplayed) is motivation. Cruelty can be an excellent motivational tool, but only if you give your student the tools to succeed.

When writing “sadistic training” it is important to keep your eye on the prize and the goals of the trainer in mind. Unless we’re talking an elite force (like a Sith or the Imperial Guard) where you don’t actually need many of them and they aren’t your main force, then a meat grinder scenario is not a good one. You can still have a sadistic training scenario but there’ll be a lot less death. (One can be sadistic and successful without killing a single trainee or letting them die.) 

They want to create a student who is either an exceptional warrior or just a good one and a student who is loyal to them or their organization. They may be a creation of this system, and genuinely believe in it. You can have a trainer who engages in sadistic training methods because that’s how they were trained, not because they enjoy being sadists. These guys are even more dangerous than the other types, as none of the flaws usually found in sadistic teachers apply to True Believers. They’re not in it for the power trip, or because they like being a bully but because they believe in the system. If you’ve got a sadistic training methodology, disseminated and practiced by multiple individuals in an organization then you’ll be dealing with True Believers. If so, then may God have mercy on your poor characters’ souls.

A trainer who was raised on the system they’re teaching knows all the tricks a student can pull. They’ve seen it before and seen it from within the student’s barracks. So, good luck putting anything past them, especially in any modern or futuristic world where they’ve no problem hiding cameras everywhere.

The Sith Academies of the EU run the gamut between sophisticated mind fuckery and hatchet level meat grinders. When they’re meat grinders, all they do is pointlessly waste resources. And, yes, there’s been more than one Sith Academy and the concept probably predates whichever one you’re thinking of. Korriban, for example, originates in Tales of the Jedi. Anything that predates Lucas’ “Rule of Two” will have the suggestion of an academy, and the Rule of Two came into established canon with the prequels. (Whether anyone remembers Brakiss, Zekk, and the one from Young Jedi Knights is another question entirely.)

So, here’s some training don’ts:

1) When your trainer kills, have them kill with purpose.

The way a teacher kills one of their trainees may seem random to their students, but if this is a methodology then there is a firm reason behind the why and the who. Trust they’ve picked their target before they ever walked into the room. They may change their mind in a snap decision once they’re dealing with the students, but a plan is always at play. Remember, a successful sadistic instructor plans and executes training their students like any other operation.

2) The first brutal murder will never achieve the same affect on its subjects again, so use it wisely.

Shock and awe works… once. If you want shock to keep working, then you’ve got to change tactics and attack where the subject feels safe rather than trying the same technique over and over again.

The problem with most sadistic training setups is they’ll take the ideas, but keep attempting to use the same tactics in repetition. No. To keep your skin in this game, you better be switching up.

3) Sadistic training is the torture methodology, if you don’t understand how A leads to C then you won’t grasp its lasting effects or why it works.

I’m going to keep pointing out that sadistic training is a mind game and not a physical game. Competent torture is about controlling the subject’s state of mind and reconditioning them to give you what you want. This is why it’s a far more effective as a form of control than information gathering.

Sadistic training is the same way. The goal is not to kill off what matters to the subject. The goal is to get the subject to kill off what matters to them for you. Whether this is their parents, their old life, their pet Skippy, a girlfriend/boyfriend, a friendship they’ve formed during their training, it doesn’t matter. They’ll kill whatever symbolic part of themselves they were holding onto, the piece which makes them who they are. A trainer creates a pressure gate to lead the student where they want them to go, so the student and their peers will kill in themselves what the trainer can’t.

“The Corps is mother, the Corps is father,” as PsiCorps says on Babylon 5.

When dealing with someone competent, this is insidious. Remember, the trainer controls the student’s whole world, who they interact with, whether they’re allowed contact with the outside world, and what happens to them.

It’s like dealing with your parents, if your parents were perfectly willing to blow your brains out. With no outlets, no friends except the ones you’re allowed and can’t trust, no other authority figures to turn to, no internet, no connection to the outside world, and armed guards to catch you when you run.

4) There is always a carrot to go with the stick.

Abusive tactics aren’t successful if there’s no carrot. This is an enhancement of regular training, not the sole form of training. Abuse by itself doesn’t make someone a better martial combatant (or good at fighting at all).

The problem with a lot of “sadistic training setups” is the author goes overboard. They want to make it obvious that the teacher is bad, and give the story no room to breathe. Give the characters no time to sort themselves out. The teacher’s abuse is there to make a point and specific intervals, and it won’t happen on the regular. If it’s regular, you adapt to it. The uncertainty and the lack of comfort is what keeps it scary.

A trainer won’t just abuse, they’ll also offer a sympathetic ear, be encouraging, and act as a mentor to their students. When their students have earned their wisdom then they share. This gives students a feeling superiority over others, reminds them that they’re special, and they want to work harder for their teacher or toward their goal.

As a reward, their trainer may give their students the opportunity to watch the more advanced students or the warriors they admire in practice or sparring so they have a goal to work towards.

5) The goals are always clear, and can be accomplished. It’s the goalposts that shift.

The trainer is very good at telling their students what they want, on giving them a venue to develop skill before upending them again. Like I said, abusive training is an utterly pointless practice if the process of learning is skipped.

If you want to write an abusive setup then you need to learn how normal training is supposed to work first because the abuse is just another added layer. This is why there’s a tendency to assume this training is just “more hardcore”. 

6) Punishment is not the point, what punishment gets you is the point.

Reward them when they’re good, punish them when they’re bad. Write punishment with purpose. The trainer wants their student to think, consider, and come to an understanding. Punishment is supposed to make one side too uncomfortable so one starts looking at good behavior as acceptable. Unless there’s a reason to be ambiguous, the student must know why they’re being punished.

7) When you’re looking at a situation with plans to axe a few of your trainees, the troublemakers and the problem children will be first on the slate to die.

This is one of those favored misconceptions with some authors, where the belief that a student’s “special talents” and “status” override everything else. Here’s the honest truth: a trainer working under a sadistic methodology wants loyalty over skill. No amount of ‘natural talent’ or ‘skill’ will save these troublemakers because they’re challenging the trainer’s control over the rest of the class.

Now, there are ways to manipulate any problem child into good behavior without obvious punishment whether its by convincing them they’re special, flattering them, separating them out from the others, and making them feel important or like they’re “winning” the power struggle.

If they can’t be convinced to play along, though, then it’s ‘too bad, so sad’ and will be offed. At this point, it’s attrition. Better to risk losing one, even a promising one, than it is losing the whole group. A student with less potential but loyal is better than one with high potential but unwilling to cooperate. After all, natural skill is just potential. A metric for the greatness one might achieve. If the talented student isn’t going to put effort into honing that potential, then it’s just a waste. Better to have the student who works hard, strives for success, is clever, and wants to please their teacher.

Now, back to Star Wars.

On the whole, when looking at the Sith, you’re going to find a lot of the good, the bad, the mediocre, and everything in between. With the current EU, we’re usually dealing with the meat grinder. In this case, the meat grinder rears its head anytime there’s a lack of respect for the rarity of Force Sensitives. Even in a galaxy full of trillions, the pool of candidates who are Force Sensitive is extraordinarily small. The number with the ability to actually become Jedi or Sith is a tiny fraction of that pool. They’re so rare, in fact, that it’s easier for a Sith Lord to risk themselves targeting adult Jedi or Jedi trainees for conversion than it is to go through the trouble of finding new candidates.

Think about that.

It’s not a Sith Academy if they don’t raid the Jedi Temple for recruits at least once. Given the Sith’s training methods, there should always be fewer Sith than Jedi by order of attrition. The Jedi may send their students away if they don’t make the cut, but they don’t kill them during training. The Sith blow through their candidates faster, thus needing more raw bodies while churning out fewer Sith as a result.

A good Sith Academy is one where the students are terrorizing the local population of whatever planet they’re inhabiting rather than each other. Where their methods are harsh, but the vast majority of their students don’t die in training. If you want more Sith out there than Jedi, then their period of training is ultimately shorter and they’re released to terrorize the universe more quickly. If a Sith can be trained in, say, four years compared to a Jedi’s fourteen to twenty then there will obviously be more of them.

However, the Sith will ultimately need more recruits and bodies than the Jedi because the Sith die faster. Which creates a shortage when your talent pool is already limited.

In The Old Republic, when a Sith player leads the Attack on Tython they’re given a lightside/darkside option at the end. The lightside option is to release the prisoners. The darkside option is to kill the prisoners. Here’s the problem: these prisoners are Jedi padawans.

When you have a limited talent pool, are at war, and are constantly losing your highly skilled warriors to the enemy, what do you do?

The answer is abide by the classic Sith tactic of stealing the apprentices for yourself. Killing them is a waste. Releasing them is stupid. Taking them to replace your losses is the smart choice. After all, the Jedi would do the same to you. (They do. They do it all the time. In Star Wars, the Sith and Jedi are playing ping pong with the individual members of both orders as the balls. There are numerous Sith rehabilitated into Jedi and Jedi who’ve become Sith. Light to Dark, Dark to Light, then back again.)

I bring this up because this is how you know when characters with this attitude are written in accordance to their setting. They can’t be written in generalities, the author needs to take into account the context and setting specifics which will be at play when it comes to making a decision.

When evil overrules necessity or common sense, you’ve got a problem. Well, you do if it’s not your intention for the character to be engaging in “stupid evil”. All approaches are legit, so long as you meant to do it and serves the story.

The question when either playing with or reading about a Sith Academy is, “do you understand the purpose and philosophy behind what’s happening?”

The lightside and the darkside are a clumsy attempt at Taoist philosophy. The Jedi and Sith are meant to present incompatible ways of life, and more than just an easily digestible code. There’s a lot of play in the “Survival of the Fittest” and “I’ve got Mine” mentalities, but a true Sith believes the struggle itself is what makes us strong.

Let’s look at the sequence between Luke and the Emperor in Return of the Jedi:

-The Emperor has Vader bring Luke aboard the Death Star, everything from that point on including the trap he lays for the Rebellion is part of getting under Luke’s skin.

-While Vader is in active conflict with Luke, he’s also the centerpiece of the power struggle between Luke and the Emperor.

-Both Vader and the Emperor are pressuring Luke in multiple ways to find what makes him angry. They show him how powerless he is by attacking the Rebels in front of him, forcing him to fight, threatening Leia, etc.

-They want him angry. Why? It’s because the Emperor’s goal is ultimately for Luke to destroy what he came to save whether that’s the Rebels or his father. The underlying belief is this crushing failure will expose the futility of Luke’s beliefs, lead him to abandon them, and join the darkside.

-This fight is also a test for Vader, though the Emperor is certain of his control over him.

-The Emperor wants a younger model and new apprentice to replace the old one, but if Luke can’t be swayed then he has no issue having Vader murder what he wanted i.e. his last link to his previous life.

-The Emperor fails because he underestimates Vader, rather than Luke. This happens when Vader’s desire to save his son trumps his loyalty to the Emperor, and leads him to make the ultimate sacrifice.

If you want to understand the difference between Jedi versus Sith, and the power of sadistic training then the final struggle of Return of the Jedi is important to understand. The Emperor had so much control over Vader that Vader valued his personal power over what used to be the most important aspect of his life: protecting his family.

For Vader, we see the struggle is real. When we see him in Empire Strikes Back, he has no problem hacking Luke’s hand off. We find out he’s known Luke is his son for some time, but the boy’s still just a pawn necessary to help him replace the Emperor. The offer Vader makes to Luke at the end of Empire is not one of love, but power. “Together, we’ll rule the galaxy as father and son.” It’s manipulative, designed to appeal to Luke’s desires for family, for his father, and disrupt Luke’s beliefs. Vader means to wrong foot him, make him desperate, and utilize these emotions to take power over Luke. When Luke falls, Vader doesn’t jump after him. Vader doesn’t consider Luke’s life important enough to jeopardize himself over.

The choice Vader makes at the end of Jedi is one of love. He’s hurt when he grabs the Emperor, having lost a hand. The Emperor is shooting electricity everywhere, and Vader’s systems are especially susceptible. Vader understands the sacrifice he’s making when he grabs the Emperor. This is his transition, in his final moments. This is what makes him a Jedi again.

As a haphazard circle, selfish love transformed Anakin Skywalker into Darth Vader while sacrificial love brought him back. Selfish love led to fear of loss, fear of loss led him to the hating those who “stole” his loved ones, and then he needed to control everything in order to make sure he never lost or felt these emotions again. Control led him to needing more and more power, until power itself was all that mattered.

When you’re looking for abusive environments or training methods, take an honest look at the Vader from the Original Trilogy. In a simple sense, that’s what the results look like.

-Michi

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what is it about fan art that makes other artist just…not accept you as serious about the craft? Fuck man, I had an art professor that spent 12 years painting broken doll heads and skeletons. But if I spend 2 years drawing Legend of Zelda, I’m considered a goddamn hack. what gives??

No More Nightmares

Request from @fandom-rpblog:Request for a nightmare one shot where like bucky and reader are dateing/married and reader has a child from another relationship and bucky has a nightmare when reader isn’t home (possibly on a mission idk) and the child comforts him or the other way round with child having nightmare when reader out with bucky comforting them but ends with reader walking in on them being all cuddly or something like that.

Bucky x Reader x Adopted!Daughter

Words: 1,333

Warnings: Mentions of injury, blood, and grief.

Disclaimer: None of the GIFs used are mine so all credit goes to their wonderful creators <3

“Mummy do you really have to go….again?” A sad look flashed through the crystal blue hues of your daughter as you prepared to go on the fourth night mission that week. Now that she was getting a little older she noticed a lot more and had more of an understanding as to what it was that you did. “There are other heroes to help people.”

A sad smile crossed your lips as you quickly glanced over to a worried looking Bucky. Even after all these years, after getting married and him adopting a child from a previous relationship of yours, he hated it when you went on missions without him. In his eyes he always needed to protect you and he couldn’t do that from here….instead he had to rely on Steve and the others to keep you safe. You turned your attentions back to the petite brunette girl currently looking up at you with puppy dog eyes.

“I’m sorry princess, I will make it up to you I promise. Think of it as a chance to spend some extra time with daddy.” You tapped her nose playfully as a brighter smile lit up your face. “I know you two get up to quite the mischief when mummy isn’t here.”

The comment made a giggle erupt from the young girl while Bucky sat himself up on the edge of the bed as an amused smile crept up onto his own face.

“How about you go pick the popcorn you want for our movie tonight while I say bye to mummy…”

Although he had a smile on his face for his daughter you were more than aware of the sadness he was currently trying to hide and once she had skipped herself out of the room you turned to face him at the same time he took both of your hands into his.

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Some Very Dark Villain and Hero Prompts

Anonymous said:Dark the-modern-typewriter, show me the forbidden Dark!Hero + Villain x Hero prompts 

Anonymous said:Hi! I’m absolutely enamored with your blog and creativity. Top notch for sure! If it’s possible, do you have any other possessive villain prompts? Those are my absolute favorite!!

Anonymous said:Could we get prompts for a jealous villain with their hero? I’m thinking a little darker with this one. Thanks so much!!!!! 

Anonymous said:Hey, could I perhaps request some mind control/love spell prompts? Maybe with the antagonist showing off the protagonist as their new lover in front of the protagonist’s actual lover?

kelsibetsy said:Dark Hero and Villain prompts? The villain torturing the hero?


1) “We could have ruled, together.” 
“You can’t have two monsters together in the same room.” They dug the blade in further, slowly. “That just makes them normal. Sorry, babe. You had to go.”


2) One second, the hand was warm on the hero’s shoulder. The next second, it was on the floor. 

“It’s rude to touch things that don’t belong to you,” said the villain. They wrapped an arm around the hero’s waist. “Perhaps you should run before I decide you don’t deserve to even look.” 


3) The hero stared at their family, their friends, their lover, in horror. Blood drenched their flat and it - corpses lined in a row like a shelf of broken dolls. Their ears rang. They couldn’t breathe.  
“No more distractions now,” the villain murmured. “They weren’t worth you.” 
Oh god, they couldn’t breathe. 


4) “It’s quite ingenious, really.” The villain guided the hero to their lap, enjoying the look of complete and utter helplessness on the lover’s face. “I could do whatever I wanted, and they’ll still beg me for more. They’d do anything for me.” They stroked the hero’s smitten face, stole a long kiss before glancing at the lover once more. “What do you reckon I should have them do to you? I do believe they might still be in there somewhere, screaming.” A nasty smile crossed the villain’s face. “I hope so, anyway. More fun that way.” 


5) “You should have stopped trying to fight me while it was still cute,” the villain said. They dug the needle in further, white hot. “Now I just need to make an example of you.”

Chapter 3 of Fanboy is posted!

Ao3 Link

The whole chapter below the cut

This is also an animation I did from one of the scenes in this chapter :)

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Heir of Darkness. {Rhysand}

Took a short break from prompt submissions (thank you, by the way, to those of you who have submitted - y’all have great ideas, and I can’t wait to write them!) to write a short oneshot that I have wanted to write for quite some time. This takes place after Rhysand & Tamlin face off at the Spring court, and they both become High Lords. 


I ran.

I ignored the branches that cut open the skin on my cheeks, and the fog that was filling the land as if it was attempting to hide the atrocity that had just taken place within those boarders. 

I ran.

His face was etched in my mind, permanently, along with the pools of crimson blood that was now staining the marble floor of his manor. My father’s limp body that was slain by his hand, by the hand of my friend.

No, not friend, not anymore, not after his betrayal. My enemy.

I ran.

Their wings were in the study. The wings of my fallen mother, my sister, their greatest love nothing but a trophy in his study. I did not feel bad about his death. I did not feel bad about the world being without the High Lord of Spring.

He was no longer the High Lord, though. Tam was. Tam was the ruler, the master, of those lands. Tamlin, the betrayer, the murderer.

The High Lord of the Spring Court.

And I - 

I ran.

Tears ran down my tanned cheeks, and I cursed myself for letting myself mourn. Not only for my father, my mother, my sister, but for my friend. A friend was lost, a friend was made an enemy. He could have been so good, so kind, but his damned father corrupted him.

No longer a friend, but a murderer.

I ran, I ran, I ran out of anger, out of fear. I ran because of the energy, the newfound magic that was filling my body. I ran for my family. I ran for the border of the Spring Court. I needed to get out of that tainted land. I needed them. I needed my friends. Morrigan, Azriel, Cassian.

I repeated their names in my mind, over and over and over again, as my legs tried to keep up with my racing, panicked mind. My hands were shaking as the rain began to pour from the Spring-filled night. Drops hit the branches around me in a pitter-patter, hit my cheeks camouflaging my display of sorrow.

I felt myself hit the invisible line, the border of the Spring Court. I turned toward where I had come from. I was so young and vulnerable and confused and angry….I fell to my knees, landing in a pile of mud and branches.

Fuck you!” I meant it to come out as a curse, as a threat, but it came out broken, instead. My voice was barely more than a whisper as I broke down, as my body shook with a sob. I told myself to get out of there, that they would be coming for me soon, too. But, I was not ready to accept it.

I wept. My fighting leathers were soaked, covered in dirt and rain and sweat and blood. I screamed, not caring who heard, not caring who came for me. I cursed his name, I cursed the murders that I had committed and the murders of my family. I cursed myself for breaking down, I cursed myself for not being strong enough. I cursed Tamlin, because I thought he was my friend. Because he was kind to me, and I to him.

When I had nothing left in me, I rose to my feet and crossed the border. I shut my eyes, and winnowed home.

I landed in my townhouse’s foyer a minute later, laughter chiming from the sitting room.

“Rhys?” Mor’s voice called. “Is that you?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer.

“Rhysaaaaand?” she sang.

I felt hollow. I felt nothing. I felt numb.

A moment of silence, then I heard her rise from the leather couch, her bare feet creating quiet footsteps on the oak floorboards. “Rhys?”

She froze in the doorway, causing my brothers to appear behind her, high on alert.

They took in my expression, my blood-red eyes, my tear-stained cheeks. They took in my clothing, the rain that had soaked in the fabric, the blood that coated every inch of my body. They took in my hands, shaking, and my eyes, terrified.

“Rhysand?” Cassian stepped forward, gently, kneeling down to where I rested on my knees. 

Azriel took a step behind him, wide-eyed and breathing deeply. Mor’s face paled as she shook her head, softly, her blonde curls swaying back and forth. 

I met Cassian’s eyes, which were full of concern, agony, fear. “High Lord.”

He looked confused, glancing back at the other two.

“I am…,” I shook my head, hoping it wasn’t true, hoping it was all a dream, a nightmare, but it wasn’t, it was real. “I am High Lord.”

I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t tell them what I had done, what Tamlin had done. I shut my eyes, pressed them close.

Warmth surrounded me as they knelt around me, and took me in their arms. My friends, my family, now the only people who I had left. Morrigan, Azriel, Cassian….they held me. They held me as if I was a child on the verge of running away, they held me as if I was a fragile, broken, porcelain doll and they were trying to keep me together. They held me as I wept, as I mourned.

The held their new High Lord, who had no idea what he was doing and had everything to learn. They held their brother, their friend.

High Lord. I was High Lord of the Night Court, the Lord of death and darkness and night triumphant. 

And I was terrified.

to count the stars

seven times james and lily meet on the train, and one time they don’t

ie, this is me skewing the jily week day 1 prompts a bit because i am the trashiest of trash.

ao3

i.

It’s a bleak September morning the first time she sets foot on the Hogwarts Express.

Lily sniffles, glancing over her shoulder, not at her parents whose grins were so wide that she feared it would split their faces, but at her sister, her Tuney, who pouted and frowned and whose eyes had a strange sheen over it. She’s only seen it a few times, when they got into fights that lead to broken dolls or hair tugging.

Petunia Evans was a cold type of sadness. She would pout and sulk and her lip would quiver, but she would never, ever cry.

Lily was the opposite. She was an explosion of feeling, a forest fire too big for her body that left its confines in wet, noisy sobs that had the whole house shaking.

A lone tear made it’s way down her sister’s cheek and she was ready to jump off the train and back to her if it meant stopping the impossible.

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Klaus’s Daughter

Request: I guess this counts as a request, I noticed some people wanted a story to go with the imagine I did so here is a one shot of the imagine I did below. Hope you guys enjoy.

https://my-fandom-imagine.tumblr.com/post/160791088667/imagine-you-are-klauss-daughter-and-you-get


It had gotten dark a lot faster than I anticipated, the only sound of the calm night being the wildlife that seems to come alive only when the sun goes down. I breath a sigh as I rush to get home. Father is going to be furious that I’m out so late, but how was I supposed to know my ride would bail on me and I’d have to walk home. I huff and walk a bit faster wanting to be home already. As I round the corner to the Michelson property I smile and slow down just a bit. As I get to the front door my steps falter as I see the door has been kicked in. I slowly creep forward thinking perhaps father just got angry at one of his subordinates again. My heart is pounding in my ears as I carefully shuffle through the doorway avoiding the splintered pieces of wood.

“Hello? Anyone home?” I yell out.

I hear faint whispering as I cautiously walk towards the den.

“Now really Nicklaus keeping a human pet is just beneath you.” I hear a deep male voice say to my father. 

A feminine scoff is the next sound in the room before a woman starts talking. “Never mind his pet I’ll take care of her just make sure he doesn’t leave.”

“NO! DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HER REBEKAH!”
I jump, startled by fathers booming voice before my brain registers what he said.
“Aunt Rebekah?” I whisper to myself before I feel a rush of wind, my hair gently swaying to the side before I feel a delicate hand grasp my neck and pull me backwards. I feel my breath leave me as I hit the floor.
“Well I’ll give you this Klaus, she is a pretty little thing. I wonder how lovely she screams.”

Fear courses through my veins as I hear father yelling and pleading. I’m lifted from my spot lying on the floor, I look up into the eyes of my attacker and I can’t help the brief thought that crosses my mind that Rebekah looks exactly the way father described her in his stories, beautiful to any mortal, but eyes that could very well strike fear into any being, much like the fear I feel now. Rebekah releases me but only for a moment before gripping my hair and dragging me into the room that father and who could only be my uncle Elijah are in. I let out a shout of pain as she tugs my hair harshly. i whimper and struggle to get out of her hold. Rebekah sighs and lets go of my hair but then grasps my throat, her hand tightens and restricts my airflow.
“Please Rebekah no! Let her go! You’ll regret what you are doing please!”
Fathers plead to Rebekah sounds distant as black fills the corner of my vision. The hard floor is the next thing I feel as i’m dropped to the ground.
“Please don’t do this!” My voice is hoarse as I plead looking up at my aunt. I shiver in fear at the look of disinterest and slight disgust on her face.


~Klaus’s POV~
From where I’m held down I can only watch as Rebekah backhands Y/N into the wall, the dull thud of her body making me look to Elijah.
“Please brother you don’t understand who she is! Stop this i’m begging you!”
Elijah stares at me impassively and I can feel fire fill my very being, I roar in anger and push Elijah off me and into a wall before grabbing his head and twisting it till I hear it snap. I grab his arm and tear it from his body and proceed to tear into his chest crushing his heart, hoping it’ll keep him distracted long enough to get to Y/N. Desperation clouds my judgement as I turn to Rebekah, but I’m grabbed from behind by Elijah before I can get a foot towards her. I look up in time to see Rebekah twist one of Y/N’ s arms till there is a loud snap. The scream that tears out of my daughter’s throat has me falling to my knees
“Please stop this, no more” my voice is quiet and weak as I hear her cries of pain.
“Dad please help” Y/N whispers to me before losing consciousness. The second those words leave her mouth I feel the arms holding me slack and I tear away from Elijah.
I run to my daughter shoving a shocked Rebekah out of my way. I sink to my knees and gently lift Y/N into my arms and push her hair away from her face.
“No! Nononono please! Y/N! Come on sweety open your eyes, please baby open your eyes. Please! I can’t lose you!”
I choke on a sob as I gently rock her back and forth in my arms pleading for her to wake up. I hear her faint heart beat getting weaker. I stand with her in my arms shaking from repressed sobs and pure anger at my siblings. I look up at the two of them and note their shocked faces.
“You two better be gone when I get back. If I ever see the two of you again I’ll dagger you and bury you so deep in the ground no one will ever find you. And if you come anywhere near my daughter I’ll find a way to kill you both permanently!” With that said I tighten my hold on Y/N and run out of my own home as fast as I can to the nearest hospital.
“Hold on Angel you’ll be okay” I whisper to her, though it does nothing to calm my frayed nerves as her heart beat slows to a dull thump that my own ears can barely pick up.


~Elijah’s POV~
Nicklaus’ words keep echoing in my head as I try to wrap my mind around the fact he said daughter.
“Elijah she can’t be his daughter can she?”
Rebekah asks me.
I turn to her and the look in her eyes makes me wince, if somehow Klaus was able to have a child Rebekah would have just attacked her own niece while I held Klaus back and just watched.
“There’s no way he could conceive a child” I state indifferently though in my mind I can feel slight panic and a sense of dread begin to overwhelm me. If we really did just basically invade our brothers house and attack his daughter we are no better than our own father hunting Klaus down.
I start walking to the door when a black bag catches my eye from the corner of the room, I glance down and notice it’s the bag the young girl, Klaus’s daughter had with her. Curiously I see an old book, gently pulling it out and opening the cover I see the name Y/N Michelson etched into it. Flipping to the first page I read aloud, 

“My name is Y/N Michelson, from the very beginning I was called many things, special, a monster, an abomination, a miracle, the devils spawn. What I was never called was a daughter or loved. From what I’ve heard and remember of my mother she was a witch, a powerful one at that. Though I don’t remember her as she died when I was born, I do know my father Nicklaus, he found me and after finding out I was his daughter he raised me even though at the start he believed me to be only mortal, that one day I would die. We searched for answers of how my birth was possible but only came up with my eventual death. We found that I will be able to age until I inherit my magic, from there on I won’t age but I will still be mortal I could still die by human standards. Father has become very protective of me, he treats me like a China doll, easily broken and lost. Most days father and I will sit together in the day room and he regales stories of his life to me, of his brothers and his sister, my aunt and uncle’s, I hope to one day meet them, from fathers stories they sound wonderful and seem to value family above all else, I hope to one day meet them as their niece. Perhaps father will let us meet one day, I hope they like me I would very much enjoy to have more family.”

As I finish reading I turn to Rebekah who is softly crying.

“She’s family Elijah and we almost killed her!” she chokes out before breaking down into sobs. Listening to her cries I can’t help but feel despair and guilt wash over me. “What have we done.” 

A China Rose

Originally posted by fragile-strenght

Summary: Y/N was once an employee at Prince Adams castle along with being his childhood friend but she doesn’t remember. Caught up in the curse, she ends up in Villeneuve where she stands out. But circumstances arrive and she somehow returns to the place she once called home, and a beast she once thought a friend.
A multi-chapter fanfiction.

Authors Note: This is my first ever fanfiction. Please tell me where I can improve (in a nice way) and I hope you enjoy. I will try and update every week. Also REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Anything to distract me from exams.

Chapter 1: Prologue
You were walking, well more realistically sprinting, up the servant’s stairwell, avoiding several maids holding trays of several different types of alcoholic beverages. You had successfully avoided at least ten maids before you went crashing into one head first, involving several orange drinks falling on you, leaving you soaking wet and your white top now spotted orange. The maid simply looked at you in disgust before deliberately pushing you into the wall whilst she quickly picked up the shattered glass. This in turn caused a pile up of at least five maids and they all looked at you with disapproving looks. You were used to them at this point. Most of the maids despised you due to your outward appearance. Mrs Potts had told you on several occasions that you were beautiful and many of the maids envied you for it (that and your supposed strange taste in fashion, but you couldn’t help it if pants were far more practical than skirts). You, had never thought of yourself as beautiful. You were just you, plain and simple and that’s how you liked it. There was also the factor that you actually enjoyed reading. Many of the maids thought it a useless skill but you loved the places a book could take you. You’d visited the great sands of Africa and the jungles of Peru but your favourite place to visit was Verona in Italy. It made you feel at home away from the real world. Back when the Prince’s mother was alive you’d sneak into the library and sit behind the curtains and get lost for several hours before your father found you. Those times don’t occur anymore. You’d been found by the Prince’s father, and the bruises stayed on you for several weeks.

You shook your head to rid yourself of the memory. The group of maids bar one had hurried down the stairs. You looked up to see that it was Plumette who remained. You breathed a sigh of relief. Not only was she the head maid but she was basically an older sister to you, just like you were to Chip. She looked at you eyebrows raised
“Would you care to explain what happened Y/N, or do I not want to know?” she said whilst gesturing to your shirt with her feather duster.
You lifted up your tool box before saying “Lord Dustin’s daughter’s clockwork doll has broken.”
She looked at you, eyes wide (she knew how difficult she could be) before giving you a small nod and rushing down the steps to return to help prepping for the ball that was to take place in two hours. Ugh, the ball. Another stupid dance where the Prince could show of how rich he was.

You were so deep into your thoughts that you hadn’t realised you were now walking along the corridor of the palace where actual lords and ladies could see you. You gripped your toolbox tighter whilst avoiding eye contact with any of the noblewomen that came past. You could hear behind closed doors several young women fussing about their looks clearly trying to impress the Prince.
“Why? He’s nothing special.” You whispered aloud, a scowl etched upon your face.
“Ahoy there sailor. What’s got you under the weather?”
You turned to see your father hurrying up behind you whilst gripping dearly onto an easel, canvas and his bag full of paints and brushes.
“Oh it’s nothing Papa,” you say with a smile, “just a broken doll of the pickiest guest.”
He winces, “Lord Dustin’s daughter?”
“Yup. It’ll be my first with her, and her reputation makes me nervous.”
He pats you on the head, “Don’t worry, you’re the best tinkerer I know, she’ll be lucky to have you repair anything of hers.”
You blush and look down at your feet before looking up at him again, a puzzled expression on your face, “Where are you off to now? I didn’t know you had a new piece to work on.”
“Well I didn’t, until two hours ago.” He lets out a deep sigh, “The Prince has commissioned a piece depicting the ball tonight.”
“Oh,” you let out almost accidentally but you can’t hide your disappointment. You were looking forward to having a few moments with your father tonight while the rest of the castle were occupied.
“Don’t worry I’ll try and be finished before dawn.” He looked down at the wrist clock you made for him only three weeks ago. He kissed you on the forehead before quickly rushing off down the hall towards the ballroom but not before he told you that he loved you.
“I love you too.” You said to a now empty corridor.  
You shook your head and once again begin to rush towards the Lady’s allocated room. When you skidded to a halt outside the large, ornate door, you took a moment to smooth out your shirt and pants (whilst desperately trying to rid them of the orange stains). You tucked a piece of your damp hair back under your headband before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.

You had to wait several moments before a thin looking woman in her mid-twenties opened the door. She looked at you questionably, before a high pitched voice from inside the room spoke up.
“Just let them in. I’m in a rush.”
The lady in waiting opened the door to let you through and you gave her a pleasant smile which she returned subtly before rushing to help Lady Helen Dustin place her wig on her head. The wig was far too ornate for your liking with its several unnecessary jewels that were strewn everywhere. You were certain that the wig was far too tall to fit through a doorway. How she was to dance was a mystery to you.
“May I help you? I don’t remember asking for cross dresser to appear in my room. That’s more Lady Emilié’s taste.” she said whilst looking in the mirror, placing far too much rouge on her cheeks.
“Forgive me my lady, but I’m Y/N, the Royal engineer if it were, and I believe you wished for me to fix your doll.” you say, the poison, hopefully very clear.
Her mouth fell agape for a brief moment before signalling to the table at the end of the bed, without looking away from her reflection. You walked over to the table and place your tool box next to what is quite simply the most beautiful doll you have ever seen. You went to get your tweezers before a loud squeak stops you.
The Lady Helen looked at you, appalled, “What on earth do you think you are doing?”
You looked up at her confused. “Fixing your doll, my lady.”
“Not here!” she practically screamed at you, “Down where you people breed.”
You looked at her, holding her gaze before closing your tool box and picking up the China doll. “As you wish, my lady,” you mumbled before walking to the door. You turned back and looked at her once more, “Before I leave, my lady, please might you tell me what is wrong with the doll and what the desired result is to be.”
She looked at you in horror before turning back to the mirror and saying “The arm is stuck. It’s meant to move.”
You nod, curtsy and leave but not before you hear her say to her lady in waiting “I had no idea they hired such strange people in this place.” Their laughter follows you down the corridor.

———————————————————————————————————–

Back in your workshop/bedroom you were admiring the doll. It truly was a marvel. The outside was delicate china, but the inside was a complex machine. A maze of copper cogs. It was beautiful. You had found the problem with the arm joint almost immediately, a loose screw had caused a cog to become bent, preventing it from turning. It was easily fixed and at this point, exactly half an hour before the ball was to commence, you were simply sketching the insides in detail so that you one day might be able to replicate it. You were so entangled in your work that you didn’t see the figure standing in the doorway until they coughed, loudly. You looked up abruptly to see the Prince standing there, his face covered in a ridiculous amount of make-up. You preferred him without it, if you had to choose.
You stand up and fall into an awkward curtsy.
“Your highness.” You mumbled out not looking him in the eye.
He just smirked at you before smugly saying “You have charcoal on your face right there.” He gestured to his own nose.
“And I believe you have something all over your face too.” You pointed out with delight, whilst dramatically waving a hand all over your face.
His smile dropped and immediately turned into a scowl. “You can’t speak to me like that.”
“Oh, of course. Where are my manners. You have something hideous on your face too, your highness,” you said while taking a ridiculously over the top curtsy. When you stand you look at him pleased that his eyebrows were furrowed with rage.
“And why aren’t you,” you jabbed a finger at him, “upstairs getting ready for yet another one of your balls?”
His scowl disappeared and was once again replaced by a smirk.
“Well, I was in the process of doing so,” he gestured dramatically at his attire, “with the assistance of Cogsworth, but I was ever so rudely interrupted by a certain maid complaining about a supposed Royal engineer.”
“And you came down to tell me what?” you asked, eyebrows raised, “that I was too hostile?”
“Precisely.” He practically snorted out.
“Oh dear.” You said feigning embarrassment, “I was trying so hard to hide it.”
“You know, I should fire you.” He stated, “After all, you don’t do much. But your silly father is the best artist for miles to come so I guess I’m stuck with you.”
Your blood boiled at his comment about your father. “Don’t you dare speak of my father that way!” You practically yelled at him.
He let out a rather large chuckle. “Relax Y/N, I’m joking.”
“Well, I don’t find it funny.” You let out, your tongue dripping with hostility.
“It was rather funny. You should note that you look like a tomato, you’ve gone so red.” The Prince was beside himself.
“Why don’t you go back upstairs where everyone wishes to throw themselves at you?” With that comment you went back to your desk at picked up your pad. “Your highness” you mutter.
“Honestly Y/N enough with the formalities. You know you may call me by my name. One of the few I allow.” He stood in the doorway, for once actually looking like he could be kind.
You simply glared at him and said in the most monotone voice you could muster, “I’ll call you by your name when you start acting like my friend that I knew and less like your father.”
Your comment had its desired effect. The Prince turned immediately away from you and stormed away from your workshop. Satisfied, you looked back down at your sketch pad and once again begin to draw.

It was only a few moments later that you looked up to stare out the small window above your bed. You simply stared before your eyebrows knitted together with concern. A large storm was roaring outside but that was not what concerned you. What concerned you was there was someone outside in it. You stood up and rushed into the corridor and towards the back door of the servant’s quarters. Once outside, you were hit by a large wall of rain but you continued running till you reached the figure. You helped guide them through the rain towards the castle door. After pushing against the wind for several minutes you reached the door, where you hastily bustled the figure inside. Soaking wet, you finally looked properly at the figure to see that it was a beautiful lady in a green velvet dress and with luscious golden curls. She smiled at you as you directed her towards your room. She was somehow miraculously dry, unlike yourself. You were about to let her into your room where she grabbed your arm rather harshly. She looked at you, her green eyes seemingly glowing before stating, “You must leave this castle. Tonight. Gather what you need and leave for the nearest village.”
You were confused as to why you had to leave but the longer you stared into the strange ladies eyes the more convinced you were of the idea of leaving. You nodded at her silently as she let go of your arm. She began to walk away and you went back into your room to begin packing what you would need, but you swore you saw her age rapidly as she began to climb the stairs at the end of the hall.
In your room, you packed away your tools into your toolbox. You packed clothes into your traveling bag and placed your pad, art supplies, your only three books and your trusted tools in it as well. You put on your leather gloves and cloak ready to face the rain storm. Before you left your room you took one last look around and took the clockwork doll into your hands admiring its intricacies. With that you left.

———————————————————————————————————–

You were walking towards the castle gates, down the large carriage path in the gardens. You looked back at the castle to see a large and strange glow coming from the ballroom. Another part of the Prince’s entertainment you thought to yourself. It was not until you heard the screams did you turn around once again and stop walking. The sound was coming from the ballroom.
“Papa!” You thought out loud. You began to scold yourself. Here you were planning on running away, for a reason you couldn’t remember and you forgot to bring Papa with you. You even forgot to tell him you were leaving. You took about five steps back towards the castle when the first carriage came charging towards you. You leapt to the side just in time. Your brows furrowed in confusion when you see that all of the guest carriages were barrelling down the path. As you stood there at the side of the path desperately trying to avoid being squashed by any of the carriages, you caught a glimpse inside one to see Lady Dustin. The fear etched in her face was something to behold. She looked back at the castle, terror gripping her. Her blue eyes briefly met your E/C ones and the message they sent was clear. Run.
You thought of your Papa, how you couldn’t leave him, but every carriage was filled with noblewomen all with the same fear etched upon their faces. You were about to head back towards the castle when a bright, blinding light erupted from the ballroom windows, illuminating the entire gardens and sending an ice cold wind billowing into your face. You were knocked backwards by the strong wind, struggling to stay upwards. When the light dimmed you saw that rain storm that was occurring had now turned into a heavy snowfall. You looked around in both fear and awe. It was June. It never snows in June, at least not here. You stared up at the sky, at the flakes that were slowly settling around you. Then you heard it. An ear splitting roar. A roar of an animal in pain. That was it. What made you run. You ran as hard as you could towards the gates. You glanced back at the castle, where the roar was coming from, and saw a yellow flash. The flash seemed to linger before seemingly forming a glowing barrier that was spreading outwards from the castle. Whatever that glow was, you didn’t want to find out. You ran faster. Faster than you had ever ran before, your father a distance memory. The barrier was charging towards you as you reached the gate. You fumbled trying to pull them open. As they opened, the glow was nearly upon you. You ran through the opening and was pulling the gate shut with your left hand when the glow engulfed it up to your elbow. Your left hand went numb and you closed your eyes prepared for the worst.
It never came.
The golden glow seemed to have stopped at the castle’s perimeter and was slowly stretching upwards forming a glowing dome. You looked up in awe when you felt a sharp pain in your left arm. You stumbled backwards, tearing your eyes away from the magical dome. You forcefully removed your glove to see your hand slowly become paler and smoother. Your hand was becoming heavier and more rigid with each passing second. You looked away in horror. You grabbed your glove and ran from the castle as fast as you could, hoping that the further you got away from that cursed place, the better you’d feel. You practically sprinted through the woods putting a good distance between you at your former home.
After roughly ten minutes of running, sweating and tripping over several roots, your body was begging for a small rest. You sat down under a fairly large tree, wrapping your cloak tightly around you (despite the fact it was no longer snowing). There was still a tingling feeling in your left hand. You cautiously remove your glove once again and you had to stifle a scream. Your hand was made of china, exactly like doll you were fixing for…. for… You couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t you remember? You had just been there in…. Wait where were you?
You clutched your head, why were you forgetting things that just happened. ‘Maybe,’ you thought 'I’m just a little dizzy and tired from running so hard for so long.’
You decided to stay under the tree and try and get your breathing even. You looked around the woods to just see darkness surrounding you. Your head was beginning to throb now, along with your China hand. How long had you had that china hand again? As the throbbing became all you could feel, you felt your eye lids beginning to drop. Black spots appeared in your vision and you fought the urge to regurgitate your last meal. As you slipped into unconsciousness, you fought with every bone in your body to remember your Papa. You weren’t going to stop fighting to remember. As you slumped back against the tree, in a restless sleep, the woman you helped into the castle simply smiled. She knew you were strong. With that she disappeared back into the forest, walking back towards the nearest village where you’d arrive the next afternoon, so she could watch her story unfold.

The Avengers...Who Are They? - Part 1

Request from @snapplejuice:Hey there. Can I make a story request? Where the reader is like family to the avengers and one day they’re fighting Loki and he casts a spell and it hits the reader and she is turned back into a child and she doesn’t remember any of them. And when they all get back to the tower they avengers notice that she is not speaking and that’s because she went through a lot of trauma as a child and the spell Loki cast put her brain back into that state of trauma. (Possibly a series lol)

Note: I hope you don’t mind but instead of turning her back into a child physically I have done it where it’s just the mental state of the reader that reverts back to being a child. Because it is going to be a mini-series I haven’t yet touched on her childhood trauma. Hope this is okay to start! <3

The Avengers x Reader

Words: 1,331

Warnings: Violence, mention of injuries, brief unwanted attention and a swear word….think that’s everything!

Disclaimer: None of the GIFs used are mine so all credit goes to their creators <3 (I apologise for the numerous ones at the end….it’s to gauge their reactions!)

You were only supposed to be infiltrating a Hydra base, the third one in as many weeks, but when you arrived with Steve, Nat and Bucky something felt off right away. Neither the redhead nor the super soldier recognised this compound despite their own involvements with the organisation and most notably of all there were no guards currently swarming at the four of you.

“I don’t like this guys.” The whole time you had been with The Avengers you’d had an air of confidence about you that most people could only dream of but your words right now were showing how quickly that was beginning to change. “The fact that we are currently cooped up isn’t helping either….we’re sitting ducks.”

Steve looked over to you and nodded in agreement as he sent Nat and Bucky to the other side of the compound to scout it while he remained with you where you were stood. The blonde was always your partner when you were out on the field and although each member of the team felt like family to you he was the closest person in your life; he was the one you spoke to about everything, he was the one that knew you so well that you didn’t even need to utter a word for him to know what was going on in your head.

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Brother For Sale

I thought I wanted a little brother. When I was a stupid six year old.

Now I’m nine, a lot smarter, and I realized I made a huge mistake.

Tommy is the worst. The absolute worst. I hate him. It wasn’t so bad when he was a baby. He cried a lot but it was super cool to say I was a sister. All my friends thought he was super cute too.

It’s when he stopped being cute and starting being annoying.

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8

They’d pack a room with all kinds of dolls that met some set of conditions, and then leave the house for a certain number of days. When they came back all the dolls were broken in some place or another. But if two dolls, or “nitai” were unharmed, the ritual had succeeded. And they become enchanted dolls called “Nitai-sama.”

But one day, he started screaming, “Nitai is here! Nitai is here!”

Day 27: Magnus + Madzie

The sound woke him up. A quick shuffling of feet that brought to mind, wise but lonely eyes in a young face, thick textured hair and a little girl who hadn’t smiled as much since Alexander had brought her to his loft a couple of days prior.

With a flick of his fingers he was dressed and was soon on his way, following the sound like little breadcrumbs till they led him to the kitchen where he stopped for a long moment to watch Madzie as she splayed her hands out over the doll Alexander had gotten her when she’d first moved in.

The doll’s head was tilted to the side, the hands broken, and Madzie bit her lower lip, brows furrowed hard as she squinted and mumbled, fingers working with short sharp movement that ended with her releasing a little huff as she glared at her still broken doll.

The expression was so similar to one Alexander had worn when he was frustrated that something wasn’t going right for him that Magnus found himself smiling.

He must have given himself away at some point because Madzie whipped around, those dark eyes meeting his before she glanced down, a brief flash of misery on her face. She hunched her shoulders and took a step back, fingers absently reaching for her doll, then flexing as she pulled her fingers back into the pocket of her dress.

“I remember the first time I ever used my powers,” Magnus said, going for calm as he leaned back against the doorjamb, head thrown back, eyes gazing into the distance, half stuck in the memory and the other half paying attention to Madzie who now that Magnus wasn’t looking at her, was glancing shyly right back at him.

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Lost Home

A/N: This is my entry for @bionic-buckyb ‘s 5k AU Challenge. Q bit long but I hope you guys like it.

Prompt: “I don’t care if you hate me, I don’t care if you dislike me. But why would you cheat on me?”

Word Count: 2364 Words

Warnings: cheating, maybe a curse word.

“MOOOMM!!! JACOB HAS MY DOLL!!” your daughter Becca shouted from upstairs followed by the sound of someone falling.

Sighing you picked up the baby, Mason and walked the two of you up the stairs to figure out if your two oldest had killed each other yet.

When you reached the playroom, you saw the kids sitting on the floor with a broken doll in the middle of them. As they watched you come in, they started talking at the same time- both trying to speak louder than the other.

Setting Mason down on the floor to let him crawl around and entertain himself, you walked over to the broken doll and picked up the pieces. Placing them in the trash, you turned around to face your kids with your arms crossed.

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Even If It’s Just Pretend

I was searching for a SnowBaz fake dating fic and I couldn’t find one. Which killed me, so I wrote my own. Also for @snowbaz-feda

Also on Ao3

Description: Simon is broke, his foster father is an asshole, and he knows he has nowhere to go when summer break comes around. So when he sees an ad for a paid psychology experiment involving romantic couples, he’s quick to pretend he’s in a relationship…with his nemesis/roommate Baz.
AKA the faking dating trope that we know we all love.

Chapter 1/Chapter 2/Chapter 3

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Dying Petals - Joker Imagine

//This is so bad I apologize ahead of time.//

_______________________________________________________________________

Y/N’S POV

Splayed across the floor like the bodies of the dead men and women the joker has left behind, were the small but fragile rose petals which would usually represent romance but in this case it didn’t even get close to that mark. 

It was three days after our 1 year anniversary and yet I felt no love or joy or even thrill that could quite possibly come with the joker, all I felt was despair. I was a broken doll, stuck on repeat; going to meetings, being the precious queen and his partner in crime. Only that gimmick gets old quickly. 

With my hands folded in my lap covering a small petal, the heat that radiated throughout my body killed the beautiful petal with one fatal swoop, much like Joker did three days ago when the only thing he could muster up to say was, “A year already? Crazy how Im not tired of you.” 

Now that small joking sentence crushed my small heart surrounded by petals as beautiful as these. The tear drops cascaded down my cheeks in an ugly manner  as I pulled my self off the floor threw threw the deceased petal from my palm and grabbed my suitcase. 

Looking behind me I saw the home I’ve been trapped in and the home where I was once happy, but I no longer saw joy but a prison. I walked out the dark door into the nippy Gotham air and began to walk. 

I left my phone and car behind knowing Joker would track me, once he sees I’m gone. Headlights flashed by me in a daze and my strides became larger. I wasn’t afraid no one would touch me but I couldn’t bear to life my head up and face the civilians who fear me. 

I reached my old apartment where Joker had broken into in order to use it as a safe house. I laughed at the memory while touching the card board that covered the shattered window. Turning on the lights was no use since the electric bill hadn’t been payed, there was no running water and dust had ben collected everywhere. Perfect. 

I went to my room and laid on the bed trying to soothe my mind and maybe gets some peaceful sleep, away from his yelling. Soon enough i found my self dozing off for the first time in days, it felt great. 

Joker’s POV 

I slammed the front door open fuming from a heist going wrong, I should of brought Y/N with me. Already agitated all I wanted was to go drink myself to sleep and not hear her annoying voice. 

It was eerie in my house, I didn’t hear Y/N humming over doing anything, who am I kidding she was probably asleep its all she does anyway. I opened my door to my office poured myself a glass of hard liquor and slumped into my large chair. I sat there pondering in the silence not being able to shake the feeling of something missing. 

Finally having enough of it, I charged out of the room ready to yell at Y/N for making me feel this way but when I went into the bedroom she wasn’t there. I checked the kitchen, the basement, the living room and the garage but she was nowhere to be found. 

I went back to the bedroom to find her phone and her keys, I checked all the drawers and the closet and all her personal items were gone. She was gone. She left me. How dare she. 

Who does she thinks she is, thinking she can leave the Joker? Jokes on her I didn’t like her that much anyway, it was time for me to upgrade. 

I glided back into my office and calmly sat in the chair trying to erase the ache I was feeling. With the more alcohol I consumed the more my thoughts raced. 

Why did she leave me? 

She knows better. 

She loves me. 

Over to my right I see the roses I had given her thrown all around the floor, destroyed. The petals withered and brown and a small note laying in the middle of all the chaos. 

“You don’t know what you have until you’ve lost it.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

This was shitty but I’m bored so HEY! Legoo. 

~M