coloring your skin is a nightmare

Nightmares Are Made Of

Xavier asks Logan to the school for a very important mission–that involves you as well. Things may start off rocky, but you hope to change that.

  • X-Men Wolverine / Logan Howlett x Reader
  • 1075 Words
  • Some cursing, nothing worse than the x-men movies
  • Part One

“My office. Now.”

The airy voice enters your mind, sending a small shiver down your spine as it always did when Xavier tries to get your attention. It was always unexpected, always at the wrong time. Now, you were tutoring a small boy, a mutant that went by the name of Garret. He could hardly use his powers, which was nothing more than singing in a high pitched voice, causing everyone in the same room as him to get a severe headache.

You tell the boy to wait in his room, that you shouldn’t be long. With a little sigh, you rise to your feet and take the journey to the office of the famous Professor X, the headmaster of the school for mutants.

Once you arrive at the door, you feel that something is wrong. There is a certain presence about the air that makes it thick and hard to breathe. You could always catch these sort of feelings, always so paranoid when you got them.

“Come in.” The airy voice enters your mind once more and you push open the door, only to find a large man with broad shoulders and a scowl plastered on his face. His eyebrow cocks up instantly high, giving the look of anger slash confusion.

“Oh…” You breathe, unsure of what to think of this animalistic man standing in front of you. He certainly was no child, therefore it was a little strange to see him in this office. Xavier only took in children, unless this was a special circumstance.

“Ah, Miss, Y/N. So nice of you to join us.” Xavier smiles from his desk. He gives you a small nod, your que to close the door so no little mutants could eavesdrop. “I would like you to meet our newest member, Logan. Or as he likes to be called, Wolverine.”

Wolverine hasn’t moved his eyes since you came through the door. His hands are positioned on his hips and his jaw is crooked as he takes you in.

“Wolverine?” This time, you cock your own eyebrow and look over at the man. You can’t deny his looks are very charming, almost winning you over just like that. But you knew better than to fall for any of the mutants around here, especially before you know their past. “What? Did they give you that name for your looks?”

Logan growls, holding his right fist in the air and what happens next takes you by a little surprise. Three long, sharp claws extend from his knuckles, ripping apart the skin and stopping after they were several inches longer than his own fingers. The sound it makes sends yet another chill down your spine. It sounds painful, and yet his face doesn’t twitch.

“Oh…” You aren’t sure how to respond, the shock was still settling in.

“Logan can also heal exceptionally fast with his healing factor, which has sort of put a hold on his aging process.” Xavier explains from behind his desk, the sound in his voice gave him away; he was enjoying this show.  “Although he has a bit of a memory problem, which is why he is here with us.”

“A memory problem? What a power.” You say in a snarky voice and cross your arms over your chest. “What good is that?”

“What’s your power, princess?” Logan narrows his eyes on you, his claws sinking back into his skin and appearing as if nothing were just there. “Annoying everyone around you?”

You open your mouth to speak, piecing together a comeback that was sure to make him curl back in fear, but Xavier, as usual, beats you to the punch.

“She can inflect her worst nightmares onto you.” He says ever so simply. You feel a small blush creeping up your cheeks, knowing that this sounds childish and that the man in front of you will laugh.

He raises his eyebrow again, a smirk growing on his lips. “Huh. Sounds scary.” He wiggles his fingers in the air before he sticks his thumbs in his belt loops. “Tell me, how does that work in combat?”

You look at your headmaster for conformation, which he gives you with a slight nod of his head. You turn your head back to Logan, staring at him with emotionless eyes until they turn black. You watch the way his features change from a man who was seemingly having too much fun to a man who was scared shitless.

Color drains from his skin, leaving him looking a bit paler than he was before. His eyes grow large and you can feel his heart speeding up in his chest, beating faster and faster until you were sure it would burst. Logan falls to his knees, begging for “them” to go away, begging for mercy, begging for someone to help him.

“That’s enough, Y/N.” Charles Xavier warns you before his heart really did break.

You shook off the nightmare, regaining yourself. The black fades from your eyes, leaving them the beautiful color you have. A small smile plays at the corner of your lips as you watch the man in front of you look around the room, trying to figure out what just happened.

“Now you see.” Xavier chuckles in delight. He has a fascination with your power, always trying to figure out how far it goes, how much pain and suffering you could possibly give others. It was not a power he exactly encouraged you to use often. “She can kill a man within seconds. I’m sure you felt only a fraction of what a normal human can feel.”

Wolverine growls and jumps up to his feet, hand still over his chest. “What was that?” He glares down at you, stepping even closer so he could have a better look at you.

“The things that haunt me in my sleep. In some cases, I can use your nightmares against you as well, scaring you to—well—death.”

“Logan, I want you and Y/N to get to know each other. I have a mission for you two.” Xavier smiles, acting like you hadn’t just tried to kill someone.

Logan’s eyes trail down your body as he stands over you, hesitating here and there to get a better look. “Does it involve her trying to kill me again?” The color returns to his cheeks and you watch as his pupils grow larger the longer he looks at you.

“Not yet.” Charles chuckles.


Once, when he was five or six years old, Will woke panting from a nightmare. The digital clock next to his bed blinked 2:17 in bright red letters, so he knew his parents were asleep. Usually – every other time, in fact – Will woke them anyway, but not tonight.

Like his father, Will was prone to nightmares. He always remembered them perfectly, maybe because they were just like movies: his nightmares always had a discernible beginning and middle (and end, if he didn’t wake up first). The scenes and characters were drawn in incredible detail. If anyone asked, Will could count the number of leaves on the trees or bricks in the walls; he could find crayons that precisely matched the color of a dead man’s skin, two or three or ten days after his death.

Of course, no one ever asked.

Usually Will would pad down the hallway to his parents’ room and clamber into bed with them. They would wake up and he’d tell them the broad strokes of his nightmare – he knew already that he wasn’t supposed to remember them so clearly – and they would reassure him.

Will’s parents weren’t like most parents. He knew from TV and the reports of his friends at school that parents were supposed to tell you that there’s no monster under your bed, that zombies aren’t real, that aliens aren’t going to take you away in their shiny silver spaceships. Will’s parents never, ever said those things. “We’ll keep the bad things from you,” his mother would say, and she’d press a kiss to the top of his head, mussing up his hair. And she or his father would tell him a story, with the more gruesome details left out, of a time, long ago, when they fought monsters every day, when they protected people every day. And Will knew that they would protect him, too.

In later years, he’ll realize that those late-night conversations were the most his parents ever told him about their work.

That night, the night he didn’t wake his parents, he dreamed that he was the hero of the story. He dreamed that something terrible had happened and everyone was gone; he dreamed that he was the only one who could save them. In his dream he was afraid and alone, but also powerful. He dreamed of a little house in the middle of nowhere and the lake shining behind it, candlelight in the basement, and his parents’ familiar voices. I’d move heaven and earth to keep you safe, his mom said in the dream. Heaven and earth. He didn’t understand what any of it meant, and unlike his other dreams he would forget all of it by the morning. Years later he’d recall pieces of it, just fragments, but enough to understand what had happened, and what was going to happen.

Once, a long time ago, Will slept, and dreamed of the world to come.

Things the MCR albums remind me of

Bullets: Dead roses, torn wedding gowns, foggy mornings, shouting when you’re angry, angst, dimly lit rooms, black and greasy hair, dreadlocks, porcelain dolls, sketch pads, sketching pencils

Revenge: Red and black, red flowers of any kind, coffins, ciggarettes, old churches, black widow spiders, black ballet slippers, red eyeshadow, black glitter, torn skinny jeans, clear nights, full moons, graveyards, horror movies, demons

Black Parade: Hospital rooms, heart monitors, IV drips, pale skin, being cold to the touch, black and white striped arm warmers, nightmares, ghosts, being sick, wanting to give up, but continuing to press on, wheelchairs, blood transfusions, lethargy, medicine

Danger Days: Bright and vivid color, living in the moment, muscle cars, large cities, any 50s diner, hot days and cold nights, laying next to someone you love, giving your all in relationships, leather jackets, steel toe boots, neon lights, energy drinks.


Sims No Filter Challenge

I was tagged by @thepathofnevermore to do this nightmare inducing challenge. Thank you! 

Rules: take a picture of the sim that’s normally associated with your blog (your legacy founder/lead character in your story etc.), now take away all their cc (except their hair, eyebrows, and skin color), then do a before and after picture.

Sooo… I cheated and went full MM because, why not, she looked weird with her alpha hair and no skin overlay anyway. She looks kind of cute, I guess. One day I may delete all CC, because seriously, I like MM Heda even more than the alpha one. Shocking, I know. 

Torture - Soryu Oh (KBTBB) *Angst*

***Warning: VERY ANGSTY***
I’m going to go ahead and put a Trigger Warning on this, too. If you’re triggered by depression, especially because of the loss of a loved one, you probably shouldn’t read this.


I’m actually very proud of this fic. And I hope you like it, too!

Fun fact: It was the middle of the night when I randomly decided to read the rough draft of this. I started doing some light editing - correcting grammar mistakes and all that - when all these phrases began coming to me and I started writing them into the fic, and before I knew it, I had finished it! And I’m proud of myself :) so I wanted to share that.

But anyway! I’ll shut up and let you read, lol. Feedback is greatly appreciated!


      His hands clenched into fists as he stared down at your soulless body - dressed in nice clothes and displayed for tearful eyes to mourn over. His chest felt tight, his mouth was dry, his head hurt, it was as if his dark sorrow, which he refused to show to the people around, was manifesting itself in the form of physical pain. In truth, Soryu had experienced a lot of physical pain in his lifetime. Bullets, knives, punches. He had come into contact with all of it because of his job. But none of that stood a chance against the heart-shredding pain of this moment, which didn’t ease with time. He felt like screaming, like clutching his gun and shooting everything in sight. It felt like a deep, inner evil was bubbling up inside him, filling him with rage and madness and ever-worsening sorrow.

      ‘Why?!’ His conscience yelled. ‘Why couldn’t I protect her?! Protect her and guard her like I swore to?!’ He blamed himself. It was a bullet that tore through your heart, condemning you to death instantly. The bullet of a gunman of a rival gang that no longer exists. No, Soryu had those despicable excuses for human beings put to death at once when you fell to the ground in a pool of blood.

      He replayed the scene endlessly in his mind, forcing himself to relive the moment when he allowed you to suffer, when we wasn’t strong enough to save your precious life. To some, it would be torture. To him, it was a punishment. It was what he deserved. He truly believed that he should have to live with the horrible guilt. It was the only thing keeping him from firing a silver bullet into his own broken heart. 'One form of pain for another, I guess.’

      His eyes focused on your body. Everything he loved about you had been tossed away; your liveliness - forever silenced. Your smile - forced into a frown. Your kindness - never to be presented again. The color of your skin was drained into a pale gray. Your hair had lost it’s luster. The giggle you’d have given upon catching him staring at you never left your dry lips. A little subdued makeup kept you looking semi-alive, but everything else was off.

      Soryu heard your familiar laugh echo in his mind, a memory that would surely haunt him in his dreams/nightmares. He stared and stared at your corpse. Finally, some tears gathered in front of those steely eyes - he blinked them away. He couldn’t show weakness, well, at least not yet. He was in public, he had to maintain his identity as a tough mobster for now. He resigned to wait until he was in the sanctuary and privacy of his hotel room before allowing the liquid sadness to fall.

      A hand gripped his shoulder gently and comfortingly. He looked up to see your grandfather, sad smile on his face as he held back his own tears.

      “Unfortunately, staring won’t bring her back, no matter how much we wish it could.”

      Soryu nodded.

      “Y'know, Soryu, I would’ve been proud to have you as a member of our family. I know she loved you with all her heart.” He said in a tone that a loving father would use with his son. “I hope you’ll keep in touch.”

      “I will.” Soryu gave the best smile he could, although he was sure it didn’t appear nearly as happy as he wanted it to be. He also didn’t like replying with such a short sentence. He wanted to offer some encouraging words, but none came to mind. Luckily, your grandfather understood this and patted his shoulder.

      “I wish you all the best, Soryu. Live a happy life. She would want you to.”

      “Thank you very much.” Still maintaining a smile, the man left. Despite his kind words, Soryu felt even more guilty, if that was possible. He knew that, no matter what they said, your family, deep down, blamed him for your death. As they should, it was his fault. His heart was touched at their kindness, but it also weighed him down. He didn’t feel worthy of their forgiveness.

      The broken man stayed as long as possible. He actually had to be lead out of the funeral home so they could close it up. He just wanted to be near you, to be in your presence, as long as he could. He dragged himself home. Not bothering to remove his shoes or jacket, Soryu collapsed on the couch, burying his face in his hands. A second of silence, then a weak whisper of your name blew past his mouth.

      “I’m so sorry, _______…I’m so sorry.” He apologized. Now that he was alone at home, Soryu let the tears slide freely down his cheeks. As a mobster, he was used to steeling his face, masking his emotions, but you - a simple woman - could bring him to tears in an instant. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried, but now he couldn’t even see due to the blurry vision. “How could I do this to you? You didn’t deserve it. It should’ve been me.” He said through quiet sobs. “I swore to protect you, but I didn’t. You trusted me, and I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most. I’m so sorry.” All he could do now was hope that you heard his prayer up in heaven.

      Soryu would never forget those days. The day you were killed. The day they had to put you in the ground. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. You haunted him like a ghost. Your face appeared everywhere, in every crowd, on every woman, in every dream, in every nightmare. He couldn’t forget the woman who had changed his life.

      Time went on, but life didn’t. To Soryu, it felt like it had stalled. It was the same routines day in and day out. Manage the mafia, see to the auctions. Those were his only responsibilities now. He had nothing. When he lost you, he also lost all sense of true happiness. Now it was fake smiles at fancy dinners, small talk at parties, only acting jovial for the sake of entertaining others. In private it was a different story; dull eyes, bitter frowns, reckless alcohol. He got used to the miserable silence of his hotel room.

      Still, there were some nights where he hoped. Staring out the window, he felt as if you were out there, somewhere, somehow. And at any moment there would be the familiar sound of the door opening. You would walk in, tired from a rather tough day at work, and collapse into his arms. He would cradle you in his arms as you both drifted to sleep, safe and sound.

      But that daydream never came to be a reality.

      He was never freed by an absolution.

      Soryu eventually came completely to terms with the fact that you were gone. Forever. He allowed himself to fall deeper into depression. And he fell and fell. Until he was nothing but a shell of his former self; completely empty, closed off.

      Life became meaningless.

      And Soryu Oh was lost.

      Even now, over 20 years later, in a field of gray tombstones, every so often there’s a disturbance. A rustle of grass accompanied by soft footsteps. Flashes of silver and navy blue break up the scenery. Polished shoes come to a stop in front of a tombstone. Dark eyes stare at the name engraved upon it. The sound of chirping birds and the gentle breeze fill his ears as he scoops down, placing a lovely bouquet of flowers on the stone.

      True to his silent promise, he never forgot you. And he carried his guilt and love for you with him until he, too, was a tombstone, placed perfectly next to yours.~


Thanks for reading!

Don’t Go (Bucky x Reader)

Request: #1 with Bucky❤💕

#1: “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me all alone here… I’m scared.”

Warnings: mention of nightmares, fluff

(Y/C/E) = Your color eyes

Enjoy :)

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Leonardo x Reader: Past Your Bedtime

The one episode with the dream beavers kind of inspired this, especially how in the end of the episode Leo talks about how he ends up feeling better after resting.

I’m sorry for not updating in a while, I’ve been hooked onto Pokemon for quite some time. I haven’t seen the newer TMNT episodes either, so I’ve been trying to steer clear of any TMNT related places because I don’t want spoilers, hehe… Also, apologies for any mistakes, as usual.

Rating: PG
Genre: Fluffies, fluffies everywhere. Some emotional moments here and there.
Paring: Leonardo x Reader

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I’m writing these in the order they’re sent in, so don’t get discouraged if you haven’t seen yours yet! Love you all to bits. 

Plot: [Can you do an imagine where Josh is really protective and the reader teases him about it]

Josh was pulling you in by the waist as the two of you walked around the city. You were visiting him at his place in LA for a little bit, and he wanted to show you around where he spent some of his time off. He rubbed his thumb lightly across your hip over your thin shirt. The two of your footsteps were in sync as you strolled down the city blocks. It was summer time so both of you were sweating under the impending heat. He wiped sweat off his forehead and onto his ripped black jeans. Josh rarely wore shorts, even in the heat. 

“What do you say we grab a smoothie or something?” Josh suggested. 

“That sounds incredible,” you exhaled, relieved, knowing you would be cooled down soon. 

“Perfect. I’m pretty sure there’s a place straight ahead and around the corner,” he said pointing towards the pedestrian crosswalk. 

“Yeah, that works,” you nodded your head squinting in the direction of his finger. 

There were a good bit of homeless people around LA, which didn’t bug you and you normally spared them a few dollars or at least food if you had any on you. Today was different though, today was one of those days where you felt dirty without dipping your feet in the mud. Everything happened so quickly and your heart rate was still up. Josh’s voice was angrier than you had ever heard it, and your bones never shook so hard. It all seemed like a nightmare. 

You and Josh had crossed the street and had almost arrived at your destination when a man sitting on the corner called out “Hey, blue is my favorite color,” in reference to your skirt. Josh initially chose to ignore him, picking up his pace, but before you knew it the man had reached forward and slid his hand up the back of your skirt. His rough hands felt unfamiliar on skin that was rarely touched. His finger nails dug into your insecure places, and he pulled at your skin like he was trying to quite literally steal a part of you. Josh felt you tense up under his own grip. 

“Did that guy touch you?” he said as the mans hand escaped your clothing when you continued to walk forward. 

“Yeah, but.. it’s it’s not a big deal-” you choked on your words and you were near tears. 

“No, Y/N, it is a big deal stay right there,” Josh said, shoulders rolled back, walking over to the man who still sat a few feet back. 

“Hey man what’s the matter with you?” Josh barked at him, pulling back a fist, threatening a punch. Josh slowly released his fist, realizing you were still standing there and he didn’t want to put you through any more trauma. 

“You’ve got a hot girlfriend, I touch what I like,” 

you winced from afar, squeezing your eyes shut. Thinking maybe if you closed them long enough the situation would disappear. 

“Cut it out man, I really don’t like you and you’re lucky I’m not laying any hands on you right now.” Josh glanced back in your direction making sure you were doing okay by yourself for a little and that no one else was touching you.

“Whatever man,” the man drug out his words, they rang in your ears even from a distance. 

“It’s not whatever. You don’t talk or touch women like that. Listen, I feel bad that you’re on the streets… I really do but you’re making it hard for me to sympathize with your situation. Maybe people would help you out more if you weren’t such a jerk.” 

The man stared at Josh, not saying anything. Josh walked back to you, grabbing your hand, “C’mon Y/N. Let’s just go home.” 

You were fine with that, at this point a smoothie didn’t even sound appetizing. You were nauseous, cold and hot simultaneously, and still shaking. The whole ride home you stared blankly out the windshield. Josh glanced at you every now and then checking your emotional status on your face. He left his hand on the console, reminding you he was there if you wanted him. He pulled into his driveway and unbuckles his seatbelt, looking at you. You remained still. 

“We’re home babe,” he said touching you softly, sensitive to your heightened reactions. 

You blinked your eyes slowly as a single tear rolled out, “Y/N, we’re safe now. You’re here with me. I got you,” he unbuckled your seatbelt for you and walked around to your side of the car, picking you up and carrying you inside like a small child. You didn’t like this sense of innocence when what just happened to you wasn’t innocent at all. He got you inside safely and laid you down on the couch, covering each part of your body with a blanket, pulling it up to beneath your chin, kissing you on the forehead. He sat beside you and waited until you fell asleep. 

You woke up a few hours later in a cold sweat, hyperventilating. 

“Hey, hey… I’m here.. what’s the matter?” Josh came to you wiping the damp pieces of hair away from your face, placing his cold hand over your forehead. 

“the man.. he’s back…” you began crying.. hard. 

“Sh, come here. He’s not back, you must have had a nightmare. I’m here. You’re safe, you’re not going to see him again, I called the cops and reported his location while you were asleep,” Josh pulled the blankety off your body noticing the sweat you accumulated on your skin. 

“I feel empty,” your voice shook. 

“I know love.. I know. You’re not, but I know,” he took hold of your hand, rubbing his thumb in circles over your clammy hand. 

He directed your head onto his shoulder where you cried into his shirt, wiping snot on the hem every so often. Josh didn’t even care, he just swung your legs over his lap and let you feel for a while. 

cruciabilis  asked:

“I’m not buying it, you don’t walk into a door and get a bruise like that!”

————–       BRUISED    &    BROKEN   /   accepting   .

❝          ———-          why  do  you  care    ?    ❞       whispered  inquiry    ;    she  turns  her  cheek  to  the  one  less  bruised   .       the  right  half  of  her  face  seems  a  nightmare   ,   plum   -   colored  poppies  coming  into  bloom  ‘neath  her  skin       /       this  lady  lazarus  has  survived  another  day   ,   but  she returns  with  the    battle  scars    to  prove  herself   .       (       this    funeral  pyre’s  flame    has  died  out   ,   replaced  with  something  cooler   .       )       verdant  gaze  focuses  away  from  him   ,   cheeks  reddening  ‘neath  her  already   -   burning  flesh   .       eyes  squeeze  shut   ,   if  only  to  stop  the  saltwater  tears  from  dripping     ;     she  hides  her  sadness  beneath  saccharinety   ,   but  the  roses  in  her  lungs  have  been    choked  out    with  weeds    &    reeds         .  .  .         she  is  the  meaning  of  a  deceased  soul  still  inhabiting  its  body   ,   that  empty  carcass  refusing  to  lie  down   .

ivories  bite  down  onto  lower  layer   ,   a    sharp    intake  of  air  cutting  through  the  silence   .     once  again   ,   she  repeats  her  excuse   .            it  happens   .     doors  are  quite  horrific  things   ,   you  know   .    ❞       this  time   ,   her  words  are  coated  with  something  bitter   ,   syllables  ulvose    &    laced  with  gossamer   .       lies  leave  her  tongue   ,   she  makes  no  movements  to  resort  to  honesty   .            don’t  worry  about  it   .       it  doesn’t  concern  you   .    ❞

Return Part 3

Part 2

Genre: Angst
Words: 2,051
Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Friend!Bucky x Reader
Warnings: Details of injuries
Summary: The Winter Soldier makes an appearance during an innocent sparring.

Originally posted by hatver

The crack that sounded in Steve’s ears was both satisfying an horrifying. His past exhaustion had dissipated and had been replaced by feelings of anger, betrayal, hurt, and most of all- concern. Normally, punching someone would be therapeutic, a projection of stress onto something other than oneself, but in this situation, Bucky had enough stress to handle. And now Steve was just left with a feeling of helplessness.

Bucky took the punch, despite the punishment he was already putting himself through. The look he gave his friend as Sam took hold of Steve’s arms was one of complete and utter regret. As long as Bucky could remember, he had only done one thing: hurt people. With time, he had come to develop a family here at the tower, and with that family came a level of trust. Not only was trust placed in him by the people around him, but he started to trust himself. He was back at ground zero, if not farther down into the ground.

Steve recovered from the outburst, quickly pulling his arms from Sam and looking down at the floor. His mind was racing and all he wanted to do was to tell it to shut up. He was losing control, and God knows that control is the only thing that keeps him sane. But these ropes were too far out of his reach; his girlfriend could be dying on a table because of someone she trusted- someone he trusted. He was losing too many people at once, one of them being himself.

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“I Will Be Your Poem”

When the memory of
All that you loved has faded away
When your mind finds only darkened rooms
I will be that light so you will not be alone

When you forget to smile
I will be your poem.

When the light of
Sunsets no longer hold their color
When rainbows lose their magic
When love has faded to nightmare.

When you lose all hope
I will be your poem.

When the echoes of
Footsteps down well traveled halls
Lose their meaning; when faces pass
Without a nod, a glance, or a simple hello

When you feel you are fading away
I will be your poem.

Let me paint you with the finest ink
Breathe beauty again beneath your skin
I will be your poem
As you have been my soul.

In this parallel, the one where you have ripped my heart out whole, I am a girl with rib-caged flesh and sea salt tears and no amount of puppet strings and “forgive me, I am sorry” texts can hold me up. Here I am broken beyond repair.

But in another parallel I am Joan of arc and an army of one thousand men and though I burn at the stake, teeth seething, bones burning, pyre and all, you cannot kill me. For in another parallel I am alive. I am Athena, or Aphrodite, or Nemain but nonetheless I am a goddess and I am in Eden, spread naked across my throne sipping on blood red wines and the tears of unholy men. I command the angels and they obey without fail.  

In other parallels, I am not a warrior nor a goddess, instead I am a mossy oak tree or the soft skin of your palm. I am the feeling of a first kiss, cherry coke and spit. Or a broken heart, chew me to pieces and then spit me out. The phrase “I love you” and the color lilac. (Sometimes, I am also cloud.)

Other times I am dark and disgusting. A nightmare haunting. Rotten flesh and sour milk. Children yearning for dead mothers, and fathers with bloodied knuckles. I am the sound of bones cracking, and acid rain. A rose’s thorns, smudged eyeliner, bad sex and stained sheets.

I am filthy, I am disgusting, I am a goddess, and I am the the softest skins on fragile palms. I am a myriad of infinite possibilities and I am never going to die.

There is pain in accepting that the country you  thought would save you from your homeland doesn’t want you. There is trauma in realizing that you are not wanted here, that your accent doesn’t make you special, that you are subject to violence based on the color of your skin in a nation that was supposed to be your promised land. We don’t want to believe that our blackness turns the American dream into a nightmare – that our bodies are the monsters
—  Hannah Giorgis (African immigrants must be Ferguson strong: we are black, and we’re targets) 

There are stones in between my ribs
and needles at the soles of my feet
but I will keep walking.

Breathing is harder some days
but laughing feels better than ever.

Falling asleep hurts my head
but once I do fall,
I fly.

I used to have dark nightmares
about lips
about kisses and lies
that would decorate my skin
and nibble at my ear–
now my dreams are silent
now the color comes back
in waves,
but strong.

There are echoes in my arteries
I feel them pulse through my heart
down to my toe tips
but today,
and tomorrow,
they are no longer
your name.

Cure for Nightmares

Now I don’t really know how this whole beginning thing is supposed to work, but I’ll do my best to get all the info you need before reading. This is also unedited because I do not have an editor anymore so I’m very sorry.

Pairings: Dean!Reader
Warnings: smut, oral (giving and receiving),swearing, masturbation, unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it kids or you’ll end up like me. Pregoooo)…I thiiiink that’s it, let me know if theres more in there that I’m missing.


You haven’t slept very well. Not since Dean had gone to hell. Watching him being ripped apart like that, watching his life die in his eyes as he looked up at you. Yes, many years have passed since then, and has been saved thanks to the angel Castiel. As much as you would have liked to stop them, there wasn’t much you could do but walk the halls until it was morning.

You walked to the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. You were wearing what you always wore at night. A pair of black short shorts, and a loose black V neck that had been cut in half, leaving your stomach exposed. Y/H/L, Y/H/C hair tucked behind your ears. Your Y/E/C eyes were dull instead of their normal bright color, and your skin was pale. Your lips were ghostly white as they quivered. You turn the facet on and splash cold water on your face, hissing as it hit your burning skin. you dry my face with a towel and shut the water off. You exit the bathroom and make your way to the kitchen, like you normally do. Only this time, you thought you would make a cherry pie, being Dean’s favorite. You smile at the thought of him. Even though he was the center of all your nightmares, you still had a soft spot for the older Winchester.

As you passed the boys rooms, you noticed that Dean’s door was ajar just the slightest bit. You cock your head to the side as you heard your name being whispered from within the room. You walk towards it and push it open a little more and peaking your head in. Your face heats up as you see what’s happening. Dean was completely naked, his ass almost off the side of the bed. His head back, and moans coming from his slightly parted lips. His dominate hand pumping up and down over his shaft while his other hand kneaded his balls gently. Your names escapes his lips again as he lifts his hips off the bed slightly, making a wave of pleasure flow you. Dean Winchester. The womanizer. Is fantasizing about you as he gets himself off. Feeling a wave of confidence, you open the door more, thanking god that the door doesn’t squeak, and closed the door quietly behind you. You quietly walk to the bed where his knees were, open and shaking slightly. You kneel down in front of his cock and looked up at him. He still had no idea you were there, until you reached out, placing your hands on his thighs, taking the tip of his cock in your mouth. You felt him tense up and stop moving his hands. You suck on the tip while your hands pry his away. You lower your mouth more down his length, taking him fully in my your mouth before you begin the bob your head, your hand following your mouth, while the other fondled his balls like his hands had.

Holy shit, Y/N I didn’t know you were awake-fuck.” His voice was gravely and low, evidence of it not being used all that much in a while. You come off of him with a pop and look up at him. He was staring down at you with wide and confused eyes. You pumped your hand up and down, your saliva acting as lube as his head flew back on the pillow. His Adam’s apple moving as you started to pump faster. He let his hips roll up into your hand, while his own clutched at the sheets at his sides. Feeling he was close by how tense his muscles got, you place your mouth back over him and sucked hard, earning a loud groan before feeling his hot cum hit your tongue. You look up at him and licking around his head, your eyes locking with his, and a hand coming up to wipe at the corners of your mouth. Dean sat up, looking down at you on your knees. He grabs your hands and leads you to straddle his naked waist. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling slightly to give him access to your neck where he left trails of kisses to your collar bone.

“Dean.” you said quietly, your confidence gone. He stopped and looked up into your eyes. You saw worry cross his features as he cupped your cheeks. You didn’t notice you were crying until he wiped them away with his thumbs. “Y/N, I’m not going anywhere. Especially after all that.” you chuckle slightly as you let your shaking hands wrap around his neck.
“What made you do it anyway? Why now?” your eyes flicked between his green ones, not really knowing the answer. One of his hands traveled to the back of yoyr neck, pulling you a little bit closer to him.

“Whatever the reason, I’m glad either way. I thought you would have rejected me.” He spoke softly and closed his eyes, letting his forehead fall on yours. You chuckle softly, feeling less shaky. The noise causing his eyes to open and stare at you. “And I thought you would be the one to reject me. Why would I reject you?” He sucks in a breath before his eyes dart to the side. “Mainly because everyone I get close to dies. That and I’ve basically screwed every woman who would ever let me.” you smiled and crashed your lips onto his for a short kiss. “Well, we’re all going to die someday Dean, and as for all the woman? That only means you know what you’re doing. Remind me to send them thank you cards.” It was his turn to chuckle lightly before kissing you hard and slow. You could feel his cock twitch to life in between you. He pulled away and locked eyes with you.

“What were you doing awake anyway? You still having nightmares?” you had told Dean about your nightmares a few months back. He was walking past your room one night and heard you screaming. you just nod your head and avert your eyes to somewhere behind him. “Well, you know what cures my nightmares?” you look back at Dean, his green eyes glinting with understanding. You just blink at him as a response. He leans in and places a quick kiss on your lips before flipping you on the bed so that you were underneath him. His lips were on you again as he trailed kisses down your neck till he got to the bottom of the V, on your shirt. He reached down and pulled it over your head, throwing it to the side somewhere. He trailed more kisses down your body, while looking up at you.

As soon as he got to the waistband of your shorts, he hooked his fingers under them and started to pull them down, your panties going with them. As soon as you were bare under him, he pushed your thighs apart and let out a groan. “Already dripping. Fuck Y/N, all of this because you sucked me off?” Your breath caught in your throat as he licked right up your folds. You let your head fall back against the bed, waves of pleasure taking over you as he sucked and nipped lightly at your clit. His hands were rubbing up and down your inner thighs, before one hand trailed to your sex and inserting two fingers. Your hands go down to grip at the short hairs on his head as you let out a breathless moan. He was pumping and curling his fingers, hitting that sweet spot every time. Before you could catch your breath, you were screaming his name as an orgasm hit you hard. You clenched around his fingers, earning a moan from Dean.

Dean crawls up your body, leaning down and kissing you hard on the mouth. As your tongues intertwined, you could faintly taste yourself on him, making yyou moan. You reach down and grab his cock and start pumping it again. He pulled back with a moan and shuddered above you. His eyes were still closed, and his eyebrows knitted together. you started to pull Dean to your entrance when he stiffened and stopped you with his hand. “W-wait, wait. Y/N, let me get a condom.” You squeezed his cock the slightest bit, earning a shuttered breath before he looked down at You. “I want to feel you Dean, all of you. Just please, Dean.” He searched your face for any uncertainty. Like you were going to regret your decision as soon as it’s finished. you reach up and cup his face, pulling him down for a kiss. He relaxes and enters you, making you both pull back slightly and moan.

“Oh fuck, you feel so good.” He started to move slowly, his head leaning in the crook of your neck. He left trails of kisses and bites down to your collar bone, where he sucked and nipped, obviously meaning to leave a mark. “Dean.” you moan out, clutching his tense shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. “M-move faster.” It was like your words made something click inside him. He shifted your position, your legs were securely wrapped around his arms and he pounded into you with such force you had to place your hands on the headboard to keep your head from smacking into it. He moved the slightest bit and hit that spot again, making a loud moan escape you. He leaned in and kissed you again. It was all a mess, teeth clashed, saliva connecting, and before you knew it, all you were doing was letting your lips brush as he slammed into you over and over, bringing you closer and closer. “D-Dean I’m gonna-“

“Cum for me Y/N.” That’s all it took to send you over the edge. your head flew back as your back arched as much as it could off the bed, letting out a scream of his name as a second orgasm hit. You clenched around Dean, making him moan your name in your throat as he came himself. He shot his hot seed inside you as he gave short thrusts before pulling out and rolling on his back. You both laid there, breathing heavy and replaying what had just happened.

“Did we just-“He went to ask. “Have sex?” you finished for him, looking over at him to see he was already staring at you. “I mean, did we just have sex without a condom, because I’ve never done that before.” you moved so that you could lay your head on his chest. You could hear his heart beat fast, not seeming to let up.

“We did, but I don’t regret it. It was exactly what I needed. Thank you Dean.” your eyes were getting heavy. Dean sat up and grabbed the blankets that he had pushed to the end of the bed and pulled you back on him, bringing the blanket over the both of you. He wrapped his arms around you and rubbed your stomach. “What if I got you pregnant? With us being hunters, we put our life on the line every day, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt and lose it, or god forbid you die.” You let out a sigh and moved so that You was laying on top of him. Your legs tangled together as he tightened his grip on you. You looked up at him, seeing the worry cross his face. You smile at him and lean up so you could place a short kiss on his swollen lips.

“Well if I am, then I know you would do everything in your power to keep us safe. I don’t have to worry about anything.” You kissed him quickly again before laying your head in the crook of his neck and closing your eyes. The sound of him breathing and his strong arms around you protectively, lulled you to a nightmare-less sleep for the first time in a long time.

anonymous asked:

I need the next part of knock knock knock like I need oxygen 😱😱😱

Oh, no!  Breathe, my child!  Breathe!  Haha, here is your Part 8, comin’ ‘atcha! downtonabb3y, I hope you enjoy it as well!

(Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Epilogue)

The next few weeks were long.  Long and arduous.  Your stitches itched from healing, your thumbs were sore from the breaking, your bruises got more tender before they got better, and your appetite was pretty much nonexistent because of the nightmares.  You couldn’t get his face out of your head, and every time you woke up you just laid in bed, helpless.  Spencer was doing so much, cooking and cleaning and helping you up and down and in and out, not to mention he was getting good at the not-so-note-worthy things, such as wiping you down without looking after toilet visits and washing your body in a bath without needing to see what he was doing.  He was as respectful as possible without commenting on anything that he did see, because he knew it would embarrass you and another fight would drum up again.

But finally, there was a break in the insanity of your daily lives.

One night you woke up from a particularly startling nightmare, and as your eyes flew open and you tried to catch your breath, you sat straight up in bed.

On.  Your.  Own.

Gawking at your own feat, you slowly scoot your legs over to the side of the bed and attempt to get up.  Standing to your feet, you wobble over to the bathroom and take a look in the mirror.  Bruises mostly faded, stitches dissolved, yellowish skin retrieving color, your eyes misted over.

You finally had your independence back.

And maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have to tell Spencer about the crippling nightmares.

After all, he deserved some relief as well.


Sitting in the doctor’s office, Spencer at your side, he begins to take a look at your hands.  The last time you were here, he took off your cast and put you in braces, citing that they needed a bit more healing time before he was comfortable with you rehabilitating them.  As the doctor pressed and inspected, you winced every now and then, growing frustrated because they still hurt.

As Spencer looks on anxiously, the doctor says, “On a scale of 1-10, how much is the pain when I press in these areas?”

Sighing, you say, “Anywhere from a 3 to a 5, but nothing tear-worthy.  It’s mostly how bad the pinch is before it dissipates into nothing.”

As the doctor nods and continues inspecting, you wish he would just say it.  You wish he would just say, “You’ll be crippled forever and this poor man over here will be destined to forever change your diaper like the big child you are.”

But instead, he looked from you to Spencer, and and he says, “Your everyday tasks are going to be very hard at first, so don’t get disappointed.  If you urge yourself to try to continue as normal, your thumbs will strengthen again on their own, and no physical therapy will be necessary.”

Concerned you hadn’t heard him right, you look over to Spencer, who is beaming at you with tears cresting the corners of his eyes.  You know he has to be as relieved as you.  After all, wiping poop from a grown woman’s body after a while has to get old and tedious.

Slowly turning back towards the doctor, you throw your arms around him.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him.

And as the doctor chuckles, he wraps his arms around you and rubs your back.  “You are so very welcome,” he replies.


You were ready to get back to the house.  There were so many things you wanted to do: open the pickle jar, start a new crochet project, cook dinner for them both tonight.  You were practically clawing your way out of the car when you pulled up the driveway, and as Spencer laughs at you, you bound up the driveway, throw open the door, and throw your arms out to your sides.

“I’m freeeeeeee!” you scream, twirling around in the middle of the living room.

Spencer comes in behind you, crossing his arms and leaning onto the door frame, his smile beaming from ear to ear.

Looking over at him, you put your arms down and furrow your brow.  “What?”

Pushing himself off of the frame, he walks slowly towards you, wrapping his arm around your waist and meeting your gaze ever so slowly.  “It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you truly smile.  And I’ve missed it.”

Sighing, you dip your forehead against his chin, where you feel a light, yet warming, kiss.  “I know this wasn’t easy for you…seeing parts of me and doing things to me that…that you never…”

As your eyes burned with tears of embarrassment, you realized that you were still ashamed of some of the things he had to do.  You had wanted your body to be a playground to him…and cavernous exploration of mysteries and wonders.  But instead, it had turned in to a blobbing sack of skin that he had had to haul around and take care of for the past 9 weeks.

Tears streaming down your face, he takes his thumb and wipes them away.  “Please don’t cry,” he pleads.  “Please, this is such a happy occasion.  Please don’t take that smile away from me.”

Ripping yourself away from him, you walk over to the corner and stare out the window.  You were so angry at yourself.  Angry for not being strong enough, or fast enough, or smart enough to get away from that psychopath.  You blamed him for everything he had taken: your safety, your sleep, your mystery…

Trailing off into thought, Spencer slowly walks over and puts his hand on your shoulder.

Jumping at the sudden contact, you whirl around and look at him with wide eyes before your body settles down.  As Spencer looks at you, a worried expression filling the crevices of his face, he takes your hand and starts to rub the top of it with his palm.

“I-” he stops.

Squeezing his hand, you urge him to continue.  You know exactly what he is going to say, but you needed him to say it.  You needed to know, that out of everything that had changed, he could still freely talk to you.

“I think that maybe…”

He pulls you close and kisses the top of your head, and as you wrap your arms around his body, you feel his warm tears mat down the hair on your head.

“I think we should find you someone to talk to,” he whispers.

And you shudder.  Because you know he is right.


You both take to the internet.  It wasn’t often that you both used it, but in this case some of the best professionals in the area advertised themselves this way now.

Flipping thru names and numbers and reading reviews, the two of you finally settle on a number to call.

As Spencer picks up the phone, you put your hand on his and slowly take it from him.

“It’s about high time I took care of myself,” you look at Spencer, a weary expression on your face.

As he slowly hands you the phone, you look at the number to make sure you dial it right.  After a couple of rings, a perky receptionist picks up.

“Corner to Corner, this is Dianna speaking, how may I assist you?”

“Uh…yes.  My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N, and I was looking to book an appointment with,” you glance at the screen to make sure you have the right name, “Miss Emma Winehart.”

“Oh yes, let me check her schedule.”

As you hear clicking in the background, you watch Spencer as he shuffles upstairs into his bedroom.  You assume that he is going to bed.  After all, the darkness around his eyes gets much darker when he is tired, and the darkness was all but swallowing them.

“Yes, I have a consultation appointment for tomorrow at 1:30.  Now, if you want to do the consultation and your first appointment in the same day, you will need a 2 hour appointment, which won’t be scheduled until next week.”

Weighing your options, you decide that some much needed time away from here would be very useful, so you speak up.

“The 2 hour appointment next week would be just fine.”

“Alright,” you hear the receptionist draw out.  “Let me get some insurance numbers and basic information from you, ok?”

And as she starts to rattles off questions and request information, you begin to have a sense of relaxation, letting you know that, above all of your fears throughout this entire process, that this is the right decision.

Whether you enjoy it or not.


Setting the phone down, you look around for Spencer.  You write your appointment date and time on a piece of paper and stick it on the fridge, and slowly meander up the stairs towards Spencer’s room.  Finding the door shut, you press your ear up against it.

Hearing nothing, you slowly reach out and turn the knob, as softly as you can, in hopes that if he is asleep, that you do not wake him.

When the door loosens up with a thud, you swing it open, only to reveal darkness.  Feeling that all too familiar hitch in your throat, you stick your hand in to switch on the light.  And there is Spencer, body flopped down onto the bed, over the covers, still in his clothes, lightly snoring his way into a peaceful sleep.

Chuckling low to yourself, you walk over and start to take his shoes off.  You remove his socks, mismatched as they were, and you lay them over his shoes in the corner.  You slowly flip him over, his body never moving, and undo his vest.  Slipping it off of his frame, you pick up his torso so that you can slip his slightly baggy button-up shirt over his head.  Furrowing your brow, you look towards his khakis.

Weighing your options, you decide that they are going to be too restrictive.  After all, he did wear his pants a bit tight anyway, so you unbuckle the belt and undo the zipper.

But before you could completely slide his pants off, he shifts and opens one eye.

“Well, hello there, little miss feisty.”

Feeling your cheeks burn, you whip your head up.  “No no!  I was just…trying to make you more comfortable and make sure your clothes didn’t wrinkle.  I know you have to be exhausted from taking care of me and doing asinine things like tucking me in and feeding me and cooking for me and you need your rest, and it’s going to be alright now bc I have an appointment to help with my nightmares and you don’t have to take care of me like a child anymore and-”

Spencer holds his hand up to stop your rambling.  “Nightmares?”

As your jaw drops to the floor, you take your hands off of his pants, half dangling off of his body, and dash for the door.  But you have always underestimated your Spencer, and before you can get to the door, he grabs your wrist and slams the door shut.

“Don’t shut me out.  After all that has happened…after all we have been thru.  Don’t do this now.”

Feeling your body start to shake, you look down at your feet, shuffling from foot to foot.

“How long have they been happening?” Spencer asks.

“Um…” you try to delay your answer, knowing that it’s going to kill him to know.

But Spencer knows you too well, and as his voice starts to shake, he bends down to catch your gaze.  “This whole time, Y/N?”

As you slowly nod your head, he pulls you in close to his practically naked body.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he begs.

“Because you were already doing so much, and you needed all the rest you could muster.  I was alright, I swear.”

Pulling you back, he leans forwards and looks straight into your eyes.  “I would have, and will continue to do, anything that I can, and that I need to, for you.  You are…” he trails off.

And then suddenly, without notice, you crash your lips into his.  No warning, no preparation, no signal.  Just desperate need.

You feel Spencer slip am arm around your waist, tugging you off of your feet, while the other makes it way to the back of your neck, supporting it thru the ferocity he adds to your lips.  Feeling your bodies meld together, you wrap your legs around his waist as you feel him turn you towards the bed.

Slowly lowering you down onto the bed, Spencer breaks hold and looks you in your eyes.

“You are my Y/N,” he says, tracing the outline of your jaw with his finger, “…and I love you.”

Your body finally gives way.  It gives way to all the fears, and feelings, and pent-up emotions it has been harboring for weeks, and as you lean up again, pressing your lips against Spencer’s, you use your feet to slide his boxers down to the floor.

With Spencer’s breath growing ragged, he slips his hand under your shirt, fiddling with the button of your pants.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Oh, Spencer,” you sigh, realizing that, even in this heated moment of passion, your well-being is still important.

And as you grab his face and slowly bring it closer to yours, you kiss the top of his forehead and smile.

“Make me yours,” you whisper.

when reality is her (and nightmares are separate)

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Set after the Christmas Special. Things are calm.

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thaliacelou  asked:

20. with Matt Murdock? Thank you♥

You’re transfixed by Matt’s eyes.

His blindness doesn’t change the way you find yourself losing yourself in the muted hazel colors, the way the skin surrounding them still crinkles as he laughs. The gentle brush of his thick eyelashes against your neck as he traces lips delicately across the skin there. The way they still open wide when he bolts awake in a cold sweat from a nightmare, when you take him in your arms and sing until you watch his tired eyelids close shut again.

You love that he doesn’t need his eyes to see you.

Expressions of attraction and admiration are shown in different ways. The touch of his rough hands raking over your hips as he pulls you in flush against him. His teeth sucking bruises onto your breasts while he traces his nails between your thighs or kneads at your ass. The soft smile that grows on his face as you guide his hands over the fabric of your new sundress. The tenderness in his gentle caresses, running fingers through your hair and quiet murmurs of how beautiful you are. The way he grins into your kisses, reveling in each one and wondering how he got so lucky.

He may not be able to see, but Matt always makes sure that you’re able to see how much he adores you.