embracing nightmares

Stan Twins Headcanon

Okay, so I’ve been talking about this with @artsymeeshee and sharing our love of platonic bonding between Stan and Ford, and I loved this headcanon so much that I just had to share it one here for everyone to see!


Headcanon that Ford has nightmares not just about the portal or Bill, but also about Stan.

Headcanon that Ford would wake up after each one, sometimes in his bed and sometimes on his desk with a piece of paper stuck to his cheek, and he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until he sees Stan safe and sound in bed.

Headcanon that Ford doesn’t tell Stan what these nightmares are about, thinking that he was just being paranoid and overprotective. But no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it’s nothing, years of paranoia don’t go away that instantly.

Headcanon that Stan would notice how distracted Ford is the morning after one of these nightmares, and he seems to brush off Stan’s concerns quite quickly. Too quickly…But, he doesn’t press Ford for answers, and it doesn’t really affect their life or their relationship. After all, it’s not the first time they had nightmares they didn’t want to share just yet.

Headcanon that one day while they’re in port, Stan offers to pick up some supplies on his own. Ford, busy examining some ink from the Kraken they caught the other day, says “Yeah, okay.”, not entirely paying attention and seeing Stan out on his own as no big deal. They could both sometimes use some time by themselves, and they respect that.

Headcanon that after an hour has passed, Ford thinks Stan is taking a while to come back, but thinks nothing off it, and continues writing down the discoveries of the Kraken ink in his journal.

Headcanon that after two hours, Ford had long finished his research, and Stan still wasn’t back yet. It doesn’t take this long to get supplies, does it?

Headcanon that Ford gets more and more nervous with every passing minute. He paces the cabin, trying to not think about all the scenarios his brain is coming up with. What if someone from Stan’s time on the streets recognised him? What if someone picked a fight with Stan? What if he’s in danger right now? What if he had a memory lapse and he wasn’t there to ground him? All the memories of his nightmares come back to him all at once, and his paranoia is own worst enemy once again. He’s half tempted to “drop” something overboard just so he can have an excuse to leave the boat and look for him.

Headcanon that Ford tells himself to stop worrying. Of course Stan is fine. He’s a grown man, and he can take care of himself; you’re just being too protective and paranoid.

Headcanon that right when Ford is about to cave into his instincts and look for Stan, he hears footsteps on the deck and a voice. Stan’s voice. He finally enters the cabin with supplies in hand, saying “Ford, I’m back! Sorry I took so long. Fishing season is kicking in and everywhere is packed! And er…I may have taken some bait from another sucker’s basket. Which reminds me, I’m out of smoke bombs.”

Headcanon that Ford is barely even paying attention to the things that Stan is saying. He’s too busy thinking It’s Stan he’s here he’s himself he’s safe he’s safe thank goodness he’s safe he didn’t get hurt. He lets the relief overtake him, and without a second thought, he darts over to Stan and bundles him up in a huge hug.

Headcanon that Stan is startled at Ford’s behaviour. Was he really gone that long? But, he returns Ford’s hug and says “Good to see you too, Sixer.”

Headcanon that while embracing Stan, all those nightmares and fears and paranoid thoughts come crashing down onto him because this moment has proven to him that yes, Stan is here, Stan is safe and they are still together on the Stan O’War II. And upon hearing that childhood nickname, Ford is completely overcome and ends up breaking down in Stan’s arms. He finally confesses to Stan about the nightmares he’s had about Stan, about how he could be taken away and he could get hurt without Ford being there to protect him and he couldn’t lose him, not again, and every time Stan is out of his sight, he’s so scared that it’ll be the last time he sees him.

Headcanon that Stan, alarmed, immediately tries to comfort him, because it absolutely kills him to see his brave and strong big brother so terrified. Stan confides that he feels that way about Ford, too. That sometimes, he thinks he’ll wake up and realise that all this has been a dream, and Ford is still trapped in another dimension or they’re still fighting or still saving the world from Weirdmageddon. But, just seeing Ford every day helps remind him that this is real, and this is them living out their dream. He pulls Ford away, grabs him by the shoulders, looks him right in his eyes, and says “You’re not going to lose me, Ford. Not if I can help it. And if something does happen, well… You know I’ve got your back, and I know you’ve got mine. There’s nothing that can stop the Pines Twins. Wherever we go…”

“We go together.” Ford finishes, finally reassured.

Headcanon that Ford still has his protective moments, and so does Stan, but they both know that this is real.

But that doesn’t stop Ford from getting them both cell phones the next time they’re in port.


Aaaaaaand…that’s the end of that! Wow, that was a long one! But I just love moments like these between Stan and Ford so much! Who’s with me?!

3

Imagine: 

Comforting Zach Mitchell after he has nightmares about his time at Jurassic World.

••• Requested by Anon •••

It was well past midnight when you heard the knock at your window. Out of shock, you had dropped your phone. Scrabbling for it before it hit the floor, you practically fell out of your bed in the process. 

Once you had it, you peeked over your mattress and over to the window. Your eyes widened when you saw just who had decided to give you such a late visit.

“Zach!” You said in a hushed whisper. Unwrapping yourself from the sheets, you quickly made your way across our bedroom before opening the window and letting him inside. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You didn’t get an answer when he clambered into your room. Instead, you found yourself being enveloped into his arms, pulled impossibly close. 

“As nice as this is, I’d like to know why you’re here.” You huffed against his shoulder, returning his embrace.

“Nightmares.” He told you.

“Oh.” 

Alright.

I’m really happy for Dan though. Like, mostly since 2009, Dan had done things and said things based off what the media had expected of him. Or how he thought he should be to make more people like him. But over the past few recent years (2015-2017), he’s been learning to be more acceptable of himself?

He wears new things like ripped jeans, paints his nails when he feels inspired because it’s therapeutic and calming. Wearing things like the jat™ and even leggings. He let’s his hair curl (and good god, I know exactly how he feels about curly hair I can’t stand mine I think it looks really bad most days) and says what he feels (within reason) like giving Phil genuine compliments, even if he does sometime make fake gagging noises afterwards, but sometimes he actually doesn’t and genuinely means it. He’s not as closed off as he used to be and though he may always be “danisnotonfire” to youtube and most of his subscriber count now, he finally admitted he doesn’t really like it (though has he ever?) and would much rather go by the name he was given, but never liked because it was “too formal.”

I’m happy because he’s finally being happier about himself and who he is as a person. It takes a while to find yourself and know who you really are, and Dan has finally done it. He knows who he is and who he wants to be, and he was finally ready to let us know that. It might have taken him 25 (almost 26) years to know himself, but now that he does, he’s ready to embrace it. He’s ready to embrace 2009 Dan’s nightmares, because he’s grown and learned, which are two great things anyone could do in life. I’m happy and proud of him today. He did good :)

king | m

Originally posted by jinful

◇ You help your mate de-stress.

◇ Kris x reader

◇ vampire!au

◇ step 1 to stepping away from the flaming submissive inside of me,,,

•••

When your eyes flutter open and you’re met by the darkness of your room, you know exactly what has happened.

The mate bond allows you to sense when your mate is distressed or hurt, and with the recent occurence of nightmares, you know that he’s awake, too.

You sit up, stretching your arms over your head with a small yawn - and sure enough, there he is. He’s sitting up on the side of the bed, his broad back illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp on your bedside table. It takes you mere seconds to clamber over to him, a soft hum escaping your lips as you wind your arms around his shoulders, feeling him practically melt into your touch.

As the leader of the largest vampire clan in China, Yifan had a lot of weight on his shoulders. He had previously been in a clan in Korea, but after the tragic death of his father, he had inherited the whole empire in a matter of minutes - and, primary to what others had thought when he first came to power, he was doing excellent as the leader.

But Yifan had seen a lot - things others would never have to see, things others should never see, and no matter how strong his physical health was, without you, his mental physique would crumble.

“Are you okay, my love?” You murmur softly, your voice sounding too loud in the silence of your room. Nevertheless, you press a few kisses against his shoulder, smoothing your hands over the warm skin as he inhales deeply, rolling his neck.

“The usual,” he mutters after moments of silence, the familiar deep baritone of his voice making you tighten your embrace on him. “Nightmares…”

“Mei said that they were stress induced,” you murmur back, removing your arms from around him despite the desperate hand that tries to keep you from moving - you begin to press your hands against his shoulders instead, massaging the muscle beneath your fingertips. He lets out a blissed sigh, and you see his eyes flutter close. “I’ll get her to make a dreamless sleep potion for you as soon as possible…”

“There’s no need.”

As if a switch has been flipped, Yifan is quick to refuse, suddenly standing and beginning to pace. You’ve seen this before - he always does this. He doesn’t like asking for help. He believes that the leader of the most powerful clan in China shouldn’t need to ask for help - a fact that you’ve denied multiple times, but he’s stubborn. “They’ll go away - I’m sure of it.”

“You said that last time,” you argue, turning the dimness settings on the light up, the room blanketed in a stronger yellow glow. “And the time before that, and the time before that-”

You climb off the bed easily, your feet padding against the carpeted floor as you stop in front of him, holding his face in your hands gently. “Why won’t you let me help you?” You whisper in confusion, “We - we’re mates. This is my job-”

“And my job is to rule my clan,” his jaw is clenched tight, but you know he’s not angry at you from the way his large hand covers your own gently, engulfing you in warmth. “And I can’t do that if people doubt my mental health.”

“Then let me help!” You exclaim quietly, drawing closer to his face, the air between you tense and silent. “Let me help you feel better - let me take away your stress.”

Yifan’s eyes are darkening before you realise what implications lay in what you just said, but before you can take them back, he’s inches away from you, looming over your form. “What exactly do you plan to do?” His voice is almost a growl, dark and gravelly and you know that he sees the way you’re rubbing your thighs together when his eyebrows furrow even more.

And you know that with the amount of stress and anger cultivated in his body you’re fueling the fire when you narrow your eyes, squaring your shoulders and staring him straight in the eyes. “Whatever it takes.”

In seconds, he’s pinning you against the wall. The supernatural speed almost winds you, but you’re a bit more used to it now, and barely have time to react before he’s clenching his jaw, holding eye contact with you and almost refusing to break it. Yifan’s large hands pin your own to the wall behind you, and despite the vulnerable position you refuse to back down, staring him square in the eyes.

“You shouldn’t have said that, _____,” Yifan inhales suddenly, bending his head to nuzzle into your neck. Unconsciously, you straighten your neck with a fond sigh, allowing him more access to the skin that he more than often had his eyes focused on. You can only sense how his eyes darken in possession as he spots the two incisions he made just days earlier, the mark of intimacy making a low growl rise from his chest. “I don’t want to hurt you, my love.”

“Lucky for you,” you respond, a breathy laugh of amusement at his eagerness filling the air as you feel his lips nibble against your skin - you know there’s going to be a bruise, but if there was one thing you loved, it was being able to see the marks he made on you. “I’m not porcelain. I won’t break.”

“You know how strong I can get,” he continues, but his actions betray his words, because he’s grasping you by your waist and leading you back to the bed with a firm hand. In a display of his inhuman strength, he manages to pluck you up like you were a feather, placing you on his lap. The position is comfortingly intimate, and even the feeling of his skin on yours sends you into a frenzy. “I don’t know if I’d be able to control myself at a time like this.”

“I think you’ll fare well enough,” you grin, before you’re grasping his face between your hands, closing the distance between you both. It feels as if it’s been years since you had felt Yifan’s lips on yours, but in reality it’s only been a few days - and even then, that was too long. You only had his profession to blame; late nights and business meetings took up most of his time.

You can feel his breathing become heavier as your hips start to move on top of his, his grip on your hips tightening and untightening with every passing second; you fear for the tiniest fraction of a second that maybe, just maybe, the tension and stress combined with sexual desire will be too much for him - but if Kris is anything, he’s strong, and you realise that as he deepens your kiss even more, one hand rising to grasp the back of your head.

You don’t realise that a whimper has escaped you until his own deep chuckle is filling your ears, and you screw your eyes shut as you break the kiss, burying your face into his shoulder as pleasure thrums through your body, your hips still grinding down into his. It was always so strong, the pleasure, but that was expected of the mate bond.

“_____,” you hear Yifan say through clenched teeth - you pull back to look at him. His eyes have turned a pitch black colour, and his fangs are pressing into his bottom lip. He’s almost lost control, and his voice is almost unrecognizableas he grunts, “I need you now, my love.”

You refrain from making some sort of cheeky comment on his lack of self control - I thought you’d be fine, Yifan, but it seems as if you’re back to being a pubescent vampling - but, even though you’d never admit it, you were equally as eager. It only takes a few seconds to shed your thin nightgown, and his briefs, before you’re climbing back onto his lap fervently, your bare skin making contact and making you keen into his neck.

You can barely remember when he snaked his hand down in between you to grasp his cock, brushing it over your weeping entrance before allowing gravity to do the rest; all you know is that you sink down, taking his whole length, and your limbs feel almost weak from pleasure.

Raising and lowering your hips, you begin a steady pace that has your mate almost writhing underneath you. His hands roam your body, almost too dazed with pleasure to fix them in any one place, and the feeling of his nails digging into the skin of your ass makes you whine.

And your hands roam his body, skimming over the beautifully tanned skin of his broad shoulders, eyes tracing over every familiar scar and birthmark that you had seen hundreds of times. An unintended glance at his face has your face flushing with warmth - his eyes, dark with murky blackness, half lidded and intense, already watching you as you take him in, over and over again, lewd sounds echoing throughout the silence of the room-

“Yifan,” your chest feels tight, in such a deliciously painful way that makes your toes curl, only adding to the furiously approaching orgasm materialising in your stomach. Your breaths are short, your body buzzing pleasurably and almost becoming overtaken by pulsing whiteness, “I - Oh, my God-”

It erupts from your stomach, travelling every which way and leaving you speechless. Your strong orgasm trembles down to your toes, your muscles clenching and unclenching as shivers rocket your body. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and even through the misty haze of your orgasm, you can sense that Yifan is close.

He’s grunting with every bounce of you on his lap, and his hands have finally found a place on your ass, guiding you to continue your pace as his own orgasm draws nearer. And the there’s one, two, three thrusts, and he suddenly pulls you closer to him, and in a flash you feel his teeth prick your neck like they had millions of times before.

You can feel him twitching inside you, his cum painting your walls with white as your blood stains his mouth red. The pleasurable buzz continues on, dimming to a light feeling in your stomach as he lets out a tired sigh, removing his teeth from inside you.

Fatigue taking over your body, you collapse forward onto his shoulder, your only support his arms wrapped around your form as he licks tenderly at the fresh bite marks. They’d be healed in a few hours, anyway, but nothing could go to waste.

A weak moan escapes you as you’re lifted off of him, and you quickly grab a towel from the bedside table to clean yourself off, laying back down on the luxurious sheets that you had just sullied. He collapses beside you with a groan, and you’re glad to see that his limbs are no longer tight with stress and tension - rather, a sated smile rests on his lips, and his usually furrowed eyebrows ease up.

That was my goal, anyway, you smile lightly as you feel his arms pulling you closer, as if nothing had happened. And it’s almost as nothing has happened - the room is silent, the night is still dark, but the only difference is that the atmosphere is much more loving and stress free than it had been earlier. And that’s all you want for him.

You knew there would be many nights like this again, and the only thing you could do was be there for him when he needed you. After all, every king needed a queen by his side.

And with that last thought, you drift off to sleep with your king by your side.

He holds her to him as they watch the sunrise - the coincidental symbol of a new start, a new beginning for both them and the Inquisition.

“I love you,” she whispers into his neck from where her head rests against his overcoat, and his heart flips, the same way it always does when he hears those words from her lips.

The Commander and his Inquisitor, brought together by chance but bound by fate. Such a synopsis should be the work of a person like Varric - and yet, it feels so real all the same.

As Cullen angles his head downward and presses his lips to the vallaslin elegantly curling along her forehead, Arian stares up at him - and just the look of pure happiness and love in her indigo eyes is enough for his breath to cease completely.

It’s in that moment - he knows.

He wants to spend every day at her side, wants to wake up with her every morning and kiss every inch of her rosy skin. He wants to fall asleep with her every night, her body safe in the security of his embrace, her nightmares chased away by the sound and vibration of his breathing.

He wants to marry her.

He wants to be her husband, her partner, her soulmate - for the rest of eternity. He can’t imagine anything else.

It’s then he begins planning on how he’ll ask - a smile arising on his scarred lips as he considers every possible scenario.

“What are you grinning at?” his lover asks as she flashes a smile just for him, and he captures it with his own, the soft movement of their lips entwining leaving the couple in utter bliss.

“Everything.”

nerdgirl453  asked:

Ooh! How about one night in the Lodging House, Crutchie wakes up to the reader having a nightmare, and so he wakes them up and comforts them and stays with them until they go back to sleep? Maybe he falls asleep holding their hand or just sitting beside them, and so it's cute in the morning?

(i love this request omg glad i got to it)

Silky wind slips in through the wide-open window of the lodging house and goosebumps bloom on your skin, heart mercilessly thwacking in your ribcage, cold sweat all over. Better stay quiet, better settle down, or someone might wake up from all the ruckus. You hope you didn’t yell at all tonight, and you thank God most of the newsies sleep like bricks. Your throat wells up as you try to swallow your panic, and a small hiccup of a cry escapes, tears clouding your vision. There’s a rustle on the nearby bunk as Crutchie pushes him abdomen up, one eye open with a drawn-out yawn as his blanket slips off. “(Name), you aight?”

You open your mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a small squeak as you try to push down any crying. You clap your hands over your mouth with a heated rush, knees pulled to your chest, and Crutchie swings his legs over the side of the bunk, finding support on the wall and hefting himself onto the cot next to you. He’s so incredibly warm and still, and his body so close to yours is an engulfing, sudden peace. You sniffle, nestling your head into his flanneled chest, reply muffled: “N’don’t wanna be a pansy, Crutch.”

His chin settles onto the top of your head, your curves matching perfectly as you shake in his embrace. “…‘Nother nightmare?” All you can do is grip his upper arm and squeeze it as a silent, pitiful yes. God, you forgot how muscled his arms are from years of pulling that leg around and living on the street. “I gotcha, I gotcha. Just close your eyes.”

You’re not sure how much time passes as the wispy clouds move past the frame of your window, gripping onto Crutchie for dear life. He knows how capable you are, just as all your newsie brothers do, but he’s one of the few you’ve told about your night terrors. It’s an incredible vulnerability, but Crutchie is so…safe. Sanguine. He smells like dust and pine, and everything you could get used to.

Rolling onto your back, he lowers himself with you back onto the quilt in silent understanding. You sigh, shuddering, sliding your arm further around his abdomen. “Sorry I got tear marks on your shirt.”

He laughs softly, planting a gentle kiss on the back of your head. Your toes are buzzing now, and you settle further into him, feeling his grip tighten as well. “It’s really nothin’.” The ceiling swims, and you know the slowness of sleep’s beginning to wash over you again. You don’t know what anyone will think of Crutchie and you tangled up in each other once the morning comes, but one of your last thoughts as you fade back into sleep is that you don’t honestly care. The navy night-time is so much less menacing with him here, and there’s nothing more reassuring than feeling the slow in-and-out of Crutchie’s breathing lifting up your arm.

“Aye, Crutch?” You mumble sleepily, your hand searching for his.

He finds it, and gingerly rubs his thumb on your palm, almost nodding off himself. “Yeah?”

Fading dreamily back into the New York dawn, you don’t remember if you told Crutchie what you meant to before the two of you knocked out; but by the way a blissful smile is painted onto his sleeping face, you have a feeling that you did.

Hold Me Tight (Draco X Reader)

Requests are open!!

Warnings:

-Light swearing

-Sleepy Draco that can just make the coldest hearts melt because he’s so cute

The reader is a Slytherin by the way. Enjoy! 

 -Madi

Originally posted by albert-cas

I gasp as I sit up in my bed, frantically gripping the bed sheets while trying to pull myself back into reality. After a minute my eyes adjust to the darkness as I pull back the curtains that surround my bed and stand. 

Everyone around me is sleeping and I can’t decide if the shivers running down my spine are from my feet on the cold floor or the terrifying nightmares that i just endured. My mind is racing and the only person I know I can go to for comfort is my best friend, Draco Malfoy.

My feet softly pad on the floor as I creak open the door to Draco’s door and slip in. Crabbe and Goyle are both snoring loudly and I notice that Draco is the only one with his curtains pulled closed. I’m about to pull them open when I spot Blaise out of the corner of my eye. He shifts in his sleep and my heart races in panic but I calm myself down when he doesn’t move anymore. 

I open the curtains and let them close behind me as i stand by Draco’s bedside. He’s sleeping peacefully with lips open and sightly pouted and his usually slick hair is messed up and sticking to the pillow. Just seeing him instantly calms me down a bit.

“Draco.” I whisper as I lightly shake his shoulders, attempting to wake him. 

He scrunches up his nose and mumbles incoherently as he rolls over on his side and continues to sleep. Sighing quietly, i shake his shoulders again but a bit harder this time.   

Draco suddenly bolts up and worriedly looks around the room. His tense figure finally relaxes when his eyes settle on me. 

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing?” He asks groggily while rubbing at his eyes tiredly. I open my mouth to respond but the words get caught in my throat and tears begin to stream down my cheeks. Draco’s sleepy features soften as he holds out his arms for me. Sobs shake my entire being as I collapse into his warm embrace.

“Was it a nightmare?” He softly asks as he soothingly rubs my back. I manage to slow the flow of my tears and I slowly nod.

“Is there anything I can do for you sweetheart?” Draco looks down at me worriedly. He always worries too much but I love him for it. His over-protectiveness is what sometimes keeps me safe. I honestly couldn’t ask for a better best friend.

“Just hold me close and don’t let go. Please.” I manage to choke out the words. He nods and lays back with me, my head resting on his chest, his warm arms wrapped around me protectively. With the way I’m laying, my ear is right above his heart and i can listen to his heartbeat perfectly. The sound finally calms me and, after a little while, lures me to sleep.

As I’m drifting off I thought I heard a soft ‘I love you’ but it must have just been another part of a dream.

"I believe you" (Newt)

{Requested by anonymous}

Request/description: Request: newt likes you but you don’t think his feelings are real just because you’re the only girl in the glade

Warnings: None

Word count: 1112

***

He took your hands in his, holding them as if they were fragile things that could be broken.

“Y/N,” Newt says and looks into your eyes. “I’ve liked you for a long time now. Almost since you first came up in that box.”

You smile and shake your head, looking to the ground. You pull your hands away from his and fold your arms. “Newt…” you say hesitantly.

“What is it?” he asks and you can nearly hear the hurt in his voice.

“It’s not me you like. It’s that I’m a girl.”

Newts eyebrows furrow. “You think I like you just because you’re the only girl here?”

You look from your toes to his eyes. You think for a second before nodding slowly.

“Why would you think that?” Newt puts a hand on the back of his neck.

“Because you’re not the first to admit you "like” me, Newt.“

He thinks for a second. He knew what he felt for you was more than just liking your looks. But, you wouldn’t be so easily convinced.

***

It’d been two days since your talk with Newt. You gave a sad smile at his confession of his feelings, but you knew he was just confused. The boys around here always thought they liked you but the next day they wouldn’t say a word to you or give you a second glance.

When Newt finished his work at the Gardens, he immediately headed over to your workspace in the Builders hut. He placed a hand on your arm gently, startling you. You laugh and turn around to face him, forgetting the wooden plank you were sanding.

"Hey, Newt,” you greet him cheerily. “What are you doing over here?”

“I was finished with my work and I noticed you didn’t get to eat anything this morning, so I was wondering if you’d have lunch with me?” Newt ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

You bite your lip and hold back a smile. “You noticed that?”

“Of course I did,” he says back tenderly.

You’re paying attention to your grumbling stomach more than ever now and you glance over at your work behind your shoulder.

“I don’t think I can, Newt. Gally would kill me,” you say and a small frown tugs at your lips.

He lets out a chuckle and he smirks a little. “I’m Second in Command remember? Whatever problem Gally has with it, he can talk to me about.”

You pause for a moment, admiring his smile. “Alright, let’s go.”

Once Newt had gotten your food for you, which he insisted on doing, he sat next to you and you began eating.

Before Newt put the first bite of food to his mouth, he stopped and looked at you for a moment. “You’re very beautiful,” Newt comments.

You choke on your food, cough, and then force it down. “What?” you croak, surprised. “Where did that come from?”

Newt shrugged. “I just thought you should know.” He turned his attention back to his lunch and you blinked in astonishment. No one had ever called you beautiful before that you could remember.

You watched Newt carefully, studying his movements. You thought about all the kindness he’d shown you in the Glade, and not just recently. He’d always been sweet to you, which was different than the other boys. All of the ones that had announced their obvious ‘love’ for you had never really acknowledged your presence before, nor did they now. Newt was definitely different.

But that didn’t mean anything, right?

Just because he was kinder didn’t prove his feelings. He had to just be confused, bored, or lonely. Like everyone else here.

After lunch, you thank him but go back to your work. Gally grumbled the rest of the time about picking up your slack. You just rolled your eyes and pondered more about Newt.

When it was finally time for bed, you dragged your feet to the Homestead, really to collapse. You entered your room and threw off your shoes, making them fly across the room and hit the wall. You changed into some comfier clothes and flopped onto your bed, loving it’s hungry embrace.

***

The nightmares were back, as they were most nights. You couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour when you started thrashing under your blanket and saying and ever growing loud “No”.

Something heavy is laid on you in your sleep and it’s enough to wake you. A retreating form makes their way to the door as the new blanket settles on top of you. Your heart squeezes happily and you didn’t need to ask who’s done this.

“Newt?” you call out into the dark as the boy starts to walk into the hallway. He turns around quickly and comes close enough you could see him.

You prop yourself up on your elbow and a worried look flits across his face. “Did I wake you? I’m so sorry!” he apologizes.

You shake your head and sit up even further. You knew he was here because he heard your nightmares taking their toll on you.

He was the only one to ever check if you were okay, every single time.

“Oh. Well then goodnight, Y/N,” he says quietly and starts his path out the door again.

But you weren’t done. You knew now. You knew for certain that he liked you, and you liked him too.

You push the blankets off your legs and stand quickly, your feet making quick little thudding noises as you rush over to him. He spins around just as you reach him, and you grab the sides of his arms to help steady you both.

“Thank you,” you breathe.

His mouth parts a little in surprise and you take the opportunity to lean closer, your hand now resting on his cheek. You feel your fingertips grip the skin on his cheek lightly and you try to see his eyes in the darkness.

You weren’t sure who moved first. Maybe you both moved at the same time, closing the distance between your lips and adding pounds of reassurance. You could tell that Newt was surprised by your reaction but he wasn’t going to pull away for anything.

Once you did break away though, Newt opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. “It was just a blanket, Y/N,” he says jokingly.

“Ha, ha,” you say sarcastically and smile, wrapping your arms around him. You felt safe, and everything was seemingly perfect.

“So you believe me then?” Newt asks, letting one of his hands rest on the back of your head and the other wind around your shoulders.

“Yes, I believe you, Newt.”

Do You Hate Me?

I was inspired by this post by the awesome sabolus and the equally awesome portggasdace to write something angsty.


Sabo remembers.

He can see the freckled face stretched to a grin in every man he passes, and hear the distinctive shishishi-laugh in every snicker that leaves his companions’ lips.

He doesn’t feel he has the right to forget, nor does he want to. He has done his fair share of forgetting, and now he clings onto the newfound memories like a lifeline, no matter how much they wound him. He embraces the nightmares of his family dying over and over again, of his younger brother screaming insults and accusations in his face while his other brother’s prone body gets colder and colder, the fire quenched but a macabre, yet so serene smile still on his lips nonetheless.

It terrifies him to know that his brothers went through hell without him. It pains him to know his brother died before they had the chance to meet again and he could apologize, set things right. It makes him want to cry to know that his little brother, the one he asked Ace to protect, was alone with his grief after the other had fulfilled his promise and paid for it with his life.

And it disgusts him to know that he should have been there but wasn’t, makes him feel so ashamed and so fucking sorry that it kills him.

He doesn’t know if he could have changed things, but he knows that he should have been there, as well as he knows that the sky is blue and the ocean is wet.

It haunts him to know that maybe, perhaps, possibly he could have served a purpose to save and protect those closest to him, but he didn’t remember - didn’t have the memories that would have made all the difference before it was too late.

What good does training like a madman for a decade do, if you don’t use those skills to protect the ones you love? What merit do his own aspirations for liberty hold when he was unable to break the chains of the one person who deserved all the freedom the world has to offer?

Those thoughts have kept Sabo company from the moment he laid eyes on that newspaper article about the war, his only solace remaining with the knowledge that at least Luffy is safe, he is okay, he is happy.

So when Luffy asks the question he has wanted to ask for two years now, reveals that, despite his energetic exterior he, too, is haunted by the same demons of fear and regret, it breaks Sabo’s heart.

“Sabo… Do you hate me?”

He freezes, his heart pounding and blood rushing in his ears. The question is whispered into a pillow, muffled but not muted, and his brother’s voice is so broken and small that it takes the revolutionary a long time to process the words.

‘No, of course not Lu, I’m sorry, I’m the one to blame, I wasn’t there…’

“I didn’t save him… Do you hate me?” Luffy sniffles in a voice that doesn’t belong to someone close to their twenties.

No, this is the same seven year old boy that used to wake him up after a nightmare with a quivering lip and red rimmed eyes. This is the little brother of Ace and Sabo, not the notorious Straw Hat Luffy, and neither Sabo is the chief of staff of the revolutionary army at that moment, but a big brother in all his heart and soul. 

Why would Luffy ever think like that? He is the one that failed, that left his brothers on their own for all those years, who didn’t remember, who…

Years of self-doubt and anger course through Sabo’s veins like poison, clouding his mind. He stifles a groan. Why would his -sweet, innocent, compassionate, undeserving of all this shit- little brother ever blame himself when he all but lost his life to save Ace?

When he was there and Sabo was… not.

“Sabo?”

His whispered name rips Sabo back into reality. There is no time for speculation, not when Luffy is still sobbing softly into the pillow he is clutching onto with a white-knuckled grip, hard enough to break the fabric. A stray feather lands on Sabo’s hand, and he stares at it for a split-second before his vocal chords remember how to transform his thoughts into actual, audible sounds.

“No, oh Luffy, why would you even think that, no, of course not…” He hurries to answer, and brown eyes swimming with tears meet his own, holding the eye contact for no more than two seconds before Sabo’s arms are occupied with shivering rubber limbs. He holds his brother tight, so close that anyone but his elastic brother would have broken a bone or dozen, and Sabo doesn’t want to let go. Not ever.

“Are… you… sure?” Luffy mumbles through his tears. Sabo wipes them away with his gloved hand and smiles somberly. The younger brother goes limp his arms, his entire form racked with relieved sobs.

“Of course I’m sure, idiot.” He says fondly, and Luffy smiles at him, reassuring his brother without a spoken word that he doesn’t blame Sabo either.

Sabo can hear himself babbling, muttering close to incomprehensible words of reassurance and comfort to his only remaining brother. Tears burn in his eyes, and he lets them fall.

They stay like that for hours, until the Straw Hat’s resident swordsman comes searching for the captain who has apparently missed dinner. And when even the prospect of meat doesn’t make Luffy break the borderline chokehold Sabo has on him, the green haired man merely smiles and nods in understanding.

Luffy’s tears have long since dried, and so have Sabo’s. They have nothing more to say and they can hear their stomachs growling in unison, but they don’t want to let go. Not then, not ever.

“I miss him.”

“I miss him, too.”

anonymous asked:

Darkness embrace you little Malika, like a sleek and reassuring blanket... But will it really be so? You feel it distinctly... In your dreams a figure streaks through the walls of your mind, like a spider. Feel his breath in the ears, hot and wet. Like the one that caresses your cheeks, while something seems to clink your stomach. You can't move, while something blocks your nose and mouth, preventing you from breathing. A distant voice calls your name: "ali-Ma... Mali... Mali-Mali ♥"

//For you, I decided to sketch all the whole thing.
It is messy, forgive me, here the better quality:– http://imgur.com/F8Vb7sg

Title: Devil in the Details (ch. 3)
Pairing: Cassian Andor x Fem!Reader
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: Descriptions of gruesome froggy autopsies, language
A/N: 😘👌 good shit bb good sHIT
Sorry it’s so much shorter than the other chapters, I got tired lol.

People who asked to be tagged:
@badwolfandtimelords  @geeky-girl-394 @princeofsassgard @the-glasses-are-my-disguise @wisestydia14

Originally posted by krasnaya-ledi

III: Something More Than Friends

It had been six days since you’d joined the Rebellion, and you were fitting in pretty well. The medical staff was welcoming and understanding, which you were grateful for. You were a nurse for the Empire, not a miracle-worker. They were patient with you and taught you a few things here and there, with minimal incident. Apparently, sharp objects bigger than a needle were not your forte, which explained why your attempt to stab Cassian with a scalpel had failed so miserably.

When you weren’t violently stabbing frogs in the medical facility, you were getting to know the rebels, most of which were beginning to trust you. There were, however, a few individuals that hadn’t quite warmed up to you yet. It was easy to tell who to talk to and who to avoid by facial expression alone. If someone was comfortable with you, they would smile and invite you to join a conversation. If someone met your gaze with daggers in their eyes, you knew not to bother them. Simple.

You’d already started making friends outside of Cassian. It was so much easier to interact with the rebels than it had been with your coworkers back home. The rebels, while seriously dedicated to their cause, didn’t mind a good laugh from time to time. Working with the doctors for the Empire was much more serious and intense in comparison. You weren’t used to being accepted so easily, and it was a wonderful change.

Even if you were making friends, Cassian was still the one person you sought out in a crowd. There was a sort of comfort that came with being around him, and you liked it, to say the least. You didn’t think you could ever feel that way with anyone else, not even your parents. It was the strangest feeling to be constantly drawn to him, like he was your safety blanket. In some ways he really was like a human safety blanket, always grabbing your hand when you looked nervous or muttering words of reassurance if he felt you needed it. Part of you wanted to believe he did all of these things because he had feelings for you, but the rational part of you passed it off as him thanking you for saving his ass.

Even still, it was nice to pretend.

The seventh night in the rebel base, you were awoken from a nightmare by a loud crash of thunder. That was also the night you discovered Cassian lived on the same floor that you did. It was shocking that he had even heard your abrupt scream over the storm, but he had, and he was at your door not even a full minute after you first shouted.

“What is it?” he asked, flustered, with his hair sticking up in a thousand different directions.

“It was just a dream,” you said, your voice hoarse and wavering. “I’m fine, I promise. Go back to bed.”

Cassian walked into your room and shut the door behind him. He yawned and climbed into your bed as if he’d done it a million times before. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you on top of him, your head resting on his chest. The sudden gesture had your heart pounding, but his was steady and beating against your ear. He seemed completely confident in his actions, like it was second nature to just waltz into someone’s room and snuggle up with them in the middle of the night.

“I’ll stay,” he said, his voice heavy with sleep. When you came to terms with the fact that he wasn’t leaving, you settled into his embrace, your nightmare having completely left your mind. You felt Cassian’s hand run up and down your back slowly, adding to your comfort. Soon you drifted off to sleep, and so did he.

When you woke in the morning, Cassian was still in your bed, but he was already awake. He was laying on his side next to you, looking at you with an endearing look on his face.

“How long have you been up?” you asked groggily, “And what time is it?”

“It’s early,” he replied, “And I’ve been up for a while. You talk in your sleep.”

“Good to know,” you said, sitting up and stretching your arms above your head. “I’ll try to cuss you out the next time you watch me sleep.”

“I look forward to it,” he chuckled.

You groaned as you stretched, then laid back down, already tired again. “What did I talk about?” you asked, glancing over at Cassian.

“You talked about mutilating frogs for a while,” he said, “But you talked about your father mostly. Something about almost shooting him with a blaster, I think?”

“I remember that,” you said, grinning at the memory. “He tried to teach me how to use one when I was 10. I was so nervous that my hands were shaking, and I just… started shooting. I couldn’t control the gun and almost shot my dad. He wasn’t even angry, he just started laughing and told me I needed to practice more.”

“He sounds like he was a good father,” Cassian said.

“He was,” you replied with a smile.

The two of you laid there for a while in silence, something you seemed to do a lot together. Sometimes there just wasn’t anything to say, and you were both perfectly comfortable not speaking, but being together. Cassian had slipped his hand into yours at some point and was running his thumb over the back of your hand.

“You should take the day off,” he said, breaking the silence.

“I dunno, I have a lot of really important frogs to dismember today,” you said jokingly.

“Something tells me they’ll still be there tomorrow,” he chuckled, sitting up. “The staff will understand if you take the day for yourself. Go get dressed, there’s something I want to show you.”

-

Apparently this “something” that Cassian was so adamant about showing you was really important, important enough to get you out of work for the day. When he began leading you into the thick woods outside of the temple, you instantly regretted agreeing to go with him. The air was unbearably damp from the storm, which made you break out in sweat in seconds. Five minutes into the humid forestry, you’d stripped off your jacket and hung it around your waist, leaving you in your tank top. So much for a relaxing day off.

It wasn’t too long of a trek, twenty minutes at most. Soon the ground began sloping downward and Cassian helped you over rocks and tree roots, and you were thankful he had. You were pretty sure if he hadn’t, you’d have fallen face first into the ground.

The path- if you could call it that at all- curved to the left and led into a clearing. The sound of rushing water filled the air the closer you got, and soon you saw a small waterfall leading into a body of water. The waterfall ran from a river and over large, dark boulders that were growing moss on their undersides. Several similar boulders framed the edges of the pond, some half submerged in the water, some just on the shore. The air seemed fresher, smelled earthier, and felt heavy with moisture. Small beads of sweat began forming on your forehead and you wiped them away with the back of your hand.

“We’re here,” Cassian said, turning to you and grinning. He continued leading you into the clearing and you took in your surroundings. The trees were the same, still towering seemingly miles above you and keeping the area shaded. The walls surrounding the clearing were the same dark rocks near the water, covered in greenery and moss and whatever else could survive there.

“How did you find this place?” you asked, following Cassian to the water.

“It wasn’t easy,” he replied, his voice echoing throughout the glade.

Cassian climbed on top of one of the boulders near the pond and offered you his hand, pulling you up with him. The two of you sat, once again, in silence, listening to the rushing water and chirping wildlife.

“Why’d you bring me here?” you asked after a few minutes of serenity.

“I come here when I get overwhelmed,” Cassian said, his eyes fixed on the waterfall. “I thought that after the night you had, you’d like some peace and quiet.”

You watched him carefully, taking in his physique as his words sunk in. He was thinking of you, your well being, your feelings. He’d done so much for you, and you suddenly felt like you owed him. You felt like you owed Cassian everything. Cassian, who could have killed you when he first met you, but didn’t. Cassian, who took you with him to safety despite the risk. Cassian, who encouraged and comforted you when you couldn’t hold yourself together.

That same invisible force from before was drawing you to him, and if you didn’t do something about it soon, you were going to lose your mind.

Giving into the attraction, you moved closer to him and placed a hand on the side of his face, turning it toward you and lingering there. He met your gaze and felt his heart skip a beat. The way you were looking at him was just screaming “kiss me, you idiot.”

His eyes began flickering back and forth from your lips to your eyes, and he couldn’t take it anymore. Cassian closed the gap between you, his lips pressing against yours and his eyes fluttering shut.

Each of your hands cupped the sides of his face as he kissed you sweetly. His arms circled all the way around your waist and pulled you in even closer, deepening the kiss in the process.

Between Cassian’s kisses and the sound of the waterfall in the background, you felt like you’d died and gone to heaven. Everything was so perfect and felt so right, two things you weren’t exactly familiar with.

So there you sat, kissing the man who’d tried to shoot you just days before, the man who had planned on taking advantage of you to get what he needed. That plan, however, was put through a metaphorical shredder the moment your lips met his.

Cassian didn’t need to pretend to adore you, because he already did.

It’s Late (Alexander x reader)

Someone was shaking you awake.  You groaned:

‘Just five more minutes!’

You felt arms wrap around your waist–Alexander.  You smiled drowsily and snuggled up into his embrace.

‘I had a nightmare about you and just wanted to make sure you’re okay,’ he whispered softly.

You turned around and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  ‘It’s okay, Alexander–I’m here.’

He smiled–you loved his smiles, his eyes just lit up–and drew you closer.

‘I’m just glad you’re here,’ he said.

‘And I’ll always be here, okay?’

He hummed in agreement as you let your eyes close.

When Hopper looks at her, he sees his Sarah. Her endless curiosity and vigor to learn. Her gentleness and love for every being. Her shyness and quiet voice. Her eternal courage and resilience in the very face of death and destruction and evil. But this girl with sad eyes and buzzed hair and unfathomable power is not his Sarah. Sarah taught him all the things she learned in school about planets and galaxies and far off stars; Eleven herself must be taught the principles and words and ideas that govern her new world. Sarah smiled and giggled easily; Eleven’s eyes are mostly fearful and stoic. Raising Sarah had been a joint effort between him and his wife; raising Eleven begins the uncharted territory of single parenting. But she doesn’t have to be his Sarah. She’s his El.  His El who lights up his entire world when she graces him with a small smile and insists on those toaster waffles for breakfast every morning and scolds him for cursing. His El who lets her guard down when she needs a comforting embrace after a nightmare and playfully moves things out of his reach with her powers and encourages him to tell Joyce Byers how he really feels. His El who excitedly rides in the passenger seat of the police cruiser and spins around in his office chair and becomes the darling of the police station when he brings her into work. His El who he goes out to a diner with in the middle of the night when the grocery store is out of Eggos and both of them need a midnight snack and who looks up to him with all the love in the world. His El who he loves to the ends of the earth 

old habits

words: 1.08K

pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

warnings: a lot of fluff, maybe light nsfw. I honestly don’t know if what i wrote qualifies as nsfw. it is towards the end of the imagine and is not smut

summary: Bucky has insomnia and the reader tries to help him get some sleep

a/n: i was bored and this happened, if there are any mistakes please be nice!! (REQUESTS ARE OPEN)

Originally posted by natpekis


Being an ex-assassin wasn’t fun, it wasn’t a turn on for many women, it didn’t make people less afraid of you. Bucky Barnes hated that; he hated that nobody understood that he was a changed man. He wasn’t like he used to be. But of course, old habits die hard and one of those ‘old habits’ involved not getting any sleep. Ever. Bucky laid in his soft bed, staring at the ceiling, picking at the metal on his left arm. Sighing, he rolled into his side and stood up to check the time.

It was three in the morning and everyone in the tower was sound asleep, with the exception of Bucky, of course. He walked swiftly and quietly (which was, again, habitual due to the ex-assassin thing) into the kitchen. He pressed his hands onto the cool marble countertops and shut his eyes, inhaling deeply. The elevator doors slid open, making Bucky jump. His senses soon relaxed when he caught sight of (y/n), his girlfriend, tiptoeing into the room, completely unaware of his presence. Bucky looked down, hoping she wouldn’t notice him.

“What are you doing up?” She asked, sliding past him to grab a bottle of water. Bucky quirked an eyebrow as he looked at the clock then at (y/n), who was chugging down her water.

“I could ask you the same,” Bucky watched her lips form a small smile as her eyes met his. She took a step towards him, making him instinctively stand back, causing her to frown slightly.

“I’ll tell you where I was if you tell me what’s up with you.” (y/n) suggested. Bucky shook his head, deciding that he still wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about his sleepless nights. He turned away from her,

“No thanks, it’s good. Have a nice night,
(y/n).” Bucky began walking away when she caught his wrist. He listened to her walking towards him, pressing her head to his shoulder.

“I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Her tone was gentle and soft. Bucky still stayed rigid, pulling his wrist out of her loose grip.

“Are you spying on me?” Bucky inquired, turning to face (y/n) who shook her head, perching herself upon the counter. She ushered for him to come closer, which (hesitantly) he did.

She placed her hands on his shoulders, “I can see it in your eyes,” Bucky sighed as (y/n) pulled his head into her chest, hugging him tightly. She pressed her lips to the crown of his head, whispering “Why haven’t you been sleeping?”

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” Bucky asked as (y/n) laughed,

“Nope.”

Bucky chortled, lifting his head, still in
(y/n)’s embrace. “I’ve been having nightmares, more than usual,” He mumbled as she slipped off the counter and grabbed his hands.

“You need to tell people these things, Buck,” She stroked his cheek, his eyes closing at her touch. “I want to help you.” (y/n) spoke, her lips brushing against Bucky’s cheek, causing a red blush to creep up his neck. “C'mon, and be quiet. Natasha’s a light sleeper.”

Bucky raised his eyebrow as (y/n) opened up the door to her room, locking it once the two were inside. She furrowed her eyebrows, gnawing on her bottom lip, “I have an idea that’s bound to get you to sleep.”

“What is it?” Bucky asked, growing impatient. She leaned over and whispered into his ear, her breath on his neck.

“I’ll meet you in the shower in five minutes.”

After a few minutes, (y/n) returned to her room with a hair dryer and towels, noticing the bathroom light was open and the water was running. She reached out and knocked on the door as she heard Bucky grumble,
“Come in.”

As (y/n) felt the contrast of the air conditioned room and the steam from the shower she sighed in contentment. Reaching for the hem of her shirt, (y/n) pulled it over her head. Soon enough, she stepped into the shower behind Bucky, resting her head on his broad shoulders and her arms around his torso.

“Hi,” She breathed, her hands in his damp hair as the pair switched spots. (y/n) closed her eyes at the feeling of the hot water hitting her back. Bucky held her close to him, closing his eyes as (y/n)’s hands moved up and down his back. He heard her stifle a giggle and whispered,

“What is it?” Bucky smiled at her.

“Can I wash your hair?” (y/n)’s eyes crinkle as her smile becomes a grin. Bucky playfully rolled his eyes, giving in by handing her the shampoo. All the guys teased him about his hair smelling like flowers.

“At least I have a girlfriend, unlike yourselves.” He retorted.

Her hands moved through his hair as he closed his eyes, emitting a long, deep breath. “Feels nice.” Bucky managed, beginning to doze off by the minute.

“Hey, you can’t go to sleep in the shower. I can’t lift you to the bed.” (y/n) laughed, tenderly pushing him under the water. Once the soap had come out of his hair, she spoke, “I’m getting out first, I’ll tell you when I’m done and then you can get changed.” She kissed the tip of his nose, grabbing a towel and stepping swiftly out of the bathroom, sliding into her pajamas.

(y/n) slipped out of the bathroom and dried her hair. She was then momentarily joined by a very sleepy Bucky. Giggling at the sight, (y/n) sat Bucky on the edge of the bed as he began to lean back. (y/n) snapped her fingers, “I still have to dry your hair, Buck.”

Groaning, Bucky sat back up, slouching as (y/n) began drying his hair, his eyes closing peacefully. She turned the blow dryer off and unplugged it as Bucky curled up in bed, pulling the blankets up, and lifting his arm for (y/n) to join him.

Yawning, she crawled up next to Bucky and his blue eyes met hers. “Thank you, doll.” Bucky’s voice was practically inaudible as he pressed his lips to (y/n)’s, kissing her sweetly before he lulled to sleep.

“Anytime, Bucky.”

please don't make this a tragedy

a/n: part three yay! this is the final part. if you’d like to read the other two parts here they are: 1 and 2. as usual, this is based off “pieces” by red.

summary: time doesn’t heal all wounds

trigger warnings: mentions of violence and death, cursing 

i’m here again, a thousand miles away from you

“Any news?” Bruce asked. You stood right beside him, wringing your hands in anticipation.

The doctor looked grim, and you didn’t like the way she sighed. You’ve heard that sigh before.

“We don’t know a whole lot,” she said. Those were her exact words. “We put him in a medically induced coma to reduce swelling, but he’s showing no signs of waking up any time soon.”

You read between the lines.

He was showing no signs of recovery.

You stood in your apartment without him. Everything was the same way you left it. You hadn’t been home since two nights ago, instead finding sleep in the stiff plastic chairs in the waiting room. It had been a long two nights, you didn’t want to think about the rest of your days in the apartment alone.

The likelihood of him waking was slim. That’s what the doctor told you. But no one thought Jason could come back to life. In fact, everyone thought resurrection applied to the likes of Jesus Christ. Gods and Messiahs and Chosen Ones. That damn doctor didn’t know Jason like you did. She didn’t know that he had been through hell and back. She didn’t know him.

But you did.

So why did you feel so helpless? He had gone through much worse, hadn’t he?

You hadn’t cried since you arrived at the hospital, was that why? Did you need to cry? Because you didn’t want to. Crying meant that you had accepted his death. That you had given up hope. And you still had faith he’d wake up. It was dumb and not accurate according to the statistics, but you had faith.

Your heart reminded you of a promise he made long ago.
He couldn’t leave you. He wasn’t allowed to.

So in your grief and anger, you decided to wreck the place. Picture frames were hurled across the room, as were glass plates. Your laundry basket was tipped over and the clothes in it were thrown around. Toiletries were shoved off the bathroom counter. But it didn’t help. The mess made it worse. He wasn’t even there to clean it up.

In the end, you found yourself sitting in a pile of dirty laundry, broken glass, and blood from the cuts on your palms.

a broken mess just shattered pieces of who i am

“Jason, I don’t wanna do this anymore! Can we do something else?” You whined. Your head was dangling off the edge of his bed while your feet stuck up straight in the air.

“This homework is due tomorrow. It’s important that we do it,” Jason refuted, writing some more on his sheet of paper.

“But it’s so boring. I don’t care about what Hamlet did or didn’t do. Let’s do something fun!” You exclaimed, nearly falling off the bed.

“Like what?”

“Chemistry, AP Stat, Biology, Physics, Calculus-” You were cut off by Jason shoving you off the bed. “-Hey! That was rude.”

“Don’t say shit like that ever again.”

You pressed your forearms on the top of the bed while kneeling on the floor. “Do you kiss Alfred with that mouth?” You had seconds to dodge the thick English textbook he hurled at your head. “Damn Jason, calm down.”

“Talk shit, get hit.”

Your eyebrows shot into your hairline and your jaw dropped. “With a fucking textbook?”

Jason shrugged and wrote down another answer. “At least we weren’t in the kitchen. I’m crazy good with knife throwing.”

You didn’t even bother to ask where he learned it. Jason would never tell you. And honestly, you were used to his unusual talents.

It had been four nights since he was admitted into the hospital. You hadn’t gone home since that night you had a meltdown. You couldn’t. It was still a mess. And you didn’t want to clean it up. That was Jason’s job.

So you stayed with your parents which was probably just as bad considering the memories you had in that room. There were so many nights you spent on your bed with Jason, studying and watching some random movie you found in your living room. On the nightstand beside your bed, there was a picture of you and him from middle school. It was before you had braces and before he hit puberty. Any other time, you would laugh and cringe at the same time. Maybe you’d even turn the photo away for a moment so you didn’t have to see your sixth grade self. But when you saw it a few minutes ago, you nearly cried. You threw it in a dark corner of your closet so you didn’t have to see it.

You had no idea how many photos you had of you and Jason until it hurt to see them.

Additionally, you couldn’t walk past your parents without them giving you the same look the Waynes had given you.

Pity.

The only person who didn’t look at you like that was your best friend, but that was because she didn’t know what happened. You couldn’t tell her you were dating Jason Todd, it would raise suspicion. She remembered him from school. As far as she was concerned, you were still heartbroken over some guy named Matt that you dated senior year. So when you weren’t sleeping at your parents’ place, you were with your friend and avoiding the Waynes as much as possible.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Your friend asked. You were sitting on the couch in sweats, with your English textbook in front of you.

You looked at her with a furrowed brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “You seem a little off.”

“Just tired, I guess.”

She nodded and walked into the kitchen. The conversation ended.

i’ve lost so much along the way

You hadn’t moved from your bed, even a week after the funeral. You were still in that god awful dress with makeup stains on your pillow case. You hadn’t bathed in two days, hadn’t eaten in four. Both seemed pointless.

If you could, you would hold your breath until you died, but that was impossible. You remember reading somewhere that you can never commit suicide by holding your breath. Your body will eventually force you to breathe. Eventually, it will force oxygen back into your lungs. Because instinct trumps all, just not death.

You hated how you felt, like the world was ending, like any purpose for breathing meant nothing because you could never spend those breaths of fresh air with him. How does someone even move on from the death of a best friend? How does someone move on from that gaping hole in their chest?

You were learning that you don’t. You just learn to ignore it.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks. No word from the doctors or Bruce. Not that you had gone out of your way to make contact. Any texts you got from Dick or Tim were ignored. You had stopped going home and it was worrying your parents. They left so many voicemails all talking about how they hoped you were okay.

“You need to tell me what’s going on with you,” your best friend said.

You hadn’t eaten in two days. “Why? I’m fine.” Except the bags under your eyes were dark as night.

“Barbara called. She told me about what happened.” She sat beside you on the couch. “She said Jason was alive and that he was the guy you’ve been dating.” Her hand was placed on your knee. “She said he was in the hospital, and has been for a week now. She also said that you haven’t been responding to anyone’s texts or calls.” You said nothing. You were too busy staring into empty space, pretending that the ache in your chest wasn’t increasing in pain. “Y/N, is this true?”

“I need some air,” you said abruptly. You got off the couch and went out into the cold and drizzling rain in your pajamas and a pair of slippers.

Should you just run away? It seemed that you couldn’t escape him no matter how far you went. He kept catching up to you like a sick reminder.

You started heading down the neighborhood streets. The cold rain quickly soaking your pajamas in a matter of minutes. No one was out, it was nearly midnight in a suburban part of Gotham. Your life felt like a sad indie movie. The moon was hardly out, being blocked by the clouds in the sky and your boyfriend was unresponsive in a hospital bed with his family surrounding him while you walk around the streets at night, searching for answers in the loneliness. You’ve never felt this lonely before, even when Jason died the first time. You hadn’t known his kisses then, you had never felt his embrace after a nightmare, you had never seen him waltz in your shared apartment looking so damn happy to see you. A sob started to raise in your throat, but you kept it down. You had made it a week without crying, you could survive another.

“Hey! Wanna hear a fun fact?” You ran up to Jason when he arrived at school. He looked tired and worn down, but he had his days, and you had learned to stop asking about them.

“I bet you I already know it,” he teased. A small smirk was left on his lips.

“Did you know ‘O Captain! My Captain! was inspired-”

“By Abraham Lincoln?” Jason raised an eyebrow before his smirk widened. “Why yes, I did know that.”

Your heart dropped just a little right before you started pouting. You shoved him a little. “You jerk.” His laugh bounced off the school walls as you walked inside. “Why do you know that?”

“Why do you?” He countered.

“I asked first!”

Jason sighed and laughed in the way that he does. It was easily the most attractive sound you had ever heard. “I really love literature and books. There’s very little I don’t know about.” You rolled your eyes in what you thought was discrete, but he saw it and heaved a heavy sigh. “Listen, you can run circles around me in physics, chemistry, biology, statistics, the list goes on. Just let me have this one?”

“Alright, Todd.”

You sighed and found yourself sitting on a curb. After Jason died, you had found yourself reading O Captain! My Captain! more than you usually would have. You had gone to him every day before school hoping to surprise him with a fun fact about literature, but he knew each one. It frustrated you to no end, but you kept trying anyway. It eventually led to you reading more and more poetry. Walt Whitman intrigued you first. Jason had suggested him when you asked for good poets. Naturally, you read O Captain! first. After all, it felt like your poem. Most people have songs.

You and Jason had poems.

O Captain! My Captain! was yours.

You just never expected him to be the Abraham Lincoln to your Walt Whitman. Not at fifteen. And certainly not now.

i tried so hard

“I still don’t understand why Fate makes a tragedy even more tragic,” you mumbled.

Jason sighed and rolled his eyes. It was something he usually did when you questioned his favorite subject. “It’s the idea that it doesn’t matter how hard you try to work against your destiny, it’s gonna happen. And you have no say,” he replied.

You were still sitting on the curb. Your lips were probably blue and you were probably on the verge to hypothermia. Not like you cared though. You were trying to get on with your life but it wasn’t working. Two weeks after the whole incident and you couldn’t pull yourself together.

You didn’t even think your friends and family had faith in your recovery. Wouldn’t they be looking for you right now if they did? Or had they given up? Most people in the TV shows are upset for a few episodes and some people in reality are upset for the rest of your life. So maybe your grief was normal? Of course you had no idea. The only person you had lost was Jason. But you were fifteen years old then. You were too young to understand. Too innocent. You didn’t know that Jason was Robin. You didn’t know that Dick was Nightwing or that Bruce was Batman. But you knew now, and that was enough for you.

You wanted revenge. And you wanted it right then. You wanted to know who hurt Jason. You wanted them dead. Surely Dick would cover your tracks if you left behind a mess, he did the same for Jason on multiple occasions. You stood up with confidence and anger in your bones. You started heading out of the neighborhood and into downtown Gotham with every intention of grabbing the weapons Jason hid back home.

There was really no point to your pajamas anymore. They were soaked in rainwater, as was your hair. You were sure that you would feel the cold settling in if you weren’t so angry. A few cars passed by you, splashing cold rainwater onto you. One part of you wanted to key their car and slash their tires, but you had a mission. Nothing could stop you.

Part of you remembered a time when you thought you and Jason were opposites, hence why you worked so well together. But you remembered how he died for his mother. You remembered how Dick told you that Bruce wasn’t even enough to deter him from saving her. A vague segment of your mind told you that you were doing the exact same thing. Nothing was going to stop you from avenging him. People thought you were weak and simple minded, but you weren’t. You were as tough as nails. You have lost so many hours of sleep waiting for your boyfriend to come home. You could sew up any wound with trembling hands and blurry eyes. You could clean up blood better than anyone.

You walked up the flights of stairs to your apartment, fully prepared to swing the door open and see the mess you left behind. You were fully prepared to spend fifteen minutes sifting through the dirty clothes and trash to find a gun or a knife. But when the door opened, all you saw was nothing.

No trash, broken glass, dirty clothes. It was all cleaned up.

Any ounce of hatred left in your bones had disappeared.

You shut the door weakly as tears welled up in your eyes, but you forced them down. You weren’t going to cry. You walked further into your home, half expecting no one to be there, half expecting Jason to jump out at the same time.

Who else would clean your apartment?

A throat cleared from behind you. “It was disgusting in here. I had to do something.” You turned around, your heart still racing from the scare. “Master Bruce requested that I pick you up.”

You crossed your arms and looked the butler in the eye. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to clean up the disaster you left behind,” Alfred retorted. “Your friend called Miss Barbara who called Bruce who told me to come get you.”

You shifted weight onto your hips. “Why are you always the one who shows up right as I’m about to do something stupid?”

“Call it Fate.”

Your heart stung painfully. You took a seat on the couch in front of the coffee table. The same couch where you stitched up Jason on multiple occasions. You let out a sarcastic laugh. “You know, in order to have a tragedy, you have to have a higher working force. A Moral Order or Fate. It’s the idea that it doesn’t matter how hard you try to work against your destiny, it’s gonna happen. And you have no say.” Your voice got softer at the end of your sentence and your heart started to crack a little more with each word.

Alfred sighed heavily, in a way that wasn’t condescending or cold and took a seat beside you. “I think those things only really apply to literature and cinema, Y/N,” he said.

“Do they?” You looked down at your hands. “Because right now, I feel like it’s just my destiny to keep going to Jason’s funeral.” A sob started making its way up your throat. “He just got back from the dead, Alfred. He can’t die yet. Not yet.” You looked at him with such pain and such grief, you didn’t think you could hold it back anymore. “This was our second chance. I thought they were giving us a second chance!” You threw your head into you hands.

“Y/N…”

“And I didn’t even say ‘I love you,’ Alfred.” You stood up and started pacing around your living room. Your hands were being dragged through your hair at a furious rate. “I said ‘yeah’ like he asked me if I wanted fries for dinner.” You looked at him, feeling so utterly helpless and useless. “He may never hear me talk again, Alfred. He may never hear me say ‘I love you’ ever again. I may never hear him speak, or feel his embrace. Or look at that god awful helmet he wears.” You collapsed onto the floor in a dramatic heap and sobbed for the first time in two weeks.

Alfred was by your side and rubbing circles into your back. He soothed you like a child and waited for your sobs to quiet down.

“I don’t think your last words to him really matter,” he said. “He knew how you felt, and that’s all that matters.” Alfred sighed heavily. “Master Bruce requested that I take you to the hospital to see Jason.”

You looked at Alfred, completely alarmed. “Have they made the decision yet?”

“They don’t want to make it without you there.”

You nodded numbly and stood up on shaky legs. “I’ll be a moment. I have to grab something.”

“And change into dry clothes,” Alfred reminded.

You nodded once more and went into the back

i’ll find everything i thought i lost before

It was a long trip to the hospital. You rode in the front with Alfred and he didn’t protest. The backseat had too many memories. You and Jason used to goof off in the backseat after school freshman year. Those afternoons included gummy worm fights and sheets of blank paper found in random corners of the car.

You were glad that Alfred was neat because if you happened to find a random balled up paper with Jason’s fourteen year old handwriting on it, you might’ve just died from heartbreak.

Alfred pulled up to hospital and you were out of the car before he had even pulled to a stop under the portico. You had a book clutched to your chest as you raced inside.

“Y/N!” Tim called from his spot in the waiting room. No one else from the Wayne’s were there, probably on a separate floor.

“Where is he?” You asked, not even bothering with a salutation.

“Third floor, room 313,” he said. His eyebrows pulled together as he looked you over. “Hey are you-”

You were halfway to the elevator by the time he spoke up. You pressed the elevator button fifteen times before it finally opened up. You closed the doors before anyone else could join you right after you hit the level three button.

Tears started streaming down your face. Now that the elevator doors were closed, you could finally see yourself and the mess you had become. Over the past two weeks, you had avoided any reflective surface, afraid of what you’d see when you came face to face with your reflection. But you saw yourself now, and you weren’t happy with the way you looked like something out of the Walking Dead.

The elevator opened at the third floor and you sprinted down the hall.

Only to realize you weren’t going to right way. In fact, you really had no idea where you supposed to go. And you must’ve looked absolutely pitiful because a kind nurse came up to you without a hence of hesitation.

“Down that hall, take a left. He’s the fourth door on the right,” she said kindly.

You didn’t thank her, nor did you ask how she knew who you were. You stumbled down the halls, your wet hair hitting you in the face as your turned that sharp corner. That book still clutched to your chest. You flew down the hall until you got to that fourth door on the right. You stood in the doorway and your breath left you while your arms went limp.

Barbara, Dick, Damian, and Bruce were all standing around the bed, but you couldn’t see him. Bruce’s tall figure was blocking your view. But Dick saw you and he cleared his throat, gathering the attention of everyone. He nodded towards you as you stepped into the room. Dick and Barbara gave you the same look of pity and empathy they’d been giving you since you’d seen them last. Damian looked indifferent when he stared at you, but you knew he was hurting. And Bruce had yet to look at you.

No one said anything, but they left the room anyway. Everyone but Bruce that is.

You walked around him and to the foot of Jason’s bed. If you weren’t already crying, you were sure that seeing your boyfriend hooked up to a bunch of machines and bandages all over his body would’ve done the trick. He looked as fragile as you felt.

“You weren’t here,” Bruce said. The man made you uneasy. Sure, you had known him for a long time. But being in his presence with his once dead son in critical condition made him distant.

“I know,” you said. “I thought if I just ignored everyone and everything that-”

“You could pretend like it never happened.”

You let out a defeated sigh. “Yeah.”

Bruce took a look at the book in your hand and let out a exhausted laugh. “He always loved that guy,” he said. “I’ll leave you two.”

You waited until Bruce was out of the room before you sat down in the chair beside Jason’s bed. You took his hand in yours and nearly cried at how cold it was. Nonetheless, you stroked your thumb over his knuckles just like you used to. “Hey, Jase,” you started. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I just wasn’t strong enough. I tore up our apartment and then I left it like that. I ignored my family and yours. I nearly got hypothermia. I even seriously contemplated committing murder of those bastards who put you in here.” You gave a pathetic laugh. “And that happened in the course of fourteen long days without you.” You waited a little longer before speaking again. “I love you, Jason.” You wanted to say more, but you’ve run out of your own words.

So you referenced Whitman.

“My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still / My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, / The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, / From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; / Exult O shores, and ring O bells! / But I with mournful tread, / Walk the deck my Captain lies, / Fallen cold and dead.” You were a sobbing mess at the end. Leaves of Grass was covered in tear drops by the end of the poem. You only read the last stanza, but that was your favorite by far.

Your hands were shaking and loud sobs were leaving your mouth. You clutched Jason’s hand and sobbed into his cold and motionless arm.

He was going to die, you knew it. You knew it from the moment everyone left the room. Bruce didn’t ask Alfred to bring you here to discuss his plans as much as he wanted you to say goodbye.

“I love you, Jason Todd. I love you. I love you I love you,” you cried.

A sound of rustling sheets were heard, but your crying was so loud, you didn’t take notice.

“I find it really pathetic that it took me almost dying for you to finally open a poetry book willingly.”

Your heart stopped. There was no one else in the world who sounded like that. There was no one else in the world who would make a joke about death like that.

You looked up and saw him staring right back at you with a cocky smirk on his face. And this time, you were sobbing for a whole different reason.

i come to you in pieces so you can make me whole


by @sand-castles-of-cigarette-ashes

anonymous asked:

do you have any fluff mikayuu headcanons oh mikayuu chosen one? //v\\

OOOOH I have a bunch! Just… let me try and remember them omg………

  • Yuu can’t cook. At all. So Mika does the cooking. Since he’s a vampire, he can’t taste anything so Yuu stays by his side and tastes the food for him to tell him whether he’s got it right etc
  • Yuu starts to drink milk every day after Mika continuously teases him about their teeny tiny height difference. Yuu’s determined to outgrow him and he’s convinced that Mika’s gigantic ahoge is the only thing making him taller
  • When they sleep, Yuu’s a very messy sleeper and always ends up kicking Mika during the night. Mika resolves this by spooning him and makes up an excuse that it stops Yuu from moving and it means they get to cuddle
  • Because Mika’s a vampire, he tends to get sleepy during the day so Yuu lets him lie down on his lap. Yuu plays with his hair until Mika eventually falls asleep. (He later regrets letting Mika sleep on his lap because it gives him pins and needles and he feels mean if he moves Mika away.)
  • Mika still has nightmares about everything he’s done as a vampire. Yuu will stay by his side when he wakes up from a nightmare, embracing him and running his hands through his hair until he calms down. Mika will just stay silent, listening to Yuu’s heartbeat lull him back to sleep.
  • As a vampire, Mika’s never had the chance to go to school (unlike Yuu), so he still can’t read. Yuu, although not very good at reading himself, buys children’s fairy tale books so that it’s easy enough for both of them to read together. He teaches Mika how to read before they go to sleep and it also helps stop Mika from having nightmares so it’s a win/win situation
  • Mika likes to sing around the house when he’s cleaning and Yuu listens to him all the time, wondering how his boyfriend is so perfect (>////<)
  • Yuu’s really ticklish and, when Mika’s feeling mischievous, he’ll randomly start tickling him just so he can listen to Yuu laughing. Yeah, Yuu likes listening to Mika singing, but Mika thinks his laughter sounds much, much better
  • (The tickling session will usually always end up with Yuu punching Mika in the face though)

AAAND I’M DONE 

anonymous asked:

Could you maybe do some AU domestic mcgenji? I love your writing!

Anonymous said: genji comforting a crying mccree? i’ve been in such a mcgenji mood lately 

[thank you! I hope it’s okay I mash these two up into one!]

Genji yawned and stretched, spreading out in the large, warm bed. He was still pleasantly sleepy and drowsy from just waking up, though a hint of worry snaked its way into his chest as he realized it was still dark in the room. He usually slept the entire night through, something which he had Angela to thank for. When he had been younger he had been plagued by nightmares; Angela had allowed him to sink into a sleep so deep next to nothing could bother him. 

He reached out and felt the absence of a warm body next to him, a dip in the mattress where someone should be. He rubbed his eyes before being able to open them completely, peering into the darkness. The only source of light was the sliver of the ever so slightly open door, but Genji could see well enough even without any real light. 

His eyes weren’t the only hypersensitive thing; his audio sensors could pick up everything happening around the house. There were crickets chirping outside, a leaking faucet dripping in the kitchen, and the ticking of the clock in the living room. Genji could hear something else as well; he could hear Jesse. 

Genji’s heart ached as he recognized the sound of muffled crying. He knew instantly that Jesse was trying to be as quiet as possible, as to not wake Genji up and worry him, and somehow that just made it worse. 

Sitting up and slipping out of the bed, Genji padded over to the door and went out into the living room. Jesse wasn’t there; the noise was coming from outside. Genji quickly made his way through the room and opened the front door, which lead out onto a porch. 

Jesse must’ve heard the door opening, because he straightened up a little where he was sitting, on the edge of the porch. He was only wearing a tshirt and a pair of boxers, his hair messy from sleep. 

“Jesse.”

“Hey there, sweetheart”, Jesse said, his voice weary and hoarse. Genji sat down next to him, moving close and wrapping his arms around Jesse. “Hey”, Jesse said again, and it sounded even more broken this time. A sob tore itself from his throat.

“Jesse, darling”, Genji mumbled, combing his fingers through Jesse’s hair, tightening his embrace. “Nightmares?”

“… Yeah.”

“I told you it’s okay if you wake me up”, Genji said, gently scolding him. “I want to be there for you.”

“I know, honey, I know.” Jesse had wound his arms around Genji’s waist, his face buried in Genji’s shoulder. “I jus’… I didn’t want…”

“Shh”, Genji hushed him. “I know. You’re wrong. You’re not bothering me. I don’t need that much sleep.” They had gone through the same argument many times before, and Genji always told Jesse the same thing. “Let me be there for you.”

“Yeah”, Jesse said, drawing a shaky breath. “Okay.” He was quiet for a moment, taking deep breaths and seemingly trying to calm himself down. Genji just held him, slowly stroking his back and brushing through his hair, knowing it was what calmed Jesse down the most. Finally, Jesse sighed. “Goddamn, I love you.”

“I love you too”, Genji said, smiling a little and pressing a kiss against Jesse’s temple. 


I have two more requests in my inbox, I’ll do them tomorrow! But don’t be afraid of sending me more!

I’m doing Overwatch prompts!

Rage (Part 3)

Original Imagine: Imagine Demon!Dean kidnapping you when he finds out that you’ve been fucking Sam

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,299

Warnings: angst.

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: Let me know what you guys think! I’m loving this new part, tbh! Yayy! Feedback makes my day!

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