his face was shrouded in darkness

Lofty: Wanderer

Ain experiences different situations and circumstances while traveling with Elsword and the El Search Party and meets many people in Elrios. Ain feels “anxiety” because of the El that’s becoming further away from them due to unexpected events.This unfamiliar feeling starts to awaken the trace left in him from the rift of the Time and Space.

Ain feels a great demonic aura from the [Dark Forest] he had to visit by Hoffman’s request, and his inner anxiety turns into negative emotions such as fear and anger. These start to spread outside of him as well. Ain falls into a state of panic from the fear looming over him but regains his consciousness thanks to El Search Party’s calling. He tries to look for a way to calm the chaos, fearing that he might not be able to fulfill his mission in this state.

He even gets help from the humans and tried a Nasod mechanism that uses El as its power source, but it could not gauge the chaos that had grown uncontrollably, which only continues to grow.

When Ain’s anxiety reaches its peak, he asks for an answer from the Goddess, but he does not hear any reply. Ain feels even greater despair from not being able to reach the Goddess, and the seed of chaos inside manifests. When he is enveloped by the chaos, the power of creation that God had given him becomes corrupted; the body that was given to him to fulfill the mission begins to crumble and shatter.

Ain starts to wander aimlessly within the terrible nightmare that haunts him. He continues to question the mission and the purpose of his existence that are becoming more meaningless.

Apostasia

The more Ain uses the corrupted power of the God, the more his body shatters. The trace of Henir that starts to appear spreads throughout his body, but for the sake of his mission, Ain endures the pain and moves forward.

When Ain arrives at [Nasod Foundry] with the El Search Party, he sees how ‘Nasod’, a creation of mankind, is manufactured numerously then later discarded once its purpose is fulfilled.

From watching the Nasods, he reflects on himself - a being created for the mission and fated to disappear after its completion - and grows skeptical of his existence. Fear and despair for the future begin to fill his mind.

Again, to ask for an answer from the Goddess, Ain heads to Feita, but the terrible demonic aura that shrouds the entire region and the numerous demons only help develop the chaos within Ain.

Even then, believing that reaching the Goddess will cleanse him of everything, Ain perseveres with only that in his mind. He ends up discovering the <Dark El>, a jewel that the demons worship.

After seeing how the El, which he believed is a perfect creation that only the Goddess can interfere with, could be corrupted by the demons, Ain’s faith in the Goddess that has sustained him thus far, shatters and he is consumed by the fully grown seed of chaos.

Within it, Ain faces the core of the chaos again, but he, enveloped in chaos, does not feel that it is unstable like how he felt it was last time. At the end of the disordered chaos, Ain realizes that the creation of everything - the beginning and the end - everything is bound to return to nothing.

The mission to save the things that are bound to disappear, and even himself, who is created for that mission, have no meaning.

When Ain sorts out his chaotic emotions, he abandons the Goddess and his mission, replacing them by fully accepting the chaos of Henir that has been eating away at him all this time.

In the center of the storm of chaos, Ain becomes the absolute ruler of the Void who returns everything to its perfect state: nothing.

4

Most Spooky Cemetery: Highgate Cemetery, England

Winner of this years Most Spooky Cemetery Award is Highgate Cemetery in England.  Other than some of the amazing architecture seen in the cemetery, and being the final resting place for famous people such as Karl Marx, Douglas Adams, and Charles Dickens’s parents, this cemetery is known for its ghosts and strange occurrences.

Several incidents have been documented in the cemetery. One account is that of a man whose car broke down near the cemetery gates.  To his horror, peering out at him from the graveyards iron gates was the face of a ghoul with glowing red eyes.  

Another man was horrified when he saw a strange phantom with pointed ears, glowing eyes, and a large nose jump over the graveyard fence and land in front of him.  Many believe this sighting to be that of the infamous Spring-Heeled Jack.

Other than these two specific incidents, others have reported seeing the spirit of a nun floating over the graves.  A dark figure in a shroud has also been seen standing still and staring into space.  If it is approached, it will immediately disappear.  Once it vanishes it will reappear a short distance away, still staring at nothing.  The ghost of a crazy old woman with long gray hair can also be seen running among the gravestones.  Legend states that she is searching for her children, which she supposedly murdered.  

Finally, the most famous haunting in this cemetery is that of The Highgate Vampire.  Unlike classic vampires, The Highgate Vampire is described as a 7ft tall, shadowy man.  He has piercing eyes, a long black coat, and a top hat.  When seen he vanishes into thin air. Supposedly, one man was killed by this vampire in the cemetery, while several others were visited by him in their bedrooms at night.  

A Different Type of Divination

Request: “Hii 🤗 Could I have a reader x draco smut. Where they both are just super horny over the day, and he fucks the reader after their lessons? Thank you 💚

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 1791

Warnings: SMUTTTTTTT AND TEASING AND AHHHH

Originally posted by perfectfeelings

Gazing into the foggy crystal ball, you tapped your nails against the glass, your head resting in the crook of your elbow as you released a bored sigh. Waiting for class to begin, there was a murmur of voices filling the room, Professor Trelawney seemingly conversing with an invisible entity as she waited for all the students to arrive. The air was thick with laziness, this class being one that not many came to with an enthusiastic longing. Although divination interested you, you knew that it was difficult to master, and if you weren’t a master it was a useless practice. Just last lesson you had predicted a sunny week ahead, only to have the next day shrouded with dark clouds. You grinned as you saw the reflection of a blonde boy in the ball you played with, his aggravated expression falling instantly as you lifted your head to greet him.

“I foresaw your approach.” You grinned, raising a brow as you poked at the crystal orb.

“We must have the next great seer in our midst then.” He joked along, sitting with a huff. You could tell by the tightness in his face that something was eating away at him.

“I also see…” You closed your eyes, rubbing your temples mockingly. “Something’s wrong.”

Draco shuffled in his seat, a slight blush dusting the tops of his cheeks as he struggled to hold your eye.

“I uh- tried to concoct a Sleeping Draught for myself.” He pursed his lips, refusing to go on.

“And…?” You pushed, frowning at him.

“I tried it last night. I think… I didn’t do it properly. There’s been some side effects.”

Keep reading

Across the Table

Just a short piece about dinner with the Charming’s from Killian’s perspective.


The first time he’s invited to dinner it’s an awkward feeling.

He’s never had to do this before; dine with the parents. He’s had dinner in the company of the Charmings before, sure, but this was under a whole different circumstance. Now he was joining them as Emma’s boyfriend, specifically for them to get to know him without the main topic being whatever villain they were facing.

No, the topic this time would be him, and it was completely unchartered waters.

He’d never been the subject of any lass’s affections as a lad; he’d been a slave on a merchant ship. Not exactly suitor material. And once he’d enrolled in the navy, his time was dedicated to being the best at his job; making something of himself for Liam to be proud of. There wasn’t time for courting.

Of course, once he’d turned to piracy, it was nothing but giggling barmaids, sneaking off with him in lure of his pretty face, or lonesome wenches chasing the thrill and danger of his profession.

And then Milah came along…

Killian had never been the type of man to take home to the family, which is why he was suddenly unsure of how to act.

He wanted to give a good impression. He wanted to show he was worthy of Emma and deserving of their acceptance, but he also refused to change who he was just for the sake of impressing them. He was stuck straddling a indecisive fence.

“Sorry about this.” Emma kept whispering to him, showing she was embarrassed and insisting that her mother was responsible for the event.

But Killian knew, although Emma wasn’t keen on her parents making a big spectacle, she was just as nervous as he. It was new for her too. She’d never brought someone home to meet her mother and father. She too wanted to make a good impression of herself.

It was that knowledge that had him determined to make it go well.

The night turned out a lot better than he’d expected. The awkward conversation had soon blossomed into stories of the Enchanted Forest. He’d found himself triggering fond memories for the couple with his recounts of past adventures.

He’d even managed to get David to laugh.

By the end of the night, Emma had a smile on her face, pride beaming from her that told him it was all worth it.

“We should do this again.” Snow announced, and the thought doesn’t have his blood running cold.

For once, he’s in agreement.


The third time he’s invited to dinner it’s bleak.

He’s not quite sure why he’s been invited over, not when the source of their association is currently shrouded in darkness and isolating herself across the other side of town.

But Snow insists on him being there.

It’s quiet. Small talk is seldom with each of them lost in their own turmoil, running the same questions through their heads. What did we do wrong? How did Emma fall so far? How do we get her back?

It warms him slightly to know that he’s still included; still welcome even with Emma’s absence. But it pains him even more that she’s absent in the first place.

Although they eat in peace and manage to find some comfort in each other’s company for the evening, it still feels like a failure.


The next dinner can only be described as bizarre.

There’s more people at the table this time, and they’re seated in an Underworld version of the loft, trapped and unable to get home, but it’s strangely pleasant.

He feels guilt.

Guilt that they’re in this predicament because of him; having to take on Hades himself because of him, but he can’t help finding comfort in knowing they did it because they feel he’s worth it.

He matters. He has a family; a place.

The underlying stress of the situation is overshadowed by their hope and reluctance to give in. They’re optimistic and determined to get back home and it rubs off on him. He shares smiles with Emma and holds her hand through it because it may not be an ideal situation, but they’re together.

And they will get back home.

Together.


Their last dinner would be marked down as his favourite.

It was the five of them once again- six if you count the littlest Prince, but it was different in so many ways.

They were no longer crammed into the loft.

This time, it was their home playing host.

His and Emma’s.

Their newly developed status is exciting and they find themselves thoroughly enjoying every moment. Both hesitant yet eager to prepare the meal together because it’s new and adventurous; not knowing who should be in charge of what, just knowing that they want it.

The charming’s being their guests, welcomed into their kitchen, sitting at their table. Killian can’t keep the smile off his face the entire night. He doesn’t remember feeling so at ease.

He pours the wine that night, he laughs the loudest, he doesn’t hold back from stretching across his seat to place a kiss on Emma’s cheek. He’s offering the dessert this time, Snow as asking if there’s anything they can do to help, David is thanking him for a great evening- It feels magnificent.

And she’s glowing with happiness too. They all are.

It was home.

It was how family is meant to be; how it should feel.


He can’t help but think about what the next dinner will be like.

Will it be back to short uncomfortable conversation with growing silence? Will he be able to share stories with them again after knowing what he’s done in the past?

Will it be on his and Emma’s wedding day? Surrounded by decorations and congratulations as they toast to good health and a happy life?

Killian is unsure of the reception he’ll receive the next time their family dinner comes around, but he knows for damn sure he needs to get off this submarine and back to Storybrooke to find out.

Trans- Joker

I’ve wanted to write a trans joker thing for a while and finally actually got to it. Part 2 is here! Part 3 is here! Part 4 is here!

Joker bit his lip hard, groaning in pain as cramps ripped through his stomach.

He could handle most kinds of pain, some he even he enjoyed, but this?

This was terrible.

He was experiencing his first period in over 10 years.

Keep reading

The Calm Before a Storm (Newt x Reader)

Originally posted by stupidteletubbie


Summary: Newt x reader - Newt is friends with reader, but when he meets a girl named Leta he seems to forget all about his closest friend.

Warnings: Some angst, little bit of fluff at the end.

Author: @xfandomqueenblrx

Words: 2,494

Please leave feedback!!

AND DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER SITES

—————————————————————————————

It was your third year of Hogwarts when you had your first encounter with Newt.

You were sitting at your house’s table when you heard someone sit down next to you.

“Can I sit here?” they asked. 

You turned your head to the side to see a short boy with tousled brown hair and freckles sat next to you. He was wearing a Hufflepuff shirt and he looked distressed. As you were about to respond to him, you heard a couple of Slytherins yelling from their table.

“What a loser!”

“Haha, yeah! That kid will never be as smart as Theseus!”

You glanced at the boy sitting next to you and you could see the tears starting to gather in his eyes. Your heart really felt for this kid, even if you hadn’t met him before. Taking his hand, you gave him one glance before pulling him up from the table and walking out of the dining hall.

“W-where are we going?” he asked, slight tremors racking his voice. You could still hear the Slytherins yelling and laughing from where you were.

“You’ll see. I just don’t want you around those people anymore.”

You led him up to your house’s common room and sat him down on one of the couches. 

“I’m sorry, I never even asked for your name before I dragged you up here!” You gave out a small awkward laugh and shyly glanced towards him.

“Oh, my name’s Newt, Yours?”

“Y/N.”

And those were the good days. The rest of the year was spent being with Newt, studying with him, exploring with him, and creating many memories. You had even started to develop feelings for him. However, once you entered your sixth year of Hogwarts, everything went downhill. Things weren’t the same when a girl named Leta entered Newt’s life. 


You boarded the Hogwarts Express yet again, walking around in search of Newt. You looked around a little bit more and then recognized Newt in one of the train’s cabins. But, wait… He was with someone else. There was a girl sitting across from him. She had long, pretty black hair, and her porcelain skin was blemish free. She was gorgeous. Her and Newt were talking animatedly, smiling and laughing at what the other said. 

Racking up the nerve to go in and introduce yourself, you slid open the cabin door. Both Newt and the girl looked up at you in surprise. Newt’s eyes widened and a grin spread across his face.

“Y/N! I was waiting for you to arrive! Meet my new friend, Leta. And Leta, meet my best friend, Y/N. I’ve known her since my fourth year here in Hogwarts.” 

You glanced at Leta and smiled. She looked at you and smiled back. She seemed pretty nice. 

And that was the calm before the storm. Ever since that day, Leta has been attempting to make your life a living hell, slowly creating a distance between you and Newt so she could latch onto him. 

At first, everything seemed normal. But you soon started to notice that Newt was starting to ditch you more to be with Leta. She would try her best just to get Newt away from you, making up excuses that she’d need help to study or that she wanted to take notes on some of the animals Newt had found in the Forbidden Forest. There were no more late night hang outs with you and Newt, no more studying with Newt, and no more exploring with Newt. He would always be so gullible to believe in every word Leta said, leaving you in the dust.

Just like today. You had eaten breakfast with Newt and Leta today in the dining hall. Yesterday, Newt had promised to help you study for your Herbology test after breakfast today. As you were eating your food, you looked up at Newt to see him still talking to Leta. You had to ask him if he was still up for studying today.

You cleared your throat a little bit. Newt still didn’t look at you. 

“Newt.”

“Hey Newt.”

“Newt!”

Nothing, Leta looked at you a little strangely, smirked, and then turned back towards Newt. 

You then dropped your fork onto your plate, resonating a loud noise.

“Are you ok Y/N?” Newt finally looked up and decided to talk to you.

You were close to your boiling point now. Newt hadn’t talked to you in several days and he could barely take his eyes off of Leta just to talk to you. You felt betrayed, and a little heartbroken.

You sighed loudly. “Newt, I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while now. Anyways, do you still think you can help me study for my herbology test?”

“Oh… about that.” Newt glanced at you and then at Leta.

“I-I can’t help you after breakfast because I promised Leta that I would go to the forest with her so we could look for some new creatures. But, when we come back I promise you I will help you study!”

You looked down at your plate in despair. You just wanted to spend some time with Newt after being thrown out the window so many times, yet now he can’t even help you study for a little bit. 

“Y/N?”

You stood up abruptly. “Nevermind, I’ll just go study on my own. Have fun.” Your voice was monotone, void of any emotion. At this point you just needed some time to really think about what your friendship with Newt really is now.

“Are you sure? Look, I’m really sorry, I promise I’ll come back and I’ll meet up with you at our meeting place at five tonight. Ok?”

You glanced back at Newt and Leta. Newt was staring at you with worry in his eyes, while Leta was looking at you with boredom. What else did you expect?

“Yeah, I’ll see you there.” You then rushed out of the dining hall. You felt like crying, you wanted to give Newt another chance tonight. Maybe he’d actually show up this time.

                                      ———————-

4:30

You started to gather all of your things from the library. You’d been studying all day just to take your mind off of your freckled face friend. Hopefully he’ll be on time today.

4:45

You arrived at the meeting place you and Newt had found a year back. It was an abandoned classroom that none of the teachers were using, so the both of you had figured that you might as well use it as a late night meeting place.

5:00

Nothing. Ok, well, the clock just struck five, he might just be a little late. You decide to wait a little longer.

5:30

Is there something wrong? Maybe one of the beasts that they found was being troublesome. Or maybe Leta was just holding them back a little bit. That wouldn’t be a surprise.

6:15

Ok. That’s it. You’ve given him enough time to return and yet he still wasn’t here.

You sighed angrily and packed up your things. As you left the abandoned classroom you could only think:

“Is it really that easy for him to forget me?”


The next day you woke up and went down to breakfast. You still hadn’t heard a single thing from Newt about his whereabouts last night, and strangely enough, he wasn’t at breakfast today. 

You sat down at your houses table next to a friend of yours.

“Have you seen Newt? I need to talk to him.”

Your friend turned towards you and looked at you quizzically. “Haven’t you heard? He’s in the nursery because he got all beaten up by a troll last night in the forest. Leta was talking about it all morning.”

Your eyes widened and you glanced over to look at the Slytherin table only to see Leta laughing and smiling about something her friend told her. 

What is wrong with her? Is she not at all worried about Newt? Did she even try to help Newt? There were no scratches or cuts on her whatsoever. You started to become so angry at Leta, but there was no point in starting a fight now. You needed to check on your best friend. 

You stood up abruptly from the bench and rushed out of the hall. Little did you know, Leta had seen you leave and already knew where you were heading. She also stood from her seat and began following you as you quickly walked to your destination.

You had almost made it to the nursery when that annoyingly shrill voice stopped you.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Leta.

Inhaling sharply, you paused before swiftly turning around to glare at her. She looked as beautiful as ever, her hair put up into a braided hairstyle, her face held no blemishes whatsoever, and her robes were void of any wrinkles, the Slytherin emblem standing proudly on the crest of her heart.

“Why do you care?” you sneered.

“You know, you don’t deserve him. He doesn’t even like you, yet you’re still lovesick for him.”

This pompous little brat I swear to God-

You almost laughed at your thoughts, before throwing all of your hatred for her into one sentence. “At least I care for him, unlike a certain witch-bitch I know.”

You didn’t stay to see Leta’s reaction, although if you had, you would’ve seen her perfect face scrunch up in absolute anger. 

Walking away from Leta felt like the best thing you had done in a while. However, that feeling was soon shrouded by your worry for Newt. 

You walked into the nursery, gazing at several white beds before coming across the eyes of your best friend.

Newt was battered up. He had a wrap around his head, several cuts and bruises on his legs, arms, and even his face. His left eye was swollen shut and was colored in a dark shade of purple. He looked terrible. 

Your face soon contorted into one with worry, and you slowly walked over to Newt, almost as if you had to approach him like he would a wounded animal. 

“Hey… Newt.”

He winced before turning to you. His right eye widened and he attempted to smile, but it soon turned to a grimace as a shock of pain spasmed through his head like a lightning bolt. Seeing his reaction to the pain, you rushed over to him and sat on his bed, taking his hand in yours. You couldn’t help but feel a slight shock run through your hand and up your arm, leaving a tingling sensation in it’s wake. God, you missed this so much. You haven’t had a moment alone with Newt in what felt like years, and your heart sped up with the feelings you had been trying to hide for so long.

“Shhh… It’s ok. What happened?” You brushed away a stray hair that had fallen onto his face, then allowing your hand to gently rest on his cheek to reassure that you were there for him. Newt sighed and leaned into your touch.

His voice was hoarse and low when he replied. “Leta and I were exploring in the forest when a troll came trudging by. Everything just went downhill from there and all I remember is trying to get out of there in one piece.”

You could only imagine how scared he must’ve been. Thoughts of the frightened kid you had met in your third year that had soon became your best friend. “I’m sorry that happened, Newt. Do you know how long you have to be here for?”

“It shouldn’t be much longer. There are always healing spells I can use. Listen, have you seen Leta?”

And there she was again. Plaguing his mind. You slowly took your hand away from his cheek and looked away. “Yes, she was at breakfast this morning, why?” Newt’s brows furrowed at the loss of warmth from your hand.

“I haven’t seen her since the incident.”

Sighing, you looked down at your hands before looking up at Newt, annoyance showing clearly in your eyes. “I don’t know what else you’d expect from someone like her.”

You regretted the words immediately once they came out of your mouth. Why would you say that? Granted, it was time Newt realized how toxic she was and how she had been using him for homework and to get under your skin. However, the look on Newt’s face made you feel absolutely terrible. He looked so confused and lost in what you had just said.

“What do you mean, ‘someone like her’?” The annoyance in his voice stabbed at you.

“Newt, look. I understand you care deeply for her, but can’t you see she’s using you? She only asks for help for homework, she never wants you to hang out with me alone, and just recently she had tried to stop me from coming here to see you! I can’t let you allow her to hurt you anymore!” Your voice had begun to rise higher and higher nearing the end of your sentence and your breaths were heavy after all you had said.

Newt laid there, pondering and turning the words you had said over and over in his mind.

“Did she really try to stop you from coming here?”

You only nodded in response. He looked down and began to fiddle with his own hands. 

“I’m sorry I never realized before. I just thought she really cared for me. And she really seemed like my only friend for a long time.”

Now it was your turn to be confused. “What do mean ‘your only friend’?” Your voice was soft. He couldn’t really think you would’ve abandoned him. Right?

Newt looked to the side, averting your seemingly harsh gaze. “Well, you just seemed to distance yourself from me after a while. I thought you didn’t want to be around me.”

You paused, thinking of all the times you had refused to go somewhere with Newt after hearing he had invited Leta to join him as well. You cringed, not only was Leta attempting to distance you from Newt, but you allowed it to happen. You lessened the amount of times you were with him only because she would be accompanying the two of you. And you had failed to realize that you may be hurting Newt too.

Taking his hand in yours, you rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand. “I’m sorry I distanced myself from you. I just… couldn’t handle being around Leta after a while and I tried to avoid her as much as I can. I really care for you Newt, and I never intended for that to happen.”

Newt smiled. “I care for you too.”

He gently took your hands in his, pulling you down onto him. You gasped at the sudden contact with chest, however he only shushed you and began gently stroking your hair.

“Y/n, I care for you more than you think.”

—————————————————————————————

This is so sucky, mainly because it was the first draft I ever worked on and I just decided to pick it up again, so I’m sorry if it’s absolutely terrible!! 

please leave feedback and tell me what ya think.

ily <3

anonymous asked:

First of all the way you write Ignis is amazing <3 And I LOVED your Nightmare with Ignis. But what if it's the other way around? He is struggling with a nightmare(s) and need some comfort from his S/O? :3c (I'm 110% for angst!)

Ignis was drowning.

His lungs filled with water, and his limbs remained still, weighed down by an invisible force.

Why couldn’t he move?

He tried to thrash. Tried to breathe, but the inky darkness that surrounded him crept up along his skin in thin tendrils, tying him to the black abyss that threatened to swallow him whole. He struggled against his restraints, his mouth opened in a silent scream.

Above him, something appeared.

It was Noctis’ face, empty and blank. His once clear blue eyes were glazed over, his skin a deathly white.

Why have the Six cursed me? Ignis thought, panic rising like bile in his throat. Why have they granted me this one sight, while the rest of my existence is shrouded in darkness?

He started to struggle against his bonds again when Noctis’ dead eyes suddenly snapped to meet his. His lip curled into a snarl, his arm outstretched into a bloody claw.

“You failed me…”

Ignis felt tears stinging his eyes and tried to get away, but it was no use. He still couldn’t move. In the distance, he thought he heard someone calling his name. He tried to strain his hearing to pinpoint the voice, but he couldn’t quite find the direction it was coming from.

The bloody claw drew closer and closer, until it was almost upon him. It was just about to close around his throat when—

“IGNIS!”

He bolted upright, drenched in cold sweat. Ignis panted, feeling the dampness of his night shirt as he tried to steady his breathing. He felt your hand touch his arm and he instinctively withdrew, thinking it had been the disfigured corpse of his best friend.

“Ignis,” your voice called to him, gentle and soft. “It’s okay. You were just having a nightmare.”

Ignis panted, feeling around him. His fingers were met with his plush duvet, and even though he couldn’t see, he realized he was back in his apartment, where he was safe, with you.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he finally managed, his shoulders curled inward as he gripped the sheets in his lap. “Sometimes it’s hard to differentiate between the darkness of my reality and the darkness within my dreams.”

You looked at your lover, the man who had given up so much of his life to the Crown, who had fought valiantly alongside his friends for years. It had been a few months since the light had returned to Insomnia, and ever since Noctis’ passing, he kept having these awful nightmares. It broke your heart to see someone so strong feeling so helpless.

You bit your lip. “Can I touch you? Is that okay?”

After a moment, he gave a nod.

You started off slow. Your fingers touched his forearm, and he flinched. You let the warmth of your palm seep into his skin before gently rubbing along his bicep, and then over to his back. You moved closer to him, pulling him in close. He leaned into your touch, finally, and you brought his head to your chest and rubbed comforting circles against his spine.

“It was just a dream, Iggy. It’s okay. I’m here for you, you don’t have to be scared.”

You could feel his breath starting to hitch, heard the small sniffle that he tried so hard to keep at bay. He never wanted to look weak in front of you, but he couldn’t help it. The nightmares were starting to compound, starting to take a toll on him. His arms came to wrap around you, hugging you tightly, like he was afraid that if he let go, he fall right back into that darkness again. You took his face in your hands and helped wipe away the tears that fell from his cloudy eye.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Ignis opened his mouth briefly, but closed it just as fast. He shook his head.

“It’s okay,” you said, stroking your thumb over his cheek bone. “If you’re not ready, it’s alright. But just know that you don’t have to be ashamed, okay? They’re just dreams. They don’t control you.”

Ignis nodded, but you weren’t certain that he believed you. You pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, and then the other side, then his nose, and then a lingering one to his lips. You felt him respond, to your relief, and pulled away, resting your forehead against his.

“Do you want me to make you a cup of Ebony to calm your nerves?”

Ignis nodded again. “I think I’d like that.”

“Alright.” You rose from the bed and he got up with you, not wanting to be alone. You took his hand and brought him to the kitchen, and he held you from behind while you made his coffee.

You stayed up with him until the sun rose, the warmth of daylight kissing his skin. In the light of day, in the safety of your arms, he could escape the darkness of his unconscious mind. At least for a little while longer.

Anti’s Antics (Pt. 1 )

This is a fanfiction inspired by the geniuses that brought you

@ask-sadisticdark and @ask-psychoanti

Both of these blogs to me are considered the most amazing ask blogs I’ve seen ever, and I love them both very much. Big fan. I will do more and more fanart because my love is ever growing. <3

I hope you both enjoy it, as well as the readers who will unfortunately, stumble upon it.

Love you guys. EnJOY thE ShOw:

-

-

Ḩ̶̱̮̳̹͎̣͊ȩ̵̙͉̙͔̏̆̏l̸͔̯̤͚͍̐͊͝l̷̡̲̩̾̎̈́͠o̵̳̹͍͈̭͊͊̅̾̈́̍͐ ̷̳͖̀̎͝D̶̲̑ą̵̬̤̰̗̗͠r̵̙̥̒̂͠k̸̺̫̯̂͂ẙ̸͉̇̂̂̿́͝” The shadowy and glitching figure spoke, highlighted by his bright illuminating green eyes.

Dark sighed, placing his sharp knuckled hands on his desk before raising to a stand. “You know I dislike it when you call me that. May I ask why you have come here. I was woRKing.”

I̵͇͓̣̘̲̔̐̽̒͘͜ ̵̢̧̝̭̮̜̳̋̎̐̌͆̊̎t̸̛͍̦͍͈̀h̶̢̘̤͔̻̻̋͆̓̽͂o̸͎̜͒̋͌͊u̴͇̩̟͌̆͊̚g̶̫̈́̊̐h̵̪̲̜̫͂̎̇́̇ṭ̶͎̪̈́́̓́̑́̚ ̸͎̾̉̈y̶̢̳̖̗̩͖̙͋͑̄̈́͗̕͝ơ̶̡͉̯̭̺̖͂̓̈́͆͘͠ű̸̯͓̟̼̠͔̤͊ ̶̡̖͔̋̐e̵͚͖̬̩̭͉͆̓̈́͆ņ̸͉̜͕̯̾j̵̙̯̮̼͎͒ọ̵͔͊̿̾ý̴̦͉͙̩̂̄e̵̦̓̔̓d̶͚̮̫̒̎̆̇̕͝ ̴̢̈́m̷̨̗̳̻͎̍̇͂̓̑̀̄ͅy̵̡͆̓͒̓̾̽͝ ̵̛̱͓͓̰͍͌̍͌̉c̸̪̉̏ò̷̩m̴̞̠̮̫͂̀̕ͅp̸̧̧̘̖͓̯͊͌͌͋͆͠ͅa̵͔̙̭͎̟͖͆̑̓̉͂n̴̛̹̝̥̺͋̈̏͝ͅy̶̙̻͎͌̀̀ Anti said, coming into the lit area in front of his desk to reveal his maniacal grin and disheveled green hair. He broke into sudden, unattached and echoing laughter- with occasional separate voices coming from God knows where. His entire form was fuzzy as if he was an out of range television channel.

“Do nOt DiSrEgaRd my question.” Dark seethed, his jaw sharp as he spat out the words. He smoothed over his suit which had ruffled as a result of standing. He shoved his hands in his pockets and straightened his spine to further appraise him. His stare grew condescending as if observing a child. “Why have you come.” He stated, his expression calmed. Controlled.

Ç̷̪̀a̶̛̫͝n̷̮̅̎'̵͓̍ṫ̵̰ ̴̼͝I̴͎͈͆͆ ̵̬̀̉v̶̲̞́͑i̴̥̍s̷̥̬̚i̷̼͍̅͠ţ̶̘͛͊ ̸͍̦͠á̸̡̝̏n̷͕̐͠ ̶͋͠ͅó̴̪̌ľ̵̻̣͗d̸͍̥͌ ̴̗̀f̷̬́̕r̷̟͙̿̐ḯ̷̘͙͑ḛ̷̢̉ǹ̶̺̎͜d̵̾͠ͅͅ?̵̛̜͐ Anti responded, forcing his lips down into a false pout, then promptly breaking into a grin once again. He could never stay frowning for longer than a few moments. A trait that always caused a tinge of annoyance to bubble up inside of Dark.

Dark’s irritation in his expression was now plain, “I suppose you can. Just  -” Dark’s sentence came to an end as he saw Anti walk disjointedly to his desk; the glitches following him as he approached Dark’s sacred place of work. Dark appeared in front of him. “-just dOn’t toUCh aNytHInG-” He growled, his fist clenched and tight to his side to prevent from harming him. He would wait until he had a reason to. He sighed and turned around to return to his desk but Anti was already there, standing beside Dark’s favourite chair.

Anti hovered over the documents, his form moving everywhich way with glitches and blurs, Ś̷̜̣̕o̴̞͆ ̵̦̅́w̴̳̼͘ȟ̷͇̂å̸̩t̴̹̩͌ ̸̗̈̒a̸͖̺̚̚r̸̖̍͑è̶͘͜ ̸̼̒ÿ̴̪̖́̎o̸̟͆̅u̷̢̾ ̵͚̓͂w̶̢͒o̸̡͓͛̋r̷̺͌k̷͚̋͠î̸̹n̶̺͒g̶̢̛̐ ̵̡̢̾o̵̗͙͠n̸̪̟̋,̴̠̱̍ ̶̼̊͝n̴̲͝o̸̠̜̿w̵̼͓̽?̵̝̚ He asked, and bent down to skim read one of the pieces.

Dark could feel his cool slipping away, but at this point he wasn’t concerned. He assumed that Anti was wise enough steer clear from his desk -unfortunately, he was mistaken. “Nothing that concerns you. Now if you would please step back…” Dark trailed off, as he witnessed something that made his form become cold and unmoving.  Anti had stepped closer and so did his glitches. Once the glitch made contact with the desk it was game over.

Dark was unmoving. Unable to believe as he saw papers blown off the desk and torn up by the glitch, files became strewn and opened up as if alive. Anti’s expression became one of fear, but his eyes full of amusement, he had really done it that time.

“O̵͕̲̍̉o̷̹͘ṗ̴̥s̷̢͑͐” Anti commented, stepping back. However, it was futile. The damage had been done. Anti had indeed made quite a mess. He glanced back up at Dark, beholding his ‘friend’s’ rage.

If Dark had blood it would have begun to boil, if he had lungs he would have taken quick hitched breaths as his anger grew unbearable. Instead, his form became unhinged and shadows grew around him which increased his height. Red and blue colours gave a 3-D, terrifying effect. He whipped a hand forwards with an irate grace, sending a fire-like substance protruding from his palms. The fire was dark and wispy but the strange force hit Anti like a train. It threw him to the ground a good twenty feet away. Anti howled in pain as he rolled around to put out the fire. He recovered only seconds later, breaking into short fits of disturbing cackles.

Anti sat up to glower at him with pure black eyes, “I̵͙͌̕ș̵̹̈́̎ ̵̻͙̉t̶̪̥͛h̶̲͂̀a̷͇̋ṱ̷̢͗ ̴̠̾̀a̶̮̲͆́l̵̖̓͂ͅl̷͇̂ ̷̨̬̆̈́y̷̯̏ȯ̸͉͙̀u̶̙̠̓'̸̲̈́͒v̸̭̍e̵̱̍͑ ̶̠̄ğ̸̣̘̎o̷̬̐̓t̸̉ͅ?̷̬̈” He said challengingly to Dark, a smirk on his face. The idea of a fight with Dark appealed to him. The last time they fought they eventually reached a moot point and compromised on working alone.

This time… Anti wanted to win. It would be so fun.

Dark was unconcerned with the very notion of ‘winning’. He only sought a mutual understanding. Anti had to know his place, just like Dark knew his. And he had to respect that place. If Anti ever wished to visit him again, Dark would teach him that lesson first and foremost, “I tOLd yoU… nOt To tOUcH. AnYThING.” He was spitting out the words as if they were a sour taste in his mouth, he was drawing nearer to Anti, his footfalls loud and daunting.Anti came to a stand, his figure glitching again with a loud buzz.

Í̶̞̖́t̴̺͙̕͝ ̷̤̪̍̀w̶̪͂͐ą̵̳̄̆s̶̤͌ ̵̲̦̎̐a̶̢̛͇ ̸̘̼͂̚s̶͈̆ỉ̶͔ͅm̸̟͔̍̓p̸̨͂l̸̨͐̈́ȩ̵͆̒͜ ̶̩͚͗å̶̺c̸̳̙̏č̸̬͐i̸̜͋̕d̶̼̖́̓e̷̤͑̑n̵̜̾̽t̸̛͈͠ Anti justified, unsheathing his favourite blade from his pocket. An obsidian blade. It was eight inches in length from the tip of the blade to the end of the handle. The ivory handle was adorned with Celtic knots and other etchings. Anti ran two fingers down the knife almost lovingly, eying the hilt of it while he waited for Dark.

“Making you bUrN will be an acCIDeNt.” Dark retorted as he drew up a hand during his swift approach. Anti knew to duck this time around; barely missing the fire that burst from Dark’s fingertips. The flames simmered away, searching for a victim. Anti sprung into the air towards Dark his eyes squinted, determined as he held up the knife over his head. Dark had little time to react as Anti collided with him. The knife was buried up to the handle in Dark’s forehead as they both were thrown to the ground. Dark took a sharp intake at the pain in his head. Anti had him pinned down, which was easy due to the pain Dark was experiencing. He wrapped his fingers around the handle that protruded from Dark and twisted the knife. Dark made a restrained noise of agony, planning his next move in pained silence.

“T̷h̵i̶n̴k̸ ̷o̸f̶ ̶h̷o̵w̶ ̷d̵e̸l̴i̶g̶h̷t̴e̷d̴ ̶t̸h̴e̸ ̶f̸a̵n̵g̶i̵r̶l̶s̵ ̶w̷i̵l̷l̵ ̷b̴e̸ ̴w̷i̴t̴h̷ ̶t̶h̷i̸s̴ ̶p̴o̸s̷i̸t̶i̵o̴n̵.̵ Anti said, fully aware of the aftermath of his statement. Dark’s eyes were currently shrouded in black, his canine teeth visible as his jaw tightened.

“GeT oFF.” Dark bellowed, his very yell shaking the entire void and throwing off Anti with the force of it. Dark was suddenly standing. He had to gain his footing a few times as he put both hands on the handle of the knife. He abruptly tore it from his skull with a sickening ‘shnk’. A black ooze that wasn’t blood dribbled down the sides of his face from the ‘wound’. He cracked his neck to one side as new skin stretched over the place where it was, causing it to vanish completely. His lips widened into a smirk as he held Anti’s knife in his hands. “DoEs ThIs BElOnG tO yOu?” Dark murmured maliciously. He was just itching to make him suffer. He pondered about the possibility of capturing and bringing him to the persuasion room. How long would it take until he begged me to stop?

I̸̅́ͅt̶͎̀̒'̶̧̏s̷̫͂ ̸͉͐́ń̴͇̦͌o̶̦̩͛̉t̶̲̾ ̸̝̿ơ̴̗̾v̶̞͚͊e̶̖̔r̷͓̳̍͝ ̵͍͆y̴̛͖͂e̶͎̩͝ṱ̴͕͒,̶̯͊͜ ̸̮̹͌D̸̖̏ǎ̷̗̪ȓ̵̦̂k̶̥͉̈́y̸̧̺͐̏ Anti yelled, and was upright again. His statement snapped Dark out of his daydream.

“It NeVEr IS WiTH yOu, Is iT?” Dark sighed, rolling his black eyes.

Ṅ̶̳̯̃̑̆ȏ̶̧͉̅̍͐ț̴̓̉͗̕͝ ̸̻͌u̸̫̓̾́̕n̵̨̿ț̸̌͆i̴̳̠͂̎̉͝ĺ̴̫͚̟ ̶̲̜̭̰̅͑̈́̿̆I̸̥̺̥̱̬̓̚͝ ̷̥͌w̸̢̳̘͔̦̿ỉ̶̜̤͚ͅñ̷̇͠ Anti regarded him while he raised his fist to connect with Dark’s face. But Dark was faster, he moved out of range.

“yOu hAd tHE gALL to desTRoY mY WoRk…AnD noW you DeSire A FiGHt? Is this why YoU CaMe?” Dark hissed, and appeared behind Anti, stabbing him in the back of his shoulder blade twice with the knife.

Anti grimaced in pain, turning around to hit him but was faced with only the darkness of the void. I wa̸̳̯̲̱̗̚s̴̞̱̙̞̔͌̋͑n̵͚̜̝̝̓̃'̷̨̘̲͓̥͂͌͊t̴͚̄͌̿͝ͅ ̷̮̠̰͒̄̂l̵͓͕̳̊̾͠ȳ̶̞̈̚i̷̢̩̪̟͋͌ͅn̵͉̳̗͐͜g̶̗̤̉̍ ̷̛̺̏͋͗͠ẘ̶̼̟h̷̹̋͐̿͝e̷̙̱̲̮̔̓̔ń̶̞̹͖́̽ ̸̦͙̀̂I̴͇̓̊̈́͝ͅ said I ̴̞̌̊ͅc̵͙͘ą̶̞̼̳̖̈́̚m̷͖̪͇̩͋̆̐͌̒ͅḝ̵̹̱̮͇̾͝ ̶̨̪͍̂̀f̴̛̤͖̥̀͗̈́͝o̷̡̹̕r̸̢͉̱͎̺͝ ̴͔̦͙̜̈̾̃͜a̷̘̘̎͌ ̶̞̪̝̲̺̐͊͗̑̄v̴̛̗͗̌ḯ̶̞͓͍̊s̸̢̮̃̋ĩ̴͙̘̦ṯ̴̣̋̓̀͊̆.̴̤̺́ ̴̝̖̣̘̐̑̈ͅT̴̹͔̈́̓͘h̵̪̯͎̹̏͆͆͝ẽ̵͓̰̥ ̶̫͔͓̎f̸̨̪͍̎̂̉̏̚ḯ̴͕̰̝͔̋̓͐͠g̷͚͓̿ͅḧ̵̝́̈́̃̀̃ṫ̴̢̲̪̣̀̕̚͠ ̸̡̼͙̹͛̿͊͛̕ï̶͔̹̍̇͠s̶̻̯̫̀̍́̿ ̴̨̧̎̄̓̈͠ą̶̡̞͕͗ ̸̮̖̖̻͋̀̿b̴̞̍o̶̺̹̳̽̄̆̕n̸͈͐̒u̵̮̤̱̒̇̉̿ś̴̡̠̬̈́̅̀͘.̷̛͕̣̰͛ he jeered out into the endlessness of it.

“Is ThAT So…”Dark’s voice bounced around the void, coming from everywhere all at once.

“Q̶͍̰̳́̄̀̈̎ų̸̜̞͒í̸̧͎͇t̴̨͉̃̎̆͜͜ ̸̗̮̤̾̀͛̈ḣ̸͍̣͇͎̍̋͠i̵̘̓̋͘ḓ̶͒͒͑͂͝į̷̹͕̫͉͐͌n̷̜͖̓̌͝ͅǵ̸͉̽͆͝ͅ ̷̥̱̥̃̆a̵̙͒̆́͜n̸͔̭̳̓͝͝d̸̘͇̎̓͂̚͝ ̷̧̺̺̻̠͒̐̄f̸̛̛̲į̵̠̬̖̆̔́g̴̗̠̪̞̑̎͘h̶̲̯͊̒̑̚t̵̫̮̮͖̑̚ ̸̥͎̞̼͒̕m̵̢̨̛̫̓͝ȅ̸͚” Anti replied, his eyes darting around as he swiveled on his heel to search for Dark. W̵̤̰͆̓̾̀ḥ̷̖̝̃͆ę̴̱͜͝ŗ̷͇̇̈́é̸̛̪̗ ̷̘̳̗̗̳͆́͝a̶̤̹̝̽ṙ̵̲̺̀́ẹ̴̞̈́ͅ ̴̡̗̤͓̾̏́̑̂y̸̘͕̠̪̾͒a̴̢̲̔̅̕͜?̸͈̖͎̆͛͜͠͝

“I WAnT tO SHoW YoU SomEThiNG.”


To be continued?

Storm Front

Happy Valentine’s Day to my amazing Secret Valentine, @starscythe!!!  I do hope you enjoy this gift, my friend, as you gift us with so many incredible manips all year long. Meeting you in person in November was such a joy, and I hope we can hug in person again in the near future. 

Without further adieu, here is your  @oqcelebration valentine. :D


He’s heard stories, of course, broken whispers whenever a fierce storm blew in unexpectedly, mumbled musings if an acquaintance suddenly fell ill. These are never voiced loudly, as superstition’s lingering hold on the forest proves to be an ominous task master, leaving such wonderings to drift from one listener to the next, more often than not finding fertile ground stripped bare by black magic’s lingering touch.

The Evil Queen’s dark curse had taken many, but there are those among the forest’s remnants who believe she herself still dwells in this realm. They speak of her in hushed fragments, discuss sightings of a dark, solitary figure who roams the forest at night, a cloaked woman who has somehow lost her magic but now lives bound to it, perhaps in just retribution for a curse so foul it emptied their lands and cast both friend and foe into fates unknown.

Robin has never put much stock into superstition, neither does he give credence to legends or fairy lore. His is a world defined by what he can see, touch and confiscate, a world in which people rarely fit into molds of “good” or “evil”, a world in which he’s observed unspeakable acts committed by the most respected of citizens while those judged as lesser are the very ones who offer shelter and food to the starving. He lives by his wits and senses and surrounds himself with a thieving group of outcasts he’d readily give his life to protect.

Yet even he, the infamous Robin Hood, has to admit that the air feels odd tonight, that there is a charge to the impending storm brewing in the eastern highlands that makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He senses a disturbance, one that feels altogether too personal and close at hand for comfort. Roland must have felt it, too, for the boy had clung to him as Robin soothed his son’s whimpers until he’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep.

It is enough for him to grudgingly admit that tinges of magic probably remain in his forest, even if the queen is nowhere to be found. Dreams of Marian and of his mother plague his sleep and fill him with sense of urgency altogether foreign, one that pushes him towards consciousness even as his body rebels.

A loud clap of thunder finally awakens him, and he’s surprised to find that he’s drenched in sweat. Roland is still sleeping soundly, but one touch to his son’s forehead reveals that the boy is hot with fever. He holds his child close, drawing the blankets up around him, but he worries as all parents do, even as the wind howls just outside their tent.

Roland needs feverfew tea. Unfortunately, their stashes of medicinal herbs have run dry in light of the recent bout of sickness that have ravaged both his men and their families, and he lies there only minutes before deciding to risk a trip to the lake’s edge to gather what he needs. He wakes Little John and asks his friend to keep an ear and eye out for his son before donning his thickest cloak and disappearing into the forest’s canopy. He’s survived far worse storms than this, he reminds himself, ignoring the tingling sensations skittering up his legs that feel altogether supernatural.

Keep reading

A KING OF INFINITE SPACE

A sci-fi Hamlet AU: 

Mankind left Earth, but there was nowhere for them to go. In a lonely castle of a spaceship, they crowned a King. 

  • There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophies, Hamlet says. He leans against the smooth glass window, the darkness of space outside swallowing him whole. Horatio turns his face up to the stars. I hope you’re right, he says, there better be

  • When the old King dies, they send him floating into nothingness. Horatio knows that an eternity ago, humans used to let their dead sail the oceans upon burning ships. King Hamlet’s death shroud smells of rust and hot metal when they reel it back in.

  • The Elsinore IV is not a prison, but a step outside means death regardless. Sometimes the ship rattles and shakes. Sometimes, the starfields outside are so dense that even if prime galaxy time indicates it is deep night, the sky blazes.

  • Do you think there’s anyone still out there? Hamlet asks one day. Horatio doesn’t have an answer.

  • They get their answer when the King comes back to them as a constellation, dots of light stitching him together just outside the observation deck.

  • Claudius sits in the bridge and prays to a supernova.

  • Ophelia wires an escape pod to take her far away. The little ship sputters, jerks, and all the rest of them can do is watch her spin further and further away. When she is nothing but another blazing star amongst the rest, she opens the hatch and steps out, arms spread out wide, hair spilling out before her. The cold vacuum of space is all that lingers between them.

  • When it is all over, Horatio sits against the wide window port and wonders if he is the last human alive. The deck is painted with blood. In the end, it wasn’t even space that killed most of them.

  • Beside him, the radio crackles.
Same Dark Places

There was this song that I heard today called Same Dark Places by JR JR that sounded like it could be a Bughead song to me and I just had to write a fic about it. Here are a few of the lyrics. Enjoy! 

(Apparently this song was on 13 Reasons Why and I didn’t realize it until after I wrote this so that’s cool!) 

I know everybody goes to the same dark places

Sometimes in the dead of night when you think that you can’t make it

You might find I left a light beside the bed for you

Cause I’ve been there too

“Bets?” 

Jughead crawled through Betty’s window, sliding onto the cushioned bench below the windowsill and stepping into the pitch-black bedroom.

“What’s going on? I just got your text,” Jughead whispered, taking a step closer to her bed to find Betty curled up in a ball, wrapped in a blanket with her blonde hair brushed off to the side of her pillow.

“I can’t sleep,” she muttered into her pillow, her voice slightly muffled from the fabric. 

“I can see that,” Jughead pointed out, taking a seat at the edge of her bed and resting a hand on her hip. “Something on your mind?” 

“It’s just - everything,” Betty sighed, unable to say anything more. She had so many thoughts rolling around her mind that she didn’t know how to sort through them to find one coherent enough for anyone to comprehend. 

“Come on, Bets, you can talk to me,” Jughead prompted, his hand sliding up her arm to smooth down the hair sprawled across the pillow. 

Betty rolled onto her back, glancing up at the ceiling to focus on the dark shadows spread along the white surface. 

“Sometimes I lay awake at night and I can’t stop thinking about all that’s happened with Jason and Polly and my parents and Chuck and it gets to the point where I get so angry that I can’t breathe anymore. It’s like there’s this black shroud covering every part of me that’s so suffocating that I can’t - I can’t-”

Betty’s hands moved up to cover her face as the tears began to form in her eyes, leaving her unable to finish her sentence. 

“Hey, shhhh,” Jughead soothed, pulling her hands away from her face and tilting her chin towards him so that she would meet his gaze. “That dark place you’re talking about? You’re looking at a frequent flyer. In fact, I’m probably a VIP at this point. I’ve been there too many times to count.”

“How do you save yourself from drowning in it?” Betty asked in a small voice. “I search and I search for any sign of light but I can’t tell which way is up sometimes.” 

“You think about the parts of yourself and your life that give you any shred of joy or hope and you imagine those parts bursting with color and sunbeams and you keep thinking about it until the shroud lifts, even if it’s just a little,” Jughead told her. “At least that’s what I used to do when I was little. Now it’s a little different.” 

“What do you do now?” Betty wanted to know, her expression softening as she let herself find comfort in Jughead’s words. 

“I think about the girl with golden hair and a beautiful smile who lives next door to my best friend,” Jughead admitted, leaning forward to brush his fingers lightly across her cheek. “She tends to light up my whole world even on the darkest days.” 

“Jughead Jones, I’ve never heard you say anything so cliche in my entire life,” Betty teased, her lips curling into a slight smile as she let herself feel at ease for the first time in what felt like days. 

“This girl’s worth it,” Jughead told her, returning her smile with a mischievous one of his own. “Don’t tell anyone though. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Secret’s safe with me,” Betty assured him, her smile beginning to fade as the darkness started to settle around her again. 

“And if none of those things work, there’s always this,” Jughead pulled out a round touch-light from his back pocket, holding it out for Betty to take as she sat up against the pillows on her bed. “I got this for you a few weeks ago when you first told me you were having trouble sleeping.”

“A night light?”

“I remembered the story you told me about the one your sister gave you when you were kids and how devastated you were when you lost it,” Jughead began, adjusting his position on the bed so that he was facing the wall above the nightstand. 

“Whenever you feel yourself drifting into your dark place, and you can’t find anything or anyone to pull you into the light I want you to hit the button beside your bed so that you know that you’re more than just the darkness you feel,” Jughead told her, removing the film from the back of the light and sticking it to the wall next to her bed. “You’re illuminated with so much love and life and beauty. And I want you to see that every time you turn on this light.” 

With one push of its round center, Jughead let the darkness be taken over by the light that he had given her with a soft, dim glow that completely changed the atmosphere of her room. 

“Juggie,” Betty breathed, smiling up at him as she took in the newly-illuminated version of her room that made her feel safe and happy for the first time in a long time. 

“Promise you’ll use it?” Jughead asked, taking her hand in his and raising a curious eyebrow in her direction. 

“I promise,” Betty assured him. “Thank you.” 

“That’s what I’m here for, Bets,” Jughead reminded her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and leaning back to meet her eyes. 

“But whenever I do turn it on, I won’t be thinking of me,” Betty admitted, reaching up to place a hand on the smooth skin of his cheek. “I’ll be thinking of the boy who cared enough to give this to me. He’s the one who brought the light into my life.” 

Betty scooted forward on the bed to lean in so close that her nose grazed gently against his. 

“I’ll never forget that.” 

With that, Betty met his lips with a soft kiss, letting her heart and mind and soul be filled with the light that Jughead had given her just by being there. Even if the darkness wouldn’t be gone completely, she knew that every time she turned on that light, she wouldn’t be alone. 

What?

—————————————————————————————

Pairing:
 Loki Laufeyson x Reader
Warnings: None
Request: Can you do one where the reader tells Loki that she pregnant.
Notes: Hey guys, sorry it’s so short but I haven’t been feeling myself at the moment and I just wanted to get something out to you guys. Anyway enjoy!
—————————————————————————————

You had fallen in love with the raven haired Asgardian almost the minute you met him. Luckily for you, your feelings had been reciprocated. You had been the only one to know that he hadn’t died that day on the Bifrost, with him showing up in your room one night. The two of you had expressed your love for one another that night and you didn’t regret it one bit. Up until now. Loki had just been brought back to Asgard after trying to conquer Midgard, however you had been forbidden from seeing him. But you held a secret that you just couldn’t keep from the man you loved. He deserved to know.

Sneaking through the layers of guards with the tricks Loki had taught you, you headed over to his glass cell. Robed in a dark cloak that masked your face, you stood quietly in front of your love’s cage, watching as he mindlessly paced the room. “You finally came then?” Loki murmured, turning to look at your shrouded figure. “I would have been here sooner, had it not been for your brother.” You replied, gently pushing the hood away from your face and stepping closer to the cell. Placing your hand on the glass you locked eyes with Loki. “I came for a reason you know.” You murmured, averting your eyes. “And what would that be my dear?” Loki responded, appearing close to the glass, with his hand placed over yours. “Loki, I um… do you remember the night after the Bifrost?” You gulped, looking into his glistening eyes. “How could I forget?” He smirked, drumming his fingers slightly. ‘There’s no easy way to say this.” You mumbled. “Spit it out Y/N, I can see it is worrying you.” He spoke with care. “I’m pregnant.” You whispered, barely audible. “What?” Loki almost shouted, eyes filled with panic. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, a solitary tear rolling down your cheek. “Lady Y/N, what are you doing in here?” Thor’s loud voice suddenly boomed, “It is not safe.” He said wrapping his hand around your arm and gently dragging you out. Turning your glance back to Loki for a split second you could see the pain evident on his face, but could do nothing about it.

One Love (Alexander X Reader)

My longest story yet: 2051 words

Major Angst, tissues are recommended

Thanks to @gratitudejoyandsorrow and @hamilficsfordays for being your awesome selves and believing in me.

Tags: @yayhamletnonstop @iputmyselfintothenarrative @ruth-hamilton-delrio


You feel world weary and bone tired. The thought of your bed is comforting. You smile as you see your husband waiting on you to join him. You quickly get in and curl up next to him. He is cold to the touch, but it doesn’t bother you. You suddenly remember something that needed to be done and jump up to do it fast so you can get back to Alexander. “Just come back to bed.” He murmurs. His voice sounds a little off but it pulls you back to his side.

You lay in bed shrouded in darkness. You can see Alexander’s silhouette on the other side of the bed. Everything feels right in the world. The sun starts to rise and Alexander begins to fade away. You stretch your fingers out to touch his face but just as the sun reaches its zenith, he whispers that he loves you just before he disappears.

“Nooooo!” You scream, sitting bolt upright in your bed. You reach out to grab the hand that you know should be there but all you find is empty sheets. It all starts coming back to you. The duel with Aaron Burr. He shot and killed your Alexander. It had been three months ago. You bolt for the bathroom to deposit whatever was left in your stomach into the toilet. Even being sick reminds you of your beloved Alexander. The way he held your hair out of the way so you wouldn’t get anything in it. The slow, soothing circles he would rub on your back. You succumb to sobs after you can’t throw up any more.

Once you cry all you have left in you, you slowly make your way downstairs. All the children are gone already, off to school or play dates. Thanks to your sister, Angelica, your children have been taken care of while you were still mourning the loss of the love of your life. She had left you a small plate for your breakfast but knew you probably wouldn’t eat it, although she would beg you to. You decided to appease your sister by eating some of the food she had prepared for you. You knew you needed to move on, get on with your life. It was what you thought Alexander would want you to do.

After eating everything that you could manage to stomach, you made your way to Alexander’s study. You stand before the door. Taking a deep breath to steel your resolve, you open the door for the first time in months and you are almost bowled over with memories. The most prominent one, the last one is thrust to the front of your mind.

You open the door to Alexander’s study to find him writing, as usual. You slowly walk over to stand behind him in his desk chair. You place your hands on his shoulders to rub them. “Alexander, come back to sleep.”

He sets his pen down to caress your hand. “I have an early meeting out of town.”

You place your chin on his shoulder. “It’s still dark outside.”

He places his hand on your cheek, causing your heads to touch. “I know. I just need to write something down.”

You shake your head at his words. It was always his response when he was in his study. “Why do you write like you’re running out of time?” You move to wrap your arms around his neck from behind him, placing your head on top of his.

He tries to shush you but you continue. “Come back to bed. That would be enough.” A small smile spreads across his face as he tries to appease you.

“I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

“Come back to sleep” You whisper in his ear.

“This meeting’s at dawn.”

You sigh, finally feeling resigned that he is not going to join you. “Well, I’m going back to sleep.” You place a kiss to the top of his head and begin to leave.

He grabs your hand before you are out of reach and pulls you to look at him. “Hey, best of wives and best of women.” He places a chaste kiss on the top of your hand, just like he did on the day you met.

You collapse to your knees as the memory wrenches your heart. If you had only known what that meeting was, you would have tried harder to get him to stay. You sat inside the doorway of his study, sobbing into your hands. Once you felt like you had no more tears to cry again, you dried your face with your handkerchief. Well, it wasn’t yours, it was Alexander’s but you held onto it, a physical piece of him you could still hold. Bringing yourself up off the floor, you walk over to his desk, Alexander was still the last person to touch it. You expressly forbade anyone touching this room, so you would always have this room that was just Alexander’s. It was still a mess, like always. Your eyes caught a piece that didn’t have Alexander’s scribblings all over it. It only had your name in the most elegant script you had ever seen in the center with the Hamilton family seal in bright red wax just underneath, holding it closed. It was from your husband, you just knew it. As you carefully reached your hand towards the letter, you blinked and it almost looked as if it had faded from view, just like Alexander had done in your dreams over the past few weeks. But, your tired eyes were playing tricks on you, the letter coming back into focus. Grabbing it quickly before you thought it would disappear again, you held it close to your heart. After taking a moment, with shaky hands, you break the three month old piece of wax. You gently open the last piece of correspondence that your beloved husband had written you.

My dearest Y/N,

You are just leaving the room heading back to bed after trying to get me to join you. I can not tell you hard it was to deny you of your request, especially if I am not able to return to you, my darling.

If I don’t, please don’t waste your precious time mourning my passing. Even though I am gone, I will always be with you. When darkness comes and tries swallow your sweet, bright light, I will light the night with stars, hear me whisper to you in the dark to bring you back to the light where you belong. Please know that I am never far away, I am always in your heart to guide you. I know that the path after this, if I don’t make it, will feel lonely and ragged. But along with our children and our dearest sister, Angelica, my love with surround you like a crimson robe, filling you with warmth, giving you comfort and make you look like the queen you are. You are the queen of my heart. Even though, I had made mistakes and forsake you, my love for you will
always be an all-consuming fire. Yes, my love, I will always burn for you. I implore you one last time, my one and only true love, please, do not cry for me. It will cause my soul grief to have to watch.

Loving you for forever,

Yours and only yours,

Alexander

You read the letter over and over again, crying, even though, beyond the grave, your one love begs you not to. As his words flow over you, your resolve begins to harden. He didn’t want this for you. He didn’t want you to be remembered as his weeping widow. Legacy. The one thing, besides you, that he had always wanted was to leave a legacy that would be remembered. You decide, here and now, that you would pick up your husband’s mantle. You would do everything in your power to protect his legacy, to tell his story. You gently fold the precious letter and place it in the locket that Alexander had given you.

“I saw it in the shop and I just had to get it for my darling Y/N.” He whispered in your ear as he clasped the locket around your neck. You turn round in in embrace so he can see it. The smile on his face grew wider. He lifts his hand to your face to caress your cheek, “It suits you.”

Another memory, this time a happy one, comes to mind. You find yourself smiling, really smiling, for the first time in months. You finally begin to feel alive again.

Hours later, you hear Angelica and the children start to come home for the day. You race downstairs to greet them. They all stop in shock when you come barreling towards them with a pep in your step and a smile on your face. You wrap your arms around your sister first. “Y/N, are you alright?” she asks, gently wrapping her arms around you like you were a porcelain doll, ready to crack at any moment. You pull back, smiling, then turn and start loving on each of your children. You look at each of them and you see the bits of Alexander in each of them. Alexander Junior had his eyes, John had his nose, James had his dimples, William had his chin, Little Angie had his mischievous grin, and Baby Philip, oh, he was spitting image of him.

After sending them to play, you are left alone with your sister. “Y/N, what happened? Don’t get me wrong, I am so happy that you aren’t mourning anymore. But, what changed?” She held both of your hands in hers. You gently pulled them away. “I finally realized that how I have been behaving is not what Alexander would have wanted for me. He would want to me to live my life, not waste my time on tears. I am ready to pick up where he left off.”

And you did. You spend hours going through all of his writing. You interview anyone who had been at his side, from soldiers that fought with him in the Revolutionary War to the other politicians who had been with him or against him. You rally and stand against slavery and support all of Alexander’s causes. Knowing that Alexander, not only wanted his story told but those he surrounded himself with, you petition for funds for a monument to be raised in George Washington’s honor. You spend the rest of your time on this earth trying to make sure that the name Alexander Hamilton and all he did for the great country he helped create would not be forgotten. You always felt like there was something more you could do but you always felt that if Alexander had survived, he would have done a much better job than you did.

50 years after Alexander’s death….

You are lying in bed, surrounded by your remaining children, Alexander Junior, James, John, Eliza, and Little Philip. You tell them that you loved them all dearly and to never forget you or their father and to always tell his story. “It’s almost finished, Mom. I promise to tell his story.” John told you, holding your hand. You smile, and as you look up from his eyes, off in the distance, you see an ethereal figure walking toward you. As it gets closer, you slowly begin to start noticing things. Dark, flowing hair, warm brown eyes, and the gentle smile of your beloved husband. “My Alexander.”

“Yes, Mom?” Alexander Junior asks but you don’t respond to him. Your eyes fixated just beyond the foot of your bed, past your children. Alexander stretched out his hand for you to come with him. You smile, sigh and close your eyes.

You open them and take his hand. As you look at your hand in his, yours is no longer the withered, fragile hand of an 97 year old woman. It looks like it did way back in 1804, the year Alexander passed. He looks exactly as he did that morning of the duel. “My one love, you told my story.” He grinned his small, shy smile that only you got to see. “No, I told our story.”

If Only We Had More Time - One

summary: The world needs Diana again, or rather Hades - god of the underworld - needs Diana to fix his mistake of letting Ares slip from his grasp and return to the world above. As a payment of sorts, Hades has brought Steve Trevor back from the dead, only Steve doesn’t remember a thing about his past life, more importantly, he doesn’t remember a thing about Diana. Diana would do anything to return Ares to his eternal prison, but with Steve’s life on the line again, would she risk letting Ares go if only to have more time with the man she lost too soon?

a/n: let’s get some confessions out in the open here before we begin. first, i’ve never seen batman vs. superman, i know some of the major points of it, but even with diana in it i didn’t bother to sit down and fully watch it, i didn’t feel the need to really, so apologies if i get something wrong, or my biggest worry is getting this version of bruce wayne wrong.

second thing, i did see wonder woman, i just saw it today and fell in love and i was just itching to start writing something for it! i cried like a little baby at the end and am in full denial about steve trevor dying because it broke my heart, which is why i’m writing this.

finally, this chapter is a bit short, i’m kind testing it cause i have no idea if anyone actually wants to read this so comments, likes, and all of that will determine how and if i get the next chapter done, i really like the idea so hopefully you guys reading this will too? dc is a little out of my comfort zone, i’ve only ever written dc stuff one other time so we shall see how this works. plus the added bonus is playing around with the greek gods a bit, i’m a total greek god nerd so getting to use some of that mythology here is great.

let me know what you guys think! sorry for the long note but i just wanted to put that all out there!

rating: m

pairing: diana prince (wonder woman) x steve trevor

ao3: (x)


Gotham City wasn’t Diana’s favorite place in the world, not many places could ever truly compare to the home she longed for, some places were nice enough - but Gotham however wasn’t one of those places. She did tolerate it from time to time, whenever Bruce called her into the city for one thing or another, usually important meetings, but this time it was just for some gala for the GCPD, and Bruce talked her into coming so he wasn’t there alone. Under normal circumstances, she would have stayed away, but ever since Bruce had found that picture if her and Steve from so many years ago, Pairs had become so lonely.

Keep reading

‘When I look at you...I’m home’ - Eobard Thawne

Note: I own not the gif or the picture and I know…Whoa that’s not Eobard Thawne that’s another one of Tom’s characters from a different program. My response is Shhhh!. Also feel to tell me if you’re bored of the amount of Harrison, Eobard and HR fics, and I’ll try to incorporate another character. I’m already in the process of a fic for someone who asked me to make one. I’m putting the final touches into it. Don’t fret I haven’t forgotten. Anyway onwards to the fic.

“Now Barry this isn’t just my confession. I need you, and I know I don’t deserve this but it’s not for me, I need you to give [Name] a USB. It’s plugged into my office computer.” The video recording of the thing played. His voice softer than it had been moments ago. His face relaxed as he looked somewhere off screen. His eyes following something, and Barry knew who it was. “Please Allen. It’s for [Name]”

He didn’t know why he gave into the last request of a dead liar but he did. He passed over the USB to the broken soul before him. His soft rub of their shoulder as he questioned whether he should stay as support. They needed the support but they waved him away. Their fingers caressing the plastic drive.

A blank expression graced their features as they stared at the screen. The USB loading as they tapped the lone file, its contents already opening on the screen. They could see the video, see his excitement. They saw it in the sway his dimples showed as a smirk played at the corners of his mouth; and in the way his eyes visibly brightened.

It was silent as the video began to play, the laughter that sounded. The familiar van that sat in the back of the video, its engine running covering Cisco’s rambling and Barry’s words.

“Are we still rolling?” He all but yelled and they laughed. A tear falling from the corner of their eyes. He might have been a liar, one that wasn’t worth the pain but they loved him nonetheless. They loved the way his brows raised when he was in a particularly happy mood, one they hadn’t seen for a while after the explosion. “Hello” he smiled, his eyes looked almost like they were staring straight at them, not at the camera.

“Dr Wells, are you sure you want to do this now? Couldn’t you just tell [Name] when you see each other tonight” Caitlin asked from behind him. She was always the voice of reason, on any day. They had gone to her initially after they’d found out about Eobard Thawne. Their whole world had fallen that day, the normal buzzing bright life had turned dull and silent. Almost like someone had pierced their ears and they were suddenly going blind.

“I can’t do it later. We’re having dinner and anyway this is for our anniversary. One year from now.” He paused, he was actually happy; this wasn’t the act. This was actual joy and they could see it. “Anyhow, this is my message to you, although if I hate it. I’ll change it” They laughed, the tears still falling. He was always so set on things unless it came to himself. He was never sure he was doing things right. It was funny to think he was only like that because he was trying to fit into the past.

The screen cut and this time he was sat at home at their home. Their favourite song playing in the background, like a mood setter. Part of his face had been covered by shadow, his other part illuminated by the table lamp.

“As you can see, this isn’t the last clip.” He sounded glum, his words low and his eyes carting off into the distance behind the camera. Something was there, someone perhaps. They couldn’t be sure. “You probably know by now I’m not Harrison Wells. Harrison Wells was never in love with you.”

He shifted, and the sound of paper flying to the ground and a glass tapping another glass surface rang through the video. He’d been drinking, of course he had. It was how he calmed from a particularly tedious day. His gaze faltered to the surface of the desk as he figured out his next sentences.

“It was never my intention- it was-. I was just trying to get home.” He sounded, his words falling effortlessly in the air. An audible sigh and a shaky inhale and he looked back up. “It wasn’t until the second month I had known you that, when I look at you…I’m home. And I’ve gone so long feeling alone…you…make me feel like I’m not alone. I don’t want that to go away…I don’t want you to go away” He trailed off, he turned his head away from the camera. He faced the shadows. They knew why he was doing that; why he was hiding his behind the shroud of darkness. He was crying. He didn’t want them to see but the glint of the liquid that trailed down his face was too obvious to hide.

“It’s too late now. I was too late. Harrison Wells may never have loved you but I did.” He paused, “He may never have watched you when you concentrated on a puzzle; admired the content smile on your face when someone brought you flowers. I did. He may never have been there when you cried, when you watched that sad video of the animals that were being rescued. I was. I should have been content with it all. I should have left it all at how it was but I’d spent so long trying to get home. So long manipulating the situations, the acts, I couldn’t just abandon it. I should have. I know that now, I could have continued being Harrison Wells for eternity as long as you loved me, cared about me. As long as you spoke to me. I would have been happy. I ruined it and I have never been sorrier. Never felt guiltier.”

His left hand ran across his mouth and his eyes flew above the camera again. A soft smile formed on his face, and they knew now. They knew what he had been looking at. He had been watching them dance across his kitchen making dinner. Miming to the words being played. How had they forgotten that moment?

“I’m sorry [Name]. I love you. And if in some distorted way you loved me too, I’ll know you’re broken. Go find someone because I want you to be happy. I want you to find someone worthy of you. Who isn’t a liar, a cheat; a fraud. Someone who isn’t me.” He finished. His hand flying to the camera.

Behind the Rear Window - Ch.1

Rear Window AU. When injured photojournalist Jughead Jones thinks he sees a man murder his wife from the window of his apartment it’s up to him to convince the police, and socialite-cum-girlfriend Betty Cooper, that what he saw actually happened, and what starts out as an investigation may just be the key to unlocking a few of their own skeletons in the closet.

First chapter of my multi fic! Rear Window is one of my favourite films and when I was watching it recently I realised just how easy it would be to slip these characters into the world of Hitchcock’s movie. This film, for those of you who haven’t seen it, is very observation and conversation heavy, so while the plot is pretty much the same here it’s those aspects where it will differ some. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy!

(special thank to @formergirlwonder for reading over this chapter! She’s an absolute gem!)

Read here on AO3


Jughead Jones had always known that bricks and mortar did not make a neighbourhood. His thoughts were only confirmed every time he regarded the rear windows facing the shared back alley courtyard from the vantage point of his second story apartment. The last hints of pink and orange faded from the sky, revealing another clear, sunny Riverdale day as the clock crept closer to morning. Each window frame became a small screen, most with cracked and peeling off-white paint. As he sat sleeping in his wheelchair, performances played out behind the open shutters and ajar glass panes; the tiny colony was beginning to bustle.

The man who spent his nights camped out on the fire escape, mattress and all, stirred as the first blinding rays cast their glow over his closed eyelids. His name wasn’t known to Mr Jones, but he certainly knew his wife’s was Ginger, given the amount of times he heard it pleaded at all hours of the day and night. To Jughead, he was simply ‘Mr Screw-Up’. The man stretched, rubbing the heel of a palm into his sleep encrusted eye, before standing precariously on his broken spring mattress and wobbling his way to the open window. He glanced furtively inside, checking left and right for signs that he could make an attempt to gain access back into his abode for the morning ritual of washing, shaving, and listening to early morning advertisements on the radio. Guaranteed, he’d be back sulking on the stairwell before eight thirty.

Jughead flinched on the edge of sleep as cawing crows swooped a little too closely to his window. He had left it ajar to combat the oppressive heatwave invading his apartment, which had left beads of sweat balancing in miscellaneous constellations atop his slightly wrinkled forehead, but his effort appeared to be in vain. Blinking into wakefulness, Jughead swiped at the moisture, which tickled while it dripped down his temples. As he came to, still in his chair by the window, he glanced down at his leg, adorned with a cumbersome cast stretching from his toes to his pelvic bone. Jughead sighed; he’d hoped that this time his hindrance really would have been a dream. His eye caught the bold, black pen strokes against the slightly discoloured plaster, and he allowed himself a chuckle as he read once more the words, “rather a broken bone than a broken spirit”, written in the hasty cursive of his superior, Kevin Keller. His chuckle turned to a grimace as a twinge turned to an itch, fate conveniently placing it directly out of reach beneath the bulky aid to healing.

The glint of a copper penny stole his attention, though, returning his gaze to the array of scenes awaiting his audience for yet another day in the listless stretch of weeks that he’d been chained to a chair for. The copper belonged to the girl opposite and to the left, her window a few brick widths higher than Jughead’s. Dubbed ‘Miss Legs’, the girl’s flaming red hair hung past her waist in perfectly arranged waves, often mirroring the light as it swung this way and that while she danced before her window. She was a nonstop whirlwind of kicks and strides and spins, low melodic tunes of her record player, thankfully, barely reaching Jughead’s apartment; but he couldn’t deny even he was captivated by her talents. He assumed, she embodying what was considered conventionally attractive, that most other men would be jonesing for the chance to have a glimpse at her in her brassiere and matching briefs as she paraded herself about her household chores. To Jughead her overly full lips, painted a shudder inducing crimson more often than not, seemed suffocating. The train of dance partners that appeared every so often in his line of sight confirmed his suspicions, however.

As she tripped out of view his eye caught a scurrying of burnt umber as the miniature daschund, affectionately cooed after under the name Caramel by Ginger multiple times a day, set its sights on a neighbourhood cat and decided to give chase. Millimetres above the game of cat and dog, Jughead lifted his scrutinising blue eyes to ‘Miss Lonelyhearts’. Still young, attractive though somewhat plain, the woman that earned such a title made frequent habit of setting the table for two, eating for one, and then crying herself into a stupor as the empty chair opposite failed once again to partake in the evening’s conversation. Her thick, mousey hair frequented a tight twist at the nape of her neck, round glasses perched just so on the bridge of her delicate nose, eyes wide and unassuming. Her usual dress was erring just slightly on this side of try-hard, but Jughead had seen her at her worst – tattered, flowery hand-me-downs shrouding her fragile figure as she knocked back the wine poured for her, and then the wine poured for her date. Having never seen another soul in the apartment in all their days occupying the same courtyard he only knew her real name by her woeful, self-pitying cries of “oh, Geraldine” that always rang out when he was just drifting off, jolting him back from the edge of unconsciousness.

The next curtain pulling up moved his eye away from her tired face to the window directly above. A worn looking man with dark skin and deep set eyes trudged through his apartment, pulling up the shades as if he were reluctant to face another day. His balding head shone with perspiration in the early morning heat, shoulders dropping several degrees as he exhaled a mournful sigh, head turning to his left. An overly long pause passed before he began to move again, disappearing from view for a moment before the shades covering the next window along rippled and rose, revealing a bedroom. Crumpled sheets were occupied by an elegant woman in her mid-thirties, probably once the height of beauty but now looking as if she’d seen better days. Her frame was withered and meek and her hair hung limp and lifeless around her face. Her smile, Jughead noted, had not met the same foibles of time. She beamed at her husband, head tilting to one side as she spoke, looking more the young girl Jughead imagined she once was in that moment. Her husband nodded, slow and mechanical, before moving back to the kitchen, collecting a tray of breakfast foods, and then returning, setting it gently over the ridges of her legs under the blankets. He leaned in to place a chaste kiss against her cheek before retiring to the adjoining bathroom. His attentive, husbandly duties had earned him the title ‘Mr Caretaker’.

The sight of breakfast made Jughead’s own stomach rumble in anticipation. He wheeled back from his usual perch, rolling past the cabinets and shelves holding countless camera parts – flashes, lenses, bulbs – all stacked and presented perfectly. A tower of copies of the latest issue of Life magazine took up the side table by the front door, his photograph adorning their front covers, staring back at him in duplicate. The rest of the apartment was an unorganised disarray of knickknacks and keepsakes. Broken mechanical parts, overly read and worn copies of his favourite books, boxes upon boxes of old yellowing magazines he called ‘inspiration’ flooded the space. His old typewriter, barely breathing amid the flurry of tat on his desk, took centre stage.

The shrill ringing of his telephone pulled an exasperated sigh from Jughead’s lips as he just managed to manoeuvre his way to the kitchen’s threshold. Reversing a couple of inches he shoved the discarded dress shirt out of the way before picking up the shiny, black receiver.

“Jones,” he spoke into the phone, voice slightly hoarse from disuse. He cleared his throat.

“Well, it doesn’t exactly sound like you’ve been celebrating,” the voice of his assignment manager at the magazine, Kevin, crackled over the line, his tone taking on a minor lilt of amusement that had the skin of Jughead’s back prickling, and not from the excessive heat.

“What exactly is there to celebrate, Keller?” Jughead asked, rolling his neck slightly to ease the tightness he’d suddenly become aware of.

“Have I got the wrong day? Seven weeks since Wednesday – that cast should be coming off by now,” Kevin answered, confused. Jughead huffed a disgruntled breath out of his nose, pressing his lips together.

“Right day, wrong week,” he lamented, throwing a dirty look at his offending leg. Kevin’s laugh rung out of the speaker.

“I told you to stand further to the left,” he chastised, referring to the incident that caused Jughead’s current predicament. He’d been given the go-ahead to stand directly on the track for an in-action shot of the racers in the Grand Prix. Only Jughead would have had the balls to do it, Kevin thought, watching him stride purposefully onto the tarmac to get the snap of a lifetime. He’d worked it all out, what he thought was perfectly. What he didn’t account for was the slight nudge one car gave another as it attempted to undertake on the sharp bend, bumper clipping the rear door and sending it winding off course for a moment, long enough to clip Jughead in the hip, throwing him into an ungraceful heap against the barriers.

“Still got the shot though,” he returned, tone and expression equally smug as he remembered the way he cradled the camera against his chest during the fall, concerned only for the protection of the precious roll of film inside. He distinctly recalled the flicker of satisfaction he’d felt as his finger pushed the button, the way the light flashed as it had seemingly heralded the end of his life.

“It’s quite the shot indeed,” Kevin agreed. “Story isn’t half bad either.” The corners of Jughead’s mouth tilted upwards at the deprecating compliment. There was only the distinct static of the line for a moment as neither man attempted to speak. Eventually, Kevin sighed. “Well, if you’re still cooped up for another week then I guess I can’t offer you this assignment.” Jughead’s back straightened as he sat up. He noticed, briefly, that Miss Legs was practicing pirouettes as she scrubbed a dish.

“What’s the job?” he asked, fingers tightening around the receiver, itching to get the camera in his hands once more. Six weeks had seemed an eternity.

“South America, month or so, heading into the camps,” Kevin recited, keeping the details vague. It didn’t matter, however: Jughead was already hooked.

“Can it wait a week?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, leaning ever further forward in his wheelchair until the irksomely hard edge of his cast digging into the soft planes of his stomach prevented him.

“Going stir crazy, huh?” Kevin guessed, a slight note of sympathy creeping into his voice. Jughead sighed, settling back against the leather backing of the chair. Mr Screw-Up was blowing unfurling smoke curls into the air as he rested against the metal railings. He was early today. Jughead briefly considered deducing what Screw-Up had done this time, before dismissing the notion as boring.

“You have no idea.”

“How much time have you spent at that window of yours?” Kevin asked suddenly, catching Jughead off guard. He bristled.

“A while,” he retorted with a stubborn air. Mr Caretaker sat on his couch and put his head in his hands as Kevin’s airy laugh echoed in Jughead’s ears. He felt the sudden, overwhelming desire to hang up.

“Careful, Mr Jones, only the lonesome and embittered spend the majority of their time observing life instead of actually living it,” Kevin joked, and Jughead could practically hear him shaking his head gently in mock disapproval. The words struck a chord with Jughead, the image of his father springing before he eyes before his mind even allowed it.

The old man (salt and pepper beard, greying streaks in his hair, slightly sunken cheeks) drifted before Jughead’s eyes. Even while awake the picture haunted him, bottle in hand and grimace a permanent fixture on his features. He sat, moaning and complaining about the state of the world, sour to the umpteenth degree about the unfair hand he’d been dealt. He chose instead to dish out biting insults and the occasional brisk smack rather than making any effort to fix the mess he’d made of himself and join the rest of society. Moving past the war had taken its toll on everyone who fought, but on none more than F.P. Jones, Jughead recalled as an acrid taste invaded his mouth.

Jughead shook himself out of his revere, telling himself the fading sting in his right cheek was only a mere ghost. He turned in time to catch Caramel hopping into the basket contraption Ginger employed to haul the pup up onto her fourth floor balcony, its little legs unable to handle the climb. Kevin’ voice drifted back to his ears.

“You should get married. They say there’s never a dull moment…” Jughead ignored him.

“Hold the story. One more week,” Jughead commanded, already lifting the phone from his ear. He barely heard Kevin’s exasperated replies.

With a nearly audible eye roll, Kevin muttered, “Who is in charge here?” to no one in particular. A distinct ring cut through the stifling air, signalling that the call was over. 

satya is too tired, too drained – not just any kind of drained, but the kind that comes from exposure to people and loud atmospheres for far too long – and when she comes back to the cherished sanctuary of her room, head aching from simulation and her eyes too weary and sensitive from light, she finds jamison waiting for her. without a word, he shrouds her in the weighted blanket he’d helped stitch together with his bomb patterned patches and crystal faced fabric and the mass of heavy beads trapped within, and as he tangles his leg with hers and palms a hard-light charm in his hand, he lies with her in the blessed dark and lets her breathe.

Implexium Vitae PT 6

A/N; Short chapter, but next one will have some more reveal!

It is said that some people have old souls, reborn every couple centuries to find their loved ones again and continue on their never ending journey. But what happens to these intersecting lives when one is immortal and the other is ripped from them?

Vampire AU.

Pairing: Nalu, Fairy Tail

Words: 2034

Rating: M

Part: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

Lucy blinked, trying to clear her mind. It was obvious she had spent too long on the train and had gone stir crazy. Who knew a week and a half of constant travel could be enough to break a mind.

“C’mon Luce! I haven’t see Jally since he was a colt!”

“And I have never ridden a horse!” Lucy defended. She eyed the large stallion warily, hair and mane black as the night sky above them.

“You broke his great great great whatever grandma,” Natsu explained, happily petting the side of Jally’s neck.

“Well Sun Star was kind and gentle and not three feet my superior.” She sniffed. Really, as though Natsu would compare her mare to his beast. Lucy cocked her head when she noticed Natsu’s stare, a wistful joy shining in his emerald gaze. “Natsu?” Lucy questioned, stepping towards him and placing one hand on his chest. Lucy blinked when Natsu took her hand, lifting it to his mouth where he ran his lips over the backs of her fingers.

“Knew you’d remember her.” he said, voice low with emotion. Lucy took in a sharp intake of breath, becoming aware of the importance of her memory.  

“I have ridden a horse,” she mumbled, head spinning at the onslaught of memories she was able to pull from.

“Bunch’a ‘em.” Natsu whispered back. Lucy squealed loudly when she was suddenly lifted, deposited on the horse and covering blanket as if she were a child by Natsu’s strong arms. “Now we gotta go! I can’t wait to show you the castle again, Luce.” Natsu said easily, deftly lifting himself onto the horse in front of Lucy, his hands fisted in the horse’s mane.

“Natsu!” Lucy hissed, struggling to lift her leg and dress to put it in it’s proper place beside her other one. “I can not ride like this! It’s, it’s improper!” She face felt as vibrant as his hair, and her eyes grew large as she saw an excuse to not be caught in such a compromising manner. “My luggage! We cannot just leave it here.”

Lucy all but pouted at Natsu’s bawdy laugh, his hand resting comfortingly on her knee. One of her spread knees. Shame crept along her spine at the lewd position, to be a lady and have your legs spread this wide… “Don’t worry Luce, it’ll be taken care of. And stop fidgeting, you’re freaking out Jally.”

Keep reading

Peter: Culmination

Summary: The story of Peter and Y/N boil down to unsettled feelings and could’ve/should’ve/would’ve’s, until now. 

Word Count: 5,165

Warnings: cursing


It was supposed to be another Saturday in Queens.

Those were nothing new. Peter Parker usually spent his Saturdays being thrown towards buildings at breakneck speed, some villain high above cackling at his misfortune.

“Is that all you’ve got itsy bitsy spider?” Doctor Octopus sneered, his mechanical arms digging into the skyscraper adjacent to him. Peter swung on his web, landing feet first onto a balcony and perching there, rolling his eyes under his mask.

“If I had a dollar for every time one of you losers called me “itsy bitsy,” I’d be rich enough to retire from this—oh!” He ended with a shout as a panel of glass was flung his way. Kicking it away with ease, Doc Ock laughed. He was making his way back down to street level, where hordes of citizens screamed in panic and terror. The ground was littered with glass and rubble, most awnings ripped with heavy cement bricks falling through them. Peter grunted, wishing that Kinesis was here to help shield them from shrapnel, but the alien girl was nowhere to be found.

“You’re under the assumption that justice pays, Spider-ling,” the villain cackled, crushing cars beneath his mechanical legs. Peter watched him for a moment, calculating how best to take him down when he noticed the familiar purple sparkle of light.

“Lucky for us, crime does not pay either!”

The mech arms lifted from the ground, steadily at first and then WHAM! He was smashed, body first into the Oscorp building sign, sparks shooting from his enhancements. The arms went limp, taking the rest of him down, cracking the pavement as he fell into a smoking heap of rubble.

Peter balked, turning to face where he’d heard the shout. His mouth fixed into a grin, seeing Kinesis standing on a taxi for leverage. Cupping his hands, Peter yelled, “Glad you could make it!”

She shouted back, mirth in her tone. “The subway was late!”

Keep reading