his. eyes. are. unreal

criticaldrive  asked:

Valentine's Day is coming, what would the chocobros do for their S/O? :D

I had to get this typed up today! Happy valentines guys! (If you’ve read this you’re now my valentine, no take backs! Muhahaha, ily!) ❤ Anyway, read on and spend your valentines with your favourite chocobro! (Or if you’re like me, all of them…)

Noctis:

- Hey shall we go check out that dungeon for valentines? Just kidding. Kinda.
- Noctis would give you your card and you’d give him his, but before you can open yours he’d make an excuse to leave the room.
- Little do you know he literally just lingers outside of the door, out of view.
- Anyway, you open your card waiting for him to get back, but something falls out of it.
- A slip of paper lands in your lap, but you pick it up to see it’s a poem.
- Handwritten. In Noctis’ loopy scrawl.
- He’s written you a poem.
- And what’s more, it’s really good.
- About how you met, how much he cares about you, the way he adores how you look and just how you are.
- It’s all sappy and mushy and it’s just everything he wishes he could say to your face without it sounding muddled and a hell of a lot less eloquent.
- And then from the corner of your eye you spot the little bin he has in his room, filled to the brim with crumpled up paper that was extremely similar to yours.
- How long had he spent on it? Getting frustrated and no doubt worked up into an angry defiant ball as he so usually did. But he persevered because he just so badly wanted to tell you exactly how he felt but he sucks at speaking face to face about that kind of stuff.
- You’re emotional just thinking about how much work he had to have put into this one slip of paper.
- “Shit, are you crying?”
- His voice startles you, and you look up to see him walking over to you hurriedly.
- “I’m sorry if it’s not great, I tried.”
- “No silly, it’s… it’s wonderful, thank you.”
- “Oh… oh well, I’m glad you like it.”
- He’d go into bashful mode at your gratitude, which is why he left the room in the first place because he didn’t want to be all awkward for you.
- But his pulse is racing and his heart is singing because holy shit they like it.
- And all those hours he put in didn’t matter, because he’s just happy to know that you know how he really feels, and that you’re happy.

Prompto:

- You’d go over to see Prompto in the morning, but find he doesn’t seem to actually be in his house. He doesn’t answer when you call him. Instead, you find a picture taped to his bedroom door.
- It’s a picture of… the kitchen?
- You head on over to the kitchen holding the photograph, and look exactly where he took the picture to see another photo with a heart shaped chocolate next to it.
- This is a scavenger hunt!
- This picture shows the sofa in the living room area, so you hurry on over to it.
- Just as expected, there’s another photo and yet another heart shaped chocolate.
- So cute.
- This time this was a photo of the table behind you, but in the corner there were words written in the hand you recognised so well.
- ‘Getting warmer!’
- You turn to the table to see yet another photograph and of course, a heart shaped chocolate to accompany it.
- Lifting the photo you recognise that it’s a picture of Prompto’s bedroom. There is more writing on the photo in the same scrawl.
- ‘Nearly there now!’
- You rush to the bedroom, wondering what you might find, and open the door.
- There, right in the middle of the bed is your adorable boyfriend, looking really pleased with himself.
- On his lap is a huge teddy bear – so cliché but so adorable.
- “You found me!” He’s so excited, his blue eyes bright with excitement.
- “I did!” You’d go to join him on the bed, and he hands over the teddy bear to you.
- “Happy valentines! Oh and I also got you this…” His voice trails off a little at the end and you can tell he is suddenly nervous.
- He hands you something in a small brown paper bag. Curious, you slide the object out of the bad and into your palm.
- It’s an adorable photo of the two of you, looking incredibly happy together. The photo itself is in a silver frame, decorated with cutesy hearts.
- “I… I hope it’s alright. It’s my favourite photo.” He’s fiddling with the bed covers, barely able to keep contact cause damn it he’s just so nervous.
- Your heart could burst, this boy is the cutest!
- He beams as you tell him you love it.
- Best valentines ever.

Gladiolus:

- Gladio would act like normal for the morning.
- He’d give you a card of course, but say he has nothing planned.
- You’d be a bit disappointed, but what can you do?
- He’d even go off to do his usual workout routine. Maybe valentines just wasn’t his thing?
- So you’d go on about your day as normal, until the night fell.
- Suddenly Gladio’s face has lit up, he’s all smiles as he asks you to come outside with him.
- “Wha- but it’s night time?”
- “Come on!” He’d urge so you’d get up to follow him.
- Outside there are… candles? There’s a large candle every so often in the road, and you can see the trail lead off into the distance with a soft glow. You look back at Gladio in bewilderment.
- “You didn’t think I’d forget did you?” He is grinning, folding his arms and looking rather pleased with himself.
- “You did all that?” You gesture incredulously.
- “Well, I only set them out earlier, I enlisted the help of three friends to light them all.” He remembered how much complaining Noctis had done. It’s okay, my lover is worth it.
- Gladio took your hand and you set off walking under the blanket of the night sky, walking past one of the candles every now and then.
- “Here, I also got you this.”
- “Oh, what is it – Gladio.”
- He’s handed you a small survival tool kit.
- “It pays to be prepared. And it will put my mind at ease.” He insisted.
- You roll your eyes at him but you have to stifle a giggle. Typical Gladio.
- Finally you get to the end of the candle lit path, where a lovely bunch of roses are waiting for you.
- Gladio would wrap his warm jacket around you suddenly, taking you into his big strong arms.
- “Did I fool you then?”
- “You certainly did.” You told him, pulling him down for a kiss.
- He pulls away with that cheeky smirk in place, a glint in his eye.
- “What…?” You ask wearily.
- “I always wondered what it would be like to go… al fresco.”
- “Gladio!”
- His laugh is infectious and soon you join in.
- But hey, if you’re down with the idea he definitely is.

Ignis:

- This guy will play to his strength and cook you the most amazing meal you’ve ever had, and that’s saying something since you eat his cooking a lot.
- He’d have it all ready for you by the time you arrive, the table beautifully set and – of course – candle lit.
- He’d spoil you rotten the entire day as well, massages, food and drink, you name it.
- He’d also really love the gift you got him, and chuckle at the very soppy card (which by the way, he’d never get rid of).
- When he hands you his card, you realise he has hand made it. It’s lovely and elegant and so Iggy, but so you at the same time.
- When you finish the meal, he’d come round to your side and offer you his hand to dance with him.
- Even if you protest that you suck, he’ll let you stand on his toes and he’d guide you.
- All he wants is to be close and intimate with you damn it.
- He’d press you against him as you danced, needing to feel you close.
- He’s also really good.
- It would be slow and sensual, you’d be hyper aware of the way his fingertips drifted over your arms, rested at the small of your back, trailed over your jawline with feather light touches…
- “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this at all… but you are truly beautiful.”
- “You may have mentioned it once or twice.” You’d tease him, to which he’d smile fondly.
- “It never hurts just to be sure.”
- Near the end of the song he’d dip you down in a classic move so smooth with his hands steadying you, your thigh round his hip.
- And he’d give you a little smirk before bending down to kiss you hard.
- When you’re finally up right, you’re giving him such bedroom eyes it unreal.
- You know he understands as his smirk turns into a full blown grin.
- “Shall we?” And with that he’d lead you to the bedroom.

Sanctuary

Written by: @titaniasfics

Rating: T

Prompt 27: Katniss’s father is an undocumented worker, Peeta is a sympathetic federal agent sent to investigate or an employer willing to do anything to help. [submitted by @567inpanem]

Author’s Note: I’m late (as usual) but I went for the second option on this one. I jumped at this prompt because of my own feeling about this whole situation. Hope I didn’t hijack a lovely prompt by being politically didactic. I relied on my experiences with my family regarding picking fruit and the migration of workers as they follow the different harvest, together with the research on how the ICE conducts raids in this current political climate. It’s a different world from when my grandfather was a migrant worker.

A million thanks to @eala-musings for betaing this piece for me, @567inpanem for the amazing prompt and to @everlarkficexchange for hosting this challenge!

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Shannon Leto

Originally posted by vampirechelon

Shannon had been practicing nonstop for practically two days, I wasn’t sure if it was because of a show coming up or stress but it always felt unreal watching him play this hard. His eyes close and his arms swing as he hits the drums on perfect tempo, his arms seem to be permanently flexed as he plays, his legs constantly moving. I pressed my thighs together trying to hold myself together but I was bursting at the seams watching him.

“Shan, you wanna take a break for a minute?” I smile at him and bite my lip hoping he gets the hint.

“Sorry babe, I’ve got to finish this session and then meet Jared at the studio. I’ll take you out tomorrow, I promise.” He barley stops playing to talk to me, still tapping the sticks.

I can’t wait for tomorrow though, I sit and watch him and shift in my seat giving myself some relief but not enough. I can feel myself sweating just from watching him, just from thinking of him, needing him.

“Fuck it.” I whisper to myself, knowing he wouldn’t even hear me if I said it out loud.

I get up from my seat and walk over to the drum set, Shannon looks up at me for a second and smiles but doesn’t stop. I come around the backside of the set where he’s sitting and he stops and gives me a confused look. I don’t say a word, I straddle one of his legs and rest my hands on his sweaty shoulders, my pussy throbbing as I barley touch him. I lean my head back and work my hips on his thigh giving me instant relief, I let out a moan.

“What, what’s goin…” He lets out a slight laugh but as I look at him he’s biting his lower lip.

He drops the sticks and grabs onto my waist, he lifts his leg up and back down just like he would if he was drumming, his leg almost giving off a vibration feeling.
My moans grow louder and my nails dig into his shoulders as I work my hips harder against his thigh, my entire body moving with his movements.
Leaning forward a little more his leg hits my clit and I scream his name, he moans back and I look at him his other hand is stroking himself.

“Fuck!” I groan out watching him.

His leg still moving with me as I press harder against him, my mind goes into a haze as I hit my climax, my feet curl around his shin and my hands move to the back of his neck where my nails dig into him.

“That was fucking hot.” Shannon whispers into my ear as I rest my forehead against his shoulder.

I kiss his cheek and stand up, my legs barley holding me, “Thanks for the ride, babe.” I smirk at him as I walk out of the room.

I hear him laugh followed by a “Fuck you.” And the sound of the drums being hit much harder than before.

Damaged

Half a request from a while ago, and half an idea from @meldy-arts and one of her friends, this is the first little bit I wrote tonight. Basically, Ezra kind of looses him memory in the explosion we saw in the midseason trailer…and I also took a page from Agents of SHIELD and decided to make him kind of temporarily paralyzed due to lack of oxygen (don’t know if that was the case for Fitz but….he had trouble with doing things and I think there was a time gap so….yeah…)

I wrote more after this but I’m not sure if I’m happy with it, or want to change it…plus I’m still writing it (but it’s 1 and I’m too tired to write more tonight) but hopefully I’ll post the rest of it (or at least the next section) sometime soon!

Hope y’all like it!

Fic below the cut:

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Happiness Blooms From Within Part 1/2 (SLBP)

Pairing : Fuma Kotaro x Reader

Genre : Fluff (Part 1 and 2), NSFW/Smut (Part 2)

Thanks to @tearscrime for the edit ! :) If you are interested in this fanfic, the second part will be posted in the next few days !

This story takes place after the event’s epilogue. Part 2 can be found here !

In the darkness, you could feel something warm on your lips. Kotaro kissed you passionately, as his hands ran on your body, they stopped on your hips and he pressed your body against his.

“_____… I love you to death.”

Slowly after whispering these words, Kotaro leaned his head once again until his breath mingled with yours. He kissed you with so much passion and desire that he took your breath away. You searched desesperatly for air so you moved back enough to break the kiss but you were still close to him, enough to feel his warmth through your kimono.

“Is something wrong ? Don’t you like it ?”

Looking into his beautiful eyes, you were stunned by his charm. Unable to speak, you smiled softly and shook your head.

“No, I like it.”

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imperatorrrrr  asked:

I always look forward to your reactions when we get new Seb content. For example, how will you react to his latest Weibo selfie? Hmmm, I wonder....

PLEASE THE FIRST THING I SAW WHEN I WOKE UP WAS A TEXT FROM REBECCA AND ALSO THE MEMEITSQUAD WITH THIS PICTURE I AM…

his EYES are actually UNREAL like what the fuck, he’s art, he’s a work of art and i love him so much 

This is a PSA for those of you that don’t already know...

I AM ABSOLUTE TRASH FOR DACRE MONTGOMERY and there is plenty of room here in my little dumpster blog for more peeps. Stop by. Let’s chat about how amazing Dacre is. We can discuss about anything about him. 

Like how unreal his eyes are… 

His stunning smile…

His very fashion-forward sense of style…

His fun and inviting personality…

His kind and endearing soul…

or the adorable way he says

(x)

Isn’t his accent the best?!?

anonymous asked:

I think a lot about that time Taemin sang Sekaide ichiban under the soft rain. It was just beautiful and perfect. That's my aesthetic, that's what i live for.

taemin joked about being the “rain main” a while ago, but if we’re talking about his (breathtaking) performance at a-nation, I think rain god would be more appropriate, as the people who were there expressed themselves:

everything about that performance was truly otherworldly. taemin always, always put his heart and soul into singing ballads to the point that it’s… painful, sometimes, to watch - it’s too emotional, too much, this thing where you can sense his feelings pouring out of him with his voice, his eyes, his gestures. 

he really did look unreal under the rain - all tender and powerful. beautiful takes on a whole new meaning when applied to him in moments like that one.

“The Pirate and The Oyster Shell,” 2/3

Summary: Queen Emma, sole ruler of Misthaven, lives a life of isolation in an enormous, imposing castle on the outskirts of her kingdom. Killian Jones is the one-handed pirate captain who sees the world for her. AU.

Notes: I am very sorry it took me so long to post the second chapter. Here is the second chapter. There will be one more, but I’m not certain when it will be posted due to some other writing obligations (CS-related, of course). Thanks to Kat (@abbadons-little-witch) and Chinx (@seastarved) for all their help! Also on Ao3. Chapter 1 is also on Tumblr, here.

“She believes that, for the first time, her heart is kindling, her body a brightening blaze. For the first time, her fingers and toes are no longer numb, her heart no longer frozen in the confusion of youth. Her heart is a little oyster shell, opening, opening.” – Amber Sparks

+ On the first morning he is forced to admit to himself that he can no longer keep track of how many days it’s been since he left Misthaven (for the final time, it would seem), he would swear that he can hear the waves breaking against the rocks beneath his window. As a boy, his mother had kept a large conch shell at his bedside, white with a vibrant shade of pink lining its insides. When he couldn’t sleep, she had told him, hold the shell up to your ear; listen to the waves, the sea, and the calls of all the men that will venture out, never to return. “But your father will return,” she had reassured him one evening, long, long ago. “He’ll be back soon my love, I promise.”

She hadn’t broken that promise, his father had returned to them. A little worse for wear, his pockets perhaps a bit lighter than they should have been, but he returned just the same. His mother, however, had not been there to welcome him home, and Captain Hook’s sad story continued on as it was always meant to.

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Thorns (Part 1)

Eric X Rose

Part 2, part 3, Part 4

***Masterlist***



Cheers and screams fill the air as another Erudite girl lets her blood drip into the water. My breathing hitches as I wipe my sweaty palms on my brown pants. As the girl takes her seat with her family, my name is called.

“Rose Kane.” Blood pounds in my ears as my shaky legs carry me to the hardest decision I will ever make.


The knife is cold and heavy in my hand. I stand in middle of all the bowls, not daring to look back at my friends and family, afraid I will change my mind if I see their smiling faces.

Pressing the sharp tip of the knife to the center of my palm, I press down. Slowly I drag the knife across my palm, not caring about the pain; its nothing in comparison to the anxiety and adrenalin pumping through my system. Taking the knife away I stare at my palm, watching the blood pool against my pale skin. I know I’m spending more time then normal to do this, but I can’t bring myself to choose.

Someone clears his or her throat, trying to tell me to hurry up. I don’t breathe, I don’t close my eyes; I just stand there and watch as my blood drips onto the sizzling coal.

The left side of the room that holds the Dauntless faction erupts. Its not often Amity transfer to them; they are complete opposite factions and hold values that differ vastly.

Walk over to my new family, I am afraid to turn around and see my old one. Taking a seat, I avoid looking across the room; instead I stare at my hand, rubbing the cut on my palm, wondering what initiation would be like.

Surprisingly a girl named Beatrice transfers from Abnegation, which is not as rare as someone transferring from Amity, but she might get more hate for it. Abnegation has been talked about a lot recently; mostly saying that they are unfit to be the government for everyone. There was even a rumor circulating for a while that the leader of abnegation used to beat his son, Tobias. 


I remember Tobias from school. I was younger than him, but I always had a giant crush on him. One day he bent down to grab something, and his shirt rode up, showing a large bruise on his lower back. I always believed the rumors were true since that day, but I never told anyone what I saw. As I got older and the rumors continued I always felt guilty for not helping him, for not telling anyone. I feel I could have saved him, but didn’t. I know he transferred to dauntless, I over heard my parents talk about, since they are leader of Amity, they know a lot about other factions as well. It’s not reason I decided Dauntless was right for me, but I hope I see him and get to apologize for not doing anything.


The ceremony was over, and we were all dismissed. The Dauntless born of course took off running to the trains, while us transfers try and keep up. Suddenly they all slow down, they don’t come to a complete stop, but they start launching themselves at a metal post. Climbing as they whoop and howl in laughter. Beatrice and I stand together at the bottom. I have climbed trees all my life on the farms; this was easy for me. What keeps me at the bottom is Beatrice’s face. She looks scared and unsure.

“Look, climbing isn’t that hard. Don’t think about the ground, focus on moving up.” She just nods clearly still unsure. “I’ll go first, just copy what I do step for step.” I don’t give her time to chicken out; I place my hand on the first run, and pulled my self up. Step after step I make it half way up. Glancing down I see Beatrice following just below me. “You’re doing great!” I shout down at her. She looks up at me, grinning. We make it the rest of the way up, and I lend her my hand, pulling her to the platform.

Just as Beatrice gets to her feet, the platform starts to rattle. The train is coming. The Dauntless born starting running as the train comes around the corner, faster than it looked when I would watch it at school. Beatrice looks at me for guidance. “I have never jumped on I a moving train before.” having to yell over the wind, I decided to follow what the Dauntless born are doing, and motion for Beatrice to follow me.

My feet pound the metal runway, adrenalin once again flows through my veins as wrap my fingers around the door handle. Throwing my body into the train, I land on my right side, sending a shooting pain down my arm. Looking at the door I realize Beatrice isn’t on the train yet. Scrambling to my feet, I see she is just a step or two away from being able to grab the handle. Grabbing the handle on the inside wall. I extend my left arm out for her to grab. Her hand wraps tightly around my forearm.

Using all my strength I pull Beatrice into the cart with me. Lying on my back, I grab my right shoulder. I have only felt this kind of pain once. When I was about five I fell out of an apple tree and dislocated my shoulder. Thankfully there was some adrenalin still in my system, otherwise I would be crying in front of all the other initiates.

“Thank you.” Beatrice sits up. Taking another breath I a sit up with her, and place my back on the train wall to stabilize myself. “I’m Beatrice.” She holds her hand out. I grasp it limply, mostly because I was in pain and could barley raise my arm.

“Hi, I’m Rose.” We both start laughing at the absurdity of the last ten minutes. I hold my shoulder as we sit and talk. A condor girl named Christina joins us as well. I think I just made my first friends.


  It’s not long before people start to move around. We hear someone shout about jumping, and the three of us go to see what the commotion is all about. Sure enough, a little further up people are launching themselves onto a roof. Some of them are graceful while they rolled, some are even so good they just land on their feet and walk it off. While Beatrice and Christina contemplate the fact that they will have to jump, I am trying to figure out the best way to land as to do the least amount of damage to my shoulder.

Christina and Beatrice grab each other hands, planning to jump together. Beatrice extends her hand to me, and I just shake my head. I don’t have time to explain that I couldn’t, I can’t move my arm. Beatrice looks a little hurt at my refusal.

Taking a few steps back I start running and leap over the large gap. My feet hit first. I tried to make it so I could stay on my feet and just run it off, but the impact caught me off guard and I summersaulted forward.

Lying on my back, I hear Christina and Beatrice land behind me, laughing. My breath was caught in my throat, and I brought my hand over my shoulder. The pain was white hot down my arm, I might even pass out its so bad.

Christina and Beatrice walk over to me, Crouching down they ask if I was all right. The wind was still nocked out of me, so I could not speak. Worried looks took over their faces, as they looked at each other, unsure what to do.

“Initiates, gather around.” I can’t see the person the voice belongs to, but it sounds strong and demands everyone to follow its instructions.

Everyone does what the voice says, murmuring a little, until falling silent under what I would assume is the gaze of a terrifying man.

“You two, what are you doing? Come over here now!” The voice barked; causing Beatrice and Christina to part, showing me to person the voice was coming from.

I try to sit up. I have a feeling the person attached to the voice would cause me more pain than my shoulder if I didn’t.

Struggling, the girls step aside as a tall, well built man walked over to us. Looking down at me, I make eye contact with his striking blue eyes. The blue looked almost unreal, but the look behind them brought me back to reality, as they looked ready to murder.

“Get up initiate.” He commands at me. Trying my hardest I make it to my knees, when his patience runs out. Grabbing me by my shoulder, I let out a scream I didn’t even know I had in me. He immediately releases me, leaving me on my knees.

Crouching down he inspects me shoulder, then without a word, snaps my shoulder back into place. My forehead hit the ground as I gasp in a breath, trying to breath through the pain.

“Stand up.” He commands at me again. This time I hold my shoulder and stand. Lifting my head I look him in the eyes once again, glad I haven’t cried yet.

He places his large hand on the middle of my back, and leads me to front of the pack. Standing next to a raised ledge. He begins to speak, while I stood by his side.

“Initiates, my name is Eric and I am a leader here at Dauntless. Behind me is the way in.” He gestures behind us to the giant black hole in a roof.

“Is there water at the bottom or something?” A tall Erudite boy speaks up.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Eric smirks, enjoying everyone’s discomfort. “Now, luckily for everyone there has already been a volunteer to jump first.” Everyone starts looking around at each other, wondering who is going to step up.

Eric turns towards me, a wicked glint in his eye. “Your up Amity.” He nods to the ledge. I don’t argue, I don’t speak, I just step up onto the ledge.

Looking down I don’t feel any fear, surprising even myself. Taking a step off I start falling. Despite the pain in my shoulder I start to smile. It feels so freeing to fall like this.


Landing on something that absorbs my impact, my smile is gone as my shoulder screams in protest. Staring at the sky above me, a noise makes me turn my head, seeing I’m on a giant net; suddenly it dips, and someone is pulling me off it.
Once my feet are on the ground I look up at the hands that pulled me off it.

“Name?” Tobias stares at me waiting for my answer. Shocked at seeing him, I don’t say anything. “Come on name? And choose wisely, you can’t change it after.” Looking at the ground I consider his question. I don’t want to be anyone new. I am still me, which will never change.  

“Rose.” I say strongly. Tobias’s head turns slightly, maybe he recognizes me.

“First jumper, Rose!” He shouts out, and cheers erupt around me, revealing people I never knew were there.

Beatrice comes down next. She changes her name to Tris, but  I am too busy staring at Tobias to care. Tris and Christina talk, while I am thinking of how I am going to talk to Tobias, when Eric jumps down, landing on the net. He rolls off himself, refusing help from Tobias, who barley offers any to begin with.

“Okay, new transfers go with four.” He points to Tobias. That must be his new name down here. I’ll have to remember that.

“Dauntless born your with Lauren.” Everyone starts to follow their leader when Eric wraps his hand around my right arm, holding me back. Four notices this and stops, turning to Eric with an annoyed look on his face.

“She is coming with me.” Eric says with no explanation as to why. Four looks like he is about to argue with him, and then decides against it.

Turning around everyone follows him once again, leaving me alone in the dark with the terrifying Dauntless leader.

A Car With a Story (1)

Summary: Takes place in a world where Jughead really did move to Toledo and in the wake of his absence, Betty’s father has taken it upon himself to cheer her up by dragging her around town looking for parts to fix up cars together like old times. But when Betty becomes mesmerized by the old cars that her father shows her, she finds herself imagining what her life might have been like with Jughead if they were around when the cars were in their prime. With each car, and each fantasy, she starts to come to terms with why Jughead left - but will that be enough to mend her broken heart? Or will these make-believe scenarios just make her miss him even more?

The Wanderer 

Betty Cooper shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, glancing around the peculiar front yard and taking in the various piles of trash with skeptical eyes, sure that the owner referred to these rusted pots and broken telephones as priceless treasures instead of useless junk.

“Dad?” Betty whispered, stepping cautiously over a broken microwave and dodging a beat-up toolbox that rested precariously on the edge of the sidewalk. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Betty, I have been coming here for nearly ten years,” her father reminded her, leading them around the corner of the rundown shack to head into the backyard, which Betty soon realized looked far worse than the front. “Where do you think I go to get all those parts for the cars we fix up?”

“I don’t know, a junkyard?” Betty guessed, her eyebrows drawing together in concern at the dead trees that lined the edge of the property and the ancient pieces of equipment that looked like they shouldn’t have been allowed to run anymore. “This looks like the set of an 80′s slasher film meets every summer camp that you never wanted to go to when you were a kid.” 

“Honestly, Betty, you have your mother’s colorful take on reality, and it’s more than I can take most days,” he told her, pushing a few cardboard boxes of gardening tools out of the way and continuing down the cluttered path to the very back of the yard. 

“Great,” Betty muttered sarcastically under her breath. “Can we get this over with? I have a lot of studying to catch up on and an article to finish for the Blue and Gold. Where’s this guy you said we were meeting?” 

“Richard’s around here somewhere,” he announced, glancing around the yard for his friend as if he was going to be able to find anyone amidst the vast amounts of clutter. “But I wanted to show you something first. Follow me.” 

“Uh, Dad, is it okay for us to be back here?” Betty wondered, nearly knocking her elbow on the surface of an unsteady machine. “This equipment is older than I am.” 

“Just don’t trip over anything,” her father warned, pointing past a large oak tree at the very corner of the yard near the creaky old fence that separated the property from a cemetery. “It’s right around this corner, come on.” 

Hal and Betty stepped around the tree, dodging several overgrown thistle bushes and weeds to find a 1952 series 62 convertible resting lazily by the fence, its front bumper hanging by a thread and the passenger’s side door completely ripped off its hinges and resting uncomfortably against the fence. 

“Here she is,” Hal announced, smiling dreamily at the car like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. “What do you think?”

“I think she’s been through a lot,” Betty observed, slowly circling the car, her hands grazing the busted mirrors and chipped paint with uncertainty. “The hood is torn up, the interior is falling apart, I’m too afraid to look underneath the hood to inspect the engine. But…”

“But?” Hal prompted her to continue, raising his eyebrows at her expectantly and patting the side of the car hopefully. 

“But,” Betty said, her lips curling into an amused smile as she ran her hand along door handle and leaned forward to inspect the red interior. “She’s beautiful and I think I’m in love.”

“I thought you might like it,” Hal beamed, scrambling forward to open the passenger’s side door and ushering for her to climb inside. “Go on, take a look.” 

Betty did as she was instructed, sliding onto the leather seating and running her hands up and down the steering wheel, breathing in the scent of old leather and built-up dust particles. 

“Cars like this have to have some good stories,” Betty muttered dreamily, turning to her father with bright eyes. “Imagine the people who have been in the driver’s seat, the places it could have traveled, the things it’s seen!” 

“Should I give you two a minute while I go find Richard?” Hal asked with an amused smile, looking down at his daughter with a look of satisfaction. 

“Don’t be weird, Dad,” Betty scoffed, adjusting her position on the bench and running her fingers along the buttons of the radio. “But yes, please.” 

With that, her father shut the door to the convertible and headed back through the maze of never-ending junk to the house. Betty smiled to herself as she let her hands fiddle with the fraying lining on the seat cover, her eyes dancing wildly as they drifted to the pair of fuzzy dice sitting at the bottom of the car’s floor and imagining that they once hung proudly over the mirror as the car sped down the highway going nowhere and everywhere all at once. 

“What’s your story?” Betty mumbled to herself, leaning back onto the seat and closing her eyes. 

As if answering her own question, just as her eyes shut and everything went dark in front of her, her mind drifted to images of the past - poodle skirts and cat-eye glasses with thick-rimmed frames and doo-wop music that made her head bob back and forth and her foot tap to the beat.  

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She is Death

WidowReaper Week: Day 4 — Role Reversal


Revenge.

That’s all she can have.

Anger.

The only emotion that makes her wake.

Abandoned.

By the ones who claim to be heroes.

Pain.

Of dying, of becoming darkness.

Smoke.

That is all her limbs and bones are now.

Death.

She is death.

The fight at the headquarters, when she argued with Ana and everything fell apart. Her body and atoms. A ghost. Death was not kind enough to only take her, but to make her one of it’s creators.

Jack. Ana. All of them. They let him die. They let Gerard get murdered. They didn’t care. They never did.

He understands this most of all. He knows what she was and what she’s become. He knows that nothing can bring Gerard back. Nothing can satisfy the revenge and hatred in her soul.

But killing the remaining Overwatch agents will be all she can take.

He’s agreed to help her. With his cold beauty and sharp face, he’s almost emotionless, Except for that hint of humanity in the glint of his dark eyes. The rare glimpses that only she sees when they touch fingertips in the dark.

The Widowmaker, they call him. Silent and controlled. His sniper and his hands deadly. The perfect killing machine. Her companion. With skin so black it’s nearly blue from the reconditioning, he looks unreal. Beautiful, and terrifying. His eyes only lighten on her decaying form.

Skin white as bone, with wisps of gray smoke detaching from her scarred body. Her form never steady and always withering in its only agony. The constant rebuilding and tearing down, the killing of her but keeping her alive. The black hood and red eyes that mark her as the reaper.

She is death.

And he is ice and bullets. Cold, but wanting of her warmth. He speaks her name, calling her mi amor. Soft Spanish falls from his lips only for her.

They stand, hand in hand, as they kill. Reaping the gallows. Taking souls. He is her light, and she is his soul.

Death greets the killer, and he kisses her back.

Not Your Type

Pairing: CastielXReader

Word Count: 1042

A/N: One-shot drabble. Co-starring Sam and Dean and Dean’s assumptions. Rated E for everyone.


“Beer?” Sam tossed his backpack onto the library table.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” you smiled, sliding a chair out to sit.

“Does the question even need asking?” Dean smirked, plopping into a chair, throwing his feet up on the table and kicking off his boots.

“Cas?” Sam paused in the doorway to wait for his answer.

The angel shook his head disinterestedly, taking a seat beside you.

“Right,” Sam disappeared to the kitchen.

You felt Cas staring at you again – a pleasant warmth flushing through your body under his intense gaze. He’d done the same thing to you when you rolled into town two days ago and Dean first introduced you, again in the back of the Impala on the ride to the vampire nest you all just ganked, and probably numerous other times when you were otherwise too occupied to notice.

“You’re injured,” Cas’ deep voice resonated in the room.

You flexed your sprained wrist, waving it off, covering your wince with a grin, “This? It’s nothing, I’ll be fine.”

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