i wash my hands out of this

“Blood On Your Hands”.

I can’t get Jack’s title for the final episode of Detention out of my mind.

I have no doubt that it’s Anti talking to us. So why is there blood on our hands? 

Then I remembered the last time blood was spilled on the channel.

Hard to forget. What’s more is that Anti blamed us for what happened.

You could have stopped me… But you just watched.”

… Is this just a reminder from Anti, that all we can do is watch? I’m not sure.

I’m more curious if the blood will ever wash off.

So this magnificent person brought this picture to HousCon for j2 to sign: 

and shares the story of getting it signed here

‘…the volunteer called Clif…over to check it out. He said Jensen wishes he looked like that. I gave it to the handler and she starts giggling. Clif is waiting for Jensen to see it. She hands it to Jensen and he starts laughing. He says I wish I had guys who looked like that to wash my car. He signs it but keeps staring at it for like a minute and finally gives it back. 

I get in line for Jared….Jared’s handler who seems like a tough chick said ‘what the fuck!’ and then apologised and said Jared still kind of looks like that. She hands it to Jared and he’s like ‘oh my God’. Then he takes out his phone, scrolls through something and looks at the art again….Jared is comparing himself in a shirtless picture on his phone to a shirtless drawing of himself!!! He’s wondering why Jensen has the better abs. He signs it and tells me to draw him with more abs next time. I’m thinking ‘I didn’t draw it!’ but say ok I will!’

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE! Someone else was at autos and witnessed this

‘I had seen [Jared] exclaiming over a girl’s art…From what I could see, I think there was a shirtless Dean. She left and we stepped forward. I was watching Jared, but somehow I looked up when all of a sudden here comes Jensen sauntering up to Jared’s table. Watching that man walk is a religious experience. Anyway, he came right up behind Jared and grabbed him in what looked like it was going to be a headlock, but turned into a really sweet hug with Jensen’s arm around his neck and his chin on his shoulder. Jared was in the middle of signing and didn’t really react, just smiled softly….Jared then said, ‘Hey! I just saw a picture of you with abs!’ Jensen…said ‘I haven’t had abs since 1992!’ and walked out the door. Jared said ‘yeah more like 19….30′ while looking at me since Jensen was already gone.’ 

THIS IS ALL PURE GOLD but that last bit in particular slakes my constant thirst for Jared calling Jensen an old man (’while looking at me’ etc I DIE). 

6

bazluhrmann: The inspiration for the scene between the fish-tank came when Craig and I were so desperately looking for a solution as to how to surprise the audience for the first connective moment between Romeo and Juliet. I was younger then and we might have gone out to clubs a bit more. That night after working all day we squirreled out to a place (if I recall correctly called “The Dome”) in Miami. When I came out of the bathroom to wash my hands I looked up and saw a woman combing her hair with a brush through a fish-tank. It was a brilliant device to get guys and girls to connect through the sitting rooms, while protecting each room’s privacy. Obviously you can see where this moment lead … #romeoandjuliet

5

19 year old Herne, Germany resident Marcel Hesse was apprehended on March 9th, 2017 for the murder of his 9 year old neighbor Jaden, pictured on the top right. Hesse stabbed Jaden 56 times in a cellar, and proceeded to upload pictures of himself on WhatsApp standing next to the victim, stating that he “killed the neighbours child, doesn’t feel bad tbh, my hands bleed a lil which is the only thing annoying me. Actually wanted to get a girl in here so i can rape her.” Authorities have discovered pictures uploaded on a 4Chan forum as well, showing him with blood on his hands, brandishing a knife, and washing the murder weapon. Hesse also uploaded a video of him carrying out the gruesome act on the dark web for others to enjoy. A dark web user notified the police, which led to a manhunt for the killer. Reports indicate that after the murder, Hesse went over to his friend’s house, identified as 22 year old Christopher W., and spent the night there. The next morning, Christopher confronted Hesse about the manhunt, causing Hesse to stab him 68 times as well as set fire to his home. The killer was ultimately caught when he walked into a fast food restaurant and shouted “call the police, I’m wanted.” Hesse is a martial arts fanatic and was rejected by the German army due to his instability. Authorities claim he has a “lust to kill” and that he appeared “extremely ice-cold, emotionless.” As described by his sister, he is an “absolute psycho.” Hesse apparently stated that he had originally wanted to take his own life, but decided to murder so he could end up in jail.

8

My sister Veronica and I had this double act, and my husband Charlie traveled around with us. Now for the last number in our act we did these 20 acrobatic tricks in a row: one, two, three, four, five, splits, spread-eagles, back-flips, flip-flops, one right after the other. So this one night before the show we’re at the hotel Cicero, the three of us boozin, having a few laughs, and we run out of ice, so I run out to get some. I come back, open the door, and there’s Veronica and Charlie doing number 17, the spread-eagle. Well, I was in such a state of shock that I completely blacked out; I can’t remember a thing. It wasn’t until later, when I was washing the blood off my hands, I even knew they were dead.

Chicago (2002) dir. Rob Marshall

4

💕Beltane or May Day is April 30 - May 1st 💕
Beltane is a festival of flowers, fertility, sensuality, and delight. And that’s exactly what I put into this little Beltane kit! It comes with two pink candles and one yellow one to celebrate the season, a Beltane tarot reading, a sage and carnation wand, one jar of yarrow, one jar of the moon goddess bath salts, one 2 oz tin of flying ointment, a hand painted and lavender washed tarot/crystal bag holding four tumbled stones of citrine, carnelian, rose quartz, and aventurine. Find out more details here.

FaeintheForest.etsy.com

I romanticize everything,
through rosy neon eyes.
I am the soft blush of spring,
(so tender in it’s youth.)

You are so harsh,
in your half truths chased by swigs of whiskey.
(We grow out of our lies, but they still wear us like a second skin.)


Do you love the burn or have you grown so accustomed that  you know nothing else?
(or do you not want to?)


Give me your calloused hands love,
and I’ll give you my innocent supple flesh.
Take it all, I don’t want it anymore.
(If I can’t have you darling)


In the morning,
let me wash down your vodka kisses with coffee.
I’ll soothe your fevered looks as,
your cigarette hands burn me.
(I’ll be your ashtray forever more)


I am the water that puts out your flame.
The shore that accepts your hard raging waves,
and the tsunami you ensue.
(drown me out)


I am the flowers your wind rustles,
the valley that catches your currents.
(carry me away)


I am the mountain buried under your snow.
the volcano that remains intact under your lava flows.
(burn me up)


I was here long before you,
and will be here long after.
(I long for your hand to hold).


I wish you would stay,
for who else will soothe your rage?
(I yearn for it, your heady touch)

—  What is a goddess to a boy so drunk on his own mortality? (blind to love, I fold in prayer)

I am resentful and I have good reason to be, though I know I direct that resentment at the wrong people sometimes. Lately I find it hard to relate to the appeal of self-medication, of self-destruction: the poetry of how good it can feel to hurt. I do not have the privilege to spiral anymore. I sit or I stand or I sink down on both knees but I never lay down. I do not indulge. I do not lash out. I do not speak up. I do not cry. I wake up early and get my nephew his chocolate milk and I wash the dishes by hand while I pray for things I shouldn’t. I no longer have the instinct to fight or flee. I only know how to endure.

For I am the LORD your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you. Isaiah 41:13
We can draw such comfort from these words! All loneliness, all fear is washed away when you know that the Creator God is with you even in the most terrifying of life’s situations. The wind and the waves obey Him. He is the Lord over them all. Who is man that He is mindful of. He promises to hold us and help us out of this devastating storm. Why are you downcast O my soul. Your Heavenly Father is on your side. He will never leave you nor forsake you.

C: I’ve been natural for a while now but I decided to not heat straighten my hair for a year and wear wash and gos only. My hair went from bra strap length to mid back length in 1 year! I am so proud of myself. Ladies this natural thing works! I could be waist length by next year if I keep going. Keep drinking water, keep you hands out of your hair because black girl’s hair CAN grow!

amtrax replied to your postI HAVE THE PICTURE YOUR CURRENT AVATAR IS FROM ON…

It’s got the best unintentional color palette ever. On one hand I wish I knew what the original looked like. On the other, it came out so perfect that it probably doesn’t matter?

The original looked like this!

Far less interesting, in my opinion.  It was drawn in black ink and ink wash, with a bit of correction done in white paint, so when I scanned it in, the ink greys were slightly warm and the whites were slightly cool… but instead of desaturating it like I’d intended to do, I accidentally OVERsaturated it, resulting in this.

The warms were amped up until they were legit red, and the cools turned blue.  So I just went with it. :V

2

“The Hug” – Really it doesn’t need any other name. Was trying to catch the intensity/emotion of the moment, the way Cat hangs on. It’s a rougher, fast style, but I kinda like it.

Please don’t repost, use it for graphics on your page (like the latest asshole), trace and call it your own, remove my sig/statement, post on Instagram, or otherwise act like a jerk. Just, please be a decent person and don’t.

Keep reading

I can’t believe  you're mine// Loki smut

Fandom: Avengers/ Loki Laufeyson 

Paring: Loki x reader

Warning: Smut (fluff) swearing 

A/N: Hey guys! I thought it was time to do a smut so here it is!

Originally posted by lokihiddleston


Loki was beautiful, I watched silently from the bed as he walked out of the huge Azguardian wash room, tiny droplets of water slithered down his perfectly sculptured chest. No wonder people worshiped him. However the more I watched him, the more I craved his touch. Loki had always been so gentle and considering when it came to being intimate. I had never been able to trust a guy enough to go all the way, I wanted to find someone special to be with, but I know I could trust Loki.

Slowly I got out from under the green silky sheets and made my way over towards Loki. When I reached him, I placed both of my hands on his bare back and traced patterns across the back of his neck, shoulder blades and arms. I could feel him tense every so often when I went over a scar. I gingerly placed small kisses on each and every one of them.

“ So beautiful “ I whispered as he turned his body to face me. As he did so my hands moved with him soon ending up on his chest, oh my gods.

“If anyone is beautiful, It’s you,” Loki said, his velvet voice echoing through the room. My cheeks grew even brighter when he started to trail his fingers up and down my clothed sides. My breath hitched when he reached my bare shoulders, his fingers left marks on my skin, unseen but prominent . Soon my body took over and I placed my lips over his, my hands reached up to pull on the tiny hairs at the back of his neck ,earning a moan from Loki.

The God began to walk forwards until my thighs were pressed against the desk, Loki softly grasped them and placed me on top of the desk. However his hands didn’t move from their current position but instead moved up and down my thighs. My hands made their way down his back to the brim of his towel that was secured tightly to his waist, but before I could loosen it, Loki had stepped away from me.

“ Wait, Y/N” he sighed shaking his head.

“ What Loki? I asked confusingly.

“Do you truly want this? With me?”

I nodded, jumping off the desk to meet him.

“ I want this, with you Loki” I said before he covered my lips with his. Once again he picked me up, but this time lay me on the bed before crawling up me. I giggled slightly when he stopped to kiss my stomach. Soon his hands where at the bottom of my shirt moving it up brushing my skin as he did so. Loki pulled my shirt over my head exposing my bare chest to him. Loki looked up at me with a smile on his face before latching on to my right nipple. I gasped as pure pleasure seeped through my body.

“Shit, Fuck oh my god!” I could feel Loki’s smirk widen as I moaned more and more. He soon moved on to the left causing me to moan just as much. After a while I pushed Loki back so he was lying on the bed, my hands crept towards his towel where his strong member had made a tent. I gingerly brushed over it ready to take it out but was stopped by Loki.

“W-what? I don’t understand- I thought-” I was cut off by him.

“ We are Y/N but this night is about you, Okay?” I gave in and nodded. Loki slowly pushed my back in to the mattress, slid down my shorts and pulled the sheets over him.

“I-is it going to hurt?” I stuttered.

“Only for a little while darling. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this my love?”

“Yes, I want to be with you this way” He nodded before pulling his towel off and dropping it on the floor, he positioned himself above me, intertwining our fingers, and entered me. I let out a small screech of pain, tears brimming in my eyes.

“ I’m fine, keep going” I told Loki after I noticed a look of worry spread across his face. However once he began to move the pain subsided and pleasure soon replaced it.

“ Oh my god Loki, yes!” I moaned loudly. Loki quickened his pace more and more until he too became a moaning mess.

“Yes!” I yelled as I felt him release inside of me. I too following after him.Loki buried his head in my neck, breathing heavily.

“I love you Y/N” he finally spoke after pulling out and laying next to me.

“I love you too Loki” I shuffled my head on too his chest as he draped his arm over my waist, both of us falling in to a peaceful slumber.    

Fresh Blood

There’s blood layering every surface of my living room; it sends my body into a frenzy because it means I have to have everything washed or thrown out.

My desire to have someone’s heart in my hand and their blood seeping down my throat like strong alcohol has grown too strong, it’s creeping and crawling into my days instead of staying settled in my nights like it should do. This wouldn’t have happened if I had it all under control. The mere thought of not having a firm grip on the situation makes it slip out of my reach even more.

White seems like such a good colour for the interior of my house until it comes to slitting a person’s throat; the blood is never going to come out of the couch.

Huffing, I make my way into the kitchen; I keep rolls upon rolls of bags for this kind of situation and now my mind is screaming at me to use them. I almost slip when my foot touches the hardwood floor but I quickly regain my balance.

Now that the man’s guts are decorating my living room and his blood has settled into my stomach quite nicely - it’s making me feel full, bloated even, which means I won’t have to eat tonight - I’m feeling on edge and frustrated with myself due to not thinking to put anything down to stop the red substance staining everything. I almost wish I could revive the dead man so I can relive the feeling of his skin opening at my hands.

Despite my reluctance, I have to start throwing anything that can’t be bleached or washed into the bags. Everything I own costed a heavy amount when I purchased it so a lot of it is destined for the bag, except a few things I can’t bare to see go; those things I promise to still make good use with, and place them by the stairs.

While the rug that was previously sat in the centre of my living room (and once complimented the colour scheme I had going on, but now ruins it completely with the blotches of blood) is being thrown into the second bag to begin to fill to the top, I can hear my phone ringing from the kitchen. I don’t bother to run and answer it.

It screams at me to answer it four more times before whoever is calling seems to give up. The house falls into an easy silence after that, much to my appreciation.

Around half an hour later - when guts are sat in a messy pile in the corner and the only blood is that smeared across the wall (due to my victim struggling for his life) - there’s a noise I don’t expect, and one I haven’t heard in so long; the sound of the front door opening.

It’s become so unknown to me that when the noise first sets into my ear, I don’t recognise it. Although, when there’s a gasp - a noise I <i>do</I> know, and adore very much - following it, I know that what’s about to happen cannot look good for me.
My head snaps in the direction of the door and stood looking shocked, confused and scared all at once, is [Y/N]. She’s wearing one of the numerous sweaters of mine that she likes to keep at her house.

“J-Justin?” she stutters and I don’t dare to move a muscle in my body.

“Happy Halloween,” I ask rather than state. My voice is laced with panic and I wouldn’t have to have someone tell me to be able to detect it.

“It’s January,” she says and my fingers clench around the bag that starts to have the ability to slip between them. I can feel my forehead becoming hot, as well as the rest of my body.

“Ah, shit- looks like I’m too late. Well, there’s always next year. You wanna go get some coffee?” I speak frantically, hoping something else will capture her attention and throw her off the image of her boyfriend stood in front of a white wall painted with blood.

“What’s going on?” she squeaks and I find her very attractive when she’s scared. I try hard to keep my mind and my vision straight.

“Isn’t it obvious, babygirl?”

“Why have you painted your walls red?” she asks and I laugh.

“That’s easy: it’s not paint,” I grin and feel my body begin to relax.

This is it. It’s going to happen right now. This could either end with us being partners in crime; killing together and having our own late night murderous rendezvous whenever we want, the idea of it makes me shift uncomfortably in my trousers, or it’s going to end with her trying to leave and me having to duct tape her to my bed. I don’t see a realistic option between the two.

“Then, what.. is it?” she frowns and her round face looks sadder than I’ve ever had to see her. I don’t know whether to be happy or sad.

“Well, it’s blood.” I don’t think she’s noticed the guts in the corner.

“I thought it was cranberry juice.” She doesn’t convince me; cranberry juice doesn’t take so long to make its way down the wall.

“Nope, it’s blood,” I state clearly.

She’s quiet. Her eyes are on fire and they’re moving between me and the wall. I’m uncertain as to what she’s thinking so I don’t say anything, I simply wait; the bag in my hand is starting to irritate my skin.

“Is this one of your little jokes? I can never tell. You’re scaring me.”

I sigh and drop the bag, my hand appreciates it when the air is able to lick at my skin. I move closer to her and the worried expression sets deeper onto her face. I can see her bright eyes glance down to where the blood had splattered all over me. I could feel a sense of pride at my work.

“What’s going on?”

“Your life’s about to change a helluva lot, sweetheart. You’ve just walked into something you shouldn’t have,” I mutter as I move closer to her. I can see her fingers trembling and threatening to detach from her hands. “I’m not joking when I say this is blood, just like I wasn’t joking about the bodies in my closet, and the head in my fridge. It’s all true.”

She wavers for a second longer; I can almost see her brain clicking behind her skull as it tries to calculate whether I’m simply making another one of my jokes or if my jokes are becoming too advanced for her to understand.

“What do you think? Impressive, right?” There’s a grin that’s threatening to make it’s way onto my lips that I’m sure are coated in a small layer of blood, if I haven’t managed to swipe it off with my tongue yet.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“I don’t find this funny anymore.”

There’s definite worry in her tone of voice and I can feel myself moving closer to her. She makes a pathetic attempt to force her body backwards, although it does nothing but make the desire I have to move closer to her even more powerful.

“Are you scared? You don’t have to be, babygirl. I’m not going to hurt you, I’d never lay a finger on you.”

Even as the words leave my lips I know I’m telling a cruel lie; my lust for her and for her blood has grown stronger since I accidentally bumped into her two years ago. I managed to avoid putting any kind of pain onto her for reasons I’m not too sure of, but now, it’s all I can think about. Of course, I have to try and make sure she never finds out.

“Tell me what’s going on. Is this some kind of joke that I don’t understand?”

“I’ve already told you; this isn’t a joke.” My jaw clenches and I’m uncertain as to why, although I’m sure I know when I feel myself becoming impatient with the girl in front of me. “This is real, all of it.”

Next, she does something I hadn’t anticipated - she laughs. Her head falls back and I can see everything working in the front of her throat. It makes me think about all the sharp objects I could slice it with. The laugh, however, is far from genuine; it’s hesitant and sharp. It doesn’t last for very long, either.

“Right, that’s funny. You’re a serial killer, hilarious. I get it now,” she chuckles and it’s fake. I’m watching her closely because I’m confused by her behaviour and have no idea where the conversation is going to lead; my two previous assumptions as to where the conversation could go have seemingly taken flight and headed for the nearest window. I’m not left clueless.

“Don’t kid yourself, [Y/N],” I mange to let escape between my lips.

It’s a strange sensation to me, to have somebody’s guts in the same room as my girlfriend; there’s been so many things that I’ve done, most things don’t surprise me but this, this is new.

“So, what? I’m supposed to believe that my boyfriend kills people? Stop joking, Justin, it’s just not funny anymore.” Her voice has now adjusted and taken on a shaky quality that I find quite amusing. “I’m leaving. You’re inhuman,” she says and I think she’s going to start crying.

“I’m very in touch with humanity, okay?” I frown deeply and correct her quickly, now following her as she strides for the door. “You can’t leave.”

“And why the fuck not, Justin? You’re clearly going through some thing right now and I don’t like it. You’re making me panic.” She turns to look at me for a split second; it’s a look I’m unfamiliar with but I’m sure it’s supposed to signal to me that she’s hoping I’m going to stop her and tell her it’s all a joke. It’s a shame that I can do no such thing.

“It’s going to be okay, baby. You’re gonna go and clear your head and I’m not going to stop you because I know you’re going to come back to me, isn’t that right?”

“You’re serious.. aren’t you?” she says, sounding as though all of her worst nightmares have suddenly become true.

“Very much so.” The evil smirk is back onto my lips, I cannot help but show my affection for my satanic hobbies. “I’ve told you over and over again but you just don’t believe me, do you?”

She’s trying to edge away but I’m moving closer. She moves slowly as though she’s created a plan in her mind; if she moves ever so slightly, I won’t notice. Little does she know, I notice everything. I notice how she moves away just like I notice my victims trying to edge their way towards the door. It’s evident that [Y/N] doesn’t know just how much practice I’ve had in this field.

“I-I have to go.”

“Where?”

She doesn’t give me an answer. It happens in a matter of seconds. She’s out of the door and she’s running towards her car that’s parked patiently next to mine. The sun is setting; disappearing behind the hills and she’s getting away. A plan is already taking shape in the folds of my brain while I watch her drive away; anger seeping into every inch of my body.

I caught her in the end. I knew I would. I said at the beginning I was too selfish to ever let her leave me, and even if it means watching her every second of every day, I’ll always have her. Of course, I’ve had to make sure she doesn’t utter a word to anyone, it took some bribery and manipulation but I’m certain no one else will ever know of my secrets.

[Y/N] is upset, of course she is. One second I was the charming boyfriend who gave her all the happiness in the world and suddenly, I’m the psychotic, inhuman monster who happens to enjoy stapling human limbs together for fun. Even I can sympathise.

I’ve noticed that there’s still a hint of love in the colours that swirl around the outside of [Y/N]’s pupils; it pleases me to know she’s still so invested in me, even after I sat and admitted almost everything - apart from the murdering of her cousin; I don’t want her entire family banging on my door.

I’m insane and I’m feeling more and more on the verge of frenzy every day. What was once an itch has mutated into a burn that sits under my skin and claws away until my needs are satisfied.

So, the next time you’re walking through the busy streets of whatever city you’re in; whether it’s London, Paris, New York, Milan, Amsterdam - anywhere, remember me. I’m everywhere - I’m the dead eyes of the old man striding past you, I’m the grimace of the lady sitting on the bench across the street, I’m even the shrill shrieks of the baby in the stroller. Every disgusting sight, every pungent smell, every irritating sound is what I’m made up of. Notice me. After all, I’m looking for fresh blood wherever I go; while showing no signs of being filled to the brim with insanity, and ready to overflow.

 The darkness and disgust that I create is something that will always be there, no matter where you go; it’s something you can’t escape, just like I can’t seem to escape the deep desires for human pain within the pit of my stomach and the thirst for their blood trickling down my throat.

S A V I O R (B. Barnes x Reader)

Word count: 2688

Warnings: Kissing, some Russian and this is shit, but whatever.


Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One, Freight car
Тоска, проржавевший, семнадцать, Рассвет, печи, девять, доброкачественная, встреча выпускников/корпоративы, один, грузовых автомобилей

My hands sting and I can already feel the bruises beginning to form.
I sit to catch my breath, in the deafening silence I hear a drop of my blood hit the scuffed wooden floor.

Looking back, not wrapping my hands was a bad idea.

I get onto my feet and hook another bag up. This time, being careful to wash and wrap my hands.
Letting out years of pent up anger felt good after a long day of dealing with idiotic people.

“You should probably take care of that first.” Steve comments just as I knock the bag off its chain, accidentally spilling sand across the floor.
“If it isn’t the star-spangled man with a plan, why are you here? What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything -” he says obviously finding humour in his joke. My patience is running thin and I shoot him a glare.
He clears his throat, regaining his composure. “Fury wanted to see you.”
“Fury? Nick Fury, the one that relieved me of my title as field agent?-” Steve tries to cut me off
“-All because yours truly made one little mistake-”
“You almost got us killed.” He cuts in
“But I didn’t! I came in and saved your ass, again!”
“You wouldn’t have had to save us if you stuck to the orders!”
“It was my brother! What would you have done! I fixed my mistake, but Fury didn’t give me my second chance, why should I give him his?”
“Y/N I-” he sighs “I need your help.”
I shoot him a questioning look. “My silence is your cue.”
“Do you remember Bucky?”
“Bucky. Barnes?…The Winter Soldier? Yeah, why?”
“S.H.E.I.L.D wants to recruit him”
“Why? He tried to kill us. You were his mission-”
“I was his friend.”
“Steve, Bucky was your friend, the Winter Soldier, he’s your enemy. You can’t save him. He’s long gone. And he tried to kill us.”
“He remembers.” Steve argues “H-he’s still the Bucky I used to know, deep down.” He clears his throat again.
“Fury said that if you brought him back successfully-and alive- he’ll give you your job back.”
“Fine, but I’m doing this for me, and only me, not for you or your issues with your broken boyfriend.” Steve barely contained his excitement as we walk to the jet waiting outside. After a short flight to Stark tower and many questioning glances, we’re sat around a table discussing the terms of the mission.

“There are tracking devices in all the weapons in case you decide to go rogue.”
“Stark, I take my job very seriously.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s just a precaution.”
I glance over the weapons layed out in front on me and pick a few, stuffing them in my duffle bag. I pause when I see an unfamiliar weapon. “Hey, Stark, what’s this?”
“Turn it away from you, press the green button, it vaporizes whatever its aimed at.” He demonstrated on a vase sitting on the table and it turned to a pile of ash.
“Woah. That’s awesome!”
“Thank you.”
“Tony, if only you were as big as your ego, maybe you’d be able to reach the top shelf.” Although he was a few inches taller than me I still liked to tease him about his height compared to the others.

I sat back down looking over the Winter Soldier’s case file once again, taking in all the details, adding them to what I already know. In his military picture he looks young, determined, sweet, definitely handsome, probably a ladies man with his hair neatly cut and gelled.
In the other two he looked different. There’s one of him in cryo. Even in his frozen state you can still make out the crease in his brow, he looks like he’s… in pain. The one of him in action, a majority of his face is covered by a black mask, his hair long and messy. His metal arm stood out against his black uniform. The vibranium caught the sun and made the red star stand out even more. The way I recognized him best, as the Winter Soldier.

“Y/N!”
“What?” I say snapping out of my stupor

“You spaced out, it’s time for us to leave, you’re headed to Shelbyville, Indiana, that’s where the target was seen last.”

“He’s not a target.” Steve yelled from down the hall, slamming the door.

“Actually, Sam? Wilson, right? Alright bird-boy. I say we head to Washington. I was thinking metal-man grew up in Indiana, maybe he went looking for answers he couldn’t find. If you’re a fossil who doesn’t know how to properly use a computer, where would you go to search for the past?”

“The Smithsonian.” Bruce chimed in when we walked past him lab. I shot him a smile, seeing as he was the only one who sided with me when I almost got them killed, he’s one of my favorites. Him and Natasha that is. Agent Romanoff was always one of my favourites.
“Exactly, there’s a big plaque dedicated to Barnes there. I say we check it out. I don’t think Barnes would stay in one place too long, he knows he’s wanted.”
“You really think he’s there?”
“Wilson, I’m a spy, its my job to know where people are.” I send over my shoulder on my way into the quinjet. I’m met with a light chuckle from Mr. Patriotism himself. “What’re you laughing at?”
“You know, you’re quite funny, agent Y/L/N.” I’m slightly startled by the title, not being used to it anymore. Does he just have that much faith that I’ll succeed? Although, I’ve only failed one or two missions. “Alright Rogers, we’ve got three hours on the jet, try to behave.”

Three hours later I’m dropped off at one of Stark’s safe houses a few blocks from the Smithsonian.
“Call when you’ve got him, we’ll send a jet. And Y/N, please, don’t hurt him unless you absolutely need to.” A quick nod and a small smile from the Captain is my parting, from here I’m on my own. I head into the small rundown house, it’s bigger on the inside, cleaner and brighter too. There’s a bed to one side and a bathroom on the other.

“There’s no place like home.”

I drop my duffle and slip a gun into the waistband of my pants. I also grab a knife and slip it into the holster in my jacket, you can’t be too careful.

I decide to take the small ‘getaway’ car in the garage. Its not as great as Steve’s bug though.

The first few days go by with no sign of the infamous soldier. I’m caught off guard to finally see the one and only sporting a baseball cap, jeans and a sweatshirt. He has gloves on too, it seems. Its not too cold, it’s only late October, he’s most likely trying to hide the metal that could set civilians into a panic and most certainly give him away. He’s standing near the plaque dedicated to the one James Barnes of the 107th.

I stand and observe him for a little while. He reads the words over and over again. Its a good ten minutes before I finally walk over, careful not to startle him. I stand next to him and read the plaque for myself.
“Bucky seems like he was a great person, definitely someone you’d want to befriend.” He seems caught off guard by my words and he takes a second to comprehend my sentence.
“Yeah I bet he was a great person.” He says. “Was.” He says. I don’t comment on it because I know I wasn’t supposed to hear it. After another few minutes of silence I start again.

“You know, Steve really misses you.” His head shoots up and his eyes are dark and guarded. He recognized the name.

“He remembers.” Steve’s words play over in my head.

“Who sent you?” He questions obviously ready for a fight.
“S.H.E.I.L.D.” the look on his face tells me he doesn’t believe me.
“They want to recruit you.” No response.
“Bucky-” recognition crosses his features, but is gone almost immediately and his eyes soften, barely. He looked like he was thinking hard, remembering.
“-Steve wants you back, he wants you to remember and I can help.” I show him my S.H.E.I.L.D badge for proof
“Okay.”
“Let’s go because that guard hasn’t stopped watching you since you came in.” We head towards the street making our way to my car.
A tall man blocks our way. I pull out a gun and shoot. I clip his shoulder and he gets my leg, I collapse, but shoot again, this time its a head shot. The car’s gone and I can’t walk.
“How’d you get those through security?”
“Same way you got your arm through. Can you carry me, I can’t walk.” He picks me up as if I weighed nothing while I made a makeshift tourniquet.
I call Steve and then Romanoff and Banner, but none of them answer. He sets me down in a chair when we reach the safe house.
“Well, Earth’s mightiest heroes aren’t answering, I guess we’ll spend the night here. I’ll take first watch. You rest.” He hesitates, obviously not trusting me.
“If Steve trusts me, you can too. I promise.” He gets up and heads towards the bathroom. I hear the water start to run. I decide to make something light to eat for us, assuming he hasn’t had much lately. I hear the door click open.
“Hey, I made us dinner-” he standing in the doorway with only a towel wrapped around his waist. “I uhm, left my clothes.”
I hand him his clothes and try to keep my gaze from wandering. The door clicks shut again and I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding in. I sit on the bed and begin eating my sandwich. Bucky comes out, fully clothed with his hair neatly combed. I hand him his plate.
“You know, if there’s anything you want to know about yourself, I could try to answer, the basics at least. You’ll have to ask Rogers on the rest.”
“You know, that wasn’t me. None of it was me, I killed… So many people b-but, it wasn’t me.”
“I know Bucky.” I say taking his plate as he lays down.

He tosses and turns for hours. And when his breathing finally evens out I’m relieved to know he’s at least resting. I know what torture can do to a person. He sleeps for about an hour before he wakes up, immediately on guard. He wraps his metal hand around my throat
“Кто тебя послал?” Who sent you?
I’ve never been caught like this before, I could get out easily, but that would only make him more nervous,
“Bucky.” I choke out. “Its me, no one sent me.” His eyes soften and he drops me.
“I’m so sorry.” He says softly, glancing at the forming bruises.
“Its okay, I have them too, you know.” He looks surprised,
“You do?”
“Mm.” He looks at me for another second before going and sitting on the bed. He mutters quietly in Russian, but I can’t make out the words. I sidestep my bag and go to the sink.
“Drink.” I say handing him the glass. “What were you just mumbling?”
“Пытки равна прочности.”
“Torture equals strength.” We say together.
“ It was written on every surface back at Hydra.” I sit on the bed next to him, a bit closer than necessary.
“Все это будет нормально.” It’ll all be okay
He looks up at me and for the first time I see the ghost of a smile grace his features.
My phone rings interrupting our conversation.
“I’m sorry, we had a mission, I’ll come out to pick you up now.”

Thanks Clint, see you soon.“

"Katniss will be here soon, just throw your stuff in my duffle, I got it.” He does as he’s told, obviously confused, and goes back to his spot on the bed. It kind of set me off that he was trusting me. I knew well enough that it was an act. That he would try something. It was almost too easy.

×××

Bucky became my new partner on all my missions and he’s remembering more and more.
With the help of Steve of course.
Its been about 2 years. I’ll fill you in on the details.

I was right, when Clint came, Bucky tried to escape. To kill us. He didn’t succeed. He was locked up for a while, with only minimal visits from me or from Steve. Steve helped him to remember, I was like a therapist. Maybe it was because I didn’t remind him, maybe because I was, in a sense, a stranger, but nevertheless, we grew closer. Eventually, I got Fury to agree to let Barnes roam, with me as an escort. Once he was stable enough, he began training, which, in my opinion, he didn’t need. And then he was recruited.

“Hey, Buck, we gotta go, we’re on our way to Vegas, remember?”
Finally, a mission in a nice place. We drop down and check into a nice hotel, that’s a new one. There’s a Hydra base under one of the abandoned casinos in town and its our job to take it down.

×××

“Hey Buck, we’re in Vegas, we should do something fun.”
I say as we walk away from the burning building, cliché am I right?

“Why don’t we go back to the hotel and order room service? Watch a few movies, I’m still not caught up with the 21st century.” I laugh and nod my head in agreement.
I collapse on the bed and bury my face in the pillow.
“Are you tired, Мой ангел?”
I feel a rush of warmth at the name. Did he just call me his angel?
“No, just getting comfy.” I reply, my voice muffled my the pillow.
“I can make you comfy.” He says climbing in beside me and pulling me to him. He trails kisses up my neck to my jaw. I turn over to face him and give him a puzzled look. I’m not denying my feelings, everyone knew they were there, we’ve just never… confronted it, or even talked about it. And he’s never this carefree.

He smiles and captures my lips with his, a soft, yet hungry kiss, like he’d been waiting to do it. He wanted me just as badly as I wanted him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he instinctively put his hands on either side of my head to hold himself up. I tuck my hand up under his shirt and he pulls away only long enough my me to slip his shirt off and throw it across the room. I trace the skin where the metal meets, its still red, but not as bad as when I caught him watching his own reflection. As if he were a monster, a few weeks after I brought him to S.H.E.I.L.D. he slipped my shirt up over my head and trailed kisses down my neck, to my chest and onto my stomach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He brings his mouth back up to mine and his tongue skims my bottom lip. The moment ends when my phone rings insanely loudly. Bucky curses under his breath.
“What?” I snap at the person on the other line.
“Did I interrupt?” Comes the snarky voice of Tony on the other end.
“Why are you calling, Stark?”
“I sent Natasha to come get you guys, she’ll be there in a few hours.”
I end the call without a goodbye and look to the soldier piercing me with his blue eyes.
“I’m sorry.” He just chuckles and places a light kiss to my forehead.
“We’d better get dressed.” He muses a playful smirk on his face.
“To be continued, Кукла.”

Doll.

Borrowing Pajamas (SR)

Request:

Request: Spencer and reader are working a case and have to share a room and the reader forgets her pjs and has to borrow Spencer’s and they have hate relationship but that ends at the end of the night with some fluff!!?!?

Warnings: None (Not edited)

your pov:

We started the case off in New York City. An unsub was targeting taxi drivers. They would kill them and then push them out on the busy streets, stealing the cars. Then the unsub would target the people who got into the taxi with him. So it was basically a huge shooting spree. 

It was a rainy day in NYC. The thunder and lightening casted down on top of all of us making the evidence wash away into the streets. I ran my hands over my face groaning. “Sometimes I hate the rain.” I mumbled looking around one of the recent victims. “What’s the MO?” I asked the team as we all huddled towards the body. “Well it looks like they have all been shot execution style, just one bullet to the head.” Reid said bending down to look at the wound. I winced and stepped back not enjoying the visuals I had just seen. “Alright everyone lets go to the station and set up the time line.” David commanded out. I nodded and walked behind everyone, placing myself in the back of the big black SUV. “You’re awfully quiet.” I heard Rossi comment from the drivers seat. I gave a sad smile and shook my head, “I’m good, just tired. It’s been a long day of flying. I haven’t slept in so long.” I said yawning out. “Why haven’t you slept?” He asked back looking in the rear-view mirror. I shrugged, “I guess with a job like this and the sights you see. It’s hard to sleep.” I told him looking out of the window. I saw Spencer look back at me confused. I decided to just brush it off and continue looking at the water droplets coming down the window. 

When we got to the station I let myself out of the car slightly stumbling. I tapped my cheek trying to keep myself awake for the next countless hours of working up a profile. I sat down with the rest of the team going though all the questions on how the unsub acts. “So he’s an organi-” I said stopping mid-sentence to yawn. “Oh goodness, excuse me. So he’s an organized killer. He knows what he wants and he’s calm.” I concluded. Hotch nodded his head calling Spencer and I out into the hallway away from the others. “Reid I need you to take Y/N to the hotel. You two are bunking tonight so I’d suggest you guys get comfortable together.” He commanded. He handed Reid the keys to the car nodding towards the door. I started to walk off to the door when I heard Hotch again. “And Reid, make sure she gets sleep.” I heard the doctor mumble out an ‘okay.’ 

I climbed into the passenger side and buckled my seat belt. I waited for the young doctor to present himself. He opened the drivers side and slid into the seat swiftly. He started up the car and pulled off. The ride was so far filled with awkward silence. “I don’t understand why you can’t sleep.” He said keeping his eyes on the road. I stared at him examining his face. “And why is that Dr. Reid.” I said not really wanting an answer. “You act all hard in the field.” He commented. I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Me acting tough in the field has nothing to do with how I feel mentally.” I told him resting my head on the cool glass window. I heard him huff and puff, slightly annoyed at my logic. 

We pulled into the hotel parking lot parking in the closest space we could find. “I’ll get the bags, you go ahead and get our room.” Spencer told me pointing to the main entrance. I nodded my head gratefully. I lazily pushed open the doors and walked to the desk asking for our room. The nice lady gave me the key card and gave me directions to it. I nodded and smiled giving her a polite thank you. I went back out to the car and helped Spencer carry in the bags. “We are on the fourth floor.” I said trying to make small talk. He nodded and slung a bag over his shoulder. “Do you want me to help you with that?” I asked him looking at his tired eyes. He shook his head and shrugged off my touch as I reached for my bag. “It’s fine. Just hurry and get to the room.” I groaned and closed my eyes thinking about how even though he was a dick, he was still a gentleman. Which really pissed me off. 

When we finally found our room I placed the key card in the slot letting the light turn green. I pushed open the door loving the smell of a hotel room. “I don’t even think I can make it through a shower tonight.” I said softly laughing to myself, flipping on the lights. I looked across the room noticing the king sized bed. “Oh brother, this must be a mistake.” I said whining. I looked towards Spencer seeing his bowing his head. “Let’s just sleep Y/N, the bed is big enough for the both of us and I really don’t feel like walking all the way back down to complain. I just want to get into comfy clothing and sleep.” He said complaining. I bit my lip and sighed placing my bag on the bed furthest from the door. I opened my bag searching though to find my pajamas. “No, no, no this can not be happening.” I said groaning. “What?” Spencer said snapping his hand up towards me. “I was doing the laundry for my go-bag and I guess I left out my pajamas.” I said biting my quivering lip. After the long day and the exhaustion swarming my brain my body finally let go of the tension letting the tears flow freely. I groaned and sat on the bed kicking off my shoes. “Uhm do I need to go get you something?” He asked awkwardly. I pouted and looked up at him. I shook my head and took off my blazer starting to get under the covers. I faced my back towards him. I heard him sigh and sit on the bed. “Here, you can borrow these. I have extras.” He said. I felt a weight on my side, I looked down to see some plaid pajama pants and a plain long sleeved shirt. I dried my eyes and looked up at him. I sniffed and smiled, “Thank you.” I told him getting up. “Um, oh I’ll go to the bathroom.” He said rushing out. 

I unbuttoned my pants and pushed them down stepping out. I then pushed my shirt over my head unclasping the restricting bra. I heard a knock on the bathroom door, “Are you dressed?” I heard Spencer ask through the door. “Um almost.” I said pulling the overly baggy pants and shirt on. “Okay.” I said placing myself under the covers. “I’m sure they will be a bit bigger since you’re quite a bit shorter than me but it’ll do.” He told me as he came out of the bathroom. I nodded my head and settled myself closet to the edge of the bed. I felt the weight of the mattress shift under him. “You can move closer to me you know, I don’t bite.” He said softly. I felt his body move closer to the middle of the bed. I felt a hand run over my waist making butterflies erupt. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He said pushing my back closer to his front. I flipped over to face him and blushed. “You look cute in my clothes.” He said placing his hand on my jaw making me look at him. “Oh stop Spencer.” I said giggling hitting him softly on his chest. “Go to sleep.” He said whispering, tucking me into his chest. “What no goodnight kiss?” I asked into his chest. I felt his chest vibrate, I looked up into his beautiful brown eyes and leaned in to place a soft kiss on his lips. “There, now sleep.” 

Back in high school while out with the girl I was dating, we ended up getting a flat tire. After changing the tire for her we found the nearest gas station so I could wash my hands because they had gotten so dirty and greasy. Just as I got soap on my hands here she comes into the men’s restroom, takes my hands in hers and proceeds to wash my hands for me.

To this day, that one moment shocks and awes me and has skewed what my idea of showing you care means. The Little Things. Sure, grandiose gestures of affection are great sometimes but it’s the little things. Holding her hair back while she is throwing up from having the flu, washing your hands for you after changing her tires, calling in the middle of the night because she can’t sleep, just to hear your voice.

That is romance, that, is love.

Colours (Barry Allen)

BLURB: every person you love leaves a colour on your skin. Some people are stained everywhere with colour, some with none at all. But there is always one simple rule, once you find your soulmate they wash away all the other colours. 

OR 

 The soulmate colour AU with Barry cause lets be real, everyone needs this in their lives.  

 Also I apologize, I wrote this at three AM.

——————————————————————————–

The waiter that handed me my coffee had hands stained with blue, bright blue standing out against their dark skin. Guess they got lucky, found someone to wash away the rest. Or perhaps they never had any to wash away, their hairline is stained too. Signs of gentle touches. 

 Yeah I know most people use words like ‘painted’ or ‘caressed’ to describe the colours. I use ‘stained’, because thats what they are. Stupid marks that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you tried. Marks that show everyone your personal life. Stains that show if you love too much or not at all.

 You see I hate the orange stains that lace my body, the constant reminder that my only love left me. Ran away with someone who could mark them with deep purple, wash away my pitiful gold. 

 Most people think gold is an amazing colour to leave behind, not him. He hated it, said it reminded him of all the medals he should have won. 

 Oh well, at least I’m not stained with white 

 That’s the worst, white means you’ve fallen in love. But they don’t love you back, so every time that person touches you your skin is bleached. A constant reminder that they don’t love you back 

 Most of the time those people find another soulmate, someone to wash away the bleach. To give them colour again 

 There’s one person in this city that I know of with skin bleached. 

 A CSI, I don’t know his name. But it’s obvious, I always see him interviewing patients at the hospital I work at.

 See their sympathetic looks as their eyes trail along his bleached body. 

 I’ve never spoken to him though; hell I’ve never even looked him in the eyes. I’m too scared I’ll see myself in them, see the same hopeless look all people left by their colour match do. 

 Yeah I get that there’s still hope. That by some miracle you might find a real match. Someone to wash away the other colours. Or paint over the bleach. It had happened before. 

But then I look at the bleached CSI, and I lose all hope. 

**************************

 As I walk to the hospital I see him again, running in. He’s always late, that much is obvious by the annoyed scowl of the police captain as he arrives.

 The annoyed scowl stained with yellow. 

 I went to my next patient, trying to ignore the bleached soul behind me as much as I tried to pretend my hands aren’t stained with orange. 

 “Y/N?” one of the nurses called. 

 “Yeah?” 

 “The CSI has to question your patient.” 

 “Alright, send him in,” I replied as I carried on taking my patient’s vitals.

 There was nothing I wouldn’t have done to not be in that room.

 To not see my own fate reflected in his eyes. 

 I could ignore him, I thought. I could carry on my duties and pretend I didn’t see the other person in the room, I could just make sure the patient was stable and handle the rest once he leaves.

 Easy. Until he enters. 

 He’s much taller than I expected, about half a head taller than me (yeah I’m tall urgh). He walked in and tried to introduce himself. Tried to shake my hand.

 I ignored him, I couldn’t possibly address him. That would mean addressing all of him. 

 I try not to notice the sad looks my patient is giving him.

 I did my full exam without even looking at him, and then practically ran from the room. 

 Thankfully the rest of the day went fine, a couple patients commented on how happy I must be of course. Because that was the only option when a colour stains your body as much as it stains mine, no one presumes that person could have left. 

Because somehow everything revolves around this stupid colours.

**********************

 As I was walking home that day I heard running behind me, as I turned around I saw the CSI running towards me. 

 No. No. No. 

 This cannot be happening, I thought. There was no way he could about to reach me, none at all. I avoid him as much as possible. This isn’t happening.

 “Hey! Wait,” he called, running up to me.

 When I turned to look at him I saw just how bad off he was, his hairline, his cheeks, the outline of his lips. All bleached, like every bit of colour was drained from him. 

His pain painted on his face by some cruel artist. 

 He held something in colourless hands, “This fell of your neck while you were examining that guy, thought you might want it back.” In his hands he held my gold necklace that my brother gave me, I hadn’t even noticed it had gone. 

 “Oh my god, thank you so much! I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost this!” He smiled, he was different when he smiled.

 Almost like a trace of his former self somewhere in there, fighting to resurface.

 “No problem,” he said as he handed it back to me. 

 As he gave it to me our hands touched, I almost screamed. 

 Where he touched me, the orange had changed to a deep maroon. I looked at his hand and saw gold, the bleached had been painted over. 

 “Hi,” he whispered, a broken smile on his face.

 “Hey,” I laughed back, tracing his face with my hand, watching as the bleach there changed to gold.

 It’s been five months since that day and I’ve got to own up to something, maybe soulmates weren’t so bad after all. I’ve learned his name is Barry, I’ve he’s the Flash (his colour is maroon for god’s sake). 

He’s in and out of the hospital all the time now.

 Only I don’t avoid him now, I watch with pride. As the patient’s smiles change from sympathetic to hopeful as their eyes trail down the gold paint strokes that lace his body.

———————————————————————————

Thanks for reading what happens in my brain at three AM…

I’m actually rather proud of this one, please let me know what you think.

requests are open :)