icy stone

You have no idea how hard it was finding a gif to represent a scene in complete darkness. Nonetheless, this will have to do. Enjoy!

Prompt[s]:  First of all. Great chapter of The Tower. Second of all, WHY YOU GOTTA GO HURTING ME LIKE THAT?

No no no no thor you idiot god damn you

Noooooooo….😱 Thor you ass! How will she get back now?? I need to know what happens next! 😳

‘The Tower’ (Part 23)

All Chapters // Part 22

The dungeons of Asgard’s palace were even colder than the forest at night. It was all you could think about as you sat shivering in the dark.  

A set of chains protruded from the wall, stretching only a metre away until they clasped around your wrists. The pink skin underneath threatened to erode under their icy hold. The stone on which you sat was dusty and uncomfortable, but thankfully worn smooth by the hundreds of others who had been in your place. How many of them had also been innocent?

In hindsight, you couldn’t hold Thor’s decision against him. You wanted to – boy, did you want to – but realistically, you knew that he was still grieving. Thinking of your mother reminded you of that. He’d never seen the body, he’d told you. He’d never gotten closure. He’d never said goodbye. The man was blinded by grief.

If only you could’ve made him see; Loki wouldn’t be the only one freed by their being reunited.

Keep reading

Shooting Stars

Sirius Black x Reader

Originally posted by nellaey

It’s their seventh year at Hogwarts, and Sirius wants to see her at midnight in the Astronomy Tower. They’ve met in a lot of place in last last year. Each other’s dormitory, secluded cornerns, empty classroms, or deserted corridors, but never in the Astronomy Tower. It’s not because they wanted to keep their relationship in secret; it’s more like because their relationship wasn’t serious. At least both of them tried to show this, as Sirius was playing around with a lot of girl and Y/N’s heart was an icy piece of stone from so many disappointment she had to experienced earlier –

but behind every stolen kisses, and every naked cuddles at late nights, and every ’You know I’ll love you forever’ what disguised as a joke, was hiding a feeling that none of them wanted to. A feeling that burns their chest and made their hearts beating faster, a feeling that forced them to smile if they made the other one happy, a feeling that made their legs shake with anticipation after every little touch they exchanged.

Y/N huffs as she steps in the slightly windy Astonomy Tower. It’s spring – the days are warm but the nights are chilly, and she scolding herself for came here without at least a light jacket. Her steps so light Sirius haven’t noticed while she was climbing up on the many stepping stones, only when she’s already there, standing behind him.

„I hope you have a really good reason to dragging me here at this time.” – she says with a little despise on her voice and a tiny, cheeky grin on her face.

Sirius walks closer to her with a smirk which is almost a kind smile, something that not a lot of people could experience from him. He grasp her soft hand, leading the girl to the railing when he stops next to her, shoulder to shoulder, looking up in the clear, stairy night sky. She frowns at him before turns her gaze to the starts too. She doesn’t understand.

„Are we going to stand here in silence all night long?” – she asks, not even realizing she doesn’t cold anymore as the boy’s body heat and his simple presence warmed her up minutes ago.

He smiles and looks down, like he was searching for an asnwer between his boots, before he looks up in the sky again.

„I just wanted to show you something.” – he starts, wrapping a hand around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. His voice is low and almost husky as he continues. – „Do you see that star, over there?” – she follows his gaze, finding a bright little dot in the distance. – „It’s called Sirius. The Brightest Star.”

Y/N stares at it for a long moment in silence before a laugh burst out from her. These words sounds so unrealistic from his mouth. „So this is why you wanted to meet me here?” – her tone isn’t disapproving, but it still causes Sirius to lift up his head and take a step back, though his arm reamined around her.

„I thought it’d be, you know… romantic.”

Y/N looks into his dark, grey eyes; eyes that could hold a millions of secrets and feelings and he still could magane to hide it all if he wants. But not from her, not now, not anymore. „Since when you are a romantic?”

„Since I knew I’m in love with you.” – the words fell from his mouth easily, like every bit of them wanted to escape for a long time.

Y/N’s smile vanishes. She closes her mouth, choking back the urge of grinning wildly or confessing her feelings instantly. Biting her lip, he looking up at Sirius; the brightness and the confidence fading away from his eyes with every second that pass without her love’s respond.

„It’s okay.” – he said finally, not bearing the painful silence anymore. His eyes examining his feet again. – „I just had to say it.”

Her heart beating fast as she fights an internal battle with herself; she’s afraid, but how many times she wanted to hear these words from him? „Do you really love me?”

His eyes sparkles in the moonlight as he suddenly snapped his head up. „Yes.” – he nods, his voice sweet and honest, his expression remains worried.

For a split second, Y/N considered to run away from him, or lying that „Sorry, I don’t love you.”, but her feelings are much stronger than her. The idea for a happy relationship made her drunk, causing to forget there’s chance for pain too.

„Come here, my Brightest Star.” – she laughs, pulling him closer for a tender kiss, but Sirius’ lips are hardly moving on hers. – „I love you too.” – she whispers against his skin, her eyes fixated on his; a few long seconds passed before his lips finally moving for a smile, and Y/N kisses him again, though it’s much harder as none of them could’ve stop themself from smiling.

Y/N beaming. Sirius watches her as she hangs a small, ugly painting on the wall, right above the fireplace. At least Sirius think it’s ugly – Y/N loves it because it’s funny, unique, and this is the first gift they recieved for their first apartment. The house is tiny; there’s only one bedroom, but that’s enough since it’s theirs. There are no neighbors. A forest and a brook is nearby, and they can watch the stars whenever they want to. Because dark times are coming, and they need some peace.

Two years have passed, they’re nineteen, and they’re still live in the same, small house, which now is cozy and warm. Y/N walks in the kitchen, laughing loudly as the smoke fills the room. „No need to mocking at me.” – Sirius says in a sulky voice as Y/N made the light grey smoke vanish after his boyfriend tried to bake her a cake for her birthday – in a muggle way, since he doesn’t know cooking spells. Turns out the oven isn’t his best friend. She starts to eat the half-burnt birthday suprise, and Sirius laughs at her commitment, his enegry, his positivity – even now. She light him up.

Some days are not so cheerful, when they open a Daily Prophet during breakfast, and read the names – finding a friend, somebody they knew, somebody who always said hello, somebody who had to die without a reasonable cause. Maybe they just wanted to fight for making the world a better place, maybe they just wanted to survive, maybe they were just in a bad place in a bad time. It doesn’t matter, because there’s war.

Lily is freaking out, because she’s pregnant. She’s crying to Y/N, because she isn’t ready, because James isn’t ready, because it’s the worst time for it. Sirius and Y/N comfort them; everything’s will be fine, they’re just young, and it’s okay to be afraid –

and Lily and James finally calm down, and they’re happy, because they’ll have a baby.

They’re twenty, and they have to leave their first home to move in a safe place. Their first home, which meant not only home, but love, peace, shelter, and held too many memories about just the two of them, and even more with their friends. They leave everything there. „After it’s over, we’ll come back.” – Sirius tries to cheer Y/N up. It’s late night, and she glance up to the Canis Major before they left.

And she happy she did, because from the city lights they can’t see the stars here. Every morning before they left each other, every time when they separated for doing something for the Order, they’re prepared they’ll never see each other again. Still, after every minute late Y/N’s heart starts beating faster, because she holding onto a hope what never will let her go. And Sirius always come home.

Y/N watches in astonishment how good is Sirius with Harry. He never was a fond of kids, and she never could imagine him as a dad, but seeing him like this making her thinking that maybe one day they also could have this.

Sirius watches Y/N too, laughing at her when she’s too afraid to take Harry in her arms – „He’s so small!” – but once she do, it’s so easy and naturally. He stops crying quickly as she talks to him quietly. Sirius can’t take his eyes off them.

When they’re twenty-one, it isn’t safe anymore meeting with their friends every time they want. By now, mostly it’s just parchments and words, carefully drafted to not writing down anything too dangerous.

This is the first Halloween without them. They’re curled up in the couch, drinking hot chocolate, but Sirius is worried. „I’ll go and check on Wormtail.” – he says, jumping up suddenly as they haven’t heard from their friend so long. Y/N wants to go too, but Sirius convince him it isn’t safe or necessary – he’ll be back soon. He kiss her on the forehead before he left –

and never came back.

The next time when the door open it’s Remus. Hair disheveled, clothes wet from the rain, eyes red from crying. „At least tell me you didn’t know about this.” – he starts without saying hello, and Y/N doesn’t understand; her legs shaking from a bad feeling. Her friend tell her everything, and she couldn’t beleive – Lily is dead, James is dead, Peter is dead, and Sirius; even worse.

Remus catches her before she could collapse on the hard wooden floor, and now she’s crying, uncontrollably and without stopping even for a second; and he has to hold her face and almost shouting at her firmly because she can’t breath, she’ll choke on his tears. An eternity later she’s still crying on Remus’ shoulder before she finally find her voice,

„He couldn’t do it.”

But he doesn’t believe her. He leaves, and Y/N is all alone.

A month later the public is happier. The Dark Lord is gone, but Y/N doesn’t care about it anymore. She lost everything. Leaving the house what they called safe place, she moved back to their first home. It’s dusty and dark, but she can’t imagine any other place to live in now, or anymore again. She’s cleaning, and she’s okay, until the ugly painting above the fireplace laughing at her face; she seize it and break into tiny pieces, because Sirius hated it, and this was the first thing they have together.

Every night she sits on the porch, searching for Sirius’ star, and crying when the sky is cloudy and she couldn’t see it.


  • You are Alayne, and you must be Alayne all the time.“ He put two fingers on her left breast. "Even here. In your heart. Can you do that? Can you be my daughter in your heart?”
  • “I am Alayne, Father. Who else would I be?”
  • Alayne found him seated by a crackling fire, drinking hot mulled wine with three men she did not know. They all rose when she entered, and Petyr smiled warmly. “Alayne. Come, give your father a kiss.”
  • Petyr Baelish took her by the hand and drew her down onto his lap.
  • “Won’t they come before Harry? I don’t understand.” “You will. Listen.“ Petyr took her hand in his own and brushed his finger lightly down the inside of her palm. 
  • ‘why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa … Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That’s worth another kiss now, don’t you think?”
  • Alayne looked to the door, to make certain it was closed. “I am married,” she whispered. “You know."Petyr put a finger to her lips to silence her. "The dwarf wed Ned Stark’s daughter, not mine.
  • Petyr put his arm around her. "What if it is truth he wants, and justice for his murdered lady?” He smiled. “I know Lord Nestor, sweetling. Do you imagine I’d ever let him harm my daughter?”
  • They will come. Even Harry the Heir.“ He had smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. "What a clever daughter you are.”
  • Petyr put a finger under her chin. “That Royce glimpsed this pretty face I do not doubt, but it was one face in a thousand. A man fighting in a tourney has more to concern him than some child in the crowd. And at Winterfell, Sansa was a little girl with auburn hair. My daughter is a maiden tall and fair, and her hair is chestnut. Men see what they expect to see, Alayne.” He kissed her nose.
  • “Yes,” she said, “but he thinks that I’m a bastard.”“A beautiful bastard, and the Lord Protector’s daughter.” Petyr drew her close and kissed her on both cheeks. “The night belongs to you, sweetling, Remember that, always.”“I’ll try, father," 
  • … Lord Nestor’s claim to the Gates will suddenly be called into question. I promise you, that is not lost on him. It was clever of you to see it. Though no more than I’d expect of mine own daughter.“"Thank you.” She felt absurdly proud for puzzling it out
  • When Gretchel fetched her Lysa’s silvered looking glass, the color seemed just perfect with Alayne’s mass of dark brown hair. Lord Royce will never know me, she thought. Why, I hardly know myself. Feeling near as bold as Petyr Baelish, Alayne Stone donned her smile and went down to meet their guests.
  • “I am well loved in Gulltown, and have some lordly friends of mine own as well. Grafton, Lynderly, Lyonel Corbray … though I’ll grant you, they are no match for the Lords Declarant. Still, where would you have us go, Alayne? Back to my mighty stronghold on the Fingers?“ She had thought about that
  • Petyr’s friends at court had sent him word that the queen had men out looking for the Imp and Sansa Stark. It will mean my head if I am found, she reminded herself as she descended a flight of icy stone steps. I must be Alayne all the time, inside and out.
  • Colemon only wanted the best for his charge, Alayne knew, but what was best for Robert the boy and what was best for Lord Arryn were not always the same. Petyr had said as much, and it was true. Maester Colemon cares only for the boy, though. Father and I have larger concerns.

- Petyr and Sansa Alayne and their faux father daughter relationship

Nobody (Part 11)

Originally posted by hospitalheaven

Plot:  Reader has been held prisoner by Hydra and is discovered by Nat and Bucky.  Post CA:CW (Bucky’s on the team, no one hates each other) Slight AU

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of torture

Words: 2778

A/N: Not too happy with this part.  It sounded better in my head. I feel like I’m losing my mojo.  Sorry it’s shit.

Reader’s POV

Thrum. Thrum.  Thrum.  Your pulse crashed against your ears dulling all outside noises.  Bucky, Steve, and Tony—another name…Tony Tony Tony—were arguing over your bed but they may as well have been shouting under water for all you could understand.  “You don’t die.”  That couldn’t be right.  That couldn’t be true.  This isn’t real.  It’s impossible.  Everybody dies.

Keep reading

We Make the Kingdom- Pt 8

Image by silverdagger865

Pairing: Yongguk x OC
Genre: Fantasy, with Angst and Smut to come
Summary:  After a vampire attack leaves you almost dead, you are rescued by a group of werelions, powers long thought to be extinct. Upon discovering the same magic flows in your blood, you join their fight against encroaching vampires and another, very human monster, to save the kingdom.
Previous parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 ,  8, 9(M), 1011, 12, 13

You are becoming more impatient, restless. The spring you were carried into the keep melted to into the summer whose sun bore down on your back as you trained. Every day you trained your body and mind for hours upon hours with the goal of joining the nightly hunts sustaining you. Now that summer is fading into autumn.

Grass in the surrounding fields, once healthy green, is being burnished with layers of bronze and gold overnight. Soon too the trees will begin to change into the fiery colors that mirror those of the harvest festival bonfires.

The festival must be soon. Across the kingdom, farmers will begin bringing in their crops to store away for winter. Families working together all day long before retiring home for hearty meals and shared laughter. All the while they will be unaware of the monsters lurking in the dark and the unseen guardians who keep them at bay.

You are so anxious to become one of those protectors. To avenge yourself and your family. Yet no one has broached the subject and you hold your tongue, trying to trust their judgment. Even though you are far behind the hunting and combat abilities of the other lions, you believe you can fight by their side soon. Jongup started letting you use a real sword to spar with Youngjae or Junhong instead of executing repetitive drills. You think they actually have to work a little to hold you off. At least you hope you aren’t imagining their increased effort.

Himchan also can no longer bat aside your attacks when you engage your lion form. The males are heavier and can keep you down if they pin you, but you are lighter, faster, and just as strong. You can dance out of reach of their lunges and jump on their backs to deliver what would be lethal bites to their necks if you were truly trying. You accidentally nipped Daehyun once and never heard the end of how sore his neck was the rest of the day.

The fluid power imbibed in your body as a lioness continues to marvel you. Sometimes, you wish you never had to constrain yourself to your human form. Everything seems more vibrant to your lioness senses, from the whiffs of game in the nearby forests to the whispers of the earth beneath your paws. Although your were form is innately designed to be lethal, it is also one of incredible beauty.

The lioness is freedom. She is only concerned with catching her prey and living in the moment. Fear and worrisome thoughts flee your mind when you assume her form.

All but one. Yongguk’s kiss.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Since in your bios, you tend to mention that certain pokemon have alternate ways of evolving when being owned by trainers, (I.E. pokemon can evolve from their environment naturally, but trainers can use stones) I'd thought I'd come up with some evolutionary items for the hybrid eeveelutions.

That’s an awesome idea!

(2/9)  First we have the eclipse shard. Much like the sun and moon shards found near Orre, this item can evolve Eevee into Soluneon without the need of an actual eclipse. Trainers tend to find this item more useful than its relatives since waiting for an eclipse to get a soluneon is more of an ordeal than training at day or night.

Tying into the Sun and Moon Shards was a really great idea (from the Pokemon XD game, in case someone’s not familiar with them). And Eclipse Shard rolls off the tongue nicely. [Soluneon]

(3/9) Next we have the frozen moss. This item tends to grow near moss rocks in winter, and ice rocks in summer. Although botanists have found ways to sample and grow it for those who want a Tundreon.

A cool hybrid of the Ice and Moss Rock! That fits well, especially considering Tundreon’s inspiration and the Eeveelutions it was based off of. [Tundreon]

(Though I gotta say, now that the Ice Stone has been introduced, I really wish they retconned it so you could evolve Eevee with a Leaf Stone to get Leafon or the Ice Stone to get Glaceon.)

(4/9)  Next we have stones with the mossy or icy effect. These are regular fire, thunder, or water stones that have been mined near moss rock and ice rock, and have a bit of residue that helps trigger a second grass or ice typing. Such as Thermeon needing an icy fire stone, or Kelpeon needing a mossy water stone.

Cool idea! That would work for Kindleon and Floeon too, I’d imagine?[Thermeon | Kelpeon]

(5/9)  While not that popular, soll crystal and lunn crystals have the ability to boost psychic, and dark type moves respectively. However, they also have the ability of influencing a second type onto Eevees that are being amie-trained. A good example of this is Unseelieon being the evolved form of an Eevee amie-trained holding a lunn crystal.

That’s a neat idea. Would holding both produce a Soluneon, even though it’s not amie-dependent? Not that Pokemon can hold more than one item at a time anyway. Love the name for those; there was a second where I went: wait, are those an actual thing in the games?  [Unseeleon]

(6/9)  There are other items that help influence an Eevee’s amie-training. One of these is a magi-roze. This item tends to pop up when the area around a lush forest or moss rock is in good condition. They an then be picked and grown at home, and using them on pokemon can help with contests. An Eevee holding this and has reached a good bond with its trainer will evolve into Floreon.

I really like the connection to contests here. Items that assist amie training is a smart idea! [Floreon]

(7/9)  Scientists have discovered that melding stones together can lead to the result of a duo type evolution. Unfortunately, they’re only willing to test it on Eevee. One of these fused stones is the eclipse shard talked about earlier. Another is the plasma stone that can make Eevee evolve into Plasmeon. The wintergreen stone, contrary to belief, doesn,t evolve Eevee into Tundreon however.

That’s interesting; with so much genetic variety it makes sense that Eevee would be a sort of guinea pig. And hey, if they ever change it so Glaceon and Leafon can use the Ice/Leaf stone to evolve, maybe the Wintergreen Stone would work then! [Plasmeon]

(8/9)  Other stones scientists have experimented with are the psychic-fire flare stone, the fire-dark doom stone, the fire-water vapor stone, the water-dark depth stone for Lureon, the water-psychic fountain stone, the water-electric hurricane stone, the eclectric-psychic magnet stone, and the electric-dark storm stone.

There’s at least two upcoming Dual-Type Eeveelutions that would benefit from some of these stones! [Lureon]

(9/9) Our last item for right now is the shadeshroom. These mysterious spores grow in dense forests at night and when an Eevee is holding one, training them at night time will release a special effect allowing them to evolve into the dark-grass type dubbed Sporeon.

The Shadeshroom sounds very appropriate! [Sporeon]

These were all really interesting, thanks for sharing your ideas!

Minnesota Gothic

•where do you live? Minnesota. Oh isn’t it cold up there? Yes. Very. Every year a certain amount freeze to death out in or winters. Every year a corpse in found, blood frozen in its veins.

•you hear about Minnesota nice. It covers up the Minnesota sad, Minnesota angry, Minnesota hurt that comes with the dark and cold we have every year. Seasonal depression.

•land of ten thousand lakes, murky water, kids are taught at a young age to swim. Diving into chilled water the caress of weeds against your leg as you touch the muddy clay bottom, inky movement out of the corner of your eye shoots you to the surface. It’s always better deeper where the weeds don’t tickle your legs. That’s where they can look up at you, watching your shape reflect against the surface.

•the shore of Lake Superior, deep, dark, dangerous. The “beaches” are unforgiving. The waters icy. Fining the perfect stones on the shore, rolled smooth. Stand on a large Boulder and drop with a plunk.

•the north was lively, people were proud to call it home. When the mining slipped away so did the pride and the people. Ghost towns blemish the land like scars on the face of a giant. We’ve pitted parts of our wart in search for something precious. Always digging.

•stay still enough in a forest during winter you’re suddenly hyper sensitive to the world around you and you realize though it seems dormant it is very much alive. Frozen breath hangs in the air, an animal calls wildly with effort in the distance.

Stern Reminder

SUMMARY: Knowing Bruce Wayne as Batman is hard enough, but loving him is a task on its own. With his life on the line at every mission, you tend to forget yours is too. That is, until a sore reminder is spoken and Bruce slips up.

WORD COUNT: 1,815 words


NOTES: (y/nn) = your nickname. Enjoy!

(Y/n) doesn’t know what woke her. Maybe it was something deep inside screaming at her to get up, or a soft whisper from her mind telling her to rise. But she does as the unknown says, and blinks her eyes open as she takes the day’s first real breath.

She looks to her left and sees an empty spot next to her, making her sigh as she looks at the ceiling. Slowly, she sits up and stretches, looking at the clock that reads four am.

(Y/n) swings her feet over the side of the bed, letting her toes touch the cold tiles. She flinches a little but stands as her toes become used to the feeling of icy stone. She walks to the closet, not bothered by walking her own room in just underwear, and sifts through Bruce’s shirts. Her hand lands on a long black shirt and she pulls it off the hanger and slides it onto her body. It’s long, going just past her butt and the body of it wide.

She yawns as she walks into the hall. She knows where Bruce is, down in the lab where he always resorts to at these ungodly hours. She shuffles down the hall and carefully walks down a flight of stairs, holding the rail as she tries to shake off the sleep. As she enters the lab, she can see Bruce standing near his desk. She smiles to herself and walks with quiet steps to him.

When she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his torso and rests her head on his shoulder blade. He chuckles and turns around, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head.

“Why are you up, (y/n)?” he asks quietly, his voice deep in her ear.

“I came to ask you the same,” she tells him, looking up at him with a small smile. His eyes trace her as he recognizes the shirt.

“Isn’t that mine?” he asks and she nods. “Looks nice.” He smiles down at her and gives her a quick kiss before she steps back.

“What are you working on?” she asks as she sits in the chair. She watches as he works on small electronic pieces, Bruce looking under a magnifying glass to see better at his work.

“Just improving the mic on the suit,” he tells her and she nods, yawning. He sees this and looks over, watching her as she tries to rub the sleep out of her eyes. He walks to her and surprises her by picking her up bridal style, lifting her up and setting her on his lap as he sits. She laughs slightly, making his heart jump, and he pulls her close.

He turns the chair to the screens and leans forward, (y/n) with her face buried in his chest as he keeps her close, and turns on the news. He relaxes as he leans back and (y/n) curls up into a ball so she can fit. He puts his arms around her tight and watches the news flicker across the screens. Robberies, weather, traffic, repeat.

“Anything interesting?” (y/n) whispers into his shirt, and he runs a hand up and down her back as he sighs.

“Nope,” he answers, and she hums a response. “You should go back to bed, get some more sleep.”

“Not unless Batman comes to bed with me,” she says in a sing song voice. He laughs a little, kissing her hair.

“I have work to do, (y/nn),” he tells her and she sighs defeatedly, nodding.

“Okay,” she whispers sadly, making Bruce frown as he looks down at her.

“But I’m sure lying down for a bit won’t hurt,” he adds, and he can feel her smile. He chuckles as he turns the screens off. He picks her back up, letting her wrap her arms around his neck as he walks upstairs.

He has to kick the bedroom door open slightly, shutting it back the same way. He sets her down on the bed and kicks his shoes off, climbing under the covers next to (y/n). She scoots to him and he pulls her as close as possible. She lies an arm over him and rests her head on his chest, taking slow breaths as sleep begins to take over. Bruce watches her as he begins to feel the same effects of drowsiness, and soon he falls asleep with the image of (y/n) on his mind.


The phone rings, making (y/n)’s eyes blink open quickly. She sits up, Bruce’s arms still over her, and reaches for the phone. She has trouble reaching, Bruce groaning as he wakes. She grunts and gives up, climbing onto him and straddling his waist as she finally reaches the phone. He just laughs, his hands resting on her hips as she answers.

“Hello?” she answers, clearing her throat. Bruce watches her as one hands plays with the fabric of his shirt, the other holding the phone to her ear. She nods as someone says something and his fingers slide under her shirt, his skin warm on hers, watching her green eyes blink.

“I’ll have him check the report downstairs,” she tells the person in a defeated tone, looking down at Bruce. She sighs and hangs up, setting the phone on the night stand.

“Who was it?” he asks, his fingers tracing small circles on her hips.

“Allie XZ,” she answers, her eyes meeting his. “Said they sent a mission request to your inbox for immediate recovery of arms.” Bruce sighs, looking at her with tired eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says and she smiles weakly, leaning down and laying her head on his shoulder, kissing his jaw.

“Don’t be,” she reassures him. “The world needs Batman, and that means I have to go without Bruce Wayne for a bit.” He sighs and kisses her forehead, making her smile.

“I’ll be back sooner than you know it,” he tells her. “You won’t even know I was gone.”

“I always know,” she whispers. “Come back in one piece, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he answers, “loud and clear.”


(Y/n) walks through the kitchen, a piece of celery coated on top with peanut butter in her fingers. She takes a bite, the crunching sound filling the kitchen, and takes another so that the snack is gone. She hops on the counter and pulls out her phone as an alarm goes off. She looks around, the blue light over the door making her run to the lab.

“Bruce,” she calls out, sprinting down the stairs as he falls out of the car. There’s a large gash in his suit, blood leaking from between his fingers. “Oh my god!” she cries, dropping to her knees in front of him.

“What is it?” Alfred asks as he walks into the lab. He sees an injured Bruce, who grits his teeth in pain, and runs back upstairs for the first aid supplies.

“Come on, over here,” (y/n) says lowly, grunting as she helps him stand. He growls from pain as he shuffles to the chair, dropping into it with a sigh. (Y/n) reaches up and carefully takes his mask off, setting it on the desk and working to unclip his armour. She drops everything to the floor until he’s left in just his pants and a bloodied shirt.

“How did this happen?” she asks him as Alfred runs to her with the supplies.

“Caught off guard,” he groans, and she cuts his shirt away.

“Get towels,” she says softly to Alfred, who nods as he runs upstairs again. She stays silent as she drops his short to the floor, grabbing a needle and thread to stitch up the seven inch long gash. Bruce watches as she threads the needle, and goes to say something, but Alfred walks in.

“Here,” he says setting the towels next to her as she kneels next to Bruce. She nods and picks one up as Alfred takes a couple steps back, sensing her anger as he decides to head back upstairs.

(Y/n) takes a damp towel and presses it slightly to the wound as she sets the needle down. Bruce gasps from the pain, flinching back, and (y/n) puts a strong hand on his chest to keep him still. He takes a shaky breath and leans back as she cleans up the blood, her eyes finally meeting his.

“One piece,” she whispers. “I said one piece.”

“And here I am,” he answers.

“And if you weren’t here within the next hour, you would’ve bled to death, Bruce,” she argues, her voice cracking. Bruce just remains silent as she grabs the needle, pinching his skin and stitching the wound. He gasps and she keeps her eyes on the needle between her finger and the bleeding wound on the man she loves.

“I’m sorry,” he says as she reaches the halfway mark. She bites her bottom lip and nods once, stitching still.

Within the next ten minutes he’s stitched up. Twenty three stitches total, twenty three reasons for (y/n) to worry. She cleans the blood up with a towel and sets everything on the floor, looking up at Bruce.

“You never get caught off guard,” she says after a second, watching him as he finally takes steady breaths. “How?”

He pauses, his eyes trained on hers. “One mentioned you,” he says lowly, and she furrows her eyebrows as she shifts. She stills stays kneeling on the floor, one hand on his leg for balance.

“What?” she whispers.

“They said your name,” he explains. “(Y/n) (y/m/n) (y/l/n), one said it loud and clear.” He takes a shaky breath, dragging a hand down his face. “They said they we’re going to come for you next.”

(Y/n) blinks, an ounce of fear in her heart as she leans back a bit. “You killed them, right?” she whispers, her voice weak. “They can’t get me if they’re dead.”

“I got them,” he tells her. He leans forward, placing a hand on her cheek and brushing her skin with his thumb. “No one will ever get you, not under my watch.” She bites her lip to keep fearful tears from rising and he takes her hand, slowly standing with pain radiating throughout his body.

“No one,” he repeats, “will ever harm you as long as I’m around, (y/n).” He kisses her temple as they walk up the stairs slowly and she puts on a weak smile, nodding.

Casket Drops

A/N: This is the second one shot I’ve written. I really hope you guys like it! Inbox me opinions and requests.  Part 2 is now uploaded. Title is Hurts like Hell.

This is a Hotch x Reader one shot where the reader is the unsub type and Hotch ends up risking her life trying to protect it.

Originally posted by ssaicaaronhotchner

It was the coldest night of the year, snow-covered street lamps lined the street Y/N’s SUV pulled up outside unsubs house. The moon was just a sliver in the faded sky. The BAU had been tracking this unsub for months, kidnapping women who were identical to her. 17 murders so far and you feared there would be more.

Keep reading

Poetic Stories Prompt

Peace Invades the Cold…

A heart turned to stone, cold, icy, bitter, alone.

A smile is shown to this heart by an intruding force, drops of melting water form and fall off the heart, wow what could be better.

Hands reach out to hold, arms come around to fold, the heart feels weird what is happening here?

What is this feeling that was thought to be long gone, I must reinforce my walls, I must keep up my guard.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Someone has probably asked this already, but how can Laraniel see if she's blind? Does she have some spell for it?

She can’t see. Laraniel uses her arcane abilities to enhance her other senses and to gather information about the world (sort of like Matt Murdock, actually), but her eyesight is gone for good. Still, she’s not nearly as helpless as she might appear to those who don’t know her. Laraniel’s spells rarely miss their intended target, and she has no trouble spinning around and decking some poor fool who mistook her for an easy target and tried to sneak up on her. People often underestimate her, and she uses it to her advantage whenever she can.

When I play as Laraniel I tend to use Clairvoyance a lot since it creates a path she can “see” in her mind. Which, I’m sure, is vaguely unsettling to anyone she travels with - how does a foreigner who’s unable to read a map always know where she’s supposed to go? Also, just picture a blind elf walking across that barely functional bridge to College of Winterhold, looking like she could slip and plummet to the depths at any given moment, but somehow managing to avoid all loose, icy, or missing stones. Talk about stressful.

Generally speaking Laraniel has no trouble traveling at night, virtually undetected, as she obviously has no need for torches or light spells. Underground locations are a bit trickier for her, because while the lack of light is not an issue, the sound travels differently in caves and tunnels, so she always feels a bit disoriented at first until she gets used to the new environment.

She prefers to travel long distances in carriages, doesn’t ride horses herself, and usually stays on marked roads (meaning no improbable shortcuts across mountains). While she’s pretty self-sufficient (as if her Altmer pride would allow otherwise) Laraniel tends to keep a hired companion around to take care of some sight-based tasks for her. Besides, why exert yourself fighting every wolf and bear and bandit on the road, when you can just get some local sellsword do all the heavy lifting for you?

anonymous asked:

9 10 or 12 I LOVE Hurt/comfort!Kristanna it's very comforting and I am in love with your fic "breathe" ugh! My first Frozen fanfic I read too!

Send me “Show me love”

And I’ll generate a number from 1-30.

(these are from…a week ago)

“Hold me until I forget.”

“I don’t feel good. Stay with me…”

“I had that horrible dream again. Can I sleep in your bed?”

[Thank you so much, Anon! <3 <3 <3 ‘Breathe’ is definitely one of my favorites out of my own fics, I’m honored that it was your first Frozen fic :) Sorry that it’s taken me so long to get to your drabble! I hope you like it]




He looked up from his ledger, rubbing wearily at his forehead as he struggled to focus on the small figure in the doorway. Kristoff had never learned to read, not properly—he knew numbers, and useful words, but there had been an awkwardness when Elsa realized that the records he kept as Ice Master, though meticulous, were written in runes. No one else in the city could read runes except for a handful of scholars. He found himself awkwardly submitting to reading lessons, and now he was giving himself the devil of a headache trying to translate his accounts.

“Anna? What are you—why are you in your nightdress?”

She shuffled her bare feet and plucked at the soft yellow fabric. “Because…because it’s nighttime?”

Kristoff rubbed a palm over his face, blinking hard. It was later than he’d realized, now that he was paying attention to details—the sky outside the window was dark, the candles were burning low, his back was aching and Anna was…not just in a nightdress, but her braids were mussed and half undone, her eyes reddened. And she was shivering, without her robe or slippers. He shoved his chair back hastily and went to her, rubbing her arms, her hands.

“You’re cold. What are you doing up? You should be sleeping.”

“I was, I…” She bit her lip and looked down. “I had that dream again,” she whispered. His fingers tightened around hers. She didn’t need to explain further than that. Anna took a shuddery little breath and went on in a rush. “I couldn’t go back to sleep, and I saw the light from your room, and the door was open, and I thought…I thought maybe…” She blushed, worrying at her lip again with her teeth.


“Could I…could I sleep in your bed?”


A broken little giggle escaped Anna at his incredulous expression and her ducked her head. “I don’t mean…um…I just thought, if you’re still up, I could…just for a little bit! Not all night! I just…” She shrugged. “One time when you were gone I just…felt really lonely, and I didn’t want to bother Elsa because she never gets enough sleep, and so…I came in here and I was sitting on your bed, and it smelled like you, and…it made me feel safe, and I sort of fell asleep for a few hours. And…I didn’t have any bad dreams. It was nice,” she mumbled, blush darkening. “I’m sorry.”

Kristoff stared down at her. He remembered coming home, after a long, cold week without her, and thinking that he was imaging the smell of summer flowers on his pillow. He remembered how deeply and peacefully he’d slept, too, his dreams full of Anna. Anna laughing. Anna warm.  Anna safe. He bent to scoop her up in his arms—her feet were probably icy on the stone floor.

“Kristoff? What are you—” Anna broke off as he set her down on the bed.

“Here,” he muttered, feeling his own blush heat his cheeks. “You can sleep here. As long as you want.” He fumbled at the blanket, tucked it carefully around her. He bent to kiss her forehead, and her arms came up the curl around his neck.

“Thank you.”

He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and trying not to look too closely at the sight of Anna curling up around his pillow, nuzzling her face into the soft down. Kristoff sat back down at his desk, trying to work, but after a few minutes of staring blankly at the ledger a sleepy mumble interrupted him.



“Sorry, I just…wanted to hear your voice. I still…I don't…”

Kristoff went back to her. She was in a tight little ball, holding the pillow in a white-knuckled grip. He ran his hand over the back of her head lightly, and she relaxed a little. “Are you still–” scared “—cold?”

“A little,” she said. “I…it’s hard to get warm, after…I don’t feel good. My body sort of feels…wrong. But it’s better with you here,” she said hastily, reaching out to touch his arm. “It’s a lot better.”

He hesitated, but just for a moment. Then he climbed up onto the bed beside her, maneuvering until the shivering little lump under the blanket fitted into the curve of his body. He was fully dressed, there were the layers of bedding in between them, surely they could get away with this. Anna needed this. She was already relaxing as he wrapped his arm around her, his body heat leaching through the blanket and the sheet to warm her.

Anna wormed one arm out from under the coverlet to clasp his hand. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice already soft with sleep. “I couldn’t stop remembering…how it felt.”

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. The back of his throat felt rough, and he pulled her a little closer. “You’re safe.” He was tired, more tired than he’d realized before he lay down, but he forced himself to stay awake, listening for the deep breathing and little snores that would mean Anna was asleep. But she was fighting sleep, too.

“I don’t want to remember. It…it helps when you hold me. Will you hold me until I forget? Please?”

“Anna,” he murmured, shifting to kiss her hair. “I’ll hold you forever.”

Day 14/30 of BatB Lines Prompts: “Hold Still!”

Perhaps Plumette was right after all. Perhaps she did have a point when she’d tried–oh how she had tried–to persuade him that sliding down the bannisters of the steps leading outside while it was frosty wasn’t the best idea he ever had. One second he was sliding down the ice-covered bannisters, arms outstretched like a ballet dancer, until he hit the raised decorative knob at the end of the handrail, and he missed his landing back on his feet, scrabbling to get a hold before gravity won. Icy stone steps met the back of his head, immediately “bestowing” upon him a glorious meteor shower against the bright blue sky. His foot had given way under him, rolling over with a sharp jab of pain. 

“Lumiere!” Plumette shouted from the top of the steps behind him, “Lumiere, are you hurt?” 

Lumiere groaned–a dramatic one, naturally, like he was on the verge of death. The shooting stars were still fading away into the invisible cosmos beyond that great blue sky. Goosebumps sprang up on his arms as the stiff breeze shot up his blouse’s cotton sleeves. 

“I’m alive, mon amour, but for how long, alas!” 

His ankle still throbbing, his shoe feeling far too tight around it, Lumiere attempted to sit up, only to slide on his seat down the rest of the stairs–four or five of them, hidden in the snow. 

“Stay there, I’m coming!” Plumette shouted, and, looking behind, Lumiere saw her very cautiously making her way down the stairs. 

And as he gazed upon her, the brave heroine coming to rescue her knight in distress, then came another pair of familiar voices, laughing and chattering in the crisp winter’s morning air. Lumiere looked over to his right, and there they were in the distance, Belle and Adam, holding hands as they trudged through the ankle-deep snow. 

Speaking of ankles…

Lumiere, pulling himself up by the stone railing, finally got on his feet, only to wince and yelp in pain when he put weight on his twisted ankle, bending down as he lifted his foot back off the ground. 


His voice must have carried, for not a second later, he heard Belle and Adam shout his name, the sound of feet pounding through the snow in his direction. 


“Lumiere, what happened?” 

The man looked up with as much of a grin as he could muster, despite the throbbing pain in his foot. 

“Oh nothing,” he claimed, “Just tried to walk down the stairs.”

“Ahem,” Plumette cleared her throat–she was already just a few steps away, “If by just trying to walk down the stairs, you mean slide down an icy bannister on your feet onto the steps, then, yes.”

Keep reading

tinymagesurana  asked:

Oooh, how about "loss" for Wyon and Dorian?

(I cheated and made the ‘it was all a dream’ ending; because I AM NOT HURTING MY BABIES NEVER EVER).

Even though, unlike most elves he has come across, Dorian’s amatus is not at all bony and wiry (the result of a regrettable dietary imbalance in alienage folk, who go starving for most of the year and only get to eat more than stale bread on the rare festive occasions), he has never been the least bit a burden when Dorian held him, worry as he might. It has always been such a joy to wrap his arms around his Wyon’s soft, pear-like body, to kiss and caress all the folds and bumps, and to sweep his small, warmly flushed self around with effortless ease… But now - now he feels stiff and heavy and horribly solid, like a block of icy-cold stone carved in his image, a pointless, utterly useless statue - because statues are supposed to honour the feats of great heroes, especially after they… after they are gone. And Wyon is not gone, no, he can’t be! Nor would he want a statue - he has always been so delightfully modest, and unassuming in his desires. All he has ever wanted was to flee from all this flashy court splendour, to retire from the Inquisition, and to snuggle away in a rose-covered cottage somewhere, Dorian coming to his side his side whenever he decided to use his exceptional skill and cunning to sneak away from the Magisterium.

Like any self-respecting pampered Tevinter Altus, Dorian was fond of leaning back in a mockingly overdramatic pose and complain that country life would bore him out of his mind - but he never actually meant it. Of course he never meant it. Maker’s beard comb, he would give anything to be in there right now - in that quaint little cottage, standing behind Wyon’s back as he cooks, rose petals still stuck in his hair from ducking through a leafy doorway that was built for elves, not humans… So that Wyon would look up, letting chocolate sauce drip off the ladle that he’s holding, and whisper how beautiful Dorian is, with that starry-eyed look that always makes his heart go through a series of most curious transformations, first shrinking into a tiny, hot, throbbing ball, and then swelling, till it gets too huge for Dorian’s chest.

And instead of responding with his usual idle and careless ‘Of course I am’, meant to mask how flustered he is by Wyon’s look of sincere adoration, Dorian would finally drum up the courage to say, ‘Not as beautiful as you are, amatus’, while kissing Wyon’s round, flaming, chocolate-smeared cheek.

Except… It is never going to happen now, is it? He is not in that cottage, nor will he ever be. He is in the middle of a black-and-grey, scorched battlefield, and Wyon is lying lifeless in his arms, his skin tinged sickly green, and the entire left half of his body turned into a charred, porous, sticky substance, as it has been ravaged by the angry green flame of the Anchor… Which has stopped burning now. Faded like the spark of life in his beautiful, beautiful eyes. He never did mention to him what he thinks of his eyes, did he? Never did try to describe the sweet elation of catching his gaze; the bold recklessness of deciding to let that damned world pass by, do whatever it wants, while Dorian gets lost in the enchanted turquoise depths of Wyon’s eyes… And now, no matter how feverishly he whispers into Wyon’s leaf-like ear, no matter how sharply his voice shifts in pitch, as the steel-hard hand of pain pulls and pulls at the invisible strings inside him - Wyon will never hear him.

'Yeah, I always figured that your love story would end in tragedy,’ a low, husky voice says by Dorian’s side. 'Even got a finale like this sketched out for my book. It was just too… unnatural to shape out in any other way’.

With a shudder that seems to rip him up from within, head to toe, Dorian looks up and sees Varric, wrapped in a long black cloak, the spikes of his Viscount’s crown rising over his head, giving him an eerie look… And so they should! Because it is not Varric at all - the real Varric would never call Dorian’s and Wyon’s feelings for one another unnatural! Oh Maker, he cannot believe it took him this long to figure it out! Fretting over Wyon has really made him lose his focus.

With a self-deprecating frown and shake of his head, Dorian fires a jet of flame at 'Varric’, whose stocky figure stretches out into the lanky, raggedy form of a despair demon before the spell even hits him. Wyon’s dead body, too, vanishes in a puff of black smoke, and the grey battlefield is flooded by a torrent of Fade green. The demon soars off the cracked ground and screeches, showering Dorian in debilitating ice magic - which he repels with a series of barrier walls that he conjures up with swift and practiced precision. The impact of its own magic ricocheting back at it knocks the demon off-course somewhat, and Dorian seizes the opportunity while it’s dazed to toss more fire balls at it.

The spell’s searing sparks sizzle through the demon’s rags, making the threadbare grey cloth curl up and fray, and leaving dark oozing markings on the creature’s clammy flesh. The demon spits and hisses – and, after a few more failed attempts to get to Dorian, withdraws. Seeing it off with a couple of farewell charges of mage fire, he makes a long, slow blink – and wakes up.

He finds himself reclining a bit uncomfortably in an armchair in one of the dimly lit hallways of the Blue Palace. There is a blanket wrapped round his legs, which he does not remember being there – and when, after squeezing up his bleary, stinging eyes a few times, he peers through the surrounding murk, he realizes that the cover has been placed on him by the freckled, sheepishly smiling elven boy that he has taken on as a sort of semi-apprentice. The youngster is the son of Wyon’s former wife, who was bound to him in an arranged ceremony by the alienage elders, who did not take into account that the bride was already pregnant with another elf’s child, and the groom was not attracted to women. Still, even if they were never intimate, Wyon and his wife raised the boy together (especially since his birth father wanted nothing to do with him); and even now that the marriage has been officially annulled by Divine Victoria, they all remain close friends. Dorian, too, has grown quite fond of his amatus’ ex-spouse and her son – who is a mage, and a fairly gifted one at that… and therefore needs the supervision of someone as brilliant as himself to reach his full potential. The boy, his mother, her lover Bull, Dorian, Wyon – they have come to be a sort of… family, dysfunctional and with quite convoluted relations, but somehow… far more close-knit that all Dorian could ever have hoped for in Tevinter. That is, until Wyon’s Mark started acting up, threatening to shatter their bizarre but cherished version of happiness forever.

‘Uncle Wyon is up already,’ the boy informs Dorian, creasing his forehead as he attempts to coat the blanket in warm fire magic. Last time he did that, he set the bed clothes ablaze, so Dorian cautiously eels into the armchair’s corner and raises his hand to help guide the youngster’s magic if it goes sour.

‘He didn’t wanna bother you, ‘cause you’d gotten so tired watching over him. He’s about to travel through one of those creepy mirrors again, with Uncle Bull and Mom and Aunt Vivienne. He told me to take great care of you, because you worry so much’.

‘Not bother me?! Take care of me?!’ Dorian huffs, straightening up. ‘Nonsense! He is not going anywhere without me!’

The boy chews at his lip and lowers his hands, his magic frizzling into nothing.

‘Do you think he’s gonna make it?’ he asks, in a very small voice.

Dorian tends to get somewhat confused around children (something tells him that his parents did not set him the best example of approaching the younger generation), but he has learned enough from his amatus to know what may be called for here. Getting up from his armchair, he gives the boy a hug and pats him on the back of his head.

‘Of course he is going to make it!’ he says resolutely. ‘I will make sure of it! I am not about to let that bloody bastard break my heart!’

In hindsight, he probably should not have used such mature language… but then again, the boy must have heard worse from Bull.

Thank you so much for prompting me! This has actually almost reached 1500 words, so it might be big enough to post on outside sites, like dA and Ao3!

“No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek,
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.”

- Sara Teasdale, Strange Victory

No one worth possessing, can be quite possessed: you cannot own someone that is worth possessing, for their value would be limited if you could. They are but unlimited.

You are not somebody else’s object of desire, nor are you somebody else’s possession of lust; you are you, and that is more than enough.

No one worth possessing, can be quite possessed.

anonymous asked:

oblivion lil hunter? >:) any verse!

From thisOblivion: the state of being completely forgotten or unknown; connotes feelings of isolation and aloofness, which lead to the annihilation or extinction of the self metaphorically

A world ravaged by chaos, and his sacred oath was to keep the peace, but those days were over. Lil’ Hunter hadn’t cared for another in years, nor had anyone cared for him. He was alone in this world, left to fester with his own thoughts and feelings. Sitting beneath the sky, Hunter pushed his hand into the icy gravel, the stones enveloped his gloved hand, and he felt the cold sting of frost. He knew that he deserved this, why else would he have been left behind to rot in the desolation that surrounded him.
Recounting the event, he should have known they were going to leave him, how could he have been so naive? It was his fault, all his fault, he did something to make them forget about him, to leave him stranded.

Distantly, one of the robotic creatures that inhabited these lands approached cautiously. Hunter looked up at it as it scrounged through piles of mechanical detritus. He picked up his rifle and fired three volleys into the automaton. It collapsed, now split into several pieces.

He should’ve just been shot by the officers he used to work beside, and used to know as friends. But they didn’t want what would have been best for him, because they never cared about him in the first place. He was nothing to them, simply an inconvenience that they had to tolerate day in and day out, it was a wonder they spent the amount of time they did working with him.

He slammed his fist against the ground and shrieked. With a single blast of his pack, skyward bound he shot, still maintaining an angered, desperate howl. He even laughed intermittently through his cries, it was almost funny how little anyone ever cared about him.

He was left behind on that day, at one point, a decorated member of the IDPD, and now, a castaway without a cause.

Advice to a Girl

by Sara Teasdale

No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek,
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.

Promise (Bucky x Reader)

Request: None, I was in a angst mood and needed to put my sadness into an imagine. I’m sorry, this is kind of sad. 

Words: 1,317

Warnings: Angst

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Your sleepy eyes watched him move around the room, gathering his stuff as he prepared to leave. He was dressed in his gear and had a fairly large bag sitting by the door, which told you he would be gone longer than just a couple days this time. It was barely even five and your body begged you to go back to sleep but you wanted to see him go, it would kill you if he left while you were still dreaming of gumballs and happiness when the love of your life was off to save the world. 

You pulled the covers up to your chin and the movement cause his eyes to snap towards you. He watched you carefully as you avoided making eye contact, the moment your eyes locked with his, you knew you would lose it. It happened nearly every time he had to go on a mission, you would be become extremely upset and would try to contain it until he left but sometimes you failed. 

He adjusted his tactical gear once more before making his ways towards you and sitting down on the bed. His flesh hand swept away the hair from your face while his metal fingers laced with yours. You were still avoiding his eyes and instead stared at his chest, which was covered in bullet proof clothing that looked extremely uncomfortable.  

“Hey,” His voice was barely above a whisper and your stomach twisted in the way it always did when he talked to you like this. “I’m coming back, okay? I always do.” 

“I’m sure you told all the girls back in 1940 that too.” You closed your eyes and tried to swallow the lump in your throat, you could sense the ugly crying coming. 

“Y/n, it’s different now, alright? I’m coming home to you, I couldn’t stand to leave my girl all alone like that.” 

You didn’t say anything, you simply squeezed his hand a little tighter and wiggled your face further into the side of your pillow. 

“Besides, I’m far too young to die.” That made you giggle, just the way he wanted you to.  He chuckled along with you for a moment before brushing his thumb over your cheek and dropping serious again. “I’m coming home. I promise, Y/n.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” You whispered low enough so that he wouldn’t hear the sob hiding behind your words. 

He hesitated, “Doll, I promise you, I am coming home.” 

Keep reading