SEPTEMBER 1ST, 1989. DEAR DIARY: I BELIEVE I’M A GOOD PERSON. YA KNOW, I THINK THERE’S GOOD IN EVERYONE, BUT HERE WE ARE FIRST DAY OF SENIOR YEAR. I LOOK AROUND AT ALL THESE KIDS I’VE KNOWN ALL MY LIFE AND I ASK MYSELF: WHAT HAPPENED?
“I come on a mission of peace,” said Elliot, and got backhanded with a chainmail fist. Elliot tasted blood and saw stars in a gray daytime sky. “Did I stutter?” Elliot asked, feeling his mouth fill with blood. “I said I come on a mission of peace, moron.”
Hey like for real the Dalanceys are Not Nice and are, in fact, villains in the show, and y’all being thirsty for M/ike F/aist doesn’t erase the fact that Morris and Oscar are, in fact, bad guys and Bad Guys.
the self-titled gorillaz album is a stoners masterpiece that perfectly replicates the distinctive sound of the early 2000′s, it sounds so sleezy and druggy and im so mad that people tend to look over it when they talk abt gorillaz,, 👏 SHOW 👏 SELF-TITLED 👏 MORE 👏 LOVE 👏
Request: Hello! I can say without a doubt that I love your writings!❤ I also was wondering if you could do a newt x reader where she goes missing and when it gets too long everybody loses their hope except for Newt. Later on he finds her being tortured, saves her and it’s a grand and really fluffy reunion?:) Sorry, I just crave for angst and fluff😂
Warning: Allusion to torture
Word Count: 3,095
Pairing: Newt x Reader
Requested by Anonymous
Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in
Pickett crawls from the pocket of Newt’s discarded vest, top leaves drooping from exhaustion. Stumbling forward, the tiny creature pulls itself up by the bed’s legs and hops onto the mattress. Gripping the headboard’s bars, Pickett inches past the pillows and avoids Newt’s hand when it jerks forward.
Once he’s in range, the bowtruckle reaches forward and tickles Newt’s nose. He jumps back, slipping off the mattress and swinging wildly when Newt smacks at his face.
Pickett’s still swaying off the bed when Newt jolts up, rubbing his forehead with one hand and reaching for you with the other. “I had the worst nightmare, love. Love?”
His terror peaks for the third night in a row this month when his hand only hits empty sheets and a cold half of the bed. He opens his mouth to shout for you before he remembers: you’re gone.
He takes in two shaky breaths before he hears Pickett’s squeals. “Pickett, what are you doing up here? You should be asleep.” He lifts the bowtruckle from the front of the mattress and slips out of bed, carrying him to a tree. “Yes, I know you don’t want to be here, but this is where you’re staying. Do you want to stay in that tree? I didn’t think so.”
He peels Pickett from his hand and places him on the tree before turning back into the bedroom and closing the door.
Careful to step over the clothes, crumpled up pages, and overturned pots of feed, Newt crosses the room and slides out the desk’s chair.
The two of you had decided to place a small bedroom in the case for any situations where you needed to be ready to respond to a creature at any moment. For the most part, it had been used when one was about to give birth, but more and more often, you and Newt had been spending nights down there after long hours of work studying a new creature.
Newt drops his head in his hands as he stares at the pages scattered in front of him. Notes that mean nothing at 3 in the morning fill the papers, but Newt still rifles through them, furious with the tears dripping down his cheeks. He has no time to cry. He has to find you.