old rags

Rowaelin’s daughter x Feysand’s son fic Part III

Thank you guys for loving my hc’s just as much as I do! I’ve listened to you guys say you want a fic, so instead of hc’s I’ve taken the dot points out so it flows better. We’re about 3/5 of the way through!

Check out Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV and Part V.

Seraphine

This is the most ugliest creature she has ever seen, Seraphine thought. She glances at Fen beside her, wincing at the sharp pain caused from the movement of her shoulder. Her wolf was growling at the creature in front of them. It was feakishly tall, wearing a dark, ragged, old cloak, it’s face wrinkled like a prune.
Taking note of the creatures’ eyes, like deep, deep pits of nothing, Seraphine couldn’t help but wonder who this creature is.
The air feels static until it answers out loud for her.
“The Suriel,” it says.
Seraphine tried to hide her surprise, tried to hide the fact that she had no weapons, not even a pathetic stick to defend herself—besides Fen who was already injured himself.
“Are you the one who brought me here?” she asks the Suriel boldly, because there was no other way to face a creature weaponless and injured.
The Suriel raises it’s eyebrows like it knows Seraphine’s secrets—she shivers at the thought of a creature like the one in front of her knowing her deepest secrets.
“I meant here,” she clears her dry throat and gestures at the camp. “Did you save me?”
The Suriel gives her a simple shake of it’s head.
“You and I are more alike than you think, Seraphine. Funny, what fate can do.” He gives her the most devilish smile. “Find the ancient one. She can—” The Suriel suddenly stops, and sniffs the air. “I have to go, your m—”
A dagger was now pressed against the Suriel’s throat from behind.
Seraphine recognised that dark hair, those midnight blue eyes staring right at her—through her, into her soul.

Kastiel

“Before you leave, old friend,” Kastiel whispers into the Suriel’s ear, “I’ll make you a bargain.”
Kastiel’s eyes are still on the girl, she was so thin, so pale and helpless, that he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to help her. Why is there such a feeling in his heart—the need to protect someone he has even yet to talk to?
“Make no mistake,” the Suriel replied back. “I am only a relative of the Suriel your mother knew—and maybe I’m not as friendly.”
Kastiel takes his eyes off the girl and turns toward the Suriel. He had no time for games. “I’ll give you the ruby, in exchange for healing the girl fully—no tricks.
Ignoring the girl’s sharp intake of breath, her mortal heart beating faster and louder in his fae ears, Kastiel awaits for the Suriel’s reply.
“Fen too,” the girl suddenly blurts out, gesturing to her wolf. “I want him healed,” she says, adding a quiet please that made Kastiel’s heart squeeze. Her voice sounded awful. Kastiel hadn’t even talked to his team about the possibilities of returning without the ruby, but whatever their punishment was, he wouldn’t allow it to happen—he was willing to take all the blame for this, so long as he helps the girl now.
“And what, Prince of the Night, would I do with a ruby that big? Where would I even put it?” the Suriel asks. “In my pockets?” he gestures at his tattered, old cloak, shrugging.
Kastiel didn’t care what the Suriel wanted at this point. There was nothing in this world that he owned that was more worth it than the girls’ back, patched up and healed.
The Suriel shares a knowing look with Kastiel, his eyes glinting. “I want your cloak, prince.”
“Done,” Kastiel says, already feeling the burn of the tattoo etching on his upper forearm.

Seraphine

Seraphine’s breath was knocked out of her—feeling her body heal itself from her cuts and bruises, her malnourishment from the long, long days on the road slipping away. The Suriel gives her one last look, a strange one, before it disappears from her view.
“Are you alright?” the boy—no prince says to her. Now that she can see him better in the daylight, Seraphine notices his broad shoulders, his tan complexion and the way his full mouth curves up, in a secret smile. There is no doubt in her mind that he is the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. He takes a small step towards her, but Fen is already growling before the prince could say anything further.
“Oh, hush Fen,” she orders her silly wolf. Seraphine looks at the unusual group in front of her—two girls, one with beautiful long red curls, and a pale complexion, another with dark hair and skin; and three boys— all tan with dark hair. But the one in front of her has the most beautiful blue eyes. “I know I should be scared, but isn’t it odd to feel safe with a company of strangers.”
The air suddenly feels heavy between them.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, reaching for her hand.
“Yes,” she answers, without any inkling of doubts, and reaches towards him too.

Kastiel

“My name is Kastiel, and this is my team—Grigor, Ariadne, Lilia and Zephyr,” he says into Seraphine’s ear, smelling the sweet smell of her silver hair.
Kastiel clears his throat and shifts his arms under her weight, which was too light for his liking. He didn’t want to think of the possibility of dropping her, remembering how her body fell from the sky earlier. Kastiel hadn’t mentioned the black pit to her either. He didn’t want her to feel caged in his arms, with no where to turn when he asks her about it.
“Seraphine,” she suddenly says slowly, not taking her eyes away from the sky ahead.
As they make their way home, the mist preventing Kastiel’s magic is slowly thinning. He could already feel his own magic returning.
Kastiel sends a message into his father’s mind.
“Father, we’re on our way back.”
There was slight static before his father replies.
“Hurry home, Kastiel, your uncle is getting anxious,” his father says with humour in his voice, making Kastiel feel warm from the sound. There was a pause before his father asks, “did you get the jewel?”
“Yes father, but something strange has happened—”
“Something strange,” his father interrupts, “in the magical forest that is no-man’s land?”
“Father please, be serious. There’s a girl–”
But before Kastiel could continue, an awful scream tear from his mouth. He felt pure, painful agony from his chest and arms.
He looks down at the sight of Seraphine covered in flames around him.
She too was screaming, trying to contain whatever powers she had into herself. The smell of burnt flesh invaded his nose.
Kastiel uses the water powers inherited from his mother to douse the flames in hands and on her body, but he couldn’t concentrate on holding her up and making sure they were still in the air.
He could already feel her slipping through his arms.
Kastiel’s team tried to help, before strong familiar arms wrapped around him. Kastiel closed his eyes, swallowing another scream coming out of him. He still couldn’t get used to the feel of winnowing, especially when it was for longer distances, but he thanked the God’s that his father and uncles were there.
Finally, for what felt like an eternity, Kastiel and Seraphine land with a loud thud in his house in Velaris.

9

#778 Mimikyu

- Its actual appearance is unknown. A scholar who saw what was under its rag was overwhelmed by terror and died from the shock.
- After going to all the effort of disguising itself, its neck was broken. Whatever is inside is probably unharmed, but it’s still feeling sad. 

- A lonely Pokémon, it conceals its terrifying appearance beneath an old rag so it can get closer to people and other Pokémon.
- If its neck is broken or its rag torn during an attack, it works through the night to patch it.

Three’s a Crowd (Part 13)

Originally posted by w-t-f-yes

Member: Taehyung x Reader x Yoongi

Type: Poly Au, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9.Part 10. Part 11. Part 12. Part 13.

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Angel

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jackson

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 4,074

Summary:  You’re a medical intern, always a perfectionist and used to being the best at everything you do. Jackson Wang is the male nurse beloved by everyone and constantly on your nerves. When you two are brought together, it could be the best or the worst thing that’s ever happened.

Originally posted by got7official

Keep reading

Almond Joy (Suprise Dogsitting)

Summary: You take care of Bucky’s dog and find out who he really is

Word count:1851

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: none

A/N: Clearly I’m not the best at choosing titles, but I hope that doesn’t deter anyone from reading this! Hope you enjoy :) Oh and there will be multiple parts!

Next Part

It had only been a few days into the spring. Spring excited you because it meant a new beginning of life, which comes along with new goals and new experiences. You checked your list of goals for the year. At the top was the typical “get in shape”. 

Since most people’s resolutions were too broad, they usually did not last. So, you listed that you would go for a jog for at least half an hour every morning and substitute unhealthy food for healthier ones, such as eating wheat bread instead of white bread or granola bars instead of chips. This was supposed to start at the beginning of the year, but you had forgotten to and ended up putting it off towards spring time.

You were on spring break, so you did not have to worry about school interfering with your schedule. With the free time that you had, you got up whenever you woke up to exercise. Had it been the school year, you would have jogged 6 am every morning since you had a class that started at 8. You jogged into the city and returned to your apartment afterwards to continue with the rest of your day. It became a routine that you were fond of. Exercise may not be your strongest suit, but the feeling of satisfaction afterwards was well worth it.

You grabbed your running shoes by the door and headed outside. A few steps down your driveway you realized you had not grabbed a water bottle nor locked the door. You returned inside and took a water bottle from the fridge and locked your front door. It was cold outside. Although you hated the cold, the weather was in your favor; it’s a lot better than running when it’s hot out.

The cold air at first brought goosebumps but then your skin started to release sweat a few minutes into your jogging. Music was blasting through your ears and you imagined yourself in a music video, and the scenery around you played a role in it.

Once you reached the end of the sidewalk, you clicked the pedestrian crossing button. The breeze hit against you as you waited for the red hand to change into a walking person sign. You took a swig of your water and gulped it down.

When the light changed, you continued jog. The hardest part about exercising was getting yourself to begin. Once you began, you pushed yourself until you got tired. The nature got nicer as you kept jogging. Your thoughts were clouded with what you’ll be doing for the rest of the day. After you jog and shower, you had nothing planned for the rest of the day. The idea of messaging a friend popped in your head so you mentally noted to do so when you got back home.

You glanced down at your timer. It had been seventeen minutes out of the thirty. Time flew by. Transitioning from a slow jog to a fast walk, you tried to keep your breathing even. It was time for you to head back towards home. In the corner of your eye, you spotted a large brown dog. It was sniffing the ground. The dog had a dog tag on it, so you figured it had escaped from someone’s house.

The music was still playing in your headphones so you paused it. You called it over and it looked at you, but it continued to sniff the sidewalk. Noticing that you were cutting time into your walk, you went back to your exercise.

The path became bumpier as you moved and you slowed down so you wouldn’t fall. Over your headphones, the sound of barking intensified. You gasped and stopped in your tracks. With a swift turn, you faced the dog you saw earlier.

“Oh my gosh doggy, you nearly scared me,” you looked around to see if the dog was truly alone, and it was. There were no homes around for you to take the dog to “Want to come home with me?”

It just stood there, wagging its tail. In order to see if the dog planned on following you, you took a few slow steps. It followed you.

Keep reading

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Three)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?
  • Links to past installments:  (One) (Two)

(Three)

Jenny

I’d run upstairs the instant Claire was gone through the door—first to the bedchamber overlooking the road, then up still further to the upper floors, so I could see her for just a moment longer. For, damn me, but I couldna take my eyes off her…just kept—watchin’ her— until the last.

And even when the shape of her had long vanished over the horizon, I was still watchin’, staring into the spot where she’d been, the last place she’d inhabited before she’d gone away….just as she’d promised. 

The letter—God, Claire’s letter—was clutched tight in my hand and heavy on my heart. But it was also heavy in my hand, I realized. There was more than paper, therein, I’d swear to it; firm, whatever it was, but not rigid, exactly, for I could still bend it easily.  

I had the nail of my finger under the edge of the wax before somethin’….somethin’ stopped me—or could it be someone?—and I shivered. 


“Jenny?” 

Claire was in the doorway of the kitchen, cloak on, the letter clutched to her breast. 

I stood, awkwardly. “You’ve finished?” 

She nodded, and her eyes closed, of a sudden, and she looked so very young, like one of the bairns in a thunderstorm, all scared and—small—So sad, and—

—and I wavered. 

But before I could say anythin’, Claire was there right before my face, pressin’ the envelope hard into my hands. She didna let go, just kept—holdin’ on to me, eyes boring into mine so I couldna even blink. 

 “Whatever hurt there is between you and me, Jenny—” Those whisky-colored eyes were shining wi’ feeling, ready to spill over wi’ it. “—I beg you to see that Jamie gets this.” She added her other hand and squeezed me so hard that own hands were shakin’ along wi’ hers. “Please don’t wait too long to give it to him.” 

My voice cracked, and I couldna look away. “Why’s that?” 

“There are things in here, that—” the paper crinkled, loud and violent, that bitty sound, “—that will give him peace….I hope.” A small, broken breath. 

Peace…Peace for Jamie…

“Please, Jenny—PLEASE—promise me that you’ll give it to him.” Those wildcat eyes begged, and I could do nothing but nod. She heaved an enormous sigh and closed them, nodding, herself. “Thank you.” 

She released me, then and made for the door, pulling her cloak tight about her. Her eyes were on the handle as she said, “Goodbye.” 

And then before I could blink, she’d come back again and thrown both her arms ‘round me. Unnaturally tall as she was, my arms were trapped down at my sides, so I couldna have hugged her back, even had I wished to. 

Her voice was a ragged sob of a whisper. “I do love you, Jenny.” She kissed my cheek.

And then she was out the door, gone. Forever.  

And it was only as she was far, far gone, a vanished speck through a frozen windowpane, that I realized….

I *had* wished to. 


“Mam?” 

I nearly leapt out of my skin as I whirled like a guilty bairn to the door behind, where Maggie stood wi’ her own babe on her hip. 

Ye’ve been up here for an age and a half, Mam. Did…” She gave me a significant look, “….something give ye a turn?” 

“I’m fine, mo chridhe,” I promised, flustered-like, bustling past her down the stairs to resume my work and hide my face. “Perfectly fine, nothin’ to—”

“But who was she, Mam?” Maggie’s voice, her footsteps, chased me down the stairs. “The dark-haired Englishwoman? Why was she here?” 

“She was a traveler. No one ye need be worrit about.” 

“Mam, I’m no’ a wee bairn. We all heard the great skelloch the two of ye were makin’. Clearly she was someone ye kent well, and it sounded as though she had come were wi’ a purpose, and  “ 

“Maggie, do not— ” 

“But what was it she wanted of ye, Mam? She stayed hardly an hour, and we  “

I dinna wish to DISCUSS it, Margaret.” 

From the look on her face, I’d shouted it, violently. She went all meek-like and left me standing alone on the stairs landing without another word. I started to go after her, but—I let my hands fall back to my side, clenching into shaking fists.  

What was it the Englishwoman had wanted of me, Maggie, love? The woman who saw ye delivered into this world? Only to come make peace and to mend your Uncle Jamie’s heart…and I… 

*I*….

Hands of guilt seemed to shove me toward the door, toward the stables. 

Janet Murray, go after Claire. Go after her right this moment. There’s still time to catch her up! 

“Aye, and WHY should I?” I muttered under my breath, stormin’ to the pantry and busyin’ my hands, furiously flyin’ from task to task. 

WHY? Because it was doomed from the start! 

Dinna lay the troubles of their marriage at my feet. It was GOOD for Jamie to be marrit. He NEEDED a woman.

You saw her fetch at the wedding. Jesus God, woman, THAT was your warning. THIS is the test. 

I wasna going to see my brother die alone, and I couldna have dreamed that she’d saunter in one day after—

No one could have supposed Claire was alive; but now that you know, you MUST make this right. 

Go and stop her…GO!

She had no right —No RIGHT to just vanish as she did. God, the —the arrogance of it — I threw an old jar against the wall, the crash of the pottery against the stone some kind of satisfaction amid the storms of rage and of shame within me.  not to even CHECK !—And ‘complicated,’ she says…COMPLICATED! 

She said she’d be able to explain. 

All can be made right, Janet Murray. Go after her, beg her to  

I'll no’ beg that Sassenach witch for anythin’. The rage was boiling up within me, and suddenly even the promise of delivering her letter seemed like the vilest of insults. ‘Will bring him peace,’ she says…How could she POSSIBLY ken what can bring him peace, having been gone from him for twenty

YOU would know, just fine, if it were Ian. Separation couldn’t change your knowing of him, could it? 

I ignored that pleading, reasonable voice and stormed back up the stairs. The only sensible thing was to pretend as though the letter had never existed. 

Jamie need never know. If he wasna precisely at *peace,* now, he’d at least settled into a living, and found a certain

He hasn’t. 

NO sense at all in opening up old

And since when were love or mercy about *sense*?  

What he doesna know canna pain him, and that’s all there is to it.

I stormed upstairs and threw the letter resolutely into the back of the drawer, coverin’ it over wi’ old underthings and rags where Ian wouldna find it. 

But all the rest of the day, that stern voice haunted me, warred with me. 

Go after her. 

Leave me be. 

What’s done is done. 

No, it isn’t. 

GO AFTER HER.

Claire let him suffer. 

She stayed away for TWENTY—

She doesna DESERVE  

That was Jamie’s judgment to make, woman. Not yours. 

I told her only the bare facts. 

No. You lied to her. 

He DOES have a wife!

He DOES have two daughters that called him Da!

You told her all the difficult truths and made them as painful to her as you could. 

And you told one lie.

 That Jamie is happy.

Is he?  

No…

The guilt shuddered through me, a fist wrapped around my throat. 

He’s broken…

He’s still hurting…still raw….

From want of Her. 

And you sent her away. 

The look on her face as she begged me to give him that letter—

But the THINGS she did to  —

What you’ve just done is worse, still For you did it from spite, Janet Murray; of your own pride and

Across the house a door CRASHED open and I reeled back from the spice cupboard as though shot, my blood poundin’ in my ears as footsteps came thunderin’ in from the front door. “What in GOD’s holy name—???” 

“I dinna need to WASH to see Mam,” a grumpy voice protested from the foyer. 

“Oh Mary, Michael, and Bride—IAN!!” I’d forgotten—completely FORGOTTEN to be sick with worry for my wee scoundrel who’d run away. Lord forgive me, what sort of mother FORGETS

I flew across the house, my guilt over Claire momentarily replaced by outrage at myself and fury at my son and RELIEF. “Ian!!” I sobbed as I threw my arms around his thin frame. “Ian you –YOU–oh—!” I swore violently, a great string of things, but all grateful, all emphatic with love as I squeezed him tight, wetting his shirtfront “—I’m so glad you’re safe, a chuisle.

“I’m fine, mam,” he said with a sigh, though he returned the hug. 

I pulled back and slapped his shoulder, hard. “Well ye WILLNA be by the time I’m done wi’ ye! What were ye THINKING, Ian Murray, runnin’ away like that wi’ no word???”

“I DID leave word, Mam!” 

“Oh, ye think a wee note is enough? Not in this house, Ian. God, I’m so fashed and so happy in one single moment—” True enough; I was panting with the rush of the relief and the fright of the last two weeks. I hugged him again, then pushed him toward the stairs. “Off wi’ ye—we’ll deal wi’ your punishment later.” 

I turned from one Ian (well, the back of one, as he sulked off) to sigh in relief at sight of the other. “There’s my sweet lass,” he said, grinnin’ that bright, warm smile that I loved so well and holding out his arms to me.

All but fell into them, I did. “Mo ghraidh, ye found him.” I pressed my head against his chest, so happy to have him close; so happy for the relief of havin’ him hold me. There, against his heart, all could be well; all the voices and the shame and the rage could be silent. 

He kissed me, touched my cheek, then turned for the study. “I didna do much.“ He thudded into an armchair and pulled me into his lap. “In fact, I didna even get to Edinburgh.” 

“No?” I grinned, kissin’ his dear face. “Was he making such puir time? Chasin’ after lost pups and rabbits, again, aye?” 

“Nay, he’d already been to Edinburgh. When I came upon him, it was head on, already on their way back to us.”

I jolted back. “Their?” 

“Aye, Ian and Jamie.” 

JAMIE?”

Go after her 

“Aye, who else?” Ian kissed me, blithe as ye please. “Said he didna trust Wee Ian to come back unescorted, and rightly so.”

Go after her

“Well, and — it’s good ye were able to meet Jamie on the way.” I brushed my hands nervously down my skirt, tryin’ not to give in to the feelings risin’ up in my gullet. “He’ll have needed to be back in his shop as soon as possible.”

“Oh, nay, he left Fergus in charge. Said he was past due for a visit. No sense in him making the journey twice, now, is there?” 

“Jamie’s — He’s — ?” I felt as though I were going to faint. 

Go NOW

What if he finds out? 

You MUST tell him. 

I canna — I CANNA —

I screamed it at my conscience, but it wasna like the rage of before: a scream of panic. The weight of what I’d done—it was fallin’ down all around me and over me, smashin’ apart my anger and my stubbornness and my pride only to reveal beneath all my darkest shame and regret and 

“Jamie’s gone to Balriggan, then?” 

“NO, a nighean,” came a grinnin’ voice that paralyzed me as surely as the bolt of a crossbow in my spine, “he’s behind ye.”

Lord, help me, 

I canna


Home: Part One

Request: Can I request one where the avengers raid a hydra base and find an 18 yr old girl covered in blood and dirt? She refuses to talk but goes with them without a fight. Nat cleans her up and cuts her hair and recognizes her as Clints daughter that vanished years ago. When Clint gets to the room the girl breaks down and runs to him immediately remembering her dad.

Pairings: Clint x daughter!reader, eventual Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1,532

Warnings: None? Minor violence?

A/N: So I tried a slightly different style of writing. Honestly, I’m really not too sure about how this turned out. I really had trouble getting it all on paper but I really hope you like it! :)

(Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four)

“Alright guys, my sector’s clear. How’s everyone else doing?”

“I’m clear too, Cap. On my way to the meet point now,” Tony replied through the coms. There were more sounds of confirmation until only Natasha hadn’t replied.

“Nat?” Steve asked.

“Slightly-“ she grunted, “-busy right now,” she dodged a fist and threw her leg into the guy’s gut. He doubled over, crying out and she took the opportunity to Taser him in the neck, “Ok, done,” she paused, noticing a door on her left. Curious, she pushed the door open, eyes widening at the sight before her, “Wait, guys. I think you better come here. I’m near the rendezvous point, go down the south hall and you’ll find me in the end room on the left. And whatever you do, be quiet.”

She turned off her coms then, not wanting to be distracted, and stepped forward slowly with her hands up in a placating gesture. The girl flinched and scrabbled backwards into the wall but she took another slow step forward anyway, “Hey, hey it’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you. My names Natasha,” she spoke softly but the girl still looked terrified. She shrank further into the wall, like she wished it would swallow her up whole.

“Hey, come on, it’s ok,” she coaxed, crouching in front of the girl. She was young; late teens or early twenties, Nat guessed. She couldn’t be sure though, as a thick curtain of matted hair fell over girl’s face. Nat continued to speak to the girl gently, telling her who she was and why they were here, telling her that they would keep her safe if she let them.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the girl began to unfold her limbs, the movement so tiny that Natasha was unsure if the girl was even aware she was doing it.

“Nat? You in here?” Steve called quietly. Not quietly enough though, because suddenly any progress she had made with the girl had disappeared and they were back to the disappearing-into-the-wall act. A string of Russian tumbled out of Natasha’s mouth, cursing Steve and his loud mouth, but she ignored him and instead concentrated all of her efforts into reassuring the girl.

She was aware of the team crowded at the door behind her, trying to see what was going on, but right now she needed to get this girl to trust her.

After a few minutes of gentle cajoling and persuasion she still hadn’t managed to get the girl to speak, but at least she no longer looked like she thought they were about to murder her.

“Ok, we’re leaving now. Will you let Steve here carry you to our jet so we can get you somewhere safe?” She asked.

***

The girl stared up at her through blurry eyes, considering her offer. Even now she was terrified. Her mind felt jumbled up, like someone had tipped everything out, mixed it all around and then stuffed it back into her head. This woman – Natasha – was familiar, but the reason for that familiarity eluded her grasp. Natasha was familiar but then so were they – the men who hurt her.

She mulled over her options, hands still tightly wrapped around herself but eventually realised that if these people weren’t nice and did want to hurt her it wouldn’t matter what she wanted – they would take her anyway. And if they were nice and would help her, then of course she wanted to go with them. So it was a choice between go or (most likely) go with force.

It was as though Natasha saw the decision in her eyes, because she stepped back and nodded to the man behind her – Steve, she realised. This man was big, bigger even than the men who had hurt her and the moment he moved in her direction, her whole body was racked with trembles. Every instinct was screaming out to run, to escape somehow, but she fought them down and allowed him to slip his arms underneath, cradling her against his chest.

He was warm, something she hadn’t been in a very long time; she found herself curling into his warmth. Soon exhaustion overtook fear and so she slept.

The young girl drifted in and out of consciousness during the journey, hushed voices speaking nearby, the roar of an engine, boots against tarmac and then boots against tiles but she kept her eyes closed, her face covered. When she finally awoke fully, it was to the woman - Natasha’s - voice, gently pulling her from sleep.

“Hey, hey, come on; time to wake up. Why don’t we get you cleaned up, ok?” Nat whispered, sat next to her on the bed. Confused eyes looked around, questioning, “This is my room. I thought you might want to take a shower and stuff before we go to see Dr Banner,” Natasha explained. She nodded, allowing Natasha to lead her into the bathroom.

“You ready to tell me your name yet?” Natasha asked, “I can’t keep referring to you as ‘you’, forever.” The girl smiled at the small joke, face still mostly hidden by hair. As each minute passed she was finding herself more and more fond of this woman. Still, she shook her head, unable to bring herself to speak.

Natasha showed her how to use the shower and left her to clean herself up. She was tentative in all her movements, unsure, but once she was under the spray of the water she loosened up, relishing the long-forgotten feeling of hot water hitting her skin.

When she was finished, she found a large top and some sweats in place of her old rags. They were loose and warm and just what she needed.

Knock, knock.

“Can I come in?” Natasha asked through the door.

She nodded, and then huffed at her own stupidity, realising that Natasha couldn’t hear her. She opened the door and went to sit on the toilet as Natasha entered.

“I was wondering if you’d let me cut your hair; your fringe has grown right past your face and so we can’t get past it to check your injuries. Plus I’m sure there’s a beautiful face hidden under there,” Natasha explained, smiling at her kindly.

The girl knew they had another motive; they wanted to be able to see her face so they find out who she was. Her hair was her safety; it had been her only comfort for a long time – a kind of shield between her and the cruel world she had had to survive in, but she wanted to find out who she was too.

The girl nodded.

Light fingers combed through her hair, organising it and pulling it into position. There was a snip! and light flooded her vision. A few more snips and she felt the cool air on her face, no longer obstructed by hair. Natasha continued cutting, making sure to keep the line even.

“Can you look up for me, so I can check it’s even?” Natasha asked, nudging her chin up with a finger. The girl moved her face upwards and suddenly there was a loud clattering. She flinched. What was that? She looked back around to see Natasha staring at her in shock, the scissors left forgotten on the floor.

She stared at Natasha, bewildered, but Natasha struggled to speak, “I- I didn’t believe- you need- just- stay here!” And then the woman left, a plethora of emotions running over her face.

The girl looked around the bathroom, unsure what to make of the situation. Had she done something wrong? A sliver of fear slipped back into her system just as the door slid open again to reveal Natasha. There was someone with her, another man.

The girl looked at Natasha and then to the man.

Her eyes widened.

And then everything fell into place.

You rushed towards him, flinging yourself into his arms, clinging tight to his shoulders, tears already flooding your eyes. Strong arms encircled you, familiar and right and good and everything you had missed for these last awful years. He squeezed you tight, like he couldn’t believe you were here, like you would disappear any second. You squeezed him tighter.

Finally you let go, stepping back to look at him. His cheeks were smeared with tears just like your own.

Dad? You signed, struggling to suppress a sob.

Y/N? He asked at the same time and you both broke down at the same time too. You sunk to the ground in his arms and the two of you cried for your lost time, cried in relief and worry and joy.

I missed you, you signed to him with shaky hands.

He gave you a watery smile, I missed you too, kid.

Ugh, I still hate that nickname! Your hands moved quickly, agitated.

He laughed, Sorry, kid. Not going away anytime soon.

You frowned and stuck your bottom lip out, Meanie.

He laughed again, shaking his head at you and then suddenly you were in another bone crushing hug. The two of you were laughing and crying now and you couldn’t remember ever being as happy or relieved as you felt now.

You were home.

Permanent Tags: @psychicwitchphilosopher @sgtjamesbuchananbarnes107th

Badboy!Shawn Mendes Imagine

It was around midnight when your phone first went off. Sleep slowly released you from it’s sweet grasp due to the disturbance, but you thought nothing of it, and kept your eyes closed begging for the dark paradise.
As soon as the unruly noise ended, it started back up again. Groaning, you rolled over to answer your phone, ignorant the caller ID. “Hello?” You let out groggily,
“Y/n, you need to come down to the school parking lot,” you would’ve recognized the speakers voice if it wasn’t for your foggy mind.
“Ugh why?” You groaned
“It’s Shawn. You’d better hurry.”
At this point sleep was no longer an option. Partially because you were too awake by now but mostly at the mention of Shawn.
You had no clue if he was in trouble, in the process of getting in to trouble or if he just needed you. Since it wasn’t him that ringed you, you knew it couldn’t be any good.
You tried to contain your wandering thoughts the short ride to the school. The last thing you needed was to over think what Shawn may have gotten into while your body was enjoying the warm, relaxing blanket of sleep. You had spent time together earlier today and everything seemed fine. No lingering glares to or from anyone. He showed you the same amount of affection as he would on any other good day. He was happy. He was the Shawn you knew.
You brought your car to an abrupt stop in the parking lot not caring about the position you left it in, if it was in anyone’s way or not parked properly.
Your eyes were glued to a crowd of shuffling students. An uneasy feeling welcomed itself at the bottom of your stomach and clung on.
Shoving the drivers door open, you sprinted to the loud, obnoxious sea of teens, knowing damn-well that Shawn was at least one of the persons that were in the middle of it all.
You wove your way in between people, trying to shout his name over the noise.
Just as you broke through the crowd you saw Shawn take a nasty hard blow to the cheek. His head whipped in the direction the punch was thrown, while stumbling back a step. He regained his balance and turned back around ready to throw the next punch. Before he got the chance to, you stepped closer to the two anger fueled boys, “Shawn.” You called in a desperate voice. You hated him fighting, you hated seeing him hurt, and you knew he was capable of killing the other person if he didn’t stop.
His eyes shot to yours at the sound of your calming voice. The crowd turned into white noise as your voice echoed in his ears.
The man he was fighting turned to you, “Hey, why don’t you come back when we’re finished here,” he spat at you while shoving you, sending you stumbling back towards the crowd. Luckily someone had caught you or else you would have fallen to the rough pavement.
“Hey!” Shawn bellowed to his opponent. The man turned back to face him. He only made it halfway before Shawn’s fist came in bone crunching contact with the side of his skull, sending him to ground in agony.
Gasps’ and silent murmurs came off the crowd. Shawn kept his gaze locked on you. You could make out the sound his heavy pants, as his shoulders rose and fell in sync to it, clouds of his breath formed and disappeared in front of him.
He didn’t dare move an inch toward you, in fear of you running away from the beast standing in front of you.
You took the initiative from his silence and took slow steps over to him. Your eyes glued to his, and his to yours. You stopped just before him and gently took his hand in yours. His fingers and palm easily over lapped yours and held them tight, not running the risk of you letting him go. “C'mon,” You spoke softly and quietly him, leading him through and away from the circle of students.
You had him, you had him closer than anyone else ever could in his lifetime. He could never hide himself from you, his efforts to try were only useless. Just holding your small, silky hand in his could bring him to his knees for you. He wanted to explain himself to you, he wanted to tell you exactly why he had gotten into the messy feud, it was all at the tip of his tongue. But he was more desperate not to break the soothing silence.
The car ride back to your house was comfortably still. His hand still clutching yours. The tips of your fingers were stained with his blood that slowly seeped out of his bruised and cut knuckles.
You escorted him through the door and up the stairs to your bathroom. He placed him self on the counter next to the sink as you rummaged through the closet for a first aid kit and rubbing alcohol.
You stood in between Shawn’s legs and grabbed an old knotted rag and soaked it in the rubbing alcohol.
“Y/n,” he began in a soft raspy voice. You shushed him before he could make out another syllable. You ran the rag over the first cut on his eyebrow, it wasn’t too deep but still dripped scarlet substance. “Ow,” he murmured under his breath. You let out a breathy laugh, trying not to smile. “Do you often find humor in other people’s pain?” He smiled down at you, adoring your smile, and the way you tried to hide it. He was locked in on your trance, you didn’t even have to try, you had him wrapped around your finger, and you didn’t even know it.
“Well no, but you just always make me laugh,” you smirked in response. You repeated your actions to the cut on his lip but applied more pressure than before. “Ow!” He let out, pulling away and curling his lip, “Alright you did that on purpose.”
You giggled at his playful accusation knowing it was true. He grasped your waist and brought you in closer, locking his legs at the back of your thighs. He pinched your sides tickling you in revenge for your actions. You giggled even more, trying to hide yourself in his chest black clad chest. His chuckles rumbled out from his chest projecting onto your body.
His arms circled around you and relaxed on the curve above your hips. His head rested on top of your shoulder, his eyes fluttered shut peacefully. “You know,” he started slowly and cautiously, waiting to see if you’d interrupt him again, “I only fought him because he was tormenting me,”
“Is that all?” You questioned him expectantly,
“No. He was tormenting me about you. He knows that I hold you special to me, but he doesn’t actually know you. He’s heard people talking. So he started going on about how weak I must really be, which didn’t bother me. But then he started going on about how ‘ravishing’ and 'sexy’ your body must look, and how he’d love to have a piece of you in 'a long night of fun’. I was seeing red and I lost it, I just-lost it.” He explained, tugging you impossibly closer to his body.
“I get you got angry and I understand that you hated what he was saying, but Shawn you’re better than that, you know you are.” You said pulling away slightly and cupping his cheeks in your hands.
He let out a sigh in agreement to your words. You landed a soft, delicate kiss on his forehead and went back to cleaning his small wounds.
“The slice on my eyebrow is aching.” He groaned.
You smiled and leaned up to place a kiss on the cut, the sour taste of the rubbing alcohol still lingered over it.
“Now that I think about it, the one on the lip is just killing me,” he smirking, waiting for his kiss,
“Nah I think you’re pretty good.” You giggled up at him, removing yourself from his warm hold and walking out of the room.
“No no no. Come back and take care of me!” He called after you.
—————————-
This was so much fun to write….

frecklegalaxies  asked:

Please write something about the precious moments of softness between Ronan and Adam. Let them be soft. Let these prickly boys cuddle

(sorry this took me literally forever but ive been sorta busy and very tired from work lately but anyway!! here’s our soft boys)

Adam’s hands shook with adrenaline as he got back inside the BMW. His mother’s eyes were like two hooks dragging down the skin of his back, but for the first time in as long as he could remember, they couldn’t find anything to latch onto and pull him back. He was untethered to this place, this trailer, this life. His roots had started here, right under the very dust Ronan’s tires threw into the air as he pulled out the park, but he knew by now that trees didn’t necessarily have to stay in one place. That they could move, that he could choose his soil. That he already had.

It was overwhelming, and exhilarating, and calming, all at once. It reminded him a little of how being around Ronan felt.

Freedom, meet Adam Parrish.

Keep reading

2

You And Me, We’re Different

A small request. Reader feels alone at Hilltop, thinking they are no good for the group. Daryl gets an earful.


  • Daryl Dixon x Reader
  • 804 Words
  • Warnings; Cursing

It was a cold night for once, the wind nipping at you like ice. You shiver as you walk down the street, hugging that ragged old blanket you found months ago, maybe years. At this point, you weren’t sure. Days felt like weeks and weeks felt like months. Time doesn’t matter anymore.

Like usual, you couldn’t get to sleep. Everyone else have been asleep for hours, but not you.

You make your way down to the gates of Hilltop. You think a little walk can’t hurt. You didn’t like being here, but Rick asked you to keep an eye on Maggie and the baby. You weren’t his first choice, but you know it’s because he can afford to lose you.

When you reach the gate, you stop. You peer up at the top and dream of flying over it, flying away and not having to worry about any of this.

“What’re ya doin’?” A gruff voice enters the silence.

You blink and look over your shoulder, seeing Daryl Dixon sitting on a bench and watching you with his untrusting eyes. He doesn’t trust easy, especially you.

“I asked you a question.” He grunts and nods to the other side of the bench.

This wasn’t like Daryl. He never talks. You don’t even remember the last time you heard his voice, or looked at him this long.

“Can’t a girl go on a walk?” You ask, your voice is brittle since you don’t use it often. Half the time, you forgot what your own voice sounds like.

Daryl shakes his head as you walk over and take the seat on the other side of the bench. You sit on the opposite end, not wanting to accidently graze your knee with his. “Nah. Not in this day. S’wrong?”

You shrug your shoulder and pull the blanket over you more. Honestly, you’re kind of scared of Daryl Dixon. He’s not the type of person you want to piss off, though he did seem to take up for you the few times someone has spoken up about throwing you out of the group.

“Alright, ain’t gotta talk.” He mumbles, but his eyes stay on you.

You look down at the wood and realize there are some initials carved in. You can just barely make out a ‘F’ and a ‘P’ in the middle of a heart. You can’t tell if it’s a first and last initial or two different, but you wonder who they are.

“I feel like screaming.” You realize it as soon as you say it. The urge grows inside you, wanting to yell at him, or anyone, and make them listen. “I don’t have anybody to talk to and it kills me.”

“There’re plenty of us here.” Daryl presses his elbow on the wood and rubs his chin. He’s still watching you closely.

“No.” You look up from the heart and say, “no, because every time I try to talk to someone, they treat me like a little kid. You all act like I’m such a burden on this group. I’m only here to distract Negan from Maggie. I would have been kicked out a long time ago otherwise.”

Daryl doesn’t say anything, so you continue. It was like opening a dam and letting all the water rush out. Once you start confessing, you can’t stop.

“I don’t like it here. I don’t understand what I’ve done. I thought by now I would have earned some trust. Fuck, Jesus has more trust with you and Rick than me, and I’ve known you longer.” You feel tears start to fall and your throat tightens up. You quickly glance back down. “I feel so alone. I’m surrounded by people and I feel so goddamn alone. You have Rick, Rick has Michonne, Carl has Enid. Who do I have?” You let the tears start to fall as you rant further. “This damn blanket.”

You grow quiet. Daryl’s breath is even, but you feel his eyes still stuck on you. You don’t dare to look up, afraid of what he’s thinking.

“You’re wearing my poncho.”

You glance up at him, your nose and eyes red from crying. “Excuse me?”

Daryl straightens up and scratches his chin. “My poncho. Lost the damned thing a while back.”

You look down at the mismatched fabric and try to imagine Daryl wearing such a thing. Honestly, you can’t. But Daryl constantly surprises you. “Do you want it back?”

“Naw.” Daryl grunts. “You ain’t alone, Y/N. The others are cautious, as they should be. You and me, we’re different. People don’t like me at first.”

He rises to his feet and stretches his hand out for you to take. You glance up at it, a small smile returning to your lips as you wipe the tears away and slip your hand in his.