shadow is alone at the tower

The people milling about on the city streets dismissed the tremors at first. If they were earthquakes, they were mild at best, and there was no reason to let them ruin such a beautiful summer day. But as they increased in intensity, they quickly became impossible to ignore, and even the most obtuse among the casual shoppers had to admit that they’d never heard of an earthquake that was so regular…so rhythmic. Almost like footsteps.

And when the quakes became so powerful that it began knocking people off their feet, and the shadow fell over them all, the truth was no longer possible to ignore. Struck silent by fear, the people looked up…and up…and up at the giant man who towered above even the tallest high rises, the bulge in his underwear alone already the size of some of the smaller buildings around them.

“Wow, what was in that milkshake?” his voice boomed, shattering windows for miles and causing people to clutch their ears. His hand casually came down to cup his massive bulge, smiling as it began to swell and stretch the material of his underwear to the breaking point.

“And where can I get more of it?”

okay but 

  • nico realizing this is the first time he wasn’t alone and depressed on valentine’s day
  • will being an endless stream of compliments and affection
  • nico actually trying to match the affection because even though he thinks valentine’s day is way overrated he’s a sucker for traditions
  • nico carrying flowers with extreme caution so that they don’t die in his hands before he gets to give them to will
  • the flowers dying anyways, and will still loves them and puts them in a vase in the medical tent anyways
  • dreamy eyes
  • being the cutest couple in camp since percy and annabeth are gone, and please, travis and katie have nothing on them
  • nico shadow-traveling them to the eiffel tower in las vegas because paris is for another year
  • nico not second-guessing if will truly cares about him or not because he trusts will when he says he loves him
Pinky Swear - Wonder Woman

Prompt: Can you do a Wonder Woman x reader where the reader is her daughter and just fluff and stuff. + Prompt for Wonder Woman could be her finding a gang of street kids and taking them under her wings!!

“I don’t know Clark, if Bruce believes it’s not a great idea, hear him out.” Diana said into her phone, heels clicking on the cracked and aging cement of the London sidewalk. This part of the city had definitely seen better days and it brought Diana sorrow to think back on a time when these boarded up houses and decrepit buildings had once been habitable many years ago.

“We don’t have time for a new plan Diana.” Clark sighed on the other end, thousands of miles across the ocean. Honestly, Diana had better things to be doing than mediating this pissing contest between the two most stubborn men she’s ever met. Sadly, even though she wasn’t a part of this mission she was still heavily invested in the results.

“Just talk to him Clark. Come to a compromise. We only get one shot at this to get this right.” Diana urged. Clark immediately started saying something else but Diana didn’t hear any of that. What she heard was a commotion coming from a nearby alley.

“Just leave me alone Johnny!” A young girl sobbed scrunching her eyes closed and turning her face away to face the brick wall of the alley.

“I’ve got to go, Clark.” Diana mentioned, not bothering to hear his response before hanging up.  

Before Diana could think she crossed the street and strode until she towers over the pre teen boy bothering this poor young girl. Diana’s form casted a shadow over the two children. The girl caught onto the change in lighting and stared up wide eyed at the statuesque Amazonian that appeared out of nowhere.

“What are you going to do? Run to your mommy?” He taunted and made a move to yank at the girl’s ponytail but before he could, Diana snatched his hand and lifted him effortlessly with one hand by the scruff of his neck, much like a misbehaving cub.

“Is this boy bothering you?” Diana asked the girl. She nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her tattered and dirty sleeve. Diana turned her gaze back to the boy and gave him a glare that would shake the gods themselves.

“You will leave this girl alone from now on. If I catch you bothering her again I will unleash the full wrath of the gods and will inform your parents of your behavior. Do we have an understanding, young man?” Diana asked. The boy nodded in agreement and Diana set him down. As soon as his feet were on the ground he took off running. When the boy was out of sight, Diana turned back to the girl and kneeled down so that she was at her level.

“Did he hurt you?” Diana asked, looking over the girl for any hint of injury.

“No. Johnny just likes to make fun of me.” She explained in a small voice.

“Where are your parents, little one?” Diana questioned. The girl looked down at her shoes that were dirt covered, three sizes too large, a littered with holes that exposed her small little toes.

“I don’t have any.” She replied, refusing to meet Diana’s gaze. Diana’s heart clenched for the girl. To be homeless in London at such a young age at the precipice of the winter season seemed a fate worse than death. She couldn’t just look away and let this continue to happen.

“Then it’s settled. You’ll come home with me. I’ll set you up with hot food, fresh clothes, a bath and a soft bed in no time.” Diana promised, holding her hand out to the girl in offering. The girl looked up to Diana with fresh tears brimming in her eyes before slipping her tiny hand into Diana’s palm.

 “You’re really nice.” The poor little girl commented in a small innocent voice. Diana smiled warmly down at the girl as she stood up straight and started walking hand in hand with the girl out of the alley and towards her warm, comfortable London flat.

“Little one, as long as I am breathing I swear to you on the gods you will never live another day on the streets.” Diana promised the girl. The girl stopping in her tracks in the middle of the sidewalk and held up her delicate curled pinky up to Diana.

“Do you pinky swear?” She asked. Diana chuckled at the girl’s sweet innocence but ultimately interlocked her pinky with the girl’s. It would seem a ‘pinky swear’ meant more to the child than any amount of promises to the gods.

“I pinky swear.” Diana affirmed. The girl nodded once and started leading Diana in the direction that they were previously walking, chatting a mile a minute and asking a thousand questions about her new home.

The Dragon and his fairy

Out of everything that I should be doing, I could not get this idea out of my head so here is Fairy Levy and Dragon Gajeel!

This will more than likely get updated only once a week since it is short but that is subject to change. 

This is also a special gift for @bianww

Summary: He was the feared Iron dragon who lived alone in his vast kingdom, however when he finds and injured fairy his whole world is thrown into a spin.

Rated T (This might change)

Word count: 1715

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Bad Moon Rising [Modern!Kylo x Reader]

Summary: You somehow manage to get a flat tire in a bad neighborhood after your closing shift at work. An unlikely stranger is willing to help, as much as you’re unwilling to accept it.

A/N: Alright. Here’s my first go at this. I wanted to add more detail, but I think I’m going to end up making this into a short series (I already have part 2 written!) so I wanted to get through the inciting incident first. Hope y’all like it!

Warnings: Language.

The night was frigid and exceedingly dark, the heavy cloud cover blocking out any light from the moon. You hated working late, but that was exactly what you had done every day this week. Working late was one thing but working late in retail was another. At the end of a dayshift you could grab your stuff and leave. But a night shift just took it out of you. You had to restock and tidy up and didn’t end up leaving until an hour after the store had closed. Now you were exhausted and just wanted to get home, so you decided to take your shortcut. It would get you home faster but you had to drive through some sketchy areas first. During the day this wasn’t a problem, but now was nearly midnight and the city was basically dead. This route would get you home much faster, however, and all you could think about was getting in bed.

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anonymous asked:

four word prompt: we're not together anymore

“God dammit!” I cursed and kicked the tire of my old red car as smoke billowed out from the engine. It was done, loyal Clifford had finally bit the dust. I couldn’t afford another car right now and now I was going to miss another day of work because there was no way for me to get there now that Clifford was dead. I was sitting against the tire on the side of the road after getting off the phone with AAA, banging the back of my head on the car when a black range rover pulled up behind me. I shielded my eyes and squinted as someone got out of their car and headed over to me.
“Thought I recognized Clifford.” A familiar British accent met my ears and I almost groaned aloud. Could this day get any worse? He towered over me, casting his shadow over my body, “Told you this lump of rubbish wouldn’t last through the summer. D’you need to borrow a phone or something?”
“Already called a tow, but thanks.” I said, sounding the exact opposite of thankful.
He crouched down next to me, “I’ll wait with you then.”
“I don’t need you to wait with me.”
“Someone could come and kidnap you on this road all by yourself.”
“Better than being alone with you.” I muttered under my breath.
“I heard that.”
He sighed, “Look, I know you hate me, but I’m just trying to help you out, I’m not comfortable with you being out here all alone waiting for God knows how long for a tow.”
“Do you think I give a shit what you’re comfortable with? We’re not together anymore.”
He’s quiet, but when I sneak a glance at him, his jaw’s clenched in a way I remember to mean he’s pissed. “Fuck, Y/N, just because we’re not dating doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
I scoffed, “Well, that makes one of us.”
“How many times do I have to apologize—“
“You don’t, Harry! I don’t care! I don’t care about you or that stupid fucking relationship and I don’t want to talk about it!”
He’s quiet a moment, “I know you well enough to know that you do care, if you didn’t you wouldn’t be so angry.”
I hated him, hated that he knew me that well, hated myself for letting him know me that well. “Fuck off.” I muttered, but my voice cracked and my eyes filled.
“I know you don’t believe me, but I love you. I never stopped. And I know you hate me so it doesn’t matter, but I love you. I think about you every day, I can’t delete the pictures of us off my phone, and that notebook you always used to carry around with you is still in my glove compartment, but I never told you because I was afraid giving it back to you would be the last time I saw you and I’m not ready for that. I’ll never be ready for that.”
I impatiently wiped a tear off my cheek, “I’ve been looking for that notebook for ages.”
He gave a short laugh, “That’s the only thing you took from that?”
“Did you read it?”
“No… Of course not. I would never invade your privacy like that.”
I watched him for a moment, “I only believe you because if you had read it you’d know that I don’t hate you at all. And I never did.” That notebook was filled with every memory we shared together. I had a notebook for every year of my life starting from sixth grade and I would tape in little memories, movie tickets, receipts, flowers. I would write any thoughts that came to my mind, sometimes poetry, sometimes I’d draw. And I remembered how full that last notebook had been of Harry. Endless drawings of his mouth, endless receipts and ticket stubs from places we’d been, endless words that had come from his mouth being turned into poetry, a page that I had sprayed with his cologne and had simply drawn doodles of his tattoos on. That had been my favorite page. I wondered if it still smelled of him. I had always thought he was walking art and I tried so hard to put that on paper so I would always remember. I think I knew deep down, even then, that we weren’t forever.
But it didn’t stop me from hoping. And it didn’t stop my heart from breaking the day he left.
I felt his hand hesitantly slip into mine and I didn’t stop him. Instead, as his thumb traced circles on the back of my hand, I closed my eyes and leaned my head on his shoulder, swearing I heard him sigh contentedly at the contact of my body on his.
And we stayed like that until the tow truck arrived, a silent surrender.

Unstable (Part 3/?) (Parker/Avengers x reader)

Part 2

“Steve…I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry…”

“Does anyone know where Vision is?!”

“Steve…I can’t stop it…I’m sorry…”

“I know, (Y/N)…it’s not your fault…”

“FRIDAY, where the hell is Vision?  Or Maximoff?”

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Sparks Chapter 22

Originally posted by captaincentenarian

Pairing: Bucky(POV) X Reader(POV) ft. other characters from the avengers team

Word Count: 7.1K 

Summary: Going to a club with Bucky and his new “girlfriend”. Feeling overwhelmed bc life is stressful and slipping into old ways. Bucky taking care of you when you’re high out of your mind and having mini anxiety attacks bc contrary to popular belief drugs fuck ya up kids…

Warnings: Drug use.

A/N: I spend months thinking about this particular scene and I had quiet the mental struggle deciding wether I should built up to this or include this. But, I feel like I should bc its something close to my heart… I hope I do it justice. Bc lately i’ve been feeling like my writings been shit. I tried guys.

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Her touch

Link woke up to a bright light behind his shut eyelids.

He opened his eyes, squinting at the white glow on the other end of the room where his latest “interrogation” took place. Even with all the light, however, he couldn’t stop himself from widening his eyes in surprise for a second when he realized what it was.

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Inspired Encounter #19

imade credit: Menterart

(Thank you, Menterart for the submitted artwork! Sorry I was late to finish this but between Inktober and work I haven’t had much time to brew!)

Sibillon was a psion who attempted to become a Psion Uncarnate, shedding his mortal form to become a perfect, disembodied mental force. However, his process was misguided, as he inadvertently transformed himself into a shadowy vestige of his former self. He still can access several of his powers, but he has lost parts of his memory preventing him for reaching his full potential in this form. Not to mention his newfound hunger for psionic energy.

To sate his hunger, he emerges from the shambled remains of his tower each night and floats to the nearby village to prey on those wandering alone. Most victims barely remember being attacked thanks to his Suggestion ability that he uses to lure them into his chilling caress. If anyone sees him or tries to run, he will use either his Death Urge or Psychic Crush abilities to stop them in their tracks. He uses these abilities sparingly as they are draining on his well of psionic energy that keeps his spectral form together. Even so, wisps of shadow seem to shed and spill from his body, forcing him to return to his tower to recover each dawn.

Sibillon, the Psychic Wraith (CR 7)

Medium Undead, lawful evil

AC: 15, HP: 90, Speed: 60 ft. fly

STR 11; DEX 14; CON 9; INT 16; WIS 10; CHA 13

Saving Throws: WIS +6, CHA +8

Skills: Perception +3

Resistances: Acid, Cold, Fire, Lightning, Thunder, nonmagical nonsilvered weapon damage. 

Immunities: Necrotic, Poison, charmed, exhausted, grappled, paralyzed, petrified, poisoned, prone, restrained

Vulnerabilities: Radiant

Senses: Darkvision 60 ft.

Sunlight Sensitivity: while in sunlight, Sibillon has disadvantage on attack rolls, and Perception checks relying on sight.

Incorporeal Movement: Sibillon can move through other creatures and objects as if they were difficult terrain. He takes 1d10 force damage if he ends his turn inside on object.


  • Mind Drain: Melee Weapon Attack: +6 to hit, reach 5 ft., one creature. Hit: 21 (3d10+4) Psychic damage. The target must succeed on a DC 15 WIS saving throw or its INT score is reduced by 1d3. This drain heals at a rate of 1 point per day. If the creature is reduced to 0 INT in this way, the creature falls into a coma and transforms into a wraith under Sibillon’s control 1 minute later. Sibillon can learn one fact of his choice about the creature each time the creature fails their saving throw against his Mind Drain attack.
  • Concussive Blast: Ranged Spell Attack: +5 to hit, range 60 ft., one creature. Hit: 23 (4d8+4) force damage.
  • Suggestion: 2/day. WIS save DC 15. As the Suggestion spell, except that it may affect up to three targets with the same suggestion.
  • Psychic Crush: 1/day. CHA save DC 15. Targets one creature. If the targets fails their saving throw, they are reduced to 0 HP and begins dying. If they are treated or recover naturally, they regain all the HP they had the turn before this ability was used. This effect requires Sibillon’s concentration.
  • Death Urge: 1/day. WIS save DC 15. Targets one creature. On a failed saving throw, the creature is consumed with an irresistible compulsion to commit suicide, and finds the quickest way possible to do so. They can use their Insight skill if they have several options to determine what they believe would be the most efficient way to do so, whether they jump off a nearby cliff or stab themselves with a dagger. The creature can make a save each round to end the effect. If they are reduced to 0 HP before the effect ends, the effect ends prematurely. Otherwise, this effect persists for 1 minute using Sibillon’s concentration.
Black, No Sugar


i have a history paper due tomorrow and you’re sitting beside one of the only outlets in this shop and also your taste in coffee is shit” (or something along those lines)

warnings: none 
word count: 1842
a/n: for the anon that asked for a coffee shop au. i hope you like it! 

The coffee shop is quiet. It’s one of the few reasons Bucky’s always here – it’s an escape from the usual mayhem at the tower, where Sam and Wanda are pranking him or Natasha and Clint are watching movies on full volume or Tony and Steve are yelling at each other regarding his accommodations. During the day, at least. At night, it serves as an elusion to his nightmares. A cup of coffee to keep him awake and some time alone to think, it’s all he needs.

He hasn’t slept in three days and his face is showing it: red-rimmed eyes with purple shadows beneath them. The lord knows he needs sleep, but the second he closes his eyes he’s clutching his sheets with knuckles as white as his face becomes, struggling to get air down his lungs as his heart threatens to hammer out of his chest and his throat feels like he’s swallowed hot rocks because he’s been screaming so loud.

It’s been three days since he’s so much as laid down in his bed, opting instead to come sit in the mildly comfortable chair of the small coffee shop across the street. It’s just past five in the evening, but the skies are grey and a mixture of rain and snow is pattering on the window beside Bucky. He stares outside, watching people walk past with shopping bags in their hands, squinting from the snow in their face, the occasional twinkle of a Christmas light shining in their eye.

“Mind if I sit here?” He turns around, bleary eyes settling on the form of a girl, maybe a couple years younger than him, with cheeks reddened by the winter wind and snowflakes dotting her hair and scarf.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, and almost reflexively his eyes scan the rest of the coffee shop. It’s full, but there are still enough empty seats for the girl to find one for herself, and anyone who wants to be near him despite the various other options is usually a threat. When he looks back at the girl, she’s flushing. “I don’t mean to intrude,” she says, gesturing to the outlet beside him. “It’s just, I have a paper to finish and the only other outlet in the coffee shop is beside them–“ she points to a group of formally dressed people, taking up all the seats around their table.

Despite his desire to be alone, Bucky finds himself nodding, and with a small, sincere “Thank you,” the girl sits down into the seat across from his, pulling out her laptop.

It’s silent after that. People filter in and out of the place, eventually dwindling down to maybe three or four, and Bucky and the girl. It’s dark out now, the snow beginning to pile up, and there are no more people walking outside for Bucky to look at.

“Do you do that often?” He turns to look at the girl. At some point she’d gotten up to get herself some coffee. Bucky’s own cup sat on the table, empty.

“Do what?” Bucky cringes at his own voice. It’s hoarse and raspy, like he hasn’t spoken in days. He hasn’t really. Most of the time he’s spent either shut up in his room, avoiding everyone, or in the coffee shop, people watching. No one’s talked to him until now.

A part of him wishes he could strike up conversations the way he used to be able to – the way James Buchanan Barnes used to be able to; with a flirty smile and the right words always up his sleeve. But the Winter Soldier didn’t converse. He– it– didn’t smile, or talk much, or feel much. Bucky’s not the Winter Soldier, not anymore, but he’s not James any more either, where the only thing he had to worry about was making sure he had enough money for Steve’s medication. He’s something in between, an indefinite identity. And god, he would do anything, anything, to be something more, but every time he goes to bed, he’s reminded of his past, of all the terrible things he’s done, of–

“Watch people.” He’s pulled from his thoughts by the girl, who’s looking at him with an expression on his face that he can’t quite place. Her voice is soft and calming, and it’s been so long since he’s heard someone talk to him without exasperation or annoyance or sadness or pity. He likes it.

He shrugs. “Sometimes,” he says, voice clipped. He wants to say more, keep the conversation going because it could be the first proper conversation he’s had in months, but its reflex to not talk to strangers, to not trust strangers. Her face falls, taking in his body language, the way his shoulders are hunched and his red eyes are scanning the room every now and then. The expression only lasts a fraction of a second, then she’s smiling and nodding and looking back at her computer screen, but Bucky catches it.

“What’s your name?” He blurts.

She looks surprised as she looks at him again over the top of her laptop, before her features settle into warm smile. “Y/N. It’s Y/N. What’s yours?”


And then they’re talking. He asks her what she’s working on. It’s a paper, on the Second World War, she answers, and is he interested? And then he’s telling her all about it, he’s a history major and he’s done all sorts of readings on it, and actually that fact is wrong and this is what actually happened, and for the first time in so long he feels relaxed. He’s tired as hell and the lord knows he needs to sleep but in the moment he feels nothing but calm, and maybe a little bit excited because there’s a girl in front of him listening to him, looking at him with the most genuine expression of interest on her face, and god, for once he feels like he’s helping someone, even if it’s a history student that has a paper due tomorrow.

He watches her as she notes down everything he’s saying, from the smallest facts to books that she should take a look at, with pure admiration on his face, because this is the first person to not cower away from his blank, tired face or talk to him in clipped, cautionary tones or look at him with pity in their eyes. There’s a feeling bubbling up in his chest and it’s warm and comfortable and – and he’s smiling.  

“What?” She asks, and there’s a flush rising to her cheeks and Bucky realizes that she’s caught him staring.

He coughs, eyes widening fractionally before his expression goes back to stoic. (The warmth in his chest is still there, though.) “Nothing.” He looks away.

“Bucky,” she says. He turns his head back towards her, eyebrows up in question. “Thank you. So much.” She smiles and he’s smiling back again, and she stands up and begins to pack up and his eyes go wide. He’s being stupid, he knows as much, but he doesn’t want her to leave.

She packs everything up and then turns to him. “How do you like your coffee?”


She laughs, then repeats, “How do you like your coffee?”

He scratches his forehead. “Black, no sugar, why?”

She scrunches up her nose in disgust, and Bucky finds himself laughing. It’s a foreign sound, even to his ears. He watches her rush towards the counter and come back with a drink in her hand. She thrusts it towards him and he wants to say no, that he can’t take it, but she’s holding it out to him with a pleading expression, so he reaches up and wraps his gloved fingers around it.  

“Thanks,” he whispers.

She smiles and leaves without another word.

He’s back at the coffee shop everyday after that, half hoping to find the girl there again. She isn’t there. Not the next day, or the day after, or the day after that, or the day after that. It’s been five days since he’s met her – Y/N  – and the initial disappointment that filled him has slowly ebbed away. Bucky’s back to staring out the window, watching people go by.

It’s nearly eleven p.m., and Bucky’s getting up to throw out his fifth cup of coffee before he heads back to the tower. His coat is wrapped tightly around him, gloved hands shoved into his pockets, and eyes cast down. He about ready to leave the shop, standing with his shoulder ready to push the door, when it opens. Bucky barely has time to register what’s happening before there are arms wrapped around him, squeezing.

His first reflex is to push the person off of him, until he hears their voice.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” It’s Y/N. She lets him go and takes a step back with the brightest smile on her face, thrusting a wad of papers towards him. “I got an A, all thanks to you!”

He feels the laughter bubbling up inside of him, and then he’s laughing, hard, and there are tears forming inside his eyes and he can’t stop laughing and she’s smiling.

“What? What’s so funny?”  

He waits until his laughter dies down, then, “I’ve never seen someone so happy about a grade, is all.”

She flushes, and punches his arm. He laughs again. “I’m joking, great job.”

Y/N smiles, and he turns to head out again because as much as he wants to stay here, he really needs to get back to the tower.

“Bucky?” He stops. “Meet me here tomorrow, at seven?” He smiles, nods, and leaves, heading back to the tower.

The first thing Bucky notices when he enters the coffee shop is that he’s the only customer. There’s nobody there but two baristas who smile and welcome him.

The second thing he notices is that he’s the only customer. Y/N’s not there. Maybe she’s late, he reminds himself. She’s probably on her way. He makes his way over to his usual table.

The third thing he notices is the cup of coffee on the table, holding down a folded slip of paper. Bucky’s name is scrawled on it.

With eyebrows knit together, he takes a seat and unfolds the slip. There’s a number written across the top, then a note.

Hi Bucky,

I’m so sorry I had to run, and I didn’t have your number to let you know. Here’s mine. I promise I’ll make it up to you: Saturday at 8 at the diner across the street? 

Sorry again,

P.S. The coffee is just the way you like it. =)

He can’t stop the smile that makes its way onto his face as he finishes reading the note. He sits down, shoulders feeling lighter, and takes a sip of the coffee.

It’s black. No sugar.

Bucky pulls out his phone, heart pounding with a rush of anxiety and excitement as he types:

It’s a date.


Two magicians shall appear in England…
The first shall fear me; the second shall long to behold me;
The first shall be governed by thieves and murderers;
the second shall conspire at his own destruction;
The first shall bury his heart in a dark wood beneath the snow, yet still feel its ache;
The second shall see his dearest posession in his enemy’s hand…

The first shall bury his heart in a dark wood beneath the snow, yet still feel its ache;
The second shall see his dearest posession in his enemy’s hand…

The first shall pass his life alone; he shall be his own gaoler;
The second shall tread lonely roads, the storm above his head,
seeking a dark tower upon a high hillside…

I sit upon a black throne in the shadows but they shall not see me.
The rain shall make a door for me and I shall pass through it;
The stones shall make a throne for me and I shall sit upon it…

The nameless slave shall wear a silver crown
The nameless slave shall be a king in a strange country…

“Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell” by Susanna Clarke


They don’t see my face any more, only hands that hold out coin to them.
                                  The faceless king. So be it…

His Everything

Request: hey! can you do an imagine with bucky where you work with the avengers and its your job to help him adjust and he falls for you! thanks! 

Word Count: 1449

A/N: So…I’m still really obsessed with the song “When the Day Met the Night” by Panic! At the Disco so this story is inspired off of that. Enjoy :)

Originally posted by livianne-grey

Bucky saw himself as a lost cause, a hopeless individual who couldn’t be salvaged from his past. He felt like he was barely hanging on. While he was able to break through from Hydra’s programming, he couldn’t shake off the shadows of his life before as the constant fear of becoming the Winter Soldier again lingered in his mind. This caused him to close himself from everyone, including Steve. Bucky isolated himself and he was perfectly fine being alone as he transitioned to his new life at the Avengers Tower.

…And then you came along.

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Offer Me

The amazing @raven-brings-light requested "offer me”. This is for you (I so hope you don’t mind Loki+lip balm) + a hug for writing such a beautiful fic for me eeeeeee!! 

(this is a little mix of classic Myth type thing and more modern. Sorry for getting names of places wrong!!)


When I turned eighteen, my father gave me a pet Jotun. His name was Loki. The Jotuns, they migrate, just like birds do, when their treacherous  land turns too cold and steals the life away from their lips in their sleep, in that point when all dreams turn to black and vibrate with a melodious silence. He fled Jotunheim with his mother, who perished on the fourth day. Loki was captured two days later and was sent to be sold on our markets as a slave. My father told me that the men who captured him said his black-black lashes were coated with frost clear as water and that the breath of winter itself escaped from his lips and turned their hearts cold and lonely.  

“My lonely boy,” my father said to me, “gone for hours on end with only the skies and the hushed fields to keep you company, only the lakes to reflect your smile, only the caves to echo your laughter. One must never journey through this life alone. Therefore I gift you with a living heart, one you can share your thoughts and memories with. Close he is to your age, and he cannot judge, for he does not speak our language. Teach him, if you so wish, yet remember this: once you gift him with the gift of language, he may ask things of you that you will not wish to give. He may ask for the gift of freedom, my son. What will you do then?”

I loved roaming the fields of our beautiful lands, gathering pollen on my lashes and soft petals on my shoulders, tricking servants sent after me to fetch me back to the palace, making myself invisible to them in all those never-ending fields of wheat glittering like gold in the light, and arriving at the gates just before the sun goes down, breath tickly in my throat, ankles blazing red and sore, the sunlight still sticking to the sides of my neck. I was always alone, but then I had Loki and I took him everywhere I went. I’d watch the shadows of the branches paint ancient tales over the pale skin of his shoulders and arms, I’d feel the ends of his black tunic getting caught in the wind and brushing the sensitive skin of my calves, I’d listen to the sound the flowers would omit when he’d brush them with his fingertips and tip them over like a crumbling tower just to gently push them the other way and have them stand upright again, and I’d study his eyes as they’d touch with their gaze a ray of light fallen over a coarse tree bark, the airy wings of a butterfly caught in the breeze, the corner of a soon to be purple sky closing around a silver half-moon.

Two years later, father had sent me to Midgard, a short stay, to learn the ways of those I was destined to protect. Loki came with me and we found a place to stay, a little apartment, squeezed between so many other grey buildings it was impossible to see the sky. I’d find Loki sitting on the windowsill , his legs crossed, the vertebras visible through the thin fabric of the t-shirts he’d wear, his face turned up, lashes longing to feel the touch of a breeze upon them, eyes missing those shades of blue, and other shades, darker, of times long gone.

We’d walk the streets whenever we could. Loki couldn’t bear staying indoors in the summer. We’d walk side by side, shoulders touching, his gentle silence an entire dialogue between us.  The language of Asgard was soft and silky in his mouth, yet he felt uneasy speaking the words. They felt different to him, so unlike the heavy and sharp rhythm of the language they spoke in Jotunheim. So we invented our own language without even knowing it, a language invented by the passage of time and our need to know each other’s hearts. He’d see something and he’d look at me and I’d know what that thing meant to him, how it caressed his heart and left traces there. He’d smile and I’d know if it was a playful smile, shy, happy or melancholy, that smile you give someone when your heart feels like it bears the weight of the entire world yet you don’t want that someone to know how much it hurts.

We’d visit stores and he’d touch whatever he could, lips parted, blinking softly, fingers trailing over vases, books, picture frames and plastic roses.

It was on one of our trips to one store or another one summer’s day when I found him admiring a little tube of lip balm. The tube was made of the thinnest plastic and was light silver. Inside, the lip balm itself was pale-blue. The name printed on it was visage. It smelled like flowers and Loki had his eyes closed, peach colored lids gently covering pale irises lost in memories.

I stood next to him under the harsh neon lights and searched his face. He felt me looking at him and opened his eyes, fingers lightly closing around the sleek tube.

“This made you remember something. The smell of it. I could see it in your face,” I said quietly, “what did you remember?”

And Loki held the tube pressed to his palm with his thumb so he could gesticulate and used both hands to form flowers. And his fingers moving, along with lights, left silvery imprints of petals in the air.

He let his hands fall slowly and his next blink was sad. He looked down and when he raised his eyes to me again, there was a tiny raise to his eyebrows and he rolled the little tube in his palm with his fingertips and I knew what he asking.

“Sure, we can get this,” I said and he pressed his lips together with glee.

He’d wear it all the time. It would make his lips look wet and cool and if the light hit at the right angle one could see the tiny freckles of silver embedded in the airy texture of the balm. It kept his lips protected from the heat and when the fall arrived, we got him another one, it was the last one they had left and we almost couldn’t find it.

When fall would arrive, Loki’s hair would begin to grow at an alarming rate. It always happened. It would go from shoulder-length to touching his hipbones in under a month. It was his kind’s way of getting ready for the cruel winds and bone-chilling cold of the winter in Jotunheim. When we were living in Asgard, I’d chop it off with my dagger. There, on Midgard I’d use a pair of scissors. The blades would flash again and again and little by little I’d start to see his vertebras and then the back of his neck. It always pained me to do this, but brushing it in the mornings was hard for him and without words he’d ask for my help.

When it’d get cold, he’d sleep for hours on end. When he’d be awake, I’d find him in that same spot on the windowsill, looking for the skies. And when it would get dark and I’d go to sleep, he’d sit on the floor, uncap the lip balm and draw on the walls. The lip balm had a bit of a tint to it and Loki would draw with the sweet taste of it on his lips and the sugary scent of it in his lungs; he’d draw crooked trees and fragile lakes, flowers growing on stones and mountains dusted with sleep, the Jotunheim he so missed. They’d all be gone by morning; he would use the inner part of his wrist to wipe everything off but the scent would linger and fill my heart with sadness.

My father was right. Loki never voiced it with words, but the time came when he had asked me for the gift of freedom. And as much as I loved him, I could not refuse giving it to him.

On a lonely white hill in the heart of Jotunheim, we said goodbye. To this day, I still remember the sight of his long black hair dancing in the wind and the taste of the beautiful flowers of Jotunheim on my lips.  



WARNINGS: swearing


It was a Friday when the jealousy began to creep its way into Draco Malfoy’s chest.

He had never been one to show emotion - let alone admit to himself that he felt anything besides spite. But whenever he looked at her, his heart palpitated in his chest like helicopter propellers.

That day, in Charms class, Draco began to go mad.

Flitwick had asked the students to turn water into rum, and, like always, Neville Longbottom could not get it right. He tried and tried and tried but his wand did not agree with his wrist. 

Naturally, Y/N had finished first, and was then walking around helping others, as requested by Professor Flitwick. Draco watched her float across the other side of the room. He thought about how her hair fell perfectly onto her shoulders; how her lips were so plump and oh so pink. 

She approached Neville.

“Hi, Neville. Do you need some help?” she asked.

“Hi Y/N.” he replied. “That would be great, thanks.”

Draco swallowed across the room as he watched her wrap her delicate fingers around Neville’s wrist and help him flick his wand right. She was standing so close to him - he could probably smell her hair. A knot formed in Draco’s stomach.

Draco could’ve used some rum right about then.

“Dude.” Blaise Zabini interjected, snapping Draco out of his haze.

“What?” he replied, staring at his friend.

“What’s the matter with you?” 

Draco shook his head. “Nothing, nothing.”

Blaise’s gaze travelled to where Neville and Y/N were now laughing about something, still standing in close proximity.

“You were staring at Longbottom and the Hufflefluff.” Blaise said, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, shove it, Blaise.”

Over the weekend, Draco had managed to swallow the hot ball of jealousy that had begun to swell in his throat. He didn’t see Y/N, which helped to an extent. But, it did not stop him from picturing her with Neville Longbottom.

On Monday, the pictures in his mind became real again.

It was a bustling, early morning in the Great Hall and Draco had been pushing his eggs around on his plate while staring mindlessly down at it. He had disregarded Pansy Parkinson’s concern by clearly overusing the word tired.

He was just about to scream at Pansy for smothering him when he heard an unmistakable, velvety laugh that came from the Gryffindor table.

His head snapped up, searching for Y/N. He had no clue why her voice wasn’t coming from the Hufflepuff table - but his question was answered very quickly.

Y/N was sat next to Neville, both of them bent over a book that laid open on the table. Their knees bumped as she leaned over and pointed to something in the book. Neville was laughing, and Y/N had a wide smile spread across her mouth.

Draco’s lips parted and he couldn’t quite seem to pry his eyes away from the two of them. His blood felt as if it had tripled in heat; his throat felt as if it had dropped to the pit of his stomach.

Their skin was inches apart. Draco sharply inhaled as Y/N whispered something into Neville’s ear, which resulted in the clumsy Gryffindor almost spitting out his drink while laughing.

Draco couldn’t watch anymore. He got up from the Slytherin table and walked out of the Great Hall.

After a long day of classes, Draco made his way over to the library to check out a book on Divination. Professor Trelawney had informed him that he was on the verge of failing the class, which threw him into an even worse mood than he had already been in.

His heart seemed to stop for a moment when he saw Y/N, alone, browsing the shelves. He was about to leave, but before he knew it, he was walking up to her.

“Hi.” he choked out.

She turned, lips parted in surprise. “Hi.”

“I’m Draco.”

She smiled, causing Draco’s heart to flutter. “I know.”

He swallowed, “Y/N, right?”

She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah.”

“Um,” Draco said, trying to prevent an uncomfortable silence from forming. “Would you mind helping me find a book? I don’t think I’ve actually used the library before.”

Y/N’s eyes seemed to light up at the mention of books, despite already being surrounded by them. The corners of her mouth turn up into a grin.

Draco then discovered something: Her smile was very contagious. 

“Yeah! What did you want to find?” she said, turning away from the bookshelf so her whole body was facing Draco.

“Something on Divination.” he said, looking down, into her eyes. “I’m… failing Trelawney’s class.”

“Okay.” she said, and started walking to another section of the library. Draco followed.

She turned into an aisle that almost went up to the ceiling with bookshelves. Y/N strolled through, dragging her thin fingers along the book spines until she stopped, her eyes catching on a book on one of the higher shelves.

She rose up to her tiptoes and reached for it. Draco’s eyes fell onto her waist, where her untucked uniform shirt had risen, exposing a thin sliver of skin. He looked away immediately, feeling guilty for seeing that.

“Here.” she said, handing him a thick book that felt quite heavy.

“Thank you.” he said, turning the book over in his hands. “I’m absolute shit at Divination.”

Y/N hesitated, before saying, “I’m actually pretty good at it. I could help you out, if you’d like.”

Draco had never felt himself smile so wide. “I’d really like that.”

Over the next few weeks, Draco and Y/N became more familiar with each other. They met four times a week, either in the library or on the Astronomy tower. She taught him how the stars aligned in the sky and what the bottom of tea cups symbolized. Draco had evidently improved in his Divination class, and he got happier with each good mark he received on an exam.

And he was convinced that he was falling in love with her.

Draco had picked up a few signs that Y/N might return his feelings, like the way she blushed when he told her how good she was at Divination, or how she constantly brushed hands with him while explaining things in the textbook.

And then there was that day that he completely mortified himself in front of her.

He had gotten a perfect score on a Divination exam, and was ecstatic to tell Y/N at their tutoring session that night.

“Y/N!” he yelled, clambering onto the roof of the Astronomy tower. “Guess what I got on the exam!”

“What?” she said, standing up off the bench she had been reading on.

“A hundred percent!” he said, grin plastered on his face, running over to her.

“That’s amazing!” she said, bringing Draco into a tight hug.

He was caught off guard at the embrace, but squeezed her back right away.

Then he kissed her on the cheek.

The two of them broke away from the hug and stared at each other. Draco felt the heat rapidly rising to his pale cheeks. Y/N turned away, tugging on the yellow and grey striped tie around her neck.

A thick silence filled the air, and Draco attempted to swallow the lump in his throat.

“So… I guess you don’t need a tutor anymore.” Y/N said, softly, avoiding Draco’s eyes.

His heart sank, as he sighed. “I guess not.”

She finally met his blue-grey eyes, and Draco awkwardly bit his lip, before saying, “Well, thank you… for helping me out.”

She nodded. “Yeah, of course.” she said, along with a small smile.

“I’ll see you around.” Draco said, backing up towards the door.

The night air lifted Y/N’s hair off her shoulders as she pressed her lips together and replied, “Yeah. Bye.”


He turned around and left.

Over the next few days, Draco sank back into a state of loneliness and regret. He felt like an idiot for kissing her, as she did not seem to respond as if she liked it.

One day, he was on his way to the Great Hall, when he passed Y/N, who was walking with Neville, in Draco’s direction.

The feeling of jealousy kicked back into to Draco’s chest like restarting a car.

When Y/N saw him, she didn’t look away. She was about to call out to him, but Draco quickly looked away and rushed off in the opposite direction. She sighed.

“You talk to Malfoy?” Neville asked, looking confused.

She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

Draco was shaking with envy. He wanted to scream at her. He had thought that she liked him, but now felt like an absolute moron for even believing in the chance that she might.

He needed closure. If he kept wrecking his mind with the image of her with Neville, and flashbacks of the incident on the Astronomy tower, he was bound to go mad.

He found her the next day under a tree outside the castle. She was alone this time, reading a book. His legs walked over to her before he could ready himself.

She looked up when she sensed his shadow.

“I need to talk to you.” he said, running a trembling hand through his blonde locks.

Y/N closed her book. “Okay.”

He sat down on the grass, crossing his legs and facing her. Draco took a breath.

“I really like you. You’re incredibly beautiful and I get nervous when I’m around you and I want to be with you all the time. And I see you with Longbottom and I get this aching feeling in my chest and you’re so smart and funny and-”

Y/N leaned over and kissed him quickly on the lips.

When she pulled back, Draco’s cheeks were stained a startling shade of pink.

“You’re cute when you ramble.” she said, smiling.

Draco laughed nervously, not knowing what to say.

“And Neville and I are just friends.” she reassured.

Draco smiled. “Really?”

“Yeah.” she said, biting her bottom lip.

And in that moment, Draco was glad Y/N had taught him so much about divination, because he was sure he could see the future unfolding in front of them.

thanks for reading!! i hope you enjoyed. i’m currently working on a bunch of requests: both draco & newt, so look out for those!! xx

(p.s. i have nothing against hufflepuffs & just thought that “hufflefluff” was something zabini would say :) )

There Was Something In My Aunt’s Basement

When Aunt Norma asked me to house sit, I was hesitant. She lived in a large, old Victorian set out in the woods, the kind of place that gave me the chills just driving by. The thought of being alone inside of it, surrounded by her antiques and hunting trophies, had beads of nervous sweat breaking out across my forehead. When I told Dad that I was thinking of saying no, that I was uncomfortable, he scoffed at me.

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