sorry to the person who's idea this was for mangling it

Work It Out

In which Eric Bittle officially comes out to his Mama. 

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It was only hours into Christmas vacation and the Bittle Family’s quaint, sunshine yellow kitchen was already overflowing with every kind of pie-like confection imaginable. Apple. Cherry. Rhubarb. You name it, and it was probably perched on one of the many crowded windowsills.

This increased state of pie productivity was due in part to the fact that the elder Bittle had missed her son/best friend/partner in sugary crime something fierce while he was away at college, but it was mostly just because Eric himself was more nervous than he’d ever been in his whole life.

Today was the day. Today was the day he would tell her about Jack.

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anonymous asked:

Something that will always confuse me is how Ishida implies that Hide is important to Kaneki yet Hide appears so little in the manga that he's very easily forgotten, at least I easily forgot about him and I never really thought that he was /that/ important to Kaneki until chapter 75 :re and that really took me by surprise. Something else that really didn't make me think of Hide as that important was that Kaneki didn't think of him when he 'died' like with everyone else. Strange relationship. :O

So weird, I was just thinking about a question I answered like this last night and woke up to a new one lol :’)

But anyway, Hide was Kaneki’s singular means of support during his extremely important formative years as a child, and they were best friends for more than ten years. Ishida just said recently, “Kaneki would be a lot more depressed if it wasn’t for him”.

If I could speak very personally for a moment, just for the sake of example, my dad died suddenly from an aneurysm on my birthday 13 years ago. I still can’t remember that night– only little flickers of what happened, because it was traumatic. I also spent ten years aggressively trying to block out and hide away anything that had to do with my dad, because I hated the way his passing hurt me and hurt my family; I hated crying, I hated feeling scared, I hated feeling that physical pain in my chest… so I tried to ignore it (turns out did more damage than good– surprise!).

So now consider Kaneki, who is not only grieving the loss of his best friend, but trying to block out the thought that he might’ve killed him. Kaneki isn’t thinking about him or talking about him because it hurts and he doesn’t want to. He’s even twisted the memory into Hide offering himself– taking the pressure off himself by making Hide a hero instead– but still not enough to bring the whole memory back. 

Basically, Hide is still extremely important to Kaneki. The thought of him is what saved Kaneki against Arima twice. He just can’t bear the idea that it might be his fault that he’s gone, so his brain has mangled the memory and hid it away in order to protect him from even more pain. Kaneki is purposefully not thinking or talking about him because he’s grieving and it hurts

Wildflower // Chapter One

Author’s Note: So, this is going to be a Jughead/OC story. I’ve ALWAYS loved Betty/Jughead from the time I was a kid when I read the comics but I couldn’t help but create an OC after watching Riverdae SOLELY for my own entertainment. Hope you guys like it!

Enjoy!


A warm breeze blew through Marley Morrison’s long, blonde hair as she made her way down Heath Street towards Betty Cooper’s house. It was early, too early if she was honest but it was the first day of school – the official end of summer vacation – and though that thought was enough to make her cry, the thought of seeing Betty and the rest of the gang put an extra little pep in her step.

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7

I don’t know if this is common knowledge or not, but this scene here is the first, and only time Edward cries in the series. From the day he and Al burned down their home until now, this is the only time.

Ed didn’t cry when he and Al discovered what had become of Nina. He didn’t cry when she was killed. He didn’t cry when Scar destroyed most of Al’s body, or when Scar was moments away from killing him. He didn’t cry when Al accused him of creating a fake soul and binding it to armor, of inventing a brother as some kind of sick joke. He didn’t cry when he learned Hughes had died, or when he confronted Gracia and admitted the murder was likely his fault. He didn’t cry listening to Al admit that he was at his wit’s end, that he couldn’t stand all the nights alone anymore. 

He didn’t cry when he learned Scar had killed the Rockbells after saving his life, or when Hohenheim accused him of running away. He didn’t cry when he discovered the thing he’d transmuted wasn’t actually Trisha, or when Envy told him they were doomed to die inside Gluttony’s failed portal, or when Bradley took Winry hostage, or when the fight with Kimblee left him with a ten foot steel beam puncturing his side. He didn’t cry when Pride hijacked Al’s lifeless body, or when he let Al be locked up in total darkness with Pride, or when Father took them captive and used them to kill everyone in Amestris.

And he didn’t cry when Al sacrificed his own soul to save Ed’s life.

No. He’s gotten angry; he’s yelled; he’s exploded, but he’s never cried. This is the only time, and it’s when Hohenheim tells Ed to his face that he loves them, more than anything in the world, and only wants for them to be happy—that everything that happened had been his fault, as their father, as an adult, as the one who should have been protecting them, and not Ed’s.

And Ed bawls.

Here’s why: Ed hates Hohenheim, and will easily admit it, but he doesn’t hate Hohenheim in the way he hates other people. Ed enjoys talking smack about those he genuinely hates—he’ll talk about wanting to beat Scar bloody for everything he’s done, and wanting to kick the homunculi’s asses for trying to use him and Al as pawns. Hell, he even enjoys jabbing at Roy for the personality traits he dislikes. Hohenheim is different though. Hohenheim is the only person Ed hates that he also hates talking about. Every time Hohenheim is mentioned, Ed responds with a quick, scathing comment about the man and desperately changes the subject.

And this is all because Ed doesn’t feel right about his hatred toward Hohenheim. For all the others, Ed hates them from a blameless position. The homunculi hurt innocent people, as does Scar, as does Kimblee. Ed securely knows he’s the good guy who hates these bad guys. He’s the moral one, the blameless one, pushing back against a truly antagonistic force. And this is what Hohenheim is not. All of Ed’s hatred toward Hohenheim stems from a place of projected guilt and self-loathing. Ed decided to try to bring Trisha back to life. Ed performed the transmutation that got Al’s body taken away. Ed burned down their home and enlisted in the military, and Ed agreed to do awful things in order to try to fix what he’d done to Al. But, if Ed dials everything backwards, he can almost justify rooting this in the fact that Hohenheim left them first.

If Hohenheim had stuck around, maybe Trisha wouldn’t have died. And if she had, Hohenheim could have stopped Ed and Al from doing something so reckless as human transmutation. He’s their father after all. He’s supposed to be responsible for them. But he left, so Ed can almost rationalize the idea that it was Hohenheim’s leaving that led to everything bad in the brothers’ lives.

Ed knows this is grasping though, and he clings to it in part because he’s convinced Hohenheim hates him too. The clearest memory Ed has of his father is from the morning he left, standing stiff at the doorway, glaring down at Ed before heading out the door and never returning. (A glare which we later learn was the result of Hohenheim furiously holding back tears). Clearly, Hohenheim hated Ed and Al and Trisha enough to just walk out the door one day without saying goodbye. Ed’s probably spent a lot of sleepless nights wondering what they’d done wrong as a family—what he’d done wrong as a son—to make his own father not want him anymore.

So when Ed talks about how he hates Hohenheim, it’s 100% intertwined with a hatred he feels for himself. And it’s an insecurity Ed would never, ever admit to.

Meeting Hohenheim again in episode 20 only works to confirm Ed’s fears. Hohenheim is unbelievably cold to him—Hohenheim confirms that, yes, all of this was Ed’s fault. Ed committed the taboo; Ed burned down their home as a means of hiding the memory. He’s disappointed in Ed. He hates him as a son. And he leaves, again, without goodbye, because Hohenheim didn’t return home with any sort of change of heart.

Learning the truth about Hohenheim only serves to scramble Ed’s feelings. He’s confused; he’s uncertain. He can rationalize Hohenheim’s departure in the context of preparing the counter-transmutation circle, but what about his memories of the man who glared at him, filled with hatred, and left? What about the man who accused him of being a scared, stupid child who’s to blame for all his failures? What about the man who—if only he’d stuck around—could maybe have stopped Ed from doing all of this? The truth makes sense, but it does nothing to alleviate all the guilt and self-hatred Ed feels in relation to Hohenheim, so he doesn’t soften to his father like Al does.

Until this scene.

Until finally, Hohenheim says everything Ed’s desperately wanted to believe for the past ten years. Hohenheim loves him. Hohenheim cares about him. Hohenheim blames himself for what happened—he should have been around for Ed and Al, he should have been there to stop them from doing the impossible, he should have been their father. He wanted to. More than anything in the world, he wanted to just be there for them. Their family was everything Hohenheim had loved in life, and he’s sorry, from the bottom of his heart he is sorry, for how he left them behind. So sorry, that he wants to sacrifice his life in order to fix what little of it he can.

And that’s what breaks Ed. He was strong enough not to cry at any other time, for any other reason, but in these few panels Hohenheim destroys the mangled, tortured sense of fear and guilt and self-loathing that Ed had been harboring for a decade. Hohenheim loves him. Hohenheim is happy to be Ed’s father, proud, and so so sorry.

For the first time, Ed cries. Because for the first time, he feels like he can call Hohenheim “Dad”.

sansapotter  asked:

jon x sansa brown please :)

SOOO this kind of came out differently than I expected but I hope you like it!! And thank you for sending a prompt in <3 

+ colour au prompts + 


It’s a Monday morning when he stumbles into her coffee shop with a dark purpling bruise along his jawline and a white bandage covering the bridge of his nose. Sansa has seen a lot of strange people during the morning coffee rush – mostly disheveled and grumpy adults and occasionally the bleary-eyed student who hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours – but he’s certainly new. Sansa keeps him in her peripheral throughout the half hour he spends in her shop. She tries to tell herself it’s because he looks dodgy, but another part of her brain – the part that’s been single for over a year – traitorously tells her it’s because he’s got sinfully full lips.

She doesn’t expect to see him again after he drags himself back out into the world, but Thursday morning, he wanders back in. This time, the bruise is mottled with various shades of green and yellow. The bandage is gone from his nose but there’s a deep scabbed over gash across it. He still looks like shit, but better. Sansa is itching to ask him what happened when he comes up to the register and orders a large black coffee.

“Name?” she asks, pen poised over the coffee cup. He blinks back at her like he doesn’t understand her question and she has to refrain from laughing. “Your name. You do have one, don’t you?”

“Uh… my name,” he repeats slowly, but then his eyes widen in understanding. “Oh, it’s – uh, it’s Jon. Sorry,” he adds sheepishly, lifting his hand to rub at the back of his neck, but the action causes him to wince and he drops it by his side. Interesting, Sansa can’t help but note to herself.

She smiles softly, waves his apology off and writes Jon in her neatest cursive.

It’s really hard to get him out of her head. Sansa even dreams of curly black hair, deep grey eyes and those unfairly tantalising lips. Men who look like him should not have lips like that. It’s really cruel.

Jon is back again on Monday, and this time, his bottom lip is split and there’s ugly red bruising around his left eye. Add all of that with last week’s previous injuries and he looks utterly terrifying. People in the queue, who are normally so tired they can barely muster up the energy to trudge forward, give him a wide berth, like they’re afraid he might suddenly focus his fury on them. But he doesn’t look angry or violent. There’s a softness in his grey eyes and around the curve of his lips when he catches her eye and smiles. It makes Sansa refuse to believe it. She really shouldn’t be so quick to give a stranger the benefit of the doubt, especially not after sweet-talking Joffrey turned out to be such an arrogant, horrible wanker, but something about Jon is different.

When he reaches the register, Sansa gives him a slow once-over, which has him flushing from the neck to the tips of his ears. “How are you, Jon?” she asks, because she doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t want to tell him he looks like shit in case whatever’s happening is really bad nor does she want to outright ask him in case she’s wrong and he’s the bad thing that’s happening.

Jon looks surprised that she remembers his name and flushes even more. “I’m okay. Um, tired. How are you…” He squints at her nametag, which is a bit mangled from her accidentally throwing it in the washing machine a couple months earlier. “Sorsa?”

Surprising herself, she giggles at his poor attempt. “It’s Sansa. But close. Large black?”

He nods with a small smile.

When Jon shows up the following Monday with even more injuries, Sansa decides she needs to do something subtle because she’s positive he’s not the type of guy to get into bar brawls on the weekends for the hell of it. If he fights someone, there has to be a good, honourable reason for it. But in a distant part of her brain, she can hear her older brother chiding her for being so trusting of a man she barely knows, except Sansa does know him. After last Monday, he came in every day of that week, sometimes in the mornings and sometimes in the afternoons, but he would always spend time just talking to her. He’s courteous and sweet, a little bit awkward and kind of horrible with women, but it’s endearing rather than annoying. There’s no way someone like Jon could ever be the instigator of a fight unless provoked.

Jon returns again the next afternoon sporting his new injury – a slight limp – and Sansa asks Jeyne to cover for her as she grabs him by the forearm and drags him into the staff room. She sits him down and starts speaking without preamble.

“I need to know if I should be worried about you or if I should be worried about me.” When he only blinks back at her dumbly, Sansa sighs in frustration. “Jon, I know you don’t really know me very well but if something bad is happening, I can… I don’t know. I can help you.”

He inclines his head as if to study her, a mixture of bemusement and fondness on his face, and it kind of unsettles Sansa because she doesn’t really know how to handle that. No one’s ever looked at her like that before, not even Joffrey, and it’s hard to process that it’s coming from this virtual stranger.

“You’re worried about me?” Jon questions, but when she answers his question with a scowl, he chuckles softly. “Sorry. I guess I look a bit worrying, don’t I?”

“You could say that,” she deadpans, eyes roving over his injuries pointedly.

Jon laughs. “Okay, so this is going to be really anticlimactic for you but I’m apart of an amateur fighting ring.”

Oh.

“That was definitely not on my list.”

“What list?” he asks, smiling more broadly now, the amusement even more pronounced in those grey eyes.

Sansa huffs. “I might’ve made a list of all the possible reasons why you could be getting so frequently injured.”

Jon laughs and the sound is bright and warm, which has the effect of making Sansa smile in return in spite of the reddening of her cheeks and her sudden need to run away. She instead opts for a subject change. “So you’re in a fight club?”

“No,” he responds instantly, rolling his eyes slightly. “A fight club is just some asinine way for emotionally repressed guys to get their rocks off.”

Sansa can’t help the smirk unfurling on her lips because this is clearly a sore subject for him. “Okay, so what’s the difference?”

“I’m sponsored by a bar and I fight on the weekends for some extra cash,” Jon answers her. “It’s – yeah, it’s not ideal and you’re not the first person to come to me about it, but my mum died when I was seventeen and I needed the money.”

“Wait, you’ve been doing this since you were seventeen? Is that – that doesn’t sound legal, Jon!”

He shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. “So maybe I fibbed a bit about my age. I’m twenty-two now and I’ve only got a semester left of my degree so it’ll be over soon.”

She frowns slightly and reaches over to touch his hand. “That’s terrible. This shouldn’t be something you have to do just to afford university.”

“It’s okay, Sansa,” Jon says, curling his hand over hers. “I’m pretty good.” He cracks a half-smile. “You should see the other guys.”

She’s about to tell him off for the really poor joke when Jeyne pokes her head through the door. “Hate to break up the socially inept flirting you two do but Sans, I need you back out there. I’m dying.”

Both Sansa and Jon flush from head to toe. He’s the first to reach the door after Jeyne disappears and Sansa is right behind him. But before she can slip through, Jon puts his hand out to block her in. “Um, you should – if you want that is, come see me this weekend?”

Sansa scrunches up her nose in distaste. “I don’t know if I want to see you get beaten up, Jon.”

His face falls for a moment and he removes his hand from the door frame. “Yeah, of course. That’s… That’s normal.” He gives her a faint smile and leaves her standing there for a few more seconds before she’s racing up to catch up to him.

“But I’ll go,” she quickly assures him. “Only the once, okay? I need to make sure you’re telling the truth after all.”

Jon beams back at her and she considers going to every single match he has just to make him this happy – which she realises is an absurd thing to want for a man she hardly knows.

“Great. I’ll text you the details!”

And that’s how Jeyne and her find themselves standing in a smelly gym with loud, intimidating looking men and women, who are shouting and laughing boisterously. The stench of alcohol is everywhere and Sansa links her arm through Jeyne’s just to feel safer. “This is a bad idea,” she whispers. “This is a really bad idea. I don’t even know him.”

She can’t really see her as her eyes are focused on the people around them but she hears the exasperation in Jeyne’s voice and she can guess that her best friend is rolling her eyes. “Uhuh, but pining after him and worrying about him is also a really bad idea.”

“I wasn’t –”

“Yeah, okay, Sans,” Jeyne chuckles a bit sardonically. “You two were practically just making heart eyes at each other over the counter for three weeks straight. Please don’t insult my above average intelligence.”

Sansa snorts and bumps her hip against Jeyne’s. “Your ego is unbecoming.”

“Piss off.”

The familiar bickering allows Sansa to forget for awhile where she is and why she’s actually here, but abruptly, a tinny voice cuts across the conversation, announcing the match will start in ten minutes. Sansa grips Jeyne even tighter as they near the front, staring at the weird metallic cage built around the boxing ring.

“Uh, that’s not normal, is it?”

“I thought you said he was a boxer.”

“He said he was a fighter but… cage fighting?”

A burly man beside her whose copper hair could give hers a run for its money laughs loudly. “It’s MMA fighting, ladies.”

“What is that?” Jeyne says with a mixture of apprehension and annoyance.

“Mixed martial arts,” he answers, still smiling in amusement, but then his smile changes and she thinks he’s trying to look charming. “So if you don’t know what this is, what are two lovely girls such as yourselves doing here?”

“Hey mate, back off,” Jeyne says with a scowl. “I’m taken.” She isn’t. “And this one here’s future baby daddy is one of those MMA fighters.”

The man stares squarely at Sansa with such focus it really begins to unnerve her, but then just like before, he bursts out into a booming laugh. “Does that mean you’re Jon’s little coffee shop girl?”

“I wouldn’t call myself little,” she says, bristling; although she realises a little belatedly that she doesn’t correct the man on his mistake that she’s somehow involved with Jon.

“My apologies,” he says, but he doesn’t sound apologetic at all. “I’m Tormund,” he continues, thrusting out a hand for her to shake, which she does with some wariness. “I’m his trainer. That prick hasn’t stopped talking about you for weeks now. Bloody pathetic, honestly, but I can see why.”

“Oh my god, right?” Jeyne exclaims, suddenly forgetting her previous irritation with this man. “She’s been the same way! You’re lucky though. You haven’t had to watch them flirt. It’s like watching a cat trying to swim.”

Tormund laughs again but her glare cuts him off quite quickly.

“Both of you shut it or I swear –”

Her threat is rudely interrupted when the tinny voice returns, announcing the arrival of the two contenders. There’s a sudden increase in jeers and shouts. It’s a lot to take in, and a part of her wonders what on earth she’s doing here. Sansa is a good girl. She works at a coffee shop so her parents don’t have to pay for her accommodation and living costs. She’s in her final year of Primary Education because she adores children. Her last two boyfriends were straight-laced boys from well-to-do families. She doesn’t do things like this.

But a small voice reminds her that both her exes also cheated on her so maybe straight-laced and well-to-do shouldn’t be categories she bases her next boyfriend on. Maybe a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, who fights in a cage to put himself through school, is exactly what she should be looking for.

Pushing down the nerves fluttering in her stomach, Sansa cranes her neck to watch as Jon is escorted into the ring. His upper torso is bare and it makes her mouth go dry. She’s only ever seen him in hoodies. She knew he must have had a nice body considering how well his broad shoulders strained against his clothes, but to see it on display in front of her is quite frankly exhilarating in a way she’d never tell Jeyne about.

“Is your boy going to win?” Jeyne asks Tormund with a sceptical raise of her brow, voicing the question that’s been bouncing around in Sansa’s head all week. “Because that other dude looks like he could lift a car without breaking a sweat.”

She turns her head to catch sight of Jon’s opponent and her mouth gapes at the sheer size of him. Oh god, he’s going to die, she instantly thinks, and a sudden wave of panic and nausea sweeps through her body.

“Don’t be so quick to judge. He may look big but they are in the same weight class for a reason,” Tormund answers, smirking. This is basically gibberish to her because she doesn’t know what a weight class is, but when he adds, “Jon’s got moves,” Sansa is determined to believe him.

Twenty minutes into the fight and Jon’s moves have gotten him knocked square in the face and another one in the stomach. He’s bleeding from his forehead, but his eyes are focused. It’s surreal to see this side of him. She may have only known him for a couple of weeks, but the Jon she met is sweet, shy and endearingly awkward. This Jon is anything but awkward. His movements are precise, lithe and calculated. Where the other man has size and power, Jon has speed and brains. He doesn’t just aim his punches anywhere. He knows exactly where he wants to hit, delivers it at the most opportune moment and capitalises quickly at the moment of contact. It’s the most riveting thing Sansa’s ever watched – and she’s been to the West End multiple times.

“Your husband is amazing,” her friend whispers, awe in her voice.

Sansa rolls her eyes, even though there’s a small proud smile on her lips. “He’s not my husband. But yeah, yeah he’s great.”

Jeyne snorts, and thankfully, doesn’t say anything else, leaving her to watch the fight without interruption.

They’re nearing the end of the last round, which, Tormund explains, means that the judges will decide on the winner. She doesn’t know how that works either because how can anyone tell who’s winning at this point? They both seem fairly matched; although Sansa completely thinks Jon is the better fighter. He’s graceful and makes it look like a real sport, whereas the other man makes it look like a bar brawl.

Suddenly, Jon spins and delivers a kick to the man’s head, knocking him backwards onto the ground, where he swiftly begins to drive forward with punch after punch. The referee finally has to pull Jon away from the man, and then everyone’s screaming and trying to push forward.

“Wait, what just happened!” Sansa yells to Tormund, who is one of those people trying to get forward.

He looks back at Sansa, eyes taking her in as if for the first time and then his hand is around her wrist, pulling her with him. “Your boyfriend just won, Coffee Shop Girl. You should go say hi.”

Sansa doesn’t get a chance to protest or even process what’s happening until Tormund is shouting to someone and she’s being dragged up onto the stage. Jon is getting cleaned up, but when he catches sight of her, he instantly jumps to his feet and sways rather violently from the sudden movement. Sansa races forward to catch him.

“Don’t move,” she chides, frowning at his goofy grin. “Are you concussed? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jon steps back from her grasps with that strange smile still on his face. “You actually came.”

“I told you I would,” she says, rolling her eyes, but her heart is beating a mile a minute. She doesn’t even know how someone could have this much of an effect on her. “Seriously, Jon, are you okay?”

“And you’re worried about me,” he continues on, his smile growing wider and wider.

“Of course I’m worried! I saw you get punched in the head!” she half-shouts at him because now she’s a little frustrated and he’s being really, really irritating.

That wipes the smile instantly from his face as his hands go to her shoulders. “Sansa, I am fine, you know? This isn’t really the worst that’s ever happened to me in the ring. I’m okay.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs. “You don’t look okay.” She gestures to his forehead where the blood’s dried.

The smile he offers her now is more hesitant and shy and it reminds her of the Jon she knows from the coffee shop. “I’m sorry. I’m just really glad you came. I know you didn’t want to and this is probably not your scene but… it means a lot to me.”

“It’s not,” Sansa agrees, smiling. “But you were amazing tonight.”

“Thanks,” he says, cheeks flushed.

“But Jon?” she presses on, swallowing the fear lodged inside her throat. “This is the last time I’m coming to one of these.” His face falls and she can’t help laughing softly. “Next time, just ask me out on a normal date, okay? Less bloody.”

The relief on his face makes her heart swell with so much warmth and affection for this man.

“Okay, next time, a normal date. I promise.”

Sansa’s cheeks are aching from smiling so much, but she doesn’t care. This, right here with Jon, is perfect. Even with the crowd still screaming behind them; even with Jon bloodied and bruised and sweaty. Nothing matters but the fact that Jon is the first man to ever make her feel like she’s the only thing of actual importance in his world. It might not be true, but it feels true.

“What?” Jon asks, chuckling. “You’re the one staring at me this time.”

Instead of answering, Sansa throws her arms around his neck and presses her lips firmly against his. He easily reciprocates by matching her movements and sliding his hands around her waist, gripping tight to her hips. When she scrapes her teeth against his lower lip, she feels him groan into her mouth, tugging her tightly until every part of her body is pressed into his. Sansa doesn’t quite know how long they stand there, but they both instantly jump apart as someone clears their throat pointedly at them.

“As happy as I am that you two figured things out,” Jeyne begins. “Your husband’s trainer keeps hitting on me and if he doesn’t stop, I’m going to kill him and I don’t think Jon would want that.”

He stares at her best friend for a long moment. “Husband?”

“Ugh,” Sansa groans. “Don’t encourage her.”

Please, Don't Give Up On Me

Word Count: 1219

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Injury, blood, language, angst 

Requested: No

Author’s Note: Well I had this idea and I had to write it in order to move on to other things. I was in an angsty mood let me tell you lol. Anyway enjoy everyone!

Masterlist


Originally posted by gliceria

You were cold - no you were numb.

The air slightly tasted like sulfur mixed with blood - your blood causing you to cringe in distaste.  In the distance, you could hear explosions one after another. They sounded so far off, you could vaguely tell what direction the sounds were coming in.

You couldn’t tell where the blood was coming from, only that there was a lot of it. It was dripping down your face, coating your lips, smeared across your hands, and surrounding you in a growing puddle. A lump in your throat rose as you choke back a sob. You needed to stay calm and remain strong; crying wasn’t going to get you out of this. You couldn’t believe you were awake right now, let alone even breathing. You should’ve died; you had no special powers, you were just another highly trained assassin.

Now, however, you didn’t seem like a highly trained assassin. You got separated from your team after the first ten minutes of landing and somehow you missed the grenade coming right at you. It was either the adrenalin kicking in or you weren’t as good as you thought you were. Your recklessness was the reason why you were in this mess, to begin with. You thought about what your friends would say - what your boyfriend would say. They wouldn’t be happy, hell they would be pissed. Going off on your own on a mission like this, it was practically suicide.

You were so tired.

But you needed to stay awake and stay alive. You needed to get out of here and somehow find your friends. They’re probably worried about you, especially your boyfriend. He’d always worry about you on a mission like these. The missions where there was a slim chance that you wouldn’t come back breathing. However, you could barely sit up without adding to the ever-growing pool of blood.

“Fuck this,” You hissed trying you push yourself off of the ground.

A sharp, tearing pain runs up your hold side as you gasped out in pain. Dropping back to ground you could feel the tears pricking your eyes. Some from frustration but mostly from the new found pain you were numb to before. You lay on the wet ground, gasping for some air as blood spilled out of your mouth. How were you going to get out this? You couldn’t even stand without searing pain shooting up your body. You could scream but that wasn’t going to get you very far. Your voice was hoarse, to begin with and no one was in sight.

A sob wracked your body as you struggled to breathe. You were going to die here, in a torched wasteland where other agents once stood with you. You were stupid - so stupid. You should have listened to everyone and maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess. Did you want to die? Not even in the slightest, you still had much of your life to live. You were finally happy but that happiness was slowly slipping away from you as you felt the life drain out of you.

Everyone was going to be a wreck - you knew it. You were going to die and they would blame themselves for a while. But your boyfriend was going to take it the hardest out of everyone. You were the first person he opened up to after he came out of cryo. You grew close with the loveable soldier and the next thing you knew, you two were in a relationship together. Tears freely fell once you realize you weren’t going to see his face again.

You weren’t going to hear his amazing laugh he rarely showed, his stupid nicknames he called you, and the way your name rolled off of his tongue. You were going to miss sticking magnets on his metal arm just to annoy him as well as pulling his hair up in different styles just for the hell of it. Most all, you were going to miss the way he made you feel. The way you felt butterflies in your stomach every time he walked into the room and how no matter what he made sure you felt loved.

And you were leaving all that behind because of some reckless move. That thought made you cry louder than you were, making it even harder to get air to your lungs. Your strangled sobs filled air when you suddenly hear a voice calling your name just off in the distance.

“(Y/N)!” The voice resonates near you.

You’re slightly more awake now trying to figure that’s calling you. You turn your head slowly and squinted at the figure running towards you at increasing speed. At first, you didn’t know who it was but then you saw the figure’s metal arm. Your eyes widen as you painfully reached out for your boyfriend, wishing that he, in fact, was real. Soon enough, his metal hand grasped yours tightly as he hovers over kneeling in the large pool of your blood.

Then he swears a lot.

“Stay with me.” You feel his hands tenderly wiping away your tears as he softly tapped the side of your face snapping you out of your daze. “Hey (Y/N), stay awake.”

“B-Buck,” You whimpered in pain as tears clouded your vision. “I-I’m so sorry.”

After he wiped your tears, he started putting pressure one of your wounds as you screamed in pain. You let out a mangled cry telling him to stop but if there was a slim chance of you living, he was going to do everything he could.

“D-Don’t talk babe just keep those pretty eyes on me, ok?” Bucky said as a small tear rolled down his face.

You began falling in and out of consciousness as you watched Bucky yell something into the comms to the rest of the team. Blood was still draining out of you and it wasn’t stopping anytime soon. At least you could see Bucky’s face one last time.

“B-Bucky,” You rasped as he shushed you. Ignoring his protests you squeeze his arm tightly. “N-No… I-I love…you.”

You stared into his panicked eyes as you felt all your strength leave your arm and it fell quickly to the ground. Gasping for air, you tried to stay awake and listen to your boyfriend’s words.

“Please, don’t give up on me,” Bucky cried still trying to stop the bleeding. “The team is coming any minute now.”

Normally that would be reassuring but you could only focus on how much pain you were in. Bucky continued to tell you to stay awake but your eyes challenged him as they stayed shut for longer periods of time. This was it; everything was coming to an end. You didn’t hear the roaring of the jets from above coming to get you; instead, you only heard the cries of your boyfriend.

You took your last chance and memorized those ocean blue eyes staring down you, the same ones that stole your heart the day you first met him. Your vision started to become hazing as more figures appeared above you clearly panicking. But it was already too late - you were losing the battle. As your breathing slowed you managed to rasp out three words.

“I… love… you… “

Then your eyes shut for the final time.


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sleeping beauty

My relationship with (y/n) ended on good terms, we were civil at the end. Eventually we both saw that we wanted different things, and although we knew we loved each other; we didn’t feel as though we completed one another.

Even though I had been with other girls since, none of them looked as beautiful or as peaceful as (y/n) did as she slept. I never found out if she knew I would spend a while just watching her sleep, if I happened to wake up before her or fall asleep after her. I would gently brush away any sparse hairs which laid across her freshly cleaned face. Sometimes, if she had not made any slight movement; I would place my forefinger under her nose to feel her breath - knowing that she was still alive. Sleeping Beauty I used to call her.

It was a Friday morning, traffic in every direction; people wanting to get the final day of work over and done with before the weekend.  The odd horn echoed through the streets, mainly from people far back who had no idea what was happening ahead. I was round the corner, from where the jam seemed to have started from, when a guy came running out into the road. “Someone help, I’ve knocked someone with my car” he cried, waving his arms frantically in the air. For some reason, I felt no hesitation before I climbed out of my car and rushing to his side. “I didn’t see her, she came out of nowhere, I swear” he said, his face sweating. “Where is she?” I asked, grabbing the side of his arms to keep him still. He pointed round the corner, before leaving my grip and placing his hands on his head. “Call an ambulance,” I shouted at him before jogging away.

Small crowds of people started to gather as I turned the corner, glancing round the street which seemed to have been frozen in time. As I got closer to the bodies that crammed round in a circle, gasps and words of disgust were heard. I barged through, telling people to move out of the way. Once I had pushed past the last person, and the sight was now in front of me, I immediately collapsed to my knees.

The splatters of blood, the seeping cuts or inflamed bruises did not seem to bother me as much as they did everyone else. For I had seen this girl before, I had seen her looking radiant; looking alive.

I crawled on my hands and feet, scurrying to her side. I gently lifted her head so it was resting on my knees. “(Y/N)” I gasped, glancing down at the rest of her body which laid mangled. Her eyes remained closed, so automatically I placed my finger under her nose to check her breathing. She still was, but only just. “Someone get help,” I cried, my voice trembling as I looked up at the surrounding crowd. I looked back down at (y/n) as people started to mutter amongst themselves, and I forced my eyes shut so that the burning tears would fall. They settled on (y/n’s) blotchy face, which was covered in grazes and blood. I inhaled as her eyes began to flutter open. “(Y/N)” I said softly as I stroked the top of her head, avoiding the gaping cut nearby. Her eyes were clouded, nothing like the bright, blue eyes I had grown to love. Soon they focused on my face, and I watched as she recognised me. “Shawn,” she whispered. “Is that really you?” She blinked quickly as tears began to appear at the edge of her eyes. I nodded frantically, smiling. “After all this time,” she said softly, swallowing hard before tears streamed down her face. I hushed her as her eyes looked all around her. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I’m here to save you, you were hit by a car moments ago” I told her in a hushed tone, not wanting to scare her too much. Her eyes turned dark, like when a storm is on the horizon. “Shawn,” she said, her voice not as weak. “I can’t feel anything.”

My heart skipped a couple of beats as the words made it sink. “You can feel me though right?” I said quickly. “You can feel my legs under your head, my hand on your hair?” She shook her head, ever so slightly, as her face scrunched up in frustration. I let out a gasp, letting my forehead fall to hers as we both cried quietly.
“An ambulance is coming, it’s about ten minutes away” A woman from in front said. My head shot up, a sign of hope. I looked down at (y/n) who was staring blankly up at the sky. “Did you hear that, you’re going to get help. They’ll make you better, you’ll be ok” I said loudly, feeling as though I was telling myself and not just her. My eyes froze on her once I realised the colour of her skin had suddenly changed, looking paler than before.
“She’s losing a lot of blood,” a man said softly. I looked in his direction as his head nodded towards (y/n’s) stomach. I stared down at the puddle that had ruined her top, and was now crawling out from underneath her.

A painful groan escaped my lips as I looked back at her face, watching as she slowly began to slip away. I moved slightly, so that her head rested more on my knees, placing both hands on her head. “Stay with me (y/n),” I said confidently, ignoring the tears that trickled from my eyes. “Come on, you’ve got to stay with me.” Whispers spread through the crowd as they all began to predict the worst. “Remember you used to tell me that I’d never be able to get rid of you,” I laughed slightly, feeling a rush of happiness like I felt when she used to say that. “You said that once you’d entered my life, that was it. I was stuck with you forever,” I said, brushing my hand over her matted hair.

My head shot up as the guy from before ran through the crowd and froze once he saw (y/n) lying in the road. His eyes were puffy as he breathed heavily. “I am so sorry,” he said, looking at me; his skin pale with horror. “Shawn,” I heard (y/n) say, and it sounded as sweet as the first time she had said my name. I faced her again, her eyes open ever so slightly. “I’m here (y/n), I’m right here” I said, picking up her hand and pressing my lips against it. “I’m,” she whispered. Her eyes closed briefly before she spoke again. “I’m…I’m glad it’s you.” I stared at her blankly for a few seconds, too many things rushing through my mind at once. “What do you mean?” I asked quickly. “What’s me?” A faint smile appeared on her pale face. “I’m glad it’s you” she took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m glad you’re the last person I’ll see.”
I shook my head frantically, refusing to believe what she was saying. “Don’t say that,” I said, my voice shaking due to the rush of tears. “Don’t say that.”

My lips parted as I watched her eyes close for the final time. It was as if a light inside her had been turned off, and any form of life had been swept away. I groaned in agony, crouching over so my upper body covered her head, rocking back and forth. I screamed, I shouted; I did whatever I could to express the overriding feeling of pain and heartbreak. I glanced down at her; and once again admired how beautiful and peaceful she looked whilst she slept.

Breathe ~ An Avenger’s Story  (9/15)

Originally posted by littlemisssyreid

AU Summary: Y/N’s powers had a reaction to the Hulk which resulted in Dr. Banner’s resurfacing. 

Notes: brucetasha is real on this fic. just a heads up ok. if you don’t ship it, well then. i dont know what to tell you, bud. this crap works in my fic so yeah. im a huge shipper for buckynat but im sucking it up for this series. ok cool

Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

MASTERLIST


“Natasha!”

Y/N called out as she ran up to the top of the tower where Steve, Tony and Natasha were. All three pairs of eyes looked at her and they knew that something was wrong. Tony dropped the iron man arm he was working on and the smiles in Steve and Nat’s faces disappeared.

“We found him.”

“What?” Tony asked as Natasha froze in place.

Y/N nodded. “We found Banner.”

Keep reading

Chance and Choice (Part 2 of 10)

Summary: Reader has just about given up on love. A gag trip to a psychic reveals the supposed name of her soulmate. Will she ever find him?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader, Natasha x Steve, Wanda x Vision

Word Count: 1,157 (got carried away)

Warnings: psychic shenanigans, language

A/N: This is a drabble series I’m trying out. It’s my second thing ever posted.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Originally posted by papermagazine

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I'm sorry, but I can't take you seriously anymore. Fight Club is an expression of toxic masculinity that is worth nothing? Hell, everything about that ask is wrong, but that one in particular... Wow.

Just so we’re clear, this is the book about a man who feels so emasculated by modern society and consumer culture that he visits a self help group for men who have, literally, had their testicles surgically removed. When he encounters a woman invading his territory, his only response is to engage in increasingly violent and destructive acts, culminating in a failed terrorist bombing? We’re talking about the same story, right?

Yeah, can’t imagine how anyone could consider that toxic masculinity.

The novel is actually quite good. It’s not a pleasant read, and I wouldn’t recommend it as entertainment, but it is worth reading. Chuck Palahniuk is a very skilled writer. He has a visceral, “gross-out,” style that obfuscates just how sharp his material is. It’s easy to pick up Fight Club and soak in the hyper-aggressive elements and miss just how critical the book is.

But, that’s not what we were talking about.

We were talking about the fight club itself. The organization in the novel and film. The one which morphs into Project Mayhem. That is worthless, and without redeeming value. The fight club started by the narrator is an expression of toxic masculinity. It doesn’t teach people how to fight, no matter how awesome it makes the narrator feel about himself in the moment.

(I’m just going to refer to the narrator as Jack from here on out. The name comes from the film, not the book, but it’s faster to type.)

The fight club itself, is a tantrum, being thrown by a man child who has no model for what it means to be an adult, and isn’t satisfied by the options he sees in the world. Looking for a venue to release his pent up aggression, he resorts to violence. Jack moans about how, because his father abandoned him, he has no concept of who he should be. Ultimately, he is terrified of being an adult. Everything that follows is Jack acting out against the world.

There’s a weird element where you can intentionally read Jack as a teenage rebellion, a few decades too late. This is probably why the Calvin & Hobbes misread plays so well. At several levels, Jack is still a child, and written as such. Remember, before the novel opens, Jack’s job is to look at horrifically mangled bodies (auto insurance investigator). This is an adult version of a little kid looking at, “gross stuff,” and then enthusiastically inflicting that on people around them for shock value. Which should also sound familiar when discussing Tyler Durden and Marla.

So, yes, the novel Fight Club is about toxic masculinity. The fight club itself is an expression of the same. It’s easy to read the surface message and run with the idea that the book is advocating the position of the protagonist. Until you remember that the entire third act of the book (and film) is Jack losing control of Project Mayhem, and trying to stop them from bombing buildings.

Fight Club isn’t exclusively about toxic masculinity. There are very strong themes of establishing a personal identity, and learning to communicate with others scattered through the novel. They’re mixed in with large quantities of puerile behavior, and aggressive missteps by the various characters. Toxic masculinity is a major part, because it’s the first place Jack goes, and it colors the rest of his experiences, even after he’s decided on a different approach.

It’s a very good, and quite challenging book. Certainly not for everyone. However, the fight club itself is, ultimately, a self destructive exercise. You don’t learn to fight by punching your imaginary friend.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. If you enjoy our content, please consider becoming a Patron. 

The film adaptation is pretty good as well. As with the book, it requires some critical thinking to fully parse, but don’t let that scare you off.

Too Little, Too Late - Sehun

Originally posted by veriloquentmind

Sehun (soulmate!au)

Word count: 4,035


You would have turned 40 today.

There’s not a day that goes by without me imagining your handsome face, aging with grace. I imagine the wrinkles by your eyes growing deeper, marking the ever childlike smile you had, and the stubbles on your cheeks long needing of a shave, but let’s face it, you looked dashing with them.

I would’ve woken you up today, with a big grin on my face, hoping to plant a garden upon your skin. But you would’ve also beaten me to it. I never could wake up to gaze at your face in serenity like you always do to me. It’s quite unfair, you know? I want you back.

Sleeping beside me again.

I would tell you to never leave me.

And you would promise me that there’s not a chance for you to ever think about leaving.

But I didn’t.

And you didn’t.

Keep reading

Finding Neverland (6/?)

Summary: History has a funny way of repeating itself. Juliet Jones learns this the hard way as she finds herself thrown decades into the past, and tasked with ensuring that her parents fall in love. (CS movie redux) 

Notes: Praise hands to @unfolded73 for the beta!

Read on AO3.

Previous Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Emma forgets Neal is dead.  

There’s a dark humor to be found in that, how she had once wished for nothing more than for him to die, and now that he is, she forgets. For so long while he was alive, he haunted her, a ghost or shadow that would remind her how foolish it is to trust others with her heart. It only ends up broken. She carried a torch for him for a decade, but now that he’s gone, it’s like a weight has been lifted.

She feels guilty at that. He’s dead. Gone. People don’t come back from death. It’s permanent. She should feel upset, or more upset than she does. Her mother acts suitably distraught, like she is grieving more than Emma, the one who loved him, the one he left behind. Even Hook sounds more broken over Neal being gone than she. But at least he has – had – a connection to him.

“He gets it from his mother.”

Keep reading

FIC: space, nightmares

kiribaku week 2017: day 2

The din of the room doesn’t prevent them from having their own conversation. So no one else notices how Bakugou’s brow knots painfully. He glances at him like wild, cornered prey, and then Kirishima’s frown really deepens after that.

“What’s up, Bakugou?”

AO3

Keep reading

Reminiscences Ch.4 (Trixya)-Scoobert

Trixya high school au: so this is set when they’re both adults but each chapter has a flashback to their high school days. It’s loosely based on a song ‘caught in the crowd’, by Kate Miller-Heidke, an Australian singer I really like and saw live the other day. I cried when I heard her sing this and yeah I know it’s a little bit sad but I thought of the awesome Trixya au it could be. The song’s about Kate reminiscing on how she should’ve helped this kid out when he was being bullied in school, so this is basically the extended version of that.

An: This chapter gives a bit more of an insight into Trixie’s past and what she’s been through, get ready for some fluff in the next chapter, it’ll probably be the last one because this story was supposed to be a oneshot but I just kept writing and feel that I don’t want it to continue into the real world once the flashbacks are finished.

Hope ya like it

Xx Scoobert

Keep reading

Hit and Run (aka another depressing af Victuuri fic)

This is unbeta’d so please inform me if I forgot to remove any unintended grammar mistakes!

Thanks to @ppastelderpp, @gays-on-ice, and @such-sparkly-trash for encouraging me to write this fic and letting me discuss my ideas with them.


Chapter 1…

Victor knew the instant something was wrong.

Yuuri had been laughing and grinning with him just a moment prior, but as soon as his eyes flicked to the left, his face paled significantly.

It took a moment for Victor to process just what was happening, as Yuuri sprinted to him, arms outstretched. Victor knew that something was amiss from the pure horror on Yuuri’s face, so he glanced in the same direction that Yuuri had looked just seconds before.

A truck. It was a truck, barreling at speeds that should be illegal in this part of Hasetsu. And it was only four yards, no thre-

Keep reading

Chapter Eleven

A Conflicted New Home

Previous Chapter

Ship: Kylo Ren x Reader

Rating: M

A/N: I tried many times to put a “Keep Reading” thing in here but it never works. :C Sorry to those who have to scroll. 

You were so confused. No, you weren’t confused, you were conflicted. Your emotions were being drawn in every direction. You sat at our small desk in your quarters with a blank sheet of paper in front of you. Your flowing handwriting drew out the address: “Papa,”. 

What was there to say? What could you possibly say that could redeem you? You had probably waited too long to reply. You had more than likely waited too long to return home too. You looked down at the paper, the pen poised in your hand to write but no words flowed through it. After moments of silence with yourself, you pushed your chair back and stood up, getting dressed. 

You had done nothing but think about what had happened last night. Actually, that wasn’t true. You had thought about the feelings you were having and didn’t know how to explain them. You replayed the kiss in your head over and over again, touching your lips and thinking of the ghost of his lips that had rocked you to your core. You had never been kissed like that, you thought as you pulled your uniform on. You had never felt such desire course through you like it did when he pushed himself against you, gripping the fabric of your First Order uniform. 

But you also thought about your family. You were so attached to them that you almost felt like they were watching you, disapproving of what you had done. You felt guilty, but you couldn’t help what you were feeling. Apart of you wondered if it was more than just desire that was working at your emotions. You were beginning to feel more drawn to him. Not only because his emotions were your responsibility, but because you were getting to know him more and he was, quite frankly, the closest person you had on base. 

You wondered what had happened on Jakku last night after Ren had left you. You wondered if he had killed anyone. You felt sickened for a moment, wondering if he had thought of kissing you before he had killed a man. You tried not to think of these things. 

On your dresser was the piece of metal your father had given you. You picked it up and looked down at it. You couldn’t bring yourself to send it back to Papa. You wondered what they were doing, how they were getting along without any money coming in. Perhaps Papa had picked up an odd job, or maybe Ollith had found work in the village. 

You shoved the piece of metal in your pocket, its flat side easily concealing itself under the material. You hadn’t carried it with you in awhile. But you felt you needed to be connected to home today. You were unsure if you wanted what happened last night to happen again. 

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

You stood in the quiet hallway in front of Ren’s quarters, your folder of notes close to your chest. You weren’t sure of how today was going to go. You almost sent a note with a Stormtrooper to cancel your appointment but decided against it last minute. You had already missed too many days. 

As soon as the door opened, you came face to face with Ren. You looked up, his body towering over you as he hesitated to take a step further. 

“I’m sorry, were you going somewhere?” you asked, our voice almost coming across as timid as you took a step back. You could feel your face burning, the memory of last night flashing before you at the sight of his face. You noticed his helmet was tucked snuggly underneath his arm as he slipped his gloves back on his hands. 

“Supreme Leader Snoke wishes to see me,” Ren told you, his gaze transfixed over your head. He wouldn’t look at you, you noticed. You wondered if you should mention something. You stared at him, watching his eyes avoid you as you stood there in silence. 

“Should I return later for our meeting?” you asked, trying to compose yourself. Your ears were burning as your eyes drifted down his face, down to his neck that was cloaked tightly in black, and down to his chest where the dark material stretched across his muscles. You swallowed, and looked up at him. 

You probably could have easily chosen death when you noticed he was watching you look at him. You tried to compose yourself, but your face burned red in embarrassment. What was wrong with you? Why were you doing this? This was your patient. It would go against every rule in the book to become involved with your patient. You could hear your supervisors voice now, reprimanding you on how unprofessional this was.

Guilt swept through your emotions and you looked away. You thought of your family and what you sacrificed to come here. What would your family think of you if you became involved with a sith lord?

“No,” he told you after a moment, looking away. You were both staring at other things, neither looking at each other. “I think you should come with me to meet the Supreme Leader. Hux mentioned the idea previously and I agree with him.” 

You blinked, “If you think I should.” 

“I do,” he nodded, replacing his helmet. 

You followed him down the hallway, your legs trying to keep up with his long strides. You felt yourself becoming anxious, not knowing what to expect from this meeting. Who was this Leader? Maybe you could get a better idea of why Ren joined the dark side, you thought. Supreme Leader had been the one to seduce Kylo to join his cause, so perhaps meeting this man could shed some light on Ren’s past. 

The two of you didn’t speak as you strode down the hallway. His head was held high as you passed two Stormtroopers at attention, but yours was lowered as you thought of the possibilities of what the situation you were about to walk into held. 

You watched as Ren slid a large black door at the end of a hallway open. You gazed inside, its dark and ominous environment with the exception of a slit of light bringing a chill to your spine. A long runway rolled out from the door to the other side of the room, showcasing the spot that was illuminated by light. 

“Supreme Leader,” Kylo addressed, his body twisting into a deep bow. You watched him, your folder close to your chest as your eyes adjusted in the darkness.

A hologram suddenly appeared where the light illuminated the ground, revealing an otherworldly man ten times larger than the height of yourself. You felt your eyes grow wide as they rested on the figure before you. His face was disfigured with burns and his eyes were glistening dark orbs staring straight at you.

“Ren,” Snoke addressed, his head tipping towards him. His gaze centered itself on you and you felt yourself shrink back. “You brought a woman.” 

Ren turned to you, “this is the counselor you requested that I see.” 

His voice was full if distaste for the subject and you managed to suppress a hurtful frown. Snoke turned his blemished face towards you, his expression full of surprise. 

“I wasn’t expecting a woman,” Snoke told Ren honestly. You pursed your lips.

“Neither was I, Leader.” Ren shook his head. 

Snoke turned back to Ren, “I do hope you are accomplishing what I requested, Ren. I do not wish for you to become distracted.”

“My focus will not waver, Supreme Leader,” Ren spoke as he bowed his head. 

“Good,” Snoke sat back in his chair, his mangled fingers tightening their grip on the armrest. “Hux has informed me a resistance member was captured last night. The best pilot in their fleet.”

“He was fleeing in an x-wing when we arrived, sir. Our men captured him and I interrogated him when we arrived back on base. It came to my attention that a BB droid is in possession of the map leading to Luke Skywalker. A small fleet of troops will be invading Jakku again momentarily.” 

“Good, good.” Snoke purred, nodding his head in approval. “What will you do with the pilot?” 

“I wish to have your guidance on the matter, Supreme Leader,” Ren tipped his head. 

Snoke leaned forward, his mangled face causing you to look away. You could feel his eyes on you and you felt a chill crawl up your spine.

Kill him,” Snoke ordered. 

“Of course,” Ren nodded. A moment later, the hologram flickered and disappeared leaving the two of you gazing at the empty space as the dark engulfed you again. You could feel Ren’s gaze on you as you stared at the ground where Snoke had sat moments before. You felt numb, completely out of your element here, you realized. You did not belong here.

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

“Are you actually going to kill that pilot?” You asked Ren quietly, trailing behind his confident strut as you walked back to his quarters.

He did not answer you and you simply took his silence as a yes. You looked down, feeling your heels click on the marble below you. How many men had Kylo Ren killed, you wondered. The feelings you had been having this morning disappeared and you felt disgust towards him. 

“Are we going to have our meeting now or should I return to my quarters?” 

The door to his room slid open and he stepped in, quickly returning to his machinery that buzzed about. He lifted his head, watching the screen as the data passed over it. You felt a tinge of annoyance. Why was he ignoring you? Why was he being like this? You walked up next to him, leaning yourself against the wall so that you could see his face. The data on the screen reflected on silver of his mask, glowing as he pressed more buttons. There wasn’t much room between you and him, you realized. 

“How long are you going to ignore me?” you asked, acidity rising in your voice as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I would like to know what is distracting you so much that you can’t even answer my questions anymore.”

He turned to face you and you froze, pressing your back against the wall more. Your tone had touched a nerve, you realized. 

Suddenly his fist pounded against the wall next to your face and you flinched, closing your eyes. You heard the gears in his mask unlock and you opened your eyes to look over at him, his mask now in his hand. His eyes searched your face as you stared at him.

“What are you feeling, [y/n]?” He asked you, his voice just above a whisper. You stared at him, your wide eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“Last night was a mistake,” you told him, trying desperately to grasp your confidence that kept slipping away. “We can’t do this. You’re my patient and I am your therapist.”

You pressed your lips together, breathing deeply. And you’re-”

“I’m what?” He leaned closer to you as he cut you off, his hand sliding up the wall. His voice was deep as his eyes narrowed, watching you.

Your eyebrows knitted together as you turned towards the door. His hand slid down, trapping you between him and the machinery that buzzed in your ears.

“I can’t do this,” you told him, staring at his shoulder. Anxiety began rising up in your chest, your memories reminiscent of what had happened a few days ago. 

You felt two gloved fingers on your chin, pulling your head to face him. 

“Neither can I,” he murmured, leaning closer. Moments passed that felt like centuries as you stared at him, your eyes flickering over the small moles that peppered his skin. 

“Please,” your words begged him, but you knew you really didn’t mean them. You remembered your family and how your betrayal towards them was growing deeper each day. You felt like you were even betraying yourself and your dignity. You felt disgusting. 

His grip on your chin tightened as he drew closer, his lips parting and his eyes transfixed on yours. You breathed out shakily, closing your eyes as you felt his lips hesitantly brush against yours. You needed this to stop. You couldn’t do this. This was wrong.

Please,” you murmured against his lips. You realized this time as you spoke that your words weren’t in the form of a plea for him to stop. You felt his lips brush lightly against yours again, awakening your senses. 

You dropped your folder, papers sliding across the floor as you grabbed his robes, pushing his lips against yours hungrily. He dropped his helmet with a thud of metal hitting the ground as one of his hands slid behind your neck and the other to your waist. He kissed you back, groping at your uniform as you wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer to you. 

You could have stopped, you thought. You probably should have stopped. But you couldn’t. His tongue brushed against yours, a low groan escaping from your throat. You felt his gloved fingers brush down your leg, pulling your knee up to his hip and pushing his hand further up your skirt. He gripped your thigh with the palm of his hand and kissed down your jaw, and into the crook of your neck. He let out a low groan against your shoulder, grasping your bottom with his other hand as the other held the back of your neck. Something clambered on the floor, but you didn’t bother to see what it was. You buried your face in his hair, never feeling such an awakening of your senses as you did then. 

There was a knock on the door and the both of you fell away from each other, blushing as you tried to straighten yourselves out. The door opened just as Ren turned around to put his helmet back on and you were pulling your skirt down. 

Hux stood in the doorway looking dumbstruck as he looked between the two of you. Flushed with embarrassment, you leaned down to pick up your papers as the General cleared his throat.

“I apologize for interrupting,” Hux spoke wearily, “but it has come to my attention that our prisoner has escaped. And one of our men has assisted him.” 

A/N: Alright y’all, I can sense that this isn’t some of my best work, so please find it in your trash-ridden hearts to forgive me. I enjoy writing this so much and I get so frustrated when I’m too tired to write but I gave it a whirl tonight anyway. I hope this hold you over for a few days. Thank you all so much and I really really really really always appreciate the feedback. Just shoot me a message or a chat and I’ll always respond to you. I also like talking about Kylo Ren. Also, I’ve started a tag for my story, per request from someone who messaged me :) And thank you so much for making my day every day with your comments. I check them constantly and I can’t tell you how much of a confidence booster this fic has given me. Thank you thank you thank you!

"I Love You." - SuperNatural X Teen Wolf Cross Over Imagine

character/person: Dean Winchester

request: fallenangel-destiel-wholock

warnings/rate: “F” for fluff also some small violence

authors notes: sorry it took so long but I hope you enjoy it, I don’t watch SuperNatural so I apologize if some details are off lol, also heres my master list {gifs aren’t mine}

“I thought you were supposed to be an Alpha, (Y/N)?” Stiles smirks from the couch as I fall to the ground. It’s been over a month since I joined Scott’s pack. My pack was brutally slaughtered by an omega serial killer. Ever since then I’ve been training with Scott’s pack to fight off anything that crosses our path.

“I am but,” I stand up, “I’m just distracted…that’s all.”

“Why?” Scott asks from the doorway, “and Derek…could you not kill the new alpha?” He chuckles and Derek brushes himself off and shrugs.

“Fine, (Y/N) we’ll finish your training after.” He smiles and I do too.

Everyone in the pack has been like family to me, like older brothers and sisters…especially Scott and Stiles.

“Why are you so distracted?” Scott continues.

“I just keep thinking of my pack… I miss them Scott.” I frown and I feel Scott’s hand on my shoulder.

“Do you hear that?” Scott turns his head and stares at the door. He raises a finger over his mouth and everyone goes silent. Creasing my brows I try to focus on the noise Scott is talking about.

“Someone’s breaking into the loft.” Malia declares while whispering.

“Who?” I mumble ducking behind the nearest chair. Everyone does the same and we all sit in silence until the door slides open loudly and I feel my heart speed up. Derek and Braeden are crouched down behind the couch and Braeden slides the nearest gun to her. Malia, Kira and I all sit tightly together and hide behind the desk and chairs. Lydia and Stiles have made it upstairs and are most likely hiding in Derek’s room trying to stay safe. Peaking around the chair quietly, I see two guys. One with long brown hair past his ears, and dark brown eyes shifting back and forth taking in the room. The other with short light hair and piercing green eyes. He was gorgeous. Both are holding guns and stand still in the doorway.

“Sam, I thought you said the Omega was here?” The green eyed boy asks.

“I did.” ‘Sam’ states sifting his weight to his left foot.

“What’s her name? (Y/N)?” The short haired boy asks. A chill runs through my body and I swallow a giant lump in my throat. They think I’m the Omega? What’s happening here?? I watch as I see Scott appear behind them making eye contact with me. He shifts his eyes quickly to them and back then slowly nods. Our silent signal to attack once he makes the first move. Scott jumps up and runs at the nearest boy, the unnamed  green eyed one. He falls hard to the ground and Scott face automatically changes into its werewolf form. Taking one large leap I’m up from behind the chairs and on top of the desk. Malia and Kira follow suit all of our eyes glowing with rage. Derek and Braeden rise from behind the couch and Braeden loads her gun slowly waking up to Sam pressing the barrel to his head. My pulse is racing and I finally notice Scott as the boy pinned to the ground.

“Who are you?” Scott growls as we all circle them slowly, and carefully.

“Dean-Dean Winchester.” He stutter and my eyes taking in his features as well as his partners. Dean was more stand-off-ish and Sam seemed gentler and kind. Sam didn’t fight us when we approached but Dean did…why?

“Why are you here?” Derek asks crossing his arms across his chest blue wolf eyes still lit.

“We came for the Omega. (Y/N).” Sam whimpers and flinches under the pressure of the gun to his head.

“I’m (Y/N),” I sass my sharp teeth flaring as I step forward, “but I’m not the Omega. I’m an Alpha. My pack was killed by that wolf so that’s why I’m here.” I finish my nerves settling. I even flash my bright fire red eyes at them for proof.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). We had no idea.” Sam calmly says and I listen to his heartbeat. It’s steady. He isn’t lying.

“How do we know she isn’t lying?” Dean croaks his face pressed to the cement floor.

“I mean she’s with all of them,” Sam points to the pack, “so she’s not an Omega. I believe her.” And he does his heart beat is extremely steady.

“Fine.” Dean groans, “can you let us go now?”

“Take their guns…” Kira says I lean forward taking the gun from Dean’s tight hand and I turn to Sam and he tosses his gun to me without a fight.

“Thank you.” I smile at Sam and then wink sarcastically at Dean. Scott releases Dean and Braeden puts the gun down from Sam’s forehead.

***two weeks later***

“Damn (Y/N),” Dean says panting, “you can’t let me win one time?”

“Let me think…umm,” I tap the bottom of my chin with my finger, “no.” Ever since the Winchesters showed up at Derek’s loft we’ve started to work together to help find the Omega. Right now I have Dean pinned underneath me, my legs straddling his waist and my hands pressing his wrists to the ground. I smirk down at him and he just stares at me.

“What?” I blush cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing you just-never mind.” His heart is racing like crazy. Dean shakes his head and I release my grip from his hands and stand up off of him and extend my hand. He takes it and stands up. He brushes off his clothes and uses the bottom of his shirt and wipes the sweat off his face. My phone rings on the kitchen table and I walk over and see “Scott” at the top of the screen. I click the ‘answer’ button and press the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N),” it’s Stiles, “where are you?”

“At Derek’s with Dean, why?“ 

"The school, the Omega’s there Scott, Kira, Malia and Derek have him trapped there. Hurry.”

“Wait where are you?” I ask and Dean gives me a confused look.

“On the way over there with Lydia.”

“Alright we will see you there.” I hang up the phone and look at Dean, “go wake up Sam, we’re going to go catch the Omega.” Dean nods quickly and he runs up the stairs. A few seconds later Sam and Dean come down the stairs and Sam has massive bed head. We walk towards the door and the boys grab their guns.

“Loving this bed-head, Sam.” I smirk ruffling my hand through his hair jokingly. Dean stares harshly at us and I shrug as we dart out the doors and outside.

***

We pull up to the school and I hop out Dean and Sam grabbing their guns and i flash my claws as we enter the front doors near the gym.

“Do you hear anything?” Sam whispers as I close my eyes in concentration.

“Besides your big mouth, no. Now shush.” I giggle and I hear Dean heart rate increase. Is he nervous? Mad? Angry? My thoughts are cut off by the slamming of a door in the locker room down stairs.

“Down stairs. Boys locker room.” I open my eyes and i turn to the nearest star case and we sprint down them. I put my hand back to slow Sam and Dean down once we reach the bottom. There’s slamming and crashing coming from the small room and I see Stiles and Lydia at the other end of the hall. Stiles with his classic bat in hand and Lydia hidden behind him. I’ve never seen her so terrified. I am too, I was about to confront the person and werewolf that killed my pack. Stiles nods to us and the five of us head inside slowly and we see Scott and Derek forcing the mad wolfs hands into the cement walls. Sam passes Dean his gun and they load them with wolfsbane. I flash my fire red eyes at Dean and Sam before running across the room to the monster that destroyed my pack. Looking him in the eye I feel more anger then I ever had in my entire life. All my possible anguish towards this wolf, mad man is released and I just want to rip him to shreds. I am about to pounce on this evil animal when Dean grabs my arms and pulls me back into his chest. He turns me around and he looks in my eyes.

“Killing him won’t do anything.” He shy smiles, placing his gun down on the floor and I blink my eyes, “they got him.” I turn to look and I see the monster slowly forming back into his human shape and Derek and Scott slow their breathing. I turn back to Dean and he smiles, “see?” He says and I turn my back to Dean and I see Derek and Scott letting go leaving this mangled Omega panting. I look down for a spilt second and before I know it the sound of a gun is booming through the locker-room and everything goes back.

***

“(Y/N) oh my god (Y/N)!” I hear a muffled voice say as I feel the cold air on my face. I’m put into the passenger seat of Stiles’ jeep and my eyes feel heavy again. I hear a frantic Dean scream, “STILES DRIVE!” Before my vision blurs again.

***

DEANS POV

“How could I be so stupid?” I ask Deaton from the bench against the wall.

“Do you really want me to answer that honestly?” Deaton chuckles and I hang my head in my hands. The door bell rings and Stiles, Scott and Sam shuffle into the tight vets office.

“She’s still out?” Scott rhetorically asks and I nod looking at (Y/N) laying across an uncomfortable table that I tried to make a little better with a pillow and blanket. (Y/N) was shot by one of my own wolfsbane bullets. That son of a bitch werewolf pushed Derek and Scott into the wall grabbing my gun and shooting (Y/N) inches from her heart. Seeing her drop to the floor made me nearly made me kill that Omega but Derek did it before I even got the chance. These guys really do love her like family. I picked her up and Stiles, Lydia and I dart over to Deaton hoping and praying he could stabilize her, and thank god he did. It’s been nearly three days since she got shot and she hasn’t moved at all. I know because I haven’t moved either. This wooden bench has become my home with a blanket that was in the supply closet. Stiles leans up against the wall with Scott and Sam sits down next to me on the bench. Looking at (Y/N) clinging to life these last few days on this tin table, I realize I love her. I love (Y/N). How do I tell her 'brothers’, Scott and Stiles that I love her? A huge grasp from (Y/N) instantly pulls me from my thoughts and she’s sitting up on the table coughing. “Where am I?” She wheezes looking at Scott. He runs over with Stiles and they pull her into a hug. They look like a family. A small but perfect family. A pack.

“Where’s Dean? Sam?” She asks and my heart aches hearing my name come from her soft lips.

“I’m right here, (Y/N).” I say standing from the bench stepping closer to her. She turns to me and brings me in close.

“I thought I was going to die.” She sobs and I feel my shirt soak up her tears.

“I know,” I swallow a lump in my throat, “I thought I lost you.” I run my hands up and down her back. I notice that Deaton, Scott, Stiles and Sam all looking at us uneasily. I try to pull away and (Y/N) lets me but she leans her head on my shoulder. I raise my eyebrows at the guys as in a “I don’t know” and Deaton breaks the silence by asking (Y/N) to follow him to the other room to get a medicine that would help her heal faster. The two of them walk out of the room and Stiles shifts his wait to this left foot.

“So pretty boy what was that?” He asks and I shrug looking down.

“Your heart. It just skipped.” Scott says and I feel my cheeks heat up.

“Dean. What’s going on?” Sam asks.

“He likes her.” Stiles mocks and I groan.

“No,” I defend, “I love her.”

“Love? Love! You love her? My little sister?” Scott yells but not extremely loud so we aren’t heard.

“Woe Scotty-boy,” Stiles calls holding him back, “One, she’s not our sister. I know we love her like a sister but she’s not. Two, they are kinda cute.” Stiles smiles and Scott hits his arm.

“Sam?” I ask turning to him.

“I agree with Stiles. You two seem happy when you’re together.” He sighs rubbing up and down his arms.

“I really do care about her, Scott. I love (Y/N). I never thought I would, but I couldn’t be happier now that I do.” I smile just thinking of her.

“I believe you, your heart doesn’t lie. If you hurt her…” Scott grabs my should, “I’ll hurt you. I swear to god I will.” His finger clutch my shoulder and I nod. (Y/N) and Deaton come back and her bullet wound is gone and she looks full of life and beautiful again. She smiles as they walk through the door and she walks over to Sam and they hug.

“Sorry I didn’t say hi before…I was kinda out of it.” (Y/N) awkwardly laughs as they pull away and Sam cocks a smile at her.

“(Y/N), can I talk to you? Alone?” I ask and she looks uneasy. Oh god, i must sounds so stupid. I think but she nods anyway. We walk outside and the cool autumn breeze blows against us. (Y/N) shivers and I shrug my jacket off and drape it around her small frame. She smiles and I clear my throat, “okay (Y/N) I’m gonna just say it flat out,” I turn to her and she tilts her head almost like a small puppy, “I like you. I like you a lot.” I swallow and I know she’s listening to my heart.

“You’re not lying.” (Y/N) states and I nod, blushing.

“You know what,” I grab her delicate hands, “I love you (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I love when your eyes sparkle when you think of your pack, when your nose crinkles when you laugh, or the way you are so focused on learning how to lead and fight. I love everything about you.” I see her cheeks flush a rosy red color and she walks closer to me and nuzzles her body against mine. She presses her chin against my chest and her beautiful eyes gaze up at me.

“I love you too, Winchester.” She stands on her toes and presses a kiss to my cheek.

“Could you specify which Winchester?” I sass and she rolls her eyes at me and I don’t blame her.

“Fine,” she groans and wraps her arms tighter around my body, “I love you Dean Winchester.” Hearing the words come out of her mouth I can’t describe how I feel, (Y/N)’s arms wrap around my neck and I place my firm hands on her waist. We both smile and lean in. Our lips collide and I instantly feel sparks, it’s so cliché but it’s true. We both pull away with huge smiles on our faces.

“Finally.” Lydia calls from the doorway of the vet’s office and we all laugh as (Y/N) and I intertwine fingers.

And here’s the second (and last) part of our devious Superhero/Yoghurt AU shenanigans! \(-_-)/

>>>PART 1<<<

Like the last, this is a fictennis collab with @mslead!!!

Despite the cuddles with Natsu and the near forgiveness over the travesty in her fridge, Lucy wasn’t completely willing to forgive her boyfriend just yet.

Strawberry-banana was her favorite and as a proud member of the Supervillian’s club, it wouldn’t be in Lucy’s nature if she didn’t take revenge in some way.

Carefully, she filled a syringe with tobascco sauce and chili powder. With light fingers, she plunged the thin needle into the far edge of the foil in the packs of yoghurt she bought.

A tear almost rolled down her cheek at the criminal act she was committing against the innocent yoghurts.

“I’m so sorry,” She whispered to them, expression pained as she laced each cup with her chilli sauce concoction, “It’s for the greater good.”

How ironic was it, that the only opportunity she had to actually eat the yoghurts, she was deliberately making them inedible. But for the sake of getting revenge on her boyfriend, it was well worth it.

She could hear him thumping around in the shower, and Lucy knew she had to hurry otherwise she would be caught.

Already she was wondering if the pay off of the prank would be worth it in the long run. She was missing an early morning shower with Natsu, she was ruining perfectly tasty sweets, and she was slinking around her own house like she was a criminal.

“You will suffer as I have,” Lucy’s dramatic whispers were cut off when the sound of running water through the pipes trailed to a finishing halt.
Hurrying, Lucy crammed the yoghurts back in their place, arranging them carefully in a neat stack and hurtling the syringe into a nearby potted plant.

“Ahh,” Natsu sighed as he entered the kitchen mere moments later, clad in nothing but a towel, “You really should have come, Lucy!”

Oh, she really should have come. Now more than ever, she regretted having wasted this opportunity. Little droplets of water ran down his bare, freshly shaven chest, disappearing in his bellybutton. She refused to follow thier descend any further.

“I showered yesterday evening,” she reminded him, “Besides, I was really hungry. I had breakfast, so… everything in the fridge is yours, now.”

She smiled a deceitfully sweet smile, hoping her stomach would not choose now to rumble angrily. Luckily, it showed mercy for once, and remained quiet. She’d really have to stop at a bakery on her way to… whatever evil deed she would be doing today.

Keep reading

i already did one for birdflash but i decided to do one for natepat bc wHOOPS IM TRASH.

Warnings: implied cannibalism, blood, gore, death, impalement, self harm, suicide, death (i swear it’s just the last drabble)
music shuffle mix | natepat

Soap | Melaine Martinez

Matt’s eyes widen, the words dying in his mouth. Across from him, Nate looks stunned. Matt gulps. “I, um, I mean- I gotta go!” he yells, running out of the room. He opens the front the door and realizes he has no idea where’s he’s going. God, how could he have been so stupid?! You don’t just blurt out “i love you” to your best friend!

Bittersweet | Panic! At The Disco

“I’m sorry!” Nate yells, but knows it’s futile trying apologize. How can you apologize for telling your boyfriend’s biggest secrets to everyone who asked. But honestly, Matt knows he isn’t trying to hurt him, Nate just loves to speak! He sighs, noting how Matt still looks upset. “I really am sorry,” he sighs, and Matt’s face softens, if only slightly.

Pumpkin March | Oliver

When Nate wakes up, Matt is grinning brightly from above him, except it’s not Matt because he doesn’t have stitches running across his neck, arms and face. “You’re awake!” Not-Matt yells, and drags him up and out of the dingy room he was in. “Hurry, or else you will be late!” Not-Matt calls back and starts running. Nate tries to follow, but it’s like a maze. He turns a corner finds himself in a party. There’s sweets and pastries everywhere and before he realizes what is happening, he gorging it all down. He can’t seem to stop until Not-Matt is in front of him, looking disappointed. “It’s not very nice eating everything yourself. Oh well, guess you’ll have to be the main course!”

Control | Halsey (Natemare/Mangled (?) AU)

Nate can’t see anything, and there’s someone screaming. It sounds like Matt, but it cant be, because its just them, right? Why would he be scared of him? Matt’s voice sounds muffled and far away, and when Nate tries calling back, telling him he doesn’t know what’s happening, he hears himself say “Goddamn right, you should be scared of me!” instead.

On My Own | Tokyo Ghoul OST (Tokyo Ghoul/Tokyo Ghoul:re AU)

Matt is shaking, tears threatening to well up in his eyes and Nate is standing right there. He looks just as Matt remembers, save for the white CCG investigator coat and two-toned hair. He quickly shakes it off and smiles instead, asking Nate- no, not Nate, not yet -what kind of coffee he’d like, determination overcoming him. He finally found Nate again, and he wasn’t letting go. Matt was going to make him remember, if its the last thing he does.

Licht und Schatten | Tokyo Ghoul OST (Tokyo Ghoul/Tokyo Ghoul:re AU)

For a moment, everything is still. Then he screams, blood pouring from where his left hand used to be. The ghouls from the cafe are surrounding him but one of them, the waiter with chocolate curls and coffee eyes is staring at him with something close to regret in his eyes. Nate doesn’t want to know why he feels so guilty. Instead, he holds his stump closer to him, trying to ignore the voices in his head telling him to give up give up giveupgiveup give me my body back you liar!

Trust Me | Devil’s Carnival (Siren!AU)

Matt knows he shouldn’t take out the earplugs, knows it could he the death of him; but the siren with the stunning blue tail is staring at him so lovingly and so Matt does. The siren smiles at him sweetly, and then he’s singing. “Trust me, trust me, darling dear,” his voice is soft and so, so pretty. Matt leans down further to hear it better. “There’s no need to fear.” Matt’s leaning down, down, down and suddenly he can’t breathe. Matt thrashes and tries to swim up, only for the siren to hold him down, pushing him farther and farther. The last thing Matt sees is a sharp toothed grin and bright toxic blue eyes.

When The Day Met The Night | Panic! At The Disco

People say Day has light, chocolate curls for hair and warm, honey brown eyes. They say he knows all; from his place atop the world, he can see everything. People say Night has hair as dark as his skies and eyes like the brightest of stars. They say he sings with the crickets in the quite night, keeping them company. People say Day and Night are lovers, spending dawn and dusk giggling and laughing together, the skies as hazy and warm as their love.

Low of Solipsism | Death Note OST (Death Note AU)

Nate glares at Matt, who simply stares back with blank eyes. “I’m not Kira,” Nate says, teeth grit. Matt hums and shifts, his toes curling on the chair seat. “Whatever you say…Kira.” Nate’s glare increases tenfold, his hands clenching. Matt was just so infuriating! He pretty much knew Nate was Kira but was just playing some game in order to get him to admit it himself. Sometimes, Nate wanted to just scribble down Matt’s name and be done with it, but he couldn’t. Not without a last name. Matt hums again and the sound brings Nate back to the conversation. Matt had started talking about the percentage of him possibly being Kira being higher, catching the attention of his father. His father looks wary and heartbroken all at once. Matt looks as unamused and bored as ever, but Nate can the smug spark in his eyes and the tiniest of lip twitches. Nate really wants write down Matt’s name.

Breaking Things Into Pieces | Hatsune Miku

Matt had always had a fascination with breaking things. The more important it was to a person, the better. The expressions they would make! Oh, they were beautiful! Some people were angry, but most people were upset. Around ten years old, he discovered the art of breaking, putting back together, and breaking again. It was amazing! He thought he had grown out of it when he was younger but recently, he had getting the urge to break something. However, that simply was not an option. Not while he was living with Nate. His boyfriend didn’t deserve to have his stuff broken. And besides, what could possibly be so important to Nate to inspire such a strong reaction? A few weeks later he got his answer. Nate placed the most importance on him, him! Matt himself! He didn’t want to but…his fingers twitched toward the knife. The expression on Nate’s face would be worth it, wouldn’t it? He grabbed the knife and plunged it into his own abdomen with a strangled scream. It made a sickening squelching sound as it broke past skin and meat over and over, blood gushing out. Soon enough, Nate rushed into their shared room, an expression of pure dread and worry on his face. When he saw Matt, his face morphed to heartbreak and pain and disbelief. Matt laughed, sounding disgusting as the he garbled through the blood. He was getting woozy from blood loss and black spots danced in his vision, but yes, he decided as death claimed him, it was worth it.