terror claws

incandescence; pt.1

Genre: werewolf!au, angst, mystery (lol kinda)

Pairings: taehyung x reader

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: You must run away, as fast as you possibly can. But in that very moment a gust of wind blowing in from seemingly nowhere causes the curtains drawn close on the tiny window to flutter wildly, illuminating the room with a tinge of sunlight that streams in. And that’s when you see him.

Warnings: mentions of blood

prologue, pt. 1


Your mother had found you collapsed at the top of the staircase.

You wake up to the feeling of the soft duvet on top of you and the worry and relief in your mother’s eyes. For a moment you feel almost a bit too disoriented to recall the string of events which had gotten you here. However, your blissful ignorance does not last too long as the memories come flooding back to you all at once. The fear feels raw and fresh in your bones at the mere thought of, well, ’it’. The menacing pair of dark eyes gleaming with a razor like sharpness, the rumbling of the low growls erupting from deep within its chest. A man, a beast, a nightmare. You found both, the reality and falsehood inseparable in your head.

 “Y/N, Oh my God, I was so worried. Don’t you dare die on me like that again.” The panic in your mother’s voice grew progressively, until her words were literally coming out all rushed and jumbled up. “Just what happened? Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Close to tears she plopped down at the foot of your bed, running a hand over her tired face. And suddenly you could no longer bring yourself to tell her the truth.

 Some wicked shadow of a possible ghost suddenly zapped up out of nowhere and the poor faint hearted me passed out at the sight of it. There is a possibility the house is possessed,  Mom and all those horror movies are actually true. Now my soul is in danger. It sounded so absurd in your head that for a moment, even you doubted yourself. Before you knew it a lie that sounded way more close to the truth fell out of your lips. “I think… I might’ve fainted out of exhaustion. I hadn’t really eaten all day. Sorry, I made you worry.” 

 She did not for a second doubt your mumbled explanation, and that moment had you wanting to believe in your own lie.

 *

The coming few weeks are nothing short a literal hell. A hell you’d crafted carefully with your own over active imagination and hyper alert senses. You jump like a scared cat at the slightest of  sounds and the slightest of shifts in the air. Your own heart beat feels a bit too loud in the ever silent misery of your new home. However when weeks tuned into a month, without any menacing dark shadows lingering around you, or anything even remotely poltergeist, you somehow force yourself to find a way to lock up that incident from days back and the paranoia that came with it in a little box which you then carefully hid away somewhere in the back of your mind.  Maybe it had been a hallucination, a trick played by your own exhausted mind on you, after all.

Your mother worked a hectic shift which usually required her to be gone all day. You constantly found yourself worried about her health when day after day she kept working herself down to the bones. “I’m fine Y/N. As strong as ever.” She would tell you with a small smile and even though the dark shadows lining her eyes would tell you a story otherwise, you never pushed it.

 Alone and with nowhere to go, the days felt too long with nothing much to fill in the long uneventful hours. You took care of the house hold chores almost a bit too enthusiastically as they provided you with your much needed distractions. You wanted to be optimistic about this whole situation but the coming months felt daunting when not even a single day passed without dragging on lethargically. It was all too quiet, too tranquil. Your days were caught up in a vacuum. However, even though you had failed to notice any of it, the silence was growing louder by the minute and sooner rather than later you would come to realize that what you once thought was a tranquil nothingness, is no longer as empty or peaceful as it had first seemed.

 *

On one early Thursday morning, you wake up feeling a strange wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere. A foul smell invades your nostrils so overwhelming that you almost gag. It smells like something rotten and decaying. You furrow your eyebrows in puzzlement, you had been thorough with your housemaid duties, disinfecting and bleaching almost every surface in sight every single day without fail. There was no way you could have missed-wait!… the storage room.

 You had never really been in there, never bothering to explore that particular end of the house for some reason. As your mother had explained it, it was a little room which held a few of the broken items and old furniture belonging to the tenants who had lived here previously.  You sighed covering the half of your face with your t-shirt as you sauntered down the hallway, grabbing the bunch of house keys which held the one to the store as well, on your way.

 You had no explanation as to why fear was once again starting to cloud your mind and your feet felt as if they were made of lead. The sickening stench continued to go stronger the closer you got to the store’s door which stood closed at the end of the hallway a good few paces from your bedroom. The urge to just hurl out the contents of your empty stomach was desperately real. This was when your muddled memories of that one eerie evening from several weeks ago began escaping it’s rightful place from the little cage you had tucked them away in, as you stood in front of the door, trying to muster up the courage you needed to push it open. Fumbling around trying to find the key in its bunch you battled the inner conflict where your brain chided you, mocked at you for being such a coward while your entire body and soul wanted to just flee and never come back. 

Wow so what were you now? A paranoid lunatic?

 With that you pushed the door open and the excruciating whiff of burnt flesh and blood almost had you crumbling in an instant. You blinked away the tears which were beginning to form in your eyes and you frantically searched the dimly lit room for the source the smell. A rat it had to be a dead rat. But when your eyes did adjust to the dull lighting of the room, terror began to claw its way out and dread tore apart every bit of composure you had been holding on to.

 There was a pool of coagulating blood on the floor, and the red was smeared on one of the walls resembling the vague shape of handprints. Over your own loud and shallow breaths, you could hear someone else's ragged and unsteady breathing. You were frozen at your spot unable to speculate, unable to make a decision. You were all alone, unarmed, the closest neighbours a mile away. Screaming your lungs out would be a pathetic failed attempt at survival.

 "W-who are you?“ You stammered, not expecting an answer and surely enough you did not get one. You took a tentative step forward red flags going up in your head. You must run away, as fast as you possibly can. But in that very moment a gust of wind blowing in, from seemingly nowhere, cause the curtains which were drawn close on the tiny window to flutter wildly, illuminating the room with a tinge of sunlight that streams in and that’s when you see him.

 The blood curdling scream you let out in that moment could have been loud enough to split the skies apart.

*

Your visions blurry and the pumping of your heart is so hard that it almost hurts. You are breathless and petrified, a deer in front of headlights.

 He sits crouched in one of the corners, his head in between his knees. His silhouette trembles with every breath of his and a low guttural groan rips out of his chest. You snatch the curtains open immediately and your gaze flits downwards landing on the blood covered shreds of the once grey t-shirt he wore, which is now a gruesome shade of crimson. There is so much blood, on his torso, on his hands, his cheeks, you feel light headed just at the sight of it.

“Help me, just this once” his voice is a faint whisper, but his desperation rings loud and clear in the silent room.

 Rationality and common sense are long  forgotten as you rush to grab a first aid kit, a couple wet towels and a bottle of rubbing alcohol from your bathroom. You were nowhere near competent when it came to first aid, the only bits being the things you had learnt watching Grey’s Anatomy and other medical sitcoms. You were sure that the boy and the bloody mess he was in required more than just your superficial knowledge of healing.

 It was hard to keep the disgust and queasiness off your face when within seconds your own hands and clothes were splattered and smudged with his blood. Every time you pressed the wet towel onto his wounds he jolted under the ministrations of your hesitant and trembling hands. The bleeding continued incessantly and within moments the towels would begin to drip with the gushing red liquid.

“I can’t do this. I-I don’t think I can help you. I should call the police, the ambula-” Your own shriek stops you mid-sentence as the boy in front of you, roughly grabs your face with his large bloodied hand, forcing you to look at him directly. “Don’t. You don’t have to do anything. Just let me stay here for a while. I’ll be fine.” Contrary to his actions his words were barely pained whispers as he begged you to let him be. He lets go of your face and you sigh out in relief. “But-” He groans in frustration at you and you swallow your own words but as if he had read your mind, he answers that one thing which was constantly eating you from the inside out. “I do not have any intentions of harming you. You don’t have to be afraid of me. Look, I’ll leave right now if you want but just don’t call anyone, okay?” You had absolutely no reason to take seriously the words falling out of this stranger’s mouth. A con artist, a sweet talking rogue, a psychopathic cold blooded killer, he could be anything and everything gravely dangerous. 

Your faces were inches apart and you peered up at him through your lashes. He seemed to be a boy around your age, perhaps a bit older. His eyes were sealed shut and his face contorted in pain. His lips were chapped and drained of color, parted slightly as he let out short puffs of breath trying to hold on to whatever bit of composure that remained keeping him from screaming out in agony.Maybe you were about to make the mistake of a lifetime, a stupidity that could cost you your life, and perhaps even your mother’s. Maybe he was nothing but a beautiful nightmare, a beast with a seraphic face, and maybe falling for his deceptive innocence was going to be your biggest mistake yet.

 "So I just watch you bleed to death?“ the corners of his lips quirk up and a ghost of a smile plays on his lips. “Yes” he replies “You do exactly that.“ 

 *

The hands of the clock race against each other at a frightening pace as the day flies by in a blink. Soon the fading sunset blends into the incoming night filling the little room with nothing but darkness once again. He does not look up at you even once in all those hours you spend sitting a few inches away from him on the floor, too afraid to move, too afraid to let him out of your sight. The slight rise and fall of his chest are the only indications of him still being alive but other than that he remains completely still. Your gaze wanders to the little window, the curtains fluttering around wildly at even the slightest touch of the winds. When the adrenaline has vanished from your blood stream, you can finally assess the damage of all the stupid impulsive decisions you’ve made ever since you discovered the injured intruder in your store. 

The events from a month back return to you in vivid details and you shudder. Looking at the broken boy in front of you, it is hard to put together any analogies between the two events, between the two intruders. Even though he sits crouched up the way he does, the boy’s face is finally peaceful like a child’s. He appears to be too lean, too… human and harmless, much unlike the burly shadow and its looming and intimidating presence, from your previous unfortunate encounter. There was something predatory in its stance and something venomous in its aura, traits the boy deep in his slumber clearly lacked.

You stand up, suppressing your groans as your legs feel like a thousand pin pricks. You needed to clean up the bloody mess the room was in. It takes almost an hour for you to get rid of the stains which seemed to have engrained themselves into the tiny ridges of the floor’s ageing wood.  Finally when the sting of bleach and disinfectant is way stronger than that of the metallic scent of blood which continues to faintly linger in the air you hear your mother’s car pull up in the driveway. 

You pretended like not a thing had changed in this entire universe during these past 24 hours, like you had not just given an intruder, a possible murderer shelter under the roof of your own house just because you felt sorry for the injured criminal. How were you supposed to explain to her the reason why you could not bring yourself to dial 911.  

 After serving dinner and catching up with your mother over it like any other day, you stayed up that night, pacing the hallway while your mother snored softly, sleeping peacefully in her own bedroom. Trying not to make any unnecessary sounds, you tiptoed to checked up on him twice, getting him a bottle of drinking water and changing his soiled towel for a fresh one. He looked too weak, too pale and your heart yearned for him to get better. Maybe you should have, afterall called an ambulance. But then his desperate plea echoes in your mind so you just stand at the crossroads unable to make a sensible decision, finally just choosing to go along with the wishes of the complete stranger. 

If anything was to go wrong that night, no one but you, yourself would be the one to blame. 

Morning comes when you are far too gone, deep asleep slumped in a chair close to your bed. You jolt awake when you hear a loud thump, like a heavy bag of sand falling loudly onto the wet ground. Apprehension causes you to bolt straight towards your mother's bedroom before you yank the door open. She’s still asleep, breathing and snoring under the covers, unharmed and you almost cry out with relief. 

Tip toeing, you head towards the store, almost not wanting to go in. You felt shaken up and unprepared, unsure as to what awaited you in the other side of the door. A lake of blood? A dead man? Gathering every ounce of courage you make your way in.

The curtains continue to flutter wildly, almost with a kind of desperation. As if they were dying to tell you the many secrets only they knew of. 

The boy was nowhere to be seen, and the cramped up space suddenly feels too huge without him in it.  


a/n- my updates are tragically slow n I’m forever sorry about my lack of motivation. I’ll try my best to post more frequently! thank you for sticking around :) feedbacks are welcomed *howls like a werewolf* *sounds more like a puppy* whoops. 

Eight Emotions Of The Afterlife — Steroline Drabble

Plot: Caroline Forbes finds peace in heaven.

Dedicated to: @sowanted and @allison-laheys. Shipping Steroline wouldn’t have been the same without you two 💖

SummaryDespite having waited for this moment for an eternity, Stefan was stunned. He couldn’t believe it was actually happening. Finally.

“Caroline.” He breathed, rushing towards her as she sped over to him at the same time, and wrapping her in his arms.

Stefan’s embrace was the safest place in the world, and Caroline never wanted to let go.

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SAW Day Three: 1st Kiss

Shutting the door to her flat, she leaned against the hard wood and let out a deep sigh.

Today had been an emotional wringer.  To watching Sherlock plummet past her window, which was heart stopping enough, to having wheeled into the morgue, to touch cold skin long enough to pull the squash ball from under his arm ignoring her own chills as she did this, her body if not her mind reacting to the idea of him actually being dead.  

Then it was merely a waiting game.  It was disconcerting seeing him lying on the metal table looking pale and cold as death.   She had the doors to the morgue locked but even with precautions seeing a body suddenly sit up on her slap gasping breath made her jump and stifle a scream.

He was disoriented, the medication given to him to stimulate death finally wearing off.  She bullied him out of his Belstaff and suit and into the track suit and hoodie she’d hidden there earlier.  He didn’t complain, merely complied with her hurried requests without a word.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket as she was bundling up his clothes in a hazardous waste bag, letting her know that the car was downstairs waiting for them and everything had been cleared for them to leave.  

She helped him out of the hospital- a friend helping her sick friend- through the back entrance and into a nondescript car in the alley.  Fromt here it was a quick drive to her flat where he would stay until early the next morning when Mycroft would ferry him out of London.

Which is where they were now.

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Dive In

Pairing: Merman!Dean x Reader

Summary: The reader finds out why she’s always been so drawn to the ocean.

Warnings: None. (There’s a rarity)

Word Count: 1,403

A/N: Well here’s part two as promised. So I decided to go back and forth between the reader’s and Dean’s POV. This is the first time I’ve ever really written something from his POV. Also I hope it’s not to confusing with the whole back and forth thing. Anyways I hope you guys like it and feedback is always welcome. 

Catch up here: Part 1

Originally posted by enchantinworld

Fish swam along the bottom nibbling on corals and rocks, the seaweed gently swayed with the current and yet Dean noticed none of this as he swam by. His thoughts were drawn to the woman he had met on the beach. The moment he had spotted her from the water he had been drawn to her. This wasn’t anything new, humans often times attracted the attention of the merkind. But the fact he had let her see him in his true form showed how much she had compromised his judgment. Not only had he put his entire race at risk but he had broken his kinds key law. And yet all of this seemed insignificant to him. Without even realizing he had done it, he spoke to her in a way that only true mates could. But that shouldn’t be possible, she was obviously human therefore couldn’t possibly be his mate. As Dean sped along the ocean bottom these thoughts plagued his mind. He needed answers and he needed them now. 

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Second Star to the Right

7 September 1940

Ash and smoke bleed into the clouds, and rain beats down on Regina Mills’ windshield. An obsidian plume mars the horizon behind her, casting an oppressive shadow upon the narrow, wet one-laned road as she speeds around a corner, her elbow banging into the driver’s side door as she sharply swerves around the curve.

“Regina, slow down!” Emma Swan shouts, bracing one hand on the dash and the other against a splintered passenger side window, glass fogging around her fingers and palm. “We’re not gonna make it if we crash before we get there!”

But Regina can’t slow down, can’t stop, can’t pause for a minute to think beyond Almost there almost there almost there! and the frantic ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump of her heart beating in her chest.

Sweat beads at her temples, tracks through ash, grime, and a smear of blood at her hairline. She’s shaking, muscles spasming painfully, harshly inhaling shuddering breath after breath. 

Calm down, Regina. Just breathe, she thinks, trying to convince herself that everything is going to be alright.

But there’s a drowning dread brewing in her belly, a gnawing terror clawing at her heart as her eyes dart up to the rear view mirror again and again – the sky alight in an unforgiving red behind them as rubber hitting the road puts more distance between them and the horrors of a bloodbath they weren’t prepared for at the Swan House.

God, all those people. The screaming. The flames.

Robin is missing.

Kathryn is dead.

And the world is on fire.

Emma yells again as Regina jerks the wheel to swerve and miss broken crates and an overturned delivery truck on the righthand side of the road. There’s debris littered everywhere – fallen trees, burning countryside, gaping wounds in the earth the size of craters, big billows of smoke reaching up into the air like skeletal tendrils.

She can barely hear Emma, barely lets her friend’s sharp curses divert her attention. She wonders if she’ll be too late, wonders if Henry and Roland are alright.

She needs to get back, needs to get home, needs to get to her boys.
She’s sure they’re alright, prays they are, hopes they are. For what more can she do with five more miles separating her boys from the safety of her arms and the frantic combing of her eyes over their limbs and faces to make sure they’re untouched by the inferno that came from the sky. She thinks of Henry’s apple cheeks and sweet smile. Thinks of Roland’s curly hair and delicious dimples. Dimples he got from his father. Oh God, Robin. She thinks of Robin, of all their letters and tear-stained parchment, and a million unanswered questions filling the pit of her belly with dread.

Her knuckles turn white as she tightens her grip on the steering wheel and bites down on her lower lip. She needs to get home. Now.

Slamming her foot on the accelerator, the tires grip to the road and yank them forward with a lurch. Rubber meeting ground in a godawful screech.

How did everything turn upside down so quickly? How did it all go to shit? That last question makes her think of Robin again. He’s rubbed off on her, and that makes her smile, makes her eyes water, and goddammit, she does not have time for this. This is why you don’t fall in love during wartime, Regina, she thinks. This is why you focus on duty, why you do your part and keep your heart out of play. But she didn’t keep her heart out of play; it cracked open, slowly at first, and then all at once, letting warmth and comfort and love flood in. Robin and Roland had done that, with their charm and their goofy grins, her love for them had snuck up on her, and she’d been flabbergasted at how much she and Henry had soon wanted the Locksley men in their lives. Their love had laid her heart bare in a way that it hadn’t been in years (not since Daniel, not since before she’d been brokered into a marriage to Leopold, and not since she’d first held her darling Henry to her chest. He’d been lost just like her, an orphan during wartime, and she may not have brought him into this world with blood and pain, but she’d loved him instantly with a force so fierce she hadn’t known where it had come from.

“Regina!” Emma exclaims and grips tightly to her arm to get her attention, pulling her out of the past and into the very chaotic present. “I don’t want to die in this stupid piece of metal! Not after what we just went through! Not after Kathryn…”

Regina whips her head around, glaring at Emma, fighting off tears threatening to fall.

Robin is missing.

Kathryn is dead.

The world is one fire.

And she has to get home to the boys.

It’s a mantra she keeps repeating in her head. Something to ground her. Truths she can’t ignore.

It keeps her going, keeps her from breaking down.

Regina’s eyes are back on the road in front of her, but she doesn’t miss the reassurance in Emma’s voice when she speaks next.

“I know, and you know, they’re safe–” the boys, she’s talking about the boys “–Maggie and Marcus wouldn’t let anything happen to Roland. And they love you and Henry, as if you were their own blood. They’ll protect them.” Emma lets go of Regina’s hand as they turn onto the long driveway up to the Locksley farm. Emma blows out a breath, and then gasps, turning around swiftly in her seat and craning her neck to peer out the cab of the truck and up into the clouds.

Regina follows her gaze out her driver’s side mirror.

Planes. An entire fleet, flying overhead toward the city center.

Oh God. Changing autumn leaves pass by in a blur as Regina barrels up the driveway, pebbles spinning out from beneath the truck’s tires as they grapple against gravel for traction.

Her fingers grip more tightly to the steering wheel and she presses down on the pedal again, hard. Takes the next turn at an alarming speed, and on any other day, she’d be more cautious. She’s never driven like this before, hasn’t really driven in years, would never drive like this in general, but there’s still a faint metallic taste in her mouth. There’s still the subtle, unwelcomed burn of ash in her lungs. And Kathryn’s broken body is still clearly painted in her mind.

The lower pasture up ahead blurs, goes watery, and then tears spill beyond her lashes like a flood breaking through a dam. “Almost there,” Regina urgently speaks, voice caught in her throat.

“Come on, come on.” She can see Emma staring at her through the corner of her eye.

They pass over hills and into the valley paralleling the lake, getting closer and closer to the homestead as her heart violently beats faster and faster in her chest. Ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump. The sound of it bleeding into her eardrums, drowning out all other sounds, snuffing out the voice in her head telling her she’s not going to make it, shouting that things will never be the same again as more planes fly overhead.

This is it, she thinks. This is how the world ends.

The truck skids to a halt on the graveled drive in front of Maggie and Marcus Locksley’s country home. And then Regina’s pushing open the door, slamming it shut behind her–the key still in the ignition. She doesn’t take the time to wait for Emma before hiking up her skirt and bounding up the front steps of the house, practically throwing open the front screen door; it violently swings on its hinges, bangs against the wall with a godawful snap. But she doesn’t care that that’s probably left a doorknob dent in the drywall. Who the fuck cares about something like that when London has just been bombed and the city is burning?

She’s out of breath when she shouts, “Henry!” careening down the entryway hallway. “Henry! Roland! Maggie! Marcus!”

She sees Maggie first. “Christ, Regina! You’re covered in blood!” 

And she is, but she doesn’t have time to explain, hears the echo of Kathryn’s scream in her head as the ceiling had collapsed on them, remembers the heat of the inferno singing the hair on her arms, and her colleague’s blood on her hands and apron as she and Emma had tried to carry Kathryn out of the rubble of the Swan House. But she doesn’t say any of that, instead blinks back tears burning at the corners of her eyes and says, “It’s not mine!” and begs, “Where are the boys?”

Maggie pulls her into a quick squeeze and runs her palms down Regina’s arms, checking her over for injuries. A mother through and through. “Marcus has the boys. They’re grabbing the dog and then we’re going to the cellar. Bags are already together.”

Regina nods frantically, and then Emma’s behind her, the screen door slamming into its frame again. “We have to go!” she shouts. “Where are the kids?”

“They’re coming,” Maggie replies, handing Regina and Emma potato sacks filled to the brim with clothing, canteens filled with fresh well water, produce, and basic medical supplies. Regina’s eyes widen as she stares at the contents. There are black market items in these bags. Things they’ve been out of for months, things she thought Maggie had gotten rid of, some things that she in fact helped the older woman get rid of. And yet here they are.

“Maggie…” she says, “where did you…”

“Does it matter?”

No, she supposes it doesn’t, and they’ll be happy for Maggie’s hoarding of illegal items when they’re down in the bunker.

“Okay, we have to go, seriously,” Emma says again. “There’s gonna be a second wave any minute! This isn’t a drill!”

“Where are the boys?” Regina shouts again, nerves unraveling at the seams.

“We’re here!” Marcus Locksley calls. Roland is propped up above his hip, arms tightly wrapped around his grandpa’s neck, and then Henry is shouting, running past the two of them and colliding against Regina’s body.

"Mom!” He cries as she drops to her knees and clutches him to her, her fingers threading into his hair as she breathes his name in a sigh of relief. Her baby is safe; he’s safe. He’s in her arms, and she’s breathing him in, and kissing his cheeks, and drying tears from his eyes, and he’s safe.

It takes them all of five minutes after that to make it across the field to the bunker, and as they lock the shelter door behind them and start running down the stairs, the next wave begins.

Dust unsettles, the walls vibrate, Roland buries his face into his grandpa’s chest and whimpers.

“Mom, I’m scared,” Henry cries into Regina’s shoulder as they huddle together in the far corner of the cellar.

She hugs him a little tighter, presses her lips to the crown of his head and whispers, “I know, honey. Me too.”

“Regina?” Marcus sets Roland down and the five year old runs over to her.

“Yes, sweetheart?” she says, folding him into her side and giving him and Henry a squeeze. She ushers them to the cot near the shelf with all the canned peaches and beans, and urges them to sit down.

Roland wipes his runny nose on his sleeve and sniffles. “Is my papa gonna be okay?”

“Oh sweetheart, it’ll be okay,” she says, brushing his curls out of his face and situating herself onto the cot so both of the boys can curl into her sides. She combs her fingers through their hair, and whispers reassuringly, “He’s safe; your papa’s safe.” And then she says, “We’re safe. You’re safe, he’s safe, we’re safe.”

She repeats those words over and over.
And then it begins again.

Boom.

The walls shake.

Boom.

Dust unsettles.

Boom.

Roland covers his ears, and Henry buries his face in his mother’s side.

“We’re going to be alright,” Regina whispers, pressing a kiss to Henry’s brow and combing her fingers through Roland’s curls again.

She wraps her arms more tightly around them both and prays to God she’s right.

Lighthouse Ch. 2 {Bucky Barnes FanFic}

Pairing:       Bucky X BlackOC/Reader (BUT EVERYONE CAN READ)

Rating:        Mature (NSFW)

Warnings:    Angst, Smut, Mentions of Death, Language

Word Count:   1619

A/N:  So I’ve added some fluff and smut to offset the ANGST and heartache from the previous chapter.  Hope this makes up for it!!!  Enjoy!  leave me love and reblog if you like it!  

(NOT MY GIF)

Originally posted by hauntedbystorytelling

One day when I’m free

Take a ferry ride over and

Be close to me


“You ok?”

She’s been watching Bucky in silence for nearly ten minutes, caught, as she often is, by the beauty of him.  Yes, he’s beautiful and strong and more than just a little broken.  And he’s hers.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed.  Dim swathes of moonlight drift over him.  They cast his slightly hunched form in wavering shadow and soft, blue light.  It glints on his metal arm, winking and dancing inside the warm stillness of her bedroom.  The messy fall of his auburn her obscures his face slightly, but she can imagine the look on it as he stares off into nothing, every line and hard edge as familiar to her as her own.

Familiar…

Familiar is what comes to mind when she thinks about him.  When he’s near.  When she catches sight of the small smile that ghosts across his face, quick as a flash and gone before it’s fully formed.  Familiar, like a song she’s forgotten, and only half-remembers, that swells inside her, mixed up with joy and a strange, shifting sense of nostalgia.

He’d always seemed familiar to her, oddly and inexplicably, from the very moment she’d met him, when he’d been blocking the refreshment table, more specifically the coffee, in back of her little bookstore where she’d allowed some of the locals to run various support groups for the past several years, including her close friend, Sam Wilson.

But, perhaps, it wasn’t him which had been so familiar to her.  Maybe it was the pain he held so close and tight, almost though not completely hidden behind a carefully crafted mask of neutrality.  Of watchfulness and wariness.  A pain he wore like a heavy winter coat and remained draped haphazardly across his broad shoulders.

He sits motionless for a long moment, a perfect statue.  Then he seems to take a breath, pulls the air in deep, filling his lungs before slowly turning his head to look at her.  Her fingers itch to touch him, to rake through his hair and smooth over the scruffy line of his jaw.  To pull him in and circle her arms around his broad frame.  Because he’s familiar to her.  Because he’s home.

His pale blue eyes move over her face, and she watches the shadows behind them shift and begin to fade, if only just a little.  And that makes her happy.

“I’m fine.” he says absently.  His voice, all low and rough and I-just-rolled-out-of-bed, echoes in her chest.  Moves lower where it pulses and throbs in hot bursts in her belly.  His metal arm whirs and clicks softly as his fingers curl in on themselves.

She doesn’t believe him.  He knows it.  She knows that he knows she knows it.  But she simply smiles and moves closer to him.  Curls like a cat around his overly warm body, her stomach against his lower back and her knees pressing gently into his hip.  Props herself up on a bent elbow and stares up at him.  Waits him out, because she knows pushing him will only make him detach.  Pull away.  

She doesn’t want that.  She likes him here and present.  Close.  

The light sparks in his eyes.  She trails the flat of her hand slowly, gently, down the ridges of his ribcage. Kisses the tips of his fingers when he reaches out to cup her cheek in his big hand.

Build a house on a rock

Where the bay meets the sea

Where the dreams of my mother

Are buried like seeds

“How can it work?”

His voice is distant, as if he’s speaking to himself, and she understands now what’s pulled him out of his rare, peaceful slumber.  Tugged him from her embrace.   

It isn’t the dreams this time, remnants of a past from which he isn’t so far removed, and which she’s certain will haunt him for the rest of his many days.  

No.  It’s none of that.   

She shifts again, this time curling herself more tightly around his body, as if she means to protect him, even if it’s from himself.  Gazes up at him through the fringe of her dark lashes.

“Bucky,” she says lowly.  Quietly.  Briefly rests her thin hand on his thick thigh and feels the muscles there jump at her touch.

Over time, old fears have become new ones.  No, the old fears haven’t changed.  They’re still there, though not as close to the surface anymore.

Instead, there’s her.  The passing of time.  A future he can’t see clearly and one he doesn’t believe at all possible.  He, Bucky Barnes, whose life is a testament to the impossible.  

“Bucky,” she says again, and he pulls his hand from her face.  Turns away.  His hair shifts against his cheek and she quickly, if a little clumsily, raises up on her knees next to him.  Brushes the hair from his face and presses a firm kiss against the curve of his flesh shoulder.  

“We’ll love,” she says softly, her tone almost matter-of-fact, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.   “We’ll live.  Maybe have a baby or two for our troubles.”

He makes a rough, disbelieving sound.  There’s more whirring and clicking from his arm,  an oddly comforting sound.  Musical,in its own way.

“I don’t deserve it,” he shoots back.  And she knows he means it.  Can sense the terror rising in him, clawing at him, and it makes her stomach feel hollow and heavy.   Makes it ache with the need to soothe and comfort him.  Wipe away all the pain and the writhing, hungry shadows swirling inside him.

“Maybe.  Maybe not.  Maybe you deserve better, sweetheart.  But, I’m what you get.  And, you’re kinda stuck with me now.”  

She leans in, molds her body to his side.   She paints his flesh with love, with the heat and sincerity of her words, pausing a moment to breathe in the warm skin and sparking metal scent of him.  A shiver runs through him when she walks two fingers up the length of his spine.  “I’ll be damned if I let you go, Bucky.”

She kisses his shoulder again.  Drags her lips up and over the taut muscle there.  Feels him beginning to relax against her.  

“If I can help it,” she goes on, “if it’s within my power, I’ll always be with you, Bucky.”

“You can’t promise that,” he replies, even as his metal fingers curl over the back of her neck and he turns his head to brush his lips over hers.

This time it’s she who snorts in disbelief.

“Wanna bet?”

There’s a moment of silence, of settling, of breathing in each other’s air as her words, her promises, move around them.  Then he’s moving, shifting his big body and using it to push her onto her back.   Her arms instinctively close around him, and he slips over her, makes room for himself between her lush thighs.  She feels him, hot and hard already, and releases a long, contented sigh.

His teeth find the soft spot below her chin.  They nip at it and then his tongue is flicking out to soothe the slight sting.  

“I love you,” he murmurs, and it feels just as good as the first time he said - in a back corner of her bookstore, staring down into a cold cup of coffee, the words spilling out as if he’d only just realized it.

She skims her hands up the broad expanse of his back, the skin warm and tight here.  Curls her fingers through his hair and presses a kiss to his temple.

She wants to say it back, but she knows there’s even more he needs in this moment.  “I’ll always be here, Bucky.  As long as I can help it, you’ve got me.”


And I’ll be your lighthouse

I’ll be your lighthouse


He sighs against her skin as he sinks into her, her body always wet and ready, open and welcoming of every piece of him.  Holds himself steady for a moment as her walls flutter and clutch at his cock.  The pleasure winds through her, moves like a hot, electrified wave through her.  It sparks in wavering shades of dark red and swirling blue behind her closed eyelids.

He moves with certainty, with a solid sureness and a quiet desperation, his arms banded behind her back and his mouth claiming hers as he plunges through her slick heat.  Shows her with his body, with each low, shuddering utterance of her name, how much he loves her, needs her, wants to believe all of these things she promises him.

She comes first, panting his name, squeezing him tight within her, clinging to him, her back bowing as the pleasure fill hers near to bursting.

When Bucky comes, it’s quiet, but his fingers dig into her flesh and the low sounds he makes are needy and hungry.  

Afterward, they lay together, allowing the sweat to dry on their skin, and watching the shadows created by the moonlight caught in her thin curtains dancing across the ceiling.  He holds her hand, refuses to let go of it as he absently traces the outline of her engagement ring with his thumb.  It’s quiet and the silence surrounding them now is perfectly empty and, at least for the moment, his fears have been allayed.  

There’s a measure of peace and they’ll take it, enjoy it, wallow in it until the fears rise again.  And then they’ll deal with them in the same way they always have - with promises and whispers and the connection of their flesh beneath the moonlight.

And I’ll be your lighthouse

You’ll be one for me


Tagging: @flowers-and-honey @afro-elf @stellanoble @jazzytee @buckyscurvylover @the-violent-peach @ishipwhateverthefuckiwantto @bethofaus @ursulaismymiddlename @amour-quinn  

let me know if anyone else would like to be tagged, or if I’ve tagged you and you would like to be removed!

Fallen

Originally posted by jjilljj

A/N: this was inspired by one of my friends on peach who loves jin so so much and called him an archangel once and i was inspired. hope y’all enjoy!

wc: ~5.1K

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A/N: so this is the continuation to the latest text post on @sirius-and-remus-texting. I worked in it with my good friend @its-always-you–john-watson. So go check her out! I hope you enjoy and sorry this took so long.
——————
Heart pounding, Sirius ran up the stairs of the castle. His mind was racing so fast that he could barely comprehend what was going on around him. The words that remained on his phone screen were imprinted in his mind.

‘I love you too, Sirius.’

His breath was heavy as he made his way to the common room. He felt residual tingles in his chest from the relief he felt when the words appeared. The three daunting dots that told him Remus was typing had sent him into near hysterics. His fear had reached a climax when he closed his eyes at the sound of a message being received. And when he opened them, and saw the words that were there instead of what he expected, he knew what he had to do.

He stuttered for the right words when the fat lady stared down her nose at him and asked him for the password.

“Maple fizzbys” he gasped, throwing the door open when it didn’t go fast enough.

And there he was. There. Right in front of Sirius. His eyes were wide and his hair was askew, hands covered him marker from the page he was highlighting for class. Sirius realized he had stopped moving when Remus took a step toward him. He found himself stumbling backwards. It was like everything was distorted. He felt almost like he was floating. And the fear was back. His mind raced with thoughts of this being untrue. He dreamed the whole thing. He was wrong. Remus couldn’t love him. It was impossible. He was too perfect.

Remus began to walk toward him, and he continued stumbling away. He was still processing, and the usually mouthy boy was silent as his brain worked everything through.

“Sirius-” Remus began.

“I’m sorry!” Sirius rushed out. Remus paused, and he did too. “For what?” Remus asked. He looked at Sirius with concern. “For-for all this! This madness! It’s a mess. I’m a mess. Forget I said anything. Just-just-”

“Was it a lie?” Remus pressed, taking another step. Sirius didn’t move this time, water collecting in his eyes as terror clawed its way up his throat. “No…” Sirius whispered. Remus took another step. “I wasn’t lying either, you know. But…” Remus replied.

Sirius closed his eyes as his lip trembled. He let out shuddering breaths. The friendship was over. He knew it. He had ruined everything. If he had just kept his mouth shut this would all be fine. He was about to loose the person he loved the most. He let out a quiet sob. He hated himself. How pathetic he must have looked to Remus.

“I don’t want anything you aren’t okay with, Sirius. I don’t want to loose you,” Remus said, next to Sirius’ ear. Sirius opened his eyes, startled. He gasped sharply and inhaled Remus’ scent. Chocolate, pen ink, and cinnamon. He hadn’t realized that Remus had begun moving.

Remus placed his hand on Sirius’ face. Lulling his head into the warmth, Sirius closed his eyes again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry Remus. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m-”

“Sirius it’s okay.” Remus shushed him. “I promise.” Remus smiled at the boy in front of him. He knew Sirius was a bit emotional when figuring things out, but he hadn’t expected anything like this. Even so, he was still so beautiful in Remus’ eyes. Sirius looked up at him, eye lashes casting shadows down his cheekbones. He was so close that Remus could have counted the tiny hairs.

“It wouldn’t be Sirius without a crying outburst, now would it?” Remus teased. Sirius felt his cheeks turn slightly pink and he chuckled. “Shut up, Mr. I love you too. I find it interesting that you knew I was talking about you when I said all the nice things. Pretty egotistical if you ask me,” Sirius smirked. “Well, then I guess it’s a god thing no one did,” Remus replied, smiling fondly at the tear-stained face with a smile strewn across it.

“What now?” Sirius whispered after a few seconds of silence. Remus gave him a puzzled look. “That depends on what you want,” He answered. “I know what I want, but you’re the one who would have to give it to me.”

Sirius smiled. Remus would be the one to plan out the entire future of the relationship before it even happened. Not that Sirius didnt think…

But first, they had to start the relationship. And Sirius was determined to do that.

“What do you want?” Sirius asked. Remus blushed. “Nothing, really. Just small things,” He looked at the floor and Sirius smirked. “Small things?”

“Small things.”

“What kinds of small things,”

“Just small… ones,” Remus backed up a little, only to be pulled back into Sirius’ arms. “I don’t know.” Remus sighed. “Things like holding hands,” He grasped Sirius’ hand in his own. “And… kissing,” He whispered the pasty part, as if scared of the result. Sirius breathed a little faster. “That would be nice. I like that small thing.”

Remus quirked up one side of his lip. “Me too,” he whispered. He looked back at Sirius’ eyes, but he was focusing on his lips. Remus moved forward slightly before tilting his head to the side and waiting. He didn’t want to rush Sirius.

When Sirius realized he was waiting, he wasted no time. Pusahing himself from the wall, he pressed his lips against Remus’. It was a short and chaste kiss, each of them indulging in the other’s scent.

All Sirius could smell was the aftershave Remus had used. It was light and smelled of the shelves a library would have. That comforting smell that envelopes you when you walk in. His lips were slightly chapped, rough and warm against his own.

Remus was focusing on the shampoo that Sirius had used. It was enveloping his sciences. But all he could hear was Sirius’ quiet breathing, and all he could feel was the smooth lips against his own. His hand reached to the back of Sirius’ neck as he felt hands come to rest on his waist.

When they pulled apart, they’re eyes were heavy. They’re faces were laced with intoxicated smiles. Sirius rested his forehead against Remus’ and closed his eyes again. Silence fell between them once more, but this time no one was tempted to break it. They’re breath mingled together in the space between their lips as they pressed close, grasping to each other as if it would eliminate more distance.

“Someone’s gonna walk in,” Remus whispered. “Let them,” Sirius replied, eyes sparkling as he looked into Remus’ eyes. “Let them all know that we have each other now.”

Remus smiled and settled back into silence. Like nothing before them, they were an individual kind of happy.

“James is gonna freak out,”

“Oh, yeah,”

Words: 1163

Stan dropped the gun, unable to hold it in his shaking hands any longer. It hid the floor with a thunk. Ford slumped over onto his side in a heap, blood still slowly dripping from the gash on his forehead, along with the countless other injuries he had sustained. He did seem to be wrong about one thing - the memory gun did work despite the metal plate in his head. Stan felt tears trickle gently down his face. He’d already lost his brother once due to his own actions, and now Ford was gone again, for good this time.

The huge cross-shaped rift in the sky began to shake and move. The bricks of the Fearamid walls and floor began to drift upwards, being pulled back into the tear in the sky. Stan saw the interdimensional monsters below get pulled upwards as well. The six people trapped inside the tapestries were released, falling to the floor with gentle thumps. The group were slowly lowered to the ground as the Fearamid disassembled, being sucked back into the rift. With a final pop, the rift sealed and the sky changed to a pleasant pale blue colour.

A large, pale blue wave of energy washed out over the whole town. Fires were put out, buildings were repaired and the scaled-up Gompers was returned to his original size. The snarling, living water tower was returned to its rightful place, no longer living. The waterfall no longer flowed upwards into the sky and was no longer a sickly red colour. Everything had returned back to normal.

As the other members of the group returned to their families and friends, Stan, Dipper and Mabel were left in a clearing in the woods. Ford was laid on his side, unconscious. He stirred a little bit, his eyes fluttering open weakly. “Huh…?”

“Great Uncle Ford…?” Dipper took a few steps forward, wringing his hat in his hands nervously. “Are you okay…?”

Ford pushed himself into a sitting position, adjusting his glasses. He noticed the small boy approaching him and his hand immediately flew to his hip, where a blaster usually was. He glanced down and began to panic, realising that he had no weapons on him. He scrambled to his feet and backed away, his hands raised in a defensive position.

Dipper froze. “F-Ford…?”

“Who the hell are you?” Ford spat. He had no idea where he was, what had happened, who these people are or even who he was. All he knew was that being in the company of anything else meant danger. “Get away from me!”

“Ford!” Stan took a step forward, gently pulling Dipper away. “He’s just a kid!”

“I won’t be tricked by your lies!” Ford shouted, taking another step backwards. “What the hell did you do to me? Who’s this ‘Ford’ character?!”

Stan swallowed, his hands trembling and tears stinging his eyes. Oh God. HIs brother didn’t even remember his own name. Everything in his brother’s mind was gone. All that was left were the fight or flight instincts he’d developed while lost in the Portal. Ford didn’t know who anyone was and he likely saw them all, even the kids, as a threat.

Ford growled, his hand still pawing at the imaginary blaster in the holster at his hip. “I said what the hell did you do to me?! Who’s Ford?!”

Stanley swallowed again and took a deep breath. He lifted his hands up slowly, open-palmed, to show that he had no weapons and wasn’t a threat to Ford. “None of us are going to hurt you. We want to help you, okay?”

Ford scoffed. “Yeah right! You’re lying! You want me to trust you! Well, I won’t!” He snapped. The kids recoiled at the venom in their uncle’s voice. “I can’t trust anyone, not after everyone betrayed me.”

An idea lit up at the back of Stan’s mind. “Who betrayed you, Stanford?”

“WHO IS STANFORD?!”

Stanley froze. His immediate reaction was to take a step backwards, but he stayed put. “Stanford - you were betrayed by somebody. Who was it?”

Ford adjusted his posture, keeping his fists raised in defence. “He lied. He said that he would help me, that this was the right thing to do, and he lied.”

“Who lied?” Stan prompted, taking another cautious step forward. “Who lied to you?”

“BILL CIPHER!” Ford screamed. His eyes suddenly went wide and the anger melted away, leaving behind raw terror. His hands clawed at his scalp and tugged his hair. He stumbled backwards up against a tree and slid to the ground. His breath came in quick, shallow puffs. “No no no no he’s trying to get in no I can’t let him no no!” Ford’s nails dug into the skin on his face, leaving red marks. Blood beaded on his face where he broke through to capillaries.

“Ford!” Stan grabbed Ford’s wrists, tugging them away from his brother’s face. He knelt down in front of Ford, holding his wrists tightly. He looked into Ford’s eyes, his voice low and gentle. He knew how vulnerable and terrified Ford was right now, but he couldn’t bear to watch Ford hurt himself like that.


Ford kicked and struggled. “LET GO OF ME LET GO LET GO!” He screamed, fighting and wriggling desperately to get out of Stan’s grip. He clenched his eyes shut tightly.

“Ford please!” Stan pulled Ford forward into a tight embrace. “We’re not going to hurt you. Bill is gone. He won’t get to you. We’re going to help you, okay?”

Ford’s whole body tensed up at the contact. He struggled again, though this time not as violently. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He was hyperventilating.

The twins stood back. The sight was painful to watch. Ford was acting like a wounded, cornered animal, using the last of its strength to try and get free. Ford saw his brother as a predator, as a threat. Tears ran down the faces of both twins as they watched Stan hold Ford down, trying to prevent Ford hurting either himself or his brother.

Stan ran a hand through Ford’s hair gently. Eventually, he calmed down and slumped forward onto Stan’s shoulder, letting the tears run free. Stan held onto Ford gently, helping him to his feet and leading him back towards the Shack. The twins led the way through the woods. They could hear Ford murmuring questions quietly to his brother. Stan tried to explain things as best he could. He didn’t want to give much information away. He knew how dangerous that could be - giving Ford all the answers would likely lead to more confusion and even possible breakdowns. He had to let Ford discover things on his own.

Ford allowed himself to be led by the strangers through the woods. He looked at the man next to him. “What happened to me?”

The man swallowed as they approached a large, dilapidated house in a clearing up ahead. “It’s a long story…”

_____

@hermit404

I certainly would be interested in this prompt! You are welcome! As with several of the other prompts I’ve received, this has the potential to become a really long multi-chapter fic, but I simply have too much writing to do on top of college work and family stuff. If anyone wants to take this idea and run away with it, be my guest!!

2

Coming soon to a Tumblr near you…

“Regina, slow down!” Emma Swan shouts, bracing one hand on the dash and the other against a splintered passenger side window, glass fogging around her fingers and palm. “We’re not gonna make it if we crash before we get there!”

But Regina can’t slow down, can’t stop, can’t pause for a minute to think beyond Almost there almost there almost there! Sweat beads at her temples, tracks through ash, grime, and a smear of blood at her hairline. She’s shaking, muscles spasming painfully as she harshly inhales shuddering breath after breath.

Calm down, Regina. Just breathe, she thinks, trying to convince herself that everything is going to be alright.

She just needs to get back, just needs to get home, just needs to get to her boys.

But there’s a drowning dread brewing in her belly, a gnawing terror clawing at her heart as her eyes dart up to the rear view mirror again.

The world is on fire.

Second Star to the Right - an AU by @outlawqueenluvr

Not Yet Titled

I awake disoriented, fear invading my thoughts and emotions. Critically studying my surroundings offers no indication why terror is clawing my heart.Yet for some reason I can’t shake off the notion that something has gone terribly wrong. My thoughts play back the events of last night and I slowly come to realization that something very important is missing. Scratch that, the something is actually someone. My little brother is gone. The loss hits me so hard that it takes my breath away.

conundrum. (arranged in haphazard rondo)

In lieu of soukoku episode release & soukoku week, I decided to post a soukoku fic at last ヾ(´▽`;)ゝ

tl;dr: An introspective overview of Dazai and Chuuya’s relationship over the years, told in five brief parts; from childhood, to the Dark Era, till the very end; and me postulating the ending of BSD encompassing much angst and tragedy.


~

- table of contents -

i. The Worst Day Ever
ii. The Scariest Day Ever
iii. The Absolute Worst Day Ever
iv. The Happiest Day Ever
v. The Worst Day Ever

~

i. The Worst Day Ever

There wasn’t really anything that happened between them.

“I’m Nakahara.”

“Name’s Dazai.”

“Your face pisses me off.”

“As does yours.”

“I’m glad it’s mutual.”

Perhaps it’s meant to be. Their first look at one another left a sour aftertaste at the back of their tongues, like the revolting bitterness of herbal medicines. It’s strong, it’s repugnant, it’s also inexplicable – arising as naturally as the Sun from the east. The French use the saying, “le coup de foudre”; perhaps between them lightning struck too hard, and the nasty burn that it left behind sizzled on for many years to come.

It’s not like Chuuya can ever forget that day – he even went on to elegantly coin it with a name of utmost sophistication (‘The Worst Day Ever’). It’s as if he is forced to endure the taste of cheap, oxidized beer; the odious gaze of those black eyes from across the room left in him a prickly sensation of disgust, coupled with the urge to flee at once.

Not that he could. “Now, lads, no fighting,” instructed Kouyou, her tone motherly. Her eyes shot him a knowing look, and Chuuya understood the threat that came beneath that beaming visage. “The Boss insists you lads be cordial.”

“How ‘bout no.” Chuuya mutters, eyeing the other boy suspiciously.

“My sentiments exactly,” says the boy with a subdued glower.

Kouyou’s smile only widens to terrifying proportions, and she says nothing, turning to grin at the man standing behind the young boy. It is the boy’s caregiver, Mori; a figure whose role paralleled hers to Chuuya. The man shrugs, amused.

Meanwhile the boys are engaged in their own interaction of silent looks, scrutinizing one another with disdainful contempt; between them stood a battlefield of sheer eyepower and pride, alongside equal prowess of detestation flung at one another carelessly like spears, hitting all but their target’s unyielding ego. Neither relents. Neither triumphs either.

Their stalemate is abruptly broken when Kouyou, with her heavy kimono and large traditional umbrella, steps in regally between them, the slight smile of her face both mystifying and alluring at once. Both boys are halted, and turn their gaze towards her subliminal beauty in stunned wonder.

She turns to each of them, tossing charming glances through half-lidded eyes – enrapturing them with the exquisite sheen glimmering in her eyes. She grins. Mori watches on, respectfully amused at Kouyou’s wit.

“Orders are orders, lads,” says she, emancipating an immeasurable amount of matured charisma.

The two boys dumbly nod, eyes fixated and enthralled like the bewitched; unquestioning.

It is only much later that Chuuya realises what he had agreed to, and groans in unfathomable regret and angst at perhaps the worst command of all time.

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Lo Siento

Buried beneath the ruins of Zurich they have the chance for one last conversation, but there is too much that has been said and too much that needs to be said, and not enough time. Written for Reaper76 Week 2017. Day 5 Prompt: ‘Over the Airwaves’ (Voice/Music).

Disclaimer: As always Overwatch and its amazing characters don’t belong to me, I’m just borrowing them.

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On Behalf of Kili

Based on this imagine found at @imaginexhobbit

Kili x Reader

Warnings: ANGST.

Word count: 2,273

Sequel: Counting Chickens


Fili has been trying to corner you all night, hopeful determination beaming from his face every time he caught your eye; you know exactly why it is he seeks you out, but you are more than adamant about avoiding him however possible. You have swerved around many of the wedding’s guests that mingle about the Great Hall, taken shelter behind a small gathering of Elves, allowed yourself to be swept away by a passing group of merry Men, including the new King of Dale himself, and virtually stopped to speak with every being you came face to face with, even if the conversation only went so far as for you to apologize profusely for knocking the drink out of their hand when you had bumped into them.

While quite a number of years out from adolescence, it seems he still has not stopped acting on behalf of his brother, though it has gotten much less adorable as the years wore on. Hardly a part of you thought it was possible that they undertake the journey they had done and not gained any bit of maturity, especially when it came to grown-up interactions.

Though, you could hardly laud yourself for your own sophistication as you spot Fili’s telltale golden hair once more and dive below a refreshments table.

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Fic Rec Days!

Since this weekend is Fic Rec Days, here are a few of the stories I have read and enjoyed since wandering into the DA fandom sometime last spring! I do occasionally read things that aren’t Fenhawke, but…okay, it’s been a while since I read anything else, so that’s what this list will feature.

To keep this…manageable, I’m going to recommend one favorite work by each author on this list in full, with just the titles of other things I’ve liked by the same author.

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anonymous asked:

Dorian and Cullen as Jaeger pilots y/y?

y/y, ‘non. always yes.


1.
They call it ghost drifting– the phenomena of feeling as if one is still in the Drift, even after separation.

A fitting name, Dorian thinks as he wakes up alone. He feels a flutter of something warm unfurl in the back of his mind, like a cup of sweetened milk, an early morning embrace, the wrap of blankets around two bodies.

He smiles. A faint Good morning, but a Good morning nonetheless.

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anonymous asked:

Can you do a story where lydia is constantly grabbing stiles hand unconsciously and when someone asks her why (stiles maybe) she says it feels like she can't breath until she does and they kiss and it's all fluffy and cute

Surely anon! :)

Here’s a little fluffy story featuring tons of hand holding…

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