the doors unhinged

When They Rescue You From A Rival Gang (Requested)

~Kim Namjoon~

Namjoon felt a surge of primal instinct when he unloaded his shells into the skull of the man who had you chained to the wall. His eyes glazed over with a cold film that you couldn’t quite decipher. You lifted your raw wrist to cup his cheeks when he kneeled down to your height. A large smile split his face and his little dimples caused the ache in your skull to lessen.

You were going home and you couldn’t be happier. The other men stood on lookout, knowing you didn’t have much time. Namjoon unlocked the shackles and lifted you with each Bridal Style.

“When we get home, I promise to kiss each and every one of those bruises Princess.”

~Kim Seokjin~

Jin was nervously chewing on his nails, waiting for the boys to drag you out of that hellhole. When the back door of the building nearly flew from the hinges, he appeared from the shadows. Jungkook and Jimin were supporting you under the arms, loading you into the back of the van. Gunfire made you clutch your ears and stumble to the front of the van.

Jin felt you small hands clutch at his jacket sleeve and he turned to place a long kill to the side of your dimple as the boys slammed the doors shut and ordered him to drive. He rolled his eyes at the interrupted reunion. Jin had you sit in the front seat, all the while gripping your hand.

“Hang on Y/n. We’re going for a ride.”

~Min Yoongi~

Yoongi cringed at how much blood covered his Stefano Bemer Shoes. You were right on the other side of that door. Yoongi unhinged the heavy lock and pushed open the door. There you were on the cold wet ground. You refused to even lift your head for you feared the torture would continue.

The sharp click on Yoongi’s shoes had you shivering. This wasn’t the same person who had came in repeatedly during the night. Soft fingers touched your cheek and you felt warmth shoot through you.

Yoongi reached out the picked the locks to your handcuffs. Once your hands were free, you took no time in wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I never thought I’d get to hold you like this again.”

~Jung Hoseok~

Hoseok shoved his way into the infiltration team. He pulled his knife out from the throat of a man guarding the room you were held in. It took him no longer than five seconds to figure out the code for the door and pop it open.

You were sprawled out on a medical table, bloodied and blindfolded. You whimpered at the frantic shuffling Hoseok did. The blindfold was removed for the first time in 2 days. You winced, trying to adjust to the light.

Hoseok cupped your head and placed a deep kiss right onto your lips. He made quick work of the leather restraints and feathered You in his arms like a child.

“Let’s get you home, love.”

~Park Jimin~

Jimin shot the guard with pinpoint accuracy, right between the eyes. He fell back with a soft thump and Jimin was able to fish the keys off of his belt and open the door. You were kneeling on the floor with your hands tied behind your back.

You began to cry at the sight of your lover, tugging hard against the rope. Jimin hushed your cries and cut the strong rope,  rubbing the raw skin and decorating your face with kisses.

He helped you onto you feet, growling at the many marks and bruises along your skin. You petted his jaw and buried your face into his shirt.

“Can we leave?”

“My thoughts exactly, doll.”

~Kim Taehyung~

Tae had successfully snuck into your cell, breaking the restraints and pushing back your knotted hair. However, the guard at the door was still chocking on his own blood form the poisonous bullet Tae had lodged in his chest.

Taehyung moved to finish him off but you softly put your hand on the handle. “Let me do it. This bitch is the one who broke my shoulder.” Taehyung had an Evelin grin that sent chills all the way to your toes.

He handed over the gun with a loving kiss to your temple. You raised the gun, and the last sound that echoed through the compound was a gunshot that could be heard for miles.

~Jeon Jungkook~

Jungkook slammed open the door to your cell. He caught a man trying to relocate you, having removed all of your restraints and dragging you by your hair. This lit a fire inside of Jungkook. He pounced in the man, effectively releasing you and pinning him down with his body weight.

Jungkook reared back his fist and mercilessly beat the man to a bloody pulp. The man jaw was shattered into microscopic pieces and his skull was caved in. Yet Jungkook continued his attack.

You ran up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. He stumbled backwards and wiped his bloodied hands on his jacket. He turned in your embrace and gave you one of the most passionate kisses you’d ever experienced.

“Let’s leave before another idiot like him tries to stop us.”

~Request box is now empty! I’m really digging this Gang BTS AU~

Originally posted by foreveryoongz

paciencia y fe

for nurseydex week day 2 - bed sharing

Dex is irritated as hell. Hand it to the guy named Nurse to get sick on a roadie, the minute their game finished. Dex isn’t even really sure when exactly Nursey started feeling off, but one second they were on the ice, checking the guys from Quinnipiac, tipping that last sweet goal in from just off the side, crashing into each other, and the next Nurse was looking pale and shaky, eyes glazed and hands trembling. Dex had taken one look at him and dragged him off the ice to the change room, and it was a testament to how bad Nurse must’ve been feeling that he didn’t fight him. The bus to the hotel was long with Nursey shivering into his hoodie and worn-looking sweatpants.

Dex slings Nursey’s bag over one shoulder and hauls up his own, ignoring Nurse’s wide-eyed expression and faltering mumble, “You don’t have to—”

“Bro,” Holster cuts him off, throwing a hand down on Nurse’s shoulder and making his knees dip dangerously. “Dexy’s your d-man. He’s got your back,” and Dex has never heard Holster sound quite so approving as he does in this moment. He can’t help it – he goes red.

Keep reading

filthy // tom riddle

pairing ➵ tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader 

genre ➵ angst 

note ➵ hey everyone! I hope you all like this and I cannot wait to write more for you all 💘

you and tom played around the corridors as you waited for divination to begin.

you had a game between the two of you, which might I add, was a game only, between you two.

in which he’d a make a door slightly unhinged and would spin you around on it till your hearts content.

“faster, marvolo! faster!” you screamed, a big grin plastered on your face as you span around on the door.

“alright, alright. (y/m/n) give me a second.” tom shouted, speeding up the door.

“you get on too tom, come on!” you yelled in between shrieked laughter.

so, at your request. he climbed onto the door frame with you.

“thank you for this tommy!” you yelled as you stretched out to hold his hand.

“no problem (y/n)!” he yelled back gladly accepting your hand.

unfortunately, this serenity couldn’t last forever. suddenly the door lost control and tom had to do something.

“arresto momentum!” he screamed as he simultaneously pulled you to him as the door flew out of the windows.

you were both on the floor, you against his chest, both laughing at what had just happened.

“the things I do for you, you silly girl.” he said, ruffling your hair.

“thank you tom.” you giggled, pressing a slight kiss to his cheek.

no one could word your and tom’s relationship.
you were best friends but he wasn’t really one for… publicising it.

you’d live your separate lives when in the presence of others as tom didn’t want to ruin his ‘slytherin’ reputation.

this never really bothered you, never ever.

you knew that he thought the world of you and you understood why he may want to cover your relationship.

*•*•*•*

“tom?” you heard a random voice.
“what are you doing with a ravenclaw?” another voice asked.
“is that (y/n) (y/l/n)?” the first voice asked.
“seems like you were getting a bit friendly with the ravenclaw.” said one, causing you to blush scarlet.
“I cannot believe you’d even want to be in breathing distance of a bloody ravenclaw.” snarled the other.

“of course not!” tom shouted pushing you off of him as he stood up.
“as if I’d ever want to be with a filthy little ravenclaw.” he spat at the other slytherin boys.

your heart plummeted down to your stomach. like your heart couldn’t take it anymore and had fallen out of sanity.

tom couldn’t help the great hit of guilt as the words left his mouth but he just couldn’t stop himself.

the slytherin boys chuckled at tom’s remark and left.

“(y/-” tom began.
“it’s alright, tom riddle. goodnight.” you cut him off, tears flooding your eyes as you began walking to your dorm.

“I’m-” he tried.
“goodnight.” you said in the distance.

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

it was the day after and silly tom thought all was well.

“do you need any help with that?” he asked as he peaked at the book you were reading.

you didn’t respond.

this was certainly something that shocked tom. he was used to you eating out of the palm of his hand and since you weren’t. he was confused to say the least.

lesson had soon ended and you attempted to depart as quick as you could but tom chased after you.

“(y/n)! what are you doing!?” he asked slightly irritated.

there seemed to be a few people who turned their heads to see the great student tom riddle shout. you didn’t care. you continued to run from him.

he caught up to you and yelled
“(y/n)!”
hearing his voice only caused you to speed up.

“petrificus totalus!” tom yelled furiously causing you to completely stop.

“(y/n), what’s wrong?” he asked finally holding you in his arms as the spell slowly unraveled.

you shook him off and his eyes widened at your rather mean action.

“are you sure you should be doing so much shouting, what if someone hears that you, tom riddle, god forbid is talking to a ravenclaw.” you finally muttered.

“you’re not still angry at me about that are you?” he asked as if it was nothing.

you felt a stab at your heart.

tom wasn’t the most empathetic person to be completely honest, but you didn’t think he’d be so oblivious to your feelings.

you ran off to your room as lessons had finally ended.

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

it’d been weeks and you’d not spoken to him. it hurt you, it truly did, but, it was the right thing to do. right?

finally, you’d gotten out of your shell and stopped relying on tom for being your sole source of friendship.

you started making more friends and doing things with them.

the absence of tom from your life didn’t hurt anymore.

and tom had noticed this too.

it wasn’t like he didn’t have any friends, being the heir of slytherin meant that he had people dying to be his friend, but his heart only wanted you.

he’d see you the first few times the sparkle in your eyes gone and replaced with tired eyes and your smile gone on permanent leave, but now, you had the sparkle in your eyes back and a smile twinkling all your new friends and even a certain avery.

he watched as you laughed and giggled with avery. avery making you swoon with his smooth words and charismatic personality.

“see you at hogsmeade then, sweet (y/n)” avery said as he kissed your hand and turned around to leave.

“(y-(y/n)” tom muttered quietly.

“tom?” you questioned, genuinely confused.

“how have you been?” he asked you, trying to make small talk.

tom was never good at making small talk.

“I’m alright thank you tom.” you said to him in a sigh.

“(y/n), I miss you so much.” he said randomly, taking your hand in his.

your heart skipped a beat as his eyes looked deeply into yours.

“th-that’s great tom.” you said trying to get out of his rather gentle hold.

it may not have seemed like it but it took everything in you to turn him down like that.

his eyes glistened as he could feel fresh tears begin to prick at them.

“I-I’m sorry (y/n)” he got out in an almost whimper, trying to hold it together.

“please come back to me” he whispered with his head lowered, praying that you didn’t hear, praying that you did.

at that moment, one of your new friends, anna george, suddenly came out of nowhere.

“(y/n) what are you doing here? there’s a party in our common room come on!” she said as she hugged you tightly while simultaneously trying to drag you away from tom.

“oh sorry, who’s that?” anna asked awkwardly.

he looked up at you and from you to anna. anna, the only person at hogwarts who didn’t know who tom bloody riddle was.

“just some slytherin I used to know.” you said dismissively as you took her hand and went to this party.

Player Two (Full Story) Be More Chill Fanfiction

“Awesome party, I’m so glad I came” Michael jeered sarcastically, giving a lonely glance at Jeremy, who chatted away happily, completely unaware of the anger and betrayal Michael felt. He clenched his teeth in disgust and hurt and stormed out the door.  

  As Michael slowly shuffled away from the house, he felt his throat began to close, and hot tears brim his eyes. When he cried, there was a rawness to it, like the pain was still an open wound. He would clasp onto something for support, anything, a table or the back of a chair, and then his whole body would shake, but since he didn’t have that at the moment he gripped the sleeves of his hoodie. The sobs were stifled at first as he attempted to hide his grief, then overcome by the wave of his emotions he broke down entirely, all his defences washed away in those salty tears. When he at last turned his face to the house, to face Jeremy, his face shone a picture of grief, loss, and devastation. It was the face of one who had suffered before and didn’t know if he could do it again. Then, just when he thought the breakthrough would come, his shutters would come down, his emotion walled off behind a mask of coping. He would just wear it until everything was right again, he didn’t know another way. He tore off his black thick-rimmed glasses, and he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. His dark hickory eyes, once filled with delight and cheerfulness, had now lost their light and filled with hurt and betrayal. His dolce skin, was now flushed from his crying, and Michael put up his signature red hoodie, to conceal his face, and continued to walk.

  He didn’t get very far when he heard a wail from, presumably a female student, coming from down the street. The alarms sound, an odour of smoke in the air, and Michael can see the black curling particles visible, swirling out of the house. The glowing embers leaped and twirled in a fiery dance, twinkling like stars in the cool October air before cascading to earth like gleeful fire fiends, setting alight and lighting up the darkness of the night. Michael gaped at the scene down the street, the house emitting the choking black smoke from the windows, and into the air. Michael slowly stepped towards the the burning house, his body felt numb and he felt suddenly disconnected. This wasn’t the house, this couldn’t be the house where they were throwing the Halloween party. His senses soon returned and adrenaline kicked into his veins, he bolted towards the house, running past and shoving other students who were trying to run away. “JEREMY?” He cried out, looking desperately for his friend, even if Jeremy didn’t consider him it anymore. His brain began foggy and Michael felt the panic begin like a cluster of spark plugs in his abdomen. Tension grew in his face and limbs, his mind replaying the scenarios of what could’ve happened to him. His breathing became more rapid, more shallow. In these moments before his personal hurricane, he glanced around at the other students, hoping to see him among the crowd, or even one of them seen Jeremy leave the house. Their faces were covered in ash and soot, and coughing up the remaining smoke from their lungs, their clothing seared from the burning flames. “Jeremy!!” Michael shouted again in desperation, ignoring the tightening in his chest, and fear plastered on his face, his eyes sparked with concern. The other students turn and glanced at each other, murmuring to each other, some among the lines of, “I haven’t seen him” and “I don’t think he got out”. They turned back to Michael, with worry and remorse for the teen and simply said, “I don’t think he got out Michael”. Michael gasped, he ran his hand through his thick umber hair, and cletched his teeth, feeling as if he’s been punched in the gut. A student came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder to ground him, “It’s ok Michael, it’s going to be ok.” Reality spun around him and came crashing down, and he bit his lip, desperately trying to refrain the sobs from deep within his throat. He glanced at the house, “You think he’s still in there??” Michael asked, his voice soft and worn. “Michael I…” the female student responded, before Michael tore from her and bolted to the house. “MICHAEL!” the female student cried, her protests for him going in vain as he ran inside the burning building.

   The black smoke curled around him, fogging up his glasses up with ash. “JEREMY!” the Filipino called out, looking among the burning ashes for his friend. Michael gasped for air as the black smoke filled his lungs and coughed into his hoodie, trying to block out the rest of the thick smoke. He wandered through the house, the fire burning around him as it licked up the walls. The flame burns with colours he never thought were possible from a fire. With each flare another possession alights, and the house is closer to collapsing in shambles. The videos of house fires bare such little resemblance to the real thing. The screen shows a TV version, small and cold, black smoke billowing toward the sky. In front of the real thing the radiant heat is intense, scorching Michael’s skin. It’s more like a colossal campfire than anything else, casting its yellow glow into the night. The smell dominates every breath and the flames are louder than he expected, roaring as they consume what was once a fine home. Within the house the fire spread with ease, turning the once pretty first floor into a maze of flame. Black smoke billowed up the stairs and the alarm soon died a long time ago. As Michael dodged the burning flames, and falling debris, he heard his headphone beep a small melody, signaling bluetooth has been connected. “Wha-?” Michael started, before coughing into his sweater once more. “Michael Mell” a male voice came through the speaker’s, “Jeremy Heere’s best friend.” “Jeremy? Where is he?? Is he ok?” Michael grew anxious, the fire soon burning brighter around him. “I am his Sqiup, and in order to help him, you must do what I instruct” the voice ordered calmly. So this was the pill that made Jeremy ditch him. THIS WAS THE PILL THAT STARTED ALL OF THIS! “How do I know that you’re actually going to help me? I mean, why should I in the first place, considering I’m WAY too lame for Jeremy!” Michael barked at the voice. “Have you considered that if Jeremy, ‘doesn’t make it’, I’ll cease to exist as well” the Squip answered back cooly. “Fair enough” Michael growled, and continued searching through the house. “Oh, and Michael” The Squip said, “I was wrong.” Michael hummed in response, honestly he wasn’t concerned how wrong he was, he just wanted to find Jeremy. “Take a left here” the Squip commanded. Michael broke into a sprint, and followed the Squip’s directions. “Y-You nEEd tO hUrRy Michael!” the Squip said, his voice glitching through the speakers of his headphones. Wait, the computer actually sounded…worried. “JEREMY!” Michael shouted. “JEREMY!”, he ran and turned a corner and saw a wooden door blocking the way. “He’s in here, isn’t he” Michael stared at the bathroom door, which was blocking his way to his friend.

The door was scratched and dented with chipped brown varnish, it had a brass door knob dulled with age and greasy fingermarks.

He placed his hand on the door to see if any heat was radiating from it. He learned the trick from the hundreds of demonstrations of what to do in a fire in middle school, he just never thought he would actually need to use them.

  The door wasn’t warm, so Michael reached for the doorknob and jiggled it; the door was locked. Michael furiously twisted and turned the knob for no avail, but what startled him the most is that there was no keyhole for the doorknob. The door wasn’t locked, it was jammed! The Filipino again felt the panic rise in his throat. Michael began to kick at the door, and ram his shoulder into the wood, being not very successful. “JEREMY!” he called out, hoping his buddy would hear him and know that he wasn’t alone. Michael tried again and again and became increasingly frustrated with his futile attempts to gain entry. He planted one foot on the ground, grasped the door frame and thrust the other foot with all the might he could muster and slammed it into the door with a loud yell…hoping to unhinge the door from its frame.  The door began to rattle, and the center began to bulge slightly with each blow. The knob looked as if it would pop out, and dust puffed out from the frame, which started to separate from the wall. Michael took a few steps back to prepare himself for the final blow and rammed his shoulder again into the door, causing it to collapse with a loud crash. Michael collapse with the door onto the hard tile floor of the bathroom and let out a groan. He grasped his now injured shoulder and looked around the smoke filled bathroom. A boy was curled against the side of the old white tub, his slightly curly caramel hair flopping delicately over his left eye, his stripped red and blue shirt hard to miss among the flames that were now licking towards the ceiling. Michael gasped softly and bit his lip from crying out, “J-Jeremy?”. He shuddered, blinking away the tears forming in his eyes. “JEREMY!” Michael choked out and skidded to his friend side, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket and tore it off, wrapping it around his friend to guard him from the flames and suffocating smoke. He held his unconscious friend tightly in his arms as the fire swirled around them, choking black smoke filling the room. They were going to die, Michael didn’t see another option. Michael stared at Jeremy, his breathing was wheezed and shallow, and his face was pale, far too pale. “Don’t worry buddy, I’m gonna get you out of here. I promise.”

  Jeremy’s eyes fluttered open, although only half-way, Michael can still see Jeremy’s bright green eyes stare back at him, glazed and seemingly tired. Jeremy smiled softly staring back at him, before collapsing back into Michaels arms, his grin fading. “JEREMY? Oh god! Stay with me buddy” Michael gripped Jeremy’s shoulder tightly. He could see the orange flame forming just outside the fallen door and he knew the bathroom exit was no longer an option. His only option was the window that hung just above the toilet, luckily it was just big enough for Michael and Jeremy to wiggle through. Michael wheezed into his arm and coughed violently, shutters going down his spine as his charred lungs begged for air. The Filipino soon regained his strength after his coughing fit and his body kicked into an adrenaline rush, just seeing Jeremy’s motionless body in his arms. He lifted his friend up, who was surprising light, and heaved him onto his back. He gripped Jeremy’s arms to tighten them around his neck to keep him from slipping, and climbed onto the toilet to open the window. Michael fiddled the window’s handle and swung it open, releasing the fresh cool air into the room. Michael gasped, taking in the air into his lungs and started to swing his leg over the window sill. He stared down and sighed, thankful that they were on the first floor, and leaped from the burning building.

   The fall wasn’t long nor should it have injured them, but Michael must have fallen on his ankle wrongly and gritted his teeth in pain, giving a glance at Jeremy reassuringly. He limped to front of the house as the flames burned. He released Jeremy and held him in lap, removing the red jacket from his shaking frame. Jeremy had 2nd degree burns traveling up his right arm, it was angry red with blisters forming in his skin. Michael winced seeing the injures his friend gained in the fire. He rewrapped the red jacket around him as he rocked back and forth, gripping Jeremy, pulling him close and becoming overcome with emotion. His crying was both ferocious and noisy. He blinked briny tears from bloodshot eyes, his thick lashes stuck together in clumps as if he’d been swimming. The tears made wet tracks down his face and dripped from his stubbled, wobbling chin staining his shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he repeated over and over gasping for breath. Jeremy’s jade eyes slowly opened and stared at Michael, “M-?” He wheezed, and sat up quickly hacking up the smoke from his lungs. Michael rubbed his back reassuringly and gripped his shoulders to steady him. Jeremy relaxed and settled back into Michael’s arms. “Michael?” he choked out, his eyes slowly returning to normal. “I’m right here buddy” Michael smiled warmly. “You came back” he sounded surprised. “Of course I did! You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Jeremy whimpered softly and stared into Michael’s eyes, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” his body became wracked with sobs. “Hey! It’s ok! Oh god, Jeremy!” Michael frowned. The two boys huddled there watching the flames devour the burning house until the wailing of the ambulance finally arrived.

   Jeremy had 2nd degree burns along his right arm and grazes on his forehead and cheek. The doctors praised Michael for his bravery saying Jeremy wouldn’t have survived if he remained in the burning house. Michael shrugged and said any good friend would have done it. Michael suffered a sprained ankle, bruised and bandaged shoulder and was required for crutches for a few weeks. As Jeremy was recovering, Michael wobbled in his hospital room and made his way to the chair next to Jeremy’s bed and sat down. He stared at Jeremy who laid peacefully in the hospital bed, bandages wrapped up his right arm which were red from slight bleeding. Michael sighed and leaned back in the chair. Jeremy looked over at him and smiled softly, “‘ey Mike” he said raspily. Michael grinned back, “How ya feeling buddy?” Michael asked. “Pretty sucky honestly” Jeremy laughed. The boys laughed together until Jeremy broke into a coughing fit. Michael put his hand on his shoulder, and waited for the episode to subside. “Michael” Jeremy looked at his friend, guilt filled his eyes as his coughing fit died down, “I’m really sorry. I was such a douchebag to you! I know you didn’t deserve it, and yet you still came back to save my sorry a-” “Jeremy” Michael interrupted his rambling, “I forgive you, it’s ok. You’re my player two man! We promised each other we would always have each others backs! I wasn’t planning to break that promise especially since you almost died!” Jeremy played with the fuzz on his sleeve not making eye contact with Michael. His eyes glazed with tears finally made eye contact, “I don’t deserve you” he stared at his lap, “I don’t even deserve to be alive right now!” “Hey!” Michael shouted. “Don’t say that! Don’t ever say that! You’re my player two! I need you! We need each other! Please!” Jeremy gave Michael a guilty look and they finally clasped each other in a warm, slow and luxurious hug. Their chests rising and falling against each other, their breaths in unison, and the warm blood that they could feel in each others’ embrace. “No matter what! We’re always going to be a team.”

                                                End

noeypiiepiie  asked:

Could you do a Keith x (female) Reader pool party fic with lots of fluff and blushing? Thank youuu! ^_^

Here you go, sweetie! Sorry it’s taken so long and forgive me if this isn’t what you wanted. I like my open ending though so enjoy! 

Title: Warm Days Spent Alongside You

Keep reading

tea time for anon. prompt: emptiness

(i liked it better when i didn’t think of this)


erwin was a person. now he’s things.

he’s the chair with red velvet cushions and ornate wood carvings, the varnish worn around the feet and arms from years of use. he’s the shirt that’s folded neatly on his dresser, surrounded by a floor covered in books and scrolls and old paperwork. he’s the bed, stiff mattress and rough blankets, too cold to lay in now, too hard to sleep in.

he’s the shadows in these things. the depression in the plush of the desk chair, the expanse in the left arm of his dress shirt, the left hand side of the bed, made tidy and neat.

levi avoids these things.

he avoids a lot of things.

levi demands that nobody touches his things. he’ll take care of them. hange says they need an office to work in. demands it when weeks pass on. levi makes excuses, spouts insults, finds himself on rooftops after he tries to gather the courage to turn doorknobs to his office, to his bedroom.

he’s not supposed to use the mobility gear in civilian space without authorization, but levi is an unhinged door swaying in the wind, and nobody in their right mind would try to stop him. he clambers over roof tops, running and running, trying to make jumps without shooting grapples, just like he did in the underground. it brings him back to a time before him. but the air is fresher here, not by much, but the sun cooks the citrus tones out of his clothing, the muskiness of his sweat, and he pauses at the edge of town on an old roof, balls of his feet curling around the edge. he looks around, realizes now his attempt to catch his breath. he unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt, feels sick by the smell of himself.

fingers pressed on him, slicking sweat away from his collar bone. the fragrance like a cologne dabbed behind his ear. he swallows. he bends over, hands on his knees. he coughs. he heaves.

levi is a thing he can’t avoid. he’s one of the things that reminds him of him.

he has a duty. a commitment. he won’t give up fighting, but he sees him everywhere and in everything and when all he wants is to hear his voice again, to feel his touch on his chin, he struggles. and when even the air reminds him of fluttering cloaks sailing above a white horse, he struggles.

“levi.” hange says, softly. “please be ready to depart in two hours for the memorial.”

“do i have to go?” he says, not so much unlike a child.

“yes. they are honoring the deceased and the survivors. it’s your duty.”

“not interested.”

“levi.” they say it like he did. strong. firm. but it sounds like a command coming from hange, not a conversation. it always feels like that.

“i don’t fuckin’ see the point. what’s gonna happen to us now anyway?”

“we will be talking with some of the officials to figure out where our next steps lie.”

“do it yourself.”

“levi…” hange turns to him. their one eye has gotten darker since shinganshina. it’s near black, shines behind the lens of their glasses, the eyepatch strap above their right eye blistering a pink line across their forehead. “i need you.”

levi stares at them, searches hange’s face. he fights everything to not flee the room at that moment, hears him through their words, and fuck if he isn’t everywhere. “get another guy.”

“honor him.” hange says quietly.

“i will when i send the beast titan’s head rolling.” levi spits. he turns to head toward the door.

“be there to show them what we’ve lost.” hange takes a seat in his seat, and it makes levi’s shoulder roll. “what you lost.”

levi tuts. “whatever.”

“he would have done the same for you.”

levi’s eyes blow wide, and he swivels his head back toward hange. he latches eyes with that one eye that’s lost its humanity, and his breathing hitches. he’s sitting in the chair with hange, and like an old scent the memory seeps through him, wafted on the tones of steeped tea leaves. they had talked about in brief conversations, entertained the fantasies as if they were pleasant dreams. a cruel reality that seemed to ease the pain of possibility if talked about outright, right here in this office as if it were casual pleasantries about the weather.

neither of them wanted fanfare, but realized it would be unavoidable. levi held his promise of how he would lay him to rest if need be. they had both promised they’d attend their memorials, no matter how big they would be.

levi looks down at the desk and sighs. “i’ll be ready.” he leaves the room, shakes so hard that his legs buckle at the knees and he nearly careens into the wall. he makes it to his quarters, shuts the door behind him and presses his back to it. he looks around and realizes that he ended up in his room and he can’t. he doesn’t know when or how it became muscle memory–where his and his turned into theirs.

he struggles. he wants to avoid it. and he doesn’t know how he will ever be able to grow accustom to a life when erwin is gone.

slovenska  asked:

Hello, hello! It's the Ambassador for Carpathian Ruś here! I have a (long passed, sadly) great grandmother from Ireland, and apparently she did Irish stepdancing! Would you be able to tell me more about it, please? Thank you in advance!!

Hello there! :D

Aaah well, I don’t really consider myself to be a big expert on Irish dancing or to be very knowledgeable on the technicalities of Irish step dancing. However since I’m a big history nerd, I can offer you a brief history on Irish dancing and how step dancing fits in the whole picture?  ;w;


(video of step dancing from 1972)

There is surprisingly not much that is known of Irish dancing in medieval Ireland and earlier. There have been quite a few references to it in written records throughout the centuries, but we know little of how these dances would have looked like back then.

We are first able to start working with known dance forms from the 12th century onward. With the Norman invasion of Ireland in the 12th century, various Norman customs were introduced to the country. Among them was the Carol, a type of dance in which the leader sang in the middle of a circle of dancers who would reply to the leader’s song. This dance was often performed in Irish towns that had been conquered by the Normans. It is believed that the Carol introduced the concept of circle dances in Ireland, although it isn’t completely certain that native forms of circle dances didn’t exist previously. However the Carol seems to have stuck around for some time and perhaps popularized the concept of circle dances.  

 In the 16th century there were three types of Irish dances that were the most often mentioned: the Irish Hey, the “Rince Fada” (Irish for long dance) and the Trenchmore. 

- The Irish Hey was a type of circle dance that involved dancers wounding in and around their partners. It was a forerunner of the reel, which is still performed in Ireland to this day. (the video above is an example of a treble reel, one of the evolved dance forms of the Irish Hey)

- The Rince Fada was typically done in two long lines, one line with women and the other with men. Hence the name “long dance”. :P The video is a pretty good example of how this dance would go, though usually there are more participants.

- The Trenchmore was apparently an Irish dance that was adapted for the English invaders, being derived from an older type of Irish peasant dance. This dance was very popular with the English, to the point that they brought it back to the court of Queen Elizabeth. This video is a reconstruction of how it would have looked like, to my knowledge the Trenchmore hasn’t survived otherwise.

By the 18th century the jig was well established in Ireland. Other popular dance steps included slip jigs, double jigs, slides, mazurkas and polkas. From around the 1750s to the early 1900s, travelling dance masters were going from village to village, teaching various forms of dances and steps. Step dancing in particular was widely taught in all parts of Ireland. Another type of dance that was taught during this time was the reel, the whirling or spinning dance. Travelling dance masters usually would spend a couple of weeks in each village, staying with a local family. In return for the lodging, they would teach dancing free of charge to the family members.  

In the 19th and 20th centuries, the most popular dances throughout Ireland were sets and half sets. A good example of a set dance can be seen in this video:

Set dances were brought over to Ireland and England by the armies of the Duke of Wellington returning home from the Napoleonic wars in 1816. This military origin can be seen in the names given to certain dance movements. Being originally derived from the French quadrille, set dances in Ireland developed further to better suit native Irish rhythms.

Dances used to be commonly hosted in people’s houses but this practice would decrease with the appearance of commercial dance halls and changes in travel, communication and lifestyle by the mid-20th century. However another factor that is thought to have majorly contributed to the decline of house dances was the passing of the Public Halls Dance Act in 1935, which made the hosting of unlicensed dances illegal. House dances as they had been known previously would disappear almost completely afterwards. A surviving relic of this custom is the Irish word “céilí”, which refers to “an informal social gathering (at a neighbour’s house)” but now the word is mostly used to describe an organized dancing session.

The Gaelic League, in their goal of re-establishing the Irish language and culture in the country, went on to ban their members from participating in dances that were regarded as being foreign introductions. One of the dances that were banned was set dancing, which was regarded by the Gaelic League as being too English.

Step dancing would instead be encouraged by the Gaelic League and this form of dancing would become heavily popularized during the 20th century. Throughout the 20th century, the competitive solo form of step dancing would evolve. This would lead to step dancing becoming codified and certain styles being standardised. (particularly styles from the southern areas of the country) Informal competitions for students of various dance masters were held between towns for several years but the Gaelic League held the first organised competition in 1897. The Gaelic League would create in 1927 An Coimisiún Le Rincí Gaelacha (The Commission of Gaelic Dances), a separate body that would be in charge of organising dances and contributing to the further standardisation of Irish dances. This organisation would also start holding examinations and giving certifications to dance teachers. 

In the recent years, older and freer forms of step dancing have started to be taught at summer schools and festivals. Shows like Riverdance would also revolutionize Irish dancing by returning to more traditional step dance forms and move away from the rigid competitive forms. The video below shows the interval act of the 1994 Eurovision show, which is considered to be truly historic as it introduced Irish dancing (particularly step dancing!) to a global stage. This act not only managed to attract new fans to this dance form, but it also reinvigorated traditional Irish dancing and has contributed to the bright and vibrant culture it is today.   

Where are the arms in Irish dancing?

So this is probably a question that has baffled many people when on the subject of Irish traditional dancing: Why is there little to no arm movement in Irish dances, particularly in step dancing?

Aaaah if only there was a straightforward answer to why arm movements became absent from Irish dancing. The silliest explanation I’ve seen states that when the English banned the Irish language and other forms of cultural expression, the Irish decided to not only dance inside their houses, but to do so without using their arms so that any Englishman passing by wouldn’t know the Irish were dancing.

A more likely explanation is due to lack of space back then. Local venues were usually small, so travelling dance masters reportedly taught the steps by demonstrating on tabletops, or even on top of barrels! If this was the case, these masters would have had to hold their arms rigidly at their sides and were unable to do any kind of lateral movement. Later when there were larger venues, various regional styles evolved to include more movement of the body but arm movements never fully caught on.  

Another possible explanation relates to the state of the stage, or a lack thereof. Most places lacked a hard surface to dance on properly, so people often unhinged doors and lay them on the ground to dance on. Doors didn’t offer a lot of space and so due to having a small “stage”, it didn’t favour using the arms much. Instead, people would favour dances that showed off the quick and intricate movements of the feet.

Adding on to this explanation, there is a belief that in earlier competitions a dance teacher decided to have his students perform with arms purposefully held rigidly to the sides to draw more attention to the steps. According to this belief, those students were praised for their movements and won the competition, which led to other teachers and dancers adopting this trend and it eventually became part of the standard of Irish dances.

I’m not certain about the validity of this last explanation as we are not given names, dates or any kind of specifics for that matter. But I could believe that the trend of not using the arms grew gradually and not one, but several dance teachers began to forgo arm movements completely and it eventually became the standard.  

In any case, we don’t have a straightforward answer to why arms fell out of use in Irish dances. The most likely explanations show that lack of space (and/or lack of a proper stage) led to arm movements being an underdeveloped aspect in traditional dances and with the establishment of dancing competitions, the non-usage of the arms probably became deliberate. 

In modern Irish step dance, arm movements have started to be integrated more often thanks to shows like Riverdance but many regard it as non-traditional and dancing competitions still maintain the “no arms” rule. 

Please Answer

Castiel x Reader

Summary: Castiel is busy trying to protect Kelly Kline and her baby and you decide to go look for him yourself.

Warnings: Season 12 spoilers, blood, death, language

Word count: 1938

Originally posted by thedauntlesshufflepuff

Hand covering the wound in your stomach, blood dripping to the cement ground underneath your feet, you stumbled into a room that was fairly hidden. You knew it wouldn’t matter if it was hidden or not, he could find you with a snap of his fingers. Hissing at the pain pumping through your body, you pressed your back to the wall and slid down, your legs no longer able to support your weight.

This isn’t how you wanted to die, it was expected but that didn’t mean you wanted it. There were no medical supplies in the tiny square room that you had thrown yourself into, just a ton of canned baked beans and other crappy foods. Steadily slipping out of your jacket, you tried to wrap it across the room to stop the bleeding, or at least give you an extra couple of minutes.

“Cas,” You whimpered, the angels name falling from your lips felt good, despite the situation you were in. You had been so mad with him that you didn’t even want to say his name, yet here you were, dying in a supply closet because you were trying to look for where he and Kelly might be hiding.

Your hand slipped down to your jeans and grabbed onto your mobile phone that had been placed on silent just before you entered this shitty motel. You unlocked it to find at least seven missed calls from Sam and Dean, along with a few messages. Skipping them for now, you pressed onto Castiel’s contact and your thumb numbly hovered over the call button for a couple of seconds before it pressed it.

Not having the strength to place it to your ear, you placed it on speaker phone and listened to the ringing. When he didn’t pick up, you sighed softly and felt a tear fall down your cheek, unaware that you had been crying. “Hey, Cas.” You said, your voice crackly and strained. “I, um, I’m in a bit of situation here, but i-it’s going to be fine. I just wanted you t-to know that Lucifer is probably o-on his way, so please, please, be careful…” 

Tears continued to roll down your cheeks and fall to your lap, wishing that Castiel had just picked up this one time. You were no longer mad at him, you weren’t upset you just wanted to hear his voice one last time before you died. “I know what you’re like, a-and you will probably blame yourself for this. I want you to know this isn’t your fault, you’re doing what you think is right and that’s good enough for me.” You knew you didn’t have long, either you’d just bleed out or he’d finish you off. “I love you, C-Cas.” Ending the call, you scrolled back down to Sam’s contact and pressed call and successfully put it on speaker phone before your eyes fell shut, the exhaustion getting to you.

Keep reading

Save me dumbass

Summary: Peter likes to think himself a hero until Y/N came along

Request: Hi! Can you do a Peter Parker request where the reader is a hero but gets kidnaped and Spider-Man has to save her but she breaks out on her own cause she’s a badass hero

I changed it a little bit so she doesn’t get kidnapped but is held hostage also the reader is 18 and Peter is 16 also very reader heavy here

Y/N POV:

I wake up with a clogged throat and feel like I’m suffocating with my nose being blocked from a crappy cold. Its Friday at least but wait…I have to work until three AM which is great, all I can think of doing is wanting to come home and crawl into bed and watch netflix’s but apparently I have to pay something called rent. All I have going for me I think as I brush my teeth and fix my appearance for school is that I’m in my last semester of school and then I’m free to do what I want or in other words go to college. Trudging down the stairs I here the cheery laughing and giggling of my mum and Ellie, I stand by the door and lean on the frame work. Observing how my mum grips the spoon in her hand and makes aeroplane sounds to the baby with bright eyes that literally light up my world. Spotting me Ellie claps her hands and my mum gives me a smile, sitting down at the breakfast bar I sling my backpack that lay open onto it as well and accept the cereal she puts in front of me. Chewing the sugary pops I see Ellie grip my bag and drag it towards her, I pat her head with affection and tell my mum not to wait up because I’ve got work. I give them both a kiss and head off to school, stuffing in headphones I turn on the radio and listen to how they praise and slam the ever rising vigilantes that grace their presences in Queens. With each word and step my mask in my backpack seems to become heavier with each pound of my feet.

.

.

.

I say goodbye to friends and head out of the crappy school gates that the blue paint flakes with a poke. I see a crowd gathered on the side of the pavement that I want to walk on. “Ugh,” I decide to just shove my way through the crowd until I see Flash, the twat in the younger year, pushing around some scrawny kid with a skateboard. I’m not a hero, I decided that months ago when I took up my fighting skills but there’s something about this fight today that has me calling out his name before I can think it over. Cursing myself I stand tall and everyone gasps at the older girl standing up for a younger kid who everyone is calling ‘Peter’. After tripping up Flash and telling him to ‘shove off’ he makes the remark “why do you care Y/N? Dating him or something?” I almost laugh at how much of a low blow he takes but my hand lifts up the kids and I say “sure are Flash, your problem is?” Everyone has now disbanded because its not interesting when a girl stand up for someone right? As soon as he sulks off I drop his hand like a lead balloon and realise I’m now late for work.

Sitting on the stool behind the grubby counter some man with sleek, greasy and long black hair struts in and gives me a wink. Having to grin and bare it I rub my sweaty hands on my jeans and blow my nose for the fourth time within the hour. I look at the slow clock that ticks on the white wall and silently cheer that I have twenty minutes left in this sweat box of a convenience store. Another man with sleek blonde hair walk in and I start to reach for my phone when I see them both talking in the back isles. Sliding off the stool I creep to the back and grab my backpack and go back to the front, where, they both now stand grinning with guns pointed at my head and one at my heart. I roll my eyes and ask “really? I’m just about to get off work! Why this store, your gonna get two hundred and that’s if your lucky” shrugging they grunt towards the till and I open it all the time thinking what I can do, I’ll have to wait until they leave to put on the mask and slip out back to catch up with them. The bell rings and in walk two men with knives, both sets of thugs look at each other and I shake my head at the irony.

My mind is blown as they stand to actually have a conversation about how they can split the profit. I finger through my bag and clutch everything but my mask, keys, books, hat, tissues but no mask. My mind flicks back to when Ellie shuffled my bag towards her and I groan quietly and to myself. Standing up I see a man standing and assuming he is calling the police because I hear the sirens in the distance. I have to do something kind of now unfortunately but the bell chimes again and I laugh  out loud ask “what type of shit show is this,” because standing at the door is Spider-man and he looks short and very unintimidating. Whilst they become occupied with him I mount the counter and grab the gun from one mans hand, jumping from the counter to his back I shoot the other gunman’s thigh to which he drop his gun and clutches his thigh in pain. I swing back and flip to the ground, dragging the lump of a man with me. I swipe across the floor and kick the injured man, knocking him out cold, clicking my neck I face the two men with knives they bend in some kind of defensive stance.

I duck when a one runs at me, swapping sides, I grab his head and thrash it against my knee so his out cold but before I can turn to the final man I cough but this one is blood not a cold. The pain in my stomach is strong and makes my head spin but I pick up a gun from the floor and hit him with the butt of the gun in a flash minute. Still standing, mouth wide, spiderboy shakes his head and says “that was amazing!” I grab my bag and unhinge the door, hobbling out and clutching my stomach. Feeling his presence I gasp out “you weren’t much help siperboy. Maybe next time we meet actually fight someone?” 

Part two?? Let me know what you think and if I should continue this on lots of love xx

AU meets Canon –– Origins

[A drabble introduction to the alternate universe hinted at HERE. ]

The blood in the winter-sharp air is thick enough to make breathing near impossible – his Alpha’s blood, his sister’s blood – as he slams through the half unhinged door and into the blackened shell of their childhood home.

They haven’t set foot here in six years. He hasn’t stood in this hall since it was bright and welcoming, bursting with life. The contrast now – the blackened walls, the ashen scent blending with his sister’s blood, the unshakable permeation of death…

Derek.” Laura’s voice shakes him from his stupor. They don’t have time for his breakdown, not even now, not after…

Especially after…

He hauls Laura further into the house, into the shell of the living room. There are bare bones of a couch and some badly burnt remnants of what he knows used to be a coffee table, but he settles Laura against the wall instead – furthest from the windows, along the same wall as the door into the foyer so he’ll get first look of anyone bursting in – and takes stock of her injuries.

She’s an Alpha, which is probably the only reason she’s still alive right now. The way the beta had torn into her, teeth clamping down on her shoulder, nearly tearing it right off her…

It had been hanging by too sparse a connection of muscle and vein the whole run over here. Laura had been holding her arm on while Derek had focused on keeping an eye out for a new attack, on carrying her, and later helping her stumble along beside him.

But she is healing, and that is the important thing. She is healing, and he needs to concentrate on that, and not on the fact that they were sitting in the house where the rest of their family had died six years ago. Not on the fact that…

“That was Peter.” The words slip out against his will, fast and wild and practically begging for a denial. For Laura to contradict him, to tell him he’d been imagining it, even though they both knew the only reason the beta had gotten a jump on them at all was because Laura had stalled when she’d seen his face.

“Derek…”

Her hand, sticky and warm, comes down on his shoulder, and he realizes he’s shaking. This is all too much. Coming back to Beacon Hills, kneeling in this house where the worst nightmare of his life had taken place, seeing his own uncle – his supposedly comatose uncle – try to tear his sister apart right in front of him. If he hadn’t been there to claw at Peter’s back, to distract him long enough for Laura to stumble a safe distance backward, for Peter to reassess the situation and go shooting away into the trees…

“He almost killed you, Laur.”

“But he didn’t.” The words come out hard, fierce, and comforting. He leans forward, burying his head against her neck on the good side, breathing deep, latching onto the scent of his alpha past the scent of ash and death and blood.

“If I lost you, I don’t know what I’d…”

“Shh,” she’s still slumped down against the wall, all her energy going into healing, but she still manages to curl her good hand around his neck, smoothing soothingly over his nape. “You’ll never have to worry about that, baby brother. It’s me and you, ok?”

Derek nods, feels the tremors begin to ease.

“Me and you.”

.-.-

“This is a terrible plan,” Derek intones for probably the twentieth time, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he trails to a halt outside the intimidating front doors of the Sheriff’s station. Laura’s his alpha and even if she weren’t, a lifetime of trailing after her has conditioned him to follow her lead, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. And he definitely doesn’t like this.

“It’s our best option, Derek.”

“Peter’s one of us, that means we should be the ones to handle him.”

She lets out a sigh, pushing her hair back behind her shoulder as she turns to face him. He knows what that movement means – that’s her serious face. Her you listen to me right now face. Her I’m speaking to you as an alpha, not a sister so you’d better take heed, Derek, face.

“He’s killing people, Derek. If he were just coming after us that would be one thing, but he’s targeting Beacon Hills citizens too.” She must see something in the set of his jaw, something that tells her he’s not just being stubborn for the sake of it this time around, and sighs, gentles. “We haven’t been able to track him. We can’t do this alone, baby brother. We need to bring the Sheriff in.”

And that’s when everything changes.

[More about this universe HERE]

Things your parents never told you:

The entirety of your life will be an uphill battle. There will be plateaus, of course, where you sit back, relax, and look out at all you’ve accomplished. But don’t expect the climb to get easier, because it won’t. You just adapt to its gradient.

Experience is the best teacher of them all. You can sit in class your entire life but class won’t teach you how to comfort your best friend whose father just died or your sister whose heart just broke. Class won’t teach you how to be a decent human. 

You can leave whenever you want- your job, your apartment, your town, your life, your relationship. Excuses are unnecessary.

Those nights when you’re so drunk that the room spins and the laughter of your friends overpowers the music and you’re crying about a person who doesn’t love you anymore- those will be some of the best nights of your life.

Your sexuality is yours to decide. The only person who can judge you about who you want to sleep with and how many people you want to sleep with and if you want to sleep with anyone at all is yourself.

But never judge yourself.

You’ll find freedom flying down a back road at midnight. Alone. Windows down. Music up. Singing at the top of your lungs. The stars lighting your path. Embrace that moment.

At some point, you’ll be knocked down like the houses in a seaside town when a hurricane storms through. Your glass will shatter. Your doors will come unhinged. But you can rebuild.

It’s okay to cry, to break down. It’s okay to have days or weeks or months where you collapse and crumble and dissolve. Pain is what makes you a warrior. Wear the war paint proud.

Happily ever after isn’t always that white picket fence. Happily ever after is whatever the fuck you want it to be.

The entirety of your life will be an uphill battle. Adapt to its gradient.

Here it is then

I got a random idea from a dream about Hawke from Dragon Age II giving her party members stuffed animals; and, after it received quite a lot of support on Tumblr, I decided to go for it, and it turned into a 6,000-word bundle of fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, and Fenhawke sappiness.

A few notes about the Hawke in this story:

She is based on my female mage Hawke Elissa, who has a diplomatic personality and specializes in healing and frost magic. She supports her fellow mages, friendmances Fenris, and has 100% friendship with all her other companions, although she was quite shocked by Anders’ actions at the Chantry (I chose the ‘Condemned Anders’ option in the Keep when importing her into Inquisition), and sent him away because she needed time to process what had happened (and she handled herself quite well on her own as the party’s only healer during the final battle). She will forgive him eventually, because she is that sort of person. In my actual game, Carver died on the Deep Roads (because again, Elissa was her party’s only healer and Anders wasn’t there to make him a Grey Warden); but I changed the story around so that he lives on as a Templar and joins the Inquisition.

Furthermore, my DA II games seemed to suffer from a sort of bug where Merrill both keeps and smashes her Eluvian; I chose to have her smash it in this story for more feelz.


This is probably gonna end up disappointing for those who were looking forward to the story, but eh. At least I enjoyed writing it. The whole thing under cut. Proceed at your own risk.





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A Countess

“It’s over.” Spoke a man that looked like he could strangle his dinner with nothing but his bare hands. Gaves looked up at the voice with swollen, red eyes. “Fawk you.”  The bard hissed in a hoarse voice. The gruffer voice shot back a sinister laugh as his wide, intimidating frame layed against a wall that was shrouded with shadows. “I told you.” It teased, a single, fat finger poking out just enough for the fireplace’s light to illuminate the outline. “I told you it was a waste, that you’re not supposed to love anyone. A mistake is what you are.” Gaves grabbed an empty bottle of Dalarn red by the neck that was laying down on the stained covers of the couch, and chucked it the large man. “Fawk you, dad!” The glass passed through the thick chested man like a mirage, splintering into glass dust. The last remnants of the dark red liquid trickled down the wall, staining it forever. Wine was a pain to remove. “Why so mad, Gaves? You got what you wanted?” His father was leaning forward from behind the couch, a few inches away from Gaves’ ear. “Free to fuck just like you wanted, right?” Gaves answered with a right fist that slashed through nothing. “Get out!” He barked before collapsing back into his ‘spot’ on the couch. It sat between the two cushions, perfectly aligned with the center of the fireplace.

She left with a letter. There wasn’t a kiss, hug goodbye, or even a night to hold her one more time. It would have felt better if she told him that she hated him, that she was tired of his antics. That Gaves could understand. But it wasn’t hate, or malice that was woven into those beautiful hand written letters, no. It was regret, regret of what she had done to him. Gaves came home earlier that day, exhausted as always. Yet again, another house had chose to not pledge their support to the R.R.F. Instead choosing to… 'better manage their funds elsewhere’. As if. Gaves thought helping the poor was heroic, wasn’t it? Closing the door behind him he strolls over to the kitchen table which had been uncharacteristically straightened up. Why, Gaves thought. Inspecting the 'damage’ he discovers a single piece of paper folded in half, the outside of it reading 'For Gaves’. Naturally Gaves took it as a love letter; maybe Miersae had finally learned how to write a poem, he thought. Picking up the parchment, he unfolds it, and begins to read. Annoyance overtook him first; this was not how you made a poem… but then it struck Gaves that this wasn’t a poem. A blistering cold sensation stuck him in the gut, like a knife, chilling his very core as his breathing stopped. His heart banged against his chest like a war drum, it was almost louder than the crackling fire. Panicked sea-green eyes traced over the outlines of letters, racing to the end, hoping, praying that this was a joke. Some sick twisted joke. 'I’ll always love you.’ it ended with, but not without a signature from Miersae herself. Gaves’ hands shook violently as his mind raced; at this point he had forgotten to inhale. The letter fell loose from his grasp, and fell silently to the floor.

His first reaction was to race to the bedroom, tearing open the door to search for her belongings. First, the dresser. Gripping the handles, he pulled each drawer out completely searching about for something of hers, anything. Nothing. Again, he tried, repeating the process with each level. His fears were confirmed as piles of wood layed atop each other with assorted articles of clothing tossed about. It was all his, and none of hers. Wide eyes targeted the wardrobe. Something in there, there had to be, he said to himself. Leaping over the mess, he pulled a door off its hinge, throwing it behind him towards the pile of wood. Ravaging hands pulled his own clothing off, ripping most of them at the collar; he couldn’t wait to take them off the hangar. Down the line he went, checking, inspecting… all his. A hand slams the wardrobe shut, shattering the mirror inlayed on the outside of it. Two heels whirl around, and Gaves launches himself over the bed, and towards her night table. Again, he pulls the drawer out of the socket, checking it… clean. Gaves cried out in agony, throwing the drawer across the room. For several minutes Gaves layed on top of his bed, rubbing his eyes raw as he cried like a child.

After an hour of running his voice sore Gaves finally picked himself up, ruined. That was it, he thought. The woman he loved. The woman he gave up everything for. The woman he wanted to die with. The woman he couldn’t see tomorrow without… gone. A weary eye looked around for a sharp object, Gaves considering just plunging a dagger into his heart; what was the point of going on? This woman was his life, the sole reason of his existence. The woman he stopped running around with, that he pledged himself, and all of himself towards. Mechanical body movement kept Gaves going, forcing him to go the winerack, and pull off the last remaining bottle of Dalaran Red. Gaves stared at the dark red liquid; Miersae loved Dalaran red. It wasn’t hers, but it was the closest thing to, Gaves said. Moving to the crackling couch, Gaves sat down; but there was something particular about his spot. He didn’t choose a side, and rather sat down the middle, lining up between the two cushions. He uncorked  the welcoming aroma which wafted up towards the ceiling. Gaves looked upwards, staring at the orange flame. The sun was setting now, and soon he would be surrounded by darkness, all for except this fireplace, which never stopped running. It was the only real constant thing in his life, now. That fireplace. Always on when he needed it. It would never go out, not until Gaves wanted it to. With a sniffle, he lifted the wine bottle up to his lips, preparing him to weep for the next several hours.

The first of the wine’s trickles reached the wooden floorboards, starting to pool at the base of the wall. Gaves blinked, realizing what he had done. Miersae would have scolded hi- Miersae… Gaves remembered now. In a brief moment he had forgotten how the pang of loss felt. It came rushing back now, all too keen on reminding him that he was, infarct, destined to cry alone. Standing up, Gaves moved himself back towards the ruined bedroom with slow steps. “D'aww… poor Gavey has his heart broken?” Mocked his father who seemed to just a foot behind him. “Did you really think a -COUNTESS- would stay with you?” Dark laughter filled the room as Gaves passed through the unhinged bedroom door, his head hanging low. “Get real, Hillvack. Of course she woulda’ ran away with a Lord, OF COURSE!” His father sounded so sure of himself, like Gaves had just stuck his hand in a fire. “What could you have done, hmm? Love? Psssh, as if… Nobody wants your love.” The voice grew cold as Gaves’ father reappeared in front of the ruined wardrobe. “Took everything too, so you don’t gotta’ feel bad- The bitch is doing you a favor.” Gaves walked by the vision, and stepped over the pile of wooden drawers. He was moving towards his own night table. “Took her away like a prize, too, mmm… TOOK HER AWAY FROM A CHUMP!” The image screamed in front of Gaves, leaning into the bellow, but Gaves didn’t bother with it. It was the voice that always tormented him, that hindered him, burdened his choices. The bard reached down, pulling open the nigh table.

Amongst the mess of pencils, note pads, and assorted candy layed two, small, black, felt boxes that opened at a hinge. They were lying underneath a very used pair of red trunks. Gaves picked them up, their weight surely nothing, but Gaves felt as though he was lifting the world by its very pillars. “What’s this?” His father asked in curiosity.“ His form snapped in front of Gaves, always in front of him despite how many times Gaves whirled away. "Two boxes…” An impish smile grew on the bearded man’s face. It didn’t look natural, as if he was forcing his muscles to twist a way they weren’t supposed to. “Was Gavey gonna’ ask her to marry him? D'awwww…” Gaves narrowed his eyes, but didn’t look up. There was no point. With a sniffle he turned back around, returning back to the couch in the other room. “Wasn’t like she would say 'yes’. 'Oh, yes, Gaves, yes I’ll marry you. I’ll always loooovvvvvvvve you. I’ll never leave, ever.” Amused with himself, his father cackled, grabbing his stomach with mirth. “Ahahaha! LOOK ATCHA’!” He suddenly screamed, thrusting a finger into Gaves’ gut. It did nothing. “YOU’RE PATHETIC! WALKING AROUND WITH RINGS YOU’LL NEVER WEAR! A WASTE!” Spittle coated the bard’s face, but it wasn’t real. Down on the couch again, Gaves sat the two boxes on his lap while his father continued to berate him. “Not like you could do anything, anyway. She wanted a -FAMILY-, Hillvack. Can you do that, hmm? CAN YOU GIVE HER THAT?!” Gaves already knew the answer to that, but he refused to address his haunting specter. “No, you can’t. You can’t, because you fucked around, Gavey. You fucked around, and now you’ve got NOTHING to show for it. Because you wanted to live free, and didn’t bother with any hearts you may of stepped on, Gavey. Because, maybe, just maybe you may have fucked with someone who could take something from you, something you just may need. And what a shame is -that-. THE HILLVACK legacy will die with you, a fuckin’ mistake.”

He had drowned out his father now, he was nothing but a faint blur of an outline, and soft spoken words. Gaves’ world had gone silent except for the fireplace, which was a familiar comfort. Nimble fingers pried open the boxes, revealing their treasures: The first of which was a Gold band adorned with several intricate carvings, and markings. Seated at the peak lay a  cut emerald so big it may as well been better for a jewel in a King’s portrait frame. On the inside of the box it read 'Mier'sae’. The other box followed a similar outline, but this one was marked with a cut ruby just as big; upon closer inspection one could tell that the ruby was bigger by a fraction of an inch. The inside of that box read 'Gaves’. The bard removed the two rings, holding them carefully in his hand, like baby birds. He brought them close to his eye, studying them intently. He dared not slip either on his finger, lest he give himself an image that would never come true. Shedding another painful tear, Gaves then hurled the rings into the fire, which as expected, the fire swallowed up in an instant. Being magically imbued, it didn’t matter what was given to the enchanted flames. Everything was consumed by the heat, and the two rings were no exception. Quickly, the metal bounding the gems begin to blaze orange, then melt. The minerals fared no better; their fate came from the intense heat forcing them to crack, then burst amongst the stone tomb as their shattered remnants melted into nothing but a white smoke that rose up the chimney.

He didn’t have time to look over the gesture in earnest; as quickly as it started, it ended. Picking up the boxes, he prepared to give them to the flames as well, but halted. Something caught his eye, something he had forgotten he had done. On the underside of Miersae’s box was a message: 'To the only woman who would make me kneel, and beg for her hand forever. Love, Gaves.’. More tears begin to fall freely before he tossed the box, and and its partner into the roaring flames. Again, like the rings they were turned to ash in the never ending cycle of heat. The bard clutched his face, refusing to look away from the crater of his sin, and wept. “Would you look at that…” His father spoke, louder this time. Gaves couldn’t focus on blocking him out. “Was poor Gavey gonna’ propose….?” It was strange to think of the vision as omnipotent, but it was, according to Gaves. It knew his fears, and doubts, failures, mistakes, and regrets. It was him. A finger tapped the matted hair that layed over his temple, thinking. Suddenly, his face that looked like it been scarred up like a slave’s back lit up. “Gonna’ propose on your birthday, weren’t ya’?” A groaned followed, his father obviously upset. “What a sap. Y'know, you are a fucker for thinking you could just, just forget who you are, Gavey.”

Darkness ate away at the bard, leaving him a hollow shell of what he was. If not for the single fire keeping his form safe from the creeping nothingness, than Gaves surely would have been suffocated by the black empty feeling in his heart. His father’s stinging words poked holes in him, leaving him shell that was his usual happy self. Miersae was always there to stave off the thoughts of despair, but now she was gone. Gone, and never coming back. The demons cackled in harmony as it was only a matter of time before Gaves gave up, and snapped his fingers, shutting the fire off forever. They would overtake him in an instant, and wreak havoc until the morning’s light could grant him mercy from the nearby window. Hope fleeted, and nothing else mattered. What was life if not to give it someone else? What was to live without purpose? Gaves raised a finger and thumb up, staring into the fleeting light. His father was right, he was destined for darkness. With a quick snap of his fingers Gaves commanded the fireplace to cease its life, forcing the light to recede into nothing as the surrounding darkness leapt in, and tore into his soul, tormenting him until his chest heaved with pained sobs again.

Poem 1

Slow Love
Detached from
Intentions, pure
Soul, rebellious
Heart, spiritually
Disconnected, infected
Disease ridden
Love, hidden
High rise
I rise
To the occasion
Of unloving you
Hate fucking you
I’m under you
Ridding me slow
Arousal bursting
Attentions erect
Passion unaware
Just a slow mind fuck
You’re no her
And she’s not here
Masking the pain
With the cum and stains
Orgasms through the wee hours
Fully aware of my powers
As music plays
In between your
Pleasured screams
I end up
Laying naked in silence
Next to a bare torso sleeping soundly
Praying to my crystals quietly
Shot of patron
Before I send you home
Back to Genesis
Just committed a few sins
Acting as Eve
Biting the apple given to me by the snake
Cigarette burning to ashes in its tray
I start to feel the sun rays
Leave quietly
Doors unhinged
Fake ass grin
I pray that we never meet again
Regret filling
Inside, hollow
Bones, frozen
Cold, turned
To stone
Hades, sin
Using you
Cus I can
Slow hate
Attached to
The “love”
I just gave you…

I found an old short story I wrote when I was in college. The theme oddly fit well with a modern day urban fantasy DS9, so I wrote it for them. I’m tagging this as prompted writing, since it’s prompted by something else, but I don’t have an official prompt for it.

Creature Feature

Julian always dreamed of being a hero.

His childhood daydreams were filled with images of knighthood. He wore polished, silver armor and rode through the expansive forest on his tamed bear, Kukalaka, in order to save his brunette princess trapped in a far-off tower. He always made it, always slayed the fire-breathing dragon that dared to keep her captive, and whisked her away to the kingdom to live happily once more.

As he aged, the tales changed. In his teen years, he became a charming monster hunter. He’d slay gruesome beasts that tried to kill his female cohorts. Then he helped treat their wounds with his gentle, magic-given healing abilities that would garner their affection every time.

When he moved to college, he switched to Bond-like espionage thrillers. He became Agent Bashir, who swooned the ladies and won them over with his suave demeanor and charming smile. A great kiss never hurt either. These daydreams were saved for the nights his roommate, a strong jock with an abrasive personality, was absent from their dorm room. This night, Friday, was the perfect time.

It was 1:20 AM. The full moon gleamed through the open dorm window. The light breeze of the unfamiliar California city wafted in. Julian paced his room in small, near calculated motions as he ducked behind his office chair. It wheeled back an inch. He inched back with it, his mind refusing to let go of the scenario playing in his head. He glanced under his desk. He imaged it as a scientist’s counter. Bullets ricocheted off the metal plating. A woman crouched behind it, fear clear in her blue, wide eyes.

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Hair Stylist

Authors Note: I have so many ideas for my upcoming imagines by the way! I don’t know if they’ve ever been done before but I’m trying to make them as original as possible! 

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Reader used to be a hair stylist and takes it into their hands to style Buckys hair.

Words: 1555 

Warnings: Bucky being destructive in the kitchen, poor decapitated fridge 

Originally posted by marvel-dirtbag


You grimaced as Bucky walked in the room with sweaty gym hair. He tucked both sides of his hair behind his ear in an attempt to keep it out of his face but failed miserably as he reached in the fridge to grab a water bottle. He groaned out in frustration and slammed the fridge door shut, not realizing his own strength. The fridge door unhinged and fell to the ground with a loud thud. Bucky hissed a bunch of incoherent curse words and slammed down the water bottle, that he was holding with his left hand, down on the counter. The pressure he put on it caused it to burst open and water sprayed out everywhere. 

It was Bucky Vs. Kitchen and the kitchen was winning. 

You snickered from your spot on the couch and put the book that you were reading down. “Tony’s going to kill you.” Buckys head shot up, not realizing that you were there this whole time, and bit back a scowl. “Yeah, no shit Captain Obvious.” He dragged his hand down his face before letting out a heavy sigh. “Please don’t tell him." 

You raised an eyebrow at him and got up. "What’s in it for me?” You were going to help him either way but you enjoyed watching him squirm. Besides, you loved blackmail and you were all for letting Bucky do your laundry for a month or making you breakfast. This time, though, you had something different in mind. Bucky never lets anyone touch his hair but that was all about to change. 

“I’ll do your laundry for two months-oh! And I’ll make your breakfast for three!” You laughed at Buckys desperation to keep his little incident between you two and he frowned in confusion. Walking closer to him you smirked involuntarily as you saw him tense under your close proximity. 

You reached your hand up to rub the stubble on his cheek and leaned in closer to his ear. “As tempting as that sounds,” you said in your best sultry voice, “I have something else in mind." 

Buckys Adams apple bobbed up and down as he visibly swallowed. "Y-yeah, what’s that?" 

You ran your free hand up and down his chest before latching it on to his shoulder and pushed him against the counter behind him. "From now on..” You paused for dramatic effect. “..I can be your personal hair stylist!" 

Bucky was caught off guard as he blinked all the inappropriate thoughts out of his mind. He shook his head, "Wait, what? N-no, I’m not letting you anywhere near my hair.” He was still a little shaken from your little tease but you didn’t need to know that. Too bad you already noticed how flustered he had gotten. 

You faked a sigh as you moved away from him and towards the elevator. “Well, I guess I’ll have to bring Tony down here to fix the fridge.." 

"No, no, no, no-ok fine! You can be my. . hair stylist.” You grinned and bounced to the decapitated fridge. “Perfect! We can start tomorrow.” You raised your hand and the fridge door was attached back to its hinge in a matter of seconds. 

Bucky shook his head as you skipped away to your room. The elevator doors dinged, announcing someones presence. A few seconds later, Tony walked in the kitchen. He took one look at the kitchen counter and stopped in his tracks. “Um, why is my kitchen counter all wet? And why does that water bottle look like its been through hell?" 

Bucky chuckled nervously and shrugged. "Don’t know my own strength?" 


The next day you sauntered into the living room to see Sam, Natasha and Bucky watching a movie. You hopped over to Bucky and pulled on his arm to make him stand up. "Come onnn, remember our plans for today.” Bucky rolled his eyes and Natasha smirked. Sam kept his eyes on the screen not wanting to miss anything. "What plans?“ 

"Nothing!” “I’m going to style Buckys hair!" 

Bucky groaned as he realized that he was going to endure weeks worth of teasing from Sam when his head shot up, his interest piqued. The movie was long forgotten as Sam burst out in laughter and Natasha raised her eyebrows in both surprise and amusement. 

"Barnes never lets anyone touch his hair, how’d you trick him into that? Wait- no, let me guess, blackmail?” You nodded and pulled Bucky up the stairs and to your room. Sams laughing didn’t die down as he yelled at you guys. “I always wondered how you would look in pigtails, Barnes! Oh and a French Braid!" 

You snickered as you noticed the annoyed look on Buckys face and dragged him down the hall. "Don’t worry, I won’t give Sam the satisfaction of seeing you in pigtails.” You paused before adding, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do it either." 

Once you guys were in your room you walked into your bathroom where all your supplies were. You sat Bucky down on the closed toilet seat while you turned on the pipe. "When was the last time you washed your hair?" 

Bucky watched you move around the bathroom, "Last night.” You looked up at Buckys hair. “What kind of shampoo and conditioner do you use?" 

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows,"Um, I don’t remember. Does it really matter?” You squeezed some shampoo in your hands. “Of course it matters. Take off your shirt.” The soldier was taken back by your bluntness but covered it up with a smirk. He peeled off his shirt and threw it somewhere by the door. “Doll, you didn’t have to pretend to want to do my hair just to see me shirtless. All you had to do was ask." 

You rolled your eyes but you had to admit, this man was sculpted by the gods. You pushed him with your elbows under the pipe."You humor me Barnes. Rinse your hair out.” After he did that you moved to rub the shampoo in his hair but he moved away and scrunched up his nose. 

“Bucky! You’re wetting up my floor!” He ignored you and look at the shampoo bottle. “Fruit Smoothie Bonanza? There is no way you’re putting this in my hair." 

"Why nott?” He was making this more difficult than this had to be and you were getting fed up. “I don’t want to walk around smelling like a fruit basket!” You threw your head back with a groan and washed the shampoo off your hands. 

“Fine, you want a shampoo that smells all musk and ‘manly’? I’ll go see what Steve has.” After you had gotten Buckys preference in shampoo, he allowed you to wash his hair with no trouble. You were now drying his hair when he started squirming in his seat. 

“What is it now?” He glanced at you through the mirror and bit his lip. “You. . you’re not really going to put my hair in a French Braid, are you?” You froze for a moment and the burst out laughing from Buckys actual concern. He looked like a confused puppy at this moment and all you wanted to do was hug him. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at the thought. 

“No, as funny as that would be.” You take off the dryer and put it down before picking up the brush. “How are you such a professional in doing my hair? It’s never been this soft.” You giggled as Bucky started touching his hair and smacked his hand away. 

“Before I joined the team,” You explained to him,“I used to be a hair stylist. One of the biggest ones in Manhattan, actually. I was booked to do Tony’s hair multiple times, that’s how we knew each other." 

Bucky was surprised by this newfound information. "Really? How come you never told anyone before?” You shrugged your shoulders. “No one asked." 

When you were done with Buckys hair you placed the brush down and gave Bucky some time to look at your work. "Wow Y/N. Thank you so much, I could kiss you.” You knew it was a joke and shot him back a response. 

“Well then why don’t you?” Both of you tensed as you realized that you sounded like you weren’t actually joking. Which you weren’t, you had been wanting to kiss him for months but you knew he didn’t feel the same way. 

“I mean-I’m sorry that sounded better in my head, just-” You were interrupted by Bucky placing his lips on yours. There was a bit of hesitation in the kiss and he pulled back before you can respond. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I was way out of line and-” This time, you interrupted Bucky. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he placed his hands on your hips to pull your body closer. Your lips molded perfectly together as they moved together in harmony. He started to back you up against the wall but the back of your leg hit the vanity in the process. You guys jumped apart at the noise when your things clattered to the floor. 

You both laughed as a blush stained your cheeks. “You know,” You bit your lip,“this is a better price in paying me than I had in mind." 

"I had to pay?”

Spider!Jack x Mer!Rhys (1st)

@jennpy drew a fabulous pic of Mer!Rhys and Spider!Jack interacting so I had to embellish a tee tad. XD Oh god. I made Spider Jack so… innocent(ly bad.) But I love him. Here you go, Jen!

[And I know you’re waiting on Tempest Deity Jack!! D": I’m working hard!]



“I know it’s your first time with the other experiments, Jackie, but you have to be careful…”

The Handsome Spider sighed, wilting a little under his mother’s lecturing. He knew she was just being protective of him, but he really just wanted her to finish talking then push that green button for the door. It led to a special glass tunnel of Jack’s ultimate wonder, created to migrate specimens to a much larger habitat to be amongst one another in a symbiotic colony.

Not that Doctor Jen was entirely okay with this… She was still worried her banana baby would catch an unseen disease or worse - earn mild indigestion from ingesting one of the other experiments.

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And You Knew

Summary: Dean was in the bunker finally and you and Sam, well, especially you, tried to convince him to inject human blood in him to make him human again.

Pairings: Demon!Dean x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, rough smut

Word Count: 1852

It’s kinda plot-less but eh. My first Demon!Dean fic! 

Hope you like it :> thing-you-do-with-that-thing because he definetely did that thing with that thing ;) 

(Gifs not mine, credits to owners)

For what seems like forever, you, well, you and Sam, found Dean. Nah. Crowley actually gave up on him and basically placed him on your door step, but he’s all ready to kill anyone. He was going to kill Sam and you, he clearly made a point as you and Sam made a run and hid. The door you opened happened to be Dean’s room and you groaned. You went in the closet and hid. How fucking original. You tried your best to calm your racing heart in fear that he’ll find you. You managed to calm your breathing, and your heart, although still fast, was quieter now.

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