the end is quiet and dark

i. a soft light from within: hiding in his smile, running in the rivers of his eyes. his hair is dark like sleep, like endless quiet; his fingers are careful and his kiss tastes like the hush of a church on a holy morning. i swear his bones glow with the weight of his silent spring-morning glory.

ii. his scabbed knees and his broken bones only spill the light out where i can see it. each bruise is a sunrise; each cut is a candlelight; each tear is a sparkling pearl on the end of his nose, fragile like divinity. in agony he breathes his blooms into my lungs, where they root and flower. now i am flourishing and now he is barren and the sun always goes down, the light always ebbs away like the tide, nothing you keep in the palms of your hands will stay golden.

iii. his blood is beautiful like nostalgia, like ambrosia, shining from within like the darkest, purest honey you could find. his blood is beautiful, so i make him bleed.

—  beauty // abby, day 191 // prompt for @dreamers-inc

boys r so cute. like.

boys with freckles r so cute. boys w/ high voices r cute. artistic boys r cute. quiet boys r cute. boys w/ dark skin r cute. and u kno what? thats not even the end of it, so many handsome boys on this planet, so. many. stay cute.

Our Favorite Illustrations of 2016

It was a long, crazy year and we are super thankful to have the visual power of illustration to help us make sense of it all. Here are some of our favorites of 2016:

Keith Negley, Is It OK For Boys To Cry?

Keith is wonderful at distilling complex ideas into simple, but emotionally nuanced imagery. And while this illustration seems simple, the open-ended narrative and quiet vulnerability hit me at an emotional center. -MR

Lilli Carre, Looking For Change for NPR Ed.

After spending years working on illustrations about education, Lilli just summed up the whole system so well in this one, simple concept. - LA

Kristen Uroda, Flip The Script 
(Invisibilia podcast art)

I can almost hear the collision of these two contrasting forces in the frame. It’s a powerful image that exudes momentum and stillness. -MR

Jeannie Phan, Hey Sci-Fi And Comic Fans: It’s Time To Embrace The Dark Side

This is one of those illustrations where a smart concept plays to multiple levels of interpretation. The illustration means one thing before you read the story, and another after reading it. -MR

Chris Kindred, Scoring Your Story for NPR Training.

Sound can be a tricky thing to represent visually, but this image hums! Part Fantasia, part science book art – I wish physics was taught alongside Chris’ illustrations. -LA

Sam Rowe, Original Thinkers for NPR Ed.

Sam’s concepts are always what strike me the most. The subtle twinkling and shooting stars make this one of my favorite GIFs of all time. -LA

I’ve never quite felt so much dread
As when our final words were said
The quiet car ride in the dark
Fearing what would be a brand new start

I know that you must move away
When daylight strikes and ends your stay
But shaking hands and streaks of tears
I can’t hold back when you’re not near

You walk me back to my front door
Long distance, we’ve been here before
Behaving like a flickering circuit
Temperamental light; when it’s on, it’s worth it

You are my light
And sometimes that scares you
How you’re on my mind
Until we pull through

But I’ll wait for you from coast to coast
You’ll send me chocolates in the post
That I’ll unwrap when I miss you most
As I kiss the soft temple of your ghost

—  We must goodbye again; it never hurts any less. I’m trying to stop the tears, I’ll embrace the pain through writing for you. // A.S
Dark End of the Street Part 4

{Part 1} {Part 2} {Part 3}


Word Count: 1,577

~Sorry this took so long. This is the final chapter for the fic.

     Saeran entered the toy shop and made his way back to Saeyoung’s work room. It was quiet and dark, as the shop was still closed. He spent some time looking over all of the things Saeyoung had created. As much as he hated to admit it, he had talent when it came to these things.

     Sure, Saeran could create whatever he needed to if he was handed blueprints or something. But there was a life in these toys that Saeyoung added. He made these things from his mind, and his genius uniquely shone through.

     He found his brother at his work desk, tinkering with something. His back was facing him and Saeyoung didn’t bother to turn, although Saeran was more than sure he heard him come in.

     “You left the door unlocked you idiot,” Saeran broke the silence.

     “So? I’m a little busy right now, did you need something?” Saeyoung didn’t break his concentration from his project as he spoke.

     “Yeah. I need you to know something.”

     Saeyoung still didn’t flinch. Saeran couldn’t figure out if that made it easier or harder for him. Why was he feeling sudden guilt right now? He was fiddling with the lining of his pockets and rocking slightly on his heels.

     “I am moving out,” he managed to say, “but I’m taking her with me.”

     At this Saeyoung stopped what he was doing. His crimpers dropped onto the table top and he was still in his seat. Saeran took a quiet deep breath and filled his lungs. It was getting out now, and he felt mostly relieved.

     “That’s right. She’s coming with me. I…I’ve been fucking her for weeks now,“ he almost regret saying that part but there was no turning back, “she loves me…and I love her.”

     He stood there waiting. For a punch? For him to yell? He didn’t know what to expect. All this time he had been waiting for this moment. The taste of victory? Could he call it that, even? Did anyone even win in this situation? He felt like he did. All of those weeks of pining after you. Watching you with his brother and getting sick at the sight. Soaking up every smile and moment you ever gave him like a pathetic and needy sponge. He lay awake thinking of you, and how you smelled, and the how your hands would feel on his skin. Could he deny the satisfaction he took from your love? As terrible as it was, he couldn’t.
He heard a soft sound. A sniffle maybe, or a whimper. Saeyoung’s shoulders shook slightly and he spoke.

     “I know,” his voice quivered.


     “I’m not stupid. It’s been obvious for a while now. Did you really think you could hide that shit from me? I’ve seen the…way you look at her from the beginning. And you really should be more careful about where you leave your clothes. I started to think you were doing it on purpose… Just to be an asshole. Just to shove it in my face.”

     “So why didn’t you say anything?”

     Saeran’s voice was harsh and incredulous. He thought you had been fairly discreet. In this moment he felt his brother was weak. Maybe weaker than himself…and he felt, at the same time, closer to his brother than ever. They had both taken a backseat to each other when it came to your love. For a time, at least.

     He watched as his brothers fists clenched and slammed onto the desk. He felt almost sad for him. It was rare to see Saeyoung upset like this.

     “I don’t know!” he turned to face Saeran.

     His eyes were filled with tears and he had a look of betrayal. A pitiful look, and Saeran’s face was unmoving. His unapologetic stance only served to hurt Saeyoung more and he struggled to gather himself. His heart was racing and it was hard to breathe. “You knew it,” he thought to himself. But knowing and believing were two very different things in this circumstance. His mind was plagued with so many thoughts of you and his brother. The subtle changes in your body language and the distance he felt between you growing more and more over the past few weeks. He told himself it was all in his head. That you two couldn’t possibly…

     “I guess I didn’t want to believe it. Like a dumb ass I kept…” he choked, “kept thinking she would come back to me? That she loved me, still…that she was confused or something and it would pass…” he sobbed for a second, swiping his fingers under the rim of his glasses to wipe his eyes.

     Saeran stood there watching his brother break down. There was nothing he could do. It was making him uncomfortable and he crossed his arms and sighed.

     “Saeran…do you hate me?” Saeyoung asked.

     “Don’t be stupid,” he scoffed, “this is just like you. To make this about yourself. As if I did all of this as some sort of ploy to get at you? I didn’t…we didn’t plan for this to happen. But I love her, and that’s all this is about. Don’t overcomplicate this in that stupid brain of yours.”

     “I see…” his voice and face fell flat and he turned white, “and she is in love with you, too?” he couldn’t stop his hands from clenching once again at the thought.

     “Yeah…she’s moving her stuff into my room right now. I should be helping her. I’ll get a place as soon as I can so you don’t have to worry about that.”

     Saeyoung took a deep breath and did his best to gather himself.

     “Fine. It’s not a problem” he looked away, “I won’t…I won’t bother you two.”

     Saeran was inching toward the door now. He couldn’t stand the sight of Saeyoung anymore. He saw his own face in his twin. His own anguish and hurt, this could easily be him right now if things had gone just a little differently. Though he knew he wouldn’t have handled it as well. Saeyoung would forgive him no matter what, that’s just who he was. Did he admire or hate that aspect of him?

     “I’ve said what I needed to say,” Saeran spoke matter-of-factly, “you should pull yourself together before you come home. I swear Saeyoung if you cry in front of her…”

     For a moment he didn’t think his brother would even respond. Saeyoung was looking off into the distance with vacant eyes.

     “I know where I stand now,” he was monotoned and unblinking, “don’t worry…I won’t get in your way.”

     Saeran didn’t even bother to reply before he walked out and head back to the apartment. He found you on moving your clothes to his room now. He gave a slight shrug to your anxious face and without a word jumped in to help you out.

     It was a somber evening as you silently moved what was left. He hoped that you’d have more fun when you moved into your own place. He wanted to hear you laugh and see you smile as you made him do stupid shit like hanging shelves and rearranging furniture. He’d grab you in the middle of unpacking and fuck you right there, or maybe have you in every room as soon as you arrived to your new home? 

     The door closing interrupted his thoughts and you two were now staring at Saeyoung. The rims of his bloodshot eyes were red but he seemed composed. Saeran was glad, though he felt you tense up. No one moved for a minute as his eyes searched the both of you. He looked like he was struggling to say something but he couldn’t get it out.

     “Saeyoung…” Saeran heard your sweet voice call out for him hesitantly.

     He studied his twin with a furrowed brow, waiting to see what he’d do. What he’d say. A tired smile grew on Saeyoung’s face, but his eyes were still sad.

     “I’m happy for you both,” his voice was hoarse. Probably from crying all day.

     The smile faded and he walked without another word or glance and closed himself off in his room. Seeing how upset you looked, Saeran pulled you into his room and lay with you on the bed.

     “It’s late anyway, we can finish tomorrow.”

     He pet your head as you lay on his chest. He just wanted to protect you and comfort you. He smiled in the dark. As shitty as this was, he was elated at the thought that you were there now. In his room. With Saeyoung home. Laying on his chest. And you’d be there the next night. And the next night? And in the morning…it was almost too good to be true. He never thought he deserved to be happy before. He never wished for it until he met you. He found himself imagining a life with you, trying to be a better person for you. Having a family, maybe?

      “He just needs some time…” Saeran whispered.

     You nodded into his chest and wiped the few stray tears that managed to escape you.

     “You mean everything to me, ya know?”

      You looked up at him, “I love you,” you sniffled and wiped your eyes once again.

     His heart jumped.

     “And I love you. Can I get a smile?”

     You nodded with a grin.

     “Good girl,” he pulled you in for a kiss.

So I thought to myself: but why does he get a new jacket? And then this happened.  But one possibility of many.  I blame @acrobat-elle for this.  Starts pre-new-jacket.

Stepping quietly across the living room floor, Killian peers out the nearest window.  It’s still the middle of February, and as he’s gathered, winter never seems to end in this realm, as surely as summer persists in Neverland.  He gives the fire a stir before he rests against the windowsill, the divots in the delicately carved wood sure to press a pattern into his flesh.  But there’s something about the quiet, the illusion of total solitude, the complete and utter darkness, that’s remarkably comforting. So he stays, and presses the palm of his hand against the glass, where the wind and the biting cold have begun to draw sharp, frozen figures.

“Your hand’s gonna freeze to the glass.”

Keep reading

His head was pounding to the beat of his heart. It hurt even without that, only intensifying at each beat. Everything hurt his head, the lights, his boyfriends humming, even thinking was too much for him.

“Will… please be quiet…” he begged in a whisper.

Will stopped humming and looked at Nico. They were both on the couch but at separate ends. Will had been poured over patient files, converting notes to his permanent records. He hadn’t even noticed he was humming. Nico could be moody at times but he didn’t think that was why his boyfriend suddenly snapped at him like that.

He was curled in on himself, he was paler than usual and the dark bags under his eyes were even more pronounced now. “Nico? A-are you feeling alright, babe.”

He groaned then mumbled, “m'fine,” sounding anything but. He spoke through clenched teeth like he was in pain, which of course he was.

“You shouldn’t lie to your doctor.” Will pointed out, earning another groan from his poorly looking boyfriend.

“Gods, I said I’m fine Will!” He said angrily, wincing as it caused his head to hurt more. “Just be quiet.” He snapped.

“Geez! Somebody sure is pissy tonight.” Will sassed back.

Nico looked at him and frowned, his angry expression softening. “Sorry babe… S'just a headache.” He was much quieter right now, clearly it was becoming more and more painful for him.

Will set his papers down and completely faced him now. “Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”

Nico groaned yet again. “You really are a significant annoyance. I don’t feel well, alright? Happy now Mr. Sunshine?”

He frowned. “Not particularly. How could I be happy when you’re clearly feeling ill? Now what’s going on? What hurts?” He asked in that doctor-like way.

He rolled his eyes and winced. “Uh… My head is trying to murder me, my stomach keeps flipping inside me, I think I might have a fever too.” That was it but he felt so crummy it didn’t seem like it could only be three things giving him so much grief.

Will scooted over and felt his forehead, whistling in response which caused Nico to wince. “Sorry, sweetie. That’s some fever you’ve got..” He stood up.

“Where are you going!?” Nico asked looking panicked.

“Easy, Nico, I am just going to go get the thermometer so I can get a real read on this.” He pointed to Nico in general, who launched himself of the couch saying he wanted to go with but suddenly he crumpled to the ground in front of him.

“Nico!” Will shouted, trying to catch him but Nico was able to control the fall, going to his knees then all fours.

“Ahhh! Quiet! Please…” he held his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. “I just got up too fast…it made me dizzy.”

Will looked at him with worry and slowly helped Nico sit in a more comfortable way than on his hands and knees. “Why don’t I help you to bed and I’ll go get the thermometer?”

He had already lost his fight against not being found out, there was no reason to play it down anymore and now the only thing he wanted was to sleep without seeing his dinner again. He nodded and allowed Will to help him up and help him to bed.

When Will had taken his temperature earlier it had read at 102.9 which had explained why his head had hurt so badly. He fell asleep right away after his temperature was taken.

Nico wasn’t even awake, his body reacted without him being alert enough to stop himself. Will woke to a horrible sound and something hot and wet on his back. He was relatively unphased as this happened several times in his life, being a doctor and all. He slowly got up trying to avoid spreading the mess around. He could hear Nico being sick again before he could turn around, when he did he noticed Nico wasn’t actually awake.

“Oh Neeks…” He tisked lightly. He carefully removed his own shirt that was now soiled with Nico’s stomach contents. As he did this Nico threw up again. The mess was now spread out in front of his mouth and clinging to his cheek.

Nico himself was curled into a tight ball, laying on his side with an expression of misery etched on his face. When Will pulled the comforter off of his frail frame he saw that Nico was shivering violently and he had his arms wrapped protectively around his midsection. He had thrown up at least four times now and he still hadn’t woken up yet.

Will got out of bed and started to lift him up and into his arms. Only when he was being moved did he wake up. He was burning with fever much higher than before, and mostly unaware of what was happening. “Shit, you’re on fucking fire, Nico!”

Will picked him up and carried him to the bathroom, stripping them both down to only their boxers. He had to chuckle as he found Nico to be wearing the ones with hearts made of bones that he got him for Valentines day. His laughter short lived as Nico began dry heaving. He started the water in the tub turning on the shower to a chilly barely warm stream and grabbed Nico again. He sat under the water and laid Nico atop himself, letting his naked body be chilled by the luke-warm stream.

After what felt like an eternity Nico started to stir. “Hhnnnng….” He moaned, then whined, “Isss cooold….!”

Will kissed him, so thrilled he was awake enough to feel it. “Oh thank the gods! Nico! You’re alive!”

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just an expression,” he said rolling his eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Wet…and not in the fun way…” He mumbled. “I feel sick…”

“Yeah, well, you’ve soiled our bed. I’ll clean it up when your fever is lower.”

“You know, I am not Percy, the water doesn’t help me feel better.” Nico pointed out, starting to shiver.

Will just rolled his eyes. “It will lower your fever.”

“I-if you s-say s-so.” he said grumpily, curling up and nuzzling deeper into Will’s freckly chest, seeking out any warmth he could find.

“I’ll get you better, I promise.”

“I know.” Nico mumbled into his chest.

The Captive’s Past: Part 1

Originally posted by negangifs

Summary: Negan tries to comfort Abby, who he found fleeing from her kidnappers.

Pairing: Negan x Abby

Warning: Swearing, Eventual Smut, Violence, Mentions of Rape, Daddy Kink

“C’mon boys, pick up the fucking pace” snarled Negan as he trudged through the overgrown forest; Lucille slung over his shoulder, scouring for supplies with his men following closely behind him. It was dark and quiet out, more quiet then usual until *SNAP*, Negan held Lucille tightly pointing her towards a dark figure standing a few feet in front of them. “Whoever you fucking are you better not fucking try anything unless you want to feel my girl’s barbed end bashing your skull in!” Negan yelled out. He looked over at his men who had their guns out and pointed towards the figure as well, he nodded his head forward; signaling for them to go see who it was. Two of Negan’s men, Dwight and Simon walked past either side of Negan, guns still pointed forward, as they slowly made their way to the figure that almost looked like it was shaking.

“Well, would you look at this” Simon called out as he and Dwight grabbed onto the figure and began dragging it back to Negan. “No! Stop please!” the figure screamed out as it began kicking its legs into the ground trying to get free of Simon and Dwight’s grip. Negan squinted his eyes as they got closer and quickly opened them when he noticed the figure was a girl; and a good looking one at that. Dwight pushed the girl forward directly in front of Negan’s gaze, Negan grabbed onto her arm with his Lucille-free hand to keep her from running off. The girl’s hair was messy and tangled like it hadn’t been brushed in weeks and her clothes were dirty and tattered. The girl began yanking her arm again trying to get loose but to no avail as tears streamed down her dust covered face, leaving streaks.”Hey hey, it’s alright sweetheart” Negan said surprisingly softly, loosening his grip on her arm but not loose enough that she’d get free. “I’m Negan, what’s your name doll?” he asked giving the girl a half-assed ‘nice to meet you’ smile. “N-Negan?” the girl stuttered as the fear in her eyes grew realizing who the man standing before her was. “Yes that’s my fucking name and don’t forget it doll, buuut I’m pretty fucking sure I asked what yours was” he said again softly, wiping a tear that was trailing down her cheek away with a gloved finger, causing the girl to flinch. “M-My names…A-Abby” the girl replied, revealing her identity to Negan.

“Abby huh? Cute name” Negan said licking his bottom lip “cute name to go with an even cuter face”. Negan paused for a second before turning around and walking back, pulling Abby along with him, “let’s go fuckers  it’s getting late, I think I’m gonna take Abby here with us…I like her” he shouted out to his men. Abby struggled to get free, “no no no please stop!” she whimpered, tears streaming down her face. There was no use trying to pull free, Negan was too strong, she gave up pulling and instead brought Negan’s hand up to her mouth and bit down on it as hard as she could, causing Negan to give out a great yell in pain.

Negan’s men quickly grabbed Abby and pushed her face first into the cold ground. Negan gave his bitten hand a shake and held onto Lucille tightly “you little fucking bitch, you fucked up and I mean FUCKED up biiig time!” he yelled, but Abby paid no attention as she glanced over and noticed a couple of men walking in the distance, shining the flashlights in their hands around, Negan and his men; too caught up in the heat of the moment didn’t notice them. “Shhhh…Stop yelling they’ll hear you!” Abby shouted in a panicked tone. Negan bent down and leaned in closer “the fuck did you just say to me?” he asked the anger still pacing through him. “T-Those men over there…their the people I’m trying to get away from, p-please don’t let them get me…I can’t go back…please” Abby franticly mumbled. Negan looked up and noticed the men, who noticed him as well as they shone their flashlights in his direction and started running over.

“You found my daughter!” said one of the men giving Negan a toothy grin, “We’ve been looking for her for hours now, I hope she hasn’t been causing you folks too much trouble” the man leaned over to grab Abby until Negan stepped in front of her, shielding her from him. He held Lucille up and pointed it at the man who spoke, as his men pointed their guns at the other one. “N-Now no need to get violent mister, I’ll just take my little girl and go” the man stuttered putting his hands up. “N-Now shut the fuck up” Negan hissed, mocking the man. “This girl here said she’s trying to get away from you, why the fuck would she be running away from her father?” Negan asked not taking his eyes off of the man who was now trembling. “W-Well ya see, she’s a bit well… deranged” the man said shakingly. “BULLSHIT!” Negan yelled causing both men to jump, “Abby is this man your father?” he asked, lowering his voice. “No he’s not!” she yelled giving the man a pissed off glare “these cowards killed my mother then kidnapped me and have been abusing me for WEEKS! Then when they got bored of hitting me and telling me what to do they tried to rape me but I managed to get free” Abby spat as she talked, her fear slowly being replaced with pent up anger. Negan paused not saying a thing, but his hands were shaking as he clenched them into tight fists, “you inbred motherfuckers” Negan said under his breath before raising Lucille up and bringing her down over the man’s head; almost splitting it in two. The man stumbled for a second before dropping to the ground with a thud. The other man looked at his dead friend with horror before starting to run in the opposite direction, he didn’t get far as Negan’s men began firing bullets into his back until he dropped down dead as well.

Negan let out a deep breath, slicking his black hair that had fallen in his eyes back. He turned around and gave Abby a hand helping her up, “now listen I’m sorry for yelling at you and shit but if you EVER bite my goddamn hand again I-“ he was quickly cut off as Abby hugged him tightly “thank you so much Negan” she whispered. Negan’s men stared at him with curiosity seeing what he was going to do, since he wasn’t an affectionate, huggy kind of guy. But to their surprise Negan gave Abby a tight squeeze back “hey don’t mention it, but seriously bite me again and I’ll fucking lose it” Abby stepped back and smiled as she looked at the teeth marks she left on Negan’s leather glove “yeah…sorry about that” she said feeling a bit guilty about biting the man that just saved her life.

“Do you have a place to go?” Negan asked, “no…not anymore, they burned the house me and my mother were living in” Abby said looking down at the ground. Negan shook his head slightly in disbelief “well then you can live in my compound Sanctuary, you’ll have food and shelter and most importantly safety” Negan leaned closer to Abby and whispered in her ear “I won’t fucking let anybody hurt you anymore darling, got that?” Negan leaned back as Abby nodded her head and gave Negan a smile. Negan smiled back and took her gently by the hand, “what the fuck are you cunts looking at? Let’s go” he growled at his men who looked dumbfounded.

Negan helped Abby get into his pick-up truck before going around and getting into the driver’s seat. One of his men sitting in the open back of the truck banged the side to let Negan know everyone was in. Negan put Lucille down in the small back space behind his seat and started driving off towards Sanctuary. He glanced over at Abby who slowly grabbed his hand and entwined her fingers with his. “Is this okay?” she asked noticing the surprised look on Negan’s face, which quickly vanished and was replaced with a smirk, “yeah…it’s okay” he replied looking back at the road, letting his thumb slowly stroke Abby’s hand.

Bonding of Souls Part 1: The Voice...

Hello everyone! I had a little idea a few days ago that sort of caught fire into a big story! With not only myself but with the help of @sanspar and @skelespoo this story was made! This is a story based on Nyx, Sanspar and Spoo and their journey through the underground! This is their background story and what brought them close. I am honored that they both let me use their OC’s in this fun crazy ride! So please read and enjoy!!!! (Also this whole story takes place in the Underswap Universe!)


When a set of brothers do everything in their power to survive in the labs….one assistant decides to take matter in her own hands. 

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Keep Me Where The Light Is - A Moriel Fic

For @acotarshipweek moriel smut week day 1 prompt: ‘I’m sorry’. I am Late. I am very late. I want to do a couple of other prompts for this week and they will probably be…very late. I am garbage. We know this. Thank you my dearest, @pterodactylichexameter for betaing this for me!!

Title: Keep Me Where The Light Is

Summary: Prompt: ‘I’m sorry’ established relationship, set a few decades after the projected end of ACOWAR. Azriel returns late from a particularly harrowing mission. Mor finds him alone and in pieces in the training room and helps him heal. Lots of angst. Lots of sin. That’s really all you need to know. Azriel’s POV. Obviously NSFW. 

Teaser:  Mor leads him through the quiet, dark house, the door closing behind them as silently as it had opened. It might have felt like bars slamming shut on a prison cell, or the stone wall of a crypt sealing himself inside his own tomb but it doesn’t. With Mor’s hand slipping gently into his the dark house feels like an escape and he has left his demons at the door. They are not allowed in this place that she has warded with her light and her peace. She is the only thing with the power to bring him to his knees that is permitted to touch him here.  

Link: AO3

Azriel stalks into the training halls beneath the House of Wind a second, haunting soul tethered to the broken, battered one that resides within his body. The one that once was his and his alone. Now it belongs to all those who have stolen pieces from it over the decades, the ones he has killed or tortured or blackmailed or threatened for the sake of his court. His body has become a cemetery for all those he has claimed, having their revenge each day for what he did to them. It is a graveyard of monsters; his ghosts were demons long before he shattered their minds and buried them with the remnants of his soul.

That knowledge doesn’t ease the burden that threatens to finally break him at last.

Six hundred years. There are scars he’s carried upon his heart, his mind for six hundred years that have refused to fade as stubbornly as the marks upon his hands. Every day he wakes with the reminder of what his brothers did to him, the reminder of that fire, their cruelty, that terror written upon his skin. And upon his soul is the reminder of what he has done, his own cruelty, his own sins, inked in blood and screams and just as inescapable. Too much. He has crossed some line, some line he didn’t think existed. But this is too much. This is finally too much.

It had taken hours to break the deserter, hours to understand the reasons behind his betrayal, why he had slaughtered four of his brothers, what he had hoped to gain, what secrets he had hoped to sell to their enemies. Those secrets died with him. Azriel was the last person ever to hear them and all those others who were involved have since been taken care of. His people are safe, his family is safe but he…he….

The screams still bother him. They shouldn’t, surely, after all this time. But they do. They still cut through him like that first day. He still remembers the soldier, his first. Rhys’s father had stood outside the room and looked down at him, his eyes the same violet as his brother’s but…Cold, dark, utterly devoid of Rhys’s compassion. He had told Azriel the man was an enemy, was working to destroy everything they knew, everything they had built. He had told him to discover what the male knew then to…take care of him. Azriel had done as commanded.

He still does as commanded. He knows that if he ever felt the strain becoming too much, if he went to his brother and told him that he couldn’t do this anymore, that six hundred years of death and nightmares filled with agony were too much that Rhys would let him step down immediately. He could shake off the role of spymaster, live somewhere quietly, peacefully, with Mor without the need for these grisly interruptions in the life they loved so much. He also knows that it would leave the court undefended, that no-one can do what he can. And he would never wish them to, would never wish this upon anyone.

For all that they haunt him now he knows that if a day ever comes when the screams inside him go silent, when they no longer haunt his every step…that will be the day he becomes a monster in full and more of a danger to this court than he could ever be a guardian.

But he still wishes it would stop now, wishes he could stop reliving the last few hours, wishes he could find a moment of peace, just for a second, just a second, please, please.  

The training hall is dark and quiet at this hour, no-one else is out of their beds feeling the need to hit something, to work off the terrible, raging, consuming frustration that seems as though it’s about to burst free of the restraining cage of his bones. He is the only one awake now…And his ghosts.

He steps to one of the corners of the hall where several braced pads have been set up, soft wood covered by layers and layers of thick fabric, making them solid but safe to hit. Along the wall behind them, set out in neat rows like soldiers, like the neatly printed orders that find their way to his desk and tear another chunk of him, are variously sized gloves meant to be worn in the ring or when training alone with the targets. He ignores them.

His hands are still covered in dried blood from his last mission and he doesn’t bother to try and cleanse them, to rid himself of that reminder of what he has done, what he is. Monster the darkness whispers to him. He shivers at the accusation but can’t bring himself to feel betrayed by it. When they had come to him in his childhood and promised him power, promised him salvation, the shadows that sing to him had not promised him comfort or sweet words. They had only promised truth. That was all they had ever given to him in the six hundred years they had served him.

Settling into the stance that’s as familiar to him now as breathing, Az sets his eyes upon the pad before him. His punches start off rhythmic and controlled, careful taps gauging distance, then stronger flurries of blows taught in the training camps and drills. But those aren’t enough, aren’t enough to quiet the roaring in his head, aren’t enough to douse the fire boiling his blood, aren’t enough to silence the screams rattling through his bones.

He increases his pace, his attacks becoming less practiced, less rhythmic, more wild and untamed as he feels himself slipping. Control, through all these years control has been his sword, his shield, his armour, his anchor. Keeping himself in check had always meant keeping himself alive. But sometimes, in the dark, in the quiet, the monsters slip out to reclaim their own.

His arms swing in wide arcs, wasting time, wasting power, all the things he was specifically taught not to do. His hands strike harder and harder and the sudden blaze of pain that sparks up his arms is a welcome feeling. It grounds him and for a moment it helps. It’s a release, an expression of the things that he must keep inside, that he must not let escape, that he must bind tight to himself lest they poison anyone else. The pulse of relief is only ever temporary.

His vision blurs and the room around him dissolves, reforming into another that is dark and cramped and smells strongly of blood and despair. He is crouched on the floor, his expression cool, composed even as he crumbles into ruins on the inside, as the man screams before him. His fist makes contact with the pad at a blinding speed and strength again and again and again and the harsh, unyielding rhythm is the only thing that’s stopping him from sinking to his knees and letting the darkness within overwhelm him at last.

The skin between his knuckles splits and blood seeps from the cracks in his self. He ignores it, even as it pulses in thin scarlet ribbons over his palms and the backs of his hands, thick and hot and wet, clenched between his fingers. But he’s too focused on the screaming in his head, in banishing it, in chasing the past that tugs at him, tries to slip its arms around him and draw him back towards it, like a scorned lover. But he won’t let it, can’t let it, if he gives into that now there will be no saving him, no finding him, no dragging him from that abyss, not for anything.

The one corner of his mind that can think past his pain and his fear dimly registers the sound of distant footsteps, frantic, running, running towards him.


The scream rips through the thick veil that’s shrouding him from his surroundings, pierced only by the soft pulses of pain that come from the continued striking of his fists against the pads. His name. Her voice. His name in her mouth. The running footsteps, hers too he realises vaguely, get closer, faster, louder, thundering like a heartbeat against the smooth stone floors of the training hall.

“Azriel! Azriel stop, please stop, Az-“ He shudders, her voice growing more distant, her words blending with the words of his captor as he had begged for an end.

“Azriel, Az look at me, look at me, listen to me.” She doesn’t touch him but her voice strikes a chord in him like a physical blow all the same as he registers the deep throb of fear and agony that runs through it. He raises his head, looks over at her, his vision still slightly bleary, as though he’s seeing her through a thick, choking fog. “Stop,” she whispers, orders, pleads. “Stop, Az.”

This time, for her, he obeys the words.

Trembling he lets his hands drop. They’re stiff and sore from the damage done to them and the fresh blood that’s starting to dry over the old. Mor’s eyes are fixed on them where they hang limp and useless at his sides, wide and horrified at what he’s done. Reaching down she tries to gently take hold of one of them but the moment her skin brushes against his he jerks violently away from her.

Centuries worth of disgust and doubt well up in him and overwhelm him. Though they’ve been together for over fifty years now and though he loves her and knows and accepts that she loves him- in that moment, the sight of her soft, smooth, unmarred hand brushing against his burned, twisted, bloody one is unbearable to him.

The brief flash of hurt that flares in her warm brown eyes twists in his gut a moment later and she pulls backs, pain flooding her beautiful face. All she wants, he knows, is to be able to reach out to him, to help him, and his rejection stings with the weight of five hundred years of distance and denial.

His remaining strength crumbles at the sight of what he’s done to her and the words come to his lips in a hoarse, breathless rasp, “I’m sorry.” Her eyes flick back up to his but he drops his gaze almost the moment they connect, unable to bring himself to look at her. His chest is still heaving from his recent exertion, his blood still drips quietly onto the stone floor at their feet, his vision still swims and blurs but he breathes again, “I’m sorry.”

Mor opens her mouth to answer but it turns into a cry of alarm as he sways on the spot a moment before his knees buckle. Faster than he can see she darts forwards, her arms sliding around his chest, and catches him. Sinking to the ground with him she lowers him down with heartbreaking tenderness, gentling his fall.

Her fingers stroke lightly through his hair as she steadies him but he can’t stop saying those words over and over and over apologising for a multitude of sins. He’s sorry for getting into this state in the first place but more so for letting her see him like this. He’s sorry for what he’s done, what he’s become, what he’s had to do to stop their court from drowning. But he’s also sorry for the things that he didn’t do, the things that he didn’t stop, the people that he didn’t save with his brand of death. And he’s sorry for her. Sorry for ever thinking that he could be with her, that they could make this work, that it could ever last- a dreamer and a nightmare in love.

As though she can hear these thoughts Mor pushes back his hair and cups his face between her hands, lifting it up to hers. “Look at me,” she whispers when he closes his eyes, averting his gaze, “Look at me, Azriel.” He can’t deny her anything, not her, and he makes himself meet those usually soft, tender brown eyes which he now finds blazing with fierce intensity. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she whispers to him, pressing her lips to his forehead and then touching her brow to his, her thumbs gently stroking his cheeks, “Nothing.”  

Unable to help himself he lowers his head again, shaking. What he’s done- But she picks up that dropped thread of thought as well, “You’re a good person,” she breathes and he snorts in derision before he can control the impulse. Anger flashes through her and with it a lashing of her power crackling through the air around them, “You are,” she growls.

Her voice softens but still radiates with that unmistakable power as she says those words, the ones that bind her to the magic that thrums in her veins, “I am the Morrigan,” she murmurs, “You know I speak the truth.”

He raises his head and opens his eyes to watch her as she repeats the words, “You’re a good person, Azriel. You do what you have to, for your court. You do too much,” A crease appears between her brows, this isn’t the first time she’s said something like this, expressed her unease at the things he has to do, at the cost of keeping them safe.  “But you don’t take any pleasure in it, you never have. We all have to do things, become things we would rather not…” She trails off and he knows that she of all people understands that, she who spends more time in the Court of Nightmares pretending to be something she’s not, pretending to be something darker, something worse, than any of them.

Taking a breath she goes on, “It doesn’t change who you are.” Then, softer, “It doesn’t change how I feel, what I want…What I chose.”

He meets her eyes again at that, searching them for he doesn’t know what, yet he finds it. “I fell in love with you, Az,” she murmurs softly, “With all of you.” He swallows tightly, watching her, barely daring to breathe, to move. “I always knew,” she continues quietly, “I knew what you were, I knew what you did for this court, I knew how you would come home to me sometimes-“ Despite her attempts at reassuring calm and certainty her voice trembles and cracks a little as she looks at him, the state he’s in. But it’s perfectly steady once more when she resumes. “I chose that,” she says, firm, certain, “I chose you. I love you.” She leans forwards and brushes her lips with aching tenderness against his, “I always will.”

Reaching down she lifts his hands up and examines them, wincing at the mess of bruised, bloodied flesh he’s made of his knuckles. Absently taking what she needs from a pocket realm she produces water and cloths and proceeds to clean enough of the blood to see through to the injuries below. Light blazes from her palm and he tries not to fidget as her magic heals him, his bones resetting themselves and sealing together, muscle and skin knitting seamlessly together again. She can’t do anything about the extensive burn scars that mottle his hands but when he flexes them it’s almost impossible to tell the damage he had done to himself. The only evidence of the abuse remaining is a faint pale flush to the new skin.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice low and quiet, not quite looking at her as he speaks, not wanting to see the pain or the disappointment on her face at what he had done to himself.

He realises a moment later, as he turns his hands over, examining them, that she’s cleansed all of the blood from his skin, not merely his own.

Azriel lets his arms slide slowly around her, holding her close, breathing in her scent, grounding himself in her instead of the pads behind them. Mor shuffles into his lap and slides her arms around him as well, easing her fingers deeply into his hair, pulling him close.

“Are you ready to talk about it?” she murmurs quietly. She never asks him if he wants to talk about it, knows from decades’ worth of experience not to ask if he wants, or needs, almost anything because the answer would always be ‘no’.

He shakes his head slightly, his face still buried in her neck. He still only wants to escape from himself, from the torrent of memories and pain and terror that still rakes at him. He isn’t ready to face it yet. She nods, gently kissing the crown of his head, not pushing him or trying to coax words from him that he doesn’t have. Even though she’s never insisted upon this in all the years that he’s known her, a faint rush of gratitude for her understanding still spills through him in response.

Mor’s fingers stroke softly through his hair and she shifts slightly in his lap, hips pressing against his. “What do you want, Az?” she asks him quietly and he knows that she’s perfectly aware what he wants, what kind of escape he seeks now, the need that’s blazing through his blood like a poison to which she is the only cure.

You he wants to whisper, wants to growl the word, the need, into her ear and feel her shiver against him in answer. He wants to drag her hair back and kiss her neck, place a necklace of pale red marks around her throat and with each one whisper you onto her skin, press it there like a tattoo, let it fill her up until she’s drowning in it. But he holds himself back. He knows that after their time apart she likely wants this too, would be more than happy to oblige him but…The way that he wants her, the extent to which he wants to lose himself in her tonight…He’s not sure if he can ask that of her, not sure if he can even give voice to it and permit her to hear it.

As with so many things left unspoken between them however, this isn’t something that she needs to hear him say to know. Her fingers gently grip his hair, the action somehow intimate, erotic, with the way she rocks against him once more. “Let me take you home,” she whispers softly. “Let me help you, Az,” she breathes quietly. “It’s all right,” she murmurs as he opens his mouth to say something, to protest, to quiet her, to agree with her, he doesn’t know.  

“It’s all right.” Her voice is soft and warm and so soothing he wants to sink into it, wants to sink into her and forget that the rest of the world exists, forget that he is a monster with a bruised and bloodied soul. He wants to let her heal that as she had his hands.

“Let me take you home,” she says again, softly, words tinged with desperation.

“Yes,” is all he murmurs in response.

Darkness envelopes them as Mor holds him close and then her power wraps around them, pulling them through the fragile fabric of the world around them, winnowing them back to the small cottage they share nestled in the mountains just outside Velaris. It’s a lonely, quiet place, isolated but beautiful and peaceful. Relief flares through him like a heartbeat along with a rush of gratitude that she chose this spot instead of their townhouse. Even though it resides on the outskirts of the city it would still feel too restrictive, too caging and overwhelming for him now. And she knows that, knows him.  

Azriel stands, quiet, breathing in the chill night air, willing it to settle in his bones and quiet the roaring fire burning through his blood. Mor’s fingers slip softly around his wrist and the touch rouses him, causes him to open his eyes again. Her eyes on his she presses her other hand against the door of the cottage. It responds to her touch, swinging in on silent hinges to admit them. Only them. This is their place, near sacred for how strictly they adhere to that rule.

Mor leads him through the quiet, dark house, the door closing behind them as silently as it had opened. It might have felt like bars slamming shut on a prison cell, or the stone wall of a crypt sealing himself inside his own tomb but it doesn’t. With Mor’s hand slipping gently into his the dark house feels like an escape and he has left his demons at the door. They are not allowed in this place that she has warded with her light and her peace. She is the only thing with the power to bring him to his knees that is permitted to touch him here.  

She doesn’t pause or falter as they pass through the kitchen and living room into the small bedroom at the back of the house. Only once they’re safely ensconced within it, the door closed, making the scene feel even more private and intimate despite the fact that they’re already the only living beings for miles around, does she turn to face him. With a faint flicker of thought she kindles a few candles behind them and the room fills with a warm but soft glow, her eyes never leaving his even as the light no doubt throws the shadows in his eyes into greater relief.

Smooth and supple as warm honey she steps forwards until there’s nothing but a faint breath of air between their bodies. She holds herself just a little away from him however, her lips slightly parted, her hands trembling with the desire, the need to touch him, but she restrains herself, allowing him the choice, the affirming action, of closing the distance between them. He does, unable to stand being this close to her but not touching her, not letting her touch him. Moving in until their bodies press against each other and he can feel the sigh of relief ripple through her body as she lets herself melt against him, Azriel gathers her against him, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her in close.  

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Catch Me - Joker X Reader

Originally posted by biumutvarsa

Request…Hi I was wondering if you could do a request where you and the joker fight and you hide all around Gotham but he keeps finding you and eventually catches you and it ends with fluff

Catch Me- Leto!Joker X Reader

Warnings- Mentions of abuse, and well idk just fluff (not a warning but you know :)

You first decided to hide in a local cafe. The warmth, the sweet smells, the comfort you felt just by being there. It shielding you from the cold darkness you had experienced just hours before, but that didn’t last. As soon as you saw him standing across the street, wrapped up in a coat, his hair slicked back, eyes daggering you down, you bolted out the back and went in search for a new sanctuary. The park. It was quiet and peaceful. The sound of crickets kept you at ease. Silencing the voices going through your head. You sat at this bench under a willow, looking around. Your hand went up to your cheek, feeling the slight ache in your jaw. A purple, blue bruise had left it’s mark. It was all so stupid how it happened. You didn’t mean to yell at him. Criticize him. You hurt him and to him that meant you had to be hurt. You couldn’t blame him. You both had been equals. He hits you, you hit back. You kick him, he kicks back. It’s how this worked. At the same time, However, This time was somewhat different…You could’ve sworn you saw the hurt in his eyes and then the guilt from the pain he had inflicted upon you. Actual guilt in the clowns big icey blue eyes. You curled up on that bench, hugging your legs to your chest, hiding your head and letting your tears fall from the frustration and the pain.

“Y/N” you heard behind you. It made you jolt up, turning to the voice’s owner. You couldn’t stop your lip from quivering. You backed up, turned and started running once more. You ran into the city. Although you didn’t hear footsteps behind you you just couldn’t help but keep running it wasn’t till you got to a corner his car pulled up infront of you and he stepped out. You didn’t know what to do or say. “Y/N if you would just listen to me-”

“No” you get out. Your voice still hoarse from the screaming match from earlier in the night. “Please don’t-”

“Hey hey hey” he coos, approaching you, reaching for you but you back up. “Baby, listen to me.” Why was he suddenly so gentle? You saw the redness in his eyes. “Princess, please”


“I know, I know, I’m- I promise I won’t hurt-”

“Promise!? Promise after promise but these promises are always broken!” you shout, shaking. You sniffle a little and hug yourself more for the desired comfort.

“I know, Y/N, just, come with me” He says calmly, approaching you more.

“No please don’t touch me” you plead but it doesn’t stop him and you begin trying to get away but he pulls you into his arms. You hit his chest again and again, crying. “I-I can’t do this anymore, Jack, please let me go! Let me- let me go” you sob, soon hugging him back and crying into his chest. You feel his fingers stroke through your hair and you find yourself just falling more into his arms. He pulls back, tilting your head up and allowing his lips to peck the tip of your nose. He cups your cheek, gazing into your eyes.

“Come home..” he asks. You give him a nod and hug him more. His arm wraps around your waist and he guides you to the car. You both may hurt each other time after time but for some reason you both can always count on each other.



Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Warnings: meantion of dread doctors 

Word Count: 1932

Imagine: Imagine Stiles comforting you after a Nightmare 

Stiles had always associated nightmares with everything loud and noisy.
When he’d lost his mum, the screams, that had often followed his night terrors, had been loud enough to wake up his dad who was sleeping across the hall.
It had been the same when the Nogitsune was slowly taking over his mind and body.
Stiles’ nightmares always reminded him of storms, the pictures in his head clear as the lightning, illuminating the sky, his screams as loud as the thunder that came with with the storm. In the end he found himself in a brooding darkness.

But Nightmares could be quiet too.
Quiet and dark as the far depth of the ocean, where monsters could hide in the darkness and no sounds could make their way up.
So quiet, in fact, that you had been able to hide them from Stiles for months on end.
For the first 7 months of your relationship, Stiles’ hadn’t even known that the monsters, the pack had fought over time, were keeping you awake at night too. Where his screams laid all his fears open, you were keeping it all hidden inside of you.
But one can only take so much and one night, not too long ago, Stiles had found you sitting in the living room, silently bawling your eyes out at one of your especially nasty nightmares.
After that you hadn’t been able to hide even one more of your bad dreams from your boyfriend and while you couldn’t help, but felt guilty for keeping him awake so often, you were still glad that Stiles wasn’t leaving you alone with the dark pictures in your head.

You were cold… so god damn cold!
As you opened your eyes and tried to look down on yourself, you realized that you felt dizzy too. Everything in front of your eyes was swimming and you barely recognized the ripped top and the shorts you were wearing.
Your bare legs and arms were traced with goosebumps from the cold underground you were lying on and you couldn’t move your arms.
You finally realized that you were captured in a dark room and it frigthened you even more. Something was wrong.
“Stiles? Scott…”
Trying to call after your friends wasn’t helping either, because your tongue lay too heavy in your mouth and instead of yelling their names, it sounded more like you were drunk.
A sudden high-pitched ringing made you groan in pain, as you were unable to protect your ears with your hands.
Something about that noise was familiar and it made your heart beat twice as fast.
“We can’t let you go, (y/n). The experiment is not completed.”
The robotic voice made the blood in your veins freeze.
The dread doctors had captured you.
They slowly came closer, each step ringing louder and louder in your ears, and seemed to ignore your pleads for mercy.
You gasped at the sudden pain of a needle in your arm, as they reached the operation table.
They were injecting you more mercury and you could feel it in your under your skin. It was burning like fire.
As you coughed some of it back up, they all looked down on you and you knew they’d kill you.
The Dread Doctors were cold, they had already killed all of those kids before you, and you would end up just like them
Just one of their dirty, failed experiments.

As you finally woke from your nightmare, you could feel your heart hammering in your chest at the darkness in front of your eyes.
You gave yourself a few seconds to collect yourself again. It seemed like Stiles was still asleep, thankfully lying with his back to you, and you weren’t helping anybody with breaking into tears.
Just a dream, a scary dream that had happened at some point in your life, but still - only a dream. You could do this.
Burying your hands in your hair, you tried to get your fast breathing down to normal, which was an act on its own.
The pictures were still fresh in your mind, goosebumps still grazing your skin, but it had no use, you had to get out of your sweat-soaked shirt.
Pushing the blankets off of your body, you fastly got up from the bed and grabbed one of Stiles flannels from his chair, before entering his small bathroom.
You shoved the door close behind you and switched on the lights .
With the darkness, the monsters disappeared too and you felt yoursel relax even more. Just standing in the illuminated room made you feel saver again, probably because all you remembered from your visit in the dread doctor’s labour was the dark room they had hidden you in.
Heavy shadows were gracing the skin under your eyes and your hair looked tousled from pulling at it.
Your old self wouldn’t have recognized you, before the supernatural and death had entered your life.
Now it felt normal. You had changed and people just had to take a look into your eyes to see how broken you were.
With one fast movement you pulled your shirt off of you and sliped into the flannel. With shaking hands, it took you a while to get all the buttons closed but you eventually got it.
Untwisting the water tab, you held your hands under the water before splashing some of it into your face.
The cold water wasn’t doing much for your racing mind but you still enjoyed the cool feeling on your skin.
With closed eyes you fumbled for a towel to dry off your face.
As you put the towel back down, you had to hold back a scream at the dark shadow waiting for you in the door frame, clinging at the sink instead.
Stiles entered the room with a guilty look on his face.
“Shit, I’m sorry! Did I scare you? …(y/n)? Hey, are you ok?”
You looked back up into the mirror and found tears glistening in your eyes.
Too tired to hold back your pain any longer, you simply turned around and shook your head.
Within a second Stiles was in front of you, pulling you into his chest.
Your own sobs sounded ugly in your ears but you were too tired to actually care, instead you tried to listen to Stiles’ soft voice, telling you that it would be okay.
And with your face hidden in his shoulder, feeling his arms around you, his hand gently stroking your hair, you even started to believe him.
Living in a hell hole like Beacon Hills had always only brought you misery, but you would cope with it as long as you had Stiles by your side.
It took you a few minutes to calm down again and even after your crying had stopped, Stiles was still keeping you in his embrace, giving you the chance to calm your nerves completely.
“You want to lay down again?” his voice sounded understanding and made you want to hide in his arms forever.
Not trusting your voice, you slowly broke yourself away from Stiles’ chest and gave him a short nod of approval.
“Okay,” you enjoyed the feeling of his warm lips on your skin, as he bent down to give you a gentle kiss on your forehead “lets get you back into bed.”
Stiles held the door open for you but you froze at the sign infront of you.
You just couldn’t bring yourself to walk the short distance through the dark room, not after a dream like the one you had had.
Stiles looked over his shoulder back at you, once he realized you weren’t following his lead.
“Stiles… the light.”
The realization dawned in his eyes and it made him let go of your hand, before dissapearing in the dark room by himself.
With a simple click you were finally greetened by light and before you had the chance to leave the bathroom by yourself, Stiles was already back by your side, taking your hand in his.
He gently pulled you over to his bed and, once you had laid back down on the mattress, wrapped himself around you protectively.
“We can leave the light on if you want.”
“I’d like that.” your voice sounded faint but you knew that Stiles had heard you as he pulled your interlocked hands up to give you a kiss on the back of your hand.
“You want to talk about your dream?”
The Question coaxed a dry chuckle out of you. “Nothing I haven’t dreamt about yet. Just the good old Dread Doctors freaking me out in my dreams.”
“It’s okay, these freaks can’t hurt you anymore.” Stiles pulled you closer and gave you a gentle kiss on your temple. “They are gone and if they ever think about coming back I’m gonna be the one kicking their asses back into hell!”
You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Stiles, we are two humans in a pack full of supernatural creatures.”
“I’m serious! I wouldn’t let them capture you a second time. Not under my watch.”
“I’m just glad that you guys found me before they could turn me into on of their chimeras.”
“I wish they hadn’t caught you in the first place…”
You almost hadn’t heard your Boyfriend’s reply but you could only shake your head at his tone of voice.
“And I wish you’d finally stop blaming yourself for things that you can’t control in the first place.” You turned around and captured Stiles face in between your hands, searching for his eyes. “We live in a beacon for the supernatural. Stuff like that just happens and we don’t have to like it but it’s just the way things work in this town.”
At that, Stiles finally returned your stare and something new seemed to shine in his eyes. Suddenly his stare didn’t seem so sad anymore.
“Then promise me one thing.”
Another laughter escaped your lips, a honest one this time. “What idea did I give you this time.”
“If we ever get the chance to go somewhere else, will you take my hand and run with me?”
You wanted to laugh but could stop yourself as you realized that Stiles was serious. His whole face reminded you of that of a pleading puppy and it was unfair. How could you say no to that?
But if you were completely honest with yourself, you knew that you would follow him everywhere, just like he’d follow you. 
And if it meant that one day you’d be able to get out of this hell of a town, was there really anything to think about?
Stiles’ skin felt warm under your touch, as you pulled him down into a kiss.
Responding with tender lips on yours and his hands roaming up your face, your skin started to get tingly at his touch.
You both took your time before seperating again.
“I promise.” 
Stiles laughed as he saw you holding up your pinky for him. 
You had only ever used the pinky promise for silly things, but he also knew that not one of these silly promises between the two of you had ever been broken before, so he intertwined his pinky with yours and gave you a kiss on your finger.
“It’s a promise then.”
With one last kiss on his lips you turned back around and smiled when Stiles pulled you back into his chest.
“Good night, (y/n/n).”
“Night, Stiles.”
Being held in his warm embrace maybe couldn’t make the nightmares dissapear, but it sure made life baerable.

Wood You Like S’more?(18+)

***Author Note***

Spirit!sans from my first Undertale AU, Spiritale, and reader fic!

Spirit expressed his love of mountains and being outside among the trees after you had brought up passed memories of hiking as a child. His eagerness was infectious and you couldn’t say no to his cute smile when he asked you to take him. After being together for a few months now, the two of you have become quiet close and he takes every opportunity to show you how much he loves you~

(Kinks include: biting, ecto tongue, mentions of monster heat, mentions of soul sex, dominance)

Making love with a monster up in the mountains is fucking in tents!

***End Note***

“Alright, hurry up! It’ll be dark before we get there!” Spirit called down from further up the hill.

“Hold up just a sec!” You called back, bracing your hand against the tree. Crazy rock climbing skeleton. You looked up at him and groaned, your vision filled with even more terrain that just made your calves ache at the sight. “How are you so good at climbing anyway? You told me you’ve never been hiking.”

He turned to the side, skull tilted up to the sun with eye socket closed and a soft smile on his face. “I dunno… I really like the mountains and breeze flowing through my bones.” His eye socket opened slightly, and his expression was peaceful. “It just feels… so nice. Being able to explore freely.”

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Because I’ve become addicted to Harry Potter and needed to reflect that in the love nerds somehow …

They fight constantly now.

It’s so much different from the constant bickering they used to share. That action - hell, that life - is no more. It’s the ending of quiet muttering over who took the better pair of goggles, which Doctor was better, who was quicker at repeating the digits of pi.

That’s over. Those days are left in the sullen darkness of the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Just like those times, FitzSimmons are no more.

He stutters; she cries. He shakes; she hides. He thunders; she stops.

She stops helping. She stops following him. She just … Ceases.

They’re volatile. Deep within her aching chest, she knows this. She’s toxic. He’s damaged. They’re no longer a “they.”

She looks at him and sees a best friend that’s no longer there - and if he is, he’s too far buried under the sediment of a broken friendship, the words at the bottom of the sea, the days spent silent in the infirmary. She can’t dig him out any more than she could swim those ninety feet faster.

So she watches as he rides the waves, risingrisingrising before the inevitable crush of salt against the rocks. And then she’s there to pull him up, clean the glass out of his hands, before he’s back at the crest.

Her distance is maintained. She watches and watches and watches and feels like screaming because if he would only let her help he wouldn’t be hurting. She wouldn’t be laboring under this burden of responsibility.

For six weeks this continues. Forty-two days filled with waves and tears as salty as the sea. But like all, the darkness ends. Even if for but a spark of light, the darkness must cease.

He seemed well enough last week to hold tea cups with sloshing too much, so that’s what she brings him. The set is old, but nonetheless it represents them as much as the lab. The sugar dish is a Dalek, the pot the TARDIS, and the cups covered in various quotes. And though she can’t see it as she rests the pot on the tray, she almost smiles at the fact a “Love, Fitz” is scribbled on the bottom. Almost.

His door is left open, so she doesn’t bother knocking. He’s not asleep, and he avoids showers as long as possible due to his trauma, so she has good reason that she won’t interrupt.

Sure enough, he’s on the bed, a well worn book open against his knees. He doesn’t notice her come in, too engrossed in the pages. A smile ticks at the corner of her lips; he looks near exactly like the Fitz from years before. Curled up, reading.

It’s only as she draws nearer that she realizes he’s mouthing the words, squinting harshly at the pages. Her heart plummets.

“Knock knock,” Jemma whispers, offering a plastic smile.

His head jerks up, hand shaking against the book’s back, eyes wide with surprise.

“I brought tea,” she holds the tray up just a bit higher, his eyes following the trail of steam. “English, just the way you like it.”

He nods, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. When she makes no move, his hand twitches to his side.

She shakes her head, as if in a trance, and softly pads over, hesitating a second more before taking a seat next to him. The tray is placed between them.

It’s silent, and that hurts. Less than two months before they would have banter between them, perhaps even laughing.

But the airwaves are as still as the ocean depths, the only echoes being the clink of tea spoons on china.

She doesn’t have to ask him what he takes; she already knows, and so does he. It’s not until their fingers are both being warmed that she hesitates, eyes glued to the way his hand shakes.

He catches her looking, gaze hardening, as he slips the offending ligament behind his back.

“So what were you reading?” Her voice carries a faux light note, and they both know it. But she’s trying to bridge this gap between them, and again they both know it, so he lets her, even if just for a little bit.

“Ch-Chamber ‘f S-Secrets,” he mumbled, watching the tea swirl in his cup.

“Really?” Jemma can’t help the crease in her eyebrows. “But you always said that was your least favorite,”

“’S,” he nodded, managing the single syllable. “B-But it re-remi-nds m’ of y-you. When you we-re ha-happy,”

Her fingers ghost the bicep of his injured arm, but she pulls back at his flinch. “But you - we hadn’t even met back then. The only books we ever read together were the Half-Blood Prince and The-”

“- Ha-Hallows, yeah,” he nodded. “B-But you 'ways re-reminded me of Her … Herm … ” his fists clench at his inability to get the name out, but Jemma gently placed her palm on his tense shoulder.

“Hermione, yes …” She smiles, perhaps for real this time, but even that’s not enough to stave off the misting of her eyes. “And you always did remind me of Ron. Perhaps not the strongest, but you were definitely the bravest,”

Even Fitz has to grin at that, half-hearted as it is. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jemma sighed, fondness overtaking her.

They lapse into silence yet again, and it’s only a few moments later that she realizes what she’s just admitted. A flush creeps up her cheeks at the realization, but regardless, she can’t help but think that it’s true. He’s the Ronald Weasley to her Hermione Granger. No matter what, they would always find each other.

“Perhaps,” Jemma whispered, a realization creeping over her. “Perhaps this is our Horcrux, Fitz,”


“This is our Horcrux,” she stated again, sitting up. “This is what tore them apart, us apart.”

He doesn’t try to speak, perhaps too turned by the past few minute’s events, but nonetheless he gives her a quizzical look.

“The Horcrux, Fitz - the locket. It’s what made them fight, and then Ron left, and it hurt both of them.” Her eyes were beginning to glisten, and the fact it was over a book series didn’t escape her. “That’s - That’s what happened to us. The pod - it pulled us apart. Made us forget what we were. You changed.”

He jerks as if he’d been burned, and it’s only that Jemma takes his shaking hands gently that he stays seated. Her palms softly take his tea cup so she can fully grasp both of his hands, eyes wide.

“But it was temporary - this is temporary. They found their way back to each other - so why not us?”

She’s torn between laughing and crying all at once. If someone had told her just four months ago that the way she would honestly open herself up to Fitz after he sustained brain damage was through a TARDIS tea set and Harry Potter references, she’d have laughed in their faces. But here she was now, looking up into his hurt but hopeful blue eyes, and it all felt right.

“They - they, ah, they en-end up to-to-together,” he stumbles out, hands and voice quivering. She knows what’s flitting through his - both of their minds, really - right now. Those few words shared on the ocean floor.

“Yes,” Jemma murmurs. “But that’s the thing - they were friends first, Fitz. And then they decided that they would like to spend the rest of their lives with their best friend. And, really,” she added, growing bashful. “I’ve had to experience life without you, and quite frankly, I’m not sure if that’s a life worth living.

"Maybe we don’t make it like they do. Maybe we really are just friends. But I know you wouldn’t mind trying for … for something more. And truthfully, neither would I,”

When her eyes dare to meet his again, it’s with such an intensity that she’s never seen. He’s open, and for the first time in weeks, his eyes aren’t clouded with worry or stress.

“Want t-to kiss you,” he mumbled softly, the thumb of his injured hand carefully moving to run over her knuckles. It’s shaking, but they can’t bring themselves to care. They’ve made it.

She laughs lightly in the air between them. “Then why don’t you?”

Her head ducks in, but just before their lips meet, he gently pulls her back by her shoulder.

“No-Not y-yet,” he managed, sheepish. “I want to b-be bet-better. Able to, ah, h-hold you,”

The ice that had momentarily forked in her heart dissolves in a flurry as she gives him an understanding smile. Instead, she pulls him into a tight embrace, planting a warm, light kiss on the shell of his ear.

“Whatever happens,” she whispered. “I just want you to remember that you’re my best friend before anything else. No matter what happens, if this doesn’t work out, or if we don’t get our fairytale ending, that will never change.”

He pulls back, his lips finding her hairline, before he pulls her tighter into the crook of his neck. “Always,”

I was surrounded by light, the universe pure and quiet around me. before love was even created, i was made for you. i wasn’t meant to live in the clouds, and so i fell. i fell to the ground, speeding toward my end, before i knew it was the beginning. i fell for you. the kindness and gentility i manifested stayed in my heart. i had never seen a shadow before, never knew darkness or malice, hate or pain. i had never known the burning love and the sweet hot fire that consumes me now. i find myself capable of the desire to ruin and destroy, but one look at you subdues me. i see your eyes and i see the heavens. i am still. i am a fallen angel, and you are my muse.

Titles and Antisepticeye

So a lot of people have been talking about how Jack’s recent video titles could contain some double meaning, referencing the video as well as Anti…
And we all know this was something that’s been utilized before, leading up to SAY GOODBYE…
Well maybe it’s because I’m over-analyzing everything, but I’d like to propose that, even after SAY GOODBYE, these types of titles have been around for awhile

ESCAPE FROM HELL | Manual Samuel #4 (END)  (x)

SURPRISE ATTACK | Hello Neighbor #5  (x)
DON’T SCARE ME LIKE THAT | Layers Of Fear - Part 4  (x)
ESCAPING THE SYSTEM! | Clone Drone #2   (x)
LOSING ALL FAITH | Guess The Wikihow #3  (x)
The complete absence of an all-caps title in Sara Is Missing  (x)

CALLING ALL DEMONS | Layers Of Fear - Part 5  (x)
SOMETHING MOVES IN THE DARK | Anxiety Lost Night  (x)
BE QUIET OR DIE | Party Hard #2  (x)
DON’T BITE MY FACE OFF | Resident Evil 7 Midnight  (x)
RESCUE ME! | Subnautica #24  (x)

THIS WAS A BAD IDEA | True Or False #4  (x)
HEY! THAT HURTS! | Oh…Sir!! The Insult Simulator #6  (x)
MAKE IT RIGHT! | Layers Of Fear - Part 6 (END)  (x)

RIGHT OR WRONG? | Moral Machine  (x)
FROM BAD TO WORSE | Astroneer #4  (x)
STRANGE HAPPENINGS! | Oxenfree - Part 1  (x)

DON’T TURN OFF THE LIGHTS | Oxenfree - Part 2  (x)
PREPARE FOR BATTLE | Ancient Warfare 2 (x)
PIERCE THE DARKNESS | Night Lights Demo  (x)
LETS PLAY A GAME | Oxenfree - Part 3  (x)

WHY WON’T YOU DIE!? | Party Hard #10  (x)
WANNA PLAY? | Tattletail  (x)
BOW DOWN TO ME | Obey  (x)
RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! | Resident Evil 7 - Part 1  (x)

IN PLAIN SIGHT | Gmod: Prop Hunt (Funny Moments)  (x)
MANAGE MY MONSTERS | Lobotomy Corp  (x)
WHY WON’T YOU DIE!? | Resident Evil 7 - Part 2  (x)

My thinking behind a lot of these is that it’s either Jack and Anti talking back and forth to each other…

Or it’s Jack talking to us…

Or it’s both Jack and Anti talking to us…

So yeah idk some of these might be a stretch and there may be some that I missed but overall wow…
Whatever’s going on and whatever Jack/Anti have planned next, I’m beyond hyped!



*Please read the introduction post and important notes HERE <—

  • DARK ORANGE represents courage to me. The kind of courage it takes to face new opportunities that are challenging and require a lot of time, energy and focus. Orange energy allows the witch using it to keep on keeping’ on, it gives that boost of endurance to get you through that last hard stretch to the finish line. Stones that pair well with dark orange energy are bloodstone, hematite, ruby and carnelian 

  • ORANGE see Sacral Chakra

  • PEACH is a colour that attaches itself to gentle and quiet people and represents modesty. Using peach energy allows the user a moment of peace and harmony and it is also a good tool to use for simple self reflection at the end of the day. Stones that pair well with peach energy are clear quartz, rose quartz and blue quartz.

Imagine Chris sending you on a scavenger hunt.

A/N: This is Part 2 to ‘Imagine Chris helping you take care of your sister’. I have a feeling we’re going to need a few more parts before we get to the end so stay tuned. X (Read Part 1)

The sky was still dark when Chris woke. Beside him, you were still deep in your sleep and unaware of what the day was about to hold. Chris looked over at you, smiling because he loved watching you sleep; it’d been awhile and he missed the way your lips parted slightly. He softly kissed the top of your head then carefully pulled his arm out from under you, wincing when you stirred. He held his breath and stayed incredibly still as he watched you, letting out a quiet breath when you remained asleep. He quietly pushed the covers off him and padded into the dark bathroom because he didn’t want to risk the light waking you. He quickly cleaned up, got dressed, grabbed his car keys, and headed out to meet Scott so they could start work on the surprise he had been planning for you for the past six months.

Your alarm was set for 9:00AM, but you were brought to consciousness much sooner by your little sister who was an important part of Chris’ big plan. He had dropped her off moments before, before leaving for the first location where Olive was meant to steer you towards with the clue card Chris had given her. As it turned out, Chris loved the escape room idea Omaze gave him a little too much; his idea of a grand proposal was now a scavenger hunt.

“Rise and shine,” Olive sang-song as she poked you in the nose with a single red rose. Your nose scrunched at the disturbance but your eyes remain closed; you were pretty sure you were dreaming. “Wakey wakey, Sissy.” She continued to tickle your nose with the rose and you finally opened your eyes.

“Shit!” You exclaimed, startling Olive then making her giggle when you sat up and buried your face in your hands. “Olive,” you looked up at her with narrowed eyes, “what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at-” you glanced over at your digital clock and realized it was Saturday. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to get you fed, dressed, and ready for the day,” she told you then beamed. You looked at her weirdly, even more confused than before. “This is for you,” she passed you the rose then read the first note card in her hand as you took the flower from her. “Good morning, my love. I thought I’d start your big day off with your favorite flower.” You smiled at that. “Breakfast is in the kitchen, eat up then get dressed so you and Olive can head to the next destination. You should be able to figure it out, I’ll see you soon. Love, Chris.” She slipped the first card back into her little sling bag, smiling. “He is so sweet, Sissy. I’m so glad you’re dating him,” she told you.

“What’s going on, Olive?” You asked and she giggled, looking down at the second card in her hand with a response from Chris if and when you asked Olive that question; he was incredibly well-prepared, it helped that he knew you like the back of his hand.

“Why don’t you get your cute little butt out of bed and find out?” Olive read and you chuckled. “Don’t bother asking Olive any questions ‘cause she’s on strict orders from Captain America not to reveal anything,” she continued, turning your soft chuckles into louder laughter.

“Fine, my butt is out of bed.” You pushed the covers off your legs and rose to your feet; Olive smiled and slipped the second card into her bag. “Let’s go find out what Captain America has planned for me.”
• • • • • • • •
After breakfast- which consisted of your favorites- you got dressed while Olive used her walkie-talkie to inform Chris that she was about to give you the first of four clues; a clue for each year you were together. He smiled when he heard; he was sitting in the park with Dodger who had the next clue tucked in his collar. He responded back with a “we’re in position, over.”

“Okay,” you rejoined Olive in the living room and held out your hand. “What’s the first clue?” She smiled and passed you a white envelope, tucking the walkie-talkie into her back pocket. “God, it’s going to be embarrassing if I can’t figure it out,” you joked as you ripped it open. “You know where to go if I can’t figure it out, right?” You asked Olive and she chuckled.

“You’ll figure it out, Sissy,” she assured you.

You pulled out the note card laced with his cologne and chuckled softly at the first clue; Olive was right, you did figure it out. You read it out loud, smiling, “at this location, these famous words will always be uttered 'Chris, I don’t think I love you enough to keep going. Just take Dodger and leave me’.” Your sister laughed because she, too, knew exactly where it was. “So we’re going to the park where we have our morning runs?”

“Yup,” Olive giggled and started for the door. “Let’s go.”

The two of you headed for the park, chatting about small nothings as you always did with your sister. The park was about ten minutes from your apartment and the weather was beautiful so it made for a good stroll. When you arrived at the park, you headed straight for the largest oak tree which was where the two of you would stretch before your run. Chris spotted the two of you from his car and smiled when he saw you smile at the sight of Dodger, knowing his pup was in safe hands- he moved onto the next location.

“What are you doing here?” You chuckled softly as you descended to your knees in front of Dodger; his tail wagged excitedly because it’d been a while since he last saw you too. Your apartment didn’t allow for animals so when Chris went away, Scott took care of him instead of you. “Oh, I’ve missed you too.” You hugged him and he licked your cheek. “What’s this?” You asked, pulling out the folded note from under Dodger’s collar.

“Sissy, look at this,” Olive called and you looked up at her. She stood by the oak tree, pointing at something carved into the trunk. It didn’t take you long to figure out what it was; the carving that Chris did of yours and his initials were still there after four years. “There’s also a photograph.” She told you as you rose to your feet, taking Dodger by the leash and leading him with you. “Here,” she unpinned it from the trunk and passed it to you.

You traced the carving with your finger, smiling in reminiscent. You’d just started dating Chris when this happened, in fact- you weren’t even officially a couple when it happened. You’d met Chris a week before in New York at one of Sebastian’s famous 'let’s-party-before-working’ get-togethers after the whole cast and crew met to discuss the schedule for The Winter Soldier. After New York, you had plans to return home to California until Vancouver, and as it turned out- Chris did too. He was meant to go home to Boston, but after hitting it off with you- he couldn’t help himself and relocated to his second home in Los Angeles instead.

The two of you got together every morning to run and train for the film, while you liked his company- you didn’t enjoy his ridiculous stamina. The workouts the two of you did together- the ones he coached and pushed you through may have given you an amazingly toned body- killed you. You never made the same time or distance he did, but he still liked that you made the effort. He knew you didn’t need to train as hard as he did and that you were doing it because you wanted to give him support and company; he appreciated it a lot. It was after the first run that he took the photograph, and carved 'Y/I and C.E forever’ into the tree. It was a bold move considering the two of you had only been on one proper date, but he didn’t care. He knew he was aiming for forever with you; the girl who would always- without hesitation, through burning pain in her legs- support and try for him.

You turned the photograph around and chuckled when you read what he had scrawled across the back, “it seems like no matter how many times you tell me you don’t love me enough to keep going, you finish the run anyway and are back by my side the next day. Now if that isn’t soulmate level of love and commitment, I don’t know what is.”

“What’s the next clue?” Olive asked, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I don’t know,” you said as you unfolded the clue you had pulled out of Dodger’s collar. “Okay,” you laughed when you read the clue; Olive raised her eyebrows with curiosity because while she was in on it, she didn’t know everything about the plan. “I think I know where we’re going next.”

Here’s Part 3