the red is nearly completely gone

A 78-year-old Draco Malfoy lay nearly motionless on his hospital bed. He was about to die. He was so, so tired, and he was ready. The only thing still keeping him in this plane of existence was the trembling hand of his husband, clasped tightly around his. He could vaguely register hearing the soft sounds of crying. With a great amount of effort, he turned his head to look at his beloved. There sat an old and weeping Harry Potter, his face buried in one hand. Harry knew as well as himself that Draco only had at the very most, a few more minutes to live. But Harry was not at all as prepared for this as Draco. The sight sent a painful pang coursing through Draco’s heart. He couldn’t bear to see Harry in so much pain over him. He could tell that Harry wasn’t ready to let him go yet, and that he was so, so scared. He couldn’t let Harry continue like this after he was gone. Draco knew that telling him everything would be alright and that he’d always be in his heart wouldn’t work. It wasn’t good enough.

But he knew Harry would never back down from a challenge.

And so it was with his final few breaths that Draco stared at his husband, whom he loved more than anything else in the world, and coughed out weakly, “Scared, Potter?” Harry’s head shot up in surprise. His eyes were red and puffy from all the crying, but he could sense that Draco’s time was nearly up. Feeling complete and unconditional love searing through his heart, Harry forced himself to smile weakly and whispered, “You wish…”

Draco smiled a final time, and with that, he closed his eyes and he was gone.

Harry allowed himself a few short minutes immediately after to bawl his eyes and lungs out. But then he abruptly stopped himself. He had made a promise to Draco. A promise that he would not let the prospect of suddenly being alone for the remainder of his life scare him. He had to be brave and strong. For Draco.

And so that was how Harry Potter lived through the next two years of his life. Every single day, reminding himself to be strong for Draco whenever he woke up to a cold and empty bed. Reminding himself not to break down, because he promised Draco he wouldn’t, every time he returned from the Burrow, back into an empty and otherwise lifeless home. Reminding himself to be brave, because that’s what he promised Draco he would be, every time he looked down at the beautiful ring on his finger, the one that Draco had given to him all those years ago when he proposed.

And it was two years later that he found himself lying on a very similar hospital bed, with Weasleys surrounding him (not that he really paid them any attention), about to die. He smiled weakly because he had done it. He had fulfilled his promise to his beloved. As Harry started to close his eyes for the last time, he saw a light, brighter than any he’d seen before. And out from it, stepped a figure. A lean, tall figure with an upright and elegant posture. The figure stepped closer and held out its hand. The initial glare of the light receded, until Harry could clearly see who the figure was. 

There, before him, stood Draco Malfoy. He looked as if he hadn’t aged a day over 20, his beautiful platinum blonde hair swished over his forehead and his smile was unbelievably wide. He continued to hold out his hand towards Harry, raising one eyebrow as he did so. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Scared, Potter?”

Harry felt a burst of energy and happiness from within him, something that he hadn’t properly felt in years. Without more than a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and clasped Draco’s hand with his own, which he now realised had lost all its wrinkles and looked fleshy, muscled and youthful. He grinned.

“You wish.”

batmom scribble because super fun to write and the justice league trailer !! 

It was to be expected, it took all the women she had ever loved from her. Maybe that’s why she didn’t mind that her family consisted of males only now, men that go out every night, have her worried sick, not sure if it’ll be their last or if they’ll be spared another day, but nevertheless they were male and could not get thing she’s lost all her female relatives to; breast cancer.

And while it was to be expected it came suddenly, but she was not dumb, she was not going to burden her boys with these horrible news, besides they were busy with their own things, far more important things like crime, so she kept it to herself. She directly scheduled her doctors appointment herself, didn’t even give them the house number just so Alfred wouldn’t get a whip of her disease, she started wearing shawls and scarfs even though she still had hair. It was so that when she does lose all of it it wouldn’t seem that she was hiding her head out of the blue. She was smart like that.

She’s in the kitchen, early morning as she groans at Damian for being so slow, school is in thirty minutes after all. Dick appears in the room too, seeming to have spent a night in the manor, working on a case with the dark knight, as he yawns greeting the Waynes. Y/N passes him a cup of coffee before she turns to Damian again, glaring at him as he only eats slower noticing her do so.

“Is there a new fashion trend I’m not aware about? It makes you look so much older than you are, mom.” Dick says casually as she gapes at him, his what actually is an innocent comment making her insides turn.

“For your information I happen to like it.”

She hates it.

She swallows it down, hand coming up the scarf wrapped around her head, checking if no hair is peeking out as she gets back to scolding Robin about how he’s going to be late.

A few weeks pass and she’s pulling hair out of the drain, stuffing it down the trash deep down as tears brim in her eyes. She’s looking at herself in the mirror, skin like wet cloth hugging her bones as she sighs, wondering at how the bloody hell shes going to cover this up. For the next few days Bruce is busy, and she’s never been so relieved to be alone in bed, coughing blood and crying her eyes out.

She gets a wing, expensive one too, gluing eyelashes to her bare skin, tainting her cheeks the rosiest red that she can find for the charity ball she has to attend. Bruce is still busy and yet again she’s relieved, hell, she’d never want to be apart from her husband, but here she is, trying her best to smile at the rich folks. She gets in a good hour before she’s completely beat, she’s stumbling over to the bathroom, calling her assistant to help her leave quietly to the hospital.

She wakes up around 5 am, chest aching, tubes and IV’s attached to her, her assistant gone missing. And then she nearly fights the doctor to let her leave, she’ll have surgery the next day and before that she just needs to see her boys. And so when the sun finally rises, a beautiful Sunday morning she’s looking around.

She’s in the kitchen again, not only a scarf but one of Bruce’s old hoodies hiding her head as she prepares breakfast, Alfred out on his own person business. All of the others are here though — her boys. Jason, of course, is bickering with Tim, who’s not really giving him much of a response, Dick stands by Y/N as he informs Damian about one of his times as Robin, the son of Batman rolling his eyes at his brother. Y/N smiles, this is what she wanted to see, yes, there’s a chance the surgery will go good, but if not — this is what she wanted to see before she goes.

She’s spreading jelly on the peanut butter sandwich as her husband enters the kitchen, her smile only widening, it feels like ages since she’s seen him. But he doesn’t return it, he’s clutching a daily planet newspaper in his fist as he looks at his wife; her face is drawn on, to make her look happy and not dead, head hid behind layers of clothing, the skin that he can see, her wrists and hands, are skeleton like, only skin and bones to be exact. And he’s even shaking his head slowly, the boys looking at him confused before he slams the article on the table in front of them.

Y/N catches a glimpse of it and she’s gasping, her name is printed out in bright read, and so is her sickness. And she’s wincing, not only does the actual cancer is aching, but so is her heart — her assistant ratted her out to the press for the money. And now the entire fucking world knows.

“Take it off.” Bruce is in front of her now, Y/N looking at his blue eyes that aren’t blue at all anymore — there’s thunder and lightning, the storm brewing inside them making the woman uneasy.

“Surely this can’t be true, it’s just what papers do, like, click bait and stuff?” Tim says before she can even do anything and now her heart is cracking completely.

So she takes it off, minutes taking hours it seems as she pushes the hood off, unwrapping her scarf to reveal her bald head as she looks down in shame, the room filling with suffocating silence.

“How could you not tell us?” Jason immediately fires, fists balled up.

“I was going to! That’s why I invited you all for breakfast.. I wanted to see my family together one last time.” She murmurs, disappointed at herself, crystal beads filling her eyes as she’s trying her best not to sob.

“H-how long have you been hiding it?” Dick asks.

“A month or so, maybe a little longer.”

“My wife has cancer for over a month and I fail to notice—”

“No! I hid it well, it’s none of your fault, I pick up on your detective things you know, I know how to trick. I just didn’t want you to worry..”

“Worry? Y/N, you can’t go through these things alone, Jesus, I can’t believe I didn’t notice, please tell me you at least have good news, that it’s not all that bad, that you might actually make it—” He cuts himself with a sob and everyone’s eyes are on him as Bruce hugs Y/N, wrapping his so much bigger frame around her so tight as if she could disappear any second.

“I— I don’t know, they’re going to try and remove as many tumors as they can tomorrow, but there’s no promises, don’t get your hopes up.” She says, rubbing her husband’s back as the boys look back at her sadly.

“But you’re going to fight, aren’t you?” Damian says, Y/N squeezing out a smile to the youngest.

“You can count on it.”

All Too Well: Getting Lost Upstate

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You remember a part of your relationship with Bucky. Inspired by All Too Well by Taylor Swift.

Oh, your sweet disposition and my wide-eyed gaze.
We’re singing in the car, getting lost upstate.
The Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place,
And I can picture it after all these days.
And I know it’s long gone,
And that magic’s not here no more,
And I might be okay,
But I’m not fine at all.
‘Cause there we are again on that little town street.
You almost ran the red ‘cause you were looking over me.
Wind in my hair, I was there, I remember it all too well.

Originally posted by halloweentreat

Originally posted by leafierleaf

“Are you sure we didn’t miss a turn?” Bucky asked. His brow furrowed as he concentrated on the unfamiliar road ahead of him. You glanced down at your phone, studying the digital map.

“No, it says one more mile- wait, I lost connection for a bit, we did miss a turn. We missed quite a few turns and it’s having trouble re-routing,” you looked up at Bucky with an apologetically wide-eyed gaze, hoping he wouldn’t get upset about the fact that you were now completely and utterly lost. 

Keep reading

Tell Me Goodbye

Alright! The sunshine of my life and my other half of my soul @loveiscosmicsin aka @incandescent-liberator and I have made a collab one-shot fic together!

We were super excited and having worked on this with blood, sweat and tears, we finally managed to deliver you guys this love baby of ours that we have written together.

Before I begin, I wanna give a big shoutout to @ulric-nyx @glaived @ramibriidge @noctisbeauty and @g0dhands for being the biggest LuNyx supports that I know in my direct circle. ( @loveiscosmicsin you most of all my darling!!) Love ya and adore all of y’all, stay awesome!

This is as well for all of you guys in our petit LuNyx fandom out there. Forgive me if I missed you, but everyone of yous are welcome in my kokoro <3

Title: Tell Me Goodbye
Pairing: Lunafreya Nox Fleuret x Nyx Ulric
Rating: NSFW/M./NC-17 (This is pretty much smut folk. Please beware before proceeding. If you do decide to proceed lmao y’all thirsty freaks then note this is mostly PWP and probably the first smut in the fandom. Yay!)
PSA: This work has absolutely no movie spoilers in it, so it’s safe.
PSA: It’ll be published on Ao3 one of these days as well.

This is written as a companion piece to this

.                                          Tell Me Goodbye                                            .

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Nonnie has some angst up his sleeves. *rubs hands together* How would the classic, underfell, and underswap bros react to their s/o nearly dying to protect them? You can choose how they tried to do so~

((This….took… long…..wanted to… the feels….justice!*collapses*))

Almost Losing You

Undertale Bros:


His whole world stops. All he sees is yout, the punk, and the Knife.
That damn knife, that’s covered in your blood. Red, red, red, that’s all he sees as you stumble and fall onto the ground, clutching your side as your shirt turns crimson.

The punks still shouting about a damn wallet, but it’s all just noise. His eye sockets have gone completely dark, trying to focus on getting you safe instead of tearing that p u n k a p a r t-

Then the knifes at the back of his neck.

He snaps. There’s a brief flash of blue magic, followed by a short scream as blue energy fills the deserted alley.

Threat obliterated, his mind completely focuses on you.

He teleports you to nearest hospital, ignores the shocked stares of the workers and patients as he keeps shouting what happened at poor nurse sitting behind the E.R. desk.

Hours later, the doc finally comes out and tells him the news.

It was close, but your gonna be okay. Your not awake, but he’ll give him a few minutes alone with you before they move you to a more private room.

When he sees you, and all those wires hooked into you, that’s when he losses it.

Carefully, he wraps his arms around you, mindful of the wound, and lays his skull against your chest.

He needs to hear your heartbeat, he needs to know your still here.

Still alive. He has a good, long cry. Telling you his sorry he couldn’t stop him, and that you better not ever do anything like that again.

He’d rather die than loose you.


H-He confused. One minute he was jogging along, his darling right beside him, then there was a shout and someone pushed him, tires squealed and-

You. Bruised and Bloody, body limp in the middle of the street as a crowd begins forming around you.

The next thing he knows his got you in his arms, orange magic pouring out of his own body and into your broken one.

He knew humans were fragile, but to see that

His begging you to stay alive, please hang on he he’ll think of something just please don’t go!

Then, the world starts spinning, and the last thing he sees is a man in white taking you away…

Sans is beside him when he opens his eyes. His brother is visibly shaken, eye lights flashing erratically until they see his awake.

The smol skele throws his arms around him, and Papyrus hugs him as best he can with the tubes attached to his bones.

Why is he in the hospital? His heads a bit fuzzy, and where is-

It all comes rushing back.

The truck.


Sans feels his brother tense, and smiles and motions to the cot next to him.

There, sleeping peacefully, is his Darling.

“Doc says its a miracle their alive, but its actually cause of you bro. ”

He explains that in the heat of the moment, Papyrus had used all of his magic to try and heal you. It worked, but it took half of his own HP to do it.

That’s why he was layed up.

But he didn’t care, all he knew was that his Darling was gonna be okay.

He asked Sans if he could push the bed closer to yours, and then carefully wrapped his arms around you.




His numb.

W-What the hell just happened? You two were walking, to the damn grocery store.

In broad daylight. Who gets shot in fu%&ing daylight?!

People are screaming, some are calling 911, but his eyes are focused on o n e t h i n g.

Amidst the chaos, there’s one guy running away, with that damn symbol printed on his shirt.

He was part of a human supremest group.

A hate crime.

Red magic cracks around him, his mind trying to keep any kind stability as he fully realizes what’s happened.

Your dead, oh shit your dead nononononoNO!

He doesn’t realize his screaming. His magic cracks and explodes around him.

It hurts, fu%&omg hell it hurts so bad…

Hurt. Loss. Rage. They consume him, and he only wants one thing.

To make that bastard hurt as bad as he is….

H e w i l l p a y

Papyrus is the one who finally tracks him down. His sitting in some filthy abandoned building, and with what he assumes are pulverized remains of the shooter.

His eyesockets are pitch black, and he just looks so….desolate.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch when Papyrus lays a hand on his shoulder.

“S/o is alive Sans. Their in Huerto Memorial-”

A flash of red, and his brother is gone.


And there you are. Your bruised up, blood soaked, and look like death barely warmed over.

“Beautiful” doesn’t do the sight justice.

His curled up beside you, and its when he hears the rhythmic beat of your hurt that his eye lights flash back into existence.

And he breaks down. His sobbing, kissing you, thanking whoever is listening that your okay, and cussing you up one way and down the other.

Don’t you ever. Fu%&ing do that.

A g a i n. Cause his damn sure he’d rather take the bullet than loose you again.


Papyrus knows pain. Its one of the few things the Underground has plenty of.

And being in the Royal Guard, his felt and received his fair share of it. His pulled spears from his bones, and never flinched. His felt excoriating pain, the kind that would have broken a weaker monster. And he never once screamed. Screaming was showing weakness, and he wasn’t weak.

But nothing, nothing could have prepared him for this.

Red. Red red seeping into the snow beneath you, pouring out of the long and jagged cut across your entire mid section.

You were dying. Because he’d been a fool.

He thought he could defeat the child with ease, he’d made the fatal flaw of underestimating his opponent.

And was paying dearly for it.

Trembling hands hovered over your form, as his mind tried to deny the sight in front of him.

No…no you can’t be….y-your fine..get up…GET UP! GET UP NOW!


The pain, his soul feels like its tearing not self into. His shaking, magic crackling around him as he pulls you to him.

Magic races through his bones, his gotta do something damn it anything!

Then he hears it.

The child…its…

Laughing. At him, at his loss.

Something snaps. With a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed, he lays you back down in the snow.

Then, eye sockets glowing red, he shows the human why his the most feared being in the entire Underground.

Its brutal. He doesn’t leave anything to chance, obliterating even the small pieces of their broken soul for good measure.

There is silence for a moment, then the burning hatred cools to sorrow as he turns back to-

Gone. Your not there. His about hyperventilate until he sees a scrap of paper lying in the bloodstained snow.

“Took them to Alphys’s Lab.”



The steel doors buckle, before finally flying off there hinges as Papyrus busts into the Royal Scientists home.

Sans, who is now sweating bullets after dodging a door, says the one thing that might save him from his brothers wrath.

“Their okay. It was touch and go, by but Alphys says their gonna be okay Boss-”

His babbling ends when Papyrus’s hand grabs his shoulder.

“Where?” His voice is broken, cracking from the emotions his desperately trying to keep in check.

In a flash, their standing outside an operating room.

And there you are. All kinds of tubes and wires hooked into you, but even through the glass he can see the steady rise and fall of your chest.

Your alive, and with that thought the pain that nearly tore him apart is replaced with equally powerful relief.

Sans has to catch his brother as his knees go out from under him, and in the darkened hallway, the most feared being in the Underground weeps into his brothers arms.

He knew true pain, and he swore he’d never let either of you go through that again.



Sans blearily opens his eyes, and sees the white interior of a hospital.

Uhhhh..why is he here? Looking around, he sees his brother passed out in a chair beside him. He reaches to wake him up, only to nearly scream in pain.

His arm…its wrapped up with lots of tiny tubes in it.

What happened!

“Papy.” His brother’s head flies up, stares at him for a minute, then a weak chuckle escapes him as orange tears pool in his eyesockets.

“H-Hey bro.” Now Sans is really worried, why is Pay crying and why is he here and where is his s/o?

Seeing his brothers confusion, Papyrus pulls his out his handy dandy carton of cigarettes, before he realizes his smoked them all and has to explain things to his bro solo.

Man he really needs a cigarette.

So he tells Sans everything. About driving to Toriel’s house, the drunk driver, and the crash.

And how s/o had saved his life. The crash wasn’t fatal by human standards, but when you only have 1 HP any crash could be fatal.

So Sans’s s/o had thrown themselves around Sans and took most of the damage as the car rolled down the side of the road.

They were wheeled off to the emergency room, and the doctors said they would do everything they could…

But it was bad.

Sans…doesn’t feel anything at first.

It takes a moment to set in, but when it does it hits him like a freight train.

Pap actually has to hold him down to keep him from hurting himself. He just keeps shouting your name, unable to accept that your…y-your..

“THEIR OKAY!” Damn it he should have said that first. Sans stops struggling, and Pap feels his soul break a bit at the desperate look on Sans’s face.

“Their gonna be okay bro, i-it was kind of touch and go for a minute but the Doc says their gonna be okay.”

Sans wants to see you, but Pap tells him your still on the operating table, had been for the last seven hours.

When you finally are released, they make sure your in the same room as Sans.

The little blueberry demands that you be placed right beside him, and you both spend the rest of your recovery time side by side.


The Hall of Judgment. How many times has he been here? How many more times will he have to come here?

You’d think by now he’d be numb to it all, its not like its the first time the kids killed him.

But this time was different. Because of you.

How the hell you got in here doesn’t matter, cause all he can see right now is that knife.

The knife that’s sticking out of your back, cause like an idiot you’d tried to protect him.

Shaky hands hold you against him, mind reeling at the sight.

And you? Your smiling. Glad his okay.

Then you scream, cause the kid just yanked the damn thing out, getting ready for another strike.

He can’t remember what happened after that.

All he remembers is the rage. He’d never felt anything like it, like his whole body was on fire it hurt so much.

And the kid was the source of it. It was their fault, it was always their fault!!!

When he finally comes back to his senses, the kids gone. There’s nothing left.

And the rage turns to sorrow as he looks back at you. Your barely breathing now, the golden foors colored crimson as more blood leaks from your wound.

Your in his arms in an instant, his skulls buried inn your neck as he stutters out apology after apology.

Why? Why would you do that? He didn’t want this, he can’t…h-he can’t loose you..

He looses it. Everything his bottled up, just pours out of him. Nothing matters now but you.

He can’t loose you, he won’t loose you!


He blacked out again. But instead of the judgment hall, his back in his bedroom.

His confused for a moment, then nearly has a soul attack when something wraps its arms around him.

Its…you. No blood, no scratches.

Your okay. Your alive.

Your startled awake when he crushes you against him, sleep addled brain trying to figure out what’s going on.

He doesn’t say anything, just holds you tight, orange tears pouring down his face as you keep asking what’s wrong.

Just…just a nightmare Honey. Mind if we stay like this for awhile?

…I love you.

His never in his life been more thankful for a reset.

20-million-bees  asked:

(you should totally write some fatherson spyscout) congratulations on your 500!


Now on AO3

The days after it was revealed that Spy was Scout’s long-lost dad had been…awkward to say the least. No one really knew how the youngest merc would react. So it was to the surprise of the team (and even more so Spy himself) that Scout had taken the matter in stride. Sure he’d had been quieter than usual, but the days at the RED base went on more or less as normal as possible.

Then the week before Father’s day came around, and Scout began acting stranger than usual. He disappeared after every battle and was caught multiple times sneaking in after most of the team had gone to bed. And what was even stranger than that was the box Miss Pauling had delivered to the base a few days ago, the young merc had snatched the parcel out of her hands before fleeing back to his room.

Any questions the rest of the mercenaries asked had either been brushed off or the subject changed completely. It had been very weird, but whatever Scout was planning didn’t hinder his performance on the battlefield and the matter was soon dropped.

That was until Father’s Day morning, it was 6am and everyone was still asleep enjoying their weekend. Which Spy had planned on as well, before the rapid knocking on his door had woken him from his slumber. With an exaggerated groan he stumbled towards the door, Scout stood on the other side, hand slightly raised in mid-knock and a nervous expression on his face.

“I believe there is a good reason for you waking me up on a Sunday?” he asked, trying his best not to look annoyed.

Scout scratched the back of his head, avoiding eye contact. It was strange to see the usually cocky mercenary so flustered. “Y-yeah, I know you’d probably rather be asleep right now, so I won’t keep ya long, but you realize what day it is today right?”

“Apart from being one of days where I get to sleep in?”

“It’s Father’s day.”

Spy raised an eyebrow, “And?”

Scout sighed before stepping into the room, behind his back were two clumsily wrapped gifts. “W-well, I know it ain’t much of a big deal where you come from, but round these parts it’s kinda a thing.” He turned around to face his father, giving the older man an awkward smile. “And ya know, I’d end up feeling like a dick if I didn’t get you anything.”

Spy coughed before looking away, “Scout you didn’t have to…”

That trademark smirk was back on the young merc’s face when he noticed Spy’s uncomfortable manner, “Aww, what’s the matter Pops” he knew Spy hated being called that. “You’re not too humble to accept a gift from your own son are ya? Went to a heap of trouble to get em as well, what with all that sneakin around.”

“Oh for the love of…” Spy rolled his eyes, finally piecing it together. “That’s what you’ve been doing all week!?”

“Yeah, well I didn’t want the rest of the guys knowin.” Scout explained, handing one of the presents over to his father, the older man began to unwrap it. “Because well, they woulda made a big deal about it. I only really told Miss Pauling and even then I didn’t tell her much, just to pick up a package from Ma back home.”

Spy gave him a flustered smile, touched by the lengths the young boy had gone to. “Honestly Scout, you really didn’t have to go to the trouble of…Mon dieu!” he gasped.

“Ya like em?” Scout said excitedly looking over at the gift Spy held in his hand. A pair of the ugliest socks he had ever laid eyes on, the bright red fabric nearly blinded the poor man, the dark red and green polka dots strewn across it did little to help either. To put it mildly the socks were horrendous. “I thought that with the weather getting colder, a good pair of socks would be just the thing!”

The look of complete horror on Spy’s face was priceless. “Quoi?”

“Come on Pops, don’t get all quiet on me now! Tell me what ya think?”

Spy stammered holding the tacky things away from him as far as possible. The fake smile he plastered on his face was faltering fast. “I….well” he stuttered. “They seem…very…er”

Scout cut him off with a chuckle, “Spy relax, they’re a joke gift.”

“Oh thank god!” the older man exclaimed throwing the socks aside as fast as he could. “Those were hideous! Where did you even…”

“The general store down in Teufort.” Scout interrupted, proud of himself. “You shoulda seen the look on the owner’s face when I bought em. Priceless!”

Spy chuckled despite himself, “So should I assume that this.” He gestured over to the abandoned article of clothing. “Is the typical gift that people give on father’s day?”

Scout shook his head. “Nah that was just me screwin with you.” He handed over the other poorly wrapped gift. “Here’s the real one, be careful though, it’s kinda delicate”

“If it’s another pair of socks, I swear I’ll…”

Whatever else Spy was going to say fell short when he unwrapped the gift. It was a regular white coffee mug, but on the front of it was a scribble that looked like it was the work of a child. Two figures one big and one small, the baseball cap on the smaller figure was a dead giveaway of who drew it. Above the two figures was something scrawled in a marker that seemed a little smudged but still readable despite the messy handwriting. ‘WORLS BEST DAD’ it said. Spy looked back Scout, speechless.

The younger merc gave him a small smile, “I made it back in preschool.” He explained, “All the other kids were makin em for their dads and I kinda felt left out, so I made one too. I gave it to Ma instead and she said she’d look after it. When I found out you were my dad, I called her up and she reminded me about it, so I thought you know…I could finally give it to you.”

Spy seemed taken aback by the sweet gesture, his fingers traced the letters on the mug admiring the love that had gone into it. “Scout I-I don’t know what to say.”

“I know it ain’t the most ideal present.” Scout sighed, “I don’t even know if you drink coffee or tea. But I just thought, it’d be good if that little boy finally got to give that gift to his dad. Or at least know that he had a dad out there who loved him.” He slapped a hand over his face in embarrassment. “Aww geez, look at me getting all sappy over here, I promised I wouldn’t make such a big deal out of…”

“Scout.” Spy interrupted, he had a warm smile on his face. Something Scout had never seen on the guy before, it was…nice. “It’s perfect, I’ll treasure it.”

The younger boy dipped his head shyly and smiled. “Yeah well, Happy Father’s day, Dad.”

The two stood in a comfortable silence for a few seconds enjoying the moment. Until the younger merc decided to break it.

“So, ya gonna wear those or not?” Scout asked, pointing at the socks.

Spy rolled his eyes again, but the smile didn’t leave his face “Scout…”

“Aww come on! Do you know how hard it was to find the ugliest pair imaginable in Teufort!? It’s harder than it looks they had a lot of freaking ugly socks. The least you could to do is try em on!”

“Scout, there is no way in hell I am wearing those ghastly things.”


Later in the week, while the team was preparing the battle that day, Scout noticed the blinding red and polka dotted socks on Spy’s feet. Their eyes met for a brief second before an obviously flustered Spy looked away, his face redder than his mask.

Scout didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. 

Closer - Part 2  (Peter Parker x Reader)


A/N: Hi guys! I just wanted to say I am super sorry for the wait and sorry that this isn’t the best, it’s gonna get so much better from here though omg. I’ve been super busy with college and other personal stuff but I have so much more stuff coming it’s so gonna be worth the wait. ALSO! This is based after Civil War, so Peter has had his powers for a while! Just letting you know!!

Warnings: Violence? School Party.

Word Count: 1,421

Part 1  Part 3   Part 4

You had walked away from Peter and Ned so fast. Quickly running into the house slamming the glass door behind you. The house was full of smoke, people chatting loud over the music. You looked around and everything seemed normal, and then you spotted Abby, but then something caught your eye.

It happened so quickly, at first you didn’t notice it but then you did. Three guys in all black hoodies it clearly over their faces so you couldn’t tell who they were and they were all split up. Then one pulled out a gun,

And then there was a pop of a gun.

Everyone inside the house was screaming, running frantically, the music cut off, another pop, and screaming got louder. You started to get pushed, people running into you and not caring the damage they did.

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I’m With You

Heya loves!  My final entry for Fairy Tail Fluff Week!  Can also be found on my fanficiton account here.

Day Seven – Serendipity

Summary:  Sometimes the worst moment of your life, Lucy Heartfilia finds, can lead to the most amazing of discoveries. For Fairy Tail Fluff Week Day 7 - Serendipity. Based on the song “I’m With You” by Avril Lavigne. Modern AU Oneshot. Naluish

I’m standing on a bridge

I’m waiting in the dark

I thought that you’d be here by now

Lucy finally came to a halt from her desperate running on a bridge, panting and steadying herself up against a bus stop station.  The ubiquitous brightness of the city reflected off the murky water, bathing her in a rippling light.  

Her backpack over her hoodie and down, winter coat ached on her shoulders, and she shrugged it off with a thump to the ground.  Lucy had managed to fit in everything she thought she’d need… at least for now.  Just her laptop with all her writing, its charger, two changes of clothes, toiletries, canned food, a filled water bottle, a blanket, an old book of fairy tales her mother used to read her, and the little keychains that her mother used to collect.  The money Lucy had earned herself that she’d just withdrawn was shoved in a wallet and down the front of her shirt to avoid thievery.  

In the back of her mind, she knew, she’d been planning this for a long time.

She hugged herself tightly, still too much in shock of what she’d just done to think.  Lucy had actually done it.  Actually run away.  After all the years of oppression and neglect of her father, she’d finally had the guts to leave.

In the back of her mind, she knew, there was that one, hopeful, weak part that was hoping her dad would follow her.  But if he had, he would be here by now.

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percyyoulittleshit  asked:

hey dan! what if you better write about percy's voice chaining? yeah? YEHA? YEAAAAH?

Grover is sprawled across the table holding his side and sucking in shallow breaths as he tries to control his laughter. Percy even has Annabeth laughing as she sits between his legs on the bench. Percy gives himself a satisfied smile. He’s starting to forget about the war and Kronos and get back to normal life. Well normal for a demigod.

Percy figures out his next impression to keep his friends laughing. He starts in on imitating Mr. D and just as he gets to the punch line, as he starts to yell, his voice completely cracks. Percy stops dead in his tracks and stares at Annabeth.

His mom has given him a talk about his body changing and even had Paul talk to him, but this has never been a concern of his. Percy can feel his face turn red and looks away from his brand new girlfriend.

He’s kept his friends laughing. Grover is nearly sobbing and sounds like he might throw up from laughing so hard. Annabeth has gone red in the face from holding in her laughter. Percy bites his cheek and scrunches his brow. He looks back to Annabeth who is sweating with effort to keep a calm face. Effort that looks to be going to waste.

“Come on guys, it’s not thAT-” Again his body betrays him. Percy restrains for letting loose a stream of curses.

Annabeth loses her fight and breaks out into loud, slightly stifled, laughter and leans against his leg. Grover meanwhile rolls off the table and lands hard on the ground. Percy flops back on the table and stares up at the afternoon sky. Unwilling to say anything else since his voice is unreliable.

When their laughter quiets down Percy sits up and looks at both of them. They’re wearing shameful smiles and keep sharing glances to their unspoken inside joke. Percy imagines a summer filled with this and debates iris messaging his mom to come pick him up.

“Sorry, Percy,” Grover says bashfully.

“We didn’t mean to laugh so hard,” Annabeth says while still wearing her grin.

“Well are you guys done cracking up?” Percy says defensively.

“That depends, is your voice?” Grover doesn’t manage to finish the sentence without chuckling a bit.

Percy flops backwards dramatically and lets out another groan. For the third time that day his voice breaks and embarasses him.

Annabeth and Grover break into a new round of laughter and Percy gets up and stomps off to find other people to hang out with.

halfdemoncali  asked:

imagine natsu's fairy tail mark disappearing in flame and uncovering the tartaros one beneath (assuming the marks didn't disappear with the guild's disbandment)

Title: paint it black

Rating: T

Summary: Her Natsu—the one she’d come to know and love and cherish—was gone. Natsu Dragneel…was no more.

Word count: 1,304

Warnings: e.n.d. natsu, angst, otp heartbreak, angst

How dare you, halfdemoncali. How dare you do this to me. ಥ_ಥ

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The Cooking Habit

A massive happy birthday to @magicalpostface. Shower her with love people. This is for you poppet x

She does this thing…

Cooking was never high on the list of qualities I envisioned a wife having. Cristina was a prime example of this- I remember she cooked me eggs one morning with her left hand to build her dexterity and I was still struggling with the shell particles in my throat at lunchtime. That was the one and only time she cooked me breakfast.

Cristina was a lost cause in the kitchen. Amelia however… I went from can’t cook to won’t cook. Amelia is more than capable of whipping up a dish or two, she just finds the entire thing tedious and boring.

The first thing she can cook is waffles. I discovered this the first time she stayed at the trailer. I had woken up early, some tweeting birds outside my window reminding me that there was something to wake up to. A vision. Amelia Shepherd was lying on her front, her back exposed, her hands and face hugging the pillow and her stillness making me wonder whether she was even still breathing.

I stared, transfixed for about twenty minutes, memorising every detail. Eventually I frowned and just checked… I placed my fingertips to her pulse point and felt the strong beats. She stirred. She lightly opened her eyes and smiled as soon as she saw me. It was a smile that will be etched in my mind forever, even if I develop dementia and forget my own name.

A few kisses, a snuggle, a joke and a playful conversation about us finally getting some peace and quiet later, she said she was going to make us waffles. Waffles?! I didn’t peg her as the waffle-making type but she stood up and casually threw my t-shirt over her head without asking and rifled through the cupboards.

I asked her if she enjoyed cooking and she said she only ever makes waffles. That was her one thing. Her dish. I joked that you could never have enough waffles in life and I remember the blush that had taken to her cheeks.

Her waffles are nearly as good as her skills in the bedroom… nearly.

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Bertholdt gave a started jump when someone burst into the bathroom. As he turned around and saw it was Annie, he nearly had a heart attack. He was glad the bath was filled to the brim with bubbles. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than Annie accidentally seeing his shame. “Annie!” He shouted, sinking into the bubbles to hide his face which had gone completely red. 

A Heartbreak for One

Forever was only just a word.

It was just a word thrown about without any deeper meaning, only used when they wanted to show some sort of affection to their significant other whom they would lose interest in sooner or later.

You were naïve.

Just a young girl who was exposed to the wild ways of the world a moment to early and allowed the wind to sweep her off her feet without any hesitation. You thought he meant forever when he whispered it in your ear - or perhaps it was to the darkness that separated the both of you - in the middle of the night as the both of you were moulded together perfectly. You thought he meant forever when he yelled at the top of the hill - or perhaps he was just screaming to the spaces between his dream and his reality - before spinning you around, his laughter filling your ears.

Forever was only a word used to trick people into thinking that they really were loved.



The broad-shouldered man with the gorgeous brunette holding onto his arm turns around, and ohmygod it’s him it’s him it’s him. His scruff that you loved so much was gone and his hair was shorter and maybe he looked a lot more manlier than before but it’s most definitely him.

“Hey! I didn’t expect to run into you here!” He smiles, and awkward silence fills the air. You shift your weight between your feet, your shoes suddenly looking much more interesting than usual.

Luke bites his lip - what is he supposed to say to his ex-girlfriend? - and his girlfriend elbows his side.

“Well?” She hisses, “aren’t you going to introduce me to her?”

As if the silence wasn’t awkward enough, introductions and polite “nice to meet you”s were exchanged. You smile weakly as you look at the beautiful girl who is blessed to be able to hold Luke’s hand and realise that you simply weren’t enough for someone like him.

You take a step a back, your movements stiff and forced. “I, uh, I gotta go. I’m sure the both of you made plans as well and I honestly don’t want to intrude.” Heat rushes to your cheeks when you slip, and you think you’re about to make a fool of yourself when soaking yourself in muddy water left from the rain earlier but steady, strong arms don’t hesitate to catch you.

There’s the familiar scent of cologne and you look up to see Luke, worried etched onto his features.

“You’re still as much of a klutz like before,” he chuckles, holding you steady. You hold his gaze for a moment longer before jerking your arm away from him. You couldn’t fall for him again, especially when he’s in a relationship.

“Right, I really have to go now and it’s uh, great to catch up with your again,” you stammer, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I’ll see you around, I guess?”

You’re gone before he can even say goodbye.

No. I can’t… He has a girlfriend now.

You quicken your pace, the muddy water sloshing at your feet. You’re absolutely sure that your face is completely red, not only from the nearly embarrassing moment, but also the close proximity between you and Luke earlier.

Forever was only a word. There was no way you could ever get him back.

inspired by the slight heartache[okay maybe it more than just an aching feeling but still] that i felt yesterday. do you guys want a part two?


The Mighty Fall (a Greek God 5sos AU Story)

*based upon my Son of Hades Michael blurb X *

Half a mile. Half a mile and I’d be safe. The only question that remained to be seen was whether I’d make it that far. Personally, I rather doubted it.

As another knife whizzes past my ear, burying itself in a pine tree next to my head, I become more certain than ever that the answer is going to be no. Whoever was throwing these knives, shiny silver blurs following me for the last mile, certainly knew what they were doing. The knives were new. For the last day, through woods and mud and rain, it had been just the constant fear and sounds echoing in the distance. However, the knives weren’t surprising. After all, I had found him with an ornately carved bone knife in his gut. The odds weren’t exactly looking good for me, but then again, the odds had seemed to be stacked against me from the very beginning, the very circumstances of my birth determining that whatever life I had would have to be fought for, tooth and nail. 17 years of life wasn’t enough for me.

Deciding to try to even it out a little bit, I pause shortly to yank one of the sharp blades out of a tree next to my head, the blade pulling out of the bark smoothly. I glance at it, sitting innocently in my hand, an elegant weapon, albeit a deadly one. Its handle is made of bone, just like the one that had gutted him. Without even thinking about it, my fingers curl around it, a warmth growing in my palm at the contact. It feels right in my hand, a natural extension. I feel like I could do something with this, something that could be good or bad. If I think too hard about this, I’ll probably throw up. Making it to safety, that was the goal, and every second I stand here, staring at the blade in my hand is another second I’m wasting. Getting closer, the sounds of pursuit seem to intensify. Vague screams and shouts are drifting closer to me. If I’m just now starting to hear them more clearly, then their knife thrower must be absolutely mental, throwing hard and accurately enough to even come close to me.  With that thought, I’m running again, feet pumping, lungs on fire, the grassy distance falling away as I run for my life.

Up the hill, through the gloom of the starlight, I finally catch sight of tall pine tree, the sign he’d told me about, before the  blood had completely left his body. With renewed energy, I try a little harder, beat up red vans slipping against the dewy grass. I don’t think I’d ever ran so fast in my entire life.

There’s a scream of rage behind me, and it sounds almost human. Apparently, they had seen the tree marking the boundary line too, and weren’t as happy as I was about the safety I might be able to reach. The sound of footsteps grows behind me, the sound of something heavy trampling the ground beneath them. Or is it multiple pairs of feet? I can’t tell, my own labored breathing too loud, my heartbeat racing too fast. The sky is clouding overhead, and a few drops of rain start to fall, mixing with the sweat of my escape on my skin. Electricity seems to flow through me, making the hair on my arms stand up, the blood to sing through my veins, spurring me to new lengths I didn’t think possible after what I’d already gone through.

I’d been running for 2 days. 2 days of no sleep, no rest, no stopping. Just the feeling of my shoes slapping the ground beneath me, sometimes the sun and sometimes the moon on my face, the weariness that felt bone deep sinking into my limbs. But I was almost there. If I could just make it up the hill, he wouldn’t have died for nothing. I remember the look in his brown eyes, appearing even through the haze of tears I could see forming, the panicked frenzy of words coming out of his mouth, the dimming light in his face, the way his hand fell limply to the floor releasing mine, the way the knife looked sticking out of his gut.

I had been the one being hunted, but he had been the one to fall.

Caught up in the memories I haven’t been able to escape since they imprinted themselves in my brain, I don’t pay enough attention, the toe of my shoe catching on a lose pebble, sending me sprawling on the ground, dirt filling my mouth, face planting in the mud. Dazed, I don’t immediately scramble to my feet, just lying there, letting them get closer. A piercing pain invades my head as a trickle of something moves sluggishly down my face, blurring my vision. Its probably blood. There’s movement close to me. Too close. By the time I notice how close they’ve actually gotten, it’s too late.

A hand encloses around my ankle, fingernails digging in through a hole in my jeans, prickling my skin. I roll over, screaming in a voice I didn’t even know I had. So close to making it, and failing on the final stretch. I couldn’t imagine the look on his face, seeing me trip when so much was on the line. A weight falls against my back as they finally catch up to me. This could be it. This could be the end. I couldn’t go out without a fight.

“You can’t run anymore, pretty girl,” the voice in my ear is scratchy, gruff, and entirely too close, the smell of their rancid breath invading my nose. My hair is a curtain, hiding their face from my sight. The blade in my hand seems to warm, and I know what I have to do. A phantom memory in my limbs tells me exactly what I have to do.

 Panic clouds my mind. I can’t breath, I can’t think, the air feels electric, like its smothering me, with the weight of the one who surely killed him on me. Whatever was on me was a monster, and it was up to me to destroy that monster. Monsters had no feelings, no thoughts, no soul. It shouldn’t be hard to take its life away. Without thinking, without feeling, I swing my hand free, lashing out with everything I have left. The tip of the viciously sharp blade sinks into flesh, a shriek escaping into the night, one of pain, of suffering, heavy and inescapable. 

The thing rolls off of me, sliding into the mud forming on the slope of the hill. I pull the knife out, sinking it back in, again and again and again, until it stops moving. I’m screaming, but I can’t tell if its a war cry or a scream of fear and pain. Blood is everywhere, on me, on them, on the grass, and the rain isn’t helping nearly enough. It looks red, deep red, almost human. Shouldn’t it have dusted up like all the others by now? It shouldn’t be dripping blood. Nothing I’d ever killed had bled like this, no nightmarish creature had ever dripped their crimson blood on me. I see their sihouette against the blackness, watch as the steady movement of breath stops, and they go completely still. Its dead. They’d simply gone up in a cloud of dust. In my experience, only humans bled like this. But there’s no way the thing could have been human. If it had been human, that meant I had just killed someone. Someone with a soul, with a family, with emotions and feelings. There’s movement and sound still coming towards me, but I’m done. I’m empty but filled with the blood still streaming towards me. 

“HEY!” Someone is screaming, a very human voice, but they’re too far to do me much good. Or maybe they were trying to kill me too. 

“Pretty girl,” another voice croons, sounding closer than the other, with the sickly sweet tinge of the thing lying dead next to me. 

The crooner is close, a black lump illuminated against the night sky, branches of a tree a million miles away hanging over their head. “Pretty girl’s time is up. We’ve found you, got you at last.”

The black lump separates, becoming 3 distinct shapes. I should move, I should grab the knife still sizzling next to me, calling out my name. But I can’t move. A million brick rest on my chest, weighing me down, sapping all the resolve I had built up for the last chaotic and vital 48 hours. Maybe I deserve to die. I had just killed someone. Not something. Someone.  He’d made me promise, made me promise to be the protector of humans, of people, and I had just broken that promise. I’d killed someone.

But I couldn’t afford to think about that yet. Right now, they were getting closer, and I still didn’t know what was going on. Why me? Why try to kill me, why chase me for so long? If they’d only asked me, I could have guaranteed them I wasn’t worth the trouble and sent them on their way. I scramble to get up, knowing I have to be on my feet, but the slope of the hill is slippery, shoes unable to find traction in the rain.

A boot stomps on my wrist, pain blooming up my arm. Resting against my jugular is a knife tip. It’s finally over. They’re going to kill me, going to kill me like they killed him, like I killed someone, and I’m too tired to fight. I can accept my fate now.  Maybe I would see him up there. Or maybe I’d end up in hell. Or whatever version of hell my mind told me to accept. My eyes flick upwards, fruitlessly searching for the stars that aren’t there, hidden away by the clouds still sending their tears down to earth. I would laugh, if they weren’t so close I could smell the rancid odor coming from them, hear their giggles, sending shivers down my spine. 

“Are you scared, pretty girl? Daddy won’t be able to save you this time,” the thing holding a knife to my throat leans in close, but it’s still too dark to make out any features. There’s a balloon of rage building inside of me. I’ve been chased around, seen my best friend killed, been stopped only yards from freedom, been called ‘pretty girl.’ I’ve always hated when people called me that.

“Call me pretty girl again, I dare you,” I choke out, the pressure on my throat increasing. The blood from my face continues to trickle down the join the stream now oozing out of my throat. The thing chuckles, a menacing sound in the darkness when I still can’t make out its face.

“Nothing you can do to stop me, pretty girl.”

“My name is Elysia, asshole,” I mutter.

With a last burst of strength, I knee it in the back as hard as I can, but it only shifts a little bit. My hand wanders around, seeking out the knife I knew was around here somewhere. The thing leans back, putting more weight on my legs, trapping them.

Still wandering, my hand scrapes across something hard, fingers curling around it. The other figures are still hovering over the thing’s shoulder, but there’s more movement coming towards us. Maybe it was more of them, coming to watch. Or maybe someone had heard my screams. Maybe I wasn’t about to die painfully. However, I didn’t have time to wait for someone to save me. With the same eerie phantom memory of doing this before, I bring my hand up, knife with it, and drive it deep into the thing’s arm, blade cutting through flesh easily. A small sound of pain escapes it, but it only yanks itself away from my reach.

It stands, taking the knife with it, still embedded deep within its arm.

“Pretty girl wants to play,” One of the other shapes seems amused at my efforts.

“Fuck off,” I scramble to my feet, determined to be on equal footing with them this time, hands looking for anything I can use as a weapon. All I get is a small rock. They move towards me as one, a synchronized movement that would probably scare me if I weren’t so pissed off at the moment. As soon as I’m on my feet I throw the rock as hard as I can, rewarded with a dull thunking sound as it bounces off one of them. My skin feels electric, as if I’m burning up from the inside.

Suddenly, the orange flow of flames lights up the night, and I can see more than a foot in front of me for the first time that night. I try to focus on what’s making the light, but my brain is rejecting what I’m looking at. The flames seem to be glowing along the edge of a sword.

I can’t make out the person holding the sword yet, but apparently the things can, backing away from me, their movements looking almost alarmed.

“She is not having any of your shit today, and neither am I,” the voice is low, gruff, and human. It rings with confidence and authority, and I peer closer, trying to make out the speaker, but all I can get is that they’re tall. Really tall.

“Some other day then, Prince of the Dead,” One spits out, venom and a hint of fear in it’s voice, and then they’re gone, silhouettes blending in with the shadows as they turn and leave.

I’m still shaking, the electric feeling not leaving me. I can almost make out the person that scared them away as they get closer to me, the light of the flaming sword making the darkness retreat.

“Are you going to try to kill me too?” I gasp out, feeling dizzy. Maybe my head was bleeding more than I thought it was.

“I just saved your life, so probably not. Maybe tomorrow.” He sounds half amused, half cautious, but all sarcastic.

He gets close enough finally that I can see his face.

He looks my age, maybe a little older, with hair glowing a dark blue, shaggy and messy  around his face, green eyes seeming to almost glow too, taking in my messy, and probably pretty bloody at this point ,appearance. He’s attractive. Really attractive. I almost don’t have time to register that fact before my knees give away, and I fall to the ground, the last 2 days finally catching up to me.

He moves forward, almost impossibly fast, catching me before I hit the ground again. The world is spinning, but somehow I notice the fact that his arms are strong, holding me with what seems like little effort. I can’t focus on anything but his eyes,

“Whoa there. I got you. I’m going to take you back to camp now. I’m Michael. You’re safe with me.”

*Okay, so I finally put it up! I would love feedback, tell me what you think, what you think will happen, whatever you feel like:) big thanks to Kenzie for reading over this and helping me out when I was stuck*

FIC UPDATE: A Handful of Dust (62/?)

Title: A Handful of Dust (62/?) (On AO3 and
Pairing: Shepard/Garrus

Summary: Ten billion people over here die, so twenty billion over there can live. After the war, there are pieces to pick up, and lives to rebuild. And even with the Reapers gone, nothing is easy.


Sixty-Two: Tolling Reminiscent Bells

It’s not like the other dreams.

She knows she’s dreaming, for one thing. And she’s alone. No wide-eyed child bearing cookies, no screwdriver-wielding teenager. No broken doll made up of doctored memories and might-have-beens, dressed in muddied virginal white. No dead woman in pink and white, or patent Mary Janes, offering death or forgiveness or hope.

It’s just a dream. Just a dream.

When she touches her stomach, her fingers do not come away stained with blood. When she touches her forehead, she cannot feel the strings that have been pulled, the knots untied, the pieces of the puzzle jammed together all wrong.

And yet the ache remains.

The ache always remains.

She’s wearing armor in this dream, black to hide bloodstains, black to hide amongst the shadows, the familiar lifeline of red and white stripes down her arm reminding her who she is, what she does. She’s got a full arsenal on her back, but her hands are empty.

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A dumb thing I wrote in five minutes based on that one gifset

[[A beautiful fanfic I found in my submit box from goingbadly, I love it so much. The gifset in question is BasherMoriarty’s and can be found here:]]

Irene Adler’s peep-toe pumps are a clean line of black against the perfect creamy white of her skin as she clicks into the room and takes a seat across from Sebastian. She crosses her legs at the knee and leans over them, eyes bright and interested.

Well,“ she says, after a moment of silence, “I certainly never thought to see you here darling.” Sebastian can feel her eyes flick over his face like a physical thing, searching for the smallest hint of a weakness. He grits his teeth, keeping his face carefully blank. Seb’s got a hell of a poker face; he’s not surprised when she sighs in disappointment, unable to find anything useful in his expression.

 But she knows him well enough to kick him where it hurts. “Pushed you out of bed already, has he?” she asks. Her eyebrows arch; delicate, feminine, flawless. If that isn’t Irene Adler in a nutshell, Seb doesn’t know what is. As she leans back, the silk hem of her dress rides up on her thighs.  Under any other circumstances, the sight of Adler like this – toying with her pearls, thighs nearly bare, eyes alight and fascinated – Sebastian’s mouth would be dry. Hell, it should be dry now. He’s come to hire her, after all.

Too bad she’s nearly the exact opposite of what he wants.

“Moriarty and I were never in bed at all,” he tells her. By some miracle, his voice stays steady. Sebastian half expects it to break; under the weight of all those nights, the ache in his chest, the searing heat that flashes under his skin like an electric shock anytime Moriarty touches him. He shifts on Irene Adler’s couch, and looks away, knowing he’s given her too much ammunition already. Seb’s got experience working with sadistic geniuses.

“Oh,” she says, softly. “Look at you, Moran. You poor, poor man.” Her fingers tap thoughtfully against the bone of her jaw, nails stark red against her cream skin.

“Well?” Sebastian snaps, “Can I procure your services or not.” He can’t help the question becoming a sneer, but he’s not sure if he’s mocking himself or Adler.

After all, it’s pathetic. Wanting his boss so bad he has to hire a dominatrix, just so he can shut his eyes and pretend it’s Jim…

“Give me a moment.” As Adler deliberates, she looks downwards so the thick fringe of her lashes hides her eyes. Sebastian can’t quite tell what she’s thinking. He swallows thickly. The palms of his hands feel sweaty, and he wipes them surreptitiously on the stiff black trousers Jim’d insisted on buying him.

 -Can’t work for me without a proper wardrobe, pet –

Seb’d tried hard not to suggest Jim take the trousers off once he’d put them on.

“Yes,” Irene says abruptly, after a moment, “Yes, I think I will take you.” She sways to her feet, graceful in her sky-high heels. Sebastian isn’t sure whether or not he should stand – then she steps forward, leaning over him, and it becomes a moot question. She’s not Jim – not even fucking close – but no one is. And there’s enough of it there. The dark eyes, the insane eyelashes. The whisper of power and dominance that snakes around her hips. She reaches down, running one finger down his jaw and under his chin. The delicate contact is like acid dripping over Sebastian’s skin. A shock runs down his spine, and when she tilts his chin up, Sebastian doesn’t even think about resisting.

He looks up at her. She smiles, crimson lips curving around her white teeth, until he can see the point of her canines like fangs. “Into the other room, now,” her voice is soft, almost gentle. Not at all what Sebastian was expecting.

“Aren’t you going to order me to?” he blurts, unable to help himself.

“Orders are for officers,” Alder says, tilting her head to look at him chidingly. The pressure under his chin increases, just a fraction. As Seb’s head tilts up higher, he can feel the tension pull at the tendons in his neck. His breath catches. “Do you think he would order you, Moran? No. No. I’m not going to bark at you like your bootcamp instructor, and neither would he.

Sebastian shudders. He can’t help it. Neither would he… He wouldn’t, would he? It would be too obvious – too mundane, for changeable Jim –

“No,” Adler continues, softly, leaning down until her words are a breath against Sebastian’s lips, “I don’t have too, Sebastian. I’m just going to tell you, because we both know you’ll do what I say.” Sebastian shuts his eyes. He’s not sure if what washes over him is relief or self-hatred. He leans into her touch as she draws away, chasing the contact. And she’s right. When she lets go, he stands and walks into the other room, without trying to push.

Which is probably why he misses her dialing the phone.


Adler’s got Sebastian’s wrists bound above his head with thin black ribbons as her crop drags over his skin. He could pull through the fabric in a heartbeat; but that’s sort of the point. If it breaks – and it might; Seb can feel it threaten to, every time his body goes tense with the pain of impact – she’s got a fucking iron poker heating on the fire.

He doesn’t think she’ll use it. Not really. Not her style. But it’s the sort of threat Jim would use, and oh, fuck, doesn’t that make Sebastian’s head go white and dizzy. He’s clinging to his sanity with the last of his fingernails. It seems like she’s teasing – drawing it out and waiting for something. Sebastian can’t tell how long he’s been here, naked, with Adler milking every inch of his skin with agony until his nerves sing.

He almost doesn’t hear the door open. But that voice, that voice – nothing can make Sebastian ignore that. Hell, Seb could be dead for three days and Jim could say, Tiger, and he’d probably still get up.

“Now what,” comes the low Irish purr, “Do you think you’re doing?” Sebastian wants to open his eyes and look at Jim, but he can’t quite move. His brain doesn’t seem to want to fit back into his skull. Someone’s making helpless, whining sounds like hitching moans, and Sebastian has the disturbing idea that it might be him.

“Proving a point,” Adler says lightly, standing. Seb can tell from the click of her heels against the hardwood floor as she steps away from the bed. “I hear you’ve been rejecting the poor thing. Thought I’d like to try him…”

“You should know by now, Adler,” Jim hisses, “Not to play with my toys.” There’s a popping sound as he stretches his neck to the side.

“Dear, dear, Jim… Did you want him after all?”

Sebastian finally manages to force his eyes open. Jim’s standing in the doorway; looking completely cool and collected, except for the way his face has gone white. He’s pale enough to look like a corpse, except for the thin slash of his lips – bright red, pressed tight together. Anyone else might miss it; but Sebastian knows that expression. Knows the monstrous calm that sits in Jim’s eyes, just before he hands Sebastian a room full of corpses and says clean this up.

Seb’s heart nearly stops in fear when Jim hisses, “Adler, if you like all your limbs where they are, I suggest you get out.

She doesn’t quite flee. It’s more of a strategic retreat. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear – the only sign of her exertions – and steps very neatly past Jim out the door. Her spine is stiff as she passes him, like she half expects Jim to turn and rip her throat out with his teeth.

Hell, Seb half expects that.

He licks his lips nervously. “Boss…” he starts, unsure what he’s going to say.

Jim solves it for him, as always. “Shut up,” he snaps. “And don’t move.” Sebastian knows he’s in trouble, then. As Jim stalks over to the side of the bed his heart leaps into his throat, struggling to get past his teeth and escape. Sebastian can hear the pounding rush of blood in his head. He doesn’t dare tense; doesn’t dare pull at the fragile ribbons. Unlike Adler, Jim would take up the poker.

When Jim leans over him Sebastian stops breathing – waiting for the snap, waiting for Jim to dig his fingers into Sebastian’s eyes or a knife into Sebastian’s throat or a razor into his –

Thinking only of pain, Sebastian is understandably surprised when he feels Jim’s warm, slightly chapped lips seal over his. Changeable Jim.

The ribbons snap. And Sebastian clutches his Jim into a desperate, aching kiss.


P.S. I think the gifset belongs to bashermoriarty?

The Escape

A flash of red was seen before the small skeleton fell down into the snow, his breath quick and ragged. He shakily got to his feet and tried to run, falling back down when he ran straight into Sans. Sins fell and tried to scramble back.

As his back met a tree, it was easier to see the scared look on his face. His eye lights were gone and his right arm was missing completely. He squinted his eye sockets, searching for the one he had bumped into.

“F-Fuck who’s there?” He nearly shouted. “I-I’m not afraid of ya…” Sins grabbed a handful of snow, still looking panicked.