weapon cleaning

McCall Pack, Meet Riverdale

Summary: Your the sister of the late Allison Argent. Soon after her death your father, Chris Argent, Isaac Lahey and you move to France. Not long after you find yourself living with your Dad in his hometown. While Riverdale doesn’t have a supernatural mess, it sure does have a strange and mysterious murder.

Characters: daughter!reader x chris argent, reader x undetermined love interest, Archie Andrews, Jughead Jones, Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, and Allison Argent (mentioned)

Words: 1933

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or the characters. I do not own Riverdale OR the characters, the show is based the Archie Comics which I do not own either. I also do not own any gifs, images or songs that may appear.

Warnings: possible swearing, mention of death, mention of murder, angst. Angry reader and allusion to the murder of Jason Blossom.

Author: Caitsy

Tagging: Ask if you want to be removed or added! At the bottom.

A/N: I’ve completely fallen in love with Riverdale mainly because I grew up reading the comics. IT’S AMAZING! With that being said I will be taking requests for Riverdale!

This is to hold you guys over because Ash and I will be unavailable for a little way. I have tons of homework and I’m not at liberty to say what Ash is busy at!

Master List

Prompt List


Originally posted by 5secondsofwolf

Originally posted by daddario

You were humming to yourself as you walked into your house in the town that mimicked Beacons Hills just without the supernatural element. You had moved here when your dad decided moving to his hometown would be ideal following the harsh ending of your family. It wasn’t anything bad other than Allison had died and you wanted out. Riverdale was interesting but not like the dangers of living in Beacon Hills.

“Hey Dad?” You called from the porch. It had a few hidden places holding some weapons just in case.

“Sweetheart.” Your dad, Chris, asked from the dining room table. On the table was a bunch of weapons laid out to be cleaned, “Anything I can do for you?”

“I see it’s the weekly cleaning.” You chuckled as your eyes caught sight of Allison’s beloved Chinese daggers, “Want to order out?”

“Sure.” He chuckled tapping your nose, “You know what I like.”

You laughed before picking up the phone to call Pop’s diner. It was a short wait before you were able to place the order with the waitress. You were pretty sure she was the new waitress.

“It will be ready in twenty minutes.” She replied before the two of your exchanged goodbyes.

You sat at the table going about cleaning the weapons along with your dad. It was second nature and a bonding experience from the moment you learnt what the Argents really did. It was so second nature that your mind went back to the group of friends you had left behind.

Beacon Hills had been the first place that had become a strong permanent home since the moment you made friends. You cherished the times of happiness you had with your older sister and the pack. In the wise words of Robert Frost, nothing gold can stay. It was true.

“Do you want to go practice shooting?” Your dad asked nonchalantly.

“So soon after that death?”

“We’ve delt with worse and you know it.” He pointed a knife at you, “A murder like this is a hell of lot more welcome that the supernatural.”

“Someone still died.” You grumbled slumping down in your chair.

Chris sighed before glancing at the clock watching his remaining child sulk. Both had changed after Allison’s death for the better if you looked at it one way. It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when her birthday rolled around and each locked themselves in their rooms.

“Go pick up the food.” He sighed tossing a pair of keys to you.

Without looking you caught them and hastily grabbed one of Allison’s daggers and pushing it into your boot. You quickly inserted the key to the car and drove the distance to the only good diner in town.

You sat there remembering the last time you had drove yourself, well more accurately when you drove. Stiles had been knocked out cold with an attack from the supernatural and you practically did illegal stunts to make it to the hospital.

“Get over it.” You mumbled to yourself as you opened the door of the diner. Inside was a remotely busy rush following the welcome back dance.

You hated dances. The last one your were at was sophomore year with Allison.

“Y/N!” Pop’s grinned, “You’ll have to hang tight, the deep fryer wasn’t working for a couple minutes.

You chuckled before settling into a booth with a good view outside. You watched as a group of teens laughed as they walked into the diner. You saw the resident hot shot Archie Andrews as his friends. Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones. You shifted as they sat int the booth across from yours. It reminded you of your favourite times with the pack.

It was late when the pack dragged their asses to the diner that sold adequately healthy fast food. A lot of your were limping or injured in some kind of way following the shit kicking you had received against the Alpha pack. Thankfully all was right again…for now.

“Is my head supposed to hurt this much?” Stiles groaned shaking his head as Scott patted his bed friend on the back.

“You were knocked unconscious in a car accident. It’s safe to say that yes it should be for the next little while.” Lydia chuckled as she fixed her hair once more.

“What happened to you guys!” A young waiter exclaimed at the sight.

“We were playing a game of football.” You lied quickly.

Placing your orders in you all began to laugh tryng to ease the heightened feelings from the win you had managed. It was a shame everyone was under age and the diner didn’t sell alcohol because you could use some. Inside you all had different kinds of drinks.

“To a safe Beacon Hills!” You exclaimed clinking glasses with everyone.

“For now.” Stiles said meetings everyone’s eyes, “We killed ourselves and came back. It’s going to get a lot worse isn’t it.”

“We can face it. Together. We’ll come out the same.” You said before taking a long sip of your milkshake.

Boy were you wrong on that one.

You shuffled as a tear rolled down your cheek and you brushed it off. You hated thinking of those times at the same time. You missed them so much but in agreement with your dad you both needed to be away. It couldn’t be going to bad given no calls had happened.

“Y/N right?”

You looked over to see Betty looking at you concerned. The others watched the interaction with the same expectations. Veronica and Archie had already tried to make friends with you when you arrived in the summer but you wouldn’t have it.

“Yes.” You grumbled irritated by the tears wanting to move down your cheeks.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” You practically hissed before pulling the sleeves of your sweater down further, “Go back to gossiping.”

“We aren’t gossiping, man your one very angst teen.” Jughead said watching you.

“Says you.You’ve been attached to your computer since that kid was killed.”  You groaned leaning back but it stopped when the diner door slammed open with a strong force.

It was too strong so you were on your feet in a defensive position with the Chinese dagger neatly swinging in your hand. You heard a gasp from Betty as the dagger glinted in the dark lighting. Your head tilted as the frantic person landed their eyes on you with a friend sharing the same movements.

“Scott? Stiles?” You exclaimed shocked before the spazzing teenager harshly dragged you out of the diner. A concerned and worried Archie Andrews frantically followed you out with his friends.

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Do you want a part 2? If so let us now and it can be longer, if you want?


The Morning After

Request: I would love a Bucky smut where him and reader have to go undercover as a married couple.

Summary: You were supposed to go on a undercover mission with Steve, not the man you despised- James Buchanan Barnes.

Warnings: smut, sexual tension, fluff

A/N: I have another draft of this written up but it was all over the place and I didn’t like it so I switched to this one.

“I know you were expecting to go on this mission with Steve, but we have a job to do.” Bucky threw a towel over his shoulder, heading toward the door of the hotel room.

“Well, once you took Steve’s place this mission just got exponentially harder.” You stepped out of the bathroom, towel and sunscreen in your hand.

“How so?” He smiled, cocking an eyebrow at you.

You jutted your hip out, rolling your eyes at him. Your bikini was nothing special; it had a pushup top that accentuated your breasts perfectly, but that was about it. The top and the bottom matched with blue and white stripes. You topped the outfit off with red sunglasses; the suit was meant to get a chuckle from Steve, not Bucky.

“Because now I have to pretend I’m head over heels in love with you, not Steve.” You flipped the light off. “Let’s just go check out the damn pool.”

Keep reading

Gomenasai, my name is Mathias-Sama

I’m a 47 year old Ishgardian Ronin (knight-errant for you gaijins). I draw Doman artwork on traditional scrolls, and spend my days perfecting my art and playing superior Doman games. (Shogi, Go, Chinese Checkers)

I train with my Katana every day, this superior weapon can cut clean through steel because it is folded over a thousand times, and is vastly superior to any other weapon on Hydalyn. I will earn my samurai soul on the 21st sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon in the 1st year of the 7th Astral Era, and I’m going to get better every day!

I speak Doman fluently, both Othard and the Au Ra dialect, and I write fluently as well. I know everything about Doman history and their bushido code, which I follow 100%

When I get my Doman visa, I am moving to Kugane to attend a prestigious dojo to learn more about their magnificent culture. I hope I can become the shogun of shoguns like my idol Legatus Xenos Yae Galvus!

I own several kimonos, which I wear around Ul'Dah. I want to get used to wearing them before I move to Doma, so I can fit in easier. I bow to my elders and seniors and speak Doman as often as I can, but rarely does anyone manage to respond.

Wish me luck in Doma!


So imagine that everytime the paladins came back from a mission and probably (?) slept, Lance would sneak around grabbing everyone’s equipment and weapon and clean as well repair any damages, as he realized despite Altean Weapons being high quality, they are also high maintenance every now and again. He had learned how to repair it with Conan’s weird old timey memory of how the old paladins were always so reckless with the mechanics of their stuff. Not as reckless as the current paladins tho.
Also Lance being Lance always leaves him last to repair and sometimes doesn’t even do his stuff so long as he can put all his fellow paladins stuff to it’s place. Sometimes it would be difficult, especially with Shiro and Keith but still managed to find a way.

And sometimes it takes Lance all night so that he only manages to wash his face and moisturize it. Which leaves him feeling gross but he can’t help but worry that if their stuff isn’t repaired it will fail them one mission and they could get really hurt. Or worse.

This being like how the blue paladin would act at home. Lance would also do with his siblings. Packing their lunches and putting some of his saved money in their wallets to make sure they had just in case of emergency. And getting their bags ready, making sure they did all their homework and always doing the dishes right before going to bed so to make sure his mom doesn’t wake to a mess.

And making sure no one knew it was him doing it all. They’d probably all think he was joking or messed up their equipment.

Same with his family, his siblings all thinking it was their mom who gave them money and making lunchs and packing their stuff and his mom would always think it was his eldest siblings doing the chores.

Why The Name?

Okay so about 2 weeks ago my lovely friend @justthatstarboy saw this post Sophia  and he asked me to write a prompt for it. How could I refuse? 

Prompt Written by @rebel-lance

As soon as Lance felt the weight of his gun form in his hands he immediately thought of his mother. She was a pistol of a woman and everything Lance wanted to be. 

She was sweet, caring, pretty to look at but if you got on her bad side she would make sure you learn your lesson. Lance looked up to his mother and knew that no matter where he was (Even when he wasn’t on the same planet as her) she was there to protect him. 

Lance immediately named his gun Sophia. 


As time moved on with team Voltron and Lance found himself in more battles he would always hold his gun closer and whisper “I’ll be home soon Sophia.” 

Lance didn’t care that the team heard him. He didn’t care that they would give him questioning looks. He didn’t care what his team or anybody thought, he was surviving for his mother. He was going to come home. 


Roughly a month or so passed before someone questioned Lance on the name. They were all lounging in the common room and Lance was cleaning his weapon making sure everything was perfect and ready to go. 

“So Lance why the name?” Shiro looked at the boy sitting on the floor with a rag in his hands. 

Lance looked at his hero and cocked his head to the side “Name?” 

“Yeah Sophia.” Everyone turned and looked at Lance, even Hunk despite the fact that he knew where the name came from. 

Lance looked around at his team, gave them a small sigh and place the part he was cleaning on the floor and picked up another part to clean. “Sophia is the name of a pretty lady back home.” 

All of them groan jokingly, Shiro even said that he hopes she waits up for Lance and Lance said he hopes so too. 


Lance crouched down behind a desk and listened to the Galra run by the room. He tried to calm his heart down but it was pounding so loud and so fast that Lance was freaking out. 

The mission went bottoms up when somebody accidentally tripped a wire causing the ship to go into complete lockdown. Lance ended up being separated from his group and Pidge was filling him in where the Galra were. 

“Lance I hate to say it but they are closing in on you.” Pidge attempted to hide the panic in their voice but it leaked through enough to send Lance into a panic. 

“Pidge please tell me that I have an escape?” Lance started to shake. 

“Sorry Lance I can’t see one.” Lance could hear his team talking. They wanted to get to him but they couldn’t, it wasn’t possible. 

Lance placed his gun on the ground and put his hands over his ears. Everything was too loud and Lance couldn’t breath. He needed to do something but he didn’t know what to do. He could hear the Galra getting closer and Lance felt tears fall down his face. 

He thought back to everyone he didn’t get to say goodbye too and everything that he missed or will miss. He thought back to his mother and how heartbroken she will be when she gets told of what happened to him. 

“I’m sorry mama I can’t keep my promise.” Lance felt more tears fall from his eyes as more Galrans approached. He had promised her that he would come back home no matter what (This was back when he was in the Garrison). 

Just before Lance was about to completely give up he remember what his mother always said to him. Breaking a promise is like breaking a heart. You must fulfill the promise you made no matter what, or else you will crush someone.

Sophia had never in her entire life broken a promise and neither had Lance. This wasn’t going to be his first promise that he would break. Lance picked up his gun and peered over the desk, he counted the Galrans and looked down at his gun. “Well Sophia want to give it one more go?” Lance started to fire. 


It had been 6 years since Lance disappeared and Sophia was sitting in her kitchen staring at the wall with a cup of tea in her hands. She was still determined that, even after all these years, her son would come home. Even when everyone told her to just accept it she would shake her head no and say “Lance would never break a promise, especially one he made to me.” 

People sympathised with her but she didn’t want sympathy or empathy she wanted her son back. 

She heard a knock on the door and stood to answer it. She looked at the family pictures that hung from the wall. She fixed her hair and opened the door. She came face to face with a slightly taller, more buff and more mature Lance. 

He smiled at her wildly through the tears that stained his face “See mama I would never break a promise.” 

Whoops I kinda went on my own at the end. 

I hope you like it Star!!!! I know how much you love happy endings <333333

To Become A Hunter [2]

Part 1

Characters: Sister!Winchester reader, John Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Words: 3600+  

Warnings: Anxiousness, some violence, verbal abuse, a bit of a language, bad mental health, John’s A+ parenting, implied abuse. I know it looks like a lot, I’m just making sure. This is dark though.

A/N: Boom, part 2/3 (as it looks like right now). As I said, this fic has some darker themes, but there’s nothing too graphic I would say. Hope you like it. 

Originally posted by negandarylsatisfaction

Originally posted by harley-quinns

Your name: submit What is this?

Heart pounding. Head throbbing. Legs wobbly. Sight blurry. Body tired. And a fire burning inside your lungs, or at least that’s what it feels like.

The sun is about to reach it’s peak, in the middle of the sky, like the star on top of the christmas tree. It’s starting to get really warm as well, at least that’s what you think as you try to push forward, try to complete the task.

You have no idea where you are. You’re completely encircled by trees, that look exactly the same to you, except for ’the road’ that just never seemed to end. You briefly wondered if you even took the right direction, but you quickly concluded that it was unlikely that you didn’t, and that the thought was too scary to think of right now.

Keep reading

thinking about garrus and shepard in me1, talking late at night over weapon-cleanings or mako repairs when shepard can’t sleep. garrus, the idealistic rookie who wants nothing more than to protect, and shepard, the closest thing to a guiding light he’s stumbled upon

thinking about garrus and shepard in me2, finding companionship in one another after their individual struggles. garrus, weighed down by the lives of the people who trusted him, and shepard, still lost and out-of-place in a world that kept going without her

thinking about garrus and shepard in me3, seeking each other out in moments of solace when the war seems bleak and never-ending. shepard, who keeps pushing herself to do the impossible, and garrus, who just wants to be the light that guides her back home

i wrote this a good while ago (before season 2) for a bigger project, but it doesn’t fit there anymore - i still quite like it though so here, have this little pining keith thing

about lance ;

Affection was a rare guest in Keith’s mind.

When he saw Shiro again, affection felt like a knife in his stomach, and in the days that followed, every time he looked at his old friend it was as if someone twisted the hilt of the knife, driving it deeper. A foreign object that would surely cause an infection if he didn’t pull out the weapon and clean the wound.

He didn’t know what to do with it, this emotion that had felt so natural when he was little, but now it ate away at him like a parasite.

His body craved it, revelled in Shiro’s gentle hand on his shoulder, adored the feeling of Hunk’s arms around him, and happily cherished Pidge’s hand on his arm as the youngest paladin wanted his attention (why would anyone want his attention?). Even Coran and Allura’s stern hands made his body uneasy with emotion.

He craved it, yet despised it, needed it to survive, but recoiled at the thought.

The only one of his teammates who never really touched him was Lance. Of course they would touch when they trained, and they often got very close while bickering, but that was not the same. Everyone else would occasionally show Keith physical affection, but Lance did not. Lance would hug Pidge and Hunk, fist bump Shiro, wrap a casual arm around Coran’s shoulder, touch Allura’s arm – but never Keith.

He was grateful, but also oddly resentful. Because deep in the back of his mind, he wanted Lance’s touch, just as he wanted the touches of the other inhabitants of the castle. He didn’t like the feeling of being singled out.

And – as much as Lance irritated him and angered him beyond belief – Keith found himself growing fond of the blue paladin’s presence. Lance made everything brighter, lighter, bearable.

And then, Lance had almost died, and Keith acted purely on impulse as he offered his injured teammate his hand, and Lance had taken it, wrapped his slender fingers around Keith’s grip, and Keith had felt the warmth of Lance’s palm through their gloves, and they had looked at each other, and Lance was the most beautiful thing Keith had ever seen besides the picture of his birth mother, and his eyes were blue, blue like the ocean -

And then Allura said she wanted him in a healing pod, and Keith had tried to help him stand. For a moment, Lance managed to walk on wobbly legs, but then he had nearly fallen forward, his mind flickering on and off. Keith was exhausted, but he put his free arm behind Lance’s knees, and lifted him up until he was carrying him.

Lance had instinctively looped his sleepy arms around Keith’s neck. He let his head rest against Keith’s shoulder, and Keith was too tired to flinch, too tired to let his mind race. Instead, he held Lance close and carried him all the way to the infirmary, where Coran helped place him in one of the pods.

His neck felt cold without Lance’s arms there.

His stomach felt cold when Lance didn’t remember it.

Things returned to normal. Lance returned to being the only one who never intentionally touched Keith.

But now Keith knew.

He knew that Lance was the most beautiful person in the entire universe, and he couldn’t forget it, couldn’t force it out of his head as hard as he tried. Lance was a puzzle put together from wonderful pieces. His eyes, blue with small flecks of turquoise, his smile, wide and inviting and safe and gorgeous, his hair framing his ears, his body, so lanky, but with strong shoulders and a broad back – Keith couldn’t forget any of it, even if he were dead.

He found himself yearning to hold Lance again, to feel his arms around him; anchoring and safe.

But things continued, as they always had.

Gomenasai, my name is Sadik-Sama.

I’m a 47 year old Thavnarian Otaku (Doma fan for you gaijins). 

I train with my Katana every day, this superior weapon can cut clean through steel because it is folded over a thousand times, and is vastly superior to any other weapon on earth. I earned my sword license two years ago, and I have been getting better every day.

I speak Doman fluently, both Kugane and the Yanxia dialect, and I write fluently as well. I know everything about Doman history and their shinobu code, which I follow 100%

When I get my Doma visa, I am moving to Kugane to attend a prestigious School to learn more about their magnificent culture. I hope I can become an Samurai to fight by the Warrior of Light!

I own several kimonos, which I wear around town. I want to get used to wearing them before I move to Doma, so I can fit in easier. I bow to my elders and seniors and speak Doman as often as I can, but rarely does anyone manage to respond.

Wish me luck in Doma!

Fresh and clean ~

15 minutes earlier…

Levi: Hange. You’re gonna have to actually clean yourself.

Hange: Nah.

Levi: ….you’ve got literal dirt on your forehead. I can see it from here.

Hange: ….Nah.

Levi: …..

Hange: …… 

Levi: …… >:[

Another one for @eatmyarse! Here’s your Elorcan prompt. It kind of just ran away with me and turned out way longer than I initially planned. Hope you like it! Also tagging @wherewildflowersprosper because I think you’ll enjoy this.

Elorcan: I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention

Shhhhoooosh. Shhhhoooosh. Shhhhoooosh. 

The sound of Lorcan running his whetstone down the length of his weapons was grating on Elide’s nerves. He’d already cleaned and sharpened two of his daggers, his short sword and three knives, and was now working at his long sword. Elide knew he was doing it to work off his frustrations. They had come for a day visit to Orynth and they had planned to leave just after lunch so that they could be back in Perranth by nightfall. But a vicious storm had descended and had prevented them from leaving. The storm still raged outside and Elide listened to the sound of the rain hitting the window. Then that pleasant sound was interrupted. 

Shhhhoooosh. Shhhhoooosh. Shhhhoooosh. 

Elide had had enough. From where she sat on the couch that they shared Elide stretched out her good ankle and poked Lorcan’s thigh. He did nothing except run the whetstone down the length of his sword again. Elide shuffled a little lower on the couch and poked him again. Once again no reaction. Next she poked him in the side, that got a flinch but nothing more. So she kept going. When she practically jabbed Lorcan in the ribs he turned to her. 

“Elide I’m busy,” Lorcan said. She could still hear the simmering anger in his voice. He hated being in Orynth, especially unexpectedly. “Can’t you see what I’m doing? I could hurt myself if you don’t stop it.” 

“Well that’s got to be one of the biggest lies I’ve ever heard,” Elide knew how sure his hands were. 

She watched as he lifted the whetstone again and before it could meet his sword she poked him in the side again. The look he gave her would have sent the bravest men running. 

“I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.” 


Lorcan did that one without looking. 

“I get it Lorcan. You don’t want to be here, but until the storm passes we’re stuck here,” Elide said as she sat up. 

Shhhhooosh. Shhhhooosh. 

Elide stood letting out an exasperated noise. 

“Where are you going?” Lorcan asked as Elide reached the the door. 

“I’m not sleeping in this,” Elide indicated to her simple but nice day dress and left the room without another word.


Elide knocked on the door to the private chambers of the Queen and King. It was still fairly early so she hoped that she wouldn’t be intruding. After a few moments Aelin appeared in a cosy but decorative dressing gown with a book in her hand. 

“Elide,” she said with a smile, “what can I do for you?” 

“I was wondering if you could lend me something to sleep in? I didn’t bring anything.” As Elide explain her predicament a wicked smile appeared on Aelin’s face and she moved out of the way so that Elide could come in. 

“Come with me,” Aelin said as she led the way to her sleeping chambers.

Elide felt a little awkward entering Aelin’s and Rowan’s private rooms but neither of them seemed to care in the slightest. Rowan was seated by the fire polishing one of his own knives and when he saw Elide following his wife he gave her a small smile and a nod.

“Seems the evening for it,” Elide said and Aelin turned to give her a questioning look. “For weapon cleaning. It’s been all Lorcan has done since dinner.” 

Aelin’s smile only turned more wicked. Elide didn’t even know that was possible. They had stopped before Aelin’s walk in wardrobe and the Queen disappeared inside. 

“How much a cranky old fae was Lorcan when he realised he had to stay?” Aelin called from inside. 

“About as cranky as you can imagine,” Elide replied as she heard some rummaging going on. 

“Does Lorcan have a preferred colour?” Aelin asked and Elide was sure she heard Rowan laugh from the other room. 

“What…” Elide entered the walk in wardrobe and saw Aelin with an armful of silk and lace and Elide’a eyes went wide then she groaned. “Aelin.” 

“My immediate guess is black. Am I right?” Elide only nodded, she knew there would be no discouraging Aelin now. Aelin sifted through and discarded some of the brighter colours she had in her arms. Then Aelin held up an all black piece that was edged with black lace, gave it a look then dropped it on the floor. The next she showed Elide was a more modest option, still in black, and before Elide agree to it that one was discarded too. The last one Aelin presented was made of shiny black silk accented with silver lace and the back of it dipped down ridiculously low. Aelin offered to Elide but she gaped a little. 

“Aelin, are you sure? I would be fine with an old shirt or something.” Aelin didn’t budge and just continued to hold out the nightgown. “If that fits over yours there is no way that is going to fit over these,” Elide said as she first indicated to Aelin’s chest and then her own. 

“Oh course it will and it will make them look glorious,” Aelin threw the nightgown at Elide with one last smile. “And it’s yours. I don’t want it back.”


On the way back to her rooms Elide kept up a constant muttering, cursing the storm, cursing Lorcan and cursing Aelin. The nightgown that she had been given was ridiculous. And despite Aelin’s insistence, Elide was sure it wouldn’t fit. When Elide entered her rooms Lorcan was still sharpening his weapons and the sound only made her mood worse. Barely giving him a glance Elide stormed past him to the bathing room. 

Her curses continued as she stripped of, now mainly directed at Lorcan and his sullenness. Elide slipped the nightgown over her head and as it slid down her body it felt like liquid. The fabric was absolutely exquisite. As she knew it would, the nightgown caught at her breasts so she gave it a firm tug. 

“Damn it Aelin.” 

Aelin had been right. By some miraculous magic in the fabric the nightgown fit, and it fit wonderfully. The hem of it grazed her mid thigh and the fabric clung delicately to her body. Her back was bare and it plummeted dangerously low and the tightness across her chest had created, as Aelin put it, a glorious looking cleavage. Well if poking didn’t get Lorcan’s attention, maybe this would.


Lorcan didn’t mean to sullen and put out, he just hated staying at Orynth unexpectedly. He was not a social person, and everyone else was. And everyone else loved Elide and he would not deprive her of that affection. What he usually ended up doing was sitting somewhere off by himself while they all chatted and laughed. Sometimes Whitethorn would sit with him and they would chat quietly as he too could get overwhelmed by the… youngness of Terrasen’s court.


As he ran his whetstone down his sword again he heard the door of the bathing room open. He looked up to say something to Elide, to maybe apologise, he wasn’t entirely sure yet. But whatever words he was going to say died on his lips and he saw her standing there.

His jaw dropped.

His whetstone clattered on the floor.

Hellas damn him. He raked his eyes up her body, eyes lingering first on Elide’s bare legs, then he took in the dips and curves that were so obvious with the way the fabric clung to her body. Lorcan’s eyes then travelled up further and he swallowed. 

“My eyes are up here Lorcan.” Elide’s voice cut through his thoughts like one of the blades he had just sharpened.

Lorcan eyes darted quickly to Elide’s and her face completely unreadable. He couldn’t tell what she wanted. She started to walk towards him and all his attention was focused on her. Lorcan couldn’t help but watch the way her body moved in that black silk and the way the paleness of her skin contrasted against the darkness of it and enhanced… well everything. 

Elide stopped a little way away from him and she lent over to pick something off the floor. Every rational thought went out of Lorcan’s head and all he saw and thought of was Elide. If Elide noticed his reaction she didn’t let on. She only continued to stalk towards him and when she reached him Elide lent towards him and stopped mere inches away from his face.

“You dropped this.”

Elide put something in Lorcan’s hand. Whetstone. It was his whetstone. That he had dropped. Elide then poked him hard in the chest and gave him a mischievous smirk before she turned and now stalked towards the bed. Lorcan took in the back of the nightgown, which was hardly anything at all.

Elide had him wrapped around her little finger and she knew it. 

Lorcan was a dead man.

How They Kiss (Tara’s Romanced BioWare Companions Edition)

Alistair’s kisses are infused with wonder and gratitude and, under it all, the promise of heat, like a banked fire that only needs tinder to flare up into an enthusiastic bonfire. His lips are tender, soft as rose petals against the corner of a mouth, an eyelid, the curve of a brow. Capturing lips is a promise, a certainty, and with that certainty comes strength. His arms are strong and his heart open, a gift freely offered.

When Fenris kisses, it’s because he chooses it. He gives because he can; his mouth is his, his life is his. His kisses are heady, full of coiled strength, and yet there’s vulnerability in them, too, like a touch of honey in a fine wine; a gift of unexpected sweetness. Sometimes he smiles–that small smile, that Fenris smile, the smile like he has a secret he wants to share–as he curves his mouth against his lover’s and thinks I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours without having the words tainted by the memory of servitude. What freedom, what freedom there is in that.

Sometimes Sebastian kisses gently, tenderly, prayerfully–the kiss of a priest, the kiss of a penitent. Other times, his kisses are deep, wild, filled with passion and yearning. Mostly, though, his wild kisses are tempered with devotion, with love, with the certainty that sharing is more satisfying than taking (all his kisses used to take without giving, but that was a different time and he a different man). He kisses like a man who’s lost families, whose faith has wavered, but who still seeks salvation, and who knows home is found in his lover’s arms.

Isabela kisses like she drinks, with gusto and enthusiasm. Her mouth is vibrant, talented; it is easy to drown against Isabela’s lips, easy to drink of her and feel tipsy with need. Her mouth never lingers overlong. Later, though, curled against a lover she thinks is sleeping, her full lips find the nape of a neck, a bare shoulder and these are softer kisses, tenderer ones, the kind of kisses she cannot yet give on waking. Someday, perhaps. Someday.

Cullen’s kisses are prayers, sometimes grateful, sometimes pleading, sometimes reverent. He transports and is transported, and once he begins he does not hold back. He does not kiss without using his hands–as lips find lips, his hands cup a face, trail down a back, curve around a waist. His hands tell him this is real, is not a dream, that the mouth curving against his mouth will not vanish if he opens his eyes. He is himself when he kisses, not the collection of roles and titles and pieces of armor he has amassed. He is Cullen, hope and faith and fresh air rippling a secluded lake and the gift of a lover’s hand enfolded so gently in his own.

Garrus may not have pliable human lips, but he kisses in a hundred thousand other ways that can never be mistaken for anything but what they are. The brush of his hand against the small of a back, the linger of fingers as he hands over a cleaned weapon, the butt of one companionable shoulder against another, the exchange of banter. His kisses are the brief flutter of mandible against cheek, or the more lingering press of brow to brow. His turian mouth may not purse the way his lover’s does, but that does not stop him from trying. No one, no one kissed by Garrus Vakarian, could ever find that mouth lacking.

Bring Your Friends To Work Day

A/N: just an idea I had about how Deadpool’s friends enjoy his being basically indestructible.

Warnings: it’s Deadpool people, need I say more?

“Nat you got three more hostiles heading your way!” “Thanks Clint!” “Steve you’ve got four…had four coming to you. Damnit Bucky stop sneaking up on people!!” “I don’t sneak! I’m a lurker, it’s my thing. I am an assassin.” “Former assassin” “yes, thanks Steve. Former assassin. Besides, you’re supposed to be this amazing spy. I shouldn’t be able to scare you like that.”

“Guys, less talking more fighting.” A sassy “yes mom!!!” Is all Tony receives but they go back to the fight so he’s counting it as a win. “Mr. Stark?” “Yes underoos?” “I think we’re gonna need backup. I have a friend I’d like to call in.” “Wait, how does the kid already have contacts?” “It’s called networking Sam.” “He saved your ass didn’t he?” “…..maybe.” “Ha!!” “Focus! Alright Queens, call him in.” “Yes Cap!”

*meanwhile, across town.*

“Y/n!!” “AH!!! DAMMIT Wade!! Can’t you knock?” “Oh please, like I haven’t already seen everything you’ve got.” “Not the point Wade. What do you want?” “Peter called, The Avengers need us.” “I literally just sat down Wade.” “Woman, the city needs us. The Avengers have called us in & I am not missing the chance to see all those asses in skintight body armor. So get your tits up & let’s go kick some cock gobblers in the motherfucking ass.” “I don’t wanna get my tits up.” “Bucky Barnes is on the team.” “Dammit Wade…..alright, let me get my babies.” “Hey wear that hot leather number I made you!!”

“Wade? They called us, why are we skulking?” “I wanna see what they’re like first OH SNAP!! Did you see that thigh lock? She’s amazing!” “Wade, no. She’ll eat you alive.” “Well maybe that’s a kink for me y/n.” “There’s something wrong with you.”

They run into the fight, Wade & y/n quickly starting their normal banter. The team is a bit taken aback at first but soon find themselves joining in. “Wade, why are you counting bullets?” “I forgot my bag again.” “Fuck man, what kind of merc are you? You constantly leave shit behind!!” “Don’t start with me woman don’t think I didn’t notice that you failed to put underwear on.” “I hate pantylines & no one wants to fight while experiencing a wedgie.” “She’s got a point.” “See? Widow agrees, your argument is invalid.” “Fuck off y/n” the merc flips you off but you just high five the redhead and keep shooting.

*later at the compound*

“That’s not what happened Wade!!” “Oh for fucks sake Peter, that’s totally accurate! You were hanging upside down by your foot. You got caught in your own web, and I totally saved your adolescent ass.” “you didn’t save me, you fell offa building and broke your back because you were laughing so hard. Y/n is the one who cut me down!”

“Ha!! So you admit it!!” Peter groans loudly, he’s starting to regret ever inviting Wade. On the plus side, it looks like y/n and Bucky have hit it off, they seem to be bonding over having morons to look after. “Ya know, your Wade sounds a lot like a more foul mouthed Stevie. And that’s saying something because Rogers has a mouth on him.” “Yeah y/n would love for him to get that mouth on her!” “shut the fuck up Wade.” “Oh wait, I’m sorry. You prefer your men to have a metal arm.” Without a thought y/n shoots Wade in the head shocking the team until he starts slurring his words but doesn’t seem otherwise affected.

“See, that just proved I’m right. You only shoot me when I hit a nerve.” “You’re always on my nerves Wade.” “Yeah but you only shoot me when I’m right.” the smirk that crosses Bucky’s face hasn’t been seen by Steve in 70 years. “So you like my arm doll?” “Well yeah Barnes, how could I not? Especially when it’s attached to the rest of you?” “What do you say we steal some of Stark’s whiskey & go clean our weapons?” “I say you’ve got yourself a date Sarge.” They leave hand in hand, shoulders shaking with laughter as Wade yells after them “hey was that a euphemism? It was wasn’t it? Y'all are gonna fuck, eewwwww you’re gonna fuck an old ma OOW!!” Everyone looks at Steve, quite shocked to see the Captain smirking and blowing smoke from Natasha’s pistol. “Nice friends you’ve got Peter, invite them back anytime.”

I hope y'all enjoyed this, I know it’s late but writer’s block is a bitch.

@bolontiku @suz123 @whiskeyandwashitape @frenchtherainbow @theimpossibleg1rl @supersoldierslover @nenyakj @ryverpenrad @pegasusdragontiger @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @irachyrooposts @misshyen @sebstanfanma @andreaatlyss   @heavenlyhavok @sarazzprime @becaamm @tilltheendwilliwrite @this-kitty-has-claws

-//u//- Awww! I love you, anon!

But, while I have no problem with writing poly relationships ( and thank you for being so thoughtful about asking ^-^), I’m gonna do them separately. I feel like that’ll be easier to make, and you guys get two scenarios for the price of one!

(Plus, Reaper’s kinda got outta hand. It’s a lot longer than I intended it to be. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )


When you first arrived, the only thing on his mind was the safety of the organization. You being an outsider- albeit from a different world- made you a threat. He was one of the first to monitor you (though it felt more like babysitting for both parties), and the first to interrogate you.

The others grew fond of you quicker than what was comfortable for him. What made him feel even less comfortable was when you let the name, “Jack,” accidentally slip from your lips while addressing him, making him blush.

He first realized something was wrong when the idea of you finding your way back to your world, caused his heart to ache; it was beginning to be a problem. He had trouble breathing for the first time in years. He couldn’t get his thoughts strait, or he couldn’t think at all. One look and he was out of commission. And he hated it.

“Are you ever going to stop staring?” Ana puts plainly, seated across from him.

“I’m not staring.” Soldier tilts his head toward her. “I was just thinking is all.”

“Mmhmm.” She wipes the rag along the scope of her gun. “And, I’m just dusting the table.”

“I don’t need your sass, Ana.”

“And, I don’t need your lies, Soldier.” She continues cleaning her weapon, choosing not to look at him. “I know how you feel, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Stop lecturing me. I’m not a child.” She has his full attention now.

“Well then, stop acting like one.” She places her rag down and sighs. “You should really just say something. It’d be so much easier that way.”

“I don’t need to say anything. It’s just another obstacle to overcome.”

“LOVE is not an obstacle, Jack!!!” She slams her fist on the table.

“Who the HELL said ANYTHING about love!?” He glares at her through his visor and she can feel the intensity of his eyes.

“Hey, uh, you guys okay?” You meekly voice from beside the table and he visibly tenses.

“Yes, we’re fine. Just a small disagreement.” Ana grants you a weary smile and you nod.

“Alright.” You turn to face Jack. “You too?”

His head is in his hand as he turns away from you. “Mmhmm.”

You nod once more and scurry back to the other side of the room.

“You know, that red face of yours looks like love to me.” Ana begins once you’re out of earshot.

He groans, not wanting to start another argument on the losing side.

It was through Sombra’s shenanigans that you had came to this world, and it was also through Sombra’s shenanigans that you arrived at Talon’s main headquarters.

It wasn’t everyday she stepped through the doors, beeming, and dragging in a bound, struggling, person behind her (nor was it everyday that Reaper had wished he’d just stayed in bed).

As the unknown subject was being explained to the officials, he just knew he would somehow end up being involved. Only to proved right when he was personally asked, by Sombra, to keep them safe.

“Haven’t I had to look after enough children?” He puts plainly.

“Nah.” Sombra replies, not completely paying attention to what she was eating. “And, I mean, they aren’t that young. You’re just old.”

He grunts, but agrees when she offers to take a few jobs that he didn’t want to do in return.

And, so, here you sit, on a couch in his quarters, watching T.v.

“We are NOT WATCHING CARTOONS.” He demands.

“But, you said I could put on whatever!” You whine as he reaches for the remote. You begrudgedly put it in his hand and cross your arms. “Can we at least not watch a dad movie this time.”

“I’ll take it into consideration.” He skims through the guide, landing on some show about the American mafia. He’s only half paying attention when he hears that he had gotten a message.

Group Chat:
S: hey gabe (i can call u that right?) u busy?
R: I’ve told you before that, no, you cannot call me that.
R: And, I AM busy, babysitting.
S: ohhhh i see ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
R: Don’t send me that face ever again.
WM: If you two are just going to talk. Do it off of group text.
S: soooooo u havin fun over there??
R: If you don’t need anything, stop texting me.
S: come on u gotta admit you think they cute
S: *theyre
R: And here I thought you didn’t care about grammar.
S: dont lecture me english is hard
R: If you’re done talking, I’m leaving this conversation.

Reaper puts his devise back on the table beside the couch, before it suddenly sprang to life again, showing full holographic images. This caught your attention as he scrambled to cover them before you could realize they were of you.

He shoves his holo-pad into his jacket and forcibly removes himself from the room.

Group Chat:
S: not so fast mi amigo
R: Where did you get those pictures from!?
S: are u forgetting what i do for a living?
S: man u got A LOT of pictures on here. i mean it’s kinda impressive how you havent gotten caught
S: oooooo. I like this one. this ones cute
S: [picture sent]

Another picture sprung out. It was of you, attention set elsewhere, as you laughed at a distant joke. He shoved it away, typing with fury onto the keypad.

Group Chat:
S: i dont understand how u were able to get such nice shots
S: did u used 2 do photography?
R: Stop stalling. What do you want?
S: u know me so well

He felt like banging his head against a wall. He knew that he had dug himself into a hole, but in comes Sombra, with a jackhammer and a devilish grin, commanding him to dig deeper.

Reaper was nearly dragging his feet as he reentered the room, sitting as far away from you as possible.

“You okay over there?” You inspect his slouched posture.

“Peachy.” He growls and you could almost feel the hate seeping out of him.

You turn away, not speaking another word, afraid to set him off. He crosses his arms, stiffly, in thought of how he was going to, “repay,” his friend.

Group Chat:
WM: Sombra, please stop blackmailing people on group text.

dragonlover123a  asked:

Yandere!Reaper and 76's (separate) s/o gets kidnapped! What do they do, and what are their reactions when s/o shyly admits that they feel the safest they've ever felt when around them?

Here ya go! Hope you like it >_


· First off, he wouldn’t act like he’s dying on the inside. He would play it off as their S/O let themselves be kidnapped and now he has to go get them.

· Everyone just rolls their eyes because they know how worried he is about you.

· He is going on a rampage; he will kill everyone in his path to get you back.

· When he finds you he won’t admit it that he is so relieved to see that you’re safe, only hold you tightly to him and just as quickly, let you go and tell you to hurry up.

· When you tell him, very shyly too, that they feel the safest when they are with you Reaper just stands still for a moment, shocked.

· He’s so glad that he has his mask on so you can’t see his face redden.

· He quickly moves his mask (not completely) and sweeps you to him and kisses you passionately.

· Quickly stops, puts his mask on, and tells you to move your ass outta there.


· He is furious and worried when he finds out when you are kidnapped.

· He gets all his good hunting weapons, he’s cleaning house tonight.

· He leaves nothing alive in the complex; everyone that was involved is dead.

· When he finds you he is so happy, he tells you how happy he is to see that you’re safe.

· He carries you outside, he won’t admit it but he wants to feel your warmth and weight because he missed you so much.

· When you whisper to him that you feel the safest around him, he doesn’t stop moving, he doesn’t look at you, his face reddens, and all he does is hold you tighter and say that he loves you.

thevampireauthoress  asked:

I live in a country where guns have to be licensed and therefore I cannot get hold of one to experience this myself, but how does it feel to hold in your hand/s? What is it made of? Does it get warm under your touch or does it remain chill? How does it feel to know that you have a machine of death in your hands, or do you get so used to it you do not think about it? I'm not really sure about what type of guns I'm using in my story so any information you can give me is so, so helpful!!!

Just so you understand the sort of mentality you’re dealing with, hubby and I found your description highly amusing at first, and at first I treated it like a joke, and I realized after the fact how tasteless that response is. We’re jaded to the seriousness of guns; that’s the attitude you’re looking to replicate.

We make a habit of calling them “weapons,” not “guns.” We’ll usually get chewed out if we just call them guns, though if we use the proper term for the weapon (rifle, pistol, etc) that’s usually acceptable.

As far as technical info goes, here’s an excerpt from the Wiki page on M16s:
The M16 is a lightweight, 5.56 mm, air-cooled, gas-operated, magazine-fed assault rifle, with a rotating bolt. The M16’s receivers are made of 7075 aluminum alloy, its barrel, bolt, and bolt carrier of steel, and its handguards, pistol grip, and buttstock of plastics.

5.56 is the standard round (and we call them rounds, not bullets; the bullet is the tip of the round and the casing/shell is the rest of it) for M16, M4, and M249, the weapons most commonly assigned to enlisted. We have to walk around and pick up the shells if we’re firing our weapons at a range. 

Me and hubby agree that holding a weapon for the first time is surprisingly uneventful. It feels the same as if someone had put a hammer or a crowbar in your hand for the first time. Guns in American culture are so prevalent that when you’re younger they seem benign and of no great consequence. This is with me coming from a gunless background and hubby having some experience with weapons prior to joining. After a while it does completely stop dawning on you that the contraption you’re holding is a deadly weapon and most people would be unnerved to see them. 

We mostly only have weapons on us during basic training, during a field exercise, and during deployment, and during deployment your weapon might very well be locked up for a part of it if you aren’t deployed to a combat zone. There’s no real reason to just lug around a rifle around during a normal work day. So in actuality, I probably spent less than 25% of my time in the army with an actual weapon. 

Our weapons are made with metals (and some parts plastic) and due to Science metal does tend to get warm when held, yes. They can of course be hot or cold given the environment. It’s dreadfully unpleasant to hold them without gloves in the snow, especially when your fingers start going numb and you’re not 100% sure you’ve got an adequate grip on it. They reek of CLP and metal and they leave a lasting smell on your hands, more so if you’ve been firing.

CLP of course being Cleaner, Lubricant, and Protectant, basically just a lubricating oil we use on our weapons to ensure all the parts are moving smoothly so it hopefully doesn’t jam. A lot of people will literally pour CLP on their weapons and they just drench the poor thing and you don’t need that, folks. Just a few drops will usually do as long as you’re maintaining it regularly.

I preferred pistols over rifles. I enjoyed taking them apart more and shooting with them, but I only ever got to do that once or twice as a for-fun thing because only our officers used the M9. 

Lucky for me I was assigned an M249 during three of my four years. Typically only one person per squad has a 249, so there’s only ever maybe four or five people per platoon with one, maybe 15-20 per company.

It’s classified as a “light machine gun,” but it’s still over twice as heavy as the M16 and required belts of ammo that were a pain to carry around. While everyone else could just prop up their weapon where convenient, the 249 needs to be set up with its stupid little tripod and then sit on the ground and be a tripping hazard until you pick it up again. It fires at a much higher rate than the m16, (I mean, it’s a machine gun) so for a fellow who depends on prescription eyeglasses (such as myself) it can become impossible to shoot because the damn thing sends up so much smoke and fog that it renders lenses useless. I also remember one time we were instructed to sling while marching and I fucked up and loosened up my sling on accident and I couldn’t stop and fix it or unsling it because slinged weapons was the directive and we were on uneven terrain and I wound up walking with that bastard for two miles with it bouncing against me every now and then. I had bruises all up and down my front. I hated that thing; it was an inconvenience and an annoyance. Could not have been happier when I finally got an M16. 

Speaking of slinging the weapon, we generally don’t sling it to our backs unless we’re carrying something or doing some other task that requires full use of our arms. Otherwise we hold it in the “low ready,” with the weapon pointing toward the ground and away from people.

Having our weapon around is pretty much second nature. Maintaining our arms is of utmost importance, some would say over maintaining ourselves. Some will choose to clean their weapon over cleaning themselves. We memorize the serial numbers and carry them with us everywhere unless we can physically lock them up. Leaving an unattended weapon is a serious issue. We also clean them regularly, sometimes multiple times a day if the weapons have been in a compromising environment i.e. we’ve been crawling through sand or something. Dropping your weapon is pretty much blasphemous and will reward you with several push ups if anyone sees. Some people were just Extra and if they dropped their weapon and there was no one around to punish them, they’d punish themselves because they disrespected their weapon ors.

Flagging is usually taken very seriously, although there have been occasions where I’ve seen someone get more chewed out for dropping the weapon than for flagging someone, which I think is steaming bull shit tbqh. We’re taught to NEVER, EVER point a weapon at someone, even in jest, so of course it never happens, ever, because we totally follow instructions at all times, completely and unsarcastically. 

I can say that having left the army, hubby is still a fan of guns and he and his best friend go to the shooting range occasionally, but I am rather firmly pro gun control so I never really see/use them anymore. So all sorts can go in and come out of the army and how each person feels about weapons will be unique, but generally while we’re in, they’re an extension of ourselves and a soldier’s most important asset.

And to sum up, there’s usually three types of gun people in the army:

1) I have a gun. Cool I guess. (most common imo)
2) I have a 5.56 mm, air-cooled, gas-operated, magazine-fed assault rifle, with a rotating bolt which was implemented into service in 1964 to replace the Garand, Carbine, and Browning with a maximum firing range of 3,600 meters and an effective firing range of 550 meters. 
3) I don’t actually know shit about guns but I really want to be macho and impress people so I pretend to be knowledgeable and make a fool out of myself while annoying everyone around me.


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