you are looking so dead and mangled

Moon of Fire Part i (Sastiel Sequel)

Sastiel is a fic inspired from Rowaelin’s child and Feysand’s child being mates. Thank you to @dorianthekinkymf for reading this first part early, and giving me her amazing support, and for @dr-woodsprite for the title inspiration! And also to the girls who have done beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful Sastiel edits, @cassianandfenrysaremyboyos @readinglikewildfire @thebookdiviner @poseiodn @dorianthekinkymf I love you guys so much a thousand thank yous!

If you haven’t read A Court of Fire and Dreams:
Check out Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV and Part V.

Moon of Fire:
Part i, Part ii, Part iii, Part iv, Part v


Darkness covered Seraphine.
She was delirious, sprawled on a wooden floor, a wild raging pain deep in her head. Though her hands—bloody, shackled.
Despite this, a bigger problem was at hand.
Below her, a circle similar to the one drawn by Amren and Feyre at the House of Wind was slightly visible in the dark.
I came alive when I met you she had said to him, before she was to go back home to her family. To Terrasen.
Now, bars surrounded her from all sides. Wooden walls caved her in. She was trapped, her powers, her fire non-existent.
Not again, not again, not again. Seraphine forced her mind to calm, but she didn’t feel in control of herself anymore.
A corner of the cloth covering the wagon was pulled back. She stared at a wild eyed man, his eyes the colour of blood, wearing strange clothing she had never seen before.
“Got somewhere else to be, princess?”
He laughed as she said nothing.
“Didn’t think so.”
The man tried to grab her through the bars, laughing maniacally, and she felt now, that the tunic once owned by Kastiel was too short to be worn here.
“Don’t try anything funny,” he spat at her.
Seraphine had been so sure that her family needed her here, that they were in danger. Now she didn’t know what to think.
She swallowed her fear, listening intently at the sounds outside. The rustling of never ending trees. The breeze of fresh grass. Horses, being tended to. Though her powers were gone, her fae hearing weren’t. They must have been at an outpost, her capturers taking a break and resting the horses.
Near silent footsteps approached the horses at the front of the carriage, murmuring gentle words to the animals.
Seraphine was drawn to their tender voice. She crawled towards the edge of the wagon, tearing out a small piece of cloth from the bottom of her dress.
She takes a deep breath and pushes her hands through the bars and the cloth, towards the horse tender.
“For anyone in Terassen,” she whispers to him, dropping the piece. Seraphine didn’t know if he caught it, or if it simply landed on the ground.
The horse tender was about to make a sound, about to speak to her, before he was yanked heavily back. He yells in fright, a commotion breaking off as Seraphine hears the sound of skin pounding on skin.
The doors to her wagon opened, blinding her with bright daylight.
“What did you give him,” the red eyed guard yells.
Seraphine crawled to the back of the wagon, making herself into a ball. She was weak, she had no powers, she was not strong enough to escape into the heart of what could only be Oakwald Forest.
“I said,” the man yells, grabbing Seraphine by the shoulders and shaking her. “What did you give him?”
Seraphine said nothing.
Red eyes were the last thing she saw before the pummel of a sword knocked her out.


The journey through Oakwald forest left Seraphine’s mind in tatters. Her cheek lay on the cool wood, trying to clear her mind. She couldn’t tell how many days had passed, how many hours she had spent in the darkness of her wagon. The men forced her a drink, which suppressed her strength and powers. If they were travelling to Oakwald Forest, then there was a high chance that they were headed to Terrasen—her home. She snickered at the thought of these men bargaining her for whatever it is they desired from her court. Did they think they would make it out alive? The thought made Seraphine warm with joy. Going home didn’t seem so bad now.
Her heavy lids threatened to close again, just before she sees in the corner of her wagon, a flower, the moon illuminating it through the covers. She crawled towards it, her sodden tunic dragging through the markings on the wooden planks. She picks up the delicate blue, almost silver thing, pressing it to her face, inhaling the familiar scent—moonflower.
She swore she could hear giggling in the far distance.

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Safe (Jon x Reader)

“Imagine being Ramsay’s prisoner in Winterfell and waiting to be rescued by Jon.”

Requested by @iknowyouwuvme: “Jon x Reader where he’s really protective of the reader and he finds out that she was raped by Ramsay and Jon kills him.”

Warnings: Spoliers from season 6 of Game of Thrones, implied rape, violence, murder, Ramsay being Ramsay.

You’d been the prisoner of the Bolton Bastard for what felt like forever. He was a cruel monster that never failed to surprise you with new torture methods, mental and physical. He’d raped you, beat you, and over the past month, even flayed you. Your only solace was when you allowed your thoughts to drift back to Jon. The only man you’d ever loved, the man you were taken from and brought here.

You stood in the room you’d been locked in, your eyes focused on the battle taking place outside Winterfell. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you watched. Dread filled you, Ramsay had promised to bring Jon back, alive, to Winterfell just so he could force you to watch him kill him in front of you or kill you in front of Jon. It would depend on his mood. You stepped away from the window when you watched the wildings and other men who fought with Jon being overwhelmed in the fields.

You knew that Ramsay didn’t fight fair, he would lead Jon into a trap. Your eyes went wide as you thought about the possibility of never having Jon hold you in his arms again. How did things become like this?

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anonymous asked:

whew! finally caught the ASK BOX!!!!!!! alaude + hibari + xanxus with rebellios tomboy s.o please??


~I have my own ideas of being a tomboy so if this is not what you had in mind, Anon, I’m sorry. Special thanks to Admins Enma and Chrome for helping me out with this ask. XD~

admin adelheid


Alaude’s eyes narrowed as soon as he entered the house. It felt empty despite the servants meeting him at the door. He turned to one and asked immediately.

“Where is she?”

The servant bowed. “The mistress is out in the field, master. It seems one of the fences has broken and the cows have gotten loose.”

Alaude needed no more explanation. He ignored the disapproval he caught in his staff’s tone because he really didn’t care. He married you because you were like this. Despite knowing that you will cause him eternal aggravation.

Rushing out into the field via the back door of the mansion he immediately spotted you. His breath caught at the sight you made. Hair in a tight braid wearing a tight set of pants and a dress shirt he recognized as his. You were atop a rocking, bucking horse that you were using to physically force the hordes of cattle back into their pen with the help of four other male hands. He ignored the lump in his stomach that feared for your safety. How those beasts could have easily crushed you if you fell from your horse.

The crisis was fixed in no time and he leaned back against the mansion wall as he watched you order the men to fix the fence as soon as possible. You were about to take your horse back to the stables when you noticed him staring back at you. Your bright, open smile almost made Alaude return it. It has always fascinated him how unafraid you are with expressing your emotions.

His eyes wandered over every exposed curve your clothes were revealing and just like that his worry melted into a fiery desire and he shot glares at the nearby males who had long known better than to ogle the master’s wife when she dressed the way she did. Besides they respected her too much. She had never acted inappropriately with them.

“Don’t tell me you’re mad.” You began as you came closer to him. “They would have destroyed the other fences if we left them like that.”

“I know.”

You eyed him knowingly though. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“I know.” He frowned at you thoughtfully for a little bit before gathering you into his arms. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

You blink in confusion even as you relished in the warmth of his embrace. “I don’t think I understand what you mean. You’ll have to elaborate, my love.”

Alaude held you tighter. “You know what I mean. You were the one who shot that commander while he was meeting with that don and made it look like he was killed by the don’s Famiglia three days ago.”

“Oh?” you still feigned innocence. “Now why would I do that?”

“You’ve noticed how that Famiglia was gaining power through the military just as much as I had. You knew what was going to happen if they had the government at their back.” Alaude replied, squeezing you tighter against him and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You push back and held your chin up high in defiance daring him to scold you. “Are you telling me this to reprimand me, my love? I didn’t think I had to explain my motives for wanting our Family safe.”

“Of course not. I’m here to give you Giotto’s thanks, to tell you that he worries so please tell him before you do something reckless again next time,” Alaude snorted. As if he would have married you if he could have controlled you so easily. He pulled your hips close and ground his arousal against your belly, enjoying the way your lips parted and your eyes darkened in desire as he did so. “And to make love to my wife…”


He had just turned the corner when he saw you knock a man unconscious with a steel chair. His blood ran cold, however, when another one crept up on you from behind with a large knife getting ready to disembowel you.

He moved without even thinking about it.

In one swift strike he drove his tonfa right into the man’s temple breaking the man’s skull in.

Your face brightened when you saw him. “Kyouya!”

He swallowed hard and dragged you towards him in an embrace that was borderline suffocating.

It felt as though he had wandered the Land of the Dead looking for you among the scattered corpses in the hospital. You told him you were going to visit a friend in this hospital today so when he found out about the massacre being planned just for the sake of getting rid of another mobster from another Famiglia to stop him from testifying Hibari rushed over, half dreading the sight of your mangled body decorating the ceiling.

“Kyouya?” You held onto him tightly, worried at how hard he was shivering. “Are you alright?”

Instead of answering your question he held you at arm’s length and furiously looked you in the eye. “What were you thinking, woman?! Did you know what kind of people these were just now?! You should have hidden yourself!”

You scowled right back at him, trying to ignore the fact that his grip was going to leave bruises in the morning. “I can take care of myself, Kyouya. Besides I was protecting my friends. I couldn’t just leave them behind like that!”

“Why didn’t you call me?!”

“My phone broke when I drove it into someone’s skull!”

Dammit! he brought you close to hug you tight again and screamed at you mentally through gritted teeth. Goddammit it stop this! Stop worrying me to death! I love you! Do you have any idea what would happen to me if I lost you?! Can’t you think about me just once for one damned second?!

But of course he didn’t say that. Not to you. He had known how you were when he fell in love with you. Your fire and your strong heart and the fact that you didn’t cling to him every goddamn time were one of the reasons he held you precious to him. He just wished he could bring himself to be just as strong as you and tell you just how much you meant to him. But he had no words. All he could do was hope you understood him.

“Fine. I’m sorry. I’ll be more cautious next time.” You whispered in his ear as you hugged him back.

Kyouya sighed in relief. It seemed as though you did understand, after all.


Everyone in the courtyard watched you take down a man twice your own size in the blink of an eye and look down at him as though he were a bug under your heel.

“Say that again, asshole,” you dared the man currently writhing in pain at your feet. “Tell me again how I have the Boss wrapped around my cunt?”

But the man couldn’t speak. After you drove your fist into his throat, everyone who saw doubted he’d be able to speak again.

“Another one?” Squalo sighed as you turned on your heel to head back into the mansion.

“Ushishishi~ This one actually had the balls to tell her to suck it.” Belphegor replied for you from the balcony above where he was watching. It was always fun to watch you lose your patience.

“Mou, these idiots~” Lussuria shook his head in exasperation as he retreated back to the mansion alongside you.

“Pay up,” Mammon told Levi who was shaking his head in annoyance. “I knew it was going to be the big guy.”

The usual protocol for having offended their Cloud usually came with a twenty four hour stay in the med wing. Without pain meds or any kind of treatment. If they were lucky that is.

You were in too bad of a mood to really care if anyone was staring or not. And now you were filthy too. You made your way back to your rooms, anxious for a shower. As you were taking your bra off you sensed more than heard a presence coming up behind you.

In one flowing motion you throw a dagger hidden in your waistband right at the trespasser. Only for him to catch it right before it took his eye out.

“That a way to greet me?” Xanxus asked, eyeing your topless form with more than a little interest.

You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your lips, your eyes softening at the sight of him. “Hey.”

He smirked at you and carefully placed the weapon on your dresser as he approached you. “Heard about what happened in the courtyard.”

“Just a waste of time, don’t worry about it.” You told him, giving him a peck on the lips as your arms circled around his neck. “More importantly, we weren’t expecting you back till later tonight. Did the meeting go well?”

“Hn. As well as can be expected.” He replied staring at your face, his brow furrowed, his rough hands enjoying the satiny feel of the skin on your back. “Want me to shoot his face in?”

You snorted. “And how is that going to help me? It’ll just make things worse. Besides they were just new recruits who don’t know any better.”

“You’re going soft.”

“Am not. I just beat the idiot half into the afterlife, how is that soft? Besides, Squalo’s the one who gets to decide if he’s capable enough for the Family to hold onto or dispose of, not me.”

“You’re an officer, you get a say.”

“Not with these kinds of people I don’t. It’ll only give the recruits wrong ideas. Killing people is easy, killing ideas is a whole different shit fest altogether and I’d rather not deal with that.”

Xanxus scowled at that in displeasure because you were right. It was just that it was getting harder and harder to ignore how the new recruits keep on testing their dominance over you every single damn year. It’s beginning to get to him.

“What did this one say this time?” he couldn’t help but ask. There was always a different version every year. Mammon was probably keeping a list.

You chuckled. “That I’ve got you whipped because you can’t control me and keep me where I belong instead of ordering around my betters.”

“Ahhh… Sexist pig, huh?”

“Uh hm.” And then you gave him a mischievous grin, grabbed his arm and threw him over your shoulder making him land on the bed hard.

“The FUCK?!”

But then you straddled his legs and began pulling his pants down eagerly. Soothing the dark skinned Italian’s temper as you lovingly stroked his sex with both hands, already eyeing it hungrily. “Do you mind if I get dessert before dinner…?”

Xanxus threw back his head in a lustful laugh even as your head bent between his legs. If only those fuckers knew how much you liked going down on him despite your tough attitude outside they’d be jealous as all hell. It made him smirk in pride.

And then the room filled up with nothing but his groans, cursing for more.

Just Hold On

Request: Can you please do an imagine where the reader(female) is in the van in the S-6 finale and Daryl is in bad shape. You find him a blanket and hold him until dwight gets them out after Abe’s chosen Daryl passes out you help care for him at hilltop when Daryl realizes whats going on hes shocked to find out you caring for him.He thought you hated him. You found his scars and he opens up to you.You have always loved him but he’s always so mean. Please=super awkward Daryl Fluff comfort/care love

A/N: Super excited to be writing again tbh

     “Just hold on, just a little bit longer,” you whisper, emotion spilling into every word you said to Daryl. He was covered in his own blood and shallow breaths were the only response you got. You could tell he was close to blacking out. Your arms were wrapped around his much larger frame, keeping the blanket secure while his head rested on your chest. The hunter didn’t acknowledge you, most likely in a world of his own pain, just trying to hold on to the thin line of consciousness he had left. 

     You were gently running your fingers through his hair, attempting to bring yourself some serenity as the man you loved was bleeding out in your arms. Tears were no stranger to your face in this moment; you were desperately praying to whoever, whatever was out there that Daryl would survive. You couldn’t let him die, not now.  

     The love for him blossomed back at the CDC. You don’t know what did it, maybe it was his fierce determination to keep everyone safe, but you knew in that moment that you fell hard. It continued at the farm, growing more and more. Although you were undeniably attached to this man, you never got too close. You knew this love was one-sided, that he only felt your presence bothersome. Every time you approached him, he’d snap or give you stares that froze the courage in your body.

     But now, he was weak and letting you take care of him. You were whispering reassurances in his ear that you would keep him alive and that he didn’t have to worry when the truck lurched forward and stopped. A groan escaped Daryl’s lips from the sudden motion.

      Then the doors swung open to reveal Dwight. He yanked Daryl out of your arms and then pulled you as well. That’s when you saw it.

     Your family was lined up, all on their knees. 

     Dwight pushed Daryl to the left while you got tugged to the right by another arm. You were forced to fall to your knees next to Carl, who gave you a sympathetic but intense look. 

      You glance to the hunter, aching to be by his side and protect him from harm. He was looking at you already, fear evident in his eyes, making you feel terrified of what was to come.

     And then the trailer door opened.

     Sobs came from everywhere once Negan and his men left you all there, taking in the sight of Abraham’s mangled body. Rick looked defeated at this point, slowly taking in what happened. 

     You couldn’t look at the body, not without feeling a wave of sickness wash over you. You couldn’t look at your dead friend, not after what Negan did to him. 

      So instead you look at Daryl who was silently crying, unable to move. You were the first to stand, rushing over to Daryl who looked on the brink of something deadly. You sit and cradle his head on your lap while you both cry. But mere moments later, Daryl was closing his eyes, igniting panic in your body.

     “No Daryl,” you said firmly, “you have to stay awake.” you knew what could happen if he fell asleep, you knew you could lose the person you loved.

     Instead, he drifted off into a deep, blood-loss induced sleep.

     The journey to Hilltop was excruciating; everyone was haunted by the images of the barbed wired bat striking Abraham’s head again and again while none of you could do a single damn thing.

     Daryl’s arm was slung around your shoulders as you helped his half conscious state move forward. His groans were the only sounds that came from your group, all too traumatized to speak. You were struggling to keep him standing, but the thought of him dying fueled your determination to get to Hilltop.

     Once you saw the gates, you almost cried from relief.  

     You rushed, trying to half drag the hunter’s bloody form into Hilltop as they opened the gates to you and your broken down family.

     Daryl was in pain. He could feel every muscle cause a splinter of fire to travel to his wound. He was met with lights above his head and a bed under his body. But also, there was a pressure on his legs.

     His eyes traveled down to find you, clutching his hand and sleeping on his lap. A frown was on your lips, making you look distressed, even in sleep.

    “She hasn’t left, you know.” Daryl glanced to the doorway, finding Maggie standing there. He looked down at you, taking in the sight of your angelic face breathing in and out. After getting no response, Maggie spoke again. “She dragged you here and wouldn’t eat or drink or shower until she knew you were getting treated. I suggest you thank her when she wakes.” And with that, Maggie left Daryl alone with you.

     He hesitantly brought his other hand to your hair, combing it out of your face. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through your hair while you continued to sleep. Daryl thought you hated him. You avoided him at every cost, acting like he was the big bad wolf. He was shocked that you were caring for him.

     You did wake though, briefly forgetting everything that happened; you woke up warm and nothing seemed wrong. But then it all crashed into place. The truck. Daryl. Negan. The bat. Abraham. The struggle to get to Hilltop. Everything just started hitting you hard, one by one. 

     “Uh, you okay?” 

     Then you realized you dozed off on Daryl’s lap. Heat flooded your face as you brought your head up. “I’m so sorry Daryl. I really didn’t mean to.”

     “’S alright.” He muttered, looking anywhere but you. Awkward silence filled the air as you struggled to find something, anything to say. Daryl beat you to it though when he said, “Thank you. For what you did. Maggie told me.”

     You nodded, saying that it wasn’t a problem and that he would’ve done the same for everyone else. Guilt was eating you up, though. You helped change his shirt and you knew you saw something you weren’t supposed to. You had a feeling you knew what happened and your heart broke every time you thought of someone hurting your Daryl.

Not your Daryl, you corrected yourself.

     “Daryl,” you said slowly, “I saw your back and I swear it will stay between us. You don’t even have to tell me what happened.” You looked back up, expecting an angry glare. Instead, you found a soft expression fall over his features.

     “’S not your fault. It was my dad. Used to hit me ‘n Merle when he was drunk.” Daryl said quietly. You nodded, not sure of what to say. Again, Daryl filled the silence with a question. “Why did you do all this?”

     “You would’ve done it too.”

     “That’s not the reason.”

     You sighed, knowing that even when injured, the archer was hard-headed. “I’m in love with you. I have been for a while now.”

     You dared to peek at the hunter’s face. He was wearing a confused look, almost doubting. “I thought you hated me.”

     “No,” you insisted. “I thought you hated me, so I stayed away.”

     He softly smiled. “Couldn’ hate you if I tried.” You gave him a smile as well, as much as a smile you can give after everything that happened. “I think I might be in love with you too.”

     And that night, you slept next to Daryl, shielding him from the evils of the world you lived in, while he gathered you into his arms as best he could. That night you got the best sleep you had gotten in a while.

Actual Southern Gothic Part 2

-The morning after your granny dies you hear mourning doves outside your window. Their haunting coo follows you all day. You strain to hear other bird calls, but everything else is silent. At the edge of your hearing is the soft “woo-OO-oo-oo-oo” of another dove.

-The summer heat is here. The air conditioner is broken. You lie around half-naked. The windows are all open. The fans are buzzing away. You feel more liquid than human. You feel more sweat than substance. You lift a hand. You feel the flesh melting off your bones. 

-Your mother goes to church “just in case.” You ask her “in case of what?” She shakes her head. “Just in case.”

-Deep in the woods you find plastic cartons bleached by the sun, rusting car parts half buried in the soil, and an abandoned gardening shed that smells like a tomb. Everything inside is coated in dust and filth. The floor sags with water damage. The tin roof is so rusted it has holes in it. You see several mice skeletons, perfectly preserved. You feel fingers brush against the back of your neck, but there is no one there. You leave. When you try to find the shed the next day nothing is there. The woods continues on, uninterrupted. You vow to forget what you saw. What you felt.

-You’ve heard in small towns everyone knows each other. You don’t know anyone. No one acknowledges you. New faces show up everyday, or are they old faces grown unrecognizable? You start to forget family members, friends, yourself. You don’t remember what you look like. You don’t remember your own name. You lock yourself in your room and try to remember.

-It rains all summer. “At least we won’t get a drought this year!” you joke. You see news reports of other towns simply being washed away. Flooding everywhere. Children drowning. “At least we won’t get a drought.” You are very glad you know how to swim.

-The leaves don’t turn colors one year. You pretend it doesn’t worry you.

-The cats bring you dead things, so mangled you can’t identify them. One day they bring you something that looks like it was cut off a larger animal, that looks vaguely human. You throw it in the trash, as you have done with the rest of their “gifts.”

-You pretend you don’t see stark white faces in the treeline. You pretend you don’t see figures on the side of the road when you drive home at night. You turn the radio up as high as it can go, roll up the car windows, and focus on the road. This is the only problem with taking the backroads, you muse.

Part 1

Moustache - Part 1

Here we go! Simon Thirst Squad ABC’s of Simon Challenge. I broke it up into parts because writing smut is taking forever. I’m dying writing this in the best way.

Pairing: Simon X Reader

Word Count: 1189

Warnings: Smut & fluff. Language.

Sanctuary’s surprisingly extensive library was typically the quietest spot within the confines of the dreary stronghold that you called home. For some months now (who’s keeping track?, you mused drunkenly) you had counted yourself amongst the Saviors. This was a fact that you considered neither entirely despicable nor ethical – it was merely beneficial. A prime example of its benefits was currently playing out, as you sipped top-shelf liquor within the tight confines of the dimly lit space.

           Though only two people currently occupied it, the library was anything but serene tonight. You were laughing loudly at an oddly worded anecdote about the leader of one of the Saviors’ subordinate communities.

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Story 216: The Other Shoe

The terrorists are prowling around the edges of great-grandpa’s birthday party, like predators circling a cornered flock of sheep.  I don’t even know what they want.  Knowing Great-gramps, he’s thinking about offering them some cake and party hats.

Or maybe not.  Something looks wrong with him.

I mean, yes, his surprise birthday party has been crashed by terrorists.  But I’ve heard all the stories, he should be smiling and telling everyone it’s going to be fine while he charms the bomb vests right off these assholes.  Instead he’s crying.  I’m the closest, I’m probably the only one that can sidle over and talk to him without getting shot.
“Gramps!” I whisper.
He smiles at me, for a second, then looks even sadder. “Oh, honey.  I’m so sorry.  This is all my fault.”
“Dude, Gramps, you didn’t even know about the party.  And it’s not like you invited the terrorists… did you?”  I mean it as a joke, but he looks away like he’s feeling guilty.  "It’s fine, Gramps.  You’ve gotten through worse than this.  What about that time you were on a collapsing bridge in Bangladesh?  Or that thing with the airplane over the Atlantic?“
He shakes his head.  "Those were different.”

One of the terrorists is on the phone.  I can’t make out what he’s saying, but he looks… passionate.  I guess he’s making demands or something.  Presumably that means the police or military or whatever are already working on a plan.
“We’re going to get out of here, Gramps.  This is just going to be a funny story for next year’s 111th birthday party.”
“No,” he says, “there won’t be a next year.  I’ve killed you all.”  Well, Jesus.  Is it possible he’s serious?  Could lovable old Gramps have something to do with these guys?  It doesn’t seem likely.  I mean, he’s lived an interesting life - as evidenced by the enormous turnout for the party - but it’s all been basically aboveboard.  If anything he’s just one of a hundred targets; among the friends and children (and grandchildren, and great grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren…) are some very important people.  Politicians, renowned doctors, entertainers, high profile lawyers, military… it was giving me an inferiority complex before I got distracted by the threat of being blown to pieces.

“Gramps, don’t be so negative.  We’re going to be fine, and this isn’t your fault.  I mean, do you even know who these yahoos are?  You couldn’t have seen this coming.”
He shrugs.  "Not exactly.  But I should have known something would.  I was stupid, of course he’s patient.  He had all the time in the world to set this up.“
“Okay Gramps, you’re officially freaking me out.  Everyone loves you.  Nobody is out to get you.”
He sighs, and looks at me with the most crushed, apologetic face I’ve ever seen on anyone in my family.  "I was young, and foolish.  I was in Turkey, walking along the shore.  There was a place where a cliff was slowly crumbling into the sea, probably had been for hundreds of years.  And there was a spot, it must have been a cave once but by then it was just a shallow alcove.“

For a second he doesn’t look so sad, he’s lost in the memory.  To someone that’s a hundred and ten I guess ‘young’ could mean a lot of things, but from that faraway look I’m guessing it was at least ninety years ago.
"I found what seemed like a strange rock - it was the shape, like an egg, that got my attention.  But once I cleaned the dirt and salt off of it I could see it was some kind of pottery.  Not a vase or anything, just a hard-baked lump.”
“Gramps, I don’t understand.”
“I broke it,” he says, as if I hadn’t spoken, “I was leaving and didn’t feel like keeping it, and I threw it against the rocks.  That’s when I realized there was something inside.  A container.”
Oh my god, nobody could ever get a totally straight answer about how Gramps made his first fortune.  Is this it?  Did he find a lost pirate treasure on some Turkish beach, or… I look at the terrorists again.  The one on the phone has gone from ‘passionate’ to 'disconcertingly intense’.  Maybe not treasure.
“Jesus, did you find some terrorist drug stash or something?”
“No, no.  Far worse.  It was a container with a Djinn inside.  A genie.”

Okay, Gramps is either messing with me or insane.  Probably that first one.  This whole 'upset’ act is a con to suck me in so he can have a big laugh later.  That’s more in line with the Gramps I know.
“He offered me three wishes for freeing him, and… I thought I was clever.  My first two wishes, they were terrible run-on sentences, mangled things that should have been three or four wishes each.  He looked furious, but each time he just said 'granted’.  After the second one I got scared, I knew that money and talent wouldn’t do me any good if the Djinn struck me dead.  So I wished for a long healthy life, and I said…”
He breaks down, full on sobbing.  Shit.  Is he not joking?  What the fuck is going on here?
“Grandpa, are you okay?  Grandpa?”
“I’m so sorry.  So sorry.  This is all my fault.”
“Grandpa, no!  We’ll be fine.”
He grabs me by the shoulders, those old hands still powerful.  His eyes are on fire, staring into mine like he’s begging me to forgive him.
“I was picturing a hospital bed, do you understand?  I was thinking of something peaceful.”
“Grandpa, you’re going to be okay.  You’ll see.”
“No.  He was so angry.  And I said…”

The terrorist on the phone raises his voice for a moment, screaming Bible verses at the negotiator or whoever on the other end of the line, and then he throws the cell phone against the wall where it shatters into a hundred pieces.

“I said I wanted to die surrounded by my loved ones.”

If You're Gone

Requested by an anonymous friend: Legolas x Reader, inspired by the Matchbox Twenty song “If You’re Gone.”

Mereth Nuin Giliath – Feast of Starlight
– my son
– King
hir nín
– my lord
le melin – I love you
meleth e-guilen – love of my life
hervenn nín – my husband


I think I’ve already lost you
I think you’re already gone
I think I’m finally scared now
And you think I’m weak, I think you’re wrong

Legolas slipped past the Elf who silently served the guests at the head table with wine and took his seat beside you under the gimlet stare of King Thranduil.

“I am sorry,” he murmured. “I only stopped to look in on the prisoners.”

“I trust all is well?” Your smile was exaggerated in its brightness for the benefit of your future father-in-law, and your entire body exhaled when at last Thranduil turned his attention elsewhere.

“Fine,” Legolas said distractedly, reaching for his glass, “everything is fine.”

A gentle arch of your eyebrows, and he replaced the glass untasted, with the exasperation he’d sought to suppress sparking in his blue eyes.

“Tauriel was speaking with one of them.”

“With a Dwarf? Why should she do that?”

“Exactly what I wish to know,” he muttered darkly.

“Surely it was nothing. Perhaps she was merely gathering information,” you offered, but he shook his head, with irritation stinging in his tone.

“What I overheard was no interrogation.”

You dropped your eyes to the tablecloth before you, cowed, and Legolas softened, reaching for your hand in your lap to clasp it in his.

“Forgive me,” he sighed. “I am as boorish as the creatures lodged in our cells. Tonight is a festive occasion…and tomorrow evening will be a joyous one.”

A flush warmed your cheeks at the allusion to the ceremony to come, and you squeezed his hand charitably as he went on.

“My father says it is most auspicious to enact a betrothal during Mereth Nuin Giliath,” he said, “that love so begun will shine as brightly and eternally as the starlight we celebrate.”

“Then may it prove true for us,” you smiled.

With a reciprocal smile, he drank from the wine in his glass while you studied him, searching his face thoughtfully.

“You are happy, Legolas?”

Surprise ruffled his smooth brow. “Yes, of course. Aren’t you?”

“Of course,” you nodded quickly.

He raised your hand carelessly to his lips before a brooding look overcame him again, and a servant with laden dishes bowed between you.

Keep reading

Just take one look in my eyes 

You’d see right through my disguise 

She says that when I’m nearby 

That she can feel my every move

When I fell apart 

Yeah, something changed in my heart 

As you can tell from these scars 

I’m not the man that you knew before 

Originally posted by 1andonlykys

I found something that makes me feel alive

Yet somehow dead inside 

It makes me feel 

It makes me numb at once 

It makes no sense 

Yet it still helps me see

So am I soon to be the monster that I despise?

Originally posted by savingprivatesimmons

Request: I Want To

Request: Hi, I was just wondering if you could write an imagine where a girl gets taken by a demon and then he tells her she’s his daughter, and he’s going to kill her but then Cas shows up and smites him, but he doesn’t know what to do with her so he brings her to Sam and Dean in the bunker? It’s kind of an awkward meeting but it gets worse when Cas tells the reader the demon killed her mom before taking her and Sam comforts her? I know it’s kind of long, but you can make changes if you like. Thanks!

Word Count: 1,072

So…this happened. I hope it’s okay, thank you and enjoy!:)

“Don’t touch me!” You hiss, straining to get away from the creature. “Get off!”

The thing, surprisingly, removes its hands from your head and steps back, hands raised. You look around the room, hoping, praying for something to save you.

Please, if there’s anything at all up there, I could use some help!

It raises an eyebrow, grinning maniacally, “You know what I can do to you, girl. Don’t take that tone with me.”

It looks human. It feels human. Everything about it is human apart from its eyes- dark, onyx pits that stretch an eternity ahead, never ending and full of evil and threat. It is anything but human.

“What are you going to do to me?” You ask, trying desperately to keep the fear from your voice. It laughs, the sound tearing from its throat in a tone full of darkness.

“You don’t want to know.” It whispers, coming dangerously close to you. “I may strangle you with your own guts, or show you your own heart, still beating in my hand.”

You let out an unbidden whimper, and mentally curse yourself as it laughs again.

“So, Y/N,” You don’t question how it knows you name, “How’s your dear mother?”

“Don’t you touch her!”

“Oh, but dear, if I had never touched her, you wouldn’t be here!” It says, a short cackle coming from it.

“Wait- what?”

“She never told you?” Its face is all you can see, “You always were different to the other kids, huh? With your…abilities.”

They only worked when you were incredibly emotional, but you would accidentally smash windows and turn off lights.

“You never questioned it?” It hisses, pulling back with a grin. “You have me to thank for bringing you into this world, and it will be me to take you out.”

It pulls a knife from a pocket, and positions it at your throat. “You’re lucky, I’m feeling rather merciful today.”

Then, a hand wraps around its face from behind. You close your eyes as a bright white light fills the room, and you don’t look back when you hear the knife clatters to the floor and the light dies away.

Then, the ropes around your wrists and ankles are gone. Not untied, just…gone. You stand up, backing away. Your back hits the wall, and it is only then that you look to your saviour.

He’s relatively nondescript- dark hair, pale-ish skin, wearing a beige trench coat over a black suit.

“Who are you?” You whisper, and the man takes a step closer to you.

At least you think it’s a man. You don’t trust anything anymore.

“I am Castiel, Angel of the Lord.”

Alright, maybe it’s not a man after all.

You nod slowly, “What was that thing?”

“A demon, an agent of Hell.” He says, and you nod again.

“You know what, everything’s so crazy that I almost believe you.”

“Allow me to take you to some…friends of mine. They can help you better than I.” You can tell he’s floundering somewhat, and you nod.

“Alright. Where are they?”

Suddenly, he’s by your side. His hand lands on your shoulder, and before you have time to protest, you’re whisked into darkness.

When the blackness resides, you’re stood in a small room. There’s two guys, one taller and one shorter, and they’re staring at you. Your eyes land on the floor and stay there.

“Cas? Who’s this?” The taller one asks.

“This is Y/N. She- a demon got her. Almost.” The apparent-angel tells them, and you mentally frown.

How does everyone know my name?

“Hi, Y/N.” The same guy says again. The other one just stares at you skeptically. “I’m Sam, and this is my brother, Dean. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

They have you explain the situation, and you tell them it all- from waking up to Cas saving you. When you tell them about your supposed parentage, they glance at each other warily, then look back to you. They give you whiskey, which you really needed.

“I appreciate this, I do. But my mom’ll be worried sick, and-” Cas interrupts you, speaking your name in a way that you instantly know what’s coming next.

“The demon got to your mother before we did. He killed her. If it at all assures you, her last thoughts were of you.”

Your stomach twists horribly and you feel tears begin to blur your vision, the heat rising behind your eyes. A twisted, mangled sob rises from your stomach, and suddenly, the lights in the room flicker and go out.

You hear a short murmur, and Sam moves closer to you, “Y/N? Did you…?”

You shrug, “It happens sometimes. But I promise, I’m not like him!” You choke out, knowing that they kill things like you. Panic fills you, and you go to step backwards.

“No, don’t worry.” He insists, “We know, okay? You have nothing to worry about.” He promises, leading you to a small couch. He shares a look with his brother, who nods. He motions to Cas, and leaves the room.

“They’re going to go and check your house, okay, and make sure there’s no other threat so we can take you back there. If you want.” He wraps a thin blanket around your shoulders as more and more tears fall down your face. You shrug.

“I hate him.” You whisper, “I hate him so much.”

“Don’t hate him.” He takes both of your hands in his, leaning down in front of you. “He’s dead, okay? Gone.”

“So’s my mom. Because of him.” You whisper, and he shakes his head.

“I know. But he got what he deserved. He’s not coming back, ever.” He shakes his head slowly, “I’ve killed things like it for a lot of years. They don’t change. But you know what?”

You shake your head, and look at him tearfully.

“They were human once. They went to Hell and their souls twisted and mangled under all of the pressure.”


He nods, a small smile on his face. Suddenly, he hugs you, and you lean into him.

“It’s going to be fine, I promise you. You’re going to be fine.”

You nod, and after a while, you speak. Your voice is clearer.

“I want to help you.” You say, looking at him, “I want to get rid of those things.”

“You don’t. It’s not glamorous, or fun, or-“

“I don’t care. I want to do it.”

the-black-nnermaid  asked:

Hi! Do you have any fics where stiles is older than Derek? Thanks!!!

older!stiles tag

Smoke and Mirrors by BlueMoonTruths (4/? | 7,894 | R)

Stiles is a natural born Alpha infiltrating the fortress run by wolves looking to wipe out the rest of humanity. He goes in with the intent to save his human friend Allison, but finds an Omega who just might need his help even more.

Hold Me Closer by orphan_account (1/1 | 6,366 | NR)

Five times Derek was there to protect Stiles and the one time Stiles protected him.

Broken Lines by lilithduvare (2/? | 7,799 | NC17)

Stiles looked at the woman who used to be his mother dead in the eyes, his blood sitting frozen in his veins from terror and heartbreak. She was still beautiful, even with her husband’s blood covering her mouth and fingers, matching the color of her glowing, inhuman irises, but she wasn’t Stiles’ mother. This monster, who wore that achingly familiar smile, crouching over the mangled and barely recognizable body of Stiles’ father could never be his mother.

Stiles is turned into a werewolf by his own supposedly dead mother and has to spend the next three years being tortured and terrorized under the Alpha Pack’s tender care. But he doesn’t break and in the end he makes his escape. Only to get recruited by the American Alpha Council which eventually leads him to cross path with the Hales’ only human child, Derek in more ways than one.

You look like my next mistake by Vendelin (1/1 | 15,194 | PG13)

“So, are you dating someone new? Someone who doesn’t mind that you’re frigid?” Kate cocks her head to the side, smiling as though she just asked him about where he bought his shoes.

His entire body sighs in defeat as his shoulders grow square. Just as he opens his mouth, someone comes up to stand beside him, snaking an arm around his shoulders. When he glances to his side, expecting to see Isaac, his brain seems to malfunction. Because it isn’t Isaac. It’s Stiles Stilinski, the lacrosse talent of the year, a senior who Derek has seen multiple times from far away, but never ever talked to.

In which Derek is a nerd jock, and Stiles is a frat guy, and Derek falls for him even though he knows he shouldn’t.

anonymous asked:

Hey, can you make one where the reader always rides a bike (she goes everywhere with it) and the first day of her new job at the BAU she hits a car on her way there but still goes after the accident, like al bloody and Spencer helps her/fluff

Yes, I most certainly can!  Here is your one-shot, comin’ ‘atcha!

“Miss?  Miss, can you hear me?”

Blinking your eyes slowly, the world quickly coming back in to view, you lob your head over and see your mangled bike.

Oh god.

Feeling for your phone, you see a man dip into your view as he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank god.  You’re not dead.”

Yeah, thanks.

Sticking your hand in your pocket, you feel your phone in pieces.


“Here, let me help you sit up,” the man says as you hear an ambulance off in the distance.

“I am so sorry,” he says as he dusts off your back, “It was completely my fault.”

Feeling the world tilt a little bit, you grab on to him as you rise to your feet, looking down the street at your office not two blocks away.

“I’m late,” you mutter, looking down at the ground and trying to pick up your things.

“Miss, I think you should stay still.  The ambulance is almost here,” the stranger says, lightly tugging on your arm.

“Hey!” you say, stumbling backwards as you hang on to your stuff, “I have work, and a boss, and a broken phone, and…”

Feeling the world tilt again, you hold your hand out and steady yourself against the wall.

“I think your boss’ll understand, miss,” the man says, concern in his eyes as he dips into your vision again.

“Just…hold on,” you say, holding up a finger to him as you lob your body towards the front of the building, sloppily climbing the steps as you enter the front lobby of the FBI building.


Trying to shake off the nausea rising in your stomach, the elevator dings as you stumble out thru the door, dropping your things yet again as you go plummeting to the floor.

There she is!” Morgan exclaims, turning around before taking in your sight.

“Oh my god,” Spencer exclaims, rushing to your side as you pick yourself up, raising your head to reveal your blackening eye and your bloody ear and nose.

“Y/L/N, what happened?” Hotch asks, rushing to your side as he takes your stuff from you.

“I…uh…I’m sorry, boss, m-my phone…”

Pulling out your broken phone from your pocket, Rossi takes it from you as he sits a chair at your back, bringing his hands down on your shoulders as he urges you to sit.

Feeling a cool washcloth at your neck, you wince before the world tumbles again, feeling the urge to vomit.

Swallowing hard, your gaze finds Spencer, who is wiping at the blood trickling down your neck from your ear as he raises his other hand and runs it lightly over your swollen eye.

“Someone hit me on my bike,” you manage to get out between deep breaths.

“Why are you not at a hospital right now?” Morgan asks, crouching down in to your view.

“My phone…” you drift off, lobbing your head over to Hotch, “I…I had no way t-to call…”

Hearing the elevator doors ding, you hear people scuttle off as a authoritative woman comes around and gets into your view.

“We were told a crash victim stumbled in to the building,” she says, flashing a flashlight in your eyes as someone else tilts your head upright.

And that’s all it took.

Lobbing your head off towards Spencer, your body pushes up the contents of your breakfast at his feet, your body shaking and your forehead sweating as he rips his vest off and holds it in front of you, catching the rest of your spewage before wrapping it up and setting it off to the side.

“You have a concussion, Y/N,” Spencer says kindly, the cool washcloth coming to your nose as he lightly dabs at the dried up blood coating your lips.

“Spencer…” you say, your eyes glistening as your stomach churns again.

Recognizing your face, Spencer reaches for the nearest trash can, holding it in front of you as the vomit starts to spew through your nose, tears flowing from your eyes as the medical team sets up a gurney to put you on.

“You’re going to the hospital,” Hotch says, taking your hand as you continue to heave into a trash can, feeling Spencer lay the cool washcloth on your neck as he leans his forehead into your temple.

“I’m going with her,” Spencer murmurs.

Shaking your head rapidly, you raise up your reddened, puffy and black eyes to meet his concerned gaze.

“T-they…need you here,” you stammer, your body shaking as the world starts to go in and out.

“I’m coming with you,” Spencer enunciates as the medical team takes your body from the chair and lays you on the gurney.

Reaching your arm out, your palm outstretched to the world, you feel Spencer lay his hand in it, walking alongside you as the medical team wheels you in to he elevator.

“Tell Hotch I’m so sorry,” you whisper, your eyes filled with tears.

“I will,” Spencer says, his concerned gaze filling with tears as he leans forward and kisses your forehead lightly just before the world goes black.

cliffxrdluke  asked:

Secret Santa AU? (Like one half of the OTP assigned to get gifts from the other or something idk I'm a slut for this AU)

arrgh we need to finish all christmas prompts today hahah sweats profusely

  • I can’t believe you got me these hideous oven mittens what the hell I don’t even bake?? I thought we knew each other, I burn water man
  • I hoped my secret santa was going to be the person I’m infatuated with, but no it turns out it’s actually you ugh. But it turns out your gift was actually really nice and wow I had no idea you knew I even liked this

  • you completely forgot about secret santa so you gave me a shitty last-minute handmade coupon titled ‘I’ll do whatever you want for a whole day’

  • I had absolutely no idea what to give you so I brought you a toothbrush and wow if looks could kill I’d be mangled and dead on the floor. I’m sorry?

  • I thought I got my best friend so I bought a really wacky and stupid gift but it turns out I got someone else with the same name as my friend and shit

- jo 

And a Fish for Luck

Angel:  Michael
Words:  1450
Author: Scruff
Warning(s):  mild swearing, cheesy-fluffiness
Note(s):  I know the request is for Thanksgiving, but I hope it works just as well now.  I’m going off the idea that, being an angel, Michael is kosher (if I messed it up, let me know).  Also, the ‘traditional southern New-Year’s meal’ consists of everything I’ve eaten for New Year’s lunch every year I can remember.  I know it can be a little different for each southern (US) family, but this is what my family does (we’re from Georgia, in case you were wondering)
Happy New Years!!!

Keep reading

themidnightwitch-deactivated201  asked:

"Jesus." Alex mutter as she approaches the angel boy. He was disheveled wings tattered, cuts all over his boy. "Fir?" She whispers.

Firan looked up, barely able to, his white hair red in places it had laid against blood. “Alex…” he choked out, weakly pulling against the chains tied so tight they cut into his wrists, his wings pinned to the wall, “Is that you?” His voice was halfway gone, he’d not had something to drink in a long time.  Hardly conscious, his head fell back down again. “Don’t…… get caugh-…” He’d fall out, seemingly dead if it weren’t for the glow of the feathers that weren’t mangled.

tarysande  asked:

Fun prompt! Seahorse, Garrus <3

Surprisingly domestic

The homemade non-dextro soup had been one thing, and even the careful arrangement of pills beside the coffee maker hadn’t made her blink.  He was like that, more and more.  But when Shepard hobbled to the bathroom, taking internal bets on puking versus diarrhea, she found her hand-washed delicates draped and drying in the soft light behind the shower door.  A brittle lump in her chest splintered and gave way.

She was just sorry he found her like that, slumped on the closed toilet lid, fondling her fresh-smelling bras.  And while he filled the doorway she saw, like always, how he paused before the drop, stopping himself from crowding her, rushing to help when her pride might snag and snarl.

“What’s wrong? Do you need me to call the emergen-”

“Laundry. You did laundry. My laundry,” Shepard said.  It’d been almost a whole day since she’d heard her own voice and it crackled with disuse.  Garrus knelt on the little fuzzy rug Shepard had once fought for like a crucial upgrade to the Normandy.

“I had to. The hamper was starting to smell like a dead varren.”  He put a hand to her face and swept his thumb over the trickle of wetness on her cheek.  Shepard was pretty sure she smelled no better, especially to his sensitivities.  Garrus glanced at the dangling underthings. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not it,” she said, and looked him dead in the eyes. “You didn’t fuck it up.  They’re not mangled.  It’s p-perfect, better than I-”

“It’s lace and elastic, Shepard, not quantum mechanics.”

He patted her knees and gave her an unbelieving shake of his head.  If she didn’t so desperately need to hurl, Shepard would have kissed him breathless.