you know so when i come back and start mourning my hair loss i will remember i had reasons

I heard it’s Mermay, so I wrote shieldshock with mermaid!Darcy

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Steve was sad to admit he being beaten to a pulp. By a giant crab, nonetheless. Being the only one of the team unable to either fly or stealth away from a precarious situation came with some negative sides he usually was able to work around or avoid altogether, but today was not that day.

He could barely take a breath in the crab’s pincer while the rest were fighting it and its minions. Because of course it had minions.

“I’m off seafood for the rest of my life after this,” Clint was complaining on the comm.

“Meanwhile we’ll have some ground Cap to eat,” Tony added.

“Less talking, more saving please,” Steve grunted.

“I believe this crab is infuriated with your patriotism,” Thor said.

Tony laughed. “FRIDAY, please keep a record of this conversation. For science purposes.”

Hulk took that moment to punch the crab. Hard. With Steve still in his pincer. The crab made a high pitched noise as it was thrown back in the water, and Steve could only take his breath before he was submerged. Its grasp loosened, and he used all his strength to get away before it tightened again.

His uniform caught on something, but he continued and ignored the ripping sound while he swam as fast as possible back to the surface. The murky water stung his eyes and made it hard to evade the crab’s minions when they decided to join their master. He could normally hold his breath for a few minutes, but “normally” didn’t include a dozen of small creatures pinching and weighting him down. He used his shield to let some go but quickly lost it to some tenacious little crab with death in its tiny, beady eyes. This was not good, Steve thought as his lungs were beginning to seriously protest. His comm was completely dead at this point. But he could hear singing?

Yes, he definitely could hear someone, a woman, sing as his vision darkened. It didn’t make sense, the singing was right beside him… was his last thought.

And then there was the dark.

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Sansukh Re-read Ch.3

The days passed slowly. Two Dwarves who had died during the Battle of Five Armies (as they were now calling it) bowed to Thorin upon meeting him, and at least another six punched him square in the face. His grandfather patted his shoulder consolingly.

“You should have seen this place after Azanulbizar,” was all he said.

Can’t blame either group of dwarves, really.

In Erebor, there was a funeral. Thorin watched as they laid the Arkenstone on his cold, dead breast, wrapped his parchment-white and stiffened fingers around the hilt of Orcrist, and sealed his body and those of his nephews in the tomb.

Bilbo cried bitterly the whole time.

As the white stone passed over Fíli’s rent and rigid corpse, Thorin covered his mouth with his hands, pressing them so fiercely against his bloodless lips that he could feel the shape of his teeth beneath. With a savage curse he closed his eyes and fled that sight.

I feel bad for Thorin during this, for many reasons. One of them, though, is because it must be extremely weird, watching your own funeral. And, of course, he blames himself for Fíli and Kíli’s deaths and so watching their funerals was almost impossible for him. No wonder he goes to see Gimli next.

Work was proceeding apace on the Mountain. Everywhere he looked Thorin could see the devastation caused by the dragon and the echoes of his folly. Even as the Kingdom slowly began to rise from mourning, Thorin could barely look at his living companions without seeing the light of the gold-sickness that had once danced in their eyes. No-one had been as thoroughly lost as Thorin himself, of course, but he had dragged them all behind him into his madness nevertheless.

To see the guilt and grief in their faces made his own grow until it felt like a stone chained around his neck.

Thorin’s guilt issues, let me show them to you. With how much he’s blaming himself here, is it any wonder that it takes him decades to finally start accepting that not everything that goes wrong is his fault?

Ori was out of his sickbed as soon as Óin gave him permission, though a racking cough continued to plague him. He immediately began to help Nori with relearning to walk. The former thief was sullen as he clattered about their rooms. With each of his arms looped over the shoulders of his brothers, he winced and cursed with every rattling step until finally he roared with anger and resentment. Ori stood his ground, all his shyness and uncertainty burned away in the fires of battle. He faced his brother’s rage calmly until Nori had exhausted himself, and then helped him back to his chair. Dori made pot of tea after pot of tea, lips white and stiff, before carefully plaiting the drained and silent Nori’s red-brown hair back into its elaborate braids. Then the Brothers Ri held onto Nori’s hands tightly until he felt able to cry.

The brothers Ri are some of of my favorite dwarves in the company (only Bifur beats them out) and this paragraph illustrates why I love them so much. Nori is stubborn, trying to get back to normal as soon as possible and not really dealing with his feelings about the injury, nearly in denial, really. Then, he moves onto the anger stage, ranting at Ori and Ori just takes it, lets his brother get it all out because he knows it’s what Nori needs. Dori is there in the background, making tea and taking care of Nori’s hair, and then he and Ori are there for Nori when he finally accepts it and mourns his loss. No matter what, they’re there for each other, and I love that about them.

“Hobbit,” said Dwalin, and cleared his throat loudly. “Not sure if anyone’s said this t’ you at all.” Then he bowed before the astonished Hobbit and said, with all sincerity;

“Thank you.”

“Aye.” – “Thank you, laddie.” – “We can never thank you enough.” The rest of the company also bowed low. Bilbo looked upset and flustered.

“No, you mustn’t,” he said, and he wrung his little hands. “No, please, my friends…”

Balin rose and winked at Bilbo. “Khazâd-bâhel.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Bilbo snapped, and mopped at his eyes with one of his new handkerchiefs. “Dwarves! Overdramatic, the lot of you! Oh, I am going to miss you all dreadfully.”

Goodbyes are always hard. This is both tear-jerking and a bit amusing, with Bilbo trying to call the dwarves dreadful and overdramatic and everything else, but unable to hide that he’s going to miss them so much. He didn’t expect this when he set out on his adventure, he didn’t know what to expect really, and now he’s leaving and he’ll miss his friends. (And Thorin.)

“I’ll be through in a year or two,” Glóin promised. “I’ll be travelling back to Ered Luin to collect my family. Bombur too. We’ll stop by. Don’t forget!”

With a leg-up from Dori, Bilbo crawled astride his pony. “I’ll lock up my dishes specially,” he laughed. “Farewell, my friends! Write as often as you can!”

Oh, Bilbo, don’t you want to see dwarves tossing your dishes around your kitchen again? I’d have thought you’d enjoy it a second time. I enjoyed it the first time, but maybe that’s because it wasn’t my dishes they were tossing around :)

“Kill a goblin or two for me!” said Bombur.

“Oh, but don’t get too close!”

“Aye, and watch out for Trolls!”

“And giants!”

“And rivers!”

“And spiders!”

“And Elves!”

Out of all the things that Bilbo’s supposed to watch out for, elves are hands down the funniest. Not sure which dwarf said it (there are a few different options for which one it could be), but it’s hilarious nonetheless.

Thorin took a last look at their brave little Burglar to whom he owed so much. “Farewell, Bilbo Baggins, respectable gentlehobbit of Bag End,” he said half to himself. “Farewell, wise and kindly child of the West.” He drank in the sight of the curly head, the bold bare little chin, the small leaf-like ears, the shrewd eyes and sharp tongue, clever hands and large furry feet. “I am sorry,” he added, his voice nearly a whisper.

Bilbo abruptly stopped and faced the Mountain, and his eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Farewell, Thorin Oakenshield,” he said, his face lifting. “And Fíli and Kíli! May your memory never fade!”

They’re both talking to each other, and each thinks the other can’t hear them. And they’re both a bit wrong and it’s just…ugh, the feels.

Fíli nervously tugged at a moustache braid. “Frerin told me something.”

Thorin sighed. “Do I need to hit him?”

Fíli scowled. “Very hard. Repeatedly.”

I can get where Fíli and Kíli are coming from, it’d be hard to remember to refer to someone younger than you (in years lived anyway, he’s got them beat in years existing) ‘Uncle’, but I can see where Frerin is coming from too. If he hadn’t died, he likely would have been as close to Fíli and Kíli as Thorin is, and they likely would have called him 'Uncle’ sometimes too. Now, he’s got the chance to have that, and he still can’t, because Fíli and Kíli are technically older than him and don’t feel right calling him that…I feel a bit sorry for Frerin, but it’s amusing too, seeing how good he is at annoying Fíli and Kíli. I can’t really blame Thorin for placing a bet, I’d have been doing the same thing.

“Why did Mahal give you this gift?” Fíli said. “A gift that doesn’t even work?”

“I think perhaps it is because I shouted at him,” Thorin said thoughtfully, and a short bark of laughter escaped Fíli.

“You yelled at our Maker,” he said, and shook his head against Thorin’s shoulder. “You’re unbelievable sometimes.”

Only Thorin could yell at Mahal and get a gift out of it. I swear, Thorin’s one of his favorites.

“Hmm,” Fíli said, and pulled back to frown up at his uncle. “Who hears you?”

“Dáin does, now and then. Occasionally Balin, Dori and Glóin as well, and Dwalin quite frequently. And Gimli most of all.”

“Gimli?” Fíli’s mouth dropped open. “Our little cousin Gimli?”

“He’s not so little anymore,” Thorin said, raising his eyebrows. “The lad has more beard than Bofur, is broader than Nori and is most certainly taller than you, though not as tall as Kíli. I judge he’s over four foot six and has further still to grow.”

“I know, I know, but he’ll always be little Gimli with the terrible temper to me,” Fíli said, shaking his head. “Gimli hears you! Well, that is a shock.”

Okay, but imagine Gimli, when he’s finally old enough to pass on, and hearing Fíli call him 'little Gimli with the terrible temper’ and simultaneously crying (because he missed them so much) and being a bit embarrassed (I’m a dwarf lord! I helped save all of Arda! I’m taller than you are! You can’t call me 'little’ anymore). And Fíli just saying 'watch me’.

“I know that look,” Thorin said suspiciously. “That is not a reassuring look.”

That is a dwarf who helped raise these two and knows exactly how much trouble Kíli and Fíli can get into.

“Ah, Náli!” Gimli growled, and brought the handle of his own weapon up before his face. The clash was deafening. “You will have to do better than that! Dwalin would have had me defeated and mopping out the barracks by now!”

I have a feeling that, no matter how old Gimli gets, he’ll think of Dwalin as the greatest axeman he knew, even if he skill does someday surpass Dwalin’s.

“Aye, and rivers will run backward and Elves will live underground and Dwarves will roost in trees, Laín’s son,” Gimli retorted, rather rudely. Fíli and Kíli immediately broke out into snickers, and Thorin smiled despite himself.

Best insult ever! If more people in my life cared about the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, I would use this insult all the time.

Also, Náli was pretty fair. Yeah, Lóni was the one who attacked when Gimli’s back was turned, after the fight was over, but Gimli also didn’t need to hit him in the nose. Lóni was already stopped because of the ale in his face, he should’ve let the teacher handle it from there.

“Hold that to your nose, I have to clean up all this ale.” Gimli eyed the mess and grabbed another cloth before hunkering down on his knees and beginning to soak up the spilled ale. “I’m not going to apologise for being good,” he said as he scrubbed, blowing a lock of fiery hair out of his eyes. “Neither am I going to feel sorry for a Dwarf who tried to axe me in the back! But a training partner with more strength and reach than me – now, that is of interest. You can get the recognition you crave so badly when you knock me on my back fair and square. What do you say?”

I gotta say, Gimli’s more forgiving than I am. I probably wouldn’t have forgiven someone trying to axe me in the back this easily. He’s got a point about Lóni being a good training partner, though.

“Is old Borin’s tavern still running then?” Kíli wondered, and then quailed at Thorin’s sudden dark look. Fíli gave a weak little laugh and hushed Kíli with a hand over his mouth.

“Just… an academic interest, Thorin.”

“Yes, never stepped foot in it ourselves,” Kíli said, muffled by Fíli’s palm.

“Or broke a table.”

“Or a lamp.”

“Or Borin’s teeth.”

“Lies and conjecture.”

“Must have been two other Dwarves that looked like us.”

“Yes, and with the same names. Imposters, no doubt.”

Thorin rolled his eyes to the ceiling and prayed for patience.

Fíli and Kíli trying to cover up for each other when they reveal something that they didn’t want Thorin to know is hilarious, as is Thorin’s reaction to it.

Gimli blinked, and then he shook his head sharply. “Surely I can’t get drunk from a few fumes,” he said to himself, and Kíli snorted.

“You’re not drunk, lad,” Thorin said, and shook his own head in disbelief. “We’re here.”

Gimli squinted, peering straight past Thorin. “Must be imagining things. I can’t be drunk and I do not think I am mad…”

Fíli smacked his forehead with his palm.

Thorin resisted the urge to do the same. “Not mad either, cousin. Mahal grants us this, that we can see you from beyond the mists. To me he gave a greater gift. Some may hear me.”

“I’m of Durin’s line,” Gimli continued, his brow creasing with worry. “I could be mad. I’m too young for it, though.”

“Steady,” Fíli said quietly, putting a hand on Thorin’s shoulder as he shook with anger and shame.

“You are not mad,” he said shortly. “Only very, very dense.”

This is hilarious. A bit sad for Thorin, because of the mad bit, but mostly hilarious. Anyone’s reaction would probably be similar if they thought dead people were talking to them, though, so I can’t really blame him.

“He was her brother,” Gimli whispered, and then he pulled at his vibrant hair. “Oh, I am such a fool! Of course my conscience would not let me rest until I had seen her. I lost my cousins, but she lost all she had left in the world. Not drunk, not mad, not tricked, but surely a blind and selfish fool!”

“He… he thinks you’re his conscience,” said Fíli blankly.

Thorin looked at him helplessly.

I laughed a bit here too, imagining Thorin with a little button that says 'Conscience’ and standing on Gimli’s shoulder like Jiminy Cricket in Pinocchio.

“How’d a boulder-faced shrub like Glóin end up with a Dwarrowdam like that?” Fíli said, eyes wide.

“He was kind, honest and respectful,” Thorin said. “And he made her laugh.”

I’ve said it before, but I kind of imagine it as a Roger and Jessica Rabbit situation. Everyone was chasing after Mizim because of her looks, but Glóin loved her for who she was and won her over by making her laugh.

“I’m in love,” Kíli declared fervently.

“I saw her first,” Fíli snarled.

Thorin gritted his teeth. “You are both dead.”

Kíli gave him a wounded look. “That was uncalled for.”

What I really want to know is that, if Gimli played with Fíli and Kíli as often as they say, how did they never see Mizim or Gimrís before? Did Gimli just always go over to their place? Or did they just never visit each others’ homes? Honestly, I don’t care though, because this piece of dialogue and the previous one I talked about are more than worth it.

“Brother,” the lass growled. “I hope you have your axe on you, because after waking me you are going to need it.”

Me, whenever my brother’s loud early in the morning when I had a late shift the night before.

“Aye, and I called her 'Aunt’ and she bounced me on her knee, I remember,” Gimli said, and splashed water over his face. “If she does not wish to see me, then I will try again another time. She has been left alone all this time and so she must feel that she is alone. She should know that we think of her and that she is still cared for as a Dwarf, not just as the Regent of Thorin’s Hall. I am not her son or her brother, but I am family and I care. And I loved them too.”

Reason #10000 why I love Gimli. A lot of the other reasons are from this story, although many of them are from canon too.

“You’re a good boy, my son.”

He squirmed away, batting at her with wet hands. “Mum, I am sixty-three soon! I am not a boy!”

She snorted. “You are such a boy, Gimli. I’ll find your clasps. I hope you still fit your engraved boots.”

I laughed a bit because I did this when I was a kid. Everyone would say I was a little girl, and I’d say, indignantly, that I was [insert age here] and so I was /not/ a little girl. Never thought I’d related so well to a sixty-three year old dwarf, but that’s part of the magic of this story. The characters are dangerously relatable, both canon and OC.

“You must have been fighting a thornbush. And those trousers don’t suit that tunic either. You won’t be able to wear it much longer, you know. Your shoulders are about to come through the seams.”

“Not my fault,” Gimli said defensively. “I grew too fast.”

“You ate too much, you mean,” she said, and he sent an elbow back into her stomach.

“I had to eat, I was growing!”

This is only a snippet of it, but I love all of Gimli and Gimrís’ bickering. Gimrís uses loving insults as a way to let her brother know she cares about him, and Gimli knows what she’s doing and goes back and forth with her and it’s just adorable, really.

“Where are we?” Thorin hissed, following closely behind. “I do not recognise this part of the Halls.”

“Don’t tell me you’re lost!” said Kíli.

Someone needs to make Thorin a map.

“Mining?” Thorin frowned. “His father is a Lord. He does not need to mine for a living.”

“Thorin, everyone worked, even you. You took on blacksmithing, I was a jeweller like Mum, and Kíli was a bowyer. No doubt Óin took Gimli into the mines; I know he still treats the miners now and then for their injuries.”

Thorin, dear, did you forget how much smithing you did over the years between Erebor’s fall and Erebor being reclaimed?

“Gimli, son of Glóin,” Gimli said with a polite bow. “I am here to see the Lady Dís, if she will.”

“The Lady sees no-one,” the Dwarf said shortly, and began to close the door. It stopped on Gimli’s heavy engraved boot, and the younger Dwarf gave the guard a pleasant smile.

“Announce me,” he suggested. “Perhaps she will make an exception.”

“Are you deaf, boy? The Lady sees no-one,” the guard with impatience, and kicked Gimli’s foot away.

“Perhaps I should make myself clearer,” Gimli said, still smiling. “Gimli of the Line of Durin, here to see his cousin, if she will.”

The guard’s sneer dropped like a stone. “I’ll announce you.”

“You do that.”

“All right,” Thorin said. “Now I believe the boy is related to me.”

If that didn’t make it clear, Thorin, I don’t know what would.

“She’ll see you,” he said. “But don’t expect her to be pleasant.”

“I don’t expect her to be anything other than as she is,” said Gimli with admirable calmness.

I love Gimli.

To the three children of Thráin, they had said, Mahal gave one a voice of golden thunder, one a voice of silver bells, but the third – the third had a voice of mithril and diamonds, more lovely than the voices of Elves and as pure as the snowmelt from the peak of the Mountain.

Another thing I love about this story? Sentences like this. It’s so marvelously descriptive, and it fits with the one voice we have heard (Thorin), and gives you a basis for how his siblings might sound.

Gimli blinked, and then he looked down at his hands. “You’re not my Aunt,” he said slowly. “You’re my cousin. And we… we lost some of our family. There’s just me and Gimrís and you, because everyone else…”

“Is dead,” Dís croaked, and finally looked up from the fire. “Everyone is dead. My whole family, but for cousins like you. My sons, my last brother, my One, my father… we were so proud, so strong. Well, Mahal has punished us for our pride, at least.”

“No!” Gimli blurted, and he took another couple of quick steps towards her. “Not everyone is dead!”

“You?” Dís laughed. It was utterly unbearable to hear. “Your sister? Balin, Dwalin, your father and uncle? You are not my family. We are relatives, no more than that. No, my family is dead and gone. The line of Thrór is ended.”

“They’re not all dead,” Gimli repeated, and he lifted his eyes to hers. “There’s you.”

She froze, and then sagged. “Me.”

Oh Dís! She’s so alone, and Gimli’s trying to make her see that she /isn’t/ alone, not completely, and that there are still people left who love her for who she is, not because she’s the princess, and who mourn Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli for who they were, rather than just the king and princes.

Gimli snorted. “Oh, Kíli’s hair.”

To Thorin’s amazement, she laughed – rusty and unused, but a true laugh. “Kíli’s damned hair. I used to struggle with him every morning to at least get most of it out of his eyes. Mahal only knows how he ever aimed at a target through that curtain.”

“I feel I should be offended,” Kíli said.

Fíli gave him a sad half-grin. “The truth offends no-one but you, brother.”

“Don’t look at me,” Thorin added. “I remember the fits you had when your mother brought out a comb.”

Just everything about this. I love it. I’m with Kíli, though, I never have patience to do more than just brush my hair, and to pull it up into a ponytail on days I have to work.

“Gladly.” Gimli settled at her feet and launched into a tale of three Dwarflings and a hammer 'borrowed’ from Dwalin. Dís listened closely, and laughed at the terrible predicament the three found themselves in; at the clever plots put into practice that only compounded the problem tenfold; at Dwalin’s outrage when the hammer was finally recovered and the terrible injustice of the punishment (polishing every weapon he owned until it gleamed). Her eyes were glossy, but she no longer wept. Her hand remained on Gimli’s vibrant hair, and every now and then she stroked it absently.

I wonder if Dwalin remembers this story, if he ever teased Gimli about it when he got older (like when Legolas is around?).

“Gimrís said she would come with me next time. Would you like that?”

She blinked as though coming awake, and then she smiled. It was still tinged with her fathomless sorrow, but she no longer looked or sounded more dead than alive. “That would be lovely. How old is your sister now?”

“Fifty-four,” Gimli said with a shudder.

“Ah, the fifties. I feel for your poor mother, with two Dwarrows under the age of seventy in her home.”

“I am very mature!” Gimli protested, and Dís laughed softly.

“Indeed you are. Bring Gimrís, and I will tell you of the time my brothers and I stole Dwalin’s favourite toy Oliphaunt.”

Gimli choked on his breath, and then laughed loudly and merrily. “Aye, that sounds like a tale not to be missed!”

Everything about this, but especially little Dwalin having a toy Oliphaunt that Dís and her brothers stole.

anonymous asked:

MORE FEELS!!!! Companions react when Sole dies (whether by an enemy or by the aformentioned needle prick)

((For those of you who don’t know what they’re referencing, this is the link to the original reaction. And just so you know, this will be much more sad and angsty than the previous post. You have been warned.))

Cait: She wakes up in a bathtub of needles and liquor bottles, her head swimming in the heady aftereffects of so many substances. Sole still hasn’t come back. And somewhere, deep in her chest, she know they aren’t going to. Her eyes shut, and she licks her dry lips. Warmth rises behind her eyes, and a half-second later is joined by angry heat in her chest. The anger forces her to rise, stumbling, from the drug-and-alcohol ridden tub. Staggering to her feet, she runs a hand through her hair, feels patches missing, feels scratches on her skin. She can’t remember what she did last night. The burning behind her eyes and in her lungs comes in equal measure, her fury building along with her need to weep. But she doesn’t. Fuck that shit. She promised Sole she’d give all this up, the drugs, the drink - everything. But she failed them this time, failed them when they needed her most. Now that they’re gone… Now, she needs to make Sole proud of her. Even if they’re not there to tell her.

Codsworth: When weeks go by, the Mr. Handy still trimming hedges and cleaning rusted cars, the settlers at Sanctuary wise up, and realize what’s happened to Sole. They realize Sole isn’t coming back. It runs through the town like ripples across water’s surface, a brief disturbance before things go back to normal. People die all the time, and Sanctuary’s residents know this all too well. Sole’s death is unfortunate. Tragic, even, but there are crops to be grown and children to raise, and tears help no one. But Codsworth doesn’t have anyone to look after, not anymore. He’s spent two hundred years looking after a house for a family forgotten by time, and now he’s looking after it for a family that’ll never come. He reverts back to a state not unlike when Sole first emerged from the vault, a state of chipper denial. “Mx. Sole will return shortly, I’m sure,” he’ll say, if anyone tries to talk to him. “With Master Shaun in tow, of course. I’m just keeping the house tidy for them.” Sometime families are tempted to move into the house, tempted to try and get Codsworth away from the building. But no one quite has the heart to do it.

Curie: …What now? The synth girl is at a loss. Sole was the one who changed her life, the one who gave her life. And Curie couldn’t save theirs, in return. The thought eats at her, plagues her, aches in her heart every night she wakes up in tears. A life for a life - what a bitter trade! Such a terrible thing, life is. Such high highs, and low lows. Euphoric joy one moment, and torturous sorrow the next. A part of her wonders, had she remained a Ms. Nanny, if she’d feel so sad as she does then. She comes to the conclusion that no, she would not. This marvel of engineering, this human (synth) body, is both a gift and a curse. And she wouldn’t go back on it for a moment. Wiping her tears from her face, there’s a new determination in the woman’s eyes, a new guiding star born from loss. She sets up shop in the worst part of the Commonwealth, sharing her knowledge with anyone who’ll listen and healing anyone who asks, regardless of their race or creed or political affiliations. “Everyone deserves a chance at life,” she explains softly. “And I owe someone a great debt for giving me that chance.”

Danse: For a time, he struggles to understand why Sole’s death bothers him as much as it does. Sole was just another soldier; another brother or sister in arms, just another servant of the Brotherhood, just another body to fight alongside. But Danse has had companions before, and when they passed, he didn’t feel the ache so bad as this. He struggles with the idea of love and affection, whether that love is romantic or platonic. Love, somehow, dug its talons so deep into his heart that when Sole is torn away it feels like they tore his heart out along with them. He sits alone, apart from everyone and anyone else, thinking back on every moment he shared with them. He remembers every time he held himself back from saying their name, from sharing a smile with them, from telling them just how much they meant to him. He damns himself, and cries hot, self-loathing tears, calling himself a coward. Because only a coward would be afraid to share his feelings with the best thing that ever happened to him. Without Sole, he’s aimless, separate from the Brotherhood and lacking any real kind of purpose. He takes a long time to find his purpose again… if he ever does.

Deacon: He should never have gotten close. He disappears when the doctors declare Sole dead, dropping off the face of the earth, to the point where some wonder if he isn’t dead as  well. Don’t trust anyone. You can’t. You can’t trust everyone. He repeats the mantra to himself, screams it inside his head to drown out the sadness. It doesn’t work. His hands claw at his hair, but it’s not really his hair, and his wig comes off in his hands. The pain comes from deep inside himself, but he’s buried who he really is so deep that he can’t reach himself anymore. Off come the disguises, the sunglasses, the wigs and lies and jokes, all in a desperate attempt to find what hurts and rip it out. He should never have gotten close. He tries to hate Sole, but he can’t, because there was a reason he grew to care about Sole in the first place, and he can’t stop thinking about them. He tried so hard to get them to go away. The lies, the stories, everything he’d said and didn’t say, and they still stuck around. And he’d… he’d hoped, maybe, that this time around he’d learn to let his guard down and start to trust again. He should never have gotten close.

Dogmeat: It’s Mama Murphy, of all people, who comes for him, trekking across the wasteland all on her lonesome and finding him asleep beside Sole’s lifeless body. The dog whimpers when Murphy gently tugs on his collar, urging the canine to his feet. “Hey, there, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “I thought you’d be here.” Dogmeat doesn’t want to leave Sole’s side, but the Sightseer urges him away, petting his head and leaving Sole behind. She brings him back to Sanctuary, brings him back home to be looked after. Dogmeat likes the Sanctuary settlers well enough, and he likes Mama Murphy plenty. But sometimes, especially at sunset, he’ll sit at the front of the Sanctuary bridge, just sitting and waiting for Sole to come walking home. He’ll wait forever. He’s got no place to be.

Hancock: He comes in to Sole’s bedroom, a few days after they’ve been declared dead. He drops a bunch of hubflowers beside their bed, to replace the wilting bunch already there. “You know, Fred got in a new batch of Jet today,” he remarks, sitting down in the worn chair beside the bed. His dark eyes glance to the limp figure. “I didn’t buy any.” He shrugs, a little too casual to be genuine. “Didn’t feel right. I feel like I oughta be sad, like I don’t got the privilege of puttin’ something in my blood so I can forget about you for a little while. ‘Cause I don’t want to forget. I miss you.” He snorts. “I know. Corny. But you did a lot for me, y'know? Kept me from throwin’ myself into the gutter, headfirst. Even if I don’t always agree with you - or even if I do, you were good for me. Hey, I might not be so good for you, but you kept me around long enough, I figure I was doin’ something right.” He hesitates, the slight smile on his lips fading away. “Fahrenheit tells me I can’t keep you in here forever. Girl tells me you’ll start to rot, and that’s not gonna be pretty.” His gaze flickers down. He murmurs. “But sayin’ goodbye means saying goodbye, and I wanna make sure I remember what your face looks like when you’re in the ground.” He stands, affectionately squeezing Sole’s hand. “Sleep tight, brother/sister.”

Nick Valentine: He takes a long drag from his cigarette, feeling the warm tendrils of smoke curl around his circuits, a gray plume rising from his lips as he ‘breathes’ out. It’s so hard to tell what’s organic and what’s a simulation. Does he breathe anymore? Or does he just imagine it? Or is it somewhere in between, with the expansion of a false lung that gives the sensation of breathing? He’s had two hundred years to think about this, and he still doesn’t have an answer. He’s had two hundred years worth of loss, Pre-and-Post war, and mourning never gets any easier. Neither does the knowledge of another good person lost to the darkness of the Commonwealth, where good people are so few and in between. Whether his relationship to Sole was platonic or romantic, his reaction is the same - hide away in his office until another case comes in to distract him. There’s always someone that needs help, always somebody that needs saving by an unwanted old synth with nothing left to lose. Not any more, anyway. “Why not take me, instead?” he asks, staring up at the ceiling of his office. “They had more life left in ‘em than I did.” There’s no reponse. Just the hum of a fluorescent light, and the rumble of the coffee pot at work.

MacCready: “More liquor. No, seriously. Charlie, I’m- Just- ” The Mr. Handy sets down the bottle without a word, eyeing MacCready from over the counter. “I know. Look, just add it to the tab. Charlie, just give me the god damn-” Charlie informs the merc that his tab is long over-drawn. Ham’s firm hand lands on MacCready’s shoulder, and the smaller man shrugs him off, rising angrily from the bar and stomping away. He can already feel the buzz wearing off. Or maybe drunk is just his new normal? All he knows is that he’s sober enough to want to cry, and that alone pisses him off. He hates it, he hates thinking, he hates remembering, and he wants so bad to just fucking stop, stop everything, to slump over in a alley and choke in a pool of his own vomit. Real fitting end for a real piece of work, huh? But he won’t let himself. He won’t let himself give in to his own damn selfishness. Duncan needs him. And he won’t be honoring Sole’s memory by becoming even more of a piece of shit. No, he’s gotta keep going. He’s gotta be better. And that means paying off his goddamn tab and getting back to work, because there’s shit that needs doing, and he’s just the bitter old merc to do it.

Piper: She ends up publishing that obituary, the piece of work that took so many tearful nights to write. It ends up being less of an obituary and more of a memoir, taking up most of the paper as she recounts most (if not all) of Sole’s feats that she can remember. She tries drawing a picture of Sole’s face, if only to have something to remember them by, only to cry out in frustration and throw it aside. She’s a writer, not an artist. That’s what cameras are for. Why didn’t she take more pictures of Sole? Why didn’t she steer them clear of that damn needle? She releases a choked sob into the dim room of her office. After a few minutes of letting herself cry, Piper sniffs, stubbornly wiping her tears away and shuffling outside to the printing press, getting the next day’s paper ready before she heads to bed. Sole’s gone. Sole’s gone. She tells herself this, forces it through her thick skull, drills it into her thoughts so she can get out all the pain and crying before she drowns in it. Sole had believed in her, believed in her dinky little paper and her sister and her past and her dreams, and now Sole was gone. Another wave of sorrow washes over her. No. She can’t let herself cry. She’s got to be strong. Strong for Nat - and for herself. She had to be what Sole thought she could be. 

Preston: With Sole gone, there’s so much to be done, so many towns to protect, so many people that need help and so many resources to manage. He’s busy doing paperwork and training the newest round of recruits when a messenger comes, looking rather solemn. Sole’s dead, the boy says, his eyes wide. Preston swallows, gives him a tight nod, and sends him away. So this is it, he thinks. The last man standing, for the second time. But he blinks, and realizes that isn’t quite true. He’s not the only survivor of a massacre, looking after half a dozen shattered hearts in starving bodies. He’s got a fort. He’s got connections. He’s got honorable men and women that look up to him, countless families living in settlements under his protection, and hope. Hope. Something he thought he’d lost a long time ago. And he knows that without Sole, none of that would have been accomplished. Standing on the wall of the Castle, he looking out at the ocean, clasping his hands behind his back as he smiles softly. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “For everything.”

Strong: He’s surprised when the doctors inform him of Sole’s passing. “NO,” he says, shaking his head. “NO, HUMAN IS FINE.” Even when he’s shown Sole’s lifeless body, he still can’t quite believe that they’re dead. Within his limited thought processes, the mutant somehow believed Sole’d die in a big fight, with lots of explosions, and things to eat. Sole seemed too strong to die yet. After a while, Strong begins to understand that Sole has passed on, and what that means. He goes and sits out by himself for a while, just staring out at the sky with a solemn expression on his face. He sits there all night. The next morning, when someone goes to get him, he’s gone.

X6-88: He should have paid more attention. He should have kept them away from the needles. He should have known better. These are the thoughts that run through his head when Sole’s body is taken away. Before even an hour has passed after Sole’s death, he’s sent out on another mission. He bristles, protesting the reassignment so soon after his charge’s passing. “You’re a Courser,” comes the cold reply. “You do not exist to ask questions, X6. You serve a purpose. You do not form attachments. Go.” And before Sole, X6 might have agreed with such an assessment. But something dull and warm burns in his chest as he teleports out of the Institute. He’s spent too long serving others, being told he’s incapable of emotion, being told he’s a tool. Sole taught him to think, taught him what it felt like to be treated as an equal, taught him what respect felt like. With Sole’s death goes his last tie to the Institute, and it’s their face that flashes in his mind when he strips himself of his Courser clothing and removes his sunglasses. He vanishes into the Commonwealth, now his own man - and with Sole to thank.

((Thanks for the ask, anon!))

anonymous asked:

Paring: Shakarian Prompt: 60. “Before you decide to murder me, let me explain…”

Send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write you a drabble        


“EDI, where’s Shepard?”

“The commander is still in her quarters.” The AI replied.

Garrus’ mandibles flicked downwards in a frown. The last time he’d seen Anne, it’d been this morning, when she was going into the med bay to see Chakwas for something, and that had been several hours ago…

Was she okay…? Chakwas didn’t seem to be acting worried about anything today, but still…

“Is she open to seeing anyone?” Garrus asked.

“You still have Open Door access to her quarters, Mr. Vakarian.”

A warmth bloomed in Garrus’ chest at those words.

“Thank you, EDI, that will be all…” With that, Garrus turned left the main battery, and headed for the lift.

Even after the suicide mission- If it could even be CALLED that anymore, seeing as Anne had, yet again, beaten all the odds, and everyone got out alive- Anne still continued to invite him up to her cabin, and let him know that he could basically come up to the room whenever he wanted to…

Three weeks later, Garrus now finds himself sleeping with her in her bed more often then he does in the main battery, and that Open Door promise was still holding true.

And right now, he was going to use that ability to make sure Anne was okay, because something just…didn’t FEEL right…

Garrus approached the door, and the red lock automatically switched to green upon noticing the signals from his Omnitool. He swore, his heart just absolutely flutters every time he’s sees it happen.

Upon entering the room, he was simply greeted by dead silence. Anne wasn’t at her terminal, or playing with her space hamster, or-

It was then when he noticed her, just…Laying crumpled up and motionless, curled up in the middle of her bed.

“Anne?” He called out to her.

He just barely heard her grumble an unintelligible response.

“Anne, are you okay?” He asked, walking over to the side of the bed. “I haven’t seen you…Since…”

His voice trailed off as he noticed that Anne was curled around, almost protectively, what looked like a hot water bottle…

“Mmm?…Hey, Garrs…” Anne mumbled. “M'mm sorry…Haven’t really been feeling up for doin’ much…Having a period…”

Garrus blinked.

“That’s fine, as long as you’re okay, but, um…A period of…what, exactly?”

“Not that kind of period, Garrs.” Anne snorted.

Spirits above, he hated human speak. Too many of the same words meant different things, and they had no subvocals to help differentiate the meanings.

Well, since it seemed she was rather out of it, Garrus decided to just try and turn to the extranet to figure out what that was suppose to mean.

He assumed that whatever this ‘period’ was suppose to mean, it was probably responsible for her condition right now, so on his Omnitool, he entered the phrase ‘Human, period, lethargy’.

The results he got were…A bit confusing. Something about hormones, and moodiness, and failure to conceive, kinda almost like-


Oh no.

Nest Brooding…

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I’m with you, okay? Always.(Bellamy BlakexReader)

It’s funny what can happen to a person in mourning. Never having a reason up until now, I had no idea what to expect. I thought I would cry for a few days and slowly make my way back into normalcy but that wasn’t the case at all. Maybe for some people it worked that way. For the ones who had suffered from loss many times prior. I couldn’t tell if I admired their strength or pitied them for such heartache.

Of course I cried and picked one too many fights out of anger, feeling like the universe had spat in my face. But once the tears and blood on my knuckles had dried, the bruises scattered over my skin coming to light,I found myself wandering to my shared tent and instead of returning to my life, I rotted within. I laid in bed, hardly moving and finding no real strength to speak when visitors came to coax me out or provide comforting words. Food was delivered to me and at first I was practically spoon fed with my body slumped forward, arms weak at my sides. As more time passed I was able to feed myself just enough to survive before rolling back onto my side, away from my caretakers.

I didn’t want to behave this way, but I couldn’t fight it. Upon hearing the news that my father was one of the many to offer up his life so that others could live, I had completely shut down. He was all I had seeing as my mother died while giving birth to me. The guilt for her untimely death was unforgiving and remained in the furthest part of my subconscious, showing its ugly face when I was at my weakest. But he would always catch the tears at the corners of my eyes and tell me, “she died so you could live and she left me the most wonderful gift. I see so much of her in you.”

Like she had never left.

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Just Tonight - CS Christmas Fic

I wrote this fic a couple of year’s ago now and I’ve decided to repost a chapter a day (there’s five) for those that haven’t read it/want to read it again and then I’m going to post a new oneshot sequel entitled, ‘Just Forever’.

Warning of character death for the first chapter.

Rating: T

So, here’s my little bit of angsty romance for Christmas…


Chapter 1

Killian Jones switched on a table lamp then sat down heavily on the edge of his bed and let out a long, drawn out sigh.

Liam was dead.

Even now, a little over a week after the event it still hadn’t sunk in properly. He still couldn’t believe that he’d never see his brother’s face or hear one of his ridiculous anecdotes ever again.

It was all so surreal.

One minute they’d been discussing what take out to get, the next his eyes had rolled back in his head and he’d fallen down in a crumpled heap at Killian’s feet.

Undetected heart defect the doctors had said. Oh, they’d used fancier jargon than that obviously, but it amounted to the same thing.

Liam was still gone.

He shrugged off his black suit jacket then reached up and loosened his tie. With a couple of tugs he pulled the constricting fabric from his throat and tossed it onto a nearby chair before undoing the first couple of buttons on his crisp white shirt.

Finally he felt as though he could breathe again.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he let out another heavy sigh. It was the times that he momentarily forgot that got to him the most, like when the phone would ring and just for a split second he’d expect it to be him…but then he’d remember that it couldn’t be.

Or he’d read something in the newspaper and file it away to tell Liam later…only there was no later. Not any more.

His whole life Liam had been the one constant. Their mother had died when he was a baby and their father had abandoned them as soon as Liam had been old enough to get a job. He’d never known one and the disappearance of the other had in no way prepared him for the devastating feeling of loss that he was desperately trying to navigate now.

His brother’s funeral had been earlier that day and he’d managed to hold it together for the most part. Now, though, he could feel the weight of his unhappiness bearing down on him.

The wake had been hard. Liam’s friends and work colleague’s had each been determined to share their last memory of his brother with him. By the time people had started to leave his forced polite smile had felt more like a grimace and, bad manners or not, he’d come to the sanctuary of his room to get a much needed respite from the stragglers for a few minutes.

The ball of emotion that had been his constant companion all day was getting harder to choke down. His aching throat burned with the effort of holding his grief at bay but he was determined not to give in to it.

Not until he was alone.

Then he would mourn his brother in peace.

There came a soft knock at the door and he drew in a deep breath as he prepared himself to go back out. No doubt someone was ready to leave and they wanted to pass on their condolences one more time. He was just reaching for his jacket when the door opened to reveal a woman with long blonde hair and a sad smile standing there.

“I just wanted to let you know that everyone’s gone,” she told him softly as she entered his bedroom and shut the door behind her.

“How the bloody hell did you manage that, Swan?” he asked, his cultured English accent sounding a little rougher than normal as he fought to keep his voice even.

“Oh, you know me, I can be quite persuasive when I put my mind to it,” she replied as she walked over to the bed and sat down next to him.

Close, but never too close.

“One of the requisites of being the Sheriff of our fair town no doubt,” he countered with a hint of a smile.

“And your friend,” she rejoined softly as she gazed at him in concern, “How are you doing?”

“Bloody awful, love,” he admitted ruefully as he reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “but better for having you to myself for a little while.”

She rolled her green eyes as he expected she would and he wondered what she’d do if she realised just how much he actually meant it.

Run away as fast as she could most likely. It was what she did when emotions were involved. Especially one’s such as he secretly harboured.

For five long years ever since he and Liam had moved to Storybrooke from England he’d been in love the woman sitting next to him. Completely and irrevocably. There wasn’t and never would be anyone else for him.

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Request: None, wrote this for myself! (and to give another example of my writing style)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 1,734

Warnings: Some angst, but it cheers up at the end.

Authors Note: Requests are open! For more information, go here. I’m starting to work on your lovely requests! (◕‿◕✿)

Poe Dameron had just returned from a long and hard reconnaissance mission. A third of his squadron had been lost during an ambush of First Order TIE fighters. When Poe finished his debriefing with General Organa, he was at a loss of what to do. Although the mission was technically a success; it was hard to view it as such. He felt no urge to celebrate. The loss of his comrades weighted heavily on his heart.

It was a clear night with a slight warm breeze. The moon was almost full; casting a pale glow onto D’Qar. Poe exited the compound. He aimlessly meandered around the base becoming lost in his thoughts. Poe understood the consequences of war. He was well aware of them when he joined the Resistance. Poe understood that he would lose friends. Yet he could never become accustomed to the manner in which he lost them. It was gut wrenching to see and hear their existence ripped apart within seconds. Poe knew that he had very little control over all of their fates. Even so, this never stopped him from spiralling into thoughts of ‘what if I had done…’

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OTBS: MC Dies In An Accident (Headcanon)

A/N: This is written with the assumption MC died in a sudden, unexpected, accident.

Warning: there’s some extreme content below the cut. If you’re not comfortable reading about depression, damaging thoughts, and self-destruction, do not read on, especially what I’ve written for Kaoru – (I’ll put him last so you can skip over him if you wish).

Before reading on, I want to really hit home that this is my interpretation of the characters. I honestly believe that the situations below are plausible based on what we know of the characters (Season 1 + Minato proposal)

Please note, it is not my intention to romanticise the content: depression is in no way wanted, desirable, or deserved. I wrote this for personal reasons, which need not be discussed. I was encouraged to publish it by otome-infection, and so I dedicate this headcanon to her.

Our Two Bedroom Story Guys When MC Dies in an Accident

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Heart like yours.

Authors note: So this was a request by an annon who wanted a fic based off of the song that this is named after. After listening to the song and thing about it for a while I came up with this and spent a good 30 minutes on the floor afterwards crying because of it. The thought behind it is what got me. Enjoy. Don’t forget to like, Reblog and follow for more like this one. 

Written by: Redlittlefox 

Redlittlefox Master list 

Dean X reader 

Word count: 2k 

Warnings: Loss of blood, Angst, death. ( Sorry) 

People: @aprofoundbondwithdean @latinenglishfandomblog @brokenaria @is-this-you-manning-up-sammy @winchesterenthusiast @the-mrs-deanwinchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @mrs-squirrel-chester @mamapeterson @spnfanficpond @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @letsgetoutalive

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All the Magic We Cannot See

A birthday present for the amazing and lovely @thetourguidebarbie, who requested a Klaroline Harry Potter AU with Koroline friendship and optional smut (there’s definitely smut). Basically everything I’ve ever been terrified to write, which is why this is a month or so late. Seriously, this is 10,000 words of me panicking. Woefully unedited. Thank you to @lynyrdwrites for letting me borrow her Slytherin!Caroline headcanon, I can’t imagine her any other way. 

If there was ever a time to harm a cat, this was it.

Caroline shifted uncomfortably, watching Mrs. Norris with narrowed eyes, wondering exactly how much trouble she would get in for using a hex on an animal. She could say she was practicing, NEWTs drove people to do weird things, but the chances of detention were too great, and she knew she couldn’t afford to take the risk of losing house points, not when Slytherin were only a hundred away from taking lead.

Of course, she was already putting that lead in jeopardy just by being out after hours. One minute more and she was seriously considering leaving her post, but the reason for her vigil finally made himself known with a short series of knocks on the wood panel behind her.

Caroline answered with four knocks of her own and the portrait of the first Wizengamot gently eased open, a grinning Kol Mikaelson slipping into the hallway and closing the entrance to the secret passage behind him.

“Miss me darling?”

Caroline huffed, slugging him in the arm and causing him to drop some of the Honeydukes merchandise he was laden with. “You jerk, you were supposed to be back ten minutes ago!” she hissed, trying to remember that she couldn’t yell at him as much as she wanted to. A full tirade would be saved for when they were back in the common room, but for now, she begrudgingly helped Kol pick up the spilt goods.

“I’d have been back faster but I had to search for the Fizzing Whizzbees that somebody insisted on,” he replied with a wink and Caroline groused but before she could snap back the hairs on her neck stood on edge. She snapped her head to the corner where Mrs. Norris had been watching and realized that the stupid cat had flown the scene ages ago. Which meant…

“Filch is going to be here now,she warned, already moving into the shadows and following the well-worn path to the dungeon. Even as a seventh-year, Caroline was sure she didn’t know all of Hogwarts’ secrets, but getting to the Slytherin common room was something she could do blindfolded, especially from the third-floor passageway that Kol had started dragging her to sometime in the middle of their fourth year. It was at that point she seriously considered dissolving her friendship with Mikaelson, but he always brought back her favourite sweets, and Caroline knew that no matter how much she complained, it wouldn’t feel right to let him go without playing lookout.

Didn’t mean she couldn’t complain though.

“I mean seriously, you do this at least twice a month, how do you still take forever?!” They’d made it down to the dungeons and finally felt safe enough to slow down and raise their voices to normal volume.

“Excuse me darling, but anytime you’d prefer to be the one navigating that passage in the dark, be my guest.”

“You have a wand,” Caroline muttered as they approached the stone-wall entrance.

“Cornish Pixie,” Kol said, frowning when nothing happened. “Bloody hell, is it broken?”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Do you ever read the message board? It changed three days ago. Acromantula.She smirked as the wall slid open but their bickering was cut short by the sudden noise of the party inside.

“Took you long enough!” Rebekah Mikaelson’s shrill voice cut through the crowd as she pulled the bag of candy out of her older brother’s hands. She didn’t stop to chat before disappearing to find her dorm mates leaving an irate Kol in her wake. “Lovely to see you too Bekah,” he called after her, “What are you laughing at, Forbes?”

Caroline didn’t bother trying to hide her sniggering, but they were interrupted by the rest of the Slytherin quidditch team hoisting Kol up onto their shoulders and starting a cheer which Caroline happily joined in on. A cup of Butterbeer was pressed into her hands and she let herself enjoy the party, rolling her eyes whenever someone mentioned how Kol was the ‘best Beater they’d ever had.’ As if she hadn’t heard that since second-year. Eventually she dragged one of the leather couches over to one of the windows, close enough that she could feel the heat of the fire but watch the lake, keeping an eye out for the giant squid.

“Not enjoying the party in my honour?” Kol dragged his own chair next to hers, plopping down and offering her his bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.

“Last I checked, it was the entire team that beat Hufflepuff,” Caroline said dryly, taking a handful of beans and inspecting them carefully. “And anyway, why aren’t you over there with your admirers?” she asked, nodding towards the sixth-year girls who were glancing over at Kol ever few seconds. Rebekah stood among them, pretending to gag.

“Bet you’re going to be glad when we have this place to ourselves for Easter,” Caroline remarked, already envisioning the peace and quiet.

Kol pulled a strange face. “Here’s the thing Forbes…Mother Dearest is calling me back to the nest.”

Caroline dropped her jellybeans, aghast. “What?! But we were supposed to spend the week studying for NEWTs!”

“You don’t have to tell me that, it didn’t work on her,” Kol grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“She never used to make you come home this much.”

“She’s been depressed ever since Henrik started here.”

Caroline crossed her arms, sinking down into the comfortable leather and pouted, mourning the loss of her study partner. “Well I hope you know I have to rethink my entire study plan. It was made for two people to revise together.”

Kol mulled over her words before a slow, sinister smile spread across his face. “I mean…you don’t have to spend the holidays here, alone.”

“What? Kol, I can’t go home, I already told my mom that I was planning to stay, she’ll be in the States - “

“You misunderstood, darling. I didn’t mean your home. I meant mine.

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You had no idea where they decided to drop you off at but you were definitely stuck in this small apartment until its okay for you to leave. You’re not a superhero, hell you don’t even have superpowers. You are very smart, and have slowly figured out the serum that made Captain America who he is today. Apparently that made you a wanted person, which means you’re stuck in this witness home until the others decide to finally play nice.

You played with the small locket that held two pictures inside. One of you, and the other of Scott Lang. You’ve been married to him for over a year now, and have come accustomed to the craziness. It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy it, but that did mean your imagination was always in over drive. You always seemed to think the worse was happening outside, but this time around you had a sick feeling that things will be much worse.

You sat down on the couch and leaned against the back of the couch to look out the window. They had bars on them, and you could easily trace where the alarm system was set up. You could see the guard faintly outside with another group of guards that are busy acting like the locals. You sighed and laid your head down until you heard a rustling noise outside. You could hear metal, but the person sounded frustrated.

Out of fear you rushed to the bedroom and closed the door. You quickly hide in the corner of the closet, hoping that maybe they’ll just steal what they want and leave you be. However while you coward in the corner Scott opened the door to see it was empty. He was the one panicking nose, unsure of where you could have gone.

The door was still open, and the walls were thin, so he couldn’t call your name in case someone could be listening in. At least that’s what Clint told him, and since he was a thief, he understood how that worked too. The last place he went to check was the bedroom, and he at first checked under the bed, but he found nothing but dust.

Once he stood, he heard the noise and before you could swing the bat, Scott grabbed it. He pulled the hood down and took off the baseball cap to reveal it was just your husband.

“You bastard you scared me,” He playfully hit him, but it was enough to still hurt.

He laughed before pulling you into his arms. “I’m happy to see you safe, and sorry about all of this. I know you didn’t sign up for this when we got married.”

“Scott I signed up to be the wife of a superhero. I understood that this was going to happen one day. I just wish it didn’t happen so soon,” You admitted softly.

He leaned forward and kissed your forehead gently before leaning down to kiss your cheek. “I know but there is something I need to tell you.”

“Like why I’m here?” You suggested, since everyone refused to talk to you.

“You heard about the whole Captain America being a fugitive, and that law they’re trying to put in right?” He asked, and you nodded your head yes.

“And I’m sure you’ve heard about Iron Man coming after him and anyone who stands beside him?”

You were starting to piece the puzzle together, and the picture you got was just a nightmare. The man before you wasn’t a fighter, but he fought for what he believed in with all of his heart when he needed too. Sadly you knew that this was one of those times, but that also meant that he’ll be on Iron Man’s cross hairs.

“I’m scared,” You admitted. “What if something happens to you? Then what? I mean I can’t go back home, and will they just leave me here to mourn the loss of the love of my life? Scott I don’t know if I can handle that! I’m so scared to lose you.”

He could see the tears already falling from your eyes, and it broke his heart. It killed him knowing that he was the reason you were crying, but he needed to be in this fight. To prove to his daughter, and you that the real good guys to do come on top. He reached out for you but hesitated for a moment. He was never really good at this, he knew that thanks to his ex-wife. He at least tried to be better at it, but normally he just made himself look stupid in the end. For some strange reason you still fell in love with him. You still said yes.

He reached out again with more confidence and pulled you into his arms. He wrapped them around you and kissed the top of your head gently, and rubbed your back while you cried.

“I wish I could say that we’ll just leave, but please know that I can’t turn away from this fight. I have to fight for you and Cassie. I want you to be proud of me,” He said but quickly continued when he saw that you were about to make a comment. “I know you guys our proud of me, but what kind of man am I if I don’t help my friends. If I just let this thing happen, and just let the government know our names. They already know enough, you two are in enough danger as it is. I don’t need them making it worse. So if I have to risk my life for this then I’m going too.”

You sighed softly before shaking your head, “Damn you’re too persuasive. You really are getting better at that speech thing.”

“Wish I remembered how to when I met Captain America earlier. I shook his hand a little long,” He admitted.

You couldn’t help but to laugh, “Oh of course you did. You’re just that kind of guy. Just make one promise to me, and to Cassie. All I want, I mean all we want, is for you to try your best to come home to us. I know you can’t control your fate and neither can we but just let me know that you will try everything in your power to come back to me. Hearing that would make me feel a lot better about all of this.”

Scott was starting to think he was going to cry too but held back the tears so that he could speak clearly, “I will do everything I can to come back home, but If I don’t. Please take care of Cassie for me, okay?”

You didn’t want to think about it, but you nodded your head in agreement. You were quickly back into his arms and hold him close to you in fear that this could be the last time. “Will you at least stay the night?” You asked.

“Yes, of course,” He whispered softly.

You had at least one more night with him, and you tried your best to make the most of it. By the end of the night, and you two were in bed, you looked out the window to see the stars. You could have sworn you saw one shooting by. You couldn’t help but to feel almost childish but you wished upon that star that the man beside you and his friends survive the fight, and come back home.


Holiday Fics You Can Read Instead  of Talking to Annoying Family Members*

*a working title

“What are you doing to do with that degree?”

“Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend yet?”

“When are you planning on having kids?”

“Get your hair out of your face and sit up straight.”

The holidays can be great, time to spend with family you never see and stuffing your face. And of course. 

Originally posted by dreaming-globetrotter

But it can also be a time of annoyance and discomfort. So, instead of answering inane questions all weekend read about your OTP. We’ve compiled a list  and everything for easy finding. If we missed any really great ones let us know. 

Happy Holidays from us and remember you are fantastic and are following your dreams, don’t need a significant other, may never have children and you like your hair in your face. 

Here you go!

From @scruffysterek

Secret Santa by rainbowninja167

(Complete I 7,543 Teen I Sterek I Dad!Stiles)

Derek is already thoroughly sick of Christmas by the time Erica bullies him into dressing up as Santa for a holiday charity. It was only supposed to take a couple hours. Until some kid starts accosting him all over Beacon Hills, insisting that Derek is the real Santa.

You Got Us An Ornament by TheRealNightTempest

(Complete I 18,044 I Not Rated I Sterek, Melissa/Sheriff I Teacher!Derek, Writer!Stiles)

With the Pack out of town for Christmas and his dad and Melissa on the honeymoon they never had, Stiles plans to craft his way through the holidays to distract himself from being alone. When he realizes his plan isn’t as fun by himself, Stiles turns to Derek Hale to help him out as the only other miserable guy left in Beacon Hills at Christmas.

Stars Plummet: a Christmas Story by Peckishdragon

(6/6 I 11,589 I Mature I Sterek I Dad!Stiles)

When Stiles left Beacon Hills, he never thought he would be coming back. Eight years later, he is coming home for Christmas, with a small passenger in tow. Old feelings, never forgotten, are rekindled.

From Anastasia and Emmy

In the New Old-Fashioned Way by linksofmemories

(Complete I 1,970 I Explicit I Sterek I PWP)

“Is this a sin?”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles.”

“It feels like a sin.”

“We’re making out under a tree, how is that sinful?”

The Natural Binding Properties of Pine Sap by uraneiaIf 

(Complete I 4,296 I Teen I Sterek I Deputy!Derek)

Derek saves a nymph from being somebody’s Christmas decoration. As a reward, the nymph grants him a twig of mistletoe.

If Derek had known the mistletoe would come to life and goad him into kissing people at random, he might have tried to refuse.

if i built you in miniature by keskasi

(Complete I 6,836 I Teen I Sterek I Human AU)

Derek quietly loves Christmas and is not afraid to wear the sweaters to show it. He hosts a children’s TV show about science and history, builds model trains, and is painfully awkward. Stiles works in a Hallmark-type store that sells Christmas decorations and model train pieces, and might have an unhealthy appreciation for sweaters. Of course he was going to fall for Derek. Of course he was.

A Hale for the Holidays by rlnerdgirl 

(Complete I 38,095 I Explicit I Sterek I Human!AU)

“I sent you a Christmas card that got sent back to me. Did you get a new apartment?” his dad wonders. The question is all suspicion and little anything else.

A flicker of an idea sparks. It’s not nearly formed well enough for him to say, “Yeah, actually,” and when he follows that with, “I moved in with someone,” he wants to punch himself in the face. He’s living with someone?!

“You’re living with someone?” It’s the same voice and tone as the one in Stiles’ head, just thirty years older.

When You Stop Believing in Santa You Get Underwear by owlpostagain

(Complete I 7,817 I Teen  I Sterek I Hurt/Comfort)

There are some salvageable things though. A virtually untouched heavy slate sign that says, engraved in an ornate script that confirms at least one person in the Hale family had a sense of humor (Stiles has a horrible suspicion it might have been Peter), When You Stop Believing in Santa You Get Underwear.

A Missing Jacket by MellytheHun

(Complete I 10,437 I  Explicit I Sterek I Post-Nogitsune)

The Pack is still mourning their loss and Stiles makes an effort to cheer everyone up by focusing on a group effort; to make Derek Hale a little less of a Grinch. Stiles may have his own reasons for wanting to make Derek Hale a little happier.

My World Is Filled With Cheer And You by bleep0bleep 

(Complete I 10,832 I Teen I Sterek I  Fake Marriage, Kid Fic)

“It was a last minute decision. Single parents with children draw attention to themselves in this type of neighborhood, and this department didn’t have a big budget to relocate all the werewolf and werewolf sympathizers that were targeted on this list. We’ve combined a lot of our relocation assignments. It ended up working out that another family, Mr. Stilinski and his son, looked like a good fit for you guys, so you’ll be sharing a home with them for the time being.” Markowski grins at him. “Congratulations! You’re married!”

Stay. by paradis

(Complete I 15,357 I Explicit I Sterek, Scallison I Angst)

He leaves because the press of Derek’s lips and the sting of his teeth against Stiles’ neck are still burning his skin, and he can’t stop touching them, but then he remembers Derek telling him he’s not pack, he never was, and that he doesn’t belong here.

He leaves because Lydia asks him too, but he doesn’t go back to Beacon Hills because no one asked him to come back.

Mistletoe Never Lies by CarolineLahey

(8/8 I 19,220 I Explicit I Sterek I Fake/Pretend Relationship)

Derek Hale loves his family, he really does. He just wishes they weren’t so determined to set him up. When he finally blurts out that he has a boyfriend, and quickly gives his mother the name of the barista at his local coffee shop as his “boyfriend”, he figures that buys him a little peace.

He probably should have been paying attention to the part of the conversation where he agreed to bring Stiles home for Christmas to meet the family.

Cupboard Love by mklutz

(2/2 I 32,682 I General I Sterek I College AU, Human AU)

He’s carefully balancing the sandwiches and the two biggest tupperware containers he could find that both had functioning lids when the front door opens and he almost drops everything right there in front of the stupid fountain.

If that’s Derek Hale, he’s definitely not a mountain man.

And The There Was... (Part Three)

And Then There Was… (Part Three)


I ran into Grace’s room, to find Dean holding her kissing her head, running his fingers over her nose.
‘Put her down.’ I growled, as I ran in.
‘She is amazing.’ He said softly
‘Who the hell are you?’ he turned and looked at me surprise, shock, and sadness in his face.
‘It’s Dean.’ He said hurt, I shook my head.
‘You’re not Dean.’ I cried ‘Give me my baby.’ I demanded, I wanted to look for Sam and Dean hoping they were behind me but I refused to take my eyes of this man. I held my arms out.
‘She really is beautiful. She looks like you.’ He said, tears in his eyes. ‘I didn’t think you…’ his voice caught. ‘I didn’t think we wanted kids.’ I stood watching him. ‘I see her and I realise how much I…’ he struggled to talk. I was so confused. He gently stroked her face, taking in the sight of her. He held her hand as she nestled into him. I was freaking out,
‘Is this some sort of prank? Dean this isn’t funny.’ I said, there was no way he beat me to her from the viewing room. I looked at the shelf above her cot, and quickly grabbed her silver money box, I pressed it to his arm and watched as nothing happened.
‘I’m not a shifter. I’m me.’ He said.
‘You are in the viewing room with Sam.’ I growled. ‘Give me my baby.’
‘Is this what you dream about? A family?’ He looked at Grace and my stomach. He reached out to touch it. Sadness in his eyes.
‘You’re scaring the crap out of me.’ I told him. ‘SAMMY! DEAN!’ I yelled, listening for footsteps. No-one came. It was weird they run like the flash if Gracie sneezes. I pulled the phone out my pocket and noticed it wouldn’t work.
‘You know she’s not real?’ he asked softly. I shook my head.
‘You’re lying.’ I gasped in disbelief.
‘I wish I were, believe me baby. I would rather nothing more than for this to be real. To be at the bunker, holding our baby girl. You round with our next child.’ His hand found my stomach and rubbed it. Tears rolled down his face. ‘Sweetheart, this is all in your head. You’re dreaming.’ I started to panic. Shaking my head. My chest heaving.
‘No.’ I said quietly. ‘No, she can’t be a dream.’ Not my sweet princess.
‘You were in a car accident, it was raining. The weather was pretty bad, a drunk driver ran you off the road. You’re in hospital, you have been unconscious for several days.’ His voice catching, trying to tell me what happened.
‘What?’ I asked, tears running down my face. ‘No.’
‘You were heading to meet Charlie. Going to see some new movie. I am so sorry baby.’
‘How?’ I asked, struggling to take it in. ‘How are you here?’ I started hyperventilating.
‘Dream root. I have been trying to get you to wake up. You started to come to a few times then fell unconscious again.’
‘Oh God.’ I struggled to stand. No, No, NO. My hands went to my mouth, I thought I was going to be sick.
‘You cut your arms up good, from the glass. It just missed you main vein.’ I look at the scars on my arms, the ones I couldn’t remember where I got them from.  I watched as Dean kissed Grace again and placed her in her cot. I felt my legs give out and I fell to the ground. Dean caught me just in time. Pulling me up. I panicked pushing him away.
‘Gracie.’ I cried running to the cot, my daughter was gone.
‘WHERE IS SHE?’ I screamed, turning to face him. ‘What did you do?’ he tried to grab my arms, but I pulled back.
‘DEAN! SAM!’ I screamed.
‘Baby, please, you need to realise what happened. You need to wake up.’ The Dean in front of me had tears running down his face. ‘Baby, please. I can’t lose you. Come back to me.’ He pleaded.
‘DEAN! SAM!’ I screamed again, I looked in the cot Grace was still missing. I ran out the room.
‘GRACIE!’ I ran through the hallways of the bunker. They were longer than I remembered, eventually I came to the library, Grace’s floor mat and play area we had set up was missing. I ran into the viewing room, all the toys that once took over the floor were now gone.
‘NO!’ I screamed hysterical. I turned finding Dean behind me.
‘Baby, she wasn’t real. This,’ He put his hand on my stomach, ‘this isn’t real.’ I watched as my bump disappeared. Crying I fell to the floor. Dean wrapped his arms around.
‘I’m so sorry baby. I truly am, but you need to wake up now. Please Y/N open your eyes.’ I looked at him, tears running down my face. I pushed him off of me, I had no idea what he was. But I was going to kill him for what he did.

I climbed to my feet and ran to the garage. Hoping to find my Dean. Instead all I saw was my charger, she was crushed like a soft drink can.
‘Oh My God.’ I whispered, approaching her, my hand flew to my mouth.
‘We can fix her. It will take time, but I will get her on the road.’ Dean said from behind me. ‘Do you remember any of it?’ He asked softly. I ran my hand along the twisted metal, shaking my head.
‘She’s not real, Grace isn’t real.’ I sobbed, ‘The baby wasn’t real.’ I was crying even more now.
‘Oh sweetheart, they can be. If you want them, come back to me and when you are better we can try for kids. I didn’t know how much you wanted them or I wanted them until I saw her.’ He pulled me into a hug as I cried.
‘Y/N?’ I heard from the doorway. I looked up and saw Dean standing there holding Gracie, and a newborn.
‘Mummy.’ Gracie said holding her arms out.
‘Stay with us. Don’t leave.’ Dean said. ‘Come back inside the bunker. It’s raining out. The weathers bad.’ I struggled to breathe, my chest heaving.
‘Don’t stay here baby.’ Dean whispered in my ear. ‘Come home. We can have this life, apple pie, all of it. Just come back to me. This isn’t real you know that.’ He squeezed my hand.
‘They need you.’ Dean said, looking at Grace. ‘We all do. We love you Y/N.’ I turned away from them, struggling. I couldn’t handle it anymore. The other Dean had gone, he was nowhere. I ran outside into the rain as a lightning bolt struck nearby, lighting up my eyes.

‘Dean.’ I called, panicked. Sitting up, I could hear the beeping of the monitor.
‘I’m here.’ He grabbed my hand, jumping up he kissed my head. ‘Thank God.’ He murmured into my hair. The doctor came in and checked my obs. Everything was as normal as can be expected. I could go home in a few days.

Once he left I burst into tears, when I realised I was in the hospital. It truly was a dream. My hand went to my stomach.
‘I’m so sorry baby.’ He said softly, covering my hand. ‘I didn’t know you wanted kids.’
‘I planned on them when there was nothing left to take them away.’ I sobbed into his arms, ‘I didn’t think we could keep them safe until them. I didn’t realise…’ I burst into another wave of tears. Dean climbed onto my bed with me and held me. I heard him whispering to Sam about what happened.
‘Is my charger really a write off?’ I sobbed. Dean shook his head.
‘No, sweetheart. We will fix it. I promise, we always said we wanted a project car.’ I nodded, I closed my eyes and saw the faces of my two sweet babies who never were. It felt silly mourning their loss, their pregnancies never took place and yet I felt like it was real. I could still smell that sweet, milky baby smell Gracie had, hear her giggles, feel her sloppy kisses, the way her fingers wrapped around mine.

‘Were we happy?’ Dean asked later that evening, once Sam had left. He kissed my forehead.
‘Yeah. Happier than I thought. Sam kept telling me we worried for no reason.’ I laughed through tears.
‘Do you want to have kids?’ he asked, I shifted so I could look at him.
‘Do you?’ I asked, wiping my tears.
‘I didn’t think I did. It’s not that I never wanted them, it’s just hunting is no life for a kid. I want our kids to have normal not screw up.’
‘In all fairness, knowing what’s out there Dean, is apple pie, oblivious to the dangers, the best option?’ I asked
‘Probably not.’ He smiled. ‘When I held her, I felt complete.’ He admitted. ‘I know it was your dream, I know it sounds silly and I knew and know she wasn’t real. But looking at this little girl who was made by us. She was perfect. She was something I want more than anything, but never knew.’ He said sadly. ‘Seeing you, round with our baby. God I want that too. I want to sleep holding it, to feel the baby move, to watch as your belly grows bigger.’ He smiled at me, realising his owns dreams. ‘What about you?’
‘I want it.’ I said softly. ‘Apparently in my dreams we can handle it.’ I said, taking a breath.
‘But?’ Dean asked, sensing my apprehension.
‘But I can’t risk feeling this way again anytime soon. It hurts so bad, I know it’s silly. But they were real to me. I don’t know how I would cope if we had kids and something happened to them.’ The tears fell again. Dean kissed my cheeks catching the tears, with his lips.
‘It’s ok. I understand. If ever you feel ready tell me.’ He murmured, he held me while I cried some more. I could tell my answer hurt him. He realised his own dreams and possibly lost them too. But we will get through this, as we always do. The two of us.

Scripts And Stars - Part 11

Summary: AU: Dan is an actor, auditioning for a new role in a film written by a revolutionary young writer by the name of Phil Lester.

Words: 2.2k (so far)

Warnings: homophobia, discussions about death, bullying and depression

A/N: hm. this is the re-posted version i uploaded it earlier and took it down to adjust a few things sry.




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