#but writing in the tags is just so perfect for trains of thought consciousness

[perpetualexistence]

An Appetite for Knowledge: A Prologue to A Total Drama Noah as a D&D Monster AU

So, I came up with an AU for Noah as a D&D monster. It was supposed to just be one post. Then I started writing a scene for it. Then more context to the scene. Then I came up with a cool name for the AU.

The next thing I knew I was editing the scene immensely and whoopsie daisy I have a horror one-shot.

For extra shits and giggles, I decided to be experimental with it. I wanted to try to do more with less. So I'm not going to name what kind of monster Noah is in this one-shot. If you think you've figured it out, please do leave a comment or put it in the tags because I'm curious.

I plan to post more about the AU itself, including exactly how Noah works, in a separate post that should only be stream of consciousness paragraphs. Do keep in mind that I don't plan to make this an actual fic series, this just serves as a prologue to the AU itself.

If you know nothing about D&D monsters, that's also okay! If I've written this story correctly, you shouldn't have to know anything about D&D in order to enjoy it.

I might end up posting this on AO3 eventually, it really just depends on how I'm feeling. For now, without furthur ado, An Appetite for Knowledge!

Content Warnings: Implied murder, blood

It needed a real body.

It grew tired of hiding from creatures larger and dumber than itself. It could not feed properly from them. It had no collective knowledge to work from. It could only wander in a direction and anticipate.

It came across a stray child hiding himself between the roots of a tree.

The child made not a sound. Not even an aura of magic around the child. I could feel the child's thoughts racing inside of his fleshy cocoon. The child is reading a book far beyond his reading level. A clever hiding spot for a clever child. Not much older than itself. Perfect.

It sent memories into the child's mind. The pain of being dragged from a cranium unknown and melded with paws and claws for travel. The ceaseless chatter of voices commanding it to obey and feed. The utter apathy for a purpose unbidden until now. The knowledge of exactly what was to happen next.

The child screamed. He threw his book to the ground. He used his free hands in his futile attempts to scramble through the roots. They were clearly a tight squeeze without the throes of panic. They were mere inconveniences for a creature the size of a fist.

"No! No no no-AAAAAAAH-"

He's 8 years old and is from the border. He comes from a poor family, but is himself blessed with magic. He was scouted by a magic academy for proper training and accepted immediately.

He's among the first of many students that are being taken back to the academy through a traveling caravan. He couldn't stand for being around others for so long. The second they settled for a break, he fled to seek solitude.

He can understand the sentiment. That's what it did when the demands of the hivemind stopped and he was blessed with free will. It wasn't going to stick around for the fights for power in a state of anarchy. But he'll have to be smarter than that now. He can't have another monster picking his body off while he's alone. Not to mention, he is soon to be among wizards.

They have many spells for finding creatures like him. He must find a way to counter them, or he must flee. He peeked into the spells he now knew. They are not many, but the fact there are any given his age explains why he feels almost stuffed with knowledge. He won't have to eat again for quite a while.

He found a spell that would allow his aura to appear as human as his body is. He would have to spend most of his energy casting this spell every day. But once his body grew, and he learned how to better yield his magic? Oh it would very much be worth the constant risk of discovery.

He slowly tilted his head up from his curled position. Light peeked from between the roots to irritate his closed eyelids. He slowly opened his right eye. The light hit his retina to reveal brown roots, brown skin, a brown book still clutched between his arms. He opened his left eye to reveal the same view. Muted colors. Colors nonetheless.

He opened his mouth slowly, and closed it again. He opened his mouth again, and stuck his tongue out to look at it. Closed it again.

His face stung from the scratches it had inflicted. He moved a limb, his arm, to touch his face. He brushed his middle finger against blood. He brought his bloodied finger into view. He took his thumb and rubbed it against his middle finger.

Sloppy work, but it was his first time. He was proud. Proud. Such a nice feeling. He couldn't wait to find out what else could make him proud.

He let out a squawk of indignation as he felt arms burst through the roots and drag him out.

"Kid!" the voice shouted. Based on the armor he was now staring at, this was a guard. He wore a tabard emblazoned with an insignia of runes and sorcery. He recognized that insignia. It was that of his new school. He recognized this voice. This was the guard he had snuck past to look for a place to read. "I heard the screams! What happened to you?! What were you even DOING out here?!"

He hasn't had enough time to parse through his social skills. He'll have to wing it, as his new knowledge of idioms provided. At least he doesn't have to worry about motor skills as he's being carried with two hands around his torso. His limbs dangle as he puts his effort towards speaking.

"I wanted somewhere to read alone." he said. His voice is flat. It's a chore to open his mouth to produce sounds. But that's what human children are capable of, so that's what he must do. The guard's eyebrows furrow in...concern? Ugh, right. Emotions are a thing he needs to account for now.

"Read al-Kid! Just because that weird brain thing got killed, it doesn't mean the woods are safe!" the guard shouted. Oh. That would explain the silence. "This is still a forest swamped with monsters!"

"They were safe enough for you to fall asleep on guard duty." he retorted. It was hard to place where this instinct came from. It had never liked the authority of the hivemind. He had never liked people looking down at him for his age.

The guard's face flushed red. Oh, pride was back. He'd have to do that more often.

"You little-" the guard started before he forced himself to stop. He looked to the ground to calm himself and noticed the claw marks. "Just...tell me what attacked you."

"I didn't see it clearly. I think the little creature that lived here came home. You must've scared it off."

The guard looked directly into his gaze. He couldn't fail this test. He was too exhausted to try again.

The last time he tried to hide something was when his mother caught him a few months ago. He'd stolen his sister's practice wand. He wanted to use it, and she was being selfish. His mother didn't know which sibling had stolen it. She was asking each of them individually. He had watched his innocent siblings meet her gaze, and she relented. He had tried to meet her gaze, but guilt overcame her and he had looked away from her.

He looked directly at the guard. The guard was the first to look away and sigh.

"Just don't do it again kid, next time you won't be so lucky." The guard slung him over his shoulder like a sack of grapes.

"You're right, I won't be."

"Let's just get you back to the others....uh..."

The guard is trying to pull for a name. His body's name is spoken in a tongue unfamiliar to most in this country. He was not lying. He will never be so lucky as to find an opportunity like this again.

What to say, what say? He's never had the ability to be creative before. He only knew what his body last knew before he moved in. Including his last words.

He tried going for a grin. He could only settle for a smirk.

"Noah. You can call me Noah."

#an appetite for knowledge au #total drama au #horror #total drama noah #td noah #total drama #dungeons and dragons au #dnd au #dnd monster #tw implied murder #cw implied murder #tw implied death #cw implied death #implied murder #implied death #blood #tw blood #cw bloow

[freneticfloetry]

fic rec friday fun

So wanted to get some hiatus rec lists going and encourage some self promo in my friends so how about sharing your top fics no matter how big or small - give us the links to your wonderful words with the Most hits/Most kudos/Most comments/Most bookmarks /Most words/Least words

My Works List's answer to everything but Most and Least Words is the same fic, because for whatever reason it is a runaway train, so I'm going to use that for the first and the second spots for everything else. Kisses to @carlos-in-glasses for the tag.

Most Hits: Ashes and Flame (Every You and Every Me) (Hunger Games Trilogy) Peeta comes home, still unsure what the word means. I finished Mockingjay about eleven o'clock one night and stayed up way too late just to write this. It was a fever bunny. I still have no idea how people are still finding and reading this fic, but I have such a fondness for it to this day.

Most Kudos: Lost in Translation (The Losers) Jensen's given a Spanish side mission, and learns more than he thought he would. Sometimes in song. Once upon a time, a friend and I made a pact to write a different NYR fic for unfilled Yuletide prompts every week for a year. That lasted exactly two weeks, because I couldn’t write short to save my life, but I had two of my favorite fic experiences ever as a result. This was the second. I always love getting to play in the brains of characters with the kind of snarky stream-of-consciousness voice Jake Jensen has, and writing this was a blast.

Most Comments: scenes from an unfinished story (told by the lost and found) (The Magicians) The summary is a story on its own, so I'll just say: it's a Queliot Hollywood AU featuring Eliot the Actor and Quentin the Aspiring Writer (who, for the moment, is a PA), based on, of all things, Win a Date with Tad Hamilton. It was my Magicians Happy Ever After Big Bang, and it holds a special place in my heart for a multitude of reasons, but the holy trinity of those is that it was my first real foray into AU territory, it was the proudest I've ever been in my structure and storytelling abilities, and it gave me some of the best friends I'll ever have.

Most Bookmarks: Deck the Halls with Daddy Issues (MCU) Tony Stark doesn't do Christmas. But Steve loves Christmas, and he loves Steve, and he's going to try. (Which still doesn't mean he'll be any good at it.) Third in line here, since the second was already on the list. This was an Avengers movie spec written for the cap_ironman exchange, back in the days before the movie was actually released and squashed every Steve/Tony inkling I've ever had. I also completely forgot about it, in the madness of Yuletide that year, got a reminder email from the mods, said "no no, it's almost done!" when I hadn't written a word, and vomited this onto the page in a six-hour all-nighter. Still, it makes me smile.

Most Words: Past Perfect Future Tense (The Magicians) It happened. That they'd asked themselves how, when it's literally the least important part of this, he can chalk up to shock or shortsightedness or his own sheer stupidity. It's the why that actually matters, and he thinks he knows the answer to that. So the real question… is how to make it happen again. My monster Magicians WIP. I've nicknamed it Cerberus. Plotting this thing just about broke my brain, with all its time travel shenanigans, and the forecasted chapter count has almost doubled since I started, but I still love the idea and get excited just thinking about it. Soon, my precious.

Least Words: So Have I For You (Firefly) Discipline only carries you so far, lies are never good enough to truly fool yourself, and pride goeth before a fall. She's never been trained for this. Y'all, I used to write short fic. Granted this is about fifteen years old, but still. It is a full and complete story in less than 600 words. Where has that girl gone? This is just a little look at Inara, as she prepares to leave Serenity, and all the reasons why she has to.

I think everybody's pretty much been tagged, but just in case: @hoko-onchi-writes, @mixtapestar, @rubickk7, you're it.

#fic rec friday #my writing

[the-narwhals-awaken]

I'd like a treat featuring some dad!Halt, please :D

Apologies in advance- after reblogging, I got hit with several major assignments, tests, and quizzes all in a row, so that plus general shenaniganery meant that I had not enough time and motivation in combination to actually write out prose, so instead you get bullet-point fic so you'll actually get something. This is entirely stream-of-consciousness written around the time I took my sleep meds, apologies for any confusion. I'd love to elaborate more if you'd like!

The fic's under a readmore to try and aid in not clogging any tags. Enjoy!

This is in an AU where some people have powers- it's relatively normal, most people just get small things like good balance or a sense for weather or the ability to clean mud off of boots well. Almost all of them can't be weaponized, so while there's some discrimination- like there is for everything- it doesn't affect too many things.

There's a lot of legends about what powers the Rangers have- some people say they can dissolve into shadow or have supernatural sight or hearing or aim or never run out of arrows.

And true, a few do have enhanced senses, but what people never think about is that those senses are enhanced all the time, and are as much a detriment as a blessing.

Halt, incidentally, can tell whether plants are harmful or helpful, but nothing else. Not use, just whether it's harmful or helpful, and certainly not how- he learned, given time and motivation, but that was separate.

The Ward kids were normal, in the sense that they all had little gifts- perhaps ones more suited to their lives than normal, yes, but normal, little ones that would impact their lives hardly at all.

George couldn't get papercuts, Horace had perfect vision no matter what, Alyss had enhanced lung capacity, and Jenny had a good memory.

Will was the exception. The Recorder- one of the ones whose power was to tell what others' power was- looked incredibly sad when she saw him, and said his power was Clear Sight. She'd told Will a little more about it in private, of course, but she wouldn't say anything more like she usually would.

This didn't affect Will's life too much- he was a quiet child at times, staring at nothing, but then he'd be bright and cheery again and people would put it aside. Horace did torment him a little, as they both had vision-related talents and they could be pitted against each other, but most of the time he was a normal child.

The fact that he could see Ranger Halt whenever the man wasn't actively trying to stay hidden was never noticed, mostly because nobody else could see him and the Ranger did often try to go unseen around Redmont, whether for his own amusement or for practice nobody knew.

Regardless, nobody knew what Clear Sight entailed beyond Will until well after his graduation- all he'd said on the topic was 'it's not important and won't affect any of the skills needed to be a Ranger'.

Technically true, but not really.

Anyways, it remained a secret- one that nobody thought to ask- until he, Horace, and Halt stood in Dun Kilty in Clonmel.

Horace had left- looking for food, training, Will didn't know and he didn't care.

Normally he'd have tried to look for privacy for this, but it was too late and really, he'd been half waiting for something like this, something he couldn't hide, for years- a way to tell Halt, at least, what had happened.

The woman he could see was very similar to Halt, all things considered- they had the same hair color, the same face shape, although her hair was longer and worn in braids. She'd clearly been one for smiling more, though her face was still marked with stress like Halt's was.

He tilted his head slightly. Though his gift was called Clear Sight, sometimes- only sometimes, he still hadn't quite figured out exactly why, even if he could guess- he could hear as well.

The woman- she introduced herself as Caitlyn- had lit up when she'd realized he could see her, but had remained steadily waiting by Halt the entire time they'd been in the castle, only taking steps away when they'd met with Sean or when Halt was by Abelard- and even the latter had only been far enough away that the horses couldn't reach her.

She'd started talking when the pair had sat in silence, giving Will a message to pass on, then just chattering about things she'd seen and noticed.

When she'd finally finished talking, Will smiled faintly, finally looking away from her. Halt had been watching him, staying quiet while he looked to be paying attention, but speaking up when he looked to be done.

"Will, what are you looking at?"

Will kept smiling faintly. "Have you ever wondered about the nature of Clear Sight, Halt?"

Halt had, of course, but after the disaster of the first two years of Will's apprenticeship, he'd not asked- he didn't want to push Will away, and from how he'd reacted whenever asked about it before that was all that that would have done. Still, it had been an idle curiosity that had nestled in the back of his brain for a very long time.

"I can see the dead, sometimes. Hear them, too, if I'm lucky."

Halt sat there, frozen, staring at Will.

Will kept smiling, though it was even smaller, barely a ghost of one.

"Your sister's here, Halt. She wanted me to tell you she loved you always, and told your nephew about his uncle."

Will passed on the rest of the message, along with Caitlyn's commentary as Halt reacted, till she faded from view.

Halt smiled sadly, grieving but still content.

When they returned to the inn that night, he waited until Horace was asleep, then told Will more stories about Caitlyn. Good ones, bad ones, funny ones, sad ones. The stories kept coming through their entire stay in Clonmel, though generally they were when Horace was away- it was nothing against him, but this was something just for the two of them.

Even as they hunted Tennyson down, the stories kept coming- little ones, now, mostly just memories of what Caitlyn did, but ones that could brighten a mood slightly or make the next hours easier to pass through.

Afterwards, when they'd made it home, Will asked why Halt had told those stories- some of those were truly embarrassing, some had held things that perhaps might not have been meant to be shared out of the Hibernian royal families, some of them he'd only been able to tell in Hibernian and it was only the lessons Will had had with Halt during his apprenticeship that had let him keep up.

Halt had given a slow, sad smile.

"Since you couldn't meet her in person, I thought I'd tell you of your aunt. Your uncle was a terrible person, after all, and you deserve at least one decent family member."

Will, of course, claimed Halt was far more than decent on his own.

Still, the admission was nice, warming him from the inside out. He and Halt were family, of course, that didn't need to be said, but the fact remained that it was rare that Halt admitted it, let alone labelling it like he did.

The fact that he did so, and brought in the extended truth of what that would mean, touched Will deeply.

That night he made cranachan from the recipe Caitlyn told him as she hovered, far more immaterial than she'd been in Dun Kilty, over his shoulder.

And there you go! Thanks for the ask, it's nice to write something that, by the nature of this format, is short. I'd love to elaborate more or do other story snippets in this world- I've got a few churning around, most involving a younger Will. Thanks for your ask and hope you enjoyed it!

#trick or treat #treat #fic #rangers apprentice #dad!Halt #halt o'carrick #will treaty #caitlyn o'carrick #will sees dead people

[cljordan-imperium]

WIP SONG SATURDAY

@moon-and-seraph host the event HERE

This week's optional theme is "First & Last", so I'm making it my interpretation of what song started as a theme for my First WIP (oldest) @theimperiumchronicles and hits everyone to the newest @sehnsuchtrising (even if I haven't posted yet).

Since I heard it @ 2017 ESL Masters

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_m1BO50H3-eQrb8isbbEJtTBaHUI4MhHJI&si=tlLgVSSzChbxFgQI

With every breath and every stride

I still need you here by my side

And take me by the hand when once again

I'm blinded by the light

We won't back down from a fight

No, we won't back down from a fight

There's nothing that I wouldn't do

After everything that we've been through

We won't back down from a fight

If we would stay alive

Why below cut

@theimperiumchronicles - Back in 2017, we are talking the CORE group here, and they were not Horesemen. Brie, Cruz, Dez, Talon, Talia, Raquel, Arioch, and Arch. There were a LOT more fight scenes, which will be coming back soon, too. They were fighting each other, fighting themselves, and fighting demons/evil. Lots of battles of all kinds. This was the perfect song.

@behindthesemasks - During the RP phase of Melania's existence, she was paired up separately with a Bucky Barnes and a Brock Rumlow. You can see how those pairings helped shape her current team some. 🤣 While my friend and I wrote some complex and twisted storylines, when she left RP, I chose not to pair Mel up again with anyone and so began her solo adventure in a story. Since bombs, guns, and mercenaries have always been part of her past, along with her cursed relics...it morphed easily. From RP to current posting and writing, the song fits with the theme of the storylines and staying alive as they battle adversaries.

@bendingthelaws - You have a whole law enforcement entourage at all levels, taking on (at least one) organized crime family. Pretty self explanatory. I'd say this fits the LEO community more than the mobile.

@the-andromeda-effect - I see this is more from Caliban’s crew regarding taking care of Adira and getting revenge on the Kalavati’s. Also, ferreting out those who helped Kondrat try to kidnap Adira, and a few things that happen in the future.

@devil-in-the-details-ay - After their honeymoon, Astaroth and Yara are going hunting for her parents. They will find then...and a few extra relatives. Her parents and relatives thought she was dead and are NOT happy with old Luc. Lucifer is also plotting against them. So, Royal Rumble anyone?

@magical-mistakes-vm - If you're following along, you're soon going to meet Balor. He's going to reveal something that the others should have realized, who Mahala’s dad is. Hint - it's not a good thing. From there, the news gets worse, and it is going to culminate eventually in a major conflict where Vollrath’s death is asked for in exchange for Mahala’s life. First, though, there are going to be a lot of smaller confrontations, as well as Mahala being trained how to use her magic to be deadly. You know, stay alive.

@princess-of-thieves-id - Right now is groundwork and worldvuilding. Soon comes the actual pirating. Then my little trio are going to depend on one another to stay alive.

@sehnsuchtrising The idiots are going to need each other because they all seem to have a death wish. It's not that they consciously try to get themselves killed. They just all are inept. But they don't back down from a fight and do want to stay alive.

@tapperhet-em - If they are found, they will have to fight to survive. Meeri has a price on her head , and now the other four do for helping her. None of them will back down, all are ready to die for one another, and all want to stay alive to take down her uncle, pay back her father, and figure out who put the idea in her father's head she betrayed him.

Soft tagging - @aohendo @winterandwords @flowerprose @kaiusvnoir @ceph-the-ghost-writer

My peeps - @blind-the-winds @saltysupercomputer @aziz-reads @outpost51 @pheita @writingmaidenwarrior @late-to-the-fandom @thebejeweledwatercat @dreaminggoblin

#wip song Saturday #writeblr #writeblr community #writeblr connect #music inspiration

[katieraven]

sleep is so tough

Summary: your attempt at dealing with losing Bucky is unsuccessful and results in a sleepless night - for several reasons.

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes/female reader

Warnings: angst!!, happy ending (because I can't write sad endings for the life of me), a lot of metaphors, thoughts about death, loss and grieving, a tiny description of a panic attack

Word count: 3227

Notes: @babycap you wonderful human! 600 followers is huge and i am very happy about this fic. the prompt was: "I wanna be in your touch / Sleep is so tough" - James Bay, Chew On My Heart and I wrote a lil something that i'm kinda happy with. do enjoy!

love,

katie

It’s the same nightmare. You recognise it from the last three weeks, you’ve been here before. Doesn’t make it easier to shake out of it. You watch him convulse, face torn and twisted somewhere between pain and the desperate attempt to keep his free will. The fight against the venomous words the HYDRA agent hurls at him. They’re like daggers, needles stuck into his brain, rewiring him. And all you can do is watch. You are frozen in place in the torture your subconsciousness puts you through. Again. And again. And again.

You can’t will your eyes to tear away from him. He snarls like a cornered animal at the agents around him. Then the final words. “грузовой вагон“. Freight car. You don’t know Russian, but those ten phrases have been burned into your brain. You could recite them in your sleep.

Bucky stills. He slowly stands up from his crouched position, cold stare fixed onto the speaking agent. “Я готов отвечить“.

You startle awake, the nightmare finally loosening its grasp on your consciousness. Immediately, your hands fly to the other side of the bed. It is cold and empty and your stomach drops when realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

This is not a nightmare. At least not entirely, no. It is a memory. Because you saw the footage. You saw Bucky convulse and bend and snap and straighten. And you saw Steve, heard his scream as Sam pulled him away, forcing him to leave his best friend in the hands of his torturers. Steve knows it was the right thing to do. You do, too. The thought of Bucky being all alone behind enemy lines still makes your breath hitch in your throat, though.

They didn’t want you to see the footage, it wasn’t supposed to be something you get confronted with. But you slipped into the room, originally meaning to talk to Natasha about some software to try out in the next mission. They didn’t notice you entering, eyes trained on a screen, FRIDAY running facial recognition in the background. They kept playing the footage over, and over, and over, and again, looking for any kind of clue as to where they could find him, until your knees gave out under you and you fell with a whimper leaving your throat. Natasha was the first to understand the situation. Steve let out a string of colourful curses you would have never stopped teasing him about, hadn’t you been trying to wrap your mind around what you just saw.

If you had known they were back already, you would have noticed him missing and asked. But you didn’t even know they were back. And then he was gone.

You finally open your eyes. The New York night tints the white ceiling a blueish sort of grey and you feel like someone painted the inside of your heart onto the concrete. A perfect replica. Grey inside. Empty. Broken and alone, left to try and fail to put yourself back together.

Your fingers curl into a fist around the cold and empty bedsheets. They have been empty for three weeks now, and your body has no tears left to give. So you lie there, silent sobs violently breaking free from the void that is your chest. Sometimes you don’t know if your heart is beating, still, and your hands can’t find it in them to check. It wouldn’t be so bad to die, you think. There’s not much keeping you here.

Steve visits every few days. He carries the same hollow look in his eyes, like someone snuffed out the light behind them and carelessly forgot to turn it back on. With the sole difference that he is better at hiding it. It is only when he thinks nobody is watching that the sticky navy blue ink that is grief seeps into his face and turns his eyes empty and his face pale. You don’t mention it.

You know it’s supposed to help, sharing grief. Which is why you open the door when he visits, and don’t turn him away. He needs it, too, you suppose. So you sit on your sofa in front of the tv and watch something stupid and mindless that none of you pay attention to and both of you pretend to find acutely intriguing whenever the other is looking.

It’s all a giant game of pretend. SHIELD is feigning confidence in finding him. Everyone else oozes positivity whenever they talk about the mission. But it’s false, and hollow, and the truth of it sneers at you through translucent optimism.

You turn your head to look at the alarm clock on your bedside table. 4:36 a.m. That means you slept an astonishing three hours. That’s two more than yesterday. You’re not afraid of the nightmares anymore. You know they will come. The terror shaking you night after night has become a companion, just as the grief following closely in everything you do. It looms over you at night, hides in the shadows behind the furniture in your living room, joined by Steve’s whenever he’s there.

You were afraid to fall asleep, yes. Pulled two all-nighters in the first days after. By now you have learned to read the signs your body so openly presents you with and you know you will not fall asleep again tonight. So you lie there, hand splayed over the empty right side of the bed, eyes staring through the ceiling.

Fuck, you miss him. It rolls over you unexpectedly and your body seizes, curling up into a fetal position as your obviously alive and beating heart pumps sharp agony through your veins. He is gone. You know, of course, you understood before and this feeling is familiar, but for the first time, it truly settles inside you. Bucky is gone.

The man you imagined a future with, who handed you his broken and bruised heart and trusted you to fix it, is gone. The charming wooden home near the sea you always talked about when his nightmares were too much and too real slowly turns to dust between your grasping fingers. You feel it slip. The bell-like high pitched laughter of a young child evaporating in your mind.

You feel your heart break. There has been a dull ache in your chest for weeks. You’ve gotten used to it, embraced it into your menagerie of demons and ghosts, grief and loss. But it betrays you, right now, as you feel your heart pound against the cage of your ribs, and it burns. You still lie curled into yourself, blanket tangled between your legs. You will explode. You feel it with a new certainty, this will kill you. You breathe in and out, you know you do, but none of the air arrives in your lungs. It leaves you desperately gasping for oxygen.

Until you realise none of it is real. Because your heart is not here in your room with you, your heart lies in the mismatched hands of a broken soldier somewhere between here and the sea. It can’t kill you here, because there is an organ-sized hole in your chest and the coldness of the world tears at your exposed ribcage with icy shrapnel-sharp claws. Does it bleed? If so, you can’t feel the warmth. Blood is warm, right? Bucky always said it is.

You exhale slowly. Will your seizing muscles to relax, to let you go. To your surprise they do, and you inhale again, cold night air. It doesn’t yet escape through the wound in your chest. The hole hasn’t reached your lungs yet. But you know it will consume you, leave no part of you untouched, unbroken, will rip you apart for all your demons to finally feast on what is left of you.

Maybe he will find you first, you muse. Maybe HYDRA will find the last bit of mercy in them and send him after you, to cut his strings. You know you will not fight when he does. It would be a sweet oblivion with his eyes the last thing you see. Grey irises like molten silver when the sunlight hits just right.

Your arms fold against your chest. The skin is whole, not a scratch, no bleeding wound. You know it can’t be true. It is simply your minds way of processing this pain. Your imagination fixed the hole but you know it’s still there, still gaping. You can feel the edges burning where the hole ends and the marred skin starts. But you live. Still this broken body carries you on, one day after another.

You sit up in your sheets, hair plastered against your forehead by the thin film of sweat covering your body. As your back straightens, the metallic clinking of dog tags root you into this reality and you pull them out from under one of Bucky’s black shirts you’re wearing.

“Keep these,” he murmurs and presses something hard into your open palm. You look down and see the two thin pieces of metal piled on top of each other, embossed letters spelling his name, his full name. Your stunned eyes flicker back up into his and you open your mouth to protest, but he shushes you with a finger.

“It’s not like I need them. If I die, this thing” – he gestures to his arm – “will tell everyone who I am. But I want you to have these.”

Your thumb smoothes over the plates, shoving them against each other. “I mean … I won’t complain, but why do you …?”

He shrugs, embarrassment tinting his cheeks. “I don’t know, I guess it feels like a part of me stays with you, y’know? A physical part. So that you have something real to hold onto until I’m back.”

It hits you, then, that he’s leaving. He picks the tags up and puts them around your neck and you reach for his hands, fingers closing around his forearms. “Don’t leave me, Bucky. Please, I can’t lose you –“

He puts his hands on either side of your face and kisses your nose, before looking directly at you. “You won’t lose me, you hear? I’ll always be with you. Always.”

But now he’s gone, and you close your fist around the metal tags until they push into your palms, and harder until they cut the delicate skin. You want to be angry at him but you can’t. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault he couldn’t keep his promise.

You steady your breathing. Eyes wander to the red numbers on your alarm. 5:23. No use trying to sleep anymore, you decide, and sit up. Might as well make coffee. Maybe you can get something done today. Clean the laundry up at least, so Steve doesn’t have this awfully concerned look on his face next time he visits.

It takes you a couple of minutes to actually, physically, move. In your mind you’re already in the kitchen, filling the coffee maker with water and watching the coffee slowly dribble into the pot below. It has something therapeutic, one drop at a time. Almost meditative.

But, well, you do have to walk over into the kitchen to reach this point of short-lived meditative oblivion. So you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, and your eyes fall onto the covered mirror in the corner. It’s floor-length, and you used to love being able to admire your whole outfit in there without having to stand on your tiptoes.

Like that one time before one of Tony’s extravagant galas, when you tried to get a good look at yourself and the glamourous dress that, as Natasha had pointed out, would look amazing on your figure. She had been right – naturally. But the tiny mirror in your bathroom hadn’t shown the whole thing and so you were leaning over the sink to try and look. Which was exactly the moment Bucky chose to walk into the room, only to promptly wear an affectionately amused smirk on his face, assuring you of your otherworldly beauty (“Oh come on, Buck, don’t mock me – “ “I’m not, you are otherworldly, doll, dazzling even!”) and pointing out that you were in desperate need of a floor-length mirror.

In the first few days of Bucky’s absence, you hung a bedsheet over it because you couldn’t bear the memory. In fact, you can’t recall the last time you actually looked at yourself. With utmost certainty, though, you can say that your skin must be grey and sunken and the darkened circles under your eyes a deeper shade of purple than when you were knee-deep in college finals. God, that time seems ages away. If you hadn’t gone to college then maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation – you would have certainly never ended up at SHIELD. For a second you wish you hadn’t. This pain would not be part of your reality, then.

But then again, you wouldn’t have met him at all. And as much as this, right now, hurts, you wouldn’t trade it with any reality in the universe if it meant not knowing him. Not loving him. Not knowing his deepest, darkest secrets that he only opened up about after one particularly bad nightmare, with his head in your lap, not daring to meet your eyes.

No, if this pain is the price for his love then you will take it. You will let it eat at you until there is nothing left except your hollowed shell of a body because it will have been worth it.

You walk past the covered mirror and open the door, bare feet against the cold kitchen floor. You go to reach for the coffee maker when something registers with you. Something out of place, a slight inconsistency in your regulated, never-changing surroundings. You barely see it in your periphery.

Your movements still and your head slowly turns toward what is undoubtedly someone sitting in your living room. The moonlight glints on his left shoulder and you realise, within the smallest fractions of a second, who it is.

The hollow excuse for a heart that sits in your chest sputters and stills, before springing back into action twice as fast. He came back.

A steady stillness settles over you as you understand the situation. They sent him. Loose ends and all. Yet you’re not afraid, this death will be quick and quiet. It gives you an odd sensation of peace, to know that his will be the last face you see – even if it is the Winter Soldier’s face. But they’re still Bucky’s eyes.

“It’s okay”, you whisper.

His intent gaze never leaves you as you slowly, deliberately walk towards him, step by step. You know that Bucky is in there, too, and you need him to understand that you accept this. That it is not his fault. That you are ready to die if it is at his hands.

There is an unusual uncertainty in the Soldier’s eyes. You have seen footage of him, cold expression, a sort of stone-hearted efficiency about his movements, never a step too much. He has not moved yet. You feel every bit of skin on your feet connecting to the wooden floor as you move towards him, slowly, but steadily. If this is how you are meant to go, then you will.

You’re only three feet away from him as you stop. His eyes followed you all the way there. Now they start to flicker over your face, your body, confusion slowly but definitely showing in the crinkles on his forehead. He opens his mouth and you hold your breath.

“I –“, it comes out croaky, like he hasn’t used his voice in forever, so he clears his throat and starts again.

“I know you.”

Your lungs deflate, shakily. He hasn’t killed you yet. If he hasn’t killed you yet, why is he here? The Winter Soldier doesn’t hesitate. The uncertainty in his face sparks something deep, deep inside of you that you thought dead by now. Hope.

His eyes find their way back to your face and he is searching it now, not the stoic, cold mask of the Winter Soldier. You don’t dare speak. The fingers of his left hand flex with an electric whirr.

“I know you, but …” he trails off.

His right fist opens, fingers seemingly involuntarily reaching out. You step closer and lower yourself down, bare knees on the wood flooring, eyes not leaving his.

“I remember you.”

His voice is steadier now, more confident that he does, in fact, know you. That there is something inside his brain, something more than just the Soldier. More than just the missions. Just the trigger.

His hand, the real one, reaches towards your face and you close your eyes upon contact, a shaky breath leaving your lips. His index and middle finger trail across your cheekbone. Follow the curve of your lips. Trace your eyebrows. Your eyes flicker open and your breath gets caught in your throat because there he is, there he is, his eyes his own.

“Bucky –“

His name leaves your lips, a choked sob partially escaping. He blinks. Still, his eyes are his own. His lips part and then he whispers your name and you are certain this is a dream. A change of pace from the violent nightmares of late, but still a dream, because this can’t be true. How could it be.

But the hardwood floor is rough against your knees and his hand is warm against your cheek and he is there. He slides off the chair onto the ground before you and you feel hot tears spill from your open, disbelieving eyes. His other hand reaches for your face and then he’s holding you there, so unbelievably gentle, his eyes tortured and lined in purple but undeniably his own.

“You came back”, is the first real thing you say to him.

His thumb smoothes over the dark bruise under your eye, proof of sleepless nights and tired days.

“I’m so sorry”, is the first thing he says to you in his own voice.

You close your eyes, lids pushing tears over the edge and you let them drip down onto your bare thighs as you shake your head, a soft smile on your lips.

“There is nothing you need to be sorry about. None of this was your fault.”

“I – you’re hurt”, he states, matter-of-factly, and your eyes open again.

You try and put everything into your eyes, everything you feel, the hope, the relief, the love. Most of all the love.

“But you’re back. That’s all that matters. Do you hear me?”

His grey irises swim with regret and pain and fear and yet you see love in them. You gently touch your forehead to his and he sighs, eyelids fluttering closed.

“I love you, and you’re back, and that’s all that matters.”

The cold seeps into your body from the floor, your knees scraping against the hardwood. Neither of you dares to move, the calm of the situation too delicate, neither sure if this is real or just a particularly cruel dream. But it is too beautiful to disturb and so both of you remain where you are, hands gently touching the other. Thankful for this moment of peace.

**

Forgot my taglist consisting of one wonderful person: @mannien

[hqbaby]

𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 (𝐛𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

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(written portion! you can find a summary at the bottom if you have difficulty or simply don't feel like reading large chunks of text<33 word count: 394)

You were a natural at spinning.

Bokuto knew it. Your family knew it. The commentators at all your competitions saying your spins were "textbook perfect" knew it. Everyone in Japan—hell, everyone in the world would know it just by looking at you.

You dazzled Bokuto every single time you were out on the ice, spinning away without a care in the world. You were perfect from take off to landing, catching your breath at just the right moment and keeping your eyes trained on him as you smiled your bright smile and laughed your brilliant laugh.

You had always made him feel like he was a part of it, that he was the reason why you spun the way you did, that he was your axis and he was your center, that he was there with you, always by your side no matter how far you seemed to go.

But now, in the wake of you, he couldn't help but think about just how much he wished the world would stop spinning around him.

"Bokuto-san?"

Drawn out of his thoughts, Bokuto looked up at Akaashi with a controlled smile on his face. "Hey hey hey!" he faked. "What's up?"

The setter sat on the bench beside him and frowned. "You don't need to pretend around me," he said. "I'm surprised you're pretending at all."

Bokuto stared at the floor. "Nationals starts tomorrow," he murmured. "I'm a captain, I need to act like it."

Akaashi would have been surprised had he not known Bokuto the way he did. It was true that the Fukurodani spiker could be a moody, emotional mess over the silliest things at times (Akaashi would be the first to attest to that fact), but when things were serious, when things actually mattered, he was the last person who'd ever want to show others how he actually felt.

"Do you think—"

Akaashi shook his head. "I asked Tsukishima," he said. "She's not coming."

Bokuto nodded. "Well," he stood up, feeling a little nauseous at the sudden movement. "We might as well get to practice. Wouldn't want to lose tomorrow now, would we?"

The setter sighed, watching his captain fake a smile. "No, we wouldn't."

Bokuto made his way into the gym, trying his best to not tumble out of consciousness from the sick feeling in his stomach.

God, he wished everything would just stop spinning.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Suddenly without Y/N, Bokuto feels like the world is spinning around him.

𝐚/𝐧 : this was so sucky to write because who tf wants to imagine bokuto being sad:< but anyway! we're down to the last two updates (+ the epilogue)!! no update tomorrow but after that the series will be wrapping up and all. sharing this has honestly been such a blast<33

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @rory-cakes @marifujioka @moonlightaangel @taeatetea @strawberryw1ne @emsdesu @lilith412426 @fucktheworlddude @loveprisms @gushinim @itoshibaby @succulentmom @borpcorp @pelicanpizza @onlyonew @mariachiii @undead-nyx @stuck-1n-space @iwaslovebug @sakusasimpbot @bokkunto @nachotrash @sof-ya13 @elianetsantana @shireen-19 @kamalymaly @kayleighbeccaa @halfpintwriter @tanakasimpcorner @lyricumsabiaflos @biancatomlinson @bakudummy @kotarousbabyowl @lifeisahoax @namyari @its-the-aerieljeane @jewlmin @mialexandruh @goodness-knows-what @mydandydays @soft-angel-clouds (if your name is in bold i can’t tag you)

☏ 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦

#hqbaby.itii #hqbaby #haikyuu #bokuto koutarou #bokuto #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto x reader #haikyuu x reader #bokuto koutarou smau #bokuto smau #haikyuu smau

[my-sherlock221b]

Supernatural Rewatch Ramblings: Bloodlust

2020-21 has been a huge transformative time for many of us. Whether we wanted it or not, we have been forced to stop, switch gears, rethink, reflect, let go, make new priorities, discover who we really are and who we want to be in the face of adversity.

One of those transformations for me has been giving up on control and finding a way to surrender to the power of the universe. Another has been to not let perfection be the enemy of good.

You may well wonder---What does all this have to do with the Bloodlust rewatch and review??!

Probably nothing LOL except for the fact that I still have to write up my review on Bloody Mary and have been unable to write for various reasons. And then because the Bloody Mary review was still incomplete I could not write about the next one etc etc etc.

So when we watched Bloodlust two days ago in the continuing re-watch, I decided that I am going to re-start the review, and from exactly where I am right now!

If time and life permits I might fill in the gaps later. If not, well, life is unpredictable and weird and we keep calm as it carries on….Thank you for coming to my Philosophy talk….:)

Read below for the Boodlust  review, Season 2 episode 3 and look out for the post from @soulmates-for-real​ on this rewatch too!! 

The opening scene is the perfect switch and bait because we as an audience have been trained to latch on to types and identities and representations.

Woman in white night gown screaming and running--victim

Person who brutally beheads her—villain.

A few minutes into the episode we realize that we were wrong.

A good few minutes later we realize that we were wrong about being wrong.]

Haha.

We are idjits, swept away on the eddies and currents of this masterfully written and directed episode. Thank you Sera Gamble and Robert Singer!

The acting and the mesmerizing beauty of the two leads is worthy of an entire essay of its own but in order to have a life and finish this review I shall only say this—Oh my goodness HOW gorgeous is Jensen Ackles?!!

It is sometimes impossible to look at him in this episode because my eyes didn’t know where to land! That perfect face? The lips? Those eyes?? The quirk of the eyebrows? Those micro expressions that are constantly weaving across his face? The smile? The way his lips move when he talks?? His hair? The Samulet?

And then the shot pans out and includes his hand and the ring and honestly it’s a miracle I could follow the plot at all.

So the images I am going to include in this review, much as I love Sam Winchester and Jared Padalecki, are all of Dean Winchester. It’s a criminal waste to not do so when the man is just an ode to perfection.

*

Sheila O’Malley’s review of this episode is in itself a work of art and a thing of beauty so I will direct you most enthusiastically towards it and only add here my little pennyworth bits. Do click on this link but be prepared to sink into a one hour read which will make you feel like you were dropped into the episode itself.

https://www.sheilaomalley.com/?p=87187

Here is a quote from her review which is so insightful.

These are the details that a director like Robert Singer never misses, and at this point his relationship with Ackles and Padalecki would be almost telepathic (it’s probably 100% telepathic now). He has said before that he and Kripke were such a good team because Kripke’s primary concern is Plot/Gore/Horror and Singer’s primary concern is Character/Relationship. And they both end up in the same place. It’s a good mix. If Singer were also Plot/Gore/Horror focused, we wouldn’t have the depth of relationship which is the real point of the show, its real hook.

*

For a much briefer and far less technically adept and analytical review, read on here!

*

The opening of this episode shows us the Impala from every possible angle. Gleaming, gorgeous, road -worthy. This is mirrored by Dean. He is also gleaming, gorgeous and roadworthy. He is in a happy mood that not even Sam’s little brother snitty comments can deflate.

Here is the soundtrack of this episode for those who are interested.

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0835248/soundtrack

Here is some random but fun trivia:

Dean tells Sam in one scene "If it's     Supernatural, we kill it." One of the rare times the title of the     show is actually spoken in the dialogue.

This is the first episode where Sam began parting his     hair down the middle, the hairstyle he'd keep the rest of the series.

( I didn’t like his hair too much in this episode honestly but then again I could barely see anyone beyond Dean :D)

During the filming of this episode Jared injured his     hand when he fell badly during a stunt. He thought it was merely sprained     and went straight into filming the next episode without having it checked.     But it got more and more painful and finally he went to the doctor and     discovered that his hand was, in fact, broken. Because he had already     begun filming, he couldn't bandage the hand until filming for that episode     was finished. The writers ended up writing in an accident for Sam and his     line "I think she broke my hand" to explain the fact that for     the following few episodes he would be wearing a cast.

When Dean kills a vampire, blood is sprayed on his     face, mostly on his right cheek. In the next shot the pattern is     different, and notably the right cheek is almost clean. Furthermore, his     mouth was agape when he made the kill, risking the blood getting into his     mouth and turning him into a vampire. While the brothers didn't yet know     how a vampire is made at that point, Gordon did and should have been     alarmed that Dean might have gotten some of the blood in his mouth.

*

A random behind the scene shot from the episode:

Guess who she is? Apparently this is Jensen’s sister in a super brief role in Bloodlust!

* 

On to the review, or rather some of my thoughts during the re-watch.

The first scene with the Sheriff they are interrogating him about the cattle mutilations is hilarious. The way they bluff their way into the morgue is hilarious. Dean always leading and Sam following.

Random trivia: When Dean enters the morgue with Sam and sees the name tag of "J Manners", it has been thought the name was to honor Jeffrey Dean Morgan and series producer Kim Manners. Dean guesses "John" - Jeffrey's character name - and the intern corrects with "Jeff"

*

It a testament to the way Supernatural has trained its audience that we barely blink when they pull out a decapitated head in the morgue, squabble over who is more chicken, dig into the mouth and eventually discover vampire fangs.

Yes, of course they do.

*

Next scene: Two hot guys walk into a bar…..

…….where the adorable Benny, who is not Benny in this episode but a random dude ( spoilers—later we find out the dude is a vampire), gives them directions/ mis- directions to a possible vampire nest.

We see the first glimpse of Gordon Walker, amazingly played by Sterling K. Brown, and making us worry about and dislike him almost right away. The way he is shown with the light and shade bars on his face from the window blinds is so menacing.

The next few scenes continue to build that sense of unease where the Winchester brothers, apparently telepathically, decide to double back and catch him following them, then he shows them his car and his weapons, where he references their dad and then refuses their offer for help.

The scene where he shows them his car is like a painting. (The car by the way is just as inconspicuous as the Impala –which is to say NOT AT ALL!! How do these people stay below the radar of the regular law enforcement is a mystery….).

The dust highlighting the rays of light, the two brothers on one side of the car and Gordon at the other, it’s all so consciously set up for a few seconds worth of screen time. Impressive!

Next comes a truly brutal kill, at Dean’s hands, which we don’t even see except as a spray of blood on his face. Poetic! But it is Dean’s expression that makes my stomach clench. His eyes are dead and he is somewhere deep that even Sam can’t reach, as we can see from the distress on Sam’s face.

Gordon of course is all chipper and full of bonhomie and offers to buy them drinks.

That following scene is the one which gives Wincest brother-wives vibes like 100%.

*

Sam plays the role of the disgruntled ‘wife’ to perfection. No one but hubby is allowed to use the nickname. He hates the male bonding going on with Gordon and the more Gordon seems to slip into Dean’s inner circle, the more uncomfortable Sam gets, until he finally decides that he just cannot physically be there any more.

Dean’s smug expression when Sam tells Gordon off for calling him Sammy, his instant worry at Sam going back alone, his hand raised in exasperation to convey to Gordon—look what I have to put up with-- the tossing of the keys to his car----it is all a symphony of Dean playing his part in the brother-wives orchestra.

The last line?! ‘Remind me to beat the buzzkill out of you later.’ And Sam’s expression at that? That’s exactly the way a bullying /abusive husband would react to a nagging wife who doesn’t like his toxic friends and wonders how he can be so blind as to not see them for the bad influence they clearly are.

( Bad Dean!!!)

Sam goes back to the motel and does his due diligence by checking with Ellen, gets kidnapped by vampires, released and on his return is disgusted to find Gordon inside their motel room.

*

The next scene is where Dean erupts, having clearly had enough of the shifting power dynamics between them over the evening. Sam has been silently judging him since the kill and Gordon has managed to ‘other’ Sam and make Dean feel validated in his own bloodlust as a hunter.

Dean clocks Sam one.

Wow. I did not see that coming. And what shocked me at this re- watch is that Sam just takes it.

Like an abused wife, he just takes it. Not only that, sometime later in the episode he tells Dean to hit him again if it is going to make him feel better.

NO Sam! NO!!! This is NOT healthy and this is NOT the way to deal….ugh. Sigh.

*

Then the second half of the episode swings in and the moral dilemma they face becomes clear when the victim and villain switch roles and Dean is shook enough to question his dad’s judgement!

Dean is still kind of trying to give Gordon the benefit of the doubt even though he sees him literally torturing the vampire. But of course all bets are off the instant he touches Sam. Dean pulls his gun on him. I was surprised that he didn’t shoot him just on principle later simply because he hurt Sam even if it was a small cut.

That is Dean’s definition of monsters-- Anything that hurts Sam. 😊

*

We don’t know it at this time, and spoilers ahead, but maybe Dean has been so annoyed and violent with Sam at the idea that he is standing up for MONSTERS is because he might also be one….and the way he looks at the end when he realizes that his whole life’s philosophy has been upended.

There are the details about the vampires who drink cattle blood so they don’t harm humans and therefore want to be treated as the good guys. Of course it is all about the inherent struggle between who you are and what you do—something that shows up hugely magnified in the later seasons when Sam is struggling with his own demon blood addiction and the knowledge of the demon blood inside him.

He needs desperately to believe in this as the utmost foundation stone of his life and its purpose—what you DO is more important than what you ARE!

So even if you are a monster, if you don’t behave like one—that is your redemption.

But it’s not just anybody whose faith he wants in his struggle to prove to himself that he is not a monster. He needs it from Dean.

Remember the dialogue from the panic room “Don’t you say that to me. Don’t YOU say that to me.”

And the fake voicemail set up by Zachariah exploits this at the time of the breaking of the last seal.

*

Of course he doesn’t know any of this yet, but that’s Sam fucking Winchester for you –always purer and better than his circumstances allow. Always struggling to do better, be better.😍

*

It is fascinating how the visuals and the roles these two play are of rugged handsome men, badass heroes-- Dean of course super macho role playing all the time. But there are so many layers upon layers and honestly if it wasn’t for Jared and Jensen’s fine nuanced and impeccable acting adding depth to the characters, the show would not have held our interest for this long.

We are shown Sam as the brains with his lore and research, but then in the very next episode (Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things), we see Dean connect dots faster than Sherlock Holmes.

Dean is shown as the instinctively violent one with the gun under his pillow, trigger happy, and in this episode even that brutal kill of the vampire on the docks. But then please remember the way Sam kills Gordon finally. Or the insane way he bites himself to get blood for drawing sigils. Or the way he just simply shoots the crossroads demon point blank!

We see Sam as the soft hearted one and he does rescue kids once in a while, but he is never shown to bond with them even a fraction of the way Dean does—so effortlessly. Also the ladies of course, all of whom have a soft spot for Dean. The exceptions being Sarah and Madison, both of whom completely ignored Dean. Oh and that doctor from Sex and Violence.

Dean has had his share of bad dates of course with Cassie, the woman who gave birth to his magical superfast growing daughter ( who was killed by Sam), and the whole Lisa arc, but somehow we are shown Sam as the one who is invested in relationships. Hello?! Sam was planning to marry Jessica without having told her a thing about his life while Dean told Cassie the secret as soon as he thought he was in love and wanted a relationship.

So anyway, just to say that a rewatch is so brilliant because we know more about them at this point than they do and the character arc is such a thing of beauty to see unfolding!

*

That last scene where Dean is in a thoughtful frame of mind, the sun is rising overhead ( as a metaphor for him seeing the light, maybe?)--that insanely gorgeous shot of Dean with the ring of fire and light and his absolutely perfect face in a close up…sigh.

Then he thanks Sam for pushing him to see this grey area and for the first time in that episode Sam finally smiles.

His big brother is back with him.

And then he commits to Dean too. Ah…how it warms my heart to hear this dialogue!

 DEAN I wish we never took this job. It's jacked everything up.

SAM What do you mean?

DEAN Think about all the hunts we went on, Sammy, our whole lives.

SAM Okay.

DEAN What if we killed things that didn't deserve killing? You know? I mean, the way Dad raised us...

SAM Dean, after what happened to Mom, Dad did the best he could.

DEAN I know he did. But the man wasn't perfect. And the way he raised us, to hate those things; and man, I hate 'em. I do. When I killed that vampire at the mill I didn't even think about it; hell, I even enjoyed it.

SAM You didn't kill Lenore.

DEAN No, but every instinct told me to. I was gonna kill her. I was gonna kill 'em all.

SAM Yeah, Dean, but you didn't. And that's what matters.

DEAN Yeah. Well, 'cause you're a pain in my ass.

SAM Guess I might have to stick around to be a pain in the ass, then.

DEAN Thanks.

SAM Don't mention it.

Transcript here http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=2.03_Bloodlust_%28transcript%29

 Guess Sam does stick around for the next 15 years to be a pain in the ass 😊

Some quotes from the writers about this episode: 

·  "The episode was really about what Dean would become if he didn't watch out: that Gordon was Dean in ten years if Sam didn't ask the difficult questions and keep him from getting too militant." - Executive story editor Sera Gamble

· "We set out to create a monster episode where you weren't entirely sure whether these monsters should be killed." - Eric Kripke

· "For me, the show is at its best when the supernatural story reveals something new about the brothers, or forces them to change in some way. Sam and Dean's realization that they've basically been raised as 'monster racists' was really meaty stuff. Exploring these characters' flaws is just as important as showcasing their heroism - these are the things that make them human, that make us invest in them." - Raelle Tucker

Check out this site for more amazing trivia and stuff

http://www.jonescave.com/supernatural/Episode/Episode.php?s=2&e=3#PopCulture

I have already finished watching the next episode ‘Children’s Shouldn’t play with Dead Things’….so let’s hope I get around to writing a review sometime soon !

#spn #spn review #spn meta #sam and dean #bloodlust #the epic love story of sam and dean #wincest #brother wives

[eremiss]

WIP Asks: "Reminisce" next

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder,   regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little   snippet of it or tell them something about it! and then tag as many   people as you like.

I’m not sure when this one is set yet, definitely post-Dragonsong War and post-Foibles (FFXIVWrite2020.) Maybe post-4.0, depending. This is another Thancred PoV one, where they both open up a little bit about their pasts, him about Sharlayan and Gwen about how she made a living and what made her decide to learn botany and pick up a lance.

I’m really liking this one so far, but I’ve been torn about how the conversation about Gwen’s past should go. I’m not sure if I would rather it be dialogue, or a more vague description of what she’s talking about and his reactions to it. I’m sorta-kinda writing both at once and waiting for one of them to start coming easier and/or take off lol

(this is also where that First Lines snippet came from!)

Part of the WIP and a bit more summary below the cut.

Gwen and Thancred are fairly solidly together by this point, though they’re both still avoiding labels or addressing ‘them’ like the plague lest they upset this good thing they have going on. They’re both dinguses.

Despite that, he still doesn’t know much about her, as Gwen isn’t prone to offer much about herself unless it’s something particularly prudent or useful (”You need to shoot something? Don’t give me a bow, I’m not good with them.”) and even when asked she’s more likely to sort of avoid the question or give half-answers as she’s embarrassed about her past, even with Thancred. She’s very self-conscious about growing up alone and with nothing, struggling to get by and picking up and honing skills out of pure desperation. She’s also just a private person in general and not used to talking about herself, so even when she’s asked 100% judgement-free she’s just not sure what to say.

It can grow to be a bit frustrating, to say the least lol

-

Despite what the Adders’ reports and the increase in Ixali activity seemed to suggest, two days of reconnaissance in the Shroud has yielded little and less. No news is good news in the case of Primals, however, even if it makes the investigation feel a bit tedious.

The Ixali haven’t created any new routes to try and smuggle crystals under the Wailer’s and Adders’ noses, and their old paths have been abandoned since the last time Gwen laid Garuda low. The items stolen in roadside attacks were mostly sundries and foodstuffs bound for Coerthas which, while troubling, isn’t cause for the Scions’ concern. 

None of the travelers and merchants they’ve spoken with over the course of their investigation have been happy about being accosted in the middle of the woods, no matter how politely Gwen and the Adder recruits try to go about it. 

Thancred watches the latest victim of circumstance storm off down the road from his vantage point high in the trees. He lifts a hand to his linkpearl and remarks, “Seems he took offense.”

Gwen shakes her head, casting her gaze around the trees in search of him. “Just a bit. See anyone else?”

Thancred scans the road. “The road is clear, apart from your new acquaintance.”

She passes that on to the Adders, and they have a small discussion he can only assume pertains to what they intend to do next. Given the way things have been going, this investigation will surely be coming to an end soon.

Eventually the recruits salute and depart back up the way the traveler had come. Gwen doesn’t follow.

Thancred waits until they’re yalms away before speaking into the linkpearl. “What’s the word?”

“They’re going to the rendezvous with the other team, then contact the Adders’ Nest.” She tries to spot him in the trees again. And misses him, again. 

“And we get to hold position and await further word?” he drawls.

She nods. Then she remembers they’re speaking over linkpearl, “Yes.”

He sighs at the thought of more bells in the muggy forest. “Wonderful.”

Rather than continue searching the treetops for him, Gwen turns and makes for the bushes on the far side of the road. He watches with mild interest as she wanders through the untamed foliage, ducking out of sight every now and then and gradually wandering further from the road until he’s lost sight of her.

Foraging, if he had to guess. She’s never been a fan of sitting still, and it’s the perfect way to pass the time in a forest. He’s not sure how much she’ll find close to the road, as surely other travelers have already helped themselves to everything convenient.

Gwen has never hidden her skills as a botanist, per say, but she’s a great deal more open about them than she used to be, particularly when it comes to gathering herbs for her own use. Fetching tea leaves for a friend or herbs for a leve is all well and good, but collecting esoteric botanicals for herself is, apparently, a different matter. Perhaps a few too many people have commented about her snacking on dandelions and roots, or balked at the suggestion that they could do the same. 

Thancred winces and shifts on the branch, knowing he ought to count himself amongst the former. He puts that little blunder out of his mind, reminding himself he’d meant no ill will and had only been teasing. Her knowledge of Eorzea’s vegetation is nothing to be embarrassed about, nor is utilizing it as she sees fit, and they’re both well aware of that. She knows more than he does, despite the fact she hadn’t had access to the same extensive education and training.

He idly surveys the road, musing about how she’s rather reluctant to discuss how she learned botany, evasive when asked and quick to direct the conversation elsewhere. He can’t fault her for that, though. Many people consider childhoods spent mired in hardship to be a sore subject, and the two of them are no exceptions. Necessity, desperation and survival are wonderful motivators, but they don’t make for good small talk.

Which is likely also why comments about nibbling on weeds or foraging for odd ingredients are unwelcome; those ‘weeds’ may well have kept her alive. And isn’t that a hell of a thing to admit to? It’s not unlike the fact he’s not embarrassed by his ability to pick locks in seconds, but he recoils from the thought of admitting he’d picked up the skill breaking into homes and shops to steal food.

Eventually her lightly-staticy voice rings in his ear again. “Hungry?”

He’s mostly bored, and tired of the tree bark making an impression in his rear. “I take it you are, if you went looking for a snack.” 

“Just passing time, mostly.” A pause. Communicating when he can’t read her expression or fidgeting is always interesting, and occasionally vexing. “But we’ve been out here a while, so…”

Thancred gets to his feet and peers up and down the road again, straining his eye and searching for the shapes of travelers through the sparse trees. It’s all clear. 

“I don’t suppose you managed to find a wild bakery growing out there?” he asks, stretching his arms and legs in preparation for his descent. 

She laughs as the red of her coat comes into view through the trees. “I’m afraid not.”

He scoffs. “All that time studying botany and you can’t track down fresh bread in the wilderness?”

“Not even a single loaf,” she confesses, her remorseful tone colored with mirth.

“Shameful, honestly. Why did I even bring you along?” He starts climbing back down to the ground, her laugh bubbling warmly in his ear.

 Gwen’s excursion into the woods turned up a handful of roots, weeds and flowers that the average traveler wouldn’t look twice at. Between his survival training and his time in Dravania, particularly before he’d fashioned those obsidian knives, Thancred isn’t so easily perturbed.

They stroll along the road and snack, chatting and keeping an eye out for travelers or signs of movement in the trees. She walks on his left, sparing him the inconvenience of his blindspot. He has to turn his head to see her, though, but doesn’t mention it.

She shows him how to shave the hard skin off the roots, and then stares confusedly when he does it more masterfully than she had. He makes a bit of a show of it, carelessly flipping his hunting knife around in his fingers in a way that always makes her tense and reveling in her silent disapproval.

Gwen asks about Sharlayan and what the time he spent there was like, intent as ever to know more about him and draw out the things he normally keeps hidden. 

He chews, thinks, and decides to oblige her. Mayhap she’ll be convinced to return the favor.

He tells her about the city, the people, and the Studium to start. Then they spend a handful of yalms musing about the growing pains that came with maturing from a Lominsan wharf rat into a Sharlayan scholar. She has some questions, he has some answers --some more open and direct than others. Secrecy and facades are his habit, despite how easy she is to speak to and how well she can coax him out of his shell.

With the scene set, he weaves her a tale about some of his more harrowing lessons with Sharlayan’s masters of stealth and subtlety, sprinkling in a bit of the mischief he’d gotten up to here and there. She makes a good audience, listening attentively and reacting at the right parts. 

He finishes his tale and throws in a flick of his wrist for a bit of flourish, followed by a grandiose half-bow that earns him a laugh and a brief applause.

 They haven’t run into another traveler yet, or seen any suspicious movement in the woods. They turn around and begin making their way back to where they’d parted with the Adders recruits.

“Your turn,” Thancred prompts, lacing his fingers together behind his head.

Gwen cocks her head.

“A story for a story,” he says. “Tell me about yourself.”

-

(((Tangent: This reminded me I also want to write a fic about Gwen studying her ass off post-ARR because and struggling with self-consciousness when she realizes how limited her knowledge is and how little she knows about the fine details and advanced aspects of Aetherology and a dozen other things the Archons all discuss and debate with ease. She doesn’t feel stupid per say, it’s more she’s intimidated and embarrassed at how limited her knowledge is in comparison to them, as well as feeling a bit foolish for being proud of her novice conjury and thaumaturgy, and even her red magic. (Which is ridiculous, obvs.) It’s a bit like being a novice at something and then being humbled, even unintentionally, by an expert. Also a little bit of “being a smart person in a room of smarter people,” kind of feeling. She’s not dumb, but she feels way less smart than she is/thought she was when she’s around the Archons (too much so, even.) There’s also no small amount of envy about them growing up at studying in Sharlayan, and wishing she’d ever had, or would have, the chance to go to school and get/have that same breadth of knowledge. She’s not a very prideful person, but she is/was proud of learning all she did despite her situation, and being reminded of how non-comprehensive her knowledge is kinda stings. She did great, considering her circumstances... and that qualifier has never ceased to be annoying. Some of her self-consciousness also stems from her realizing a great deal of her mastery of red- and black-magic skills has to do with the Echo letting her absorb stuff super quickly, and she almost feels like that was cheating and wonders if she really actually knows it all as well as she thinks, or if the Echo is just...doing it for her, kinda.))) 

#Pre-5.0 #Thancred Waters #WoL #WIPs #my writing #Prompts #Answered #Thanks :D #I really want to finish this one uuuuggghhhh #lynmars79

[lightsupinthenorth]

Would you just say something?

Tags: smut, dirty talk, riding, fuck buddies to lovers, bottom Billy

Read on AO3

Billy is into dirty talk. Like, really into it. He discovers it when Harrington and he start fucking on the regular.

The first time it happens, they’re both fired up: somehow, they are fighting, as always, but they end up working their anger out through sex. There’s a lot of panting, and grunting, and neither of them say much of anything.

But then, it happens again, and again, and Billy starts talking. Because he can never shut up for too long.

He mostly talks to goad Steve into fucking him harder. Rough words said in a rougher voice. Like “are you gonna split me in half with your huge dick or what, Harrington?” or “is that all you’ve got, Pretty boy?”. It’s teasing, and kind of mean, sometimes, but it works. Harrington fucks him as hard as Billy asks. The act of spewing all that filth also gets Billy going, which makes a nice bonus.

He wishes Harrington would join in. He fantasies about it, even. About Harrington calling him a slut, telling him his pussy feels good around him, that it’s tight, and hot, and wet. When he’s really far gone, Billy imagines Steve calling him a good boy – or a good girl, telling him he’s pretty.

Steve doesn’t talk during sex, though. He never does. In fact, he barely makes any noise, and it drives Billy crazy. It takes a lot of effort to get a mere moan out of him. And, Billy would rather die than admit to it, but it’s disheartening really. Because it shows Steve is not as into the sex as Billy is, that he’s not as into Billy as Billy is into him.

He is planning on keeping it to himself, but he can’t help bringing it up one night, while they’re coming down from their high.

“It’s almost creepy how quiet you are when we’re fucking, you know that?”

Steve props himself up on his elbows and stares at Billy with wide eyes, his usually fluffy hair damp with the sweat he worked up because of how hard he dicked down Billy.

“Really? Does it… bother you?”

Even then, in the afterglow, Steve’s voice is low.

“Nah… I don’t care.” Billy lies. “It just wouldn’t hurt if you said something once in a while…”

“Like… talking dirty you mean?” Steve looks away as he says it.

“Yeah, like talking dirty, princess. I kinda like that, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Billy rolls his eyes.

Steve has a reputation of being clueless, but Billy knows he isn’t THAT clueless.

“Yeah”, Steve clears his throat. “I did notice. It’s just… I’m not very good at that, sorry.”

“Look, it’s fine. I don’t mind… It’s just… sometimes it feels like you’re not really enjoying yourself, is all.” Billy is mumbling, now. There’s no other word for it. And it’s a disgrace.

Steve is honest to God bewildered. How can Billy not know Steve is having the time of his life when they’re together? He’s actually creepily silent because he has to consciously restrain himself from making any noise. The thing is, Steve has no mouth to brain filter when he’s having good sex, so he’s terrified that, if he starts talking, he won’t be able to stop and will spill his guts to Billy. And there’s a lot to spill. Far too much, in fact.

If he tries to talk dirty, it will probably turn into whispering sweet nothings in Billy’s ear, or worse, confessing the feelings he caught even though they have a ‘no string attached’ arrangement. That sure isn’t the kind of talk Billy is into when Steve is balls deep inside him (or ever, certainly). It would kill the mood faster than their bed catching on fire could, probably.

“Oh, I’m enjoying myself, believe me. I didn’t think there was any doubt possible about that.”

The fact Steve can come four times in a single night spent with Billy, as he did tonight, should be proof enough that the sex is more than satisfactory. He used to take forever to come, and then he couldn’t get it up again for hours afterwards, but it is a whole other story with Billy.

“Oh, is that so?” Billy asks in a sultry tone.

“Yeah…” Steve sighs as Billy’s lips latch onto the skin above his collarbone.

He’s going to leave another hickey on Steve’s body, which is already covered in various marks, and Steve is living for it. He loves seeing the reminders in the morning, when he looks at himself in his bathroom mirror.  

“You think you can go for one more round?”

Steve wants to say yes. He does want another round, but he’s not positive his body can follow.

“I can try.”

He put his hand on the back of Billy’s head and thread his fingers in his blond curls. A whine escapes him: that small movement made him realize how sore his muscles are. Nonetheless, he can feel his cock harden under Billy’s wandering hand.

“Fuck” Steve groans, “I can barely move.”

“You don’t have to, pretty boy. Stay right there and let me do all the hard work.”

Billy straddles his hips.

“I’m gonna ride you so good, pretty boy. I’m still so wet and open from how hard you fucked me for hours, you’re gonna slide right in.”

As Billy guides Steve’s dick to his hole and takes him inside in one swift move, Steve can’t hold in a moan. The usually tight control he has over himself during sex is slipping. And can Steve really be blamed?  He’s on his way to a fifth orgasm and he’s all soft and pliant from the onslaught of pleasure. Billy’s mouth is as filthy as ever, but Steve can see he’s exhausted too. His whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat, his breathing is ragged, and his thighs are quivering around Steve’s hips.

That’s the hottest thing Steve’s ever seen. He risks going delirious any second, now.

“God, Billy, I swear you’re going to kill me.” Steve’s voice is strained, which is probably a sign he shouldn’t be talking. However, now that he’s started, he can’t bring himself to stop. He curses.

“Don’t die on me, Stevie, I’m not done with you.” Billy assures as he raises his hips before slamming back down, making Steve ignore his achy muscles and arch his back.

“Fuck, baby…” Steve’s already slipping up, calling Billy baby. It’s going to be a catastrophe, but there’s nothing Steve can do to prevent the train wreck from happening when the train is already going full speed.

“That’s it… talk to me, tell me how you feel.”

Steve is in no fit state to deny Billy anything, and he starts full on babbling.

“So good, Billy, feel so good. You always feel so good around me, so hot… Fuck, you look so beautiful, you always do. You’re perfect.”

Billy bites his lower lip and moans, his pace faltering. He stops for a second, with his ass flush against Steve’s pelvis.

Steve is afraid he came on too strong, but then Billy is bending down to kiss him, open-mouthed and sloppy, and starting a slow grinding motion. It effectively puts Steve’s worries to sleep.  

When Billy quickens the pace once again, Steve loses pretty much all coherent thought. He’s reduced to holding onto Billy’s thick sweaty thighs for dear life and mumbling curses under his breath.

However, there was apparently enough coherence left in him to formulate a declaration, and not enough restraint and self-preservation instinct to not blurb it out. Just as he’s about to come, Steve says: “I love you.”

And what a cliché, really, to blurt this during a bout of particularly passionate sex. Steve would be disappointed in himself if he weren’t overtaken by sheer panic.

He expects Billy to freeze, to pull away, to yell at him, asking him what he just said, but none of that happens. Instead, Billy gasps and comes untouched, all over Steve’s stomach. It sends Steve over the edge almost instantly. That, and the intense relief brought by Billy’s reaction.  

“Jeez, pretty boy, give a guy a warning.” Billy says, out of breath, as he slides off of Steve and lays down next to him.

“What was I supposed to do? Send you a letter?” Steve replies defensively.

It makes Billy cackle. “No, but I mean, maybe don’t make important statements while I’m riding you into next week.”

“I’ll keep that in mind… And I’m sorry for springing that on you… I know we had agreed to keep this casual… but my feelings don’t have to get in the way…” Steve starts rambling, but Billy interrupts him.

“What if I do want them to get in the way?”

“You… do?” Steve asks, rolling on his side to look at Billy.

“I do.”

Billy offers an uncharacteristically sweet smile. And it feels like a declaration.

“Good.”

Steve pecks Billy’s upturned lips.

“We should probably shower.”

Steve whines. “But I’m so tired.”

“I know, but you’re going to bitch about how gross and sticky you feel when you wake up and I don’t want to go through that, so move your ass, princess.”

Steve pouts and wonders why he’s in love with this jackass, but he still follows him to the bathroom, no matter how hard his legs scream at him to stay in bed. When Billy ends up washing Steve’s hair and massaging his back in the shower, Steve is reminded of why he feels that way for him. After all, Billy is not that bad.

*

Thanks for reading, and thank you to the mutuals who encouraged me to write this ;) 

#Harringrove #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #ficlet #fanfiction #smut

[wondersofdreaming]

Lost Boys - ONE

Characters: August Walker / Captain Syverson / Walter Marshall

Word count: 1.727

Warnings: Cursing. Blood. Bruising. Killing. Murder. Narcissism. Selfishness. Aftercare.

Author’s note: You can all thank @littlefreya for inspiring me to write this. No love interest for now. Let’s see how this goes. This might be my very short-lived introduction to writing in the suspense/thriller genre.

Everything in this story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movies ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’, ‘Sand Castle’, ‘Nomis/Night Hunter’. This is pure fanfiction. If something doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to.

I do now own any of the characters from the movies that I write about in this story. Only the OFC’s are mine.

Tag: @littlefreya @katerka88 

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated. Seriously, please tell me all the good and bad stuff, else I won’t be able to develop into a better writer, if I don’t know what I’m doing right and wrong. I swear I don’t bite.

[TWO] [THREE] [FOUR] [FIVE] [SIX] [SEVEN] [EIGHT] [NINE] [TEN]

He barely moved his head in time before the hook would have smacked him right in the face. He was still falling. The air whizzed around him. He could feel the ground coming closer. He needed to do something fast before he was a splat of human remains. He turned around, so he could see where he was headed - directly into a river, perfect. The icy water enveloped him. He felt the bottom beneath his feet and used it to pummel up to the surface. He heaved in the air. The right side of his face was burning and stinging, the cold river was helping soothe the irritated skin.

The river was picking up speed as he floated down the stream. He needed to swim towards the shore. A fallen tree came towards him. Not being able to avoid it, he dove down, when he came back up he didn’t notice another tree, which hit him on the back of his head, making him woozy, almost to the point of blacking out. Then he was falling again. The impact with the surface made him lose consciousness. The last thing he remembered was a pair of soft hands stroking his left cheek, telling him something in a language he didn’t understand.

He awoke to people talking all around him. Something was plastered to his burnt side; it was smelling terrible. He tried opening his eyes, but they were so heavy, so he went back to sleep. Hoping the people around him weren’t there to kill him.

A few hours later he could open his eyes without it hurting. The room was dark. There were only a few candles lit, not enough for him to see the entire room, but he could see the outline of a person, sitting in a chair next to the door. The person stirred awake when hearing the rustling of sheets from him. A woman came up to his side, his rescuer, as he remembered the soft hand from the riverbank.

She tried saying something, but he shook his head, not understanding a word she was saying. Her long black hair swung as she tried explaining with her hands, arms and body, how she had found him almost drowned, then having brought him to her village and nursed him back to health. He had been out for three days and nights.

He tried sitting up. His ribcage hurt like hell, he had definitely broken a few ribs from the impact with the water, falling down a 30-metre waterfall did that to your body. Breathing was difficult, but he had to get out of there. The woman, petite as she was, was strong enough to push him down flat on the bed. He wasn’t fighting back much due to the pain.

“You, sleep.” She said in broken English, which made him smile. He waited until he could hear her soft snores from the chair, before getting up again. He was naked beneath the blanket. Looking around he found his blood-stained clothes. He groaned, throwing them away. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw a neatly stacked set of male clothing on top of a dresser. The shirt hung loosely on him, the trousers fit but were a bit tight on the thigh and crotch area. He just needed to control himself, or he would split them. A pair of black shoes sat beneath the dresser. He watched the woman sleeping soundly before he moved her towards the bed and tucked her in, as a thank you for taking care of him. He wasn’t as cold-hearted as everyone thought he was, or maybe he was, who knew. Sometimes he surprised himself by caring about other people. He was usually a selfish and narcissistic bastard.

The wooden door creaked at the hinges, but the woman was still fast asleep. He walked into the living and kitchen space of the house, over to a window overlooking the rest of the village. A few men were walking around talking loudly. He moved towards the bathroom, where he took a good look at himself. He washed off the muddy and awfully stinking stuff from his face. He was surprised to see that the burned flesh was healing nicely without scarring. His moustache was at least intact, the hair on his cheeks and jawline were growing, so it would soon become a beard if he didn’t get it trimmed. He lifted the shirt and winced at the movement, but he had to see the damage that had been done to his body. He was black and blue, even some shades of purple all over his chest, back and sides. He groaned as he touched the sore spots, moving his torso around to feel if he’d broken any bones. Not yet at least.  He listed quietly out the front door, keeping in the shadows as he moved towards a horse that was tied to a tree.

“Don’t make a sound or you’ll be dinner,” he whispered to the stallion, who looked bored at him. He unknotted the reins and pulled the black horse with him to the edge of the village before he mounted on its massive back. The night was dark, but he had learned how to navigate through the stars, thanks to his astronomy-loving adoptive mother.

He didn’t know how long he rode, the sun slowly creeping its rays in the desert. A few more hours and he would be trapped in a sauna with no food or water. He needed a town fast.

An hour later he spotted some buildings. Thanking his lucky stars, he rode into the market that was slowly coming to life. A few looked nervously at him, while some gave him lusty looks. They weren’t used to foreigners there. He tied the horse to a post and walked towards the only young man at the market.

“You speak English?” He asked.

“Only a little, sir,” the young man answered.

“Good enough. How much is the horse worth to you?”

The young man called an older man with a hunched bag to him. They talked and examined the black stallion.

“It is worth too much,” the young man stated.

“You can have it for food, water, a car and some gas.”

“Are you sure, mister? That horse is a racing horse, you could buy many many houses in the big city.”

“I need food and water for at least one week. What kind of cars do you have here?”

The young man sighed and called a few women to gather all the necessities that he demanded. He was provided with a jeep, which had seen better days, but he was assured it was the best car there was in the village. Four women came bearing baskets on top of their heads filled with food and drinks. He definitely wouldn’t starve.

“Which way to Pakistan?” He asked. The young man pointed north-west. Then he was gone without looking back at the confused looks from the villagers. He grabbed an orange and peeled it while controlling the wheel with his knees. He almost groaned as the sweet juices filled his mouth.

He drove for two days straight, not bothering to stop for sleep. He was trained to stay awake for more than four days before fatigue would hit him. He preserved his energy by not thinking, just letting his mind go blank and concentrate on the sandy road ahead of him. He crossed the border to Pakistan by breaking the necks of the border control there. They didn’t know what hit them before they all laid dead on the sand. He had gathered their ammunition and moved his supplies into their newer military jeep. He set the old jeep on fire so as to leave no trace behind. Then he was on his way to Iran, where he did the same to the border control there - he shot them all, took their supplies and continued his journey. Leaving everything burning to the ground.

He had to cross Iraq to get into Jordan, and from there to Israel, where he had an acquaintance that could help him get into Europe, so he could hide in plain sight, planning his next move. Everyone must be thinking that he had died while fighting Ethan Hunt. He smiled to himself, hoping to meet that little bastard again and wringing his neck, or maybe torture him for a few days. He loved playing with his victims to get the information he needed out of them. He loved the cat and mouse game, but the torture game was his favourite.

Another town came into view. It was midday, the market would be bustling with people, no one would notice him if he was stealthy enough. He was towering over the men and women there, but no one gave him a second glance, having gotten used to having American military walking around them all the time. He followed some soldiers to their base, needing to steal more ammo, having used everything, when he crossed the border to Iraq. He might have gone a bit overboard with the shooting, but there were more people there than at the other border control stations, he had no choice. He had never felt so alive to be shooting mercilessly, without having to care about the clean-up, because nobody would suspect him, not until he showed the world that he was back with a vengeance. Until then, he would do whatever the fuck he wanted.

He snuck inside a building behind a few soldiers. They went to another room to clean their rifles. He listed closer, staying near the wall and in the shadows. He was about to pounce on the two unsuspecting soldiers when a large hand landed on his right shoulder. He let out an irritated groan.

“Hands where I can see them,” a deep gruff voice boomed behind him. He slowly raised his arms, almost wincing from his broken ribs. “Turn around, slowly.”

He moved 180 degrees, looking down. The soldier before him wore heavy army boots, camouflage cargo-trousers, a Black Sabbath t-shirt in black, then his beard came into view and the rest of his face. His eyes widened as he was looking into a mirror image of himself.

“Who the fuck are you?” The bearded soldier threatened, before tackling him to the ground.

#Henry Cavill #This man #Fanfiction #Lost Boys #Chapter one #August Walker #Captain Syverson #Walter Marshall #My story #I need a drink #Series #henry cavill fanfic

[grimoire-of-thirst]

Wildberries and cuddles

Request: Could you write a Mereoleona x fem!reader one shot where reader is having a bad day and Mereoleona tries to cheer up? Fluff would be perfect, thank you!

Genre&Warnings: Fluff

Tags: none

✩:✩:✩

Mereoleona was the most powerful, the quirkiest, and the most feared woman alive in the Clover Kingdom. She was fierce -in strength only a few surpassed her- and on top of that she was an observant despite her carefree personality. She could easily tell when someone has potential, and she could easily read the state of a person’s emotions. Hence, it was fairly easy -and definitely not a surprise- that she was one of the first people that noticed the gloomy aura surrounding you. Seeing you walking away, probably into your shared room, all worn out and with a perpetual frown on your face, left her feeling uneasy and concerned.

The low, tired ‘hey’ you addressed her not even three minutes ago was enough to send off a red flag into her head, signaling that something was definitely wrong with you. It was well-known among almost everyone that you are an all-smile type of person, and it didn’t matter the circumstance you’d always bring positivity in whichever room you stepped in. You were far more approachable than Mereoleona, this was also a part of your go-with-the-flow personality, which everyone in the Crimson Lion got quickly accustomed to. But now, your usually cheeky smile, the one you’d always give her whenever crossing paths with her, got replaced by a frown. A frown that Mereoleona considered to not suit your pretty face at all. However, that same frown was enough to make her understand that your day didn’t go as you had planned that morning. You said you’d train a little with some other fellow comrades, and then you’d go on a short mission to gather another star, or at least that’s what you had told her when getting dressed. Your slouched form was also another sign that reinforced her thoughts, and either your day had been tiring, or it went terribly bad. But either way, she was planning on fixing it.

But that was the problem.

Mereoleona, despite being one of the most capable and passionate people on earth, she was quite… unexperienced when it came to the romantic department. She never got interested enough into romantic stuff, and most of her childhood along with her adulthood where spent training, living in the wild, and fighting dangerous animals. She never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend before you, and now, this lack of knowledge was painfully showing.

Since she got into this relationship with you, handling it was fairly easy, mostly because you were the one leading it, despite Mereoleona’s leadership skills. You always made sure that the relationship won’t burden her - being a captain was already stressful enough- and you wanted to make her life a little bit easier. Usually, you’d be the one cheering others up, and -despite being your girlfriend for the past two years- Mereoleona had never seen you looking so tired and sad. For her, it was the first time seeing a frown on your face outside the battlefield. Now that she thought about it, she had never seen you sad, not even when fights withing the two of you would happen.

She stood in the middle of the corridor not knowing what exactly she should do. Training the fuck out of your body to take your mind off of the things that were bothering you seemed like a good idea to her -because that’s what she’d do if she were in your shoes- but considering how you were, and how you liked handling negativity, maybe tiring you even more than you already were wasn’t going to cheer you up in the slightest.

Based on the past interactions, and as far as she knew you, cuddles were the safest way to actually get rid of your gloominess, but Mereoleona thought that just cuddles won’t be enough -despite telling her endless times that simple, small things were the ones that mattered-, thus, she went ahead and began planning a cute evening that could possibly lift your mood. However, she had no idea what to do or how to do it.

She then heard some voices coming closer to where she was standing, and after turning to look at who were those people, she felt somehow lucky. There, laughing and joking around were Leopold, Gareth, and Ruben. All three men stopped as soon as they locked eyes with the lioness, bodies trembling under her fierce glare.

“TELL ME YOUR IDEA OF A CUTE DATE! NOW!” she growled, pointing her finger at Leo, making him flinch at her sudden loud voice. He swallowed loudly, taking in a deep breath before shouting back a “TRAINING UNTIL EXHAUSTION!”

Mereoleona narrowed her eyes, disappointment clearly readable on her face. Her right eye twitched, annoyed that her little brother had her same original idea and used her paw to kick him in the wall.  

“USELESS! NEXT!” Gareth too flinched, formally saluting her while straightening his back. He was confused by the sudden request, and the general idea that out of all the people Mereoleona wanted to know how to put up a cute date was… unexpected to say the least. However, he was taking too long to answer, and Mereoleona was slowly losing her patience, while her eyes kept on narrowing as her irritation grew. Gareth swallowed, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple while trying to find a decent idea.

“FOOD?!”

Mereoleona deadpanned. She knew for a fact that you already ate, and Gareth probably did too, but he was so scared he just wanted to be done with it and go to sleep. She was intimidating, and he could feel his hands shaking under her murderous eyes.

“YOU’RE A FOOL! NEXT!” she growled, sending him too into the wall. Then, her eyes locked with Ruben’s ones, expecting him to have at least a decent idea.

“Maybe a frie-“ but before he could end the sentence, Mereoleona kicked him too, stomping away while muttering how useless men could be, all the while the three poor, unfortunate souls watched her walking away, feeling their bodies ache due to her previous harsh punches.

✩:✩:✩

After coming to the conclusion that none in the squad could help her out with a decent idea, she settled for something that was far from what she originally wanted. However, it ended up looking pretty decent, and dare to say, somewhat romantic. She was quite satisfied with the outcome and hoped that you’d like it too. It wasn’t anything over the top, it was simple just like you liked, but she couldn’t help but anticipate your reaction.

You looked back at Mereoleona, trying to understand why exactly she was leading -more like dragging- you into the depths of the forest in the middle of the night. It was cold, and you were only wearing a simple long gown, barely providing your body with any warmth, and on top of that, you were tired. You wanted nothing more than to lay in bed and sleep.

“Where are we going?” you asked groggily. You were sleeping when she barged into the room, and without saying anything she took hold of your body with her flame paw and dragged you outside. It was so sudden that even now your eyes were half-closed, consciousness barely there to actually understand what was going on. Mereoleona grinned; eyes still focused on the road ahead.

“You’ll see” was all she said. You shrugged, letting her do whatever she wanted, mostly because you were too tired to ask some more questions, and besides, you trusted her. But you just needed to know one tiny thing-

“We’re not going to spar… are we?” you inquired, hopeful that it wasn’t the case -although if she really wanted to do that it won’t be much of a surprise, it wasn’t the first time Mereoleona would wake you up at an ungodly hour to train- however, you were now way too exhausted to move a single muscle, let alone fight.

She briefly looked at you, smiling at your cute frown “No, you can barely stand on your feet, you’ll just pass out before I can even start anything” she pointed out, eyes focusing on your slouched shoulders. You sighed, relieved that she wasn’t going to beat the life out of you, yet more curious about where she was taking you. If it wasn’t for a fight, then why was she dragging you into the forest?

More minutes passed in silence, Mereoleona was still walking, and you were slowly falling asleep once again, eyes closing while your body went completely limp, letting yourself fall into slumber as she kept dragging you around. However, not even after five minutes of you napping, Mereoleona ungracefully threw you on the ground.

You groaned at the harsh land, sitting up while both hands went to rub your tired eyes, trying to gain some focus and understand were she brought you. At first, you noticed the large field you were in, which made you understand that you were both outside of the capital and probably on a hill. Then, after looking up, you gaped at all the stars that littered the dark sky, but only when Mereoleona sat down did you finally notice the blanket you were on. In the middle of it, there was a bowl full of wild berries and a bottle of water. Your eyes shifted on her, and then back on the bowl, all the while a quiet giggle bubbled inside your throat which soon turned into a full loud laugh.

“Is this your idea of a picnic?” you asked, cheeky grin gracing your lips while your tone held nothing but tease. Mereoleona felt her cheeks on fire, blood rushing at the tips of her ears and down her neck. She knew it wasn’t anything fancy, she wasn’t that fond of cooking, and she barely knew how to prepare anything at all. During the time she spent in the wild, she learned the most basic things about cooking, and back at her house she never felt interested enough to learn that certain skill. She had debated about asking the chefs to prepare something, but when she finally made up her mind, it was already way too late. All the chefs were sleeping and in the fridge of the kitchen, there was nothing but raw ingredients that needed to be cooked in the morning. Thus, she went out in the forest and picked all the berries she could find, thinking that it was an acceptable solution. At first, she was sure it would work, but know, she was slightly embarrassed.

“Yeah, what about it?” she inquired, thankful that the poor lightning won’t make you able to fully see her glowing red cheeks. You smiled, taking a raspberry into your mouth.

“It’s… different from what most would do, but I like it!” you said, taking now a blueberry and handing it to her. Mereoleona grinned, happy that at least you were now smiling and no trace of the previous frown was present on your face. As you enjoyed the berries and calm atmosphere, Mereoleona was quick to notice how your body was slightly shivering, probably from the cold of the night. She grabbed the back of your nightgown and pulled you onto her lap, small flames littering around as she too laid down on the blanket. Her arms tightened around your waist, providing you with more warmth while you let your head rest on her chest, eating the few berries that were left in the bowl.

“That one is the Canis Major” you suddenly said, stretching your arm in the air while your index finger pointed at a certain star. Mereoleona hummed, eyes shifting above her searching for what you were talking about. That was another thing she had never been interested before, but after learning about your passion for constellations she began to pay more attention to the stars, sometimes even recognizing some of them. “Which one?” she asked, trying to find the one you were talking about, but there were so many stars that it was hard to find it, especially for her, that knew almost nothing about astrology.

“The big bright one. Right in the middle of those three smaller stars.” You said, still pointing at it. Again, Mereoleona looked up, and this time she was able to find it.

“That big one is called Sirius, and if you go a little bit down, there’s Mirzam. Across that one there’s Adhara, the one that is almost the same size as Sirius but slightly smaller, do you see it?” you asked, drawing some abstract lines with your fingers. Mereoleona followed the imaginary lines, and now that you pointed them out, she could make out the pattern you were making. Mereoleona hummed, telling you that yes, she could see it.

“A little above that one there’s Wezen and then-“ yet Mereoleona’s attention was quick to shift on your face instead. A small smile bloomed on her lips as she watched you talking about the constellation, explaining to her the meaning behind and other pieces of information that weren’t of any use to her. It was endearing, watching you so focused and passionate about something despite being exhausted. She could see your lips moving, tired eyes glimmering with interest while your index finger was still pointing at certain stars. Your voice was like nice, calm background music, to which she always wanted to listen to, and now it was no different, even if it was soaked in tiredness.

She could see that you were forcing yourself to stay awake, probably because you wanted to spend more time with her. Both, hers and your schedules were always busy, nights being the only times when you could spend some quality time together since she became captain. Mereoleona knew that you missed her, and she missed you too, but for now, she couldn’t do anything about it. Her hand went up in your hair, pads slowly massaging your scalp and applying a little bit of pressure, just enough to distract you from your speech.

The gentle touch was making it harder for you to stay awake, and your eyes were slowly becoming heavier and heavier while the words that were still coming out of your mouth made no sense anymore. Soon, you were asleep, curled into Mereoleona’s arms while she began to stroke your head, placing a feathery-like kiss on the top of your head. You were still mumbling words related to constellations, they made absolutely no sense, and it made her laugh -your desire to explain to her things about stars despite being out of consciousness was another aspect of your personality that she absolutely loved.

She tightened her hold on you while making sure that her flames were still providing you with warmth. The last thing she wanted was for you to catch a cold. She nuzzled against the top of your head, mumbling a small “Idiot” before she too closed her eyes, allowing herself to finally rest all the while listening to your steady breaths which lulled her into a peaceful slumber.

✩:✩:✩

A/N: Just noticed that I forgot to allow anonymous asks,,, sorry about that! Anyhow, this is my first shot for Mereoleona, Black Clover in general actually, and I hope I got her personality right! 

Thank you for taking the time to read it and have a wonderful day/night! 

#mereoleona x reader #mereoleona vermillion #Black Clover #black clover scenarios #black clover x reader #fluff

[thecrystalquill]

Love/Hate

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader 

Warnings: None

Summary: Draco and (Y/N) hate each other; it’s easier for Draco to hate than to love. But when push comes to shove, a little love might be just what they need. 

A/N: Chapter 5 is uuuup!! Thanks for your patience guys, I appreciate it. I’ve been super packed down with college lately, but hopefully not for long; so I should be able to get back to writing more frequently. Anyway, I hope it’ll be worth the wait. 

Masterlist           Series Masterlist

Chapter 5 

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

The Hogwarts Express shook slightly as it left the station; people were rushing about to find a compartment, and Draco simply rolled his eyes and shut their compartment door.

“Do they all really need to be so loud?” Theodore commented, putting his feet up on the seat opposite him. “I mean, I get it, first day back after the holidays and all, but still – it’s annoying.”

“You’re annoying,” mumbled Blaise under his breath, getting a side glare from Nott.

“You’re both annoying,” said Draco, glancing out of the window to see nothing but a blur of greenery; the sooner they got to Hogwarts, the better – he couldn’t wait to unpack his things and go to bed.

The winter holidays seemed to have come to an end quite quickly, as they often did, and the new year had come. A time to improve oneself; a fresh start. Draco had never really been one to make any resolutions for the coming year, he found them to be rather pointless, a flimsy promise made in a whim that was far too easily broken or forgotten; every year came and went and nothing ever changed, Draco was still himself and so was everyone else, they were still bogged down with work, and they still had very little time for resolutions to be followed through – so what was the point? Draco didn’t particularly feel any different, and he certainly wouldn’t be having any fresh starts, but he did know how he should be trying to improve himself; he knew he should try to be better, even in little ways; he knew he should probably try to be a little kinder, even if towards his friends; he knew he should try to be less of an arse; but sometimes he just couldn’t seem to help it; sometimes it was just too tempting – too easy. And he’s been acting a certain way for so long that it just became natural, and it was harder for him to do something without considering how it would affect his reputation. But still, every year when someone would ask for his resolution, he would give the same arrogant answer: ‘What would I need to improve? I’m perfect.’

After a while of being stuck in his own thoughts, Draco was brought back into the room by the sound of the door being slid open, revealing an elderly woman pushing along a cart full of sweets. “Anything from the trolley?” She asked, then stepped back a little as Crabbe and Goyle sprung to their feet and fished their pockets for whatever money they could find, then ordering anything they could think of – which was quite a lot, especially considering that they’d be having a massive meal when they arrive at the castle. “No dear, I said it’s one Galleon, nine Sickles, and twenty-three Knuts – not one Galleon, two sickles, and thirty-nine Knuts.”

“No, Goyle – there’s seventeen Sickles in a Galleon, you twit! How don’t you know that?”

“No don’t- that’s still wrong- why don’t- for Merlin’s sake just give the woman a Galleon and ten Sickles, alright? Then you’ll get two-hundred and sixty-seven back.”

“Godrick! Because there’s twenty-nine Knuts in a Sickle! How’re you this dim?—"

Honestly, Draco couldn’t believe he had friends as thick as those two sometimes. While they made a ridiculous commotion trying to get Goyle to pay the correct amount of money (Merlin only knows how badly Crabbe was doing), Draco excused himself to go and ‘stretch his legs’. Paying for a small box of Fudge Flies as he passed.

He wandered the train for a while, wrapping his robes around himself a little tighter whenever he felt a chilling draft from outside. He wasn’t going anywhere in particular, really, and he certainly wasn’t planning on finding someone. The thing is, Draco had always had certain ‘standards’ to be met when considering making a friend, something he had learnt from his father at a young age. But now, years later, Draco found that it had made him a little bit… lonely, perhaps. The people he had left behind in his compartment were his closest friends, but one couldn’t reasonably have just four friends (only two intelligent enough to hold a worthy conversation), could they? His friends had to meet some requirements: pure-blooded, Slytherins, at least a little bit pompous, and useful. Now, Crabbe and Goyle may have not been very useful in the traditional sense of the word, far from it really, but they were willing to follow him about and respect his every opinion and follow through with every demand – which was actually rather of an ego-boost for him. They were like his own little minions. Of course, there were other people that would fit into these standards, but in reality, Draco found most people to be intolerable or boring at best – and that just wouldn’t be worth his efforts. However, over the years, Draco had found someone that was… not quite a friend, but rather more of a confidant. Someone that offered a little support or a listening ear when he needed it, or even just the simple need for another’s presence.

Without having consciously knowing it, Draco had managed to find their compartment quite quickly and gently tapped his knuckles on the window.

“Come in.” Responded a soft voice, as he opened the door. She was staring out of the window with a hazy dream-like expression on her face, and held a book to her chest, seeming quite content. Her light hair was tied to the side with a bright purple ribbon, allowing her waves to fall over the shoulder of her favourite pink jacket. And she was wearing a very bold yellow skirt with a light pink jumper, and very stripy tights. It was an odd outfit for sure, but he was sure she was the only person that could suit it. “Hello Draco,” she smiled.

He nodded. “Hi Luna,” Draco wasn’t sure why he had come here, to be honest, but she didn’t ask. They sat quietly for a while, just enjoying each other’s company. It was moments like this that made him wish that his friends could be this way; quiet; peaceful. He needed more moments like this, with other people. If only his friends were so understanding and less chaotic.

“Wrackspurts,” she spoke up after a while.

Draco looked up in confusion, furrowing his brows in her direction. “I’m sorry?” He asked, not understanding what she meant at all.

Turning to face him, Luna tapped the colourful Spectrespects sitting on her nose, having only put them on a minute ago. “Wrackspurts,” she repeated, staring intently in his direction, “you’re surrounded by them. All around your head.” She explained, if that was the right word.

“Oh…” He mumbled, still a little confused by her statement; what was he supposed to do with that information?

“What is it?”

“What?”

“What’s bothering you?" She asked delicately, tilting her head to the side. She always seemed so calm, Draco admired that about her.

Shaking his head slightly, Draco slouched forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know…” he sighed. “Nothing, I suppose. I’m not sure.” Perhaps it was that he was bored of his friends, perhaps it was that he wanted them too; perhaps it was just the left over boredom from the winter break, or maybe he was just tired. Whatever it was, he didn’t know what to do about it.

There was another comfortable silence as the two sat thinking. Luna had gone back to watching the early January snow fall past the window and tracing the fern-like frost patterns on the glass with her nail, while Draco sat resting his chin on his hand as he pondered. You know…” she began again, “Wrackspurts can be dispelled by thinking positive thoughts.”

Draco was sure she just loved confusing him. “Like what?” He asked half-heartedly.

She shrugged. “Something that makes you happy, something good.”

He thought for a moment, about what would make him happy. What would make him happy? Teasing Longbottom usually made him laugh, right? No, that wasn’t good enough; what would make him happy? Himself? “I dunno, going to bed sounds good right now?” He offered with little effort, but the subtle change in Luna’s expression made it obvious that she wanted him to try harder. He rolled his eyes lightly in faux mockery. “Alright… erm… going to bed with a book, a good book, and a hot chocolate. Better?” She nodded lightly and he held back a smirk, feeling just a bit proud of himself. “Well what about you?” He encouraged, gesturing to her with the hand that once supported his head.

She thought for a moment, smiling wistfully. “Candyfloss from fairs, proper ones that are still warm,” she answered sweetly, and he couldn’t help but agree. Then she smirked slightly and whispered under her breath, “Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens…”

Tags:

@kaibie​

@salmonoctopus​

@thefandomzoneisdangerous​

@combative5sos​

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[If anyone else wants to be tagged or if I’ve missed anyone please let me know]

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x slytherin!reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy x muggleborn!reader #draco fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy #malfoy #malfoy x reader #harry potter golden era x reader #harry potter fanfiction x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter golden era #harry potter fanfic x reader #harry potter #x reader #x slytherin!reader #fanfic #fanfiction x reader #series #x y/n

[seir-of-nabatea]

Introduction!

I’ve played Fe3h a dozen or so times, and throughout every play through I have had such mixed feelings about one specific character- Rhea. So I thought, why not make a character that would also have mixed feelings about her?? 

*Ahem* There will be spoilers here!

Introducing Seir of Nabatea! - [a fe3h oc]

Seir is Rhea’s Daughter! *gasp*

A little about Seir below!

This will be a master post and will be updated accordingly! ^-^

[See the “About Seir” tag for more info!]

Basics

Physical

Appears 20+ (physically)

Born on the 7th of the Guardian Moon

Height: about 5′ 7″

Known physical marks: 

Birthmark beneath the right eye.

prominent scar that cuts diagonally across her face— over the bridge of her nose.

Various other lighter scars from training/combat

Personality etc.

Kind, healer, prefers not to fight, reserved, trained in brawler techniques.

Doesn’t understand sarcasm at first

Slight Language barrier.

Will on occasion take things literally.

likes: Reading, crafts/arts, and gardening. 

Dislikes: herself, the cold, dark places.

Interests: Playing the flute, stargazing, storytelling.

She owns a cloak given to her by her mother that she only receives after meeting up with her after waking up.

Her Dragon type is “Harmony Dragon” and she has a sacred weapon called “Hands of Temperance” [ they are lightweight silver gauntlets that cover the knuckles.]

Her wings are feathered.

Here is a doodle I did of her Crest!

Since she has no children, and was sealed before the war - she does not have anybody with her crest [however that can be discussed on] 

History

Seir is a name from the Ars Goetia, (just like Byleth, and Sitri!)

I thought this was perfect because Seiros!

The demon in the Ars Goetia is described as being of good nature [among other things of course] and said to be beautiful. [via the wiki]

Grew during the long period of time Sothis was asleep from restoring the world after the first war.

Was raised on stories about said war, and the peacetime that came before.

She grows up training in combat as a brawler, though excels as a swords-woman, and at healing as well.

She is honored to become one of a few in charge of guarding Sothis’s resting place, but was unable to stop Nemesis. 

She managed to escape, but was so close to death, she loses consciousness.

Rhea finds her, and seals her in an underground tomb to rest. [she doesn’t think she’ll make it]

Because of this she is nearly used as a vessel to bring back Sothis, but Rhea has a change of heart  when she discovers her to still be breathing.

Possible verses

She wakes up 3 years into the time-skip, but stays in the empty tomb for an additional year, because there is a note in Rhea’s hand writing telling her to stay until she returns for her.

When nobody comes she breaks out. She is obviously lost, and confused.

[optional] opener referencing above.

If she doesn’t run into anybody she’ll eventually make her way to the monastery on her own.

Usually she’ll volunteer her time to caring for the greenhouse, or tending to the wounded.

She does not know what the Hero’s Relics are made from. The first time she sees one does not go well.

Alternatively she could potentially wake pre time-skip.

Here is a pic I drew of her uniform if she joins a house only.

[optional] opener for this.

If so then she is not an official student at the academy, but can join.

however, she won’t stay with Edelgard after the time-skip.

Her existence for Seteth and/or Flayn can vary depending.

If they know of her then at first all that Rhea has told them is that she is just an orphaned nabatean that she has taken in.

Seir knows of Seteth/or Flayn, but just by their aliases not their true names. [She doesn’t know of their relation.]

In general she isn’t allowed off the monastery grounds.

Has to wear a veil when outside to hide her identity, but will occasionally remove it at night.

Usually spends her time cleaning the cathedral after hours, or simply sitting by the pier.

She will also sneak into the library to learn more about the world she has missed out on.

Her general relationship with her mother

Initially Seir has great respect for her mother, her childhood of growing up under her distant but caring eye the reason for her view.

When she awaken’s from her healing sleep, the year that she spends in the dark tomb waiting for her mother [Rhea] to come for her results in her developed fear of total darkness. 

On escaping her view of herself and her mother begins to twist.

When she finds out her mother was only recently captured / missing she begins to question why she never came for her

She [illogically] blames herself for the tragedy of Zanado, and thinks that is why Rhea left her in the tomb.

When she hears of how Rhea shaped Fódlan she is visibly distraught

She is horrified when she discovers what the Hero’s Relic’s are.

Depending on how she finds out she may have a panic attack.

This could also trigger her to lose all trust in Rhea - How could she allow this [the use of the Relics] to continue?

She is disturbed when she finds out about the experiments that Rhea was responsible for.

Depending on how she discovers this information her view on her mother could potentially worsen.

Regardless the idea never sits right with her.

If she learns she was almost used as a vessel she will always react negatively

Again, depending on how she learns this information will determine if she is able to forgive her mother, or start to.

[more tba]

#About Seir #Seir of Nabatea #Master post #verses

[vaingloriosa]

Devotion

Nero x Reader

Words: 1,323

Summary: During your most critical hours, Nero realizes how fleeting life truly is.

Warnings: brief description of wounds

Author’s note: hehe guess who uhhhh go into sumn new?? perhaps? first time writing for devil may cry 5 and i only know of the lore found in that particular game. wanted sumn a lil tender for my man, nero, so my mind came up with this. and YES! i see y’all v fuckers out there! first time writing in a month oh SHIT!! absolutely tender on main. as with most of my fics, this is a gender neutral and racially ambiguous reader

The moment you felt the claws of the demon slice through the skin of your thigh, you knew you were going to feel that in the morning.

You fall onto the cobblestone ground with an audible thud, rolling away from the battle and onto your side. You take a shaky breath in as your trembling hands hover over the enormous gash. Crimson begins to stain your hands, your blood dripping from your fingertips. If it weren’t for working for Devil May Cry for years, you would’ve passed out by the mere sight, though with age you had overcome your fear.

You feel as if you’ve regressed.

“Hey, hey, hey!” The sound of Nero calling out your name breaks you out of your brain’s defense mechanism to lose consciousness. You feel his arm prop you up on his knee as he kneels down and assess your wound. You wave him, closing your eyes just a little to take in the scent of your boyfriend. Nothing like a mixture of sweat and demon guts in the morning.

“’m fine, baby. J’st a mere scratch but that son of a bitch ripped my favorite jeans.” You pout at the thought of losing one of your sacred pair of pants but you know you’ll live. Nero presses his other arm, his new arm at that, in order to stop the bleeding and you let out a hiss at the touch. He apologizes in a low voice but you only wave him off again as if it were nothing but a sting.

“This is more than just a scratch, babe. How are you feeling? Stay awake with me now,” Nero tells you, his hand that was around your shoulder now on your face. His calloused thumb finds your cheek and tries to get you to open your eyes. They slowly flutter open with his face greeting you, a gentle halo falls along Nero’s hair made by the lighting streaming from the non-existent roof.

By the stars, he may have been an angel.

Your angel.

You let out a laugh before closing your eyes one more time, the faint sounds of Nico’s van in the distance a perfect lullaby.

You don’t recall someone dressing your wound nor how there’s a blanket over your body but by the pensive look on Nero’s face across from you, you could take an educated guess.

Your body protests against any kind of movement yet you slip a hand underneath the blanket towards him to take. Almost immediately does he take a seat right next to you on the floor with your hand in his.

“I’m here,” he hums to you, using his free hand to stroke the top of your head. You sigh as the motion brings comfort despite the dull pain along your thigh. You wince just a bit while you try to shift your position but Nero urges you not to in order to let the wound heal. You huff, shaking your head at your boyfriend’s words.

“You know I can’t physically do that.” You lift yourself up from your laying position in order to sit up, avoiding putting too much pressure on your wounded thigh. All the while, piercing blue eyes train on your body to make sure you don’t slip. You’re not used to such care, always selfishly throwing yourself in harm’s way to do what you feel is right. You take the brute force when need be, always so reckless yet for you, you find it endearing. If anyone should get hurt in order to protect others, you feel like it’s your duty to be in the line of fire. Nero takes the empty seat next to you, his fingers threading into yours.

You look over at him but squint when his grip becomes a bit tighter and his gaze is fixated on the small table of the van. You press a soft kiss on Nero’s shoulder to bring him back to Earth. You know Nero always concerns himself over the well-being of his friends and lovers and you are no exception to his worries. He’s been through hell then back again until he finally finds a sense of normalcy with you. Even if you’re fighting demons side-by-side while Dante is away, you two remind each other that even if the world may be shit, you have each other through thick and thin, no matter what.

“Will you marry me?”

Nero’s question is barely a whisper and your eyes search his face to make sure you heard correctly.

“Marry?”

“I know it sounds sudden and I come empty handed but...seeing you in that state back there and you nearly dying in my arms, I knew life is a fleeting thing. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to be right by your side when the world goes to shit. Let us grow old together, make new memories, build a home together. I love you...” Before Nero can say your name, you press your lips against his. It’s only a quick kiss because you pull away first and let out a breathy yet excited “yes”. His eyes had been closed but the moment you utter that word, his eyes shoot open with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You wrap your arm not clutching Nero’s hand around his neck and rock him slightly in joy.

“Hold on!”

Ah.

“What the hell did I miss?”

Nico’s grand entrance makes the two of you jerk at the arrival. She swings the shovel over her shoulder then quirks her head to the side. The two of you look at each other and you can’t help but giggle into the crook of your now fiance’s neck.

“Um, I asked them to marry me.” Nero presses his forehead against yours and you place your left hand on his cheek. Gosh, you could be in his hold forever. You hear the sound of a heavy object dropping to the floor, your eyes widening and quickly move your body to make sure Nico is alright.

She’s more than alright. In fact, she is head over heels as she slaps her thigh and begins dancing in one spot.

“Oh, I just knew you two were made for each other. It feels like only yesterday y’all lovebirds were hooking up at the back of my van...”

The celebration doesn’t stop there. Conveniently so, Nico informs the two of you that awhile ago, she managed to get an officiant license and you look at Nero with a dumbfounded face.

Maybe the universe will be alright for tonight.

No demons, no one else to fight; just you and him.

There’s not much to the “ceremony” other than the three of you sharing an intimate moment together. Afterwards, Nico rises and slaps the jukebox on the side then presses a button. She shoos the two of you outside the van so the two of you could have a “first dance” like a “traditional wedding”.

“Every wedding is special,” you assure Nero then promptly giggle as he helps you down from the steps. You limp slightly but you know your legs definitely needed the stretch. A soft melody pours over from the inside onto the cool, still autumn night. Nero takes your hand in his and bows slightly like a gentleman and you feel as if you couldn’t smile any bigger. A snort escapes your nose, sending your head back to relish at your now husband’s action. He pulls you closer to his chest, you placing one hand on his incredible upper arm. Nero’s careful not to move to much to protect your still healing thigh so he resorts to lightly swaying to and fro.

To and fro.

You close your eyes, taking in the scent of your new beginning. You hum in content with a smile on your lips, in the arms of the man you will love until the end of the world.

Tagging: @hades-ii, @susiephalange // @phalangewrites (aka miss. yue and miss. susie were them supportive bitches on my side MWAH!), @rebelfinn (i know, i know, another whitie like I’VE BEEN known), @sethrine-writes, @pointedly-foolish, @kyarymell, @mysticalkhfan, @cerebralfluid (i know u a v fucker pero hold on!! i am Coming!!)

#angel writes #nero x reader #dmc nero x reader #devil mary cry #dmc #devil may cry 5 #dmc 5 #nero #dmc nero #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry fanfiction #devil may cry v #dmcv #dmc5 #nero sparda #nero dmc #devotion #until i get a hang of these tags...they gon' be Messy

[leonkennedystuff]

vengeance (leon kennedy x reader)

[Darkside Chronicles!Leon]

Summary: ! REQUESTED ! “hi can you write leon x agent reader? like they were on the mission together with Chris and Jill/Claire, so when they completed it, reader refused to get in the helicopter because she had to get revenge on someone, and Leon couldn’t leave her alone, didn’t matter how much she begged him to stay away, and Chris was like “he is definitely has a thing for her lol”. thanks!!!”

Warnings: angst, violence

Additional tags: Non-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence

“(Y/N)! We have to go, now!” Your partner, Leon Kennedy, practically screams at you, his distressed voice drowned out by the series of gunshots ripping away from his firearm. His head snaps to the hoard of corpses charging at you both then back again to your rigid body planted on the ground.

No matter the pumps of adrenaline in your veins, it’s as if the hands of time ceased moving. Your (E/C) were brimmed with hot tears, heart pregnant with blind fury. You were lost in the chambers of your thoughts; your consciousness floating somewhere in hell.

“(Y/N!)” Leon yells again, reloading his gun quickly before the flashes of his ammunition light up his alarmed face. He takes a hasty step back, cursing under his labored breath as the rotting bodies advanced; their number just kept growing - their moans loud and their teeth gnashing and biting as they neared. You’ll both end up being a part of the pile if you don’t evacuate the place soon.

“Get up! Come on!” He demands at your lack of action, his tone stricken and mixed with plea. He only had a few magazines left and it would be no match for the undead plaguing the area.

You remain statue-like as you barely hear his words or notice the extent of how bad your situation was actually getting. If it weren’t for his large hand grabbing onto your shoulder and forcing you back down to reality, you don’t think you would have moved at all.

You jerk at his touch, surprised, and your tears fall when you blink. You look up at him.

He grabbed onto to the radio attached to his tactical vest, his face contorted with aggravation as he contacts the other agents assigned in this mission. You, together with Leon, Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield were tasked to bust an underground market confirmed to be selling B.O.W specimens and viruses to the highest bidders; things took a turn for the worst when the conspirers infected themselves to keep the samples from being taken away.

Your group had split up; you and Leon were standing guard and clearing the proximity as Jill and Chris seize the remaining viruses.

No matter how many missions you’ve done, it never fails to scare you how fast these B.O.Ws spread… and how many innocent lives it takes in its clutches.

Trembling, you look down at the lifeless body of Ariya, an 8-year-old girl you saved from the teeth of her infected parents. Her body was still warm in your iron grip, the blood seeping from her stomach warmer.

Your jaw clenches, your vision clouded once again with the brewing storm in your chest.

He was going to pay. Francisco De Luna - one of the confederates who killed the young girl in your hands to distract you from his escape. Cold-blooded, merciless, son of a –

“(Y/N)!” Leon shouts frantically, grabbing your vest. In one swift motion, he pulls you up just as an undead woman lunges for you. You fall to your side with a thud, a pang shooting up your leg as you land on it rather roughly. Your trance finally breaks, your hand automatically reaching for the gun in your holster.

Leon aims his Desert Eagle at the crawling figure when a single shot rings through the compact tunnel, making it gurgle as a metal pellet pierces the head with clean entry. The body falls by your feet, crimson blood pooling on the floor. You both turn to where the bullet came from.

Jill and Chris.

“Leon, (Y/N)! Go!” Jill shouts, waving her hands outward, “To the rendezvous point! Viruses have been extracted and pickup is on the way!”

Behind her, Chris shoots at the corpses following close to their tail, pushing some over if it got too near Jill. You and Leon don’t waste another moment; you both turn and run, killing the creatures that blocked the path.

You look back one last time, your heart heavy as Ariya’s small body shrinks from view before disappearing completely.

Fingers gripping your gun tighter, your chest burns with rage. You were going to kill Francisco.

                          -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

 Escaping to the rendezvous point was difficult, more difficult than you expected.

By the time the four of you made it out of the tunnels, the village it laid atop of was running amok with the undead. They swarmed every corner and were relentless trying to take a bite.

Thankfully, you all managed to escape with no problem and with some ammunition left to spare. It was perfect, you thought, you needed just one bullet to kill.

The rendezvous point was somewhere in the outskirts of the village, on a steep hill that laid flat on the center; you mentally take note of it as you clamber out of a filthy grey truck with its rear crushed in from the chaos, Leon following behind you.

“I see it, it’s here!” Chris exclaims as your feet plant on the muddy ground. You straighten up, looking to where his bright brown eyes were focused. You knew he was talking about the rescue chopper; you could hear it even from its distance. He chuckles as he waves his broad arms in the air. “I’ve been ready to get out of here since we landed,”

You would have laughed and joined Chris in his usual antics if it weren’t for the ill-feelings plaguing your chest. You couldn’t even bring yourself to smile or feel elated that this was all over and done with – no, your personal mission has yet to begin.

You had to tell them, you had to tell them now that you were staying behind. Of course, you knew they were going to try coaxing you out of it but your mind was made. There was no stopping you.

“Thank God,” Jill muses, rubbing a gloved hand down the side of her dirty cheek before tucking her short brown hair behind her ear. She looks at you with a congratulatory grin. “Another mission complete, agent (L/N). Good job,”

“I’m staying,”

You were thankful your voice was loud and firm – loud and firm enough to have their attentions immediately train on you.

As you expected, the two agents in front of your eyes blink with staggered expressions. Jill turns to Chris, alarmed, his mouth opening to speak but was cut off.

“What?” Leon demands from behind you, dubious and slightly harsh. He walks forward until he was in your line of sight, his dark brows furrowed with question. Your partner had been silent since the tunnels and you note that this was the first time he’d spoken in almost half an hour.

Your stained skin prickles uneasily, his cold and punitive demeanor throwing you off as you’ve been sensing he was angry with you. With the way he just spoke, it was definitive now that he was and you were sure you knew why.

You’ve bumped heads before but nothing that made him act this way. You hate how upset it made you feel – it’s because of what happened in the tunnels. Your moment of weakness that placed not only Leon in danger, but also the whole damn mission.

You meet his unrelenting gaze, his impossibly blue eyes unwavering but the firm countenance on your face just as steadfast. “I’m staying,” You repeat yourself, “I’m not leaving this place – not until I kill Francisco, not until I make all these bastards pay for what they did here,”

“(Y/N)-“ Chris starts, hesitant, but you shake your head, putting your hand up.

“Please don’t try to stop me,” You tell him, serious, moistening your chapped lips. You shift your eyes to Jill who looked very conflicted and Leon who still had a stoic expression etched on his face. “This is something I need to do,”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Your partner deadpans, already re-buckling his vest and tightening his hip pouches.

You give him a pointed look but he ignores it, so you take a step forward and push his arms. “No,” You retort. “You’re not,”

“And have you actually die this time?” He snaps.

Before you could counter or Chris and Jill could intervene, the sound of the green helicopter growing closer stops the clashing that was sure about to ensue.

It was very near now and you knew how persistent Leon was – if you couldn’t talk him out of this, he won’t get in the chopper.

“This isn’t your mission-“

“-and it isn’t yours either.” He interjects, his tone noticeably softer but his eyes still firm on his stand. “I’m not letting you do this alone,” He says with finality.

Your frustration grows - at how stubborn he was being and how suddenly so untrusting he is of your ability to fight. You couldn’t help but turn a little defensive, “Look, I’m sorry for what happened in the tunnels. I shouldn’t have let my emotions get in the way – I put you in danger and I’m sorry. I just –“ You falter as the image of the young girl laying in your lap resurfaces in your mind. “-Ariya… I was-“

Your jaw clenches, “I’m sorry I put you in danger,” You simply repeat, not knowing what else to say. “But I can fight, Leon, you know I can protect myself,”

His mouth bends with a frown. “I’m not mad because you put me in danger, (Y/N). I’m not mad about the mission either,” He explains with a shake of his head, the tension and ill-feeling clear as day as it returns to his tone. Leon runs a hand through his golden hair like he was hesitating to continue. You hoped he would.

“You put yourself in danger, (Y/N), and that’s why I’m angry,” He finally tells you, his sapphire eyes piercing through your (E/C) ones. “You put yourself at risk. You could have died back there! You could have been infected and I-“ He exhales.

This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen, to berate you, but he couldn’t take it back now; if you got bit and turned in the tunnels, Leon didn’t know what he would’ve done. He wouldn’t have had the heart to put you down.

You just blink at him.

Your relationship with Leon was professional; he’s been your partner for almost three years since he started working as a federal agent like you. You knew his background- where he was from, his training, his upbringing (although he doesn’t like talking about that much). You knew basic information too- his birthday, his age, biometrics (because it was needed). And you knew he was one of the rare survivors in the tragic incident of Raccoon City - but that’s as personal as it gets. He was kind of closed-off and you were never one to pry, not wanting to overstep a boundary.

The two of you were friends though, good friends in your book. Three years of traumatic experiences can really bring two people together – you knew his favorite songs and his go-to rock bands from having to ride with him to missions, his comfort foods, drinks and how he likes his coffee whenever you both had to stay up late to crack cases, and of course you’ve hung out a couple of times, your friendship not only confined in the office or in the field.

Although your relationship with Leon isn’t the most personal you have, it was definitely one of the most special. You understood your lives and, on top of that, you’ve literally saved each other’s countless of times. The care he had for you and you for him was deep, sometimes deeper than you’d like to admit or let on – and these were one of those moments that made you question where your feelings truly stood with him.

“(Y/N), let Leon go with you,” Jill speaks up after a few seconds of being silent, taking your partner’s side. Chris nods. “Just to make sure you come back home safe,” He offers.

Leon looks at you, expectant, and you sigh softly, knowing your hands were pretty much tied. It was this or more arguments and you didn’t have the luxury of time, so you give in.

“Okay,” You concede, lifting the weight off the two older agents’ shoulders.

When the rescue helicopter arrives, Chris and Jill board it but without leaving first their well wishes and extra weaponry.

“Stay safe, (Y/N), Leon,” Chris nods at you both, handing the younger man a combat knife. “Make sure you both come back alive,” He says pointedly. He’s seen you both in battle and trusted your abilities, but the concern was going to be there no matter what – there was too much malevolence in your world.

After Jill bids you and Leon good luck as well and handed you her own firearms and ammunition, she settles on the opposite side of where Chris was sitting. They both watch you and your partner get back in the truck before driving off.

Jill settles in her seat; although it wasn’t the most comfortable thing she’s laid on, her body molds into it. She exhales, her powder-blue eyes still peering out the window.

“Don’t look so worried,” Chris tells her, breaking her reverie. He was grinning.

“Leon won’t let anything hurt (Y/N),”

Jill chuckles at that, understanding what he was trying to imply. “I know,” She nods her head, “It’s kind of cute,”

“I wouldn’t let anything hurt you too, you know,”

She laughs but the warmth growing in her cheeks was unmistakable, “I know,” She says again, stretching her legs out. “It’s just a shame you’re not as cute as Leon.”

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon scott #leon kennedy writing #leon kennedy one shot #requested #anonymous #resident evil #chris redfield #jill valentine #valenfield #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #self-insert #resident evil darkside chronicles #umbrella #umbrella corporation #claire redfield #ada wong #mr x #resident evil 4 #resident evil 2 #resident evil 6 #resident evil 2 remake #sherry birkin #annette birkin #william birkin #piers nivans #jack krauser

[kaitlynpcallmebeepme]

I’ll Fight For You

I’ll Fight For You

Peter Parker x Reader 

Warnings:  Fight scene, explosions, hurt descriptions, starving self, swearing I think, nursing organ facts (tell me if you think of any more), fluff, and a hint of angst

A/N: This is the work I have for @keepingupwiththeparkers for her 4,000 follower writing challenge. 

#kuwtp4kwc

Thinking about making an origin story for Gargoyle. The good title I thought of I want to save for my series. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Requests are open and Messages are open if you want to chat. The gifs came from google, so credit goes to the person who made them. I don’t own Gargoyles the show either.

Background: Only slight endgame spoilers for this description. In my world, Carol snapped the gauntlet to kill Thanos and made it through the time machine, but left the mind and time stone so they could bring Vision back and returned the soul stone to save Natasha, and Steve didn't go back in time. Avengers Tower was bought back until the compound could be rebuilt and remained as a kind of a base since Queens is closer to the tower than the compound.

Tag list: Send me an ask if you want to be added. 

@trashinaglass and @peter-pan-hoe ♡

Dialogue prompt:

8. “I thought I’d lost you”

Word count: 1,860

The intel was terrible at best. When have you ever heard of a hydra agent defecting.  That didn't matter anymore. What mattered is that your team, the Avengers, got the intel about chemical weapons Hydra was developing and get out of the base as quickly as possible. 

Taking revenge on the people who tortured you is one of the sweetest things ever. You were Y/n. Last name you never knew. Part of a species of bat-human hybrids that you were the sole survivor of, thanks to hydra of course. Mainly a human body with slightly pointed ears, retractable claws, an echolocation trackability, better hearing, sharp teeth, bat-shaped wings protruding from your back, skin that can turn to stone, and slight healing powers, which were amplified if you turned completely to stone for some time. You took the name Gargoyle after Peter showed you The Hunchback of Notre Dame. It was his job to catch you, Steve, and Bucky up on all of the pop culture stuff you missed.

You and Peter had the bottom floor almost cleared with the task of searching for hostages. You liked the curly-haired nerd. You two were around the same age when the Avengers raided the Hydra base you were kept captive in. He was the one to hoist your bloody body over his shoulders and carry you out of there. You both valued stealth and sticking to ceilings. You both often trained together and we're interested in both of your talents, yours of which was blacksmithing and Anatomy. You both tested your powers to see how far you could push each other and discover what your limits were. Peter could spend an hour upside-down before he started to feel fatigued and your healing ability worked better if you have a lot of what was hurt. For example, a kidney would heal a lot faster than a heart because there are two kidneys and one heart. 

Okay, back to the mission. No hostages or test subjects have been found as you and Peter kept making your way around your floor. It was mainly storage rooms with few people in the hallways. Not as exciting for you, but you didn't want to go into a room where you two couldn't handle what was inside.

You and Peter got on the ceiling in front of the last room you had to check off your floor. When all of a sudden the door burst open on its own and the air was filled with bullets. Two big guys with miniguns. TWO?!?! Normally it would be one and a lot of smaller henchmen covering him. You looked at Peter for some silent sign of a game plan. He drew a 'Z' with his fingers and pointed to his web shooter. Then made the cracking fist motion with his hands. You nodded and made a silent prayer that this worked because you hated having to play fair when taking out minigunners. Peter shot the two guys with taser webs, which brought them both to the floor. You two then dropped down and started going ham on betting these two up. You just hit the back of their head until their occipital lobe knocked out their vision. Fury would be by later to arrest everyone, but you wanted to make sure they stayed down. You cut up their arms and legs a bit just so it would make it difficult for any of the men to escape. You disarmed the miniguns and Peter webbed down the guys as best as he could. 

"Wonder what they were guarding?" 

"I don't know Gargoyle, but we better be careful."

You gently pushed the door open revealing a planning room covered in blueprints. Some were for cannons and others were for what looked like experiments. Turning humans into other creatures, which in turn would be used for Hydra. 

"Make sure to have Karen scan all these."

Before you could analyze the plans in front of you, you were knocked to the ground. Your body went into full fight mode preparing to stab whoever tackled you. Good thing your mind caught up to your instincts and realized it was Peter who was on top of you. Your senses were thrown off as all you could hear was bullet shells hitting the ground and an AK-47 going on full blast. You extended your arm and hit a button to make a small sharp disc fly out from above your wrist. The disk shot under the table and took the last man standing down. You kicked the gun away and gave the guy a few scars with your Assassin's Creed wrist knives. 

It was only then when you realized that Peter didn't get up. He was groaning in the middle of the floor where you left him.  He was on his side, but you could see the number of bullets in his left side. You turned Peter over and realized he's bleeding a lot faster than he should be. 

"Hit near the pancreas and spleen. Shit." If there was one thing you remembered from all your time studying Anatomy, it was those two organs have a lot of blood going through them. "Nonononono. Kid, you gotta stay with me. You gotta stay awake." You hit his face a bit to keep him conscious. 

You didn't want to move him because that could make it worse and you were definitely not qualified to remove bullets on a battlefield from an advanced human. So you did the next best thing. You held the button on your earpiece. "Code Blue. Underoos's been hit. I repeat. Code Blue. Underoos's been hit." 

"What? Where are you guys?" Tony's panicked voice wasn't helping your demeanor.

"Basement; in a room full of blue-." Your eyes grew wide for a split second as you saw the guy who shot Peter with a grenade in his hand and his thumb in the ring.

"Hail Hydra." 

You didn't have time to think. You scooped up Peter and ran as fast as you could before the pin could be pulled. You both barely made it to the doorway before the whole room exploded. You wings protected the two of you from most of the flames, didn't mean it didn't hurt. 

"Kids, you ok?" There came the Dad voice from Clint again. Clint, you liked to call the perfect mix of sass and fatherly advise.

You slowly lifted your wings but kept them up to keep the rubble dust out of your eyes. You looked over at Peter who you could tell was still losing consciousness. "We're fine. The basement's clear. I can run him back to the quinjet and rush him to the medbay of you guys can meet me there." 

"We're done here. Everyone meet at the jet and we're rushing the kid back. Do you need cover?" Natasha was one of the few people to keep Tony's mind straight besides Pepper.

"No. I can run him back up. The basement's clear." Just as I scooped Peter back up and started to run to the stairs, remote turrets came online. "Of people."

Your bare feet skidded across the dirty floor as you made a break for the Northwest stairs while trying to avoid the bodies that littered the floor. Your wings covered you both, but the bullets that hit your legs still hurt. Your heart pounded in your ears as the only person you were worried for was Peter. Did he lose too much blood? Was his body healing around the bullets? Would he ever wake up from this? You pushed your thoughts to the back of your head and focused on running. 

The snow of Ireland made your bare feet bleed, but you were numb to pain at this point as you layed Peter down in the jet. You tried to focus all of your healing energy to your hands, but it wasn't helping. You just decided to step back and let Bruce and Tony try their hardest to help as F.R.I.D.A.Y flew you back to the tower.

They took Peter to the Intensive Care Unit and only when they gave him a transfusion of blood and took all 12 bullets out of his side were you allowed to see him. He had a slight concussion and his face was bruised from the fall. You couldn't do anything to help him but hold his hand with the IV still in.

"Do you remember when we met? It was my first day. Still getting used to the compound. You were hanging from the ceiling as I was quenching a blade in the garage and scared the shit out of me I almost left the blade too long in the oil. I was a mess then. Still thinking that I was undeserving of love. That hydra had used me too much that I wasn't worth anything anymore. Even before Hydra my parents never made me feel good about myself." A shaky breath left your cut lip as you let tears silently slip out. "You're too good for this world Peter. You go out of your way for the little guy. You made me realize no matter how many people kick you in the jaw, even if it's one person or just yourself that wants you to keep going, you get the hell back up. I am that now for you. Please wake up. Please. Just don't be dead. Please." You were crying waterfalls at that point that any words you tried to make came out shaky.

"You are my sunshine 

My only sunshine 

You make me ha... ha-ppy

When skies are gray

You'll never know dear

How much I love you 

Please don't take

God please don't take 

My sunshine away."

A week he was asleep. A week too long. His body was healing fine and fast. His brain just needs to realize he's ok and wake up. May visited a lot and talked to you. She felt like another mother to you. In fact, all the women you met through the Avengers were your mother. Well, Shuri was a little older than you, so she's your older sister.  You refused to eat and got ticked off at anyone who tried to get you to. Of course you couldn't die, but starving was slow and it hurt. Eventually, Wanda had to put you in a dreamlike trans in order for them to put an IV in you. You couldn't leave Peter, you couldn't.

One morning you woke up from the side of Peter's bed and saw his eyes open and him sitting up. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah. I woke up in the night and the nurse brought me water and said you haven't left me since I got here." His hand went up and whipped away a tear that you didn't realize was falling.

"You got me there Parker. Don't ever scare me like that again. I thought I'd lost you."

"I won't and you can't get rid of me that easily." He kissed your forehead as you kept smiling through the tears. "Now we better eat before we get suffocated in Aunt May and Mr. Star's hugs." 

"Agreed."

#kuwtp4kwc #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker reader insert #peter parker reader #peter parker one-shot #peter parker one shot #peter parker oneshot #avengers #avengers one shot #gargoyle #gargoyles #enhanced!reader #superpower!reader