#ask imtherain

[imtherain]

Bone spaghetti.

Sounds delicious 💀🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴

[imtherain]

I am the ghost of your unmade suncatcherssssss!!!

MaKE US moMTher!!!!

I BET YOU THOUGHT I FORGOT

I made some :3

(you might have forgotten because it's been a bit minute but hey, better late than never)

[cinebration]

The Darkling’s Shadow (The Darkling x Reader) [Part 2]

You deliver a head to the Darkling.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Epilogue

Tagged: @don-daygamerz​, @weallhaveadestiny​, @kaqua​, @sinful-wxrld​, @ashdab2611​, @ultarviolence​, @chodingcreature​, @demonenotturno​, @crowssixof​​, @mxacegrey​​, @dreamlandcreations​​, @s-r-reads​​, @byulsrecs​​, @peleksstuff​​, @seraferna​​, @imtherain, @vexedvalerie​​

Warnings: blood, gore

Gif Source: ethanhunt

The report of your success at the Fjerdan border reached the Darkling before you arrived at Kribirsk. Perusing the contents of the dispatch, he felt the distinctive stirring of excitement prickling beneath his skin. Your words from days before still echoed in his ears, fanning long-dormant flames.

“I can be your shadow, the boogeyman with blood on its hands and maw waiting in anticipation of its master’s next command.”

The Grisha in the Second Army followed him, as was their duty to their commander. They would do anything he asked…up to a point. Few were in it for the fight, the thirst for battle and blood. They were there because they had to be, because nationalism united them.

His attempts to create an army centuries before had created boogeymen that had behaved unexpectedly and in undesirable ways, creatures he still desired to draw into his power. That, as yet, was still unattainable.

To have someone offer to be his bloodied anything…

The thrill that coursed through him made his hands tremble. Clenching them into fists, he mastered the emotion, stuffing it down deep within himself. Years of experience cautioned him that you were a beautiful creature designed to ensnare him, right down to the power roiling within you.

No matter. If you were, then learning the secrets of how you were created would be useful. If you weren’t, then you were a prize he couldn’t afford to lose.

What would it be like if he amplified your abilities? What brutal carnage could you wreak?

Consumed with these thoughts, he didn’t hear you glide into his tent. Only a shift in the shadows alerted him to your presence.

It took all of his effort not to snap his head around. With as much composure as he could muster, he turned to face you.

Dried blood marred your kefta, your hands, your face, slivers of bone bristling out of your hair and cloak. Bits of viscera crusted your boots, thick enough not to flake off as you stopped in the center of the space.

From your right hand hung the severed head of a Fjerdan Grisha hunter. His eyes, glazed over in death, were wide from terror.

“Where do you want it?” you asked, your voice low.

The Darkling marveled at your audacity—from the gore on your body to the dangerous edge in your tone. It seemed you were deliberately trying to provoke him, bring him down into a contest of wills.

Leaning against the table behind him, he gripped its edge in both hands, trying to control the twitches in his fingers, and gave the head a cursory glance.

“Outside,” he finally answered.

“On a pole or just…wherever?”

He fought the laugh pulling at his lips. “You traveled for three days like this?”

You didn’t bother glancing down at your ruined kefta. “It sends a message, General.”

“Does it? To whom?”

“Fear is necessary on both sides of a war. I can only do the job I am made for if others, even allies, are in terror of me.”

“The job you are made for.”

“Do you believe in fate?”

The Darkling frowned, mildly nonplussed by the sudden change in conversation.

“I believe in fate,” you continued, twisting your wrist to watch the head spin first one direction, then another. “We are all set on paths whose end we do not know. But I also believe fate is something that we make happen, not merely something that happens to us. I was not born this way. I became this with my own two hands.”

You met the Darkling’s gaze, your expression blank but your eyes blazing. “I made myself for this. I have planned and dreamed and fought my way to here, because I know what my fate is.”

He struggled to speak. “And what is your fate?”

“I will be here at the end.”

A soft stab of fear pricked his chest, startling him. “I have no patience for riddles.”

“In my lifetime, the status quo will change irrevocably. A battle that determines the course of Ravka will mark the end of an era.”

“I don’t need a prophet,” he snarled. “If you’ve come to spout nonsense I have no use for you.”

Your snort enraged him. Shoving away from the table, he stalked across the room to you, shadows following in his wake, the muscle in his jaw vibrating with his anger.

You remained still as he glowered. The lack of fear in your face sent an unpleasant stab through the Darkling’s stomach.

“The truth is,” you said, interrupting the threat rising to his lips, “my fate is inextricably tied to power. I am the right hand of Power.”

Something in your tone smothered the mounting rage within him. You spoke with the words of fanaticism, but the conviction in the depths of your pupils was more than fanatical fervor. For a heartbeat, the Darkling witnessed something he couldn’t name. A chill lodged itself deep in his bones.

You blinked, and it was gone.

“Outside, you said.” Taking a step back, you gestured needlessly to the severed head. “A pole or someplace else? You never said.”

The Darkling stared at you. Power thrummed through you, suddenly muted by your abrupt nonchalance. Covered in gore, the head hanging almost forgotten in your hand, you were the picture of madness, but your eyes were clear and steady.

He couldn’t afford to make you an enemy, he realized with sharp clarity. Not until he truly understood you.

Swiveling crisply on his heel, he returned to the table. “Place it with the corpses. I’m sure you made enough of an impression walking through the camp with it.”

“As you command.”

“You should have left it on a pole back where you took it,” he added, driven by a need to wound you. Displeasure infused his voice.

“You asked for his head, and I brought it,” you answered.

The Darkling glanced over his shoulder at you as your pause swelled to fill the tent.

“The rest,” you finished, “are on stakes to greet the next Fjerdan who dares cross the border.”

The Darkling tore his gaze away from yours, fixing it on the papers before him in a gesture of dismissal. The shadows in the room shifted as you departed, leaving him alone.

He pressed his palms flat against the table, hiding the tremors shaking his arms. He couldn’t determine what emotion caused it. Common sense told him to dispatch you speedily, to sacrifice a tool before it could become a weapon against him.

But he wanted your power.

Indecision warred within him.

The entrance to the tent darkened. “General,” Ivan intoned.

The Darkling straightened, hands clenched into fists. “Ivan, the Bonecrusher will stay in camp. Assign her quarters.”

“The Bonecrusher?” Ivan swallowed thickly, brow furrowing. “Is that wise, sir? No one trusts her, and we—they fear her.”

As the Darkling scrutinized the man’s guarded expression, his indecision faded, crisp clarity returning. “Good.”

[subwaysurf45]

A Little Rusty

Pairing: Mechanic!Bucky x reader

Summary: As an aspiring author and current intern, getting a new car was a luxury you never dreamed of. Natasha, your roommate, used you as a personal chauffeur until your car started breaking down. Luckily, you knew some people who worked at Auto Buddy, an auto shop, who could fix your car. But you hadn’t met Bucky yet, and quickly after you found out you’d be stuck with him for a little while. 

Warnings: age gap (bucky is a dilf), swearing, romance, sexual tension, mentions of domestic abuse, swearing, angst, fluff, inaccurate description of mechanical actions. * means smut in the chapter. 

Prologue 

Episode One 

Episode Two

Episode Three

Episode Four

Epsiode Five*

Epilogue

SERIES COMPLETE!

tag list info: if you’d like to be added to the tag list please send an ask, it’s much easier for me to keep track of everything if all the of the requests come from the ask section. thank you!

Tag List: @imtherain @jackiehollanderr @redneckstrash @tylard-blog1 @readingbooksdrinkingtea @linzc-reader @hotleaf-juice @honeybunchesofbucky @sky0401 @striving4averagegirl @seybox @yaszx @happyt0exist  @magicalsimp​ @johnricharddeacy

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Hello Sorrow [Chapter Twenty-four] Unstoppable Resolve [Karl Heisenberg]

Tag list: @courtenbae @mylani3110 @imtherain @wrr000 @frostbez @syynnaaah

A/n: I would like to give credit to LukaDaWolf from Wattpad; Lucy and Ev for translating the prayer Irina says to Romanian. It turned out amazing and because of them it's specific and has more meaning. I appreciate it and thank you both.

Also, this is the last laidback chapter before the action starts.

Irina was in awe the moment Ethan Winters burst through the door, landing with a thud on the V Groove Hardwood floor. She was surprised that he was still alive, though he looked worse for wear. Something horrible must have happened to him.

"Welcome back Mister Winters," the Duke said in greeting. "How goes the search for your daughter?"

"Not good," Ethan answered with a snort.

Setting her book down on the table, Irina stood up and quickly walked over to him, leaning down on her knees at his side. Her eyes widened as she noticed the nasty wounds on each of his hands, almost as if he had been hung up like a butchered animal. In addition, there was fresh blood on the legs of his pants from another set of wounds. Irina wasn't sure how Ethan was up and walking around.

"Ethan, are you OK?" She asked as she put her hand on his shoulder.

"I think so," he answered. "I just need to catch my breath. Those bug women had me strung up like a fucking animal."

Irina raised a brow. He must have meant the daughters; Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra. She didn't interact with them much during the time she remained in the castle, but she knew they were not human. In a way, they were much worse than their mother.

"These wounds are deep," Irina mentioned. "Please allow me to dress them. The last thing you need is for them to become infected or bleed out."

Ethan shook his head with a nod.

Standing up, Irina got some supplies from the table and drug her chair over to the injured man, helping him stand so that he could sit somewhere other than the floor. As she cut the bandage from his left hand, he and the Duke continued their conversation.

"Don't give up just yet," the Duke said in encouragement. "If she is truly here, the Lady of the castle would have kept little Rose in her private chambers, would she not?"

"Dimitrescu?" Ethan asked. He grunted in pain as Irina poured first aid med over the wound. Irina uttered an apology and began to clean and rewrap his hand.

The Duke grinned.

"The very same. Why don't you take a look? Maybe you'll get lucky."

"I don't have much of an option," Ethan mentioned. "Even if Rose isn't here, the entrance has been locked. And the door in the hall outside can only be opened with four masks that are somewhere is this damn castle."

Irina hummed.

"I'm not certain, but I believe one of the masks is on the 2nd floor in the hall coming from the library. I've seen it once; the face of a smiling angel with roses in her hair."

"Have you seen where the others are?" Ethan asked.

Irina shook her head. She had restrictions, and not to mention several rooms required certain special keys and items to unlock.

"Sorry, but I don't know much more than that."

Ethan was a little disappointed, but he understood. It was like he was escaping the Baker House all over again.

What was with villains and puzzles anyway?

He waited until Irina was done dressing his wounds and stood up, testing his body.

"Good as new. Thanks."

Irina raised a brow.

"You're lucky to even be standing. Those wounds on your legs were deep."

"I've had worse," Ethan mentioned. "A few years back, my hand was cut off, but I was able to reattach it with some firsth aid med and some stitches."

Was he serious? Irina could not believe what she was hearing. The first aid med couldn't reattach body parts and even with stitches, his hand should not be functional. Perhaps Ethan was mistaken.

"Regardless, you only have one life. You need to be careful," she mentioned with a sigh.

"I know," Ethan uttered. He took an uneasy breath. "And you're right. I'll do my best."

Irina was glad. She stood and cleaned up the mess she had made as Ethan browsed the table for something to buy.

He decided to upgrade the LEMI and the M1897 shotgun after exchanging a fragment and a crimson glass to the Duke for Lei. As his weapons were being serviced, he waited patiently near the desk with typewriter on it.

Irina eyed him a moment, then sighed.

"You plan to search for Rose first, right?" She asked.

Ethan shook his head.

"Then we'll look for a way out."

Irina thought so. But she also knew that Lady Dimitrescu would not just open the door for him once he had Rose. And as long as Ethan was alive, she'd never let Irina or the Duke to leave. It was a troublesome predicament indeed.

Irina sighed in defeat.

"I'll help you search for the masks, seeing as though in order to conduct business we need to be able to leave the castle."

"That is true," the Duke declared. "However, my dear, if you are seen roaming around the castle with Mister Winters then Lady Dimitrescu may cut the two of us down for aiding him."

She was aware of the consequences. Irina hummed.

"Then I won't let her catch me. She'll be too busy dealing with Ethan to notice a little mouse scurrying about."

She was more worried about Bela, Daniela, or Cassandra finding her. Though she reckoned that she could always lie her way out of a confrontation with them if the need should arise.

The Duke grinned.

"Tenacious as ever I see. Allow me to be of service then. I acquired the blueprints of Castle Dimitrescu long ago; you both may do with it as you like."

Irina gave her thanks and took the blueprints from him, spreading them out across the desk with the Carriage Gate closest to her. There were two floors, a basement, and an attic.

"We're here," she mentioned, pointing to a room on the 1st floor below the Hall of Four. She then flipped to the 2nd floor. "And the Hall of Joy is where I saw the mask."

Ethan hummed.

"The plaque mentioned Joy, Sorrow, Pleasure, and Rage. And down from the staircase is the Hall of Pleasure."

"Each of the masks are located in a room that corresponds with their name ," Irina concluded.

Rage was in a tower on the roof and Sorrow was in the basement.

"You should get Joy and Pleasure since both of them are on the 2nd floor," Ethan proclaimed.

Irina raised a brow.

"Are you sure?"

"It's the least I can do, since you're helping me," Ethan answered with a grin.

She was grateful. For a moment Irina memorized the easiest direction to travel, then she folded the blueprints and gave them to Ethan.

"So you don't get lost," she teased.

"I appreciate it," he said with a laugh.

Putting away the blueprints, Ethan made sure he was ready. Everything seemed to be in order.

"Remember," Irina mentioned. "This castle is likely to have puzzles and doors that we can't get through without special items, so if that should arise, take note of it and whenever we return here, even if at separate times, we should let the other know."

It made sense, Ethan reckoned. He remembered an item he took earlier, and removed it from his pocket. It was a ring with a maroon colored eye in the middle.

"A statue was holding this. It looked important, so I took it."

Irina hummed.

"If I see something it might go in on my search, I'll let you know."

Ethan shook his head. He was appreciative, but he was also curious as to why the mask wearing woman was so willing to help him. Looking her over a minute, he widened his eyes in realization. Did she even have a weapon?

"And if you get into trouble?"

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Irina answered. She pulled her cloak aside and showed him the gun attached to her side. "But if it does, I'll be fine."

She knew that she'd be out matched against Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters, but she had to at least try. Allowing Ethan to buy weapons was already going to land her and the Duke in hot water, and it was apparent from day one that Irina would go to any length to escape the village, even if it meant going against the Four Lords. Her mind was made up.

"What matters is that you find Rose and escape this place. I have no idea why either of you are here, but I can't bare to stand here and do nothing," Irina added with a sigh.

She was right; Rose was the priority. Yet it bothered Ethan to put the woman in harms way for his own reasons. Pushing aside his regret, he remembered something she said that roused his curiosity.

"When we first met, you said something to me before I walked into the castle. What was it?"

"I said a protection prayer," Irina answered. Her face heated up; she never expected him to ask about it.

Ethan hummed.

"Can I hear it again? I need it now more than ever, if not for me, then for Rose."

Irina understood.

"Să zbori rapid cu aripi negre, și roagă-te ca cea cu coarne să îți dea pasaj sigur prin cetatea de marmură," she recited. "It translates to: Fly swiftly with black wings, and pray that the horned one gives you safe passage throughout the marble castle."

"Thank you," Ethan uttered. He recalled the wooden statue of the goat he saw in the village; it was a symbol of protection, the placard read. He wasn't sure, but perhaps the masked woman and the Goats of Warding were connected. Nevertheless, he was thankful.

Wishing her luck, he departed from the room.

"That was a lovely prayer, my dear. I do believe it put him at ease," the Duke mentioned. "You too should take it's meaning to heart."

She did; she was the one who created it. Irina snorted in disbelief at luck.

"I really have come full circle. I reckon it's time I finish what I started and search for those treasures while I am alive."

"Happy hunting," the Duke stated with a laugh. He was enamored with her resolve.

Irina took an uneasy breath and walked over to the table in front of the Duke. From the holster of her gun, she untied a leather bag and took out some money.

"I want to purchase some items."

The Duke was ecstatic.

"What will it be, my dear?"

Irina bought a knife, two flashbangs, and some ammo for her gun. The Duke was even generous enough to toss in a tactical vest to keep her gear in order. With the knife, Irina leaned down and cut into the fabric of her skirt, tearing it until the end was just under her knees.

It was tacky but for what she had on it would have to do. With everything in place, Irina put up her hair and gave a slow spin.

“What do you think?" She asked, facing the Duke.

“You look invigorating. Danger suits you," he answered with a grin.

Irina smiled, feeling her face heat up. She thanked him and with a farewell she quickly left the room in hopes that she'd see him again.

In the Hall of Four, she cut up the stairs and walked into the Main Hall, knowing that Ethan had already checked the room with the masks and assumably the Main Hall too. Irina took a look around. It was quiet. Without the maids, the castle felt empty and dark. Where had they all gone? She had an idea but to keep her nerves in check and her mind from wandering she recited the directions she plotted out in her head.

“Here we go."

Irina took an uneasy breath and cautiously ascended the main stairs. Her body pleaded with her to turn around but it was much too late; she was now in control.

[imtherain]

I love these (but I am dumb so if you do want to ask me one, please include the question lol)

here’s weirder asks

who is/are your comfort character(s)?

lighter or matches?

do you leave the window open at night?

which cryptyd being do you believe in?

what color are your eyes?

why did you do that?

hair-ties or scrunchies?

how many water bottles are in your room right now?

which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold coffee?

would you slaughter the rich?

favorite extracurricular activity?

what kind of day is it?

when was the last time you ate?

do you love the smell of earth after it rains?

are you a parent? (all answers qualify)

can you drive?

are you farsighted or nearsighted?

what hair products do you use?

imagine we’re at a sleepover, would you paint my nails?

do you say soda or pop?

something you’ve kept since childhood?

what type of person are you?

how do you feel about chilly weather?

if we were together on a rooftop, what would we be doing?

perfume/body spray or lotion?

a scenario that you’ve replayed multiple times?

about how many hours of sleep did you get?

do you wear a mask?

how do you like your shower water?

is there dishes in your room?

what type of music keeps you grounded?

do you have a favorite towel?

the last adventure you’ve been on?

is there a song you know every word to by heart?

what’s your timezone?

how many times have you changed your url?

someone in your life, other than a relative, you’ve known for 10+ years?

a soap bar that smells good?

do you use lip balm?

did you have any snacks today?

how do you take your coffee?

an app you frequently use besides this godforsaken site?

what’s your take on spicy foods?

you get a free pass to kill anyone, who is it?

can you remember what happened yesterday?

favorite holiday film?

what was the last message you sent?

when did you first try an alcohol beverage?

can you skip rocks?

can i tag you in random stuff?

[sparklefics]

Grow As We Go

Bucky Barnes X F!Reader

Summary: What happens after the date with Bucky? How does your relationship evolve?

WC: 2,426

A/N: This chapter contains mature topics. No smut, talk of intimacy, mentions of sex.

I just wanted to see what happened after Sam crashed the date and Reader took down Redwing…then I couldn’t stop writing. 😅 Also a funny moment with Alpine 😅

Tags: @bookstan0618 @imtherain

Roommate!Bucky Masterlist

Previous ⬅|| Next ➡

__________________________________________

“Aww, that's sweet." Sam’s voice breaks your bubble.

"Wilson, I swear to God!" Bucky warns and swats a hand to knock down Redwing.

You turn around so quickly in Bucky’s arms he barely registers what’s going on. You rip out what he thought was an ornate hair pin but really was a throwing knife and struck down Redwing.

Bucky doesn’t know whether to laugh or kiss you again.

"Oh my! I'm so sorry, Sam" You apologize profusely when Sam, decked out in his Captain America gear, touches down to the ground and picks up Redwing. "Reflexes, you know."

"I always wanted to do that." Bucky admitted behind you, you elbow him in the stomach.

"Man, when you said your lady had skills you weren't kidding!" Sam says as he examines the damage. "It's okay… Y/N. That was actually very impressive. I'm not even offended that you killed my pet."

"He does know that thing is a machine, right?" You murmur to Bucky and he cackles.

"I heard that! Who the hell brings a throwing knife to a date?" Sam wonders outloud, yanking it out from Redwing and handing it back to you.

"I do." "I do." You and Bucky respond at the same time, sharing some bashful smiles with each other.

Bucky sees the moment Sam’s thoughts come together to form a brilliant idea.

No way.

“Say, Y/N, I don’t know if Bucky told you but I’m putting together a new team. I could use someone with your skills, Clint is seriously retiring this time. Would you like to take over?”

“Really?!”

“No,” Bucky interjects. “You can pitch the team idea some other day. Good night, Sam.”

Sam leaves you two alone with a promise to talk more about you joining the team. The idea of becoming an Avenger has you about as giddy as you’ve been for this date with Bucky.

Bucky.

How would this work? First you’re living together, now you’re dating. And now Sam wants you to join the team? Would Bucky be okay with that?

You are lost in your thoughts when you feel Bucky’s arms wrapping around your waist from where he stands behind you, his hands pressing down on your belly to get your attention. “Sweets?” He kisses your cheek, that gets your attention.

“Hmm?”

“I hope you know I wasn't answering for you. If you want to join the team I don’t mind.” He spins you around in his arms so you’re facing him. “But I was kind of hoping we could finish our date first, maybe talk about joining the team tomorrow?”

“We can do that.”

Bucky leaned down and pecked your lips, a giant grin stretching across his lips. “I can do that now.”

He is so cute. You think to yourself as you feel the butterflies return to your stomach.

He then escorted you to the stargazing area he’d set up with a variety of blankets and pillows. Bucky pointed out all sorts of constellations you’d never heard of before. You realized that there’s still stuff like this, little details about each other you have yet to discover. Hopefully you’ll get the chance to explore that.

Bucky holds you close to his chest, his hands diving into your hair and massaging your scalp. You listen to him talk, not once interrupting him, this is the most you’ve ever heard him talk. He tells you a bit of everything, about his time in Wakanda, what little he remembers from his time back in the 40s before the war.

He finally asks you for the story of how you came to need a new roommate. It was really simple. Your friend Lola was ready to move in with her girlfriend Gabby, but couldn’t find it in her heart to break the news to you. So the day you almost hit her with one of your knives she ‘decided’ to move out, it was a total cop out. She apologized for it later when she invited you to their housewarming party. You of course forgave her, still you wish she would’ve told you about the move, you would’ve been happy for her.

The conversation between you and Bucky carries on throughout the night. As the night breeze gets colder Bucky’s body warms up and you find yourself wrapped up in a cocoon of warmth.

“Do you want to go inside? It’s getting pretty cold.” He asks.

“No. Let’s stay here a little longer. I don’t want this to end yet.”

“Well then at least let me get you a little something more comfortable to wear.” Bucky says getting up and guiding you back into the compound. He comes back with some sweatpants you recognize as your own and a big sweatshirt with his last name on it. You raise your eyebrow at him, he looks back sheepishly. “I packed a bag just in case we were too tired for the drive back to the city.”

He really did plan out this date.

You change into the clothes Bucky packed for you and decide to let your hair down, taking off the little makeup you wore too. "You look really pretty in sweats too, Sweets." Bucky said when he saw you come out of the bathroom.

"You're really laying it on thick with the compliments." You reply with a wide grin. "You don't have to do that, you know. I already like you Bucky."

"Well it's just, I've been holding back on so much that now that the gate is open...I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, the last thing I want is for you to hold back around me." You grab his metal hand and pull him towards you. "Nothing about you makes me uncomfortable."

Bucky and you head back out to the terrace and resume your cuddling position on the blankets and pillows. You make out for a while, he started it. He grabbed your hand from his chest and pulled it up to his lips so he could kiss your knuckles. From there he moved up your arm until his lips found yours, but not before getting distracted by your neck. "I have to confess something." He mumbles into your neck.

"What is it?"

"I lied on Valentine's Day about what the note said."

You pulled back, "Why?"

"I got scared." He shrugged his shoulders. “It was terribly cheesy.” He was disappointed when he discovered that being romantic now was frowned upon, cheesy they called it.

"So,um, what did it say?"

"You brighten up my each and every day and you deserve my undying love. Will you be my Valentine?" He recites with his eyes closed, digging through the memory of when he wrote it.

"James!" You gasp and reach a hand to caress his face, his eyes open up for you and you smile widely. "I would've said yes."

Sleep comes easily with being between Bucky’s arms and the soft blankets covering your bodies.

Bucky is the first to wake up, just in time to catch the sunrise. You lay fully on top of him, he nudges you to get your attention, “Y/N. Sweets, wake up. You gotta see this sunrise.”

“Bubby.” You mumble against his neck, you meant to say 'baby' but started to say 'Bucky' instead. Though you have yet to open your eyes, you can tell he's grinning at you. You feel the steady beat of his heart drumming beneath you, his arms circling around you to hug you tightly and his voice in your ear insisting that you need to see the sunrise.

You reach a hand up to grab his chin and squeeze it affectionately. “Good morning, handsome.” You sigh as you press your lips to his cheek. You take a second nuzzling his cheek, taking in this moment and Bucky’s faintly lingering aftershave.

Bucky presses his lips against your forehead. “Morning, gorgeous.”

You take a peek at the sky above you. And what do you know, it is indeed a beautiful sunrise. The clouds are outlined by soft pink with a warm glow of orange from the sun, while the sky gradually changes from deep blue to clear blue, like Bucky’s eyes.

What a way to wake up. You certainly could get used to this.

_______________________________

A couple of days after the date Bucky is finishing up his weekly session with Dr. Raynor.

“You look happy.” She comments as she scribbles in the notebook Bucky hates so much.

“I am.” Bucky’s mouth curves up to a smile.

“This is the first time you’ve told me you’re happy.” Dr. Raynor says as she continues to write in her notebook. And though she tries to hide her prideful smile Bucky still catches it. “Very good, James. I’ll see you next week.”

Today is going to be a good day.

——————————————————

The relationship with Bucky quickly evolves. You're both more open with each other, Bucky especially. He opens up about his life before the war and how he didn't even want to go there and fight. He put on a brave face for Steve, who desperately wanted to fight but couldn't, so Bucky fought for Steve. Then the train happened and his life was forever changed. He remembers surviving the fall and being 'rescued' by HYDRA.

His time as the Winter Soldier was the darkest part of him. He avoided details when he talked about that time because he hated the hurt look in your eyes, it broke his heart to see you like that.

In exchange you told him how you're not ready to join the team. You're an amateur, you'd be a liability to the team and most of all you don't want to have Bucky worrying about you and being distracted while he's out on the field.

Bucky assured you that if you wanted to join them you're always welcome to. They would train you until they were certain you could hold your own on the field. You declined the offer again because how would you pay rent? Avengers don't get a salary and benefits. Bucky gets a little bit of money from his military pension, which was granted to him when he was pardoned. You work a job you hate but it pays the bills.

Bucky did say you both could move into the compound and then you could quit that job you hated so much. It was a tempting offer you considered for months...until finally caving in and quitting your job.

You, Bucky and Alpine moved into the compound.

You would spend your days helping out where you could, trying to be of service to the team, which at the moment consisted of Sam, Joaquin Torres, Bucky and Peter Parker. You would make dinner, clean up after them, and sometimes even join for a training session or two. But you weren’t part of the team, not yet anyways.

Bucky was more than happy to have you around. He loved sharing his bed, his space with you. Living together at the compound was no different than the apartment you used to share in Brooklyn. Now when he came home from missions you were there to greet him— even if it was 3 am, you’d be there in your pajamas. He would always kiss you, it was the first thing he’d do, no hello's no greetings just his lips on yours. At the beginning he wouldn’t kiss you in front of the team because they’d always ruin the moment, but he quickly got over that and now no matter who was standing by he’d kiss you.

It's the middle of the night and the room is dimly lit by the warm light from the bedside table lamp. Bucky is spooning you after two glorious rounds of love making. You've come to the conclusion that being intimate with Bucky is not as simple as having sex, it is so much more than just sex.

It is amazing.

He always leaves the light on because “I wanna see your face, Baby” and Alpine is never in the room because he feels weird about being intimate with you in front of the cat. A fun fact you discovered about a month into your relationship since you started having sex, all the times you and Bucky had sex Alpine just happened to coincidentally not be in the room, until the night it happened. It was so funny, it still gets a chuckle out of you whenever you think about it.

You were straddling his thighs, still fully clothed trying to get Bucky to move things along but he was holding back barely touching you. He was distracted.

“Bubby, is everything okay?” You asked, tangling your fingers into his hair, he hadn’t cut it in a while. You suspected it was because you liked yanking on it— he liked it too.

“She’s looking at me.” Bucky mumbled against your neck.

“Huh?” You turned around and saw Alpine sitting and staring at the both of you from the top of your dresser. Bucky was having a staring contest with his cat.

“Uhh, I need her out of the room. We can’t have sex in front of her, she’s like our baby.”

“Aww! Our baby has a staring problem, she definitely gets that from you.” You giggle, “If it makes you that uncomfortable then, okay, Alpine —our baby, stays out of the room for our adult activities.”

Every single time with Bucky is different than the one before, sometimes it gets a little heated and honestly dirty but it is always passionate. You can always feel Bucky's care and tenderness for you. Every single time he gives you a piece of his heart, tonight is no different. "Darlin'?"

"Yeah, Bubby?"

Yeah, that nickname stuck around.

"Will you go steady with me?"

It’s been months since you started dating— hell you even moved in together. Yeah, you used to live together but that was as roommates, you’re like a legit couple now.

You turn around in his arms to face him, "I thought that's what we've been doing."

He smiles and drops a kiss to your forehead. "Great, I just wanted to be clear. I’ve learned my lesson especially after Valentine’s Day.” He jokes then sobers up. “I'm very serious about this, us. I love you, y/n.”

You’re glad to hear that because so are you. Bucky is it for you.

“I love you too, James, so much.”

Bucky kisses you until you’re out of breath. He pulls back and asks, “Round 3?”

“Definitely. Come here, lover boy.”

___________________________________

[spooky-raccoon]

Caught In the Rain (Heisenberg x Reader)

@imtherain​ asked for more soft Karl and really I got inspired from your name.  I hope you do enjoy it!

          The man on the radio called for it to be sunny with very few clouds in the sky, but a horrible storm to come around in a few hours.   A mostly prefect day to be clearing out the large field by the factory that we both had been putting off.  There were so many failed tests and experiments out there that had just been left behind in Heisenberg’s sour mood.  It did take some convincing to get him outside and away from his most recent work , but my persistence finally got to him.  We packed a light snack for the inevitable time we would need to refuel ourselves and some drinks to keep us hydrated.  I didn’t expect the job to take too long, but him and I always agreed on being prepared.

         Wheel barrel after wheel barrel we filled up with metal scraps and bits to dump into a bit that would be sorted by the worker Soldat's in time. Some pieces were really peculiar, and he would stop to explain the strange whirligig.  Did I pay attention?  A bit when I could follow along though now and again my eyes would catch the grey clouds in the distance.  Sure, I still had a lot to learn, but storms were another thing when we were out in the wide open.  Each time I took a peak they looked like they were getting closer.  He insisted that things wouldn’t take too much longer, but that had become a good chunk time ago.

          Soft booms of thunder began to echo around the mountains and large buildings of the factory and Dimitrescu Castle created an interesting surround sound like effect.  It would have been rather peaceful if we weren’t entirely in the open still with metal surrounding us.  I tried to call for Heisenberg, but he was across the field just out of earshot.  I started to jog my way over to him when halfway there I could feel the first few drops of rain hit my skin. I could tell he was getting hit too as he stared up at the sky and a scowl grew on his face.

           “I told you it was going to rain on us before we got out here!”  I hollered out to him knowing that he could now hear me.

           “Yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t rub it in!  Let’s get back inside.”  He shouted back and the sky was only getting darker.

           Rain began to pour, and I grabbed onto his arm, dragging him toward the rock wall that lined part of the field.  “We aren’t going to make it.  This storm is hitting us now.  Come on!”

           “Jesus (Y/N), calm down.  It’s just a little rain.”  He brushed his sleeves once we were underneath the rock overhang that was just enough to keep us comfortably dry.

           “Then you didn’t pay attention to the radio all the way.  Even when I pointed out that the storm coming our way is the biggest this season.”  My brows furrowed as I looked at him and I leaned against the back wall to watch as the clouds became dark gray, unleashing as much rain as possible.  Thunder went off around us now and again with lightning in the distance.  “Told you to listen to it but nooo.  Someone said that we would be just fine and be done in such a short time.”

           I could almost feel his eye roll and he leaned on the wall with me. “Yeah, yeah Buttercup.  Should have listened.  I thought we could get it done in time.  I didn’t think it was that much out here but looks like it’s going to be a couple day project.”  He waved his hand to dismiss the conversation and I was pleased he admitted I was right.

          After a few minutes of watching the rain come down I decided to sit down to watch.  I may as well be comfortable for however long we were going to be stuck in here.  It was almost peaceful to watch the clouds roll in the sky and hear the rain listen to the different metal shack like features that littered the field.  It was like the clouds were playing a form of drums or maybe even a xylophone.  I found myself leaning my head on Heisenberg’s thigh without too much of a thought.  Though I became startled when he joined me on the ground.  As he did he removed his jacket and draped it over the both of us as a makeshift blanket.  His arm moved to slip around behind me to pull me closer to his side; my head going to rest on his side.

          “This ain’t too bad.  Don’t you think, Sweetheart?”

          “No, not bad at all.”

          For the longest time it was quiet between us.  Just admiring nature doing its thing and the company of each other.  We didn’t get too many relaxing moments like this since he was such a workaholic.  With how much work we had done that day it was much needed to as I felt the soreness work it’s way into my arms and legs from all the lifting.  It was almost like he knew as his hand made its way to my bicep and began to rub gently at first and then slowly into the muscle.

           Heisenberg decided to break the silence after a clap of thunder. “Can I tell you something?”  He turned his head down to look me in the eye as I looked up at him as he peaked my curiosity. I wondered what could be on his mind now.

           “Sure, what’s on your mind Heisenberg?”  A brow of mine raised in confusion, but curiosity.

           “I don’t know when we’ll have another moment like this, so I want to get this off my chest.”  For a second he closed his eyes, and I felt his chest rise as he took in a deep breath. His silver golden rimmed eyes met mine once more.  “I love you. More than I thought I could love anyone. I never thought it was possible to be honest, but I do.  I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.  I’m more than happy to be stuck in a small ass cave in a nasty as hell storm with you by my side.”

           “Heisenberg.”  I could feel the heat flush to my cheeks and my chest.  “I’ve waited a good bit to hear that from you, I won’t lie”  A gentle smile grew on my lips.  “I love you too.”

           “Good or this would be really awkward.”  The corner of his lip lifted in a smirk just before he cupped the back of my head.  As we kissed another wave of thunder surrounded us, but between the two of us the storm didn’t even exist.

[imtherain]

Prob random asf but I'm currently obsessed with your Hellboy masterlist from 2019 god forbid a day goes by when I'm not thinking about them cause they're so adorable rereading them brings me undescribable joy they're just so jsdjdkdkdkdkdkdk please never stop posting 😭😭

Oh my god you have no idea how much that means to me!

Hellboy was one of my first loves in life, and posting those fics on Tumblr literally changed my life in so many unexpected ways. And knowing that there are people out there that still read them?? That's insane and makes me feel so good as a writer!

I can't promise I'll post more Hellboy anytime soon, and frankly, I've been working on stuff that idk if I'll ever post at all, but seeing this tonight makes me think that maybe I just might post some more yet.

Who knew it would be like this?

Thank you so much for this ask 💜

[imtherain]

Oooo I got tagged in a thing!

Comfort characters? So many

When I'm struggling to eat? Hannibal

When I want adventure? Geralt 💜 (I'm actually playing Witcher 3 right now as a matter of fact)

When I want some domestic feels? (Sometimes healing feels or generally comfort feels too tbh) Bucky Barnes!

Big bad daddy feels? Negan 👀 (don't at me about having not watched the show past his first season tho)

And some honorable mentions because I'm procrastinating other things

Space Pirate Feels - Yondu

OG monster loving? Hellboy 💜

And my super secret comfort character who idk if I've ever really posted about - August Walker

I could go on but my phone doesn't like all the gifs...

If you want to do this game too? Please do! But tag me so I can see your answers!

Comfort character tag

I was tagged by @marvel-and-dc-geek for this game and since that post was getting kinda long, I’m starting a new one.

Rules: List five comfort characters then tag five people

Alright, mine are a little all over the place, but whatever.

1. Scott Lang/Ant-Man

2. Simba

3. Sherlock Holmes

4. Niles Crane

5. Tigger

No pressure tags: @marvelstuff-iguess @azaraspirit @smolbendyhorn @oldmanwithashield @edelweiss-and-maple-trees

[cinebration]

The Darkling’s Shadow (The Darkling x Reader) [Part 5]

The Darkling makes a decision.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Epilogue

Tagged: @don-daygamerz​​, @weallhaveadestiny​​, @kaqua​​, @sinful-wxrld​​, @ashdab2611​​, @ultarviolence​​, @chodingcreature​​, @demonenotturno​​, @crowssixof​​, @mxacegrey​​, @dreamlandcreations​​, @s-r-reads​​, @byulsrecs​​, @peleksstuff​​, @seraferna​​, @imtherain​​, @vex-et-soleil​​, @rayrlupin​​, @peakyispunk​​, @itsyaspwr​​, @adajoemaya​​, @b1bbles, @rockintensse​​, @adharanotfound, @allinestarr​​​

Warnings: mention of blood, body horror

Gif Source: ethanhunt

Shock and fear broke the Darkling’s iron composure, his hands instinctively drawing together to perform the Cut. You didn’t so much as flinch, staring at him with eerie, unblinking eyes as though trying to drive the force of your conviction into his skull.

He didn’t complete the movement, leaving the Cut unfinished and melting back into the shadows.

“Now,” you said, your voice low, as though you were struggling to restrain it, “while you waste time coming to the right decision, I will go on ahead and clear the fort of Fjerdans.”

Without so much as a backward glance, you pivoted sharply on your heel and stalked off in the direction of Ulensk. The horses had bolted during the fray, long since gone and out of sight.

The Darkling watched your back until you disappeared behind the trees, once again entertaining the idea of slicing you in half not only for your insolence but for the fear you instilled in him. The feeling was shockingly cold, shriveling his insides and freezing his lungs. His breath tore raggedly from his chest.

If Baghra were there, she would say, “You cannot afford to make an enemy of this woman. Either kill her or bring her into the fold.”

Neither option was preferable to his fear-clouded mind. You knew who he actually was, but rather than flinch and fear him, you had placed the Black Heretic on some kind of pedestal. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would had been like if you had been there during the creation of the Fold. Instead of Baghra’s “What have you done?” you might have stared at the black shadow unfolding across the land with wonder in your eyes and said what the Darkling had most needed to hear in that moment: “Beautiful.”

The thought of it sent a thrill through him. He didn’t have to be General Kirigan in front of you. He didn’t have to temper his words or feign scorn for his “ancestor.” He didn’t have to hide his true plans, centuries in the making, to keep the Grisha from fearing his vision of the future before it had come to pass.

Shouts rose up in the distance, followed immediately by screams.

The Darkling listened to the swelling sounds of violence and death. For a brief moment, as high-pitched screams rent the quiet of the woods, he heard something harmonious in the sound. What had you said that first day? A symphony of their bones…

Perhaps you were right. Perhaps he did need a fanatic, someone utterly devoted to him and his cause. Someone who would do anything without asking why, who would destroy and silence for him while he maintained the aloof composure of a general above it all, his boogeyman operating in the shadows behind him.

The Darkling set off toward the fort, following your footsteps in the snow.

He arrived to find you dispatching one last Fjerdan. The man, fueled by terror and adrenaline, threw himself pell-mell at you. You lunged forward, your hand slapping across his bearded face, and yanked the skeleton from his flesh. Gore splattered over your kefta as the body separated from its bones, a sickening, vile sound splitting the silence. Tossing the skeleton aside with one hand, you wiped your palms on your kefta and turned to face the Darkling.

He surveyed the carnage in mute fascination. “Is this what the other Fjerdans looked like that first day we met?”

“It was more…artful,” you answered, waving your hand about in a vague gesture. “Staged to achieve maximum shock and awe, as they say.”

“You know the value of spectacle.”

“I know the importance of dramatic delivery,” you countered.

“Is that all?” The Darkling stepped around a corpse. “Do you know the value of discretion? Of subtlety?”

“I am capable of it, although I don’t prefer it.”

“You don’t mind being the subject of fear and hatred? You don’t mind the whispers they will speak of you?”

“One doesn’t develop this kind of skill and worry about what others will say. If anything, if they don’t fear and hate me, I will consider myself a failure.”

“Even among Grisha?”

“I am not here for the Grisha.”

The Darkling fixed his gaze on you. You met his stare without flinching once more, letting him bear the weight of your full gaze.

“In four hundred years, you are unlike any Grisha I have ever seen,” he said. The words slipped past his lips unbidden, a truth he didn’t bother twisting or concealing.

“That is the point.”

A faint smile tugged on his lips despite himself. Shaking his head, he schooled his expression into a stern mask. “I don’t deal well with insubordinates.”

“Then don’t give me any orders for me to react to with insubordination.”

“I need to know that I can trust you to do what I ask and how I want it.”

Wiping your hands together again, dried blood flaking off your palms, you countered, “I’m not allowed to have disagreements? To suggest alternatives? Isn’t that what proper counsel does?”

The Darkling frowned. “Now you aim to be one of my strategists? What happened to being my shadow?”

“In some cultures, the shadow is believed to be one’s second self. Or one’s demon. Either way, I have a voice, and I didn’t come all this way to be silenced when you need my expertise most.”

“And why do I need your expertise most now?”

“Can’t you feel it?” You inhaled deeply, as though you could taste it on the air. “The change? Something is coming, and you need to be ready.”

Unease slithered through his guts. “What’s coming?”

A beatific smile split your face. “Your chance for more power.”

A sharp thrill shot up the Darkling’s spine, compounded by the unnerving expression on your face. For a moment, you were darkly beautiful, terrifying and awe-inspiring.

The Darkling slowly stepped forward and extended his hand to you. Eyebrow arching, you slipped your hand in his, your palm rough and your fingers strong as they clasped for a shake.

“Call me Aleksander.”

[turtlepated]

The Handbook for the Recently Married (to the Deceased)

Chapter 7:

Tag list:

@sapphic-florals , @beetlejuicebeadoll , @do-ya-hear-that-sound , @imtherain , @imsuchahobbit , @pastelnacht , @tialanderrol , @sammyskip , @monsterlovinghours , @allmycrushesaredead , @missiheart23 

------

 It wasn’t the first time a Monday had seemed to stretch on forever. But this particular Monday, after the extremely unorthodox way I spent the weekend and the fact that there was a demon? man? something in my house while I was stuck at the office for the next… I paused halfway through the thought, checking the time again and utterly dismayed to see that it was still only mid-morning. Beetlejuice would have the house all to himself for the next 7 hours. It seemed like every time I looked at a clock, the hands stood still. Finally I pasted a sticky note over the bottom left corner of my computer monitor because I couldn’t stop glancing at it every few seconds.

I did my best not to dwell on it, since there was plenty of work to occupy my mind and my time, but I kept getting distracted by thoughts of Beetlejuice. He’d been docile enough this morning when I hurtled through the house getting ready to leave, but what might he be getting up to while I wasn’t there? I’d glimpsed the sort of mayhem he was capable of back in the Deetz house; morphing the Victorian home into a devilish fun house straight out of the seventh circle. 

Early on I planned to run home during my lunch hour, just to check on things, but that plan fell through when an overwhelmed coworker asked if I’d be willing to help them out instead. Which I wasn’t, but I agreed to help them anyway even while my own stress level continued to climb. By the time I left for the day I was wound tight as a bowstring, both gunning to get home and anxious about what I mind find when I arrived. But I’d also realized that if he was going to be living with me, Beetlejuice was going to need some things. So I forced myself to drive at a normal speed and to make a stop at the chain department store in town, consulting the list I’d put together as items occurred to me throughout the day. 

Once or twice I did think about the fact that I hadn’t told him when I would be back, but he hadn’t asked either. And I didn’t have any way of contacting him to let him know I’d be late. I could, perhaps, find the Deetz’s home number, but it might be…. awkward to ask them to drop in on the specter who had terrorized them. So I just did my shopping as quickly as I could, loaded it all back into my car, and booked it for home. 

At first blush the outside looked perfectly normal when I pulled into the driveway and I let out a sigh at the rush of relief. Leaving all the bags in the car for the time being I mounted the steps, rifling through my keyring to unlock the back door only to find it standing slightly ajar. Intrigued but not yet alarmed, I stepped inside and shut it behind me, my eyes roving every square inch of the room for anything out of place but finding nothing of note. The kitchen was still messy from where Beetlejuice had made pancakes: the island countertop cluttered with dried spots of dripped batter, bits of eggshell, dusted with flour with the bag left sitting open. The dirty griddle still sat on the stove where I’d put it for him, the sink full of used dishes. Overall, I’d been braced for worse, but it was nothing a wipe down with a hot dish cloth and a load in the dishwasher wouldn’t take care of. 

In the living room the coffee table had been shoved against the far wall and in the center of the room it looked as though he had gone through the whole house scrounging pillows and blankets which he had then constructed into some sort of enormous fort. The couch was bare of seat cushions, and I even recognized the pillows and blankets off my (our?) bed. At some point he must have gotten bored with it because the blankets and quilts and pillows were now strewn all over the room, as if he’d burst out from inside like some sort of larvae escaping its cocoon. 

The signs of his habitation and how he’d spent the day were in plain sight, but I’d seen neither hide nor hair of the man/ghost/demon himself. “Beej?” I called, belatedly realizing he might be lying in wait to scare me in some way like he had when we first met. Going a little more warily now, I proceeded into the bedroom only to freeze in the doorway, dumbstruck. 

It wasn’t quite pitch black in the room, but only because a ghastly greenish radiance seemed to be emanating out from under the bed, throwing long, twisting shadows over the floor and up the walls. The wallpaper had torn itself free, curling into ragged scrolls and exposing cracked drywall that looked like a stiff breeze would reduce it to dust. The skittering of many small things with many small legs made me flinch and recoil as I picked my way forward, unable to see the source of the skin-crawling sounds while I sidestepped puddles of viscous goo that seemed to be dripping from the ceiling in thick, foul-smelling ropes. Something dark was seeping down the full-length mirror by the closet door, and in the poor light I couldn’t tell if it was slime or paint or blood. 

More of the spectral light was leaking out from the cracks around and under the door, along with drifts of thick mist and shadows that curled along the floor toward my feet like tentacles reaching out to grab me. This was so similar and also somehow so much worse than what I’d encountered in the Deetz house. My heart was hammering in my throat, but I did my best to keep my breathing calm and slowly reached for the knob to the closet door.  

Steeling myself, I gave it a twist and pushed it carefully open. 

Inside was much the same as outside. All my hanging clothes were coated in the same sticky residue dripping from the ceiling, a veritable swarm of small shiny insects scattered to the shadowy corners of the small room as I opened the door, and huddled at the rear wall, crouched on the floor and curled into a surprisingly tight ball, facing away from the door was Beetlejuice. His broad back was rising and falling rapidly, his hands clasped around the back of his neck, his head ducked low and out of sight. I opened my mouth to speak but found that I couldn’t make a sound, snapping it shut and taking a moment to collect myself before stepping fully into the closet. 

“Beej?” I said tentatively, moving closer. He didn’t appear to hear me, utterly unresponsive except for his quick, shallow breathing. I took another step, reaching out a little apprehensively to give him a gentle prod in the back, softly repeating his name. At the touch, at my voice, slightly louder this time, he visibly flinched and gasped, uncurling with startling quickness and turning to look up at me. 

His eyes were red rimmed and puffy as though he’d been crying but his cheeks were dry. His chin, on the other hand, was slick and shiny with drool that had dripped down his neck and onto his shirt front. His messy hair, which I had come to understand possessed some sort of mood-ring quality with its shifting colors, was a deep, dull burgundy. I had jumped back, surprised by his quick motion when he spun around, but the state of him was so worrying that I forgot all about the mounting dread I’d felt when I saw the bedroom, the messes left in other rooms of the house. I moved closer, his eyes riveted to my hand as I reached out again and laid it on his shoulder. 

“Beetlejuice, are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

For a long moment he didn’t respond, blinking at me with a look of acute confusion. Then he made a sudden sound, a gasping sob that seemed torn from deep in his chest and scrambled up onto his knees in front of me, flinging his arms around my legs and clutching them against his body while he buried his face into my stomach. Thrown off balance by the grabbing, I staggered and braced my hand against the sticky wall while my other hand bemusedly settled in his unkempt reddish-purple locks. It took me a few seconds to realize that the vibrations against my middle where muffled words, rendered incomprehensible by Beetlejuice’s face pressed tightly to the fabric of my shirt. 

“Beej, I can’t understand you,” I said, chuckling as I brushed my hand through his tousled hair. “You wanna tell me what’s bothering you?” 

His arms tightened around my upper thighs, his head shaking back and forth as if he were trying to burrow in even deeper and I grimaced at the thought of the saliva that would now be soaked into my clothes. Sighing, I peeled my hand off the wall, regarding the thin strands of muck strung between my fingers before wiping them off on my pants, which I would now have to wash anyway. When most of the mess was gone I laid my hand on his shoulder again, squeezing softly, rubbing soothing circles into his upper back while my other hand remained tucked in his hair. 

“C’mon, Beej,” I coaxed gently. “Did something happen? I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s the matter.” 

I felt him sigh harshly, a blast of warm breath against my stomach as he finally pulled back enough to look me full in the face. His eyes were still red and swollen, ringed with bruise-like dark shadows, though I realized now that it wasn’t just from inflammation, his irises had actually shifted to a deep and very inhuman bloody red. His face looked haggard and drawn, like he hadn’t slept in weeks even though when I’d left this morning he had looked perfectly – well, not normal, perhaps, but certainly normal for his circumstances. Beetlejuice stared at me hard for another long moment before answering. 

“You left,” he croaked, and my eyes darted from his to the roots of his hair where a fiercer scarlet color was bleeding slowly up the strands between my fingers, like spilled ink spreading over paper. I grew aware of his hands, gripping my hips, holding me against him, digging into the soft flesh through my pants in a way that was bordering on painful. “You left,” he repeated, his voice coming out stronger this time, gravelly as ever but with a much more bestial rumble than I’d heard before. Something primal in me tensed fearfully at that predatory growl, hair standing on end up my arms and at the nape of my neck. 

With a gracefulness I wouldn’t have thought to expect from him, Beetlejuice rose smoothly to his feet, never blinking or releasing me from his burning gaze or his tight grasp as his arms unwound from my hips and his hands moved to grip my elbows, dragging my hands from him. 

“You said you wanted me here but you still left!” Beetlejuice snarled between clenched teeth that were sharper than I remembered, flecks of spit flying from his lips. I couldn’t help flinching when some of the airborne saliva inevitably spattered my cheek, feeling the bite of his short nails gouging my arms. 

“Beej, you’re hurting me,” I said, fighting valiantly to keep my voice even, a tiny tremor escaping. 

“You left me!” he shouted, his voice harsh and accusatory in his anger but colored unmistakably with pain and despair. 

I struggled to understand why it should trouble him so much, why my absence for one single day would cause him this much panic and distress. Slowly, I brought my arms up to press against the underside of his forearms, my hands curling around his elbows. 

“I know,” I told him, not wanting to discredit his statement which was technically correct. “I went to work, Beej. We talked about it last night, remember?” I watched his brow furrow, could practically see him digging back through the recesses of his mind to recall our conversation.  

“You… you left,” he nearly whimpered, the anger literally draining out of his countenance as every spec of hair I could see on him shifted to a dark plum. 

Like a bolt from the blue, understanding struck me. In the house, when Lydia had gone upstairs to talk with the Maitlands, that was when Beetlejuice had apparently turned on her. He must have assumed that her departure meant she was choosing them over him, when all she had done was leave the room. I felt my fear evaporate, my chest aching at this realization, at the knowledge that he was so sure he would be abandoned and forgotten as soon as he was no longer in someone’s line of sight that it would reduce him to this. What sort of horrible experiences would instill such a fear in him? 

“Beej,” I began hesitantly. “Did you… did you think that I would leave and not come back?” 

A quiet, keening wail left him, involuntarily it seemed as he pressed his lips together to silence it and abruptly released me to sink his hands into his own hair, his eyes squeezing shut as he backed away. That seemed the closest I was going to get to an affirmative. It took everything in me not to rush right over and pull him into my arms, but I didn’t want to spook or stress him anymore than he already was so I went slowly, one step at a time.   

“Who would do that?” I asked, mostly speaking to myself. I hadn’t been expecting an answer, but Beetlejuice gave one anyway, seemingly unable to stop himself. 

“Everyone!” he burst out, his voice raw with hurt. “Friends, roommates, my dad, every girlfriend or boyfriend I ever had! When my mom wanted me to move out, she just stopped coming home!” With a small plaintive squeak he clapped a hand over his own mouth, his eyes wide and round and fearful as they searched my face. I sighed deeply and moved closer still, tugging his hand gently but insistently away from his face. It came away wet, strings of saliva trailing from his palm to his chin and bottom lip. I wondered if maybe Beetlejuice, as a ghost or demon or whatever he was, was incapable of producing tears even when he might want to and the excessive drooling was meant to be some sort of caricature of the very human act of crying. 

Pulling my sleeve down over the heel of my palm, I dabbed at his wet chin to give him a moment to calm down while I thought of how to respond. “I’m sorry, Beetlejuice,” I repeated softly, tracing my fingertips across his cheek before I lowered my hand from his face. “I’m sorry that happened. I’m sorry you were upset today, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I’d be home. I didn’t even think about it, I’m not used to having someone waiting for me.” 

His eyes fluttered closed for a second when I touched him, and it didn’t escape my notice that he tilted his head to press his face into my hand, nor did I miss the oh-so-tiny mournful noise he made when I pulled away. I smiled warmly at him, though he didn’t see since he was avidly avoiding my gaze by staring at the floor, at his hands as they fidgeted with his clothes and with one another.  

“Would you like a hug?” I asked, spreading my arms in invitation, wondering if I was setting myself up for another awkward physical moment with him. But he just looked so forlorn and forsaken that I couldn’t stand it. Beetlejuice nodded adamantly and stepped into my embrace without a word, his face tucking into the curve of my shoulder, his arms lax at his sides as mine wrapped around him. He was tense, but after a beat I felt him sigh and relax against me while I stroked the back of his head and rubbed up and down between his shoulder blades.  

Gradually, tentatively, his arms came up as well and settled themselves around my waist. “It’ll be okay,” I assured him. “You’re going to be okay.” I said it that way very deliberately, since I was certain that at the moment he did not feel okay. His arms tightened around me, his fingers twitching against my back and fisting my shirt. I felt warm wetness against my collarbone, so he was probably drooling again but I muscled my way past the shudder that tried to crawl up my spine at the sensation. I noticed that, as Beetlejuice continued to calm down, the frightening transformation of my closet around us shimmered like a heat mirage and disappeared to reveal the small room exactly as I’d left it.  

Beetlejuice made no move to pull away or loosen his hold, and in all likelihood he would have happily stood there in my closet all night long as long as I kept hugging him. But when his stomach gave a long, loud growl powerful enough that I could feel his round midsection rumbling against mine, I broke away but made sure to keep in contact with him since he seemed to draw so much solace from it.  

“When’s the last time you ate anything?” I asked, and he have a lopsided shrug. 

“Dunno. Prob’ly the pancakes, I guess.”  

I shook my head and tutted at him with no real crossness. “Beej, you’re alive now. Not human, maybe, but alive. Which means your body needs things: like food, water, rest.” He shrugged again, rubbing his damp chin on the sleeve of his shirt. The violet tone had left his hair, which was green again but a pale, dull tone. I took that to mean he was feeling better, which was good.  

“Tell you what,” I said. “Let’s get some food in you, that should help you feel a little better, and then I’ll show you what I brought you.” At those words he perked up like a puppy hearing someone said ‘car ride’ or ‘treat’.  

“You brought me something?” he asked slowly, as if he was sure he’d misunderstood or heard wrong.  

I nodded, turning to exit the closet, tugging him by the hand after me and quietly relieved to see that the supernatural makeover in the bedroom had likewise disappeared like mist burned off by sunlight. “Sure did.”  

“Is it a bucket of spiders?” 

I laughed. “Not quite, but good guess.”  

“Two buckets of spiders?”  

I laughed again, clearing a space at the kitchen island to make him a sandwich while Beetlejuice settled on a bar stood. “Tell you what,” I said. “After you eat something, you can come out to the car with me and help bring it in.” 

-------

This was one of the very first parts I thought up when this story idea came to me and finally getting it out was so much fun! 

I am so soft for a soft garbage man. Hopefully you all are now too!

No ETA for chapter 8 but I’ll do my best!  Thanks for reading!!

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

[likedovesinthewnd]

fanfic asks

thanks for the tag @thesewickedhands 🤍

slow burn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers // oh no there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt-comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death // one-shot or multi-chapter  // kid fic or road trip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage // high school romance or middle aged romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbors or roommates  // sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or gender bend // angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane

tagging: @irrelevantwriter @imagineredwood @my-rosegold-soul @starrynite7114 @whatupitshuff @cockslut-padalecki @letsby @imtherain

[imtherain]

I FEEL SO SPECIAL BEING TAGGED

And I am about to tell on myself so hard...so I don't drink alcohol and can't drink caffeine so there goes 80% of most people's favorite things XD

Water - I am a boring bitch who has to have a bottle of water near me at all times, but it has to be colder than room temperature or it's "too thick". Idk

Any white soda - sprite or 7up are my favorites, but specifically McDonald's used to have tropical sprite? That shit was bomb. Basically the only bubbly drink I ever drink (tho if I'm feeling wild I'll drink a root beer or an orange soda)

Iced decaf coffee - I love sad bean water but only if it's cold with hazelnut and caramel flavor, and oat milk because my stomach hates me for many different reasons

Iced Tea - depends on my mood but I like raspberry iced tea, but only herbal ones. I also have a fancy strawberry/hibiscus a friend got me that is amazing cold but it needs sugar or it makes my tongue turn into a sponge

Olive Juice - I know it's weird and please don't tell my mom. But yes, I like to drink the juice out of the olive jar (specifically garlic stuffed olives ATM) someone told me it's part of my eating disorder? But idk if that's true or if I just crave vinegar and salt

I also drink juice and Karma Water a lot but forgot about that until exactly now.

I don't know who to tag 😅 if you see this and wanna party tag me in your response so I can see!

five drinks to get to know me

thank you so much for the tag, @halfmoth-halfman I adore you! 🤍

1. Pepsi Max — there is more of this in my system than there is blood. do not come for me, it is my vice, my one thing. (I also include Coke Zero in this because *someone* dislikes Pepsi, so.

2. Caramel Iced Latte, soy milk – my go-to order from Starbucks. Lattes are my favourite for caffeine boosts and caramel adds a sweetness to it that I NEED. I also like vanilla, gingerbread and pumpkin ✌🏼I drink iced lattes all year round.

3. Strawberry and banana smoothie — can you see the sweetness theme going off. I love this, the fruit, the thickness, it’s amazing. Also strawberries are my fave fruit.

4. Fresh smooth pineapple juice — when we buy it, this is the drink I have in the morning. It reminds me of holidays when I was younger and warm summer days ☀️

5. Zero sugar Monster energy drinks — I eat like super healthy (so, so) drinks with fruit or caffeinated drinks that’ll get me through the day. My current fave is the Lewis Hamilton one with the blue can, but I also love the white one.

do not worry about my caffeine intake, but I don’t sleep a lot (hence all the words I put out) and need them to survive hahaha

tagging: if you so wish to do this: @guyfieriii @yeyinde @vermillionwinter @eowynstwin @wildemaven

[hybristoo]

To Know Him is to Love Him [2/3]

Summary: After a failed kidnapping by the Joker, he refuses to leave the reader alone, and under rather unusual circumstances, the reader doesn’t mind.

Words: 1368

___

You never had real friends.

Your first friend was a 7-foot giant of a man. He had three scars which crossed his left eye - said it represented the devil. You were a 6-year-old, so you didn’t really know what that entailed. Somebody else told you that it was your dad who was the devil - the Devil of Gotham. It was a confusing time. Your budding brain came to the conclusion that he must be a friend of your dad’s. 

You were proved wrong when your father made him disappear.

The giant’s name was Rocky and you loved him because he was always around you, hovering, and he always wore a rictus grin when you entertained him. He made you feel less lonely in the marble castle that was your home. 

He would not be the last to hover by your side and play with you because they had to, however, he was the last you regarded as a friend. Ever since he disappeared, you had lived in oversized solitary confinement. A repeating realization that you had nothing but your own hands to fall on. 

Perhaps this was why, when the Joker busted through your window while you were ordering Chinese a week after kidnapping you, you paused before inquiring if he wanted anything as well.

You were afflicted by solitude. An illness so pervasive it made you happy to be in the vicinity of any person. An illness so perverse all it wanted was to wrap itself around something - to feel the warmth of love. An illness so severe you turned to the infamous Joker for friendship.

As the month of November trudged on, you became increasingly used to seeing him amble about your apartment. One of the first things you learned about him was that he preferred Thai over Chinese and he liked vanilla over chocolate. You figured he came here often because he was often in the Narrows; a kingdom of crime. And who held the throne?

The Joker reminded you of a story about a jester. In the story, the Jester criticizes his King, declaring that he would do a much better job as a king. That he could do everything he did, tenfold. Although the King tries to argue, the court is swayed by the Jester’s jeering words and with a big laugh, they declare the Jester the new King. Within a fortnight, the kingdom has become a big joke. 

You told the Joker this story and he just grinned.

In this way, the relationship was not endosymbiotic but rather one-sided. There were instances when you were speaking about your day and all its tribulations, intricacies and dramas and when you turned around to ask the Joker about his day, there was only in imprint in the couch where he once was. Other times, you would find him napping in the midst of your ramblings - or maybe the naps were just an excuse not to answer your questions. You had met more dishonest men. 

But there were instances when he would talk back. He liked quizzing you on your past; particularly your relationship with your father and his organisation, all of which you narrowly avoided. In this sense, you couldn’t blame him for his fake naps or else you’d be a hypocrite.

When he wasn’t asking you uncomfortable questions, he liked pulling knives on you, seemingly to assess your reaction. One day, you asked him if he always busted into the homes of those he had terrorized, to which he responded: “Only the ones that entertain me.” 

The Jester story reminded you of the very fine line which an “entertaining” person balanced on, and so you chose to ignore his periodic threats on your life. 

As far as your whistling career goes, you were improving. You had moved into the territory of Beethoven when your neighbour banged on the wall and demanded you be quiet. 

And this was the topic of your blabbering today. You told him about the types of whistling, and showed him the finger techniques, explaining when they should be used. You ranted like a siffleur to her pupils. When you looked over, you noticed that he was staring. He was paying attention. 

“You know, Hummingbird,” he leaned forward in his sitting position, “It’s said whistling at night attracts bad things.” And then he whistled, a steady octave cutting through the thick silence. 

He had a boyish twinkle in his eye. That got you awful excited and out of your mouth came a vomit of words. A constant stream of associative games coming together to form a dictionary of thoughts. A race to say the most syllables possible - every variation of a word that could be crammed into a sentence. 

However, you were interrupted when the Joker grabbed your hand and tugged you towards him. To quote Nietzsche; if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you - and his eyes were an abyss you’d like to dive into. 

“You make a lot of noise,” the Joker commented, peering into your hand, running his thumb along your knuckles. It was subtle, but there was a tightness to his grip - a suggestion of enmity. “But you don’t know what you’re saying, do you? No, you’ve-” he licked his teeth, sighing, “fallen between the cracks.” He said so like a disappointed parent might when their child first rebels. A tone of voice that held your breath hostage. 

At a loss for words, you stood silently for a moment, letting him fondle your hand. There was a quirk to his eyebrows - a suggestion, a challenge. There were a number of thoughts going through your head, but now, all of a sudden, you weren’t so keen on voicing them. You were going to offer him ice cream. You were going to offer to put on a movie. You were going to do a number of things, but instead, you tugged the Joker towards yourself and pressed your lips against his. 

There was a moment when you were both shocked. An awkward stillness to the kiss not unlike that of two middle schoolers replicating their parents. But then, reality - or something close to it, registered in the both of you, and dance ensued. Joker responded first, grabbing the sides of your face, squeezing his face onto yours. There wasn’t anything proper about it, it had an irrational beginning and so what follows became confusing - lost in translation. 

There were little sparks going off in your head. An indication that for the first time in a month in his company, it felt like you clicked. Like you had been spewing puzzle pieces about every day and it was only now that they came together. You tucked your tongue into his, snaring him in an embrace. 

Thoughts of the moral implications of your friendship often ran rampant when you had discussions with him, but right now? Right now your mind was silent, as if it, too, was too enraptured with the scene before it. 

Your hands explored his body, from the firmness of his muscles to the structure of his hips - trying to discern some trivia about him that no one else could know. If he wouldn’t tell you, you needed to find out, you needed to know; who are you, ‘Joker’?

And without knowing the questions, he seemed to reply with his movements. 

Indeed, the way he moved - removing his gloves, running his fingers against your ribs, it had convinced you of one primary thing: you had made a lot of noise without understanding any of it. There was so much a deaf person could hear. 

When your mouth stopped listening, it was because the Joker had stopped speaking. He pulled away but held you pressed against the wall. Your eyes whined. You had smudged his makeup all over the place. He pursed his lips and his feet tapped. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. His face closed in on yours once more before it pulled back as if you smelled repugnantly bad. 

He stalked around you, from your left to your right. “You’ve fallen between the cracks,” he continued, pointing his finger, “but who’s to say it’s not mutual, hm?”

___

Taglist

@imtherain @judyfromfinance @geronimosanna

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Next Part

[imtherain]

Ok but I've literally been on Tumblr for 13 years and right before my 18th birthday I promised someone I wouldn't kill myself for at least 5 years, because reasons, and so I didn't kill me, and I make myself stay on Tumblr, but also I'm gonna be 32 soon and I never thought I'd see 25....

Love wins I guess?

what doesn't kill you makes you stay on tumblr for 13 years and counting