#jowrites

[zillobeastbait]

Prompt List

6 - “Why are you following me around like a lost duckling.”

19 - “Can't you just not work today?”

Daryl Dixon x Daughter!Reader

Words: 1027

Warnings/Notes: None

Not my image

It had been a long week up till now. The group was busy working in Alexandria. Some people gardening, others building up the wall or keeping watch. You woke up to an empty house, your father already out and working. You walk down the stairs as he comes in the door.

“I figured you’d be up about now. I’ll make ya some breakfast and then I gotta head back to work.” Daryl walks over to you after setting his bow down on the bench by the door. “What d’ya think of that?”

“Can’t you just not work today?” you complain to him all the time about how much he’s out and helping out.

“Pumpkin, we talked about this, I have to help out.” Daryl picks you up and carries you over to the kitchen. 

“But you’re always goneeee.” you drag out the end of your sentence. Adding a whining tone to your voice. Daryl sets you on the counter as he gets out the waffle maker.

“Hey, wha’td I say bout yer whinin’.” Daryl doesn’t look at you, but you can hear the sternness in his voice.

“Sorry daddy.” You fiddle with your fingers while you wait for him to turn back around. When he does he has the waffle mix and other instruments in his hands. 

“Yes!” you say with excitement, your fists shooting up.

“Figured you'd be excited.” He comments with a smirk as he begins mixing the batter.

you sit on the counter and help with what you can as your dad makes you waffles. You two have a great time talking and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Eventually the waffles are all done and you two sit at the barstool and eat them. You watch as your dad eats only a couple and gives you the rest of his syrup.

“Why didn't you eat as much?” You pause shoving the waffles in your mouth to talk. 

“I had some food earlier this morning, so I ain't that hungry.” He says with a small smile.

You smile and shrug, shoving more waffles in your mouth. 

“Alright kid, I gotta get back t’ work.” He stands up and ruffles your hair, placing a kiss on the top of your head. 

“Can't you stay home today?” you finish eating your waffles and turn around to face him in you chair. 

“We talked about this kiddo, I gotta do this.”

“Then I can come with you?” you mouth shoots up in a smile and you run towards the stairs. “Lemme grab my stuff.”

You don't even give him a chance to say anything before you run up the stairs and grab your little messenger bag. You shove in your coloring book, a normal book, and some extra little things. 

You come down the stairs to him dressed back in his boots and jacket, standing with his arms crossed, his bow hanging off his shoulder.

“Alright, c'mon.” he says, nodding his head towards the door. 

“Hang on, I gotta put on my boots.” you plop on the floor next to the shoes, which are only yours and Daryl's at the most. 

When your done tieing them up, Daryl helps you to stand and hands you your pocket knife. He got it for you a while ago and wont let you leave the house without having it on you. 

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready.” you look up and smile at him. 

He only nods before opening the door and holding it open for you. He shuts it behind him and walks alongside you. Today he has to get the bike ready so he can go out scouting with Aaron eventually. You two walk along the sidewalk, watching the few birds fly by or someone else on a walk. It's times like this that you miss with him. Even before Alexandria, when you were always on the run. You get to be with him all the time and do everything with him. You don't like being alone in the house all day every day.

When you make it to Aaron's house he greets you with a snack and juice.

“Thanks!” you say with a smile. Even after all the waffles you had just 20 minutes ago you eat the fruit he handed you right away and sipped on the juice. 

You follow Daryl into Aaron's garage and see the bike Daryl has been working on.

“Are we gonna be able to ride it just like your last one!?” You look at him with and excited expression plastered on your face.

"Eventually, I might change some things to make it easier, and we need to find you a helmet if we can.”

“How are we gonna find a motorcycle helmet for me?”

“I dunno kid. Even if it was just a bike helmet. Any type of helmet really.” He sits on the stool and begins messing with parts.

“How ‘bout ya sit in that chair over there and color or someth'n.” He nods towards a chair in the corner. 

“I think I'm gonna watch you.” you set your bag down in the chair and stand by where Daryl was working. You stay for a while like that day. Following him when he goes to the workbench or the other side of the bike.

“Alright kid, why are you following me around like a lost duckling?”

“I just wanna see what your doing, and I miss when we were together all the time.”

He stops what he's doing and looks up at you from his seat.

“Pumpkin, why didn't you tell me. I could have taken you with me more.”

“I dunno. I just figured you weren't alway gonna be this busy.”

“I get it, and I'm sorry. I didn't really notice that you wanted to come, I thought you would like having your own space.”

“I just miss you sometimes.”

“Alright, I'll tell you what, tomorrow we'll have a just us day. We can do whatever we want.”

“Alright.” a smile breaks out on your face and you giggle in excitement.

“Alright kid.” Daryl has a smirk on his face as he continues to work and you continue to watch.

Hope you enjoyed it!!

—--

@sofia-stark

Thanks for reading, as always like, comment, and re-blog to support your writers and other artists.

Thanks again and see you soon.

[jowrites]

oh my goodness, my Jake SMAU is coming to an end soon.

If you enjoyed reading it thank you! My Heeseung one will be coming soon so look forward to that. I really like the concept of this one.

And if you like my stuff let me know what other groups I should do. I am a multistan and have been a kpoppie for over 10 years now, I love everyone!

Thanks again!

Fill The Void Main Masterlist Here

[odd-caym-out]

Full training video of me practicing! Definetly not all the way there yet, but working on it!

[loucifersbitch]

tęsknię za tobą #poetry #mypoetry #poem #writersofinstagram #writingcommunity #life #writer #longing #desire #yearning #distance #friendship #love #lgbt #lgbtq #queer #gay #polyamorous #jowrites https://www.instagram.com/p/Cm_AS26OQ7w/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[zillobeastbait]

❤️❤️❤️

headcanon that Crosshair braids Omega's hair to distract himself from trembling hands

[jojojoj]

~when you finally feel the pain~

here you are

all alone

on the floor

in the deepest

and darkest

moment of your life

after all these years

of going back and forth

you finally felt it

shattered heart

broken dreams

and a painful life.

[jowritesthingss]

a moment of relief

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing(s): Loceit (Logan | Logic + Janus | Deceit), romantic or platonic

Rating: Teen (for some swearing)

Content Warning(s): unhealthy hyperfocusing, burnout, sickness, mild swearing, potentially dissociation?? (Lo kinda experiences it bc exhaustion, although he doesn’t put a name to it)

Length: 2,243 words

Brief Summary: Logan is hot. Janus is not.

TS Masterlist + AO3 Links

*

It is hot in Logan’s room.

Blisteringly hot. Unbearingly hot. Unshakingly hot.

It’s the type of hot that slaps you on the face on a bright summer day. The type of burning hot that causes relentless sweatstains and heatstrokes, the type of sweltering heat that beckons for you to tear off your shirt like a buffoon. Normally Logan would not attribute such comparisons to something, but he has been working for so long that he is no longer certain that his brain actually works at all.

He has been working hard all day, all night, and all day again, with barely any breaks for dinner with the others, and none whatsoever to get any rest. Perhaps that is the reason why his thoughts feel like they are swimming through dense lava within the confines of his brain. Perhaps that is why he finds his tongue loosening, muttering aimless literary devices and frilly confessions aloud to himself that he would not typically be “caught dead” saying.

Perhaps that is why Logan can feel the incinerating effects of burnout licking all around the edges of his weary, frenzied figure.

And perhaps he should have caught on earlier—he usually does, and acts accordingly—but Thomas, bored to tears during quarantine, finally decided to listen to his endless requests that they take an online class or two (or ten). He can’t help it if, in his overenthusiastic hyperfocus, he tried to complete an entire month’s worth of coursework in the span of two days, can he?

A thudding sound interrupts the incessant scratching of his pen on paper. He barely pauses to look up and figure out the source of the sound. The door. Someone is knocking on his door.

Logan intends to shout at them to go away, that he is busy, but his tongue trips over itself, and an incoherent stream of babble makes its way out instead.

The knocking sound falls silent, and there is no response from whoever is on the other side of the door. They must have left. That is what Patton did, when he came to inquire about Logan missing breakfast that first day, and he hasn’t come back since. The same had been true when Roman banged on his door, whining about some simplistic problem in the Imagination, and for Virgil, who had quietly tapped on the door for some unknown reason at what Logan thought was two in the morning (or was it four? time always seemed to blur together that early in the morning, especially when he was figuratively “on a roll” like this).

Honestly, by now the others should know not to bother him when he’s like this. They so, so rarely listen to him, but! Thomas is listening to him now! Thomas is taking classes again now! He is learning more now! Logan must do his absolute best to ensure maximum learning potential is reached. He must do as much work as he can. He must, he must, he must.

“Well, isn’t this a delightful sight to see,” a voice drawls from behind Logan.

Logan whirls around in his seat, surprised, his fist clenching and snapping his pen in two. Dark blue ink cascades over his fingers, but he absent-mindedly wipes it off on a corner of his already-stained black polo, eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he glares at whoever it is that dares interrupt his study session.

He squints around his bedroom, frowning at the somewhat...muted quality of it all, as if someone had slapped one of Roman’s ridiculous Instagram filters over it all. Is the blurriness caused by his eyesight failing, or is there a haze throughout the entirety of his room?

There, standing in the doorway of his now-grainy room, is someone dressed in all black, with a dash of yellow around the corners. A mismatched pair of eyes stares faux-casually at Logan where he sits at his desk.

Logan opens his mouth to speak. It takes him a few tries to get the wrods rout wight. “Ah, Janus.” He reaches to push his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, misses, pokes his forehead instead. He tries again and hits the left lens, but pushing that adequately situates the glasses further up on his nose, so aside from the smudged inky blue fingerprint now on the glass, he deems the result satisfactory.

“I must say, Logan, you’re looking quite well-rested,” Janus purrs.

Logan looks up at him, woozy. Janus...he...snake. Deceit. The backwards thing. The lie thing. Correct? “That....” He moistens his lips. Everything is so hot and dry and scratchy. He should ask Roman to snap him some chapstick after...after all this. “False...hood?”

Janus rolls his eyes. Watching his slitted, snakelike eye do that is surprisingly intriguing. Logan could—what is the phrase? He could figuratively get “lost” in that eye—in either of Janus’ eyes, really. All of the sides have the same eyes, but nevertheless, they’re just so fascinating on Janus.

Janus strides into the room, shutting the door behind him. Logan really should tell him to leave, but his tongue is too big in his mouth.

“Now, is there any particular reason you decided to experiment on sleep deprivation using yourself as a test subject?” Janus asks him, penetrating Logan with that intense gaze of his. Maybe it’s just the state he’s in, but gosh, Logan really likes that intense gaze. He wishes it would stay trained on him more often.

“The others are not worried in the least,” Janus says offhandedly. “You missed breakfast and lunch, and you turned them all away, so they sent me to...take care of you.” His expression is...Logan would dare to say it’s almost...lascivious. Dear lord, Logan hopes he doesn’t make that face around the others. They would melt. Is Logan melting?

“I am hot,” Logan abruptly announces.

Janus’ eyes dart down, running leisurely from Logan’s untied shoes up to his half-tucked-in shirt to mussed-up hair. Logan supposes he should feel embarrassed over his unkempt appearance, but the haze hovering in his room seems to have permeated his brain as well. Any embarrassment (or any other...feelings he should have, for that matter) seem strangely distant.

Janus looks Logan in the eye, heterochromatic brown and yellow matched with glazed brown. His forked tongue slithers out of his mouth, licking his lips, and for some reason Logan feels himself shudder at the sight. “Yes, you are hot.”

“I...that is what I just stated, yes.” Logan blinks owlishly at the snake-like side.

Wait.

Snake-like.

Snakes are cold-blooded. Cold. Cool.

Is Janus cold-blooded?

Well. There is only one way to find out isn’t there.

(Perhaps there are other ways, such as, just maybe, actually asking him, as Logan will later reflect. But in his current state of foggy disarray he can think of only one action moving forward.)

At some point he must have stood up. Logan doesn’t really remember. He makes use of this newfound state of existence, though, and he moves forward on rubbery legs. He crowds himself into Janus’ space, staring intently into the other side’s slitted yellow eye.

“Uh,” he hears Janus stammer. “This is a very, um, normal position. This isn’t strange at all.”

Logan raises his right hand, cupping the scaled side of Janus’ face with a sweaty palm.

The sweet soothing relief of something cool touching him is instantaneous. “Oh,” he mumbles, leaning still closer. “You...your skin is cool.”

“Of—of course. It’s not like I’m a cold-blooded snake or anything,” Janus chokes out, his expression extremely odd as he gapes at Logan.

“’s nice,” Logan assures him, mentally shoving away the instinct to collapse in the other side’s arms. He brings his other hand to cup the more human side of Janus’ face, pleased to find it alleviates the burning in his palms equally well.

Janus carefully pushes Logan an arm’s length away, and Logan fights the urge to whine at the loss of contact. Janus’ closely-guarded expression is as incinerating as Logan’s nerve endings feel—that is to say, very. However heated his expression may be, though, Janus’ skin is so nice and soft and cold, and Logan wants, but he mustn’t, he mustn’t—

Only...why has he been fighting that instinct, anyway? It sounds like such a nice idea....

Logan collapses forward onto the other side.

He feels Janus hastily throw up his arms, struggling to support the deadweight that is now Logan. A muted part of his brain supposes that this is not a good sign, but he is too overwhelmed by his senses screaming Janus, Janus, safe, cool, comfortable, sleep.

“Um—Logan—” A voice rumbles near his ear, his name absorbing through the heated skin of his neck. “Shit, you’re—heavy—uh.”

Through his rapidly tunnelling sense of self, Logan feels the cool surface he is resting on stagger, then he is being deposited on something soft. Something warm. And his source of cold has disappeared.

Quick, quiet footsteps echo through his ears, then the sound of a door opening and shutting.

A pathetic whine works its way out of Logan’s half-open mouth.

Time passes. He doesn’t know how much. All he knows is that his body is too leaden to move. The blood in his extremities is molten like magma, shimmering red underneath the surface. His head feels like it is about to erupt.

He cannot move, cannot drag himself off of the squishywarmhothothot surface he lies on, but he cannot sleep where he is, so scratchy and blazing and burning and uncomfortable.

Logan vaguely becomes aware of tears, slipping trails down his face, but they provide little relief, for they are just as salty and warm as the rest of himself is.

Eventually, the sound of a door opening and shutting crashes through his brain. He winces, trying to draw his hands up to cover his poor ears—but he’s not entirely sure if they actually make it up there or not. He’s not so sure he can control anything he does anymore.

Soft footsteps patter ever nearer, cutting through the crunchingscraping white noise of his head, and then two cool hands are gently re-positioning his body. A third hand delicately removes his glasses, a fourth rests itself against his cheek in an oddly familiar motion, a fifth and a sixth carefully place something on his forehead—something soft and—and cold.

Logan’s breath stutters out in a hiss, his eyelashes fluttering. Cool. Good. Feels good. Feels very nice. Very good.

“I’m sure it does,” a soft voice murmurs. “Here—drink.”

A pair of the arms gently hoists Logan up, leaning him against a pleasantly cool something—someone? A glass is pressed to his lips.

Grateful, Logan drinks.

The water is sweet and refreshing as it trickles down his throat, calming the raging of the rest of his body. He feels the closest to lucid that he has been in...in hours, at least. Possibly days. He isn’t exactly sure what time even is anymore, what it even means. It’s all made up anyways.

Logan’s eyes flutter open for a moment, but he sees nothing. At some point the lights must have been turned off, and his glasses are off.

Taking another gulp of the water, a corner of Logan’s mind notices an almost chalky aftertaste. Medicine, hopefully, something to help this fevered state. Remus has since learnt that the sides cannot be killed via poison, and if the person helping him is Roman, Logan doubts he would want to repeat the paint water incident of 2016.

Surely it must be medicine, for not long after he finishes drinking the water his brain starts to feel fuzzier once more.

Logan sags down, and whoever he leans against lets him. They—was—is it Janus? It has to be, he’s cool against Logan’s feverish skin, so deliciously cool and he’s always been so, so nice and pretty too—Janus carefully extricates himself from Logan’s weary body.

“N...no,” Logan moans, feeling his most welcome source of chill disappear away from him. He thinks he might reach out, grabbing for it again, but he feels nothing. “Come...come back. Please.”

A long, resigned sigh sounds from above where Logan lies. “Fine, fine,” the voice mutters. The phrasing makes it sound as though the words ought be said more reluctantly, but the tone of the voice saying it sounds more concerned and fond than anything else.

The surface Logan is lying on dips slightly—his bed, it must be his bed—and a cool body slides in behind him, wrapping pairs of arms securely around Logan’s waist, his chest, his neck. Were Logan coherent enough, the arms might feel suffocating, but as it is, their firm grip and the low temperature radiating off of them are strangely comforting.

“Logan.” A cooling breath of air blows into the back of his neck, and he squirms half-heartedly, loving the chill of it against his skin and love-hating the vague heat it curdles in his stomach.

In the morning they will wake, and they will discuss. Janus will turn the tables and lecture Logan about overworking himself. Logan will surprisingly discuss feelings—namely, that warmth in his stomach that lingers even as his fever dissipates. But that is for the morning.

For the moment, there is just the two of them and the now-receding, almost pleasant haze of Logan’s room and mind, just the two of them and their breaths huffing out as Janus whispers, “Sleep.”

Logan sleeps.

Fin

*

I’m not usually on the “Janus has six arms send tweet” train bc I’m more apt to believe it’s simply a visual effect Remus/the team used in that particular musical sequence, BUT I am jumping aboard for just this one-stop fic bc that means more hug for our poor boi Logan here. And our poor boi Logan here needs more hug.

Also uhhhhh...this is the very first Sanders Sides fic I’m posting, so plz be kind lol. Of course if you have any critiques I’d love to hear them too! ^^ Also, if there are any typos, let me know, cuz I have no friends and my stuff is almost always unbeta-ed. :P

Want to be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

[lilaclish]

Insomnia

Sometimes I lie awake

Remembering that

All those years

I had slept

Without you

Beside me

But now I couldn’t even

Shut my eyes

Without you

Beside me

[jovgrey]

On time...

I've never understood the fascination I witness in the eyes of friends and lovers as they note the passage of time. The preoccupation with what has occurred and what changes have becomes of it.

Perhaps because I feel time constantly. An instrument of the thing, I am bereft and isolated, numbed by its passing for sake of frequency.  I feel a moment pass as intensely as a year. Every racing and paranoid delusion I endure is an infrequent happenstance in the time's slow gaze. I sink to the edge of its pit, pittied by its daunting and overbearing ugliness. It hangs over me like a midday sun, or a city's smog.

I find myself fabricated by time entirely. I am nothing but its child and mistress, enamoured and in awe and in love. I births me in its consequences, for I am time. As time itself does not exist without me, so too am I daunting, so too am I limitless. The unequivocal revolution which accumulates the distance between myself and eternity is captured. I shall go on until my forever, for time stops, in my perception, as soon as I do. And no great war or fear of circumstance can distance me from the reality of my own evolution. I am the most relevant version of time. I manage efficiencies in my mind and correlate a history of mine own making. Undoubtedly, I become the time and space I take up. Surely I am.

A reckoning befalls me and with gratitude I take it up. I am unending for my life exists not without me. Immortal in my point of view. I am a single constant in a moments unyeilding bellow of change. In a case of my own fiction, I make tales tall and wide and unbecoming; close chapters until I am not, completely.

The pattern of my living shall be drawn, and so shall I from shallow depths of pencil marks and hysteria. I become commonplace in my vivid purpose. Timely, I manifest a destiny suitable. Growl at an abyss. 

Take time.

[jowriteslittlethings-blog]

mason jar wishes

he collected tiny fireflies and

kept them in a jar placed on his bedside table so

he could see them glow at night until their light

burnt straight through his eyelids

and became the morning sun.

  he watched these tiny stars

and wondered what magic he had to use to

glow like that

but stars don’t speak

and maybe they weren’t supposed to.

  one night he came home to a jar full of

a thousand dead fireflies

and he had trouble sleeping knowing that

maybe the brightest things

are not meant to be kept.

                                                                                                                                    - jo

[jonogueira]

Author Interview

Thanks for tagging me again @princessvicky01! I love these things.

Name: Jonogueira or JoWrites.

Fandoms: Dragon Age (Jonogueira) and Marvel - Avengers (JoWrites on AO3 or Jonogueirawrites here on Tumblr)

Where You Post: Here are my works:

Áine - completed. AO3.  Dragon Age.

Moon hair & fire eyes - completed. AO3. Dragon Age Cullen/Avvar AU.

Our time is in my blood - ongoing 6 chapters (slowly lol). AO3. Dragon Age.

Save me from myself - ongoing 12 chapters (not so slowly). AO3. Marvel/Avengers.

Asks. AO3. Dragon Age.

Most Popular One-Shot: I honestly don’t know but you can check here to see if you like any.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: Def. my baby Áine (Words: 100,049 Chapters: 43)

Favorite Story You Wrote: Áine. It was the first story I wrote and it has a very special place in my heart..

Story You Were Nervous to Post: Áine but now that I’m writing for a new fandom I get nervous every time I upload a new chapter....

How You Choose Your Titles: I write the chapter and then I take a word or sentence from it. Sometimes i just play with words from the chapter too.

Complete: Áine and Moon Hair.

Incomplete: Our time is in my blood and Save me from myself. I also have an original work Fate in our hands, destiny in our hearts that I don’t write for in AGES!

Do You Outline?: Unfortunately no. I know it would help a lot but I just don’t. Please, don’t judge me!

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: Chapter 13 of Save me from Myself!

Do You Accept Prompts?: Yes. ~ looks at the 2 sitting on my asks ~

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: I have 2 stories brewing. One with Fenris and the other with Carver, but only God knows when I’ll have time for them! URGH!

[zillobeastbait]

Parenting 1 - Headcanons - Daryl Dixon x Daughter!Reader

Parenting 1

Daryl’s Daughter

Daryl Dixon x Daughter!Reader

Words: 312

Warnings/Notes: none but whats in the show

Partially inspired by @rue-dixon so go check them out too <3

Not my image

Daryl wouldn’t want you out without a way to protect yourself. He would take you under his wing and teach you everything. 

If you're the same age as Carl you would know how to shoot before him, which would start a rivalry.

Daryl would have to scold you not to bring it up around him.

He would protect you with his life, always ready to get between you and a walker

When you have a nightmare he would be there to comfort you.

You wake up sweating, calling for him. He comes running right away.

Holding you and just telling you it's okay over and over again.

Letting you lay with him when you want to.

If anyone asks he couldn’t get you to move. Over time he just accepts it.

Whenever he hugs you he puts his hand on the back of your head.

Kisses to the top of your head during hugs, only when no one can tell.

When you are little you just follow him around like a lost puppy.

He wouldn’t want you going on runs, ever, period.

If you do he makes sure to go on every one for the first while.

If it’s one of the times the group gets stuck out on the road, he wouldn’t let you more than arm's length away.

He would always worry whenever he was away from you for too long.

Always uses nicknames for you, some just from your name, others like “kid” or when you were younger “duckling” because you always followed him around.

Always makes sure to listen when you need him to.

As you get older and need more space he has to learn to give you that too

Trusts you with his life, and you trust him with yours.

He knows you can handle yourself

If you ever got kidnapped or killed, no mercy

Period

—--

Hope you enjoyed it!!

Thanks for reading, as always like, comment, and re-blog to support your writers and other artists.

Thanks again and see you soon.

[writingquestionsanswered]

I can't decide on an author blog tumblr url name! I don't want to use my name... Do you have any suggestions?

Choosing a Name for Your Author Tumblr

When creating an author blog on tumblr, if you don’t want to use your author name, there are lots of alternatives:

1) Initials or nickname plus writer/writes/writing.

Lots of writers and authors use their initials or a nickname combined with variations of “writes” to create a social media handle or tumblr blog. For example, JK Rowling could have gone with:

WriterJKR

JKRWriter

JKRWrites

JKRWriting

JKtheWriter

JoWrites

JoJoWriter

JoKWrites

2) Combine writing-related words with another word that has meaning for you.

FullMoonWriter

NightGirlWrits

CaffeineAndWriting

CaffeinatedWriter

CoffeeAddictWrites

ButterflyPen

SnowyTales

BlueSurfStoryteller

3) Incorporate something from your main WIP or other important story you wrote with writing-related words or not.

TheBoyWhoLived

TheBoyWhoWrote

TheGirlOnFire

TheGirlOnFireWriter

LoveHazelGrace

WroteHazelGrace

TrisAndFour

WritingTrisAndFour

LionAndTheLamb

LionAndTheLambTales

BlueNHerBoys

BookOfBlueNHerBoys

FeyreHere

FeyreWriter

I hope that helps!

[lali1444love]

📸: #tbt That one time your taking pictures and the wind 💨 helps you out at just the right time 👌🏾@jowrites #fashionphotography #typography #graphicdesign #gifs #vectorart #illustration #blogger #journalist #springfashion #sfstyle #mission #murals #colorful

[jojojoj]

09.20.20

i feel so far away from you

and to everyone

you're getting high

while i'm getting buried

underneath

digging my own grave

all the way down

to the darkness

as you soak in the light

sparkly smile

so bright

ahead of you

as i succumb

to the dark

[ao3feed-buckybarnes]

Save me from myself.

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2r7NLcn

by JoWrites (JoNogueira)

The Winter Soldier carries on with his mission and leaves a little girl behind without her parents. The little girl grew up and spent all her life chasing the ghost she saw many years back... in her parents' bedroom... with their souls in his hand. When the two finally meet again, what will they do? How will they behave? Will she revenge her parents and bring peace to her mind? Or will he show her nothing is set on stone as she always thought?

Words: 930, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Tony Stark, Captain America - Character

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Murder

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2r7NLcn