#also there is so much the head and the heart but their songs are so soft but ik not everyone vibes so apologies! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

norman-fucking-reedus · 1 day

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HE ATE MY HEART (I LOVE THAT GIRL)

gif by @corvidcrossbow

IM SO FUCKING EXCITED TO FINALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO POST ON HERE AND ALSO TO POST SOMETHING TO THIS SONG

Vamp!Daryl has rotted not only my brain but the community. I am not sorry at all for the plague I'm spreading and I hope that it only gets worse.

So I've been doing some research on it, and I really like the idea of mixing the Blade universe w TWD, I did some more research on the different types of vampires (its kind of a lot so if you want you can go read abt them here!) To basically summarize, there's people, daywalkers (half vamp-people), walkers, full vampires, and then Revenants (half-walker half vampire, basically just another way to die)

This also makes it easier for whenever Scud becomes my next vampy victim

AUUUGH I NEED MY HOT SEXY NEEDY VAMPIRE MAN WHO JUST WANTS TO DRINK ALL MY BLOOD SOMEONE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FUCKING PLEASE

also I am working on reqs yes I am, I have one scud fic that is dirty and nasty and should be getting posted soon. also I may not be on tumblr as much as I used to be because GUYS I am now employed yes that's right I got off my computer, went outside, interacted with people, and got a job #gangshit

It had been over a week since Daryl had eaten, and over two since he had left to go out on the community's monthly supply run.

As he stumbled through the opening gates, he felt like he had been through a war. His body was wracked with exhaustion, weakness, and hunger. The air was thick with the strong scent of blood, and he couldn't keep himself from groaning painfully when he was bombarded by Carol and Rick asking where he had been, what had taken so long, and if he was alright.

“No! M’not alright dammit” He barked at them in frustration after being asked for the third time if he was alright, his voice laced with irritation and discomfort. Carol couldn't help but notice his pale and clammy appearance.

Her forehead creased into a frown as she tightly pursed her lips, giving Daryl a scolding look that made him uneasy. With a tone of concern, she asked, "I'm worried. When was the last you fed?"

The man's face twisted in discomfort as Rick and Carol stood in his space. He scoffed and muttered, "Not recently, m'fuckin' starvin'" The longer he stayed, the more his head spun and his vision blurred, causing the corners of his eyes to fade into a deep red color. His stomach churned uncomfortably, and he could feel his teeth starting to ache.

Rick observed Daryl's malnourished skin, staring at how he was almost transparent. His eyes were screwed shut as the sun harshly burned his sensitive orbs, and he was gripping the strap of his crossbow so hard that his fingers were starting to turn red.

"You should go see Y/n," Rick said, eyes fixed on his friend. "She should be back home and she's been asking about you. I think she misses you." Daryl's body tensed at the sound of your name, and a sudden chill ran down his spine, causing goosebumps to rise on his arms. He tried to hide his reaction, but Rick's sharp eyes didn't miss a thing.

Daryl's head drooped weakly as he could only manage a feeble nod. Rick and Carol had stepped off to the side for him, offering their silent support. Carol placed her hand gently on his shoulder, her grey hair falling across her face as she did so. Rick, with his stern expression, gave Daryl a look that he knew meant there was no room for argument.

His senses were already heightened to an extreme level, almost at an overload as the sun was abnormally bright, almost blinding him, and the heat was scorching his skin. The texture of his vest was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, causing his already aching teeth to grind against each other. He could feel his razor-sharp fangs digging into the tender skin of his bottom lip, further adding to his discomfort.

His senses were already heightened to an extreme level, almost at an overload as the sun was abnormally bright, blazing down on him with a blinding intensity, making it difficult for him to even keep his eyes open. He could feel the heat searing his skin, causing beads of sweat to form on his forehead and trickle down his face. He noticed the way that his vest rubbed uncomfortably against him, the fabric clinging to his skin and making him feel sticky and irritable. His already aching teeth began to grind down against each other, and he could feel his razor-sharp fangs digging into the tender skin of his bottom lip, further fueling his pure discomfort.

Each step he took in the direction of your house was tiring and heavy, his dirty, muddy boots slapping against the ground as he dragged himself through the streets, promptly ignoring any strangle or judgy looks that were thrown his way. He didn't have the time, let alone the strength to even bother paying them any mind. His stomach churned as his overwhelmed nose couldn't help but pick up the sickeningly sweet smell of blood.

It forced him to quicken his pace, trying to get just as far away from the public eye as he possible could. He didn't want to be looked at, didn't want to be stared at. He just wanted to get inside as soon as fucking possible and just tear off all his goddamn clothes. A ping of hope struck through him when he could see your familiar house only a short distance down the road, having to hold himself back from flat-out sprinting the rest of the way there.

Though it was only about a thirty-second walk, it had been the longest in his whole entire life, and walking up the small steps of your porch was like something out of a nightmare. He could disgustingly feel the material change in flooring when he stepped off the pavement and onto the creaky wood, the sound grating against his now way too-sensitive ears. Dear god, would someone fucking help him already?

Of course, as if on cue, the red front door to your house swung open, but instead of being met with a friendly face, he was met with the barrel of your gun.

"Daryl?" You questioned as you lowered the weapon slightly, a smile stretching across your lips once you had confirmed who was standing and dicking around on your porch. "Daryl!" You fully dropped your defensive position, stuffing the weapon in the band of your pants as you prepared to throw yourself at the man, halting when you finally took in his ruined appearance.

His breathing was labored, and it was hard to keep himself upright on his own two legs, forcing him to lean against the wall by the door. "Hey doll"

You scoffed at him in disbelief, "Don't you dare even "hey doll" me, mister! What the hell happened to you? Get in here right now" Grabbing the front of his vest and pulling his heavy body inside, Daryl groaning as each movement caused pain to his body, slumping against the door when you slammed it shut.

He couldn't be happier when he felt you prying the buttons of his stupidly itchy vest off, him shrugging it off as well as his crossbow, clattering down on the floor and probably chipping the metal further.

"Jesus Daryl, you look fucking terrible. Did you feed on anything at all out there?" You purse your lips as you analyze and checked his unnaturally pale chest, letting out a surprised hiss at the burn lingering on your fingers tips from where you had brushed them against the skin of his shoulder

Daryl groaned as you directed him to sit on the couch, the short steps from the front door already leaving him utterly winded, almost dripping in sweat as he wheezed each breath of air.

“‘Wasn’t much… ‘wasn’t much out there” He spoke breathlessly, head spinning and his stomach loudly churning when you stood in fromt of him.

When you extended a hand out to cup his face, he tightly gripped your wrist with a shaky hand. “Don’. Please don’” He didn’t want to feed from you, not like this, not in a state where he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t absolutely drain you.

“Daryl” You whispered softly, frowning slightly as you started taking your shirt off, and he wanted to scream at your stubbornness.

You straddled his lap and gently brushed the hair sticking to his forehead off, his blue eyes starting to tint red as the smell of your blood was strong, right in his face. “I don’ wanna”

“I know you don’t sweetheart, but you’ll die. What am I gonna do if you die?” You cupped his face, forcing his gaze onto yours. He whimpered slightly at your touch, his whole body sensitive and reactive.

Daryl shivered when you combed fingers through his hair, hands curling around your hips when you directed his head to your neck. “I trust you, more than I even trust myself” You whispered soothingly into his ear, and he almost wanted to cry.

He could smell the blood coursing through you like it was a burning candle, and his mouth was uncontrollably watering. His fangs were sharp and heavy, aching with the need to sink into your skin, which is exactly what he did, groaning against you at the first drops of blood, not wasting against another second before he was greedily taking mouthfuls.

It was so good, so warm and fresh, sweet and bitter. Daryl had drank lots of blood before, and yours was easily his favorite. He craved it during his time out there, not just because there was a serious lack in wild animals, but because it was addictive.

He squeezed your hips, soft and pillowy in his buzzing palms as he could feel himself starting to get hard in his pants, the more blood he swallowed the more drunk he got.

It made you feel good to watch his natural tan color fade back, his scarred back no longer a ghastly pale. You ran your fingers through his hair, occasionally curling your fingers and gripping the dark locks to grind down against his now-straining cock.

Daryl made soft, small sounds as he fed, each roll of your hips making each gulp of your blood taste so much better. His senses were at an all-time high, overwhelmed and at an absolute edge. He couldn’t help the way his hands pressed you down on his cock, hips desperately jerking against you as he could feel himself getting closer and closer, his head spinning in a blood lust haze.

He was so close, so very fucking close. His sharp claws had made themselves known, and you jolted when they painfully curled into your flesh, hips sputtering and slightly faltering in their movements. Daryl had no problem picking up the slack, almost fucking you right through his pants from how hard he was rutting up into you.

It was just all so much, his whole body on fire with pure arousal as he sighed around a final mouthful of crimson, trembling from his core as his orgasm washed over him, pressing your clothed cunt against him as hard as he could, making his already fuzzy mind draw a complete blank, a loud groan tearing from his throat that caused his fangs to slip out from where he had punctured the skin and drop his head against your shoulder, whimpering softly as he held you down.

You scratched his scalp comfortingly, feeling a little woozy from the amount of blood he had taken. He hummed against you as he started to come down from not only the high of his orgasm but bubbly buzz from his feast.

“Feel better?” You asked in a quiet, sleepy voice when Daryl’s tongue cleaned the drops of blood that had leaked from the small wounds, coating the area in his saliva so that it could heal.

He nodded as peppered you in appreciative and apologetic kisses, pulling you flush against his bare chest by wrapping his arms around your back, claws retracted and replaced with blunt nails. “M’sorry fer hurtin’, ya”

“Instead, you should be sorry for not feeding yourself, mister” You said as you shook your head, pinching his side as you got a bit upset again. “You know it scares me shitless when you do that”

“I know, I know. M’sorry for tha’ too” Daryl grumbled, feeling fatigued as well now that his tummy was full and satiated. His body was still weak and needed rest, now yours did as well considering he had taken a lot more than usual. “I’ll make it up to ya’” He said as he pushed himself up off the couch, grunting as it was a lot harder with tired muscles and one hand keeping his woman wrapped around him, adding a second once he was finally standing.

You giggled at that, arms hooked around his neck. “And just how will you do that?”

“Got a real good idea” Daryl smirked, hoisting you up as he ascended up the stairs to your shared bedroom, hungry for something else that was much better than blood.

I started writing this a few days ago I think this is the quickest I've written something

Vamp!Daryl is an absolute need. I'm loving every single post I see of him and I love watching the disease spread faster than fucking covid I jump for joy when I see someone I don't even know talking abt him is this what fame feels like is this what its like to be famous am I fucking famous

yes you do want more of this so go read more

Bloodthirsty @dixons-sunshine

Bite me @mydearestdaryl

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thetorturedbuckydepartment · 2 days

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chapter two: making amends

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

warnings: language, mentions of disordered eating, mentions of past bullying, heavy descriptions of food and eating

word count: 1.8k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10

A/N: chapter two is here! if you're enjoying pls reblog / like / comment and let me know!! also comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER ONE: THE BOLTER

For the next month or so, you do your best to avoid him, even though you ache for him to walk past the infirmary and every time he magically appears like you’ve wished, bruised up from sparring or a cut from cooking, you ignore him.

The second he walks in, you try your best to look busy, or send him off with a quick Bandaid. The injuries he comes in with are never anything serious, and you wonder who he’s here for. Even when another nurse tends to him, you can feel his eyes run down your spine, like you’re the object of his desires.

It’s so hard to keep yourself away, to deny it when you feel him staring at you like a heavy weight on your back, especially when it creates such a chasm in your chest to turn him away. But he keeps coming back, and your resolve keeps waning and waxing like the crescent moon.

It’s one such instance when you’re restocking the medical supplies like bandages and syringes, when Bucky creeps up on you, as you hum away to whatever song is stuck in your head. The infirmary is completely empty at this point, everyone retiring for the night seeing as there are currently no missions for any of the squad. As Head Nurse, you keep yourself in charge of supplies, diligently noting all the numbers by hand even when FRIDAY can do it for you just as well.

“Hey.” He breathes, you name entangled in the exhalation. You jump out of your skin, turning around and dropping the large box of gauze you hold, tiny plastic packets ricocheting off the floor. He’s leaning on the doorframe, but immediately pushes himself off, extending both hands toward you, as if to show you he’s unarmed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” His adorable face twists in concern, and when your soul finally finds its way back into your body, you let out a shaky laugh.

“It’s okay, James. I just thought I was all alone in here, and I didn’t hear you come in.” You kneel on the floor and start gathering the spilled items back on the floor, and he crouches to help you. Your hand brushes his vibranium one, and you pull away from the spark of electricity that jolts up your spine, but unbeknownst to you, Bucky reads the entire situation quite differently.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Your eyes flit up and meet his, the look in them indiscernible. What could he possibly want to talk to you about? You find yourself getting lost, stranded in the sea hues of his irises, and you stand up.

“To me? What about?” He too rises, and the height difference between you and him makes you swallow a gasp, marvelling at how much bigger he is than you.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asks, staring down at his hands facing palms up, his tone so soft it moves you. The space between your bodies has never felt bigger, and you itch to close it.

“No, of course not. Why would you think that?” You take a step in his direction, silently begging him to meet your eyes, no matter how distracting they are.

“Of my past. Are you sure? Not even a little?” You immediately pick up what he’s putting down, what the forlorn look in his eyes is referring to.

“No,” you assure him firmly, “I wouldn’t be scared of you for that. That wasn’t you. I— I don’t want to bring it up, but…you were used as a vessel for horrible evil. But that doesn’t mean you did it. That’s not who you are, James. Steve loves you, you guys have saved the world time and time again. He trusts you, so does everyone else in this building. Why would I be scared of that?” You tilt your head, searching his startled expression.

“Then why are you avoiding me?” He takes another step towards you, and all of a sudden it’s too short a distance and you take a step back, spine crashing against the shelves and in your haste almost miss the tortured look that paints across his features for a split second.

“I—um…You called me really pretty.” You decide to be truthful. He clearly didn’t expect those words to leave your mouth

“So you skip dinner?”

“What? I…I don’t skip. I just don’t like eating in front of people, and I’m quite busy. You know, being a nurse and all.” Your heart catches in your throat at the fact that maybe he’s figured you out. And it’s true, you don’t attend dinner with the rest of people in your building, and it really is because you don’t like eating in the presence of other people. But… he doesn’t need to know the rest.

“Sure. All three times a day?” You nod, unable to speak as your cheeks light themselves on fire.

“Oh, come on, just admit it. You’re afraid of me.” He lunges at you, but you don’t move. It’s not him you’re afraid of, just of how he makes you feel. You can’t explain that, it would just be embarrassing.

“I’m not. I already told you.” He’s so close it’s hard to focus when you can smell him and it makes your eyes erratically flutter at just how fucking good his cologne smells, stimulating pretty much all of your sense as you try to hold his gaze.

Has the colour blue always been so consuming?

“Then why is it that every time I come down here, you do everything in your power to avoid me, or to send me back as quick as humanly possible?” He cradles your head in his human hand, and the warmth radiating off of his body makes you melt.

“You called me pretty.” You repeat. “I thought you were making fun of me.”

The silence is deafening and you watch the gears in his pretty head turn as he formulates a reply. “I wasn’t. I meant it— I mean it.” You huff out a laugh, shaking it off. “Really, I wasn’t joking, or making fun of you. I mean it, I do think you’re really pretty. Respectfully.” The mild internet reference coaxes a smile out of you.

“Okay.”

“Come with me. I want to do something with you.” You blink at him incredulously and silently nod, and he grins and takes your hand. You try to not stumble over yourself at the way he’s touching you, or the way he looks when he smiles as he drags you to the kitchen.

It’s quite late at night, and it seems everyone is asleep. “Everyone’s off to do karaoke, or drinks or something. I don’t know, I didn’t ask.” You tug at your sleeves as he fiddles with something on the ridiculously large stove unsure of where to stand or what to do.

“You’re not a fan of large crowds, are you? Me neither. It’s always too loud and hot everywhere —Guess I’m just not like other girls.” He laughs at that, and you smile, the sardonic joke landing exactly as you intended.

When Bucky turns around, he’s holding two plates of food. “Now, apparently there’s this one really popular show I haven’t watched, I was wondering if you wanted to with me?” You stare at him, stomach grumbling at an embarrassing volume.

“Depends on what show it is.”

“I don’t really remember. It was supposed to be funny? Sam recommended it to me, it’s called Annabelle. Apparently, it’s about a girl and her doll?” A laugh escapes you before you can stop it.

“Is Sam already back to his tricks? James, Annabelle is a horror movie franchise where the main premise is some evil demon possesses a doll and wreaks havoc on whoever has it. It’s not funny, but you can laugh at it. Some of the VFX are horrible, and the jumpscares are cheap.”

“BFX?” He tilts his head to the side as you approach him, smiling at his childlike innocence.

“VFX. It stands for Visual effects, I’m pretty sure.” He processes your words, eyebrows furrowed so cutely you could cry and try to smooth it with your thumb.

“Oh. Well in that case you can choose. You like burgers, right? I asked FRIDAY what your go-to meal is, and she said you like them. I hope you don’t mind, I made them how I used to, before the world went to shit.” He offers you a meek smile, extending one plate to you, loaded to high heaven with fries that make your mouth water by smell alone. You take the plate, a beautiful sage green decorated with artistic splatters of darker hues, unable to say no.

“Oh. Yes, thank you. You didn’t have to do this, though.” You don’t look up to meet his eyes, too scared of what emotions dwell in them. He wishes you would though, wishes you would look at him longer than in five second bursts.

“I did. I thought maybe you’d like me a little more,” he chuckles ever so sadly and you finally grant him his secret wish. “What? I do like you, but just… we’ve already discussed it, and unfortunately the only time I’d see you is during meals. It’s not you, James. It’s me.” You move to sit down on the comfortable black couch situated in front of the ostentatiously massive TV screen, waiting for Bucky to join you.

“Then why do you call me James?” He sits awfully close to you, but you don’t mind. Not when it’s cold and he’s so warm. He stares down at you, once again silently begging you to meet his gaze.

“Your third day here, one trainee tried calling you Bucky. You berated him to high heaven and gave him a beating to match. He told me you don’t like people who aren’t close to you calling you Bucky. I don’t think I could survive a beating like that, to be honest.” You laugh, slowly beginning to eat, not worried for half a minute on his thoughts on the matter. He seems more focused on your words.

“You can call me Bucky, if you want. I don’t mind. You’re not a trainee, you’re the Head Nurse of this place, doll. Who would I be to deny the very woman who’ll patch me up the second I get a scratch?” He begins to dig into his food too, and to your joy, you’re not the one eating the most. Not that you’d shame him for it, how on Earth could you when you’ve been on the receiving end of it? But it’s nice to sit with someone who definitely won’t judge you.

“Okay…Bucky.” He smiles at you, bright and dazzling and you’re fucked. Completely, utterly, thoroughly fucked.

NEXT PART

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #x plus size reader #marvel

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seaswallovvme · 1 day

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I see you wanted some request... May i suggest Baldwin laying his head on reader's lap and sharing a romantic moment? Maybe reader reading some poetry for Balwin and some soft kissses in his gloved hand. Just if you want, of course.

Have a nice day ♡

Shallows

A/N: This is inspired by the song “Shallows” by Daughter just in case you wanna listen to it! Also the poem is a shortened version of “Anim Zemirot” which is a Jewish liturgical poem. I thought it fit nicely cause often the love we share with others brings us closer to God and sometimes God reflects in other people to bring out the best in us🤍

The stifling Jerusalem heat was something she would surely never get used to.

She was born in a place far from the holy land, raised in a land that was so far she doubted she’d ever see it again.

A land where snow would fall and cover the mountains and endless meadows in a thick coating of white.

Sometimes she missed her home which now seemed impossibly far away, and everything in her new home couldn’t have been more different.

The first few months she had cried a lot, she had been homesick to a point where she could hardly eat, unsure about her fate of being the new queen of the kingdom of heaven.

It was such a heavy weight that lasted upon her shoulders at such a young age.

It was burden that threatened to crush her whenever she would wake in the mornings and yet, when she thought the sun would never rise for her again, a single ray of light made its way into her heart.

Her husband had always been so gentle and patient with her, coaxing her out of her shell when she shut herself away, bringing a small tray of her favourite cakes and spiced tea into her room.

He was so gentle, so kind and fair and so different from what her mother had told her about the ways of men.

He was exactly what a king should be and there had been so many before him, older and more experienced too but their glory faded in comparison to Baldwin.

She had never minded that he was sick, a part of her hoping he would leave her alone to lament his fate and yet she found herself to be pleasantly surprised when he didn’t.

It had taken time for her to get used to his presence and the duties that came with being a queen but she would have been a fool to keep him on a distance forever.

She simply couldn’t.

Not when he would sit by the side of her bed when she refused to leave her chambers for the first week, not when he would never raise his voice or have any demands other than to at least try to give this new life a chance.

A hour of him sitting on the edge of her bed had soon turned into more.

Spending the evenings playing chess or visiting the gardens at sundown, talking of books from lands far away, myths and stories or battles that had been fought long ago.

She simply couldn’t keep this gentle and soft-spoken young man at arms length.

One night however he didn’t come to her chambers.

She waited for the sun to set but even then, no trace of him.

Perhaps he had grown tired of her stubbornness.

Perhaps he had grown tired of her self pity?

And how could he not?

His fate was much more agonising than hers, his existence was a matter of life and death every day, only alive and breathing by the grace of god.

She felt like a fool to cause such an ordeal in front of the man who suffered each day, bearing his cross yet being so kind to her.

She was tossing at turning in her bed.

It was hot and the silken sheets that wrapped around her body so softly even felt too heavy at this point, too hot, too tight.

It was no use crying now, she decided chewing on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully while slowly climbing out of her bed.

The marble floor was pleasantly cold underneath her bare feet as she slipped through the darkened hallways of the palace, quiet as a cat, a burning candle in one hand a book in the other.

She knew the way to Baldwins chambers.

He had shown her on the first day she arrived, explaining she would be welcome at any time of day or night no matter the reasoning.

And this reasoning was very important, she was sure.

She would head inside and apologise.

She would apologise and ask if she could read to him the way he had read to her so often.

She would say how sorry she was for being so ignorant and selfish, how she was sure she would do her very best from now on to be a proper queen and wife.

However as soon as she knocked softly and slipped past the guards with an apologetic smile the words died in her throat.

His chambers were dimly lit by candles, a faint trace of sandal wood lingering in the air.

Here it was cooler than elsewhere in the palace, to help his weary lungs breathe.

He was laying in bed, on his back.

His hands were freshly bandaged, his face too now that he was not wearing a mask and she could smell the herbal ointments.

Quietly she stepped closer but still he noticed her, raising his head as his eyes widened and she was sure had never seen a man this worried in her life.

“I am so truly sorry I was not able to visit you my beautiful darling”

When he spoke she had to step even closer to hear his voice, so soft and quiet that it easily could have passed as a hushed wind.

“I have developed a fever, nothing grave yet my physicians refuse to let me leave my chambers” he explained, a sorrowful look on his face.

“I had sent for a servant to inform you about the situation..did no one tell you at all?”

In that moment all of her hesitance, fear and standoffish thoughts melted away and instead her heart soared with an unfamiliar feeling.

It had first started faintly in her stomach when he would offer her his arm in the gardens a while ago but this was a much more intense feeling.

So intense it almost hurt yet in such a strangely beautiful way and she could feel the tears stinging in her eyes.

“Please do not apologise..it is I who should tell you how sorry I am” her voice was a mere whisper, strained and she licked her lips to wet them before slowly climbing into his bed, so careful not to hurt him.

She looked up, facing the guards by the door.

“Please leave us”

She rarely ever addressed them but now she did, her timid voice so loud against the quiet of his chambers that it nearly startled her.

Baldwin seemed curious by the way she was behaving and even more so when she spoke again as soon as the guards had left and closed the heavy door behind them.

“I want to apologise” she started quietly but her voice got more sure the more she spoke.

“I want to apologise for having been so difficult when I know you are feeling much worse than I. I have never wanted to be a burden to you or make your days more difficult than they are already”

When she had first started talking she avoided his gaze but now she looked at him, truly, for the first time ever and despite the fact she could only see his eyes she knew underneath the bandages he was smiling.

“An angel sent from heaven could never be a burden to me” he whispered back, reaching out to place his bandages hand on hers so very softly.

Her vision became blurry with tears and yet she smiled, gently squeezing his hand back and oh how she thanked the almighty to have given her a husband as gentle and righteous as hers.

She slipped underneath the covers, nuzzling into him hoping he could forgive her but the way he held her close made her feel like there was nothing to forgive at all.

After a short while they had settled in comfortably and now it was her turn to return all the affection, love and care he had showered her with in the last few weeks.

His head was heavy, resting in her lap and his eyes were shut as she gently traced her fingers over his bandages face, every now and then raising his hand to her lips to kiss it.

A fever was always worse at night but she hoped her presence would bring him at least a small sense of comfort, even if it was the least she could do.

Her plan however seemed to work just fine, his breathing slower, less laboured and his limbs had relaxed, his free arm wrapped around her as if he were scared she would leave.

She wouldn’t, never again.

“Would you like me to read to you? I finished one of the books you gifted me and when I read one poem I was reminded of you” she admitted, somewhat glad the dimly lit room disguised the flushing cheeks that came with how she hated herself emotionally.

She wasn’t worried he would make fun of her though, he never had made her feel uncomfortable and now it was on her to make him feel just as safe.

His response was a faint nod and a whisper, his blue eyes opening and he looked at her with so much adoration that she could feel her heart ache once more

“Yes please..”

She was eager to comply, not wasting a second she straightened up a little, opening the book she had brought, flipping through the pages until she found what she had been looking for.

With care she tilted the book in a way for the torches on the walls to hit the paper in a way that would make it possible for her to read.

When she did, her voice was quiet and she made no pause, only rubbing his hand through the bandages.

The way he squeezed her hand back made her stomach flutter, sure that he could feel her touch.

“Melodies I weave, songs I sweetly sing; longing for Your Presence, to You I yearn to cling.

In Your shelter would my soul delight to dwell, to grasp Your mystery, captured by Your spell.

Thus I glorify You in speech as in song, declaring with my love: to You do I belong.

The scope of your greatness and he marvel of Your strength are reflected in Your actions all described at length.

Youth and force in battle, old age on judgment day; like a seasoned warrior, with strength He clears the way.

He wears triumph as a helmet on His head, His power and holiness have stood Him in good stead.

May my prayer rise to the Creator of the miracle of birth, Master of beginnings whose might and justice fill the earth.

May You find sweet and pleasing my prayer and my songs; my soul goes out in yearning, for You alone it longs.”

Silence stretched out near torturously when she had finished reading and neither of them said a word.

She felt embarrassed all of the sudden, awkward having read a poem filled with devotion and yearning such as this, both for him and for God but when she looked down into his face all of those feelings faded.

His eyes were open, glossy with adoration and a sheer layer of tears and she could have sworn she had never seen a sight this beautiful.

No matter the illness, no matter the bandages and physical fragility that seemed to drain him, none of that could take his beauty away.

His voice broke when he spoke and she was so taken aback it took her a moment to recognise his words were a quote from the poem she had read

“..declaring with my love: to You do I belong..this poem is about the Lord is it not?”

She smiled faintly, shutting the book as she placed it down on the small table next to the bed.

“It is..it reminded me of you. Of how brave and good you are and I cannot help but feel as if the Lord wanted us to cross paths. Your love turns me into a better person Baldwin. When I am with you I feel as close to him as I have ever felt before”

His hand squeezed hers just a little tighter and he took a deep breath before he continued

“Sometimes I cannot comprehend the Heavenly Father and his mysterious ways. I used to think my illness was a way for him to punish me, scorn me for my sins but how could I ever doubt his justness, his everlasting grace and love when he granted me the time I get to spend with you?”

#PLEASE be nice to me😭#i’m sensitive #and this is my first piece of writing of him #I really hope you like it #baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven #king baldwin iv

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chilling-seavey · 1 day

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Even Out of View (pg10, eo31)

↳ A/N I took so much creative freedom with this request from my 1.5k celebration, straying quite far from the modern-vibes song, but once I get a WW1 idea in my head, I can't say no. (Plus shoutout to my girl @starlightiing for not only submitting this request but also helping me to broaden my writing to include different interests, such as undertones of cardiophilia iykyk lolol)

↳ Inspired By: 'Beating Heart Baby' by Head Automatica

↳ Pairings: WW1!FrenchArmy!Pierre x WW1!WarCriminal!Esteban

↳ Word Count: 1824

↳ Warnings: Active historical war setting, some minor descriptions of heart related things, military crimes and their historically accurate punishments, descriptions of execution

Pierre’s footfalls echoed through the abandoned house as he ascended the rickety staircase to the second storey. His muddy boots thudded across the creaking hardwood floors with each step, his rucksack clanking ungracefully against the walls of the narrow upstairs hallway in his rush, past lived-in rooms with their furniture and once-loved belongings coated in layers of dust and gunpowder. All he could hear was his breathing, echoing in his mind, the thudding of his heart and the rush of blood loud in his ears.

He reached the door at the end of the cramped hallway in no time, the bullet holes in the wood overlooked by him in the world that had long since numbed him to the shock of war. Thrusting it open with an unattractive creak, Pierre was met by the sight of a tiny bedroom with a lanky figure sitting on the side of a single bed that was clearly built for a small child. The juxtaposition was a cruel mirth: a reminder of where they came from and the way war ripped their childhoods out of their hands far too soon.

The commotion of Pierre’s entrance had Esteban slowly turning his head to see who entered, keeping his hands folded with his forearms resting on his knees. His face stayed stagnant, pale, even when he noticed who it was. The sight of his expression sent a chill down Pierre’s spine.

“Este-” Pierre’s dry voice caught in his throat and he cleared it quickly before rushing closer, slinging his rifle from his shoulder to let it clatter to the grimy floorboards. In one smooth motion, Pierre helped himself to the side of the small bed beside his friend, his wide blue eyes dead focused on Esteban’s stone expression.

Esteban hung his head, shutting his eyes tightly.

“Esteban, how could you?” Pierre spoke as gently as he could, resting a firm hand on his forearm. He squeezed.

“Go away.” Esteban replied firmly, although his volume was quiet.

Pierre’s concerned expression faltered for a moment, eyes jumping all over Esteban’s face before he answered, “No, why would you want me to go away? In a moment like this?”

Esteban unclasped his fingers and shoved Pierre’s hand off his arm, “I am to be shot at dawn, Pierre, I don’t particularly want to sit here with you and make small talk. I want to be alone.”

Pierre swallowed thickly at his comrade’s bluntness and he turned his body to face forward too so they were sat perfectly parallel, side by side on the little bed with blue gingham sheets. Silence rested heavily on the dust coated room and the soldiers’ shoulders. Across from them, the ripped wallpaper was tacked with a few children’s drawings – or, at least the few drawings that weren’t shot to smithereens – and many of them housed colourful scribbles of stick figure men amongst red, white, and blue. Messy juvenile printing scrawled ‘Vive la France’ and ‘Pour le drapeau! Pour la victoire!’ on the parchment above the subjects.

The nationalistic phrases written proudly by the hand of a likely now deceased French child stared tauntingly back at the two of them.

Long Live France

For the Flag! For Victory!

None of this felt like they were heading towards victory.

Pierre’s shoulders sank, glancing around the abandoned bedroom of some unnamed child. They were supposed to be fighting for the children of France, for their future, for their country, and now, with the world in peril, Esteban was now to be treated as the enemy by his own people.

Despite Esteban’s firm request to be left alone, Pierre spoke up quietly, alerting him gently as if he were a grenade about to go off, “I can’t leave you. I’m your night watch.”

Esteban looked over at him again, eyebrows furrowed, words thick with angst, “Why are you my night watch?”

“I offered…I asked the Lieutenant.” Pierre answered, “I just…I needed to see you.”

He swallowed thickly, blinking back the dampness in his eyes that came with the weight of their hellish reality. He wanted to say more to him: to say that he was worried sick about him when he didn’t return to the trenches a fortnight ago, to say that when he heard he was captured by the military police and was to be tried for desertion Pierre first felt relief, to say that after such a short lifetime together he couldn’t stomach the idea of living without him…of going back out there to the battlefields without him.

But, instead, the silence spoke enough. Esteban simply nodded once.

What else was there to say when he was to be facing his execution in less than twelve hours?

If it were anyone sent to keep an eye on him over night, he was damn glad it was Pierre.

As if that thought physically pained him, Esteban rested his elbows on his knees again and hid his face in his grimy hands. His blue uniform jacket was caked in mud until it looked almost brown and the sweat and blood of the enemy that he was drenched it flattened his midnight black hair across his forehead. Pierre didn't look much better.

Pierre just stared at him like that, wanting to ask so many questions and say so many things.

“I know you don’t want anything to do with me,” Pierre stumbled out, “but, can you let me in your arms just for tonight?”

When Esteban lifted his face from his hands, his mud-stained cheeks were streaked in tears.

He nodded.

Pierre’s heart leapt in his chest at the unexpected agreement and he hurried to shuffle off his rucksack and his utility belt to drop them to the floor before Esteban could change his mind. The tiny metal bed creaked and groaned under the two grown men as they arranged themselves in a hesitant mess of uniformed limbs.

Always the braver, bolder, more assertive of the two, Esteban cuddled up under Pierre’s arm like a weak child. Branded as a coward and a traitor to his country Esteban had just wanted a break. A break from the war, the cries of agony, the death. Here, now, in this abandoned house in the French countryside, in the country they were raised in together, they finally felt a moment of peace for the first time in a long time.

Pierre’s chest shuttered through his calming inhale as he familiarized himself with their newfound position, chest to chest with Esteban, his arms wrapped around his taller comrade. He could feel his rapid heartbeat against his own, the two of them a frantic mess of anxiety and unspoken uncertainties. In a world of darkness and fear and death, the feeling of Esteban’s heartbeat was a reminder of life, of love, of hope.

The two of them kept their eyes screwed shut as if silently willing themselves to be taken back to their childhood town on the beach where summers were joyful and the air was filled with laughter and they raced each other on their bicycles down cobblestone streets. Just like those summer days, their hearts beat firmly in steady time, rapid from exertion and the good company of familiarity.

As the sun set below the horizon to the distant sound of cannons and shells and gunfire, the two men stayed tangled together on that little blue bed. Their heartrates slowed as they held each other, finding a calming rhythm against each other beat by beat. Everything was uncertain – life was uncertain – but them always finding each other? That was always certain.

“In spite of all this, I still love all of you.” Pierre breathed into the night, trying to keep his voice from shaking with subconscious awareness of what the morning would hold, “I do…and I always will.”

Esteban’s hand tightened on the back of Pierre’s matching blue uniform jacket. His heart skipped a beat.

In the morning, they were woken by the officer in charge and two assisting men. Esteban was firmly yanked out of bed by the men of his same rank, each with a stone-like grip on his biceps as they nearly dragged him down the narrow hallway and towards the stairs. Pierre barely had a chance to grab his belongings before he was rushing after them, boots pounding down the flimsy staircase and out into the damp spring morning. It was so cold he could see his panting breath.

He wanted to call out for Esteban as the men let go of him outside of the abandoned house they had slept in that night, letting him fall clumsily to his hands and knees.

“On your feet, Private.” The commanding officer ordered, standing in front of a line of eleven soldiers all armed with their rifles.

As Esteban brought himself to his feet on trembling legs, he looked over at Pierre only a yard away. The officer followed his gaze.

With a cock of his head, the officer called out to Pierre next, “Over here, Gasly, open your rifle.”

Esteban and Pierre both looked at the officer as if he were completely out of his mind.

“Sir-” Pierre started as calmly as he could muster, trying to decline the order.

“We need a dozen men, Private, don’t make me ask again.”

If he argued, he would be put up there against the wall with him, he knew. With a curt nod to his superior, Pierre joined the lineup.

He was supplied three bullets to load into his empty rifle and he loaded it with trembling fingers before clicking his weapon back into place. His red rimmed blue eyes rose to Esteban’s figure standing in front of the stone wall of the house in which they shared their last night together. Out of everyone in that lineup, Esteban’s gaze was locked solely on Pierre.

Esteban was offered a blindfold. He declined.

On the order, the firing squad raised their rifles. Twelve rifles pointed at Esteban.

Pierre had killed a lot of men since the start of the war. He had more blood on his hands than in his body, one might argue. Killing Germans was easy. But this?

Pierre could hardly hear over the ringing in his ears, the rapid thump, thump, thump of his heart enough to drown out the officer’s pitch for Esteban’s final words.

Through the deafening noise, he barely heard Esteban’s voice cutting across the misty spring dawn, words off-set from the movement of his mouth as Pierre stared at him, “I defend France with honour and glory.”

Esteban’s dark eyes never wavered from Pierre’s baby blues, staring at him right through the rifle that was pointed directly at him. He raised his hand to set over his heart, a silent reminder of the rhythm they shared so closely the night before and all those years back home. Pierre swallowed the lump in his throat.

Finally, the commanding officer gave his order, “Fire at will, gentlemen.”

Pierre shut his eyes and pulled the trigger.

"You want nothing to do with me, I don't know what to do with you, Cause you don't know what you do to me. Baby is this love for real? Let me in your arms to feel The beating of your heart, baby."

#emilys 1.5k celebration!#1031 #pierresteban #pierre gasly #esteban ocon #pierre and esteban #f1 fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #pierresteban fic #ww1 #f1 au #esteban ocon imagine #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fic #eo31 #pg10 #alpine f1

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intimidating-fettuccine · 1 day

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here's a question that has probably been asked before: how did you come up with you rewrites for the characters? all of the backstories you gave them are really interesting and, while I haven't read the originals in a long time, I think I like what you did more. I found your work only in the past couple days, but I like it a lot; your versions of the creeps feel the most like real people that I've found since my interest in them reignited. but yeah, love your work.

(also, I may show back up in your ask box, so may I be "embroidery anon"?)

Firstly, thank you very much!! I tried really hard to make them much more realistic/three dimensional instead of just “oohhh I like to kill people!!” Ya know? I’m glad that people like you over time have liked that aspect of them :)) Prepare for some rambling though-

As for coming up for their specific backstories, that’s a little hard to answer I think just because of how long it’s been since I started doing that. I’ve been into the creeps since I was 11 and I’m turning 23 in a couple weeks so, it’s been a long ride. The creeps grew up alongside me and I think for some of them their stories just sort of evolved in my mind over the years. I mean I’ve literally been in the fandom for longer than several creeps like Toby, Pup, Helen, etc.

The basics are just I’d look at the original story for most of them, decide what I think I could keep, and what I’d like to change. For a creep like Toby, I wanted him to still have a good relationship with his mom and sister, and I still wanted his sister to die, but for Natalie I made her brother an ally to her and someone she loves and trusts instead of one of the bad guys. But I mostly wanted to make the writing darker and more in depth, I wanted them to be darker and more realistic as people.

I also wanted different backgrounds for them, like Toby/Helen/Natalie coming from very rich and influential families, EJ in my canon growing up in a cult, Jason and LJ both being toys instead of just LJ, things like that.

The thing about rewriting them I think is that most of the OG stories are not… The best written stories ever? Most of them were written by preteens/teens and not the most realistic pieces of media. Like in Jeff’s, being burned by fire made his hair turn black and his skin turn white, which is not really how fire and burns work?? And then he went on to burn off his eyelids which also not a great idea? I’ve actually had people get upset that my Jeff has eyelids but like if he didn’t he would be completely blind and in literal agony because his eyes would be completely dried out. That’s not a great design imo, but it was also written by a child so like, that’s why.

Most of my designs just sort of pop into my head randomly though. I get an idea like for BEN I wanted him to be close to his mom, but I didn’t want her to still be living so I went okay, how do I expand on that? And that’s how I came up with my version of his story, with his mom dying young from illness and his father being abusive and resentful.

I wish I had a better way of explaining it but that’s just sort of my general thought process. I started to look at them more as individual characters/OCs instead of just the original lore, which I mean most blogs for the creeps these days have their own lore too. I don’t think my creeps are the best ones ever (except in my heart), but I also had a lot of fun writing them and coming up with their backgrounds. I got influenced a lot by songs and media and they just gradually came into fruition :) I’m glad they were good enough to reignite your interest.

(And also yes, you may take that anon name ^^)

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scrvletwitch · 3 days

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Brazilian!Rhaenicent - Headcanons

- Alicent Hightower and Rhaenyra Targaryen would actually be named: Alice Torres and Rafaella Trindade.

- Them both would be from different states! in my head if we fit westeros in certain brazilian states i think oldtown/the reach would be Minas Gerais and Kings Landing/Dragonstone would be São Paulo and Rio. So Alicent would be from Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais and Rhaenyra would be from Rio!

- Alicent would study in a federal university (which are Brazil’s ivy leagues), and i can see her studying letras (english/lit) or journalism. As for Rhaenyra she would go to a private university to study economics and business, but i also can see Rhaenyra trying her best to get into Brazils aerospace engineering (ITA).

- Alicent loves to read and her favorite authors are Guimarães Rosa, Clarice Lispector and Hilda Hilst (she also loves with the bottom of her heart Machado de Assis and Lygia Fagundes Telles), and also loves books about Brazil’s (and the worlds) history and books that has that journalistic vein. Rhaenyra wouldn’t be that much into books, she would like one or another, but Alicent would make her a reader because of her recommendations (poetry is one of the genres that grows a lot inside Rhaenyra especially Carlos Drummond de Andrade and Hilda Hilst).

- they curse. a lot. it’s always a “puta que pariu”, “caralho” and “vai tomar no cu”.

- Alicent loves to use her film camera, especially when they do road trips. Rhaenyra is always buying her lots of films and a new camera to support her hobbies (she also books little trips and vacations and outdoors dates just to see alicent taking pictures).

- Both of them would LOVE mpb and bossa nova, it would be their go to songs for everything. Alicent would be a big fan of Milton Nascimento, Gal Costa, Djavan, Marisa Monte and Ana Carolina, and Rhaenyra would be a big fan of Secos e Molhados, Rita Lee, Jorge Ben and Belchior.

- Still talking about music, their biggest guilty pleasure would be funk, Rhaenyra would love the explicit lyrics and the beat but she wouldn’t know how to dance… even though alicent doesn’t like it very much she knows how to dance and knows her way when the song starts to play

- beach dates! beach dates! beach dates! (and also camping and going to visit the natural beauties that exist like waterfalls, caves and many others)

- As two good brazilians they would love football and they would be serious about it, especially in the world cup! (they saw Brazils and Germanys game in 2014 and still haunts them). Alicent would support Cruzeiro Esporte Clube from Minas Gerais, and Rhaenyra would support Vasco da Gama from Rio de Janeiro.

- Rhaenyra would be very into football. like super into it. in an annoying level. she would even play back in high school and at college, later she would play for fun or at the beach.

- Alicent wouldn’t do sports until she was in high school, she did ballet but in her first year of hs she rebelled and tried out to the volleyball team (she is actually very good and very competitive).

- Alicent is a big fan of soap operas, and rhaenyra teases her because of it (she watches with her and is even more interested than alicent sometimes).

- them both would love the bohemian, bossa nova pubs and enjoy a good caipirinha, cold beer and delicious food (and also xeque mate!).

- they would smoke normal cigarettes but also wouldn’t pass the opportunity to smoke a paiol/palheiro (a cigarette made out of straw with tobacco).

#rhaenicent #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen

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tizniz · 3 days

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@actualalligator privately asked for the prompt "34. odd socks"

And she also asked for Daddy & Roo (which I am HONOURED for by the way because she knows I adore Roo) - and if y'all don't know what that is, go check out Al's stuff on A03.

Tagging @theotherbuckley because she adores Roo too :)

Eddie looks up from the laundry he’s folding when he hears the sound of soft footsteps approaching him. Buck stops beside him, Leo Shark clutched in his hand an adorable look of confusion scrunching up his nose and brow. “Hi, Roo.” “Hi, Daddy.” Buck looks from the pile of clothes to Eddie, “What’re you doing?” “Folding the laundry.” Buck’s nose wrinkles further, “Why?” Eddie laughs, tugging Buck down onto the couch beside him, kissing the wrinkled nose, which has Buck giggling in delight, “Because.” “That’s not an answer, Daddy.”

“Because I’m an adult, and sometimes, I have to do adult things.” Eddie explains; he doesn’t mention that Buck had promised he’d get to it today after their shift. But they’d come home and Buck had almost immediately dropped after a rough shift, so after waking up from their nap, Eddie had decided to let Buck be little and take over the adult tasks for his partner. “That doesn’t sound fun.” “It can be.” “How?” “Well…” Eddie reaches for a sock and holds it up, “I have to match up our socks. Want to help?” Buck lights up, the little boy inside of him clearly delighted at being asked to help with such an adult task, and Eddie’s heart warms at the sight. “Really?!” “Yup.” Eddie hands him the sock, this one has a bunch of fried eggs on it, “Find this one’s missing partner, okay?” After carefully placing Leo Shark down beside them on the couch, and giving him stern instructions to stay there because this is not for little sharks, Buck slips off the couch and onto the floor in front of the coffee table. Then he takes the sock from Eddie’s hand and starts searching for it’s missing partner. They continue on in mostly silence, Buck humming a song Eddie thinks is from Paw Patrol and then occasionally releasing sounds of triumph when he finds a matching pair of socks. It makes the task go by much quicker, and Eddie finishes the rest of the laundry until there’s only socks left. But eventually, they’re left with a pile of mismatched socks. Odd socks. “Daddy.” Buck picks up one sock that has Christmas trees on it and then another that has dinosaurs on skateboards on it. Honestly, Eddie isn’t even sure where most of these have come from. “Yeah, Roo?” Eddie rolls together a pair of black socks that are similar enough in shade to be matched up together before tossing them over into the complete pile. “We have odd socks.” Eddie rests his hands on his thighs and leans forward, assessing the pile in front of them. Except it’s not so much a pile anymore, since Buck has laid all the socks out so they’re various colours and patterns can be seen easily. “I think you’re right, mi vida.” “What are we going to do?” Buck asks, tilting his head back to look up at Eddie, blinking those blue eyes with childlike innocence. Eddie can’t help to reach over and brush his fingers through Buck’s curls, smiling at the way his partner leans into the touch. “I don’t want them to be lonely.” “Then…” Eddie glances back at the socks, “We’ll match up odd socks.” “Huh?” Eddie takes the Christmas tree socks from Buck’s hand and holds it up, “What goes with Christmas trees? Dinos on skateboards?” Buck giggles brightly, shaking his head, “No, Daddy!” “Then…” He grabs a random blue sock, “This one?” “No!” “Alright, alright,” Eddie chuckles, discarding the blue sock, “Pick a sock, Roo. What goes with the Christmas trees?” With a look of utter concentration, Buck searches the pile of socks until he selects one that has the face of a chihuahua on it. Eddie briefly wonders where in the world that came from before pushing the thought aside as Buck holds it out, grinning broadly at Eddie. “This one, Daddy.” Eddie holds it and the Christmas tree sock up side by side, as if assessing it. “You’re absolutely right, Roo. These are the perfect odd socks to go together.” Buck nods and takes the socks, carefully rolling them together before adding them to the completed pile. “What one next?” And that’s how they finish the rest of the laundry, by matching up odd socks together.

Send me a soft prompt for a drabble

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #buddie drabble #911 drabble #nsap #al 🐊

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