ao3 turns 16 today.
reblog if you’re older than archive of our own
(This is absolutely most likely not accurate to any of these characters mentioned nor is the Scottish accent, this was just for fun. Been reading to much cod fics lately lol)
The huge cathedral doors swing open. Pure sunlight comes gushing in, hitting the dust covered marble floors. Candles, so many candles lay everywhere. Some upright and lit, others melted until all that’s left was a hardened puddle of wax.
His gun, held in position, his stance steady and ready, practically daring for someone to rush out at him. He’d blow their bloody head clean through.
Swiveling his head, scouting. Observing and taking note of the dried blood that stains the disgusting marble floors. A trail of it showing the proper makings of something or someone was dragged. Most likely dead or unconscious by the neat solid line it carved. His eyes travel along. His heart pounding in his ears, as he prays silently to not find what he is assuming the worse of.
The long lancet windows boarded up or covered by thick red fabric. A stage of marble, the stairs leading up to the flat top of it, a small figure. Ropes tethering a small beings arms up as it kneels on the cold hard floor.
A sudden “Shit,” leaves him, muffled by the mask and scarf over his lower face.
His thoughts running in and out. Wondering what sick fuck would be okay with doing this, especially to…to a child. His breath became rapid. His anger clawing at his throat like a wild animal in a cage. ‘Fuck, get yourself together. The kid ’s prob'ly terrified and hurt…’ He let’s out a long sigh through his nose.
He slowly comes closer to the child, making sure not to startle the thing. The child’s hair is long, and dark. Or so he assumes, the lighting from the door doesn’t reach far enough for him to truly tell.
He slowly descents to his knees, tilting his head towards the child to hear if it was breathing. It is, just barely, as soft little gasps leave it. Although, it’s definitely unconscious and most likely sick. It’s fucking freezing in here and all the poor thing has on is what looks like a gown. The ones you’d see the whatever poor girl who was captured or some shit, being offered as a sacrifice in older movies. It only fueled the flames of his anger and disgust for the fucking cultists he and his crew had just raided. His boys did a good job gettin’ rid of them.
Gently, he wraps his left arm around the child. 'Christ, the thing is just skin and bones.’ His nose crinkled at the new revolution. He pulls out a knife from his thigh. Cutting the ropes. The child falling and slumping against his chest as he catches it.
“ 'ey Cap'n, where are ye?”
A voice with a very prominent and thick scottish accent comes through the earpiece.
Raising his hand to his neck, it was slightly shaking as he pushed the button on the chocker.
“I’m in the church. Found a kid…need to get it warm, and soon. Coming out now.” His gruff voice still muffled by the mask but loud and clear into the mic. He let’s his hand drop. Only to wrap it around the other side of the child. A small wheezing comes out.
“Let’s get you out, kiddo…” he whispers. He starts to feel the beginnings of concern seep in.
The sun finally hitting both of their bodies. Looking down at the child, he couldn’t help but flinch. One of its eyes, looks like it was clawed out, the other swollen shut. Angery and puffy reds and purples. 'Bloody hell…’ Relief filled him at the fact that he took this mission.
He unwraps his scarf, wrapping it around the little thing instead. A strong wave of needing to protect this child crashes through his bones. The need to help. Especially when he didn’t have it.
He would get this kid to safety. He will.
Scuffs of boots, many to be in fact can be heard walking towards him.
“ Cap! How’s the little bugge-…” The man with a scruffy mohawk let’s out a chocked sound. He gazes at the kid, the blood covering it. Noticing little cuts all up its thin almost bone skinny arms. Gaz, froze. A dear in head lights. Only his blinking in horror gave him away. The man with the mohawk slowly glancing back up at him. Saddnes blanketing his blue eyes.
“Price…” A huge man in a skull mask warned. About what? He didn’t know. But the taller man’s eyes told him. Told him that- Shaking his head. He’d rather not think about that right now.
—TBC?? MAYBE?? Nah, most likely not but, if you enjoyed or have any advice do leave a note :]
-dope
Home Again
TW/CW: ex-husband Simon, kidnapping, violence, emotional heartbreak, sexual content
You left quietly, not because you thought it would be kinder, but because you didn’t know how to look him in the eye and say the words out loud without shattering into pieces yourself.
There was no fight, no screaming, no moment of dramatic confrontation, and maybe that was the cruelest part of it all, that the end of your marriage came not with fire, but with silence. You told yourself it wasn’t out of malice, that you weren’t doing it to hurt him, that you were simply trying to protect yourself from the endless ache that came from waiting, from watching the days turn into weeks and the weeks into months while he was always somewhere else, always on some mission you couldn’t even ask about.
You didn’t want to admit how heavy the loneliness had become, how hollow the house felt without him, how much of your life had become about holding yourself together while pretending you were fine.
So one day, instead of waiting for him to come home again, instead of waiting for another apology you already knew was rehearsed in his head before he even opened his mouth, you packed your bags in the quiet of the morning.
You didn’t slam doors or leave lights on; you folded your clothes neatly, zipped up your suitcase, and let the house keep its silence. The only sound you left behind was the faint scratch of pen against paper as you wrote a note that felt like a betrayal even as your hand shook over the words.
You told him you were sorry, you told him you wished it could have been different, and you told him that he deserved someone stronger, someone more patient than you had been, someone who could wait without feeling abandoned. You told him you needed someone who was present, who would sit beside you at the table and sleep next to you at night instead of disappearing into the shadows of a world you could never follow him into.
“The weird words.”
This, idk; a feeling is what occurred to create whatever I just wrote. But in the end, I at least didn’t come up with the word “egg” as an insult. (No shame. It’s quite a lovely word to hurl at fellow homo-sapiens who deserve it :D)
Think of it from a younger pov? Idek man; welp, constructive criticism is always welcome 🙏 🤗
Dear diary,
Today, I read a poem I found in fathers library. It’s meaning; a warning. It’s words strung together into rhythm; a purposeful rhyme.
Meant; meaning, definition. It’s very existence created to lure and gather, I believe. The letters organized into a sequence of sound.
It mentions the man one should be wary of. It mentions how everything-even the weather- has eyes and ears like me!
Let me recite it to you;
“Walls have ears.
Doors have eyes.
Trees have voices.
Beasts tell lies.
Beware the rain.
Beware the snow.
Beware the man you think you know.”
But….I can’t seem to understand. Why?
Why must this person be wary of the man they know? What do they know, that we don’t? In my opinion, it’s just silly nonsense. If they know something; instead of being vague like a soothsayer widow. Just, tell us. Tell us why.
Why have us-or well me, I suppose-left feeling like we are counting the stars on our fingers and toes!?
I think father has some weird books. And those books have even weirder book people who wrote them.
But oh well, it was fun to read it. I like fathers library. Even if it has weird books with even weirder words in it.
When you stand there. Your anger feels like it’s boiling. It’s stewing. It’s in your throat. Every movement only adds to this bomb, it’s only a matter of time. Every breath becomes harder to inhale. Tears gathering, threatening to fall like a leave only hanging on by a small part of the stem. Your face flushed. The tips of your ears tingle. Prickle along with the lump start8ng to form even more. They yell, and yell and yell. Yet you’ve cut their voices out but not those words. Sure. You may have been there at the scene but it wasn’t your fault. It was self defense, you were only trying to protect yourself and the others who were either to afraid or far to weak to do it themselves. But, here you are being reprimanded for the thing you’ve been told to do your whole life…it’s not your fault you were born with a scary face. It’s not your fault your older sibling(s) were troubled makers. That doesn’t define you and yet it does. These people don’t know you. These people make assumptions based on past knowledge. You can’t blmaw them for that. But you can blame them for not trying to see your side…its not your fault that kid was so scrawny. Its that kids fault for thinking he had the privileges to prey on the weak…
Don’t listen to them…I know the truth. You are a hero…those insignificant cowards don’t know what they’re even talking about…they were just as scared as the kids you decided to protect…you did beautifully my boy…you were gloriously victorious…so dry those tears. They don’t deserve them.
“The voice of truth‽¿”
By-B1ka φ(．．)
why was tio laffin | ATSV SHITPOST
THIS IS SO DUMB. BUT I HEARD THIS AUDIO TOO MANY TIMES TO NOT ANIMATE IT
🤣🤣
Thinking about the way Kageyama was the first tall, tall wall to ever loom over Hinata. How his name literally means shadowed mountain, and Hinata has to bike across a mountain every single day just to get to school. Thinking about how Kageyama was the one who gave Hinata wings to fly with, while also being the last obstacle standing in his way. The final boss. The one Hinata has worked hard all these years to defeat, so he can finally get the view from the top. So they can stand at the top, together.
Gorgeously said 😭🤌❤️
“This is your daily, friendly reminder to use commas instead of periods during the dialogue of your story,” she said with a smile.
“Unless you are following the dialogue with an action and not a dialogue tag.” He took a deep breath and sat back down after making the clarifying statement.
“However,” she added, shifting in her seat, “it’s appropriate to use a comma if there’s action in the middle of a sentence.”
“True.” She glanced at the others. “You can also end with a period if you include an action between two separate statements.”
Things I didn’t know
“And–” she waved a pen as though to underline her statement–“if you’re interrupting a sentence with an action, you need to type two hyphens to make an en-dash.”
You guys have no idea how many students in my advanced fiction workshop didn’t know any of this when writing their stories.
Reblog to save a life