after the war is over and the uncles are all dust

mirandatam  asked:

Hm... something about Rey and the ghost of Shmi Skywalker?

Rey is 273 days on Jakku when the woman with the dark eyes and the faint lines around her eyes bends down, and helps her wash the dust and debris from a hyperspace drive port. (Two and a half portions, never let it be said that Rey doesn’t know her worth.) “There,” the woman says, and when she smiles the lines around her eyes carve even deeper. When Rey drags the brush over the drive port, no sand kicks up. “Shiny and new. Go on, now—you can’t let him run out of portions.”

“’m Rey,” Rey says, breathless, clutching the port to her chest.

“Go!” the woman says, and Rey runs. She gets in line just in time to get the last three portions from Unkar. But when tries to find the woman after—

The sand is empty of sentients, and no one seems to know the human woman with dark hair, darker eyes, not even when Rey wanders among the camps and asks for her. Rey is only 273 days, and hungry, and so she eats there, squatted down in the sand outside someone’s tent—scarfing down half-mixed portions because she’s dizzy with starving, and she can’t wait. If the dark-haired woman wanted some, she should have been easier to find.

Rey sleeps that night full—or, at least, what she thinks is full—and dreams of a wattle-and-daub hut, and a woman with dark hair, dark eyes, laughing. The woman’s son sits with sun-bleached hair, his mouth is skewed as he works on a droid to help his mother with the customers that come. Rey helps too, and when he smiles at her, it feels like coming-home.

They are so happy, and Rey wakes crying, even though that is water she cannot afford to lose.


“No, not that one,” the woman says, and Rey drops the part like it burns her hand to touch. She whirls around, and there is the woman with the dark eyes, dark hair. She’s smiling, a little bemusedly, at Rey, at the specific part Rey was trying to extract from the mess of decay and rust.

“What’s wrong with it?” Rey demands. She is six hundred and seven days now, and she thought—

“Navigation systems are fiddly,” the woman says, stepping towards her, and then she is there, close enough for Rey to touch, to—“Biologic growth damages them first, interferes with the electro-magnetic signaling. This has—” she grunts, and the part comes away in her hand. “This has overgrown. It’s not worth installing again, it’ll just send the ship off-course trying to follow all those awful fractals.”

“What good does that do me?” Rey asks, thinking of all the portion she’s lost, if this stranger is right. She’d just wanted—

But the stranger smiles, and her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Come on,” she says, lowering herself to sit on the durasteel floor of the mighty star destroyer. “I’ll show you a trick my unscrupulous master showed me, on how to make it look as though tech has never been damaged.”

Rey spends the whole afternoon with her chin hooked over the woman’s soft shoulder, watching as she shows Rey how to reroute, undo, lay down new electric pathways. She smells like something sharp, the way Rey has always imagined ozone would smell if Rey had ever found the courage to leave the atmosphere. Her eyes are older than her face, that much Rey knows for sure.

“There you go,” the woman finally says, pressing the piece into Rey’s hand. “Good as new. Plutt won’t even be able to tell the difference, so you shouldn’t accept less than five and a quarter portions—”

“What about you?” Rey asks. The woman is warm, and alive, and human, and Rey finds herself hoping she’s her mother. Just to have something, someone. And especially her, with her crinkled eyes, the way she rests a hand against Rey’s cheek like—

“Oh, I’m fine,” the woman says, and Rey’s heart falters. “You will be full, on five and a quarter portions. That’s enough.”

Rey eats alone, eats until she is sick on constituted bread and meat, and she lies in her own bed biting down on her fist to keep herself from crying.


Sometimes, Rey looks out of the corner of her eye, and there she is, the woman with the dark hair and the dark eyes. “Hello, Mother,” Rey begins greeting her at some point, muttered in between breaths as she extracts another part, as she wakes from her midday nap in the shadowy berth of a star destroyer, as she forces herself to stay longer, work harder.

Sometimes, she hears someone murmur, hello, daughter, but she’s not sure. She’s not.


Poor affection-starved Rey, longing for a family, any family, even a ghost. Even the vague shape, even a shadow. Even the hint of a mother, whispering in her ear, droids have always been harbingers of good news, of better things ahead. Strangers may be angels. You are more. Run, go. I will follow you there.

Rey  isn’t sure, really, but in the barracks of D’Qar, Rey tosses and turns, until a cool hand comes to rest on her forehead, her neck. Shhh, a voice that is not quite the Force but might be something similar, whispers. It strokes its cool knuckles over the rabbit-pulse of her jugular. Shh, rest. You have a war to fight in the morning.




Luke has holos of his family—Padmé Amidala and Anakin Skywalker, Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru Whitesun-Lars. But it’s the holo of their their step-mother, Shmi, that stops Rey in her tracks, stops her breathing at all. Anakin’s mother, Luke says, but Rey is holding onto he lightsaber too tightly to hear.

I know her, she says, and Luke goes still, blinks. 


She used to—sing me lullabies, Rey says, because that’s all she can remember just now, the dark-haired-dark-eyed woman—Shmi Skywalker, chosen to be Mother of the Living Force, blessed, holy—humming in Rey’s darkened AT-AT. Shmi singing in Huttese; warm and calloused hands, a rough voice singing of how much she loved, would protect—

Luke catches Rey before she hits her knees, gathers her up to his chest. Shh, Luke murmurs, stroking her hair as Rey sobs. Shhh, it’s all right. Everything will—it’ll turn out right. It’ll be—it’ll be right.

Rey feels a cool touch at her forehead (impossible, Luke’s hands are hot at her waist, and—) and she sobs again, feeling hollow, feeling like she’s come home, somehow, impossibly. It is a war, she shouldn’t feel….

Shh, Luke and his grandmother whisper together, cradling Rey against the bulwark of light they represent. Shh.

I did the prompt

So this is for my previous post about everyone pinning for lance.

Ps: trigger warning. This does hint at possible rape.

-lance is an omega.
-everyone else in the war is an alpha.
-lance didn’t know this or think it was important so he didn’t find the need to tell anyone that he was an omega on suppressants due to the garrison.
-everyone eventually finds out because his body has gotten used to the suppressants so his scent leaks.
-everyone was cool at first. Other than a few worries about an omega fighting a war.
-the first real sign was when voltron had invaded a galra base.
-haggar just happened to be there and attacked lance first.
-then she got a whiff of his scent after tackling him.
-it went down hill from there. With haggar trying to scent him and eventually mate him. And the team (mostly Shiro and Keith) almost killing her yelling “MINE! My omega!Mine” (also mostly Keith and Shiro)
-this resulted in lance being a curled up crying mess because he was scared.
-it didn’t help much that Keith and Shiro didn’t stop and then started prowling towards him. Growling like animals looking like they will either rape or kill him.
- pidge and hunk manage to fight them off until alura and coran get there.
-cue angry uncle coran who is also an alpha and about ready to kill the three who attacked lance.
-things only get worse as they save Matt and he starts trying to court lance like the others have been.
-and then during battles lottor, haggar, and zarkon are all trying to get him into bed whether he wants it or not!
-then they have a meeting with the blade and they all try to bed lance. Only this time very few were trying against his will.
-cue stressed, confused, and scared lance who ends up hiding away in corans room who seems to be the only one who doesn’t want to get into lances pants!
-Coran guards the door and doesn’t let anyone in. AT. ALL. He also cuddles with lance whenever lance wants land lance lets him scent him so that they are officially family. (No romantic or sexual attraction. Just a common need to have family.)
-the team eventually manage to get into the room where lance is.
-he is scared shitless and is sitting in the corner crying and shaking.
-Shiro comes closer and try’s to get lance to look at them. He puts his hand on lances cheek and lance turns his head to where the hand is covering his mouth.
-as Shiro goes to reposition his hand in order to not muffle the poor thing something strange and painfully stings his hand. He lets out a cry and brings his hand to his chest.
-there on his hand is a very dusting bite mark. Lance bit him.
-and then lance gets up and just books it.
-but the door is blocked by hunk.
- “lance calm down!”
-“lance it’s ok!”
-stay away from me! Get off! STOP IT! CORAN!“ And then a soft whisper of “help”
-when he gets pinned to sit on the floor and thinks it’s over. I’m gonna gat used by a bunch of alphas. I’m gonna lose my virginity. I don’t want this.
-but then arms gently wrap around him from all angles. Exactly six pairs. And they do nothing more
-“you-you aren’t going to bed me? Why aren’t you breeding me?” It’s barely a whisper but it’s there. Through sobs and hiccups.
-“lance it’s ok. I’m so sorry for all that we did before. We aren’t going to rape you. I can’t account for the galea but the blade won’t either. It’s just we got exited about having an omega and we scared you. And I’m so sorry for everything.” Shiro whispers into lances ear and lance starts to calm down.
-“I personally promise that if anyone try’s anything on you they will be dead before they can get to the punchline. Unless of course you approve and it isn’t one sided or forced.”
Keith smirks into lances neck.
-the rest of the team apologizes and lance slowly starts to relax and purr.
-this of course turns into one big team cuddle pile and coran joins in eventually so it’s all great. (Matt counts as team now)
-at the next blade meeting everyone apologizes. And lance notices the scared looks of the members. Along with the stern looks from Thace, Shiro, and Keith.
-at the end of the meeting thace personally apologizes to lance and even got on his knees to beg for forgiveness.
-this drew a quiet giggle from lance who covered his mouth and blushed.
-then he very timidly asks thace if he could hug him.
-which thace agrees to very quickly and they hug while lance purring.
-(thace had to bend down considerably and lance eventually lets him pick him up)
-so in the end everyone is still attracted to lance but doesn’t do anything without permission and never pushes.
-also lots of cuddles from lance for everyone.

So yeah some one write a fic and make sure i know about it so I can read it. Also shout out to @mutantgurl

A little gift for @gentlesleaze, who seemed to like the idea of Benvolio in armor as much as I did… :)

Rough alarum bells rang out in violent echo through Verona’s streets – yet they were barely heard over the city-wide panic that seemed to grip its citizens by their very throats. Shopkeepers boarded their windows and barred their doors, looking to find some way to protect their goods from pillage and destruction. From open doorways mothers cried out for their children and then quickly pulled them inside to safety. Able-bodied men had been told to find a weapon – although some carried little more than kitchen cleavers and pitchforks – and, once assembled into small companies, to make their way to the city gates to meet the danger that now threatened them all.

An army, led by the duke of Milan, was on its way – and it was growing ever closer as the day progressed. The host numbered eight thousand men, so the rumors said, alongside two thousand German mercenaries well-known for their savagery.

A citizen militia, however set they might be on defending their homes and their families, could do little against such highly-trained soldiers, so the prince had called upon the aristocratic houses, asking that each send forward their best men-at-arms to ride out against the enemy. And so Rosaline had spent the morning hours – like all the women of her house – in a whirl of activity, helping to ready the men for battle and the palazzo for the possibility of protracted siege. She had worked tirelessly, running from one task to the next with little rest, not wanting to let her mind lay idle, not wanting to contemplate what horrors might be unleashed were her Capulet kinsmen defeated and her city taken by the enemy.

The men had at last assembled in the courtyard, fully girded for war, led by her uncle, who sat sternly atop a hulking gray destrier. The women had donned ribbons of Capulet blue in their hair as a measure of support, and even with tears threatening in their eyes, they waved their handkerchiefs as the men departed in a cloud of hoof beats. Only once the dust had settled did it occur to Rosaline that she was tied not to one house, but to two. It was from a sense of duty – and only duty, she told herself – that decided she must go and bid farewell to one last man before he departed for the field of combat.

She did not bother to take a servant – it would have been too much trouble, and besides, she resembled one well enough, a fact that allowed her greater ease of movement through the streets. But the mood outside was riotous, a barely-controlled chaos that seemed ready to erupt at any moment, and so she avoided the crowds, skirting close to buildings and drawing the hood of her cape up over her head as she hastened towards her destination.

As she walked, the streets became less and less familiar – she had few dealings on this side of the river, the heart of Montague power – but she guided herself by landmarks, her eyes continually keeping watch on the tall granite bell tower that guarded over the abbey church of San Sebastiano. His palazzo, she knew, was just there, tucked nearby. It was not as handsome or as grand as her own home, she noted as she approached it from the street, but it bore the trappings of wealth nevertheless.

People were still coming and going from beneath the arched portico, and she hurried inside, hoping that she hadn’t come too late.

Within the house, few took notice of her – she was dressed plainly, after all – and she found herself moving aside to make way for a group of knobby-kneed squires bearing armloads of pikes and brightly-polished poleaxes. She had half a mind to stop one of them and ask where she might find their young master, until she glanced past them, gazing into the wide courtyard beyond.

Near the center of the courtyard, just next to a burbling fountain, a young man was quietly adjusting the leather straps of his horse’s bridle, wrapped deep in thought. Warm sunlight gleamed brilliantly against the burnished steel of his armor, curling over the fluted breastplate and the round pauldrons that encased his shoulders. His arms and legs were similarly covered, and a final plate circled protectively around his neck, ending just below his trimmed hairline. He had set aside his slim rapier, exchanging it for a heavy broadsword that hung from the belt around his waist. Looking at him, Rosaline felt her heart quicken with a sudden jolt. She did not understand how, but her Montague betrothed had been utterly transformed. In her mind, she had associated him with all the callow excesses of youth: irresponsibility, recklessness, a desire to live only for his own pleasure. In front of her, though, with his marble-cut profile and hair turned red and fiery in the rays of the sun, was a man, one arrayed to practice the lethal arts of war. Were it not for the somber, melancholy strain in his eyes, he might resemble Mars himself.

His task complete, he gave the animal an affectionate rub along the length of its muzzle, and moved to place the reins up towards the front of the saddle. With a turn of his head, though, his gaze found hers, his expression at once overcome by surprise and confusion.

Her feet compelled her forward, powered by an urge she did not fully understand, until she was but an arm’s length away from where he stood.  

“My lady… Rosaline…” he said softly, his brows furrowing inward. “Why have you come? Why have you not stayed at your uncle’s?”

The words came slowly, trapped as they were between her head and her heart. “I have come to see you, before you ride out. To offer you a farewell,” she at last replied. “It is only fitting. For we are betrothed, are we not?”

He said nothing to her question, but dismissed it with a sigh and a shake of his head. “The streets are dangerous and the Milanese army almost to our gates. You ought not to have concerned yourself with me.”

She wanted to argue back, to tell him that she would concern herself with what and whom she pleased, to remind him that they were yet unmarried and for now, at least, his will would not prove a master over her own. But she bit back her tongue, knowing that she could not start a quarrel, not now. For she had not come all this way just to let him depart with only foul words having passed between them.

That he might never come back at all was a possibility she had not fully contemplated until this moment.

A curly-haired squire clad in dark red livery approached, carrying a round metal object polished to a high sheen, which he held out for his master to take.

“Your helmet, my lord,” he said.

Her betrothed grasped it tentatively, his gaze following the squire as the young man turned and disappeared back into the shadows of the house, and then finally falling upon the steel helmet in his hands. From his silence, his unfocused gaze, and the pale pensiveness that had begun to cloud his features, Rosaline could tell that he was thinking of the battle to come, perhaps wondering if he would live to see the end of it. She could not say why it pained her so to see him disheartened, for he was nothing to her – and she to him, no doubt – the two of them bound to each other solely by royal decree. Still, some small voice within her urged her to speak, to offer him the balm of what few comforting and encouraging words she had to give.

“In more chivalrous times, they say, a knight would go into combat wearing the colors of his lady, to furnish him with strength and to help him remember what he was fighting for.” She reached up and pulled the blue ribbon loose from her hair, holding it towards him. “Will you wear them for me?”

If he seemed surprised by her words, he said nothing, but raised his arm in acquiescence, allowing her to tie the ribbon around the top of the metal plate that encased his elbow. Once she had finished, she looked up at him once more, noting – with some small pleasure – that his mood had brightened. A ghost of a smile curled along the corner of his mouth, and there was something in his eyes as well, a trace of that brash, sardonic humor she had come to know well since their betrothal.

“Look not so pained, my lady,” he said in gentle mockery. “Perhaps I shall fall in battle, and then you will be free. And as we are not married yet, I’m certain your mourning period would be brief. You should be able to cast aside your black veil by Michelmas at the very least.”

She shook her head, feeling a smile begin to play upon her lips as well.

“If you could try not to die, for my sake at least, I would well be pleased,” she replied, realizing at that moment that she spoke the truth. She was certain – that is, fairly certain – that she had no desire to marry him, but she did not wish to see him taken from this earth. “For black does not flatter me,” she added, “and I would fain not have to wear it for so long a time as that.”

“Now there you are wrong,” he murmured, “as any color would suit, for such a face as yours.”

His compliment was unexpected, as was the warm flutter that stirred within her chest. She pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile – and then, out of some unknown impulse, she leaned over and gave him a small kiss upon the cheek.

His eyes turned wide with surprise, his mouth open to speak, when suddenly a great clamor of shouting was heard throughout the courtyard.

“To arms, Montagues! To arms!”

The rallying cry had been sounded, armored men on horseback now thundering through the courtyard, and Rosaline knew that the moment had come to say goodbye. It seemed far too brief a time to her, though, too brief to voice the thoughts that came unbidden to her mind, too brief to do anything but look back at him, her breath turning raw and unsteady as she met his gaze.

His eyes were like two fierce stars, blazing with determination, but she had little time to wonder why, for without warning he grasped her by the waist and pulled her to him, pressing his mouth firmly against hers. Her palm was flat along the smooth metal of his breastplate, and she might have pushed away, struggled somehow to release herself from his hold. Yet she did not. Instead, she surrendered, her body melting against his as their lips met in passionate desperation.

And then just as quickly, he released her, and after having found his mount and hoisting himself up into the saddle, he circled closer and met her gaze one last time.

“If you would be so kind, lady, as to keep me in your prayers?” he asked. She nodded breathlessly, still feeling the warmth of his lips on hers, and with a spur of his horse he galloped from the courtyard to join his kinsmen, the dark blue ribbon on his arm fluttering against the bright gleam of steel.

[my Still Star-Crossed ficlets are on AO3 – read them here] 

Dawning in Dust: Part XI

Thanks to everyone who reads and messages me about this story. It’s so fun to write and I hope you are all enjoying it!

Previous chapter

Lallybroch was thrown into a flurry of activity after Fergus’ announcement. Jamie had given her an apologetic glance before hustling out of her new surgery and informing his family and tenants that Dougal MacKenzie was due to arrive within a few hours. Claire went back inside, trying to stay out of the way. Uncle he may be, but it was clear that Dougal MacKenzie’s presence was not the most anticipated of events. Orders for preparations were being given but Claire got the impression that most of them weren’t about cleanliness and hospitality. She made her way to the kitchen, hoping to be of some use.

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Top 25 Larry Fics of 2016

I read a lot of fic and the majority of it is larry. I like making lists and I like larry so I thought I’d do some minimal research of the top 25 larry fics published/completed in 2016 in order of least to most kudos (with links). All of these fics are top notch so you should all check them out!

An honorable mentions list will probably come soon, because there are so many brilliant fics that don’t reflect in their kudos.

25.) I Love You Most by @alienproof (11k)

Friends with benefits has always been enough for Louis. Until, of course, it isn’t.

24.) Just Like the Wolf Before He Bites by @crazyupsetter (11k)

He’s loud, Louis is, and that’s far from unusual for him, but the volume of it still has Harry pulling back the curtain. There’s a half-formed thought in the back of his brain about telling Louis off, because it’s fucking half three in the morning, but then.

But then Harry’s eyes get stuck on the soft glint of Louis’ stubble in the light, and he’s making his way across the room before he even realizes it.

Louis, for his part, just tips his chin up to give Harry space and keeps talking, waving the joint in his hand around for emphasis. He doesn’t even bother to greet Harry, going on with his story to his semi-rapt audience, just settles a hand in between Harry’s shoulder blades and pushes him down firmly.

Harry just. Relaxes. His eyes slip closed, pushing his entire face into that spot underneath Louis’ chin, where his hair is still growing, neat and prickly. The scent of Louis’ cologne drifts into Harry’s nose, light and fresh, and it’s calming. Comforting. His breathing syncs up with Louis’ quickly, and Harry feels so much better than he had five minutes ago he almost wants to cry.

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Title: Total Eclipse of the Heart
Fandom: Naruto
Genre: Romance
Ship: Kakashi/Sakura
Characters: Haruno Sakura, Hatake Kakashi
Word count: 1,049
Rating: T 
dditional Tags: Soulmates AU, Fluff
Summary: Sasuke smells like dusty books and winter, things that Sakura loves and Sasuke is the only one that Sakura could smell - if she disregarded sweat and blood, every shinobi in Konoha smelt of those two frequently.That is, up to the point where Sakura meets her new sensei. Nothing, not even her auntie’s tales on when she met her uncle, could have prepared for his scent. 


In academy, Ino and Sakura had bickered frequently over Sasuke’s scent. Only soul mates produced a smell strong enough for them to smell and since both of them could smell Sasuke, it made sense that one of them was his soul mate.

Sasuke smells like dusty books and winter, things that Sakura loves and Sasuke is the only one that Sakura could smell - if she disregarded sweat and blood, every shinobi in Konoha smelt of those two frequently.

That is, up to the point where Sakura meets her new sensei. Nothing, not even her auntie’s tales on when she met her uncle, could have prepared for his scent. His smell is like dust motes on a sunbeam, lazy Sundays at home and safety. His smell is like her auntie cooking curry while Sasuke is more of a faded scent.

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Interruptions (Thomas Jefferson x Reader)

Word Count: 1675

Genre: Mostly fluff…humor?

Request/Summary: “[{(MODERN AU)}] Can you plz do a tjeff x reader where you’re Washington’s niece and you invite Washington and everyone from the offices to a festival that you are helping out with. Then, Thomas starts to flirt with you, but Washington gets really protective.”- @winniepoohffg​ (this request was originally sent into @daveeddiggsit​ (check out her blog if you haven’t already, look you can just click on it right there. go homies. I belive in you. k I’ll shut up now) but I stole it because her requests are closed (: )

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x Reader

AU: Modern

Warnings: One or two dirty pick up lines, probably cussing

A/N- Thank you so much for letting me steal this @winniepoohffg​ sorry this probably kinda sucks, I tried my best, I just loved the idea so much, I couldn’t help commandeering it. Also sorry this took forever.

Standard TJeffs a/n: Yes, I do write Jefferson but keep in mind that I think historical Jefferson was an evil dick. I write for Jefferson from the play

“What do you need me to do?” You asked your uncle.

“Thanks for helping, (Y/N), can you put these on that table over there?” He requested, piling several boxes into your arms so you could barely peek over them to see where you were going. After you set them down on the table, you opened the top of one of them to see several holiday decorated cookies stacked on display inside.

“Hey uncle George? You want me to set these out?” You called across the room.

“That would be great!” He responded. You set out each cardboard box one by one on the table, tearing off the lids to put the various sweets inside on display. Afterward, you went back to your uncle, who was now hanging up a cluster of fake mistletoe in the doorway.

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I Think He’s My Soulmate

Originally posted by marvelgifs

Peter Parker x Reader

I Think He’s My Soulmate

Author: Morgan

Prompt: Okay, so we had a few Peter Parker soulmate au’s requested and Hannah’s writing one, but I was having FEEEEEEELS so have this one too.

Note: Soulmate au. Because I am a ho for them. A ho, I tell you. Also, let’s pretend that everyone is happy and unaffected by the Civil War. Yay!

Warnings: None?

“Ummmm, Uncle Clint?” it wasn’t often you called your uncle, but this was a special occasion. It was your sixteenth birthday, and because of that, your soulmate tattoo had finally appeared. It scared the crap out of you at first sight, given the fact that it looked like a large spider was crawling up your wrist.

Of course, it being your birthday didn’t mean you could stay home from school, so you were standing in the courtyard just after school had ended, calling your only connection to the Avengers at the first opportunity you had.

“Yes, sweet child of my sister?”

“Do you think you could arrange for me to meet Spiderman?”

“Um, sure. Why?”

“I’m 90% sure he’s my soulmate. And also, it’s my birthday, so…”

“Wait, go back to the first reason.”

“My soulmate tattoo showed up today and it’s a spider. It’s exactly the one that’s on his uniform. And if all soulmate tattoos work this way…” you lowered your voice, looking around. “Then he knows about my powers too.”

“Okay, okay, calm down. Can you come to the Facility today? I could introduce you. But he’s gotta be on his way here. He’s staying for the weekend. I’ll check his wrist and text you, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you later then.”

“Thanks Uncle Clint. I owe you.”

“No prob, kiddo.”


“Parker, lemme see your wrist.” Clint walked over to the teen as soon as he walked into the Facility, his overnight duffle bag hanging from his shoulder.

“What? Why?” Peter tugged his sleeve down over the tattoo that had appeared a few months before on his birthday.

“Peter.” Clint tilted his head. “I know you’ve got your soulmate tattoo. Let me see.”

“Um…” Peter paused, taking a breath before pulling the sleeve of his hoodie back up his arm. There were four symbols arranged in a diamond etched into his wrist. It was a flame, a leaf, a gust of wind, and water waves. “I…I think my soulmate is the Avatar, Mr. Barton.”

“That’s what I thought.” Clint nodded. He sent you a text as quickly as his thumbs would move. ‘grab your overnight bag, (Y/N). You’re spending the weekend with the Avengers’


Your parents were okay with you spending the weekend with your uncle. You didn’t tell them the other reason you were going to the Facility, but they sort of had an idea. Clint himself borrowed one of the quinjets and flew to the tower to meet you and take you back to the Facility.

“What did he say? Did he say anything?”

“Not much before I left. He just said, and I quote, ‘I think my soulmate is the Avatar, Mr. Barton’. And then I left.”

“What’s he like? Is he tall? Short? Nice? What does he look like?” you bombarded him with questions, but Clint only smirked.

“What’s the fun in telling you, kiddo? You’ve gotta find out for yourself.”

“Uncle Cliiiint.”

“(Y/NNNNNN),” he chuckled, ruffling your hair. “You’re worse than your cousins.”

“Shut up.”

The quinjet touched down under an hour later. Clint walked into the Facility with you by his side. Your guest pass dangled around your neck by a lanyard as you were escorted to your room. You had stayed here a few times over the years, but not since Spiderman had emerged.

Your room was waiting just as you had left it, right next door to Wanda’s room. There was a knock on the doorframe. Wanda brushed a lock of her hair over her shoulder, going in for a hug.

“Hi Wanda!” God, you loved Wanda. She was like a daughter to Clint, making her like a cousin to you. Not long after, a streak of silver rushed in and trapped you in a Maximoff sandwich. You loved the twins.

“What are you doing here, (Y/N)?” Pietro asked. “I thought you weren’t coming up until winter break.”

“My soulmate tattoo showed up.”

“Let me see.” Wanda insisted, pushing her brother away so she could see your wrist. She gasped softly at the sight of the black spider. “Do you want me to introduce you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” your heart was racing. It was real. It was really happening. Your soulmate was here and he was a superhero. Pietro raced ahead of all of you, leaving you, Clint, and Wanda in the dust. You got to the living room, where Peter was sitting at the table finishing his Algebra homework. He pushed his reading glasses up his nose.

As soon as you walked through the door, he twitched, looking up. Spidey-sense, you figured. He had mad reflexes, that much Clint had told you, but you had never seen his face. God, he was a cutie. Warm brown eyes, tousled brown hair, a kind nervous smile and soft pink lips to go with it. He was super cute. You smiled, waving shyly and when you did, he caught a glance of the tattoo on your wrist.

Peter’s jaw dropped. You had never seen anyone get up so fast. He practically ran to you, looking at the tattoo in disbelief. Somehow, he had known the moment you walked in, but this mark was confirmation.

“H-hi,” he introduced himself nervously. He gulped, trembling just a little bit. “I, um…I’m Peter. Peter Parker. S-Spiderman. I wondered when you would show up, um…”

“(Y/N).” you stated. He offered his hand, immediately regretting it. You were his soulmate and the best he could do was a handshake? Stupid, stupid, stupid. “(Y/N) (L/N). I’m Clint’s sister’s kid.” You shook his hand, smiling. God, he was super cute. Your nervousness had worn off, but Peter felt like he was going to explode. He didn’t want to mess this up.

“I…I’m sorry, is it okay if I hug you? I’m sorry, you’re just super pretty, and I’m really bad in romantic situations, so-”

You rushed into his arms, holding him close. He was so warm, and you could feel his body shaking. He laughed nervously, wrapping his arms around you.

“So um…my tattoo is the four elements. Does that mean you’re the Avatar?”

“I can control the four elements, yeah.” you laughed. “Who knows? I could be.”

“Ah, young love.” Tony walked into the living room. “Finally found your soulmate, Parker?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, still clinging to you. “I did.” He sighed, whispering into your ear. “Can I just hold you forever? I don’t want to let go.”

“Sure,” you chuckled, snuggling deeper into him. You buried your face in the crook of his neck. “Sounds like a plan to me.” You were stuck together like magnets, unable to tear yourselves from each other. It was a bizarre feeling, like time had finally started after all of these years, like two halves of a whole were finally reunited. Something clicked, and suddenly everything was right in the universe.


Later that night, you were sitting in the lounge with the Avengers, some movie about mutant superheroes fighting a big blue ancient mutant or something was playing on the screen. You and Peter were seated beside eachother, his arm around your shoulders, and your head resting against his chest.

Peter’s free hand absentmindedly traced the tattoo on your wrist, still not quite convince that today was real. It felt too good to be true. But here you were, snuggled up to him. The other Avengers only glanced over and smiled from time to time, happy that their little spider had finally found his soulmate.

“Am I an okay soulmate?” Peter whispered, looking to you for reassurance.

“Are you kidding me? You’re the best.” you laughed, pressing a long kiss to his cheek. Peter’s face flushed red. He smiled.

“I can’t be the best.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you are.” he stated. You chuckled.

“Dork,” you nudged him gently. “But a cute dork.”

“So um…are you…are we dating now? Am I your boyfriend?”

“If that’s all right with you, yeah.”

“Okay. Good.” Peter smiled, pulling you closer. “I like the sound of that.”

“So do I.”


The weekend passed in a flash. It went by so fast you felt like you had whiplash. But before you knew it, you were back in school on Monday, waiting for the day you would get to see Peter again. You had arranged to meet a few weekends later at his apartment, but you had exchanged numbers and had been texting all day between classes.

You were standing at your locker after school, grabbing the things you needed to do your homework when your phone vibrated. You checked it. A text from Peter.

Turn around.

You read it, heart racing. You’ve never turned around so fast in your life, but there he is at the end of the hall, looking at you in disbelief. He ran as fast as he feet would carry him, engulfing you in his arms.

“You go to Midtown?” you asked. He nodded.

“I saw you like four times today, but I was never sure it was you, but it is, and-” you cut him off with your lips. They were even softer and smoother than you imagined. He melted into the kiss, letting out a blissful moan while his hands grabbed at your hips.

When you pulled apart, Peter took your hand. You slung your backpack over your shoulders.

“Well, since you’re here, do you wanna come back to my apartment now? Meet my Aunt May? We could work on homework or watch a movie or cuddle or-” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, causing them to flush red.

“Yes. I’d love that.”

Dawning In Dust: Part 1

Claire awoke abruptly, gasping for air. The sky was still dark and the air around her small hiding place in a niche of the little hill was still and silent. Her skin was cold and clammy and she raised a trembling hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead. No explosions. No screams. No suffocating weight or bone deep chill. The smell of blood was replaced by the smell of dry earth.

A dream. It had only been a dream. Breathe in. Out. Slower. In…. out…. in…. out.

She rolled onto her side, curling in on herself under the solar blanket that was her saving grace on cold nights like these. It had slipped off while she slept, which may have explained the nightmare. Claire never could sleep well when chilled, especially after her parents died in that car crash when she was small. It had been a cold night that night too. Almost as cold as her parent’s had been when she said goodbye for the last time before the funeral…

“Stop it, Beauchamp,” Claire whispered firmly, trying to relax her shaking muscles. She closed her eyes, trying to focus her mind on something to hang on to until she could relax into sleep again. Warm things. Warmth. Frank’s lips against hers…

Claire flinched involuntarily. No, too painful. Something else. Anything else. Campfires. The sun in Egypt, high and hot as a furnace over one of her Uncle Lamb’s archeological dig sites. Fresh tea. Hot baths.

Claire almost groaned at the thought. Yes, that would do. She breathed out slowly, imagining how the warmth of the water used to seep into her muscles. The steam would have coated her face like her sweat did now and she breathed in and out again, imagining the scents of candles and soap. There would have been nothing to worry over, no shifts to get to at the hospital, no dinner parties with Frank’s colleagues. Just time and space for her mind and body to go blissfully blank for a bit. Claire vaguely registered that the solar blanket was warming her again before her muddled mind gave in to sleep once more.


Claire Beauchamp Randall was never a woman to panic. Being raised by her eccentric archeologist uncle and therefore being voluntarily toted around the world from a young and impressionable age did much to dispel emotions of this type from entering her mind. Joining the British army and becoming a nurse when the Last World War was declared only solidified her ability to emotionally detach as needed. She was, however, realistic.

She bent at the edge of the stream, wanting nothing more than to drink greedily and damn the consequences. It had been almost two days without water and the mere sound of it lapping against the bank made her swallow. Claire sighed, pacifying her thirst by swishing a handful of water inside her mouth and spitting it out again before gathering small sticks for a fire. She ran her damp fingers through the curly mass of her hair, tying it back and out of her way.

If her unusual upbringing taught her anything it was that ill prepared food,drink, and medical supplies could kill just as well as a wild animal or person could, albeit much slower and sometimes more painfully. She thought the stream might be safe enough, but couldn’t take the risk. At one point, most water sources around the world had been destroyed or filled with chemicals as a weapon.

While Claire didn’t think Scotland had fallen prey to those tactics, being so far removed from the centralized sources of conflict, she had to proceed as she would anywhere else. After all, rumors still circulated of continued conflict and uses of force, despite the fallout of technological civilization. Groups of wanderers coming together to make their own new civilization and social structure of sorts. Claire avoided what appeared to be large encampments of people for that very reason.

The only person or thing she could trust was herself and, for all she felt safe in this quiet forest of trees, Claire allowed herself a rare moment to let that reality sink in. She’d come to terms with her parents’ deaths quite readily, being young and thrust into new worlds unknown. The vague memories she had of them were pleasant ones and she kept them locked safe away in what she pictured as a small, ornamental box in her mind.

Uncle Lamb had been killed in a bombing raid toward the end of the Last War while he was lecturing at University. At this point, any thought for civilian lives was shot to hell in the attacks on schools, libraries, cinemas, and any other manner of public gathering place. British military had been evacuating mainland Europe when it happened. Claire didn’t find out until she went to Uncle Lamb’s flat and found it dusty and vacant, all belongings looted. He’d died two weeks before.

Frank. The thought of her husband brought her right hand automatically to her left, fingers caressing the simple gold band on her ring finger. Claire had made it home during the evacuation. Frank had not. They’d had little contact throughout the War, partially due to the need for secrecy and partially due to the breakdown in communication technology after the data viruses were set loose. Uncle Lamb always joked that technology would be the end of man.

He was right, Claire thought. She bent to her studiously arranged pile of twigs and dry sticks, pulling the flint and small knife out of her cargo pants pocket. She was about to strike the first spark when a shot rang out, echoing through the trees overhead and all but making her heart stop.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she gasped, ducking low and gathering up her pack. Too loud to be a pistol. Not automatic though… Another shot, this one closer and accompanied by yelling from two different directions. The last thing she needed was to get caught in the middle of territory dispute.

Claire ran, keeping as low as she could while trying not to slip down the bank and into the water. She grabbed her canteen to keep it from making noise as it thumped against her side. Another shot, this one even closer….


She’d ran smack into a man hiding in the trees. He grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her to keep her from falling. Or perhaps more, as Claire discovered, to keep her from escaping. She thrashed in his arms.

“Let GO of me you bloody..”

Claire turned, ready to slash at his face, but ceased fighting abruptly. Her first thought was that he was Frank, but that thought vanished as quickly as it took him to shove her to the ground. She felt her palm scrape on a rock of some sort and her pack fell off her shoulder. She sat gaping at him like a landed trout. Seeing him now, she knew it wasn’t Frank. Still, the resemblance…. lean body, brown hair, handsome, and his eyes…

“Who are you?” Claire asked, hoping her voice sounded steady.

“I might ask you the same question and with considerably more justification,” the man replied, moving to stand menacingly over her.

“Just what do you think..?” Claire began, trying to stand up. The stranger put a hard hand on her shoulder, forcing her back down again.

“I am Captain Jonathan Randall, British Army. And you, madam, will stay put.”

Claire had to repress the urge to stand and salute. Instead, she kicked him hard in the shins and whirled to make another run for it. All the air left her lungs as he tackled her to the ground.

“Oh, like that is it? Well…” Captain Randall turned her over, gasping, onto her back and pinned her arms above her head in a viselike grip. Black dots clouded her vision as he put his face within an inch of hers. “Who are you and what are you..”

Whatever he’d been going to ask got cut short as a figure stepped out from behind the nearest tree and clocked Captain Randall in the back of the head, sending him toppling to the side. Claire gasped for breath, the dark spots overcoming her. The last thing she remembered before she gave into them was looking up and seeing a pair of slanted blue cat-like eyes.

Feeling strange again. I heard the music in my ear,
two lackeys hitting it up on the sidewalks, feet clicking

and it was bound to be jolly. I shut up and thought
about Art. I was going to be a Poet, goddamn

Yessir. I threw it back like liquor. Only that was a massive
lie. I was only seventeen - imagine - newly minted 

seventeen, still soft, still stupid. But the world hollered
like a mad dead thing. I wanted to dance. I hurt myself 

with it, the wanting. How do you explain a thing like
that? It was all very crazy. I sat next to this boy

in English class, every two days. I fell in love. I was
ready to rip open the sky. Touch touch touch; that was all

I could ever think about. My body like a chimney
soot all over the insides. I wrote about it in the afternoons,

thought about him on the train. Everything muffled
except that awful music. I dreamed I was a fish, or maybe

a whale, stoppered in a very big jar. I was fined fifty dollars
I grew cancerous hands. After a while, it all turned

to dust. In the end I shook off my own skin, a perfect 
reptile. Stormed out belting some sort of war song.

AN: Ah, my first rebelcaptain fic. Wait for the next, it’s coming. Also, prompts are welcome!

when the future becomes clear


Cassian Andor is a lot of things, Jyn discovers pretty early on. When they met he was a spy with an exceptional ability to blend into the surroundings. Her heart pounded when he emerged from the shadows, in shock and fear, because she was sure her eyes had passed that space before and she did not even notice him there.

In the ship to Jedha, he was a puzzle. He regarded her with reluctant trust in his eyes, but when she woke and looked out into the window and to the barren wasteland just past the atmosphere, he spoke, “That’s Jedha, or what’s left of it.”

After Eadu, he was a dark cloud. Their bodies were heavy with exhaustion and rain seeping through their clothes, but his shoulders were heavier. Her heart the heaviest.

In Scarif, he was a friend.

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RWBY Volume 4 Questions

Okay, so a couple of months ago - when V4 finished airing, in fact - I posted a list of questions that I came up with over the course of the volume on RT’s RWBY forums. Since then, I’ve had a whole ONE reply (which was pretty decent, thankfully).

So, on sheer whim, I decided to post my questions here too to see what y’all think and get your opinions.

Putting them under the cut ‘cause spoilers and that there’s around fifty questions.

Also, if anyone’s on the RWBY animo app: yes, that’s me, too, so no foul going on here.

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Oath | Ch.13 | Jungkook

Genre: Angst | Mafia!AU

Members: Jungkook | You/Reader | Yoongi | Taehyung | Namjoon | Hoseok | Jin | Jimin |

Summary: What if one day everything you ever wanted is taken away and your whole world comes crushing down? If you were to forget today, who would you be tomorrow?

Originally posted by kookieluvcookies

| Previous Chapter | Chapter List | Next Chapter |

Word count: 3848

Having heard the commotion, Jimin was desperately looking for any sign of survivors. He tried to look through the thick smoke but it was impossible.

“What the fuck was that?! Is everyone safe? Answer me, damn it!!”

Keep reading

My grandmother’s name is Sala
A hard L- the kind where your tongue has to push against the back of your front two teeth
My grandfather’s name was Mustafa
But we always called him Tati
They grew up in the same village
And played together until the age that boys and girls are separated to learn their roles
My grandmother retreated to her father’s house, learning to cook and clean
And my grandfather started going to school
My grandmother blushes when she admits to me that she used to sneak up to the roof of her house when dawn came
Just to see my grandfather walking to school, books clutched against his chest
Every morning, him and the sun
It seemed to her that the sun rose with him,
That it could only be coaxed eastward if he pulled it with him
My grandmother married the boy who pulled the sun up for her every day
And they had six children
Seven, if you count the one who died before his first birthday cake could be made
My grandfather was, as they say, “ahead of his time"
He was an intelligent and forward-thinking academic living in Communist times
His children came home from school each afternoon singing songs about the benevolent nature of their leader
Tito belongs to us and we belong to Tito, they hummed
But when Tito died, the tides changed
And when my grandfather spoke up opposing the nationalistic movement against Albanians- which would one day grow into full-fledged ethnic cleansing-
He didn’t make it home from work
And my grandmother wondered how to explain ‘political prisoner’ to her children
One night, months after my grandfather’s disappearance,
My grandmother saw a blue-eyed stranger trudging up the village hill
In his hands- a note scrawled in my grandfather’s handwriting
Sell everything. Meet me in Rome.
So she did
She sold everything, kissed her weeping relatives goodbye
And trudged across Europe with her children
In Rome, a reunion
We’re going to America, my grandfather said
We’re refugees, he said
America- the word was bulky in my grandmother’s mouth on that sundrenched day in Rome
And even now she can’t quite wrap her tongue around it
Amer-eek, she said
Amer-eek, their children mimicked in high-pitched voices Amer-eek!
My mother, an 8-year old pig-tailed refugee in Rome
On her way to Amer-eek
New York City, to be precise
Their first house was right off of Ditmas Avenue in Brooklyn
A crumbling 3-family home shared with other Albanian refugees
Where, during that first year, English was spoken so rarely that you could almost forget you’d left home
The house was right underneath the Cortelyou Road subway station
Every time the trains rumbled past, the walls of the house shook and trembled and my grandmother prayed under her breath
My grandmother- a woman who gave birth to seven children and raised six of them
But never learned to read
Every morning she sent her children to school, a place she would never set foot in, a mystical land where knowledge and learning were the status quo
They came home speaking English, which my grandmother was glad for only so that they could translate for her at the grocery store or the doctor’s office
My grandfather worked days in a factory and spent his nights smoking and reading about the land that he’d left behind
As his sons and daughters grew into young men and women,
Their old country smoldered-
A fire quietly growing
It would spread soon, my grandfather knew
It wouldn’t be long before the name of his country became famous for all the wrong reasons
Blasted out of radios, smeared across CNN
Serbian forces move to Kosovo
Ethnic cleansing

But that wasn’t until the ‘90s
And in the decade before his country was ripped apart by misplaced nationalism,
My grandfather sent my 18-year old mother back home
Go to college, he said, get a degree
Meet a nice boy
, my grandmother said, get married
She did both
And when she finally returned to America a couple of years later,
It was with my father and oldest sister in tow
My parents made their own home in America in the mid-80s
By 1985, my second sister made her appearance-
the first of the Latifi’s to be born in America
Meanwhile, my father was studying for his medical boards and his ESL class at the same time
And my mother was raising my sisters in the bustle of Brooklyn
The 80’s faded and in the first year of the 90’s, my brother joined our family
My father named him Kushtrim, which means battle cry
And was fitting because as my brother was taking his first steps,
Our Bosnian neighbors were being brought to their knees
By the time the war spread from Bosnia to Kosovo,
I was 5 years old and living in Virginia with my family
In a sprawling brick house surrounded by a lush green lawn that my father mowed every Sunday
Just like a real American
But the news was on every hour of every day
And some of my earliest memories are of peeking over the living room couch,
Straining to see what was happening in the country where my family started-
Where my grandparents met as children
Where my parents fell in love as college students
My brother and I were deemed to young to watch the news with my parents
So we snuck looks from behind doorways,
Sat on the stairs that wrapped around the back of our house-
Anything to catch a few words from Christiane Amanpour’s mouth that would explain why my mother jumped every time the phone rang
And my father sat in front of the TV with his mouth pulled into a tight line
My brother and I whispered to each other from our hiding spots,
Pulled dictionaries into our room and blew the dust from their pages
Genocide: the deliberate killing of a large group of people, especially those of a particular ethnic group or nation
My brother read the definition aloud and I tilted my head to the side
Why us?
He slowly shook his head side to side
8 years old
How was he supposed to know?
In the spring of 1998,
I sat on top of my father’s shoulders as we marched through Times Square,
Chanted in front of the United Nations building in Midtown Manhattan
Around us, the crowd swarmed
Red and black t-shirts, the Albanian eagle stamped on every single one
Free Kosova, U.S.A.! we yelled
Free Kosova, U.S.A.!
In 1999, Bill Clinton became the hero of Albanians everywhere when he ordered NATO to launch an air strike against Serbia
78 days later, the war was over
But what we didn’t understand then was that it had just began
The first time I saw the country of my ancestors was in the summer of 1999
British army tanks rolled down the streets instead of cars
And my mother tried to distract me by pointing out landmarks
That’s where your father and I used to have coffee
That’s where my dorm was

But all I could see was the soldiers guarding the entrance to my aunts’ apartment building
And the pile of rubble that used to be my father’s childhood home
I looked out with my big brown eyes
And saw an entire country bleeding and breaking
I went back to America after the summer of 1999 with the taste of my homeland burning my tongue
My grandfather-
Tati, remember?
He lived to see the war start and end
But died before anyone recognized our independence
A snowy New Year’s Eve
2003 slipping into 2004
A heart attack
A widow
A funeral
The first time I saw my mother cry
My youngest uncle washing my grandfather’s body
My baby sister only three months old, screaming like she felt our pain
It’s been 10 years and my grandmother is still mourning my grandfather
It’s been 15 years and my country is still mourning our lost souls
But my grandmother has stopped wearing all black and she laughs with her grandchildren like we’re the only thing that keep her breathing
And my country just celebrated 6 years of independence
I know my grandmother is lonely
She talks about my grandfather like he just stepped out of the room for a moment
And I know my country is hurting
We still hang flowers on the mass graves of our countrymen
But we’re all healing
Which reminds me of the best advice my grandfather ever gave me-
Shpresa le te v’des e fundit-
Let hope die last
—  Fortesa Latifi - The Plight of the Refugee & Their Family

anonymous asked:

hi! i absolutely love your boy with a scar series and i've been wondering the past few weeks how the series would have gone down if ron was the chosen one? or hermione?

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,
 born to a family who has thrice defied him,
 born as the third month dawns.
 And the Dark Lord will mark him as an equal
 but he will have power the Dark Lord known not.
 And either must die at the hand of the other
 for neither can live while the other survives.
 The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord
 will be born as the third month dawns…

Ronald Weasley was born, sixth of seven children, on March 1 1980. His little sister, Ginevra, was born in August of the next year. He had never known his uncles, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, who had died opposing the rising tide of pureblood fanatics while a young Molly had still been in school.

Ron’s eldest brother, William, called Bill, started Hogwarts in September 1981 under the shadow of war. While Bill ate pumpkin pasties in the Great Hall that Halloween, Tom Riddle, called Voldemort, murdered Arthur and Molly Weasley in their own home. He failed to hurt their youngest son, except for the lightning scar that Ron would carry for the rest of his life. Molly and Arthur left behind seven children.

In this world, James and Lily Potter did not die on October 31st in Godric’s Hollow under the broken safety of a friend’s betrayal. They were rarely at home, in those months before the war ended. Harry spent his first year of life in Order bases, babysat by those not out on mission– Arabella Figg, squib; Mad-Eye Moody, nursing a broken leg; Remus Lupin resting between stints undercover.

James and Lily did not go into hiding. Peter Pettigrew did not betray their confidences and lead the Dark Lord to their home, but he did whisper secrets and strategies. The Death Eaters ambushed a recon party Peter had compromised and, trying to get the rest of his team out, James took an Avada Kedavra to the chest.

James lived a few weeks less than he would have, if he had died instead on Halloween on the floor of his own home. But Lily limped home from that battle, her arm around Sirius’s shoulders, his around hers, both of them holding each other up. When they reached the Order headquarters, she pushed past condolences and shock and strategic meetings, all the way to where Harry was napping in a back room under Mrs. Figg’s anxious eye. Sirius went to tell Remus, and Lily sat at the foot of Harry’s bed and cried.

After the war, after the Weasleys had been buried, and the champagne had been drunk, and the newspapers had announced the end of their terror, Lily took her son and went back to her closed-up home in Godric’s Hollow. She unboarded the windows and swept the floors. Sirius changed the dusty sheets on every bed and they both bullied Remus into napping on the couch with Harry while the two of them did the work.

Lily slept in her bed alone, except for nights when Harry had bad dreams. Charms had been one of her best subjects in school, and she had used and used it in the long days of the war. Curses and hexes came easy to her tongue. She practiced conjuring butterfly lights for Harry, who reached after them on wobbly legs. When the Ministry reached out to Order veterans, she signed up for the Auror program, Sirius on her heels.

The six youngest Weasley children were bundled up and sent to the nearest relative, a Prewett cousin with a wife and two small children of his own. Charlie, ten, saw the pinched panic around their eyes as the six redheads walked, wobbled, or were carried through the front door into their three-bedroom house. He made sure to linger when Mrs. Prewett changed Ginny’s diapers and helped Ron with potty training, so he would know how when they sent them away. Fred and George, four years old, taught their cousins the swear words Mother had always tried not to say in front of them.

The first set of Prewett cousins lasted until Bill came home for the summer. Ginny was bigger now, waving grasping hands and saying sparse words and cackling whenever Fred and George did anything clever. They passed them on to another house of Prewetts, with a damningly and temporarily white couch and a library they weren’t supposed to go into. Charlie taught Bill how to do diapers. Fred and George made goofily horrified faces to convince Ron and Ginny to swallow down their broccoli.

They bounced from home to home– always Molly’s family, never Arthur’s, whose mother had been disowned for marrying a blood traitor. Charlie went to school next, and Percy stepped into the responsibilities he and Bill had left behind them. Ginny got into scuffles with cousins who tugged her hair and called her missy. Ron got his first chess lesson from a great-uncle they lived with for three quiet weeks.

When Charlie and Bill could get Professor McGonagall’s permission, they Flooed home on the weekends to teach their brothers and sister to fly in the yard behind the clean little house with its pristine couch, in the weedy one behind their great-uncle’s cramped little home in magical Oxford, or in the acres of rolling pasture behind their spinster aunt’s home out in the country.

For the year and a half they lived with their squib accountant cousin and his Muggle wife out in Chesterford, they had to sneak far out afield to find someplace safe to fly.

Fred and George got very into Sunday morning Muggle cartoons. Bill stood beside the couch, watching figures move on screen, and thought about how much his dad would have loved that. Bill didn’t say anything, though, because Charlie was old enough to remember himself, and Ron was staring happily at the screen like he didn’t know he’d once had a father who had wondered about the telephones and televisions and microwaves they all knew now how to use.

Percy went to Hogwarts next. He gave shrill, stern, panicked instructions to Fred and George for the weeks before he and Bill and Charlie left. He cornered them one last time on Platform 9 ¾, the train whistles shrieking in the background.

Bill and Charlie were jogging around with Ron and Ginny on their respective shoulders, playing Spot-the-Wizards-Among-the-Muggles. “There, an owl!” shouted Ginny. “Found one!”

“Look at that one’s hat,” Ron said, but Charlie said, “Nah, kiddo, I think that’s just fashion. Remember Aunt Jenny’s shawl?”

Looming over the twins narrowly, Percy continued, “And Ginny won’t eat–”

“Her greens,” said Fred. “We know.”

“So you gotta hide them places,” said George.

“Or make funny faces,” said Fred. “But it’s so hard for you, Perce, you already look funny just as you are.”

“You need to take this seriously,” Percy squeaked, hugging his folded set of hand-me-down robes to his chest.

Charlie came over, swinging Ginny down to the ground, where Fred took her small hand absently. “You just keep an eye on them, okay? It’s gonna be fine. Cousin Stew seems nice enough.” Cousin Stew was, but he only lasted four months. Cousin Agnes, who came after, was nice enough, even if she did insist on table manners for everyone.  

Percy sent anxious letters home full of questions and checkups. Charlie got some extra pocket money, working for Hagrid on the grounds, and sent home every sweet he could buy from Hogsmeade.

When Bill was seventeen he graduated from his last year at Hogwarts and then he took his siblings back to the Burrow. Ron was seven years old, and Ginny six.

They unboarded the windows and swept out the dust, scoured the rusted pots back to shining. (Well, not quite shining.) Bill and Charlie were the only ones who could vaguely remember whose room had been whose, but they just let the others run up and down stairs and claim the ones they liked best, and then they ironed out the squabbles that resulted.

Ginny took the room at the top of the house, right below the lonely old ghoul in the attics. Ron chose a ground floor bedroom whose windows were nearly swallowed by vines and flowers. Charlie fried up eggs in their mother’s kitchen for their first breakfast.

Fred and George were discovering all the interesting corners of the house and Bill was having a hard time swallowing his eggs, because his little brothers were discovering, but when he had walked through these creaky old doors it had felt like coming home. He ate as many mouthfuls of egg as he could handle, and then he dragged them all out to the broomshed to see what had survived.

The other shed outside the Burrow had been their father’s, filled with Muggle junk or treasures. Boarded up like the rest of the house, it had been left there for years. Mice had gotten to some of their father’s notebooks, and mold to a few secondhand Muggle textbooks, but the old Ford Anglia had been hidden under a tarp and a dozen stasis spells.

Ginny liked to hide out there. She’d open one of the car doors and climb inside, going through the papers abandoned in its glove compartment, the years-old hard candies there. The bulky owner’s manual was there, too, but it would be years before she would do more than just doodle on its pages.

In a couple years, Fred and George would head off to Hogwarts, too, and Ron would run after the train, waving, while Bill held Ginny (who was getting too big for this) up on his shoulders so she could see. They were waiting, impatient, these two last Weasleys, to go to Hogwarts, too. Bill reached out for Ron’s hand, and then they all headed home.

In this world, there was another little boy waiting impatiently for a Hogwarts letter to come. Harry knew there was magic in his world. He would never live in a cupboard under any stairs.

In this world, Sirius would never call Harry ‘James.’ Sirius changed his diapers. When Lily took Harry to ‘bring your kid to work’ day Sirius let him tumble into the giant fountain and soak himself to his gleeful bones.

Sirius listened patiently through six year old Harry’s obsession with broom manufacturing, and his seven year old obsession with dinosaurs. Lily and Remus bought Harry Muggle books on stegosauruses and pterodactyls. Sirius read them with him on the ugly, garish rug he had bought James and Lily once as a joke, and which they had kept just to torment him.

James had hated cornflakes, and Harry loved them, especially if he could drown them in chocolate milk. Harry’s hair was always messy, not because he mussed it for show, but because as a child he’d fallen into the habit of tugging on it while he was thinking. He loved to fly just as much as his father had, and Sirius taught him how in the big yard behind the Godric’s Hollow house.

Sirius called Harry 'kiddo,’ 'little monster,’ 'sauerkraut,’ 'boppet.’ He called him 'Harry.’ He never called him 'James.’

Lily brought her work home, boxes and papers and scrying spells all spread out over the old Potter heirloom of a dining room table. Most nights she brought her Auror partner, too, and Sirius bounced Harry on his knee while they poured over open case files and complained about coworkers.

They had started with filing broom speeding tickets and other people’s paperwork, before they had gotten their first robbery, their first curse, their first murder, their first Dark wizard to hunt down and capture.

Now, between arson investigations and tracking down the Lestranges, they dug up the cold case of Peter Pettigrew, terrorist, fugitive, and read through it in their off-hours like a bedtime story.

The Ministry didn’t like werewolves, but that didn’t make this any less Remus’s fight. He slunk through Lily’s back door, bones stark under his exhausted skin, and told his friends what he had found. They made him drink hot tea and eat vegetables and get some sleep in a soft, safe bed, but they didn’t stop Remus when he went out again.

Lily didn’t believe in hiding things from the children. Harry grew up knowing his father had died scared, and brave, and well. “Lily,” James had said. “Take the others and go. I’ll try to hold them off.” Harry knew that sometimes his uncles sat with carrot soup and whiskey and talked about Peter until late in the night.

Harry grew up knowing that sometimes the people who love you betray you, and that sometimes they stick around and teach your kid how to brush his teeth and how to tie his shoes and how to fly.

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Monday 10th April 2017

I hereby dedicate this post to @letsdiscussrobots because she liked my other OC post. Mind how you go, botfriend, cause here’s some more!

Say hello to Bolt Spark!

She’s part of (or rather, the focal point of) my TFA ‘Holy Spark’ AU, which also crosses over slightly (okay, a lot) with MTMTE. I have an awful lot about this saved onto a Word document, so just let me copy and paste, aaaaand … there.

Holy Spark AU

Plot: Bolt Spark is asked by the Cybertronian Council to go to Earth to help search for the Allspark fragments, since Spark Priests (that’s what I’m gonna call their race) can sense the presence of the Allspark. The Elite Guard are told to escort her and Kilo Hide, who obviously has to come too because she’s Bolt’s Spark Guard (her type guards the Allspark and the Priests) and while they’re on Earth, they can look into Decepticon activity as well.

Bolt Spark is part of an ancient type of Cybertronian who were priests/priestesses of the Allspark, and she is one of the sole survivors of a Con attack at the beginning of the war because she was a sparkling at the time and her carrier sent her off in a stasis pod. Kilo Hide is also part of that ancient race, although she was part of another sort of ‘sub-race’, who were created specially as guards for the priests. Since the priests stayed around the Allspark for however many millennium and lived near it, they sort of absorbed the Allspark energy into their bodies and it becomes hereditary, so if one of your creators was a priest/priestess, you wouldn’t necessarily need to live near the Allspark to have the energy. This in turn means that your spark signature (energy signature) is the same as the Allspark. Oh, and priestess’ sparkling chambers modified over time to hold the Allspark if the need arose, like if someone tried to steal it. They can still have sparklings, it’s just that they can also act as a container to the Allspark. All Guards had wheeled pedes so that their speed gave them the upper hand in battle. Also, Kilo Hide was the same age as Bolt Spark (a young sparkling, not even a youngling) when they were shoved in the escape pod by Bolt’s carrier to keep them alive.

The reason all the Guards and Priests died in the Holy Spark Extinction Incident is because Megatron himself came to the battle. The Guards, as wonderful fighters they were, weren’t good enough to face the warlord and live. The Priests were just slaughtered, they didn’t know how to fight very well if at all, because they were always protected by the Spark Guards.

Now, onto another OC, also part of this AU.

Again copy and paste … there we are.

Autocorrect works on the Lost Light. He is one of Alcatraz’s closest friends, as he’s a librarian, Alcatraz never went to any sort of academy as he’s a Dinobot, so relies on Auty for a lot of knowledge. Alcatraz probably owes him like 3451895558932 data pads overdue and is so busy that he has to get Whirl to deliver them, which Auty hates, because Whirl always messes with the order. He has CDO (in alphabetical order, AS IT SHOULD BE) so a librarian job is perfect for him.



He doesn’t wear glasses, so the first time Rodimus sees him, he’ll be like “Helloooo, pretty femme … you have real nice optics.”

“I’m a mech.”


(I couldn’t find a mech base on the internet so I improvised and used the femme base I had. Hence, Autocorrect is always mistaken for a femme.)

The reason Bolt and Hide know Autocorrect is because he found their pod after it crashed near his house, which is on the other side of Cybertron to the Allspark Temple. He takes them in and raises them. Since he’s a librarian, he can get all sorts of data from libraries because no-one notices him whatsoever. He’s like the TFP Soundwave, always silent and always watching, so he know where and how to access even the most guarded information. He’s an expert hacker. Upon them telling him where they were from and what they are, Auto did a lot of digging and found pretty much all of the files and data packets containing writings and knowledge of their culture and taught it to them- Bolt, mostly Priest/Priestess duties and caring for the Allspark, Hide, the fighting techniques and how to make her own special weapons and how to protect Bolt. He taught them everything about their culture, everything, since it had been completely destroyed by the Decepticons in Megatron’s attempt at retrieving the Allspark.

It became apparent during the first few solar cycles he knew them that Bolt Spark had PTSD (mostly in the form of nightmares, also little words or objects could invoke a flashback), so he introduced the sparklings to his good friend Rung, a psychiatrist. Rung becomes more of a grandfather/uncle figure, which makes it easier for Bolt to talk to him.

Now, as to the plot of this AU … 

The first time Bolt and Hide meet the guys (Elite Guard) it’s all very formal and it’s before they start the journey. Since they’re the only survivors of the Priests and Guards (Hide was put into the same pod as Bolt) they’re extremely famous and well-respected members of the Cybertronian race. Meeting them is like meeting royalty, especially since Bolt’s carrier was Head Priestess.

Kilo Hide would restrain herself from doing anything brash, but she’d definitely be less up-tight with the crew than Bolt, seeing as she’s only a Guard, whereas Bolt is quite literally a princess and has to maintain that image.

The crew would be in absolute awe meeting them because, well, PRINCESS AND BAD-AFT GUARD. The Twins are more respectful than they’ve ever been with anyone, Sentinel keeps his opinions to himself, Blurr is trying his damnedest to speak slower and Jazz refrains from asking about Hide’s fighting techniques, because Cyber Ninja techniques practically pale in comparison with Spark Guards. Ultra Magnus is the same as usual.

Leading on from the first time Bolt and Hide met the guys, when the journey starts it’s still very formal and stiff and all, so no one’s really comfortable. The ice finally breaks when one day Kilo Hide throws her arms up in the air shouting “Uughhh! I just can’t take this anymore!” and marches straight up to Blurr( who’s been trying to hide from her because she keeps giving him these side-long looks that make him squirm) and demands a race. “You’re Blurr, Right? The 'fastest Autobot this side of the galaxy’?”

“Uh, yes?”

“I challenge you to a race! I’m the fastest bot on two pedes, I bet I can beat you any day!”

So of course his pride as a racer won’t let him back down from a challenge. He doesn’t CARE if she’s a Spark Guard or whatever, she wants to race him and get her aft whooped? She can try as much as she wants, you’re goin’ DOWN, glitch.

Imagine his surprise and horror when she beats him and leaves him in the dust to fail spectacularly.

From then on they’re racing buddies and are constantly trying to out-do each other. And because of the race and Hide’s outburst, everyone’s getting along just fine and completely casual with each other.

The thing that gets the bots properly chummy with Bolt and realise she’s just as normal as them is when Jazz is lured into the kitchen by the smell of Energon Goodies, only to be flattened on the way be Kilo Hide screaming about “Oh my Primus she’s BAKING it’s about fragging time I can’t live without her Energon Cake!” And Blurr rushing after her because “DidsomeonesayEnergonCake?

The Twins follow soon after because that stuff smells HEAVANLY

And when they arrive, they make such pitiful 'we-haven’t-been-fed-in-days’ faces that Bolt shoves the ninja and the two speedsters to the side and says “Have as many as you like, boys, I’m going to be baking all day today and I shan’t let younglings go hungry when there’s plenty to eat.”

Blurr and Kilo Hide fighting over the last piece of Cake, Jazz swiping handfuls of Energon Cookies not-so-sneakily and Bolt Spark spoiling the Twins absolutely rotten. (She totally becomes their adoptive mother. One of Bolt Spark’s duties as priestess is taking care of blessed sparklings and that’s why she is the ultimate Mum friend).



Right. I think that’s enough for one night. It’s really hard to put this down in a post and join it all together when I’ve just copy and pasted it from my chats with farore into a Word doc, but there we go.

So, how did anybody find that? Good? Bad? Let me know!

@letsdiscussrobots, let me know if you enjoyed!


Not Quite Tea Time (F!Corrin x Leo)

“Kana, pick up your sword again. We’re not stopping until you get the drill right at least once.” Leo lowered his arm, watching with a tinge of annoyance as Kana huffed and picked up the sword he had carelessly tossed aside in a small fit. “You wanted to join this army. I won’t have you dy-… I won’t have you being unable to fight like a member of the army.”

“Mama taught me how to use a sword, daddy… I can fight.” Kana crossed his arms, making sure his grip on the sword wasn’t hindered by doing so. “She’s a good swordfighter.”

“She also taught you to defend and not to attack.” Leo gave a sigh and walked closer to Kana, placing a hand on his younger son’s shoulder. “We need as many able fighters as possible, loath as I am to admit it. You have a lot of skill, but that skill will be useless without proper training.”

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The Unpredictable

Hello may I request a new gen era imagine/os with Teddy Lupin ? Something all fluffy and cute you choose the plot, ty dearie❤️ by anon


we’re both ‘team leaders’ at a summer camp for little people and you may be hot but goddammit my collection of twelve-year-olds are going to beat yours into the dust…

adjusted to my tatses

Teddy Lupin had to say he was quite proud of the Quidditch team he had managed to arrange. He had finally found a use for the abundance of cousins he had. 

He and his very good friend Y/N Wood were both about to start their seventh year that September, and so they had decided to make this the best summer of their lives. Every week they made up a new compeition and each day was spent in the other’s company. It was the middle of August and the biggest comeptition yet. 


Both teens took the game very seriously, Y/N a bit more so. Although, who could blame her? Her father was Oliver Wood for Merlin’s sake. He was the best Keeper the League had ever seen and was now his old team’s, Puddlemere United, coach. Unfortunately for Teddy, that meant Y/N had years of training and hereditary insanity about the game under her belt. However, it was something that lead to the creation of The Rules.

The Rules were a list of, well, rules, that Teddy and Y/N had written up on the train ride back from Hogwarts that June. There had been a lot of yelling, swearing, and hexing in order to create The Rules, but in the end both Teddy and Y/N were satisfied with the results. Both teens had a copy on the wall in their rooms.

The Rules:

  • Y/N Wood’s team must consist of all girls
  • Teddy Lupin’s team must consist of all boys
  • Y/N must start training one week after Teddy
  • Both coaches must be present at tryouts
  • Tryouts must be held at the same time
  • The Game must be conducted like a professional game
  • Oliver Wood cannot be referee because he will show favoritism
  • Ginny Potter cannot be referee because she will show favoritism
  • Y/N Wood cannot play Keeper because she has had proper training
  • Teddy Lupin cannot play Chaser because he has had proper training
  • There must mot be any trash-talk
  • There must not be any cheating
  • Whoever wins The Game must admit on bended knee that they were wrong

And that was it. The Rules were on paper. It was Teddy who had accidentaly made it so The Game was a battle of the sexes. Actually, all of their competitions had been a war between the genders. It was started their whole competition thing. 

They had been on the train for about an hour, talking about what they wanted to do that summer. Teddy, being his usual confident self, said, “No matter what we do, Y/N, I’ll beat you.”

“Oh really?” Y/N scoffed. “And why’s that?”

“I’m a bloke.”


“So I have more endurance, more strength, more strategy, and more skill.”

Y/N, however, disagreed. Loudly.

As the friends got off the train, they both had a list of things to do that summer and a copy of The Rules. They had decided that a Quidditch match would be the last competition between them because it tested all of the things that Teddy listed.

One week after returning home for the summer, Teddy and Y/N held tryouts. Not only would whoever made the teams participate in the Quidditch game, but they were also a part of any other competitions that happened over the summer. They had played a muggle game called football, Wizarding Chess, relay races, a game called poker that Uncle Bill and Lorcan Scammander had taught them, and many, many more.

At the moment the two teams were tied at eight-to-eight. This frustrated both team captains to no end, and the outcome of The Game weighed even more heavily than before. 

Right now, Teddy and his team were waiting for Y/N and the girls at the makeshift Quidditch pitch at the Burrow. James and Freddie, Teddy’s chosen Beaters, were hitting a bludger back and forth to work off their nerves. Albus, the Seeker, was racing Scorpious, a Chaser, around the pitch. Lysander Scammander and Hugo, that two remaning Chasers just sat in the center, talking. Teddy himself was pacing. He would be playing Keeper, it was his second best position afterall. Just as Y/N would be playing Seeker for the same reason.

At least, that’s what Teddy thought she would be playing. He actually had no idea. They had agreed that they wouldn’t reveal who would be playing what until The Game. Yes, they knew who was on the team, but that didn’t matter much. Each individual person had their own skills that could be best suited for a certain position. However, that didn’t stop Teddy from preparing against the team he thought Y/N had.

Rose would probably be playing Keeper like her father. Roxanne was most likely a Beater along with Molly. Dominique, Lucy, and Lily were all Chasers, with Y/N herself as Seeker. It’d be a very hard team to beat, but Teddy knew that he had prepared accordingly.

As long as he had the team right. 

Which he did. Of course. It was laughably predictable, just like Y/N. All girls were predictable really.

He hoped. 

“Ready to lose, Lupin?”

Teddy turned to see Y/N Wood smirking up at him as she walked towards him, a Cyclone 06 slung over her shoulder. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore her Quidditch gear. 

“Keep dreaming, Wood.”

“I don’t need to. We all know it’s reality.”

“Sure. Who plays what on your team?”

“Take a guess.”

Teddy didn’t trust the smirk that was steadily growing on his best friend’s face, and he was right not to. After he recited what he thought her team was, Y/N declared, quite cheerfully, “Nope!”

Then she walked over to her team. 

“Wait, what? Y/N!”

But Teddy no longer had a chance to argue with her. The crowd had arrived, along with the referee, Lorcan Scammander. At first, Teddy had been slightly worried that he’d show favoritism because his brother was a Chaser on Teddy’s team, but that was before he came to the realization that Lorcan was far too lazy to do so. It was the entire reason he hadn’t tried out, and he wasn’t on Slytherin Quidditch team. Plus, as Y/N pointed out, Lorcan fancied Domi, who was on her team.

When she said that however, Teddy had simply blinked and stated that Lorcan had a string of girls who worshipped him, while Domi argued with him daily. Y/N merely replied that it was obvious, and the entire world but Lily was oblivious, including Lorcan. 

But that was besides the point. Right now, Teddy and his team were standing in a huddle as they watched the crowd grow. People would think that it’d be a small crowd seeing as all The Game was was really just a ‘friendly’ Quidditch match. They’d be wrong, however. Weasleys all stood waiting for the game to begin, along with the Scammander Brothers’ family. The Longbottoms were there, along with Y/N’s family. Her father, Oliver Wood, was already in an arguement with Teddy’s godmother, Ginny Potter. Draco Malfoy and his best friend, Blaise Zabini, were there as well, looking extremely prepared to scream Scorpiuos on. A multitude of other family, friends, and family friends were there as well. He’d never admit it, but Teddy found it extremely nereve-wracking. 

Charlotte Jordan, another good friend of Teddy’s and Y/N’s, was there to commentate, and she bounced up to Teddy. “Hello, boys,” she grinned. “Think you’ll win The Game?”

“Of course,” James scoffed. “You don’t honestly think-”

“-that the girls could beat us, do you?”

Teddy had always found it terrifying how James and Freddie finished each other’s sentences even though they weren’t twins.

“Well, I talked to Y/N and she said you guys have been prepping all wrong,” Charlotte said, and Teddy could see the same glint of mischievousness her father, Lee Jordan, had. He had to have it, seeing as it was him who started the Potter Watch, and continued it to this day. 

“What do you mean?” Lysander asked, magenta eyebrow raised in precaution.

“Her team. Teddy’s been coaching you against a team he set up, not one Y/N did. And this is Y/N. She’s always been one to go against what people think. She sees the small parts of people and uses that to her advantage. Did you know she was nearly a Slytherin because of it?”

Teddy swore, eyes widening as he wiped his head around to face his friend who was giving her team a pep talk. She met his gaze over Lily’s head, and, noticing Charlotte, smirked.

“I forgot about that,” Teddy whispered, paniked. He looked back at Charlotte. “You’ve got to tell me how she’s set up her team.”

Charlotte stepped back, thrown off by how much her friend resembled a wild animal in that moment, “Uh, well, she made Lily Seeker because of how freakishly obsevant she is. Rose is a Chaser because she’s good at strategizing thanks to chess. Same with Roxanne. Molly’s Keeped because, and I quote, ‘she’s too bloody stubborn to let the Quaffle pass.’ And then Domi and Lucy are the Beaters because they’re the most likely to be underestimated since Lucy is so sweet, and Domi can’t be bothered to actually try hard enough to make some damage.”

“And Y/N’s a Chaser,” Teddy breathed, cutting Charlotte off. Of course, it was obvious now. Y/N hated being Chaser. She was independent and being a Chaser relied to much on other people for her tastes. Teddy groaned, letting his head hang. He should have thought this through, but he hadn’t, and know he knew that he and the boys were practically done for.

“Right then,” he said, suddenly determined. There was no bloody way he was going to let Y/N win and prove him wrong. “If you could excuse us Charlie, I need to give my team a pep talk.”

Charlotte grinned, saluting him as she walked away. “Good luck, boys!”

Albus, however, was less cheerful. “You’re kidding, right Teddy? There’s no way we can beat them!”

“Sure there is!”

“Yeah, right,” Scorpious scoffed. “Y/N’s got you pegged, adn she went for the least likely team available in order to throw us off. And it worked.”

“Come on, Scorp, we’ve got one thing they haven’t.”

“What’s that?” Although nervous at the prospect at being beaten into smithereens by his older sister, Hugo was to curious to not ask the question.

Teddy threw his arms across Lysander’s and James’ shoulders, leaning in close. “We. Are. Men. No matter what those girls throw at us, we are men. Even if we lose, which we won’t, we are men. We. Are. Men. We. Are. Men. We! Are! Men!”

Teddy’s team slowly joined in on his chant, causing it to steadily grow louder until it could be heard all across the pitch. His grin grew to match the intensity of their chant as Teddy looked at his team. He was extremely proud of them. They had worked hard over the summer in preperation of The Game, and still enjoyed their daily practices. Sure, they were screwed, and Teddy was insanely angry at Y/N for being herself and doing the unexpected, but this really had been the best summer of his life, just as she had promised. 

A shrill whistle broke through their chant, and Lorcan’s lazy drawl followed it, “The Game starts now. Captains shake hands.”

“Nice chant there, Lupin,” Y/N smirked, squeezing harder than Teddy thought her capable of. “But if you want to win you should do something more empowering. Next time try ‘we are women.’”

Teddy smirked back at her, and squeezed in return, “I thought there was a rule against trash talk.”

Y/N rolled her yes. “Like Lorcan would notice.”

Teddy glanced at the blond and had to agree. Lorcan only paid attention when it benefitted him or when he felt like it. He probably wouldn’t give a damn until they were up in the air, and would stop caring as soon as they landed. 

Charlotte’s voice rang through the air. “THE SNICTH IS IN THE AIR AND THEY ARE OFF!”

“I suppose you deserve a congratulations, then.”

“Thanks, we appreciate it.”

Teddy Lupin scowled, glaring at his former best friend, Y/N Wood. It had taken three professional opinions for him to accept it, but the girls hadn’t cheated. Lorcan Scammander had told him that with his usual nonchalance. Oliver Wood had told him that with not-at-all covered elation. Ginny Potter had told him that with obvious confliction, stuck between being disappointed her godson lost and ecstatic that a team of all girls won.. 

At the moment, Teddy and Y/N were sitting next to the pond as everyone else ate dinner at the Burrow. Y/N hadn’t been able to stop grinning after Teddy had kneeled in front of her and all of they spectators and stated, quite clearly, “Y/N Wood, you were right and I was wrong. I was a sexist pighead, and all woman are superior.” It had annoyed Teddy at first, but he was steadily growing fond of her childlike pride.

“Was I right?”

“I already told you that,” Teddy groaned. And he had. In front of everyone.

“Not that,” Y/N laughed. “This summer. Was it the best one of you life?”

Teddy grinned at his friend and nodded. “Yeah, it was.”

“Good, I’m glad.” 

The two sat there in a comfortable silence for awhile, just admiring the view. Fireflies lit up the evening every now and then, and it seemed like Y/N was unable to look away from the surprisingly beautiful pond. Teddy, on the other hand, was unable to look away from her. She had taken her hair out of it’s ponytail and it now rested on her shoulders. Teddy had the rather bizzare desire to run his hands through it.

“Hey, Teddy?”

“Yeah, Y/N?”

“I think I have an idea to make it even better.”

She turned to face him, looking just as mischievious as she had when she had walked onto the pitch earlier that day. 

“And what’s that?” Teddy whispered.

“Kiss me.”

WIthout giving him a chance to reply, or even process her words, Y/N had pressed her lips to his. The kiss was short and sweet and undeniably perfect.

Once again, Y/N had shocked Teddy by doing the unpredictable. This time though, he wasn’t complaining. It really did make their summer even better.

Is this fluff? This is fluff right? I hope so. I don’t really know, but I liked it so I hope you all do as well!

-Admin Nox

The great fan-theorying 2016 - Vision and Wanda (post-Civil War)

First of all, I would like to point out that back in August last year I got the whole plotline concerning Wanda and Vision in Civil War right. 

Some quotes from my post/fan-theory from a year ago:

If because of the explosion, she (Wanda) gets arrested and put out of commission, that would explain why she’s not in either line-up. Possibly means the rest of the movie is about trying to get her out, since Cap knows what really went down and that she doesn’t deserve to be locked up…

…Which means that likely he’s (Vision’s) the only one who can be in charge of guarding her and/or making sure she doesn’t take over the guards’ minds.

Leaving Wanda and Vision alone.



I grew up on Wanda and Vision comics, because my dad was a huge sap and actually collected their miniseries as well as West Coast Avengers, which was then passed onto me. I also keep up with the current comics to see what Marvel intends with their relationship now, including their kids (if you’re new to the ship, oh boy is that an interesting chestnut of information for you to digest!).

What’s more, I have a script-writing background, and I’m currently in the media industry. It’s kinda my job to write stories, keep stories straight, and assess them objectively. Theory-crafting is my job, lore-mongering is part of my skill-set.

And with Vision and Wanda, you gotta go through like 40 years worth (not counting the last few months even) of history and drama, good and bad, to figure out where the MCU wants to go.

Lucky for you, I grew up on this shit. It’s second nature for me to keep it all straight.

This gonna be a huge post, people. This post will be about me addressing some stuff about how they are portrayed in Civil War, some stuff linking to their comic counterparts, and I’m actually going to include my theories about Marvel’s end-game plan for these two, and this includes looking at other material/media in association with the MCU that has come out (video games, comics etc.)

For newbies to the ship, I’m going to link to some primer material as well, because you guys gotta get introduced to Billy and Tommy. Strap in!

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