and how she's alive in what we last saw

Gotham 4x02

Just a reminder that this week’s episode will likely be extremely hard on people who have depression, or face/have had suicidal thoughts. We know that things get extremely dark with Jim when he faces his fear of losing everyone.

Jim is meant to totally devolve and unravel before he becomes what Gotham needs. The whole scene is going to be different from what we saw with Jervis Tetch. Jim Gordon destroys the lives of people he loves (unintentionally), or people who look up to him. He will always feel like death is the only punishment he deserves, and this opens him up to constantly putting himself in dangerous situations. 

He couldn’t help Barbara, Lee, Selina, Nygma, Barnes, Valerie, Alice, etc etc.

I still feel ruined whenever I watch the scene where Selina blames him for not keeping Bridgit alive, how she never should’ve trusted him or the cops, that scene always has me shook. It’s the last time Selina puts her faith in justice.

Jim’s story - Gotham-canon and DC Universe - is wrought in despair, and he will constantly blame himself for things that were out of his control, but still a by-product of his own doing. 

I have so many thoughts on this, but I digress. So, remember we’re in for some shit this coming episode (and most of S4 it seems like), but more importantly:

Remember that you are loved, you are not alone, and there is a tomorrow.

1-800-273-TALK is the National Suicide Hotline in the USA.

(I apologize for misplaced tags, but I wanted to hit a broad audience.)

(Rey x reader) Lost in the snow

Requested by: @labyrinth-of-thoughts 

A/N: IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT ALSO I KINDA DIDN’T EDIT MY APOLOGIES 

Words: 2,537

—————

You leaned against one of the walls outside of the Fighter Planes, watching the training session before you. Rey and Finn had been practicing with dummy lightsabers for the past hour now, which meant you had nowhere better to be at this very moment. You watched Rey as she moved with precision, grace, and fierceness. Three things you’d always found attractive in her case. Your relationship with her however had been reduced to light flirting, and over-the-shoulder winks. Although you didn’t really mind. Besides she was always nice to look at. You’d already packed your medical supplies that you’d need on this mission and was now just waiting until it was time to take off.

Rey continued to fight Finn, eventually sweeping his legs as he hit the ground with a thump and you raised your eyebrow a little watching her.

“Whatcha lookin at?” you heard a voice behind you and you turned around in shock to see Poe standing behind you, raising his eyebrow and smirking. You rolled your eyes and sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue against him.

“Why?” you asked, crossing your arms and facing him with a playful grin plastered on your face.

“Because this relationship of yours is getting ridiculous. Would the two of you just make out and get it over with already?” he said, rolling his eyes. You scoffed, playfully slapping him on the arm which made him laugh.

“I wasn’t kidding!” he responded, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. You shook your head, slightly amused.

“Don’t push your luck, Dameron” you said, making him laugh again.

You suddenly whipped your head around when you felt a soft hand touch your shoulder and run discreetly down your arm.

“Hey there, Y/N” she said softly, walking away from you and smirking over her shoulder. You stood there smiling for a minute and then looked up at Poe, who had a massive smirk on his face.

You stared at him for a few seconds, unable to stop smirking from Rey’s latest flirting technique before you smiled at him, slightly annoyed.

“Shut up” you said, slapping him lightly on the arm again before walking around the plane, getting ready to go. Rey was getting into another ship at that moment, attacking on a different front. She noticed you getting into the ship and winked at you before disappearing into the large metal plane. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

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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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A New Hope [Kylo Ren x Reader]

Summary: Leia sends the reader to Starkiller Base to try to bring Ben Solo home. However the reader fully believes him to be dead and gone, replaced by Kylo Ren. Nothing will convince the reader otherwise, not even Kylo Ren himself.

Word Count: 2,000+

Warnings: The reader fears death (many times?) at least once. Torture is mentioned in passing, but not practiced. (I wrote this almost a year ago. lmk if I missed anything)    

“Reason with him, Y/N. Please, just try to reason with him.” That had been the plea of General Organa. “He won’t listen to me,” she had said. “I’m the reason he went to the Dark Side in the first place. But he might see sense if you show it to him.” This was not an official mission. This was not mandatory. This was a request from a mother for the sake of her son. You were doing this for General Organa, because she thought that Ben might still be alive. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that you knew that Ben was gone forever, without redemption.

You approached Starkiller Base, not concerned with how you were going to get onto it, but rather what you were going to say to Kylo Ren once you were there. You hadn’t seen him in years, but when you saw him last, you had had enough time to break each other’s hearts. How he would react to seeing you again, what would happen to you, and whether you would even be able to land were all mysteries.

“We have you on our screens, now. Please identify,” a voice came from the Base’s Air Traffic Control.

“Diplomatic mission from the Ileenium System,” you announced. “Ambassador Transport X-Wing requesting deactivation of the deflector shield.”

There was nothing but static on the other end for a while, then the same voice spoke again. “We were not informed of any such mission from your system. State your personal identification.”

You closed your eyes, trying to think. But you let your thoughts slip past your control, and suddenly, you knew exactly what to say. “Kylo Ren,” you spoke to him. You somehow knew that he was there, listening. “You know who I am. Give me clearance, or I’ll tattle to your mother about you.”

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Remember


Read on A03- http://archiveofourown.org/works/11662800

Magnus wandered around the small hut that his family lived in, barefoot feet hitting the dirt floor, causing small clouds of dust to appear. His amber cat eyes were searching for his mother. He wanted to ask her why she was always so sad now. Why she and Papa wouldn’t give him hugs, or say that they loved him anymore. He thought for a second. He realized the better question to ask was why they didn’t love him anymore. He wanted to ask what’d he’d done wrong, and how to fix it. As he walked into the bedroom, he saw his mama sleeping on the bed. He approached the bed and he could tell something was wrong. Magnus’ mother was always full of life, of passion and wonder. She could hardly ever sit still for more than a second. Even when she was mad at him, or sad, she was always pacing about, waving her arms, but now? Now, she was still, and pale. Scarily so. Magnus would never forget the next thing he saw. Even after 400 years the memory of his once lively, beautiful mother, pale, unmoving, and cold, so, so cold, with blood all around her a deep scarlet, the iron scent of blood filling what felt like, a kerias sticking out of her chest would stay with him. And even little, scared Magnus, knew that this would be something he’d never, never forget. And he’d never forget what happened next.

His father had walked into the bedroom, and immediately saw what happened. An evil monster had killed his wife. The monster that Magus had become, he was a monster. So, he grabbed the boy’s small body and ran to the river, hate seeping out of every pore. He shoved Magnus into the water, holding him under, letting the cold and dark consume him. Magnus couldn’t breathe, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to, because he knew his mama was gone forever, and he knew he absolutely caused it. He wanted to die. His magic, the monster inside of him, though? It wanted to live, it had the urge to go on, to see more, do more. A wave of fire, raged through his body and he cast it into his father’s white shirt, observing silently as the flames consumed him. As the orange flames danced around his body, a horrific ballet, to the music of the agonized screams of the man he called his father. Magnus felt empty.

Some time later Magnus stumbled as fast as he could into the nearby woods, hair wet and getting in his eyes, clothing drenched, still struggling to breathe, hearing angry, dangerous voices close behind him. Oh god. The events of the night hit him like a ton of bricks slamming into his chest. What had he done? He didn’t mean to kill his stepfather but he was so, so scared and he couldn’t breathe and he freaked out. The voices grew closer and Magnus’ instincts kicked out and another wave of magic rolled from his body. If Magus had stopped to look, he would have seen the villagers were caught in a harmless freezing charm, which wore off after 30 minutes or so. However, Magnus just assumed he’d killed them all and kept running and running. The wind cut into him like millions of daggers, his shining feline golden eyes simply couldn’t stop his pain and hurt from falling from his eyes. The young warlock kept rethinking the day. What had he done wrong? Why did his Mama stab herself? He didn’t mean to! He didn’t want her too! As the horrific events replayed again and again in his mind, it was all his fault, all his fault. But the magic inside him decided it wanted to survive, and he was his magic, and he was stubborn. So he ran. And kept running until he could breathe without pain again.

In fact, he kept running for years. Never staying in one place longer than a lonely and terrified  night, avoiding eye contact, keeping his face hidden in shadows, just on the infinitesimal chance that someone from the village was still looking for him. Magnus was 12, or at least he thought he was, it was hard to keep track of time, the first time he met another warlock. Sadly, the kind warlocks name had been lost to memory, but Magnus could still picture her striking green skin, how kind she was, how she helped him discover the monster inside of him was not a monster, but in fact a great part of him that he could use to save the world. He remembered how she died, in a fight against shadowhunters who wanted their warlock marks as trophies. He remembered when he saw the blade go through her chest and remembered the fact that he hadn’t killed the evil shadowhunters, only knocked them out, because she always said “Killing is the only thing you will ever regret.” He remembered the light fading from her kind, but pained ivy colored eyes. He remembered her last words telling him to “Stay alive, so you can see the day that we are free” but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name. He couldn’t really recall what his father and mother looked like, and when he got a fleeting image, he knew it was corrupted by memory. He knew that his memory was very unreliable. He knew he was forgetting so many important things. So many important people.

And he feared the same thing would happen to Alexander.

The memory of Alec would never vanish, no, the love he would always remember.

But there was so much about his love that he he wouldn’t.

As much as he could write, record, capture, nothing was invincible.

He could cast spells, and invest in everything-proof safes, but it is always going to be possible for something, someone that could break the spells, make the safe disappear, make the memory vanish.

There was nothing to do but hope that in thousands of years, he would still remember this amazing shadowhunter, that he wouldn’t forget the sound of his laugh, like a bell ringing for the whole world to hear, his beautiful smile filling the room like the light from the sun. He hoped to remember the way his brown eyes lit up with whatever he was feeling, good, or bad, how he could let down his glamor around him and Alec would still act like Magnus was perfect, how he hugged Magnus like he was the most amazing thing in the world, how the small, loving touches that graced his skin would feel so perfect and extraordinary and he would smile and feel as if a supernova of love had just exploded inside his heart. He wanted to remember the soft, loving, doting kisses and he wanted to remember the passionate, steamy kisses, filled with force and want and love. He wanted to remember the feeling of their bodies colliding. He wanted to remember every perfect detail of Alec’s face. He hoped that he would remember the look on Alec’s face the first time he picked up Max, like it was the moment his whole life had led up to, and he wanted to remember that he was so happy and terrified at the same time when he realized that Max was his son. He wanted to remember how the second he saw Rafael, he shared a look with Alec and they knew the scared little boy was part of their family. He wanted to remember every second of Alec, the love, the fights, the heartbreak, the healing, the jokes, the dancing, the looks, everything.

He wanted to remember.
But he might not.

And that terrified Magnus Bane.


However, the warlock simply slipped in between the soft golden sheets on his bed, kissed Alec on the head, and fell asleep.


Yo so this was part of Malec Appreciation Week, A moment from the past, idk i did it right?? Hope u enjoyed though!!

I almost don’t want Ahsoka to appear in any more Rebels epsiodes

Dave Filoni has said that “Twilight of the Apprentice” was intended to be Ahsoka Tano’s final appearance in Star Wars Rebels, and likely her last appearance in any media he creates.  Her story was finished, and he didn’t want to drag it out with sub-par sequels that didn’t add anything new to her character.  However, when he saw just how big of a reaction she got in the fandom he said that he was reconsidering that decision.

Originally posted by ahsoka-snips-tano-lives

I for one would love to see more Ahsoka, but I also don’t, because how could they top that last, lingering look as she sunk into the shadows of the Sith temple?

We wonder “Is she dead?  Is she alive? What is she searching for?”.  The ambiguity means we don’t need to try and force her to fit into continuity, and leaves us open to hope for the best we can come up with.

If we believe that all the Jedi are dead by the time of the original Star Wars we can say to ourselves that she died here in a valiant defense of Kanan and Ezra, amidst one last attempt to save Anakin Skywalker.  She might have laid some of the seeds of Luke’s eventual success.  This is a worthy and noble death for a Jedi and a beloved character, and her fading into the shadows is in fact her Force Ghost as she moves on to the next phase of existence.

If we think that some Jedi survived then we can say that she escaped Vader, that her hard work and skills and commitment allowed her to persevere where so many others failed.  The sight of her at the end is her deliberately walking back into the temple in order in order to learn its secrets or destroy it, and afterwards she can continue to fight evil across the galaxy in her own way.

Originally posted by rayn44

Either one can work with what we’re presented. We can fill in the rest of her story ourselves, and we can give her our own happy ending or tragedies.

If she came back for more episodes how could they possible avoid killing her off for real, or otherwise giving us a concrete “Here’s what happened” finality?

….but I would love to see her again….

Dark Fate Ruki Ecstasy Prologue Translation

Dark Master Post     Maniac Master Post     Ecstasy Prologue     Ecstasy 01     Ecstasy 02     Ecstasy 03     Ecstasy 04     Ecstasy 05     Ecstasy 06     Ecstasy 07     Ecstasy 08     Ecstasy 09     Ecstasy 10     Ecstasy Epilogue     Heaven 03  


-Scene: A Bedroom In Merz’s Castle-


Shin: ――Nngh… …Mn, Nnn… …Haa… …

… …You’re as reluctant as ever. It’s bothersome if you struggle, but can’t you react a little?



Yui: … … … …

(… …How long has it been since I came here?)

(… …I don’t want to think about anything)

(Like whose fangs are piercing me, or whose hands are touching me)

(… …Any of it… …)



Shin: … …Tch!



*Shin Pushes Yui Away*



Shin: Whatever. We’re done for the day.



*Shin Leaves; Door Slams*



Yui: (… …I don’t have any regrets. I did this to help Ruki-kun and the others)

(… …But… …)



-Yui Closes Her Eyes; Fade to Black Screen-



Yui: (… …I want to see him)

(I want to see… …Ruki-kun… …)

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“He was going to break my legs,” she said, her chin held high, the barest quaver in her voice. “Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When I couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?”
Dirtyhands would not. The boy who could get them through this, get their money, keep them alive, would do her the courtesy of putting her out of her misery, then cut his losses and move on.
“I would come for you,”, he said, and when he saw the wary look she shot him, he said it again. “I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together - knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”
At last she nodded, the smallest dip of her chin.
— 

Inej and Kaz in Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo, chapter 12, pp. 184

So, this is beautiful, but also an actual SPOILER! Beware.

I know there are people who hate that Clara was brought back in Hell Bent. I know the Moffat haters are screaming about horrible writing and blah blah blah.

But there’s a message. Clara’s going off with Me while being frozen between one heartbeat and the next is a metaphor. A very complex metaphor that is so very, very simple and illustrated so well in the speech the Doctor gave to Me in The Woman Who Lived.

“People like us, we go on too long. We forget what matters. The last thing we need is each other. We need the mayflies. See, the mayflies, they know more than we do. They know how beautiful and precious life is because it’s fleeting. Look how Sam Swift made every last moment count, right to the gallows. Look how glad he is to be alive. I looked into your eyes and I saw my worst fears. Weariness. Emptiness.“

One moment is all Clara has left. One moment to see the universe. One moment to tell people what she needs to tell them. One moment to live life to the fullest before she dies. 

Clara is lucky because she knows she’s in her last moment. 

We aren’t so lucky. Things happen. Sudden cardiac arrest. Aneurysms. Accidents. Illness. Murder. Suicide.

Tomorrow is promised to no one. Look at sunsets. Admire rainbows. Tell people you care. Live your life. Make every moment matter because you don’t know which one is your last. You don’t know which moment is the last for someone you love.

Live like Clara. Make it count.

Flood my Mornings (Boston AU): Part 2

From the prompt 

@ask-charming-david​ asked: Imagine if Jamie somehow made his way through the stones after Culloden, found out where Claire was, made his way there, and surprised her in Boston.

Catch up: Part 1

-Mod Bonnie


Flood my Mornings (Boston AU)

Part 2

Jamie staggered like a ghost over the battlefield of Culloden—and what was he, if not a ghost?—as the hellish voice continued to boom out overhead: “We honor our noble dead, those who laid down their lives for the cause, for Scotland and for our Bonnie Prince!

//canonfire//

//corbie calls//

1950. People. So many people. Their clothing, strange; their voices harsh and grating to his ear. Crushes of them, everywhere he turned still more, and more, and more, yammering and laughing shrilly and—

//the scent of blood and powder//

1950. Drummers. Marching. Garish tartans all about; so bright, so wrong. The squeal of pipes.

//never-ending screams of pain as men are cut down and blown apart//

1950. The clan gravestones spread out across the moor. Mackenzie. Grant. Fras—

//as -friends- are cut down… as -kinsmen- are blown apart//

He sighted a gap between the perimeter of tents, and stumbled through it, gasping desperately for air.

//his godfather’s bloodied, broken face//

He fell to the ground beneath a tree and vomited. It was nothing but bile, but it burned terribly, adding to the maelstrom of assaulting sensations—both present and remembered— that had overtaken his body. He dropped to his side like a felled beast, covering his head. Everything was spinning so fast. The screams of Culloden melded with the screams of the stones, all seeming to tear apart his every thought and bone and breath, Charybdis sucking him downward into the sweet darkness of despair.

…but something else was cutting slowly through the panic, something pale and gleaming, like the surface of an egg, fresh from the hen. This was no land-dwelling thing, though; it was rising slowly, just becoming visible beneath the dark, roiling sea…

1946, she’d said…putting her back in 1948. So, for her, it would now be…

Holy Christ Almighty.

Jamie felt the white, buoyant thing break the surface of the water and rise up into the air, carrying him with it. Up and up he soared, leaving the ocean and the shore far below, laughing and weeping and rejoicing; for, somewhere far below, somewhere on this land or this sea, she was there, alive…. and reachable.

CLAIRE

“You alright, man?!?”

Jamie jerked back reflexively, banging hard against the tree trunk. Three men were staring down at him. Their clothes were strange, even compared with what he’d seen of how folk dressed in this time: baggier and noticeably dirtier. Their hair was long, though, like his, and they were looking down with kind concern in their eyes.

“The last we saw you, you were passed out up at the big rocks,” said the one wearing colored spectacles. “You don’t look much better, though….Did the doctors not treat you, man?”

Jamie blinked. Their accents were like nothing he’d ever heard, and it took him a second too long to conjure up a proper response.

“Are you ok?” the one with blond hair said slowly, enunciating carefully and giving him a wary, pitying look. “Do-You-Speak-English?” He turned aside to his companions, whispering, “Should we take him to the medical tent again?

“No, I-I’m fine,” Jamie stammered out, rising to his feet with great effort. He managed a bit of leg and a conciliatory, “F-forgive my rudeness, g-gentlemen, it’s just I'm…”

While quaking all over and weak from shock, hunger, and fatigue, Jamie was pleased to find that calm and focus had fallen over him like a mantle, warming and directing him, guiding his body and his mind. The passing through the stones, the terror of Culloden, the strange frantic pace and sights and sounds of this new time…all of it had fallen away like a snakeskin, discarded, of no further consequence.

He wiped away the tears from his cheek and laughed freely, the first time he could remember doing so since long before Culloden. “It’s just that I’m…verra happy to be going home.”


“Broch Morda, huh?” the mustachioed one asked as they jolted violently over a poor spot of road and–for the dozenth time–Jamie barely suppressed the violent urge to vomit. The speaker seemed barely to notice, continuing on conversationally. “We met a guy the other day who was from that area, actually. Do you know a George Lindsay?”

“I…ken several of that name, to be sure, but they…havena been in the area for some time. I doubt greatly that we should be acquainted.”

“You sure?” the bespectacled one prodded. “Blonde hair? Green eyes?”

Quite certain, I fear.”

All parties seeming to accept this, an amiable silence fell once more, and Jamie exhaled in relief. So strange was 1950—mind-boggling at every turn—that he feared each word uttered would demonstrate his ignorance and betray him as the unnatural visitor he was. He had tried, in consequence, to say as little as possible without being pointedly rude. This had proved difficult, however, for his new companions—Americans, they said, on a tour of the British Isles—were pleasant folk, and generous to boot.

“The clothes look good on you,” the blonde one at the wheel of the contraption said appreciatively,  looking back over the seat at Jamie. “Sorry they’re not all that clean. They’ve been rolling around in the backseat for the last few weeks. Probably smell a bit like weed, too,” he added apologetically.

Going along with their assumption that his “real clothes” had been stolen, Jamie had accepted a pair of long breeks made of some thick, blue material, and a thin, short shirt with sleeves that stopped after the shoulders. His own boots would have to do, though he felt rather ridiculous with the fabric flopping about overtop them, rather than respectably tucked in. Jamie trusted that he would be less conspicuous in this new attire, though to his own eye, he looked a right fool.

“Dinna fash on my account. I’m entirely grateful, and beggars canna expect much in the way of choice,” Jamie said, unscrewing his eyes long enough to meet his companion’s in sincere but admittedly weak thanks. In truth, he was more concerned about the state he would be in himself after rolling about in said back seat long enough to reach Inverness. His waim was churning madly, even empty, from the constant rattling, jolting, and swerving of the metal wagon, which hurtled at impossible speeds through the hills and glens. Van, he corrected himself queasily, gripping the door so tightly his knuckles went bloodless. This horseless wagon of certain death is called a Van. That’s what Ronnie and the others had called it anyway. It was better than traveling by boat, he thought with a grimace, but not by much.

The griping in his belly was not only due to the terrorizing conveyance, but also to his anxiousness to reach Inverness. In the town, surely he would be able to find food, and perhaps a way to earn some money before heading south. He had no idea how much a horse would cost in 1950, let alone a Van, even if he were able to learn to ride one of the blasted things. He would go on foot if nothing else, just as soon as he got his bearings.  

He was aware of the strange surroundings, to be sure, as the party rattled into Inverness. How could one ignore them? The buildings were tall—huge—and the streets visible through the windows were packed with more Vans, big and small, all moving about en masse like a swarm of insects. He’d jumped in terror at sound of a great roar from the heavens, to be told that it was only an airplane. Oh aye, he’d considered replying,staring up at the tiny thing and waiting for his heartbeat to slow again. *Only* a vessel that carries folk up into the clouds ready to plummet them to their deaths.

But the wonders and frights of 1950 seemed, ultimately, of little consequence. Like rain or cold or hunger, they were inconvenient, and took some getting used to, but were nothing to take account of in relation to a task that needed doing. He would accustom himself to this world as best he might, as much as was necessary, in order to reach her.

God, the thought made his heart squeeze with joy. Claire and wee Brian. No longer to be confined to his dreams and prayers, accompanied by despair and longing, but held tight in his very arms, pressed against his heart. Soon, he would feel and smell and hear them against his body; his blood and bone, his soul restored to him once more.

“Alex? Alex!”

Jamie blinked, coming out of his reverie. “Aye? S-sorry, what?”

“We’re here, man.”

Sure enough, thank the Lord, the infernal rattling had ceased. Jamie stumbled out onto the smooth stone road in front of a row of shops. He stretched and inhaled deeply, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face and smiling widely.

Catching the child up and spinning him round. Hearing him giggle. Hearing wee Brian call him “Da.”

“Will you come in for a bite before you head off, Alex?” Ronnie asked, clapping him jovially on the back. “Our treat!”

Jamie opened his mouth to say that he certainly would and thank you very kindly. He was starving, after all.  But before he could speak, something coming up the road toward them caught his eye…and froze him to the bone.

A man and a woman, pushing a small wheeled carriage. A tiny bairn lay in it, Jamie could see. The wee thing began to wail, and the mother stopped, but the father uttered a gentle word to stop her, and reached in to pick up the wee one himself. The man was wearing a dark hat and coat with matching trousers. A strange costume to Jamie’s eyes but striking, nonetheless. The father raised the child to his shoulder and kissed it tenderly on its capped head, rocking it slowly as the mother looked on in tenderness. He leaned his head against the bairn’s and returned it, taking her hand in his.

Jamie barely even heard the shouts of his companions as he ran. Ran until his feet ached. Ran down streets. 1950 was now a terrifying and never-ending labyrinth, violent and pernicious, and he jumped in panic at every new danger. The Vans shrieked and squealed as he ran across more streets than he could count.  The whole place seemed to pulse and roar as he tried to outrun the voice in his ear.

You canna, it said, over and over.

I can, damn it, and I will, he snarled back each time.

You can, it always conceded...but you mustn’t.

The face of Black Jack Randall loomed under a dark hat. He was there, in a dark coat and trousers, his arms around a tiny red-haired lad, smiling down with genuine tenderness, kissing him, spinning him around….Then the scene shifted, and wee Brian was crying, wailing in the fiend’s arms, struggling to get free of the vice-like grip, looking up in terror as his captor leered down and—

Jamie awoke with a cry of anguished fury, reaching for a dirk that wasn’t there. He was on the ground in a small passage between two looming buildings. Rubbish of all kinds was piled everywhere. It was freezing, just after dawn, but he was heaving with boiling sweat. 

“I must,” he gasped, shaking with rage. “God as my witness, I must!

No, said the voice. You mustn’t.

His cry was silenced by a sudden tolling cutting through the hazy early-morning light. Church bells. He uttered earnest thanks to heaven. A sound that was known to him. A promise of a place of peace and sanctuary. Scarcely taking note of his surroundings, he followed to the sound, drawn to it, clinging to it as he ran.

He reached the small stone church just as the sun was nosing up in the east, illuminating the broad wooden doors. Without even stopping to knock, he pushed one open and entered. It was a small place: two columns of pews pointing toward a simple altar; but quiet and still. He threw himself into one of the pews. There were no kneeling benches, but he went to his knees nonetheless. He pulled the rosary from his pocket (saved from that of his breeks before they were discarded) and prayed with all his soul.

“Tell me what I must do….Show me.”

You mustn’t.

Jamie flung the rosary behind him, pulled a book from the slot and hurled it, too. He let forth a strangled sob and slammed both hands down on the pew back, cursing aloud, “HOW can that be the answer?”

“Are ye in need of help, sir?”

Jamie started and whirled around to locate the speaker, nearly falling backwards in the space between the pews in the process. A small man was standing at the rear of the church, pulling the door shut with a gentle click. Jamie saw with a pang of guilt that he wore a clerical collar.

He lowered his head, utterly ashamed. “F-forgive me, Father…” He gestured toward the direction of the flung book—Christ, has it been a Holy Bible?—“That was inexcusable, and I shouldna have shouted as I did. Nor was it right of me to—to barge in wi’out leave and— ”

“I’m not a Father, just a simple Presbyterian reverend,” the man interrupted kindly. “And it was right for you to come here. It’s the home of every soul in need, after all; even if what the soul in question needs is a bit of a shout and a rage.”

Jamie couldn’t help but smile at the affable minister. “That’s…verra gracious of ye to say, fa—reverend.

The man returned the smile. “May I know your name, sir?”

“I'm…” Jamie hesitated for a moment before saying, “I’m kent here as Alexander Malcolm.”

The reverend gestured to the parcel in his hands. “I like to take my breakfast here in the sanctuary of a Sunday. Will you join me in a meal, Mr. Malcolm? Mrs. Graham has prepared quite the spread, and you look as if you could use a bite.”

Jamie—starving—was touched by this kindness, and humbled by being offered food by someone to whom he had just been so rude, however inadvertently. He dipped his head. “Aye. Aye, and I thank ye for it…most sincerely.”

They sat together in the velvet-cushioned pew, the food spread out between them on a towel. Jamie noticed that the reverend portioned out less than a quarter of the food for himself. He opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced with a kind, but firm look. Jamie hoped his own look conveyed his deep thanks just as clearly. It was good, the food. Boiled eggs, sliced sausages, toasted bread, and a kind of sweet cake dotted with currants and swirled with cinnamon. Jamie tried to eat slowly, but with little success. How long had it been since he’d tasted food, let alone food as rich, sweet, and delightful as this? After two years of little more than bannocks, game, and whatever he could forage off the mountain, the tastes made him nearly come to tears.

Jamie washed it down with long swallows from the metal flask, enjoying the intense sweetness of the liquid. The juice of oranges, and cold as a mountain burn? Lord, what a time, he thought, wonderingly, when even a priest can afford such luxurious fare to his breakfast.

“The sexton thinks it a terrible sacrilege,” the reverend was saying, looking around the sanctuary as he finished his own portion, “but I always eat here, instead of in the wee kitchen. It’s peaceful. And I dinna think the Lord would oppose the companionable breaking of bread in his home.”

Jamie passed back the flask, utterly sated. “Aye, it is peaceful. I hoped…” he hesitated. “I hoped it would be…when I heard the bells.”

The reverend looked over sharply for a moment, then back down as he packed the breakfast impedimenta back into the bundle. When he had done, he sat back in the pew, crossing his hands over his chest and looking forward toward the darkened altar.

“I gather that ye find yourself in trouble of some kind, Mr. Malcolm?”

Jamie tensed, feeling the anxious dread settle once more to curdle in his waim, “No. No’ in trouble…I find myself in a strange place and without means, to be sure…but that’s nothing I canna handle.”

Troubled, then?” the man said, softly, after a moment.

You mustn’t.

Jamie winced, then nodded slowly, his voice sounding strained as he answered. “Aye…I am that, and no mistake.”

“‘…Casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you,’” the reverend quoted. “I’m surely not the Lord, nor the disciple Peter, but if you desire a friend to listen…to share in your burdens for a time….”

The peaceable offer hung over them. A gift, not a demand. Jamie stared up at the altar. A tapestry of purple and white hung above it. A cross of purple, headed with a burst of sun at the top.

“It’s…my wife,” he began, at last, feeling choked. “She…she believes me dead, and will have for a number of years now.”

“Ah,” said his companion, nodding. “The war?”

Jamie nodded, for that was no lie. “War and…other complications, preventing any communication to her that I had survived. I am only now finding myself at liberty, myself.” Jamie lowered his eyes. “She—that is…She was wi’ child—my child—the last we saw one another, and she has….remarried.”

The reverend made an mmmm of deep understanding, but didn’t speak or look at Jamie, just waited, allowing him the privacy of not looking him directly in the face.  

“I…want to go to her at once,” he said, the longing evident in his voice. “God knows, I want nothing more than to run to her and the child, take them to my heart and never let go.” Jamie swallowed, feeling the pain of every word as a knife in his throat. “For, the honest truth is, reverend, that I’ve no place left in any world, now, save wi’ my wife and child.”

He sighed, the air rushing out in a frantic rush of despair. “But would it no’ be wrong of me to simply show up on her doorstep? I would no’ have wanted her to live as a ghost after I was gone. If she’s found happiness with F-…with this man as I’d have wanted her to, what right have I to snatch it out from under her again? If she’s already mourned and buried me in her mind…if our child kens him for father….if she’s happy….”

He trailed off, and the reverend sighed, saying, “You’re right. It would perhaps be wrong, then. Particularly for sake of the child.”

Hearing this answer, when he had been secretly longing for reassurance of his own right and prerogative as father and husband, Jamie wanted to fall to the ground in despair.

“But if she isn’t happy…” the reverend continued, “…If she hasn’t moved on, and you choose to stay away from fear…that would be wrong, too, would it not?”

Another long silence. This time it was Jamie that broke it.

“I thought I should die yesterday eve from the battle of it all in my heart….It—frightens me.”

“Frightens you how, Mr. Malcolm?”

The words came tumbling out of him. “Just that…almost always, there’s right and wrong in my head that guides my choices. While one may be easier or more costly, rare is the time that it isna clear what ought to be my path, whether from honor, duty, righteousness, or for the good of one that I love. It’s no’ easy, but it’s simple. This time, though…these paths…“ He put his face in his hands, “I truly dinna ken what I’m to do.”

The sun must have been truly up by this time. A beam of light suddenly illuminated the altar. The bronze candlesticks gleamed like gold.

“I believe your decision revolves around a pivotal question.” The reverend leaned forward to rest his forearms on the pew. “Is her happiness truly of more importance than your own?”

“It is,” Jamie said at once. “Hers and the child’s.”

“Even if…it is without you?”

Aye,” he gasped out, tears gathering in his eyes, but with no hesitation. He had meant it when he sent her through the stones, and he meant it now. Though it should tear him apart with despair, that was his bond and the truth of his soul.

“Well, then, while you have not asked my advice outright, I will give it to you nonetheless.” The reverend turned in the pew to face Jamie directly, now. “I think you must contrive a way to determine her happiness from a distance. Learn how she fares without approaching her. If carefully done, you will learn what you need to without her even knowing. And based on what you learn…then decide what is to be your path.”

Jamie swallowed. “Ye speak wisely. It’s a good plan. Something between all…and nothing.” He rocked forward in his seat, trying vainly to resist the shameful words  trying to fight free of his mouth. “But I’m afraid, reverend; afraid of what I shall do if I see them. Afraid that I’ll forget all honor and promises and…”

Jamie broke off with a sob, laying his head on his folded arms like a child. The thought of seeing Claire and not going to her. Not touching her. Not holding her close and weeping into her hair, swearing never to leave her side. Of seeing wee Brian from afar and allowing him to pass by. Of never holding his son. Of seeing the man who the boy calls ‘father.’

The reverend laid a gentle hand on Jamie’s hunched shoulder. “The Lord prayed in Gethsemane for the cup to be taken from him…but he knew what had to be done for the sake of those he called beloved, even unto death on a cross.”

That’s the verra thing, reverend,” Jamie said, so low the man had to lean in closer to hear. “I would die for them, today. I already tried to; and I’d die a thousand times more, to see them safe and well. But to live,” his voice shook violently on the word, “live wi’out them…to go on forever alone, knowing they are within my reach…”

The reverend reached into his pocket and pulled out Jamie’s discarded rosary, laying it in his hand.

Pray. Always. If this is to be your cross…He will help you bear it. No matter the outcome.”


Jamie sat tensed in the seat of the Train, trying not to compare the movement to that of a ship, rocking slowly back and forth. It would be a damnably long ride, the passenger next to him had said. Had he been in less of a state of agitation, Jamie would have laughed aloud. Less than a day to travel nigh on the full length of Scotland and England? That was a damnably great miracle, to his mind.

The kind reverend had rained gifts on Jamie that morning. A hot bath at a nearby hotel (Claire was right, it washeavenly); a featherlight razor with which to shave; a fresh set of clean clothes; a letter of reference and introduction should he seek employment in future; a basket of food; and money enough for rail passage anywhere in England or Scotland, and some besides. At this last, Jamie had tried to refuse, offering to stay on for as long as need be to earn the lavish sum.

However, the reverend had closed Jamie’s fingers firmly around the envelope. “We all are granted grace at pivotal times in our lives, Mr. Malcolm,” he had said. “Let this be a day of grace for you; for sake of your family.”

Jamie sat now, still as a stone, listening as each station was called. Jamie knew next to nothing of how to navigate the cadences and flows of 1950: how business was done; how honor was determined; how information was passed and learned; Christ, he scarcely could manage crossing the streets, crowded as they always were with the screeching machines. But navigate them he would, whatever the cost, to learn of Claire and the child. There was only one place in the world Jamie knew to begin.

The department of history at Oxford University.

Keep reading

4

Love works in mysterious ways

I see people angry at Subaru
Angry at Emilia

Coming from a Rem lover, sure Emilia isn’t as forgiving as Rem, but I see her intentions.

With Subaru, she is his hero. She saved him, she approached him, she took care of him before anyone did. She started his time in this world, he wants to please her more than anyone. With how much he’s sacrificed to keep her alive, how can you fault him for staying in love?

I think Re:Zero is a tragedy in a lot of ways; this anime is complex in that it’s NOT a sugar plum and rain drop shounen. This is something that people aren’t used to seeing. We’re raised on people magically falling in love.

Sure Subaru loves Rem, he cares for her, we saw that in the last episode. But in the same way that Rem was saved by Subaru, Subaru was saved by Emilia. Rem admires his strength, she knows he loves Emilia, but what I admire?

The fact that they can laugh it off with eachother. Being out of sights with each other’s love interest.

He may not LOVE her the same way she loves him, if ever, but think about it…

If he had stopped loving Emila then and there and all of a sudden started loving Rem, would that have not completely erased what he’s been sacrificing his life for the past 18 episodes? That’s not character progression.

This episode is easily one of the best episode of recent anime showcasing the true effects of love and how a man, who has lost everything and has his back against the wall, finds out a way to push forward. It just so happens to be with a girl who loves him (and he can’t return it)

Fairy Tail Chapter 488

The Two of Us… Together… Forever… and Always


Hello and welcome to the emotional roller coaster this chapter was. Yes, sadness was prevalent, but there were also many exciting things that happened and that I think were overlooked.

Well, that’s understandable, to be honest, considering the whole situation with Gajeel and Levy. 

What a sad (possible)* ending to their story that was. I loved how Gajeel did what he wanted to do and kept protecting Levy even while being sucked in to the Underworld. As far as I understood, his body was being disintegrated to magic barrier particles, which must have been very painful. Yet, he kept his gaze focused on Levy and used his last minutes in this world to tell her about his feelings.

What I absolutely loved about the Gajevy scenes was how Levy didn’t give up until the very end. I’ve wanted to see her fighting confidently and that is what I got from this chapter. No matter how Gajeel was trying to stop her from coming after him, she remained determined to save him. I loved how she used Solid Script with her feet and I loved how her shirt had “Iron” written on it. Confident Levy is definitely a sight to behold.

It was all more or less okay for me until Panther Lilly appeared. Him trying to stop Levy while crying for his best buddy just broke my heart.

I’m really glad the Exceed’s feelings weren’t overlooked. Panther Lily and Gajeel at first had an unusual partnership, but with time it turned into a strong bond. Lily is just as important to Gajeel as Levy is, so I’m glad Mashima didn’t just make the Exceed a side witness to his best friend’s (possible)* demise.

As if to further prove Gajeel’s gone, Mashima even had Acnologia confirm there are now only six dragon slayers left. The interesting thing here is that the Black Dragon is referring to the slayers as “dragons”. We know it’s possible for a dragon slayer to turn into a dragon at one point, but their dragon parents made sure that would never happen. It might be a foreshadowing of some sort and it’s definitely gonna be an interesting plot twist. Plus, the official art for Fairy Tail’s second movie is also hinting at dragonization.

Irene has set her mind on fighting Acnologia, but I can’t help but wonder why. What does she have to gain from this? As far as we know, only dragon slayer magic can damage dragons and Irene is not a dragon slayer. How is she planning to take down the most powerful dragon and why does she want to do that? Does it have anything to do with those legends she was talking about a few chapters ago?

While I’m very hyped for August’s fight in the next chapter, I definitely wouldn’t mind some more information on those two as well. Acnologia’s arrogance and desire to annihilate all the dragon slayers make me want to root for Irene, but we still know nothing about her and her motives. One thing is sure, she’s confident in her abilities to keep Acnologia entertained in a battle.

Back to the negotiations and the long-awaited meeting with the King of Magic, things didn’t go as I expected them to. Yes, August took his fellow Spriggan’s words with a grain of salt, but he was willing to listen and negotiate, contrary to what I thought would happen.

He even recognized Natsu, so we can safely assume he’s close to Zeref and is familiar with his plans. That, in turn, explains his loyalty to the Emperor.

Not only that, but judging by Natsu’s expression, the dragon slayer was well aware August knew about him and Zeref and their connection.

As I mentioned earlier, the negotiations were going better than I anticipated. Things took a wrong turn when Mest decided to act on his own and mess with the green-haired mage’s memories of August. He made her believe the King of Magic was her enemy, which resulted in her stabbing him with a giant sword that somehow came out of her body.

Mest thus managed to anger his nakama, because that’s clearly not how the Fairies do things. I can understand why he did that, though, despite it being a very shitty move. He’s probably one of the few who realize they’re at war.
He still considers Brandish an enemy and I think that’s also one of the reasons he messed with her head without much thought.

Of course, being manipulated into stabbing someone she respects affected Brandish deeply. It was really sad seeing her eyes opened in horror and tears flowing from them. She was betrayed yet again and this time right after she vouched for the Fairies’ good hearts. I’m really interested in how Mashima will develop her character further.

Of course, this was not the end for the King of Magic. He’s alive and angrier than ever, so we’re finally gonna see what he’s capable of and how he got that alias of his. In the final page of this chapter, he’s shown with a face turned black with white symbols on it. The symbols are the same as the ones we saw in the last chapter when the King of Magic was commenting on how Serena is with him.

Can’t wait for the next chapter, “Universe One”. The countdown has reached its end, or more like its E.N.D if we consider the fact that August recognized Natsu. (:


Some other thoughts about the chapter

I can’t help but think Gajeel is not dead. He is a dragon slayer and his final fight shouldn’t have been against Bradman. He’s supposed to face Acnologia with the other slayers, so I’m almost 100% sure he’ll somehow come back, maybe even stronger than before. That’s why I used (possible)* in this post when referring to Gajeel’s death.

As for Mest, I’m really disappointed of how a big part of the fandom reacted with so much hate to his actions. Being hateful towards other people is definitely not what Fairy Tail’s intended message is, so I was really shocked when I saw people call Mest an idiot and a pedophile. I wrote another post about the reasons behind his actions, so if you’re interested, you can check it out here.

I’m really looking forward to a conversation between August and Natsu. Would the King of Magic dare tell everybody Natsu’s secret? What would Lucy’s reaction be? Can’t wait, can’t wait!


What did you think of today’s chapter? Do you think Mest deserves all the hate he’s getting? And why do you think Irene wants to fight Acnologia so much? I’d be happy to discuss that with you. ^_^

Of All the Thankyous... - drarry

The Great Hall, or what was left of it anyway, was filled with sounds never before heard in its walls. Some people were crying, grieving over lost ones, others were celebrating being alive, and most were strangely silent. Despite the silence everything was quite loud, and as Harry sat at one of the ruined tables with Hermione and Ron, he found himself scanning the area for people he knew, hoping to see them still among the living.

“Draco!”

Harry looked up, Pansy Parkinson was stumbling towards the Malfoy heir, whose eyes widened to the size of plates upon seeing her.

“Pans? Pans you’re okay!” Draco had never looked so relieved in his life as Pansy threw her arms around him and he held her tightly. “Are you hurt? You’re alright?”

“I’m okay. I’m not hurt,”

“You’re covered in blood Pans,” Draco frowned.

“It’s not mine. It’s Blaise’s.”

Draco paled.

“He’s okay! He’s not dead, that’s why I was looking for you. He’s over here,” Pansy led the blonde to what once was the Slytherin table, and against the wall was Blaise Zabini, covered in his own blood.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Blaise grinned. “Haven’t seen you in a long time Dray,”

“Too long.” Draco replied kneeling beside him. “Are you badly hurt?”

“Not too badly. Leg’s broken, caught on some falling rubble. Other than that I’m fine. You?”

“I’m okay.” Draco sighed. “I’m not hurt. Physically anyway. Mentally, we’ll see.”

“Too right.” Blaise muttered.

“Blaise…Vincent…he…” Draco stopped. “He didn’t make it…”

Blaise went quiet. “Oh…and Theodore…?”

“I haven’t… I haven’t seen him.” Draco stammered. He looked up at Pansy, who shook her head.

“Last time I saw him he was with his father. His father was killed, but I don’t know what happened to Theo.” She said.

Draco swallowed. “Anybody seen Greg? He was with me, but we got separated.”

Blaise shrugged. “Haven’t seen much of anyone here, Pans stayed with me when I got injured, we haven’t been outside yet.”

“You wouldn’t want to see it anyway,” Draco said. “Blaise…I saw your mother…”

“Oh…not coming back is she?”

“…I’m so sorry.”

Blaise shrugged and tried to smile. “All good innit? How are your parents Dray?”

“Alive,” Draco whispered.

Pansy crouched by Draco, putting her arms around him as they knelt beside Blaise.

“Good.” Blaise said.

Draco nodded silently. “No one’s seen Marcus either…and Vince’s mother needs to be told…”

Harry watched the Slytherins, frowning in sadness. It was then that he realised, the Slytherins weren’t the enemies. They had lost people too. They were just as worried for their friends as he was, and yet the living avoided the Slytherin students like it had been their fault entirely. This wasn’t right. He stood up, and walked over to them.

“Can I help?” he asked.

The Slytherins looked up, surprised that Harry was there offering assistance.

Pansy scowled. “We don’t need any help from – ”

“Pansy.” Draco said firmly. “Now is not the time for bitter rivalry. Our friends have died and our families gone. Try a bit of empathy for once.”

Pansy shut her mouth, looking ashamed.

Draco stood up, not flinching from Harry’s gaze. “You’d help us?”

“If you need me.” Harry replied.

Draco tilted his head to one side. “Are you offering because you care, or because you’re Harry Potter and it’s your job to help?”

“A little of both.” Harry answered.

Draco bit his lip, looking down at his friends. “…We should be fine, thank you.”

“Alright, but I’m here if you need me. You know where I’ll be.” Harry said walking away again.

After a pause he heard his name being called.

“Potter wait!”

Keep reading

It amazed me to no end how the NaruHina fanbase always glosses over that whole incident with Pein (I will never call him Pain so deal with it). They think only Hinata would have caused that reaction in Naruto wherein he flew into Bruce Banner rage. 

This is a fallacy, the truth is they forget the broader context of that arc. Jiraiya the man who had become like a surrogate father to Naruto was just killed by Pein. And then in the face with the death of another person who had been in his life it caused him to despair and consider the offer the Kyuubi was offering. The catalyst for this incident could have been any person, it could have been Konohamaru, who let’s face it would have been smart enough to help Naruto break free, not try to attack the raid boss. Because Konohamaru knows he’s just a DPS and not a Tank.

It really infuriates me that they’re okay with that ending! I hate to always bring up Toaru because it’s a different series written by someone with Talent. But let me say it, if you’re going to elevate someone to the level of love interest you have to show it in the story. Not do it in a not remotely canon movie. Hell there is even a shy girl in the form of Itsuwa, but despite her shyness she at least puts forth an effort to get close to Touma. 

I want someone to fucking explain to me what makes what makes Hinata so much better. You can’t bring up her breasts, Sakura being “mean” to Naruto because that’s just Tsundere behavior from a type A Tsundere, or that gem that Sakura is useless because last I checked she kept Naruto alive and punched a Goddess, while Hinata tripped on a rock and was trapped in a Genjutsu.

I just don’t see how they could be happy with that ending, but I do get some enjoyment out of them sperging out over the fact we will never support their OTP. It’s almost delicious when they lose it, and they seem to lack awareness of what kind of obnoxious cretins they are. It has been a while, but they have been some of the most intolerant shippers I ever saw. I am still disgusted with the fact they brought their ship up when Obito died. TIME AND PLACE YOU FUCKS. You just don’t do that…but what do you expect from them, they’re fapping furiously to a picture of Hinata when they say stuff like that.

maliaisbi  asked:

I've noticed that all Lydia has done is worry about stiles while Malia worries about her. Malia still finds time to ask Lydia if she's okay. In the last episode Malia had a hallucination about her dead family but she asked LYDIA if she was okay. But all Lydia talked about was herself. She didn't make sure Scott and Malia were okay and that's what pisses me off about her this season. She is selfish and the total opposite of Season 5 Lydia.I'm starting to not like Malydia because of her.

Rant is coming! Run for your liveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!

It’s hard to even see that Lydia is worrying about other people being taken. Isn’t it obvious that her friends are going to be taken too? Isn’t it a little concerning? Shouldn’t she focus on the GENERAL problem, not on the one detail aka dick? But whatever, I’m not genius like her *sarcasm*

What pisses me off, in s5 she was helping Jordan but on the same time she was learning how to fight AND she was helping the whole pack figuring out the Dread Doctors. Helping Parrish helped to solve the whole mystery. While doing it she was still an important part of the pack, independent but not an outsider. Also, helping Jordan not even once compromised or fucked up her relationship with others, they were all equally important.

Lydia in s6? She is BLINDLY focused only on Stilinski jr. How it helps? It doesn’t. They all know that Riders are taking people, they all know that someone important was taken from them, they all know that Riders erase people form memories. Isn’t it fucking obvious that Stiles is real? Why the hell Lydia insisted so much to ensure everyone he is STILES and HE is real? It was fucking obvious. And the whole drama was not even needed and it was waste of the screen time, because PETER IS ALIVE. He can tell them fucking everything. He was on the station. He saw Stilinski. He has information. Like, they wanted to show us that Stilinski jr. is important for the pack but we know that already, for fuck’s sake. And Malia, Scott and sheriff being all doubtful and not believing? Only Lydia is the one who wants to find Stilinski jr. back at all cost? What a bullshit that fucks the CANON.

Next. The last time when Lydia was doubting her sanity and powers was… probably around s4. In s5 she has not only learnt how to fight but also it looked like she had her powers under control (minus the time when a sadistic doctor drilled a hole in her head). You would think that after s5 drama she will grow more confident… but nope. Lydia thinks she is going crazy and she is not ok. Because a dick is missing. Right. Sounds like Lydia. And she has meltdowns and cries more than in whole s5, where she killed a guy in self defense, was tortured, comatose, locked down in a mental house, hurt more than once etc. but she kept her shit together and kicked asses. Srydia shippers say it’s a character development :)))))) Crying, whining, breaking down, melting, losing mind is called a character development these days :)))))

Next. “I want to save Stiles”. Great. It’s really admirable. Because we all want to save people that are important for us. But it’s again like the “Stiles saved me”. All parts of the equation are removed and only one detail is left. In s5 we at least got the “my friends saved me”, here we didn’t get even something that. Does it sound selfish? The same goes for the “I don’t want to be alone” line. Who wants, for God’s sake. But Lydia saying things like that before shit happened? When they have time to stop it? I don’t know Lyds, maybe less wasting time, crying and moaning after a guy you don’t really remember and more focusing on how you can stop the Riders would help, huh? Does it sound like a good plan? Where went the “I need to tell my friends they are going to die” from the first Lydia scene in s5? When she was kicking asses for her ALL friends sake?

Next. As I said, Lydia’s relationships in s5 were all ok. S6 fucks them all. She has no scenes with Jordan. Malia still doesn’t remember Stilinski and we all know why. Malia and Scott didn’t believe Lydia and were sceptical all the time, so she could be alone with her misery and pain. Her relationship with the kid pack? It doesn’t exist in this season. With sheriff? Strained because of Stilinski jr. And don’t let me start with her artificial and forced romantic feelings for Stilinski jr. that are a complete bullshit. Her whole story circles around ONE DICK. She is reduced and degenerated to a hysterical and hormonal bag of emotions.

And, a personal opinion. For me Lydia is getting annoying and starting to sound like a Mary Sue under a cover. Theoretically strong and independent, in reality emotional like a stereotypical girl that lost a potential guy. Her whole story rounds around one guy. She makes herself miserable, where there is no reason for it. Lydia from s5, would not do it, because she grown to a strong, mature woman. The thing we got in s6 is a more powerful Lydia from seasons 1 and 2, where she was a love interest. Nothing more. And I fucking hated that time.

belaphabet  asked:

Why do you think Irene wasn't in the special? I mean I know they mentioned her in the watch but why wasn't she with all the other women?

I think there’s lots and lots of potential reasons they wouldn’t have used her in the special, such as wanting to save the character for something in Series 4, having just done a cameo with her two episodes ago, actress unavailability, not wanting to cram her in when they’d already barely left time for the characters they did include (sorry, Janine). Almost anything’s possible for the reason, production-wise.

If you want a few canon-based reasons just for the heck of it, though…

1) They never fully clarified how much of the Victorian stuff was reverted back to the timeline/events of the original stories, but canon Irene was already dead by 1895. And even if they changed events like in the modern version to have John only think she’s dead when Sherlock knows otherwise, having John see an alive Irene and react to that in a dream sequence seems like kind of a waste of a scene as well as a distraction from what was actually (well, I say “actually”…) going on.

2) Also, canon Irene had left the country forever before she died. Last we saw modern Irene, she was also out of the country. And sure, it’s Sherlock’s dream, anyone can be anywhere, but maybe there’s a point where it’s not worth confusing the issue or inviting theories (”Irene’s secretly back in London and Sherlock knows it!” etc.) that don’t match what the writers want to do with the show in the long run. (And they did make a point of having Sherlock say he doesn’t know where Irene is now in TSoT.)

3) Irene’s canon story, A Scandal in Belgravia, was very much about how she reacted to a man who treated her badly. Her response was to hold blackmail material to protect herself long enough to run off with a better guy. Granted, her grievance may not have been as extreme as Emelia Ricoletti’s or Lady Carmichael’s (then again, her ex was a king, so that’s got its own special set of power dynamics), but having Irene go from her canon reaction to murder may have felt like too big a step.

No matter why they didn’t use Irene this time, though, I would not be shocked if she came back (either played by Lara Pulver or just for an off-screen but significant part such as sending a message) for at least a moment in Series 4. They were hinting about it in several ways during Series 3.

@belaphabet

GALLY - Runner

Request : Can you write one where Gally acts like he hates you but it’s only because he’s in love with you but won’t admit it to anyone let alone himself? And then one day you get and he takes it as an advantage to tell you everything and when you wake up, you kiss him and it’s all fluffy fluffy? :3 thanks youuuuuu

(Wrote this while i was waiting for my turn at the dentist xD I hope this is to your liking!)

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


“I say we make her a runner,” Minho said as he folded his arms over his chest. The Keepers and those in command were now discussing the terms, whether you should be a runner or not. You slumped as you sat on a crate by the corner with your back against the wall.

“I’ll have to agree with Minho,” Newt raised. “We all saw how she ran.”

Gally remained unmoving in his seat with his face as black as stone.

With a sigh, Alby got out of his seat. “Gally, you’re the only one left. Everyone else has agreed. You haven’t said a word.”

“That’s because I don’t agree, Alby,” Gally replied harshly as he crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture you took as one of certainty. Gally was against you being a runner with all his might.

“And why is that?” Minho questioned.

“You wanna know why, Minho?” Gally replied as he jumped off his seat, looking incredibly aggressive with his towering height and build.

“She’s not gonna last in that maze. You’re saying we all saw how she ran? Well, yes, she ran. But that doesn’t prove anything when she’s out there in the maze. What does she know? She has been here two weeks, Alby. TWO SHUCKING WEEKS. That’s hardly enough time for us, let alone all of you, to judge and decide that she’ll make it out alive in something as perilous as that!” He yelled and pointed towards the direction of the maze doors.

The Homestead turned dead silent. But your insides weren’t. Your insides were raging and your blood was boiling. You’ve had enough.

No one knew what to say. Except you.

“Listen here, Gally!” you yelled as you jumped out of your seat in fuming rage. “You think I can’t do this just because I’m the only girl in here, don’t you?” you shouted, as your hands and voice trembled in anger. “You think I’m weak and incapable. What’s it gonna take for you to notice that I can do things just as well as the rest? Since I’ve been here, Gally, all you did was treat me like dirt. I was sent here for a reason. And I’m going in that maze!”

“You’re not going anywhere, slint head!” Gally shouted back, just as furious as you had been.

You exhaled, trying to gain composure. You looked up and as you were about to storm out of the Homestead, you turned and shot daggers into Gally’s angry piercing eyes with yours. “Watch me,” you said through gritted teeth. You then took your leave.

——————–

You woke up early before daybreak the next day. You crept out past the sleeping boys and out onto the field, stumbling on uneven grass as the sun was barely even out. Strapping on your gear that Minho had already prepared for you in hopes of you being made into a runner and tightening your boots, you made your way to the maze doors and sat in silence as you waited for them to open.

Won’t last in the maze, huh? I’ll show you, Gally. I’m gonna go in that maze and I’ll come back with new areas that none of you shuck faces figured out, you thought as memories of last night angered you again.

All of a sudden, you felt a slight vibration underneath the ground you sat on and sprung up on your feet. The vibrations grew stronger and you turned towards the maze doors. Much to your delight, the maze opened and you stood there unmoving, questioning yourself and doubting for the first time whether this was really what you wanted to do. You have not had any training with Minho prior to this, but you remembered some of the sections he had shown you. You shook off all your second thoughts and loosened your muscles. You were going to do this.

“I’ll show you, Gally,” you mumbled. “Wait and see.” Inhaling a deep breath, you ran into the maze.

——————–

“Where is she?” Alby searched the crowd of boys as he called for breakfast. “Minho, Chuck, Gally, you slept in the same hut. Did you see her go anywhere?”

The three boys shook their head in response.

Alby sighed as the boys began to crane their necks, looking for you.

“Alby!” Minho suddenly said. “I feel like I know where she went, in fact I’m pretty sure.”

Minho turned towards the maze as an uneasy feeling began to pool in his stomach. “Oh no,” Alby gasped, his eyebrows creasing with worry as murmurs from the other boys began to fill the air.

“Minho, you have to go after her!” Newt exclaimed.

“Minho and I will go,” Alby moved to where his gear had been set right by his usual seat. Seeing Alby strap it on, Minho did the same. “Newt, I leave you and Gally in charge.”

Minho and Alby wasted no time in running after you. Running into the first wall of the maze, Alby stopped to ask Minho where he thinks you went first. “I told her something about Section 6. That section’s my best bet,” Minho said as he started to sprint, Alby following closely behind.

——————-

The first few turns didn’t bother you. You kept turning to the right, just the right. You hit a few dead ends but always found your back to where you could navigate yourself again. You stopped for a rest by the corner of one wall which was draped with overgrowth. Somehow, this area of the maze was a little darker than the ones you were running in before. Unusual, you thought. It couldn’t have been long after daybreak.

Then you heard it. A soft, electrical whirr. Your senses awakened and you couldn’t deny that you felt panicked. The whirr became audible again, more audible this time. You stood up from the ground, getting ready to run. Another whirr and the clinking of a sharp metal tip against something that seemed like stone which followed one after the other in a continuous rhythm.

You turned around and a mechanical leg appeared out of the corner. You didn’t wait, you started sprinting. To where? Anywhere. This must be what Minho has described as the Griever. Panting, you sprinted even faster, the Griever hot on your trail. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end and your sweat grew cold. Run, (Y/N), Run, you thought to yourself.

The sound of the monster’s legs against the ground grew louder in your ear as the whirrs became deafening and unbearable. The next thing you knew, you were pushed to the ground and a searing pain terrorized your thigh as you heard your own voice scream in agony. Then you saw darkness.

——————-

“Get out of the way!!” Minho yelled as the crowd of boys waiting outside cleared the way, gasping and crying out your name as they saw you limp, lifeless and bleeding in Minho’s arms. “She’s been stung, move!”

“Minho, what the hell?!” Gally exclaimed as he ran after Minho who was running to the Medjacks with Alby by his side.

“Get the serum! Quick!” Alby instructed.

——————

“Gally, you’ll have to stay outside, she’s not waking up,” Minho obstructed Gally from entering the med jacks’ hut where you lay unconscious.

“Shut your shuck face, Minho. I’m going in.”

Gally walked over to your bedside cautiously, as if his own breathing could rip you into shreds. His eyes flickered over to the bandage on your thigh with a bright red splotch in the middle. Sighing, he crouched by your side and gently took your hand.


“This is all my fault, isn’t it?” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have said those words to you (Y/N),” he said, tracing the scratches on your cheeks with his eyes, the guilt gnawing at his insides.

“I didn’t know this until the moment Alby and Minho went after you. I was angry because.. I didn’t want you going in there because..” he stammered. “The moment I realised how real the danger was, something in me stirred. I realised that I cared. I cared so much. I kept pushing that thought away before you ran out but when I saw you bloody in Minho’s arms..”

He tightened his grip on your fingers. “All those times which you said I treated you like dirt, I didn’t mean to (Y/N). I didn’t mean to. I was..trying to convince myself otherwise because now, I realize that I was falling for you. Hard. So hard. I was falling in love. And I wanted to protect you from that maze, (Y/N). But it was my ignorance for what you wanted that brought you here, it’s all my fault.”

“If only you could hear me now, (Y/N).. I’m sorry. So so so sorry. You were brave, I knew you always were. You didn’t have anything to prove to me, (Y/N).”

——————–

Open your eyes.

Your senses heard every bit of it because the first touch of Gally’s hand stirred you awake.

“(Y/N)?” Gally gasped as his cloudy eyes lit up.

“Heard it all,” you weakly whispered.

Gally’s cheeks turned red.

“Hey, come here, a little closer,” you muttered as Gally leaned over closer to you with curiosity widening his eyes.

It took every bit of energy, but you raised your hand to the back of his neck and let his lips crash down to yours. You left it to linger there because you didn’t really have the energy to kiss him with all your might even though you so badly wanted to. Gally closed the last bit of the tiny gap between your lips and sealed his lips over yours and you melted into the gentleness of it. He pulled away then chuckled.

“Shoulda known you felt the same,” he teased.

“Shut it, shank. You didn’t even know your own feelings,” you teased back.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A Familiar Face

I suck with titles, but I wrote this based off an imagine. It’s kinda long, close to 2k words. I am still technically taking requests, I just haven’t been writing them all that much. Anyway, here it is.

Original Imagine

Warnings: None

A Familiar Face

“Dean, stop the car.” Sam says, breaking the comfortable silence the two of them had been driving in.

“What? Why?” Dean asks, confused.

“I think there’s a person on the side of the road ahead.” Sam responds, pointing ahead. “Do you see that?”

Dean follows Sam’s glance and spots what his brother was seeing. He could see what appeared to be an outline of a person sitting, or laying- he couldn’t tell - off to the side of the road.  “Yeah, I see. I’ll pull over.”

Dean pulls the Impala over to the side of the road, stopping just in front of the person, in front of you.

Keep reading

Charlotte Is Alive and In The Dollhouse

So, as we know, Season 6B of Pretty Little Liars is basically mirroring the first season. (The Sleepover in the barn=sleeping in the hotel, Charlotte’s death mystery=Alison’s death mystery). Now, as we know, Alison eventually turned up to be alive not on the A Team, but on the run from A. My theory is that the writers are going to be doing the same thing with Charlotte, in a different way. Charlotte is actually alive and she is being held captive in the dollhouse. Now, you’re probably saying: “How can Charlotte be alive? We saw her body at the funeral!” Well, let’s take a look at some screenshots from the episode before Charlotte’s funeral, 6x10.

Is it a coincidence that Charlotte mentioned this the episode before and in the next we see her “dead” body? I think not. Now in one of the promos for 6B, we see Aria and Spencer visiting what looks like the dollhouse and the following thing comes up:

Now this for me is a dead giveaway that Charlotte is indeed alive. The last two episodes of 6B are titled “Did You Miss Me?” and “Hush Hush, Sweet Liars” with the latter directly referring to a 1964 film, “Hush Hush, Sweet Charlotte”. I believe that the girls will end up rescuing Charlotte, perhaps unmasking the new Big Bad along the way.