breathing her in

I’ll Follow You Into the Dark

Alex is surprised to see Maggie. So surprised that her breath catches in her throat and tears prick at her eyes and she has to pinch herself to make sure it’s real.

Maggie wears trackpants and that damn orange t-shirt she stole from Alex all those years ago.

It was the exact outfit she had died in.

Which is mostly why Alex hadn’t expected to see her; you don’t usually see your dead fiance at work on a Tuesday. But she’s there, and she’s walking towards Alex and her hair has that just-woken-up mess to it.

“Maggie,” she breathes, “what are you doing here?”

Maggie smiles sadly and nods her head towards the alien with a gun pointed at Alex, frozen in place, just moments from pulling the trigger.

“I’m… I’m about to die, aren’t I?”

“Afraid so, Danvers.” Her voice sounds exactly like it used to, and Alex feels her heart soar despite the predicament she’s in. “He’ll pull the trigger in a few seconds, it’ll hit you in the chest. You’ll bleed out too quickly, before anyone can get to you. Before Kara can get here.”

“Wow. I really should’ve waited for back up,” Alex says, deadpanned. Maggie laughs. She takes another step towards Alex, standing directly between her and the alien.

“I’m sorry it had to happen like this,” Maggie tells her, “I’m sorry Kara or J’onn aren’t here. You shouldn’t be alone for this.”

“I’m not alone; I’ve got you,” Alex says fiercely, tears forming in her eyes. Maggie cocks her head to the side, in the way she knows drives Alex mad.

“You’ll always have me,” Maggie promises, taking a few more steps towards Alex and standing beside her, shoulder to shoulder. “But I can’t hold this off for much longer. Time will start again soon.”

“Does it hurt?” Alex whispers, her voice shaking.

“It’s just like going to sleep,” Maggie says, and Alex is grateful for the lie.

“Stay with me,” Alex says, somewhere between a command and a desperate plea.

“Forever,” Maggie says, and she reaches down, intertwining hers and Alex’s hands.

Alex takes a deep breath, before nodding her head. Maggie squeezes her hand.

A shot rings out.

him, not me
  • *at john and sherlock's wedding*
  • moriarty creepily singing to himself: what a beautiful wedding, what a beautiful wedding said the brides maid to the waiter and yes but what a shame, what a shame the poor grooms bride is-
  • mary under her breath, glaring at sherlock: not me this time.
  • moriarty: •o•

anonymous asked:

Could you imagine if Harry was dating an American and they decided to bake together and she gets all confused since the measurements are different in America since they don't do the metric system and he has to like sit her down and give her a math lesson before they can bake. I would love to have Harry as my math teacher.

“Listen, that’s too much flour for a batch of cupcakes. They’ll be so bleedin’ dry, yeh’ll have to wash them down with gallons of water.”

“I don’t know how much to put in, do I? British wanker,” she’d mutter beneath her breath, looking down at the mixing bowl in front of her as she drags her fingers through the powder.

“What did yeh just call me, love? Hmm? A British wanker, yeah? S’that what I am to you?” And he’d just chuckle and smirk and stick his finger into his own cake mixture, holding it up at eye level and examining it to see if it was enough mixture before pushing it to her cheek and dragging it down to your jaw, “s’that make me an even bigger British wanker? Yeah?”


He’d laugh heavily, hunching over and holding his side as she wipes her palm down her cheek and removes the sticky mixture coating her skin, frowning heavily as she wipes it on his t-shirt and smirks as it leaves a stain on the white material.

“You’re too horrible to me, Harry. Why does the British metric system have to be different to the American system? That’s what confuses me.”

“Time for a maths lesson, yeah?”



“American soil, Harry. You’re in America. You say Math not Maths. Come on now.”

“American wanker,” he’d tease back, a chuckle escaping his mouth as she spins around and gasps in fake shock, a smile on his lips as he brings his face closer to hers and presses them against the slither of skin at her jawline that was still slightly covered in cake mix, “you taste good.” xx

anonymous asked:

after seeing that post, i really want you to write anya reacting to seeing lexa walking out of some bushes with an alligator

you looked away for at Most ten seconds - a quick look at your phone to see if your parents had messaged you yet - & your sister had up & disappeared, just like that.

there’s not many places she could have gone but she doesn’t know how to swim yet, she hates her ears & hair going under water so she hasn’t learned to hold her breathe & you’re terrified that she’s made her way to the creek. it’s a hundred metre sprint & at five she’s probably faster than you, all knees & elbows & a braid more wisps than braid & your breath is heaving already, full & heavy with all the horrible possibilities.

“lexa!” you yell into the trees, & you don’t hesitate to wade into the creek. relief slaps the air out of you in a sob when you find it’s mostly mud & that’s gross but she’s less likely to drown so you wrangle your breath back & yell again. “lexa! lexa?”


& there she is the daft amazing stupid ridiculous terrifying little kid, standing at the edge of the creek in her little pink shorts & her striped shirt she rolled up to the shoulders to mimic you & her little cap & her sneakers & her legs are dirty with mud above her knees & she’s streaked on the cheeks & she’s safe & okay & Beaming at you & all you can do is bend forward & brace yourself against your knees & just take a fucking second to breathe properly.

“are you okay?”

“i thought you were gone,” you tell her, & the wisp of horror returns when you see what she’s clutching to her chest. “are you holding a croc?”

“yeah.” she pets the little knife creature with one fond finger, between its little eyes. “i named her.”

“oh yeah?” you take a photo quickly - no flash because hello she’s holding a croc in her hands & who knows what that might aggravate it to do - & you wade toward her. “what did you name her?”

“regina snapson.”

she’s perfectly serious & she frowns a little when you laugh.

“it’s a good name, lex,” you reassure.

“i know.”

she pets it again & it makes this weird almost hiss & opens its mouth & you decide that’s probably quite enough of that.

she complains a little when you gingerly take it from her but it looks really happy slithering away so she stops & just waves goodbye.

“do i have to carry you back or will you walk?” you ask & she considers it seriously before holding her arms up toward you. you let her climb onto your back & somehow you pick the route with like a fuckton of lantana to scratch up your legs. or maybe the other one had some too but you hadn’t noticed because your heart had been about to burst with fear. “you’re so grounded,” you tease when you get far enough away from the creek. “oh boy you’re so fucjing grounded,” you laugh & lexa shrugs, drops her chin onto your shoulder.

“i’ll tell mum you said fuck,” she blackmails & you know you’ll be in trouble too but hello she held a crocodile?

“worth it.”

“anya, No,” she demands & she tugs at your hair when you laugh again, struggles to get down but you hold tight to her little legs & finally she settles with a sulk, absolutely Thunks her chin down again & laughs when you yelp.

“you’re a nasty kid.”

“whatever,” she huffs, & tightens her arms around your neck when you jog her, climbing over the fence. “do you think Regina will be here next time we visit?”

“i don’t know. we can research her tonight if you want though,” you offer & you can just make out her smile & she nods quickly, little feet tapping at your sides.

baker151910  asked:

"Hey Baker, you doing anything this Saturday?"

Ginny looks around, as if he were speaking to someone else, despite him having used her name.  Her ponytail whips across her shoulder, the movement causing its chaos.

“Me?” She asks, stalling for time, clarifying the question.

“You see anyone else named Baker around here?” He asks, a sly grin appearing on his face, eyes sparkling with the chase.  He’d asked her this question before, several times in fact.  And every single time she’d played it off like she was busy, using every excuse in the book.

“Not a good idea,” she tries to warn, glancing around at the other guys, garnering attention from a few, but all ducking their heads.

“Come on, I don’t bite,” he says with a wink.  “Unless you’re into that,” he goads, and her eyes narrow at the comment.

She can hear the intake of breath from several of her teammates, a few shaking their heads at what’s to come.

She steps closer, and his eyes alight with joy, the prey coming to him.

“You couldn’t handle this,” she threatens, attempting to joke, play nice, but they’re quickly bordering on misconduct, and she’s not afraid to put him in his place.

He raises his eyebrow in a dare.

“Try me,” he says.

His eyes growing wide as a firm hand lands on his shoulder, yanking him back with a heavy tug.

“What’s this?  You inviting the team to hang out on Saturday?” Mike asks with a slap on the back of the newest rookie.  “That is so nice, but you see, Baker here, she’s busy.”

“Is that so?” He says, never swiping the shit eating grin off his face.

“Yep.  She’s got plans already,” he says, throwing a look back at Ginny, who’s got her arms crossed, a glare pointed at the two of them.

She comes up, nudging Mike out of the way, making direct eye contact with the guy who never seemed to take no for an answer.

“I’m not interested.  Don’t ask me again,” her raspy voice reprimanding him like a small child, before turning to grab her things from her cubby around the corner.

She can’t hear what Mike threateningly whispers at him, but she hears the slap of his back as she stalks away, the guy unlikely to mess with her again.  She hopes.

“The nerve of that guy, I swear,” Mike says, waltzing into her space, and pulling up the chair across from where she’s standing.

“Yeah, the nerve,”her voice tinged with sarcasm.

“You’re welcome—” He tries to say with a grin like he’d done her a favor.

“Ass,” she responds, catching him completely off guard.

“Me?  I just—”

“Practically peed on him, marking your property…ME,” she frustratingly rasps at him.

“Whoa, no, that’s not—”

“That’s exactly what you did.  I don’t need you to help all the time,” she points at him, grabbing her bag and making her way out of the clubhouse.

She makes it all the way to the car until she realizes that the swift exit plan wouldn’t be the case at all.

Throwing down her bag, she slides down to the pavement, burying her head in her hands, her knees bent in frustration, hiding from the sun beating down on her.

It’s not until she feels her shoe being kicked, a large shadow covering her that she knows her ride has arrived.

“Get in,” he pleads, and she reluctantly stands, opening the door and throwing her bag into the back before situating herself in the passenger seat.

They’re only five minutes into the drive, silence eating away at them when he speaks.

“I know you don’t need me,” he says with a shrug, the plaid he’s wearing creating a dizzying pattern in its motion.  He glances over at her, the self-deprecation hidden behind his beard.

She lets out a heavy sigh.

“It’s not that I don’t need you,” she starts.  “I just…I can handle things on my own, you know?”

“I know,” he agrees.  Her abilities never questioned by him, except when it came to cooking, then he had his doubts.

“I can fight my own battles and whatever…” she says, pinching her bottom lip.

“I wasn’t trying to fight your battle for you, Gin,” he tries to explain.  “I was just…trying to fight next to you, like partners,” he says, holding back a grin.

“Like a couple,” she broaches, a shy smile playing on her lips.

“Yeah, Gin, like a couple.  I got your back, you got mine.  That’s how it works.  You know, like Bonnie and Clyde,” he says, his eyes stealing glances at her.

“More like Beauty and the Beast with that thing,” she says motioning to his beard.

“You do look good in blue and yellow, Beauty,” he says with a wink.

“You are so lame,” she teases, her hand finding its way to his forearm with a gentle squeeze.  The thought of a happily ever after not such a bad thing.

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my ask box and I will write the next five sentences.


elara is doing much better today! she’s been quietly munching out on oranges for an hour now just watchin tv n chillin! i’m so happy she’s finally beginning to feel better! once she starts eating regularly they’ll be taking the iv out of her foot n she’ll finally be able to walk around again! thank you everyone for keeping us in your thoughts, it’s helped her heal faster 💛

The Clouds Will Roll


By the time Clarke finishes with her histology lab that evening, the light shower that came out of nowhere has intensified to a full blown thunderstorm. The class had run late after her professor at felt the need to ramble on and on about the intercellular matrix, and all she wanted to do was go home and crawl into her warm bed.

She pauses beneath the awning just outside the door of the lab building and swings her backpack around her shoulder. She shoves her hand into the bag, searching for her umbrella with frantic fingers and swearing under her breath when she comes up empty handed. She hastens into the rain, wishing she didn’t normally have such a fondness for walking the few blocks back to her apartment instead of driving her car. The rain already seeps through her sweater, the cold stinging her skin as the water meets the brisk November wind. She pulls the wool more tightly around her shoulders and ducks her head to her chest as she quickens her steps. Her hair is already heavy with dampness, and water droplets cling to her eyelashes and glimmer at the edges of her vision.

Clarke mentally berates herself for leaving her umbrella at home as she trudges through the puddles that collect on the sidewalk. The pools splash with her footsteps, water slipping into her sneakers and dampening her socks to create a sickening squelch with every stride.

She hears the whir of tires against wet pavement and reflexively steps further from the road. Though she’s already drenched, she’s not too keen on getting pelted by water as the car passes. She throws a quick glance over her head to make sure she’ll clear the spray and does a double take when she catches a glimpse of the familiar faded red paint of her boyfriend’s truck.

Bellamy is always headed home around this time of day after his shift at the campus bookstore. Her lab had gone late today, otherwise she probably would have missed him like she usually does, but of course he would pass by her at the perfect time today of all days. His truck slows to a stop at the curb, and Clarke’s eyes roll automatically.

Fucking hero complex, she thinks.

She’s still angry with him after their fight, his words echoing in her head as she pointedly ignores the vehicle. She had been so excited to find out she’d gotten into ArkU Med, her top choice for medical school that she had rushed over to Bellamy’s apartment to tell him. He’d been just as thrilled, maybe even surprisingly more so, his grin so wide it made the corners of his eyes crinkle, and he’d wrapped her in a hug so tight it caused her ribs to burn with affection. His kiss had been so fierce, so loving, and she could feel his smile against her lips as he pulled her toward his bedroom and proceeded to show her exactly how proud of her he was.

She knows he was just trying to be supportive when he suggested that night at dinner that she call her mom to tell her the news, but the idea had sent her recoiling. Bellamy knew that her mother had played a large role in her father’s decision to refuse chemo a year prior, knew that Clarke would never forgive her for allowing him to stop fighting. She had snapped at him, he had tried to pacify her with words that would really have never soothed her anger.

By that point, Clarke was just looking for a fight, and Bellamy had given her one. Things escalated quickly, and soon they were both angry, saying things in the heat of the moment they knew that neither really meant.  But that was two days ago, and she hadn’t spoken to him since.

From the corner of her eye she sees him roll down the window, and she speeds up.

“Clarke!” she hears him call behind her, his voice muffled by the storm. She doesn’t even slow down, her arms folding stubbornly across her chest in both obstinacy and an attempt to stay warm. His truck rolls slowly down the curb to keep pace with her. “Clarke, I know you’re still pissed at me, but it’s pouring. Let me drive you home.”

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gamergodess97  asked:

Jake & female MC ship ❤

Who is a night owl: Jake. Making her feel safe means never falling asleep before she does.
Who is a morning person: She is. He’s a grump in the morning and can only be lured out of the covers with the smell of freshly brewed coffee… or kisses with the promise of something more.
Are they cuddlers: She’s always been a cuddler, but Jake only became one with her.
Who is the big spoon and who is the little spoon: Most night it’s Jake. He’s her protector. But on nights they somehow drift apart in bed, he likes the feel of her arms wrapping around his waist, the feel of her breath on the back of his neck. It makes him feel safe. 
What is their favourite sleeping position: Big spoon (Jake), little spoon (her).
Who steals all the blankets: Jake does, but he’ll always deny it.
What they wear to bed: Naked was their preferred dress code in the early stages of their relationship. As they became even more comfortable with each other, they wore to bed what they normally do - she, an oversized shirt and pajamas, and he, gray boxers.
Who likes seeing the other wearing their t-shirt: Jake definitely likes seeing her in his shirts. When a sleeve slips off her shoulder, it takes all his resolve not to rip it off her.
Who falls asleep mid-conversation: She does. He thinks it’s adorable.
Who wakes up in the middle of the night with nightmares: Jake does. It’s always of Mike.
Who accidentally punched the other in their sleep: She dreamed she was fighting off a Watcher, and accidentally punched him in the stomach.
Who can’t keep their hands to themselves: She, in public. He, in private.

Roma: Stop being nervous. You can tell me anything, you know.

Danny: What made you think I was nervous?

Roma: You’re playing with my hands, and as you recently stated, you play with people’s hands when you’re nervous.

Danny, sighing: I didn’t even notice…Sorry. I know I can tell you things, but it’s just…it’s difficult to think that after only a short time I can trust you to know my secrets. And before you say anything, I do trust you. Probably more than anyone.

His female counterpart took a deep breath through her nose and smiled a little. She knew it was insane that they were so close already. She knew it was absolutely bonkers that she put him above the twins now. Danny and Roma were just a crazy pair, and that was that.

Sara slammed the doors of the cupboard and all of them looked up at the loud noise, bracing themselves for what was to follow. Leaning against the sink, Ray unconsciously slowly slid away from her, hugging his bowl of cereals to his chest. Jax narrowed her eyes at Sara’s trembling body and had the good sense to keep as much chairs between them before digging back into his food. Kendra’s gaze darted from one person to the other, her grip tight around her coffee mug. While seemingly amused – and slightly weary - the pair of thieves barely looked up at the blonde, Mick munching on a cupcake while Leonard leaned back in his chair, waiting for the inevitable outburst to happen. His nose buried in a book, Martin let out a hum before bringing his cup of coffee to his lips, enjoying the silence while it lasted.

Heavily breathing through her nose, Sara slowly began to turn around, her trembling hands clutching an empty box of Lucky Charms.

Who. The. Hell,” Sara looked up, her face blank but her eyes murderous, “Finished. My. Cereals.”

“Not me,” Kendra, Ray and Jax immediately retorted, automatically taking a step away from her.

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anonymous asked:

Hi guys, could you please help me to find The Beggar-Thief by Gravidy. I have tried several sites but all the links are either dead or inaccessible. Thanks in advance!

That fic is still on LiveJournal.

The Beggar Thief - gravidy - NC-17 - Hermione Granger doesn’t believe in things that have never been seen. But then, she doesn’t believe in a lot of things anymore. Hermione Granger has enough problems without worrying about Pureblood kidnappings and techno-geeks. The last thing she needs is Draco Malfoy breathing down her neck.

❤️️ @refictionista

Primal instinct (open)

Tonic arrived at Elk Forest, the smell of pine and decay filled her nostrils. She sighed as she set down her bag, she stripped of normal clothes and dig through her bag to find her old clothes . As she slipped into the familiar feeling of siren scales and elf hide she looked around, memories flooding her mind.

“Welcome home tonic” she spoke to herself out loud, her body began to ache at the thought of her worried children , but she shook the feeling. A sharp pop echoed as her wings dug there way our from her back, she let out a loud scream, but nothing could be truly heard. She felt her mind slipping, all her training flooding back to her as if she was drowning. She took a few deep breathes , feeling around her body for the changes, her black and purple wings cause her shadow to morph, feeling up her face she felt her elongated ears and smirk “god I hate these fuckin things” . soon every sound became more fluent, louder, clearer. She heard the breathing of a orc 200 yards away.

Tonic traveled into the woods, walking towards the sound of water, she leaned down and saw herself for the first time since she arrived, her eyes resembled empty black holes. The color was solid but endless. As she cupped her hands in the water to drink she heard foot steps behind her, she turned around quickly with her bow drawn “speak or die alone ”

“till sunbeams find you”

There are a hundred rebel soldiers sleeping in the dark room and she curses under her breath as she picks her way down the aisle of bunk beds ensconced against the walls. Dim lights by the door cast strange shadows over the sleeping forms and she wills her eyes to work in the dark. The soldiers are unfamiliar in sleep, guards temporarily down, but as her eyes adjust she picks out identifying markers. Shoes sitting by the beds, jackets hung on the wall. Not everyone is sleeping alone, which makes her feel less conspicuous. She moves quietly, more from fatigue than courtesy, until she spies a familiar profile on a bottom bunk.

In which drooling-on-the-other-person makes an appearance in the fandom.


Altaïr: "You're an Assassin. Act like it."

Her body was sore, and sweat ran into her eyes, blinding her. The day was almost at an end, but she didn’t doubt that her training wouldn’t be.

Altaïr’s sword knocked hers out of her hand, and she simply couldn’t hold on any longer. She released it, and it flew to the ground, burying itself into the sand.

“You’re dead.” His tone was devoid of emotion, and he retrieved her blade. “Again.” He offered it back to her, and she didn’t have it in her. She couldn’t do this. What was she thinking? She was a woman, this was a man’s job. She couldn’t fight like him, and she would die because of it.

“No.” She barely got out between pants. She hunched over, her hands on her knees as she caught her breathe.

“Excuse me?” His tone shifted, and she was too scared to look up, knowing he was scowling down at her.

“No. No more. I can’t-”

“You can and you will.” The blade was tossed to her feet, disturbing the sand there and making a cloud of the raise up. She coughed and looked up to glare at him.

“You’re an Assassin. Act like it.” He muttered, stretching and getting into a readied stance, but she didn’t move.

“I can’t. I’m too tired to move. I need rest.”

“You can, and you will.” He repeated sternly. “Out there, there aren’t opponents that will stop because you’re tired. Out there, no one isn’t going to restrain themselves in their battle against you. They won’t see a novice, they’ll see an Assassin, their enemy, and they won’t hold back. Now, pick up the sword.”


“Pick it up!” He yelled, and immediately regret it. She looked away, and he massaged the bridge of his nose while taking a deep breath.

“You’re right. Go inside, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Altaïr, no.”

Now his anger flared, and it reflected in his tone. “You don’t want to train, you don’t want to rest. What do you want to do?!”

“I can’t do this.” Tears ran down hot on her face. “I don’t have what it takes to be an Assassin. I can’t do this. I’m sorry Altaïr.” She looked up at him, and suddenly he was closer. Within arms reach.

He peered down with intense, golden eyes. “You don’t have to feel sorry, you did nothing wrong.”

“I do.” Her voice broke. “You believed in me to do this, and I can’t.”

“I still believe you can do this.” He said simply. “Being an Assassin means to be stronger than yourself because people need you, people depend on you, and right now you need me to understand. So I do.” He put a hand on her shoulder, and smiled. He’d never smiled before. Suddenly he didn’t look like the angry, stoic Assassin of Masyaf, he just looked like a man. Her heart fluttered, and she looked away from his eyes to his chest, memerizing the texture of the cloth there.

“Go inside. Tomorrow, get up bright and early.” She groaned despite herself. Altaïr chuckled, “Let me finish.” He lifted her chin up, and looked at her kindly. “Wake up early. There’s a spot outside the city where there’re these pools of water we can swim or lounge by. I’ll bring some food, books, and games, and we can relax. Would you like that?”

She nodded, not trusting her words, and he beamed.

“Perfect!” He moved back, and retrieved their weapons. “Get some food and some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.“ With that, he turned on his heel and made his way inside.

“B-bye Altaïr.” She stammered, feeling herself blush, and rushed inside.


Her breath hitched as the feeling of sharp steal slides it’s way beneath her rib cage. Falling forward The Queen paws at the fresh wound that now penetrated her side in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding. Struggling to lift her gaze she chokes on the blood which now seemed to flood her lungs. 

His cold brown eyes taunted her as the edges of her vision began to fade. Grinning, he leans down wrapping his slender fingers through Caela’s tangled brown hair, craning her neck backwards till her dulling eyes met his.

“Riddle me this Sweet Heart, If a Queen falls and there isn’t a Clown around to care, will she ever be missed?”

Cackling he watches as the steady flow of blood slows to a halt and her body goes limp. A sick smile twists his face as he drops his grip on her, landing one more solid blow to her side for good measure. Straightening himself The Riddler spares her one more glace as he heads towards the door.

“Long live The Queen.”