cloud whirls

I don’t think about Harry Potter a whole lot, typically, but today I saw a video that featured Harry wearing some cool shades and I started wondering: what if Voldemort’s killing curse had struck Harry just a little lower? What if, on the first of November, 1981, the Dursleys had discovered on the doorstep their infant nephew - not with a conspicuous jagged scar, but instead with eyes the colour of electricity? How would blind Harry Potter’s life differ from the story we already know?

The first divergences are small and predictable. On his eleventh birthday, Harry’s letter from Hogwarts is written in delicate braille and the signature of Minerva McGonagall is elegantly embossed. At the Hut-on-the-Rock, the newly-revealed wizard boy is impressed not by Hagrid’s size but by the unusual depth of his voice.

Arriving at Hogwarts, we get no description of Draco Malfoy’s appearance, but instead learn the self-important scuffing sound of his footsteps, plus the fact that Crabbe and Goyle smell of old oatmeal, too much candy, and something that reminds Harry of grumpy toads.

Instead of learning “Lumos”, our blind Harry learns spells like “Oros” - which makes books and letters whisper their contents to him in their papery voices - as well as “Divinus”, which causes his wand to hum like a tuning fork the closer it gets to the object he’s thinking of.

One very notable thing has changed, however. In this world, no-one will ever tell Harry that he has his mother’s eyes. It’s hard to tell how much this changes Harry’s story; perhaps, without Lily’s eyes to stir up such emotion, Professor Snape won’t inflict Harry with the sadistic cruelty of a jealous lover - though he still treats the Potter boy with the same distance and hostility he felt towards Harry’s father, James (this, plus the acrid fumes and addling, humid vapours of the potions classrooms, continues to make the subject one of Harry’s least favourite).

With eyes that mark him as “The Boy who Lived” he may not be able to see the reflection of his desires in the Mirror of Erised, but upon placing his hand on the mirror’s cool surface Harry’s head is filled with the murmurs of familiar and comforting voices - his uncles, grandmothers, great-aunts and second cousins - and he is taken by an overwhelming sense of belonging, of being home.

Our sighted Harry always relied on the help of his friends to overcome challenges, and this remains true through the challenges to reach the Philosopher’s Stone. Hermione will still fend off the devil’s snare and solve the potion riddle, while Ron’s command over the chess board will still get the trio through the fourth chamber. Unable to see, Harry may yet be able to capture the winged key in the third chamber; instead of chasing the key like a daring snitch-seeker, he rises cautiously on his broom into the middle of the whirling, fluttering cloud and waits patiently until his keen ears distinguish the slow and clumsy flapping of the injured old key, grabbing it cleanly out of the air as it lumbers past him.

In his second year, Harry’s blindness is if anything an advantage in the fight against the basilisk, making him immune to the serpent’s petrifying gaze as he follows the sound of Fawkes’ voice to rend it through its head. (Incidentally, the repercussions of Dobby’s meddling this year will be slightly lessened, as who could blame a blind twelve-year-old for knocking over a sugared violet pudding - although the Dursleys will try - or bumping into a wall at Central Cross station?)

Professor Trelawney’s classes in third year could only be incredibly tedious for Harry, being unable to read tea leaves or see into crystal balls. What’s more, the Divination professor makes near-constant references to “blind prophets” and “third eyes”, which Harry can’t help but feel is somewhat offensive. Hermione will be very patient with Harry when they sit down to practice their astrology readings and Harry has to ask “Where are the stars, Hermione? The stars? Is Mars in the house of Jove right now? What’s the moon doing?”

With all the talk of The Grim this year, all Harry notices is the lingering ‘shaggy dog smell’ that seems to follow him around whenever he’s outside the castle.

Will a blind boy be allowed to participate in the Triwizard Tournament? Of course he will! Wizards don’t understand ‘safety’. Our Harry may not be a confident flyer, but he still has command of the Accio charm, as well as an entire stash of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products under his bed in his dormitory. Even a Hungarian Horntail can’t see you through Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, not can it smell you once you’ve detonated a few dung bombs. After being tricked into devouring an entire case of Skiving Snackboxes, any dragon is going to feel like taking the day off.

Harry doesn’t recognise Hermione at first when she attends the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum: her improved posture changes the sound of her footsteps, and her voice has taken on a new lilt and clarity after Madam Pomfrey shrunk her teeth to undo Malfoy’s hex. Masking her characteristic smells of library books and toothpaste, she carries with her the flowery scent of the cosmetic potion she put in her hair.

Harry will be incapable of seeing thestrals, even at the start of his fifth year; after hearing the clopping of hooves from his carriage and remarking that “regular, horse-drawn transport seems rather mundane for Hogwarts”, he will be drawn into a very awkward and illuminating conversation with Luna Lovegood about the nature of death.

Umbrige will be described to us not as “toad-like”, but in terms of her voice “like an indignant budgerigar stuck in an expensive vase”. Her classroom smells strongly to Harry of talcum powder and too-sweet tea, with an undertone of vinegar and hints of nightshade.

With a fragment of Tom Riddle’s soul trapped within his eyes, Harry’s visions of Voldemort are stronger than ever, and he rushes as always to confront the Death Eaters - a group of determined friends by his side - at the Ministry of Magic.

Of course this Harry will succeed in hunting down the remaining Horcruxes and tracing the paths of the Deathly Hallows. How could he not, with his magical talents, his powerful capacity for empathy and love, and the endless help of his his allies and friends?

Coming to in a spectral representation of King’s Cross Station, Harry recoils from the whimpering fragment of Voldemort’s should before being greeted by the figure of Albus Dumbledore, whom Harry recognises from his distinguished voice - like a grand old oak tree, its branches bowed under the weight of a thousand stars. Harry’s figment of Dumbledore smells like soap and gold wire, like ink, polished wood and lemon sherbets, and very faintly of kind and humble tears. Occasional wisps of the old man’s expansive beard brush past.

Harry has the same conversation with Dumbledore about life and death, about his own plans and foils, and about Voldemort. Harry is offered the same choice: to go back to the land of the living or to board a train into the beyond. Harry still chooses to return to Voldemort’s camp in the Forbidden Forest, for the sake of his friends, whom he knows and loves by sound and smell and touch.

Harry - The Boy Who Lived - the boy with eyes like lightning, duels Voldemort without ever seeing his snake-like features or the contempt and malice in his red-ringed pupils, and defeats the dark lord just as he does in the original story, because the sum of one’s strength is more than any one sense, just like a community’s strength is greater than that of any one person. Beside the skinny boy with the dark glasses held together by Spell-o-tape stand a frizzy-haired muggle girl who has read every book, two of redhead siblings from a huge and loving family, a forgetful boy raised by grandmother, a girl who still carries around a battered pair of Spectre Specs, and countless other witches and wizards who know that love, acceptance and cooperation are the most powerful magics of all.

I’ll show you the way

He doesn’t say a word. Not before, nor after he rescues her. His hands move purposely, activating a series of controls and, as soon as the jump takes them away from immediate danger, he sets the ship on autopilot and turns to the girl.

Her whole body is shaking, curled up in the shuttle’s seat. She looks smaller, smaller than ever - breakable. The strength she possess fascinates him, but this vulnerability… it makes him want to reach out.

Still without speaking, Ren retrieves a blanket and moves to wrap it around her shoulders. She flinches, shrinking further into the seat, and throws him a fierce glance. Like a wounded animal, she’s hesitating, uncertain whether to surrender or attack.

“You think I would hurt you.” His voice is even, but it brims with frustration. It bothers him. It bothers him that even now, she’s apprehensive. As if the last few hours hadn’t happened. As if he hasn’t risked his life for her.

I won’t hurt you..   He sends the words right through their bond - so she can know they’re true. So she can sense it. Tears begin to fill her eyes.

“I can still feel what Snoke did to me,"  she says at long last.  "It’s like-” her eyelids squeeze shut, “-it’s like he’s in my head.”

Tears spill and start to roll down her face. They leave wet streaks on her cheeks and he feels the urge to trace them with his thumbs, dab at that moisture and spread it over the flushed skin.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he wraps the blanket around her shoulders and crouches in front of the seat.

“Then push him out.” His gloved hands settle on the armrests. “It’s your mind. Block him out.”

“I can’t,” she sobs, shaking her head. “I don’t know how.” She’s so hurt, so confused. His chest tightens. He knows the torture she’s been put through. It took him years to learn how to escape it. But it doesn’t have to be like that for her. He can show her the way. Slowly he pulls off the gloves and reaches out.

This time, she doesn’t move to resist him. This time she simply stares with a look of vague wonder. As he touches her temple a soft whispering sound envelopes her. As if his body had disintegrated and then surrounded hers in a whirling cloud of particles.

Focus. She can sense his presence flowing into her psyche, guiding, leading the way… You’re stronger than you know. Push. Him. Out.  And somehow … she does.

She imagines a wave of self, rising higher and higher, obliterating everything in it’s path, leaving nothing behind except her.

“That’s it,"  he whispers hoarsely. "That’s really good.” For a long moment she remains still, eyes closed, breath coming unevenly. It took a lot of effort. He knows. He can feel it through the bond that’s now more taut than ever.

Slowly his bare palm slides to her nape. “Rest,” he murmurs and feels her sigh and give in, like a broken stem against his chest.

         __________________________________________________

When she wakes up, hours later, she’s in a medbay. Finn’s by her side, smiling  and he …He’s gone.

5

Kings Masterlist

Kings Part Eight:


Klaus sighed as his phone buzzed on the side. You were out with Rebekah, helping her bond with Freya so he wasn’t too worried about you, even with Kol dawdling after the three of you. It had given him time to paint, to unwind and find a peaceful moment when the last month had been nothing but pre-war planning while Roman seemed to have no intention of giving up.

 

When unknown number flashed up on the screen he frowned. There was only a small number of people who actually had his number.

“Hello?” Klaus sighed, setting the paint brush in his hand down so he could lean against the table as he answered the phone.

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sflor018  asked:

Sprace-- • Character B bleeding heavily while Character A tries to staunch the blood but Character B is more concerned about the fact that stoic Character A is sobbing and panicking

So, I’m finishing up that Spot and Crutchie as brothers fic, but until I posted that, I figured I should at least put something else out there. Sorry I haven’t been posting as much. College started back up and that Spot and Crutchie thing has gotten hella long and in-depth and has been taking most of my time. Anyway, without further ado, some Sprace.

TW: Blood, stab wounds.



He wasn’t supposed to have had a knife.

It wasn’t as if Race had been doing anything wrong. Not this time, at least. There were countless times that he had deserved to be beat up, where he deserved the black eye or the split lip that the rest of the newsboys would mock him for–though, Race could always hear the concern in their jabs. If he had actually been fooling around, swindling someone, then maybe it would have made the attack moderately okay. But, Race hadn’t been in the wrong this time.

However, it only took one time for the past, the future, to be carved into cold, unyielding stone. One millisecond, one split-second of hesitation, and suddenly–change. There are innumerable moments, indiscernible from their harmless counterparts, when the entirety of history rests, uneasy, on an apex. Only the slightest breeze, the softest breath will alter the course.

October 15th, 1899.

The sky thrummed with tension, with expectancy. Events brewed together, smoking and scalding. Danger, inescapable. Fate turned her head and held her breath.

It would not be her that stirred the future forward.

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Plot Ideas: Natural Disasters
  1. Our muses are taking a vacation on an oceanside beach when suddenly the water pulls away from the sand. A tsunami is coming.
  2. The snow has started falling, the wind is whipping and isn’t stopping. Our muses are suddenly stuck wherever we are in a blizzard.
  3. There’s a rumble in the distance and suddenly the sky looks like it’s snowing but it isn’t snow. It’s ash. A volcano has erupted and our muses are within the fallout zone.
  4. A hurricane or typhoon is headed straight for our muses. Either we have to try and get out of the way, or hunker down and weather it out.
  5. It’s been raining hard for days and water is starting to rise. Flooding is a very real possibility with the added worry of landslides and walls of mud destroying everything in their path.
  6. Earthquake! The ground suddenly shudders under our muses and things go tumbling. Roads crack, bridges break and houses split.
  7. It was suppose to be a weekend of skiing, snowboarding or just cuddling in a winter wonderland, but an avalanche has tumbled down from the hills and buried everything.
  8. Hot dry summers have caused the forest to become as dry as a matchstick. A fire has erupted and a wild fire has begun. Somehow our muses have to get out before the flames come.
  9. Tornado alarms go off, the sirens whirring as blackened storm clouds whirl and swirl. Rain and hail pelt the landscape and our muses are caught in the path of the storm.
  10. Our muses were on a cruise ship when suddenly foul weather strikes. A massive wave collides with the vessel at just the right location and the whole boat capsizes!

kitkat1003  asked:

Imagine Bim and Dark trading places for the day. They spend the morning painting each other the right colors so their skin looks right, and Bim wears contacts for his eyes while Dark wears Bims glasses. The entire is day is just Dark trying not to blow up because Wilford treats him like garbage and because everyone wants to hang with him and he wants to be left alone, and Bim has to act mean all day. They nearly make it to the end of the day

“Remind me why we’re doing this, again?” Bim was looking up, eyelids flickering in fear, as Dark lined the bottom of his eyes with eyeliner. Being this close to Dark was terrifying, and Bim held his breath. Dark’s aura was ringing in his ears. He didn’t know why he agreed to this.

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Work Comes Home - Part 10 - B

Summary: You work for the company that publishes Hamilton: The Revolution.

Words: Approx. 9500

Author’s Note: There’s a lot of weird formatting in terms of paragraph styles in this part, I hope it all makes sense. There as never been a time I desired paragraph alignment controls more than formatting this post. And t*mblr has been deleting random words when I pasted it all in, so just let me know of mistakes :)

ALSO, thanks to all the amazing people who made this part possible, they’re all credited in the appropriate spots, so you’ll know. But I can’t believe any of them said yes to my crazy idea and I hope you love it as much as I do. 

Disclaimer: Artistic liberties taken regarding the publishing world and timeline. I’ve put the warnings below and tagged them as well just in case. As always, let me know if there are any glaring mistakes. I always love feedback!

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Alcohol, the usual…

Askbox | Masterlist | 10. Part A | 10. Part C

Tags (the ones it would let me): @doctorstethoscope @panacebean@seiteixnalaicos @haletotheking24 @ridiculousn3ssfangirl @emily-ily2@sazzyli123 @ahhhhamilton @kawaiinekodono @piercethemarti@moistpotatobear @dark-intake @bethbat @fully-armed-batallion@strawharrrrrry @sarcastic-ohohoh @abschaffer2 @shadoweddarkness@willieverbesatisfied @icanneverbesatisfied @musicals-lin @casual-vaporwave

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Best Friends Forever

Originally posted by kylolicious

Summary: Ben Solo and (Y/N) have been friends since as early as they can remember. They’ve been inseparable and have plenty of sweet and wonderful memories through out the years. As they grow and (Y/N) becomes a Resistance pilot, Ben a smuggler like his father, things change. 

A/N: Yay I met my goal of 2 fics tonight!! WOO! Soo this is based on a drabble I did for Ben Solo that was so cute I couldn’t not write a longer story. So hopefully you guys like this! I made it a lot of flashbacks, so if you want more after this, don’t be shy to request! Also for anyone who’s into songs that go with fics, I abused the replay button on my iPod for “We’re Going to Be Friends” by White Stripes while writing. Haha it fits pretty well.


Gazing around curiously Ben walked with his parents through the house, surrounded by towering adults. Surely with the sea of long limbs he was being guided through he could tell there weren’t many younger kids around. Being only 3 he didn’t understand why he had to be dragged around with his parents to events like this. And to a 1 year olds birthday? He wasn’t that much of a baby, why did he have to attend if there were no other kids? After greeting a few adults, his mother Leia came to a stop, crouching down and dusting off his shirt with a grin. 

“Ben why don’t you go say hello to the birthday girl?”

He scrunched up his little face, “Why?”

“It’s a nice thing to do. You would want her to say happy birthday to you.”

“No I wouldn’t.”

Han gripped his shoulder gently.

“Come on kid, she won’t bite, just say it quick and then I’ll get you some sweets. Ok?”

Ben nodded eagerly. He was a child who could very easily be bribed with food, so if there was one plus to this party it would be the sugar rush. With a little push forward Han sent Ben on his way to the living room. Approaching the living area he looked around curiously still surrounded by giant adults, where was this birthday girl? Suddenly hearing some loud babbling from behind him he turned around.

“BBaaahhh bahh!!”

The little 1 year-old was in a green sundress, a flower crown of some sort set atop her barely there (Y/H/C) strands of hair as she sat in a high chair facing the party. With her little fists flaling around she stopped suddenly as Ben looked at her, both of them exchanging curious glances. Ben had rarely been around babies, his family was always doing something, and almost none of it involved babies. (Y/N) was also a baby that rarely saw any kids of Ben’s age. She had seen her bigger cousins, and all the adults at the Resistance, but this was another human, almost her size. 

Ben raised a brow at her as she cooed at him, putting her little fist into her mouth. 

“Happy birthday.”

(Y/N) giggled as she reached forward trying to reach Ben. If this was the only human close to her size here she surely wanted to play with him. Struggling to get out of her chair she started whining. Her chubby little arms not being able to push the tray away from her. Hearing her whines her mother came over and gently lifted her out.

“Okay baby, I know, I know, you’ve been up there too long. Here you can play with Ben. If that’s alright with you Ben?”

Ben smiled nodding. Gently (Y/N) was set on the soft carpet in front of Ben. She tilted her head to the side as she crawled forward to Ben. Deciding she had to investigate this new person she crawled up to Ben’s legs, placing one tiny hand on his calf as she reached up and tugged at his fluffy brown locks.

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The Deepest Part of the Ocean is Not Empty

by TheJesseClark

Part 1 | Part 2 (Final)

The U.S.S. District of Columbia deployed its cargo - a two-man Eisenhower class Navy stealth sub called Agincourt, on which I served as navigator alongside Engineer Lovell - and once it was loose it slipped away into the Pacific and began to part with its escort.

The sea was in a shambles here - there were dead fish and splintered boat hulls floating in the current - but it was far from unexpected. It was recently estimated, in fact, that since that Leviathan awoke some months ago it has critically disrupted over four hundred trillion cubic tons of water, and all the life therein, and was becoming a potential threat to shipping lanes as well as Naval operations. It has been classified for these reasons and others as a severe national security threat, and so the Navy built the Agincourt on Tuscany’s blueprint, and selected Lovell and myself to man it, and then instructed the pair of us to hunt down the Leviathan and lure it up from the deep so District of Columbia could move in for a swift kill without exposing herself in the chase.

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Rumors

Spiritassassin Week 2017, Prompt 4: Bodyswap/role reversal

Chirrut is, quite possibly, the best assassin anyone has seen, and it is not just because he is fast, not just because his strikes are always sure–he never misses, the other mercenaries whisper when they think that he cannot hear them, which is ridiculous because he hears everything, knows everything–but because he can move from one thing to another quickly, can smile and laugh fast like lightning right after pulling the trigger of his lightbow, right after striking with the strange staff he carries with the retractable dagger in its tip. Nothing ever seems to make him linger, nothing ever seems to make him stick, pulling him into the mud and the mire and the muck of their work. It always seems to just roll right off him. If it makes a mark, if it presses something like regret onto the lovely set of his shoulders, he never shows it, hides it carefully away under his quips and the never-ending prattling, in his talk about the Force.

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October 31, 1830

A thick fog was rolling through the Luxembourg Gardens one midday, echoing the overcast sky above it. A wind, unseasonably cold even for late October, rustled the thin, twig-like branches of every spindly, dark tree. The whole of Paris was decidedly unlike what it had been even just yesterday. The trees, so full of reds and golds previously were black, devoid of life. Not a bird chirped, not an insect hummed. The buildings seemed to stretch upwards, crooked, cast in ominous shadow. Not a single person could be found in the streets or on the garden paths, as if each of them sensed that something was not quite right. 

Enjolras and Combeferre, walking along arm in arm alone through the Luxembourg, were oblivious to all of this. What did it matter that the sky was darkening around them, that the ground crunched with quick-forming frost, that even the wind died down, rendering all around them silent? New romance was a sweet, odd thing. It shines a light on everything wonderful in the world, and hides from sight all else–for better or for worse. 

There was a grove of trees and twisted vines up ahead of them, which had certainly not been there before. In the back of his mind Combeferre registered this, but suddenly Enjolras was tugging him into it for a kiss, as he so often did these days, and Combeferre was only too happy to follow him.

Something, something was not right, however. As Enjolras leaned down to press his lips to Combeferre’s, their surroundings seemed to change. Previously so still, the world around them began to move. Combeferre opened his eyes, glanced over Enjolras’ shoulder, and what he saw made his blood run cold.

The vines around them were shifting, intertwining, growing and closing in like a cage around them. Combeferre could feel them slithering around him like so many snakes, wrapping around his ankles and trapping him. Too shocked to utter a sound, he clung to Enjolras even tighter. Enjolras, mistaking this for something rather different, continued his attentions with increased enthusiasm. 

Before Combeferre could say a word to warn him, they were both lifted off their feet and borne away at an alarmingly rapid pace, scratched and battered by the twigs and branches. For a moment, all was darkness, but then it ended, and Combeferre and Enjolras were deposited out of an entirely different grove of trees, landing hard onto the ground in a heap.

With no small amount of trepidation, Combeferre lifted his head to look around him. Though it could not have been past two in the afternoon, it was fully dark now, the clouds whirling overhead in the black sky. Breath hanging pale in the cold air, he turned to Enjolras, who had raised himself onto his elbows, eyes wide as he took in their surroundings.

They were in a small clearing, the crop of trees out of which they had fallen behind them, the cold earth below. Encircling them, deliberately placed there, were a double row of candles. Beyond, not quite out of the cast of flickering orange light, were gravestones, rising out of the darkness.

A chill ran down Combeferre’s spine, and he searched for Enjolras’ hand to press it. They were in Père Lachaise–though how, he could not have said.

“Do you hear that?” Enjolras said, his voice low in Combeferre’s ear. “Footsteps. Someone is walking toward us.”

Heart beating fast, Combeferre tried to peer through the dim light, but before he could catch sight of anything, a voice rang out from the darkness.

Aha! Look, Jehan, it worked! Though it appears we have summoned the wrong revolutionaries.”

Enjolras and Combeferre sat up and looked in disbelief as Bahorel stepped into the light of the candles. Their friend was dressed in a long, dark hooded cloak, carrying a large black candle in one hand and a copy of the Social Contract in the other. He was followed by a similarly arrayed Jean Prouvaire. For a moment, Combeferre wondered if he had hit his head particularly hard while being transported here.

“Well, well. You two must have been standing very close together to both have been summoned here.” Bahorel raised his eyebrows, affecting a look of innocent curiosity. “What were you getting up to?”

Enjolras ignored the question and stood, looking much harassed. There were leaves in his hair. “What have you done?”

Jean Prouvaire beamed in a way that was quite at odds with their grim surroundings. “It is said that the veil between the living and the dead is particularly thin this time of year. We were just experimenting with calling to the other side, asking for those who have shaped our past, trying to gain insight for our work.” He nodded to Enjolras but Combeferre, still sitting on the ground, was the one who perked up. “You might join us! We have extra supplies. Courfeyrac recalled an engagement just before we began and ran off. Would you like to help?”

No,” said Enjolras flatly, just as Combeferre chimed in, “Experimenting, you say?”

Bahorel smirked as Enjolras looked down at Combeferre, askance.

“Well,” said Combeferre, trying to sound offhand. “Think of what we might witness–and discover! If the two of them succeeded in summoning us, what could all four of us do together? I-” He realized suddenly how quickly and earnestly he had been speaking, and took a breath. “It could be interesting.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed. “Communing with the dead? Really?”

“What harm could a little curiosity cause?”

Enjolras stared at him, and then his gaze flicked to the unnaturally dark afternoon sky, the creaking trees, the frost-encrusted graves, and then back to Combeferre’s eager face looking up at him. He sighed, resigned. “Oh. All right then.

AN ~ get ready for some FS hurt/comfort/fluff y’all. for @simmppaa, who prompted me along these lines. I hope you like it!

-

Where-ever this arrow lands; bury me there.
- The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, by Howard Pyle.

After the Framework, Fitz is struggling to shake it off, so Fitz and Jemma go to visit his mother in Glasgow. There they reconnect with Fitz’s true past, his true self… and his future.

Read on AO3 (~2300wd)

-

wherever this arrow lands

Jemma burst into the room and was already rifling through those belongings they hadn’t moved off-base yet, searching for a good jacket, when she realised there was someone else in the room. She jumped.

“Fitz?”

He looked up sluggishly from the tablet he was reading. “Mm?”

“You’re done early.” Frowning, Jemma approached the bed. “Is everything okay?”

Fitz sighed, the ache suddenly clear through his whole body. He lowered the tablet and raked a hand over his face.

“I couldn’t do it, Jemma,” he confessed. “I couldn’t walk into the lab. I just – it’s like, every time I think of picking something up, making something, all I can think of is him. What he made. What he did with it. With my hands. All my work is – is – is –“

Shaking, he clenched a fist as the word eluded him. He was not sure there was a word for this, even if he could find it. Jemma seemed to understand, though, and she crawled across the bed to his side and eased his fist open so that he was holding her hand instead.

“Have you been in here alone all day?” she asked.

Fitz shrugged, but avoided her eyes.

“Mack’s off duty, of course,” he explained. “I ran into Daisy in the kitchen – I can hardly look at her. There’s no way I’m going anywhere near May. The things I said to her. About Bahrain. Twisting it on her like that.”

Jemma squeezed his hand, and he sighed again.

“I know,” he assured her, “I know it wasn’t me. But it’s still in my memories, my hands, my voice. My brain has enough trouble sorting out what’s real and what’s not. I’ll be fine, I just need some time. I’ll just catch up on some reading and paperwork. It’s fine, Jemma. Go back to work, please.”

Jemma scoffed.

“Absolutely not.”

Fitz frowned.

“You just came in here to get a jacket. There’s no reason to cut your day short.”

“There most certainly is.” She cuddled closer to him, defiant, and he wrapped an arm around her with an uneasy smile, still lost in unpleasant thoughts. He picked the tablet back up with one hand, and pretended to read the article he had open on it, but Jemma could see that his eyes were not moving.

“Fitz,” she prompted. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

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archiveofourown.org
Mark me not a Savage - KatherineKrawl - Hannibal (TV) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 15/?
Fandom: Hannibal (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham & Hannibal LecterAdditional Tags: Possessive Hannibal, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Omega Verse, Omega Will Graham, True Mates, Hannibal is in prison, Starts during S03E08 - The Great Red Dragon, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Knotting, sex while asleep, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is Hannibal, Will is a Mess, Will doesn’t understand what is going on, Topping from the Bottom, Hormones, Wild Omega Will, Wild Alpha Hannibal, Loss of Control

Summary:

“Betrayal, attempted murder… we bring it out in each other so naturally,” he breathed, shoulders twitching at his own words. It was the truth. That realization was why he had sent Hannibal away those years ago, and why he had to walk from him now. 

The Omega in the attic thrashed against the walls of his mind, making it rain a cloud of whirling sawdust behind his eyes. Hannibal didn’t speak for the moment, and neither did Will.

Each listened to the other breathing, heard his presence there, and it made everything that little bit easier, and that little bit more maddening.

Descendants Jaylos Monster High!AU
  • Jay is a Djinn/Genie without the wish granting powers thanks to being born on the Isle of the Lost. He has both a human form and a spirit form, which is how he is able to perform all sorts of acrobatics and disappear through small gaps as a whirling cloud of dust before reappearing on the other side.
  • Carlos used to be a normal human being until he accidentally got scratched too deep by a werewolf he ran into. Now he’s a “weredog” as Jay affectionately calls him, and even though he’s just as powerful, fast, and durable as any werewolf, he is completely, absolutely terrified of himself and spends every waking hour in his human form and every full moon locked in a closet, too afraid to even look at his reflection and screaming every time he sees his adorable floofy tail.
  • Yeah, he’s basically a vicious, half-human, half-monster Dalmatian with spots and one outturned ear, plus super fluffy curly fur, it’s adorable
  • The two of them are both forced to go to Monster High, Jay for being a small-time criminal/vandal and as part of his not going to juvenile hall (which for monsters, is about as pleasant as you’d expect) and Carlos, for being recently Turned into a werewolf and unable to go to the regular, human high school he wanted
  • They first meet up when Carlos hears that Jay’s a genie. “I heard you grant people three wishes, right?”
  • Jay could prank him and get his hopes up but he’s already seen Carlos get triply bullied for being a) smart, b) really small, and c) a “mutt” werewolf, so he tells him honestly that he can’t grant wishes, he wasn’t born with that power
  • Carlos gets said but then Jay promises to make his wish come true some other way–”Maybe I can’t turn you back into a human, but I CAN turn you into a badass werewolf! Or weredog! Whatever, you’ll still be a total badass.”
  • So begins their friendship and “Badass Weredog Training!”
  • The relationship is pretty problematic at first with Carlos being super reluctant and constantly sabotaging all of Jay’s attempts to make him cool or better in the eyes of the others
  • But eventually, with some training, wrestling, and Jay teaching him all the techniques of how to be cool and confident (basically, don’t listen to what anyone else is saying and think that YOU’RE cool, and the coolness shall follow) and Carlos learns how to be comfortable in his werewolf form, defend himself, and be more assertive and do the things he wants to do but never quite got the courage too
  • Plus the magic of weredog belly rubs. Those are awesome.
  • Jay and Carlos eventually realize that his wish really did come true and he’s better than ever if he wished he were back to being a human. “And you said you can’t grant wishes!”
  • The two of them suddenly stop when they realize that their original agreement has them only being together until Carlos wish is granted. And they realize they don’t want to go their separate ways.
  • So they keep on being friends! Best buds! Monster Bros! Who hang out so much people mistake them for a couple, and Jay just awkwardly jokes his way out of these, while Carlos blushes and silently dies a little inside as Jay gets them out of it, and as the two walk away, they start to wonder if they really are just friends…
What He Thought He Knew - Jackrabbit VDay 2014

For: jackfrostagain
Author: 
Renoku
Rating: K
Word Count: 4,333
Summary: My assignment for Jackrabbit Vday 2014!  I had jackfrostagain.  During Bunny and Jack’s argument at the North Pole, Jack breaks down, and flees. Aster follows him, only to find that he may know more about the sprite’s heart than he thought he did.

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