Hi. I have been looking through the tags and using the search tab, but I cannot find an olicity fanfiction. It is an AU where oliver is a paramedic that saves felicity and her daughter from a car accident that is over a cliff (I think).
THAT MOMENT WHEN YOURE READING FANFICTION AND A CHARACTER SAYS SOMETHING REALLY CUTE OR ANGSTY BUT IT SOUNDS LIKE SOMETHING THEY WOULD ACTUALLY SAY AND YOU JUST KINDA LEAVE THE COMPUTER AND WALK AIMLESSLY AROUND THE HOUSE TO CALM YOUR RAGING FEELS
Summary: AU. Reader is given the task of running a
popular love advice internet show when her coworker is fired. Her
cynical attitude toward love makes her offer some harsh advice, and more
than a few hearts are caught in the aftermath. Will hers be one of them?
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Word Count: 3,523
language, fluff, wishful thinking, hot firemen, sarcasm, cynicism, bad jokes, drinking, sad story retelling (mentions of death and loss)
A/N: Moving right along…and yes, I used a Keep Reading line. Also, shout out to @redgillan for making my day brighter.
Okay I really need to say this because it is not said NEARLY enough. All the artists who make beautiful pieces of fan art and dedicate hours to drawing everyone’s favorite story or characters or ship THANK YOU. And to all the writers out there who spend days plotting out fics and putting our favorite tv shows and movies and books into whole new stories and adventures THANK YOU. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST OF THE FANDOMS. You provide us with phenomenal pieces of work and you deserve all of the love for it. Thank you
When Princess Emma’s ship is captured by the Jolly Roger and Captain Killian Jones, she offers herself as a hostage for ransom if he will let the ship and the other passengers go. With Emma, Killian remembers the honour he once held dear, and Emma catches glimpses of the gentleman Killian had been. Against all odds, the pirate and the princess begin to fall for each other.
Hey, look. Another Ed Sheeran inspired fic. You tired of these yet? This gets a bit obnoxiously inspired at the end because hot damn I could not resist. Well, actually, the middle – it was originally going to be the end but they decided to fuck instead so… fairly explicit smut ahead? I don’t know how to class this, people – <overshare> but if we’re classing smut based on a 1-10 ‘how thirsty is the author’ scale, this is about a 100000000 </overshare>. ANYWAY – No, I didn’t put the lyrics actually in the bloody thing, but I recommend a listen (if only because this is a damn good song).
Also – last one shot for a while. After the next chapter of The Underground goes up (this weekend???) I’m going on fic hiatus until mid-May because your girl has seminar papers to write. I know, I’m crying too.
Summary: James is in a band, Lily is thirsty af. Muggle AU, Met in a Pub AU (a thing?), Smut.
It was loud and sweaty and the air smelled like hard liquor and beer and the cigarette smoke wafting in off the street. Her local was normally a quiet, subdued place (though it occasionally got a bit rowdy on pub quiz night) - it was a lowkey pub, the bartenders were all really nice (though she had her favourite), and the regulars were cool. On New Act Fridays, though, the place exploded. It was a scene she’d long since moved on from since leaving uni, one full of writhing bodies and spilled drinks, but she always made a special exception for what was, probably, her favourite pub event. So, it seemed, did everyone the hell else in Leytonstone.
Lily tipped her head in thanks to the bartender as he dropped off her third gin and tonic, squeezed the lime into her glass, turned back around on her stool. She swirled her drink, leaned her back up against the bar, and surveyed the crowd. Everyone was largely chatting amongst themselves while they waited for the next act to get set up - a few people were pressed up against the wall and snogging furiously in the far corner, but Lily knew the number would at least double by the end of the night.
There was a pair of men on the small stage in the corner, a lanky blonde and a tall one with a mop of jet black hair, setting up their instruments as they prepped for, Lily assumed, their set. A man with a leather jacket stumbled out of the crowd, grabbed the blonde one by the neck with one hand, a fistful of his white t-shirt in his other, whispered something in his ear, pressed a kiss to his lips - the blonde smiled, beamed, before shoving the man, now laughing so loudly Lily could hear him from across the pub, off the stage.
Her eyes flicked away from them as the blonde sat down at his drums, began twisting something she couldn’t see - she turned back to the black haired man. He was fiddling with the tuning pegs on his guitar, his fingers plucking the strings, a look of deep concentration on his face. She moved her eyes over the long, lean muscles on his forearm, the tendons popping out in that absurdly sexy way that they always seem to do on guitar players, took another sip of her drink. He was part-way through tuning the fifth string when his eyes snapped up and met hers almost immediately, like he’d felt her eyes on him. She couldn’t tell what colour his eyes were, not from this distance, but she watched his gaze travel slowly down her body (her breath caught in her throat) before his eyes met hers again and he arched an eyebrow. Lily bit her lip - his lips hitched up into a cocky, lopsided smirk.
They had both
still been in the sickbay. Cassian had been half-unconscious, Jyn a little
delirious from the medication they’d given her, but she’d still managed to turn
her head and seen the man in the bed next to hers. They
had fought together, died together and been resurrected together, and something had slammed painfully in her chest in that moment. Her limbs had
felt heavy, weighted, like if she tried to get up she would simply fall to the
ground, so she’d instead reached out an arm towards him. It had swayed a little and in
her punch-drunk mind, she had almost forgotten it was there, until she’d suddenly
felt the fingers clasp around her own.
They were close
enough. He was there. She’d looked across the space between them and imagined
if there were nothing instead.
In the weeks that
followed their release from the sickbay, they were quick to realise that there
were few who would ever truly understand what they’d been through. The brushing
of hands became holding. Jyn knew what it looked like, when he would reach out
and lace their fingers together as they strode determinedly down the corridors
of Echo One together, but she had ceased to care.
No one questioned
them. No one at all.
“No one–” She
gasped as she felt her back hit the wall, Cassian’s tongue tracing the edge of
her clavicle. “No one – finds out about this–”
He hummed a
little, enough to indicate he’d heard her, but not enough to assume he was
actually listening. “I’m serious,” she said, sighing as he moved further down
her chest, tugging the collar of her shirt out of his way. “We’ve only just
been cleared for duty, I’m not screwing up our chances of working together–”
“If he finds out
that we’ve been doing this a lot, he would.”
He smiled against
her skin. “Fine then. No one knows.”
“No one knows.”
He kissed her,
fierce and determined. Jyn had discovered pretty quickly that they kissed a lot
like they had fought on Scarif, with a push and pull. That had started during a
sparring match in the training gym, the two trying to work on getting their
strength back. A mix of their skills and their injuries had resulted in them
being rather evenly matched, and a fight could last almost too long to endure. When
he had finally managed to pin her to the mat, her face flushed and his bare
chest heaving, all logic had left her brain.
His kiss had
It had simply
carried on from there until now, when he was shoving her up against the poor,
unsuspecting wall in his quarters (which by this point, she often shared). It
wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. Her fingers tangled in his
hair, keeping him close as he ran a hand up her thigh, hitching it around him. The
mechanics were often different, but the concept always the same: they would
touch with calloused hands, sigh with breaths mixed together, and as a result,
had fallen headfirst into something neither of them really knew how to put into
All Jyn could
think was this. I need this, I want this,
I will walk through hell to keep this …
“Am I still
allowed to hold your hand, though?” Cassian suddenly asked against her neck.
His wandering hand on her thigh was distracting, but she cleared her head
enough to answer,
“Why? The entire
base already assumes we’re sleeping together anyway–”
“It’s only rumour,
“Fine, fine,” he
rumbled against her. It made her shiver as he bent down and lifted her, both
her legs able to wrap around him now. They admittedly hadn’t quite perfected
this dance, yet. There was still much to learn about each other. There were
things to say, stories to eventually tell, and moves they still hadn’t quite
figured out. He pressed into her, hands inching high as Jyn practically shoved
her hands inside his shirt. The first time they’d done this had been awkward
and embarrassing. They’d had enough experience between the two of them to know
basically what they were doing, but a lot of magic gets taken out when it’s
punctuated with ‘do you like that?’ and ‘yes – wait, no’. Slowly, they’d grown
used to each other, understood how their bodies worked together. Now, they
could begin to explore.
Now, it was good.
his hips into hers, pushing her closer to the wall and sending a spark straight
through her. He ran his hands up her sides, dipping into her lean body and
leaving goosebumps in their wake. He found her hands, and he smiled against her
lips, lacing their fingers together. He pushed them back into the wall, Jyn helplessly
“Are you sure we
can’t hold hands anymore?” he rumbled against her.
“You make me feel so happy just to be around you. The way you smile, your beautiful laugh, the way you look at me, It brings me such joy.” With JackCrutchie. ❤
I was going to write some nice, short one-shot. And now we’ve got this 6,000+ behemoth. Whatever, it was fun. Hope y’all like this one!
Also, shout out to one of my greatest friends up at college, who sat me down and helped me come up with a realistic plan for Crutchie’s life–which, is basically a combination of her plans and her friend’s plans–and then proceeded to threaten me if I didn’t let her read this after it was finished.
Crutchie had a plan. It was the perfect plan and he
wouldn’t allow anything to get in the way of him achieving his dreams. Nothing
would stop him; he wouldn’t let it. When Crutchie had started college, he had
fallen in love with the anthropology class that he had taken to cover some
liberal arts requirement that his adviser had informed him was mandatory.
Crutchie had immediately changed majors and never looked back. Suddenly,
Crutchie knew exactly what he wanted to do: he would major in anthropology and
he would find a way to work and identify bodies, in order to connect them back
to their families.
He knew exactly how he would get to that point. First, he
would graduate with his bachelor’s degree in anthropology and two minors in
biology and chemistry. He would get his masters in biological anthropology at,
either Michigan State or UT Knoxville. Through that degree, he would be able to
pursue either contemporary mass grave excavation, or stable isotope
identification methods. Both would allow him to work with mass graves. After
studying their programs, Crutchie had felt as if those schools offered what he
needed to achieve his goal. Once he had gotten his masters, Crutchie hoped to
work or volunteer, either through the UN or an NGO to excavate mass graves. Ideally,
he hoped to work in Afghanistan, but he knew that he would be content anywhere.
As long as he was helping these people, long dead, be connected to their
posterity. Maybe Crutchie would even get a job at the Smithsonian or the Museum
of Natural History in New York. He was open to that avenue, as well, so long as
he had worked with mass grave excavations, in the end.
Really, Crutchie had everything planned out, and he could
not afford to be distracted from his goal and life-long pursuit.
Which was why Jack Kelly’s appearance into his life was not
Ship/Characters: Megatron/Swerve with guest appearances by Ratchet and Ravage.
Rating/warnings: Explicit for heat cycles, size difference, fingering as far as the eye can see, probably praise kink because i don’t think I am capable of writing smut without it, and some gross fluff
“This is about the request,” Megatron confirmed, taking one step inside the hubsuite so the door would close behind him. Swerve’s cooling fans roared and his gaze was completely focused on him. “I’ve come to accept it.”
“Biscotti and latte for Steve?” Clint called out into the crowded room. “Steve? Steve come get your order!” He squinted. “Where is he?”
Natasha laughed when she saw him, back in the corner, scribbling on a napkin. She took the small plate and the latte from Clint. “I’ll take it to him.”
“Yeah…get his number today, Nat. I want to win the pool we’ve got goin’ back here!”
She rolled her eyes and walked towards his table. “Biscotti and latte?”
He looked up like he was surprised to see her, but his confusion cleared when he saw the food in her hands. He dropped his pencil, the napkin fluttering to the ground as he hurried to take the plate and cup from her.
Natasha dropped down to retrieve the pencil and napkin, only to see exactly what he’d been doodling on the napkin. “Oh my god…” She set the pencil down on the table. “Is this me?”
Steve blushed, breaking a piece of his cookie off and leaving it on the plate. “It’s supposed to be…” he shrugged. “Do ya like it?”
(So this is a thing a thing I wrote, I don’t have a title for it but it’s for tanmobi. Hope it’s okay to submit it to you like this!)
Employing an actual esper meant more babysitting than Reigen had initially anticipated. Though it probably shouldn’t have, given that the esper was a ten year old, and not even technically employed by him, given his age.
If Mob weren’t currently nestled in his arms, passed out after performing an actual exorcism, he might have even considered the idea of asking the Kageyamas to pay him for watching their kid all the time. As it were, Mob’s head was planted firmly against Reigen’s collarbone, small huffs of breath occasionally disturbing the older man’s hair, and Reigen gently shifted the kid to take some of the pressure off of his arms. He was not in shape to carry a ten year old for any amount of time, let alone the half hour walk back to the kid’s house.
Mob squirmed a little bit, and Reigen tensed up for moment, wondering if he’d woken the kid up by moving, but then he sighed and mumbled something, and went still once more.
Reigen felt uncomfortably paternal.
Feeling uncomfortably paternal could easily lead to him feeling uncomfortably guilty because, if he was being honest with himself, he was just using the kid for his powers. But. The kid, and his powers, meant that Reigen could take on bigger and bigger cases. Which meant more money, which meant more taiyaki, and maybe a new suit every so often.
And he could always start paying the kid, if he stuck around long enough.
They were nearing the Kageyama house.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Mob? We’re here.”
Mob, contrary to Reigen’s expectations, instead tightened his hold, further wrapping his legs around Reigen’s torso.
“Okay,” Reigen muttered, “Mob? You’re home. C’mon kiddo, don’t you want to rest in an actual bed?”
He gently shook Mob as an accompaniment to his words. Thankfully, the ten year old murmured, “Okay,” and wriggled out of his arms.
Mob landed solidly on his feet, not unlike a cat.He stood on the sidewalk outside his house for a moment, yawning and then rubbing his eye. It was adorable. Just objectively, it wasn’t that Reigen in particular was struck with the sudden impression that he would personally fight anyone or anything that tried to bring harm to Mob, it was just that anyone would feel that way, given how objectively adorable the kid was.
“You all set?” He asked.
Mob nodded, drowsily.
“Alright.” Reigen said, hesitating for a moment. “Bye, then.”
“Bye, Dad,” Mob replied, hiding another yawn behind the back of his hand. He turned and walked up the pathway to his door, seemingly unaware of his error.
Reigen took a minute to process that, momentarily stunned.
Okay. Okay. So it was an accident, clearly. Kids probably said stuff like that all the time. That guilt twisting in his gut was completely misguided. Mob definitely did not see him as a father figure. It was just a mistake he’d made, and he was only barely awake when he said it. There was definitely no need for Reigen to be planning on how he could save money for the kid to go to college and make sure he was eating healthy, because should a ten year old be that small? And there was certainly no need to be thinking about buying Mob prep books to get into a good high school, he wasn’t even in middle school yet – but also his mother had always said it was never too early to start thinking of the future, Arataka, so are you sure you just want to move to this random city? How will you meet women? How are you going to get a job? Did you even plan this out at all?
Reigen shook his head, trying to dislodge the trail of thought. Business! Yes, because a healthy esper meant better exorcisms probably. So of course it would make sense for him to be worried about Mob having a healthy diet and maintaining solid grades.
A/N: i wrote this forever ago and just never posted it. this is kinda to celebrate both 200 and 300 followers (what the heck). thank you all so much for your support!! i love each and every one of you!!
All day, Alex had been trying to work up the courage, and he had reached a conclusion.
He could not do this.
John was in the other room, getting ready for their date. Alex pulled out the little velvety box from the inside of his jacket. He opened it and stared at the ring that seemed to be taunting him.
He absolutely could not do this.
John was so nervous that he literally felt like he was going to explode.
He reached in his pocket and felt the small box that contained the biggest risk of his life.
Alex was in the other room, waiting for John, so he felt safe in taking it out and studying the ring that would either catapult him to total happiness or drag him down into rejection and shame.
All of John’s nervous energy was making him feel shaky.
Alex texted Lafayette.
I can’t do this. I can’t.
Alex clicked his phone off and stuffed the ring back inside his jacket. He stood up and began anxiously pacing the living room. His phone buzzed.
Yes, mon ami, you can. He loves you and you’ve been dating forever.
Alex exhaled. He typed out Only a year and two months and hit send, starting to pace again.
John texted Hercules.
To: Hercules Muffin Man
Why did you let me get the ring and everything? I can’t ask him.
John pulled on a hoodie that was probably Alex’s and put the ring box into the front pouch. His phone chimed with a reply.
From: Hercules Muffin Man
I let you buy the ring because I know he’ll say yes.
John’s hands were starting to feel the effects of his nerves and he had to try three times before sending, There’s still a possibility that he’ll say no.
“John? You ready to go?” Alex called. He took a deep breath and bent over to retie his shoelaces, letting the blush on his face fade away. Lafayette had replied with He looks at you like you’re heaven on earth. Don’t reply. Do it. He desperately wanted to take his friend’s advice, but something was holding him back for whatever stupid reason.
“Yeah,” John said, coming out from their bedroom. Alex stared intently at his shoes as a sudden realization hit him. If John said no, he didn’t know if he could go on anymore. He needed John in his life.
That was why he was so hesitant to ask, for fear of ruining everything.
The ring box in his jacket seemed to get hotter, more insistent that he ask.
John grabbed a pair of shoes for himself, slipping them on and tying the laces. The ring box almost fell out of his hoodie’s pouch and his adrenaline spiked crazily, but thankfully it stayed put.
The train ride to the restaurant was torturous. It was too loud to talk but there was so much he wanted to say.
Alex wanted to ask John so badly. He wanted to marry this man, wake up to him every morning, adopt a kid, have a whole life together.
But there was a little nagging worry in the back of his head that John would say no.
“Alex?” John asked.
“Yeah?” Alex responded, not looking up from his food.
“I love you.”
Alex looked up. John was toying nervously with the strings of a hoodie that Alex was positive did not belong to John, but at the moment he didn’t care. Love filled his heart and he fell just that little bit more for this perfect man. “And I love you.”
Alex loved him. Alex would probably not publicly embarrass John by saying no in front of everyone.
John still couldn’t ask.
They went for a walk. The park was well-lit, with tall lamps casting pools of yellow over the grass and cement path. Shadows found their way in where the light didn’t quite meet, and in one of the larger gaps of shadow was where John suddenly found himself stuck to the ground.
He wasn’t actually physically stuck, of course, but something in his brain told him to stop there.
“John? You okay?” Alex asked, backtracking. “You didn’t eat anything funny, did you? You’re not allergic to anything that we ate–”
“Um. No. I’m fine. One question, though.” John reached into his hoodie pocket and nervously pulled out the box.
“What’s that?” Alex asked, peering down at John’s hands.
John got down on one knee.
“I, uh, um, we’ve been dating for a while, and I really love you, and, uh, I was wondering…”
John’s voice trailed off at Alex’s surprised expression, and he gulped when Alex shook his head.
“No way,” Alex breathed, pulling his box out of his jacket. “You beat me to it.” John’s mouth fell open, and Alex smiled at how absolutely adorable his boyfriend looked in that moment.
John struggled for a second and then opened the box. “Alexander Hamilton, will you marry me?”
“Yes. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes,” Alex said. He opened his own box. “John Laurens, will you marry me?”
“Duh! Yes! I love you, you idiot,” John said, getting up and tackling Alex in a hug.
After they’d kissed a few times, John slid the engagement ring onto Alex’s ring finger, and Alex slid the engagement ring onto John’s ring finger. John could feel happy tears starting to well up and kissed Alex again.
They went back to their apartment, hand in hand, and once they got inside, John kissed Alex again.
“I took a risk,” John whispered, his face only millimeters from Alex’s.
“It paid off,” Alex whispered back, and then he closed that final distance.
Later, when they were in bed, Alex fell asleep on John’s shoulder, and John smiled widely up at the ceiling.
He was engaged to the love of his life, and he knew he was the happiest person on earth.
Likes are appreciated, reblogs are wonderful, comments make my day
Do you have any advice on how to write poetry? I want to get better, but I don't know how to start. (I love your writing, btw.)
This sounds like not-actually-advice but it is true! My poetry suffers when I’m not reading voraciously and widely and with fine detail attention as well as happy abandon. My phrases and ideas start recycling themselves like stale airplane cabin oxygen. Reading keeps your creative spark alive in a really astonishing way, and if you stop feeding your little brain synapses with fresh, weird, quality content, creative death is assured.
Are you reading? Good! Now imitate! Rip off ideas, pilfer tropes, kidnap characters, plagiarize plot-lines…Imitation isn’t just the sincerest form of flattery, it’s the best way to practice stringing together a sentence and is the gateway to original ideas. I cannot stress the usefulness of fanfiction in this regard. I got my start writing fanfiction, and occasionally still pen a one-shot for my own enjoyment because fanfiction allows you to build a coherent, lyrical, effective narrative around the scaffolding of existing, working narratives. There’s nothing in original writing you can’t learn writing fanfiction: flashbacks, character development, dialogue, plot, romance, you name it, fanfics’ got it.
It’s also a great idea to try and write poems in forms you seen before: acrostic, sonnet, villanelle, iambic pantameter, the lot. Don’t like writing in a set form? Great, me too. I’m still going to tell you to do it, because it builds writing muscles. Popular poetic structures found on tumblr count too, I’m no snob. You know the ones:
I. hymns written in blood and stardust
about Patroclus, Icarus, Lolita, the lot:
pretty dead boys with fragile collarbones
and woman-kings wearing weaponized lipstick.
II. we share ichor-sweet kisses in my parent’s church
and you whisper:
III. maybe the stories we always about us, after all.
(I write this parody lovingly, some of my favorite poems follow this form, and I’ve written a number of them. Like, a lot)
Find poems you like and write responses to them! Or pick a theme that you like thinking about and just freewrite about it forever, then pick out phrases you want to string together into something new. There are no rules! Only that you write! And of course, that you remember imitation is healthy and good so long as you aren’t publishing content plagiarized in word or form, and that you don’t turn in a well-structured short story to your undergradaute workshop class only to have your professor point out in front of everyone that “this is masterful work…but it’s also Donna Tartt’s Secret History”. Because I did that. Lit professors have read everything you have, kiddos, and no amount of clever deviation from the original can disguise a loving homage.
That’s what I’ve got for you to start with. Since youo like my work (and thank you for saying so) check out my linked “poetry that knocks me on my ass” tag; there’s a lot of poems that inspired me there. Happy writing! And please, do write. Even if you think it isn’t good. The world always needs new poems, and I believe in you.
Their armies had fallen. Cassian and Azriel were
dead. She knew by the truth that soaked her bones and laid bitter on her tongue
that in the end, it had been inevitable. That they’d faced Hybern, and Cassian
had died in Azriel’s arms, hazel eyes going dark. She’d heard the truth of
Azriel’s scream, the way he laid waste to all those around him, shadows tearing
through them all – tearing him apart.
It was odd, really. They’d imagined this scenario,
she and Rhys. But they’d always assumed that he’d be around to call her in.
They were dead as well, though, her High Lady and
High Lord both. The other women had brought them in, Elain sobbing as if her
heart would break, Nesta rigid and face contorted with numb pain, Amren’s
silver eyes dull.
They’d shredded Rhys’s wings before they killed
him. She’d make them pay for that.
Ed had dragged Al’s soul out from the gate, and he did it at the price of his right arm. If his right arm could pull Al out, so could his left arm. So could his other leg, up to the mid thigh. As well as four or five ribs. Some non-vital organs. His sight. His hearing… It was simple math, and Ed had calculated down, to his every last body part, just how many times he could save Al.
Exactly two trains ran daily between Central Station and
East Station, the 10:30 am and the 3:30 pm. The East Station arrival time was
easy enough to calculate, since the route from Central to East took exactly
four hours to cover. There was a rumor which claimed the route used to take 3
hours, 57 minutes exactly, until they added Resembool as the third-to-last
stop. Very few people ever got on at that stop, and no one ever got off. Most
commuters just watched those open doors, inhaling the heady drafts of sheep and
pastures, wondering why the train even bothered. On very rare occasion, some
had the treat of watching the Fullmetal Alchemist get off at just that stop,
arm slung up and head in bandages, with his armor suited younger brother toting
behind. He was a four leaf clover to them, a black swan of sorts, the one
mythical reason the train ever stopped in Resembool. The station was added for
the Fullmetal Alchemist specifically, so the rumor went.
On June 3rd, 3:28 pm, Edward Elric stood near the
edge of the Central Station train tracks, watching the approaching headlights
as they ripped through the mid-afternoon fog. It was draining to stand, more
than he realized, and so waited for the train to pull in with a heavy-hearted
relief. Now where was…
“Al!” Ed angled his head over his shoulder. The one suit of
armor in the whole station jumped, public telephone pressed against his cheek.
“Train’s here! Come on.”
“But I—just another minute. Winry and Granny haven’t picked
up. I’m going to try calling them once more.”
“We don’t have another minute Al. Train’s here. We’ll just tell them when we get
there, it’s not big deal. Not like we’ve ever called ahead any other time.”
“But don’t you think…this is…”
“It’s fine, Al.
…Really. Come get on the train.”
The screeching of stopping tires punctuated Ed’s sentence.
The train rested, huffed, let off a quick honk of its horn before the
attendants inside each compartment hauled the doors open. Al watched as Ed eyed
the openings with urgency. And it was so unlike him—normally, they pushed train
departure to the last second. Normally they chased after it, wheels cranking
and gaining speed. They’d hop the rails and sling their luggage over, and one
arm extended they’d catch each other, catch whoever had leapt second.
Anonymous said: ‘there was a fic (i swore written by wordyanansi but maybe not) where bellamy is the leader of a place called styx or something and he has to go to the kingdom to secretly visit his sister when he trips over clarke in the middle of a field she wants him to take her with him and they fall in love etc etc its a vague hades/persephone au but i cant find it anywhere..has it been deleted? :(’