i could lie in the gutter and people would think i was dead

Essays in Existentialism: Gold

Could u do one where Lexa and Clarke are both very well known athletes competing at the olympics , both are expected to win gold in their respective sports. Maybe they get together and the media finds out.

“Okay, okay, just one,” Clarke smiles and holds the phone of the fans waiting outside the hotel. She snaps a picture and hands it back. “Okay, one more. You’re going to make me late, and they aren’t going to hold the plane.”

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A Tale of Two Lovers

((This something of an experimental thing I wrote based on what I like to think Keith’s parents were like. First some background on the characters here.

Austin - Keith’s dad. An airforce verteran, who has since taken up astronomy. He lives in a one room house in the middle of the desert both as a way to focus on his work and also so he can get away from people. He’s good friends with Commander Iverson, who drops by every couple of years to make sure his old flying buddy hasn’t died and been left to rot. (his name is a pun on “Austin, TX” given his accent. I like to imagine he’s heard that joke plenty of times)

Kalthara - Keith’s mom. I got both her name and design from THIS POST by @blue-starr-in-the-sky-port . A member of the blade of Mamora who found herself stranded in an uncharted part of the universe after a wormhole accident left her crashed on planet earth. Austin was the first to come across her, but in her pain Kalthara struck out at him with her knife leaving a scar on his brow. She’s an experienced warrior who has been a member of the blades all her life. As a result she has known nothing but war for most of her life, and initially finds the naive peace of earth somewhat jarring. She doesnt seem to be able to get Austin’s name right, though this may be on purpose.

The two of them find themselves becoming unlikely friends as Kalthara sorts through her stranded wreck and avoids being caught by other humans, and Austin keeps her existence a secret out of a desire to protect his peaceful life. Overtime they develop feelings for each other, eventually consummating their love.

The following is the result))

continued under read more

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Cupid’s Blind

Words: 7349

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Angel!Au

Summary: One - lovers are tied by red strings. Two - you hate love. Three - a certain angel literally cannot say ‘no’ to ‘please’

Notes: Gif

“I wonder what love feels like…”

You whip your head around, stopping in the middle of the crosswalk as the rest of the crowd pulls past you. The surroundings haze as if the world is being tugged away until everything is but a picture from a distance and you are in darkness. You swear you’ve heard a voice, a warm breath tickling your ear but no one’s there. Except, you catch a moving shadow on the road and in your peripheral vision; sterling pink.

The crosswalk ticks once….twice….three times then flickers to red. The stop light flashes green and absent-minded drivers push down on the pedal, accelerating forward. And you don’t notice, standing right in front of them as a mesmerized statue.

“M   O   V   E   !” Someone shouts but you don’t react fast enough, it doesn’t register fast enough. It’s as if sound passes right past through you and it never reaches your ears. It’s as if every second is being pulled down to last days and evenings, as if millenniums have passed and you’re still in the same place.

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anonymous asked:

I wish you would write a fic where Loki, after coming through the portal, is too weak and beaten by Thanos and the Other to lead the Invasion against earth.

(There are actually a couple of fics like this! To the Depths We Fall by JaggedCliffs is one with bonus body horror, and also speed the collapse (scatter what remains) by 100indecisions. But hey I’m never one to ignore a chance to write more Loki whump.)

Loki knew something was wrong the moment the Tesseract’s magic hooked into his and pulled. He felt it in his stomach, and the way something in his chest seemed to snap. For a moment, a dizzy, terrifying moment, he thought it had failed altogether and was too aware of the Other at his shoulder, the wolf at his back whose jaws might snap closed on his throat in a second-

But then the universe whirled around him and it was too much, he knew it was too much, (the Tesseract sucking him dry, body straining like he would fly apart) but he couldn’t stop it. 

He hit the ground, sparks exploding behind his eyes and his head spinning. His stomach lurched and he thought he would vomit, but nothing came up; he couldn’t even tell if he was standing or kneeling or lying on his back staring at the ceiling. There seemed to be a great deal of shouting. 

He should stand, probably. That was the plan: arrive, claim the Tesseract and any warriors he needed, keep moving. Why bother, Loki thought, his chest throbbing. They are only going to kill you anyway. The moment you are no longer useful. And you were never very useful.

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And then think about this: Grantaire in the Great Revolution In The Sky. Grantaire, who never managed to make himself believe in it, not really. Grantaire, having hope poured into him.

Grantaire who dies, and dies with love. And a few moments later, all the dead stand up, and all his friends are rising. They look hazy happy, smiling, unwounded. This might be enough, for him. It’s more than he knew to ask for.

Then he sees the sunrise through the broken glass, and his breath catches with excitement. He’s used to joy having an aftertaste, an alloy somewhere inside that fills his mouth with metal and bitterness. But this: this is sweeter than anything he’s ever tasted. He’s on his feet before he knows. It’s a quick movement, quicker because there’s that new lightness to this body that he hadn’t accounted for. He watches Enjolras pull himself inside, using the one leg that’s caught on the windowsill. The walls are singing very softly.

There’s blood everywhere, and some of it’s his. But it doesn’t matter; all the holes in him are mended, even his heart’s stitched up and beating steady as a dancer’s feet. If this is a dream, it’s a good one, he thinks, and then as soon as he thinks it he knows he’s wide awake, even though there’s a gentleness in this air that he’s only ever found at the bottom of a bottle, just when the lullaby starts and his eyes begin to fall. But he’s not drunk and he’s not sleeping. He’s happy to see the daylight, which is odd, and the sun is singing to him, which is odder, and oddest of all is that Enjolras comes up beside him, and takes his hand again.

“Come on, R,” Enjolras whispers, and it doesn’t hurt at all.

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Merry Belated Christmas

A/N: Going off my headcanon that between Dark Swan, Camelot, and the Underworld, the Swan-Jones-MIlls-Charming family(ies?) missed Christmas. This is my gift to my CS Secret Santa @kat2609, whom I hope to get to know more now that I’m off Anon. I hope you have had a wonderful holiday thus far and that 2016 brings you lots of joy and happiness. 

It haunts her dreams, her paranoia and worst nightmare had come to life. She watched him struggle for breath, the life draining from his eyes and blood caking her hands, the same hands that felt his heartbeat slowly cease under her palm, until he lie dead on the wet grass beneath them. A part of her died with him. It’s a loss she feels straight to her core, shaking her entire being (confirming that maybe she is cursed) and all she knows is uncontrolled earth-shattering pain. Days later she finds him as Hades’s right-hand man, once again a slave to the servitude of the ruthless. Hades allowed them to follow through with their plan however. (It’s not every day that the god sees a happy ending for those bound to spend an eternity in hell - for those whose love could not be stifled by death.) Emma finds herself longing for a similar fate as Regina splits her heart, the pain so visceral that she knows there could be nothing more agonizing. But as she looks into Killian’s eyes, she realizes she was wrong and that losing him was far worse. And when Regina shoves Killian’s half of Emma’s heart into his chest, she feels whole again. Before departing from the Underworld, they spend a few hours with Liam and her family. She’s never seen Killian happier, with Liam at his left, her hand interlocked with his and her head resting on his shoulder. It’s a perfect moment amidst all the anguish they’ve been living in and the heaviness that still weighs on the both of them.

(She glues herself to his side, the curve of his body pressed against hers the anchor she uses to remind herself that this is reality. He’s here. They share a heart. He’s alive.)

Their first night back is spent in the new house that they had yet to enjoy together. In a daze of heartache after leaving Liam, they take an early exit from Granny’s and walk home in the brisk January air. She nestles her head in the crook of his neck, arms interlocked as their steps languidly sync together. The soft cushioned indentation of his skin from her fingers can be felt through his jacket. The muscle of his arm flexing under her grip makes her worry that her hold is too tight and will leave bruises in its wake, but the idea that he can have such fragile markings again resonates deep in her soul. Her heart is beating inside him because they got a second chance and her worry shifts to melancholic solace. She kisses his neck when they approach the front door and he pulls her closer as they walk in. The walls and furniture of their home are marked with hurtful words that they are determined to write over, rediscovering each other with every touch, caress, and stroke of tongue. It’s sovereign and gentle desperation, each kiss a promise for the future, an apology for actions done while tethered to darkness, a vow of unconditional, vulnerable, all-consuming love.

They sleep for the first time in over two months, wrapped in each other’s arms and navy sheets. When Emma bolts awake with sweat sticking to her skin and tears streaming silently down her face sobbing I watched you die and I couldn’t save you this time, he pulls her into him, planting tentative kisses wherever his lips reach and mumbling apologies and reassurances into the warmth of her flesh, catching her tears with the round of his thumb.

Slowly, as they spark back to life (back to themselves), so does the town. She first notices it outside Granny’s, icicle lights hanging from the gutters and a white wire reindeer by the door.  “It’s January,” she mutters to herself more than Killian.

“Aye, love. That’s what the calendar on the refrigerator door says.”

“But there’s reindeer and lights and Santas up everywhere.”

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