i did suspect something like this happened

Anyway people keep asking me for reasons why I like non-white Percy so much and. I mean, aside from all the already compelling arguments that we need representation desperately, and we could always use more series with well-developed non-white protagonists that don’t have racist tropes applied to them. (those reasons alone should be enough.)


In this case, Percy being a person of color would add a new dimension to the plot, the character, how the world interacts with him, and how he interacts with the world.

1. He is automatically branded as a “troubled kid” right off the bat, before people even meet him.

Reread that, and then ask yourself if you know any white kids with this problem. That’s what I thought.

However, if he’s not white, not only is this believable, but it’s actually the expected outcome.

Now, I guess if you saw a white kid with this intense brooding expression like Percy is supposed to have, maybe your guard would go up. And I know he’s got authority problems. But this isn’t something that he can modify or adapt to; it happens without him realizing it, without him being able to control it, regardless of how he tries to behave better, and it happens on a regular basis.

I’m sick of seeing common poc problems applied to white characters by doing a bunch of buildup to make it seem believable, when all you really need to do is make the character not white. White kids have no idea what it feels like to be judged that way, so the audience this would really speak to is non-white kids. (don’t come at me listing white kids who get judged this way, because i promise you, every single one of them has the option to change it if they stop acting a certain way. non-white kids don’t get that option, because it’s based on their skin, not their behavior.)

2. The Mist and the media work against him.

Here’s the thing: it’s really hard to convince people that a white kid is a criminal. It’s really easy to convince people that a black or brown kid is a criminal. The media is so quick to exploit (and create) this problem.

There’s a lot of quotes about how the Mist works by conforming to what people expect to see. And when the vast majority of people see a person of color at a crime scene, they assume they’re the criminal. While as when they see a white person at a crime scene, they assume they’re the victim. So if Percy isn’t white, it makes sense that the Mist would work against him.

The way the entire nation turns against him and starts hunting him down in Lightning Thief is eerily reminiscent of how brown and black boys are treated by law enforcement and how the media runs rampant with the stories. The way they begin digging up dirt on his past and branding him as a suspect, despite the fact that he is also missing, there’s no evidence that he did anything wrong, and they have every reason to think he is the victim, is exactly the way the media treats countless black and brown victims.

People are ready to believe he killed his own mother because he got expelled from school several times, despite having no history of any homicidal tendencies at all. I promise you, if something like this really happened to a white kid, there’d be dozens of articles of people tearfully talking about how he was bullied in school and he adored his mother and this couldn’t have happened, it just can’t be. Furthermore: they media gives Annabeth and Grover the benefit of the doubt, because Annabeth and Grover are white.

“Who are the other children in this photo?” Barabara Walters asked dramatically. “Who is the man with them? Is Percy Jackson a delinquent, a terrorist, or perhaps the brainwashed victim of a frightening new cult?”

She calls them “children” and Ares a “man” while she calls Percy a delinquent, a terrorist, or, maybe, if she’s feeling a little inkling to not be completely racist today, maybe he might be a brainwashed victim. He’s obviously not innocent, so if by some miracle he happens to be a victim, he’s obviously got to be brainwashed. Also: have you ever heard anyone use the word “terrorist” about a white person like… it just doesn’t happen.

Think about how crazy this is! Percy is a child, seen standing next to a full grown man who looks like a ripped biker, and people are talking about him as though he is the criminal! That could only happen to a brown or black kid, like, I’m sorry, that’s just how the American media works.

And of course, it would definitely make sense that people would readily believe Percy attacked a cheerleader and set a school on fire.

3. This quote

“A gang of kids had circled us. Six of them in all – white kids with expensive clothes and mean faces. Like the kids at Yancy Academy: rich brats playing at being bad boys.”

The fact that he adds, “white”…. I mean, yeah, a white kid could have said this quote (a white writer wrote it, after all), but it makes more sense coming from a kid who isn’t white. We know Percy comes from a poor background and that’s definitely the reason he’s so turned off by how they’re rich and pretending to be street kids, so why wouldn’t it also make sense for him to come from a brown or black background and that’s why he’s so turned off by how they’re white and pretending to be street kids?

Answer: it does make sense. It makes perfect sense.

nonuniqueindie  asked:

#74 of ways to say I love you, any omgcp pairing

74. “We can share.” I was going to do this for Charmer, but it was giving me writer’s block until I realized on the way home today it wanted to be Nurseydex.

Dex blew out an angry breath as he stared at the now completely empty baggage carousel. The color stood high in his cheeks, and his hair was sticking up on one side where he’d been gripping it in frustration. Nursey wanted to smooth it down, but restrained himself, as he had been for months. Years, possibly. He was getting good at it.

“It’s taunting me,” Dex said flatly.

“What is?” Nursey asked, seated atop his own suitcase, pushing it back and forth idly on the wheels. He hadn’t fallen over yet, amazingly, and he was now actually timing himself to see how long that would last.

“The baggage… thing. With its complete and total lack of baggage. Mine in particular.”

“Noticed that, did you?” Nursey tried to bite back his grin, but suspected he probably failed.

Dex scowled. “Shut up.” Yup, definitely failed. “I should have known something like this would happen. I should have turned down Jack’s offer of tickets and just stayed home. Why did I need to come to the beach here? I live at the beach. There was no reason for me to come. Now the universe is punishing me.”

Nursey planted his feet and started ticking off reasons on his fingers. “It’s an SMH reunion for all of Bitty’s peeps, you know this. You miss me and C during the summer, don’t front. You are occasionally allowed to have fun. And no one in their right mind turns down a free plane ticket from an NHL star.”

Chowder came bouncing up just then, preventing Dex from continuing to try to glare his bag into existence. “The airline said it should be here tomorrow! It was still back in Maine and got loaded onto the next plane after yours. They’ll deliver to the house for us and everything!”

Dex raised an eyebrow. “Really? Did you point out to them that the house we’re staying at is four hours away from the airport?”

Chowder’s face fell. “Oh. Maybe I told them the address wrong? But that was what they said! I could go check again?”

Nursey stood up. “Nah, C, you go find Cait. I got this.”

Chowder looked uncertainly between the two of them. “Are you sure? You really shouldn’t start the trip off with a fight.”

“No fights, I promise. I got it.”

“You got it, huh?” Dex asked, irritated, but quietly, so Chowder wouldn’t hear.

“Yeah, I got it. Come on.” Nursey tugged him in the direction of the lost luggage office. “If there’s anything my, and I’m about to quote you here, ‘overprivileged childhood’ prepared me for, it’s dealing with airlines losing luggage. I have found myself sans belongings on multiple continents now, let me tell you. Always a fun time.” He held open the door to the little office and gestured Dex in with a grand flourish.

Ten minutes later, he’d charmed the very tired-looking woman at the desk into a complete recap of how they’d located Dex’s luggage, exactly where it was now, and given her three different ways to reach them when it arrived the next day.

He slung his arm around Dex’s shoulders and guided him back out. “’s all good, bro, see? They know where your shit is, it’s not going to be one of those permanently lost in the ether situations.”

Dex sighed, looking resigned. “I just… what am I going to do tonight? And tomorrow?”

“We can share.”

Dex looked over at Nursey in surprise. “Do what now?”

“Share. We’re the same height, and I always overpack for vacations. Consequence of traveling with my mother; she can never decide what we’ll be doing ahead of time, so we’re expected to anticipate all things.”

“I don’t… I mean, okay, I just don’t want to be… like, an inconvenience or anything…”

Nursey stopped. Fuck it, he decided. He took his arm off Dex’s shoulders so he could look him in the eye. “Dex. Haven’t you figured it out yet? There’s nothing I wouldn’t share with you.”

Dex stared at him, presumably in shock. Nursey braced himself. “Oh,” Dex said. “Oh.” And then he got a fistful of Nursey’s shirt and kissed him.

It didn’t last long; Nursey was grinning too much. “Glad you came after all, Poindexter?”

Dex’s ears turned an adorable shade of red, but his voice was entirely sure when he answered, “Yeah, I really am.”

So I still feel like when Alec goes for it and pushed Magnus ‘back against that wall’/’to his bed’ that Magnus is going to stop him and insist they slow down, and I was re-reading The Bane Chronicles and now this is all I can think about happening.

They don’t have the rights to TBC, I know, but it would still be nice if it went somewhat similar to how the scene did in the book, because honestly it’s all I can think about (and it would mean a lot of making out still, and when they finally do become more intimate with each other, it’ll be well worth the wait if they are both completely sure of what they want and that they’re ready for this.

“Alexander,” he murmured, wanting to say more than just “Alec,” to call him by a name that was longer than and different from the name everybody else called him, a name with weight and value to it. He whispered the name as if making a promise that he would take his time. “Maybe we should wait a second.”
He pushed Alec, just slightly, but Alec took the hint. He took it much further than Magnus had meant it. He scrambled off the sofa and away from Magnus.
“Did I do something wrong?” Alec asked, and his voice was shaking too.
“No,” Magnus said. “Far from it.”
“Are you sending me home?”

I so badly want something like this to happen. xD

“I don’t want to,” Alec said.
“I don’t want you to,” said Magnus. “But if you don’t …”
Alec nodded, quickly. “Good-bye, then,” he said, and leaned down for a quick kiss. At least Magnus suspected it was supposed to be quick. He wasn’t entirely sure what happened after that, but somehow he was wrapped around Alec entirely and they were on the floor. Alec was gasping and clutching at him, and somebody’s hands were on someone else’s belt buckle and Alec kissed Magnus so hard he tasted blood, and Magnus said, “Oh, God,” and then—

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go back to reading. xD

I Wish I Was You

A fic for @snowbaz-feda
Word Count: 4505
One day, Simon wakes up in Agatha’s body. That’s weird. But things get really messed up when he accidentally starts dating Baz. (And he might or might not have to deal with his feelings for his enemy. Things are going great.)


When I wake up, something seems different. I blink in confusion, looking at the ceiling. This is not how I usually wake up. It looks like I’m on the other side of the room. Have I slept in Baz bed? No way, he would never allow that. (I accidentally did one night in second year. I was so tired that night that I couldn’t even find the light switch on the first attempt. When Baz found me the next morning, he almost threw his math book at me. Never found out where he was that night.)
I frown, as I realize that my hair is a lot longer than I’m used to. How would it grow like that over night? Hesitant, I sit up and look carefully around the room. There are flowers on the windowsill. On the wall, there are posters of movies that I haven’t seen. On the chair, there are some rose colored clothes, neatly piled up. That’s when it dawns on me – this is Agatha’s room. I’ve been here before. (Not often. We rarely hang out without Penny, and Penny doesn’t like Agatha’s room. She says the smell makes her sick.)
How did I get here? Why can’t I remember anything about it? Agatha will kill me if she finds out that I slept here.

My gaze falls on the small mirror on the nightstand. But I don’t see there what I expect to see – my own reflection, probably a really confused look on my face. Instead, I see Agatha. Or rather, Agatha’s face. My first thought is that she’s been trapped in the mirror, but then I realize that I do see my reflection. Except that my face is a different one. Why the hell do I have Agatha’s face? And – as I now see – Agatha’s body? And why did it take me so long to figure that out? Baz would call me an idiot for not noticing it immediately.
I guess I’m less shocked about this than I should be. After years of living in the wizarding world, there’s not much that can still surprise me. I wonder if this is the Humdrum’s work. Or maybe it was Baz? Playing a prank on me? It probably was. That git. But if I’m Agatha now, where’s she? Did she wake up in my body?
I have to find Penny. We have to reverse this as quickly as possible, before people start talking to me, thinking I’m Agatha. I’m not good at pretending to be someone I’m not. I just have to stop myself from thinking about it until I can try to find a solution to this problem.

Keep reading

Encore (1/5)

He doesn’t even feel the impact. There’s a shriek of metal-on-metal, a scream, a car suddenly jumping the curb in front of him.

Then there’s only darkness.


The sky is still blue.

Ichigo blinks, and wonders why that surprises him. Surely, a blue sky exists everywhere, even—

Even here.

Which is not where he had been before.

It’s somewhere different.

Carefully, Ichigo sits up and takes in the sight of a familiar field, with trees in the distance. He’s been here once, right after the first trip to Soul Society, when Inoue had come to tell him that Rukia was missing, and he had known where to look. The house that’s just as odd as he remembers still stands in the distance—and, squatting a few feet from him in the grass, is a familiar face that he hasn’t seen since that day.

Shiba Kukaku stares at him for a long moment, an unreadable expression on her face. Ichigo stares back, wondering why the fireworks expert—who he remembers as being loud, violent, and having a strong enough left hook to put Yammy to shame—looks almost… unsettled. He doesn’t say anything, though, keeping his peace as she surveys him. For some reason, he’s tired, more than he’s ever been, and can’t help but suspect that being in Soul Society like this—when he had been in his human form, without using a Senkaimon, and knowing without a doubt that the car accident had killed him—is the cause.

And then Kukaku sighs and straightens, rising to her feet and offering him a hand up. “From the lack of company I take it this isn’t another one of Yoruichi’s harebrained schemes. Did something happen?”

Ichigo hesitates for a moment before accepting the proffered hand. “I…died.” It feels odd to say it out loud, but he knows it’s true. Unlike what the majority of the Gotei 13 seems to think, he isn’t stupid. He can certainly be reckless sometimes, when someone he cares about is in danger, but he isn’t dumb. Drawing connections is simple enough. The only surprise is that now, here, he feels the stirrings of power around him that he’s missed for so long, and the comforting weight of Zangetsu on his back. Dying, it seems, had been enough to return his powers. Even the Hollow is back, simmering in his mind just below the surface. And for the life—or death—of him, Ichigo can’t bring himself to find it anything but comforting.

Kukaku sighs again, pulling him to his feet, and nods. “I thought it was something like that.” Then she pauses again and scrutinizes his face for a moment, something in her expression turning wistful. “You…really do look like him.”

Ichigo blinks at that, not understanding, and shoots her a look. He had noticed a similar reaction in others, particularly Ukitake and Byakuya, when he faced them, but he’s never pressed them for an answer. But Kukaku notices, and gives him a small, weary smile. “My older brother, Kaien. The one the Kuchiki girl killed.”

There’s no malice in her voice, no bitterness, and Ichigo wonders at how strong she is to push all of that aside. He had never managed it, and even now, he blames himself for his mother’s death.

Maybe someday, he thinks a touch ironically, he can be as strong as her.

“Is there a relation?” he asks after a second, half dryly and half curiously. His father’s death at Aizen’s hand meant that the old man had never had gotten around to explaining his connection to Soul Society, so for all Ichigo knows, Kukaku could be his aunt. He just barely holds back a shudder. As if there aren’t enough violent women around him already.

Seeming to guess his thoughts, Kukaku grins at him, squeezing his hand just a little tighter than she needs to. “Heh. That scares you, little boy? Shouldn’t, though. We Shibas are a good bunch—mostly. And widespread! Or we used to be.” She turns, not letting go of his hand, and drags him back towards her crazy house. “You might be a cousin, for all I know. Never did keep a good enough track of the branch families, while they existed. Oh, well.” Throwing open the door, she yanks him down the stairs, calling, “Oi, Ganju! We’ve got a guest!”

Her brother leans around a door, and his eyes widened at the sight of Ichigo there, dressed not in shinigami robes, but a simple autumn-brown yukata, Zangetsu across his back. He takes one step forward, looking confused. “Kurosaki? What are you…?” Then he pauses, frowns, and opens his mouth again—

—Only to be cut off by his sister’s foot slamming into his face.

Despite himself, Ichigo winces. Yeah, he can see the family resemblance there, if she and his father are related.

“Move it, dumbass!” Kukaku bellows, hauling Ichigo past the sprawled form of her sibling and into the room he’d just left. “He’s a guest, and he just died! He needs comforting! Now get your ass to the kitchen and make some food! I’m hungry!” With that, she slides the shoji door shut, tosses Ichigo in front of the table, and drops on the other side to face him. Planting her left arm on the table, she glares at him and demands, “Well? What happened? If you’re gonna cry, do it now, while I’m feeling charitable!”

Pushing himself upright, Ichigo casts her a half-wary, half-bemused look, and then settles himself correctly. “Cry? What the h—why would I cry?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You just died.”

He raises one in return, wondering what it is she wants him to say. “I know. I’m not an idiot. But it’s not like everything ended, right? I’m here. My family’s already here, too. And…”

And what? He suddenly can’t think of anything. Isn’t he supposed to be fighting someone? Rescuing someone? Doing something? But instead of a driving urge to move, he feels relaxed. Peaceful. At ease, even, without the fate of Soul Society and the world of the living riding on his back, without the grief that’s been tearing at him for over two years now. And, as much as he loves combat, and fighting, he doesn’t want to go back to that pressure. Even with his powers back, he doesn’t want to immediately plunge back into conflict. And somehow, he can guess that conflict is what would occur, if he walked up to the gates of the Seireitei and informed them that he was no longer a resident of the living world.

He has to bite back a groan, because it’s just occurring to him that it had not been the insane, power-obsessed, would-be god who had taken him out. It had been a car. Renji is going to laugh his ass off.

Yet another reason not to immediately present himself in Seireitei.

Kukaku, with a perceptiveness that belies her usual loud personality, seems to guess what he’s thinking again. She leans over and flicks him on the forehead, then brings her fist down hard on the top of his head. While he tries to clear the ringing from his ears, she snorts and comments, “You know, there’s nothing holding you back now, boy. You’re dead. That means no more responsibilities. Sure, you have the power to be a shinigami, and you want to protect people—”

Ichigo doesn’t question how, again, she knows exactly what he’s thinking. It’s more than likely he’ll regret knowing, should he ask.

“—but you don’t have to march right up the Gotei 13 and let them take you in. You’re different than you were before the war; they probably wouldn’t even know what to do with you. So why don’t you stay here for a bit? Ground yourself, think about your options? I’ll even help you get that pig-sticker down to a normal sealed-size.” She nods towards Zangetsu, which is settled awkwardly across Ichigo’s shoulders and nearly digging into the bamboo floor. “You don’t have to be yourself, either, if you don’t want to. There are enough bastard sons floating around, and you look enough like a Shiba that I can claim you as a cousin and adopt you into the family. Might make for a nice change of pace, huh?”

Ichigo looks at her in surprise for a second, then shifts his gaze past her left shoulder as he considers. Go to Seireitei, and back to being a hero of a war he had never wanted to fight? Or stay here amidst the peaceful insanity that is the Shiba house, as a Shiba himself, and take his time learning something, not for the sake of saving the world, but for himself?

It isn’t much of a choice, really.

“Thank you,” he tells Kukaku with a quick bow. “I’d be honored.”

And Kukaku smiles, satisfied, and bellows at Ganju to hurry up with the food.

Ichigo quickly comes to the realization that training with Kukaku is akin to throwing oneself headfirst at a jet engine and hoping to come out on the other side with the ability to fly.

Not that it isn’t effective—within the first two weeks of lessons, he’s able to suppress and contain his reiatsu enough to seal Zangetsu into a normal shikai state (though it fails if he loses his temper), and to hide a few feet from a shinigami patrol without being detected (so long as he’s careful and almost completely focused on hiding his power, which is inconvenient, as it leaves him struggling in a real fight).

It is even, at times, enjoyable. Ichigo has always been the older brother in his family, and Kukaku is like the older sister he’s never had, gruffly affectionate, tauntingly supportive, and with a core—somewhere deep, deep, deep inside—of kindness and caring that’s unlike anything he’s experienced before. She pushes him hard, harder than even Urahara or old man Zangetsu, but for no other reason than because she can do it and he can survive it. There’s no world to save, no friend to rescue, and Ichigo can focus solely on becoming strong for himself, instead of someone else.

Ganju, too, quickly becomes like family—although Ichigo is certain he’s more the idiot cousin kept locked in the attic than anyone really close. They spar together when Kukaku is busy with whatever it is she really does (another thing Ichigo is certain he’ll regret knowing), and as he had when Ichigo was struggling with the spirit orb on his first trip to the Seireitei, the boar-rider often steps in to help Ichigo with some of the finer points of control and reiatsu manipulation. Ganju even helps him master the beginning steps towards kido, much more quickly than Kukaku had expected.

For the first time in a very long while, Ichigo is learning, and training, and advancing just because he can, and he can’t remember being so content at any time since his mother’s death. He pushes aside everything that he had been before—all the anger, all the surliness, all thoughts of weakness and strength and power and death—and Shiba Kei becomes the newly accepted youngest son of the Shiba Clan. And it’s a change that he welcomes, shedding his old being like a set of worn clothes, and donning a new personal to go with his new life. Kei—the name chosen by Kukaku, who had wistfully remarked that it was what Kaien had been planning to name his son, and left Ichigo with the distinct feeling that he had been played—is polite, and respectful, and likes to play jokes. He smiles and laughs, and does not worry about worlds or gods or anything but surviving his sister’s training.

And Ichigo is, for the first time in years, really, truly happy.

It’s seven months to the day since he first came to live with them when Kukaku storms through the doorway of the dojo, interrupting Ichigo and Ganju’s sparring session. They both turn to look at her—

—Only to be smacked in the head with the bottle and scrub brush, respectively, that she hurls at them.

This is hardly the first time that kind of thing has happened. Indeed, it’s almost a daily occurrence, so Ichigo grabs the bottled before it can hit the floor and Ganju peels the brush off his face, and they only grumble a little bit as they glare at her with all the wounded male pride they can muster.

Kukaku just smirks at them—and, specifically, at Ichigo. “There ya go, carrot-top! One dousing with that and your hair will look all-natural again! You’ll fit right in with the rest of us!”

Ichigo transfers his glare from her to the bottle of black hair dye he holds, and then scowls at her even more deeply.

“What the hell! Why the hell would I want to dye my hair?”

The woman looks supremely unimpressed. “‘Cause you’re going to enroll in the Spiritual Arts Academy. I’ve got nothing left to teach you, since you’ve got all the basics down, and the teachers at the school can help you go further than I ever could. I’m not a shinigami, halfwit! And with your hair dyed, you’ll look just like Kaien. No one will doubt you’re a Shiba. I’ll get the paperwork out of the way, and you’ll be free to go through the Academy just like every other shinigami admitted to the Gotei 13. No special favors, no war hero, just you.” She grins. “So get dyeing.”

It would take a much stronger—or less sane—man to argue with Shiba Kukaku. So, with the obligatory grumbling and cursing, Ichigo gets dyeing, and realizes about halfway through that the whole idea doesn’t really sound so bad.

“You’ve got your sword?”

“Yes, nee-san.”

“And your uniforms?”

“Yes, nee-san.”

“And your kido books?”

“Yes, nee-san.”

“And enough yukatas? I can always bring you more if—”

Yes, nee-san.”

The one armed woman smacks the dark-haired boy who stands with her in the head. “Shut up, brat! If this is what I get for worrying, I’ll make sure not to in the future!”

Several of the families standing with them before the Academy gates stifle snorts. Ichigo narrows his eyes at the vicious female monster posing as his sister and rubs the back of his much-abused head. She’s been “worrying,” as she calls it—though, in truth, it’s far closer to nagging—ever since they left the house that morning. Ichigo still isn’t certain why he couldn’t just go alone—after all, he isn’t a kid, and he’s already passed the entrance exam with ease. But Kukaku had said that family seeing him off was expected, especially since he was coming from a noble house—even if it is fallen, which she never seems to give a damn about.

Seeing the near-scowl that crosses his face, Kukaku leans in with frightening good cheer, her grin one hair shy of terrifying. “Come on, Kei-chan, smile! You’ll do the Shiba Clan proud, won’t you? Hmm? Kei-chan?”

Under the circumstances, Ichigo feels that it is quite acceptable to stage a tactical retreat. Taking several steps away from the madwoman to whom he’s claiming blood ties—and oh, how he’s starting to wish that he had just enrolled as a nameless spirit from Rukongai—he moves safely out of reach. That had been Kukaku’s way of subtly reminding him not to scowl in order to keep from being recognized, which is something they’ve been working on for weeks now—mostly her leaping on him whenever he lets his expression slip into something Ichigo would have worn, instead of what Kei would wear, and stretching his cheeks or doing some equally demeaning and emasculating thing until he can force a neutral expression.

He’s become nearly as good at neutral as Byakuya, he suspects—though with Kukaku’s form of motivation, he expects that anyone would.

“Damn it, you crazy woman! Don’t call me that!” he snaps, though he does rearrange his face into something that doesn’t resemble a glower quite so much.

Kukaku just grins at him, as she often does. “Oh, the little one’s all grown up, eh? Well, Kei, I hope you’re ready to leave the nest and all that. Got any last words before I push you out and let you fly?”

“More like push me out and drop a stone around my neck,” Ichigo mutters, but straightens his shoulders and offers her a brief, challenging smile. “Why bother? You’ll be back in a year to see me graduate anyway, and I’ll come visit once in a while, to make sure you haven’t drowned Ganju in the bath.”

She waves her hand at that, wrinkling her nose. “Hell no! It’d be too smelly.” Then her expression softens, and she reaches out and drags Ichigo into a gruff, one-armed hug. “Take care, otouto,” she murmurs in his ear. “Even if you aren’t a Shiba, you’re still my little brother. Make us proud, got that?” Releasing him, she takes a step back, then waves and turns away. “And make sure you come back home once in a while! You’re already a twig, and cafeteria food won’t help! We’ll have to stuff you every chance we get, so you don’t blow away in the wind!”

Ichigo rolls his eyes at her retreating back, but it’s fond. Kukaku may just be posing as his sibling, but in reality, she’s his sister in every way that matters. And now he has three sisters to look out for, even if the newest one would kick his ass for thinking that she needs “looking after.”

It feels good, feels right to don the shinigami black once more, after a year and some-odd weeks in a student’s white and blue. Ichigo spends a long moment staring into the mirror in his dormitory room, wondering at the changes. He’s gotten used to seeing black hair in place of orange, a calm expression where a scowl used to be, but sometimes it still jars him to remember that he’s not Kurosaki Ichigo anymore, not in the ways that count. He’s Shiba Kei, branch member adopted into the main Shiba family by virtue of Kukaku’s kindness to an orphaned bastard child.

Ichigo never used to lie, even to himself. Now the lies have become his entire life, quite literally.

He slings Zangetsu across his back, a normal long sword rather than a huge cleaver—if nothing else, this whole charade has taught him the control he never managed while he was alive—because old habits die hard, and he’s more comfortable with the blade there than in the more normal position at his side. Enough shinigami wear their zanpakuto the same way that it shouldn’t raise too many eyebrows, even in a formal situation like this.

Which, of course, brings his thoughts right back to what he’s been trying to avoid thinking about. This is going to be a circus, regardless of the assurances he’s gotten from his instructors and—

“You like you’re about face your execution, Kei. Lighten up, or the audience might get the wrong impression.”

Kuchiki Eiji, part-time therapist and full-time Jiminy Cricket. Of course.

Ichigo bites back the sharp comment he wants to make and instead growls, “I don’t understand why they have to have the captains choose their recruits right then in front of a damned crowd. It’s—”

“An acknowledgement of the skills and capabilities of the new graduates to have captains present their bids for service before the graduation audience, even before the entrance test for the Gotei 13 proper. Also for the most part a complete formality, because such decisions are generally made between the captain and the recruit well ahead of time, and only the very lowest-ranking students—which you are not, Mr. Prodigy—leave it up to chance. Now calm down before I start getting nervous by proxy, okay?” The young noble rolls over on his futon to give Ichigo a long, assessing stare that reminds Ichigo just who his cousin is, Eiji’s usual demeanor aside.

Nevertheless, Ichigo—never one to be cowed, and certainly not after living with Shiba Kukaku for more than two years—grouches softly, “Why? It’s not like you’re going to be doing anything except sitting there.”

Eiji gives him a cheeky grin. “Yeah, because I’m smart and graduating normally, next winter, with a large class. You’re the supernaturally talented and powerful idiot who had to go and beat even your older brother’s record. Of course people are going to be interested, Kei. What did you think would happen?”

Not this, Ichigo wants to say, but he keeps it to himself and carefully pulls his black hair back into a tail. He’s kept it long, if only to keep his instructors from having a heart attack when he walks into their classes looking exactly like Shiba Kaien.

Clever fingers steal the ribbon before he can attempt to tie it up, and Eiji mutters, “Oh, give it here, you’re hopeless.”

After a year and change of dealing with Eiji’s hovering, Ichigo knows this fight is already a lost cause, so he surrenders gracefully and lets Eiji fiddle. As he does, the young noble asks carefully, “You accepted Byakuya-sama’s offer, didn’t you? Lieutenant of the Sixth?”

Ah, yes. That crowning moment of stupidity. Ichigo fights back a grimace and makes a sound that’s vaguely affirmative. Byakuya is probably the only person in the Gotei 13 who knows both who Ichigo is and who he was. Kukaku and Ganju know, by virtue of finding him when he first arrived after his death and then providing him with a cover story, but the Sixth’s captain guessed.

And if Byakuya, who never actually knew Ichigo all that well except as an opponent, was able to see through his façade as Shiba Kei with a glance, Ichigo doesn’t even want to contemplate what will happen with people like Rukia, Renji, and his damned father.

A hand closing over his shoulder brings his attention back to the boy behind him, and Ichigo glances up to meet his gaze in the mirror. Eiji’s eyes are a green-grey, rather than Byakuya’s steel-grey, but there’s a resolve and a certainty in them that makes their relation all the more obvious.

“Kei?” Eiji asks, and it’s soft, but there’s a world’s worth of meaning in that single word.

It’s a single, lonely syllable, a name that Ichigo was never born to wear, but a name he’s chosen nevertheless. To Ichigo, it’s a symbol of the choice he made in that green field with Kukaku standing over him. He’d turned his back on the past, left it behind in favor of an unknown future without the taint of grief and failure that had dragged Kurosaki Ichigo down for so long before his death. Shiba Kei was born in that moment, even though he remained nameless for several months afterwards. It’s with Kei’s soul, Kei’s eyes that Ichigo looks at himself in the pane of silvered glass.

It’s Shiba Kei who meets Eiji’s gaze and, with a resolve forged from grief and pain and loss, tempered with the happiness of this new life as a new man, it’s Shiba Kei who says “Yes. I accepted.”

And really, that’s all there is to say.

Renji was a lieutenant for a long time, and he knows that each of the eleven other sub-commanders has their own style of fighting. Kira holds back and lets the enemy hang themselves. Matsumoto pouts and flounces and then goes in for the kill while her opponent is distracted. Hisagi bides his time, using psychological attacks just as much as his ruthless physical ones. Yachiru, Omeada, Sasakibe, Nanao—they’ve all got their own way of fighting and winning.

But with all of them, every single one, he’s at least seen their shikai. Even Hisagi, who hates to use his, still brings it out sometimes in practice or in battle. Only the newest lieutenant, one Shiba Kei, who so easily took Renji’s former position in the Sixth, has never even drawn his damned sword.

It’s taken this long for Renji to even get the man to agree to a spar, and that was by sheer chance alone—Renji managed to corner Shiba while Captain Kuchiki was within hearing distance, and Byakuya had encouraged his new lieutenant to try his hand against his old one. Renji had felt fairly secure in his ability to wipe the training ground with Shiba’s face, given that Shiba was a green graduate and only a lieutenant, whereas Renji was the new captain of the Ninth.

Technically, it’s his own fault for forgetting that Shiba Kei managed to graduate the Academy in a year and five weeks, breaking his older brother’s record in the process. And granted, Shiba went from Academy student straight to lieutenant without a single step in between, handpicked by Kuchiki Byakuya himself for his abilities. Still, Renji had expected to face an inexperienced boy without many actual combat skills and an excess of book learning.

What he’s gotten is something quite different.

The arena is filled with choking red smoke, thick and obscuring, and although the day’s brisk breeze is already dispersing it, it’s enough to throw Renji off. He’s the type to dive right in to a fight, to strike the first blow and keep on hitting before his opponent can do more than block, but with this, he’s been effectively stymied. It’s incredibly difficult to hit what he can’t see, and he’s not good enough at kido to disperse the smoke without entirely diverting his attention from his opponent.

Then the soft scuff of a footstep, nearly inaudible, comes from behind him, and a low, calm voice intones, “Carriage of thunder. Bridge of a spinning wheel. With light, divide into six. Bakudo 61: Rikujōkōrō.”

Long experience in dueling Rukia, who’s absolutely infatuated with kido in all its forms, is the only thing that lets Renji avoid the bolts of golden light. He whirls to the other side of the ring, as fast as he’s capable of moving, and sends Zabimaru streaking towards the source of the spell. It’s instinct to expect the clash of metal on metal, because that’s how fights generally go with kido-focused opponents—opening kido, physical attack, hand to hand combat until someone gains an edge.

Instead, that same calm voice commands, “Bakudo 39: Enkosen.” There’s an arc of bright reiatsu from the midst of the fading smoke, and Zabimaru rebounds with a clang.

Renji’s beginning to understand just why Shiba went from graduate right to lieutenant. Calling up a kido is mental as much as it’s physical; that’s one of the reasons preforming it without an incantation takes more strength and skill. The chant gives time for the mind to build up the necessary reiatsu, to prepare. It makes consecutive kido attacks far harder, as the user has to mentally switch tracks and start all over again.

To be able to fire off two kido in the upper range, even if they are of the same type, one after another—and one without an incantation—means that Shiba Kei has a rather frightening grasp of the subject.

A sudden breeze sweeps away the last of the smoke even as Shiba’s barrier fades. He’s still entirely at ease, his expression in the same politely attentive lines that it has been since Renji met him, and he hasn’t so much as reached for the zanpakuto strapped across his back yet. Renji grits his teeth and sets his feet. He’s a captain now; no way in hell is he going to let a rookie lieutenant—his replacement rookie lieutenant—beat him.

A flicker of shunpo, too fast to track, and Shiba is gone. But Renji’s fought Kurosaki Ichigo in his bankai, knows what to expect when an opponent’s faster, and spins halfway to catch a sandaled foot against Zabimaru’s flat side. Shiba uses the zanpakuto like a springboard, even as Renji tries to knock him off balance, and tumbles neatly over in the air to land in a crouch. He’s up again in a second, foot lashing out, and Renji can see the barest hint of the basic academy hoho forms within each movement, but Shiba has streamlined them, tweaked them, turned them into something far closer to Shihoin Yoruichi’s deadly style. They’re not at quite that level yet, but there’s potential.

Shiba has potential, in just about everything Renji’s seen him do so far, and it really fucking grates. Shiba’s the perfect lieutenant, quiet and calm and forever composed, staying two steps behind his captain at all times, paperwork done and squads seen to and tea prepared, and it makes Renji feel like the brash, coarse Rukongai brat he’s tried so hard to leave behind.

Damn it, Renji snarls to himself, just barely blocking a kick to the knee because Shiba’s just too damned fast for him to hit. Like fighting freaking Ichigo all over again.

Except that Ichigo is gone, dead and lost somewhere in the vastness of Soul Society, very likely without any of his memories, and the last spar Renji had with him before the war ended was the last spar anyone ever had with him. And now some noble brat comes swaggering in, just as fast as Seireitei’s vanished hero, better at kido and entirely subservient where Ichigo never was, and Renji can’t figure out whether he’s more outraged for himself and his former position or for his lost friend.

He grits his teeth, turns as Shiba lands again, and lets Zabimaru strike. The force behind it is very close to deadly, hardly something to be used in a friendly spar, but Shiba dodges it nevertheless. He ducks the second strike, leaps over the third, and then darts is as Zabimaru withdraws, taking advantage of the opening it affords.

But Renji learned long ago not to leave himself open in such a stupid way, and if Kurosaki Ichigo couldn’t manage to hit him like this, there’s no possibility of a green recruit managing it. Renji whirls around, Zabimaru flying again, and catches Shiba right across the chest in what would be a killing blow, were this not a practice match. Shiba cries out as he goes down, tumbling through the dust and then smoothly back to his feet, skidding slightly as he comes to a full stop. He stays half-crouched for a moment, breathing hard, and then pushes himself upright once more.

“Match, I believe,” he says, entirely unruffled by the loss. Yet another glaring difference from Kurosaki Ichigo. “Thank you, Captain Abarai.” With a quick bow, he steps away, then turns and strides back to his waiting captain. Byakuya walks away without waiting for Shiba to catch up, and the lieutenant falls into step behind him. They disappear into the winding streets, silent as ghosts, and leave Renji in the middle of the training ground.

There’s a long moment of thoughtful silence from the peanut gallery, and then Kira offers, “He’s good, for a new recruit.”

Renji gives a non-committal grunt in answer.

“Of course,” Hisagi chips in, entirely too amused, “you knew that before you challenged him. All of Seireitei knew that before you challenged him. We saw his record. What was this really about?”

“Hmm.” Kira hums softly, propping his chin up on his fist where he’s seated on top of the wall. “Shiba Kei does look remarkably like—”

“Shiba Kaien, the first to steal Rukia’s heart?”

“I was going to say Kurosaki Ichigo, the one to save her life, but I think they both fit here.”


“It must be.”

“Of course.”

Renji glares at the two men. “I hate you both,” he mutters petulantly, sliding Zabimaru away, and pretends he can’t hear it when Kira and Shuuhei both chuckle.

It took a very, very long time—and a great many practice sessions with Kukaku—before Kurosaki Ichigo was able to fight as Shiba Kei, and not like Ichigo pretending to be a different person. They’re exact opposites on the battlefield, or at least as opposite as Ichigo can make them. Rather than rushing in headlong, sword drawn and massive spiritual power brought to bear, Kei hangs back and uses kido, focuses on conserving strength wherever possible, and tries his best not to engage directly. Few people outside of his swordsmanship classes have ever even seen him draw his sword. And if they did, “Kurotsuki” would be far different from the Zangetsu they recall Ichigo wielding.

Ichigo leans his zanpakuto against the corner of his desk, tracing lightly over the white-wrapped hilt that’s all that remains to link this sealed state with the massive cleaver it can become. Zangetsu accepts the nickname well enough, even chose it himself, but it’s not his name. Nevertheless, for Ichigo’s sake, he’s willing to pretend. When Ichigo calls on him for shikai, he’s able to choke off enough of his massive reiatsu to leave Zangetsu a long, slim, black nodachi, similar to its bankai form. Even that Ichigo uses sparingly. It’s one of the reasons he’s forced himself to study kido tirelessly, memorizing spells and chants and theories.

Shiba Kei fights at a distance, or not at all.

There’s a stack of personnel reviews that Renji’s challenge dragged him away from, and they still need to be looked over, initialed, stamped, and sent on to Byakuya if they’re either outstanding or reporting a problem. Ichigo looks at them and strangles a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. Sometimes, he really wonders why he didn’t stay some nameless Rukongai spirit for the rest of his afterlife. There sure as hell wouldn’t have been as much paperwork.

Then Byakuya steps through the door from the main building into Ichigo’s office, sliding the door shut behind him. Ichigo glances up, ready to offer a quick smile as his captain strides past into his own office, but instead, Byakuya pauses beside him.

“Your spar was…enlightening, Lieutenant Shiba,” he offers after a moment, coolly, but still more than he’s usually inclined to give up. “It is far different than what you were before.”

Ichigo gives in and really does sigh, raking a hand through the shoulder-length black hair, just a touch longer than Byakuya’s, that he hasn’t quite gotten around to putting back in a ponytail after his tumble through the dirt. “Yeah,” he says, a little wryly. “That’s the whole point of fighting that way.”

Byakuya accepts that with a faint incline of his head, grey eyes thoughtful. “You have become well-versed in kido. I had believed you had no talent for it.”

That’s the problem with being thought of as a rash, hotheaded idiot, Ichigo reflects, and that’s wry too. He knows himself, knows how he was even before Shiba Kei came into the picture, but he also knows that a lot of time people blew his character flaws way out of proportion, just because he acted oddly and had weird hair. “No one ever taught me before,” is all he says, though. “Rukia had to focus on the most basic stuff, like what a Hollow was, and then Urahara-san and Yoruichi-san both had specific things they were training me in. Learning under Kukaku and then going to the Academy was probably the best thing for me.”

There’s a long pause, careful and considering, and then Byakuya murmurs, “You have raw talent. It has always been so. Now…perhaps it can be refined.”

Without another word, he sweeps into his office and closes the door, signaling that he doesn’t wish to be disturbed. But Ichigo is frozen in shock, far too startled to do anything, because that…

That was a compliment, and not even a backhanded one, from Kuchiki Byakuya, the one captain Ichigo always thought would despise him unconditionally.


[WARNING: Dub-con]

Marrying your High School sweetheart can be great but I think people build it up too much. You’re not the same person as an adult that you were as a teenager. That’s not to say I had a bad marriage but it wasn’t exactly that perfect white picket fence life I had built up in my head.

Our biggest problem was conceiving, as in, we couldn’t do it at all. Time and time again we tried and time and time again there was a negative where there should have been a plus. And my wife, my Mel, grew more frustrated and sad the longer time went by without her getting pregnant.

I told her it was okay, said ‘baby, we can always adopt. There’s nothing wrong with adoption.’ We’d have a better chance of getting a kid, something we both wanted but clearly God was not going to let us have. At least, not one that was made by me and Mel.

There was a while there where I thought she’d warmed up to the idea and so I started setting up a nursery and calling adoption agencies. Mel seemed so much happier until suddenly, out of the blue, she began to act so strange. Quiet and distant and she was reading things that she wouldn’t allow me to peek at. Mel would glare at me if I even tried and hid the books who the hell knows where.

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Yona ch.137 spoilers

Akatsuki no Yona chapter 137 “To our allies” summary with pics

Please don’t repost/reuse my scans and translations without permission. Tumblr reblog is fine.

Do not use the raws or translations for scanlations and don’t upload them on other websites. If you need watermark-less images to make graphics, send me an ask (not on anon) and I’ll give you a link - you can only request 3 images per chapter.

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A Coliver 3.13 coda.

“I guess you’re not the only one who’s a good liar.”

Oliver stares at him for a solid five seconds before his composure collapses with a disbelieving scoff. He shakes his head, going over the facts he knows again and again, wondering where he missed it, how had he missed it…

“Is that all you have to say?” Oliver whispers.

Connor’s jaw clenches painfully, but he stubbornly holds Oliver’s gaze, as painful as it is. “What did you expect?” He whispers harshly.

“How about the truth for once?” Oliver demands, and suddenly Connor is paralyzed by a familiar wave of terror.

He’s spent too long terrified of the truth coming out. It’s exhausting.

“What happened to blissfully ignorant?” Connor finally murmurs softly.

Oliver shakes his head. “Not with this. Not with you.

He says it like they’re something special. Like Connor and Oliver are something held above the rest of the shit storm that’s overtaken their lives. Like they’re still something worth salvaging.  

But Connor just shrugs, makes a face like it’s no big deal. Anything to throw Oliver off.

“I don’t know, I kept all this from you for a whole year. I came home to you every night like nothing was wrong.” Connor shrugs again. Looking around their little apartment, he’s flooded with memories. Memories of home. “Woke up next to you every morning, pretending like our entire life wasn’t a lie. Fucked you like I wasn’t thinking about the blood on my hands–”


Connor flinches at the volume of Oliver’s voice.

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Curious, not Guilty~Jughead Jones One-shot

A/N: Gif’s not mine

Summary: Based on the line “That’s not where I would hide a body”.

Pairing: Jughead x reader

Word Count: 1900 exactly

Warnings: Mentions of death, fluff

Originally posted by marorra

I was sitting in the Blue and Gold office with Jughead and Betty. We were looking at the murder board and discussing why Jason’s body was thrown in the river.  Or at least, they were discussing it. I was just there with my computer, typing any of my thoughts into a document which I preferred much more to talking. Jughead was leaning against a table with his signature beanie on, Betty was sitting on one of the old plastic chairs and I was at the table with my laptop open, staring at a document full of my suspicions.

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Maybe it’s just my filter bubble showing me what I wanna see, but since yesterday after the incident in sthlm, people on social media etc really seems to have handled things well. People helped each other get a place to sleep etc (all trains and traffic were p much shut off so ppl who needed to get home but couldnt got help from ppl via twitter).

It was a very very large truck that ran into the crowd, so far it’s been reported to have been 15 people injured and 4 deaths + a dog. It could’ve been much much worse. I’m so happy to know everyone I know in sthlm are all safe and sound, shaken but safe.

The police have said that despite what happened, the threat level of increased terror-attacks in sweden remain the same ever since the last incident w a suicide bomber december 2010 (which did not cause any casualties). Something like this was more or less expected to happen sooner or later, judging by the pattern happening in london, nice and berlin. They seems to have a suspect in custody at this moment. All we know right now is that it is a man.

Sweden isnt any less safe of a place because of this, this isn’t the first time nor is it the last time. I’ve had my own home been under a bomb threat (I lived in the same building as a mall), and so far more people have been killed by white supremacists in scandinavia than killed by terror-attacks with associations with IS (mind you; this recent attack has not yet been confirmed to be associated with IS). If any racist asshole tries to put the blame on refugees just remind them that Breivik killed more people in one day in Utöya.

Imagine you and Ivar love to raid and battle together (part 2)

Part I: http://lordavanti.tumblr.com/post/156851277953/imagine-you-and-ivar-love-to-raid-and-battle

Summary: Ivar isn’t talking to you for over a month now … his brothers start to ask questions and you tell them that you’re pregnant. You to to see the seer, only to get more confused and scared. Ivar shuts himself completly and you have no idea to get through to him.
Words: 1745

“Step up your game Y/n.” Hvitserk said. But how could you step up your game when you had someone else to take care off. Since you last month told Ivar that you were pregnant you didn’t saw him that much. But he was here now, looking at you with a flat face and hardly any emotions. His brothers were just to this, you … not so much. You kept training, as a way of copping. If this child was coming you couldn’t do the things you love to do. No more raiding, fighting, travelling, working with Ivar and his brothers. This was your way of working around it. Hvetsirk pushed his wooden stick between your ribs and you frooze, he looked confused. “What is it with you?” He asked before he looked along me towards Ivar. I held the stick on his place, on the place were a baby was growing. You turned slowly towards Ivar who crawled away. Ubbe pushed his body from the ground and walked towards the both of you.
“Your the best female warrior in Kattegat y/n and now all of the sudden you’re not.” He observed. You looked to the two boys and then looked at the place where Ivar sat before.
“What is going on between you and Ivar?” Asked Hvitserk. They were pretty close with you, always supporting, almost like they were your own brothers. “Ivar will get over it.” You said. Your hand still rested on your stomach. Ubbe let his eyes gaze over you before looking back.
“You’re pregnant.” He guessed. You closed your eyes and nodded. Hvitserk trew away his stick, angry almost.
“Y/n, I almost beat the hell out of you and you didn’t say anything. You shouldn’t even be here fighting.” He said angry. You looked from him to Ubbe.
“Ivar doesn’t want this, I even don’t know if I want it myself.” You explained.
“Well, if you make out after every raid we have you could suspect that something like this would happen.” Hvitserk pointed to your body, still angry by the fact he could have harmed the baby by fighting you.
“Did he said anything since you told him?” Ubbe asked, you shook your head and sighed.
“It’s Ivar, he will come around, right?” You asked carefull. Ubbe and Hvitserk exchanged looks.
“There is a lot changing for you both, I’m not sure if he wants to change. But I think his fear is grounded on the fact that he is a cripple.” Ubbe explained slowly. You needed to let his words get in.
“He thinks the baby will be a cripple to.” Hvitserk clarified.
“I know.” You said with a short glance towards him.
“Go see the seer.” Ubbe suggested. You looked at Ubbe and bited your lip, thinking about it.
“I will not talk to brother about this.” Hvitserk said with raised hands while walking away. Ubbe gave me a comforting smile.
“I will talk to Ivar. Sorry y/n, no more fighting for you.” He said. You sighed and nodded slowly. And that was the end of your trainingsession.

You never had been to the seer before, the man gave you the creeps. But you were more afraid of what he had to say. You stood for the door, doubting your discession to come. “Y/n.” You startled from his soft voice, almost like he was in your head or something. No turning back now. You took a deep breath and walked into the darkness of his house. He sat on a chair, his face half covered with the dark fabric of his clothes. “Why are you so afraid to come?” He asked you slowly. Your eyes looked around before you looked back to him, sat down on the other chair.
“Because I don’t want to hear what my future holds.” You answered.
“And yet here you are.” He nodded with a scary grin on his face. You had seen and done worse things in your life, this couldn’t scare you.
“I’m not here for my future.” You began. The seer held his head tilted, looking at you but not really looking.
“Ivar’s future is set in stone.”
“I know Ivar will do great things, I know he will conquer the world. It’s not that what I’m looking for.” You replied right away. You felt his gaze over your body, what was weird because he couldn’t see that much to begin with.
“You’re pregnant. The gods have gifted you a child.” He confirmed.
“What will come of this child?” You asked. In that moment of silent you felt for the first time scared, scared for what  the future would holds.
“There will be a whole lot of fame in your future y/n. He will be just like his father.”
“He?” You asked. A boy? Your hand stroke your stomach again, tenderly almost.
“You have a lonely road ahead of you, it’s only a matter of time before loneliness will kill you.” He softly said.
“Will he be a cripple?”
“He will be a number of things.” Answered the seer before offering his hand. You clenched your teeth together, no idea what you should think of this. You nodded and took his hand, licked it before you walked outside. It will be a boy, he would be just as Ivar and he would be a number of things. But the thing  that scared you the most was the fact he said you would die in loneliness.

Ivar spended a lot of time at Floki’s place so that was where you were heading. When you arrived you saw him sitting in the sand, threwing rocks into the water. Your eyes fell on Floki who just came out of the house, followed by Helga, you smiled a little. “Y/n.” He greeted you, his hand already on your belly. “The gods have gifted you with this child.” Floki smiled.
“I’m not sure if he thinks the same about that.” You pointed towards Ivar. Floki started laughing, what immediately drew Ivar’s attention.
“Ivar will be alright at the end.” Helga comforted you. Floki was still laughing and you gave him a weird look before you walked over to Ivar. You let your body drop beside him and stared at the sea.
“I went to see the seer.” You began quietly. Ivar didn’t respond so you turned your head and looked at him. “It will be a boy.” You said further. Ivar looked for a couple of seconds to you before he stared back at the sea. “I will also die in loneliness. Pretty much how I am feeling now, maybe I die tomorrow.” You suggested. You only said it to get him to talk, what worked.
“You don’t have to take it literally.” He said, almost bored.
“I don’t know how I have to take any of it anymore Ivar, I know you are afraid, me to but please,”
“I don’t want to talk.” He interrupted you. You closed your eyes and stood up.
“I still love you Ivar.” You let your hand short rest on his head before you walked towards the house. Helga stood in the doorway, looking at Ivar, she gave you a comforting smile.
“The gods cursed him once, they won’t do it again.” She said while giving you something to drink.
“He isn’t cursed.” You replied. Yes, Ivar was a cripple but that didn’t maked him weak, it maked him fierce and strong.
“That isn’t what he thinks. Give him time y/n, time will heal everything.” She comfortly said. You stared out of the window to Ivar and thought of what Helga said. The gods wouldn’t be that cruel, they wouldn’t turn the son of a cripple also into cripple. But maybe they would do it to punish you and maybe you weren’t only afraid for Ivar, but also for yourself.

You opended your eyes, stared into the darkness while you listened to the soft cracks from the door. Your hand reached out to you axe who laid on the ground. But before you could take it to defend yourself you recognized the sound. It was Ivar who crawled into your room. You turned your head and looked in his bleu eyes while he pussed his body into the bed. “Don’t talk.” He wispered. You stared at him.
“You can’t come in here and than just walk away tomorrow.”
“Or do talk, not that you listen that much. And I can’t walk.” He replied.
“You know what I mean.” He sighed and nodded while he laid down beside you, wrapping his arm over your chest, pulling you closer.
“I don’t want you to die in loneliness.” He wispered. You felt a certain relief through your body.
“Don’t get all emotional.” You said. He looked at you, still without much of emotion.
“I’m not emotional.” He protested silent. You stared at him, asking yourself what he was doing here.
“Why are you here Ivar?” You asked. He pressed a kiss on your shoulder and closed his eyes.
“To be with you.” He mumured.
“And you gonna leave tomorrow, let me behind, getting all hard and cold again?” You asked futher. Now he was willing to talk you should make advantage of it.
“Probably.” He aswered honest. You were getting mad, staring in the darkness towards him.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just go myself and leave you behind?”
“We do this all the time y/n, nothing  changed.” He opened his eyes and looked at you.
“Everything changed, Ivar, I can’t do this.”
“Who’s getting emotional now?” He grinned, you couldn’t laugh about it. He sighed and shook his head.
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He confirmed.
“Will there be a time that you want to talk about it?” You asked confused. What did you have to do about this? Maybe you should pack your things and leave Kattegat … so he never saw his son … ever. But you couldn’t, not for a moment.
“Probably not.” He was honest. You didn’t replied, just turned away from him, trying to ingore his soft touch. “Give me time.” He wispered. Time … You wish you could turn back time to that raid. Maybe you should haved chopped of his head instead of the soldiers. Or maybe you should have stayed angry. You knew one thing for sure, this wasn’t over yet. And how much you loved him … that little life inside of you was already claiming half of it.

Think a part 3 would be on its place. You can always put a request to. 
Lots of love, hope you enjoyed.

Oliver Queen- I will protect you (Part 1)


Words: 487

A/N: I’m gonna write more parts for this. The last week I’ve been on a my chemical romance spree. They are just so good. Hope you enjoy reading it :)

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Ok but I swear to god Lunafreya’s moon necklace was supposed to be playing a bigger part in the game to symbolize their relationship or something because in one of the earlier trailers she was shown clasping it when she thought of Noctis and then there was a concept art of Noctis holding it…. Like maybe it was supposed to mean that Noctis gave the necklace to her at some point in their 12-year relationship…. So what happened?? Did this aspect got dropped too? 🤔

Also I suspect that ‘the gift’ mentioned briefly in the lover’s notebook in Brotherhood was the moon necklace (even if it wasn’t, it’s gonna be a headcanon of mine anyways).

BamBam | Luv U Part I

Originally posted by baekbun

I suggest you listen to K.A.R.D’s OhNaNa while reading this ^^

Thanks to that crazy BamBam dream I had that Saturday night & about 50 million K.A.R.D OhNaNa and GOT7 My Home replays…annnnd inspiration from @got7-texts for this fic. ^^

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Dance with Devils -EverSweet- Vol.1 Rem (English Translation)

Dance with Devils -EverSweet- Vol.1 Rem

Kaginuki Rem (CV: Soma Saito)

Commissioned by: @candies-and-sweets​ (So send her some love!)

Spicy’s Notes (aka) Things you might like to know before you get started:
(1) Get out your toothbrush because this is a fluff fest.
(2) No, seriously, when did Rem get so smooth? Where did the “handcuffs of love” go?
- o - o - o - o - o -

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anonymous asked:

What are your thoughts of Katara dancing with Aang in "The Headband" episode? I was really confused by that especially with Katara blushing and all that and also looking a little jealous I guess that Aang was dancing with other girls like what? She never had an interest in him like that and even after she never showed anything like it again, I found it OOC and I just recently found out that it was a replacement episode for an episode about Kuzon originally to make Kataang look less forced.

I think Katara and Aαng dancing in “The Headband” is the only time that their relationship really worked on a romantic level. This is because Katara is obviously enjoying herself, there’s an equal give and take, and Aαng goes out of his way not to make her uncomfortable or jealous. I can totally believe that it was a replacement episode to make Katααng less forced, because while I don’t think any of A:TLA’s episodes qualify as filler, this one is definitely more tenuously connected to the main plot than what I would expect right after the stellar opening episode, “The Awakening.” It also touched off a series of character-centric and plot-thin episodes: instead of relying on ratcheting up the tension toward the invasion, the writers mentioned the invasion in the background while we had, essentially, a Katara episode, a Sokka episode, an Ozai’s Angels episode, a Zuko and Aαng episode, a Toph episode, a Katara episode, and an Aαng episode. Nor did the stakes get perpetually higher in each episode as we saw in Season 2—the episode right before “Day of Black Sun” can almost be called canon crackfic! As I and @peacockarehot suspect, something likely happened to the beginning of Season 3 to rewrite it pretty extensively, whether because it was truncating a hypothetical Book Four or whether it was simply being reworked according to Bryke’s wishes. Ultimately, as with many Kαtααng scenes, the dance is necessary to make the audience realize that Katara and Aαng will be together, but it is not necessary to the development of either the characters or the larger story at hand.

anonymous asked:

How was the wizarding world affected during the Great Depression?

Frankly, I have no idea. Given how decoupled American wizarding society is from their muggle society I suspect they felt some effects but not others and largely, due to their distance from their muggle kin, went by largely unscathed.

However, it’s a known fact that JKR likes to have particular mirrorings of muggle to magical - Grindelwald rose as Hitler did, Voldemort rose when there were a number of racial tensions in Great Britain - so it wouldn’t surprise me if there was something going on at the time. However, I have only the basics of knowledge of what happened in the Great Depression, having briefly studied it for my GCSEs. I suspect many of my American followers, however, would have ideas, so if you do feel free to reblog this post with them! I’ll gladly reblog them to the blog.

anonymous asked:

I think the Japan tour has to be cancelled. Cancellation has to be announced 1 month before. Looks like they have time to cancel. I suspect something happened with the label again. Zayn looked tired and like he was crying just two days back. Did his label cancel the tour? I think Zayn is still with Syco :(

Well yeah, cancellation has to be announced 30 days prior to not incur any contractual penalties, so on or about May 19 would be when they’d cancel. 

Until May 19, I’m going to be an optimistic hoe and ho(e)pe and keep fingers and boobs crossed for Japan. To answer your other question though, given the non-existent promo for SGT, I think its a pretty safe guesstimate that SGT was a Syco release.