i'm into that sorta thing

I really like the image of Vader rolling Luke’s name around in his head, saying it out loud to himself, testing it, hearing it. 

Luke. Luke Skywalker. My son’s name is Luke. 

Practicing different ways to say it. Maybe he tries it out in all of his different, typical Vader tones. You know, in the way he addresses Imperial Officers or Rebel Prisoners or even the Emporer. None of them probably sound right. 

Saying it quietly, in a gentle voice. It’s unfamiliar and maybe uncomfortable because he hasn’t been gentle in years but it’d sound right and good. 

I like the idea that there’s a build-up for Vader to that first moment. That the moment when he is looking at his son and calls him by his name for the first time, that it would be this important moment for him. One that he has thought a lot about and prepared for. 

And that every time he says it is precious. That he just keeps trying to get it right because this is his son and his name is Luke. 

contrivedcoincidences6  asked:

So I just rewatched Amor Fati and one thing I've always felt was under explained/analyzed is Mulder's dream. I was thinking of who I wanted to ask to write that and thought of you (cause you're amazing.) Could you maybe write like Mulder's thoughts on it and/or him telling Scully about it or something?

Thank you so much for thinking of me for this! I’m not this is what you wanted, but it came out like this. I hope you like it anyway.

The boy is in his dream, again.

The features of the small child are familiar to him now. He recognizes the smile, the way he moves. Once every while his small hand comes up to brush a few strands of hair away from his forehead. In his dreams, the boy is always smiling. Today is no different. Today, though, he wants to ask the boy his name.

“Who are you?” The boy giggles and throws sand in the air, the grains showering him and settling in his hair.

“Are you here alone?” Mulder asks looking around. There is a shadow over there near the cliffs without a face, without even a silhouette. Yet, the familiarity draws him in, washes a sense of comfort over him. There is only one person who makes him feel this way, awake or asleep, dead or alive. Scully. He says her name, or thinks it, and the boy laughs harder, flinging himself into the sand.

“Where is your mother? Are you here by yourself?” Mulder faces the shadow again as it hovers there still, unmoving. The boy continues to squeal and kicks his tiny legs into his direction. Mulder feels the scrape of the sand against his skin, tickling him. Maybe it’s the sensation or the boy’s infectious noises, but he finds himself chuckling, breaking out into laughter himself. The child holds out his arms, wearing a grin that cuts through him like glass, reminding him of something, someone.

“Pick me up, daddy?” Mulder opens his mouth to answer this boy, his unlikely son, and yet no words come out. The sensation is overwhelming; he is a father here, in this dream.  

“I wanna go home, daddy.” The child pleads and Mulder reaches for him, feels a pull in his arm, but it’s not enough. They drift into different directions and there is nothing he can do.

His eyes pop open instantly and he knows he’s back in his apartment. It’s dark here in his bedroom, dry and cool. He rubs his eyes, waits for the throbbing pain in his head to pass. There is a glass of water on his bedside table and he quickly gulps the stale liquid down.

The boy.

The first time Mulder dreamed about him After, he didn’t think much of it. Just a remnant of what had happened. But unlike Diana, his nameless, faceless children, Deep Throat and even his sister, the boy refuses to leave his dreams. He is always right there on the beach, waiting for him. Never called him daddy before, though. Mulder spends more time awake these days; his brain and body healing quickly. Soon he’ll be back to sleepless, dreamless nights. The boy will be gone then. Daddy, he called him, and Mulder still feels the sound reverberate through his mind, his whole body. He dismisses it, for now.

Scully comes over after work like she’s done the last couple of days. As per Skinner, Mulder is not allowed to set foot into the J. Edgar Hoover building for another week. Scully brings him food, assures him that yes, the office is still standing, not burnt to the ground, and no, he’s not missing out on any extraterrestrial fun, before she checks on his head, meticulously scribbling down any changes.

“Looks good, considering.” Scully grants him a small smile when she’s done; lately, she’s been smiling more often, he finds, and today her upturned lips remind him of something, someone. It’s familiar, and the tingling that accompanies it is as well. Realization washes over him; he’s known before, has known all this time, who the boy in his dream is. The shadow watching over them there has always been Scully, there has never been a doubt in his mind. So why did he doubt this?

“Mulder, are you all right? Do you need to lie down again?” Her hands are on his face, touching him gently, as he begins to grin. “You’re scaring me.” Scully whispers, laughing uncomfortably.

“Am I that hideous?” Mulder murmurs.

“No,” Scully chuckles, “you’re not hideous. I just know that grin, Mulder. It means you just had an idea, or you’re about to ditch me.”

“I’m not going to ditch you, Scully,” he promises, taking her hands off his face and lacing their fingers together, “I didn’t have an idea either. It’s more like an epiphany.”

“Now I’m really worried, Mulder.”

“I’ve been having dreams,” he tells her and she sits there quietly, waiting for him to continue, “Ever since that operation,” she huffs, “or whatever you want to call it. These dreams… I had them during the procedure, too.” Mulder watches as Scully worries her lip, contemplating if she should say something or just wait. He does the same. Does he tell her about Diana? About the nameless children and their marriage? He spent a lifetime without her while he was asleep. He only came alive once she was there, showing him the truth among all the lies. There’s time for that later, he decided.

“It doesn’t matter. Just… I keep having this one dream. It’s not exactly the same every time but there’s this child.” His eyes are observing her carefully, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand to reassure her, or him. “A small boy. I don’t know his name, but he’s got sandy hair that I’m sure will darken as he gets older. A pouty mouth, big blue eyes and you should hear him laugh, Scully, he-”

“Why are you telling me this?” She tries to draw her hand away from his to get away from him and his words; he’s lost himself in the dream, sees the small boy – their child, he is certain of it now - and he wishes he could take her there, see him with her own eyes. His Scully, she needs proof. This is something he cannot give her. All he has to offer, right here and now, is hope.

“Until today I had no idea who he was. I kept asking his name and he never tells me,”

“It’s a dream, Mulder. It’s your unconsciousness so of course he doesn’t have a name, because it’s not real.”

“Today though he told me who I am,” Mulder goes on, ignoring Scully’s attempt to shut him up. Not this time. “You wanna know who I am?” He asks her.

“I know who you are.” She rolls her eyes. At least she no longer tries to get away, their fingers an intertwined mess. Judging from the look on her face Mulder is certain she is convinced she’s missed something. Any moment now she’s going to tell him they’re going back to the hospital for more tests.

“He called me daddy, Scully. That’s who I am.”

“That’s nice, Mulder.” Her voice betrays her words, as do her eyes. Sad and vulnerable, they look everywhere but at him. He touches her chin and waits until her eyes give in and finds his.

“It is nice, Scully. You want to know who his mother is?” He whispers, his smile giving away the answer.

“Mulder, please… we both know the IVF didn’t work, so don’t-”

“We can try again, Scully. We have to. I saw him.” Her head shakes vigorously and watching her, fighting against his words and the images he’s planting in her head, he almost gets dizzy.

“I saw him, Scully. He’s so beautiful.”

“You’re delirious, Mulder. You need to rest. What you saw – what you think you saw – it’s just a dream. Come on, lie back down.” She pushes at him and he lets her. If only he could take her with him into his dream, show her. If only he could see her there with their son.

“I’ll prove it to you,” her hands busy themselves with tucking the blanket around him. She refuses to look at him, what a surprise, but he lets her be, “We can’t give up, Scully. We need to try again.”

“Mulder.” His name leaves her lips as a sigh, resigned and sad, hoping to convey all the emotions she’s buried already, filed and hidden away.

“No, I’m serious, Scully,” as he tries to sit up once more, too eager, his vision turns blurry, his senses fuzzy. “I told you not to give up on a miracle, right? Our miracle.” He adds more softly, barely above a whisper. His eyes closing on their own volition, he feels her tears rather than he sees them. They fall on his hand softly, like summer rain. “I don’t want to give up, Scully. Not on this. I saw him… I saw him.” He’ll see him again, soon, in his dream.

“We can try… try it the old fashioned way, you know.” His eyes still closed, too weary to open again, he grins.

“You’re out of your mind, Mulder,” she whispers close to his ear, making him shiver, “but… we can talk about it. Maybe. Now go back to sleep.”

“Hmm.” He’s almost there already. Sand crunches under his bare feet as the waves gently lap against the shore, welcoming him back. There in the distance he hears it: the childish glee in his son’s laughter.

“Sweet dreams, Mulder,” Scully’s voice is distant now, but still present, capturing him between dream and reality, “and when you wake up, tell me all about our son.”

so ppl are always getting so confused abt the whole “what if two greek demigods have a kid?? is it a demigod or what?” thing and like frankly it hurts my brain so i suggest we just go with the answer on rick’s website: 

anyways I just love Good Boy Gavvy being corrupted by Michael, slowly ditching the rules and burning cities to the ground for his boi

Because they’re bois, and he’d do anything for him.

He’d leave his home, he’d shoot a snitch in the head without a second thought. And maybe other people think Michael’s his guard dog, maybe they think all it takes for Michael to destroy a whole crew is for Gavin to whisper a few words in his ears, but it’s the other way around

All it takes is Michael preying on his weakness, ‘I thought you were my boi, Gavvy?’ ‘there’s no going back anyway’ ‘let loose already, have some fun and stop being such a baby’ ‘don’t you want me to be happy?’

He’s like a snake, slowly constricting around him. The more he struggles, the tighter Michael squeezes. There’s no getting out now, so why feel guilty? He should just enjoy himself and relish in how easily things burn.

And hey, maybe Gav’s not a saint anymore himself, but they just make each other worse. They just egg each other on, and anyone smart left in Los Santos knows not to cross either of them, knows not to make a single fucking mistake when they’re together, because there’s only one way that goes down.

Nobody makes it out alive when Fake AH’s Angels of Death are let loose.

Symmrat/junkmetra headcanon #1

Junkrat keeps special kind of bombs for whenever Satya is around.
They’re the same kind of cherry bombs only except they’re all light blue and are full of knockout gas. He designed them specifically for Satya because they explode silently rather than loudly.
He doesn’t like it when Satya buckles under pressure from her noise senstivity and uses these so that doesn’t happen.
Depsite him being completely obessed with explosives and mayhem, he’s more obessed with​ satya’s safety, comfort and well being more than anything in this world.

8

the boYF RIENDS MAKE AN ENTRANCE

a comic based on a thought i had about jeremy serenading michael with two-player game to ask him out to prom
shima provided the lyrics on jeremy’s end and i chose michael’s response u w u

(!!! SER!! SER THIS IS SO GOOD I’M YELL IN!! THAT’S HELLA GAY HOLY SHI ET

I. I need a moment. Or five.

Also I have to include the screenshot of our conversation because it was brilliant. Under the cut to save some space hehe

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6

my favorite fic [25/?]

Time will tell, I suppose, or at least, these pages will. by lets_get_messi (@doncasterlyrock); 5k, read on ao3

Summary: Harry has a diary and he’s been writing about the pen-pal he’s never met in there since he’s been 12 years old. One day he reads his diary out to a room full of strangers and finds that the man with the blue-eyes at the back of the room is a slight distraction.

(Or Harry goes to a public diary reading thing at his local coffee shop and gets more than he bargained for)

So ngl, this might be a huge reach but

I STILL DON’T THINK THAT’S OUR SHIRO.

Now before any of you judge or make any comment claiming this is a reach and I should stop, hear me out. I’ve thought about this a lot, and send a lot of time on this to make you people understand why I feel this way. And I’m normally not very good at that, no thanks to my brain and adhd. I’ve even explained how I think Shiro disappeared and what really happened.

To begin with, we didn’t really get a proper insight into anyone’s character this season and there was very little character growth. I’m so salty about that, but the season wasn’t that bad, so imma just not mention that again. Now about the Clone Shiro theories. There were a lot of them, and some of them stated that Kuron may not even know that he’s a clone. And I feel that this is what’s happening with Kuron here. I’m sure that Kuron himself thinks he’s Shiro. 

But while memories make up an important part of your personality, it’s not everything. There’s a lot we learn from our own thoughts on certain things, the way we make observations which might be linked with our memories, but are not a part of our memories. That’s what’s going on with Kuron here. He has Shiro’s memories, he knows how Shiro behaves, he knows how he’s supposed to behave (since he believes he’s Shiro), but that’s the thing - he’s not Shiro.

With many memories, we tend to have feelings associated with them. Feelings are an abstract thing, so I’m not sure they were copied when Shiro’s memories were implanted in Kuron. But Kuron still knows how he’s supposed to be, because he’s living in Shiro’s life, in Shiro’s memories, with Shiro’s memories, so even if he doesn’t have feelings, thoughts or opinions associated with those memories, he still knows.

It’s kind of like with kids (and occasionally teens too). They tend to look up to certain people - parents, siblings, role models, classmates, celebrities, etc - and imitate them (knowingly or unknowingly). And they do it so well, when they don’t even have memories of this person, just the ones they’ve seen and the memories they were in. But Kuron here, has 25 years of Shiro’s experience and life and he might not even know he’s a clone. That’s actually really sad, because when all’s said and done, in the end he’s not Shiro. Even if they’ve “led” the same life. He cannot be Shiro.

This is gonna be kinda long, and I might be wrong but I wanted to put this out there.

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Here’s a ref for my new sona, I guess

Her name’s Inc

i know no one cares but i’ve just recently started stimming wholeheartedly after years of repressing it, even while alone, and it feels so good i could cry

anonymous asked:

(BYSOTI[D]) Drabble Suggestion: Yuuri and the (skating, or otherwise) gang play Truth or Dare, and innocent cinnamon bun Yuuri really isn't. Insert freaking out Vitya and/or Chris.

How about instead of Truth or Dare we have them play Never Have I Ever.  (Cutting it since it’s a lot of dialouge and dialouge can get long)


“Never have I ever been kissed.”  Guang Hong Ji blushed to the tips of his ears.

Pretty much everyone in the hotel room took a drink.  “This is absolutely precious.”  Chris butted shoulders with Viktor.

“This could get problematic.”  Leo de Iglesias was sipping from his drink.  “Actually.  Yeah.  Guang Hong, we should probably go.”

The small Chinese skater flushed even more.  “OK.  Next time, though?”

Leo nodded and gave Phichit and Yuuri a look.  “Yeah, next time.  Who started this game anyway?”

Everyone pointed at Phichit who was documenting the whole thing on snapchat apparently.

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@lunlucy yoooo I’m the anon that thought your Lance with a backwards cap was hot

2

THE GRAVEYARD’S FULL Darkness falls across the land, the midnight hour is close at hand. Creatures crawl in search of blood to terrorize y'alls neighborhood. And whoever shall be found without the soul for getting down, must stand and face the hounds of hell and rot inside a corpse’s shell.

LISTEN ]

Glitter Dystopia

So everyone talks about the genocide route and the pacifist route and then after that King Papyrus ending gets some very deserving attention but you know what ending really needs more attention? The ending that, I would argue, is the coolest playground for a sequel story?

KING METTATON.

I already think Mettaton gets shafted a lot when it comes to the fandom, coming across as more of the glam side character than the recurrent villainous role he actually plays. I could get into that a bit if I let myself, but instead, I just want to focus on this:

The King is dead, and he’s been replaced by a celebrity. A showman with a manipulative streak, ruthless ambition, and no actual management skills. A newly crowned king with a history of hiding his problems behind a sparkly hot pink facade. Everything’s a show. Everything’s a facsimile of what he thinks the surface might be like. 

Big changes come to the Underground, and with it, unrest.

Rumors of “brainwashing” and “disappearances” of discontents spread as the underground is only being held together by sequins, ribbon and glitter glue. It’s all falling apart into a classic dystopia, cyberpunk with old school Hollywood low-budget glam. Pink sparkle filters over literal garbage. Growing problems covered up by bigger, prettier things. Cake and circuses and plenty of statues.

Everything’s big, bright and falling apart. 

As far as anyone knows, the Underground is being run by a robot, an AI, who gained sentience and a soul. His creator is long gone, through mysterious circumstances. In an Underground with a varied level of technology (mostly cobbled together from garbage from the surface, how much more cyberpunk can you get) computers and robots and the like can almost seem like magic, but at least magic they understand. What is he actually capable of? Does it even matter, if he manages to entertain and distract them?

The king’s will is carried out by two brothers, his “agents,” who have no past or history. They seem friendly and cheerful enough… but skeletons always smile, don’t they? It’s hard to not be unsettled once you realize that.


Seriously I will take any of this you give me. Send me recommendations if you have any. I need this. 

YO SHIGEO HE WAS JUST FOURTEEN 

“UGH! They just piss me off SO MUCH, Beka!”

“I know, Yura. I know. It’s okay.”

In which Yuri is completely disgusted by someone (probably Victor and Yuuri being too affectionate in public) and Otabek is understanding.