i'm so sorry that this took forever

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gif request meme: @blufeniix asked favorite familial relationship + Uncharted
 Sully, Nate, & Elena

mooosicaldreamz  asked:

first off, i want to say that i legitimately love every single one of your supercorp fics and have read them perhaps way too many times. in particular, i've read fall A TON. so you're great and i hope writer's block enjoys the ass kicking you're gonna give it. second, if you've got the upper hand on writer's block and want to, i've got a prompt: supercorp and doing charity work? or legit anything you come up with. i will take anything.

It was funny how utterly inconspicuous a hairnet could make one look. All the make up and hoodies and caps pulled down low in the world have not been able to do what an apron, a pair of latex gloves, and a simple hairnet have been able to do.

Then again, perhaps it wasn’t about being inconspicuous but just the plain absurdity of finding Lena Luthor—heir to LuthorCorp and sister to the notorious Lex Luthor—volunteering in a soup kitchen. Who would believe her even if she admitted it to their face? Just the other day she’d been caught on camera wearing a dress that cost more than most people made in a year—someone who could waste money like that could surely hire someone to volunteer at the soup kitchen, or at least donate lavishly (as the Luthors were wont to do) and dispel the desire to freely offer services entirely.  

And yet, for whatever reason—the hairnet, the inability to suspend disbelief, pure and unbridled luck—she was at one of the many soup kitchens scattered across National City, doling out mashed potatoes and gravy while listening to the woman in charge bark orders at the grocers and cooks who were working in the back, and not a single person batted an eye at her.

Keep reading

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make me choose@emilieblunt asked: luke skywalker or cassian andor?

everything i did. i did for the rebellion. and every time i walked away from something i wanted to forget i told myself it was for a cause that i believed in. a cause that was worth it. without that, without a cause, we’re lost. everything we’ve done would have been for nothing. i couldn’t face myself if i gave up now.

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Emma Swan Appreciation MemeDay 15 ↠  Free choice

From a lost little duckling to a beautiful swan, thank you so much Emma for an amazing journey. You taught me so much about hope, love, fighting on, standing up for what you believe in and never giving up on myself. I’m forever grateful, you changed my life.

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.”

It’s strange but in a weird way, I miss my darkness… you know what I mean, the indifferent sadness that you resign yourself to when you’re completely and totally hopeless, when you no longer see a reason to try anymore so you kinda just shuffle along day after day, when nothing really matters because you don’t plan on living for much longer. Things that once ate away at you no long strike fear or anxiety into your heart cause “once I’m dead none of it’ll matter.” I’m told it’s fucked up to say because “Some people are dying to feel any other way! HOW DARE YOU WANT THAT BACK!!” Look at it from my point of view: when I didn’t have any purpose or motivation to exist, there was no stress about work, or school, or anything else; every problem just slipped away with my will to live. I could simply sink down into the darkness and embrace the silence. It’s different now that I’ve been “trying"again… It’s so much harder than before. It’s so fucking bright and loud!! but this time you’re not allowed to just walk away and cave in on yourself! You have to accept and acknowledge everything! And no matter how hard you try, you can no longer channel the familiar sanctuary that you’ve grown so accustomed to! You feel as though you don’t belong there, with the normal people, at all. After you’ve lived with the darkness for so long, can you ever truly return to the light? or will it always have those pieces of you, the ones that it took in the first place?
—  Thoughts I’ll never speak out loud.
(Sorry it’s so long, I’m awful at describing things so it takes me a while to do it)