it goes on even further than this too

itsalwayslydia  asked:

Bellarke + "things you were afraid to say"

They hold a funeral for Clarke in space.

It’s not actually planned. In the days following their abrupt return to space, the six of them happen to find one of the control rooms of the Ark– where the screens are still, improbably, lit with the faces and stats of the 100 who originally came down– and they find Clarke’s monitor. 

Her photo is nice, if you look behind the words “TRANSMISSION TERMINATED”. Her sun-spun hair is straight and clean, face soft, gaze open, and so, so young. The kind of image people want depicted at funerals. After a long silence Harper suggests they all say something to honour her.

Bellamy hates the suggestion immediately, but there are relieved nods all around. And he’ll never be one to deprive his friends of closure, so he says nothing at all.

Harper goes first, with stories from the dropship and a few sentences about the kind of person Clarke was, and they all chip in after that. Even Murphy, who merely says, “I guess there could have been worse people to lead us,” seems less sarcastic than usual.

But when it’s Bellamy’s turn, he can’t say a damn thing.

“Bellamy?” Harper asks tentatively when the silence stretches further and further. “Is there anything you want to say?”

Bellamy looks away from the monitor and just shakes his head. There are a lot of things he should have said. Things he was too afraid to tell her, or didn’t think there was time for. 

But how long would it have taken to say he admired her skills, while she was bandaging his hand? How much courage would it have taken to tell her thank you for giving him a cup of water? How long would it take to say I missed you when she hugged him? What bravery, or time, would it require to tell her that he was glad she was here, with him? Exactly how long does it take to tell someone you love them?

“Are you sure?” Raven says softly, brushing against his arm. The touch jolts him back to reality, and for a moment, he teeters dangerously on the edge of saying some of those words.

He opens his mouth and then closes it and shakes his head again. Thankfully, they don’t push him, and begin to spread out, exploring the room again. Bellamy remains rooted to the spot. 

Those flowery words he wanted to say are irrelevant now, with her burned away and obliterated just like the rest of the beautiful things on Earth. 

But there is one thing that cannot be destroyed, and that’s the promise he made her. Words no longer hold meaning in his relationship with Clarke. Only his actions do. 

Bellamy looks around the destroyed control room and clears his throat, which makes them all look at him. “I think we should clean up in here. Might make a usable living space.”

How long does it take to tell someone you love them?

As he starts to pick through the debris, towards the rebuilding of their future, he finds a certain calm in the answer: he will tell her he loves her, with the rest of his life.

5(+) sentence fics celebration

The Layers of Meanings Behind the Rings

VictuuriWeek 2017 – Day 7 – Victor Prompt – Promises

So for VictuuriWeek day 7, I’d like to talk about the rings and all the various promises they hold. This post is written as a complimentary piece to @lazuliblade‘s amazing meta here (2 metas for 2 rings) so please make sure to read that one as well! In this analysis, we’ll be looking at the various tie-ins the series has to the various layers of meaning represented by the rings.

I’ll be going in the order of how they’re mentioned in Laz’s post so please enjoy!

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The Walk

“His hair has gone grey. He passes every day.
They say he walks the length of the city…

He is working through the unimaginable.”

- Hamilton, Quiet Uptown

It’s fall and the leaves are dying. They brush against the polished shine of his shoes, fragile beneath his feet – brittle. He feels brittle, too. Dry and used and wasting away.

Graves’ knee plaques him. They tell him it won’t ever fully heal. He grips the walking cane a little tighter. His wand is in its center, unrecognizable. An anchor meant to help him feel less crippled. Regal and ornate like every other part of his well designed mask. A symbol of power and wealth. Like his opulent coat and his freshly pressed suits and the shoes he still shines even though he has no job to wear them to. 

Armor that has no use.

Every morning, he goes about dressing himself as if nothing happened; too afraid to stop. And every evening, he winds up here – in Central Park.

He feels thin, like water spread across a wide floor, ever spreading further and further apart from itself.

His knee gives. He grits his teeth, his breath a great and angry plume in front of his face. He breathes and the feeling passes.

He watches a group of children chase each other, hears their laughter and feels a pang for the life he’s missed.

The wind bites deeper than his coat can stand and he remembers a time he didn’t used to feel so cold so easily. He stumbles, teeth already bared to curse. He seethes. His knee pops cruelly. He dips. No one notices, no one notices

– And then there is a hand at his elbow, not holding him up but rather entwining with his until he is elbow to elbow with a familiar blue coat. Scarred hands and pleasant eyes, happy to see him. Smiling. Wrinkles from his laugh lines – so unlike his own. 

Graves’ wrinkles don’t seem to go away, lately.

“I can’t believe you started without me! I almost missed out on the best park of the walk!” Newt says cheerfully, cheeks rosy from running and from the chill.

Graves scoffs and tries to remember how his lonely evening walks had somehow become a tradition he shared with the wispy Magizoologist. A ritual that had somehow bloomed seemingly from nothing. One day, Newt was just there – and had been ever since.

“You hardly missed anything, Scamander. You accomplished in mere seconds what took me minutes to do. You could go walk it again and catch up with me without missing a beat.”

Newt falls into step with him, unhurried. Content to meander not because Graves cannot move faster, but because he genuinely seems to enjoy slowing down this aspect of his day. To breathe.

Newt tucks his chin and smiles as though he knows something Graves does not.

“It’s not the park I was afraid I’d miss,” Newt says, friendly, and begins to chatter as he always does. And calmly, Graves listens. Queenie and Tina had warned him once to be patient with the man. Something about him being a bit of an odd duck – just as quick to withdraw as he was to speak his mind. But Graves found that Newt had no trouble holding up a conversation. He spoke of his creatures quite liberally now that Graves had no power to reprimand him. He spoke of his book and his plans and his many adventures.

And despite himself, Graves finds it calming just to listen. Occasionally he engages. He asks about what creatures he has or how Newt came to acquire them; but generally he just listens, swept up in the robust passion of Newt’s words that made his own life feel thin and grey by comparison. Sometimes he just closes his eyes and lets Newt lead him - lost in the soft wonder of his voice.

He can’t help but be in awe of the sheer force of nature that is one Newton Artemis Fido Scamander.

The hand at his elbow grips him a little tighter, as though anticipating something exciting as they crest the same hill they always climb to catch the sunset they always watch. The trek leaves Graves aching and unable to catch his breath. His hand trembles fiercely on the grip of his cane, but he does not ever mention it and neither does Newt. Instead, Graves takes a deep, steadying breath and looks out at the view before them – caught as he is always caught by the sheer magnificence of oranges and purples and pinks against the dimming New York sky. He feels a little bit of the weight on his bones leave him, his body oddly light, and sighs.

“This was what I was afraid I’d miss,” Newt says softly.

“That’s the great thing about sunsets, Newt. They come back,” Graves says dryly, eyes sliding from his favorite view in the city to his companion to wryly tease him – and falls still. Newt is looking at him, smiling a little smile, and suddenly everything feels important. 

It’s then that Graves realizes that Newt had never been watching the sunset. Not this evening or the evening prior or the evening before that. He blinks, at a loss. He blames the cold on his rising flush and coughs to hide his stammer.

“An old man staring at the sky. Hardly a novel view.”

He refuses to look at the man even when Newt’s grip gets a little tighter.

“A brave man choosing to see it once again,” Newt says, certain. “I think there’s more beauty in that than in a sunset that will come regardless.”

When Graves returns to the park the next day, it’s not for the sunset.

Eren + Reiner: Saviors of “Humanity”

If there is one strong uniting factor between Reiner and Eren it is this. Both of them built their entire life’s purpose upon what were essentially childish dreams, and then neither could truly process it when reality failed to measure up to their starry eyed expectations. 

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anonymous asked:

I feel like there aren't enough phone sex fics in the fandom. Could you please take this as a prompt?

Hey anon, I’m not sure you really meant me? I’m not known for writing smut (cause I can’t write it). But I tried and here it is. Set in “Chinga”, NC-17 (I suppose). You get a read more cause it’s loooong.

Four rings before Scully picks up the phone and puts Mulder out of his misery.

“Hm, yeah.” Scully’s voice is nothing more than a tired mumble and yet Mulder finds himself sigh in relief, and grin stupidly, upon finally hearing her voice.  

“Hey Scully, it’s me. You weren’t answering your phone earlier and I – wait, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Mulder is cradling his basketball in his arms; he better not be interrupting anything. What was the guy’s name Scully kept mentioning? Jack? He grimaces when he realizes that he’s been stroking the basketball, treating it like a lover. He lets got of it, watches it fall to the ground with a soft thud, and roll away under his desk. Wishing it was Jack’s head, kind of. Mulder has been trying to reach Scully for hours now (Is Jack to blame? He’s not sure he wants to know). He is not going to tell her how close he’s come to flying out to Maine.

“I was sleeping.”                                                                      

“It’s only… oh, it’s already 2 am. I’m sorry, Scully. You uhm, like I said, you weren’t answering your phone. I was worried.”

“I’m fine Mulder. Just really tired.”

“Some vacation, huh?” Mulder knows that he should say his goodbye now, let her go back to sleep. Except he’s so happy to hear her voice, as exhausted as it may sound, that he’s unable to be reasonable. He hasn’t seen her in days. He hasn’t heard her voice in hours. He can’t just hang up now.

“Yeah.” Scully yawns. “Mulder, was there anything you wanted? It really is late.”

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Phantom Confidants AU

In an alternate universe, I actually write about a P5 AU where the non-party social links are the phantom thieves of that universe. So Mishima, Hifumi, Shinya, Sojiro, Toranosuke, Iwai, Takemi, Ohya, Chihaya, Kawakami and even Sae. Honestly I would have loved to have an animal in the group but Morgana is the only animal social link and he’s an original member. But hey it’s still a pretty diverse group considering it’s a mix of mostly adults, some teens, and a kid. They’ve got a pretty badass lineup to be honest so here’s how I think it’ll go. 

Full plot, codenames, and Mementos chats under the cut: 


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bkwrm523  asked:

Weird question here; who (if anyone) on the Enterprise, if they unexpectedly met a clone or something of themselves, would have the immediate reaction of "damn I'm good looking." And then flirt with themselves for five minutes rather than do anything useful? Sorry, just bored at work = weird asks.

I interpreted this as TOS ‘verse meets AOS ‘verse, Sara. 

The short answer to your question - Hikaru.

Proper discussion follows. Shout out to @medicatemedrmccoy​ and her beautiful idea of Puppy!Pav. I am in your debt, Sunshine.

Jim Kirk

The Jim’s are a little in awe of each other, at first. 

Brown-eyed Jim can’t believe that he was ever that young, and blue-eyed Jim sees brown-eyed Jim as the shining example of everything he can never be, no matter how he tries.

They find themselves alone, and that’s when it all comes out. Brown-eyed Jim listens in horror at the story of the Kelvin, finds himself suddenly understanding the glittering hardness that reflects subtly from this younger version of himself, the jaded, rebellious exterior that blue-eyed Jim projects to hide his loneliness and his fear, all the hurts and doubts of his childhood. It’s a bit like looking into a cracked mirror, and it breaks Jim’s heart. 

Brown-eyed Jim shares his own story, then, and both Jim’s wonder at the wiles of the universe, how two people who’d lived such vastly different lives could be so fundamentally the same, and how, through it all, the horrors of Tarsus had remained a bitter constant.

They talk long into the night, and they find that they share more than they think - a love of classic literature, an affinity for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, an unprecedented skill at 3-D chess, a deep, unspoken fear of failure, inadequacy.

“Slow down,” says brown-eyed Jim to blue-eyed Jim. “Breathe. Look around you, Jim. Look what you have already. I was well into my thirties before I was given command of a starship. Remember, too, that it’s not the life you’ve lived, but the choices you’ve yet to make that determine the man you’ll become. Keep your face to the stars and the wind at your back, and the rest will follow.”

And this is how the Jim’s discover one last thing that they have in common -

They are both exceptional kissers.


The Spock’s are cordial and distant to one another. They work in tandem, each one half of a whole, each secretly wondering about the differences in experience and perspective of the other, each one knowing it would be illogical to ask.

Montgomery Scott

The Scotty’s are instant besties. 

Finally, finally, somebody who understands that it’s ill-advised to run a dilithium-depleted starship at warp nine, or that it’s dangerous to manually reroute directly from the matter/antimatter reactor to recharge the phaser banks, or that, yes, captain, it’s downright daft to park an entire fuckin’ starship under the water!

They swap stories over a bottle of scotch, each one more ludicrous than the last, and the gestures become increasingly animated, the interjections increasingly indecent until the conversation finally dissolves into a series of “Nonsense!” and, “Yer off yer ‘ead!” and “God’s truth, sir!” “He didn’t, the roaster!” and “Aye, but he bloody well did!” and “Get tae fuck oot!”

At long last, TOS Scotty places his hand on his breast. “Monty,” he says, as deadly serious as a drunken man can ever be. “It’s been an honor, sir. A pleasure and an honor.”

AOS Scotty feels tears welling in his eyes. “Aye, sir,” he says softly, extending his hand for a heartfelt clasp. “That it has.”

Hikaru Sulu

The Sulu’s are immediately appreciative of one another.

“Hello, there.”

“Well, hello myself.”

They waggle eyebrows, they flirt, they banter back and forth, they wink and blow kisses and slap each other’s asses. They even duel - much to the delight of the Pavel’s.

But it never goes any further than this, because each Hikaru is loyal only to his own Ben, and each Hikaru understands this perfectly.

Nyota Uhura

These two take to each other immediately. It’s an understanding that happens without words - in fact, the Nyota’s hardly speak at all, communicating mainly through subtle smirks and knowing glances. 

“Freaky,” the Hikaru’s call it. 

The Pavel’s agree.

Pavel Chekov

The Pavel’s are a force to be reckoned with.

They remind the Nyota’s of puppies, a bit - small, wide-eyed and almost comically enthusiastic, and way too close for comfort

Leonard McCoy

The Len’s hate each other’s guts.

Well, at first, anyway.

AOS Len circles slowly around TOS Len, who stares him down with a glare worthy of high noon.

“Well, spit it out son,” says blue-eyed Len. “Ain’t got all day for you to form a proper thought in that pretty little head.”

It goes downhill from there.

“An anterolateral approach? My god, man, what is this, the dark ages? A superior method is to -”

“Get. Your hands. Out of. My field.”

“Fine, fine. Don’t act surprised, though, when your patient develops a post-op infection. I’m sure you’ll document it as idiopathic.”

“Get the hell out of my sickbay.”

“Your sickbay? Your sickbay? Lord help us, they’ll let any ol’ idiot with a scalpel onto a starship these days!”

“Oh, yeah? Ironic, coming from you. What is it that you do for your patients, balance their humors? Stick around, then, Leeches, you might just learn some actual medicine. But keep your fossilized fingers to yourself.”

“Actual medicine? Tell me this, hotshot trauma surgeon - Did you wait to finish your residency before you violated your oath, or were you a cold-blooded murderer right out the gate?”

That’s how it comes to blows.

In the end, it’s Jim that they bond over.

AOS Len is impressed at how TOS Len leaps to action, despite the fact that it’s not his Jim bleeding from the head, and TOS Len notices immediately how calm and composed his counterpart is,

Once the Len’s are focused on a common goal, working together becomes startlingly easy.

“Grab the -”

“Got it. Did you -”

“Yup. Check the -”

“I’m a step ahead of you, son.”

One Jim is settled safely in a biobed, AOS Len shoots TOS Len a wary once-over.

“Alright then, Leeches,” he huffs, folding his arms defensively across his chest. “Purely out of curiosity…”

TOS Len gives him a good eyebrow.

AOS Len ignores this. “What approach would you use?”

TOS Len smiles.

They discuss medicine first, because that’s easiest.

They swap stories and surgical techniques, each appreciating the other’s exhaustive knowledge, each impressed by the other’s innovative methods and revolutionary contributions to the field. Leonard McCoy, in any universe, is a prolific surgeon and an exceptional CMO, it seems.

The conversation turns to David.

TOS Len drops his head into his hands. “Different universe,” he mutters, “Same mistakes. I’d hoped you’d been spared that much.”

AOS Len looks at TOS Len, then, and there’s a fire burning in his eyes. “I’ve been spared nothing,” he says softly, and the knowledge passes between them – Jocelyn, David, Joanna, oh, Joanna -  the grief, the fierce regret.

“I’m so sorry,” TOS Len whispers after a long moment.

And he is.

“Does your Jim do this to you?” AOS Len asks suddenly, as they are standing at the edge of Jim’s biobed.

He hasn’t woken up yet.

TOS Len snorts. Son, you have no idea. “My Jim,” he starts, because the words fall so easily from his lips.

He looks at brown-eyed Len then, sharply, then again with an expression of slow wonder.

“My Jim,” he repeats softly, then quicker, harsher, putting the pieces together, “Your Jim. You mean, you and your Jim.”

Brown-eyed Len drops his gaze, then, because he hears the ache in those words, the longing, and he understands.

“It’s not like that, for us,” Blue-eyed Len tells him after a long moment. He’s staring at nothing.

“It could be,” AOS Len replies softly, because he can see it.

He knows.

“Leeches,” AOS Len rounds the corner of the transporter room.

TOS Len is on the pad, waiting for the soft “energize,” waiting to go home.

AOS Len bounds up the steps. “I just…” he starts, pauses, ‘cause he’s not exactly sure just what he’s doing, yet.

“Son,” TOS Len starts, but the laugh in his eyes belies his sharp words. “Didn’t your Mama teach you any manners?” He cocks a teasing eyebrow toward AOS Len. “I believe the words you’re looking for are, ‘Thank you.’”

AOS Len rolls his eyes, but he reaches for TOS Len anyway, offering him a firm handshake. “Take care of him, Dr. McCoy,” he says softly. Brown eyes flicker up to meet blue. “Your Jim.”

TOS Len huffs a quick breath out his nose, gives AOS Len a firm little nod. “Always, Len,” he says with a little quirk of his lips. “Always.”

{fic} Sing Down the Skies ch 1/?

Part 1 of the ‘Elain comes to the Spring Court post-acomaf’ + fake dating, sort of + extreme angst elucien fic! 1.5k. rated T for being really sad. ao3

“I’m going to pretend to fall in love with you.”

All the air goes out of the room. Lucien is so uncomprehending he’s sure he must have misheard her. “What?”


The negotiations have ended such that only one of Feyre’s sisters will be released to the Spring Court. Lucien is not sure of the particulars as to why. All of the conflict, all of the plotting, all of Tamlin’s rage and Feyre’s simpering smiles and Rhysand’s dramatic demands have faded into a dull buzzing he no longer bothers to parse.

The sister they send will be Elain, Tamlin tells them. He sounds proud, like this is some kind of gift that he’s giving them both, though it is presumably what Rhysand and Feyre decided upon beforehand and then manipulated Tamlin into thinking he accomplished.

Feyre’s fake concern is almost insufferable. She bites her lip, puts a hand on her heart, leans into Tamlin for support as her eyelashes flutter in an imitation of feeble strength. “Oh, of course I wish you could have got them both, but it will be such a relief to have Elain away from them. Nesta’s always been so strong, I’m sure—“ here she falters, so that Tamlin can wrap an arm around her waist and murmur concernedly, and she can give him a weak smile of gratitude, “—I’m sure she can bear it for a little longer.”

It’s almost insulting, the levels of Tamlin’s stupidity her charade is revealing. There is no negotiation in the world that would have stopped Feyre—the real Feyre—from demanding both of them back, from crossing Prythian and personally dismantling the Night Court brick by brick to get them back, if she thought they were really in even the slightest amount of danger. And Tamlin, who just smiles dotingly and kisses her on the forehead, should know that. Tamlin should know that better than anyone.

“You should be excited, Lucien,” It takes Lucien a moment to even register that Tamlin’s speaking to him, voice laced with a tense expectation: Feyre is performing her gratitude, why aren’t you?

“I am excited,” Lucien says smoothly, giving Tamlin the barest of acceptable smiles. “Of course I am. I’m sorry, please excuse me.”

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ifollowriversandhuskies  asked:

Lemme elaborate. I know who Goku is. I'm just confused about his 'butchered character.' I always thought he was consistent.

Ok, here goes..

DBZ Goku vs DBS Goku

You might want to watch the series or read the manga to decide for yourself… But, the best way I can describe it? The original Goku grows up, still has some silly manchild fun and naive simplicity, but also had an air of maturity, seriousness and even a detached nuance that was at times rather difficult to place–introspective and quiet, even. Particularly in the Japanese version. He also had a more layered relationship with Chichi and was more “knowed” and affectionate than his hardcore childish ignorant DBS counterpart. Goku made mistakes sometimes too–flawed, a bit oblivious and even a bit of a trickster–but despite his moments of selfishness and honest desire to fight above all else, he was also a man who was led by his morality. 

The current Goku in DBS? Is a slapstick parody of his silly, naive, and socially crude traits, which are played up to the point that he’s a senseless, forgetful dumbass, way too rude/inconsiderate and on a consistent basis to really be “him”, because he’s not rounded out anymore–and he’s lost all of his maturity and nuance. Even by the end of DB, he was more mature than he is in DBS. By the end of DBZ, Goku was a fully fleshed out, albiet “simple” soul with a surprising depth of character. The anime goes further in all these traits than the manga does, tho the main themes of his personaliy remain. In DBS, he’s just an unlikeable piece of shit and I wouldn’t cry if he got sucked into a jet turbine and died for good

anonymous asked:

Lily doesn't die. She manages to escape with Harry after James sacrifices himself. Her and Sirius become close after (angst, survivor guilt, angst).

There’s a hole in her heart where her husband used to live.

It’s not that James isn’t there anymore, that she doesn’t hold every precious scrap of memory close. It’s that he’s dead. Memory can’t hold a candle to the space he used to take up.

In her darker moments, Lily wonders if it was worth it. Loving him. This thickness in her throat every time she tries to speak, the heavy weight of gravity dragging at her bones when she walks, when she sits, when she lies in bed at night alone. Hating James Potter had been so easy, and everything about her life now seems impossible.

(Those are only moments, though. Fleeting, dark things that she banishes to the back of her mind. She holds her son close and presses her lips to the soft crown of his head and knows she would never give this up. Not for ease, not for joy, not for his father back and her heart whole).

“He’s growing up.”

It’s early summer and they’re in the yard, making the most of a capricious sun. She’d gotten another cat not long after that night, in some grief-hazed need for affection, and a dog just after Christmas. All three of the animals are involved in a complicated form of chase with Harry, who is shrieking with laughter on his toy broom that lifts a few feet higher off the ground than it really ought to thanks to her own spell work.

The sensible part of Lily knows that she can’t replace James with animals. The part of her that has been screaming since last Halloween and hasn’t stopped is grasping at whatever she can to make her broken family whole.

Lily glances sideways at Sirius. His feet are up on her outside table, rocking back in one of her deck chairs at a precarious angle. There’s a faint smile on his lips, twisted at the edges into something ugly, even on his face. He holds his body tense, twirling his wand idly in a way that says he’s ready to put a stop to the fun if it looks like Harry goes too high.

Lily’s own wand is strapped to her wrist. She doesn’t even shower without it, anymore.

“That happens,” she says cautiously. “The passage of time, you understand.”

His mouth pulls up into a grin that’s somehow worse than his expression before. It has too much teeth, crooked in the wrong places. Bitter, she thinks, and realises her own expression is mimicking it. Time is the enemy of both of them, dragging them further away from the man they love.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s always dangerous.”

He snorts, focussed on Harry. Careful not to look at her in a way she knows is intentional, because she’s not an idiot. “Of going,” he says, and what’s left of her heart stops dead in her chest. “Away for a bit.”

Her voice sounds like a stranger’s. Screaming-Lily screams a little higher, in the silence left vacated by her heart beat. “I didn’t realise you had the burning urge for a vacation.”

There’s a poison in the words that she hasn’t pulled on him since they were fifteen and idiots. He winces, but still won’t look at her. “Not a vacation. Just some unfinished business.”

“You don’t have a job.”


Sirius.” There’s a panic in her throat that’s shoving at all the residual grief, swamping it. She’s in no state to decide which she prefers as she starts from her own chair, kicks his legs from her table.

He yelps, wobbling for a second as gravity juggles him. It looks like he’s going to come down on the side of ground when her arm snaps out and grabs his hand, hauling him and the chair back to level ground.

She doesn’t let go. Energy sparks through her fingers and up her arm as he finally, reluctantly, looks up at her.

“Hunting Death Eaters won’t bring him back.”

Lily says it with the certainty of a woman who has considered it. Who has turned her wand over in her fingers again and again, mouthed all the spells she knows that could wring out revenge from the followers of the genocidal maniac who murdered her husband.

She’d held her son on those occasions, too. He needs a mother more than he needs vengeance, and she needs Sirius more than Lucius Malfoy’s head on a pike.

“Nothing,” Sirius growls, more dog than man in that moment, “brings him back. And I can’t - Lily I can’t just sit here playing happy families when it should be James–”

“Happy - fuck you very much, Sirius Black, if you think that any of what you’ve been doing could serve as some kind of replacement–”

I would never.” And it’s not a shout because Harry is still playing obliviously on the grass, but the way he hisses holds all the same intensity. She hasn’t let go of him, and they both watch the way her nails dig white-edged into his skin. Sirius grits his teeth, forces that grey-eyed gaze back to hers, and she can see in the shadows there the way he reins himself in. Packs up some unspeakable force of emotion, hides it away until he can speak in a measured tone of voice again. “I would never.”

Lily has never been an idiot, and the death of her husband hasn’t suddenly made her stupid when it comes to other men. Especially not this one, who has knitted himself into her life so thoroughly that she isn’t sure she could explain for herself all the ways they’re tangled together.

She should let go of his hand.

She should let go of his hand.

“Okay,” she says softly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

His jaw clenches. He doesn’t pull away. “You don’t have anything to apologise for.”

“I’ll thank you not to make my decisions for me,” she says primly, and it does exactly as intended, prompts the tiniest smile from him, not twisted in the slightest. “Sirius. Don’t leave us.”

It’s only after he agrees that she finds she can coax her fingers to let him go.

anonymous asked:

Do you have any recs with submissive Isak? Or ones with any big age difference??

Hi, lovely! 

Okay, I’m gonna split up your ask in two parts since you’re looking for two different things. Please beware that some of the age difference ones include teacher/student relationships, which I know some people might not be comfortable with. 

Age Difference:

  • Tethered by velore_poplap
    Isak’s sixteen years old when he realizes he’s in love with his teacher.

  • hva er dette? Narcos? by koolranchkidz
    Summary: The two guys strode down the now barely lit street. Before they were too far away to see, Isak saw the tall one flip his green hood over his head, revealing two words embroidered on the back of his leather jacket. ‘Helvete Gutter’ + Or: In which Isak meets Even in first year, and he’s a drug dealer.

  • as if by magic (thoughts of you are gone) by hippopotamus
    Isak hates being the third wheel to his best friends, until that means he gets to sit next to a handsome stranger on a rollercoaster.

  • scream for air to breathe by highpraises
    Summary: Can I fuck you?” Even asks, fingers mapping out the soft skin Isak bares to him, squeezing and kneading as he licks a stripe up his neck.“What else do you think I’m here for?” His voice is quiet and Even grins at him before pushing him back onto his bed. Or, Even never dropped out of Bakka and meets 16-year-old Isak at a party.
  • Lost In Reality by hippopotamus
    Summary: When Isak first starts at Nissen, there’s a third year boy, Even, who likes to make fun of him, pretending to flirt and taking great pleasure in making Isak uncomfortable. Isak knows all the rumours about Even’s Russ group, the “Penetrators”, and he knows that he shouldn’t get involved. He still, somehow, gets involved.
    But Even disappears halfway through the year, and Isak doesn’t think he’ll ever see him again. He does.


  • Chasing Your Love by givemesumaurgravy
    Isak is a shy first year who seems like he knows who he is. Even is a self-assured third year who thinks he’s got himself and his life figured out. Turns out neither of them have a fucking clue. The A/B/O AU no one asked for.

  • Venus by Skamtrash
     Even buys Isak a buttplug and tells him to wear it all day in school. Isak’s desperate, he’s horny and Even fucks him into oblivion.

  • when i’m alone with you by DarkBeauty_890
     Isak Valtersen was shy. This much Even knew. He was quiet and he was soft and he didn’t particularly enjoy confrontation when it was unnecessary.Which is why it didn’t surprise Even at all when the shyness and softness and sweetness carried over into their, eh, bedroom activities. Even got the first hint of it when they kissed that time in the pool. The way Isak just sort of melted- allowed Even to take the lead, it was glorious, he was compliant in the sweetest way.

  • Beat that Record by Dutten
     Fuck Jonas. All of this is his fault. Fucking Jonas—
    Or the one where Jonas tells the squad about making a girl come untouched more than once and Even gets ideas.

  • How in My Arms You Felt Like a Distant Memory, Tucked Far in the Back of my Mind by worshipkink
    Even looks at him like he is the only one worth looking at, and it scares Isak if he was honest. Isak feared that it wouldn’t be too long before Even attempts to solve his puzzle. Or, Isak has too much on his mind and Even knows exactly how to unwind the knots that afflict him.

  • on the verge, now submerge, i’m your church by highpraises
    Summary: Even has a huge dick. They fuck in his parents’ house.

  • Gymslip by DiscoNight
    Summary: Isak wakes up grumpy and Even decides to teach him a lesson, which goes a little further than he expected. Because everyone is apparently gay at Nissen. Cue the make-up sex.

  • spoiled by realityiwanted
    Sometimes, Isak can be a brat. Even knows just how to take care of him.

  • The Edge of Almost by riyku
    Summary: They’ve been at it for days, weeks, at least an hour.

  • i won’t deny it, i’m not trying to hide it by highpraises
    Summary: Even traces his fingers along the choker and Isak digs his nails into his shoulders as Even slips his fingers beneath it, tightening it just enough for Isak to squirm, his laughter dying out. “Even.” “Do you like that?” “Yes,” Isak whispers breathlessly. * Or, snapshot fic of Isak and Even’s sex life, featuring chokers.

  • i may be bad but i’m perfectly good at it by highpraises
    Summary: The tram ride home is silent and tense. Isak knows Even is mad. And he has the right to, Isak can’t deny that he would be mad too, if the roles were reversed.

I hope you enjoy them!

Much Love,


End Game.

@wtfmulder wanted me to write about Scully physically beating the shit out of CSM.  Maybe that comes later in my fic life.  This is what came today.

Here they are.  Again.

She wanted to believe they were done with this.

Even after she accepted assignment back into the FBI.  

Even after he fell to the ground twice, ringing in his head so severe it reminded her of Africa and ketamine fantasies and tombstones.  

Even after.

Yet here they are and it’s the most “here” she thinks she has ever been.  

Because even when he was lying in a bed, fresh out of a grave, with tubes down his throat and a Foley catheter shoved up his dick and everything else that goes along with that… Even then.  She believed he would wake up.

But that night, in that car, on that bridge?  Scully wanted to believe.  But she didn’t.

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Here we go, an update!

“Disturbing, these findings are.” Master Yoda’s ears droop slightly, as his clawed hand gently lays the datapad he held back on the table.

“That’s the least you can call it.” Mace massages his temples and breathes deeply and evenly. The sheer magnitude of the discovery is enough to stop one’s breath. “How have we missed this?”

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They’re not what Zevran was expecting.

The plan isn’t ruined, per se, but he was rather counting on them to be slightly less suspicious. Grey Wardens are heroes of legend, and people routinely called heroes are supposed to be giving and trusting. This lot clearly isn’t. The elf - Dalish, if he’s seeing correctly - and Qunari are just short of openly disdainful, trading eyerolls when they think no one can see. At least, he clearly sees the elf roll her eyes; the Qunari is on the far side and perhaps more mannerly than Zevran gives him credit for.

Perhaps only the human is a Grey Warden then. He certainly seems eager to assist the woman Zevran’s hired. His information is scare and outdated; it’s entirely possible the others could be tagalongs. That would be more fitting. Champions sometimes amass a following, and outlaw heroes have their own appeal. And if the Grey Warden is this blindly trusting, well, he certainly needs them.

That rather complicates things for him though. The two suspicious ones are scanning the horizon, shoulders tight, clearly expecting something. The massive dog - and Zevran’s not sure if he’s a Grey Warden or not, this being Ferelden - is scenting the air. They’re not going to make it to the wagon.

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Immortal FAHC headcannons

Each member of the team is immortal, but it goes beyond that. Their immortality is just a secondary bonus compared to the main power they got when they respawned the first time. Each one is different.

Geoff –
He can turn any liquid into alcohol. Hand him a coke, he’s drinking whiskey. Orange juice turns into moonshine. It’s cool to watch, because it swirls without being stirred, then is suddenly perfectly clear. But it’s more than just drinking though. He’s turned water bottles into a Molotov cocktail. Ever try to run a truck when it’s only Everclear in the tank? It doesn’t work well.

But there is a dark secret to this power, and he only does it when he is pissed off. He can turn the bloodstream into alcohol as well. It kills quickly, not instantly, but quickly and it’s painful. It’s even more painful if Geoff decides to set them on fire. And he can do it not only with blood, but with any human fluid. Snot, piss, spit, tears, all of it.

He doesn’t let himself torture people anymore.

Jack –
Jack shapeshifts. She can turn into any animal that she’s seen (and she spent a decade on safaris just to expand her horizons). She can also change her human form, but she only has two shapes for some reason, her cute red-headed female form and a large male form with an impressive beard. She likes her bearded form for driving to heists and when the boys get into the car, she’s back to her female form, tearing down the roads like a crazy person.

She has also spent entire days curled up in a sunbeam as a ginger Mancoon cat. She has sat in Ryan’s lap as a dog. She enjoy spending time in various animal forms in the apartment, just to surprise or comfort her boys.

She also tore an entire rival gang apart as a bear because Michael bet her $1000 she couldn’t. She hasn’t done it again and doesn’t talk about it much, mainly because that bestial rage is a little more addicting than she wants to think about.

Gavin –
Gavin spent the first fifty years of his immortality thinking he didn’t have a power. He thought he was broken. Then the industrial revolution happened, and suddenly it all made sense. Gavin’s power was with machinery and technology.

He can make anything work. Computers are like an extension of himself, and they do his bidding. He spends hours in front of a screen every day, perfecting and playing, hacking into things that he shouldn’t. He’s coaxed information out of the most secure databases on the planet.

For some reason, it doesn’t extend to video games. Michael and Ray beat him on a daily basis without trying. Gavin just cannot convince games to do what he wants, and he always loses.

Ray –
Ray doesn’t miss. It’s physically impossible for him to miss now. It doesn’t matter what he’s got, once a projectile leaves his hand, it hits what he’s aiming at. Even if he isn’t really aiming, it’ll hit the target. He can’t miss.

He wins extra cash off of dart games when he’s running low. He wins carnival games when the guys drag him out to them. He always ends up getting banned at some point in the evening. He likes making random bets with Gavin, mainly because he knows he’ll win.

“Bet you I can hit the dumpster on the other side of the building.” And ping, somehow ricocheting off three buildings, a car and a freaking phone line, the bullet goes straight through the dumpster.

Jeremy –
He shrinks. It’s part of the reason why he’s an infiltration expert. He can shrink down to any size he wants and can go anywhere. He used to hate it, used to hate the fact that he was smaller than everyone else, but he finally came to just accept it.

It’s when he joins the Fakes, and Michael jokingly yells “Lil’ J!” as he shrinks down to get on the other side of a door, that Jeremy starts actually liking his ability. Every team name is a short joke, and he goes along with it, finding the humor in it.

He keeps getting dragged into stupid pranks too. He’s lost count of how many times he’s been asked to shrink down and infiltrate Gavin’s room jut to move everything three inches to the left.

Ryan –

There is reason behind the mask and the face paint. He started wearing something like it a long time ago, when he finally realized what his power was. He is ridiculously charming. He can convince anyone to day anything with a just a wink and a smile. He’s conned people out of their livelihoods before, just to see if he could do it. He was a real vagabond for a very long time, knowing that he could always get food with just a grin.

There are people who are naturally immune to it though. Geoff proved to be one, as did Jack, much to Ryan’s relief. It was part of the reason why Ryan decided to join the Fakes. Being exposed to it for a while can also help build up an immunity too, though it fades if Ryan’s gone for a while. That’s why Ryan was one of the Lad’s favorite people in the beginning.

Michael –
He is naturally angry, always has been, and that anger translates into his power. He gets stronger the angrier he is, almost like the Hulk. It’s a gradual thing, where he starts off small and happy, but as he gets more and more pissed, he starts to be able to throw things that’s beyond human comprehension.

It goes further than that too. He also becomes impervious to damage the angrier he gets. Not particularly useful one would think since he’s already immortal, but it’s gotten him out of hot water before. Pissed off and swinging a shotgun like a sword, he’s been shot at with a minigun and shrugged it off like it wasn’t even a bee sting. He’s gotten high on rage and walked through a mine field just to see if he was in one piece on the other side. He was.

He has to be careful in the apartment though. He once got angry at a video game and threw a controller at a television. The controller went through the Tv, the wall, and shot off into the sky where it hit a passing helicopter. It went straight through the cockpit, killing the pilot instantly. The helicopter crashed in the middle of the interstate, causing one of the worst pile-ups Los Santos had ever seen.

Geoff screamed himself hoarse over the television.

The Wedding Of River Song - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Sigh. Okay, let’s get this over with.

The Wedding Of River Song was never going to work. Let’s be honest. This entire arc this series has been handled so poorly that there’s no way Moffat could possibly have tied up all the loose ends in a satisfying way. So at the time I basically resigned myself to the fact that the Series 6 finale was probably going to be a steaming pile of shit. There was always a chance Moffat could have proved me wrong and surprised me with something truly spectacular, but deep down I knew that wasn’t going to happen.

So how was The Wedding Of River Song. Well believe it or not I was actually quite engaged for the first 10 or 15 minutes. The Doctor is zipping around the universe trying to find out why the Silence want him dead (something the series should have been focused on long before this, but better late than never I suppose). This leads to some pretty imaginative locations. I like the idea of ‘Live Chess’ and thought the crypt of the Headless Monks was very creepy (I could have done without the chattering skulls though. Bit too smirksome for my liking). Moffat even managed to wring some genuine emotion out of me in the scene where the Doctor learns about the Brigadier’s death. If you’re not familiar with the classic series, i imagine this scene must have confused you somewhat. For me it was incredibly moving. It’s very well handled, Matt Smith gives a great performance and it seems fitting that the passing of his oldest and dearest friend would be what allows the Doctor to accept his own death.

There’s just one problem with all of this though, and it’s a problem that’s been hanging over this entire series like a dark rain cloud. We know the Doctor isn’t going to die. If this truly was the show’s final ending, a lot of what happens here would have been a lot more impactful. But it isn’t. We knew at the time we were getting another series after this. We knew at the time that they were planning a 50th anniversary special. So all we’re left with is this feeling of mild curiosity as to how the Doctor is going to get out of this situation. There’s no real emotional investment or tension or anything.

But wait. It gets worse. Oh SOOOOOOOOOO much worse!

So the Doctor meets River on the shores of Lake Silencio, but wait a minute. Why does River need to be in the spacesuit? It’s fully automated. She doesn’t have any control over it. And if she’s being held in there against her will, why is she put in prison for it? She’s clearly a pawn of the Silence. Why don’t the Stormcage people go after them? Well here’s the thing, I say she has no control over the spacesuit, but then all of a sudden she does, which was really jarring. But anyway, the Doctor survives and suddenly the whole of time goes wibbly. While the whole concept of time dying is basically just the Series 5 finale all over again, the idea of history happening all at once could be interesting, but Moffat never actually does anything with it. It’s basically just a bunch of anachronisms and other random shit thrown together. Also if all of time is happening at once, how come everyone is capable of having intelligible conversations?

Let’s jump back to River for a minute. Considering Moffat’s one note obsession with her, you’d think she’d come out of this a deeper and more interesting character, but she doesn’t. River Song is not and never has been a character. She’s just a loose collection of character traits that don’t seem to marry up with each other. She’s in love with the Doctor and seems to have a warm relationship with her parents Amy and Rory, but she also frequently describes herself as a psychopath.

Originally posted by elittlejoia

Do you see why this doesn’t quite work? And again, would it kill Moffat to Google what a psychopath actually is? You can’t raise one and one of their defining traits is their total lack of empathy. River Song is NOT a psychopath.

And it’s not just River. Characterisation is utterly butchered in this episode all around. Moffat is once again more concerned with tying up the loose ends to his convoluted as fuck series arc instead of actually exploring what the characters are thinking and feeling. River Song is basically little more than a plot device and I will never buy her supposed romance with the Doctor. It’s not Matt Smith or Alex Kingston’s fault. They’re doing their best, but I don’t think even Helen Mirren could salvage anything form this pile of garbage. Rory is once again shoved to the side and the way Moffat handles Amy’s character borders on tactless. A lot of people complained about how Moffat handled the whole pregnancy subplot, and I suspect he added the scene where Amy kills Madame Kovarian to address the lack of emotional followup to Let’s Kill Hitler, but it really doesn’t work. For one thing, it’s too little too late by this point, and another thing, it feels wildly out of character for Amy. Do you honestly expect me to believe that Amy would kill another human, not to save her baby, but as an act of cold blooded revenge? Fuck off Moffat! The ironic thing is I’ve never liked Amy very much, but I think even I have more respect for her character than Moffat clearly does.

The further this episode goes along, the more it falls apart and the more infuriated I became. Once again we see Moffat changing the rules like he did with the Weeping Angels in order to accommodate his crap plot. Remember when River chastised the Doctor for being a dangerous person that millions of people feared? Well now all of a sudden he’s adored by them now and they’re all desperately pleading for him not to die. Well which is it Moffat? You can’t say the Doctor is a feared monster with no justification only to then turn around and go in the complete opposite direction with equally no justification. And that’s not the only thing. River can’t control the spacesuit until all of a sudden she can. The Doctor can’t remember the Silence until all of a sudden he can. Even the series arc itself starts to mutate. Before it was ‘Silence will fall when the question is asked.’ Now it’s ‘Silence must fall when the question is answered.’ Bit of a teeny, tiny difference there, wouldn’t you say?

But if there’s one thing I really can’t stand, it’s the whole lying thing. For some reason Moffat seems to think having the Doctor and River lie constantly makes for clever twists. Well it doesn’t. It’s just cheap and lazy, and it has the consequence of breaking the audience’s faith in what’s happening on screen. See there’s a world of difference between misleading an audience and blatantly lying to them. Were you touched by River’s shock at the Doctor’s death in The Impossible Astronaut? Psyche! She was lying all the time! Were you moved by the Doctor coming to terms with his own mortality? Ha! Gotcha! He had a plan all along and was lying the whole time! It just rips the emotion out of the whole thing and I won’t be inclined to believe anything the characters say or feel ever again. And some lies don’t even make sense. When the Doctor ‘marries’ River, he whispers in her ear about the Tesselecta disguise and then blurts out to Amy and Rory that he told her his real name. But… why would the Doctor need to lie about that? Why not just tell them the plan? It’s not as if they’re going to tell anyone else.

And then we come to the stupid as fuck resolution. The Doctor uses the Tesselecta to fake his death. But wait. What about the fixed point in time? They were quite clear about that. The Doctor needs to die. He’s not dead, so shouldn’t time still be all wibbly? And then he makes the idiotic suggestion that he now needs to step back into the shadows. Easier said than done mate. How do you intend to do that? Presumably you’re still going to be travelling through time and space and fighting aliens. Don’t you think the Silence might catch on to that, you fucking moron?

And the series arc still isn’t finished yet. We’ve still got the Fields of Trenzalore and the Question to deal with, and do you know what? I couldn’t be any less interested. I mean just look at how this arc was handled. Not only is it poorly written and ill conceived, the answers we get to some of the questions we’ve been asking are all so painfully obvious. Who is River to the Doctor? His wife. What crime did she commit? She killed the Doctor. And what’s the First Question hidden in plain sight that must never be answered? Say it with me now, altogether:

Considering all this River Song bullshit started way back in 2008 with the Silence In the Library two parter, was it really worth waiting three years for such an utterly underwhelming conclusion?

You know this actually reminds me of another show Moffat writes for…

What’s that Moffat fans? You thought I was going to let your precious Sherlock off the hook, did you? Guess again my little possums :D

Sherlock is in my opinion the second worst thing Moffat has ever written (the first being Jekyll). It’s an overly produced, convoluted and utterly pretentious pile of rubbish that only bears a passing resemblance to the source material. For seven years people had deluded themselves into think this worthless excuse for a TV show is actually clever and it comes as a blessed relief to see people finally stop drinking the Kool-Aid and realise what a load of utter bollocks Sherlock really is. Fan reception for Series 4 has been pretty negative and some are utterly confused as to how this could have happened. How could such a once great show fall so far? I have an answer for you. The show was never good to begin with. Series 1, 2 and 3 were just as bad as Series 4. The only thing that’s changed is people’s perception of the show. Fans finally started to realise that all these plots and arcs and questions weren’t going to have any satisfying payoff. Series 4 doesn’t represent the slow deterioration of a once great show. It’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. It’s a point where Moffat’s bullshit became so blatant and so insulting that not even the diehard fans could possibly justify it. 

The reason I mention Sherlock is because I feel it’s the best example of Moffat’s incredibly flawed approach to storytelling. His whole schtick is teasing bigger mysteries and more interesting stories to come as opposed to, you know, telling interesting stories. With Sherlock, the focus was on prolonging the ridiculous conflict between Sherlock and Moriarty, to the point where character arcs and smaller stories fell to the wayside. The same is true with his series arcs in Doctor Who. Moffat’s first series is about someone blowing up the TARDIS. Then we come to the Doctor dying, at which point the whole mystery of the exploding TARDIS just gets silently dropped. We get a lot of information about River Song’s involvement, but we don’t have time to properly get to know her character outside of all of this because by that point Moffat is teasing the much bigger mystery of Trenzalore, and so on. Arcs are left incomplete and characters left underdeveloped because Moffat is more concerned with teasing bigger and better stories rather than focusing on the story he’s currently telling. And he tries to keep you invested by saying that all the stuff that doesn’t make sense and have been left unresolved might be explained later on. He maintains the illusion that there’s an interesting story just on the horizon, but the fact is you’ll never get to see it because it simply doesn’t exist.

Now don’t me wrong. If you still like Sherlock, that’s your prerogative. I’m not trying to make fun of you. I certainly wouldn’t dream of taking the piss out of the people who came up with the bizarre theory based on wild conjecture and misinterpretation of evidence that there was going to be a secret good fourth Sherlock episode that would solve all the problems of Series 4. They’re not idiots for thinking that. They’re just the ones that bought into Moffat’s bullshit hook, line and sinker. They honestly thought there was an episode coming that would fix everything and explain all the inconsistencies because that’s what Moffat has led them to believe. It’s a deceptive and fraudulent trick I picked up on a long time ago and it makes it hard for me to enjoy Moffat’s so called ‘good’ stories like The Empty Child and The Girl In the Fireplace because once you notice all his tricks and gimmicks, that’s ALL you notice.

Since I started reviewing the Moffat era, I’ve had a few people sending me messages about what an idiot I am and what an undisputed genius Moffat is. I can honestly understand people’s frustration when a smartarse blogger like myself comes along and starts ripping one of their favourite writers to shreds, but with respect, you’re really just deluding yourselves. I’m sorry to have to break this to you, but a writer that relies on blatantly lying to the audience, changing his own established rules and contorting his characters and plots into unnatural shapes to makes his stories work, whilst continuously making false promises that a future episode will one day make sense of all of this convoluted chaos, at the end of the day is just a bad writer.

When I think of Doctor Who Series 6, all I can think of is wasted potential. The Doctor dying, the Silence, and even River Song could have been something really interesting. And while there were some bright spots along the way (The Doctor’s Wife and The Girl Who Waited), Series 6 was ultimately a lacklustre experience, and The Wedding Of River Song just wasn’t a satisfying conclusion no matter how you try and spin it.

I am like….90% sure I’m going camping this Friday. 

It depends a bit on the weather, but I’m mostly packed, I’ve cooked food that’s currently waiting in the freezer, and I have acquired the third Diane Mott Davidson book to read. 

The plan is to leave work early, catch the train to the campground, camp overnight, and in the morning hike out to a different train station further down the line, about a seven-mile trek, to do a longer endurance test than last weekend’s. Then I’ll catch the train home around noon on Saturday.

If something goes wrong, I can catch an evening train home on Friday until eight o’clock, or starting in the morning at 5:30, with little to no exertion. It’s pretty low-risk and I’m well stocked. I don’t have a sleeping pad, but my backpack has a partial one built-in, and I have one arriving tomorrow (though it might be too bulky, we’ll see). And honestly in this heat, I might just sleep on top of my sleeping bag in any case. 

Worst case scenario, the campground has heated, lockable shower cubicles with nice big floors. I’ve slept on worse. 

Caaaaaaamping! *jazz hands*

Ice Ice Baby chapter 3: A Not So Lonely Path

Summary: Juvia has started a journey that she’s always wanted. A journey to become a mother. But can she really do it by herself? What will she do when an unexpected blizzard changes everything?

Ice Ice Baby will post every Sunday

NOTE: Gray will be a little OOC for a few chapters. But this is an AU, so yeah, he’s not going to be his moody self. But that part will come, I’m already there in my writing so I promise. This won’t last long! – Also! In this universe, the song Ice Ice Baby does not exist.

Previous Chapters: All | 1 | 2

Apparently, Gray’s father had used the same speech on Gray’s friends as they grew up, especially girls, to embarrass Gray. Natsu was in on it from the beginning, and still did it to this day.

“You’re horrible,” Lucy mumbled as she gave Natsu the burger patties that were ready for the grill.

“Oh, come on. I just got beat up,” he did, his right eye was starting to turn purple, “you should make me feel better.”

She glared at him, “You deserved it.”

Natsu pouted, he went out to the backyard where his grill was smoking with his head hung low, trying to make her pity him.

“Not going to work,” Lucy went to organize the condiments on the kitchen island, completely ignoring his whine as he slammed the back door.

On the other side of the kitchen, Juvia was putting plates on the table when Gray walked into the room. He smiled at Juvia before telling Lucy, “Thanks again for letting me stay.”

“No problem,” Lucy was placing the fresh tomato slices in a neat pile on her watermelon plate, “We’re happy to have you. And sorry again for-”

“No. Don’t apologize,” he shook his head, his hair swooshing from side to side, “I’m honestly too used to it to care and should have seen it coming.”

“OK, good,” she nodded, walking around to put the fixings on the table, “go on and sit down while we wait. You too, Juvia.”

“Let Juvia help,” the blue haired woman puffed out her cheeks. Lucy wouldn’t let her do anything.

“No. You’re our guest too, sit!”

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The Masks We Wear (7/?)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6


Thanks, as always to @coffeewithcaptainswan​ for beta’ing

Previously on The Masks We Wear

Emma Swan AKA The Saviour and Killian Jones AKA Hook AKA The Survivor are in love. They just don’t know it yet. A series of unfortunate events led to The Saviour rejecting The Survivor’s advances, leaving them both in turmoil. But right now they’ve got bigger fish to fry. The Evil Queen has revealed that The Dark One intends to control the world using The Dagger and they need to stop him before it’s too late …

“Well, I’m sorry, Hook, but I don’t want you.”

“When Killian came over the following night for Netflix she was going to call him out on his innuendo and ask him for that side order of “chill” he’d always promised.”

“He had blurted out he was in love with Emma then tried to convince The Saviour to give him a chance. This surely went beyond bad form.”

“The Dark One wants the entire world at his mercy. Superheroes included.”

I don’t want Emma Swan… I don’t want Emma Swan… I don’t want Emma Swan…

The words echoed through Emma’s head. She had to concentrate hard on not feeling anything, on keeping her magic under control and at bay. The effort was overwhelming her and the rest of the meeting with Regina was passing her by in a haze.

“We’re agreed,” Regina said, “the day after tomorrow, Hook and I will infiltrate Gold’s labs to -”

“Wait, what?” Emma’s head shot up. The lights blinked around her, Regina looked unimpressed at her reaction.

“Decided to participate now, have we Saviour?” Regina’s lips were pursed and her eyebrows raised in irritation.

Emma had seen that look on her face a million times, it was almost always followed by a terse Miss Swan , Emma hated when Regina called her that - but at least Regina didn’t know who she was to do that this time.

“If you’d paid any attention to what was going on you’d know that only two of us can go into Gold’s. We’ve only got two cuffs to protect us from Gold’s security system that includes special modules that interfere with our powers. I have to be one because I’m your ticket in, we agreed that Hook would be the other.”

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