last beam

Just Like That

Chapter One

(Prologue)

Pairing: Natan

Rating: Mature (for later chapters)

A/N: @leafno​ wrote a pretty hefty chunk of this chapter and it fit so perfectly I couldn’t bring myself to change it, so with her permission I left it in! Everything she wrote will be hyperlinked to her blog.

And I’ve been travelling through the dirt and the grime, from the past to the future, through the space and the time.

—Grateful Dead, “Any Road”


6 Years Later, March

“The day is almost over, yaa shabab, but it’s not done yet. Get your asses in gear and get that last beam up and you all can go home.”

There was a collective groan from the men stationed in a staggered circle, ready to depart for the day, and Lucifer glanced over his shoulder at the setting sun, still scorching its path across the sand with no absence of spite about its descent beneath the horizon. He turned to follow his co-workers further into the site to finish the day’s job and lifted the rim of his hard hat to wipe the sweat and dirt from his brow.

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2

I think when Past Dean shows up, Endverse!Cas is all goofy, happy, and silly (even more than normal) because he's remembering the person he fell in love with. Not the man who stands beside him, resigned to the fact that they will die together fighting Lucifer; whom he has given his life and love to.

The Dean that stole Castiel’s heart and wings, free of the scars that now leave him solemn and jaded. He’s here. He's still the optimistic, find-a-way, all or nothing man that has not yet decided his humanity is an acceptable sacrifice for freedom. He is the person who showed Cas the true beauty in Earth and all its inhabitants.

Here, he stands before him; reminding Castiel that there were better times and the past wasn’t just a perfect dream. They share so many memories that have once again come to life with Past Dean’s presence. It gives Castiel one last beam of light to carry with him at the very end, a flicker of sentiment brighter than all the cloudy echoes he finds in a pill. The past Dean, his Dean, is the best high he’s ever had.

Smile at your spouse

When was the last time you beamed at your spouse or saw your spouse smiling lovingly at you? Okay, I shouldn’t have asked that question because you’d probably need to time travel back into the ancient past. Smile when you open the door to your tired husband, smile when you get to see your wife after a long day at work, smile at the mother/father of your child for giving you such a beautiful gift; let your smile be the last thing your spouse sees before they close their eyes to sleep. Smile because there’s no reason not to.

anonymous asked:

38 for sanvers

38). cop/person getting a speeding ticket au
send me a ship and a number! 

It’s not that Maggie wasn’t up for a car chase at three in the morning, it’s that she’s on a stakeout when it happens. The noise of the motorcycle flying by scares away her prime suspect. The suspect she’d chased across three county lines for two weeks on a drug smuggling charge. They were right in her sights, she could see them standing on the fire escape attempting to get away.

It took Maggie too long to get out her badge so she huffed in defeat, making a mental note to write the rider a ticket, if she could catch them. She pulled her car out of the alley, flashing her high beams one last time to scare off anything else from the area. Checking both ways before she turns out, another blur speeds by. 

“Another one?” she yells as she turns on her lights and starts after them. They seem to have no intention of stopping. The driver gets cocky enough to turn around and look at Maggie instead of paying attention the road ahead. The driver veers off the road, into a pile of garbage and two trashcans. The skidding and clanging is an unpleasant echo in the early morning air. Maggie hopes they’re not hurt as she quickly unbuckles herself and runs over to assist them.

“Hey, you okay there night owl?” she laughs, extending her hand. She retracts it when she realizes the driver can’t get up. They’re laying on their side, curled around a trash bag full of household scraps. Maggie steps in to take off their helmet, she’s surprised when they don’t resist her doing so. 

Short hair falls from the helmet, she didn’t expect the face attached to it. It was Alex, as in Alex Danvers, National City’s most evasive speedster. Alex was slowly coming to, her head stops spinning long enough to know she’s been caught. She scrambles among the garbage but the shooting pain in her side stops her from moving any more than a few centimeters.

“Oh no, you’re coming with me Danvers, well I mean with me to the hospital then to the station so we can get you an attorney.”

Alex waves Maggie off, her head and her side hurting too much for her to pay attention to the gloating cop beside her.

“Just get me an ambulance,” she mumbles, slumping back onto the ground. Maggie grins as she gets out her phone, calling for an ambulance and a couple extra officers to track down the person Alex was riding behind.

“You know, this is my thirty fifth ticket of the month,” Maggie brags to James as he helps her get Alex’s bike out of the garbage pile.

“We all know that Sawyer, you’re not one to let things like this go easily,” he eyes over to Alex.

“What are you implying Olsen?” she glares, clicking her pen and putting it back in her pocket. James smirks, knowing he has her attention now.

“For as long as you’ve been trying to catch her, and the information you know about her and her case, some people might say you have a crush on her.”

“Shut your mouth before I write you up for disrespecting an officer.”

“Sable. The barking annoys us more than it scares the squirrels.” Bucky sighed as he finished nailing the last beam for the frame of the house. It was slow work considering it was just the two of them, but he was proud of how it was coming along. He smiled over at Natasha, “Another two weeks without any weather problems and we might get to move in.”

@punchyourwayout

Small Problems || Open

Spock was the last one to get beamed up from the surface. The transporter took slightly longer to beam him up, less than a second extra, but something definitely happened. The vulcan had been an adult male when he left the planet, just as the others, but unlike rest of the team, he didn’t return in that form.

The person that materialized on the transporter pad wasn’t the vulcan that had left the ship. This was a child, a child standing in a pile of a Starfleet uniform. Though the blue science shirt was still on him, but it looked more like some kind of dress with very long arms and that had slid down one of the boy’s shoulders.
If it hadn’t been for the dark hair cut in the traditional vulcan style and the pointed ears, they might have thought someone had switched Spock for someone else.

With large brown eyes, the boy looked around, seemingly confused, biting the inside of his lower lip to try and hinder himself from showing emotions. He didn’t succeed that well.


listen. this is how it goes.

you meet him. you meet him and you keep meeting him and meeting him and meeting him, because there are so many different sides to him you can scarcely keep track. there’s him when he’s working, solid and focused and fierce and ruthless, and there’s also him in the mornings, soft and a little blurred around the edges and draped into his dressing gown, and there’s him in the window, quiet and thoughtful and familiar, silhouetted by the late afternoon light streaming in, the line of his forearm, the way the last beams of the sun catch in his hair.

and he sees you. he sees you, the whole of you, in a way you’ve never been seen before, in a way you’ve barely dared to see yourself and you’re not sure what to make of that. you look up at the stars and he looks at you like you hung them there, and it’s heady, and intoxicating, and powerful, to be seen like that.

and he keeps you. relies on you, bargains with you, talks to you, he talks to you so often that he talks to you even when you aren’t there because there is somehow a part of him that can’t imagine you leaving him behind, even just to run to the shops. and you think, maybe.

he sees you in the fluorescent lights of an indoor city pool, and you see the look on his face when he sees you dressed in your own death and you think, maybe, yes.

—  darcylindbergh, in the ether, in the heavens
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“Pridemore! My boy!” an older gentleman calls out to Christopher from across the ballroom, his hearty voice slicing through the crowd like a knife.

“Senator Pryce!” Kit exclaims as he reaches out to shake his hand. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Indeed I am! My wife had a baby last week,” he beams at them proudly. “It’s our first child, and I want to make the most of it. My staff can handle business in the capital until I return.”

“My grandmother mentioned that you and your wife were expecting! How… exciting,” Christopher smirks. “Is she here with you tonight?”

“Juliet? Oh no, no, no, no. She wouldn’t dream of leaving the baby so soon. To be totally frank with you, neither would I, but Jules insisted that I at least make an appearance this evening. ‘If it’s important to your career, then it’s important to me’,” Edward chortles, mimicking Juliet’s nasally, high pitched whine. “But in all seriousness, she is a wonderful wife. And such a happy, doting little mother, too! I am truly blessed to have her in my life.”

Kit nods politely in agreement, and after exchanging a few more niceties the senator excuses himself to go greet some of the other guests.

“How do you know him?” Madeleine asks as Christopher draws her toward him for a kiss.

“Edward is an old friend of my grandparents,” he shrugs. “He practiced law with my grandfather, I believe, before he became involved in politics.”

“He seems nice,” Maddie remarks.

“You’d probably like his wife, too. Maybe once our little bundle arrives I can set up a play date so you two can get to know each other.”

“If you want,” she smiles at him absently. “However, I’m not sure-”

“Madeleine?”

Maddie freezes mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she slowly turns around. It couldn’t possibly be…

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“I Don’t Care”

I MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE WRITTEN A FIC BASED ON @merdeandmore​‘s EARLIER PROMPT:

anyone gonna write the future fic where iris marries eddie and they move out of central city and then x number of years later she meets barry again?


The last time she’d seen him, it was through the gauzy haze of her veil. She remembered the racing staccato of her heart, how it made every step she took a bit shakier than the last.

Eddie beamed at the end of the aisle, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. And to his right, Barry Allen appraised her with a hard smile and wet eyes. His heart raced, too, but with dread. It caught in his throat, thudding unevenly as the steps she took pushed her further from him.

If you were to ask her guests, Iris’ tears were just proof of the earth-shattering happiness she felt. And Barry’s were those of a dutiful best man, who just happened to be very close with the bride.

“I do,” she whispered, ring weighing heavily on her slender finger. Eddie mirrored her answer.

But when she risked a glance at Barry, at that practiced facade he held steady –

How odd that it matched hers perfectly.

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'They fell in love, didn´t they?' - 'Yes they did.'- Fanfic

Dan x Phil One Shot

The sun is shining through the window, warming his face with what are probably going to be last pure beams of sunlight. It is late autumn and the year is slowly dying, just like he is. He can feel it in his aching bones and muscles and through is fading sight. He takes his medicine, a cocktail of pills and capsules and almost immediately feels a little better. A little relief for his heart which isn´t working properly anymore. He looks outside the window again, watching the last leaves falling of a tree nearby. He feels tired of this life and incomplete since his best friend died. He hears the backdoor being opened and his little grandson comes running into the kitchen.

“Grandpa, grandpa! My car isn´t working anymore.” He yells excited and hands him his Toy RC. The old man takes a quick look at the car through his thick glasses. He turns it on and off again, but the car makes nothing more than a dying humming noise.

“Ah, don´t worry, sweetheart, I can fix this.” He says tenderly. “Just go and bring me my screwdriver from the cupboard in the hallway.”

The boy quickly runs into the hallway and the old man can hear him rummaging in the drawers, followed by a loud bang as he closes them. The boy comes back into the kitchen, holding the screwdriver in one and an old photo in his other hand.

“Grandpa?” he asks curious “Why is there a picture of two boys in your drawer?” The old man slowly walks over and takes a look at the old photo. A big smile brightens his face and brings back a radiant shine to his hazel eyes.

“I´ve once known them! But that was many years ago.” He explains, still looking at the faded photo.

“Really? I want to hear about them!” The boy has already forgotten about his car and urges his grandpa to tell him about the two pale boys.

“Well, let me think for a moment. Where do we begin our story…?” Murmurs the old man more to himself than to the boy, while slowly walking over to his rocking chair in the lounge. The small boy follows him, patiently waiting for the story to begin. He climbs onto an old armchair, while the old man sits on his rocking chair, letting out a relieved sigh. He slowly starts rocking back and forth and eventually starts telling the story.

“Now, I think we have to go all the way to the year 2009. The boys had known each other for a while, skyping for hours, but never met until the 19th of October 2009. It was one of the best days of their life. Finally meeting the person they shared all their secrets with, the person to whom they felt closer than anybody else, the person that understood and accepted their personality with all its flaws and weaknesses. It was the very next day they filmed their first YouTube video together. It was the start of something truly amazing. Some people said, they were like night and day. Well, I´m not sure about that, for all I know is, that when they were together they did shine brighter than the breaking dawn after a raging storm.”

“They fell in love, didn´t they?” the small boy interrupts the old man, excitement and fascination glowing in his eyes.

“Yes, they did.” He replies and he can´t help but smile.

“What happened next?”

“They moved in together. They lived in Manchester for about a year before they moved to London in August 2011. All this time they kept on making YouTube videos. Their community grew more and more over the years and they build a world of their own around them. They hosted a Radio Show, they wrote a book, and they went on a worldwide tour. But they never forgot how they started, how they first met and most of all they never forgot they could never have done it without having their soulmate by their side. And over the year’s life happened. They built a home, got married and started a family. It got a quieter around them and one day, they said goodbye to the internet.”

“Grandpa, you didn´t tell me their names. Who were they?”

“Well, sweet Dil, their names were Dan and Phil.” Says the old man almost ceremoniously. The boy lets out a surprised ‘Oh!’ that is followed by a painful recognition in his eyes. He jumps from the armchair and crawls on the lap of the old man. He hugs him tightly, his short arms not being able to reach around the tummy of the man. “Do you miss Grandpa Phil?” he whispers.

“More than you can imagine, little Dil, more than you can imagine.” He whispers back, while tears slowly run down his face. Dan hugs his grandson and keeps on rocking back and forth, trying to find comfort in the steady rhythm. He thinks about the life he had with Phil, knowing it was a happy and fulfilling one. 

 

~And will I tell you these three lived happily ever after? I will not, for no one ever does. But there was happiness. And they did live. ~ Stephen King

if everyone who participated in the epithet asks formed into one chaotic deity, here is your hymn

with a retinue of ghosts, with eyes like torches, cloaked in rain mist, crowned in marble, armed with stone and storm, with words limned in fire, dweller in violet meadows, of the crystal serpent, with sidereal speech, with a mind inked in moonlight, gowned in the memories of cities, veiled in frost, constructed of lacunae, descendant of the muses, with thoughts forged in stars, blooming in the undergrowth, veiled in deep sea, with voice of winter, of whirling winds, with the mossy armor, who blooms in ashes and stone, who walks in the last beam of sunlight, who went beneath the earth and returned, with a sword of ice, in whose footsteps are hyacinths, who calms the seas for travelers, wielder of sunlight, who can sing the music of the spheres, winged with steel, with gleaming wit, of sylvan shade, who walks the sun-dappled forest, to whom statues bow, who speaks like the sea, volcano-born, haunter of woodland pools, who walks upon sunset clouds, who speaks in the whispers of pines, whose song fire obeys, steadfast in sunlight and fog, whose eyes reflect nebulae, who weaves a web of moonlight, in whose wake autumn murmurs, with glittering scales, born from gales, sparkling like the plains of the sea, with a mantle of first snow, treader of the ripples of time, protector of birds, of subtle illumination, whose words bloom like wildflowers, rose-born, winged with rain, for whom the fields and forests part, who wanders on seafoam, protector of the shades, who sings to time and is answered, who runs on the wings of the wind, glittering by night, of the eldritch shadow, cloaked in ivy, who haunts the misted precipice, who reads by the eclipse, who walks through brambles untouched, whose shield is the salt sea, whose song is clearest and brightest, who fares the paths of fire, crowned with bloodstone, kindler of the beacon, of the iridescent speech, who inhabits the upper air, who resurrects the faded, shrouded in winter shadows, who warms the void, with arrows of flint and crystal, who guides the night sky, in whose path bells resound, who dwells beside dark waters, who flies in wild winds, protector of hollows, who guards the dreams of cities, who glows brightest by night, who clarifies the waters, bearer of the sunlit sword, guardian of thresholds, who appears in the light of dawn, who smiles upon rampant gardens, emerald-throned, of the gilded phrases, translucent-winged, with a malachite mind, sleeper in the shadows of waves, who grows poppies in the ruins, of the navigator’s star, with mist-soft heart, whose path is lit by fireflies, whose song echoes in ravines, of the clovered hills, with hawthorn spear, whose wings are whispers, with eyes of dusk, who dwells on the horizon, whose aegis is the evening star, speaker of the ephemeral, herder of wild stars, tempest-winged, who weaves the cosmic filaments, born of the cascade, attended by kindness and justice, jeweled in prisms, who keeps the archives of sunlight, who defends the high towers, who sings the orchards to flower, of the fragrant coronet, of the smiling shadow, gilded with roses, who pours light onto snow, with leopard-drawn chariot, who quickens withered words, who glimmers in gloom, charmer of crows, who dwells beneath the evergreen, arrayed in amethysts, who cherishes nightfall, starred with asphodel, shimmering-winged, who wanders through lilacs, whose voice is burnished gold, who paints the meadows with morning light, who wakes in wind and water, who fosters phantoms, summoner of ravens, crowned in honey-bright sun, of the ruby blade, who glides through moonlit colonnades