old satchel

The werecat was right: this is stupid


Gravity Falls was a sleepy town. Which….. was a nice change from the constantly awake Berk.

Still….. looking around it was like a reverse version of his home…. Berk was loud and rough…. this place was like where grandparents considered retiring.

Hiccup was stuck because Stoick seemed to be needed here and already was somehow busy finishing neglected works in this small town.

So that left Hiccup to Explore.

Back in Berk he could wander the greens, look for trolls and pretend there were dragons and fae. He even practiced sword play, sure it was a bit whimsical for a Seventeen year old now a small satchel filled with a sketchbook, notebook and colored pencils. A beanie and headphones on, Toothless at his side (honestly the greatest cat in the world, his loyal best friend that looked like a werewolf, truely an honorary familiar, as toothless would pure and meow in agreement)

He would always be stopped short from getting into the forest now.

People would either stop him fear in their eyes.

“It is unsafe! No one lives in there!”

Or with genuine arrogance and anger.

“You are not permitted to enter!” Hiccup would raise an eyebrow.

“And why not?”

“The owner of the forest does not allow strangers in the forest!” Hiccup rolled his eyes…. well meeting the owner was an adventure as any…. besides maybe it was just PART of the forest.

“Then I must meet him!” Hiccup smiled happily, utter bull shit but it got the answer he wanted.

So off he went towards the mansion of the forest.

Gleeful mansion.

God’s more like dreadful. Hiccup watched the Lyokai cat take a head start, head up and body tight as it moved and stalked scoping the area.

Hiccup let him.

What animal could be dangerous enough to harm his cat and not be outwitted and scratched?

Toothless found the answer in a tent.

His hackles high as he made a low growling nose and back away.


Hello everyone, I’m posting from a mac which is very confusing hence the briefness. The place we’re staying at is lovely so we took some photos in the front yard today <3 I hope everyone’s enjoying the holidays, I for one will be quite sad when my little staycation with moosh is over!


ASOS Co ord, similar here in tartan  //  Vintage silk blouse  //  Tabbisocks over knee socks  //  Clarks brogues via the most wonderful Marie <3  //  Old Modcloth satchel 

anonymous asked:


     - - > memory about their significant other

    She saw her. Three hours before Isabel heard the gunshot echo down the street, she saw thin, withdrawn Johanna through the filmy glass of a café window; she was wearing Isabel’s favorite blue dress, and her golden chignon was unkempt. Isabel stood in the shadows for half an hour, a vial of poison in her pocket and a scarf covering the bandages that swathed her face, imagining herself sitting across from her wife. In her imagination, she was smiling easily and painlessly at the light of her life as she pulled her notebook from her old leather satchel to share another day’s discoveries with her.

    It wasn’t to be. Johanna was gone, having abandoned Isabel of her own accord, and now she was reading the newspaper that detailed Isabel’s latest murders in a nightclub in Berlin over her tea. For a moment, just one, Isabel’s hand slipped into her pocket, thumbing the smooth glass of the vial. All she would have to do was open the door and throw, and it would all be over. Her ghosts would stop haunting her, resigned to the cold, organized space in her mind where she filed away each of her victims’ names.

    But she couldn’t. Not after Johanna’s sad, pretty eyes turned toward the shadows where Isabel stood, staring emptily into the air. She looked away again, and Isabel stood frozen until she remembered where she was, who she was, and walked away on shaky legs.

Submitted by Nathan Beers

External image

I am a home-based analyst, and most days I walk or ride my motorcycle down to a park or coffee shop to work. I have everything I might need in this bag for work or play and it all weighs in at less than 13 lbs. A few notes on these items: -I ALWAYS have the Architect Wallet (with Space Pen and Moleskine notebook), iPhone with case, and Leatherman on my person. The rest still comes with me everywhere I go, but could be 10-15’ away at any given time. I have Tile locators on my bag, bluetooth speaker, and glasses case (this last one has been a real lifesaver!) -I searched for years for a bag to replace an old satchel I’d sewn back together half a dozen times over the past 10 years and finally settled on this Bluboon Backpack. I love the style, it’s fairly small while still able to carry everything I need, and it cost less than $40! I have had to strengthen a few of the stitches, but it’s worth it! -The Maxpedition Micro Pocket Organizer contains toiletry and first aid hand items. -The 145g Discraft is by far the best small size frisbee I have ever used. It flies as well as a regulation size 175g disc, but saves space in my bag. -The Eno Sub7 is a new release hammock that weighs just 6.9oz, less than half the weight of their Singlenest. It’s perfect for a go bag! -The Matador is another new find. It’s a super compact picnic blanket. Perfect for keeping in my bag and throwing out on some damp grass. -I’ve hacked the car keys and mounted a transponder on the steering column so that I can use a plain metal key without the plastic head. This allows me to fit my keys into the super compact True Utility Key Shackle. -I’ll often throw in my AEO Vintage Denim Western Shirt which works great as a stylish and comfortable extra layer when needed. -Any recommendations on a more compact umbrella?

thedoctoryouwerentexpecting  asked:

Have you any Eight During the time war headcanons?

  • When Eight tells Molly “I don’t want to be fighting a war”, it’s as much a cry for help as it is him admitting to himself that the war is inevitable. 
  • He runs into Destriianatos once, much older and still gorgeous and oh-so-clever, and she’s leading a massive interstellar resistance faction against the Dalek forces. He’s so proud of her when he sees how agreeable she’s become. But she hasn’t changed, not really, she’s still the same old Destrii, and he realises with some horror that she hasn’t become more like him, he has become more like her. 
  • During “Legacy”, the earlier Doctors mostly just stay the hell away from Eight and don’t even want to know what happened to him to make him that bitter. After Eight quietly befriends Rory in Apalapucia, the two of them end up spending of lot of time together, and they try to get through the whole adventure without getting too close to anyone else — they’re wise enough to know that they’re not going to remember any of this Sontaran time crash weirdness anyway once it’s over.
  • The night he collapsed into the arms of his younger self at lake Geneva, seeing this happy bouncy cheerful Doctor with all his fancy clothes and his hair and his smile, and knowing that he’d never be that person again — until he met Cass, that was the worst night of his life. 
  • He keeps Nyssa’s old interocitor in his satchel. Always. He never listens to Lucie’s message anymore, but it’s there. 
  • He still visits Grace occasionally. It stops being fun when the stars they used to watch together fade slowly from existence, one by one. She doesn’t notice. He doesn’t tell her. 
  • Sometimes, just sometimes, he wonders how Davros is doing.
  • And many centuries later, on the Sunlight Worlds, Eleven comes really, really close to just punching the Dalek Time Controller right in the plunger. 

This afternoon I drew my dads old work bag which he would have used around my age, it’s battered with age but still works, even with rusty locks. 

I recently just passed 250 followers on here, so would like to thank you wonderful people for following my page and helping me out. Some of you may know about my painting series I’m currently working on. I’m creating 12 paintings for a body of work to then make prints/sell to start making a living through fine art. So that’s my current goal to start making money from my art. I would love to hear from my followers about their current goals, so post reply’s telling me your goals.

AU where Darcy is Thranduil's wife part 1 the meeting

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather one of the servants go down instead?” Jane worriedly fussed as she wrapped a cloak around her friend’s shoulders. The once astrophysicist insisted on helping her friend dress much to the displeasure of the maids hanging about.

In the corner of her eye, Darcy nudged her head and made the maids huff and leave. With no audience to reprimand them, Darcy turned to address her best friend, boss and now Queen.

“Janey,” Darcy began and Jane relaxed a bit, becoming royalty had prevented the easy informal way the two interacted into something stiff outside bed chambers, “I haven’t been to Earth since your wedding. Going to the liquor store shouldn’t be that hard.”

“I know,” Jane admitted, fiddling with a loose seam in her dress, “but Thor’s reports talk of a civil war.”

And that’s the crux of the issue. Had there not been large tensions between between the founding members of the Avengers, Jane wouldn’t be forced to stay in Asgard. But alas there was tension and a surprise pregnancy which made Jane reluctantly ask her friend to do this favor for her.

Grabbing her queen’s hands, which were once calloused from hauling her own scientific equipment and were now as soft as a baby’s bottom, in her own, Darcy could only comfort her.

“It’s a simple pick up, you said you were craving chocolate,” Darcy’s tone was light and teasing.

“If it’s so simple, then I shall have one of the servants do it, Darcy.” Jane regally mocked, her stoic face breaking as the two giggled.

Darcy rolled her eyes and pulled a proper curtsy, and snobbishly replied.

“As the head handmaiden of the Queen of Asgard, it is my duty to fulfill all of your wishes.”

“By Einstein, Darcy you are beginning to sound like them!” Jane snorted in a manner ill-fitting the Queen. 

“By Einstein? Who even says that Jane?” Darcy smirked. She guided her friend to her bed as she looked for her old satchel. 

“I’m the Queen! I can say whatever I want!” Jane pouted as she laid on the bed. The Queen of the Stars and Science idly watched her friend scurry around grabbing little things like old credit cards, cash, and her taser all of which wasn’t needed in Asgard but needed for a trip to earth.

“As my lady commands.” Darcy sarcastically says.  Satisfied with what she placed in her bag, Darcy stretches her hand out to help her friend out of the bed.

The two women exit the private chambers and head towards the Bifrost with several handmaidens trailing the Queen and head handmaiden. 

“Heimdall.” Jane nodded her head at the Watcher of the Realms.

“My Queen.” Heimdall deeply bowed.

“Hurry back and be careful, you understand?” Jane’s brow furrowed and she hugged her friend tightly.

“Whoa, my lady, it’s just a quick trip to Earth and back.” Darcy hugged her friend and threw a confused glance to Heimdall who simple stared back.

“I’m serious Darce. I have this weird feeling and given the things we’ve been through together, I want you to be careful.” Darcy raised a brow but nodded as she listened to her friend. Squeezing her friend once last time, Darcy moved away and calls out, 

“Beam me down, Scotty.”

Bright colors engulfed Darcy and blinded all but Heimdall from Darcy’s departure.


Once her vision was cleared, Darcy immediately noticed one thing. She was not any where near a damned connivence store, or even a town.

“What the hell?” Darcy swore.

Green. Green. Green. Green everywhere. Green leaves, green plants, trees higher than any trees she has every seen, including the trees found in Alfheim.

Looking from side to side, Darcy could not see any signs of civilization, perhaps Heimdall dropped her off in the wrong place?

No, Darcy immediately thinks, Heimdall doesn’t put you in the wrong place. Pulling her shoulders back, Darcy took a deep breath and began moving in one direction. Only one thought ran through her mind.

If Heimdall wasn’t wrong where on earth, if it was earth, could she be?


Thranduil’s mind was filled with grief. His father, his king, his only remaining kin was gone. Gone until Thranduil sailed west. Surveying the remaining soldiers, the newly crowned king, Thranduil was tempted to join his family. How was he to rule the Greenwood if his father was not there to guide him?

The survivors of the Battle of Dagorlad wearily marched back to their homes in the wood. Their once glistening armor, and proud countenance was wilted. Not even the healing of Imladris could ease their weary souls in the way that Greenwood the Great could.

As the company neared the forest they called home, Thranduil felt his entire being slightly relaxing. The Greenwood King called out to his soldiers and felt his lips curl a little as his people cheered and began to sing. Perhaps things would be better now that they were back in the safety of the wood.


“Fuck the woods!” Darcy snarled as she tripped over a lifted root. 

The head handmaiden had been wandering around lost in the forest for several hours and she had yet to see an exit. If it were not for the extensive training she received as being the only intern for a scientist and a queen, Darcy would have given up in exhaustion ages ago. Still, after pushing branches away from her face, Darcy’s body felt fatigue.

“I swear when I see Heimdall I will kick his ass.” Darcy promised to herself as she stopped in front of a tree. 

Kicking her impractical flats off, Darcy picked up the hems of her dress and swiftly sat down at the base of the trunk.

Leaning her head against the hard tree, Darcy was unaware of the creature that followed her through the forest. She failed to hear the hissing as fangs grew.


The river was in sight. Thranduil signaled for the company to stop and got off his mount and brought it to the river.

With the river here, our home is but a few hours away, Thranduil thought. A few of the elves knelt at the river to take sips of water. Others were talking in low tones, and the rest with singing mournful songs as they thought of their fallen kin.

When one of his personal guards hands him a cloth to scrub away the grim that accumulated on his face, Thranduil gracefully moved away from his company and towards a more private end of the river.

Had he not been there, Thranduil would have never heard the muffled screams that echoed in his woods.


Darcy’s heart pounded so violently in her chest, she was certain that it would launch itself at the giant spider in a suicidal attempt.

Never taking her eyes off the damned eight legged creature, Darcy groped at her satchel looking for something to use. 

To her dismay, the creature was slowly crawling ever close making Darcy shiver at the thought of the hairy legs coming anywhere near her body.

A quick glance downwards at her bag showed nothing that would be of use…except her old car keys. She wrapped her fingers around it and pointed the sharp (though it was really dull) edges towards the spider.

Recognizing what little threat the shiny sticks in the woman’s hands were, the spider scurried rapidly towards the cowering female ready to devour her.

Until a long, sharp, glimmering blade sliced the damned thing in half.

Darcy opened her eyes, (when did she close them?), and was amazed at the sight before her.

A man, tall and lithe with long flowing locks stood triumphantly over the defeated spider. Placing a booted heel on the spider, the man wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword and yanked it out.

Darcy had to rub her eyes before she realized that yes the man was glowing with a warm light engulfing him.

“Are you hurt?” Thranduil tilted his head and glanced at the mortal woman in concern. 

“What did you say?” Darcy crinkled her brow. That wasn’t any language she knew.

“What sort of mortal does not understand Westron?” Thranduil asked himself as he cautiously came closer to the shaking woman.

“Fucking hell, he’s hotter than Thor.” Darcy stilled as the man knelt in front of her.

The blond held his hands out in a non threatening manner and began speaking in an airy language that lulled Darcy into a calm state. 

Shaking her head when the man threw another question at her, Darcy began to rise from where she had been sitting. 

Placing her hands on her chest, Darcy slowly said, “Darcy.”

Then she pointed her hand at the blond’s chest. The man’s eyes widened when he realized what she was trying to convey.

“Thranduil.” He mimicked the woman. 

These Letters

The car cut smoothly down the road, the radio humming softly along with the engine. Fingers drummed against the dashboard and a map crinkled and crunched as it was studied. 

“Who’s idea was it it to go camping anyway?” Killian asked.

Yours,” Emma said, shooting him a look, her eyes darting off the road for a single second.

“Your’s and my fathers and Robin’s. Really, I don’t see why we couldn’t wait till summer to go camping. It’s like zero degrees outside. We’re literally going to freeze to death.”

“Well then I guess I’ll just have to hold you extra close, hmm?”

Emma let out a surprised laugh as he wiggled his eyebrows at her. 

“I have to focus on driving, Killian!”

“Well I’m sorry the thought of us all cuddled up gets you so distracted.”

He was impossible, Emma thought shaking her head at him. Her eyes were lit up, though, and she sent a smile in his direction. 

What a perfect idiot to be in love with.

She opened her mouth to say so when headlights suddenly flashed on blindingly right in front of her. Someone was driving on the wrong side of the road and headed straight towards them!

Killian screamed as she swerved to avoid the other driver. The larger truck scrapped against the side of the yellow bug giving it momentum to flip once and then land on it’s side. Glass shattered and metal crunched.

The radio went died and the crinkling map finally fell silent as it rested on the blood spattered dashboard.


The white of the hospital was blinding. Machines beeped and whirred and iv’s dripped. Even with all the small noises, the chatter between doctors and nurses, the silence was deafening.

Killian sat by Emma’s bedside, stoking her cut up hand and willing her to open her eyes. His arm was in a sling and a bandage covered a gash on his forehead but other then that, he’d come out of the car accident fairly unscathed.

Emma however…

Whale came through the doorway, chart in hand, grim look on his face.

“Anything?” he asked.

Killian shook his head, his eyes never leaving Emma’s face. Her whole left cheek was swollen and severely bruised. Cuts slashed all over her and several ribs were broken. It was awful, but typical car accident injuries. 

Only she hadn’t woken up. 

“How bad is it?” Killian asked.

“It’s hard to say until she wakes up,” Whale sighed.

“She will wake up, wont she?" 

His question was left hanging, unanswered. 

Won’t she?!“ Killian yelled. He jumped from his seat by Emma’s side his concern turning into rage as he turned on Whale. 

"You’re the doctor!" 

He grabbed the collar of the doctor’s scrubs and shook him.

Emma began coughing, halting Killian’s screaming. He turned back to her, hurrying to hold her hand in his. She moved stiffly, her face scrunching in pain even though she wasn’t even fully awake.

"Hey, baby,” Killian whispered. “Hey, you’re alright.”

Emma swallowed hard before her eye finally slid open and landed on him. He sighed happily at the sight of her green eyes.

She was awake.

She was awake and she was going to be just fine.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice hoarse. 

“Do I know you?" 


The weeks passed and the orange and brown leaves of Fall all sifted from their branches and floated to the ground. They were raked up, put in enormous garbage bags, and hauled away. 

Thanksgiving came and went and Christmas was just around the corner. 

Bit by bit, Emma got her memory back. She remembered her son and her parents and their lives. She remembered Storybrooke and the people that lived there. She even remembered her magic.

But she didn’t remember Killian. 

It was hell watching her reclaim her life and not be a part of it. Whale had said it was best if he kept his distance until she was familiar with everyone in her life. Wasn’t it selfish to halt the tremendous progress she was making only for her to remember him and no one else?

So he kept his distance, watching from afar. 

Emma looked at him with haunted and confused eyes whenever they passed or brushed shoulders at Granny’s. But she never said anything.

That is, until one morning when they ran smack into each other by the docks. Killian reached out to steady her as her arms windmilled and she teetered backwards.

"Careful there,” he said, quietly. 

“I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I didn’t see you.”

“Entirely my fault, love." 

Love. She was his love. She had his entire heart in her delicate and strong hands, but the second the word came out of his mouth, he knew it was a mistake.


“I want to remember,” Emma said, cutting him off. “I want to remember you. I found this.”

She fumbled with something in the pocket of her big coat. She withdrew a small picture, folded and creased by being folded and opened so many times. She handed it to him.

Killian swallowed hard.

It was a picture they’d taken only a couple day’s before the accident. It wasn’t particularly pretty; they were lounging on the couch in their pj’s with rumpled hair and eating straight out a box of Lucky Charms. But their hands we’re intertwined like they never wanted to let go.

“You must have loved me an awful lot,” Emma said, pulling him back to the present. 

“I still do,” Killian whispered, his voice breaking. 

He handed her back the picture. 

“I know. And that’s why I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore.”

His eyes flicked to hers. There were tears there, but her face was stone. He felt an iron vise clamp around his heart. The air left his lungs.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Emma whispered. “I’m doing this to help you.”

“Help me?” Killian ground out. “Cutting me completely out of your life? Never seeing you again?”

“I remember everything! Everyone, every painful detail of my whole entire life, but there’s just this big gaping black hole in my head. And that’s where you are. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to remember you and I can’t let you go on living and wishing that I’ll come back to you." 

He felt tears stinging his eyelids like acid and he quickly ran a hand over them to wipe them away before they spilled and left burning tracks down his cheeks. 

"I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

And then she was hurrying past him and away. Gone. Walking out of his life. If she had her way, they’d never see each other again. 

Killian felt like he was dying.


Emma sat on the couch at her parents apartment, her legs curled up to her chest, and coffee mug curled between her cold hands. She stared blankly ahead at the tv that was turned off, her mind blank. 

She wanted to feel again. Feel something other then this numbness and second guessing. What was memory and what was dream? 

There was a knock on the door, but before she could stand it flew open. Killian came striding in, an old leather satchel slung over his shoulder. 

“How did you get in?” Emma demanded, semi frightened. Last time she checked that door had been locked.

Instead of answering, Killian turned the satchel upside down over the coffee table. Hundreds upon hundreds of sheets or old yellowed paper came tumbling out, spilling everywhere. 

“These are letters,” he informed. “Letters I wrote any time I thought of you the year we were separated and you were in New York. Every feeling, every emotion, every thought I’ve ever had for you is in those letters.”

“Why are you giving them to me?” Emma asked. 

“Because I love you!” he cried. “I love you and I’m selfish, ok?! And I can’t just walk away from you forever without saying one more thing to you even though everyone thinks that would be the best.”

Killian stoops down and grabs a fistful of letters. 

“I nearly went mad without you, Emma. I’m going mad now! You don’t have to read the letters. You can sweep them into the garbage bin if you want! But I just needed to show you that forgetting you doesn’t work for me. I’ve tried! I tried desperately during that year and these letters happened.”

He let the letters fall through his fingers and back into the pile. 

“You can put me out of your life and I’ll respect that. But you’re it for me, Swan. There is no moving on.”

“I don’t want you to keep hurting,” Emma sobbed. 

“That’s my cross to bare,” Killian said. 

He turned to leave, stopping only to whisper a quick goodbye before sailing out the front door, his pounding footsteps on the stairs coming back up to meet Emma’s ears. 

She finally set her coffee mug down, wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her sweater. She sat forward and grabbed the first letter she saw. 

Emma didn’t know what she expected. Poems, sonnets maybe because Killian was so eloquent with his words. But it wasn’t. A lot of them were scratched and blotted and smeared, his bitter sentences filled with grief and longing. 

He was human. Raw, aching and flawed, this Killian Jones. 

She grabbed another letter from the pile, just a small ripped scrap of brown stained paper. It’s edges were curled and the ink was running, the four plainly printed words stood out like a flashing billboard sign though.

“Come back to me.”


Killian laid in the sand at the beach, the empty playground rising up high  above and behind him. Gulls cried as the sun hovered just above the seemingly never-ending water. 

The breeze felt good on his flushed face and the smell of the ocean was comforting. 

He wanted his flask of rum but he doubted that his old friend would  even be able to numb the pain he was now feeling. The pain demanded to be felt.

“Killian!” he heard a voice call. 

He pinched his eyes shut and told himself to stop. It wasn’t her calling his name. It was his mind playing cruel tricks on him. 

But then there it was again.

He sat up quickly, sand falling from his tousled hair as he looked up. Emma was tip-toeing down the path from the playground, her sneakers sliding in the loose sand. 

Killian pushed himself to his feet. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“Kiss me,” Emma said, coming to stand in front of him. 


“Kiss me so I can remember.”

“You’re not under a curse, Swan,” Killian said sadly. “I don’t think a kiss can fix this.”

“Isn’t it worth a shot, though?” Emma laughed, her nose running and tears dotting the corners of her eyes. 

Before Killian could respond she grabbed the lapels of his coat, dragging him to her. She pressed her moth hard to his, her lips moving fast, though searchingly. 

His hand slid into her hair and the other pulled her closer to him. 

When they pulled apart, he waited with baited breath.