WHAT EVER YOU DO, don’t think about them deciding to do a mother-son dance at their wedding despite Killian’s mom (probably) being long dead, so that Emma can dance with her son. And especially don’t think about Snow taking Killian’s hand and dragging him out onto the dance floor so that he isn’t left out. 

I mean, I never take this advice, so… 

dark gray (2/?)

summary: Killian operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

word count: ~2400

also found on: ff.net, ao3

catch up here: one


The second time she wakes in an unfamiliar bed, it hurts a hell of a lot more than it had the first time, which seems like it wouldn’t be the case, but it is.

The room is dark with the exception of the warm orange glow of the fire and instead of the screaming child, she hears only the fire crackling timidly. Emma sighs as she tosses her head to the side.

She supposes that she should be grateful that someone was able to help her, that she isn’t forced to deal with a broken leg and scarring in her forehead or the residual chills from nearly drowning in a freezing sea in the middle of a storm.

Keep reading

i want a spin off show called, “yuri’s revenge: featuring otabek” where it just shows yuri being angry and threatening to get revenge on jj and victor and just otabek in the background shaking his head.

anonymous asked:

Psst,,, how about the prime!cons doing secret santa? IF ITS ALREADY DONE then the bots??

This hasn’t been done before, you’re good! 

Knockout TFP

He’d take it very seriously, he’s going to be the best secret santa and everybody had better notice. He’d figure out everything he could about the person he was santa for, and would make sure the gift was perfect (he would also get super fancy with the wrapping/presentation) 

Breakdown TFP

He wouldn’t be quite as extreme as Knockout, but he’d still put a lot of effort into it. He’s not very good at fancy wrapping, but he tries his hardest to make sure his gift is meaningful 

Starscream TFP

He’s a total showoff, and he wants to impress who he was paired with. He’d use his rank to get his hands on something special and then brag about how ‘oh it wasn’t a big deal, barely even tried~’ .
What a ham

Airachnid TFP

She knows exactly what to get her partner, because she pays attention to everything. She has little trouble getting/making the item, and would present it with due flair 

Soundwave TFP

He’s always watching and listening, so no matter who he’s paired with, he knows what to do. He’d present his gift pretty plainly and silently, but with a cute card. He even signed it 

Megatron TFP

He thinks it’s all a bit silly, but he still participates and gets his partner a gift he knows they’ll like. He doesn’t like frivolities, but just this once it’s ok 

Shockwave TFP

He’ll engineer the weirdest gift no matter who he gets, you might not wanna be his partner….

Dreadwing TFP

He would part a lot pf thought and heart into his gift, even if he acted awkward about it. He might not give the gift in person, opting to leave the gift where his partner would find it on their own. If confronted about it he’d shrug it off and say it was no big deal  

Predaking TFP

He’d want the gift exchange to be very traditional and the gifts to be hand made, he enjoys it and thinks the whole thing is very special. He’d definitely enjoy finding out what his partner would want 

This is for @tinkbooklover and @iamgettingalife - I combined your prompts, because they worked brilliantly well together. I’m also not going to say what they are, here, because… well. You’ll see. Hope you guys enjoy!


Sgt. Miller’s voice was hollow; perfunctory. 

He could feel the words trying to shrink in his throat, desperate not to be voiced. The wrath of the woman before him was not among the least of his fears - but these days, it was getting more and more likely that she’d hear it from the jagged, accusatory voice of a restless citizen and not from someone who’d served her dutifully, who’d demonstrated his respect for her daily. She deserved better. 

“Ma’am, I think it’s time we –“ he started, swallowing the end of the sentence. He tried again: “Its been over a month.”

“Spit it out, Miller,” Abby sighed wearily as she examined the inventory charts she’d laid out on the council table. The noon sun cut sharply into the room from the high windows, casting deep shadows under the eyes of the Chancellor Pro Tempore, pupils dimmed by exhaustion. 

Miller gathered his courage. 

“If you want to run an election, that’s your choice, but I believe the people will be happy to serve you-“

“He’s coming back,” she snapped, eyes still locked on the paperwork below. 

He shook his head. 

“We haven’t heard from him in weeks.”

At this, he saw Abby raise her vision towards the radio at the centre of the table. It stood simply, receiver pointed at the sky; just as it had since the day Marcus left to negotiate a crucial trade deal with the Ice Nation that would supply them with wools and insulation for the coming winter. He and his company of guards had dutifully reported back to camp at the start and end of every day on their journey north; but once they crossed the border, they fell silent. At first, it was excused as a security measure, to keep a low profile. Their rendezvous with Roan had been scheduled for the fifth day of the journey; as the seventh day crept in with nothing but white noise to account for it, efforts began to be made to initiate contact. Raven had toyed with the radio in an effort to expand its reach, but ultimately it was decided that it would be better for them to stay on the same wavelength, with the same argument Abby clung to as a mantra: just in case.

Just in case was no longer enough. 

She swallowed, closing her eyes. Miller stood frozen, terribly unsure of anything he should do. 

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he offered. He was thankful, now, that Nate had been charged with guarding the perimeter of the camp while the Chancellor was away. He softened his voice, trying to remember how he used to speak to his son after one of his nightmares: “We all know how much he meant to you. We will support you in whatever way you need.”

He wasn’t sure it was true, but as he watched her briskly wipe away what she didn’t want him to know was a tear, he accepted the conviction that it would at least be true of him. 

She finally turned to face him, the corners of her mouth tight and fighting not to crumple into a pained grimace. Her eyes were soft, glistening in the light; but her jaw remained set. He wasn’t sure if she’d even noticed the single tear that crested and fell down her cheek. 

“Thank you, Miller,” she answered gently, her voice cracking with the effort of speaking. “But I won’t give up. Not yet.” 

He frowned at her. The silence between them was loud as they pleaded with one another and with themselves to be strong; unwilling to accept the other’s definition of that strength. Finally, it was Miller who broke the stare-down with an exasperated huff. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded in defeat, moving to exit the council chamber. 

He’d have to try again tomorrow. 

Now that he’d planted the seed, he hoped that a night’s rest would bring Abby to consider the virtue in it. He needed only to ride out this wave of courage, and he’d soon see stability blossom in the camp once more. 

He was three feet into the hallway when he heard it.

He stopped in his tracks. 

He raced back into the room, and the radio had been grabbed from its place at the centre of the table, now clutched desperately in Abby’s thin, shaking hands. Her eyes were wild, her gaze refusing to release its hold on the device as though it might evaporate otherwise. 

“Marcus?” she ventured, her voice trembling. She listened for a response. 

There it was again – a faint, crackling cough of static. And then another, this time longer. 

“Marcus, can you hear me?” she pleaded. She released the button to speak, finally acknowledging Miller’s presence in the room with a flicker of her eyes and a microscopic nod. Wide-eyed and breathless, the soldier watched as Abby continued to wait for response. 

The buzz of excitement in the room began to diminish as the silence lengthened, and Miller stepped forward.

“Abby, it could just be interference-“

“Shh,” she hissed, giving Miller a warning glare as she pressed the speaker button once more. “I’m here, Marcus. Please… please just say something. Come on - I’m right here. I’m right here.”

Miller’s shoulders slumped as once again she was met with silence. 

But then.

 There was another crackle of static, this time enriched with a short sound decidedly more organic – nothing longer than a breath, perhaps a fraction of a word. 

Miller blinked, drawing closer to the radio. 

“Abby. Did you…”

“I heard it,” she nodded, looking up at him now with a brightness he hadn’t seen in far too long. Her bitter tears of surrender from earlier were now overlain with the constant stream of joyful ones tumbling down her cheeks. “He’s alive.”

These last two words carried a kind of joy and disbelief that betrayed the truth of how well she understood - it should have been the opposite. She knew he should have been dead. Miller should have been right.

As the radio crackled yet again, he couldn’t have been more proud to be wrong. 

This time, a voice – undeniable. 


Two syllables. That short offering of speech somehow communicated a bone-deep relief that seemed to wash over the entire room. Abby choked out a laugh, holding the speaker to her lips. 

“I’m here.”

“Thank God.”

With a nod of acknowledgement, Abby sent Miller to fetch Raven to see if they could clarify the signal. By the time he returned, Abby still had the radio pressed to her mouth, her grip on the device unrelenting. Raven eventually coaxed it away from her, Abby hurriedly explaining the situation to Marcus, who was still only coming through in seconds at a time. With only a few moments’ tinkering, the signal cleared, and Marcus was able to explain their situation: a cloud of radiation had closed in over Azgeda territory, sending the troupe into an underground bunker for shelter. The cloud had completely scrambled their radio signals, and they had found themselves completely stranded; so they decided to start digging. They’d tunnelled a miraculous two miles before they finally broke through into an old Reaper transitway. Keeping below the earth, they made their way as best they could back towards Arkadia, and had gotten some ideas about the camp’s own preservation on the way. 

Through all of this, Miller listened intently, as did Abby – but there were three words that Marcus tagged at the end of his briefing that he knew she heard louder than any of the others:

“We’re coming home.”


felt like Bat-Villain doodles so I did. not meant to be any version in particular just kind of a mash up tho you can probably guess which versions I like best from this heh

scarecrow’s grown on me, not that I ever really disliked him I just wasn’t as familiar and I still haven’t seen batman begins tbh until recently

I’ve always liked Eddie tho, I mean how can u not