reverse-time

  • Lena Luthor: You're impossibly fast. And strong. Your skin is... impenetrable. Your eyes change color... and sometimes you speak like - like you're from a different planet. You eat or drink everything; you stay in the sunlight.
  • Lena: I know what you are.
  • Kara Danvers: Say it... out loud. Say it.
  • [at the same time]
  • Lena: Reverse Vampir-
  • Kara: Superg-
  • Lena: Oh. That makes way more sense.

Okay so my sister and I were discussing this mess last night and then we ended up seriously considering a theory I have seen come up a few times but now I’m gonna walk you through it

Here it is: 

It’s all a lie – Yousef lied Mikael lied. They are lying.

Yousef said that Even kissed Mikael which caused Mikael to be distant and Even to hate himself..

Well tell me Yousef

If Mikael is so ashamed, then why does he bring up Evens name? and why is he laughing when he does?

and why are you Yousef looking so mad and sad and guilty?

Why does Yousef have a pride flag next to his message to Sana?

Why does he say Mikael is super religious when he clearly isn’t that religious because he drinks

why does Elias declare Yousef as the “most Muslim person he knows”

Why was the Even thing big enough to impact Yousef so much but not Mikael?

Why does Yousef avoid the fight and send Sana off into it alone?

Why does he go and kiss the first girl he sees after witnessing the fight with Even and his new crew?

I think you know where I’m going with this: Yousef is questioning his sexuality and is ashamed of it. Him and Even kissed which caused a lot of disaster with Even and when it was threatened to come out to everyone and the balloon boys Mikael took the fall for Yousef. Mikael stepped up and pretended it was him that Even kissed.

What could possibly hint that Mikael would do something like that for Yousef?

Remember that youtube video where they went to Mikaels job interview and Yousef took Mikael aside and they had a secret conversation?

this wasn’t there for no reason. This was almost foreshadowing that Yousef and Mikael have secrets, they have each others backs. They share a special connection.

Now this is what we’re thinking. Did Yousef see Even and panic? Did he see that the truth could come out right in front of everyone? Was he frightened?
Remember we saw him go up to Elias and looking outside.

What if…what if Yousef somehow started the fight to avoid the truth…to make sure nothing slipped about what actually happened and that’s why when it did start he ran off sent Sana out to stop it and kissed the first girl in sight…proving he is straight.

Also he kisses Noora similar to how Isak kissed Emma

The girls hands wrapped around their necks while they have their hands by their sides. Both boys wearing snapbacks backwards and standing on the same side.

I know this seems far fetched but maybe this is the twist we have been waiting for.

The trailer is reversed – this season is reversed and as we saw Friday night, it is the roles that are truly reversed. Just like I’ve been saying Mikael and Yousef are reversed this whole time.

Is Yousef truly the Mikael in this story and Mikael is the Yousef?

Omg if Julie does this my mind is literally going to be blown apart.
Ahhhhhhhh

(Side note: to clarify I am not saying this is going to happen - it’s a theory, nor do I personally believe this will happen. I have just had this theory been addressed with me by multiple people (including my irl sister) and I wanted to outline why this theory is actually totally plausible and could be done and actually hinted in the show already….Do I think Julie will go down this route? no but could she? hell yeah.)

2

First, please have an apologise from me for being inactive ;w;, school and life been rushing me lately.

I present you Zero Gravity AU - Monster Falls AU eddition~!
You might be questioning “this looks like some pirate AU”. Well! Cause I want something different for ZeroFalls XD

Original Monster Falls has Bill as hunters while the Pines as adorable creatures so this time reverse~ The Ciphers as those sneaky little hybrids and the Guardian Pines as pirate XD Good pirate tho~ Travel to protect the 7 seas and get that journal back XD

Oh, and bonus XD  

ikke snakk til meg
  • we open with sana reciting this surah, which i see as an effort from sana to try and regain focus on her faith (but you should ask the muslims in the fandom <3)
  • very violent online abuse flashes before her eyes, apparently from when she was in middle school (here’s a detailing of the abuse)
  • once again, sana’s prayer is interrupted (it’s always interrupted either by an external character, or by her own thoughts…at the end of the series we’ll see her pray uninterrupted and it will be gorgeous)
  • we get this beautiful shot of literal and metaphorical self reflection. sana is broken after the latest events and she is now trying to pick herself back up (so, of course, she tries to go back to the beginning: the sana we first saw on the show, before it all started)
  • adding the above piece of art for reasons (like to charge/reblog to cast)
  • we’ve seen sana wear very loose hijabs this season, i remember people commenting on it. here, she tightens the fabric around her neck. i see it as her trying to protect herself. she needs all the extra strength she can get. all the extra fabric between her and the world.
  • she tries to reach out for the only friend (we know of) she could have left: jamilla. but we see they never got closure on the “sharmutta incident” and, when sana scrolls up, she is reminded of how much her and jamilla differ from one another. and she gives up.
  • quick note: i am not too happy too see jamilla painted as this hating muslimah but i’ll wait until the end of the series. her comment “i was just trying to protect you” reminds me a lot of sonja, who i hated really badly when she confronted isak during the hotel scene. but who redeemed herself and explained her behaviour in the end.
  • we see their last messages are from january 2016, so just after season 1 if i’m not mistaken? the tension started then and that’s probably why sana and her were already at war during season 2.
  • anyone knows what game the norwegians are playing at the school? it looks like a dance of some sorts: the way they’re placed and the couple is running in between the two groups…
  • isak is wearing a dandelion. from twitter: løvetannbarn (dandelion child) means person that has survived almost impossible upbringing.
  • this time, the lyrics are so on the nose even the beautiful subbers decided to translate some of them: an even song. to me, reminiscent of all the rumours spread about him paralleling the rumours spread about sana right now.
  • we see the pictures from the teaser: isak’s eye, sara (same jacket), noora…
    we’re missing the brown hair with a hand ruffling them and the carrot munching (but i feel like the carrot bit was more symbolic than anything)
  • sana is back to the beginning (see above) except, this time, it’s reversed: she’s not joining the girl squad and the russbuss. she’s leaving both.
  • liar liar pants on fire
  • and she’s not trying to show, like in her first clip where she sassed vilde and told her being a russ was punished by stoning, that she can and will become a russ. she’s instead using her faith as a reason for why she doesn’t want to be a russ. very flippening, much reversal.
  • sana goes to class and…
  • the book is open on a page about dandelions.
  • which brings me to the symbolism of the dandelion. according to google, dandelion translates to “dent de lion” in french which means “lion’s tooth” (i can vouch for that), summoning the symbolic meaning of lions: courage, pride, family (connection/communication). the dandelion is also a sun symbol (#sanasol).
  • we get this exchange that i LOVE but that, unfortunately, is getting misunderstood: sana and isak are awkward around each other but both really want to talk to each other. sana, after looking at isak’s very obvious blackeye, glances at the dandelion in his hair. isak scoffs and takes it off.
    you can’t take a black eye off. you can’t get rid of that barrier between two people. but you can take a flower off. i feel like the flower, here, is a perfect way for them to (in the sweetest way) break the ice. our attention is briefly redirected from the (devastating) black eye to the (hopeful) flower and, for a moment, everything is OK.

[cont. after the “read more”]

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anonymous asked:

What if Claire travelled through time from her life of the 18th century to Jamie who lived in the 1940s ?

Fast-Forward: Part One.

Hoisting her skirts, Claire dragged in another jagged breath as she ducked and dived through the low hanging branches of the rowan trees that surrounded her. She could hear the far off hollering of the redcoat soldiers, their bugles piercing the silence as the dusk began to creep in.

Her back throbbed painfully as the almost-healed scars of her first run in with the army grated roughly against her tightly pulled bodice. The memory of her recent flogging sat painfully behind her eyes as she fled through the dense underbrush of the Scottish forest. As soon as she’d been able, she’d run. Picking her way through the underbelly of Fort William, Claire had successfully navigated her way through the cells, eventually picking the lock on the door that led out onto the pile of bodies dumped from the most recent hangings. Half blind and in agony, she’d crawled through the stench,  up and out into daylight, her legs protesting as she moved without grace, falling and catching herself as her vision blurred.

Fight or flight had raged, her mind telling her one thing, her body another. But flight had won. To stay there meant death and she wasn’t willing to accept that just yet.

Randall’s words pulsed through her, causing her stomach to clench and she stopped to throw up what little she had in her belly, clenching her fingers around the rough bark as she gasped and expelled water and bile into the mud that lay at the base of the trees.

One loaf of bread, an innocent desire to simply feed herself and she’d been thrust into disarray, her life rendered forfeit for her theft. With no family and no allegiances to a husband, Claire had been living the life of a spinster, doctoring the sick and roaming from village to village to make a living. Captain Randall had been the dark mark that brought that living swiftly and sharply to an end.

Her father and Captain Jonathan Randall had been acquaintances…once upon a time. Knowing Claire was soon to be too old for marriage, and in a political move that seemed beneficial for his career, Henry Beauchamp had pledged her hand to the redcoat captain, deeming the match prosperous for all.

Claire had not agreed, and as such had made extremely vocal complaints on the matter.

Spurning Randall, she had vowed never to be linked with the man, his reputation for being a bit of a brute notwithstanding, she couldn’t see herself married to such a cold hearted man.

Her father had been devastated, his anger at Claire seemed never ending. But when the winter came, and with it a fresh batch of smallpox, those concerns paled into insignificance.

It wasn’t long before her mother was dead, followed quickly by her father, leaving Claire completely alone in the world.

The all too real threat of Randall caused her nothing but anguish and so she fled. Carrying only what she must, Claire had taken herself off into the highlands and reinvented herself. And for a time it had worked. She’d built up a grand relationship with the locals, her vast knowledge of the plants coming in very handy with sickness.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Claire forced away the urge to sob uncontrollably, her arm gripping her middle as she steeled her shoulders and began to calm her throbbing heart.

She could still see the look on her father’s face the night she rudely destroyed his vision for her future. She could still see the look of thrill on Randall’s face the night he’d pulled her in for stealing, his eyes alight with pleasure as he’d had her hog-tied to the wagon and flayed until she’d nearly passed out.

‘You’ve got to keep going, Claire,’ a small voice whispered to her, the nightmare of her ordeal not yet over as the dull reminder of her predicament whistled through the air and reached her ears.

The army were closing in on her, and fast.

Bashing her fist against the tree, Claire swallowed back another wave of sickness. The light was slowing dwindling and her familiarity with this part of the forest was severely lacking.

Ahead a brief glimpse of sunset through the diminishing tree line caught her eye, the hints of orange and red sparking like firelight on the almost invisible horizon. The wind rose as she puffed her way through the heather and bracken, her toes bleeding and cut as she trudged barefoot upwards.

Pushing away the imminent urge to curl up and sleep, Claire forced herself out of the forest. The hill itself seemed innocuous, the tall stones standing proud at its peak catching the last of the light as she dug her hands into the damp grass and forged her way up further, closer to the top.

Her hair swung wildly in the wind as she reached it, the mass of curls tangling further as the sweat of exertion poured from her brow. Scrambling through the detritus that sat harmlessly in the centre of the stone circle, Claire turned her head, her eyes just catching a flash of maroon through the trees.

“No” she whispered, her knees quaking as she thrust herself low to the ground, pulling the threadbare tartan blanket over her shoulders as if to shield herself.

The voices were louder now, their coarse cries swirling around her in the rising breeze. It wouldn’t be long, she realised, and they’d be upon her. Not having the momentum to continue, Claire slid herself forwards on the ground, crawling through the filth at the base of the largest of the central stones, her hands shivering with cold and fever as her wounds began to throb harder, the cuts opening and allowing fresh droplets of blood to roll down her already moist spine.

Smacking her back against the solid stone, she cried out as the pain shook her.

Suddenly, and without warning, the ground seemed to shift beneath her bottom, the earth trembling uncontrollably under her as the world began to spin right before her eyes. Shifting her head, Claire clenched her fists in an effort to keep herself still, the piercing shriek that replaced the soldiers calls echoing in her eardrums, deafening her. Her arms flailed wildly as her body seemed to tear apart, her limbs being pulled from their sockets as the hurricane continued.

As the maelstrom ceased, Claire felt herself dip in and out of consciousness, her hands screwed up tightly in her hair as she sunk her head closer to the grass. Tickling her nose, the distinct smell of smoke roused her and she uncurled herself slowly.

Fear took root at the base of her spine as she crawled on all fours around the stone, not daring to touch it again, afraid of what it might do.

Peeking her head around, her eyes caught sight of the scent that had brought her round. A fire had been lit just to the side of the hill, it’s flames drifting up into the night sky as it burned away.

Something was off, Claire realised, her chest constricting as she glanced behind her.

Lights twinkled below in the valley, a whole range of them glowing at the base of the hills.

Inverness? She questioned to herself. But how could she see it so distinctly?

Furrowing her brow she turned back to the immediate call of the fire, her frigid body cold to the bone.

The same unknown feeling that told her something wasn’t quite the same flared. She should have been captured by now, clad in irons and marching with the soldiers back to Fort William. They had, after all, been right behind  her just a moment before.

But she hadn’t been.

In fact she felt the distinct feeling of safety. Only the prickle of a notion that seemed to whisper to her that she had nothing to fear from those men here.

Taking the chance, Claire stood once more, letting her shaking knees bear the weight of her as she crept as silently as she was able towards the heat.

“Where am I?” She sighed, her voice trembling as she spoke to the darkness, her hands forming fists at her side as she prepared herself for the unknown.

He heard the snap of the twig before he saw her. Raising his head from his position collecting kindling from the sparse forest that lay to the righthand side of the hillock, Jamie gazed at the battered woman who now stood bashfully in front of his wee fire.

“Ah Dhia!” He whispered, his voice catching in his throat as he hid himself behind the largest tree.

The fire lit her face, the dark streaks of muck illuminated by the light. She was pale, far too fair skinned for a healthy person. He could tell from the way that she held herself that she was in pain, but he couldn’t pinpoint why from his hiding place.

Not wanting to spook her, he crept on his tiptoes to the edge of the trees, holding his hands up in surrender just in case she turned at an inopportune moment and he caught her off guard.

Her dress was peculiar, he realised, her bodice old and torn but still not of this time.

A costume, perhaps. But something about her told him she wasn’t an actress or a member of the local historical society. No, she seemed all too comfortable in her outfit for it to have been a replication of 18th century highland attire.

Wiping his hands on his kilt, Jamie readied himself. Curiosity won out and he began to walk slowly back towards his fire as he watched the strange girl fall to her knees, the relief on her face endearing her to him further.

Without a word, he stepped even closer, the heat of the fire reaching him from where he stood. She still hadn’t seemed to notice him, and the closer he got the more afraid he became of startling her.

“Hey…lassie…” he called out, keeping his voice low as he approached.

Claire threw herself to her feet with some force, her joints protesting as she turned on her new companion. From the tone of his voice, and from the Scots lilt, she didn’t immediately assume danger, but as shaken as she was, she wasn’t completely assured of her safety either.

Her eyes went wide as she caught sight of the man who’d called out to her. His red hair sat slicked back atop his head, fighting in the breeze to free itself from whatever concoction he’d smeared through it. His kilt was bright, something not quite befitting any other plaid she’d seen worn before and his boots were large and shiny.

Shaking her head, she held her hands up in a similar pose. Still she couldn’t pluck out the sounds of the army close by, and the thought that they’d magically disappeared began to sit nervously in her belly.

Where was she?

“You don’t need to fear me, aye?” The young man interjected, stopping only inches away from her as he dipped his head in mock surrender. “I willna hurt you. Promise.”

His smile was reassuring, and Claire dropped her hands and drew in a much needed breath.

Seeming genuine, she allowed him to walk closer, his hand reaching out now as he tried to remove some of the loose leaves and twigs from her mussed hair.

“Got yerself into a wee bit o’ a swivet have ye?” He spoke, his voice soft and calming as he took her in. “I’m James Fraser, Jamie to most. Who might you be?” He asked, curiosity obviously getting the better of him.

Inhaling a deep breath, Claire made to answer him. But as she did a wave of nausea overtook her and her throat trembled with the force of it.

Faster than he’d imagined, Jamie reached out just in time to catch the stranger as her eyes rolled back into her head and she fainted.

“Christ!” He yelled, seeing her face pale and her shoulders slump.

Gathering her up, Jamie slipped his arms beneath her legs and held her to his chest as he strolled back towards his car.

“I guess this means yer coming wi’ me,” he chuckled, placing her softly on the cushioned leather of his back seat. “My mam always said I ha’ lassies falling for me. She isna wrong, aye?” He joked, brushing her curls away from her forehead as he covered her with his own clean blanket, closing the door softly behind him as he climbed into the front seat.

Placing the key into the ignition, Jamie switched on the headlights and glanced back over to his unconscious companion, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he took in her prostrate form.

Memories of old stories filled his mind as he tipped his head, viewing her with a sort of caution that seemed to spring from the idea of her miraculous appearance.

He had been alone up here. Craigh na Dunn was a notorious spot for the local druid woman, but only at certain times of the year. Beltane had just passed and as such, those who came here to dance had been days before to complete their ritual. That’s why he’d chosen that moment to flee his sisters monotonous wedding preparations. That’s why he was still in his kilt and not in his trousers.

The thought hit him then. A fairy. One of the magical folk.

The stories his grannie use to tell him sprung to mind as he put a name to the sourcery.

Madness, he scoffed, shaking his head at the myriad of daft thoughts that had begun to spiral in his mind. What a daft notion, of course she wasn’t a fairy!

“Please…” he heard as his guest began to cry out behind him, “don’t…no…please!”

Reaching backwards, Jamie laid his large palm against his cheek as he maneuvered the car towards the main road.

“Hush, lassie,” he cooed as he drove slowly, the lanes narrow and windy as he steered the car in the direction of Lallybroch and home. “Nobody will hurt ye here, rest up.”

The calm voice penetrated her nightmares as Claire twisted herself away from the harsh slap of the lash. Kind eyes and a flash of ginger broke through the angry vision of Randall and her capture. Clambering for some sort of foothold, she managed to find purchase on skin. A hand encircled hers and she gripped it with all her might, holding on as if it might rescue her from drowning in the hell that held her hostage.

‘Hush now…I’ll protect ye, I promise….’ the voice said, the waves of it breaking the shores of her horror and dissipating the pain. ‘Sleep now, mo nighean, rest.’

Fast-Forward: Part 2

Find part one: HERE.


Bright light flickered above her as she shifted underneath the heavy quilt. Claire was hot, warmer than she’d ever been in her life. The heat stifled her as she tried to dig her way out.

Seeing her distress, Jamie gently pried the duvet from the sides where Jenny had tucked it in tight. He’d been with her all night, watching and waiting as if to assure himself that she was safe.

Jenny and Ian had been raging when he’d driven home, his sister’s face alight with fury as he’d pulled his car to a stop in the drive. Rushing from the porch, Ian had tried to pull her backwards, his gaze apologetic as she’d waggled her finger at her wayward brother.

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Bat Boy Headcanons Bed Partners

We are looking at the batboys as bed partners. Not necessary with a focus on NSFW themes, but they’re there.


Dick:

-Blanket. Hog.

-Say it one more time, all together now, this man is a blanket hog. After many a night waking with shivers and losing the battle to wrest a sliver of your bedspread to cover yourself (good God, what is his grip strength?), you begin to keep an old comforter at the end of the bed. When it’s time to sleep, if Dick happens to be staying over, you split the blankets in two. He can have the top sheet and the fluffy, fancy duvet. You’re fine curled up in the worn floral cotton cover that had been on your bed in girlhood. Warmth is warmth, Martha Stewart home-goods be damned.  

-The added comforter makes for awkward, bulky snuggling. You tried to maintain the post-coital sleep cuddles a handful of times, but with the burrowing nature of the sleeping Richard, spooning through the night was abandoned in favor of pressing your backs together. Most times, sex or no sex, you take a shower and emerge to find him curled under the fancy covers facing the wall. You know he’s not sleeping, but you both pretend. By the time you’ve gone for a shower, everything that needed saying was said. You creep into bed and settle in. Slowly, wordlessly, you inch together until the lengths of both your bodies are pressed tightly against one another. He even points his toes.

-Bless him.

-In the morning, fucking morning glory jostles you a few times before rolling his entire body weight over you to “squish you awake.” He chuckles and coos at your angry huffs and groans. Asshole.

-He makes you breakfast to make up for the squishing. Gross whole-grain related hot cereal breakfasts, but whatever. He didn’t hafta’ make it, and that’s what counts.

-You’re not a morning person, by nature. The inherent conflict between someone with your night owl tendencies and his cheery, perky, frighteningly sunny disposition before noon tends to cause friction. At least… you expected it to cause friction. In actuality, he’s just infectiously chipper? It’s hard to stay upset when your house smells like brown sugar and fresh fruit and he’s all smiley.

-Damn him.


Jason:

-This poor boy generates more heat than a top of the line WE radiator. We’re talking damp sheets and a bunched up comforter kicked to the foot of the bed every frickin’ night. You own pajamas. You used to sleep in pajamas. Now you’re too damn hot. Not in a fun, hot and bothered way. No. Hot in the “Jason, I swear to God, if you don’t get your heavy, sweaty arm off of me, I’m kicking you” sort of way.

-For the most part, he doesn’t really sleep. At least, you don’t think he does. He seems to nap in quick bursts, but will stay with you through the night without protest or excuse when asked.

-He sleeps so hard when he rarely slips past his usual doze to full unconsciousness that it doesn’t really matter what you say, nothing can be done. You are trapped in the crushing embrace of your sweaty boyfriend.

-At least he mostly smells good, cigarette breath aside.

-You like cuddling. Previous boyfriends had requested separate blankets or a pillow wall because, Jesus, you are a monster. What Jason does cannot be called cuddling. It’s huddling. He huddles you.

-Your back to his chest. One bicep under your neck and, somehow, that same forearm is positioned in a bar back over your chest so your cheek sits on his elbow. Is it still a headlock if done out of affection?

-You don’t know.

-The other arm gets tossed over your belly. It fastens your torsos together with a firm hold kept in place because he burrows that hand beneath your hip. When he takes deep breaths you’re sort of squeezed. It’s a happy turn of events that you aren’t claustrophobic.

-You’re not sure what happens to your legs. You’ve never managed a look down at them while being huddled. Suffice to say that they are not your own.

-When you absolutely have to extract yourself from him, a lot of squirming is involved. 100% honesty, you have elbowed him awake. You had half an hour before work and were dangerously close to pissing your scant pjs.

-Drastic times, yo.

-On the nights when he just naps, mornings are whatever. The huddling is not at DEFCON 1 levels of nuclear crisis, so you just slip out of bed with some wiggling and start getting ready for the day. Within 30-45 minutes, he drags himself out of bed and gloomily sucks down the coffee you offer to him.

-The morning of the elbowing incident he stayed in bed. You haven’t talked about it.

Tim:

-The first time you invited Tim over to stay the night, you tucked yourself in while he was hunched at the foot of your bed working on some big project for his company. When you woke up he… he was at the foot of your bed clacking away on that project. He had not moved. He had not slept.

-Like, thanks Edward. I totally invited you over so that you could watch me snore and drool on my pillow instead of fall into a similar state of vulnerable unconsciousness as a relationship building exercise.

-I’m not inviting you back.

-You do invite him back. You also impound his laptop, his tablet, and his smartphone after 11:30 and physically wrestle him into bed. He resists. Desperately.

·         “I have to finish that in the next  36 hours. I don’t have time for sleep.”

·         “But I’m working on a project for Bruce! I can’t stop until it’s finished.”

·         “I took a long nap today. I’m not sleepy.” (Spoken as he yawns.)

It almost reminds you of tucking your kid brother in when he was spoiled and four, but you don’t want your brain making those kinds of connections, and wait… what? No.

-He falls asleep in exactly 23 minutes. Yes, you timed it. If that’s creepy, you don’t care.

-Once actually bedded, Tim is a pretty ideal sleeping partner. No snoring. No copious drool. Mild mumbling here and there when repositioned. You even manage to arrange the both of you into one of those cute couples’ sleeping positions from the movies with your head all on his chest and his nose resting in your hair.

-It is comfortable for 10 minutes, then you move because your arm is asleep and your neck sort of hurts.

-When you wake up, he is gone. There is fresh coffee in your kitchen and also a note signed with the extremely professional full signature of Timothy Drake. You don’t know what to make of that, and honestly, the fact that it is sitting so neatly beneath a sloppily drawn heart doodle serving as the “sincerely” only serves to further confuse you at such an early hour.

-Nights with Tim are always one of these two options: he is up doing some ungodly thing on the internet or sleeping like a rock that somehow rises gracefully before the dawn and never, never wakes you up to say goodbye.

Damian (obviously, significantly older):

-He is surprisingly calm? You are a bundle of nerves strapped into the fourth pair of pajamas you tried on before leaving the closet, and he’s just standing there in pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt staring at you like, “What the hell took so long? Please tell me you know how to dress yourself by this age.”

-Every time it is like this. This is not the first time you have slept beside him, but you just want to tie yourself into a knot and die because, oh my GOD, why is he so  p r e t t y?  

-Your roles in this relationship are utterly reversed every time it comes down to crawling under some covers. Unfortunately, he even does awkward with more grace than you. Where he usually is painfully formal and stilted in old fashioned ways that amuse you to no end, you’re just like… a mess. A hot mess in blue striped pajamas brimming with nervous giggles and a distinct lack of eye contact.

-He insists that you sleep on the wall side. When you ask, horrified by a premonition of you crushing him in the middle of the night trying to scramble for the bathroom half-asleep, he patiently explains for the seventh time that he has made an honor-bound promise to protect you. You cannot sleep on the outer edge of the bed. If there were to be an assailant, they would have easy access to you while he was hindered by an inferior position deeper within the gully of the mattress.

-Yup. Used the exact words “gully of the mattress.”

-What were you worried about? He’s still your scrub. A pretty scrub, but an awkward scrub who cannot hold a conventional conversation in a bucket with a speech guide.

-When your strange, flighty demeanor calms into your more usual behavior, you settle in nicely. You both like sleeping on your back. He stretches one arm beneath your pillow, and you tuck neatly into his side.

-He is warm. Damian smells like soap and tea and something musky and mannish that isn’t indicative of cologne. It is a good smell, and you always sleep wonderfully when he stays over.        

Reverse Dipper’s “Me-Time” includes a nice Pine Tree and Peppermint scented bubble bath and candles with magically heated water companion-ed with a touch of facial skin care

Will is a thirsty demon even though he seems like a cinnamon roll.

a tale as old as time. her eyes are brown like mine.

beauty, with your soft voice and your pretty cheeks: does he kiss your bruises after he’s finished screaming? belle, princess of patience, lady who simply loved until he came around to it - can you teach me how to tame him? how to make him never raise a hand to me again?

true love changes him. which love do i give him, bella. in the morning when i am up early to make him breakfast and silent when he yells at me, is this the music that soothes the savage beast? in the black of night, when my eyes are closed and he is panting at my neck, is this the love that put him to sleep?

when he turns twenty-one the spell will be forever. the last petal. he will remain a horror forever. you must shape him into a better man by then, beauty. must carve out your own heart and feed it to him gently. must spoon him your own bones until he stops being hungry. 

youthful indiscretions are forgot. you cover up the scars from his claws. it is not the man, it is the curse he lives under. you are his one. his only chance. i come back like you, belle. i return to the castle no matter how battered i become. i think i see the man you saw once, bella. i think i see the man i fell in love with. 

we, que linda, are strong girls. my nose, yours, bella, we keep ours in books. i too am the strange girl, running until her feet tire. i too am lost in the woods. we ran from our houses and found monsters, or maybe we were always fated to. we love a challenge. we have hearts that are mountains.

beauty. i kiss him but the spell never breaks, i sit myself in pretty dresses at fancy tables with meals i made just for him. even the grey stuff is delicious. he still throws the dishes. 

later when he is apologizing i feel your ghost hope in me - did we at last get through to him. did we reverse the curse. this time, does he mean it. if i am better will he open up. if i am better will he stop. if i am better could i beat him. if i am better can i leave him. 

belle: how do i save him. how do i save myself.

7

“The sequence seemed cursed from the beginning. On the initial take, Godzilla slid into the structure, but did only minor damage. Improvising on the spot, Nakajima reared his head back and roared in defiant rage. It was a nice try, but the shot was unacceptable. A second take was instituted, only this time the reverse happened: the technicians pulled on the ropes, which displaced the support rods too soon, resulting in the building’s collapse before the monster even touched it! A third take then ensued, with presumably all watching with bated breath. Nakajima smashed into the building with such force that the upper lip of the costume became dislodged, due to the latex skin being loosened from its base, an altogether not unwelcome development that would remain throughout portions of the filming, although oddly never utilized again in the later films. Nakajima then began clawing away as the support beams were again pulled. The building collapsed but Nakajima, blind in the suit, soon found himself flailing at empty air. Temporarily losing his balance, he desperately reached out with his left hand on the remaining part of the structure, then stabilized himself. It was a close, but acceptable, ‘take.’” –Peter H. Brothers, It’s a Beautiful “Thing”

Time Not Lost (2459 words) by LeWendigogo
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/AdamTowers, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Characters: Hannibal Lecter, Adam Towers
Additional Tags: Time Not Lost, Hannitowers, Hannigram - Freeform

Summary:

What do you do when you lose the love of your life only to meet the very image of them yet again? When time reverses itself, and the teacup reassembles, wouldn’t you indulge? Try for a second chance?

After the battle with the Great Red Dragon, both Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham embrace just before their fall into the sea. Hannibal survives the plunge, but Will was not so fortunate. In a constant state of melancholy, Hannibal mourns the loss. However, the tides will shift once an unexpected stranger appears.