sky step

Later on, in the deep darkness of the night, Harry dreams of the long highways and dark fields, the endless roads all leading into a dawn the colour of canola fields, the colour of autumn leaves, the colour of a lazy summer afternoon. He gazes into the bright blaze of the cloudless sky, then steps forward.

As he stirs in his sleep, Draco pulls him close.


Running on air

I just finished reading this masterpiece and I am honestly so shook. I finished it all in one day ( yes, I’ve been reading since this morning ) because I couldn’t imagine taking any breaks from it. If you didn’t read it, go do it right now. ❤❤

A Stern Talking To

Prompt: Batmom being kidnapped and held for ransom because “Hey, Bruce you’re rich” and Batmom handles it before Batman can get there by giving them a stern talking to…

Words: 563

You’re a bit offended to be honest. You don’t get Joker, or Bane, or even the Riddler; no, you get common everyday thugs that hold you up in the parking lot. It’s nothing you can’t handle, after all, you spent all the time travelling with Bruce and watching him train. It’s only natural that you’d pick up a little something. Then there was that one Saturday that Bruce kicked your butt in the name of a self-defense class.  In all honesty, it was revenge for making him go to an opera that you knew he hated.

Still, you can’t really bring yourself to be afraid, even with a loaded gun pointing at you. You know how to disarm him, and you’ve already pressed the panic alarm on your car remote, which means Batman will soon be there. You know it’s the smart thing to wait. To just let the idiot holding the gun and his pal argue about the best way to stuff you in the back of a van and hold you for ransom. BUT…

He’s distracted, and the safety isn’t off the gun. Dropping your purse to the ground you move forward before the bozo in front of you can react. You grab his wrist, sending it towards the sky before quickly stepping to the side and behind him while twisting his arm. Meanwhile your foot slides under one of his, sending him to his knees before going to rest on the back of the knee.

He drops the gun a second later and you stare at his shocked pal. The dude is literally just standing there with his mouth open in shock. It’s the look the boys give you when you catch them doing something they shouldn’t. So you do what you always do in these situations, you begin your lecture. It’s the same one you give Damian about when he tries to ditch school for months on end, or tries to go on patrol on school nights. You lecture them about life choices, and making smart decisions.

Before you can finish, he’s running, and you’re doing your best to not laugh as you apply just a bit more pressure to the guy’s leg making him whimper. You know one good stomp would break it, but that’s more Bruce’s thing than yours.

Almost as though the thought of him alone summons him, Batman drops from the ceiling, followed by all of your boys. Throwing your head towards the exit you say, “His buddy went that way.”

Tim and Damian head in that direction as Dick and Jason take over your guy … who has effectively fainted at the sight of your family. Knowing that you’re in clear you walk up to Bruce kiss his cheek and simply say, “See you at home sweetheart.” And then throw back towards the boys, “Be safe boys, I’ll have ice cream ready when you get home.”

Bruce is still to stunned to say anything, and as Jason hands you your purse and keys, he gives you a hug and says, “My Ma’s got moves.”

You just smile and say, “Damn Straight. Slap your father if he doesn’t come out of his stupor in the next few minutes.”

“You got it.” He says, and then you get in the car and head home to retell the tale to Alfred.

“What’s past is prologue.”

-The Tempest

Prologue: an event or action that leads to another event or situation.

People disappear all the time. Ask any policeman. Better yet, ask a journalist. Disappearances are bread-and-butter to journalists. Young girls run away from home. Young children stray from their parents and are never seen again. Housewives reach the end of their tether and take the grocery money and a taxi to the station. 

International financiers change their names and vanish into the smoke of imported cigars. Many of the lost will be found, eventually, dead or alive. Disappearances, after all, have explanations. 


I woke three times in the dark predawn. First in sorrow, then in joy, and at last, in solitude. The tears of a bone-deep loss woke me slowly, bathing my face like the comforting touch of a damp cloth in soothing hands. I turned my face to the wet pillow and sailed a saltry river into the caverns of grief remembered, into the subterranean depths of sleep. 

I came awake then in fierce joy, body arched bowlike in the throes of physical joining, the touch of him fresh on my skin, dying along the paths of my nerves as the ripples of consummation spread from my center. I repelled consciousness, turning again, seeking the sharp, warm smell of a man’s satisfied desire, in the reassuring arms of my lover, sleep. 

The third time I woke alone, beyond the touch of love or grief. The sight of the stones was fresh in my mind. A small circle, standing stones on the crest of a steep green hill. The name of the hill is Craigh na Dun; the fairies’ hill. Some say the hill is enchanted, others say it is cursed. Both are right. But no one knows the function or the purpose of the stones. 

 Except me.

When I was small, I never wanted to step in puddles. Not because of any fear of drowned worms or wet stockings; I was by and large a grubby child, with a blissful disregard for filth of any kind. It was because I couldn’t bring myself to believe that that perfect smooth expanse was no more than a thin film of water over solid earth. 

I believed it was an opening into some fathomless space. Sometimes, seeing the tiny ripples caused by my approach, I thought the puddle impossibly deep, a bottomless sea in which the lazy coil of tentacle and gleam of scale lay hidden, with the threat of huge bodies and sharp teeth adrift and silent in the far-down depths. 

And then, looking down into reflection, I would see my own round face and frizzled hair against a featureless blue sweep, and think instead that the puddle was the entrance to another sky. If I stepped in there, I would drop at once, and keep on falling, on and on, into blue space. 

The only time I would dare to walk through a puddle was at twilight, when the evening stars came out. If I looked in the water and saw one lighted pinprick there, I could splash through unafraid—for if I should fall into the puddle and on into space, I could grab hold of the star as I passed, 

and be safe

Even now, when I see a puddle in my path, my mind half-halts—though my feet do not—then hurries on, with only the echo of the thought left behind. 

What if, this time, you fall?

I’ve never been afraid of ghosts. I live with them daily, after all. When I look in a mirror, my mother’s eyes look back at me; my mouth curls with the smile that lured my great-grandfather to the fate that was me. No, how should I fear the touch of those vanished hands, laid on me in love unknowing? How could I be afraid of those that molded my flesh, leaving their remnants to live long past the grave? Still less could I be afraid of those ghosts who touch my thoughts in passing. Any library is filled with them. I can take a book from dusty shelves, and be haunted by the thoughts of one long dead, still lively as ever in their winding sheet of words. 

Of course it isn’t these homely and accustomed ghosts that trouble sleep and curdle wakefulness. Look back, hold a torch to light the recesses of the dark. Listen to the footsteps that echo behind, when you walk alone. All the time the ghosts flit past and through us, hiding in the future. We look in the mirror and see the shades of other faces looking back through the years; we see the shape of memory, standing solid in an empty doorway. 

By blood and by choice, we make our ghosts; we haunt ourselves. 

Each ghost comes unbidden from the misty grounds of dream and silence. Our rational minds say, “No, it isn’t.” But another part, an older part, echoes always softly in the dark, “Yes, but it could be.” We come and go from mystery and, in between, we try to forget. But a breeze passing in a still room stirs my hair now and then in soft affection. I think it is my mother.

I have lived through war, and lost much. I know what’s worth the fight, and what is not. 

Honor and courage are matters of the bone, and what a man will kill for, he will sometimes die for, too. And that, O kinsman, is why a woman has broad hips; that bony basin will harbor a man and his child alike. A man’s life springs from his woman’s bones, and in her blood is his honor christened. 

For the sake of love alone, would I walk through fire again.

TIME IS A LOT OF THE THINGS people say that God is. There’s the always preexisting, and having no end. There’s the notion of being all powerful—because nothing can stand against time, can it? Not mountains, not armies. And time is, of course, all-healing. 

Give anything enough time, and everything is taken care of: all pain encompassed, all hardship erased, all loss subsumed. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Remember, man, that thou art dust; and unto dust thou shalt return. 

And if Time is anything akin to God, 

I suppose that Memory must be the Devil.

THE BODY IS amazingly plastic. The spirit, even more so. But there are some things you don’t come back from. Say ye so, a nighean? True, the body’s easily maimed, and the spirit can be crippled—yet 

there’s that in a man that is never destroyed.

IN THE LIGHT OF eternity, time casts no shadow. Your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions. But what is it that the old women see? 

We see necessity, and we do the things that must be done. Young women don’t see—they are, and the spring of life runs through them. Ours is the guarding of the spring, ours the shielding of the light we have lit, the flame that we are. What have I seen? 

You are the vision of my youth, the constant dream of all my ages. Here I stand on the brink of war again, a citizen of no place, no time, no country but my own 

… and that a land lapped by no sea but blood, bordered only by the outlines of a face long-loved. 

Outlander, Prologues 1-8

As requested by anon. 

Order from Your Commander (part 3)

Originally posted by hisstericallypawesomesleepurr

Request: Order from Your Commander part 3! (part 1 / part 2

Word Count: 1,857

Bjorn held his arms open as Y/n made her way up the dirt path to the gate. Members of the Free People stood around in awe as their commander returned home, followed by five strangers. Bjorn pulled her into a hug and sighed, “We almost sent out a search party.”

 Y/n pulled out of the hug and looked up at Bjorn, smiling. She knew she was away for less than two days, but Bjorn was like a brother and being away from him for any length of time felt like too long. Especially when he was unknowing of her location. “You can thank these people for that. They weren’t exactly friendly when we first started talking.”

 Bjorn’s face turned from friendly to protective. “Why were you with them for some long then?” His grip on his sword tightened as he moved toward the Sky People. Y/n placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him back.

 “It’s fine, Bjorn. They’re here solely on business. Let’s all move inside so we can talk and I’ll try to fill you in.”

 Y/n could sense the Sky People’s anxiety, she had similar fears early. She attempted to give Bellamy a soft smile, but she could still feel the tension. The eyes of the Free People followed the Sky People every step they went. They did not speak as they moved through the hallowed halls that lead to the commander’s quarters. Bellamy noted the amazing architecture, which was simple compared to the Sky People’s, but had intricate designs that only time and skill could produce.

 Y/n noticed him staring. “These halls have been standing for hundreds of years. When we first started our war with the Ice Nation, we found this place and used it as our headquarters. The marks on the wall detail our journey through battle.” They stopped walking when they came upon a picture of a star falling and crashing to earth.

 “Is that the Ark?” Octavia asked. Y/n nodded and smiled.

 “As I said before, your ship crashed on the anniversary of our people gaining their freedom. While it may not seem like it, your people left a mark on our history.” She glanced over at Bellamy to see what his reaction was. Y/n didn’t know why she felt like his opinion on the portrait was important, but she did. He could feel Y/n’s eyes watching him, but decided to stay looking at the portrait. His cheeks, however, did feel quite a bit warmer.

 Y/n turned on her heel and continued to walk down the corridor. Bjorn threw his arm over her shoulders and she wrapped her arm around his waist. “What’s with these people? Why’d you bring ‘em back here?”

 “They’re not as bad as they seem. I know what I’m doing, Bjorn. Just you wait.”

 They approached two giant wooden doors that were guarded by two watchmen. They nodded, bowed their heads, muttered a simple ‘commander’, and opened the doors. The inside wasn’t as awe-inspiring as the hallway but was massive in size, with floor length windows that streamed in loads of natural light and a large wooden table with enough chairs to fit a small army. Y/n picked the chair closest to the windows, Bjorn on her right and some guard they hadn’t met yet on the left.

 Y/n motioned to the empty chairs, “Please, sit.” Bellamy sat directly across from Y/n, and the rest filled in around him. Bjorn spread his hands over the table, ready to talk business.

 “So, explain to me why you’ve brought these people here, commander.” Bjorn eyed the Sky People suspiciously, but lingered on Murphy. “Did she do that to you?” He laughed, motioning to his black eye.

 Murphy nodded. “She’s got one hell of a right hook.” Bjorn laughed again and beamed at Y/n.

 “You should see what she can do when she really wants to cause damage.”

 Y/n rolled her eyes and gave a light laugh. “Don’t scare them too much, Bjorn. We’ve got a possible new ally.” Bjorn raised his eyebrow. Y/n traded a glance with Bellamy, who had not made a sound since arriving. “They were on a hunting trip while I was in the woods. We had a little scuffle that was quickly resolved, then they invited me back for food and shelter as it was getting dark. We got to talking. Apparently, the Sky People need our help with TriKru. The Grounders are giving the newcomers a hard time and want us to help them.”

 “And why would we do that? We just got on good terms with Heda.” Bjorn replied.

 “Yes, I’m aware Bjorn. I was thinking we can try talking to Heda first. See if we can’t convince her to play nice-”

 “We’re talking about the same Heda right?” Bjorn interrupted. Y/n was starting to lose patience with him.

 Y/n’s face fell to a frown, and her voice deepened. “She will do whatever is best for her people. Heda is smart enough to know that war is not a good option for Trikru right now. Plus, look on the bright side; with Skaikru as an ally, they can help us…with weapons, medicine, warriors, and so much more. We need someone on our side in case the Ice Nation ever attempts to attack.” She paused and looked at the Sky People’s faces. “And of course, we will help them later if they need it, which I’m sure they will.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean?” Murphy interjected. Y/n could feel his anger rising throughout this whole ordeal, but didn’t expect him to speak out like that. Bellamy raised a hand to his chest.

 “Murphy, don’t. We need all the help we can get.” Bellamy said.

 Y/n pushed her chair back and stood up, “I meant no disrespect to you or your people, Murphy. We’re on the same side here. I know what TriKru can do, especially to those who are trying to find their footing, much like your people. I’m being incredibly gracious by offering my people’s help, and I expect you to treat me and my people as such. Don’t interrupt again.”

 The tension in the room was thick and no one else dared to speak. Murphy nodded and muttered a terrible attempt at an apology. Y/n sat back down in her seat. “It’s getting late. We will continue our conversation in the morning. Bjorn, will you show them to their rooms?”

 “Of course,” Bjorn stood up and motioned for the Sky People to follow them.

 “Bellamy,” Y/n added as she nodded to Bjorn to continue on. Bellamy stayed in his seat and eyed Y/n questioningly.

 “Now we can actually talk. Sorry for losing it on your friend. I don’t have a lot of patience for ungratefulness.” Y/n sighed.

 “I wouldn’t call him a friend. He just happens to live with us. He’s more of a nuisance.” Bellamy smiled, which made Y/n smile.

He was silent for a while. Y/n cleared her throat to speak again when Bellamy said, “Commander, huh?” His face twisted in confusion. “When were you going to add that part?”

Y/n chuckled. “You didn’t ask. Plus, would it really have changed the way you handled things? You still would have kidnapped me, you still would have tied me up, you still would have questioned me, but maybe you just wouldn’t have asked for my help the way you did.”

“I guess you’re right, but still, would have been nice to know.” Bellamy stared at his hands.

Y/n stared at the man sitting in front of her. She studied the way his hair haphazardly fell in his brown eyes and the way he methodically fidgeted with the buttons on his jacket. His lips were pressed in a tight line and his eyes looked tired, like he hadn’t seen sleep in weeks. She felt sad for him, empathetic almost. This was a man who felt he had the whole world on his shoulders, but failed to see how well he was handling things. She felt protective in a way, like it was her responsibility to decrease some of his pressures and anxieties. She couldn’t explain why she felt this way or even the way they seemed to connect. Bellamy could sense it too.

 “Also, thanks for not mentioning the kidnapping part. I expect that wouldn’t have gone well with your boyfriend if you had told him.” Bellamy added. Y/n was surprised by Bellamy’s words at first, but couldn’t help but let out an audible laugh when he called Bjorn her ‘boyfriend’. “What’s so funny?” Bellamy asked.

“Bjorn is my second in command. The Ice Nation believed that the commander and their second have this invisible connection that only they can sense, and when one is in trouble, the other can feel it. Bjorn and I have had that connection for many years, and it only grew stronger during the war. He could tell something was wrong when you attacked me, but since it went away so quickly, he thought nothing of it. It’s best he not know of your attempt at kidnapping because no he’s not my boyfriend, but yes, it wouldn’t have gone well with him at all.”

Bellamy could feel his face getting warmer and prayed that his cheeks weren’t reflecting it. Y/n’s cheeks visibly reddened a bit too, and Bellamy tried not to read too much into it.

He cleared his throat to speak again and the mood in the room changed instantly. He leaned forward in his seat and crossed his arms on the table. He spoke in a low, husky voice that made the hairs on Y/n’s arms stand up, “so you will help us?”

“Yes Bellamy, I will. I do not know in what capacity yet, but my people will follow me. We will come up with a plan to speak to Trikru and Heda tomorrow, and we will go from there. Until then, rest and we will talk again in the morning.” She paused and pointed at a guard at the door, “Nile will show you to your room.”

Bellamy rose from his chair and turned toward the guard. He gave a slight nod of the head as he walked out the grand hall. Bjorn returned moments later and took the chair Bellamy had sat in.

Bjorn began, “Explain to me why you want to help these people so much, Y/n. I mean no disrespect-”

“Don’t they remind you of us in some ways? Fighting for our chance at a better life? Yes, their circumstances are quite different from ours, but they want what we want- to live, not just survive. Bjorn, we have made our mark on the clans as the ones who fought for their own freedom. If we do not fight for other’s freedom as well, we cannot hold that title.” Y/n explained, feeling more empowered as she continued. Fighting to live, not just survive was what kept Y/n going.

“See, this is why you’re commander and I’m not,” Bjorn smiled, “How are you going to convince TriKru?”

“We’ll find a way. I mean, we escaped Ice Nation rule. How hard can convincing Heda to leave SkaiKru alone be?”

part 4

tags: @famchester @bunnyboo10154 @voidjillybean @clarkkeee

The guitar screamed like an angel who had just discovered why it was on the wrong side.
The sound that emerged was like burning black velvet in a windowless room.
It rang like an iron bar dropped on a library floor at midnight.
It made you want to kick down walls and ascend the sky on steps of fire. It made you want to pull all the switches and throw all the levers and stick your fingers in the electric socket of the Universe to see what happened next. It made you want to paint your bedroom wall black and cover it with posters.