then he realizes being quiet and cool won't make her notice him

Strength Enough To Build A Home - Bellamy x Clarke - oneshot

What makes a family? Don’t ask. Bellarke, from other people’s point of view.

Dedicated to Jordan <3

Strength Enough To Build A Home

Jasper dreads it whenever Clarke’s in a bad mood, because she always takes it out on Bellamy, who in turn takes it out on everybody else.

So, one morning, when Clarke’s even-I-can’t-believe-how-pissed-off-I-am-right-now voice breaks the forest stillness, it’s mere instinct on Jasper’s part that prompts him to sigh and steel himself for whatever bullshit errand Bellamy will undoubtedly send him on in the very near future.

What he gathers from Clarke’s tirade is that some people have been busted for sneaking out. They couldn’t have picked a worse time, because the princess was up all night nursing the bedridden victims of a nasty flu outbreak and, thus, she is in no mood to gently rebuke.

Jasper hears Bellamy march up and demand, “What’s going on here?” Quick as a flash, Clarke rounds on him, and there’s the patter of scurrying feet as the other kids make themselves scarce.

Firewood, Jasper thinks miserably. Bellamy’s going to make me chop enough firewood to burn down a small kingdom.

The tent flap lifts upon Monty’s return from the bathroom. “Mom and Dad are fighting again,” he complains, rubbing his bleary eyes.

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FanFic: Forwarded to Farkle

A/N: Here we are… the final chapter.  I just wanted to take a quick minute to thank @me-youhaveme for the amazing header pictures. Each one was better than I could have ever hoped for.  I also want to thank @friarsriles  @jurcyte  @shebe67 and @imaginarybird for always being willing to read a snippet or quote when I needed feedback.   Finally, I would like to send huge hugs and thanks to @drizzyyjayy  @dream–try–do-good @zombeeegurl & @gmwpluto for always being there to listen, kick my ass or in the case of this morning, talk me off the ledge. I wrote at least 9 different endings to this fic…7 they have read, 1 I accidentally deleted and the last one appears below. I hope they are happy with the direction I chose. 

A/N2: One final thanks….. to MJ for giving life to Rucas. While I adamantly disagree with recent storylines and scene cutting, I am still thankful he gave us Rucas.

Chapter 10: Choices

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Heart hammering wildly in her chest, Sakura stared up at the figure rising towards the sky. A heavy dread was settling in her stomach and panicked thoughts ran through her mind: Oh no, oh no no no no no, this can’t be happening, this can’t, this just can’t be–

“Shit!”

At the sound of Sasuke’s voice, Sakura paused suddenly. She looked over at the imposing Susanoo descending a few feet ahead of her. The purple, winged structure was quickly vanishing, leaving Sasuke alone and unprotected on the ground. For a moment, Sakura watched him, mesmerized. He was staring overhead, at the huge full moon and at Madara’s still silhouette. His face was a grimace of anger and slight, barely-perceptible fear, which she could see only because she was one of the few people that truly knew him, that truly cared enough to learn to read him. He clearly knew, as well as she did, that they were about to lose this battle.

The world as they knew it was about to disappear forever, and not even Sasuke could handle that.

“Naruto! We need to get up there!” Sasuke shouted when he spotted the blond running back towards them, his shadow clones disappearing in clouds of smoke behind him.

“Get up there?” Naruto repeated, diverting his afflicted blue gaze to the moon. “Dammit… What are we going to do?!”

“Stop him, you idiot!” Sasuke replied, clearly losing his temper. “Can you fly?”

“Uh, well, maybe-”

“Good, then let’s go. We’ve no time to waste.”

The Susanoo reappeared, at the same time Naruto closed his eyes and created a structure similar to Sasuke’s, except that it was shaped as one of the tailed beasts; Sakura could not recognize which one. The two structures stood side by side, one purple and the other orange, one Sasuke and the other Naruto, looking up at the sky.

Sakura stared at them, rapid heartbeats slowing achingly. She wondered why she wasn’t there with them – why she was never as powerful as her two boys, no matter how hard she trained or how courageous she forced herself to be. She was always weak and unnecessary – nothing but a stupid, stupid burden – a reckless damsel in constant distress. At least I’ve tried to be better, she thought, and then, Yes, but not it is never enough; it’ll never be.

She was so sick and tired of this self-hatred and this disappointment boiling her blood. If the world was ending today, the last thing she wanted to do in her life was ending this old habit of stepping back and leaving everything on the boys’ hands.

“Wait!” she screamed, getting on her feet and running towards the structures. “Guys, I’m going with you!”

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sophies-sideshow  asked:

Since you asked...I'd like to request #31: "You lied to me" for Nick and Judy. Preferably with a romantic subtext, but I know you don't ship them and your platonic stories are amazing, so I won't make you do that if you don't really want to. Unless, of course, you've already done a drabble with that theme, in which case I would love it if you'd shoot me a link cause I clearly missed it >.>

Of course, Darling! Here you go! Thanks for all your wonderful support! I did my best to angst, but I found the more I tried, the sillier it got. So here’s a lovey dovey thing that spilled out of me at one in the morning.

Sorry. Wanted it to be better. But… I tried. Tired me is tired me.

Please accept this crappy little weird piece of fluff as gratitude.

You’re the best. You’re all the best!

Enjoy.


Game of Chance

In Which Judy Plays Poker

Living Arrangements are Discussed

And Nicholas Wilde is Afraid for more Reasons than he Thought Possible


Nicholas Wilde was always aware that he was a coward. A flight risk. The kind of Fox that would screw you six ways to Sunday and barely feel a lick of sin. Courage wasn’t something he had in large supply.

So it was somewhat of a strange, terrifying, and weeks-spent-rehearsing-in-mirrors sort of moment when he realizes that he has to have just that.

He does his best.

And weeks spent rehearsing to clones in fogged up windows and speeches sent out in text posts to Finnick (who always replied in censored versions of why he should not be sending him any of that and should stop asap) and words like “love” and “artful” and “really really good” and “financially smart decisions” written out on old cafe napkins shoved into pockets, culminated into a final, bright, intense moment that he was sure would rock the entire course of his life.

He asks her to move in with him on a rainy Tuesday morning pressed together on his raggedy sofa. He’d looked at anything but her, tapping his fingers against her knee, and forgot about texts and notes and dirty napkins and just gathered up every ounce of absent courage and asked.

And she says no.

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