this cluttered mess

skymurdock  asked:

psst! thoughts on Lyra Erso, especially what you think might've happened if she had somehow survived? does she get to meet Beru and Breha, do they form a little club of middle-aged women in the Rebellion?

The crystal was…interesting. 

Breha had wandered over to the cluttered table out of vague interest—amid the looming structures and finicky-looking equipment, the table was the only thing she trusted herself not to damage. It was a chaotic mess, tools and rock samples and notes scrawled on flimsi all scattered, stacked haphazardly. But Breha’s gaze had been drawn to the innocuous white crystal immediately. She couldn’t help picking it up, turning it over in her hand. Someone had drilled a hole through one end, and threaded a cord through it, as though it was meant to be worn as a pendant.

It felt oddly warm against her skin, like something living.

Breha thought of Leia inexplicably, and for a moment she panicked—but Leia was fine, stuck in yet another strategy meeting. She would be there in the mess for dinner, probably arguing with Captain Solo, or trying to bite back a grin as Luke teased Lieutenant Antilles. Leia was fine. She was—

Breha startled at the sound of a loud grunt, too-close behind her. When she whirled around there was a helmeted sentient sticking out of what had previously been a gaping hole in the ground. The faint sound of hammering, voices, could still be heard drifting up from depths unknown.

“Oh!” the human woman—at least, Breha was reasonably sure; it was hard to tell under the layer of grime—said. She hauled herself up and out of the hole, stumbled to her feet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was here. Have you been waiting long?”

“Only a moment or so,” Breha demurred. Now that she could see all of her, the sentient was definitely a human woman, dressed in something that may have, at one time, been a Rebel uniform. (It was encrusted with entirely too much dirt to be called that anymore.) She had repurposed a blaster bandolier, and stuck it full of what looked like laserscopes and spectrographs. 

There was a pickax at her hip.

Breha cleared her throat, tried again. “I was told Lyra Erso—”

“You must be with Acquisitions! They said someone would be coming by for the wishlist.”

“It’s not a wishlist,” Breha said, but she couldn’t summon her usual fierceness, the accompanying lecture about the importance of resource planning. 

So this was Lyra Erso.

Your husband killed my husband, Breha thought dizzily. She’d forgotten how to breathe, what came after exhale.

“Yes, yes,” Lyra Erso said, waving a hand dismissively. She had come to stand beside Breha, and was sifting through the cluttered mess of the desk with purpose. “I swear on the Force, the Rebellion has become almost as bad as the Order was when it comes to paperwork…”

Breha blinked. “The Order?”

Lyra Erso froze, a sheaf of flimsi in her hand. Breha watched a complicated expression flicker across her face, and then slide away. “Oh. That’s—I mean the Jedi Order,” she finally said, stiltedly. “I was…a youngling. At the temple on Coruscant. In another life.”

Now that Breha was looking, she could see that the lines around Lyra Erso’s mouth, her eyes, were not cracks in the dirt—she had to be just older than Breha, and that was a strange thought, that Galen Erso’s widow was the same age as Bail Organa’s.

“AgriCorps?” Breha hazarded. She wasn’t sure if there was a politer way to say, so you never made it to padawan.

“Engineering division. Mining geology and geoengineering, mainly.” Lyra Erso straightened up, and looked Breha in the eye. “You?”

“I was not in the AgriCorps,” Breha retorted dryly. Lyra Erso pulled a face, and Breha found herself adding, “But I knew many Jedi.”

“Ah. From Coruscant, then?”

“Alderaan,” Breha said, and Lyra Erso jerked, stumbling a few steps back, away from Breha. All the blood had drained from her face, and Breha watched her throat work as she swallowed.


“My husband was a senator on Coruscant for many years, though, and counted some of the High Councilors his friends.”

“I know,” Lyra said weakly. She looked as though she wasn’t breathing. “I—heard stories of Senator Organa. Though more from…My husband was a engineer. He worked on military contracts, so he—”

“I am aware,” Breha said, and she wasn’t able to keep the ice and fury out of her voice this time, not entirely. Lyra flinched.

Keep reading

Just added the string of pictures above my whiteboard calendar! It’s got me and my best friend, my boyfriend and I, my siblings and my close friends from polytechnic on it :-) Looking at them makes me smile & motivates me to do more with my life!

annabeth chase who:
  • hasn’t read a book for fun in years because aside from lack of motivation, the swimming letters and jumbled words makes it hard for her to enjoy it
  • suffers from short-term memory loss — she’ll walk into a room and forget why she went there, or she’ll go into a book to fact-check something and can’t recall why she’s even flipping through the pages a minute later. sometimes she can’t remember whether she ate breakfast or not.
  • constantly misplaces her things, which is a result of her being disorganized — like shoving an assignment into the wrong binder when she’s in a hurry or can’t be bothered, or taking her phone into the kitchen and somehow finding it in the food pantry 20 minutes later
  • can’t keep her room clean for more than a few days before it’s a mess again, cluttered with textbooks and sketchpads and clothing littering the floor and shoved into the corners
  • never fails to procrastinate on her assignments, no matter how small. you could give her a whole year and she would still wait till the last minute
  • has trouble staying focused and often loses her train of thought — she could be giving a meticulously thought out explanation on something she’s passionate about and just completely go blank
  • will stare at the pages of her stupid textbook with tears of frustration in her eyes, silently begging herself to just focus because this reading was supposed to have been done weeks ago, but no matter how hard she tries the text on the page won’t stop jumping around
  • goes days and days without brushing/washing her hair and wears the same clothes for a whole week
  • becomes anxious and irritable at small things like a ticking clock or the beeping sound the smoke detector makes when its battery needs to be changed
  • gets sudden bursts of inspiration to start a completely new project at the most inappropriate times, like during an important lecture or at 1 am when she should be writing an essay that’s due the next morning.
  • because of this she ends up with a lot of incomplete works-in-progress and half-assed assignments
  • absolutely despises school and gets anxiety thinking about going back to class come sunday night
  • pretends to embrace the fact that people think she is “scary” and “intimidating” but after years of hearing it becomes very insecure — she wishes she were the first person to come to peoples’ minds when they think of someone nice and friendly.
  • is constantly insecure and ashamed of herself because she’s supposed to be debunking that stupid ‘dumb blonde’ stereotype but wonders if she’s only encouraging it when she looks back at her slip-ups/flubs during conversations and small mistakes on tests and terrible first impressions she’s made and every single impulsive decision she made that went wrong and— what kind of Athena kid is she?
Challenge Fic: Summer Berry

@txf-fic-chicks challenge for Post Episode/ Missing Scene

Rating: Teen

Summary: Missing scene for Wetwired. “He wonders if it’s possible to be jealous of a tube of lipstick.”

Notes: one-shot, no beta. Not my usual style and I’m unsure of how I feel about it. Went in a completely different direction than I had intended.


“Is she okay?” one of the Gunmen asks, but Mulder can’t determine which one as his heartbeat drums loudly in his ears.

“No…they uh…they need me to come and identify the body.”

He can’t feel his legs as he descends the steps of the gunmen’s lair, but he knows he’s moving because the bottom of his shoes click against the dirt-tattooed cement steps as he makes his way out to his car. He slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, peeling away from the curb and nearly taking out another sedan in the process, possibly even killing someone. Just add it to his tab. Another life. Another victim caught cruelly in the webbed trap of Fox Mulder.

When he tastes the bitter iron of blood he realizes that he’s been biting his lip ever since he left the Gunmen. He reaches across the console to the glove compartment, hoping to find something to keep his teeth busy, keep his jaw from permanently locking into place as he grinds his molars with each red light that stands between him and identifying the dead body of his partner.

He rifles through the cluttered mess: a map, napkins, assorted ketchup and hot sauce packets, a condom packet (from the Regan administration no doubt), lipstick, sunflower seeds…


Tossing the seeds to the passenger seat, he fingers the textured metal of the silver cosmetics case, feeling his stomach churn with each twist of the tube between his fingers. She’d left it there by accident, and it had been a fluke he even found it. Well, he didn’t find it, the guy at the car wash did. Fallen out of her purse and rolled under the seat, most likely.

“Su esposa? Your wife’s?” the attendant had asked, and Mulder chuckled with a shake of his head in the negative.

“No. Not my wife,” he’d said, sounding far too whimsical for his own liking, but the older man had simply winked at him, handing him the lipstick.

“Special lady then,” he’d said, his brown eyes twinkling with wisdom only age could bring.

“Very,” had been his reply, surprising even him at his outright honesty.

He twists the lid from the case, watching the color emerge from inside. How many times has he watched her apply it, pretending to ignore the feminine rituals she’d performed riding shotgun next to him for the last three years? She even had a system: pencil the edges, press lips together, twist lipstick tube, rotate tube till desired tip is facing appropriate direction, one small swipe down the middle, left swipe, right swipe, long swipe along button lip, press together, purse, eye critically, repeat and reapply where necessary…

In his mind, her movements are slow and deliberate. Her tongue darts out and wets her bare lips before the color is applied, and her teeth graze the inside of her bottom lip as she examines her work in the yellow light of the small mirror. How many times has this tube passed across her lips? How many times has her tongue tasted the waxy perfume? His cock stirs in his pants, and he wonders if it’s possible to be jealous of a tube of lipstick.

The highway is remarkably clear of traffic. Not that a few cars would stop him from his distracted reverie. So what if he killed himself on the way to the county morgue? Maybe they’d put him in a drawer next to Scully. It’s probably a good thing he’s holding the lipstick, he imagines – it’s keeping his hands busy.

If his hands are busy, there’s less of a likelihood of him using his hands for other purposes like erratic steering, shaving while driving, flipping off the minivan going 50 in a 65 zone…suicide.

He blames it on curiosity when he swipes his thumb across the creamy tip of the lipstick, staining his thumb with the deep raspberry hue. It’s softer then he imagined it would be, gliding effortlessly along the warm pad of his thumb. Does it feel like this when she wears it, he wonders? Are her lips as smooth, as ripe as the Summer Berry namesake it bears?

On impulse, he brings his thumb to his mouth, letting it linger against his bottom lip.

Will her lips be the same Summer Berry color he’s grown accustomed to seeing when he identifies her body? Or will her lips be the mottled blue of death, forever frozen in a shape of horror?

Tears blur his vision as he drives down the highway, thumb pressed against lips. What a fucking vision he must be to the other drivers, some crying asshole with his thumb in his mouth.

He’d be lying if he said he’s never thought about kissing her. Maleness aside, Dana Scully has a mouth meant to be kissed, if not in its delicious fullness, then to shut her up at the very least, and it’s only when he sees the County building ahead does he realize that this is the closest he’ll ever come to kissing her– nothing more than a lipstick stain on his finger. His reflection mocks him from the shiny silver tube in his hand.

You selfish bastard. This is all your fault.

Me: im fine, im cool, go with the flow, live and let live, dont let the little things weigh you down, life is too short to spend stressed over things that dont matter ✌✌✌✌

A sock: *exists in my view in a place that it shouldn’t be*

Me: life is over. What is the point of existing. When will the monotony end. Why do we only exist to wake up, survive, and die. All i do is work and tbis is how i am rewarded. I will be at peace when i am d e a d


(this takes place before/during the events of Jerome’s return)

It was dark and gloomy. The way it’s always been the past months. No sun shined through your window. Your life had been nothing but a cluttered mess, ever since Jerome died. Depression was a cloud that you were sure was going to follow you for the rest of your life.

You had cried yourself to sleep only months before today. That time that Jim and Harvey took you to his grave, you thought he was there. You thought he was with you. And then realization struck your mind and you lost it. You were the only one at his funeral.

The sound of the creaking floorboards and distant talking were the only things you would hear. Laying on your back, you hummed a sad tune to yourself. However, tears no longer ran down your face. You simply couldn’t cry anymore.

“Jerome…why couldn’t I save you?” you thought to yourself. “Galavan is already dead. If only I was the one to kill him for you…if only.”

A knock on your cell door pulled you out of your thoughts. The door swung open and the guard Anderson was standing there, his hands on his belt.

“Hey psychopath! Time for lunch. Get up and let’s go.” He announced.

You only groaned in response and turned on your side to try to forget he was even there. Looking at the wall now in front of you, you only imagined Jerome being there, laying by your side, stroking your smooth (s/c) skin.

“I said, get up!” Anderson yelled, yanking you by your arm. Weak, you dropped to the floor. Anger was coursing through your veins right now, but there was nothing you could do about it. You got yourself up off the floor and looked Anderson dead in the eyes.

“Don’t do that again.” You said.

“Get into the room already. You’re my last stop. I don’t want to spend an extra minute in here with you freaks.”

You sighed, slumping your shoulders and walking into the room with the others. The guard closed the door behind you and left. You took a seat at the first bench you saw, the lunch the asylum had prepared for you was right there.

“Mmm. Sloppy Joe and a pudding cup…again. Stop it, Helena, you’re spoiling me!” You yelled at her sarcastically. She only huffed in response and continued plating other trays. Eight months and they sevred you the same food everyday.

You were already used to the sound of the other patients screaming, so you could drown out the sounds of fighting and the same lady asking you about your house, pets, favorite color, and flavor of your skin.

“Not now, Golightly!” You rolled your eyes.

“Okay, okay! Just tell me when you don’t want your skin anymore! I’ll eat the rest of you for youuuuu!” She sang rolling and jumping from table to table.

“Cannibals.” You scoffed. Besides that, she was actually pretty nice.

Just then a laugh roared from behind you. You smiled, remebering Jerome’s laugh. It was full of pure evil, yet somehow it made you melt. Something that could only make you smile.

“Sloppy Joe and pudding again? I still don’t understand how you’re not sick of it.”

“It’s better than nothing, Jervis.”

“(y/n)!” He smiled a wide smile, sitting right next to you. “How was your morning?”

“Dull.” You smiled back. “Yours?”

“Quite splendid if you ask me!”

“What kind of drugs are you on? I’ll take whatever you’re having anyday.”

“No, no, no, no, no. No drugs! They do say laughter is the best medicine!”

You chuckled a bit. Jervis turned out to be the only (in)sane one who knew exactly what you were going through.

Jervis frowned realizing you weren’t really happy. Helena came and gave him his lunch tray and he gave her a smug smile in return.

“Ah, (y/n)? How about we play a game?” He tapped his fingers on the table wildly.

You furrowed your eyebrows at the sudden suggestion, but nodded anyway.

“Great! I give you something to solve, you answer it right and maybe I’ll give you a gift!”

“What exactly am I solving?


“Alright. Rhyme away.” You laughed.

“There was a chance that they used a cryogenic cooler, what translated from Slavic means ‘glorious ruler’?”

“What? Jervis, I can’t solve that.”

“You once took a Slavic class right? Then you can solve it!” He nuged you.

“I got a C in that class!”

“Stop complaining and think!”

“Okay fine.” You began to think hard. What could he possibly have meant? Jervis was one book that no one could read. He was so complicated. But you tried to solve it anyway.

“Cyrogenic means freezing bodies right?”

“You’re close!” Jervis giggled. “Cryogenic means the deep freezing, of bodies to be exact.”

“Why are you so weird?” You giggled along.

“Come on, (y/n)! Solve the last part!”

“Alright. Uhm Slavic language. Let’s see…glorious ruler…” Your head began to hurt trying to thibk of what it would translate to. You remembered all the phrases the teacher wrote on the board. Ruler and glorious definitely weren’t up there. “…I-I don’t know Jervis.”

“If you put your mind to it…” Jervis sang.

“You can do it.” You responded. “Only I can’t do it.”

“Simple minded puny girl. It mean Valeska.” A voice from the table next to yours spoke.

“What did you say?” You asked, a bit shocked by him responding at all. Enormous Eric usually never speaks. Unless it’s about ripping bodies apart.

“Huggggh. Valeska. Glorious Ruler means Valeska where I come from! Not that hard to understand, no?”

You felt a burning sensation start through your stomach. Turning to question Jervis, you stopped as soon as your name was called.

“(f/n) (l/n)! Here’s your certificate. You’re hereby declared, sane. Free to go.”

“I don’t understand.” You shook your head slightly.

Jervis then turned your attention towards him. “You don’t need to understand dear (y/n). You’re free.” He said hugging you. “See you on the outside!”

You hugged him back, still in disbelief. Getting up from your seat and taking your certificate of sanity, you finally walked out of the doors of Arkham Asylum.

You breathed in the fresh, ice cold air letting it enter your lungs for the first time in months. Tears filled your eyes. You felt happiness for the first time in awhile.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite girl.” Barbara smirked walking up to you.

“Barbara? What are you doing here?” You smiled running up to her for a hug.

She laughed, returning the hug. “I was given orders to get you out of this hole of despair. I would’ve done it earlier, but I honestly didn’t know you were here.”

“It’s alright. I’m just glad to finally be out of there. How’s Eddie and Oswald and Tab-“

“-All fine. Now enough about them. Before we go out tonight we’re going to need to something about that smell, outfit, and maybe you should wash your hair too.” Barbara smugly smiled.

“Oh, right. Sorry about the hug, I forgot-”

“No it’s quite alright, I’ll just burn it afterwards. Anyways, off we go!” She said, urging you to get into the limo. It’s been awhile since you’ve been this comfortable.

“Thanks for coming to get me, Babs.” You smiled weakly.

“Shhh. Get some sleep, (y/n). We have a big night ahead of us.”


As soon as you got to Barbara’s place, you took a long hot shower. You let the water hit your face, smiling as the heat welcomed you. Closing your eyes, you remembered everything from the past. Your good days and your bad days. That time in kindergarten where you poured paint on the kid named George all because he didn’t say hi to you that day. You laughed at yourself.

You heard distant talking coming from outside the door.

“…worry about. I didn’t tell her. I want it to be a surprise.” Barbara said. You couldn’t hear well so you stepped out of the shower and put your ear to the door.

“…Good. She’s going to be-” Your foot accidentally made a sound and quietly cursed yourself. Footsteps began to make their way to the bathroom door and quickly got back into the shower.

“(y/n)? Are you alright in here?” Barbara asked, a little nervousness and concern could be heard in her voice.

“I’m good. I’m just about to get out now.” You said, hoping to get our fast enough to see the person that the mysterious voice belonged to.

“N-now?! Why now?! Don’t you to wash your hair or something?” Barbara leaned against the wall, losing her cool for a bit, but then quickly gaining it back.

You stepped out of the shower and she handed you a towel. “I already did that, Babs.” You laughed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She smiled, perfect teeth and all.

“Good.” You began to walk out the door and Barbara closely followed behind, heels clacking against the floor.

“Hey, can I get ready in your room?” You asked Barbara. She didn’t hear you, due to her looking around the room for something or maybe the someone.

“Earth to Babs.”

“Oh! Of course you can. Help yourself.” She said going towards to kitchen.

You shook your head again. “Everyone is acting so weird today.” Getting to Barbara’s room, you began to dry off and then started to put on your clothes. You stopped though after you heard a breathy “whoa” come from the closet.

“Hello?” You gasped, picking up the towel and covering the front of you. You slowly walked towards the closet, hoping it was just your imagination. You began to turn the knob, when someone startled you and stopped you from doing so.

“Nice ass!” Barbara laughed.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Good. Here’s your clothes. I hope they’re comfortable enough for you… well actually come to think of it, I really don’t like that top.” She threw the ruffled forest green top on the chair and went to her closet.

You thought you heard her whisper something, but you forgot about it when she moved out of the way, and you saw no one else but her in there.

“How about this one?” She smirked. It was a (f/c) satin tank top. “These will look great with those leggings!”

“Thanks. Uhm, could I ask you something? Who exactly told you to get me out of Arkham?” You asked, eyes squinted slightly.

“That’s not important. What is important, is that you look sexy! We’re gonna have a girls night out. Just you and me. Now hurry up. There’s supposedly a little…movie starting at seven. We want to be there on time.“

An hour passed and it was already six thirty. You and Barbara were driving to this “secret location” she wouldn’t tell you about. You and her caught up with each other. You told her about Jervis and she rolled her eyes. Turns out they didn’t get along.

“Here we are and only fifteen minutes left until it’s time!” She clapped.

“In time for what?” You whined.

“I told you it’s a secret.” She booped your nose.

There were quite a few people around. Not to mention, they seemed a bit off too. This place was quite eerie, but in it’s own way it was relaxing. Colorful, dull, quiet, yet loud.

“Oh shoot. I almost forgot my phone. You go on without me. I’ll be right back.” Barbara said, walking away. You gave an okay, before continuing on through by yourself.

Barbara watched you and then got in the car. “Well. You have her where you want her.”

“All thanks to you. What is it you want in return?”

“Nothing. Her happiness is just enough for me. Take care of yourself. Oh and try not to give the poor thing a heart attack. You almost got caught in the closet.”

“It wasn’t my fault though. It’s been so long sincr I’ve seen her.”

“You still should have waited until the time was right. And speaking of time, it’s seven.”

“Of course! It’s showtime.”


You didn’t understand what was going on. Why was Jerome’s message to Gotham playing and why here? All you knew was that you wanted to leave. Barbara wasn’t here and it was starting to get frightening.

Just then a fight broke out and screaming could be heard through the entire place. You dodged a few flying chairs and made it out of there. You caught a glance of Jim and Harvey, but you decided it would be best if you didn’t let them see you.

You ran out, saving your own skin. Trying to catch your breath, you bent over your hands on your knees.

A laugh broke through the sound of the screams and made you stand up straight. “Jerome.” You sighed. You forgot, the video was still playing. With one last look behind you, you began to walk away. All of a sudden, your body shuddered with fear. You couldn’t move. “N-no.”

You wiped your eyes. “It’s just another hallucination.” You kept repeating to yourself. He couldn’t be real. You saw him die right in front of you. Looking up, you saw that a silhouette began to walk out of the darkness towards you. Right then and there, your heart sank.

“Did you miss me, doll face?

A Trip to the Station

This ficlet is part of the Claire returns early with Bree AU which begins with A Ringing Phone and a Folder.

This ficlet is a direct continuation from The First Letter

My Fanfiction Master List

Available on AO3 as The Nature of Choice.

This is an Outlander canon divergence AU.

As always, let me know what you think.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

there's so many of these dialogue prompts that fit jaytim too well aaaaah!!! could you please write something for 19? or just pick one you like especially, i really like what you write!! <3

Ikr?! I really like that list, tbh :D

As for #19, sure! Thank you for your patience, I hope you like this - it’s totally been inspired by this beautiful pic by @tanekore

[Read on AO3]

The rhythmic tapping of fingers on his nightstand was not something Tim usually woke up to. He wasn’t even used to another person being in his room, yet someone was definitely sitting next to his bed. Probably staring at his back and noticing the little jerk he gave as he pulled the blanket around him tighter.

The fingers stopped to move and the room fell silent. No birds sang outside his window and no one was puttering around in the kitchen downstairs. The manor usually was quiet in the early morning, but this silence was different. This silence was thick, putting pressure on Tim in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

He didn’t want to turn. Didn’t want to look over his shoulder to see the person sitting by his bed.

Someone was there, but he didn’t feel them; the only reason he knew they were even in his room had been the tapping. A deliberate sound made by a person that could so easily vanish into nothing… Tim swallowed. Maybe it was just his brain playing tricks on him again. It wasn’t unusual.

Inhaling, he loosened his fists, letting the blanket slip through his fingers. He was just being paranoid. Just imagining things. If he turned back, he would see nothing that hadn’t been there yesterday, just his desk and the cluttered mess made of clothes and games and computer parts.

Tim counted to ten. Then to twenty. Finally, he opened his eyes but didn’t turn, not yet. He still needed to count to another ten or twenty to do that. Staring at the wall his bed faced, he strained his ears. But there really was nothing. Not anymore at least.

He was about to roll on his back when he heard it: a small intake of breath, just a moment before he heard the voice.

“Good morning, detective. I see the assassins failed again.”

With a choked scream, Tim whirled around, backing against the wall as he faced his visitor. The man was big, bigger than Tim and quite a few pounds heavier. His face was hidden by a mask, but his clothes were similar to the ones the assassins last night had worn. Ra’s assassins.

“You’re League,” he hissed, one of his hands fisting the blanket to his chest again.

The other hummed before cocking his head to the side. “In a way. I’m an associate of Talia’s.” Raising a hand to his mask, the man revealed his face. “And Bruce’s.”

Tim’s lungs refused to work. His eyes blinked fast to fight the sudden tears that threatened to spill. He was afraid. Very afraid. This man was dangerous for more than one reason; least of all his League training.


“Replacement.” Jason’s lips drew back into a parody of a smile, baring his teeth.

Tim looked around for a weapon, finding his situation way worse than he’d thought at first. His back was to the wall and his legs were still tangled in the sheets - and this was Jason. Jason Todd. The Robin Bruce had lost and the assassin that had come back years later as Talia’s champion.

“I never understood how Ra’s could be that fascinated with you,” Jason continued, his arms crossed over his chest. His voice seemed almost bored but his gaze stayed on Tim. Without looking away, he reached for something on the nightstand. Something Tim remembered with a sudden shock that settled in his stomach, hot and heavy like a melting stone.

Jason twirled the knife around his fingers, his smile growing lazy. A knife that seemed to belong into his hand, seemed to be more of an extension of his arm than a separate tool.

A knife that Tim had taken from the assassins earlier.

They jumped at the same time, Tim pushing himself off the wall while Jason dived from his chair. It was a close call, but Tim ducked under the swipe, barely keeping the knife from slitting his throat.

Retreating backward was no option and the blankets didn’t allow Tim to do more than tug his legs under him and roll over the mattress. He kicked the offending cloth away as soon as he had put some distance between them.

Jason’s eyes raked over him, his grin back full force when Tim realized he wasn’t wearing any pants.

“I’m… starting to get what he sees in you,” the assassin chuckled, but he raised his head to look at the ceiling. And… was he blushing?

Tim was stupefied. He didn’t move when Jason tugged his chin down to his chest in a jerky parody of a nod, never once looking back at him. The knife landed on the discarded blankets with a soft thud, shocking Tim out of his stupor.

“Hold onto this for me,” Jason said before leaving. “You might need it next time I’m coming for you.”

Optimum Storage

Tiny headcanon that Lewa tends to fill every nook and cranny of his armor and subspace compartment with assorted junk. Snacks, tools, interesting rocks, shiny things, it all gets jammed haphazardly under a pauldron or greave. He carries so much and sorts it so haphazardly that it can often take ages of shuffling through various pockets to find anything specific. His subspace compartment is often so overloaded that it temporarily collapses, firing out a waterfall of junk and weapons from his back. Most of the team take it with good humor, but looking at the cluttered Toa-shaped mess with his Akaku gives Kopaka migraines. 

Small and extremely useful items, such as lock picks, are reserved for the small gap between parts of his Miru and face. 

Sometimes when his brothers and sister get frustrated waiting for him to find something they simply hold him upside down by the ankles and shake him until whatever he’s seeking falls free. This isn’t always faster, as repacking the resulting pile of items takes Lewa ages.

Back In The Saddle

Here is Part Two to “Salt And Pepper”

Pairing: Jeffrey Dean Morgan x Reader
Words:  1090

Read “Behind Brown Eyes”

-Jeffrey comes to visit the reader on set. Has he made a decision?-

Thank you @mamapeterson for looking over this for me!!

A/N: If you want tagged in anything, let me know. :)

Originally posted by negandarylsatisfaction

You were eating lunch in your on set trailer when someone knocked on the door.

            “Come in,” you called out, expecting Jared or Jensen to come in to have lunch with you like they did sometimes.

            The door swung open and you looked up to find Jeffrey standing there. You hadn’t seen him in the month since the con, the night he walked out of your hotel room without saying anything after your ultimatum.

            “Jeffrey?” You were frozen where you sat, confusion and apprehension bubbling in your belly.

            “Hi, Y/N.” He stood just outside of your trailer.

            “What are you doing here?” you asked, putting your fork down.

            “I came to talk to you.”

            Sitting back, you nodded and gave an invitation, “Come on in.”

            Jeffrey stepped in and, after closing the door, sat down across from you and pulled in a deep breath. “What if I told you that you were right?” he asked, the words rushing out in a cluttered mess.

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doing some bg studies! i never liked how chic the loft looked in glee? like it looks purposely fancy w weird ass artsy fartsy furniture LOL ! it doesn’t look like real people live there >:0

SO i wanted to design kurt and cedes’ apartment to look very home-y! with some clutter and mess. i think the best tv apartments has to be the one from Friends, it’s SO pretty w it’s bright colors but also SO cozy! i love taht they just have a whole bunch of shit, it has so much story without it being told ! i feel the same about the beach house in su! 

anyway i’d like to get better at bg’s simply because i believe the scenery should have just as much characters as the people do ! :’v

May I present “The Brandonverse”! This is literally every connection I could make from watching the super hilarious skit videos of Brandon Rogers. This includes all the mentions and appearances of characters before and after “A Day At The Park”. I worked hard to make all possible connections and make them visually readable. I mean it’s a cluttered mess but that seems appropriate for the messed world that Mr. Rogers created.

Challenge 59


*Maxerica pregnancy scare

(I’ve had these prompts forEVER and I’ve been wanting to write the story of how we got Lief, because it’s different from the other Laws of Inheritance Schreave babies, but it’s… sort of… long? And comes with its own world building history lesson? So I haven’t had time. But then I hit writer’s block with The Thing with Feathers (don’t worry! I have everything outlined, it’s just a matter of telling the story in a nice, readable way), so I decided to give myself a break and write something different and fun AKA this) (PS, it worked, my writer’s block is BUSTED in a way it hasn’t been in months. I’m only kicking myself for not trying this sooner!) 

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Not So Meant-To-Be [Philip x Reader] [1]

Summary: ([Selected] Soulmate AU | Modern AU) Saying you weren’t interested in this was an understatement. You liked to show you hated it so people knew not to question. However, you meet the one in a very unlikely circumstance.

Word Count: 1,585 (homaygad)

Warning/s: Strong language, horrible food making.

A/N: Aha, now this was inspired by a friend of mine who would usually deny they had feelings for a certain fellow they clearly had feelings for! Worry not (or maybe you should??)! This is actually probably part 1 to a story I’ll finish some time (in the far-off future, yeah) soon. It was fun writing this and as usual, feel free to request anything, give feedback, or just comment in general?? Yeah, see y’all!!

Tags: @finemeepppp

You wake up to the sight your grey ceiling.

You turn to look around the room. You see your grey flowers by the window, grey pencils and pens on your grey table, your grey brushes with matching grey paint in different tones; grey, white and black everything.

For as long as you could remember, the world around you didn’t look as beautiful as what the majority saw.

Unlike you, your parents praised your ‘gift’. They called it a blessing. It meant that you were blessed with the ability given by fate to know when you’ve met your ‘soulmate’.

You, however, thought it was ridiculous and unfair.

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