Humans and Terraforming

If there is one thing that can be said, humans are very good at changing their environment. Now regardless of your views on climate change or greenhouse gases, it cannot be denied that humans have left a big and very literally mark on our planet.

We’ve been doing it ever since our primeval ancestors figured out that fire can be used to clear forest, and that the grasslands created by such burning attracts grazing animals and gives us a clear line of sight for our throwing spears and nets. We have been doing it ever since the ancient humans figured out they could damn creeks to make ponds that lured in waterfowl. That if you repeatedly burned a clearing, the berry bushes would keep coming back ever year. That if you created stone walls along the low tide line, you could create sandy terraces that are perfect for clams. We managed our resources, only fishing at certain times, only hunting certain types of animals, or only cutting certain types of trees.

Then we invented agriculture and we wrought even more changes on the planet. We cleared forests to make room for our fields, pastures and cities. We terraced entire hillsides to allow us to grow crops. We drained swamps and cut the landscape with irrigation canals to provide our crops with water. Often we changed the very course of rivers and altered the soil we relied on, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. Forests disappeared as our cities and emerging states needed timber for construction, ship-building, and fuel to make pottery, smelt metals, cook our food, and keep us warm.

But we didn’t just change the landscape, we also changed the plants we grew so that they suited our needs. We changed the animals we relied on. We turned wolves into dogs, auroch into cows, ibex into goats, jungle fowl into chickens, and wild boars into pigs. We called this process domestication, and soon quickly forgot that we had ever been without these domesticates.

We made artificial hills for our rituals, built mountains out of cut stone to mark the tombs of revered rulers, carved symbols into the landscape. Sliced into mountains to carve roads, mine metal ores, and quarry stone. We made monuments so astounding that people thousands of years later thought they must have been made by the gods, and buildings of the modern age that dwarf them.

We’ve also traveled. We’ve crossed all our oceans, bringing with us the animals and plants of our homelands, and returning home with the animals and plants of other lands. Some is intentional. New crops that offer new advantages. Animals from far away to awe visitors or remind us of home. Some is unintentional. Plant seeds lodged in the tread of our boots. Insect larva in the bilge of our ships. Rats that scurry and stay out of sight, and hitch a ride on our sailing ships and outrigger canoes. Some we regret bringing, intentionally or not, others have settled in and carved their own place in their new home.

And now we look to the stars and wonder if we could do the same to other planets. To bring our life and our world to the stars. To turn a red planet green and blue.

And what if we succeeded? What if a red planet turned green, and flushed with our success, we turned to other balls of rock orbiting distant stars.

And what if we encountered other life. Life that was like us, but also very different. What if they had never seen life like ours before, that spread to the stars turning red, grey, and brown planets blue and green.

What if some are fearful. What if they seen our domesticated animals, our sculpted landscapes, and our diverse nations and fear that we will assimilate and change them and their world like we did to our ancient animal enemies and our distant home planet.

But what is some our awed, and look at us and see a species that can not only adapt itself to new and challenges and environments, but that also changes the challenge and environment itself. Often changing and adapting to the changes they themselves wrought. For better and worse, humanity sailed the stars on the crest of a wave of change that they themselves have been creating since their distant ancestors set fire to the underbrush and realized they could use this.

A Million Reasons

Characters:  Dean x Reader, Sam

Summary:  Dean keeps pushing the reader away.  Will she stay?

Word Count:  1442

Warnings:  Angst

A/N:  I’m currently obsessed with A Million Reasons by Lady Gaga, which inspired this. 

Tags are at the bottom. As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

Originally posted by won-der-land89

A Million Reasons

Rolling over in the bed, you sigh, realizing Dean isn’t next to you. Not that you’d expect it, not lately. You know where he is. Either at a bar or in the library drinking whiskey, or passed out on whatever surface seemed the most appealing in a drunken stupor.

You can’t remember the last time he’s smiled at you, or held you or said a kind word. Lately, it had been a constant stream of arguments and tears. The pain was bone deep, the hurt, the rejection that you felt on a daily basis, it was wearing you down.

Trying to wait it out, trying to be supportive, giving him space, it was taking a toll on you. It was breaking you. You were running out of reasons to stay.


Sam hears her sobs through the bedroom door as he makes his way to the kitchen. He hesitates, his hand on the knob. He doesn’t know if he should try to comfort her or if he should give her the dignity of privacy.

What he does know is that it can’t keep going on this way. Dean is lost is his own grief, angry and bitter, hiding in his cups and taking his pain out on the both of them. She gets the brunt of it, and it kills Sam. She doesn’t deserve it.

Sam is just about to turn the knob when he hears the bunker door swing open and the heavy tread of Dean’s boot on the staircase. He shifts back and forth from foot to foot trying to decide which direction to go.

With a heavy sigh, he removes his hand from the knob and turns to confront his brother.

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“I’m heading to the games, I’ll see you there.” Jughead called into the empty house, his voice echoing off of the tin roof of his trailer. He wasn’t quite sure why he bothered, his father was never home and his mother preferred to act as though he didn’t exist.

He walked the streets of district 8, his hands shoved into his pockets as he coughed. Working the mines was really getting to him, the smoke and coal filled his lungs and his hands were callused and burned, this wasn’t the life he would have chosen but in Panem, well there really wasn’t much of a choice, your life was determined by your District and he just happened to be born into the most grueling one.

On top of his nonstop work schedule he hadn’t gotten any sleep, he couldn’t stop thinking of the games, thinking of Jellybean, of Betty. The blonde had burrowed her way into a place deep in his mind, he found himself worrying abou her nonstop, no good could come of it,he knew that but still… she was so… good.

Joaquin appeared beside him so suddenly he nearly dropped the heavy chunk of charcoal he was weighing in his hands.

“Jesus Joaquin, do you not have any tread in your boots.” He shook his head and shoved his friend teasingly.

Joaquin grinned for a moment before his face dropped to something much more serious
“The plans in action, after the games today we’ll all stay, we won’t move. Let the peace keepers do what they want.” He shrugged a mischievous smile playing in his lips

Jughead nodded, the rebellion was starting in district 8, the Miners were on board when he casually mentioned fighting the system, everyone was aware of the risks but they wanted this, they wanted freedom, wanted the fighting to end.

Veronica was slumped in her seat when they arrived, Jughead squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and she looked up at him exasperated

“I want to help you guys, I want to be part of the rebellion!” She sighed angrily

Joaquin shook his head
“No Ronnie, with your dad being the mayor it isn’t safe for you to rebel, give it time.”

She mumbled something under her breath before dropping even lower in her seat.

Jugheads eyes scanned the crowd and landed on his father, he was leaning against a railing beside some of his friends from the mines, he caught Jugheads eyes and stared intently, he wanted his son to know he knew what he was planning, it was the talk of the mines. Jughead shook his head abruptly and averted his eyes, he couldn’t go back now, what’s done is done.

The screen lit up and the whole of Pops quieted, Jugheads fingers went to his seat as he prayed Jellybean and Betty had made it through the night.

Sure enough Jellybean was the first one the camera zoomed in on, she was perched in a tree, Kevin Keller beside her a protective arm wrapped around her as they both stayed silent.

The camera then panned to Finnick and Betty, weapons raised as they scanned their surroundings

“Come out now, we know you’re here, fight this like the careers that you are.” Finnick growled, his eyes flicking to Betty’s, she nodded her head towards the bushes and they both slowly made their way over, shoved back instantly when Cheryl and Jason Blossom leapt out, twisted smirks on their faces.

“It’s so sad you have to die this way, although it’s kind of sweet, dying together. Of course you know all about death, right Finnick, you’ll be with Annie soon.” Cheryl blossom grinned

The beautiful boy growled, his trident poised directly in the redheads face. Betty was beside him her knives lifted as she kept her eyes steadily on Jason Blossom.

It all happened too quickly, a jumble of red hair and explosions, the bombs were underneath there feet, they hadn’t noticed they had been too busy preparing to battle.

Betty screamed as an explosion singed her arm

“Jellybean run! Finnick get them someplace safe.” She begged as Cheryl lunged at her using the commotion to her advantage. Jughead was leaning forward in his chair, biting his lip so hard until he tasted blood.

“Kill her. Please Betty kill her.” He whispered desperately.

Bombs were exploding beside them as Cheryl straddled Betty her hands tight around the blondes throat, her bright red lips snarled.

Suddenly Cheryl was falling off of Betty and screaming, a hunting knife sticking out of her side as she clawed at it, pointed fingernails covered in blonde.

Jason ran for his sister but was quickly stopped as a blonde exploded directly under his feet ending his entirely.

Betty stared for a moment at Cheryl before looking to the sky and mumbling and running off.

The massacre they had all just seen seemed to stun the entire district 8 into silence. They stared at the screen and watched Cheryl Blossom take her last breath. Jughead was standing now, moving closer to the screen, waiting.

The screen panned to the four tributes now as they threw themselves on the floor.

Finnick panted and gripped his trident,

“That’s it. It’s done it’s just us.”

Jellybean was clutching Betty and Kevin nodded somberly. They knew what came next, it was then end.

“No” Betty whispered, her eyes hard as she stood

“No” she growled “we won’t kill each other, you can’t make us. You can bomb us, you can send mutts but you can’t make us kill each other. You can try and burn us but if we burn, you burn with us.”

The act of defiance was met with a black screen, the games were over, but they had really just begun.

anonymous asked:

Can you post some zookeeper must have items? Like work boots and khaki pants? Rain gear?

Alright, let’s turn this into a mini How to Zookeep because man do I need to continue that series… anyways…

Here’s some of the most helpful things a zookeeper can have…

Rain Gear

Originally posted by biscuitsarenice

What kind of rain gear you get depends on climate and your level of comfort, but in general you’ll at least want a good rain coat. You can either go for a lightweight shell that layers on top of other coats (I have a Patagonia torrentshell) or a heavy duty coat like a large PVC one. Either way, you want something that is strong and not going to rip apart - cheapo ponchos are not a good option here. As for rain pants, that just depends on your level of dedication to not getting wet… If you’re alright looking like a bit of a dork (what keeper isn’t?) and your legs won’t turn into an oven, go for it.


Originally posted by angelicaprocrastinates

Even if you think “I don’t care if my shoes get wet!” or “I just don’t have a use for them!” …the day will come… when you NEED boots… Yes, you will care when your shoes get wet and you get trench foot. You’ll have a use for them. It will happen. If you think you don’t need boots, get the $10 Wal-Mart ones and store them somewhere and forget about them till the day you decide oh-lord-i-need-friggin-boots. And if you DO think you need boots, go ahead and splurge on some comfy, flexible ones like Muck Boots.


Originally posted by astrorhea

The verdict is still out on shoes - do you splurge or save? The thing is, in our line of work, shoes wear out fast. You’ll always here the anecdotal tale of some mythical zookeeper who bought Red Wing boots at a thrift store for $5 and they lasted for 10 years and he was put in his grave wearing them but… Shoes, even the $200 ones, rarely last longer than a year. Most have about a six month lifespan. Many keepers, ‘cause you know, we’re poor, buy the cheapo shoes and let them get worn down to shreds. Some keepers are able to get the nicer fancy shoes (waterproof, good tread, hiking boots, etc.) and they last a while, but still, usually not longer than a year. So if the cheapo shoes are comfy and last you at least 3 months, I say go for it.

Also, invest a few bucks in this:

This stuff is seriously amazing. It’s not a cure-all, but it has extended the life of my many different pairs of boots and shoes by at least a few weeks to months. I’ve used shoe goo to fix everything from a straight up giant hole in the sole of a steel-toed boot (used them for another two months) to minor stuff like small tears in fabric. They also have a plumbing version (called “Plumbing Goo”) that is super waterproof and strong, which I have used in a pinch to patch everything from my rain boots to my car bumper (3 years going strong!)

Pants and Shorts (probably khaki)

Originally posted by huffingtonpost

You’ll need some most-likely-khaki pants and shorts for your day. Unless your work is extra fancy and provides pants as well as shirts. Seeing as our profession is mostly women, we run into the problem of most clothing manufacturers thinking that women’s pants should all be paper-thin, skin-tight, lacking pockets, and generally enforcing the patriarchy.

So shopping in the men’s area (and writing a strongly worded letter demanding POCKETS) is probably your best best. Honestly, I’ve found some of my best pants (including flannel lined khakis) at the thrift store. Time to pop some tags.

Originally posted by dontspeakbitchjustdie

Other places to check out include sporting goods stores, Old Navy, and outdoors stores. You’ll want lightweight pants/shorts for the summer and heavy duty in the winter. Also either buy some liquid stitch or learn how to sew because you’re gonna get some holes in them.


Originally posted by sachinteng

Multi-tools are incredibly handy for zookeepers. You’ll probably want the fold-out kind with pliers like a standard Leatherman. Gerber multi-tools are also pretty good if you want a more affordable option. It’s easiest to get a carrying case that attaches to your belt loop. If you don’t want or need the bulk of a multi-tool, a small utility knife or swiss army knife can still be very useful.


Originally posted by aetna

Y’all. Most of us are outside all the time. Or at least outside more than the average office worker. We need to wear sunscreen. If you’re outside a lot in direct sunlight, please wear sunscreen. I started getting into the habit of it last year and it’s annoying to remember and sometimes I forget but it’s good to at least try. 

Originally posted by giphy

I recommend keeping a couple of sunscreen sticks around at work as a start. Try to put some on before you leave the house. Obviously if it’ll be downpouring or you work in a basement, you might not need it as much. But still. Protect yourselves.

shady-swan-jones  asked:

drabble prompts: i thought it would be fun if you did a combination of 57 and 62. <3

I’m sorry for taking so long with this Sophie, thanks for being so patient with me, I hope you like this <3

57. “Will you just shut up for a moment so I can say something nice to you!” + 62. “That came out wrong.”

Killian can barely feel his limbs by the time the chase is over and the criminals have been apprehended and brought in. He puts all his weight on his right leg, wary of his left that was injured in a tackle last week appears to be throbbing now.

He slumps down in his chair. It rolls a little backwards under his pressure and he can’t be bothered to drag it back to its original place. Not right now anyway; he’ll give himself a few minutes to collect himself and then proceed with the paperwork.

It’s late enough that it’s just him at his desk, their drug bust stretching out for longer than either him or Emma had expected. But he has nowhere to be, so he might as well get a head start on the documentation.

He hears footsteps and despite being turned away, he knows it’s her. He could recognise the heavy tread of her boots anywhere. It was only a matter of time before she sought him out to chew his ear off. He’s been preparing himself for this for hours.

“Jones, what the hell was that?”

He tilts his head to the side to regard her, a vision with her expression fierce and her hands on her hips. She’s tied her hair up and slid out of her signature red leather jacket. She looks like a marvel, and he laments for every instance she’s shot his teasing flirtatious down, every invitation for a celebratory drink she’s declined, and every smile she’s given him that’s disappeared before it’s even fully formed. Killian sighs and launches into his explanation, “I know, Swan, I didn’t follow the plan. But quite frankly I believe I was in the right. I saw an opening and I took it.”


“And I know we talked about this and drew up a clear method to infiltrate them, and I know it was a risky move to bust in the way I did with the state my leg is in. It was not the brightest idea, I agree.”


“But had I insisted on following through with our initial plan of attack, there is no doubt that one of the men would have found us out and have had us by our necks in an instant. Not to mention–”

“Damnit Killian, will you just shut up for a moment so I can say something nice to you!”

Killian’s mouth hangs halfway open, his words cut off instantly. His brain doesn’t make the connection to close it, not until Emma sighs and runs a hand over her face.

“Go on, then,” he mumbles after a moment. He sure as hell was not expecting her to sing his praises after he did what she specifically told him not to do.

“You are such an idiot,” she huffs out, and Killian makes a noise of resignation in the back of his throat. Emma squeezes her eyes shut and tilts her head heavenward. Under her breath, he hears her say, “That came out wrong.”

He sits up straighter when she opens her eyes and moves to lean on his desk, right in front of him.

“What I mean is,” she pauses, chews on her bottom lip, and then finally says, “thank you. If you hadn’t did what you did, that guy would’ve shot me. And then you. And then this whole thing would’ve been over.”

Killian furrows his brows, not sure how to take her sincerity despite it making his heart thud harder and chest feel warmer. “I was only looking to protect you,” he says, his hand automatically going to scratch behind his ear in a nervous tic he despises.

“I know.” She nods and looks at her crossed arms. “But it was still a stupid move, your leg is jacked up and now you’ve probably made it worse.”

“Ah, and the true Swan returns,” he teases at her ability to throw insults at him in quick succession.

“Someone’s gotta keep you in check.”

“I thank the heavens every day that you’ve taken it upon yourself to do that job,” he smirks.

Emma rolls her eyes and stands up. “You should really get home, you’ve had a long day. And you should rest your leg.” She’s still giving him orders but the earnestness in her eyes betrays her.

“As much as I appreciate the concern, love, I think I’ll stick around for a little while.”

She hesitates for a second before giving him a stiff nod, and disappearing into the kitchen, no doubt to grab her things and be on her way. He knows how she works, her flight instinct a blazing alarm in her mind. There’s something about her walls that remind him so much of his own, something about her pain that makes him want to erase it.

He’s still musing on his infatuation with his partner when she comes back into his line of vision. She carefully places two mugs of coffee on his desk and slings off her messenger bag before heaving out a stack of papers.

She’s rolled over a chair and seated herself on the opposite end of the desk before Killian catches on to what’s happening.

“Forgive me if I sound rude, but what are you doing?”

“I figured you could use some company.” She doesn’t meet his eyes, instead opting to unnecessarily sift through her papers. “Besides, I thought we could have a celebratory drink.”

Killian’s eyes move from her to the mugs, and before he knows it, he’s opening his drawer and uncorking his flask of rum. He raises his eyebrows in question and she nods.

“You keep alcohol in your desk?” Emma asks, a smirk forming on her lips.

“You don’t?” he shoots back.

She hums, but doesn’t say anything else. She lifts up her mug in a toast when he’s done and he follows suit. “To getting the job done.”

“To us,” he amends, “we do make quite the team.”

Emma smiles. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

(And when she kisses him after a few hours of conversation and laughter, tasting of caffeine and rum, there’s no doubting how good of a team they do make.)

theazureesper  asked:

What are your opinions on design and aesthetic in regard to superheroes? We all know that Superman has one "correct" costume, but what about the rest of The JLA? Particularly, Batman. He's a real fashionista.

For the most part I think Chris Sims hit the nail on the head with his old article on the subject, but obviously I have some thoughts of my own. I don’t think simplicity is itself the key; Spider-Man’s pretty overdetailed, and Spider-Man’s costume is Spider-Man’s costume. If I had to set down a rule in that regard, it’d be more along the lines of try and keep it sleek, unless you have a good reason not to.

This would be a reason suits tend to work pretty well as superhero uniforms, while other ‘normal’ clothes don’t tend to as much. Same with tights. With someone like Doctor Strange on the other hand, you’ve got the elaborate design and cape, but that’s because he’s supposed to be weird and arcane.

For Superman and Batman, since you mentioned them specifically, I think that - aside from Batman getting the ‘60s New Look revamp shortly before his first huge mass-media exposure, building in the idea that he could change his look on occasion - it’s that the color balance isn’t quite as delicate with him. Superman struck a really nice balance between the red yellow and blue, whereas with Batman he’s always a sea of gray and either blue or black; a little more or less yellow in one or two spots doesn’t alter it nearly as much. And both come down to simple shapes without too many extraneous details, with just a handful of major defining elements - cape (straight or scalopped), logo, trunks/belt, boots, and for Batman the mask and gloves.

And of course there’s the cardinal rule of superhero costumes, that they’re supposed to say something about the character. For Superman, he has circus and strongman iconography, but it also looks sturdy and with the cape slightly regal; he looks like a bizarre, larger-than-life protector with nothing to hide. With Moon Knight above, the suit denotes class and a certain degree of authority, as well as his nature as a detective, but the creepy featureless mask makes him a ghoul, with whatever law he enforces not being something mortal men would quite understand. Spider-Man’s flashy and gaudy as a guy who draws attention to himself, but while the expressive eyes let a lot of emotion show through, they’re also distinctly inhuman as a reminder that he has the power of something that creeps people out. And then there’s the gold standard:

Flash has the best superhero outfit flat-out, and it isn’t even a contest. Not only is it sleek and simple while remaining distinctive, everything about it communicates that this is a guy who moves fast; the treads on the boots, the lightning bolts, the Hermes wing ears, and the yellow of the lightning mixed with the red-hot bodysuit that screams heat and velocity. He’s where all the principles come together in the best possible way, and for over 50 years the rest of the genre has had to settle for no more than second best.


Originally posted by 94londonstreet

You’d seen him around. For the last three weeks, he’d been in the studio you worked at almost every day. And almost every day, he’d pass you at your post in reception. The first few days, he’d give a small smile and hello. Then he’d asked for your name and you his, even though you knew who he was, not just from his time in a wildly successful and famous boyband, but from the fact you worked reception at a recording studio and part of your job was to know the people who recorded there. Next, he began stopping by for a chat either on his way in or out. Then he always stopped for a chat on his way in and out. Your knees grew weaker every day as your interactions with him progressed.

You had a proper crush on Harry Styles.

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Wanted (Sam Drake x Reader) Chapter 10: Sunday, Bloody Sunday

hello everyone!!! i’ve made an update to wanted’s plan for chapters, i have one more after this that is going to be considered an epilogue to tie everything together! so it’s not over yet, but this is the last of the action! as always, let me know what you think!

words: 2,923

tag list!: @lucilaura, @impossible-box, @dragonjedihobbit, @jodiereedus22 @brutal-crazy-joker, @heroes-x-thieves, @unchxrted, @littleasexualtree, @multifandomluv7

Alone at the end of a dock stood an abandoned building, still stocked with the crates from a once booming business. It was the perfect place to hold secrets, and for those secrets to never escape the walls that held them inside.

It was the warehouse.

The moon watched over the water with its light seeping through holes in the roof and providing the only light in the night.

Sam was the first to wake. His eyes shot open in a panic; gagging and coughing from water that trickled around his face.

You woke shortly after. Your eyes opened slowly; shutting them once more from the shooting pain in the side of your head.

Small streams of moonlight peered through slats of wood in front of Sam’s beaten face. He attempted to sit up but soon realized he was laying down. He shifted and realized he was enclosed on all sides. He was trapped.

Circles of moonlight fell onto the concrete floor from the perfectly placed opening in the roof. You stirred in the chair you realized you were sitting in, feeling your wrists tight against the back of the chair. You were handcuffed. You were restrained.

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Just Breathe

Small, choked, harried breaths.

When did it become so hard to breathe?

Every night the tears came, never in any particular order. Never with any particular rhyme or reason. No.

But there was a reason, wasn’t there?


Sarya swept the tears away and adjusted her head so she wouldn’t have to lie in the soaked pillowcase. She hadn’t felt so emptied before in her life, yet every time she thought she’d cried the last tear, there was still some inner compartment of herself that hadn’t unlocked, thus spilling its contents whenever it chose to do so.

She shuddered against her own hands as they crossed her chest and cupped each shoulder, trying to somehow hold herself together though she knew she was a cracked and broken vessel.


Her hands could not be the adhesive she was in dire need of.

She scooted under her covers just a little further. The sun was not yet over the horizon and she knew she’d have a few more moments to herself before replacing the Inquisitorial mask and going about the usual business, pretending that she wasn’t some shapeless ghost wandering aimlessly with nothing left inside.

For that’s what she was, a ghost. Formless. Shapeless. An apparition with no heart or soul, simply gliding along the halls or passing through the walls. Or maybe she was even less than that. Perhaps she was simply nothing, a vapor in the wind.

Sarya drew her knees into her body, curling herself up into a ball, hoping that it would hold in the oncoming storm that she felt brewing again in the depths of her mind.

A tap sounded on the door, sending her further beneath the covers, wanting nothing more than to be alone. But then she heard it click as it opened and the heavy tread of boots slapping on the stone stairs as the unwanted guest continued with their invasion.

A soft sigh as they stopped at the top of the stairwell and she imagined them holding onto the bannister, looking on her with a stupid pitiful look, not really understanding what she felt—what she couldn’t feel…

“I thought I might find you here. I brought you some breakfast.” It was Cullen’s voice she heard and she was very much surprised by it.

Still, she really didn’t want to have a discussion and it was not yet time to face another day.

“I will just set it next to your bed. Here on the end table.” He went quiet as she heard the tray clatter slightly as it came to rest on the table.

Then she felt the slight pressure of his hand through the sheets against her own hand. “I am sorry, Sarya for your loss. It is never easy to lose the ones you love.”

His hand lifted and then he retreated back the way he had come. There was no lecture for her to move on. No encouragement to get out of bed. No pity or disapproval. Instead, Cullen offered kindness and sympathy and for a brief moment there was a flicker of hope.

“Thank you,” Sarya whispered as another wave of tears began to stream down her face.

*random prompt I filled for myself*

"Beauty And The Beast" - Negan Imagine (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Negan x Reader

Prompt: “Being on the Lucille Lineup and Negan taking an interest in you.”

Word Count: 1028

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Warnings: violence 


Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine

Originally posted by grungedaddykinks

By this point you couldn’t hear, or feel, anything. The pavement beneath you pierced your knees, the cold feeling colliding with you. Your eyes didn’t wander past the ground, you saw Michonne on your left and Daryl on your right.

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fight-me-boi  asked:

Headcanon: Zoe hates/is terrified of spiders, that's what started Connor's habit of wearing boots. The treads make it easier to squish spiders then sneakers and they have more support then vans/converse/airwalks

Canon accepted, when they start losing touch one of the things Zoe whispers is she misses having someone squish her spiders for her. 

Many Happy Returns

Title: Many Happy Returns

Pairing: Reader x Dean

Word count: 3,114

Theme song: My Kind of Man by Vance Joy

This is a birthday imagine for Dean! Got a few requests for a story to go along with the gif imagine of him getting a few minutes with the people he’d lost. And we had to do something special for his birthday right? Right!


Your name: submit What is this?


You slammed the bunker’s door shut from just inside where you’d been peering out, and ran quick as you could down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“He just pulled up! Everyone get ready!” you announced, making your way through the war room and into the library. 

“Y’all, shouldn’t we be hiding? What’s a surprise party without jumping out and yelling ‘surprise’?” Garth asked, looking around for validation.

“Trust me, Garth, I think Dean’s going to be plenty surprised as it is. Jumping out from behind furniture to surprise a hunter in his own home probably isn’t the greatest idea,” you replied, giving him a smile.

“Fair point,” Charlie nodded. You looked behind you to Sam and Cas, giving them a nervous smile before casting your eyes around the room to all the other guests. You could hardly contain yourself as you heard the bunker’s heavy metal door open and shut loudly, followed by Dean’s boots treading heavy down the stairs.

“Sammy? Y/N? You guys home?” he called out. 

“We’re in here,” you replied. You waited with nervous excitement as his footsteps drew closer, through the war room, and finally into the library where he stopped short. His mouth was parted slightly and his eyes were rapidly going from once face to the next.

“Surprise!” Garth yelled, pushing past Bobby and Ellen. He pulled Dean in for a hug, laughing, either unable to see the shock on Dean’s face or thinking he could hug it out of him. Dean’s hands patted Garth’s back numbly but his eyes were still wide as before. 

You hurried to him, glad that the crowd of friends and family you’d gathered was standing patiently as you’d asked them to instead of descending upon Dean. You pulled him aside by his arm.

“So…I heard it was your birthday today,” you started, keeping your voice low. Dean tore his eyes from the party-goers and slid them to you.

“Y/N, they can’t be here. These are shifters or ghouls or something. You know that, right? These people are dead,” he said in a harsh whisper. You glanced behind you to Bobby and Ellen, Jo, Kevin, Benny, Pamela, and Dean’s mom.

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Just A Walk- Fred Weasley

Originally posted by thelonegryffindor

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Characters: Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Bill Weasley, Percy Weasley, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Fleur Delacour, Victoire Weasley, Angelina Johnson, Audrey Weasley

Warnings: Badly written proposal

Request: N/A

Word Count: 1513

Author: Charlotte

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Handmade Gifts

A short Satinalia story, inspired by and dedicated to @cute-ellyna!

I told you that the whole idea for this story popped into my head… and that wasn’t quite true. I had Ellyna’s part figured out right away, but it wasn’t till your announcement that Cullen’s side instantly came to mind. I hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Cullen x Ellyna Lavellan

Word Count: 869

Tags: Fluffy, Romance

Link: AO3

It was a fun idea of Cullen’s; a little bit silly but very fun. They had decided that instead of buying gifts for each other, they would exchange handmade presents for Satinalia.

In the weeks leading up to the holiday, Ellyna would occasionally catch Cullen frantically stuffing something out of sight as she came to his office, and she certainly did her own scrambling when she heard the familiar heavy tread of his boots coming up the stairs. Each time they would have a silly grin on their faces, curiosity and shared amusement.

And now it was the evening of Satinalia, time to exchange the results of their efforts.

The festive air of the holiday had descended on Skyhold, and into her chambers. Some days ago, Ellyna and Cullen had created a mass of pillows and blankets before the fireplace, sharing warmed spiced apple cider or hot chocolate and cookies while relaxing before bed. It had become a haven, a cozy spot for the two of them, and so that is where they sat now.

Ellyna held the wrapped package behind her back, squirming as Cullen settled down across from her. An excited and mischievous grin was permanently plastered over her lips. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face.

The firelight played lovingly over Cullen, sparkling in his eyes, and she waited only until he was down before bouncing and thrusting the package at him. “Here! Happy Satinalia!”

Cullen chuckled and slowly started to unwrap it, his eyes bouncing between her animated face and his present. Finally, a bright red color was revealed, and he lifted a soft material away. It spilled down, showing itself fully, and Ellyna had to hold in her laughter at Cullen’s puzzled, priceless, expression. “It’s a scarf,” she snorted through her giggles.

It certainly didn’t look it. Cullen held the narrow end, the bottom edge twice the size of the top. And throughout all of it there were at least a dozen holes from where she had dropped stitches. “Leliana was teaching me, but I think it is safe to say I am not very good at it. You don’t have to wear it in public,” She laughed, amused at her crafting un-talents.

Cullen’s chuckle rumbled through the room and he wrapped the red monstrosity around his neck. “I think it is perfect.” He leaned in for a chaste kiss and spoke against her lips, “I will wear it with pride,” he pulled back and bobbed his head in an amusedly resigned gesture, “and probably to quite a lot of teasing.”

They both laughed again, Ellyna scooting a little closer so their knees touched. She had chosen the color well, if nothing else, she saw with pleasure. The red was a lovely foil to his golden hair, and when it was wrapped around his neck like that, no one could see the holes or the mess she had made with the size.

“Now it is your turn,” Cullen said, and she was surprised to see that he looked nervous. Cullen carefully presented her with a small box, a big green bow tying the lid in place. Ellyna peeked up at him once before pulling away the ribbon and lifting the top. Inside was a roughly but intricately carved twist of wood, details engraved into the entwined loops, a long leather necklace attached to the work.

“In Ferelden, they are called love knots,” Ellyna raised her eyes to Cullen, saw him pull out a knot in the mirror image to the one in her hands from where it had been hidden beneath his tunic. “One half for you, and one half for me. They say that when a couple wears them, that they will be always intertwined, inseparable from each other.”

“Cullen,” she breathed, deeply touched. She immediately lifted the necklace from the box, slipping it over her head. She studied it; it wasn’t perfectly symmetrical nor entirely smooth, but she could see all the hard work he had put into it. All the love he had poured into the details.

Uncharacteristically, Cullen flushed, bright pink rising to his cheeks. He self-consciously rubbed the back of his neck, and then shyly said, “It’s also… when someone carves a pair of love knots and gives one to the person they love…” Cullen’s eyes locked with hers, the hesitancy and embarrassment fading away to be replaced by a steady warmth, “It is a marriage proposal.”

Ellyna sucked in a breath, blinked. A bubbling excitement grew, her lips slowly widening. “A proposal,” she repeated.

Cullen’s smile was growing with hers. “Yes.”

“Of marriage.”


“With me.” She was almost squealing.

Cullen laughed and said, “Yes.”

Ellyna burst up, throwing her arms around her neck and shouted, “Yes!” Cullen toppled over backwards into the nest of pillows, his arms coming around her waist to hold her close as she peppered kisses along his cheeks, forehead, nose, lips, anywhere she could touch. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Cullen laughed, his grin so broad and open, and he captured her lips in a deep, satisfying, loving kiss. When they came up for air, Ellyna crowed, “Best Satinalia ever!” And then her fiancé pulled her down for another very thorough kiss.

Congrats hun! I wish you two all the best!

My Fanfiction Master Post


    There’s TOO many of them – there’s anxiety that thrums through his chest, even though he’s not MEANT to feel it. His eyes are scanning for the two Winter Soldier’s that have disappeared from the facility; they were being transferred from Siberia for training in the field, something he already wasn’t looking forward to, even if all he could feel is dread. He is not TRAINED to feel such emotions, but he knows what those two can do; old BRUISES are almost flared up once more at the mere though to of them. Careful boots TREAD through the snow and smoke, eyes darting and trying to LOCATE. It’s too HARD to see though, even with his enhanced eyes, and they’re on him in SECONDS. He’s fighting, punching, throwing knives and trying to shoot, but it’s USELESS. They’re VICIOUS, ready to KILL and that’s all – and then a sharp, blistering pain goes through him and his entire body goes NUMB.

       A weird SILENCE is ringing in his ears as he turns his head, realizing that his arm is DETACHED and flung feet away in the snow. He’s been taught to REPAIR on the field but this…this isn’t something he can handle. He doesn’t even realize that it’s HIS scream that’s echoing through the valley, the SHOCK settling in along with the searing, unadulterated PAIN.

closed starter for @xdevilinthechurch


The young woman hiked through the thick German wood, the rain making hardly anything not directly in front of her visible. She had been backpacking across the continent, but had found herself in these particular woods in an attempt to add more Polaroids to her growing collection.

The day before she had come upon a dusty, old cabin where she had eaten breakfast and snapped a shot or two.

She loved traveling like this, no exact destination in sight. Just her, her Polaroid camera, her backpack, and the ’Make way for the homosuperior’ button on her backpack. The pin was a quip at the non-allies, a Bowie reference, and a pro-mutant statement all at once, it was one of her favorite possessions.

She liked helping people…it felt good…felt like the opposite of the destruction she could have caused working for Stark.

Trekking through the mud, the treads of her boots tried their hardest to keep her from sliding into the nearest tree.

Alas, fate would have it be otherwise.

Sliding front-forward into something she couldn’t quite see, she immediately felt that it was not, in fact, a tree.

“Sorry!” She began, holding onto them for dear life. “It’s raining like the Amazon, I need to make camp.” She explained, looking up to them, still clutching at them for balance.

anonymous asked:

idk if you're still taking writing requests, but if you are: do you have any thoughts on leia telling han she's pregnant with ben?

  • Leia spends precisely ten days Freaking Out About This.
    • To be clear, Freaking Out About Potentially Having A Baby (With Han Solo Oh Frag) gets somewhat buried below the fold, since they haven’t definitively won the war against the Empire.
    • (Killing Darth Vader and Darth Sidious does not equal defeating the Empire, Luke, whatever you tell handsome men in bars.)
    • Also Leia is coming to terms with the fact that apparently her biological father was Darth Vader? The most-feared man in the galaxy, the one who destroyed her planet and the people she considered her family, she feels a headache coming on every time she stops to think about it.
    • And whenever she’s in the same room(/shuttle/base/planet/system) as Han, it is so easy to just………let him distract her, he is very good at distracting her, which is how they ended up in this situation in the first place.
  • She’s busy, is the point.
  • Anyway, she takes ten days to low-key freak out about this, to turn her options over in her mind, because whatever her flaws (prone to fits of temper and a little emotionally withholding, yes, thank you Han) she’s not about to make a decision like this lightly.
  • Ultimately, she feels right having this child, this one—a child of Endor, the first child to be born without the shadow of the Empire hanging over him.
    • “With Han,” Luke says. “With Han Solo,” he repeats, when she says yes. “You’re really sure?” Luke asks, pulling a face of such brotherly disgust that Leia laughs, and throws her pillow at him.
  • It takes a while to wrangle it, because they all keep ending up at different ends of the galaxy—that war they’re still fighting won’t end, it’s terribly inconvenient—and she wants everyone to be there, Luke and Chewie and Han, all of them.
    • They’re all that’s left of her family, she wants them around her when she says, I am having a child, I think it’s a son. I want to name him Bail, after my father. 
  • She fully expects Han to go white beneath his sunsburn, to hightail it from the base, from the system (she asks Chewie and Luke to guard the door, just in case)
  • But instead Han Solo smiles. His whole face transforms, opens up; he’s looking at her as he hasn’t looked at her in years, since he said, I’m a nice man, and there was enough wanting in the words to make it almost true.
    • “Really?” he asks, and his voice is so full of hope it cracks and spills out. “There’s—there’s a baby?”
    • “I don’t know how babies work,” he laughs, his hand spanning the not-even-swell of her stomach, because Han Solo doesn’t know how babies work, and hasn’t done ten days of obsessive research the way Leia has.
    • Prestor-Bail-Ben Organa—they never do settle on a name, right up until the moment he’s born—doesn’t kick until twenty weeks, at which point his father proclaims him a natural grav-ball player, and spends the next fourteen weeks crowing about it.
      • Luke claims that it’s a sign of some Jedi form that Leia doesn’t care much about, except that if they want to keep feeling her stomach with such intent and arguing about it, they ought to bring her something in exchange.
      • She suggests cookies, or hoth chocolate.
  • Honestly, the only other person in the whole endeavor who’s sensible about anything is Lando, who sends a beautiful crib carved of Endorian wood and the commlink of an excellent doctor, both with his best wishesThe note is signed: the “honorable” hold-parent. Leia is too amused to be annoyed.
    • Well, that’s not fair. Chewie is very sensible too, though Leia wishes he would stop referring to Prestor-Bail-Ben as a “cub” it conjures very hairy images she can’t shake.
  • (I hope you take after your mother, Han whispers to her swelling stomach one night, very late when he thinks Leia is asleep. Leia keeps her breathing even and slow, waiting—
    I’ll teach you to pick locks and pilot a freighter, Han says quietly. You can inherit my nose, if you really want. But otherwise….I hope you get everything else from her.)
  • It’s after the Battle of Jakku that Han finds her in the cheering crowd, his eyes wide with that immediate earnestness of the very drunk, shouting LEIA ORGANA WILL YOU MARRY ME, PRINCESS BE MINE
    • Luke is a few steps behind him, howling with laughter, a fair mixture of pity and amusement in his expression when he manages to straighten up.
    • “Ask me when you’re sober, flyboy,” Leia laughs, pulling them both into an embrace giddy with victory and peace and satisfaction. Except—
    • She doesn’t expect him to show up the next morning, dressed in the suit he wore on Yavin IV, a sober expression on his trickster features. “So,” he says, and fishes a small drawstring bag from his pocket. It’s not a flashy promise ring, just a simple band, songsteel etched with knot-work. 
      • It’s so perfect that her throat closes up, she wishes she had put on something other than her nightgown and robe, even if there’s n one else around to see.
      • “How long have you had….?”
        “A kid should have a family,” Han Solo says, the fierce emotion in his voice belying his shrug. "And I love you, Princess. Whatever else, you know that’s true.”
      • “Commander,” she says, because she is going to proposed to with her proper title, damn it. “It’s commander.”
        He laughs. She offers her hand, and he slips the ring over her finger. “I love you, Commander Organa,” he breathes, and kisses her.
  • Princess (Commander) Leia Organa is married at seven months pregnant, Commander (Scoundrel) Han Solo looking at her as though she hung the stars in the sky and getting distracted when she smiles at him. Chewie wails, dramatically, as the vows are read.
    • Her brother (Master Skywalker, the first of the last of the jedi) has to help her kneel, she’s too far along to move without assistance. Han touches her elbow as she shifts uncomfortably on her knees, the barest brush of fingertips, his dark eyes soft.
    • She thinks this is what peace is supposed to feel like, as Han kisses her—delicately, his hands spanning the absurd swell of her stomach, feeling Prestor-Bail-Ben kick at his father’s palms. She cries, and blames the hormones. He pretends not to cry. Luke blows his nose loudly. 
  • “I thought you would run,” Leia grits out two months later, riding another wave of contractions. She feels wrung out as an old rag, can’t imagine having any energy left to bring Prestor-Bail-Ben into the world.
    “Yeah, nice try, your Worshipfulness,” Han says. He’s gripping her hand almost as hard as she’s gripping his. “You broke the mercenary in me—what, five years ago? Now you’ll never get rid of me. I’m not even sure I remember what money is for.”
    Liar,” she wheezes as the next contraction wrings her out, and Han grins, he grins.
    • They put Prestor-Bail-Ben in her arms, his little face screwed up as he wails, warm as—well, as inside her, and isn’t that the strangest thought, that this person was inside her, right up until a few minutes ago?
    • She doesn’t know how much room there was in her chest until she holds her son, and all of it floods with love, more than she’s ever known. Enough to ignite stars.
      (Later, Luke will say he could feel it through the Force, all the way at the other end of the hospital—like suddenly walking into a wall of light.)
  • “Cradle his head,” Leia says, and Han moves a hand to almost engulf their son’s small skull. He looks abjectly terrified and yet so proud her could burst—none of the nurses have commented on it, and so Leia assumes this is normal.
    • “Hey, kid,” Han Solo whispers to his son, this small child tucked up against his chest and making soft shapes with his mouth as he yawns. “Hey, I’m your dad. It’s me. How are you?”
  • Leia falls asleep to the quiet murmur of Han’s voice and the quiet tread of his boots as he walks around the room, rocking Ben in his arms, saying wait until we get you home, you’ll love it there; your uncle and I hung a holomobile with little x-wings, it’s great. Someday—