read a fic today that had me feeling so sick over not being married to spencer reid irl
read a fic today that had me feeling so sick over not being married to spencer reid irl
Come check out your newest demonic obsession.
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Fictober prompt 16 and 20.
Shenko one shot. Set in ME3 during Priority: Mars.
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October 18: Happy Birthday to One of the Members of the Sarutobi Clan, Son of the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, Former Member of the Guardian Shinobi Twelve alongside Chiriku, and Leader of Team 10/Team Asuma, which consists of Ino, Shikamaru, and Choji, until his unlikely death in battle, the Naruto character of Asuma Sarutobi.
SUBLIME CINEMA #456 - A SCANNER DARKLY
Philip K Dick was a mad genius, and his books have yielded some special films - Blade Runner and Minority Report are masterpieces of sci fi - and A Scanner Darkly is maybe his deepest and most personal story. This film, while not really as dark or as deep as the book, is a really hypnotic take on it. Richard Linklater’s rotoscope technique first used in Waking Life adds an unsettling layer to the reality within reality.
hey, mutuals! “may the stars shine down on you”
[The Unexpected Heiress // Mr. John x Christie Jane Masterlist]
Pairing: Mr. John Somerset x Christie Jane Hayes Other Characters: Amelia Hayes (Christie's sister), Francis Somerset (John's brother, Amelia (now Christie's) fiance) Book: The Unexpected Heiress (chapter 8)
Word Count: ~950 Rating: General, hurt/comfort Prompts: @choicesoctoberchallenge "gone", @wackydrabbles # 117 in bold
Summary: Christie reminisces about her childhood with Amelia after an unexpected discovery. This is part of my “a Hand to Hold” series.
The pads of her fingers drifted gingerly over the silky fur of the stuffed bear. The delicate fabric calmed the pain rising within her. They had learned so much, and yet they seemed no closer to discovering the truth. Every step forward led to more questions. A hollow feeling pitted in her stomach. She wondered if she'd ever know the truth.
What did you get yourself into, Amelia? Why couldn't you tell me? Did I do something wrong?
Christie drew the bear closer, hugging it to her chest. The cool evening breeze sailed over the open top of the car, carrying with it the faint notes of vanilla and cinnamon that still lingered on the toy, reminding her of Amelia. Her gaze drifted off toward the flurry of stars dotting the distant sky, memories of her childhood arising.
Tears filled her eyes as she plopped to the floor of her ornate bedroom, clutching her stuffed rabbit in her lap.
"Christie?!" Amelia's voice filled with concern as she ran to her younger sister. She knelt down beside her, gently rubbing her sister's back. "What's wrong?"
Christie rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, tears streaming over her rosy cheeks. Her lips trembled, "She's broken."
Amelia looked down at the torn bunny in her sister's lap. "No, she's not."
Christie opened her eyes, finding strength in Amelia's warm gaze. She sniffled back her tears, her breathing still ragged despite her sister's reassurance.
"I can fix her," Amelia offered confidently.
"You can?" Her eyes widened, silent tears still slipping out.
"We can." Amelia stood, offering Christie her hand. "Come with me."
Amelia led Christie into the sewing room. Within seconds, she had gathered the necessary thread, needles, scissors, and patches needed to fix her sister's rabbit.
"What happened to her?" Amelia questioned as she threaded the needle and set to work.
"We were swinging at the sand garden, and one of the bigger boys wanted to swing. He grabbed my bunny and pulled her arm —" Christie sniffled, tears welling up again as she reminisced on what happened.
"And that's when this happened?" Amelia buried her fury at the story. She would definitely be going to the sand garden the next day to find out who this boy was. No one was going to get away with hurting her little sister.
Christie nodded. Her glistening eyes trained on the rhythmic movement of her sister's nimble fingers.
"Almost done," Amelia announced. She withdrew a small silver container from the sewing box. "We just need to add the special medicine before I add the last few stitches."
"What is that?"
"It's a special medicine that will help keep your bunny safe and healthy," Amelia explained, twisting off the lid and revealing a fine powdery mixture. "Just put a tiny pinch over the little opening here."
Christie dipped her fingers in the sweet and welcoming fragrance, springling some over the remaining tear.
"Perfect, now she'll always be protected no matter what." Amelia brushed her sister's hair behind her shoulder. "You know I'll never let anything happen to you, right? No matter what happens or where I go, I'll always be watching out for you."
"I know." Christie nodded again as her sister finished mending her toy.
"There you go! All better." Amelia held out the repaired rabbit.
Christie swiftly swept the bunny into her grasp before throwing her arms around her sister. "Thank you, Melie!"
"Everything's going to be okay—" Amelia whispered, holding her sister close, "—I promise. It will all be alright."
"Everything's going to be okay." The words echoed in her ear, but there was something different about them now.
The heat of his hand over hers pulled her from the memory. His thumb brushed tenderly over her knuckles, warming her despite the evening's cool air.
"I'm here for you, Christie. Whatever you need."
Christie sighed softly, focusing on his comforting touch. "I feel as though the more we discover, the further she drifts from me. Why didn't she come to me? Did I know her at all?"
"Of course you did. Amelia was your sister. No matter what happened in her last weeks, it doesn't change the life you shared with her before that," Mr. John insisted.
"I only wish I could speak with her just once more to better understand the woman she was," Christie admitted. "I feel as though she is drifting from me, and I might never find her again."
"Amelia may be gone, but she is not forgotten."
"How can you be so sure?"
"She lives in you as she still lives in Francis." Mr. John offered her hand a gentle squeeze. His gaze drifted to the bear they had discovered. "Amelia touched many in her short time here. That kindness is not lost in this world. Those that knew her will tell her story and honor her memory with their own kindness."
Christie contemplated his words. Even though they were still no closer to finding who killed Amelia, at least they had discovered one important truth: Amelia and Francis's love was true and faithful. No matter where their journey led them, they could at least provide Francis with that consolation. The bear she held now was proof of that. As much as she wished to hold on to it to keep Amelia close, Christie realized Francis needed it more. One of Amelia's last acts was not of betrayal to him but rather in service of protecting another's love and child. The bear was a symbol of her kindness and devotion to those she cared for. It would remind them all that even in the darkness of her loss, Amelia's love will remain, gone but not forgotten.
Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate it and hope you enjoyed it! Tags in a reblog 💖
A/N: I know in the book Amelia made a doll for Christie, but I like to think that Amelia made multiple stuffed animals and dolls for her sister as well as mended others.
Def have mafia romance brain rot at this point in my reading career, but I can’t stop
Blocking minors like
Prompts: “Please Don’t Move!” | Hemorrhage | Dread
It was her fault.
It was all her fault.
A groan snapped her out of her pity party. Her companion had started to shuck off his jacket, struggling with his lame arm and deep gashes.
“Please don’t move!” She wailed, rubbing the tears from her eyes with her forearm. Free hand struggling to find the surgical tubing and fishing line she kept in their packs.
First aide was not her forte. No matter how long she’d spent in that Vault, volunteering at the clinic alongside her father and Jones. Nothing beyond basic first aide stuck with her.
Especially not in a panicked state like now.
The hulking ghoul took note of this, of course. He took note of everything. Waiting, watching, and then acting accordingly. He operated the complete opposite of her.
Even with blood dribbling from the corners of his scarred mouth, and eyes gradually loosing focus. He cradled his left arm close to his chest, covering the large gashes that dug deep into the leather jacket he had partially taken off. The arm itself was limp, brought up too late to try and block the incoming swipe.
She honestly doesn’t even remember finishing the death claw off. The beast just laid dead a few yards away, head caved in and sledgehammer sticking straight up.
Charon took priority.
He attempted to grab the nearest pack, used to tending his own wounds in his practice. Honestly, the pace was getting on his nerves. He’s suffered through worse without respite, or a hormonal teenage wailing in his ears.
“Charon!” She snapped, pulling the pack back towards her. He was mildly surprised at how easily she was able to grab it from him. Even one handed he was usually stronger.
Her lip quivered, noticing just how weak he was getting, “Please stay still!”
Using both hands, she upturns the pack, the contents rolling around between the two. She scrambles for their meager first aide equipment. A few stimpacks, some med-x, fishing line and surgical tubing.
“Tebe nuzhno uspokoit'sya.”
She pauses her gathering, looking up with large sad eyes and furrowed brows. She wasn’t familiar with that language. It wasn’t even the one she used with her father back in the Vault.
He rolled his eyes, “Calm. Down.”
With quivering lip, she nodded. She kept her head down, trying to steady her hands as she attempted to thread the fishing line through the hook. The gashes were far too deep to bandage without stitching up first. She knew that much at least.
She even remembered to sear the metal with the lighter, like he had taught her months ago when their places were switched. She still had the scar on her thigh.
She hopes his recovery would be as easy, but a sick part of her knows it’ll be anything but. His muscle was already visible over his chest, and the death claw seemed to slice through it like paper. Between the bleeding and the tumble, it didn’t look good.
It was her idea to scavenge around Old Onely. He’d told her it wasn’t the best place, but she was desperate. Now look at what she’s done.
She’d caused her mothers death, she couldn’t save her father, and now her only companion in the wasteland was bleeding out at her knees.
All she could do was cry.
It was all her fault.
“I’m sorry,” She mumbles, threaded hook ready. Blinking back tears as the dread ate her alive from the inside out.
He pinched the bridge of what was left of his nose. Grunting in pain as his left arm fell to his lap. His skin looked sallow; she didn’t even think ghouls could get that pale.
“You need to calm down.”
His head tilted back as he spoke, uninjured arm tightening at his side. She didn’t even notice he’d grabbed their disinfectant-er whiskey from the pile on the ground besides them. Just watched in sick fascination as the exposed muscle on his neck moved as he drank.
The bottle falls heavy at his side, he takes a sharp breath through his nose. The air smells thick of copper and alcohol. He’s bleeding dark, staining the sun-bleached black shirt he wore. It makes her dizzy.