hope-for-snow:

I decided to join in on the whole baby night fury - Toothlets - movement :D

(via frosty-viking)

Can someone please teach me how to sleep? Like it’s not even an insomnia problem, I just don’t sleep enough and even if I manage to get six hours or more I’m super tired in the mornings and keep losing energy on meaningless tasks before class. 

Here’s a random conversation starter: I have a bunch of AU ideas in the pipeline, but based on what you might have read of my stuff previously, which Musketeers AU/AR/crossover would you like to see from me, either entirely new or picking up on recent snippets? Message or reply and I’ll totally headcanon/plot like mad with you. Might keep me awake through Latin.

Sherlock Holmes is cheerful, so Sherlock Holmes must have a case.

(via revolutionaryjo)

lizabethdewitt:

You know, sometimes I amaze even myself.
That doesn’t sound too hard.

(via gneissgneissbaby)

Q

Anonymous asked:

✤ The Musketeers, Spartacus/Gladiator

A

They stand back-to-back, spears and swords covering all four quarters of the arena; Porthos is keeping the rest of them upright, in truth, but it would not do to present a disunited front as the Praetorians advance.

"We will never take all of them," Athos says from beneath his helmet and the blood; collected as ever, d’Artagnan thinks with equal exasperation and fondness, as death approaches. 

"Enough of them, then," Aramis says cheerfully, "to buy the others the time they require." He has snatched up a net and trident from one of his victims, and his taunts have drawn the guards in closer to him, creating an unevenness in their line.

"The gods will watch this with pride," Porthos barks, and it only takes a few feet of distance between each of them to trigger the charge; d’Artagnan raises his spear, thinks of Gaul, and stands his ground.

Q

agarthanguide asked:

✤ Porthos, Pac Rim

A

Porthos allows the Drift to be explicit, sometimes - for sensation to turn into detail, and for memories to form entire. He has seen Aramis in the snow at Moscow, kaiju-breath on his skin; he has seen Athos in a field of wildflowers, entirely alone and his anguish entirely human. No doubt they have seen Charon, and Flea, and his jam-packed slum shattered by one hundred-foot claw; he would not begrudge them their curiosity, at least.

But when he drifts with them he prefers to rely not on vision, but on temperature, to remind him that they are there, to sort out what is himself and what is them and what is that part of them that is irrevocably mixed together. He runs hot, quick as wildfire; Athos cold and only slowly suffusing, Aramis melted through them both like quicksilver. It is the best sort of comfort, when they’re fastened into their suits and forcibly separated, that Porthos can retain that feeling of waking up in their bunk, his eyes still closed and both of them using his heat to stay asleep.

Q

caitscurrach asked:

Right. You DID ask for it. How about .... Milady in How To Tame Your Dragon.

A

When she kills Thomas, she tells everyone that it was because she was still afraid of dragons, and didn’t trust them. None of them had wanted her to ride them, shying away as though she would hurt them; and now she has, and Athos is just sitting there gangly and bowed in the clearing with the big dark head cradled in his lap, her bloodied axe discarded in the grass next to the ragged wings.

"He attacked me," she says, but Athos does not answer - and that evening, when the silent crowd of Vikings sets her adrift from the dock, she’s not sure what she regrets more: that she killed, or that she did not do it earlier.

[wow sorry super dark but it is Milady after all O_o]

Q

youneedasoultraveller asked:

✤ Aramis, The Count of Monte Cristo (because double Dumas)

A

He has paced a groove in the floor beneath his window. It takes him several months to notice the slight sinking of the stone, and the pale discoloration - the work of his worn soles and the weight of vengeance, he tells himself. Athos, when he crawls through the tunnel adjoining their cells and gets to his feet with a sigh and a thin hand bracing himself on his knee that betrays his ill health, simply laughs at him for considering this the key marker of his time in his prison. Far better, Athos tells him, to try to forget how long it has been.

"Tell me again," Athos murmurs later, when it is dark and they are tired of talking of books and experiments and Bonaparte; and Aramis does. He will kill Bonnaire, he says; he will find Porthos, he says; he will make them both rich, find them a home, and litter it with the trophies of the lives he has ruined for the sake of his love. Athos grins into the night, and, for the first time, pats Aramis’s hand with the strength of certainty.