shadowtoherlight

[shadowtoherlight]

Bahahaha my thoughts exactly every time I see this still!!!

I was wondering what looked so funny about this still (via @a-rat-with-adhd's Charlie Eppes Sitting Compilation)

and then I realized

#numb3rs #charlie eppes #don eppes #alan eppes

[shadowtoherlight]

I think I’ve finalized chapter 27 of “To Bind,” after 3 attempts. I know where I want the story to go, so how do I not know how to get chapter 28 off the ground?? I want to keep writing, I so desperately love this story and I can’t wait to finish it one day, but wow this is tough. Idk rant over I guess.

#to bind fanfiction #dramione fanfiction #dhr #draco x hermione #draco malfoy x hermione granger #fanfiction #fic writers anonymous #personal #I think I used that tag right but idrk

[shadowtoherlight]

I love that even writers themselves can't stand Charlie and Don fighting.

Eppes brothers: yell at each other

VERY NEXT SCENE, both: hey, sorry, my bad, i love you

#eppes brothers #charlie eppes #don eppes #numb3rs #Alan Eppes

[shadowtoherlight]

I feel like therapy is a little more accepted now, but when this show was airing, there was a lot of potential for them to do it wrong and they didn’t, as this post states. Yet another crumb of pride in my comfort show 💕

Thinking about therapy in fiction and this one episode of the early 2000s show, Numb3rs where Don is forced to go to therapy for reasons which are only tangentially important, and the show could have done the tired "put the character in therapy so we make them relive their trauma for views" or "character has therapy only to realize through outside forces that they don't need it" or worse, "horrible crackpot therapist abuses character and/or turns out to be a psychopath."

But they Didn't. And instead you get Don being Extremely Reluctant to be in therapy or deal with his (many) issues or any of that mushy garbage but he's up against A Real Pro of a counselor (impeccably played by Wendell Pierce) who just makes him talk and the pinnacle of this whole situation is that the main conversation lasts an entire episode (intercut with the rest of the characters handling that week's action, but in ways relevant to the conversation, like we're talking deep narrative parallelism here and Don is the freaking narrator) with Don becoming increasingly frustrated at having his thoughts and feelings pulled out of him when his team needs him at work, while making revelation after revelation about himself, until Pierce's character staidly declares, "You're not worried that your team will fall apart when you're not there, you're afraid that they won't." LIKE???!

AND THEN we have a Don who not only takes all this stuff he just worked out to heart, but He Isn't Magically Fixed And Fine and so he chooses to continue going to therapy long-term and it becomes part of his normal life in a casual, off-screen function, and you see him slowly blossom because of it AND THIS WAS NOT APPRECIATED ENOUGH BUT GOSH I LOVE THAT WHOLE JOURNEY.

#numb3rs #don eppes #charlie eppes #alan eppes #therapy in fiction #shadow is increasingly delusional when it comes to this show #would rather live there pls and thx

[shadowtoherlight]

Reblogging every Numb3rs post bc my love of this show is verging on a mental disorder

Charlie: The best part of an oreo is the black cookie part, not the frosting. Deal with it

Larry: Darkness without light is an abyss, light without darkness is blinding. You cannot have a coin with one side

Don: Yo Socrates, it’s a fucking cookie

#numb3rs #incorrect numb3rs quotes #charlie eppes #larry fleinhardt #don eppes #this is so accurate though lmao

[shadowtoherlight]

Forever associating “Remember The Name” by Fort Minor with Numb3rs and I’m ok with it. I don’t run into it very often in day to day life, but on the rare blue moon I do hear it, it’s a silly little nod to my silly little comfort show that makes my silly little heart so warm

#numb3rs #don eppes #charlie eppes #alan eppes #david krumholtz #rob morrow

[shadowtoherlight]

This was so beautiful, I swear I can almost smell an apple orchard. Utterly fantastic

Sylki fic: When She Sings She Sings Come Home

Loki/Sylvie, 3200 words. Post s02e06 fix-it, angst with a happy ending. Also available on AO3 under the same title and username.

--

When She Sings She Sings Come Home

Sylvie wakes with Loki’s voice in her ears.

It’s been months since she last saw him, striding out to the Loom to save the timelines. Winter has come and gone, here in this little corner of a branch that she’s made her home. Every day that’s passed, she’s half expected to turn around and see him standing there, like that night he appeared in the parking lot next to her truck. But for months, there’s been nothing but the absence of him, growing larger and more crystalline every day.

She wakes with his voice in her ears, singing that ridiculous song from the train on Lamentis.

To Sylvie, everybody! he’d said, grinning at her, not drunk only too full. She would give anything to see him smile like that again. She would give anything to see him again.

And it isn’t that she hasn’t looked. Of course she had. She’d barely gotten through a single shift at McDonald’s after leaving Mobius standing outside his variant’s house before she’d used He Who Remain’s TemPad to try to find Loki.

He wasn’t dead. She knows he isn’t dead. But he also isn’t anywhere. There are an infinite number of branches now, layers of reality twisting around each other into something larger, a shape she can almost see, almost recognize. But Loki isn’t on any of them. No matter where she searches, he remains just outside her grasp.

Sylvie goes to work, she drives her truck home, she listens to music at the record store, she checks in on Mobius, she tries to sleep. But everywhere is marked by Loki’s absence, and every moment is overlaid with the sound of him singing.

She can’t find Loki, but that song is a thread she can pull at. Where did he learn it? The words were almost Asgardian, but not quite. Something similar, a branch of the original. A variant. Because of course it was.

It’s not until she thinks to quietly spy on the New Asgard settlement in Norway, forty years on from her quiet life in Oklahoma, that she hears the language again. Norwegian.

Remember this place, she hears Odin say, in a memory that is not hers, rippling through the interwoven timelines because it is what she needs in this moment. Home.

She turns her back on New Asgard, on the man who is almost but not quite her brother, on the Valkyrie who will come to lead their people like the hero out of a saga that Sylvie had once wished she could become. She turns her back, and walks into this strange, beautiful land. Norway. One tiny place on one tiny planet in one insignificant branch of the ever-growing tree of time, where the syllables are shaped into words that resonate with Loki’s voice from so long ago.

Sylvie wanders into pubs, into taverns, into bars, into concerts. She hums the few notes that never leave her head, and hopes to find someone who knows the song.

Until, miraculously, one day, she does.

“It’s an old drinking song,” the bearded man at the bar tells her, gesturing with his beer. “It’s about taking the long way home, but knowing you’ll get there in the end.”

“Can you teach it to me?” Sylvie asks, unblinking, gaze trained on the stranger’s face.

“For that, I will need a lot more beer.”

So she buys him beers. She coaxes the song out of him. She buys rounds for the whole bar, until they are all singing it. They teach her the words in Norwegian, teach her to shape the vowels as carefully as any incantation, and then teach her the meaning behind the words.

In storm-black mountains, I wander alone

Over the glacier I make my way

In the apple garden stands the maiden fair

and sings, “When will you come home?”

“You, I think,” her drunk bearded acquaintance says to her, “you are the maiden fair.”

“And what if I am?” Sylvie asks, raising her chin, still dead-sober despite the bourbon clutched in her hand.

“Then you must sing for him to come home!”

“From an apple orchard, if you can manage it,” leers his friend next to him.

“Will it work?” she hears herself say.

“Of course it will work! Music is magic. Galdr, they used to call it, in the old religion. The power of your voice to shape reality.” The man is drunk, but his words tug at something in Sylvie’s memory, long buried. “Sing, and he will come home.”

“As simple as that?”

The bearded man laughs uproariously. “When has love ever been simple?” he demands jovially. “When has magic ever been easy? But that does not mean it is not worth trying. There is beauty in the trying. There is love in the longing.” He’s slurring his words, barely managing to stay atop his barstool.

But he’s not wrong.

I know what kind of god I need to be, Loki had said, tears shining in his eyes. For you. For all of us.

But Sylvie is a god, too, she reminds herself, as she tosses back her bourbon and turns her back on the little Norwegian town, with the northern lights rippling over head. She’s not the goddess of chaos anymore, and she hasn’t felt mischievous since she was a child.

But the goddess of galdr, yes, that perhaps is something she could be.

She returns to her little Oklahoma town, cloud cover obliterating the stars, and drives her truck to the record store. There’s only one song she wants to hear, only one voice to sing it, but music has been her comfort since she came to this place, and she cannot simply become the goddess of music-turned-into-magic because she wishes it to be so. Music has been her shield, her cocoon, her comfort these long lonely months. Now she must learn to form it into other shapes, into weapons and tools. Into a lighthouse, shining out into the vast dark of the multiverse.

She taught herself enchantment, while running for her life from one apocalypse to the next. She can teach herself galdr in this quiet little record shop in this quiet little town.

Sylvie slides the headphones into place, and lets the music move through her.

Oh, sweet nothin'

She ain't got nothin' at all

Oh, sweet nothin'

She ain't got nothin' at all

But what if she had something? What if she had the one person who would make all of this worth it?

I know what kind of god I need to be, she tells herself. For you, Loki.

She murmurs the words along with the music, infusing them with intent, with magic.

And for one fraction of an instant, she can see him.

He’s alone, on the throne he never wanted, surrounded by the threads of the multiverse, pulsing green as they grow and twist. There is nothing, nothing else, only Loki alone in that vast emptiness, in that expanse of everything that ever was or ever could be.

His eyes are dull, unfocused, far away. And then— a flicker of recognition, a spark of life—

Sylvie loses the connection.

She’s alone on the sofa in the back of the record shop, with Lou Reed singing in her ears.

He ain’t got nothing at all

She drives home. She tries to sleep. She keeps hearing Loki’s voice, keeps seeing him alone in that emptiness. She murmurs into the darkness— not quite a song, not quite a spell—

But trees dance and waterfalls stop

When she sings, she sings “come home”

There is a shape to the enormity of what Loki has done. There is an order to the way the branches of the multiverse wrap around each other. It is just outside her grasp, but Sylvie feels that if she could just see the shape of it, she might understand.

She might be able to reach him.

In storm-black mountains, I wander alone she whispers to the emptiness of her tiny apartment, in this tiny town, in this little branch of a timeline, one miniscule part of a greater whole, and falls asleep dreaming of trees dancing, of waterfalls stopping, of Loki taking her outside the flow of time to tell her that there was no other way to keep her safe.

Sylvie wakes with her own voice in her ears.

The song is coursing through her, jeg saler min ganger, and she can feel the magic at her fingertips, on the tip of her tongue, pushing at the insides of her ribs, swelling her lungs and begging to be released.

I know what kind of god I need to be.

She gets into her truck and drives. North and east, away from everything she knows, vaguely towards those northern lights dancing over the fjords, too far away to reach on roads such as these.

But once upon a time, when she was very young, there was another road. A rainbow road, the Bifrost, that could take her anywhere just like magic.

Every bit of magic she has now she has taught herself. And this, too, this song swelling in her chest, is magic of her own making.

There is beauty in the trying. There is love in the longing.

She drives past fields of wheat and fields of corn, through days and nights, with the glare of the sun or the pattering of the rain against the windshield. Sylvie drives and drives and drives, and keeps the song tucked away inside her, growing in fury like a hurricane in a bottle, like the storm that had raged outside the night they met.

She drives until the scent of apples wafts through the open windows of the truck, and then she pulls over, knowing this was her destination all along.

Iðunn, a childhood memory whispers, too long ago now to have any meaning at all. The apples of eternity.

Home she thinks, and then hears, from a memory not her own:

Asgard’s not a place, it’s a people.

This could be Asgard. Asgard is where our people stand.

Her brother’s voice. The voice of the man who had once raised her as his daughter. The family she lost and can never regain, no matter what shape the multiverse twists itself into. Words reaching across time, across branching timelines, to reach her here and now, because it is what she needs to hear.

Sylvie climbs out of her truck and walks into the apple orchard and doesn’t look back.

She walks until she can no longer see the road from between the trunks and branches. She walks until there is nothing but the smell of apples, the soil under foot, and the sky over head. She walks until the song finally bursts out of her, all of her desperation and loneliness flooding out of her lungs to shake the very air around her, in the shape of words that are his but also hers, now.

But trees dance and waterfalls stop

When she sings, she sings “come home”

In storm-black mountains, I wander alone

Over the glacier I make my way

In the apple garden stands the maiden fair

and sings, “When will you come home?”

But trees dance and waterfalls stop

When she sings, she sings “come home”

When she sings, she sings “come home”

When she sings, she sings “come home”

When she sings, she sings “come home!”

And then he is there, standing beside her in the sunshine and the scent of the apple orchard. Loki glances around at the trees dancing in the wind, his eyes bright, before his gaze snaps to hers.

“You’re here,” Sylvie croaks, her voice burned through with the force of the magic that poured out of her, the magic that’s brought Loki to her.

“No, not really,” he says, his eyes never still as they trace over her face. “I’m still there too. I’m sort of everywhere, really. It’s hard to explain.”

“Help me to understand,” she says before the words even have the chance to fade away. “You said you knew what kind of god you needed to be. You saved us, you saved everything, and then you disappeared. Make me understand.”

“I can’t, Sylvie,” Loki says gently, and there is a sorrow in his eyes deeper than oceans, more boundless than the vastness of space. “It’s been centuries for me. Lifetimes. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Enchant me, he had begged her once, standing in the McDonald’s parking lot in his ridiculous TVA uniform. You can see what I saw.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she tells him, raising her hands slowly towards his face, green magic flickering between her fingers. “Just let me see what you saw.”

“Sylvie,” he starts, and there are tears in his eyes again, like there were in that last moment before he turned his back on her to destroy the Loom.

“We’re the same, remember?” she says, and if her voice cracks it is only because of the abuse it’s suffered, only because of the magic that poured out through her vocal chords to shape reality to her desires. “You shouldn’t have to bear this burden alone, Loki,” she tells him, with as much tenderness as she can force into her ruined voice. “Let me understand.”

“It was the only way,” he says, as if in warning, but Sylvie cups his face in her hands before the tears can fall from his eyes.

Centuries. Lifetimes. The same day, over and over again. Reality unspooling, starting with Victor Timely and ending with her, again and again. Their fight in the Citadel at the end of time, relived hundreds of times, always with the same ending. Always the death of He Who Remains, and the unraveling of everything, failure after failure after failure.

And yet in all of them, she does not kiss him. And he cannot bring himself to kill her. Until only one choice remains.

I know what kind of god I need to be. For you.

Sylvie watches in Loki’s memory as the temporal radiation burns away his TVA uniform, as his magic replaces it with something older, something primal, something true. She watches as he grasps the decaying branches of the multiverse and breathes life into them, wills them to live, to be whole and part of a whole.

She watches as the branches twist around each other, each variation of the timeline finding support in its neighbors, building into something greater than the sum of every moment of every timeline that has ever existed.

She sees the shape of what Loki has done, the enormous, infinite tree dancing in the nothingness outside of time. Yggdrasil, the worldstree, green and glowing, alive and growing, all because Loki willed it so. To restore freewill and safeguard it forever. For all of us.

His hands cover hers and Loki gently pries her fingers away from his face. “Enough, Sylvie. Enough. I know what I’ve done.”

There are tears on her face, the apple-scented wind plucking at the wetness as she stands there, staring at Loki. Even without the enchantment, she can see him sitting on his throne, alone but for the infinite tree he tends.

“It was the only way?” she asks in the ruins of her voice. It is only when he folds his hands around hers that she realizes she is shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Not like dancing. Like shattering, collapsing in on herself with the weight of what he’s done.

“No,” Loki admits. “There was one other way. I could have left He Who Remains in charge. I could have let the TVA go back to pruning the timelines. But I would have had to kill you. I would have had to kill you with my own hands, and watch as you died, and then betray everything you ever believed in. I lived every variation of every action I could possibly change, but not that one. Not that.”

“You don’t even know me,” Sylvie blurts out before the words have fully formed in her mind. All of this, to save her? She cannot, she cannot—

Loki’s expressive face twists, stung by her words, hurt in this moment even beyond the deep sorrow that he wears like a cloak. “Of course I know you,” he says, wounded, his gaze searching her face. “Like I’ve never known anyone. Sylvie, I lov—”

She surges up onto her toes and kisses him, there among the apple trees. She kisses him for what he’s done, for what he refused to do. She kisses him for the loneliness they have both known far too much of, she kisses him for coming when she sang for him to come home. She kisses him because there is nothing else she can do, because there was never any other way for her, either.

And Loki kisses her in return, with a desperation borne of years, centuries, lifetimes of facing this alone. He kisses her in the apple garden, as the trees dance and the waterfalls stand still. He is there, kissing her, but also somewhere else, far away and outside time, tending to the tree that he gave his life to save.

“I can’t stay,” he says when they finally part, pressing his forehead to hers, his hands cupping her jaw in an echo of how she had enchanted him moments before. “I want to stay, more than anything, Sylvie, but I can’t, I can’t.”

“I know,” she assures him, even as she clutches at his robes for fear he will disappear at any moment. “I know you can’t stay here with me,” she says, then takes a deep breath to steady her ragged voice, her thundering heart. “But you don’t have to be alone.”

Loki pulls away abruptly, only far enough to see her face, confusion pinching his features.

“We’re gods, you said,” Sylvie explains, tripping over her words, her voice trembling with the weight of what she has already done, the weight of what she plans to do. “We have a responsibility. That’s what you told me, in that ridiculous room full of pie. We can’t just give everyone freewill and then walk away.” She offers him a small smile, the best she can summon at the current moment. “You have to sustain Yggdrasil. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

“I did this for you,” he says, holding on to her as desperately as she is clutching at him. “So you could have a life. That’s what you said you wanted, to live.”

“It’s freewill, Loki,” she says, shaking her head. “You can’t just give it to everyone and then be surprised when I use it to choose to be with you. I know what kind of god I need to be. You taught me that. I won’t let you bear this burden alone. That’s the kind of god I choose to be.”

“I can’t let you sacrifice yourself for me—”

“The only sacrifice would be giving you up.”

He gazes at her for a long moment, his uncertainty slowly transforming, then sings softly, “I stormsvarte fjell, jeg vandrer alene,” and this time Sylvie understands the words. “Over isbreen tar jeg meg frem. I eplehagen står møyen den vene, og synger: ‘når kommer du hjem?’”

The apple orchard dissolves around them, replaced by the rippling greens and blues and purples of Yggdrasil, shimmering in the darkness outside of time.

“Home,” Sylvie says, and kisses him again.

#loki spoilers #loki series #loki season 2 #loki and sylvie #sylki #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki

[shadowtoherlight]

I read “Unsphere The Stars” for the first time not long ago, and it was absolutely STUNNING. I could not stop reading it, i hadn’t been so enraptured in a book in so so SO long and it felt so wonderful to be so in love with a story again. 50/10 everyone should read it. Its epic.

These other two sound pretty interesting as well, I’ll have to look into them!!

Hermione-centric and HP World Building Expansion edition

A late entry from me. Beware that this list is based on my personal preference. If you don't like the ships, remember the rule - don't like don't read. Ship and let ship!

That being said, it has been a while since the last time I've come up with a rec list. But reccing great fanfics has remained one of my greatest passion. Having decided to fully integrated myself into the Harry Potter fandom again, I'm amazed at how creative and talented the authors of this fandom are. There are a plethora of interesting ideas and premises, with various themes and genres along with inquisitive, thoughtful observation regarding the characters and the world building of Harry Potter.

Without further ado, let's dive in to my submission for today's @hprecfest prompt: fics with over 100k+ words. All the fics below are Hermione-centric (one less than the other two but still), with amazing social commentaries on the HP world and impeccable observation on the magical world, which to me are the best aspect of HP fic.

unsphere the stars by @cocoartistwrites (M, 222,827, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle)

When you can't change time, but you can't go forward, what is left? Hermione learns how to be the protagonist of her own story.

To quote one of the bookmarks: Hermione is more than she ever was. This story is a journey of Hermione to grow, to love and to explore magic and its beauty more than she could ever be. Don't let the pairing deter you, this is no doubt one of the most memorable fanfic reading experience I have in my years of being in fandoms. Hermione and Tom are both portrayed spectacularly and thoughtfully, and the prose are some of the most poetic I've ever seen.

To sum up the whole of my reading experience, I laid on my bed and stared at the ceiling for 30 mins after reading the last chapter, completely shell-shocked.

All I could say is, if you want an astounding character arc for Hermione, with in-depth magical system and immersive world building, plus interesting OCs and breathtaking writing, then this fic is definitely for you!

*This fic could also be placed under the prompt of Day 7: A Canon-Compliant Fic.

2. What's Past is Prologue by ABitofWit (E, 244,611, Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy)

It's eight years after the war and Hermione Granger has taken a break from her career at the Ministry of Magic to compile an oral history of the conflict. She's interviewed just about everyone she can get her hands on but she wants to be thorough. And that means getting in contact with a very unwilling Lucius Malfoy.

Listen, I know the pairing is weird as fuck. I know, I had my doubt too before reading it. But the raving bookmarks convinced me to give this a chance. And boy, it was one of the best decisions I've ever made.

This fic is more than just a ship fic, it's about love and what we would do for it, the greyness of life and choices, of redemption and finding one's self worth outside of pre-existing, archaic ideas and values. It's about change and how we're never too old to learn. WPIP is everything I've ever wanted in a fic, emotional, sincere, humorous, gorgeous, sexy, steamy and sweet. Full of heart and soul.

Most of all, the development of and between Hermione and Lucius is so natural and makes a lot of sense, without them being OOC. This fic reminds me that Hermione is not at all flawless (the opposite of the usual Mary-Sue, little-miss-perfect trope that Hermione tends to be portrayed in fics), while successfully humanizes and makes Lucius Malfoy one of the most interesting HP characters in my eyes. (Who would have thought that I've spent years not giving a jot about this guy, only to fall in love with such a mess of a man like him??)

Combine with sharp commentaries and observations on the British Wizarding World, Wizarding politics and a not-canon folder supporting cast, this is no doubt one of the best HP fic, and one of the best fanfic I've ever had the pleasure to read.

*This fic could also be placed under the prompt of Day 2: A Comfort Fic and Day 9: A Rare Pair Fic.

3. Six Pomegranate Seeds by Seselt (E, 185,965, no pairing but implied Theodore Nott/Hermione Granger)

At the end, something happened. Hermione clutches at one fraying thread, uncertain whether she is Arachne or Persephone. What she does know is that she will keep fighting to protect her friends even if she must walk a dark path.

Sooo, this is one very weird fic. One of the oddest fics I've ever encoutered, in fact. I've read it twice, one before I read the book series in full, one after I've finished the books. And let me tell you, SPS is a stunning work.

The odd, floating third-person POV, the dry and sharp, straightforward tone of Hermione. Her competency, her compassion despite all the pain and the emotional repression. This is definitely not your usual time travel fix-it fic.

Most of Hermione's work happened in tandem with the 7 books' main storyline. Hermione's soul is put into the body of a young orphan Pureblood heiress. This gives the fic one of the most interesting spin on the Hermione-is-a-pureblood trope.

Through Hermione, we have a closer look into the background and the context of the main events of the books, plus a deeper understanding of the Pureblood society and a much more sympathetic view into the students Slytherin house. All without whitewashing and offsetting the corruption and the effects of the Purebloods and the Slytherins' stuffy, archaic views on not only the young generation of students but also the British Wizarding world.

I lost count of the amount of time I slapped my knees while reading this work the second time whenever I encountered a particularly sharp line of thought/commentary from Hermione in this fic. I'm also amazed at how much work and research the author has put into SPS, particularly in terms of making up tons of new magical theories and the use of exotic and lesser known vocabulary (seriously, if you decide to read this one, prepare a dictionary next to you, or get ready to regularly stop mid reading in order to look up certain words 😆)

*This fic could also be placed under the prompt of Day 7: A Canon-Compliant Fic.

That being said, thank you for checking out my list! Thank the admins of @hprecfest for holding such a fun activity. Feel free to join in yourself. Happy reading 💋

#unsphere the stars #tom x hermione #tomione #hp fic

[shadowtoherlight]

Finished Loki s2 last night.

I am unwell.

#Loki #Loki spoilers #Loki season2 #sylvie laufeydottir #mobius #hunter b15 #o.b. #he who remains #victor timely #my main problem #AND I UNDERSTAND THAT I AM PROBLEMATIC FOR THIS #Is that I didn’t get more Sylki #fuck off I don’t care how weird it was I shipped it ok #ACTUALLY MY MAIN MAIN PROBLEM #Is that my baby boy is alone #I literally wanted to fuckin PUKE you guys #Sylki

[shadowtoherlight]

Me: I need a beta reader sooooo bad, who else is gonna catch the mistakes my eyes have glossed over so many times I can no longer see them??

Also me: if anyone reads my stuff before it’s in its most finished state I will literally die of embarrassment

#fic writers anonymous #fanfiction #fanfic writer #like yall I get so paranoid that someone unauthorized will see my shit #I’m instantly humiliated and it hasn’t even happened

[shadowtoherlight]

😭😭😭

THIS SHOW 😭

#numb3rs #charlie eppes #david sinclair #amita ramanujan #colby granger

[shadowtoherlight]

It is almost 2024, and folks, let me just say this:

Clintasha is still my OTP. Like… I know we all have 10 of those, but it’s been over a decade now and I’m still head over heels in love with Clintasha.

Nobody can hurt me more than Joss Whedon has. First by introducing Laura, and then by doing the unthinkable in endgame.

Clintasha has, and will always be, forever 🩶

#clintasha #clint barton #natasha romanoff #marvel #MCU

[shadowtoherlight]

Gaahhhh this shit is freaking adorable I love it 😭🫶 The Voy family is so so cute in the little days between

Tom introduces a new craze to Voyager. This time: Rubik's cubes!

Tuvok and Seven figure it out easily, but dismiss it as irrelevant and a waste of time. (Seven keeps one anyway.)

Harry figures it out pretty quickly. It holds his interest for a few weeks, but when the craze dies down, he recycles his in favour of something more interesting.

The Doctor downloads the solution into his programme and shows off by solving them in seconds. Everyone is initially impressed, but they all know it's just code and not skill so they quickly get fed up.

Tom never quite figures it out, but he doesn't want to admit that to anyone since he introduced them in the first place, and a bunch of people caught on pretty quickly ... but he didn't.

B'Elanna's the only one who knows Tom can't solve it. She's better at it than he is, but finds them annoying so she doesn't bother to figure it out. She's fed up with Tom leaving unsolved cubes in her quarters, so she learns to solve them by taking them apart and putting them back together again. Tom thinks she actually knows how to solve them. He asks her to teach him, but she just gives him a superior smile and refuses.

Chakotay never bothers to try and learn. He'll pick up ones that crew members abandon in the Mess Hall and fiddle around with them while waiting for someone or something. He figures out how to solve one face, but leaves it at that.

Neelix borrows one of Tom's to try and learn, but he returns it a week later, apologising because he couldn't figure it out and had to return it scrambled.

Janeway is secretly fascinated by them. She spends her free time teaching herself to solve it, and soon enough she can do it without thinking. She doesn't tell anyone she's figured it out, but she does keep one tucked away in her Ready Room long after the craze is over. Solving it sometimes helps her think. Only Chakotay and Tuvok know.

Everyone is surprised by how quickly Naomi figures it out. Actually, she had Seven teach her. Tom asks her to teach him. He has to bribe her not to tell anyone, though, because he's embarrassed about asking a three-year-old child how to solve the thing he introduced everyone to.

#st:voy #star trek voyager #kathryn janeway #chakotay #tom paris

[shadowtoherlight]

😭😭😭

you’re in the wind, im in the water

#h2o just add water #zikki #rikki chadwick #zane bennett

[shadowtoherlight]

imagine your first kiss with someone is in the dead of night on a desert island surrounded by a ring of fire while both of you are in different stages of your respective mental breakdowns plus one of you straight up passes out afterwards rikki and zane h2o just add water you will always be famous

#h2o just add water #h2o #zikki

[shadowtoherlight]

Why, yes.

Quite frequently, in fact.

Do you just ever think about-

#grant ward #anti aos #anti agents of shield #skyeward #still fucking wrecked over this man #and still shipping skyeward #SKYEWARD FOREVER BITCHES

[shadowtoherlight]

Does anyone else consider Numb3rs and NCIS to be in the same universe? I feel like if McGee and Charlie bumped into each other at some conference or other, they would be friends. And maybe McGee one day goes “hey I have this friend in LA, he’s a mathematician, maybe he could help us with this?”

And so Charlie, since he already has clearance, easily jumps on a call with NCIS and tag teams it with McGee.

I just love the idea so much

#numb3rs #ncis #charlie eppes #don eppes #tim mcgee #leroy jethro gibbs #crossover #someone please write this #I already have so many wips if I add another one I think my phone will die