jjism3

[astracetus]

Found an exercise bike by the apartment building dumpster. This thing looked brand new and the only thing wrong with it was that the seat wasn't on right, which I fixed in about 5 seconds. People really just throw things out without even trying to fix them huh?

Anyway I'm extremely sweaty after cycling 26 kilometers.

[wlwmarvelenthusiast]

Could you do carol x fem!reader but like so angsty that I can cry myself to sleep even tho I’m on antidepressants and can’t feel anything but plz let there b a happy ending thank u so much love u

I'm not sure if this qualifies as angst but here's a draft I had that I edited a little to fit the request. I hope it does the trick :)

It Wasn't For You

Summary: A mission gone horribly wrong drives a wedge between you and Carol. Is the bond fixable, or are the things you both said unforgivable?

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2,998

You weren't sure what that emotion was that was boiling in your blood as you stormed back to your apartment. Was it worry? Were you just upset? You let it sit with you a moment as you unlocked the door. It wasn't either one of those things. It was rage. It was hot, unbridled rage. The cause of it was a certain Avenger who you had thought loved you enough to not do what she'd done. Clearly, she hadn't.

She was right behind you, stepping through the doorway before you could slam it behind you. You growled under your breath as she invited herself into your home, closing the door only once she was in. You didn't even bother turning to face her. You went straight to the bar and poured yourself a drink, not offering her one and not planning to let her touch a single drop of your alcohol. You took a sip of the hard liquor.

"Would you listen to me for one goddamn second?" She huffed out.

"I listened to you for multiple seconds, Carol. It doesn't change any facts."

"I did it for you!"

"I don't give a fuck."

Truly and honestly, you didn't. What she'd done was immoral, infuriating, and wholly unforgivable. She could get down on her knees right there in front of the bar and you wouldn't have batted an eyelash. It wouldn't be enough. In fact, you were convinced that nothing would be enough for you to forgive her. It didn't matter how much you had loved her yesterday or the day before. It didn't how much you loved her today.

"I'd do it again," she assured.

"Then I would do this again," you turned to finally face her, eyes locking with the brown ones that could usually instill a sense of peace in your chest, but today seemed to have no effect. "We're done, Carol. I think it'd be best if you left, please."

You could practically hear her heart dropping into her stomach. There was a part of you that ached to bring her into your arms and soothe that hurt look off her face. You knew better. That piece of you would fade eventually. You'd learn not to love her anymore. In fact, you could probably learn how to hate her. The boiling rage that was flowing through your very veins could assist you with learning that.

"Please-"

"I'm asking you to go," you said, firmer this time. "Please, get out."

If she'd had a tail to tuck between her legs, she absolutely would have. She didn't even bother to protest again. The expression you'd plastered on your face made it clear it wouldn't have done anything anyway. She slowly made toward the door. Her hand touched the doorknob and she cast her gaze back to you once more. You didn't dare let your features soften. You could've sworn there were tears in her eyes as she turned the doorknob and left.

You breathed out as the door closed behind her, finally daring to let tears streak down your cheeks.

*

You stared down the super soldier, neither of you wanting to speak first. He was the team leader though, and basically your boss. You knew even if he was the first one to speak, you were going to be the one spilling everything. You didn't want to, not one bit, but you knew you were going to have to anyway. You wondered if you had the strength to talk about it. You wondered if he had the strength to listen to your recollection of events.

"I just need to know what happened so when they ask-"

"Fuck, Steve! Natasha fucking died and we're sitting here having this stupid conversation," you shouted, rising to your feet, tossing the papers in front of you off the table, and moving to the window. "I have a goddamn funeral to plan!"

"Look, neither of us wants to talk about this, but we have to!"

You sighed, clasping your hands behind your back as you looked out at the compound grounds. There were agents training, running laps around the building. Sam was the one guiding them, seeming to enjoy barking orders at them. You tore your gaze away from a sight that seemed to have lost its beauty now that Natasha wasn't there alongside the Falcon, chuckling with him as they watched the new recruits huff and puff.

"It was me or her and Carol chose me," you finally gave. "I was what would have been fatally outnumbered and Natasha was down. She was in the jet. Carol could have either gone and stopped the jet from crashing, or she could pull me out and neutralize the enemy. She chose the latter. That's what happened. Happy?"

"I need your report."

"I need to plan Natasha's funeral!"

You stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind you. You let out the breath that had been stuck in your chest, leaning your head against the wall and shutting your eyes. It hadn't been an easy couple of days. You'd have been surprised if you'd gotten more than three hours of sleep in the last three nights combined. Somehow, though, you still didn't feel tired. You felt a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them.

As if losing Natasha wasn't hard enough, you were also grappling with crippling amounts of anger and guilt. Natasha should have been the one that was saved. She was the obvious choice, and yet here you stood, and Natasha was gone. The anger, though? That was all for Carol. She had promised you that her relationship with you wouldn't have affected her at work, but it had. She'd saved you when she should have saved Natasha and all of those people in the impact zone.

"Can we talk?"

Speak of the devil.

You opened your eyes, using your shoulder blades to push yourself away from the wall. Immediately your entire stance got defensive. You crossed your arms over your chest. You watched as she searched your eyes in hopes of being able to read them like she usually did, but knew it would be to no avail. You didn't want her to know anything about what you were feeling. She didn't deserve to know what you were feeling. All she deserved was to be on the receiving end of your rage.

"No. I told you we're done, Danvers. We don't need to talk anymore."

"I'm not letting you go that easy."

"You don't have a damn choice!" You laughed humourlessly. "You can't stop me. You don't own me, and you definitely don't own my heart."

With that, you stepped around her, walking toward the doors of the compound. You could hear her footsteps trailing behind you. You didn't bother to turn around and glance at her, or even open your mouth to tell her to go away. You just let her follow you as if she were going to get something out of you. She wasn't going to. The last thing you wanted to do was hear some sort of failed explanation as to why she'd decided to save you. You knew why. It was because she couldn't separate home and work. You never should have trusted her to be able to.

You stepped out into the sunlight, cursing the sky for being so bright and sunny when it felt like it should be dark and gloomy. A storm cloud and roaring thunder might appropriately match the way you felt inside. Instead, you were forced to pull your sunglasses down over your eyes as you headed back toward your car, feeling you could use the walk toward it instead of making it come to you- a feature Tony has insisted you needed. As you arrived though, Carol finally reacted.

"Jesus Christ, would you hear me out?" She said, anger in her voice as she grabbed your wrist.

"Let go of me."

"Talk to me."

"I already said no. Let go of me," you demanded.

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, glaring at her as she retracted her arm. You unlocked your car, getting into the front seat. You didn't even glance at Carol as you started the engine, put the car into drive, and pulled out of your spot, leaving her behind.

*

It was early when you woke up the next morning, and immediately your day went different than normal. Your eyebrows furrowed when you stepped out of your bedroom and found an envelope slipped under your apartment door. It was completely unmarked. You knew the danger of anything unmarked. You were an Avenger. You couldn't find it in you to care, though. Without Carol's arms around you, you tossed and turned. Losing Natasha hurt so much more without Carol there to hold you through it. But it was her fault.

You reached down and picked up the envelope. You sliced it open with the knife that was resting on the table beside the front door. What you pulled out was a single piece of lined paper. It had clearly been ripped out of someone's notebook, the torn rings hanging off the left side. You unfolded the paper and immediately recognized Carol's handwriting inside. You crumpled it up and prepared to throw it, but then you hesitated.

She wasn't there. You didn't have to talk to her. You didn't want to talk to her one bit, but you were dying to hear her side of the story. This way, you didn't have to risk breaking and losing yourself to emotion in front of her. You uncrumpled the paper and held it out in front of you. You took a deep breath and let your gaze drift over Carol's familiar handwriting once before you moved your eyes to the top of the page.

Y/N,

I really hope you didn't throw this out. I suppose if you're reading this, you didn't.

I know you don't want to talk to me. If I were you, I might not want to talk to me either. Your best friend died and it is entirely and completely my fault. I know that. It is my fault. I could have saved her, and I didn't. I just need you to know why.

I know you think that I broke my promise. I promised you, Steve, and every Avenger, including Natasha, that I would never let our relationship affect our work. It must seem like I failed to do that. I didn't break that promise. I love you. I do. But I wouldn't do that.

I knew that saving Natasha was more likely to be successful than saving you. Saving her would have meant saving those three civilians too. Not saving you, though, meant that they would have gotten away, and it meant they would have killed dozens of our agents on their way out. There were so many of them. They outgunned our men by too much. I didn't do it for you. I did it for them.

It breaks my heart that I couldn't save her. If I could have given my life for hers, I'd have done it in a heartbeat. If choosing her over you had been the right choice, I'd have done it. I promise you that.

I love you, even if you can't love me back.

- C

*

Tears spilled from your eyes as the empty casket was lowered into the ground. When a hand brushed ever so lightly against yours, you stiffened. You glanced for a moment over at the woman beside you. Those brown eyes were locked on you as well, for a moment, before turning back to the burial. You took a deep breath before moving, threading your fingers between hers. You pulled a little closer to her.

Maybe you should have listened to her. That letter you'd received yesterday had been a lot to think about. You'd been so angry with Carol because she'd closed you over Natasha and you'd been selfish enough to think it was because she couldn't separate her feelings for you from work. When you'd found out that wasn't the case, it had taken away all your reason to be angry at her. What happened to Natasha wasn't her fault.

Once the red had faded, you'd realized how stupid you'd been being. Carol had obviously been hurting and you'd been gatekeeping pain because you'd been blaming yours on her. The guilt stewing in her gut was probably millions of times worse than yours. She'd had to make that choice out in the field. It was the right choice, you saw now, but that would never matter. You knew how that felt, and you'd pushed her away and left her to deal with it alone. You wouldn't blame her if she couldn't forgive you for that.

When the funeral ended and people started heading toward the reception, you stayed glued to the spot. You could tell Carol wasn't sure what to do. Her hand had tried to pull away to give you space, but this time it was you that didn't let her leave you. The hand that was in hers tightened enough that she got the message. You had to wonder if she'd stay to hear it. As always, though, she was better than you. Her efforts to move away stopped.

You stayed silent for a moment, standing in that position and wondering what to say. There might not have been words enough to express just how sorry you were. There might not have been anything you could say that would make her forgive you. You deserved that, though. You broke up with her. There was no obligation for her to take you back and you hadn't given her any reason to want to. You were the one who had pushed.

"I'm sorry, Carol," you muttered, knowing full well that wasn't enough. "I'm sorry for everything. I was selfish."

"I get it," she admitted. "It's okay."

She was better than you.

But it wasn't okay. What you'd done to her was far from okay. You'd taken one look at the guilty relief in her eyes after that mission and decided that she'd sacrificed Natasha for you. She was allowed to be relieved. You would have been, if the roles had been reversed. Just because you lost Natasha, didn't mean Carol wasn't allowed to be a little relieved that the love of her life survived. Now, you didn't get to be that.

"Baby... Carol, I just wanted you to know that I read what you wrote and I'm sorry for how I'd reacted. I'm sorry I didn't stop to hear you out before that and I'm sorry I pushed you away when you were obviously hurting."

She dared to pull you a little closer. "You can still call me Baby."

You had to let out a light chuckle at that, despite the tears on your face. You wondered if you were mourning Natasha or your relationship with Carol. Whatever the case, she reached out and brushed the pad of her thumb across your cheek. You couldn't resist leaning a little harder into her hand. She got the message, opening her hand and cupping your cheek, her palm pressing delicately against your skin and her thumb continued to trace your cheekbone.

"You were hurting too," she assured quietly. "You reacted that way because you were grieving. You needed someone to blame."

"It shouldn't have been you."

"I was easy," she said, hands sliding down so they were both in yours. "I could have saved her and I didn't. Whatever reasoning I might have had, that was the truth."

"I'm supposed to love you."

"You don't love me?" She questioned.

"I do! Of course I love you, Carol. But I haven't been great at doing that recently. I should have-"

"You love me and you were grieving your friend. That's it. And I love you too," she said, squeezing your hands. "Can we stop being broken up now?"

She was standing in front of you, a tiny smile on her lips, and forgiving you. She was asking you to take her back, like it wasn't supposed to be you on your knees begging for her forgiveness. You stepped forward, taking your hands out of hers so you could instead put them on her cheeks, and pulled her toward you until your lips had met. She kissed you back immediately, her hands finding your hips. She pulled away from you.

"So yes?" She said, a hint of teasing in her voice. "Because Natasha got us together and breaking up for good over her casket would not be honouring her memory very well."

"No, it wouldn't," you said, leaning your head onto her shoulder. You looked down at the wooden casket. "I miss her so much already, Carol."

"I know. Me too, Honey."

Your heart felt the slightest bit lighter now. You would've given anything for Natasha to be okay. The fact that she was gone still felt like a knife through the chest. At least now, though, you had Carol to hold you at night and kiss the tears off your cheeks. She had you to do the same for her. That was all either of you could do. Now, only time could lessen the pain. Carol put her arms around you and held you closer.

Just as you went to tell her once again that you loved her, her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket, frowning at the number that was coming from outside the country. She showed it to you and you took the phone from her.

"Hello?"

"Did it work? Do they think I'm dead?" Said the so familiar voice.

You glanced up at Carol, sure the shock on her face matched yours.

"Natasha, what the hell-"

"We've got a new mission. Are you and your lovebird up for it?"

Carol kissed your cheek and then spoke to the woman on the phone. "Absolutely."

[newathens]

in honor of everything that happened on aug 18th the good and the bad here is a scene from secrets that has been collecting dust for a year and may never get its moment but it is where luke castellan gets a chance to speak and it deserves to b seen at least once

LUKE:

     Fresh donuts sat up on the counter, the sweet smell of frosting wafting through the space. The place was warm; their air conditioner busted. It was a random Wednesday at eleven in the morning so there weren’t many bystanders, though the few that were around kept stealing glances towards me. A mother lost in thought touched her cheek and when she caught me looking back, ducked her head. I kept tapping the tabletop with my knuckles, wondering how hard I’d have to whine to get the waitress to give me a chocolate glaze. She’d already passed by three times out of worry.

     The shining, silver bell shook and rang as the diner door opened. 

     He stood in the entryway for a long moment, taking in the length of the diner. It took him two tries to notice me, but when he did, the neutral expression he’d worn shifted into a deep frown. He approached the booth slowly and held my gaze all the while.

    “Not funny,” Hermes said. I smiled with all the gusto of a fourteen-year-old.

    “Sorry,” I said, voice dropping several octaves as I aged ten years. “I couldn’t help myself. Too soon?” He took a seat without another word. Blonde hair, blue eyes—nothing much had changed; in fact, there wasn’t a trace of greying hair to be found. He seemed fit, youthful. “I thought we’d leave some mark on your complexions.” He gave a tight smile and said nothing, but in the silence I noticed it. An airy presence, circling around me much like the scent of the pastries. It wasn’t threatening, just curious, like a snake amongst the forest floor.

     He was checking me.

     I did the same to him and watched, rather gleefully, as his eyes widened in recognition. It felt strange, kind of annoying. Is this how gods’ felt? Striped raw, bodies vibrating like giant batteries next to one another?

       His search turned up short, but mine didn’t.

      “Jean pocket, out with it.”

      He sighed and placed a gold iPhone in the middle of the table. The caduceus shimmered on its back. 

     Oh, look who it is! Martha said.

     “Nice to see you,” I said.

     I didn’t say this was nice!

      “And you too, George.”

     Hey, Luke, he said, if you take over his position, will you get to keep us?

     “I’d hope so, you two are a riot.”

     “Comical,” Hermes said. “Both of you keep quiet.” We looked at each other again, ready to speak but unsure how to start. The waitress beat us to it.

     “How can I—oh!” She nearly snapped her pencil in half. Her eyes were wide on me, then on the next booth over, then to the other side of the diner. “Wasn’t there, I mean, there was a child—”

       “Can I have three of those delicious looking donuts, miss?” I asked. The waitress bit her lip absentmindedly.

        “Sure thing,” she said, “And you?”

        “Nothing,” Hermes said, then his eyes glowed. “Thank you, and apologies.” The waitress stared blankly, then walked off without another word. The donuts from the counter disappeared and reappeared at our table. 

      “Thanks,” I said.

      He let out a tired breath, “Lukas—”

      “Yes, father?”

     His expression soured, wind rattled the windows, but then it softened, his eyes shut. I stared at the caduceus, quiet now. He sat back in his seat, placed a steady hand on the wood, and stared out towards the street. Towards the shops and sidewalks familiar to us both.

     “We’re here to talk, correct?”

     “Yes.”

     “Then explain.”

.

     Hermes had the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, eyes closed. As the silence stretched on, the conversation played over in my head. Again and again and again. The whole time he barely said a word, not unlike him. . .but not all that comforting. The diner was empty now, though I hadn’t realized when it happened. No weapons, those were the terms, but it would be a lie to say that my palm wasn’t itching to call Backbiter to it. Martha and George slithered around the staff mimicking some sort of animated phone case.

     I should run.

     He stood without warning. I followed.

    “Let’s go for a walk,” he turned and left. Again, I followed.

     Late summer heat wrapped around us like a blanket as we exited into midday. The area was lively, busy shoppers and cyclists, joggers and freshly-washed cars. Sun shone down heavy on their exteriors and I squinted against the glint. It was way too bright—

     “There’s no one here,” he said. I turned. He was waiting on the sidewalk, body facing north, towards the path that would take you further inland. Away from the main strip, closer to the suburbs. “Just you and me.”

     “Right,” I said and shoved both hands deep into their pockets. I knew where we were going.

     Higher up the heat wasn’t as oppressive. Hot winds blew now and then, rustling dry leaves and pushing the scent of saltwater up from the bay. I breathed deeply out of reflex. We walked in silence. I kept our strides in rhythm. That was until I saw it.

     The beat-up white house with green hinges that had fallen into disrepair from neglect and misfortune was almost unrecognizable. A new coat of paint covered the siding, the chipping front door had been replaced, and curtains blew out of wide open windows. A lush, green lawn surrounded the property, split in half by a clean walkway bracketed with a rainbow of flowers. There wasn’t a single discolored, mildewed, decaying stuffed monster to be found. I jogged forward in spite of myself.

     “What did you. . .” I turned back. Hermes had slowed, taking in the scene much the same as I. He looked at me. “What did you do?”

     “Luke, this isn’t,” he stared at the house and his face twisted, “I haven’t done anything.”

     I swallowed a dry mouth and ran up the walkway, all caution lost to the innate yet unearned fear for a loved one. The door rattled under my fist as I knocked repeatedly, frantically. Hermes took his place on the tiny porch beside me.

     “Hello,” I shouted. “Hello, is anyone home? Hello!”

     “Coming! Just a moment,” a gentle voice rose from the depths of the house and a few moments later, a woman opened the door. Blonde hair, not frizzed, interrupted by streaks of gray. Green eyes; forest green, not neon. Healthy skin, not sickly. A warm smile that only grew wider as she took us in.

     “Mom.”

     “Luke,” she said and pulled me in to press a kiss to my forehead. I went as rigid as ice; she didn’t notice. “And look at you,” she said to Hermes, who hid his shock well. He had a smile on, pressed a kiss to her cheek, but I could tell somehow, that he was as clueless as I.

     The spell.

     “Come on you two,” she ushered inside. “I’m baking.”

     “Cookies?” I guessed. It was the wrong thing to say. She stopped midstep, hand on the doorknob, and stared at me. Both eyes open, mouth in a frown. For a moment, nothing happened. Then she blinked and shook her head, as if pushing away a stupor. 

     “No, pie. Do you like cookies?” She led us into the house. It was quiet, a television played low in the front room. Varied, jewel hues covered the walls, hiding the dirty eggshell they used to be. Tarps covered some furniture, though they were clearly being used. The wood floors shined from a polishing. The entire space smelled of pastry. Hermes followed faster than I. “Luke,” she called. She was leaning out the kitchen archway. “Lemonade?”

      “Sure,” I said but couldn’t move. Then Hermes called my name and I scoffed. 

      The kitchen was different too. All the grime had disappeared. All the appliances updated. The old, retro table had been replaced with a long wooden piece, and on top of it, were strawberries. Buckets and buckets of strawberries, contained in plastic, straw, wicker; anything that would hold them. The sweet scent was nearly overpowering here. My mom held out a full glass and brought my hand to it to make sure it didn’t drop.

     “Strawberries?” I asked.

     She looked at the table, “Oh! Yes, I’ve grown quite an affinity for them,” she shrugged. “Not sure why but. . . they’re pretty aren’t they?” A beep sounded.

     “May,” Hermes said as she pulled a tray from the oven. She looked over her shoulder. 

     “Yes?” 

     “May, are you alright?”

     My mother smiled—with a gorgeous set of pearly whites. Not possible, her teeth had yellowed and rotted years ago. “Of course, I am. It’s a beautiful day and I have two of my favorite people right in front of me.”

     “May,” Hermes said a third time, this one pained. I realized where I felt confusion, he felt hurt. My mother noticed. Her smile dropped and her eyes along with it. “May, the last time I saw you. . .it didn’t look like this.”

     She placed the tray on the stove and took a heavy seat at the table. The towering strawberries seemed to suffocate her figure. “I was very different, wasn’t I? But I don’t like to think about it. Why not have some pie and then you can go? I don’t expect you to stay very long.” She looked at both of us. “You never can.”

    Hermes huffed in misery. He came to sit by her side. I felt like I was watching a television show. This couldn’t be mine, this couldn’t be my parents. 

    He took her hand, “I don’t mean to put you through pain but I’m a little shocked. Your condition. . . wasn’t exactly fixable. I’d like to know what happened.”

    “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “About a year ago, I woke up. . .at least it felt like that. The presence of that thing disappeared, mostly. I could think straight again. I started cleaning up, there wasn’t anything else to do. The calendar on the wall was from the nineties. Found out someone had been paying the bills all this time,” she touched Hermes cheek and he smiled. “One morning I started working on the lawn. . .” she gave a sad, little laugh. “Apparently, I’d gained a reputation. The neighbors were so worried they tried to take the shears out of my hands, but once they realized. . .they helped me. People helped me fix up the house, gave me food, took me to the dentist, taught me how to use these new phones. They were so kind,” she sniffled. “I really didn’t deserve that much kindness.”

     “Of course you do,” Hermes said but she lifted her head towards me.

     “I don’t remember much. I get glimpses, pains even. But what I can recall, none of it is good. The memories. . .and the visions. Luke, honey, I’m so sorry.” The air was so thick I could’ve cut through it with Backbiter. I scuffed my boot against the linoleum. Silence snaked its way through the kitchen, like Martha and Geroge slithered on that phone.

    “There’s nothing to apologize for, Mom,” I said finally.

     “But there is,” she tried. “All that happened, the things I did, and then I just let you—”

     “There’s nothing you have to apologize for,” I said and the air shifted from thick to frigid. Hermes’ jaw tightened, but he didn’t move his gaze from my mother. Whatever. “So did you chuck all my old stuff? Not that it matters, I’m a little too old for Power Ranger pajamas.”

      My mother wiped at her eyes, “Oh no, I haven’t touched your room. Go take a look, it’s all there.”

.

     The tiny, off-white carpeted room with one square window was exactly how I’d left it a long, long time ago. The bureau had one drawer open. Angry crayon marks covered a low corner of the wall. The small, twin bed was made, but wrinkled. I walked up to it and ran a hand across the blanket. 

     I had the sudden urge to stay.

    It hit me like a brick to the solar plexus, knocking the wind from my lungs. Anger followed soon after. What are you thinking? I thought to myself.

    You could go to college.

    You lost your right to a future.

    You don’t get to leave, Annabeth’s voice echoed.

    Through the window I could see the road; children playing across the street; a man starting up a lawn mower. It felt surreal, freakishly abnormal.

    Maybe this was a type of punishment.

    “What are you thinking?” Hermes asked. I hadn’t heard him enter.

    “I’m thinking I’m too big for this bed,” I said and turned towards him, hands in pockets. His cadecaus was out now. The snakes slithered the length of it, restless. “Not that it matters.”

[themetaphorgirl]

IT’S MY SWEET BRENNA’S BIRTHDAY!!!

we were just talking yesterday about how writing birthday posts can feel super awkward, so I wrote a drabble instead!! She loves Hotch and we were just talking about how Patron Saint Hotch is probably terrible with blood, so here’s some teenage Hotch shenanigans (with a Wonder Twin spin).

everybody go tell @thesassprincess happy birthday!!!

(also warnings for blood!)

----------

Aaron Hotchner had developed a fairly nuanced reputation at St. Thaddeus School by the time he reached his senior year. A short fuse and a bad temper (mostly rectified once he finished tenth grade). An ever-present scowl. A workaholic with straight As and perpetual dark circles under his eyes. All in all, a tough teenager who seemed to have no chinks in his armor.

Which was why his friends were a bit caught off guard by the incident at the library.

The library had become one of their go-to places once it got too cold to wander across campus, especially since Alex didn’t mind letting them in outside of established hours. She did mind, however, when Derek and Emily knocked over a photo frame on her desk and shattered the glass. 

“Guys, are you serious?” she complained as she swept up the catastrophe. 

“We know you hide snacks in here somewhere,” Emily said. “Why won’t you tell us where your stash is?”

“Because you two will eat everything I have, and leave nothing for me,” Alex said.

Spencer hovered in the doorway. “I know where it is, but I’m not telling!” he called. Derek stuck his tongue out at him and grinned at his indignation. 

“Thank you, darling,” Alex said. She dumped the bits of broken glass and cracked wooden frame into the trash. “Don’t come in here, okay? I might have missed some pieces.”

Emily scooped him up under her arm. “Come on, nugget, let’s go see if Rossi and Hotchner are still arguing over Monopoly,” she said. Spencer shrieked with laughter as she threw him over her shoulder and hauled him out of the office.

“Please don’t jostle him, you just let him drink a venti latte,” Alex said. She sighed heavily as she put the pan and broom away. “Just once I’d like to be able to have fun and not have to be everybody’s mother.”

“You’re usually just Spencer’s mother,” Derek suggested. “You’re a big sister to everybody else, if that’s any consolation.”

“It is not,” she said dryly. 

She didn’t mind mothering everyone in their little group, for the most part. And Derek was right, Spencer needed her a lot. But she did have to admit that this wasn’t how she envisioned her senior year. 

The vaulted ceilings of the library echoed with Hotch and Dave squabbling over Monopoly rules. “Are they still doing this?” she asked as she sat down beside James. “

“Yep,” he said, tossing his arm around her shoulders. “They’re so distracted with their fight they haven’t noticed that JJ has stolen most of the money out of the bank.”

Penelope stuck out her lower lip. “I’m just mad they wouldn’t let me be the thimble,” she said.

“That’s it,” Hotch said, pushing himself up from the couch. “That is it, I’m done arguing with you.”

“Why, because I’m right and you don’t want to admit it?” Dave said. 

“No! I’m just done with this stupid game!” Hotch said. “Whose idea was it to play this, anyway?”

“Mine,” Emily said. 

“You’re not even playing. You just picked the thimble and told Spencer to play for you.”

“I know. I figured this would devolve into chaos.”

Hotch huffed in frustration, blowing his dark hair off his forehead. “Well, you can play for me now and you can be the one to argue with Rossi,” he said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and his scowl deepened. “Shit. My phone’s dead. Alex, do you still keep an extra charger around here?”

“Top drawer of my desk in the office,” Alex said, leaning her cheek on James’s shoulder so he could kiss the top of her head.

JJ spread her play money across the table. “All right, whose turn is it now?” she said. 

Dave frowned. “How did you get so much money all of a sudden?” he said.

“Wise investments.”

Spencer jumped so he could lean over the back of the couch between James and Alex, the tips of his toes dangling above the ground. “Did you know that Monopoly was originally called The Landlord’s Game?” he asked. “It was created in 1903 based on the economic theories of Henry George, particularly his theories on taxation.”

“How do you know that?” Derek asked. “How do you know so much random stuff? Where does it all fit in that tiny little fourth-grader brain of yours?”

“The hippocampus, most likely,” he said, frowning. “And technically, I’m a ninth grader.” 

“A ninth grader in a booster seat,” Derek said half under his breath, and JJ hid a laugh behind her hand. 

Spencer’s jaw dropped. “That’s not fair!” he said. “Alex said that teasing me about the booster seat is off limits!” 

“All right, all right, I’m sorry, pretty boy,” Derek said as Spencer clambered awkwardly over the side of the couch and slid down to nestle between Alex and James. “Really, though, how do you know so much stuff? You don’t even use the internet.”

“I read a lot,” Spencer sulked, tucking his cheek against Alex’s arm. 

Something clattered in the office and Alex jumped. “Did something else break?” Penelope asked.

“God, I hope not,” Alex said. “Hotch? Did you break something?”

A long pause.

“No?”

“That didn’t sound reassuring,” Emily said. 

Alex tilted her head back. “Seriously, did you break something?” she called. 

“Uh...can you come here for a second?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just tell me what you broke!” she shouted. “Jesus. This is the last time I unlock the library on a Saturday.”

“Alexandra! Come here!” 

Alex blinked in surprise. “Oh, you got the full name,” James said. “That’s not good.”

She hoisted Spencer onto James’s lap. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “Hopefully whatever he broke is fixable. Unlike my picture frame.”

“I already ordered you a new one,” Emily said. “Can’t you just tell us where you keep your snack stash so we stop snooping around?”

“Nope,” Alex said. “But thanks for replacing it.” She walked behind the desk and opened the office door. “All right, what did you do?”

She stopped dead in her tracks. Her chair had been knocked onto its side, and Hotch was leaning against the wall clutching his arm. “What did you do?” she repeated, this time with genuine concern. 

“There was, uh, something sharp on your desk,” Hotch said. His face was paper white. “I didn’t see it.”

“Did you cut yourself?” she asked.

He nodded frantically. “I don’t do blood,” he said. “I don’t do blood at all.”

“Okay, okay, well...don’t look at it,” she said. She grabbed him by the arm and forced him to sit down at the desk next to hers. His knees buckled and he sat down a little too hard. “Are you going to pass out?”

“Not sure yet,” he said, squinching his eyes shut tightly. “Oh god. Oh, god. How bad is it?”

She took his hand in both of hers. “I don’t know, you have to let me see it,” she said. But she could already see the blood seeping through his fingers, and she wasn’t surprised to see a long cut across his palm when he stiffly unfolded his hand. 

“Do I need stitches?” he asked faintly. 

“I don’t think so,” she said. She grabbed a handful of tissues off the desk and pressed them to his palm, then gently bent his elbow until his hand was level with his shoulder. “Please try to give me some kind of advanced warning if you’re going to pass out on me. I can’t catch you.”

“I’m not gonna,” he mumbled, his lips slack. 

“Yeah, that sounded super convincing,” she said. She adjusted her pressure on the bleeding cut. “Keep your eyes closed and breathe, bubba. It’s okay.”

Hotch leaned his head against her stomach as she stood over him. “How bad is it?” he mumbled. 

She took a peek. “Not bad, it’s slowing down,” she said. “Your shirt is probably a lost cause though.”

“Oh, god,” Hotch groaned. 

Alex stroked his hair back from his forehead. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting this,” she said. “Aaron Hotchner, the most intimidating boy in the eleventh grade, spooked by blood.”

“I hate it,” he groaned. “I can’t help it. You won’t tell the others, will you?”

Alex glanced back at the glass office door. “Uh…” she said. “It might be a little late for that.”

“Oh, shit,” Hotch said, his eyes still closed. “They’re not all-”

“Staring at you through the window? Yeah, they’re all there.”

Emily rapped on the glass. “Are you okay?” she shouted. 

“Don’t tie a tourniquet, he might lose the whole arm!” Spencer said. 

“He’s fine, it’s just a little scratch,” Alex said. “And he doesn’t need a tourniquet, just a bandage. James, can you get the first aid kit from the circulation desk?”

“Already on it.”

Hotch exhaled slowly. A little bit of color had returned to his cheeks, but he was still a little too pale and clammy for her liking. “Thanks for helping me,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t pass out,” she said. “But don’t worry. I’ll always help if you need me.”

He smiled, his eyes still closed. “You’re a really good big sister,” he said, almost teasing.

She grinned. “Twin sister,” she corrected, and he laughed. 

[greyfongschemmenti]

Under Pressure 4|15

FryeArcana

Chapter 4

Day Off

Summary:

Since there is no one to hang out with in the City you decide to treat yourself by upgrading your trusted bike when a certain Chief comes and rarely asks for your help.

You wipe your forehead while working in your garage back at your apartment, your hands full of grease while you’re fixing up your bike. It had taken a spill at a chase, you figured it was time to give “Nox” an upgrade. You’ve already removed and changed the air filter and checked your oil to make sure it’s clean. You decide to replace the exhaust pipe and add a new design you made where instead of the standard one exhaust you bended together 2 into 1 piece and installed it into the bike. After that was all set and done you gave a fine tune into the system then put it into neutral and wheeled the bike out into the street to turn it on. You didn’t want to disturb the neighbors with any potential loud noises. You crank Nox up and hear them roar, “already a nice change, let’s see if you like it” you mutter under your breath as you check out the bike, revving it before you kick off and drive around the block. You test the speed kicking it into another gear and grin noticing the change of how fast you’re going. You’re weaving in and out of traffic averting passersby then slow down right back at your apartment. You catch your breath and laugh “phew that was better than expected. You sure like the upgrade huh” you smile as you pet your bike. Even though it’s a mechanical being you couldn’t help but treat it just like if it were alive, maybe that was weird but you and Nox have a relationship that not many can understand. Most people have pets, you have Nox.

You wheel Nox back into the garage and lock them back in place to continue doing some tuning. You feel someone walking towards you and look over and see Lin standing by the garage door, “Lin?” you drop your tools in the toolbox and stood up, grabbing a rag to wipe your hands and put it in your back pocket of your work pants, “what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you.” You crossed your arms as you look at her, kind of embarrassed at how greasy you probably look. Lin looks you up and down, taking in this different grease hog-monkey side of you, “I was on my way to a meeting with the president when my satomobile sputtered out and gave out on me. Since you live by I don’t normally do this, but I was wondering if you could help…” You saw Lin struggling to ask for help, come to think of it you never have seen Lin ask for help from anyone, so this was foreign to experience. You’re interest have been peaked as you put your arms down and nod “yeah, sure. Want to point me to where the satomobile is at” you walk over to your workbench and grab your shirt sliding it on and button up a couple of them as you head out with Lin and start walk down the sidewalk. “it’s a couple of blocks east from here.” Lin pointed out you nod “hope I didn’t interrupt anything important” she muttered. “oh no, I was finishing up before you arrived.” You smile “wasn’t sure if you were home or out with Ms. Sato” you look over at Lin “I guess that’s fair; since I don’t really hang out with that many people. Everyone is out of the city, Asami went back to the South Pole to settle out details on the deal with Varrick. Since it’s my day off I decided to give Nox a tune up.” Lin cocks an eyebrow as she looks at you “Nox? Who is Nox?”

Your cheeks softly blush, shit I never mentioned her the bike’s name, ‘uhh..yeah that’s my bike’s name….” you rub the back of your neck. You look over at Lin and notice her lips look slightly more tinted than before. Did Lin reapply her lipstick? you bite your lip as you think then notice Lin caught you staring. and you quickly look away. “oh look there’s the car!” you point out at the Chief’s satomobile and you assess it, you pop the hood and there’s smoke coming from the engine. Hmm seems like it’s overheated. You go back to the sidewalk and lay down to look under the car where you notice some fluid all over the street. Hmm maybe a leak? A broken hose, you’re going to need to lift the car to get a better look “I think I found the problem” you get back up as you dust yourself off wiping your hands on your pants. “You’ll able to fix it?” Lin looks at you. “yeah, most likely, I’ve handled building a couple of mobiles while working at the factory so it shouldn’t be a problem.” You walk over to the back of the car “just help me by steering the satomobile while I push it” you unbutton your shirt and sets it in the backseat while Lin gives you a look “you’re going to push?”

“yeah, so get in the car” you order her, and her eyes widen but scoffs as she walks over and gets in the car “alright, put the car in neutral” you call out to her and you watch her put the car in the neutral setting. You make sure to get enough grip on the ground and start to push, your biceps flexing as your black tank hugs onto you. You don’t notice the glances Lin looks at you from her rearview mirror as she keeps the car going straight, then steers the car into the garage. You push you bike up against the wall to give you more space and you put the car up on your makeshift lift by locking the wheels with metal bars and you earth bend pillars to lift the car up enough for you to slide under with your creeper. You look over at Lin and toss her your keys “take my bike to make your meeting. The car should be done by the time you get back” Lin looks at the keys then back up at you “uh, you sure?” You walk back to your bike and wheel it out the garage and hand her a helmet, “yeah, I can trust you. Don’t make me regret it though” you smile. Lin reluctantly gets the helmet and mounts the bike “um, thanks y/n.” she muttered “anytime, chief” you smirk as you watch her start the bike up “oh, careful, this has more kick than those police cycles” she nods and speed off.

You walk back and start working on the problem, you place the creeper on the ground and slide yourself under. You find the problem, it’s thankfully fixable, a hose seemed to have teared possible from the heat of the fluid or maybe from debris passing by. You slide from under the car and look at your box of extra materials you have and find a long enough piece of hose to replace the torn one. You grab your tools and slide under to unhook the old one and replace it with a newer more durable one. After a couple of minutes you finish and slide back out and get up, walking over to shelf grabbing some coolant fluid and start filling the line back up. You decide to check on the rest of the fluids and oils and make sure everything is filled at their max line. After about 30 minutes of work you bring the car down from your lift and grab a tarp to set on the seat and start it up. You press on the accelerator to let the engine rev up and let all the oils and fluid circulate to lubricate all the systems. You turn back and pull the car out of the garage and take it for a spin around the block. You turn back into the garage, the car seems to work back in perfect condition. You put the tarp back into its spot and close the garage, locking it as a precaution. You make sure to grab the shirt you left in the backseat out as you head inside your place. You wash up taking a hot shower and making sure all the grease and gunk is off of you. You change into some new fresh clothes, a fresh black tank and another buttoned shirt and relaxed on your couch.

*

You haven’t noticed how much time has passed by until you hear a knock on the door. You must’ve knocked out without realizing and you rub your eyes as you get up and open the door. “Hey! you’re back. I see the bike is in one piece” You glance between your bike and Lin, “had little faith on me?” Lin gruff as she crossed her arms then gave you a smirk. “no, but the reassurance it nice” you let a soft chuckle escape as you open the door more to let Lin in as you escort her toward the garage as you grab her keys from the bowl on the end table, “You’re car is fixed. A torn hose seemed to cause the problem.” You muttered while you wake yourself up. “A hose caused a whole car to just shut down?” Lin spat out incredulously, “yeah, it can be from time, heat, or even some debris can cut it. that hose circulates the coolant fluid which keeps the engine lubricated and from overheating.” You explained to her while you hand her the keys. “replaced the hose, I took the liberty to check the other fluids. Back up as new” you shrugged while you walk towards the garage door and open it, then walk out and grab your bike to wheel it inside. You look over at Lin who hasn’t moved from the door “you’re not going to start it up?” you slide your hands into your pockets. “no, I trust you..r experience with Future Industries.” You slightly smirk as you catch the beginning of what Lin was trying to save. “right, my experience.” You nod over to the car egging Lin to go turn the car on, she reluctantly walks over and turns on the car, roaring back to life. You smile proud of your work as you look from the hood to the trunk of the car then your eyes setting on Lin. You move your hands from your pockets and cross them across your chest, “well I say that sounds like a mighty polar bear-dog” you smirk. Lin gets out of the car and takes a step towards you, “how about I treat you to dinner, as a thank you for the car.” Your arms drop down as you look at Lin. “you don’t have to do that” you wave her off and laugh “--but now that you mention food. I haven’t eaten really eaten anything today” you think about it and sure enough you only had a sweet bread and coffee in the morning and completely flew passed lunch. “sure, dinner would be nice. Let me just get changed into something more suitable than casual.” You give her a smile and head inside “you’re free to come inside and wait” you call out as you hurry to your room and change from your sweats into some pants and switch your house shoes into your normal boots and change into a dark lead long sleeve shirt. You grab a jacket and head back out where Lin is waiting in the living room. She seems to be looking at your bookcase, filled with different topics on mechanics, literature, art, history. “you’re welcome to borrow a book” you glance at her as you slide your jacket on” Lin shakes her head having been caught “what? Oh no, I was just admiring your…collection.” Your eyes squint as if wondering to buy her excuse, but you wave it off “I’m not really a big fan of reading, but I do have some interests” you both make your way out the house, you make sure everything is locked and secured.

*

You’re sipping on some sake while Lin talks about how it’s been at the station on your day off. Wong’s Wok is a well-known restaurant that is pretty close by to the two of you, you decided it would be best to just share plates of rice, roasted duck, steamed vegetables and dumplings. Lin was talking about her incompetent detectives, Lu and Gang, “they’re a bunch of idiots! it’s like I have to watch over them like some children if I want them to actually work”. You almost spit out your sake as you try to not laugh, Lin looks across from you her eyebrow perking up. “I’m sorry” you wipe your mouth as you stifle a laugh “they are idiots, have the time they’re just stuffing their faces with varri-cakes or whatever snacks we have at the station.” You mutter while you munch on some string beans. “sometimes I wonder how they even made it as detectives.” You look over at Lin and she looks at you back, then gives you a look as if she can’t believe what you’re a sinuating “it wasn’t me, must’ve been Saikhan when he was chief” she groans as she rolls her eyes at the name. “can’t believe how much damage Saikhan has done. Paperwork has more than doubled!” you smirk as you shake your head, “Saikhan is a coward ass” you spat out, which resulted in the both of you exchanging in a couple of laughs.

*

Lin hands you a glass of whiskey as she sits down at her couch beside you. As much as you both enjoyed dinner you felt like you weren’t ready to leave Lin. You both came back to her apartment for a nightcap, you’re leaning back on her couch leaning your arm out on the headrest, there is a comfortable silence between the two of you as you each taste your respected choice of alcohol. You glance up at her and watch how the streetlight illuminates her soft features of her unscarred cheek. How her eyes glisten under the soft lighting, you take in the image but there is one thought that creeps up in the back of your head and you decide to bring it up slowly by exhaling a deep breath “any luck with the nightmares?” you say barely a whisper. You try to sound casual but with a hint of concern in your tone of voice as your eyes land on her jade eyes to look for any reaction. She quickly looks up at you after taking a sip and brushes you off “handled, barely come.” She scoffs as she takes a rather large swig of whiskey. You eye her gently as she reaches to refill her glass “sure” you respond short and quick as you look over at the fireplace as you also take another sip. Your throat tightens a bit feeling the slight burn of the alcohol hit but you let it slide down and coat your throat. “what do you mean by that?” Lin growls at you but doesn’t meet your eyes, you turn your direction back at Lin and you can’t help but analyze her body language.

“well if the last time I slept here was any indication I would think it’s not handled.” You set your glass down on the coffee table and turn your body to her direction. “You should talk to someone about them. If you don’t want to talk to someone who you know in confidence then speak to a therapist or a counselor.” You reach over and place your hand on hers and softly hold it “There has to be someone here in the city that can help with a traumatic experience.” Lin quickly moves her hand and gets up walking across the room “I’m not going through anything. I’m not weak. I don’t need to talk to anyone.” she spats out as she looks out the window. You look up and watch her “I never said you were weak, Lin. You’re the strongest person I know, but please don’t tell me or yourself that you aren’t going through some sort of post-traumatic stress from your encounter with Amon, because you are. I’ve read about it from articles and journals about the hundred year war. You’re not alone, Lin”. You stand up and walk over to her standing beside her and put your hands on her cheeks to have her look at you, “You’re not alone, Lin. I’m here. Please let me in.” Your voice softening in a whisper as you caress her cheeks, Lin looks like she’s on the verge of breaking her walls down, her eyes glistening with tears forming. Her face leaning in her forehead resting against yours, “I…..can’t” she breathes out as she puts her hands over yours and pulls them off and steps back. Your eyes widen but shake your head as you see she’s trying to build that wall back up “you can, this is feeling of vulnerability is foreign to you. It’s always hard to open yourself to someone, but when you do it’s freeing to know that you don’t have to bottle all these thoughts and feelings to yourself. You can probably push everyone else away, like Tenzin or other friends or people in your circle, but you can’t push me away. I won’t allow it, you’re too valuable to me. You’re too important to me, Lin” You look at her as you slowly step back towards her and return your hands on her cheeks and look into her eyes. “Why” Lin mutters at you upset and slightly mad as she tries to push you away “Why am I so important to you. I shouldn’t be…” You don’t know if it’s the alcohol in your system or just wanting to show Lin how you feel about her but you gulp as you open your mouth while you look at her and utter those three words, “Do I really have to spell it out to you, I love you…” you breathe out your eyes glancing down to her lips but quickly up back at her eyes. You notice her eyes widening and you shake your head to reassure her as you softly caress her cheeks “I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have said it. You’re dealing with these nightmares and here I am causing another problem.” You softly smile before you drop it. “I know I can’t make you promise to see a healer, but at least make an attempt to get some help” you slide your hands away from her cheeks and pull back, “come on…”

Lin glances at your lips then at your eyes, feeling like her head is about to bust from her inner turmoil. She refuses to let her walls down. She’s a Beifong, A Beifong doesn’t cry or get emotional. That’s weak, but around y/n, she makes you feel like you don’t have to constantly have a wall around you. You don’t have to pretend around y/n, maybe you can open yourself a bit to her? No, opening yourself up just gives people a chance to break you. Your record isn’t the best on the amount of people who have left and hurt you. Tenzin, Su, Toph being the main ones, Kya and Bumi left as soon as they could. You glance up at y/n’s eyes the light coming from the fireplace highlights the little specs of auburn in her green eyes. You felt y/n start to move her hands away from your cheeks and step back. “wh-where are you going?” you watch her grab your hand and pull you away from the living room.

You look at her and laugh softly “it’s late, people usually go to sleep at this hour, Lin” you say to Lin as you tug her towards her bedroom. “I don’t want to sleep” Lin protests and yanks her hand away and you turn to face her “Fine, but what was what you told me a couple of nights ago. “always be well rested for work. I won’t stand you being tired on the job”” you cross your arms on your chest as you look at her. “oh don’t use my words against me, y/n” she spats out as she pushes pass you walking towards the bed and starts bending her armor off. You smirk “why? It’s those words of wisdom I follow so much” you let out a laugh. Lin rolls her eyes and mumbles under her drunken breath as she gets ready for bed while you lean against the doorframe. She stumbles out of her pants as she tries to change into sweats. You shake your head smiling at the image and you walk over to her and sit her down on the bed to help her take them off. “what are you doing?! I can undress myself” she hiccups moves her legs away as she slides her sweats up on her legs. “fine, Lin. Sorry I was just trying to help” you sighed slightly annoyed but trying to remain calm as you got up running a hand through your hair. “well stop trying! It’s pathetic” she exasperated as she turns her face glaring at you. This whole little quip has sobered you up quite a bit as you look at Lin, unsure of what to say or do. You inhale deeply then slowly release that breath before muttering “fine, I’ll see myself out. goodnight Lin”. You step back out of the bedroom and walk out of her apartment.

You’re almost halfway home completely forgetting that Lin had driven you out all day so you’re walking. You’re still about six more blocks till you arrive, you see a garbage bin and punch down on the lid causing a large indention, “shit” you exclaim as you kick the bin sending it in the air a couple ten feet away. You’re mad, confused, frustrated, in all honesty you’re unsure what you’re feeling, maybe guilty? Guilty that you just confessed your feelings to Lin, mad and frustrated that Lin just closes up and doesn’t let anyone in. Confused on her feelings about you and if it’s just in your head or if she’s possibly using you. You look around to make sure no one is looking your way as you continue walking as your drunken mind starts to fill with thoughts and emotions.

She’s probably just using you, y/n. You’re just a warm body for her to sleep next to. Her last relationship was Tenzin which was more than a decade ago considering Jinora’s age. You’ve given her the physical touch, the intimacy, she hasn’t had in a while. You’re becoming a stupid fool, y/n! Women would try to swoon you whenever you traveled and visited bars at the different nations. Some were lucky enough to spend the night with you before you left the next morning to continue on your travels. It’s been months since the compound and all Lin does is kiss you, never more.

“Lin is different” you mutter under your breath, a discussion with yourself, your mind and heart fighting with one another, three more blocks. Your mind going over the reality, the logic of this whole dynamic between the two while your heart speaks on what’s happening between the lines. Your eyes scanning the ground for some answer you’re trying to find as you reach your apartment. You open your door and get inside locking it after as you lean against it trying to clear your thoughts.

This was just one little spat. A drunken one. You shouldn’t take this seriously. It’ll all blow over tomorrow. You’re just panicking and thinking the worse. You know how Lin feels about you, her glances and the way her body reacts to yours. Tomorrow is a new day.

You walk over to your bedroom and fall on your bed, exhausted from the day’s events and you close your eyes to shut your mind off. “Tomorrow is a new day” you mutter softly before you doze off, your face on a pillow as you lay flat on your stomach.

Lin on the other hand, called for you when you left. She thought you probably went back to the living room and checked, but there was no one there. She wondered if she would run after you but not in her current state. “Nice going, Beifong” she spat at herself as she walked back to bed. She rubbed her face as she laid down, staring at the ceiling.

This is what you wanted right? You told her to stop trying. She left. You’ve pushed the probable one good thing you’ve had. If one fight has her leaving so quick then she isn’t worth my time. Everyone leaves, eventually they all leave.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Too Good To Be True (part three)

A/N: You get ready to dive into the shipwreck exhibition and start working your dream job. Benjamin is nothing if not proud and supportive, and you finally get to meet the mysterious restoration board director who hand picked you for the project. How exciting, right? *side note, this part contains some of my favorite scenes so far for these two.*

Word Count: 3,847

Warning: more nerdy stuff

The week leading up to the beginning of your new contract sped by at a rapid pace. There’d been plenty of celebration for both of you. Drinks and dinners with Helene and Milo, your family, Leo, and Benjamin’s friends had taken up nearly every night until you were down to just two days before you’d be leaving for London. With no more plans to see anyone else, Benjamin was glad to get you to himself for the remaining time. On the second to last night, he made dinner and took care of the cleanup so that you could finish up your work for the evening. You’d gone into the living room to return to your piles and piles of paperwork, music playing softly in the background as you perused the pages. He smiled to himself as the song changed to one that he’d introduced you to. Knew you’d like that one. Turning off the tap and shaking his hands over the sink, he finished up in the kitchen and grabbed his glass to rejoin you in the living room. 

 Benjamin came back with the bottle to see you sitting on the floor, one leg bent, your foot tucked against your opposite thigh. Photos and inventory lists were strewn between, atop and around your legs as you leaned forward to focus on a select one. You’d thrown your hair into a haphazard bundle on top of your head, a few stray strands falling loose around your hairline and near the nape of your neck. He smiled. That's her thinking bun. With only two more days until you started your new contract, you’d been spending every second of free time pouring over the documents you’d been sent, making sure you were as prepared as you could possibly be. He leaned against the doorframe as he watched you take a sip from your glass without taking your eyes from the picture in your left hand. Eyebrows gathered, you set your glass back down and brought the picture closer to your face. She found something. His grin grew as he pushed away from the door, eager to find out what it was. 

 “I can’t believe I missed this,” you dropped the hand that held the photo back to your lap as he crossed the living room, through the space where the coffee table had been before you moved it to take over the carpet entirely. Looking up at him, you sighed and dragged your fingernails over the top of your head, grabbing the messy nest of your bun, just like he knew you would. “This is…” You returned your gaze to the photo in question where it had fallen on your bent knee. She’s concerned, Benjamin cocked his head to the side as you picked up your wine glass again, taking a sip and contemplating whatever it was that you saw. But she’s not worried. Good. “This is,” you widened your eyes and blew air through your cheeks, causing him to chuckle as he circled around behind you to sit on the couch. “Gonna be a tough one.” 

 You’ll figure it out, though. He dropped his legs on either side of you and set the wine bottle down on the lamp table. Hands free, he placed them on your biceps and pulled you backwards until you were close enough for  him to lean around and kiss your cheek. Benjamin closed his eyes as he squeezed the rounded tops of your shoulders, lips still brushing your skin. “What is?” He asked, reveling in the breathy little sigh you released and the way you’d tilted your chin down to give him better access to your neck and back. 

 “That feels amazing,” you hummed as he flexed his long fingers, kneading your tense muscles. He smiled. Good. You rolled your head from side to side, two little pops coming from beneath his hands. Oof, that’s better. You arched your back and he raised his palms to let you reach for the photo before rising to take a seat next to him. You bent down to retrieve your now empty glass, which he dutifully refilled. “Thanks,” you sent a kiss through the air as he returned the bottle to the table. 

 “Of course.” My pleasure. Twisting at the waist, Benjamin turned back to you, lifting his arm so that you could fit yourself beneath it. You did so wordlessly, leaning into him and holding the photo up so that both of you could see it. “Now,” he brought his own glass to his lips and took a drink. “Show me what it is that’s going to be tough.” Even though I know you’ll… 

 “So,” you used the hand you held your beverage in to point out a small, dark smudge in the lower corner of the pictured sconce. “See this right here?” You lifted the print up higher so that he could get a better look. 

 Benjamin squinted at the spot you indicated, a crease in the intricate scrollwork at the base of the piece. No, of course I don’t. He pulled his glasses from the top of his head, pushing them onto his face to have another look. That? Is she joking? He chuckled inwardly as he found the tiny grainy spec that you seemed to think you should have noticed instantly; that almost no one else in the World would have noticed at all. “This little bit here?” He asked, touching his fingertip to the glossy image. According to the measuring stick that had been included in the photo, the area that raised a red flag to you was no larger than half a centimetre. “This little pinprick? That’s not just dirt? Or oxidation?” 

 You shook your head, swallowing a sip before looking back and over your shoulder at him. “No, gold doesn’t oxidize.” Right. “These have all been gold plated,” you explained, turning and gesturing to the other photographs still littering the ground where you’d been sitting. “Which should have protected the metal beneath- it did for most of these. But this one here,” you pointed back to the small dark patch, and he realized it was actually a deep green color, not black like he thought, “the plating must’ve chipped. Probably on the way to the surface, maybe they dropped it or bumped it or,” you sighed. “I’m not saying they weren’t careful or anything, just-“ Yeah, just like they were careful when they recovered the telegraph. Dropped that back to the ocean floor and almost lost it for good. “Anyway, doesn’t matter how it happened. What matters is that now, this piece has got Bronze Disease, and since it’s plated, I can’t even tell how bad it is, not from these pictures anyway.”

 He’d known about Bronze Disease since one of the first nights he’d spent with you. On a shelf in your bedroom, you had a jar of corroded coins, buttons, arrowheads and other small objects you’d acquired from various jobs through the years. Ranging in color from bright, almost neon greens and aquamarines to dark brown and nearly black, and in every stage of degradation from partially disfigured to completely unrecognizable, they’d caught his eye and his interest. You’d noticed, explaining that every item in the jar was contaminated with chlorides, causing the alloys to corrode. Even a completely unaffected piece of bronze or copper, once dropped into the jar, would catch the contagion and start to turn. 

 “Why do you keep adding things?” He’d asked. “You know what’s going to happen to them.” 

 You’d tilted your head, thoughtfully regarding the collection. “Because,” you propped yourself up on your elbows where you lay next to him, his eyes leaving the jar to fall on your face. “Because my job is to stop that from happening. To stop the corrosion, fix the damage, stop time. But,” you smiled, a dreamy look entering your eyes that made Benjamin hold his breath. “There’s beauty in it, in watching things… watching how they sort of breakdown and change.” You shook your head then, before looking at him through the hair that had fallen in your face. He swept it away with his long fingers, wanting to bask in that look in your eyes. “It’s important to preserve things, history.” He’d nodded. “But it’s also important to remember that things… things don’t last forever. Things break, and change and… and sometimes that’s okay.” 

 Yeah, sometimes it is. Releasing the air from his lungs, he’d traced the curve of your cheek, fingertips trying to memorize your face as it was, mind busy imagining the beautiful ways in which it would change. And I might get to see that. 

 “So what do you need to do then?” Or will a piece of it find its way into the jar? 

 Dropping the photo back to the floor with the rest of them, you sighed and relaxed against him. He kissed the spot behind your ear as you settled in. “Well,” you reached up with your free hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. “I have to call over there first thing and make sure they’ve sealed each piece off or else…” you let your hand fall back to your lap as you trailed off knowing that he knew what else. “And then, I’ll have to order more of the neutralizing agent, this entire piece will need to be submerged for a few days. I’ll need to test the density, see if that gives me any clues as to how far gone it is under all that plating. If it’s not too bad,” you took a sip of your wine before passing the glass to him so that he could set it down next to his own and the bottle. “I might be able to leave it as is, if I can stop the corrosion and confirm that the integrity isn’t compromised.” Benjamin closed his eyes as you spoke, enjoying the confident tone that your voice too when you talked about challenges in your work. “Otherwise we’ll have to pour a new core to reinforce it.” 

 “A lot of work.” He kissed behind your ear again and tightened the arm he had around your middle. 

 “A lot of work,” you repeated with a small laugh. “But, fixable.” 

 He smiled, lips still pressed to your warm skin. “Good.” I knew you’d know what to do. “Are you done for the night, then?” He dragged the tip of his nose along the outer shell of your ear, his thumb sweeping against your hip under your shirt. He knew that the combination of sensations wasn’t fair, that his touch, his breath on your skin, his warmth and the way he held you would turn you to putty in his hands. But he also knew that if he didn’t make that happen, you’d stay up all night trying to find more things that you’d missed, stressing and worrying when it wasn’t warranted. They picked you for this job for a reason, remember that. 

 As expected, you released a shaky breath, head tilted back against his shoulder. “Benjamin,” you groaned his name with a hint of false exasperation. “This is important, I have to…” 

 He continued to trail kisses down the back of your neck. “You’ve spent days pouring over this, love.” He said, beard brushing your flesh to add to his assault on your willpower. “And you’re going to spend weeks working on it.” You sighed again and his grin grew. “Weeks, and I’m going to miss you. Miss this.” 

 You hummed and he could feel the vibrations through your back where it was pressed against his body. “I’m only going to be in London, and you’ll be staying with me some nights and…” you sighed as his mouth wandered down to the base of your neck above the collar of your shirt. “And I’ll be home on weekends and…” 

 “And I’ll miss you all the minutes between.” With Kesting and Oberman both still away, and the conference done and wrapped up, he’d be home for a few weeks, not needing to go into the office much. He thought about just spending all his free time in London with you, but decided against it knowing that you would need your space to think and plan and work.Instead, he’d made plans to see a few friends that he used to work with, Zach and Bianca. He’d booked tickets to talks at different museums, planned to meet up with Leo, and promised you that he’d spend some time in the garden since you’d be gone for peak planting of most things. He’d keep himself busy, but the truth was that he’d rather keep himself busy with you. 

 It didn’t take much else for him to get you to concede the remainder of evening over to him, and soon enough the two of you were tangled up in bed leaving the carpet strewn with photos and lists, leaving your half empty glasses and the bottle of corked Shiraz on the table. The remaining 48 hours were spent much in this manner- him doing most of the cooking and chores while you finished your prep during the day, and then coaxing you into his arms and away from your work at night. He helped you pack and even packed an overnight bag for himself to leave at your hotel since he wasn’t sure which nights he’d be staying with you. The first night for sure, but then I don’t know. He wanted to wait and take cues from you, make the decision on the fly so as not to interrupt or distract you too much, wanted to be there when you needed him but not when it would be inconvenient. 

 As you were leaving the house on Monday morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, you turned abruptly to him, keys still in hand after locking the door behind you. “Benjamin?” There was nervous excitement in your voice, just like when you’d left the message telling him that you’d gotten the job. He tilted his head and adjusted the straps of the bags he was carrying. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and shook your head, a sparkle in your eye. “It’s really happening.” 

 It is. He broke out in a grin and leaned forward to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. “It really is. Now come on, let’s get you there.” The drive was quicker than normal due to the early hour, and you sat in the passenger seat buzzing with silent excitement. 

 He walked with you to the museum after checking into the hotel, fingers entwined with yours as you led him to the limited access entrance where you’d been instructed to go. The city was still waking up, people heading to work with their heads down and their mugs full, buses and black cabs filling the streets. The sun was coming up now, casting its light on the blossoms of small trees and shrubs, colors coming alive as Spring unfolded. It was his favorite season, everything splendid and bright, everything in its most glorious state. It was how he thought about the events and figures that he studied. Now, they lived in dusty tomes, tucked neatly between rows of 12 point or smaller typed text, in articles and textbooks and research papers. But at one time, they’d been full of life and consequence and risk, exuberant and loud like the crocuses blooming only to shrivel and die at the end of the Spring. He recalled your words about the coins, rotting away in a jar in the bedroom that you shared. Things don’t last forever, and sometimes that’s okay. He looked sidelong at you without you noticing. But not us, not this. He squeezed your hand and returned his focus straight ahead, smiling to himself. 

 With the promise to meet you for lunch, he left you at the door with a kiss and a reminder of how proud he was, how happy he was for you in this moment. He watched you walk in, watched the slight rise and fall of your shoulders as you took a steadying breath, then set about his day to busy himself in the city. It had been a while since he’d had aimless time to spend wandering London, so he happily went about visiting favorite locations until it was nearly time to head back to the British Museum and you. Stopping at a chip shop that he used to frequent when he’d lived in the city, he picked up food for both of you, then started the walk back to the impressive building and the even more impressive woman inside of it. 

 He waited for you in the Great Court, strolling beneath the tessellated glass ceiling, hands in his pockets as he visited the statues that filled the circular room, teasing of the treasures that were just inside the museum’s main doors. Stopping in front of a massive carved stone figure, he read the placard beneath it. Hoa Hakananai'a- The Wave Breaker. Benjamin narrowed his eyes as he regarded the Easter Island totem, imagining the way the stone sounded as it’s prehistoric creator chipped away with a crude chisel, freeing the ocean deity from the chunk of gray flow lava. He smiled, stepping away from the statue and making his way to the next, a stunning likeness of Amenhotep III, the detail in his head dress and postiche painstakingly preserved by someone like you. 

 Before he could fully appreciate how proud and happy it made him to know that you were somewhere in the building, up to your elbows in polish and preservative oils and cleaners as you brought another lost treasure back to its original beauty, you were calling his name from behind. He turned, one side of his mouth quirked up in a grin as he caught sight of you, stains on your jeans and sleeves pushed up to your biceps, hair thrown into a haphazard bun, and smudges of lacquer on your forearms and fingers. You belonged here, with the art of the ages, pouring your love of them into every project that you worked on. 

 “You’re early,” you said, smiling wide as you approached him.  

 He beamed. “Wanted as much time with you as I could get. As you reached him, he noticed a streak of some kind of solution near your eyebrow, his thumb coming up to swipe it away as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “How’s day one going so far?”

 Nearly bursting from the force of your smile, you scrunched up your nose and grabbed onto his arm. “Come on,” you tugged him in the direction that you’d come from and he let himself be pulled, chuckling. “Let’s get away from all these people and I’ll tell you all about it.” Sounds good to me. You led him through a series of hallways, showing security guards a badge that you’d pulled from your pocket, explaining that Benjamin was your guest, until you were in a small break room in the center of a group of offices. It was empty, most employees choosing to eat at their desks, meaning that the two of you could spread out and relax. 

 You told him about your brief meeting with the museum director, about the security screenings and tours you’d been given by the guards before launching into the details of how it felt to finally be in the room with the sunken treasures you’d be working on. Your eyes lit up as you spoke about the special gloves you had to wear to handle some of the objects, and he could almost feel the fibers covering his own fingers, could almost feel the weight of a heavy metallic lamp in his hands. You’d spent the morning sorting the pieces into groups based on how much cleaning and soaking they’d need, then started in on the objects that would require the most care, hence the various stains and mysterious spills on your clothes and skin. And hair, despite the bandanna.   

 “So,” he asked through a mouthful of the sandwiches that he’d brought, watching as your tongue darted out to lick a drop of Russian dressing from your lip. “You meet with the restoration committee board director later today, right?” You nodded, eyes wide and brows flying up into the bandana that you’d used to keep your hair out of your way. “You nervous?” Still chewing, you continued to nod and added an eye roll. He chuckled. “Don’t be,” he leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “They’re going to meet you and…” he trailed off, smiling. 

 “And what?” You wiped a paper napkin across your face before balling it up and throwing it back in the empty sandwich sack. 

 “And know that they made the right choice. That no one else would be better.”  

 “I hope you’re right,” you rose from your seat and crumpled the bag, moving to the trash bin to toss it. You hadn’t realized, but Benjamin had risen silently right behind you, and you jumped and laughed as his arms wound around your waist. 

 “If I’m wrong,” he murmured in your ear, “If they can’t see how amazing you are, then they’re out of their tree.” He kissed you and let you go, letting you turn to face him. “Now,” he tapped your nose and tucked a piece of hair up into the green fabric that was tied around your head. “Let me go so you can get back to work. I’ll be waiting back in the room, waiting to hear how right I am.” 

 ..  ..  ..  ..  .. ..  ..  

 You’d gone back to work after lunch with Benjamin, his reassurance that your meeting with the mysterious committee director that had selected you specifically for the job would go well giving you an energy boost that carried you through the afternoon. You’d been focused on scraping the corrosion away from the curled end of a decorative chandelier piece, when a voice broke the silence, speaking your name. That must be… You turned, brushing your palms against your pants to clean them so your greeting wouldn’t dirty the director’s hand, and you were somewhat shocked to see an older woman, around your mother’s age, her hair an unruly cluster of curls. She was looking at you with a hard, piercing stare, weighing you carefully before she even introduced herself. You got the feeling that her air of intimidation was something that she carried as a layer of protection against those who might question her decisions. She makes a lot of them, I’m sure, so she can’t have people second guessing that she means business. In a way you respected that. You smiled, deciding to break the ice first, as you held out your hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Miss..?” You trailed off to let her supply her name. 

 She smirked and stepped forward meeting your outstretched hand with her own. “Day.” She clasped her hand around yours. “Julia Day. And that makes two of us who couldn’t wait to meet.” 

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@something-tofightfor  @its-my-little-dumpster-fire  @suchatinyinfinity​​ @thesumofmychoices​​  @gollyderek​​  @malionnes​​  @becs-bunker​​ @warriorqueenofnarnia​​  @elanor-of-imladris​​  @traeumerinwitzhelden​​ @songtoyou​​  @michellemybelles-world​ @obscurilicious @breanime

if you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know! (and if you’ve already let me know and i didn’t make it happen...oops! i’m sorry and disorganized.) 

[hillywooddestiel]

The Retreat Chapter 20

Characters: CEO!Bucky x reader, Natasha

Warnings: Angst, again (sorry) and language

Word count: 2k

Description: Y/N Y/L/N: determined business woman, sought after by most businesses, creative visionary for advertising. She has it all. Or so she thinks. Life has a way of kicking you sideways when you least expect it, want it or are in anyway prepared for it. Numerous times. How can Y/N remain from cracking under the pressure when her career isn’t the only thing on the line and everything isn’t all that it seems?

A/N: I remembered that it is Thursday. Yay. So a lot is about to happen and I hope you are prepared. Enjoy(?) xx Series Masterlist Marvel Masterlist

Story:

India lifts the red roses up to my eye level with a toothy smile, taking a half step towards me as an offering. When I don’t take them the smile falters ever so slightly and she slowly lowers her arm to her side.

“It’s good to see you, you look great. You always did.” She laughs a little at the last part as she reminisces our failed shit-show of a relationship as if it ended on amicable terms which- news flash- it did not!

“What are you doing here? Leave a shirt behind or something?” I snarl. She may not have come for a fight but I didn’t get to do this. I didn’t get to tell her everything I felt because of how she just cleared out and left- I want to scream in her face in the way she never let me.

“I thought we could try again. We can get past what happened, it’s us!”

“Are you for fucking real?” I scoff, “You walked out on me without a reason and think you have the authority to come back here demanding I take you back because this is fixable, because ‘it’s us’. Either you take me for an idiot or are one yourself.”

“I was wrong to leave. I thought it was best for us but I’ve been so miserable without you Y/N/N.” India smiles a hopeful smile as she speaks. Note the lack of an actual apology. Almost on the point of laughing from the ridiculousness that is this situation, I tip my head back and walk a few paces on the spot. Meanwhile India just stays put smiling by my front door preventing me from just heading inside and locking her out.

“Please leave. Just go and don’t come back.” I step aside to make a path to the stairwell. India moves towards it but it quickly becomes apparent that she’s actually aiming for me and I freeze on the spot.

“Tell me right now that you don’t want this.” she says breathily, her face ridiculously close to my own. Is that alcohol on her breath?

“I don’t want this India. Now go!” I look up into her eyes defiantly and keep steady, my resolve unwavering. Go me! She doesn’t move though, not to leave the building. Her face gets closer and her lips purse in order to kiss me but I react too quickly for her, turning my face down and to the right to look at her shoes. Her sneakers. Black converse with scuff marks on fabric and discoloured laces… and splashes of red paint on the toes.

It was her! India painted my door. India called my phone. India sent me the photos. India is my stalker! It was all her.

“You! You’re the one who’s been stalking me! Don’t try to deny it, the paint is on your shoe.” I push her gently away from me as I make my accusations. Her demeanour immediately switches to something far more sinister as she starts to laugh.

“You always did have an eye for the details didn’t you?” She asks rhetorically- now it’s her turn to walk around on the spot with one hand running over her face and through her hair. “Yes, it was me. Well, not all me. We hired a PI to take those photos and follow you around with that fool of a CEO you work for. I never would have pictured the two of you together until I had the photographic proof. The idea was to get you to dump him so we could carry on our jobs but you just wouldn’t do it so, we had to take drastic measures.”

“What are you talking about.” I whisper, frightened.

“I’m not a fucking therapist, am I? We work for HYDRA Technik. They found openings to gather intel on Barnes and Rogers so put us to work undercover, lucky you.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing- it’s insane!

“Wait… who’s we?” 

“Caroline! Thought you’d have got that one by now genius. They hired her when she first started dating Barnes, paid quite the hefty some for that gold digger but she’s been invaluable. Your face was a real picture at the gala by the way.”

“Wha- You were there?!” Caroline being a lying, backstabbing spy comes as no surprise to be honest but I think if my ex was at a party, I’d have seen her.

“That man didn’t back into by accident you know. We had to get you out of the way so Caroline could get Barnes distracted. It was supposed to end with the two of them getting back together but the real outcome was so much more enjoyable.” India grins like the cheshire cat. It was all a ploy and not Bucky’s fault at all. He really was telling the truth. This is the most messed up story I’ve ever heard and it just makes me feel violently ill- mine and India’s relationship was never even real! Much of the last year of my life wasn’t real. Is she even really a lesbian?

“Why would you-”

“To get back in position you dumb bitch! You were never meant to work it out but I guess that’s not going to happen now. Because of you, things are a little more complicated.” India snarls. I only just manage to duck in time as she makes a swing for my head.

Bucky’s POV

“What do you want Caroline?” I pace around the window of my apartment, whiskey in hand and a frown on my face. She saunters in, gently leaving her bag on my couch and taking a seat as though she still lives here. Her whole demeanour is completely wrong for this situation; she’s too calm, too relaxed, and there’s something else too as if she knows something that I don’t and it’s right there just under the surface. What does she know? There’s always something with Caroline, it's never just simple and straightforward. That’s partly why I was relieved when things ended- the mystery and the games draw you in but I’m too old for those games now. Y/N is exciting in a whole new way, a good way. And she doesn’t mess with my head.

“You and I both know the answer to that one Juju. This isn’t over, it never was. We’re so perfect for each other and we shouldn’t let all of that perfection go to waste now, should we?”

“Like I’ve told you before, you screwed it up. And I’m glad, thankful even! Because of you, I have Y/N and I could not be happier.”

“Y/N… So that’s who you’re new little fling is. It’s sweet of you to consider the aesthetically less fortunate.” Her voice is sweet but her words are twisted and borderline evil-villain-like. Wait,

“How did you know I’d moved on? No one did- have you been following me?” Her smile falls from her eyes leaving a creepy, empty expression behind, I think I’ve found what seemed wrong before.

“I… No.” She stands up having regained her smile although it is clearly fake. She knew about me and Y/N, who knows for how long, meaning she knew exactly what she was doing when she came to see me at the benefit and she knows what she’s doing now.

“Have you been following me Caroline?” I clench my fists and step over to where she is now pacing. She swallows hard, maybe from fear or the guilt, her tough shell showing cracks like a porcelain doll.

“I didn’t follow you.” I hear the tremble in her voice. Liar.

“If you didn’t, who did you pay?”

“Nobody, JuJu I swear I didn't-”

“I'll only ask one more time, Caroline. Who did you send to follow me and Y/N?” my contained rage causes me to shake, nails digging into the palms of my clenched fists. For a moment, she doesn't answer, remaining poised and staring me down. But those cracks just can't hold.

“He was just some PI, I don't know the details. India did all of the planning and stuff, I just did as I was told.” She tears up, turning away to dab at her eyes.

“Wait, India as in Y/N’s ex India?” 

“Yeah, she hired me to work with her.” Caroline fishes a packet of tissues from her purse and blows her nose loudly. India was working with Caroline, that fact makes no sense in its own.

“But why? Who were you working for? India was a therapist!” I look to her, completely confused, to see her touching up her smudged makeup around her eyes- it's all image with her! 

“I haven't a clue what she did, I just know HYDRA Technik were the ones paying for it all.”

HYDRA! Those backwards bastards are behind this?! I've heard of them using desperate and, more importantly, illegal measures to get ahead in the technology game. They've never come close to our own sales before, something to do with a bug they never fix in the voice and facial recognition software, but if they've been spying on the competition they might just have an edge with their upcoming releases. Hell, they may even take over the whole market! And what about Stark industries? Do HYDRA have people on the inside in Tony's offices too? Do I warn him? He may be my enemy but I wouldn't wish the theft of work on my worst enemy, especially not HYDRA with their ways of working. God damn my conscience, I'll call later.

“If you were working for HYDRA why did you come back, Caroline? Not get enough info to please your bosses?” I focus back on the problem at hand, that problem being Caroline. She's dry-eyed and back to picture perfect. That being said, her perfect image is significantly tarnished in my eyes now knowing what she's done.

“India told me to, it's her you should be asking all of these questions. In fact, she's probably at Y/N’s little apartment right now.” she admires her nails, waving her hand around when mentioning Y/N.

“She is? Why?”

“That was the whole idea… I get back with you and she gets back with Y/N. It really wasn't meant to go like this, who knows what they're going to say back at the office.”

“I hope I'm not too late…” I mutter to myself whilst grabbing my jacket and phone.

“You're going?!” 

“I have to do something!”

Y/N’s POV

India's fist collides with the plaster where my head was as I fall back into the pot plant by my door toppling it over, soil and leaves going everywhere. Rest in peace Planty, sorry for forgetting to water you so often. Heart thumping, I barely have time to get back up before India is doing it for me, yanking me by the lapels; man she is strong! With my toes barely touching the ground, she holds me up with an arm across my throat, my windpipe squeezed tight. 

“S-st-op… p-leas-se…” I sputtering, rapidly running out of oxygen.

“Sorry my darling but we can't have you talking now, can we?” Her smile is sickening, twisted- has she done this before? These hands that used to touch me so lovingly will now be the cause of my death. Poetic? I hate poetry. Using all of the remaining energy I have, I kick and punch and scratch and fight to stay alive. She must be immune to pain as she doesn't react to any injury I inflict. The edges of my vision go black and fuzzy, hot tears running down my face. Strangling takes a while doesn't it?

“Ahh!” I squeak in pain as India increases the pressure on my neck. The agony is never ending and I feel like my spine might just snap in two- I kind of wish it would so this ordeal would just be over. 

“You should be happy Y/N/N, you always did want to spice things up between us.” India sneers. I feel the last dregs of energy leave my body, my grip on her arm going limp. At least the pain is numb now.

[hannahmcne]

Better Left Unsaid - Harry Potter

**Another one of my old works that everyone seems to really L.O.V.E**

______________________________________________________________

Ginevra Molly Weasley was tired.

Tired of waiting for the country to get back on its feet. Tired of studying for the N.E.W.T.S., but most of all tired of waiting for Harry Potter to notice her. She had been waiting and trying and hoping and praying for AGES. But nothing worked. He showed no signs of interest in her or anyone else. It was absolutely infuriating.

She wanted to be Mrs. Harry Potter. She wanted it so bad her heart ached. But Harry cleverly deflected any and all attempts at romance.

Today she was also tired from the Quidditch game that had taken place. Gryffindor had played hard, won, and was following tradition and staying up till past midnight, celebrating their win against Hufflepuff. The room was comprised entirely of members of the lion house, with the exception of Luna Lovegood, who Neville had invited.

Speak of the devil, Neville was waving her over to a secluded corner with his girlfriend, her brother, and Harry and Hermione. Ginny walked over and put on a tired smile. "What are you doing?" She asked conversationally.

"We're gonna play a game," Neville said, extracting a watered down vial of veritaserum. "Truth or dare. Are you in?"

Ginny nodded. "Sure. I'll play." She sat down on the three-person couch next to Harry. Hermione was on his other side. Ron was in the plush armchair while Luna curled up next to Neville on the loveseat. "All right, I'll start," Ron said. They passed around the potion vial so everyone got two drops before he said. "Harry, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"I dare you to make it to the top of the girl's staircase in under a minute, starting now."

Harry glared at the staircase and said "Fine." He ran up to the boy's dormitories and came back with his Firebolt. He flew up the stairs with ten seconds to spare.

"Neville, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"How many girls have you had crushes on?" Hermione rolled her eyes at the standard question.

"Two. Hermione and Luna." Luna kissed him on the cheek. "Ginny, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"What was the worst prank the twins ever pulled on you?"

Ginny blushed scarlet and looked at her feet. "They sent some of my undergarments to Dean while we were dating. It was soooo embarrassing."

And Ginny, being the lovesick teenager she was, turned around to Harry and said "Harry, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

She thought for a moment and then decided on a question that could really go either way. "What is your most hidden and protected secret?"

She saw Harry immediately start to try and fight off the veritaserum. "Dare." He said.

Ginny smirked and told him "I dare you to Tell us your most hidden and protected secret."Hermione sighed. "I'm sure Harry has a perfectly respectable reason for not telling us and anyway, isn't that prying a bit?"

Ginny shrugged. "It's part of the game."

Harry was pale now, shaking. "I chicken. Okay, I chicken."

"There aren't any chickens," Luna said from her place by Neville. "We never allowed them."

"Can I forfeit?"

"No."

The potion was slowly ebbing him on. "Ok." He said suddenly. Hermione fidgeted beside him. "But you have to promise never to tell anyone. Do you understand?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. She was now interested. "I promise." "So do we." "Me too, mate."

Harry chewed on the inside of his lip. The potion was eating away at him, trying to get him to reveal the secret. "Not here. Someone could overhear. Come on."

He grabbed his school bag and pulled the Marauder's map out of it. "Come on. The path to the ROR is clear." He grabbed Hermione's arm and together they led us out of the common room, down the four flights of moving stairs, and to the seventh floor, all with Harry fighting the potion. They walked with purpose like they knew exactly where they were going, and no one asked. They walked together three times in front of the wall and a heavy oak door appeared. It was not one Ginny had ever seen before. The D.A. Headquarters door was made of a pliable pine, and The Place Where All Things Are Hidden was made of planks nailed together. Hermione opened the door.

The inside resembled a small flat. It had tasteful black, white, and blue carpet in an abstract circle pattern, large armchairs, and a fake window toward the back. To the left was a small kitchen area with a double stove, marble counter top, and stainless steel appliances. To the right were three doors. The one in the middle was closed. The one on the left looked to be some kind of bathroom, with Egyptian sinks and a two person bathtub. The door on the right was a master bedroom, with a giant, two person bed.

On the walls were pictures of Harry and Hermione. A couple had them in weird positions. Some with their arms hanging out around nothing or held out straight in front of them. Harry noticed me looking.

"it's all a huge Fedelius charm. You haven't been told the secret yet, so those will seem a bit out of place to you. To me, they look normal. Oh well. Here goes nothing." He sat down in a big white rocking chair and invited us all to have a seat.

He seemed to take a deep breath and then took Hermione's hand. "Hermione and I are married." Ginny's heart stopped. Ron, Neville, and Luna immediately started asking "Since when?" "How come we weren't invited?" Ext, Ext. Ginny's whole life stopped and it was all she could do to keep from curling into a ball and breaking down. "We were soul-bonded in our second year and have legally been a wedded couple since then. Now that you know that secret you will be able to see our rings." And sure enough, there were rings on their wedding fingers now. Harry's was a simple gold band , but Hermione's was white and had a blue diamond molded into the top. It was gorgeous. Ginny could sell everything she owned and not cover a fourth of the cost of that ring.

"We had to keep it secret because there are some people-"

"Albus Dumbledore." Hermione interjected.

"Who would terminate the marriage by killing Hermione." Harry finished.

There were collective gasps around the room. "Kill her?" "Albus Dumbledore?" "No way. No bloody stinking way." Even Ginny was in shock. Albus Dumbledore, the leader of light, surely wouldn't go as far to kill someone because they were connected to Harry Potter? But now Hermione was looking exactly at her. "He wanted Harry to marry you Ginny. He started spiking him with love potions in our sixth year. He even used the imperious on him to get him to kiss you. Dumbledore wanted Harry to settle down with a respectable pureblood woman, preferably one who was guaranteed to have lots of children. And you look similar to Lily. That about sold the deal."

Harry nodded regrettably.

"So," Ginny said, her voice cracking. "That's your most well-kept secret?"

"No." Hermione said. She opened her mouth to go on, but at that exact moment the closed door in between the bathroom and what could now safely be assumed as Harry and Hermione's room. A small boy with raven black hair, green eyes, and a slight bucktooth peeked into the room. Hermione turned and gestured for him to come into the room. He ran over and clambered up onto his mother's lap. He was dressed in snitch patterned pajamas, and had a magical barrier around his eyes. Probably helping him see until they can get him some glasses, Ginny thought. And her heart promptly shattered into a billion non-fixable pieces. Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Man-Who-Conquered, was happily married and it wasn't to her.

Hermione held the small boy close and kissed him on the head. "This is Theodore James Potter. He was born on April 9th of our fifth year."

"You were pregnant during fifth year?" Luna asked confusedly.

Hermione nodded. "I used disillusionment charms and notice-me-not charms to hide it. Two days before the ministry break in, my water broke and I claimed that I'd had a major breakthrough in the library. Harry said he was going to go do his potions homework. I had Theo that night. "

Harry butted in. "This time around, we have wards surrounding her."

Ginny managed to open her mouth and gather enough courage to ask "Are you pregnant?" Hermione nodded happily. Harry put an arm around her and placed a hand on her stomach. It took all Ginny's willpower not to cry.

"Bloody hell. Who is his godfather?"

Harry laughed. "You are Ron. And we named Ginny as another guardian if we die. You are the first after Ron, so I guess that makes you godmother, if that's alright?"

Ginny nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Can I hold my godson?" Hermione leaned down to the boy and said "you want to go to Aunt Ginny? Go on."

"Gimmy." He hopped of Hermione's lap and ran to Ginny. He held his arms up and said "uppie uppie up up up!" Ginny smiled despite herself and picked him up. It was only after he started slurping on his three middle fingers that she realized something had happened to Hermione. Her stomach was larger. Hermione caught Ginny looking and said "I'm 5 months along now. You just learned our biggest, most well-kept secret, so all the spells and wards have dropped towards you."

The pictures on the wall, where Harry and Hermione had had their arms out in space now had them with their arms around Theo's shoulders. Some with them hugging him. Others with Harry holding him on his shoulders. Harry was right. It didn't look out of place at all.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner, mate?"

"Because of Dumbledore, and Umbridge, and Voldemort. Even after Voldemort was gone Death eaters continued to wreak havoc on the wizarding world. We would have told you but had to keep him safe."

There was silence for several long moments, except for the slurping of Theo.

"Ginny, are you ok?" Hermione said. Ginny smiled. "I'll be fine. Don't worry."

Harry cleared his throat and said "Hermione, truth or dare?"

Everyone groaned. "I think we're all done with that right now, Harry." Neville said. He yawned and picked up a half asleep Luna who gasped in surprise and said: "Put me down!" The two left after biding them all good night.

Ron kissed Theo's forehead before he left. Hermione opened her arms for the child, but Ginny smiled and said "I'll put him to bed." It gave her an excuse to get away from the two. She picked him up (he was very light) and carried him to his room. He took his fingers out of his mouth and said "Aumt Gimmy."

She smiled.

"Aunt Ginny has to go. She'll be back later if your momma lets me."

Theo nodded. "Nah, night."

"Goodnight."

She closed the door, thanked Harry and Hermione for letting her stay, and headed for the door.

"Ginny, if you ever want to come by and see us or him, the password is snitch. Just think it after you get our door to appear."

She nodded and closed the door. It wasn't till she was up in her room with her face buried in the pillows that she cried all her tears for her lost dreams with Harry Potter.

______________________________________________________________

Ginny woke up feeling better. For as long as she had been crushing on Harry Potter, it certainly didn't take her long to get over him. She did her makeup, brushed her hair, and decided to go see her godson. She actually skipped down the steps to the ROR, and thought the password before going in.

Theodore was sitting on the couch, looking at the pictures in a children's book. He looked up when she walked in. "Where's your mum and dad?" He pointed at the closed door to their bedroom. She nodded and said "Let's not wake them then. Do you want to help me cook breakfast?"

His little green eyes lit up and he nodded. He closed his book and scampered up to the bar. "Aumt Gimmy!" He loudly whispered. "Aumt Gimmy!"

"Here, can you call me Gin? Is that easier?"

"Aumt Gim."

"I guess not then." She chuckled as she checked the freezer. It was stocked with steaks, seafood, sausages, tenderloins, vegetables, hash-browns and other frozen goods. The fridge had fruit, veggies, some breads, some muggle drinks called coca cola and sprite that she did not recognize, and perishable goods.

"What do you want?" Ginny asked.

"Bagon!"

"Bacon?"

"Bagon! Bagon!"

She pulled out a pack of opened bacon and turned on the stove. Hermione had a kitchen directory spellotaped to the tabletop (probably for Harry), so it was easy to find what she needed. She made scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, and was starting pancakes when Hermione came in. "Morning Ginny." She said yawning.

"Morning Hermione."

"How long have you been up?"

Ginny glanced at the clock. It was 7:03 "Ten minutes maybe."

Hermione nodded. "Sorry we took so long. Last night took a lot out of us. Harry's just getting dressed. Ginny nodded. She stared without looking at Hermione's stomach. "I've got to go finished getting ready for the day."

Hermione nodded. "Ok, see you later."

Theo stood up on his chair and yelled "Bye bye!" Ginny waved to him and stepped out of the door. She walked down the hall, lost in thought. She was so lost in thought, she didn't even notice someone walking toward her with a large pile of books. They crashed headlong into them, and Ginny, the books, and the someone (a tall and handsome Ravenclaw boy) fell tumbling to the ground.

"I'm sorry!" Ginny cried. "I was just lost in thought and wasn't paying attention!"

The boy shook his head. "No it was my fault. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, here, I'll help you pick up all your books." She reached for a couple and made a stack in front of him. He nodded and started collecting them. They had a considerable stack between them when they both reached for the last book. Their hands brushed gently together and a small spark shot up their arms. Ginny looked up and met his eyes. He had funny eyes, one was blue and the other green. They blended brilliantly with his brownish hair and lighter skin. They were beautiful.

Ginny subconsciously handed him the book and they both stood. He gazed at her a moment and she felt her cheeks turn red. "What's your name?" He asked curiously.

"Ginevra. People call me Ginny. Ginny Weasley."

He nodded. "Ginny." He said feeling the word roll of his tongue. "My name is Darin. Darin Collander." He studied her a moment longer. "Ginny, I know this is sudden, but would you like to accompany me on the next Hogsmeade trip?" Ginny nodded rapidly. "I'd love to!"

"Good." He said smiling. "I'll see you later then." He picked up his books and continued down the hall, glancing back at her every few steps. Ginny wrapped her arms around herself and stole some glances back at him. When their gazes met before they both turned a corner she waved shyly back at him. Ginny then leaned against the wall, her heart racing. Maybe if she hurried and got dressed and made it to the Great Hall he would be there? She took off running down the hall.

Ginny didn't know it, but she had just found her future husband.

**Again, it’s really old I wrote it years ago.***

[clo-caillea]

Inked Photograph

Request #1 To make Levi slowly go blind in a canon universe. Requested by @yunarika

Word count: 1966

                                                        ~~~

His first clue went entirely unnoticed, like a speck of dust on a camera lense; creating the barest of impurities, just a miniscule smudge that bent light in the image.

It lay nestled so small that it wasn’t even an irritant, he never got the chance to disregard it as nothing because it hadn’t even been noticed in the first place.

                                                      ~~~

He finally noticed the smudge in the picture on a slow Thursday morning when he was cleaning his office.

The bookshelves were pristine, the carpet void of the tiniest granule of dirt, even the chair legs glistened in the sunlight through his window.

Levi’s hands were pruning with the water and cleaning chemicals soaked into them as he scrubbed furiously at a stubborn spot on his desk that just would not release the wood. By then, the cleaner was so strong over that spot that he was absently certain it would smell like pine trees for days.

Swift raps to the door snapped his thoughts back to life. His back was aching across his hunched shoulders in a way he couldn’t remember feeling except for his returns from long expeditions. How long have I been fighting with this shit stain? He wondered as he barked a rather volatile, “what?!” at the door.

He didn’t lift his eyes, instead wetting the cloth inside the water next to him which had gone cold a long time ago. The door slowly crept open and a cadet stepped in.

“Sir, squad leader Hanji asked me to bring this to you. You missed dinner.”

He stopped scrubbing. His mouth dropped open and he finally looked up.

The cadet had brought in a tray of food and was standing there shuffling from foot to nervous foot, unsure of what to do next.

They were smudged too. Their face almost fit perfectly behind the cloud of impurity in his line of sight. Bent light around the edges, like a photograph with dust on the lense.

He dropped the rag into the water.

Ice dripped through his veins.

                                                      ~~~

He tried.

He really did.

Levi tried his hardest to ignore it.

He’d learned two things rather quickly:

The first was that the titans were too big for the imperfection to hinder his killing capabilities, allowing him a reprieve from having to worry.

The second was that anchoring was an entirely different story.

One time. Only once. He’d missed. But it was one moment that forced him to reconsider his thoughts on the obstruction in his most vital sense.

He’d struck a tree at full speed because one of the claws fell to empty space when he’d already released the other to follow a pull which didn’t come.

But Levi was adaptable.

That was part of what made him the soldier that he was.

And so, he adapted.

He learned how to avoid anchoring in that spot. To use his peripherals or the open edges that were still clear.

That was also how he came to realize that the smudge was growing.

Glaring white sparks of ice cold terror crept through his veins as he woke day by day to a little more bent light and clouds. The photograph was being eaten away and the imperfection was starving.

                                                      ~~~

“Erwin, I have a stupid question,” Levi declared as he barged into his leader’s office.

This was the dreaded beginning.

His chest was crumpling in on itself with a mixture of anger and shame and this annoying, yapping dog named Confusion.

The blonde lifted one thick eyebrow and set down his pen, motioning for Levi to come closer and take a seat.

The smaller man walked up to the desk with brisk steps, placing his hands against it and leaning over, his mouth a hard frown.

“What color are my eyes?”

To his surprise, Erwin was barely phased by the question. He leaned up and observed.

“Grey blue as always,” he stated, sitting back and furrowing his brows when Levi visibly tensed. “Why?”

Levi unceremoniously slumped down into one of the chairs behind him, his gaze unfocused as he turned it to observe the papers across the desk.

“I have shit news,” he growled.

“Oh?”

The words were lodged inside his throat and releasing them would make this nightmare real.

He could already imagine the pathetic look Erwin would give him, and it pissed him off to think that’s what he’s going to be forced to keep as his final memory before this shit dunked him into darkness.

He opened his mouth to begin, nonetheless. “I…” a heavy sigh released and he muttered, “shit.”

He’d never backed down from a damn thing, but this was hard. He swallowed and tried once more, “there’s something wrong with my sight.”

That wasn’t so bad. Right?

Erwin remained quiet, drawing Levi’s gaze back to his serious face. Apparently, that was all the commander wanted before speaking.

“Terribly wrong, or fixable and irritating wrong?” he prompted slowly.

Levi’s frown deepened. “I don’t know that it can be fixed.”

“Have you spoken with Hanji about this?”

“Tch. Shitty glasses isn’t going to fix my sight. If she was that smart, she’d have fixed her own by now.”

Erwin hummed, leaning forward and clasping his hands on the desk. “You couldn’t wear glasses like her then?”

Levi had to look away as he replied, “no. My vision isn’t just going fuzzy. I -” he stopped, raising his hand and touching his closed eyelids with his fingertips. “-I have some kind of obstruction. And it’s growing. And apparently you can’t see it.”

Abrupt silence echoed loud enough to pound in Levi’s eardrums. He slowly opened his eyes, narrowing them to their bored, half lidded glance and turned back to Erwin.

The commander was frowning hard, his baby blues racing with numbers and plans crowded in behind them.

Finally, he made the deduction of where their conversation was leading, “are you telling me that you’re unfit for duty?”

Levi couldn’t say it. He turned his head, glaring at the window beside his leader.

Erwin let out an almost defeated sigh.

They remained there in that tense silence for a long time, both men coming to an understanding that couldn’t be voice just yet. Humanity’s Strongest was going blind. Their hope would die with the loss of his sight, no matter who stepped up to take that mantel next. And there was absolutely nothing that they could do to stop it.

If he’d been a different man, he might have broken down. Might have wept. Or perhaps gotten angry. That sounded more likely. A different man would have lashed out. Would have snapped the chairs into pieces, flipped the desk over, punched some holes in the walls.

All Levi did, though, was lower his head until he stared at his clouded lap and he released the smallest of sounds from the back of his throat.

He’d say that it was a growl. Something animalistic slipping out at the helplessness of it all.

But if he were honest, he’d admit that it sounded closer to a whimper.

                                                      ~~~

He began to have nightmares during the few hours he stole for slumber. It seemed the more the clouds grew, the louder the storm inside him thundered in response, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d go utterly mad beneath the grey and black.

Spilled ink would creep across his skin during the night, tickling it, making him itch, making him claw at his arms and chest, leaving red gashes beneath his nails that were still stinging when he would finally wake.

A monster closing in with hooked claws, plucking his eyes from the sockets and jamming a smooth, curved spike down his throat when he’d scream.

He would thrash violently at the demon nestled on top of him, battling inside his unmoving flesh as it continued to slumber beneath the blackness creeping in.

And every time he woke, he took a little bit of that ink into the clouds in his vision.

It was dripping in little by little like each night was an eye dropper with poison slinking into the greying clouds that drew the electricity trapped in his bones up into his head.

He was half certain the storm itself would kill him.

The thunder would snap his bones.

The lightning would fry his nervous system from the inside out.

He was going to explode.

And those clouds were getting blacker and blacker, blotting out the worried faces of his comrades and tugging at his chest with its violent indifference.

                                                   ~~~

He would never admit the nights when he wept.

In the crushing silence of his isolation, he was crumbling under the storm and the ink and he couldn’t take it. He couldn't take the weakness. The shame. The fact that everyone watched him so fucking closely to see how he was going to struggle. Fuck them.

Maybe it was rage that made the fluid leak.

Maybe if he told himself it was his anger, he’d eventually believe it and stop feeling like a goddamn shit stain for letting it happen.

The salt and liquid was like gasoline down his cheeks, his wretched sobs the sparks lighting them up.

Lightning cracked across his chest and another sound escaped his mouth and he hated it.

He hated it with such a ferocity that he was tempted to tear at his own eyes and end this waiting game. His self control was only slightly stronger than the rage and he was able to refrain by instead directing his attention to the contents of his desk, throwing it across the room and as the thunder crashed through him, he let out a bone shattering roar that probably woke the entire fucking castle.

He was so ready for the black to just take over already and let this suffering come to it’s final resting place.

Let him fucking move on already.

Let him fucking rest.

Oh god, he was so tired.

                                                 ~~~

He eased open his eyes on the dreaded morn.

When the night terrors had been scored from his mind like a bladed whip tearing through flesh, pouring out blood and his worst fears into reality. The black greeted him with an endless maw that opened up to swallow him. It was unforgiving, this cold stillness that didn’t shift from eyes closed to open. The eternal ink that was deep as an abyss and he lay there for a long moment blinking furiously, as if he could deny the truth. As if the rapid movement of eyelids could wipe it away.

He didn’t snap though.

He reminded himself that this was the morning he’d been waiting for ever since he sat in Erwin’s office that day. This was the morning when nothing was left. The one when the wait was finally over. When the photograph no longer even had a smudge, it just wasn’t anymore.

In fact, he surprised himself with how quiet he was inside. The lightning was no more than a soft whisper. The thunder an even quieter pur.

He just lay there under the weight of nothingness, letting it press his body further into the mattress and he swore he almost heard the creak of his bones softly protesting.

But he didn’t snap. No, he’d waited for this. He was ready for this.

After some time, he resigned to the darkness. He lay there not even knowing whether his lids were up or down, clasping his hands and resting them on his stomach.

It was strangely relieving to lay there like that. Part of him wanted to say that this weight, this darkness, this curse that crept up on him, maybe it was a promise.  

And he caught himself wondering, just for a brief, fleeting second if anyone by that point would even notice if he just… stopped?

[justalittlebluetiefling]

5x03 - Bellamy’s Face

I’m going to give you guys the stuff I wrote about Bellamy’s faces, but under the cut, because it seemed very important to include awfully edited screenshots that I took on my phone last night.

There had to be ten thousand different thoughts going through Bellamy’s head when he meets Madi. I mean, first of all, this girl, this “just a kid” comes flying out of the forest throwing spears and shooting guns. With that kind of training, it’s not unrealistic for him to think she was a kid from the bunker. But then, THEN THIS KID SAYS HIS NAME.

I mean, it’s not like they have pictures laying around. Even if this kid was close with Octavia or Miller or one of the other few people in the bunker who were close with Bellamy, it would be a pretty wild leap for this kid to make. So there are a few alarm bells going off in his head. Maybe Wonkru knows to look for a rocket on its way down and there’s only a certain amount of people who could be on that ship. Maybe. But still, it’s pretty confusing.

But now, here’s the kicker. With a relief on her face, this kid says, “Clarke knew you would come.”

I honestly love how the first thing on his face is pure, unadulterated disbelief. Like, this guy hasn’t hoped Clarke is alive since he shut the door of the rocket.

Pan over to Harper and Monty who are checking for his reaction and by the time we’re back on Bellamy, he looks shocked.

Hurt. Heartbroken. He’s got tears in his eyes. His voice cracks when he says her name. It’s like, panic, shock, panic, guilt, awe, panic, shock. All in those three seconds. He can’t move. He’s literally stuck in place. There’s no relief there. No excitement, no joy. He’s just plain freaking out. It sort of looks like he thinks someone is fucking with him.

In fact, quick side note: there’s no joy on his face for the rest of the episode. No relief. He had a general idea of what he was coming down to find, but he still managed to smile at Emori before they got out of the ship. Things were still pretty lighthearted until they ran into the Eligius guys and Madi came in spears and guns blazing.

Back to my main point. When the words “Clarke’s alive?” finally make it out of his mouth (finally, because boy was frozen for six seconds), he doesn’t seem to believe them. Bellamy has been one of this show’s biggest hope advocates and this the one thing he can’t bring himself to hope for, because it would be too devastating to find out that it’s not true. It’s been easier for him to assume she’s dead than to hope that she’s alive. The idea to him that she’s been alive this entire time is terrifying, which was interesting to me at first, because I thought he would assume that she would have been with Wonkru the whole time. Then I remembered that in episode one, he was really freaked out about the bunker in general. He hopes that they’re alive in there, but he’s prepared himself for the possibility that something went wrong. But when Madi says ‘Clarke’, the bunker is the furthest thing from his mind. He’s standing there trying to wrap his head around this potential lie, because he thought he moved on. He thought he moved past this. Grief for a loved one never truly stops, but this hits him hard.

It hits him so hard that when this kid says, “She’s in trouble. We have to go,” he STILL can’t move. I’m paused on this screen right now and his body language is so… awkward.

He still hasn’t put his hands all the way down. (Monty hadn’t either, btw. The next closest to Clarke on the ground.) He’s swaying a little on his feet and his hands are hovering awkwardly out in front of his hips like he’s forgotten how to move them. He’s staring at Madi like he’s not sure she’s real. Like maybe if he doesn’t move, he’ll wake up in his bed back in space and this entire thing will have been a crazy dream. He hears the question Monty asks, but he still. can't. move. Not until Madi speaks again.

“What about the others in the bunker?” “Still there.” This snaps him into a stance that’s both aggressive and defensive. “What? No. How can that be?” His face changes to pure anguish (instead of dancing around it like he had been), but he still can’t move. Madi literally has to grab him and pull him into action. And he looks so confused about why he’s letting this kid pull him along with no tangible proof. 

I so wish we could have seen his reaction to seeing the rover. To seeing THIS KID hop into the driver’s seat.

The drive clearly wasn’t that long, but it was long enough for Madi to explain the situation with the bunker and for Bellamy to collect himself. But when he sees Clarke for the first time, it’s like he still doesn’t quite believe it, even with her right in front of him. 

Every single guilty thought he had at leaving her behind six years ago is bubbling back up to the surface, because now he knows that she was alone while he had friends. He formed new relationships. He let himself try to find some peace. I think he’s terrified that she’s going to blame him, yell at him for abandoning her and leaving her to face this horrible place, because he’s not focused on the fact that she found Madi. He’s focused on the fact that she had to watch her friends, him, leave her behind.

But the next time we see him, he’s shoved all that down.

This is a guy who hasn’t had to fight for six years about to get out and fight. This is both resolve and relief. You think this guy is ever going to leave Clarke Griffin to face something alone again? THINK AGAIN MY FRIEND. He only has eyes for his platonic soulmate, lovelies. Teary eyes.

Bellamy thought they’d be negotiating for the life of his sister, Clarke’s mom, Kane, Miller... Wonkru. But now he’s here playing this card he was supposed to play for everyone for ONE PERSON. He does a pretty good job of keeping his cool until he looks at Clarke again.

After he looks at Clarke again, I don’t think he looks away. I mean, is this the face of someone who’s ever going to not look at Clarke’s face ever again? Well, yeah, because it’s impossible to live your life that way, but shit.

He’s been processing all of this for how many minutes? Not a lot of time has passed since he intially met Madi. It’s been enough time for them to untie Clarke, put the collar on her, pull her outside and shock her three times. Let’s say it’s been 15 mintues. 15 minutes for it to finally hit him that everything in his life has already changed. The one thing he’s regretted the most for six years is fixable. He can finally tell her how he felt. How he still feels. And it hurts him, because he said nothing would change on the ground, but now everything is unraveling.

Anyway, I can’t wait for Tuesday.

[intothedanvers-e]

Young, Dumb, & Broke

Word Count: 2.6k (whoops)

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You just graduated high school and were ready to embark on your last summer of being a dumb teen and going on adventures before having to face the realities of the adult world. One day you were driving to a lake to meet some of your friends when your car broke down in the middle of nowhere. With no service and no gas stations around you wandered a little down the street and found one house where you went to ask for help. You expected to find an old couple living in the middle of nowhere, but a nice young British guy (Tom) answered the door. Due to unforeseen circumstances you spend the rest of the afternoon and most of the night together, but when it’s time to leave he says he wants to see you again. You exchange numbers with the cute British guy and embark on a long, secretive summer fling. You both lie about what you do for a living and what you were both doing in the middle of nowhere, but the moments you too bonded were all genuine. Will he find out about your plans after summer? Will you find out what he actually does for a living? Will this fling extend past summer?

Authors Note: Thank you for all the feedback on this series! So i think im officially commiting to updating this once a week on Tuesdays! Mondays are usually a drag for me so i end up finishing a bunch of writing anyway and it helps perk me up for the rest of the week! I know its monday but next week ill update it on tuesday :) if you have any feedback/comments or would like to be added to my taglist for this series let me know!! this chapter is a little longer but I wanted to sort of finish this part to move on to cuter angsty stuff ;) i genuinely hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoy writing it!! thanks for readin <3 

Here’s my masterlist!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 5

Chapter 4

You jumped up from the couch, your phone alarm startling you awake. You quickly turned it off trying not to wake up a sleeping Tom on the other couch. It was too late, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He smiled at you as soon as he saw you were awake.

“Sorry about that, I forgot I put an alarm on my phone so I can get up to shower. I didn’t mean to wake you up”

“S’alright. I should probably make breakfast before we go on and take a look at your car,” he said getting up from under his blanket.

“Oh you don’t have to come with me I don’t want- “

“Already decided!” he yelled as he walked into the kitchen.

He started playing music from a speaker as the sound of pots and pans being shifted around became louder. You quickly took a shower and came back out to meet Tom for what you thought was a quick breakfast. To your surprise he’d made a full spread; pancakes, cut up fruit, a ham and cheese omelet and some toast.

“Whoa thank you for breakfast,” you said sitting down in the seat next to him.

He just gave you a big smile considering he was already shoving things in his mouth. His hair was super bed-head curly and his eyes seemed sleepy but content. He looked adorable to say the least. You realized you were staring at him and quickly looked down at your various plates of food, quietly cursing yourself for staring at him for so long and hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“The car should be coming to get us at about 10, if that’s ok with you.”

“Do you mean like a taxi or something?”

“Uhh yeah,” he said quickly.

“You didn’t have to; I could’ve just walked.”

“Nonsense. Y/N when will you just let me be nice to you?”

You blushed and simply nodded your head. You spent all night trying to not be an inconvenience you didn’t even consider maybe he was just a really nice guy. He finished all the food in front of him and got up quickly.

“I’m going to go get ready before they come get us,” he said walking toward the stairs, “don’t you dare wash dishes, just put them in the dishwasher okay?”

You shot him a thumbs up and he disappeared up the stairs. 30 minutes later he walked into the living room as you were casually laying on the couch reading a book. You looked up at him and felt the butterflies again. His outfit was nothing special, a plain white shirt with regular jeans and a dark flannel, and his hair was slightly more tamed but just looking at him made your heart race. You didn’t want to admit it, but you may have a slight crush on him. You sat up as he walked over to you and plopped down on the couch next to you. He had a small box in his hands.

“I, uh, found an extra one of these in one of my suitcases. I ordered one online and they accidentally sent two. I was going to return it but seeing how much you like the character I really think you should have him.”

He handed you a tiny box with a Spiderman keychain in it. He was hanging upside down in his classic spidey suit.

“Oh my god this is adorable. He’ll look great next to my tiny Iron-Man. Thank you.”

“Just a little something to remember last night by,” he said looking deep into your eyes.

“How could I ever forget?”

He cleared his throat and looked down at his feet. He looked at the watch on his wrist and stood up.

“The car should be here any minute if you’d like to wait outside.”

“Sounds good.”

He quickly grabbed your duffel bag and headed out the door. You were going to tell him you didn’t mind carrying it, but stopped yourself and let him be a gentleman. He locked the door as a fancy blacked out Range Rover pulled up.

“What kind of taxi service is this?” you said your eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

“It’s not. He’s more like a, uh, chauffer?”

You turned to him and looked at him like he was crazy.

“What?!”

“Hey I’m not old enough to drive a rental car so, uh, my friend Harrison always manages to hire a chauffeur for if I need to get around places! It’s no big deal, I know the guy.” he said doing a quick handshake with the driver who had gotten off to open the back door for you. You climbed in the car shaking your head at Tom who got on the other side. Within a few minutes you were pulling up next to the mechanic. You could see that they were working on your car. You quickly thanked the driver and climbed off. Tom grabbed your bag and sent the driver on his way.

“Hey if I need you I’ll call you big guy. You’re the best man.”

They did their little handshake and he drove off. The both of you walked into the small office together. A middle aged man turned around in his chair to face you.

“How can I be of service to you today?” he said in a thick southern accent.

“Hi I’m Y/N, uh my car is the one that got picked up late last night. The small green one.”

“Oh that car. Got some of my best guys working on it, although I will say I do think you’d be better off selling that piece of junk and buying a new car little lady. Don’t know how much longer it’ll last.”

“I just need it to last through the summer.”

“Well let’s go ask Hal how it’s comin along and we’ll see if it’s even fixable okay lil lady?”

You nodded and followed close behind him, Tom close on your heels. You walked over to the car and saw that four guys were working on various different parts of it. The guy from the office was talking to who you assumed was Hal. You took a step closer to see if you could hear anything. Hal turned to look at you and extended his hand toward you.

“Hello ma’am I’m Hal, the best mechanic at this here Complete Auto Body. I take it this is your car?”

“I’m Y/N, yeah this is my baby.”

“Well no offence ma’am but I think she’s far gone. We can repair her for the time being and make her drivable but I think in about six months’ time you’ll be back in here with some irreparable damage. Might consider selling her off.”

“Six-month reliability is fine. I just need her to pull me through the summer.”

The guy looked at you confused and nodded. He turned to the three guys who were all hovering around your car.

“Well you heard the lady.”

They all went back to working on your car. The guy from the office walked you back into the tiny room.

“They should be done within the hour ma’am. If you give me a few minutes I can gather up a quote for you.”

You nodded and he left the room quickly. You and Tom sat on two chairs that were up against a wall. He turned to look at you and you realized he had a confused look on his face.

“What?”

“Why do you only need your car through summer? Are you planning on buying a new one?”

You looked down and started picking at your nails.

“No but, um, I’m moving away after the summer. I was planning on selling my car right before I moved so that I don’t have any more baggage that I don’t need.”

“Oh for like college or something?”

“Yeah kind of. I just need it to get me to and from work this summer. After my last shift I’ll drive it off to sell it and I’ll be done with this town.”

“I thought you liked it here?”

“I do, I guess. But I just need a change of scenery. Its home. It’ll always be home; I don’t think my mom wants to move anywhere else. I just need to not feel like I’ll be stuck here forever you know?”

He gave you an empathetic smile and looked like he was about to tell you something but was cut off by the guy walking back into the office.

“Here you go ma’am,” he said handing you a yellow receipt.

You smiled and looked down at the paper. You felt like your head was going to fly off your body.

“1500 dollars?!”

He walked over to you and began explaining everything you were paying for but you couldn’t hear a word he was saying. All you could think about was how big of a setback this would be toward you finally getting away from this town. You had just about 1500 in your savings account but that was going straight toward your moving away fund, or at least it was supposed to. You suddenly thought about the emergency credit card your mom gave you. She would probably be mad as hell if you used it but at least this way you could pay her back in payments and not all at once. It would set you back a month or two but you could continue to make the payments from anywhere in the world which meant you could technically still leave whenever you had enough money. You cut the guy off and stood quickly.

“I need to make a phone call.”

You quickly walked out of the office and dialed your mom. She was out of town and probably working but you had to try, you didn’t want her to find out about the credit card charge from the bank but from you instead. It went straight to voicemail. You tried a few more times with no luck. You decided to try one last time and this time it only rang once and went to voicemail. You decided to leave a message.

“Hey mom. So something came up and don’t panic but good ole Patricia took a beating last night. No it wasn’t a crash but she got pretty fucked up. Anyway unfortunately it’s about 1500 to fix her and, uh, I’m using the emergency card to pay it. Please don’t be mad. I’m going to pay you back every last cent, with interest if you want. I’m really sorry. I know I fucked up. Call me back. Bye.”

You hung up and groaned into the sky. This was just your luck. You wanted nothing but to leave and expand your horizons but something kept having you tethered here. Despite how nice and good you were to people, you always seemed to get the worst karma. While you were standing there feeling sorry for yourself Hal walked over to you.

“She’s all yours ma’am. My boys are just dustin’ her off for you.”

“Thank you Hal. I just need to go back inside and pay her off.”

“My pleasure ma’am. Be safe out there.”

He shook your hand and quickly walked off. You dug your wallet out of your backpack and walked back into the office. To your surprise Tom was standing in front of the man’s desk shaking his hand.

“Nice doing business with you kind sir.”

“Yeah whatever,” the man said handing him your car keys. He saw your confused expression and quickly pushed you out of the office.

“I have to, uh, pay him.”

“All taken care of Y/N,” he said pushing you toward your car.

“What are you talking about Tom? I can’t just leave without paying him.”

“It’s paid for,” he said using your key to open your trunk to set down your duffel bag.

“What do you- “

It instantly clicked in your head. Had he just paid 1500 dollars to get you your car back?

“Tom what the fuck?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you just pay 1500 dollars?”

“No.”

“Tom!”

“Not technically.”

“TOM WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“Can you please get in the car and I’ll explain everything where 15 guys with heavy tools can’t hear us?”

You quickly climbed in the driver’s seat. Your heart felt like it was going to pop out of your chest and it felt like you were sweating bullets. You didn’t like owing people things, and you already felt like you owed Tom a lot for letting you crash at his place overnight; you didn’t want to owe him actual money at this point.

“I’ll pay it all back. We just need to go to an ATM so I can take the money out of my savings,” you said turning the car on.

“No Y/N it’s really not a problem. The guy was trying to scam you. While he was explaining everything you were essentially paying for, some things weren’t adding up. I know a thing or two about fixing and restoring old cars, and he was telling you about things that didn’t even exist. When you left to talk to your mom I asked to see the receipt and called his bluff. You really only owed him 650 dollars, so I decided to pay it off so you never had to look at that sleazebag again.”

You were trying to process everything he was saying, your head was spinning so much you had to pull over.

“Wait how did you know I left to call my mom?”

“The windows might have been open?”

You gave him a death glare.

“Okay look think of this as an investment. I could tell by the tone in your voice that you’re the kind of person who hates asking people for things, especially your mom. I figured you’d probably been saving up to move out of here for as long as you could remember and I didn’t want this to fuck it up. I’m investing into your future Y/N. I could feel the passion you had in your dreams from the way you talked about them last night in the pool, and I believe in you. I had the resources to help you, so I did. No strings attached. I just really didn’t want to see a bad thing happen to a good person.”

You sat there a second without saying anything, hands glued to your steering wheel.

“650 dollars is still a lot Tom. I can’t just accept that from anyone, especially someone who has already opened their home and risked their life to give me a place to crash. Let me pay you back, please?”

“Y/N I promise you you don’t need to.”

“Let me be your unofficial tour guide,” you said quickly.

“What?”

“Let me show you around, from the point-of-view of someone who knows this town like the back of my hand. Whenever I’m not working and you’re not busy I’ll come pick you up and we’ll go on an adventure.”

He looked at you and smiled.

“Deal. I was hoping this wouldn’t be the last time I would see you this summer.”

You pulled off the side of the road and began driving.

“Oh you and I are going to get real close this summer Tom. That’s my official Y/N promise, and I never break a promise.”

You took a quick glance at him and smiled, he gave you his signature goofy smile with a slight shade of pink in his cheeks. Your summer just got a lot more interesting.

Tag-list: @hollandlovely @greenarrowhead @justanotherfangirl2015 @oh-dear-tommy @marvelnerdxinfinity @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @hollandhugs @tiredofallthetroubles @marvel-ing-at-it-all @built4broadway

strikethrough means i cant tag you for some reason :(

[pinkletterday]

Prelude: Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo

Pairing: Barry Allen/ Iris West

Rating: All Audiences

Summary: “Aw hell, no!” says Linda. “Iris, you’ve been planning yourself this big white wedding for weeks. This is your dream, you guys. If you give up now, the Nazis win. We can’t let them win, yo. You gotta have your wedding. For truth, justice and the American way!” 

Tags: Iris West goes wedding dress shopping with her girls, Sara Lance is the Westallen fairygodmother, the wedding my babies deserved, apologies for the lack of Felicity, author was really mad at the time

Notes: Am I procrastinating life by posting old fics on tumblr? Why yes I am. 

This was my oldest fic for this fandom and my first in ten years. 

Part 1 of the Westallen Wedding Album

It is seven in the morning and someone is ringing the doorbell. The universe really does hate them. Iris is too demoralized to care at this point.

“Go away,” calls Barry from under the covers, clutching Iris like a security blanket.

“It’s me, Caitlin. It’s urgent, open up!”

This is why they can’t ever turn their phones off. Et tu, Cait?

They shuffle fatalistically to the door in their pyjamas to let her in and Caitlin looks apologetically at the sleep-rumpled duo. “I’m sorry, guys, but they insisted.”

“Who -”

Sara bursts into the loft. “All right, everyone get dressed. Wedding’s back on, bitches!” she hollers, in full captain mode, as Catilin grimaces away. “The time is oh seven hundred hours and we have fuckton of work to do so. Ass in gear, folks!”

Barry and Iris blink at her like injured meerkats. “...What?” They notice a flustered Cecile trailing in after Sara, followed by an offensively bright-eyed and bushy tailed Kara, and… “Linda?”

“What up, girl,” greets Linda Park, hugging a stunned Iris. She appears to have a distinctly fresh-from-airport-hell brand of dishevelment and the vibrating energy of a sports writer on Redbull.

“How are you here?" asks Barry in confusion. "You said in your RSVP that you’d be at your family thing in Oklahoma-,”

“Yeah so I did and I was and then I got a hysterical call from the kidterns at CCPN that your wedding had been bombed by Nazis. Followed by news footage of Central City being attacked by actual, honest-to-God Nazis and then beaten back by a mess of leather fetish-types...you get the idea. In conclusion: Nazis. Seriously, guys, what the hell!” Linda throws her hands up at them with a bewildered expression.

Barry slumps onto the couch with a groan and Iris drops wearily beside him, making a helpless gesture that is somehow supposed to convey “we couldn’t tell you if we knew/ the universe hates us/ it is written/ this is our life now". They lean against each other like sad puppies.

“Anyway, the point is, you guys are getting married today. Properly.” presses Sara.

“Can’t,” grunts Barry.

“What d’you mean, can’t?”

“Lost all our deposits. Tux ruined. Guests flew home after martial law was declared. Fire. Murder. Plague.”

“My dress survived but I frankly don’t even want to see it again,” says Iris sadly. “That thing cost five thousand dollars and now all I remember when I see it is our minister getting vaporized. Oh God.” She hides her face in Barry’s shoulder, stifling a sob, as he puts a comforting arm around her.

“Ok, yes, we figured,” interjects Kara, advancing with a "hear-me-out" demeanor. “But guys. This is all fixable! And we’re gonna fix it! You still want to get married, right?” She looked expectantly at them, a golden retreiver puppy convinced of the world's innate goodness.

“Well yeah,” says Barry, scratching his head. “But Iris and I are just thinking to going to a Justice of Peace-”

“Aw hell, no!” cries Linda, making Barry jump. Redbull and sports are just not a good combination for this early in the morning. “Iris, you’ve been planning yourself this big white wedding for weeks. This is your dream, you guys. If you give up now, the Nazis win. We can’t let them win, yo. You gotta have your wedding. For truth, justice and the American way!”

The other women all nod, appearing to agree on the connection between propping up the wedding industry and patriotism. “She’s right,” says Caitlin the Betrayer, staunchly.

“And exactly how are we supposed to do that?” asks Iris with some asperity. She doesn’t particularly care about truth or justice or whatever the American way is supposed to be right now, unless the American way involves a bubble bath with Barry, sex and some post-coital Netflix.

“You leave that to us,” says Cecile firmly, sitting herself next to Iris. She takes her hand with a maternal air. “Iris, you and Barry aren’t alone in any of this. You have your family. Your friends. We have resources. Let us do this for you.”

“Cecile, that’s really sweet, believe me, but we’re just too tired-”

“That’s why you don’t have to lift a finger,” says Linda determinedly. “Except to put a ring on it. Look, I used to work part time as a wedding co-ordinator in college. I still have contacts. Just give me and Cecile your wedding binder and go find a dress. We can throw you the shindig of your dreams and get you married off before tomorrow morning.”

There is a chorus of "yeahs!" and "all rights!" and even a "whoo!" from Caitlin, who immediately looks embarrassed and subsides mid hand-pump.

“Where do I find a dress to get married in this evening?” says Iris hopelessly.

Sara smirks. “Did you know the Waverider has a fabrication room?”

“What’s a fabrication room?” asks Barry, Iris and Caitlin

“What’s a Waverider?” asks Linda and Cecile.

Sara grins smugly at Iris. “Just call me your fairy godmother, Cinderella.”

___

“I’m in a timeship,” Iris hears Linda say aloud to herself for the umpteenth time. “A timeship with a giant dress up room. With superheroes. Shopping for bridal gowns. For the Flash’s fiancee.”

Iris is the dressing cubicle and can't see anyone, but can picture Linda swigging her third glass of champagne, fluffing the white feather boa she had wound around her shoulders. She had decided that she didn't feel right drinking champagne in a fancy dressing room without a wearing one.

“Linda, honey, you’ve been saying that since we got here,” sighs Cecile, relegated to sparkling grape juice, but seated comfortably on the Persian rug. “It’s not really helping.”

They are in the Waverider's fabrication room, which Gideon had science babbled at them about reconstructing garments and accessories via subatomic teleportation and reassembly, and what Sara had simply described as "the Waverider communal closet". Except the "communal" part being all of time and history, apparently. It honestly just looks like a hi-tech walk-in closet from Dr. Who, only with outfits atomizing into being inside a cubicle once its design is selected from a 3D holographic projection.

"Anyone want more cake?” Ray Palmer, ex-billionaire and apparently current time traveller, calls out sunnily.

“Ooh, me me me!” says Kara enthusiastically from where she has been vamping in a crinoline in front of the mirror. “Oh my God, Ray, is that whipped cream frosting? And these strawberries taste so real!"

"The Waverider molecularly restructures any food stuffs we want," Ray says in proud tones. "Although, I usually prefer to get the raw ingredients and make recipes by hand. The champagne is all Gideon's work, though."

"That’s so cool, Gideon!" enthuses Kara.

“Thank you Miss Zor-El,” Gideon's disembodied voice resounds around the room. “This is high praise coming from a race as advanced as the Kryptonians.”

“You’re welcome and thank you!” Kara says happily. “My ship has an A.I but it has my mother’s personality imprint, so it can be kind of a bummer sometimes. Allura definitely hasn’t made me alcohol,” then mutters more quietly, “despite trying to drive me to it.”

“Wait, you have a ship too?” Cecile and Caitlin chorus in surprise.

“What’s a Kryptonian?” wonders Linda.

“Yeah, I have a ship. It’s how I got to earth. Krypton is my home planet,” Kara explains casually. Cecile and Linda are obviously still bemused. “I’m an alien,” Kara clarifies.

There is a stunned silence.

“I’m in a talking timeship,” intones Linda, swigging her drink, “with an alien. Eating cake. Shopping for dresses for-” she’s cut off when Iris throws a cloud of tulle on her head.

“Knock it off, Park,” Iris says, stepping out of the dressing room. “How do I look?” she smoothes down the sugar white confection expectantly, which somehow manages to be both creamy and frothy.

There is some diplomatic hemming and hawwing from the crowd. “Well, it’s a bit…,” Caitlin hesitates and pulls at the back of the synthetic white sheathe.

“Like someone dipped you in a vat of Ray’s frosting,” says Sara bluntly, looking up at her upside down from where she's sprawled on the floor. “And before that you looked like something from a Lady Gaga music video. Really, Iris, are you even taking this seriously?”

“I thought it was funny!” protests Iris, returning to searching through the ship’s dress archive on the holographic display. “What about the one before that?”

“You looked like Queen Elizabeth,” says Linda, flatly. “Present day Queen Elizabeth. What was with the hat?”

“Wow, tough crowd," Iris tries to laugh it off only to be met with skeptical stares. She sags.

“I just. It feels like tempting fate again, you know?” she says quietly. “Ever since I was a kid, I really wanted to dress like a princess at my wedding and it almost came true...three times. I just feel like the minute I put on a wedding dress again, I’m going to bring giant killer robots down on us, or one of us is going to get kidnapped by an evil megalomaniac and replaced by a frog-eating clone-”

“What’d you mean frog-eating clones?” interjects Linda in panic, clutching her boa. “Oh my God, is that an actual thing too?”

“Probably,” says Sara with supreme unconcern from the floor. She pulls herself upright and looks at Iris seriously in the eyes. “Look, I understand what you’re saying. You don’t have to wear a wedding dress if you don’t want to. You can wear a pantsuit or a gunny sack and none of us will care.

But I think you really do want that princess dress. This is all about saving your dream. You can’t let fear make you make decisions that you’ll regret down the line.” There is a murmur of sympathy and assent from the others.

“You only get married once,” says Caitlin, looking at Iris with a deep understanding.

“Well, I mean, actually-,” Linda starts, but is cut off by Cecile who sternly takes her champagne glass away.

"I mean you will only marry your soulmate once,” says Caitlin, looking at Iris steadily. “He’s the love of your life, Iris. You’re not going to lose him. We won’t let you. I promise.” Iris thinks she sees Caitlin’s eyes flash silver.

A solemnity descends on the group. Iris pulls Caitlin into a hug, feeling touched and grateful.

“You know, you could settle for a middle ground,” pipes up the ubiquitous Ray, making everyone start because they had forgotten he was there. “Personally, I think you’d be able to carry off a Galia Lahav like nobody’s business, but if you wanted something a little more classic, a little less elaborate, you could look to something boho like Ru De Seine or vintage feel like Amanda Garrett. Her beading is amazing. I’ve always thought ivory lace is really the thing for a fall wedding myself. Oh! And A-lines are so under-appreciated. You can always get them to flare out almost as well as a ballgown.”

There is a silence as everyone stares at Ray.

“What?” he says uncertainly. “Mick and I watch Say Yes To The Dress.”

A collective “ooh” of understanding ripples through the ladies and they turn back to Iris. “I hate that you all just came to the most obvious conclusion right now,” mutters Sara, chewing bitterly on a strawberry.

“Ray’s right,” says Kara, elbowing in front of the display screen and rifling through the database. “There’s more than one way to look like a princess. You might not be comfortable going for the full Cinderella anymore, but there’s Rapunzel and Snow White or even Greek-style like Megara-”

“Who?”

“Hercules’ girlfriend. I never understood why that movie flopped, my cousin loves it.”

"Oh, hey, me too!" exclaims Ray.

In the end, after a heated debate about Disney between Kara and Ray, a decimated whipped cream cake and a large pile of discarded lace, tulle and chiffon, Iris finds the perfect fit. It's an ivory A-line overlaid in lace. The assymetrical drop waist flares to the ground in a fall of tulle, the deep sweetheart neckline, ruched bodice and delicate cap sleeves covered in exquisite crystal beading. It's sweet and summery and simple. Safe. It makes her feel right.

There is a hush of approval, broken by Sara’s irreverent wolf-whistle.

"I would call that a Snow White look," pronounced Kara.

“Nice one, West,” Linda concurs as Cecile coos over it and Caitlin inspects the beading.

“By the way, Iris, Barry called,” informs Caitlin, as she pulls on Iris' skirts. “He said to tell you he’s decided to include Harry and Wally in the bridal party this time around, and I quote, “Tag, you’re it!”

“It? What are you?” asks Linda in confusion.

“Down three bridesmaids, that’s what I am!" huffs Iris, hands on her hips. She surveys her current retinue. “Okay, then. Sara, Kara, Linda, you’re up!”

The three women’s heads jerk up at Iris’ authoritative tone. “Up for what?”

“You’re in my bridal party now. Best find dresses!” grins Iris, “That’s what happens when you save a girl’s planet and her wedding. I mean,”  she suddenly feels a little uncertain, “if you are up for it?”

In answer, Kara, Linda and Sara cheer and surround Iris, pulling her into a group hug, while Caitlin and Cecile raise their glasses at her proudly.

____

Iris doesn’t see them again for hours after sorting out the bridal wear, being summarily banished to her father’s house. She would have preferred to go home but found that her fiancé had banned her from the premises. Iris objects.

“Are we doing the groom not seeing the bride before the ceremony thing again? Because a lot of good that did us last time,” Iris huffs into the phone, going downstairs to intrepidly investigate the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen.

“No, I just don’t want you here cause I’m working on a wedding gift for you,” says Barry, over a mysterious banging of pots and pans. “And you may not crack a joke about my family jewels.”

“I would never joke about those, Barry,” says Iris seriously. "Your family jewels are very important to me." She hears the distinctive ding of- “wait, are you baking?”

“...damn it.”

“Bartholomew! Are you baking brownies in our apartment on our wedding day without me?” exclaims Iris in indignation.

“How do you know they’re brownies?” Barry hedges in his damage control voice.

“'Cause you banned me from the loft! I know you, you duplicitous, conniving-,”

“Look, we both know you are fundamentally untrustworthy around things with chocolate in them,” says Barry firmly. “You’re like the Leonard Snart of baked goods.”

“But why can’t I have brownies on my wedding day?” Iris whines. She nearly collides with her father, who is bustling about the kitchen in an apron.

“You can,” says Barry patiently. “It’s for the wedding.”

“I thought Oliver was taking care of the catering?” says Iris, confused.

“Yes, he’s footing the bill for the entire thing, so I told him to keep it simple and homely. He feels really bad about what happened to us.”

“Why?” Iris shrugs, “He didn’t crash our wedding.”

“He’s a rich kid, they throw money at people’s problems until they feel better,” snarks Barry and Iris giggles. “So I heard your Dad and Clarissa and some others are making it a kind of potluck, as much to reign Oliver in as anything, and...I wanted you to have your mother’s brownies on your special day.”

Iris melts. “Awww, babe. That is so sweet. And frustrating. Now I don’t know who I want to eat more," she purrs seductively, "you or the brownies.”

“You do know I can hear you, right?” Joe pops up from behind the kitchen counter with an unimpressed expression, making Iris jump.

“Er, yeah okay. So," Iris awkwardly skitters around, to notice - "Hey, is that why Dad’s making Grandma Esther’s sweet potato pie?” She starts to break off a bit of crust, only to be whacked decisively on the knuckles with a spoon. “OW!”

“Those are for the guests this evening, missy!” reprimands Joe, “Out of my kitchen! Git!”

“But it’s my wedding!” Iris wails fruitlessly into the phone as her father chases her out of the room with a spatula.

____

In the afternoon, Iris gets dressed in her new wedding gown, ignoring the flutter of trepidation she feels as Caitlin buttons her up. Cecile and Linda sweep her hair into a high messy bun that lets soft curls spill around her face and neck, pinning a single full-blown crimson rose on the side of her head right above the cascade of her grandmother’s veil.

She wears her great-grandma Esther’s pearl earrings and her mother’s replica wedding bands on a gold chain that Barry had given her (so very long ago now and not long ago at all) around her neck. Cecile kisses her cheek and fastens her little turquoise bracelet around Iris’ wrist “for something both borrowed and blue”. She laughs as she slips her feet into the pair of transparent “glass” heels that Kara had found for her.

Her bridesmaids are in dusty rose gowns gathered at the waist, with skirts that swish playfully around their calves. Delicate aster and camellia flower crowns nestle on their loose waves of hair and they all carry small posies of riotously colourful wildflowers that speak of the fall.

Barry is waiting with his groomsmen downstairs as they descend. Wally, Cisco, Harry and Oliver are in sport coats with matching autumn boutonnieres. Barry has also ditched the tux in favour of a grey suit with a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar and is holding her bouquet of crimson and spray roses. He looked so very dashing in his tux, but Iris is glad that he looks more casual today, slightly mussed, more her geeky, pretty, boyish Barry.

He does not look at her as though he would cry, as he had the first time she had walked down the aisle to him. Instead his expression is open and soft, steady, like he knows how afraid she is and he is right there with her, waiting to catch her and keep her safe. It’s a look that makes her feel like he’s holding her in his arms from across a room.

Iris’ father carefully pulls her into a hug, engulfing her one last time in his solid, reassuring warmth and Dad-scent before he takes her hand and puts it in Barry’s. It’s an acknowledgement of putting something where it has always belonged, rather than entrusting it all over again to another. Iris is fleetingly amused by the thought that Joe may have accepted Barry as her son-in-law when they were first married by a giant dinosaur at the age of ten.

Barry gives her her bouquet and pulls her to him, “Hey.”

“Hi,” she smiles. "I see you got my present." She fingers the small gold bolts of lightning on his shirt cuffs.  

"I did," Barry says with a pleased grin. "They're awesome. Thanks, honey. But I think I still win with the brownies."

"Damn it, you're right," grumbles Iris. "Why are you so competitive all the time?"

Barry gives her a sardonic look and draws her into his arms as she giggles. His expression turns reverent as he gazes down at her.

“God, you're beautiful,” he breathes, looking at her like he can't believe she's real. Iris feels cocooned in happiness. “How do you make me want you more every day?”

She focuses on pinning a crimson rose next to his lapel and blinks back tears. “I bet you say that to all the girls you marry,” Iris quips.

“Yes,” he teases back, “since you are all the girls I’m ever going to marry.”

Iris laughs, and smooths his coat. “So, want to give this thing one last try, Mr. Allen?”

Barry's eyes are resolute and tender. “I’ll never stop trying until you’re mine, Miss West.”

She presses the rose stem against his heart, and his hand covers hers over it. They follow their wedding party and walk out of their childhood home, hand in hand.

~~~~

[elliotlikespuke]

sick delirious Nico pls I beg

This is way longer than I thought it would be, and I wrote it when I was so tired I didn’t even spell the title right, but here you go!

Warnings; puke under the cut.

“Just go and have fun. I’ll be fine.” His voice wasn’t hoarse so much as completely exhausted. “I’ll just sleep.”

Nico had been sick all day. He had woken Will up when it was still dark with a frantic cough and a gasp. He had proceeded to vomit up chunks of their dinner all over the dark bedspread. Will, who had been disoriented enough to not even understand where he was, had woken up as quickly as possible to comfort his sick boyfriend.

For the rest of the day, he had been in a state of fever-induced hysteria, throwing up every few hours until his weak stomach could pump out its contents with no fight on Nico’s part.

Will had spent most of the day cleaning up after Nico. He did this far more often than he would like. Because his boyfriend had little to no immune system and was notoriously bad for not making it to a toilet (or garbage can. or sink. or bucket), and because of Will’s current placement in a pediatric ward, he was a little bit too accustomed to the presence of vomit.

He had left Nico to sleep, gotten dressed as nicely as he was willing (which consisted of a white button-down shirt and jeans), and left for Percy and Annabeth’s Christmas party.  Sure, it seemed pretty pointless to go without Nico, but Will was sure he’d have fun once he was there. It was a small get together with the seven and a few others.

To be honest, Will was probably only invited to come along with Nico although when he’d tried to say this to Nico, his boyfriend wouldn’t hear it. Not being one to feel babied, Nico had insisted he go. Against his better judgement, Will had. Nico would probably insist he was fine until he was on death’s door, and maybe after that. Will had been trying to get him to open up a bit more, ask for help, admit that he doesn’t feel well, for years. It was a slow process, and Nico was stubborn when he wanted to be (which was always). That was how he ended up where he was now, standing at the door of Percy and Annabeth’s fifth-floor apartment.

He rang the doorbell, already hearing happy voices, laughter, and music slightly muffled behind the thin walls. The voices quieted slightly, and the door opened.

There stood Annabeth, a glass of red wine in her hand and a smile on her face. Will had always liked her. When he had first arrived at Camp they were both young, but she already had years of experience. She had always seemed like a pretty good example of how strong a young demigod could be, and Will tried hard to live up to that standard.

“Will!” She exclaimed. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

Her hair hung in beautiful curls over her shoulders, and it swished over Will as she leaned in for a hug. They hugged briefly, albeit slightly awkwardly. Then she pulled away. “Where’s Nico?”

This is what Will was waiting for. “He wasn’t feeling so well, so he sent me on without him.”

She nodded her understanding and graciously welcomed him into her house. A chorus of greetings followed his entrance. After he had explained to each person that no, Nico wasn’t coming and yes, he was going to be fine, the group split up into smaller groups, duos and trios, to talk about their lives. Will had ended up in a group with Jason and Percy, who were alright, but probably the people he had the least in common with at this party.

“It’s been kind of tough, but you just do what you have to do, you know? I don’t know what I’d be doing if Annabeth wasn’t here.” Percy was on a twenty-minute rant about his final year of university and Jason was listening intently, nodding every so often. Perhaps it was that Will operated on a different level than them, or he was just very worried, but his mind kept drifting painful back to his boyfriend, who he had left in bed to be sick on his own.

He chastised himself for being ridiculous. Nico is an adult. He should be able to take care of himself, right? Will’s heart still ached.

“So what about you?” Percy and Jason turned their gazes to Will. “How’s school going for you?”

Will was about to launch them into the most boring talk of their lives, the intricacies of patient care, the kids he works with, the procedures he has been a part of and the procedures he has yet to be a part of, when he felt his phone begin to vibrate in his front pocket. He fished it out with one finger up to the two waiting expectantly. It was Nico. Will’s stomach froze over with guilt. Trying to keep his hand from shaking, he answered.

“Hello?”

“Will?” Alright, so at least Nico was well enough to speak. His voice echoed, as if off tile.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?”

Nico took a deep breath. Will heard it shake. A small hiccup, a sob, and then a retch. “Can you come home please?”

If it was physically possible for a heart to rip in two, Will’s would have.

“Of course,” he cooed. “I’ll be right home. Hang tight, okay? I love you.”

Nico hiccuped once more before agreeing and ending the phone call. Will hardly remembered telling everyone goodbye. Maybe it was something in his face, or it might well have been the colour — the usually glowing skinned man suddenly looked as pale as he could possibly be — but they waved him out the door without so much as chastising him for only staying an hour.

The traffic seemed to take forever, and all he could think of was his poor boyfriend, huddled up on the bathroom floor alone, fevered out of his mind, and crying. New York, Will and Nico agreed, was a great place to explore and live. It was not a great place to move quickly, especially in snow when everything seemed to be in slow motion.

Pulling into the driveway of the small townhouse him and Nico rented, Will moved faster than he had since his Camp Half-Blood days, slipping slightly on the pavement, but quickly recovering and racing for the door.

He found Nico on the bathroom floor. He was kneeling in front of the toilet with his head resting on the seat. Apparently, he had been in such a hurry he hadn’t had time to lift it up. Nico’s teeth were chattering and fresh and dried vomit clung to his lips and chin. His face was a mess of pale grey and bright red. Tears and sweat moistened his skin. He looked tiredly up at Will when he walked in.

Any breath Will had had while entering the house was gone. How long had he been like this before calling? He gasped and knelt beside his lover, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing gently. Nico’s hands and hair had not been saved, he realized. There was dried vomit, a light brown colour, on his fingers. His hair had mostly stayed out of it, but the ends were slightly tarnished. “Hey,” Will whispered. Nico didn’t wince. Will took this as a good sign. “Do you want to go back to bed?”

Nico shook his head and croaked quietly: “I still feel sick.”

After a hum and a moment of deliberation, Will stood shakily. Nico let out a piteous whine.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’m just getting some things.”

Will went over a checklist. What do you do when someone seems delirious from fever? A light blanket to stop the shivering, fever reducers, water, a thermometer… Will grabbed what he could in the time slot he allowed himself to be away from Nico.

Nico’s eyes were closed when he reentered the bathroom, wetness pooling on the seat of the toilet on which he was leaning. A few more tears slowly made their way down his face when he looked at Will.

“You’re back,” he said simply, as if this were an incredible feat.

“Yes, baby, I’m back. When was the last time you took your temperature?”

Nico shook his head. This was off to a flying start. Nico was hard enough to take care of when he was lucid, and Will wasn’t emotionally ready to challenge delirious, upset, feverish Nico. Will bent down beside him anyway and opened his mouth, motioning for Nico to do the same. Sleepily, Nico did it. Will made sure it was under Nico’s tongue, and closed his own mouth. Nico followed suit. When the thermometer wobbled, Will held it in place with one hand, the other gently stroking Nico’s warm and clammy cheek, and cooed gently. Under Will’s ministrations, Nico’s eyes slid shut. He jerked when the thermometer beeped, and Will’s heart hurt all over again.

It was bad. It was high. But it was fixable. Not, however, if Nico didn’t get off the bathroom floor.

“Can I move you to the bed? It’ll be a lot more comfortable.”

“I’m going to puke,” Nico insisted. There was nothing left for his body to puke up, and he had not gagged once since Will entered the house.

“I’ll get you a bucket, baby. I’m going to take care of you.”

Will slid his arms around Nico and lifted him up, which earned him a whine, but surely a few moments of being carried was better than hours spent on the bathroom floor. Nico was dead weight in his arms. Carrying him bridal style perhaps hadn’t been the best option, but it certainly was the easiest way to pick him up. Nico shivered and hugged his arms into his body, curling further into Will for warmth.

Suddenly, Nico went stone still. Will nearly stopped as well, afraid that he had lost consciousness, but when he looked down Nico’s brown eyes were still open and lachrymose. Will felt Nico shift slightly, and then his mouth dropped open and spilled forth a watery mouthful of stomach acid. It splashed down on Nico, who was already more or less covered, and also on Will, who couldn’t care less about the vomit and was altogether more concerned about the boy in his arms, who had begun to cry.

“I’m s-sorry,” his breath hitched, and he gagged again, unproductively this time.

Will had reached their bed, and placed him gently in it, moving aside the blankets.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Will murmured. “Just let me take care of you.”

The night was long and full of tears. Once Will had managed to clean him up, bring down his fever, and get drugs in his system, he was sure he wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night. When he finally crawled into bed next to Nico, who was sleeping turbulently, but sleeping all the same, he smiled. Nico, seeming to sense his presence in the bed, wriggled over and nuzzled his face into Will’s shoulder.

Nico could call at any time, from any place, and Will would always come running. He was worth it.

[dramallamadingdang]

Before-bed replies. :)

For @emeraldfalconsims, @tamtam-go92, @scibirg, @didilysims, @penig, @ssatinn, @immerso-sims, and @fuzzyspork...

emeraldfalconsims replied to your link “ModTheSims - (Updated!) Mood Swing + Midlife Crisis”

Tbh, I looked at those and was immediately turned off by the terrible English in the popups. I wouldn't care if it was just the post itself, but I'm the kind of person who wants mods to fix the EAxis grammar errors, soooo...

I get you, but...Really, that's all easily fixable. One just needs to find and rewrite the text strings. I've done that often, especially when I used to use custom careers in my game, many of which included chance cards littered with badly-worded and grammatically-incorrect text written by obviously-not-native-English-speakers. This particular modder is obviously not a native English-speaker and obviously not fully fluent in the language, but I'm all kinds of tolerant when that's the case. With EA? Not so much, but even with them? We all make mistakes and typos from time to time that are missed in the editorial process, even when that process involves multiple people. Also, I'm well aware that my own grammar when yakking online and in forum/blog posts and things like that is far from perfect -- often deliberately so because, let’s face it, “speaking” with perfect grammar just “sounds” weird and/or unbearably pretentious -- so I try to be neither a pedant nor a hypocrite on the subject.

Anyway, yeah...Text strings be totes fixable, m'friend. ;)

tamtam-go92 replied to your link “ModTheSims - (Updated!) Mood Swing + Midlife Crisis”

Those Sound like really great Modus but im always a bit nervous about adding stuff like that to my game...

I am, too, mostly because I already use hundreds of mods in my game, so the outcome of adding new ones, especially those that alter lots of things, is always uncertain. 

So, what I do is have a testing neighborhood that I don’t care about. Its associated downloads folder contains a copy of just the Mods folder from my “real” game. I put the new mod in and play with it a bit in debug mode, see if I get error messages or if menu options go missing or any other stuff that’s a symptom of mod conflicts. If I do, I change loading order to see if that fixes the issues. If it does, then I copy the testing Mods folder back over to the folder in my “real” game. If it doesn’t, then I either don’t use the new mod or, if it’s something I really want, I run the Hack Conflict Detection Utility to see if it can tell me what the conflicting mod(s) is/are, and then I decide which I want more. And if the HCDU doesn’t give me any useful info, then I 50/50 until I find the conflicts and then decide between mods. Anyway, this way I find out if I can use the new mod along with those I already have without the possibility of doing any damage to any neighborhood I care about.

tamtam-go92 replied to your photoset “More random captioned pics because, basically, this is a household...”

Hopefully the girls will be old enough when Amalia dies...

Margo was like a day or two away from teenhood when those pics were taken, so no problem. :)

scibirg replied to your post “I'm excited about the olympics too! Especially ski jumping. I love to...”

Did you see the ladies ski jumping? Brave girls!

Honestly, most of the winter events involve bravery. Well, except curling, I guess. *laugh* I guess the worst that can happen with that is you drop a 40-lb rock on your foot or maybe slip and fall on your butt. :) And I guess the cross-country skiing is more physically-taxing than actually dangerous. And I guess the figure skating isn’t that risky, although some of those things that the pairs skaters do look more than a little scary for the female partner. But yeah, the ski-jumpers and downhill skiers and sliders and speed-skaters and snowboarders are all completely nutty in adrenaline-junkie ways that I totally identify with. :D

scibirg replied to your post “dunne-ias replied to your post: I’m excited about...”

Slalom is from Norwegian, meaning ski track with turns. In Norwegian cross-country skiing is called "langrenn" meaning long slide. Probably due to it being used for travelling long distances.

ssatinn replied to your post “dunne-ias replied to your post: I’m excited about...”

We call Nordic skiing "längdskidor" - direct translation would be "long ski". Alpine skiing we call "slalom", no idea where that word comes from though..

Hm, interesting! So in Swedish, any type of downhill skiing is called “slalom?” Because in English that word is reserved for the type of downhill skiing where you’re zig-zagging in a pattern through gates -- as the Norwegian word would imply -- not the kind where you’re just shooting straight down the hill. Or does Swedish have a different word for that, too?

I don’t know why I find stuff like this so interesting, but I do. :) Maybe I shoulda been a linguist or something...

didilysims replied to your post “I'm excited about the olympics too! Especially ski jumping. I love to...”

Woo Olympics! I find just watching the events gives me an adrenaline rush. Watching luge reruns today had me all "oh my-ing" and "oh no-ing" and actually jumping out of my seat a few times. Love those crazy dangerous downhill events. :D

OMG, that poor American luge-slider today! Did you see that? Quite the wipeout she had. Even so, I sooooooooooooooo want to luge. Like, if I could just go and do it once, like how people go skydiving, I totally would. Buuuuuut I suppose it’s something you actually have to learn how to do before you lay on a minimalist sled and zoom down a track of ice at ungodly speeds... :)

emeraldfalconsims replied to your post “I'm excited about the olympics too! Especially ski jumping. I love to...”

It's too bad that marksmanship is so tied in practical applications to killing. It was so empowering for me when I discovered a sport I was actually naturally good at.

That's not really the case, though. I mean, maybe it is in the mind of Joe Q. Public that's been fed a daily diet of crazy people killing other people mixed with glamorized violence in "entertainment," but beyond that, the practical application of marksmanship isn't killing (either people or other animals) but rather marksmanship competitions. Aside from niche things like biathlon, there are all sorts of local, regional, state, and national marksmanship competitions that happen throughout the year, regulated by their own governing bodies. I used to do 3-gun competitions, myself. 

Marksmanship isn't about killing anything because when you get down to it, hunting animals -- or even killing a person, if that’s your goal for whatever reason -- doesn't require sharpshooting levels of accuracy, certainly not with automatic weapons. (With those, you just kind of squeeze the trigger and try to hold on while pretending the thing is a garden hose. I don’t like them; I like precision.) Killing just requires doing enough damage, and you can do that without being at all accurate. Marksmanship's about consistent accuracy, often under pressure. Which can have applications in killing things, and can make you better at killing things (ideally things that are legal to kill, of course) but that's not what it's about. I wish more people would realize that. And I wish the NRA would GTFO, but that’s an entirely different subject.

penig replied to your post “Do you know why some custom doors and arches doesn't work in apartment...”

Custom content that was made before AL came out doesn't update and confuses the already-confused apartment code. To reduce annoyance I tend to use Maxis doors and arches inside exclusively. Windows are no problem.

Good to know. :) I guess I never really noticed because I don’t build apartments all that often. Mostly because I think furnishing them is mind-numbingly boring. :) And even when I do build them, I mostly use Maxis interior doors, often add-ons like centered-on-two-tile versions of a Maxis door, but since those use Maxis coding, I’m guessing they don’t present a problem in this regard.

immerso-sims replied to your post “The feel-good song meme. :)”

Thanks. I tried searching for happy songs in my iTunes collection, but I realised I am a total sad/dark/melancholic/whatever songs lover, so I'll pass on the meme :D

HAH! :) But hey, if a sad/melancholy song makes you feel better, I suppose that actually counts as a feel-good song! :)

fuzzyspork replied to your post “Big long reply post about...lots of stuff”

I've had both the high witches (excluding the neutral one because they are apparently very anti-social) on a community lot at the same time several times. If a Sim interacts with whichever arrives first then when enough time passes the other witch will usually show up. I think they must have negative relationship by default, so I've seen them fight! Fisticuffs style though. This is where magic would have been awesome. :/

Really? I don’t think I’ve ever had more than one high witch on a community lot, even when I’ve had playable stay on them for multiple days at a time, like when I send them on a weekend camping trip or what-have-you. Maybe it’s because I pretty much never have Sims interact with the high witches, since I use other means to have Sims become witches? Maybe I should try interacting with them... Although if there’s just fisticuffs as opposed to zapping each other with magic, I suppose there’s not much point. Then it’s just yet another fight between non-playables.

[little-owly]

Ni/nja Br/ian omo, hm? How about this! He has an extremely weak bladder because during a fight early in training, he made a dumb mistake and got hit hard in the stomach. It messed up something internally, so he has trouble telling when he needs to pee because he either can't feel it or feels it really bad. This leads to embarrassing situations where he'll wet himself with a near empty bladder, or be so full without knowing that it just starts gushing out of him

YES I LIVE FOR THISALSO INCREDIBLY UNEDITED IM SORRYit all started during ninja training when he met danny. he was respected in their clan. he was a silent leader. he was both praised and feared. many new trainees, cocky and full of themselves, saw brian as a easy challenge. many learning thats far from the truth as brian defeated them in combat. resulting in sobs and broken bones as he knocked them down a peg.until another silent trainee came alone. bushy brown hair and beard to match. intense brown eyes staring into brian's own ocean blue eyes. the fight starting as other gathered around. danny on the sidelines as brian's assistant, "cmon, ninja brian!! kick his ass!!"the cheers of the crowd silenced as the new trainee brought down a punishing kick to brian's abdomen. the ninja falling to his knees as he, for the first time since he took his vow of silence, screamed in pain. the sound shaking everyone to their core as senior ninjas and danny ran to his side. the new trainee was kicked out immediately for illegal fighting; the rules established before the fight prohibited kicks to the body for this very reason. internal issues. its a long recovery for the ninja as the fellow senior ninjas decide its best if brian...takes some time off to recover. keeping him in the dark about his condition. about his injury -- in fact, brian felt fine within two days. what was the fuss about?during his time in the medical bay of the ninja academy, danny started to pull brian into his plan. his plan for them to runaway and start a band. start a new life. start all over. "brian, i'm telling you!! we'll be rockstars and bang hot chicks night after night!! concert after concert, and be stupid rich!!" danny went on and on about the rich lifestyle of these rockstars. of their sex life, of their expensive cars and homes, of their /respect/.it was also during his time in the medical bay did he hear what the staff, students, and even the trainees had to say about him. "whoever that trainee was should be the replacement for brian.""wow, brian's really losing that whole scary image he had -- it only took me now to realize how old he is.""i don't believe fellow sensei brian is quite fit for this position, perhaps he'd be better with paperwork?""the fight was ridiculous; sensei brian has lost any and all respect from me." the more pity and harsh comments he heard, the more enticing danny's offer was. until one night he agreed. danny packing their things and helping unhook brian from the machines and such to rush out the gates of the ninja academy in the dead of night. unseen, and unnoticed. its after they drove in the beat up van did brian realize what his problem was. falling asleep as danny drove on, squirming gently as he felt danny pull over minutes later and shake him up. "bri!! get up -- dude!! aw shit, its getting in the seat!!"what?brian groggily opened his eyes and awoke as he felt warmth splashed over his lap. staring back in horror as his black uniform became soaked, glistening in the light from the moon outside. hissing loud as danny jumped out to grab spare towels in the back. he didnt stare in horror because he was wetting himself like an infant. he didnt stare in horror because he had dirtied danny's van. he stared in horror because he didnt feel himself going. grabbing at his wet crotch as danny stepped in and allowed brian to finish."hey...hey, bri," he spoke up, noticing brian's panicked expression, one that screamed 'what just happened?'"it's gonna be okay, yeah? we're...its -- just a minor inconvenience. we're gonna dry this up, get you in some new dry shit, and be on our way to fuckin' hollywood!"brian slowly got out of his seat to join danny. shame written all over his face. "promise, we'll make this work. it's totally a side effect. you'll be okay."***its after they arrived and brian settled them into an apartment (by killing the apartment complex's manager and owner) did brian get help.well...sorta. it happened again as brian and danny rehearsed for their audition. danny's vocal loud and strong as he sang on about having sex with furniture, thrown into the melody of the song. brian playing the keyboard with skilled hands. staring as danny made obscene motions with his hips.stopping when he felt the top of his crotch grow warm. hissing starting again as he slammed the keyboard away and held himself. shaking his head and moving away when danny looked back. brian biting his lip as his eyes closed. still being unable to feel himself releasing, only being bale to feel himself wet. what the fuck was wrong with his bladder?he started to breathe heavily as the streams of piss ran down his legs and puddled below. wet warmth hugging his crotch as he silently cried. shame held high over his head."bri...i think we should get you checked out." was all danny could say in a supportive tone. at least he wouldnt laugh at his weak moments. ***thankfully, the weakened bladder and blow it sustained was semi fixable -- brian could slowly feel when he had to urge to go. but usually only felt it at the last minute. he had lost count on how many times he'd rush past danny after a set and make a bee line for the rest room backstage. getting to the urinal in time to unzip his pants and go, sighing as he goes.the times he cant make it -- when the rest room is locked or too many people are around, he runs to their dressing room and wets in private. piss flooding his black pants as he groans, trickling down his thighs and legs, soaking his pants and socks as it collects in and under his shoes. he just cant help it; shaking and moaning in relief as he wets himself. danny there watching with a sympathetic look. ready to help his best friend get cleaned up. because thats what best friends are for, right? ....oh, the trainee who caused this? he ran off, training himself in the mountains of japan. becoming a skilled killer with fighting skills that would make brian jealous. this trainee decided to go with samurai training than ninja training -- only going by the name 'barry'.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 1: Recruitment

Summary: Genevieve Hastings is desperate to do more for her country. After hearing horror stories about the last war, she plans to do anything to end the current war as soon as possible - whatever the personal cost.

  Masterlist     Next Chapter

    She'd passed the interview with the recruitment officer, the medical examination with all the blood tests, the education tests, the physical training and Genevieve was discovered because a soldier thought it would be a great idea to knock down the cubicle door while she was sorting out her period. Now, she had to answer for her lies and inexcusable behaviour in reaction to her being exposed - physically and metaphorically.

   Swinging her legs in a stiff chair, Genevieve looked about the room with casual boredom. She may as well enjoy her surroundings if she was about to be put to the court martial for posing as a man. The office was covered in the patriotic signifiers of a man: Churchill bust, oak furniture, books in a glass case about previous wars, a pipe on the desk, the mounted head of a deer watching ominously over the room.

 The door opened and, out of instinct, Genevieve stood up with her hands behind her back. Clad in a long overcoat and clasping his peaked cap, Commander Clouston paced into his office and gestured for the soldier to take a seat. He laid his cap on the desk as he eased himself back into the chair.

   “So, Gene,” He said chirpily as he picked up his pipe from the desk, “Mind telling me your real name before we begin?”

   “Genevieve Hastings, sir,” The soldier responded.

   Commander Clouston nodded with his lips pouted in concentration as he crushed some tobacco, “Why are you here and not at home?”

   “I can help here better than I can in England. This is where the fight is.”

   “I’m sure you are,” Clouston assured, “But this is no place for a woman.”

   Genevieve frowned, “But it is the place for those boys you accepted. Not even eighteen, I’ll bet? Would you prefer me to be at home, sewing pillowcases for when this is over or here ensuring that it’s over faster?”

   “One person can’t make that much difference.”

   “Imagine thousands of people thinking that same thing and not bothering. Imagine what they could do if they did try.”

   A little put-off by the woman who was clearly more stubborn than him, Clouston switched his questioning methods, “Why didn’t they shave your hair off?”

   “I said it was long for religious reasons. They didn’t press any further.”

   Commander Clouston took a deep breath, questioning the entire Armed Forces – not for the first time.

 “Why did you throw a…” He swallowed, his hand pausing in his pocket as he fumbled with his words instead, “A… used… tampon at Officer Fox?”

   “He was peeping on me while I was on the loo.”

   “That doesn’t excuse you throwing it at him. And your impulsive choices blew your cover.”

   “Pretty sure it was blown anyway, sir. Besides, I thought maybe I could get away with saying I was treating a bullet wound.”

   “Do you think Fox would’ve believed that?”

   “Yes.”

   “Do you think others would’ve believed it?” Clouston struck a match.

   “Yes,” Genevieve repeated, holding back the rest of her comment on the inept intelligence test of the army.

   Clouston nodded, leaning back in his chair as he puffed his pipe, “Well, I think we’re done here.”

   Genevieve frowned again, her fate still unknown, “Am I going to be discharged?”

   “Of course not. Women are being trained the same as men now. We need everyone we’ve got, including you.” Clouston stopped to blow off some smoke like a chimney, “I’ve heard you’re a good shot.”

   Genevieve straightened up with a haughty tug on his standard issue jacket, “I’m a great shot.”  

     One year later

   Dunkirk was a shit show. Four hundred thousand British soldiers marooned in France with no sign of help coming and supplies slowly running out. If that wasn’t pressing enough, the Germans were pushing the literal boundaries of the French allies, closing in on them. Men were shooting themselves with their rifles or drowning themselves every day as hope slipped further from their grasp. The beach was a desert and it was drying up the optimism.

 Paranoia was trickling in to each soldier. It moved at different paces, sure, but still there, in the back of the mind. It gnawed at each person’s sanity with the German aircraft acting as a catalyst. One was currently circling the troops like a vulture. Genevieve was watching it from the pier with Commander Clouston.

   With no sign of the Air Force, Genevieve leant her rifle on the pier’s wooden barrier and knelt before it. Staring down the barrel, clenching then unclenching her fists, she held her nerve until the StuKa Ju flew back around, swinging ungracefully in the air with a long drone.

   Only slightly affected by the siren that shrilled at the beach below, she fired, reloaded and fired again. That time, she knew she’d hit it as a line of smoke marked the plane’s passage. Something as easily fixable as a bullet hole in the left wing caused the aircraft to retreat; it flew back behind enemy lines.

 Genevieve pulled away. That was the first aircraft she’d hit today which was bad since four others had appeared. She was getting rusty. Glancing over at the ship beside the pier, she saw the final stretcher being loaded on board. Unlucky lucky bastard.

   “Come on, Hastings,” Commander Clouston ushered Genevieve away, taking her rifle.

   “Where are we going?” She said tiredly, glancing after the StuKa Ju.

   “You need to get on the ship.” She instantly ducked under his arm, removing it from her back.

   “Why?” Genevieve took a step back, “Get someone else on, one of the soldiers from the beach. Or a stretcher.”

   “You have to get on,” Clouston pressed, “You need to get back home. You’re needed for the next battle.”

   “No more than any other soldier. I stay and I can shoot down other planes.”

   “It’s not a risk worth taking; you could be shot or bombed any time.”

   “If I go, home won’t be there for much longer.”

   “If you stay, home won’t be there for long either. Now go. That’s an order.”

   Grimacing, Genevieve reluctantly followed his instruction, stepping onto the unstable walkway and down onto the ship's deck. She sent a glance of silent disdain at her Commander but it changed as she swore she heard him say:

  “Come back for us.”  

  The shouts from Dunkirk beach were suddenly more apparent. Countless men cried to be taken home with the ship, begging the chosen few with hoarse voices and broken spirits. Genevieve turned back and heading down the stairs into the belly of the beast. Hit with a wave of sweat and tea, she grabbed a slice of jam on toast and forced it down her throat.

 The feeling of claustrophobia crept up her spine. It was soon joined by the memory of the other ships who had attemtped and failed to leave the Mole. Her stomach was in flux, curdling the half-stale bread slice into mush.

 “Sorry, you can’t go up,” The nurse had an arm across Genevieve’s chest as she reached the door at the top of the stairs.

   “I’m gonna throw up,” She said bluntly. Automatically, the nurse opened the door and allowed Genevieve passage. The door slammed shut behind her but she didn’t care. The salt air was almost as bad as the sweat but at least it was fresh.

  The screams from the beach faded as the ship sailed away into the night.  Dunkirk disappeared, dipping down into the horizon, into the dusk. Genevieve wasn’t sure how much time had passed but she wasn’t moved from her spot by any of the sailors who walked past. Maybe they knew her reason.

 After what seemed like hours had passed, with her head back against a steel wall, she closed her eyes and allowed herself todrift off.

   “TORPEDO!”

   Genevieve shot up in time to brace for impact. The ship lurched to the right, throwing the occupants of its belly against the walls. Water exploded into the bowels; soldiers were tossed over the side of the boat and into the black water below. Genevieve grasped the chain link barrier, feeling the floor beneath her slide upwards with the shift in gravity.

   “Abandon ship!”

   Another torpedo thwacked into the bow of the ship, tipping it forwards. Tugging her body upwards, Genevieve scrambled with numb hands to get to the stern. The propeller rose out of the water as she climbed up the chains like a ladder. She heard men jumping off the boat into the freezing water, grabbing onto random debris to keep themselves afloat.

   Water exploded to Genevieve’s left, firing droplets directly into her ear and clogging it with her pounding heartbeat. The murky depths rose closer to her feet as she desperately tried to get away. Her limbs weren’t responding properly, numb from the cold and fear. But the chain links turned to solid stable metal and she knew, in the darkness, she’d found the highest point.

   Another torpedo in the seemingly endless barrage smashed into the already sinking ship, blowing men out of the water. They collided with the distorted surf. The stern of the ship groaned and swayed. Genevieve clung onto the bar, her arms screamed as they were pushed to their limits. She was on her front, her legs kicking, scrabbling to stay out of the water.  

  She heard a hollow clatter from inside the ship. Fists banged against the hull. Screwing up her eyes, Genevieve looped her arms through the bars and cried until there were no more tears. They just kept banging. Even as the shadow of the U-Boat slinked away, they kept banging. Even with the freezing water, they kept banging. Only when the sun started to come up and Genevieve realised she wasn’t alone atop the stern did the banging cease. It faded to a weak patter. Then to a soft knock. Then finally to a solitary tap.

 Author’s Notes:

1/ This is a series, with chapters varying in length. I have the whole fic planned out, I just have to finish writing it. I’ve written some chapters and not others because I’m impatient and have no structure in my life. Art imitates life and life imitates it right back.

2/ Since ah dinnae ken Collins’ first name, it will be Jack. So original, I know. This detail and many others about Collins’ life in this fiction are my own interpretation.

3/ Commander Bolton (Sir Kenneth Brannagh’s character) was actually Commander James Campbell Clouston but renamed in the film. He saved over 200,000 men at Dunkirk before his boat was hit and, after sending the adjoining boat back to Dunkirk to save the rest of the men, he died of hypothermia in the English Channel. Therefore, out of respect for the family and the man himself, I have changed Bolton to Clouston in this work – and will do so for any other Dunkirk fiction that I write.

4/ I will update as often as I can so this won’t end up like that one fic that hasn’t been updated since 2009. But I will be going to university soon and will have to go on the occasional hiatus. My apologies in advance.

5/ I own nothing except for my original character Genevieve Hastings.

6/ In spite of me not owning this film or its characters, please don’t plagiarise, repost or take credit for my work. I worked hard on this and this is my first post on my first writing blog. Please don’t put me off posting anything else.

Thank you for reading this and I hope you enjoy it!