#no wonder they had to cheat to get it done by ripping assets

[47crows]

“It’s morally correct to steal from massive corporations like Nintendo.”

And

“Palworld’s theft of designs and silhouettes is ethically bankrupt and will lead to further disintegration of the value artists bring to the industry in the eyes of shitty ai-loving techbro designers and uncaring consumers.”

Are two different opinions that can coexist and the artists calling out Palworld’s plagiarism are not “sucking Nintendo’s dick” for doing it.

[dcnatural]

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

Word Count: 1532

Pairing: Reader x Deathstroke

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: One day, Deathstroke make a surprise visit during one of your parties.

Fireworks lit up the sky in an array of colors. Through the window, you could see people jumping in the pool straight from the second floor balcony, splashes of water going everywhere and the audience cheering. There seemed to be some sort of competition of who made the best jump. The floor was sticky with spilled champagne, sweat and possibly other things. The music was loud enough to make the house shake and your head hurt. But you didn’t care, the beat was better than your own thoughts. A drunken couple passed by you, on their way to one of the guest bedrooms. The girl laughed at something the man said, eyeing you as they stumbled forward. You gripped your wine glass tighter and tighter until you felt a sharp pain. You opened your hand to see blood stained glass falling to the floor. A cut crossed your palm, blood oozing lazily out of it, bits of glass still stuck to the skin.

You ignored the mess and walked to your bedroom, the only part of the house that you kept locked during your parties. It felt strange to acknowledge them as your parties, since you didn’t know half of the people that crowded your manor. Nor did they know you. But it didn’t matter, you weren’t looking for fame or recognition. People could come into your house, drink your alcohol, throw up in your bathroom and then laugh at you for not joining in. These parties weren’t meant to be fun, they were meant to keep you distracted. Anything to keep your mind away from him .

Once your cut was bandaged, you walked downstairs and ignoring the festivities going on in the backyard, you sat by your front porch and watched as masses of well dressed men and women came in and out of your pearly white gates. The best thing about those parties was that you didn’t need to bother with who came in, the guests took upon themselves to decide who was cool enough to be there or not.

The flood of party goers seized for a moment and the front garden felt empty without the chattering voices. From far down the road that lead to your manor you saw the silhouette of a tall man approaching. The first thing you noticed were the broad shoulders and muscular arms, but as he neared, you began to make out other details: the disheveled silvery hair, the eyepatch and the many holsters strapped to his body. As the realization kicked in, you ran to the gates, locking them shut seconds before he reached them.

“Y/n”, Slade said, his voice the same husky tone you remembered. “You don’t wanna do this, just open the damn gates.”

You laughed. “How dare you show up here after everything you did to me?” The scars in your back itched as if they recognized their maker.

He gripped the metal bars until his knuckles turned white. “Calm down, alright? There’s no need to make a scandal. This isn’t about you.”

Your hands shook and you crossed your arms in a attempt to hide it. “Then why the fuck are you in my house?”

“Just let me in and I can explain.”

“You are insane if you think I’m gonna trust you again. Get lost before I call the cops.”

You turned on your heels, tears begging to to run down your cheeks, and began to walk away.

“If it counts for something, I’m glad you didn’t die!”, Slade shouted from outside.

The guests seemed unaware of the confrontation outside and you were glad of it: the last thing you needed was people asking questions. You went straight to your bedroom. Drawers opened and closed, clothes were thrown to the floor and floorboards were ripped apart as you searched for something you never thought you would need again. If only you remembered where you had hidden it... 

Your scars burned like they hadn’t done in ages and in a fury you ripped your t-shirt apart, exposing the ugly markings to the damp air of the afternoon. Finally finding what you were looking for, you closed your fist around the small vial and closed your eyes for a second.

Flashes of repressed memories poked your brain, freeing themselves from the cage you had built. It was like going back in time, you could feel his strong arms wrapped around you, the heat emanating from his body, his mouth kissing your neck. His knife cutting your flesh in an unforgivable betrayal. You had trusted him once and he broke your heart. You had trusted him twice and he broke your body. What would he take this time? Snapping your eyes open, you made a decision. It was your turn to take something.

You took the first shirt you saw, slid the vial carefully into the pocket of your shorts and stalked out of your room. In the pool side, the party went on. And just like you had predicted, Slade had found his way in, and mingled with the crowd with ease. He always knew how to impress people. He had been smart enough to leave the heavy weapons somewhere else, and likely only carried a hidden gun and perhaps a blade. Not that he needed more than that to kill his target.

“Who is the unlucky fellow?”, you asked, coming up behind him.

He turned to face you. “I knew you would at least hear me out.”

“Cut the crap okay? I just don’t want blood in my lawn.”

“Look, y/n, I’m really sorry.”

“You stabbed me and left me to die. ‘Sorry’ doesn't fix that.”

He pulled you to a desert area, far from prying ears. “You are forgetting about the part you were spying on me!”, he hissed. His breath smelled like bourbon and cigars.

You forced tears to come out. “I was hurt! You had cheated on me with some girl-”

“One more time, she was just an asset”, he cut in.

“It doesn’t fucking matter! I was upset, and when someone offered to pay me to get revenge, of course I said yes. And then I changed my mind and told you the truth!”

“And I did the same thing you would have done in my situation”, his voice was filled with sadness and that caught you off guard. It seemed sincere. “Just reconsider. All I’m asking is that you hear me out.” 

“Fuck you, Slade. Do what you need to do and get out of my house.”

You turned around and he didn’t stop you. You took your time, staying close enough to keep track of his movements, but not too close for him to think you had changed your mind. The sun had long set when you made you move.

A waiter passed by carrying champagne glasses in a silver tray and you took one. Unscrewing the lid of the vial you carried, you emptied the content into the champagne. 

“Excuse me,” you called, stopping another waitress.

“Yes?”

You reached into your pocket and pulled a wrinkled 50 dollars bill from your wallet. “Make sure this glass is given to that man”, you said, pointing to your unexpected visitor and handing the drink and money to the woman. She frowned, but took the money without any questions. 

You pushed people aside, opening the way to the center of the yard, and climbed the table where once, hours ago, there had been food. You picked a new glass and gestured to the DJ to stop the music. Luckily, the workers recognized you as the host and didn’t object. The guests, on the other hand, whispered to each other, wondering what was going on.

You kept your gaze in the waitress you had instructed making sure she delivered her one glass to the right person. When everyone had been given a glass, you raised yours to the sky and cleared your throat. 

“I would like to make a toast”, you announced, your voice loud and clear. “Here’s to my real friends, who helped me in the dark times of life. And here’s to you...”, your gaze locked with Slade’s and you smiled, “because forgiveness is a nice thing to do.”

You took the glass to your lips and watched as he did the same. The crowd applauded just to be polite and you jumped back to the floor. The music began to blast again and soon nobody cared about the strange person who gave a strange speech.

When you reached Slade, he was visibly more pale and his movements were unsure and wobbly. He gripped your shoulders. “What did you give me?”, he asked exasperated.

“Come on, you had too much to drink”, you announced loudly, offering an explanation to anyone who might be paying attention. You held Slade as you all but dragged him upstairs.

You locked your bedroom door just in time, as soon after foam began forming in his mouth. He choked on his words and you chuckled.

“Always check for vitals after stabbing someone”, you told him as he spasmed in the floor. When he finally stopped moving you leaned down, ear to his chest. You heard nothing.

[crescentharborrp]

BASICS

Name: Helene Louise D’Autremont.

Gender/Pronouns: cisfemale, (she/her).

Date of Birth: April 5th, 1991.

Age: 30.

Hometown: Aix-en-Provence, France.

Length of time in Crescent Harbor: Two weeks. Inconsistent visits through childhood.

Neighborhood: Sunstone Beach.

Occupation: Hedge Fund Research Analyst.

Faceclaim: Emma Rigby.

BIOGRAPHY (trigger warnings: infidelity)

It is the strong that survive in this world. You have to take what you want; never wait for it to be given.

These are the words her mother tells her, the phrases that are whispered in her ear and echo as she grows from infancy to adulthood. They are not the honeyed words of a fairytale, nothing so soft as a reminder to ‘Have courage, and be kind.’ as others might prefer nowadays. Instead, she hears the words come from a woman that is a legacy, one that has manufactured herself as someone undeniable, someone who has long-seen the world as filled with only adversaries and has seen every challenge as one for survival. Perhaps it was paranoia, aching in her bones that she passed down to her daughter. Maybe it is the hunger that she remembers, her stomach never full enough and never comfortable enough to rest— a haunting that lingers turned malevolent spirit that’s attached itself to her daughter, too. For a little girl, devoted to her parents and spoiled, however, she understands this lesson as love.

Call it poison. Call it a knife. Today, Helene calls it her strength.

Disenchanted— her father’s favourite word. Ambition— her mother’s favourite word. Hugo D’Autremont had wanted a pretty wife to complete the image of well-rounded glory. Renee Hawthorne had wanted power, wanted influence outside of the stifling life of a small town. How cruel it is to know that theirs is not a marriage of love; partnership, mutual respect, power, yes— but, love was not at the forefront of their union. What they did share, however, was the love and aspirations for their three children.

Of the three of them, she is their middle child. Born Helene Louise D’Autremont, her beginnings are as eventfully uneventful as any would assume. Renee gives birth to her in France, having spent the last of her pregnancy in the D’Autremont’s familial home, and it is there that Helene spends her earliest years: she is christened in the same chapel her father had been christened in (by the same priest, too), her first steps are taken as she attempts to chase after her elder sibling in the chateau’s garden, and papa is her first word— shrieked at the sight of her father coming home from work when her mother moves them into the city. It is blissful, idyllic, even picturesque to imagine: an infancy filled with frothy lace and flowers and sunlight. It is perfect, an image from a magazine. But, so is any outsider’s view of their lives.

Behind closed doors, Hugo and Renee near-constantly argue about the best way to raise their children, and so begins an upbringing that creates in her a desire to take everything that she can while she can, little claws trying to sink into something permanent— and, oh, she’d learn that of all things, success, though while not permanent, was something to always claw after in every aspect of her life.

Her education begins in France before she and her siblings are moved stateside for New York. Then eventually, Renee brings her children to the place she was raised to humble them and show them the stark difference of their lives versus her beginnings. Seattle is next, another private preparatory school like New York, then they return to the east coast for a few years. It is erratic, a hindrance on their educational records, but between nannies and tutors and the children seeming to thrive in whatever environment they are placed in, there is nothing found inherently wrong about their education. In fact, Helene herself seems to do best with change, seems content to keep a rather small circle of friends. The only time she seems to show any distaste is when she spends two consecutive years at Crescent Harbor’s Preparatory School. Being pitted against her cousin Allison irks her, but drives her competitiveness to the point of leaving. She finishes her upper secondary schooling at Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire with a proud tilt of her head. Her mother had come from a small town and worked her way up, yes. That was very well understood. But, to limit Helene’s success by attempting to keep her in Crescent Harbor for her education was a potential misdeed that the girl would not stand for. It is Hugo that in the end understands the tenacity in his middle daughter’s gaze, and who was he to deny a proper education that he could more than afford?

Between her years in Crescent Harbor Prep and Phillips Exeter Academy, her drive in all things academia is met with the approval of classmates and faculty alike, doubly met by her parents’ standards and gloating. Debate, model UN, student government— she appears to be a shoe-in to go into law or politics: a charming face and silver tongue backed by an analytical mind. She always wants more and no one could imagine Helene faltering in any step that she would take. In what free time she has left she competes in dressage competitions, horseback riding a hobby encouraged by her mother when she was younger, but as she had grown so had her desire for competition and order. The piano is a fine instrument, yet she finds the violin more challenging and more commanding; thus, it is her favourite to play. However, her choice in major after she graduates from Exeter as one of the top of her class takes her peers by surprise.

In truth, she had been pushed towards law, had applied to Harvard to compete with her cousin from the western coast. But, she applies under the early decision clause to her school of choice. When she is accepted to Columbia University she tells no one that she is now legally bound to the education institution and instead feigns dismay at having to report she’s been rejected from Harvard University. If one were to look into the veracity of the tale she had spun, it would almost be heartwarming to know that Helene had done as she had so that she and her cousin could not be marked as rivals any further. If she could make sure to be at a different school, maybe they could stand a chance at being friends.

Attending Columbia University, Helene focuses on Financial Economics, finding the world of asset management fascinating ever since working in her father’s office over the summers. The more she reads into money, the hungrier she finds herself for a way into its world. It’s nearly unheard of nowadays, to start from the ground up with a management fund, and truthfully she is well aware of that. But, she wants to be a part of the greats. Those who so love history imagine the battles and wars waged through the centuries. The sieges of violence are those she finds no interest in. Instead, it is the wily tongues and steel backbones of mergers and acquisitions that fascinate her. She follows money, follows the finance section of The New York Times and the way a hungry dog follows the scent of food. And it is with unsurmountable hunger glowing in her eyes that she chases after it.

After she finishes her masters in France, following in the footsteps of an Arnault by attending INSEAD, and between the grunt-work stages of being a junior analyst at a firm that has her nearly ready to rip her hair out, she gets married.

It’s a sweet affair, a grand thing in the French countryside of the Chevalier family villa. Helene D’Autremont becomes the wife of Maxim Chevalier, a corporate lawyer from a family of lawyers that her father and his family had known for generations. They’re a powerful pair, a good-looking match (words a part of his grandmother’s blessing), and they’re perfect together. Back in New York they conquer their lives, the city with their own victories. He makes junior partner and has his own office and clients within the firm, while she ambitiously finds her way to become a senior analyst. They have a dog, a high-rise condo in the city, and the girl that had been raised to want for nothing continued to have everything she ever wanted. She even loves her husband, romance catching her by surprise and inspires utter delight— kindness and softness, after all, have never been her calling card.

Things are exactly as she wants, exactly as she had ever strived for, exactly as she wants everyone to see of her. Hugo and Renee could not be prouder.

Except, the outwards presentation of perfection will always come at a price. Helene’s career and ambition takes its toll on her marriage. Behind closed doors, Maxim’s brief affair with an old flame brings the image of perfection, brings a framed portrait of their wedding day, to the ground shattered. He says she’s lost sight of their shared goals, and she asks what kind of fool he thinks she is to want a child with a man who would cheat on her. Anger, hurt, pent up frustrations compounded over the years come to head in such a vitriolic display that one wonders if there truly was any love between them to begin with. But, the way the tears fall from her eyes says differently; the way he tenderly picks up their portrait after she’s left says differently. The corporate regime begins their whispers when Helene seems to be courted by a new firm that would require relocation. Her lofty expression is found on the Tatler social pages the next month and it’s rumoured that Maxim’s been on a ruthless winning streak in the courtroom since their fight.

From the outside looking in, Helene’s reasons for relocating to Crescent Harbor are harmless: her cousin is getting married, mother wants her to oversee renovations to the cottage and home, and with a few new acquisitions being eyed in Seattle, she’s to be a point of contact within commuting distance— a test before a likely promotion. Yet, truthfully: she hardly cares for her cousin’s wedding, the renovations could be overseen remotely, and if she were truly meant to be overseeing anything in Seattle she shouldn’t be two and a half hours away. Helene, in all her years of success, of taking and conquering like some covetous spoiled creature, wants respite. She wants to draw her husband out of the city, wants an opportunity for them to start anew away from the glittering cityscape of New York. Crescent Harbor had been used as a humbling experience once; perhaps it will work as a way to mend their marriage, too.

It is to be noted, however, that Helene has lost none of the proud tilt of her head. And that her smile, if anything, is more akin to a snarl. Her charm, if it could be called that, is in her honesty, is in the way that she cuts no corners for herself, is the way that she commands not only attention, but respect. Her father may have paid for many things, but her fortune and her position in life is her own.

PERSONALITY

+ poised, charming, ambitious.

- cutting, unyielding, haughty.

[jawritter]

A Thousand Years...

Chapter 2

Heart beats fast. Colors and promises. How to be brave. How can I love when I’m afraid to fall. But watching you stand alone. All of my doubt suddenly goes away…..

Summary: A soulmate’s purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master. – Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

A new town, a new job, and a new life, one that you didn’t even expect……

Pairing: Reader x OFC Crystal, Reader x OFC Jessie, Jensen Ackles x Reader, Gino x Reader, Danneel x Reader

Word Count: 3039

Warnings will include… Smut, language, unrequited/ requited love, cheating, and possibly more. This is gonna be a slow burn y’all!! This is brand new, so I will add to it as I know. Chapters will have warnings of their own if need be….

A/N: So my little cousin was watching breaking dawn in the living room, and I was folding clothes in the guest room… When the credits rolled and this song started, this fic hit me right in the face… I couldn’t escape it.. I don’t know yet how many chapters it will be! But If you want to be tagged let me know!! As always all mistakes are mine!! Feedback is gold!! Hope you guys enjoy this one!!

Fic Based on the Song A Thousand Years, by Christina Perri

Want more? Check out my Masterlist?

*****MASTERLIST*****

*****SERIES MASTERLIST******

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Nervous, why the hell were you so nervous? It was just a trip to a brewery. It was very unlikely they were going to give you a job there. So it’s not like you were going in with your hope high here, that would be just stupid. 

If Justin had done anything in that facade that you thought was a relationship, it would be to never get your hopes up on anything. Those that expect little were seldom disappointed. 

Nothing happens for a reason. There is no such thing as a higher power. People tell you that they love you when really they are just trying to use you to get what they want from you. The bottom line there is love doesn’t exist. It’s just a gimmick. 

The only thing that is real and constant is yourself. No one is going to look out for you, no one is going to care about you, at the end of the day when things fall apart you are the one you have to face in the mirror and go to bed with at night. You have to live with your decisions, not family, not friends, not “lovers”, no one…It’s just you. It’s always been you. It will always be you, and there is nothing in this life that will convince you to change your mind on the subject. 

“You ready,” you heard Crystal call from the living room of your apartment. You all had decided to go early to the brewery before people really started to get there for the day so that you might have a chance to talk to whoever was managing it about possible job openings. 

Standing there looking at yourself in the full-length mirror you couldn’t help but wonder why even bother. You wouldn’t hire you. Even though you were in your 30’s you looked young. Younger than you would have liked and employers usually look at young as lack of experience. 

You wore only a light coat of foundation because it was rainy today, and you didn’t see the point in painting up like a french whore just to go to a brewery. You wore a black spaghetti strapped shirt with a grey and black flannel you had bought from Target, a pair of black ripped jeans, and black and white converse with your hair pulled up in a messy bun. 

You vaguely wondered exactly when it was that you just stopped trying when it came to your looks, and if it was normal for people your age to just stop caring at this point. You were who you were, and that was it. There was no point in trying to fight it, and if they couldn’t expect you for who you were, you didn’t want anything to do with them. 

You’d spent your whole life trying to please everyone. School was about pleasing and keeping up with the other classmates that were more popular than you were. In your relationship with Justin, it was always about him. Pleasing him, doing what he wanted to do. Being who he wanted you to be. 

Growing up it was about your parents. Trying to be the golden child. The kid they could be proud of. Well, that sure got you far didn’t it?

So you decided that you were done with all that nonsense. You were going to be you, dress how you wanted to, talk how you wanted to, listen to what music you wanted to listen to, and do whatever you felt like it was you wanted to do. End of discussion. What you see is what you get. 

Turning away from the mirror mumbling something to the effect of, “this is as good as it’s gonna get”, you walk into the living room where you found your brother and sister-in-law waiting for you. 

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road,” you say without much enthusiasm, grabbing your cell phone and shoving it in your pocket before getting your Id, your liquor license just in case you got lucky and they decided to give you a job, along with a little cash and stashing it in your other back pocket as well.

You hated carrying a purse when you went somewhere like a bar or brewery where people would be walking around drinking. You’d seen people lose their shit too many times at the bar you used to work for back in your hometown. It just wasn’t smart. 

Crystal looked at you and took a deep sigh, but said nothing. She was the girly, girl, always has been, always will be. If she had her way about it, you would have thrown on a flowy, girly, sundress that showed off your “assets” and applied enough makeup on to scrape off with a butter knife along with a cute hairstyle and maybe a hat before she would have even stepped out of the house.

Which oddly enough was exactly what she was wearing…go figure…

Less than an hour later you were parking at the parking lot of the surprisingly expansive grounds of the brewery. This place was shockingly huge. You did not expect this at all. You expected a bar with a brewing system in the back. There were also more people there than you expected, and it was also only around noon. 

“I wonder if Jensen is going to be here today?” Crystal turned and asked Jessie as you three started to take a walk toward the big red building that you assumed was the main part of the brewery. 

“I don’t know. You really never know when he’s going to be here,” Jessie said with a shrug.

“Uh…who’s Jensen?”

That question made them both stop dead in their tracks and look at you like you’d just grown a second head or something.

“Who’s Jensen? Seriously? You're shitting me right?” Crystal said, her mouth was all but gaping open.

“Yes, I’m serious. Who is Jensen?” 

Jessie and Crystal turned to look at each other for a moment.

“One of the leads on the TV series Supernatural. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Supernatural?” Crystal asked. “It’s been on TV for like 15 years…” 

You said nothing, just shook your head no.

Pulling out her phone, she quickly started to google before finding what she was looking for and shoved it under your face. 

“That guy with the short hair and the insultingly beautiful face,” she said a little too loudly, causing two girls passing to stare at you as they walked past.

You looked down at the phone and you saw two men on the cover of a TV guide magazine photo. Both of them attractive, but there was something about the one with short hair. His eyes…They were just …captivating.

“He’s cute, but how much of that is a filter, and computer-generated muscles,” you ask, handing her back the phone. 

“Very little. That’s all him babe, if he’s here today you will see for yourself,” she said with a smirk.

“You do know your married, right?” Jessie asked as the three of you started to make your way closer to the brewery. 

“Just 'cause I’m on a diet doesn’t mean I can’t drool over the menu,” she retorts back to her husband with a smirk. 

“He’s not even on the menu he’s married too!” Jessie said, aging her on more. 

“That’s a flexible arrangement, Hollywood marriages never last,” she said with an absolute tone. 

You walked a little ways behind the couple as they “couple bickered” all the way to the front doors of the brewery.

You were impressed by the massive size of this place. It wasn’t what you expected it all. It was peaceful, beautiful. It didn’t have the bar feel that you expected. It was almost homie. 

You walked past the solid wood tables towards the bar, taking in the sites around you. You didn’t want to get our hopes up, but you honestly would not mind coming to work here every day if it stayed this quiet and peaceful. Even in the gloomy, rainy weather, you were having today. 

There were more people hanging around outside than there was in the actual main building. When you walked in you were impressed by the modern feel of the place. It was brighter than you expected. There were no drunk men hanging all over the place, hitting on anything that moved. There were no creeps hiding in dark corners. It was clean. You hated to admit it, but you were downright impressed, and starting to get a little wistful, which you really didn’t want to do because you knew if you got your hopes up, more than likely this was never going to happen, and you’d lived through enough rejection in your life, you didn’t want to live with yet another letdown.

Jessie and Crystal walked up to the bar to place an order, and you hung back a little taking in the room and the furnishings around you. 

“Hey, what can I get for you?” The woman standing behind the counter asked you, and you blinked for a second, surprised that she’d addressed you directly because you weren’t really paying attention up until that point. 

Actually, not right now, but I was hoping to ask someone if you guys were looking to hire someone,” you tell her, not getting your hopes very high.

She looked at you and thought for a moment, shaking her head slightly. 

“I’m not sure if we are, but let me give you this to fill out real quick, and I’ll give it to Gino, he’s the one that kind of gets to hire and fire around here.” 

You nod and thank her as you take your paper to a nearby table to fill out the job application. Crystal and Jessie were walking around looking at the different merchandise that was for sale giving you a little bit of space.

You were just about to get up and go bring the Job Application back to the blonde behind the counter when a man came and sat down across from you. His name that was embroidered on his shirt informed you that this man was Gino. 

“Hey, I’m Gino Graul,” he said, extending his hand for you to shake it, which you did.

“Y/N,” you tell him, putting on your best smile. 

“I’ll go ahead and have a look at that while I actually have you right here in front of me,” Gino said, taking the application from you.

He looked over it quickly, nodding his head as he read. You held your breath. You couldn’t believe how nervous you were right now, but it felt like your whole future was riding on what this man was going to tell you. 

“I see you have on here that you have a license to distribute alcohol. Can I see that?” He asks, and you pulled out your license and handed it to him. 

Gino looked it over and smiled when handing it back to you.

“It’s rare that you find someone that wants to work here that not only has experience working around serving alcohol and things, but to already have a license is almost enough to make me hire you on the spot, I just have one question though, and I ask that you please don’t take this the wrong way. Well, two questions really.”

You nod your head slowly, afraid of what was going to come out of his mouth next. “Okay, I’m listening.” 

“Are you a fan of Supernatural, Jensen, Jared, or anything like that? I know that seems like an odd question, but I ask you to answer me honestly, please. Jensen is around here a lot, especially during the summer. He’s part-owner of this place, and If I’m going to hire you I need to know that you can conduct yourself like a professional, and not a fangirl.” 

You stopped him before he could go any further. 

“I’m not a fan, I didn’t even know of his existence until my sister-in-law was telling me about the place a little walking in here. I’ve never seen the show, I don’t know who Jared is, and I probably couldn’t even pick Jensen out in a crowd. I have no problem working for him, or around him. I’m not one to “fangirl” over anyone or anything. That’s not going to be a problem for me.”

Gino seemed to breath a visible sigh of relief. Apparently fans tend to constantly bug them about working here to see Jensen. 

“Okay, last question, and if you answer this correctly the job is yours if you still want it. Are you willing to sign a Non Disclosure Agreement? It protects our secrets for brewing, and it also will have a gag order of sorts to protect Jensen and his family. Jensen’s children tend to be up here when my sister, who is his wife, is here. It states that you can not give out their physical address to anyone. You can’t give out their phone numbers, because you will probably end up with at least Danneel’s number for work purposes, and you can’t take pictures of their children. No posting to social media about the job, anything like that, that could be dangerous to Jensen or his family, because not all fans are good people, and the protection of his children is our first priority. “

You thought it a little strange that an employer was asking you to sign an NDA, but you also never worked for anyone that was famous before, and you really needed this job. Also, he did make some valid points as to why he wanted you to sign one. 

“I have no problem with that whatsoever.”

“Good, then the job is yours. Give me your ID and I’ll go make a copy of these and I’ll print out the paperwork for you to sign. After we’re done with all that I’ll give you the tour of the place…Jensen is in the back. He will want to meet you as well.”

“Thank you so much! You have no idea how much I appreciate this opportunity,” you tell him, shaking his hand. 

For once in your life, it seemed like things were starting to go right. Even though you were afraid to let yourself hope, because it seemed like everything you had ever hoped for, ever dreamed about, had fallen apart at your feet. 

This time though, this time something just felt right, even if you were afraid to admit it to even yourself. Something deep down told you for the first time ever you’ve walked right into where you need to be. That a piece that was missing just maybe was about to be filled, and you just maybe could walk away from all this mess that you called life so far whole after all.

Maybe….

An hour later you had toured the entire brewery with Gino, which had a whole lot more to it than just a brewery, and had filled out all the paperwork needed to go to work tomorrow. 

“So, what do you think so far? Gonna like working here?” Gino asked as you rounded the corner to go to the back where they were brewing the beer. 

“Yeah, I actually think I’m really gonna like it,” you tell him, following Gino through the brewery to the back office where only employees went.

“Good. Well, there’s one more thing I got to do before I turn you loose for today so you can go get yourself ready for tomorrow,” Gino said, coming to a stop in front of the office door. 

“Okay…”

“You have to meet Jensen and my sister.”

Opening the door there were two people waiting on the other side. A skinny woman who Gino introduced as Danneel, and a man that honestly knocked the wind out of you without saying a word, all he did was turn around in his chair and look at you. 

“Hey, I’m Jensen,” He said, getting up from behind the desk, and walking around it to shake your hand. 

His grip was firm, his hands were a little calloused and warm, just the touch of his skin to yours made your stomach do a backflip. The picture that Crystal showed you before did NOT do this man justice at all. 

In person he was breathtaking. His emerald green eyes searched yours with his grip firm on your hand. His t-shirt did little to hide the muscles that covered his arms and chest. His tall frame towered over you He had a light dusting of freckles that seemed to stick out under the florescent lights in the office, and a strong jawline that seemed soft under his light beard. 

Mentally slapping yourself because you had already promised Gino that you wouldn’t “fangirl” all over him, you smile at him like you would do any other employer on your first day or interview for the job.

“Y/N,” you tell him simply, hoping your voice didn’t give you away, it was so hard to concentrate though, he smelled so amazing. 

“So Gino told me he hired you today, when did he tell you to start?” Jensen asked, walking back around the desk. Danneel was leaning up against the back wall, saying nothing, but watching your every move. 

“Tomorrow,” you tell him, watching him pick up his phone and start scrolling through it.

“Good, 'cause tomorrow we’re having local vendors out and there will be more people here than normal. Especially because I’m going to be here as well. Looks like we might even be working together tomorrow, because I like to get to know my employees.” Jensen said, and all you could do was nod your head, wondering to yourself how in the hell you were going to survive it.

You didn’t understand it, because you had never experienced it, but there was something about this man. It struck a chord deep in your soul the moment he put his hand on yours. It dug itself in deep and made itself at home. There was no getting rid of it now, even though you didn’t know exactly what it was yet. Almost like an invisible cord that jumped out and tied yourself to him.

With only one touch he’d intoxicated your very spirit and nearly knocked you off your feet. No man alive had ever done that before, and you wondered what made this man so much different.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[cutiepasta-thewriter]

I'll Marry you

Peter x Harley oneshot

The silence of the room was deafening as everyone held their breath for Peter's reaction.

The bride's father had just announced that she wouldn't be coming and more importantly, didn't want to continue their relationship.

Everyone expected Peter to yell or cry but it didn't happen. In fact, he breathed a sigh in relief because he was going to object during the ceremony. He knew they were only marrying to please her parents who rushed them into this in the first place.

He was confident they could never work out the night of the Batchelor party. He went out to get some fresh air as everyone danced and drank. Harley when to get him because he was too drunk to be wondering outside. They were both drunk actually. They talked about how the wedding was a sham and how he couldn't do it and that turned to kiss and that turned into a night of...*ahem* passion.

They pretended that it didn't happen the next morning. They got dressed and got ready for the ceremony knowing that whatever they said or did that night would remain between them.

Peter pretended not to notice the pained expression in Harley's eyes.

Now that they were here, with no bride to be found. Peter was slightly agitated, sure he intended to break it off but at least he wanted it to be in person and being left at the alter isn't a good look.

The bride's family slowly got up to leave or apologize to Tony and May for their daughter's actions.

It was then that Peter looked over to his groomsmen and groomswoman(Shuri and Mj) and saw his best man on one knee. A chorus of gasps rang around the room as Harley spoke.

"Peter, will you marry me today?" The man asked holding Peter's hand. "I know it's sudden but we've been doing this dance for years. All that time that we pretended that we don't love each other and how many times did we say it just to take it back to keep others from noticing. Peter, I'm tired of pretending. Aren't you? So I'm telling you now that I love you more then her-more then anyone in the world and, I'm asking you to marry me. I know if don't have a ring but will this be enough?"

Everyone froze as silence filled the air again. All Peter could hear was his blood rushing past his ears. How many times did he lie to his girlfriend just to see Harley? How many times did he tell himself kissing wasn't cheating and this was normal? Why did he feel guilty whenever he saw the way Harley looked at him with those blue eyes as if he was the only thing that mattered? He felt unworthy of his attention but adored it to no end.

He in his now ex-fiance had only been together for a year and a half but Peter had pulled away from her a long time ago. It was hard to tell if he was courting her or Harley with the amount of time they spent together. It was no wonder her father demanded they get married soon to keep Peter from running off with Harley sooner.

Peter did what we should have done long ago.

"Yes, of course, I'll marry you!" Peter smiled, one he hadn't shown in a long time.

The bride's family stormed out of the church as everyone on Peter's half of the pews cheered.

Half an hour later everyone split into two groups on each half of the church. They were lucky that Harley's family was present already since they were already close to Peter and that they had the same friend group so the groomsmen and groomswoman didn't need to be changed. Peter found himself being walked down the aisle with his aunt may there to hold his hand. Tony was there too but mostly because he didn't know what side to sit on in the pews.

To think that Harley was about to not just be his best man but his only man for the rest of their lives was exhilarating, to say the least.

The ceremony was perfect as both grooms couldn't stop smiling and laughing at the altar and the thunderous applause of their family was deafening. Even Natasha shed a tear.

The reception was the biggest party of the year thanks to Tony Stark. Who did admit to not liking the bride but didn't want to say anything and thanked God that he didn't have to deal with her parents in the future. In fact, he was ecstatic his son and the kid like a son to him were married. Now he didn't have to split the assets or the company between them. Horray, political marriage!

Ta'challa was mildly bewildered by the result of the day's events. Were all American weddings like this or was he just lucky enough to see this. Was this why Shuri was so adamant about going, he thought she just really wanted to be with her friends.

Stephen, May, and Pepper hugged the boys close before, charging the stage to pull Tony down as he began his "I have to two sons now, eat shit Norman!" speech.

The night ended as the couple got in the car to get to the jet for their honeymoon in Italy. They first had to toss the bouquet that Mj ripped from the air and immediately pointed at Shuri as if to say "Your next"

All in all, it was the best night of their lives.

[wonderlandmind4]

The Winter Soldier: A Ghost Story- Chp5

Pairing: Winter Soldier x OFC

Summary: Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists. The ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He’s a ghost story. So why does he keep coming back?

Warnings: Mentions of blood, language. 

Important Note: This story is a lot darker than anything I have ever wrote with the themes in it. Please proceed with caution during those moments. Everything in this story is a connection. (translations not from google)

Words: 3.7k

March 19th, 2012 12:05am

An irritate huff breaks the chilly quiet of the night. The Soldier stumbles into a wall, leaning his weight on it as he presses his metal fingers roughly against his temple. That sharp pain zings through his head again as he rapidly blinks away the image of green eyes. Grinding his teeth, he clenches his fist slamming it into the concrete wall. It cracks under the weight of the metal, pieces of rubble sprinkling to the ground.

He has successfully completed the mission; one Hydra traitor down. The success does not change the obvious fact that the man had been waiting for the Soldier. The man was prepared and slightly quicker. Slightly. It was enough for that damn bullet to lodge in his shoulder.

Shaking his head roughly, the Soldier grips at his hair, the mask clutched between his fingers of his flesh hand. Why had he remembered the building that was no longer a rendezvous point? Why did he recognize the fifth-floor window? It was all a blur to him, images twisting in his brain in a chaotic whirl. The carousel of colors halts abruptly, landing on shades of green.

Enough of this. The Soldier gathers his bearings, grits his teeth and straightens up. He squeezes the hard material of the mask in his hand before he lifts it to his face. The moment the temple tip touches his skin, he pauses. He doesn’t feel the hard press of plastic. He doesn’t see the pitch-black road ahead of him. He doesn’t smell the wet pavement, the trees in the distance, nor the lingering metallic scent of blood.

The plastic of his mask fades into something softer, warmer. The press of textured cotton, of warm fingertips just grazing along bloodied skin. It’s something he can’t ever remember feeling.

Gentle?

The shades of green in his mind morphs into the shape of eyes. Eyes that stared at him wide with fear, yet with an underlying but a strange emotion he can’t recall ever seeing before.

Concern?

The smell of sharp sweat and copper blood fades into an aromatic scent of wildflowers, overtaken by the earthy tone of ripe grapes and spices. The Soldier doesn’t think he has smelled anything like it before. It wasn’t the dark drink that stained the floor, it wasn’t the sweat on his skin, the blood on his vest. It was something else entirely.

Sweet?

Her. It’s the woman he sees in his mind. The gentle touch of her dressings, the concern in her jade colored eyes, the sweetness lingering on her body. Who was she? Who is she? A former handler? A scientist? Doctor?

His head twitches. No. No handler has ever showed him what she had tonight. It was foreign, not proper protocol for the people who surrounded him before and after missions. She was different. She was afraid, yet threatening, if pathetically so.

He does remember the involuntary pull of his mouth when the woman held up a device; it was comical. Watching her try to defend herself with a piece of plastic. When she had gotten ahold of the knife he threw, brandishing his own weapon at him, he felt a spike of intrigue in his chest. She wasn’t stupid. She knew how to defend herself. It sparked a vaguely familiar tickle in his mind. The woman had only turned her back to him once, clearly knowing it wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

He recalls her clearly. Startled with his intrusion, frozen in a spout of terror, bare torso with the blue lace undergarment, on display. He had assessed her quickly when she entered the room after his eyes adjusted to the light. The woman wasn’t too thin, he could see that from the subtle toned muscles in her arms, when her legs shifted.

It has been too long since the Soldier had viewed a female openly like that. The curves of her body, the set in her jaw, the trembling of her fingers, the rise and fall of her breath expanding her cheat and lean stomach.

Her skin was marked, a map of freckles on his inner arm inked together to match a constellation. When she turned, her spine revealed scripted words along the length, and a sketched small bird on her left shoulder. A little dove. It was the sickly display of discoloration on the right set of her ribs that did not match the permanent ink. A mark stating injury, a reminder of pain, hurt. The sight made his chest tighten, made something hot curl in his gut.

The Soldier replaces his mask, fastening the rubber ends behind his head. The mission is finished, the incident in the once vacant building, over. He continues, heading toward the area he hid his motorcycle at. Once he finds it, tearing off the dry brush he used to disguise it, he mounts the seat, kicking the stand back.

A distorted image abruptly flashes through the forefront of his mind. His body goes rigid as the pictures piece itself together. A black cat with a scarred leg. A man attacking a woman, the man shoving the woman, the woman’s right side connecting with unforgiving granite.

Track and report mission. It was during that night where he viewed the disturbance from across the way. The Soldier makes the connection; the woman from that night and the woman cleaning his wounds are the same. He recognized that fifth floor window. He remembered.

He winces as the throbbing pain makes itself know in his temples. The imaged fades almost as quickly as it came. His breath escapes in short pants as he gathers himself once more.

“What the hell,” He grumbles, rubbing his hand across his forehead.

With the movement he’s reminded of his wound burning in his shoulder. The wrappings. The dressings around his shoulder the gentle woman provided him. He quickly unfastens the vest, finds the material, ripping it off with one tugging jerk. He disposes of the stained gauze and tape on the side of the road, kicking as much dirt as he can on it. They cannot find the wrappings of his wound, it would raise suspicions. They might come looking for the kind woman who helped the Soldier. He briefly touches his left hand to the bullet hole.

Starting the engine of the bike with more strength than it requires, the Soldier shakes his head once more. Simultaneously, he wants to rid the images yet hold onto the gentle caress of the woman’s touch just a little longer. He doesn’t recall ever having kindness shown to him. He is the Soldier, their Asset.

He drives back to the base. The ever-growing dread of what awaits him settles in his chest. No kindness for the Soldier.

*

“Sometimes I wonder why we even use it.”

“The job gets done, shapes the course for the next path. Who cares if the Asset is injured in the process?”

“What’s the next mission?”

“The Congressman. It’s been a week since the last recon.”

“And the boss? What are his orders?”

“The Asset has only been out of Cryo for several hours. The absolute longest without a wipe is eight days before the memories begin to leak through. Unless it’s mission critical, the boss doesn’t allow for missions longer than a week.”

“This plan with the Congressman could go on for weeks on end. How is it-“

“The set up has already begun behind the scenes. That reporter wasn’t placed there by accident.”

“Ahh, feed the sleeping monster, so to speak.”

“Exactly.”

The voice pass by the room, however the next set of footsteps grow closer. Bernstein hears them coming, hurriedly replacing the wires and closing out the coding box on the computer screen. He turns in his chair just in time to see the door open, the Soldier entering with two armed guards behind him.

“Agent Bernstein prep him but wait on the wipe. The dog got itself injured,” A dark mocking chuckle escapes the burly Handler stepping into the room. “The doctor is on his way.”

He jumps into action, knowing better to follow orders quickly than to linger. He waits for the Soldier to settle in the seat, his dark hair obstructing the right side of his face. Since the doctors aren’t present in the room, it’s his job to place the small Electroencephalogram pads against the man’s temples to monitor recent brain activity. He moves to do just take, cautiously pushing aside the Soldier’s hair.

Agent Bernstein pauses. There’s a five-inch cut breaking the skin on the man’s forehead, a trickle of blood has dried on his skin. It’s not the discovery of the cut itself that made Bernstein stop short. It’s the two strips of butterfly band-aids holding the cut together that do.

He hasn’t been a part of Hydra for long, but he’s positive the Soldier has never returned with bandages place neatly and carefully over his cuts. Bernstein swallows thickly, coming to a quick realization. Someone spotted the Soldier. Someone found him, someone had the nerves of steel to get close enough to take care of the cut.

Upon a closer look at the Soldier’s bare torso, a small gaping bullet hole displays itself on his shoulder. This too, looks like it’s been cleaned, no recent streams of blood, or even dried flakes. He swears the tiny gray markings over his shoulder are from the residue of medical tape.

Without even thinking about it, Bernstein hurriedly removes the strips from the Soldier’s forehead, wincing slightly as the movement tugs the cut back open. Steely blue, murderous eyes snap to his face before they drop to see the strips Bernstein holds between his fingers.

His heart races in fear, thinking the man will lash out, grab him by the neck and throw him across the room like he’s seen before. Instead, the Soldier reacts queerly. His jaw shifts, his eyes close briefly, his nostrils flaring.

All signs the Agent takes as the Soldier forgetting about the strips. He shoves the band-aids inside his lab coat pocket as the Soldier eyes land on him once more. The menacing stare is back, a silent threat. Bernstein remains quiet, finally placing the pads against each temple.

That’s when the doctor’s step in, and Bernstein steps back, turning towards the computers. His mind is racing as he brings up the tampered system, pondering who in their right mind would take pity on the poor man in the chair, and dress his wounds. How did they even meet in the first place? Before or after the confirmed murder of a former agent?

Whoever it may be, the optimistic part of Bernstein’s brain hopes this person will continue to help the Soldier. Maybe, just maybe, they can save this controlled, tortured man’s soul.

With that in mind, he turns on the machine with the go ahead, praying that his secret, risky decoding of the system will work.

*

The night stretches on, minutes pass by as Ophelia stands frozen in her room. Silence fills her ears, listening to any little noise she might pick up. She has been staring at the window for god knows how long now, utterly and completely bewildered, now that her adrenaline has worn off and her “good Samaritan” trait is over.

There was a stranger in her home. A dangerous, threatening stranger, who broke into her apartment and decided to bleed out in her bathtub. He could have easily thrown that knife through her chest, could have easily killed her and no one would know until Monday. He had plenty of opportunity to harm her, given how close and vulnerable she had made herself.

She had been shirtless; bra and bruises on display. For some reason, that’s the thought that snaps Ophelia out of her shell-shocked brain. She shoves her fingers through her hair, her body still trembling slightly.

No, that strange man dressed in black with that weird muzzle mask did not kill her, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to continue standing there waiting for him to double back. Ophelia quickly locks the latch of the window, then moves to grab her duffel bag from her closet. She stuffs in the first pair of leggings and t-shirt she can find, grabs her phone charger before realizing she clearly doesn’t need it, then heads to the bathroom.

There she stops dead once more, the wide streak and splattered bits of blood vividly standing out against the white porcelain of the tub. It’s a morbid kind of display, one she doesn’t want to focus on too much. Forcing herself to move again, she turns on the shower, hoping most of the spray will wash away the evidence.

Evidence. Shit! What if that man committed a crime and she just- no. No. She’s not going to think about it. She just needs to get out of her home, since it no longer feels safe. Not with her ex finding her, and then this crazy incident.

Ophelia grabs what she needs, shoving it into the bag. She turns off the water after adjusting the spray to rinse all the blood away. She figures she’ll just deep clean tomorrow, given that she doesn’t want to sleep here tonight.

Finally, she grabs Binks, who mewls in protest, storms through her living room to grab her purse and keys and heads out the door. She locks it, a nagging voice in the back of her telling her it’s useless to do so anyway.

Her cat squirms in her arm as she hurriedly runs down the five flights of stairs. Forgetting all about how exhausted she was just an hour ago, she makes it to her car parked just several feet away. Binks nearly scratches her as she dumps him in the passenger seat, clearly distress by her actions.

Ophelia drives for five minutes before she even realizes she doesn’t know where she’s going. She can’t drive to her sister’s, given that Saige is an overnight in-house nurse. She doesn’t want to worry or stress her father out this late at night. Then it clicks. She knows who to go to.

She’s not completely rude, has enough awareness to find a payphone and call before she arrives. She’s given consent, and Ophelia parks her car in the driveway of the small suburban home. She takes her bag, and Binks, glaring annoyingly at her, and runs up to the door. She knocks five times.

The door opens to reveal Carter’s concerned face, his shoulders shagging when he sees her. He quickly lets her in, opening his mouth to ask.

“Bathroom?” Ophelia asks before he can say anything. “Binks’ is stressed enough.”

“Cat room, remember?” Carter reminds her kindly, pointing down the hall. “Sweeney is in there, but they like each other.”

She nods, scratching behind her cat’s ears to calm him.

Once she returns, Ophelia collapses on the couch. She remains still for just a moment, before she shoots back up, pacing. She can feel Carter’s eyes on her, his worry palpable. His husband suddenly comes out of the kitchen, a steaming mug in his hand and passes it to Ophelia.

“Thanks, Jeremy,” She mumbles, halting her steps. The warmth of the mug helps relax her. “I’m so sorry to barge like this on you guys.”

“Please, Fawkes,” Carter scoffs, “You aren’t a burden.”

“I just-“ She sighs, bringing the mug of tea closer to her, inhaling the scent. “I don’t want to stay at my place tonight.”

It’s not that she’s scared per say, more like she doesn’t know who else could just break in. Maybe the man with the weapons and muzzle and those piercing blue eyes will return. She mentally shakes her head. She can’t seem to get the man’s eyes out of her mind. They were the least dangerous thing about him.

“Is this…” Jeremy speaks up quietly, “about Isaac?”

Ophelia, about to take a sip from the tea, freezes. “What?”

“About his release?”

Fear clenches her heart, and she absolutely hates that her body still reacts like that. Slowly, she carefully lowers the mug, placing it on the coffee table. Her ribs throb at her side, bringing her hand up to holding them.

“What?” Her voice sounds breathless in her ears. “He-he’s out of jail?”

“This evening,” Carter answers cautiously, meeting his husband’s eyes briefly. “Jere saw him leaving the courthouse after work.”

Ophelia stares absently at the wall behind them. Her skin prickles hotly, her blood beginning to rush in her ears. She doesn’t understand how, why. The police filed it as domestic violence with a deadly weapon, as Ophelia defending herself from her crazy ex. They promised her she didn’t have to testify, and he would be processed and locked up for good. What a bunch of bullshit.

“Hey, honey, why don’t you sit down,” Carter gentle coaxes. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” Is her autopilot response. When she shakes herself back, she’s now on the couch. “Really, Carter. I’m fine, thank you. I just, was caught off guard. I-“

Ophelia pauses. They’re going to ask questions if it wasn’t Isaac she was running from, then who? Right. She can’t drag them into the events of what happened tonight.

“I didn’t want to believe it, but yes,” She lies smoothly, leaning forward to grab the mug once more. She takes a long drink, the tea still warm enough to slight sting her throat. “Um, you if you both don’t mind, I’m exhausted.”

“Oh course! How rude of us,” Jeremy chirps, slightly smacking Carter on the arm. “The guest room is ready for you. Sleep in as long as you’d like tomorrow.”

She nods as Jeremy hurries away, muttering about doubling checking the towels in the bathroom. Carter moves next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. It clicks then, that she never told him what happened a week ago. She winces at the realization that she didn’t hide it as well as she thought.

“How did you know?” Ophelia whispers, gripping the mug.

Carter exhales slowly. “Lipstick can’t hide a cut, sweetheart.”

Fantastic. Maybe her expertise of covering up those marks has gotten rusty. Isn’t that a fucked up thing to be annoyed by.

“Ophelia, get out of your head,” Her friend coaxes firmly. “He’s not going to hurt you anymore. We won’t let that happened. Didn’t you file a restraining order?”

“That doesn’t do anything to stop anyone, Carter,” She responds. She shakes her, considering his words. He’s right. She shouldn’t be in her head, and Isaac will not get near her. She hopes, bitterly.

Abruptly, Ophelia smiles at him. “But you’re right. He won’t get near me. Let’s just drop it.” She stands, taking one last sip of the tea, thankful of its calming effect. “I’m just going to sleep now.”

“Yeah,” Carter says with a frown, taking the mug when she hands it to him.

“Thank you again, Carter. I really appreciate this.”

Then she leans over to give him a brief hug. He returns the favor. She’s halfway to the hall when he stops her.

“Why did you call from a payphone?” He inquires curiously.

Ophelia can’t stop her spine from going rigid. Flashes of those blue eyes, vacant and curious, of the red staining the tub, of the knife shattering her phone, zing through her mind. She turns, nonchalantly waving her hand.

“Dropped it from the fire escape. Landed face down and shattered. Completely ruined,” She smile, as if it’s no big deal.

“Klutz,” Carter chuckles.

Ophelia nods, bids goodnight, then collects Binks to go into the guest room.

*

Sleeping in did not happen for Ophelia. In fact, sleeping didn’t really happen at all. She could barely close her eyes, and when she did, she didn’t see the knife or guns that mysterious man had. Instead, she saw the familiar fist of her ex, saw the rage in his eyes, the snarl on his lips.

The one time she did drift off, she dreamt of blood-stained fingers, gleaming metal, a plastic muzzle. In her dream, nightmare, she had been staring at herself in the mirror of her bathroom, that black muzzle over her own face. She tried to rip it off, screaming behind it to get it off. She had looked back at the mirror and standing behind her was the man with the blue eyes.

The color resembles more like frosted ice in her dream, as they stared back at her. Slowly, the expression in his eyes turned dark, before his metal arm shot out. Just as he was about to grab her neck, Ophelia woke with a start, sweating damping her hair.

She opted to turn on the TV instead, Binks snoozing with his paws up in the air next to her. She finds an old comedic movie, watching it until she drifts off to sleep once more towards the end.

March 19th, 2012 8:45am

When Ophelia wakes up, it’s with the groggy sense of her not sleeping well, despite the two hours she did get. She forces herself up, carful not to disturb her sleeping cat, and takes a shower. The hot water stings her skin, but she stares at the floor, wondering if she had rinsed all the blood off her own.

A delicious smell of varies breakfast foods greets her as she entered the kitchen. Bacon, French toast, eggs, fruits and muffins are all sitting on the table in the dining room. A full pot of coffee is already brewed, and there’s syrup, whipped cream and powdered sugar on the table as well.

“Christ,” Ophelia says as a greeting, “is this what you wake up to everyday, Hines? If so, I’m moving in.”

Carter bristles happily, unwrapping himself from Jeremy’s back as his husband continues to cook. He grabs the pot of coffee, filling up the three mugs set aside.

“Most days,” Carter beams. “He is a chef after all.”

“Gotta come here more often,” She mumbles, gratefully taking the mug he slides over. She takes a seat at the table. “Jeremy, you didn’t have to do this.”

“First of all, missy, I thought you were sleeping in,” He responds. “Second, the perfect was to distress is a hearty breakfast.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” She shrugs, spooning on eggs, bacon and toast onto her plate. “No, it wasn’t the bed. I just couldn’t seem to is all.”

She misses the shared look the men give each other. She bites into the French toast, moaning dramatically. “Jeremy, will you marry me?”

“Of course, darling.”

“Both of you get out,” Carter mockingly pouts. “Too early for this.”

For the next hour, Ophelia forgets why she’s there in the first place. The mysterious man with the captivating eyes, silenced behind a mask.

***********************************************

Previous  Chapter six: coming soon

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[secondstartotheright-imagines]

Childish Fun.

Request from @emma-hook-ouat: Going swimming with Killian AU. I really want it to be cute and love so water fights, slashing, surprise kisses, ect.

Note: Hope this is okay! Never done an AU before so I’m a little unsure as to how well it went!

Killian Jones x Reader (College AU)

Words: 1,309

Disclaimer: None of the GIFs used are mine so all credit goes to their wonderful creators <3

You should never go swimming with a certain Killian Jones; not only was he one of the best swimmers in college but he was also your boyfriend….which meant that half the time his red-blooded male ways got the better of him and stopped any kind of swimming from taking place when his hands went wandering. Yet here you were in the pool with him for the third morning that week

No one else was around at such an ungodly hour of the morning, not even the sun had made an appearance yet, but you both found that this was the best time to come here as it meant you had the whole pool to yourself….just in case Killian pulled his usual tricks.

“Looks like you’re losing your touch there Killian!”

As you continued to swim at a fast pace you risked looking over your shoulder at him to send the snarky remark in his direction….big mistake. Although he was a good few paces behind you he had a very good way of managing to propel water with his hand at a ridiculously vast distance and before you could turn back round you found yourself receiving a whole load of it in your face as his deep laugh bellowed out.

The water invaded your mouth at such a rate that you were spluttering instantly as your oh-so-nice boyfriend used your current plight to his advantage and sped past you until he reached the wall of the pool and, ultimately, won the little race you’d be having.

“Ch-cheating means….” You coughed up the last bit of water before sending a scowl in his direction as you tread in the water. “…th-that you are disqualified. Therefore, I totally win by default.”

“Oh come on love! You know I would have won even if I hadn’t pulled off that stunt.”

Damn that sweet British accent of his. Yet another reason why he could get away with murder when it came to you; he was the only foreign student here so of course all the girls wanted his attention but somehow you had managed to gain it and you had never lost it since. Much to their bemusement and jealousy. Each one of them had tried to rip him away from you, flaunt their incredible assets at him, but those sharp blue eyes of his were only ever fixed on you.

“Okay you seriously need to lower the ego a little there Captain Pretty Boy otherwise your head isn’t going to fit out of the exit doors.”

He dramatically threw the hand that wasn’t clutching onto the pool side onto his chest as though you had just shot him with an invisible bullet, his mouth agape in a feigned look of shock, before the corner of his lips tugged up into a rather devilish smirk.

“You call it an ego whereas I call it British charm.”

He pushed himself up off the wall and started to swim towards where you had remained after his attack. You weren’t entirely sure what he was planning on doing now but the uncertainty didn’t stop you from moving yourself to meet with him. Once he was just a few inches away from you he lowered his head fully under the water as his hand snaked around yours and pulled you under along with him. Luckily you saw it coming just in time to take in a breath of air before your vision became blurry and water rushed into your ears. You were only underneath the surface of the pool for mere seconds when you felt his lips crushing up against yours.

Whenever your lips met it felt magical, like he managed to ignite a whole load of fireworks inside of you, but there was something about doing it underwater that was…..out of this world. You could hear nothing of your surroundings, there could have been a party going on and you would have known no different, and it was so serene around you it felt like a dream.

Your heart pounded inside of your chest as he pushed his body flush up against yours, something he noticed right away and you could feel his smirk growing as the kiss continued. He knew exactly what to do to get a reaction out of you.

Then the need for air started to hit your lungs and before the feeling became too intense you brought yourselves up to break back through the surface. Small audible gasps escaped you as you remained close to another, the smirk still very clear on his face as his hands snaked around your body.

“You are a bad influence Killian Jones. I shouldn’t give into you all the time.”

“Aye, that I am love, but you know that’s what you admire about me.”

“Come here gorgeous.”

A mischievous look ignited within your eye as the corner of your lips tugged up into a smirk. You raised a hand out of the water, using a single finger to beckon him over to you as you swam away from him, which he didn’t hesitate in doing…and why would he? He probably assumed that you simply wanted to have those delicious lips of his on yours again, that was the downside of having an ego the size of his….you didn’t stop to think that someone may have been tricking you. He was so convinced that he knew what you wanted that before he had even got within arm’s reach of you his eyes were closed and his lips were puckered up.

Oh you were going to enjoy this so much.

As quietly as you could you slipped yourself under the water and reached your hands out towards the swimming shorts he had on. If you were going to do this then you needed to do it quickly otherwise you weren’t going to get very far. In one swift movement you pulled down on the fabric until the shorts were off him completely and then you propelled yourself to the surface. It was a good job you had been moving away from him as he closed his eyes because it meant that you were close enough to the pool wall to climb out almost as soon as his eyes snapped open in horror.

“[y/n], love, you better get back in this pool with those shorts of mine…..”

“Or what huh?” You’re going to chase me around campus naked?”

For a moment or two it actually looked like he was considering doing just that but he must have lost his nerve because instead of climbing out of the pool he continued to swim alongside you as you walked the length of it. Hoping to charm his way out of this.

“I know you want to see me naked beautiful but you only needed to ask, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

He threw a playful wink in your direction but you were having none of it, in fact his cockiness only spurred you on more as you made a beeline straight for the changing room doors – just in time to hear a group of students beginning to make their way into the pool area.

“Can you hear that? Looks like we are just in time for the first swimming class of the day!” Your shit-eating grin stretched from ear to ear as you dangled his shorts precariously off the tips of your fingers before flinging them on top of the bleachers. “Guess you better get up there pretty quick hot stuff. Have fun!”

Mirroring his cockiness from just moments ago you threw a wink in his direction before leaving the pool area completely. A flustered Killian quickly jumping up out of the pool.

You would be in for it later, that much you knew, but it was so worth it to see the look of horror on his face!

Permanent tag list: @fallenfairy16 @brieflybigwonderland@gayvvarden @sammysgirl1997

[confessionsofalionholic]

SB/GB Ranting

Lmfaooo XD Ah. Okay. First of all. I noted what I personally pay and value GB at. That was 1kSB. If you payed attention, I said a fair price "is closer to 1,200-1,400SB". Which is not at all an opinion of mine. That is a community concluded statistic. Nice try though. And on the note of opinion, your entire response is one. Treated as fact, no less. Let's list some of those and get educated, shall we? Since that's your goal towards me.

1) "In order to give you a GB for the price you think is fair, the GB seller is losing money. You should be thankful they acted charitable towards you and your undervaluing of their asset, or that they didn’t educate themselves properly and got taken advantage of."

Not at all. The only way a player is guaranteed to be "losing" money is if they purchased GB with a higher SB price than what they are selling for. Given the fluctuating prices and all, they very well could also be selling for close to 2k a piece as well. If that's the case, they're actually averaging out to the 1.2/1.4 number. That's not a loss (nor a gain). Now if they did CHOOSE to sell to me for a LESSER price than they ORIGINALLY purchased for, that's again their CHOICE. They, themselves, made a very conscious decision to sell to me for that price. Not only that, but THEY had to seek out my public trade open for anyone to accept or scroll right on past. So...acting like there's some sort of wrongdoing here...why? Like who's being taken advantage of? Because even if said person was uneducated, they can see right there in the TC, among MANY other trades, what higher values they might be able to get for their GB. You'd have to be taking my word for this, but the player(s) who buys out my trade generally isn't a newbie so they're fully aware of what they're doing. And if they felt cheated or disgusted by my trade, they wouldn't even click that button. And if it was such a greedy grab, it wouldn't BE bought out within a matter of days of me creating it. It would sit and rot if it was considered so unjustifiably unfair T.T

2) "And your downtalking of people who want to get as much SB out of their GB...You just reverse the role from them being the greedy one to you being a selfish cheap ass. ...get the most out of your assets to play this game so don’t try to act superior.  If you are too good to have a dying need for pixelated computer generated image then save some more SB."

*sigh* This is all incredibly biased with an obvious direction in the matter of you being one of the people milking GB costs as much as you can possibly manage. I, however, am noting my personal actions versus what actually is statistically going on within the community and factually proven. You're just driving insults at me because I happened to call out how it's very possible to get GB still at the 1k rate that was much more common a year or so ago. And upset about my call out on the realities of what this made up currency is even for/doing and how much it actually does rule your life that you gotta get so worked up over someone handing out a reality check instead of your golden beetles. I have no real NEED for either SB nor GB. I just happen to earn them with regular game functions and because I don't spend it, it DOES get saved up, technically. And..then I set up a trade with like 4k SB and put a BO of 4GB. And...it gets bought. Like.. Sorry? Well. No. Lol. I can't even pretend to be. I've done nothing wrong and am taking advantage of no one. And I don't apologize for being among the small percentage of people left that are okay with the value of GB between myself and that other person (who has their own right to value as they wish, mind you) being at the low cost of 1kSB.

I never even used the word greedy in my original post nor downtalked people for selling that high. Because yeah, the truth is, we're both going about our own ways of getting the most out of our assets. The difference between myself and some of those people is though, what you called to be superiority and being "too good", the fact that I don't take this shit to heart nor try to manipulate situations for a "quick" and "easy" gain. And it's INSANELY hypocritical to bitch about people taking advantage of lower rates while literally hyping up a way to take advantage of higher rates. **It lowkey annoys me when people think they're entitled to that much because the market price is at a high point now, and I won't satisfy the people who are whining about it.**

3) "But what, you’re too impatient to save more right? So let the GB seller take the loss."

Not at all. As previously stated, I have no real NEED for GB/SB. I've been looking to leave this game for a long time now. It's just difficult to get my items sold for a little more than next to nothing because my items DO have value. Though I'm sure you'd like to be quick to tell me to give it all away to solve my problems. So..then your concern isn't really about the economy and financial gains or what's fair, is it? Again, just mad because I get my GB cheap while you sell expensively :) And yeah, let the GB seller take the loss. If they choose to, they can. No one should be telling them otherwise. If they're truly a charitable person though, that would actually mean they are making a gain. Since you're defining it as getting nothing, then getting nothing for their GB would be giving it away for free. At least with my purchase, they're making a thousand more SB per GB sold to me :) Doesn't really sound all that bad to me.

But anywho. I've said all I've needed to about the matter. There's nothing left to say about an intangible piece of code that has superficial fluctuating value. Feel how and do whatever you want. It bothers me none. Again, I was just here to say that some of us are still working with the 1/1.2kSB value for a GB quite happily. Keeping it to myself, mind you, unlike the shitty people who openly truly take advantage of uneducated or charitable people buy things cheap and flipping it. Makes me wonder if you're one of them to be honest ;D But that's another matter, eh? Not one you'd probably care to discuss so long as people aren't changing the value of the GB saved by ripping THEM off.

--Selfish Cheap Ass

[attendantdesign-blog]

New Post has been published on Attendantdesign

New Post has been published on http://attendantdesign.com/consumer-complaints-on-bad-internet-service-will-be-heard/

Consumer complaints on bad internet service will be heard

Slow and unreliable internet service inside the united states of America has often been the issue of ridicule or even a few memes. However, Department of Information and Communications Generation Secretary Rodolfo Salalima is seeking to change the scenario for the better.

In a press briefing for the imminent Philippine Telecoms Summit 2017, Salalima expressed that the upcoming summit will be a “no holds barred” convention. He hopes that, what he believes to be the three predominant worries of purchasers (internet space, affordability, coverage), will all be brazenly discussed. Salinas expresses that during the summit, even clients will be capable of enhancing critiques to the modern-day device. They will additionally be heard need to they be presenting feasible solutions.

“I need the problems and challenges all out in the course of the Summit, due to the fact if now not, we will no longer recognize a way to discover an answer,” Salalima stated. The Philippine Telecoms Summit 2017 could be hung on March nine and 10 on the Philippines International Conference Middle Forum. Updates on the occasion may be observed on the DICT Fb webpage, Twitter account and legit website online. In spite of current reviews of cell net having progressed, the majority of clients nonetheless locate it hard to find satisfaction within the service that telcos are imparting. The summit is anticipated to help boost the overall internet satisfactory in the united states of America

Realize And Use Your Client Rights

A Client is a quintessential part of the market in nowadays’s time. In truth, without consumers, the market is not anything. But still, clients are served with the aid of a large variety complaints of low great goods and services internet through suspicious manufacturers or corporations for making an increasing number of black money.

In different words, purchasers are being exploited by using unreliable producers just due to their illiteracy. some customers don’t even recognize the Purchaser rights. So one can guard the right of Customer, authorities enacted a law known as Customer Protection Act in the 12 months of 1986 that gives 6 basic rights to the consumers. Most of these rights are created For you to provide worthy services and products to the consumers.

There are following Client rights:

1. proper to Protection:

As in step with this proper, the clients get the proper to be protected against the buying of products and facilities which are risky to live as well as belongings. This right plays a vital function With a purpose to safe and secures the lifestyles of consumers. This right involves situation for the Purchaser’s lengthy-time period interest and their modern-day desires.

Maximum of the instances, the manufacturing defects of awesome products, as an instance, stress cookers, gas cylinders, iron, geyser, grinder-mixer, toaster, and other electrical home equipment may also reason damage to the life, fitness, and assets of the harmless clients. This proper to Safety protects the customers from the sale of such unhappy and occasional satisfactory products as well as services.

2. right to Data:

As consistent with the proper to Records, the clients have the proper to get Records regarding the purity, charge, fine, amount and preferred of goods or services If you want to shield themselves in opposition to the abusive and unfair practices of cheating owners. In keeping with this right, manufacturer or proprietor must deliver proper and relevant Records to the purchasers concerning the products.

3. proper to Select:

As per right to Select, each and every customer has the proper to Select the products or services In line with their desire and requirement. The proper to Choose is absolutely a warranty of capability, availability and get right of entry to a diffusion of services and products at the reasonable rate or honest fee. The producer or proprietor or provider or store can not pressure the Purchaser to purchase a specific emblem only. The Purchaser can freely Choose the highest pleasant and Most appropriate product as consistent with their interest and budget.

4. proper to be Heard or proper to Representation:

the right to be heard or proper to Illustration permits a Patron to symbolize them in front of absolutely everyone. In different words, clients can complain in opposition to a cheating producer, owner, corporation, brand, and so forth. And a Patron grievance redressal Forum has to don’t forget their hassle under this proper.

5. right to Are looking for Redressal:

below proper to Are trying to find Redressal, the Client has the right to Are seeking for redressal or get repayment in opposition to unfair exchange practices of a suspicious producer. This right assures justice to Purchaser against unwell-remedy. The proper to Redressal consists of reimbursement in the form of cash or alternative of products as consistent with the pride and requirement of the Client.

6. proper to Consumer Training:

As according to the proper to Client Education, Customer acquires the knowledge about Patron rights. An informed consumer is aware of the significance and right use in their rights. In reality, they are able to take motion in opposition to any person because of which they’re being cheated.

Eventually, I want to say that a huge variety of purchasers are educated, However, there may be no scarcity of illiterate customers, who don’t have expertise approximately the rights of purchasers. Illiteracy is the primary purpose of their exploitation through many dishonest stores. Now, they want now not to be involved approximately it anymore as there are heaps of actual online Purchaser Forum to be had for 24×7 To be able to lead them to aware about Consumer rights.

Purchasers can effortlessly entire the manner of Patron Forum online grievance registration by means of following smooth steps and get the fine and most excellent resolution corresponding to their troubles within the least time.

The author of this newsletter is Seema Rawat. She is a huge fan of reading and writing for the reason that formative year. She is a content creator and has written myriad articles, blogs, and pages on wonderful subjects. Top five Cleansing Lawsuits and how to Clear up Them

Do you ever pick out up the smartphone most effective to locate an irritated patron on the other cease? Possibly a trash can did not get emptied the night time earlier than, or the dusting is not up to par. patron Proceedings are inevitable for a Cleaning enterprise, However, there is a range off of things that you could do to minimize the frequency. Here are a number of the not unusual Proceedings obtained by industrial Cleansing corporations and recommendations on the way to Solve the problem.

1. Elements Empty. If roll towels are being used, you could update smaller rolls of 350′ with rolls of 800′ with stub roll get right of entry to. Maximum 350′ roll dispensers will deal with 800′ rolls without changing the modern dispenser. The identical may be true for Middle-pull towels. If the usage of a smaller roll, replace with a larger roll. When you have to update dispensers, achieve this. It is a small price to pay With a view to holding the client glad.

If changing dispensers isn’t an alternative, make certain your employees are properly skilled on how to inventory dispensers. Whilst stocking hand towel dispensers (multi-fold, unmarried-fold, c-fold towels), teach employees to fill the dispensers -thirds full. Filling dispensers to the brim put quite a few weight on the bottom towels, inflicting them to rip apart While pulling them out. If the dispenser tends to expire you can both put in a 2d dispenser or go away a stack on the counter.

In case you run out of toilet paper you can leave an extra roll at the returned of the toilet or exchange the dispenser to a twin roll or jumbo roll dispensers.

2. Grimy Restrooms. Restroom schooling packages that lay out every step for Cleaning a restroom is vital. With such a lot of steps, it could be easy for a new employee to overlook an important procedure this is probably to motive a grievance. One way to make it less complicated for employees is to give them shade-coded microfiber cloths. as an instance, blue clothes for Cleaning mirrors and polished chrome steel, pink clothes for bathrooms and urinals, and yellow clothes for countertops, sinks, dispensers, walls, and partitions.

One not unusual restroom complaint has not anything to do Cleaning processes, However, should be sorted via the janitorial group of workers. Many times odors come from the floor drain as it has dried out. In reality pouring water down the drain on a weekly basis can do away with the odors.

3. Insufficient dusting is a totally common criticism. If employees rush through their work to get the job done, dusting has a tendency to be the undertaking that receives neglected first as it’s a good deal much less considerable than no longer emptying a trash can, for example.

The most effective tool to use for dusting is a microfiber fabric. Microfiber cloths choose up the dust in place of transferring it round or making it airborne, like feather dusters, which means that the dirt might not re-settle onto surfaces. Use a green microfiber fabric for dusting. Make certain to factor out usually neglected regions to personnel – build-up around calculators, stacking baskets, photos, sides of desks, and chair legs. Ensure supervisors pay special attention to those areas Whilst on foot through the building.

4. Trash no longer Emptied. Whilst training new employees, point out hidden trash cans. There must continually be a selected direction to observe so a trash can isn’t always inadvertently ignored. Commonly employees have to move counter-clockwise around the room, zig-zagging backward and forward down aisles and thru the hallways. An awesome way to double test the work is to check the cans at the same time as vacuuming to make certain they’ve been emptied.

5. Loss of Vacuuming. teach employees to transport through the workplace counter-clockwise to ensure all areas are vacuumed. Mats should be vacuumed, and then rolled up so the place underneath may be vacuumed.

Cleansing personnel ought to be the use of the ideal vacuum for the job. for instance, if a wide music vacuum cleaner is being used to hoover tight regions like under desks, then It is likely that bits of paper and paper clips are going to be neglected. The right vacuum should be used for the gap it truly is being vacuumed. For huge, open regions use huge track vacuums. lower back percent vacuums are notable for ordinary workplace vacuuming and element work.

Constant schooling of all employees the usage of particular education applications is of key importance On the way to avoid customer Proceedings. When employees use the same approaches each day, they’re a good deal much less probable to make mistakes. It is also critical to do observe-up education. This could make sure that all personnel are the use of the right Cleansing system for the vicinity and are reminded of the proper step-by-step procedures to apply.