#I’m like seriously flip flopping right now when ten years ago I wasn’t swayed at ALL

[startwithforever]

currently rewatching new moon for the hundredth time and honestly? jacob was so good to bella. he was literally the only person who could pull her out of her depression. when he walks into the house at the end to check if she’s ok and she says “i thought you couldn’t protect me here” and he says “i guess i don’t care (about breaking the treaty just to make sure you’re safe)” LIKE???!!!!!! i LIVE for that shit!!

and it actually hurts to see how quick bella is to disregard/dispose of him once she realises edward may still be in the picture. when Jacob leans in to kiss her I’m yelling “Just kiss him!!!!!” like they could be so soft and warm with each other if she just moved on 😭

but then once the screen cuts to edward in rome, and the beautiful dramatic music reminds me that he’s always going to be the one, I’m like “yeah I’ve always been team Edward”

but just. new moon makes me turn to the other side. the possibility of Bella being a wolf girl entices me. the idea of her bonding with emily????? and leah??? GIVE. It. To. Me!!!!!! like the relationship she has w Emmett she could have with the wolf pack. they could be such a family

… but THEN. Bella and edwards reunion in Volterra ruins me. when edward says “i had to lie and u believed me so easily” (about not loving her) UGHHHHHH “you’re everything to me”?!?!?! their entire conversation once they move past the miscommunication????? I’m a wreck right now

[glitchinthesystemspiderbyte]

[49] Glitch in the System - Fight Club

By E.

Dirty fighting happens.

“It is time to go,” Widow said, hands on her hips as she stood in Sombra’s doorway with an impatient look edging her features. She was dressed to kill - literally - in loose sweats and carrying a bag of sparring pads over her shoulder. Somehow she managed to make pre-workout look good. She made everything look good.

It was a trap and Sombra knew it.

“Busy now,” she replied, resolutely not looking back at her. She was sitting at her desk for once viewing something on her screen, its importance questionable, but she’d have read through a binary translation of one of Widow’s old French tomes if it made her look too busy for sparring. “Maybe next time.”

“You cannot continue skipping training,” Widowmaker sighed, dropping the bag at her side. It hit with a louder thump than usual, and Sombra wondered if today was training with weapons or if the woman was just extra vexed at her refusal. “When is the last time you went?”

Sombra shrugged, making a show of thinking about it. Three months ago. “Last month?” she said instead.

“Non, not as I recall. And anyway,” Widow continued, lips pursed in disapproval, “more is better than less. It is important we stay sharp.”

“I’m not an assassin, cielito,” Sombra replied dramatically, swinging around on her chair so she was looking through her hard light screen at the other woman. The light distorted her face, and she wiggled around until Widowmaker’s eyes were side by side and her nose had disappeared in the refraction. She grinned stupidly, her expression wicking away every ounce of professionalism in her words. “I’m an information analyst.”

“An information analyst who carries a gun and has a body count,” was Widow’s unphased, stern response, which Sombra had a hard time taking seriously while the sniper had no nose.

“Part of the job,” Sombra replied offhandedly. “Sometimes you look at computers - doesn’t mean you need to practice hacking them.”

“The instances in which I need to ‘look at computers’ are far fewer than the times in which you need to engage in acts of violence.” Widow wasn’t budging on the topic. Sombra wasn’t surprised. She shifted her screens so Widow’s nose returned, but her left ear vanished and her forehead was inhumanly pointy.

“That’s why I keep you around,” she said, smiling sweetly through the flickering purple screen. “Get you to do my dirty work.”

“Your dirty work,” Widow repeated, the note of incredulity in her voice enhanced by the arch of her left brow. “I have seen you pistol-whip a man and shoot him point blank in the head.”

“Heat of the moment,” Sombra shrugged dismissively. “Besides, that’s hardly hand to hand combat. I’m an opportunist. I make opportunities and exploit them.”

“You cannot define a word using the word itself.”

“Watch me.”

Widowmaker rubbed the bridge of her nose, eyes closed as she outwardly battled a deep vexation. “Regardless, you wouldn’t need to create opportunity if you would go to sparring like you are supposed to.”

“Maybe,” Sombra shrugged, leaning back in a resolute picture of stubbornness. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Widowmaker had no immediate rejoinder, her golden eyes fixed firmly on Sombra’s own. Sombra could almost see the complex machine that was her brain cranking furiously, and watched as she creased her eyebrows thoughtfully. “Does Gabriel know you have been skipping training?” she asked finally, her voice far more flippant than the inherent threat heavy in the words themselves.

Sombra shifted her screens to the side so she could look at her clearly. “Maybe.”

“Sombra.”

“I make sure my time is logged,” she said evasively, quickly trying to calculate her intent.

Widowmaker nodded slowly and looked down at her wrist. “Well, we have lost ten minutes already. Perhaps we can forego training today, and review past training videos,” she said, eyebrow raised threateningly. “Perhaps I can ask Gabriel to recall them so you can study your technique?”

Sombra watched as she punched in the first three numbers of Gabriel’s personal comms number, looking up pointedly as she did. “You wouldn’t,” Sombra said under her breath.

“Ah, but I would, mon coeur.”

“No mames,” Sombra swore, swiping her console away in a shower of angry sparks. “You’re terrible.”

“Oui. It is as they say,” she said, smiling just enough to irritate Sombra further, “‘tough love.’”

Sombra groaned. “Let me get dressed.”

“See you downstairs in ten,” Widow replied sweetly, and Sombra watched her walk away with a sway to her hips that only accented the air of victory she’d left in her wake.

“Oof,” Sombra exhaled as Widow punched her for the fifth time in the stomach. The first two she’d chalked up to being rusty; the rest she had to admit were just because she was terrible at close combat. “Stop that.”

“The pain is your teacher. Block and you will be fine.” Widow sidestepped backwards with the grace of a dancer, her extensive background in ballet showing in her footwork and agility. Sombra was pretty sure there wasn’t punching in ballet, but clearly it was a skill Widowmaker had no problem picking up in more recent years.

“I can’t block if you keep hitting me,” Sombra answered sourly. Even so, she made a good faith effort at protecting herself from Widow’s next blow. Miraculously, it seemed to work, for that and the next, and the next after that. For a moment, Sombra felt the familiar light of success ignite inside her, and she felt good.

At least until Widow’s next blow was a fake to her left that landed square in her jaw.

“Ya valió madres,” she cursed, nearly spinning around from the hit. Their sparring gear helped prevent injuries, but it did little to soften the impact of a well-placed fist. “Can we be done yet?”

Widowmaker stood back, hands behind her back. She hadn’t even broken a sweat yet. “It has been five minutes, Sombra,” she replied, her unnatural patience even more maddening than usual. “It is unlike you to admit defeat.”

“I’m not admitting shit,” she replied, narrowing her eyes. “I’m out of my element. It’s not fair.”

“What was it you said?” Widow asked, canting her head in a maddening display of cool superiority. “‘Where’s the fun in playing fair?’”

“Low blow, spider, spitting my own taunts back at me like that.”

“Allow me to aim a bit higher this time.” In a move Sombra only barely saw coming, Widow faked her yet again, hooking an ankle behind Sombra’s and flipping the smaller woman forward over her leg. She grabbed her collar before she hit the ground, saving her from an uncomfortable fall onto the padded floor.

“For fuck’s sake Widow,” she choked, and Widow hauled her back to her feet. “You can’t even let me take my punishment properly.”

“A deviation from the norm,” she replied demurely, and Sombra blushed.

“This is why I forge my attendance records.”

“And perhaps evidence as to why you should not.” Widowmaker placed her hands by her sides and stood tauntingly close to Sombra. “Shall we start with the basics?”

“I know a trap when I see one, araña,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the obvious bait and taking an involuntary step back. Widowmaker fell into a combat stance and hooked with her right, landing a glancing blow on Sombra’s shoulder.

“Did you not get into fights in Dorado?” Widow asked, sounding genuinely curious, but utterly unable to shelve the self-satisfied smirk reaching across her face as she levied another hit towards Sombra’s cheek.

“Plenty of them,” Sobra said, dodging at the last minute.

“And you came away with nothing from this,” Widow asked. She was trying to goad her into attacking, assailing her with a barrage of lazy, easy hits to push Sombra into making a careless move. It was a good tactic, all told; Sombra was certainly eager to smack her after she’d effortlessly wiped the floor with her for the past several.

“Not entirely,” she grumbled. “Just nothing like this weird battle dancing you do.” To be fair, Sombra had ample experience in the art of hand to hand combat. She’d learned in real time, on the streets, as a gut reaction to situations in which her livelihood or her life had been in danger. While Widow’s combat expertise had been born of trained agility and precision, Sombra’s had been the result of survival and getting along by the skin of her teeth.

Now that she thought about it, arms raw from hits she hadn’t been fast enough to counter, she realized she might have an advantage in this skirmish after all.

“Battle dancing,” Widowmaker smiled, moving like liquid as she watched Sombra deep in thought. “A fitting term.”

Sombra smirked in response, and changed her perception from the sparring ring to a cluttered alley, and Widow was no longer a frustrating challenge but a rival gang member with a shiv and a grudge.

Sombra looked around as Widow bobbed and weaved before her, taking pot shots at the sniper with no real intention of hitting her so much as moving her into an advantageous position.

“Apagando las luces,” she whispered, the old phrase bringing back a slew of memories as she used it not to destroy a mechanical neural network but bring her shoulder down as Widow swung for her head that was no longer where it should be. The sniper faltered, a look of shock crossing her face, and Sombra rushed forward to bridge the gap.

Her shoulder hit Widow in the stomach, knocking the wind audibly out of her as she slammed her body into the taller woman’s solar plexus, sending her backwards over a pile of blue mats at the edge of the sparring ring. Widowmaker had no chance to recover, toppling backwards without an ounce of grace in a heap that Sombra couldn’t help but laugh at as she tumbled right along after her.

“Gotcha,” she said, landing gracelessly on top of her. She could almost ignore the throbbing pain in both her arms and stomach in the face of her sudden, unexpected victory.

Widowmaker looked up from where she lay, flopped over the pile of stacked mats, splayed on the floor with the other woman sprawled on top of her. “That was terrible form,” she said, making no move to get up as Sombra rested her elbows alongside Widow’s head.

“Well it wasn’t your fancy fucking jiu-jitsu, but I still won the fight,” Sombra replied.

“Through deception.”

“Through savvy,” she replied, shaking her head and bringing her face closer. “You were right.”

Sombra could feel Widowmaker’s hands creeping up her back. “I was?” she asked, voice shifting from reluctance to a soft purr.

“Yeah,” Sombra said, pressed against the length of her. “I do know how to fight.”

“You certainly know how to brawl,” Widow agreed against her ear, lips brushing along her neck. “With zero finesse.”

“Whatever,” Sombra grinned, pulling back just out of reach, unwilling to give up her victory so soon. “You’re just sour you lost.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.” Sombra laughed and allowed Widow to hold her in place as she pressed her hands to either side of her face and gifted her with a deep kiss.

“This is different than how we sparred in Overwatch,” Gabriel’s voice announced, his voice rough and sudden, but nurturing enough amusement that Sombra didn’t bother standing right away.

“Not what I’ve heard,” she muttered to herself. Widowmaker smirked.

“Excuse me?” Gabriel said, and Sombra didn’t have to look back to see his eyebrow raised.

“Nothing, boss,” she replied, and pushed herself to her feet. “Just teaching Widow how to fight dirty.”

Gabriel grimaced and Widowmaker made a noise of deep discomfort. “I see,” he said, fighting to keep a smile from forming on the black wisps emanating from his lips. “Well perhaps you can continue this particular lesson elsewhere. I need the gym for some recruit drills.”

“Absolutely,” Sombra laughed, hauling Widowmaker up from the ground and pulling her towards the door.

“Oh, and Sombra?” Gabriel added as she trotted across the gym.

“What?” Sombra asked, immediately suspicious.

“You owe me three months of training. I expect to see you here again,” he said, not turning from where he stood, a scarred shadow with its arms held behind its back. Sombra knew without any question that the fucker was grinning like an idiot. “Double time until you catch up.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she sighed, pressing her fingers to her forehead.

“Is this a good time for an I told you so?” Widow asked, affecting innocence.

Sombra turned and walked away, leaving Widowmaker and her shit-eating grin to catch up later.

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic. Table of contents located here.

[trademarkblue]

100 Days of R/Hr: Day 17

Prompt: "Josie” by Blink 182

Prompted by: @goldythegeek

Here I am, finally back at these again. This is yesterday’s prompt, but I was out too late to post last night. Also,  I’m changing my pen name to TM “this spiraled out of control” Blue… Hope you enjoy! x

She was sitting in the middle of his bed, flipping distractedly through the Quidditch magazine he’d left open on his bedside table, having long ago finished the book she’d brought up with her. It wasn’t that she was worried, exactly… except that she was bloody worried. Fine.

She sighed and roughly turned to the next page, revealing a colourful advertisement for leather gloves and knee pads. Players that she assumed Ron would recognise zoomed around in their uniforms, in the background. She’d really picked the worst possible diversion, given her vague-at-best interest in Quidditch…

She closed her eyes and rubbed them with the heels of her palms, hoping to convince herself not to do something rash like leave the Burrow at two o’clock in the morning, by herself, to look for Ron. He’d gone out with his brothers, she had to remind herself. They were all together and everything was fine.

But… was it?

The night after Voldemort’s death, they’d been so exhausted and relieved to have won that they’d slept together in his old Gryffindor dormitory bed, holding onto each other, for a solid ten hours. But, after that, chaos had crept back in around them. There were the funerals, the repairs, the arrests… and then, the sporadic violence as Aurors began to locate Death Eaters who had disappeared in the aftermath of the final battle. She didn’t know when she’d feel that it was safe enough to bring her parents home. In fact, she only really knew one thing for sure. Ron actually loved her back. Really. He’d even told her first. And they’d hardly spent ten waking minutes out of each other’s presence since.

Until tonight.

Alright. She wasn’t worried. She was terrified. Irrationally, ridiculously, overwhelmingly-

A sudden series of loud thumps crescendoing up the stairs made her gasp and clutch her wand in a tight fist. But then, as she held her breath, the door swung roughly open to reveal an incredibly disheveled looking Ron, who stumbled inside, not even noticing her presence as he slammed his door shut again and paused at the foot of his bed, half-sitting, half-falling into it, before giving up and flopping down onto his back. His abrupt movements jostled his magazine out of Hermione’s lap, and she was forced to bend a knee out of the way of his head, just before the back of his skull would have crashed down hard.

He flinched, startled, and he finally spotted her, tilting his head back to gaze deliriously up at her shocked face.

“Oh! Hi.”

“What happened to you?!” Her heart was thumping madly in her chest at his sudden appearance, and she’d not quite reached the point where she could lean into feeling relieved.

“You’re in my room.” He attempted a smile, face upside down from her perspective.

“Well spotted.”

“What’r’you doin’-“

“You were gone for seven hours.”

She noticed that her hands were shaking, but there wasn’t much to do about it now. Apparently her pent up nerves had physically caught up with her. As long as she didn’t cry, maybe he wouldn’t realise...

“Was I really?”

She couldn’t respond, for fear that her voice would sound too shrill to understand at this point.

He shifted, and his shoulder crinkled his abandoned magazine. Squinting in a way that might have been considered comical to her under slightly different circumstances, he reached up to see what he’d crushed. Holding the magazine in the air above his face, he raised an eyebrow and tilted his head back again to find her eyes.

“Y’really must’ve been bored.”

He almost smirked.

“Not bored!” She’d tried, but she really couldn’t help shouting now, watching him wince with surprise. “You say you’re going for dinner, so I think you’ll be gone two or three hours, and then you come back in the middle of the night, drunk! I thought for sure something horrible had happened!”

“Woah.”

He dropped the magazine and twisted around, scrambling to sit on his knees, facing her. His eyes darted a bit, but the teasing, carefree sort of attitude he’d had when he’d spotted her had instantly vanished, even as she noticed him sway and re-balance just slightly.

“You were worried?” he asked quietly.

“Two people were badly injured by raving Death Eaters in London yesterday. No, I wasn’t worried at all.”

“Shit. M’sorry. Bill kept takin’ us t’more pubs.”

And just like that, hearing his brother’s name, she felt her fear subside somewhat to make way for a bit of shame. His family was grieving, they’d lost Fred a week ago, and here she was, shouting at him. It wasn’t entirely safe to be out right now, but she sensed that her fear was a bit disproportionate to the actual danger he’d been in. How could she explain the way she’d tethered herself to him so completely without sounding insane? One week. It had only been one bloody week since she’d kissed him.

But, in reality, the kiss had changed little about how she’d already been feeling for years. It had only made it public, given her the answers to questions she’d never been brave enough to ask him… things they both should have said long ago.

“You’re right, though,” he added in a scratchy voice. “Would’ve been worried, too, if you’d gone out that long. Didn’t think about it. M’really sorry.”

“Just send your Patronus or something, next time,” she sniffed.

“Thas a good idea,” he slurred, reminding her that she was face to face with a Ron she’d never seen before… a very drunk Ron.

He shifted a bit closer to her, and she suspected he was waiting to be sure it was safe before he would touch her. She’d inflicted a fair amount of injuries on him in their complicated history…

“I know you need to be with your family right now. I’m just on edge with everything we went though, everything still happening, and-“

“You’re my family, too.”

His eyes weren’t leaving hers, and there were several ways she could take his words, all of which made her stomach flutter and her cheeks warm  considerably. For so many years, he’d made her feel like she belonged, and maybe she’d even taken that for granted. Harry had been viewed as a son to Ron’s parents, and now she was starting to see how he had given her just as meaningful of a place here. She’d been an outsider with a non-magic family, and she’d certainly not been famous or important. So the only reason he had to do what he’d done was because of how much he’d always cared about her. She recalled him holding her hand at Grimmauld Place, seriously offering to teach her his family tree...

She couldn’t think of words to follow his lovely sentence, so she looked down and reached out to take his hand instead. His long fingers weaved between hers, and she could see his face relax as she looked back up to meet his eyes.

“Just can’t let anything happen to you,” she said softly.

“Nah, m’fine.” He paused and narrowed his eyes slightly. “You okay?”

He suddenly looked so adorably concerned, and she couldn’t stop her lips from twitching.

“Well, yes,” she said, committing to a smile. “I’ve just been sitting here all night, haven’t I.”

“Have you? Where’s e’rybody else?”

“Your parents went to stay the night with Mrs Tonks and Teddy, remember? Ginny’s been in bed for ages, and Harry’s presumably sleeping in Percy’s, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he went back down to Ginny’s, once he saw me come up here…”

He blinked slowly at her.

“Are y’staying in my room?”

She sniffed and averted her eyes from his gaze.

“Do you want me-“

“Yeah,” he laughed over her, swaying slightly again as she pressed her lips together.

“Not planning to sleep in your shoes and jeans, are you?”

“Mm no.”

He ran his thumb across the back of her hand, and she was momentarily distracted from her original mission. Clearing her throat, she managed to extricate her fingers from his and slide off his bed to stand next to him. He tried to follow her, but as he straightened his knees, he leaned heavily to the left, and she grabbed ahold of his bicep as he caught himself with a fist on the edge of his mattress.

He shook his head and squinted at her.

“Fuck, I’m drunk.”

“I know.”

He sat back down on the edge of his bed and half-smiled sheepishly up at her.

“Didn’mean to.”

“How many pubs did you go to?”

“Dunno.”

“Oh, that’s a good sign!” She knelt in front of him and reached for his right foot. “How did you even get home like this?”

He was staring distractedly down at her hands untying his shoelaces.

“Hm? Oh. Charlie.”

“He Apparated drunk?”

She tugged the first shoe off and moved to his left foot.

“He’s prob’ly not drunk.”

“Where is he now?”

The second shoe thudded to the floor.

“Twins’ room.” He paused and exhaled heavily. “George’s room. Shit.”

“Ron…”

“M’fine,” he said, roughly wiping his watery eyes with the back of his hand.

She scooted closer to him, on her knees, so her hips were against his shins.

“You don’t have to be fine,” she said in a small voice, feeling her own eyes water a bit.

He stared at her for a long, silent moment, and she was desperate to know what he was thinking. But then he reached out and slid his left hand back along her jaw.

“Yer too good f’me, y’know.”

“Don’t ever say that again,” she said immediately, glaring at him before lifting her own hand to hold his wrist, keeping his palm there against her face.

“Why?”

“Because it’s rubbish, and you know it. And you know I think it is.”

His fingers spread at her jaw joint, moving up over her ear, into her hair.

“Need me to prove it?” she added, keeping her eyes fixed on his and raising her brows.

“Maybe,” he laughed, reaching up with his right hand to mirror his left.

“Come here.”

He ducked down the few inches necessary to kiss her, meshing his parted lips with hers as she shut her eyes and moaned lightly into his mouth. She slid her fingers down his forearms, up the curve of his elbows to his biceps, and then he pulled away just a bit, dazed.

“You taste like whisky,” she whispered, slowly opening her eyes.

“Sorry,” he grinned back.

She shook her head, but he dropped his hands from her face, and she leaned slightly away, chewing her bottom lip for a second in contemplation, but she’d seen him in only his boxers before, so… Was her plan now really so different? It was fine…

“Lie down.”

He raised a brow, but his eyelids were slowly slipping shut, making for a slightly ridiculous combination.

“Just do it,” she laughed softly, and he smiled as he tilted sideways and shifted up until his head was on his pillow and he was lying on his back. She got up off the floor and climbed over his legs to straddle his thighs, and his nearly completely shut eyes popped open again.

“What…” His hands hovered a few inches away from either side of her waist.

“Not sleeping in your jeans, right?” she reminded him, and she hoped he couldn’t see her flushing in the dark as he watched her reaching for his jeans button.

“Right,” he said, in a low, raspy sort of voice that made her hands shake a bit.

She moved on to his zipper and quickly pulled it down, reaching for the belt loops at his hips and tugging, and she began to crawl backward down his legs. When she arrived at his shins, she climbed off him, and he helped her finish the job by shifting his legs around and kicking his jeans off his ankles.

“Hot up here, innit?” And before she could respond, he sat halfway up and reached over his shoulder to yank his shirt roughly off over his head, flinging it to the floor and collapsing to his back again.

Her eyes roamed down his almost naked body, and she realised how hot it really was in his room, quite immediately.

“Not sleeping in your jeans, are you?” he said in a low voice.

She caught his eyes, and he grinned at her. But, rather than playfully scold him, which came more naturally to her, she licked her lips and climbed out of his bed.

“No, I’m not,” she said, forcing herself not to look back over at him while she unbuttoned, unzipped, and tugged off her own jeans, stepping out of them as they pooled at her ankles.

Standing in only her vest and knickers, she chanced a glance at him, as she approached his bed again, and she found him lying on his side, facing her, glassy eyes staring up at her, lips parted slightly. She cleared her throat again and climbed over him to settle on her side, closest to the wall. Scooting up behind him, she watched him turn his head until she could see his profile.

“Ermynee-“

”Is this okay?” she whispered, suddenly a bit self-conscious as her legs tucked up behind his.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He reached back and loosely held onto her bare thigh for a second, and she closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

“For what?” She opened her eyes again to stare at the wisps of ginger hair curling at the base of his neck.

“Bloody hell, room’s spinning.”

“Ron-“

“You’re just… m’sorry I scared you.”

She draped her arm over his waist, brushing her fingers down his stomach. He shivered with pleasure and reached to take her hand in his, pulling it up higher.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he mumbled, pressing her fingers to his lips.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” she said, smiling as she rested her cheek against his bare back.