#floral rucksack

[schoolspiritsclothingblog]

Items that were worn, used, or owned by extras.

1x01: Fila Purple Lilac Crewneck Sweatshirt, Jantzen Vintage Geometric Checked Sweater, Uniqlo Ines de La Fressange Fair Isle Sweater, and Final Touch Floral Short Sleeve Shirt

1x01 (Flashback): Fjallraven Rucksack No. 21 in Dark Red (or Burgundy?)

1x02: Volcom Halfax Stripe Crew Tee in Ashley Blue

1x04: Le 13 Corduroy Collar Rugby Polo (sold at Simons) and H&M A-Line Brown Floral Skirt

1x05: Abercrombie & Fitch Smocked Crop Top

1x06: Twik Per Simons Knit Crocheted Color Block Cropped Vest Top

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

To the Shadows that Cry Witch /// Chapter 2

Welcome to the second chapter! As I've said before, this whole story is gonna be a bit long winded, so hopefully you're all in for the long term, hope you enjoy! <3

Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls from England ended up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.

Tags: Kíli x oc/reader - Fíli x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company x ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - SUPER slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 2133

Warnings: Swearing

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

PLEASE READ THE PROLOGUE & CHAPTER 1 IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY

Want some background music? Check out my Soundtrack Playlist!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

&lt; Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

PART 1: Chapter 2 -

I should've stayed in bed.

The Song Thrush has brown upper-parts and black-spotted cream or buff underparts. Its distinctive song, which has repeated musical phrases, has frequently been referred to in poetry.

I let out a groan as a hand tapped me repeatedly on the shoulder. I waved my arm about, eyes still shut tight until the onslaught stopped. Then came the unfortunate sound of curtains being ripped open.

“Girlie get the fuck up.” I heard.

Letting out more groans of complaint I rolled over away from the light as it poured into the dark room, only to be met with a wad of paper in the back of the head.

“Kate.” They said.

Now somewhat awake, I rolled back over and leant up on my elbow to face the perpetrator.

“What-?” I croaked in confusion.

Said perpetrator was glaring at me with wide eyes, sat on the opposite bed, arm still outstretched from throwing.

Looking down at what assaulted me, I picked up a leaflet, the front a picture of a waterfall, with the title ‘Magic of Ullswater’ printed in a bold white font. I looked back at Kay still perched on her bed, surprised that she was willingly conscious at this time of day, until I remembered our schedule.

“Ah,” I guiltily scrunched my face in realisation, “was this today?”

“Yes!” She exclaimed, pointing at the glaring number on her phone. “And it’s already seven!”

“Don’t worry, I’m up” I rolled out of bed and swung open the wardrobe doors, grabbing what I needed before heading to the bathrooms to freshen up and get ready. Within twenty minutes I was back in the room, halving my normal time since Kay being up this early meant she was truly determined to execute what she had planned. On an average day you wouldn’t see her fully awake until at least ten.

After a quick breakfast in the canteen, we went back up to ensure everything needed was packed and ready for today’s hike. After all, going to see the waterfall was one of the main reasons we had gone. You mention rocks to Kay and she is there.

We laced up our walking boots and headed outside, up the path until we reached the edge of the road where the shuttle bus dropped us off days earlier. The weather had changed for the better, the temperature hiked up to a comfortable twenty two degrees accompanied by a blue sunny sky. Perfect for today’s plans, where only summer clothes were required.

I wore my cream vest top tucked into my baggy olive green trousers, and a thick brown belt looped through, with a loose fitting chunky white cardigan left unbuttoned over the top, and of course my favourite white floral patterned socks.

Kay on the other hand, was in her cargo trousers, along with a grey cropped vest top and a thin zip up hoodie tied around her waist. Unfortunately Dr Martens and platform crocs weren’t the most suitable shoes for hiking, lest you want your ankles broken, so were replaced with hiking boots, and obviously waterproofs were packed away in our rucksacks just in case. As lovely as it was, you can never trust British weather.

Eventually, the local bus slowed to a stop. Sifting through my pockets I pulled out and counted up what loose change I had, handing it over. After stating our destination and receiving our tickets, we headed to the back of the relatively empty bus, which was surprising considering it was the middle of summer. We both placed down our rucksacks and sat on either side of the aisle, propping up our feet on the other seats. With a groan and a jolt, the bus’s engine sprang back to life, and begun its journey down the road, over the vast rolling hills.

“Hey.” I looked away from the window at the sound of Kay speaking, “Did you remember to bring the passes?”

I leant back in mock offense. “Of course.” I retorted. “Must you deem me that unreliable??”

She snorted at my reaction. “Well you forgot what day it was earlier, so I had to double check.”

I deadpanned at her, reaching into my bag to procure two sheets of paper, shoving them up at Kay so she could see the print. “I double checked at least ten times, after all this saves us the twenty quid entry.”

Kay sat back with a quiet sigh of relief, whilst I safely tucked the papers back away. Looking back, I asked her which part of the trail she wanted to visit first.

Her eyes darted around as they narrowed in thought.

“The waterfall.” She declared. “You’ve been before, is it close to the entrance?”

“Somewhat.” I answered as I picked at my lip. “Within a fifteen-ish minute walk of the car park.”

“As long as you actually remember where to go.” She taunted, before laughing at my frown. “Cuz I wanna see some stratification.” She said eagerly, tapping on what looked like a diagram in the book laid on her lap.

“Well as long as you don’t start licking the rocks as soon as we get there, otherwise you’ll scare the children off.” I tormented, ducking down giggling as the book was launched at my head.

Soon enough, we arrived, and after proving to Kay that I actually knew the route, we followed the continuous thunder until we reached the 65 foot waterfall, now towering ahead of us. Kay jogged ahead, eager to reach the moss covered bridge that curved over the deep ravine that the water had carved into the rock. At halfway she stopped to lean over the fence, facing down into the narrow abyss of water below, tilting enough to the point where her legs began to lift from the floor.

“Oi!” I cried, jogging to catch up. “You can’t swim, so if you fall, don’t think I’m going in after you.”

“Are you a lifeguard or not?” She pointed out incredulously, leaning further over in a taunting manner. “It’s literally you’re job to go after me.”

“Well it’s not like I’m being paid right now to do so.” I answered as I caught up to her. “Pay me my hourly rate and then I’ll think about going after you.”

She scoffed in disbelief at my audacity before her attention returned to admire the waterfall before her.

It wasn’t long before a high pitched trill from above caught my attention. Raising my head, I stared at the dense foliage above me, watching as it churned ever so gently with the calm summer breeze. I squinted my eyes at the flickering dapples of light that peeked through the leaves, until my attention focused on a singular bird nestled in between the gentle chaos all around.

‘A song thrush!’ I realised, recognising the bird’s brown feathers and white speckled underbelly. I watched with intent as it flittered between the treetops. Taking out the polaroid camera I was gifted for my birthday, I took as many pictures as I could before it darted away and disappeared into the trees beyond the footpath.

My eyes followed said footpath and from a distance, I managed to make out a clearing bathed in the scattered beams of the midday sun. Storing the now printed pictures in the front pocket of my bag, I poked Kay’s shoulder and pointed to what I could see.

“How about we have lunch down there?” I suggested, remembering I had managed to bring the picnic blanket this time.

She nodded in agreement, and we both made our way over. After decided what was the sunniest spot, we laid out the blanket and sat down, putting out the food we were able to fit in our bags.

“That bird.” Came Kay’s voice, half muffled by her hand that was hiding her mouthful of sandwich as she spoke. “What was it?”

I swallowed what I could of my own sandwich before replying, figuring that she most likely heard the shutter of my camera.

“A song thrush, according to some article I read a while back they’re quite common round these parts”.

“I didn’t know you birdwatched?” She pondered.

“I did quite a bit when was younger. To be fair though, I only recognised it because of The Hobbit.” I admitted.

Kay’s eyes widened in realisation, and we both pointed at each other with a grin. “Of course!” She laughed, before turning back to her sandwich. “When the thrush knocks!”

“Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.” I recited without a stutter.

Kay lowered her sandwich and turned back towards me slowly, side-eyeing me with a face of suspicion. I side-eyed back.

“Your short term memory should’ve taken that in and flung it out the other side.” She disputed.

I frowned.

“And you didn’t even mess up the words once.”

Side-eyeing her once more and slowly brought my phone to my face. She glared in even further suspicion as I began to furiously type away at the keyboard. Within seconds she had enough.

“Ok what the fuck are you typing over there.” She demanded, discarding her sandwich, and speeding across the blanket to stare over my shoulder and began to read aloud. “Kay is anti-mental disorde— ??? I’M NOT DISSING YOUR ADHD???? NO. DON’T SEND THAT TO THE GROUPCHAT. KATE. SWEAR DOWN I WILL— NO! TAKE YOUR FINGER AND PRESS DELETE RIGHT NOW. NO NO NO. ROXIE WILL EAT ME ALIVE. DELETE THAT SHIT. NO. COME BACK.”

I cackled as I leaped up and ran the length of the clearing, watching as she scrambled up in a frenzy after me. I felt a buzz from my phone and held it up in front of me to read aloud any replies from the chat, interrupted every so often by Kay’s aggravated screams of frustration.

She chased me around the grass, until we both collapsed back on the blanket, too exhausted to carry the conflict further. She pointed her finger at me accusingly.

“You better delete it.” She managed between heaves. I held out my hand expectantly.

“That’ll be ten pounds.” I requested with a grin on my face.

“Oh, piss off.” She groaned exasperatedly, shoving my shoulder as a laughed.

Squabble over, she rolled over to pick up and return to the geography book she read on the bus. I did the same, but with The Hobbit, that I had coincidentally decided to pack for the day’s trip.

Later, we packed up the picnic and explored the forest for a few hours, wandering off the path a few times to look for rocks or plants.

A chilly breeze blew past and I checked the time, seeing the numbers on my phone screen tell me that it was time to turn back around.

“Hey Kay,” I called, receiving a loud “YEA?” from the bushes behind me, “we should think about heading back, if we wanna make it to the canteen for tea.”

She agreed, standing up from where she was crouched over a small stream, most likely looking for some type of mineral deposit, or whatever she was reading about in her book earlier. Slinging our bags back over our shoulders, we both began to make our way back down the path, dodging the jagged roots and rocks. A short while passed before we reached the clearing we had eaten in earlier, the opening in the trees showed that the sky had begun to change colour, causing us to quicken our paces slightly to ensure we wouldn’t get caught out in the wilderness at night.

It wasn’t long before we were back at the waterfall, and we began our crossing of the bridge before Kay slowed down again like last time. I slowed too, and we both stopped in the middle to spend a moment, taking once last look at the towering waterfall, now bathed in the orange light of the evening’s golden hour.

A familiar chirp rang out through the trees, and I spun around, scouring the branches above me.

There it was again! The song thrush had reappeared, illuminated by the glow of the lowering sun. I crossed the width of the bridge to watch it as it chirruped and trilled its final song of the day. Eventually the swaying branches and fast movements of the fluttering creature caused me to lose sight of it. Kay’s footsteps sounded behind me as I heard her wander across a few steps, before quickly falling silent again. The thrush’s song came to an abrupt stop at almost the same time, and without a second thought, I decided it was time to keep going.

“Alright,” I declared, turning back towards Kay and the waterfall, “let’s go before—”

I blinked in surprise.

Looking around with widening eyes, panic and dread began to settle in my stomach as I came to the dreadful realisation.

Kay was nowhere to be seen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

&lt; Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

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Can't wait to see you on the 31st March for Chapter 2! Also please comment if you want to be added to the Taglist <3

Taglist:

@opheliasdrowningg @mrsdurin

[stellevatum]

𝟐-𝟓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 .

I. Purple — Saviin. The color of wisdom, of Dal Tay'haa, who gifted her people the means of recording histories and language. Mandalorians who seek the path of learning rather than war or vengeance will color their armor a shade of purple of their choosing.

II. Black — Ne'tra. The color of void, of shadow, the dark. The color of Sith robes and stealth suits. The color of shadow where secrets hide, and throats are cut. A reminder of where she came and what she could have been.

III. Silver — Pak. The color of beskar, the iron soul that symbolizes her people. The color of Te Kara, the stars of which she gets her name.

IV. Red — Tal. The color of honor, the color of blood. The chosen color of Clan Alor'ade. The color of her Jaig eyes that adorn her helmet, honoring her skill of surviving beyond her years.

V. Turquoise — Kebiivor. The color of the sea, her personal sanctuary, the home she carved with her own hands.

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 .

I. Ozone. Discharged blasters, spent heat sinks. The effect of the air making contact around the blade of a lightsaber. The scent of air before a storm hits.

II. Droid Grease. BD-Y and RT-D0 are never too far away from her. As such, they requite frequent maintenance. Sometimes even when the grease is cleaned the scent remains.

III. Pertichor, the soil after the rain. The garden of which have been her peace since her years on Kamino. The garden is her place, her inner sanctum of her home. The smell of Kashyyyk, of Sur'Kesh, of Yavin. The hidden ruins that call for her to seek

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍 .

IV. Caf or Tea, a brewed beverage is never far from her hand, the time of day or project calls for one over the other some days.

V. Bright floral perfume, like citruses and jasmine, a hint of salt, things that evoke warm summer nights on a tropical planet somewhere.

I. Beskar'gam. While not worn as frequently as it should be, it is still her iron skin, her soul. To handle or touch it without her permission, or not being an intimate of hers is disrespectful and dangerous.

II. High collared shirts, turtlenecks, or undersuits. She can't explain why, she just likes 'em.

III. Big, black, leather boots. Beskar toecaps, magnetic soles. Unless it's a formal occasion (for the most part), they are her footwear of choice any day.

IV. Dark colored glasses; to keep the unwanted stares on the days she doesn't wish to be perceived, to make her more human.

V: Silver jewelry. The armor of the Coruscanti elite, she often still follows in kind when not in her armor.

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 .

I. Twin Lightsabers. The tools of her trade; crafted by her own hand. One kyber crystal stolen from the tombs of a long-dead Sith Lord; the other synthetic of her own creation-- then later purified.

II. BD-Y. It's unfair to call him an "Object", but he's never far from her, where she goes, he is never far behind (because he's hanging in rucksack or on her back).

III. Datapad. The other tool of her trade. When not dealing with information, she's drafting her papers, taking research notes, and anything she thinks is worth committing to her databank.

IV. Guitar. Although trained in the viol and hallikset, the guitar is Kar's preferred instrument, and is often with her on long tours of space to keep her (and her shipmates) entertained.

V. Travel Mug. The means in which this machine is powered. The black, metal, insulated mug has seen her through countless of adventures, and post drink binge caf runs.

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 .

I. Resting death glare. Don't tell her she'd be prettier if she smiled, or it will be an intentional death glare.

II. Skeptical squints. A narrowing of eyes; discerning friend from foe, truth from utter osik.

III. Talking hands; gestures along when she speaks, the more animated she is, the more interested she is in the conversation.

IV. Crossed arms, a guarding protective gesture. If she's not ready to open to people, annoyed, or other wise unconsciously protecting herself.

V. Rolling eyes. The follow up from the squint; she can only handle so much dwang from a person before giving a sarcastic retorts.

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 .

I. A glass walled labratory filled with books, artifacts, and tools. Whiteboards littered with notes, datapads and paperwork litters the place, chaotic but she knows where everything is.

II. Staring out into the void from a veiwport. A star studded infinity filled with yet-explored worlds and phenomena.

III. A ruined roadside shrine for a god who has been forgotten, nature reclaiming the shrine and road, committing it to the memory of the planet.

IV. The sea before the storm; roiling clouds, roiling waves, ozone in the air. There is both beauty and danger in this moment.

V. A thriving walled garden, grown from scratch with one's own hands. The reward of dedication and labor; a peace created by your own hands.

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒 .

I. My Brightest Diamond - Lover Killer

II. The Material - Born To Make A Sound

III. Queen - Killer Queen

IV. The Interrupters - Bad Guy

V. The Offspring - You’re Gonna Go Far Kid

—

Tagged by: @amortean

Tagging: @estivalphoenix @hxperion @sirens-shock @truxicanfalconer and anyone else that wants to do it!

[dynamischreisen]

Max, Tag 25

Wenn Dich ein Polizist anspricht, lauf!

Nachdem ich heute ein exzellentes Frühstück genoss (auf Reisen kann ich aus irgendeinem Grund ausgiebig frühstücken), ging es wiedermal durch alle erdenklichen Märkte dieser gigantischen Stadt, die teils bunter nicht sein könnten.

Wie fast alles hier, sind auch die Märkte nach Sektoren aufgeteilt. Toll war etwa der Sector Florales. Weniger toll der Sector Carne bei dreißig Grad.

Beim Kaffee im Anschluss habe ich nette Leute kennengelernt, mit denen ich noch eine „Walking Tour“ besuchte. Also eine traditionelle Stadtführung, nur vielleicht etwas hipper. Das war eine sehr gute Entscheidung, weil ich mal wieder sehr viel gelernt habe, das ich sonst im Leben nicht erfahren hätte. Die eine Sache wird in der Überschrift angeteasert: Was in Europa, wie auch hier gilt: wenn die Polizei Dich anspricht, lauf. Hier hat das allerdings etwas andere Gründe, als zuhause. Es gibt hier neben Polizeistationen Läden, die für die Ausrüstung der Polizei zuständig sind. Viele allerdings verfügen über Kontakte zu Kriminellen, an die sie ebenfalls die Uniformen verkaufen. Die Kriminellen werden Dich ansprechen, Dein Portemonnaie und Deinen Rucksack nach „Drogen“ durchsuchen, Dein Geld und Dein Handy „beschlagnahmen“. Der echten Polizei wiederum ist so ziemlich alles egal.

So auch das Gefängnis mitten in der Innenstadt: dort sitzen 3000 Menschen ein. Ohne Wärter, ohne Polizei, komplett selbstorganisiert. Allerdings muss man im Gefängnis Miete bezahlen, entsprechend auch Geld organisieren. Somit wird das „beste Kokain Südamerikas“ auch innerhalb der Mauern produziert und bei Bedarf über die unbesetzten Wachtürme geworfen. Das Leben dort ist sogar so lukrativ, dass nicht wenige Insassen ihren Aufenthalt nach Absitz der Haftstrafe freiwillig verlängern. Alles läuft hier ein bisschen anders in Bolivien, nicht nur die Uhr des Parlaments, die gegen den Uhrzeigersinn läuft, damit sie sich von den nordischen, speziell aber den US-amerikanischen Uhren so stark wie möglich unterscheidet. Ein Fakt übrigens, der bei der lokalen Bevölkerung für ordentlich Spott sorgt.

Später dann wurde ich gefragt, ob ich mit den Leuten, die ich dort kennengelernt habe, etwas essen gehen möchte. Anfangs habe ich zugestimmt. Ich glaube allerdings, dass man Menschen daran messen kann, wie sie über nicht-anwesende sprechen. Das gilt ganz besonders für Männer, die unter sich den Namen von Frauen vergessen und sie nur noch den „Arsch in Leggins“ nennen. Ich entschied mich, alleine essen zu gehen und das war wieder super. Aber wenn ich Montag früh den Bus nach Chile nehme, mache ich drei Kreuze, nicht mehr in diesem räudigen Hostel zu sein.

[feldo123]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Women's 16" Rucksack Backpack Flower Print Rucksack Backpack Multicolor Floral.

[heavyhearteddove]

Connected

Chapter one: The move in Game.

There was very little that Maggie hated. She loved her family and her friends. She loved the calm and quiet countryside of  La Azohia swimming in crystal blue oceans and near thirty degree heat. Maggie did well in school even after the tragedy that struck her family years ago because she knew she had so much more to live for now since her family had been destroyed. Yeah she was a little different mentally. Her time for stupidity and blatant bullshit was never tested and her ADHD was at an all time high but she still managed to finish school and turn up for work to earn enough money that paid for party boats and new clothes and also help her mother around the house. So when her mother met a new man after five years she was sceptical but doubting it would go anywhere serious she paid little attention to the relationship. One year down the line and the sounds of wedding bells and cheerful muse caused a sickening stir in Maggie's stomach...     “Maggie come on dear it’s time to get a move on” Marina, Maggie's mother, called from the end of the hall. Growing frustrated with her daughters time keeping when she knew that today was their move to London.      Feeling like the world was about to fall through her Maggie stood from the discarded mattress and rummaged through her suitcase bringing out a small floral toiletry bag, a pair of oversized grey sports shorts and white tank top lazily taking herself to the bathroom to get ready. Within the short time she spent inside the empty bleached out bathroom she continuously thought of ways she would stop this in such a short space of time but unless she wanted to be arrested or someone end up extremely injured there was nothing that she could do...It was hopeless she thought sighing as she stared at her tired reflection. Dark blue bags laid under her large doe-like eyes, her hair tangled from a restless night of tossing and turning. Her rosy cheeks dotted with small brown freckles were puffy and dry and the strong mint toothpaste now bubbling around the corners of her lips she dropped her head and admitted defeat.     Maggie jumped in the taxi ready to take them to the airport, white rucksack tarnished with doodles and coloured ink tossed down beside her as she plugged in her headphones hoping to get this over with. Maggie wasn’t one to cry...she hated being seen as vulnerable or weak nor did she like giving anyone who caused her sadness and anger the satisfaction to see it actually did hurt. But even right now she couldn’t deny that this was hard. She felt alone. Leaving behind her life and friends. A large part of her childhood was spent here so to see it becoming a memory wasn’t something she prepared herself for. Closing her eyes she laid her head against the window hoping to drift of to sleep not wanting to see anymore of her home zoom past her.

8:08pm. The time that had landed at Gatwick airport and made their way with their luggage to the front of the crowded building. Her mother hadn’t spoke much to her during the flight. Marina could sense her daughter was upset with her and that this wasn’t easy not to mention she was still extremely pissed off at Maggie for her behaviour over the past few months since both her and Patrick told Maggie of the engagement. Their was the time Maggie decided not to go on the spring boat party with her friends and instead spent the money on getting all the locks in the house changed so that neither her mother or soon-to-be step father could enter the house. Then there was the time Maggie left all the doors and windows unlocked causing a herd of stray dogs and birds to reside inside or when when she stormed through the house with two large cymbals during an important work call that Patrick had with a shareholder and barged into her mothers room screaming to Shakira’s “Hips don’t lie“ and just DJ Khalid shouting his own name on repeat with nothing else going on dressed in a black dress like she was off to a funeral, bright green sunglasses and a pair of platform ruby red heels that she really couldn’t walk in. But it wasn’t her failed attempts that annoyed her. No, it was the fact that Patrick would just nod his head and let her have the moment she wanted. She was twenty years old. An adult in the eyes of the law. But she relentlessly acted like a toddler. Patrick knew what Maggie was doing and he often found it funny from time to time and he had also put her in her place to (not that it ever worked) he just couldn’t bring himself to abandon her when she just needed time.      “Honey” her mothers soothing voice woke her from her sleep. Pulling her leg to the side to tell her mother to get off she slid back up against the leather seat in the back of the car and looked around. The night sky still young as colours of pink and purple and orange casted across the sky. Patricks house stood before her. Large and wide. Porcelain white walls with black gloss window frames overlooking the pale gravel drive way and clean cut fresh green grass. Thick ivy grew up against the east of the home and deep purple petalled shrubs ran across the other end. Maggie couldn’t lie, the house was beautiful. Over the top but still beautiful. It was one thing she didn’t like about the rich. They seemed to buy ridiculous homes to state their wealth and for what? She just didn’t know why there was any need.     Mentally drained Maggie dragged her feet through the house following her mother as she showed her daughter her bedroom completely unaware that she was talking. Pushing the white painted door into the room she was met with a cold and open space. Everything seemed to be white in this entire building...Maggie frowned noticing the lack of colour. varnished wood flooring and Victorian styled doors placed alongside the right side of the room and a freshly made bed...again in white. Taking in a deep breath Maggie stepped further inside feeling the emptiness grind on her already foul mood. “I know it’s not much but Patrick and I thought you might want to decorate it with your own furniture and lay it out as you want to” Marina’s voice was almost like a whisper as though she was walking on egg shells not sure what attitude her child would have but she couldn’t like yet hopeful in giving Maggie some freedom within the new house would make her feel more comfortable and accepting but to no avail her heart dropped when Maggie said nothing only closing the door shutting her mother out. Marina wiped the tears from her slim face and took her leave not wanting to cause any harm or disruption. She wanted Maggie to come to her. In the end she just wanted Maggie to come back to her as a whole. She missed her daughters genuine smile and goofy antics that always had her in stitches. She missed Maggie's constant talking on such random things and she missed her Saturday mother-daughter nights that consisted of a bottle of prosecco and facemasks, a bowl of popcorn each tucked up in her daughters bed binging Netflix series or overly-dramatic reality shows. Marina missed the daughter she had and hoped that one day she would return but until then Marina swore she would do what she could to fix the whole that had replaced Maggie's gentle and innocent soul.      Flopping herself down on her bed she dragged her phone out and turned it back on. Instantly her phone vibrated harshly in her hands as her group chat filled with text messages.

And for the first time in a long time Maggie felt a cold wetness streak down her face. No one was around to see her cry and she believed her mother and Patrick would be downstairs or heading to bed themselves so she allowed herself to be sad telling herself that this would be it. No more crying. No more feeling sorry for herself. She was either going to find a way back to her friends and old life or she was going to keep her head down and just get by with what she had. 

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[kreatief]

                                  WINIFRED IS NOT JEWISH, NOR DOES SHE KNOW A GREAT DEAL ABOUT JEWISH CUISINE. But her neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Bernstein, are Jews, and she talked to them a bit after she promised Agent Carter to take care of the boy Steve rescued in Nazi-occupied Europe. It's Mrs. Bernstein's recipe Winifred used to make the challah; she hopes it will taste just as good as when her neighbor makes it. 

                                  Closing the door behind her, Winifred gently takes the boy's rucksack. If those are his only belongings, he'll need some more clothes. Most of James's childhood things ended up with Steve – Sarah Rogers never made a lot of money, and Winifred subtly tried to help the single mother whenever she could – and the few things she keeps in a trunk in the attic are old dresses of Rebecca. Maybe Steve's clothes from before a miracle turned him huge would fit him, though. Winifred has the key to their shared apartment. She didn't manage to go there after James— But maybe she'll be able to now. When Erik obviously needs it.

                                    "You can put your shoes here," she tells Erik, gesturing. "There are some slippers that should fit you. George – my husband – wanted to be here to welcome you, too, but he's needed at the factory." Hopefully, the war will be over soon. George couldn't stomach it anymore to build war machines that had done nothing to protect his son. Winifred puts Erik's bag on a bench made of dark wood, then waves at him to follow her to the kitchen. "He'll be here for dinner, though. Sit, sit down, sweetheart; I'll bring you some of that challah." She cuts off two thick slices and puts them on a floral plate. Mrs. Bernstein said it's tradition to dip the challah in salt, but maybe he wants some jam, too, so Winifred puts both on the table. God knows the boy could need every gram of sugar.

The boy watches, eyes wide, wordless, as Mrs Barnes thanks Peggy, before the agent hands him his backpack and drives off. He respects Peggy a lot, recognises her fighting skills and quick mind, how she’s able to get things done that no-one believes are possible – but at the same time, she has repeatedly (and sternly) denied him the chance to help find Steve. Her departure stirs conflicting emotions within Erik’s chest that he doesn’t even try to name, just watches the car until it turns a corner and disappears from sight.

He has been left.

Granted, left with someone who has promised to care for him, but Steve – his one anchor since the camp – feels further away than ever. Erik is alone. A glance towards Mrs Barnes. Perhaps she is alone too.

The offer of challah is a helping hand out from the mire of his thoughts, a reminder that although he has been left, he does not have to fend for himself. Lips twitch in the closest approximation to a smile that’s graced the mutant’s face since that plane left Germany with Steve on it. The sweet bread is comfort, and home, and memories of his mama – painful, but precious.

“I would like some challah, thank you.” Accented English echoes a little in the doorway as he enters the house, stopping a few steps inside the door, unsure of what to do next. The mutant can’t quite remember the last time he was in a house like this – somewhere clean, tidy, homely. Are there rules? Should he take his boots off? Where should he put his bag? Erik bites his lip a little as uncertain gaze passes over the floral carpet and frilly drapes. Hopefully Mrs Barnes will tell him what to do.

[godshideouscreation]

by  tanakawho

[grafea]

Full of flowers 💐😍

[moniquedawson09123]

PB Teen Northfield Vintage Floral XS Backpack ❤ liked on Polyvore (see more floral backpacks)

[goldilockstheory]

She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!

tennyson

me too, Mariana, me too. What a mood

[ididloveyou]

Dick knocked twice on the door to Bruce’s study before pushing it open. The lamps on each of the bookshelves lit the room in a yellowish glow. It was warm, homely. Bruce was behind his desk while Tim was cross-legged in an old, floral armchair.

‘You wanted to see me?’

Dick looked between the two of them tentatively. It’d been a while since he’d visited the Manor.

‘Dick,’ the warm look on Bruce’s face soothed his doubts and he relaxed into his body, loosening his limbs and taking up more space.

Tim raised an eyebrow.

‘This is more important than going over the quarter three profits before the meeting on Thursday? No offense, Dick.’

‘You’re good,’ Dick waved him off.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about whatever Bruce needed him for. It’d been a long time since Bruce had needed him for anything.

Bruce hummed and held out his hand. Tim handed over the iPad with a sigh.

‘Whatever. It’s your funeral.’

Tim pulled on his suit jacket and slung a rucksack over his shoulder.

‘You need a lift home? You can’t take your motorcycle back in this.’

Thunder rumbled loudly outside and the sound of the rain pattered against the windows. Somehow, it made Bruce’s office seem warmer.

‘I’ll drive him later, Tim. Thank you,’ Bruce said before Dick could accept.

Dick smiled anyway.

‘Thanks, man.’

‘Of course,’ Tim muttered something under his breath that Dick didn’t catch before leaving with a half-hearted wave over his shoulder. Dick didn’t envy him having to run to the car in this. He’d be drenched the second he stepped out of the front door.

‘Remember to sign Alicia’s documents and forward them to her,’ Tim called.

Bruce frowned. ‘Shut the door please, Dick.’

Dick did as he was told and then looked around the office absently. It was weird being back in here. When he was a kid he’d fall asleep on the chaise longue while listening to Bruce work away at the desk.

He looked up to find Bruce staring at him.

‘Take a seat,’ he said after a moment.

Dick sat down in the seat opposite the desk. Bruce’s pen made a clinking sound as it fell into the pot. He glanced up again and something like amusement flickered across his face.

‘Come round here.’

Dick blinked in surprise.

‘Round there?’ he asked, standing up.

Bruce’s lips twitched upward.

‘Bring your chair.’

Dick slipped around the back of the desk, setting his chair beside Bruce’s. The lamp on his desk was like headlights in the dark.

‘Is this-’ he swallowed ‘-is this a bad talk?’

The desk was neat except for some papers and a couple of trinkets. No signs of deteriorating health or hidden injuries.

Bruce chuckled. ‘Calm down.’

He typed a code into the lock on his desk drawer and it clicked open.

‘You should change that to something safer,’ Dick commented, ‘a lot of people know my birthday.’

Too many people. He was already receiving cards through the post in anticipation of his thirtieth. Of course, he accepted them gracefully - and by that he meant that he shoved them behind the plant in the hall where he didn’t have to look at them.

Bruce ignored him and placed a thin metal box on the desk. He clicked the lid and Dick peered over his arm as he sifted through handwritten papers and scrawled diagrams until he reached a--

‘Is that a mask?’ Dick tilted his head in confusion.

‘Here,’ Bruce said warmly, ‘lift your head.’

Dick took off his glasses and tilted his chin up. The world sort of shifted without his glasses. It took longer for everything to come into focus, if it ever did. He let his eyes flutter shut as Bruce pressed the edges of the mask down with his thumb. His fingertips trailed across Dick’s hairline gently.

‘I thought we weren’t allowed uniforms in the Manor.’ Dick’s voice was observational, soft, not accusing.

‘You’ve been avoiding the Cave,’ Bruce replied simply.

Dick flicked the arms of his glasses back and forth until Bruce broke the silence.

‘Open your eyes.’

Dick blinked and the world shifted into focus. It was… The mask was… He looked down at the papers on the desk. He recognized one of them as his prescription.

Dick's throat swelled with emotion.

‘Yeah,’ he said in acknowledgment. It was good. He could see.

Bruce visibly relaxed, leaning back in his chair and flipping a pen between his fingers.

‘You’ll try them for the next few days. Report any headaches, soreness, itchiness. You know the drill. I have all of the information worked out so I can make any necessary adjustments-’

Dick swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘You didn’t have to do this.’

Bruce paused. ‘It’s crucial that all new pieces of technology undergo full testing.’

Dick looked up at him and Bruce stared back knowingly. Dick’s eyes felt hot and his vision wavered for a different reason. He hadn’t realized… He’d thought…

Bruce stilled Dick’s hands as they fiddled anxiously with the glasses. His palm was warm and rough, soothing like something familiar. He tugged at the frames and Dick handed them over.

‘As I was saying, I can make any necessary adjustments easily so don’t waste time keeping problems to yourself-’ he wheeled his chair backward ‘-I want to quickly check that your current functionality matches your prescription. Can you read this out for me?’

Dick cleared his throat. ‘The mask features the regular functions: recording, streaming, facial recognition, and so forth. The new design should eradicate the irritability caused by constant… Is that enough?’

Bruce lowered the paper. ‘That’s enough. Thank you, chum.’

‘Course,’ Dick replied in a rough voice.

He ducked his head to remove the mask, wiping his eyes surreptitiously. It was such a small thing but for some reason it made him feel emotional. He was almost thirty years old, he could look after himself, but sometimes he didn’t want to.

‘Here,’ Bruce handed him his glasses.

Dick took them gratefully.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘You’re welcome.’

Bruce pulled out some papers from the desk and flipped through them before putting down a double-page spread. He looked at Dick.

‘I’ve got to go over this before Tim bursts a blood vessel,’ he nodded toward his buzzing phone. Dick smiled softly.

‘You think you can occupy yourself for an hour or so?’

Dick rounded the desk and rummaged through his bag by the door, pulling out his laptop. He cleared his throat.

‘Yeah. I’ve got plenty to catch up on.’

He crossed the room and sat down on the chaise longue. 

He pretended not to notice the soft look Bruce gave him as he rested his head on one of the cushions.

[chadillacboseman]

WIP Wednesday

I wasn't tagged, I just like to do this lol. Tagging: @socially-awkward-skeleton @roofgeese @lethal-justice @vivilovespink and anyone else who has a WIP they feel like sharing.

This is actually a piece from a personal novel I am working on. It is still untitled. :)

--

The faded wallpaper seemed to dance in the orange glow of the setting sun, its patterns shifting and morphing, ever-spiraling in his tired vision. What once had been a floral design laid over a pale yellow now shifted and coiled like some living thing desperate to escape the wall.

Dmitri blinked, then blinked again, trying desperately to clear his mind.

Outside, the wind howled against the brick, beating at it as an animal might, throwing itself against the wall in a violent fervor. Dmitri glanced through the hole once more, eyes scanning in the dim light for any signs of movement from across the street.

Nothing.

Still the spiral patterns in the wallpaper danced, twirling in upon themselves, beckoning to him in faint whispers until he squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his rucksack.

[redx1202]

T-Shirt & Jeans Floral Velvet Backpack ❤ liked on Polyvore (see more strap bags)

[sweetlilcollection]

Madden Girl Floral Canvas Flap Backpack

Madden Girl Floral Canvas Flap Backpack ❤ liked on Polyvore (see more madden girl backpacks)

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Broken Wings || Pt.4

Sam Wilson x OFC Ada Marks

|| Main Masterlist || Broken Wings Masterlist ||

Chapter Summary: Ada finds out the reason Sam found her after all these years, and it isn't a friendly visit. Series Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, violence, warfare, sexual themes. WC: 2370

Afghanistan, 2013

A sheen of sweat glistened over Sam’s skin and he grabbed a damp towel, wiping it over his face and body before crouching down beside me. 

“I’m sorry for what I said, I really didn’t mean it,” he apologised. “There’s nothing I want more than a family with you and Ry.”

Relief flooded me and tears pricked at my eyes as I reached up and pulled Sam down with me. His strong arms braced either side of my face and his wide smile sent butterflies flapping in my tummy before he leant down and captured my lips. My fingers brushed over his short buzz cut before locking behind his neck as he pulled away breathless. He chuckled as I pouted but still he unhooked my arms and stood up despite my protests.

“I need a shower, baby,” he said before pointing to Riley as he grabbed a fresh towel. “Get our girl nice and ready til I get back.”

Riley grinned and saluted before brushing the flyaway hairs that escaped my tight ponytail and gently brushing his lips against mine. I hummed as his hands brushed up my sides beneath my shirt and the calluses on his palms left goosebumps pricking across my skin. His tongue swiped across my lips, begging for access and I greedily opened my mouth for him.

His soft dirty blonde hair had grown so fast in the week we had on furlough and it framed his handsome face that smiled down at me. I brushed my hands over the short beard that he had left to grow and knew I would miss the rough feel of it when we returned to base and he would shave it off.

“Shit,” Sam swore as he stepped back in the tent with the satellite phone in his hand. “Sorry, we gotta pack up. They have a lead on Khalid Khandil.”

I groaned at the interruption but we had been hunting Khalid Khandil for months and this was the break we needed to make a serious difference in this war. Riley looked as disappointed as the rest of us when he pulled back and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. 

“How long?” he asked.

“Chopper will be here in an hour.” Sam said as he began to pack our belongings back into our rucksacks. “You and I fly in at 2300.”

“What about me?” I rose with my hands on my hips.

“Two of us going in is already a risk,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll be on standby, Ada.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asked as he knelt beside my chair and took my hands in his, regret eating him alive.

I had to fight the urge to reach up and wipe away the tears that were balanced on his thick eyelashes. Instead I looked down at my hands that were now covered by his and ignored the heavy weight pressing on my chest.

“I found out the day you left,” I admitted before turning my eyes up to him to ask the question that I had been waiting a decade to ask. “Why did you leave me?”

My voice was barely above a whisper but he heard me clear as day and his long inhale was enough to prove me right. He pushed up to his feet again and walked around my kitchen, opening and closing cupboards as he satisfied his curiosity. Finally he found the wine rack and grabbed two burgundy stem glasses along with a Pinot Noir and took a seat at the table. 

“What about your friend?” I asked as he uncorked the bottle and placed it next to the glasses to breathe.

“He doesn’t drink.”

We sat in silence as the clock above the kitchen stove ticked monotonously in the background. His fingertips mindlessly danced across the floral tablecloth and traced the vines that linked each vibrant flower while he pondered how he was going to break the silence. Finally he lost the beat in his head and the rhythm in his fingers stopped their drumming before he busied them again with pouring the wine. 

He held the glass out to me and I pinched the glass stem between my thumb and index finger, feeling a shock of electricity pass between us at our touch. The liquid threatened to spill out the side of the deep bowl as I hurriedly pulled it closer to me and my now dry mouth. 

“I have a lot of apologising to do,” he said, chuckling nervously when I pinned him with an obvious ‘duh’ look. “I just…I couldn’t look at you after what happened.”

“I know. I was there. I just want to know why. What did I do that made me so disgusting?”

“Nothing, Ada. God, you did everything right,” he said as his fist thumped on the table, knocking the glasses about. “You did what I couldn’t do and I couldn’t protect you from the fall out.”

“You didn’t even visit me.”

“I couldn't look at you in those barracks, knowing how damn disappointed Riley would have been with me for putting you there,” his voice cracked and I looked up from where I was staring at my red reflection in the glass. 

I sighed and placed my glass back on the table next to the ice pack that was quickly losing its cool. Riley would be disappointed in both of us, we were meant to stick together no matter what. I pulled myself up from the table and went back to the couch where Sergeant Barnes was reading the novel I had left half finished. I reached under the coffee table and pulled out a thick photo album and held it out to Sam who had followed me.

“You know if you are going to pretend to read while you eavesdrop, you should at least turn the pages once in a while,” I said to Bucky as Sam took the album from my hands and opened it.

The brooding man didn’t answer but he turned the page painfully slow, a small smirk twitching at his lips as he thought he was funny. 

“You went by the storage lockup,” Sam chuckled as he saw his baby photo next to mine and Riley’s before flipping the page over and seeing Riley Junior’s. “Man, he looks just like his dad.”

“Except he doesn’t get sunburnt as easily.”

“Do you remember Kabul?” Sam asked with a laugh and I shook my head at the memory.

“As if I would ever forget,” I retorted with my own laugh bubbling over. 

Riley had put a rubber scorpion in my shoe the day before and videoed my reaction which consisted of a very high pitched scream followed up with me tripping over our bedding and landing on my ass as I scurried away from my boot. I got my revenge when I was asked to put his sunscreen on his back the next day. For a solid week he couldn’t go shirtless because he had a giant cock and balls sunburnt into his skin. 

“It’s good to hear your laugh.”

I gave a sad smile, there hadn’t been much to smile about in recent times. Not with what we returned to. The humour had drained from the room as I zoned out and I jumped at the bang of Bucky dropping the novel on the coffee table.

“Why did Riley think I was here to protect you from the bad guys?” Sam asked, taking my hand in his and feeling my pulse race on my wrist.

“You know kids, they think every bump in the night is a monster. It’s nothing to worry about.” You waved away his concern but saw the dubious look he had as he turned away. “What are you doing here, Sam?”

He sighed and closed the album, tracing the embroidered cover with his finger. “Someone hacked into the Pentagon, looks like they were after the plans for the wingsuits.”

“So? I’m not in the defence force anymore, not my problem.”

“They didn’t find what they were looking for so if someone is trying to replicate the suit, you’re their best bet. We need to get you somewhere safe.” 

“Fuck.” You rubbed your temples as you felt a tension headache coming on from the mess. “Any idea who this hacker is?”

“Dark web chatter suggests Khalid Khandil.”

“He’s in a black site prison, where he’ll be rotting away for the rest of his life.”

“Yeah, but his sons not. Junior took over the family business and he’s got a pretty big chip on his shoulder.”

“One I put there.” I leant back against the couch and rubbed my tired eyes. If I hadn't done what I did then Sam wouldn’t have left me, my son wouldn’t now be in danger and we could’ve been the family we were meant to be. “When do we leave?”

“First thing in the morning.”

If he hadn’t met Riley I knew he would have said immediately but this was going to be upsetting enough that Sam didn’t want to be waking him up in the middle of the night again and I was grateful for it. 

“There’s a spare room upstairs, Bucky. Sam, you can have my room for the night. I’ll keep the couch.”

“I’ll take the first watch if you two want to…talk,” Bucky said and I furrowed my eyebrows at the ill timed pause. “You aren’t just choosing to sleep on the couch, right?”

“Is he being sarcastic?” I asked Sam who just shrugged.

“I can never tell. You get used to it.”

“Right.” I rolled my eyes. “If you hear a knock at the top of the door, that’s Tiny and he’s mostly harmless. Just seeing a guy answer the door should send him running with his tail between his legs. Anyone else, you might have to…escort them off the porch.”

“A big guy called Tiny, very original,” Bucky muttered.

“He’s actually really short, he just tries to make up for it by knocking high up.” 

“Why are there people knocking on your door in the middle of the night, Ada?”

“Because I refuse to pay protection money to those motherfuckers,” I explained with a huff. “These bangers think they own these streets but I was scraping my knees on them before they were a twinkle in their mama’s eyes.”

“Ada,” Sam chided with a rueful shake of his head. “You’re going to get yourself killed and leave that little boy an orphan.” 

“These things we do.”

“No,” he cut me off as he pointed his finger at me. “You’re more than just a soldier now, you’re a mother.”

“And I am showing my son that we have to stand up for what matters,” I said, swiping his hand away from me. “I’m not going to be bullied out of my own home, Sam.”

“She’s got a point,” Bucky chimed in, earning a glare from Sam.

“Who’s side are you on, man?” 

I pulled myself up from the couch and grabbed my wine glass before heading to my basement, leaving them to figure themselves out.

“What are you doing?” Sam frowned as I limped down the stairs.

“Protecting my family. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The stairs creaked up to the first floor landing and I heard my bedroom door close as I went back to completing my new wingsuit. I hadn’t planned for it to be used but I had built it to keep my hands busy and as a fail safe if Curtis didn’t back off. So many strange things had happened in the past decade I felt I had to build the suit for the next attack, big or small, alien or human. 

“What’s that?” 

I hissed as I burnt my finger on the soldering iron and spun around to see Bucky leaning against the doorway. Ripping my earphones out of my ear I paused the song that was playing and sucked on my sore finger as he made his way further into my workshop and looked at the electronics littering most surfaces.

“A project,” I said as I shook my hand out and picked up the solder from where I had dropped it. “How long have you been friends with Sam?”

His chest jumped with a silent laugh and he tilted his head slightly. “We didn’t exactly get along until recently.”

I nodded and went back to soldiering the resistor onto the board while Bucky picked up a blade and pressed the sharp tip into his finger. 

“Serious project,” he commented. 

“It is, so I should really concentrate on it,” I murmured as I placed the complete circuit board into the manifold I had made for it. 

Light illuminated the LED’s as I connected it to the battery and I grinned as my laptop ran tests against the programming, all returning without fault. Now that the computer was ready, I could put the body together. A two lengths of lightweight magnesium frames were already hanging on the wall opposite me and I plucked the blade from Bucky’s hand to lock it in place on the frame. 

I had designed these wings from the Exo-7 model but mine would be better. The computer chips were more advanced and took up less room than the bulky Exo-7s plus the magnesium alloy was half the weight. The blades that made up each feather were thinner and had the capacity to move individually for added agility and it also allowed the wings to tuck away into a smaller space. 

As I placed each blade onto the wing frame I had to wire it to the computer and sunlight was beginning to leak through the narrow barred windows that peeked out at ground level. I yawned as I placed the last blade into place and connected the wire before locking the back plates in place to hide them all away.

“Where’d you learn to do all this?” Bucky asked, reminding me that he had stayed silently in the corner for so long I had forgotten he was even there.

“My father was an electrical engineer, specialising in advanced weaponry,” I said looking around the walls lined with his old projects. “I would spend hours tinkering around here with him. He would humour me by building the things I drew on his notepads, it's how he came up with the first Exo-7. I had called it the exoskeleton wing but apparently that was too long and it had to have a number to sound professional. I was 7 at the time so that was the magic number.”

“I always wondered how the name came about.” Sam chuckled as he walked into my workshop looking refreshed. “Has she slept?”

Bucky shook his head and began to make his way upstairs leaving me with Sam and the look that told me he wasn’t happy at the news. 

“I’ll sleep on the drive. I wanted to have her up and running if we are going to be taking down Khalid Jr,” I said, drawing his attention to the sleek black wingsuit I had just finished.

“I could probably get you a vibranium one like mine,” he said as he touched the individual feather blades and hissed as the sharp metal sliced his finger. 

“You doubt my design?” I tossed him a clean tissue to stem the bleeding while I grabbed one of Riley’s avengers branded band aids from under the bench and opened the wrapper. “Here.”

He took the tissue away and I gently placed the bandaid over the cut, closing it off before stepping away from the woody scent that reminded me of the nights spent in his arms. I was already halfway up the stairs before he realised he had stepped closer to me and I knew if I stayed there a minute longer I would be putty in his hands. I couldn’t have that, I couldn't be distracted by him after the pain he put me through.