#my laptop died permanently shortly after | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kzuhadovey · 4 years ago

Text

the times you both fell in love

character: choi soobin x f!reader

type: fluffy fluff!!

warnings: death of a loved one

song recommendations: night changes - one direction

so i was just sleeping- and this just popped up in my mind?? so i decided to write it so ~enjoy~ also i did not proof read i’m sorry

It was a quiet, peaceful day for Choi Soobin. Flowers dropped from the tall trees and a slight breeze caressed Soobin’s face. Soobin hummed quietly as he glanced beside him, being met with… you. You were carrying a large backpack and a baby in your arms. “Psst. Y/N.” Soobin whispered, not wanting to wake the baby. “What?” You glanced at him quickly. “I love you.” The way your cheeks turned red and you giggled a little. He has said that to you over 500 times and yet when he said it, he felt like falling in love with you over and over again.

➵ one Y/N Y/L/N sat in the car, a barbie backpack on her back and a frown on her face. "Come on Y/N, cheer up." Her father said, poking her cheek. Y/N looked away in annoyance. "Soobin's gonna be just fine dear." He said, laughing. Y/N at the age of 6 was extremely attached to her neighbor and best friend, Choi Soobin. They always went to school together and when one-day Soobin fell ill, Y/N was in a completely sour mood. "I'm not going if Binnie's not going!" You had said all day. Eventually, your father had dragged you and your lunch to the car. You faced the window, looking for your mother when you caught sight of Soobin, head outside the window, trying to catch your attention. You rolled down the windows and waved at Soobin, a bright smile on your face. "Y/N!!!! I'M SICK SO I CAN'T COME TO SCHOOL TODAY!" Soobin screams with all his power. "I KNOWW MY MOM TOLD ME!" You shout back. "GET SOME REST OKAY MY MOM SAID IF YOU REST YOU WON'T GET SICK EASILY!" Soobin nodded. "OKAY Y/N!! HAVE FUN AT SCHOOL!!" He shouted, and you smiled. You waved goodbye, and that was the first time you fell in love.

➵ two Y/N stood in the middle of the room, leaning against a table. It was a pretty crowded party that Soobin had dragged her to, she always resisted but Soobin would always force her anyways. Soobin carried 2 drinks to Y/N, smiling widely. "Y/N! It's a fun one, isn't it?" Soobin asks, already chugging down one drink. "No, it isn't actually. But lemme take a drink." She says, taking a cup and drinking it. It was salty and burned her throat, she enjoyed it. "Hey Soobin and girlfriend of Soobin, come, we're playing games in the living room." A boy said, approaching the duo. "Yeonjun. She isn't my girlfriend." Soobin says, frowning. Soobin takes your head under his armpit and pats your head. "Bin- stop it-" You say, giggling. "This little shit is my best friend," Soobin says, nodding. You eventually pout and ignore him. "Ah, well, Best friend and Soobin, let's play games, hm?" The boy, Yeonjun, asks. Soobin glances at you, asking for your opinion. You let out a simple shrug and he nods. "She's tired. We're going home." Soobin says, taking your waist and carrying you. Soobin knew you too well, he knew your mannerisms and everything else. "CHOI SOOBIN- LET ME DOWN THIS INSTANT-" You shout, kicking and flailing around. Yeonjun looks at both of you in an awkward way before walking away. Soobin laughs and starts carrying you out the door, making you pout and flail around. "You're lucky I saved you there, Princess Y/N," Soobin says, putting her down. She flips her hair and laughs. "Let's go. Before your parents slander me." Soobin says, offering his hand. She accepts giddily and they both walk home together, hand in hand.

➵ three Y/N stared at the hospital bed tears running down her eyes as the hospital staff started cleaning up the bed. Y/N couldn't feel anything, her face was numb from the tears and her fingers felt as if they weren't even there. Her mother was away, not even knowing that her father had died. Y/N had no one, and Y/N hated that feeling. As more tears started spouting, Soobin's comforting hand wrapped around her shoulder. Yeah, Soobin was there. As soon as he had heard the news of Y/N's father's accident, he had rushed to Y/N's side. Her father had already treated Soobin like his very own child, so Soobin was sad aswell. Soobin had a few tears as well but seeing Y/N broken was the thing he hated the most. Y/N started crying into his chest again, and Soobin could only stroke her head, trying to soothe her. "I'm so sorry, Y/N," Soobin whispered, kissing your head as you cried. He would eventually be there for every stage of sadness Y/N had.

➵ four Soobin was nervously waiting outside of the university building, tapping his hand. Today Y/N would present her start-up business to over 500 investors in part of a start-up competition. Y/N's been preparing all month, with sleepless nights and hungry days. Soobin had been accompanying Y/N every day, helping her with food, helping her present, and most importantly, having fun. Y/N came out of the building, a laptop bag in her hand and a frown on her face. Soobin was about to cheer but then realized that she wasn't that happy. Soobin approached Y/N in a frenzy, anger on his face. "WHO WAS IT?? I'LL GO BEAT THEM UP-" Soobin shouted, ready to storm in the building. Y/N awkwardly tried to hold him back, giggling and shouting. "SOOBIN LISTEN- I GOT IN-" Y/N shouted, and Soobin paused. "You- you what?-" Soobin stuttered, looking at her, eyes panicked. "I got in. They liked my idea, Bin." Y/N said, laughing. Soobin sighed in relief, throwing his head back. "THEN WHY'D YOU COME OUT ALL TEARY-EYED DUMBASS?!" Soobin shouted, causing some people to stare. Y/N laughed, trying to shush Soobin. "I wanted to see your reaction, of course," Y/N said, giggling. "You dumb bitch!" Soobin said before wrapping you in a hug. A nice, warm hug. He pulled away before kissing you. You panicked for a second, before finally leaning into the kiss. He finally pulled away, his cheeks red. "Uhm-" He muttered before actually running away. Y/N's mouth was gaping open. "CHOI SOOBIN GET BACK HERE-" You shouted, running after him.

➵ five You woke up in Soobin's dorm room, disheveled. You were only in your underwear and bra, and it was very, very cold. "Holy fuck." You said as you covered your body. Soobin was in a band with his friends- so that was going well. You enjoyed Beomgyu was a babbler definitely so that was a minus. Other than that, it was nice resting with the boys. You just didn't expect to be waking up naked. Soobin must have taken your clothes off when you were asleep. You stood up slowly, wrapping the blanket around yourself. You definitely didn't wanna pass Taehyun, he was literally sleeping with his eyes open. You picked up a hoodie from the floor and recognized it as Soobin's. You put it on yourself quickly before heading out the door. The hoodie was extremely oversized so it reached your knees. You peek around, looking for Soobin. "Binnie!!" You shout, looking for him. Suddenly, a 'boo!' noise came from behind you. You yelp and jump, turning around. Of course it was Soobin. You rolled your eyes. "Hey, baby." Soobin said, laughing. You walk around, looking for the bathroom. "Give me my clothes then I'll head out of here. I know you have practice soon." You say, finally spotting the mirror. Soobin nods as he follows you around like a lost cat. Soobin put his head on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you as you begin to brush your teeth. "Look how far we've come." Soobin mutters, looking at the mirror. You giggle and you just ignore him.

➵ six You were dressed in a small and comfortable onesie, watching your favorite show. "COME ON DELILAH JUST MARRY HIM ALREADY." You shouted in frustration. "Hello dear." Soobin's light voice called out. You waved shortly at your boyfriend before focusing back on the TV. Soobin was back home from another performance and he was itching for cuddles. "What you watching baby?" Soobin asks as he kisses your cheek from behind. "Y'know what I'm watching," You said. "I have an idea, baby." Soobin randomly says as he sits next to you. "What if we get married?" Soobin whispers into your ear. It took a while for you to process this, but you paused the tv show. "Us? Married?-" Your cheeks went red. "Bin, I mean- that would be nice- but are you sure? It's permanent, you'll be stuck to me for life." You said, chuckling. Soobin chuckles and he sits on the floor on one knee. "I don't mind. Will you marry me?" Soobin asks, taking out a ring from his pocket. Your breath hitches. "Holy fuck."

➵ seven Soobin stood from across the room nervously. The other boys were staring at Soobin in awe, giggling and laughing a bit. Soon, a figure came from the other side of the room. It was her. She was in a white gown that hugged her curves perfectly, and there were a heap of flowers in her hands. Everyone stood up, and Soobin was just in awe. "You look perfect." Soobin mouths and Y/N let out a tiny snort. "Shut the fuck up Choi Soobin." She mouths back and Soobin smiles.

➵ eight Soobin smiled at the presence of his god-daughter, Emily in his office. "HEYYY ITS EMILYY!" Soobin shouts, reaching for the blonde toddler. "Ah, I'm sorry Soobin! She just went in here and ran away from me!" You said, your hair a mess and vomit all over your clothes. "Aish, how are we gonna have a baby if you can't even take care of a toddler," Soobin said, laughing. "BITCH YOU CAN'T EVEN TAKE CARE OF MY DOG!" You said, slapping his head. "AIYA-" Soobin frowned. "Hey, look at that." Soobin noticed a picture, a small photo album on the back of the photo frame. "Hm?" You asks, busy talking to Emily. "It's a photo album we made when we got married." Soobin says, reaching for it. He opened it and his mouth dropped open. You looped her arms around Soobin's neck, also watching. "Look. Here's us when we were 6." Soobin pointed to a photo of you hugging Soobin. "Ooh, is that the party at Yeonjun's place?" You asked, pointing to one where they were drinking. "Hey, isn't that me when I finally launched my business?" You pointed to a photo of her wearing a suit. "And there's me hanging out with the boys." Y/N pointed to a photo of them at a pool. "When we got married. Ooh, and when we got Emily." You giggled. You were now enveloped in a heap of memories, and you ended up cuddling. "I love you so much. We've come so far, hm?" Soobin whispered. "I love you so much, Binnie." You replied.

#choi soobin #soobin #soobin imagines #txt #tommorrow x together #txt imagines #soobin fluff #soobin angst #txt fluff #txt angst #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #imagines #oneshots #fluff #chaotictsukkiwrites

57 notes · View notes

sxypigeon · 6 years ago

Text

Part 4: Pharmercy Beginnings

A/N: The last chapter of my pre-recall Pharmercy story.

After the fall of Overwatch, Dr. Ziegler spends her time traveling the world helping people, occasionally with the help of Helix and Fareeha Amari. Nosy coworkers try their best to bring the two together, but as the doctor is called away, Talon plots . . .

Part 1 warnings: none, just sarcasm and fluff

Part 2 warnings: attempted assault, violence

Part 3 warnings: none, more fluff

Part 4 warnings: assassinations, NSFW, cough-sex-cough

Fareeha took a sip of her tea as she adjusted the volume of her headphones. A twenty year old version of Angela flashed a shy smile as the auditorium’s applause died down during her first TED talk.

[Before I begin, I have a bit of a confession to make. I’ve been asked at least five times over the last two years to give a TED talk, but up until now I’ve been able come up with reasonable excuses to decline: I’m too busy working or researching, I don’t know what country I’ll be in four days from now, I hate public speaking - please don’t make me do it.]

The soldier smiled. While the doctor did hate speaking in front of crowds, she was proficient at it even then.

[I’m here today because I finally ran out excuses . . . and because my mentor threaten to confiscate the coffee maker from my office if I didn’t.

[My name is Angela Ziegler, I’m a surgeon and researcher at Universitätsspital Zürich. In my spare time, I act as a field medic on humanitarian missions with the UN’s peacekeeping organisation Overwatch and I’m here tonight to talk about myself and my research into nanotechnology.]

The doctor took a moment to sip from a bottle of water before continuing.

[Before I get into that, I feel like I should address the comments I get most often whenever I tell someone I’m a doctor - ‘Really? You don’t look old enough to be a doctor. What’s your skincare routine?’]

And she still gets those comments, Fareeha thought with a grin.

[There’s a reason for that - I earned my doctorate in Biomedical Engineering before I was able to legally celebrate my accomplishment with a pint or glass of wine. To put that in better context for those living outside of Switzerland, our drinking age for less potent alcohols is sixteen.]

Younger Angela paused her slow walk across the stage with a soft smirk as the room broke out in quiet muttering.

[By seventeen, I finished medical school and had started my residency, that was the same year I submitted my first proposal to the European Medicines Agency to begin clinical trials for treating heart disease using nanotechnology.]

The doctor clicked a button on the small remote in her hand and a picture of her with her team in Switzerland appeared on the large screen above her.

[That was taken on the first day of human testing, almost three years ago. That was a very roundabout way of saying I’m currently a few months shy of my twenty-first birthday. So yes, I am quite young.]

Fareeha paused the video and put her laptop on the coffee table in front of the large sofa she’d been laying across. Quietly, she trekked across the expansive living area and informal dining room before opening the door to Angela’s room just enough to poke her head through. The doctor was still asleep on her stomach with her hair brushed off her face by the soldier. Angela had collapsed into bed after nonchalantly stripping down to her underwear in front of her. She was so tired, I doubt she realized what she was doing. . . or she was messing with me again. Both are equally likely. She closed the door and retreated back to the living room.

They made it to Angela’s apartment nearly an hour ago after fighting through a sea of reporters and dignitaries at the airport. Fareeha wanted to punch every last one of them in the face . . . many, many times. Couldn’t they see the doctor was exhausted? Didn’t they see the way she grimaced at their camera flashes and shouted questions?

The captain rolled her shoulders and continued walking through the penthouse apartment restlessly. Over twenty-four hours of non-stop tension was difficult to relax after, especially when what she really wanted to do was pull the doctor into her arms and hold her while she slept. She’s already asleep . . . she doesn’t need me.

The lingering anger about the whole ordeal her best friend endured didn’t help her state of mind either. I need to hit something, she thought as she headed towards the small exercise room.

“None of this makes any sense!” Nayef shouted as he pulled at his thick hair.

His father frowned at the younger man’s lack of self control, But perhaps Talon is partly to blame for that. “Calm yourself, boy. The situation is being dealt with.”

“But I would never attack anyone like they’re saying I did! And somehow there’s fucking video of it!” He let his hands fall from his hair to his face, one hand over his mouth as he watched the airport assault video on his phone.

“Put that away. I told you, the situation is being handled.”

“How?! How could this be spun any way but how it looks?!”

“That’s enough,” the older man growled quietly. His son immediately quieted his protests. “Turn your phone off and go play one of your games. The situation is being handled.”

The young man frowned at being dismissed like a child, but obeyed and left the room.

Ogundimu had better clean up this mess, he thought as readied himself for the Talon operative’s pending call.

[Your highness, good evening,] the smooth, slightly accented voice on the other end of the video call greeted.

“Ogundimu, you said this plan was fool-proof. Instead, my brother lives, my son is being hounded as a rapist on the web, and I have three dozen different countries threatening tariffs on the Kingdom over this debacle. What are you going to do about it?” the acting-king asked quietly, barely keeping his anger under control.

[How is your son?]

“Fine, don’t change the subject.”

[I have a team working on damage control. We also need to ensure the safety of you and your son-]

“I’ll take care of that,” he said shortly. “After the mess you and your people created, I think I’ll rely on my own people.”

[If you believe that’s for the best then I won’t push the matter. For now it’s important to remember this is only a setback. Our goals can still be-]

“Save your pandering for the gullible, Ogundimu. I am already suspected by my brother. If he doesn’t arrest me, I’ll surely be exiled. I took a risk trusting you and now I’m paying the price. Don’t contact me again unless you have a way to fix this.”

With that, the acting king disconnected the call.

Ogundimu glared at the screen for a moment before coming to a decision. “Sombra, Lacroix. I have a mission for you both.”

Sombra grinned and looked to the sniper who was lazily filing her nails in front of a 24 hour news channel on one of the many monitors in the large room. “I was beginning to wonder why we brought her with,” the hacker mused.

“To keep an eye on you, ma chérie,” Widowmaker said flatly as she rose slowly and approached.

It was the smell of her bed sheets that pulled Angela from her slumber twelve hours later - not because of how they smelled, but because of what they were missing. Why don’t these smell of bleach? she wondered drowsily. Oh, I’m not at the hospital or the refugee camp.

She rolled onto her side and groped for her phone and turned it on. So many messages . . . I can’t deal with this now.

Sitting up proved to be a monumental task - dizziness assailed her strong enough to force her back down onto the bed. Low blood sugar. I still have chocolate in the night stand, right? A clumsy hand opened the drawer and found a small vibrator and a bottle of lubricant, lip balm, moisturizer, a spare phone charger, and finally a few pieces of individually wrapped dark chocolates at the very back. Verdammt, that’s good for being in there for over a year, she thought as the candy melted in her mouth.

Blood sugar better regulated, she finally sat up and took stock of her injuries. Ribs seem fine. She removed the brace from her right hand and wiggled her fingers. Good as new, though a little stiff. She felt the bridge of her nose and gave a wide yawn. No permanent damage. And I just assume the concussion has resolved itself. I need some real food . . . and coffee. A lot of coffee . . . especially if I’m going to make a dent in these messages today.

As she steam from the shower filled the bathroom, Angela tried not to dwell on how wonderful it had felt having Fareeha lather up her hair. You have no excuse to ask for her help this time. Just hurry up and wash . . . and maybe later you can return the favor later, she thought as she stripped and stepped under the water.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in a Universitätsspital Zürich hoodie and yoga pants, she wandered out of her room in search of sustenance.

“Ange?”

Warmth blossomed deep in her chest as she spotted warm eyes peering over the back of the couch. “Fareeha, what are you doing up? It’s not even dawn yet!” Angela laughed as the soldier practically vaulted over the sofa before carefully enveloping the blonde in a tender embrace. “My injures have healed,” Angela muttered into her clavicle. “I’m not made of glass.”

“Oh, well in that case-” Fareeha squeezed the doctor tight enough to force a bit of the air from her lungs.

“O-okay, I’m rethinking that last statement,” she groaned with a chuckle. Angela pulled back enough to see the captain’s smiling face.

“You look better, Ange. How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” she admitted, “and a bit tired still. Have you slept?”

Fareeha rolled her eyes, but nodded. “Probably not enough though. I’m still on Indian time, I guess.”

“Well, I’ve ordered enough food from the kitchen to put one person into a food coma and I can always order more.”

“I’m fine. I’m just happy you’re feeling better,” she said softly as she brushed a loose strand of damp hair behind Angela’s ear.

The warmth shifted to the pit of her stomach as calloused fingers brushed her neck. If only I hadn’t just burned through more than three thousand calories healing broken bones . . . Eat first, eat her out after. “I have you to thank for some of that. Knowing you were around definitely allowed me to rest easier.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” Angela muttered softly as she cupped the side of Fareeha’s jaw and guided her lips to hers. It was a chaste kiss, but a lingering one - one that left Angela wondering just how badly she needed to eat and if she could put it off for an hour or three.

“You need to eat,” Fareeha whispered against her lips.

“I know,” she said simply before she pulled her back in for another kiss. The embers in her gut were quickly stoked into a growing fire as she pulled herself flush against the soldier. I shouldn’t be doing this. I need to-

Angela’s stomach suddenly gave what was probably the loudest rumble she’d ever remembered hearing.

Fareeha pulled back enough to chuckle, “I think we need to save this for later.”

“Verdammt.” As if on cue, the doorbell chimed announcing the arrival of the food. “I suppose you’re right.”

[Web is set. Happy hunting, Madame Araignée.]

Lacroix rolled her eyes before watching the younger al Saud’s limousine navigate the city courtesy of Sombra’s tracker. Coming home after a late night clubbing. You should have listened to your father and stayed home, Nayef.

Fareeha was pretty sure she was in love. Technically she had been for years, but watching Angela put away an enormous amount of sausage, bread, and yogurt cemented the feeling.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” the doctor asked as she paused long enough to sip her coffee.

“I don’t want to deprive you of what you are very clearly enjoying.”

Angela’s cheeks darkened a shade. “It’s been . . . nine months? Yes, that sounds right. Nine months since I’ve been home and had Swiss food. I didn’t realize I missed it so much. . . . That and I was quite literally starving when I woke up. Here, have some röschti-”

“Only if I can pour maple syrup on it,” she chuckled as she took the plate of potato pancakes.

“I would be concerned if you didn’t.”

Omar kept a silent watch on the troubled young man in the back of the limousine. Prince Nayef was uncharacteristically quiet tonight. Usually after a night out like tonight he would regale the driver and his security team with tales his exploits, but not tonight it seemed.

The Omar came to a stop at the intersection and peered back at his passenger. “Would you like to stop for an early morning snack, sir?” he asked.

The prince jerked out of his thoughts and shook his head. “No, just take me home.”

“Yes, sir.” He glanced in the rearview mirror once more before moving forward. He hasn’t been himself since that business with the doctor. How all of that was fabricated is beyond me, but I know Nayef. He may bed many women, but he isn’t the type to attack a woman.

The streets were quiet in the predawn darkness. So much so that Omar almost thought he imaged the sound of breaking glass and the splatter of liquid. Omnic eyes jumped to the rear view mirror; he saw Nayef slumped to the side, a quarter of his skull and brain tissue plastered the left window.

[Breaking news: Prince Nayef al Saud, subject of international outrage for his alleged attack on humanitarian Dr. Angela Ziegler, was assassinated this morning in Riyadh while returning home from the city center.]

Angela jerked her head up to the television screen and felt her jaw drop. She and Fareeha had settled on the sofa in the living room after breakfast to allow the doctor to work on the numerous messages and updates on King Azid populating her phone. “What?”

[Sources say the prince was traveling back to the royal palace in a limousine when a single bullet struck him in the head, killing him instantly.]

“Shit,” Fareeha muttered.

Angela stared at the screen in shock. Mixed feelings fought for dominance in her still exhausted mind: horror that he was murdered, sadness for his family, and - though she’d never admit it to anyone - relief the man was gone from the world. “But why?”

Fareeha tore her eyes from the screen and looked to the stricken doctor. She wrapped an arm around Angela and pulled her close. “I don’t know, Ange.”

Silence fell between them as the news report rambled on. “What if this was Talon?” Angela asked quietly after a while.

“What do you mean?”

“What if-” she started before pausing to gather her thoughts. “What if this is Talon covering their tracks? What if Nayef was just a pawn? It already looks like Dr. O’Deorain had a hand in the assassination attempt on the king - what if she or someone else in Talon got to Nayef? His pupils were massively constricted each time he attacked me - what if Talon . . . brainwashed him or drugged him or I don’t know, did something to force him to attack me?”

“You think he was innocent in all of this?” Fareeha asked a bit incredulously.

“I’m saying none of this makes sense. There was definitely corruption at the police station and with the secret police, but why Nayef targeted me still doesn’t make sense. Why were he and his friends in India in the first place? You said it yourself, that without me, the king’s surgery couldn’t have been done without removing the rogue nanobots. I’m not saying I’m the only person in the world that would have recognized the symptoms, but there certainly aren’t many that would and even fewer that could figure out how to remove them.”

The captain let the argument bounce around her mind for a moment. “But you fought him and his friends off. Talon thought three large men could easily overpower you - render you physically and mentally unable to help the king. Holy shit,” she muttered quietly. “If-”

“If they had finished their job, the king would be dead by now,” Angela finished softly. “And now that their mission has failed, they’re covering their tracks. I just wonder if they’ll target the acting king. Perhaps killing his son was a message.”

“Keep quiet or you’ll be next?”

“Something like that.”

The acting king stared stoically at his laptop. Every fifteen minutes, aids would update him on the investigation, but he merely nodded and sent them away. He already knew who was responsible - what he didn’t know is what to do about it.

“Sir, there is no new information at this time,” the latest aid muttered regretfully.

He shooed him away with a flick of his wrist. Do I call Ogundimu? Will he admit to it? Should I tell the Mabahith? If I admit to having ties to Talon, I’ll be signing my own death warrant.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Fareeha asked as Angela set up her webcam.

“Every major news site is asking for a statement and my lawyers seem to think it would be a good idea as well.” She smiled as video of herself popped up on the screen. “Are you sure you don’t want to be in it?”

“Completely,” the soldier said from across the room.

Angela rolled her eyes before beginning to record. “Guten Morgen, as promised, an update since leaving Saudi Arabia. I’m finally home and recovering, though I admit the news I woke to this morning is incredibly worrisome. I’d like to extend my condolences to the Saudi royal family - regardless of what happened in the last forty-eight hours, murder is never an acceptable course of action. I’m as anxious as the rest of the world to know the outcome of the investigation.”

Angela paused and sipped her coffee, “Since arriving home I’ve slept twelve hours and allowed my injuries to heal. I’ve eaten enough for at least three people since waking, so hopefully I’ll be able to return to work soon. For now, I plan to spend the next few days relaxing and trying to process everything that’s happened.”

“There are many people I need to thank for their help and understanding through this whole ordeal: the staff at the Royal Hospital in Riyadh, my colleague from Universitätsspital Zürich who performed the necessary surgery I couldn’t because of my injuries, and Helix Security for protection and piece of mind once I left police custody.”

Another sip of coffee, this time turning the mug to display the text “Self Medicating” to the camera. “That’s all for now. Stay safe and when in doubt, ask your doctor.”

Slow inhale, slower exhale - There you are, Widowmaker thought as she lined up her shot. “Magnifique,” she whispered as the body fell to the ground. “Widowmaker here. Mission accomplished. Are there further instructions?”

[Hold position for now. There is a possibility of a fourth target. Position yourself within range of the royal palace,] Ogundimu responded.

[Uh, boss - we just took out the acting king’s son and his friends,] Sombra pointed out tensely. [Define within range of the royal palace.]

[Just don’t leave town,] he replied shortly.

“Very well,” Lacroix replied before Sombra could further annoy the man. I suppose one more wouldn’t hurt.

Fareeha sat down next to the pensive doctor, “Are you okay?”

Angela set her mug on the coffee table and leaned against the soldier, “I don’t know.” She closed her eyes and enjoyed the other woman’s warmth as Fareeha wrapped an arm around her shoulders. So much had happened in the last two days, little of which she was prepared to deal with.

I have a beautiful woman in my apartment I’ve been fantasizing about for longer than I care to admit - I should do something with that. She pulled away from the embrace enough to stare up into Fareeha’s curious eyes. We should really talk about what this is . . . Angela raised her hand and let her fingertips ghost over the other woman’s skin before cupping her check. . . . but I didn’t get where I am today without taking risks, she thought as she licked her lips and met Fareeha halfway for the kiss.

It was tender, too tender to be honest. As Angela threaded her fingers through the younger woman’s hair, she considered falling back against the length of the couch and pulling Fareeha on top of her, but impatience won out. I need to get us on the same page.

She broke the kiss and smiled at the confused look Fareeha gave her before straddling the soldier’s lap. “If it’s not too much to ask,” Angela purred as she removed her hoodie, “I would appreciate something a bit more blunt.”

Fareeha stared up at her, pupils dilating as she licked her lips. “Like this?” she asked hesitantly as she placed her hands on Angela’s hips.

A soft chuckle escaped the doctor. “I was thinking something more like-,” she paused and moved Fareeha’s hands to her ass, “this.”

“Oh,” she muttered before grinning devilishly. “So like this?” Fareeha asked before gripping Angela’s cheeks and bringing the doctor’s hips flush with the soldier’s abdomen, making sure to prolong the grind of Angela’s core. “Am I doing this right?” Fareeha asked in a husky voice.

Angela’s groan started deep in her chest as her eyes rolled back briefly. “Ja, just like that.” She widened her knees and settled low enough in Fareeha’s lap to continue their kiss. Whatever hesitation the soldier had before was completely gone as she quickly sought out the doctor’s tongue with her own. Angela was so lost in the sensation, she hadn’t noticed one of Fareeha’s hands following the curve of her bum lower until the soldier found a different set of lips.

A jolt of pleasure forced Angela’s hips forward as her breathing quickened. “Fuck,” she whimpered as Fareeha slowly rubbed her opening through her yoga pants.

“Still to your liking, Doctor?”

“That’s Frau Doktor to you,” she choked out as her hips began a slight rhythm.

“Hm, I’ll take that as a ‘ja,’ Frau Doktor,” Fareeha chuckled as she pressed a bit further between her lips.

Breath fled Angela’s lungs as she leaned forward against Fareeha’s chest. Her mind clouded with lust as the soldier continued her steady assault on the doctor’s core, a strong hand helping exaggerate every thrust of Angela’s hips.

“Let me know when you want more, Ange-”

“Yes! I mean- Verdammt!” Angela groaned into her ear. “Please, more.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fareeha’s warm hands disappeared for a moment before slipping down the back of the doctor’s tight fitting pants. It feels like her fingers are scorching my skin, Angela thought with a whimper of desire. When was the last time someone touched me like this?

Soft lips attached to the side of Angela’s neck as Fareeha found the slick warmth between her thighs. Teeth nibbled gently as fingers circled and toyed with her entrance, but never dipped inside. I need- I need more, but I- I don’t want this to end.

“Liebling, please have mercy,” Angela begged breathlessly.

The soldier chuckled lightly into her neck. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, habibti.”

Warmth blossomed in her chest and a ripple of pleasure travelled up her spine at Fareeha’s teasing. “Reeha, I’m not going to last much longer. . . I need you inside of me,” she groaned.

“Hm, I suppose I could be merciful,” the younger woman muttered as her first two fingers slipped inside the doctor to the first knuckle.

It wasn’t much, far less than Angela thought she’d get, but that small amount of penetration was enough start her walls fluttering. Her jaw dropped open as her chest heaved, leaning back to grind more firmly against Fareeha’s abdomen. A third finger slipped in and deeper as a spasm of more intense pleasure caused her to lose her rhythm briefly, before Fareeha took over and guided the doctor’s hips. Eyes rolled back as breaths became high-pitched gasps. Her hands clenching the soldier’s shoulders were the only thing grounding Angela as pleasure overwhelmed her. Wave after wave quickly reduced her to a shaking, quivering mess.

“Are you okay?” Fareeha asked softly once the older woman’s hips finally stilled.

With a fair bit of effort, Angela opened her eyes and met Fareeha’s. The soldier’s pupils were blown and her face flushed - both of which the doctor took note of before the slightly smug smile on the younger woman’s face. “I’m lovely,” she purred as she purposely clenched around the fingers still inside of her, “but I think we should continue this in my bedroom.”

Fareeha’s eyes widened slightly as her smile grew. “Lead the way,” she said as she slipped her fingers from the doctor.

Angela stood on shaky legs, but took Fareeha’s hand and pulled her along a bit impatiently. “I wonder if I can make you scream,” she mused as she opened the door.

In a surprisingly short amount of time later, with Angela nestled between the soldier’s thighs, Fareeha would learn the answer was definitely yes.

It’s better this way, the former acting king thought as he was led away by the Mabahith. My silence will save the rest of my family. Better to lose only one son than all of them.

[We’re in the clear. Our friend is pleading ignorance about everything,] Sombra’s voice said over the communicator. [He seems to have gotten the message.]

[Good, return to base,] Ogundimu responded.

[Race you to the transport, Spider?]

“I know you’re already there, Sombra” Lacroix said drily as she collapsed her rifle. Below, the limousine carrying what would have been her fourth target drove out of her line of sight.

“Are you sure about that?”

The sniper whipped around to find the hacker sitting cross-legged on top of an air-intake vent. “It’s not like you to suggest a fair competition.”

Sombra clutched her chest theatrically. “That hurts, amiga.”

“Oh, my apologies,” she said with an eye roll. With her kit packed, Widowmaker glanced back at the younger woman. “See you at the transport,” she said with a small grin before grappling to the next building.

[You cheating pendejo!]

Fareeha sighed contently as she spooned against the sleeping doctor. She’d lost track of how many fantasies she’d fulfilled this morning, but the one she was enjoying at the moment - post-coital cuddling with Angela - was the one the filled her chest with the most warmth and finally dispelled the lingering longing she’d felt ever since she first realized she loved the doctor all those years ago. Fifteen years later - it’s like no time has passed at all, she mused as she traced random patterns on Angela’s hip and stomach.

“That tickles,” the doctor muttered, voice thick with sleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Fareeha whispered before kissing behind her ear.

“Hmm,” she hummed happily. “What’s keeping you up?”

“It’s nothing,” Fareeha said without thinking. Angela’s skeptical hum made the soldier reconsider the question. “I guess . . . part of me is still waiting to wake up and this all to have been a dream.”

Angela rolled over to face Fareeha and propped herself up on an elbow. She smiled softly before ducking down to capture Fareeha’s lips in a slow, but deep kiss.

Just as she was beginning to think the doctor was looking for more, the soldier felt a sharp pinch above her hip. Her startled yelp caused Angela to fall back onto the bed in a fit of giggles. “Seriously?!”

“Well, you know you’re not dreaming now, right?” she chuckled.

“You’re ridiculous,” Fareeha muttered grumpily as she snuggled against Angela’s side.

“Liebling, I’m sorry,” the doctor said soothingly. “Can I make a confession?”

“Sure.”

“Do you remember your graduation from basic training?”

“When my mother purposely scheduled herself a mission so she wouldn’t be able to attend? Yeah, I remember.”

“I remember going with Jesse and Reinhardt and Reyes,” Angela said patiently. “When you and the other graduates were presented I remember thinking to myself, Verdammt! She’s not supposed to look that good in a uniform!”

“Really?” Fareeha asked sceptically.

“Ja, you had filled out during training. You weren’t a beanpole anymore - you radiated self confidence and with good reason. I think you were top of your class in nearly every category. I was caught more than a few times by Jesse leering that day - and once he figured out why, he promptly told Reinhardt and Reyes.”

“So when they all kept accidentally pushing you into me all day after the ceremony, it wasn’t necessarily because they knew I liked you-”

“That was probably part of it, but they were quite amused by my epiphany about your physical appearance.”

Fareeha grinned for a moment before another question begged to be answered. “If we both found the other attractive back then - wait, you did know I-”

“Liebling, I daresay the entire watchpoint knew.”

“Right . . . Why are we only doing something about it now?”

Angela didn’t say anything for a while, but carded her fingers through the younger woman’s hair. “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“I did,” Angela admitted. “I guess I was afraid I couldn’t be the person you needed me to be - I was actually fairly certain I couldn’t. . . I hoped you’d find someone who could be there for you whenever you needed, someone who wasn’t hundreds of kilometers away and too busy to even consider trying to have a relationship.”

“And now?” Fareeha asked quietly.

“I suppose we’re going to have to try this long distance relationship thing people keep telling me is entirely doable.”

Fareeha chuckled softly. “It helps to have realistic expectations going into it.”

“Like what?”

“Like how often we’ll be able to see each other and how often we should call.”

“So seeing each other more than three time a year outside of work?”

“Yeah.”

“That sounds like something we should figure out after a nap,” Angela muttered through a yawn.

“Fine, as long as we figure it out eventually,” Fareeha said softly before rolling the doctor towards her onto her side. “Get some sleep, Ange,” she whispered as the doctor burrowed under Fareeha’s chin.

Later that evening, Angela sat on her patio overlooking the city, staring at the unlit cigarette between her fingers. Slowly and deliberately, she slipped it back in the half-empty pack and placed it by the unused ashtray.

A gentle smile spread across Fareeha’s face ten minutes later when she stepped outside to check on the doctor. Eyes closed and breathing deeply, Angela was meditating, her cigarettes long forgotten. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Finally,” she teased as she unfolded her legs and grabbed pack and lighter.

“Quitting alreading?” Fareeha asked as the doctor led the way back inside.

Angela shrugged as she tossed the cigarettes in kitchen garbage. “I wanted to be able to taste your meal.”

“I’m honored.”

Nightmares, flashes of intense anxiety, and nicotine withdrawal peppered Angela’s week of recovery, but with Fareeha nearby to provide support, the doctor’s mental state quickly improved. Endless affection, home-cooked meals, and meditation seemed to be just what Angela needed . . . that and sex.

“I’ve always wanted to take you like this,” Angela admitted with a grin as she slipped the slippery toy between Fareeha’s folds. “The strong and stoic soldier on her hands and knees . . .” she slid the dildo along the younger woman’s clit and entrance, “getting thoroughly fucked by a much smaller woman.” Fareeha’s low moan had Angela grinning widely until the vibrator inside herself sprang to life.

“Don’t get too cocky, Frau Doktor,” the captain chuckled. “You gave me this remote, but you didn’t say how I should use it.”

Angela let out the shaky breath she’d been holding as she adjusted to the weak stimulation. “I have complete confidence in your intuition - it’s gotten us this far.”

“So if I were to suddenly crank it to max-”

The doctor’s hips jerked forward violently as she tensed up before Fareeha dropped the intensity back to the lowest setting in a fit of sniggering giggles.

Angela pulled herself off the soldier and slapped her ass just hard enough to sting. “Liebling, I have no problem teasing you until you beg,” she said in a menacing voice.

Fareeha hoped the doctor hadn’t noticed the way her hips jerked impatiently at the slap. “Is that a threat or a challenge?”

The blonde’s soft laughter should have been warning enough, “Oh, Fareeha. For you, it is a promise.” The harnessed toy was back between the soldier’s folds, sliding in long strokes. “Tell me, liebling, is there a certain type of pain that arouses you or will anything do?”

Shit, Fareeha thought. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered.

“Oh? So this,” she used her free hand to scratch up along the back of Fareeha’s thigh, “does nothing for you?”

“Nope,” the soldier groaned in a strangled voice.

“Hm, how about this?”

Blunt nails trailed firmly from between her shoulder blades to the small of her back. “If it does something for you, than feel free to continue,” Fareeha panted.

“I am enjoying watching you squirm-” Angela tried to say before the vibrations inside her intensified. “Retaliation?” she moaned.

“I just don’t want you to get bored.” Fareeha tried to take calming breaths while Angela was distracted, but with the toy’s constant simulation of her clit and entrance, she didn’t accomplish much. “Too much, Ange?”

“I was about to ask you the same,” she chuckled breathlessly. “Do you want me inside you, yet?”

Fareeha bit her lip, “Does it count as begging?”

“I suppose not, since I brought it up.” The toy stopped at the younger woman’s entrance.

“Yeah.” The head of the toy slowly pushed inside just enough to stretch slightly before withdrawing. At first Fareeha thought the doctor was going slowly to avoid hurting her, but after the fifth stroke with only the bell-shaped head of the toy entering her, she began to have her doubts. “Ange?”

“Yes, liebling?”

“You can go deeper, you know?”

“I could.”

Fareeha sighed and fought the urge to bring her hand between her legs and rub her clit for more stimulation. “Do you need encouragement?”

“What do you have in-” Her breath caught in her chest as the doctor jerk forward with an increase to the vibrations inside her. “Impatient, aren’t we?” she moaned.

The toy now half sheathed inside Fareeha, the soldier smiled and pushed herself back against Angela to bring it deeper. “I’m not ready to beg yet.”

“Then I need to try harder.” The blonde bent over Fareeha and slipped her fingers on either side of her clit. “I have another question for you, liebling.”

“Yeah?” The doctor’s long and frustratingly slow thrusts were testing her patience.

“I told you I’ve thought about taking you like this. Have you thought about this, too? Or have you imagined yourself in control?” Her fingers began moving in gentle circles over the sensitive bud.

If Fareeha’s face hadn’t already been flushed from arousal, it would have been now. A decade and a half of fantasies - of course I’ve thought of nearly this exact situation . . . but I’ve also thought of another, more erotic one. “I’ve thought about both,” she admitted, “but I’m particularly fond of one . . . where I take you from behind.”

Angela’s soft chuckle filled the air and sped up her thrusts just a bit. “I’m not surprised.”

“The thought of thrusting into your perfect ass . . . while I’m three fingers deep in you has gotten me a off more than a few times,” Fareeha panted.

Angela froze in surprise and bent further over the soldier, muttering obscenities in multiple languages as she tried to temper her excitement.

“Need some help?” Fareeha asked with a smug smile.

Deep, shaking breaths seemed to be doing little to help the doctor. “You’re looking for something a bit harder and faster, right?” she whimpered.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Good.” The nails on the hand gripping Fareeha’s hip bit into skin as Angela’s hips drew back before quickly meeting her hips. “Harder?”

“If you can handle it,” the soldier said with a grin.

A low growl was the doctor response as she slammed their hips together, the fingers on Fareeha’s clit working a bit firmer and faster.

“Fuck, that’s perfect,” Fareeha groaned as she met each of Angela’s thrusts. “Just like that.” She heard the doctor give a soft moan. “You’re perfect - don’t stop.” The thrusting sped up a tic with Angela’s breathing. “I’m so close-” Her walls fluttered around the toy. “Oh, fuck,” she groaned. Just as Fareeha was about to fall into a more intense orgasm, Angela pulled back. “What-” A sharp slap to her ass sent her body spiraling into pleasure. She was vaguely aware of the doctor continuing to thrust roughly into her, extending the orgasm before remembering the remote to Angela’s vibrator. She quickly maxed it out.

“Gott!” the doctor choked as she buried the cock as deep as it could go. Short, quick thrusts rapidly drove her over the edge at last - the constant simulation of the vibrator prolonged the feeling, leaving Angela gasping for breath.

“Liebling, please,” she whimpered tiredly. “Enough.”

“Oh, right,” Fareeha muttered as she fumbled with the remote. With the vibrations halted, Angela collapsed forward onto the soldier’s back. “Are you okay?”

“Ja, tired,” she mumbled.

Carefully, Fareeha lowered herself onto her stomach while balancing the doctor on top of her. “If you pull out of me, I can help you out of the harness.”

“Who says I’m done with you yet?” she muttered with a small fit of giggles.

“You do,” Fareeha sighed with a smile. “You get very giggly when drunk or exhausted. I’m pretty sure you’re too far gone for round two.”

“Fine.” Clumsily, Angela pulled away before flopping onto her back on the bed beside Fareeha.

About poke at the doctor’s lack of grace, Fareeha’s words died in her throat as she watched the pink silicone cock bounce side-to-side.

The soldier’s snort of laughter forced Angela to open her tired eyes. “What?”

Using a single finger, Fareeha pulled the tip of the dildo towards her before letting it go, causing it to bounce violently.

“Seriously, liebling?”

“What? It’s hilarious! Physical comedy is the best type of comedy!”

“Not your silly puns?”

“They are pretty good, but come on. Are you telling me you don’t find that even remotely amusing?”

Angela gave her hips a shake and watched the toy wiggle. “Okay, it’s a little funny.”

“I knew it,” Fareeha muttered with a grin as she loosened the straps around the doctor’s thighs. “Did it live up to your expectations?” she asked tapping the cock.

“I didn’t make you beg,” Angela pouted lightly. “I suppose that means we’ll have to try it again . . . or perhaps I should let you have a turn with it. You seem to have put some thought into your fantasy.”

Fareeha felt her face warm considerably as she pulled the harness down the doctor’s legs. “Only if you’re up for it.” She crawled back up Angela’s body and settled on top of her. “What do you want?” she muttered against her lips before kissing her gently.

“You.” Warm arms wrapped around Fareeha as the kiss deepened. Hips and legs shifted until they both had a thigh to grind against. Breaths came hot and heavy as Angela’s nails scratched down the soldier’s back to her bum. Moans filled the air as their movements took on a near frantic pace. Fareeha hit her high first, breaking the kiss and groaning into the doctor’s shoulder.

“Do you need help?” Fareeha asked after a moment, slipping her hand between them.

Angela nodded impatiently, hips still grinding on Fareeha’s thigh. Light, rapid circles over the bundle of nerves between the doctor’s lips stilled her hips as her back arched off the bed.

Fareeha propped herself up higher to give Angela more freedom of movement . . . and to watch the doctor tease one of her own nipples. Lower lip between her teeth, Angela was close and with her breasts arched up the way they were, Fareeha felt it would be a crime not to give the ignored one the attention it deserved.

“Aaaah!” Angela groaned as Fareeha’s teeth nibbled lightly on her nipple. It was enough to start tremors of pleasure radiating from her pelvis. Several vocal moments later, Angela finally collapsed back onto the bed.

“Better?” Fareeha chuckled as she pulled the doctor into arms.

“Too far gone for round two,” she muttered with a sleepy laugh.

“You proved me wrong, habibti.” Fareeha admitted warmly. “Let’s get some rest.” She pulled the sheets over them and let sleep begin to relax her mind and body.

“Verdammt!”

“What’s wrong?” Fareeha muttered in confusion as Angela wriggled out of her arms.

“The vibrator.” she huffed in annoyance as she shuffled towards the bathroom.

“Wha- Oh.” A fit of giggles over took the soldier.

Angela turned back and glared, “You should probably get up, too. I don’t want you getting a UTI with two days of our time off remaining.”

Fareeha sighed, “Ja, Frau Doktor,” as she headed toward the guest bathroom.

Dinner with Dr. Muller was enjoyable and largely uneventful until dessert.

“Angie.”

“Hm?” she hummed as she took another bite of tiramisu.

“That’s my leg, not the captain’s.”

“Verdammt!” she whispered as her face went scarlet before burying it in her hands. “Lars, I’m so sorry.”

He chuckled and patted her back fatherly. “I suppose it’s my fault for talking up so much space under such a small table. Have you two been playing footsie through the entire meal?”

Fareeha was barely holding in her laughter as she looked to the younger doctor.

“Maybe,” Angela admitted as she dropped her hands.

“Mein Gott - does that mean you’re finally dating?”

Angela looked shyly at Fareeha before nodding.

“Good for you! It’s about time, too.”

“Lars!”

“What?” he chuckled. “How many times have you told me you’re too busy for a relationship over the years? This means Captain Amari can take over the job of worrying about you.”

“Are you really capable of not worrying about me, Lars?”

“No, but I feel better knowing someone else is, too.”

Fareeha smiled softly, “I have been for years. I almost feel like there should be a support group for us. Like for when Angela does something ridiculous like head to Turkey during their civil war.”

“I didn’t sleep well the entire time she was there,” Lars laughed with a shake of his head.

“I can take care of myself,” Angela pouted.

“That’s not the point,” Fareeha said patiently. “When you purposely put yourself in harm’s way, the people who care about you will worry.”

“It’s a good thing, Angie,” Lars reassured her.

The day of their many flights brought with it a fresh bout of anxiety for the doctor. It seemed no amount of sex or mediation that morning could loosen the knot in her stomach.

“How are you doing, habibti?” Fareeha asked softly as they settled into their seats for their first flight.

“I’ve been better,” Angela admitted before beginning to take slow, deep breaths.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” she whispered as she took the doctor’s clammy hand.

Angela managed a small smile. “I know.”

“There’s the slacker!”

Fareeha looked around the helipad and spotted Tariq and Saleh standing with Angela’s team. “Funny, I seem to recall you two getting time off the same time I did.”

“Yeah, but two days less than you,” Tariq sarcastically moped as he embraced her. “Please tell me you and the doc are sorted out,” he whispered.

The captain blushed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we’re sorted.” Beside them, Angela was being thoroughly examined by her nurse.

“Fatima, I’m fine,” the doctor said as she tried to bat the older woman’s hands from either side of her face.

“Oh, I’ve never heard that from you before. Your nose seems properly set. How is your hand?”

“It’s fine,” she laughed in exasperation.

The nurse frowned at her for a moment before pulling Angela into another hug. Quiet words were said and the doctor relaxed into the embrace.

“Captain, it’s good to see you,” Dr. Sobek greeted with a firm handshake after Saleh’s hug. “Am I going to have to keep an eye on you and Angela or can the two of you keep your hands to yourselves while on duty?”

“Neil!” the blonde shouted.

“Oh my, her face gets quite red, doesn’t it,” he laughed as he dragged Angela into a hug. “I suppose I’d better be careful or you’ll put me in my place.”

“I won’t hesitate,” she said with a wide smile before moving to greet Ahmed. “It’s good to be back.”

A temperate breeze blew through the open balcony door as Dr. O’Deorain settled into her favorite chair with her tablet and two fingers of whiskey. If she wanted her team’s latest research to be published next month, she needed to finish proof-reading their submission tonight.

At least Reyes and his comrades are finally gone. I should have that room thoroughly swept for bugs . . . as well as my lab just to be safe.

A short buzz drew her eyes from her work to her phone. If this is Sombra again, I may have to consider changing my number. Screen illuminated, Moira froze for a moment as she noticed the identity of the sender. Angela Ziegler, it has been awhile.

[Qui cum canibus concumbunt cum pulicibus surgent]

“He who lies down with dogs, will rise up with fleas. Just as pretentious and self-righteous I see.” She stood and took her phone to the balcony and contemplated how to respond. On the lake below, yachts drifted lazily as the lights of the city reflected off the water’s surface.

Working with Talon had always been a risk, one that usually worked well in her favor - the fews times it hadn’t involved Angela in one way or another.

Moira stared at her screen for a moment longer before switching off the phone. We said all there was to say years ago. No need to revisit the past. With one last look at the lake, Moira returned to her chair, sipped her whiskey, and went back to reviewing.

A/N: That’s it. No more - this thing was 25 pages by the time I cut myself off. I did think about putting in a scene with Moira getting passive aggressive texts from Angela, but this is enough. I typed that and got angry at myself for not doing that scene and put in that last bit after all - I think I have a problem.

So a few notes about why I did what I did:

I prefer my Mercy assertive for a couple of reasons. First, she’s a surgeon. While that doesn’t mean all surgeons are self-assured pricks, they do need to be confident enough in their abilities to know they probably won’t kill their patients. Second, she travels the world (war zones), meeting and helping new people - it would be a difficult thing accomplish if she couldn’t stand up to pressure and resistance for governments and combative locals. Third, she carries a weapon and uses it responsibly.

Pharah, in my mind, was a hot-head youth who mellows with age as the world sees her as her own person and not as her mother’s daughter. (I think that’s how just about everyone writes her.)

Ana teaches Angela Krav Maga - I like the fighting style, that’s the only reason I picked it.

Angela fights a couple of drugged/brainwashed jerks because I wanted to write battle Mercy sans blaster and I needed practice writing hand-to-hand combat.

I’m an awkward person so my main characters are also a little awkward. I also don’t write a lot of smut so . . . yeah, I’m not really sure how I feel about the execution of those scenes.

I’ll probably write more pharmercy in the future, but I’ve gotta get back to my korrasami story first. Thanks for reading!

#pharmercy #fanfiction #angela ziegler #fareeha amari #Overwatch #moira o'deorain

20 notes · View notes

cosmetologynerd · 7 years ago

Text

Things Change (Peter Parker)

Permanent Tags: @hollandroos @spider-bih @rileywrites-parker@loveislikeabook @petersmoonlight @karatyra @charlotteh10 @okaythor @caffeinated–writer @midtownsparker @ashleykh @thatcraxygirl15@bluenekox3 @everythingthatisrandom @nextkaratekid @brujaescarlota @underoosie @spiderling–parker @steelbarnes @khai-day-the-13th @babyykeexx

This one was requested by @tryn25 and I gotta say, hun, you hurt my heart with this one but I loved writing it; it is slightly different than the request, focused a little more on the angst side, but I hope you like it!

OK so Peter and the reader are aged up; about 17-18, so I’m changing when Ben dies in Peter’s life. I knowwwww. Just go with it pleaseeee :)

In which Peter and the reader have been dating for just over a year when Ben dies and all things change, for the worst or best, that is yet to be decided.

Word Count: 2,539

Peter Parker was a happy person. He always had a smile on his face, his brown curls trying to grow out despite him constantly cutting his hair, his eyes alight with pure joy. His smile was one that you couldn't help but smile along with. It didn't matter what he was going; marching band, robotics, decathlon, or helping you with your math homework, laughing richly whenever you insisted that “Peter, I’m hopeless here!” He would plant a kiss on your forehead and show you that it was a simple solution.

He was your best friend, your rock, your everything.

You just didn't quite realize what that entailed yet.

“Peter I really don't know why you insist on making me watch these videos, I can't learn anything from them.”

He had pulled up a video on his laptop, a goofy grin on his face as he answered you. “[Y/N], if you would just watch the videos, you would see what I can't explain- I can only do so much.”

“You’re the smartest guy I’ve ever met,” you grumbled, rolling over to look at the laptop screen Peter placed before you. His hand brushed yours, the same timid way it had for a few months now and you felt your stomach dip and swoop back up all at the same time.

He laughed nervously, his fingers playing with the camera that seemed to always hang from his neck. “Come on, let’s get back to work,” he said, a small grin on his face.

The boy was infectious, and you had been caught up in his world. He had been your best friend for years, always around. You remembered questioning how you had gotten so wrapped up in his life, so deeply engaged in everything that this boy, this wonderful boy, had to offer; but then he smiled and it became clear all over again.

He made the world feel good.

He made your darkest days feel brighter; the longest days feel shorter. He made you laugh when you wanted to cry. He made you happy on days you just felt like the world was crushing you down.

He made life better.

“[Y/N], can I tell you something?”

“What is it?” you replied to your best friend as he paced around his room, your eyes never leaving your computer screen. He had been antsy all day so you had come back to his small house after school, hoping it would help him relax.

He plopped down on his bed and you looked over startled by the sudden jolt it had sent you. He was smiling.

“I like you.”

“W-what?” Your laptop was still blaring music from its speakers as you sat, staring at the boy before you.

“I-I like you,” he spoke softly, looking at you with his doe brown eyes and you felt your heart flutter in a way that it never had before.

“Don’t be ridiculous- I mean, Peter-” You had never hoped, never dared dream-

“Look,” he said, grabbing your hand and holding it tightly in his. “I know that this isn't normally how someone says they have feelings for the other- especially not when that person is their b-best friend. But... it was eating me up and...”

He trailed off, hoping for you to respond, but you just continued to stare at him.

“If I cross a line, stop me, okay?”

He nervously lowered his head to yours, your lips inches apart. Your mind was still racing but now filled with one thought only: how badly you wanted his lips on yours.

They fluttered over yours for a moment, barely touching, but still there. And then you pressed your lips to his and a fire lit inside you that you hadn't allowed to burn. Years of being friends, of denying you had feelings for him, all that seemed like so much wasted time now as his lips moved with yours softly, his hand cupping your cheek, trying to hold you closely.

You had left shortly after, both of you smiling wide, Peter once again finding a way into your heart.

He got his smile from his uncle.

Ben Parker had a smile that could make anybody smile back, despite the mood they were in before talking to him. Ben only ever saw the good in the world, and you lied it. Your own family was never around, so when you and Peter had started dating and Ben Parker welcomed you into his little family, arms open and smiling big, you had decided that this was what a family was supposed to be.

All accepting, no judgement, smiles and laughter.

“May! Just take the picture.” Peter said, a hot blush rising to his cheeks and you laughed, amazed by your cute boyfriend.

Today was the one year anniversary of you and Peter being a couple. It was one year of bliss, and joy and laughter and you couldn't wait for it to continue. Uncle Ben stood behind his wife, a grin on his face to match the one growing on Peter’s.

The camera flashes and it’s only seconds later before Peter is pulling you out of the house, holding your hand in his, laughing the whole way you went, Ben’s voice yelling after you two to be safe.

You two may have been young, you two may have been eager, but it didn't matter. Peter Parker was the reason you got up in the morning, the reason you had air in your lungs and the reason you smiled every day. It had been a year of soft kisses, fingers dancing softly together when studying, and pure bliss.

You didn't know it then, but it was stolen time.

He had ordered flowers to be delivered to the restaurant where you were to have your date, he pulled out your chair and made sure you were comfortable before sitting himself.

Fingers danced together, heat growing between your delicate touches every second.

Peter Parker was the light of your life, taking you on a roller coaster of a ride everyday, only going up.

“I’m in love with you.” He spoke it every day, a matter of fact, never a hint of holding back, or timidness in his voice, which struck you as odd. Peter had always been shy, always held back, spoke with a soft stutter to his voice that made him so endearing to you. But the one thing Peter Parker knew more than anything was that he loved you and you were his and nothing could take him down from the high you gave him.

A family as pure as the Parker’s deserved nothing but happiness. Unfortunately, that’s not what they got. The good ones never get what they deserve; they are always the ones who have to deal with pain.

Of course that was never how it happened, families always had to deal with pain. Your families pain was nothing in comparison to what Peter’s family had already been through more than enough pain. You knew Peter’s parents were no longer around, but nobody knew what had happened to them, only that they had died.

Losing two parents was more than enough pain for anybody.

But the universe wasn't done ripping their family apart.

It was the day that changed everything; the day that broke May Parker in two; the day that Peter Parker stopped smiling; the day that your family shattered.

“Pete, you have to stop this,” you groaned when you heard your window open. “My parents don't care if-” but you stopped short when your eyes landed on your boyfriend of

He fell into your room, through the fire escape as was normal when it was a late night. His appearance threw you off, his clothes were a mess, dirt and grime on almost every inch, something dark on his hands.

Your feet moved themselves towards him, and he moved his brown eyes towards you, and then you noticed the same dark substance on his hands smeared on his face. “Peter what happened?”

He shook his head, his brown eyes broken, empty as he opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping in the air, desperate for water. Your hand closed on his as you pulled him to sit on your bed and the slickness of his hands made your heart fall.

“Peter, please,” you begged, afraid to look at your hands, now intertwined with his. His brown eyes found yours and the words spilled from his lips before he could tell himself to stop, to piece together something more coherent for you.

“He-he had a g-g-gun- I- too late- killed-” He was struggling to talk and it hurt your heart.

You pulled one of your hands from his, placing it on the side of his face and rubbing his cheek. It was then that your brain finally registered that the reason his hands were slick was because they were covered in blood.

“Peter, slow down, breathe. It’s okay, shhh,” you coaxed, attempting to soothe him.

“U-uncle Ben- h-he was killed- I- Its my fault- I”

Your body slammed into his, embracing the trembling boy in your arms. Your heart was split in two as he told you, his cries ripping through your apartment. You heard a door open and quick footsteps to your room as Peter’s cries intensified and your mom came bursting in. She took one look from a sobbing Peter to you and her mind raced before she ran off, probably to call May.

“Shhh, shh, it’s not your fault, Peter babe, shhh...” You had no idea what had happened, how it had happened, or why he thought it was his fault, but he was hurt, your smiling Peter Parker looked like he was never going to smile again.

Three months later, Peter Parker walked down the hallowed halls of Midtown Science and Technology, camera clutched in hands that used to hold yours. He didn't even need to pay attention to what way he was going, his feet just carried him from one class to the next, tracing the same path he’d walked for years.

Fourth period gym. Fifth period advanced photography. Sixth period anatomy.

All three classes with you.

He hadn't hardly spoken to you after Ben’s funeral. He thought about the last day he was at your apartment nearly every second of every day.

“We can't do this anymore. I’m sorry,” he spoke softly, holding your hand in his, begging you to see how much this was killing him.

You were the one thing in Peter’s life that made him want to keep going, the only thing that kept a smile on his face. But he couldn't do it anymore; he couldn't keep going out, fighting like he was, gaining enemies and putting you in danger without you even knowing it.

And he couldn't risk you dying either.

Not like Ben had.

“W-what? Peter- you-” you felt your heart shattering and Peter saw it on your face. He wanted to take it back, to put a smile back on your face, but he knew he was doing the right thing and seeing you safe. So he pushed through.

“I just- look, [Y/N], there is a lot going on that you don’t understand.”

“That I don't understand?” Your voice turned to ice and Peter gulped.

“T-that didn't come out-”

“No. Tell me! If I don't understand, then explain! Because I have always kept quiet, never asking you where all those cuts and bruises are coming from!” You were angry, irrationally yelling; but you knew this was coming. Both of you had known it; and now there was no avoiding it.

“T-that has nothing to do with this,” Peter spoke, his vice wavering slightly, giving him away easily.

“Then what is it, Parker? Huh?” Your cold voice and narrow eyes made him more nervous, making him hate himself even more for the lie he was about to tell you.

“I don’t love you anymore, okay! I just- I just don’t.”

He was snapped back to reality when he heard loud voices in the halls behind him, and he sighed.

Steadying himself, Peter opened the door to room 461 and found your sparkling eyes looking right at him, your cheeks stained with tears. “Just what I needed,” you said bitterly, pushing past him and out of the door.

He juggled his books and camera in his hands as you did so. He looked in the classroom to see Flash Thompson making a vulgar symbol after your retreating form.

Peter ignored everything in his body screaming at him to just go to class and followed after you quickly. “[Y/N], [Y/N], wait up!” Peter called after you and you paused only a moment to turn back and look at him. You scoffed at him and continued walking.

He picked up his pace and soon found himself right beside you. You groaned and looked at him, his soft brown eyes full of concern. “What, Peter? You made it pretty clear that you didn't want anything to do with me.”

He closed his eyes and threw his head back in frustration. “What did Flash say to you?”

“Why would I tell you, anyways?” You asked as you threw yourself onto a bench and Peter moved to sit next to you.

“Please, [Y/N], I know you, I know you'll hold onto whatever it is if you don't talk about it. Just... I know I don't deserve to know after what I did; but please. Don’t hold it into yourself.”

You sighed and rested your head back on the wall, eyes shut. “I’ll only tell you, if you answer one question for me after. Deal?”

He nodded slowly, already knowing where this was going. “Flash is a vulgar asshat who thought it would be a great idea to spread the lie that we hooked up. And I was upset because I didn't want you to hear it and think it was true.” Your head now hung low, eyes on your white converse, the laces starting to come undone.

Peter inhaled deeply, ready to take his newfound strength as Spider-Man and beat Flash to a pulp. “I know you would never,” Peter spoke softly. He took his chance and allowed his fingers to dance over yours softly, nervously like he did the first time over two years ago when he first realized he liked you; his subtle way of opening himself up to you.

“Did you really fall out of love with me, Peter?”

He exhaled at the question, knowing that it was what you would ask. He grabbed your hand in his, causing you to look up at him, surprise written all over your features.

“I was scared- still am scared. But not for reasons you think- and no. I didn't fall out of love with you. I’ve never loved anybody but you.”

Your lips drew themselves up lightly, the sparkle that had been missing from your eyes finally returned and you lightly punched Peter’s shoulder. “You have a lot to make up for, then, Parker,” you laughed lightly before standing up and walking towards the parking lot. “You coming or what?”

164 notes · View notes

clarketomylexa · 7 years ago

Text

The Bucket List

Clexa Week 2018, Day 7, Free Day | read on ao3

Clarke grew up thinking she was fragile. She was too young to comprehend the look on her mother’s face when she had found the number, skewed and grey on Clarke’s ribs while scooping sudsy water over her in the bath. But she knew it wasn’t good because that night when she needed the potty her mommy had been crying in her daddy’s arms. She knew it was the same thing that had her teachers looking at her with that sweet, sad look when they read over her forms at school, the thing that had everyone careful around her.

Everyone but except Finn in the eighth grade whose number was seventeen and who she would have thought had a death wish if she didn’t know he was just living his to the fullest. It made her sad when he did these things, pulled these stunts like shimmying up the side of the gym or swimming out the deepest in the ocean on summer vacation. But it also made her like him. She was thirteen-years-old and love seemed like something for the adult Finn wouldn’t be, so she kissed him under the bleachers and held his hand when they went to the diner after school because he was nice and sweet, and he had something like a sad song in his eyes. He told Clarke he loved her in the summer between freshman and sophomore year, the day before he left to go to California and she cried.

They were a good couple, people told her in the months after. Good because their numbers were both young, Clarke knew. It was widely accepted that people with ill-fated destinies bonded the fastest, loved the hardest. Clarke hated the fact people pushed them together for the simple fact that it wouldn’t hurt for too long when one of them died. When Jake passed two years later, it was peaceful for everyone but Clarke. She told the school guidance counsellor to shove her condolences up her ass and didn't go for her remaining sessions.

She met Lexa in her second year of undergrad – majoring in art at the University of Maryland because Abby begged her not to go too far from home. The brunette with glasses on, standing in the corner of the pumping house party, engaged in a pragmatic discussion with her drunk foster sister. ‘No, Anya, you’re drunk, you’re not driving me home.’ ‘Take the stick outta your ass Lex, my numbers not up yet,’ she patted Lexa on the cheek lazily, ‘live a little.’ She slinked off into the crowd and Clarke saw her crowded against the upstairs bathroom door with Raven later when she went to attend to a throwing up Octavia but Lexa stayed rooted in her corner. She pulled out a dog-eared copy of Shakespeare's ‘Othello’ and sat on a keg in a way that made Clarke laugh out loud.

“Can I help you?”

Clarke snapped her mouth shut, teeth vibrating with the base of the music. “No ma’am,” she teased, tongue through her teeth. She sidled up to the girl and leant against the wall. “You have good taste in literature. Bad taste in glasses, though.”

Lexa took her glasses of an examined them, affronted. “They help me see, they’re not a fashion statement…” she left the statement open ended, clearly angling for introductions and Clarke shook herself to attention. “Clarke,” she hummed, “I’m Clarke.”

“Lexa,” Lexa replied. “You’re an English major?” She assumed.

“Art actually.”

“Ah,” Lexa nodded, “I see.”

“What do you see?”

Lexa smiled, “you have the look of a starving artist.”

“I’ll have you know I go back home every weekend. My mother feeds me up on home cooked meals, I’m far from starving.” But her smile, Clarke decided, despite the faux-degrading comment, was precious. It started slow, non-existent like a star during daylight when you knew it was there but lying unseen. Then, the left side of her lips quirked up and Clarke’s chest sung.

“But you are an artist?”

“Yes,” Clarke confirmed. She drew with whatever paper she could find and her notebooks – and Octavia’s notebooks – were covered in doodles. Kids payed her in middle school to draw ‘tattoos’ on their arms with permanent markers.

“Will you let me see your work?”

“Only if you let me see your…what do you major in?”

Lexa laughed, airy, like she didn't use it that much. “Poli-Sci,” she informed Clarke, closing ‘Othello’ into her lap with her thumb marking her page and waggling her eyebrows suggestively, “I can show you my notes on the American legal system?”

When Clarke made an unimpressed face, Lexa nodded in faux-sympathy. “I don’t blame you, it’s severely flawed.”

In a flash of boldness Clarke plucked a blunt pencil from the spilt mug of pens on the nearby surface and printed her number in neat writing on the back cover of Lexa’s book, thinking humorously that the dusty story could use some action. Lexa complained that the book was not hers, but a class copy from her English course and Clarke assured her that she could rub it off when it was in her phone.

Raven came by shortly after, pulling at Clarke because apparently Octavia had been roped into doing shots with Luna and needed to be given water and put into bed lest she down anymore alcohol and when Clarke looked back Lexa was giving her a small one-handed wave, holding the back cover of ‘Othello’ up in acknowledgement of the number, like a promise she would text. Which she did, three hours later when Clarke was in bed and sober, listening to Octavia stumble around the dorm room in search of water. She flipped the light on in the bathroom with little regard to Clarke and filled up a plastic water bottle at the bathroom faucet before returning to bed, uttering a sloppy, hushed ‘fuck’ as she stubbed her toe which Clarke laughed at.

[Text from: Unknown 02/07/18 2:24 AM] Do I still get to see your artwork?

Grinning into the fluorescent light of her phone turned low, Clarke saved the number under ‘Lexa’ and replied.

[Text to: Lexa 02/07/18 2:26 AM] If you want to

[Text to: Lexa 02/07/18 2:26 AM] You’d have to come over to my place of course

[Text from: Lexa 02/07/18 2:27 AM] Your place?

[Text to: Lexa 02/07/18 2:27 AM] My dorm

[Text from: Lexa 02/07/18 2:27 AM] University housing? You are a starving artist.

[Text to: Lexa 02/07/18 2:28 AM] Like you’re better Miss Residence-Hall-Across-From-Mine

[Text from: Lexa 02/07/18 2:28 AM] You’re not above stalking I see.

[Text to: Lexa 02/07/18 2:28 AM] I looked you up, I like to be thorough

[Text from: Lexa 02/07/18 2:29 AM] And have I met your expectations?

[Text to: Lexa 02/07/18 2:30 AM] To the letter

Lexa came over a week later when Octavia had left for class waggling her eyebrows and telling her to use protection and Clarke stood behind the brunette as she surveyed the quick sketches and hyper-realistic images pinned to her side of the room.

“Well?”

She watched Lexa, the way she sifted through the layers of drawings held fast with the same drawing pin, rough outlines of hands around coffee cups, a road leading to nowhere, a running watercolour on crinkling paper of the aurora borealis. “You’re a wonderful artist Clarke.” She tugged the watercolour gently so it slipped from its drawing pin and the paper next to it fell to the bed. Lexa studied the sketch – herself, with soft hair and round glasses, dog-eared ‘Othello’ in her lap. She grinned, smugly Clarke would say, laughter in her eyes. “What a likeness.”

Clarke snatched the sketch, hands covering her cheeks bashfully. “Shut up,” she scolded. “I like drawing you, okay,” she admitted, “you’re easy.”

“I’m easy?”

“You know what I mean.”

Lexa, Clarke found in the coming weeks, always knew. She saw things Clarke didn’t – even if she insisted the Clarke saw the world entirely in her own way, ‘artist eyes’ she said tracing fingers over collar bone on the sofa – and she quietly commented on them. The way the woman sitting behind them in the cafe off campus looked like she had a bad day, or suggesting they scratch their plans of a night out in favour of watching ‘Stranger Things’ because Clarke pulled an all-nighter the night before. She was everything that Clarke was and everything she wanted to be – soft where Clarke was soft and pragmatic where the blonde was violently emotional and together they would do things.

She was so sure of it – of them and their perfect cliché – when she was shucking the brunette’s university printed tee up her ribs a month later, breaths hot against kiss-chapped lips, that when her fingers raked over the skewed grey ‘23’ above the sharpest point of Lexa’s hip she wanted to cry. It was such a violent, sluggish feeling, like she was plummeting on a fairground ride but wading through glue. Revenant hands traced the mark, feeling it under the pads of her fingers like a sickening reassurance. “Lexa,” she whispered.

Lexa softened and curved, shoulders folding in semblance of defeat. She took the hem from Clarke and smoothed her tee down her body. “Clarke.”

They held each other's gaze, infinite conversations wrinkled into the atoms of their irises and Lexa reached out to bridge the space between them, stroking the pads of her fingers over Clarke’s collar bone like she did. “I wasn't sure,” she hummed and Clarke nodded. It was a tricky thing, your number; something so fragile yet the surest thing of your life and the blonde hated the way it was noted down on her documents like it was as unimportant as her city of birth. She swallowed Lexa’s words with a chaste kiss and took the brunette’s hand in hers, lacing paint stained fingers through Lexa’s to slip them under her shirt, dragging the hem up over her ribs. She pressed Lexa’s hand there, imploring her to understand and Lexa thumbed over the inch of skin with all of the sorrow in the world. “Twenty-two,” she recited. Twenty-two, Clarke remembered, two years left and half a life lived. Octavia was out, Clarke’s laptop was propped on her art history textbook and tilted to forty-five degrees where they could see it from her bed, their mindless evening watch forgotten when Clarke had professed her interest in other things and the blonde tucked herself into her girlfriend feeling fragile and resolute. The AC thrummed, she played with the frayed collar of Lexa’s tee. “It’s not fair.” Lexa hummed and Clarke felt it reverberate in her chest and Clarke’s fingers itched with the need to press themselves there and feel it. “I wish I didn’t know.”

“Isn’t it better to know, though?”

She looked up at Lexa, tracing the strong line of her jaw and her cheeks, her nose, her lips with her eyes.

“So that we can make our peace.”

“I don’t want to make my peace,” Clarke argued, she sat up, irritated and fussy, hot anger blooming like something toxic inside her. Lexa was the best kind of person, dutiful and kind, she religiously held the door for peers exiting their lectures and spotted the woman at the supermarket last week, who was short four dollars and calming her screaming two-year-old. She was realistic, pragmatic, she didn't take more than she needed and Clarke – what had Clarke done in her life that death had to be the equalizer? She thought of Finn, she thought of her father. In kindergarten, they taught her the meaning of fair. Sharing toys was fair, giving her peers turns on the swings was fair. Their numbers? They weren’t fair. “Fuck peace,” she decreed darkly, “fuck everything. I don’t want it.”

“Clarke –”

“Let’s leave.”

“We can’t –”

“We can.”

They would. Abby had told her not to run from her problems when Finn left and she got angry, Jake died and she went hiding from the world, but god it was tempting. Aloof and untethered, it was the only thing she was sure of.

“Two years, Lexa, do you want to spend it here? I can’t do it. I can’t get a degree I’ll never use. I can’t stare at the same ceiling every night and know,” she made an inarticulate noise, gesticulating wildly and refusing Lexa and her attempts to beckon her back into her arms. “I can’t, Lexa, please.”

Lexa relented it and they called it ‘The Bucket List’ – a sheet of paper pinned up on Clarke’s side of her dorm, permanent marker staining the wall beneath it from heavy handed additions. It took Clarke four days to get Lexa to reveal her personal must-do items but when she did she smiled, gingerly writing them down beneath Clarke’s ‘travel first class, ski in the alps, see the northern lights, bungee jump, visit Machu Picchu, go skinny dipping,’ in her neat, law-student print.

Their fall semester came and went in half-conscious actions and pressing close in their dorm room twin beds, scrolling through travel blogs and Lonely Planet suggestions, draining their savings, informing the university they wouldn’t be returning after winter break and telling Abby about their plans, their two-year bucket-list trip, destination unknown that they arguably couldn’t afford. Whoever suggested telling her over Thanksgiving dinner thought it was a good idea was stupid but Clarke was too hopped up on the anxiety of explaining why she had to do this to remember whether it was her or Lexa, especially since they were staying the night in Clarke’s twin bed before driving back to campus in the morning. She wouldn’t do it again, she vowed. But Abby smiled, hugging her daughter and she slipped a signed check into Lexa’s palm when they gathered on the porch the next morning, suitcases in the car, saying goodbye. It was enough to make Clarke burst into tears on the drive back to campus.

They went west in Lexa’s Jeep as per ‘take a road trip without a destination’ after the brunette took Clarke’s ‘enter work in an exhibit’ far too liberally, jimmying the front lock of an art gallery under the cover of darkness to hang the sketches that used to be pinned to the wall of Clarke’s dorm while the blonde sat in the car standing watch. It was the most rebellious thing she had done aside from punch Octavia’s big brother in the fourth grade because he was four years older and going through the stage where he thought he was god's gift to man and she was still laughing about it four days later in a crappy hotel off the highway in Albuquerque, tracing figure-eights into the taut skin of Lexa’s bare abdomen with the nail of her index finger.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“What?”

“Committed a felony.”

Lexa shrugged against the starch-white bed sheets, the curtains were stained and the mattress had curved in the middle like a sofa-bed but they had established the sheets were clean when they walked in even though the sink was clogged with strangers’ hair.

“It was on the list.”

“Is that going to be our thing from now on?” Clarke asked, hiding her smile in Lexa’s neck where things were soft and dull and smelt like something implacable, perfume and detergent. She feigned innocence and threw her hands up in a semblance of surrender, “‘the list made me do it!’”

“If you want it to be,” Lexa pressed lips to the crown of Clarke’s forehead and the blonde preened.

“I do.”

They made Joshua Tree National Park a day of straight driving later through limiting bathroom breaks and timing their stops at gas stations – Lexa filling the car while Clarke bought snacks with forty-five seconds to spare like something out of the John Green novel she read in high school. It wasn’t hot, but it was California and she helped Lexa strip down to her vintage tee, flinging her jacket into the backseat with her plaid shirt and their ill-packed suitcases, fed her girlfriend a sip of watery gas station milkshake and giggled through roadside landmarks. She felt light, like the wind. Lexa reprimanded her for spilling Cheeto dust in the foot well of the car and she stuck out her orange tinted tongue like the child she hadn’t felt like since Finn.

That in mind, they did Disneyland the next week. Clarke’s overt shock when Lexa wrote it on the list – which was thrice folded and stashed carefully in the glove box – was laughable but she was the perfect guide and when she slipped a pair of sequined encrusted black Minnie Mouse ears onto her head Lexa crowded her against the faux-brick facade of Disneyland City Hall and kissed her filthily.

“Have we found a new kink?” Clarke teased, fingering the collar of the vintage Mickey Mouse tee Clarke and swindled her into. It was tucked into the waist of her cut off jean shorts and if the five-year-old girl in a Cinderella dress wasn’t looking at them perplexed, she would have untucked it and raked her hands over Lexa’s stomach. Instead, she pressed her lips to the corner of Lexa’s quirked lips and pulled her in the direction of Space Mountain, paying a vendor for cotton candy and insisting throwing up was mandatory which Lexa frowned at.

Three days alternating parks and Clarke was suntanned – burnt – and giggly. She revelled in the way Lexa’s eyes lit when Minnie Mouse kissed her on the cheek, rode the Teacups until she was dizzy, did the Tower of Terror nine times and laughed at the ride picture when they passed the exit. They watched the fireworks from main street on their last night, the only place they could find a spot after waiting through the evening for the Indiana Jones ride Clarke insisted was worth it. It was, she maintained, but so were the fireworks. So was the way she stood clinched into Lexa’s chest, hands in the back pockets of her shorts, wearing her girlfriend’s plaid shirt so that the sleeves hung over her palms. So was the way Lexa was looking at her, like she was the happiest she had ever been and the happiest she ever would be.

Together they were a whirlwind. California taking them to Mexico on a first-class flight that they sipped sparkling wine through and made out in the larger than economy bathroom as per ‘travel first class’. They drunk cheap tequila and salt-rimmed margarita’s, and ate tacos from street carts. Lexa dip dyed her hair an outrageous pink, temporarily thank god, because it was a shoddy dye job that had her wearing a hat for a week before the dye brushed out but it earned another tick on the list which was becoming more and more travel battered with pen scribbles and stains. Clarke liked to look at it at night, morbid as it seemed. The paper, their plans, it gave her stability, grounded her to a place where is stray kind of existence her and Lexa were living felt purposeful – they were doing things. She ziplined yesterday and it was exhilarating.

A week later, central Mexico took them down to Tulum, where the water was the clearest thing Clarke had seen yet and Lexa showed so much skin in her bikini of choice Clarke nearly jumped her on site. She didn’t, but she did pull it off later that night when they skinny dipped in the resort’s white sand beach and left that morning before housekeeping could charge them for their pilfered towel robes.

South America found them at Machu Picchu, legs dangling over centuries worn stone and watching the fingers of cloud recede from the peaks of the Andes, Clarke’s playing with the belt loops on Lexa’s pants. She saw Lexa as something formidable, wind back centuries and the girl would be a warrior, swathed in battle garb and wielding spears, streaked with war paint. She could see it as plain as she ruins but here, and when the brunette went to pull lunch out of their bags, crossed legged on the verdant grass, Clarke drew it in scratchy lines of lead. Lexa blushed bashfully when she saw it but Clarke held the paper up next to her face, checking the likeness. She leant forward to press a kiss to her chin, her lips, her nose, her forehead.

“Am I a warrior now?” Lexa teased when she pulled back.

“The commander,” Clarke corrected. “You wouldn’t take orders.”

“I take them from you.”

“That’s different,” Clarke leaned into her. They were speaking in a low hum, something about the atmosphere up here that begged not to be touched, like if they remained here they would be immortalized in the mountains and strong stone. “I’m your girlfriend,” she ran a finger over Lexa’s hip over the material of her pants, “you’re contractually obliged.”

She told Lexa she loved her – wholly and irreversibly – in Kenya, where the greying clouds of a summer storm brew like a pressure headache above the savanna and the rain was hot. It drenched the gauzy white material of the linen dresses they had donned for the dinner of their luxury safari and while couples – finances and anniversary goers escaping children and life in the suburbs – fled to their tents around them with their swathes of mosquito nets and carved chess boards. Clarke inhaled the smell of dust and rain and wound her hands in the frizzing locks of Lexa’s hair as the brunette kissed her until she couldn’t breathe, until ‘be kissed in the rain’ in Africa turned to something else and Lexa kissed the skewed number on her bare ribs like it was a birthmark of little importance.

Europe, Clarke decided, was a realm unto its own. They acclimatised slowly, not straying from tiny towns inland in Germany, where Clarke took candid photos of Lexa smiling over bunches of wildflowers in cobblestoned provincial markets or village squares and they laid together in rented rooms in authentic Inn’s, eating local cuisine – strudel, Palatschinken and pretzels – as per Lexa’s ‘eat a dish from every culture’. They set their sights bigger eighteen days later, ‘go to the Musée d'Orsay’, ‘climb the Eiffel Tower’. The lock they fastened to the chain-link of the Pont de Arts was cheap, bought from around the corner, but Clarke traced their initials on with a steady artists hand and they scoured Rome and Prague and Milan in summer dresses and floppy hats in the days, sending thick stacks of postcards to Abby with tales of their adventures – of how Lexa left her passport in the safe in Italy and how Clarke couldn’t speak French to save herself despite four years of it through high school. And at night, Clarke would wait up on the hotel balconies, watching the outline of Lexa’s bare form in bed while Abby called, asking after Lexa – now her pseudo daughter – and reminding Clarke of how much she loved her.

They summered on the coast. On white sand beaches and illustrious lifestyles. No one knew them here. No one knew them in Mexico, or California, of Peru or Africa either, but this continent was the place they could life infinite lives through infinite lives and the anonymity made Clarke breathless. In Monaco, they were heiresses with hired couture and self-done makeup, escaping the suffocating grasp of their parents and high expectations for a summer of illicit fun. Lexa discovered an affinity for Blackjack in the casino tables and Clare rediscovered an affinity for Lexa.

In Santorini, they whispered to each other conspiratorially over the rims of expensive cocktails and lifting designer sunglasses onto their heads they watched the reactions of the other holiday goers, guessing whether the couple in the cabana thought they were wealthy divorcees, or celebrities escaping the paparazzi. Everywhere thought, they were in love with each other and it was beautiful.

August was in Tuscany, in a sprawling villa with property and vineyards, statues flanking the gravel drive – Lexa found a woman on the internet wanting house sitters for her month’s business trip to England and they crossed ‘rent house for the summer’ off the list – and they spent the month with the windows flung open in gauzy dresses or nothing at all, exploring each other in the most desperate and careless sense of the word. They didn’t linger on the numbers when they were naked at night and Clarke wasn’t anxious anymore. She didn’t want to rage, she wanted to live, like this, with Lexa, nowhere and everywhere because when they were like this, Lexa looked at her like she was the world.

Six days in, Lexa learnt to cook from the groundskeeper with crinkled paper skin and Clarke would sit on the kitchen counter and take pictures at inappropriate times to sketch later. She had a diary now, a leather bound, embossed one she bought in Rome that housed six months’ worth of sketches that she would tentatively show to Lexa when the girl was pink-cheeked and deep-breathing at night, when she would blush further at the drawings and tell Clarke she loved her.

Watching Lexa standing on the train tracks under the austere brick arch of Auschwitz-Birkenau in early November when the snow was light, was the most harrowing thing Clarke had experienced. She stood five paces back, tucking her hands into the thick coat she bought and swallowed, catching up to her girlfriend with brisk steps, distress winding itself into her spine. What had those people thought?

Lexa’s voice echoed in her head from that night back in Maryland, ‘isn’t it better to know, though?’ she had asked. Clarke shook her head. It couldn’t be. Peace couldn’t be made under duress.

She cried that night. She sobbed over the toilet in their hotel room until she made herself sick and when Lexa went to wipe the saliva from her chin she shoved her into the vanity and told her to go away and Lexa – sweet, stoic Lexa – did. It made her cry more. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and kicked the bathtub and wanted to know why the brunette was so okay with things but couldn’t find the answer. She would never understand the peace Lexa made with death.

A half-hour later she emerged into the room, pyjama clad and remorseful and burrowing so deep into Lexa’s arms – somehow religiously open even after what Clarke had done – she no longer felt like they were two people. They were one now, four legs, two bodies, one heart, and for the first time, she began to wonder how it would happen.

Clarke told Lexa she was scared in a glass igloo in Finland. Warmth seemed a luxury in a country seemingly made of snow, but there were feather down comforters curled around their bare bodies and light danced in Lexa’s eyes – great swathes of magic, verdant green morphing into pale pink and regal purple. It danced like candlelight, as fragile as too, like she could pull it into her hands but it would dissipate like Lexa’s breath on the arch of her cheek.

“Lexa.”

“Yes?”

She lay so they were reflections of each other and wanted to kiss the freckle on Lexa’s top lip. But the anxiety was back, the distress from Poland that didn’t belong there to taint something so beautiful. She was crying now, salty tears ruining the sanctity of their night with her head in Lexa’s chest and the covers drawn up tight so they might strangle her. Humming, Lexa hushed her with pretty words and soft hands until her chest wasn’t heavy so violently and her frame didn’t tremble. “It’s okay, Clarke,” she whispered, she repeated the words, breath hot in her ear, until finally it started to ring true.

She didn’t know when it happened. Somewhere between the white sands of Railay Beach, Thailand, and watching Lexa cradle a three-year-old orphan to her chest while the girl giggled and tugged on stray locks of her hair that frizzed under the heat of their week in Cambodia, she guessed. But early March brought with it skiing weather and Lexa coaxed her back to the alps, where snow held the Swiss mountains hostage and the altitude pinkened Clarke’s cheeks quicker than Lexa in a tailored snow-jacket did, and she woke up one morning dizzy and aching.

It was bound to happen. The country hopping, the climate changing meant getting sick was inevitable but the sun was softening the white glare of the snow and Lexa looked so gorgeous with bed hair and hands curling around the coffee mug the chalet provided that Clarke was petulant about it. She pouted and huffed, blocking Lexa out completely when the brunette put her on bed rest. ‘You’re not a doctor, what do you know?’ ‘You’re not a doctor either, Clarke, now drink some water, you’ll get dehydrated.’ Tongue out like a pre-schooler the blonde rolled over and took the comforter with her until Lexa let out a long-suffering groan and set her coffee on the side table, untucking Clarke from her cocoon to sift fingers up her torso dragging up her – Lexa’s – university tee to press kisses to the line at the waistband of her panties, up her stomach, her ribs, her chest, eyes placating. “Don’t start something you won’t finish, Woods,” Clarke warned darkly, she coughed and it rattled in her chest. Lexa grimaced. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she cooed, fingers soothing her skin and Clarke melted into the sensation, eyes fluttering. Something about the domesticity of their easy routine warmed her, the knowledge that whatever bed she found herself in, she could stretch her hand out and find her girlfriends lithe form next to her. It was the only grounding she needed now, their list lay dormant, fold-creased in the front pocket of her suitcase, more checklist than lifeline.

Lexa’s fingers stopped and Clarke whined. “Lex…”

“Clarke,” her voice was tilted with a hard edge the blonde didn’t like. She pulled at her. “Clarke sit up.”

“Ow,” Clarke huffed, but she did so at Lexa’s behest. “Pushy.” The headboard was hard and her head spun like a top. “What?”

Lexa smudged a hand over her ribs, harder than Clarke would have liked, like she was smudging off pen doodles or permanent marker. “Eighty-six.” She whispered.

“What?”

“Your number.”

“Huh?”

“It’s changed.”

Clarke scoffed. “Numbers don’t change Lexa.” People changed. Seasons changed. Feelings changed. Numbers didn’t change.

Lexa pressed her lips into a thin line, grim in ways Clarke didn’t want to comprehend, like the grey of a gravestone or a processional march. “It’s changed,” she insisted, holding up the hem of Clarke’s shirt for the blonde to see and the sight knocked the air out of her chest like a semi to the wall of her chest. “It,” she blinked – hard – twisted her fingers in the hem of her shirt so tightly they turned white, “it can’t.” She looked to Lexa, eyes wide. “Is – you?” her fingers went to the waistband of Lexa’s pants but the blonde caught them and pushed them back before deft fingers could slip below, eyes sombre. “No,” she whispered. If the human body had the capacity to implode that would be how Clarke described the searing, pulling agony on her chest.

The pink sands of Bahama beaches clinging to sun-kissed skin and Clarke wouldn’t release Lexa from her hands. Their sheets were cool, a starched white against the brown of Lexa’s skin, marred with white at the cut of her bikini line and dipping low over her backside. On better days Clarke would shimmy down her body and press kisses these, teasing and tripping, delving deliciously lower but today her hands were in the soft baby curls at the nape of the brunette’s neck and their lips were locked, an embrace that traversed lazy hours against cotton sheets while the sun stained the earth at its hottest time and children shrieked in their bare feet on the sand.

Clarke cradled the point of Lexa’s hip with reverent fingers, a thumb there always, brushing the skin like she could remove the mark but she couldn’t and her chest hurt with the knowledge – the knowledge she had lived with for the past eleven months, that their marks no longer matched and goodbye was real.

She felt utterly, disgustingly betrayed but she swallowed the curdled film on her tongue.

“It’s okay, Clarke,” Lexa hummed. The blonde had lost count how many times she had heard this from her girlfriend’s lips. The words felt acrid now, meaningless as cigarette smoke.

“You’re going to live,” Clarke stated, pulling back from tanned arms.

Lexa shook her head. “You don’t have to fight things Clarke, you need to let go.”

“Like hell I do,” Clarke sat up, mussed hair and kiss-swollen lips. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you die. You’re young,” she prodded at a bicep, “you’re fit,” at the taut stomach of Lexa’s abdomen, “you’re healthy. You have no reason to.”

“Reason means nothing.”

“Reason means everything. Fate is bullshit,” Clarke decided, “I make my own destiny, you have to make yours.”

Later, on white sand beaches and over Maryland Thanksgivings, Lexa would tease that it was the nagging. Clarke, kissing the aching smugness that perpetuated the brunette’s lips, would insist it was superior motivational speaking skills, but both would agree it didn't matter. Not when they had blood in their veins and air in their lungs and the astounding capacity to live.

#Clexaweek2018 #Day 7 #Free Day #clexa fic #aesthetic #bucketlist

89 notes · View notes

cosmicsynthetics · 6 years ago

Link

Heyo to all my followers or anybody else who’s here! It’s still kinda crazy to think that I’ve been freelancing for about 9 months now. I wasn’t sure how jumping right into self-employment would go, but for all the financial difficulty, it’s proven to be very rewarding and is something I’ve wanted to do since I was very, very young. I know that awhile ago, I already advertised my Patreon, but I’d like to say some things and pass it around again. I’m going to add a READ MORE, but I’d appreciate it if you took a look - it’s very important to me. It’s relevant to whether or not I’ll be able to keep producing content.

This year’s been (and likely will continue to be for some time) a crazy one in terms of money, health, and immigration matters. Here’s a list of things that have already happened or will happen that @altamaranempire (Jess) and I are dealing with that have kept our backs against the wall this year:

My old laptop totally died, which required me to buy a new one.

Jess’ old harddrive died, which required us to buy a new one and pay for installation (her laptop is a macbook). This same computer is currently having other technical issues that will need fixing. Right now, you literally have to open up the back, unplug the battery, reset the SMC, and unplug the powercord a couple of times every time you want to boot it.

I still need to pay for data recovery to get my old art back from the dead computer. There’s way too much on there for me to afford permanently loosing, so this is an eventuality.

The breaks on my old car finally went, which cost me both tow and a new (used) vehicle. This used vehicle now needs its own repairs done.

I needed to set up a new car insurance policy because my father no longer wanted me on his (I paid for my portion and always did so on time. He said I was too old to be on it, but I suspect he just didn’t like the confusion of me having to make a separate payment from him). This made insurance more expensive for me.

I took out a renter’s insurance policy for Jess and I to insure our computers and the basics, because this apartment is and has always been prone to problems with water damage, mold, and crappy insulation. It’s the cheapest place we can afford ($790 a month not including electricity/heating), and we do not have the savings for a house yet.

Jess had to get some medical tests done and also got very sick for a bit near the beginning of this year shortly after everything else above. She is not yet able to qualify for medicaid because of her immigration status, so this collectively cost us a bit.

Jess and I still need to go through the final steps to get her PERMANENT residency card (her current is a 2 year conditional). That will cost in the ballpark of $600 NOT counting biometrics if they want those again. This also doesn’t count the second “immigration interview”, which was horrendous last time and involved a lot of uncomfortable interrogation regarding our sexuality in relevance to the legitimacy of our marriage. I really hope they waive that this time, especially during this presidency, because I think it was much more cruel than warranted.

I’m trying to sort out some health things on my end. I’m getting tested for sleep apnea soon and I’ve lost a lot of weight which SHOULD be good but I’m keeping an eye on it considering how little I exercise and how I wasn’t all that overweight to begin with. I’ve been put on birth control pills as well to help stop my lifelong issues with near-debilitating dysmenorrhea, and even then I’m probably going to have to bounce between some different kinds. I think the current one I’m trying is literally causing hair loss and huge spikes in anxiety that I’ve never dealt with before. Think wanting to cry at least once on most days.

Simply put, since January, our savings took a huge hit and it’s been one hell of a job recovering that money, let alone staying on top of all our utility bills and rent while keeping ourselves in good shape. We already live off of 50 cent tinned veggies, powdered milk, big boxes of bulk ramen noodles for all sorts of cooking purposes, discount bread, etc. Everything we buy has to be less than a dollar or otherwise very, very worth the money. This has put me in a tough position. Though Jess will probably continue doing her commissions and art no matter what as the one with medically diagnosed anxiety and autistic spectrum disorder, if we have to buckle down too hard for art to handle, I’ll be the first one going back into a low wage, long hour job. I do not want to go back to that kind of environment unless there’s literally no other way. I didn’t realize how stressed, overtired, and generally miserable I was until getting out of that 3 year cycle of grinding retail work to pursue art. Honestly, I’ve found this more fulfilling than anything else I’ve done with myself, and I want to keep doing it. Please understand that if I need to return to “regular” work, you will be seeing very little of me. There will be very few or no slinks - there will be no other adopts - there will be no commissions - there will be very little or no “for fun” art involving my worldbuilds - and that is the last thing I want to happen. Both my art and my audience mean so, so much to me, so that’s why I’m making this post and putting all this info out there. If you want or need MORE information on all this, contact me or @altamaranempire and we’ll be happy to fill you in and provide details, receipts, etc. I promise this is not a trawl for $$$cashcashmoney$$$; I just wanna be able to do a job that makes me happy and makes YOU GUYS happy. SO, YOU WANT TO HELP? THEN YOU CAN:

Reblog this post and/or my commission info and Jess’ commission info! Reaching out to as many people as possible is essential to keeping a business alive - even tiny ones like ours.

Reblog art of mine and/or Jess’! I know you guys are out there faveing, but I see very few reblogs. They really do make a big difference, so if you really like something, sharing it would mean the world to me!

Commission art from us! As usual, our commissions are always open, but this is becoming make-or-break, especially for me. Feel free to poke us on tumblr or any of our other accounts.

Become a patron on my Patreon! Having a monthly assurance of some sort of income, however small, takes some of the stress off. You might get a little something for it too! I may expand my Patreon a bit with more interesting rewards/Patreon specific content updates if everything works out and I manage to make some more $$$.

Donate to my Ko-fi! Don’t worry if it’s tiny - any amount will help us. Remember, $3 is SIX CANS of veggies for us!! A few days of food if necessary.

✒ My COMMISSIONS are always OPEN! ✒ ▶ Check out my Tumblr commission page OR my DA exclusives commission page for more information! Message me anytime with your questions or requests. ▶ I’ve also got a Patreon! If you enjoy my content, please consider becoming a patron. Every dollar counts. ▶ Lastly, here’s my Ko-fi if you feel like making a donation. Thank you! <3

#Notice #Important #Patreon #very important #signal boost #commission info #commission #commissions #cscommission #cscommissions #signalboost #Any and all help of any kind is appreciated!#I love you guys and I want to have a chance to put out more art #more worldbuild #more story #and I'm not going to be able to do that without your support

2 notes · View notes

winniefreeze · 6 years ago

Text

The Art of Forgetting

“Damn,” I thought. “I can’t remember his birthday.” I took a deep breath in hopes of letting my lapse in memory go and forgiving myself, but I couldn’t. He was my father. Even if he’s been dead for 10 years, I should still remember his birthday. I was positive it’s a day in early July, but couldn’t remember exactly. Knew it was in the early 60s, but the year escaped me.

I popped open my laptop and opened Google. Searched his full name - at least I know that. The first result was a familiar one. It was his obituary. I had a printed copy folded and yellowed in an old cigar box that my paternal grandmother had mailed shortly after my dad died. Recalling how angry I was back then, I smashed the link with my mouse’s cursor and the plain website of the Bozeman Daily Chronicle archives slowly loaded. There he was. In the small, grainy black and white photo you could see his full mouth, his sly, slightly cockeyed smile and balding hair. The photo was accompanied by a few short paragraphs summing up my dad’s life. The first line had the date of his birth and the date of his death.

July 6 1962 - August 21 2007

The date of death was already permanently engraved on my brain, but I read and reread the birthday over and over to seal it into my mind too. I assured myself that I’d never forget it again, but part of me knew then that the following year July 6th would pass and I might not remember.

I knew exactly what the obit would say, but I took my time perusing it again anyway. Taking in what my dad’s life was all about according to others. He had shared a first name with his father, but not a middle name so he wasn’t a junior. I never understood that. The cause of death had been stage 4 colon cancer, but the obit just said ‘cancer’ which bothered me for unexplainable reasons. Mostly the obituary bothered me because I wasn’t involved in writing it.

Looking back, I didn’t feel involved in any of it. Not the obituary, not the selling of his personal items, not the funeral - or lack thereof. I sat on my couch some 2,500 miles east, and I felt so far removed from everything that happened 10 years ago. But at the same time, I could also feel myself carrying it around everyday.

#storystarter #writer #memoir #memories #amwriting #wip

2 notes · View notes

imaginedilestrade · 7 years ago

Note

Prompt: You and Greg are both in the force, unrequited love situation- oh so you think, you guys have a fight, so you leave the force and get a job in Stockholm- and you don't tell him- carry on the story PLEASE WRITE A GREGXREADER FIC, PLEASE YOUR WRITING TRUMPS EVERYONE ELSES

A/N: Firstly thank you for the request, I hope you like it! And secondly uhhh THANK YOU! 😭❤️ that’s so sweet of you to say that about my writing! It’s made my week so thank you so so so much!

P.s. It’s a tad long (I got carried away)

—————————

You couldn’t help but look behind your shoulder hearing a light laugh echoing around you. You caught yourself smiling, it disappeared before anyone else could notice. You looked down to your gun and loaded it, trying to focus on something else other than the man behind you.

“You okay?”

Your focus vanished.

You turned on the spot to face Greg “Yeah, I’m fine. How are you?”

Greg smiled, you were the only one to ask him how he was feeling “I’m alright. You know the plan of attack?”

“Do you think I’m an amateur?” You teased “Course I know.” He nodded with a small smirk before talking off. You let out a sigh and placed your gun in your holder. You couldn’t help but feel that the feelings you felt for Greg were one sided. You had been crushing on him for years.

You got into position, waiting for the signal to go and as soon it was given, you stealthy manoeuvred around the building in attempts to find the suspect. You caught Greg out of the corner of your eyes and smiled to yourself again.

But you let your guard down and the suspect took advantage of that.

His towering figure knocked you to the ground causing you to whack your head off the concrete.

You looked up and saw him run off until one of the other officers grabbed him and managed to cuff him. You rubbed the spot that hit off the ground, it was warm and wet. You pulled your fingers back and let out a groan seeing the blood on your hand.

“Y/N?” You looked up and saw Anderson “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you grumbled as he helped you up “Where’s-” you cut yourself off as your eyes caught onto Greg who was chatting and laughing away with one of the female officers.

“Where’s who?” Anderson asked and you snapped back into reality.

“No one, it doesn’t matter…” You huffed out and held onto your head as you started walking. You cursed yourself for being so stupid, letting him of all people distract you with his stupid perfect face and his stupid perfect smile, those stupid perfect things caused you to get hurt in the first place. In more ways than just the cut on your head.

You walked to your car, constantly wiping away the blood that was dripping down the side of your face.

“Hey!” You felt a hand grab on to your wrist “You’re in no fit state to drive home!”

“I’m fine, Greg!” You spoke through gritted teeth and tugged your hand out of his grip.

“Y/N-”

You cut him off “Oh Greg will you just fuck off!” His eyes widened at your sudden outburst “Stop pretending you care about me!” You screamed, capturing everyone’s attention.

“Stop shouting and I’ll take you home!” He snapped.

“Just leave me alone…I can get home myself, you can get back to that young officer you were attempting to chat up earlier.” You walked away from him and got into your car, despite greg calling you back dozens of times.

You didn’t know how you managed to get home in one piece, the blood loss was making you dizzy. You cleaned up your wound and put a plaster over it, luckily it wasn’t as bad as you initially thought. You sat yourself down on the couch and grabbed your laptop. You thought checking over your emails would help clear your mind a little.

Instead-one email in particular- made your mind whirl even more. A friend who had moved to Sweden about a year ago had sent you an email describing her adventures in great detail and attaching photos of where she had visited.

At the end of the email she had wrote; ‘You’re welcome to visit me (and Stockholm) anytime! Hope to see you soon x’

Your fingers twitched over the keyboard, you were about to reply but your fingers took you elsewhere, to various airline sights and hotel sites. Then you found yourself looking at long term rentals, then more permanent homes. The more you looked the more you felt a pull to move. You checked out the website that had information about the police force in Stockholm. It would be fairly simple to get in, you could fast track your application and be accepted within a week.

So you filled out the application form.

—

You had been stuck with DI Dimmock all week which you were half thankful for. At least you hadn’t seen Greg although Dimmock constantly brought up what happened the week prior.

“He just wants to talk to you yanno,” Dimmock told you, again, and you rolled your eyes, again.

“I don’t want to talk to him.” You uttered out and slumped in the seat of the police car you were stuck in with him.

“You’ve always been stubborn,” he laughed “I remember the day you first joined. You argued with the HR department all day, asking them to move your desk because you didn’t want to sit across from Anderson.” Dimmock giggled away in his seat.

“Can you blame me?” You asked raising a brow and before you knew it he had parked up beside your front door “Thanks for the lift home.”

You reached to open the door and grab your bag but froze when he said “See you Monday!”

You turned to him with a fake smile “Sure! See you then.” You grabbed your bag and made sure the letter you had written had intentionally fell out “Bye Dimmock.”

You shut the door over only to open another, your front door. You smiled at the bags that were lying beside it. You wouldn’t see Dimmock on Monday. You’d be in Stockholm.

—

‘I quit.’

After two years Greg was still heartbroken with your two worded letter. He felt like it was his fault you had left. Greg had no idea where you had went, it was as if you had vanished into thin air.

He always regretted how that day had turned out, he wanted nothing more than to make sure you were alright, hug you all night and take care of you until your head was better…he’d even continue to take care of you after you had healed.

But what you said stuck with him; ‘Stop pretending you care about me!’

Greg did care. Couldn’t you tell? He tried his very best to try and let his feelings to be known to you but you were oblivious, and Greg didn’t exactly try his best. Nerves always got the better of him.

Greg sighed and mindlessly played with his pencil that was lying on his desk. That was until Donovan barged in with a panicked expression “Sir! Turn on the news!”

—

You glanced down at your watch and let out a sigh at how long it was taken you to make a simple deposit at the bank. There was only two people in front of you as well.

You feet began to involuntary tap in attempts to pass the time but you jumped when you heard a cashier scream. You sent wide eyed and saw the man in front of you point a gun at the woman.

The man standing in front of you made an attempt to run but the gunman turned around and shot him in front of you eyes “Get down!” He screamed at you, looking clearly distraught at what he was doing and at what he had just did “I said get down!” He pointed the gun at you and it took you a few moments to register the situation you were in. You put your hands up and lay on the ground. The shooter told the woman behind the desk to come out and she did, lying beside you.

“It’s okay,” you tried to soothe the sobbing woman, you knew it wouldn’t be much use but you tried. “What do you want?” You calmly asked the gunman who was pacing anxiously on the tiles “Money?”

“It’s too late for money!” He screamed at you and pressed the gun to your head.

“Okay!” You whispered out, trying to remain calm “Okay what do you want?”

“I lost everything!” He screamed and wiped away a tear with his palm while holding the gun-shakily-in his other hand. “I lost my wife, I lost my child, my home all because this place wouldn’t give me a loan.”

“Okay…” you slowly spoke and held your hands up in defence “I’m sure we can help you.”

“No you can’t!” He roared and you lightly shut your eyes.

“Well I can try but in order for me to try you have to let the woman beside me go…” he raised a brow at your request “There isn’t much point of her being here if I’m the one helping you.” He was about to speak again but was cut off my police sirens. The woman had obviously pressed an alarm. “Let her out now. I can help you. I can talk to the police.” You tried to convince him and you had barely managed to.

He let her go.

Shortly after he was dragging you to a phone, you could see all the police officers outside with guns, some of them your friends and colleagues. You picked up the phone that rang “Hello?” You answered, conscious of the gun being pointed to the back of your neck. You had a conversation with your superintendent “Do not shoot on any account.” You firmly demanded “And why the hell are news crews so close? Tell them to get back! Listen I’ll be-” the gunman cut the line.

“Sit on the floor now.”

—

“Can you get a flight so soon?” Donovan asked as Greg ran out of the office.

He saw you on TV with a gun pointed to your head, he wasn’t going to just sit about. It did surprise him to learn where you had been all this time.

“I don’t care if it costs ten grand I’m getting on the next flight!”

—

You pressed your head to the wall as your captor sat across from you with his gun still firmly in his grip.

“What’s your name…?” You softly asked. You received silence “I’ll tell you mine, it’s Y/N.”

“Why are you telling me this?” He sneered.

“Passing the time…” you trailed off and glanced up to the clock. Five hours had dragged in.

“Adrian,” he uttered.

You smiled at him. Not because you learned his name but because an idea popped into your mind. You had studied the infamous 'Stockholm Syndrome’ before. Funny how you had ended up in the same predicament as those people did in the 1970’s. You could do your best to act like you trusted him with your life and maybe then you could convince him to let you go.

“It’s a nice name. I know you mean good by this situation…”

“What makes you say that?” His voice lightened.

You shrugged “You want justice. I admire that.”

You saw him smile to himself. He was beginning to believe that you trusted him.

—

Greg made it to the scene, police officers had to restrain him back before he showed them his badge “I know her!” He said “She’s my-” he cut himself off, not quite sure what you were to him now. He knew what he wanted you to be. He passed through the guards and saw you sitting crossed leg across from your captor…smiling?

He saw your lips move, he was certain you spoke his name.

If he was in there he would have realised that he was right.

“So who was this Greg to you?” Adrian asked.

“He was someone I loved. A part of me still loves him. I don’t think he ever felt the same…” you trailed off with a sad smile and Adrian looked to the floor.

You looked over and saw the dead body that had been lying for almost nine hours now. It was getting dark outside but in the bank the lights were bright and harsh, making your eyes constant squint to adjust to the brightness.

“What will happen if we leave?” Adrian asked in a whisper.

You went wide eyed and sat up a bit straighter “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I’ll make sure you are okay.”

“Okay…” he reached his hand out for you to take, the other still held the gun.

You slowly walked out with him, he was holding you close. Your eyes caught onto a silver haired figure “Greg…?” You whispered out and Adrian heard you.

“That’s him?” He asked and you nodded, barely noticing the hundreds of gunmen around you “He must really love you if he came here.”

You blinked and tore away your gaze from Greg to look at Adrian “I miss my love…” the gunman sadly smiled and attempted to shoot himself but you quickly grabbed onto his whist and twisted it causing him to drop the gun before you tackled him to the ground.

“I can’t let you do that,” your breaths were rugged “I can’t.” Officers came in and arrested Adrian, he let out soft wails as they did. Another officer took you to a ambulance, you had lost sight of Greg in the crowd. You almost thought that you dreamt of him. A twisted hallucination.

“Why do they keep putting a blanket on me ?” You grumbled to yourself and tossed it off your shoulders.

“You’re in shock…” you turned and saw Greg standing there with his hands in his pockets.

“Where have I heard that before?” You smirked and looked away.

Greg walked up to you and stood in front of your knees “Why did you just leave so suddenly?”

“Honestly?” You raised your head “Jealously got the better of me…” you whispered.

“That woman on the scene two years ago, the one where you bumped your head….I was asking her a question,” you raised a brow “About you,” your brow raised even further. Greg continued talking “I was asking her for advice on how to ask you out on a date. Everything after that just exploded and happened so quickly and before I knew it you had suddenly disappeared? To Sweden of all places!” He halfheartedly laughed.

“You could have just asked me on a date…maybe then none of this would have happened.” You felt a hand slip into yours, Greg squeezed it gently. You looked up to him with a smile before leaning up to gently kiss him.

You pulled away when you realised he wasn’t kissing you back “Sorry, I didn’t-” you were cut off by lips crashing against yours. You smiled as he placed a hand to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss.

“Come back with me,” Greg asked “You’ll get your job back.”

“I’ll come back on one condition,” you whispered.

“Anything,” Greg peppered kisses around your mouth.

You pulled away and bit down on your bottom lip “Take me on a date.”

You both let out a giggle and Greg kissed you again. You took that as a yes.

#imaginedilestrade #greg lestrade #request #greg lestrade imagine #inspector lestrade #lestrade #di lestrade #greg lestrade x reader #lestrade x reader #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock imagines #sally donovan #Di Dimmock #phillip anderson

37 notes · View notes

success0 · 5 years ago

Text

Ingredients for Becoming Your own Boss

The ESSENTIAL for Becoming Your own Boss.

…this is How to Establish Your Own Lucrative Laptop, or, (Work from Home) Lifestyle!

Welcome,

After being employed and having a job, does the idea of becoming your own boss sound attractive?

If so, this short article will provide every ESSENTIAL ingredient for ongoing financial success.

Anyone can establish their own business or profit stream if they keep it focused and uncomplicated!

So, I’ll keep what follows SIMPLE.

If you choose to take action with the following information, it will put you light years ahead of anyone else.

You’ll establish your first profit stream within a matter of months. Then soon after, see tangible financial results dropping into your bank account on a regular basis.

Enjoy your enlightening short read…

Contents

What you see is the way it will be!

What you believe, you can achieve!

How to achieve AMAZING results.

Learn more – Earn more.

How to stay turbocharged keen.

Follow the leader!

Let’s Begin With What Should be a HUGE Motivating Fact!

When it comes to establishing your own laptop lifestyle or work from home project, and becoming your own boss:

Very few people really FAIL.

The truth is that they DON’T have a process to follow which leads them to success, or, and just as likely, they never really put in the required effort to get started at all!

If they had:

Then getting started and becoming SUCCESSFULLY ESTABLISHED is not difficult, ESPECIALLY when you have the desire, an understanding, and a direction.

So now it’s time to go back to school and learn this simple process, and then follow it to your own financial success!

Where to Get Started!

Let’s divide these success ingredients into two category headings.

FIRST: the attributes you already have, but probably don’t know how to use!

SECOND: then outside influences

What You See Is the Way It Will Be!

Mindset and mentality

Your mind is an AMAZING tool.

If you use it correctly it will deliver you the most astonishing results and help you to be successful at VIRTUALLY ANYTHING.

I say use it correctly, simply because MOST individuals don’t.

In fact, FAR from it!

Let me give you a quick overview.

FIRST: you need to think positively and never let negative self-doubt or destructive thoughts stay in your mind for more than a moment.

Play it forward…

The simple way of achieving this is by creating an image or video in your mind’s eye of you successful and happy in your achievement, whatever that may be.

Have the discipline to instantly REPLACE negative thoughts with your own positive self-serving image.

Dwell on your positive self-image and constantly upgrade and improve it. Or, turn it into a series of images that become your personal success video.

Fake it until you make it and your image becomes your reality.

Also, a great book you should read is: Yes Attitude by Jeffery Gittomer.

SECOND: you’ll advance in the direction of what you think about the most!

Seriously, you will start moving towards the tangible achievement of your prominent thoughts as they stay at the forefront of your visual mind.

You choose what you think about, so once you’ve decided what it is you want to achieve, bring it to mind as much as possible.

Create an image or video of you enjoying your desire, see yourself in your image happy and contented, and you will start moving towards it.

There is nothing spooky about this!

Whatever is at the forefront of your mind is most likely to receive action and attention first.

If hunger is on your mind, then you are likely to eat soon after.

If you’re thinking about sleep, you’ll quickly grow tired.

Begin using this simple and powerful process to your advantage and becoming your own boss..

If you would like a copy of ‘The REAL Laptop Lifestyle' ebook which includes 12 tried, tested and proven formulas, and 46 (Work from Home) strategies, just click here…

What You Believe, You Can Achieve!

This fact is SO IMPORTANT, you should have it tattooed on your forearm, and read it on a daily basis.

Whatever it may be, if you don’t 101% believe you will be successful, then the chances are YOU WON’T.

By complete contrast, you are likely to be UNSUCCESSFUL due to fear and procrastination.

Self-belief generates self-confidence and is the most important aspect of the success process.

I know what you’re going to ask next!

How do you build your levels of self-belief and self-confidence?

The answer is simple, although a little out of sequence.

You use the outside influences we will come to shortly to build your levels of knowledge and understanding, and then your belief in your success will swell and grow.

You will reach the point where you just HAVE to take action and breathe life into your new project.

Do this and you will become a GIANT step closer to becoming your own boss!

How to Achieve Amazing Results.

As your levels of belief become stronger, your levels of desire and determination will also grow in equal proportions.

You may even want to achieve it so much it begins to hurt.

Your desire and determination, in turn, will trigger a hot passion and burning enthusiasm for your subject and achievement of your objective.

Your passion and enthusiasm are what will motivate you into action every morning until you have accomplished your objective.

As you can see, one ingredient and personal virtue develops, feeds and grows another. It’s a positive upward success spiral which ANYONE, including you, can use and plug into.

Outside Influence

How to Stay Turbocharged Keen.

Essential factors in the success process are staying motivated and inspired so you WANT to take action.

There are many ways in which you can stay highly motivated, as well as delivering the levels of necessary inspiration to take action.

The best way is by gaining a constant flow of quality input, such as being part of a relevant membership, or belonging to a quality mailing list, or reading quality blog posts.

I’ll also provide you with a simple and practical solution shortly.

Learn More – Earn More!

You can NEVER have too much knowledge!

In fact, there is a direct correlation between your level of knowledge, and the level of income you will generate.

For that reason, you need to commit to becoming a lifelong student in your field of interest. Please remember that the more you learn, the greater your level of self-belief and self-confidence will also become.

The greater your understanding of your subject matter, the more MOTIVATED you will become to taking ongoing action.

Reading and books, especially entrepreneurial and self-employed work from home and laptop lifestyle books, should be at the top of your reading list.

They are inexpensive, and in just a few hours you can possess the distilled experience which may have taken the author a LIFETIME to gather and gain.

If you commit to reading-related business material for just half an hour a day, you will elevate yourself to the position of all aspiring entrepreneurs.

In fact, you should get into the HABIT of reading any book which is related to running a successful business, from network marketing to photography, to successful computer practice, etc.

On my office table sits a small pile of books patiently waiting to be read, and as these are consumed, they are generally replaced by others.

Sitting next to me on my desk is my favorite possession, my KINDLE book reader which is slowly taking over from purchasing hardback books completely.

It’s so convenient, right now I am carrying 300+ Kindle books with me wherever I go which I can dip into as and when I desire, as well as HIGHLIGHTING EXTRACTS, making notes and collating them all into one short document.

I would also suggest that you keep your eye open for related webinars, Facebook articles, and tweets on Twitter, and topic quotes, each will increase your growing knowledge base.

Reiteration: No one ever DIED of an overdose of knowledge!

Follow the Leader!

The best way to get out of your job and find financial freedom is by starting your own business, and the solution is really simple. Find and follow a system that is proven to work.

There are plenty of memberships and magazines which you can subscribe to. However, I doubt if many of them will be as inexpensive and as useful as this one…

The ULTIMATE Laptop Lifestyle!

When you mention the laptop lifestyle most people instantly think of someone sitting on a sunny beach staring into their luxury laptop, smiling and generating a heap of money while away on permanent vacation.

In 20 years, I’ve never seen ANYONE do that, or live this way.

I am a man who enjoys the abundance of this lifestyle 24/7/365 and NEVER yet have I worked ON a beach as it wouldn’t a conducive work environment. You would find the screens difficult to see, and sand could destroy your laptop.

However, I am fortunate enough to have houses in the UK and the Philippines which both sit on the beach, and I often work while overlooking the sea.

Most days, I work from my small office or balcony, sometimes from my car in a quiet and beautiful location, and occasionally from a busy cafe where I can indulge in people watching while generating ideas and scribbling my thoughts in a notebook.

I WOULDN’T change it for the world.

To me, the most accurate definition of a laptop lifestyle is a business or profit stream which I can take with me on my computer or tablet to where ever I decide to live or work.

The best thing about working for yourself is that like me if you choose you can become a true digital nomad, or, if you prefer, you can run a home-based business.

You can build a lifestyle career to suit you and your family requirements, what price could you put on that privilege.

What do I do next?

If your ready and confident, then start taking action, if you’re hungry for more then here is the best solution:

The FAQ (frequently asked questions)

How Much Can You Earn

This is a question I am REGULARLY asked, and without knowing you and how committed and determined you are as an individual, it’s a difficult one to answer.

However, once established I would estimate that MOST individuals who took this seriously would generate an income of 4 – 6 times the average wage, in half the time it takes you to commute too and complete their job.

Please Note! Although many people measure a lifestyle career by the income it’ll generate for them, the profit you generate will be the tip of the BENEFIT iceberg.

Far MORE IMPORTANT is how happy and significant a fun and engaging career will make you feel?

How being able to work as and when you wish, and the hours which suit you your family, and present circumstances will improve your quality of life?

I am in my early 60’s and could have retired years ago, although I don’t think you could have a more enjoyable and interesting lifestyle than I presently lead, so I have NO PLANS for retirement.

The income you can generate is a greate reason for becoming your own boss.

How Long to Get Started?

When I’m asked this question, I generally tell people that SUCCESS is not a race!

However, it’ll all come down to you, your present level of knowledge which could be zero, and how much TIME you can commit to learning and getting started.

The fact that you have ZERO knowledge or experience in this field really doesn’t matter, because as long as you have the desire you will learn and be successful.

If you can put a minimum of 10 hours a week into learning and development you are likely to see rapid advancement.

Some individuals become financially viable in a matter of weeks. In fact, one girl I know established a £5k income stream from a standing start in her first month.

Others, take very much longer, although if they stay with it, they ALWAYS get there.

So enjoy the journey to becoming your own boss.

What Are the Big Obstacles?

The biggest obstacle and the main reason for lack of success will be YOU!

So long as you believe you will be successful, and continue to take action and add to your knowledge base so you will advance.

Every journey starts with the first step and often the finish line seems a long way off. However, if you’re consistent in your actions, and develop MOMENTUM, you will soon look back over your shoulder and realise just how far you’ve come.

Whatever the business or service, it’s about learning new skills and overcoming obstacles, every business has them. The more obstacles you overcome, the more profitable your business is likely to be.

NEVER give up!

from https://www.thereallaptoplifestyle.com/becoming-your-own-boss/

0 notes