kinda upset that there is no Sarek in STID or Beyond. He’s such a complex character.
like i really need the next movie to have him in, preferably where in Beyond, Sarek took care of Spock Prime in his last few days, and Spock Prime made Sarek promise to go find Spock and convince him that Spock and Jim are meant to be.
So Sarek should just show up on the bridge in the next movie and start telling Spock he should marry Jim, and referring to the command team as ‘my sons’.
“Everything’s changing. A little while ago, most people went to bed thinking that the craziest thing in the world was a billionaire in a flying metal suit. Then aliens invade New York then were beaten back by, among others, a giant green monster, a costumed hero from the 40’s, and a god.”
She said no. Her story started here. Her whole life, she thought she wasn’t wanted. That she didn’t belong, that every family that took her in didn’t want her to stay. Didn’t care. But all that time, it was S.H.I.E.L.D. protecting her. Looking after her. That’s what she took away from the story. Not the family she’ll never have, but the one she’s always had. Here I am telling her something that
could destroy her faith in humanity, and somehow she manages to repair a
little piece of mind.
The world is full of evil and lies and pain and
death, and you can’t hide from it. You can only face it. The question
is, when you do, how do you respond? Who do you become?
“Don’t leave me with the hostiles,” Fitz hissed, grabbing for Jemma as
she moved away, but he caught the tie on the back of her dress by
“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma sighed, rolling her eyes with affectionate annoyance
as the bow unraveled. “Do me up again, would you?”
She turned her back to him, and as he stepped forward to fix the tie,
his hand brushed the silky fabric of her dress over her lower back and
he smelled the faded citrus of the shampoo she must’ve used the night
His hands froze on the little strips of fabric he was supposed to be
tying as he was forcibly reminded of a moment they’d shared before
they’d been married, when their interactions were being monitored
somewhat invasively to assess whether they were really a couple and not
just marrying for a visa (though they were). Helped along by their
pre-existing close friendship, they’d nonetheless come under intense
scrutiny and had on more than one occasion needed to pretend to be
The moment to which he’d been thrown back now had been all sizzling air,
an evening charged by thunderstorms and alcohol and dancing and a
flower in Jemma’s hair–
“Fitz?” Jemma queried in the present.
(undying love to @chinese-bakery for the manip and to @consoledacup for suggestions and sanity!)
before sulu leaves for his shift, chekov presses a kiss to the palm of his hand and closes his fingers over it.
“for later,” chekov tells him.
sulu laughs and rolls his eyes, but without fail he always finds himself pressing his palm to his face with a smile.
‘We change. We have to. Or we spend the rest of our lives fighting the same battles…You spent all this time trying to be your father, and now you’re wondering just what it means to be you.’ (listen)
second child, restless child - the oh hellos | lost boy - troye sivan | welcome home - radical face | polaroid - imagine dragons | i’m born to run - american authors | the beacon - a fine frenzy | youth - glass animals | grand canyon - the wind and the wave | it’s not my time - three doors down | so far away - staind | I have made mistakes - the oh hellos | heirloom - sleeping at last
Send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write ya a drabble!
Jemma was trying to be good.
She really, really was.
But it wasn’t often that she got to see Fitz in jeans at work, except for the rare casual Friday. So despite the hundreds of parents out there in the auditorium and the action on the stage between them, she couldn’t stop staring from her place in the wings opposite him. His hands were plunged into his back pockets so that his button-up stretched across his chest and he kept scratching the back of one ankle with his scuffed sneakers. She wanted very much to grab those belt loops and pull him in and–
Her phone vibrated in her back pocket. She stepped back into the darkness so her screen wouldn’t draw attention away from the play.
[Fitz] Will you stop staring at me?
Jemma grinned, peeking around the curtain again. Fitz, hidden from the crowd but not from her, shook his head slightly and pretended to be watching Juliet swooning over Romeo’s body. Why they had put Fitz in charge of the school’s drama club was beyond Jemma’s understanding: he was a terrible actor. She could tell that he was just as attuned to her presence as she was to his, knew that he’d been glancing at her every time she looked away.
So she smirked at her phone and sent back, Come over here and make me.
This time their eyes met, and she expected him to shake his head chidingly again, but she was ready. She bit her lip and scrunched her eyebrows together, and as if unconscious of his gaze, she slipped her sweater down to reveal her bare shoulder and the strap of her camisole.
Fitz vanished from sight. Jemma waited, tapping her phone against her palm as she tried to watch the play.
Fitz must’ve sprinted around the back of the stage because he announced himself just seconds later by stumbling over a footstool with a clatter.
“Shh!” Jemma hushed, giggling. She hurried towards him, hands already on his shoulders to help him catch his balance, but he was ahead of her.
He gripped her by the waist and walked her backwards until she hit the fake tree painted for last season’s production, and before she could catch her breath, he was kissing her, knees bent slightly so he could get the right angle, hips flush against hers to hold her in place.
“I should put you in detention for that kind of behavior, Ms. Simmons,” he murmured against her lips, the softness of his tone counteracted by his teeth dragging out her bottom lip. “I’m trying to direct a show.”
“Maybe your musical consultant wants some appreciation,” she whispered back.
“I plan on being very appreciative, I assure you.” His hand on the middle of her back pulled her closer, pushed her chest up, let him begin to explore her with his tongue.
They were interrupted by one of the stage hands running into their dark corner and hissing, “Mr. Fitz! It’s your cue!”
Fitz groaned as Jemma bit his tongue gently and pushed him away. Only then did they hear the thunderous applause from the audience.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Fitz pleaded, hands roaming along Jemma’s sides.
“Couldn’t even if I wanted to,” she assured him. It wasn’t a lie – she was, a la all the cliches, weak in the knees.
He walked backwards, still gazing at her, until he hit the velvet curtain and had to fumble his way through for his bow. He might have some of her lip gloss on his mouth, his shirt might be obviously untucked – but Jemma thought he’d never looked handsomer.