olive shorts

I found this video and also my contribution to Power Ranger/Super Sentai Fandom: 

  • Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers: Japanese Dub

inimitablebiscuit  asked:

Erm Flintwood please if you're still doing 150. * Winning smile *

pairing: marcus flint x oliver wood

setting: modern, non-magical, soulmates-at-first-touch au

word count: 1394


Marcus punches his soulmate in the face the first time they meet.

Wait.

No.  

It’s worse than that.

Marcus punches his soulmate in the face the first time they meet, the flats of his knuckles crunching against the guy’s jaw, hard enough to draw blood and leave a mark and hurt—and then there’s a strange fluttering sensation erupting in the pit of Marcus’s stomach, a comforting, calming warmth suffusing the blood in his veins and the marrow in his bones and it’s exactly like how they’d described it in Health class, the awareness—the connection—slotting into place so seamlessly that he’s astonished he’d never noticed something missing before now.  

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus blurts out. “Oh—fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Marcus’s soulmate—who’s tall and lean and has the prettiest brown eyes, what the shit—is just sprawled out on the dirty arena floor, blinking and blinking and prodding gingerly at the bruise that’s already beginning to blossom—

“No,” the guy says firmly. “This isn’t happening.”

“Fuck you,” Marcus immediately snaps. “I rejected you first.”

The guy snorts, kind of irritatingly sarcastic, before grimacing. His emotions, so far as Marcus can tell, are all over the place; shock and dismay and frustration and—very, very deeply—a flickering, almost unwilling tremor of interest.  

“It wouldn’t work, anyway,” the guy goes on, more loudly. “You have terrible opinions about hockey.”

“Fuck you,” Marcus snaps again. “You’re the one in the shitty jersey.”

“He’s won three Cups.”

“Yeah, and he was a fucking healthy scratch for two of them,” Marcus retorts. “Try again.”

“Hockey is a team sport,” the guy says hotly. “It isn't—it isn’t about individual accomplishments.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Sure, whatever,” he drawls, “but your shitty jersey is still shitty.”

The guy’s mouth falls open, and Marcus can feel the sour note of his indignation—the jagged spike of his outrage—as clearly as if it were his own. “Jesus fucking Christ,” the guy sputters, shaking his head like he’s got a nervous tic. “What are you so—what are you so angry about?”

Marcus raises his eyebrows. “Um,” he says slowly, because, really, what the shit, “I’m not angry. I’m confused.”

“No.” The guy frowns. “You’re definitely angry. I feel it, like—” He gestures vaguely to his chest and upper abdomen. “Right there. Like heartburn.”

Marcus’s nostrils flare, and he scratches viciously at the side of his neck to distract himself from the fact that this complete fucking stranger with boy band hair and, and Bambi eyes is apparently better at deciphering Marcus’s emotions than Marcus is.  

“Oh, hell,” the guy sighs, “now you're—embarrassed, don’t be like that, I didn’t mean to—hey, come on, where are you—where are you going? You can’t just—hey! Come back!”

Marcus does not come back.

And the ensuing wave of regret that pulses through Marcus’s sternum is lukewarm and salty and depressingly difficult to pinpoint the origins of.

It’s not his, he thinks stubbornly.

Probably.


Marcus lasts two and a half days before the persistent invisible tugging at his gut becomes too annoying to bear.

He follows it.

He follows it to a bench in Riverside Park that’s near where the gross little fish and chips stand is, and the scent of old frying oil undercut by whatever the fuck is currently decomposing in the Hudson is—less nauseating than it arguably fucking should be, seriously, what the shit.

But—

His soulmate, his soulmate, is sitting with his legs spread obnoxiously wide, wrists crossed and hands dangling in his lap, squinting intently up at the clouds like he’s waiting for them to tell him what to do next. It’s endearing. Maybe. Marcus’s stomach is in knots—a tangled mess of dread and unease and, abruptly, relief.

“Oh,” the guy says, quirking his lips into something that Marcus chooses to generously describe as a smile. The bruise on the guy’s jaw is a lurid, chalky looking violet, partially obscured by the auburn of his stubble. “You found me.”

“Of course I fucking found you,” Marcus says, dropping down next to him. Their knees brush, just for a moment, and it’s like—lightning, bright and fierce and sizzling, coiling around the base of his spine. “There’s been this—this buzzing, in the back of my head—”

“Yeah,” the guy interjects glumly. “I know. I would've—if you hadn’t. I would’ve tried to find you.” He pauses. “I missed you, I guess, which is—weird.”

Marcus scowls down at the sidewalk. There’s a crack in the cement, and it’s dirty, gritty with loose gravel around the edges, splintering off into a dozen hairline fractures before disappearing into the grass. He can feel his own surprise at the guy’s admission, and it’s so—uncomfortable, knowing that there’s nothing he can hide behind. Making himself smaller, holding himself still; they’re not antidotes for anything, not anymore, and this guy—his soulmate—he’s got a rabbit-fast heartbeat and an intimidatingly focused way of feeling things. Marcus wonders how he’s supposed to get used to that.  

“I’m Marcus,” he eventually offers, voice emerging gruffer than he’d have liked. “My name, I mean. It's—Marcus.”

The guy turns, slightly, to look over at Marcus. “Oliver. I’m Oliver.” He hesitates before he goes on, sounding nonplussed, “I still can’t believe you fucking hit me. Over a jersey.”

Marcus huffs. “It’s a really shitty jersey.”

Oliver grins, short and sweet and self-deprecating, before nudging at Marcus’s ribs with the point of his elbow. “I’ve, uh. I’ve been told I’ve got kind of a…bad habit of, of taking things too seriously.” His mouth twists, and the stabbing ache of some long-ago insult, or argument; it lances through the pads of Marcus’s fingers, stinging and sharp. “Obsessive. That’s what—I dunno. That’s what I’ve been told. I can be…obsessive. About—whatever.”

“Obsessive,” Marcus repeats, shaking out his hand. “That’s your—one big fault. Enthusiasm.”

Oliver shrugs, easy and casual, like it doesn’t matter, like Marcus can’t literally feel the crippling uncertainty—the tension, swampy and thick—weighing down his limbs. “Enthusiasm is…too nice of a word for it, I think.”

“Bullshit,” Marcus hears himself say, with absolutely zero fucking direction from his brain, or his conscience, or his admittedly flimsy sense of self-preservation. “Enthusiasm is the perfect fucking word for it.”

Oliver startles, slightly, eyes widening a fraction. There’s a coolly refreshing burst of—happiness, maybe; gratitude, definitely—coating the back of Marcus’s tongue. Citrus. Summer. Chlorine and coconut. It’s fucking nice.

“Oh. Um. Okay,” Oliver says, haltingly. “Thanks.”

A tentative silence descends between them on the bench. Marcus drums his fingers against the inseam of his jeans, jiggling his foot and glaring at a rotting spear of tree bark and swallowing around a metallic-tasting lump in his throat that he instinctively wants to label curiosity.  

“Sorry,” Marcus grunts, slouching forward. “About the—hitting you. I just—sorry. I was angry. I get angry.”

Oliver stares at him, bottom lip clutched between his teeth, and there’s a swirl of something taking root in his lungs, something chewy and rich, like caramel, so that every breath he takes in is like burnt brown sugar crystallizing against the roof of his mouth, but then there’s more, too, a champagne bubble pop of amusement, and—

“It’s alright,” Oliver says wryly. “I heard I was wearing a pretty shitty jersey.”

Marcus snorts, and then groans, and then laughs, almost despite himself, before confessing, as quietly as he can manage—  

“Yeah, I’m…not really sorry, anyway.”


8

Who’s excited for Rammstein: Paris already? I know I am 

Olicity Drabble 5x17 ~Holding

Sometimes the hardest tests bring about the greatest gifts. This episode while emotionally heart-wrenching was also an amazing gift. This is just me hoping for an Olicity scene even it it wasn’t needed. (Gif: not mine)

Originally posted by whoeveryoulovethemost

“Darkness doesn’t just happen…

Like a endless nightmare darkness spreads through you slowly like a disease. At first the changes are slight and go unnoticed. But eventually the snow of the cold winter melts and, the scars of it’s punishing season are forever left behind…” 

Felicity let those words spread through her slowly like the very disease she feared would soon consume her. Seeing the blood along his open wounds for her was like looking in a mirror. His beaten battered body felt like a true reflection of her soul. Hearing him declare he was done sent shivers of cold relief through her rigid spine because, for once she didn’t feel that she’d emotionally been left behind. For once his soul, heart, mind and, body clearly matched her own…

The elevator doors slid together slowly, the room seemed to grow colder now that only their two shattered hearts remained. She heard his shuffled steps along the cold, unforgiving floors as she let her fingers dance slowly over the worn keys. She tried to shut down the world around her body as her eyes danced along the faded E. She heard him wince when his fingers slid down the side of the gray and green walls. Her heart thumped in agony as her thumb brushed over the worn space bar numbly. 

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I LOVE olive/army green so much idk why I don’t wear it more! Also, I’m so excited that I have pointy nails again. Lol. What’s your favorite nails shape??

Used in this mani:

Cirque Colors - Central Park After Dark

Ella + Mila - Sway With Me, Paradise Isle

Sinful Colors - Black On Black

HK Girl Topcoat

Resentment
  • “Are you sure?”
  • “Yes,” Oliver replied defiantly, clearly frustrated with having to repeat himself again. “He’s 100% not a Death Eater.”
  • The boy still looked at Marcus warily and Marcus tried his hardest to not let it bother him
  • Having the Flint family name weighed on his shoulders had always been a burden 
  • The scarring name of You-Know-Who followers sentenced to life imprisonment Azkaban
  • Their faces were hazy in his brain
  • But he remembered a woman’s untameable curly black hair and a man’s piercing grey eyes
  • The features he’d inherited
  • He remembered their voices promising they were leaving to make his life better when he was five 
  • He remembered holding onto their legs and begging them not to leave
  • He remembered promises of them coming back 
  • He remembered crying when his Grandmother told him they weren’t coming back
  • He grew up with resentment for them
  • Grew into a cold and angry person
  • It was exactly what he didn’t want to become but it was a result of no affection growing up
  • His Grandmother was a cold witch no different from his parents 
  • The blood purist views were drilled into his brain 
  • Views he was still working on overcoming
  • But thankfully not so much he felt the need to join the dark side’s ranks
  • But being devoid of any real love as a child had lifelong lasting results
  • Oliver understood that
  • Getting affection from him was foreign but Oliver was patient
  • Public displays were still difficult but he allowed Oliver to squeeze his shoulder when the kid walked off
  • But that accusation wasn’t the first and it won’t be the last
  • Even after helping Oliver and another kid carry bodies of the deceased
  • He had to prove he wasn’t his parents 
  • Even to himself
  • “C’mon,” Oliver said and he let his lips brush against his cheek. “You can watch my back as I lead the fliers.”

Originally posted by bazingagubicorn

Originally posted by olicitytherapy

Originally posted by andjustforthismoment

While initially i might have wanted a more solid reuniting by the end of this season, I am 1000% happy with this moment. We didn’t get a big proclamation of love or a big 5 minute scene where they declare all their regrets over the break up. No, instead we get this beautiful, brief moment within the chaos. And that to me signifies the importance of this relationship and the writers’ understanding Olicity and where they want to take them. The biggest complaint for Olicity in season 4 was the poorly thought out writing and execution of their story. Marc even said later on that the writers were blinded by their timeline and regretted how quickly everything happened between them. I believe he believes they made a mistake in how they wrote season 4. It happens, we’re all human. But what makes those mistakes important is if we learn from them, and I believe the writers did. So instead of big declarations of love, we got this little moment that is reminiscent of early Olicity: they’re roots. And this shows me that their reunion won’t be slapped together for the sake of it. They are going to work they way back to each other slowly, and it is going to be a beautiful journey to witness. A journey both the characters and the fans deserve.