perfection in a bottle

My favorite lyrics from Divide
  • just my two cents
  • Eraser: I wish that love was a currency and the whole world was wealthy
  • Castle on the Hill: I had my first kiss on a Friday Night, I don't reckon I did it right // these people raised me and I can't wait to go home
  • Dive: Don't call me baby unless you mean it // I've been known to give my all and jumping in harder than ten thousand rocks on the lake
  • Shape of You: Your love was handmade for somebody like me
  • Perfect: Now I know I have met an angel in person and she looks perfect
  • Galway Girl: I swear I'm gonna put you in a song that I write about a galway girl and a perfect night // She took me inside to finish some doritos and another bottle of wine
  • Happier: But I guess you look happier, you do, my friends told me one day I'd feel it too
  • Hearts Don't Break Around Here: She is the lighthouse in the night that will safely guide me home
  • New man: Still lookin' at your instagram and I'll be creepin' a lil, I'll be tryin' not to double tap from way back cause I know that's where the trouble's at
  • What Do I Know: Just remember that life is more than fitting in your jeans, it's love, understanding, and positivity
  • How Would You Feel: In the summer, as the lilacs blew, blood flows deeper than a river every moment I spend with you
  • Supermarket Flowers: A heart that's broke is a heart that's been loved // A life with love is a life that's been lived
  • Barcelona: We're going somewhere where the sun is shining bright
  • Bibia Be Ye Ye: I tell myself in every way I won't be doing this again and tomorrow's a brand new day
  • Nancy Mulligan: Never had I seen such beauty before the second I saw her, Nancy was my yellow rose
  • Save Myself: Before I save someone else, I've got to save myself
fuckboy » jjk » m

» request: nope

» genre: smutttttt

» author’s note: i was hoping to be able to get to 5k words, but unfortunately that didn’t happen :’) anyways, i still think this is the longest scenario i’ve written which i’m kind of proud of tbh ?? i really like this one and i hope you all do too! feel free to request any sort of au scenarios and i’ll be sure to write it !

» word count: 4.3k+

» warnings: fuckboy jungkook, sexting, phone sex, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, unprotected sex

**nsfw under the cut

You sigh to yourself as you collect the randomly discarded articles of Jimin’s clothing scattered through the house. You roll your eyes as you grasp a pair of his underwear, tossing them into the basket which has now grown heavy with the weight of his dirty laundry. “Seriously, Chim, is it that hard to pick up your clothes?” You ask as you walk into the living room, picking up an old t-shirt from the back of the couch; you stop in your tracks once you finally look up.

“Sorry, Y/N.” Jimin flashes you a sheepish smile, but you are no longer worried about him. Your eyes travel to the other person in the room, Jeon Jungkook; he leans casually against the wall, taking a sip from a bottle of water. “Have you met Jungkook?” Jimin asks you casually, flicking through the channels on the television as you glare at his friend.

“I don’t think so,” you say truthfully; you’ve never met Jeon Jungkook, but you’ve heard of him, many times. Most recently, his antics had been called to your attention by a close friend of yours, and to make a long, long story short: Jeon Jungkook is a fuckboy.

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In An Instant: Part Ten (END)

Summary: A romantic comedy about what happens when love literally falls through your window.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Ash (aka me), Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark

Warnings: Language, general gross cuteness, some angst, bad writing, bad storylines, possible cheating, but mostly major fluff and feels

Word Count: 1.6K

A/N: I’m finally wrapping up this series. It didn’t quite go the way I had anticipated but I enjoyed it. Thank you to all of you extremely patient people who followed along with me. I’d love to hear what you thought of the series as a whole and what I should/shouldn’t do in future series. I love you all. Special thanks to my babe, @sebbytrash, for reading through this for me. I love you.

Catch up here!  **My Masterlist  ** Inspiration Fund

When you awoke that Saturday afternoon, a mere three weeks since you met the life ruiner, Bucky Barnes, your heart literally hurt. Who were you to stop a wedding? You barely knew this guy. There was nothing you could do.

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um hi so i’m (just under) 50 away from 2k and it’d be ya know kinda cool if i could get there sometime (soon)… and yeap that’s my story (thanks for listening reading) (*awkwardly shuffles off stage ur screen*) 

She has no throne. Girls without thrones should not have knights, but hers won’t go. Princess Zelda – the girl who killed Calamity – would love to fade into legend, but Link’s bought a house, he’s fighting off monsters, and he’s selling giant horses to strangely familiar Gerudo men. She’ll never have any peace now. (ao3)  

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A very short shorts

…god I need more time for studying and social media. More time on social media.

Studio AU - @thebbros-studios-on-and-off-set

The AU I was thinking about while writing some of this - @smol-sinner-artist

Quest AU - @thebbros

I hope this isn’t copyright, my friend told me some of this. If she got this from social media, sorry. Someone tell who actually did the joke.


Cup: Fu*k you.

Bendy: Go ahead.

Cup: What?

Bendy: What?

Me: *Spams delete button* 


Seth: *Busy snapping stalkerish pics of Bendy and Cup*

Me: Dude.

Cendy and Bendystraw fans: *Also snapping pics*

Me: You guys are everywhere.


Boris: …

Cup: …

Bendy: …

*All stares intensely at bottle*

Bendy: My turn. *Flips bottle*

*Perfect flip*

Bendy: YESSSSS! *Sticks hand out*

Cup: Ugh…*Passes two bucks*

Bendy: Twenty bucks, new record!

Boris: Let’s play again!


Me: Midget spinner…?


Seth: You’re fit to be one too. Wanna try and see, Mono?

Me: No thank you.

Rosemary & Lavender : Smokeless Cleansing

For those of you who can’t or prefer not to cleans an area with smoke, this is perfect for dorms, and for those practicing behind closed doors.


  • Air tight bottle ( anything with a lid ) 
  • Couple sprigs of Rosemary & Lavender, fresh preferred.
  • Vodka ( if you can access this water will do )
  • ( optional ) spray bottle ( can be found in dollar stores )


  1. Take the sprigs of lavender and rosemary, ( not to much you have to fit them in your bottle/container ) and tie them together, at the stem. 
  2. fill your bottle half way with vodka, and the rest with water, and stick your herbs heads down.
  3. Let sit for at least a week, shaking lightly.
  4. (optional) if you purchased a spray bottle, after a week transfer your liquid to that, you can place the herbs into the bottle as long as there isn’t any free floating debris. 

For use

When it comes time to use it, simply pull the herbs from the bottle / container, using them to flick the mixture around the space. : Long swiping motions for large areas, and short flicks for small spaces. If your mixture is in a spray bottle simply spray it in the area needed. 

For storing

For storing keep enclosed, and watch to see if the herbs need to be replaced or simply taken out.

Kisses by Sunflower Beds

ao3 // for @reallyelegantsharkfish

It’s not like Cas didn’t know it would happen eventually, inevitably. Maybe he thought he’d be the first to go. He’s the immortal one, but the Winchesters did have a knack for surviving.

Still, knowing that something is going to happen, knowing that Sam and Dean would not live forever even though it felt like they should, doesn’t prepare him for when it does happen.

Sam and Dean go out like they always promised they would. Fighting. It’s an honourable death but what is the point of an honourable death, Cas wonders, when your loved ones are lost to you.

In his last moments, Dean sees his life flash before his eyes which is how he knows that this time it will stick, knows it’s for good and there’s no coming back from this one.

In truth, he doesn’t actually see his life but feels it. He’s overwhelmed by a sense of accomplishment and he associates it to every time he took care of Sammy when they were children, got them through the night, got his kid brother to laugh instead of ask questions. He associates it with the first time he shot a firearm and his dad called him a natural. The first time he saved a life. The first time he saved the world. The first time he made Cas come.

A wave of joy hits him after that. Prank wars with Sam. Antics with Charlie. Driving Baby. His first lazy sunday with Cas. Every lazy sunday with Cas after that.

With his dying breath, Dean smells motor oil and pie and sex and honey and it all smells good. It smells perfect melded together, though it shouldn’t, and if it were bottled the label would read Life of Dean Winchester. He doesn’t smell blood or burning flesh or sulfur.

He hears his favourite tune along with Cas’ clumsy mumble and Sam’s off key singing.

Dean feels his life slip away with all his senses save for sight. That’s not to say he doesn’t see anything. He sees tree twigs that look big in the chubby hands of children, he sees long dark hair he hasn’t encountered before, a stone path and a bed of sunflowers and the sight of an ugly yellow backpack in Baby’s backseat. He doesn’t remember any of these things, not really, but he still somehow recognises them. They feel like memories that belong to him.

He doesn’t spare it much more thought than that. Oddly enough, Dean’s last thought is of the botanical garden Cas had wanted- insisted on- them going to. Dean didn’t care much for it but agreed because he wasn’t one to deny Cas anything. Still, it took them years to find the time to make the trip.

Sam decided to come along because there’s a library in the area that has a whole section on south american lore, something the men of letters bunker was lacking. He knew he was essentially crashing their date so Sam offered shotgun to Cas.

He was a little cramped in the backseat and had to angle his body sideways to make room for his legs but he noticed how when Dean’s hand wasn’t on the gear shift it was in Cas’ so he didn’t mind so much.

Halfway there was when they got the call that lead the brothers to their final case. To this final moment where Dean’s only regret is that he doesn’t get the chance to be led around between patches of greenery by Cas as the angel prattles on about one fact or another.

Castiel drives the impala back to the bunker. He could have flown it but that didn’t feel right. He gets pulled over once and he thinks the officer takes pity on him. Cas can imagine what he looks like, the blue of his puffy eyes contrasting with the veiny red, hair looking like it’s been tugged at- because it has, his chapped gnawed-at lower lip stained red from the blood he can taste.

He doesn’t make it to the bed he shares with Dean. He pretends it’s because the bedroom is so far down the hall and he’s so tired and but it’s because he can’t bear the sight of it. He stumbles- he is exhausted- into a random room, sheds his trench coat halfway to the bed before he lands on it. Or lands on something on the bed.

SUPERNATURAL by Carver Edlund

It’s the room Charlie would stay in, he knows now. He doesn’t mean to, but he ends up cracking open the book and reading all about the time Sam and Dean came across the croatoan virus for the first time.

It’s the real Dean, the depiction is accurate and these are real events from the hunter’s life but it’s not really Dean. It grows the already too wide hole inside of Cas. He can’t bring Dean back. But he can’t be without him. So Cas leaves to meet versions of Dean he hasn’t come across before, versions of Dean even Chuck didn’t take the time to write about.

Dean is three, almost four, when Cas, invisible, appears in the boy’s Lawrence home. Dean is kneeling on the sofa beside a pregnant Mary who keeps telling him that it’s ok to touch.

“It’s your little brother in there, Dean,” She says.

Dean purses his still thin lips, scratches a hair full of hair that’s only blond like Mary’s in the summer, and says, “That’s where daddy put him?”

Mary chokes a little when she laughs and moves into a tamed explanation of the birds and the bees.

Cas doesn’t listen, his eyes are peeled on Dean. This little boy who has no idea he’ll one day save a dying sun. This little boy that scrunches his face just like his Dean does, that shakily places a hand on his mother’s belly all false bravado, that has freckles splayed across his cheeks.

All Cas wants to do is to move closer. Is to stare. Is to see if three year-old Dean has all the freckles his Dean has or if some appeared with time. All Cas wants is to hold this boy. To tell him he’s perfect. To tell him he is loved. Cas can’t do any of these things.

He decides that’s unacceptable.

At eight Dean already knows how to shoot a firearm, so when the kids in his class want to pretend the sticks they find along the fence of the school lot are guns he’s happy that one boy wants to stack twigs as high as he can instead.

Every recess, Dean looks for a pair of blue eyes and the darkest hair on the playground and the two go off together. Cas- though Dean calls him Scottie in this vessel- recounts to Dean these wild stories about a pair of heroes, and they run around reenacting them.

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anonymous asked:

#5 was for the 137 winter writing prompts! It's just /begging/ to be nsfw

OK! I combined your prompt with a prompt I got from the beautiful @katherinebodine: “I’m too sober for this.”  I’m warning you now, it’s a little angsty and smutty and definitely NSFW. Not putting a cut, since they don’t work on asks on mobile. Huge major crazy thanks to the gorgeous @piecesofscully for being a much needed beta and giving me some wonderful advice for this little smut biscuit. Enjoy.


“Shit,” Mulder muttered, sitting shell-shocked on the couch next to Scully. “What does this mean?”

“It means exactly what I said, Mulder,” she explained. “None of it is working. They’re going to have to increase the intensity of the treatments.” She pushed a heavy, somber sigh past her lips as she let her head drop to the back of her striped sofa.

“Shit,” Mulder said once again.

A heavy silence settled over them in her living room, her latest medical records littering her coffee table. “I’m too sober for this,” she whispered to the ceiling before abruptly hoisting herself up and crossing to the kitchen. She opened the freezer door and began pulling out bags of frozen vegetables and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Half Baked.

“Scully?” Mulder called out from his spot on the couch.

Ignoring him, she continued to dig through the various items until finally her fingers closed around the ice-cold neck of a bottle hidden deep in the back of the freezer. She shut the door without bothering to put the food back; instead she opened a cabinet and grabbed two shot glasses before making her way back to the couch where Mulder sat staring at her, confusion and curiosity obvious on the planes of his face.

She set the shot glasses side by side and unscrewed the bottle of Stolichnaya, slapped the cap on the table and poured two perfect shots, not spilling a drop. She silently handed one to Mulder and immediately put the other to her lips, the vodka burning a smooth path past her tongue, down her throat and settling hotly in her stomach. Beside her, she heard Mulder mumble a quiet “vashe zdorovie” before he followed suit. Before she can stop it, a laugh bubbles up from within and escapes, loudly piercing the silence that hung thick and oppressively.

Mulder stifled a cough as he swallowed the clear liquor. “What?”

“Do you realize what you just said, Mulder? Vashe zdorovie. To your health. How apropos.”

Mulder had no response, instead his gaze stayed glued to hers and she refused to look away.

“They’re going to have to increase the dose of Temozolomide. That coupled with more radiation…I’m going to get sicker, Mulder.”

He held her stare for a moment longer before reaching for the bottle and sloppily pouring two more shots, overflowing the liquor onto the coffee table.

“Dammit, Mulder, don’t waste it.” She chided and used her fingers to wipe up the spilt alcohol before sliding those fingers between her lips. “I don’t have much left.”

They took their shots and Mulder placed his glass back on the table while Scully played with hers in her hand, rolling it absent mindedly between her palms. Mulder wouldn’t take his eyes off her and she could only guess as to the reason why.

Fear, she realized with a start.  She could read fear deep within those hazel orbs, but there was something else that lingered around the edges.  Was that arousal as he watched her throw back shots like a pro?  Was he cementing her image into his memory for when the time comes that she won’t be around anymore?  

“When do your treatments start back up again?”

“I have a week.” Her vision clouded as the tears began to well in her eyes. Taking a shuddering breath, she put her glass down and reached for the bottle, once more pouring two perfect shots. She handed Mulder his shot and stared into hers. “One vomit and misery free week before it all starts over again.” She spoke into her glass.

She felt a sob building in her chest, threatening to break free, and stopped it’s escape by quickly slamming the vodka down her throat.  She turned back to Mulder in time to see him drain his shot as well. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, while his shot glass dangled lifelessly from his fingers. The sadness that was emanating from him was palpable leading her to feel as if she were dancing with her own misery, and another mirthless laugh bubbled up as she mentally admonished herself for allowing her mind to wax so poetic.

Slowly, she slid her fingers down the length of his arm, feeling the sinew of his muscular forearms, tracing and cataloging the bones as she made her way to his fingers, whispering their names as she moved, “Radial Styloid Process. Trapezium. Metacarpal.” She reached the smooth, wet surface of the glass and wrapped her fingers around it, and removed it from his grasp. The heat of his eyes singed her with every move she made, his fiery gaze setting her own skin ablaze. She liked it.

She took another perfectly poured shot and placed the shot glass back in his grasp before throwing her head back and swallowing her own. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, observing the quickened breaths and tipsy droop of his eyelids as he continued to watch her. The alcohol coursing through his system made itself known when he attempted to blindly knock back his shot, his aim sloppy as only half of the drink made it into his mouth, the rest streaming off his chin and down his neck.

Giving her second guesses and hesitations a well deserved night off, she leaned over him without warning and mopped up the dripping liquid from his neck with her tongue, tracing his jugular up to his ear where she whispered softly, “Don’t waste it, Mulder.”

Mulder gasped, sucking in a giant mouthful of air before grabbing her by the chin and facing her so he could look her in the eye. “What are you doing, Scully?” He whispered back.

She held his eyes for a beat before responding, “I’m tired of feeling bad, Mulder. Just for once, I don’t want to think. I don’t want to over analyze my actions, I don’t want to think about tomorrow, I don’t want to prepare for sickness. I just want to be here, right now. I want to feel good tonight, Mulder. With you.”

She watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes as wide as the possibilities before him. He took the shot glass from her hands and placed it with his on the coffee table and reached for the bottle of Stoli, intending to pour them each one last drink, but there was only enough left for one full shot.

“Do you want to share it?” he asked, his voice thick.

“No,” she answered before quickly grabbing the shot and tilting it up to her lips. Acting quickly, he lunged forward before she could swallow and pressed his mouth to hers, his hand at the back of her neck, vodka dripping from between their lips.

Lust and drunkenness grew in tandem as her tongue slid wetly against his, their hands grabbing, caressing, squeezing. She pulled away from his lips to drag messy kisses across his jaw and down to the crook of his neck while simultaneously dragging her fingernails against the rough ridge of denim below his belt. Mulder hissed a sharp breath through his teeth, roughly grabbing her hands and holding them off of him. He locked drunken eyes with hers before pushing one solid kiss against her forehead where the tumor pressed insistently from the other side. He put his mouth against her ear and whispered, “I want to make you feel good, Scully. So good.”

She arched into him in response and he answered with a quick bite to her earlobe, her earring clinking against his teeth, her skin tingling and burning as he pushed his hands underneath her sweater, pressing against the warmth of her flat abdomen. He took hold of her waist and yanked until she lay flat on the couch, her legs splaying as he positioned himself between them. She grasped the hem of her sweater and impatiently pulled it over her head, tossing the garment behind her before reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra. Mulder stopped her, however, by roughly grabbing the cups of her bra and shoving them down underneath her breasts. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the feeling of his tongue making contact with her fevered skin, but after a moment of waiting with no resolution she opened her eyes. She found him mere inches away from the stiffness of her nipple, eyes closed, breathing. She could feel his expelled air caressing her thirsty skin.

She whimpered in impatience, desperate for him to kiss her, lick her, suck her tit into his mouth, but he stayed there breathing her in, inhaling and exhaling against her. As she dug shaky fingers into his chestnut hair, desperate  to pull him closer,  the tip of his tongue quickly flicked at her nipple. A primal moan slipped from her lips as he took it into his mouth, sending jolts of pleasure to rush from her breasts to her clit. Her pitch and her back raised as he blew cold air onto her nipples before roughly unbuttoning her slacks and ripping them and her soaked painties from her legs.

He eased himself between her legs, draping her knees over his shoulders,  before taking  a long, slow lick up through her lips to her clit. Her hips bucked, pressing her pussy into his face at the contact.

“Oh my God,” she breathed as she threw an arm over her face.

He groaned in agreement, his tongue busy slowly circling her clitoris. He pushed her hips down into the couch so he could move lower, roughly shoving the thickness of his tongue as far into her as he could. She opened her eyes when she felt him remove a hand from her hip and nearly cried out when she saw that he had taken himself out of his jeans, hard and straining, and was roughly stroking the fevered flesh in time with his tongue fucking her, his nose bumping her swollen clit with each thrust.

“Jesus, Mulder!”  

Every inch of her was involuntarily moving and she had no hope of staying still. Her head thrashed back and forth. Her hands had dropped to her breasts and they began rubbing and pinching her nipples, seemingly with a mind of their own. Her hips were brazenly grinding into Mulder’s face, her arousal coating his chin. Her thighs were clenching around his head, her toes curling against the t-shirt draping his back.

She couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to. She could feel it starting deep in her abdomen, the pleasure coiling in the pit of her gut, the tingling shooting up her legs, the euphoria building and building as he pressed the flat of his tongue against her clit before sucking the bundle between his lips. She reached down and wound her fingers through his sweaty strands of hair and yanked his face into her and somewhere amidst the rushing in her head she heard him moan, the sound traveling into her body.

And she was gone. Every muscle in her body seemed to contract at once. She shook and screamed as the pure holy bliss of her orgasm washed over her, baptizing her in pleasure. She smiled and laughed as the contractions refused to stop and looked down to find him smiling at her from between her quaking legs, pressing sloppy kisses against the inside of her thigh.

“God, Mulder, I can’t feel my legs.”

He slid both hands down the expanse of her legs to her ankles and back to the insides of her thighs. “That’s funny. I can feel them just fine.” The smile that graced his face when she laughed was more beautiful to her than anything she could think of in recent history. “What else would make you feel good, Scully?”

She let her gaze slide down his body to his erect cock, standing straight against his abdomen, dripping with need. She sat up and pushed him slightly away from her so she could swing her leg from behind him. She turned away and got on her knees, dropping her head to lay on her arms, thrusting her ass into the air.

“Fuck me, Mulder. You fucking me would make me feel very good.”

He pressed himself against her and it was his turn to wind his fingers through her hair. Giving her a head a slight yank he leaned down and pressed his mouth against her ear as he pushed his cock inside her.

“Then get ready, Scully. We have a whole week ahead of us.”

anonymous asked:

sanvers + lost. (sorry these all somehow turned into the one word prompt things that some people ask for. i personally like seeing how the writer interprets the word and what they decide to make)

She’s pretty sure she’s dreaming, but dreaming has never felt quite this vivid.

And she’s had some pretty vivid nightmares since she joined the DEO.

The DEO! Why would… why would she be at home in Midvale? She’s on assignment, she…

“Morning babe!” Maggie greets her from the kitchen, six mugs set out for coffee as Kara bustles around behind her stirring up a mean pancake batter.

“Maggie, what – ”

“Good morning, honey.” A scruffy kiss lands on her cheek and Alex jumps, and then Alex sobs, and then Alex backs away quickly, quickly, quickly.

“Dad, you – no, Cadmus has you, you’re not – and Maggie’s not – no, no, Cadmus has you, I’m dreaming, or – is that my board?”

Her eyes land on the surfboard – propped up near the back door – she rode in her last competition before leaving for Stanford. The one she completely wiped out on. The one she’d tossed in a fit of rage, a fit of despair, a fit of not being worthy, of not being deserving, of not being good enough.

It’s clean and it’s sleek and it’s new-looking, and Eliza steps in from the backyard with a wide smile.

“Oh Alex, I’m so proud of you. My beautiful girl.”

Eliza steps forward and hugs her and kisses both her cheeks and Jeremiah beams and Maggie giggles with Kara as they try to smear each other’s noses with pancake batter.

“Mom, what – what’d I do?”

Eliza shrugs as she steps back from Alex’s befuddled arms. “You don’t have to do anything for me to be proud of you, Alexandra.”

Alex squints and Alex steps back again.

“No. No, this isn’t right, this isn’t… The DEO – J’onn needs me, I – ”

“The DEO? Alex, we haven’t been bothered by those damn soldiers since you created that serum to keep Kara safe from kryptonite, remember?”

Alex blinks and Maggie sidles up and kisses her slow, kisses her soft, kisses her passionate. “Mmm, my brilliant fiancée, being brilliant. And beautiful. As always.”

“Your… fiancée?” Alex blinks and Kara laughs.

“How early were you up to surf this morning, Alex? You even awake yet?”

“I… no… I…”

But Maggie’s lips are soft and Kara’s smile is warm and Jeremiah’s cologne is strong and Eliza’s pride is… genuine. Deep. Unconditional.

And the ringing in the back of her mind diminishes, the alarm bells in the pit of her stomach settle, the tension in her ready-to-fight muscles dispels.

Because in a half hour, J’onn and James and Winn and M’gann are streaming through the door, with champagne and with orange juice and with pie, because Sunday is for brunch and brunch is for family and family is whole and here and now.

Alex leans into Jeremiah as she laughs and Eliza strokes her hair and asks everyone if they’d ever seen such a perfect couple and Kara is popping champagne bottles with her powers and she’s kissing Alex’s cheek as she crosses past where she’s sitting with Maggie, who’s joking with James and M’gann, who’s sitting next to a skeptical-looking J’onn listening to an overenthusiastic pitch for some new computer whosawhatsit from Winn.

And by the end of the day, she forgets that there is something to worry about. Because this is her life. And her life is perfect.

She waves energetically from way out on the surf when she sees Maggie and Kara, weeks and weeks and lifetimes later, standing on the shore waiting for her, waving her in. She tosses up a hand and knows Kara will be able to see that she’s gesturing one, one more, one more wave.

And she catches it, and it’s perfect, and it’s beautiful, and she doesn’t risk swiveling her eyes toward Maggie, but she knows she’s impressed and she knows she’s turned on and she knows she’s in love, in love, in love.

She rides through the funnel of a wave until it crashes down, and she carries the board the rest of the way out to Maggie and Kara.

“Alex. You look happy,” Kara says, but she doesn’t sound like herself. Alex furrows her brow.

“Of course I’m happy, Kara, why wouldn’t I be happy?”

Kara and Maggie exchange a glance, and Alex’s frown deepens.

“What’s wrong with you two? Didn’t you see me ride that wave?”

“Yeah, it was great, babe, you were great – you’re always great – but Ally, baby, you – ”

“Alex, remember when I was under the effects of the Black Mercy?”

Alex stares between Kara and Maggie and Alex laughs.

“The what now?”

“Babe, I know this is going to be so hard. And I’m so sorry, but honey, it – Al, this world  you’re living in? It’s not the only world out there. It’s not the world you’re… you’re actually from.”

“What the hell, Maggie? What’re you talking about?”

“Alex, it’s me. It’s your sister, you have to trust me, trust us, it – this isn’t real. None of this, I’m sorry, none of it is real. What’s real is that right now, you’re hallucinating, you’re… you’re creating the perfect world, your perfect world, around yourself, but your real body… Alex, you’re dying, the Black Mercy will keep you here forever if you don’t come with us, and I  – ”

“Kara, what the hell? You’ve been here with me, you’ve been staying here with me, while Maggie and my apartment gets renovated in National City, you – ”

Kara pales and Maggie gulps, and Alex notices why the moment after they do.

Because suddenly Kara and Maggie aren’t the only Kara and Maggie on the beach.

Suddenly, the two women she’s been living with – the women in soft clothes and sunburnt skin – make the two women she’s been talking to, with their pale expressions and their wide eyes and the sidearm and badge on Maggie’s hip, stand out as imposters, as invaders, as fakes. As threats.

“What the hell – ”

“Ally, I’m so sorry, babe, but Kara’s right, you have to listen to her – ”

“Listen to her? Alex, who are these people? Why do they look like us? Should we call Clark? He can help us get rid of them, Alex.”

“Alex, babe, this isn’t you, this isn’t your life. This isn’t the life we’re building together – ”

“The life you’re building together? You might look like me, but I’m the one with the finger Danvers put a ring on – ”

“What the – Al, you wanna – ”

“Maggie, don’t let yourself get distracted, we need to – ”

“Right. Right right right. Al, I – no – ”

No, because the Black Mercy versions of Kara and Maggie are restraining them, now, are fighting them punch for punch, mirroring their moves and holding them down, Eliza and Jeremiah suddenly on the shore to oversee the brawl.

“Babe, this isn’t your dad. But I promise you, we’re gonna find him, Alex, I promise you but this – this isn’t how – ” She takes a punch to the gut from herself as Kara slams herself into the sand.

“Alex, you need to listen to Maggie – the real Maggie – and me, Alex, it’s me, I’m me, I’m your sister, I – I broke your hand the first time I tried a human handshake, and you crawled under the kitchen table with me the first time I got scared of the popcorn maker, and you needed stitches that time I pulled that girl out of that van, and you know why I’m telling you this?”

Kara is yelling, now, is pleading, because the other version of herself is holding her down, is holding her back, just as the other version of Maggie is holding Maggie down, is holding Maggie back.

“Because this world, Alex? This world doesn’t allow for that kind of pain, for any pain. And when I was trapped in my own world, you told me, Alex, you saved me – you told me that the world can’t always be about pain, but Alex, Maggie needs you, J’onn needs you.”

“Don’t listen to this imposter, Alexandra, she’s trying to corrupt your beautiful mind – ”

“Alex please, I need you. I have always needed you, more than I’ve ever needed anyone, anything. And the world needs you, Alex, Jeremiah needs you! He needs you to rescue him from Cadmus, and the world needs you to keep it safe, and I need my sister!”

Alex stares at the tears streaming down Kara’s face, at the blood streaming down Maggie’s. Her Kara’s. Her Maggie’s.

Hers. Because Jeremiah. Jeremiah needs her. J’onn. The world. Maggie.

And Kara. Kara, Kara, Kara.

Calloused hands take her by the arms, now, and it’s the last bit of convincing she needs, because Jeremiah would never hurt her, never, and this? This grip hurts.

“Alex, you don’t need to rescue me. You don’t need to rescue anyone. I’m here, Kara’s safe. All thanks to you, Alex. You can live your life here, with all of us, with the people who love you, not these… not these imposters.”

His grip on her arms hurts, and his words are soft, but his eyes are hard.

And Alex kisses his forehead anyway, because she knows. She knows it’s the last chance she’ll get in a long time.

But he lets her go, because he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand that she’s saying goodbye

“I will rescue you, Dad. I will. That’s a promise. And I’ll find a way to make you proud, Mom. Somehow.”

Jeremiah’s eyes glow and he leaps on her, then, to prevent her from reaching Kara, to prevent her from reaching Maggie. She hits the sand and her surfboard snaps against her ribs, and she screams, and Maggie struggles to free herself enough to reach for her hand, and Kara struggles to reach for her other, and Eliza yells and Jeremiah’s fist raises and the world goes black.

The world goes black until she opens her eyes, and she gasps, and she sits bolt upright.

And she sobs.

Kara and Maggie’s hands find her as J’onn grasps her thigh, and she lets her sister and her once-fiancée-now-girlfriend hold her, hold her, their tears mixing with hers on her face.

“I’m sorry, Ally,” Maggie whispers into her hair, and Alex moves back and shakes her head.

“No. Mags, babe, I… no, I – I was lost. I was lost, and you two found me. That’s… never apologize for that.”

She leans up and kisses Maggie’s lips and she leans back and pulls Kara into a bone-crushing hug.

“You’re my sister, Alex. I will never let you stay lost. Never.”

I love her under the sea inspired look here! What an awesome body chain, and paired with the captains hat and mermaid scale colored bodysuit it’s perfect!

Lightning in a Bottle, 2017

anonymous asked:

so they had to ban bottle flipping at my school because someone got it on the fucking fire alarm and my choir teacher who never gave a shit about rules gave us a full god damn tutorial about the perfect way to flip a bottle instead of practicing for a concert

What if Clay and Tony have already kissed?

What if they kissed during a game of spin the bottle the summer between 8th and 9th grade?

What if that is where the gay rumors came from?

What if that’s how Tony became certain he was gay, but the kiss didn’t seem to affect Clay so Tony believed that meant Clay was straight?

That’s when Tony and Clay began to drift apart– but Clay really just plays like it easy for him when he’s really shitting himself. I mean, that’s canon.

What if no matter how many boys Tony kisses none of them compare to those four seconds, those four perfect seconds, with a Coke bottle and Clay Jensen’s lips?