Warnings: SMUT. Excessive use of pet names, mentions of bruises and small cuts, oral sex (fr), unprotected sex, slight spanking, instead of his metal arm Buck-Buck has a full sleeve of tattoos, he’s hot. This is for the second part.
So I sent ans ask for @bucky-plums-barnes Sinful Sunday about Bucky having a full sleeve of tattoos and being the kind of guy your parents always told to stay away from, @ryverpenrad said they’d write another version of this, so I’m tagging them and my wives @sexylibrarian1 and @thecrownedrose Because I love them!
DALLAS WINSTON; or the brooklyn kid. new york has always been too big for someone so little. he’s nine and smoking in back alleys. ten and sleeping in jail
cells. eleven and loses his mother, breaks his heart. but there’s no use in fixing what he doesn’t need anyway. so he picks himself up, and moves back home.
DALLAS WINSTON; or a spitting image. his great-grandfather left a bloody fist that bruised the following generations. his grandfather left a kick that would crack the bones guarding his heart, and his father left a family that couldn’t last without him. so he fights with the fists or his great-grandfather, kicks with the anger of his grandfather, and hates with the heart of his father. he refuses to forgive and forget, so he buries the hatchet in other people.
DALLAS WINSTON; or tough, cold, mean. they don’t see the way his lips turn downward when the small boy with black eyes comes to him crying, broken, bruised. or hear the way he convinces the young boy with auburn hair that his brother loves him, because theres nothing more he wants than to have a home to go to. he doesn’t show that he cares in the way other people do, and therefore they dont understand him. so he lets them talk and assume and figures he’s better off the way that he is anyway. tough, cold, and mean.
DALLAS WINSTON; or ruthless. he’s the blood under your nails. bite mark under your scarf. blue-black bruises and a rip in your sunday dress. he wants you in the wild way, the three a.m. drive and forest fires and the red scream of the sky at sunset. you want to hold his hand, hold him. like a rainbow embracing the clouds after a thunderstorm. you want romance, you want to be in love. he laughs and tells you there aint no such thing.
DALLAS WINSTON; or the small things. he reckons new york was always better for him. tulsa is too small, too cramped, too many people with their eyes on him. but he stays for the tall trees he sits under when the sun is unforgiving. he stays for the boys who are more loyal than the new york hoods could ever dream to be. he stays for the warm weather, fresh air, and good times. but most all, he stays for the small boy with dark eyes and dark skin. the boy who has somehow found himself tucked comfortably under his wing, who makes tulsa worthwhile.
DALLAS WINSTON; or brotherhood. the familiar get-ready gaze when the beginnings of a fight arise. in this life, its his only sense of family. bruised fists clink together beers and they laugh through bloodied teeth. they have the same scars, same stories, same fucked up heart. his shirt is covered in blood, he doesn’t know if it’s his or someone else’s. the boys don’t notice, don’t care, they’re all the same anyway.
DALLAS WINSTON; or an abandoned house. empty bedrooms and rotted floorboards. they creak under your feet and you think at any minute they could send you falling. fast heartrates and uneasiness creeping up your spine. the light never reached him like it did others, all his corners are dark, hidden away. you stay for a night and are gone by day.
DALLAS WINSTON; or st. christopher. patron saint of traveling. he sits in a gold pendent against his chest, been from tulsa to new york just to go to tulsa again. he wonders if he’ll ever hang it in a home, if he’ll ever have one. he knows the streets like he should know hallways and closets and bathrooms. one day he’ll pack a bag, throw it in a trunk, and drive off with no one but st. christopher, hanging on the rear view.
DALLAS WINSTON; or grim triumph. life did nothing but wear him down, exhaust his seventeen year old soul beyond repair. the guns went off into the night and in the split second he had, he grabbed his st. christopher, smiled, and let the bullets take him somewhere he didn’t know. he’d seen enough of the world, anyway. he was ready to go home.
My sister doesn’t even stir when he enters my room. His footsteps are silent, but the air gets so cold that I see my breath. My little sister shivers and cuddles even closer to me, wrapping her tiny arms around my waist. I hope she stays asleep.
I know he’s tall and thin, but that’s all I can see. My room is so dark that everything else about him is masked in shadows. My breathing picks up. He’s standing by my side of the bed.
He stares at me and as he does, the spots where his eyes should be begin to glow an eerie and vacant white. He continues to stare at me, unblinking and still. Finally he moves.
He lifts his hand up and gently places his bony and icy thumb to the swollen part of my left eye. He rubs it soothingly. I still don’t move. He adds more chilling fingers to my face and gently trails them down my cheek where an old scar is before he runs his index and middle fingers over my lips. The swelling has gone down, but my bottom lip is still split.
His hand leave my face and moves to my arm. He grabs my right wrist and pulls it up to examine. My self-made marks of mutilation have faded, but are still fairly easy to spot if one is looking closely.
The noise that emerges from his throat is soft, but there is the faintest emotion of despair and amusement to it.
He delicately places it back on my bed and then picks up my left arm. And now his hold on me tightens painfully, but I still don’t make a sound and my sister still remains asleep. And that’s all that matters.
He chuckles as he trails his cold fingers over my freshest cuts and they bleed through the hastily-made bandages I put over them. But these self-made cuts are different from all my others. These cuts weren’t made in a fit of rage or in a moment of selfish weakness where I forgot about my sister and wished for death.
No, this new cuts are…pretty. They are more carefully made and decorate my arm with beautiful dripping red designs of eyes, pentacles, numbers and symbols I don’t understand and didn’t bother to look up. What I put on my arm made no difference to me. All that matters is that it worked.
His lips part and I see a mouthful of sharp yellow teeth smiling at me. He leans closer to me until his lips touch my ear. Cold, he’s so cold.
“Slow or quick?” His voice is soft and whispery, but I still hear the amusement and pity laced with each word.
I look at my sister. I can’t see her newest set of bruises in the dark, but I know they’re there.
“Slow,” I hiss.
He chuckles again and leaves my room. I hear my parents scream. I smile, hugging my sister closer.
Description – The reader meets
Newt in their first year at Hogwarts and their friendship goes through the
years at school.
A/N – I was up at 5AM with this
in my head and I finished it at 10AM but then I had to go to work so I couldn’t
upload it till now. 8 pages long, so proud. I’m thinking of doing a part 2 with
the ball itself, what do y’all think?
Your heavy bag weighed you down
as you pelted down yet another identical hallway to your next Charms class. If
you didn’t hurry, then you would most certainly be late once again and that was
something that you really couldn’t afford right now. You constantly tried to be
a good student but with all the moving staircases, trick doors, and such, it
really didn’t take much to disorient a clumsy student such as yourself.
As time marched forward, you
pressed on, struggling to keep pace as you ran out of breath. It was when you
ran around a corner that you slammed into another student. Both his books and
yours skidded across the stone floor.
“S-sorry.” The boy stuttered,
hurrying to reach his scattered notes with shaking hands.
“No, it was my fault, I’m sorry.”
You apologised, helping gather everything up, no longer caring if you were late
to your lesson; you had always been raised to believe that if you created a
mess then you should stop and help fix it.
The boy couldn’t find the words
to respond. Nobody had ever apologised to him before, mainly because they all
found him to be weird. It surely meant that you didn’t know who he was then
because no one in their right mind would apologise to the “Freak of Hogwarts”
You looked down to his books, the
main titles were ones such as, “The Heroism of Killing a Creature” by Vladimir Greystock,
“The Only Uses of Animal Parts” by Henrietta Bagmiles, and “The Trapping of
Magical Creatures” by Elie & Brunhilda Gardham.
“Jeez, that’s a lotta books about
killing creatures. Why do you want to hunt them so badly?”
Newt was taken aback by the
question, it meant that unlike the other students, you really didn’t know who
he was or about his interest in preserving the lives of magical creatures, “I-
I don’t. I-it’s just that the material on magical c-creatures is somewhat
sparse and the only people who know w-where they are do so b-because they
h-hunt them. I-I-I’m going to change that.”
It was only after the bold
statement that Newt lost his little confidence again, he was awaiting the
taunting laughter, name calling, or some other such manner of teasing; perhaps
a hex or jelly-legs jinx of some form.
“Wow,” you beamed a toothy grin,
“That’s really cool. I’m (Y/N).”
You stuck out your hand, Newt
recoiled momentarily, wary of some new form of prank. You waited patiently and
after about a minute he gently grasped your hand, you shook it heartily. For a
fleeting second Newt dared to look you in the eye, he was astounded when he
found your gaze to hold no malice or contempt, just genuine happiness that he
had shook your hand.
“So, do you have a name or am I
stuck to calling you new friend?”
“Yep, we shook on it, didn’t we?”
“R-right. I’m Newt Scamander.”
“Newt? That’s a funny name.”
“Yeah, I like it though. Muggles
don’t have names like that, but I’m finding that a lot of witches and wizards
have great names like that.”
You nodded, unashamed, despite
some of the mean comments you had received due to your heritage; it seemed that
you were one of only a small handful of muggle students, perhaps that would one
“It’s okay though,” You beamed
with pride, “because I’m in Hufflepuff and they haven’t had much to say about
it. Hey, check out your tie, I guess you’re in Hufflepuff too. How come I
haven’t seen you in the common room before?”
“Oh, I um, I usually spend time
in the l-library. S-so who bullies you? Is it the S-slytherins?”
“Hmm, no, not in particular. It’s
mostly Gryffindors, I guess all that bravery gives them something to hide
behind. We’ll see how they hide from a good hit in the nose though, see ‘em try
to magic their way out of that. Say, are we going to just sit on the floor and
talk or are we going to head somewhere comfier? How about the common room?”
Newt swallowed, he had never had
a friend, not even one in his own house. If you were truly his friend then
surely, he could confide something, albeit something small, other things would
come later, “I don’t f-find the common room to be all that c-comfortable.”
“Oh… Well how about the owlery?
Since you like animals so much. I’d say the paddock but I’m not supposed to be
seen right now, seeing how I’m accidentally missing class right now, never mind
though. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
“Okay… The owlery then.”
It had taken almost an entire
year but Newt finally stopped stuttering around you. Mostly. To say he had a
small crush on you would be an understatement. He adored the way you listened
to all his ramblings, even when they just tapered off into a comfortable
silence. Then there was the way you always remained loyal to him despite what
the others told you about his strange ways, although he wished you weren’t so
confrontational about it. Once someone had cursed him with a spell that made
him trip into the mud whenever he tried to walk. By the time you found him,
there was quite a crowd gathered and you had received a detention for punching
the boy who had done it as well as throwing his wand into the lake; it took the
teaches quite the effort to convince the merpeople to give it back. Another
thing that added to Newt’s adoration of you was the many times you’d covered
for him with the other teachers; Newt would often wander into the Forbidden
Forest until the late hours of the night, it was at these times that you would
create some excuse of where he really was or what he was doing.
As a way of thanks, Newt had taken you
to the Forbidden Forest more than once to show you some of the creatures he had
met. On occasion, you would help him build nests for the various unusual
creatures that inhabited it. You even sometimes helped write notes on the
creatures’ behaviours and lifestyles.
Newt couldn’t tell you his
feelings of course. If he did that would surely be the end of him. He expected
that a hole would appear on the ground to swallow him up; after all, stranger things
had been known to happen.
“Newt?” You approached him in the
owlery, disrupting his many wonderings.
“(Y/N)!” He squeaked, falling off
the wall he had been perched on.
You snickered, offering a hand to
help your fallen comrade.
“W-what are you doing here?”
“I looked for you in the paddock
but you weren’t there so I rushed over here instead.”
“Because you’re my friend and
today’s super important.”
You eyed up Newt incredulously,
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
You shook your head in disbelief,
then pulled a card out of your cloak, “Happy Birthday Newt.” You rejoiced
loudly, sending a couple of the owls into a panicked frenzy.
Fresh tears hit the back of
Newt’s eyes as he took the card with tentative hands. He never made much of a
fuss on his birthday since nobody else did, you on the other hand had been
planning the day for months, awaiting it with eager anticipation.
“Come on, open it, open it, open
it.” You bounced up and down on the spot.
Newt did and found a card with a
Beagle puppy in a party hat with a colourful ‘Happy Birthday’ at the top. The
inside had a crudely drawn stick figure with the word ‘Bowtruckle’ written next
to it, followed by lots of X’s.
“(Y/N)…” Newt was almost
speechless. “It’s lovely, thank you. I-I think it’s broken though, the- the
pictures aren’t moving.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s supposed to be
like that. Muggle cards don’t move.”
“Oh, right.” Sometimes Newt
tended to forget that you were muggle born, “Hey um, what are the X’s?”
“They’re kisses, silly.”
“Yep,” You continued, oblivious
to the Newt’s growing panic, as well as the red spreading over his cheeks that
wildly contrasted his ashy brown hair, “We put them in our cards when we’re
friends or family with people. Don’t wizards do that?”
“I-I-I’m not entirely sure. I
d-don’t often s-send cards.”
“Hey, you’re stuttering, are you
okay? Oh, are you unwell?”
You placed your hand on Newt’s
forehead. He backed up as far as he could against the wall, leaning as far as
he could. “Come on Newt, stay still, you’re too tall for me to reach up there.”
You pandered, “If you’re unwell it’s okay, we can go to the hospital wing.”
“I-I’m fine, I just liked the
card, that’s all.” Newt’s voice was still fairly squeaky until you relented and
backed off, giving him some room to breathe.
“Alright. Oh, I need to give you
“Y-you got me a gift?”
“Of course I did, now close your
eyes, I left it at the bottom of the stairs so you wouldn’t see it.”
Newt did as ordered while you
hefted his gift up the spiral staircase. You set the gift down in front of him
with a light thud. “I uh, couldn’t find anything to wrap it in,” You stated,
“but you can open your eyes now.”
Once again, Newt followed your
instruction. In front of him sat a brown suitcase. He reached out for it
delicately, stroking the smooth leather in awe, “(Y/N), it’s beautiful.”
While Newt truly did find it to
be the best thing he had ever received, he would have said the same thing about
any item presented to him by you, even if it were just a leaf you liked; any
gift from you was sure to be precious.
“That’s not the best part.” You
twitched excitedly. “It’s enchanted, you can climb in it and everything. Not
sure why you would, but you never know. It’s so you can travel like you wanted.
I know you can’t really use it now but when you’re older you can go everywhere
and have enough room to keep, like an entire house in there. There’s even a
muggle mode so they won’t catch on.”
Newt looked up to you guiltily,
“(Y/N)… Those kinds of enchantments don’t come cheap… How much did you-”
“Not another word Scamander, this
is my gift to you – no returns or exchanges. The cost doesn’t matter.” You
folded your arms to show that you meant it. It truly didn’t matter that you’d
saved up for the better part of a year to buy him the gift, your logic being
that you didn’t have any other friends to buy for since they avoided you
because of Newt.
“Thank you (Y/N), thank you.”
Newt wanted to hug you for the
thoughtful gift, instead he reached out, unsure of what to do, pulled back his
hand temporarily, then settled for patting your shoulder awkwardly. You smiled
brightly, as far as you were concerned Newt had practically jumped on you in
his own way; any form of contact was his very own, anxious way of showing
Newt searched the castle grounds
frantically for you. He had heard about a particularly rough interaction
between you and another student over your muggle heritage and although the
stories of what had happened changed between each passing student, one thing
was for sure, you hadn’t come out on top.
“Excuse me. Pardon me. Please let
me through.” Newt rushed past the milling students, searching over the tops of
their heads in the hope of finding the merest glimpse of you.
“Oy, creature lover, looking for
that filthy excuse of a date you have?” A Slytherin heckled, much to the
delight of several other students.
Newt froze in front of the
Slytherin, wishing that he could be braver or even simply look the other
student in the eye, “(S)he’s not my- Never mind… W-where i-is (s)he?”
The student sneered, proceeding
to take the mick out of Newt’s stutter, “T-t-try the b-b-b-broom closet where
all the l-l-losers b-b-belong.”
Newt rushed to the nearest broom
closet where he could hear you whimpering from within. The throng of students
had since dispersed, each heading to their own classes.
“(Y/N), is that you in there?”
Newt called through the door.
“Go away.” You yelled through a
“(Y/N), please come out. At least
tell me what happened, please? I promise there’s no one else here, it’s just
“No. Go away Newt. I don’t want
“I’m not leaving (Y/N), not until
you tell me what happened.”
There was a long pause before you
answered. “I lied to you.”
“Every time I said it didn’t hurt
when I got called names. Why does it even matter what my parents are? WHY DOES
EVERYONE HATE MUGGLES?”
“… I don’t hate muggles. In fact,
I think muggles are wonderful. (Y/N), I’ve seen you fight your way through
three years of this, whatever’s happened now can’t be too bad really can it.
Now come on, come out here.”
“I’m not coming out.”
“Then let me in.” The words came
out as a frantic plea.
There was no sound for what felt
to Newt like an eternity, during which he feared he had lost you. Then, much to
his relief, he heard the latch click open. When Newt entered, he slammed the
door behind him, locking it as promised. The second he saw your face he knew
the reason you were so upset. Words such as ‘freak’, ‘pathetic’, ‘worthless’,
and worst of all ‘mudblood’ were scrawled over every inch of your face with a
scabbing spell; the resulting scabs leaving trails of blood mixed with tears
down your previously smooth skin.
“Oh (Y/N).” Newt whispered,
reaching out cautiously.
The gentle tone of his voice
brought on a fresh bout of tears, you collapsed into his arms. Newt held you
tightly against him, slowly lowering himself and you to the floor while you
wept. For once in his life, Newt never had to wonder what to do or how to do
it, the time spent with his animals had taught him to gently stroke your hair
and whisper soothingly.
It was after that day that you
allowed yourself to be more vulnerable around Newt, so long as it was just him.
In those moments, Newt was always a natural at calming you down and cheering
you up with various random facts.
When the fourth year rolled in,
the school announced that the fourth years and above would be taking part in
a Christmas Ball.
Ever since the announcement
students had flocked to their sweethearts to ask them out and in truth you
yourself had received a few surprising invites; each of which you’d turned down
in the hopes that Newt would ask you.
Newt had spent endless nights
pacing around the empty common room thinking of ways he could ask you to the
ball without stuttering or messing the thing up entirely. Should he ask you as
a friend even though he wanted to be so much more? If he asked you would he be
too scared to dance, to touch you? Would you kiss him? Would you punch him?
Could he be bold? Was it wrong to ask by owl? There were simply too many
unforeseen possibilities, too many questions. As such, he left it, convincing
himself that he would ask you the next time he saw you; it was always ‘next
The days rolled by, turning into
weeks. Most students already had their dates, outfits, and entire evenings
planned out and you were still alone, hanging your hopes on Newt. You had long
since caught onto his crush on you, he was hardly subtle about it, and from
your long time spent with him you definitely had feelings for him in return.
One week away from the ball you
were lying awake in your dormitory when you heard a crash from the common room,
followed by a muffled “Bugger.” You grinned, getting up from bed to find Newt;
it was honestly a miracle that he hadn’t woke any of the other students or if
he had then they didn’t care enough to check out the source of the sound.
When you reached the common room,
you saw that Newt had tripped over one of the many throw pillows left by the
“Lumos.” You whispered, summoning
a bright light from your wand.
Newt shifted backwards, tripping
into a yellow beanbag with a mumbled “Oh dear.”
“Newt, calm down, it’s just me.”
“(Y/N)? Oh, thank God, I thought
I was going to get in trouble for being out past curfew.”
“Yeah well… Hang on, what
happened to your shirt? Jeez Newt, you’re bleeding. Give me a sec.”
You cast your wand around the
room, lighting the candles and bringing light the room once more. Upon closer
inspection, you saw that Newt’s hair was dishevelled, he was covered in dried
mud, and that three large gashes ran from his neck to his stomach; fortunately,
they weren’t too deep.
You sighed despondently. During
your years with Newt, you had become handy with medicinal magic, learning it after
you’d seen his other injuries. Some had left scars where you had been too
inexperienced or had done a quick patch job but more often than not you had
healed him to perfection.
“Alright,” you nodded, “Take off
your shirt, let me see what I’m working with here.”
Newt turned crimson, averting his
gaze from you. Although you had seen it all before he still got embarrassed
every time you had to treat one of his injuries; mainly because it usually
involved him removing an article of clothing. Nevertheless, he did as
instructed, removing his tattered shirt and getting up to sit on the desk chair
where you usually treated him.
“How’d it happen this time?” you
asked, stroking lightly at the edge of the first scratch with your thumb to see
how deep it truly was.
“Just found out that you need to
bow to a hippogriff first. Didn’t get away in time.” Newt muttered in response.
“Ah, I see. Was it Jerry?” You
summoned a sponge and water from across the room to clean the wound before
“J-Jerry?” Newt stuttered, trying
not to focus on the shivers your warm touch brought.
“Black one with white tips, when
we were watching them I named her Jerry.”
“N-no. I-it was the g-g-grey one
“Ah, that would be Wilson. Hmm?”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I could use Terago to stop any
further bleeding but healing this is tricky, maybe if I combine it with… Yes,
that should do it.”
You pointed your wand to the
injury, “Terago,” the remaining blood cleared away, “Episkey. Reparifors.”
As suspected, the three spells
combined worked to a positive effect, leaving only sore red marks where the
gashes had been.
“Alrighty then,” you grinned
proudly, “you are good to go Mr Scamander.”
“(Y/N) wait,” Newt shot up off
the chair, finally ready to ask you the question that had been weighing on him
for weeks. “I know a few people have already a-asked you but i-if you h-haven’t
answered them yet then m-maybe y-you could t-tell me, w-would you p-please… um,
would y-you uh… lend me y-your potions homework.” He finished lamely, mentally
cursing himself for being such a cowardly fool.
You released the breath you’d
been holding, shaking your head with a weak smile; clearly you were going to
have to take the upper hand. “Sure. By the way, I have something to ask you.”
“What?” he sighed dejectedly,
still disappointed in his failure.
“Would you like to go to the Christmas Ball with me?”
You raised your eyebrows, “No?”
“Not no. I mean yes but… Oh God I
ruined it. I was supposed to ask you and then you did and this is all my fault.
I couldn’t just get the courage to ask you because then it would have been
perfect and everything would have been-”
You could have watched Newt
babble the night away but you decided to end his suffering quickly, “Newt,
sweetie, calm down. It really doesn’t matter who asks who, does it?”
“Well… No, I suppose not.”
“So? Is it a yes?”
Newt reached out to hug you,
barely hesitating at all now, “Yes.”
Listen, stay alert, stand tall in the faith, be courageous, and be strong. -1 Corinthians 16:13
It’s not always easy to stay alert, stand tall in the faith, and to be courageous and strong, but through Christ, it is possible, and it is worth it. The courage you need to get through the many things you’re dealing with on a daily basis can only be found in Christ Jesus, so seek Him daily. Even when it comes to romantic relationships, and navigating through friendships and other relationships, you are not alone in the things you are thinking, feeling, and experiencing. There might be some days where you don’t feel that you’re up to the task of being courageous and strong, but when you’re feeling this, remember that God is not asking you to try and be brave on your own. Through Jesus Christ, He will give you the strength to be:
(For single women)
-Brave enough to spend the day not worried about who might finally text or message you back
-Brave enough to trust God to open the door for the relationship that is right, realizing that you don’t have to keep rereading texts and constantly looking into every interact with a guy, wondering if he’s “the one"
-Brave enough to not give someone your heart when you know he isn’t ready
-Brave enough to end that “situationship” that has been going on for months with someone doesn’t want to commit, yet wants to tug your heart along at the same time.
-Brave enough to fully embrace what God is doing right now in this very moment and not worried about tomorrow, next week or next year.
(For women in relationships)
-Brave enough to forgive even when it’s hard
-Brave enough to be completely focused on God this week despite your worries about where the relationship stands
-Brave enough to believe that there is hope or what your significant other is going
-Brave enough be afraid to ask God to heal your heart from those that hurt you when you’re finding that it’s affecting your current relationship
If you try to be brave on your own, you will only make it so far. Let God be the One who gives you the strength to make it through whatever fear, doubts, and worries you have!
Written by @morganhnichols for #QWCDevos
This gif does not relate whatsoever to my mini series but look at Joe Mantegna here. What the hell is he doing and what the fuck is he wearing. Like same Matthew, same.
Where Rossi’s daughter is introduced to the BAU.
Alessandra rushed off of the USS Ronald Reagan with the rest of her fellow servicemen and women. She felt a high like no other after finally being done with her service to her country. Sure, she loved being able to help the honored servicemen and women by being their Psychologist but the job was stressful. At first she loved it but as she got older she realized that although it was a very fulfilling job she was tired of always being deployed. She was tired of the non-stop traveling and she was tired of all the seasickness that came with her most recent deployment on the aircraft carrier. She wanted a family, she wanted kids, and she wanted a white picket fence which wasn’t possible with her job. So when she had to decide whether or not to renew her contract for another 7 years she immediately said no. Although now she still had the chance of going back due to being in the US Reserves for 4 years and she had to find another job, she felt lighter and freer than she had felt in years.
She landed on the Naval Station at Norfolk, the largest base in the world, and after saying goodbye to her friends she got into a taxi and headed to her dad’s to surprise him. She hadn’t been in the US for so long that she honestly had no other place to go to. The last time she was here, as in the United States, was when she was stationed at Pearl Harbor 4 years ago. Since then she had bounced around the Middle East until her very last deployment on the USS Reagan. Once she had loaded her items in the taxi and had sat down she finally turned on her phone, as phones didn’t get service in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The ship had reached the port an hour earlier than it was supposed to so it was 6 am on Friday. She knew that if she went to her dad’s house she would either wake him or he would be at work being the workaholic that he is. She told the cab drive to head to the FBI Building in Quantico before she took a short nap.
Despite yesterday’s episode I know it’ll get better. How thou art fallen was obviously a HUGE editing mistake and I’m seeing things like “I’m losing faith in Shadowhunters” and “I have no faith in shadowhunters anymore” and I want to say PLEASE STAY STRONG. They’ve done so well with rep and writing so far and yes much about this episode could’ve been prevented and written differently but please hold out. I know it’ll get better. I still have faith. This was a bit of a rough patch but please PLEASE don’t lose faith. This fandom-this community-is one of the most genuine and strong communities I’ve been a part of and Malec is SOOOO important to us and they deserved better yes but I do think it’ll get better. Please stay strong. Stand tall together and have faith.