He saved me from myself. Lifted me out of dark, churning waters where I tried for years to take a breath and consistently filled my lungs. I blinked and squinted like a newborn as he dragged me out of the dark with his powerful, superhuman arms. I found myself in the gym. In his gym. It was, after all, his gym. Other people were there, continued to be there, and I guess he didn’t own it, not in the legal sense anyway, but there was no doubt in my mind, his mind, and everyone’s mind, that it was his gym. He owned it just by walking in the front door. He had a smile for everyone, though he was imperturbable during his workout. His focus was laser-tight. He stared himself down in the mirror, lifting bars nearly bent with the plates stacked on either side. Some guys would come up to him and ask him questions, ask about competing. He was happy to lend a word or a spot, just as long as it didn’t interfere with his routine. I was the bouncer, sort of, who let the admirers into the gate. Even those cocky bros who strut around the gym with their chicken legs and over-defined pecs grow quiet and respectful when they saw him, even bow their heads.
Some people called him a freak. I called him Alpha. He was carved as if from oak, and stood as tall and was as big around. When he flexed, it was as though the whole world paused, holding its breath as his muscles beneath his flesh surged and leapt forward, up, peaking and straining. Every motion he took, even out in the world, walking down the sidewalk with me, caused miniature versions of these motions. Eyes slingshotted around to his passage as we went by. How could you not look, be compelled to stare, thrust into confusion and even, in some places of the heart, jealousy, at a frame that big, that muscular, that defined?
I never knew I could be what I am, his wolf, bound to him as I am, and happy to be bound. I spend so much time at the gym now, by his side. My mind used to be so cluttered, so full and twisted up with confusion and thought. Now I have purpose. I live for muscle. For my big bro’s and for my own. Through every grunt and stretch and snapping, bursting sinew. Iron binds my mind, as though I have become supernatural just by being in his presence. I am the gateway to my god, I stand at his right hand. He is kind, and he is just, but he is iron and he is might. If my thoughts slide out of joint, if I stray, he brings down his fist and they slam back into place. Those who knew me before scoff and say I sound like I have joined a cult, and they’re not far off from the truth. Things are much simpler now with my big bro. He keeps me in line when before I would have strayed into the black. He puts blinders on me when I lose track of what is important.
He keeps me in school, the only school that matters. I am learning, filling my mind with information that is important. I learn how to schedule meals, how to hit macros, how to prep our food for the week - how to prep our fuel for the week - I dive into any one of the canisters that line our kitchen counters, from citrulline malate to BCAAs and the mega-sized jar of whey protein powder and his special blend of pre-workout. I ladle the powders and stir and mix and make sure the fridge is stocked. I enjoy the cool air of the fridge on the days the grill is fired up, simultaneously cooking four or five fish in the oven. I work hard in the kitchen. Food prep is so important. Big bro has taught me this, and I have paid attention. Have I always been like this? So focused and concentrated on muscle? The question fades away even as I reach the final word of the sentence. What came before is unimportant. His size crowds out the unimportant. In the bathroom, behind the mirror, the small glass vials and syringes. The glisten of the tip of the needle. Alpha’s impassive face as he stands in front of the full-length mirror. It is almost as though he is posing even when he stands completely still. I am in charge of his injections, just as he takes change of mine. I can still feel where the needle slides into my flesh, a dull twinge, from earlier that morning.
I know my big bro loves me. He tells me every day. He tells me how loyal I am, what a beast I am. I tell him I can’t possibly compare to him, and he waves it away with his grin. He knows this, knows that I know this, knows that I am proud to be and do what he says, because he knows best. We flex and pose together in the mirror at home. He is astronomical. He is power incarnate. Soon, he will re-name me, and I will be reborn entirely. Shaped and molded by his hands and his will, never, ever again to fall into the dark. Alpha is the light I have been seeking for years, and the light that continues to illuminate my path towards the future. I kneel before him and he shows me the way. He is gentle with me - as gentle as such power can be - and I receive his blessing. We are one and the same, we are parts of a whole. He binds me to him and I am happy to be bound.
kept her eyes resolutely on her computer, trying to ignore what was
going on behind Stefan’s closed door, the occasional laugh was all
she could hear. Who was Lexi to Stefan? He had called her a friend,
but the way he greeted her, with the spinning hug and megawatt grin,
made something inside of her clench. Was she his girlfriend?
that it mattered to her. Stefan was just her boss and he could be
with whomever he pleased so long as they were actually working behind
those closed doors and not… Caroline swallowed, a painful twist in
her heart. She didn’t want to think about what could be happening.
obsessing over what could be happening and get back to work! She
yelled at herself, shaking off the distraction of whatever Stefan and
Lexi was doing behind her, she stared laser focused at her computer
screen. She continued to search for appropriate venues for Elijah’s
She got lost in what she was doing, always able to shut off her
thoughts and focus completely once she had something she could plan.
She looked at each place with a critical eye, noticing the amount of
space, and where they could possibly position his art. She knew that
the art world liked big spaces with minimal art. They were a few
possible places that she thought might be appropriate. Should she go
on her own? Or with Stefan? Or as Enzo had joined her the last time
should she invite Elijah to see what he thought. She’d have to ask
Stefan when she got the chance to see what he thought.
It must be fascinating for the ouat cast members to watch sweet Colin transform into cocky, intense Captain Hook as soon as someone yells “action!”
I can just picture him joking around with Josh or Jen, being his adorable self… then he stops to get mentally ready for his scene… he focuses, changes his stance, puts his thumb in his belt loop, looks down for a minute, then looks up with that laser beam stare and…
Request:I found you through the Drabble game, and I was wondering if you could do a 7 with Bucky?
7: “I hope one day you’re as happy as you’re pretending to be.”
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
You downed another shot of whiskey as you stared lasers into the back of the man you loved dancing with another girl. Jealousy painfully sat in your stomach when she started laughing at something he said, bitterly thinking it should be you in his arms, not her. But when the time came to ask Bucky to Tony’s party, you chickened out, leaving yourself dateless and with an aching heart.
“If you keep staring, you may actually burn lasers into his back.” You didn’t even notice Clint sitting down at the bar next to you, practically jumping a foot. “God Clint, don’t scare me like that!” Laughing, you put a hand over your chest, trying to mask your anguish. Clint leaned against the bar, both of you staring out into the crowd of people on the dance floor.
“Looks like the fossil is having fun, for once” Chuckling, you lifted your glass to your lips, hoping the alcohol would numb the pain. The archer looked over towards you, a playful look shaping his face. “But I think he’s with the wrong girl.” You nearly choked on your drink when his words came out, Clint doubling over howling with laughter at your reaction. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, old man.” You huffed, hoping the old man would drop the topic.
“Oh c’mon, we’ve all seen the way you look at him, like he’s your prince charming.” Rolling your eyes with a smirk, you looked over your shoulder. “Well, this princess doesn’t need a prince. I’m fine without him, better even. “ Your own heart betrayed you, thudding painfully at your lie. Clint’s mask of silliness had washed away, replaced by a small melancholy smile.
“There’s nothing wrong with being in love, Y/N.” The archer took your hands in his as he saw your cold demeanor crack. Tears streamed down your face, probably ruining Natasha’s hard work. “I hope one day,” Clint whispered, rubbing comforting little circles onto your knuckles,”…you’re as happy as you’re pretending to be.” You could only nod tearfully, too scared that if you opened your mouth, you wouldn’t stop sobbing. The archer wrapped his arms around your shaking form, while you silently sobbed into his shoulder. “You’ll get a happy ending,” He promised, watching how Bucky stared at the two of you, guilt and jealousy dulling his eyes. “…soon.”
So, some of you are aware that I just posted a new chapter of my latest fic, Magic Words, and I’ll tell you, that installment took a lot out of me. So today I am enjoying Amell photo therapy. It’s kind of like coloring. Only much better. I hope this collection of edits help you get through Monday. I know how it is.
One particular image really worked for me this week, but I couldn’t decide whether is was better in color or black and white. So at the risk of annoying you, I am including both as bookends.
The eyes are not only the windows to the soul, they are the sharp lasers that can stare right into you and blast away your ovaries. Yep.
Yeah, this one screams…he’s so pretty when he’s thinking.
Angry Bratva Oliver face ahead.
Tough guy face again! Just love tough guy face.
And finally, the bookend I promised. It’s kine of arty but the man is a masterpiece, so I just had to…
So, that’s it for today. Treat yourself gently this week. You are the only fabulous you we know.
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Tom corners Clifton for the second day in a row just before lunch, giving him pages after pages of detailed scenes that he had written during the previous two seasons.
“These are just general outlines. Nothing concrete. I am willing to hear your vision as well,” Tom reassures Clifton.
Clifton’s stomach growls as he rubs his face. “These are really imaginative, Tom. I heard rumors you were dedicated to your character but no one said how much…” he trails off as he notices Tom’s laser like stare directed at his lunch of fried chicken, green beans and macaroni and cheese. Tom’s hand begins to shake. “Hey, it’s past lunch time. Would you like some?”
Tom swallows and shakes his head emphatically as he hefts a red lunch satchel of his own. “No, the doting wife says fried chicken is too decadent. I have a wonderful of boiled cod dusted with rolled oats on a bed of fresh spinach with goddess dressing.” Tom nods to himself, as if to marshal his determination.
“That sounds…” Clifton’s words die as he watches Tom fight valiantly to open lunch bag but he obviously doesn’t have the strength. Horrified silence stretches between the two men as tears slip down Tom’s face. “Maybe you should come out to Atlanta early,” Clifton suggests. “To get… settled.”