#ofmgcks

(Continued from here )

He hadn’t thought she could sleep that long. He was a late sleeper, but he had things to do and had waited for her to wake.

So when he made his way back to the living quarters to find her awake and making….was that pancakes? He couldn’t help but grin and walk over. He slid quickly between floating utensils and pecked her on the lips, enough force to startle her but not stop her. He pulled back quickly and slid around utensils, his hand moving quickly as the bowl fell, but not catching it as she regained her composure.

He chuckled and leaned against the counter near her, arms crossed. “What? A guy can’t kiss a pretty lady and get away with it?…..wait, that came out really odd. That’s not how I meant it.” Fletcher fumbled with the right words. Sometimes he could regret what he said. “Let me backtrack. I just wanted to surprise you. You’d been asleep all day.” He said with a shrug, brushing the hair from his face and watching her.

                           Lost.

         A familiar head of hair greeted him, causing Orion’s head to tilt to the side ever so slightly.  This was usually his sanctuary, though he didn’t have a personal claim on it.  In times of emotional duress he liked to lay on the roof and look at the stars.  Sometimes he spoke to his mother.  Other times he spoke to Andros.  Either way, the conversation was only ever one sided.

Bruce had never been one to ask for help; since childhood, this had been frowned upon--now it was simply second-nature. Which is why he had taken the task of doctoring the damage done by the gauntlet into his own hands (well...hand). He had the qualifications and, frankly, was too damn stubborn to do anything but try to fix it himself. Plus, there was a part of him that felt almost...guilty? There were more important things for everybody else to expend their energy on--mourning the loss of their comrades, foremost. 

Isolating himself was a way to cope with his own grief--another learned strategy, courtesy of a neglectful father. In actuality, the Doctor was feeling a strong cocktail of emotions, which began to manifest themselves in the form of agitation as he worked on his arm. It was frustrating and, for all the pain being caused, there seemed to be little payoff; the damage was extensive and much of it internal. By the time that the door to the lab had opened, Bruce was seriously considering ripping his own arm off, aggression causing his blood to boil, the faintest tinge of green coloring the branching veins along his neck. 

hurt sentence starters || accepting

Where didn’t it hurt might be a better question. As it was, neither of them looked to be in good shape. She’d managed slightly better, having been able to keep her distance, but both were showing wear and tear from the mission and the quick escape afterwards.

*pre-established ships.  ( accepting. )

           WITH A deep sigh, she plops down next to the witch.  a bottle of wine in her grasp, a red she’s nabbed from a clueless passerby on her way out  ( 100% the stranger’s fault for not paying attention on the train. )   ❛  wanda’roo …  ya ever start thinkin’ then keep thinkin’ until it’s too much?  — been one’a those days.  like it eats away at ya — th’ smallest things.  and it’s always somethin’ that’s outta your control, isn’t it?  ❜   another sigh as she muses aloud, digging a fingernail idly into the cork at the bottle’s neck.  switching topics without so much as a warning-

          ❛ you still with that purple guy?  ❜

love starters || accepting

He’d been up for a while. Alright, more than a while--three days, in fact, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to keep this up. But there were too many things out to get them--the mail person seemed the most likely plant, as they’d have the best chance at scouting out the house, but the neighbor who walked their dog every day up and down the street was just as suspicious. All of them could be HYDRA. All of them could be spying on them, tracking each of their movements.