#savethewcrld

        Eyes flutter shut and a slow breath is drawn in through a nose, followed by a steady exhale exiting through slightly parted lips. A gold pendulum swings behind eyelids, back and forth, back and forth. She’s wiping the slate clean, turning back time and resetting the scene. She has to get out of her own head and into another, she has to remember to leave a trail of breadcrumbs in order to find her way back. Eyes reopen to an untouched room and she can begin.

        “I shoot the wife expertly through the neck.” Gun in hand, a muzzle on the end, it’s a silent attack. “This is not a fatal wound, the bullet misses every artery. She’s paralyzed before it leaves her body.” She watches the victim collapse, limp limbs, glossed eyes still glued to her. “Which doesn’t mean she can’t feel pain. It just means she can’t do anything about it. I want her to watch as I shoot her husband. I want her to watch me work. I want her to know my design. This is my resume.”

        Feet shuffle, stepping left then right, loaded barrel still pointed, following the second victim before another quieted shot is fired. “I shoot the husband once, clipping him in the shoulder as he tries to run. The shot was lined perfectly, it was planned, it wasn’t rushed despite being executed quickly. The bullet misses carotids but severs nerves with near surgical precision. I want him alive for the monument I’m about to erect in his honor. This is my legacy. This is my design.”

Canary finally faced a steeled door, locked up. Nothing like that could resist a canary cry. with a not so controlled scream, she released a sonic wave agains the metal door, only to break it open, not to throw it away, because God knew what that was supposed to hide.  

it’s with horror that she witnessed the occurring scene before her eyes. That someone completely helpless, restrained & beaten up to death. ( God please don’t be dead ). 

Dinah ran over & kneeled dow by the blonde’s side, palm sliding behind the nape of her neck, as the other hesitated to even touch her... finally it landed on her soft bloody cheek.    “Babe...”      Soft voice to wake her up, until the other moved, realized she wasn’t dead. A tear slid along her face ; she was confused, she had no idea what was happening right now... it felt unreal. What happened that whole year ? 

A wincing smile, a breathing suffocated by sobs,      “ Can you... can you walk ? ”     Dinah wasn’t sure she could carry her on her own, she didn’t have any super strength unfortunately. 

Stephen is 47% Ravenclaw, 24% Gryffindor, 20% Slytherin, and 9% Hufflepuff!

You believe above all in the importance of wisdom, which is why you undoubtedly belong in Ravenclaw, but your sense of adventure means you may also have an affinity for Gryffindor house. You are a thrill-seeker – you love to travel and there’s nothing more exciting to you than new experiences – and believe that adventure is essential in the pursuit of knowledge. You are brave, but would never intentionally put yourself in danger, placing you firmly in Ravenclaw. Your slight compatibility with Slytherin house suggests a determination to succeed, though not at the expense of traits from your more dominant houses.

Tagged By: @dcvilment

Most days, Jen didn’t give her scars a passing thought. They were just a part of her, a part of how she got here. Maybe if she thought about them, it was to remember the strength in them. She’d survived. Two bullets to the chest, missing her heart by inches. A gamma radiation infused emergency blood transfusion. And she’d survived. Jennifer Walters was still standing. Don’t let the bastards tear you down.

Some nights though...

There was this odd sort of bittersweet melancholy. Sickly sweet and heavy in the air. Even with Trish curled up next to her in bed, maybe not even fully awake. Bathed in a glowing halo from the lights that streamed in through the windows. (It was never truly dark in NYC, but Jen preferred it that way.) The other woman’s cheek was warm against her shoulder and her manicured fingers were soft against the scars.

Morning sickness was a joke. The nausea was constant and exhausting. (Maybe that was the withdrawal. Or the anxiety or depression or or or... Jessica didn’t let herself linger on the possibility that something was deeply, terribly wrong for too long. Even the thought of blood tests made her vomit.)

As exhausting as it was, she still wasn’t sleeping. A few hours here or there. In between meetings and work to keep busy. Or if she was too worn down, just laying in bed, alone with her thoughts and the alleged morning sickness. And sometimes she slept, though she rarely remembered falling asleep. She remembered the dreams, though. IVs and the steady drip of bourbon into her veins. Make it goddamn right, Jessie and ashes falling over her like a blanket of snow. His fingers pressed against her stomach, he could’ve been ours...

And she remembered waking up. The hard sensation like she was falling, like she’d just hit the mattress again. A motion that turned the constant nausea into actual heaving, so hard her whole body trembled. She’d barely made it to the bathroom in time, stumbling and half-tangled in her blankets sill.

Jessica continued to hold the toilet bowl in a white knuckled grip. Leaned her head against her arm. Not for the first time, she felt like the toilet was the only thing keeping her upright, despite Trish’s hands in her hair, on her back.

“Can you believe Luke thinks he’s missing something?” It was meant to be a joke, but there was a twinge of sadness. A twinge of something real and painful. Luke had brought it up at coffee--the kind of coffee where she promised to meet him at a specific time and place, not coffee coffee. She’d still be late. Hadn’t been able to find a pair of jeans that fit--she’d only barely started showing--and had finally settled on loose sweats she’d never worn outside of her apartment. And Luke had noticed, had mentioned feeling like he wasn’t there for any of it. Jessica had changed the subject, then. That was a dangerous path for her.

But when he’d walked her back home, there was a part of her that wanted to invite him. That only stopped herself because Trish was sleeping on her couch--had been sleeping on her couch since the first night. Besides Jessica was supposed to have a full year of sobriety under her belt first. It was one thing to be working together for the sake of the baby, to occasionally meet for coffee coffee. And another to turn it into something.

(Waiting for Trish had felt like no time at all. Hoping Luke would wait for her had dragged on for an eternity already.)

The Valkyrie waited a moment, studying the pattern of the city that spread out before them, “ Now you can call me a BITCH … ”

          “...So.” Luke grunts under the weight of the boxes he’s moving into Patsy’s newly appointed office, the sound more for show than a true reflection of their bulk. “...I heard you got to ride that Valkyrie lady’s big flying horse. In fact, I’ve heard about it every day since Dani got wind of it...”