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#100000000% Done
#abandon ship
#accepted
#Badass Artemis
#Bitch I Might Be
#Bitch, I'm Fabulous
#BRB Tearbending
#DEAD
#Don't Fucking Cry
#FANGIRLING
#feelings
#How Do I Hold All These Feels
#I Cannot Thor
#IDGAF
#keyboard smash avengers
#korrasexual
#Leave Me to Die
#Pheels
#Sophistihawk
#The Fuck is This Cap
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sails itself
save you maam
Scarlett Dance
screams of pain
ship it
shrill fangirl screaming
Shut Your Mouth Dr
son, just don't
standing ovation
stiles approved
tangled feels
That Escalated Quickly
That's Love Bitch
the fuck was that cat
This slow
This
thor hugs
titlecard
Tony Needs It
Tony's Agreed
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1. Christina Garcia
Tiara

2. Aruna Seth
Aruna Seth shoes
3. Le Spose di Gio V-Neck A-Line Tulle
Le Spose de Gio gown

4. Stacey Joy Camilla I Lace Gloves
Stacey Joy lace gloves
5. Two-tier Veil FRONT
Two-tier veil - front
6. Two-tier Veil BACK
Two-tier veil - back
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Omigod it was amaze-balls! The casting was spot-on; the acting was absolutely phenomenal and believable and everyone looked perfect!
I was especially impressed with the casting of the female roles, as they managed to find actresses who actually looked the part of the time-period the movie portrays.
Scarlett Johansson’s portrayal of Janet Leigh in the role of Marion Crane: the fear of the character as well as the apprehension of an actress approaching an entirely new role in cinematography is entirely apparent and beautifully portrayed.
Anthony Hopkins as Alfred Hitchcock was an amazing pick by the casting director(s) and I applaud them not only in that, but in their choice of Helen Mirren as his wife, and self-admitted better-half, Alma Reville. Together they brought to life the story of director and wife as they changed the face of horror films in America forever.
I would recommend this movie to anyone, whether or not they are fans of the work of Alfred Hitchcock or the actors and actresses chosen for this great piece. The movie has a unique mix of drama and suspense, highlighted by the well-placed and well-timed comedy, and was well-worth the wait, time, and money!

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Finally back to working on my 100 themes Makorra:

6. Bored [one-shot] - "A silent agreement was reached between Mako, Tenzin, Pema, and Bolin to find a way to keep Korra occupied at all times for fear of the consequences."

22. Hide [2/?] - " ' So yes, Mako, we are going to hide. And then we are going to come back to Republic City and kick some Equalist butt.' "

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Just found out that Scarlett Johansson is appearing as the Black Widow in Captain America: The Winter Soldier!

All my fangirl comic (canon) dreams come true!

cast and crew





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A/N: Clintasha Week Day Seven

ON TIME! (By half an hour but meh…semantics)

This is the last one; and OMIGOD I actually managed to finish them all…

My idea for this, (which may or may not be expanded on in the future) is that Natasha’s parents were at the head of some crime family when they died; her uncle takes over and adopts her formally. She’s all set to be married off to the son of some rival crime family when she meets Clint Barton - orphan, recently dragged by his brother into becoming part of the family. Needless to say, he falls hard for the redheaded mystery girl of the Romanoff crime family.

~~~~~~


She’s already waiting for him in the church when he arrives, sitting in the very back pew, hands clasped and apparently praying. She’s quite beautiful, even in the plain dress her adoptive father provides for her. He slides into the pew next to her, lightly touching her shoulder to alert her to his presence.

“Did you have any trouble getting out of the house?” he whispers. She shakes her head, red curls bouncing in the light of the candelabras.

“I am not sure about this anymore,” her voice is shaking and he can see the fear in her eyes; her adoptive father has always scared her. The owner of the Red Room bar in town and head of the local crime syndicate, he has many friends and is extremely influential; but Clint has seen the bruises that everyone else seems to be able to ignore, and he can’t just look away.

“Tasha, look at me,” she does so, meeting his eyes and relaxing a bit. “You trust me don’t you?”

“Of course I trust you Clint!”

“And you don’t want your father to marry you off to that abusive bastard who dares call himself a man, do you?”

“He’s not that bad,” she denies, frowning.

“Natasha I can tell! I may be an orphan and at the bottom of the metaphorical food chain, but even I can tell that you deserve better than what your father is giving you,” he hisses quietly.

“But he says –”

“He’s wrong; did you ever think about that?” she remains silent and Clint grabs her hand, frowning when she flinches away from him at first. “Ivan,” he spits the name like a curse, “is a manipulative ass who only cares about using you as a pawn in his twisted game of chess.”

“Alexi loves me.”

“No he doesn’t,” Clint whispers. “Alexi loves Ivan’s approval and money and power.”

“I’m scared!” she admits finally.

“What is there to be afraid of?” Natasha bit her lip, clutching the handle of the small bag she had packed. “What do you want to do?” Clint asked gently.

“I…I want to run. I want to run as far away from here as I possibly can. And I want you to come with me,” she finally admits, clutching his hand tightly.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he promises. “Tonight; we’ll leave New York. Travel as far to the other coast as we can manage.”

“Somewhere sunny?”

“With warm summers and cool winter,” he agrees. “California, or maybe someplace in the South; Ivan will never be able to find us, he’ll never be able to touch you again.” She smiles at him, the first time she does so all night.

“We’ll have a life.”

“We’ll have a future,” he corrects, “outside of the Family. We’ll be safe.” She leans forward and kisses him, a gentle meeting of lips and tongues, and it’s one of the best feelings in the world.

“We’ll have a real family.”

~~~~~~

(495 words)

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A/N: Clintasha Week Day Six

Kind of short; but very sweet, I think.

~~~~~~

Natasha is sitting alone in the conference room, arms crossed on the table-top as she stares at the security footage from a few days ago. She has been staring at the security footage since the mission briefing almost an hour ago and it’s actually starting to worry him. He steps into the conference room, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Natasha?”

“Did you know that I was married?” she asks suddenly. “At least, I think that I was. If I wasn’t, then at least the Red Room made me believe that I was.” He sits down next to her. “I don’t remember him. But I remember Yasha.” She closes her eyes. “In a way, he was my first friend.”

“Nat, are you okay?”

“I’m not…good at making friends. I can seduce the most dangerous of men but I can’t form a lasting relationship.” He’s not even sure that she’s listening to him. “After Ivan sent to the Red Room, Yasha trained me. But he wasn’t like the Red Room’s handlers; he cared.”

“Tasha, look at me,” he whispers, grabbing one of her hands in his. “We don’t even know who this guy really is, if he even is the real Winter Soldier.”

“He is the Winter Soldier,” Natasha states confidently, opening her eyes to look at him. “I just hope that we find him before whatever is left of the Red Room does.” Clint knows her; she’d not the type of person to form meaningless attachments; so the fact that she is even willing to speak to him, to open up to him about something like this even after almost six years of partnership, (three of those years spent as being something even more than that), speaks volumes to him.

“You’re my best friend, I hope you know that,” Clint whispers.

“I think – I think that you’re my best friend too,” Natasha admits. “After all, I don’t know all that many people who would dress up in full drag just to pull off an extraction for me,” she teases; Clint smiles, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand.

“I thought that we agreed to never, ever, mention that again,” he moans.

“Yes, well, we wouldn’t be best friends if we didn’t embarrass each other every once in a while, or did you teach me wrong?”

“Nope; best friends embarrass the hell out of each other,” he confirms; Natasha squeezes his hand.

“Thank you,” she mutters just loud enough for his hearing aids to pick up.

“Everybody needs a friend,” he reminds her, “even if it’s just so they have someone to complain to – or about.”

~~~~~~

(437 words)

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A/N: Clintasha Week Day Five

I focused on ‘feelings’, with a hint of fluff.

I’m catching up…

~~~~~~

Natasha finds him on the roof of Avengers tower; not surprising really, considering what day it is. He’s hanging his legs over the edge, a few empty bottles of cheap beer set on the roof next to him, one half-full one held limply in his hands.

“Been up here long?” she asks quietly, sitting down on his other side.

“Few hours,” he admits, taking a swig of his beer.

“Liar,” she whispers, nudging his shoulder. “You’ve been up here most of the day, haven’t you?” his silence is answer enough.

“Where have you been?”

“Mission debrief; I got back late from my assignment last night.” He nods in understanding.

“Do you ever wonder if we could have done anything differently?”

“Every time we go on a mission and I have to listen to Sitwell instead of…” she trails off and he turns his head to look at her.

“We’re a mess.”

You’re a mess Barton; I’m slum chic,” she denies, stealing his beer and drinking the last of it. He chuckles and lies down on his back.

“If Coulson could see us now –”

“He’d kick our asses,” Natasha states, “half the time we’re a team and the other half we’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

“He’d have us whipped into shape in no time,” Clint agrees. She lies down next to him, basking in the silence; it’s been exactly one year since the Chitauri invasion, since they became a part of the Avengers. It’s been exactly a year since Phil Coulson had been killed by Loki.

Coulson had been more than just their handler; he had been a friend to them, a confidant. He had been a person that they could count on no matter what, a person other than themselves and each other. Natasha sets the empty beer bottle on the rooftop next to her and sighs.

“Nat?” she hums in acknowledgement, turning her head to meet his eyes. “What d’you believe in?”

“What do I believe in?” she repeated, “I’m not sure that I know what you mean.”

“Do you believe in heaven? Or hell? Do you even believe in God?”

“I’ve seen hell Clint, we both have. Logically, if hell exists, then heaven must exist as well. But knowing what I know, and having seen the things we’ve seen, I don’t know how anybody can believe in anything good.”

“But…?” he prompts softly.

“But,” she continues, one side of her lips quirking up in a smile. “I suppose that knowing all of that, makes me understand why people need to believe in something more.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“People,” she states quietly after a moment. “I believe in people.”

Clint smiles gently, his hand seeking out hers on the rooftop in-between them and twining their fingers together. If there was one thing that Phil Coulson had ever taught him, it was that people well and truly surprised you sometimes.

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A/N: Clintasha Week Day Four

I re-wrote this FOUR times; it was being stubborn, but it finally came together…

~~~~~~

She can feel the blood seeping through the fabric of her combat suit, knows that most of it is most likely hers, but she really could care less at this point. She lost her comm.-link somewhere in all of the fighting, but she knows that Clint will be waiting for her to return to the rendezvous point for at least a good six minutes more before he knows to go looking for her. She replaces the magazine in her handgun and dives into a roll from behind one slab of debris to another, letting off four shots and not bothering to check; she knows that she hit her mark.

She’s starting to notice a pattern in their missions. She and Clint always get sent on the most difficult assignments, and always together. Their solo missions are challenging as well, but never anything as overbearing as São Paolo, or even Budapest. Fury always handpicks the two of them for the impossible jobs, the jobs that for almost anybody else would be a suicide mission, but for them are almost simple.

She’s almost at the rendezvous point and she can feel herself slowing down, feels the blood grow thicker, and knows that she had better get there soon. There’s a flash of something bright to her left and she turns just in time to catch sight of an explosive-tipped arrow fly past her and land in the wall of a building that most of the hostiles were standing next to. She doesn’t waste any time; she takes the opening that he made for her and disappears into the access tunnel that leads directly to the hotel where their aliases have been staying.

Clint is waiting for her at the basement access door, his recurve already stashed in his briefcase at his feet and the duffel bag with their street clothes slung over one shoulder.

“I already checked us out. Our luggage is being shipped and our extraction is set,” he informs her. She nods in acknowledgement, slipping her gun into its holster on her thigh. She winces as she reaches for the duffel bag and Clint notices the blood that is just starting to soak into the side of her uniform.

“Jesus Nat!” the duffel bag hits the floor and Clint grabs her shoulder, spinning her around and forcing her to sit down on the ground in front of him so that he can look at her back. “What the hell happened?”

“Someone got lucky,” she replies simply, unzipping her now blood-stained suit and reaching for the duffel bag again. Clint sits down behind her and strips the fabric of her suit down her shoulders and off of her arm, exposing her torso until he found the source of the bleeding, a deep gash in her back from the middle of her left side cutting diagonally to just above her kidney.

“They almost got really lucky,” he comments, pulling the duffel back out of her hands and reaching inside for the first aid kit.

“You blocked their means of communication?” she asks, pulling off the remains of her undershirt before he starts stitching her up.

“EMP arrow on the roof,” he assures her.

“How long until the extraction?”

“Twenty minutes; extraction point is ten minutes out of town.” They sit in silence until he finishes her stitches and flattens a piece of gauze over his handiwork. “Is it just me or are our assignments getting riskier and riskier?” he mutters wryly. Natasha rolls her eyes and pulls off her boots in order to finish slipping out of her suit, accepting the change of clothes he hands her.

“We’re Delta for a reason Clint,” she reminds him, pulling on the jeans and button-up shirt he had handed her before turning around to face her partner. “We’re the only two crazy enough to even consider accepting these assignments.” He smiles at her, stowing both of their uniforms in the now-empty duffel bag.

“Hawkeye to base,” he says into his comm.-link, “Strike Team Delta is go for extraction.”

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