You’re safe. I’m still here. I promise, I’m still here with you.



I’m pretty sure Coulson not only took Tony up on the offer, but actually made plans with Audrey (the cellist), too, which makes things even sadder.


(Source: autoharleys)


we were planning a trip up the coast, and then I got the call

(Source: darlingcap)


She was a cellist. Second chair, Portland symphony. Saw her play whenever I was in town. Ever see a beautiful woman play the cello? It’s something else. She laughed at my jokes, too, which was a very nice bonus.
- You know where she is now?
Of course I do.

(Source: buckysbarnes)


i thought…he was here…it seemed so real this time.

(Source: autoharleys)



Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D Ragtag (1.21) Promo Photos (x)


A photo of Agent Coulson and the Cellist from Portland.


A photo of Agent Coulson and the Cellist from Portland.


Awaken (pick your own Tatennant pair)


 (I have my own idea who this is, but it can be anyone you want…)

A searing fire wrenched her from unconsciousness. The pain filled her every sense; she could actually taste it in her arid, gaping mouth. It contrasted with the rest of her body, which felt frozen and stiff. Distantly, she heard what sounded like groaning. She felt compelled to open her eyes, but the brightness was too blinding. A high-pitched cadence beeped into her head; it was maddening in is persistent rhythm. Behind the screeching metronome, she heard an urgent and angry voice. She knew that voice. Why was it so agitated?

With excruciating slowness, the pain started to tingle away into…nothing. Panic replaced the agony; she didn’t want to feel nothing.

She shifted, and regretted it. The momentary bliss of numbness jolted away. Shocks coursed through her body so strongly, even her bones stung.


That voice again: hushed and gentle. Just hearing it made her heartbeat regulate and warmth build within her chest, spreading to bring the rest of her body back to life.

“Come on, love… over here….”

The desire to see that face, his face, overwhelmed her. But that light. Why was it so bright? Her face contorted against the intensity and uttered some form of “light…”

“Hold on,” he said. A second later, blessed darkness fell over her. “That’s better.”

She exhaled and turned toward the balm of his voice. Her eyelids were impossibly heavy, but the need to see him made her force them open.

Why was he so pale? And rumpled. He was more disheveled than usual. What was wrong with his eyes? They looked red. They were supposed to be brown. Those heavenly chocolate havens that she could lose herself in.

He leaned closer and reached up. Gently, she felt the light pressure of his hand on her forehead.

“Welcome back,” he whispered.

Where did I go? She opened her mouth, but her mouth was too dry. Her throat was too tight. The sight of tears filling his eyes was too much.

He grabbed the hand closest to him and pressed it against his lips. His shoulders sagged, and he instantly looked exhausted. “I was so scared.”

Why? She moved, but instantly froze again as her left side screamed in protest. She grunted.

He looked up. “Don’t move.”

Don’t worry.

His face was tortured. “I was supposed to be the one who’d take a bullet for you.”


you sure this is about him? not about  i m m o n s ?

(Source: jemmawatson, via breatheinandlive)