Prompt: Lance struggles with his body image for whatever reason. Some of the others pic up on his suffering and try to help him feel better about himself (preferably a completely platonic)
Platonic you ask, platonic you get!
Lance stared at his arms in displeasure, his eyes trailed down to his stomach and then to his legs. Too skinny.
He didn’t like his lack of broad, his lack of manliness. It was disheartening to stand next to Hunk, Shiro and even Keith. Them and all their muscle, them and theirs strength, when Lance himself was skin and bones. It was moments like these that Lance felt least like a warrior fighting in a war and more like a child.
He sighed as he shovelled some food in his mouth before he left to training, where the others were also headed. He went to the changing room and shrugged off his clothes, cringing when Shiro walked past with his shirt off, his abs and pecs naked to the world, swole arms flexing as he put on his armour. Lance once again poked at his arms and deflated a he felt nothing but a small, taut muscle.
Request: jack lowden imagine request!! visiting him on set and him taking y/n out for a plane ride?? you can tweek this however you would like to but i’m obsessed with jack i love him sm lol
A/N: I tweaked it just a bit to where reader is a pilot since Jack has said that he doesn’t know how to fly planes, hope that’s ok!
For the past hour you had been cuddled into your boyfriends arms, making up for the past 2 months of being apart. Currently you were on the set of his new film, Dunkirk.
You were really excited about the new Christopher Nolan film, especially since Jack was going to have a big role in it. So naturally you’d agreed instantly when he asked you to visit.
He was supposed to be showing you around set, but neither of you wanted to leave each other’s arms.
But the moment couldn’t last forever, so eventually the two of you had gotten up and headed outside.
Walking around the beaches of Dunkirk, you were absolutely blown away. You’d stop every 5 minutes, taking a picture of something that had grabbed your attention. Jack would just stand there quietly, smirking at your antics.
One thing that had drew him into you 2 years ago was your fascination with history. He could pick a random day from 100 years ago, and you could tell him what major event had happened.
He knew that being in Dunkirk would be such an incredible experience for you, one that he absolutely wanted to be a part of. And watching you now… he couldn’t be happier.
Every once in a while Jack would stop to chat with one of his cast members, introducing you. Jack couldn’t stop laughing as you turned into a proper fan girl in front of Tom Hardy, offering to take a picture of the two of you.
That picture was going to be framed on your wall as soon as you got home.
A little while later Jack was leading you into the town itself, heading towards a little airport down the street.
“Where are we goin’?” You questioned curiously, glancing over at your smug boyfriend.
“You’ll see.” He told you simply, ignoring the rest of the questions you threw at him.
Once you made it inside, you completely froze. Jack was watching you intently, taking in your facial expression.
Since you were a little kid you’d had a love for planes. You first flew one when you were 11, flying a fertilizer craft with your uncle. From there you had gotten your pilots license and flew any plane you could get your hands on. While you didn’t fly planes for a living, flying had become an important part of your life.
The spitfire had always been your absolute favorite. Growing up you had a giant poster on your bedroom wall of the spitfires from the Battle of Britain. You never thought you would ever see one in person, considering there weren’t many left in the world.
“Is- is that.. is that what I think it is?” You questioned in disbelief, eyes glued to a beautiful plane standing right in front of you. “Is tha a fuckin’ spitfire?”
“I don’ know love, you tell me.” Jack joked, eyes full of amusement as he watched you mentally and physically freak out.
“Oh my god.” You whispered, running over to the plane. “Oh my god.”
“She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” Jack asked, walking up next to you. You simply nodded your head, too shocked to do anything else.
“C-can I touch it?” You stammered, your eyes full of utter fascination and awe.
“O’ course.” Jack told you, stepping back to watch you as you ran your hand along the wing of the spitfire.
“I can’… I can’ believe this. This is a spitfire. A real 1940s, rolls-Royce engined, Royal Air Force submarine spitfire.” You murmured, eyes growing wider by the minute. “Am I dreamin’? Cause I don’ wanna wake up if I am.”
“You’re not dreamin’ love. Chris loves to do everythin’ 100% for his films, so o’ course he had to use real spitfires.” He chuckled, hugging you from behind as you continued to stare at the plane. “Those things are loud as all hell tho. Scare the crap outta ya when they fly ov'r head.”
“Fly ov'r… Blimey, I think I’m gonna pass out.” You faintly whispered, holding onto Jack’s arms tightly. He laughed again, pressing a tender kiss to the back of your head.
Snapping yourself back into reality, you stepped towards the beautiful plane again, fingers tracing the red, yellow and blue roundel on the side of the craft. You had dreamt of this moment your entire life, it all felt so surreal.
“Are we ready for the lesson?” A man asked from behind you, making you and Jack turn around to face him.
“M'sorry, ready for what lesson?” You questioned, tilting your head to the side.
“Didn’t Mr. Lowden tell ya? He got permission from Mr. Nolan to let you fly a spitfire.” The man smiled, looking over at your boyfriend briefly.
“Me, fly… a spitfire?” You asked weakly, this time your legs actually went weak beneath you. Jack quickly caught you, his body wracking with laughter. “Must be jokin’.”
“He’s not jokin’. He’s gonna give you a brief lesson on everythin’, then you’re gonna fly me over the beaches of Dunkirk.” Jack told you, smiling as pure unadulterated joy took over your face.
“This is really happenin’, isn’t it?” You questioned, eyes sparkling up at him. When Jack nodded, you flew yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his lips in between words.
“I know how much this means to you. I couldn’ let this opportunity pass.” He replied, kissing your cheek as you slowly pulled away.
“I love you so much.” You spoke sincerely, a few tears falling from your eyes. Jack wiped the tears away, grabbing one of your hands.
“I love you too. Now let’s get this show on the road.”
30 minutes later you were sitting in the cockpit, Jack sitting right behind you. Your hands shook as they ran gingerly over the dashboard, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. You were sitting in the pilots seat of a spitfire, about to fly said spitfire over the beaches of Dunkirk, where spitfires had flown over 75 years ago to aid in the evacuation of allied forces.
“You ready?” Jack called over the loud roar of the engine. Unable to speak, you nodded and began to pull the plane out of the garage.
The take off was rougher than you were used to, after all the planes now were made much differently. But once you were in the air, the feeling you had was indescribable.
The purr of the Rolls-Royce engine was the sweetest thing you had ever heard, sending tears to your eyes again. You flew over the beaches, watching as some people looked up and waved as you passed overhead.
All too soon you were heading back to the airport, the fuel of the plane starting to become low. Once you had shut the plane off, Jack had hopped out and helped you down.
Still shaking from adrenaline, you pulled Jack into a hug, kissing his lips passionately.
“That was single-handedly the most incredible moment of me life.” You breathlessly told him, pulling away and looking back at the plane. Jack quickly snapped a picture of you with the plane, knowing this was a moment he would want to remember forever.
You thanked the pilot profusely when he made his way over to you, shaking his hand before you left.
You were practically skipping as you walked back towards the set, leaving Jack to shake his head from behind you.
“So, did you like your surprise?” Jack asked, taking your hand in his as he led the way back to his trailer.
“Did I like it? Jack, I loved it.” You said happily, squeezing your boyfriends hand. “In fact..” You trailed off, pulling Jack to face you. You were wearing a cheeky smile on your face, leading him to raise an eyebrow in response. “I think you earned yourself a reward for later tonight.”
Request: can you do a soulaate cas oneshot? like the reader and cas don’t know each other, but they meet and the reader can see his wings?
AN: What’s up, guys? I’m super excited to be writing for Cas :) …and I'm also excited to tell y'all that I am going to officially become an aunt today or early tomorrow! (I’m sitting in the hospital with my sister, as I write this) Anyways, I hope that everyone enjoys! Feel free to tell me what you think, leave a request, or just stop by to say hello! :)
The sound of your bare feet smacking against the slimy concrete, echoed off of the surrounding brick walls as you sprinted around a corner and into an empty alleyway.
“Do you really believe that you could ever escape me, [Y/N]?” a man laughed sadistically from behind you; the same man whom had broken into your apartment, mere moments before. “I know that Castiel has taught you otherwise."
Ducking into a nearby doorway, you pressed into the shadows and squeezed your eyes shut, hopelessly trying to answer the questions that swirled recklessly through your mind.
This is Kal’ggosh, my scary Orc shaman gal. Her brother is Kata, my other shaman. They have a bit of a complex back ground that I need to sort out, but ugggh I love her and need to continue leveling her. Also, she’s single. If you aren’t afraid of having to prove your power to her.
A Relativity Falls/Canon crossover fic. Massive, massive thanks to @scribefindegil for coming up with this with me, brainstorming, betaing and providing swing dance moves, and for the line Stan says about the sea.
This fic is totally the product of our own shenanigans on the road trip. We just thought, what if Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Mabel actually had the chance to meet and make poor decisions together? This was the result.
could this happen to me? Stan
thought, drumming his fingers against the shellacked wood of the
table, which was tastefully decorated with light up plastic
pineapples. How did I end up here?
tricky question to answer, especially with alcohol blurring his
memory of the past several hours. He’d barely even listened to Ford’s
explanation about the “relative space-time anomaly” or why they
were sailing into it. Whatever Ford’s plan had been it must have gone
wrong somehow, because inside the storm the waters had gotten rough,
a whirlpool had formed around them and they’d been pulled under and
spat out on land.
They’d landed in front of a building that, despite
the neon color scheme, wasn’t very different from the Mystery Shack
he knew. The railings were covered in gold glitter, and out front
there was a two-headed deer in a blonde wig and makeup, but it was
the same basic building. Had the steps that creaked and the roof that
was built at an awkward angle that made it impossible to keep the “S”
on the sign. It was just the people living in it that were different.
messing around with wings! a lot of you gave me some great ideas; I really wanna stick with the bird-wing style but there’s plenty of room in there to experiment. :D
these will probably change drastically later on but eh, still just trying stuff out. I think I like them having different wings based on their cutie marks, although that kinda limits me to Spitfire and Soarin…
man this just reminds me that I really need to figure out a final design for Rainbow’s wings, geeze
So we know that Tyrion commandeered Sandor to lead a portion of the troops being amassed to fight off Stannis' attack on Kings Landing. What we don't really know is if Tyrion bothered to tell Sandor that wildfire would be used and to what extent. What do you think is the likelihood that Sandor knew ahead of time what he and his troops might be facing?
That Tyrion was planning on using wildfire was publicly known:
“Oh, and one more thing. The alchemists will be sending a large supply of clay pots to each of the city gates. You’re to use them to train the men who will work your spitfires. Fill the pots with green paint and have them drill at loading and firing. Any man who spatters should be replaced. When they have mastered the paint pots, substitute lamp oil and have them work at lighting the jars and firing them while aflame. Once they learn to do that without burning themselves, they may be ready for wildfire.” Ser Jacelyn scratched at his cheek with his iron hand. “Wise measures. Though I have no love for that alchemist’s piss.” “Nor I, but I use what I’m given.”
— ACOK, Tyrion V
Wildfire is commonly used in wartime. It was not a surprise to Stannis’s fleet when they first saw it in use at the Blackwater:
A flash of green caught his eye, ahead and off to port, and a nest of writhing emerald serpents rose burning and hissing from the stern of Queen Alysanne. An instant later Davos heard the dread cry of “Wildfire!” He grimaced. Burning pitch was one thing, wildfire quite another. Evil stuff, and well-nigh unquenchable. Smother it under a cloak and the cloak took fire; slap at a fleck of it with your palm and your hand was aflame. “Piss on wildfire and your cock burns off,” old seamen liked to say. Still, Ser Imry had warned them to expect a taste of the alchemists’ vile substance. Fortunately, there were few true pyromancers left. They will soon run out, Ser Imry had assured them.
— ACOK, Davos III
It was the enormous quantities of wildfire that was unusual. Both Tyrion and the alchemists were surprised at the amount of wildfire produced, several thousand jars more than had been requested. (This was due to the fact that wildfire is produced through spells that were more effective than usual due to the return of magic and dragons.) So Tyrion had stuffed several old ships full of those excess jars and the unstable explosive “fruits” from Aerys’s day that had been found, as traps for the attackers. And the effect was remarkable:
Beyond the Mud Gate and the desolation that had once been the fishmarket and wharves, the river itself seemed to have taken fire. Half of Stannis’s fleet was ablaze, along with most of Joffrey’s. The kiss of wildfire turned proud ships into funeral pyres and men into living torches. The air was full of smoke and arrows and screams. […] A dozen great fires raged under the city walls, where casks of burning pitch had exploded, but the wildfire reduced them to no more than candles in a burning house, their orange and scarlet pennons fluttering insignificantly against the jade holocaust. The low clouds caught the color of the burning river and roofed the sky in shades of shifting green, eerily beautiful. A terrible beauty. Like dragonfire. Tyrion wondered if Aegon the Conqueror had felt like this as he flew above his Field of Fire.
— ACOK, Tyrion XIII
Now, Sandor and his troops were probably prepared for the fact that spitfires would be throwing wildfire at the ships they would be boarding. (Note that Davos sees Sandor riding his horse up onto the deck of Prayer shortly before the wildfire began to hit the fleet.) But the extent… the enormity of it all… no, I don’t think anyone was prepared for that.
Still, it’s only after their third sortie that Sandor refuses to take his men out again, and a sellsword explains why:
“Who commands here? You’re going out.” “No.” A shadow detached itself from the shadow of the wall, to become a tall man in dark grey armor. Sandor Clegane wrenched off his helm with both hands and let it fall to the ground. The steel was scorched and dented, the left ear of the snarling hound sheared off. A gash above one eye had sent a wash of blood down across the Hound’s old burn scars, masking half his face. “Yes.” Tyrion faced him. Clegane’s breath came ragged. “Bugger that. And you.” A sellsword stepped up beside him. “We been out. Three times. Half our men are killed or hurt. Wildfire bursting all around us, horses screaming like men and men like horses—”
Which follows on with the idea that it was just the amount of the wildfire that was simply too much for the troops, and also the fact that it would hit both attackers and defenders. And it’s not that Sandor doesn’t want to fight, he just refuses to go out into the wildfire again, and especially to take more men out to die in flames.
“Did you think we hired you to fight in a tourney? Shall I bring you a nice iced milk and a bowl of raspberries? No? Then get on your fucking horse. You too, dog.” The blood on Clegane’s face glistened red, but his eyes showed white. He drew his longsword. He is afraid, Tyrion realized, shocked. The Hound is frightened. He tried to explain their need. “They’ve taken a ram to the gate, you can hear them, we need to disperse them—” “Open the gates. When they rush inside, surround them and kill them.” The Hound thrust the point of his longsword into the ground and leaned upon the pommel, swaying. “I’ve lost half my men. Horse as well. I’m not taking more into that fire.”
Anyway, to sum up: yes, Sandor surely knew ahead of time that he and his men would be facing wildfire, as they no doubt trained for the battle near the men who would be manning the spitfires. But I think the sheer quantity of the wildfire and the ships filled with explosive pots, and especially the “friendly fire”… that was something he was not prepared for at all.
Through the steel and padding of his helm, he heard anguished screams, the hungry crackle of flame, the shuddering of warhorns, and the brazen blast of trumpets. Fire was everywhere. Gods be good, no wonder the Hound was frightened. It’s the flames he fears…
AN: I’ve been fiddling around with a Sherlolly Who!lock for a while now… and I finally wrote one. Enjoy, my loves! :)
Molly stepped out into the cold, London air and breathed in deep. Oh, it was good to be back.
Behind her, the Doctor leaned out of the TARDIS and licked his finger, holding it up in the air and furrowing his brow in thought.
‘London, England, sometime in the year… 2016! Oh, a good year indeed, 2016. Summer Olympics in Rio, Molly. Positively spectacular!’
Molly giggled as the Doctor smirked in that knowing, cheeky way of his and twirled on the spot, his black coat swirling about him in a flash of red satin.
‘You do remember 2016 is the year you stole me from,’ she teased and grabbed his hand. ‘Now, come on, let’s see if anything’s changed!’
The Doctor huffed. ‘What could possibly have changed? You only left mere days, or possibly months, ago!’
Molly rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve changed! I’ve spent the last seven months of my own linear time traveling across the stars! So, to me, everything has changed, because I’m looking at it all through different eyes.’
‘Ah. An excellent point,’ he agreed solemnly.
Locking elbows with him, she beamed up at him. ‘Let’s go!’
To his credit, the Doctor held back most of his biting remarks about the London streets and sheer amount of people as they wandered through the crowds.
‘How about some chips?’ Molly offered and grinned triumphantly at the spark of interest in his eyes. He really was a sucker for a good batch of chips. ‘Come on,’ she said and tugged him down a side street. ‘I know a place.’
Her favourite fish and chips place was just down the street from St Bart’s and she eagerly pulled him along behind her. His grumblings only made her smile bigger. He was really a big softie on the inside and, like Sherlock, his gruffness was only a defense to protect himself.
Which was another reason why she loved him.
Finally arriving, she pushed open the door and they were hit by a blast of heat and the smell of delicious, mouthwatering chips.
The Doctor groaned appreciatively and they approached the clerk, who was hunched over the cash register.
‘Two baskets of chips, please, Ramone.’ She smiled as her friend lifted his head.
The elderly man looked up and his jaw dropped. ‘Molly?!’
‘Hi!’ Molly’s smile faded when he continued to gape at her. Her brow furrowed in confusion. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Is every-….’ Ramone sputtered. ‘You show up here out of the blue and ask if everything’s okay, like you haven’t been missing for an entire year?!’
Molly’s eyes popped out and beside her the Doctor sucked in a breath.
Heart thundering, she slowly turned to look at him. ‘A year?! You brought me back a year late?!’
He cleared his throat. ‘To be fair, it’s hard to tell the difference between 2016 and 2017, they taste very similar.’
Nostrils flaring, Molly grabbed him by the lapel and dragged him from the shop, ignoring Ramone’s confused exclamations behind her.
‘Molly, let go! I’m not the type to be dragged about!’ He lowered his voice to a grumble. ‘Why is this becoming more common with companions, I really need to start vetting you all for violent tendencies.’
‘Not until we’re back at the TARDIS and you take me back to my own time,’ she shouted over her shoulder, uncaring of those shooting them strange looks. The petite spitfire dragging the older man dressed like a magician behind her like she was taking him to the gallows.
She stopped and spun around, shoving her finger into his chest. ‘What do you mean, you can’t?’
‘I, erm…’ He swallowed and averted his gaze. ‘It’s a fixed point now. There’s no undoing it without damaging time itself.’
A year? A whole year she’d been missing from London. More time than she’d even actually been gone!
‘Oh, oh!’ She glared at him and stomped her foot, unable to do more to convey just how… just how furious she was with him. Whipping around, she stalked away.
Blindly walking, she didn’t realize she was following the familiar path from Bart’s to Baker Street.
The Doctor trailed behind her, like a puppy dog with his tail between his legs. She would occasionally glare at him over her shoulder, but he refused to retreat.
‘Molly, please, let’s go back to the TARDIS.’
She ignored him and ran across the intersection just as it turned. She looked back to see him waiting for the thick traffic to clear and hurried her pace. Just as she turned forward, she collided with a tall, solid body. She would have fallen but for the arm wrapped around her waist.
Her eyes widened as she took in the familiar-looking aubergine button-down shirt stretched over a broad chest. She slowly looked up into the startled eyes of Sherlock Holmes.
‘Sherlock!’ She exclaimed. To see him now, after seven months of traveling the universe, her heart still raced and she knew she was still as in love with him as ever.
He remained frozen in surprise and she realized he was probably deducing a plethora of alien-and-time discrepancies about her that were confounding his logical mind.
‘I-I know it’s been a while a-and I’ve g-got a lot to explain, but- mmpfff!’
Whatever else she was going to say was cut off as he leaned down and crushed his mouth to hers. Her eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat.
What was he doing?! What was she doing?! Sherlock Holmes was kissing her! Why?! And why wasn’t she kissing him back?! …what was she supposed to do with her hands?
‘Molly,’ Sherlock broke away with a panting breath, his eyes dark and stormy. ‘I would appreciate it greatly if you would kiss me back.’
She licked her lips and stared up at hm in complete confusion, her cheeks burning bright red. ‘Erm… okay?’
This time when he pressed his lips to hers, she was a more than willing participant. His hands pulled her tight against him, as if he were afraid she would disappear if he let go. She clutched his shoulders then slipped her hands along the nape of his neck and into his hair, twirling the soft curls. He groaned appreciatively and deepened the kiss, bending her back. Everything she’d ever wanted to hear from him was said in the tenderness, almost desperateness, of his kiss.
Unfortunately, the need to breathe broke them out of their passionate embrace. Sherlock braced his forehead against hers and she tried to calm her racing heart. Sliding her hands down his chest, she could feel the thundering of his own heart in answer to her own.
‘I see you’ve found a Pudding Brain,’ a voice interrupted them.
Molly smiled as Sherlock scowled and they turned to face the Doctor. ‘Oh, sorry! Sherlock, this is the Doctor. Doctor, this…’ she looked up at Sherlock and felt her heart fill to burst. ‘…is Sherlock Holmes.’
The Doctor and Sherlock sized each other up. Molly bit her lip nervously and looked between the two brilliant, caustic geniuses in her life, both of whom she loved deeply, though very differently.
‘I suppose he’ll do,’ the Doctor begrudgingly admitted. ‘Even if he is a Pudding Brain.’
‘I don’t need your approval,’ Sherlock snapped and tightened his hold on Molly’s waist.
Molly chuckled and rested her head on his arm. ‘Actually, you do.’
Sherlock harrumphed and the Doctor smirked triumphantly.
‘Isn’t there something you need to get from the TA-ship?’ Molly covered her blunder with a discreet cough. ‘Sherlock and I need to have a little talk.’
‘Talk?’ Sherlock snorted.
Molly elbowed him and frowned. ‘Shush.’ Turning toward the Doctor, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘I’ll be there in a little bit. Promise.’
The Doctor waved his hand dismissively, trying to hide the pleased blush on his cheeks. ‘Off with you.’
Sherlock immediately pulled Molly down the street toward the black door of 221 Baker Street. She waved at the Time Lord just as Sherlock pulled her inside.
The Doctor shook his head and smiled as he turned around and strolled down the street.
He hadn’t meant to bring her back a year later. Six months, at most. Just enough to make the famous detective realize his feelings for her, so when she reappeared he wouldn’t hesitate to make them known.
Ah, well. It seemed everything had worked out just as he’d planned nonetheless.
And when he got a call from Molly nine months later asking him round for tea, he was pleased to find her sitting contentedly in 221b Baker Street watching her husband strut around the room, cradling their newborn daughter in his arms as he told her about the many adventures her mother had been on with a legendary Time Lord.
The Doctor plopped onto the sofa next to her and plunked his booted feet on the coffee table.
‘Are you happy?’
She turned toward him, a smile brighter than all the stars he’d ever shown her gracing her face. ‘Utterly and completely.’
No really it has been! I didn’t expect this blog to go anywhere when I started two years ago, I could barely draw a pony. This was merely an attempt to improve my art. Now I’ve garnered 2000+ followers from my works. Hard to believe all that time has passed by.
In short I look forward to providing a laugh for everyone this third year. Might put together an animation in stead of all those terrible gifs. Who knows. Finally I’d like to say thank you to everyone who’s been with me this far. Now onward to greatness, glory and maybe something pretty awesome.