chair family


And here we have the He brothers in their natural habitat: staring gloomily out a window.

List of head canons for the bass family

aka cute shit i can imagine chuck, blair, and henry doing from gossip girl

-henry not letting anyone tie his tie’s except chuck until henry is old enough for chuck to teach him how to do it himself, but even then he still prefers chuck to do it for him

-henry and blair going to the park to feed the ducks, sometimes with dorota, sometimes just the two of them

-both chuck and blair alternating reading to henry before bed every night

-after chuck is done reading the spectator in the mornings, he gives it to henry to look at the comics and do the crossword puzzles that nate makes sure to put in every day just for him

-speaking of nate, he babysits a lot as do serena and dan

-nate takes henry to a basketball game and other sporting events

-blair, serena, and jenny putting on a pre-fashion show for henry to show off blair’s new lines for waldorf designs and getting his opinions and such

-henry modeling some of the boys clothes that blair designed which were inspired by him, even goofing around and modeling the girls clothes during the fashion shows bc fuck gender roles

-henry helping blair make her famous pumpkin pie for thanksgiving and baking holiday treats

-family trips to paris

-chuck giving henry his signature scarf which he wears everywhere but after a while he starts getting bullied for it. it starts as light teasing and shoving in the hallways at school but comes to physical fighting in the park one day and henry runs into his daddy’s arms crying and he and blair have to comfort their baby and have a menacing civilized talk with the bully’s parents

-henry scheming and bribing his way through minor situations in his life, although not nearly as bad as his parents (as stated by josh schwartz since henry would have a happy childhood and wouldn’t have the emotional instability and challenges that his parents faced)

-henry accompanying chuck on his daily walks with monkey

-henry spending the weekend at eleanor and cyrus’s or lily and william’s so chuck and blair can have some alone time if u catch my drift ;)))

-harold, roman, and blair taking henry ice skating during the winter

-chuck and blair bribing henry with cookies or ice cream or whatever to be on each of their sides when they’re betting on something or having an little argument/disagreement

-also chuck and blair making a bet on what henry’s first word will be (((they both lost)))

-yall know blair cried on henry’s first day of school and although chuck will NEVER admit it, he def got a little choked up when they dropped henry off

-blair being a boss at the school PTA meetings and taking control, planning everything from bake sale fundraisers to the schedule for snack time

-the basses having a family photoshoot every year which is displayed proudly in their townhouse like how chuck had that picture of him and blair in his penthouse at the empire (i know that was from a promo pic in real life, but it had to have been professionally done in gg world in order for it to be on chuck’s shelf so don’t tell me they wouldn’t have another photo sesh with their son)

-chuck teaching henry to play squash

-blair and henry watching all of her favorite movies together (breakfast at tiffany’s, roman holiday, etc)

-all of them matching or complimenting each other’s outfits in some way whenever they go to events/galas/charity balls together (i.e the boy’s bow ties matching blair’s dress, etc)

-when chuck is away on business and it thunderstorms at night, henry sneaks into his parents room and wakes blair up and says “i was checking to see if you needed any protection from the storm, ya know since dad’s not here” bc he doesn’t want blair to know he’s scared but henry jumps right then when thunder cracks and blair just smiles knowingly and lets him in to snuggle against her

-chuck not pressuring henry to take over bass industries or go into business and letting him know he should do whatever he wants and whatever his heart tells him to do in the future

-henry getting everything he wants for christmas and always having tons of toys unlike chuck when he was a kid fuck you bart :(((

-chuck and blair loving their baby boy more than anything in the world and always showing him the support and encouragement they didn’t receive as children

wow this turned out way longer than expected but idc i love my precious babies so much ok hope u cried as much as i did while writing this bye

So I decided to make Jughead and Betty British in this AU because as a Canadian I know more about Britain’s part in the World Wars than I do America’s part. Someone or some people REALLY wanted this prompt so here goes y’all, I gotchu. Also even though this is AU Betty, Jughead, and Archie are all still childhood friends, the romance between Betty and Archie never happened. This is an incredibly long one shot.

Forsythe Pendleton “Jughead” Jones the Third had not been born when the first war hit, the Great War to end all wars Jughead allowed his biting sarcasm to colour the voice in his mind.  So Jughead knew nothing about how life had been before the war. He had grown up in the failing attempts at rebuilding both the country and his family. While the Allies had won the war, the country was in shambles, historic places destroyed, families torn apart by death. His family wasn’t torn apart by death, but by survival.

His father, Forsythe Pendleton “FP” Jones Jr., was 18 when the war began, and he signed up right away,  eager to defend his home and his lovely wife. From what his mother had told him, his father was once a gentle man. Gladys and FP had fallen in love as children and married at 16, two years before the war began. His mother always thought wistfully back to their first years of marriage, saying that his father had been the sweetest man she ever knew…Not that there was much contest Jughead thought, remembering the fear that caused the hair at the nape of his neck to stand the first and only time he had met her father, his grandfather.

The war had changed FP Jones, it made him hard. The father that Jughead knew was a drunk and an angry one at that. When his father wasn’t sleeping, he was either in a rage, or at the tavern. They, like most people at the time, were barely scraping by, but the war had destroyed FP’s mind so badly that it didn’t matter to him.

Since Jughead’s childhood had been so cold and broken, he turned to the written word. When he was a child, it meant reading every single word that crossed his path. Eventually he began to frequent a bookstore, even though he didn’t have the money to buy anything. There he met Fred Andrews, the owner of the shop, a man who, instead of being made cold by the war, as his father had, was instead made warm. Fred always told Jughead that he had had a choice after he had seen his friends killed, either hate everyone or love everyone.

So Fred had chosen love, and had become a surrogate father to the young Jones, giving him books and letting him stay for dinner, even though the meager amount that he had wasn’t enough. Jughead also became fast friends with the man’s son, Archie, and the little girl whose mother had known Fred Andrews since childhood, Betty Cooper. The three were inseparable children, Betty and Archie always dragging Jughead into the light, Jughead always telling them stories when the days would storm.

Though things were never good, the children could never have known that they were about to get much, much worse.

“I heard something interesting.” 19 year old Betty Cooper plopped delicately into a chair at the Andrews’ family kitchen table. Jughead and Archie shared a look, Betty was always hearing things she shouldn’t, was always further into the mysteries of London than either boy thought was safe, but it didn’t matter to her what they thought was safe, if the beautiful blonde was anything, she was stubborn.  She was determined to become a journalist, even though that was not something that ‘proper ladies’ did, they both knew that Betty would, because Betty didn’t give up without a fight.

“What did you hear?” Jughead raised a dark eyebrow at her

“There’s going to be another war.” Betty replied solemnly. Fred’s eyes closed as he leaned back on the wooden counter, slumped in a manner that none of the young adults had seen from him before, but Jughead recognized the look as one he had seen many times on both of his parents, defeat.

Betty was right, as always, there was another war. Jughead originally wanted no part of it, but when his best friend, always attempting to be valiant, signed up, Jughead knew he had no choice. When they were children, Archie and Jughead had always protected each other, and that wasn’t going to change in the face of war. Even though Jughead would rather sit behind a desk and let the written word be his life, he knew that he would go to the ends of the Earth for Archie Andrews, because that is what best friends do.

The day that the train carried Jughead and Archie away, Betty was nowhere to be seen. Jughead felt his heart aching, he had wanted to see her beautiful green eyes one last time. Jughead had no illusions that there was any guarantee he would ever see her again.

Jughead Jones forgot to count on the fact that Betty Cooper was precisely as loyal, and twice as stubborn as he was. They saw her again two weeks later. Jughead had barely felt the bullet graze his arm until Archie had reached out, bringing his hand back from Jughead’s arm, coated in the dark haired boys blood. Jughead stumbled his way to the old town hall of the small city for which his regiment was fighting, the town hall serving as a medical building. The moment he made it through the doors, he collapsed to the floor.

When Jughead came to, he thought he had died and gone to heaven. The soft green eyes that he thought he would never get to see again, surrounded by the smooth halo of honey blonde hair, filled his vision.

“Hey Juggie. You need to be more careful, I was so worried about you.” As he reached up to touch her face, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through his arm. It wasn’t a dream, he definitely got shot. But Betty Cooper was here. In the thick of a war zone. With him.

She procured a flask and held it towards him,

“I’m about to pour some of this on your wound and it’s going to hurt like the dickens. Most men want a bit to drink before to handle the pain.”

“I don’t want to be FP.” Jughead explained as he shook his head, his dark curled staying matted to his head with sweat. Betty brushed the curls from his forehead and brought her hands to rest gently on either side of his face.

“You’re not your father, Jug.” Her eyes met his and he nodded. She brought her hands back towards his arm, pouring amber liquid onto the drying, darkening blood on his arm.

“FUCK” he screamed, teeth clenched. Betty wasn’t wrong, it did hurt. After she had redressed his wound, she told him that she had to go finish her rounds, but promised that she would be back, before she disappeared into the throng of people rushing around the makeshift hospital.

And she was back, as the darkness began to fall around the city and the sounds of war began to quiet for a moment’s rest, she returned to his side. They talked until the sun creeped up on the city, and the deafening sounds of violence rung in their ears.

This repeated every night. She would sneak into the cot that was barely big enough to hold him and they would lie curled up around each other, talking about the past, and the future. She told him that she had tried to enlist but had been laughed out of the office, so she became a nurse because she wasn’t going to let her best friends go risk their lives without her. They talked about how they were going to write about anything but war, how they were going to have dogs and how she would start a paper, and he would be a novelist. Their stolen moments pushed the horrors of war from the forefront of his mind. For a few hours he could think of fields of wildflowers and seeing laugh lines develop around the emerald eyes that it had taken him too long to realize that he loved.

Until the day that it was decided that he was healed enough to go back. He wasn’t healed, not really, but they were sure that there wasn’t going to be any gangrene, they had lost enough men to it to know when it would happen, and they knew he wouldn’t need an amputation.

As Betty helped him put his tunic back on, he could see the tears stream down her face as it began to crumple, her soft pink lips downturned into a frown, trying to prevent the sobs from escaping her chest. He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close, resting his chin on the top of her head, closing his eyes as the tears slid down his face as well.

“I’m in love with you, Juggie.” Betty’s confession was muffled, her face still pressed into Jughead’s chest.  Jughead remembered what his mom had given him before she had disappeared into the night when he was thirteen years old. Jughead pulled back from his tight embrace and knelt on one knee,

“Elizabeth Cooper, if I survive this, I want to spend the rest of my days with you. I’m in love with you too, and I think I have been since I was six years old.” He held up his mother’s simple gold wedding band. When she left, she told him to give it to the person he loved more than anyone, that the ring needed a little bit of luck. He didn’t know it at the time, but it had always been her. It would always be her.

“Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. He slid the ring onto her finger as he stood up to take her back into his arms. They didn’t know if this embrace would be their last, but they did know that even if the war took their lives, it would never take their love.

anonymous asked:

A next generation Hogwarts story where all of the Weasleys love and respect each other and all the cousins act like siblings and best friends even though Victoire is a whole decade older thhan the youngest and Harry just sits in a comfy chair, watching his family be amazing and beautiful and Ginny comes and sits in his lap and they smile at each other (IN L O VE) and the Burrow smells like food and there's chaos bc there's so many but no one cares they all love each other so much

This added 5 whole years to my life

anonymous asked:

For a prompt: I really want to see Lance worrying and thinking about his family on earth? Hopefully, there's a bit of fluff at the end. (Because I can't deal with bad ends...) A little off-topic though, I'm also a writer but I'm scared of writing fanfics. Like, I'm scared I will write them OOC or screw up the characters (idk) so I end up not writing at all. Do you have any tips for this because I really want to write but I never have the courage. Thank you so much!!! 💕

The thing is that with writing, it’s strictly your writing. There are not rules really when writing fanfics, you just have to do what makes you happy! Although I also struggle with trying to keep characters in character but something that’s helped me is reading popular fanfic writers, you can even re-watch and take note of the focus character’s personality and diction. 

The team took note of Lance’s groggy appearance immediately as they all gathered for breakfast. He was slouched over with sunken in eyes that seemed to broadcast a quiet inner turmoil. He absently nibbled at his food goo.

Lance couldn’t get out of his head, the others chattered around him but he paid no attention. He couldn’t, he was trapped in the deep recesses of his mind. Helpless thoughts clenching his heart in anxiety.

As he tried to reel back the thoughts they always steered back towards the one topic he didn’t want to dwell upon. Earth. 

His mama and her soft hugs, papa and their manly bonding, the twins and their mischievous pranks, his oldest brother and sister, both gone to live their lives. He wondered helplessly if they were fine, how they were coping.

Lance hated the fact that he would be another reason for their distraught, left wondering if he was dead. Usually he would be able to pull himself from these thoughts, but today was not one of them. It all started with one dream, it was a fairly innocent dream that shouldn’t have fazed Lance. But it did.

This one stuck. It had been of one particular day on earth, the day before Lance had gone off to garrison. They had had a large picnic on the beach, it was lovely. The breeze in his hair as he swam with his siblings and cousins, laughing the whole time. Then teasing the younger ones. But, the whole day there was an overcast sadness around the family. They were loosing their boy. 

Not knowing when he’d be back. 

And now, they probably think he’d never be back, that he was dead. They’re probably overridden with sadness, wishing he’d never gone to that god forsaken school.

“-nce!” Lance shook himself and looked up at the team. They were all staring at him in worry and Lance smiled. Everyone could tell it was strained, no one commented.

“Yeah?” Lance said and coughed to clear his throat. 

“Are you alright?” Shiro asked and Hunk laid his hand on Lances shoulder.

“You’ve been out of it all morning,” Hunk said and squeeze his shoulder. Lance hated the attention, he knew he was feeling down. The others didn’t need to know as well.

“I’m fine. Uh- Can I go? I… need some time alone.” Lance stuttered out, he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. He didn’t want them to see him upset.

“Sure, just…. training starts in an hour.” Shiro excused him and Lance practically bolted out of the room.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

What if Young Ian never was traded to the Indians, what would his adventures with his aunt, uncle, and cousin would there be on the ridge?

Uncle Jamie had promised him that when the house was finished, Brianna would move in with them and bring the baby with her. He’d invited Ian to join them––they’d been sure to put in more than enough rooms––but he’d had another idea he wanted Ian to consider.

“Ye ken how small the cabin is but the spot it’s on is good and it’ll no be so small for a man on his own,” Uncle Jamie had said.

“Ye mean… are ye sayin’ ye want me to have it?” Ian asked, surprised.

“Ye put as much into the building of it as I did,” Uncle Jamie pointed out. “And ye’re no a lad anymore. I’m no sayin’ ye’ll be lookin’ to wed right away…”

Ian flushed at the memory of his awkward proposal to Brianna less than a year before. There was part of him that thought he ought to have renewed his offer after they’d made it back from rescuing Roger from the camp––especially since he had gone off on his own after hearing about Brianna’s condition. Ian could see part of Brianna still hoped Roger would decide to come back to her but right now so much of her heart belonged to her new son, he was confident she would be fine if he didn’t.

And if Roger didn’t come back? Would Ian try to repeat his offer?

More likely than not she’d throw something at him if he did. She didn’t seem to appreciate her position and that whatever respect she was shown was due to Jamie’s position on the Ridge.

“But it’s no a bad thought to start preparin’ yerself for the day ye do,” Jamie continued.

Ian nodded. “I’ll think on it,” he promised.

And he did––he couldn’t stop thinking about the idea. As Brianna got the fussing baby down for the night and Auntie Claire and Uncle Jamie closed the door to their small bedroom, Ian rose from where he’d been sitting near the fire and bid his cousin goodnight. He ran his finger from the baby’s brow down his nose and watched as the pair of blue eyes crossed as he followed the movement, his eyelids following as well. Once they were so close to shutting, they fluttered a little but it was too much for the baby to force them open again and a moment later he had relaxed and was breathing with energetic force.

Brianna sighed with relief. “Thank you,” she whispered to Ian. She leaned back in her chair to build up the will to move the baby to the padded crate they she’d been using for a crib. It wouldn’t be long before he grew too long for it but as soon as the house was done Ian and Jamie had promised to start making a proper cradle that should last till the bairn could share a larger bed.

On impulse, Ian reached down and carefully lifted the baby from Brianna’s arms. He was heavier than Ian had expected yet still seemed so fragile; perhaps that was because he was so limp with sleep. Ian glanced briefly up at Brianna watching him with her baby. In the nearly two months since he’d been born, Ian had only held the baby a handful of times. Auntie Claire and Uncle Jamie were always there when Brianna needed a break and he was pretty sure Brianna still felt the awkwardness of that misguided proposal hanging between them––or maybe for her it was something to do with Roger and how he should be the one to be putting the child to bed…

Ian settled the baby into his nest of blankets and watched for a moment as the small mouth twitched with sleep. Though the child wasn’t his son, he did feel the tug beyond affection and familiarity, the tug of shared blood. His cousin’s child; family.

The chair creaked as Brianna rose and shuffled to the pallet that served as her bed, the ticking crinkling as she adjusted it to be more comfortable.

Ian nodded to her and drifted to the door of the cabin and slipped into the night. He’d begrudgingly slept in the small loft of the crude barn when Brianna first appeared on the Ridge but between the warmer weather and the baby disrupting everyone’s nights in the cabin, he was only too happy to have a separate place of his own. And if she went with the baby to the big house soon, he’d have that whole cabin to himself.

But now the thought of it being empty left him with an awkward feeling in his stomach. It was a home that deserved to hold a family within it and not in some distant future he still couldn’t quite fathom for himself––holding Brianna’s son like that… knowing that if she’d taken him up on his proposal they would be that family… It was an uncomfortable fit because it was Brianna and much as he wanted to do right by her, he was relieved she’d said ‘no,’ but the sense of having a being a family like that… of having a wife of his own, a son… Someday he wanted that, but for now he preferred what he had with Uncle Jamie and Auntie Claire, with Cousin Brianna and his new nephew.

The straw rustled as he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. In the morning he would tell Uncle Jamie he’d made his decision.

Ian didn’t want to say anything until he was able to get Uncle Jamie alone. There was a chance––though only a small one––that Uncle Jamie hadn’t mentioned his idea about Ian taking the cabin for himself to Auntie Claire.

A surprise was waiting for them when they reached the field. Ian spotted the dark mass just visible through the stalks of wheat and caught Uncle Jamie’s arm to slow him. From the size, it might be an animal of some kind.

Wary, Uncle Jamie got a firm hold of the shovel he’d been carrying. Ian raised the hoe he held so that he could lash out and strike if the creature charged. With a nod to his uncle, Ian let out a loud and high-pitched yell, somewhere between the Scottish war cries he’d heard in stories of the Rising and those he’d heard his Tuscarora friends demonstrate.

The creature started and screamed, “Jesus fucking Christ!” leaping to his feet before crying out in pain and falling back to the ground.

Uncle Jamie and Ian hurried over to see who the man might be and discovered a shaggy and filthy Roger MacKenzie sprawled on the ground and clutching at a badly injured foot.

“It’s about time ye made it back,” Ian remarked as he lowered the hoe and reached out to help Roger to stand. “I was beginning to think ye were a coward and that it wasna a mistake to sell ye off after all.”

Roger glared at Ian even as he leaned on the younger man to ease the pressure on his aching foot. Uncle Jamie didn’t seem as eager to welcome Roger to the Ridge.

“Are ye here to stay then?” he asked with his arms crossed over his chest and an elbow resting on the handle of the shovel.

“I’m here to see Bree,” Roger declared.

“And the bairn? It’s a lad––a strong and healthy lad,” Uncle Jamie told him.

“Looks like Bree.” Ian’s tone was gentler than his uncle’s. He tried to catch the stern man’s eye and signal him to ease up or help with Roger but the steely blue eyes remained locked on Roger.

“I’m here to see Bree,” Roger repeated.

At last Uncle Jamie nodded and stabbed the shovel into the soil so he could take some of Roger’s weight off his other side. “Once ye’ve seen Bree ye’ll need to see Claire. She’ll ken what to do about this foot of yers.”

Ian managed to keep up a smattering of small talk as they made their way to the cabin. Entering the yard, they could hear the baby crying inside and Roger stopped so fast they came close to all landing in a pile in the dirt.

“I can give ye some tricks for getting him to quiet if ye need them,” Ian teased. “But Bree says ye’re a singer so maybe ye’ll be able to charm him wi’out help.”

Uncle Jamie glared at him over Roger’s head but Roger was too focused on what waited for him on the other side of the door to notice. Ian reached out and fiddled with the door until Auntie Claire heard him and pulled it open from the inside.

Brianna’s gasp was loud and it startled the baby into silence for a moment before he began crying again. She glanced back and forth from her father to Ian before rising quickly from her chair and bouncing the baby as she paced about the room. They settled Roger into the chair and everyone was silent except for the fussing baby.

Satisfied that no one needed him to stay, Ian slipped out of the cabin and started back to the fields, relieved to have something else to do. He’d learned early how important it was to slip away from scenes like that; staying too long and letting your curiosity win meant you risked getting dragged into the trouble yourself––and he’d always managed to find trouble easily enough without his siblings’ help.

Uncle Jamie had wanted to clear more rocks from the land and extend the field for more planting next year. The work moved faster with two but could be started with one using the hoe to turn the soil and locate the large boulders nesting below the surface. Some could be worked out with a few careful jabs or by some strong-armed wiggling while others required the shovel and excavation around the rock before they could be lifted out. Anything too large to handle on his own he left for Uncle Jamie to help him with later.

Sweat and dirt had left his shirt a crusty, muddy mess by midday when Uncle Jamie finally showed up with a meal sent by Auntie Claire.

“Thank ye, Ian,” Uncle Jamie said as he handed over a canteen with cool spring water. “It’ll no take long to move these out. Some look like they’ll make a sturdy fence if we can stack them right.”

Ian wiped his forehead on his sleeve and resisted the urge to upend the canteen over his head; his belly screamed for it more. Taking slow sips he sighed and asked, “How was Bree when ye left?”

“They’re goin’ to make a go of it though there’s still plenty to work out,” Uncle Jamie said, looking away. “Bree didna say before but he tells me they were handfast before…” his face hardened with embarrassment as he stumbled over the delicate details. “They’ve still a bit of time before the year and a day are up.”

“They should have the cabin,” Ian suggested quickly. “When the house is done, that is. They’ll need a place for themselves like that while they settle their minds.”

“Ye dinna mind comin’ up to the big house wi’ me and yer aunt?” Uncle Jamie asked. Ian couldn’t figure out what the light behind his eyes was––amusement, relief, trepidation…

Ian shrugged and grinned. “It’s no me needs to worry,” he insisted. “Whether they take it for themselves or no, I’ll be sleeping peaceful far from the bairn cryin’ in the night. The real question is whether or no you want to have the wean disturbin’ you and Auntie Claire while ye… sleep.”

Uncle Jamie chuckled and started setting out the food while Ian dropped to the ground and started pulling off his damp shirt laying it aside to dry in the sun.

“Once we clear these stones out we should focus on finishing the house. The weather’s no rush but havin’ Roger here now…”

Ian nodded, his mouth full of bread still warm from the oven.

“And ye can start scoutin’ for a piece of land of yer own,” Uncle Jamie continued. “We can start clearin’ it before the harvest and over the winter I’ll help ye plan a house for yerself.” There was no teasing or pressure in his uncle’s face and Ian met his gaze, only gratitude and affection. “I meant what I said about wantin’ ye to have a place for when ye’re ready to settle and have a family of yer own.”

Ian nodded again as he struggled to swallow what was in his mouth without choking on it.

“I think it’ll be some time yet,” Ian managed quietly.

It was Uncle Jamie’s turn to nod. “Perhaps. Ye never know when ye’ll find her––the woman ye’ll want to marry––but ye’ll ken right away when ye do and ye’ll want to have something ready for her so ye dinna have to wait to wed her.”

“Was that how it was with you and Auntie Claire?”

Uncle Jamie grinned. “I kent right away, aye. But I’d nothing to offer her really and if it weren’t for her being in worse straits than me I dinna ken she’d ever have wed an outlaw like me. Ye canna count on the lass ye love being so desperate as you.”

“Mam always did say I had yer luck,” Ian joked. “Though usually she only said that when I found myself in trouble.”

“Aye well… if ye have my bad luck I hope ye can have whatever luck it was brought yer Auntie Claire to me as well,” Uncle Jamie said with sincerity.

Ian hoped so too.