Let’s just start with the very first interaction they have at the beginning of the series.
Zoro came down just to talk to HER. He was teaching her the way of a man and that’s just so manly and charming. She should have fallen for him, damn it! This isn’t the first time by the way… he has done this so many times.
Uhm… Franky entrusted Nami to keep Zoro’s swords.
He could just ask Luffy to do so, but then he CHOSE Nami for that task… something fishy~~.
All right! Those swords are heavy… we know but then… you can carry them around just like that…
And duh! keeping those swords with you most of the time… * meeee squealllls*
Zoro should have seen this. His gal is badass too.
O.o… I’m impressed. Nami-gal is really sumthing.
RUN! RUN to him…
If Usopp was there to catch Sanji, then I assumed she did the same to Zoro after undid the shackle. Zoro must have fallen down to his knees and she caught him. That must be the case. But damn! the scene was cut off for this to happen,
look at that drowsy face… Nami’s worried…
Ouh yes, Nami! Your man is back! [
She looks happy.
Does she love that face? That face when he’s about to go crazy… in bed. Muahahaha]
Uh… nothing… just… since Nami knew those two will most likely fight, she butted in.
No matter how Zoro hates to be ordered around, he still listens to her… (p/s: he’s looking at her, miahahaha)
Does that mean, Nami was checking him out?
YES! SHE DID. Look at how far they sat from each other yet she could notice the mushroom in Zoro’s haramaki. MUSHROOM IN ZORO’S HARAMAKI!!! ~The chemistry~
This gal did check out Zoro’s lower part… So good to know. Ah~ I’m dead.. x_x
For @casmish, because both she and Cas deserve love and cuddles.
The thing is that even though Dean has now admitted to liking chick flicks, and become comfortable with the fact that he likes cooking and cleaning and homemaking, and is even less ashamed of enjoying things that would definitely have not been ‘100% John Winchester Approved’—he has a hard time with cuddling. Not that he doesn’t like it; he freaking loves it. Dean’ll cuddle with anyone, any time, any place… he just has a hard time accepting that about himself.
Sam would probably chalk it up to the fact that he was touch-starved as a kid, and go off on some psychological bullshit tangent about how Dad didn’t create a touch-positive environment, so now Dean has a hard time admitting that he’s a total slut for any and all physical affection blah blah blah. That’s not the point.
The point is that Cas… helps.
Dean thinks he and Cas are kinda perfect for each other; their crazy matches up, they both have daddy issues, they’re learning to love themselves—whatever. They make a good, if kinda touch-starved, pair.
This is probably why they’re always cuddling.
Like now, for example.
Now, Sam is watching TV, Mom is reading in her room, and both Dean and Cas have cited exhaustion and begged off for the night. They are currently in Dean’s room, (because he has the better mattress,) in their undies, holding each other and kissing like they’re at a middle school dance.
That is to say: it’s really not going anywhere.
Which Dean knows he should find weird—after all, what is the point of kissing unless it leads to sex—but he’s just kinda… basking in the attention. Cas is all warm skin and fluffy hair and miles of pliable, relaxed muscle. He kisses like they’ve got all the time in the world, so Dean follows his example; trails his hands up Cas’s bare back, nuzzles his cheek before depositing kisses up and down his jawline. They tangle their fingers together and hum and smile and sometimes they don’t kiss at all; they just hold each other, and talk or not talk, and sleep or not sleep, and just… exist in the same space.
It’s like freakishly nice.
Dean’s favourite moments are when Cas becomes like a human octopus, when they’re so into just holding each other that everything falls away and he can love on his angel without even feeling remotely weird about it. Dean really loves running his hands through Cas’s hair at times like these—his fingers work like an instant muscle relaxant—and he’s, oddly, a huge fan of talking. Dean has said some of the most embarrassing shit he’ll ever say cuddled up with Cas in one corner or another. Things like: “M’so glad I got you, Cas” and “Love you so much I don’t know what to do with it all” and “You’re so gorgeous. Got no words to describe how gorgeous you are.” But whatever, it’s just him and Cas, and while he’s going on about how blue the angels’s eyes are, Cas is making galaxies out of his freckles so. It’s kind of a win-win.
So, yeah, Dean may have a hard time admitting that to himself that he likes this… but it’s a work in progress. Laying down, with Cas draped over him all warm and beautiful and good and like an uncanny imitation of the perfect boyfriend, he thinks the whole thing is a lot less scary.
(I was like) ‘This is kind of ridiculous because you’re twice my size and I’m holding my own.’ The funny thing that I always think about is, in Hollywood, usually people are pretty matched up. But Jared is 6-foot-4, I’m 5-foot-10. There’s a difference in reach and weight between us. So I usually like to say what Dean had in size and reach, Jess matched in crazy. Those are always funny moments to play when you have to get into a fist fight with someone that you absolutely adore. It was a lot of Jared and I just making sure that A) we were safe, but B) it looked aggressive.
Milo Ventimiglia about Jess and Dean’s fight scene
You know… If “the list” is approximately true for our modern Sherlock…
SHERLOCK HOLMES—his limits.
Knowledge of Literature, Philosophy, Astronomy, Politics- Mostly not.
Botany, Geology- Variable, limited.
Chemistry- Profound, Anatomy- Unsystematic.
Violin, singlestick, boxer, swordsman, British law- Good.
Sensational Literature- IMMENSE. He appears to know every detail of every horror perpetrated in the century. 👀👀
…It’s entirely possible that, unbeknownst to us, Sherlock has seen *and memorized* every horror movie ever made.
Just in case we were still thinking about whose head TFP happened in.
Honestly the more fandom and canon try to pit one pairing vs another the more I just wind up turning to polyshipping.
Like Genyatta and Pharmercy are both great ships, but when you mix and match them it just gets so much better?
Genji and Pharah would get into crazy sparring matches against each other, with her Ratpora suit against his cyborg body and poor Mercy’s on the sidelines just shaking her head at her dumb boyfriend and girlfriend knowing that she’ll have to patch them up when they’re done.
Mercy would probably be delighted to meet Zenyatta and discuss his approach to pacifism and the technology of his orbs while Genji is just super proud of how cool his boyfriend and girlfriend are together.
Genji and Pharah double team Mercy when she’s spent too much time in med bays and the lab, kidnapping her away to the bedroom so that they can both make sure that she relaxes. They have dumb little shitting contests where they both try to outdo each other with romantic displays until poor Angela is just flustered and overwhelmed and has to tell them both to cut it out.
Zenyatta’s knowledge of the workings of an omnic body and tantric practices combined with Mercy’s knowledge of anatomy and Genji’s calibrations give them both the chance to explore the more pleasurable parts of his cyborg circumstances.
In other words: polyships are great. Please consider polyships.
Am I the only one who notices jikook’s special chemistry?? I mean CAN NO ONE ELSE FEEL THE SEXUAL TENSION BETWEEN THEM?! I’m going crazy because I don’t know if I’m being delusional or if there really is something SPECIAL there. Am I going crazy?? or they really match each other so perfectly that I make up things in my mind? ……….
DATE: 1 September, 1944 TIME: 20:48 LOCATION: The Great Hall AVAILABILITY: Open
The laugh that bubbles from his chest, manic, shrieking, anything but princely, was mercifully drowned by the sound of glass ripping through the air, away from their unprotected heads. Of all the snakes huddled about the end of the now-dusty table, he was the first to rise, the first to stick unprotected neck into the air, which rang with such destruction that he could almost taste blood in it. Antonin’s ears rang, he could hardly feel his face, his fingers, his chest with its heaving breaths of mingled horror and thrill. Such destruction - this was a welcome fit for a man of his caliber - no matter how inconvenient for the cleanup.
Should he have regained feeling in his face, he would have felt his cheeks pulled taut, lips curled over teeth bared into a predatory smile, a manic grin - something that straddled the line between a snarl and a gleeful giggle. He could reach up and touch the tear in the sky, should his arm stretch high enough; for a blissful moment, all he could feel was the rip in the heavens, the decay of the castle, and the horror pooling at his knees. He never did enjoy the task of brushing ash from his clothing - but this show would be an exception enough.
It occurred to him, then, after a too-long moment staring up at the fire-ripped sky above, that the crowd around him was beginning to move. The high he’d felt from the sorting, from being brought like a prince into an unworthy fold, from the adrenaline of surviving such muggle-born destruction in tact gave way to the feeling of being jostled. He cursed, low and growled, defamation in a foreign tongue not threatening to add to the chaos about him. A small gaggle of first years (runts) pushed past him to gain closer access to the prefects, who seemed to be riding their own high - acting as personal shepherd for the weak and scared would be enough to get anyone off.
When, in reality, it was all destruction - did the first years know that Antonin could make just as much a mess upon their castle.
Wandering hands clutched to his arm for stability. “Do not touch -” he exclaimed, jostling away from wandering hands as his gaze flickered from the crumbling stone to the milling chaos around him. Perhaps it would have been easier with a familiar face. The crowd was blending in color now; he pushed forth to find his brood - but he could not help but look up. Should he be swept away by another house, it would be done so with his eyes upon the hole in the sky. A rip which he would be more than happy to avenge and duplicate tenfold. But his ears were still ringing. He hit at the side of his head with the heel of his hand.
“Fucking -” English felt more appropriate here, as he stumbled forth, hand upon his ear and eyes upon the sky; another hyena’s laugh, and then, “What a show.”