crooked duck

you can tell the writers behind Lara’s family mission in rise of the tomb raider had no actual idea of what the UK is like in modern day because they contrived this 19th century Jane Austen-esque non drama with Lara’s parents where her mum was supposed to marry an earl (implying arranged marriage on the basis in class exists in 21st century Britain) but GASP she fell in love with a lowly…. lord? the fuck? who went to one of the top universities in the world?? and isn’t just a lord but a lord of Parliament aka he makes laws??? he’s not even elected he INHERITS the power to affect British laws?????? so he comes from a line of aristocracy????? and we’re supposed to feel sorry for Amelia for falling in love with such a peasant croft??????? and her family is somehow against this because he’s too “low class”??????? and they look down on him because he’s a professor at oxford????? oxford university????? where like 50% of students are from private schools??????? lord croft WHO OWNS A FUCKING MANSION IN SURREY???? SURREY THE WEALTHIEST COUNTY IN THE UK?????????? AND WE’RE SUPPOSED TO FEEL SORRY???? ???????????????


You fall asleep against their shoulder while they are talking to you…


Youjin will be surprised to find you asleep, but once he sees your sleeping form cuddled up against him, he’ll melt into a puddle. You’ll nuzzle into Youjin’s neck, the soft vibrations of his voice rumbling against the bridge of your nose. Youjin holds you to his side, your legs draped over his lap. His heart glows at the closeness of your form and the soft press of your palm against his chest. The gently lull of Youjin’s voice humming against your skin sends you drifting off to sleep. Youjin notices almost immediately that you’ve left this world by the slackness of your fingers and the heaviness of your breath. His lips pull up into a warm smile, his fingers tightening over your waist. It shows a great amount of trust to fall asleep in the arms of someone and Youjin cannot comprehend how you ended up here in his arms. If he didn’t already know he loved you, he certainly would know it now. He presses his lips against the top of your head and whispers “I love you,” before lifting you into his arms and carrying you to bed.


Seungjun will probably coax you awake if you fall asleep while talking with him. He doesn’t like to be alone especially when he’s in the middle of a conversation. You lean your head against his shoulder as Seungjun carries on about some interesting comic he’s found. You really are trying to pay attention, but work went long and as much as you love how passionate Seungjun gets, you can’t keep your eyes open any longer. Seungjun feels your weight get heavier and heavier against his arm, but he doesn’t notice you’ve checked out until a soft snore leaves your lips. He turns to you, his lower lip puffing out into a pout. He doesn’t melt at the sight of your sleeping form or take a moment to remember the shape of your lips or the flutter of your eyes. He already melted over the sight of your sleeping form the first night you spent together and every night there after. He’ll want you awake so he can finish his story and then carry you to bed. Seungjun won’t want to startle you awake, he’ll try to gently ease you back to reality. He’ll start by massaging your hands and if that doesn’t work, he’ll move to tracing the shape of your eyes and nose and then mouth. If you’re zonked out, he’ll eventually give in and let you sleep. If he’s able to wake you, he’ll finish up whatever tale he was in the middle of and then insist on getting you to bed.


Inseong won’t know what to do if you fall asleep on him. During a night in, you’ll end up cuddling on the couch talking about the happenings of the day. Inseong pulls you into his chest and tucks your head under his chin, hands clasping together over your waist. Oblivious to the world, Inseong won’t notice when you fall asleep on him until he shifts to ask you your thoughts on whatever he’s been carrying on about and discovers your eyelids closed and mouth parted gently open. Inseong will freeze up. He won’t know what to do. He’ll worry that he bored you and then he’ll worry about your health. Maybe their not getting enough sleep. Why aren’t they getting enough sleep? A strand of hair falls gently over your eyes, tickling your skin, and your nose twitches, halting the whirlwind of anxiety in Inseong’s heart. A smile lights Inseong’s face and all his worries evaporate as he finally takes note of your sleeping form, cheek smushed against his chest, every limb slack and peaceful. He brushes the lock from your face and presses his lips gently against the top of your head before making himself comfortable, nuzzling his cheek against your head. He’ll hold you until you wake or he finds himself joining you in the land of dreams.


Jihun, impish by nature, is bound to play some sort of prank on you. You rest your head against Jihun’s shoulder, breathing in the fabric softener scent of his sweater. Jihun squeezes you to his side, pressing his lips gently to the edge of your hairline. You’d both had long difficult days and took solace in spending your evenings in silence together, but tonight was different. Jihun was particularly talkative. Some nights he was just like this, where his mouth was nonstop, and as much as you wanted to listen, the smooth timbre of his voice lulled you to sleep. Jihun will notice you’ve fallen asleep pretty quickly and will be disappointed you left him alone in the waking world. He’ll pause a moment to watch you take in slow breath after slow breath before Jihun smiles that devious grin and brushes the hair from your face. He tickles his fingers down your jaw line, watching your face closely. Then, he’ll gently brush his index finger across the tip of your nose. When you twitch in response his smile only grows bigger and he flickers his fingers over your nose again, watching as your face twists. Finally, he gets the desired reaction: you awake, swatting at your nose. He lets out a long hard laugh at the exasperated look you give him. You shove his shoulder, which only makes him laugh more. When you try to get up, he’ll pull you back into his arms and nuzzle his face against your neck murmuring how much he loves you.


While Heejun is rather playful and sarcastic, I see him melting over the sight of you falling asleep on him, but only while you’re asleep. The second you wake up you bet he’s going to tease you about it. You rest your cheek against Heejun’s shoulder, his head falling to rest against the top of your head. You’d just finished up dinner and were enjoying simply being in each other’s presence. Heejun takes your hand in his own, caressing the side of your thumb with his own. The quiet of the room billows out around you when Heejun starts humming softly, his voice vibrating against your skin. You squeeze his hand as your eyes fall shut, taking in the soft gravel of his voice. You get so comfortable you drift off. Heejun will notice you’re asleep the second your hand goes slack against his. He’ll pull back to gaze at your sleeping form, your cheek smushed against his shoulder, mouth parted gently open, eyelashes casting shadows across your cheekbones. A small smile lights his face and he has to resist the urge to trace the slope of your nose and the curve of your jaw. When he noticed you’d fallen asleep, his singing stopped and the lack of sound causes you to stir from your slumber. When your eyes open, Heejun flashes a crooked smile and you duck your head into his chest, mumbling a soft “Sorry”. Heejun’s chest rumbles with a light laugh, “Get bored with me?” You gently slap his shoulder, “Yes, very. Your singing is so boring it rendered me unconscious.” Heejun smiles, “Well in that case,” and then he begins belting out the most obnoxious version of the original score of Knock you’ve ever heard.

i was rereading the manga and i just love asahi and shimizu’s friendship????? so of course uneccessary headcanons that nobody asked for are going to follow

- when everyones screaming during practice they sit together on the bench and silently judge from a safe distance

- shimizu taught asahi to braid but he can only manage the simple ones

- he frequently asks her to french braid his hair so sometimes before practice when the team’s sitting around stretching shimizu just walks up and silently starts braiding

- the first time this happened everyone went apeshit but theyre used to it now

- at competitions shimizu will usually ask asahi to help her carry stuff because nobody will hit on her when hes around its like having a human shield

- they exchange product tips cause long hair is a damn pain and the shitty stuff out there outnumbers the good by far

- shimizu is exceptionally blunt around her friends but asahi knows she doesnt mean anything bad by it

- “azumane, your spine is going to be crooked if you keep ducking your head like that.”

- “the way those carrots are cut makes them look like tapeworms.” “…shimizu.”“what?”

- once asahi tried on her glasses and the team died cause they both looked good and it was too much

- they enjoy lowkey picking on daichi together

- “shimizu, these are hello kitty bandaids.” “yes they are. now stop hiding that cut the antiseptic isnt scary.”

ginny/luna/neville. the mating cycles of nargles.

“Impossible,” Ginny says, laughing, and Neville, suppressing a laugh of his own, pours her another glass of red wine, “you’ve made that up, I’m sure of it,” and Luna pushes back her mass of pale hair and looks owl-eyed at both of them across her cluttered kitchen table and places a thoughtful finger on her chin. 

“But I haven’t,” she says mildly. “The days are much longer there, you know.” 

“But Luna,” Neville says earnestly, “there still wouldn’t have been time for all those eggs to hatch—”

“Oh, god,” Ginny groans, “we’re talking in circles. I need to pee. When I get back, let’s agree to move on from the mating cycles of Nargles, shall we?”

Luna and Neville flash identical smiles at her as she rises from the table and, making her way through Luna’s cramped crooked hallway (ducking under the silver baubles hanging from the ceiling, tucking in her elbows so as not to knock the photos from the walls), a rush of fondness for her two closest friends overwhelms her. A year ago, when she and Harry had split, she’d thought she’d never feel she fit somewhere ever again; but she and Neville and Luna had all fallen into the same orbit, and after countless nights crashing on each other’s sofas and eating each other’s wobbly attempts at adult cooking and getting tipsy on Firewhiskey together she has learned that there are ways to arrange one’s life other than how her parents did. 

She treasures them: Luna’s bright eyes and Neville’s touch, kind and gentle.

When she returns to the kitchen, warm with wine and affection, Luna is standing against the counter and Neville has a hand on her breast. 

“Ginny,” Luna says, a little winded, when their eyes meet. Neville turns his head, his face flushed, but doesn’t move away.

“Hey,” he says. 

“…hey.” Heat spreads fast through her body, like fire along an oil slick. “So, are you two…” 

“No,” Neville says quickly, as Luna says, “yes.”

“We are now,” she clarifies. “Or at least we seem to be.”

Ginny nods, feeling rather like there’s something obstructing her throat. Wordlessly, she looks at them. Neville, his blush now extending to his ears and all the way down his neck, moves his hand just a fraction over the top of Luna’s sweater. Luna’s head tips slightly back. Sensation rolls through Ginny’s stomach, a dip like dropping suddenly while on a broom, and heat surges between her legs.

“Oh, god,” she says rapidly, “oh, god, please don’t send me away.”

“No, no,” Neville replies, earnest, and Luna says, “Well, come here, then.”

Ginny strides across the room but stops just short of touching them. Luna’s neck is long and elegant and she smells inexplicably of watermelon-flavored bubble gum and Ginny bends down to kiss the skin just above her collar. Neville puts a tentative hand on Ginny’s breast, too, as if in solidarity with the one on Luna’s, and Ginny remembers that she has certainly had more sexual experience than the both of them combined and gets down to the important business of bossing them around. 

“Shirt off,” she tells Luna, and between the three of them they manage to extract her from her sweater. Her bra is surprisingly delicate, pale blue with lace trim, and Ginny wants to put her mouth all over it.

“I never thought,” Neville says, voice swollen with suppressed feeling, “I never thought…” His eyes are glistening. 

Ginny kisses him deep. “I never thought a lot of things would happen,” she murmurs. 

“It seemed so impossible.”

“The mating cycles of Nargles,” Luna pipes up, and when they both turn startled glances on her she says, “Not impossible. You just have to renegotiate your understanding of what can be imagined.”

“The mating cycles of—” Neville begins. Ginny swears, saying, “I’ll give you the mating cycles of—”

“Oh,” says Luna breathlessly, “oh.” 

The mating cycles of Nargles,” she mutters. “Honestly.”

A Flower

Dean knew absolutely nothing about flowers. He knew that there were pretty ones, ones that looked like weeds, ones that were way too girly, and ones that you only got for your mother on Mother’s Day. So when he found himself standing in a flower shop with the immense urge to get his boyfriend something, he tried his hardest to pick one that he thought Cas would love.

“Can I help you?” A cheery eyed woman asked as she gave him a warm smile.

“Um-yeah.” Dean ducked his head and felt the redness seep into his cheeks. “I was-uh-looking for something for my boyfriend. He likes flowers.”

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anonymous asked:

imagine bucky figuring out that steve's in love with him

All things considered, it takes an astonishingly long time.

A long time even if you don’t count the 70 year blank space in their history, which Bucky does not, thank you very much.

It’s just - one morning he wakes up, trundles out to the common room and Steve’s there, smearing jam a bagel. He looks up, waves the butter knife in a sort of offhand domestic salute, says “ Morning, Buck,” and smiles softly, a little crooked around the edges.

Bucky blinks, and there’s a sudden rushing sound in his ears, as though all the air has left the room.

Pepper and Sam like to watch movies where the main characters see each other light up like beacons across a crowded room, where there are huge portable radios playing love songs, cross country flights to the Empire State building, and usually a lot of people kissing in the rain. Bucky has watched them mostly because he genuinely likes Pepper and Sam (and popcorn), but also, secretly, because there’s almost always a happy ending.

Bucky figures that of all life’s indulgences, watching movies with a happy endings is a pretty minor one, even if it turns out that love on screen and love in real life look very different.

It’s not something he realizes (not something he’s thought about, not exactly) until he’s standing in the kitchen barefooted and wearing flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt with a hole in the armpit, he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet, the sun is streaming in bright and morning pale, and Steve is sliding him a plate with toast, expression masked in sleepiness and bordering on shy, except that it’s Steve, and Bucky knows every single one of his faces -

Everything about the last year slots neatly and concretely into place.

A freezer always stocked with frozen Oreos.

The sports section of the newspaper, folded neatly on his bedside table.

Hot coffee every morning, with two sugars, the way he’s always taken it.

Steve’s hand on his back, rubbing small circles between his shoulders while Bucky tries remember to how to breathe.

A picture of the two of them taped to the inside of the kitchen cupboard, soft and boxed around the edges.

That stupid, crooked smile, a duck of the chin. A thousand minute details, hidden in plain sight.

“Good morning,” Bucky breathes.

elinesama  asked:

I was wondering, could you/would you be so kind, as to write me a one shot where Jamie has to tend to a wounded Claire? But she's being stubborn this time instead of him? :) No rush and no hard feelings if you don't want to! :) just wanted to ask <3

Thanks for the prompt! This takes place sometime when Jamie and Claire are on the road to war. Hope you enjoy it :) Also to everyone else who has sent me prompts, I am getting to them, I promise! 

“Oh god, Jamie….Christ!”

“I…I  ken, Sassenach. Be still, lass.”

“Please,” I gasped, chest heaving as I held onto his hand tightly.

“Just one…more! There ye go. It’s over.”

Panting against the tree, my shoulders sagged in relief as the pain ebbed a bit. I had been foraging in the forest for juniper berries to build up my rations for winter months ahead. Some of the men had been showing signs of scurvy despite my efforts to keep them filled with Vitamin C. Try as I may to get these bloody highlanders to eat fruits and greens, they still were deeply suspicious and not to fond of the bitter taste, including the highlander in front of me currently cleansing my wounds.

I should have waited until the morning light, but with our schedule as rough and unpredictable as it could be, I needed to hunt before we were on the road again. The light was fading as I had started my search. I had forgone my shoes and went only in my stockings. The blisters on my feet were too unbearable to endure even a few more minutes in those tight prisons.

“Idiot,” I mumbled under my breath as Jamie wrapped cloth around my bloodied foot.

After finding my berries in the last of the light, a few hundred yards from camp, I had stepped on a few spurs on my path back. Their sharp ends piercing through the skin of my left foot, some embedded at least half an inch into my skin. Jamie had found me a few minutes later, cursing to myself while trying to muster up the courage to pull the evil spurs out.

“Well, I ken I’m no a healer like you, Sassenach. But I thought I was getting along.”

Despite my grievances, I laughed. “Not you, me.”

A deep rumbled came from his chest as he stood and looked down at me. “Well, I’ll no say it’s the smartest thing ye’ve ever done. Come now.”

He stooped to take me into his arms to carry me back to the camp.

“No! I can walk, thank you,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster under the circumstances.

Deciding not to argue with me, Jamie simply stepped back and watched me with amused eyes as I tried to hop up on one foot using the tree as support. He watched me struggle for only a moment as I contemplated the ground before me and how I was to walk back with my pride included.

Sighing deeply, he ducked quickly and I was in his arms in less than a second.

“I said I could-

He cut me off. “I ken what ye said, Sassenach. But I’m tired and would like to get back to the tent before dawn.”

I crossed my arms in embarrassment as he walked back to the camp. The fires of the men burning brightly as twilight faded into the night, letting some of the stars peek out behind the clouds. Jamie ducked under tree branches and nodded to the men on watch as he held me to him, his fingers soothing against my tensed shoulders.

When we reached our tent, he gently laid me on the few blankets we had taken with us and reached for the whiskey that was tucked away in the corner under my torn shift that I had yet to mend.

He sat down by my feet and lifted my foot for inspection, unraveling the cloth and squinting to see in the dark. The blood had congealed and was now sticky, but the cuts were also covered in filth and dirt from the earth.

Jamie frowned and very gingerly brushed the grim away. “I’ll need to wash it out, Sassenach.”

Sighing, I reached for the the flask. “I can do it, you don’t have to.”

He eyed me for a moment before setting the whiskey aside and straddled me abruptly. I blinked in surprise as his face was suddenly an inch from my own. He smiled at that and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead while his hand ran through my curls.

“Let me take care of ye. Ye are always mending me along with all the others. Let me sooth your wounds for once.”

I brushed my fingers down his cheek, feeling the pleasant scratchiness from his scruff. His eyes were as tender as the stars as he looked at me and my heart fluttered like a butterfly’s wing. I leaned up an inch and kissed his soft mouth, his lips slightly chapped from the cold and wind.

“Alright,” I whispered into his mouth.

His face turned into a crooked smile and he ducked down to doctor me.

A few moments of cursing later, he had my foot disinfected, wrapped with fresh cloth, and tucked the few blankets we had around me.

“Now, I have to go and see to the men. Can ye promise to stay here until I return?”

My eyes were closed in bliss at being off my feet for a time despite the throbbing of my foot and made a noise of consent to him as I was too comfy to even manage a word.

I felt the vibration from his chest as he laughed lightly at my form. “Good.”

Then, I felt the warmth of his lips briefly and the ghost of the breeze as he ducked out of the small tent.

I peeled my eyes open just in time to see him walking away while rucking up his kilt to scratch his bottom. Smiling at the sight, I decided to try and stay awake after all. For there was no way better to fall asleep then with his arse cupped in my hands.