finger fancy

anonymous asked:

I have a demon character with horns. Can horns break? If so, is it painful? can it heal / grow out? Thanks, and love your blog!

An excellent question my friend. It depends on what sort of horns we’re talking about.

(Ram Image Source)

Animals with true horns, which are mostly ruminants like the ram and friends, which is also the classical demon look, have a core of living bone in the center of the horn. The outer layer is composed of thick keratin, but it is the shape of the living bone core that dictates the shape, size and direction of the horns. The living bone core is often much smaller than the keratin component.

(Goat skull showing bone core of horns)

The keratin has no nerves and little blood supply. The living bone core has a whole bunch of nerves, an impressive blood supply (it is bone after all) and if you break the horn too close to the skull then you will also have a big whopping hole into the frontal sinus.

This would be at least as painful as breaking one of your bones.

Horns can certainly heal, but they often heal in a not quite right manner. If you haven’t completely fractured off the living bone then the shape template for the new horn will be different. If your character has lost the living bone core, but still retains the germinal layer of cells around the base, then they can develop scurs.

A scur is like a remnant horn growing without a template. They often occur when de-horning hasn’t quite been done right or after trauma. They have an unpredictable shape, can grow in any direction, and are frankly quite annoying.

(A particularly funky scur)

These are often tipped (cutting off a portion near the end) and sometimes have no blood supply. They have no feeling, and can twist around to grow into other areas of the animal’s head.

There are other structures animals have which we often refer to as ‘horns’, even though they’re not true horns like these.

(Rhinoceros image source)

Rhinos do not have a living bone core in their horn. You can cut off parts of these horns, they’re made of keratin and can be thought of similar to a very fancy finger nail.

But uh, don’t be tempted to do it like the poachers do it, where they cut a straight line including both horns and part of the skull. That is going to be the equivalent of fracturing a true horn at the base and entering a sinus (or nasal cavity in this case). I’m not posting those pictures on here.

But lastly, another anatomical feature we humans sometimes think of as ‘horns’ are antlers.

Antlers are dead bone with no covering when mature. They are shed every year. When they are mature they have no feeling and no blood supply except at the very base. While they are growing they have a good blood supply,  but when mature they are inert. Antlers don’t grow bigger as such, they are shed each year and regrow, sometimes into a bigger or more pronged shape, depending on the species.

So take your pick. I don’t know which sort of horns your demon has, but I hope that’s answered your question.

4

Fandom:
Riverdale
Imagine:
Being soulmates with Jughead Jones

A/N: This was a request from anon and I hope they like it xx


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Do You Miss Me (at all) 2 (Sherlock x reader)

A/N: HERE IT IS SORRY IT TOOK LONGER THAN SUPPOSED TO BUT HEY HERE IT IS!! Hope the gif shows (other vice I’ll fix it next week) Here, for you who asked @foureyedsiopao @presidentmaggie @emilypkuzu @kissed-by-white-wolf @awkwardlyfiona @eliselulu23 @libsybum @silvermisst @fandomlover03 @kpafb-love (sorry for the tags, I took awfully long to fix them)

Chapter one 

http://all-fandoms-fiction.tumblr.com/post/156836900444/do-you-miss-me-at-all-sherlock-x-reader-part-1


You were standing by the window, the view led to the quiet street. Only a car or two passing by in every fifteen minutes. It was unordinary for your corners to be so peaceful. You had just come from the shower, your hair still moist but not dripping water over your shoulders. You had a robe on, the right side sliding down your shoulder and you didn’t bother to pull it up. You weren’t paying close attention to the traffic or the people passing by your house with their umbrellas hold high above their heads, shielding from getting wet.

The day had been bright, the sky cloudy, hiding the sun that tried peaking through the fog. It had rained softly, not being able to wet you completely as you came home from work/school that day. You had suspected that morning that you probably shouldn’t go by bike, but did it anyways.

The second you got home you went and took a shower for your hair had tangled in the wind and rain as you rode home as fast as you could. You had got sweaty and had to change clothes, putting the ones you had worn earlier that day to the laundry. You didn’t feel like dressing up, knowing you only wanted to stay home, make something to eat and sit by the window, watching tv or going through internet on your computer or phone.

It had been four days now since you had seen Sherlock and that day was the one when you broke up with him. Or you had broken up. What ever. The memory still hurt you, your chest tightening as your mind went through the events and you shook your head, retreating from the window. You went and sat on a chair next to your kitchen table, your hands on the table, your fingers intwined. You found yourself wondering had you done the right decision. Had you ever even been meant to date the great detective in the first place?

You sighed. Your fingers fiddling over each other and you let your gaze fall on the table. Your phone was there, close to your reach but you fought against checking had you got any new messages or missed calls. You had kept it mute as you knew John and Mrs. Hudson would at least be the ones calling after you, but you weren’t on the mood to talk with them. You had witnessed Sherlock trying to reach you twice the day after your break up, but you weren’t ready to call back to him. You figured he had already given up, or wanting to just apologize for waisting your time, but leave it be.

You got up to check your fridge. You had nothing particular on mind what you would cook and to be fair, your fridge was usually empty and narrowed your possibilities of making anything too fancy. Your fingers wrap around the handle and open the door to witness the already familiar sight. There was a half empty ketchup bottle, butter, potatoes and some orange juice. You would have to go shopping. You slammed the door of your fridge and groaned in frustration to the thought of leaving your apartment. You had hoped you could just spend the rest of the day,

You stomped to your closet, muttering and growling at the thought of having to get dressed. You didn’t dry your hair, only combing it so it wouldn’t be all over your face and got dressed. You decided to put something comfy yet descent on so you wouldn’t look as bad as you felt. You already had your hair looking like a bird’s nest, or so you thought, and wearing a hoody and sweat pants would only make you stand out from the crowd. And not in a good way. A pair of black leggings, a long shirt that reminded more of a dress and a warm, long coat. You had decided to go by foot, probably just get some take away, not in the mood of cooking, taking with you your wallet and phone that you shoved in your coat’s pockets. You didn’t bother carrying umbrella with you. You wouldn’t go too far from your house. Just in case you still ended up putting water proofed shoes on and wearing a scarf you could pull over your head if it’d start raining cats and dogs. On your way to the closest coffee shop you started longing for something else. You didn’t feel like going to buy a coffee, bread and some muffins from the near coffee shop so you let yourself pass the boutique, walking further away from your comfort zone. Your home street. 


Sherlock stood close to the window with the view of the street in his living room. He had stood there for fifteen minutes now in silence, but it wasn’t anything he’d never done before. Sherlock had John as his company and even if the both men were there in silence it wasn’t bothering them. Quite the opposite actually, John enjoyed peacefully sitting on his chair as Sherlock kept to himself, doing and thinking what ever he would. John had, for Sherlock’s sake, stopped talking about you after the break which he had heard of. John had been informed of this by Mrs. Hudson and just trying to get a confirmation Sherlock was hard enough but he didn’t stop there. He kept pestering him by telling him why he should call you back, try to make up with you and questioning him why you had broken up in the first place to which he answered that it had been hundred precent your idea. To this John had admitted that maybe you had done them both a favor as it was clear that Sherlock wasn’t up to it. To this Sherlock reacted in a way which was both childish and stupid. He stopped talking. 

It had taken Sherlock only a day to get over what John had said to him, but still he kept quiet, only greeting John and answering if he asked anything. John on the other hand had come up with a solution of not bringing your name up in their two to three lined conversations. He knew he had in some level hurt Sherlock by what he had said and also knew he wouldn’t be up to discuss of you with him. For now at least. 

Sherlock let his eyes wander over the street. His hawk like eyes studying every passing by human while he deduced them from afar. He kept himself occupied all the while until his eyes fixed up on a person, person he knew. It had been too long for his liking since the last time you had been near and now that he finally saw you again he couldn’t stop himself from admiring how you looked. Of course he saw your wet hair, but it was nothing. You looked stunning by just being there. By only existing it was enough to make Sherlock’s mind race and there he understood, the realization hitting him like a lightning. He missed you more than he had known or let out. He needed to talk to you. Sherlock’s eyes had met yours. You had stopped to gaze up at his window, curiosity taking over you as you had tried not to make any eye contact with the house of your ex boyfriend’s. Your eyes went wide as you spotted Sherlock on the window, staring back at you intensively. He eyed you in a way that made you feel uncomfortable. It was too intense and it made you feel vulnerable. 

“John, didn’t you say you were going for a walk today?” Sherlock didn’t let his eyes leave your form. You had been walking slowly enough for him to set everything ready. John lifted his eyes from the news paper he had been reading. His eyebrows furrowed he looked at his best friend’s back that was facing him. “No. I never said that.” He folded the paper and put it on the table next to him. “Oh right. You were supposed to go buy groceries.” Sherlock tried to act as if he really had heard John say that, but really he was just letting out the lines that appeared in his head. “Now off you go, take my card with you. It’s on the table.” He hurried his shorter friend and took his violin to his hands and before John could even think of protesting he started playing. 

Muttering, John got up, took the card and went to get his jacket. He was about to head down the stairs when Sherlock stopped playing to say, “Oh and no need to hurry back. Take your time. Something like an hour?” It sounded more of a question than an order. It wasn’t a question for John though, but to Sherlock himself. “A one hour?” John snapped. “Right. Three is more like it.” Sherlock nodded to himself, lifting the violin to his shoulder again and said, “Thank you, John.” and started playing again. 

John left the apartment in rage, thinking of being away over three hours just to bully Sherlock even if he wouldn’t even notice him being gone. When Sherlock heard the door slam close he put the violin away, his eyes still on you. 


You had been trying to avoid his stare for awhile, but not managing to keep walking. You were thinking of backing away, going back home and hiding under your blanket. You knew you were stronger than this, but the demanding state he had given you made you feel awkward and, for some reason, hurt. 

You stood on the other side of the street, opposite of the 221B apartment when you saw John exit the building you had been avoiding by your eyes. He looked pissed. As if he had fought with Sherlock and you were sure he had. He pulled at his coat, a frown on his face as he took the steps down from the doorway. He looked around and when his eyes met yours he smiled warmly. You couldn’t but smile back. A laugh that you couldn’t hear left John’s mouth and he shook his head. Now he understood why Sherlock had been so determined by kicking him out. 

John approached you on the other side of the street, he hugged you, still smiling. “Hello, (Y/n).” He said while his eyes took in your form. “Hey.” You said almost shyly. “So, what brings you here?” He supported his weight on his right leg, crossing his arms as he grinned at you, suggestively. “Just shopping. Thought of getting some fast food.” You kept the conversation clear, but couldn’t help it from getting awkward and making yourself seem distant. You hadn’t seen John in awhile too, and ignoring his calls made you feel guilty. The smile on John’s face vanished. “You’re not here to see Sherlock?” The sound of his name made your heart skip a beat. “No.” You said and looked away. 

Your eyes wondered to the window, taking a glance of Sherlock who impatiently tapped his foot to the floor, still staring at you. “You need to talk to him.” John tried to convince you, he sounded a bit desperate. “I’m not ready to see him.” You almost angrily answered, looking at John under your eyelashes. The sudden change of your tone made John unfold his crossed arms from over his chest. He looked at you with soft eyes. “He wants to talk to you, (Y/n). He kicked me out just so he could be alone with you.” He told you. You hesitated. You didn’t think you would be ready to face Sherlock or did you want to. Then again you knew you would need to if Sherlock had decided it to be necessary. 

“I don’t know, John.” You whispered. You looked away, your mind was drifting back to the day you left Sherlock, but before you got too deep your phone vibrated in your pocket. 

GET INSIDE FOR GOD’S SAKE 

-SH

Your eyes widened at the rude text. You looked up to see Sherlock stuffing his phone to his pocket and his eyes to fix on you. “Then again I don’t think I have a choice.” You said and showed the message to John. “Guess you better hurry.” John said and waved you goodbye. He wished you luck and you knew you would need it. You see John walking to the direction where you came from, with a sigh you gaze up again and see Sherlock with an arched eyebrow. You wanted to snap at him and yell, “Alright I’m coming!!” But you would only embarrass yourself since he couldn’t hear you, so you settle for glaring at him and stomping inside the house. 

You get up the stairs, slightly surprised by Mrs. Hudson not peeking from her apartment to see who it is. She was probably busy or out. Sherlock was still standing by the window, but instead his eyes fixed out side he was turned towards you. His hands in his pockets, an unreadable expression on his face. “Took you long enough.” He ended up saying, his eyes fixed on the floor. 

You wanted to hit him or facepalm yourself. “That’s what the staring was about?” You groaned. “You tried to invite me in? I can’t read your mind, Sherlock.” You two stood in silence until Sherlock made eye contact with you. He cleared his throat to get your attention which he had lost for a second. “So how are you?” You couldn’t help but feel like being slapped in the face. “I’m good…” You answered, not sure was it a lie or a truth. “So, did you solve the case?” 

“I didn’t invite you in so we could discuss about the case.” Sherlock groaned. 

“You might not but ever considered I want to know?” You argued with a strong but calm tone. “Did you solve it?” You asked. 

“Yes, I did.” Sherlock muttered which made you curious. You eyed him playfully, him giving you a glare, hinting ‘Don’t you dare’ but it only encouraged you. So you asked, “How?” Sherlock tried to find the wall next to the fire place more interesting than you and your words, but you waited patiently until he sighed, “I waited for another murder…” “Would you look at that.” You chuckled. “Don’t say ‘I told you so’!” Sherlock pointed at you. “I wasn’t going to.” You put your hands on your hips. “It’s just nice to hear you’ve solved it. It was really getting to you.” Your voice was soft and shy by now. 

“Why are you always so understanding?” Sherlock sighed. “Sometimes it’s a blessing sometimes it’s a curse. I tend to follow decisions I make that only please others.” You had to admit, it pained you. Maybe you were sometimes just so shy to tell how you felt and what you wanted? Or you didn’t think you deserved to be heard? “You ever do anything for yourself?” You didn’t know the answer to that. Then you spotted an expression on Sherlock’s face, he looked at you, worried and bothered. The next question made your heart ache. “Is that why you broke up with me?” 

“It seemed to be the best solution.” You looked away. You were about to start crying and didn’t want him to see. You couldn’t break now. “Just tell me why I’m here. You invited me.” You stressed the word invited. “You didn’t answer my calls.” Sherlock said. “I wasn’t ready.” You admitted. In shame you looked away. “And if you had something important you could’ve texted.” “Would’ve you answered?” He asked and took a step closer. “No. I wouldn’t.” He knew you would say that. 

“Listen, I’m…” Sherlock’s voice died down. He was now right in front of you. You could touch him if you just moved your hands that had fallen to your sides. “You don’t have to say anything, Sherlock. It just wasn’t meant to be.” You were struggling to keep the tears in. “I don’t believe that.” And with that said he leaned closer, his hands on both sides of your neck, holding you gently. He kissed you, and you didn’t pull away. You let his soft lips collide with yours, your hands reaching for the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. 

When Sherlock pulled away he kept close, his forehead touching yours. His eyes were looking at you in a gentle way, he was still holding you. “I missed you, (Y/n).” He whispered. “And I think I need to apologize for what I said and I understand why you left, but if there is any chance for us to try again-” 

“I missed you too, Sherlock.” You smile and lean in to kiss him, this time more passionately. “How long is John going to be away?” 

Sherlock looked away, as if he was trying to remember but shrugged, “I might have told him to be away for three hours.” You hit Sherlock playfully on the shoulder. He laughs and pulls you to him, his hands wrapped around your waist. “You thought convincing me would take three hours?” You giggle, your nose touching Sherlock’s who was about to kiss you again. “No, but what happens next may take a bit longer.” He smirks wickedly. You want to slap him again but he decides to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull yourself closer to him. (I hope this doesn’t suck!!!)

“In Another Universe” - Digital Oil Painting

In another universe, where the tattoo on Billie’s finger says 10" instead of FOX. Hehe! (To be clear, I have nothing against Georgia or Lawrence, I think they’re grand, I just like thinking about David and Billie in a ‘what if’ sort of way.)

This is NOT a Photoshop filter, every stroke is painted by me.

Shy Girl

Prompt: The reader goes unnoticed at the job (not at all the famous type, etc) and she’s really shy but once you get to know her she is really sweet and funny. She likes Baron from the moment she lays eyes on him and so does he but neither believes the other is interested so they don’t do anything to actually get to know each other. Sexual tension and love follows that is too palpable to overlook. Cute and fluffy, maybe smutty.  @hiitsmecharlie This became really long…

@blondekel77 @wweismyguiltypleasure

@lavitabella87

@writergrrrl29

@charlitflair @lip-sync @emmarablack @lunaticfringe216 @amberhere-hi @thatonegirloncealways @queenreignsempire @debeauxmots @kittencutie245 @ilovesamizaynn @banrioncethlenn @screamersdontdance @redalternativefirefly @filthy-parade @welshwitch5 @nickysmum1909 @msgem @uberduber-loulou @cutester @harleyquinnnikki @lclb12 @imagines–assemble @wrasslin-rollins @xenofi  @daywalker666 @heilisk @racheo91 @lilmisscrisis  @alexispoo

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Everything we used to be

‘How we were’
History/Decay
Day 1

(Ao3)

“Wake up, Soldier.”

The voice is high, female, and it grates against his sensitive ears. The air reeks of bleach and the metallic sting of machinery. Jack flexes against the restraints holding him to a chair of some sort, wrists bound to the arms, calves to the legs, neck to the headrest.

He can’t see much without the visor. He notes that his entire faceplate is missing and two hazy figures hover before him in a highly florescent room. The lights burn his ruined retinas but the smell is the worst.

“Hello Soldier 76.” Another voice, this one male and on his left.

“Talon.” Jack grunts.

“Correct.” The woman states, “You were surprisingly easy to catch.”
That was a lie. He had known Reaper was there. Could feel Widowmaker’s eyes on him from wherever her web was hidden. He had let them take him.

“I see the S.E.P’s serum did little to stop the aging process.” The woman snorts, “Or heal the most basic of scars.” The cold tip of her finger runs along the scar marring his face and ends where his mouth is burned and mangled from the explosion.

“He’s also blind.” The man notes and Jack can hear him scribbling on a clipboard.

“Is extracting the information even worth it?” The woman asks, “The serum was supposed to create the perfect soldier. Look at him. One small explosion and it didn’t even take care of the wounds.”

“We can perfect it once we have what we need.” The man shrugs.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Gabriel hates computers, always has. It’s even more frustrating when your body doesn’t stay solid long enough to even press the keys. He scowls at the double monitors in front of him and hates technology with a burning passion.

“Looking for something?” Ameile’s thick accent inquiries from behind him, her legs thrown over the arm of a recliner.

“No.” He grunts.

“Perhaps the interrogation of one, Soldier 76?” She grins.
He turns to scowl at her, “No.”

Her long legs slip from the arm and as she stands her grin is practically predatory, “I take point on the next payload extraction and I’ll get you in.”

He scowls from her to the computer and back, “Fine.”

She does some fancy finger work on the keyboard and the screens flash once. One is blue and the other shows the Soldier bound to a chair with two of the head Talon scientists hovering before him.

Something hitches in Gabriel’s chest at the mangled warzone of Jack Morrison’s face. His nose is bleeding, eyes staring straight up at the ceiling. The chairs he’s in has some version of a neural headdress hanging above the white hair and a blue screen beside it.

Here’s what’s going to happen, Soldier. This is a neural interface that can extract potent memories from the medial temporal lobe of your brain. We will get to see and hear them.” The man states automatically, waving his pen at the blue screen.

And the point of all this?” Jack scoffs.

You were a Commander, Soldier. Somewhere in that ancient brain of yours is the secret to the Enhancement serum.” The man rambles on, “We are going to find it and duplicate it.” He gives Jack a disgusted once over, “Hopefully with better results than your sad outcome.

Gabriel glances down at his hand as it dissolves into smoke then forms back into a hand. Barely old, no wrinkles.

You really think they told me what was in it?” Jack laughs.

Only one way to find out.” The woman reaches over and attaches the headdress to keys points along Jack’s hairline and temples. The man walks up to the blue screen and pulls a keyboard from beneath it.

Let’s start with….your first day of the program, shall we?

The man presses a button and Jack’s shoulders tense-eyes squeezing shut against a pain Gabriel can’t feel.

The blue screen to his left flashes once, twice and then it’s like seeing the world from Jack’s eyes. He’s shaking hands with their Colonel as the older man welcomes all the new subjects to the program.

Gabriel can see himself out of the corner of Jack’s eyes, because, hell, the man IS looking at him.

Another.” The man clicks again.

This memory is familiar, Gabriel welcoming Jack into the rec room where all the older wave of recruits are lounging and playing video games.

This is where we wind down.” Memory Gabe waves and Jack nods.

Get a lot of downtime?

Memory Gabe shrugs, “No.

The memory fades and a few more flash through. So many memories that Gabriel remembers as Jack does. Longing looks, claps on the back. The horrific hangovers after injection day. Some days they both collapsed on the couch and didn’t move from each others sides.

Then the first mission they did together hovers before him. Easy extraction of hostages. Memory Gabe is leading them through a mangled building, Jack right on his tail, gun up and eyes scanning every nook and cranny of the rooms they enter. Gabe remembers being so confident going in. Jack at his six, Ana with a sniper atop the adjoining building.

The memory before Jacks eyes explode, debris and the force of the explosion send them back against a wall. The speakers on Gabe’s monitor echo Ana’s voice asking if they are okay. Status. Status.

Memory Jack glances over and presses his fingers to Memory Gabe’s throat, searching for a pulse and whispering unintelligible words.

Reyes is unconscious. What was that Amari?” Memory Jack hisses.

Must have been hidden charges in the room ahead. They just put a canyon between you two and the hostages.

Memory Jack cusses and the memory fades to a blue screen.

Gabe flicks his gaze to Jack, who seizes against the chair, inhaling sharply in pain. The woman is monitoring his vitals from another computer.

Give him a second or you’ll fry the stem.” She snorts.

Gabe’s fingers curl into a fist against his thigh at the blatant disregard they seem to have for Jack’s wellbeing. Jack’s chest is heaving and his eyes are shut tight in agony.

Gabe’s cold heart twists at the expression. There had been a time where that look put him to his knees before the man, whispering comfort and promises he never kept.

Again.” The man says.

The blue screen flickers black. It hovers there silent like death with no light. Gabe wonders for a second if they really did damage something. Then the world floods with light and Memory Jack is sitting up in his bedroom, arm raised against the burning light above him.

Memory Gabe is standing in the doorway, wearing his dark blue hoodie, arms crossed over his chest.

What the fuck was that, Morrison?

I apologized already, Gabriel. I’m sorry. I didn’t-.

You don’t fucking kiss a guy like that and leave him standing like a cabrón in the hall!

You’re not mad?” Memory Jack inquires.

Memory Gabe moves across the small room with a purpose in his stride and takes a seat beside him on the bed. Gabe watches himself reach forward, remembering that first soul burning kiss, as he put his hand behind Jacks head and dragged him forward into another one.

The memory blinks out and Gabe watches as Jack hisses at the male scientist.

That’s private!” He snarls.

Nothing is private anymore, Soldier.” The man sneers, “At least we know how you got so high up on the totem pole.

The scar across Jack’s face turns his angry expression ugly as he strains against the bonds, trying to take a swing at the smirking man handling his brain. Gabe feels a similar anger at his own privacy being breached.

“Explains quite a bit, mon cher.“ Amelie mutters from behind him.

“Don’t.” Gabe growls.

Fast forward.” The woman groans, “I don’t want to see them fucking.

Gabe does.

Jack’s eyes go wide as the machine buzzes to life and the screen lights up with fairy lights.

A mirror is on a wall across from a large bed, where Memory Gabe is fucking Jack from behind, blonde hair in his grip and tugging it back so Jack can see. The sounds of a party drift in from the window. A festival in Gabriel’s home town, where he had insisted on taking Jack for the weekend.

The weekend before everything went to shit.

Look at yourself, mi sol. So beautiful for me.” Memory Gabe whispers into Jack’s ear, the grunting and the whimpering from the pale man so close, yet so far away in time.

Gabe swallows around the acid that burns into his throat. The man shuts off the computer and Jack slumps into the chair, head shaking side to side, eyes closed once more.

We are getting closer.” The man laughs, “How did a fag end up a strike commander anyhow?

Jack doesn’t answer.

The machine whirls back to life and this memory is their team standing before the Colonel as he names Jack Morrison Strike Team Commander.

Everyone around them cheers but Jack’s eyes go to Gabriel first, who is standing at attention and giving away nothing. Not the anger. Not the disappointment.

The memory snaps off.

Stop.” Jack whispers, “They never told me. I’ve spent the last six years-.

The man angrily presses another button and Jack throws his head back against the chair’s head rest as the blue screen sizzles before them all.
Gabriel would never forget this memory.

Him and Jack standing in the middle of the building, shouting at each other. Screaming, fists clenched. Jack pleading with him, Gabriel not listening. So blinded by his hatred and his resentment. Jack trying to apologize.
Then the entire memory goes up in flames.

It’s too far ahead!” The woman shouts, “This is after the explosion!

It won’t go BACK.” The man snaps back at her.

The screen blinks back on. It’s hazy, he can barely see Jacks hand as it reaches out through the broken cement and brick. He rubs his hand down his faces and it comes away bloody, but the vision is wavering. Flickering hazy and clear in quick, dizzying moments.

Gabe?!” Jack shouts, “Gabriel?!” He’s shoving aside debris, crawling from the mess around him. Vision fading.

Memory Jack spots something blurry ahead and he crawls for it, reaching out, whispering apologies.

Gabe doesn’t remember this.

He had been dead already.

Seeing it is nauseating.

A high pitched whine starts as Jack’s fingers curl into Gabriel’s blackwatch uniform. The cry is ugly and demented.

Gabriel can’t tell if it’s coming from Memory Jack or the one seated in an interrogation room fifty feet below him.

The machine shuts down and the scientists stand there hands hovering above keyboards, staring at the shaking man in the chair before them.

Gabriel snarls and dissolves his body into a wraith, descending through the floors in a matter of seconds. He reforms in front of Jack and the two morons scream on either side of him.

“Reaper this is a private session!” The woman shouts.

He forms a shotgun and points it at her nose, making her go cross-eyed. “Get out of my sight.” The man starts to say something, “NOW!”

They vacate the room in a rush of lab coats and curses, threats to go to the highers. Gabe doesn’t care. He kneels before the soldier setting a smoking hand on his thigh.

Jack tenses and his eyes snap open, the once blue now a milky sheen.

“Are you blind?” Gabriel asks quietly as he bends to start unhooking Jack’s feet and hands from the bindings.

Jack doesn’t say anything at first, “Gabriel?”

Si, mi luna.” Gabe mutters.

Once Jack’s hands are free he reaches out desperately and traces the lines of Gabriel’s face. The demented edges and the smoking tendrils that feel like oil slick sometimes, he traces them reverently.

“Ugly, aren’t I?”

“Alive.” Jack whispers.

“No.” Gabe tilts his head into Jacks right hand, “But somewhere in between.”

Gabe leans forward and releases the buckle that holds Jack’s head in place. Jack runs his hands down Gabe’s neck and brings his head forward until their foreheads are touching.

“Alive.” He mutters again.

Gabriel doesn’t correct him again.

2

first selfie? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

  • Baby Holmes: ...
  • Baby Holmes: *swallows* Daddy?
  • Sherlock: *stops pacing* Yes?
  • Baby Holmes: *bows his head* Will the new baby like me?
  • Sherlock: *shrugs* I don't know.
  • Baby Holmes: *lip wobbles*
  • Sherlock: *lifts his son into his arms* I don't know if she'll like me either.
  • Baby Holmes: *mumbles into his dad's shirt* Do you think our chances are good?
  • Sherlock: *worried* Yours are better than mine.
  • Baby Holmes: *sad* I want her to like me.
  • Sherlock: *nods* Me too.
  • Baby Holmes: *looks up* What are we going to do if she doesn't like us?
  • Sherlock: *hugs his son* We'll have to go, Hamish. Just the two of us. Mummy will be forced to raise the baby and we can live with Uncle John and Aunt Mary. Mummy could see us at weekends.
  • Baby Holmes: ...
  • -5 minutes later-
  • Molly: *holding her stomach* Right, I've got the bag-
  • Sherlock: *holding his crying son*
  • Molly: *exasperated* What did you say to him?
  • Sherlock: *cuddling his son; hurrying downstairs* Just get in the car.
2

Request:  A fluffy snarky sarcastic imagine of Leonard Snart being adorable as he confesses his love for you in the most smooth way possible. And you being straight forward that you love him to. Then some kisses and fluff and yeah 😂 Thank you soooo much 😘😘😘

“So,” you start, smoothing the surprisingly fancy napkin across your lap. “Is there a reason we’re at such a upscale place?”

The corner of Leonard’s lips turned up into the smallest of hints of a smile as he remained silent, pulling his attention towards the menu in his hands as he avoided your question.

“Come on, Len,” you push, leaning forwards in the hopes of inciting a response from your date. “This is not a first date, and it’s not an anniversary. Why have we suddenly found ourselves at such a fancy place?”

“Are you saying I can’t treat you to a nice dinner?” Leonard replies playfully.

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One dance. Zarya x female Reader

Fandom: Overwatch, Zarya, Aleksandra Zaryanova, big beautiful Russian woman.
Warnings: One mention of rape ( it do not happen to the reader they just think about something related to it), but otherwise only sweet fluff that will rot your teeth. FEMALE reader, as I wanted it to be a homosexual relationship.
Words. 1370

You sat quietly by yourself at the fancy bar, finger tracing over the the glass’ edge. Your red lipstick had made a mark and you would have made more if you had dared to drink more. But a strange and personal-space-invading man had made you think it was better to not drink. There was a chance he had put some drug in your champagne and you didn’t want to get raped in the middle of Fareeha’s birthday party. You had told her and the guards about the guy and they had forced him to leave, but you just couldn’t bother drinking it. It annoyed you how easily you could be so out of the mood thanks to a horny mad not knowing the VERY obvious signals you gave him like for an instant, telling him with exact words that You did not want him to be near you. you heard the sound of shoes and somebody took a seat beside you, making you sigh faintly.

”I did not know you were that annoyed by my presence.” the Russian accent made you almost fall off your chair and your cheeks turned bright red. A huge, toothy grin spread and you turned around to look at the pink haired woman before you.

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