flannel shirt jacket

soft asks

i wanted to make one of these things! reblog so your followers can send you a letter.

a - what color are the walls in your bedroom?

b - do you sleep with the hall light on or off?

c - favorite pastel?

d - thoughts on sand?

e - chocolate milk from the bottle or mixed from syrup?

f - moon or stars?

g - butterfly kisses or eskimo kisses?

h - sweater weather, coffee/tea, beanies, and little pumpkins aesthetic or late night driving, neon lights, gas stations and favorite song turned up aesthetic?

i - what color is your favorite blanket?

j - favorite constellation?

k - emoticon heart <3 or emoticon smile :) ?

l - fairy lights or tea candles?

m - aliens or ghosts?

n - sunrise or sunset?

o - what colors do you associate with each of the main school subjects?

p - name three cartoon shows that you liked as a child.

q - flannel shirt or fleece jacket?

r - shepherds or magi?

s - hey diddle diddle nursery rhyme or little boy blue nursery rhyme?

t - name a fictional character that you would describe as soft.

god, i love boys. tall boys, short boys, skinny boys, curvy boys, chubby boys, buff boys. boys who dye their hair a lot, boys with naturally coloured hair. punk boys, goth boys. boys in flannel shirts, boys in leather jackets. boys who roll their sleeves up. boys in suits! boys in waistcoats! cis boys! trans boys! nb boys! feminine boys, masculine boys! boys who don’t conform to gender roles, boys who do! boys who cook, boys who garden. boys who love video games, boys who read. boys obsessed with music, boys who paint! autistic boys, depressed boys, boys with anxiety, disabled boys! boys who laugh at their own jokes, boys who love to write! boys are magical! boys are wonderful! i love boys!

human/college AU gems, so I can ascend to true fandom trashhood. Design cues taken from the show and from stuff I think is cute, because this is my house and my rules.

what are pearl and peridot arguing about?? You decide. From amethyst’s face, it’s nothing new.

thief

you’ve been wearing a lot of dean’s clothes lately.

tagging: @redgillan, @mattymattymerduck, @avengerofyourheart, @wakandasoldier, @darlingbuchanan, @bemystucky, @idorkish, @iwillbeinmynest, @aubzylynn, @angryschnauzer, @almondbuttercup

warnings: suggestive content. i kept this pretty sfw though.

additional notes: ok i wrote another dean fic cuz i love him so much. female reader in this one, although tbh it’s pretty ambiguous. let me know if you want to read more dean/reader or sam/reader, cuz i would love to hear your guys’ ideas :)

Originally posted by soluscheese

Dean didn’t think much of it at first. In fact, when he woke up Saturday morning and found you cooking breakfast in one of his button-down shirts, he found himself smiling. The day before, he had seen you wearing a pair of his drawstring pants while you researched in the library, and earlier that week he’d seen you napping on the couch in one of Sam’s sweatshirts. He figured you were just a clothing thief, or that his and Sam’s clothes were just particularly comfortable for you.

Then he noticed that it was usually just his clothes you were stealing. You would wear Dean’s T-shirts, Dean’s flannel, Dean’s jacket. One day, when it was your turn to fold laundry, he’d stopped by the laundry room to bring you a sandwich, and he’d caught you holding one of his shirts to your face, sniffing it deeply. You hadn’t even acted flustered about it, just boasted about how the fabric softener you were using was magical.

Even though you were nonchalant, Dean was still suspicious. And a little smug. You’d been living at the bunker for a few years now, had known the Winchesters for even longer and stuck around since teaming up with them to stop the apocalypse seven years prior. Dean had appreciated you from the start; you were feisty, an excellent shot, and fun to be around, always full of snark and well-timed derision. Your sass put Sam’s to shame, and Dean found himself worrying about keeping up with you, rather the other way around. Most of all he liked how you genuinely cared for them both, providing the much-needed companionship and loyalty they’d been deprived of for far too long.

So with your fiery personality and looks to match, it didn’t take long for Dean to fall for you, and he mentally kicked himself in the head every day for it. It didn’t help that, judging by the way you always found a reason to touch or cuddle up close to him, his feelings might be reciprocated. There was no room for relationships in the hunting business—not from what he’d previously seen, anyway—but even Sam saw how much Dean cared for you and you for him. The younger Winchester had taken up the role of love guru and was currently encouraging him to take the next step, make it official. Dean liked the idea of having that with you, but he’d held off, too scared of getting too close and losing you, just like everyone else. Now, he was worried that you might have lost interest over time, or that Sam was going to come to his senses, realize your appeal, and make a move before Dean could. Maybe that was why Dean felt mildly stung whenever it was Sam’s shirt you decided to wear, and why Dean felt a swell of pride whenever you did choose to steal Dean’s clothes instead. It was like each time you wore his clothes on your back, you were unofficially proclaiming that he was yours, and you were his.

So Dean made the decision to ask you about it, to at least figure out why you had started pilfering only his clothes. He went down to the kitchen Monday night and found you crouching on the floor, rummaging through the lower shelves of the fridge. You were wearing his navy Henley over flannel pajama pants, and there was that smug swell of pride again. He grinned, crossing his arms and (selfishly) watching you for a few moments, definitely not checking out the way your ass looked in those pants or the strip of bare skin just above your waistband where his Henley had ridden up.

“Any luck down there?” he asked.

You cast a glance over your shoulder at him and smiled before returning to your task. “Just looking for the peanut butter, s’all. I feel like we should start organizing this better. I keep losing my spreads.”

“Maybe we can get you your own little spread section.” Dean watched you tug the shirt down your back, effectively covering you. Damn.

“Would be nice, but I don’t think I deserve a whole section to myself,” you replied. “A-ha!” you crowed with delight, reaching far into the fridge and procuring the peanut butter jar. “God bless.” You straightened to your full height and shut the door, cradling the jar to your chest. “Want some?” you called over your shoulder, moving to the counter where you had laid out some toasted bread and sliced bananas.

Dean couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose as he stepped over to you and leaned against the fridge to watch you prepare your meal. “When have I ever eaten fruit?” You opened your mouth to protest and he cut you off, “When it’s not filling a warm crust.”

You clamped your mouth shut. “You got me there. I think you’d like this, though.”

“I’ll have a bite of yours, then,” Dean relented. You smiled, and he stood up straight, moving closer to you. “You know, sweetheart, I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit of a thief lately.”

“Oh, yeah? And what have I stolen now?”

Dean was so close his hip was almost brushing yours. He braced one hand on the counter as he watched you. “My clothes. Sam’s, too, but mostly mine. You wanna tell me why that is?” He was playing it cool, but truth be told, when you paused in your meal preparation and turned to face him, he was starting to lose his confidence.

Your smile had vanished. You were worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, and Dean didn’t miss the way your eyes traversed his frame, lingering at his neckline, his jaw, and finally his face. “Does it bother you?” you asked with legitimate concern in your eyes. He watched that concern morph into something warm and oozy, like molten flame. He was starting to burn up just looking at you. “I’ll stop if it does, but your clothes are real comfy, Dean. And they smell good, too.”

Dean swallowed hard. You were challenging him, daring him to make the first move. Fuck it. He reached out to your side and grasped the Henley where it fell against your waist, pinching the material and rubbing it between his fingers. The corner of your mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smirk. “Oh, I’m not mad. Not mad at all,” he replied. He stepped closer to you, so close he could detect the crisp apple scent of your conditioner, could see his own face reflecting in your eyes. He slid his hand down to your hip and your own hand traveled up his arm to grasp his bicep. “I mean, if you look so good in my clothes”—he licked his lips, shamelessly appraising you from head to toe—“I could just imagine how you’d look out of them.”

Dean felt you tremble under his touch, and you pressed closer against him, his hand moving to lie flat along the small of your back. You craned your neck forward, and your lips skimmed his ear as you spoke, “Why don’t we go up to my room and find out?”

don’t judge a book by its cover

happy birthday to @magnusragnor​! my dear elle, you’re an amazing friend, the sweetest, kindest, smartest and most incredible person ever and you’ve made my life so much better. i love you a lot and i hope life treats you as kindly as you treat other people. i wish you a lot of happiness, health and success in whatever you want to achieve <3 hope you enjoy this little gift :*


“Do you think they’re in a gang?”


The question comes as a surprise in the vague quietness of the library, pulling Magnus out of his little reverie. He puts down the book he was about to scan, turning on his heel to find Ragnor staring out of the open window, the edge of his tea cup resting against his chin and eyes focused on something, or rather someone, outside. With a sigh, Magnus leaves his place behind the counter to join him at the windowsill and before he even leans his elbows against it, he knows exactly who Ragnor is talking about.

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Thiam - Baby your a firework.

Liam was sat on the floor in front of the fire of Alec’s living room, hot chocolate in his hands, and noise coming from the TV that he was mostly blocking out so it was just a slight buzz in the background. He should feel content to bask in warmth radiating through his body because this is the most relaxed he’s been allowed to feel in weeks. But his shoulders are stiff, and he’s not so subtly glaring daggers at the curly, black haired beta who’s sat to close to be socially acceptable next to Theo on the couch. He’s shamelessly hoping his gaze will somehow burn a hole straight through his pretty little head.

He’s kept his cool this long, and he allows himself to be proud of that fact. Because surely anyone would have the exact same reaction towards another boy getting so close to his… whatever Theo was. Liam had long ago stopped trying to tell himself he wasn’t head over heals for the chimera, he just didn’t know where the other boy stood. They were friends, he had no doubt about that, but he wasn’t about to push all his feelings onto Theo if they weren’t wanted. He didn’t want to risk them not being wanted.

They were talking about what they were going to be wearing for Halloween on Tuesday, having somehow already come to the decision that they were getting matching outfits without Liam knowing about it first. Alec was getting way to comfortable with everyone if you asked him. Sure he’s been in the pack for about eight months now but sometimes Liam missed the shy boy that Scott had basically picked up off the street. He had become confident and snarky, true colours stating to shine through. Liam in no way hated the boy, but couldn’t deny he annoyed him a lot. He never missed an opportunity to make a fool out of something someone said if he got the chance. He always had a resort, snapping back without missing a beat, a bit like someone else Liam knew.

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4

I may or may not have turned 5sos into powerpuff guys

McHanzo Week: Day 2 - AU (Red and the Wolf)

Originally posted by bleedingdawn

The white wolf wanders the woods, nose close to the snow-covered ground, every breath that escapes creating a mayfly cloud, dense at first before disappearing in front of it. Its dark eyes scan the clearing. There’s a smell there that it doesn’t recognize, a musky, earthy scent, and the fire in the center of the open space is barely burning, no matter how much the figure hovering over it tries to breathe life into it. The snowstorm has left no dry tinder, and the sun is setting.

You will die soon, the wolf considers, and it is about to turn and return to its cave, to the dry darkness inside of it, but he pauses when the figure turns and sees it. It has been silent, and so it lifts its head, ears up, to its massive size. It is no small pack creature. And it is not usually caught.

The man’s skin is red, where it can see it behind a mess of a beard, long hair, a ridiculous hat. There’s a crimson flannel shirt underneath a leather jacket, and it all seems too thin for this terrible weather, this settling cold. The wolf stands still, because there is an axe by the man’s feet, and he seems to notice it and toss it away, to the other side of the fire.

“C’mere, boy,” he coos. “Got some mutton.”

If the wolf could sneer, it might have. It is not a lapdog to be lured with treats and promises of affection. Although there are certain truths it cannot deny: that it hungers. Game has been scarce, and even the handful of cured meat scraps in the man’s gloved palm is inviting. Also, it is hard not to admire that the man’s eyes show no fear, even as it steps forward into the clearing, looming over him, easily the size of a bear.

As it takes the food with one swipe of a large, pink tongue, the man seems to move over just a bit, and it sits. Now there is another detail, that the man’s leg is twisted at an unnatural angle. “I fucked up,” he drawls, trying to pull his coat closer around him, attempting to even out the shudder in his voice. “Came out to chop some wood, took a wrong step and toppled into a one-way trip down that ravine.” He smiles, which is a strange thing, given his words. “Glad one of us is gonna do some good from that meal. You’re probably gonna last longer than me.”

The wolf turns its head to the bleeding horizon that is slowly going darker, stars blinking into light as if to regard them. It should go. It should leave this open, chilling air, let the natural order of it all take the man or leave him as it sees fit.

But it can’t.

“Oof,” the man says as it presses itself against him, dropping to the ground, careful of the mangled leg. It remains there, giving the man a pointed look. “What…? Do ya…want me to…climb on?”

It snorts, unmoving.

“Welp, eaten by a giant wolf or freezin’ to death. Either way works for me, I guess.” The man gingerly picks up his leg, easing it over the creature’s back, and haphazardly gets onto the back, gripping dense fur in uncertain, careful hands. It turns and trots over to the ax, taking it in the massive jaws, kicking snow over the small fire. Better to be safe.

“Ya ain’t a regular wolf, are ya?” the man asks, close to his ear. It responds only by taking off into the thick wood, a streak of blurred white, leaping over fallen brush and bramble, trying to beat the fading light. And winning.

The cave is dark, but there are openings where the moonlight comes in, casting shadows on the walls. The wolf lets the man lower himself to the ground, and when it lies beside him, it feels hands stroking his fur, a grateful and reverent touch. “The name’s McCree, by the by. Jesse McCree.”

The wolf curls around him like a warm blanket, massive head finding a place on the uninjured thigh. Should he try anything, it will know. And it is faster, more deadly, than some frontiersman.

Perhaps if Jesse hasn’t done anything stupid like go for the axe by the time morning comes around, it will show its human face, its sturdy, stocky form. And perhaps it might tell him that he can call it ‘Hanzo.’

A Man Worth Fighting For- 12

Summary: Seventy years has passed and the world has changed. You thought you were moving on until Steve Rogers asks you for a favor which leads to a discovery that will change everything. So much for retirement. Sequel to “A Girl Worth Fighting For.” Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1778
Warnings: Language, as alway
Tags at the end
Part 11    Masterlist

AN: Jeeeesus, this is so late. Sorry, guys. But! A lot happens, so hopefully it’ll be worth it. Now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for.

Originally posted by caps-bucky

Transia was a tiny country, tucked in the crevice between Romania, Bulgaria, and Serbia. Most of the country consisted of mountains, swerving the borders between it and Serbia like a serpent, the spines reaching toward the sun. The main city, East Transia, filled in the valleys between mountain peaks. Outside of the main city were smaller villages, little pinpoints that dotted the land sparingly around the base of Mount Wundagore and beyond. It was one of these villages where you found yourself, only hours after saying goodbye to Natasha at the hospital.

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