halo set

For The Pack

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Baron Corbin/Roman Reigns/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Happy almost New Year, everyone! And happy Thirst Party Saturday! I give you, my first attempt at an A/B/O installment, involving wrestlers who played football and looked damn nice doing so. Tagging the usual suspects, @tox-moxley, @hardcorewwetrash and @oraclegazes! Enjoy!

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It literally just occurred to me how Halo 5′s original announcement trailer and the ending of Heaven Sent are basically the same thing :’)

area man winds up in desert feeling very grumpy after the loss of loved one

carrying a symbolic token of their loss and emotional/physical trauma

while facing down the immensity of what lies ahead


You bet your fucking buttons that Falcs TV does a special video on Jack at home called “Bachelor of Arts”. 

After a montage about his hockey prowess we see Jack in his apartment kitchen. He’s fresh out of his morning shower, rolling out pie dough on his kitchen counter, ladling beef stew from his crockpot into pot pie shells. “I learned to make pastry for a class in my senior year,” he explains, sucking gravy off his thumb with a boyish grin. “Now I make it all the time. I’ll freeze these for the week ahead.”

(Then he cuts little hockey sticks out of the pastry scraps and presses them on top of the pies, looking inordinately pleased with his little bit of decoration. Did we mention his shirtsleeves are rolled up to bare his forearms?)

His back muscles flex as he pulls binder labelled SAMWELL 13-14 off one of his library shelves and flips through the tabbed assortment of notes and assignments. “I worked really hard for this A-,” he says, his fingers hovering over the mark written on the essay’s cover page. The typewritten title says Development of the Metric System in Early Modern France, Jack L. Zimmermann, HIST 247: The Industrial Revolution in Europe, and the professor’s scribbled comments begin Good analysis of the standardization of before wandering out of the camera’s frame.

“This is a Halifax Bomber,” he says, holding a model plane up to give a good look at the markings on the fuselage. The camera shifts focus from the airplane to show how his chiseled jaw is very faintly stubbled and he smiles a little sheepishly at his own enthusiasm. “I painted this with the markings from RCAF 408 Squadron, but there’s nothing to uh, really tell you that it’s a Canadian plane, not until after the Second World War, but there’s historical reasons we weren’t really, um, differentiated, as a really distinct military force then. But I know what it is.”

His blue eyes light with fondness when he looks at the pictures on the walls of his apartment. “The house I lived in, you could open my window and climb out onto the roof and just sit there. We called it the Samwell Men’s Hockey Reading Room. I spent a lot of time out there with Bittle and, uh, Knight.” He gestures to the two figures in the professionally-mounted photograph–one talking and gesturing with his hands, another leaning forward to listen, haloed by the setting sun. “I took this picture so when I walk by it I remember and I can feel like I’m still there with them.”

The person behind the camera asks, “What kind of thing would you talk about?”

“Oh, everything,” Jack reminisces. “Politics, feminism, hockey. Expectations you grow up with. What we wanted to do for the future.”

Jack reaches out to gently touch another photograph in a frame, an empty rink with the sun rising through the enormous windows at its far end. “You still visit them?” the other person asks.

“Oh, all the time,” he says.  In the library there’s a printout of the Samwell 2015-16 game schedule pinned to a corkboard, the home opener circled with pen.  There’s a small framed portrait of Bob and Alicia with a dog, a flyer for an upcoming history conference. Jack is in a Samwell hoodie in his living room, bouncing a puck off a hockey stick. “I feel like there’s still a lot to learn.” 


FRIDAY FRENZY | etsyfindoftheday 4 | 7.22.16

halo-style rings by kateszabone

bam, these rings smack you in the FACE with sparkle! love ‘em both.

Sit In Judgment: Anders

A completely self-indulgent thing I wanted to write, basically how a meeting between Anders and my Inquisitor (Dian Adaar) would go down. (Though if somebody decided to make their own Sit In Judgment with their own Inquisitors, hey, go for it.)

As they approached the front of the hall, clanking in chains, his guards tried to  sweep his legs out from under him, force him to kneel or at least to bow his head. Though he had willingly allowed himself to be led this far, at this Anders resisted – even calling on the strength of Justice to steady him on his feet. Maybe it was petty, or vain, but the hall was full of people, and Anders had no intention of letting them see him bow. He would bow to no tyrant, never again. They could see him bloodied, beaten, and before the day was out they may see him dead, but they would never see him bow.

This was a moment that would be remembered for centuries, one way or another. The symbolism of it, Anders decided, was worth the indulgence.

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MAGIC! - Rude

So this song gave me feels and then this happened…

Jane paced back and forth in her living room with a hand tangled in her hair. A phone balanced precariously in between her cheek and shoulder, trying to escape every time she turned around. Originally, Jo Friday had chased after her owner’s long legs, but after being accidentally kicked a few times, the pup had retreated to the couch cushions.

“Allo?” even 4,700 miles away, Constance Isles’ voice still made Jane wince.


“Speaking. Jane?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I- I had a question I needed to ask you,” she stood still and held her breath. The pounding of her nervous heart rendered Maura’s mother nearly inaudible.

“Well, stop stuttering and ask it. I have a meeting in 45 minutes and my driver has yet to arrive.”

“Ah, well. I know that my relationship with your daughter isn’t exactly…traditional. But, I’m tryin’ real hard to be a gentleman.”


“Well…yes?” Jane responded, confused as to why her intentions were being questioned.

“No. You’re trying really hard. Adverb,” Constance sighed audibly.

“Oh yeah, ha! That’s something Maura would say. Anyway, I guess, since Mr. Isles hasn’t exactly made his presence known, I’ll ask you,” the detective plopped onto the couch next to Jo and took a few deep breaths.

“Constance Isles, may I have your daughter’s hand in marriage?” Jane said the words quickly and squeezed her dog, who had meandered into her lap, in anticipation.

“Jane, I’m sorry to break it to you. But, I’m afraid my answer is no.”

“No?” that was not the answer that she was expecting. Stunned momentarily, she took a moment to regroup her thoughts.

“Correct, and it will always be no. I’m sorry,” Maura’s mother offered, the lack of empathy obvious in her voice.

Unable to form a proper response, Jane simply hung up and set her phone on the spot next to her, not even waivering when it slipped in between the arm and the cushion. She put her head in her hands and stared forward.

The French Cut Cushion Halo Setting engagement ring, in it’s little brown box, stared back at Jane. She’d sold her autographed Ted Williams jersey just to buy it. Her salary as a detective would’ve allowed for the purchase, but selling that jersey was more symbolic of the far and few sacrifices marry Maura would need.

Jane took a moment to decompress, finally letting go of her squirming dog. Memories of all the times she’d taken a chance and thrown caution to the wind when it came to her best friend danced through her mind. This was something she had to do. She needed this.

With a burst of energy, Jane stood quickly and grabbed the box. Without a second thought, she walked out of her apartment, grabbing her keys and pulling the door shut forcefully.

The drive to the precinct, where Maura would likely be elbow deep in someone, was filled with a heavy silence. Jane was torn between trying to boost herself or tell herself to go home and think about what she was doing.

She pulled up and parked her car, very aware that it would probably be towed. She had better things to do, Big Moe be damned.

With a flash of her badge and a quick nod to the front desk, Jane was in the elevator heading to the morgue. She bounced on the soles of her feet, quickly checking to make sure she even had shoes on. She did, thankfully. Thank goodness for small miracles.

She stopped outside of the morgue doors and frowned at the darkened rooms. Jane slid open the doors and walked behind towards Maura’s office. The lights were off and the desk was cleared. Had the medical examiner packed up for the day?

Jane retreated and thought of where the missing woman could be at four in the afternoon? With long, purposeful strides, she took the stairs and made in to homicide in less than a minute. Maybe she could ask the boys if they’d seen Maura. It was a risk, coming into BPD on her day off, but Jane was on a mission.

Bursting through the door in true Rizzoli fashion, Jane started to scan the room. She stopped when she saw a little blonde head sticking up over her computer monitor. Maura was sat in her chair, talking to Korsak and Frankie animatedly. Her heels were off, and she swung her legs that didn’t quite touch the floor in Jane’s tall chair. The light of the evening sun cast an angelic glow on her, illuminating her..

Jane snuck behind the dry erase board and caught her brother’s eye. She winked and held a finger to her lips, smiling in return when her brother noddled minutely. He motioned to Korsak, using the field signals tell the older man to be quiet. Korsak then spotted Jane in his peripherals and turned back to Maura, seemingly understanding.

Frankie spotted the box in Jane’s hand and loudly interrupted Maura with a random question about biology. Korsak leaned in, seemingly very interested in her answer.

“…he wraps his tail around hers so the bottoms of their tails meet at the cloaca,” Maura motioned animatedly.

Jane cocked an eyebrow at that answer, what the hell did Frankie ask her?

Maura continued to explain her answer as Jane managed to creep up behind her. She squatted behind her leather chair and slowly pushed the leather until hazel eyes widened in her direction. Slowly, Jane shifted her position and raised one knee.

She took in Maura with great detail, starting with her wool painted toes and finishing with her beautiful watering eyes. Maura’s hands were cupped over her mouth and she appeared to be shaking. Jane placed a comforting hand on her thigh and rubbed it affectionately with her thumb.

“May I interest you in a fun fact?” Jane said roughly, her throat tight.

“Um, sure,” Maura laughed awkwardly, trying to catch her breath. She stood up and slipped her heels back on.

“There is a 100% chance that your mother told me no when I asked for your hand,” Jane mimicked Maura’s mannerisms when googlemouthing.

“May I add to your fact?” Maura took the box offered to her and inspected the packaging. She popped open the lid and looked up. When Jane nodded she continued.

“There is also a 100% chance that I will say yes.” Tears finally fell as Jane stood up and slid the ring onto Maura’s finger.

Maura took her hand out of Jane’s grasp and placed both hands on her cheeks. Leaning in, she kissed her Detective. They stayed like that, just gazing at each other for a few minutes until a nervous cough broke their stare.

“Uh, is it too early to say congrats?” a meek looking Frankie stepped up and held out his arms.

Jane smiled and opened her arms, but was quickly cast aside when her brother winked at her and brought Maura into his arms instead. He kissed her cheek and ruffled her hair, like he’d do with any other sibling.

Jane stood off in the corner faux pouting when her brother turned to her. He tried again with his hands out. Once they embraced, Frankie bent down and grabbed Jane behind the knees and lifted her bridal style. She slapped at his back as he ran around the squad room with childish glee.

“Did Constance really tell you no?” Frankie asked as he let her down.

“Sure did. Too bad I’m going to marry her daughter anyway,” Jane said with smug smile.

“Yes you are.” Maura came up from behind Jane grabbed hand, leading her out of the room. “Now, let’s go down to the morgue. I need to call my mother.”

Jane smiled weakly and followed Maura into the elevators. She turned around and saw the boys in the laughing at her, amused by the fight that was about to happen. A small tug on her wrist made her look back at her fiancee and smile. It was worth it though, even if Constance Isles still scared her senseless.


etsyfindoftheday | 5.10.15

double cushion-cut diamond engagement ring by minimalvs

breathtaking indeed. you can choose your own cut and hue of diamond as well as the type of gold setting to make this double-halo-set stunner your own. brb, i’ll be swooning for the rest of the day over here.


Jul had never thought he would be afraid to die. He’d faced death so many times that he was used to it, familiar with the flood of terrified excitement, certain that if the end came then his clan would know that he met his end with honour. But he’d never planned to face the great transcendence helpless and struggling, unable even to inflict damage in his dying moments.

It was the worst possible disgrace.

And disgrace terrified him far more than death. [Halo: Glasslands]

It Has Always Been Forever - Part 21

Previous Chapters :)

Part 21.

Claire woke the next morning to the sound of Jenny barking instructions downstairs, with Gail and Mrs. Bug bustling round her bedroom. She languidly stretched out, watching Gail throw back the windows and Mrs. Bug setting a breakfast tray down beside her. The day was uncharacteristically sunny after the night’s snowfall. The air pleasantly chilly still.

“Up wi’ ye lass! Ye dinna want to be looking like a melted candle on yer wedding day!” Mrs. Bug fussed, forcibly sitting Claire up and placing the tray on her lap. “Gail’s preparing ye a bath. Eat up, a leannan, ye’ll be needing yer strength for what’s sure to be a long day!”

Claire groaned at this unceremonious wakening, stomach violently wobbling at the smell of the fried eggs. Hearing her groans, Gail peeked her head out of the bathroom, “You alright?” she asked, concerned.

“Mm-hm,” Claire replied, not trusting herself to speak just yet. “Maybe just the tea for now, Mrs. Bug,” she added hastily, moving the tray away.


“Are ye nervous, lad?” Murtagh cocked an eyebrow at his godson, as he watched him fumble with the buttons of his shirt.

“Nah! Just cold,” Jamie smirked back. “Speaking of cold, a goistidh. Dinna be forgetting to light the fires well before hand. I dinna want Claire catching a chill, aye.”

“Dinna fash, the lads and I have that well sorted. She willna want for anything today,” Murtagh assured him calmly, rummaging through his bag for something.

“Also, the footpath boards leading to the kirk. It’s a wee bit sunny, I’m afraid the path’s going to turn to mush by the time we make our way there. She’s wearing white, aye?” Jamie continued to fret. All morning, in fact, about the kirk, the food, the mud, much to Murtagh’s exasperation.

“Everything is under control, ye wee gomerel! Ye need to take a breath, and enjoy yer bloody wedding day!” Murtagh lightly chastised.

“Aye, I ken. Its only-”

“I ken what it’s only, lad,” Murtagh moved and put his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Here,” he said, handing him a small, round metal object. “Yer Da gave this to me for ye. For when ye’d be needing it. ‘Tis yer family’s coat of arms.”

Jamie looked down at his father’s Fraser brooch, unable to speak for the lump it brought to his throat seeing it. It had been proudly passed down for generations. Now it was his. He ran his thumbs gently over the two stags and his family’s motto, written neatly beneath. “Je Suis Prest,” he whispered. I am ready.

“Are ye, then?” Murtagh asked seriously.

“Aye. I am.” Jamie said.


Claire fidgeted with her gown as Jenny did the final touch ups with her hair, tsking as the stubborn curls refused to be tamed. Claire closed her eyes and mouthed the odd words over and over trying to get them just right.

“Hair down, then,” Jenny decided to herself, letting the unruly curls cascade down Claire’s shoulders, then smartly tucking the thin vine headband into her hair.

“Say it again, Jenny,” Claire said nervously.

“Ye ken the words, Claire. Ye’ve kent them for weeks. Dinna fash,” Jenny reassured her. “And dinna do that! Ye’ll crease the dress.”

Claire was sure she’d memorized them, but her nerves seemed to be getting the best of her. Did she have the pronunciation right? Would she flub them at the wrong time? Would Jamie laugh at her funny accent?

“Do you think he won’t want to do it, Jenny?” Claire asked, unsure, peering over her shoulder.

Jenny took a moment before answering. “Ye ken it’s the way of things here. Aye, some do choose not to go too traditional when marrying nowadays, but I’m positive Jamie didna bring it up himsel’ was because he thought you wouldna want to do it.” She came round and knelt beside Claire, laying her hand over hers. “Are ye sure?”

At Claire’s immediate nod, Jenny straightened up. “Then Jamie will be willing. I ken that for certain.”


Jamie stood, checking for the umpteenth time if he’d put everything on - to which there was countless small details only Murtagh and Arch had kept track of for him - if he had everything he’d need sorted - Ring? Check. Priest? Check. Vows memorized? Check. Fire and candles well lit? Check and check. Guests? Assembled and ready. Best man? A numpty, but check. Bride?

The appearance of Jenny and the other ladies - flushed and elated - signaled the beginning. Claire was on her way; his stomach flipped a thousand times, his legs felt oddly wobbly. Murtagh had assured him the path was ready, she wouldna be getting her dress all muddy or wet. From the immaculate state of Jenny and the rest, he knew Murtagh had been right.

A low hum fell over everyone in the kirk as they peered toward the door, waiting. Jamie could feel his heart thumping painfully in his chest, only Ian’s hand on his shoulder keeping him from bounding toward the door, to Claire.

He could hear their footsteps reverberate softly on the wood path before he saw them. Then there she stood, Joe by her side. She wore a woolen cloak Jamie recognized as his mother’s. Even though the wee bit of early morning sun had turned the ground to mush, he knew the air was biting.

They paused at the threshold, Joe gently taking the cloak from her shoulders; Jamie swallowed audibly.

She looked absolutely ethereal. Her gown was lighter than he’d have expected, flowing around her like wisps of clouds, delicately taking the shape of her and the bairn as she moved, yet not hugging her tightly. Her hair flowed about her, held carefully by a wee delicate headband. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d stared for several moments, and just as he realized he’d forgotten to breath, he saw Claire too had been rooted to the spot as she caught sight of him at the alter.

Claire had never seen anything more breathtaking. A Highlander if ever she saw one, in full regalia. And he wore it as if he’d done so all his life, like he truly was born to it. He stood, straight backed and beautifully imposing, his plaid gracefully draping over one shoulder, held with a elegant stag brooch, with sporran and dirk, completing the vision. His flaming hair catching the candle light, setting a halo round him. It was true then, she thought, one could indeed be frozen, breathless, in time. Her vision suddenly blurred.

Feeling Joe’s hand on her elbow, Claire blinked back the tears and moved as if hypnotized, unable to take her eyes off Jamie, as he stood before her just as transfixed. If it wasn’t for Joe’s patient grip, she’d have cleared the length of the aisle in three strides.

Jamie’s face was calm. The only sign of just how strongly he kept his emotions in check was the way he held his hands together; clasped in front him, white knuckled in an effort not to show them trembling. The smile he’d had from the moment she’d walked in, broadened as he reached out for her hand. His palms just as sweaty as hers.

Claire and Jamie took their place in front of the priest as a hush fell over everyone. They barely heard anything being said - simply having eyes only for each other, unwilling to let go of the other’s hand for even a moment. Finally sensing movement around them, they realized it was time to stand once more for the exchanging of the vows. They took deep, steadying breaths, their grip on each other tightening. The priest’s voice sounded faint and distant, as if it fell away just before it quite reached them, with everything else around them.

“I, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, take thee Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp to be my wedded wife…”

“I, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, take thee James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser to be my wedded husband…”

“To have and to hold…”

“From this day forth. For better or worse…”

“In sickness and in health…”

“Till death us do part.”

“Do you have the rings?” the priest asked Ian and Joe, who promptly produced from their sporrans a pair beautiful silver rings - Joe rather a little more enthusiastically than Ian, being the first time he’d ever worn a kilt and sporran.

Claire had insisted she didn’t need an engagement ring, much to Jamie’s contention. But she’d had a compromise he finally agreed to. She’d pick his wedding and his hers. Silver. And neither would show the other till it was time to put them on.

Claire’s breath caught in her throat when she saw the little circlet in Jamie’s hand. It was beautiful. An elegant intertwining Highland design, connected together by a delicate thistle in the centre. Something had been inscribed on the inside, but her vision had blurred once again before she could make out the words and Jamie had somewhat shakily slipped the ring onto her finger.

Claire’s own hands shook enough she was sure she’d drop the ring she held. A wide, solid silver band, with a simple inscription of it’s own; something Jamie had whispered in her ear the first time they’d made love. Something she wasn’t likely to ever forget; There’s the 2 of us now.

The moment she’d slid the ring on his finger, he fiercely pressed her hand to his lips and stepped forward. She looked up at his beaming face, eyes glistening. He didn’t - couldn’t - wait for the priest, saying quietly enough for only Claire to hear, “too late to back out now, Sassenach. Yer stuck wi’ me,” he smiled, a twinkle in his eye, and bent his head gently placing his lips on hers. Every single thing around them dimmed - the sensation of the kiss amplifying the feel in every nerve ending they had. The warmth and softness spoke only of eternal promise. The pressure and tremble erasing all other thought and doubt.

Jamie felt a light hand on his shoulder after some time, a sense of where he stood slowly came back to him. He pulled away to see Claire’s eyes still closed and knew she’d just been as lost in him as he was in her. He turned to find Murtagh standing beside him. “Have ye your sgian dhu on ye, Jamie?” At Jamie’s nod, he held his hand out expectantly. Baffled, Jamie handed him the wickedly sharp knife, only to have his confusion replaced immediately by shock as Murtagh took a firm hold of his right hand and cut him neatly across the base of his wrist. Before he had time to react, he watched as Claire willing gave her hand over to Murtagh, not once taking her eyes off Jamie himself. “It’s alright,” she mouthed to him, as Murtagh cut. He knew what was happening, but hadn’t at all expected Claire to want it or even approve; the word ‘unsanitary’ kept fleeting through his mind.

“D’ye mind the words?” asked Murtagh; not - to Jamie’s surprise - Claire, but to him. Had she planned this all along, then?

“Aye,’ Jamie replied, blankly.

Murtagh wrapped their hands together - wrist to bloody wrist - with a soft swatch of cloth, before giving them a gruff “Mmmph!” and Claire a wink. Worried Claire may find the words hard to pronounce, Jamie quietly asked if she wanted them said in English.

“Gaelic,” she replied firmly.

And with one, final reassuring squeeze of her hand, they began nervously, the words sealing them forever.

“You are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone,”

“I give you my Body, that we Two might be One,”

“I give you my Spirit, till our Life shall be Done.”


“How on earth are you lads not freezing your bollocks off?” Claire asked, fiddling with the binding on her wrist as she watched Joe tend to Jamie’s.

“Och! It’s none so bad,” Jamie said, giving her a cheeky grin.

“I’ll say it is a bit brisk, but I wasn’t about to break with tradition!” Joe added, cheerfully waggling, making them both laugh.

“Well, you both look like you could use a dram or two,” Claire said pulling her white shawl tighter about her. The room was warm and cozy; the fire and bodies giving off a comfortable heat, but she’d feel sudden chills hit her unexpectedly from the open windows - left open to help the room breath.

“Aye, ghraidh, I think yer right,” Jamie said, clapping Joe on the shoulder in thanks for binding his wrist and lead him to where the rest of the lads stood by the drinks table. Claire watched as the raucous crowd gathered Jamie in.

“The look on yer face, laddie!” Murtagh teased between fits of laughter. “Thought ye were goin’ to swoon, so soon as I cut ye!”

Claire unconsciously rolled her ring around her finger, still getting used to the comforting weight of it, her fingers lightly tracing, committing to memory its design. A nervous flutter went through her belly, yet she felt all at once, at peace. She turned then, away from any prying eyes, her curiosity had been nagging at her since Jamie’d put the ring on her finger. Discreetly slipping the ring off (for what would be the only time she ever did), she tilted it to and fro trying to catch the inscription.

She squinted at it, confused. Is that Latin? she thought. She’d been concentrating so hard, she hadn’t heard Jamie come up behind her till he wrapped his arms about her.

Da mi basia mille,” he whispered in her ear, smiling, gently pushing the ring snugly back to the base her finger.

“What does it mean?” she whispered. But before he could elaborate any further, Jenny’s voice boomed behind them.

“If ye could all please follow me, supper willna keep wi’ waiting!”

Planting a kiss on his wife’s neck, Jamie took hold of her waist and steered her toward their table, without a word.