here’s a post of the few solomon starbuck headcanons i have

-he’s the guy who’s in his 30s and has no kids but he has a minivan anyways because he works at the cosmos space center so he Might As Well because it’s good for lugging stuff around but also look at his coworkers

-took piano lessons as a kid but then never carried it into adulthood so he Could play something if you put him in front of a piano but he can’t sightread sheet music (but like every single person at the csc looks like that kind of person dont they)

-used to Try His Best to talk athena and clay out of putting funny signs on yuri cosmos but failed every time and also didnt try very hard to not laugh when he saw cosmos rolling around on his segway with a hastily scribbled-on sheet of printer paper taped to his back that said “kick my butt” fluttering in the wind

-probably goes out for aura with coffee all the time but he gets hot chocolate because he doesn’t even like coffee but aura Lives On It and they discuss whatever went on that week. he says she should be nicer to ponco and clonco. she tells him to Fuck Off. (it happens every time they hang out)

-on that subject, he went to high school with aura. he was a nice kid and he had a good sense of humor but he wasnt really a conversation-starter and aura was a senior at the time he was a freshman. they met in physics class and she showed him the ropes and everything and helped him get accustomed to stuff before she graduated at the end of his freshman year. she went to his graduation 3 years later but they didn’t see much of each other in college because they were both really busy with studying and training

-he went to clay’s high school graduation too and probably had a bouquet of flowers and took a million pictures and cried and everything

-he’s good at braiding hair and he does it for athena all the time. everyone calls him the Dad Friend.

this post is done because i think every single thing i just typed summed up to He’s The Dad Friend but god i fucking love sol starbuck

anonymous asked:

Steve/ Bucky - “i’m a newly-turned werewolf without a pack and i can’t really control myself well on full moon nights yet and you keep finding me passed out naked on your lawn”, please?

Steve?” Bucky’s voice startled Steve out of his doze – he hadn’t meant to fall asleep, he’d intended to stumble to his feet and figure out how to get home before dawn, but it turned out that having all your bones rearranged was exhausting – and he hurriedly rolled to his feet.

Well, he tried to. Mostly he groaned and smashed his face into the dew-drenched grass.


“’m fine,” he told the grass, reveling in the chill of the morning air on his now constantly overheated skin.

“You’re naked and sleeping on my front lawn,” Bucky said, jamming his hands under Steve’s arms and hauling him into a sitting position. “You might be fine now, but you won’t be in thirty minutes when old Mrs. Hannigan across the street wakes up and calls the police.”

Bucky had a point there, Steve admitted. He propped Steve up against his legs and proceeded to towel off Steve’s damp head, as though his best friend turned up naked on his lawn every week. Steve was beginning to think he should have been bitten by a werewolf years ago, if it got Bucky’s hands combing through his hair.

Only, no, because he was naked in Bucky’s yard. His mother was going to kill him.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, pulling Steve to his feet and wrapping the towel around his waist. Steve was relieved that his entire body ached and his right calf was cramping, or the feeling of Bucky’s fingers dragging just over his hipbone might have done him in.

“What do you mean?” Steve replied too fast, tripping over the words. “Nothing’s wrong.” He shook his head hard, and Bucky snorted.

“Punk, you were mooning my Mum over her morning coffee. Nothing’s wrong?” All Steve’s blood rushed to his face, his entire chest flushed red. His mother was going to kill him.

“Uh,” he stuttered. “Just, um, just, it was a really wild night.” Which was true. Steve vaguely recalled hunting for his dinner, and that was pretty wild, as things went.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Pal, it’s a Tuesday. And I’m the quarterback. You’re telling me you went to a party on a Monday night that I didn’t even hear about?”

“Modest, aren’t you?” Steve griped, and Bucky laughed, tilted his head back and chortled at the lightening sky.

Maybe being mauled by a supernatural creature and turned into a ravening beast wasn’t so bad, if it got him Bucky’s smile lit by the dawn.

“Steven,” Mrs. Barnes called, sticking her head out the front door, still in her bathrobe and rollers. “Did you want some toast with those hard-boiled eggs of yours?”

Steve debated taking the towel and making a run for it, despite not knowing where his clothes were or whether he would make it a block before Mrs. Hannigan called the cops.

Bucky had his mother’s diabolical grin, and Steve decided being a werewolf was, in fact, as bad as he had originally thought. Worse, even, because Mrs. Barnes popped him on his towel-clad ass with her morning paper as he slunk inside.


“Is this some sort of cult thing?” Bucky asked, twenty-eight mornings later, chucking a blanket onto Steve and flopping down beside him in the back yard to gaze at the fading violet of the night sky.

“Ungh,” Steve informed him, still trying to breathe through the grinding pain of having his facial bones flattened and his joints broken and reassembled, worse than rheumatic fever and the measles combined.

“Because Mum doesn’t mind when you stay over, but she really prefers it when we’re both inside and you’re wearing clothes. And Dad thinks you’re getting some bad medication.” Bucky paused, reaching out to tug the blanket off Steve’s face – Steve’s asthma had fled with the bite, but Bucky didn’t know that, and something in Steve’s chest warmed at the gesture. “Also,” Bucky added, “Becky is sort of at an impressionable age, and I would really prefer she didn’t see naked people on our lawn. She sees enough of them on the internet.”

Steve choked on his own saliva, and Bucky pounded his back until Steve shoved him away.

He wasn’t actually sure why he kept ending up on Bucky’s lawn. This time he’d even prepared – had borrowed his Ma’s car and driven into the protected forest ten miles away, sure that he would chase rabbits and probably wake up freezing in a river somewhere in the woods.

He really wished there was a werewolf handbook somewhere, to explain these sorts of things.

Bucky slung an arm around Steve’s shoulders, the fabric of his old thermal top scratchy against Steve’s oversensitive skin. “Besides,” Bucky said, “You really shouldn’t be out here at night. Alice and Nonie were toasting marshmallows at the fire pit last night and thought they saw a feral dog.”

Steve’s mouth went dry. Bucky’s baby sisters, the twins, out after dark on the night of a full moon. They would turn eight in a month, and had been begging Steve and Bucky to take them to the amusement park, swearing they were tall enough now for the rollercoasters. He had been living with the Barneses when the girls were born, his Ma still in the hospital with tuberculosis. The twins were the little sisters he’d never had.

And he would have ripped out their throats, hours ago, a feral dog too close to the Barnes home.

“I should go,” he managed, even though he was shaking too hard to stand. Bucky’s arm tightened around his shoulders, and Steve flinched.

“You should come eat some of the pancakes the devil children are making for you,” Bucky contradicted him, leaning his head against Steve’s, pressing comfort into Steve’s skin the way he had through countless childhood illnesses, the way he’d held Steve’s hand in the hospital when they were ten and the doctors thought Steve was going to die. “They added a whole bag of chocolate chips.”

“I –” Steve didn’t know how to say it. I’m dangerous. “Bucky –”

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky interrupted, wrapping his other arm around Steve’s chest, shifting so that their foreheads were pressed together, his pale eyes boring steadily into Steve’s. “Whatever it is, Steve, we’ll figure it out.”

And Steve wanted so badly for it to be true.


“You moron,” someone said, not for the first time if the tone of voice was anything to go by. “You fucking idiot. These are things you tell your best friend!”

Something in that sentence caught Steve’s attention, even as he lay panting on the ground in the dark, the moon only just below the horizon. Best friend. Shit. Bucky. “I -” he tried to say, but his vocal cords hadn’t finished transforming and all he managed was a faint croak.

Cool, gentle hands slid over his skin, tempering the fiery pain licking through Steve’s muscles and through every pore. “Shh,” Bucky whispered, laying down next to Steve and tugging him into a loose embrace. “Shh, you dumbass, I’ve got you.”

Pain cleared Steve’s head quickly. If Bucky was with him, then he must be in Bucky’s lawn again, despite locking himself in the basement of the abandoned Stark mansion at the edge of town. Damn it. The girls!

“Al – Nonie?” he coughed, struggling weakly in Bucky’s arms.

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky informed him, the same unwavering affection he’d shown Steve since they were five. “You saved their lives, you know?”

Steve frowned, and wiggled around until he was facing Bucky, their noses brushing and Bucky’s eyes almost silver in the dark. “That feral dog they saw last time?” Bucky continued, sure that he had Steve’s attention. “That wasn’t you, punk. That was some other werewolf.” Steve blinked. He hadn’t considered that. Hadn’t even considered that there were more werewolves, beyond the crazed man that had bitten him. “I think you came close to tearing his snout off before he could even think about attacking them. They think we have the best guard dog ever.” Bucky paused, snickering, his breath warm against Steve’s face. “I think they left a bowl of water and a steak bone for you, if you’re hungry.”

Steve scowled at Bucky’s smirk. “This isn’t funny!” he insisted hoarsely. “Bucky, I could –”

“Save my family’s lives?” Bucky finished for him, raising both eyebrows and shaking his head a little, telegraphing his disbelief at the fears teeming in Steve’s eyes. “You’re not a threat, Steve. Not to us.” Bucky kept his eyes on Steve’s, even as he tilted his head just close enough to press his lips to Steve’s in a brief, quiet kiss. Steve dug his fingers into Bucky’s waist and held on.

“Do you boys have condoms?” Mrs. Barnes called through the back door, loud enough to wake the neighborhood and send Steve into another full-body blush – but that was all right. Steve had decided being a werewolf wasn’t so bad, if it put Bucky in his arms and Bucky’s mouth on his.

“I think your father has a box somewhere, from before the vasectomy,” she added. Bucky’s face blanched, and Steve tried to gauge whether his legs would hold him, if he grabbed Bucky’s hand and ran for the hills.

In a very tragic event, one of our players has his character finally die after being dragged around with low health a missing arm. The other characters are mourning him, and preparing to dispose of his body. The other character involved in this is typically an asshole to her party.

Player: Can I role to close his eyes? That might make people like me more. 


Player: …Well crap. I failed. 

DM: You go to close his eyes, only to slip and accidentally stab into his eyeballs with your fingers instead. You now have two eyeball finger puppets.


Damn Justin, you’re getting a bit porky there by the looks of it, going to end up with a full blown gut pretty soon. While Justin hasn’t gotten exactly fat he’s really and obviously softened up. When looking for these photos I saw a ton of comments about how he’s lost his abs and been partying to hard and gained a bit of weight. Looking at that second last photo (Submitted) that big roll of flab is amazingly obvious and pretty damn thick - surprised his management wanted him to go shirtless out of stage - while we love it a lot of his fans might be sad to see the abs covered with jiggle. His face is way hotter filled out a bit and he carries the extra flab really well, a fair bit in his stomach which is turning into the most adorable tummy.

happy birthday @eating-out-tsukiyama-shuu !!!!  
i hope you like my gift fro you~ i got help with colours and gif making from @eroemo ( > v < )

(it’s early for you but ehhhhh)

(non-moving version under the cut !!)

Keep reading

Our Barbarian was completely drunk and he asked the DM what the barmaid looked like on a scale of 1-10. The DM rolled, smiled and asked him to roll for perception with disadvantage. Rolled a 1. 

DM: She’s a solid 2 but in your drunken state, she’s a decent 6. 

Barbarian (ooc): aw crap, but I might as well play along.

My Warlock’s patron is a dealmaker demon and as such, makes unfair deals with people.

Warlock to barmaid: Hey, wanna get laid tonight? Cover mine and my buddy’s expenses for the night and I can guarantee you’ll get some.

After 2 successful persuasions I go to the barbarian and roll a 19, total 30 on deception convincing him she’s a perfect 10. 

Long story short, he gets her pregnant, my warlock gets killed by Krampus and he’s going to give up his first born to ressurect me

How I feel speaking my languages:
  • I saw someone make a post like this, so I might as well too.
  • English:Poetic, yet also very childish. Insecure. Not wanting to talk to people, only wanting to write. There is a place for English, but its not in the real life, its in my stories and my novels.
  • French:Safe. Very, very safe. Romantic and powerful and confident, but also somewhat arrogant. Beautiful but also angry. Feeling like I matter and that I can stay alive and escape one day. Feeling like I'm home again, and the smile when my qp rolls her eyes as I tease her with it.
  • Italian:Sassy and edgy. People looking to me and admiring me because they don't know what I'm saying. Kind of isolated, but the kind of isolation where I'm okay with it. If I let people in, its my choice, not because I'm lonely.
  • Scandinavian Languages:Grounded and proud, and strong, and dark. Feeling connected with where I came from. Like my religion has come back to life, and that I can handle anything that comes my way.
  • German:A very energetic and loud kind of happiness. People looking at me strangely and also terrified as I talk loudly in German, but not caring because I'm having fun. Disappointing my mother, but not caring about that either. It's not my problem if she thinks its "ugly".
  • I'll probably add to this post as I learn more languages.

latinenglishfandomblog asked:

40, you know with who ;) Love ya boo

“Crocs? Who hurt you so much in this life?” 
Sam x Reader

“What have we got here?” Sam said with a snicker as he sat down next to you, holding a few pictures in his hand.

“I see you found my childhood memories,” you rolled your eyes. You had given up a long time ago on hiding things from him.  He was your boyfriend after all, and you knew everything about him. Might as well. 

“You were adorable!” he exclaimed, pointing at a baby picture of you in which your face was covered in chocolate. 

“Yeah, I was a mess,” you laughed.

“Oh, how old were you here?” he asked, holding another picture up.

“I was twelve,” you answered, nodding your head. “Yeah, it wasn’t a great time for me.”

“Crocs?” he laughed softly. “Who hurt you so much in this life?”

“Hey, some boys pushed me into the pool!” you said in your defense. “The nice lady hosting her son’s birthday party was sweet enough to give me a change of clothes and shoes, which happened to be Crocs.”

“You look pretty cute,” he said with a soft smile.

“Don’t lie,” you grumbled.

“You did,” he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your temple. “You know I don’t lie to you.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed away from him, offering a story for each of the pictures he shuffled through. 

Blacklist ‘bovaria prompts’ if you don’t want to read!

anonymous asked:

Kuroo hc's for sleepover Saturday!

I figured I’d do these too bc I like to think you guys enjoy my silly hc’s lmao

-  Fav ice cream is chocolate don’t argue

- The one who would spin in the squeaky office chair while his s/o glared at them

- Would literally spoil his kids rotten

- Hogs all the blankets in the middle of the night, ends up eventually throwing them off and just cuddling up to his s/o instead

- Complains about prices when shopping

- Uses all the hot water and spends so much time in the bathroom because he’s trying to make his hair look ‘fashionably messy’ “I might as well roll with it, ___”

- Sings bring me to life on full blast, does both parts

- Goes all out for the holiday season, wearing matching sweaters is a must

- Would actually be p good at english

- Honestly the best gift wrapper you have ever seen like wow look at those clean edges

- If you play with his hair he’ll either fall asleep or want to do The Do™ there is no inbetween

- Is deathly afraid of flying, literally held his s/o’s hand the entire time flying

- Sings “Never Gonna Give You Up” with sincerity, to Bokuto

- Gets caught eating ice cream out of the tub in the middle of the night

- Never replaces the toilet paper and gets stuck on the toilet till his s/o comes home

- Throws a tantrum and ends up in tears because he can’t put together an IKEA chair, s/o assembles it in three minutes tops

Imagine being Amara’s sister and Dean’s true soulmate.

“Knock it off” you looked at her with a sharp glare.

“Knock what off?” she tilted her head to the side.

“You know exactly what Amara. That’s not your place”

“But I didn’t see you be there even if it supposedly yours. He’d been with so many women but none of them was you”

“That is because the time has not come yet and you know it”

“Ah yes. The time. When all of this will be over, you two will meet and he will get his happy ever after.” she rolled her eyes “Just like our sweet brother said it would be. And of course you listened to him. You always did, didn’t you?”

“Well, might also prove why he chose to lock you away and not me” you replied sassily and she smirked slightly.

“You are a lot like him, you know that?”

Your smile turned into a more soft one as you knew she was not talking about God “Well, I am his soulmate after all” you shrugged folding your hands over your white dress.

“Yes… But that doesn’t necessarily mean he belongs to you”

Your eyes darkened “I didn’t say that. But it also certainly means his soul does not belong to you”

“He and I are bound (Y/n). You know it, sister”

“Yes, I do. You are bound by darkness. But so are we. He and I are bound by light, Amara, and you know you can’t change that. That’s why he’s resisting you and he will keep resisting till the end”

She smiled “Love of a soul is far stronger than anything” she sighed “But the battle has not ended yet” 

“We’ll see that”

“This is the time when the part of you that is music overcomes the part of you that is silence. This is when music rules the fools. It’s Mardi Gras in New Orleans, ladies and gentlemen, and the good times roll, and you might as well roll with them because there is only music to hold on to.” –Andrei Codrescu, New Orleans, Mon Amour, Twenty Years Of Writing From The City