of his organization

3

some ideas i never really used. the thought that caru has 2 forms, his red digital one and his blue organic one. when hes blue hes constantly tired cranky and impatient. its like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed 24/7. dunno if ill ever use it or maybe rework it so his blue form isnt such a short fuse pff

anonymous asked:

Derek deciding against working when he and Stiles get married, and instead chooses to be a 'househusband' who likes to bake while wearing only an apron and enjoys sorting out Stiles' messy desk just to listen to him ramble about 'his organized chaos and now you've ruined it, Derek!' and smile fondly at his husband

God, I love this prompt so I hope you like this drabble!

Stiles and Derek got married on the first day of spring. There was a cool breeze in the air but the bright sunlight kept everyone warm as they said their vows and exchanged their rings.

When Stiles and Derek shared their first kiss as a married couple everyone in attendance, mostly the pack and a few choice others, erupted into applause and happy shouts. No one clapped or called as loud as the Sheriff whose cheeks were wet with tears as he watched his only son join hands with the man he loved and announce that he would love him forever.

They honeymooned in the newly renovated Hale House, neither wanting to venture out of town when they could stay in their own home. Those days were filled with romantic dinners and spontaneous slow dances in the kitchen, interspersed with love making so sweet it took both of their breaths away.

Derek had opted not to go back to work after the wedding, at least not in the traditional capacity. He started writing, finding that he loved it, even more so when it meant he could stay home.

On the other hand, Stiles continued his work as a sheriff’s deputy, following in his dad’s footsteps career wise. He didn’t make a fortune doing his job but he loved it and considering Derek’s obscene amount of money, they never had to worry about paying the bills.

But as much as he adored his job and truly cared about his work, his favorite part of the day was coming home to his gorgeous husband.

Derek took to being a househusband like a wolf to the woods, basking in it and outshining anyone else who had ever done it before him. Martha Stewart would envy the way he cared for their home.

He organized Stiles’ work desk that was nestled in the corner of their bedroom, separating Stiles’ jumbled up files and alphabetizing them. He just smiled fondly when Stiles whined and complained about Derek disrupting his organized chaos.

He cleaned every day, claiming it cleared his mind whenever he got stuck on a piece he was writing. And every morning he went for a run, usually bringing their dog along with him.

He also liked to bake in nothing but a frilly white apron, his ass on full, glorious display in the kitchen when Stiles got home from work. That led to some wonderful sex on their kitchen counter, the room smelling of cinnamon and vanilla.

But this day was different and Stiles was more eager than usual to get home to his hubby. After clocking out for the day, Stiles practically sped home in his haste to give Derek the good news.

“Honey, I’m home!” Stiles announced as he burst in through their front door, their dog running over to greet him with a lick to his knuckles. He found Derek sitting on the couch reading. Unable to contain his excitement, Stiles informed him, “It went through. We’re gonna be dads!”

send me a theme/prompt for a 500 word drabble!

anonymous asked:

I have a question. How do you think erik would react if one day he did trust someone enough to take off his mask and wig and show them his face and they said that he was handsome and the stars and he was breath taking (in a good way)??? -bunny

*Inhales deeply* He would cry. And I don’t mean a few tears, I mean he is crying a river and sobbing so hard his screams are silent kind of cry. He is an absolute mess. He grieves for the little child who yearned for love and wanted to be told that he was beautiful no matter what his outside looks like, he cries for the wasted years wallowing in self-loathing and self-hatred thinking his loneliness would never get any better but then, here you are and you love him and you’re crying too because his emotions are just too great. 

At one point he thinks you’re mocking him and he gets angry and then goes to his organ for a few hours and slams something out, but then he comes back to you hesitant, like a deer in headlights and he wants to know if you meant what you said but he also doesn’t want to know because he knows you’ll take it all back and call him a monster. But you don’t and you’re still here and your hands are in his hair and you’re kissing his forehead and he’s crying all over again, grabbing both of your hands and his and kissing them slowly, reverently, his eyes glistening with so many unshed tears and he can’t breathe, it’s too much.

He has a panic attack because he’s feeling so much all at once so you take him to the sofa and you sit down and you read to him and he calms to a slow tears kind of cry and eventually, his breathing settles and so does hs already-weak heart and he falls asleep in your arms. When he wakes he remembers he’s not wearing a mask and he panics but it’s okay because you’re there and you’re reassuring him and he smiles and remembers.

It takes him a while to get used to it, but before the year is out he doesn’t ever wear his mask when he’s around you, in the safety of your shared home. It’s the first day of the rest of your lives together and he’s partially convinced that he died years ago and is in heaven and never realised it. Unbeknown to him, you feel much the same way.


Phantom Tags: @bingewatchingmylifegoby @liemarce @sky-the-llama
@suddenlyitisntwhatitusedtobe 

Deep in one of the lower passages in the lair dwells that rare thing: a placid spiral. Why one born from Light should choose to sequester himself in the dark is anyone’s guess, but the creature within seems content. Among the shelves and piles of dusty books and jars of strange limbs and organs, his claws brush along the dirt floor as he searches for the next vital tome. What he is researching he does not say and this has led to some whispers from the more paranoid members of the clan. His only reply to any inquiry is to say “the Truth” and no more, before slinking away, close to the ground, as is his custom.

Snipe #205777

Some doodles I did on the side yesterday night ( @blesstale drew Zunde that there ) including Dreby taking his first steps. I saw this kid screaming “NOOOO!” at some meat in a grocery store before running to his mom, so there we go ✌️

my piece for the @ai-yurionicezine ! I hope everyone whose received their copy can feel the ~love~ poured into it- with a biiig thanks to ollie for all his work (first time organizing a zine, too!) 💖

this piece was submitted for philautia! it was supposed to follow Yuuri’s journey into ~self-love~ at what I felt were the major emotional beats for his character

So I’ve rewatched this episode a few times at this point, and each time I noticed new things about this scene. As more pieces fell together, we get a clear picture as to just how brutal Lars’ death was.

And this specific screenshot says it all.

Why? Because LARS IS CLEARLY STILL ALIVE AT THIS MOMENT. (Look at how tense his facial features are. There is no way that Lars could make this face if he was dead right now.)

Why is that important? Look at what happened seconds before, and what happens shortly after.

1) The explosion.
The robanoid had just exploded, and Lars was physically on top of it when it happened. At this point-blank range, and without any sort of protection, Lars was exposed to the full force of the blast. Just imagine being blown up at point-blank. All the fire, all the force, and whatever shrapnel would have been flying around, that’s what Lars was exposed to. AND HE WAS STILL ALIVE TO FEEL ALL OF IT.

2) The impact.
This happens a fraction of a second after this screenshot, but is still well worth noting. When Lars hit the wall, we could clearly hear a definite ‘crack’ noise. Judging by how he hit the wall, he most likely broke not just his neck, but probably his spine and skull, as well as several other bones, like his ribs or his arms. Along with this, there’s also a good chance that some of his organs may have been ruptured, such as his heart or his lungs. (Especially since the edge of the gem hole would likely have somewhat impaled him on impact.)

This is definitely the moment Lars died, as shown by how his face and body goes completely limp afterwards. But it’s still very likely he felt the agony of the impact for the split second before his death.

3) Lars’ scar.
This is probably the most brutal part of all of this.
As first said by the lovely @bedknees , the fact that Lars’ scarred eye was specifically covered by his hair before resurrection makes it very likely that his head was split open in that spot.

And I completely agree with this.

But how could this have happened? Shrapnel.

One of the reasons bombs are so deadly is not just because of the explosion, but also the resulting shrapnel that would be launched in all directions at anything in range. With Lars being at point-blank range of the explosion, he could’ve easily been exposed to this. And that’s exactly what I think happened.

Why? Because Lars’ scar doesn’t just slice through his cheek and forehead like skimming across a rocky surface may do. Lars’ scar also goes over his eyelid, which is shown whenever he blinks after his resurrection.

So how would’ve this gone down?

I think that a piece of the robanoid’s outer layer, probably sheetlike in shape, was shot through Lars’ head in a fraction of a second, cutting through this eye, skull, and brain, and launching out the other side. AND HE WAS STILL ALIVE TO FEEL THIS.(His hair deliberately covers his eye in this screenshot, in this moment where he is still alive, which probably proves this.)


And you can clearly see Lars’ face twisted in AGONY in the fraction of a second prior to his death.


Lars’ death was not a long, drawn out one, but was still a torturous one. To see just how violent and brutal his death was, it shows just how tragic this moment really is.

Bonus: Other possible scenarios

1) The shrapnel could’ve stopped partway into Lars’ skull, ultimately altering his brain function. (Steven’s magic likely wouldn’t be able to heal where the shrapnel would still be in)
(Although I think this is incredibly unlikely, since Lars is shown to act and function in the same way both before and after death. The areas of the brain that would’ve been affected would impair his speech, his perception of the environment, his motor abilities, his judgement, his emotional reactions, and his sense of self. This would result in a vastly different Lars than the one we know.)
(A similar injury has happened in real life; Phineas Gage. I suggest Googling him)
2) If the shrapnel had been much bigger, it would’ve cleanly cut off a large chunk of Lars’ head in a Mortal Kombat style death.

3

More modern!Ashi Reincarnation AU

Ashi allows the weirdo who claims to be from the past to stay in her Tokyo apartment after he saves her life (and because he’s a good cook). 
Jack is referring to the happier times before Ashi fade-dies in the wedding. With her long hair and Jack’s rebuilt home in the finale, I’d like to assume they had a few good times lmao.

correction: my shoulder’s*

More things I've learned from fanfic

- John needs to either wear more chapstick or stop licking his lips so much….so….more chapstick it is.

- Never trust Sherlock when he says the hotel only had one room left.

- Chinese food is for reconciliation, Angelo’s is for hot dates.

- John can smell sneaky cigarettes from twelve miles away with a head cold.

- Nobody spoils a good mood like a sibling.

- Don’t worry, Sherlock, he’s either organizing his anger at The Nearest Pub or he’s kidnapped again.

- Doesn’t everybody love a good nip on the nape?

- Nothing spoils a good mood like an unexpected glance at an Almost Forgotten Scar.

- Neither Sherlock or John ever make the first move. They both set the other one up continuously until someone misunderstands, gets insulted, and they don’t talk for another three months.

- Everybody Hates Mycroft, the musical.

- Mycroft Pays for Everything, the opera.

Skewered

Summary: You’re a doctor for the avengers and when Bucky comes in with a hunk of metal in his side you find that it’s not his injury that’s making you sweat.

Warnings: Description of wounds/blood, Bucky being shameless

Note: I’m overwhelmed by the feedback I got on my last fic! You guys are great! So for my second fic I though I’d try out Bucky, again I’d love any constructive comments/criticism.


“Incoming! Incoming!” Odette, the surgical tech assigned to you rushes into the room.

“How many?” you ask, looking up from the table where you’ve laid out your tools.The tech flushes. You sigh. “What type of injuries?” 

“Uh-hm..” the tech stutters. You turn around so you can hide your eye roll. “Dr.Cho’s been called in..” Odette says. 

“Thank you, Odette” You say and head to the sink to scrub your hands again. You are a top scientist working for Fury, and besides having your degree in engineering you’re an MD who specializes in general surgery. So whenever the reinstated avengers go on mission you’re put on call, which basically consists of you waiting in the med bay in case anyone needs to be treated. Usually the injuries are minor, the team are unparalleled in what they do, and you just end up patching up deep scrapes or bullet grazes. Because of this and the fact you have daily work at the Avenger’s compound you’ve become very friendly with the team.

Your palms start to sweat. Today’s mission was supposed to be high risk and it’s a bad sign that Helen’s been called in. With you and one other doctor on call her and her technology are only called in for severe injuries. The door opens and a battered looking Steve supporting an even more battered looking Bucky walks in. Steve helps Bucky sit on the examination table.

“Any more injured?” You ask, pulling on gloves.

“Scrapes all around, except for Sam. He’s badly burned.” Steve blows air out of his mouth. You look at him, his brow is creased in worry. 

“How badly?” You look at Bucky, he has a chunk of what seems to be jagged metal in his side, about two inches thick, protruding several inches from his gear. It seems to be a simple extraction job.

“Badly. But Park’s seeing to him”  Samuel Park is the other doctor in the compound “Dr.Cho’s supposed to put him in the new Cradle.I hope she gets here soon.”

You walk to the table and pick up scissors and a knife. “Odette, You should go assist Dr.Park.” the tech nods, and scurries out the door. Steve goes to follow but looks back at Bucky.

“He’ll be fine, go,” You say, and with that Steve leaves.


You look at Bucky. His eyes are already trained on you. It reminds you of the time Steve came in for stitches. His forearm had been split open. Bucky leaned against the wall in the corner of the room, he remained silent but his eyes followed your every move. Even when you looked at him he didn’t break his gaze. You assumed he was just being protective over his best friend. Bucky hasn’t said more than two words to you in the time that you’ve known him. Even after he started opening up and joking around with the team he remained oddly silent around you. You assumed you annoyed him. He had no problem talking with the others and even flirting with the research techs. 

You step up to him and start cutting away his gear. ‘Oops probably should have asked before I started cutting off his clothes’.Heat flushes down your neck and you stop your actions.

“Sorry, do you mind  if I cut away your gear?” 

“ ‘S fine” he says, voice low. You look up and you swear there’s a hint of smile on his face. You nod and continue. He smells of something metallic mixed with blood and sweat and a hint of….cologne…? As you cut away more of his gear you catch more of it. You try not to think about it. He’s handsome, the type of handsome that makes people do a double take. You try to ignore the broadness of his shoulders as his gear falls away, leaving him in a damp wife-beater. 

“Ain’t even the first date and you’re already tryna get me outta my clothes.” He rasps, startling you. You stutter and stammer, before deciding not to respond.

“Okay,” you say, taking a breath. “I’m just going to  take a look at this” You step in between his legs and inspect the metal shard. It looks worse than what you first thought it was. The shard is about the size of your hand and sticks out right below his rib cage, there’s a possibility that it might have hit some organs. There’s no exit point. Your heart rate goes up. Can a super soldier die if his major organs fail before his body can repair them? 

You wheel over your table of tools. You wish you hadn’t sent away Odette.

“Can you lay down for me?,” You ask.

“Of course sugar.” He says, piercing you with his stare.

You take a deep breath, feeling flustered. Did this man want to die on the operating table?

You cut away his undershirt and prepare some local anesthesia.

“I’m going to try to numb the area, but I don’t know how well this will work. I’m sorry I don’t have anything else on hand.” You don’t even know if anesthesia would work on him.

“ ‘S alright, darling I’ve been through worse,” He says giving you a small smile. You feel your face fall as you think about how true his statement is. You numb him and take a deep breath.You move to start extracting the shard when his hand shoots out and grabs yours. You stop yourself from jumping.

“You know there is something that would make me feel better.” Bucky says, voice gravelly.

“Of course, what is it?” You place your tools back on the table. ‘Maybe a special painkiller?’ you think.

“A kiss,” Bucky’s face stretches into a wide smirk.

You splutter “James…!”

“Bucky.” he supplies, smirk not leaving his face.

“Bucky….I uh….I don’t think that would be necessary for minimizing your pain.”

Oh I beg to differ darlin’“ He says.

You clear your throat and start to grab your tools again. Bucky says your name, pleadingly.

“Come on, ya really gonna deny a dyin’ man his final wish.” You roll your eyes at his dramatic tone. You fix him with your gaze.

 “You’re not gonna die Bucky.” 

“Here I am,bleeding out on your table, and all I’m askin’ for is one little kiss. Just one little kiss, from the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He looks at you from the corner of his eye “….before she slices me open.”

You sigh. One thing you know about Bucky Barnes is that he’s stubborn as a bull. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, his stubble prickling you in a not unpleasant way.

For a moment Bucky just looks at you, it seems like he’s crawling underneath your skin with that stare. Then he groans “Really sugar? Ya gonna try and cheat a man with a chunk of metal in his side?”

“I-I, uh” You stammer

“You really are heartless.” He sighs dramatically, closing his eyes.

You war with yourself for a split second, before leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. As you start to pull away Bucky’s hand comes up and stops you, and he deepens the kiss. His lips are surprisingly soft, his stubble scratches your face deliciously. Remembering the fact that he has a piece of metal in his side, you slowly withdraw. Bucky tugs on your lip with his teeth as you do so, which makes you have to turn around in order to regain your composure. When you turn back around, Bucky’s face is split in an ear to ear grin.

“Alright beautiful, cut me open, I can now die a happy man.”

You swallow, “Shut up James,” you snap, hating how your voice shakes. You pick up your tools and start to remove the metal. It comes out surprisingly smoothly, except for the last few inches. As you pull them free, Bucky starts to bleed. Way too much. The end of the shard is jagged. You try to contain the blood. But there’s just so much, you call for assistance and try to repair the damage.

By the time you finish you’re covered in blood. “Bucky, Bucky can you hear me?” You say, stepping close and touching his face, he looks drawn, pale.

“His pulse is faint. But it’s there.” Odette says. You jump, you forgot she had come in.

“Alright,” you sigh, blowing hair back from your forehead. “Guess we’ll wait.”


Bucky’s moved to a different hospital bed in another one of the rooms, and fitted with IVs. Steve understandably freaks out, with two close friends gravely injured within 24 hours it’s no wonder. Sam’s healed now, resting. You tell Steve to do the same and sit in a chair in Bucky’s room. The others wander in and out of the room.You know with his regenerative properties he’ll recover, but when six hours pass you can’t help but worry. ‘Why hasn’t he woken up by now?’ .


You blink your eyes open as a sliver of sunlight passes across your face. You squint, looking at the clock on the wall: 7 am. Damn. You finished patching Bucky up at about 4 pm last night. You had fallen asleep in his room. ‘I’m terrible at keeping watch’ you scold yourself. ‘What if he had worsened during the night?’ You look over at Bucky, only to find him watching you. You jump.

“Man you need to stop doing that.” Your voice is thick with sleep. You lick your dry lips, feeling self conscious. Standing you hear your joints cracking as you walk over.

“How can I help it when you’re always lookin’ so gorgeous?” He smirks.

“Shut up,” You say, pulling back the covers and inspecting his wound. It looks nearly healed. “How do you feel?” you murmur.

“Alright,” He says wincing slightly as you put pressure on his wound. He sits up, and you try to ignore the way the muscles in his chest and stomach flex. “I’d feel better if you’d let me buy you dinner, though” He looks up at you through his lashes. You click your tongue.

“You really are shameless,”

“Come on, it’s the least I can do after bleedin’ all over ya.” You look down at yourself, your scrubs are crusted in dried blood. You start replacing the dressing on his wound.

“You say that to all the girls who stitch you up?” You quip, avoiding his gaze.

“Nope. But then again I don’t spend six months building up the courage to ask those girls out either.” You look at him for a long while,saying nothing, and notice how red starts to tinge his ears and creep up his neck.

“Alright,” You answer finally giving him a smirk of your own.

Bucky lets out a huge breath, and chuckles  “Damn sugar, you really know how to make a man sweat, don’t ya?”


Tags : @stephie-senpai

restingbitchfaceisnotsadface  asked:

"I can start with how I went to marine science camp as a kid and end with that time I accidentally brought a flamethrower into the county courthouse" --- PLEASE EXPLAIN IM SO CONFUSED D:

So, when I was a kid, my parents worked full time, so during the summer, my sister and I were enrolled in day-camp so we’d be adequately tired when we got home, and my FAVORITE  camp was Marine Science Camp, run by MSI on the banks of redwood creek, right off the San Francisco bay.  It was AWESOME: we got to dissect squid, there was a literal shark tank, which we got to fish leopard sharks out of and Tag Them For Scientific Research, ad we’d go out on the boat once a week and do things like haul a net full of fish out, use a scoop to study benthic creatures and look at plankton under a microscope.  I realize now we were essentially doing transects, dissections and other field/lab work for a bunch of grad students but it was FUN.  

I totally wanted to be a marine biologist when I grew up and would tell anyone who asked me what I was into about nematocyts and oceanic acidification until The Adult realized their mistake and fled.

At the same time, I was pursing an aggressive interest in the visual arts, which my parents heavily encouraged, becuase they are excellent parents and because it;s was a QUIET hobby unlikely to result in bodily harm, unlike my sister, who got into karate and Theater, which is a surprising dangerous combination.

But then i got to college and realized an issue with this plan: I, hands down, SUCK at chemistry.  I did okay in into becuase I’m great at taking standardized tests, and the teacher got suspended halfway through the semester for getting into a fistfight with another prof for poaching his grad student, but Organic Chemistry was a disaster.  I’ve never been good at arithmetic, and balancing chemical equations is something i need the dang molecule models for. So marine bio was a No-Go.

So I switched my major over to Art, which turned out to be kind of a disaster (the school managed to lose an entire semester of my grades because the Art Department kept really sloppy records and i ended up dropping out and resuming college elsewhere) and AMAZING, becuase I took a human figure drawing course with professor [REDACTED] who announced on the third day of class:  “SWEET THE FOOLS JUST GAVE ME TENURE.  CAN’T FIRE ME NOW, SO LEMME SHOW YOU HOW TO MAKE A FLAMETHROWER”

The thing she actually taught us was how to modify a culinary butane torch to empty the canister at a much higher rate than any manufacturer anywhere recommends, which gives you and AWESOME bigass jet of blue flame, but only lasts about 30 seconds per container.  She also showed us how to make bandeliers so we could carry multiple containers, “just in case”.

In more practical lessons, we were in class when the first gov’t shutdown happened, so we didn’t have money for models, so she oped to bring in various animals for us to draw instead.  there was the usual cats and dogs, but also chickens, horses, a farm hog, a 12-foot Burmese Python and a baby deer that had been abandoned on her porch.  It was really fun, both becuase animals are amazing, and becuase they don’t hold still, so you learn to draw REAL FAST, which is a skill that’s served me well since.

A few years later, I was summoned for Jury Duty, and had to show up at the courthouse for selection.  HOWEVER, I’d put my usual bag in the wash the previous night, so I grabbed my old school backpack to take with me because I knew I had a sketchbook in there to amuse myself with.

I forgot I also had my flamethrower in there.

I live in a pretty low-crime area, so the metal detectors are actually pretty far into the building- you don’t get scanned until you’re actually going into the courtroom.  So for about three hours beforehand, I was sitting in the hallway having a Nice Chat with one of the state park rangers and the CEO of the local call center.  We get called in, and as we walk through, my backpack sets off the alarm.

“Fuck.” I say abruptly remembering what would have set it off.

“Do you have anything metal in your backpack?” the security guy asks me.  I think he was expecting me to say glasses.

“I forgot that I have my flamethrower in here. I’ll just leave this outside.”  I explain, hoping I’m not about to be arrested.

“Please open your bag or leave it outs- your WHAT?”  Dude stops halfway through his routine.

“Flamethrower.  I made it in art class and will definitely be leaving it here.” I say, carefully putting my bag on the table, zipper open , and pointing at the small butane torch.  The guard looks at it, looks at me (pls note, I am small, white, feminine and conventionally attractive so YOU BET privilege was happening here), before deciding that Art People Are Dumb and waving me in after wanding me to make sure I hadn’t accidentally brought anything else in my pockets.

I was not selected for jury duty.

In other news, I still have it, and it still works.  I use it for mass-toasting creme brulee.

9

Poirot and the 1930s Charleston dance