one of them is knitting now

Why does DNA have so many recycled dance moves?

If you’re paying attention to the choreography, you’ll notice some iconic moves taken from previous BTS performances (most noticeably, from Blood, Sweat, and Tears). The obvious metaphor here is that the dance moves represent bits of DNA, recombined into a single new organism. 

But if you take what BTS said, about DNA being about their bond as a group and how they were meant to be together, and then you look at how the seven of them became linked into a single double helix structure, it’s clear that the dance moves are meant to represent the building blocks of their past successes and creations, recombined to become who they are now - a group that is BUILT upon the blood, sweat, and tears of their past, so tight-knit and cohesive and integral to each other’s existence, they’re practically one. 

something borrowed // stiles stilinski

Summary: Stiles lets Y/N borrow something of his & unexpectedly gains something in return

Requested: no, collab with @rememberstilinski

Pairing: Stiles & Y/N

Warning: no


Clutching the plastic lunch tray she navigated her way through the crowded cafeteria and back to the lunch table. The stress from the first four periods of her day slowly melted away as she spotted her group of friends across the cafeteria, sitting at the same table they had since the start of their freshman year.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as Lydia waved over to her. Picking up her pace, Y/N maneuvered her way through the crowds of people who were too engaged with their conversations with one another to pay any sort of attention to the small girl.

Then, a familiar boy caught her attention.

The sheriff’s son, Stiles Stilinski.

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just Soft bucky things to make u wanna actually pass out 10x

  • bucky gettin his hair brushed which he finds is actually relaxing once he gets past the initial :/// of having things near his head, so sometimes he’ll just sit on the floor in front of whoever’s closest and they’ll brush his hair and it’s veyry Nice™
  • falling asleep curled up on the couch which should be Difficult because bucky is not smol but he fits so he just burrows under the blanket that’s usually left on the back of the sofa and can be asleep in minutes. clint once sat on him thinking that bucky was just a huge pile of blankets. that did not go well. clint was apologizing for weeks even though he was the one with the dislocated shoulder. no one sits on the couch anymore when bucky’s nowhere to be found. they just assume he’s curled up there. 
  • flowers. so many flowers. bucky apparently loves them so when steve buys them a house (bc of course he does lol) he makes sure there’s enough space in the backyard for a garden. ((maybe against his better judgment he doesn’t tell mention that bucky used to love flowers Before everything happened. because he doesn’t want bucky to subconsciously change his feelings/reactions based on What Used to Be. still, he secretly marvels about the fact that after all this time, bucky still lights up at the sight of pretty roses. it’s precious))
  • bucky has a thing for mittens. he’s not even sure why but once, at the nursing home (where he visits sometimes; they get a real kick out of him there for some reason), one of the elderly lady’s knitted him a pair to keep his metal hand warm after he touched her accidentally one day and made her cold. he’d felt bad about it for so long until she gave him a pair of mittens for his birthday as a surprise and told him to stop pouting and looking at her like he stepped on her dog. he barely takes them off now and when he does, they sit right next to the hat the old lady taught him to knit for himself. it’s their thing and he loves it.

soft bucky is the only good thing left on this dying earth thank u this has been a PSA

Textile Majors

Theres a special magic in hand made fabric items. Handmade items in general, yes, but specifically fabric items.

There are two aspects to this. One is the level of relationship between the artist and the recipient. The knitted beanie purchased off Etsy is going to be nowhere near as powerful as the Fair Isle sweater your grandmother made specifically for you.

The other is the level of involvement of the artist. The more involved the artist is in the creation, the more powerful it is. That quilt made from store bought fabric, pieced together and quilted with protection symbols, it will keep you safe. The gloves whose yarn came from sheep you raised, whose dye came from berries picked from plants you tended and nourished, sheared and cleaned and dyed and spun and knitted by your hands, those will save your life.

Textile art majors come to the school knowing the basics of their craft. They can knit a sweater, or sew a dress, or started with those little bracelet looms and now are never found without some sort of weaving project. They come, because they want more. The history of the art, the depth and fullness of it. They come because they want to be fashion designers, or because they want to be conservators at museums. They come, with their portable sewing machines and card tables to stand them on, with their knitting needles and crochet hooks, their looms and embroidery hoops and infinite boxes of fabric, fiber, yarn, threads and notions, pins and sewing needles, measuring tapes and rulers. Their bags are full of pattern books and their rooms are cluttered with their projects.

They’ll go on, those that succeed, to be the top of their fields, whatever they choose to do. They’ll credit their blessings on their time at Elsewhere, the lessons they learned and the influences they found.

Items made at Elsewhere have a special power. While all handmade items absorb some of the emotion and intentions the artist has while creating it, items made at Elsewhere take those feelings and make them magical. This can be a blessing, or a curse. There is a tradition of burning projects that frustrate too much. Every Freshman is shocked and appalled when, at the new moon, all the older textile majors gather together to burn any project that is causing them problems or resulting in negative feelings. They learn, after their first or second frustrating project causes them such discomfort after they make it that they can’t actually use the thing.

The professors prioritize quality over quantity for a reason. New projects are always assigned at the start of the waxing moon, and due before the new moon. They have a special form for projects that have to be redone because they were burned. They will provide the materials and time to make up the projects, but only three times. Some will offer deals for a fourth.

Gifts are a mixed blessing.

That one sophmore that knits six pairs of socks every weekend? She’s avoiding calls from her parents and they’re full of her anxiety. The one person that wore them ended up running like the hunt was after them until they collapsed sobbing in the quad. Now, we accept her gifts, and put them away. They’re be useful for trade with the Folk.

The boy from the equatorial country who weaves those lovely blankets? Only use them in the depths of winter, or you’ll roast. Take the blanket with you if you have to go out in the deep snowy areas for ANY reason. They’ll keep you warm and dry. It may look as light as your sheets, but he started making them in his first winter here, when he thought he’d freeze to death for sure. Now he jokes that they’re a brilliant ice breaker.

The person that ignored the proverbial ‘boyfriend curse,’ made xir boyfriend a sweater, then begged him to wear it. Nobody knows exactly what happened to him, but xe is so much happier now, since he disappeared.

There are legacy students here, whose tools came down from their parents and grandparents, you’ll know them by their iron needles and hooks, and the runes carved in their old looking looms and hoops. The items they make are often high quality, even as freshmen, and they know the ways of trading. We’ve all learned to look for them when having an issue with a project, they have a way of getting to the heart of it and guiding us through. Trades with them will be dear, but what you get will be worth it.

The senior project is a group affair. Every senior contributes something they’ve made. The fabric is made by students talented with the loom, the lace by the best crocheter in the class. Every piece is made by students, from the earliest bud of cotton or flax, the hand raised lambs, goats, rabbits or alpacas, to the final glass bead. Each year the product is different, but the ritual is the same. At the final full moon before graduation, the product is displayed on the quad, surrounded with flowers and hand made accessories. Nobody knows what happens to it after that. It disappears before dawn, and the artists go out in the world to make their fortunes. Only once has the project met the light of the morning sun, and that class never saw any success.


More MBTI Questions I Need Answers to

DISCLAIMER: I legit need answers actually hahaha, if you can comment that’d be great because MY CURIOSITY NEEDS TO BE QUENCHEDDD  ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

- how do I adjust your preprogrammed cookie instructions so that I don’t die from coronary heart disease after eating all your cookies? That stick of butter y'all put into them got my arteries going like @.@
- can I have some more cookies pls? I ate all 12 of them in one sitting
- how often would you like to set your ‘it’s normal to feel insecure’ reminder?

- will you come with me to this party 3 weeks from now? I promise to never leave your side and I heard there will be pets there (my attempt at bribery)
- how do you have the best hugs? what is your secret?!?!?!? I MUST KNOWWW
- how are all of you so uniquely artistic? Every INFJ I know does some kind of knitting, oil painting, guitar playing on the side and THEY’RE EXTREMELY GOOD AT WHAT THEY DOO

- How do animals know to approach you for your mystical blessing (i.e. legendary head rub that makes all the animals kneel before you in praise)?
- y'all have such colourful outfits! Can you share your wardrobe with me?
- is there a cap on the number of art forms you dabble in or is it more like all ISFPs gets at least one?

- can I come with you to Thursday’s yoga class? I don’t have a matching yoga mat, but I’ll bring you that soy drink that you’ve been wanting to try
- how is your social media game so on point? TEACH MEH YOUR WAYSSS
- do you ever randomly forget someone’s name while talking to them? Because that happens to me wayyyy more than it should

- is there a daily tears limit or is it more like a you must meet a certain quota by the end of the month?
- how many years are you granted Special Snowflake status? Or do you renew it every 5 years or something?
- do y'all come out of the womb knowing how to make flower crowns or what? THEY’RE TOO PRETTY TO EXIST HOWWW??!?!?!

- on a scale from 1 (“I never do this”)  to 10 (“what does it feel like to not do this?”), how often do you think about world domination?
- is it possible to like puzzles but also suck really badly at them? Because that’s me T__T
- how often do you wonder about whether or not you messed up a social interaction? how often is too often? oh crap, my INTJ just lagged a little bit, DON’T BLUE SCREEEN NOOOOOOOOOO

- Are y'all anti-change or just pro-routine? because there’s a difference apparently *eyes ENTJ*
- HELPPPP my ISTJ is stuck in a loop/routine!! Is this normal?
- From all the mbti types, pick one to clean your house according to your instructions, one to walk your dog, and one who’s house might collapse into itself from the hoarding unless you intervene

- where are y'all at? I don’t know enough ISTPs
- did you have fun last Friday night? 😉
- how do all of you have this sexy smouldering thing going on?!?! I CAN’T NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH ALL OF YOUUUU

- how many hours did you sleep last night? Aim for 8 next time 🙂
- list me your 5 most recent wiki page visits .. I need stuff to do … and researching about a random obscure science thing sounds like a fun Tuesday
- are the science functions pre-installed or is it only calculus that’s pre-installed? How do I upgrade these functions?

- Of all the mbti types, pick one to be your employee, your significant other, and your child
- HOW MANY SUITS DO YOU OWN?!?! Can you lend me one?
- describe your ideal workplace environment (are you turned on by this question?)

- do you get an adrenaline rush when you bulldoze during an argument? because I totally feel that
- what does an ENTJ mating ritual look like? (i.e. how do you act around your crush? or no diff because can’t run StrongFeelings.exe?)
- I think my ENTJ is broken, it keeps running IsolationMode.exe! How do I fix it?!?! T____T

- HEY ESTP! WHERE IS THE PARTY AT!?! Please take me with you, I’ll dance on the porch outside your house if I have to
- how do you feel about manuals? or do you just set them on fire? can we do a group manual burning? *ISTJs are probably having a heart attack*
- Pick one mbti type to kiss, one to marry, and one to have casual sex with

- name me ONE project you’ve ever finished that wasn’t for school/work (y'all get so excited when you start a new project but the old projects feel neglected AF y'know)
- Since you’re the Meme Lord(ess), if you marry a commoner, are they Duchess of Memes or Lady Meme? or Lord Meme? (just throwing that in real quick before the I see pitchforks outside mah house)
- how do y'all have so much air to debate for as long as you do? do ENTPs have unique genetic mutations that allow for larger lung capacity? do y'all double as Olympic swimmers too?

- where do all of our secrets go after we tell them to you? do you have a personalized file on each of us that you flip through from time to time as a bedtime story or what?
- why do all of you want me to reveal my emotional wounds? Is that the equivalent of foreplay or something?
- how do I install PersonalSpace.exe onto my ENFJ?

- how do you have sooooooo many tabs open?!?!?
- do pets come to you or do you come to pets?
- will you take me with you on your next spontaneous surprise trip to Tokyo? All my bags are already packed, just tell me what day we’re going

- why do y'all always smell nice? can I bottle your scent or something?
- do you take dance lessons or is dancing well just a feature of all ESFPs?
- have you seen my butt? Because you’re sexy AF and I’d like to give you permission to dance within 2 ft of it

i am so on board with the idea of percival being a giant softy

he was adorable with the lamia (at least until the enchantment turned all the knights against each other)

Originally posted by sandiest-cupid

but consider:

  • percival being a massive hugger. he hugs everyone if he thinks they’re having a bad day. once he hugged arthur without thinking and there was a stunned silence and then arthur joking appointed him the Official Court Hugger, and he takes it very seriously
  • they send percival if they need to rescue a child or someone very afraid. he talks to them real quiet and gentle and every time he returns with them riding double on the horse, clinging to him
  • once they found a baby in an devastated village and he insisted on being the one to carry it home. he wrapped some cloth into a sling and rode into camelot like a proud mama
  • the castle is crawling with cats after he rescued one and it had kittens. they nap in the armory and keep merlin company when he cleans arthur’s armor. they all sleep in percival’s room and at night you can hear them purring
  • the mothers of camelot all adore percival and give him an abundance of baked goods as thank yous. he always comes home with muffins and bread and sweet buns and one time, an entire cake that gwaine stole pieces of
  • he likes to knit and no one questions it. it relaxes him, plus all the knights now have lovely sets of winter hats and scarves
The Joy of Socks

yeah, idk either, really. Happy birthday, Harry! [AO3]

Presents for Potter: Saviour Seeks Socks

What do you get the man who single-handedly saved us all from You-Know-Who? A luxury holiday? A bottle of Ogdeon’s Finest? Soap-on-a-rope? Harry Potter’s birthday is coming up, and the Prophet managed to secure an exclusive interview with the man himself. We asked what he really, really wants to receive on the big day.

“A wise man once said to me, you can never have enough socks,” said Potter. “Once you reach a certain level of fame, no one gives you socks any more. At the time, I was too young to truly appreciate the remark, but now I get it. Socks are a great gift—and I never get any!”

So there you have it. Harry Potter needs socks! You can send him some, c/o the Prophet, and we will make sure he gets them. But who was the learned individual who gave Potter such advice? Some have suggested that [cont. page 3]

“How many is this now?” Ginny asked, unwrapping yet another package.

“Today? Including those that were sent to work? Or in total? Because I think we must be close to five hundred pairs, by this point,” Harry replied, holding up another pair. “Ooh, look, these ones have snitches on them, that’s cool.”

“This’ll learn you not to speak to the press ever again,” she said, shaking her head. “‘Dear Mr. Potter, I hope you like these socks, I knitted them myself, also thank you for saving us from Voldemort, love Doris Englow, 94’.”

“It never says that,” said Harry. She held up the note. “Oh, how sweet. Honestly though, the Prophet needs to stop claiming I did everything ‘single-handedly’, they’ve never given enough credit to—dear God, those are the most hideous socks I have ever seen.”

“Don’t be rude to Doris! She put a lot of time into them, and personally I think mustard, lime green and beetroot are lovely colour combinations,” Ginny said. “When did you even get interviewed, anyway?”

“Last Tuesday I was coming out of the canteen at work, and some reporter was lurking. They asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and for a moment I felt like channelling my inner Dumbledore. Don’t worry, I’ve learnt my lesson. Never again,” he said firmly.

“I wonder if he knew all he had to do was complain to the national press about not having any socks, and he’d be sorted for life,” mused Ginny. “Look, the Chuddley Cannons have sent you an entire box full of their entire range.”

“Ron’ll be delighted,” Harry said. “I’ll give them to him later, when we all meet up.”

“Great,” Ginny said. “And what about all the rest?”

“There’s got to be some charity somewhere who’ll accept a donation,” he said.

All of these?” Ginny said doubtfully. “What would anyone do with a thousand socks?”

Keep reading

  • so the four of them have been trying to come up with a name for their group for weeks
    • nino proposed MAAN (mari, alya, adrien, nino) but alya was concerned that it gave legitimacy to the patriarchy
    • adrien then suggested MANA bc he googled it and apparently it means power and prestige, but then mari found out it was also a mexican rock band and now none of them can take the name seriously 
    • alya tried NAAM but adrien was like “nah that’s a kind of yoga that chloe does”
    • they’re currently contemplating AMAN, although there are disagreements about it also being a bougie resort hotel chain
    • naming the group chat is somehow worse
  • the four of them binged the harry potter movies at alya’s house one night, and adrien was in love with the idea of the weasley sweaters. so marinette, bless her heart, spends months knitting the four of them christmas sweaters with their initials on the front
  • adrien has really weird nicknames for everyone in his phone
    • mari: “moonlight fashion princess”
    • alya: “beautiful warrior goddess” 
    • nino: “valiant sunshine prince”
    • that kid pulls inspo from so many shows and random tumblr posts they don’t bother to ask why he chose the names
  • they all agree that if any of them were ever arrested, alya would be their first phone call. they ask alya who her first phone call would be, but she just snorts without looking up from her phone and goes “…please.”
  • adrien’s dad likes to compensate (or something) by getting him brand new cell phones every year. so he just gives his old ones to his friends bc they’re still relatively nice and honestly why is his dad like this.
    • the other three are not complaining 
  • nino is that asshole that will surreptitiously film his friends when they’re not looking and snap it to them like a creep. one time he caught marinette sketching in the park while he hid in the bushes and she’s still so livid that she didn’t see him
A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Eight)
  • The first section of this story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?
  • The second section will explore the aftermath of Claire and Jamie’s reunion, following their journey as they work to build a new life together. 

Section Two: A Hundred More 


So close,” that wretched, strangled voice kept choking out over and over again. “Claire—” He kept trying to hold her closer, wrap his body around hers still more completely, searching, searching for her, though he knew she was beneath him. “So—so close—

To losing her. He had come mere minutes, moments away from losing her forever, again, right before his eyes.

Shhhh, darling, I know,” she kept whispering into his hair, his neck, though she was sobbing as hard as he. “I know—It’s—It’s alright, love—” 

“Don’t go…” The snow-flecked dark seemed to spin and scream around him, throwing everything into a hellish whirl that he couldn’t grasp, about to throw him off the very face of the earth. “Claire, ye canna—Claire—don’t—go—” 

“I’m not going—anywhere—” she gasped out, clutching harder around his back. “It’s over, Jamie—All—over….”  She cupped his head so urgently, so tenderly as she cradled him and wept into his shoulder. “Shhhh, it’s alright, love…it’s alright…It’s all over….

He hadn’t let her out of his arms, not for one single moment.

Those minutes on the hill, his body, his heart, his MIND had all been on the verge of shattering from the terror that she was leaving him. The strength—the pure, desperate strength— it had taken to keep upright and to speak, to ask instead of screaming and lunging? Never, not even in battle, had he ever felt something like that: the absolute life of him being ripped apart before him, shred by shred, hope by hope, until he was no more than a bloodied, quivering plea. 


But then, she had run to him and he had become flesh again, breathing and needing, with arms that could hold and a soul that could feel joy, this joy, 

and the rest of world had gone still. 

It had been hours—or perhaps only moments—before he’d crumpled to the ground.  Utterly overcome, utterly dissolved in relief and love, in scarce-contained panic, he’d laid her down and covered her like a cloak with his body, surrounding her, trying to convince himself that she was real. 

There, on the frozen ground of the faerie hill, oblivious to the wind and the snow, they’d broken apart in one another’s arms, each kept from vanishing only by the other grasping them tight enough to bruise, from feeling their arms, hearing what words they could manage to gasp out; and it was both everything and scarcely anything at all compared to what they each felt, in those moments. 


She felt the same under his hands, exactly the same. It was the same voice—the same gentle hands—the same glorious spirit. She was Claire; and he was going to die from her. 

“Are you shaking from—” She had to stop and get her sobbing breath under control before she could finish. “—from—crying— or cold?”

He truly didn’t know. 

She pushed up his sleeve. “God, Jamie, you’re like ice,” she moaned. He felt her shifting and fumbling about. “Here, put—Take this—”

Though he was still shaking, still barely able to see through swollen eyes, he managed to pull the cloak out from beneath her and throw it over them both, heads and all. It was quite large, of good, thick wool, and a pocket of warmth instantly began to form around them. While he wouldn’t have thought the cold had been affecting him so very much, the change was like a dram of good brandy, rushing through his body from head to toe in an instant. His sobbing eased, his mind began to clear, his breathing slowing to something like a normal pace. He could hear hers doing the same, tapering and settling as the calm and the gentle pool of heat settled over them both. 

He had had both arms around her before they’d shifted, hands gripping her side and twined in her hair, needing in every muscle and fiber of him to hold her. Now, in utter darkness, without even the faint glow of the snow-clouds to illuminate her, he could only reach for her face, needing, paradoxically, to see her, to look into her eye. And the moment his palm came to rest on her cheek— so cold and slick with tears—she gave a little whimpering sound that might have been his name, and she was reaching up for his mouth. He couldn’t stop kissing her; tasting her; touching her; couldn’t stop moaning her name. All the years—All the years of longing for her, and she was here in his arms, sharing his breath. 

“I’m here,” she kept saying back against his lips, knowing that he needed to be told. “I’m here, Jamie….I’m here….”

“When I saw ye,” he said, a long time later, when the world had once more gone quiet, his hand pressed against her heart. “When I saw ye climbing up that hill, Claire—” 

Jamie had found the horse a mile or two back. It was one of the Lallybroch mares, a beast he’d broken himself and would have known anywhere. Terror had driven him all the way from the Lallybroch dooryard, or so he had thought. No, he had only felt the true, ripping claws of it when he had seen that riderless horse and known that he had come too late. The furious minutes of that last hellish gallop were a blank in his memory, but he remembered the ecstatic fury of seeing her up there in the distance; seeing her turning; and then the life dropping out of him once more as she began to sprint upward, away from him, toward the stones.

“What would you have done?” Claire whispered, stroking his face. “If I had kept running?”

“I’d have run faster,” he said with what voice he had left, “and pinned ye to the ground until ye listened to sense.”

She stiffened. “…You’d have stopped me by force?”

He forgot the complete darkness enshrouding them and gave her a look.  “If you’re asking ‘would I have done whatever I could to keep ye running off forever before ye kent all the truth’ you’re damned right, I would. I’d have tied ye hand and foot to a tree, if I had to.”

“You bloody man,” she muttered, and it was not said in fondness. “Nothing changed.”

Anger flared up in him, red-hot and blinding with panic, and he closed his hand tight around her wrist. “You were going to just leave, Claire,” he hissed. “Can ye honestly blame me? God, I’m still so furious that ye would have—Had I not—” He swore, shaking her. “You damnable, foolish wom—

“Oh, is that the way of things?” she snarled at him, her breath hot in his face. “So, when YOU sacrifice your own feelings and well-being for love, it’s noble and right, but when I do, I’m just a ‘foolish woman?’”

“That’s—Damn you, that isna at all—”

She yanked herself out of his grasp. “Can you honestly tell me, James Fraser, that if the circumstances were reversed—if you’d somehow found your way to 1968—found that I’d married someone new—heard I’d had a child by him and was by all accounts blissfully happy—you’d have just waltzed right in and thrown yourself at me? You’d truly have put me in that position?”


“No,” he moaned, defeated, as the true tragedy of what she’d been planning to do for his sake settle around him. “No, I….I couldna have put ye through such a choice.”

“Well, I bloody couldn’t do it to you, either,” she spat at him, sobs starting to shudder through her again in her rage. “No matter how much—much it tore me apart to—”  

“Oh, lass….” He felt her convulse and cover her face with both hands, as though she might hide from the terror of what they’d so nearly lost.  “No,” he moaned, gathering her tight against his chest, covering her again, the intimacy between them knitting together once more. “No, it was noble what ye meant to do, Claire. If what Jenny told ye had been true, it would have been right. I—Christ, that ye would have done that for my sake…Thank you.” 


“We’ve been lucky, Sassenach.” He rocked her softly, buried his face in her hair as she wept.  “God….we’ve been so lucky, today. We were in the right places at the precise right moments to find one another again.” He kissed her, softly hushing as she had done for him. “And now, it’s all over, just as ye said… We’ll never be parted again, I swear it, Claire.” He sealed the promise with a kiss in the hollow of her neck. 

Not ever.

“But what—what will we do?” she managed, voice taut with worry. “About Laoghaire? The girls?”

What will we do, indeed?

“I dinna ken….not precisely,” he admitted. 

“That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence,” she said, with a tremulous smile in her voice. 

Lovely wee smartarse. 

“We’ll find some arrangement that separates me from Laoghaire as honorably as can be managed. You and I are still man and wife, after all. That must count for something wi’ the law.” 

Wife. His wife. 

Lord have mercy upon his soul, WIVES. 

“It will be a tricky business, Claire, and I’ll no’ say it will be over quickly, but I will fight for it with everything that I have.”

“What if it can’t be managed honorably?”

He exhaled. “Then I shall find a way to reconcile wi’ dishonor.”

She choked out a laugh and held him tighter, sighing in deep relief. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. At least we’ll be in hell together, eh?”

“And a happy damnation t’will be.” 

A warm, pulsing happiness had pushed away the tears from their sanctuary, and he suddenly wondered how long he could keep his eyes open amid such peace. He’d slept scarce more than an hour at a time on the ride from Lallybroch, and only then when he could no longer stay upon the horse. Each and every time, he’d awoken in a dead-panic that he’d slept overlong, leapt right into the saddle, and repeated the harrowing process over and over, pushing himself to the very limits until he reached Craigh na Dun. 

It wasn’t merely the actual fatigue—it was the relief. Many a time in his life—from battlefields to his examinations in the Paris days—he had witnessed the body’s incredible stamina to push through lack of sleep, of food, and of physical strength. It will go to incredible lengths to complete the task at hand, to survive. When the deed is accomplished, though, it takes its own, and fairly well damns the consequences. Jamie was hungry, true, but that could wait. Sleep, though…No, that could wait as well. In the growing warmth of her body and his together, captured by the warm cloak, it was harder and harder by the minute; but he didn’t want to miss a single moment with her. Not one. 

“Will you tell me….” It was such a tiny voice that asked it; so tentative and careful. “…why Laoghaire?”

He stiffened, steadied himself with a breath. It was a fair question.

“She was…there,” he hazarded, “at the right time, when I was come back to Lallybroch. It was Jenny’s idea, ken?”

“Mm.” A great deal unsaid in that mm, perhaps having to do with the destructive nature of Jenny’s ideas of late.

“She seemed—sweet, I suppose. Eager, and—Wi’ the wee lassies to feed, she needed me; and I needed—I needed something, too.

Claire didn’t say a word.

“I am sorry, mo chridhe. I ken it’s—painful.” 


“Well, I certainly dinna delight in thinking of the men that have shared your bed.”

To his surprise, she bristled. “It’s not that she was another woman, Jamie. It’s that it was her.” 

“I do ken she was quite the jealous brat, all those years ago, at Leoch,” he said, carefully, at something of a loss. “But she was naught but a wee lassie at the time. Surely ye can forgive her a few youthful indiscretions?”

“Youthful ind—?” He heard her choke back whatever retort she had planned and instead breathe through her nose, calming herself. She was being careful, so careful, but there was true indignation, there, true hurt, kept in check for his sake.

“Say it, mo ghraidh.” He touched her face, bent down to kiss her. “Tell me what it is.”

“Wouldn’t it trouble you,” she said, very quietly, “if had chosen to marry someone who’d gone out of their way to have you hurt and killed?”


“Cranesmuir? Surely you remember that little episode?” 

He felt a jolt run through him. Then it walloped him over the head like a brick. “Laoghaire? She was—?”

“Jamie, she was the one who arranged for me to be taken with Geillis Duncan, that day, for Christ’s sake! You knew that! Surely we discussed it??”

“We certainly DID NOT. Sassenach! BELIEVE me, had I I known, I would never have taken her to wife. NEVER.” He gripped her tight, as though he could look into her eyes. “Had I KNOWN….Christ, the wicked wee bitch!

She laughed at that. “Well good, I’m—That’s a burden off my mind. I’d certainly have understood if you’d remarried. I did understand, until you mentioned her name. Lord,” she laughed, groaning. “Laoghaire bloody MacKenzie. Laoghaire….Fraser.” 

Lord forgive him, he had given Claire’s would-be murderess his name, shared her bed. “I’m—I’m truly so ashamed, Sassenach.” He felt as though he would vomit. “I’m so sorry for this. After what she did—” 

“Don’t be,” she said at once, and he heard the sincerity in her voice. “You didn’t know, and would have had no reason to ask. It’s water under the bridge. Though,” she said with good humor, “I do reserve my right to make snide comments from time to time, at her expense only, not yours.”  

“’Tis only your due,” he laughed weakly, grateful for the gift of levity, which did help the anxiety and shame abate. 

“Jamie, can I ask, does it….?”

More to do with Laoghaire, surely. 

“Does it what, mo nighean donn?”

“Does it frighten you? How—easy this is?” She touched his chest. “Like it was only yesterday we last saw each other?”

He released the breath he had been holding and touched her face. “It frightens me only insomuch as it makes my heart feel whole again; and it hasna been for a verra long time. It frightens me to feel that I must learn anew how to hold all these emotions in my heart, once more. But the comfort and the—us-ness between us? I couldna ever be frightened by that; no more than I could be frightened of my own voice.” He gently laid his palm flat against her breast. “Mo chridhe.” 

She traced the lines of his collarbone. “I very nearly went to Edinburgh first, you know.”

“Aye, ye said, in the…your letter.”

It was tucked away in his satchel, along with the PhotoGraphs; and he would keep it, always, but he wasn’t altogether sure he could bring himself to read it again. 

“All the way here from Lallybroch, after I spoke with your sister, I wondered if I ought to have gone there first.” She paused. “Do you think it would have been easier on us? If I had just appeared through your shop door?” 

“It would have given me back a hank of grey hairs that I’ve gained in the last week.”

She laughed, but was not to be dismissed. “What would you have done?” 

He’d have been toiling away at the presses, no doubt, with no notion of great happenings about to take place. Perhaps Fergus might have been present, but most days it was him alone in the shop. What would he have done, when he’d heard her voice with no warning? He’d likely have fainted, as he nearly did at Jenny’s news…but beyond that? What would he have done with Claire Beauchamp before him, alive and well and glowing like the June sun, ready and willing to spend the rest of her days with him? 

“I ken I wouldna have told ye all the truth…about Laoghaire and William.”

“Oh? Why should that have changed?” 

“Is it no’ clear? I’d have been so scairt that it would be too much to hear.” He shook his head in growing conviction. “For all the terror and the near-missing in the way things did come to pass, at least I was able to tell ye all, Claire, wi’ no hesitation. There was nothing more to be lost and so I was able to just say everything, some things I hadna ever once spoken aloud to everyone! It just—The truth was the only thing that could keep ye from going. And so while I canna say this is precisely how I’d have wished things to occur, everything is known between us, now, and that is right. Do ye see?” 

“It was a gift to both of us, in its way,” she whispered, “though I know it wasn’t easy.”

“No.” He squeezed her hand, feeling the fine bones and the unbearable silkiness of it. How he wished he could see her. “But if ye’d come upon me in Edinburgh, so far from home, from Laoghaire, wi’ me living under a false name already…. Lord, if you’d just arrived there before me? Handed me the moon and offered this miracle of which I’d vainly dreamed for so long? Could I have told ye I had a son? Could I have told ye was marrit and risked ye leaving at once?” He swallowed, ashamed of the truth, but knowing it was truth all the same. “No. I’d have kept it from ye as long as possible. Maybe forever.”

“No you wouldn’t,” she said with immediate, easy confidence. “You’re too much of a noble hero-type to have conscienced any such thing, Jamie Fraser, and you know it.”

God, does she truly believe that? 

A new terror gripped him and he felt his mouth go utterly dry. 

The man he had been these last years—James Fraser or Alexander Malcolm or whoever he might be when he was alone only with his thoughts—had been shaped so deeply by grief and bitterness. Crushed first in the loss of her and the bairn; then laid low by the years of hiding and imprisonment, the strain of clearances upon his family; then William, first the fear of him, then tentative joy, and then the loss, forever; and finally rushing up that crest of hope, that desperate hope that something good was to be found in marrying again, and the ache of crashing down onto the sharp realities below. 

Claire held in her arms a man bitter and broken. Was he one that she could love, really love, once the euphoria of reunion had worn away? Was the shattered man he had been merely a relic of loneliness that would now vanish with her presence? Or would traces remain? Perhaps the Jamie she had loved had ceased to be and could not be revived. In fact, he was certain that it was not so very far from the truth.

“I’m none so very noble as ye might wish to believe, Sassenach.”

He felt her stiffen. 

“Perhaps it’s that I’ve lost too much to honor, or….I’m…” He withdrew, trying to touch her as little as possible as he got the words out. “Ye must ken I’m not altogether the same man of twenty years ago, Claire.”

“You are.” 

“But I’m truly not, Claire. I wish to be, will endeavor to be, for your sake; but I have…. such fears.” 

The wind had ceased to wail outside their cloak shelter. He could hear every intake and exhale of her breaths. 

He suddenly felt her hand, cool and sure, touching his cheek, the other coming to rest on the curve of his breast. “Is your heart still mine?”

God, Claire. 

“Yours,” he croaked. “Yours, mo nighean donn. Never did it stop being so.”

“Then, we’ll manage with the rest. All the rest.” She cupped the back of his neck to pull him down closer. “I see what you fear, what you dread you are. Perhaps I couldn’t have seen it, if I’d found you in Edinburgh; but I’m here now, and I see you.” 

She saw him. Even in darkness, Claire saw him. 

I love you, Jamie Fraser.”

And though that was a point on which he had never held the faintest doubt, the hearing of it now, her declaration, his true name…. 

To be seen, and yet still be loved. 

Tears came, fast and many, and he made no move to halt them. She pulled him down to her breast, murmuring love over him again and again as sleep pressed itself upon him, her hands holding him. He could sleep, at last. Claire was watching over him.

ok I’m gonna tidbit about the Future!Falls Au, focusing on what the Grunks r up to:

They still floating all around the globe on the Stan O War doing their thing exploring the depths and being old old bro-men. Maybe they found Atlantis, maybe took a gallon or two from the Fountain of Youth to keep them spry and healthy enough to watch the kids grow up, maybe they’ve just been getting more exercise, but whatever the reason they don’t really seem to have aged a day in the last six or seven years (”It’s all the….. Kale.” Stan turns to Ford, “That’s a vegetable right?” Ford shrugs.) They come back to Gravity Falls in the summer to spend with the family and Wendy, now in her twenties, says she’s not interested in going back to school in Portland and wants to travel, and Stan invites her to spend a year on the boat with them.

  • Ford is hesitant because while he can definitely agree that Wendy is cool and all, he doesn’t really know her that well? There was never any real opportunity to engage in anything farther than being mild acquaintances, and he’s unsure if she’ll be able to contend with some of the perils they face on a day to day basis? And Stan reassures him that Wendy is one of the most competent, capable people he’s ever known while also being able to get along with virtually everyone
  • “Plus, she always has the GOOD weed.”
    “The good what now”
  • Mabel knits her a wool hat and gloves for the cold seas and Wendy wears them at all times
  • She sets to learning about the boat and maintenance and Ford’s maps and charts like she does everything; with determination and almost otherwordly ease
  • She once killed a sea creature by literally snatching Ford’ gun off his belt and climbing over the railing to shoot the thing and Ford was. Impressed.
  • They stop at some sea town and Stan goes ashore for supplies, leaving Ford and Wendy alone on the boat and Ford was not for this at first
  • “This is exactly the sort of social situation I’m not comfortable with!”
    “….What social situation are you comfortable with?”
    “Stanley, I’m serious, you can’t leave me alone with her!”
    “You’ll be fine! …..Eh, you won’t, but I’ll be back in an hour.”
  • Stan comes back to Ford and Wendy playing Dungeons Dungeons and More Dungeons, which turns out Dipper taught Wendy at some point. He walks into the mess to see Wendy standing and yelling about being the Orc Queen of the World and Ford cracking up so Stan can assume they’ll be fine
  • There are a lot of nights with the three of them sitting on the deck getting drunk and high and telling stupid stories of when the Grunks were kids or Wendy’s life in Portland or sometimes, if they finagle enough, they can get Ford to tell them about the different dimensions he went through
  • Once, when Stan had passed out, Ford confides that he’s been studying his body, and turns out his aging has been altered while dimension bouncing, and he’s worried that he’s going to lose Stan sooner than he was thinking.
    “You won’t.” She tells him
    “How can you be sure of that?”
    “Because you’re too smart and he’s too stubborn to let that happen.”
    He’s not sure he can believe her, as much as he desperately wants to, but he’s still irrationally comforted.
  • They stop by villages and towns and go to the bars where Wendy can p much drink everyone in the place under the table. Stan starts to place bets and since nobody ever thinks this skinny freckled girl is much of anything, he always wins
  • Wendy is a good middle ground for the grunks: She’s more level-headed than Stan but much more proactive than Ford tends to be. 
  • Basically they’re the Adventure Trio and it’s. good. really good.
  • Wendy sends Mabel and Dipper postcards whenever she can to let them know she’s taking care of Her Guys

anonymous asked:

Are you still taking prompts? Damian and Jon playing Mario Kart or whatever video game you want to use.

Okay, since you said I could use any video game I want (haven’t played mario kart, sorry. Aside from Pokemon, Nintendo wasn’t part of my childhood), I’m going to use Injustice 2 XD

Also, I’m sorry anon, but I am going to hijack your prompt! I’m going to use this to express my refusal to believe that Damian will ever go back to becoming an evil character! What I noticed was, in about 4, yes FOUR different times, DC has predicted that Damian will revert back to his evil ways in some way when he grows up.  Nope, I am not having it! (Btw, the ones I’m talking about are the Injustice timeline, Damian’s battle with his illusion future self in Robin: Son of Batman, Batman Beyond Rebirth, and in Detective Comics 966)

Damian has worked too hard, has literally died and back, to prove that he has changed for the better. There is nothing that will convince me that 13 years of great character development for Damian will be thrown aside because he turns evil again in the future! Nothing! 

And you know why I’m so sure of that? Because our Damian in this main timeline right now has someone that all of those evil adult Damian timelines didn’t have…a certain boy named Jonathan Samuel Kent.

“I’m picking Robin,” Damian announced.

He placed the cursor on a portrait of a much older Damian on the screen, and then an electronic monotonous voice intoned ‘Robin’.

“Heh, that’s so like you,” Jon replied dryly. “Well, if we’re picking ourselves it’s not fair for me. I don’t know why but, I haven’t seen a single game with a Superboy on it.”

“Just pick your dad,” Damian teased. “You’re practically the same anyway, except you’re three decades lamer.”

Jon stuck his tongue out at Damian. “Shut up, this Superman isn’t my dad. This one’s like, super evil. I’m never gonna pick…‘not-dad’, he said with finality. He ended up picking Bizarro, earning him a snort from Damian.

“Hey, don’t laugh!” Jon chided Damian. “Jason said he’s actually pretty cool.”

“Todd said the same thing about your costume,” Damian casually replied.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Jon asked with a raised brow.

“Just that his idea of clothing gets him thrown out of most restaurants,” Damian answered with a smirk. “But never mind that, it’s time to kick your ass!”

The boys had gotten a copy of a new fighting video game that was inexplicably based on the world’s heroes, which included renditions of most of the people that Jon and Damian knew. It had an impressive roster of intricately rendered characters like their fathers, the League, and other heroes—including weirdly out of place characters they didn’t know about like an ice ninja, a Japanese thunder god, and a red horned man with a gun.

As the game advertised, it was set in an alternate universe where Superman became an evil dictator, and the whole world decided that being dark and gritty was an essential part of a balanced diet. With equal parts amusement and curiosity, Damian and Jon had decided to play the game with little more intention than to laugh at how hilariously off the characters were compared to their real-life counterparts.

But Damian being Damian, he also played to win. And Jon being Jon, he was definitely not going to lose to Damian in anything.

The Damian in the game was much older, and as Jon put it—much to real Damian’s chagrin—a lot taller and better-looking. He also used a sword which he used in most of his attacks. The real Damian picked up on the controls quickly, and there wasn’t a single moment where game Damian wasn’t swinging his lethally sharp blade. It whistled with a shrill shwing with every strike, making it sound even more dangerous.

Unfortunately for Damian, Jon’s character, Bizarro, had ice beams that shot out from his eyes.

“Gah! You cheater…” Damian grumbled as game-Damian was interrupted from a flashy sword combo by a single ice beam. “Fighting  in a two-dimensional field is idiotic. If it were really me, I’d have sidestepped that!”

“Told you Bizarro is cool.” Jon giggled.

“I hate you and your puns!” Damian groaned. “That’s it, taste defeat, farm boy!” He executed game Damian’s special move—a sword combo with an explosive finish via batarang. It was enough to give Damian the round.

“Hah!” he pumped his fist in triumph.

Instead of looking disappointed with his loss, Jon’s cheeks were almost bursting from stifling his laughter.

“What…what’s so funny?” Damian asked as his smug smile wavered.

“Your special…” Jon began as he breathed in  to compose himself, “was to do an awkward ninja run, look really stiff while using your sword…then pose and wait for three whole seconds before your batarangs hit me.”

“That was two seconds, tops,” Damian said, completely missing the point.

Jon snorted and burst out laughing.

“Damian…your video game self was so extra, it’s like the only thing you left out was shades and shiny teeth.  You were trying way too hard to look cool.”

“Hey,” Damian protested. “It’s a decently styled—”

“The only thing that makes this even funnier is that it’s totally you,” Jon giggled heartily.

Damian frowned. He didn’t know how to retort without making it obvious that for a few seconds, he’d actually wanted to try posing like his game-self did.

The boys kept playing and trying different characters until Damian went back to playing himself. Jon chose Batman for the first time, and he noticed Damian tense up. As the story of the game went, game-Damian turned against Batman and sided with Superman. Game-Batman had readily abandoned his son in turn. Whenever the two of them would face each other in the game, they’d both spew out scathing and hateful taunts that made Damian squirm.

This time, Jon won handily, winning with Batman’s special move.

Jon blinked. “Did your game-dad just…use a bat-shaped jet to drag you in the air and blow you up with a small army’s worth of bullets and missiles…?”

Damian looked as mind-blown as Jon. “That…was the most impractical use of the Batwing I’ve ever seen.”

“That was overkill,” Jon mused.

“And that’s considering that my dad has intentionally rammed the Batwing into things in real life before,” Damian nodded.

“Hey, Damian?” Jon asked as he eyed his friend anxiously. “Are you okay? You seem kinda antsy ever since I picked your dad…”

Damian avoided looking straight into Jon’s eyes. “What do you think about how the game depicted my future?” he asked with a guarded expression.

Jon raised his eyebrows—the question took him by surprise. “It’s a video game. I don’t really care what they said you were.”

“But you thought that the Damian in the game was evil, right?” Damian continued, glancing expectantly at Jon.

“Well, I mean, everyone was sort of on this gray line—“ Jon stopped after seeing Damian’s annoyed look. “Okay, fine, I thought he was evil. The game makes it a point to make you act as unlikeable as possible anyway.”

Damian shifted uncomfortably on the couch. He sighed as if resigning himself to a cruel fate.

“That game…” Damian began, his words calm but measured.  “It’s not the first time that something predicted that I would betray my father and turn to evil in the future.”

Jon listened with rapt attention as Damian continued. He’d never seen Damian this gravely serious before.

“When I was adventuring with Maya, an artifact manifested future versions of ourselves based on the parts of ourselves that we couldn’t come to terms with. I was forced to fight an adult version of myself that was still the bloodthirsty assassin my grandfather trained. I barely survived.”

“Wow…that’s rough,” Jon said gently. He could tell that Damian was upset in a way that could not easily be dismissed.

“That’s not all,” Damian continued. “There’s…something I’ve never told you before. Drake…he created this computer program that could calculate a person’s approximate future based on their experiences and personality. On two separate instances, that program predicted that I’d turn back to my old ways—once as the new ruthless leader of the League of Assassins…

“…and another as a more tyrannical and deadly version of Batman. 

“Either way, it seems like everything agrees that my future will see me becoming the evil I’d sworn to reject.”

Damian ended with a solemn silence. He bowed his head and stared at his knees. “Do you understand why I never told you this before?” he asked Jon, who had a mixed look of confusion and concern on his face. “Knowing what I’d just told you…and what I’m destined to become, no one in their right minds would associate with me. And I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to leave and stop talking to me.”

Jon knew that Damian wasn’t the kind of person who cried much—if at all. But the sheer cold silence that Damian was giving him was worse. It was as if Damian was deathly certain that he would leave right then and there and never come back. Damian had already accepted that Jon didn’t want to be friends with him anymore, and that he was just waiting for Jon to say so.

Jon knit his brow. Damian’s willingness to accept his dark future was frightening, to be sure. But one detail, or rather, the lack of a certain detail, tugged at his mind.

“Damian,” Jon asked carefully. “In all those futures…what happened to me?”

Damian wrinkled his nose at Jon. “Those were my futures, not yours. Why would you ever be in them?” he snapped.

“Because, dummy,” Jon retorted with a stubborn look. “Do you think I’d let any of those bad futures happen to you? Now, tell me where I was in your future, or when exactly you got those predictions. Did we even know each other already  when you got them?”

“Well I…” Damian trailed off, his eyes widening in apparent realization. “No, I suppose we hadn’t met yet when the program had made the predictions. You weren’t there yet when Maya and I were completing my atonement for the year of blood. And you and I’ve only been public as a team recently, so the game wouldn’t have put you in…”

“Then that settles it!” Jon declared ecstatically. “Damian, there’s one thing that your futures didn’t count on—the fact that we became friends!”

“What do you mean?” Damian asked with genuine curiosity.

“Damian…in the first place, I don’t believe that just because some things predict your future, you can’t decide it for yourself,” Jon explained adamantly. He was wringing his hands as if willing Damian to understand.

“I don’t care how many people say your future will get messed up—you’re a good person. You’ve fought and sacrificed so much to become who you are today. You’ve become someone that your family loves and cares about! You’re not Damian, Ra’s Al Ghul’s grandkid. You’re Robin, son of Batman.”

“And more importantly—“ Jon continued, cutting off Damian’s inevitable retort. “Dude, I’m your friend! I mean, sure, we argue sometimes, and you’re mean, and you tease me a lot…”

“Tt,” Damian clicked his tongue as if to say ‘that’s not helping’.

“But…we’re friends.” Jon waved dismissively. 

“Not just because we’re working together as superheroes, either. We’re friends because we want to be. Because I want to be. You…you get what it’s like to be a kid and a hero at the same time, I can talk to you, and we can hang out and stuff. I never tell you this but, I kinda look up to you, you know? You’re always so in control and awesome, and like a ninja and…sometimes it’s cool…”

“Are you saying you think I’m cool?” Damian smirked.

“Shut up Damian! I’m in the middle of something here!” Jon chided him. “What I’m trying to say is, whatever happens…I’ll help you find a future that’s better. I’m not gonna leave you. We’re partners, now and in any future. Your bad futures aren’t gonna happen because I’m here to make sure they don’t.” Jon flashed Damian a toothy grin.

“And if for some reason, I end up having to fight you and fulfill that dark future?” Damian asked coyly. His voice, however, had softened and relaxed.

“Then I’ll beat you, duh!” Jon emphasized. “Laser eyes beats sword, remember?” he finished by sticking his tongue out.

“You sound so sure,” Damian said as he shook his head. Whether it was in disbelief or gratitude, Jon wasn’t sure.

“Don’t worry about your future,” Jon said with a grin. He held Damian’s hands enthusiastically. Before Damian could even protest,  he was already hovering a few inches off the floor, carrying Damian with him.

“Superboy’s got your back!” Jon promised.

The corner of Damian’s lips twitched. He wasn’t in a hurry to show any kind of emotion. But what he said next was better than any sort of ‘thank you’ that he could think of.

“I know. I believe you.”

There you go, guys! Consider this fic my rebuttal against DC trying to make Damian evil as an adult! No way Jon would ever let that happen! I’m convinced that Jon would help keep Damian good if anything would ever tempt him to return to his less heroic ways. I hope this fic was okay, I was agitated when I wrote it and it might have typos and stuff :p

Also shoutout to @harljordan who let me use their awesome edit from Supersons #8 above :)

EDIT:  I couldn’t resist making this edit based on this awesome post script idea by @desolationofzara :D


Edits by me, and I screencapped my game for this XD

The Catch: Part One


You and Bucky were destined for each other, and everyone seemed to know it but you. The day you met Bucky Barnes, you grew closer with your platonic relationship - that is until one night in the heart of New York, things change. While weeks pass of denying anything could ever happen between the two of you, you realize that unconventional love is the best of all.

Notes: Bucky x Reader, tension. Playfulness. Let me know if you’d like a part two!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Ok,,,,ok so,,,,,platonic hance hcs?

Oh, hell yes. Let’s go.

Just warning you,,, these are gonna be all over the place.

-They were roommates even before they were put on the same team for the simulator, and have been best friends since the very first day

  • Lance walked into their dorm with headphones in, singing Shakira, probably at the top of his lungs in Spanish
  • When Lance realized Hunk was staring he shrieked, jumped a foot in the air and then just kind of,,, awkwardly waved
  • “The name’s Lance” with a voice crack
  • Hunk was having a really bad day up til then but he just burst into laughter

-They talk about their homesickness a lot, both at the Garrison and on the castle

  • They have a lot of uplifting chats— they know all of each others insecurities

-Lance loves Hunk’s hugs more than life itself, or just interaction with Hunk in general for example

  • ‘surprise piggy back rides’ as lance calls them where he just jumps on Hunk’s back
  • They watched cheesy movies and would crowd into one bed and cuddle, something they still do at the castle on occasion
  • Hunk likes to pick Lance up when he’s in the middle of a sentence because he’ll shout really loudly like “so anyway Keith was all like wow I’m emo and— hUNK!!! PUT ME DOWN!”
  • Lance also loves surprise trust falls because Hunk always catches him (unlike Keith,,,, Lance is still salty)
  • ,,,Hand holding
  • And they obviously have a secret handshake

-Lance admits that he’s a bad influence on Hunk— they would sneak out almost every weekend

  • Once Lance nearly got arrested
  • Hunk has sworn never to tell another living soul but he has pictures from The Incident™ and may or may not have sent them to Pidge

-They have the stupidest arguments that usually end up in both of them laughing hysterically at the sheer ridiculousness

  • Never actually been seriously mad at each other

-Hunk once visited Lance’s family for part of summer vacation and they all loved him

  • Lance’s mom taught him all of his favorite recipes, which Hunk surprised him with
  • At the Garrison Hunk would always say hi when Lance skyped them

-And because of that Lance starting crashing Hunk’s Skype calls and,,,, his moms love Lance and think he’s wonderful

-Iverson made fun of Hunk once, and Lance was not happy

  • After comforting Hunk, Lance decided he’d take all the blame for shifty simulator flying on himself
  • He also pulled a series of pranks on Iverson and blamed them on Keith
  • Lance got caught, but it was worth it even if he got detention (Hunk snuck him thank you snacks)

-Basically if you tease Hunk, Lance will mess you up and Hunk is always nice,,, EXCEPT for when someone makes his best friend upset

-Hunk and Lance started having conversations with ‘bro’ being every other word ironically to piss off Pidge

  • and now they can’t stop

-Hunk’s headband was a gift from Lance

  • Because Lance was straight up RAISED on Naruto, and now it’s like an inside joke between them
  • Because everyone thinks that the headband is really cool and it’s literally a gift from his best friend because of the anime they binge-watched together at 3 AM after exams
  • speaking of exams

-Hunk would tutor Lance in academic classes, because Lance was sure that his teachers were out to get him

  • And Lance would, of course, sneak into the simulator room with Hunk late at night and teach him how to fly it because Hunk’s always liked the idea of piloting

-They still give each other hugs before all the dangerous missions, because they both know there’s always a chance something could go wrong

  • And whenever one ends up in a pod the other hardly ever leaves the infirmary

-Hunk is 10/10 best wingman, best supportive friend, best bro you could ever ask for

  • Lance tests out his pick up lines on him
  • Lance also puts in a good word for any girl Hunk likes while he blushes in a corner

-Hunk knows all of Lance’s weird skin care routines and is so used to them by now that it’s almost comical

  • Lance: *walks into the room in a robe, a towel around his head, full face mask with cucumbers and headphones on, bopping his head to the beat*
  • Everyone: *stares*
  • Hunk: *without looking up from his computer* oh, hey lance

-Hunk gets nightmares

  • Lance is basically his security blanket and you can’t convince me otherwise
  • Lance has sang to sleep at least once okay
  • Let me have this

-They both know really random trivia facts about each other, and try to work them into conversation as much as possible

  • “Did you know that Spanish is Lance’s first language? When he first got to the Garrison, he could barely hold a conversation in English! He was almost…shy! And look at him now! A chatterbox!”
  • “Oh my god,,, don’t tell them that.”

-They also have,,, like,,, ten million inside jokes both from during their space adventure and from before

  • Keith: That alien looks kinda like a huge jellyfish.
  • Lance: Wow that’s a pretty nice hat
  • Hunk: *snorts*
  • Everyone: ?????
  • Anytime anyone says the word peaceful, they both shout (in unison) “mAYBE PEACEFUL MEANS SOMETHING E L S E IN ALTEAN”
  • Back at the Garrison, one time Hunk was talking about how much he loved salsa because he knows Lance’s mom made it sometimes and he wanted a conversation starter but… Lance thought he meant the dance and signed them up for a club so,,, now they salsa dance together at every party
  • And of course they quote Naruto at each other whenever it’s remotely relevant like
  • Allura: The aliens on this planet are a very close knit species. We don’t want to separate them; they want to ensure the protection of their people.
  • Lance, nodding: When people are protecting something truly special to them, they truly can become… as strong as they can be. *wink @ Hunk*
  • Allura: that’s… that’s very wise Lance
  • Hunk: *chokes on his food goo*

-Thank you for your time and if you want more headcanons just let me know because while I mostly do writing this??? Was so fun???

jacky-mxo  asked:

Jealous Katsuki!!!!

Katsuki’s hands are gripping Izuku’s sides, and if looks could kill, Todoroki would probably have died 10 times now.

“Kacchan..” Izuku murmurs, moving one of his hands up to rest on Katsuki’s. He tries to carefully pry the tight hold off of him. “Kacchan, relax–”

“He’s fucking staring.” The blonde male growls in response, and loops his arms around Izuku’s waist. How dare Izuku try to remove his hold? Now he’d make it even more secure.

Izuku knits his brows, defeated.
“He only glanced over.. we’re friends you know..” he gently reminds his hot headed boyfriend, but its no use. “He just wants to talk, probably.”

Katsuki only huffs, but feels pretty proud of himself when Todoroki slowly moves away from them– not that he /was/ close in the first place.

But for some reason, Katsuki isn’t fully satisfied. No, he needs further proof that Izuku is his. Obvious proof that no one could miss.

With a sly smirk, he leans his face down into Izuku’s neck– and he bites. /Hard/.
It causes the freckled boy to yelp embarrassingly loud, and throw a hand up to touch his neck.

“K-Kacchan! ” He’s flushing red, as his fingers graze over the fresh welt, which will definitely turn pruple in a short period of time.

“Now all these bastards will know you’re mine and /only/ mine.” Katsuki presses a kiss to Izuku’s now red ears. “All fuckin mine.”


requested by anon <3
  Hi! Can you do a Dr. Shaun Murphy (The Good Doctor) x Fem!Reader oneshot where Shaun gets picked on and the reader, a doctor, stands up for him and offers him to have a snack with her and a relationship blossoms?


You love your colleagues. Truly, they are great people, great doctors and nurses and you had had many fond memories with them after work or in the surgery room when they helped you, or you helped them. You are a tight-knit community here, at this hospital you work in, and you would entrust your life to them if needed. But…With you all being so close there comes a few major issues: one, everyone knows who is dating who, and two, they don’t take to newcomers kindly. The break room is hotter than you recall it being a few moments ago, possibly it’s your own temperature growing along with the headache. You stand with your arms crossed over your chest, glaring at the scene in front of you – really now, is this humiliation necessary? So the new doctor is off-tact and doesn’t communicate very well. Big whoop.

“Ashton!” You finally call him, the one making snarly remarks at the newbie’s expense. He stops, looks at you with an amused smile that soon falls once he notes how angry you are, “Don’t you have work to do? I’m pretty sure they needed you in room 903 five minutes ago.”

The spectacle ends with that. Ashton, with one last glance sent Shaun’s (was it?) way, gives a shrug and leaves. A few nurses by the door excuse themselves, and before you know it you and the good doctor are alone. He avoids your gaze. You give him a strained smile.

“Sorry about him,” You say, making your way to the snack machine. Taking out a few quarters you drop them into the slot and press 23 for a Snickers bar, “He can be a…real dick, sometimes.” The machine drops it down and you pick it up, turning to Shaun and offering it to him, “Here. It has chocolate. Chocolate is the synonym for happiness.” You say, then ponder, “Well, at least to me.”

Slowly, and cautiously, he takes it. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” You smile at him, trying to make him feel as welcomed as possible after what happened, “I’m (Name). (Name) (Lastname). You’ll mostly find me in the kid’s section, but our coffee machine is broken, so…” You trail off. Finally, he cracks a small, shaky smile.

“Shaun Murphy.” He introduces, “I guess I’ll…have to treat you to a coffee, then.”

requests are open!

Can You Teach Me [Part 1]

Author: smutandahalf

Characters: Stiles x Reader


Word Count: 2,814

**Hi everyone! This is my first smut and it’s going to be a part of a series.. I hope you like it and please send me in any feedback! Thanks to @completedylantrash for inspiring me!**

Originally posted by amazing-otp-moments

“It’s just so easy for you, Y/N, you wouldn’t understand.”

“What is?” I ask him, not tearing my gaze away from the inky black of the night sky or the small pinpoints of lights dotted throughout it.

I hear him sigh and he pauses before responding, “Nevermind. Don’t worry about it, it’s stupid.”

I frown slightly, lifting my body up from the metallic cold of the hood of the jeep so that I can turn and look at him. I shift slightly so that I’m lying on my side with my chin perched on my hand. “Don’t do that, Stilinski,” I grumble at him, “tell me what you mean.

Keep reading

Cruising for a Bruising

A lovely anon requested: 25 and reggie mantle please 💖

25. “I’ve never been more in love with you.”

Pairing: Reggie Mantle x Fem!Reader

Warnings: I might have to start a swear jar

Word Count: 940

Summary: Reader is used to telling Reggie not to get into fights and nursing his wounds after one, but this time the roles are reversed.

Tags: @coltcas 


A/N: I’ve been wanting to write for this dude for a while now thank you to the lovely anon for requesting! 

Originally posted by fakesonia

Usually you were the one taking care of your boyfriend’s battle wounds after he’d recklessly get himself into a fight, which is why you heavily considered not showing up on his doorstep battered and bruised as you are now. You didn’t know where to go. You couldn’t go home because you’d get hell from your parents, or they would make a way bigger deal out of it than it actually was, so you ended up here. However, you didn’t consider the fact that your boyfriend is Reggie Mantle and that might actually be worse because he’d probably go on some sort of rampage across the school over whoever hurt his girl. As soon as you ring the doorbell you regret your decision and attempt to run away, but you don’t even get the chance to turn around before the door opens to reveal a surprised Reggie.

Keep reading

Dream come true

Liam wonders how he found himself here, fighting side by side with the one and only Theo Raeken. He remembers idly that Theo had saved him before, once in order to worm his way into the pack, gain their trust and again during the wild hunt. Since then he’s been a thorn in Liam’s side, a thorn he could have pulled out a long time ago he thinks bitterly. But when he looks at Theo he doesn’t see evil, he doesn’t see hate. He just sees a broken boy who hides his tremors behind a cocky grin. But Liam knows what its like to be broken, he knows what its like to hide a part of yourself deep down because you think you don’t deserve forgiveness. He remembers what it feels like to lose a part of yourself. Liam wonders when things had gone quiet, he comes out of his thoughts to a gun pointed at his chest he can see Theo out of the corner of his eye lifting his arms above his head in surrender. Liam is about to do the same when a shot rings out and his breath is taken in the worst way, there’s a bullet hole in Theo’s shoulder and Liam doesn’t register the way Theo’s name falls from his lips in a scream before there’s more gunshots and this time he’s the one being filled with bullets from multiple directions. 

Its only when he’s on the ground that he realizes the blood is filling his lungs faster than he can fill them with air. He can feel Theo next to him and his head falls to the side, he catches a hunter climbing into a car and leaving them for dead, that’s when he realizes that this might be it, he and Theo were alone when they were ambushed. He doesn’t even think his phone survived the onslaught of bullets. There’s tears now and he doesn’t even realize he’s fucking crying until there’s fingers trying desperately to wipe them away. He looks at Theo who looks, frankly he looks good but he always does but its not just that he looks like he’s dying and no one should look so beautiful while they’re dying. Theo’s laughing now and Liam’s eyebrows knit together.

“W-Why are you la-laughing?” He asks through a mouthful of blood, gosh that must look attractive. 

Theo just laughs again, brushing a strand of bloody hair away from Liam’s face. “Because only you c-could get us into a situation like t-t-this.” He teases and of course, of fucking course Theo Raeken would choose this moment to push Liam’s buttons. 

“We’re dying a-asshole.” Liam growls, he doesn’t even have the energy to flash his eyes in anger like he normally would.

“I am.” Theo murmurs and for once he looks scared, like this is the end and he has so much left he wants to say, that he has to do and Liam finds himself shaking his head, trying desperately to quell the fear in Theo’s eyes. “But you’re gonna live, because you’re Liam Dunbar, the angriest beta in the world and anger doesn’t die easy.” Theo laughs, blood staining his perfect white teeth.

Liam reaches out instead, palm facing outwards in an offer and Theo doesn’t even hesitate to take his hand. They’re lying there now, breathing labored but in sync and its Liam’s turn to laugh.

Theo looks over at him, hair falling in his face and his expression unreadable. Liam just squeezes Theo’s hand. “If I have to die, it just had to be next to the worlds biggest asshole.” Liam mutters causing Theo to let out a painful snort. “I told you, you’re not gonna die.”

“If I’m not gonna die then you’re not either.” Liam responds causing Theo to laugh again. 

“Yeah? And why’s that?” The chimera asks talking getting easier somehow, he thinks it has something to do with coming to peace with the idea of death and not struggling to survive then he’s looking away as he leaves Liam to contemplate. 

“Because I said so.” Liam says simply, like its the easiest thing in the world and Theo can’t help the smile that crosses his face and he doesn’t hide the fear now, doesn’t hide the tremors in his hand as he laces his and Liam’s fingers together.

“If you say so, Dunbar.” He whispers tiredly.

Not far off they can hear the roar of an Alpha looking for its beta and Liam’s heart jolts in his chest as he lifts his head. 

“Its Scott.” Liam laughs, letting his head drop again. Scott will find them, they just have to build up their strength and roar back. Then he’ll find em and they’ll be okay.

He looks over, Theo’s hand heavy in his and he finds Theo’s eyes are closed, face paler than he’s ever seen it. “T-Theo?” He whimpers, biting at his lip. “Theo open your eyes, Scott’s coming.”

When he doesn’t get a response Liam’s chest becomes heavy and there’s a knot in his throat as he turns his head away and stares at the sky his vision blurred with tears. Gold fills his eyes and his teeth elongate as he lets out a roar so loud there’s no questioning where it comes from. 

Liam wonders how he found himself here, surrounded by stark white walls, machines that beep to signify the life they’re trying to maintain. The sterile scent of a hospital so harsh on Liam’s nose he can’t even smell the person in front of him. Theo lays on the hospital bed, nasal cannula helping him breathe and iv’s pushing liquids into his veins. He hasn’t opened his eyes in three days and Liam feels like he’ll never be whole again if Theo doesn’t wake up. He hasn’t left Theo’s side since they brought him here, his wounds have since healed along with Theo’s. But still Theo hasn’t woken up and Liam can’t help but think that its his fault. 

“Because only you could get us into a situation like this.”

Tears fall onto Theo’s chest and Liam’s wiping them away angrily, letting out a soft sob. He’s so focused on not losing it that he doesn’t register the hand in his hair, playing with the soft albeit greasy strands. 

“I told you anger doesn’t die easy." 

That voice, Liam looks up and finds Theo looking up at him a smile on his face and Liam’s sobbing in relief now. 

"Are you gonna keep crying or are you gonna let me kiss you?” Theo asks quietly, teasing but unsure. 

Liam thinks he’s never been more happy to have Theo tease him as he leans down to press their lips together. Theo had saved him once before and now Liam knows he’ll let him save him again but only if Theo allows Liam to save him too.

wrote this based on a dream @thiam-lover had