spent rounds

6

10 min prompt fills: ( @corruptedempires​, @charcoal-soul, @bisexualadotham​ (SORRY, I WILL FIX IT XD),   @skalidra, @loadthebases )

  1. Keith/+Shiro/+Allura “No, I’ll play the drums”
  2. Shiro with a lightsaber 
  3. UH SHIT, HAHA, OOPS THIS ONE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A GOTHAM PICTURE, I’M SORRY, HERE IS BARISTA SHIRO, MY BAD
  4. Shiro as a king/royalty
  5. Shiro: down but not out
  6.  Pidge/+Hunk “I feel cheated." 
James and Lily

When they were 11

He made loud fart noises in the corridor to amuse his friends. 

She rolled her eyes and kept walking.

When they were 12

He would have water fights in the common room.

She scowled as she dodged the enchanted water balloon.

He would shout out answers over her in class.

She ignored him and got top marks anyway.

When they were 13

He and his friends filled the great hall with jelly as a joke.

She shouted when a leftover piece fell on her head the next day.

He charmed balls of paper to fly at her head.

She hexed him.

When they were 14

He batted his eyelashes and got an extension on his homework.

She scolded him for it after.

He set loose the blast ended skrewts.

She spent her lunch helping round them all up.

He started to call her stupid nicknames.

She shot back with stupider insults.

When they were 15

He charmed off a boys hair one day.

She helped the boy figure out how to grow it back.

He harassed her in the corridor with annoying proposals.

She thought she hated him.

He got caught by the Greenhouses smoking with his friend.

She and Remus monitored his detention. She asked Remus why he was so annoying, he said he was more than the arrogant show he put on.

He pulled down Severus’ trousers in front of a crowd of people.

She defended someone who wasn’t a good person.

He followed her around trying to apologise.

She thought maybe Remus was right.

When they were 16

He made his stationary fly around the classroom to amuse people.

She grinned and told him to stop.

He flooded the fourth floor.

She cursed him as she helped get rid of the water.

He gave a bar of chocolate to a crying first year.

She thought maybe he wasn’t all that bad.

He carried his friend’s books when he was feeling ill.

She thought he was actually quite nice.

He helped her with difficult homework.

She smiled and said thank you.

He made conversation as they walked to class together.

She was shocked when she realised she was friends with him.

When they were 17

He wrote to her over the holidays.

She replied.

He threw a big celebration party in the common room.

She had a fun time with her friends dancing and drinking until dawn.

He loved the way she rolled her eyes at him.

She loved the way the combed his fingers through his hair unconsciously.

He went home for the summer realising that maybe she might feel the same way.

She realised she had fallen for someone she thought she hated.

He came back to school as Head Boy.

She came back as Head Girl.

He grew up and took the responsibility seriously.

She felt her chest swell as she watched him grow.

He asked if she wanted to go out. That maybe after all this time…

She realised that the answer had always been yes.

When they were 18

He loved the way her hair fell around her shoulders, the way she smiled when he touched her and they way she would laugh as she kissed him.

She loved the way he slung his arm over her whenever he stood next to her, they way he would grin when he made eye contact and the way the played with her hair as she dozed next to him.

He made the suits of armour tell jokes when someone walked past.

She giggled and realised some things never change.

He started to prepare for a world that was getting darker every day.

She started to prepare for a world that scared her a little.

He ended the school year with a bang, literally. He and his friends threw a farewell party.

She spent the night laughing and crying, promising everyone that it wasn’t really goodbye.

He left school, bought a flat, and began to train to fight a war he was too young to fight in.

She left school, moved into his flat, and began to train for a war she was determined to win.

He loved her and he told her every day.

She loved him and would never let him forget it.

When they were 19

He would come home dirty and bruised.

She would return scratched and messy.

He would heal her wounds and hold her close.

She would mend his cuts and kiss him gently.

He would fight like there was no tomorrow.

She would attack like it was the only defence.

He was frightened.

She was worried.

He found comfort in her.

She found solace in him.

He realised he couldn’t live without her.

She realised he kept her going.

He said ‘marry me’.

She said ‘only if you marry me first’.

He married a girl he had loved since he was 11.

She married a boy she had never hated.

When they were 20

He still had a war to fight in.

She still had to bring justice to her world.

He worried when he heard her throwing up one morning.

She worried when he joked she might be pregnant.

He knew there would be day when he would make an unfunny joke.

She realised today was that day.

He had to shift his world to make room for a baby.

She had to prepare for a world with more people to love in it.

He was as excited as could be.

She was always smiling despite it all.

He wanted to name the baby Harold.

She like Barry.

He decided to compromise.

She agreed on Harry.

He couldn’t stop shaking when they baby was born.

She couldn’t stop cradling her son.

He and his friends stayed up four nights in a row with the baby, just to play with him.

She had her friends over for a weekend, just to coo over him.

He was told his friends couldn’t come any more. But it kept his child safe.

She was heartbroken people could come to visit, but it kept her family whole.

When they were 21

He enjoyed the quiet days with his wife.

She enjoyed the long mornings with her husband.

He enjoyed practising magic with (sometimes on) his son.

She enjoyed pretending not to notice, or outdoing him on a particularly pretty spell.

He was scared, but he loved her and Harry.

She was terrified, but he and Harry mattered more.

He decided to celebrate 1 year old in style.

She baked a truly magnificent cake.

He decorated the house.

She decorated her son. 

He smiled as a small fawn blew out his candles.

She laughed as her husband transformed to match his son.

He loved her more than ever.

She loved him more than she could say.

He carved pumpkins.

She hung fairy lights.

He made puffs of smoke come out the end of his wand.

She heard the door open.

He threw his child in to her arms.

She ran up the stairs.

He looked for his discarded wand.

She barricaded the door.

He dropped like a marionette who’s string were cut.

She refused to step aside.

He was dead.

She fell just like her husband.

They loved Harry.

They died for their son.

but he lived.

Bonus Round

Originally posted by scaredful

Note:  This was so much fun to write because Hoseok is the best.  Also this took forever because I had about 1.6k words of backstory that I just cut because… it took Forever to link everything.  Also this is inspired by semi-true-ish events so… yeah.  Graciously edited by the wonderful @sugaredmarbles.

EDIT: @sugaredmarbles just fixed my title too because she’s amazing.

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader
Rating: NC17
Genre: Smut  
Warnings: public sex, alcohol-fueled sex, dirty talk, pregnancy mention, unsanitary activity 
Word Count: 3547

[Mini-Masterlist]

Summary:  You’ve harbored a crush on Jung Hoseok ever since high school, and you had even decided on attending a performing arts university because he was going there.  You had almost been content with admiring him from afar, but he’s enlisting soon.  And this is how you confess to him.

*

*

*

“Have you confessed to Hoseok yet?”  

Namjoon’s question over 2AM coffee makes him the third person to ask you today.  

The first person to ask you had been Taehyung, a fellow theatre arts major.  (”You need to nab him before he enlists,” he had lectured.  “If everyone knows he has a girlfriend, they’re not going to pester him as much about going to… massage parlors…”) 

The second person to ask you had been Jungkook, a once-shy underclassman you had taken under your wing until he switched majors after seeing Hoseok dance.  Traitor.  Not that you necessarily blamed him.  (”You should just tell him because he’s leaving regardless.  If it doesn’t work out, you won’t have to see him again.”  Jungkook had always been blunt.)  

And Namjoon now makes three.  

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Chewing gum (Park Jimin X reader)

Originally posted by myloveseokjin

Warning: cursing, sexual themes, smut I guess, raunchy language, mentions of alcohol, slight mention of drugs but not really, fluffy fluff

Summary: y/n has enough piled on her plate being a full time college student and began a virgin is added to the list. In seek to ridden her purity  she attempts to find the right guy. Little does she know that the right guy is more interested in something else rather than her purity.


college is a stressful time for any young adult struggling with their inner bullshit. Each day you are faced with a new face on campus. A new story. Friendships bond over simple conversations that start from  inconsequential talk to a mind bending relationship. Just the simple thought is to send anyone into over drive. The simple crave to have a relationship was enough to impassion or have great value to someone resulting in a great impact in there lives. enough to last a life time.

Out of all the faces in the crowd that including mine, I was the only sad bastard that desired this feeling while everyone else establish it without minding a blink. If only they knew how lucky they truly were to have a lucky someone. It doesn’t even have to be someone, anyone. Sometimes we just need anyone. It doesn’t matter who it is. Just anyone to remind us what’s it like to live in the moment, and feel something before its over completely.

Sure I did have that one person that attempted to pursue these unrealistic goals. His name was Jeon Jungkook , but he often went by the name of Jungcock. I remember that specific moment he tried to be that anyone, making me live in the moment but very poorly.

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Roundlets. The sweatband of the renaissance. Stylish and functional.

Yes, I wore this into battle. In one round it was stolen by an ork *ahem* @vikingbuckler, and I spent the entire next round trying to shoot him and attack him with my dagger. I’m pretty sure I lost.

Photo by Portrait Photography, Melbourne

4

Triplett and Scott 1864 Patent carbine

Made by Meriden Manufacturing Company for the Kentucky militia c.1865 - serial number 1239.
.56-50 rimfire Spencer ~7 round tubular magazine - in the stock, unique rotating breech action.

The magazine is located off-center in the stock, and sticks out above the trigger guard as seen in the very last picture above. To cycle the gun, the militiaman would rotate the front part of the gun to the right, up from the breech - clockwise, which ejects the spent round, open up the magazine’s mouth until the breech is in line with it, popping a round in the chamber and allowing the gun to be turned back into place, counter-clockwise.
Although it was not that complicated to use, it was complicated to manufacture and not a whole lot of people were interested.

Sunday Afternoon

Part 1

@butiaintgonnaloveem set an AMAZING challenge; Must be about Baby, our beloved Impala. So I picked the following song (please listen to it first) that I fell in love with and this fic is what resulted. It’s 6k words, so it’s in 2 parts… enjoy

Song: Groovin (The Young Rascals)
Characters: Reader, John, Dean, Sam
Warnings: fluff, angst, supernatural themes, death, blood…
A/N: Thank you to the marvelous @avasmommy224 for being my beta on this, you’re one amazing woman!
Summary: A shared love for an Impala brings people closer together, whether they know it or not… (shit summary but I don’t want to spoil anything)

Originally posted by abreaktocome

May 29th, 1967: I’d been saving up all my money for that bloody car. I knew exactly what I wanted. I’d even asked the bank about a loan so I could get it faster, but oh no… no loan for a travelling woman who didn’t have a solid job, or a home!
I finally had enough money for the car of my dreams, a 1965 Ford Mustang!
I almost ran to the car lot when I received my pay for the month.
I had walked past this car for the past year, the only reason it was still here was that i’d put a deposit on it last year, Gary the owner of the car yard knew me well by now. I was in every other week, just staring and mumbling to the precious baby.
3.27pm; when you’re whole life changes, you want to be able to pinpoint it when you look back.
I rushed into the car yard, looked to my left, two cars back, I already had my finger pointed and I said you’ll be all mine soon, baby, but all the cars had been moved around and it was out before I’d even realized. The sleek, shining, red, Ford Mustang had been swapped for a twinkling, black, brand new, Chevrolet Impala.
Did my world change or what?
Gary came out, waving the papers at me, but I ignored him. I went straight over to the car. I had to see her, had to touch her. She was a siren and I was caught in her song.
“YN, your car’s over here.” Gary tried to loop a hand around my waist but I wasn’t budging.
“How much is she?” I whispered. I was in a trance, I wasn’t leaving here without this beauty.
“Four thousand.” To give Gary credit, he did try and talk me round, he spent ages begging me to come over to the Ford, he mentioned the deposit more than once, but it wasn’t till I held my switchblade to him that he gave in.
And I couldn’t believe it either, she was cheaper than the Ford.
“She’s mine.” I whispered, nodding at my decision.
“But…” Gary tried again but one stern look in his direction and he got the point. He hurried off to the office for the paperwork.

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A Gentle Touch (Jake x MC)

Title - Gentle Touch
Request - “42, Jake X F!MC please” - fyeahjanethevirgin
Prompt - “Stop being so cute.”
Pairing - Jake X F!MC
Word Count - 795

I really hope you all (especially you, fyearjanethevirgin) enjoy this one!

You run, faster than you’ve ever run before.

Trees seem to fly past you as you move, scrambling over rocks and fallen trees and diving under low hanging branches. At one stage, you feel your feet slide out from under you and you fall, landing hard on your back. You don’t waste time though, jumping back up as quickly as you fell. Your lungs burn and your heart races- but you can’t stop. You hear footsteps somewhere behind you, and you run harder, stopping only when you find yourself at a dead end, looking up at a high cliff. The footsteps draw closer and you spin around to face your pursuer, grabbing a large tree branch off the ground to use as a weapon. The trees rustle, and a figure bursts into the clearing! You swing…

“Hot hell, Princess!” Jake barely has time to duck, and the branch grazes over his head. You drop the branch immediately.

“Jake! I thought-“ He holds up a hand, silencing you.

“It’s fine, Princess. I’m getting used to ducking tree branches on this Island.” He jokes. His eyes sweep over you, taking in your ragged appearance.

You suddenly feel a wave of exhaustion crash over you, and you sway slightly. Jake moves quickly, grabbing you and lowering you to the ground.

“Hell, M/C- You look like you’ve spent a round in the ring with Ronda Rousey….” He mutters, lifting your chin to take a proper look at your face.

“It’s not that bad.” You slap his hand away. “It’s just a few scrapes.”

“Mind telling me what happened?” He asks, and you sigh.

“Once they separated us, the Watchers wanted to take me…somewhere. It was strange- they didn’t seem too worried about me escaping. We were turning a corner and some of them were distracted by something in the trees- so I took my chance to slip away.” You explain. “I fell as I was running, but I’m fine.”

He looks you up and down, and raises an eyebrow.

“I’m gonna need to check you over before I believe you’re fine.” He tells you, and you roll your eyes. As he leans forward to start checking our wounds, you notice how he’s moving. You put your hands up on his shoulders, halting his movement.

“Hang on a second- what about you?” You ask. He grins slightly.

“I’m not worried about me- there’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve been shot, blown up, pistol whipped and stabbed. I can handle a few bruises.” You give him a look. He raises an eyebrow.

“You worry me, Jake McKenzie.”

“Wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t, Princess.” He shoots back. You snort slightly.

“Are you going to tell me what happened with you?”

“Same as you- ‘cept they decided to leave a few extra marks on me.” As he speaks, you pull his shirt up and start examining the bruises starting to form on his chest and stomach. “I took down two of the weirdos guarding me and I ran like hell…the next thing I knew, you were swinging a branch at my head.” He finishes, letting you run your hands down his back, feeling for serious injuries. When you’re satisfied that he’s not badly injured, you sit back.

“I think you’re going to live.” You joke, and he smirks.

“I could’ve told ya that.” He responds. You can’t help but slap him gently on the arm.

“I know- but I wanted to be sure.”

Jake gives you an odd look, before suddenly leaning in. He kisses you gently- and you melt slightly. Far too quickly he pulls away, and you can’t help but sigh. He grins, a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

“Do me a favour, would ya?” He says suddenly.

“What?”

“Stop being so damn cute. It’s starting to drive me crazy.”

“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t drive you crazy.” You wink at him, and he laughs slightly.

“I suppose that’s true.” He agrees. “Now, let me take a look at ya.”

He’s surprisingly gentle, and you can’t help but relax as his hands run over your back and arms. His hand suddenly runs over a particularly painful spot, and you can’t help but flinch. He mutters an apology, but continues on- his touch lighter than before.

Finally, when he’s sure that he hasn’t missed anything, he pulls your shirt back down and moves so you’re face to face once more.

“You all good?” He asks. You look into his eyes, and realise that the look he’s giving you is different. The glint of mischief is gone, replaced with genuine concern. You smile softly, leaning forward so your forehead rests on his. His hand reaches up, resting on your cheek.

“I’m good.”

“Then so am I.”

anonymous asked:

I ended up pocketing a Hanzo in comp while on Eichenwald bc our team got wiped in the first minute of defending and he got me to safety by peaking out of his own hiding spot so that I could fly to him. We spent the round wirh me damage boosting him and he rained arrows on the enemy team from behind. It got to a point that the enemy team had switched to Tracer and Pharah so that they could try to kill us. Only the Pharah got lucky and killed the Hanzo once but I solo rez him and we ran.

Twenty fingers, twenty toes - round 5

———
Round 1
http://imagine-that-one-thing.tumblr.com/post/156567115971/round-one-float-like-a-butterfly

Round 2
http://stylesfics-xx.tumblr.com/post/156618245691/sting-like-a-bee-round-2

Round 3
http://imagine-that-one-thing.tumblr.com/post/156749929556/out-for-the-count

http://imagine-that-one-thing.tumblr.com/post/156881170536/it-comes-in-threes-round-4

———


The old-time expression, “it’s all fun and games, ‘til someone gets hurt,” is the ultimate saying within life when you’re married to a boxer who’s heart and soul stays within the ring. A boxer harbours a considerable number of injuries within his career, ninety percent of boxers will receive at least one head or neck injury within his career, there have been ten deaths a year reported since the 1900’s. Holding your breath and waiting for every bout to end, is something you— along with the other girlfriends, and wives have become prone to doing. Nobody wants to see the love of their life knocked out cold in the middle of a boxing ring, nobody wants to see the gushing blood, the dislocated bones, or even the tiny cuts that leave scars. But, how promptly things change when one open cut is the only disadvantage to the titling win of a bout.
You shake off the nervous feeling as Harry stays focused on the road. With five months of recovery and training, he’s finally made it to his very last debut as a boxer, (with no more exceptions), determined to claim his title and go out with a bang. Nothing is going to stop him tonight from having his ultimate round, you’ve spent the last five months trying to bribe him and convince him not to even bother with tonight’s fight, but he’s determined to win his final match. Somehow he managed to talk you into allowing him this round. His “last” round he threw in the towel and refuses to allow that to be his last. At just over eight months pregnant with twins, who have managed to cause havoc on your body, causing you many aches and pains, your somewhat caring husband tried to convince you to stay home, to miss his last ever fight— of course there was no way you’d let him have his last fight without you being there. After all, you have to make sure this is the ending round. No more ifs of buts. He’s done. “You’re making me nervous by shaking your leg and moving around, love.” His voice is calm and collected as he continues to focus on the road, gesturing towards your bouncing leg and your tendency to be unable to keep still. You can’t help it, you’re nervous and tremendously uncomfortable as the twins decide to have their own boxing match for the night, evidently they got their impressive kicking, and jabbing skills from their father. “It’s not too late to back out if you’re nervous, Harry.” You smile, still hoping that he changes his mind before the two of you manage to reach the venue. A light chuckle escapes from his lips, an indication he still has no interest in not attending the fight. “My love, this is my last night. I’m fighting, even if the biggest storm of the century rips through. I’m going to win.” He assures you, notifying you that absolutely nothing is going to stand in the way of his major win. He’s sounding outrageously arrogant, something that is a turn on, but also bad trait. You’ve seen the bad end of his cockiness before— specially you’ve seen the aftermath of his pridefulness. Two years ago, his ego and arrogance were at an all time high for one specific event, his confidence was high, he had persuaded himself there was no losing. Not only did he lose that night, he ended up in the hospital for two nights. His eagerness and determination to win, doesn’t always put you at such ease. The prior contest he had, he was determined to win, it was going to be the final time he enters a prized ring, he forgot to incorporate the slight chance of losing and getting hurt further.
That of course didn’t stop him.
“What if you lose like last time?” You gently challenge, burning a fire within his eyes, he shakes his head,
“There’s no room for me losing. I’m winning.” He presses, “I’ve spent five months recovering, training, and there’s no room for error, not tonight.” He continues, parking the car and taking the keys from the ignition. He turns to you, a small smile becoming eminent on his face. “Just wait in the car for a minute.” He instructs, getting out of the car, promptly getting his athletic bag from the back seat. He closes the door and strides towards the passenger side, graciously opening your door for you. He offers his hand and gently helps you out of the car, his more caring and protective side making itself known. You place a small kiss to his cheek, showing your appreciation before your hands press to your back, the aches and pains hurting a little bit more this evening. “Yeh alright?” He sweetly examines, his own hand pressing to the small of your back, delicately rubbing it. You give him a nod, “c'mon, you have a fight to prepare for.” You crack a smile, stepping up on the sidewalk and walking towards the back entrance, his arm staying securely around you.
He leads you down dissimilar hallways, passing a few irregular enclosed areas before he drops his bag off and is forced into the routine check by the athletic physician on duty. You’ve never considerably understood how the physician can manage to put up with the injuries and the problems associated with boxing. They’re always dealing with miscellaneous things, bruises, blood, broken bones, concussions, and what not. Surely they get sick of the routine checks they have to perform before every boxing match and after every bout. Their job doesn’t just begin when the boxers enter the ring, or when they leave. There’s a lot of other hours away from the ring that gets put into their duty.

Your eyes meet Harry’s as he bounces up and down to get his blood pumping, bounding energy radiating from him, his arms practicing his tactics mid air. “Alright tough guy, relax for a minute.” You chuckle, his eyes instantaneously rolling at you before he steps closer and places a kiss to your lips.
“Just gettin’ warmed up. I heard he’s playing with an injury, which means he’s weaker than usual.” He enlightens you and you raise a brow, unsure if he is mindful of how many times he was underestimated because he was either fighting with an injury or just coming off of injury recovery. Not to mention he’s currently still a bit weak and sensitive around parts of his own body. “Need I remind you of your injuries?” You challenge and he shakes his head, your hands instantly pressing your back again as you take a deep breath.
“Sit down.” He instructs intently, “need I remind you of your own discomfort?” He raises a brow, intentionally trying to be a pain in the ass and use your own words against you.
“I don’t need to be reminded of the two bundles of joy causing havoc on my back.” You murmur, closing your eyes for a moment before the soreness leisurely wears off. “Are you ready?” You ask, knowing it’s getting closer and closer to fighting time. He nods, beginning to bounce again on his legs, “I was born ready.” He confidently discloses, arrogance again becoming known. “I’m so ready.” He goes on saying while you hold back a groan, a rippling pain shooting through you, your eyes wincing as you try not to show too much discomfort. “And it’s time for you to sit down.” He gently takes your hands, forcing you to take a seat on the bench. He continues his warm up in the small area, bouncing around and going through his techniques, on occasion taking a peek over at you as you sit in a tolerant manner, waiting for him to be escorted towards the boxing ring. “It’s about time.” He clears his throat and you stand to your feet, “I love you.” He says in a low voice, the usual routine commencing, you smile up at him,
“I love you, too! Good luck. Remember; float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” You remind him of the all so famous saying, allowing him to mimic you as he reiterates, “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, his hand gently pushing a few strands of hair away from your face. “Sweetheart…” his voice distracts you as you find your hand squeezing his shoulder, “is it your back, still?” He nicely asks while you exhale and let out a small whimper,
“It’s my whole body.” You whine, your toes curling as your body stiffens with another shrilling pain.
“Harry, you’re on in five.” A familiar voice calls from down the hall, distracting you from your own discomforts. Another breath leaves your lips and you gently let go of him, “go, good luck” you falsify a smile,
“I have a few minutes. C'mon let’s sit.” He gestures again towards the benches. He sits with you and gently rubs your back, whispering how much he loves you in your ear as you become calm and collected.
He places a kiss to your cheek before standing, knowing his fight needs to begin. “Are you ready?” You stand to your feet, watching as he nods, doing his best to keep his energy under control. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” He confesses, a feeling of something popping inside you before a warm liquid soaks your pants,
“Great. You’re not fighting.” You moan,
“Yes, I am.” He shakes his head with a firm tone, taking no notice of your moist pants, “I told you nothing will stop me, not even a bloody storm.” He continues to shake his head,
“My water just broke and someone needs to take me to deliver the babies.” You brief, looking down at your damp jeans, feeling excessively uncomfortable as your pants continue to become soaked.
“You’re not serious.” He scoffs, his eyes lowering to look for himself, widening as he sees precisely what you’ve felt. “You had to pick right now?” He complains, promptly shaking his head before taking your hand, “Uhm, okay. This wasn’t part of the plan. Erm… shall we go?” He babbles uncomfortably,
“No, I’ll just stay here and wait until you finish your bout.” You sarcastically respond, unable to control your mouth as the pain begins to start up again.
“As much as I’d love that, it won’t happen.” He shakes his head, grabbing his jacket and forcefully pulling it up his arms before grabbing your hand,
“Do you have anymore pants?” You question, the feeling of soaked jeans being something that you cannot bare to stand, no matter what the circumstances may be. “Yes, in the car. Come on, I don’t plan to deliver these babies on the side of the flippin’ road.” He gently tugs you away, guiding you around the hallways, disregarding all the staff and inquiries.

By hour nine, you feel entirely fatigued, more than ready to be asleep and resting. You can feel your hair sticking to the side of your face, your body still feeling excessive ripples and pains of contractions as you near the birth of the first baby. With a heavy breath you’re given the permission to push, something you’d been begging permission to do for a while. With great strength and agonising pain the shrilling cries of the first baby fills the room, immediately melting your heart as you take the lovable moment to breathe. “It’s a beautiful baby girl.” Someone blissfully broadcasts, “born at two-ten in the morning.” She continues, the joyful announcement being music to your ears. A gorgeous baby girl, “ten fingers, ten toes?” You wearily question, wanting to make sure there’s nothing missing from the infant since she decided to come earlier than anticipated.
“Ten cute fingers, and ten cute little toes.” She assures you, graciously passing the healthy little baby to your other half, his eyes straightaway shining down at his latest pride and joy, his little girl that’ll have him wrapped around her little finger. “Her eyes are still closed.” He whispers, sounding a little nervous,
“They’ll open in a few minutes.” You’re both hastily assured as the baby girl is held proudly by her father.
“Okay Y/N, looks like baby two is almost ready, take a few deep breaths for me.” The midwife informs you while you do as she says, doing your best to take deep breaths while you have the chance, while Harry coos over the few minutes old baby girl. “She’s beautiful just like you.” He coos, swooning over his baby girl,
“Okay, you’re second baby is getting ready.” The lady graciously advises you, monitoring baby B.
“No, I’m not ready for the second.” You shake your head, not prepared for the second baby to leave your worn-out and pained body. “I want to go home.” You mumble uncomfortably, hearing slight chuckles from your content husband beside you.
“Sweetheart, you survived nearly ten hours, just a few more minutes and it’ll be over.” He whispers, taking your hand again and giving it a gentle squeeze, “c'mon, you can do it.” He comforts you, persuading you to hang in there for a little longer. You shake your head, “I’m tired.” You whimper, pain still radiating through your body.
“I know, but you can do this. I promise you can do this.” He presses sweetly, the lady good-naturedly interrupting, a reminder that you have to deliver the second baby. With the last bit of strength left in your worn out body, the shrieks of the second baby echoes through the room and you relax back with relief, “and we have a handsome baby boy.” The lady releases brightly, “ten little toes, and ten little fingers.” She answers your question before you can even ask. You smile to yourself, proud of the accomplishment of bringing two new humans into the world. “Born at two-nineteen in the morning.” She informs you, “here’s your precious little one.” She smiles, gently placing the baby boy into your arms as he is wrapped in a warm blanket. You look down at the newborn, unsure of how you managed to create two beauteous creatures. “Look, her eyes are opening.” Harry distracts you from your son, your own eyes shortly flickering towards the baby in his arms as her darling eyes flutter open, “hi precious,” he coos, her eyes radiating a blue-grey colour, a smile appearing on both your faces. You look at your son, his eyes already open and gazing at you, his eyes the exact same colour as his sister. “Here, do you want to hold her before they take her?” Harry graciously asks, already placing her into your arms, taking his son into his. “Aren’t you just a pretty princess.” You coo cheerily, admiring her the same way you appreciated her charming brother. “Y/N, we have to take them for a little bit. You’ll get them back soon.” The lady enlightens you and you carefully hand back your children, trusting her with your biggest accomplishments. “Twenty fingers, twenty toes.” You wearily smile over at your husband. He gives you a nod, leaning down to place a kiss to your forehead, “I’m sorry you missed the bout.” You mumble, remembering you interrupted his ambition for the night. He shakes his head,
“This is much better. Twenty-fingers and twenty toes is worth more than anything.” He says in a low voice, delicately pushing the hair away from your face. “You did a wonderful job, I couldn’t be happier.” He beams, the typical radiant fatherly glow bounding off of him,
“They’re so precious.” You tiredly whisper, holding your husbands hand as he beams down at you. “What about the match?” You challenge, unsure of what Harry intends to do to make up for what he missed. He shakes his head,
“I’m trading my gloves in for formula and sleepless nights with our babies.” He reassures you wedding his darling dimples, melting your heart. There’s nothing better than knowing that he’s swapping boxing gloves for twenty fingers, and twenty toes.

2

MAC 34 T machine gun

Produced by the Manufacture d’Armes de Chatellerault prior to WW2. Originally an aircraft turret gun, fitted in the 1950′s with an Aujoulat bipod mount for infantry support.
7,5x54mm MAS Mle 1929 100-round Mle 1934 pan magazine, gas operated, impromptu military-grade toaster.

These now obsolete aircraft guns were recycled after World War 2 to become an infantry weapon, although their cooling problems meant that they were limited to 100-round magazines spent in short bursts for an average rate of fire of 200 rounds per minute. Water then had to be injected in the gun using a syringe.

Mle 1934 100-round magazine and Mle 1931 150-round magazine for MAC machine guns.

Jealously - Joe Sugg Imagine

A/N-  hiya! just wondering if you could please write an imagine where you’re best friends with oli and dating joe. you’ve just spent a whole day hanging out with oli, and when you get home joe acts a bit jealous?

“Hello everyone, today’s video i’ll be doing the best friends tag with one of my best friends Y/N” Oli started his introduction to his video.

“One of your best friends? I think you mean I am your best friend” I sarcastically added. 

“So she believes” Oli winked to the camera. 

“Just get on with the video”

“So i’m going to ask Y/N some questions and we’ll see how well she knows me. Every time she gets one wrong, a pie will be thrown into her face” 

“Ugh i didn’t agree to this” Mentally preparing myself because i was rubbish at these games. 

“Right we’ll start off easy, when is my birthday?” 

“I know this!! 26th January” I grinned knowing i was right. 

“Correct! If you didn’t get that right i wouldn’t of been happy. Next one what was my first youtube video called?” 

“Oh god, i dont know!”

“You don’t know? Thanks Y/N you helped me film it” 

“I remember but i dont know what you called it! Im going to have to guess.. Introduction to my channel?” That’s when i knew i was wrong as a pie was splattered into my face.

“It was A New Start” Oli laughed while i wiped pie out of my eyes. 

The video continued and i only ended up with 4 pies to the face. What can i say i’m a pretty good friend. I helped Oli clean up the mess which was made and help pack his equipment away. After all that was done we ordered take-away and watched a film. Loved having quality time with my best friend. Realising the time, 8pm, i knew it was about time i heard off back home so with saying my goodbyes off i went. 

“Babe i’m home” Closing the door behind me taking off my shoes and coat before continuing into the front room.

“Babe?” I called out again as there was no response the first time round. 

“Where have you been?” I saw Joe sitting on the sofa editing his new video, speaking without looking at me.

“I’ve been at Oli’s filming a video why?” I placed my bag on the table looking at him confused. 

“You went there this morning and its now night” Still no eye contact. 

“I got caught up with time” 

“You said before you left you would be back for dinner, i even cooked you a meal yet you never showed up”

“I’m sorry ok just got caught up ive already eaten but i can just warm the meal back up” 

“You already eaten? Well that was a waste of time cooking”

“What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing just that my girlfriend was meant to come home for a meal i specially cooked but she never told me she was eating out with another guy”

“That guy being Oli. Are you jealous or something?” 

“No? Why would i be jealous?”

“Because you don’t normally act like this” I headed over to the sofa taking a seat next to him. “You are jealous arent you?”

“You spent the whole day round there, you didn’t even tell me you werent coming home for dinner” Joe mumbled clothing his laptop screen down to finally look up at me.

“You’re jealous” I smirked, 

“If i agree will you shut up?” I nodded waiting for him to continue. “Fine yes i am jealous” I giggled and pinched his blushing cheeks. 

“Aww my babe is jealous, you don’t have to be jealous you know” 

“Yes i know but i missed you” 

“Well now i’m all yours” I smiled placing a kiss on his lips. 

5

Landstad Model N°1 automatic revolver

Designed in1899 by Halvard Landstad in Oslo, patented the following year. Only one gun made.
7,5mm Nagant, 6 rounds removable box magazine/left grip panel and a flat cylinder with two chambers.

A pull of the trigger would first cock the hammer and cycle the cylinder - much like a double action revolver - and then release the hammer, firing the cartridge. The energy from the recoil would be harnessed to push back the slide, ejecting the spent round and loading another one in the bottom chamber of the cylinder. And somehow that would compete with a regular semi-automatic pistol.
… I mean visually it does and win, but you know.

5

Ernst August Wagner was born in 1874 in Eglosheim near Ludwigsburg. He had a very poor, isolated upbringing, the 9th child of 10 but only one of three to survive by 1913. He was a very depressed child and was known as the ‘widows boy’, due to the early death of his father from consumption. Although his mother did remarry, it didn’t last long because of extramarital affairs. Ernst, even though depressed and filled with suicidal thoughts, did well in school and was quite intelligent. He was intelligent enough to gain a stipend from the government and was able to study his way to becoming a teacher. In 1901 was in a teaching position in Mühausen der Enz, where he worked until 1902. In the summer of 1901, he drunkenly committed an act of bestiality. This act would haunt him for the rest of his life. He belived the villagers of Mühausen der Enz knew of his horrible deed and were all making fun of him behind his back. That same year he began seeing Anna Friedericke Schient, and even though he didn’t like her family, he was forced to marry her because she became pregnant. 1894 he was in Switzerland where he attempted twice to commit suicide. By 1909 he and Anna would have four more children and he could have cared less. One of his sons even died on his birthday in 1909, but it did not seem to distress Ernst. His paranoia over the people of Mühausen der Enz knowing his secret grew stronger and stronger as the days went by. He would drive around to remote forest areas on his bike, his most precious possession, sharpening his shooting skills and preparing to take out his frustration on the men of Mühausen der Enz. He began his killing spree on September 4th 1913 with his wife. She was asleep and at around 5 a.m. he bashed her on the head with a blackjack, and stabbed her many times in the throat and chest. He repeated this gruesome act on his sons and his daughters. He left a note on his door saying that they were headed on a trip and in reality the family inside was dead from massive hemorrhaging. He changed his clothes and headed towards Stuttgart, from which he took a train to visit his brother in his hometown. When he got there he spent the night with his sister in law and her children, and the next day took the train to Bietgheim and sent some letters to family members and the theologist and Professor Christoph Schrempf, as well as some newspapers. He got his bike checked and mailed two copies of his autobiography out and headed back for Mühausen der Enz. He got there around 11 p.m. and he put a cap on his head a veil over half his face and attempted to cut the town’s telephone wires. This didn’t work because the wires were too high to reach so he just began walking through the streets shooting at any men that happen to mistakenly crossed his path. He spent around 80 rounds and shot 20 people, killing eight of them as well as two animals. At the beginning of his rampage he started a couple fires which lead to several buildings being burnt to the ground and at least one more villager dead. Stopping to reload, three men knocked him down with hoe’s and sabres and basically beat the shit out of him. He suffered several wounds to his face and his right hand was nearly cut off. The men left him in the road to die but he was found by a police officer a few hours later. When he briefly regained consciousness he immediately confessed to killing his family and said that he would appreciate it if he could be sentenced to death and decapitated. After a long trial and numerous psychiatric assessments and diagnosis, which said he suffered from paranoia, he became the first person in Württemberg to be found not guilty by reason of insanity. He was sentenced to an asylum in Winnenthal for life. There he wrote several plays and dramas and eventually in 1938 he died of tuberculosis. Pictured above are a newspaper article, a picture of Wagner, a few pics of the mass funeral ceremony and the town’s memorial for the victims. Source Wikipedia