the roger room


“Will they just go and get a room, or, I don’t know, just go get married?”

“They still insist they are just friends.”

“…I am so done with them.“


Sorry as their heads are too big so I cannot find a way to let Steve standing on Tony’s boot (without kissing Tony in the process) so please ignore that bug XDDD

A fluffy Stony short comic for all of you and as a little celebration heehee

MY TUMBLR HAVE REACHED 1,000 FOLLOWERS!!! THANKS FOR FOLLOWING ME!!! I have never thought it is possible when I start drawing! Thanks for putting up with all my babbling and complains and all the silly fluffy ideasXD And I can’t say enough thank yous to all the likes, reblogs and especially the kind and encouraging messages, they all mean a lot to me and I would re-read the messages you sent me when I am upset, and I always feel a lot better after that ;D

Thank you, again, and I hope you would enjoy the Stony arts as much as I do! (*´▽`*)✿ Hail Stony!!!

anonymous asked:

Steve shares a unique bond with one of the women in Sam's va class.


Steve looks up hearing Shauna’s voice.  She’s holding a small gift bag.

“What’s this?” 

“From the kids.  Open it.” She sits to watch him shift the tissue paper out of the way to reveal a phone case.

“I don’t-“ Steve turns the case over and understands. “Oh my –this is Nico’s drawing, from our last class.”  On the back of the phone case is an image of a boy with Cap’s shield, saving a blond-haired man from the top of a building.  The lines are confident, if wobbly.  

“There’s a shop on Etsy that puts whatever you want on a phone case. So.”

Steve reached to hug her and then stopped, holding out his hand instead. “Sorry.  Thank you.”

Shauna grinned, leaning forward to hug him.  “Today’s feeling like an okay day for a hug, actually. Thank you.”   

Shauna had introduced Steve to an art therapy class for children at the elementary school just down the street from the VA.  Every student was different but they all needed and outlet. So don’t we, Shauna had said.  She was right, and Steve loved it, finding the time no matter what to volunteer at least once a week.

anonymous asked:

‘Romeo and Juliet of the math and english dept. in school’ AU or I’m a writer and when it gets close to my deadlines I neglect taking care of myself so you’ll pop in my house every so often to make sure I’m doing okay’ AU please !!

Please imagine Steve looking like he does in the second photo of this photoset, please.

– –

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name,” Mr. Rogers says, and about half the class sighs dreamily. He looks up from his book. “Can anyone tell me what ‘wherefore’ means in this context?” He looks at the array of hands that shoot up in the air. “Wanda?”

“It means ‘why’,” she says.

“Exactly. So she’s asking… anyone?”

“She’s asking why he has to be a Montague, versus any other family,” says a voice from the doorway.

Mr. Rogers looks up and smiles. “Right you are, Mr. Barnes. To what do we owe the honor?” He runs a hand through his thick hair and pushes his thick black glasses up on his nose, and a few members of the class shoot each other knowing looks.

“You forgot your dongle in my classroom last night,” Mr. Barnes says. There’s a chorus of ‘ooooohs’ from the students and Mr. Barnes shoots them a look as Mr. Rogers rolls his eyes. “It’s a computer part,” he says, holding it up for the class to observe.

“Nasty,” Tony Stark says from the back.

“Tony,” Mr. Rogers says, sharp.

“Oooh, you’re in the shit,” Clint whispers to Tony, who just rolls his eyes.

Mr. Rogers walks across the room to Mr. Barnes and takes the dongle with a smile. “Thanks for bringing it back,” he says.

“Not a problem,” Mr. Barnes responds, then gives Mr. Rogers a friendly nudge on the arm. “But maybe keep better track of your stuff, okay? You’re always leaving things in my classroom after practice.”

Mr. Rogers bites his lip and nods. “Sorry about that.”

“Nah, nothing you gotta apologize for. But I should quit interrupting your class and get going.”

“Okay. See you later,” Mr. Rogers says, and watches Mr. Barnes back out of the room and shut the door with such a look of pure, simple longing that it’s almost embarrassing to look.

“Oh. My. God.” Clint says to Tony. “He’s into him?”

“Duh,” Tony says as he picks at the edge of his worksheet. “You should see them during Scholastic Bowl practice. It’s gratuitous and disgusting.”

“Huh,” Clint says, looking up to Mr. Rogers, who is now blushing as he tries to move on with the lecture. “That’s funny.”

“Here,” Tony says, shoving the paper at Clint, “we wrote this after practice yesterday. The syllabic structure’s pretty mediocre but we had some fun.”

Clint reads:

Mr. Barnes & Mr. Rogers: A Nerdy Tragedy

Two departments, both alike in dignity

In fair high school, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where class budgets make tenured staff ill at-ease.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross’d lovers coach the team;

Whose misadventures piteous overthrows

Do with their love bury their departments’ strife.

The fearful passage of their nerd-mark’d love,

And the continuance of their departments’ rage,

Which, but their teacher’s love, nought could remove,

Is now the two hours’ traffic of our Scholastic Bowl meet;

The which if you with patient ears attend,

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

“Passing notes?” Clint nearly jumps out of his seat and sees Mr. Rogers standing in front of him, eyebrow raised. Before Clint can come up with an answer, Mr. Rogers takes the paper from his hands and starts to read. Clint looks to Tony, who looks at Clint with wide eyes. They both look up at Mr. Rogers who is turning redder by the moment. Mr. Rogers looks up at them, then quickly back down to the paper, and back up at them. He clears his throat. “I’ll be throwing this out,” he says, shoving the paper into the pocket of his blazer and walking away.

“He’s gonna read that to Mr. Barnes tonight while they bang,” Tony whispers into Clint’s ear.

Clint bursts out laughing, and ends up with detention.

Cooking Classes

Summary:  One day your Friend Steve shows up in your house asking you to teach him to cook.

Words: 3418 (Holly Cow.)

Paring: Steve x Reader

Warnings: There is a lot of music references in this, fuffly lots and lots of fuffly. A little angst and Smut ( Not safe sex and oral.)

A/n : Thanks to @drinkfantasy for being my beta Ily ( you rock)

credits to the gif owners

Originally posted by evanslovely

You wake with loud knocks on your door, you look at the clock and it says it’s 4 pm. Who dares to wake you up in the middle of your nap? You get up from your couch cursing the soul that is on the other side of the door.

When you open the door all your anger disappears, on the other side you see Steve and you hate how good looking he looks at the moment. He is standing there in a dark blue sweater and some jeans looking amazing.

You realize that you are staring “Steve, what do I own you the pleasure?” He smiles at you entering you house “Well, I miss you.” He hugs you as he speaks “I am pretty sure you do, but what are you doing here?”

Keep reading

So, my wife and I were having a discussion about the wonderful creation of Pam the HR lady by the fandom and this kind of happened…

Pam walks into the break room at Quantico and looks for the coffee machine; she was going to need a hit of caffeine if she was going to make it through the early morning start. She hadn’t been to Quantico since her original induction, but with the DEO becoming known to other agencies, she was now required to attend the yearly inter-bureau briefing. She nods at a few of the other people present as she fills a mug and inhales deeply.

The caffeine hits her bloodstream as they’re called through to the conference room. They all filter through and Pam takes a seat around the tables that had been arranged into an L formation.

One by one they were asked to introduce themselves and the agency they worked for and Pam feels a sense of relief at finally being able to state that she worked for the DEO, rather than her usual vague answer. What she wasn’t expecting was all the eyes watching her to go wide and a cacophony of noise to fill her ears, one question louder than all the rest;

Which of the Agent Danvers stories are true? They can’t all possibly be true.

Pam chuckles, she had a feeling once it was know she worked for the DEO, stories about a certain Alex Danvers were certain to surface.

‘They’re all true’ she replies with a shrug. She’s a pain in my arse she added in her head.

‘But…’ a young agent stutters, his eyes wide as he watches the HR manager for the FBI nod.

‘All. Of. Them’ Pam states, enjoying the look on the agents face, she was well aware of the rumours that had been going around for years about Agent Danvers and the ‘legendary’ status she had picked up among other agents.

There is silence until the same young agent pipes up again, ‘so she really did fly a spaceship to save Supergirl?’

‘Preposterous!’ an older man in a military uniform yells out. ‘I’ve head many stories about this… this Agent Danvers and refuse to believe that she piloted a spacecraft without any prior training or advance notice! The paperwork alone…’

Pam stays silent and instead reaches into her bag where she had stowed the paperwork she needed to file with the FBI today; the paperwork relating to the second time Alex Danvers had taken it upon herself to fly a spaceship.

‘The paperwork wasn’t any easier the second time around…’ Pam smiles sweetly as she places the paperwork on the table in front of her.

The room erupts once again and Pam just smiles.

The following week Pam opens up the tenth email that day requesting that she holds a HR training session at the DEO. She shakes her head and wonders if they think she doesn’t know the only reason they want to come to the DEO is to meet Agent Danvers.

Her phone rings and she picks it up, pretty sure in who is on the other end. Sure enough, Director Henshaw speaks first, ‘Pam, do you know why I’m being inundated with requests from other agencies for training sessions here?’

‘I do Director, it seems our Agent Danvers is somewhat of a legend at Quantico…’

‘Ah, let me guess, they all want to meet her?’

‘Yes Sir, I’m sorry, I’ll sort this out.’

Pam hangs up and emails Maura the HR Manager at the FBI;

Maura, you have to tell Agent Roberts to stop harassing my Director! Just leave it with me, I’ll figure something out.

Pam decides that she can’t exactly have a ton of agents descend upon the DEO, the only other option is to send Agent Danvers on a field trip…

She shoots a quick email off to Alex explaining that she is required to go to Quantico to pass their training in order to keep her fake FBI badge, now that the DEO is a known organisation to them.

A month later Agent Danvers strides into the training facility with Pam at her side.

‘So I just need to pass the training?’ Alex questions.

‘Yes. To the rest of the world, you’re officially Alex Danvers, FBI. They didn’t take kindly to us faking your credentials, so have decided you need to actually obtain them…’ Pam explains, rather pleased with her cover story.

‘Understood. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here?’

‘To make sure the paperwork between the FBI and the DEO match up…’ Pam replies vaguely. In truth, she couldn’t wait to see how the other Agents reacted to Agent Danvers.

Pam spotted the young agent, Agent Li, from the briefing and smiled. Agent Rogers was also waiting in the training room, bouncing happily from foot to foot in excitement. Alex nodded towards them before entering the changing room to get ready.

The first few physical challenges, Alex passes with ease; simulations of various situations, requiring her to act quickly, shooting targets to avoid danger. As she exits the room, Agent Rogers looks like he’s about to pass out with excitement; she had set a new high score on her first attempt. Pam is filled with pride.

Next is the sparring match, in which new recruits are usually paired against each other. A dark haired woman steps forwards, her hand outstretched, ‘Agent Rizzoli’ she introduces herself, ‘we thought it was a bit unfair to pair you with a rookie…’ Alex laughs as she shakes Agent Rizzoli’s hand.

The pair are evenly matched and soon a small crowd has amassed to watch; money is quickly changing hands as various bets are made. Finally, Alex manages to pin Agent Rizzoli, winning the match. She stands and offers her hand to help the other agent up.

Finally, Alex is taken to the shooting range; by now there are roughly fifty other people crammed into the tiny side room to watch. To no one’s surprise, Alex gets a perfect score in the first round. Deciding she wants to show off a little and also because she’s a tiny bit pissed at being made to jump through all these hoops, she reaches down to her leg to pull out her favourite gun, the one she knew she probably shouldn’t have brought, but there was no way she was leaving her baby at home where Maggie could claim it.

Pam is out of the door and on the shooting range in a flash.

Alex barely has it raised to eye level before she hears a voice behind her.

‘Put it DOWN Agent Danvers’ Pam booms.

Damn it Alex thinks, before lowering it sheepishly.

‘You were under strict instructions not to bring your gun!’

‘But!’ Alex pouts.

‘No buts Agent Danvers… Give it here’ Pam holds out her hand, ‘you can have it back when we return to the DEO.’

Everyone’s jaws drop as they watch badass Agent Danvers slink over to Pam the tiny HR woman and hand over her gun.

Pam nods and heads back into the side room, alien gun in hand, to a captive audience.

‘I think we’re done here’ she states, ‘I expect Agent Danver’s FBI paperwork to be on my desk by the end of the week.’

Rumours still fly around the various agencies about the antics of Agent Danvers, but with a new addition; the tiny woman who can make Agent Danvers relinquish her weapon, just by raising her voice… Pam becomes a legend in her own right.

i like how collectively all the howling commando james decided not to go by james. like imagine if for all those years, they never knew the others were named james until one day a nurse was like, “steve’s ready for you, james” and like four commandos arrive at steve rogers’ post op room door and begin arguing on who gets to see steve first







and gabe and dum dum end up seeing steve first while the rest are still arguing 

Worth The Risk {Part 07}

Bucky x Reader
Summary: Bucky knew that all Steve wanted was for him to get along with her, but was it really worth the risk?

Part 01 / Part 02 / Part 03 / Part 04 / Part 05 / Part 06 / Part 08 / Part 09 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 - Coming Soon!

Word Count: 2432
Warnings: swearing, mild violence, angst (?), probably gonna be sad

A/N: so i fell asleep on top of my laptop writing this two nights in a row… which, honestly, is a perfect reflection of my mental and physical health atm lmao BUT thank you all for being so incredibly patient with me and i hope you enjoy <3

Originally posted by veronikaphoenix

You sat curled up on your small couch, one of Steve’s sweaters wrapped securely around your shoulders and the large duvet from your bed laid across your lap. You’d spent the last few hours there, absentmindedly doodling in one of your many notebooks as the small TV across from you droned on and on. Even then time went by excruciatingly slow and as the hours crept by you found yourself just as awake, just as anxious, and just as lonely as ever. 

You didn’t quite know why you felt the way you did. Work had been quieter than usual and there were no new missions in the foreseeable future. Everybody in the tower was relaxed and happy, taking full advantage of their time off. Yet there you were, wide awake and with a hollowing feeling eating away at your chest in the early hours of the morning.

Usually, you enjoyed your time alone. Showing your feelings around the team made you feel weak and vulnerable and in this line of work you were supposed to put up a strong front. That evening, however, you found yourself needing your friends’ company. You placed your book on the seat next to you and stretched, reaching up for the ceiling and exhaling when you felt the small pop.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you spoke up timidly, waiting for the computer interface to reply. “Is Steve still awake?”

A small smile tugged at your lips and you sat up straighter when you heard her answer. Ready to stand, you readjusting the thick socks that had slipped down to pool around your ankles.

“Where can I find him?” you asked hopefully.

“Captain Rogers is in his room.” Her voice was smooth. “Would you like me to call him for you?”

“No, no.” You gushed, feeling a wave of relief surround you. “I’ll go to him myself. Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

You pulled yourself up off of the couch and allowed the duvet to drop to the floor, shutting the door gently behind you as you left.

Keep reading

Let Me In {2}

Sequel to The Sun and The Stars

Previous parts: | Part 1 |

Word count: 2065

Warnings: None

Originally posted by ohevansmycaptain

You sit anxiously in the waiting room of the OB doctor’s offive, nervously anticipating this appointment; you were getting your first ultrasound, courtesy of the Avengers and being here by yourself terrified you. Nat hadn’t been able to come because she was away on a mission but still you forced yourself to go for the simple fact that you wanted to be sure that nothing was wrong with the baby. However, being here in this doctor’s office reminded you too much of the experimentation you’d endured at HYDRA and you find your breathing become labored and your heart begins to pound.

Keep reading

I don’t know why, but this gif fascinates me…maybe because he’s usually so rough and masculine, but he’s also so light and agile. Makes me wonder how much of this is from his training as an assassin, and how much of it was picked up from his time in the Red Room…always so graceful.

Originally posted by darlingpanslove

anonymous asked:

Can we get another chapter of The Tagalong?! Merry Christmas!

Did I hold onto this prompt specifically so I could use it for a Christmas-set installment of this fic? Perhaps. And a special merci beaucoup to Mod Eloise for checking and editing my French.- Mod Lenny

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Fergus sat in his chair with his arms braced on the edge of Brianna’s bassinette and one hand hanging in enough for her to grasp his finger. Her tiny fingernails had just been cut but already seemed to have grown out enough to feel like needles when she squeezed tight. She was fighting her nap and Fergus had assured Mother Claire that he would be able to get the baby to sleep while she finished getting their home ready for their Christmas guests.

Brianna’s green velvet Christmas dress was safely concealed beneath the tartan blanket that Mrs. Graham had helped Mother Claire fashion from the arisaid she’d worn on her journey through the stones. It had faded a bit with washing but when it was tucked up close about Brianna’s chin and wisps of her bright hair fell across it Fergus would trace the pattern of the Fraser tartan and recall the way Milord had looked wearing it as he stood in the sun overlooking the fields at Lallybroch as potatoes were harvested or as he draped the length of his plaid about his head and shoulders for warmth in the rain.

In the quiet moments when Mother Claire asked him to keep an eye on Brianna as she completed a chore or if she fell asleep, exhausted in the middle of an afternoon, Fergus would lapse into French and whisper stories to Brianna; stories about Milord, about Lallybroch, about France.

J'ai couru et couru et il m'a poursuivi,” Fergus said quietly as Brianna’s eyes looked up at him, unfocused, and her other fist was in her mouth. “Bien sûr, qu'il m'a attrapé. Mais il ne m'a pas fait de mal; il m'a offert un emploi. Oui, ton père a fait ça.” He leaned in and kissed her tiny knuckles where they clung to his finger. Her eyes were beginning to drift shut. “C'est la raison pour laquelle je suis ton frère… il y a plus, mais nous sauverons cette histoire pour plus tard.”

He heard the front door shut and the boisterous welcomes of Claire to her guests then Roger’s eager footsteps came scurrying down the hallway in search of him. Before the door had even opened, Fergus was halfway across the room hushing his friend.

“Whatever you do, do not wake Bree,” Fergus hissed before glancing over his shoulder to see that she hadn’t moved. The hand that had been clutching his finger was pressed to her chubby cheek, fingers splayed while the drool-covered fist that had been in her mouth rested on the bedding next to her head leaving a damp spot underneath it. The tartan blanket rose and fell with her deep and steady breathing.

“Ye mean we’ll no get to play wi’ her?” Roger asked straining to look past Fergus to see the bairn he’d heard so much about from Mrs. Graham and from Fergus at school. He’d only seen her once at the hospital when they’d gone to pick Fergus up and a few times from a distance when Mrs. Beauchamp came to drop Fergus off to play or pick him up again.

“Trust me, you do not want to play with her when she is needing a nap,” Fergus warned leading the way out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. “When she is not in a right mood she cries and that is not fun for anyone.”

“Is she asleep then, Fergus?” Claire asked as the boys appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. She and Mrs. Graham were working at the counter and the oven door was hanging open, heat and the smell of cooking meat wafting deliciously into their faces.

Oui,” he told her reaching for a pastie on the counter. Mrs. Graham raised her eyebrows at him and shook her head but smiled as he took a second and held it out for Roger.

“Supper should be ready in an hour or so,” Claire informed him. “Why don’t you go show Roger some of the gifts you got?”

Fergus nodded and turned to take Roger to his room.

Hearing about Christmas at school, Fergus had come home and asked Mother Claire about the holiday and how it was celebrated.

“We did not celebrate in such ways at Lallybroch but you have said many things in this time are different,” he’d speculated as he lay on his back on the floor tossing a small ball into the air and catching it. Mother Claire had been rocking in a chair with Brianna nursing at her breast.

“Yes, Christmas is one of the holidays we celebrate differently in this time,” Claire said but there was a somber tone as she said it brushing the hair down on Brianna’s small and delicate head. “It’s more like the Hogmanay celebrations we had that first year back at Lallybroch; a time you spend with family and friends. You feast and there are presents.”

“It is a time that is making you miss Milord,” he observed quietly, watching her carefully and holding the ball tightly in his fist, interrupting the rhythm of tossing and catching he’d established.

Mother Claire’s eyes remained fixed on the baby’s intent gaze and strong, suckling mouth.

“Yes and no. I miss him always,” she responded quietly then stroked Brianna’s cheek with the tip of her finger. Brianna released her hold on Mother Claire’s nipple, a dribble of breast milk leaking from the corner of her mouth and making a path down her jaw and into the deepening folds of her neck while Mother Claire eased the drained breast back into her nursing bra and shifted the still-hungry infant so she could access and feed on the other breast. “It would have meant so much to him to see the both of you doing so well and it makes me sad that he can’t be here to share this time with us.” She finally looked away from the baby and caught Fergus watching her, pushing a small smile to her face. “I told him a little about what Christmases in this time were like and I know that he would want you to enjoy it as much as you can; he wouldn’t want us to mope at a time meant to be happy.”

And she had told him then of her plan to invite Roger, Reverend Wakefield, and Mrs. Graham over for the holiday. Mrs. Graham would only be staying a short time since she had her children and grandchildren to spend some of the day with but Reverend Wakefield and Roger didn’t have obligations beyond each other and readily accepted the invitation.

“Oh,” Roger interrupted before they could leave the kitchen. “We brought ye a gift.” The younger boy pulled Fergus in a different direction seeking his adoptive father in the small living room.

Reverend Wakefield stood examining the pair of bookshelves that stood on either side of the television, squinting at Claire’s odd collection of medical and herbal texts. He turned when the boys entered the room and the lines standing between his eyes dissolved, reappearing at the corners in the form of laugh lines. “Happy Christmas to ye, Fergus. Yer mother told me ye’ve had a good mornin’,” Reverend Wakefield said cheerfully.

“Can we give Fergus his gift now, Father?” Roger asked looking up into the taller man’s face with pleading eyes.

Reverend Wakefield’s mouth turned down a bit at the edges into an expression meant to be stern but which in effect proved rather comical. “Now, I dinna see it will be a problem to give it to him now but ye lads must promise ye’ll no be usin’ it in the house; it’s strictly for playin’ out of doors.”

“Of course, Father,” Roger promised turning away from his father’s warning looks to search the room for the gift. He spotted it and ran to get it taking care to block Fergus’ view while he picked it up and then turned with a showman’s flair.

In his arms rested a brand new football with a shining red ribbon tied around its middle like a jolly belt.

“Let’s go ask yer mam if we can go outside to play wi’ it till supper’s ready,” Roger suggested.

“All right but we must play on the side of the house where Bree will not hear us and wake,” Fergus offered as a condition. Roger kept tight hold of the ball as they hastened to the kitchen to ask permission to go outside. Permission granted and warnings issued about the consequences of dirt leaving the ground and finding its way onto clothes, the boys disappeared through the door with Reverend Wakefield following in order to watch and keep them on their best behavior.

Claire and Mrs. Graham smiled as they made tea for themselves to enjoy while the food finished cooking.

“Ye seem to be managing all right on yer own wi’ the bairn,” Mrs. Graham remarked glancing around the kitchen and to the living room beyond. There was a fair bit of clutter but most of it appeared to be the result of having to move furniture in order to accommodate the small evergreen in the corner of the living room as well as the bulky trappings that come with newborns. It was a lived-in home, a place that sheltered children who were loved.

“For now,” Claire remarked with a tired sigh. “I still have time to figure something out for when it’s time to return to work at the hospital.”

“Ye do,” Mrs. Graham agreed, “so do what ye can to enjoy the day.”

“I’m trying and it helps having you here––and having Roger for Fergus to play with. It’s just… a year ago––two years ago… If you’d told me I would be here…”

“It doesna do to dwell,” Mrs. Graham interjected. Out the window they could see that the ball had been divested of its ribbon and Fergus had woven it through the belt loops on his trousers, an act that had Roger howling with laughter while Reverend Wakefield watched with a broad smile. “It’s turning to a particularly good Christmas for Roger too. He’s no had much in the way of playmates before yer Fergus came and the Reverend too hasna had family beyond the lad to celebrate with in some time.”

Brianna cried from down the hall and Claire quickly set her tea down to retrieve the baby and calm her; it was too early for her to be hungry and Claire didn’t want to have to change her shirt. She came back to the kitchen with Brianna held to her shoulder, the tartan blanket folded and tossed over her shirt for the baby to rest against.

“Someone doesn’t want to miss all the action, no matter how tired she is,” Claire remarked as Mrs. Graham approached to look the tired baby in her bright blue eyes and give her a pat on her back.

“Yer life may no be what ye’d expected or hoped two years ago,” Mrs. Graham said quietly as Brianna’s eyes closed again, her mouth hanging open. “But ye’ve got one to be lived and ones to live it with and for. Ye can mourn––and ye will… That part doesna go away. But ye’ll have joy in what ye have left of yer man in his child and though that lad out there mayna be his son by blood…”

Claire smiled and looked to see Fergus laughing with Roger, miming something undoubtedly inappropriate with their backs turned to Reverend Wakefield. Brianna was a warm solid weight clutched over her heart.

“He might not be Jamie’s by blood, but Fergus does carry a bit of Jamie with him,” Claire finished Mrs. Graham’s thought. The three of them would keep Jamie alive.

“Here,” Mrs. Graham said, pulling a small wrapped parcel out for Claire. “Perhaps ye can start some new traditions of yer own.”

It was tricky getting the wrappings undone with one hand but since Brianna’s birth Claire had found her skills in such tasks developing rapidly.

A book of classic Christmas stories, poems, and songs from Dickens to O. Henry, Hans Christian Anderson to Moore, Longfellow, Frost and Blake.

“Thank you,” Claire said quietly to Mrs. Graham. She was familiar with most of the stories in the book and had even outlined a few of them for Jamie on cold and quiet nights as they lay wrapped in the darkness and each other’s warmth. He’d been a born story-teller and enjoyed learning new ones from her. He would have loved telling their children stories at night; she could already feel the warmth of his arms around her as though he were standing behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder so he could look down at the book in her hands. Brianna stirred in her arms without waking as though she’d been brushed by something––or someone––too.

“Happy Christmas, Claire,” Mrs. Graham wished her softly.

“Happy Christmas.”

(Edited to include the links to previous installments cause for some reason, I didn’t realize I hadn’t already added them; oops - Mod Lenny)


This is my favorite thing

diversemediums  asked:

17. A Love Bite 😏

Sweet Affectionate Moments Meme (send in more prompts for any of my AUs!)

This one is set in the Modern Glasgow universe…

“Bree - why are you wearing a scarf?”

Claire sipped her coffee, squinting across the breakfast table at her middle daughter. Eight-year-old Julia turned the corner from the kitchen, set the platter of piping hot bannocks on the table, and slid into her seat beside fifteen-year-old William - whose face was buried in a book about the Roman conquest of Britain.

“Why not, Mama?” Brianna licked her lips, clearly trying to dismiss the question. “I’ve got this new blouse and -”

“But it’ll be so bright and sunny today,” seventeen-year-old Faith insisted, pushing her scrambled eggs around on her plate. “Ye should bring the sunscreen instead. Canna have ye looking like a lobster again.”

“Dinna tell yer wee sister what to do,” Jamie admonished gently from his seat beside Claire, glancing down at the scribbles on the ledger beside his plate. “She already has a mother.”

“Wee?” Julia laughed. “Da, dinna be daft - ye ken Bree has been taller than Faith since I was small!”

“Ye still *are* small, *mo nighean oir*,” Jamie smiled, ruffling Julia’s blonde curls. “And ye didna answer yer Mama’s question, Bree - why are ye wearing the scarf?”

Brianna huffed, but said nothing.

“Does it have to do wi’ Roger MacKenzie?” William asked around a mouthful of bannock, still engrossed in his book. “I saw the two of ye after school yesterday, and I was surprised when he wasna staying here at the house. We’ve got plenty of rooms.”

“Roger is here? Why didn’t you tell us?” Claire’s brows raised in surprise. Brianna and Roger had known each other since primary school - and had been the best of friends since then. She and Jamie had always hoped that it would eventually blossom to more between them -

“He just drove up for the day,” Brianna sighed. “He had to be back in Glasgow last night because he has an exam this morning. That’s why he didn’t tell you he was coming -”

“But what does that have to do wi’ yer scarf?” Julia interrupted.

Jamie and Claire exchanged a long glance while Brianna’s face flushed bright red.

Faith and William wisely kept their mouths shut.

“I suppose she just felt like it,” Jamie said carefully, smiling indulgently at his youngest. Wanting to keep her that much more innocent for as long as he could.

Claire turned back to her breakfast with a small smile. “You may want to wear it a bit higher next time, Bree. Wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

Cuddle Me, Wanker.

Summary: Arthur’s pre-heat has very unfortunate symptoms. Poor Alfred. (Omegaverse!)

Rating: Older Teen; Mature language and mentions of sexual topics.

Red’s comments: I love you guys so much. Thank you for the support and to make up for my slacking, I revamped an old never-seen story. Hope you enjoy. <3.

Being an omega had to be the worst thing on the planet. For one thing, they were constantly objectified. Childbirth was a bitch and every damn couple of months, the universe decided to make life hell for a straight week just because it felt like it. Arthur despised being an omega. And hell no, he wasn’t a dainty whiny little thing like the omegas portrayed on tv. He was him: a strong, no-bullshit man from England who loved tea and poetry. It infuriated him to think of the stigma. 

This week, however, Arthur found himself hating being an omega more than ever. His heat was beginning in a few days but that wasn’t enough. The universe wanted to spite him with all kinds of hellish symptoms. Arthur wanted to die. He was angry at the world and questioned the purpose of life as he squirmed on the bed. Then, just as he thought his dreaded existence could not get any more miserable, Alfred walked through the door.

He was tall and handsome– though not the brightest. Alfred was the only alpha Arthur could stand. Alfred was different. He let Arthur be his wild, British, cranky self. Arthur adored him. But even so, he was pissed off so Alfred was shit out of luck.

“Hey, babe, how was–”

“Don’t you start that alpha fuckboy bullshit on me! I am in pain! And if you even try to get in my pants, I will rip off your wanker and feed it to the dogs!”

A pillow went flying into the alpha’s face and Arthur burrowed beneath the blankets in rage. Alfred could only stare in complete confusion and shock while he tried to piece his thoughts together. 

“I-I’m sorry sweetie, I wasn’t trying to–”

“Sweetie this, sweetie that, well fuck you! If only your insides were twisting in knots and you could barely fucking move! Stupid alphas… if only you knew the hell we suffer. We are never having sex again!!!”

Alfred turned as white as a ghost, “Y-You don’t mean that… Honey, i-is it your p-p-pre-heat? I’m sorry you don’t feel good… Is there anything I can do to help?” 

There was a moment of silence before Arthur popped his head from the covers, green eyes squinted.

“You are to bring me your largest warmest sweater and your batman boxers. Then you are to feed me and rub my feet. If you do not cuddle me, you wanker, I will despise you for all eternity. Do you understand?”

Alfred had to fight the urge to giggle. “Got it, I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”

“And don’t call me that!” Arthur called as Alfred rushed out of the room, 

“Roger that.”

The alpha couldn’t help but break out into a wide grin. He loved to make his omega feel better.

Breathe ~ An Avengers Story (13/15)

Originally posted by thefandomlifenerd

AU Summary: Y/N  turns to an old ally after a trying conversation with the Avengers.

Notes: surprise surprise :) he’s not what he seems. but at least the story makes sense now. at least to me it does. what do you guys think?

Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14


“Steve, I have full functioning arms and legs. I can handle it.”

The super soldier looked down at his feet shyly as he held the door open. He couldn’t help himself. Steve was raised in a time when gentlemen values weren’t a rarity.

“I know. I’m sorry, Y/N.” he said.

Y/N smirked and looped her arm around Steve’s as they walked in the tower. “You’re a big sap, Rogers. It’s only an abdominal wound.”

“You’re hurt.”

“I’ll live.” she said. “I gotta go through records first then I’ll meet you up there with the team, okay.”

Steve turned around to face her and bent down to kiss her cheek. “Alright. Be careful.”

Keep reading