the-hunches

“i’m sweating my goddamn balls off, jack. it’s hot as FUCK out here!”

it’s a balmy summer afternoon in bumfuck nowhere (aka indiana) and gabriel reyes can’t take the heat. his drenched shirt clings to his chest uncomfortably, sweat dripping down his brow.

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anonymous asked:

Write something about it!!! Write about yn mercifully making fun of him upon discovering it one day

I’m turning this into a Dunkirk!Harry one again, just because I have a sweet little scenario playing out in my head with the big-ass clunky boots on his feet. ;) 

Also, can we just talk about how perfect these two photos (below) are? They’re stunning. He looks so good and I’m so weak. Fuck. x

“This is a sweet little trailer, isn’t it?” You cooed softly, standing in the doorway of the trailer set up on the location of the Dunkirk set, the name Styles printed in black print in a plastic sleeve hanging from a pin. The wind catching beneath it and blowing it upwards, a rustling sound being hear from behind you as it fluttered in the wind. His body hunching over to prevent his neatly styled hair from being messed up and flattened by his head just inches from the ceiling, his clunky and chunky black boots tied tightly to his feet as he stepped around the little room. “You don’t spend a lot of time in here, do you?”

“Not really. I prefer being outside or sitting around on the set,” Harry smiled, reaching for an apple set in the fruit bowl set upon the counter beside the sink, a used glass turned upside down on the draining board from when he had poured himself a glass of water earlier. “It’s pretty neat, isn’t it? A bit small f’me but it’s pretty neat.”

He was tall, there was no lie.

But it suited him.

It was homely and he had little trinkets settled around as reminders of who had had waiting for him at home; hanging from the curtain rail was a hoodie his mother had gifted him one afternoon after researching how cold France could get, a little frame with himself and Gemma from a recent trip to Los Angeles was set up on his counter top and a little picture of the two of you was resounding on his coffee table – a picture from a date he had treated you too the night before he left, taking you to an old Italian-style restaurant where you munched on pasta and drank expensive wine. It felt just like home to him and he planned to keep it that was as much as he could to give him a sense of who he was going home to after filming had finished as well as who was waiting for his arrival home. And with him being the neat-freak he was, it was kept clean and proper and his clothes were folded after he had swapped them for his costume which he would spent hours in, up until the scenes were perfected.

“It’s pretty neat indeed, Peaches,” you grinned, stepping further into the room, and closing the door with a slam behind you. “Have you got any more scenes to film today? I can go back to the hotel, I don’t mind. I’ve got calls to make,” you suggested, watching as he sunk his teeth into the red apple in his hand.

“No, no. I want to spend some time with you now that you’re here,” he whined, falling to the small sofa over beneath the window of the trailer. “Come sit with me. I’ve missed you.”

You’d not seen him for almost 2 months and know that he’d finally arrived in Dorset, Swanage, you took it upon yourself to drive the couple of hours from London to see him in his attire, catching up with him and asking him all the questions his mother had been swamping you with. He had wanted you to visit for such a long time, but with your work needing you to stay in London, you had difficulty fining time to fly to Dunkirk or Urk. And making a compromise to Harry, he had finally agreed to see you once he landed and stepped foot in the UK.

And once he’d seen your car parked up in a parking space of those allocated for the crew members or the cast members, or even the family members and loved ones coming to visit now there was easy access to see them, he was clingy and by your side the entirety of his time behind the scenes. When he wasn’t in front of the camera, speaking his lines that you had heard him rehearse over Skype, he had his arm around you as he took you on a tour around the background scenes – much like what others would do when they were off scenes. You weren’t the only loved one to visit, with Fionn’s family taking a trip from the Midlands and Tom Hardy’s wife and son had taken it upon themselves to visit now that they had time off – begging to see his dad on a daily basis leading up to the time the cast arrived in Swanage, as you had heard Charlotte explain once the man had engulfed his son into a hug.

“When is your next scene?”

“Probably tomorrow morning. I have to be up bright an early tomorrow, so, I want to get as much time in with you as I can,” he admitted, patting the sofa cushion beside him with his free hand, the apple clutched tightly in his other with his elbow set up on the armrest. “Come sit with me. I know there’s no television or anything but we can make small talk. Catch me up on what I’ve missed back in London.”

“You honestly haven’t missed much,” you admitted, perching yourself down on the sofa cushion beside Harry and settling yourself into his side. His arm thrown across the back of the sofa with his hand draped over your shoulder, the itchy and felt-like material of his soldier uniform scratching at the nape of your neck showing from your t-shirt. “All you’ve missed is a little family dinner I went on with your mum and Robin and Gemma and I babysat Lux for a few days when Lou went to Greece until Tom came and collected her.”

Lux had originally wanted her Uncle Knobhead to look after her, but she was too young to understand why he was away for such a long time doing something that didn’t include singing or dancing horrendously to entertain people. When it came to her joining them on tour, it became understanding because she was with him. She saw him everyday and he was there to take her around backstage when Lou became busy with everything hair related; and he took her everywhere until he had to be taken off to the stage area to give the performance all of the fans in the venue.

“You babysat Lux? How was she? I miss her,” he admitted softly, biting from the apple and crossing his boot-clad ankles over one another, resting the heels on the coffee table.

She was his partner in crime. And the two were mischievous together. And he missed her no matter where he was.

“She’s good. She misses her Uncle Knobhead but I promised she could come round and see you when you came back from filiming,” you smiled, resting your head back against his shoulder. The smell of grime and grease and a damp smell from his wet hair melding together into an aroma of him, a distinct waft of his cologne lingering upon his skin. “What have I missed though? How is all of this for you?” 

“It’s absolutely fantastic. It’s such a great experience and getting praise for something I’ve never considered before it just such a great feeling,” Harry began, a smile on his lips, the juice from the apple dribbling down his chin. Your finger reaching up and swiping away at the dip of his chin to discard the sticky juice, his skin soft and stubble-free. “I miss you and everything, but, it’s a different feeling than being on tour. I’m away from you for so many months but I’m not country-hopping. I’m staying in one place, working on something amazing,” he grinned, pressing his lips against the pad of your fingertip. A disgruntled groan leaving your lips as you retreated your hand from his mouth.

“Are you enjoying it? Your mum asked me to ask you,” you wondered, your hand resting upon his thigh, squeezing at the covered flesh softly. A smile twitching at his lips. “She wants to make sure you’re not too far above your head and she wants to make sure you’re okay and safe and enjoying yourself.”

“I’m having a wonderful time. I really am. Everything is great and the film is coming together so well,” Harry smiled, “it’s just incredible to be part of something that is reenacting a major part in history. We had to have some kind of history lesson before we started all of this, you know when I had to miss out on our date that one time back in London?” You gave him a swift nod and a smile, shuffling in your seat. “We learnt all about the evacuation of Dunkirk and what happened and I felt like I was back at school.”

“You never studied history, did you?”

“I actually wanted to be a lawyer. You’d have a pretty smart boyfriend right now if he went to college and university to study law,” he smirked, nudging his elbow into your side and chuckling as he nudged your body softly. “Seriously, I could have been your lawyer if you ever ended up in court. And your reckless drunkenness would most definitely end you up in court,” he teased, a gasp leaving your lips as you swatted at his thigh.

He’d accompanied you on many nights out – whether it was an impromptu date with him where you suggested a new club, or whether it was an invite out with the boys and their ladies – and he had seen a side that you never let escape on a frequent basis. A side created oomph music and alcohol that would be brought on a loop for you by Harry or someone who had offered to by the round of drinks for everybody, yet it was a side that Harry enjoyed thoroughly because it brought your humorous side out into the open, discarding the shy and closed personality you sported normally. 

“Unbelievable. I’m not a reckless drunk, thank you very much,” you grumbled, a snort leaving his mouth as he set the bitten and finished apple core on a coaster upon the coffee table. “You’re worse as a drunk anyway. You dance on the tables and sing awfully, which is ironic because you’re a pretty fantastic singer,” you grinned softly, his arm snaking around your waist as he pulled you comfortably closer to his side. The envision of Harry and Kristen Wiig dancing at a party still on your mind, his alcohol intake being something he was willing to risk that night.

“We’re a pretty reckless pair when it comes to being drunk, for sure,” he teased, his tongue escaping between his lips and licking over his flesh to remove any sticky juice that had been left behind on his tongue. “We should go out on the town, maybe along the Dorset strip. Take a few crew members out. I’m sure Tom would love to come out and have a drink with us,” Harry smirked, your cheeks blushing as you buried your face into his shoulder. “What are you getting embarrassed for, Gorgeous?”

“Tom Hardy is so fit, Harry,” you sighed softly, your face pressed against his collarbone. 

A third husband, if you will – with Harry taking the first and Louis taking the second – and Harry knew about that. Yet he still enjoyed to the teasing that came along with it.

“Oi, what about me?”

“You’re still fit, but come on. How can anyone turn down Tom Hardy if he asked them for a hook-up?” You teased, a snort leaving your mouth as his jaw dropped, a question many women would ask their other halves. “I’m joking, Peaches. You’re the fittest man I’ve ever seen and I’m not planning on swapping you for anybody,” you grinned, lifting your head up and catching his lips curve into a smirk.

And he wasn’t feeling vain, he promised.

“I was hoping so, because, I’m planning on keeping you for a long, long, long time,” he growled playfully, resting his forehead against your head. “I love you, you know that, Gorgeous?” 

“I love you too, Peaches.”

“But, I’ll love you even more if you take my boots of f’me,” he begged, moving his ankles from side to side, knocking the sides of his black boots together. A soft yet continuous thud being heard with the movements, as a silent and wordless plea to remove the constraints that were covering his feet in a tightened manner. “Please?

“No, Harry. For goodness sake,” you groaned, pushing at his chest. “Take ‘em off yourself. They’re your boots and your feet,” you grunted, rolling your eyes as you watched his lips curve into a smirk but his eyebrows furrow and create a dip at the top of his nose.

“But, I ache. I’ve been doing stunts and everything. Besides, my feet hurt and I miss your massages,” he whined, a groan leaving your lips. “Why won’t you love me?”

A scoff left your mouth.

“I do love you, you donut. I just don’t exactly want to go anywhere near your feet right now,” you groaned, his fingers tickling at your exposed hip, his wrist hooking underneath your t-shirt. “You’ve been in them all morning and I bet they’re all smelly and sweaty.” 

You’d seen the amount of running around he had to ensue on set, in between scenes and rushing to his next one or running around on scene in character, and it was unpleasant to think of just how achy his feet must have been as well as how sweaty the crooks and crannies would be, and you couldn’t begin to imagine how painful walking barefooted must be.

You’d never given him foot massages – or any massage of some sorts – simply because you weren’t one to give them; you were more of a receiver of massages, especially after a busy day at work with a sore back and aching ankles. 

“Oh, shut up. I massage your feet all the time after you’ve been walking,” you heard him grumble, his arms folding across his chest, and his lips formed a pout. His bottom lip jutting out, his green eyes hooded and a sigh escaping his throat. Your feet would usually be seen lodged into his hands, his thumbs kneading at the balls of your feet as his fingers pushed at the flesh below your toes. “Please? It’s a one-time thing. I promise. It’ll bring us closer as a couple.” 

“Yes, closer because I’ll puke over your lap and I’ve never done that before,” you murmured, his lips twitching at the corners. “You’ve seen me puke in the toilet, much like I’ve seen you puke in the toilet, but I really don’t think me being sick in your lap, over your costume, would bring us closer together.”

“Please?” He begged, reaching forward and tugging the laces looser.

“Eugh. Fine. But I expect something from you later on when we get to the room,” you reasoned, pointing your pointer finger at him and tapping at his chest. 

And something you would get. A mental smirk sifting around his head at the many somethings you would get up too once you got situated behind the closed door of his hotel room – sex in a hotel bed, a handjob in the shower or even a blowjob, sex against a wall with the beautiful scenery of the beach and the sea in the horizon, or maybe his fingers deep in you as he became accustomed to what he’d missed, your fingers turning white with the grip on the mattress.

And he was getting hard in his pants with the thought. 

“Of course, of course. I could never turn down whatever you want to do. Unless it’s like, to go to sleep right away. Right now, I could fuck your brains out – “

“Harry!” You gasped, swatting at his shoulder. 

“… but I won’t because you won’t take my boots off,” he smirked, a heavy and precise sigh leaving your lips, a wordless acceptance of his offer as you shuffled forward on the sofa cushion and reached forward to grab his closest leg to you. “Thank you,” he drawled out, his calf resting on your thighs. 

“You need to stick some teabags in these or something. Get rid of the smell,” you hissed, tugging on the sole of the boot to pull it from his foot, grunting loudly as it gave way and dropped to the floor with a thud. “Seriously. Your sock is wet.” 

“That’s not my fault. I stepped into the water accidentally and it got my boot wet and the water sort of got through the little holes and my sock got all wet and it’s the same for my other foot,” he murmured, a hint of embarrassment sitting on his words as they rolled off of his tongue. He groaned as you pushed his bootless leg off of your thighs, his foot coming into contact with the hard floor of the trailer.

“It’s more likely that you fell into the water rather than stepped accidentally, Harry,” you murmured, hunching over his knees and reaching around his leg to untie the lace properly and loosen the leather enclosing his foot. “You fell in the water, didn’t you?” 

It had happened before lunch when you’d made a run to the catering tent to gather a sandwich and some fruit for you and Harry to share once he had finished for the day, being allowed the rest of the afternoon off to spend time with you. As soon as you had turned your back, he was sure everything had turned wrong; he’d tripped and fallen into the shore, his booted feet stumbling into the soft tide coming in up the beach and dampening the hems of his trousers as well as his socks and his leather boots. And through laughter and raucous bellows, you’d finally pieced together that he’d tripped clumsily over his own feet, and found himself ankle-deep in salted sea water.

“No,” he grumbled, his voice almost inaudible.

And it was evident to you that the clumsy act was true.

“You’re a donut, you know that? You’re a clumsy little something, I’m telling you,” you teased, tapping his calf muscle as an indication to lift up his foot so you could pull the black boot from his ankle. “Come on. Let’s me take this boot off and then we can wash these socks and get you into your comfier shoes.”

“My clothes are over there on the back of the chair. S’just my hoodie, and some shorts,” he smiled, a sigh of relief leaving his mouth as he felt his foot become free of the constraint of the tight leather he would have around his feet for hours during the day. “And my trainers, actually. I forgot my boots back in the hotel room, but, they’d look a bit weird with my skinny and hairy legs and a pair of those baggy shorts. I can’t pull the outfit off as well as you.”

“You may indeed be a fashion icon, but that outfit would be spoken about constantly in the papers,” you grinned, lifting the clunky boots up and setting them upon the floor beside your own shoes. “Do you just leave your outfit in here?”

From the way his clothes had been neatly folded on a chair by the small table, you had the impression that he didn’t just show up on the set, dressed fully in his outfit, ready and waiting to be filmed; he would arrive in comfy gear that was easy to change out of as well as easy to get changed back into after a tiring day of running around on set. 

“Yeah, I leave it in here and then I get changed into it when I come back here,” he explained, bending down and removing the woolen socks from his feet, water dropping from the material and creating dark dots on the dirty purple thin carpet covering the floor. “Not as extravagant as being on tour but it’ll do,” he chuckled, balling up the pair of socks and reaching across your legs to stuff them into his boots.

“You know you should probably hang them up outside or stick them on the radiator or something,” you advised him, watching as he fell back and propped his feet up on the little coffee table, his ankles crossing as the hems of the khaki trousers rolled up his legs. “Harry,” you sighed.

He’d do the same at home. 

Leaving his dirty laundry on the floor of the bedroom, or leaving his socks and underwear in his suitcase after a week or so spent in Los Angeles, waiting for you to gather everything in a wash basket as you rummaged around the rooms to gather whatever you thought needed to be washed. 

“What?”

“This is your trailer. I shouldn’t be doing all your work,” you reasoned, pulling the wet material from the foot slot of the boot. “Come on. Go and dress,” you smiled at him, pushing the socks into his hand and dragging your hand down his thigh to where his knee was beneath the material.

“Eugh. You always know how to make my socks smell nice and they’re always warm and – why are you looking at my feet like that? I know you hate feet and stuff, but, come on. They’re just sitting on the table,” he pointed out, wiggling his toes into the cool air of the trailer, the sun shining through the netted curtain of covering the window, and shining upon his skin, giving him a warm sensation to cover his skin.

“I always forget you have big tattooed on your toe,” you giggled, “it gets my giggling every time.”

You couldn’t help but catch the scrawny and poorly written word scribbled and inked upon the bare skin at the base of his big toe, the letters massive and wiggly and prominent against the tanned skin below the nail and your attention would always turn when he stuck his feet up in your eye line, whether it was at home, in the garden or at his mothers home when he would strip back and relax.

“You’re such a child,” he pointed out, bring his knee to his chest and setting his right foot upon the cushion, his finger poking at the tattoo. “I god damn hope our kids don’t come home with some weird tattoos on their bodies. I might have to lecture them about bad tattoos with no meaning,” he stated. 

“I think I should be the one to lecture them there, Peaches,” you smiled, patting his thigh and pressing your lips against his. “It’d be a bit ironic, in a way, coming from you.” 

For someone printed and covered in tattoos that were mismatched and had no link, you had a feeling he’d get distracted with his young children who were curious about what they meant and whether he had a real meaning behind getting the ones that looked rather weird and stuck out amongst the array of drawings. 

“Of course.”

“And besides, your tattoos have meaning. They’re just very Harry-like,” you grinned, your nose brushing against his cheekbone. “You have a heart on your arm which is like wearing your heart on your sleeve and you have a cage on your ribs which represents a ribcage and you have a butterfly on your chest which is like butterflies in your tummy. You’re clever in a way, and its very Harry,” you teased, your lips brushing over his soft and porcelain skin.

And you liked the Harry-esque attribute he gave off.

“I know, but, I regret getting them in a way because they’re going to look so weird when I’m old and grey and you won’t like them because they sag on my skin or they look too faded,” he sighed, lacing his fingers together at his kneecap, your chin resting upon his shoulder. “I don’t want to be an embarrassing dad with weird tattoos, you know?”

“Oh, Harry. You won’t be an embarrassing dad, I promise. But, you’re panicking yourself about the future and we’re still 22. We’re not engaged and we don’t have children on the way,” you sighed in admittance, your eyes closing in contentment as you kept your face inches close to his. “Your big tattoo is my favourite though. I believe you did that yourself, didn’t you? If I remember rightly,” you grinned, your hand flat against his belly, moving from his thigh.

“Indeed I did. You can blame Tom for that. When I went to see baby Lux one afternoon, we got a bit tipsy and I decided to tattoo myself since he was tattooing people and I wanted to try it out,” he chuckled, his voice deep and soft and smooth like caramel to your ears, “and you can tell how drunk I was at eighteen years old because it’s so wonky and the G doesn’t even line up,” he chuckled, sticking his foot into the air, his eyes focused on the wiggly lines going up the base of his bare toe, stopping just below the nail and bold and black with ink. 

“You’re so precious, Peaches. S’why I love you.”

No Longer - Bucky x Reader

Originally posted by sebastianstahp

The space on the bed beside you was warm when you woke, smelling of his hair and like the shirt of his you wore. But he was gone.

You couldn’t get up fast enough, charging clumsily to the window of the apartment to look out onto the dark street below. Under the yellow glow of the street lamp you saw his hunched figure. Backpack over one shoulder, hair plastered to his face in the rain.

“James.” You whispered, grabbing a coat but not bothering with shoes, there wasn’t time. You couldn’t lose him. 

Not when he’d lost everything else.

“Please.” You begged yourself, panting down the stairs of the apartment as fast as you could. Feet skidding on the concrete steps, slamming the lobby door open and charging out into the rain. 

“Bucky!” You screamed, hurling your self after him. He was only just at the corner, seeming to slow as you screamed his name over and over again, your voice cracked with sobs and screams.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” You yelled, the rain stinging your eyes, your throat.

He stopped, his silhouette turning to look at you. But there was no screamed reply. 

You started to run, your feet slapping on the pavement, coat flapping behind you, the only other thing you wore than his shirt.

“You forgot your fucking shirt!”

He laughed then slightly, as you neared him and you knew you hadn’t lost him completely. 

Without another word, you collapsed into his arms, burying your face in his chest. He held you, arms tightly around you, sheltering you from everything.

“Don’t leave. I can’t lose you.” You whispered.

“But if I stay, then I’ll lose you.”

You glanced up at him, “Well, since you’re going to lose me either way, you might as well stay.”

A weak laugh. “If I leave you now, you won’t be dead.”

“I’ll go anywhere with you.” You sighed, burying your head in his chest and he knew it was serious now. 

“Listen (Y/n). I don’t care if you don’t. If you’re willing to give up your life and run with me- If that’s what you want to do, then I’m more than willing to have you.” Bucky cupped your tear streaked face in his hands and you nodded, holding his hand against your cheek.

“And I’ll protect you.” He sobbed. “I’ll keep you safe, because if anything should happen to you because you came with me, I could never live with myself. I love you and I couldn’t bare to lose you, darling.”

He kissed you, his lips tasting of salty tears and promises. Like rain and sweat and the plums you’d shared that afternoon. He tasted of Bucky and it was perfect.

As he held you, metal hand on your waist and flesh hand on your cheek, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb, you felt safe and together and home. He was your home, and you were his, something he’d been missing for a while now.

But no longer. 

Random Bobert thought of the day: He’s so different from Bellamy in real life, like he’s smaller. I think as Bellamy he makes himself bigger than he is, he squares his shoulders, has a wide stance, hands on hips etc, all those classic tricks. In real life he makes himself smaller than he is, kinda hunches his shoulders, puts his hands in front of his body and crosses his feet. Cause he is an adorable puppy irl. I had a lot of time to think about this as I was staring at him ok, don’t fight me on this. 

Thursday 28th July Prompt - Soul Marks on the arm that Ed lost.

————————————————————————————————

Roy walked forward on hesitant steps, unsure of his welcome right this moment.

Ed sat on the window seat of their shared bedroom, his whole posture withdrawn, his shoulders hunched over and his messy ponytail obscuring his features. Roy was positive he’d noticed his entrance, but Ed made no move to acknowledge him.

Roy sighed softly, his stomach feeling tight at the picture of misery Ed made, and drew on his not unlimited well of patience to offer some comfort.

He couldn’t begin to understand what Ed was going through.

He crossed over the last few steps that separated them, and laid a gentle hand on Ed’s shoulder. He knew he wouldn’t need to speak – Ed had always hated silences, between them especially, and within minutes he was proved right.

“It was supposed to work,” Ed uttered, the disappointment in his tone palpable.

Encouraged by his willingness to at least discuss the matter, he let his hand trail higher over Ed’s shoulder, to rest where flesh met automail. He chose his words with care, “It was always a gamble, and a lesser man, or alchemist for that matter, would not have been able to accomplish what you did. You have your brother back, Edward,” he reminded him.

“I know!” Ed burst out, finally turning his face towards Roy, and his golden eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “And I’m so glad for him, so fucking glad…but…” he trailed off, glancing down at his lap where his automail hand clenched against his thigh. “…but it was meant to fix me too. I wanted to be whole.”

“Oh Ed,” Roy whispered. “You don’t need fixing…” He brought his other hand up to cup Ed’s cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

“It’s not the leg or the arm that matters,” Ed continued, “it’s what was on it…”

Roy’s eyes closed in sudden understanding, cursing himself inwardly for not realising what exactly was bothering Ed – his beautiful, stubborn Ed, who faced the world with courage and a grin, and was so used to shrugging off his wounds that even Roy had difficulty recognising them.

He’d said it didn’t matter, the fact that he did not bear Roy’s name on his body, despite his own marking Roy’s hip. Roy had certainly never thought less of him for it – the soul mark was just a mark, such a small thing in comparison to what they shared.

And perhaps he’d truly not minded, until the possibility had been lost to him.

With a deep breath, Roy opened his eyes, his expression serious as he held Ed’s gaze. “Ed, I want you to listen to me,” he began, reaching into the belt of his military uniform, hand closing around the item that most military personal carried as standard. With his other hand, he drew Ed’s right arm up towards him, uncurling the fingers one by one until Ed’s hand rested in the palm of his own.

“For all the soul-mates in the world, most are never lucky enough to find theirs.” He lifted the pen-knife and made the first mark in the metal of Ed’s palm. “Soul-marks are an aid, a physical symbol of a bond, and though they’re important, true, they’re only as important as you wish them to be.”

He started on the second mark. “I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you, and I would even without the bond. I want you to know you have always been mine…and I have always been yours.”

He continued to scratch into the automail, eyes still on Ed. “I want you to know you have always been whole to me, Ed, but if a mark is what you need to feel it too, then so be it.”

He finished the last of the marks, and dropped the arm holding the pen-knife to the side.

And Ed, whose tears had dried, who stared up at Roy with something very much like wonder, slowly withdrew his hand from Roy’s, and glanced down, his mouth forming an “oh” of surprise as he took in the three little letters now carved into the palm of his hand – not the same as on his flesh, but the meaning was there, and they were his, just as the man.

R O Y

Before Roy could even brace himself, Ed was flinging himself into his arms, and all he could do was hold on tight to the other half of him, the one person who truly made him whole.  

Put out my senses | Ch.4

Length (8.9k) FUCC

Pairing: Jikook

Description: It’s Jungkook and Jimin’s 2nd year anniversary and he still can’t catch a break (as per usual). But at least he got laid.

(Ao3)


Jungkook feels that it’s on Thursdays in which his group of unruly friends are at their peak of annoyingness.

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anonymous asked:

I'm a bit sad today... could you do Romanced Companions reacting to finding Sole who hid in their old house, crying? How do they cheer Sole up?

Cait: “Ugh, where the fuck are they?” She asks herself as she looks for Sole, the water purifier had just broke again. When she passed the house that used to belong to sole, she heard something quietly coming from inside. Popping her head in, “Hey you in here?” She heard what sounded like a sob coming from down the hall. She quickly walks towards the sound to find Sole in the rom that once belong to Shaun, hunched over his crib. She notices they’re trembling. “Hey…you okay? If you need to talk I’m here, you don’t need to go through this alone.” She’s surprised when sole throws themselves at her and press their face to her chest and start to cry even harder.

Piper: Was bringing Sole their portion of the food made by Sturges for dinner. “Hey Blue, you hungry?” She stopped when she heard what sounded like crying from the baby’s room. She quietly knocked on the door, when no one said anything she opened it quietly, and saw Sole sitting in the corner, holding a teddy bear to their chest, when they looked up at her their eyes were puffy and red. “I’m going to hug you, so be prepared.” And she pulls them to her chest. “You’re going to find him, don’t worry too much. Okay?”

Curie: “(Sole’s name), I need your help with this experiment, I want to see how much flies have changed over the past 200 years…..” She sees Sole bent over at a table with their head in their hands, she sees tears falling down and hitting the table.“ Are you okay?” When sole shakes their head no, she grabs a chair and pulls it up next to them. “ What is wrong?” When Sole breaks down even more and tells her about how much they miss Shaun and their spouse. “ We will find your baby. And we will give your husband/wife a prober burial.”


Preston: “General another settlement…..” He sees Sole sprawled out on their couch, they’re face blank as they just stared at the ceiling. “Um, are you alright?” When he sees a tear drop down their cheek he frown. “ Don’t give up hope yet general, Shaun is close by and we will save him from the institute.”


Nick: A new case had just come in, and he thought Sole would want in. “ Hey, there’s a missing persons case, would you want to help out?” When he looked over at Sole, and saw them holding a plush toy and staring at it “ I don’t feel like doing anything right now.” Sole muttered, angrily wiping a tear from their eyes. “ Well that’s not like you, what’s on your mind?” Nick asked gently. “ I’m a fuck up, I can’t even find my own kid let alone someone else.” Tears started to pour down Sole’s face. “ Kid, I promise you that we are going to find Shaun and we’ll kill every last one of those bastards that took him from you.”

MacCready: So boss, how about we step out for a bit? Get some fresh air?“ When he didn’t get a response he looked over where they last were. He saw them getting up and going down the hall to their room. He heard something smash and he got up quickly to check it out. He knocked on their door and when they opened it he saw the room was a mess, the mirror was smashed, a picture of them with Nate/Nora was across the room from where it was originally. ” You okay?“ He asked nervous that he was going to be the next thing thrown. The look of anger in their eyes was quickly replaced by tears as they started to sob, ” I shouldn’t be here, Nate/Nora should be the one here looking for Shaun, they were so much stronger than I am. I should have died in that vault!“ He shook his head at them ” You’re wrong, you’re the one who’s meant to be here, other wise you wouldn’t be. Nate/Nora, died because it was supposed to be that way. You are so strong, you’ve come all this way looking for your child. And not a lot of people would be able to. Especially people from your time. Most would have given up or die. But you, you keep on going and you have to keep it up.“

Deacon: They had just brought the Institute down to the ground, Sole had left quickly and didn’t look am back when it crumbled to the ground ” I’m going home.“ Was all they said as they walked down the road. He hadn’t seen them in about a week and he stated to miss them. As he walked down the street he heard whispers of how they hadn’t left their house in a long time. He walked into the house and kicked off his shoes “Honey I’m home!” He yelled and expected a laugh. But when none came he started to worry. He walked down the hall to their room and saw them laying face down in their bed. “Hey, you alive?” He asked and heard a moan come from the pillow their face was buried in. He tapped their shoulder and when they looked at him he felt his heart breaking. Their face was red, tears running down their face. “ Hey, buddy what’s up?” He tried to keep the happiness in his voice going “ My child is dead, Deacon…” Was all they said. “What about the kid we took from the institute, he said he was your kid…” Sole shook their head “ That’s a synth, a poke at my heart if you will. One last way for my real son to get at me.” He felt anger boil up in him, at her son but also at her “ He might be a synth, but he’s still a kid too. I know it must be hard, but you should at least give him a chance.” Sole sighed” You wouldn’t really understand. I’m going to try but I don’t think I’ll ever really think of him as my actual son.“

Danse: Noticed Sole coming into Sanctuary ” How was it? Destroying the institute that is.“ Sole pushed passed him ” I’m not in the mood to talk about it.“ They pushed open the door to their house and slammed it shut behind them. Danse stood their confused for a second and then decided to go talk to them. He gently pushed open the door and saw them sitting on the couch, their head pressed to their knees. He heard sniffling. ” Knight, are you okay?“ Sole looked up angrily ” Besides the fact I just killed my son? I’m fan-fucking-tastic.“ Danse couldn’t hide the hurt on his face. ” what happened?“ When Sole explained Shaun had been the leader of the institute Danse couldn’t help but feel grief himself. He didn’t know Shaun at all. But he could relate to trying so hard to find something only to have it snatched away or be faced with disappointment with what is actually found. He hugs Sole tightly and let’s them know he isn’t going anywhere.

Hancock. Was waiting for Sole to come back to the living room, when they had been gone a good twenty minutes he went back to their room and saw they crying on their bed, “Bad trip.” He asks since the both of them had taken a get hits of jet. They shake their head “ No, I just really miss everyone. I miss Shaun, Nate, even my parents….” John sat down next to them and pulled them to his chest. “ I understand sunshine, but you got me now, and everyone else who cares about you.”


X6-88: Sole had just wiped out the Railroad. He felt some what proud of what they had done for the institute. They had even been the one to gun down their best friend, Deacon. Now he knew there was no reason to question their loyalty. But when they asked to stop at Sanctuary he was confused. “ I just really need to, okay?” He knew they should focus on getting back to Father , but he didn’t argue much. He heard them sobbing in their room. But he didn’t check on them. He knew they had to deal with the loss of their friend on their own.


Strong: he’s confused by the noises coming from Sole and their tears “ Wasting water.” He muttered to himself

Dogmeat: when he heard Sole sobbing, he jumped up on them and gave them lots of kisses to their face. He hated seeing Sole sad. He even tries to make them laugh by performing tricks. If that doesn’t work he brings them his favorite, chewed up teddy bear.

3

Alix Kubdel the bumblebee miraculous?

This is just a random hunch I found rewatching the series but I’ll explain :
Image one: this probably isn’t somethings but she does wear black and yellow
Image two: the watch she gets is a family heirloom and is very old …plus a watch is a kind of jewelry- a possible miraculous?
Image three: alix’s old man says the watch is “ ahead of its time” it kinda does look magical so?

anonymous asked:

Did people call dylan "dyl" or was that just him mom?

I think Robyn and Dev may have as well.  That’s a hunch on my part.  Sort of a female affectionate nick for the dude and also family members.  

flowercrownmcnamara  asked:

Mac stood over the bathroom sink, leaning down with a tissue clenched over her nose. Her blazer was tied messily around her waist, like a sweatshirt, so that the blood that was leaking from her nose (and now a little bit down her hand and arm) wouldn't stain the symbol of her popularity. "Stupid fricking dodgeball, stupid fricking Ram!" she squeaked in pain, rocking back and forth on her heels since she couldn't stim with her hands.

Heather’s heels could be heard echoing down the halls long before she ever reached the bathroom. She pushed the door to the bathroom open with her shoulder, her palm still stinging from the force of the slap she had delivered only moments before, and sighed at the sight of her best friend hunched over with blood pouring from her nose. She would never admit it, but it stung to see her in pain. “You’re supposed to lean your head back, not forward.” Heather snatched up a few clean tissues and wiped Mac’s arm clean before tapping the underside of her chin in a motion for her to take the advice.

narrative.ly
There’s a Mathematical Equation That Proves I’m Ugly — Or So I Learned in My Seventh Grade Art Class
It took me years to realize that despite being born with a rare facial disfigurement, beauty is more than a cold calculation.

I cried as I read the words, because it all felt so simple. The way they described it, I mean. They didn’t mention the weeks spent in the ICU or the fact that my mother spent her nights hunched over the edge of my hospital bed, too afraid to leave. The article didn’t mention that I was a person and not a disease, and stretched across the page, in big bold letters, I saw it:

Their faces resembled work of Picasso.

I used to find the existence of algebraic and geometric formulas that explained beauty oddly comforting, because then at least there was an idea – something to work toward. But art isn’t necessarily about beauty. Art is supposed to make you feel something, and I began to realize my appearance was my art. My body, my face, my scars told a story – my story. But I guess that’s how life works sometimes – only noticing beauty in retrospect and poetry, in silence. Sometimes I catch my reflection in the mirror and I remember the words of my teacher, beauty is subjective, and suddenly the reflection I see doesn’t feel like such a stranger.

fanfiction.net
Frozen Heart Chapter 10: Reunion, an inuyasha fanfic | FanFiction

All her senses were trained on Inuyasha, her favorite person, childhood playmate and best friend—hunched down only a few feet away. His position was so familiar to her, as were his hair and clothes, that she couldn’t see anything wrong with him at first. Her mind was blissfully empty of all but the utter happiness of finally having found him, found him alive!

anonymous asked:

Can't help but wonder if the Book of Circus figures, of Undertaker and Grell were supposed to also be a little overlaying into the ship arc. In the manga of course we don't see Grell at all, and Undertaker's still only the bumbling mortician. Yet on the figures Grell has the confident stance of someone who's ready for a fight, and Undertaker looks a little playful, fitting with the mortician disguise, but he also got his scythe ready, which first appeared in the Atlantic arc. Just a hunch.

Hmm, were those figures really supposed to be related to Book of Circus? I thought they were just normal figures that maybe came out around the time Book of Circus aired. Because Undertaker is already shown with his scythe but like you said that’s only revealed in the Campania arc.

EDIT: Okay, apparently the figures are really labeled with “Book of Circus”. But I still think that the figures are merchandise for Kuro as a whole, not just for BoC. Maybe it was just convenient since it fitted with the time. :)

2

These are screenshots of an extremely early Deus Ex build, from a document given to me by @mkaelus. The character with red hair is JC, and appears to be the cut female version of him. It could be just his male self with a mullet, but the slender features and back curve suggest that is a female model. Plus, the very first male Denton model was rather boxy and had short hair, like like this:

@onehundred-fandoms you asked how I keep finding all this old stuff. a lot of it is following hunches and networking. and being ready to go out on a ridiculous limb to get hold of content.

@pianistkousei

The sun dipped low on the horizon, bathing the street in a golden hue. Edward, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched over, stood across the street from a pile of rubble. It had been a few days. There was already a fence around the ashes of the ruined apartment building.

Ed sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. He knew he couldn’t save everyone– that was just too idealistic. But he hadn’t even saved a single person. Hell, he hadn’t even seen a single person– all he had seen was that fire-happy demon.

The wizard’s face scrunched up, his expression unreadable. Then, he crossed the street, raised his palms toward the sky, and crafted a bouquet of flowers out of his ribbons, which he clutched tightly, before laying down in front of the fence.