#garison

[nuggeett875]

“Dean, No.” - Destiel

set in season 12

summary: Sam, Dean, and Castiel meet up with one of Castiel’s old Angel friends, but Dean get’s a bit jealous and annoyed of him.

Castiel and Dean had been in an official relationship for 3 months. They told Sam about it 1 month ago and were the happiest they had ever been. Even their mom had grown fond of their relationship-seeing Dean this happy for as long as she had been back.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel were waiting in the back corner of a diner close to midnight waiting for one of Casitel’s old Angel contacts from his time up in Heaven. Dean sat next to Castiel their hands locked beneath the table. “Dean, I already know how you’re going to be tonight, but please, please be nice. Just don’t say anything…Dean-ish.”

Dean pulled his head back, “And what is Dean-ish supposed to mean.” Sam laughed and answered for Cas, “You know when you get all grumpy and start saying the thoughts in your head out loud.” Dean just sat back and glared at him.

“So Cas, how do you know this guy-Daiel?” Sam asked leaning forward on the table. “We fought together in Heaven, I’ve known him the longest out of anyone there or here.” “Well that’s not all.” A voice said from behind them.

Team Free Will turned around and stood up when the saw a man standing to the side of the booth. “Hey Cassy.” He said as he hugged Castiel tight. Dean’s eyebrows drew together at this. Who was this guy that thought it was okay to touch Dean’s boyfriend.

“Look at you,” Daiel said as he pulled away still keeping his hands on Castiel’s arms, “even more handsome than the last time I saw you.” Dean glared at the angel and an angel sword dropped down from his sleeve.

Sam saw this and elbowed him, “Dean, no.” Rolling his eyes Dean put it away and reached out to grab Castiel’s hand pulling him back to his side. “It’s good to see you too.” Cas told Daiel.

“You must be Sam and Dean. Cassy told me a lot about you guys.” Dean hummed, “Yeah, Cas really hasn’t told us anything about you.” he said smiling smugly. Castiel groaned, “This is my friend Sam and my boyfriend Dean, my boyfriend who doesn’t listen very well.” Dean looked over at him a smiled.

Castiel looked over at Dean and rolled his eyes. It hadn’t been the first time Dean was jealous of somebody he thought was trying to hit on Cas. There had been a waitress a few weeks back that tried to get his number by writing it on his cup, when Dean saw this he had taken the cup and drank some of the coffee inside, then pressed a kiss to Castiel’s lips.

They all sat back down, Sam and Daiel across from Dean and Cas. “So what’s this meeting about. I’m guessing it’s not just because you missed me.” Daiel said winking at Cas. “No,” Cas started, “we need your help. There’s a sickness going around killing angels and we need to figure out how to stop it before anyone else dies.”

Daiel leaned back, “I’ve heard.” Dean looked over to him, “Well if you’ve heard why haven’t you been doing anything to stop it hm? You just hiding away?” Sam kicked Dean under the table and gave him a look of ‘shut up’.

Daiel smirked, “No actually, I’ve been working with a few other angels to figure out what it is. Can’t stop something you don’t know.” Dean simply rolled his eyes and gripped Cas’s hand tighter.

“Although I do have to say Cassy, I’m surprised you’re not on my team. With a strong, smart leader like you we could figure it out a whole lot faster. I have been trying to find you, but it seems you dropped off the map.”

Castiel nodded, “Yes, I’ve been helping Dean and Sam with some cases. I haven’t really been in any angel business lately.” He looked over at Dean and smiled. Daiel smiled and leaned across the table putting a hand on Castiel’s arm, “Still we can always use your help. I could use your help.” He looked Castiel in the eyes.

Dean shot up, “Alright we’re done here. We can figure this out on our own. Let’s go.” Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him back to the table. “Dean, maybe we should team up with them. It would help us figure out what this is faster and maybe they have a better way to stop it then what we have. Which is nothing.”

Dean groaned, “We can figure this out okay, we’ve been up against bigger things.” Cas stood up and gripped Dean’s jacket pulling him over to the hall leading to the bathrooms. Dean was looking down avoiding Cas’s puppy eyes. “Dean.” Castiel lifted his chin forcing his eyes up. “This it's important, my family is dying. I know that they may not like me at the moment, but they are still my family. You may not like Daiel but there’s nothing to worry about-they can help us.”

Dean sighed and nodded. “Alright, we’ll work with them.” Castiel smiled softly and pulled him in for a kiss. “By the way. It’s kind of hot when you’re jealous.” He whispered then turned and walked back towards the table.

……………………….

Sam, Dean, and Cas walking into a large office area that was filled with Angels. Daiel walked out of a main room with some people and stopped when he saw the 3. “Hey, thanks for coming guys.” Sam smiled, “Yeah, no problem. So what do we know?” Daiel lead them over to a table which had papers spread out across it, “We know that it’s something Biblical, there’s no current sicknesses that could cause such a big issue with Angels.”

“What if it’s not the Angels that are being affected. It could be their host bodies.” Castiel suggested. Daiel looked over at him and smiled, “Like I said, we need someone smart like you Cassy.” He winked and pulled Castiel over to look at some more papers. Dean grabbed the gun that was in the back of his jeans, “Dean, no.” Sam told him groaning, “What? It’s not going to kill him.”

Sam pulled him to the side, “Look I know you don’t like the guy, but right now we need to work with him, Angels are dying and anybody in this room could be next, that includes Castiel.” Dean groaned knowing Sam was right. “Fine. I’ll work with the douchbag.”

……………….

A few days later they had figured out what was killing the angels: a toxin that slowly destroyed the host bodies so that they wouldn’t know and by the time they did it was too late. Daiel walked over to Sam, Dean, and Cas with his hands in his pockets.

“Thanks again, we couldn’t have done it without you guys.” He looked over at Cas, “Especially without you.”

Daiel walked over and pulled Castiel into a hug staying in it for a minute or two. “I missed you Cassy. Don’t be a stranger.” Castiel pulled away and gave a confused look, “How could I be a stranger? We’ve known each other our whole existences.” Daiel laughed, “Never change Cassy.”

Dean and Cas got in the impala while Sam said a few thank you’s to the Angels really quick. Dean grumbled to himself, “Castiel. It’s Castiel.” Cas smiled and leaned forward wrapping his arms around Dean from the back seat, “Relax Dean, he’s called me Cassy for hundreds of years. But whatever you call me is my favorite thing to be called.”

Dean smiled and leaned his head back on Castiel’s shoulder before turning and kissing his jaw, “Thanks baby.” Castiel smiled, “That is definitely my favorite thing to be called by you.”

this. is. cheeeeeeesy. butttt i kinda like it so:)

^”this is my boyfriend, my boyfriend who doesn’t listen very well”

[superpizza1500]

Hannes got scared and ran. Man he could have done it. But then later on he still dies

[seamsmilex]

More art of Dexter Garrison. Mathias' father.

[sutrala]

Biden Debate Bingo by Ben Garison

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monster Hunt: Roilwreak, Temperamental Elemental

WHATS SHAKING YOU WIZARD BITCHES, GUESS WHO BROKE CONTAINMENT AGAIN?? THAT'S RIGHT, ITS MEEE!!!

Beginning life as an apprentice's over ambitious and much procrastinated thesis project, this arcane entity has entered into a troubled adolescence marked by making itself a calamitous nuisance. Being a Weird ( an elemental composed of two contradictory natures) Roilwreak is possessed by a destructive restlessness that only seems to find an outlet in causing problems for others, whether it be in property damage, petty arson, or the disarray of arcane workings for the sheer shit-disturbing fun of it.

Adventure Hooks

Roilwreak spends most of its time in a warded enclosure on the grounds of the academy in which it was summoned, tended to by apprentices and occasional studied for its unique ability to interfere with different kinds of magical energy. There's a rumour that upperclassmen (and even faculty) sometimes sneak in after hours to bargain with the elemental in order to fuel their more elaborate rituals.. which might be how the Weird managed to escape this time. Pheraps the homebrew potion dregs and scraps of firecrackers from the nearby market can point at a suspect.

The elemental has given the academy the slip and disapeared into the city's pipeworks, resulting in minor flooding as pipes crack under unexpected pressure and a number of injuries as a pubic fountain boiled off into scalding mist. The local garison have put a bounty out for whoever can slay the elemental, but the academy just want it returned safely. It IS a sapient creature after all, and it can't help that chaos is in it's nature.

A villainous mage has heard of the Weird's powers and wants to make use of them, binding Roilwreak into a weapon or draining off its energy for some awful ritual. Having organized an infiltration (or perhaps the current breakout) it's a race to see who can catch the hyper-charged herptile first.

[noneatnonedotcom]

The history of the Arc family in Arthurian mythos!

ever wonder about jaune's family before his sisters and him? ever wonder how our favorite noodle would do in Arthurain times? well good news for you I'll be going through the actions of both his great Grand father and grand father leading up to Jaune being knighted during the time of uther penndragon! lets get started Johnathan Arc was born in 410 A.D the last year that Rome was a part of Brittain, he was knighted at the Age of 21 in 431 A.D. Earning himself 1000 glory

in 439 A.D he took part in the battle of Carlion earning 90 glory and a Hatred for the Irish (the Damned bastards don't fight fair!) it's a 16! out of a max of twenty meaning that it's an intense hatred for the Irish. in 440 the king Constantine is murdered by Silchester knights who were supposed to be guarding him, but great grandpa arc didn't know this because he was on garison duty earning him a whopping 10 glory

in 441 through 442 At the urging of Duke Vortigern of the Gewessi, the High Council chooses Constans, the young son of Constantin, as king. Constans is a young, bookish type, however, so he relies on his uncle, Duke Vortigern, for advice. John however was busy fighting for his life against the same pictish raiders he'd been fighting last year, he did manage to survive though earning him a 20 more glory.

in 443 Young King Constans is murdered by his Pictish bodyguards. After much debate, Duke Vortigern is selected to be the next King of the Britons. The younger brothers of King Constans are taken away to Brittany in secret. Also this year, a prelate from the pope, the saintly Germanus, comes to Britain to condemn and combat British Christianity. Great Grandpa Arc resisted and argued openly for the continuation of the Brittish church. having been called back to the kingdom proper though he was put on the young Constans' guard he was unable to protect the boy but managed to survive gaining a great hatred for the picts (only a fool would trust a pict!) of 12

in 444 through 445 The Picts stage a massive invasion, with their armies occupying much of the north and bands of raiders penetrating all the way into Logres. Rather than risk a great loss, King Vortigern orders his armies to dig in and garrison their homes and holdings.

John defended his manor well and won a further 10 glory

in 446

King Vortigern realizes that he needs assistance against the furious Picts and, in good Roman fashion, hires new barbarians to fight the old barbarians. The Saxon kings Hengest and Horsa come from the Continent with their bands of warriors to join Vortigern’s army. Thus reinforced, the Briton army marches north against the Picts. Battle is met near the city of Lincoln, and it is a great victory for the British. Great Grandpa Arc fights in the battle of Lincoln and while he survived he drew on his Hatred of the picts to do so his hate grew as a result of the slaughter going from an above average 12 to an all consuming 21 out of 20! (they were like animals and I slaughtered them like animals, not just the warriors, but the women and children too! I hate them! I HATE THEM!) in 447-449

During this time, King Vortigern spares his own army, using the Saxons to drive the Picts out of the north. More Saxons come to Britain, including many families, and Hengest’s daughter Rowena becomes a favorite at Vortigern’s court. News from the Continent is persistent in saying that new foes, the Huns, are defeating the German tribes right and left. These savages are thought to be half demon, half horse.

John complains about the increased amount of foreigners not trusting anyone not of good brittish blood. he's known as a dissident but nothing of note occurs for him this year.

in 450 A.D

Vortigern, impressed with the battle prowess of the Saxons and even more with the talents of Rowena, the daughter of the Saxon chief Hengest, marries her this year in a lavish celebration. Hengest receives the Cantiacii civitas as her bride price and renames it Kent. Many voice concern that King Vortigern is favoring these newcomers more than local loyal native Britons. Johnathan notices the Daughter of the saxion Cheif is pregnant when he attends the wedding, he lets the other dissidents know of this fact. earning him 50 glory. he became almost outright rebellious in the face of what he saw as a betrayal of the Brittish people in 451

News from the continent indicates that the Huns, led by their king, Attila, reached the walls of Rome itself but were unable to storm or besiege it. Some say the Huns were stopped because they lacked siege engines, others that they failed because of the pope’s piety. After failing to smash or bluff Rome into submission, the Hun army turns to Gaul for pillage and plunder, scouring the land of its wealth, slaughtering as it goes. The commander in Gaul, Aetius, calls for help from all who will send it, and Vortigern sends a small contingent. The allied army meets the Huns at Chalons, where the Huns are defeated and driven from Europe. Cedric is born to Vortigern and Rowena and Johnathan is sent to assist Aetius managing to return alive he is met by his king speaking honied words but with a bitter heart.

Years 452–454 Northern Irish under Fearghus begin colonizing Dal Riada. Vortigern sends raids into Irish lands. nothing much happened for Great Grandpa Arc

Years 455–456 News arrives that Rome, the center of the civilized world, has been sacked! The tribe of Germans called the Vandals has done the impossible and brought Rome low. The Western Empire is finished. Vortigern moves Cornovii warriors to Dumnonia, and Votadini to Cambria, where they expel the Irish. Vortigern is persuaded to settle Saxons under Hengest’s sons Octa and Eossa in former Parisi lands, founding Nohaut and Deira. Shiploads of Continental Saxons flock to the new theods. the dissidents realize that they must act now or perish along with their people.

Year 457 High King Vortigern summons his army, drawing from western tribes, with the Saxons, and marches against the rebels. A great battle ensues at Crecganford in Kent, in which the rebels are crushed. Vortigern forgives his son, Vortimer, but assumes the regency of Powys since Katigern's son, Cadell, is too young to rule. Vortigern gives the rest of the Cantii tribe’s lands to his loyal Saxons. As a tribe, the Cantii are finished. Johnathan was in the battle of Kent fighting against Vortigern he managed to slay a bodyguard of the king but was eventually pushed back earning 100 glory and a hatred for the traitor king. at 18 out of a possible 20 it too nestles deep in his heart.

Years 458–459 Many dissident Britons depart from the island, moving with their families and possessions to Brittany. Jaune's grandfather, loyal to the Earl of Salisbury, remains.

nothing of interest happens in 460 but in

461 and 462 The rule of King Vortigern has proved unwise and very oppressive, often favoring his Saxon mercenaries (and in-laws) over his lawful subjects. Many nobles have talked of rebellion, and when Vortigern’s eldest son (by his first marriage) agrees to lead the nobles, general rebellion breaks loose. The Earl of Salisbury is among the rebels to fight in the Battle of Cambridge. Johnathan Arc loyal to the end and with a deep hatred for all who were not of his people fought and survived. he gained further glory (10)but he was aging, at the advice of his son he tried to see the humanity in the saxions and when in 463 an invitation was sent out for peace talks at Stonehenge he attended.

Year 463 Ostensibly to bring peace to all sides, Vortigern and Hengest call a council of all combatants to meet at Stonehenge for a feast of peace. Seeking reconciliation, almost all British knights attend. The Saxons prove their worth through great treachery, though, and the majority of the nobles of Britain are slain in the “Night of Long Knives.” In the subsequent confusion, a large part of their armies are dispersed or slain. The Earl of Salisbury is among the dead.

his family would inherit not only his hatred for the Irish ,the Picts and the traitor king but an all-consuming hatred of 27 out of 20 for the Saxons. he left behind a newly knighted son and a manor in Pitton. a family known to be naturally loveable and a Magic Saddle granting his family +4 to horsemanship. his final glory was 1200 he made some waves but in the end he failed to die gloriously so he didn't make as much of a difference as some others did on the kingdom. in 464 Nickolous Arc Married a daughter of the Earl of Salsbury earning him 350 glory, he is later knighted this year earning him 1000 glory and inheriting one tenth of his father's glory (120) for a total of 1550 to start his career. Jaune's father is born this year. if looking at the history of the Arc family one thing should stand out about their foundations. they are a family of intense passions whether love or hate it is these deep passions that lead to almost all the actions of the Primarch of the family. passions that were inherited. their family trait of naturally lovable combined with a deep hatred of all outside of the Cyrimic world and culture paints the picture of a people who loved their own, and fought valiantly for those they cared about but were deeply distrustful of those outside it. @weatherman667 @howlingday @heliosthegriffin @thatorigamiguy

thoughts on Great grandpa arc? what about the Arc family? for the recorded I rolled on a table for all of these years though I based what happened off of Arthurian mythos.

[staarboyyy]

unexpected evening - chapter i [ next. ]

thomas shelby x gender neutral reader | specified anatomy

18+ characters / scenarios - minors dni

tags / warnings ; intoxication, spanking, grinding, pleasure denial, thomas shelby being a bitch, smoking, masturbation, facial, cumplay if u squint, explicit consent, power imbalance

summary ; the shelby's and your family have worked together for quite some time. when your mother made a bold move against the lead shelby brother, you took to going to apologize personally.

work count ; 6.3k

a / n ; been working on this for a loong time, please enjoy !!

     Your name wasn't something that spurred an immediate taste on Thomas' tongue, his eyes set forward on the wall before him. With a slight clench of his jaw, he sucked back a sharp inhale between his teeth, fingers tapping the armrest of his office chair before standing. The Shelby's and your family of course had gotten on as time passed - Yet the woman; What was her name? Thomas clicked his tongue, eyes lulling over his empty office, smoke hazing the air around him and the light of the street lamps sweltering though the window. Rain gently patted onto the smudged glass, thunder snarling a few miles away. Whatever her name was -  She got too bold, sensitive threats as they sat across from each other in the Garison - She swirled her whiskey, ice clinking against the glass as she spoke through red painted lips. Something about wanting to work with him during the races; Thomas was drunk. All he could really remember was the roll of the barrel of her pistol before she set it onto the table. An offer - A challenge. With a shift of his jaw the irish man stubbed his ciggarette, muttering quietly to himself as he turned on his heel. A knock at the doorframe caused his breath to hitch slightly, eyes moving to gaze at you. He'd seen you at a few estate parties, a race here and there; Yet he wondered if you had any say in the vague testimony the mysterious woman produced only hours prior - The more he looked at you, the more you resembled her.

     "Here again?" He began, clearing his throat with a sharp sigh. "Quite late to come by for a bet,"

     A tinge of anxiety rose in the back of your mind as his low voice slid through the air between you. Perhaps you had gotten too bold, too overconfident in your attempts to get Thomas Shelby's attention. The last time you had even spoken had been months ago— and that was only when you'd met Thomas at one of the Garrison's celebrations, introduced by your mother. The dots seemed to come together as his eyebrow twitched upwards slightly; You were her child. Of course.

     "Avoiding the crowd; Heard detectives were prowling around recently."

     "No crowd,''

     Thomas pulled the small curtain with his index finger, peering slightly into the night streets - There were the average stragglers, children running barefoot in the rain while Jeremiah preached aimlessly. With a slight shake of his head, his eyes returned to yours. His coat hung over the back of his office chair, his waistcoat unbuttoned and first few buttons of his collared shirt undone; The smell of whiskey was thick in the air, clashing with the smoke as the gentle thud of Thomas's shined shoes tapped against the creaking floor. As he padded towards you, his hand moved to grab a glass from his desk, eyes unmoving as he drank the rest of the amber liquor with ease. With a sharp inhale through his teeth, his cleared his throat again, setting the glass down as he raked his fingers through his damp hair. He had been out in the rain, drops still rolling down his jaw and spots scattered on his shirt. It was a hard night, and the idea of putting his feet up seemed to always be diminished. No breaks, not for a Shelby.

     "What do you know about detectives, aye?"

     Thomas asked, expression nearly vacant as his low drawn out tone caught the air, squeezing the truth from it. After his voice wrung the oxygen of the room, his eyebrows furrowed briefly, chin tilting up slightly. The words hung in the air, swaying back and forth like a pendulum as Thomas cocked his head - His eyes moved away from you, raising a brow and parting his lips.

     "...I came to apologize for my mothers behavior."

     "Doesn't matter." The words were dismissive, shaking his head and blinking away any sign or glint that might have hinted otherwise. It was clear he had struggled with losing Grace, drowning himself in paperwork and expensive liquor; The walls weren't exactly thin, but they didn't have to be. Not with the way Thomas chose to take his stress out on women. With a grunt, he sat back down in his seat, casually pulling a small silver container. As he flipped it open, he cast another glance towards you.

     "Things like that happen - Just business."

     As Thomas brought a ciggarette to his lips, he brought his elbows forward to lean against the desk with an audible creak. He wasn't in the mood to talk about work, yet as he struck the match and held it under the tip of the ciggarette, his mind waded back to the Garison. Evangeline. Thomas waved the match in his hand, flame fizzling out before he dropped it onto the desk.

     "Your mother," He began, sighing out a breath of smoke as he straighted his posture. "Is quite the bold woman." Thomas's attention dipped to the chair in front of the desk, nodding towards it with a quiet hum.

     "Yes. She means well, even if it doesn't exactly come off that way," You spoke, trailing off and holding yourself straight even as you felt Thomas's gaze on you. You couldn't deny that he was right— Your mother was a bold woman. Bold to the point of stupidity. You had long since given up on your mother's schemes or dreams; Thomas was right—they were just business, nothing more, nothing less.

     "Can I get you something to drink?"

     "I wouldn't know what to choose," Your eyes slid hesitantly toward the small cart, littered with bottles of expensive liquor. "Can I smell them?"

     "If you want to burn your nose, have at it."

     The words came in a murmur, both hands wiping over his face before he gave a slow exhale - His eyes cast over his shoulder, glancing towards the files. It was nothing more than an instinctive move, his gaze darting around the area whenever another person joined the room.

     The first bottle met Thomas' words, ringing them true as the alcohol burned angrily into your nostrils. The undertone was harsh, like cologne and chemicals; It fit Thomas quite well, something he would drink after working on his car or freshly rolling cigarettes. It was the fullest of the three, perhaps saved for special occasions.

     The second wasn't as strong, cinnamon and gasoline clashed together in waves of blood searing warmth. The bottle felt heavier than the first one despite looking similar - The glass was pristine, ghosts of finger prints wrapping over it.

     The third was the strongest, casting searing blades of scents and fierce aromas violently sinking into your senses. It smelled like oil, something that'd be scraped off a persons shoe before entering someone's home. Your hand outstretched to the least toxic smelling one, the second bottle set gingerly on Thomas' desk.

     Thomas gave a slow chuckle, deep and drawn out as his large hand wrapped over the second bottle. It was fine choice, an aged rum that stumbled down the throat in a rough tingling path. He slid a small glass from the corner of his desk, skillfully pouring two fingers of the rum before leaning back, bottle still in hand. The moment was silent, yet the typical tense nature of meetings seemed to soften at the swmming warm feeling of the liquor hazing Thomas' understanding the situation. He wasn't drunk, but the tipsy feeling caused his lips to move without consulting his mind first, voice rolling out in a sharp question as his eyes moved to the desk once more. You accepted the glass with a slight nod, taking a seat across from the other as you looked at the liquor with an unsure expression. Hesitantly, you took a sip - It was hard to swallow once the flavor lashed at your mouth, assaulting your throat with a heinous burn. You kept your urge to cough at bay, silence meeting you both.

     "Do you want to fuck?"

     The tone of the question didn't carry the nature of the words properly. How his heavy lidded eyes seemed to scrape over the paperwork with a distinct sense of annoyance, before lulling back toward you with a glint of something far off - Something oddly lazy in how he leaned himself back so casually in the chair, tongue meeting the bottle before his lips wrapped over it, tossing a fair swing back before setting it down hard onto the table with a hard thump. He gritted his teeth, jaw tilting upwards as the fierce liquor slid down his throat in a weighted mass, ravaging every inch of skin in it's way. His ring clad hand slid over his desk, index finger pulling the container of ciggarettes closer towards him before going to pick one delicately from the case. As he perched it between his lips, his other hand had already clutched a small box of matches. He struck one, eyes everlasting on you with an observatory gaze while he lit the ciggarette, smoke billowing from between his parted lips as he pulled a deep inhale.

     "Because, if you do," He began, sighing the smoke from his nostrils. "It would complicate a few things." Despite his rumbled words, it seemed he had no care of what complications would come.

     The smoke drifting into your nostrils was not as unpleasant as you might have thought. As your eyes adjusted to the faint light of the dimly lit office, you took a tentative breath in your seat, letting the scent of the room fill your lungs. Thomas Shelby, the man who had spent his time in the shadows of the law with a foot in the legitimate business world, his eyes trained on you with an observant, yet bored look, waiting for your response.

     "Im not sure if you'd want to," You spoke with an attempt to match his cold confidence. There was a twining heat within you, an undercurrent of longing despite your slight decline to dissect the question given."It would make all this quite messy, I must admit."

     "No," Thomas began with a low sigh, adjusting his posture while pulling the ciggarette from between his lips, spurring the smoke to flow from his nostrils. His voice was sharp, steadied as his gaze flickered towards you with an intent lift of his stubbled jaw.

     "I didn't ask if I wanted to fuck you - I asked if you wanted me to fuck you. Two different things entirely."

     The words were almost a - Snide correction? A type of teasing playfulness meant to belittle someone for answering incorrectly. It seemed the man was awfully familar with speaking to people like this; But much less familiar when receiving an answer he didn't... Not like? That wouldn't be right. If you didn't want to have sex with him, so be it. It'd be far less complicated to just splay the options out, deal the cards and letting them fall how they may. It made things easier, he supposed. Though he couldn't deny the prospect of taking you sent an odd shudder of pleasureable revenge down his spine. With a clench of his jaw, his eyes flicker between your eyes, as if the flashing images of you didn't begin to make his head spin ever so slightly. But, when you shifted the topic, he took the hint at face value. That wouldn't stop his racing mind sending blood coursing to places rather unholy - He was decent enough at hiding such things, wetting his lips before speaking.

     "Pulling out a gun in my pub makes me awfully cautious," Thomas spoke, smoke drifting in and out from his lips as he drew the smoke down in scraping inhales. "I'm sure you understand if I'm protective over my property."

     Thomas kept his gaze on you, pinning you to the seat with his eyes as he brought the ciggarette to his lips, taking a generous pull before letting his arm relax on the office chair. The creaking of the leather and clinking of glass was a familiar sound to the man, hand wrapping over the neck of the bottle of rum on his desk. He brought it to his lips, chasing the ciggarette smoke down his throat with the bitter tasting liquor; It sat in his abdomen with a stinging warmth.

     "All this?"

     Thomas quirked a brow, tilting his head and sucking in a sharp breath, and exhaling before gesturing his hand over the desk. He lazily held the ciggarette with the hand he used, a streaming ribbon of smoke following his grasp.

     "What's "all this" to your mother, aye?"

     All this - Vagueness responded with even more vagueness. Thomas brought the cigarette to his lips as he kept his eyes on you, attentively listening while smoke drifted from him. You were right, of course. All this was messy, all this was something that spurred people with a small tolerance of biting tongues and looking away. In his mind, your mother wouldn't last long. She's confident; Which is like holding a loaded gun to her own head. In any case, Thomas reluctantly breathed out a sigh of smoke, hand moving to brush at his stubbled jaw with a quiet hum. Your eyes trailed over the paperwork, taking in the scrawled words and notes laid out in haphazard ways. It was no wonder he ran a gang with all this on his plate. The sheer amount of paperwork would make anyone throw up their hands and give up.

     "What she did was irrational - She has a temper."

     "That we can agree on."

     If you wanted to play this hunter and prey game of nonexplicit answers to direct comments, so be it. Agreeing on your mother's rather small temper, or that taking you over his desk would complicate things; That was for you to decide. Yet the blooming flushed pink on the pples of your cheeks gave away any guessing that Thomas had to do. It was just a matter of time in his liquor infested mind - Devising a plan to ravage you as if he were planning to take over an enemies industry. He kept it silent of course, kept it neatly tucked back in the stringing fibers that were now being plucked, producing a rather pleasing melody. Thomas listened to them, letting the ciggarette rest firmly between his lips as he folded his hands over his lap neatly.

     "Why'd you come here so late?"

     The question was sudden, moreso determined than the prior ones, he nearly cut your words off as he ambled on. He wasn't for playing games, let alone reading a persons mind; Yet it had been quite a long time he's had to tether himself to the idea of a goal. It will be mine - You will be mine. Thomas Shelby gets what he wants, when he wants it and he'd fight the devil himself if anything stopped that from happening. Anything. The goal, frivolous in nature, gave him something to focus on other than the amount of drowning paperwork and insufferable people. You were nice, came from a family that understood - All this? Thomas sucked his teeth. Maybe you have a point.

     You let the silence hang as both of you sat on either side of the desk, watching each other. If you knew him better you would have noted how odd it was for him to be the one asking all the questions, for him to be so interested in you when he'd only ever heard about you from your mother. He was always the one with the plan and the secrets, pulling strings through half the city. What secrets were you carrying that he wanted to hear?

     "I didn't come here for a bet," you answered him, taking a long breath as you considered your next words.

     And there it was. Thomas didn't move a muscle, not even a twitch of the brow or clench of his jaw. It fell into place, just as he expected it to - The devil would see no fight today, but the things he would see would bring a new definition to sin entirely. Thomas leaned back in his chair slightly, going to grab the bottle. His golden ring gently clinked against the glass as he tossed back a hefty drink - The bottle was emptied. Rum; For fun and fucking. Thomas leaned forward onto the desk, plucking the ciggarette from his lips and ashing it into the worn in glass ash tray. Ends of ciggarettes created a small hill in the dish, and he pressed the freshly finished one deep into the mound. As he pulled his fingers back, ash shaded over the finger pads. He rubbed them together, inspecting the gritty feeling and odd smooth warmth of it as he tied his words together in a rumbling purr.

     "Your family would reign hell on me."

     It wasn't a warning as much as it was premonition for his belated movements, shifting in the leather chair before going to stand, leaning his weight onto the desk. He caught your gaze with his own, dirty finger tips rubbing over the paperwork underneath his hands, leaving smudges of ash. His eyes were dimly lit, half lidded and calm - So brutally calm. Yet as one of his hands crept towards his belt buckle, he took a sharp inhale through his nostrils, swallowing back the barreling questions and worries that swarmed the back of his mind. The business part. If you had chosen whiskey, perhaps that's all it would have been - A few simple deals here and there before offering to walk you home. Yet the bittersweet rum stuck to his gums like sin on a demons wings, spreading a firey desire that he relished in. It was similar to the stomach dropping noise of cocking a gun, feeling the cold barrel pressed to his temple with no pretense. Thrill of the chase. Of course he couldn't resist the searing appetite that now knashed hungrily as his hazey mind. He wanted to pull back his hand that now began to pull the metal of his belt, subconsciously making sure you saw his every movement. Bad idea, screamed in scrawled writing flashing over his vision - He was always one to ignore it. Especially when mixing rum and carnal desire. He should have known better.

     "But I'm sure that's something you wouldn't mind. You wouldn't have come here otherwise," To see himself as a vessel at getting back at one's parents was a funny prospect. But there was a rather interesting ways to twist it - A dark way to warp the way he pulled the belt from his slacks with an audible drawn out slide of fabric on leather. "Unless you came here to make up for the disrespect your family brought into my pub."

     Your head and eyes were glued to the way Thomas stood up and immediately flew to the space the man's hands were on his belt. Your attention was magnetized to his long fingers working at an almost teasing pace.

     "...If there's anything I can do,"  Your words came pathetically, pursing your lips tightly.

     As the belt was folded over, Thomas gripped the leather with fading knuckles. You being so willing did not come to his surprise; Yet the almost challenging tone sparked something in him. It sparked something he tended to bury in his subconscious - Thomas didn't abuse his power too much, but it was nearly impossible to resist such a delicious thing. His steps were calculated, letting the belt rest by his side, the buckle jingling with every agonizingly slow movement. Thomas was silent as he took a seat on a leather couch in the corner of his office, large thighs now spread open wide, the fabric of the slacks pulling tight over the muscle. He wet his lips, head tilting back to lean against the wall as he raised his free hand to pat his left thigh.

     "Come here,"

     The words did not attempt to hide the displacement of power, nor how he swam in the thickening waves of it with a twitching excitement. You would come to regret being so willing to serve - Nobody serves a Shelby without leaving with bruises. Thomas' expression twitched slightly, eyes on you with a deadly serious glare. It was no longer a cat and mouse game filled with vague comments and lasting gazes, no - This was business. And with business, came an immediate demand for respect. If you defied his orders, that placed you in a dangerous territory, it was written on his face, how his lips pulled up at the corners upon catching your expression. He relished in it. The shock and awe of realizing Thomas' power never left the room, suffocating the air people breathe and shaking the floor they walk on.

     "Don't waste my time."

     Thomas spoke in a low rasped whisper, eyes widening ever so slightly, giving a tilt of his head. The fingers on his thigh rapped against the muscle for a moment, tapping the index finger against his leg. Your eyes lingered on the unfinished glass of liquor before you for a fleeting moment before turning your head, glazing toward the man with a bitten lip. You stood from the chair with a slight creek, padding over and quickly sinking down onto your knees before the man.

     "Open."

     It was a simple response to the movement, eyes following the you as you lowered  - He could imagine the bruises of the hard flooring upon hearing the soft thud of them hitting the space between his shined shoes. Thomas gripped the belt tightly, before letting his hand relax to move - Of course, achingly slow. His large fingers, skin rough and calloused, cupped your jaw. His thumb pressed down on the soft bottom lip, eyes flickering ever so slightly to your mouth. Inspecting a toy before use was his speciality - Eyes pushing over every inch of the person, making them shift themselves in vulnerable positions while he just watched. Perhaps smoke a ciggarette while he wordlessly keeps his eyes pinned on the clashing beauty of flesh and beading arousal; Thomas would only have the best.

     His fingers were firm, expression partly vacant as he observed you with a watchful eye. His lips parted for a moment, tongue wetting them as his damned mind wandered. The warmth pooling in his stomach knashed angrily against his thighs and hands, demanding to move, demanding any form of friction - Though patience is a virtue. He knew that much. Thomas shifted forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he kept the eye contact locked into place. It was an expression that forced attention, a man with something to say in that impossibly smooth velvet tone that seemed to hypnotize even the darkest of sinners. Caught in his web, his large rough fingers pulling the strings and voice coaxing anyone daring enough to take the place you now did. Danger, is what this face screams. It rests in his carved cheekbones and bruising eyes, it weaves into the silver glinting in his hair and how he holds himself.

"You need to understand this isn't a drunk fuck."

Thomas whispered and tutted quietly. Clicking his tongue as the thumb still pressed down on your bottom lip twitched slightly.

     "You need to want this; Prove it to me." Thomas had spoken more to you when you fell to your knees than when you simply sat in his office. It was almost funny - Almost. Yet the danger was there, of course. "Give me your word you want it."

     Your mouth was dry, heart pounding against your chest; You didn't know what to say, the words tumbling from your lips without a second thought. Your mind could not tether to your thundering heart and flushed cheeks, not with the electric feeling of the man touching you becoming practically addicting.

     "Please, Mr. Shelby, I want this."

     The next few moments were a beat. A blur of Thomas's swift grip, able to shift and bend you over his lap - He pressed you down firmly, your stomach laying over his spread thighs. All that came from him was a grunt, sharp exhale, then the echoing sound of the clinking belt buckle. Another beat reached you, the smell of Thomas' cologne and bitter rum thick in the air as you both shuddered out breaths. He'd never admit this. Of course he wouldn't dare smile in a time like this, but the pull of his lips creased his expression, taking in the view of you splayed over his legs in a delicious display. He almost forgot the belt held over his shoulder, cast back ready to strike with a vicious crack of leather. His fingers shifted in his knuckle whitening in his grip as his eyes hung on this moment - Hung onto the shocked breathless image of you.

     "I think I deserve a bit of reimbursement, don't you?"

     An echoing soaring crack shattered the moment he gave you to register his words, spoken in a painfully casual tone. The leather collided sharply with your ass, the crack reverberating in the air.

Thomas stayed still for one moment, then another, then after an agonizingly slow one he gave a ghost of a chuckle. Exhaled through the nose with a belittling intent, as his eyes cast over your body, practically undressing you with his pinning gaze. Another sharp crack of leather gave no mercy, harder than before upon seeing your reaction to the sensation. It was hot as it made contact, despite the thin barrier of your clothes; The pain stung your bottom lashes, cheeks warming to a blooming flame that matched the one between your thighs. You couldn't speak, simpering into the leather of the couch in a feeble attempt to gather your reeling thoughts.

     "You use your words in my office."

     Thomas wanted it to be brutally clear that you were able to leave this entire time, and also able to change things you didn't want. Thomas didn't use people like you, this would be something he'd get high on, something to keep a secret, perhaps used later on. He bit his bottom lip, imagining being cursed out by your family or another meeting with your mother after finding out Thomas had brutalized their precious heir. Worst part of it all is they'd never know that he would be the one to make you beg with fleeting effortless actions.

     "Respect me, and you'll receive the same." Thomas seemed to be dishing out rules, letting the thick belt slowly fall onto the couch, his large hand going to meet your clothed ass - His touch was hungry, the grasp of a man who takes for a living. A slow quiet exhale rolled from his lips as his hips shifted underneath you, clearing his throat softly. "Disobey, and I'll see to it you never set foot in Birmingham ever again."

     A rocket of cold fear surged down your spine as he went on, hands exploring your body in motions that could only be described as an infection. His words lulling you into the palm of his hand, no matter the threats he brought, you craved them. A deeper part of you wanted to push him to his absolute limit, to see the dark veil roll over his eyes as he stares down at you - A ruler, a religion. He would make you worship at his feet before you even shed your clothes.

     "I can only assume that well enough."

     Thomas breathed the words with his eyes still glued to you, head tilting off towards the side with a quiet hum. Typically in this moment he knew he should shove you off with a harsh demand to stay gone - It'd keep him off your family's radar more than he already was; He damned himself for being weak, succumbing to temptation with the clashing haze of adrenaline, rum and - Arousal? To hell with it then.

     Thomas' large hands now groped you shamelessly, jaw shifting as he traveled slowly, fingers hooking over the belted waistband of your slacks. Another wicked expression met him, eyebrows knitting together briefly as he kept this moment, drinking down every passing second. He could practically feel your pounding heart pressed against his thighs as one of his hands slid up your back, underneath your shirt and coat, the other pulling down your slacks and discarding them effortlessly.

     Infectious; The word rang out in your mind like a gunshot through the night. He touched you like a common whore, calloused thumb swelling over your back with a slight bite of his lip. Thomas dared the world to let someone walk in, see him taking you over his knee with a nearly silent demand for not just respect, but for absolute submission. He didn't need a cocked gun or thick stacks of cash to keep the attention completely and entirely on him. He'd make you come back begging for more if it was the last thing he did. Thomas's palm was cold, rough and fingers calloused as he felt the warmth of your skin underneath his own, instinctively letting a slow pleased purr carry from his throat. It was not one of desire; A warning. A threat, perhaps.

     "Proving it to me, though,"

     Thomas began, his hand sliding over your back with slow waves, sweeping over it; Relishing in it.

     "That would - Most likely convince me. We'll just have to see, won't we?"

     Your breath drew inwards in shallow gasps, hips shifting subconsciously - You needed to be touched, to take him as he took you, your hands on his body that was so painfully clothed. Your hands gripped into tight fists, lips pursing for a brief moment as you prepared your words. You had to have to perfect, speaking scripture to the man who had immeasurable power; You had a say. Not just a say, the say. You gave the green light, even as his hands traced the most intimate parts of your body. He didn't have to touch your chest nor kiss at your neck, simply the way his fingers shifted from so cold and demanding to a gentle caress. A reminder that you were the one in control. With a breath, you spoke.

     "I want to be yours."

     "No."

     With a shake of Thomas' head, he scraped back a sharp inhale, adjusting how he sat. His slacks left little to the imagination of how truly exciting this was - Though if you put up a feeble fight against him during this, it'd become all the more interesting. Thomas' explorative hand paused as he spoke, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he looked down at you with a quiet hum. If you wanted so badly to have him infect you mind and body, so be it; But it wouldn't be easy. Not for you atleast.

     "You don't. Not without a carnal based response; I want to make myself clear."

     A grunt came from him as he pulled his hands off you, gently posing you back to your previous position, sat between Thomas' shoes. His expression was soft, yet the glinting threat of his creasing brow gave no way for kindness. As his large hand moved to roughly grab your jaw, thumb and index finger squeezing his cheeks and drawing him forward, he leaned in. As your faces were only a few short inches apart, Thomas spoke slowly.

     "You're not just going to do what I say because you're practically my whore for the night."

     As his eyes flickered to your lips, he wet his own. A beat of thick tension weighed down on the pairs shoulders - Lean in and kiss them you fool, Thomas' mind screamed at him, and yet he shoved your face back roughly before leaning into the couch.

     A flick of a match, the slide of a ciggarette case; And he sat, looking down at you with a heavy lidded gaze, smoke slithering from between his lips as he sat wordlessly. After a few long moments, Thomas' left foot twitched closer to your thighs, moving to slide the leather shoe between your legs, eyecontact unwavering. The single shoe alone couldn't have cost less than sixty pounds, and yet as the cool leather pushed into your needy cunt, none of it mattered.

     "You're going to obey me because it drives you to an animalistic place. A place of pleasure; Sanctity. Am I understood?"

     Let the game begin. You tried to bite back a pleased expression, eyebrows furrowing briefly as you wished he had atleast discarded your underwear. The barrier just made you grind down harder - Perhaps thats exactly what he wanted. To watch you turn yourself into something you've never seen, feel pleasure that would change you permanently. You brought yourself closer to his left leg, grinding yourself down onto the leather with a quiet moan, hands instinctually reaching to secure yourself on his slack clad leg.

     Thomas' lip twitched; Just for a moment. It was subtle, a prick of his creased expression as he settled back into the couch, smoke drifting from his nostrils. His gaze was observatory, expectant and plainly bored. But there was something, there always had been. A certain spark, just like split second of the pulled smirk, something you did to please him. They were small reactions, little praise given in them at first. But if Thomas were anything, he would always have to be the adrenaline junkie. Taking in sharp breaths of smoke, head reeling as he rocked his shoe back and forth against you. His free hand began to move then, fingers twitching at first before sliding to his thigh, unzipping his slacks. All the while, his gaze stayed on you; You were his muse. How your body moved desperately below him, kneeling before him, mewling as you ground down onto the leather Thomas used to walk the town of Birmingham. Another smirk, lasting longer now as he thought of your family. He'd give any amount of money in the world to see them have one of theirs worshipping a Shelby. Thomas Shelby, no less.

     Thomas' hand pushed past the band of his slacks, large palm wrapping over his length with a shaking inhale.  He stroked himself over the cloth of his underwear, smirk still remaining, lazier as he continued. He matched the pace of how he rocked his ankle, rolling it into you with a bite of his bottom lip. He pressed the ciggarette to his mouth, perching it between his lips as both hands now worked to pull his cock from his pants entirely. The cool air hit his skin, palm wrapping over the length with a rumbling groan. He wasn't necessarily vocal during sex, though his mind wandered, fantasy coming to truth as his words and smoke ribboned together to be pulled from his lips.

     "When was the last time you touched yourself,"

     Thomas' steady tone wavered only for a moment as he spoke  - It was pillowed with sharp breaths, using his left hand to slowly stroke himself, as the other reached to his mouth, pulling the ciggarette to rest between his index and middle finger. A noise rolled from him like a storm, thunder from miles away, pulled from his chest, pulled even deeper from the tension of his muscles - A groan, low and drawn out to carve itself into the air.

     "Just before I came here,"

     The sounds of his responding euphoria stirred warmly in your lower stomach, underwear dampening the leather of his rocking shoe as you moaned quietly; It pushed him to do the same, letting the gasps roll from his chest, head leaned back in a relaxed manner despite his hand quickening around his twitching cock. You wanted so badly to sit on his lap, lower yourself around him and hear his voice break, to hear him beg in the same way he made you. Your eyes were half lidded, flickering between his cock and expression - He kept eye contact as his eyebrows furrowed, eyes rolling back slightly as his hips stuttered forward into his fist, pace wavering. Sweat glazed his forehead, beading down his jaw and neck as he watched you get ever so closer to your peak. The sight of it would never leave him, watching your thighs twitch and spasm as you clutch onto his leg, aimlessly begging for him not to stop.

     "Look at me -"

     Thomas' voice was uncharacteristically strangled, edging on a pleading whimper as the stringing hot tangle in his body began to pull tighter, tighter. His mind spun with the image of you, hips unable to keep up with his pace as you rode out your shackling orgasm, tears brimming in your eyes. He was addicted to it, the high of watching your hazey mind be pushed to overstimulation, biting your lip as you kept your gaze on his.

     Your expression drove him over the edge, throwing his head back as he came messily, rough palm wrapping tightly over the tip of his cock. His cum stained your face, his black slacks a mess as he took in ragged breaths, still teasing himself with his eyes wrenched shut. He whispered to himself quietly in Romani, swears tangling with your name as he released himself, hand shaking. His heart pounded against his chest, veins on the backs of his palms and forearms bulging as his eyes slowly opened.

     You were leaned into his leg, taking in deep breaths as you hesitantly made eyecontact with the man above you; Despite the intimacy of the moment, you feared he would send you away. Tell you to get dressed, clean this mess up and see yourself out. Yet as his hand moved, shaking as it met your cheek, his warmth was evident. Your position shifted slowly at first, knees wobbling as you attempted to sit on the couch, but Thomas was quick to bring his arms around you. It was unexpected, allowing you to lean your pressure into his body as he gathered himself, fingertips still shaking even as they threaded through your touseled hair.

     "Thank you,"

     It was breathless. Soft, pillowed with a deep breath, the swell of his chest making way for a space you could lay your head on. You took the opportunity, and he allowed it, resting his chin on your head with a quiet hum.

     Thomas was right. You would be back for more.

[walterthemelon]

So like I (walter) started rewatching Voltron (2017) with my friends (who haven't seen the show before)

and like we haven't gotten past the first season but I first watched Voltron pre egg-cracking and watching in now with my (queer) friends I realized just how relatable Pidge is to me? like even if we keep everything cannon Pidge still reads trans masc to me they just haven't realized it yet.

They didn't have to crossdress to go to the garison they did that willingly. There are also many other ways that they could have disguised themself (hair dye for example) without trying to appear as a guy.

And yes, they assert that they are a girl to the team! But this could be for a variety of reasons! I thought that my desire to transition was something perfectly normal for most cis girls. I thought that wanting a binder and wanting to take testosterone was a perfectly cis feeling (I was delusional). So one could argue that Pidge just hasn't bothered to explore their gender yet? I was a child who would in fact assert that I was a girl. The fact that Pidge does that doesn't mean that they can't be trans masc.

and this isn't to say that pidge is 100% trans masc! they aren't but i think that trans masc pidge is just as valid as a reading as trans fem reading.

Also if you are going to say that this is taking away rep from young girls kindly fuck off. I was pressured to not transition because I would be taking away a good role model for young girls wanting to get into STEM. Young trans boys also deserve to see themselves in media.

[hannahgoodall]

Scotty "Sussi" Sussman, Harry Charlesworth and Gia Garison photographed by Louie Banks for I-D and Beauty Papers magazine, 2016 to 2017

[anosci]

slightly fascinated with the distance between the weird images that the fans of the last two presidents want them to have vs the actual image of the presidents. blah blah i know that fascism adores the aestheticization of politics but. it's weird right?

there's a push for joe biden to be like... some laser eyed macho man, an elderly duke nukem with a charmingly antiquated vernacular. whereas in reality he's a bumbling old man that looks perpetually like he just got out of bed

then there's the right wing ben garison literally-dc-comics-superman sex symbol version of donald trump that's ready to punch the pronouns straight out of the nearest blue-haired college student and then fly home to make lawfully wedded love to his wife, monogamously. in reality he's just... average physique I guess? and, importantly, a conman that has a history of using laundered power to get sex.

i'd call the over-the-top depictions "branding", but they seem outside of any one person's control. maybe

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

Seperation

A/N: When Athos leaves for a dangerous mission to protect Aramis and you, his sister, Aramis worries a lot about his friend. You feel guilty for his suffering, being the main reason Athos went away in the first place. I've been meaning to include Athos in these stories for a while now. I hope you enjoy. :)

Your brother had fallen asleep on a chair.

His hat was half-covering his face, his arms crossed over his chest. It couldn't be very comfortable, the way the back of the chair was digging into his spine. But he couldn't help it - he was exhausted.

From time to time, you were looking up from the tissue you were embroidering, sending him a long look to make sure he wasn't about to slip off the wood and slam on the ground. You'd told him multiple times, you'd stay awake in his place and wait for Athos to return, you'd even promised to go wake him up and tell him, when he'd arrived. But Aramis wouldn't hear a word of it. With a tired smile he'd insisted that he would stay up and wait and after a while he'd stopped responding altogether, simply guarding that tired smile and looking out of the window into the cold night.

Three weeks before, Athos had left for a dangerous mission, Treville had originally intended to give to your brother. You'd been present, when a fight had arisen between the different parties. After Treville had ordered Aramis to travel to Spain to escort a French nobelman, Athos had gone pale and demanded the mission for himself. You'd given him a funny look, quickly followed by your brother who was not at all amused by this turn of events. Treville had established that it was a one-man-job and that Athos, being the senior to Aramis, had the right to take over the mission if he so wished. Athos had insisted to do exactly that and Aramis had responded with an expression of hurt, confusion and concern that had made Treville fumble around uncomfortably.

You knew that France and Spain were at war, but you did not immediately understand what had driven both, your brother and Athos, to act the way they had. Until you'd overheard a conversation, the night before Athos' departure.

"Do you really believe, I will allow you to go into a war zone all alone, while (Y/N) worries herself sick here?" You'd come to a halt in the courtyard of the garison, the hairs on your neck standing up. Looking up, you'd seen your brother watch Athos pack his travel bag from the dark corner of his friend's room, his face in shadows.

"That is not fair. Do you believe that I will worry less?" Your brother had lowered his head as if in pain, his voice rough and quiet.

"Aramis," Athos had taken him firmly by the shoulders and your brother had never looked smaller nor younger in your eyes, "you are my sworn brother, you know that, but more importantly you are the brother of (Y/N), you have a responsibility towards her, she needs you! And as long as I can provide you stay alive for her, I will do my best to keep it that way."

Athos had gently squeezed your brother's shoulders, before returning to his backpack to finish packing. Your brother had remained silent for a while, gazing at the floor with empty eyes. Then he'd quietly left the room. He'd closed the door so gently behind himself, that it had broken your heart.

Athos and Porthos were the brothers Aramis had never had. Upon meeting them, he'd learned what it meant to be protected and supported by someone like himself - while also getting to know the stubbornness of that protection and the frustration that could come with it. Athos had decided to protect him (and you) and there was nothing your brother could do about it.

Throughout the three weeks of Athos' absence, Aramis hadn't really been himself. He'd been quiet and distant, working hard and sleeping little to not at all. You and Porthos had tried everything to get him out of this haze, but not even the idea of a night out in the tavern had lured him out into the bright side of day.

You'd started to feel incredibly guilty for the state he was in. In the end, you had been the reason for Athos' decision to leave in the place of your brother. You'd heard them talk about it after all. And while you couldn't be more grateful to him for having spared you weeks of worry and fear, you were feeling terrible due to your brother now having to go through these exact emotions. You watched your brother suffer and died of shame.

------------------

One night during the three weeks of Athos' absence, you got up to get a glass of water, only to find Aramis sitting by the window, the moon in his face. The guilt immediately surged in you, like a wave washing over you on the shore. You sat down beside him and looked at his sleep-deprived face. He tried to smile at you, but that only made your heart hurt more. You took his hand and asked a serious question. "Do you want me to go?"

He quirked an eyebrow, allowing a hint of the normal Aramis to trace his features. "Go where?"

You swallowed and looked at his hand in yours, turning it around in your own to tickle his palm. "Go away. Go back home or something. Just away from here."

He closed his hand firmly, halting your fingers, and pulled rather harshly, making you gasp. The quirked-brow Aramis made room for another Aramis that you knew very well: the angry one. Furious brown eyes bore into your own. Slightly penched forward, he looked for an answer in your expression.

"Why would you say something like that?" Before the two of you had whispered, feeling it appropriate for night time. Now, he spoke with a voice loud enough to cut through the darkness.

You tried to pull your hand back, but he only closed his own tighter around yours, informing you without a trace of doubt that he did not like your suggestion in the slightest. Tears sprang to your eyes.

"I'm sorry, but look at you!!" You had not expected to grow angry yourself - neither had he, judging by the way his eyes grew in size. "This is my fault!! If I weren't here, if you didn't have to take care of me, your friends wouldn't opt in to take on missions you could easily manage yourself. You wouldn't have to worry about Athos, you'd be free to do whatever you like, but I am... holding you back."

Speechless, Aramis stared at you, too disbelieving to really understand the reality of your words. A tear started its journey down your cheek and you violently ripped your hand out of Aramis' grasp to brush it off. His features softened, sadness dripping from his every pore. He reached for your arm again, but you pulled it out of his reach, sniffing against your will.

When he spoke again, you could hear a small smile tainting his words, your antics quite getting to him. "You silly little goose, what are you talking about? You're not holding me back in the least. You keep me sane."

Surprised, you turned your head to look at him again, tears blurring your view.

Despite the rings under his eyes, he lifted his eyebrows, nodding with a meaningful smile on his features. "Duh. Does that really surprise you? Imagine me having to deal with things on my own! Yes, you need me, but the feeling is mutual! Who would I be without you, (Y/N)? We're a full package. A package of two!" His shoulder pushed against yours and you couldn't help but let out a huff.

"And Athos?" You asked, looking up at your brother's tired face.

Aramis hummed slightly and lowered his chin. "Don't worry about that. It's my problem. I am always concerned about him. Sometimes I get the feeling that he puts himself in dangerous situations on purpose, as if he wished... but that has nothing to do with you being here, (Y/N). I'm sorry if I made you feel that way, I just..."

He sighed and you looked on, nodding. "I get it. This is exactly how I feel, when you are gone."

Soft eyes landed on you again and when he reached for your hand this time, you took it and put your head on his shoulder. You stayed like this for a while, before he got up, pulling you with him and not hesitating for a second, before grabbing you and throwing you over his shoulder. You squeaked, before reprimanding him for disturbing the peace of night which he did not take very seriously - possibly your giggles weren't very convincing.

He threw you on your bed and wished you a good night, apparently believing he could just go back to his seat on the window sill to keep staring at the moon. As if he would ever let you get away with something like that!

When he leaned down to kiss your forehead, you threw your arms around him and wrestled him down on the bed, clinging to him and wrapping your legs around him to give him no means to shake you off, before tickling him wherever you could reach.

At first he tried to stay all stoic - as he often did - hurrumping and twitching, but allowing no other reaction to escape him. When you managed to weasle your hand under his arm, though, he collapsed and for the first time since Athos had left for Spain you'd heard him let out real, deep, whole-hearted laughter that did both of you some good.

---------------------------

So now he was asleep and Athos was supposed to arrive at the garison soon.

You thought back to all the times, you had been in a similar situation, walking up and down in your apartment to pass the time until your brother would come home. And when he'd finally entered, all the times your brother had tried to remain standing upright when you had thrown yourself at him, almost suffocating him with your hugs.

You startled when a feather tickled behind your ear. Turning around in lightspeed, you were met with a very tired but relieved looking Athos, the feathered hat in his hand. He opened his arms as if to say: here I am.

A great joy took over you and you quickly threw your arms around his neck and buried your face at his shoulder, the smell of leather, alcohol and earth crawling into your nose. He cradled and weighed you gently, sweet as ever he was to you.

If you had to describe the way you felt about Athos, you would never say that he was like a brother to you - Aramis would grow terribly jealous. Aside from that, he simply didn't feel like a brother. Athos was more like a godfather. He was wise and calm and sometimes you felt like his apprentice, someone he could guide and influence a little in life.

He gently removed himself from your hug and put a hand on your shoulder, moving his chin in the direction of your brother. "How is he doing?"

You winced, putting on an unhappy expression. "He's barely been sleeping."

Athos huffed softly at that and put down his backpack. "I see. He's always been a little dramatic."

You watched with a smile as Athos approached the sleeping Aramis carefully. He crouched down next to him and looked at his half-hidden face, before looking back at you and nodding as if he understood better now what you'd meant with 'he's barely been sleeping'.

In order to wake him, Athos started squeezing one of his knees. It didn't take a full minute, before your brother startled awake and moved to hold onto Athos' hand with both of his. Athos raised one brow in greeting, while Aramis, judging by the way he was looking at Athos, was torn between amusement, relief and anger.

"Stop that." He said between gritted teeth.

"Hello to you, too." Athos replied with a calm smile on his lips.

"I'm serious."

"Sometimes a bit too much, even."

"Athos!"

Smiling to himself, Athos did remove his hand from Aramis' knee and, barely having stood up again, was met with a full on hug from his part. Aramis was clinging to him just the littlest bit, with his eyes closed and his nose buried at Athos' shoulder.

It always moved you to see your brother get emotional and a little vulnerable and Athos was no different from you. He held him close and weighed him just the way he had done with you. They didn't say a word and you had to swallow, trying to keep your cool as much as possible. After a while though, Athos lifted his brow again.

"If you are falling asleep on me, I will not hesitate to drop you."

"I'm not."

Athos sent you a meaningful look.

"Let's get you to bed, shall we?"

Aramis agreed slurredly and let go off his friend, only to almost stumble over the chair he'd been sitting on. You had to stifle a laugh. Athos shrugged. "I suppose, we need a hand here, (Y/N)."

Somehow you both managed to get one of Aramis' sleep-heavy arms over your shoulders and to drag him to your apartment and to tug him in, without dropping him more than once.

Proudly, you put your hands on your hips. "Finally, he will get some sleep again."

Athos looked at you in the half-dark room and remained silent before quietly saying: "I think Spain would have been hard on him without you."

You tried to meet Athos' gaze in the darkness, but he only squeezed your shoulder one last time, before turning to leave the room.

And Aramis was the dramatic one? You shook your head slightly, before pulling Aramis' blanket up some more and placing a kiss on his forehead.

When you went to bed, you started to ponder the ever same idea again. To prevent further painful seperations and sleepless nights, there was only one thing you had to do: become a musketeer.

[justdippers]

Garison is a Cope dippin rancher in TX

Reblog JustDippers - new dippers every week!

[baronneutron]

Art by nightwing1975; concept and commission by me 

This is the first in a series of commissions for an idea I have to better define StarFleet's enlisted uniform.  Star Trek has always been a little lacking in their enlisted uniform and insignia, so I thought I would put my ideas out there.

This first one is a little obscure.  In the original pilot, The Cage, there is CPO Garrison (or Garison, in some places) and he has a distinctive braid apart from all the other characters.  I placed some links below or if you want do a google image search for him. So, I had the artist take that braid and put it on the more familiar TOS uniform. 

memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Ga… memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Ch… Movie era this time, I never liked those jumpsuits they say are for Enlisted  and cadets, but at least there was a more defined Enlisted corps insignia. Anyway, I figure that at least Chief Petty Officers would wear this uniform, and perhaps all Enlisted do at formal occasions. Those jumpsuits really aren’t attractive...

This one is a little more subtle: TNG uniform with a CPO rank like what we see on O’Brien later on DS9, but he was identified as a Senior Chief and we never saw any other enlisted rank badges. So, here we go!

his one is a little more subtle: DS9 uniform with a CPO rank like what we see on O’Brien later on DS9, but he was identified as a Senior Chief and we never saw any other enlisted rank badges.  

[kidge-planet]

pidge headcanon: period

these headcanons will have four parts ( in that same post) : garison, Castle of lions, road to earth and post-season 8.

'tw: this headcanon contains kidge. don't like it, don't read it! (lightly contains Kidge, I tried to make it more about Pidgey)

A/N: I decided to not talk about the symptoms that she might have during her period and to talk about things that happened while she had her period. (and how she handled it into space)

Garrison:

When Pidge pretending to be a guy at the garrison, She obviously had her bag full of pads because duh.

Her roommates was obviously a guy and one day, her bag fell in the ground and a few pads came out of her bag. He asked her about it but she said that it was her "girlfriend's" pads. He was sceptical but didn't ask more questions.

Hunk found the pads too when he was searching for chocolate in her bag and she said the same. (that's why when Hunk found the pic of Pidge and Matt, he thought it was a pic of her "girlfriend".)

at some point, she was out of pads. Her only way to get some was to sneak in the infirmary to steal some but unfortunately, she got caught by a nurse.

nurse: What are you doing here? Pidge: HUUUUH...I... My girlfriend told be that she needed pads!.. She asked me to get her some here but I didn't see you, so... nurse: awww, what a sweet boy, there, pads for your girlfriend. pidge: pidge: Can I have painkillers too?

The nurse gave her painkillers too.

Sometimes, Pidge would have a quick cramp while she is walking with Hunk and Lance and would randomly curl up on theh ground. Hunk would end up carrying her and telling her that she needs to go to the infirmary. She would always REFUSE.

She woke up with her sheets stained with blood. Her roommate saw it. well.

She told him the truth and he helped her to get some clean sheets.

He kept her secret.

Castle of lions:

When she arrived at the castle of lion and finally got in her room, it came to her mind: HOW IS SHE GOING TO GET PADS?!

SHE HAD LEFT HER PADS IN HER ROOM AT THE GARRISON BECAUSE NOW THAT HER ROOMMATE KNEW, SHE COULD JUST LET HER PADS IN THE ROOM.

SHE ONLY HAD THREE PADS IN HER BAG? HELP.

She figured that she'd have to use toilet paper. *sigh*

When she finally told that she was a girl to her team, she then had a talk with Allura to know if she had pads... But:

Pidge: Allura... I need to ask you something... Allura: Yes? Pidge: I had a question about period... How were girls dealing with it on Altea. Allura: Period? pidge: Wait-

Pidge explained to Allura what periods were. Allura shivered: "How could you lose blood from your... EW. Humans are so strange..."

Allura asked a thousand questions.

they both tried to find an alternative to pads or tampons...

they found something, better than pads. It was something spongeous that was making disappear any liquid. It was discreet and it wasn't uncomfortable... She will never use pads again, space sponges are WAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY better.

training during periods... NAHHH.

shiro: Ok guys, let's get started with the training. Pidge: Shiro, *whisper something to Shiro*. Shiro: Ho. Well, you can go rest. Lance, Hunk and Keith: WHY-

Shiro explained to them.

the guys instantly became sweeter with Pidge .

Hunk baked her peanut butter cookies.

Lance would bring her stuffs to help her ease her pain

And keith would carry her to her room whenever she is in pain.

during the fights, the adrenalin made her forget the pain.

She tried the healing pods to see if it would change anything. Naha, didn't work.

Pidge snaped at Lance a few times for multiple reasons.

Or she would snap at her computer.........

Road to earth: (short)

No problem in the lion exceptthe fact that she would snap at people easily.

When they were lost and floating into space, Pidge would silently worry about her period. She wont be able to change or anything.

post-season 8:

Keith was now her boyfriend and, whenever he would come back to earh and she would be on her period, he would be the best boyfriend:

cuddles to forget about the pain.

He found a specific way to make the pain go away: by gently caressing the lower part of her tum with the tip of his fingers.

she would snap at him easily but he would try to not mind.

she would also become a cuddly one... Depends on the day.

Keith panics whenever she tells him that her period is late.

Well, that was shorter than I imagined... I still hope you liked it!

[love4annie]

Four times a mother.

John Shelby x Martha OC

Martha's slightly wide eyes stared at the paper in her hand, orbs filled with worry as she reread the letter. Her calm voice should've surprised her, as she ordered her oldest daughter to stay home and watch over her brothers, but it didn't. After all, she often had this kind of unbreakable composure near her children. She left her house, rushing towards the Garison where she knew her husband was.

Her mind raced along with her, apprehension and ration battling in her thoughts, one reminding of the alarming future and the other recalling the many times she had handled situations like this.

"You mother..she passed.."

"My dear, what happened?"

"Oh, John, help me forget!"

"Pray. Pray, my girl."

"I'm tired.."

Words. Words brawled in her head, hers and others', dictating over the hidden realm of her consciousness that was quickly becoming more unbearable. Younger, she would've claimed this was a lot less than it seemed to be. Older, she admitted that it was a lot more than what a sixteen years old should be dealing with. But then, right then, she knew no past beliefs, nor was she sure that she would live to see the next day.

All she needed was John.

Her legs led her when her senses couldn't, and she soon found herself stumbling over Polly's door. The woman opened it, face wrinkling even more when she saw the poor girl's miserable air, calling for who she could only guess. Martha mumbled her lover's name under her breath, and he soon made his appearence, immediatly craddling her into his arms with reassurances she couldn't hear. His name escaped her lips once more, unheard, but John felt it and hugged her even closer.

Her following statement made him pause, probably along with everyone else in the room, for a second. But a charming smile tugged on his face, and he looked behind the couch, where Pol was previously standing. Truth was, their family had already discussed that subject for the longest time, and then was simply the ideal opportunity. He rubbed soothing circles in her back. She also felt the comforting palm of Arthur over her shoulder and Tommy's concerned blues flickering from her to the toddler over his knee. Ada sat beside her, interwining their fingers, for once looking older than her actually older friend. John's clear gems stared into her stormy pair, and his heart broke, it shattered for her. But there, then, she was in his hold. She wasn't alone in that gloomy house of hers, grieving her mother on her own and occasionally visiting them when the empty echoes of her memories in the hallways became too insufferable. She wasn't alone that gloomy house, as he peeked from the windows, attempting to check on her without disturbing her agitated peace, and he wasn't worrying over her safety when she was too loud or too quiet. She was in his hold, and he could protect and provide her. He would, undoubtfully would. Swift footsteps clicked more than they usually would have, sound more prominent in the mute exchange between most presents. She discreetly handed John a mystery item, and the boy gently removed Martha from his grasp as he fell on one knee, loving gaze set upon her and a hopeful grin mastered to encourage his one and only.

-"Will you marry me?"

She finally saw the church, a place where she sought comfort when life became too much. Her remembrance was again triggered by the mere image of this very familiar building.

-"May we leave now, my dear?", John complained about his wife staying longer than the preaching lesson's time, though he understood that she was attached to the wooden benches and revebrating sounds in early Sunday hours, despite not being much of a religious woman herself, having comitted her fair share of sins, though she was everything but mistaken in anything she had to do, to him. He understood that those visits were a habit, one her mother had installed in her since innocence, and while he had the unpredicable events of life to blame for making both of them drift just a bit from what they used to be and do; the illegal business the Shelby brothers had debuted and the dozing baby girl on his lap; he knew that events were also what brought them back there.

-"I am praying for us, John." She replied, not quite the answer he awaited. Her vision was unfocused, but it held more reverence than he could ever perform. She had always been more spiritual than him, more perceiving of herself than he ever was. More sentimental, more thoughtful, she claimed there was a certain depth in things he couldn't entirely decipher.

-"Don't you always do that?" He had to admit, he was longing for a morning in with his girls, a rest he desired for himself after a long week, but even more for his wife. He knew that taking care of a nearly one year old, along with helping with the numbers, relentlessly worrying over his late shifts, and the newfound talent she had for patching him up when Polly was too busy with a doubly bloodied Arthur, was draining her more than she let on. He might've been the one facing the danger of the minor criminal affairs the family had started, but she was lifting most of the emotional burden, as she assumed her duty as the stability of their small household.

-"I am praying for our child." She said, then murmured something. Not to him, not to herself. She listened to every movement he did, every response he formulated, but she yet had to look at him.

She did, when he asked his next question.

-"Isn't she here, safe and sound and healthy?"

He frowned at his wife's quivering stature, but he soon showed a happy grin at her announcement.

-"I am praying for our second, John."

Somewhere in her haze, her pace had quickened, throat already dry and muscles throbbing from the sudden extreme activity of sprinting from one edge of Watery Lane to the other. The Garrison just a corner away, and she evoked one more crucial moment of her existance.

In the dim lights of her bedroom lantern, sat a single mother of two, widowed but not so, husband taken by the war, juggled between death and life as he hid in holes in the frontlines and soiled his hands with crimson dirt. Her children slumbered soundly in her bed, crying themselves to sleep for weeks after their father's departure and she promised herself every night that they would soon adapt with his abscense. They were old enough to notice him missing in the late evening when he used to gladly indulge in their youthful fun, but still too young to fully comprehend the cause. Though, in that night precisely, she needed him even more than they did. So, sitting in front of her vanity table, fingers wrapped around a pen, she wrote. She wrote her struggle, wrote her worry, but assured him that she was carrying on, would be until his return and as long as he needed her to after that. She wrote and her thoughts fell into the dark ink, free from her grip, news that could weight him more than what was already on his shoulders. Then, when the ink grew dry, she wrote with her tears, for she knew he could very much be reading it with his blood. She clutched to the paper, seeking the solace John brought her in the immobile object, his alluring beams and alleviating touches.

It did reach John, while he sat moments away from their next violent warfare, and he feared it was tainted with filth after all the transportation, though he melted in a wave of calm as soon as he gently ripped it open, a smell of home hitting him harder than bullets. It was short truce, getting to imagine her voice along the perfectly picked words and neat handwriting. His brothers watched as joy traced his features for the first time in the two months of combat, before he revealed that yet another Shelby was to come.

The chants of men didn't falter as she entered the pub, but those who saw her distressed expression made her a path toward her husband, and she scurried into his embrace.

-"The doctor..the letter.." She tried to tell him despite her panting from all the hurry.

-"The hell is happening, John?" Arthur called behind her, ready to beat up whatever bastard bothering his sister-in-law. He had always seen her as a sister, even before she was married into their family, her and Ada cherished by his heart that softened remarkably around them, and inevitably, a feeling of protectiveness bloomed within it toward her.

John didn't answer him, instead thinking about what she said, until it clicked, and that beautiful smile of his shone again. Thomas' hawk eyes caught on it, and he discreetly relaxed.

-"John, I...i drank a beer..and you're just back and.."

-"And we would welcome it like the blessing it is." He locked eyes with her, and she drunk in the love they emitted, as they released her from the confines of her pondering into a warmth only he could grant her, tapping her on the back to face the boys.

-"Tell 'em, my dear."

She hesitated, studying the anger and concern Arthur casted, the sudden near-stillness state of the entire room, and spoke at Tommy's supportive nod.

-"I'm..pregnant."

And the place roared with yells and congratulations, until John spoke again, making it blow with even more excitement.

-"All drinks tonight are on me!"

[seldomscilence16]

When I first entered the Voltron Fandom, Lance had blue eyes. It was a truth throughout all the fics I read. Coming to tumblr @autisticlancemcclain introduced me to a whole new world, where brown eyed Lance was fighting to be the norm. I hadnt questioned it before, a scottish/questionable origin of a last name and the blue theme had me easily convinced.

But with this whole new world I fell into a wonderful exploration of the love of brown and dark eyes. But my original love of Blue was so ingrained that I found myself simply combining them. My rant thing below, not very long, but my addition to the eye color thing. Cause I love both and think they can co-exist, at the very least in my head :]

Lances birth was scary. The doctors had been sure he wouldnt make it, and while his mother put on a brave face, she could feel it too. She prayed to whoever would listen.

The Blue lion, hidden on Earth for such a long time, on reserve power and far too far from a balmera crystal to be fully powered, feels the beginning of a new dawn. She knows shes not supposed to, but this is for the future- and more importantly her beautiful Paladin.

Lance is born with one Bright Blue Eye, and one Lucious Earthy Brown Eye. Lance- once old enough- buys contacts in both colors, switching every few days to confuse people. When asked he gives the most confused look he can manage, looking at whomever asked like they'd grown a second head, its his longest running joke. Students at the Garison have a running pool on which color is true.

Years later, when the Earth is invaded and lost ones return, the people see him again. When in space, one can imagine the difficulty of finding contacts- and the lack of importance of such a thing- so here comes Lance in his heterochromatic glory.

Except this is not the Lance with watery blue eyes or cocoa brown ones either. His Blue eye is like ice, an otherworldly color, a viel, and his Brown eye is deeper than any mudden brown one could dig up from this Earth. But Lance isnt the only one with new eyes.

Beside him, the Hero, the Legend, Shirogane Takashi. People who know his posters like the back of their hands, or had watched him florish in the program, stare in awe as once sun warmed dirt, has turned into a void not unlike those in space. Deep and tired, ageless and old, but oh so kind, a tint of michieviousness remains.

But they do not stop there, these are not the eyes of those they had lost, but ones who had to find themselves over and over again. On rainy days and nights, a blue eye ripples like a clear puddle. A black eye flashes bright and in time with every stroke of lightning. It is otherworldly. It is not of Earth. It speaks of volumes they will never hold.

Because one does not leave this plane and return the same.