#you could wrap a hand around his waist and shake him like a maracas

[notashrew]

I feel like everytime I see official art or models of Zer0 each time he keeps getting slimmer

I guess it's the *vague gesturing* how his new suit in BL3 makes him look wider and bigger, like suddenly his chest is just *PUFF* And then you see him in BL2 again with old suit and in BL3 from far enough and remember oh yeah this dude truly is just one atom wide

[latibvles]

happy early bday fellow june bday!! not 2 b melodramatic but since it just got super pre-thunderstorm dark outside, can i please request “sharing a kiss in a heavy downpour of rain” for viv/bucky OR your choice if that doesn’t vibe? — @shoshiwrites

kissing in the rain.

thank you friend !! <3 whenever I write these two I roll my eyes. they're gross disgusting married and I need to shake them like maracas. I got a postwar idea for this and ran with it. a little rain never ruined date night. and they have quite a few fond memories associated with rain as we all know. they're so gross and married for real this time

—

There’s no means of saving their clothes.

Okay, so Viv is being dramatic — a quick trip to the laundromat will make it alright. But they’re thoroughly soaked: the pale teal of her dress clings to her body like a second skin and droplets turn Bucky’s button-down halfway to translucent. He still puts his jacket around her good naturedly as he yanks her beneath one of the tall oaks off to the side of the beaten path.

Bucky’s strong arm is still wrapped around her waist, keeping her tucked into his side. She still marvels at the way he’s able to make her feel small in a way that doesn’t tear her apart.

His dark curls are weighed down by the rain, flat and sticking to his forehead — blue eyes impossibly dark, lit up only by streetlights. His fingers tap absentmindedly against the curve of her waist. It was still a couple blocks to the car, he’d wanted to see if it would lighten up a little more.

There’s another version of this, one where she presses her face against his back as he bikes like a madman, where he’s singing at the top of his lungs and her laughter is swallowed up by downpour, and she feels herself falling just a little bit in love with the man so insistent on biking her to her hut in that mess. Now, at least, she can say with confidence that she is just that: in love with him. They’ve got the rings to prove it.

Viv looks up at him, and he looks down at her — the tip of his nose bumps her and she snickers.

“Don’t even say it,” he starts out. Viv snickers again, and arches an eyebrow.

“Say what?” Bucky says nothing for a few moments, allowing the downpour to fill up their silences as he continues to tap that nonsensical beat against her skin. Then he lets out a sigh.

“I told you so, about the umbrella.” Viv bites her lip a moment, then raises her brows.

“Well I did.” He pinches her side teasingly, she bats at his chest.

“What’d I just say?” Bucky half-heartedly scolds, looking down at her. Viv giggles, smug as anything as her other arm wraps around his front, meeting the one that was holding onto his shoulder.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah, right.”

John Egan, in spite of all his impulsive decisions, could be rather meticulous when required of him. He’d handled tonight with care, emphasizing how much he wanted to treat her tonight, for no reason beyond the fact that he could. And he did — brought her flowers and a dress she’d quietly eyed on an errand-run, pressing kisses to her temple and telling her to be ready by six. He took her out to dinner, then dancing.

He’d just forgotten an umbrella, or rather, decided he didn’t need it.

“It’s kinda like England,” she murmurs offhandedly. Bucky smiles a little, humming and nodding as his lips pull into a contemplative pout.

“Just need a sheepskin and those pretty silk shorts,” She bats at his chest at that remark, but his hand is grabbing at hers, keeping it pressed against his chest.

“You and those damn shorts—”

“Can you blame me? You scandalized me.” He teases and Viv scoffs in partial disbelief as he leans down. He’d seen her in much less by this point, but some things he liked to dangle over her head even now. His nose brushes against hers and she gives him a narrow-eyed look.

“I did not,” she defends, and she feels the rumble of the chuckle vibrating through his chest.

“You definitely did. I was respectable before you came along,” Viv snorts, opening her mouth in an attempt to argue, but Bucky’s kissing her before she can get the chance, keeping her hand pressed right up against his hammering heart and pressing his arm against the small of her back until she’s flush against him and her eyes are fluttering shut.

She thinks he may just dip her for the dramatics of it all, her other arm wrapping around his neck and holding onto his broad shoulders as he kisses her — soft lips, the faint taste of wine clinging to him. Any other kiss she’s shared with anybody else has always, will always pale in comparison to this. How the flush creeps up her neck even now, how her tongue pokes out to run across the seam of his mouth and he grunts in reply, but still opens up for her all the same.

They’re a lot of things. Modest isn’t really one of them.

His hand follows the curve of her waist, then lower, still, her shaky breath swallowed by downpour, by his lips stealing breath from her lungs as she opens her eyes to look at him.

“Careful what you start out here, Mrs. Egan,” Bucky mumbles, blue eyes dark, tone teasing. Viv grins at him. There’s something about the way he calls her that — the hand beneath his jacket, against her body, the chill of his wedding band and the gleam of her own. She doesn’t think she could get tired of that.

“Scared I’ll scandalize you?” Bucky kisses her again, briefly.

“Scared I won’t make it two blocks,” he refutes. Bucky looks out at the path. “Think it’s lightening up.”

Viv doesn’t get a chance to say anything — he’s hauling her along like a man on a mission. All she does, just like all she’s ever done, is laugh.

[hazelandglasz]

Spooky Fans

Happy Halloween from the Ineffable Idiots ^^

“You went slightly overboard, dear.”

“Did I now?”

Aziraphale glares at Crowley and testily taps his foot to the ground.

The gesture makes all the pumpkins on the porch and staircase shake, and that is quite the number of Cucurbitaceae to act like maracas.

 “Yes. You. Did. And you know it, don’t act cute.”

Crowley slithers behind Aziraphale and wraps his arms around his angel’s waist. “But I am cute,” he whispers, flicking his tongue at Aziraphale’s lobe. “Don’t you think I’m cute, Angel?”

A shiver travels down Aziraphale’s spine and he almost, almost, gives in.

But no.

“You know I do, you sneaky snake, but that is not the point.”

Crowley drops his head to Aziraphale’s shoulder and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “And the point is …”

“The point is--would you stop that--the point is that I said we could have Halloween’s decorations but to keep it to a reasonable amount.”

“Hmhm?” Crowley detaches himself from Aziraphale’s back to stand next to him. “You don’t approve?”

Aziraphale lets out a small growl. “I hope you aren’t trying to convince me or yourself that this is reasonable!”

Crowley considers his masterpiece and shrugs. “Looks perfectly reasonable to me.”

“Argh!”

Aziraphale throws his hands in the air. “This is a fire hazard--”

“Electric candles.”

“--and a waste of perfectly good pumpkins--”

“Already carved their flesh out to bake you pies.”

“--and...you did?”

“Where did you think the smell came from?”

Aziraphale’s annoyment melts away instantly. “Oh, my dear boy.”

Crowley rolls his eyes but still lowers his head to allow Aziraphale to press a kiss to his temple. “It appears that it’s me.”

“It is so.”

They both contemplate the garden filled with jack-o-lanterns before Aziraphale magics hot cocoas for them both.

They take a simultaneous sip and Crowley lets out a happy sigh.

“Are you really upset, Angel?” he asks softly, his hand finding Aziraphale unconsciously.

Aziraphale sighs. “Not upset, dear. It’s just … it’s a lot.”

“Tell you what. How about I redeem myself by letting you pick our costumes for Anathema’s party?”

Aziraphale cannot help the beaming smile that appears on his face. “Oh, you would let me?”

“My demonic word, Angel.”

Aziraphale claps his hands, his mug momentously suspended in the air. “Fantastic! I have an amazing idea for us both to shine. Come on now, I need to look into my trunks …”

As excited as he is, Aziraphale completely misses the fond smile that follows him on his husband’s face.

“Make it spooky, Angel, that’s all I ask.”

“Sure, sure.”

(Turns out, Crowley dressed as Aziraphale is quite spooky indeed. Not as spooky as Aziraphale dressed as Crowley, for sure, but still.)

[all-or-nothing-baby]

Sticks and Stones Will Break Our Bones But Names Will Break Our Spirits

_____________________________

Word Count: [957]

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: None

Characters: Sam & Dean Winchester

Tags: S7 ep3 'The Girl Next Door' Coda, Frustrated!Dean, Hurt!Dean, Sad!Dean, Comforting!Sam, Adoring!Sam, Sam Takes Care of Dean (in a mothering kinda way) Sam Winchester Loves his Brother, Dean Winchester Loves His Sammy, Codependency Like No Other, Dean Loves Sam Like He wants To Make The Sun Rise Just For Him; And Sam Loves Dean Like He He Wants To Break The Sun So Dean Doesn't Have To Anymore, hurt/comfort, Brotherly Love.

_____________________________

"I'm fucking useless," Dean insisted. He picked at a hole sprouting foamy-innards on the arm of the ancient sofa inside of Rufus' log cabin. His other hand, balled into a fist, punched the plaster cast that covered his leg.

Sam sighed, drawn-out and heavy. This was going to be a long couple of weeks.

"No, Dean. You're not useless. Just a little more… harmless than usual." Sam tried really hard not to smile.

Dean dug down the side of the sofa, almost instantly pulling out his gun and shaking the uncocked piece around like a single maraca.

"I said useless, Sammy, not defenseless."

Sam tried even harder not to roll his eyes.

"Why you bitching 'bout feeling useless then, man?" Sam asked lightly, as he moved around the room in small circles, laying things like the TV remote and bags of Flamin' Hot Cheetos within easy reach for his laid-up big brother.

"Because… because." Dean cut himself off prematurely.

Sam was unsure where this was headed, but wanted to prod almost as much as he didn't.

"Because…?" he prompted.

Dean opened his mouth a few times like a fish out of water. Looked at Sam. Looked away. Opened a bag of his favourite chips.

"Because, smart-guy," Dean's signature sarcasm finally brimmed over, "I ain't got as many... talents as some." Dean chanced the briefest of glances in Sam's direction.

"Aw, you think I'm talented?" Sam smirked, and Dean's honesty-moment almost passed.

"Okay, you know what?--"

"Dean, I'm kidding," Sam apologised without apologising, his eyes now fully open in question. "Go on."

The muscles in Dean's jaw ticked a couple of times before he sheepishly continued.

"Laid up, like this?" Dean began. Cleared his throat. "I can't fight, Sam. Can't drive. Can't cook," he blurted, "and I can't look after my irritating and freakishly tall little brother like I'm 'sposed to, neither," Dean managed to get out in one breath, embarrassed and frustrated and ashamed.

Sam's smirk dropped from his face like they were aboard some kind of spacecraft and the artificial gravity had just been switched to 'on'.

He strode across the open plan room in three huge strides and bent down on his haunches in front of Dean, clasping a huge hand onto his brother's shoulder.

The only things eating the bag of chips now were Dean's downward-looking, abashed eyes.

"Dean?" Sam asked without asking. "Will you look at me a minute?" his voice soft and deep and low.

Dean chewed on his lip, undecided. Until his curiosity decided for him.

Dean looked up at the boy who was no longer a boy and hadn't been a boy for such a very longtime. Yet, to Dean, this Gigantor of a man--his little brother, Sammy--would always be the one thing he had to get right, even if he'd done wrong by him so many times over.

Dean's eyes couldn't stay trained. They flicked from Sam to door, to table, to Sam, to the floor and back to Sam in mere seconds.

"You've been looking after me your whole damn life, Dean. You've taught me and shown me and loved me," Sam said, so easily earnest, years of feelings flowering out in one sentence. "Now just let me repay some of that unfaltering fucking kindness, would'ya?" Sam didn't swear as often as Dean so when he did, Dean tended to take notice.

Dean's dimples twitched into submission. But his eyes sang a song of utter need.

Sam's heart suddenly clenched in his chest.

This man in front of him, made from pure and solid loyalty; this protector, Sam's protector--Sam's number One Goddamn Hero--was somehow now the little boy he'd known only in photos, the ones where Sam was just a babe in arms.

Dean was embarrassed, yes, and more than likely frustrated and ashamed. But he was also vulnerable, unsure and lost--and Sam had never felt so in awe of anyone.

Sam lunged on the toes of his boots till his body was flush with Dean's, squashing Dean further into the ratty old couch, Dean's arms flailing in sudden confusion. One of Sam's flannelled arms grabbed his brother by his shoulder and crushed Dean--now powerless--into his firm embrace; the other arm came around the back of Dean's head, Sam's chin now tucking itself over it in an involuntary yet definite protective grip of unadulterated affection.

Dean whole body was tense, in shock with this confusing display of rare affection being suddenly and so fiercely shared between them.

Sam didn't let up though and slowly, slowly... Dean let himself melt into Sam. Dean's strong, freckled arms wrapped around his brother, one enveloping the broadest of shoulders, the other around a slim, Kale-fed waist. And they just… stayed like that.

Breathing. Being. Just boys again, if only for the briefest of moments.

It was a moment they both sorely needed.

Sam and Dean Winchester had always just needed for each other to simply be okay--and to let each other know when they weren't, and that that was really okay too.

Dean finally let up, but didn't pull away straight away. He pulled back just enough to hold Sam's face. He then put his full lips to Sam's exposed forehead in a brief but loaded kiss.

"Love ya, bitch," he mumbled, and gently pushed Sam backwards.

Sam rolled his eyes back as he went, fervently this time.

"Love you too, jerk," he smiled, and gave his brother a look of pure adoration.

"It's cuz I'm freakin' adorable, Sammy," Dean annoyingly insisted, somehow startlingly accurate, then added, "and incredibly handsome, obviously," in obnoxious, Dean-like conclusion.

Sam huffed a small laugh.

"Yeah, humble too," he grinned, borrowing some of his brother's sarcasm.

Dean couldn't disagree with that.

"And most definitely not fucking useless."

And--if he tried hard enough to see himself like his beautiful, kind and wise little brother did--maybe, just maybe, Dean couldn't quite disagree with that either, even if it were only for the briefest of moments.

_____________________________

Wow, I just boshed this out in one sitting (it's unedited so soz) and I think I'm maybe really, really in need of a hug! And imagining a Sam Winchester hug always helps to get me thorough life's shit and slag.

When I read it back to myself, it made me think of the quote below (from who-knows how long ago) and I just spent an age trying to find it before I could post... xD

I have no idea where this ^ originally came from, but, to me, it is the absolute epitome of the Winchester brothers realtionship...

#sam and dean forever

[I'll tag later, I need a frickin nap.]

Tags:  @petrichoravellichor @narraukoiel @aloha-cowgirl @suckerfordeansfreckles @verobatto-angelxhunter @winchester-reload @wanderingcas @may-darling @crack--attack @dammitsammy @ladystiltskin67 @cutelittlekittykorner @trenchcoatsandfreckles @shealynn88 @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @moderatelypanickedbiromantic @a-mess-of-many-fandoms @hectatess @northofantastic @notwithd @peanutbutterandgrapejelly @legendary-destiel @ladywaywarddsc @ladygotsoul @avidbkwrm @superwholockpartyof1 @superwholockandbooks-art @collectorofsecretsandsouls @apieceofurmind @staycejo1 @mishezza @lovemesomecas94 @katekarnage7 @cloverhighfive @sillyyjackie @hellfire37 @pimentogirl @reallyelegantsharkfish @galaxy-charm  please message me if you'd like adding/removing from the list...

[bowieandqueen11]

Hi dear! I hope you’re having a great day, & I’ve been loving your blog! I was wondering if I could request a fic where you and roger have been married for a while. Y’all would have a very bantery, sarcastic relationship with each other, but are very in love. You like to visit the borhap set, and become very close to the cast/crew, almost becoming a second mom to them (especially ben) and they adore you, and you’re so protective over them. Sorry if it makes no sense😬 thank you babe💕

This is the cutest thing my eyes have read I literally want to cry! Hope you’re doing well love

Your feet patter into the kitchen, your arms bristling with goosebumps despite being wrapped in the fluffy egg-blue dressing gown Roger had bought you for Valentines day, saying he’d bought it for you just so he could steal it, between kisses. Grinning slightly, you shake your head at the memory whilst also mentally chiding Roger for leaving the patio door open after he’d let the dog out, before you switch the kettle on with a small ping and reach into the cupboard to grab your favourite brand of tea.

As you pull out the bag, a small folded-up sticky note plops onto the counter top. Picking it up curiously, you open it, reading: ‘Head to the fridge ;)’. Intrigued and amused by Roger’s still very evident childlike nature, your eyes scan over the various pictures and mementos of dates and funny moments with Roger pinned over the fridge with magnets, some slightly faded and curled with age. Spotting a small pink neon sticky-note tucked underneath a picture of Roger down on one knee, his long blonde hair shining like an angel’s as his face is beaming with anticipation and devotion, holding an open ring box in one hand, you uncurl the note, laughing quietly to yourself as you read: ‘I was going to wake you up before I left for the set love, but let’s be honest, out of the two of us you need the most beauty sleep.’ You let out a chuckling fume, your foot tapping against the tile as you thought of how badly Roger was going to get it when you see him. Continuing, you read: ‘As usual, we’ll all be waiting for you here angel, but please wake up quickly as Gwilym won’t stop moaning into my ear until he gets to see you, much to Brian’s amusement, love you lots.’

Setting into the set nearly an hour later, you walk through the corridors, being greeted by various cast members who eagerly wave at you, asking how you’ve been doing the last couple of days or are stopped for hugs by crew members you’ve grown to know much more intimately, becoming a second family away from home to you. As you reach the main set, you take a faltering step back in surprise as a blur of blonde comes rushing towards you. Ben’s strong arms come stumbling around your shoulders, pulling you into a squashing embrace. Patting his back gently, he slightly pulls back before gushing about all the things you’d missed over the last week. Your eyes crinkle in amusement as he carries on his tales of the Top of the Pops scene they had shot, grinning as he recounts how Roger had yet again retold his tale about the cymbals that didn’t smash, before grabbing your arm and leading you forward towards the sofa where Joe sat, not realising you had started laughing not at his amusing stories and childlike eagerness to see you, but from the schoolgirl outfit and blushing makeup he had completely forgotten he was wearing. 

Wiping some lip gloss away from the edge of your face where Ben’s cheek had squished against yours, you saw Joe waving from the sofa, his grandmother outfit making you burst into another fit of giggles at all the memories of being on this set for the first time, before you are whisked around to be greeted with a group bear hug from Rami and Gwilym. 

‘Thank god you’re back, y/n, we’ve all missed your stories terribly. It’s been unbearable, Ben’s spent the whole time wingi-’ 

‘Oi mate’, Ben interrupts with a wide grin on his face, ‘you’re in trouble now!’ Gwilym’s face falls from a pleasant smile to one of surprise and fear as he turns on his heel, bunching the bottom of his nightgown in a fist and kicking off his bunny slippers before running, the curlers bouncing in his hair as Ben chases after him, loud chuckles erupting from both their mouths before Joe grabs Ben’s waist, yanking him by the thighs onto his lap before calling: ‘I caught one of the kids for you, y’n!’

As Joe starts mock slapping Ben and Gwilym comes to rests against the edge of the sofa, laughing at Ben’s predicament, you turn back to face Rami who just looks at you with a face of mild amusement before pulling you into a surprise embrace. ‘We really have missed you, y/n. Not even Brian’s been able to calm down Roger when he gets worked up over the minuscule details, and no one’s been able to stop him, or more honestly you haven’t been here to save us when he goes off on stories about the maracas incident, or the I’m in love with my car cupboard, or when he shaved his legs for-’

Rami jumps a mile when a hand clamps down upon his shoulder, a voice saying in his ear ‘Hey, it’s not my fault that no one here appreciates how good I looked as a girl.’ Rami just shakes his head in amusement before heading off to try and help rescue Ben from Joe’s clutches. You, in turn, leap forward, your arms wrapping around the thick leather jacket Roger was wearing, closing your eyes and inhaling the oaky, smokey smell that reminded you of home. One hand went up to trace the silvery wisps of his hair, before falling down the crinkles of his face to the grey stubble on his chin, his bright blue eyes sparkling in amusement just as brightly as they had when you had first met him. He bumps his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your cheek before he brushes his chapped lips against your own, knowing how it always drove you crazy with anticipation.

‘I knew there was a reason I thought you were a girl when I first met you,’ you laughed breathlessly against his lips, ‘your hair always was better than mine, and you always did look better in a short skirt. Guess you were wrong about who needs the beauty sleep.’ His face contorts into one of mock shock, before his fingers trace down your side and to your hips in light tickles, pulling you closer into his chest so you couldn’t escape from his grasp. As you thwacked your hand against his chest, throwing your head back in pales of laughter that were still the sweetest music Roger had ever heard, he grabbed your hand and said with such a passionate tone of devotion that you stilled in his embrace quickly, ‘y/n, every time I see these boys, I remember how all these fantastic experiences, all the best days of my lives wouldn’t have been possible without you in them, and they bring back such a rush of memories that sometimes I can’t stop my eyes brimming with tears, as I remember just how long I’ve really loved you’.