#(truly the OTP ever)

[effrvsnt107]

Reading Martha's MySpace blog and I'm just like he took her to a shrine to the Time War. HE TOOK HER. TO A SHRINE. TO THE TIME WAR. AND THEN TOLD HER ABOUT THE WAR. Then they say there under a blanket and held hands and drunk tea from an old thermos.

[annemarieyeretzian]

laudna asking “can I be honest with you?” and imogen saying “always.” and laudna admitting “there’s part of me that thinks [we need delilah].” and imogen asking “you want to use her? make yourself stronger?” and saying “I get it. I don't know if I want to get rid of it. I won't judge you either way.”

[mewnivercity]

It's them 🩵💜

[charlieconwayy]

fryleela meme ♥ [2/8 episodes] → season three, episode two "parasites lost"

[injusticebrucewayne]

Batman/Catwoman by Clay Mann

[bisamwilson]

It’s about as cool as it gets in Louisiana most days—a brisk fifty-two—and Sam’s bundled up like he’s back in Washington, DC in the middle of January. 

All those years away from home, and he still never had managed to get used to the cold.

Bucky’s only in a slightly thicker leather jacket, lined with some kind of fleece, mostly because the boys had warned him to bundle up. Bucky’s sweating now, but Sam knows their earnestness in trying to keep him warm means he’ll keep the jacket on all night, the sheer amount of heat his body puts off like a furnace be damned. 

It’s become a nightly routine, these walks, first starting during warm, wet, and hazy summer nights and continuing on even now, when the sun dips past the horizon entirely too early each afternoon. They never stray far from home, walk mostly in laps near the house, but tonight, Sam takes Bucky’s hand and leads them out a little farther. 

The Christmas lights are out on all the houses Sam knows are going to put them up, and he’s feeling a little nostalgic. 

Nostalgic enough to wander over to the old house nearby that he’d absolutely adored as a child, now worn down and unlivable, marred by years of neglect and abandonment and storm damage. A years-old “for sale” sign sits in the yard, weather-worn and illegible. 

Sam stops just in front of the house—a tall, dark silhouette amidst all the bright red, green, and white lights around it—and smiles. 

“I was convinced I was gonna live in that house one day,” he says, a little wistful. “Slightly older couple owned it back then, a Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. You’d never seen two people so in love, maybe other than my own folks. They’d invite us over for dinner after church sometimes—said it was a thank you for a sermon well delivered—and Mrs. Jackson always had it decorated so lovingly. They didn’t have any children back then—never had any at all actually—so there was no one to leave it to, and I’d always hoped I’d be able to buy after they moved elsewhere, wherever that might have been.”

Sam sighs, shrugging his shoulders and running a hand over the overgrown fence. “I was already out of Delacroix when Mr. Jackson passed, about a year after his wife, and no one else ever picked it up. Now it looks like this.”

Bucky squeezes his hand and Sam takes that as a cue to turn away from the old house and to his boyfriend, swinging their intertwined palms as he pulls them forward again on their walk. 

“A shame,” he says as they walk away, “what it looks like now. Mrs. Jackson’d be heartbroken.”

Five months later, almost to the day, Bucky asks to go for a walk in the middle of the afternoon. 

It’s rainy, like it always is in May, and Sam gives him a strange look while he gestures to the outside, the rain coming down in a constant, heavy stream, loud on the roof of the house. “In this weather?”

Bucky shrugs, a little sheepish. “I’ve got an umbrella?”

Sam’s not too keen about getting wet because of Bucky in the not-so-fun way, but Bucky’s got a heightened nervousness about him that Sam hasn’t really seen since the first time he asked him to dinner as something other than just a couple of guys, so he begrudgingly grabs his own umbrella and opens the door, gesturing for Bucky to leave first. 

To his surprise, they start out on their normal route, and Sam’s a little confused as to what’s got Bucky so on edge, outside of the rain. 

When he takes a slight turn off their normal path, Sam thinks they might be getting somewhere. 

They come to a very water-logged stop right in front of the old Jackson house, and Bucky’s anxious nervousness disappears abruptly, replaced by almost deadly stillness. 

“Why are we here, Buck?” Sam half-shouts, doing his best to be heard over the roaring of the rain. 

In answer, Bucky just pushes open the gate, the latch having broken probably a decade ago, and leads Sam up to the front porch. 

There’s holes in the little roof above the porch, and it’s only slightly less rainy under it than it is outside of it, but Sam closes his umbrella anyway when he sees Bucky do the same. He waits for Bucky to explain why they’re there, but Bucky just looks around the house, his fist opening and closing again—his telltale fidget—so Sam asks again.

“Why are we here?”

“I got pre-approved for a loan,” is all Bucky says, looking around the old place and fixing his eyes on one of the holes in the porch roof. “Haven’t put an offer on this place yet, thought I should talk with you first even though you were okay with me buying the house on my own, but I’m good for it if you want it.” He scratches behind his ear, his frame entirely too small for someone normally so large. “You said you always wanted to live here, right?”

Sam doesn’t answer, a little too stunned to speak both by the thought of all the work this house needs and by the way his heart is so full to bursting when he thinks about getting to live in it. 

Bucky takes his silence as cue to keep talking, his words a little more frantic than they were before. “I’ve always been good with my hands, you know? I wanted a bit of a fixer upper in the first place, even if this is more than I’d imagined. But I can make it just how you imagined, sweetheart, let you pick out the paint and the crown molding and everything just how you wanted it growing up. Can even make some of the furniture if you can’t find what you want anywhere. 

“And it wouldn’t all be me, you know? I’m saving a lot on a down payment and a mortgage since this house is all worn down, so I can hire some contractors for things as we need. Least to make it livable quicker, make it a house. But I want to make it a home myself, sweetheart. Make it our home. What do you think?”

Sam’s quiet for long enough Bucky goes still again, and the eerie lack of movement is enough to shock him out of his reverie. It’s his turn to not answer Bucky’s question. “Dance with me?”

Bucky blinks. “What?”

Sam takes his hands in his, guides them around his waist. He places his own around Bucky’s shoulders. “Mrs. Jackson used to open up the windows on rainy days. Her record player was just beneath it, and her and Mr. Jackson would put on some oldies and dance the whole rainy day away right on this porch. Louis Armstrong was always her favorite.” He starts to sway with the music, Bucky following suit, and raises up on his toes just enough to kiss Bucky solidly on the cheek. “Thought we should continue on with the tradition if it’s gonna be our house now.”

“Our house,” Bucky whispers, like a dream, as rain steadily pours down on top of them whenever they happen to sway underneath a hole in the roof. 

“The dining room’s going to be green,” Sam says with certainty, remembering how much he’d loved the color when Mrs. Jackson had it painted one year, citing a want for something new, something fresh. 

Bucky doesn’t answer, just tilts his head up to feel the rain on his brow before he kisses Sam’s droplet-laden eyelids. Sam hums a few notes of “A Kiss To Build a Dream On,” and feels Mrs. Jackson’s approval in the warm Louisiana breeze. 

Three months later, when the house is fixed enough to at least be lived in, the first thing Bucky does is buy green paint.

(also on ao3, post dividers found here)

[nikkiruncks]

I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

Uh huh, that's right

Darling, you're the one I want

Handy - Paper Rings (Taylor Swift)

[viibingfox]

the worst most unhealthy oc crackship

sage for @fish-popsicle :3

[icanbeyourgenie]

(insp)

[dylanlila]

holding this passage sooo close to my heart and never letting go...

[koushirouizumi]

{D.N. A n g e l} ~ Stage 3 Part 21

[goldentigerfestival]

boy does Fluri make me feel things. a lot of things. i love. them.

[daeluin]

and i know i know ppl will bitch and moan about the changing of the leadership but its been literally 14 years since stormrage and i still remember this part vividly

[singsweetmelodies]

pierresteban sex pollen if you please!

i do please :DD 😏 tysm for this amazing ask!!

SO, the story behind this fic is: it's a kinkmeme fill, plain and simple. so yeah, that'll mean it will be posted on anon someday (hopefully soon.) and yeah, i did want to keep it anonymous for a little while, and see who (other than briony) would recognise my writing...

but the thing is 🙈 i'm not 100% sure i'm going to finish it in time for the kinkmeme deadline, and in that case, i'll just post it to my main. so i may as well reveal it now for added inspiration, right? right. because you see, the issue with this fic is - i need to be in a VERY specific mood to write it, because it's all... angsty and ambiguous and messy. pierresteban but make it as unresolved as possible, essentially. case in point:

i LOVE this kind of writing, i really do. (yes, i'm secretly an angst monster 💙) and i'm so proud of the bits of this fic i've already got!! like, i genuinely love reading it back and being like "oh wow... oh yeah i really wrote that... italicised oh"

it's just tricky to try and stitch the pieces TOGETHER, is the thing. like, i have a pretty great beginning, a fantastically angsty ending, and some really great (but disjointed) middle snippets. i just can't get them all to flow into a coherent whole yet 😑 so, yeah. bit of a pain in my ASS, is this fic, much as i fucking love every word of it.

but someday! someday, my brain will work with me here, and i'll finish it and post it ASAP. but until then -- hope you like this teaser! 💕

[aloneonceagainaspredicted]

I am very happy dear reblogger

good to know, dear evil blogger that altered my brain chemistry 💕

[aph-japan]

{D.N. A n g e l} ~ STAGE 4