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Michael does the thing in the new song

CAN WE TALK ABOUT MICHAEL PLEASE. HOW HE’S ALWAYS HAD A BEAUTIFUL VOICE BUT HIS ONE TINY FLAW IS THAT HE HASN’T ALWAYS BEEN SO GOOD LIVE BUT IN THE VIDEOS I’VE SEEN SO FAR FROM JUST ONE DAY OF ROWYSO HE’S COMPLETELY KICKED THAT IN THE ASS?! HIS VOICE WAS LOUD AND STRONG AND SMOOTH AND IT DIDN’T SHAKE AND HE DIDN’T SOUND NERVOUS AND HE DIDN’T DO THE THING WHERE HE MAKES SILLY NOISES WHEN HE THINKS HE HIT A BAD NOTE AND HE TOTALLY FUCKING MADE THAT WHOLE SHOW HIS BITCH NO I’M NOT CRYING THERE’S JUST SOME PROUD IN MY EYE. 

anonymous asked:

can't you imagine michael being sweaty and tired but extremely horny after the show so he sits on the couch of his dressing room with your riding him as he gripped your hips tightly and lazily thrusted up into you occasionally, making small whines Nd whimpers as you sucked deep marks into his throat and collar bones

I…I don’t deserve to be fucked up this way…im so…OMFBAHD

i love when michael plays on stage because at the start his hair is styled up but it starts to fall during the show and by the end it’s completely flat and it makes me so happy

  My mom asked me to pick the dandelions in the front yard so they don’t spread and I was thinking the yard looks a little like a vacant lot; a patchwork of dirt, grass, and weeds in the late spring sunlight. The kind of place Dean and Sam would stop on their way home to Bobby’s after school. At one point the lot was a well-cared-for green space but now it looks abandoned. There’s an old wooden bench at one end, and the blue-eyed boy from Dean’s English class is sitting on one end scribbling something in a notebook. Gabriel, who’s older than them and always in trouble, is chasing a couple little kids around.

  “Do you wanna play with us?” the youngest one asks suddenly, bouncing to a halt directly in front of Sam.

  “Samandriel, no,” the other little kid admonishes as he races over, “you’re not supposed to talk to strangers.”

  “What’s the problem Inias?” Gabriel questions, sauntering over.

  “Samandriel was talkin’ to strangers!” the boy answers, clearly upset.

  “I just wanna play with ‘em,” Samandriel mumbles, kicking the ground.

  Gabriel sighs, “I’m Gabriel, these two are Inias and Samandriel, would you  like to play tag with us?”

  “Uh… sure,” Sam answers, “I’m Sam, by the way.”

  “Think I’ll just watch, thanks,” Dean replies, heading towards the bench.

  Sam, Gabriel, Inias, and Samandriel run wild – Sam seems to be it – the little ones laughing and screaming. Dean sits next to the blue-eyed boy. He knows he shouldn’t, but Dean can’t help craning his neck to see what the blue-eyed boy is writing. It’s poetry. Something sort of abstract, Dean’s not really sure he understands it, but he can feel the anxiety and comfort.

  “That’s good,” Dean comments without thinking. The blue-eyed boy slams his notebook shut and stares at Dean.

  “Sorry,” Dean mutters, staring at the ground and rubbing the back of his neck.

  “You… you like it?” the blue-eyed boy queries uncertainly, his voice is surprisingly deep.

  “Yeah,” Dean assures him, “I’m Dean by the way.”

  “Castiel.”

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